Work Text:
Prompto sits alone in the dark cave, hugging his bruised arms close for warmth as he tries to will some life into the pitiful excuse of a fire before him.
He shifts a little between two bites of cold canned beans, moving his weight to his left to alleviate some of the cold that has built up in his right thanks to the icy stone beneath him. Snow pants or not, sitting on the ground in arctic conditions was bound to end up with the cold crawling its way through the thick clothing at some point.
Aranea had pointed to the camp on the map before jabbing it into his chest and helping him out of the base, seeing him out just in time for him to escape with the gates nearly crushing the back wheel of the snowmobile as he zipped past them. She would meet up with him- in one piece he hopes- after figuring her way out through thick hordes of monsters, same-faced copies and angry daemons, her detour through enemy lines allowing him far too much time alone with his thoughts.
The blond sits still for a while more before shifting his weight back to his right side again, debating using his hat as a cushion to keep his rear end that little bit warmer when the fire that had sprung to life minutes ago suddenly dims. The gunman glares at the embers, heaving a sigh as he tosses a hopefully less frozen log into the fire so that maybe it can be convinced not to die outright.
Their journey had not always been an easy one, heck, the very start had been a painful, tiring, annoying trek of pushing of a broken down car that seemed to be ten times their group's combined weights all the way to Hammerhead. But as Ardyn started showing up more and more following their meeting in Galdin Quay and Lestallum, everything started going downhill. Quickly. What had started as a fun road trip to new horizons eventually morphed to walking down a slippery slope, only to devolve into tumbling blindly into a dark abyss so quickly he couldn’t really tell when they’d truly lost balance.
Being the eternal optimist of the group- or at least trying to- Prompto had hoped against hope that stealing the Regalia or sending annoying MTs was the worst the man would do. But no matter how much he despised the chancellor, how many chills the man sent down his spine whenever he so much as glanced at him, he never expected him to cut Luna’s life short, rob Ignis of his vision or turn Noctis against him.
But he did and now here Prompto sits; alone, cold and betrayed.
He can still clearly hear Noctis screaming insults at him back when he held him against the wall of the cart, an arm firmly pressed against his throat. He still feels the weight of it on his neck, and the gut wrenching fear his friend would pin him right there against a wall, blood slicked sword stuck right through his abdomen.
He still feels the impact of the prince's blade ripping his gun right out of his hand before he was sent tumbling off the train and into the dirty snow below...
Zoning back into the present, Prompto slowly uncurls himself to allow what little heat the fire emits to warm him up. He tosses a few more branches into the flames that are climbing up the side of the too damp log, catching a glimpse of his wrist mid-move as his sleeve rides up just a little bit too high and glaring at the offending ink as if he could somehow scare it out of his skin. But no, it had always been there and always would be; an eternal reminder of what he would never be and so many truths he had never known.
He can’t exactly remember how or when he had learned about his Niflheim origins; maybe it was simply mentioned to him after wondering out loud why he had this black mark he couldn’t wash off, one that none of the other kids had. Perhaps he had overheard his parents whispering about it one evening. He only knows he has been aware of it for as long as he can remember and that it has been tugging at the back of his mind ever since, as he tried his best to bury his feeling of being a fraud as far down as he could.
But today has been a giant pile of ugly truths that bring everything bubbling back to the surface. Not only has he never been a real Lucian, he isn’t even his own person. A broken chuckle escapes him as his mind threatens to shatter from this new shift of reality, slowly cracking. He’s just someone’s creation, a clone amongst thousands, a mere plaything to be disposed of if his “father” so wishes.
The flames crackle, punctuating the silence and dragging Prompto out of his reverie as his eyes fall on a half burnt stick that stands awkwardly on the side of the makeshift pit. His vision flickers between the branch and his arm, once, maybe twice, as he slowly stretches out his hand to pick it up. It’s pleasantly warm, the intact end having soaked up just enough heat to spread it to his frozen fingers through the glove. The other end, however, sports a healthy streak of glowing red embers.
Slowly, he pulls his sleeve up, a fresh stab of heartbreak piercing his chest as the bar code clearly comes into view.
The burnt end of the stick slowly inches toward his wrist, and he hesitates and falters as the heat viciously licks at his skin. Instinct forces him to pull his wrist away from the offending heat and he scowls at it, determined to erase the damn thing even though every inch of his body fights against it.
Another moment of hesitation, or five, later, Prompto sucks in a breath through clenched teeth before pushing the stick against his wrist in one swift move. His skin hisses as he screams, both sounds equally loud to his ears as he forces himself to keep the ember against his flesh until he can’t bear the pain anymore. The stick falls to the floor, the boy curling up around his seared arm.
Prompto looks down at him limb through pained tears and there’s definitely a nice burn there now, but he can still see every damn line of the tattoo through the red swollen skin and the ashes that stuck to it. It’s there to stay.
“Haha….” A small quivering laugh echoes through the cave, broken, the sound of someone slowly teetering over the edge.
“…Branded for life.”
Boots clap on the floor near him.” Don’t tell me you thought that would work?” Prompto looks up at his sudden company, wiping away the tear rolling down his cheek. He doesn’t respond, silently staring at Aranea, the lump in his throat making it too difficult to speak.
“Prompto, right?” He nods as she carefully steps closer and pulls out a potion from her pocket.
Kneeling down, she reaches for his hand, a scowl painted on her face as she gently tilts his arm to asses the extent of the damages. The tattoo is intact, but the burn will definitely leave a pale mark on the skin above. Satisfied with her findings, she pops the cap off the vial and he watches as she pours the liquid onto the wound.
The process is almost painful in its own way, the cool potion contrasting immensely with the heat radiating from his arm as it spreads over the burn and stitches his skin anew. He’s unusually still, observing his limb as the last of the potion works its magic and the pain finally subsides.
The grip on his hand disappears and Aranea stands up, taking a step back from the distracted boy with a scoff. They had only been separated for a few hours, but he could have gone through hell and back during that time and wouldn’t have looked any better.
“You could at least look happy to see me.” she teases, half scolding. The gunman shifts uncomfortably, still slightly unsure if an attempt to talk at this moment would result in words or cries tumbling out, so he tries to laugh instead, the resulting sound more akin to a sob than anything else.
Aranea settles down near the fire pit with a soft thud, “I ran into your buddies in Tenebrae.” His mind skids to a stop and his head snaps up to look at the mercenary.
“You’ve got ‘em worried sick.”
He has so many questions he wants to ask, but he can’t go back. Or so he thinks. He’s too scared to look back and worried to move forward and she knows it, but she doesn’t care. She holds more answers to his shared and unspoken worries than he could have expected her, and in the end his options boil down to two choices: find his own answers or give up altogether.
————————-
Figuring out a cutoff point was stupidly difficult? I really hope it doesn’t end too abruptly and I’m really sorry if it does. I mostly wanted to focus on the burn part so I tried to stop at the point just before the game switches the focus from the self-harm to him worrying about the other chocobros.
In any case, I hope you guys liked it! It was nice to write again kudos and comment are loved and appreciated ♥