Beta read by: Sinikka_von_Wolperting and istoleyourcheesecake

So, this is be pretty different from my usual, but I'm pretty excited for it, and really hope everyone enjoys it. ^-^

There is a song for this one: Leaves that are Green, By: Simon and Garfunkel. Listen to it right at the beginning, and I usually don't push to listen to the recommended music, but this one is kinda what he;s listening to in the story, so his mutterings will make more sense.

Everyone other than Prompto only appear in flashbacks. And Promptis if you want it to be.

Italics represent flashbacks

Fingers thrummed over the handle bar in time with the melody, the vibration from the engine running euphoria straight through his veins. "Hmm hm hm hm hm hmm hmmm," Prompto hummed along, music blaring in his ears, anything to drown out the lawless chaos around him; "I'm twenty-two now, but I won't be for long," he sang along, his own voice lost in the sounds of the notes and purr of his bike as they sailed down the vacant stretch of asphalt. He barely paid anything else any mind, none of it was worth the attention, none of it important enough to take his focus from his home of momentary peace.

The road ahead of him was straight, clear of daemons and void of obstacles; it was almost normal. A long exhale, and a tilt of his head backwards, and he was staring up; stared directly into that overbearing reminder of what this world was. Hell. That's all there was to it. Pitch blackness of the soul-sucking variety weighing down on them as their permanent warden. It made sure every inmate was kept on their toes, ever aware of their surroundings and without a second of rest.

He felt the earth tremble off to his left, another correction officer to patrol the premises he assumed. "I held her close, but she faded in the night," he picked back up with the tune, blocking out the happenings around him. "Like a poem meant to write," another shudder caused him to veer slightly, but he quickly realigned from years of practice. "And the leaves that are green turn to brown," he sang louder, swerving around a darkened puddle forming on the ground. Prompto bowed his head forward, gazing down at the metal beneath him, "And they wither with the wind," he whispered, ignoring the increase in activity around him and letting his need to accelerate take over.

"And they crumble in your han–" His words were snatched away, replaced with the deafening screech of rubber skidding agonizingly over grit. A startled and pained cry as his back collided with the ground, the air getting plucked from his lungs by a cruel and unforgiving mistress. The calm-inducing sound was ripped from his ears, revealing the ugly reality that was around him: the cries of daemons, the whines of the scarce and fearful wildlife, and that eerie and foreboding silence of being utterly alone.

The world spun and his vision flickered from one image to another, like flipping through channels, never deciding on which to remain on. Only difference being that each change resulting in another punch to the chest or head. Disoriented and lacking motivation, he remained face down where he landed, aches already prickling at his limbs and torso. The faint "He-o, hello, h-llo, he..lo..." still reached his ringing ears, now coming out in butchered and warped stutters. A bitter noise echoed in his chest, slowly making their way out of his throat in a raspy chuckle, "Son of a bitch." Groaning, he turned over to his side just as the last 'G-odbye, g...dbye goooddbyye..e.e' drifted out of existence.

And that was it, he was forced back into the real merciless world. He coughed as fresh air raked down his throat, burning his insides with the inhale. For a moment, he lied there, staring off into the trees that stood mere feet away, black and purple danced through them, and he couldn't discern if they were truly there, or if it was his still swimming conscious. "This is how it's gonna be, huh?" he muttered under an unsteady breath, slipping his scraped up hands under him with a wince and a hiss. His eyes were pulled over to his phone which had landed a few yards away on the road, and even from this distance, he could see the destructive spits that ran over its surface, "Perfect."

It was a struggle, but he manged to sit up, his whole body screaming at him to lie back down for a while longer, but his mind chastised his instincts for wanting to make such a foolish mistake. There wasn't room for such luxuries out here, there wasn't room for much of anything anymore... He took a quick look around, surveying his immediate surroundings to wager how much time he had to collect himself before he'd be forced to move on. And, if the expending puddles of dismay were anything to go by, that only meant about a minute at the most. Sighing, he staggered to his feet, stumbling a few steps in the process, but he was up, and that's all he could have hoped for.

Prompto bit his cheek as he looked to his phone, rendered useless by its date with the pavement, but he scooped it up regardless and slipped it into his pocket; he wanted to hang onto it more so out of sentiment than actual functionality. He patted his pocket and turned towards his motorcycle, which he just now realized had a steady wisp of steam fluttering from it. "Come oooon," he whined, limping over to the vehicle and immediately checked the engine. No good, completely busted and reduced to scrap without the proper means to repair it. Without a second of reasonable thought, he gave the vehicle a spiteful and frustrated kick, which was tailed directly by a tight swear and a couple hops back.

Once the throbs of stupidity subsided, he took a deep breath to calm himself; alright, so being stuck out here couldn't be that bad, could it? His question was answered by the tremor that nearly knocked him off his unstable feet, and the cry that followed frosted his blood over. He didn't hesitate, he just ran, protesting injuries be damned, no way he was sticking around to deal with one of those behemoths of a daemon, not now. The animalistic gnarls and wails continued their chase, the echo and lack of other sound made it challenging to distinguish how far behind it was. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, that's all he tried to focus on as they carried him farther away from danger.

His body slowed down without his permission, his breaths coming out huffed and hastened as he slowly came to a stop to lean forward; his lungs and chest were on fire, not to mention his legs twinged with the wish for him to take a break. "Not much... farther," he told himself between gulps of tainted air. Hesitation gripped him, this place felt familiar, almost inviting him forward, and lifting his head, actually gauging his surroundings for once, he saw why. "Long time... no see," he breathed out, straightening himself up and brushing off his complaining hands.

Letters, once bright with calling colors, drained of life and left a shell of their former self. He glanced over them, spelling out 'motel' in his head; so many memories of this place, all flooding at once and he felt a hitch in his throat. 'To think I'll be spending another night here after all,' he thought almost bitterly. Or day, it was pretty difficult to tell a difference anymore; everything blended together into a stretched mutation of what it once was. Hobbling, he painstakingly made his way over, the adrenaline withdrawing to leave him sore and exhausted. His mind drifted to the thoughts of beds, and prayed there would at least be one in decent enough condition for him to stay for a few hours if nothing else.

Reaching the front of the building, he paused, eyes instinctively darting to the roof where he knew that spot to be and held his breath for a moment. Swallowing, he shook his head and pushed his way inside, instantly feeling a sting at the devastation that claimed this place. An unanticipated gasp seeped out as his foot crunched down on some glass shards; he lifted his foot to gaze at the ruined picture frame, shattered and crumpled. His heart ached, skipping a quick beat as he made out the face of a child through the layers of dust and debris. Pushing his lingering sympathy aside, he tore his eyes away, off towards the first hallway he saw, the one he had walked down countless times before.

The resounding steps bounced off the closely knit walls, hitting his ears in a rustic and distasteful way. He despised it, loathed every inkling of sound they produced. Reaching the first room on his left, he stopped and tilted his head to peer in; completely empty, nothing but rubbish and dilapidation. It took him a moment to regain enough care to move on, but eventually it flowed back through him, and he moved on, his left leg now heavily complaining about the excessive use.

Luckily, the next stop held promise when he spotted a sad excuse for a bed, but it was sufficient enough, and right now that's all he could hope for. He half dragged himself over to it and dropped himself into it, releasing a stiff sigh of relief with the... slight comfort of it. Now lying down, his mind granted with a gracious intermission, he could feel every throb and unpleasant pulse that poked at him. Another groan left his form as he turned his head to the side, gazing off at the counter a few yards away; his eyes were practically magnetized towards the bottle residing on it. His fingers twitched with the sight of it and his heart clenched. "Nope," he muttered, turning to his side with a gasp of pain, "Don't need it."

Even if he said that, he wasn't sure how much he meant it; everything in him pestered him that it was alright, it's been long enough. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No," he stubbornly denied himself that escape. The persistent jolts of pain told him otherwise though, and against his better judgement, he hauled himself over, right hand wrapping around the glass bottle while the other unscrewed the lid. And, as the mouth of it touched his lips, he hesitated, the scent hitting him with burdened memories. 'Just enough to take the edge off,' he told himself, 'no more than that, it'll be fine.'

He didn't think anymore, considering the options only multiplied his guilt tenfold as he tilted the bottle up. That burn that he hadn't felt in so long hurt in more way than one, and the temptation to just keep going festered his morals. "Alright," he whispered shakily, "that's it." He reluctantly replaced the alcohol back on the counter, his fingers struggling to release their hold on it. Backing up slowly, he dropped himself on the edge of the bed, waiting for that single swig to kick in, impatiently and internally begging it to hurry up. Thumbs fiddled and foot tapped against the sodden floor, "Come on," he dipped his head through another shudder of discomfort.

And, there is was, that nostalgic initial hit that set his mind at relative ease, but it didn't come without consequence. The utter feeling of betrayal and resentment accompanied the sensation. His eyes stared down at his hands. "Fucking pathetic," he mumbled, throwing himself backwards to lie flat on his back. With his mind only subtly tickling with the effects of it, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off for a moment.

"Noct!" he yelled, fist pounding against the hardened surface again and again. "Noctis, come on man, you're just messing around, right?" he asked, hand tightening into a more condensed ball against the crystal.

A hand fell on his shoulder, luring him from his futile attempts at tearing through the hardened exterior; his hands trembled with the prolonged effort of breaking through. "Prompto, that's enough already," Gladio spoke softly, his tone patient and understanding. "It's no use, so give it a rest.

The blond grit his teeth and dropped to his knees before it. "No, there has to be something," he muttered, hands running over the rock, "Something we're missing." Fingers danced over it, feeling every bump and ridge. "Come on, what the hell is this thing made of?" he growled, slamming an open hand against it.

Ignis stood idly by, never saying a word to either of the others, his own vacant gaze cast down at the metal grating; the sounds of the youngest's fruitless efforts resounding through it and traveling through his feet and up his legs. His brow furrowed and the clanks of his cane tapping the floor removed Prompto from his task. "You know more about this stuff than any of us," the gunner started. "So, you know something, right?" he almost begged the adviser, never looking away from the crystal.

"We should probably get going soon," he replied, ignoring the question.

Biting his lip, he punched again, his hand now throbbing painfully. "Noct!" he shouted, hauling himself back to his feet. "I know you're in there, dammit," he choked out, voice breaking, "Answer me..." His hand slid down the side of it to fall at his side. "I'm not leaving," he whispered, directing this to the others. "I'm not leaving here without him, I just got him back, I'm not going now." He kept his tone low, not wanting to risk it wavering, "You guys can go if you want, but you'll have to go without me."

The shield took a deep breath, not wanting to lose his cool, "Trust me, none of us want to do this, alright? But, there's nothing we can do, and you know it too. It would be a waste of time to stay he–"

"It's not a waste of time!" Prompto snapped back. "You guys haven't even tried to get him out yet! For all we know, he's waiting for us to help. So no, it's not a waste." And, with that being established, he picked up where he left off.

The other two gave him this time to continue his burst of desperate tries, letting him figure it out for himself that there really was nothing he could do. It was the only way to get it through to him. For nearly two days they had to listen to his constant barrage of pleading and fighting, the sounds growing strained and sluggish as time went on. And, by the end of the second day, they finally ceased altogether. The sudden silence had woken Ignis from his sleep, the echos no longer reaching him where he rested.

He called out to Gladio, who instantly realized as well, and with concern now replacing their hurt, they headed back to where they left him. Upon finding him leaning helplessly against it, one hand still pressed against its surface, the shield sighed sadly. "I'll go get him," he muttered.

Prompto's clouded and reddened eyes glanced up to meet amber for a split second before lowering back down. "Come to rub it in?" he asked, voice hoarse from hours of overuse, "Come to say you told me so?"

The larger man looked to his hand placed over the rock, blood and bruises decorating it. "No," he sighed, folding his arms and looking down, "But, I did come over to try and convince you to come back with us." He crouched down next to him, gently wrapping his hand around the other's wrist and carefully pulled it away as his other arm twisted around his shoulders. "Let's get going, sticking around here is only going to do more harm than good." It was slow and tedious, but he got Prompto back to his feet.

"So, this is it, huh?" he laughed sourly. "We're just gonna leave him here." He sighed, stumbling slightly as he was caught before he could go down.

"You know that's not how this is," Gladio replied, taking most of the blond's weight. After all that time of wallowing on the floor, and after days of Gods know what, his body wasn't too appreciative of moving around right now. "You know as well as we do that he wouldn't want us waiting for days on end in this godforsaken place."

"And I also know that if it were any of us, he wouldn't ditch," Prompto quickly countered. "He'd stay and get us out of that thing."

Gladio had to practically pull him along to get him to move, "Noctis is also reckless," he gave another tug to force another step, "He'd probably stay here until he died. That's not exactly the example we should be following."

Prompto didn't reply to that; it was true, but that didn't mean he was willing to give up as easily as they seemed to be. "We could at least give him a week," he mumbled. "Just one week, and if he's not out, then I'll go willingly," he agreed. "Please, we just need to give him time, and I'm sure he'll get out." He planted his feet, refusing to budge until he got an answer, "It's just seven days, it's not that lon–"

"No." It was Ignis who stepped in this time. "The answer is no," he sighed. "Things are bound to go south from here on out, and there are places where our energy can be better spent." The only time he was thankful he couldn't see, not wanting to see the flash of betrayal or hate, or whatever emotion it was this time that flashed across the blond's face.

"Ignis, you should understand as much as anyone tha–"

"I said no, Prompto," he interrupted, "And that's my final decision. I'm not allowing anyone to remain here and be counterproductive for any longer. We've already spared more time than we should have, and I won't have any more of it." Prompto flinched at that unseeing glare that bore down on him, "We will be leaving now... all of us."

He could have sworn he felt his heart stop, everything ran cold, "Ignis, no, you can't be serious. W-we can't leave without him; I know there has to be a way for all four of us to go back," he pulled against Gladio's hold, "He only needs a little more time, this is Noctis we're talking about. I just got back to him, I can't do this again, I... I," his vision fluctuated momentarily, "I can't..." The shield glanced down as those struggles became weaker and far between until there was a light slump against him.

"Guess he finally wore himself out," he muttered, void of humor. "Probably for the best." Lifting him in his arms, he nodded to Ignis, quickly kicking himself for that, "We should be able to go without an issue now."

Everything sounded fuzzy and warped, but he could subtly make out what the others were saying; but, his body was too tired for him to reply or even fight against it anymore. He guessed this is how it had to be then. He may not have agreed with it, but what choice did he honestly have? Blinking a few times, he looked past Gladio's arm, watching as the crystal went in and out of focus until it ultimately dimmed altogether. 'I'm not leaving you,' he tried to mumble out, but he was sure the thought never made it past his head.

His eyes pricked ever so slightly, "Hm, so much for not leaving you, huh?" He lifted his hand above his face to stare at it and trace over the cuts and bruises that marred it, much like then. "Can't even keep a promise as simple as that," he lowered his hand to cover his face, slowly sliding it until his arm shielded his vision. His limb was moved enough for him to peer from underneath it, glaring back at that temporary solution to his current doubts, and he scoffed at it, "Yeah right." Not that it would do any good, the moment it wore off, he'd just be right back where he was now, only in worse shape.

But, what was the point? His eyes shifted to the window, seeing nothing beyond it. Oh right, there wasn't one, any reason for giving a shit was gone with the light. A shiver ran through him, and even he didn't know if it were a sob or a chuckle, maybe both. "Why bother?" he asked himself, flinging his arm off his face to flop next to him. He agonizingly pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair, ignoring the slickness he felt at his hairline and sniffed against his running nose. On stiff feet, he returned to the counter, one hand supporting his weight against it and the other nearly snatching the bottle of vodka up. But, he only held it, gripping it tightly and strolled over to gaze out the window.

"Well, can't say I didn't try," he whispered, scanning the outside, watching as more daemons sprouted from the ground, joining the ones that already plagued the area. He lifted the rim of the bottle to linger under his nose and took a quick smell, lecturing words of Ignis swirling with the aroma. It would be so simple to just down the whole thing right now, just allow it to take over for him and carry him off into the dimension of kindled numbness; it's better than this hell. "Sorry, but I gave it a shot," he replied to the adviser's unspoken words placed it against his mouth and took a couple generous drinks before lowering it and staring back outside, his eyes burning with his instant and screaming guilt. The fire that filled him though, helped to incinerate that sense of disappointment, and left him craving more of that freedom he knew to be approaching soon.