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daryltwdixon · 3 months ago

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The Promise of Us: Chapter 11

warnings: violence against mfc, also im so sorry for my terrible writing when it comes to action scenes.

You

The door creaks open, and your stomach twists with dread, thinking the tall man–the Governor–is back. But when your eyes come up and meet the icy blue ones at the door, your shoulder slump just an inch. You’re still unsure when Merle comes walking in the room, but it's still a relief to see him. What if after all this time, the pain you caused Daryl all those years ago was still fresh in his mind. And he was going to take it out on you now?

“Well, well, well... ain’t this somethin’.” Merle’s gravelly voice cuts through the silence, dripping with his usual sarcasm. The door slams shut behind him, and he saunters into the room, his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

He’s standing there, grinning like he’s just won something, but his eyes flicker with something else—something softer, buried deep beneath that rough exterior. He won’t show it outright, of course. Not Merle.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, sweetheart,” he drawls, crossing his arms as he leans casually against the wall, his metal prosthetic gleaming under the bright lights above you, “Guess you couldn’t stay outta trouble, huh?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel his eyes on you, scanning for any sign of weakness. There’s a teasing gleam in his eyes, but there’s something else too. Relief, maybe? It’s hard to tell with him.

“Still playin’ the silent type, huh?” Merle chuckles, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ changed since I last saw ya.” His voice softens just a fraction, barely noticeable. “Thought maybe you were smarter than this—gettin’ yourself caught up with the wrong people.”

You roll your eyes, but the tension doesn’t leave your body. “Could say the same about you,” you mutter, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rising to his bait.

He chuckles, low and rough. “These guys found me when I was in a real rough state, honey.” He takes a step closer, his usual swagger a little less pronounced, but his grin doesn’t falter. “Hell, look at us—reunited like some kinda twisted family reunion. Shame little brother ain’t here to see it.”

At the mention of Daryl, your stomach tightens. You wonder if Merle knows he’s alive, but his expression doesn’t give anything away. He steps closer, his eyes flicking to the ropes still around your wrists.

“You look like hell, girl,” he says, his tone rough but lacking the bite it usually has. “Guess I’ll have to keep your ass outta trouble, huh?”

You snort. “Don’t need your help.”

He smirks, amused. “Sure you don’t.” His gaze lingers on you, just for a second too long, before he shakes his head and looks away. “Lucky for you, I got some pull ‘round here. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with ya while I’m around.”

You found that hard to believe when you still felt the ghost of the breath on your neck from the man who just left minutes ago. Merle moves to the chair in the corner, dragging it noisily across the floor as he plops down into it. He kicks his feet up on the table like he owns the place, leaning back with that signature cocky grin plastered on his face.

“So,” he says, crossing his arms behind his head, his voice a little too casual, “you gonna tell me how the hell you ended up here, or am I gonna have to drag it outta ya?”

You glare at him, refusing to answer. He just laughs, shaking his head like you’re a joke he’s enjoying too much.

“Fine, fine. Keep your secrets, sweetheart,” he says, his voice softening again, almost affectionate, though you know better than to take it at face value, “But don’t think I’m lettin’ you outta my sight. Ain’t no way I’m losin’ you again. My brother would kill me,”

Something stirs in your chest at his words—just for a second, the familiar warmth of the Merle you once knew. Despite all his rough edges, all the damage he’d done, a part of you still cared for him like family. He was, after all, someone you’d loved like a brother, even with his many flaws. He never wanted you to leave for college back then, never wanted Daryl to be stuck alone at home with their father.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Now, things were different. Merle was in a strange position of power here—dangerous, unpredictable. He wasn’t the same man you once knew. Sweet or not, there was an edge to his words, a darkness behind his smile that made your skin crawl. He was too unhinged to be fully trusted, even if his words tugged at memories of who he used to be.

“Merle,” you whisper, your eyes on his, “Where are Glenn and Maggie?”

He looks down with a smug smile, “Now, girl. You gotta understand, the Chinese kid wasn’t playin’ very fair back there. Wouldn’t tell me where he’s camped out. You’re with em, right?”

“He’s Korean, asshole,” you roll your eyes, but sigh, thinking of the state they must be in nearby, looking to the wall as if you could see them through it, bloodied and bruised, and hang your head.

“Y/N,” he calls gently, and your eyes come up to him again with tears in them, “you know where my brother is, don’t ya?” it’s barely a question, just a statement.

Your chin trembles, but you nod slowly. The weight of everything—the capture, the fear, the thought of Glenn and Maggie—sits heavy in your chest. And now, the mention of Daryl brings a wave of guilt and longing crashing over you. You can’t hide it from Merle, not now.

Merle’s smug smile falters, just for a second. He leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “Figured as much,” he grumbles, the rasp in his voice rougher now, “But you ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout him. Why’s that?”

“Why do you think, Merle?” you snap back, your voice shaking. “You think I want to talk to you about Daryl? You think I wanna tell you how he’s doin’? Look where I’m fuckin’ sitting,”

Merle’s grin fades entirely now, the cocky veneer slipping. He looks at you with a hard expression, but something else flickers in his eyes—regret, maybe, or something close to it.

You swallow hard, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “You don’t know him like you used to, Merle. He’s different now. Stronger, yeah, but… he’s got people who care about him, who depend on him.”

“And you’re one of ‘em, huh?” Merle leans back in the chair, crossing his arms, his tone unreadable. “You two always had a way of stickin’ close. What’s the deal now, huh? You finally screw my little brother or what?”

You don’t answer, just shake your head, rolling your eyes again. You’d almost forgotten how much Merle could give you a headache with the constant eye-rolling his words provoked.

“God, Merle, you’ve really always had a way with words,” you mutter, your sarcasm laced with the frustration you can’t fully hide.

“Aw, baby, I miss’d ya too,” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair with that familiar grin, clearly enjoying himself.

A long silence follows, stretching between you. Merle may be taking it easy, but your mind is racing. You weren’t going to get out of here in one piece, maybe not even alive, if you left it up to The Governor. You can feel time slipping through your fingers. You had to figure out where the other two were, and fast. Your pulse quickens as you glance at Merle again. He may be toying with you, but he’s your only chance. Could you trust him again? Even after all this time? This world changed people. You just hoped Merle still had loyalty to you and his brother.

“Where are they, Merle?” you ask again, this time more urgently. “Glenn and Maggie. What’s he gonna do to them?”

Merle shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “The boss wants info. Where your camp is, who’s left. Kid wasn’t spillin’ nothin’. Pretty girl’s tougher than she looks too. They’re holdin’ up, but… let’s just say the clock’s tickin’.”

Your heart races. Time is running out, and you know what that means for Glenn and Maggie. For all of them.

“You gotta help me get them out,” you whisper, leaning forward, your voice pleading. “You can’t let him hurt them.”

Merle chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “And what exactly do I get outta that? Huh?”

You hesitate, the weight of what you’re about to suggest pressing down on you. “If you help me get them out safely… I’ll take you to Daryl. I’ll tell you where our camp is.”

Merle’s face hardens, the grin disappearing completely. He stands slowly, pacing a few steps away from you, his mind working over what you just said. The promise of seeing his brother again, after all this time… it’s almost too much for him to process. But then, something darker creeps into his expression, a shadow of doubt.

“And how do I know you ain’t gonna screw me over the second you’re outta here? You’re clever, Y/N. Always were.” He turns to you, his eyes cold. “What’s to stop you from runnin’ back to lil’ brother and leavin’ ol’ Merle to fend for himself?”

You meet his gaze, the fear in your chest almost choking you, but you push it down. You need him. “You know I’m not that kind of person,” you whisper. “And if we don’t get out, you’ll never see him again. We need each other right now, Merle. You know that.”

He watches you for a long moment, the gears turning in his head. Then, with a heavy sigh, he leans against the wall, his arms crossed, the knife at the end of his bionic arm reflecting the fluorescents above you, “Alright, girl,” he drawls, the cockiness returning just a little. “We got ourselves a deal. But you better not be lyin’, ‘cause I’m doin’ this for him.”

Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived. There’s still one more obstacle to overcome.

“If we’re gonna do this… it has to look real,” you say quietly, your voice trembling.

Merle’s smirk fades, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your words. “What’re you sayin’?”

“I’m sayin’… if you don’t make this look like you interrogated me, he’ll know something’s up,” you explain, your stomach twisting. “The Governor. He can’t suspect you’re helpin’ me.”

Merle’s face hardens again, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something close to pain in his eyes. “I've never been afraid of my baby brother, ya know, but he would kill me if I hurt ya, baby,” he says, his voice rougher, more strained.

“It doesn’t matter, Merle,” you say, your own voice unsteady but firm. You can see Daryl’s pained eyes behind your own now, the way he always hated seeing you hurt, but you sigh as you continue, “Neither of us will ever see him again if you don’t make this look legit.”

He stares at you for a long moment, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. For all his bravado, you know this is weighing on him—hurting you, even just for show, is too much, but that's more than he’s ready to admit. But he also knows you’re right. If the Governor doesn’t buy it, they’re all as good as dead.

Merle swallows, the lines on his face deepening as he nods slowly, understanding settling in. “Alright,” he mutters, his voice low and grim. “But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

You nearly scoff, a small wry smile coming to your lips, “Please, the amount of times I kicked you in the nuts growin’ up, I’ll consider it Karma comin’ back to get me,”

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Daryl

The sun has completely dipped below the horizon now, leaving only the pale light of the moon to cut through the suffocating darkness around them. The group moves quietly, swiftly, weaving through the maze of abandoned cars that lie scattered ahead of the imposing gates. Daryl’s heart pounds, the tension in his muscles building as they creep closer to the towering walls of Woodbury. The walls loom large, casting long, intimidating shadows in the moonlight. There had to be a way in. There’s movement behind him, and the woman that was with them is off, slithering through the dark, keeping in the shadows. Rick tries to call after her in a hiss, but it’s no use. She’s gone.

“Dammit,” he whispers, backing up between Oscar and Daryl, “alright, we need to downsize,”

“Ain’t no way we’re gonna check in all them buildings,” Daryl says quietly, “not with all them guards there,” he looks up to watch the men walking back and forth, surveying. But then, a twig snaps behind them and they all turn quickly. The woman–Michonne, is back. Oscar, Rick, and Daryl all look at each other, and nod to follow her.

Slinking through the darkness, keeping up with the shadows, they make their way forward.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

You

The pain reverberating in your head has only climbed higher with each punch Merle’s thrown. His fist connects again with your jaw, and you feel a sharp crack, a new wave of agony shooting through your face. Your cheekbone throbs, the skin hot and swollen where his knuckles landed hard.

Merle steps back for a second, his breathing heavy, looking down at you with a mix of frustration and regret. His face hardens, though you catch the brief flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Ain’t no other way,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he’s convincing himself. “You know this. We gotta sell it.”

You nod, swallowing down the taste of blood pooling in your mouth. You both know the plan—the Governor can't suspect anything. If you don’t look the part, this whole thing could blow up in both your faces. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

He throws another punch, this time aiming for your gut. The impact is brutal, forcing the air from your lungs with a sharp gasp. You double over instinctively, feeling the bruises already forming beneath your skin, every muscle aching from the force of it.

“Sorry,” he growls, his voice low and hoarse, his hand shaking just slightly as he pulls it back again. He hesitates, and for a split second, you can see the war waging inside him—this isn't easy for him, either. But you nod again, pushing through the pain, urging him to finish what he started.

His fist comes down one more time, connecting with your cheekbone. The blow sends a sharp, white-hot flash through your vision, the skin splitting under his knuckles. You can barely keep your eyes straight, vision blurring as you blink, your hands instinctively twitching, wanting to fly to the side of your face where the impact hit hardest.

Merle steps back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his expression unreadable now. “That’s enough,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. He lowers his fists, his hands trembling slightly. “It’s gotta look real—but it ain’t gotta kill ya.”

Your body aches, every movement sending shockwaves of pain rippling through you, but you straighten up as much as you can. Blood trickles from the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin, and you know you look the part now—battered, beaten, broken.

He steps closer, not with the same aggression but with something softer in his eyes. He grips your shoulder with his hand, helping you steady yourself, even though you wince at the touch. “You good?” he asks, voice low and rough, barely audible.

You nod, spitting out a mouthful of blood, trying to breathe through the throbbing ache. You swear you see him flinch at the idea of hurting you, but he cups your face in his one good hand, his palm under your chin. With his thumb on your cheek and forefinger under your jaw, he lifts your head to get a good look at your face, “Well–nothin that will change the way you look once you’re all healed– think Daryl would kill me if I did anything to that face,” he pauses, a grin ghosting over his features and your eyes meet his, tired and resigned.

But that’s when you see it—the apology, the regret etched in his hardened eyes, a flicker of the brother you once knew. “Really am sorry, darlin’,” he mutters, his voice gravelly and low. And he drops your face and leaves the room without another word.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Daryl

They move quickly through the darkened buildings, and after running into a Woodbury citizen in the first one, they finally make their way out into the town. Gunfire cracks through the air, coming from across the way. Daryl’s pulse quickens as they press into the shadows of the houses, peeking around corners. Firelight flickers off the streets, casting a glow from a bonfire, and Daryl can just make out what looks to be a main building. It looks more authoritarian than the others, which are all smaller houses and old refurbished shops. The group stills while he checks around the corner, and on his OK and they fly through the streets unseen, and slip into the building. Filing down the halls with stealth between shadows, through the maze of metal walls and supplies, they come to a barrier, and crouch quickly when they hear voices.

“...Glad we could catch up,” a voice echoes from the other side of the wall, footsteps and orders coming in a rush. They’re in the way. No time. Daryl throws the flashbangs, the hallway bursting into chaos. Smoke billows, and they charge in with weapons raised.

Daryl grabs Maggie’s arm as Rick pulls Glenn. There’s gunshots, shouting, utter chaos, but they got them. There’s no stopping—no room for hesitation. Daryl’s stomach knots as they sprint toward the exit. Y/N’s not here. Not with them. He can’t find her in the smoke. His mind screams to panic, but he shoves it down. Not now.

Once back outside, they hug the walls, slipping through the shadows like ghosts.

“Inside, quick!” Rick hisses when they hit the town square, all of them squeezing into a cramped shed.

Daryl drops Maggie’s arm and heads to the back, searching for a way out. He runs his hand along the wall but comes up short. “Ain’t no way out back here,” he growls.

Behind him, Maggie’s voice trembles. “Rick, how did you find us?”

Rick ignores the question, his eyes coming around to Glenn. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I’ll be alright,” Glenn mumbles, his voice thick with pain. Daryl gets a clear look at him now—shirtless, one eye swollen shut, blood dripping down his battered face. It twists something deep inside Daryl. Glenn looks barely able to move.

“Where’s that woman?” Maggie blurts, her face pale, eyes blown wide in terror. Daryl’s eyes scan the group. They’re one short.

Rick’s jaw tightens. “She was right behind us.”

Daryl’s heart hammers as he steps forward, voice sharp. “Was Y/N with y’all when you were taken?”

Both Maggie and Glenn shake their heads. Daryl’s stomach drops. His mind claws for hope—maybe she’s still out there. Maybe she made it to the woods. He swallows hard, praying she did.

“Daryl–” Glenn says suddenly, his voice cutting through the room, loud and raw. “This was Merle.”

Daryl freezes, the words not registering at first. He stares at Glenn, wide-eyed.

“It was him,” Glenn repeats, scowling. “He did this.”

Daryl blinks, trying to catch his breath. “You saw ‘em?” Rick asks, his voice taut.

“Face to face,” Glenn nods, anger simmering beneath his bruises. “Threw a walker at me—was gonna execute us.”

Daryl’s mind reels. “So—so my brother’s this governor?” The words feel wrong in his mouth, like he can’t believe he’s saying them.

Maggie answers, shaking her head. “No. It’s somebody else. Your brother’s his lieutenant or something.”

“Does he know I’m still with you?” Daryl asks, disbelief creeping into his voice.

“He does now,” Glenn growls. “Rick, I’m sorry, we told him where the prison was. We couldn’t hold out—”

Rick cuts him off, shaking his head. “Don’t. No need to apologize.”

The conversation shifts around Daryl, but he can’t focus. They’re getting Glenn to his feet, talking about their next move, but Daryl’s thoughts are spinning—Merle is alive.

“Hey—if Merle’s around, I need to see ‘em,” Daryl blurts, desperation creeping into his tone.

Rick gets in his face, his voice tight. “Not now, we’re in hostile territory.”

“He’s my brother,” Daryl snaps, his breath quickening. “I ain’t—”

“Look what he did! We gotta get out of here, now!” Rick shouts.

Daryl’s eyes are wide, and they turn pleading. “Maybe I can talk to ‘em. Work somethin’ out.”

Rick shakes his head fiercely. “No, no, no. You’re not thinkin’ straight. Look—Glenn can barely walk. How are we gonna get out if we get overrun by walkers or the Governor catches up to us? I need you. Are you with me?”

Daryl’s chest heaves. His mind is a war zone, torn between Merle and the group. He clenches his jaw, weighing the options fast. Finally, after a long beat, he meets Rick’s gaze and says, “Yeah.”

#the promise of us #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl one shot #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixion imagine

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radioactivepeasant · 1 year ago

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Snippet Monday: Blackmail au

Prologue

"Travel the stars with us," the Precursors said, "Become one of us."

"I will," answered the hero, "but only on one condition: in the next iteration of this endless cycle, let the child have his family. Let at least one iteration of us know his father."

"If we allow this," said the Precursors, "you will still be the chosen hero. You will still hold the blood of Mar. And you will still suffer. But for one lifetime, we will let the child be a separate person, in exchange for your service in this lifetime."

"Then it is agreed," said the hero, and so the wheel of time turned, changing direction ever so slightly.

Part One: The Bargain

"Ah, there he is, right on schedule." Krew chortled as Jak slipped through the pub door.

There were a lot of people at the bar, all Wastelanders. Tess shot a worried look at Jak, but kept her bubbly smile up. What was going on? Were these friends of Sig’s? Jak wasn't so sure, considering the concerned grimace Sig was sporting.

One of the newcomers, a broad, scarred man with a drooping mustache, stood up and approached Jak slowly.

"Yep," he drawled, circling the boys, "Nipper's got the eyes alright. Same jaw, too." He snorted. "Heh. And here I was afraid you was losin' your touch, Krew. Right. We'll take 'im."

"Excuse me?" Daxter sputtered.

"Sorry, Jak," Krew said without the slightest shred of sincerity, "But after that little racing stunt of yours, I had to do some thinking. I've got a lot of money riding on Errol winning that final race. I'm afraid you've just become too expensive to keep on. No hard feelings, eh? It's just business."

"Ok?" Jak eyed the Wastelanders suspiciously. "And that's supposed to keep me from racing because...?"

"Because you're under new management, shall we say." Krew gestured to the Wastelanders. "Don't think of it as being fired! Think of it as a transfer of sorts."

Daxter bristled. "You wanna run that by us again, Morning Breath?"

Instead, the Wastelander turned on his heel to face Krew. "Now, you an' me, we both know you're askin' too high for the state the brat's in. Come on, Krew, you ain't fed him this whole time?"

Jak went rigid and began to back towards the door. Whatever was happening here, he wanted no part of it.

"Well it's wholly up to your lord's discretion, of course," Krew said, oily smooth, "If you can't come up with the price, I'm sure the Baron would pay fairly for a soldier of Jak's caliber."

One of the women at the bar laughed meanly. "Lordship said you might say that. He also said to remind you that you could do that, but only if you feel like being hanged with your own entrails."

Krew fanned himself and hovered higher. "Oh dear me, that sounds like bad blood, doesn't it? Speaking of blood, you'd best get moving if you don't want to lose the boy, there. I'm not responsible for losses incurred during pickup."

Jak had barely gotten out the door before they were on him. Someone grabbed Daxter from his shoulder, and four more sets of hands pinned his arms. These weren't weak, exhausted Havenites. Or indolent KG looking for excitement. These were real Wastelanders, and they were more than a match for Jak's struggles.

"Let him go, rot you!" he snarled, lunging for the woman holding Daxter by the scruff, "Get your hands off him!"

"Easy, boy, easy." The woman took a step back. "Just gonna hang onto Shorty here as insurance."

Sig finally managed to push his way through the crowd and elbowed one of Jak's captors in the gut, hard. As the man doubled over, Sig ripped his hands off of Jak's arm.

"Hands off my rookies," he hissed.

"Sig, w- what- what- what-" Jak could barely speak. Rage and terror constricted his lungs, his throat.

"I don't know, cherry." Sig shook his head grimly. "But I'm gonna find out. No matter what happens, you stick close to me and do as I do, okay? We're gonna get you through this."

Then he shoved the rest of the Wastelanders away, one by one. They parted like wheat before the wind, like they knew Sig. Like they respected him. The second he was free, Jak had to lock his knees to keep from collapsing. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry that they could all see him trembling uncontrollably. Krew had sold him to Wastelanders like a piece of meat. Like a slave. What would happen to the search for the Tomb if he was imprisoned in the Wastes? Would The Shadow force the Kid to search in Jak’s stead? He wouldn't put it past him, not after the jobs they'd sent him to do.

"Oh, I do so love facilitating family reunions!" Krew cooed, hovering at the door, "It warms the heart! And me wallet!"

He waggled his fingers meaningfully and cast greedy eyes over a trunk the one called Kleiver kicked in his direction.

"Mmyes, tell your liege lord I'll keep me eyes peeled for the smaller brat, eh?"

Jak's already chilled blood froze. He lunged for Krew, barely restrained by Sig at the last second.

"Don't touch him!" he growled, "Don't you even look at him! I'll kill you! I'll rotting kill you!"

Jak didn't see the Wastelanders around him, even Sig, suddenly exchange extremely grim looks. But when Sig tugged him away from the bar and towards the waterfront, he knew something had changed.

"Quiet, cherry," Sig hissed in his ear. "You're gonna have the Guard down on us with that yelling, and I don't want to give Krew any ideas about collecting that bounty on you!"

They had to physically drag him into the air train, and even that was only possible because the woman holding Daxter captive went in first. Cursing Sig every step, Jak struggled in vain to get his arms free.

"Jak!" Sig finally exploded, "Knock it off! We're trying to save your ass, here!"

"I didn't ask for your help!" Jak aimed a kick behind him and met hard metal armor. Memories of the prison clawed at the edge of his mind, threatening to pull him back into a dark place.

"You have no right-! You can't buy- you- you-"

His breathing became rapid and labored. "I am not a thing!" he screamed, finally breaking free.

Seconds too late. The hatch was closed.

"Jak! Jak, look at me, kiddo, look at me!" Sig desperately tried to grab his arm.

"I don't know what's going on, you gotta believe me. But I know Krew wasn't joking about selling you to Praxis, and I'd die before I let that bastard get his hands on you again."

Kleiver curled his lip at them from across the hold. "Paid a ransom that coulda fed a garrison for a month and this is the thanks we get? Ungrateful brat is what you are."

Sig glared at him. "Ransom?! You walked in there talking like an auction! Who's ransoming Jak?"

The woman holding Daxter spoke up.

"Lord Damas wants him. Krew contacted him, month back. Said he had proof the Heir of Mar abandoned a bastard son during the coup and if nobody came forward to "take responsibility", he'd out him to Praxis."

Jak went very, very still. Was Krew using him to defraud someone? Wouldn't be out of character. But where had he gotten the idea to pass Jak off as the lost Heir? And did that mean little Mar was abandoned? If he was, Jak knew he was going to make this so-called lord in question pay in blood for it.

"Jak? Bull. Damas lost the baby in the coup. He didn't abandon him." Sig snapped.

"Not on purpose, at least," Kleiver snorted. “If you was carryin’ a deposed king’s brat during a hostile takeover, would you say anything?”

Sig tightened his jaw and said nothing.

Jak didn't know how long they were in the air train. He'd blocked everything out. The Wastelanders, Sig, even Daxter. He'd shut them out and retreated into the one corner of his mind where the darkness couldn't touch him. The place where he remembered the sound of the ocean, and warm waves against his ankles. He was free there, and they couldn't take the sea from him.

When they landed, he didn't even notice until a blinding light pierced the hold-

Along with the smell of salt air.

Jak raised his head slowly, squinting through hanks of hair into the light. His free place in his mind didn't have the smell of the sea. Why did he smell salt?

"Everybody out!" Kleiver bellowed, "You know I don't like monks, so let's get this over with, yeah?"

Sig wrapped an arm around Jak’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. "Stay close, kids," he murmured, and Jak finally realized that now he had Daxter. "I...don't know what to tell you. But I'm gonna do whatever I can to keep you two safe, okay?"

They exited onto a spire of rock, high above what seemed like an endless stretch of desert on one side, and a turbulent sea on the other. A Precursor temple sat before them, surrounded by ruined columns and porticos. Three zoomer-like vehicles were parked near a tiny natural waterfall, which seemed to mean something to the Wastelanders.

"Welp. He's already here." The woman in the yellow turban sighed. "Fingers crossed this checks out, everybody."

She waved to Sig.

"Get him inside before noon, huh? I don't feel like losing a layer of skin to the sun, thanks."

It was nearly ten degrees colder inside the temple. Personally, Daxter thought the weird people dressed in rubber emanated half the chill themselves. One of them approached Sig, holding a small plastic cup. Their eyes flicked to Jak, and they held out the cup with a bored expression.

"Blood or saliva sample," they said flatly.

Jak balked. "What?"

Sig cringed. "They want to...to see if you're who Krew claimed you are. Just...spit in the cup, kid. Their computer will tell them if Krew was lying or not."

When it became clear that the monk wasn’t going to leave until they got what they were after, Jak begrudgingly spat into the cup. The monk exited the chamber without a word.

Jak spent the next three hours huddled in an alcove, behind a small Precursor statue. He clung to Daxter like a lifeline, glaring out at the monks and Wastelanders watching him and whispering amongst themselves. Any time one came close, Jak scooted further back into the cloister. None of them looked small enough to get around the statue at the mouth. They couldn't reach him here.

One man in particular wouldn't stop staring at them. He had a commanding presence, despite not being the tallest or broadest in the room. Scars decorated his face and arms, and sharp points of Precursor metal had been set into his skull. Which was admittedly kind of badass. He watched Jak with dark, piercing eyes and a hard set to his jaw. When a monk placidly paced forward and presented the man with a datapad, murmuring, "Positive match, sire," the man's eyes darkened further.

He turned on his heel and disappeared through a door.

"Sire?"

"I'm going to pray," the man snapped in a rough voice. "Leave me. And get the boy some water, for the gods' sake!"

Was that the man who had supposedly paid a ransom for him? Jak retreated into the very back of the cloister and buried his face in Daxter's fur.

"Rot this day. Rot this whole rotting week," he mumbled.

"You said it, pal." Dax wrapped his arms around Jak’s neck and tried to comfort him. "Hey, they made me spit in a cup too! You think their computer will tell them I'm an ottsel? Or a human?"

Jak blinked. "Uh....how smart are computers supposed to be?"

"Like. As smart as Vin, I think?"

Jak shrugged, grateful for the distraction. "Maybe. That'll freak ‘em out, huh?"

"Oh yeah. So what do you think is up with Spikes? Wrong answers only."

"Wrong only? Uh...he just found out he's part marmoset."

"Or his application for a piercing refund was rejected."

"Or," Sig interrupted flatly, "he just found out he had a kid he didn't know was alive, and he's dealing with a lot of guilt right now."

Sig crouched at the mouth of the cloister and looked in at them. He seemed to have aged years since that morning. He held out a hand and sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

"Come on out kiddo. We're gonna get you some food, some-"

He closed his eye and shook his head. "Volcan's bones. I...I didn't know- none of us did...gods, he must've snatched you the same year we lost Mar-"

"Mar?" Jak interrupted sharply, "What do you know about Mar?"

When Sig looked up again, Jak was shaken to see tears in his eye.

"I ain't talking about the founder of Haven, cherry. And I don't think you are, either."

He sniffed and cleared his throat. "Little thing. So...he's so- he was so small. Sweetest little kid you ever met, always getting into trouble."

He cleared his throat again and tapped his cybernetic eye. "Only takes a moment. You look away one minute. Not even one full minute. And that's all it takes for the world to end. Praxis sympathizers ambushed us. Shot out my eye and took- took Mar. We never saw him again. But...but I think you did."

Jak's stomach churned, and the world began to spin. Mar? The little boy he'd been so desperate to protect? This had to be some kind of trick, they were trying to trick him into giving up Mar's location so they could get to the Tomb. Daxter's claws dug into his arm, pulling him back to earth before the dark eco could take over.

"I have to go back-" Jak croaked, "You have to take me back- take me back! Take me back! I can't leave him alone!"

Sig shifted and looked up at someone just out of sight.

"I was right," he said heavily, "He knows something."

Next >

#snippet Monday #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #fic prompts #writing prompts #blackmail au #dad sig #jak and mar are separate people au #angst with a happy ending #jnd Kleiver #Damas did NOT plan this well. He panicked and went for 'whatever gets the kid out of Haven the fastest'#Jak has no idea that Krew has been holding him for ransom for weeks

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