Authors note: Can't decide whether it is finished or not, may add more chapters in the future or may just slap a complete label in it.
First Jak and Daxter fan fic, first fan fic in many, many years. But that doesn't matter, open to constructive criticism.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, and all that jazz.
His dreams were always the same these days. He would see himself out on the streets, purple lightening crackling over white skin and hair as long black claws scraped over red metal, dancing in circles as red lasers fired in all directions. The body of a guard went flying through the air, landing heavily on his back on the concrete, his gun clattering away across the pavement. The monster would spring through the air, landing straddling the soldier's body. It reached down and grabbed the guard's chest plate, heaving with all his might until the metal buckled and he ripped it away, casting the warped crimson iron off to the side.
The guard tried to grab at the monsters arms to heave him away but his attempts were futile. A clawed hand plunged into the guard's exposed chest, ribs cracking with the impact and skin and flesh alike punctured by the sharp claws. The guard screamed in agony as his body underwent spasms from the dark electricity running across it from the hand. And then suddenly the monster was gone, moving on to the guards advancing on him from behind.
In these dreams he was never actually himself, he was not in the body playing the part, just watching on from the sidelines. He would watch the carnage every night in silent horror, unable to move or look away, often unable to think or even breathe. This was what he had become and he couldn't escape it.
Usually he would wake up before it was all over, not wanting to see what happened in the end. But tonight was different; it just kept going, the violence, the carnage, the dead bodies and the blood oh my god the blood there was so much of it red pools on the concrete staining he clothes and his hair oh stop oh stop OH STOP!
And then it was over, as the last guard of the platoon made a dying gurgle as his body slumped to the side. No one was left except the dark one standing in the middle of the horror, and his disembodied self off to the side. Usually after it had killed this much it would revert back to normal, its blood thirst drenched.
But it didn't, he just stood there looking around itself, growling at the dead bodies. Its head suddenly stopped moving, and it was looking directly at him. He started into the dark oblivion of its eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. The beast's upper lip drew up to reveal a snarl with long canines, and then the creature started running towards him.
A drawn out cry of noooooo turned into a roar as Jak bolted upright in bed, transforming into his nightmare. Reason fleeted from his mind as he lashed out with clawed hands into the darkness. A high pitched yelp piercing caused him to suddenly freeze in position with his arms outstretched. There was a thump on the floor.
His chest heaving, coherent thought returned to Jak as he lowered his arms and turned to where the sound had come from, sight piercing through the darkness as he looked at the floor.
The small orange ottsel lay on the cold stone floor, propping his upper body up on his hands as he panted. A long black gouge ran down his side, droplets of blood beginning to ooze out of the torn flesh.
Jak recoiled in horror. What had he just done? He stared at the furry animals on the floor a moment longer, before slowly bending over the side of the bed and reaching out a hand towards him. Daxter looked up and drew away from the outstretched hand, eyes wide with fear. Then Jak noticed that the hand's skin was still a deathly white color, and long black claws still protruded from the tips. He drew his hand away and then closed his eyes, concentrating on slowing down his breathing and clearing his mind. When he opened his eyes again the room seemed darker, and the hand had reverted to normal.
Once again he slowly reached out to his small friend lying on the floor, and once again the ottsel drew back slightly. This caused a twang of pain to strike Jak's heart, but he didn't stop, reaching out and ever so gently gripping Daxter around his midsection. He was careful not to touch the wound, in which the blood had begun to congeal. Daxter's whole body was tense as Jak lifted him off the floor and over to the other side of the bed, climbing out of the bed as he did so.
Neither of the said a word as Jak carried Daxter across the underground room towards the sink. He gently placed his friend into the cold metal tub and then reached out to switch on a small light above them. Daxter just continued to stare at Jak as he turned on the tap and pulled the ottsels body under the streaming water, gently rubbing at the wound with his hands. Daxter cringed and gasped as the cold water washed over the gash as Jak rubbed away the blood and dirt from the floor.
Jak then turned off the tap, allowing Daxter a moment of respite as he opened the medicine cabinet and reached inside. He mechanically drew out a green eco cream and unscrewed the cap, scraping some of the buttery substance out with his finger tips. He began to rub the cream into Daxter's wound, as gently as he could manage, but the ottsel still groaned in pain.
After wrapping a bandage around the lower half of Daxter's body, Jak carried him back over to the bunk beds. Still neither of them spoke, probably not daring to in case it shattered the world. But it wasn't the bed he had been sleeping in that Jak went to, no. He walked past it and over to the next bed. Lifting up the covers, he placed his small friend inside, resting his little head on the huge pillow.
Jak withdrew his hands and stood there for a moment, head bent over and eyes cast down. He wanted to say he was sorry, but the words just wouldn't come out. Somehow it felt like the wrong thing to say, and so, so inadequate. So instead he turned away and climbed back into his own bed, turning over so his back faced Daxter. He couldn't possibly face his friend.
Daxter turned his head and started at the back of Jak's blonde hair. He wasn't hurt by the lack of apology: Jak was a man of few words at the best of times and Daxter knew how to read him anyway. Just by looking up into his friend face he had seen just how regretful and hurt the young man had been.
It had obviously been an accident but that didn't mean that Jak would look at it that way. But Daxter didn't know how to deal with this situation either, neither of them did. So instead he tried to get comfy in the cold bed, and tried so so hard not to think about it.
Daxter was reawakened in the night by the sound of hushed sobs. He turned his head to groggily look at Jak's shuddering form. Obviously the man couldn't stop thinking about it, but there was nothing Dax could think of to do about it. Sometimes it is kinder to remain silent.