Chapter Text
Chapter Nine
The cavalry was waiting for them at the beach.
A man in a suit hurried over to them. “Are you Alan Grant?”
Who else would he be? There wasn’t exactly a whole bunch of people on this dang island.
He didn’t voice his frustration though. “Yes, I’m Alan Grant. Have you seen a woman and a kid? Amanda—”
“Amanda and Erik, yes. We loaded them up on one of the choppers.” The man glanced over Billy. “Is he—”
“Alive,” Alan snapped. Billy wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t going to die. “Get me a dang medic and get us out of here.”
“Yes sir.” He waved to the men and reached for Billy’s other arm.
It would be easier on Alan if he let him help. Or handed Billy off to someone else. But he couldn’t let go. Not while they were on this hell of an island. Not while Billy was injured. Not while Billy was suffering from PTSD.
Alan had found him in a clearing, thrashing in the dirt at invisible pterodactyls. It didn’t take an experienced therapist to know what was going on. And Alan had been suffering from PTSD since going to Isla Nublar years ago. He knew how to spot the signs.
He pulled Billy closer and stumbled for the chopper sitting at the edge of the sand.
The man muttered something about stubborn old men before running ahead and yelling at the rest.
The men on the beach burst into activity. Loading up in the vehicles. Surrounding Alan as he made his way to the chopper. Someone grabbed him and pulled him to the side, the same time someone else pulled Billy away.
“No!” He jerked free and stumbled forward. His leg buckled. Two men caught him. Their shouts filled the air as they pulled him onboard, but he registered nothing. Billy was gone. Where was he? They had to be careful—
His eyes landed on him. Two men were laying the kid down on a gurney and strapping him in. A medic cut away the bandages. All three of them moved quickly, professionally. And ignored the panicked thrashing.
“Billy.”
Alan pulled free and practically fell to the floor by the gurney. He cupped the side of Billy’s face. “Hey, hey, Billy, hey, it’s me. It’s Alan.”
Billy’s eyes fluttered open and sluggishly tracked over to him. “Not…no’ real?”
“There’s no dinosaurs here.” He managed a smile. “We’re on the helicopter. There’s a medic here. She’s tending to you.”
“Heli…med…” His eyes drifted shut again. “Don’… don’ leave…”
“I won’t, kid,” he said softly. “I won’t.”
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Billy didn’t wake until they were halfway back to the mainland. By then, he’d been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. The medic had taken care of Alan’s leg and tried to get him to move. To get him to sit in a chair and buckle in. But Alan wasn’t moving. He’d promised Billy he’d stay. And he never lied.
Except for when he did.
“As far as I’m concerned, Billy, you’re no better than the men who built this place.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Billy, you’re no better than the men who built this place.”
Those awful words circled his head on repeat. Had he really said that? To Billy, of all people? He knew the kid better than most. Knew how devastating those words were. Alan hadn’t meant them. He’d been scared and hurt and angry. So angry. But those words were empty.
To him, anyways.
Not to Billy.
“Alan…”
The weak, raspy whisper pulled his attention from the helicopter floor to the kid strapped to the gurney.
He rose to a crouch, keeping his weight on his good leg. “Hey, look who’s up.”
A weak grin pulled at the corner of Billy’s mouth, but didn’t reach his eyes. “‘M sorry. I didn’t—”
“Hey.” Alan kept his voice soft, but firm. “No. I’m sorry. You…that was a stupid, stupid decision. But you did it with good intentions. I…I didn’t mean those words. I was scared and angry, but I didn’t mean them.”
Billy studied him, eyes still foggy from pain and medication. “...you…” He coughed and grimaced. “You didn’t?”
“No.” Alan reached over absently to adjust the blanket covering Billy’s bandaged chest. He rested his hand carefully on the crook of Billy’s neck, feeling his pulse. Reassuring himself that he was alive. “You’re more of a man than anyone else I know.”
It took a moment for the words to register, then a wide grin spread across Billy’s face. “You mean that?”
“More than anything else I’ve ever said,” Alan said seriously.
He knew Billy. Knew his past. Knew that Billy didn’t readily believe anything good about himself. And the words Alan had said, the stab, they wouldn’t just disappear. It would take time to regain Billy’s complete trust. Time to fix the hurt that had been caused.
But Alan would do whatever it took. Take all the time he needed.
“Get some sleep,” Alan said softly. “You need it.”
“So do you, old man,” Billy mumbled, eyes already falling shut again.
Alan scoffed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Maybe he would go sit down, now that he knew Billy was okay. The hard seats would be more comfortable than the floor.
He almost got up to do just that when Billy’s hand fell onto his.
Alan glanced down. The kid was sound asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. His fingers curled around Alan’s wrist, holding it against his neck.
Alan sighed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. Dumb kid. Big, dumb, overgrown baby.
But he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t bring himself to. And, maybe, just maybe, he needed the contact, the comfort, too. Even if he would die before admitting it. And if anyone asked, he’d simply tell them that Billy was the one who needed it.
He leaned against the gurney and got comfortable on the hard floor.
They were going home.