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Published:
2022-06-19
Completed:
2022-06-19
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7,901
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9/9
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Jurassic Park 3: Re-written ending

Summary:

What if Alan had found Billy, instead of the army men?

My take on how Jurassic Park 3 should have ended.

Completed!

Notes:

Author’s Note: I’ll be trying to stay as close to canon as possible. Well, as close to canon as one can get when they’re re-writing the ending! I love the Jurassic movies, but I just did not like how underrated and underappreciated Billy was. He gave me Vibes--him and Alan both, actually, as to what their relationship could be. So, here’s my take on what should have happened in my humble opinion! Hopefully you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

This takes place immediately after the pterodactyl attack. In this fanfic, Alan has already called Ellie the moment after they dug the sat-phone out of the dino crud and arranged everything.

Warnings: nothing more violent or graphic than the movies. Grieving over a character

Chapter Text

Chapter One

He’s gone.

Alan Grant saw it with his own eyes. Saw the horrible pool of crimson washing down the river. There was no way anyone could survive two pterodactyls ripping and tearing at their body. Holding them under.

He’d seen it.

He knew it.

But he couldn't make himself believe it.

Billy Brennan couldn’t be dead. Not the cheerful kid who was always ready to help, learn, listen. He hadn’t even gotten his PhD yet. Hadn’t had a first date. Had barely even been able to grow his first beard.

Alan was stiff and awkward and a grouch on the good days, but Billy had wormed his way into his heart since day one. Made life worth living. When the nightmares got to be too much, Billy was always a good distraction, with his dumb jokes and contagious grin. The only person who hadn’t written him off as a crazy old man who needed to be admitted into a mental hospital. The only one who’d believed him. Listened to him.

Sure, Billy had put their lives in danger by stealing the velociraptor eggs. But he’d done it to help. Billy had done it for him. A dumb, half-baked, downright stupid idea—but that was being young for you. How many stupid ideas had Alan done when he was younger that nearly got others killed?

And what had he done in return?

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re no better than the men who built this place.”

Alan squeezed his eyes shut and plunged his water bottle into the river. Had he really said that? To the one person who stayed by his side no matter what? To the kid he valued more than anything? He’d never told Billy how much he meant to him. How he was practically the son he never had. Alan loved Lexie and Tim, and Ellie’s kids. But Billy…

Billy was different. Billy was his kid. His twenty-three year-old idiotic surrogate son who had died believing that Alan hated him.

Tears rose unbidden to Alan’s eyes. Their stinging bite was a pitiful distraction from the claws ripping his heart from the inside out.

Billy’s terrified, agonized screams still rang in his ears. His desperate shout for them to run, while he ran deeper into the water. Away from them. Leading the pterodactyls away from the group he believed hated him.

He’d been one of the bravest men Alan ever knew.

And he’d died.

Alan wanted to scream and curse. Isla Nublar had been bad enough. This island, Isla Sorna, was bad enough. Watching everyone around him die. Ripped apart. Finding their bodies scattered. The horrible raptor calls that had haunted his nightmares for four years.

But this?

He pulled his water bottle out of the river and absently screwed the lid back on.

This ripped out a chunk of him that he’d never get back.

Billy wouldn’t be forgotten. Not by Alan. Not by anyone, if Alan could help it. He would survive this forsaken, hellish island, if only for the sole purpose of telling everyone he met how much of a hero Billy was.

He stood slowly. His knees creaked and every sore, abused muscle protested. He couldn’t make himself go back to the boat. Not with everyone staring at him. Pitying him. He didn’t deserve their sympathy. He should have been the one the pterodactyls killed. Not Billy. Never Billy.

After several long minutes—minutes that seemed to stretch on for years—he finally turned and picked up his pack. They needed food if they were going to keep their strength up, and Alan had spied berries across the river. Amanda and Paul had volunteered to get them, to let Alan rest. But he had to do something. Had to get away from them. He’d filled the pack with as many berries and edible plants he could find. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

A soft groan drifted by his ear.

Alan froze, and he swore his chest was pumping like one of those cartoon characters Ellie’s kids liked to watch.

Another groan that faded into a whimper.

Not a dinosaur. It sounded…human.

But they were the only humans left alive on the island.

Weren’t they?

Some part of his brain insisted it was a raptor trap. That they’d learned how to mimic a person in distress. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? They didn’t have the vocal range to make that sound. He turned back to the river, looping the strap of his bag—Billy’s lucky strap bag—over his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat.

Red floated down the river.

Blood.

Run. Run. Get back to the boat and get the heck out of here. But something was telling him to go towards the blood. To see what was going on.

His feet moved on their own accord, taking him into the river despite his brain screaming to leave. At this rate, his heart would fail him at the slightest little jump scare. Maybe that was for the best. He wouldn’t feel razor sharp teeth and claws ripping through him.

Like Billy had.

Alan shook those thoughts away and kept wading. The water came up to his knees, occasionally tainted red with blood.

He rounded a bush and his heart stopped.

A mangled body tangled in the roots of a scrub brush. Most was submerged just under water, but—miraculously—a scraped and cut head with ridiculously short brown curls was held above water by a forked branch.

“Billy.” The word scraped against his throat, raw and full of tears. He surged forward, wrapping one arm around Billy’s torso and gently freeing his head. He curled him forward, until Billy’s forehead was pressed against Alan’s neck. Billy was as tall as Alan, and fit as a racehorse. But adrenaline gave the older man a burst of strength, and he picked him up completely.

Billy’s body was ice cold, and the breath puffing over Alan’s neck was weak. Dangerously weak. But he was alive.