Chapter Text
Images of falling, and falling, and falling.
Watching as his friends faces disappear in flashes of horror. Feeling trapped in midair, not able to do anything and not necessarily wanting to.
The fear he felt was paralyzing. All he could do was scream as he was chased by flying reptiles and falling to his death.
And when he hit the ground, all be could hear was the screeches of those wretched monsters and the dirt crunching underneath his body.
Well, and his screams.
So, when he wakes up from a terror filled memory of gravity working adamantly against him and his whole body aching with fever, he's shocked to say the least.
His head is pounding, that's the first thing he notices. He could practically feel the blood in his veins pumping rapidly in his head, pulsing with pain. A soft whisper leaves him, moaning about the pain.
The flutter of his eyelids let slivers of light into his eyes, the brightness was too much, and he scrunched his eyes shut. The want to nail his eyes shut is echoing in his brain.
The next thing he noticed, was the insistent wetness on his cheek. A prodding at his face. Little mewls were coming from beside him, desperate for something.
Ben quickly realized this Bumpy was trying to wake him up.
Immediately after that thought, Ben was opening his eyes to the blasted sun and seeing the pup beside him. Her eyes relieved and excited, he could practically sense her tail going crazy behind her back.
The adorable sight of big brown eyes and turquoise scales made the boy smile ever so slightly. Bumpy seemed to be in good spirirts, if the pats of her feet were anything to go by.
Ben tried to raise a hand to pet the baby dino, but groaned softly when his arm cracked from the movement. He peeked at the limb with a pleading gaze. But even with his prayers of safety, he could see blood caking the skin from his elbow to wirst. A slice was buried in his skin.
Ben's mind went into panic mode. He's never seen this much blood. He's never even been hurt beyond a scratch. Did the things chasing him do this? Did he land somewhere and get it? What if he bleeds out? Can someone bleed out from a cut like this? What if it already has an infection? What do I do, what do I do, what do I do-
He was stopped by a loud screech, Bumpy was jumping up and down to get his attention. She huffed, almost as if saying 'Enough!'. Ben kept his sight on her as he tried to regain his breathe. He practiced the breathing methods his counselor at home had taught him.
Breath, breath, breath.
You have to take care of Bumpy.
It took a few minutes, all the concentrating hurt his head more than he could admit. Usually he's really good at overthinking, but with a propable concussion, he's nowhere near as ready to panic as he normally is.
With his breathing about as regular as he can manage, he takes another glance at the wound. It doesn't look too bad, he tries to sugar coat. A bit scabby and irratated, but who isn't on this island. It seems like a claw had dragged itself across his arm. So, most likely form his run in with those living fossils.
He tries to feel the rest of his body with his good hand so he doesn't have to move his head much. The thought of agrivating his migraine anymore was intimidating enough.
He feels a rip in his shirt at the front, that wrapped around to his back. The fabric is marked like three talons had dug into his shirt. Another gift from the pterodactyls.
Under the button up, he gets a sticky substance on his fingers, it's hot and slick, with a hint of iron. When he brings it to his face, he sees that his first assumption was correct; definitely blood.
Okay, great. Awesome. I'm definitely going to bleed out.
He shifts to cast an eye at Bumpy, but stops short when he can feel something in his lower black twinge.
"Oh God... " he whispers. He doesn't even have the will power to think about how rumbley his voice is before he delves into the worry of his spine.
The small of his back is aching like a bitch, and he can already feel the strain on his hips and legs from the injury. He spared a second to think about how lucky he was to not have a spinal injury, he would've been dead by now if so. And, he can still move his neck with no problems but a dull pang.
So, not broken. That's something, he supposes. Channeling his inner Sammy, he tries to think about the luck of his fall. Like, he wouldn't be thinking anything right now if he couldn't breath.
Which, wasn't the easiest right now. But, again, it's better than nothing. Bumpy whines beside him, sniffing him gently as if the lightest tap could destroy him.
Ben feels like that could have a little truth in it.
He hushes her, moving his right hand up to scratch at her chin. She huffs again, a snort blowing out with it.
This is when Ben realizes she looks a little different, maybe a bit bigger. Claws are growing in and he horns are getting sharper, but still dull enough to not cause any pain. Her scales are becoming more prominent and hardened, freckles of dirt line the skin of her head. But her big doe eyes are still wide and excitable.
They grow up so fast.
He watches as the dino hops away and hops back, she does this a few times before Ben knows what she's trying to say.
She wants to go. Where, Ben really doesn't know.
"Girl, I can't-" he's cut off by a viscous cough, tiny flicks of red come out with his siliva. Panic flares through him.
"Bumpy, c'mere," she mewls again, trudging over to get close.
He moans, trying to stand has never felt so wrong. His head spins like a dreidel on Hanukkah, and he can't help but give in to the need to vomit. It's good he was leaning over to his side, spilling what few contents were in his stomach. He sucks in air after finishing his heaving.
Bumpy was right next to him, and he was grateful she could hold his weight as he recovered from the force. A moment later, he was attempting to stand with the help of his dino-dog. Her barks were like cheers of support, egging him on and keeping him motivated.
He had both hands balanced on her back as he pushed his knees under himself. His hips were crying out in anguish, his shins were tight with strain, and his back was cracking every two seconds.
In other words, everything is fine.
He let out a groan, his voice crackled in his throat. Pushing himself up and trying desperately to ignore the pain all over his body. His head was still on fire with a pulsing heat, but he had to bare it. He had to make sure Bumpy got somewhere safe. That they get somewhere safe.
He barely made it to his feet, but he mustered up enough strength to get up, straightening out as much as he could.
Well, maybe straight wasn't the right word. His back was hunched and he was cradling his bad arm tenderly. When he took an experimental step forward, he almost fell again if not for the ankylosaurus following him like a duckling.
He's never been more grateful to have gone in that genetics lab. To be the one to get such a friend. With the steady dinosaur right next to him, he feels a tiny bit more confident.
Taking another timid step, he's glad he's getting used to the shock of each stride. Well, more like stumble.
While he limps down the path, he takes in his surroundings. Like before, he's surounded by dense forest and dirt roads. He cranes his neck up, even as it gives a spike of resistance, and sees the monorail above him.
His anxiety doubles just from looking at the tracks. He has to look away before any tears come slipping down his cheeks. He doesn't want to think about that right now. He'd rather just forget it even happened. But... he can't. His mind keeps replaying the screams and fear and pain and nothingness.
He knows whenever he closes his eyes for more than a second, he's going to see the people he's grown with fading into the distant expanse of the sky, rocketing away in the train before his eyes can even catch up.
It- it was too much to think about right now. He just wanted to get somewhere safe. He wants to be in his bed, at home, away from dinosaurs and death, away from whatever hellish camp this was supposed to be.
He's so tired. He just doesn't want to think. He wishes he had his fannypack with him. It had his anxiety medication, his hand sanitizer, his... his everything. Without it, he doesn't know how to go about finding safety. Without his medication, he'll go insane. He's never been without it for an undetermined amount of time.
Ben is scared. He's more than scared, he's fucking terrified. And confused. And lonely. And overthinking.
His head was still hammering away in his skull, and he really didn't want to pass out on the road. If he really does need to sleep, even just for a few minutes, he should hide somewhere. Bumpy can keep watch while he rests.
Plus, his arm and stomach were now dripping at a faster pace, the blood now making its way down his waist and dripping off his finger tips. He'll just attract more predators like this, before he does anything else, he needs to treat his injuries. Or else he really is gonna bleed out.
Ben walks a little farther, scouting around for a place to sink into the shrubbery. Bumpy catches on without a word from Ben, and is running ahead of her limping friend to search around the sides of the road.
Before long, Bumpy is letting out quiet yips. Ben suanters over as best he can without feeling lightheaded. Which is getting progressively more difficult to stop. He finally makes it to a grassy plot, bushes encompassed the ground and made a good wall to hide whatever creature needed sheltering.
A tree was standing tall near the center, and he nearly falls trying to sit down. He puts his good hand on Bumpy's head, and lowers himself as gracefully as he can onto the roots and dirt.
With the time to recount over his injuries, he inspects his body with more of a focus. There's bruises everywhere. Little to huge all over his legs and arms, he can only imagine what his back looks like. Or his stomach. It already felt like fire ants were crawling everywhere on his skin, eating away the little hope he has left.
A part of him doesn't want to ever see. The very thought of seeing his now reality is one of the most paralyzing images he can think of. Besides, seeing his friends and family in the same state he is. To see their faces contorted in pain and hopelessness, it just... makes him feel worthless. He can't help anyone.
Thinking of face, that reminds him, he hasn't even had the chance to check on his face. He feels his chin with his healthier hand and doesn't sense anything there. The texture of clear skin goes from his chin to his right cheek, and continues until the far left of his forehead, down to his left cheek.
The marks there are diagonal to the left, and drift down to the corner of his mouth. Three lines slashed across the side of his face. They were deep, but somehow not bleeding. It didn't make much sense to him, other than the fact that maybe Bumpy was licking away the stray droplets of red, and her siliva had made some sort of sealing. It was seriously sticky stuff.
Anyways, he counts his blessings and decided to get to the main task at hand. He gets the laces from his shoes out from the buckles, and starts to wind the string around his bicep. He makes a whine of pain before triple-knotting the lace. Its tight, and completely uncomfortable, but he can manage.
The bleeding on his waist is harder to treat. After a few long seconds, he comes up with an idea.
He takes his shirt off, wiggling out of it pathetically. Everything is so sore and sluggish, he's sure Kenji would be making joke after joke about him if he saw the mess he was in. And honestly, that doesn't sound so bad right now.
He would love some company. He would love if the group came back for him. But his best guess tells him they're already halfway home by now. Crowded together, going back to see their families. They're not thinking of a dead kid in Jurrasic Park, they're already hoping they have pizza for dinner tonight.
This makes the tears he'd been holding back the whole treck come running down his cheeks. The salty water makes the cut on his cheek sting with vigor, but he can't find it in himself to care. He would give anything to see his mom again.
He sobs silently, coughing from the exertion. His back yells at him for his body wracking cries. But he can't help it. He does not want to die here. Not alone. Not like this.
A warm and boney beak knocks tenderly into his neck, bobbing up and down as if consoling him. Telling him that everything will be okay. He stills, remembering where he is. Who he's with. He's safe, he has Bumpy... and thats all he'll need. He just has to get somewhere with any kind of tech. He can try and get some sort of signal.
After he makes these bandages, he can start moving again. Hope is not lost yet. He can do this. Darius would know what to do, what Ben's doing feels like a Darius thing. He's gotta be smart like Darius, and strong like Yaz, and determined like Brooklynn, and think positive like Sammy, and... and be brave like Kenji.
You can do this Ben.
You saved us, Ben.
Our little Ben.
So, Ben starts to tear at the bottom of the cotton shirt, making strip after strip, until a bit more than half his top is left. He circles his waist with the first band, and continues until all four are around his waist, and securely ties the ends at his side.
He sighs, putting his head against the bark of the tree. A feeling of relief floods him. He did this much, he can keep going.
The memories of his friends, laughing and yelling and at worst screaming. He's glad they didn't scream when he fell. He doesn't think he can deal with those haunting sounds boucing in his head. He breathes, for what feels like the first time that day. The group would be proud of him.
Thinking of the camp, he thinks about that bunk. How comfortable it was, the right amount of fluffy and sterdy. Warm and soft.
Falling asleep, slowly blinking his eyes and yawning freely. Feeling the blanket hug him securly. Knowing he's safe... knowing he'll be okay...
Everything fades to black before he can even knows he's unconscious.