Title: Gateway

Warning: Spoilers for Jurassic World, obviously. Discussion of (graphic?) injuries, and the viewpoint of a carnivore.

Rating: PG-13

Continuity: Jurassic World

Characters: Blue, Delta, Echo, Owen Grady, Barry

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.

Motivation (Prompt): I figure the new film will destroy any hope for this fic. I mean, I hope something like I imagined will show up in the raptor-Owen parts, but from the trailers, I sincerely doubt it.

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Part Three

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Two things happen at the same instant.

The prey yells almost as loud as Alpha. That's almost enough to make her look, but prey noises surrounded Blue her entire life. Yelling prey-with-fangs have recently become important to her as a warning sign, but prey's alarm calls aren't the same as a packmate's call. It'll draw her attention at most. The familiar prey by the metal creature is noisy but ignored. Alpha's yell makes her flinch, but -

Bodily functions are normal. Humans partition that portion of their lives, shrouding it in taboo and secrecy. To a predator, a prey's spoor is important. They use it to track prey, and as a way to evaluate the relative age and health of a potential meal. For a pack, shit and piss are a means of communication between members. It's scent-marking for territory, marking boundaries inside the walls with neat piles and puddles, or deliberate statements in response to something, usually angered dungheaps laid outside the tiny bit of moving wall the small runner-prey disappear through or protest-peeing inside the ready-cages. The rest of the time, it's a simple bodily function done as the need arises. There's nothing hidden about it. Animals shit and piss wherever and whenever. At most, they move out of their nest area to do so.

Blue knows the scents of her pack. She's sniffed them all over, marked them with her scent glands and been rubbed with their pungent oil in return. She's had their dung dried on her legs and licked at the puddles they left behind. Never Alpha's, however. He's smelled of spoor, but he's never left his within the walls.

Alpha yells, but a sudden stench rushes to fill Blue's senses. Her head jerks up nose-first into the source. Alpha stumbles away, quick and clumsy. 'Back off!' barks loud over her head, but she presses into his soft underbelly. The squish bounces off her the top of her head with a wet splat. 'Back off! No!' Both of Alpha's hands push against her, blunt foreclaws tense, but he's not as strong as the scent grabbing her attention. His hands are the bump of another raptor's snout, a touch she's used to. Her siblings did it whenever they stood in a group. It's background noise to a pack animal.

She's gives under his push, bends, eels lithely around and buries her nose right back into the damp patch spreading down his legs.

She doesn't notice torn soft skin caught in her teeth or the crinkled bar dropping to the ground as her mouth gapes open. Her nose flares at the same time, and she draws in a huge breath of air. It flows over her tongue and through her nose, channeling a giant burst of information straight into her brain. Everything else pauses. The prey's yelling doesn't register. Not even Alpha's shout moves her. For a few seconds, the raptor is frozen, pupils dilated. Vital pack communication ties up every reaction.

Fear. Alpha is terrified. The urine soaking him reeks of prey-fear, and conflicting urges pull at Blue's mind. Prey-fear is common, and the scent often hangs inside the walls with the pack. Raptors know the scent as part of the hunt. It tells a hunter that this prey is vulnerable. Alpha smells of it, sometimes.

It's an integral part of the confusing prey-not-preyness that is Alpha's place in the pack. The scent of his fear primes Blue's need to hunt, but it brings her protective instincts surging to the forefront. If a packmate is afraid, then the pack must defend. Threat-to-pack cannot be tolerated!

So for a moment, Blue merely stands with her muzzle buried in Alpha's groin, jaw slowly opening and closing as internal struggle twists her brain into a knot. She's tired. She's very tired, but threat-to-pack.

The exhaustion creeping up on her temporarily tamps down, and growling, Blue lifts her head to glance around the unfamiliar walls. Snort, snuffle. She sneezes violently, clearing her noise of the tang of urine and huffing in fresh air. Sniff sniff sniff. She can't smell anything wrong. She knows this place by sight, from the perspective of the ready-cages, but she hasn't been in it. Alpha is afraid. Maybe the threat is in here, and she just hasn't found it.

Blue sidesteps, head coming up to scan for threats, eyes alert. Her head cocks from side to side. She stares at the water bucket. Nothing moves. Peeling her lip up, she bares her teeth to warn the world away from her pack. Weariness tries to keep her still, but she stalks the inside of the walls, nudging between the bars in case they're weak. They don't move. She can't get out. The dirt smells like the prey-with-fangs she hunted, but the scent is old. The only new scents belong to the metal beast sitting against the wall, her siblings on its back.

She bites at it uselessly, unable to reach it or them. It's frustrating. She looks through the bars, glaring at the prey standing at the metal thing's head. It chatters nonstop, although it slows when she snarls at it. Its eyes are very wide and white. She doesn't feel threatened by it. She doesn't even want to hunt it. She's too tired, and she's just eaten. It moves, and her teeth snap in halfhearted warning. She'll bite it if it comes within reach, but it's climbing on the metal creature.

Alpha calls, and she glances at him. He's calming down, the fear-scent of his spoor dulling as it ages. He still sweats, but she knows the oily scent of his sweat. It's part of his weird prey scent, and she grew up with it. Whatever scared him has passed. He chatters at the prey, which chatters back. He calls her again, then comes toward her slowly. She blinks at him, purrling low her in throat. They're safe in the walls. She doesn't know what threatened him, but it's gone.

He stretches out his hand to meet her as she turns to face him. 'Easy, Blue,' calm-cries at her, but she ducks, intent on closer contact. This is new, this isn't the ready-cages or the nursery, but she's not a hatchling and she's learned. Touching her outside the ready-cage is no longer new. She knows what to expect, and she's isn't wary anymore.

Curiosity overwhelms caution now that the threat is gone. He tenses again, but he does that a lot. Blue crowds him anyway, sniffing this time to know, to learn, to fill her senses with something denied her until now. She licks at the wet skin on his legs and butts her nose into his groin, getting the taste and scent of him. One of his hands rests on her head, and she hears him swallow. He isn't pushing her away this time.

His hand leaves, and something crinkles.

Her head pops up. Alpha is holding the crumple, teeth-ripped bar she dropped, and a delighted gurgle burbles out of Blue as he tears it open. She opens her mouth, ready to lunge forward, but he warn-howls, "Ho!"

'Stop; pay attention.'

Her tail lashes, but Blue stops. Alpha gives her the 'Back off' gesture, his hand up, but his other hand holds the shiny bar. Watching her closely, Alpha drops the signal. She shifts her weight, eyes moving from his hand to his face. He has the same expression even though his hand isn't up. It's part of the signal.

Blue stays put.

Still watching her carefully, Alpha uses his hand to pull a brown food out of the crinkle. It smells wrong. It doesn't smell like meat at all, not even the not-meat she remembers, but she knows it must be a treat, and Blue bobs in place as excitement jitters through her. Training since the egg has made this a social ritual more than feeding. It's reward. It's special.

'Blue,' he says, and she knows he means, 'This one's for you.' He tosses the bar up into the air, and now she lunges for it. Sharp teeth snap closed on it, and it crunches. Her teeth go through it, a piece breaking off and falling, but she snaps again so fast it doesn't even reach the ground. Another chomp repositions the pieces in her mouth, and her chin jerks up, tossing them to the back of her mouth. The chunks are swallowed whole.

It doesn't matter that the brief taste she got is disgusting. It's good. It makes her feel good.

She champs her teeth, immensely pleased with herself.

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