Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Seriously? You’re going to hold a handstand for 5 minutes?”

Disbelief is clear in Darius’s voice as he quirks an eyebrow at Ben. A wave of determination washes over Ben as he nods and crosses his arms, forcing a smirk on his face.

“Yeah. What, scared you’re going to lose the bet?”

Ben finishes unbuckling his fanny pack and tucking his tank top in properly to ensure no awkward reveals happen. The ground is a little wet, but after being on Nublar for 3 months, dirt and such wasn’t anything to be grossed out about when there were worse things out there.

A sharp laugh makes its way out of Darius’ throat; a playful scoff at Ben’s apparent confidence.

(Of course, he can’t help but think the competitive spirit in Ben is endearing.)

“Hah, no way! I’m just worried someone’s going to get hurt. And it’s not going to be me.” Darius shoots a smug glance at Ben as he takes a seat on the ground, ready to start timing this acrobatic endeavor. 

Heat makes its way to the tip of Ben’s ears and he huffs as he crouches down into a starting position. He squints toward Darius, partly because of the glaring sunlight and partly out of disapproval.

“I WILL prove you wrong. Just watch,” he says, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. It’s not like he hasn’t done a somersault before, and a handstand is basically a long term version of being suspended upside down. 

Sounded easy enough, compared to everything else I’ve done.

Darius laughs again, a pleasing sound cutting through the cicadas chirping in the evening. 

“Alright, Jungle Boy, let’s see what you’ve got,” Ben notes that Darius’ eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. 

“Ready, set, go!” 

Ben pushes off the ground and the world tips upside down. He can immediately feel the blood slowly making its way to his head, but the subverted perspective doesn’t stop him from making a retort.

“You know it’s officially Island Man.”

He shifts his hands around, feeling for the right spots in order to counterbalance his body correctly. Darius watches, letting out a hmm with an amused expression on his face.

“How are you even keeping time?” Ben asks after a bit. At the same moment that Darius taps his temple, Ben begins to feel the wooziness affect his thought process. He tries his best to focus.

“How much time?”

“1 minute and 27 seconds.”

Ben inadvertently lets out a sigh and Darius snickers.

“Your face is getting really red. Maybe when you lose, I’ll make everyone call you Tomato Boy.”

Ben makes a face, which was hard to do without losing his focus. After wobbling a little too much and then regaining his balance, he looks up at Darius again.

“I hate tomatoes. They taste so gross.”

A few seconds pass before he processes the exact words that Darius used. 

Wait a minute, when?

He must’ve made another expression because the other boy begins to chortle.

They continue to talk in short spurts, but the time between the conversations grows longer. Ben can feel his limbs begin to shake with fatigue as they reach the 3-minute mark. He chants to himself, 2 more minutes. You can do it!

Honestly, he’s surprised at how long he’s been able to keep going. Ben smiles to himself as he comes to the conclusion that his time here had improved his strength, balance, stamina, and coordination. If all went well, he would win the bet and could ask Darius to do whatever he wanted.

Speaking of which…

“Hey, Darius, what are you going to have me do if I lose?”

Darius’ furrowed brows smooth out for a moment as he shifts from his mental counting into a conscious train of thought.

“Hmm, well.” He puts his hand on his chin, feigning deep thought. “That’s a secret.”

Ben lets out a huff of laughter, glad that he has this conversation to distract from how numb his palms were becoming. He could barely remember how this whole bet began, but he‘s sure it was out of boredom. Turns out, surviving with friends could be fun when you weren’t on the run from killer dinosaurs, but it could also be dull when there weren’t many places to go.

“Seriously?” Ben raises an eyebrow. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, since it won’t happen because I’m going to win.” He plasters on a self-assured smile because he was so close, so he was definitely going to win, right?

What was he even going to have Darius do?

Then the boy in question grins back, and Ben is struck by wonder and amazement—the last of the sun’s rays haloing Darius’ silhouette illuminates his features in soft golden light. Ben forgets to breathe for a moment, and he distantly thinks that his mouth might be open a little. 

I really want to…

Of course, fate takes this moment to have all the sweat beading on his forehead finally be the last straw that his headband needed to slip off a little, and Ben freaks.

The small lapse in his focus with that distraction makes the slip cause more panic than it would’ve usually—hours later Ben would agree that normally he would just readjust it without a fuss. Forgetting that he’s currently occupied, he lets out a yelp and retracts his right hand in order to pull up his headband. Unfortunately, the movement causes both the headband to fall fully off as well as his balance to be skewed beyond recovery. 

THUMP.

Ow, he thinks drowsily. It takes a moment for his mind to readjust to being flat on the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. That is, until a familiar face pops into view.

“—en. Ben! Are you okay?”

Darius’ worried frown and scrunched eyebrows occupy his vision, and the blood dispersing back into his body in a rush leads him to voice his thoughts.

“You’re an angel.”

Darius stares for a second, and Ben thinks, Oh crap.

Then Darius tilts back his head and laughs. 

“I guess not! I don’t think you have a concussion, but wow. That was really a fall you had there! And with only 10 seconds left.” Darius lets out a tsk, sitting back on his heels as Ben reorients himself to reality, sitting up properly with one hand on his head.

His head that is currently missing his headband.

With a jerk, he whips his head around to search for the blue material. It turns out to not be such a great move, as the quick movement causes everything to go blurry and sideways for a moment and he shuts his eyes until he feels normal again. 

He keeps his hand on his forehead when he turns back around to Darius. “Where’d I lose my headband?” He questions, noting the confused look on the other boy’s face.

“I have it.” Darius waves it around in front of it. Ben immediately makes a grab for it, but Darius is too fast.

“Nuh-uh. I win, so you have to do whatever I want.” He studies Ben’s face for a little bit. Ben instinctively shifts his arm so it’s not just his hand covering his forehead, but his entire forearm.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your headband.” 

Ben lets out a frustrated sigh. Anything but this. He voices his thoughts properly this time, bringing his knees close to his chest.

“I just need that, okay? It’s a little embarrassing.” Ben mutters, feeling his cheeks color. His arm stays across his forehead awkwardly despite still being numb from the challenge. 

Darius tilts his head. “What? What’s wrong?” He eyes Ben’s arm placement. “Did you get hurt on your head? Is it bruising?” 

Before Ben can say anything, hands are on his arm, attempting to yank it away from his face. He struggles, but ultimately fails due to how noodley his arms feel. 

There’s silence as Darius takes in Ben’s fully unobstructed face.

“I know, the tan is horrible,” Ben jokes, in hopes of remedying the situation. He curses himself for not having reserved strength to keep his arm there or the brain power to lie.

Darius inhales, and Ben braces himself.

“Is this why you always keep it on?”

A hand reaches toward his forehead, and Ben feels a faint brush of fingers against the scarred area before Darius draws back, looking apprehensive.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not something I really want to show off.” Ben shifts uncomfortably, stretching his right leg out from his previous position. “I guess it’s never going to heal, and while there are some things from my time here that I like that are going to be a part of me, I just feel weird about this one because of…” He trails off, eyeing Darius to examine his reaction. He knows Darius comprehends what he was alluding to because his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before settling.

Ben can’t read what he’s thinking.

“Can I?...” Darius glances at Ben’s scar and then back in his eyes. Ben realizes what he’s asking and nods slightly, putting his arms behind him to prop himself up. He feels a little nervous for some reason, butterflies tingling in not just his stomach, but his chest as well as his limbs. He writes it off as just lingering effects from the handstand.

Darius reaches for his temple once again, still with the same amount of apprehension as before, but Ben feels his hand more solidly this time. Most of his left-hand rests on the side of Ben’s head, lacing through his hair. He can’t hold back a shiver as Darius’ thumb traces the shape of the scar.

It’s healed over by now, but the skin is slightly puckered along the injury, still raised in some places. It was clear to anyone that it was a scar above his right eyebrow because of the pink discoloration standing out from Ben’s skin as well as the texture. As Darius continues brushing over the wound, Ben notices how sensitive the area is to touch and shudders again. The thumb stops.

“Does it still hurt?” Darius begins to withdraw his hand, but Ben grabs his arm.

“No!” He laughs nervously. “Just a little more sensitive than the rest of my face. I’m okay.”

There’s a beat before he realizes he essentially just gave Darius a ‘go ahead and continue touching my forehead scar’, and he can only offer a wobbly grin.

He then notices how close they are; Darius’ other arm propping him up right next to his inner right knee and his shoulder nearly touching Darius’ chest. Ben doesn’t want to ruin this moment, so he wills his heartbeat to calm down, and he settles for just studying Darius’ face.

(Ben has to fight the urge to lean into his touch.)

Darius’ eyebrows are scrunched up as he analyzes the wound, with his mouth in a straight line. Ben can count the barely visible freckles on his skin, as well as really seeing the deep color of his eyes. They’re a hazel brown with flecks of gold in them, he thinks. It really does exist, not just in book descriptions.

Then Darius’ eyes flick over to his and he’s entranced all over again.

“How did you deal with it when you were alone?” Darius sat back on his heels, and Ben tries to squash the whine of protest in the back of his mind when his hand retracts completely.

“Well, I didn’t really realize it was there because I was already passed out for a bit, and I guess it all congealed by the time I woke up.” Ben readjusts himself so he’s sitting with his legs crossed and rests his arms on his knees. “I tried washing it the best I could when I went to the river so it wouldn’t get infected, but was always afraid that rubbing too hard would make the blood flow again and the Compies would smell me. Not to mention, the bruise there at the time hurt a lot.”

He thinks a little, and adds, “I guess there was a small pool of blood soaked into the sand when I woke up, but Bumpy probably chased the Compies who did smell it away.” He then looks up at Darius, whose face is…

“Hey, Darius, it’s not that big of a thing! I promise. It didn’t cause me any hardship at all. Trust me, I was way more worried about shelter and food and sleep.” He rattles on, trying to cheer Darius up. It’s not the full truth, as he remembers the nearly unbearable itchiness as it began to heal over and the meticulous way he had to check on his wound. The countless times he had spent praying that the river water was safe to use for the wound because if it wasn’t, his stomach would’ve been in pain too. Good thing that he had an okay knowledge of what leaves could be used for patching up a wound.

The other boy sniffs and tries to wipe the tears away. (Ben wishes he could do that for him.)

“But you have a scar that you’re ashamed of, and it was all cause of me.” The tears had stopped flowing, but the haunted look in Darius’ eyes makes Ben’s heart ache. “I just. I think I get why you don’t like it. You talk about how strong that time made you become, but you cover up the scar that’s from the reason you had to go through that. I,” he gestures to himself and then at Ben, “basically gave you that.”

“No.” The word bursts out of Ben’s mouth before he can even think about what he’s saying, but he keeps going. “I’m not ashamed of the scar. And sure, those incidents might be connected, but it doesn’t mean it’s your fault. It was never your fault. If we were going that route, wouldn’t it be as much my fault too?” Darius raises his head, and Ben sees his mouth open and doesn’t give him a chance to speak.

“The experience did make me stronger. But this…it just reminds me of how scared I was. Back then and during the experience. And sometimes now. It reminds me of how vulnerable I am.” He reaches up to touch his scar before continuing.

“Covering it up is just,” Ben pauses, searching for the right word, “like covering up that part of me. My skin might never heal back like it was before, but that doesn’t mean this cloth can’t be a new skin of sorts. And to me, it feels right to treat it like that.”

Sure, he had cried a little back then when he had realized it was going to scar. Just another permanent consequence of staying in this place. He had come to terms with it when he convinced himself no one was going to see it anyway since he was stuck here forever and would die sooner or later. The mental and physical scars he carried now were just something he had to deal with.

“My scars are a part of my story, but I don’t want them to look at my past. I want them to look at me now.”

He finishes his tirade and peers at Darius. Throughout the story, Darius stayed relatively silent, rubbing his fingers. Now he speaks, looking down at his hands.

“Thanks for letting me see it then, even if was by accident.” He looks up. “I actually understand a little, I think. It’s different, but…”

Darius scoots over in front of Ben, and he can feel the warmth emanating off the boy as the temperature of the evening begins to drop.

“You have scars?” Ben can’t help but break the suspense.

He was surprised, if anything. All the campers had little nicks, but they usually healed over pretty well, unnoticeable enough. He never knew that Darius had an injury deeper than the usual ones.

Wordlessly, Darius places his right-hand palm-up on Ben’s upturned hand that rests on his knee. 

It takes a moment for Ben to process what he’s looking at under the fading light of the sun.

Scars. Long, light streaks diagonally across his palm, from the wrist to the tips of his index and across most of the other fingers. As Ben holds Darius’ hand gingerly to examine it, he flips it around and sees that there are similar scars wrapping along his wrist and some along the back of his hands. It looked like the deepest ones were on his palm and along his forearm to his wrist.

“Wow, which dinosaur did this? Or cat. These are gnarly.” Ben waits for Darius to respond, but when he doesn’t, Ben spares a quick glance at Darius.

He looks uncomfortable.

“Well…” Darius shifts around, looking to the side. And that’s when Ben realizes, and his heart drops.

Oh, he thinks.

“Oh.”

He can’t bring himself to say it.

“This is…” He winces as even these words burn coming up from his throat.

“Yeah. That night.” Darius confirms, now searching Ben’s eyes for his reaction. Ben catches a glimpse of Darius’ left hand, which has less but still existent whitish scars trailing along the back of his forearm.

“I’m not ashamed of these, but I guess for me, I also keep it as a reminder. I still feel like I failed you, and even if that isn’t true, it kind of fuels me to not let it happen again. So, that’s me.” He gives a crooked smile after his quick explanation.

“I…”

Ben feels as though there’s a lump in the back of his throat. He can’t say anything and his blood feels like ice, any feeling of warmth gone by now.

He can only really do one thing now, really.

Setting down Darius’ hand, he places his right hand face-up on top. Darius looks down and looks back up at Ben in shock.

“It’s not as deep, but they’re pretty much there to stay.” Ben huffs out a laugh and looks up at Darius through his lashes with a slight smile. “So, I guess we’re matching. With one arm more scarred than the other.” Peeking at his bark armor, he knows of the other half of the scars that hide under there as well.

Darius’ eyes look watery again, so Ben fills in the silence. “I didn’t know what they were from at first, because I just thought maybe I fell through some branches or scraped it on some rocks.”

They sit there for a bit, just basking in each other's silence and studying the others’ scars. That is, until Darius speaks up.

“We should get back. Thank you for…all this.” Darius begins to stand up before he seems to remember something. He places a hand on Ben’s shoulder, crouching as to ensure he doesn’t get up just yet.

“Wait.” Ben cocks his head to the side. “You lost the bet, so I get to ask you to do something.”

“Didn’t you already take my headband away from me?” Ben playfully asks, settling back down onto the ground. Darius rises, hand still pushing down on Ben’s shoulder.

“Close your eyes.”

“Wh–”

“Just do it!”

“Okay, okay.” Ben shuts his eyes, heart pounding. Was Darius going to tie his headband back for him? Was he planning a prank?

He didn’t know what to expect. And out of whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t the quick press of something soft and warm against his scar.

His eyes open just in time to see Darius drawing back and straightening his posture with a small grin. Ben’s hand flies to his forehead as his brain rushes to connect the dots of the sensation and the visual context.

“Did you just–?” He can feel his face flushing as he realizes what Darius had just done.

“I mean, in all terms, I guess you did fall for me.” Spinning around, Darius gives a wave and walks off, calling behind him, “I’ll see you back at camp, Tomato Boy.”

Ben sits there alone for a few more minutes, just running the past half hour through his mind with his hand still on the spot.

Oh my god.

He looks off in the direction that Darius had headed in, and begins to stand up when he realizes there was something in his lap.

Smiling, he ties the headband back on his head. It was clear that this was just going to be between the two of them, at least until he was ready to share this part of himself with the others.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to break this little secret between them now, though.

As for the bet, Ben guesses that it was a valid trade-in.

Besides, it was probably the closest to what he would’ve asked for, so even if he lost, it was still a win.

Hm. Strange. I wonder where that thought came from. He brushes it aside, face still warm, and begins the trek back to camp.

Ben wonders if there are nail trimmers in the Main Street shop that they can start using.

Chapter Text

Darius turns away. “I’m fine,” he says. Sure, the scratches still stung, but maybe he deserved it. 

The screams echo in his mind.

“Darius! Darius, Darius, please!”

Scratch that, he definitely did. 

What kind of a leader was he?

What kind of a friend?

What kind of a person ?

“At least clean it up a little so it doesn’t get infected?” Brooklynn tries gently, as the other campers watch them warily. They are all tired and broken up, barely being able to process the last 24 hours and the reality of being truly left behind on this island. It still hasn’t set in.

“Darius, you’re bleeding all over the place still,” Yaz speaks up, leveling Darius with a solid stare. “Either clean it or bandage it, or you’ll lure some dinosaurs over to us.”

Sammy stands by with a washcloth, clutching it in her hands, unsure of what to do—they’ve all just walked in silence along the path after visiting the dock and discovered that Main Street is all ripped up. 

Darius scans all of their weary positions and ripped clothes and dirtied faces—and decides not to make it more difficult for them to stick together. “Fine.” he huffs out, holding out his forearm for Sammy to clean, and Brooklynn goes looking for a first aid kit in one of the Main Street shops. It doesn’t take long, and soon Darius finds himself wincing at the alcohol sting in his arms as Brooklynn bandages his wounds. 

The cold prickling his palms as the wind whips by, devoid of any warmth from the boy who was holding on so tightly a moment ago.

Blood dripping down his arms as he jumped off the train. Dirt getting in his wounds as he rolled down the hill.

Fiery warmth from the explosion reminding him of the other burning pain along his arms and across his hands as he let go of the taser and dove onto the ground.

The pain in his chest to match his injuries.

“These might scar, but-“

“Good.”

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he might as well voice it at this point. The surprised (and worried, he realizes, but he ignores it.) looks of the other campers pushes him to explain.

“That way, I'll always have a reminder of what I didn't do. What I failed to do.”

Broken nails, bloodied hands, deep scratches—yet none were enough to keep him alive.

To keep him by his side.