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Approval of a Sand King	By : Meeko Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 2737 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Jak and Daxter and all characters and properties are copyright of Naughty Dog. This is a work of fandom and I receive no money or endorsement for it!

Chapter List
- 1-Approval of a Sand King
- 1
Author notes: A little exploration into the relationship possibilities between Damas and Daxter...And perhaps open denial of what happened to Damas in Jak 3! Can this qualify as a Fix-it Fic? Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Damas arrived as an intimidating presence in the inner door of the Spargus garage, hard foosteps echoing against the outside roar of a raging sandstorm. The battering winds outside swirled sands inside as soon as the door to the Wastes cracked open, and the sound of an engine approached. A remote communicator was clenched in Damas’ fist as his eyes locked onto the Gila Stomper that tore in, drifting across the sandstone and metal floor.
Damas was already on the path to the Stomper before it slammed to a halt. Sig was at the wheel, and next to him, squeezed into one passenger seat, were the two young Renegade heroes. The two reckless, idiotic, big-shot heroes that would someday be the death of him, from stress alone.
Daxter clutched an unconscious Jak around the shoulders with one arm, the roll bar with the other. His bloodied face carried a visible annoyance, a split lip put out in a defiant pout. Sig looked to be in the middle of chewing the eighteen year old out. The engine cut, and their voices rose above the distant din of the sandstorm.
“…And just what’s Jak gonna do if you go ‘n’ get yourself popped off, huh?”Sig was demanding with a booming voice. “Did ya even think about how he’d take it if you lost it out there?”
“How many times I gotta tell ya, I ain’t sorry!” Daxter snapped right back, not missing a beat. He swung out of the vehicle, but kept close to the slumped blonde now occupying the passenger seat. He postured in defiance as Sig stomped around the car to him. “What was I s’posed to do, ask him politely to fuck off?? Yeah, that would’ve worked out real great! I just hope ya would’a written a nice obituary for me and Jak, it’s the least ya could do!”
“What happened?!” Damas ordered tersely, closing the distance between them in urgent strides. “I was given no details. Explain yourselves!”
Daxter immediately flinched away at the harsh tone in the king’s voice, his glaring match with Sig forgotten and unimportant. His sun-darkened ears lilted downwards as Damas continued to Jak’s side, scrutinizing the blonde’s condition. The redhead scuttled out of the way of the broad-shouldered king. He stammered for an explanation, suddenly finding his boldness fading away in the presence of Damas’ commanding authority.
“He, I… we were..!!”
“The boys got jumped by Marauders,” Sig interjected himself over Daxter’s shaky attempt, as Damas ran a calloused and over Jak’s forehead, brushing through some green-gold bangs. “Ambushed, they told me, car totaled, nothin’ but scrap metal! And to top it off? They scored a lucky hit on our man Jak here--He’ll be fine, just a K-O is all.”
Daxter opened his mouth to contribute, but Sig’s voice became forceful as he rounded on the teen again.
“But this Chili Pepper over here,” his tone became incredulous, a thumb pointing out the redhead, “lost his gun in the crash and somehow thought it would be a good idea to take on a full-sized Marauder on his own without a weapon, before I got there!”
Daxter’s slack jaw clamped shut with a growl, freckled cheeks staining pink with annoyance underneath a budding bruise and a gash across his brow.
Sig rounded on him before he had the chance to protest. “And no, Daxter, you weren’t fine, in control, or ‘coaxin’ him into a false sense of security.’ You were outta your gourd, and you woulda been jam if I hadn’t come over the dune and shot his ass down!”
“Okay, ya know what?!--” Daxter screeched, stomping his foot down, jabbing a finger at the larger man.
“Enough!!” Damas roared. “I have heard enough. Sig, thank you. That will be all.” Sig’s jaw set, and he nodded dutifully, and turned away. He paused. Daxter pointedly ignored the look Sig gave him, tightly crossing his arms over his chest with an audible huff.
“We both gotta cool down, Cherry. But I'm glad you’re in one piece.” And with the sentiment stubbornly unreturned, Sig headed off towards the driver's side of his vehicle. The engine roared back to life, and Sig disappeared back out into the fray.
“Daxter,” Damas’s voice snapped Daxter out of his pout, and Dax looked with wide blue eyes at the warrior king, who was now holding Jak’s form in his arms as if he were as light as a child. “Follow me. We must talk.”
Daxter groaned quietly, but didn’t stray. The walk back to the throne was an eerily silent one, the streets near empty for many able-bodied Wastelanders being out in the storm, digging, hunting and brawling for artifacts…As he and Jak and Sig had all been doing, before the day had turned abruptly sour.
Even carrying the weight of his eighteen year old son, and with lingering injuries sustained in the war against Veger and the Darkmakers, Damas never faltered. Daxter however, fidgeted, his fingers twisting over each other as he trotted to keep up. He’d never been on his own around Damas. Jak was always there alongside him, open and willing in the conversations as Dax had never seen him with anyone else in the time between the Prison and meeting the King. By extension of Jak’s comfort with the man, the air between Dax and Jak's father had become easy and pleasant. Daxter had become comfortable enough to make jokes with the man, finding that he liked the old King’s sense of humor that was buried underneath a layer or two, like a crafty artifact buried out in the rough desert.
But now, Jak was hurt and out of the equation, and Sig had called Daxter out his crazy ploy out in the world, effectively bashing down any and all opportunity he had to fluff up the situation into “no big deal” status. He was alone, and worse, exposed and vulnerable to the judgement of a stern elder; a position which had never turned out in his favor.
The King was now probably going to punish him for letting his son get hurt…or maybe he’d get chewed out and he’d never be able to show his face around Damas again…What if he got thrown into the Arena to fend for himself for everyone’s entertainment?? Or worse, banished and left for dead in the desert?
Dax had to calm down; it wouldn’t be all that bad, would it? Damas was a stern ruler, but he wasn’t vindictive. His mind was running off on its own again, that was all. He had to close his eyes for just a second and take in a breath in order to calm his quickly fraying nerves.
The ride up the elevator felt even more strange to him, and he dared not look at the king. Ears flat and faltering, he simply stewed in the awkward feeling of being in trouble….Even though it was absurd, by all rights, he was an adult now and hadn’t concerned himself with the scolding he got from authority for a good long while. The sting in his face where he had been struck remained and throbbed, though he dared not bring a hand up to feel the damage in front of the king.
Even in the throne room, Daxter shuffled after Damas, not really knowing what to expect, or what to do or say. This was unlike any conflict he'd had with Samos or Torn...he actually respected Damas. Enough so that it had stilled his usual resistance to elders giving him orders, left him at a loss, and complying for the first time in a very long time. His attention turned back to his best friend as Damas carried him all the way to the top stair of the throne. Jak moaned softly as he was laid down on the stone near the water, a pillow placed under his head, but seemed to remain peaceful. Damas straightened, and turned, finding the other teenager with his gaze fixed on the blonde, face contorted with worry.
“A little Green Eco and some rest and he should recover perfectly,” Damas broke the silence, and retreated to stand before his throne. He turned again to Daxter, “You, on the other hand, seem more distressed.”
Daxter was a bit startled at the very direct address, the stone look on Damas’s face. Daxter cleared his throat, realizing the conversation had swung back to him.
“Naah, I mean, off to a rough start, but y’know. Seriously, I had it under control. Nothin' I can’t handle.” Daxter shrugged. He squared his shoulders and rose up an octave, trying to solidify the façade of calm. With a casual sniff, he wiped some of the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. Daxter's mock-stoicism was broken when he glanced with slight panic at just how much blood had actually come away on his glove, eyes widening a fraction. Damas arched an eyebrow at the walking, talking contradiction in front of him.
“To hear you speaking to Sig, I would venture a guess otherwise.” Damas challenged, setting his hands on his hips, seeming to Daxter like a bulky golem who seemed to know way too much. At the mention of Sig, Daxter released an exasperated groan.
“Augh, not this again,” Daxter whined. “Look…Yer King-liness. Like I said, I knew what I was doin’ out there!”
“You challenged a Marauder. Whose weapon alone is twice your size.” Damas frowned, seeming to bear down on the boy without an inch of actual movement. “Does this not strike you as foolish?”
“I'm tellin' ya, I did what I had to do--” Daxter defended, ears tilting downwards, stance steeling.
“You had no weapon!" Damas snapped, causing Daxter to jump. "You could have been killed. And according to Sig, you almost were! Now tell me what use that would have been, what honor? To Spargus. To Jak? After all the war has cost us, after what the war almost cost him and I?”
Daxter stood in shocked silence, his only movement were his eyes flashing to the streaks of scarring that could be visible on the man’s bicep, wounds from the battle outside the Catacombs that almost took his life.
“I-I know that! But Jak was out cold! That dirt-bag was goin’ for the kill! And lemme tell ya, I’d rather have this or worse,” he pointed to the gash, the dried blood streaked from his eyebrow, the bruises darkening under his cheekbone and eye, “than let anythin’ happen to him!”
"Is that all you think you are worth?" Damas hissed, eyes narrowed at Daxter, his arms crossing across his chest, muscles tense. "Sig troubled you about what Jak would do if you were killed. But you are more than just what Jak thinks of you, or what Spargus can gain from you. You have value. Did you even have a plan to keep yourself alive? Or did you rush that Marauder with every intention of dying on his sword?"
"P-plan?!" Daxter sputtered indignantly. "My plan was keeping my best friend--your son- alive! I'm his back-up, I'm his partner, that's what I do! Call me crazy, but I figured you of all people could appreciate that!"
Damas was quiet, and pensive as it seemed that he had finally prodded enough to make Daxter's barriers to open. The rehead’s gestures became wider, voice more shrill.
“I…I don’t get it!! You loopy Spargans are always goin’ on about bein’ a warrior, an’ pullin’ yer own weight! So? I gotta fight, right?? Why’s everyone on my case, then??” Dax paused in his frantic haze to find the words. Fiery blue eyes locked onto Damas’s. “What the heck am I supposed to do when shit hits the fan, then, just make Jak do everything for me?! Just hide, and wait around for someone to rescue me like a skinny little damsel when he’s outta commission?? I ain’t fuzzy and little like I used to be! I don't got that excuse anymore!"
At this point, Daxter was struggling against the lump in his throat. "I gotta cut it as I am, as a human…If I can’t do this, then…then maybe those Precursor furballs should’a just left me the Hell alone!”
His arms crossed bitterly across his slumped form, hands locking around his own upper arms, effectively punctuating his dismay.
"At least when I was on Jak's shoulder I always had his six. No one ever got that much of a drop on him." Daxter glowered at the stone floor, and Damas could sense a sudden, overwhelming guilt in the kid's voice. "Maybe it was better that way..." Blue eyes, already tired from the sandstorms outside, stung even more.
Silence ruled again for a few seconds.
With a deep sigh, Damas’s arms unfolded and came back to his sides. In a few strides, he finally descended the steps of the throne, and leveled with Daxter, still towering over the boy with over a foot of height difference. Daxter purposely found a plant to glare at instead of meeting the older man’s violet gaze that felt like it was burning through him. He let out a cracked laugh.
“Now’s the part where ya give me some wise old-timer mumbo jumbo, right? Like that old chestnut about ‘not attackin’ yer opponent head on’ huh? Guess it's too late for that one.” He suddenly felt like shrinking away and vanishing under the weight of Damas’ scrutiny.
“Hmm. Remember, I also said that it depends on how thick your skull is. And it seems you also have quite a hard head on your shoulders, Daxter.” Damas remarked. “But, that is beside the point. I am sure Sig has already exhausted you with lectures on what a Warrior is supposed to do. However…”
Daxter still refused to bring his gaze back up to the man. But his reality crashed back to the moment as Damas set both large hands on his shoulders. The plant in the corner he’d been distracting himself with was forgotten in a hurry as he finally looked up at Damas with surprised eyes. Damas’ brows pressed together, and the king looked intent and with concern that Daxter had only before seen directed at Jak. And with a grip that held evidence of the King’s strength and told of countless battles, Daxter wouldn’t have had a prayer of escaping even if he had felt any inkling of a threat.
“I am not speaking to you as a warrior, or king, but as a father.” Damas’s words were quiet, his eyes sharp and unwavering. Daxter couldn’t put a finger on what he thought was happening, and stared with wide eyes at the king in rapt silence.
“Putting yourself so recklessly and completely into danger is not what I want from you. It would be just as unacceptable to lose you, as it would be to lose Jak. Moreso to lose you both in one day.” Damas spoke the words deliberately, not faltering from Daxter’s captivated, if not intimidated gaze. “Do you understand that?”
Daxter’s breath caught in his throat with a slight hiccup. Pale ears slackened, as the gentle sounds of trickling water began to magnify in his consciousness. Flashes of adrenaline lit up his body like torches. This was…new. For once, he had no response.
The corner of Damas’s lips tugged up in a small grin at the boy’s shock and obvious loss for words. With a hearty pat of one of Daxter’s shoulders, he allowed his hands to lift off the kid, and Daxter swayed just slightly as his own balance readjusted. Damas turned, and motioned to the stone where Jak lay.
“Come, sit.” He ordered gently, doing so himself.
Daxter steadied himself, and nodded, sitting with the king on the stairs between Jak and the water below. Damas handed him a Green Eco cube, and without a word, Daxter cracked the seal and faced Jak, the green shine intensifying the golden glow from the sunset outside the windows as Jak absorbed the energy effortlessly. The blonde’s chest rose in a clear breath, and Jak sighed; Daxter grinned to see him take the treatment well. Seeing Jak unconscious always made him worry over pain and nightmares that the blonde was always too stubborn to express to him. Now it seemed as if Jak was finally sinking into a peaceful state, and Daxter was assured that his partner would be just fine. He ran a hand gently across a tan cheek with a relaxed contemplation of fondness.
Daxter faced forward, avoiding eye contact with Damas for entirely new reasons, reasons he couldn’t quite understand. He could tell, however, that Damas was observing him very closely. In another effort to distract himself, Dax bent down to the clear water and pooled some in his hands, bringing it up to finally tend to his own injury, scrubbing thoroughly at the cut and all the dirt and blood, hissing in slight pain. Marauders really seemed to pack a Hell of a punch, even if he did convince himself that it was worth it. He felt Damas look away finally as he gave his face another fresh rinse.
“It has been over a month since you regained your human form,” Damas observed, as Daxter’s face finally emerged, free of blood and debris, though still looking red, bruised and slightly swollen. “You are wondering if you are living up to Spargan standards. You are wondering,” Damas finally glanced back at the now very tired looking redhead. “If you are living up to my standards.”
Daxter obviously tensed. “Tch, Where ya gettin’ that idea?” He muttered in an embarrassed tone of sarcasm before he could temper himself.
“It is alright to be unsure.” Damas shook his head, unwilling to cater to the boy’s denial. “It has been a long time for you, of course there will be much to learn, and to relearn.” Daxter bristled, but did not argue or interrupt. "This--living and surviving out here, fighting hostile enemies in a new body, will not come to you all at once. I do not expect it to."
Damas looked at his younger companion, a smile gracing thin lips and age lines. “You have much courage, Daxter, and you will find your strength to match soon enough. Every victory, and every failure, will help you reach that point. So long as you keep yourself alive.”
Daxter blinked up at the king, finding his expression warm, violet eyes now absent of any perceived anger or scolding that Daxter had feared earlier. The whole situation seemed alien or like some fantasy to him. Never before had Damas been so direct…or deep with him.
Almost as an afterthought, Damas frowned.
"One more thing." Damas took a more authoritative tone, and Daxter's smile faded just slightly. "Sig is your ally, and he was right to be concerned for you. Try not to stay angry with him for very long."
"...Ah...yeah. Duly noted." Daxter acknowledged sheepishly, knowing deep down it was true. He still silently reserved the right to be pissed off with the guy for a little longer...Maybe just an hour or so. After that, it would be nothing that a good round of drinks wouldn't solve.
Damas nodded, not sure if he had finally broken through Daxter's wall of defiance or if the kid was just reaching his limits and too exhausted to keep resisting. At long last, the redhead’s tension and stiffness seemed to melt away, with the culmination of the day’s mishaps and personal confrontations, the ultimate development that had come out of it. His fingers absently traced the hem of his tunic, and he stared down at them as they ran along the dirty red cotton, processing the entire discussion. Slowly, acceptance started to wash over him. Silence overtook the large room, but it was an agreeable silence; even Damas was sliding into an air of calmness. He leaned back casually, palms flat on the warm stone.
“As for my approval,” Damas said suddenly, smirking at the boy. “That is something you need not worry over. You already won that very long ago.” Daxter turned and cocked his head back at the king with all the grace of a gawky Crocadog pup.
“Okay, Big Man, I know I called it that you were gonna bring out the Old-timey wiseness, and I gotta say that yer miles better at this than old Samos is, but this is gettin’ a little intense,” Daxter snarked, nerves sneaking back up on him as he arched his uninjured eyebrow at the king.
Damas chuckled. “My little boy. Mar. He was sent back 200 years,” Damas recalled the incident, the disbelief tempered with grudging acceptance evident in his face. “And the first friend he made, was you. All of these years, all of the challenges he has faced, you have remained with him. And you single-handedly rescued him from that traitor, Praxis. You continue to risk your life to help him. Do not assume that such deeds and such loyalty go unnoticed.”
Daxter couldn’t help a wry smile, stretching his hands in front of him, cracking his knuckles.
“You’d seriously be surprised at how much that kinda thing has always gone unnoticed.” He sighed. Mirroring Damas, he drew his hands back and leaned back on the stone, slinging one leg over the other. The foot now in the air began a jaunty bounce. Blue eyes wandered, far away and in thought of a lifetime’s experience of seeking but never finding the acceptance Damas was giving him freely.
“But you…You really mean all that stuff?” Daxter asked, and Damas noted how uncharacteristically soft and unsure the question was. Even skeptical.
“There would be no point in saying these things if there was no meaning to them,” Damas affirmed. He could read in the boy’s projected apprehension that Daxter had not been accustomed to receiving such validation from an elder, and likely didn't know what to do with it, or even how to respond, but he resolved to not remark upon it.
“Now, if you will, I shall leave you with Jak. He should wake soon.” Damas swatted dust and sand off of his garments and with one clap of a hand onto Daxter’s shoulder and a smile, he got to his feet.
Daxter watched the king rise, a bit distantly, as though watching it all pass before him, in a haze of disbelief. The scuffs of his heavy boots echoed through the chamber, as Daxter sat with fidgeting fingers once again. One more look at Jak, and Daxter’s jaw set. He got to his feet, and followed a few paces towards Damas and the lift trundle.
“Damas,” Daxter called, and the King turned around, an expectant, but patient look on his face. He found the redhead to look much more relaxed than he had been, and suddenly more contemplative.

“I think…I think I remember meetin’ Jak. Back when we were little. ” He rubbed at his arm, blue eyes hard, concentrating on elusive memories. He suddenly frowned. “I’ve been tryin’ to figure out why I never recognized that kid before we sent him back, honestly, I couldn’t tell ya why, but…”

Damas stepped closer, and remained quiet. Daxter’s desert chapped lips curved in a truly authentic smile, crooked buck teeth plainly visible, and he gave a short laugh.
“But he was the first person I remember bein' nice to me. Trust me, I know he was a good kid from the start.” The smile was stuck on his face. He shrugged. “And his hair started turnin’ yellow when we were real little, maybe that’s why I don’t remember the little green-haired kid so much.”
The smile that dawned on Damas’s face encouraged Daxter. The sudden, apparent approval of his input left him with a fluttery feeling.
“I uh…I don’t imagine Jak’s told ya any of this, but…” Daxter’s expression became thoughtful once more. “Ya wouldn’t believe the fun crap we got into as kids, he wanted to explore everything, he loved Sandover, and the beach…He was happy…But sometimes I think…” He paused, looking over his shoulder at Jak before continuing. “I think he must’ve remembered ya. Not completely, but like, he knew there was somethin’ missin’…like, remembering his dad without remembering ‘you’…Y'know?” Daxter tried to articulate, eyes scrunched in confusion and hands flowing over each other in an attempt to gesture the foreign concept.
Damas was patient and listening.
“I think he missed you. But he didn’t know he was missin’ you? Ah Crap, does that even make sense…? Or wait, am I makin’ things worse…?”
“Daxter,” Damas interjected gently, a hand on Daxter’s shoulder again, as the boy tensed up instinctually. As only ever happened with Jak’s father, his motor-mouth clamped shut in a hurry, blue eyes snapping up to meet Damas’s gaze.
“Those years I have missed with my son...They are times he and I will never get back.” His voice and sullen change of expression made evident to the carefully observant Daxter that Damas was still irate that his young son had his fate decided for him without any of his father’s knowledge. Not even Samos had gotten out of the woods of Damas’s resentment yet. “But, it is good to hear of his happiness. At least he had that, and he had you.”
Daxter instantly brightened.
“An’ hey! If that kinda thing suits yer royal fancy, I got plenty more Jak Fun Facts where that came from! Years of ‘em!” the redhead was grinning without abandon now. He tapped Damas’s good arm with a rolled fist.
“Hey, you should really come t’ my bar in Haven when I’m down there sometime. Drinks on the house, and we can totally bond over embarrassin’ stories that make Jak all squirmy! You ain’t got any baby pictures of him, do ya? I’ve totally been thinkin’ about a ‘Memory Wall’, and wittle tiny diaper Jak would fit real nice next to ‘candid shots of boogers in Torn’s nose!’” Daxter’s hands sprawled into the air in front of them, framing a wide square which were images on a wall in his mind.
The deep laugh Damas let out startled Daxter in the most pleasant of ways.
“If I return to Haven City, it will be for that.” A stirring behind Daxter brought Damas back to the moment, and their present situation. “Jak is coming around. He is in your hands.”
Daxter’s ears flicked up, his head turning to look over his shoulder. He looked back to the King as Damas started away, Damas’ face eased and relaxed, a noted change from the stoic stress that had been etched into it on their way into the throne room. One last glance at his son, and Damas turned, walking the rest of the bridge of stones to the lift.
Dax felt oddly okay with everything that had transpired, and at the same time, totally bewildered. His broad smile hung in the air as he watched the lift disappear down the shaft, and then sighed.
“Huh.” Was all the redhead remarked to himself. Turning on his heel, he was back at Jak’s side in only a few strides. Kneeling down on the steps, he took in the blonde, who was beginning to claw his way back to wakefulness.
“Hnnn…Dax?” Jak mumbled out, eyes starting to flutter, a hand reaching to his left collarbone and shoulder. Old habits die hard.
“Heya, Sunshine,” Dax chirped, and Jak lifted his head to find him with squinting eyes.
“I uh. Wh-What happened? The Marauders--” Jak groaned, his hand retreating to his head, the bump under his hair where he’d been hit, wincing at the sting where it was still inflamed. Daxter pushed gently at the teen who was rushing to rise, knowing that, with the last memories of danger in his mind, Jak was probably still in self-preservation and protection mode, ready to find the next thing to take down in stride before it came to get him first.
“All taken care of, big guy.” Daxter lent a hand, stroking gently through some blonde knots. “They knocked you one pretty good, though, lucky shot. Sig and yours truly took care of ‘em, though. We’re all cozy back in Spargus. No worries.”
“So he did make it there.” Jak inferred with relief, recalling at least the desperate call they had made to the other man for back up when they had become stranded with what had once been their vehicle. Not in a panic this time, Jak sat up slowly, with a bit of sore effort, swinging his legs down the steps so he was level with Daxter. The redhead monitored him closely; it was never too early to rule out concussions with head trauma, even with Green Eco. The Blonde looked at Daxter, now adjusted to the light. He immediately frowned.
“Dax, what happened to your face?” Jak asked in a disapproving tone.
“Jak, it’s fine. I told ya, me ‘n’ Sig handled it. Consider it a battle scar.” Daxter preened. Jak scowled at his partner, eyes narrowed and obviously dubious.
“At least tell me that you’re okay. They didn’t hurt you any worse than that?” Jak insisted. Daxter gave him the most deadpan look he could muster.
“Jak, do I look like I’m in a full body cast or missin’ organs? I’m just fine. And the guy's already roadkill, so ya don't need to go on a crusade, trust me.”
“Ok, I just…” Jak conceded, though his posture still screamed of insecurity. “You were fine before I got knocked out.” Dax knocked him on the shoulder playfully.
“Hey! You think I can’t take a few Marauders? So one landed a punch. Big whoop. He’s just lucky I couldn’t get the gun in time.”
Jak laughed hopelessly at his best friend’s optimism. He knew there were other elements at play behind the barrier of a statement, but as usual, he knew not to engage it. However, Daxter did seem…Different, somehow. He looked around, the very last light of dusk creeping in the window panes around them, the tranquil beat of streaming water enveloping his senses.
“Was…Was my father just here?” Jak asked, a bit dazedly. “I thought I heard his voice…”
“Yeah, big guy, he was. Wasn’t too happy with my…uh…Let’s say, unconventional methods, but….” Daxter gave a tilted grin, as he let their shoulders touch, before letting his head fall on the shoulder he used to occupy as an Ottsel. “Let’s just say that Orange Lightning has himself another fan.”
Jak hummed in the affirmative, finding the weight of Daxter to be grounding, lidding his eyes in relaxation as he assessed the lingering ache in his head. He tipped his head against a wave of sand-speckled sunset hair, letting the locks give him a calming scent of safety and familiarity. It was still jarring to know that a Marauder had finally bested him, knocked him out cold in the middle of a frantic fight, that Daxter had been left to continue without him in such a dire situation. Not many could brag about catching the seasoned hero off guard enough to send him unconscious.
But Daxter was there, cheerful, and mostly untouched. And that was what mattered at the moment.
“…And what exactly are your ‘unconventional methods?’” Jak murmured, peeking with one eye at his slumping companion.
“Shhhhh,” Dax replied. “Orange Lightnin’ never tells his secrets.” He only snuggled in tighter into the crook of Jak’s neck, slender fingers wrapping around the bare bicep in his hands. Jak arched an eyebrow, but allowed the diversion. Daxter would spill later, if he wanted to do so at all. He'd probably hear an altered version of it later when Daxter inevitably dragged him down to Spargus's lone bar.
Daxter smiled in quiet victory, happy that the day hadn’t been a total loss after all.
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Approval of a Sand King