Chapter Text
Chapter Three
Alan took a deep breath as he scrubbed his hands clean in the kitchen sink in his camper. After Billy’s admittance to being tired—and who could blame him?—Alan had brought him back to their current residence. And insisted that Billy stay with him the night.
It scared him. He knew what it was like wanting to die. Knew the dark place your mind went to, and you couldn’t always climb back out.
For Alan, it had taken Billy showing up to pull him out of that hole.
For Billy…
Well, Alan was trying. He could physically keep him alive. Could carry him off that island despite a hole in his leg. Could keep him calm on the plane. In the hospital. But pull him out of a dark hole that was in his head?
Alan wasn’t Superman. He couldn’t magically erase the pain Billy felt. The terror that ripped at his insides.
And what scared him more was Billy had readily agreed to staying.
At least Alan could make sure nothing drastic happened tonight. If only he had some movies or something to distract him with. All Alan had was books, beer, and more books.
He glanced towards the tiny bathroom, where Billy was inside taking a shower. They hadn’t had a chance to even order earlier, and he knew he was starving. He grabbed a pizza from his tiny freezer and popped it in the toaster oven. He wasn’t a huge fan of pizza himself. But he’d yet to see Billy turn down a slab of cheesy, greasy bread.
He put some soda bottles in the fridge to cool and busied himself picking up his messy camper. Just to keep his hands moving and his head quiet.
The pizza was almost done when Billy walked out, carrying his dirty clothes to the washer. He wore only a pair of lightweight sweatpants.
Alan winced at the sight. Deep, puckered scars circled his shoulder blades. Longer slashes crisscrossed over his back, and a few went around to his chest and stomach. One long one ran up his spine and extended over the side of his neck.
Just a little deeper, and Billy’s throat would have been ripped out.
He turned and walked over to his medical cabinet. He’d taken to keeping a jar of the ointment Billy had to put on his scars just for nights like this. “You need my help?”
“Just with the ones on my back.” Billy’s throat bobbed, and he didn’t look at him. “I can get the rest.”
“Alright. If we hurry, we can have it done before pizza’s ready.”
Billy’s grin was forced. “Thought I smelled it.”
“You and your pizza,” Alan grumbled.
“You and your burgers,” he shot back, grin turning into something a little more real. “At least I have a variety.”
“I eat a lot more than just burgers,” Alan protested. “Just not around here. I don’t have time for cooking, and none of the other restaurants are worth it.”
Billy glanced at the picture of Ellie on Alan’s fridge. “Too bad she’s not closer. Nobody cooks like her.”
Alan grunted. Ignored the pang in his chest. He was glad Ellie was happily married, with two cute kids. He’d never begrudge her everything she wanted. He’d just…been too slow. Made too big a mistake in not voicing his feelings. “You got that right. Now sit down, let’s get it over with.”
Billy exhaled and walked over to sit on the couch. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the cushion. Every muscle in his back knotted as Alan walked over.
“Gonna work on your shoulders first.” Alan kept his touch light as he rubbed the ointment into the scars.
He always told Billy when he was going to touch one. Maybe that was why he was the only one Billy allowed to help him.
The act of trust made Alan feel equal parts honored and guilty.
Because he shouldn’t have ever endangered this trust. No matter how stupid Billy had been. He hadn’t meant any harm, and yet, Alan had still lost it.
“Moving to your spine. Do you want me to get your neck while I’m at it?”
“…Sure.” Billy flinched and exhaled shakily. “…Did you, did you ever want to kill yourself? When you first came back from Isla Nublar?”
“Yeah.” Alan didn’t know whether to be relieved he was talking about this, or worried. “I did.”
“What changed it?” Billy tilted his head to the side to let Alan rub the ointment into the side of his neck.
“You,” Alan said honestly. “You believed me, that was the biggest help. And you helped me to see how amazing dinosaurs are. As long as they’re not on the same continent as you,” he added with a chuckle.
Billy managed a tight grin. “They’re better dead and in rocks, huh.”
“You’re darn right. Next shoulder.”
Billy flinched and hissed, ducking his head.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Not physically. Just…brings back memories when they’re touched.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up. “How long did it take for you to not want to die?”
Alan paused for a moment. Gently squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “…I honestly don’t remember when I stopped. It was a gradual thing. Seemed like one day I woke up and the birds were singing. You were outside arguing with one of the other diggers. And I just, I was happy to be alive.”
Billy bounced his knee. Alan moved around to sit on the table in front of him. “What’s going through your head, kid?”
Billy was quiet for a long time. The silence grew heavier with each passing moment.
“Too much,” he said finally. “Too much bad. I just can’t help but think that it’s best to just…end it now. I don’t want to keep living like this.”
It was Alan’s turn to bounce his knee nervously. He wasn’t sure who had started the habit first. “Have you tried talking about your feelings?”
He felt awkward, sitting here acting therapist. He was never good with anything emotion wise.
“I tried a therapist back when you first suggested it.” He forced a sideways grin. “She didn’t quite believe me about being attacked by pterodactyls.”
Alan scoffed. Of course. Even after the t-rex had hit New York, so many people just didn’t believe them when they said they’d been to Isla Nublar or Isla Sorna. Or, if they did, they didn’t believe it when they said they’d been attacked.
“I mean, I can’t blame her. I had on a hoodie, so scars were hidden. Probably looked like I’d been on drugs too.” Billy shrugged a shoulder. “I talk to you.”
“You barely talk to me about what you’re thinking,” Alan said quietly. “You can talk to me about it all, you know.”
Billy looked away.
Alan sighed quietly. He had a sneaking suspicion of what was keeping Billy quiet.
He leaded forward and gently turned Billy’s head to face him. “You do not have to bear this alone out of fear of burdening me,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to keep trying to make up for those eggs.”
Billy flinched at that and dropped his gaze.
“You more than made up for it when you saved Erik—”
“And made those raptors hunt you,” he interrupted. “I don’t— I can’t—”
“Hey.” Alan reached forward to put his other hand on the other side of Billy’s head. “You. Aren’t. Guilty. Do you understand? You made a mistake, and you made up for it. I’m not him. I’m not mad at you.”
Billy’s jaw worked, and he nodded after a moment. His eyes were misty.
Alan pulled him into a tight hug. One hand cupped the back of Billy’s head, holding him against his shoulder. His other arm curled around his lower back, below the scars.
A shudder ran through Billy, and his hands went up to curl in the back of Alan’s shirt. “‘M sorry—”
“Sh.” Alan rubbed his head. “It’s okay, I promise you. I’m not mad. You’re not a burden.”
A suspiciously warm, wet spot grew on Alan’s shoulder, but he didn’t comment on it. Just tightened his grip, pulled his kid closer. Rested his cheek on the top of Billy’s head and closed his eyes.
They stayed there hours. The toaster oven went off. The pizza grew cold. The sun set, darkness enveloping them. Alan listened as Billy slowly, haltingly, told him about the guilt that ate him from the inside. The phantom pains. The panic attacks. Alan told him about his own anxiety. Promised him that it would get better. That it was okay to cry, that he’d never judge him for it.
He eased a sleeping Billy down on the couch around midnight and covered him with a lightweight blanket. He’d sleep in his chair tonight, be there for his kid if he had a nightmare. Be there to talk him through it. Make him feel safe.
Maybe now, finally, Billy would start to heal.