Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and especially thanks to Krin for the constructive criticism – I always appreciate that. You're right, the last chapter really did kinda flunk in the end. I'll most probably go back and fix it up.
And just to make that clear; no, I was NOT on crack when I wrote this chapter. Seriously.
Chapter 10, Out of the darkness
The darkness of the cavern closed in on them all as the dark giant laid there, propped up on his arms. Bubbling eco, broken by lazy slouches now and then as Maia's tail moved in death throes beneath the dark surface, labored breaths and thundering hearts struggling to slow down – nothing else.
The metal head leader was dead, but as he watched the abomination bearing down on them all Torn felt a seed of dread spreading its roots through him. With a sinking feeling deep in his gut he realized that this thing that had been Jak, if such things were created from elves turned monsters – that Jak was now the same as Kor and Maia.
This thing was the kid that had marched straight into the Underground a lifetime ago together with his loudmouthed pet, and gone from "irritating wannabe" to "surprisingly capable" and onwards to "useful". Until the rumors started pouring in, about the monster. At first Torn had deemed them as the next media craze, probably just some metal head that got into the city and scared a few people… but eventually, it became too much and he confronted Jak about it, demanding to get the deal straight.
Jak never, ever told people about what had happened to him in the Baron's prison, not without persuasion bordering on blackmail. It had taken a table, a dagger, Daxter and a "We have enough problems as it is, now tell me the fucking truth or I'll skin him alive!" plot to prod those lips apart.
All which had resulted in a demonstration, because Jak had not liked that persuasion at all. Amazing really, that he had not lost it right there and trashed the HQ. But no, instead he produced a promise to explain – somewhere between all the cursing and threats going the both ways. And as soon as a very much traumatized Daxter was back on his shoulder Jak dragged the angry commander into the night of Haven.
… and found a convenient patrol of Krimzon Guards.
It had taken him less than a minute, because they never saw it coming.
"Happy now? This is what Praxis did! This is what- what-!"
Broken words, a shuddering form of a man slumped against a wall, painting the concrete with the blood smeared over his clothes. Dying screams still ringing in the back of Torn's head as he stared at this thing that returned to something more human with obvious pain – and the sickly comical effect added by the strange little creature perched on the monster's and man's shoulder, hugging himself as his friend shuddered beneath him.
Torn had not been able to reply then, only turned and walked away. Fled.
The next day he could formulate an order for another mission, hiding behind the safety of his role as a commander – but seeing Jak walk out had been one of the greatest reliefs in his life. Just knowing that this… thing was too skilled for the Underground to let go of. It scared him, it scared everyone – but they needed it. It was too valuable. Too useful.
And from there, despite what he knew – what they all knew – building a careful alliance that slowly evolved into mutual respect – and it had become a relief to see Jak returning instead of leaving. Yet that had still taken hours and hours of repeating the fact that the man was not a monster, that he could control it… right?
They all had to believe that.
But now that person was in front of Torn again, this time in no way a man anymore. This was more a monster than Dark Jak ever could have been. Docile for the moment, perhaps only due to exhaust from the battle. But metal heads never remained in one position for long, not when they knew that within reach there was soft flesh to tear apart.
This thing was not Jak. It would have mutilated, violated a dead body without a second thought if nobody had stopped it. Even with something so apparently evil as Maia, that was something that Jak never would have done. To kill her should have been enough.
Torn could only watch it. They all did. Waiting for something to happen.
Waiting for somebody to make it okay again. To bring Jak back.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Damas stepped forwards, leaving the group of the living behind as he crossed the expanse of hard ground. The metal head remained silent, unmoving.
Nobody said anything.
Eventually the ghost stood before the giant, close as he had been when he first appeared. Never did he look away from the unmoving face above.
"Look at me, Jak," he said.
The huge head turned, sluggishly. It stopped as its nose pointed towards the ghost, so it was probably watching the owner of the commanding voice. Where the complete darkness of those eyes turned could be anybody's guess.
But despite the movement, Damas' hand whipped through the air.
"Didn't you hear me?" he snarled, "look at me, Mar!"
With a sharp snort the beast drew back and the heavy eyelids slammed down a few times. It shook its head, the blinking becoming more furious.
And then between two blinks, a flash of blue passed by between the ends of nothingness. Another few blinks and suddenly Jak's eyes stared down at the ghost and the warriors, huge and disturbingly blue against the black armor.
He drew in a shuddering breath, the sound flinging about the cavern like rolling thunder.
"You…"
It might have been a groan with a normal voice, but this one rumbled far too deeply for that. The single word marched on after the breath, bouncing about the darkness.
"That's better," Damas said, voice mingling into the dulling echo.
Jak said nothing, only stared down at the ghost and the people behind him. Uncertain. Confused.
For a moment Damas lowered his head, and finally he gave it a slow shake. When he looked up and spoke again, there was no humor in his tone despite what he said.
"Who knew that you were such a kid that youcalled for your dad when things got hairy…"
A slow, sluggish blink. A hand shifted, the massive weight moving across the ground until the huge claws were close enough to touch. Still watching the beast intently, Damas reached out and placed a sketchy hand on the black panzer. This time, the voice was softer.
"My hearing is quite good, kid. Even when I'm about to die."
The heavy breathing shuddered. It was not quite a sob, but very close.
And then it spoke again.
"It hurts… father..."
The blue eyes rolled as the massive neck bent, gaze finally falling to linger on the hand splayed across the ground.
"I know, Mar. I know."
Silence hung in the air as the echo of Damas' all too blank voice faded away. Too little emotion in it, too much forced down. Enough of it to make it clear that he was as unsure about what to do as everyone else.
"Jak!"
The voice whipped at them all, Jak's huge head snapping upwards. He blinked at the orange dot on the ground, the one that scampered forwards while waving its scrawny arms.
"Stop it with the angsty bull already!"
Never once hesitating, Daxter crossed the expanse of black floor, coming up to Damas' feet. But he did not even stop there. He crouched his back, and leaped onto a finger bigger than Jak's normal leg size.
"Remember what old mossman told you about anger management, buddy?" the ottsel yapped on, thrusting an accusing finger towards the silent giant, "happy thoughts, man, happy thoughts!"
Jak was not the only one who slowly blinked this time.
"What," Damas finally said, "are you going on about?"
Daxter shook his head without taking his eyes off Jak. He spoke, ignoring the growl that began to form within the massive throat.
"Big boy used to be mute, y'know? You gotta learn to read him. And right now he's talking some serious crap with his old Jak-speak."
Jaws longer than a man's arm flashed between black lips as the blue eyes widened in something akin to panic. Fingers bent, sending the ottsel sliding down onto the back of the gigantic hand. He eeped as he went, but as soon as the movement stopped the fuzzball was back on his feet and stubbornly looking up at his transformed buddy.
"Daxter-!"
A rumbling growl, so clearly a warning, and yet Daxter stood firm. Anybody positioned as close as Damas could see the hairs on his back standing straight up, but other than that the ottsel forced himself to remain steadfast. He did not see the small twitch of the ghost's lips.
"I can't believe… I just can't believe you went and said something like 'in the end, this is all I am'," Daxter said, and even the smallest speck of amusement died.
The air seemed to drop a few degrees. The other hand clenched, and it looked as if Jak was about to raise it. But he finally just snarled and shook his head.
"Two years… listening…"
There was a growl, and for a second darkness swirled in Jak's eyes before he violently blinked it away, even though his black brows crept further and further down.
"… listening to voices… talking behind my screaming-"
His gaze shifted, and the upper lip drew back from a row of very big, very sharp teeth. Another growl, accompanied with that look, sent the Blue Guards recoiling. Torn nearly stepped in between them and Jak out of pure instinct.
Are metal heads, perchance, completely color blind?
Luckily for them all, Daxter managed to catch Jak's interest again before anything to prove the color theory occurred. With wide hand motions and his words, the ottsel called the focus back to himself.
"Who're you listening to, man?" he shouted, "let's crack it down."
He held up his right hand and bent one finger as he continued:
"There's Praxis. Oh yeah, big fat wad of pure ego who thought that risking the existence of the whole frikkin' place was a great idea for getting rid of the metal heads."
Jak watched him, and so did everyone else. Daxter went on, and another finger bent.
"And Veger. That one speaks for himself. Do I need to clarify how much of a crackpot that dude is?"
He gave a vague wave in the other ottsel's general direction. Nobody even bothered to register the meek attempt at a protest. People who are on the verge of a mental breakdown seldom manage to formulate themselves properly.
Next finger down.
"And Erol. Freak in a box, buddy. You can't go bothering about a guy who sat in front of the whole town and shouted 'I want you' at ya. It just hurts your head!"
This silence weighed a ton. Torn and his troops perfectly felt the blank looks they got, returning them with glares.
Finally Damas bent forwards and looked at Daxter. Just looked.
"What?" the ghost said.
Daxter glanced at him and pulled a face.
"I have no frikkin' idea."
But as he spoke the simple sentence, his ears began to droop once more. That was a very hard look he got, and he was starting to realize that he might just have said too much in his attempts to get Jak's attention.
"Huh."
Damas straightened up again, eyes narrowing as he studied the huge metal head.
"Mar?" he said.
The voice was strange this time, in the same short word sharp and soft. That kind that only Damas could use in his typical like-hell-I'm-worried-style.
"I don't-"
Jak breathed in deeply, eyes suddenly widening. Normal-sized teeth clenched as specks of darkness spread out across the white and blue and the voice deepened further as he stumbled over the words.
"Don't know- what do you- you-!"
Another growl swallowed the words completely and the black blotches exploded in size. Nervous gazes flew among the elves and Daxter, hands clenching around weapons once more.
"Mar!"
Damas raised his hand, fingers splayed out against empty air as if ready to hold the giant back. The huge head violently shook, desperate flares of blue flicking between the dark pools.
"What do you know?"
Jak's voice was almost completely gone this time, the growl rising up in a roar as he heaved himself further upwards. Daxter tumbled onto the ground, staring up at his friend with wide eyes. The behemoth ignored him, face turning from the ghost to the warriors and back again as his rumbling shook the cavern. Only Damas managed to keep from recoiling at least one step.
"I'm just useful, right?" the beast howled, "all of you- all of you-"
He cut himself off, freezing painfully in the middle of the sentence. Then he suddenly collapsed and smashed his face into the ground, the tremor felt all the way up to the wall where most people now stood.
Jak straightened up again, the darkness seeping away from his normal eyes. But there was a tiredness there now, heavy lids hovering over the blue irises. The skull gem only served to illuminate this, its shine only seeming to increase at the rate of everyone's pulse.
"I have to keep… reminding myself…" he croaked.
Even when calmer, the voice had the same growl as before. It was still deepening.
"… reminding myself why I don't want to- kill you."
The slight pause before "kill" indicated that perhaps there had been another verb in mind. The jaws showing all the while he spoke did not help this idea.
He raised his hand to his chest, where the light was steadily fading. Only a handful of thin cracks remained. Stale eyes followed his every movement.
"The eco is… if you don't kill me now," Jak growled, "I'll f-forget."
His claws dug into the ground, creating a nasty cracking sound as his fist clenched around and pulverized chunks of black rock. Pebbles and sand fell between his fingers.
"And I'll co-come out there… there's no hope unless…"
He fell silent, closing his eyes for a moment. The blue still remained when he opened them again, but the breathing kept getting heavier.
"Jak…"
The huge head turned away, slowly shaking. He could not look down at Daxter, the tiny speck of color shrinking backwards on the ground before the clenched hand.
Still Damas stood silent, his hand raised just as before. He seemed more like a statue than a ghost, now.
"Fuck!"
The curse ripped the tension, as the slam as the butt of a Peace Maker rammed into the ground.
"Weren't you some champion of the precursors?" Sig roared, "what about the white eco?"
Jak shook his head again, more violently this time – as if he was trying to keep his mind clear.
"I don't know-!"
His breath suddenly caught, a rasp and another shake. The eyes widened in protest, but it changed nothing. Like a rising tide the void began to fill up Jak's gaze once more, from the black panzer just beneath his eyes.
He heaved himself further upwards, as if he thought that getting higher would give them all a little more time. But nothing helped, the dark border kept moving at the same pace. The free hand clanged against the skull gem as he clutched his head.
"It's taking me somewh- you have to- Dax, move!" he croaked, the broken phrases just barely making it past his lips before the harsh breathing turned into a growl.
Nobody raised their weapons at first. Precious seconds swept away, but even as the snarl deepened Torn could not bring his arms to move. Everything he knew about war and battle screamed at him, but still he could only stare up at that thing and the knowledge that it was Jak and there was nothing they could do. He just could not move. In the corner of his eye he saw Sig stand frozen, fingers twitching slightly. And when neither of their leaders did anything, the other warriors remained trapped in their hesitation as well.
Then finally Damas moved, as the metal head smashed its other hand into the ground and buried its fingers in the stone.
The shimmering hand moved in an arc until it hovered in the air to the right of the king's head. Father's hand raised for the son as the last fragment of blue vanished in the wave of black.
Armor clinking as the arms beneath moved. Clicks. Buzzing.
All that, heard painfully well through the rising howl.
Daxter had collapsed on the ground before the monster, staring up at the abomination that had been his best friend. He did not make a sound anymore.
Damas turned his face away, and his hand fell.
Triggers were pulled.
Bullets rammed into the slick black chest and the metal head shot upwards in a wave of armor and muscle, howl rearing into an enraged roar. The hands dug into the ground tore themselves free, ripping chunks of rock with them that slammed into the walls of the cavern. Daxter scrambled backwards in a panic but the ghost stood firm, looking up at the gigantic claws coming towards him.
Then a rough dozen flares spiraled through the air.
The hand descending on Damas were flung backwards, rage becoming pain in that clear instant the first deadly star hit the armored neck and exploded. The metal head swayed, nothing left to prop him up with as both arms were ripped away from the ground – but those same spasms forced him further upwards though his legs would not carry, back arching impossibly and he just would not stop roaring.
Searing light crawled all over him, finding its way beneath the armor to the hard skin and frying him from inside in those stretching seconds that the beast struggled and refused to let death claim him. For a fleeting moment it looked as if the violent light was aiding the last remaining cracks on the huge chest, and in that all too short second Torn almost dared to hope that maybe, just maybe there would be another miracle. Maybe that armor would just crack like a shell and Jak would tumble out, refusing the bleakest of fates just one more time.
But the snakes of electricity went away, taking the last light with them.
Only darkness remained as the roar finally stumbled, and the flares faltered.
He swayed.
Then with one last, animalistic groan, the metal head fell.
Fell as the roar died away, just like he had done such a short while ago after the transformation was made complete.
The impact shook the cavern once more, the heavy slump landing him alongside the eco lake, back turned to Maia's corpse. A gigantic hand landed inside the gaping holes he had torn from the ground moments earlier.
The skull gem fell out of its socket, miserably falling onto the floor and skidding several feet away from the unmoving head. The crisp sound of the impact and the slide went on and on, mingling with the remaining echo of the dying roar.
Sig's Peace Maker fell out of his hands. Huge, calloused hands trembling as he reached up and pressed them to his face, pinching his eyes tightly shut. He felt a hand swinging his shoulder panzer, but could not look Kleiver in the eye.
There were no miracles.
The ghost just stood there, by the fallen giant's hand. Leaning on his weapon and head bowed, blind to the ottsel curled into a tight ball on the ground behind him. Daxter's arms were pressed against his skull while the fuzzy face remained hidden against his stomach as if he was trying to block out the reality around him.
Armors dully clanged. Backs stretched as the men and women lowered their weapons and looked around at each other, uncertain glances wide open or hidden beneath the safety of helmets.
Torn let out a deep breath and rammed the butt of his gun into the ground, putting his entire weight on the weapon. It was a sign of weakness, but he just did not care anymore. He needed something to lean on.
"Bloody hell-!"
He snapped up at the hiss, eyes narrowing as he watched that useless ghost move. Then the commander blinked and did a double take, noting just where Damas was going – and going quickly. The emerald feet hardly touched the floor as he rushed forwards, raising his Peace Maker above his head as if it was a mere club.
And that was precisely how he used it, slamming it into the smooth surface of the large skull gem. The sound was surprising, because there was no smash. Instead there was a soft hissing as the Peace Maker evaporated into a cloud of eco, being sucked inside the gem as Damas staggered from the force of his own strike. Then a sharp, drawn-out crack, like an entire tree bending and breaking in a storm.
From the place where the blow had fallen shot a searing white fissure shot across the egg shaped rock. Cursing under his breath Damas rammed his fingers into it and snarled as his entire shape flickered dangerously. For a moment it looked as if he too would fall to pieces, but he snapped back into a more distinct silhouette with a resolute twist of his neck.
"Your lordship?" Kleiver called.
No reply. Damas ignored him and the other few calls, muscles that did not really exist tensing as he struggled against the gem. The cracking got louder.
Sig took a step forwards, hesitated, then continued. He was only the first one.
With a half-strangled shout Damas tore the skull gem in two halves, and like melting ice the pieces crumbled into a heap of glowing shards before him.
Steps that had been uncertain sped up, and others joined them. The ghost made no sound as he sank onto one knee and began sweeping the sharp remains aside, digging through the rubble in his search for something.
Hope reared up and flickered again, because that heap was hardly big enough to conceal a fully grown elf – that was certain.
Daxter made it to Damas' side just when the ghost tensed. Sig halted behind the glowing back as emerald hands reached into the debris.
"You street-smart little…"
Damas shifted, and shards clattered against the ground as he pulled his arms to his chest and stood up. He turned around and feet stopped dead so suddenly that the last warriors almost fell over each other as they saw what the clouds of eco had hidden. There was another silence.
A very much stunned silence.
Damas said nothing, only watched the small shape he carried safely in his grip.
"Uh… huh," Torn finally managed.
He reached up and placed a hand on his forehead. Something was spinning in there, and he really would have wanted to sit down – if his pride as a commander had allowed that much.
"Ja… Jak?" Daxter stuttered.
He could not get as proper a view as the others, but he could see what it was Damas held.
The ghost's lips stretched as he shifted his grip slightly, pressing a hand to the frail little skull resting on his arm. A thin layer of delicate hair covered the head shadowed by stubby, pointy ears. The hair was most probably greenish in hue even without the emerald shimmer that Damas shed across the immediate area. Tiny little hands laid clenched on the bare chest, tubby legs pulled up against the stomach. Eyes closed as if asleep, and one of those miniature thumbs really should have been resting between the thin lips to make the picture complete.
"I doubt that he fully knew what was happening," Damas said, idly stroking a soft cheek with his thumb, "but judging from one of those last things he said my guess is that the white eco tried to preserve him."
"It's taking me somewh-"
Sig finally found his voice again, after a lot of searching.
"But he's- a…"
Oh yes, that was dignified. He simply could not go on, only stare in utter blankness at the enigma before them.
Damas looked down and studied the baby boy's peaceful face. Green lips curled into something akin to a fond smirk.
"Yes," he said, "this won't do."
Nothing seemed to happen at first; Damas only shifted his grip slightly. Daxter noticed the change first, thanks to the level of his eyes.
The ottsel raised his hands in a weak protest.
"Ah, that's not…"
Gazes glued to the baby were dragged away by Daxter's voice, and they saw what he saw.
Damas legs were loosing their already questionable sharpness, melting into wisps of eco and leaving only a skeletal shadow behind. The clouds meanwhile swirled upwards-
"No!"
Torn flung his hands forwards, seeing other fingers scratch the air desperately as the ghost only stood there, holding the helpless baby as the mix of white and green eco sped towards him.
But they could not move fast enough.
The eco seeped into the baby's body and he shifted, one chubby arm falling off the soft stomach to hang motionlessly in the air just beneath him. The people diving for his aid stopped, expecting a wail of pain and new black armor to cover the small body.
There was only a sigh, no wail. Instead of skin hardening into cold panzer, the hanging hand unclenched and the baby squirmed while his limbs and body stretched out, growing. The hair thickened into fluttering green locks falling across his skull.
He settled back again, eyes never opening even as he stopped developing. The small chest slowly heaved with calm breaths.
The first cloud of eco had been absorbed, but Damas paused there instead of letting the transformation continue, just watching the child he held. He watched something more precious than anything else in the entire world, that had been mercilessly robbed from him.
Sig watched too, but he saw a failure of his own. Kleiver and the other wastelanders looked upon something they had not fully believed true, but now found themselves paranormally faced with.
Torn merely saw a familiar face he had spent a good deal of time being irritated at. Some of his soldiers recognized it as well.
And Daxter saw the first glimpse he ever had of his best friend, long before everything went to hell.
Seconds trickled by on their way into the past, filling almost an entire minute before Damas moved again. He straightened up and gave the silent troops a wistful half-smile.
"Get something for him to wear," he said.
Only blank looks answered him at first, until his waist began to dissolve. The eco spread and swept into the boy who once more sighed… and grew.
"Yikes!" Daxter exclaimed as his brain finally clicked.
That made an excellent signal, jolting the warriors back to reality. Or well, the very strange reality they currently found themselves in. But Daxter was skittering across the ground before anybody else could make a suggestion.
He kept his eyes set on his goal, never looking at the gigantic carcass of the metal head still occupying most of the scenery.
It was uncanny, but he headed for the sad pile of ripped clothes that were left of Jak's last set of equipment. The shirt and pants were ripped to shreds and the sprawled leather straps were useless – but the red scarf had slid off in two halves as the growing neck had strained it to break. Daxter grabbed the cloth and swept the pieces above his head in two wide arcs of red, making sure that there were no eco left in the folds.
Satisfied with the results he hurried back with the cloth trailing behind him. He was just in time to see the small boy reach his early teens.
A gangly and scrawny young teenager, with hands looking far too big for him. The tips of his hair had begun to turn blonde, and the curls were straightening out in pure defiance of gravity. The shape of his chin and cheekbone also changed slightly, and now the spectators could see the similarity more and more clearly.
Damas arms were almost gone, and as Daxter approached he sunk down on his knees, letting the boy slide onto the ground. But he still supported the growing shoulders, holding the blond shock of poofy hair against his diffusing chest. Torn grabbed the broken scarf from Daxter and quickly threw the cloth over Jak's waist. The ghost never spared a glance at anybody but the growing boy.
Jak finally stopped stretching out, and instead his muscles began to swell. Rough strength gained from hours of running in the sand, swimming and beating up the occasional vicious animal made itself known once again.
The hair stood out from the top of his head in a shock of green and yellow and he was just about to reach young adulthood.
Daxter watched in silence, struggling with his wish to beg Damas to stop and let Jak remain as he was now – the person who had dragged a friend to Misty Island, the person who died in the Baron's prison. But he knew it just did not work that way.
Damas was almost gone, only a few puffs of eco and his thin outline remaining. At the next supplement of eco Jak suddenly groaned, neck twisting in a weak protest while green strands of hair sprouted from his chin to cover it up. Simultaneously the hair on his head lost its strength and flopped down, soft curls splaying across the transparent arm supporting him.
This young man they all recognized, because he had stormed into their lives and turned everything upside down by saving them all. Not to mention supplied a good deal of grief in the last couple of hours.
A dissolving hand came to Jak's cheek, tilting his head slightly upwards. The fingers could hardly be seen anymore.
"Stay alive, Mar," Damas murmured.
And with that the last sketchy remains of the ghost evaporated, drawn inside the fully grown body. Jak slumped to the floor without making a single sound. His chest continued to rise as he breathed, but that was all.
Daxter was the first one by his side, though heavy boots closed in rapidly.
"Jak?"
Poking did not seem to yield any result. The ottsel tried it just a couple of more times before deciding that the heavy artillery was in order.
A satisfying "ouff!" left Jak's lips as the small body hopped onto his bare chest.
"Contact established!"
Daxter grinned up at the men squatting down around the unmoving form.
"Heh!" Sig snorted at the ottsel.
He reached out a gloved hand and carefully slapped Jak's cheek.
"Hey, chili pepper. Wake up."
"Mmf…"
Grins widened with relief as they all heard the groan. Daxter, on the other hand, closed in.
The blue eyes fluttered open, and blinked a couple of times before finally focusing on the fuzzy face hovering above them. Lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Come on, Jak, say something!" Daxter said, resting his paws on the chin sporting a trendy goatee.
Jak's brow creased as he drew in a deep breath, Daxter almost tumbling forwards as his perch heaved upwards. The words when they came were spoken in a hoarse voice -lacking that normal force the whole sentence warped and became nothing but a farce of itself.
"I'm… gonna kill Praxis…"
Even more so when the lips stretched in a weak smirk at the look on the ottsel's face.
"Sorry, he's already dead."
Torn came into sight behind Daxter's head, a grin working its way onto his tattooed face while soft chuckles rose up in the background.
"Well piece him back together so I can kill the bastard properly…" Jak muttered, "damn Kor…"
The commander cocked an eyebrow.
"You haven't lost your memory, have you?" he said, suspiciously.
Jak slowly blinked.
"No," he finally muttered, "I remember. Maia… ugh…"
A heavy hand crashed over his eyes.
"Feels like she threw me through a meat grind," he said.
"Well that sure aint showin', poppy."
With a disgusted sound, Kleiver grabbed the arm Jak had managed to move and lifted it for inspection.
"Just look at that," the big man snorted, "jus' like a widdle baby."
Even in this poor illumination, it seemed as if it was a true sentiment. All of Jak's scars were gone – not that it was that surprising, considering all. And they all knew that Kleiver had no trouble picking those particular words, either.
Jak grimaced.
"You talking to me?" he grunted.
Kleiver just smirked and let go of the arm, giving the blonde head a light punch. The head in question rolled aside with the impact, sluggishly returning to the previous position a moment later.
"Anyway!" Daxter said and grinned wider as Jak looked at him, "happy birthday?"
A hand came up and lurched towards the ottsel, but the movement was so slow that Daxter had no trouble avoiding it. Jak did not try to pursue him further. He sighed again, head lolling to the side. He gave Torn, Sig and the others on that side of him a somewhat hard look – or it would have been if his eyes had not been half closed.
"I'm okay…" he murmured, "no funny busine… ugh…"
And with that his eyes rolled upwards and he passed out again.
"Pansy…" Torn muttered.
He received a healthy dose of chuckles for that comment, but ignored them. Just to make sure he pulled off his glove and checked on Jak's pulse, finally nodding in satisfaction. He stood up, only to realize that they still had a problem.
Silence fell as more and more of them came to the same conclusion.
It spells "oh crap".
Daxter had no boundaries like that, though.
"Okay," he cheerfully said, "who feels like bringing homicidal wrath upon themselves?"
There was a pause, filled with hesitant glares. Finally Sig sighed and shifted closer to the blonde.
"Oy, Jak, you awake?"
The eyelids fluttered, but that was all. That was probably good.
Still, Sig did not feel like taking chances about this one.
"Okay," he said, "just don't go shooting at me for this later, got that?"
No reaction. With neither agreement nor protest offered, Sig decided that it was all fine. He leant forwards, gently hooking one arm beneath Jak's knees and the other behind the smaller warrior's shoulders.
Jak's head unconsciously rolled into the crook of Sig's arm and chest as the wastelander stood up.
"There's no way he won't kill you when he wakes up, you know," Torn said, smirking as Sig glared at him.
"Shaddup, if I didn't have these spikes I'd fling him over my shoulder."
"Aww, come on, Siggy!" Daxter smirked as he clambered up to claim just that shoulder for his perch, in the wait of something better.
Muttering under his breath Sig turned and began walking towards the exit. This was obviously something that everybody agreed on being a great idea, since every last elf followed him.
Kleiver was the only one who paused on the way out, once to pick up Jak's chest armor and another time to grab the passed out Veger before leaving the scene of nightmares behind.
Author's note: I, ah… was about to cut this chapter by "Triggers were pulled", but… I just didn't have the heart. You had been through too much already, my sweets.
Now excuse me, my Masters aren't happy with my softening heart, so I gotta dash before they find me.
