Runaway
Summary: One wonders why a boy of six would be trekking a jungle so late at night. It was a long story… Rated K+ for SCARINESS! OoO
Disclaimer: Is Daxter an adorable, bucktooth human again or is he an ottsel with some dumb pants still?
It was dark, past high-moon, as an eco-powered light cast a blue glow onto the surrounding ferns, trees and other such flora in the Forbidden Jungle. The grassy ground and plants muffled small footsteps and a jingling pack, but there was a loud crack! that could be heard quite well within a few yards.
"Stupid communicator! Why don't you DIE!"
Clank! Clink! Clunk! Click! Clang! Clash! Clonk!
"Fine, you overrated piece of scrap metal! Don't break!"
…Clatter!
"ARGH!"
stomp stomp stomp stomp, stomp, stomp…stomp…
The small boy's steps lightened as he continued on deeper into the foliage.
Of course, one wonders why a boy of six would be trekking a jungle so late at night. Well, it was a long story, but, to be short, it was a combination of bad luck, blame and stubbornness involving a rock, some empty cages and the Bird Lady.
There were other kids playing with rocks, too, but were they bundled up into this mess? Nooooooo. And, of course, his parents didn't take his side—too convenient, too correct for them—and grounded him for something he didn't do!
…Well, he did throw the rock…
But that didn't matter! He didn't aim at the cages! He was aiming at that idiot Ob, defending his honor! The rock just went through the window and hit a stand or two. The cages didn't even pop open right away!
It wasn't his fault.
When he was sent to his room, he sulked for a bit; it was unbelievably unfair that they yelled at him for it without even hearing his side of the story. Two sides to every rock, anyone? Does it matter that he'd lied before? He'd done stuff like this before? He was a kid! It was his job to be bad and lie! They could at least hear him out; they'd may have heard the truth and not just what that stupid old bird had said!
"Daxxie-Pasty-Dumb-Daxter!" Ob yelled waving to get the boy's attention. "Daxxie-Pasty!"
He tried to ignore him. He really did. Picking up a stick, he dragged it behind him, making lines in the dirt as he walked pasted the yakow to Sentinel Beach.
"Daxxie-Pasty!" Ob ran up behind him, stepping on and erasing the lines he had just made in the dirt. "Hey, why'dja have such big teeth?"
He. Was. Try. Ing. To. Ig. Nore. Him.
"You look like those things—whaddare they called?" Ob pretended to think, an evil sneer filling up his pudgy, eight year old face. "Oh yeaaaaaah, Swamp Rats!"
Oh, Precursors. He was shaking, and he could hear the cluk cluk cluk of his teeth grinding against each other. He couldn't keep this up.
Ob poked his head and asked, "Daxxie-Pasty, why'ja hair so weird?" He poked his head again. "You got yellow hair but red eyebrows! Didja get into momma's makeup and try to do yourself up all pretty?"
"Seeing red" didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. In his blind rage, he picked up a rock, twirled on his heels, and threw the stone has hard as he could at the stupididiotkillhimdumbass.
But Ob ducked; the rock went through the Bird Lady's window. There was a bunch of squawking and many birds flew out through the front door.
"Oh no! Birdies! Lovelies, no!"
Ob was running before the rock even reached the window, so when the Bird Lady looked out, all she saw was a shocked, knee-shaking, ears-down Daxter, quivering in his sandals, looking very guilty.
It wasn't his fault.
Ob shouldn't have ducked.
Daxter sat down his little lantern on a rock, took off his backpack and stretched out his arms. Surprisingly enough, he'd been walking for two hours straight. Brooding over people who have wronged you and imagining them being pelted with a menagerie of fruit really helps pass the time.
He pulled from his pack a bottle and brought the jug of water to his lips, feeling the lukewarm liquid ease his slightly scratchy throat. Leaning against a tree, he smiled.
"Y'know," he said aloud to himself, "I think I can do this! No, scratch that! I know I can do this! Jus' a couple more hours of walkin' and I'll be in another village in no time." He gulped down several mouthfuls of water. "New home, new village, new life—I'll be livin' in a place were people don't jus' take sides because someone is older or has proof that ya did somethin'. I'll be livin' in a place where the blame is actual placed on, uh, the person that should be blamed! Yeah!" He took one last swig before putting the bottle back into his bag. He double-checked his sack, making sure everything was there:
-Two bottles of water
-A sandwich
-Two bags of vegan jerky
-Three bags of fish jerky
-Three shirts
-Two pairs of pants
-Thirty-four pairs of underwear
-A shinny looking rock he found on the ground last week by that lava place
-A tin filled with shells he found on the beach
-That green thingy that he had no idea what it was
Satisfied everything was in its place, he settled the pack back on his back and continued on his way.
The jungle was very quiet except for the patter patter of Daxter's sandaled feet; in fact, the next hour was very uneventful, but Daxter didn't really care. Much too busy thinking of his new life and how happy he was going to be. He'd find himself a nice new home with a new couple to be his mom and dad—she'd make dinners that weren't like chewing yakow leather and he'd be tall enough to help Daxter get kites of out low tree branches without having to stand on tiptoes; there would be a bunch of kids in the village to play with that would be way nicer to him, way nicer than Ob, Caius, Lalo, and Keira ever were; and he'd grow a couple of inches. Yeah. He'd be the tallest kid in town.
He sighed. "Aweso—OW!"
Dropping his lamp, Daxter held his head, mewing a pitiful moan all the while. He felt between his fingers a bump already forming. Tears filled his eyes as he continued to touch the tender area on his head.
Then he realized it was dark.
Panic made him freeze completely, muscles tense and breathing stopped, eyes opened wider than a flut-flut bird's. He flung himself to the ground, feeling for the lamp with every ounce of determination that his six-year-old frame could hold. Chilling metal touched his fingertips finally; he held the lamp, tracing the object with his hands. A quick twist and pop together and the lamp began its blue glow again. He'd never felt so relieved in his whole life.
He looked forward, still on his knees. Branches upon branches weaved together with vines and ferns blocked any passage for him to move through. He'd have to turn back. He pouted. "Figures!"
Daxter picked himself up and brushed off the dirt and grass from his pants. "Things were goin' soooooo smoothly, and now—"
Then he heard IT.
IT was a rather loud crack! followed by a nasty sounding growl. Daxter had no idea what IT was but he was more than a hundred and twenty percent certain he didn't want to see IT.
Feet couldn't carry him as fast as he wanted, that's for sure, but Daxter bolted like lightening, bumping off of tree trucks and tripping over rocks and roots. But he could still hear IT behind him, the crunching, the huffing, the—
ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR!
Warm liquid ran down his leg as he shifted gears to Mach 2.
—!
"WAAAAH!" His leg had been tangled in a rather stubborn knot of ferns, making him fall face first on the ground with a mighty WUMP! Adrenaline was jetting through his body; he kicked, scratched and pulled at the mass of plant matter from his ankle with little effect. The sharp edges of the leaves cut at his skin, his fingers and leg pinking from blood as he struggled more and more. Tears of fright blurred his vision.
"Please, please, let me go."
Some merciful Precursor ghost must have been hovering near; with one last, desperate jerk, Daxter managed to pull the ferns from his ankle. To say he was out of there like a Bambino grand slam ball would be an understatement.
Daxter ran.
And ran.
And ran.
…Still running…
And ran.
He ran until he couldn't breathe, falling to a base of a tree and panting like a yakow in the peak of the summer months. Daxter held a hand to his chest; his little heart fluttered against his hand like a butterfly trapped between his fingers. When he was able to inhale without wheezing or gasping, he leaned his back against the tree and curled his knees to his chest. He balanced his eco-lantern on his kneecaps.
Ears perked for maximum hearing efficacy, Daxter listened intently to the dark for any IT related noises. The air was unnervingly calm almost as if there were no other animals in the area. To use an appropriate cliché: it was quiet. Too quiet.
KSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!
"AHHHH!" Daxter practically had a heart attack and had another reason to change his shorts.
KSSST! Daxter? KSST! Daxter, baby, where are you? KSSSSSSSSST!
That…that was his father! In an almost owl-like fashion, his head spun looking for the source of his daddy's voice.
KSSSST! Daxter! KSSSSSST!
"Gasp! The communicator!"
Daxter saw the glint of the cracked machine by another tree just and arm length away. He scooped it up, ecstatic, and screamed into it.
"DADDY!"
KSSST! DAXTER! You're…We're worried sick about you.
He could hear the melancholy relief within his father's voice, which made him feel a heart-crushing guilt. "I'm sorry, Daddy," he sniffed. "I'm sorry."
You've been missing for hours! Where are you?
"…The jungle…"
The FORBIDDEN Jungle?
"…Yes…"
KSSSST! Do you know where you are?
"I…I'm near the beach."
KSSST! Oh, thank the Precusors! KST! Head towards the beach!
"Err," Daxter scratched the back of his head. "I…don't know which was it is."
KSST! Just listen for our voices. We'll be there. KSST!
Daxter waited, but his father said nothing else. He placed the communicator into his pack and looked around. The foliage around him looked the same wherever he looked. "Well, I guess any way is better than none." He began to walk into the brush at a randomly picked direction, listening for the sound of his father.
Twigs snapping, leaves being torn and pushed and his exasperated breaths filled his ears as he trudged along the jungle.
But then he heard the gentle whisper of the surf. He pushed forward, excitement building in his stomach at the thought of his home, a warm bed and food. Maybe his parents, too.
"Daxter!"
He inhaled. His mother! He could almost smell her perfume, an exotic aroma that his dad brought back for her on one of his business trips. Dad said it was made from tree bark grown far, far away. He called it cinnamon...
"Daxter!"
He could imagine his father's smell too: inky and slightly dusty from working with scrolls and books all day. Anything that smelt remotely like that made Daxter sleepy. His father, still messy from writing, would always curl up with Daxter tucked in his arms and read him stories from old, old books about people from long ago.
"Daxter!"
His mother would join them, too, and they'd alternate reading chapters or pages. Their body warmth and steady murmurs would lull him to sleep almost every night.
Why did he ever run away again?
"Daxter!"
The brush thinned significantly, and he quickened his pace; he could feel the sea breeze and taste the salty air on his tongue.
"Daxter!"
His toes soon felt dirt give way to sand; as he pushed pass the last big bush, he saw his family and a few villagers in the moonlight, a look of ease on their faces.
"Mommy! Daddy!" Daxter ran immediately into his mother's arms; she embraced him as if he'd been gone a hundred years rather than short four hours. Her violet hair tickled his face and nose, bringing a grin to Daxter's face. She smiled, too, showing a prominent set of bucked teeth.
Father ran over joined the two in a large group hug. Red stubble grazed against Daxter's forehead as the three of them squeezed as tight as they could into one big MegaHug.
Mother spoke first. "Oh, Dax! We're so happy you're home!"
"I'm sorry!" Daxter began to sob, fast tears sliding down his cheek. "I'm so sorry! I was mad 'cause you didn't listen to me! I promise I'll never run away again! Never ever, ever, ever, ever again! PROMISE!"
"Oh, you won't," his father said sternly, a maniacal gleam in his sapphire eyes. His smile twitched. "As far as we're concerned, you're going to be chained in your room until your thirty!"
Daxter looked up at his parents' faces; twin looks of fury gazed back at him. "…I retract my previous statement…"
This is based on a running away experience of my own when I was young(er). Got by on foot and I was almost eight miles away, then I heard gunshots. Scare the crap out of YOU, wouldn't it?
Fun Facts: You know, there's a lot of words that start with "ob" and are negative: obnoxious, obtuse, obdurate, obduracy, obituary, oblivion, obscene, obstreperous—you get what I mean?
"Caius" is an actual Latin name meaning "happy". I thought it was cute.
"Lalo" is an actual name, Latin origin, meaning "to sing a lullaby." I thought it was cute, too. Hopefully they'll be more fics about these kiddies and why they weren't in Sandover Village when TPL came out.
There's been a hole poked in the whole "Samos' daughter" thing about Keira; she's a year younger than Jak, but her younger self wasn't in Jak II and she didn't go through the portal. While I would like to think of Keira as Samos' biological daughter, I think "stepdaughter" isn't too bad of a title at all. And, yeah, Daxter and Keira knew each other WAY before Jak arrived. They just have too much chemistry! XD
Also, you may have noticed I said Daxter's hair was yellow. Well, Young Jak's hair was completely GREEN right? And if you remember what human Daxter looked like, you'd notice that his hair goes from yellow roots to orange hair to red at the tips. His hair wasn't long enough for his gingerness to take full effect. 8B