Chapter Text
Jamack is in trouble. In being a Mod Frog, he's no new stranger to the concept. He's had to deal with struggles since he was a tadpole; hopping through the ranks to get where he is - or, was - and with that, he's had his fair share of sticky situations. He's even dealt, albeit poorly at times, with the resident Megabunny and her litter. Twice. There's Kipo to thank, Jamack half sarcastically muses, pursing his lips as he fidgets with his clipped tie out of habit. Kipo to thank for his current state and newfound "soul searching". His arms cross over his chest in restraint of air quoting his own thoughts. He's that frustrated with this situation. It's Kipo, he blames, who's second-handedly responsible for this.
Jamack is in trouble and for the first time, it's not life-threatening. He's in trouble because he's caught feelings for you.
He takes slow, lazy breaths, fists clenched at his hips in a defensive stance as he takes the scenery of Las Vistas in. Currently, both of you are seeking shelter before nightfall. He would have preferred if you had both reached his private office by now. At least there was usually secluded enough to rest without being bothered. Not many other Mod Frogs knew about it, either. As a bonus, their search is far and wide for Kipo. The odds of you both getting discovered there are low at the moment.
You becoming more than just tag-along was not part of his original plan. He's caught feelings for you and now every time he steals a glance, his heart goes soft. It's why Jamack has ulterior motives for taking you there. Jamack has an embedded fact about you in his memory: you love water - a large bonus for him - and are a true sucker for scenery. He glances over his shoulder at you, eying your form.
He's a sucker for romance, and he wants his confession to you to be perfect. The problem is, you two need to get there first.
You've been an unlikely companion to him ever since you've both had a literal run-in. Your eyes land on the frog himself across the metal fire escape as you mess with the laces on your shoes. You've just missed him eyeing you up, but you swear you felt the gaze.
Jamack is fixing his tie again, a habit which you note comes when he's deep in thought. He's frozen in his spot, across from you and intently scouting. You slip on the eyelet loop of your boot. Cursing softly, you turn your focus fully downwards on your shoe, opting to unlace and start from the beginning. It's easy to let your mind wander to that first encounter with Jamack.
The earth-shaking steps of an enraged Megabunny were nothing new to brace for. Your mind was wandering back then, too, searching for a lost pencil through the shrubs and rubble under the overpass. Having that suit-clad frog drop from the crumbling highway above and successfully bash into you, however, was quite unexpected. Encountering a Mod Frog was bad news for a surface human like yourself. High off adrenaline, you took the first swing at him before he gained his bearings down in the shadowy underbrush.
In retrospect, that's what triggered your hours-long game of cat-and-mouse sparring. If you had taken the time to notice his disheveled appearance, or perhaps hear him out past the "Hey, now wait just a -" before you sucker-punched him into the dirt, the ex-Mod Frog would have probably talked something out with you. He's the one who struck the original deal of you aiding in locating a hiding spot from the Megabunny.
Jamack denies it, of course, and still threatens he'll give you to Scarlemagne for just dirtying his suit. A daily threat that holds no meaning now. The memory of the banter causes a smirk to tug at your lips. While Jamack and you still bicker and bite at each other, it's become more of an expected formality between the two of you at this point. Damn it all, you've begun relying on it.
Relying on his smug and confident attitude to brighten your dull, lonely days is now routine. As much as you denied it to yourself at first, Jamack barged his way into your thoughts in more ways than one. You stand, dusting your hands in loud claps and wiping them on your jeans.
Jamack turns at the noise, mustache and upper lip scrunched upwards at your display. "Seriously, just like that? On your clothes? What is wrong with you humans," he sneers.
"What, never heard of 'mudding' clothes'? Old stuff that's supposed to get dirty?" Your hands find themselves at the small of your back as you stretch backward, your telltale grin tugging across your face. You re-adjust your satchel so it's at your side again."You know, we might just look into investing in a pair for you." You can't help the suspense of getting him riled up. It's been unusually quiet between you and him today. "Like, I dunno, a throw-away suit maybe?"
Jamacks reaction is the closest thing to normal you've received all day. His left eye visibly twitches and he spins on his heels to meet your full gaze, hand on his hip. He doesn't miss a beat.
"OH, that is SO IT," he loudly states before looking back to the sunset townscape of Las Vistas. "I swear, doodle girl," he starts, eyes darting to your raised eyebrows and pursed lips at the nickname, "I'm leaving you up here for real this time. Found a spot down below and, well, I don't really feel like sharing!”
You suck in both lips and grind them between your teeth at his nickname for you. You know you’re reading into it, but the feeling in your stomach whenever he uses it? It’s addicting.
Jamack has his hand on the railing as he talks. In one fluid motion, he rolls his full weight onto his arm, lifting himself off of the ground. His freshly shined shoes land on the metal with a ring. He hoists himself to his feet, standing straight and peering at you over his shoulder. The ease of his movements has you in awe. The way the golden light of sunset reflects off of his suit, the smirk that graces his lips, and the gaze that temporarily meets yours? It has your heart melt. So much that Jamack's words don’t even register until his form is leaping off the metal frame and into the streets below. Something about a, “Hope you catch up?”
You’re caught fumbling for words as you rush to the railing, gripping at the strap of your satchel. For a second, you memorize the moment. The lighting, his swift, acrobatic movements, the definition of his muscles - a note you make for later, opting to save this for memory instead of adding yet another page of him to your sketchbook - it’s distracting enough to have you stumbling for the stairwell in pursuit of him.
Once your boots hit the ground, you find yourself following in the shadow of Jamack. He’s found a place for the night and is determined to reach it before sunset. With how fast he’s moving you’re having trouble keeping up. You’re adept at quick bursts of speed, but long-distance sprinting has you at a loss. Jamack, you believe, has to be upset by your suit comment. As he does best, he's acting up in response. More so than usual.
This thought weighs a bit in your chest. Jamack, currently, is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in a long, long time. You'd like to dream that the feeling is mutual. It’s a harsh world for surface dwellers, especially humans. Loss and loneliness is something that comes all too easily, and after your initial encounter, you can no longer deny that Jamack has become what you perceive as a hopeless fixation. Hopeless in the sense that this is all one-sided.
You’ve indeed been filling your sketchbook with many pages of him as of late. The way his arms fill out the sleeves of his suit, the smug, confident looks he gives? When he straightens himself and rolls his weight to his toes, peering out to you? It’s all too much for your helpless romantic heart. A heart that pairs well with your imagination in concocting new poses and situations for him.
You’ve gotten over the thoughts of inter-species relations ever since you encountered a few couples of the like at Ratland. It gave you hope that maybe you, too, could have something romantic with Jamack, or more. A weird thought for an unusual world it seems. At the very least, these thoughts have added a few ‘suggestive’ pages to your sketchbook.
What now troubles you is that he’s been more distant. A part of you wonders if Jamack has added mind-reading to his list of mute abilities. After all, as soon as these pestering thoughts ventured to inter-species feelings of fantasy, he stopped his habits. He's taking extra precautions to stay further from you than usual. Sometimes when you pass by him, you note he's swelled up with a breath and is intently eyeing you down. Is he irritated by you, now? Your bottom lip pokes out as you pout. Weren't you making progress with him?
You’re so lost in your thoughts again that you don’t register the black-clad suit in front of you until it's too late. Running face-first into the chest of the being that occupies your thoughts, you use leftover momentum to spin around Jamack, hopping on one foot to regain the balance shift you've experienced. “Hey-he-hey! You just like to land out of nowhere, don't 'chya?” You open your arms at your sides and flash him a smirk. Smooth.
While the motive seems unclear to you, the way Jamack lurches upwards and pats down his suit isn’t just for the upkeep. You don't miss the way he swallows hard. You brace for some form of berating comment pointing out how you should at least watch your surroundings, but it never comes.
What does hum loud and true is the unmistakable howl of a wolf. Then another, and another howl join the chorus. The twisting uneasiness of your gut starts the exciting feel of survival anxiety. If there are that many ringing voices at once - you've counted at least twelve that have joined at this point - it's a pack hunt. You curse, looking about the shrubs and grass casted in shadow from the overpass you're both under.
"I know that noise anywhere," says Jamack, who's nerves are on fire.
The Knewton Wolves aren’t the easiest to deal with once the sun is down and visibility is little to none. You cast a worried glance to Jamack who seems to pick up on your thoughts. Having a duo fight where one is left blinded places you at an even larger disadvantage. Positioning so you’re back to back with Jamack, you peer around just in time to see the shadowy figures of Billions and Billions emerge from the underpass.
“Well well well, isn’t this the surprise,” states the first brother, adjusting the spectacles atop his snout, “You seem to just like playing the victim, don’t you, Jamack?”
“Out and in our traps again it seems.” The darker coated Billions brother speaks out, nose twitching as he picks up your scent. “What have we here, hm? That’s not Kipo, no,” he growls.
You take the opportunity to turn your back to the rounding wolves, choosing to face the alpha duo head-on next to Jamack. "Aw, hell," you murmur to him, "Hope they don't start rapping this encounter."
The smirk Jamack flashes in response pulls a proud smile from you.
“But another human.” Jamack finishes the wolfs statement. He stands confidently with folded arms, head tilted down towards his chest with a smug smile and closed eyes. He's taken a step forward and straightens his posture. “That’s right Knewton Wolves, I’m out here doing the job you can’t even do for Scarlemagne. How’s it feel, knowing you’re just disappointing him again?”
“A fat fib for such a small frog, Jamack,” snaps back the darker coated brother. “Word has it, you’re developed a soft spot for humans. Quite the pal, we've heard." His snout now points at you. "If you don't want her, that's fine. We'll be happy to take her off your hands after we take care of missed dessert.”
The Knewton wolf snarls through the end of his words, accompanied by intermittent laughter from the others. Jamack swallows, eyes open now and focused intently on the threat in front of him.
You know the sparse details of the events that transpired between Jamack and the Knewton wolves. While your companion stands tall, bantering with the alphas, you pick up on his clenched fists hidden in the folds of his arms, picking at the fabric of his sleeves. Clenched fists that, given the context clues, are due to more than just anger. Who wouldn't be intimidated by the situation?
The wolves circling the perimeter have started closing in during the conversation. Ideas are flying through your head at rapid-fire, your brain in overdrive contrasting the pros and cons. You're wringing out the strap of your bag for comfort.
Jamack doesn’t seem to be able to sweet-talk his way out of this one and the sun has already set. The cool air of nightfall is settling on you all fast, and soon you won’t be of any help. Hand sliding under the flap of your bag, you step around Jamack, placing yourself between you and the wolf brothers.
“That’s right Billions and Billions, I’m not Kipo. Pretty perceptive of the two scholars,” you mock-compliment. You've drawn their attention to you and not Jamack, who chokes back a protest at your actions. “Wanna know the difference?”
Your fingers grip at the glass vial in your bag. “Difference is, I’m a mid-twenties adult. I don’t do kid-fights.” The hand sneaking into your satchel finally whips out the vial of Humming Bommer powder you ‘acquired’ during your travels. With adrenaline fueling your movements, you launch the container directly upwards towards the overpass. The wolves recoil for a moment, watching the vial reach higher, but not quite to its intended target.
Crying out for Jamack, he follows your plan, tongue whipping out of his mouth and knocking it up further. It collides with a shattering cry, powder igniting on contact. The Initial explosion is more lit gunpowder than concrete destruction, which you’re thankful for. The bomb acts as a flash grenade, blinding the wolves with a shower of sparks. Unfortunately, it seems to send Jamack into a daze as well, who cries out and shields his eyes.
“C’mon!” you shout, prying his hand from his eyes and firmly holding it in your own. It’s only a few moments you both have at a head start. Your intended goal is to sprint further into the foliage under the overpass. You tug and Jamack stumbles afterward, who's blinking rapidly to clear his vision. “They won’t stay that way for long!”
As circumstances would have it, you both weren't running long. There is a loud, thundering crack resounding from the pillars supporting the weight of the overpass. The sound echoes briefly before it's carried on by a chorus of howls. Neither Jamack nor yourself can pinpoint the location of the damage over the ringing. The ground in front of you suddenly splits, too fast for either of you to react properly. Your momentum has you skidding your toes on the tufts of rough grass instead of your heels, keeping you off balance. The force of Jamack running into you knocks your breath out, your grip on his hand sending you both spiraling forward.
The impact of hard ground never comes. Instead, you're greeted with a rush of air as the crack in the dirt opens further into a crevice. Even between gasping for air, the rapidly decreasing size of the ground - now the ceiling, you suppose - stays at your vision. You're falling backward into the pit.
The sky gets smaller and the debris gets closer. You hear your name called out from over the thundering cracks of the concrete. It's hard, but you can see the shadow of a leaping figure ricocheting off large pieces of debris. Something warm and damp coils around your torso in a firm vice, pulling you towards the shadow.
"Jamack!" You shout to him, knowing at least you'll be out of the way of the chunks of rock and dirt. Your arms naturally extend out to him as he grips you tightly.
The sting of cold water droplets scraping at your face is your only warning before you both crash into the roaring waves below you. There's no cushion to the impact as you both sink into the water hard. It seems now, you're at the mercy of the current.