#alangrantxreader

[drdeannagrant676]

ALAN GRANT/ (NIECE) READER

Platonic obviously

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The familiar scent of dust and old paper filled Alan Grant's office, a chaotic haven of fossil fragments and well-worn books. He was meticulously brushing sediment from a Triceratops horn, lost in the Cretaceous period, when his phone buzzed with an insistent chirp. He grumbled, setting the brush down with the care one reserves for a priceless artifact.

"Grant," he answered gruffly, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"Uncle Alan! Guess what?" The voice on the other end was bright and brimming with an enthusiasm that instantly made his eyebrows furrow. It was Y/N.

"Y/N? What is it, kiddo? Did you finally find a decent fossil site that hasn't been picked clean by amateurs?" He tried to inject some of his usual dry skepticism, but a sliver of genuine curiosity peeked through.

"Better!" she exclaimed, practically vibrating through the phone line. "I got the internship! The one I told you about?"

Alan racked his brain, sifting through the mental clutter of dinosaur names and geological eras. "Internship? Remind me."

There was a slight pause, a hint of exasperation in Y/N's tone. "Uncle Alan! The one at Jurassic World? The animal behavior one?"

A cold dread seeped into Alan's chest, chasing away the Cretaceous warmth. Jurassic World. The very words tasted like corporate greed and impending disaster. He gripped the phone tighter. "Jurassic World? Y/N, are you serious?"

"Totally serious! They were really impressed with my work on cranial trauma in herbivorous dinosaurs. And guess what department I'm going to be working in?" Her voice bubbled with excitement.

Alan braced himself. He had a bad feeling about this. "Don't tell me... the petting zoo?" He tried for sarcasm, hoping it would somehow lessen the blow.

"No! Even cooler! I'm going to be a Pachycephalosaurus trainer!"

The Triceratops horn he'd been working on suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. A *Pachycephalosaurus* trainer? Those thick-headed battering rams of the Late Cretaceous? His niece, willingly putting herself in the vicinity of creatures whose primary mode of communication seemed to involve concussive force?

"A... a *what*?" he stammered, the image of those dome-skulled dinosaurs colliding with alarming velocity flashing through his mind. "Y/N, do you have any idea what those things *do*? They headbutt each other for fun! Their skulls are like reinforced concrete!"

"Exactly!" Y/n chirped. "Isn't it fascinating? Understanding their behavior, their social dynamics, how they use their cranial domes! It's cutting-edge research, Uncle Alan!"

Alan could feel a headache brewing behind his eyes. "Cutting-edge idiocy, more like! Y/n, those aren't lab rats! They're genetically engineered dinosaurs! And you want to... train them... to... what? Play bumper cars?"

"It's more nuanced than that!" Y/n protested, the enthusiasm in her voice wavering slightly under his barrage of horrified questions. "It's about understanding their natural behaviors and creating a safe environment for them and the park visitors. They have specific needs, Uncle Alan! And someone needs to understand them!"

"And that someone has to be my niece? The one with a perfectly functional skull that I'd prefer to keep that way?" Alan's voice rose with each word. He could practically see the headlines: "Beloved Paleontologist's Niece Suffers Severe Head Trauma in Pachycephalosaurus Training Mishap."

"Uncle Alan, you're being dramatic," Y/n said, a hint of amusement creeping back into her tone. "They have safety protocols. And I know what I'm doing. You always taught me to follow my passion, right? Well, this is it! Ancient creatures, behavior analysis... it's like paleontology, but... live!"

Live and potentially concussing, Alan thought grimly. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Live is one thing, Y/n. Brain-damaged is another entirely. Promise me you'll wear a helmet. A really, *really* good helmet."

"Of course, Uncle Alan," she said, though he could practically hear the eye-roll through the phone. "They have specialized gear. It'll be fine. You worry too much."

"I worry because the last time I was around genetically engineered dinosaurs, things didn't exactly end with polite tea and crumpets, Y/n!" The memories of Isla Nublar still haunted his sleep.

"This is different!" she insisted. "They've learned from their mistakes. And I'm going to be part of making it better, understanding these amazing animals."

Alan sighed, the fight draining out of him. He knew that stubborn gleam in her eye, even over the phone. It was the same determined glint he saw in the mirror when he unearthed a particularly significant fossil. It was in her blood.

"Just... be careful, Y/n," he said, his voice softer now, tinged with genuine concern. "Those aren't fossils you're dealing with. They bite back. Hard."

"I will, Uncle Alan. I promise. And who knows? Maybe I can even get you a behind-the-scenes tour sometime. You might actually find it... fascinating."

Alan shuddered. "Fascinatingly dangerous, more likely. But... call me. Every day. Let me know you still have all your cognitive functions intact."

"Will do, Uncle Alan. Gotta go! Knucklehead's being a bit of a... well, you know."

The line went dead, leaving Alan staring at the Triceratops horn in his hand. He suddenly felt a profound urge to return to the quiet safety of the Mesozoic, where the biggest threat was a hungry Tyrannosaurus, not a niece with a death wish and a penchant for thick-skulled herbivores. He just hoped Y/n knew what she was getting herself into. And that Jurassic World had invested in some seriously heavy-duty headgear. His niece was brilliant, passionate, and clearly a chip off the old, slightly eccentric block. He just prayed that block wouldn't end up with a permanent dent courtesy of a Pachycephalosaurus.