Rating: T
Pairing: None
Warnings: None, really, unless you count mention of Dark Jak's exploits something worth warning about.
Word Count: 1024
For: Prompt #2, "Metaphor" on the 64damnprompts LJ community.

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Personal Demons

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"No, no, people don't actually have demons that belong to them, it's a…a figure of speech."

Blue eyes, large and bright and innocent, blinked once, then one green eyebrow arched in confusion and a suntanned hand came up to scratch at emerald-gold hair.

The aging man gave a weak chuckle, black eyes narrowing slightly in thought, searching for some way to explain it. How could one illustrate the meaning of "figure of speech" to a boy who couldn't speak? How could one explain "metaphor" to a nine-year-old?

"You see, it's like this." A green hand lifted, gesturing idly as the Sage spoke. "When people talk about their personal demons, they mean the problems that they have to deal with, the difficulties that they're faced with, the challenges that they don't want to face, but that only they can because a lot of the time they are the only ones that can see them."

Again the boy blinked.

"Does that make any sense?"

He bit his bottom lip, squinting slightly, then gave a quiet giggle—one of the few vocalizations he ever made—and shook his head, brow creased in silent apology for being so slow to understand.

The Sage sighed and put a hand on the boy's head, patting lightly. "Someday you will understand, Jak." The faint, amused smile faded from the man's aged features and he lowered his eyes as though in his own silent apology. "I'm positive you will, maybe better than anyone…"

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"Jak, slow down! Those goons called off the chase already!"

The youth took a gulp of air and turned his Zoomer to barrel around a corner, mowing down two people before his shaking hand twitched to flip the switch to change hover zones. He sped up and shot off over the crowds, vision blurring randomly as he turned another corner, one step closer to the safety of the hideout.

"Just because the alarm's off doesn't mean the search is over, Dax," he reminded in a rasp, voice ragged. "I really don't think they'd give up on hunting me down just because I'm a little faster than they are."

"'Specially not after somethin' like that, huh?" Daxter replied quietly, shifting the weight of his companion's Morph Gun slightly to keep from dropping it as they careened down a straightaway, shifting down to the lower hover zone to keep from hitting an oncoming Cruiser.

The red transport was moving fast, probably called by the other guards a half-sector back as backup. The same guards that had apparently given up on chasing the young renegade currently moving through the Slums at dangerous speeds, completely uncaring of who or what he ran over or into as he sped on—so long as it wasn't red, it could be hit without garnering too much attention.

There was nothing he could do, no choice but to just let it go and hope that he wasn't carried too far, hope that people were frightened enough to run when he ground out—

A moment more passed before the teen and his orange-furred best friend, only friend at times like this, made it to the dead-end alley braced against the city wall, and no time was wasted ducking behind the metallic wall that lifted up to reveal a makeshift doorway. The thick seal moved down again, mechanisms whirring and buzzing as they blocked this secret place from prying eyes shielded by scarlet glass.

Jak collapsed just inside, leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit on the stairs, breath heaving. The scent of blood was thick all around him; his hands were starting to feel stiff where the scarlet fluid clung to his gloves and fingers. He swallowed thickly, blue eyes drifting shut while he gasped for breath, struggling to slow the hurried beating of his heart, and failing miserably.

—a roar, an inhuman growl as the color drained out from all around him—

A light tug on the eco ring strapped to his chest made his eyes snap open again, angling downward on the small orange figure that had, at some point in the last several seconds, relocated from his shoulder to his lap.

"C'mon, buddy, you need a shower."

He shook his head. "Let me catch my breath first," he exhaled, wanting terribly to run a hand over his face but at the same time wanting to keep that metallic smell rooted to his hands as far away from as possible.

—replaced by whites so dead and blacks so dark they shouldn't have even been real—

Another tug. "Jak, you need a shower. You gotta wash off the bits of your personal demons still stuck to your skin."

Here the youth gave a grin, more a baring of white teeth, a curling back of barely-chapped lips in display, and forced out a single chuckle. The sound was so alien, so different from the quiet laughter of his younger days, the giggles that had bubbled up from who-knew-where to join his occasional cry and whoop as the only sounds he ever made.

—but that were real, painfully real, a rush of electric violet jolting through stretched bones and twisted muscle in reminder—

"Nah, Dax, that's just a figure of speech. Personal demons are problems that only you can see."

—that nothing would ever be right and that maybe it was better this way, maybe it was easier this way—

He shook his head lightly, closing his eyes again. "My demons are pretty public these days. At least the big one."

—that this way he could scare them as much as they had hurt him, this way he could kill without feeling it—

He heaved a sigh and grunted as he rose to his feet again, still shaking a little. "But yeah, I guess a shower would be nice."

—that this way everyone else would be able to believe he was still clean, he was still himself, even though there was really nothing left.

He nodded again, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly as Daxter jumped back up to perch on his shoulderplate. "It sure would be nice to get clean again."

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End
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