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Noctis is found, three days after his disappearance, stumbling along the boundary lines of the Marigold District.
Nyx barely registers the blood dripping from the prince’s fingers or the way he favors his weak leg in unusual way, dragging it behind him like he doesn’t have the ability to even use it. Just the shock of seeing him here, now, as Nyx is on his way home from his shift of punishment duty in the Citadel (again) is enough to almost stop him in his tracks.
Almost, being the keyword.
“Prince Noctis,” he whisper-shouts, eyes flickering around in the dark for people—enemies or otherwise. Noctis doesn’t even look at him, using one hand along the brick wall to steady his gait. It leaves tracks of blood that are too dark against the blaring red of the alley. His other hand is hooked over his shoulder in an awkward hold.
Nyx swears under his breath and picks up the pace, ducking into the alley. “Noctis,” he tries again. “Noct.”
Noctis startles, whirls around, his good leg giving out under his weight. Nyx catches him easily but is completely unprepared for the way Noctis struggles against him, chest heaving, strange, guttural noises coming deep from his chest. He clamps his arms around Noctis’ elbows, trapping them at his sides. Noctis hisses like a feral cat, swinging his head back to smash it against Nyx’s.
“Noct!” Nyx says, barely dodging in time. For a kid, he’s got a hard head. “It’s me! Nyx. Nyx Ulric.” His thrashing slows, his eyes wide and owlish as he blinks up at him. Nyx smiles, something strained and smaller than normal, but he hopes the prince doesn’t notice that. “That’s right. Kingsglaive. You’re safe now.”
He twists his wrists until he’s clinging to Nyx’s sleeves. They’re chaffed raw, dark with bruising. His nails are cracked and plastered with dried blood. It’s lucky he still has the nails, being gone for three days. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with adrenaline and obvious drugs. A bruise colors his jaw something nasty.
What Nyx can’t get over, though, is the black metal band around his neck, blood crusting along the edges, his skin torn underneath and such a dark blue it looks black. Noct is limp in his arms now, gasping desperately against the fabric of Nyx’s off duty jacket.
He loosens his grip, reaching around to grab his phone. Noctis tenses, a low keen wheezing through his lips. “Easy,” Nyx soothes. “I’m just getting my phone. You’ve been missing for a while, little king. People are wondering where you are.” He huffs a breath through his nose. “Your dad’s been so worried.”
That seems to trigger something. Noctis stiffens, breaks his arms free to grab the lapels of Nyx’s jacket. His hair is matted on one side, dark with more dried blood, his gaze unfocused no matter how hard he tries to land on Nyx’s face. His lips part, cracking, and his visibly hesitates before—“Ny—,” there’s a sharp crack, “—ah!” —then Noctis is convulsing in Nyx’s hold, his chest frozen in a breath.
“What the hell?” Nyx falls to his knees, cradling Noctis carefully as he chokes on his words and air. His hands come up to scrabble at the band around his neck. Sharp points in his broken nails score fine lines in his skin before his fingers jerk away as if they’ve been burned. “Noct?” Oh, shit, he’s so out of his depth.
The worst of it seems to fade seconds later, leaving Noctis to swallow compulsively. Nerves in his jaw twitch uncontrollable, drools slides from the corner of his mouth. He breathes heavily through his nose, wincing all the while.
Nyx touches the black band only to jerk back with a surprised hiss when it shocks him like the lingering static of a Thunder spell. “What the hell?” he repeats. His hands shake as he sends out a default message to Drautos, predicting he’s not going to get the chance to actually call anyone.
Noctis’ hand jerks randomly when he tries to run his fingers through his hair, he grimaces when they catch on a knot and tear some strands from his scalp. His hand travels down, touching the band with the tips of his fingers. His eyebrows furrow in the middle. Nyx reads his expression half a second too late. “Lisss—aaah,” Noctis tries to say again.
They go through the whole thing again, Noctis choking and gasping and jerking as, what is obviously, electricity travels along his nerves from the source on his neck. His skin blisters under the band, turns dark and gruesome. Nyx braces him with a hand behind his head, keeping him from knocking it back against the cold concrete ground.
“Stop,” Nyx begs when the worst of if passes. Noctis’ gaze slides over his face, drifts to a spot behind him. “Stop trying to talk. Shit, kid, c’mon.”
Noctis shakes his head. Or, at least tries to. He doesn’t have any control over the muscles in his neck anymore. He opens his mouth again, Nyx covers it with the palm of his hand.
“No,” he says firmly. “What ever it is, can wait until we get that fucking thing off, okay?”
He shakes his head again, a little more frantic, something desperate in his eyes. He pats at the hand over his mouth, taps it patpatpatpat.
“No.”
Noctis whines.
“No.”
His other hand comes up, shaking uncontrollably, fingers pinched together. He moves it randomly in the air in jerking movements. Nyx stares at it for a long moment before it clicks.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to read whatever you try to write,” he admits to his prince. Noctis grimaces under his hand. His phone buzzes in his pocket. “You could type it? Do you think you can catch any of the autocorrects?” Noctis nods. Nyx sighs. “Only if you promise not to talk.” Noctis nods again. “I just know I’m going to regret this.”
But he uncovers Noctis’ mouth anyway, sits up to brace him, hands him his phone. He can barely hold onto it, keeping it tight in both hands. His thumbs hit more wrong letters than right, he has to pause and go back for autocorrect too many times. It’s slow and laborious. Nyx has to preemptively cover his mouth several times when the frustration gets to him and he opens his mouth to talk.
Messages pop up, from Crowe and Libertus. Drautos. Cor. One even from King Regis. Nyx ignores them, Noctis swipes them away, solely focused on the message. If it’s so important, Nyx would think he’d send it to someone more important, but he’s determined to get Nyx to read it.
And when he does, it makes complete sense. He snatches the phone back, dials Drautos immediately.
“Ulric,” his captain snaps. “What’s the status of the prince? Is he with you?”
Nyx tucks the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, shucking off his jacket to wrap it around the shivering prince. “I have him,” he says in a rush. “There’s an attack planned on the king. A cell group of the PRE, a plant in the cleaning staff.” Yeah, this just reeks of the PRE. Why didn’t they think of that before? “Send an ambulance to my location.”
Noctis shoves himself into a small ball in the warmth of Nyx’s body, gritting his teeth. Nyx hangs up with his captain soon after, gathers his prince into his lap to keep him off the cold ground.
“Ten minutes,” Nyx murmurs to him, rubbing his hand up and down his arm to help warm him up. “Hold on for ten more minutes. Then we can get that thing off and you can see that your dad is okay yourself. Okay? Just hold on. Keep quiet.” He feels Noctis nod more than sees him. “Good. Really good. It’s gonna be okay.”