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Love is War	By : grimreaperchibi Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 4213 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Jak & Daxter, nor the places, people, or objects within. I make no money writing this. Additional disclaimer within.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: This chapter started off so well for me; what the hell happened? Oh well, I'm not 100% happy with it, but any more fussing is just going to make it worse at this point. The only thing of note is that while this song does have lyrics attached to it, that is not the reason it was picked and therefore, there are no lyrics to be posted. But here's the additional disclaimer anyway, just to cover my tail.
Additional Disclaimer: The lyrics used within are part of the fair use clause of copyright law and remain the property of the individual artists and recording companies to which they belong. Any misconstruing/mistyping of the lyrics is strictly the fault of the author. All lyrics are used here only for setting ambience.
Amaronith: I'm really glad you're enjoying this. You have no idea how much you and Robin have spurred me on in the writing department. I haven't done this much notebook work since high school...I'd forgotten how much I missed it.
Robin: Why no, I've never heard that. Tell me more, tell me more. Or, you can do what the Muse does, and smack me for being a compliment whore.
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Chapter 7 – Hold Tight (Goldfish)
The stone doorway closed with a surprisingly soft sound. The muted thud enhanced the wordless scream from moments earlier, already being swallowed up by the sheer vastness of the chamber they stood in. All that weight might as well come down directly on top of him; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, and the whole of the world was locked in ageless rock, if it hadn’t just blatantly ended.
In that small moment of eternity, the world really did end. He could reach out and touch all the little shattered pieces. Nothing was ever going to be the same after this and his chest ached with the sense of loss. Then reality slammed back into drive.
“Great Tree Limbs, he’s gone to face the tests!”
“No. He’s gone to his death.”
Daxter whirled, ready to beat Kor with verbal (and possibly very physical) fists for even suggesting that Jak wasn’t going to make it. If it was one thing his friend excelled at, it was getting into and out of sticky situations in one piece. He’d battled it out on top of a freaking eco silo with the Psycho Siblings using nothing but some well timed jumps and spare eco. A musty old tomb had nothing on that. Not when Jak had two years more maturity, strength, and a gun to back him up now. He’d pass those so-called Trials of Manhood without breaking a sweat, pop that Precursor Stone like a piece of candy, and still make it home in time for an early lunch.
The racking of a rifle cut him off before the first word could be spoken. No less than fifteen KG stood behind what remained of their merry little band with their guns locked and loaded for a serious take-down. There was an almost comedic double-take from Samos and Kor, but Daxter was already six steps ahead. A push here, a zag there and he’d be past the line-up, free as a bird until he hit the lift out. Of course, there were bound to be more Guards waiting outside at street level, but communicators didn’t work so well underground. Popping up so soon after initial engagement would definitely be a surprise, one he could use to bolt before anyone was the wiser. No sooner was the plan formed than it turned to dust by the reflexive squeezing on his fingers.
Widgit.
They’d all be standing together, him, Jak, and the kid, when the Oracle had decided Widgit was too young—which he was, damn it. Was Samos high or something, trying to send a kid that young into the vast unknown without any sort of prep or back up? And then he’d screamed at Jak, of all people, to do something when Plan A surprisingly failed. Oh, they were going to have words after this…but that came later. Right now it was him and the child heir he was becoming unduly attached to against the rank and file of the city. The fleeting thought of “What would Jak do?” crossed his mind. Turn tall, dark, and gruesome and kick everyone’s ass. Not an option at the moment. So, “What would Jak want him to do?”
Get the hell out of there.
…And become seven different kinds of an ass for abandoning a kid to save himself. He’d done that once, thanks-so-much, and sometimes it was still hard not to be sick with guilt. Jak refused to hear it anymore, always forgive and forget when they had some sort of upset between them, but Daxter was pretty sure he’d try to apologize for the rest of his life. Jak at least understood what had happened and why it had to be that way, even if it was mostly bullshit. What could he possibly say to Widgit? What would make it okay for him to be left behind? Jak could be a force of nature without the eco; what defense did a six year-old really have? None. Samos had been willing to throw him into the abyss without a second thought. Kor…Kor was starting to creep him out big time. Jak was rather indisposed at the moment. That meant Orange Lightning, already faced with two bad strikes against him, was the one to bring it all home.
It took less than a second for him to reach his decision. He wasn’t going to run away again. He wasn’t going to leave someone he cared about behind. He was going to do what he should have done the first time—protect what mattered to him.
The KG had barely voiced their command to surrender and die before Daxter bolted, Widgit in his arms and escape on his mind. Everyone seemed stunned at the sudden movement. He managed to slip by the Guard and almost made it to the lift before they gathered enough wits to start shooting. There was some confused shouting. He didn’t care to look back to see what was happening. It took an excruciatingly long time for the doors to open and close again, and the lift to start ascending.
“Hang on ta me, kiddo,” he said softly, absently stroking a shivering back. “I’ll keep ya safe, I swear.” Widgit only curled up tighter against him, face pressed into his neck like he was hiding. The redhead refused to think about the wetness soaking his collar, or the hammering of his own heart, or the little voice that said he was running away from Jak again, valid reasoning or not. He stared at the approaching door, trying to concentrate on what his next move should be. He was pretty much screwed when it came to location. The Port and both Bazaar sections were antagonizingly close, but still needed a clear shot and a lot of fancy footwork to reach. He shook his head; just take the first direction available, deal with the choices on the fly, and make the most of every second he could.
The street was packed with Krimzon Guard, or at least close enough for it to count as packed. Most had formed a living blockade to keep curious by-standers at bay, but there were enough free-standing bodies to make things just shy of impossible. The realization that they had been set up warred with the knowledge that the longer he stood there, the more likely he faced capture before accomplishing anything. If he could just make it into the crowd… There was an authoritative shout and Daxter jumped the line, barreling out into the thick of it.
There was more shouting interspersed with the rapid report of gunfire. The civilian populace freaked, creating panic and disorder that pushed the Guard into further disarray. Daxter didn’t really register any of it as he dodged obstacles and jumped bodies, looking for the opening he needed. With Widgit in his arms, he was overbalanced, unsteady, making it difficult to use his standard evasion tactics. Still, there was a small measure of hope when he broke into the scattered remains of the crowd. All he had to do now was keep running…a dream short lived as white hot pain ripped through his leg. He stumbled, missing what would have probably been a head shot that came immediately after. Widgit cried out and that was enough to keep the redhead moving, hobbling as fast as he could to a nearby break in the buildings.
There were fewer hiding places the he had expected to find, but all he needed was one. He pulled out his knife and pried open a ventilation grate. “C’mon, kid. In ya go.” Widgit clung on stubbornly, struggling against the hands trying to pull him off. “Hey!” Daxter snapped, earning a startled look from big, wet blue eyes. He choked on the sudden wave of guilt; he thought only Jak had that ability. He took a breath and started again. “I don’t got alotta time to argue, so listen up, ‘kay? I don’t wanna let ya go either, but I promised I’d protect you an’ the best way to do that now is ta draw ‘em off while you hide here. Rule one is to protect yer own, got it? No matter what, you don’t break that rule, understand?” Tears were still overflowing onto reddened cheeks, but Widgit nodded, trying to look brave. Daxter grabbed him up in a strong hug before helping him into the shaft. “No matter what happens, you stay here,” he said sternly. “When it’s safe, me an’ Jak’ll come get ya. But you gotta stay quiet until then.”
There was an almost inaudible sob as he replaced the grate. If anything, the boy was crying harder now, curled up in the dark and dubious shelter of the ventilation shaft. Daxter’s heart clenched hard enough he couldn’t breath as realization dawned. The kid was an heir to a usurped throne, left to wander the streets. How many times had someone told him to stay quiet? To stay hidden? That they would come back for him, only to never return? How many times had someone broken their word to an innocent child in order to protect him?
“Hey,” he said softly, laying a hand over the grate, smiling when he was looked at. “I swear, ta the Precursors, the Sages, an’ anyone else listenin’; I’m gonna be there when ya need me. Me an’ Jak, we’re heroes, remember? We’ll save the day, just wait an’ see.” The smile he received was watery, but it made him strong enough to walk away without looking back.
…He was screwed, and he knew it. There was a hole in his leg, making it difficult to stand let alone move around. Blood had plastered his pant leg to skin and was dripping uncomfortably into his boot. His only defensive weapon was a knife, which was no match for KG armour. He was playing a zero sum game. The most he could hope for was to buy Jak enough time to get the Stone and get out before there was a repeat of two years ago.
C’mon, buddy. We need ya out here…
Dax?
The stock of a rifle caught him across the face when he jumped back into the fray. Daxter turned with the blow, reaching back to grab something so he could swing around. His fingers locked around a shoulder plate and he pulled, using momentum to turn and face his attacker. The surprised look was still in place on the grunt’s face as the redhead slammed the knife home through the tiny gap between helmet and body. His grip shifted as he pulled it free, ducking under another Guard’s awkward grab before punching through the flimsy covering in the armpit area. A push sent the flailing body back into several more approaching men. He turned to take on a third when his wounded leg gave out. He lashed out anyway, aiming for the chink just under the breastplate. It was a miserable miss, coming in too high and striking full-on into the dense material. A jarring pain shot up his arm as the blade tip snapped cleanly off.
Pure adrenaline got him back up on his feet, brandishing the broken knife in a wide arc that did nothing to stop the KG advancing against him. Two Guards down before getting his ass handed to him…better than he’d expected, but still a far cry from what had been needed. Orange Lightning’s last stand was barely a fizzle.
Gods, Jak… I’m sorry…
Daxter!
He flipped the blade and threw it as hard as he could, nailing his target in the face despite everything. One more goon down and out for the count. Three was a good number, right? He didn’t get a chance to feel any sort of satisfaction as the rest of the group closed in. Something struck his bad leg at the same time something else collided with the back of his head. The world exploded with pain. He collapsed with a chocked cry, only to have an armoured boot connect solidly with his ribs. Once, twice, stealing his breath, then a third kick straight to the face.
“Back off, man!” he heard distantly, finally allowed to slump to the ground. “The Commander will skin us alive if we kill him before he’s interrogated.”
Daxter felt himself get hauled back up, hissing as his wrists were twisted back and then up between his shoulder blades, locking the joints and making any and all struggling ineffective, not to mention agonizing. Between the pain in his leg and the throbbing in his head, it was a damn miracle he remembered his own name. He winced as rough fingers twisted in his hair, leveraging his head back at an uncomfortable angle.
“You’re gonna wish you were dead when Commander Erol gets done with you,” an equally rough voice sneered into his ear. “And then I’m gonna finish off what’s left.” His hair was released with a parting, “Fucking rebel scum.”
Before he could think better of it, Daxter opened his mouth. “Yeah,” he wheezed. “‘Cuz workin’ for a psycho commander-in-chief an’ his unhinged lackey is soooo much better.”
The hard fist doing its best to turn his internal organs to mush was expected, as was the rush of blood into his mouth, to a lesser extent. What wasn’t expected was the feeling of something tearing right before everything locked up. His lungs refused to expand, leaving him with short gasps and all the pain he had felt up until now faded in the panicked wake of not being able to breathe. He became so focused on that little necessity, he missed being dragged across the plaza, back to where this whole mess started outside Mar’s Tomb.
He was just starting to work past the pain when his head was sharply pulled back again, making him dizzy and nauseous. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? A rat that came crawling out of its hole…” The obnoxiously condescending voice forced Daxter’s eyes open, glaring with as much hate and loathing as he could muster. Erol smiled back mildly, seemingly please by the reaction. “Still got some fight left? Good. Struggling makes it more interesting, after all.”
“Get bent, lint licker.”
The insane commander tsked. “That was terribly unimaginative, Daxter…isn’t it?” He smiled as the blood drained from Daxter’s face. “Oh, yes, I know who you are. The rat in the walls who came and stole away my chance to rectify a very serious mistake. The shadow always pressed to Jak’s back. He’s here, somewhere, isn’t he?’
“Damn straight,” Daxter sneered, fighting to sound as sure of himself as possible. “An’ when he gets done tearin’ all you bastards apart, there ain’t gonna be enough pieces left over to go fishin’ with.”
That made Erol smile even more sadistically. “Not this time. You see, there isn’t a person in this city that didn’t see that lovely little light show that destroyed the Baron’s statue. You practically invited us here. And even if that hadn’t been enough, when we heard that brat you’ve been protecting and the head of your little club was going to be here, how could we refuse? All our enemies and problems cleanly and conveniently buried where they belong, in a forgotten grave.”
The ground under their feet suddenly trembled, like something had been blown up. Daxter shot a panicked look toward the tomb’s entrance. Erol chuckled. “So that’s where he is. Too bad, really. I had so looked forward to being the last thing that freak saw.”
“The only freak I see is—”
He didn’t get to finish. Erol turned and suddenly, his hand was squeezing closed around Daxter’s throat. “Don’t you get it?” he hissed. “It’s over! For you. For the Underground. For Jak. Even if by some miracle he survived whatever defenses were down there, he can’t win against the Baron. Only one person will be coming back to the surface with the Precursor Stone and I’ll make damn sure Jak’s corpse is the first one broken—”
Erol cut off abruptly when Daxter spat in his face. It wasn’t a very good shot and honestly, not a very smart move, but it had shut the asshole up. It wasn’t like he could out shout the man with a hand wrapped around his neck, dangerously close to crushing his windpipe. He smiled, bloody spittle still on his lips, cold and arrogant against the rising rage in Erol’s eyes. He could almost see the psychotic break waiting to happen.
“What the hell’s going on here?!” a voice snapped before Erol could. As quickly as the madness had come, the Commander was once more in complete control. He straightened up sharply, obviously ready to shred whoever dared to interrupt him when everyone noticed it was Ashelin questioning him. The female Commander shifted her weight to one hip and planted her hand there, face filled with a haughty, patronizing look that had probably taken hours in a mirror to perfect. “Well?” she demanded.
“The prisoner was resisting arrest.” A lame lie and everyone knew it. It was still a step above admitting to being a playground bully.
Ashelin eyed the whole group. “Yes. Clearly, he’s a Class A threat, what with his hands tied up and a wounded leg. He most definitely needs six grown men to wrestle him into submission. Get him into a transport and get back into formation,” she snarled.
“With all due respect,” Erol was obviously straining to keep his tone civil, “this is my operation.”
“And a fine job you’ve done fucking it up. Mass panic and civilian casualties in what should have been a straight-up escort mission. Get your men in line, or I’ll court martial them all.”
Erol twitched. For a minute, it looked like that madness would boil over again. Instead, he thumped a hand to his chest and gave her a slight bow. “As you wish, Lady Praxis.” The two exchanged another hate-filled stare, then Ashelin walked away. Erol made a curt gesture with his hand and Daxter found himself hauled none-too-gently away.
They had just (literally) thrown him into one of the nearby transports when the periodic rumblings that had been taken place under the street became one long, monstrous roar, a sound like the world was trying to tear itself apart. Fissures appeared in the streets while pieces of the stone structure housing the tomb’s entrance began to crumble. With a loud crack, the ceiling fell in as something shot through, sending up a large dust cloud. Daxter pushed himself upright, pressing against the bars, holding his breath.
C’mon, Jak! Ain’t nothin’ out there tougher then you. C’mon, buddy….
…
There was an odd light in the dust, steadily getting brighter as the air cleared. Bleeding, dirty, but still there—Baron Praxis immerged, something large and glowing in his hands which he raised triumphantly over his head. The Guard immediately started cheering. The loud cacophony drowned out a single scream Daxter only realized later had come from him.
“He’s gone to his death.”
“Only one person will come back with the Precursor Stone.”
He purposefully jarred his leg, using the pain to chase the unwanted voices from his head. There was no way, no way, Jak was… He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. No! He wan’t going to think like that! Despite it taking two years, Jak hadn’t given up on him. He wasn’t going to give up on Jak, either! Jak was gonna crawl out, see what an awful mess he’d made of everything, smack him upside the head, scowl to hide a smile, and help him clean it all up again. Jak would find him. He would. He would…wouldn’t he? This wasn’t how this was supposed to end…
Kor and Erol’s voices came back, and this time, pain didn’t make them go away. Daxter tried anyway, kept trying to inflict enough hurt to keep them at bay. Because enduring physical pain was better than admitting he’d finally lost everything.
***
Thrity-two steps, left. Forty-one more, right. Thirteen steps from there to the lift. Up to the fifth floor. Left. Second corridor and left again. Three doors down on the right…or was it supposed to be the third corridor and then two doors down?
Jak swore under his breath, trying to remember which it was supposed to be. Torn had tried to give him a map, but it would have been useless to someone who couldn’t read it. He probably should have taken the damn thing anyway. And what? he snarled to himself. Asked the kindly-looking Guard on the corner how to get to the cell block where they kept the high profile inmates? Get a grip.
Second corridor, left. He counted out three doors and kicked the appropriate one in. Broom closet. Not where he wanted to be. He cursed again and started backtracking. He was so damned lost, it wasn’t even funny.
He’d known something had gone wrong the moment he laid eyes on the Baron while still in Mar’s Tomb. A suspicion that had only been confirmed when he’d finally managed to free him from the wreckage and found himself alone for the first time in months. Some searching and a near break later, he’d finally decided to head back to the Underground’s base to see if anyone knew what had happened. Except without Daxter there, he’d gotten lost twice trying to find his way back. Didn’t matter that he and Dax had been crawling through the city every which way for their missions since joining, he still got lost. The redhead was the one who led, the one who always knew the fastest way in and out of trouble…the one who’d finally started drawing maps for the other members because they were more detailed than Torn’s. Without Daxter to point out the proper landmarks, everything looked the same to Jak. He just didn’t have the memory for the maze.
As was painfully obvious right now. Even with Torn’s instructions, he almost couldn’t find his way through the Fortress, backtracking almost as much as he managed to move forward. Third corridor, second door; this one came completely off its hinges. It was a monitoring office of some sort, complete with computer bank along the back wall. Jackpot. He walked in, fumbling the device Vin had given him out of his hip pocket. “Center panel,” he repeated softly. “Below the monitor, but above the keyboard. Square button between two lights.” He pressed it and held his breath as the contraption started making noise, lights blinking on, then off again. Once he was fairly confident it wasn’t going to explode, he found where the device was supposed to plug in. Then he counted to twenty.
“Vin?” he asked quietly.
“I read you,” the engineer responded, voice equally quiet and interspersed with static. “You did great, Jak. You’re right on schedule.”
It didn’t feel like it. “Where are they?”
“I’m checking recent lock-ups. It’ll take a minute.”
Jak fought back the urge to snap that he didn’t have a minute. They’d already wasted enough time! He settled for rubbing a hand over his eyes, trying to focus on that little voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Daxter. Initially, he’d passed if off as a trick two years of near constant solitude had played on him, a coping method to keep from going truly insane. Now, he wasn’t so sure it wasn’t just madness. Twice while he was working through the Trials, he had clearly heard his friend’s voice, the first time telling him to hurry and then an apology. And then there was the scream when the tomb started collapsing in on itself thanks to the bombs Praxis had been throwing around. It still came in waves, sometimes strong while barely there at other times, an almost feverish mantra of denial and dying hope. It was the only thing that had kept him from seriously hurting Torn earlier.
“G-got it!” Vin said, snapping him back to the present. “Out the door and to the left. Take the first right and follow the hall all the way to the end. I’ll hack the lift to take you up. Take another right off the lift and follow the left wall until you find a ventilation shaft. Just go straight through it. It’ll dump you out in Cell Block G. I should have all the doors open by the time you get there, and then I’ll get the Warp Gate functioning. The Shadow will be able to lead everyone there.”
“Does it say who exactly was captured?”
“…No. There’s a total of ten occupied cells with two marked as high risk. One’s gotta be the Shadow, but I don’t know who’d be in the second. All the activation time marks are the same, so it has to be one of ours.”
“You sure it’s them?”
There was a nervous chuckle. “Surer than I’ve been about anything in a long while. I won’t waste your time with the stats.”
Jak found himself smiling. “You’re the greatest, Vin.”
“Y-yeah… Say that after you get everyone out. There’s still a lot of room for things to go wrong.”
After double checking his new directions, Jak was on the move again, feet thumping in time with his heart. The hallway to the lift seemed endless as he jogged along, bypassing more and more doors and offshoots filled with the same. How did anyone ever know where they were and where they were supposed to be going? The lifted opened on cue and soon, he was stepping out into another level of uniform hell. This circle he knew, though, growling softly at the lingering smell of eco and death. It wasn’t exactly the like the place he’d been held, but it had served a similar purpose.
“He could be dead already,” the ex-Commander said tonelessly as he checked his weapons. “They could all be dead.”
“He’s in there, waiting for me.”
“And if he’s not?”
Then he was going to show this hell exactly what kind of demon it had raised…
The ventilation shaft was thankfully one that was large enough for him to crawl through and mercifully short. He punched out the opposite grate before sliding to the floor, instantly aware of the sharp, metallic smell clinging to the stale air. He started at the uniformly spaced steel doors that lined the room, trying not to twitch. “Vin…”
“I’m working on it!”
—went through this?—I can’t—not strong—Jak—
His attention snapped to one door, hands already pushing at the resistant metal. “Open this door. G7-82.”
“But-but…that’s the one we don’t—”
“Do it, Vin. Now!”
Vin did not argue. A few breath-stealing moments passed before the lock clicked open. The hydraulics hissed as the door was pried open faster than it was designed to go. The smell of blood and onset infection hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Either the light had burned out or it had been purposefully shut off, leaving the entirety of the cell dark save for where it now spilled in around Jak from the doorway. Despite the poor lighting, he instantly recognized the limp form on the concrete floor.
“Daxter!” Everything else was forgotten, including his anger, as he rushed to his friend’s frighteningly still side. Jak was afraid to touch, afraid to further damage something already so broken…afraid to know he really was too late… Then Daxter coughed; a horrible, wet sound that made Jak so happy he almost cried. He brushed tangled red hair back, trying to get a look at his eyes. “Dax, come on. Talk to me.”
Glassy eyes fluttered open, but didn’t stay that way long. A cracked smile lit up the bruised and swollen face. “This… This really is hell…ain’t it?”
“You have no idea.” The blond finally got brave and started checking injuries. There was no way to tell which was worse, his face or the gory mess of his leg. Blood had matted his hair, his clothes were torn and dirty, and his breath was dangerously shallow and feathery. “Hey! Stay with me, keep talking.”
“Pushy bastard…” He hissed, then groaned in painful relief as Jak broke the cuffs keeping his hands tied up between his shoulders. His arms were gently stretched back out amid many half stifled whimpers. “Dead gods, I didn’t think that could hurt anymore…”
“Can you stand?” Jak asked, already trying to ease the other up. It would have been easy to just scoop the redhead into his arms, but that would leave them both defenseless. Recoil alone made firing the morphgun single-handedly useless, but it was better than nothing. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.” He pulled a thin arm around his neck and hauled his friend up as gently as he could. Daxter ragdolled against him, that wet cough making a second, worrying appearance. Then slowly, carefully, he was pushed back into. Daxter got his good leg steadied under him while Jak got a good grip in his belt, trying to take even more of the fragile weight.
In the end, it was really more like dragging the redhead than actually helping him walk. It wasn’t until they had entered the main room and the other doors started opening that Jak even remembered why he was there. One by one, other members that had been picked up crept out of their confinement. The only one Jak recognized was Tess, though he’d probably met the others at some point. Everyone was scuffed and ruffled, but Daxter had most definitely taken the worst of it. There was some frustrated murmuring from Vin before the final two doors opened, revealing not on, but two Samos-es. Many of the people around them echoed Daxter’s sentiment of, “Shit. Now there’s two of ‘em.”
The run to the Warp Gate was more of a trial than it should have been. Not because of any trouble with the Guard. No, that might have been a relief because Samos kept arguing with himself about what action should be taken next. Vin got the Gate connected just in time to make sure both of them went through it and not the wall behind it, which was where they were obviously headed if the group had decided to act on the impulse. Jak waited until everyone else had gone, then let Tess help him get Daxter through.
Torn was running triage from the Power Station, taking in the endless noise and making sense and order from it all. This had to have been what it was like when the man had still been a part of the KG. Despite his recent fallen status and questionable loyalty, he commanded with a strength and clarity that left no one arguing. In that moment, he was in his element and not even the random apparence of two Shadows was enough to throw him off. It was interesting to note that of all the order he gave, none were directed to Jak. He gave a slight nod when their eyes met and then purposefully drew everyone away so that Vin could run in with his medical supplies.
Almost as soon as he started, the engineer began muttering under his breath, hand that fluttered so nervously over keyboards so still on Daxter’s chest. “This is bad. So cold, too pale… This is so very bad…”
Jak didn’t like that tone. “Vin…”
“I… I don’t have any eco…” The blond just stared. No one had eco, except the Guard, and even that was rare these days. But there was always a secondary way to tend injuries... “Jak…” The way Vin said his name, soft and so apologetic, make the room spin. “He’s bleeding internally. I can’t do anything.”
“But I can.” He looked up from a rapidly darkening room to see Samos, his Samos, the one who was Sandover’s Green Eco Sage, kneeling next to them. One gnarled hand replaced the one Vin had pressed to pale skin. “Vin, there’s others you can help more. Go treat them.” Vin nodded and hesitantly withdrew.
“He can’t—” Jak started.
“He is,” Samos replied evenly. “I can feel things shifting as he breathes—his ribs are broken and there’s a steady build-up of pressure against his diaphragm. The only place he’s bleeding out from is his leg, so the rest of it must be internal. He’s just lucky it’s a slow enough leak he hasn’t exsanguinated yet or drowned.” He let out a frustrated sigh, turning. “For the last time, get your knotted stumps over here and help me,” he snarled.
For a moment, everyone was confused as to whom he was speaking, until the Shadow-Samos scowled back. “I’m a bit busy here!”
“Torn’s perfectly capable of handling it and I need your connection with Haven Forest to channel. Help me save the boy who probably saved your life.”
“I don’t know how to heal.”
“Lucky for both of us then that I do. Now stop being a lump on a log and prove you’re worth the power you weild.”
Amid much glaring from the remaining members of the Underground and a certain annoyed continence, Shadow-Samos shuffled over and did as he was told. The two grumbled back and forth as the tell-tale green glow slowly began to suffuse the air. At first, it seemed like nothing was happening. Then it slowly began sliding into the still form. Weak breaths strengthened. Colour flushed white skin. The hand Jak had refused to let go of twitched, then constricted tightly. A confused tumble of thoughts and images slammed into the blond hard enough to make him dizzy, but it was all gone by the time he reached out to grab at one.
“It’s okay, Jak. Breathe, my boy. Relax and ride with it, not against it.”
He blinked as the pressure eased. “What the hell…?”
Sandover-Samos looked older, more tired than he had in ages. “Don’t worry about it right now. The important thing is that you and he are both safe and alive.” The Sage patted his shoulder. “He’ll need another treatment to make sure there’s no lasting damage, and one more for his leg, but otherwise rest is the best medicine for both of you. Find it while you can. We can talk later.”
***
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To be continued.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Love is War