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The sun.
It’s… big. So bright, so… warm.
It makes Prompto feel warm too, something he’s forgotten. Warmth he hasn’t felt in a decade.
Warmth he might never feel again.
“Fuck, kid, just-” Prompto doesn’t hear all of what Gladio is saying. He doesn’t really want to hear.
He doesn’t want to hear him break down, after all they’ve been through.
“Here, Iggy, put pressure. Hold it, thanks,” Gladio pulls Prompto closer to him. Prompto whimpers a bit. Hurts.
“What happened? Is he alright? Prompto?”
“The giant got him at the last moment, he’s lost a lot of blood. Stay awake, ‘k Prom?”
Ignis presses harder on his stomach, making Prompto cry out in pain. Blackness is starting to form around his vision, blocking out the light. Not now. Not after all that. He can’t die now, not without at least five minutes of what Noct died to bring back. For once in his life, Prompto struggles to stay awake. He feels his heart rate speed up, then slow down as Gladio ties bandages around his torso. Prompto’s head lolls. Fingers find the hollow of his throat.
“Shit- Ignis, we’re losing him. Prom- kid, please just hold on, okay? Hey, you hear me? Prompto!”
The world vanishes.
>>>>>>>
“Prompto Argentum.”
He’s tired, but opens his eyes to a soft blue light. He’s sitting in a field of blue flowers, though he can’t remember the name of them. He can’t really remember anything, except the vague notion of pain. He left something behind.
“Prompto Argentum.”
He doesn’t know who’s talking. He’s alone in the field, and it’s getting harder to remember. The field is closing in white light at the edges. He’s so tired, but it’s a nice feeling. Rest, at long last.
“Prompto Argentum.”
It’s like the voice is pushing back the white edges. To him it’s like a strong cup of coffee before a run. A burst of adrenaline, keeping him awake. He looks up and-
“Luna,” he breathes. Calm energy flows through him. Memories flood back, a torrent of pain and laughter. Suddenly the field is too much. It’s too full, every flower bursting with emotions, with sadness and vivid memories. It doesn’t make sense. It make too much sense.
The scenery around him changes, the feeling fades, and he’s sitting on a bench, looking at the spot where he first introduced himself to Noctis. Luna sits beside him.
“What?” He asks, because seriously. What the fuck.
“I wish we had met in better circumstances,” Luna says, smiling at him, “I want to thank you.”
The words roll around in Prompto’s head, and he wants to reply in seven different ways, but what comes out is “thank me for what? Am I dead?”
Luna nods gently, “yes, but you can go back, if you so wish.”
Prompto stares at her, “what do you mean?”
“You can either leave with me, to the mansions of rest, or you can return to your friends. Though it will not be easy, you have much work to do.”
Prompto pauses. He’s dreamt about, wished for this moment for many years. He always expected to die in battle, but this sort of afterlife was far beyond his imagination.
“I- I don’t know,” he admits, because what else can he say? ‘Let me die’? It feels too much like giving up, too soon. But hasn’t he already given up?
“Walk with me,” Luna says in the silence that follows in his thoughts.
They stand, and Prompto almost yells out with surprise. He can feel his second leg. He has both legs. He’s standing. He looks at his hands then, and his arms. No scars. He’s got the same body as when he was twenty.
“This is how you imagine yourself at your best,” Luna tells him, looking him up and down, “your current body is much less… mobile. But I assume your consciousness chose this for more nostalgic reasons.”
While he isn’t sure what she means by that, he takes a shaky nod, sure that his legs are going to drop him anyway. It’s a lot, all at once. He’s dead, for one. And he’s in some place between the living and the dead. Oh, and he’s just met the woman that made him work so hard for greatness. He’s looked up to her for… forever. Life didn’t exist before her.
“You can take a moment,” she says when he starts feeling his old leg, pinching and letting the feeling of it burn. He finds it funny that he can still make himself feel pain in the afterworld.
“No. I- I’m okay. Thanks,” he looks at her, disbelief almost drowning him. Prompto stands up straight, “where are we going, exactly?”
Luna simply smiles in a sad sort of way, then starts to walk away, and Prompto rushes to follow. As they exit the school courtyard, the scene shifts yet again, and they’re standing in his house.
“It’s lonely here,” Luna comments. It’s not a malicious comment. It’s just the truth.
“Yeah,” he says, running his hands along one of three empty chairs, dizzy from the change and slightly confused, “I’ve been alone for most of my life. My parents had work outside of Lucis, so it wasn’t often they’d be home,” Prompto feels a little insecure telling her this. Like even his home life is insufficient, but he doesn’t feel like he’ll be judged, “like, they were good parents and stuff. They kept a roof over my head.”
“When last did you see them?”
Again, although Luna’s words hurt, she made him feel comfortable enough to answer, “a few months before we left for the wedding. They didn’t want me to go, and,” he pauses, “well, I think it had to do with my barcode. I left without telling them. And I don’t know what happened to them after Insomnia, but they weren’t in the city. They could have called, but they never did. I guess I never did either.”
Until now, he never realized how much that bothered him. He knows in his heart his parents are dead now. He knows it’s been eating away at him for years. Then it occurs to him that Luna might not know what exactly he is. He’s never so casually brought up his tattoo until now. Luna takes his hand, and Prompto shoots her a wide-eyed look with no small amount of fear. Her posture and expression shows no surprise, though, and he knows. He knows she still accepts him. It’s a revelation, even after all these years of telling friends and not facing rejection because of it. He might be beginning to understand why Luna brought him here, and it isn’t for him.
“Prompto,” she says fiercely, “where you come from does not matter. It’s who you become that dictates the opinion of you friends on you and your place in the world. You’ve yet to realize.”
He’s speechless, but grateful nonetheless. Sylleblossoms start sprouting through the floorboards, covering the entire scene and falling away to a different place.
Prompto recognizes the room, it’s where he used to train with some of the crownsguard. The first time he was here he’d had the worst feeling of dread, of knowing how bad he’d fuck up.
“What was it like?” Asked Luna, “I know how taxing the training can be.”
“Scary. I was so insignificant compared to the people who trained me. And it took a long time to find a weapon that I was good at using. I was okay with a light sword, but they never thought of guns, ‘cause they aren’t standard. It was like… I couldn’t live up to Noct’s expectations. That terrified me more than meeting him for the first time.”
“Do you feel the same way now?”
“Yeah. I guess I never learned any better, you know?” He decides to be honest, knowing Luna wants the full truth.
As an answer, Luna brings them next to Noct’s old apartment.
This is his first memory of Ignis and Gladio.
“Imagine being interrogated,” he laughs a bit, “I was trying so hard not to sound dumb. Ignis was not impressed.”
Luna grins, “did he not appreciate you encouraging Noctis to skip class?”
“Can’t imagine why,” Prompto mutters jokingly, “and Gladio stood silently in the corner the whole time. He looked like he was about to commit murder.”
“I can imagine, I know Noctis would complain about the way they’d treat you.”
“Why? They were just doing their jobs.”
“Well, I assume it was because he didn’t want them driving you off. Noctis wanted you to continue training, and was afraid you’d back off from pressure.”
“Really?” Prompto raises his eyebrows, “he never told me that.”
“He never was good with words,” jokes Luna, making Prompto crack a smile at her obvious sarcastic tone. But the mood is ruined when she waves her hand, and darkness envelops his world. The snowy vastness of Niflheim crowds his vision, then he’s in the room where he was tortured. Ten years and he still can’t… he still feels bars constricting and digging into his chest. Suspended by his arms for days and days and searing pain every time he would walk into the room.
“Please,” he tells her, smile dropping and horror taking hold in its place, “I can’t. Do this. I can’t,” playful feeling gone. He sees the… tools Ardyn used on the side table. He still has nightmares.
“You haven’t let yourself deal with the trauma,” Luna walks around the room, hands gently touching the Y-frame that nearly killed him.
“Y-you have no idea what he did to me,” he hates the way his voice shakes.
“I do,” she turns to the tools, “or, I can see here. You were here for a long time, yes?”
“Why am I being shown this? Why. Why don’t you just get to the point,” Prompto doesn’t want to relive this. Or any of the things he’s being shown. He doesn't understand, and the fear makes him lose composure.
Luna frowns, but it’s more worried than offended. When the last curtain lifts, he finds himself alone in a Lestallum squatting house. Luna isn’t beside him. Unsure what else to do, he wanders. Prompto is sure he knows this place, but can’t quite remember. When he finds his way up the stairs he sees… shit.
It’s him, curled in a ball, empty bottle of gods know what beside him. He’s crying out in pain, but there’s no one else around him.
Prompto remembers this. He doesn’t know what that guy gave him, when he asked for something to knock him out for a few. Whatever it was, it didn’t mix well with alcohol.
“You’ve done… horrible things to yourself,” Luna comes out of nowhere, startling him a bit. She crouches beside his small, drug-induced body.
“I just wanted one good night of sleep,” Prompto tells her quietly, “and when Gladio found me, he was so mad. I woke up in a hospital.”
“How long were you here for?”
“Long enough for him to go looking, but I don’t know.”
“Did he yell at you?” Luna’s light voice brings a little humor into the situation. She must sense that he’s on the point of cracking.
“Heh, yeah. He did. Gave me a lecture on ‘don’t take drugs from strangers’. And then, ‘actually, just don’t take drugs’. It should’ve scared me, but I tried it a few more times. I think this was the last, but I still remember how much it hurt. I couldn’t stop shaking,” he opens his mouth to say more, but someone busts into the room.
“Hey! Prompto? Kid!” Gladio kneels next to his convulsing body, “shit. Shit!”
Prompto is taken aback. This is the first actual person he’s seen in this afterlife world. He also doesn’t remember Gladio finding him.
“How many times has he found you here?” Luna asks gently.
“Too many,” Prompto watches the scene, sick feeling punching his gut.
Gladio turns dream Prompto on his side, pulling his phone out at the same time, “Iggy?” He says after a few clicks, “found him. Meet me at the West hospital, it’s not looking good. Think I can move him?”
Prompto feels his throat close, guilt clouding his senses. Gladio never told him about this, he just woke up in hospital the next week, tired and irritated. Here, Gladio nods at whatever Ignis is saying on the phone, then hangs up.
“I never…” Prompto struggles to find words, cringing as Gladio lifts him and bolts out of the room.
And they’re back in his high school's courtyard. It’s different, though. Now the ground is littered with sylleblossoms.
“I am deeply sorry,” Luna tells him, looking down, “I always wanted to know how you became the man who you are, and this was me looking at the most important parts of your life. Parts that changed you in unimaginable ways. I suppose I thought I’d bring you through a pleasant story.”
“It’s alright,” Prompto says, “I guess I’m just happy I got to meet you,” though he’s also glad it’s over. He feel very vulnerable and laid-bare now.
Luna doesn’t smile, but looks at him with curiosity on her face, “tell me, Prompto. Have you decided?”
He pauses. And thinks, really thinks this time.
He first answer is no. He’s not going back. He wants to be with Luna and Noct, with everyone he’s lost. Then he thinks of Gladio and Ignis. Cindy and Aranea and Talcott, even Cid. He owes them, doesn’t he? After all they’ve done to keep him alive, is he really going to throw that all away? Besides, it’s probably time to right what he’s done in the past.
“I… I guess I’ll go back,” he tells Luna quietly, worrying his bracelet.
She grins broadly, squeezing his shoulder, “very well. I will see you, hopefully not too soon.”
“Yeah,” the world starts to grow dark around the edges, “thanks. Thank you so much, Luna I-”
Pain.
He screams.
>>>>>>>
Prompto is starting to hate waking up and not knowing where he is. He bites back a groan, everything hurts. There’s quiet chatter beside, voices he recognizes as Iggy and Gladio. They don’t seem to notice him. As he opens his eyes, he sees that they (or Gladio, at least) seem to be pointedly not looking at him.
“I called Cindy,” Gladio says, “she’s on her way to pick us up.”
“Did you tell her?” Ignis asks, a certain pained tone to his voice.
“No. I figured it would be better in person.”
“She won’t be surprised, she told me she’d been dreading this possibility, but expecting it nonetheless.”
They sit in silence for a few minutes, both looking unsure at what next to say. Prompto wonders if he should interject, but he’s too tired.
“We shouldn’t have brought him along. We should have kept him safe, Iggy…” Gladio buried his face in his hands, “I didn’t want to lose another one of our own.”
“It is what it is, Gladio.”
Something in Prompto’s brain clicks. They think he’s dead. He tries making sounds, but all the comes out is a scratchy ‘hey’ so faint he can’t even hear himself say it.
But Ignis can.
“What’s that?”
“Huh?” Gladio looks up.
“...ey… h...e…”
Gladio whips around, almost comically. His face turns into something akin to disbelief and joy, “you were dead,” he speaks too fast for Prompto’s brain to fully process.
“What? What’s happening?” Ignis says, but Prompto’s pretty sure he knows anyways.
“Tired…” he mumbled, knowing his words are barely coherent.
“Shh, I know, just lay still, alright? Good, okay.”
He feels Gladio lifting layers of cloth and shirt from his stomach.
“Is he alright?”
“It’s gone,” Gladio runs his hands over the scarred skin, “the wound is completely gone.”
“Impossible.”
“Tell that to the kid,” he shakes his head.
“How do you feel, Prompto?” Ignis reaches for his hand.
“Awful. H-hurts,” the black corners of his vision are returning, “b-but. I’m okay.”
His eyes droop closed.
>>>>>>>
Prompto groans, painfully aware of every bump and bruise he acquired after the citadel. It’s been two months and still it continues to plague him. Ignis chalked it up to the stomach wound not disappearing, just being dispersed throughout his body, enough for him to live without having major trauma in just the one spot.
“Can you sit still for three seconds?” Ignis finally snaps, glaring in his general direction.
“I’ve been bed-ridden for over two months. Please excuse me if I’m a little fidgety,” he shifts again in his usual Hammerhead cot.
“You’ve been barely conscious for most of it, Prompto,” Gladio hardly spares hima glance, continuing to read his book.
“Oh, give the boy a break,” Cindy laughs, entering their space with a glass of water. Handing it to Prompto, she says, “just a year ago, it was almost impossible to get him motivated enough to blink. I’d say this’ll be an improvement.”
She isn’t wrong, because right now he had enough energy to pull Lestallum together by himself. He keeps wondering if Luna had something to do with it. He feels better than he has in almost eleven years.
“Well I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better,” Ignis smiles.
“No kidding,” Gladio watches Cindy walking away, “but we still have to talk.”
Prompto tries to avoid the statement, taking a lengthy sip of water instead of answering.
“Prompto,” Ignis says sternly, “you’ve been avoiding this for two months.”
“To be fair, I was unconscious for most of it,” he deflects.
“We can’t just let go what happened.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s unhealthy to bottle your emotions, or push them away with alcohol,” Ignis crosses his arms, “especially when these emotions may cause you to become a danger to yourself.”
“I quit drinking,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, but you still smoke, don’t you?”
Prompto opens his mouth for a witty retort, but nothing comes out.
“‘S what I thought,” Gladio rolls his eyes.
“Guys, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what we mean. You. Are not. Okay. For once in your life, accept that you need help.”
“It’s your decision,” Ignis shrugs idly, “you can continue down your destructive path, or you can become something that matters.”
Prompto doesn’t answer that. It’s what he’s struggled with all his life. Becoming something that matters. He stared straight in front of him, and Iggy and Gladio must think he’s being despondent, because Gladio sighs and they both get up to leave.
He thinks they don’t quite get it. It is not easy to go and fix himself. It isn’t going to be a few therapy sessions (that doesn’t exist, they are still rebuilding) and boom! He’s suddenly okay.
Prompto isn’t. And that’s going to take a while to fix.
“Guys,” he says, raising his head to look at them. The feeling of utter insuperiority submerges him like he’s drowning in the ocean.
Ignis turns around, kindly, patiently, hints of concern and mild parental instinct. Gladio is all raised eyebrows and forceful attitude and frustration.
Suddenly it’s not enough.
Any apology he has, and promise to be better, it doesn’t matter.
His mouth works soundlessly, Ignis and Gladio take a step closer, both expressions now studiously blank.
Ignis built his life up from the ground with nothing, and is still the highest held strategist in all of Eos . Gladio worked weeks on end just to barricade and build outposts that wouldn’t crumble, holding off hoards of daemons sometimes single-handedly.
So what does any apology of his matter?
It doesn’t.
“I understand, guys,” he says, “I- I just. I know, okay?”
Gladio looks confused, but Ignis nods, “it’s alright, Prompto.”
“Yeah, it will be. I just need time to get there. And. And I’m not making excuses,” he looks at Gladio, knowing his mentality to people who cannot help others or themselves, “I know I’m not… you know. I-” he stops, letting out an exasperated sigh. Words don’t seem to be working for him.
“I you say you’re not one of us one more time-” Gladio growls, leaving the threat in the air.
Prompto doesn’t answer for a while, “you’re wrong.”
“What?”
“Ardyn was right, I have no part in this. I’m not royalty. I’m not a tactful or strong fighter. I’m not Lucian. Hell, I’m not even really human,” Prompto is no longer looking at their faces, breaths starting to come out faster, voice uneven, “and now we’ve got to start all over. With Lestallum, and Insomnia. Noct won’t even be here.”
Ignis stops him there with a tight hug, “we’ll be here. This time, we promise.”
“No, guys,” he mumbles into Ignis’ shoulder, “you always were there for me. It’s my turn now.”
Gladio laughs, “finally, kid’s making sense.”
>>>>>>>
Five years later, he’s sitting on the roof of Hammerhead, gun in hand. He’d set up targets as many kilometers (about two) away as he could before he just barely see them. Prompto aims, the scope on his sniper rifle close to his face.
Prompto takes a shot.
Then another.
He shoots until the clip is empty. Reloads and shoots again.
Prompto does this until he’s out of ammo. Then he climbs down and races across the desert, running to check the targets.
Every shot he took hit, almost right in the center.
This is what he does, now. They’re still repopulating around Eos, and rebuilding, but there are enough hands at work that Prompto can find it in himself for leisure time like this.
He needs to keep up with fighting, anyhow.
Prompto runs back to the garage, where Cindy stands, waiting.
“Y’all done?” She asks, with no small amount of amusement.
“Yeah,” he laughs, breathless, “you need me?”
“Uh-huh. Folks in the garage need an engine fix.”
So, yeah, he works here now. He hunts on the side, too. Not for daemons, but for food to ship to outposts in need. He’s also picked his camera up again, and helps Vyv with important news and stuff.
“Got it, thanks,” he flashes a smile at her, then turns to the family at the garage sitting by their beat-up vehicle. All things considered, it doesn’t look too bad. Cars are still a rarity, after so many were destroyed or used for spare parts. Most of what’s left belongs to former hunters.
The woman looks up at him, nudges the lady beside her, “oh, you must be the mechanic?” The first lady asks.
“Yeah, heard your engine went out, did Cindy check it yet?”
“No,” says the second lady, “she said we’d better wait for you.”
Huh, odd.
“Well, okay. I don’t know how long this’ll take, but the diner over there is open,” he walks over to the hood of the car, but notices the ladies haven’t moved.
“Um, actually, we heard that, well, you had lost a leg?” The first woman avoids eye contact, a little awkward.
Prompto’s face heats up at the attention, “yeah. Why, exactly?”
“Our son lost his arm, several years ago. That’s when we adopted him, but he still is insecure about it. He wanted to meet you.”
The second woman drags a kid, maybe twelve years old, from the other side of the car. The left sleeve of his hoodie is noticeably limp. The kid looks up at Prompto with no small amount of awe, but breaks eye contact quickly.
“So,” he mumbles, “you only have one leg, right? That’s what mum told me. And you were friends with King Noctis, right?” The boy rambles a bit, “um, I heard you came back from the dead. And I saw you with your gun and stuff. You can shoot really well, right?”
Suddenly, Prompto is reminded very much of himself. The shyness, and rambling to fill silence.
“Yeah,” laughs Prompto, rolling up the leg of his jeans, showing the boy his prosthetic, “I guess you know me pretty well.”
The boy’s eyes widen, and he looks at his parents with a wonder-stuck face. The women smile down at him, then at Prompto.
“So, do you think I could cook ever? I heard your friend is blind and he cooks. Could I do it with one arm?” The kid’s voice is thick with emotion, filled with hopelessness.
“Yeah,” Prompto says, “of course you can. Actually, Cindy over there,” he points to her, “made my second prosthetic. She’d be happy to make you one. And my friend would love to meet you, his name is Ignis.”
And there, in an instant, something Prompto never got for a long, long time. Hope. The boy wraps his arms around Prompto, then runs off to the diner. His moms smile gratefully at him, then chase after their son.
It feels like a dagger just speared through his chest, but it’s almost a good pain. Pain that means, hey, even if this kid’s been through hell, he’ll be alright.
That this kid has got everything he needs for proper recovery and treatment.
And it strikes Prompto in a way he never thought it would, because he sees himself in this young, shy boy. He sees a second chance. Even being given four years of treatment himself, Prompto is still learning how to get along with healthy coping means. So if this one kid can do what he took years to, well, then that’s just another reason for him to keep going, isn’t it?
Lately, there’s been a lot of reasons to keep going. And by the gods, he thought this moment would never come while he’s alive.
He’s kinda glad it did.