Chapter Text
It had been only a year; everything was different. Everything. It still hit him in the morning like whiplash, that it wasn't any sort of dream he could ever wake up from—the dreams he had been waking up from were far worse. There was no routine at this point as everyone seemingly shuffled around the darkened land with only the faintest hint of purpose; Either save people, save yourself, adapt to the ever present black sky or do nothing at all and wither away. Prompto was stuck between 'Save people' and 'Save yourself' at the moment, he knew he couldn't sit back and watch people continuously get slaughtered by the increasing amount of daemons that kept appearing across the land. Sometimes he would simply patrol Hammerhead, do hunts for Cindy or just keep watch for the truck stop for a few hours when no one else had the energy to do so. He didn't even know what you would call "night time" anymore as it was consistently night the entire time he had been away. There was just some point on the clock that you began to feel tired so you slept. Everyone had this odd jet-lagged schedule and no one was on time if you went by whenever it said AM or PM, though it’s not incredibly relevant anymore. A prime example was this current moment, sitting in the back of a pick-up truck that hobbled around as it crossed over old roads that were no longer maintained.
He doesn't know where they are—some town with a name that didn't matter anymore, way farther out than he's ever been—but they were here to look for more refugees to take to Lestallum. Immediately, people began to flock to the large industrial city after the sun disappeared from the sky thanks to its bright lights and consistent energy source. It was good and had room so it wouldn't be over crowded any time soon. At least, you have to hope it wouldn’t be because it was all a lot of people had left nowadays. Hope. Still early enough to cling onto, still fresh enough to be vibrant and give out smiles. Prompto had hope, always did always will, things would get better and they would get better soon. When Gladio tapped the side of the truck bed Prompto jumped and nearly let out a squeak in surprise, sighing and trying his best not to glare at anyone as he climbed off and stepped onto the gravel, kicking it around a bit with his foot as he stared at the remnants of the town. It was okay looking, most of the people were gathered up ready to clamber into the vans and trucks that were brought to carry them, the team dedicated to doing one final sweep of everything for supplies—Prompto being one of them—began their trek through the abandoned buildings.
It almost reminded him of his Urban Exploration day’s way back in Insomnia to grab some more aesthetic photos as a teenager. Except now, he had the unfortunate horror and regret of possibly finding a body somewhere. He tried not to linger on it too long. His backpack was almost filled to the brim with old cans of food, general day-to-day supplies for living; the works. Anything they could salvage and bring back since there weren’t any factories anymore was a big plus for everybody. He was trudging through a particularly still comfy home, making his way through the living room and kitchen, doing his best to not look at any of the things that were still there from the family that used to live there. It would bring tears to his eyes if he thought about any of it. There was something odd, though, the way everything looked so normal and gave him this feeling as if he had just broken into a home in the middle of the night while people were still here. The owners of the home couldn’t be far, in fact they were probably outside squished in the back of a van, but why were so many things left behind? He couldn’t rid the thought that it was as if they just up and left with no explanation, there was no struggle or any signs of daemon attack. Truly it was a home abandoned. He slowly walked up the stairs, letting his fingertips graze over the photo’s hung up on the wall but not daring to look at any of them.
Muttering a half warning to the other man rummaging in the home with him that he’d be making noise upstairs, he started opening doors and going through the mental checklist of areas to scavenge. The bathroom held a lot of goods and so did one of the bedrooms, the master bedroom to be exact. Made very nicely and for a moment it looked as if nothing was wrong with the world. But it was only for a moment. He eventually had to drop his full bag down and get an empty one tossed up to him to continue stuffing with anything that could be useful to them, which was a lot but still, he made his rounds. Coming up to the last door, he was surprised to hear some form of shuffling inside the room, wood creaking, clothing sliding against other cloth; it was so easy to notice these little things in the dead silence everyone walked around in On instinct he called up his weapon, the familiar weight in his hand bringing him into ‘battle mode’ as he liked to call it. He took a deep breath, hoped that it was just a goblin or something easy, turned the knob and swung the door open as fast and as hard as he could to catch the daemon off guard. He raised his weapon and cocked it back, legs spreading to support his stance as he aimed towards the creature crying. Everything came slow after that, so unlike any moment of battle he was used to.
That wasn’t the cry of a daemon ready to pounce upon you and rip you to shreds, this cry was far worse in fact. It was a child, frightened, screeching as if they were being killed—in the back of his mind Prompto had the thought to drop his gun, he was trying to kill it at first—and he covered his ears from the noise. It was unnatural and he hadn’t heard that particular cry in a few weeks ever since he left the families back in Lestallum. It echoed loudly and pained him to hear, gaining his bearings in what little way he could, he rushed to the crib—Gods, it was a crib and this was a child’s room—peaking down to see the smallest, most fragile looking child he’d ever seen squirming around inside. Face red, tears spilling down their cheeks, tiny hands clenched into fists as it continued to wail. He scared the ever living hell out of it thanks to his little stunt and all color drained from his face when he realized just how unprepared and dumbstruck he was in this situation. He could barely make out the confused shouts coming from the rest of the crew down below, the thudding footsteps as they tried to figure out what was going on. He wanted to know, too.
He felt like a kid again, he felt really dumb like he just upset someone’s little sister and was trying not to get in trouble for it. He panicked and did the first thing he always does when he panics—laughs and smiles. He picked up the child and hoped he was doing it correctly as he cradled the baby in his arms and bounced around because that’s what one did to soothe a crying baby right? He had no idea. He hopped from foot to foot as gently as he could, hushed and cooed, rubbed the child’s back—did anything he could think of to do. Somehow, bless the Astrals, it worked and the crying came to a slow stop. The poor thing looked so tired and scared and Prompto wanted to hit himself for being the one who caused it. Instead he leaned back against one of the walls and slid down into a sitting position, letting it all slowly sink in as the tiny human clung onto his shirt. It was a child’s bedroom he barged into, ready to fight for his life. Not even a child, a baby’s nursery. He glanced at the décor and items upon the shelves, toys and baby books, small little shoes and knick-knacks; all of it for the little one still fidgeting in his hold, still fighting, still alive and kicking. How easily that could be different and on that thought, Prompto scrubbed at his eyes when he heard the thundering footsteps come closer.
“What the hell was that, that sounded like- “Gladio’s exclamation was cut short when he caught sight of the blonde, crumpled up on the floor and curling around a child in his arms; a scene he never thought he’d see. He turned around quickly, walking with a steady stride over to the banister.
Leaning over and peering down at the men below, in a shaken but steady voice, he made one request, “Get Ignis.”
“Alright, make sure you’re supporting his head,”
“Got it,”
“How is he sleeping; calm or distressed?”
“Little dude is chill…”
“Good,”
Prompto sighed softly and let his eyes scan over the child’s face once more, having been staring at him ever since he ended up in his arms. Thanks to Ignis and his ever calm rationalization, he easily took hold of the situation and leveled everything out. Prompto's nerves were still frazzled but he had better ground of what was happening and what needed to happen. At the moment, they're sitting on the edge of the truck bed Prompto had arrived in, the little boy he found wrapped in warm blankets and sleeping once more. It was decided that they would care for the baby and take him back to Lestallum for the time being, along with the rest of the refugees. Prompto had asked many of the survivors of they knew who the boy was or who his parents were but most of them had no clue the baby was even born. A neighbor had mentioned the woman who owned the home being pregnant but had assumed she became a homebody after the child was delivered. Now with the chaos of the land and people dropping like flies without protection of the sun, there were no witnesses to what had happened to the mother of the baby. No other resident was willing to take the child in to care for him either, so traumatized or worried over their own family that they wanted nothing to do with a newborn. It crushed Prompto's heart, nearly bringing him to tears over the fate this child had been flung into.
He was still so young, the medical help that traveled with them did their best to determine age or any sort of illness the baby could have. To the best of their knowledge, he was underweight and heavily uncared for; whoever his mother was she was gone for a long time. How had no one noticed? Or heard the child's obvious crying, surely he was wailing for hours upon hours yet no one here decided to check? Prompto's hands shook in anger and disgust but he willed himself to calm down and listen to more of Ignis' instructions. He brushed the unruly black hair out of the thin yet rounded face of the baby rested in his arms. He'd never seen a baby with this much hair already, it was almost unnatural if it didn't make him look so cute. It was fluffy and tousled thanks to the quick bath one of the helpers had given him just moments before. Prompto requested that he should be the one to hold and comfort the baby since he was the one who found it—a bit childish he knows but it had worked— as he somehow found himself responsible for him quickly. He wanted to personally make sure he was going to be alright; treated with the up most care and softest of touches that one could offer. Not that he doubted that any of the medical staff wouldn't do so, simply, the boy looked so delicate and doll like when he found him lying in his crib.
He was so pale and thin and didn't seem to have energy for anything other than crying and even then it sounded so angry and desperate; truly a call for help from one so incredibly helpless. Prompto could understand that. He shifted on his knees to the back of the truck bed and sat against the camper, Ignis sat beside him. He looked up to the sky—noticing how faint the stars were getting and how weak the moonlight was—and let out a shaky sigh. It was one incredulous situation right after another these days.
Wandering around much like a lost puppy Prompto found that he couldn't really do anything to help but relay information what with his arms full, literally. At some point during the trip back to Lestallum the baby they had found refused to be held by anyone else other then the man who had found him. This made check-ups difficult but not impossible as Prompto did his best to cooperate with the staff and the squirming child. The ride back to the town was shorter than the drive out and Prompto was silently thankful, although he felt useless at this point. He attempted to help unpack supplies but yet again, the baby was not happy to leave his hold so he couldn't assist with unloading anything. His current job was to let everyone know what was going on and guide the refugees through the right path of shoddy customs they managed to set-up by the entrance to the town. Every system they had going on was still fairly new and uncertain. There was no single person in charge to ask for advice or to make decisions on anything; everything sort of came to be out of need. People gathered together and created teams; helpers, workers, anything anyone who wasn't strong willed enough or capable of doing something, those people did it instead. The look for more refugees had only begun just two months ago but already there was a great impact on morale to see so many survivors, so many families still kept together in these devastating times. Prompto was happy for them.
He himself had no one. He had Ignis and Gladio but it just wasn't the same as it was before all of this, they were close but there was an unspoken shift in the way their dynamic worked after he had left. Shaking his head of such depressing thoughts—knowing they would come to haunt him later that night anyways—he made his way to the clinic upon desperate request of a nurse who was steadily pushing him along. Skittering inside and quickly to the empty bed in the back that he was being ushered to, he very gently set the baby down as he was instructed to do. He stayed by his side and kept a hand on the child’s head trying somehow to reassure the infant that he was still around so he possibly wouldn’t cry. He let the staff do their work from that moment on, barely paying attention to any of the medical jargon they were spouting out at one another and only asking any questions he seemed fit were important to know about the baby. He was underweight, sickly and in desperate need of constant care. Against everything that his gut seemed to be telling him, he had to leave the baby in their care for the night. It felt wrong, like he should be at his side at all times but he was whisked away for labor work and did his best to let his mind become preoccupied with other things that needed his attention.
It didn’t work as best as he had hoped. In fact, he wasn’t able to go back into the clinic with it being so busy with all of the new people that were rushing inside and he was sent to bed by Ignis shortly after. He had started to pace around the small room he was using during his stay in Lestallum—he didn’t really want to call anywhere home nowadays—and couldn’t help but let his mind wander over every possible horrible outcome that could befall the newborn. Whatever was happening that baby didn’t deserve it one bit whatsoever, wasn’t being born during these horrific times a tragedy enough? Why did the Astrals have to do these things all the damn time? Always have to throw loss after loss and terrible situations down upon those who didn’t do anything wrong, just like Noctis?
He froze in place and clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking as badly as they did whenever he thought of his boyfriend. He didn’t even know if he was allowed to call him that anymore. The more and more he began to remember all of their time spent together and the scene that caused him and the Prince to spill out ‘Boyfriend’ to one another the more his legs became like jelly. He sat on the edge of the small twin sized bed—hunched over forehead resting against the side of his wrists. Taking deep long breathes, shifting his boots over the old wooden floor, squeezing his hands tight and pressing crescent shapes in the skin with his blunt nails—he began to pray. He wasn’t ever one to do such a thing back in the day and especially after what he had witnessed firsthand he had plenty of doubts that the Astrals held good intentions for mortals but pray he did that night. He prayed for tomorrow; for it to be smooth and easy and for everyone to get along. He prayed for Ignis and Gladio; that they were taking everything much better than he was even after a whole year had passed. He prayed for the baby; that he would come out of this spry and with great health, that this world wouldn’t do him harm like it had done to himself. With that out of the way and his emotions over that certain person pushed to the very depths of his mind, he toed the worn boots off his feet and collapsed onto the bed without bothering to cover up in anything.
He would visit the clinic first thing whenever he woke up, he would shove people out of his way if that’s what it meant to make sure he knew the baby was okay.