“Easy Jak. Deep breaths. I agree.” He voice was quiet, weak. “We’re done. This place is Hell..” his arms wrap around his torso, eyes closing to doze— or at least what he felt was dozing, and keeping himself awake. “Eh heh. Sorry. I’m kinda bleeding on your back.”
He felt hopeless. He knew this would have a long lasting effect. It would be up there with being abused and abandoned as a child. His cheek rested against the space between his shoulderblades.
“Calm down or you’ll hurt somebody. And I mean us.”
“Doin’ my best here, Dax,” he mumbled. His voice was strained, his jaw taut and the rest of his frame drawn up tight as a bowstring, but there was a bit of the reckless teenager in his voice, just barely starting to make a comeback. He took it as slow as he dared with Daxter’s injury, carrying the redhead into the Hip Hog without a care for who saw the two. He walked right up to the bar to Tess, and after a sparing conversation in which Tess’s worrying questions were met with sharp urgency from the green-blonde, the two set to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. When the barmaid asked where Daxter had gotten the wound Jak shot her a half-crazed glare, earning her silence and that of at least half the bar’s small group of patrons - mostly Krew’s cronies - within half a second. It seemed like he had to be constantly in contact with the redhead - brushing against his arm as he reached for a new roll of bandages, pressed against him even though he really didn’t need to do so to reach around his midsection.
He just needed to make sure Dax was still there.
