#Jak's only exposure to fathers is Samos and tangentially Praxis

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Adopted Dadmas using the prompt from the poll: Damas vs Teen Driver

Damas Ariidas Maridius had many regrets in his life.

He regretted ever trusting Aldrik Praxis.

He regretted putting his faith in Onin when she told him it would be safe to bring Mar with him into Haven.

He regretted not learning to cook sooner.

He certainly regretted wearing a kilt the first time he learned to ride a Leaper.

And currently, he very much regretted ever letting Jak get behind the wheel of the Slam Dozer.

"Jak, the cliff- the cliff-!"

Feet pressed into the floorboards, back braced against the seat, Damas wedged himself in place in the passenger's side with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I know." Jak was entirely too calm. "Gotta wait til we get to the edge to get the right turbo boost."

"Turbo boost?!" Damas yelped in a most un-kingly fashion, "There was a perfectly good ramp down!"

Jak gunned the engine, sending the Slam Dozer flying off the edge of another islet and back onto the mainland. He glanced over at Damas and burst out laughing. Even the icy glare sent his way couldn't dampen his mood.

"Oh come on!" he snorted, "I do this all the time!"

Damas gripped the safety harness tighter.

"With my Slam Dozer?!"

"No, with the Dune Hopper."

Damas turned his head slowly and stared at his adopted son in flabbergasted horror.

"That's worse! You took us off those islets expecting the same spring suspension as the Hopper?!"

Looking mildly insulted, Jak shifted gears and headed inland. "No?? I'm not that dumb, Pa! I tested this thing out on the bridges in Tributary first!"

The bridges in Tributary.

The shattered bridges in the burned out ruins of what used to be one of Spargus's towns? Jak was taking his favored vehicle and driving off of broken bridges-

On purpose?!

"Why?!"

Damas clasped a hand to his head.

"I know recklessness is all in a day's work for the young, but- Just-! Why?!"

Jak shrugged. "Trial and error! That's how I learned to drive!"

This child was going to give him a heart attack, Damas just knew it.

"Trial and error," he repeated flatly. Then he inhaled slowly and silently counted to four before asking, "You learned to drive through trial and error?!"

Daxter unwound himself from his death grip on the machine gun for just a moment to point at Jak. "You see what I live with?! I'm amazed I don't have gray fur by now!"

Jak rolled his eyes and Damas sent the ottsel a skeptical frown.

"And yet you're the first one demanding an encore during dark eco battles. You are not, I suspect, as adverse to danger as you pretend."

The buggy swerved to stay in a silvery patch of moonlight -- for no other reason than its driver's whim. Jak took them on a bizarre, zigzag path through the dunes, in no particular hurry. They weren't to the canyons yet, and the tires weren't kicking up dust. He wanted to enjoy breathing unfiltered air while he could.

"I assume there is a purpose to this pattern of movement?" Damas remarked -- although he suspected there wasn't. His son looked too relaxed to be racing or shaking off pursuit.

"The purpose is "driver makes the decisions"," Jak retorted with a smirk.

"Maybe I should drive, then, so we can actually make it home before sunrise."

"Loosen up, Pa! When was the last time you took a night drive, huh?"

Damas resisted the growing urge to drop his face into his palm.

"Well, son, I was being shot at by Marauders at the time, so you'll have to excuse me if I wasn't focused on enjoying the scenery."

He leaned back to slap the side of the machine gun, snapping Daxter to attention.

"Keep that thing ready. We're too close to Egil's territory for there not to be Marauders about."

"With this much space?" Jak lifted a hand from the wheel and gestured around as the dunes gave way to dusty scrub grass and cactus. "I can see them coming a mile away! Way more room to outmaneuver enemies here than in Haven, that's for sure."

"Don't tell me you drive like that around buildings?" Damas sighed. "This is why my predecessor only allowed Leapers past the gates, isn't it."

Now Jak's mood began to slip a little. "Well what was I supposed to do, stand still and let the KG take me back to the labs?" he huffed, "It's not like they gave prisoners a driving course."

A little knot formed in Damas’s gut. The boy had a point. No one had taught him to drive, he'd learned on his own, under fire. Was it any wonder he was so reckless? And here was Damas, complaining and criticizing instead of offering correction. As a father: not his finest hour. He swallowed down his still thrumming adrenaline and forced himself to loosen some of his muscles.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

The Slam Dozer jerked to a halt, throwing them all against the safety restraints. Jak blinked owlishly at Damas. He clearly hadn't expected an apology. Damas cleared his throat and folded his arms awkwardly.

"That was more critical than I meant it to be. I could have simply asked you not to take that kind of risk again and left it at that." Damas again cleared his throat and tightened his arms to avoid the temptation to fidget. "I do not mean to belittle your driving skill. I just...worry."

It was difficult to admit that, especially in front of his son. But as impressive as Jak’s driving was -- even more so now that Damas knew it was self-taught -- that adrenaline-chasing behavior was going to end in a crash sooner or later. Damas just wanted to ensure that it was a crash Jak could walk away from.

A quick glance at Jak revealed an expression that was more confused than anything else.

"You know I can take care of myself," he protested, "Why are you worrying about me?"

Damas reached over to drop a hand over Jak's scalp, pushing his head back and forth with a wry playfulness.

"I'm your father. That's my job."

If anything, Jak looked even more baffled.

"I don't get it." He made a half-hearted attempt at shoving Damas’s hand off his head, then gave up. "What does being a parent have to do with worrying?"

The sentiment was as tragic as it was comic. Damas let his hand slip down to rest on Jak’s shoulder and tugged until the boy had turned to face him.

"Do you and Daxter worry about each other?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes!" Daxter interjected instantly, as Jak reluctantly admitted, "I mean, yeah."

"Because you care deeply for each other, yes?" Damas squeezed Jak's shoulder affectionately, then released him. "Well, there's your answer. Good parents worry because they love their children."

He watched the gears turn behind Jak's eyes for a moment before the teenager abruptly yanked his scarf up over his face in a futile attempt to hide the blush sweeping over his cheeks.

"Papá!" he groaned, "You can't just say things like that without warning me!"

"Yes I can," Damas snorted, "I have a license."

"What license?"

A smug grin tugged at Damas's face.

"The record of your adoption in the city Archives."

Jak covered his face grumbling about embarrassing adults, and Daxter laughed so hard he almost fell off of the machine gun perch entirely.