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For a moment, he wondered if he had fallen asleep.
Was he asleep? It just felt like one of those mornings when his alarm couldn't drag him completely out of Morphee's sweet embrace, when his mind knew he was still dreaming but refused to come back to reality.
He struggled to open his eyes and realized he was curled on the floor.
And damn, the world hurt .
Right, he wasn't at home and it wasn't morning. (Or was it?). The angry guy had come back and untied him for his chair without instructions. Prompto had understood the two guys had a plan but he couldn't remember why he had decided to avoid the windows. He remembered noticing the bomb under the chair, the piercing claws of fear gripping his heart, and the locked doors.
Alarms blaring in the distance. Around him, the room swirled in silence and floating dust. The desk truly had sheltered him - he felt like a tiny mouse, quietly peeking through the hole of its den, watching black flakes fall like snow.
'It's over.' His relief barely perked up through the heavy blanket of exhaustion.
All he had to do was lay here and wait for someone to rescue.
His lungs chose that moment to remember how much dust and fumes they had inhaled; the next moment his body spasmed and he hacked black bile. The taste of copper invaded his mouth.
That was bad. Maybe? Shivers wracked his body. Right, the floor was cold as hell. Chilling air blew from above, danced into the room, yet his body refused to move. That was okay, his mind repeated, rescue was on the way.
Rushing feet sounds echoed from the outside. The sounds of boot stomping on broken glass shot him awake. Had he fallen asleep again?
Unable to voice any sound, he shifted on the floor and tried to attract the attention of the fireman.
"Shit, the kid is still alive."
Prompto could have recognized that cold voice anywhere. If he was getting out of there alive, he swore that voice would haunt his nightmares for the next decade. This one definitely didn’t belong to the rescue team.
"You told me you left the door open so he could escape!" That was the second man. Blinded by panic, he sounded nothing like the menacing ball of rage that had threatened Prompto earlier.
He forced his mind to escape the clutches of sleep. Should he move? Or remain where he was? His perpetrators had obviously noticed him. They probably wouldn't be so frazzled if they had succeeded - but hadn't they, though? The building was in shambles - so they would be better running away before they got caught. Or maybe they would take the opportunity to finish the work.
Before he could decide what to do, an unexpected wave of nausea hit him. He turned his head on the side to avoid getting drowned in his own vomit. He couldn't even feel grossed out, pain blinding him at every spasm.
"Not in the plan."
"We are not child murderers!"
Since when breathing had become such a struggle? He couldn't even keep track of the conversation over his ragged breathing.
"Obviously there is no issue now. Might as well finish off the kid."
"I told you I'm not..!"
"Because you think he will survive? Look at him. At this point you will do him a favor."
He should probably be worried that he couldn't feel anything but the pain. As if his feelings had all been dumped into a well, plunged so deep they couldn't be fished out. Ugh. That would have been so handy during his last history presentation. If Noctis had been here, he would have found it hilarious that Prompto wasn't freaking out the only time he ought to.
Wait, no. If Noctis had been here, he would have kicked these two guys' asses. Or maybe just Gladio and Ignis, because Astrals knew if these two wouldn't let Noct get into danger's path if they could prevent it.
"Aaahh!"
White pain covered his vision. Instinctively he curled further in himself, trembling fingers reaching for the leathered handle of the knife buried in his legs.
"Why did you do that?!"
"Since you're so torn, let fate decide. The bleeding will shorten his agony, but if the rescue comes fast enough he still has a chance to survive. Is that good enough for you, friend?"
By the time he woke up again, the two men were gone. The knife wasn't.
There was a knife in his leg, he numbly noted. That...wasn't so bad. Full tremors made his body shake as if he had been struck by lightning. No surprise here, given how cold it was in the room. And noisy. Astrals, he didn't know from where that dull sound came, but he hoped it would end soon.
The knife! Yes, the knife. His legs weren't bleeding much. Dark stains covered the fabric around the point where the blade was buried. You should never remove a blade from the wound before the medics are here. He knew that much. Not like he could move his leg, either. His own limb felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. He could spot his shoe further down, the pure white now dirtied in soot.
He would never be able to save them from the trash. Wet warmth blurred his vision and burnt furrows on his cheeks. IF he had to die, he hoped they wouldn't let Cor see him like this. He had invested so much time and money on Prompto, and what did he do? Got himself into trouble. Got himself killed, because they spotted him hanging out with the Marshal. Served him right for taking advantage of Cor just to get fancy shoes.
Eyes rolled back in his skull.
He never heard the resounding sound of gunshot, nor the cries when rescue finally found him.
***
In the midst of despair and sheer terror, Cor was surprised to realize the large bubble growing in his chest was pride.
That boy - his boy - who never had a single training session in his life, had managed to find cover.
Cor had scurried along with the rescue team in the half-destroyed building, legs trembling like a newborn fawn and heart already preparing itself for the mourning; hoping without real hope, because the harsh reality left too little chance for a happy ending.
And yet.
His boy. His clever, brave boy.
Curled up like the infant Cor had found sixteen years ago. Bruised and hurt, but alive . Barely visible under the dirt and the soot, almost buried under that black snow.
He should never had let that scornful lady from the social service convince him to let Prompto enter the system. He should have signed the goddamned adoption papers like he had craved to. No one would have dared to touch Prompto if he had made it obvious the kid was his.
He fingers gripped hard the cardboard shoebox, knuckles as white as his fury. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he tried to smooth out the crinkled paper decorating his present.
The same extremely expensive, white sneakers he had gifted Prompto at the beginning of the school year. Back then his boy, for now still asleep in his hospital bed and way too pale for Cor's liking, had literally bounced in the store out of happiness. Cor could only hope that replacing the shoes would cheer up the both of them.
He would give Prompto his second gift once he was cleared out of the hospital. It would remain locked until then, since this one had a metallic case instead of shiny, wrapping paper and could only be accessorized with bullets.
Regarding the rest...
Cor gently took Prompto's hand in his, smoothing the cold skin in a comforting motion.
Well, if the kid was up to it, Cor would make sure those adoption papers were filed before he ever had the chance to lace his brand new shoes.