A/N: You know that whole 'anything that can go wrong will' clause? My mom got in a car crash, and (on a totally separate note) her ex-husband died. Except he lived alone, so nobody found his body until, like, a week after he died. Gross. He's the dad of my two older half brothers, and now they're pitching fits over the non-existent will/disowning each other. My life hates me this month.

Other than that, on a less-angsty and more Vertigo related note, I had Dax stop whoever it was who cut Jak's hair short—so it's still just like it was in Jak II. I dunno, I like Jak's long hair.

---

It was a predicament Daxter had sworn he would never wake up to again. Cold, on the floor, and most of all: very, horribly alone.

Jak had left. That much was glaringly clear, and it hurt like a scalpel to the heart. Jak was trying to leave without him. Fear and remorse, anxiety and panic welled up inside the ottsel as he bolted upright, clutching his makeshift blanket in clenched fists. He was going to die. It was gonna be just like before he found Jak again: he was going back to being fair game for stray cats and malicious metal-heads willing to chase minor prey like ottsels. He was going to have his guts unraveled, Daxter just knew it, and nobody was gonna notice for weeks until tattooed wonder said, 'Hey, where did the rat go?', and Tess would start crying when she found his mangled insides all over the walls of some obscure back alley, with some homeless asshole eating what's left of his tail—

Breathe. In-out. Calm down.

The scarf Daxter was wrapped in (Jak's scarf, he realized) was still warm, and it still smelled like his best friend. Jak hadn't been gone for too long- it still wasn't too late to just go and find him, preferably before he was carted off to hell incarnate alone. Yeah, that's what Daxter was gonna do. Except stubby little ottsel legs didn't carry anyone anywhere fast, and the district Jak was being deported from was halfway across town on a good day— shit! He knew he should've just pilfered the damn hover-board when he had the chance! Daxter's fur bristled aggressively on end, as his tail once again began smacking angrily at the limestone and precursor metal floor beneath his padded paws. This was just great. The closest section to here was the bazaar, and the only people he knew willing to hang around that dull, vapid part of town were the blind old coot and—

The idea hit Daxter like a runaway freight train. "PECKER!"

In an instant, the rodent was on his feet and sprinting at top speeds through the temple where he'd been abandoned, eyes narrowed in concentration as every fiber of his being devoted itself to the destination in mind. It was an odd run, limping and mindful of his still fresh injury, but it would get the job done without irritating his side too much. Skidding to an abrupt halt before the active warp gate at the top of the cliff, Daxter tensed and launched his body through it in one swift, calculated motion. The next moment he was tumbling back down out of the corresponding gate a hundred feet below, and sprinting on all fours through the city entrance and between the boots of oblivious citizens. Reaching what (for all intents and purposes) appeared to be a dead end alley, he tumbled into an obscure drain pipe he'd discovered in those long years spent searching for Jak: behind a dumpster at the very back. Daxter followed the trail up and through the city with an ease that only came with familiarity. After two, strenuous minutes, he barreled back out of the pipes, leaping (much to the surprise of the people below) out of one of the roof gutters about a block from where Onin's canvas tent was pitched.

Who needed highways, anyway?

"Orange Lightning, comin' through!"

Daxter grinned in a supremely self-satisfied manner, breathing heavily as the people above him jumped and stomped their feet in shock. That featherweight wouldn't know what hit him.

Jak had a whole nother' thing coming, too, if he thought he could actually get away with this bull-shittery. Daxter had always known he was the brains in that relationship. 'The things I put up with for you, big guy. Ya' don't even know.'

----

The slightly creepy, twilight zone aura of Onin's hut was not lost on Daxter as he entered it- as if he'd had just stepped onto ground where he had no right to trespass. Dust and magic covered everything in the room, from the herbs hung up to dry to the rickety old table that held an odd assortment of precursor artifacts. The light in the tent was warm and yellow, though (uncanny, since the sun hadn't risen far enough past the horizon to grace the city with this kind of illumination yet), and once you got over how weird the house was it wasn't a horrible place to be. Precursors strangle him before he ever admitted that to the pigeon, though. In a far corner of the room, a tuft of blue and yellow fluff stuck out from under a thick woolen blanket, breathing rhythmically in the way all mammals did. All birds did. Whatever.

Eagerly Daxter maneuvered around all of the seemingly superfluous tables, chairs, stools and books nearer to the breathing mass of feathers, who was still undisturbed by his intrusion. Great. Things were going off without a hitch- even better then Dax had dared to hope. Onin wasn't at home; birdbrain was sleeping like the sloth he so often seemed to channel- this could work. He could still find Jak in time! Finally arriving at the far side of the chamber, the ottsel reached out daintily, with much meticulous planning and a game of eenie-meenie-minie-mo—

And plucked a large, red-yellow feather (plumage and all) from the top of Peckers head. The scream that followed was like all hell's bells on parade.

"EEEEOOOOWOOOOOOO!"

The bird bolted upright with a single, fluid pump of his wings, hitting the top of the tent and falling right back down in a messy heap before lifting his arms above his head, hissing venomously. Then his eyes found Daxter, and a whole new dimension of loathing was added to the mix.

"What the *Rrrrraaawwwkk* flock do you think you're doing, rat boy?!?" The angered exclamation was disjointed by an avian screech of outrage in the middle, the monkaw's nerves still frazzled from the unexpected assault. "I'm not supposed to molt for another three months, and if you think I'll just walk around one feather short for a season on your behalf—"

"Can it, ya birdbrain! You remember you sayin' you're the fastest flier on this side of the precursor-given planet?"

Pecker looked mildly put off by the abrupt change of topic, before conceding to the subject switch and launching into a rant with full fervor. "Of course I do, stupid! And it's still true, thank you very much!" The smirk that curled Daxter's face was nothing short of evil incarnate, and with that single sentence, Pecker realized he'd gotten himself into a world of trouble.

Five loud minutes later, Daxter was swooping through the air at top speeds, grasping tightly onto the feet of a very disgruntled Pecker.

The large blue transport hull they were searching for was like a beacon down by the water, and Daxter could've cried out in victory when he saw it hadn't taken off yet; Verger was reading Jak the preliminary riot act, while a bumbling group of freedom-trainees checked and double-checked all of the systems and security locks. They sent nervous, shifty glances Jak's way every few seconds.

'Yeah, you'd better be nervous, cause' Orange Lightning's in the house now, and there's no gettin rid of me!'

Yanking insensitively on Pecker's feet, Daxter directed him down nearer the transport vehicle, slipping discretely into the cargo hold between a barrel of red eco and a box of scrapped artifacts. The rubber padding of the cruiser's floor had deep grooves, in an attempt to avoid any cargo sliding, and the effect was uncomfortable on Daxter's fur. His accomplishment high was greater then his dislike of cold, rubber floors, though, and with victory in mind he wrapped his tail gently around his torso and settled in for the long ride ahead. This was gonna be mighty interesting.

That fact that the door closed just seconds after they had swooped in, leaving Pecker trapped inside for exile with him was just the icing on the cake. Mighty sweet icing it was indeed.

---

Jak PoV- Arrival

---

There was dust and sand for miles around, with dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. It was like an optical illusion, each way you looked seeming to mirror it's opposite—sparse tumbleweeds and miserable looking cacti the only think that broke the mould. It was like the whole world had turned to tan, save for a single orange streak-

Wait… orange?

"Daxter?"

There was a moment, seeing the ottsel step out after him into exile, where Jak felt so relieved, so undeniably, palpably saved he wasn't sure he could even speak. He was ashamed to admit it, but he'd really been hoping this would happen, no matter how seemingly impossible he thought he'd made it. First Pecker had flown out, (much to his surprise) and said a few words on his behalf— heartwarming, but inconsequential.

"This is an outrage! I am outraged beyond words! -Although I do have something to say. Not everyone agrees with this ridiculous *Rrraaaawwwwwkkk* decree!"

And then… then Daxter had jumped onto the platform, and Jak's heart sought to burst. But his best friend's stance was defensive, tone unsure, and it almost hurt to see how upset Dax seemed to be. Jak really couldn't blame him in the current situation.

"Yeah!" Dax argued, all false bravado and self confidence that only Jak could see through, "We want a recount!"

Veger stepped quickly up to the challenge, eyes narrowing as his willowy frame leaned in closer to the two stowaways. "Oh, I see you wish to join him."

Daxter's ears went flat back against his head at the threat, and Pecker quickly backed out of the conversation, saying something about drinking lots of water, if he could find it. Feathered coward.

'Selfish! This is why I left Dax behind: so he wouldn't have to be miserable as well!'

"Jak~" His name came out of small, furry lips, the most welcome thing he'd heard all morning.

It took every ounce of willpower not to scoop the furry mammal up onto his shoulder and keep him there, so Jak wouldn't have to endure more nights alone, nights dreaming of white beaches and blue skies and other things he couldn't have. Just to make sure he'd never be left alone again, like in prison, and never have to deal with realizing nobody can save you without hurting themselves- because he knew, if Daxter was aware he'd gone missing, he'd save him again. The amount of satisfaction that thought beckoned, the knowledge that Daxter would forsake his own personal wellbeing to assist him, made Jak overwhelmingly guilty. And yet at the same time, it was undeniably comforting.

Pecker, who had backed down from his aid after Veger offered him a chance at exile as well, was now staring curiously at their interaction form a safe distance.

Flecks of grey and yellow sand pelted them gently in the light breeze, and there were a few seconds of terse silence, just taking each other in. Then, restraining the urge to go over there and hug the redhead into oblivion, Jak said the six most painful words of his life.

"Go back to the city, Dax."

The instant the words made it out of his mouth, as if pre-meditated, the latent dark eco he'd absorbed yesterday roiled unusually within him, powerful and nauseating (but not quite in large enough quantities to take over). Eyes widening in pain, Jak's entire body gave a violent twitch as if in reaction to the familiar yet foreign substance. That was when Jak heard it. A low, angry, sand-papery growl that rung like a bass line through his mind. Seconds later, the painful 'voice' that accompanied the snarling wailed in his conciseness: scratchy, unused and unable to form coherent words. The language was a myriad of fierce roars and hacking, filled with low, strange 'click's and an oddly mournful baying. They were furious, primitive sounds, able to convey emotion without the nuisance of direct speech. Clips and memories began to assault him, of he and Daxter in Sandover, in Rock Village and even back in Haven, while disjointed mental audio clips accompanied them. The message from his dark side was plain and simple.

'No! He stays with us now!'

The sudden, unexpected mental contact caused him to freeze up tensely. Before he could analyze the intrusion, Ashelin broke up his dazed train of thought, ('What was that?! How'd he get into my head?') looking obligated.

"I'm sorry. The council is too powerful. There was nothing I-"

"I know." She walked up to him and began with fake words of remorse. Ashelin wasn't on his side, that much had become blindingly clear; but she didn't want to be like her father all over again. So Jak consoled her with words he knew she probably didn't deserve, and accepted her grateful glance as she continued to speak, this time pushing a flashing yellow gem into his palm.

"You just stay alive, you hear me? That's an order." And, even though he didn't take orders from the underground anymore, it was something he hoped he could do.

"Someone will find you, I promise."

Then she turned, as composed as ever, and climbed back aboard the cruiser as it took off. Little dust storms followed the jets as they fired up for takeoff, obscuring Jak's vision temporarily.

What he saw when it cleared was like finding Christmas in July.

"Daxter?!"

"Don't thank me. I'm only here because you wouldn't last a second without me!" And by the Precursors, Daxter looked genuinely pissed about that.

"Alright tough guy, you got us into this mess, now you've gotta get us out!" True. And Daxter's wellbeing was just the motivation he needed to do it.

----

They had been walking for long about two hours when Jak finally had to face it. Daxter was ignoring him. Daxter was ignoringhim. There was a first. Every time he would look at the ottsel, Daxter would stick his nose in the air and close his eyes, walking slightly faster with a determined 'hmph!', peeking out form under his eyelids every few seconds to see if Jak was still looking. It was driving the elf insane. Not so much the silent treatment as the fact that the proud little animal was still very wounded and very sore, completely ignoring Jak's usual 'hop up on my shoulder' gestures. If Daxter's scab cracked or peeled off because he was too damn stubborn to just get over himself—

'You deserve it.' Was the only non-verbal commentary he got on the subject from his dark side, who (ironically enough) also ached to go over there and pick Daxter up before the klutz tripped over himself, but otherwise stuck to his usual morbid thought patterns and left Jak alone. Although he was pretty sure there had been an idle 'Wonder what monkaw tastes like?' coming from that direction a few minutes ago. Could 've been his imagination. Precursors, he hoped it was.

The fact that 'Dark Jak' could now… communicate with him, or whatever it was the thing was doing—it scared Jak shitless. Not because of the messages themselves, but the fact that it was now undeniably conscious and able to make it's opinion heard, even when Jak wasn't darked out. For once in his life, he really hoped he was just hearing things.

While the disturbing thought continued to bounce around in Jak's head, the heat, exertion and exhaustion seemed to catch up with him all at once. Without warning he collapsed, relieved to see Daxter do the same a few feet ahead of him. Nobody could walk for long under these conditions. Hadn't Ashelin said someone would find them?

For all their sake, he prayed she wasn't lying.

Half an hour later, that was how Damas and Kleiver found them, three very different mammals frying in the desert sun.

"Looks like we've found some live ones! Heh—barely."

-----

Lights danced happily off the water in the pools Jak woke up in. It appeared to be a domesticated natural spring, with clear water filing up from a fissure underneath into the pool he lay in, newly awake. What… what was he doing in here? He remembered his fight with Kiera, the attack on Daxter and the temple, but how the hell he could've ended up in a place like this was beyond him. Wait. The desert. He had collapsed (Hadn't he?), and saw Dax collapse just in front of him! Was Daxter here too? —God, had the bullet injury started bleeding again? What if it had, and he'd lost so much blood that whoever found him just left the ottsel there, bleeding? Thousands of gruesome, sickening scenarios played themselves through Jak's mental theater in rapid succession, mind reeling from the onslaught; until a flash of maroon and orange fur caught his eye from the pool to his left. The bowstring-tight muscles of Jak's back and arms unwound slightly at the realization that Daxter hadn't been left behind after all. Thank the Precursors for small miracles.

His already awake companion appeared to be in good shape. Still not quite awake, Jak took in what he could see of Daxter from the corner of his eye with growing relief, before the otter-hybrid swam out of sight again. After a few more seconds of frantically searching the large cavern, an obnoxious splashing alerted him to Dax's presence (behind him now), flopping around in the water like he might've done years ago in Sandover. The puncture in his side still looked raw and pink, but the blood had clotted fully and the scab seemed to be finishing up nicely, surrounding fur serving to hide almost the entire blemish unless you were looking for it. On a stone off to the side of where Daxter was chilling sat Jak's old red scarf, limp and wet from what looked like an impromptu washing. Jak almost smiled at the thought of Daxter doing laundry.

Focusing back on himself for a second, Jak flexed his fingers experimentally and stared at the new calluses forming there. Attention attracted by Jak's soft shuffling, Daxter flipped around abruptly with his coat on end. His eyes were wide like a child caught red-handed, and Jak would've bet money that if he could see through the fur Daxter would be blushing, too. The looked seemed to soften slightly when he caught sight of Jak sitting there, eyes roving up and down his body as if to reaffirm that the blonde was, in fact, alright, before turning away abruptly. Jak's tentative sight turned into an exasperated sigh at the action.

It wasn't like Daxter to hold a grudge like this. 'In his defense, I kind of deserve it this time.'

Jak shook that notion away as soon as it arrived, ignoring the agreeing clench of his gut. He had been trying to save his friend. Dax would just have to get over it. Not his problem.

'Yes, yes it is. Idiot.'

Still, it was good to see him looking better. Doing mental inventory, he quickly realized that Pecker was supposed to be around here somewhere (but didn't spare much thought on it). Probably flew off to preen, or whatever else it was birds did. He knew he should feel more gratitude than this, what with all the bird had done for them, but couldn't muster up the effort to care at the moment.

Mind still wandering, he lifted the collar of his shirt in a half-hearted attempt to check the damage to his skin, and was met with an almost comical tan line where the blue fabric peeled up. Amazingly enough, he hadn't actually burned anywhere but the nape of his neck, and that would most likely fade to his natural tan within a fortnight.

On a separate note, Daxter, who seemed embarrassed at being caught frolicking in the cool water, had now moved onto a dry rock, wet tail swishing through the air every few seconds. He was gnawing no-so-gently on his bottom lip (undoubtedly to keep himself from taking) while his absent orange paws kneaded Jak's scarf. The fact that it hadn't yet been given back made Jak a bit more optimistic about the prospect of his forgiveness in the near future.

Daxter had been hollering nonstop into his ears since the day they met, and the quiet seemed… mildly unnatural. Silence was associated with most of his bad memories. Some people couldn't live with Daxter's mouth, but it seemed Jak was hard pressed to even sleep without the ottsel's comforting snoring anymore. Funny how things like that work; you either love Daxter or you hate him. The latter team seemed to have more players, a fact that really should've angered Jak, but only amused him. He never was too big on sharing—Tess being the exception, naturally.

He knew, as much as he hated it, that he had no right to interfere in that relationship. She had been there for Dax when he had been too caught up in revenge to care.

'Situation sounds familiar, huh?' The rough thing in his head projected. It didn't know how to talk, but it could sure as hell communicate. Damn it. He had been hoping that 'development' was a temporary symptom of heatstroke delirium. Whatever that… thing was he turned into, it had definitely gained sentience. Jak had no idea how it happened, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was a bad omen. It meant that side of him was growing stronger. It meant that, when the time finally came, it would be more difficult to get rid of. At least without offing himself in the process. A wave of unintentional panic welled up inside of Jak, taking complete hold for a few suffocating seconds before the elf reined it in. This would have to be dealt with later—he had bigger things to worry about right now.

Just then, a door he hadn't seen behind the large throne at the front of the room opened with an ancient creak. Out walked a tough, middle aged warrior with a weathered face and wise, hard eyes.

"Awake, I see."

------

A/N: Bull-shittery. *snorts* Sorry, It just so sounds like something Daxter would say. Had to write it. There was no alternative. Yes, I meant for Pecker to say flock instead of f*!k. He does in Jak X Racing, and it seemed more in character for him than random expletives. Oh, and in case you didn't catch on, any 'italicized writing in single quotes' is Dark Jak.Sorry for the confusion.