Chapter Text
If Prompto had known what he was really signing up for when he took this hunt, he would have never agreed to it. He would have hung up the phone and returned to his quiet life. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was his. Cindy needed all the help she could get keeping the garage up and running; after all, it was the last garage still open anywhere in Leide. People needed her help more than ever. If Prompto could think of a benefit to the Long Night, it would be the influx of business Cindy had.
That was probably it, though. The darkness had brought many other things Prompto had long forgotten. Hunger. Fear. Isolation. There were few things he dreaded more than returning to Hammerhead and finding that Cid and Cindy had gone to Lestallum, leaving him there alone to keep the generators running and the lights going.
When those things, failed, well… at least he had his pistols. Unfortunately, he had run out of bullets the day before yesterday and the armiger had failed when Noctis had gone inside the Crystal. He wanted to check in the old convenience store that had long been boarded up, but when he stopped outside its plywood-covered doors, the scratching and shrieking inside had told him maybe that was not such a good idea.
That was when the second wave of daemons hit.
If there was one thing Prompto was sure he would never forget after all of this, it was the stench of daemon blood. The air was rife with the smell of ichor and iron as the wet, musty smell permeated the moisture of his nose and mouth and made him want to puke. There was a sickness to it; the starscourge and its miasma wass almost sickly sweet to the smell and even worse to the taste, like cough syrup. It reminded Prompto of every illness he ever had and the way the medicine sat on the cold spoon. He would slurp it down and suck it off the metal until the tang of stainless steel mingled too much with the artificial cherry and made him feel even worse.
The last goblin fell with a gurgle as Prompto drew his hunting knife across its throat. Its wispy, humanoid body fell limp from his grasp; Prompto had held it by the wrist, letting it writhe and thrash to tire itself out before killing it. He really didn’t like toying with them, but Prompto had discovered that if he could drag out the last of a wave then it delayed the appearance of more. He found himself wondering how exactly they communicated with each other if they don’t use words or even animalistic communication.
He was probably thinking about it too much, he mused, as he wiped the daemon blood from his hands and knife with an old bandana before tucking the blade back inside his boot. Prompto was always thinking and it always felt like too much. There had to be a point where eventually, he would drive himself insane. Besides hunting, sleeping, and drinking, there wasn’t much left to do in the darkness, though.
Prompto collapsed against the plywood with a heavy sigh. The road beside Hammerhead had been silent for a few days with no sightings of any signs of humanity. The daemons, though, had lingered in the shadows, waiting for their moment. The gasoline in the generator had ran out; causing the entire compound of Hammerhead to flicker into darkness. With the darkness came the isolation that made Prompto’s throat close up and his mind fill with old images of red eyes and green masks.
The daemons made him miss the old, familiar faces of Magitek troopers. Even they had some humanity in their lifeless visages. Daemons were always hungry, hungry to tear through flesh and bone alike to feed the Scourge that had infected the planet.
Thankfully, a glimmer of hope in the form of headlights twinkled in the distance. Prompto wasn’t sure if he was finally seeing things, if he had finally thought so hard and so long that he’d slipped into madness. Maybe he had, maybe the Scourge that floated through the air in its infinitesimal, voidlike particles had finally caught up with him, snuck into his lungs and gave him what was surely coming to everyone who was surviving the hellish nightscape.
“Prompto!” Cindy called from the bed of the truck. Her hands held the mighty light strapped to the top of her tow truck still; Cid waved to him from the driver’s seat. Relief washed over him like a gentle wave as he saw the barrels of gasoline strapped down on the truck’s wide bed.
“Thank gods, you’ve got fuel. I’ve been fighting off the daemons for days,” Prompto sighed, pulling Cindy into a tight hug.
“Oh, shug, I’m so sorry,” Cindy drawled, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek. “Thank you fer keepin’ Hammerhead safe.”
Prompto shrugged and smiled. He was eager to help if it meant keeping Liede under control, somehow. Other areas hadn’t been so lucky. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard from anyone out in Alstor Slough, though when he thought of the might Catoblepas that roamed the shallow lakes, and what they might be like daemonized… he didn’t have to wonder what might have scattered the communities that lived there.
“You’ve got gas,” Prompto said, slapping the top of a barrel, “and I see crates… rations, cool. Thanks Cindy. Uh, what’s this?” the blonde added, poking at several duffel bags and a backpack that were leaning against the back of the cab.
“Oh, well, um… we need to talk, hun,” Cindy said quietly.
“I believe I should be the one to talk to him, Cindy,” a familiar voice said. It took Prompto no time at all to place it. The voice was one he thought he would never hear again; whether its source was dead or wished to be didn’t matter. Prompto had buried it long ago along with the person who wielded it.
Five years had passed since Prompto had spoken to Ignis… or perhaps, since Ignis had replied to Prompto. He had kept track of their one-sided correspondence. Over half a decade, Prompto had called 87 times… and texted twice as many. Prompto knew that when Ignis was bothered by something, he would persevere to eliminate it from his life.
He just never thought that something would be him.
Boots crunched in the gravel along the driveway as Ignis walked around the truck, guiding himself with a hand trailing on the old, splintered bed. Prompto thought he was going to be sick, sick with relief, with rage, with confusion. His stomach clenched into a painful knot and twisted, making his arms wrap around his middle to hold himself tight.
“I tried, shug, to talk to him, but we need his help,” Cindy said apologetically.
“Prompto,” Ignis said, and he swore his heart was down in his guts now, twisting too.
“Ignis,” he choked.
“No time for chattin’. You boys need to get on the road soon’s possible,” Cid rasped. “Let’s go.”
Prompto followed after Cid quickly. He didn’t want to look at Ignis. He didn’t want to talk to him, either. As far as he was concerned, actions spoke louder than words, and five years of silence spoke volumes. Ignis was ever the tactician though, and made no mistake in interpreting Prompto’s heavy silence. He lingered far behind them, following the sound of their footsteps as they made their way into the garage.
“Got the gas ready, pawpaw. Light’er up!” Cindy yelled.
“Gotcha, girl. Thank you,” Cid called back before pulling the start on a generator just outside of the garage. Almost instantly, Hammerhead roared to life and the massive lights installed at its borders flickered on, bathing the depot in a cold, sterile light. Prompto breathed a sigh of relief as the daemons seemed to melt back into the shadows beneath their feet. Even though the sun had been completely gone for almost a year now, Prompto still hadn’t grown used to the daemons’ constant presence.
Maybe they would always send a shiver up his spine. He hoped that would never change; he didn’t think he would ever want to get used to that stench. If he was honest with himself, though, the daemons were a far more constant company than the humans he frequented with. The thought dragged him down even further into the dark trench formed by the sheer sight of Ignis.
Prompto tried not to think of the impasse’s contents. The sweet kisses, the soft touches, the careful attention to things as subtle as the twitch of a brow or pull of a frown. Such actions were things that Prompto used to treasure, used to crave. Such things were just Ignis. Or at least, used to be Ignis. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that really, truly, he didn’t know who Ignis was at all anymore. Like the ache of paper slipping sharp across the skin, Prompto’s heart burned and hurt.
“Alright, boys,” Cid croaked. He limped over to a bin filled with rolls of paper and grabbed one before spreading it out across his shop table, covering the random assortment of tools that always covered its surface. Smoothing it with his palms, the old mechanic grunted. “Map’s old, but it’ll do. Come closer and I’ll show ya where you’re goin’.”
Ignis stands to the side, arms crossed and quiet. Prompto realizes he’ll have to be the one to pay attention; with his good eyes, he’ll be able to navigate them to wherever they’re going. “Cid… what’s happening?” he asks quietly as he looks at a map of the area around Dainse Haven.
“The farms out there went dark. Their generators have gone out. Haven’t heard much from the folks that lived out there,” Cid said gravely, his voice dripping with dread. “S’hopin’ you an’ Ignis could go and check on ‘em. With yer magic, Ignis, y’might be able to recharge their generators long enough for us to get ’em some fuel.”
Prompto looks at Ignis long enough to watch him nod in affirmation. “It would take a few days for us to journey by foot. Would chocobos…?”
“Chocobos ain’t comin’ out no more now the sun’s gone,” Cid said sadly. “You’ll have to travel by foot. We need the truck to tow folks who need help. You boys are much more capable’n them. Survivors.”
“Right…” Prompto says weakly.
“Got gear for ya in the back of the truck. You can head out right now.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Ignis said with his familiar air of professionalism.
“Just be careful. Bad weather these days with the chill comin’. Winter’s almost here.”
If the fear in Cid’s voice didn’t fill Prompto with a sense of dread, that warning sure did. He was hesitant to even call this season winter when it was always cold and unpleasant these days. The only difference between the winter and every other season was the white flakes that accompanied the miasma that drifted through the air like their sickly shadows.
The sound of footfall crunching through the gravel and the deafening hum of the generator in the distance were the only sounds Prompto could hear besides the raucous beating of his own heart. Fear, rage, anguish, confusion; he would have picked any of these emotions over the one that filled him to the brim right now.
It would be so much easier to be angry with Ignis, or scared of what he might do or say. Hell, Prompto would give anything to simply be bored of him, ready to get out to the farms and back so he could keep living the empty existence he’d made for himself out here at Hammerhead. He knew himself better than that though, so when that crippling, anxious nausea that Prompto only knew as lovesickness ricocheted through him like a stray bullet, he wasn’t surprised at all.
Even after five years, five years of silence and pain and regret and empty wishing, Prompto Argentum still loved Ignis Scientia. It would take much more than silence for Prompto to quell the love and adoration that had grown in his heart like a malignant tumor. The feeling had continued to spread and seize every last bit of Prompto’s nerve; of course it had crumbled like a house of cards in the breeze just at the sight of Ignis.
There was no harm in one more pointless wish, though. Prompto closed his eyes and prayed to whatever god might be listening that they have mercy. He almost laughed; if any of the Six had any sense of mercy, they would have ended this long ago. Like every other time, Prompto would have to pull through by the skin of his teeth and the last bit of spirit that coursed through his veins.
“Prompto…” Ignis said, his accent curling the vowels in his name and taking a hammer to the blonde’s heart.
“Pack- I gotta pack,” Prompto muttered, rushing toward his camper.
The territory here has changed, Prompto thought, as his boots sank into the dead grass that covered the rolling hills. The forest there was sparse- it always had been- but some of the smaller plants and foliage had died off from the lack of sunlight, leaving the trees to stand in dormancy, waiting out the long night with their patient slumber. Prompto shivered as he looked up at their waving, naked branches; the skeletal fingers of their twiggy extensions waved at him somberly as he marched beneath them.
Eyes open, mouth closed, he used to say, back when he didn’t know better and felt like being a smartass before a battle. There was something about the bemused snort Noctis would offer in return that would charge him up and get him in the mood to tear a few monsters a new one, offering bullets and mechanical warfare as an assistance to his better-trained friends.
Now he’s still got his eyes open and mouth closed but it’s not the same. He used to be the predator, he used to be the one to hunt down monsters and daemons to eviscerate them and provide their bodies as barter for gil. Now, the exchange rate is different. It’s not about gil or favors. Every kill he makes is one he trades for another moment of life. They’re all hallowed and much more serious.
Prompto missed the laughter and jeers they shared when tearing things apart, the gentle touch of Noct’s hand on his shoulder when he felt like he was gonna fall over, and the sound of Gladio’s terrifying cry as he ran into battle. The camaraderie he felt then, he realized, was what made the difference. Without the banner of friendship to unite under, the struggle to survive in a world bent on ensuring their demise was much more difficult.
There was a shrill scream that ripped through the air in the distance. It had the vague shadow of humanity, but the ear-piercing pitch it reached was anything but. Prompto could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck and Ignis’ step faltered behind him.
“Did you hear that?” Ignis asks, his voice hushed.
Prompto nods, then realizes that Ignis can’t see him. “Yeah,” he says quietly.
“We’re close, aren’t we?”
“I wish we weren’t,” Prompto murmurs. That sound… it wasn’t one he ever wanted to hear again, but as that horrifying shriek sounded again, he knew deep in his bones that it wasn’t going to be the last time he heard it today. Ignis made a sound of disapproval behind him.
“Doesn’t it sound…?” he began.
Prompto choked out, “human.”
“Gods,” Ignis whispered.
The two travelled in silence, save for the crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet and daemons stirring in the dark. Thankfully, the lesser ones didn’t bother with them; travelling in a pack was a benefit for many reasons during the long night, security being the first and foremost. It was still oddly quiet though; there weren’t as many goblins and imps here in the thick forest as there were back at Hammerhead.
Their absence made Prompto’s viscerals churn with doubt. Perhaps there was something else here, something larger, something that even the lesser daemons were scared of. His mind painted vivid imagery just behind his eyes of fangs and horns dripping with blood and hungry, soulless eyes piercing him through the dark.
Prompto hugged himself tightly as they marched on. His pistol sling, draped around his torso, did nothing to bring him comfort. The farmhouse was growing close; Prompto felt great relief just from the passing, dilapidated fence posts and the sight of a grain silo. Civilization, sanctitude, safety. A wash of calm flooded his brain as he saw the light of his flashlight reflect in the windows of the farmhouse.
“We’re here,” Prompto whispered.
Ignis nodded. “Yes, I can smell the grain… but it’s old. Rotting,” Ignis muttered, cringing at the smell. Prompto could sense it now, the vague scent of petrichor and mold, thought it was far off. It must have been there a long time if it had rotten. Nevermind the calm… a farmer wouldn’t let so much profit go to waste.
The farm house’s appearance was just as foreboding as the rotten scent tinging the air. Now that they’d approached close enough for Prompto to see it, he found himself wishing they had never taken this job. Broken windows gaped from all sides, their glass littering the rotting wood of the front porch. The front door swung open on a single hinge that screamed in agony as the wind pushed it. A hole in the roof looked aged and beaten.
This house had been empty or void of people for months, if not years. Perhaps one or two survivors had kept the rusted generator standing to the side running until it wouldn’t perform anymore, and then slowly succumbed to the dark and her daemons. The thought sent a freezing shiver down the blonde’s spine.
They shouldn’t be here.
“Iggy, we need to go.”
Frowning Ignis turned to him. “Nonsense. Why would we do that?”
“Can’t you…” Prompto paused, flinching as he realized he was about to ask Ignis if he could see the mess that stood before them. “Feel it?”
Ignis snorted. “Don’t be silly, Prompto. Let’s go inside and find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t wanna go in there, Ignis,” Prompto admitted through clenched teeth.
With a sigh, Ignis dropped his pack beside Prompto. “Then you stay here, and I shall go. Where’s the door?”
Prompto bit his lip as he looked at Ignis. Though the doctors had told them in Altissia that Ignis had a chance of recovering his sight after wearing the ring, it still looked as if the injury had occurred just weeks ago. The scarred skin around his eye, across his nose, and marring his lip was still a fresh shade of pink and wrinkled like a burn mark. Milky-white pupils gazed distantly, a ghost of their former verdant hue. They still searched for the source of the sound as if Ignis would still be able to see it.
It broke Prompto’s heart all over again.
“Ignis, maybe you should stay here, set up camp,” Prompto said carefully. “I’ll go on ahead and check inside the house. See who… or what’s still there.”
Cloudy eyes looked at him with such heat Prompto had to avert his gaze for a moment. The crease in Ignis’ brow, the low turn of his lip were part of a look shared only with Noctis during their most heated arguments. The look spoke volumes for Ignis, who chose not to speak at all. Rather, he moved, walking toward the sound of the scream only after pulling his daggers from their holsters at his hips.
“Ignis, Ignis! Wait!” Prompto called, holding onto his backpack straps as he ran after Ignis.
“Will you cease your incessant caterwauling?” Ignis hissed. “You’ll attract daemons and monsters and whoever else may be out here.”
“You- you can’t go!” Prompto whined, clutching to Ignis’ sleeve.
Ignis ripped his arm from Prompto’s grasp and resumed his journey to the farm with renewed vigor. Prompto had to jog to keep up, murmuring Ignis’ name as he tried to step in front of him. Dodging him effortlessly, Ignis’ expression changed to one of disdain as he moved. Prompto reached and mindlessly grabbed Ignis’ hand like he had so many times before.
What a mistake that was. “Don’t, Prompto,” Ignis said commandingly, driving a flock of birds to fly from their post in a nearby tree. Prompto jumped at the sound of the brush of wings against feathered bodies. Their cries pierced the air as it settled still around the two men. Their voices carried as they shouted at one another.
“What’s your problem, Iggy? Why do you have a death wish?”
“A death wish? Is that what we’re calling my attempt to live a life in this godsforsaken hell we call Eos?”
“Living isn’t running into a life-or-death situation!”
“Listen, I do not need you to live, Prompto. I’ve been doing just fine without you, and I will continue to do so!”
The silence that followed their heated argument weighed heavy in the air like smoke. Prompto stared at Ignis, mouth agape and eyebrows crinkled. It felt as if the man had reached in his chest and seized his heart, if only to squeeze it until it bled. The most important unanswered question now had an answer, one that Prompto didn’t want to hear.
The one he had hoped, out of all things, wouldn’t be the case, because he was hardly surviving without Ignis in his life. He was alive , but his life was an empty carcass compared to what it had once been. Hope took a mortal blow when Noctis went into the Crystal and it died when Ignis silently left him in the middle of the night to wake up to a half-empty apartment and an aching heart.
“Alright,” Prompto said, resigned.
Ignis paused, rolling his lips briefly between his teeth before simply saying, “Prompto,” in a voice dripping with regret.