A/N: Hihi, sorry for the delay. Had some pretty horrible things going on and forgot to cross-post. Hopefully the next chapter won't be such a long wait. Thanks for everyone still sticking around! You're the bestest.

Paul never thought of himself as a bad man. He'd simply wanted peace in his house once more; for his wife to stop looking so forlorn at her inability to give him children. So, in the end, he'd agreed to adopt.

Maria talked him into bringing home the little Niff child against his own better judgement. She'd thought the boy seemed lonely, and unlikely to be chosen by another family-especially considering the strange tattoo on his wrist.

If only he'd realized what the boy was before they brought him home. It was unfortunate that they'd spent years trying to love it before he figured out they harboring a monster; long after it had already taken up residence in their lives.

He'd tried taming it; now he'd try ridding himself of it.

"You know," he said, glaring down at Prompto as the boy struggled beneath him, "this is your own doing, you little shit."

Prompto again tried to kick him off, eyes frantic. "Dad, please please just let me go! Please…I—" the blonde flopped his head against the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. "I'll just pack a bag and you'll never have to see me again. Please. "

Paul sighed loudly as he finally caught both Prompto's arms and began to wind a cord tightly around them. "Why did you go back there, huh? I told you I would take care of transferring you out of that fucking school, since you can't listen. But no," here he tightened the cord, tying it off, ignoring the whimper the boy produced. "You just had to disobey me."

Prompto cast him a defeated look as his body finally gave up the struggle. "Dad, no—I just, I don't remember…? You hurt me pretty bad—"

Paul sneered at the accusation, quickly backhanding the boy—effectively silencing him. "Don't you dare ," he raged, smacking Prompto again, snatching at his bound arms and pulling him upright. "I went up to your room before me and your mother left. I told you we were taking care of some business, and that when we came back you were to be here, waiting."

Prompto just looked up at him with a mixture of horror and confusion upon his face, and Paul turned away in disgust. He kicked some of the books and other debris from his path—the beating he'd just given the boy had gotten a little out of hand—and opened the hall closet door. "You'll stay in here till we're ready to leave, got it?"

Prompto just shook his head, backing away incrementally. "Dad—"

"Don't argue with me, boy. You've proven you can't be trusted. Your mother found your little stash—how'd you get that much money, anyway? Stealing?" He sneered, " Whoring ? I wonder how your boyfriend would like that. Or maybe he's the one—"

Something in Prompto's eyes went dark. He lumbered forward, managing to look menacing despite his bound arms and split lip, and Paul fell back a step. Prompto pressed his advantage. "You are obsessed with the thought of me and Noct fucking, you giant weirdo! We're not, not that it's any business of yours if we were! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Paul sneered, remembering himself. He strode forward to meet the boy, shaking a finger at him. "You'd better get back in your fucking place, boy! You remember what happened last time you tried to be tough?"

A brief flutter of fear crossed his features before he shook his head, building his resolve. "If you hate me so much, why don't you just let me leave?!" Prompto spat, angry tears streaming from his eyes.

Paul snatched the boy up till they were practically nose to nose. "Oh, I'm going to let you go, alright, we're just taking a little ride, first."

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Just as Prompto sputtered his protest, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Paul moved quickly, whirling Prompto around and clamping one hand over his mouth as he hoisted him up with the other.

"Maria," he growled as he manhandled the struggling boy to the stairs. "Go see who's at the door."

Paul was not a handsome man, but that never mattered to Maria. She was far more interested in his strength; in his stern demeanor that told everyone in a mile radius not to fuck with him or his.

All she wanted was a real family. And, when they could not make one on their own, they brought the little Niff home. He'd looked so lonely in the orphanage, so broken—she saw a little of herself in him.

But he didn't fix their problems. He didn't fix Paul, and over the years her husband moved from "aggressively neglectful" to downright abusive towards the boy, which scared her. She didn't want to become the target for his ire, so she stayed out of it…maybe sometimes even encouraged his anger toward their son.

It was just easier that way.

When Paul brought a dazed Prompto back into the house, she knew everything was done for. There was no coming back from this. Only a lunatic would outright attack the prince, and then continue to taunt him.

She needed to get out of there.

When they'd come home earlier, she'd been expecting to find the boy curled up in his room, still licking his wounds. When they'd found an empty house instead, Paul had become enraged. She'd been afraid he would hit her , he was so angry, but he'd simply gone to the kitchen and downed most of a six pack of beer.

She drank a bit herself, then wandered back up to the boy's room, picking up a few things strewn on the floor. That's when she came across a small box…a small box that contained two thousand crown. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't much money—but it wasn't as if they gave the boy an allowance, which means he was likely lying about the bills and other house expenses that came through; which is what her husband quickly deduced when he came in behind her. Well, it was one of his suggestions of how Prompto had come across the cash at any rate.

He raged for a moment, sweeping the books and knickknacks off of the boy's desk. He suddenly stopped his tirade, jerking the curtain to the side. Outside, the prince's car pulled into the driveway and he could just spy Prompto through the rear window. An odd light shone in Paul's eyes; something dangerous. "I'm gonna set him straight, Maria." He grinned at her savagely, baring his teeth and giving a slight shake of his head. "Once and for all."

Gladiolus admittedly did not like Prompto when he first met the squirrely blonde. He was a distraction for Noctis, he talked too much, and was just always around. But over the years, he found that a distraction was something that the prince desperately needed, and that sometimes it was good to fill silences. Slowly, having Prompto around became a treat instead of a chore.

And now that he'd found that someone had been hurting that little ray of sunshine…?

Yeah, now he was pissed.

When Paul Argentum pulled his dazed son back into the house, Gladiolus saw red. Noctis was two steps ahead of him, but the big warrior grabbed the boy by the scruff of his jacket and yanked him back, shoving him into Ignis.

He knew he wouldn't be able to stop the other two from following him in, but at that point he didn't care. The only thing he wanted to do was get his hands on the man who had caused so much hurt.

He slowed as he crossed the threshold into the house, but not by much. He strode past the door to the kitchen, noting Mrs. Argentum retreating farther back. There was no need to deal with her; she was obviously a coward who would not interfere. He rounded the corner into the living room, keeping a wide berth as he did.

He came to a stop, assessing the situation. Behind him Noctis and Ignis were entering the room, the adviser having to physically restrain the prince from lunging forward.

Ahead of him, wild-eyed and ready to fight, was Paul Argentum. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled on the floor behind his father was Prompto, obviously hanging on by a thread.

Against his personal desires, Gladiolus put his hands up placatingly. "Give us Prompto, and we'll go."

"What do you want with him, huh? What use of he is to you?" Paul snarled, shifting from foot to foot. "Tell me what he did to gain the fucking prince's favor?"

"He's my friend!" Noctis shouted, lunging forward only to be pulled back by Ignis again.

"He's a monster!" The man replied, spittle flying from his mouth.

And that's when Gladiolus lost control.

The world is full of cruel realities that most would like to sweep aside; we like to pretend that bad things don't happen to good people, even though we experience it ourselves in our everyday lives. We all know someone who got the short end of the proverbial stick—someone that life just seemed to want to shit all over. Sometimes that person is someone we love. Sometimes, it's us.

There's no rhyme or reason to the universe; it simply is.

It was fair to say that for a little while, there, Prompto wasn't at all sure of what was happening. There were bits and pieces—flashes of being at school, of Noctis, of his father's rage-filled face. But whole chunks of the day were missing. And he hurt .

But, with the pain came the now , and that clarity made him realize something.

He was so very stupid.

Stupid stupid Prompto.

He should have left a long time ago, and now it might be too late.

His father rounded the coffee table, dropping him in the space between the television stand and the corner with the dusty potted plant. Practically snarling to himself, Paul took up an iron poker from the fireplace, whipping it up to wield like a baseball bat.

Prompto tried to call out, to warn —but all that issued from his throat was a strangled moan. Gladiolus was the first to barge in, his face seven shades of danger as he charged towards where Prompto's father stood at the ready. They collided in a tangle of fury and cureses, jostling the boy on the floor as they shoved and beat each other.

Prompto drifted for a moment, lulled by the grunts and snarls sounding out rhythmically only a few feet away. But soon there was Ignis, looking more pinched than usual. "Hurry, now, that's it." He gripped Prompto's hand—gentle, but firm—and hoisted him up. He was saying something about safety, when his eyes widened and a wounded snarl escaped his lips. Luckily for the listing blonde, Ignis had the presence of mind to grip him tightly by the upper arms and guide him into his father's chair before leaping over him.

Prompto's eyes tracked the adviser's progress, widening significantly when he spied what had Iggy in a tizzy.

Gladiolus was laying stunned on the floor, and Noctis?

Noctis was bleeding.

He was on his knees, and he was bleeding , and Prompto's father stood over him, arms drawn back to bring down the iron poker he'd at some point found again, and…and...

N o c t

The primal scream that ripped its way through Prompto's throat was enough to startle his father mid-swing, and the weapon flew over Noctis' head, lodging in the wall.

Everything moved in slow motion as Prompto forced himself up on shaking limbs. A few feet away, Gladiolus was struggling to his feet, one hand to the back of his head. Ignis was closest to Prompto's father, but he didn't know—

— he didn't know—

—how dangerous , how cruel his father could be, and Ignis was a good man; he'd hold back.

Prompto shook off his dizziness and reached out, snagging the neck of a broken beer bottle. He sprung forward, shoving the adviser away as he lunged at his father, screaming unintelligibly.

"Prompto, no!" Ignis called just as Gladiolus pushed himself up and rushed back into the fight.

It all happened so fast.

One second Prompto was brandishing his bit of glass at the man who'd spent the better part of his entire existence belittling him, hurting him—

—and the next, he was thrown off course and his arm flailed just so and he was slicing Gladiolus's face open.

The big warrior stumbled back, grunting in pain, one hand clapped over his eye. Everyone in the room stilled for a fraction of a second before flying into another fury. Prompto was tossed into Noctis while Ignis sent Paul careening backwards into his armchair. The older man's momentum flipped him out of the chair and he bowled over himself, coming to a rest in the hall. Noctis, one hand—the bleeding one, Prompto dully registered—tucked under the other arm as he again put himself between his best friend and danger.

Prompto sat on the floor, out of adrenaline and out of breath. The cut seemed to have unleashed something in Gladiolus, who was now squared off against Paul, trading two punches for every one of the older man's as gore flowed freely down his angry face.

Things bled out of focus for Prompto, then, and a high pitched tone nearly drowned out all other sound. Another commotion he couldn't follow erupted around him, an he lied back on the floor. Rolling his head to the side, he concentrated on Gladiolus, who was being separated from everyone else by two police officers. The warrior held one hand to his wounded face as he snarled at the much smaller officers, waving his free hand in Prompto's direction. The blonde coughed a few times, wincing as the world pulsed around him. As he did, the clean half of the warrior's face took on an alarmed expression just as everything faded out once more.