Prompto's legs tighten around Gladio for a moment as they round a corner and he holds his breath, half-expecting to find a lurching MT on the other side. "I like the sound of that plan."
And at first he wants to keep his mouth shut because the cowardly part of him doesn't want to buck up. After the first few corners and eerily empty halls, Prompto starts spooking, thinking about what could be around the next corner, the creak and groan that could be a daemon, and he just knows he can't sit on this. He taps Gladio on the chest with his fingers to indicate he should hold up, slow down for a sec. Now that he's free of the fun rack and the Niff curative has cleared his head a bit, numbed the worst of his injuries to an ache, and he figures he better spit it out now than later. For all he knows, there might not even be a later.
"It's about Ardyn," Prompto's voice cracks before he swallows and tries again. "He's...different. Like not just weird, stalkery, totally got issues different." It's a struggle to put on his finger on it, put it in words even though he knows what he saw. What he did. Why he realized that he wasn't getting out of here on his own steam.
"Way back when he brought me here, he tricked me. Made me think I could escape when they still had guards," Prompto sounds bitter now, angry he'd even fallen for it but knowing he'd probably make the same mistake again even though he knows better. "I was desperate, I - I stabbed him...and he laughed it off. Dude didn't even blink."
When the tap to his chest comes, Gladio glances out of the corner of his eye but he does come to a stop. There's something important, hopefully what he asked about, that he damn well doesn't want interrupted by a daemon or an MT, plus he can get some of his breath back. He's moving as quickly as he dares with Prompto's weight and the very real knowledge that in this damn maze he might miss Noct and Ignis by seconds. His head tilts, listening closely.
Shit. That is not what he wanted to hear. They're all damn well aware that Ardyn's a madman, though none of them know the absolute extent of it just yet. He remembers Noct rambling on the train about having seen Prompto and Ardyn, a gun drawn, and somehow being tricked and it gives him the willies down into the depths of his soul, like any second he's going to get tricked like that (or like Prompto).
His brows shoot up, then come together hard. "...the hell do you mean, he didn't even blink?" The amount of fear that Prompto must have felt to outright just stab someone, when he damn well knows Prompto is no kind of close-ranged fighter on purpose... "Like you hadn't actually stabbed him at all? It didn't penetrate?" Because those make more sense than the reality his mind hasn't grasped yet.
Prompto thought he'd been scared before. Between all the times they nearly got squashed by giant snakes and had MT dropships stalking them, he figured that hey, he was starting to get a handle on the adrenaline spiking with fear and his heart jumping in his throat.
That was before Ardyn picked him up. Now he knows better.
"I saw the knife go in! He just stood there and laughed!" Prompto's throat clenches as he swallows and he wishes he was making this all up. Problem is, he'd been lucid all the way for that one and he knows what he saw, had it seared into his mind's eye as he replayed it over and over, trying to figure out if there was anything he could've done differently even as he was dragged back to the rack. "He even told me to have a second shot because we're 'friends'."
And he hadn't missed that time, either. Hard to when Ardyn grabbed his hand and guided the knife to his throat and they did it together, basically, and instead of red blood, something thick and black had sprayed out while Ardyn kept smirking. Somehow he doubts Gladio will have much better luck even if he has a giantass sword over a tiny knife.
[Just so you know, I'll be gone from the 13th-28th so I think tags will be non-existent since I'll be in Japan. Please don't abandon thread if I go quiet, please?? <3 I adore this thread.]
Gladio goes silent as he listens to this. As incredible as it seems, as impossible, he believes Prompto. There's no reason for the other to be making this up and Prompto sounds so damn certain about it. How could it be possible that a man could be stabbed, twice even, and not die from it? He frowns, turning over the possibilities in his mind.
"You're certain... you stabbed him? Not an illusion, not some... freakish twist where you in fact stabbed someone else? How can a man be stabbed and not so much as suffer for it?" It goes against anything Gladio knows and it's far more disturbing than he cares to think about. He knows how to fight. You stab things, they die. That's how it works. How could they fight something they could stab and it never falls?!
"...so much of this doesn't add up. The things you and Noct say he can do, but- how? How could it do any of this?"
Gotcha! Thanks for the heads up and have fun in Japan!
It feels a little weird having a heated conversation with the back of Gladio's head. Prompto figures he'll be very intimate with the guy's mullet after this.
"I-I don't think so. I think it was real," Prompto says, although he does wonder and the thing is, he can't say he's sure. For all he knows it could be an illusion like what happened on the train. Some trick up Ardyn's long, fancy-pants sleeve. No idea how he does it, if it's magic like Noct's or it's some new kind that they've never seen until now and that thought legit scares him. "I don't know. Maybe we'll find answers here."
Prompto shivers at the idea of having to wander around Gralea any longer. He's been stuck more or less in the same building, as far as he can tell, but he would've thought there would be more people out. So far it's just been daemons and MTs and while he has an idea what's going on with the new, stronger daemon's sprouting up out of nowhere, he hadn't thought it would happen this fast. There's no way the Imperial capitol could be cleaned out...right? They can't be the only humans out here.
He realizes with a start that he's unconsciously starting to hug Gladio to him. With a muttered apology, Prompto loosens his arms from around his neck, legs from where they'd tightened around his stomach.
[ooc: Thanks! I am so nervous and so excited! Also, any ideas on where we want this thread to go? I'd love to see it go right through the crystal scene (skipping around a bit if we need to) and the 'what the hell do we do now'? and out into the ten years. I've never gotten to play that out before.]
At least it's a fabulous mullet to be well aquainted with?
Gladio, so far, hasn't seen one other living being besides Prompto and daemons (if they can be considered 'living') since he lost sight of Noctis and Ignis. Everyone's gone, dead or... changed, though he doesn't know the latter so much, yet. "All I want to find are the two other and the Crystal. That's the important stuff right now; anything else we find out other than that's just a bonus I guess."
He can feel Prompto tightening up, but he isn't sure what in reaction to. About Ardyn? (What did that bastard do to Prom?) About the eerie silence of the city around them? About the gods damned MTs that keep sometimes coming into view? About all of this hell? Doesn't blame him a bit; he might be getting a bit of comfort from the feeling of Prompto up against his back. Not that he'd admit that.
"We just need to-" Gladio stops, cocking his head and listening. "You hear that?" He's not sure if he's imagining it, but he thinks somewhere he's hearing some kind of... crackling?
[Let's maybe do it earlier than the ten years? Like maybe a year or so far so they can be not Maximum Badass. I'll start the timeskip. Also I'm not yet sure what the liquid Arydn was putting in Prompto was, thinking maybe bringing out daemon attributes? /bullshits madly]
Prompto pauses to listen. His hearing isn't too good right now - he blames Ardyn and a period where he blacked out and woke up to find blood trickling from his ears - but if he concentrates, he picks up a hint of what sounds like something crackling and sizzling.
Probably too much to hope someone's making breakfast really, really loudly.
"Yeah," Prompto says and wonders if he'll regret saying that. "...I'm guessing we're checking it out."
It's close, ish, and while they run into the MT who isn't as dead as it looks, they make it there in one piece and Gladio has time to recover his breath as the door hisses open. It's when he hears Iggy and Noct's voices on the other side that Prompto whispers to Gladio that he'll take a break from the piggyback and it has everything to do with wanting to appear like he's okay. He has to reach out to grab Gladio's arm to steady himself but he manages to walk through that door on his own two feet and for a few minutes, in the middle of a dead Imperial capital, he feels like maybe they got this. They're together, finally.
That ends when Noct makes the mistake of touching the crystal.
That was the last time he saw the prince. After that, it's endless night and the groans of the daemons are a teeth-grinding constant, always too close for comfort.
Sorry for the default icons and any typos. Phone tag from Japan!
Gladio had understood the need to walk in there on his own, more than Prompto might have guessed. He wouldn't have done any different; his pride wouldn't have let him and he can understand the need to soothe that over without suffering more on it.
But in the end, in so many ways, it feels like it didn't matter. They had lost Noct to the Crystal, and Ardyn's words had proven true as it dragged into a year since their friend and King had vanished into what was supposed to save them all. Instead, it had sealed their fate utterly. Now the world is darkness and daemons and death.
Gladio had lost himself almost as completely. Losing Noct had taken away his duty, which had given him everything in his life - his goal, his sense of grounding, his one certainty. It felt like a blow to the gut, like they had failed in succeeding. Ardyn certainly thought so, laughing at them as he had walked away.
Life has not been the same since. Trying to do anything they can just to survive as plants die, as food becomes scarce, as daemons are everywhere and constant. Gladio tries, but it's going downhill in a spiral as his anger surfaces so much easier and constantly, driving most people away from him and leaving him to be more risky, throwing himself into any fight to take out some of his rage and guilt and the feeling of failure.
Prompto misses him. He misses the godawful dad jokes, the way he used to sling his arm over his shoulder and nearly bowl him over, he misses that little sly quirk of his mouth when he would kinda but not grin. A world full of darkness and daemons means that there isn't much room for any of that. Prompto tries to keep in contact with Gladio, keep up, but one day he wakes up in Lestallum and the man's just gone after they bitched each other out. He hears about a big hunt that could clear the way to Hammerhead after the fact.
It's radio silence then.
After Gralea and Ardyn, Prompto's never really felt like his old self. Not entirely. Sometimes his nerves on fire and he catches himself shaking slightly, fingers spasming as feeling vanishes. Sometimes he finds himself wandering in the night like it's magnetic and he realizes he can see just fine outside of the safety of the lights. Whatever Ardyn did to him doesn't mean he's suddenly buddy-buddy with the daemons or the MTs wandering out from the old Imperial bases. It just means he has to haul ass back to a haven every time he gives himself a shake and realize he's wandered off again, zombie-style, and if he isn't careful, he'll get Iggy killed at this rate.
So he pulls a Gladio. He leaves.
A year in and Prompto's a better shot, lankier and with less photos under his belt. Hadn't seemed like there was much of a reason to whip the camera out unless he needed photographic evidence of a hunt. He comes across Gladio totally on accident. Same job, with the other hunter camouflaged in rags it's hard to make his features out. The new guy comes in and decapitates the daemon before Prompto can finish the job, the sword ringing through the air.
He isn't even pissed the guy stole his thunder. Right now he's just relieved as he dusts himself off because his fingers are numbing again, starting to shake slightly as he tries to hide the symptoms.
"Just like old times, eh?" Came the familiar voice from the hidden visage. The figure pulled back his rags and revealed an equally familiar face, though time had added and changed the other's face. A faint white scar near his chin, the thicker beard scruffy on his face, and his hair was quite a bit longer, long enough to be pulled back.
But the eyes are the same.
"Hey there, kid." Gladio gives a tired smirk, dismissing his blade and letting his stance fall into something more casual, though his eyes lift and watches around them. Always wary. Theres no other way to be, in these dark days. "Been a while." Been a long while, but that had been on purpose. It had taken... long, too long, to figure out his own path to get past the anger and guilt and the weight of loss that had been haunting him so darkly.
That last snap at Prompto that had driven him away,,, he wonders if Prompto understands how close he'd come to actually physically lashing out at his friend. That had been the turning point. The pinnacle of his fear.
He hurriedly moves to keep his hands busy, pulling out his camera and taking a quick snapshot of whatever's left of the daemon before it finishes disintegrating. It buys him a few seconds, enough that he can try to still his hands and get over the shock of seeing a familiar face again. Gladio looks...well, he looks rough(er) than he remembers. New scar that's had time to heal, could use a shave, and if he had a mullet before, the thing's officially out of control. Still. It's Gladio, from the roll of his shoulders to the smirk.
"Yeah, kinda," Prompto says and now he feels awkward all of a sudden, the relief he'd felt two seconds ago starting to get colored by what happened the last time he saw Gladio. "Really cool to see you're alive and kicking."
And a second later his cheeks are burning red at the sheer lameness of what he just said. A year of being forced to live on his own without backup hasn't fixed some things, apparently.
Prompto's changed more than him, Gladio thinks. That baby face is gone, replaced by a man with a jaw softened by muscle instead of angles and bone. There's some scruff that looks good on him, but mostly he sees it in the way Prompto holds himself. How he was in that fight. He's learned to fight alone. Grown.
He's missed them; seeing Prompto again hurts. They parted so badly, after Gladio had said--
It doesn't matter what he said.
"Same. They told me the hunter who went after this guy," gesturing to where the daemon had vanished, "probably died. Glad to see he didn't."
Prompto almost falls into the trap of pretending like things are the same. Like they can pretend nothing happened and it's all buddy-buddy with the teasing and Gladio's godawful dad jokes and play wrestling. All of it's still seared into his memory. He trails off, suddenly aware of how it doesn't sit right yet. His lips press into a line that ages him.
"We shouldn't hang around here any longer than we have to. Saw a small daemon herd less than a mile south."
Prompto's all business even as he avoids looking at Gladio and pretends he really needs to focus on putting his camera away.
It is so easy to pretend like nothing had changed. It's easier than admitting to himself everything that he feels inside. Hiding down any other emotion besides his anger was just something secondhand to him, after all. As it is, even the sight of Prompto is bringing back all of the old memories that he doesn't really want to think about. The affection he had held for Prompto back then hadn't lessened over time, but it had changed. It's something that he believes died on the floor of that apartment Ignis had managed to get and they had been sleeping in when their fight happened. Regret.
He imagines Prompto feels anything good towards him.
"Yeah. Hunt's all yours. ...Should probably keep on the move." But how he wants to ask how Prompto is. To ask about the scar he can make out. To make things really right again.
"I'm not taking all the credit," Prompto digs in his feet. "You got the last hit. Least we can do is split it."
Surprisingly enough, hunts still pull in gil. Or it isn't so much the gil as securing a place to sleep for the night surrounded by people, lights, and weapons - not pulling your weight means people talk about the resources you're eating up, how that cot and blanket could go to someone else. Prompto so far hasn't had that problem. One look at Gladio hints he probably didn't either.
Prompto jerks his finger back at where the closest haven is. They aren't exactly as effective as they used to be, but this one's pretty high up a rock outcropping and it seems like the daemons don't really bother with a hike like that. It's safer than spending all night hoofing it on foot back to civilization.
"I saw an old campground that way we could use, if you want." The question is if Gladio still wants to. Toward the end, they were practically sharing blankets. Now, though...he wonders.
"Sure. Split it." Gladio shrugs; his gaze slides away. "Funny, hearing you suggest camping. Seems like you were always the first one to suggest staying in town." Fond, because he is, but it's easier. So much easier than everything they have to talk about and they're both avoiding.
He hoists the bag up on his back, carrying everything in his world there. Camping, like the old days. It's most of what he does now because it's easier than being around people to often. His temper... it's short. Shorter than its ever been, but he damn well knows why. Guilt and so much rage at what happened. How he failed, somehow. This... this wasn't supposed to happen. Years of hell on Eos. He still believes, as long as he can summon his weapon and knows Noct is alive in that damn crystal somehow, that the prophesy will come true.
And with it, he's not sure any of them will survive it.
So he leads the way up, looking over the runes that still glow with their ethereal cyan light and the Circle at the center. "Wanna deal with the fire or setting up beds?" A tent hasn't been necessary for a long time. Not for one.
It comes out more sarcastic than he meant, bordering on catty, but Prompto's tired and maybe, just maybe, a little scared about where this could go. If there's a chance they could still have that thing between them. Smart thing is not to assume anything, not trust they could even make it a week from now with all the daemons, but Prompto's still got a hopeless romantic deep inside.
He catches up with Gladio, needing to take several strides to catch up to his longer ones, his boots squelching against mud and wetlands grass until the ground starts to go from level to ascending and it starts turning into rock. The glow feels both like home and painful, full of memories that he wishes he could shove to the side. With the two of them it feels...empty. Wrong. They're missing some key party members here.
"I got the fire."
Prompto always goes for that first, at least when he's stuck out in the sticks by himself. Fire won't stop a daemon going at you full-bore, but between the runes and some fire, he figures the odds of a few hours of safe sleep are better than without. Prompto can't help but glance after Gladio, the scarred muscles against his back, before he kneels by the fire pit and gets to work.
After awhile, he has a flame going, feeding some kindling in it from his pack until he get can get it big enough to cast a warm glow across the haven's rock face. Sighing, Prompto levers up from his knees and cracks his back, wriggling out the kinks.
Gladio glances back with the sarcasm of Prompto's comment, his brows coming together. That.. isn't anything like the Prompto he knows. Prompto isn't catty, he's not cold, he's not stoney, and yet so far, that's what he's feeling from the younger man. They've both changed; maybe he hasn't changed enough.
They've been missing pieces of themselves for a long time. Gladio wonders, standing there, watching Prompto's face flicker in the faint light of the glow of the runes and the center ring of the haven, if they've changed too much for the missing pieces to fit back into the spot they had all carved into one another. It's his fault, in part, if they can't.
He left first.
Gladio only nods in comment to Prompto taking the fire, and goes for getting out bedding for them both. It means digging into Prompto's pack to find it, but things aren't terribly different across the board when it comes to what people have to sleep on if they're anywhere out in the wild. Supplies are not only hard to find but getting near impossible; he's even learned to sew to repair some things. What might surprise Prompto is the sight of a rolled up hide, which Gladio spreads out first across the rocky ground before putting their bedding down on top of it.
Once he's got it situated, bedding side by side near the fire, he stands up and unknowingly mirrors Prompto with a stretch and pop of his back. "All set here. I've got steaks we can turn into dinner, if you're interested." Pretty much one of the very few people he'd be willing to share with so easily, anymore.
When Prompto glances back at the bedding situation, he has to admit he isn't too surprised to see they're put close together - close enough that they can shade body heat and protect each other if a daemon or any wildlife that's survived the endless night gets too close. The havens are still safe, ish, but they aren't the guarantee they used to be before Luna and Noct...before the sun set for the last time and here they are. As close to the fire as they can get.
"Count me in. I'm kinda starving," Prompto has to come clean. He's never been the best cook and eating out in the sticks got a lot worse when you aren't traveling with the most badass chef in the world. As much as he's toeing the water, trying to find out where things stand with Gladio, he can't say no to a cooked meal. Beats the canned meats he'd been dragging around in his back, easy. "Do you need help?"
His voice is quiet, eyes darting to Gladio and then away. He's dying to ask about the new scars, how long he's growing the mullet (it is even a mullet still?), what he's been up to. If he's maybe caught up with Iggy. The words die in his throat as he fishes about for something to say. They didn't always have awkward silences; at least he didn't think they did. Probably started happening after night fell and dawn stopped showing up.
Prompto glances down to make sure his hands aren't shaking still - they aren't - and he figures he's safe around any sharp, pointy objects now. "What do you want me to do?"
He doesn't promise it won't turn out like leather - and that's putting it kindly.
Prompto also might note that Gladio put himself on the outside, tucking in Prompto closer to the fire. Always protecting, even in this sort of situation. Even after all that's happened. Gladio trusts the havens, to a point, he's yet to be attacked in one, but he's no fool. Safety first, live to fight another day. There's a goal at the end of it all.
Gladio's hair, pulled up as it was, probably didn't quite qualify for a mullet anymore. Hard to keep the shaved look going in this sort of existence. Instead he just kept it up and out of his face, but it certainly has its own look to it. He kneels by his pack, pulling things out. It's strange, having someone there who talks as much as Prompto as any hunter he's shared havens with have mostly been quiet company. They've all had their scars, but just having someone they could briefly trust nearby... helps.
Prompto, even after the fall out, is still someone he trusts completely.
"Here." Some things don't change. He pulls out the old campfire pan, battered and worn but serviceable, and gestures for Prompto to take it. "Get it set up on the fire and-" he put out a tiny bottle as well, oil, "-get a layer of that down." He's no cook, but he can at least make a steak cooked decently enough. That last hunt had been something awful, but at least the meat from it had been decent and the armiger... well, it keeps food endlessly.
It's somehow easier to talk about prepping their dinner than the real meat of the problem - oh, he doesn't know, the whole thing(?) that he thought was between them, only it wasn't. If there ever had been a Thing, he tells himself it fizzled away once they got into that fight and Gladio was gone only hours later. Easier said than done. Every time he sneaks glances at Gladio, at the fresh scars, the hair that he's officially gone screw it and let it grow wild, he still feels a pang clenching tight in his chest. Maybe it's regret. Maybe it's stronger than that.
Okay, so not thinking about all that. Eyes on the prize, Prompto. Prize, in this case, being a cooked meal with meat that isn't out of a can for a change and bonus, he didn't have to hunt it down himself.
Prompto takes the oil and parks himself by the fire. It's such a small bottle that he figures the unspoken rule is don't go crazy with it. He's conservative with how much he puts into the pan, tilting it this way and that so he gets as easy a coat as he can manage.
"Think this is good?" Prompto meant for it to be all matter-of-fact, but it pops out a question instead, like the old days where he was always looking for the others for advice. For help. A little embarrassed he's still acting like a kid, Prompto clears his throat and squares his shoulders, resisting the urge to hunch forward.
Gladio looks over at the question and squints, then gives a quick nod. Looking down at the meat, he gives a strange sort of smile before he begins speaking, his voice easy as if it still doesn't destroy him inside to talk about. "My dad taught me how to cook on a campfire, you know." He moves over and leaves the meat on what it had been carefully wrapped in sitting by the fire to get warmed up. Some magic has its uses, even if he's not fond of it personally. "The King-" a brief pause, then a change, "King Regis, dad, Cid, and Whesker... they did something like we did. A big road trip. Whesker taught my dad, then he taught me when we went camping. Iggy taught me a trick or two, but I like it just like this instead of on the grill."
He doesn't talk about his dad, or the better days, very often. Almost never, unless Iris is around. She wants them to remember the better times; it leaves him with new holes inside of him because he can't let himself grieve. Still, the words come out, to his own surprise, as if Prompto just being here changed something.
His fingers reach out, carefully testing the heat just above the skillet, waiting for the oil to get hot enough.
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And at first he wants to keep his mouth shut because the cowardly part of him doesn't want to buck up. After the first few corners and eerily empty halls, Prompto starts spooking, thinking about what could be around the next corner, the creak and groan that could be a daemon, and he just knows he can't sit on this. He taps Gladio on the chest with his fingers to indicate he should hold up, slow down for a sec. Now that he's free of the fun rack and the Niff curative has cleared his head a bit, numbed the worst of his injuries to an ache, and he figures he better spit it out now than later. For all he knows, there might not even be a later.
"It's about Ardyn," Prompto's voice cracks before he swallows and tries again. "He's...different. Like not just weird, stalkery, totally got issues different." It's a struggle to put on his finger on it, put it in words even though he knows what he saw. What he did. Why he realized that he wasn't getting out of here on his own steam.
"Way back when he brought me here, he tricked me. Made me think I could escape when they still had guards," Prompto sounds bitter now, angry he'd even fallen for it but knowing he'd probably make the same mistake again even though he knows better. "I was desperate, I - I stabbed him...and he laughed it off. Dude didn't even blink."
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Shit. That is not what he wanted to hear. They're all damn well aware that Ardyn's a madman, though none of them know the absolute extent of it just yet. He remembers Noct rambling on the train about having seen Prompto and Ardyn, a gun drawn, and somehow being tricked and it gives him the willies down into the depths of his soul, like any second he's going to get tricked like that (or like Prompto).
His brows shoot up, then come together hard. "...the hell do you mean, he didn't even blink?" The amount of fear that Prompto must have felt to outright just stab someone, when he damn well knows Prompto is no kind of close-ranged fighter on purpose... "Like you hadn't actually stabbed him at all? It didn't penetrate?" Because those make more sense than the reality his mind hasn't grasped yet.
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That was before Ardyn picked him up. Now he knows better.
"I saw the knife go in! He just stood there and laughed!" Prompto's throat clenches as he swallows and he wishes he was making this all up. Problem is, he'd been lucid all the way for that one and he knows what he saw, had it seared into his mind's eye as he replayed it over and over, trying to figure out if there was anything he could've done differently even as he was dragged back to the rack. "He even told me to have a second shot because we're 'friends'."
And he hadn't missed that time, either. Hard to when Ardyn grabbed his hand and guided the knife to his throat and they did it together, basically, and instead of red blood, something thick and black had sprayed out while Ardyn kept smirking. Somehow he doubts Gladio will have much better luck even if he has a giantass sword over a tiny knife.
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Gladio goes silent as he listens to this. As incredible as it seems, as impossible, he believes Prompto. There's no reason for the other to be making this up and Prompto sounds so damn certain about it. How could it be possible that a man could be stabbed, twice even, and not die from it? He frowns, turning over the possibilities in his mind.
"You're certain... you stabbed him? Not an illusion, not some... freakish twist where you in fact stabbed someone else? How can a man be stabbed and not so much as suffer for it?" It goes against anything Gladio knows and it's far more disturbing than he cares to think about. He knows how to fight. You stab things, they die. That's how it works. How could they fight something they could stab and it never falls?!
"...so much of this doesn't add up. The things you and Noct say he can do, but- how? How could it do any of this?"
Gotcha! Thanks for the heads up and have fun in Japan!
"I-I don't think so. I think it was real," Prompto says, although he does wonder and the thing is, he can't say he's sure. For all he knows it could be an illusion like what happened on the train. Some trick up Ardyn's long, fancy-pants sleeve. No idea how he does it, if it's magic like Noct's or it's some new kind that they've never seen until now and that thought legit scares him. "I don't know. Maybe we'll find answers here."
Prompto shivers at the idea of having to wander around Gralea any longer. He's been stuck more or less in the same building, as far as he can tell, but he would've thought there would be more people out. So far it's just been daemons and MTs and while he has an idea what's going on with the new, stronger daemon's sprouting up out of nowhere, he hadn't thought it would happen this fast. There's no way the Imperial capitol could be cleaned out...right? They can't be the only humans out here.
He realizes with a start that he's unconsciously starting to hug Gladio to him. With a muttered apology, Prompto loosens his arms from around his neck, legs from where they'd tightened around his stomach.
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At least it's a fabulous mullet to be well aquainted with?
Gladio, so far, hasn't seen one other living being besides Prompto and daemons (if they can be considered 'living') since he lost sight of Noctis and Ignis. Everyone's gone, dead or... changed, though he doesn't know the latter so much, yet. "All I want to find are the two other and the Crystal. That's the important stuff right now; anything else we find out other than that's just a bonus I guess."
He can feel Prompto tightening up, but he isn't sure what in reaction to. About Ardyn? (What did that bastard do to Prom?) About the eerie silence of the city around them? About the gods damned MTs that keep sometimes coming into view? About all of this hell? Doesn't blame him a bit; he might be getting a bit of comfort from the feeling of Prompto up against his back. Not that he'd admit that.
"We just need to-" Gladio stops, cocking his head and listening. "You hear that?" He's not sure if he's imagining it, but he thinks somewhere he's hearing some kind of... crackling?
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Prompto pauses to listen. His hearing isn't too good right now - he blames Ardyn and a period where he blacked out and woke up to find blood trickling from his ears - but if he concentrates, he picks up a hint of what sounds like something crackling and sizzling.
Probably too much to hope someone's making breakfast really, really loudly.
"Yeah," Prompto says and wonders if he'll regret saying that. "...I'm guessing we're checking it out."
It's close, ish, and while they run into the MT who isn't as dead as it looks, they make it there in one piece and Gladio has time to recover his breath as the door hisses open. It's when he hears Iggy and Noct's voices on the other side that Prompto whispers to Gladio that he'll take a break from the piggyback and it has everything to do with wanting to appear like he's okay. He has to reach out to grab Gladio's arm to steady himself but he manages to walk through that door on his own two feet and for a few minutes, in the middle of a dead Imperial capital, he feels like maybe they got this. They're together, finally.
That ends when Noct makes the mistake of touching the crystal.
That was the last time he saw the prince. After that, it's endless night and the groans of the daemons are a teeth-grinding constant, always too close for comfort.
Sorry for the default icons and any typos. Phone tag from Japan!
Gladio had understood the need to walk in there on his own, more than Prompto might have guessed. He wouldn't have done any different; his pride wouldn't have let him and he can understand the need to soothe that over without suffering more on it.
But in the end, in so many ways, it feels like it didn't matter. They had lost Noct to the Crystal, and Ardyn's words had proven true as it dragged into a year since their friend and King had vanished into what was supposed to save them all. Instead, it had sealed their fate utterly. Now the world is darkness and daemons and death.
Gladio had lost himself almost as completely. Losing Noct had taken away his duty, which had given him everything in his life - his goal, his sense of grounding, his one certainty. It felt like a blow to the gut, like they had failed in succeeding. Ardyn certainly thought so, laughing at them as he had walked away.
Life has not been the same since. Trying to do anything they can just to survive as plants die, as food becomes scarce, as daemons are everywhere and constant. Gladio tries, but it's going downhill in a spiral as his anger surfaces so much easier and constantly, driving most people away from him and leaving him to be more risky, throwing himself into any fight to take out some of his rage and guilt and the feeling of failure.
cool! Lemme know if I should change anyhting
Prompto misses him. He misses the godawful dad jokes, the way he used to sling his arm over his shoulder and nearly bowl him over, he misses that little sly quirk of his mouth when he would kinda but not grin. A world full of darkness and daemons means that there isn't much room for any of that. Prompto tries to keep in contact with Gladio, keep up, but one day he wakes up in Lestallum and the man's just gone after they bitched each other out. He hears about a big hunt that could clear the way to Hammerhead after the fact.
It's radio silence then.
After Gralea and Ardyn, Prompto's never really felt like his old self. Not entirely. Sometimes his nerves on fire and he catches himself shaking slightly, fingers spasming as feeling vanishes. Sometimes he finds himself wandering in the night like it's magnetic and he realizes he can see just fine outside of the safety of the lights. Whatever Ardyn did to him doesn't mean he's suddenly buddy-buddy with the daemons or the MTs wandering out from the old Imperial bases. It just means he has to haul ass back to a haven every time he gives himself a shake and realize he's wandered off again, zombie-style, and if he isn't careful, he'll get Iggy killed at this rate.
So he pulls a Gladio. He leaves.
A year in and Prompto's a better shot, lankier and with less photos under his belt. Hadn't seemed like there was much of a reason to whip the camera out unless he needed photographic evidence of a hunt. He comes across Gladio totally on accident. Same job, with the other hunter camouflaged in rags it's hard to make his features out. The new guy comes in and decapitates the daemon before Prompto can finish the job, the sword ringing through the air.
He isn't even pissed the guy stole his thunder. Right now he's just relieved as he dusts himself off because his fingers are numbing again, starting to shake slightly as he tries to hide the symptoms.
"Thanks, man. You did me a solid."
Works for me!
But the eyes are the same.
"Hey there, kid." Gladio gives a tired smirk, dismissing his blade and letting his stance fall into something more casual, though his eyes lift and watches around them. Always wary. Theres no other way to be, in these dark days. "Been a while." Been a long while, but that had been on purpose. It had taken... long, too long, to figure out his own path to get past the anger and guilt and the weight of loss that had been haunting him so darkly.
That last snap at Prompto that had driven him away,,, he wonders if Prompto understands how close he'd come to actually physically lashing out at his friend. That had been the turning point. The pinnacle of his fear.
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He hurriedly moves to keep his hands busy, pulling out his camera and taking a quick snapshot of whatever's left of the daemon before it finishes disintegrating. It buys him a few seconds, enough that he can try to still his hands and get over the shock of seeing a familiar face again. Gladio looks...well, he looks rough(er) than he remembers. New scar that's had time to heal, could use a shave, and if he had a mullet before, the thing's officially out of control. Still. It's Gladio, from the roll of his shoulders to the smirk.
"Yeah, kinda," Prompto says and now he feels awkward all of a sudden, the relief he'd felt two seconds ago starting to get colored by what happened the last time he saw Gladio. "Really cool to see you're alive and kicking."
And a second later his cheeks are burning red at the sheer lameness of what he just said. A year of being forced to live on his own without backup hasn't fixed some things, apparently.
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He's missed them; seeing Prompto again hurts. They parted so badly, after Gladio had said--
It doesn't matter what he said.
"Same. They told me the hunter who went after this guy," gesturing to where the daemon had vanished, "probably died. Glad to see he didn't."
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Prompto almost falls into the trap of pretending like things are the same. Like they can pretend nothing happened and it's all buddy-buddy with the teasing and Gladio's godawful dad jokes and play wrestling. All of it's still seared into his memory. He trails off, suddenly aware of how it doesn't sit right yet. His lips press into a line that ages him.
"We shouldn't hang around here any longer than we have to. Saw a small daemon herd less than a mile south."
Prompto's all business even as he avoids looking at Gladio and pretends he really needs to focus on putting his camera away.
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He imagines Prompto feels anything good towards him.
"Yeah. Hunt's all yours. ...Should probably keep on the move." But how he wants to ask how Prompto is. To ask about the scar he can make out. To make things really right again.
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Surprisingly enough, hunts still pull in gil. Or it isn't so much the gil as securing a place to sleep for the night surrounded by people, lights, and weapons - not pulling your weight means people talk about the resources you're eating up, how that cot and blanket could go to someone else. Prompto so far hasn't had that problem. One look at Gladio hints he probably didn't either.
Prompto jerks his finger back at where the closest haven is. They aren't exactly as effective as they used to be, but this one's pretty high up a rock outcropping and it seems like the daemons don't really bother with a hike like that. It's safer than spending all night hoofing it on foot back to civilization.
"I saw an old campground that way we could use, if you want." The question is if Gladio still wants to. Toward the end, they were practically sharing blankets. Now, though...he wonders.
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He hoists the bag up on his back, carrying everything in his world there. Camping, like the old days. It's most of what he does now because it's easier than being around people to often. His temper... it's short. Shorter than its ever been, but he damn well knows why. Guilt and so much rage at what happened. How he failed, somehow. This... this wasn't supposed to happen. Years of hell on Eos. He still believes, as long as he can summon his weapon and knows Noct is alive in that damn crystal somehow, that the prophesy will come true.
And with it, he's not sure any of them will survive it.
So he leads the way up, looking over the runes that still glow with their ethereal cyan light and the Circle at the center. "Wanna deal with the fire or setting up beds?" A tent hasn't been necessary for a long time. Not for one.
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It comes out more sarcastic than he meant, bordering on catty, but Prompto's tired and maybe, just maybe, a little scared about where this could go. If there's a chance they could still have that thing between them. Smart thing is not to assume anything, not trust they could even make it a week from now with all the daemons, but Prompto's still got a hopeless romantic deep inside.
He catches up with Gladio, needing to take several strides to catch up to his longer ones, his boots squelching against mud and wetlands grass until the ground starts to go from level to ascending and it starts turning into rock. The glow feels both like home and painful, full of memories that he wishes he could shove to the side. With the two of them it feels...empty. Wrong. They're missing some key party members here.
"I got the fire."
Prompto always goes for that first, at least when he's stuck out in the sticks by himself. Fire won't stop a daemon going at you full-bore, but between the runes and some fire, he figures the odds of a few hours of safe sleep are better than without. Prompto can't help but glance after Gladio, the scarred muscles against his back, before he kneels by the fire pit and gets to work.
After awhile, he has a flame going, feeding some kindling in it from his pack until he get can get it big enough to cast a warm glow across the haven's rock face. Sighing, Prompto levers up from his knees and cracks his back, wriggling out the kinks.
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They've been missing pieces of themselves for a long time. Gladio wonders, standing there, watching Prompto's face flicker in the faint light of the glow of the runes and the center ring of the haven, if they've changed too much for the missing pieces to fit back into the spot they had all carved into one another. It's his fault, in part, if they can't.
He left first.
Gladio only nods in comment to Prompto taking the fire, and goes for getting out bedding for them both. It means digging into Prompto's pack to find it, but things aren't terribly different across the board when it comes to what people have to sleep on if they're anywhere out in the wild. Supplies are not only hard to find but getting near impossible; he's even learned to sew to repair some things. What might surprise Prompto is the sight of a rolled up hide, which Gladio spreads out first across the rocky ground before putting their bedding down on top of it.
Once he's got it situated, bedding side by side near the fire, he stands up and unknowingly mirrors Prompto with a stretch and pop of his back. "All set here. I've got steaks we can turn into dinner, if you're interested." Pretty much one of the very few people he'd be willing to share with so easily, anymore.
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"Count me in. I'm kinda starving," Prompto has to come clean. He's never been the best cook and eating out in the sticks got a lot worse when you aren't traveling with the most badass chef in the world. As much as he's toeing the water, trying to find out where things stand with Gladio, he can't say no to a cooked meal. Beats the canned meats he'd been dragging around in his back, easy. "Do you need help?"
His voice is quiet, eyes darting to Gladio and then away. He's dying to ask about the new scars, how long he's growing the mullet (it is even a mullet still?), what he's been up to. If he's maybe caught up with Iggy. The words die in his throat as he fishes about for something to say. They didn't always have awkward silences; at least he didn't think they did. Probably started happening after night fell and dawn stopped showing up.
Prompto glances down to make sure his hands aren't shaking still - they aren't - and he figures he's safe around any sharp, pointy objects now. "What do you want me to do?"
He doesn't promise it won't turn out like leather - and that's putting it kindly.
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Gladio's hair, pulled up as it was, probably didn't quite qualify for a mullet anymore. Hard to keep the shaved look going in this sort of existence. Instead he just kept it up and out of his face, but it certainly has its own look to it. He kneels by his pack, pulling things out. It's strange, having someone there who talks as much as Prompto as any hunter he's shared havens with have mostly been quiet company. They've all had their scars, but just having someone they could briefly trust nearby... helps.
Prompto, even after the fall out, is still someone he trusts completely.
"Here." Some things don't change. He pulls out the old campfire pan, battered and worn but serviceable, and gestures for Prompto to take it. "Get it set up on the fire and-" he put out a tiny bottle as well, oil, "-get a layer of that down." He's no cook, but he can at least make a steak cooked decently enough. That last hunt had been something awful, but at least the meat from it had been decent and the armiger... well, it keeps food endlessly.
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Okay, so not thinking about all that. Eyes on the prize, Prompto. Prize, in this case, being a cooked meal with meat that isn't out of a can for a change and bonus, he didn't have to hunt it down himself.
Prompto takes the oil and parks himself by the fire. It's such a small bottle that he figures the unspoken rule is don't go crazy with it. He's conservative with how much he puts into the pan, tilting it this way and that so he gets as easy a coat as he can manage.
"Think this is good?" Prompto meant for it to be all matter-of-fact, but it pops out a question instead, like the old days where he was always looking for the others for advice. For help. A little embarrassed he's still acting like a kid, Prompto clears his throat and squares his shoulders, resisting the urge to hunch forward.
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He doesn't talk about his dad, or the better days, very often. Almost never, unless Iris is around. She wants them to remember the better times; it leaves him with new holes inside of him because he can't let himself grieve. Still, the words come out, to his own surprise, as if Prompto just being here changed something.
His fingers reach out, carefully testing the heat just above the skillet, waiting for the oil to get hot enough.