#so that's why it started to seal itself back up because even though jak was older than the kid he was still too young to face the trials

[sparguscityangel]

The Throne

Prompt suggest by the lovely @radioactivepeasant! <3 I’m a little rusty, I haven’t written anything in about a year or two so I’m still trying to get into my groove, though this prompt was too good to pass up!!! I’ll put some notes in the tags if you’re interesting in some of the thought process into this! Enjoy!

TW: brief and non-graphic panic attack, mentions of blood and body horror

Prompt: Underground post Jak 2 trying to make Jak take the throne?

The second the rift gate collapsed behind Samos and the Kid — Jak, how could he not have seen the resemblance? — Jak found himself standing in the Underground bunker flanked by almost everyone he knew. 

It sort of slipped out of him. The outlandish discovery that he spent the better part of three months protecting himself from the very people would would still get their devious hands on him later in life still rattled him deeply, and when he saw Torn and Ashelin’s panicked expression over the lack of Kid with them, it kinda came out all at once. For once, it was Jak who spilled the beans and not Daxter, who did a double take as soon as the words came out. Jak doesn’t even remember exactly what he said, and was somewhat grateful when Samos stepped in to explain the time travel bits. 

Somewhat grateful. He wished Daxter was with him, but he was also glad that his friend decided to hang back at the Hip Hog — now the Naughty Ottsel — in preparation for the celebration to mark the end of the metalhead war. Still, he really could use a friend right about now. Now he was standing under a swinging lightbulb while everyone regarded him differently. A sick part of him relished in the change of attitude towards him. They didn’t see him as the dangerous teenaged renegade, they saw him as the last of a royal bloodline. Their faces were painted in hues of disbelief and confusion, all masked by the stern expressions of a body of radicals deciding what to do with the problem at hand. 

Torn was the first to speak.

“You were the Kid this entire time,” 

“Looks like it,”

“So you’ve always been a huge pain in the ass, huh?” 

Ashelin hit Torn’s arm. The former KG flinched, though it was evident that she didn’t even hit him that hard. He still strunk back as Ashelin took control of the meeting. 

“Jak, we can’t begin to imagine what this city has put you through. It seems we’ve been messing up your entire life … Please know that this city owes you a debt of gratitude for helping us bring down my father’s regime and defeating Kor. You’re a true hero,” Ashelin said, her version of an apology falling to deaf ears. Messing up was an understatement, “That being said, we cannot afford to lose any time in rebuilding the city. We need a leader, Jak. The rightful leader,” 

The room fell in complete silence. The last statement hung in the air like a dead man, ever present and the only thing on everyone’s minds. Everyone’s, except Jak’s it seemed. “Wait. You’re not seriously suggesting I take the throne, are you?”

 It never occurred to him that this was the absolute best case scenario. He was too young before, barely four and far too naive in the ways of life, much less in ruling an entire city. Even if he did take the throne at that age, he still would’ve needed someone to oversee the operations of the city until he became of age. This, however, was a gift falling into the lap of the Underground. The rightful heir to the throne was old enough to make decisions regarding the well-being of the city. 

Precursors, they wanted to put his ass on the throne before putting his ass in therapy. 

Jak shook his head, hunching his shoulders in on himself. He was about to say something when Samos interjected. “He hasn’t reached his eighteenth year yet! There’s a right way to go about things like this—”

“He’s already been through the Trials, Samos, he’s more than ready to take the throne,”

“Just barely! Even the Precursors didn’t want to let him complete the Trials because he was too young even in this form. It was a matter of grave importance, but that doesn’t mean we can disregard tradition,”

“Tradition?” Ashelin hissed, her jaw tightening. “I think tradition went out the window the day when his father abandoned the throne,”

Jak went stiff. Everyone always talked about his older ancestor, but no one had even thought to mention his parents. Suddenly, new questions were racing through his head. Was his parents even still alive? Or were they just two more bodies added to the casualties of war? Would the city want to be ruled by the son of a man who abandoned his people in the middle of an invasion? What exactly were the sins he was inheriting by even just being descended from him? He looked down at his hands, slipping off a glove to stare at the knitted veins under his wrist. 

The eco pulsed within him. If he looks close enough, he can see the faint purple tint under his skin. If his skin was paler, he could probably see the eco flowing through him, speeding up his heart rate and making everything seem all more intense. He felt his wrist and hand. Dark skin forever marked with an angry coil of waxy scars, bones that never healed just right and used to slip out of sockets in the first few weeks of his imprisonment. He mapped out the shape of his fingers, his nail beds, lines in his palms. Despite it all, he was still flesh and bone. His skin was colder to the touch, but there was still mass there. He was alive, he was here, and he was someone’s son. Someone, somewhere, five years ago gave birth to him and held him like he was the most precious thing in the world. Five years ago, a couple looked at him and pictured the day he would claim the throne to continue on their legacy. 

Faintly, he wondered if he could find a news article of his birth. Would there be a record of Haven’s prince being born? Or were they lost when the new barrier was established? Did any evidence of the deserting king still even exist? 

He doubts it. People weren’t even sure he was the son of the ruler until the amulet around his neck offered them a clue. No one bothered to give him any history lessons on the Kid’s background, but if Jak were to wage a guess, he doesn’t think anyone wanted to remember the king that left them to die in a war this brutal. 

Ashelin and Samos were still arguing about tradition. Torn would just come in once in a while to defend his friend, but even Jak can tell he wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. He was too preoccupied watching the way his body operated, pinching at his wrist to watch the purple hue grab brighter. Defending itself, almost, from an outside attacker. If it wasn’t for the countless times he’s been injured on a mission, Jak would be convinced his blood was just eco and black sludge that would pour out of him. He almost wished it was. Jak couldn’t be from an ancient bloodline if he didn’t even have any blood to begin with.  

He couldn’t stop himself. The first chuckle came out like a huff of breath, then before he knew it, he was laughing hard. His entire body shook with the force of his laughs, but he couldn’t stop it now that it started. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his stomach was protesting with cramps, but all Jak could do was laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. 

 Once again, everyone was deciding his fate without ever asking him if this is what he wanted in the first place. Just like how they decided he would go to the past and be a hero before he was even old enough to tie his own shoes. Just like when the Krimzon Guard arrested him and decided he was going to make history as a glorified lab kangarat. His fate was in the hands of people who didn’t even know him and he couldn’t stop laughing. 

Torn and Ashelin silenced immediately, though Samos continued on his rant as if he didn’t notice the hysterical laughing coming from his right. Jak didn’t hear what he was saying, only his own laughing echoing in the bunker. “And what’s so funny!? This isn’t a game, Jak! Lives are at stake here!” When Jak didn’t answer, Samos was about to continue when Ashelin shook her head at him. Then the sage turned his concern to the blonde. 

“Jak?” he said softly, laying a hand on a shaking shoulder, “Are you feeling alright, my boy?”

All Jak could do was shake his head, the tears falling faster down his cheeks. The laughs quickly turned painful, and he knew he was going to throw up soon if he didn’t stop, but nothing could stop him now. His fingers tried to thread themselves in his hair, but the goggles got in the way, so he flung them off without a moment's hesitation. The absence let his hair fall forward, tickling his cheeks and jaw for only a moment before he was gripped at the strands from the roots. A finger bumped into the mass of tissue under his hair, and that’s when the laughter finally stopped. 

He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. The world was starting to go fuzzy around the edges, and he felt like his heart was going to jackhammer out of his chest. He gripped his hair even tighter. He hoped the pinpricks of pain would ground him a little better, but without Daxter by his side to do the talking for him, the demons he tried to lock away were back to nipping at his heels. 

And he was so tired of running. 

“I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking and pushing the words out past the lump in his throat, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. They all hate me a-and I don’t know the first thing about being a … a king. I can’t even take care of myself, I can’t …. I can’t, Ashelin,” The light casted harsh shadows on Ashelin and Torn’s faces. Every line of disappointment cut through him like glass, leaving him in tathers and ribbons on the floor. The part of him that smelt like salt water and felt like the sun screamed at him to say something, anything to make them happy, but that part of him was mute. The only version of himself that could articulate anything is the part of him that was still locked in Cell B, whispering to itself as it broke fingernails trying to claw away at the bricks of its enclosure. “There …” he swallowed thickly, “There has to be another way. Someone else who can … w-who can take the th-throne. Ashelin, you—”

Lips pursed, the red headed woman cut him off. “I want nothing to do with my father’s legacy. One Praxis on the throne was bad enough, this city doesn’t need another. It needs someone from the House of Mar,”

Jak shook his head. To anyone else, it would seem like a denouncement of the family. A proclamation that he rejected his own birthright. To him, it was a declaration that it was everyone else that denounced him. “I can’t,” 

Ashelin sighed. Jak felt like he was going to be sick. The thought of having to stand before the city and announce his ascension to the throne, of having their lives rest on his shoulders more than they already had been, made his stomach flip unceremoniously. Bile and spit accumulated in his mouth, though whatever dignity remained made him swallow it back down. He was already tethering on a complete breakdown, he didn’t need to add throwing up all over himself to his list of humiliation. “As the Baron’s heir, I’ve made my decision. You are to take the throne. That’s final,”

The hysteria quickly bled into anger, and Jak latched onto it like a lifeline. He can deal with anger. It was a natural emotion to him, he knew how to navigate it well and he knew how to use it to defend himself. The sobs stopped just as abruptly as they started, leaving him with cheeks streaked with dried tears and a curled lip. 

“You really think they’re going to just accept the dark eco freak as a king? They spent months trying to collect a reward on my head! They’ll call bullshit on it from a mile away,”

“The public opinion has nothing to do with you now,” Ashelin shot back, “What’s important now is getting you on the throne. There’s a power vacuum right now, and I’ve heard talks of other members of the cabinet trying to beat us to the punch. It’s imperative we get someone unrelated to my father’s rule on the throne,”

“I don’t know the first thing about ruling a city!”

“You’ll learn!”

“People will revolt before that happens!” Jak cried out, slamming his fist on the table. It left a crack. “Or I could just abandon it, like my father did. It seems like he had the right idea,”

“Your father—!” Ashelin cut herself off, closing her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. After a few moments, she opened them again and continued, “That doesn’t matter now. That happened long before you — little you — were born. He abandoned his claim to the throne, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fill in for him,”

Jak scoffed. He was out of here. Call him a coward, but he wasn’t going to stand in this tin of a room and allow them to dictate his life more than they already have. He needed some air. Turning to leave, the teen was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It was shrugged off, but the hand only gripped him higher on his neck. Samos was too short to reach him up there. 

Torn waited for Jak to turn back around, dropping the hand down once he did. Wordlessly, Torn ran his fist over his chest in tight circles, breathing in and out for every complete rotation. He nodded at him, and Jak shakily brought his own hand up to mimic the movement. One circle, breathe in. Another circle, breathe out. The pattern was consistent, and despite the initial discomfort of feeling the raised coiled scars under his tunic, Jak continued to rub his chest until the panic subsided into something more manageable. Once satisfied, Torn patted his back. 

“I’m on Jak’s side, Ash. We’ve already asked too much of him thus far, we can’t expect him to fix all our problems,”

“Torn!” 

“As much as it makes our predicament harder, I’m also inclined to agree,” Samos sighed, shaking his head somberly, “I trained him to be a hero, but I forgot to teach him the makings of a good leader,” 

Jak felt like he should be offended by that, but the relief of having the majority vote on his side outweighed whatever criticisms were directed at him. Ashelin deflated considerably, pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke, “Fine. If you’ve got any other suggestions, I would love to hear it because where I’m standing, Jak taking the throne will be our best bet,”

Torn rubbed his chin. Finally, he spoke. “The coronation ceremony usually takes place on the heir’s eighteenth birthday, right?” When Ashelin nodded, he continued, “That gives us, what, a year? I bet you can teach him a thing or two about governing a city until then. He’s no genius, but he’s got something between those ears,” 

A year. Jak can do a year. A year was a long time, and he’s a very fast learner. The idea of being a king still pulled on his insides heavily, the responsibility almost suffocating him once more, but who knows. Maybe with Ashelin’s teachings, the pressure will lift considerably if he knew what to do. He can appoint Daxter and Ashelin as royal advisors, right? It’s not like they’re going anywhere, plus it would give him time to get ready to mentally prepare. He nodded at Torn’s suggestion. 

Asheline still didn’t look too convinced, breathing in deeply before exhaling from her nose. Her boot tapped on the floor in tantum with her nails on the table, body tensed and taunt. Then, she sighed. “Okay. I’ll take over as interim ruler, Jak can shadow me until his birthday, and then we’ll announce his coronation,” she pointed an accusatory finger at him, “But you’ll be moving into the palace. I need you where I can keep my eye on you,”

Jak smiled. “Deal,” 

He can do a year. It’s not like the palace was going anywhere.