Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daxter figures out he can channel Eco when he’s just a brat livin’ off scraps outside the shitty little coastal village of Sandover.

He accidentally picks up a glob of the blue stuff and finds himself zipping across the beach in two short steps. Scares the crap out of him and he yelps like a wounded crocadog, but he decides he likes it well enough after a couple more times of trying it out. The cracklin’ of it under his skin don’t last long, and every time he gets more and more used to it, and after a while he starts to like the kick it has. Makes him feel awake and energized, and he aint felt that very much recently by the time he makes this discovery.

He takes advantage of his secret little boost whenever he can, which aint hard when he spends most of his time in two places where the blue stuff hangs out in abundance ― the beach and the forest. They’re the easiest places to find food, so that’s where he spends most of his time.

He tries to skirt around the village where he can, cuz the folks there don’t seem to like him much.

He’s about eight when he finally meets another kid his age ― some tiny thing that the old guy and little girl call “Jak”. He doesn’t like the girl much, or the old guy, but Jak seems to like him, and Daxter likes him just fine in return.

He doesn’t talk half as much as Daxter ― but then Daxter don’t really know anybody who talks as much as he does ―, and in fact doesn’t really seem to know how. He seems to have lots he wants to say, but he generally makes his intentions and meanings known through his wide, expressive gestures and big blue eyes. Daxter thinks he’s gettin’ good at readin’ him by the time he gets all but dragged by the arm into Jak’s bedroom at the old guy’s house and given a stern pointing-at.

He thinks Jak’s tellin’ him to stay.

So he stays, cuz he aint gonna complain about being inside for a while.

The house is way warmer than outside is, this time of year.

Jak sneaks him some of his dinner, that night, and lets him share his bed, which he’s informed of by Jak sitting on the edge and patting the other side of the bed until he comes and sits down too, and then Jak grabbing him when he tries to get up after Jak finally lays down.

“You, uh… Wanna share?” He guesses, out loud, lispin’ cuz he lost a tooth two days ago and hatin’ it.

Jak’s face lights up bright, though, and he nods firmly.

“A’right.” He agrees, cuz he aint gonna complain about sleepin’ in a bed for the first time in Precursors know how long, either.

The years pass, after that, and they grow up together. Eventually, the old guy, Samos, finds out he’s staying, of course, but he just sighs and doesn’t argue about it. Just says that if Daxter’s stayin’, he has to help Jak with his chores.

And what a sweet fuckin’ deal that is, he thinks, cuz he knows Samos don’t like him one bit, so bein’ allowed to stay s’long as he helps Jak out is a bargain. And he already went with Jak to do his chores anyway, so it aint like anything’s changed.

Now, he thinks he should note, Jak puts off this air of bein’ an obedient kid. He does.

Really seems like a do-gooder, a real goody-two-shoes type.

But Daxter knows better’n that.

So he aint surprised when Jak gets it in his head to steal the Fisherman’s motorboat to go to Misty Island. Ol’ Green Stuff specifically told ‘em not to go there, so of course they decided they had to go there. And Daxter ain’t fond of boats, and he can be a bit of a wimp in comparison to Jak at times, but he aint gonna chicken outa this.

Jak’d just go by himself, otherwise, and Daxter knows the guy can more’n handle himself, but he worries about him, so there aint a point not goin’ with.

They clamber into the boat while nobody’s lookin’, and Dax manages to handle his seasickness well enough not to barf off the side of the boat on the way… But only barely. It’s only Jak’s influence that’s gotten him this good at holdin’ his puke, he aint ashamed to admit.

Through some stream of events or another, they end up at this silo of weird purpley black goo ― he don’t like the looks of it, so he steers clear while he examines a piece of Precursor Junk he’d tripped over. Any time he or Jak touches it, it glows red, which he thinks is pretty weird, but pretty cool.

And then there’s a noise ― Lurker.

It’s a flash of action as he alerts Jak to the danger and the big guy charges at them. Daxter can hardly keep track of it.

The Precursor Junk gets biffed straight into the Lurker’s face when it’s only a couple’a feet away, and it explodes on impact. The recoil from throwin’ it has Jak stumblin’ back already, so the blast knocks him wholly off balance. Daxter, meanwhile, is too busy throwin’ himself to the ground to notice when Jak’s foot knocks the edge of the silo.

But he notices when Jak yelps, and looks up just in time to see him go pitchin’ backwards into the silo, arms pinwheelin’ like mad in a useless attempt at stayin’ upright.

Daxter’s on his feet as fast as he can be, scrambling forward, but he aint fast enough. The hand he throws out to try and catch Jak’s arm misses by inches, and he almost trips right in after him before he corrects his course and drops to his knees instead.

And he sits there in stunned, horrified silence as Jak splashes down in the dark ooze.

“Oh my God,” He yelps, after a second, “I just killed my best friend.”

He barely has it out of his mouth before the ooze roils, and he flattens himself against the ground as it surges upward. Something sails over his head and hits the ground behind him.

He lays there a second, hands covering his head, before getting the sense that nothing is going to hit him. He slowly gets back onto his knees and shuffles around to look at whatever landed behind him, only to come face to face with a small, fuzzy creature that’s wearing Jak’s goggles and has his big baby blue eyes.

“... Jak?” He asks.

The creature blinks in turn, long ears flicking.

He gives the creature another once-over, taking in orange fur and a peach-colored underbelly and paws and a tiny tuft of green and yellow fur beneath the goggles. When his eyes reach its face again, it’s looking down at itself.

The swallow is both audible and visible.

Wide eyes move up to his face, ears flicking back, front paws (hands?) drawing up in one of the very few tells Jak has for when he’s afraid.

“Fuck,” He says, simply and emphatically, then, “We― We gotta get you to Ol’ Green Stuff. Now. He― He’ll know how to change ya back. He’s gotta.”

The now small and fuzzy Jak, who is so, so obviously scared, nods and clambers into his arms when he opens them to allow for it.

He rushes back to the boat with Jak tucked tight to his chest, shielding his small and vulnerable form with his arms and the whole of his own body. Jak was always the more athletic of the two of them, but it aint like Daxter can’t keep up with him, and Jak’s always been more physically protective, but that don’t mean that Daxter aint just as protective when the need arises.

In the boat, he stares at the controls and curses.

“I shoulda let you teach me how to drive this freakin’ death trap,” He moans, trying to parse out what button and lever does what.

Jak pries himself out of his arms carefully and clumsily, clambering onto the control panel and taking a look around. He keeps his paws drawn up to his chest as he examines the controls, but after a brief moment he points to one of the switches. Daxter hesitates, but flicks it. Jak points, then, to a button. He presses it. The engine roars to life. Jak takes a few careful steps across the controls to the steering wheel and grips it tightly in his little furry paw. He points at a lever next to it, and when Daxter grabs it he makes a motion that Daxter knows means ‘slowly’.

He pulls it slowly, and the boat revs to life while Jak steers them away from the dock. He’s got the wheel in a death grip, but Daxter keeps one hand at his back to steady him the whole way back to Sandover.

More’n being scared, he finds, on the way, Jak seems agitated.

His ears keep flickin’ and his tail keeps a’ twitch-twitch-twitchin’ away.

Daxter gets used to reading him in that form real quick, especially once they find out there’s only one person in the world who can reverse the transformation and they gotta work their butts off just to get to the guy ― he figures Jak’ll be stuck like that a while and he’d better hop to figurin’ his cues out pronto.

Thankfully, Jak’s actually easier to read in his fuzzy new form. The ears and tail do a lot for his body language, and his fuzzy little face is still just as open and expressive as his human face had been.

Daxer gets used to bein’ the one puttin’ in all the legwork and doin’ all the heavy liftin’ and fightin’. Meanwhile, Jak gets used to his new body, and once he’s a little more comfortable in his fur he turns into a frightenin’ little speed demon. All that acrobatic talent condensed into a way smaller, way lighter form makes for a fast and sneaky Jak. He’s quieter now, too, which makes it even easier for him to sneak up on folks.

Daxter might like that part the best.

The adventure comes to an end, eventually, with the defeat of the one guy who could have helped and his sister.

Daxter’s still shakin’ the feeling of the white junk out of his limbs with a frown when they come across the gate that looks like it’s meant to house about a hundred Power Cells before they can leave to go back to Sandover. He grumbles to himself, helpin’ Jak empty their spare cells outa their bag.

They end up gettin’ it open, and he don’t recognize the machine they find in it whatsoever, but Keira seems t’think she can get it workin’, so he helps her haul it back and, at Jak’s silent request, doesn’t rib her about her machine obsession just this one time.

Once she’s busily workin’ away at it, he slips away with Jak, headin’ down to the beach. Even by then he feels the tingle of the Light Eco he’d had to use to vanquish the Precursor Robot, but he’s tryin’ to ignore it.

“You okay?” He asks, once they’re alone and Jak has hopped down to sit in the sand near the water’s edge.

Jak looks up at him, and the look on his face is hard to parse out at first. He doesn’t seem upset, not really, but somethin’ is sure eatin’ at him. Daxter wonders if it’s the same thing that’s botherin’ him, but he knows there aint any point in playing the guessin’ game when Jak’ll eventually figure out a way to tell him exactly how he feels.

Finally, Jak frowns and looks away, sort of half-heartedly kicking at the sand. His tail twitches, ears flicking backward, and he has the gall to nod, to say yes, when Daxter can clearly see that’s a fuckin’ lie. But before Daxter can even open his mouth to contest the answer, Jak heaves a sigh.

He pokes at the sand, and Daxter closes his mouth to wait on whatever it is Jak is going to try and tell him.

‘Not mad’ is what Jak finally etches into the sand with his fingers.

“Didn’t ask if y’were mad,” Daxter reminds him, huffing and taking a seat next to him, “Asked if y’were okay.”

Jak laughs, a little, mouth curving up into a smile, shoulders shaking, even though no sound leaves him. He doesn’t look up at him, but he flattens the words back out of the sand and chews at the inside of his muzzle for a moment like he’s thinking of how to answer.

‘Disappointed.’ is what he writes this time. Then, under that, ‘Okay, but disappointed.’

Daxter nods, because that tracks. “I’m sorry we couldn’t change ya back, buddy. I’d’a done it in a heartbeat, but you woulda been mad at me if I used the white stuff on ya instead of beatin’ the hell outa that hunk a’junk.”

Jak’s laugh at that is more genuine, shaking his shoulders and making his eyes squeeze closed. It even manages to incite a raspy little sound that’s hardly a ghost of the laugh he knows Jak’s capable of, but that little rasp is more than enough for Daxter.

‘Bad Dax’ he writes, when he’s done laughing, reaching across the space between them to swat him.

Daxter takes the swat with a smile ― he tries not to let himself think about the fact that only a few weeks ago the smack might have stung, because the thought makes his eyes sting.

Jak is, for better or worse, stuck as he is now, and Daxter can’t let himself dwell on the fact that it’s probably all his fault and there is nothing he can do to fix his mistake.

Chapter Text

By the time Kiera finishes fixing the thing they found in the Citadel, Jak has metaphorically beaten any outward display of guilt over the current situation out of Daxter. He seems to genuinely be unbothered by the issue, by now, and Daxter aint gonna look that gift horse in the mouth.

… Not t’mention, Jak’s been usin’ his tiny-ass body and the newfound speed and silence it gives him t’help Daxter with pranks, so he thinks both of them have decided they kinda like him bein’ an ottsel.

They all pile into the weirdass hunk of junk together, and Daxter don’t hesitate before pressin’ the big red button.

Afterwards, he wishes he had thought first, acted second, but he knows there aint anything he can do about it now.

He clings to both Jak and the seat when they rocket into the bigass portal. Jak tucks his little body up against Daxter’s chest, and Daxter holds on the best he can.

Until, of course, the whole thing goes shudderin’ apart and they get flung, separating both of ‘em from Samos and Kiera. Normally, Daxter wouldn’t care, but he’s not sure he wants to pop out wherever he’s gonna land without them around. Ol’ Green Stuff is a crotchety old man with an attitude problem, yeah, but he does occasionally seem t’know what he’s doin’.

They fall out of a portal.

He doesn’t get the chance to look around before they’re surrounded by a bunch of dudes in freaky outfits.

“Uh,” He says, laughing nervously, looking around briefly for Jak as he tries to get to his feet, “Heya, guys, what’s…”

“Take him.” One of them barks, hefting and cocking a gun.

“Jak, run!”

Jak has hardly even picked himself up of the ground as the circle of guys closes on Daxter. The last thing he sees before his attention is torn away to trying to fight his way out of the circle without getting shot is Jak’s huge, terrified eyes.

It goes without sayin’ that he… Well, he sure don’t win the fight.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on. He doesn’t keep track of the time, can’t keep track of it, and nobody else is kind enough t’tell him. Not that, after what he reckoned to be the first hour, he expected anybody in that hellhole to be kind.

It both helps and don’t help that, after a while, he stops havin’ the attention span to keep track of everythin’ that’s happenin’ around him. He spends so much time checked the fuck out that he don’t think he’d recognize half the people he sees on a day-to-day basis. It’s annoying, but it’s the only way he gets through the feelin’ of his veins gettin’ set on fire for days and days at a time.

Dark Eco, as it happens, feels a whole lot like acid when it’s gettin’ injected straight into ya.

The longer it goes on, the less he’s able to process what’s happenin’ around him. He gets to a point where he’ll be in his cell, then sorta come to in the chair with no memory of gettin’ dragged there, then come to again in his cell. He don’t remember anything for shit, after a while. He tries not to focus on anything in his sparse moments of clarity, tries to just ignore how much his body hurts, tries to think of better times.

He gets to a point where he doesn’t have enough moments of clarity, or long enough ones, for him to need to worry about trying not to focus.

His overwhelming coherent thought becomes, I hope Jak is okay.

And he’s less and less coherent, and what clarity he has becomes an exercise in realizing who and where he is in the midst of being in unimaginable pain, then feeling all awareness of his situation get wrenched out of his hands again.

He knows things about what’s happening, he knows who he is, he knows who his friends were. He knows Baron Praxis is behind his torment, and that Erol is his number one guy. He knows they’re both there for pretty much every session he has in the chair. He knows his name is Daxter, and that he’s from the shitty little coastal village of Sandover. He knows his best friend his named Jak, and he knows Jak lived with Kiera and Samos.

He knows.

But the information gets harder and harder to grasp in the brief moments of consciousness he has.

He gets used to the burning sensation of Dark Eco, apparently, because at some point his gradually shortening moments of clarity turn into him laying there, not in any pain, but still feeling the spark and crackle of the Eco making its home inside his body.

He’s half-aware the day Praxis and Erol declare him a failure.

He hears them decide to get rid of him, and then he’s gone.

He comes to and feels a weight on his chest.

The Dark Eco is still crackling away in his limbs.

Something small and soft touches his face, first on one cheek, then the other. It’s warm, and he wants to lean into it.

Then, quietly, so quietly, a rasping, weak voice.

“Dax, buddy, you gotta wake up.”

It’s deeper than he remembers it, but he’d know Jak’s voice anywhere. Y’don’t just forget the rare sound’a your best friend talkin’.

He manages to get his eyelids to lift, a little. They drop again immediately, before he sees anything. But Jak sucks in a breath above him.

“Come on,” He encourages, “Come on, Dax, wake up. We have to get you out of here.”

Daxter tries again.

He sees Jak, when he gets his eyes open.

The guy’s ditched his goggles, or at least aint wearin’ ‘em right now, and he’s got what looks like a red bandana on. The little tuft of green and yellow fur has grown out, and his eyes are still the same deep blue they’ve always been. It’s such a relief to see him that Daxter almost sinks back into the chair and the welcoming embrace of sleep.

Almost.

He sees the worry in Jak’s eyes, the fearful and angry angle of his ears. He seems older.

Unbidden, he feels anger.

How long has Jak been alone in this strange new place? How long has he been fighting to find Daxter?

Forget what Praxis had done to him ― he’ll be mad about it later, preferably when he remembers more of it.

Jak hates being alone. Daxter knows that Jak hates being alone. And the very idea that he’s been alone this whole time, long enough for his fur to have grown that much, is enough to have Daxter’s blood boiling.

“I’m gonna kill him,” He says, feeling the sparking of Eco in his limbs turn into a nearly painful crackle, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

He sits up, and Jak scrambles off his chest, thumping onto the floor and backing up a little. Daxter hardly notices, feeling the anger wash over him in waves, feeling nothing but the overwhelming urge to find the Baron and his lapdog right now and tear them to shreds with his bare hands. He stands, hardly remembers doing it. Hardly realizes the rumbling snarl he hears is coming from him.

There’s a haze over his vision, almost.

He’s seein’ red, almost, but he’s not thinking hard enough about anything except shredding Praxis like an old shirt to really pay attention to it.

First, before that, he needs to grab Jak. They have to leave here before they can find Praxis.

He takes a step toward the ottsel.

And Jak…

Jak takes a step away from him, eyes wide, ears flat, and pulls his hands against his chest.

It’s like cold water gets splashed on him from head to toe, ice in his veins, because he has never, not once, seen Jak afraid of him.

He sucks in a breath, and the feeling of Eco thrumming in his veins stops.

Jak stares at him, but his hands slowly drop.

Daxter stares back.

Finally, ears still flat, Jak closes the distance between them.

“Come on,” He says again, “Let’s get you out of here.”

It’s rough, after that.

But they manage.

He gets a handle on his temper way better than he’d ever had to before, eventually, and Jak stops seemin’ so terrified when he does lose his temper.

Jak’s still every bit the slightly silly, happy, helpful guy he was in Sandover, and it’s a relief to know that even if he seems sadder and a little meaner at times, he hasn’t changed much. Two years alone in Haven have done little to dull his spark, and it helps Daxter try to reignite his own.

Jak’s patient with him while he figures it out.

There is one thing that’s changed, though ― Jak’s patience seems to extend to Daxter and Daxter only.

He has none to speak of for Samos, who he once listened to unquestioningly and gave limitless chances to, or for Kiera, who he used to trip over himself to do favors for. He doesn’t even have any for their various ‘bosses’ as they handle the current World-Level Threat ― nearly claws Torn’s face of over a comment about Daxter that wasn’t even necessarily wrong, and gives Krew the nastiest stank eye Daxter’s ever seen on his face just for existing.

If Daxter’s willing to do the jobs, though, he doesn’t complain, and he tags along no matter where Daxter’s going and what he’s doing. Same loyalty that Daxter likes to think he’d offer Jak if the situation were reversed.

He does, however, hear Jak mutter, “Osmo wouldn’t do me like this,” while they’re on a particularly annoying job for Krew, and it gives him something to think about, if nothing else.

He doesn’t have a clue who Osmo is, but, again, it’s something he can think about.

He’s figured out he needs things like that, things to puzzle over, otherwise he’ll start thinking about the two years Praxis had him.

Not a pleasant experience, and he tries to avoid it where he can.

But, for Daxter, Jak’s patience seems endless. Even when he’s rolling his eyes while Daxter half-heartedy flirts with Tess or Kiera. He never tells him to cut it out, or gets irritated with him. He’s always just fondly exasperated throughout their little adventure.

Threat handled, they go on to send a tiny Jak and the younger Samos back in time.

“Hey,” Jak says, to the kid, before they leave, “I need you to trust me on this: stay away from any wumpbee nests on your ninth birthday.”

Daxter remembers the event Jak’s warning him about, and he finds himself smiling.

Jak takes over Krew’s bar, and Daxter knows he really did it for him. He appreciates the thought, cuz he knows he’d have commandeered the place if he’d been given the option in Jak’s shoes. And when Jak and Tess raise their brows at him while the subject of names for the place is floatin’ around, he wiggles his brows at Jak and suggests ‘The Naughty Ottsel’.

He gets smacked for it, by both of them, but tellingly, that’s the name that gets put up on the signs.

He spends some of his time learnin’ from Tess how to bartend, and Jak does too.

It’s goin’ pretty well.

And then, well, he gets banished.

Ashelin gives him a beacon or something, and he wanders the Wastelands with a stubbornly loyal Jak sitting on his shoulders for a time before they’re found by other people.

Chapter Text

Spargus is a nightmare, and Daxter doesn’t like it one bit.

Or, well, okay, he likes it. It’s a lot more like Sandover than Haven, and he likes that. But he doesn’t like that it’s a culture built entirely on fighting, or that it has to be out here in the shitty, shitty desert. It bugs him.

He doesn’t know how Jak handles it, frankly, when it bugs him so bad to be in the heat and Jak’s walkin’ around with three inches of thick fur.

And, that aside, he figures Jak would have better luck making the people of Spargus like him than Daxter did. Jak is friendly to a fault ― Daxter is kind of a jerk, and he’s willing to admit that. He can’t blame folks for not having much nice to say to him. It’s different than Samos hatin’ him as a kid, since kids are bound to be annoying, and a kid like Daxter’ll double down when you start treatin’ them like shit.

Now he’s a full-grown adult and he’s still bein’ annoying and doublin’ down when someone is rude.

He gets it, even if he don’t like it.

He’s real grateful for Jak’s patience, and the fact that people in Spargus seem to at least respect them both enough that not liking Daxter don’t mean they won’t still treat him like a citizen.

He aint happy about going back to Haven, and he never thought he’d say that. He’s come t’like Haven, view it as a home, and he likes the people more than he likes the folks in Spargus on average, but… Well. Havin’ Kiera tell him to his face that he’s some sorta monster now, that she thought he was better than what he’d become, and bein’ a fugitive all over again, don’t make for a happy homecomin’.

Sure, Jak about jumps off his shoulder and rips Kiera a new one, but... He stops him. No point provin’ her right about both of them.

… He manages, best he can, back in the city. He does what he can.

He more or less fights his way through, and he suddenly finds himself glad that he spent so much time in Spargus before coming back.

He’d like to put it on record, even just in his own head, that the folks in charge of Haven are a bunch of selfish, egotistical, immature drains on the resources of the fair planet they’ve had the luck of being born on. And yes, even if she’s hot, he’s includin’ Ashelin in that list for now. Even if she helped him stay alive, she’s still part of the system that almost killed him, and the group that put King Damas out in the desert, and the group that made sure him n’ Jak got tossed out there with the deposed king and his people.

Even as he makes his way through, starts balancin’ himself out with Light Eco, he can’t help bein’ pissed off about it. Veger, especially, has his hatred.

In spades.

It’s hard to even think of the guy without almost going Dark, even when he’s got more Light in him than Dark.

He manages, but it’s rough.

And if that ain’t just the story of his fuckin’ life.

Damas nearly bites it while trying to help them much later on.

Daxter says nearly ‘cuz Jak is an excellent early warning system for bad things. He goes stiff on Daxter’s shoulder like he’s got a bad feeling, ears flicking.

Daxter’s not sure how getting distracted by Jak’s sudden freakout saves them, but it does. He swerves, and they just barely avoid any severe damage to themselves or the buggy. He flips it, yeah, and he has to drag Damas out because he’d knocked his head pretty good and he’s woozy, but they all make it out alive.

It’s when Damas, likely thinking he’s dying, says something about a son, and the Seal of Mar amulet he’d be wearing if they ever found him, that Jak and Daxter share a look. It hits Daxter who Damas is, who the son he’s looking for is.

“... Father?” Jak asks, weakly, and he looks so broken that Daxter has to bite down on an angry surge of Dark Eco.

The protectiveness he feels of Jak is still a surefire way to make him go Dark, even now that he’s balanced out the Dark Eco with Light Eco. It’s a problem.

Damas… Seems confused.

“We found your son in Haven.” Daxter explains, pausing to look around for threats, knowing they aint safe sittin’ out here like this and he needs to get the Slam Dozer back on its wheels, “He got sent back a few hundred years on a Rift Rider, grew up to become this fine fella.”

Jak shoots him a look, not angry, but slightly exasperated. Damas, meanwhile, simply blinks.

Jak heaves a sigh. “Your crown in Haven,” He says, voice cracking, “Looked a lot like that one.”

Daxter blinks, this time, because he wasn’t aware Jak remembered anything about that, about his time in Haven as a child. He certainly never talked about it before, and they haven’t had much chance lately to discuss it either.

“Your hair looked like mine.” He adds, “When I wasn’t two feet tall and fuzzy.”

He tugs at the patch of fur on top of his head pointedly, and Damas’ eyes go watery in an instant.

“Touchin’ as this reunion is,” Daxter says, ducking behind the Slam Dozer with them from where he’d stood at the end, trying to keep a lookout, “We needta move. Plenty a’time for all of us t’cry into each other’s arms after we finish this.”

Jak nods his agreement, pouncing at him and climbing the remaining distance up onto his shoulder. Damas also nods, blinking the tears from his eyes and picking himself up. He seems dizzy.

Daxter helps him, because even if he weren’t Jak’s dad he couldn’t just leave the guy without any help.

Everything more or less works out in the end. As it usually does.

Him n’ Jak manage to stop the Dark Makers, and Errol, and they meet the supposed Precursors, and instead’a askin’ t’be turned back Jak just asks for a new pair a’goggles, and they’re welcomed back into Haven with open arms and a fond greeting. To Daxter, it’s edged with bitterness ― somehow doing everything he was asked to do has, for once, managed to make people like him. Everyone is happy to see him when he and Jak walk around town, and even Kiera seems more fond of him now.

He can’t help wondering what ever happened to him being a monster.

Did saving the world make him less of one?

If so, then how was he still a monster after he’d already saved it the first two times?

How was this time any different?

In every case, it had been a world-endingly bad threat that he and Jak had stopped, this time wasn’t any differen’t, so why does it change anythin’? Why does it make everything okay?

And is he just supposed to forgive ‘n forget? Seriously?

Is he supposed to look at everythin’ that happened, everythin’ the people of Haven did t’him, everything Kiera and Samos ever said or did t’him, and decide he’s okay with it just because they decided he’s a better person than they thought he was?

Well, that’s one thing he aint gonna be doin’. Don’t matter who asks, he aint lettin’ any of it go.

If it was Jak in his place, he’s sure the big guy would find it in himself t’be forgivin’.

But it aint Jak in this situation, it’s him, and he aint ever been the forgivin’ type. He’s selfish, he knows that, and he’s not gonna stand for the way they treated him. If they wanted a monster, if they saw a monster, up until he saved their sorry asses again, then he’s gonna keep being the same monster he’s always been.

They can shower him in as much love and appreciation as they want, but it’s not changin’ shit.

They’ll get the message eventually, he thinks.

“You okay?” Comes Jak’s rasping, weak voice from where he’s curled on his chest while they try to sleep after everythin’ settles the night they finish savin’ the world from Errol and the Dark Makers.

“I aint mad,” He replies, almost instinctively.

Jak snorts. Prods him gently with one of his over-sharp little ottsel claws right on his collarbone.

“Didn’t ask if you were mad,” He says, a smile in his voice. “I asked if you were okay.”

Unbidden, Daxter remembers, though foggily, the conversation they had the night after makin’ it back to Sandover, all them years ago. Hadn't it gone almost exactly like this? He laughs, a little bitter and a little sad.

“No,” He answers, honestly, “No, Jak, I aint okay.”

He feels Jak nod against his chest, like that was the answer he’d been expecting.

Then Jak gets up, and he wonders where the little rodent is runnin’ off to, but Jak only inches his way further up his chest, until his head’s layin’ under Daxter’s chin. It’s more comforting than he has words for, frankly ― reminds him of when they were younger. There was a while when Daxter was taller, so when they’d go to bed Jak would cuddle up and put his head under his chin.

He takes a deep breath, and he feels tears in his eyes. He don’t think he’s had a proper cry about any of this since the beginnin’ of his time with Praxis, when he still had the energy for cryin’ between the trips to the chair.

“Get some rest,” Jak advises, nosing at his chin, “I’ll be the strong one for a little while.”

He lets himself laugh, at that, a weak and shaky noise he’d usually be ashamed of. But Jak has a point. He needs to rest, and there was a time, way back when, where Jak woulda been the strong one anyway.

He doesn’t think about how him not talkin’ Jak outa goin’ to Misty Island changed that. He doesn’t think about his time with Praxis. He doesn’t think about anything that came after.

He thinks about the here and now.

He thinks about having his best friend right here with him.

He falls asleep, after a while, he guesses, and he knows he doesn’t manage it with dry cheeks or eyes.

Chapter Text

Things get easier, after a while.

Daxter adjusts to his new normal, and Jak stays by his side, and things work out okay for the most part.

They live half-time in Haven, half-time in Spargus for months, and Jak gets to know his dad for the first time ever. And that’s the only time that they’re ever truly separated from each other ― Daxter don’t wanna intrude on the family bonding time, and Jak seems to appreciate him taking jobs by himself or heading into Haven for a couple of days on his own to give him that privacy.

He gets good at handling the world on his own.

Up until the first time that Jak stayed behind in Spargus to talk with Damas, he’d never been alone in either city. He hadn’t even really spent any time alone in this time period at all, if one didn’t count the two years he was being tortured, and he didn’t because he’d never really truly been alone during any of that. He was always being watched, or there was someone else in his cell.

Anyway.

It’s a new routine, and he gets good at it.

Jak’s seemin’ brighter and happier every time they reunite, now, and Daxter never thought he’d say it, but the alone time has helped him sort himself out a lot. It’s all working out.

That hasn’t happened in a long time. He’s a little nervous, to be honest.

Today, he’s in Spargus.

It’s been about three days since he dropped Jak off here, and he’s visiting more out of a desire to pick up a job or something from the monks or the people around town than a desire to pick Jak up, but he runs into Damas and Jak as he’s heading toward the temple anyway. They both greet him, Damas with a warrior’s salute and a verbal acknowledgement, both of which he return, and Jak with a bright smile and a wave that he also returns.

“It’s good to see you,” Damas says, “Jak and I were just about to come looking for you in Haven.”

“Good to see you, too, old man.” He teases, and gets a smile for his efforts, “What’s up? You guys miss your hero?”

Jak politely hides his snickering behind his hand, but Daxter sees it. Damas, meanwhile, presses his lips together for a moment, glancing away.

“There is a mission,” Damas says, not managing the hide the laughter that sneaks into his voice, “That the monks have asked Jak to do. He was hoping you might accompany him.”

And Daxter knows that sometimes Jak does missions on his own now, and he’s heard about the job Jak had for the two years he was with Praxis, but somehow it’s still weird to hear about him taking things on on his own. Nevertheless, he glances at his friend, who just smiles and nods, and he finds himself smiling as well.

“Well, he should know by now that all he’s gotta do is ask!” He laughs his agreement, and Jak perks up further, hopping off Damas’ shoulder and straight onto his chest, where he slips and has to scurry his way back up from his stomach to his shoulder, “Way t’stick the landing, Orange Lightning.”

Jak sticks out his tongue at him and hits him in the back of the head with his tail.

He laughs it off, and Jak’s fuzzy form trembles with his own laughter.

And, for the first time in a very long time, as they head out the gates and into the Wastelands, it almost feels like things are back to normal. Like things are going to be okay.

He and Jak head out to a forest on the far edge of the desert ― a long, grueling four day trek wherein they both curse up a storm at every marauder-related interruption. Daxter would have thought that, by now, they’d have learned to leave the buggy alone, but no.

It’d be less annoying if Daxter wasn’t trying to enjoy belting out off-key tunes while they flew across the sand at breakneck speeds and Jak politely didn’t give him any shit for his awful singing.

But after four days, they arrive, and that’s when Daxter finally says, “A’right, so what does Monk Boy have ya lookin’ for in here?”

“Light Eco vent,” Jak says, a little shortly, but Daxter knows he aint gettin’ short with him outa anger, “Hopin’ to find the silo connected to it, if there is one.”

“Ah,” Daxter says, cuz that makes sense, and they head in.

Those two sentences are the only two that Jak speaks for the next twelve hours, and Daxter expects that of him, even now. He talks a lot more often than he used to, but he’s never needed words to tell Daxter what he’s thinking, so it’s hardly an issue when he decides to resume his familiar silence. As usual, Daxter fills it for them.

He’s spoutin’ off nonsense when they emerge into what seems t’be a clearing, complete with a vent billowin’ up the blue beam of Light Eco he’d been expectin’. Jak don’t seem surprised they found it, just nods there on his shoulder in the way Daxter knows means he’s reorienting himself around the new landmark.

Daxter orients himself around it too ― it’s not hard, seein’ as he’s figured out he can feel the pull’a eco in vents like these now, and he’s just gotta worry about keepin’ an eye on which way the pull’s comin’ from.

Aint hard.

Light Eco tugs a helluva lot harder than Dark Eco does, shockin’ly enough.

They spend the rest of the afternoon scouring the forest for the potential silo. Daxter focuses on keepin’ track of where the vent is, but he aint managin’ to feel out the way the Light Eco is gettin’ to it, and he figures that’s probably for the best. If he went around feelin’ out every pipe with eco in it he’d go nuts in Haven!

Near nightfall, though, he feels a real big tuggin’ comin’ from somewhere straight ahead’a him and Jak, and he decides that’s gotta be the silo. So he heads straight for the feelin’, half-jogging cuz he’s tired and ready to bed down for the night and wants t’get this part over with, and then he finds himself pinwheelin’ his arms at the edge of a wide-open silo full’a the white stuff.

“Careful,” Jak chides, softly, clinging to him by his hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” He grumbles back, “Don’t wanna fall in there. I might turn into that crotchety old bastard.”

Jak snorts.

He manages to get off the lip of it, and carefully pace ‘round to the other side. It’s in the middle of a clearin’, not where he’d expected it to be given where the Dark Eco silos had been back in the day, but he guesses he aint surprised that it’s just out here in the middle of nowhere. He wonders how it got here, though, and how long it’s been here.

The jungle they’re in reminds him an awful lot of the Forbidden Jungle outside Sandover, but he knows they’re too far away for that. Still, it makes him think about the Blue Eco vents that were there.

Hm.

He wonders if the Sages decided to make as much a’the white stuff as they could and hide it, just in case.

It’d make some sense.

Some. But not a lot.

“Wanna camp here?” He asks Jak, who merely nods.

They set themselves up for the night, and Daxter sits down a ways away from the edge of the silo.

“So.” He probes after a while, “Did they just wantcha t’find the thing, or…?”

Jak huffs, still seeming annoyed like this morning, but he yawns and says, “Seem wants to test the transformative abilities of Light Eco after seeing you use it a couple months back.”

“So they sentcha out here to, what, grab a jar of it or somethin’?”

Instead of answering that verbally, Jak reaches into the small bag he’d been carrying on his back this whole time and withdraws a jar, giving it, then Daxter, a withering look. Daxter suppresses a laugh, which Jak clearly notices if the sudden tail smack he receives is any indication.

“Should I, ah, just lower ya in there by yer feet?” He asks, still valiantly attemptin’ t’suppress that laugh, even though it’s creepin’ into his voice anyway, “Or d’ya got a better plan brewin’ in that fuzzy little head a’yours?”

“Thought I might just take a swim,” Jak replies, voice flat and annoyed, but there’s an eyebrow quirk that lets Daxter know he’s not all mad.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Daxter shrugs, in reply to that, “I mean, worst case scenario it… What? Doesn’t do anythin’ to ya at all?”

Jak rolls his eyes, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders in a classic, silent, That’s your worst-case scenario, Dax?

He grins in reply, and Jak’s mood seems to lighten a bit. That’d normally be enough for Daxter ― just liftin’ his spirits a little is plenty in most circumstances. But Jak’s been in a shit mood today, and it’s unusual for him to be so stoic and cold. He’s quiet about ninety-nine percent a’the time, yeah, but not like this.

His mood is obviously sour and not gettin’ much better.

Daxter decides, as he usually does when Jak’s mood is worse than normal, that he’ll just double down.

“Hey, y’think if y’take a dip without me, it’ll change ya back?” He asks, wagging his brows, “Or give ya a weird new Light Jak form or somethin’?”

Jak’s face cracks into a smile, eyes closing as if he’s trying to hide the reaction. The very idea of Jak not bein’ two feet tall and fuzzy is a runnin’ gag between ‘em at this point anyways, seein’ as Jak’s pretty much comfortable as an ottsel in most situations and thinks it’d be hilarious for him t’spend all that time as an ottsel and get changed back later, but tacking on the idea of Jak gettin’ a form like the one he got is definitely what tore it.

“... Ottsel form Light Jak?” Jak asks, after a second of silently battling his own amusement, “Or like, classic form Light Jak.”

“Classic form,” Daxter snorts at the phrasing alone, “Couldn’t say ‘person form’?” And at Jak’s eye-roll and smile he says, “I dunno, teeny tiny ottsel you with the ability t’fly and stop time sounds scarier.”

Jak snorts back at him.

“Either way,” Daxter says, “Let’s deal with it in the mornin’, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jak agrees.

So they deal with it in the morning.

It was already dark when they started makin’ camp after their discussion anyways, so spending the night was a done deal, and when they both groggily roll out of their sleeping bag in the mornin’, Jak snags the jar and trudges toward the silo. Daxter lets him go, ploppin’ his ass down on an old, old tree stump at the edge of the clearing to scrub the sleep outa his eyes. He’s keepin’ an eye on Jak, too, a’course, cuz he’s gotten used to keepin’ just as keen an eye on Jak’s safety as he does on his own, but Jak don’t usually have too much trouble completin’ tasks like this on his own.

From the edge of the silo, Jak sighs, and just hops on in.

Daxter wasn’t actually expecting him to do it, was expectin’ him t’engineer some other crazy way like he usually does, so he’s off the stump in the span of a half-second and at the edge of the silo in another one. He don’t even have time to snag Light Form and freeze time before Jak’s tiny little ottsel body plonks down into the Eco and disappears.

He has a nauseating sense of deja vu as he stalls at the edge of the silo. For a second, he’s back on Misty Island. For a second, the eco beneath him is roiling and viscous. For a second, he’s terrified, cold to the bone with guilt and grief and horror.

His knees hit the lip of the silo as he sinks into a kneeling position, carefully.

He swallows.

The Dark Eco spat Jak out lickety split, back on Misty Island.

What will Light Eco do? Will it even do anything? Will Daxter have to go Light Form and drag Jak out by his feet and tell him t’never scare him like that again? Will it spit him out in some new, weird form?

He kneels there, and he waits.

A second passes. Two. Then three.

The jar bobs up from the depths, upright and full, then exits the Eco with a very person-shaped hand holding it aloft. A very person-shaped head with a mop of soaked blonde and green hair surfaces after four seconds of Jak bein’ in there, face obscured by the wet hair. Another hand comes out of the Eco for just a second, just long enough to shove the long, long hair out of his face.

Jak, human again, stares up at him while apparently treadin’ water like a champ.

“Little help, Dax?”

Chapter Text

For a second, all Daxter can do is stare ― that’s six seconds since Jak went under the surface of the Eco, for anybody who’s still countin’, cuz Daxter sure is ―, but he does manage to shake it off.

Barely.

Jak holds the jar up higher, and numbly Daxter braces himself with one hand on the edge of the silo and leans down, down, down, reaching further and further, until he has it by the outer rim. It’ll have t’be good enough. He hauls it up outa Jak’s grasp and tucks it carefully away a couple of feet from the edge of the silo.

Then, lookin’ down at him again, he reaches hesitantly. He’s almost scared it’ll reverse, Jak’ll change back again, as soon as their hands touch… But Jak stays human, and Jak’s human hand grasps his, and Jak hauls himself up just as much as Daxter hauls him up. He’s heavier, a lot heavier. He’s still scrawny in this form, like he was as an ottsel, but he kept some a’the muscle he had before, apparently.

Once he’s standin’ in front of Daxter, Daxter realizes he’s a good few inches taller than Jak, now, when it’d been the opposite the last time they saw each other like this.

And then he realizes he’s naked.

“Thank God I packed extra pants,” He says, still a little numb, as he tears his eyes away from something he shouldn’t be looking at and rubs the back of his neck. He laughs, though, “Imagine walkin’ back into Spargus buck ass naked, carryin’ a jar of Light Eco, huh? Seem’d have a fit, I think.”

He laughs again, but the amusement fades swiftly.

Somehow, this feels… Wrong. Weird.

He’s used to Jak as an ottsel, now, and seein’ him as a person again makes things… Weird.

The man he’s become, or rather the monster, since the incident on Misty Island isn’t meant to stand toe to toe with Jak in this form. He was never meant to, and now that he is it’s terrifying.

Somehow, some part of him thinks that if Jak can leave, can have his own agency for real, can be treated as a person instead of a weird pet by everyone else again, Jak will leave him now. He stuck by him through everything else, but there’s nothin’ sayin’ he has to now.

He’s human again, and Daxter…

Daxter is just selfish enough, just awful enough, that it terrifies him to no end that Jak now has the ability to separate himself from him permanently if he wants to.

Standing there, staring him in his big, deep blue doe eyes as the Light Eco glimmers in his hair and seeps into his skin in little glowing patches, none of their relationship matters anymore. None of the joking they’d done last night, none of the things they’ve done since Misty Island, none of Daxter’s work in feeling like a person instead of a weapon ― none of it.

All that matters is that Jak is a person again, and Jak’s a good person, and Daxter isn’t, and Jak might finally leave him behind and start a new life now and Daxter just can’t bear the thought.

The mounting panic must show on his face, because Jak’s brow pinches.

It’s obvious he already figured out he’s a person again. He seemed t’know that the moment he popped back above the surface with his jar.

Daxter admires that, for a second, a very brief second when he’s able t’ think, because he’s pretty sure he’d take a hot minute t’figure it out, if it was him.

Jak steps closer to him, and Daxter realizes he’s taken a couple of steps back.

He feels frozen to the spot. Trapped by Jak’s eyes.

He’s scared of lettin’ Jak go, and right now that’s the only thing he can think about. Jak can leave, so he’s going to, and Daxter needs to let him, but he’s not a good enough person t’do that.

He loves him too much.

He’s too scared of being alone.

He’s too scared of Jak not bein’ the one keepin’ him company.

They’ve been together, just the two of ‘em, since they was just brats in Sandover, and the very thought of that changing now is too much.

Jak’s hand reaches out, and Daxter…

Daxter feels himself flinch.

Watches Jak blink and flinch back as well.

Jak looks conflicted, but suddenly he’s so much harder t’read than he was just a minute ago. There’s no tell-tale ear-flick, no tail twitch, no nose crinkle or bristling fur to tell him what kinda conflict it is.

He used t’be able to parse out exactly what Jak meant just from a look in this form.

Now he can’t even tell if Jak’s upset with him.

He should be.

Jak, he means.

Jak should be upset with him.

He’s done so many things that Jak should be upset about.

This was all his fault t’begin with, wasn’t it? If he hadn’t gotten them distracted playin’ with that precursor junk, if he had paid attention when Jak threw it at the Lurker, if he’d dived for Jak instead of saving himself…

And that’s not touchin’ on all the shit he’s put Jak through since then. Not touchin’ on the two years he spent miserable in Haven, tryin’ t’keep a promise he hadn’t even spoken t’Daxter because he couldn’t have, not touchin’ on how he’d terrified him for the first several weeks they was back together, not touchin’ on how Daxter’s predicament meant that Jak’s only support system abandoned him right after he got them back all ‘cuz things got rough and Daxter was, as usual, at the center of all the trouble.

Jak reaches for him again, but his hand freezes an inch in front of Daxter’s face.

“Talk to me,” Jak says, gentle, brow still pinched, face still conflicted, “What’re you thinking?”

Does Jak think he’s angry with him?

Does Jak think he’s angry he’s a person again now?

Is he angry? Daxter thinks he might be angry. Not that Jak’s human, exactly, but that things have changed so fast and now things have to be different and he’s not ready for that yet.

“I,” Daxter says, so very eloquent, “I― I can’t.”

Jak says nothing, just tilts his head, and Daxter can’t read him.

“I can’t,” He says, again, voice cracking, “Not right now. I― Too much.”

Jak’s hand withdraws instantly.

This cue, at least, Daxter still knows.

Jak is giving him his space, because he thinks Daxter means that being touched is too much. That Jak being so close is too much.

It is, and it isn’t.

“Pants.” Daxter says, because he needs to change the subject. “Let’s just. You need pants.”

Jak nods, slowly.

Daxter turns on his heel stiffly and grabs his bag, and produces an extra pair of pants and an extra shirt that he’d packed just in case. Jak puts them on when they’re offered to him, and he seems… Hurt, maybe, Daxter thinks, when Daxter snatches his hands back from under the pile of clothing the second Jak takes them from him.

Can’t be helped.

There’s too much happening in his head right now. He can’t put any of it into words. Just getting the pants thing across had been difficult.

And he doesn’t think he can talk to Jak about this anyway. He doesn’t think he can be that honest.

He draws his hands up to his chest unconsciously, doesn’t notice until he’s turned away from Jak again to grab the jar.

He curses himself for picking up on some of Jak’s nonverbal cues to the point they’ve become his cues as well.

He curses the fact that Jak knows him doing that means he’s scared just as much as he knows it means the same thing for Jak.

“Let’s go.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady, forcing his hands to stay at his sides when he’s finished gathering up their stuff, “It’s a long drive back to Spargus.”

When he looks at Jak again, his face definitely says, Dax, you’re hurting me.

He looks away and starts back toward the Eco vent. He can find the buggy and the edge of the forest from there.

He can’t let himself dwell. He can’t think about the fact that he could read that face. He can’t think about the fact that he’s hurting Jak. He can’t think about anything because if he starts he won’t be able to stop.

It’s easier said than done.

In the time it takes them to trudge back to the vent, his spinning mind has cycled back through the fear he feels about Jak being a person again about four times. It’s moved on, now, to a spiral a’guilt and self-loathing.

He can’t stop thinking about Jak’s face.

The clear message of pain.

The clear question of what he’d done wrong.

He can’t stop thinking about it and it’s been too long now for him to apologize for it.

He doesn’t think he could apologize for it anyway.

He doesn’t know if he’s really sorry or if he’s just scared that hurting Jak now means losing Jak when they get to Spargus.

And that just spins him further, cuz then he starts feelin’ guilty for assumin’ the worst of Jak when he knows, knows deep down, knows in his very fuckin’ bones that Jak aint just gonna abandon him.

And that just kick-starts the self-loathin’ cuz wow, does he really think so fuckin’ highly a’himself? Does he think Jak doesn’t have anythin’ better t’do than keep him company for the rest of his life?

They get all the way back to the buggy in short order after that, and Daxter’s still spinnin’, back to square one and headin’ back toward guilt and self-loathing.

“Daxter,” Jak says, when Daxter starts to climb into the buggy.

Daxter stops. Glances over.

He doesn’t look hurt, now, and Daxter can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not. He hates himself for not being able to read whatever Jak’s tryin’ to tell him, cuz all he can make out is that Jak is trying to ask him something ― the tilt of his head, the furrow of his brows and slight pursing of his lips all tell him that. He remembers that.

“Jak,” He says, voice cracking again, “I― I can’t fuckin’― I dunno what you’re tryin’ to ask me.”

Jak’s whole demeanor changes on the spot. From whatever question he was asking before to somethin’ that looks like surprise and horror at the same time.

“Just.” He says, “Just get in the buggy. I’m too― I can’t. Too much.”

Jak stands there a moment longer, and Daxter tears his eyes away before he can even try to read him this time. He just gets in the buggy and stares at the steering wheel until, finally, Jak joins him.

The ride back to Spargus is going to be quiet, and he hates that he doesn’t have it in him to fill the silence on his own.

They make camp at nightfall.

There’s still another day of driving if they aren’t attacked, another three if they’re as unlucky on the way back as they were on the way out. And Daxter doesn’t know what to say. He still can’t even think straight.

He keeps tryin’ to adjust for the weight of Jak on his shoulder but then he remembers he doesn’t need to. He starts, once, to shift so Jak can jump straight up to his perch, but then he remembers that he doesn’t need to.

Daxter cooks a quick dinner and everything feels wrong.

“Daxter,” Jak says, again, when they’re both sitting there picking at their food with little interest.

He doesn’t have to say ‘look at me’, because Jak saying his name has always been a signal to pay attention.

He glances up.

Jak meets his gaze head on, stares him down.

Daxter still can’t figure out what he wants.

What he’s feeling.

What he’s trying to say.

He wonders if he ever actually did, suddenly ― if he’d ever actually read Jak correctly, even once in his life.

“Talk to me.” Jak says, after a long, silent moment.

He doesn’t have to add the ‘please’, because it’s something Daxter apparently still knows how to read in his body language. It may just be because Jak still has the better kicked crocadog puppy eyes between the two of ‘em.

And he can’t tell if he’s hurtin’ because of that kicked puppy face, or if he’s hurtin’ because it’s one of the only faces he knows how to read on Jak now.

He can’t even tell if he’s hurting at all.

He don’t know if he’s feelin’ at all t’begin with.

A second ago the noise in his brain, the feelings he was havin’, were too much for him t’handle. Now they’re just… Gone.

He can’t get a grip on anythin’ now, it’s like he stopped thinkin’ and feelin’ the second he saw that pleadin’ face.

“I don’t… I don’t know what t’say, Jak,” He says, weakly, trying to ignore the way his voice cracks, “How― How’s about you talk, this time. Just… Just for a little while.”

The furrowed brow indicates, he thinks, that Jak is concerned or frustrated by the suggestion.

Daxter can’t tell which it is.

“Okay,” Jak says, and he doesn’t sound frustrated, so Daxter hopes he was only concerned, “Just for a little while.”

“Thanks,” Daxter says, and he means it.

Jak takes a breath, looks down at his hands. Daxter’s eyes follow, and he watches as Jak flexes his fingers, curls his hands into fists, and starts again. Turns his hands over to stare into his own open palms. A glance back up shows that he’s working his jaw, brows furrowed again.

“Okay.” He utters again, “I don’t know how I’m feeling about this, Dax, and I was really hoping you’d have some sort of input. You weren’t even this quiet when I got changed into an ottsel. I just… Don’t understand why you’re so off-balance about me changing back, and I can’t get my mind off it long enough to try and figure out how I feel about being human again.”

Daxter nods along, cuz that makes sense, but he don’t know what he’s feelin’ any better than Jak does.

Or, well.

He does.

But he’s not sure Jak’ll want to hear it.

Jak continues, “The fact you can’t seem to read my body language anymore is freaking me out, and it obviously bugs you too, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m not usually the one who has to solve these problems anymore. And I, just… I haven’t seen you this freaked out since I broke you out of prison, Dax.”

That particular thought stops him cold.

… He is kind of acting like he was after Praxis, isn’t he?

Is this really freaking him out that bad?

“I…” He begins, watching Jak’s eyes flick back to him from his hands immediately, “Jak, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“For what?” Jak asked, visibly bewildered.

“I’m so fuckin’ selfish.” He laughs, and he can’t keep looking at Jak’s face so he turns his head and looks off into the desert instead, “I just… You’re human again, Jak, you can go do whatever the hell you want and nobody’ll tell you no. Nobody’ll mistake you for a pet. And I hate that.”

There’s a long, long silence.

And finally, the sound of Jak shifting.

Daxter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

He’s expecting some kind of fallout of nuclear proportions, but what he gets is the sound of footsteps and then Jak’s arms wrapping around him.

“Dax,” Jak says, softly, “I’m not gonna jump ship just because I’m not fuzzy anymore.”

He hesitates.

Part of him doesn’t want to believe it, and another part smacks that part pretty hard for doubting the word of someone who has no reason to lie to him.

Slowly, so slowly, he lifts his arms and hugs back.

“You should,” He says, before he can stop himself, “Y’really should, be better for ya if ya weren’t stuck with me.”

Jak has the audacity to snort at that.

“I’m serious.” He grumbles, “You… You deserve t’go and have your own life instead’a gettin’ stuck t’me forever.”

“Dax.” Jak says, fond and exasperated, and any further words die in his throat, “I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t want to be, you know that.”

And, yeah.

Yeah, Daxter supposes he does know that.

If Jak’d wanted to, he coulda stayed in Spargus full time and told Dax to hit the bricks. He’s had ample opportunity t’abandon him, and he aint done it yet.

“Besides,” Jak adds, after a moment, voice softer now, “Dax, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Why would I leave?”

And Daxter about chokes on his own spit.

What was the sayin’? ‘Too good t’be true’?

“Love you too,” He says, almost numbly, too shell-shocked by the admission to do much else.

Jak squeezes him, softly, and he squeezes back.

They set out in the morning, and the ride back to Spargus takes until nightfall.

They’re not attacked much on the way back, and Daxter is adjusting to Jak being human again, and he’s feelin’ a little less scrambled over the whole ordeal, so he spends most of the drive talkin’ Jak’s ears off. Jak seems to be in good spirits as he plays with his bandana and laughs along with some of his jokes. He even chimes in to tease Daxter from time to time.

It feels… Nice.

Closer to their old dynamic than he ever thought they’d get to be again.

Then again, aside from Jak bein’ human again, he’s been feelin’ more and more like his old self lately anyways. The combination seems to be a good one.

They forego goin’ t’see Damas when they get back, instead just sneakin’ into the room he’d given them and passin’ out in a tangle of limbs on the bed. It’s too late by then for either of ‘em t’wanna wake Damas up, anyhow.

In the mornin’ ― by which he means the ass-crack a’dawn ―, Jak wakes him with a couple’a soft kisses to his cheeks, and then he’s draggin’ him outa bed and toward Damas’ throne room.

“Father,” He greets.

He’s still dragging a half-sleepin’ Daxter behind him (not that Daxter’s complainin’, it’s been a while since he’s seen Jak this giddy), and Damas’ jaw drops probably more at the sight of a human Jak than at the sight of him dragging him, but both are funny options.

Daxter straightens himself out as Jak lets go of him to head for Damas, and Damas all but scrambles out of his throne.

“Mar,” Damas breathes, taking Jak’s face in his hands when they’re finally together, “I had little doubt left, but…”

He brushes a piece of Jak’s green and blonde hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear, and he smiles. Daxter sidles up next to them, just hopin’ to watch their expressions. Jak looks just as happy as Damas does.

And then Damas’ eyes turn to Daxter.

And Daxter knows he’s visibly ass over teakettle for Jak, knows he’s givin’ him a dopey fuckin’ smile. He’s too tired to try not to show on his face how much he cares. It’s been too long since he could be obvious about it.

“Thank you,” Damas says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “For ensuring my son’s safety all this time.”

It’s so genuine that Daxter almost recoils. Not cuz he doesn’t like it, more cuz he wasn’t expecting it.

Instead, he says, “Well, how am I s’posed t’marry him if I aint keepin’ him safe?”

He feels his face turn red at the same time he watches Jak’s eyes go comically wide, cheeks lighting up red.

He hadn’t meant to say that.

Oops?

Damas laughs.

“How, indeed.” He says, chuckling, “How, indeed.”

They drop the jar of white stuff off with Seem at the temple after lunch. Daxter was feelin’ a lil bitter for how long a journey it’d been, and Jak was too excited to wander around lookin’ at stuff now that he aint two feet tall, so it wasn’t a priority.

“So,” Jak says, casually, after they drop it off, “... Marrying me, huh?”

He splutters in reply, cheeks burning in a way that definitely aint from the desert sun beatin’ down on ‘em.

Jak laughs, bright and happy.

Daxter scoffs, then laughs a little as well. “I mean. One day, hopefully? Maybe?”

“One day,” Jak agrees, and he don’t sound like he’s jokin’.

They stop under the shade just inside the main gates of Spargus, and Jak looks so happy that Daxter finally feels a piece of himself slot back into place that he hadn’t noticed was crooked.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts.

Because of course he fumbles the romantic shit whenever it actually matters to him.

Oh well.

Jak don’t seem to mind the fumble, though, because he just smiles and grabs Daxter by the face and pulls him down to kiss him. Daxter goes willingly, and he lets himself think that, maybe, things are gonna be okay.

Maybe things will keep being okay.

When Jack lets him up for air, he can’t help just staring down at the blonde with what is probably the stupidest, dopiest smile he’s ever given the guy. Jak just chuckles, soft, and pecks his cheek, then grabs his hand and drags him along back toward their room.

Daxter lets himself think, for a second, about how easy this was.

How simple it turned out to be.

An admission, and then… Nothing changed, except that they kissed now.

He liked that.

He liked that a lot.

When they get back to their room, he kisses Jak silly, and Jak comes away from it grinning and breathless, and Daxter thinks he likes that look on him.