Virgil woke with a start, aching and confused for a moment. He had no idea what time it was, and the green glow of the chemical stick was dying, leaving them with only a dim light and the faint glow of four of HEMERA's LEDs.
Four.
They had to have been sleeping for a while, then.
He shook his head, wincing when it pounded in return, and forced his brain to work without coffee. World-hopping. Dinosaurs. Bunker.
Alan.
Alan was still asleep, practically in his lap at this point. Virgil could feel the feverish heat coming off the kid, despite the shivers still wracking his form. His lips tightened into a thin line, and he scrunched his eyes shut, pulling Alan up onto his lap and against his chest. He buried his face in his brother's filthy hair, rocking him gently when he whined at being moved.
He'd tried to clean Alan's arm, but infection could set in so easily. Especially in these conditions, with the mud and the rain and the thick, musty air. He ran a hand down Alan's arm, checking the bandages and frowning at the heat coming from it. They needed to get out of here.
Away from this world and the monsters that would very happily eat them just for being slower.
But they were stuck for two more LED lights. And who knew how long that was going to take. Who knew how long they'd been sleeping, honestly? Because he wasn't feeling very refreshed. If anything, he was feeling worse now that his muscles had all stiffened up and his bruises had had time to come into fruition. He didn't like playing with Rexes, especially when he was the plaything.
Alan shifted, whimpering softly, and Virgil absently shushed him, running bloody fingers through dirty blond hair. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to breathe through the sob in his chest. "God, I'm sorry Allie," he choked out, tightening his hold on Alan, and ignoring the tears slipping from his eyes. "I'm so sorry, baby."
They shouldn't be here. They shouldn't have to be doing this. It wasn't fair that his sixteen-year-old baby brother was being forced to go up against megalomaniacs and aliens and dinosaurs. When Virgil had been sixteen, he'd been…well, actually, when Virgil was sixteen, he'd been helping to raise Alan. He'd only been eleven when their mother had died, with Alan being three. And life significantly changed after. But he'd still been allowed to go to school and hang out with friends and be a teen.
Crippling PTSD and depression aside, he'd had a relatively normal life for a while.
Nothing like this. Nothing like what Alan still had to go through back home. Orphaned and taking part in life-threatening situations on the weekly, if not daily. No wonder the kid seemed so composed all the time, despite the situations they kept finding themselves in. Virgil had felt like falling apart since this whole mess had started, but aside from a few tears back in that other version of their own world, Alan had been taking it all in stride.
It wasn't fair. Not for him and definitely not for Alan.
His head hurt and his heart ached, and he just wanted to go home. He wanted Scott, honestly. He wanted Scott to tell him that everything was fine, and for John to back him up with empirical evidence, and for Gordon to crack some inappropriate joke.
He wanted Alan safe.
Virgil buried his face in Alan's hair, stifling the sobs and hiding the tears. The last thing Alan needed was to wake up to his big brother having a breakdown.
He sucked in a breath, forcing his mind to calm. They needed a plan. The bunker was relatively safe, but it wasn't good to stay in the cold with Alan's fever. And it was also a dead end, for the most part. They needed water since the stuff they'd had stored in their duffle bags was mostly gone. They had one bottle left between the two of them. And, if they could find one that wasn't too decayed, a blanket or two would be nice, however Virgil wasn't holding out hope for that.
But he didn't know where they could go other than here in this little bunker. He'd seen the Rex-sized claw marks in the atrium among the scattered fossils. The building wasn't small enough to keep out a tyrannosaur, and there were still those raptors that Alan seemed terrified of.
He shifted, murmuring to Alan that it was time to get up. Patiently waiting for those blue eyes to open, he gave a smile to his sleepy brother. And if he still had traces of tears on his face, they were hardly noticeable amongst the tracks made from the rain and mud and blood. "Hey, Sproutling," Virgil whispered. "You okay?"
"Don't feel good," Alan mumbled, licking at dry lips as he sat up and pulled away from Virgil's embrace. Virgil pressed their last water bottle into his hand, watching as Alan took a gulp.
"Your arm's infected," he said, not trying to sugarcoat anything. He passed over a couple tablets—painkillers and antibiotics. He couldn't stop the infection from getting in, but he could at least try to stop it from getting worse. Hopefully, the next world would have decent medical facilities and a no-question policy.
Alan grunted, swallowing down the pills with no complaint. He knew the dangers of infection. Especially where they were now. The boy blinked blearily for a moment before digging through the bags and coming up with a couple MRE's. "We can't stay here, can we?" he asked.
"I don't think so," Virgil replied, taking over the MRE prep with their little remaining water. He absently passed Alan HEMERA, watching as the blond winced his way through strapping the machine back onto his arm. The metal scales remained shiny, seemingly repelling any mud and grime. It was a little startling, honestly. "We need more water." At the very least.
Alan nodded, ducking his head as a shiver ran up his spine. "There's a kitchen," he mumbled.
Virgil frowned, glancing at him as he handed over the MRE and a camp spoon. "I doubt there's running water here, buddy."
Alan shook his head. "No. But maybe there's bottled water stored there?"
Virgil's lips twisted as he thought about it. "Maybe. Worth a shot." Because otherwise, the only option they had was to head back out into the wild and look for a body of running water, like a spring or creek or something. They had water purification tablets, but the idea of leaving the building was a little terrifying.
They ate in silence. And then they busied themselves with changing their bandages and pulling on long-sleeved t-shirts over their uniform shirts. The extra dampness wasn't necessarily good for them, nor the heat it would likely generate once they left the bunker, but the sleeves would at least offer a little more protection from mosquitoes and bugs. The last thing they needed was for them to get malaria or something on top of everything else.
Bags packed up and irreparably ruined materials discarded, they got to their feet with pained groans. And then, doing their best to shake of the achiness, they headed up the stairs.
The light filtering into the building through the broken windows and roof was the strong light of a cloudless midday. They'd slept through not only the rest of the storm, but the night and morning as well. No wonder they were so sore, having slept sitting up on concrete after being thrown around yesterday.
They both found corners to relieve themselves in, not caring about the locations really, because nature was calling, and the building had seen far worse than a little urine. And then they headed back to the dining room and the kitchen beyond it. "Still feels haunted," Alan whispered, glancing at a set of claw marks marring a table.
Virgil glanced over at him, hating how pale Alan looked despite the high spots of color on both his cheeks. The kid was beginning to sweat too, which wasn't great considering their current lack of water. "Ghosts don't exist, Sproutling," he countered.
"And dinosaurs are extinct," Alan shot back.
Virgil's eyebrows rose. "Touché," he muttered. With their luck one of the worlds they'd be falling into would have ghosts anyway, so whatever. Virgil wasn't about to discount anything after this universe had thrown dinosaurs at them, of all things.
The trip to the kitchen was uneventful, and a quick search found a case of bottled water among food that had decayed so much it had turned back into dirt. The bottled water was still gloriously viable, though, the seals still intact and the plastic of the bottles unmarred if a little dirty. They threw some of the bottles into their bags, downing one each in the meantime.
"Should we head back to the bunker?" Alan asked, wrapping his arms around himself. Even in the heat of this tropical island, he was freezing. Stupid fever messing with him. He knew Virgil was worried; Scott was probably going nuts at this point.
One of the little lights on HEMERA blinked for a moment before going back to its steady glow. Alan frowned at it but shook it off. He looked up to meet Virgil's steady, weary gaze.
"I don't know," Virgil admitted. "It was safe enough last night, but the doors don't lock. We'd be cornered if anything got in."
"Could we bar the doors?" Alan asked, only to suddenly freeze. Any blood left in his face drained completely, leaving him stark white.
An eerie barking sound was echoing from somewhere in the building. Somewhere nearby.
"Sprout?" Virgil whispered, inching close.
"Raptors," Alan breathed. An answering bark came from the other side of the building, and something crashed to the ground. He looked up and met Virgil's' gaze, licking his lips. "They know we're here."