A/N: THANK YOU to all of my wonderful readers! This chapter is the direct result of your lovely reviews--I felt so guilty for leaving you hanging that I just had to update. You make writing so worth it. =D

Disclaimer: I don't own Disney. I'm not even sitting on half of one percent =D

CHAPTER FIVE

Ben

"Hey, kid! Stay awake, Riley!" I said loudly. I was concerned when Riley's responses had slackened, his words slurring a little, but now I was in full blown-panic mode. When he didn't answer me, I shifted over a little, groping around until I found his shoulder. I shook him gently. "Riley?"

Nothing.

I knew that Riley had hit his head, that he probably had a concussion, but it was obviously worse than I thought. What if the stammering of his words hadn't been purely from fear? What if he was seriously hurt?

What if he had just slipped into a coma?

My heart was pounding much too fast.

It took a moment, but I managed to come back down to a level of relative calm, meaning that "what-ifs" were out and "what-nows" were in. Abigail was coming; I had absolute faith in that. So what now?

Riley was clearly my first priority, and though there wasn't much I could do for him, I was going to do what I could. Thinking quickly, I groped around in the dark until I found one of our packs and started digging through it, stopping when I encountered a very wet blanket . . . wrapped around an iPod. This was definitely Riley's bag, and he had been right earlier—everything was soaked, useless. I pushed his bag away and felt for mine, sighing in relief when I found it and discovered that it was only a little damp. I pulled my blanket out and moved back over to Riley, tucking it around him. Hopefully, it would prevent him from going into shock—if he was that seriously hurt, which I prayed with every fiber of my being he wasn't . . .

The kid was breathing slowly, steadily, and the sound reassured me. He's alive. Everything will work out. Abigail's coming.

I painfully maneuvered myself to sit against the wall, close enough to Riley that our shoulders touched. If anything changed—if he moved, or shivered, or, hopefully, woke up, I would know instantly.

Comforted by that knowledge, I closed my eyes. As the adrenaline in my system began to wear off, all of the little aches and pains—and the larger ones, as well, made themselves known. My hands were scraped, and I was fairly certain that my temple had been grazed by a falling rock; my arm was badly bruised and probably a little cut up, if the tears in my sleeve and the stiffness of the fabric was any indication. And my leg . . .

My leg was burning, pains stabbing randomly up and down my shin. I was almost positive that I had a hairline fracture—I had gone on enough dangerous expeditions to know what a broken bone felt like, and this wasn't the same. What disturbed me more than the pain was the unpleasant tingling in my foot and ankle, almost like the lower part of my leg was going to sleep. At least it doesn't hurt, I reasoned, relaxing.

I was exhausted, and I found myself drifting off to sleep. I struggled against it for a moment—what if Riley needed me?—but eventually gave in. What was a little more blackness in this dark place?

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

Riley

Of all the things that humans have ever accomplished, waking up is the singular most outstanding achievement. Like, ever. Especially on a Monday morning, when you have a 6:00 AM flight to Cairo or Paris or Amsterdam. Or when Ben wants to go to the Smithsonian for the five thousandth time before it opens. Or when you're trapped in a cave and have a concussion.

Okay, so the concussion thing wins.

The pain came first, splitting my head open and making my eyes water. I gasped a little. For a while, I drifted, trying to escape the pain, trying to go back to sleep, but then I heard Ben's voice, slipping in and out of my comprehension.

"Riley? Are y . . . ake? . . . iley? Come . . . know y . . . can . . . ear me."

And then memory hit. I had the vague idea that I should wake up, to tell Ben not to worry, because he sounded almost panicked. Ben never panicked . . . but the thought slipped away, and I almost went back to sleep again. Wonderful, perfect, god-like sleep.

In the end, though, the pain would not let me relax. The awful pounding behind my eyes dragged me kicking and screaming into full awareness.

"Riley?" Ben asked.

I tried to answer, but all that came out was a sort of pathetic croak, which hurt both my throat and my head.

It must have sounded even worse than I thought, because Ben squeezed my shoulder gently, saying, "Just give it a minute, Riley. Don't try to move or anything, okay?"

Move? I couldn't even open my eyes, and I had absolutely no desire to move any part of my body. The pain was that bad, and it was starting to scare me.

Ben kept talking, his hand still resting on my shoulder. "Just stay awake," he said. "You don't have to talk, okay? Just stay with me. Abby will be here soon."

I swallowed, my throat dry, and tried to form words. "B-ben," I finally whispered, pain shooting up my head. "Thirsty."

"Okay. Give me a second." Ben's hand left my arm for a moment, and then he was back beside me. "Do you think you can hold it?" he asked, and I felt a canteen brush my hand.

"No," I said tiredly. How could I be tired again already? I had just slept.

"That's okay. I'll do it. Tilt your head back a little."

That got my attention. "Don't. C-can't," I mumbled, hoping the words came out right. I dry-swallowed again, and then my stomach lurched. The sudden nausea took me off-guard, and I tried desperately not to throw up. I knew that would only hurt more.

"Riley?"

"Sick," I gasped out. I was shaking with the effort of not puking my guts out.

"Try to breathe more slowly."

I tried to do what he said, but it wasn't working. There was nothing for it. I rolled to the side and threw up, feeling sicker than I had in my whole life. The pain of moving my head made me throw up again.

Ben's hand was on my shoulder the whole time, and when I was done, he helped me sit back up. "Sorry," I whispered.

Ben's voice was firm. "No more apologies, got it? It's not your fault."

"'kay," I answered. I did feel a little better now, at least. Less hazy.

"You probably want that water now," Ben said. The canteen was pressed into my hands, and I was able to take a few painful sips of water.

"Thanks," I whispered. "Abby's not b-back yet?"

Ben touched my shoulder again. "She'll come, Riley. She'll be here," he said. It was the same tone he used back when we had first met, talking about the Templar treasure: We'll find it. I know we will.

It was impossible not to believe Ben when he talked like that.

A/N: Let me know how that went! I'll try to get a quick update in for you guys!