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Room and Board	By : sillyneko345 Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 25355 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the game this story is based on (Jak & Daxter) nor do I make any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch. 1
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 6-Ch. 6
- 7-Ch. 7
- 8-Ch. 8
- 9-Ch. 9
- 10-Ch. 10
- 11-Ch. 11
- 12-Ch. 12
- 13-Ch. 13
- 14-Ch. 14
- 15-Ch. 15
- 16-Ch. 16
- 17-Ch. 17
- 18-Ch. 18
- 19-Ch. 19
- 20-Ch. 20
- 21-Ch. 21
- 22-Ch. 22
- 23-Ch. 23
- 24-Ch. 24
- 25-Ch. 25
- 26-Ch. 26
- 27-Ch. 27
- 28-Ch. 28
- 29-Ch. 29
- 30-Ch. 30
- 31-Ch. 31
- 32-Ch. 32
- 33-Ch. 33
- 34-Ch. 34
- 35-Ch. 35
- 36-ch. 36
- 37-ch. 37
- 33
- 34
- 35
Anon1: Sorry the updates are so few and far between. I am okay, just very slow...
Anon2: Dax vs. Erol, round one: GO!
MeekoMar: Jak will indeed have his hands full this chapter, unfortunately. As of now, Damas has yet to know of their budding relationship, but he has to find out eventually… Also, the location of these universities is “somewhere in the indiscriminate Midwest,” so readers are free to use their imaginations!
Raycoon: Unfortunately I don’t use any of those social media platforms, but you’re more than welcome to draw comics of this, if it inspires you! Thank you for asking first!
Anon3: Poor Jak and his spider experiences just don’t end well. Good thing Dax is always willing to save his damsel in distress.
TaintedEmerald: Sadly there will be no sequel to this monster, unless someone else volunteers to write their Sophomore year! (lol) But thank you, as always, for the kind words and encouragement!
JoeeyTF: Aww, that’s so sweet! Thanks so much for taking the time to share your thoughts. I appreciate it more than you know :)
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“Daxter, you can’t refuse someone service on the grounds that they’re evil.”
The redhead slouched lower behind the counter, doing his level best to avoid being noticed by Erol and the group he was seated with. “I never said you had to refuse to serve him. I just said I don’t wanna do it. Seriously, Taryn, this guy’s a bad news bear!”
“Have some previous history, do you?” Arms crossed, brow raised, she regarded him expectantly.
Daxter’s ears flattened at the unpleasant memory of getting handcuffed to a bunk bed, but she didn’t need to know the sordid—and humiliating—details. “To put it mildly, yes.”
Taryn sighed, massaging her temples. “Alright, look. As per the norm, we don’t have enough staff tonight to be choosey on who we send where. But if you just take them the pizza, I’ll take care of anything else they need after that. Deal?”
Loathe as he was to engage at all, that did seem like the mature, professional thing to do. It wasn’t likely that Erol would pull anything in a public area off campus, and he would probably be gone long before they closed up for the night. Slowly, Daxter rose from counter-level.
“Yeah, okay. Ya owe me, though.”
“How about I don’t owe you and you don’t get written up for insubordination?” she countered, rolling her eyes in a way that assured she would do no such thing even if he did refuse outright. “Go on. Quick and painless.”
“Sure thing. No problem.” He hefted the pizza tray one-handed, almost effortless now, and grabbed a basket of breadsticks off the warming board. “Order up for table eight, one large psychotic and a side of homicidal.”
Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool. Daxter approached the table trying to imagine himself confident. He was a lot braver now than the last time he’d dealt with Erol, and that had to count for something, right?
“Here ya go, thanks for waiting, watch the pan it’s really hot.” He deposited the pizza in the center of the table with practiced ease. There was a distracted chorus of acknowledgement from the other diners are everyone reached for their slices, which he took as an acceptable cue to vamoose.
Erol’s voice stopped him mid-turn.
“I’ll be damned. I didn’t even realize we were late for our quarterly run-in, Daxter.”
Gritting his teeth, he turned back to give the older, seemingly amused, redhead a neutral nod. “Time sure flies when yer havin’ fun.”
“How’s that stubborn football friend of yours? I haven’t seen him around recently either, come to think of it.” Erol’s smirk as he selected a breadstick was low-key taunting. “Though, I really expected him to pay a visit after last Thanksgiving.”
Thinking more about handcuffs and getting cornered in showers than he had in months, Daxter felt his skin crawl. Still, he managed to plaster on a passable Customer Service Smile. “He’s doin’ great. I’ll tell him you said hey.”
A small frown denoted Erol’s displeasure with the lackluster response, but it was soon obscured by a bite of breadstick as his attention turned back to his tablemates.
Daxter was more than content to take that as an end to a conversation he hadn’t wanted in the first place and beat a retreat. It was kind of creepy how sometimes Erol almost seemed to harass him just to get Jak’s reaction. Which didn’t make any sense at all—if he wanted to piss someone off, personally he’d just do it to their face—but whatever. Who knew why Erol did the jerkwad stuff he did.
If he had any idea how close Jakkie-boy really was ta makin’ a necklace out’a his teeth after the cuff thing, he wouldn’t be so cocky. The thought was comforting enough to make Daxter smile. It would be enough to make the rest of the shift, or at least until Erol took a hike, more bearable.
- - - - -
An hour later, Erol was still lingering. All but one of his companions had departed, leaving the tall redhead and a single other man to commiserate over drink refills.
They hadn’t so much as glanced in Daxter’s direction, which was just fine by him as he began bussing and wiping down tables. There wasn’t any harm in them chilling there if they were going to be civil; the restaurant would close in another half hour and then he could head home to his fake jock none the worse for wear.
His thoughts wholly consumed by what awaited him back at the dorm, arachnid and otherwise, Daxter moved on to the table directly behind the one where Erol still sat.
“—that son of a bitch Wulfengrad.”
The rhythm of Daxter’s rag on the scuffed wood faltered. He hadn’t really been listening to the snippets of low conversation behind him, but the only Wulfengrad he knew or had ever heard of was… Razer.
“He’s still on the roster for the finals, isn’t he?” the other man asked, counterpoint to the snap of a hardening pizza crust.
“Yes.” Erol’s sour tone invoked a glower. “You’d think he’d have the courtesy to stay down and out of my way after I went through all the trouble of demonstrating how dangerous the track can really be. His self-preservation instincts are a bit lacking.”
His friend gave a quiet snort of disbelieving laughter. “Man, you better cool it. One of these days you’re going to fuck up and actually kill somebody.”
“Well…” It was disturbingly easy to picture the smirk in that smooth voice. “Racing is dangerous. Cars are dangerous. Accidents happen.”
Daxter stood still, a serving tray balanced with dirty plates and half empty cups frozen in his hands. Reality was trying to superimpose itself onto some kind of Fast and the Furious scene, which his brain stuttered to compute.
Dude. There’s no way I’m actually hearing this.
Razer getting hit by a car during spring break hadn’t been an accident. It hadn’t even been on the road, but on a—a track? A racetrack? But… there weren’t any tracks in Haven, even he knew that much. All the big names in racing were up in Kras. Was racing near Haven even legal?
Oh shit, that would totally explain why Razer disappears every weekend, wouldn’t it? Daxter realized dimly. It would explain a lot. His ridiculous preoccupation with his car, his reluctance to give up an iota of extra info on his personal life… For a transfer student like Razer, keeping ties with illegal activity under wraps would be paramount if he didn’t want to face deportation.
But none of that mattered right this second, because if he was really hearing what he thought he was hearing, what did matter was the fact that Erol had just admitted to hitting Razer with a car, on purpose, and didn’t care less that it could have killed him.
Hell, maybe he’d actively been trying to kill him.
Anger bubbled up from somewhere deeply buried, sudden and hot.
Daxter turned with a jerk to say—he didn’t know what, exactly. Definitely something pointed and scathing. Before he could get out a word, the tray in his hands tipped. Reflexes fought gravity for the barest second. Then he came to his senses and overbalanced the whole assortment of dirty dishes, used napkins, and watered down soda down the back of Erol’s neck.
The inked redhead let out a noise like an irate polar bear as he surged to his feet, dripping ice cubes and shedding greasy napkins.
Adrenaline and anger padded both Daxter’s fear response and his common sense as the much bigger man loomed over him. “Oh wow, dude, sorry about that. Sometimes these things just get away from ya, ya know? My bad.”
Drawn by the crash and obvious disturbance in the Force, Taryn was there in the next instant to offer a dry washcloth in lieu of a towel. “I apologize profusely for whatever just happened here.” Taking in the destruction, she quirked a sharp eyebrow at Daxter. “… what did just happen here?”
Erol’s friend clapped a steadying hand onto his shoulder. “Just some bad luck, right man? No harm, no foul.”
“Of course.” Though his eyes remained hooded and vaguely murderous, Erol’s face and body relaxed minutely. “Accidents happen. The ones with Daxter usually seem to involve me wearing soft drinks.”
“Oh really, now.” Taryn’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Please wait one moment and we’ll get this cleaned up.” Grabbing Daxter by the wrist, she pulled him back to the kitchen and out of earshot.
“Hey Taryn, listen—”
“If I thought for one second you did that on purpose, I’d have to fire you.”
Daxter felt strangely detached from the moment as he blinked back at her as innocently as he could manage.
She took a deep breath, hands landing firmly on his shoulders. “But I won’t have to do that because it was completely accidental, right?”
“I turned around too fast and the tray tipped.” And that was the honest truth. To a point.
“Alright. That’s what I thought.” With a relieved sigh, she gave him a shove toward the utility closet. “Grab a mop and get that cleaned up while I offer him a free pizza voucher or something to make up for this disaster.”
“What? Ya want him ta come back?! Why?”
“Just go mop, you cretin. You’re on thin ice as it is.”
By the time Daxter filled the mop bucket and got back to the dining room, though, it was empty of everyone but Taryn and Ximon, who had come in and turned the Open sign to Closed behind him.
“Heard you had a gnarly wipeout, dude,” the delivery dude grinned. “Sorry I missed it. Sounds pretty epic.”
Taryn, gathering the cups and plates off the tile, huffed. “Not exactly how I’d have described it. That’s one customer we’ll never see again.”
“Aww, babe, you say that like it’s a bad thing.” More than a little relieved, Daxter took mop to floor with renewed purpose.
Man, I hate that sleeze! What an asshole! He could’a killed Razer, no joke. And what the hell’s with him preachin’ about criminal justice an’ gettin’ campus parties shut down if he’s drag racin’? Hypocrite much?
Mad as he was, though, it would probably be a good idea to lay low for the next few days. Erol wasn’t one to let things go lightly, as he’d proven time and again.
For a moment he considered calling Jak, before blowing the notion off completely. The big guy would probably just overreact and insist on showing up to hold his hand on the walk home. Totally overkill.
Closing up went quickly with the three of them after that. Soon they were parting ways.
“See you tomorrow, dude,” Ximon yawned cheerfully out the window of his van. “Don’t study too hard. S’bad for your brain.”
“Pff, as if.” Daxter waved him off with a grin as the van rumbled off down the drizzly wet street into the night.
He grabbed the last bag of garbage and turned down the alley toward the dumpster, shivering slightly against the chilly, rain-laden air. If he hurried home, maybe he’d beat the next line of clouds and stay reasonably dry. There was still a chance of storms before morning.
Preoccupied as he was, the figure in the shadows was behind him before he even knew they were there.
The bricks at the back of the restaurant knocked the air out of Daxter as he was unceremoniously grabbed by the collar and slammed against them. The instinct to bolt lit up inside him like a lightning strike, but running was out of the equation when you were already good and caught.
“I was feeling ever so slightly stressed out, so this was actually a very lucky meeting we had tonight,” Erol chuckled icily as his prey wheezed for breath and scrambled futilely against the much stronger hands holding him. “For me, not you.”
The Daxter that was almost a college sophomore was a far cry from the wincing, kicked around, distrustful high schooler he’d been a year ago—he would almost say he had become an entirely different person since then. He had a sick feeling, though, as a fist slammed almost causally into his gut and doubled him over in perfect position for a knee to the face, that he was about to remember exactly what being that person was like.
- // - // - // - // -
Jak had loitered in the lounge for most of the evening, unwilling to return to their room and risk another spider encounter without backup.
Long after Jinx departed for his own apartment, the quarterback stayed with Razer in a quiet corner, reading through past notes while the older student likewise studied. As much as he loved Dax and Phoenix, not a lot of academic progress was made when they were around.
He was halfway through a study packet when he glanced at his phone and noticed the time. Half past midnight.
Whoa, it’s later than I thought. Dax is probably back by now.
Their room was just down the hall, so he took a short break, stretching mightily before checking to see if his boyfriend was back. The room was still dark.
Confused, Jak retuned to the lounge where Razer was still eyebrow deep in a physics textbook. It wasn’t like Dax to be late without a disclaimer. Even if he went home with Ximon to play some video games, he’d usually send the quarterback a text first.
//Hey Dax, hanging with Ximon?//
Fifteen more minutes went by without a reply to his text. Jak was starting to get concerned when his phone rang. For a second he was relieved—only to see his teammate’s icon on the screen.
That was kind of weird. Why would he be calling so late?
“Hey, Phoenix. What’s up?”
//“Jak, I need you to come to the restroom by the back stairs right now.”//
The tone left no room for argument or question. Jak was on his feet in an instant, chair scraping backwards against the tiled floor.
Razer finally lifted his head from his book. “What’s the matter?”
“Something’s wrong with Phoenix.”
Without another word Razer too rose and followed him out of the lounge, half a step behind as Jak strode toward the specified bathroom.
What could the running back possibly have done to himself at this time of night? They had passed not an hour ago and he had been fine then. Jak shouldered open the bathroom door, prepared for just about anything. Anything except what he actually saw.
Daxter was hugged up against the farthest sink in the room, a wad of bloody toilet paper held to his face.
Jak froze in the doorway, Razer walking into him with an irritated “oof!” before he too caught a glimpse of what was happening and stilled at the quarterback’s side.
If there was ever a human version of the ASPCA animal cruelty awareness commercials, Daxter would have been it. Wet, dirty, and shivering, the redhead’s usually vibrant hair clung to his bruised, bloody face. He was missing his uniform hat and kept the arm not held to his nose tightly tucked against his chest.
“You walked all the way home like this?” Phoenix was demanding, unwrapping more toilet paper from the roll he held. “Why the hell didn’t you call someone?”
“C-couldn’t.” Daxter’s reply, already quiet and shaky, was muffled even more by the obstruction around his bleeding nose. “Dropped my phone. He… he stomped on it. S’trash.”
Finally, finally Jak found his voice. “What the hell happened?”
Both Daxter and Phoenix looked up at the snarl, the redhead’s startled eyes widening while the running back’s narrowed in anger.
“What happened, Jak, is that our mate here seems to have been ambushed when he left work and had the tar kicked out of him.”
Razer made a grab for Jak’s arm as he stalked into the bathroom. “Boy, do not—!”
Shrugging their older friend off, the quarterback was at his boyfriend’s side and cupping his face a moment later. Daxter squirmed away from the touch and shrank back into an even smaller ball, but not before Jak got a closer look through the mud and blood. Both the redhead’s cheekbones were heavily bruised; his left eye, at least, was blackening; his lip was split.
“Who did this?” he demanded.
Daxter offered a faint whimper and opened his mouth, but no sound seemed to come out of it.
“Who the bloody hell do you think it was, Jak?” Phoenix interrupted, slamming the half roll of toilet paper onto the sink counter. “I told you last semester we should have given that dog Erol a thing or two to think about! Every time we let our guard down he comes oozing out of the woodwork—”
“You need to go to the health center,” Jak said over him, reaching out again for Daxter, “or the ER, or something, and we’re calling the police.”
The redhead’s ears went back so far it looked like he’d lost them as he cringed up against the sink, fumbling for the hot water tap. “No! N-no, Jak, please, dear god please, don’t call the cops, just—I’m fine, I’m sorry, it’s fine, just let it go, please!”
Jak didn’t consider himself someone prone to outbursts of anger, or one to rush into displays of violence. If talk would work, punches didn’t need to be thrown. Right then, though, looking at what had been done to Daxter, the terrified mess he had been reduced to, his fingernails were cutting crescents into his palms. His teeth ground together so hard he could hear them.
“I am going to fucking murder him,” he hissed, black creeping around the edges of his vision with the intensity of his rage. Distantly he could feel his face and ears heating as the urge to punch something—preferably Erol’s face, but at this point any stationary, inanimate object would work—flowed through him like electricity.
Phoenix cracked his knuckles. “Well orange isn’t your color, mate, but if you’re going to rough this bloke up then I am absolutely right there behind you—”
Razer surged between Daxter and the athletes. “Outside. Both of you.”
It was an order, not a request. Before Jak could react, the older man had grabbed both he and Phoenix and bodily hefted them from the bathroom; no small feat considering his own, still healing, injuries.
Unfortunately, the quarterback wasn’t remotely in the mood to be mindful. He was in Razer’s face before the door had even closed behind the three of them, blocking Daxter’s shaking form from his line of sight.
“You can’t—!” was as far as he got.
“I can and I will,” Razer snapped, not backing down an inch, “especially since I am apparently the only one here with any sort of sense left. Daxter is already upset and the way you are acting is only going to make it worse. You have a right to be angry, but now isn’t the time nor the place. Leash your temper, or leave.”
Jak gaped.
Giving him no time to recover, Razer whirled on Phoenix. “And you. Make yourself useful for something besides instigating riots and go to the store. I want ice, bandages, antiseptic, re-sealable plastic bags, salt. Do not waste money on those worthless chemical icepacks.”
Phoenix blinked, clearly taken off guard as Razer’s wallet was slapped against his chest, but quickly recovered and accepted the marching orders with a nod. “Right. How much ice?”
“Whatever you can find.”
With another nod Phoenix was trotting off down the hall, faster than walking speed without blatantly running and attracting the attention of their neighbors or, god forbid, their RA.
Razer turned back to Jak. “Now. Are you calm enough to hold your temper, or do you need to take a walk, too?”
Jak bristled at the thought of anyone, even a friend, trying to force him away when his boyfriend very clearly needed him most. “No offence, Razer, but why the hell do you even care so much? You and Dax have never gotten along.”
“Our inability to ‘get along’ has everything to do with incompatible personalities and very little to do with anything else. Just because we argue doesn’t mean I want to see him hurt. Nor does it mean I will allow you to further aggravate his mental state, even inadvertently. So I ask you again, can you remember your manners, or do you need to go find them?”
“How can you just ask me to pretend everything’s okay?” the quarterback snarled, the urge to punch furniture rising once more.
“Because otherwise he’ll interpret your anger as blame.”
“It’s not his fault!” Jak all but roared, barely keeping his volume in check. Drawing attention would make the situation impossibly worse.
“I know that and you know that, but right now, Daxter does not. All he wants is for this to go away.” Razer leaned in until they were eye to eye, an alpha-dog stare down if Jak had ever seen one. “I’m not saying we're going to let the arschloch who did this off the hook. I’m saying that if you truly care about Daxter, his comfort is the only thing you should be worrying about right now. Revenge can, and will, wait.”
That, finally, managed to drain some of Jak’s anger. “…Right. You’re right.” As much as he hated to admit it. He scrubbed his hands over his face in a mostly futile attempt to calm down even more. “So now what?”
“You are going to stay right beside him and make him feel safe while I clean up his injuries. Agreed?”
Jak managed a jerky nod. He’d patched up plenty of run-of-the-mill football related injuries, but the older student had the obvious advantage of knowing how to treat the kind of wounds that came from an intended beating. If Dax wouldn’t let himself be taken to a proper medic—and odds were good he would not—then Razer was the obvious choice.
At his consent, Razer opened the bathroom door again, motioning Jak to go in first.
Inside, Daxter was trying to clean himself up. All he was succeeding at was getting slightly bloody water everywhere, shaking so badly by that point it was amazing he could even stand. His jacket, noticeably ripped, had been discarded on the floor. He was muttering over and over to himself as he splashed water on his face and arms.
Jak swallowed hard. “Dax? Dax, hey, it’s okay. Come on, calm down now—”
Lost in his muttered mantra, Daxter didn’t even turn to look their way as they carefully approached.
“Daxter.” Razer hung back, but put enough bite in his tone that the skittish redhead actually turned, startled and clearly expecting more violence.
His gaze found Jak first and stayed there.
Jak froze where he was, hands spread wide to look as non-threatening as possible. “It’s okay, Dax. It’s just me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier. We’re not calling the cops, okay?”
There were seconds of blank staring. Then the apologies started pouring out thick and fast. “Jak, I’m—I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, I didn’t mean fer this ta happen, I swear I didn’t—!”
“Dax, stop. This isn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you. No one’s mad at you. It’s alright.” Fighting back a horrendous lump in his throat, Jak inched steadily forward until he was close enough to gently pull Daxter away from the sink.
This time the redhead didn’t fight his touch. With only a little cajoling, he let himself be settled on the edge of the nearest shower benches. A couple hiccupping breaths later and he even seemed to be calming as Jak ran gentle hands though his tangled, dirty hair and kept up a steady run of mindless, soothing noises.
Only then did Razer make his move. Rather than advancing on Daxter right away he yanked a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. Jak watched gratefully as Razer ignored them for the moment, and instead busied himself cleaning up the splattered water and blood around the sink. Only when it no longer looked so much like a crime scene, and Daxter no longer looked so close to another panic attack, did he throw the soggy ball away and move to stand in front of them.
“Look up.”
Even though it was said in the most neutral tone possible, Daxter still flinched and pulled away, trying to hide in Jak’s shadow. “I’m fine!”
“You are not fine.” Razer gritted his teeth as he lowered himself to his knees. “Your overly-excitable beau was right about one thing; you do need medical attention. You can receive it from me, or, as the campus clinic is closed at this time of night, we can haul you down to the ER, where they will be required by law to notify the police, who in turn must file a report. Which do you prefer?”
Daxter shot a nervous glance up at Jak.
“It’s okay. Razer knows what he’s doing.” He tried to sound confident; easier said than done when the caveman side of his brain didn’t want anyone to touch his boyfriend at all, even with helping hands.
With one hand, Razer gently tipped and held the redhead’s bruised face at the appropriate angle while the other used more damp paper towel to carefully wipe away the blood and dirt. Daxter held himself admirably still, trembling and whining when even the softest touches still inadvertently caused pain, but never tried to pull away or make Razer stop.
Jak kept up a steady murmur the entire time, barely caring what he was actually saying as long as it helped keep Dax calm. “Hey, is your arm okay? Can you move it?”
Said arm was gingerly extended, though the wince that went along with the motion was telling.
He had lost track of how long they’d been at it when Phoenix returned with the supplies his roommate had asked for. Apart from a quick knock at the door to announce his presence, he was quiet about his entrance, even as he lowered a five-pound bag of ice into one of the sinks.
The silence lasted for several minutes before suddenly— “Do you blokes have any idea how hard it is to casually walk into this place with a bag of ice over your shoulder? No subtle way to go about that, for damned sure.”
It was just a random conversation starter, but knowingly or not, it was the best thing he could have done. Razer’s huff of grudging amusement, Jak’s almost startled snicker, brought the tension in the room down. And as they relaxed and began responding, so did Daxter.
“You’re going to want to skip out on classes for the next few days,” Razer advised tiredly as the last bandage was smoothed down. “Keep these ice packs on your face as long as you can; helps the swelling from becoming so nasty. Also, I highly encourage you to visit the health center in the morning and have that arm looked at. It may be just a sprain, but then again it may be a fracture, and regardless it should be in a brace.”
Jak reached out reflexively as the older man got to his feet and then wobbled alarmingly. “You okay?”
He was promptly waved off, as was Phoenix when he stepped up worriedly. “More than. Just a dizzy spell.”
The quarterback felt another rush of gratitude. Razer was still healing up himself, and kneeling on the floor for that long couldn’t have been comfortable, but he’d done it for Dax.
Satisfied that Razer wasn’t about to fall on his face, Jak turned his attention fully on his boyfriend. “So. You know you don’t have to, but do you want to tell us what happened?”
Daxter, who’d been quietly following the conversation with one of the homemade ice packs held gingerly to the worst of the bruising on his cheekbone, winced. “… you’re gonna be pissed at me.”
“Why would you think that I’d be mad at you because someone else decided to hurt you?”
He wouldn’t meet Jak’s eye, staring down at the tile. “Cuz I started it.”
“Dax, nothing you did makes this—”
“No, Jak, seriously. I started it. Erol came in with some guys, ordered pizza, made a couple creeper-ific remarks I blew off. He got bored an’ ignored me. I should’a left well enough alone.” The redhead hunched defensively on the bench. “He an’ this one guy stayed way late. I didn’t mean ta eavesdrop on ‘em but I was clearin’ tables an’ it just… happened. He said somethin’ that pissed me off so bad I… I dumped a tray of trash and coke down the guy.”
Jak almost—almost—had to laugh. “Are you shitting me?”
“No.” Ears down miserably, clearly expecting a scolding, Dax almost looked like a kid caught raiding the candy bowl. “Look, I know it was dumb, but he had it coming!”
Razer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I believe I can see how someone would take offense to that. Just what was said that provoked you so badly?”
Seeming to relax when no shouting was forthcoming, the redhead looked up at Razer. “He was talkin’ about he was ticked you’re still around after he ran you over. I think he was legit tryin’ ta kill you, dude.”
Razer’s mouth dropped open.
“What?!” Phoenix roared, rounding on his roommate. “He’s the one who ran you over? Did you know it was him?”
Jak stepped quickly in front of Daxter as the redhead spasmed like a startled cat, almost toppling backwards off the bench. “Goddamn it, Phoenix, could you be a little louder? I don’t think the entire dorm heard that.”
This night just kept getting better and better.
- // - // - // - // - // -
Daxter huddled, rather shamelessly, behind his jock. Boy, this night just kept getting better and better.
“Listen to your captain; he’s decided to take a turn being the sensible one,” Razer sighed, trying with minimal success to quiet Phoenix. “Yes, I knew Erol was the culprit, and I knew just as well it was not unintentional.”
“And why the hell didn’t I know this?”
“Because at the time, it was far down the list of important topics to address, under my broken ribs and emergency room bill. Also I knew you would react exactly the way you are now. Thank you for proving me right.”
Phoenix scowled at his boyfriend’s faint smile. “You and I are going to have a little discussion about this,” he said pointedly.
“That’s fair. I’ll add it to my calendar.”
“I am so lost,” Jak huffed, a protective hand still resting on Daxter’s shoulder. “Why would Erol try to kill you? I didn’t even know he knew you. It’s me and Dax he’s been after all year.”
“It’s you he’s been butting heads with on campus,” Razer corrected, the small smile he’d shown Phoenix melting into a grim line. “After hours is an entirely different story.”
Peering out from behind Jak, Daxter finally dared to speak up again. “… you drag race, right? He was sayin’ how you’re still on the lineup for the finals, or somethin’, an’ he was bent up about it.”
“Tut tut, dear boy.” Miraculously, the small smile returned. “Drag racing is a quaint way to make a lot of noise and blow an engine very quickly. Street racing is an art.”
“Is that legal?”
Phoenix shrugged uncomfortably. “Well. No. No, not really. Not at all, actually, it’s really quite illegal. But—but he’s bloody brilliant at it, Jak, you should see him on the course! You can’t tell anyone, though. Obviously it’s not something we can spread around, alright?”
“Obviously.” The quarterback ran a hand over his tired eyes. “I always knew you were a delinquent, Razer. So he just hates you because you’re competition?”
“Erol is an extremely sore loser. Unfortunately for him, I am extremely good at winning.” Razer looked back to Daxter, completely serious once more. “Tell me something. At any point did you insinuate to him that I am an acquaintance of yours? Did you tell him you know me at all, even in passing?”
He shook his head slowly, trying to remember. “N-no. I don’t think so. I was so pissed I didn’t say anything, I just—did it.”
After a long moment, the older man sighed. “Well, thank your lucky stars, then. If Erol knew we were affiliated after what happened I highly doubt you would be in as good condition as you are right now.”
Jak barked a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously? ‘Good condition?’ Do you have eyes?”
An unamused stare leveled at the quarterback as Razer pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. “Clearly. Allow me a fairly obvious query of my own: when was the last time you went out with the intention to curb-stomp someone and failed to break a bone or three? Left them able to limp away when you were through?”
“I can honestly say I’ve never gone out with the intention to curb-stomp someone,” Jak gritted. “Before tonight.”
Razer rolled an unlit cigarette in his fingers. “Regardless. Don’t mistake me, Daxter, you were trounced quite soundly. But as hard as it may be to believe while you’re in pain, it’s all superficial. Nothing lasting. If this was Erol attacking you as an ally of his enemy and not just an upped ante in his alpha male game, do you really believe you’d be here and not in emergency, if not the morgue?”
“Like he apparently tried to do to you,” Phoenix pointed out coldly, ears back in an aggressive slant. “You know, forget what I said earlier. Let me get my boots, I know a brilliant place to hide a body.”
“If I must tie and gag you in our wardrobe for the night, so help me you will settle down,” Razer threatened, looking too much like an annoyed cat at that moment. “Yes, he very well may have been trying to kill me. And he very well may have done far worse to Daxter if he knew that the four of us are as close as we are. I say again, we were lucky. And I desperately need to smoke.”
“Okay, but what are we going to do about this,” Jak gestured at Daxter, “right now, tonight? I’m not going to pretend like this didn’t happen.”
“Nor should you,” the older student conceded.
Phoenix dropped down on the bench, seeming worn out in the wake of his own anger subsiding. “We could still file a report, I think. Don’t suppose we may be insanely lucky and there are any cameras around Pizza Haven? Even Erol’s connections couldn’t save him if he was caught on film beating someone.”
“Comic shop next door has one in front, but not in back,” Daxter supplied, shaking his head as hard as he dared. The flares of immediate pain dictated that wasn’t hard at all. “Guys, I seriously don’t think gettin’ the cops in on this would do squat besides make him madder.”
He had to leave the safety of their room eventually. He had to go to class, to work, to the bathroom—all places Erol might lie in wait if provoked again—and Jak couldn’t follow him everywhere. Not that the quarterback wouldn’t try.
Razer nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately. Once again, all we have as your word against Erol’s, and I am absolutely confident when I say that he will have three alibis ready and two ‘witnesses’ to back each of them up if we take this to the authorities.”
“So what do we do?” Jak demanded again.
“You bide your time… and let me call in a favor or two. We are far from the only enemies Erol has made for himself, on campus and off.” As if adjourning a meeting, Razer abruptly turned on his heel and made for the door. “Daxter, I have a few pain killers left from last month. They’ll be more use to you than me at this point.”
Jak sputtered indignantly at the dismissal. “Well—if I ever catch that son of a bitch alone, there’s not going to be any ‘biding,’ I’ll tell you that right now.”
“Duly noted.”
Phoenix stood up, cracking his back impressively as he did so. “I’ll go with him. We’ll bring the pills on our way outside, okay?”
Though his friends had mostly been talking over his head, Daxter was strangely fine with that. Back in his room with his fake jock standing guard sounded like heaven.
When Jak offered him a hand up he took it and shuffled out of the bathroom, looking up and down the hall to make sure the coast was clear. It was now the middle of the night, but the last thing he wanted was someone to get a load of his face and make a scene. Granted, he’d have to face that in the morning anyway, but right now he didn’t think he could handle it.
Jak followed, bringing what was left of the ice bag. One inconspicuous trail of drips later and they were safely behind closed doors once more.
“Hey Jak, can ya do me a favor tomorrow mornin’?” the redhead asked tiredly, sinking into the bottom mattress. He wasn’t even going to try to attain the Mount Everest that was the top bunk. “Could ya call Taryn an’ Ximon for me? Damn it… I gotta get a new phone pronto.”
And email his instructors, and probably drag himself to the health center to have his arm looked at, and at least try to work on some of his schoolwork. Now that he wasn’t numb and dissociating (he didn’t remember most of the walk home) or in full panic mode (the entire first half of their time in the bathroom) the reality of the situation was beginning to set in. He didn’t, as such, appreciate it.
“Of course I will.” Jak crammed the remaining ice into the tiny freezer of their mini fridge and turned to him. “… you know I’d do anything for you, right?”
“Anything that’s not a felony?” Dax smiled crookedly, trying not to reopen the cut on his lip, but something about the way Jak looked at him as he said it made him want to clarify.
The quarterback’s ears flattened. “No promises.”
“Dude, don’t make me call your daddy on you. I can do that, Jak. He likes me. He’ll listen if I tell him to come control his spawn.”
That finally coaxed a small smile in return. “Tattle tale.”
A knock heralded Razer and Phoenix, being conspicuously quiet.
“These should last you through the worst of it,” Razer told him, handing off a mostly empty pill bottle. “I’d warn you to be cautious as they can be habit-forming, but I doubt the supply is enough that you’d need to worry about that.”
Daxter accepted the offering gratefully. “Thanks, man. I owe ya one.”
“You owe me nothing. There are no debts between friends.”
He found he was actually a little choked up as their neighbors said their goodnights and departed. Had Razer really changed that much in two semesters, or had he always been a pretty good guy under the ice prince act?
“I’ll get you some water,” Jak offered, breaking into his thoughts. He grabbed a fresh bottle from the fridge and snapped off the cap before handing it over.
A dose was taken in short order. Slowly, stiffly, Daxter got out of his dirty uniform (thankfully black fabric was great at hiding bloodstains) and into a clean shirt and boxers. When he crawled back into the bottom bunk, Jak hovered uncertainly.
“Do you want me to sleep in your bed tonight? I don’t want to squeeze you or put an elbow in your face or something.”
The redhead gave him his most unimpressed stare. “Jak, if you do not get yer jockly butt in this bunk and hold me, I will never speak to you again.”
Just breathing hurt right then, but he hadn’t found anything yet that Jak’s close proximity couldn’t make better. When Jak slid carefully in beside him and wrapped an arm around him even more carefully, Daxter relaxed like a snapped bungee cord, melting into the warmth and security. When Jak snuggled back, gently resting his chin on the top of Daxter’s head so as not to touch his face, he thought that just maybe Jak had needed this just as much.
Exhausted, lulled by his boyfriend’s soft humming, Daxter fell asleep.
- // - // - // - // -
To be continued…
- - - - -
Outtakes!
- - - - -
Razer: This night cannot possibly get any more trying. I am going to smoke.
Dax: I agree, and I am also going to smoke!
Razer: … I beg pardon, what?
Dax: I’m goin’ outside to smoke with you. They say smoking calms the nerves, right? No better time to give it a try!
Razer: *deep, deep sigh* Phoenix, we’re going to need to borrow your inhaler. And I’m also going to need you to record this for when I feel like laughing tomorrow.
Dax: Hey!
- - - - -
Dax: (on the verge of sleep) Y’know… *yawn* we never got to look for your spider…
Jak: (goes rigid) Oh my god, why did you have to say that. WHY.
- - - - -
Damas: (pauses mid-step) That’s odd. Suddenly I feel the overwhelming urge to call Jak. Hmm. The last time my parent senses were tingling this badly he and Keira put the rocket boosters on that tractor and nearly blew the barn to kingdom come… Ah well, I’m sure it’s nothing!
- - - - -
Phoenix: So who are you going to call in the favor from?
Razer: Only the most vile, the most ruthless, the most inhuman—
Rayne: *GLARES*
Razer: —most charming creature in the syndicate, of course.
Rayne: You are loathsome and I owe you nothing.
Razer: You do. I took you dancing.
Rayne: That’s not something worth me having someone splattered over!
Razer: I took you dancing and I wore the fuck me heels.
Rayne: … I’ll see what I can do.
- - - - -
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