Prompto stared out at the landscape whizzing by, unable to prevent the small smile on his face. He couldn’t put an exact name on what he was feeling other than right. Even if his shoulder was aching and even if Gladio hadn’t stopped staring at him since they left Hammerhead to some unknown destination. The pressure had been lifted. He had someone to follow.

  Glancing in the side mirror at his new superior, he was surprised to see the prince leaning his head on his arm on the door, eyes closed, asleep. He twisted in his seat to look back, but yes, the scene was still the same when viewed with his own eyes instead of through the mirror.

  Seeing this, Ignis chuckled and said, “Yes, Noct sleeps a lot while we’re driving.”

  “He has a sleep button in his arse,” Gladio said, surprising Prompto and, despite himself, he gave a snort at the comment; it was the kind of joke Arvid might have said about one of the other units they shared a dorm with.

  He turned back around and watched more of the countryside go past. It was the first time he really got to see any of it; the dropship he arrived in didn’t have windows apart from in the cockpit and he wasn’t allowed up there. After that, he had been too concerned with surviving to really take in the sights. In many ways it felt strange; here he was, travelling in a fancy car with his enemy. These people should want him dead and instead they had welcomed him.

  “So. Story time,” Gladio said. Well, maybe not welcomed fully yet.

  Prompto turned in his seat again to look back at him, leaning his back against the door. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “Where were you born?”

  Prompto blinked. That wasn’t what he had expected to be the first question. Troop sizes, government plans, battle tactics, those he expected. Not something so personal. Still, he had promised to answer any questions they had. “Gralea,” he answered. “Zegnautus Keep, specifically.”

  “Right in the heart,” Ignis said. Prompto nodded.

  “What about your parents? Family? Will any harm come to them with your defection?” Ignis asked.

  Prompto shrugged his good shoulder. “Wouldn’t know. Dunno who my parents are,” or if he even had parents, but he didn’t say that, refused to even think further on it. “I don’t think anyone born in Zegnautus Keep knows their parents.”

  “You don’t remember anything of them?” Ignis asked, surprised.

  Prompto started to shake his head, then paused. “Well, I think I remember a woman with long black hair when I was very young. But I have no idea if she was my mother. If she was, I guess it means my dad’s a blonde,” he said with a slight smirk. “I've been either on my own or with a unit for as long as I can remember.”

  “How old are you, Prompto?” Ignis asked; another personal question.

  “Twenty,” Prompto answered. At least he thought he was about twenty. Sometimes it was hard to tell, but the answer seemed to satisfy the adviser.

  “So what sort of training have you had?” Gladio asked.

  That was getting closer to what he expected. “Shooting, as you probably guessed,” he said. “I also have basic training in swords and polearms. That’s where all Magitek soldiers start, but I’m not very good at them.”

  “Why would a marksman have close combat training?” Gladio asked. “Why not focus on where you want to go from the get go?”

  “To… find out what we're good at?” Prompto guessed. He shook his head. “I don't know what their reasons are, or even if there are reasons for the training order outside of tradition. I know I was about twelve when Sir, ah, our trainer decided I would be better suited to shooting things and avoiding getting hit for once,” he said with a self-conscious laugh, his hand going to behind his head.

  A burst of stars as the polearm slammed into the side of his head, causing Prompto to stumble away.

  “Again,” Sir’s gravely voice ordered.

  Prompto shook his head to clear it, then attacked again.

  Wrist. Shoulder. Arm. He dropped the pole.

  “Pick it up.” Prompto did so. “Again.”

  Shoulder. Chest. End to the knee. Prompto couldn't help the cry of pain as his leg buckled beneath him.

  “Pathetic,” Sir growled. Prompto didn't answer, merely pulled himself into a submissive bow, staying there, waiting. The sounds of more training reached him, someone who was actually good at this. Prompto felt resentment and hatred boil in him as he watched drops of blood fall from his cheek to the sand, instantly being absorbed, but leaving a patch of pink where it had been.

  He listened as Sir handed out orders to various units and waited his turn. Sir’s boots approached and then stopped and, though Prompto had yet to raise his head, he could feel Sir staring at him. He didn't have to be looking to know it was with disgust.

  A light kick to Prompto’s leg let him know that what was to follow was directed at him. “Clean the sand. Then return to your dorm and await further instruction. We'll see if we can't find some use for you,” he said. As he left, Prompto tried to pretend his world hadn't just come crashing down around him.

  He tilted his head back into the wind over the side of the car, pushing the memories away and enjoying the feeling of the wind blowing against his face. He was soon smiling again without even thinking about it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the prince watching him. He hadn't moved from his sleeping position, but his eyes were open. If the other two had noticed, they didn't say anything about it, so Prompto followed suit.

  “If you're supposed to avoid getting hit, why bring your armour?” Gladio asked.

  Prompto rose his head to look at the bodyguard, confused. “Um, to wear?” he said, not sure where this line of questioning was going.

  “I'm not sure that will be possible,” Ignis said. “It was badly damaged by the Asherhorn.”

  “Well, yeah, but that's the point. Armour’s no good if it doesn’t get beat up instead, and if it couldn’t be fixed, it would be too expensive,” Prompto said. Gladio gave a snort at that, but he was wearing a smile. “I can fix it easy enough, just need to find some tools to borrow.”

  “We’ll see what we can find when we get to Lestallum,” Ignis said.

  Lestallum. Prompto was alive when he should be dead, he was seeing the countryside with wind in his hair, and he was heading to Lestallum, a city he had only ever seen on maps. Today was a very good day.

  -l-l-l-

  They didn’t make it to Lestallum that night, though Ignis said they probably would by midday tomorrow, barring any trouble. For now, though, they had made camp at a haven. Noct didn’t mind, it gave everyone a chance to readjust to the new dynamics. True to his word, Prompto had answered every question asked, though a lot of the detailed stuff he had admitted to not knowing. Gladio was clearly still suspicious, perhaps suspecting he was saying he didn’t know something when he really did, but Noct thought it more likely he was telling the truth and just wasn’t highly placed in the Niflheim military.

  Privately, he wondered about his decision. Despite what he had told Ignis, he hadn’t really thought it through when he agreed to allow Prompto to come along with them, though he suspected Ignis knew this and had just chosen not to bring it up. The thought of inviting him along hadn’t even occurred to him before Prompto literally threw himself to his feet. Noct shifted uncomfortably in the chair he was slouching in at the memory of that. It was so submissive and desperate it disturbed him a little. More than a little. No one had ever done that to him; he had never seen anyone do it for his father either. Bowing, sure, but not throwing themselves on the ground.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Idly, he picked at the food on his plate, staring into the flames. He wondered what his father would have done and felt the pang of loss in his chest before ruthlessly shoving it back down again. Outwardly, his father had been a stern ruler, unflinching, almost ruthless, but never cruel. To his family and closest friends, he had shown a softer side, caring and genuinely concerned for his people. When he was younger, Noct had resented that; it had seemed that his father cared more about everyone else than he had for his own son, especially when family dinner after family dinner had been cancelled again due to business. In hindsight, of course, he knew that wasn’t the case. Especially now, knowing how much he had done, how much he had sacrificed, to keep his son safe. But after doing all that, would he have accepted Noct’s decision to welcome a Nif, one of the very enemies he was trying to save Noctis from, into his company?

  Noctis looked across the fire at where said blonde was picking at his food. He had one of the chest plates of his armour on his lap, precariously balancing the plate on the arm of the chair, while he fiddled one-handed with wires that were on the inside. Half of his bottom lip was pulled into his mouth and he absently chewed it while he focused on what he was doing. He hadn’t seen that wincing thing as much today as he had yesterday, and certainly nowhere near as much as whatever it was that had hurt when he had begged to join them.

  “Thanks for dinner, Iggy,” Gladio said as he stood from where he was sitting, putting his plate on the ground in front of him to be cleaned up later.

  “You’re welcome,” Ignis said. He was sitting by the fire, using its light to repair a pair of Noct’s pants that the hem had fallen down on.

  Gladio, however, had chosen a more active way to pass the evening. He took off his shirt (the show off) and moved to the edge of the campsite. There he started doing sit-ups.

  Noct rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his food, though he more pushed it around his plate than ate it. There were only vegetables left, no carrots thankfully, but still peas and beans and pumpkin. He didn’t know why Ignis bothered. He hated the stuff, though no one else seemed to mind it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Nif had stopped his fiddling and was watching Gladio, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “If you’re not going to eat it, don’t eat it,” Ignis said, still not looking up from his mending.

  “Hmm,” Noct said, though he was distracted by the clunk of metal hitting stone as Prompto dropped his armour to the ground and stood. He watched as the Nif started walking to where Gladio was. “Ah…” he started, going to stand and to stop him from going over there—if Gladio was exercising without even a ribbing comment for Noct to join him, he was doing it to work out his frustrations and that was not something anyone would get in the way of if they were wise.

  Ignis’s hand on his wrist held him back, and he said quietly, “Let him go.”

  Noct looked at him disbelievingly. “But-” he started.

  Ignis shook his head. “Let him go. They need to sort this out. We can always step in if we need to.”

  Noct reluctantly sat back down, but he watched what was happening anyway, ready to jump in if things got heated.

  -l-l-l-

  Prompto liked to have something to focus on. It kept his mind from wandering and his head from hurting. He didn’t have the tools he wanted, but he could at least inspect his armour and evaluate the damage. Then, when he did have access to the proper tools, at least he would already know what needed to be done. All things considered, it wasn’t that bad. The impact dampeners were shot, and the automatic lubricators were damaged, but otherwise, it seemed to be in surprisingly decent shape. Well, other than the cosmetic dents and scratches, of course.

  He was distracted from what he was doing when Gladio stood, thanked Ignis for the food, and started working out. Prompto watched, considering. Gladio had grilled him off and on for most of the day about everything, from his daily routine to the number of men in his unit. It was a largely one-sided interrogation, but he had learned a few things about his new companions. He in-turn had answered every question as honestly as he could, but he got the feeling that the bodyguard still didn’t buy any of it, still resented that he was there. That wasn’t something he could change in a day, he knew that, but perhaps he could make inroads. Gladio was a military man, he knew that now, and Prompto had been raised in the military. They may have been on opposite sides, in completely different countries, but military was military.

  Prompto dropped the chest piece to the ground and stood, walking over to him. Gladio had moved on to push-ups now and Prompto stood nearby, watching. He had good form, he thought, managing not to wince at the pain the stray thought caused.

  “See something you like?” Gladio said without pausing, not even a hint of breathlessness in his voice.

  “Something like that,” Prompto replied. He watched for two more push ups, before dropping to his hands and knees and getting into a plank position himself, albeit a one-handed one. He took a moment to centre himself, making sure he was balanced properly, before doing his own push ups, keeping time with Gladio. Prompto doubted he looked as impressive doing so - one crippled arm strapped to his chest, his shirt still on (it was too hard to remove without help), wiry muscles as opposed to Gladio’s bulky ones - but the appearance didn’t matter. Keeping up did, and he was managing that just fine.

  Gladio, seeing this and becoming more irritated, began to speed up. Prompto was expecting that reaction and also sped up, being careful to match push up for push up, not bothering to count, just following.

  Soon enough, the pair of them were coated in a sheen of sweat, Prompto still watching and still keeping up, though his arm was beginning to burn now. Gladio was watching Prompto as well, with more of a considering gaze instead of the irritated one he had worn before.

  “You run?” Gladio asked, breaking the silence they had been working out in, his voice somewhat breathless.

  “Sure,” Prompto said. His mind shied away from any thoughts or feelings on the matter.

  “First thing tomorrow morning. Let’s see what a Nif kid can do,” Gladio challenged.

  “You’re on,” Prompto agreed.

  The two of them shared fierce grins, a temporary peace achieved.

  -l-l-l-

  No one had commented on Gladio and Prompto’s work out session, and the run seemed to have also gone off without a hitch. Noct was relieved, even if he did find the whole thing a bit strange. They hadn’t even talked, not really, but it had obviously impressed Gladio somewhat, and that meant fewer glares and more relaxing.

  And, best of all, they were currently rounding the cliff side, with Lestallum just ahead. Real beds! Even Ignis started to relax, the heel of his hand resting lightly on top of the wheel.

  Prompto, though, was staring around at everything, his head on a swivel as he tried to take everything in all at once. “It's so colourful!” he exclaimed as Ignis slowed the car, driving it down to the lookout car park.

  Noct climbed out of the car and raised his arms above his head, stretching. “I like this city,” he declared.

  “I think I-” Prompto stopped what he was saying with that wince and blank look, but it only lasted for a second before it was gone and he spoke again, “Should I leave my armour here? I don't see any other Imperials around.”

  “They do come by, but are generally not very welcome,” Ignis said. “I believe it would be best to avoid anyone drawing a connection to your origin regardless, unless you fancy answering some awkward questions.”

  Prompto nodded and, with a last look at his armour, pulled the lid of the boot closed once more.

  -l-l-l-

  Noct led the way to the hotel where they booked a room, staying only long enough for Ignis to inspect Prompto’s shoulder and judge it good enough to go without the sling for a while. “So long as you don’t try to use it,” came the stern instructions.

  “Let’s get you some of your own clothes,” Noct said. Prompto was still wearing the ones he had given him in Lestallum; the long grey things he had been wearing were kept with his armour.

  “Ah, ok. I don't have any money, though,” Prompto said.

  “Sure you do,” Noct said, grinning at Prompto’s confused look. “You helped take down the Asherhorns before you decided you'd look better as a rug. Part of the hunt money from that is yours.”

  Prompto grinned. “Well, ok then.”

  They spent the next hour or so wandering the markets, looking at all the stalls and smelling the different smells. Ignis probably spent twenty minutes just looking at the spice stall.

  And every time Prompto was asked his opinion on something, he would go to answer, wince, then mutter some non-committal answer or ‘I don't know’.

  The fifth time it happened, Noct had had enough.

  “Alright what is that?” he demanded.

  “What... is what?” Prompto asked, a slight waver in his voice, carefully looking anywhere but at Noct. He winced again before the blank expression was back.

  “That! The pain, the expression, what's going on Prompto? What aren't you telling us?” Noct said, his voice rising. A few people nearby had stopped to stare, but he ignored them.

  “It… It’s just Inurement, that’s all,” Prompto said, his voice quiet and barely audible over the sounds of the market, his gaze determinedly staring anywhere but at Noct.

  “Inurement? What’s that?” he asked, unfamiliar with the term.

  Prompto did raise his eyes then to stare at Noct. “You’ve… you don’t have Inurement?” he asked, his eyes flicking between Noct, Gladio, and Ignis. All three mutely shook their heads, which only seemed to confuse Prompto more. “But then… how do you know what to think? What to feel?”

  “Are you having a go at us? You think we’re too stupid to think for ourselves?” Gladio snapped, ire rising.

  “I don’t think that’s the case,” Ignis said softly as Prompto frantically shook his head, eyes wide.

  “I…” Prompto looked around, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he saw how much of a crowd they had attracted. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything just… not here? In the hotel room or somewhere private. Please?”

  Noct ran a hand through his hair. He really hoped this wasn’t a sign he had made a mistake in trusting a Nif. Finally, he nodded, agreeing. “Alright,” he said. “Just pick out some clothes you like and we’ll go back.”

  “I can’t.” Prompto’s response was a whisper.

  Noct stared at him, not understanding. They were just clothes, what was so hard about choosing something he liked? But Prompto’s fists were balled at his side and he was staring hard at the ground, looking genuinely upset. That crinkle around his eyes was there too, like it had when he was in pain just after waking up after being trampled.

  He sighed. “Fine,” he said, and he picked out clothes that he liked, figuring that would do until they knew what was going. Paying for them, he said, “Let’s head back then.”