Chapter Text
"You can't die."
Prompto has repeated those words a hundred thousand times. Maybe more. It's hard, of course. Hard being chained, alone, in a dark facility filled with the very thing that Prompto could have been, had his life not gone slightly differently. And it's harder still, watching those daemon MTs roaming about the place, knowing that whenever Ardyn so desires, he'll send one down the hall to attack him... but not knowing when. Every time they come in, Prompto can't help but notice that they don't look like normal MTs. He doesn't claim to be an expert on normal MTs or anything—which is pretty damn ironic, given his history—but there's something about these ones that feels different. Something he can't explain.
So, it's terrifying being alone here. And his mind has been taunting him with the idea that maybe it would be easier to give up more than once. But he can't give up. He has to survive. "I have to make it through."
"And why is that, dear boy?" A familiar voice cuts through the silence, shaking the tight grip he has on his thoughts and making him look up to the ceiling. All the time Prompto has spent here, and that still surprises him every time. "It's not as though there's a whole lot awaiting you on the other side. Or as though dear old Noct is coming for you."
Prompto, with a voice as dry as Ardyn's sarcasm, manages to bite back, "you're wrong!" in a desperate frenzy.
"Am I, now?" Ardyn asks, sounding smug as the cat that just caught the canary. "Why would he have pushed you off that train, if he was planning on wasting his time to come and get you afterward?"
That makes Prompto balk. He blinks a couple of times, before gathering his brain enough to finally answer. "Because you manipulated him! Just like you did on the train!" he answered.
Ardyn chuckles cruelly, sounding every bit the part of the movie villain. "Did I? Or was that just the crown prince's way of getting rid of his useless, dead weight of a friend? You know you're the weakest one of the group, right? That you did naught but hold the rest of the group back?" The words are spoken with pity, like Prompto is some beggar on the street, desperate for attention that Ardyn is the only one around to give him. And Ardyn isn't even in the room.
What's worse is the fact that, as much as Prompto wants to argue the truth to what Ardyn is saying, he can't. Would Gladio ever end up here? Would Iggy? Even blind, Iggy is stronger than Prompto. Even in a group with a blind man, Prompto is the weak link. So why, why in the world, would Noctis want to come for Prompto when he has Gladio and Iggy at his side?
Except he would. He will, Prompto reminds himself quietly, letting his eyes fall closed again. Because that's the kind of person Noctis is. He may be quiet, and sometimes a little standoffish, but he's always, always, there for Prompto. And that's why... that's why Prompto has to see him again.
"No matter what, though, you can always come back home, dear boy."
Ardyn's words make Prompto's eyes shoot open. With no idea where Ardyn is, all he can do is glare at the ceiling. This isn't home; this is hell, chained to some device, subject to the same tests he was as a kid. Home is the Crown City. Home is in the Regalia. Home is... home is wherever Noctis is. That's home. Niflhiem hasn't been home for ages. Never, really. The first time he'd ever felt at home was in high school.
With Noctis.
The thought of Noctis makes a lump form in his throat, and he shakes his head desperately to dispel it. The dizzying thrum of ache in his head—Prompto can't determine whether it's from falling off the train or whatever the MTs have done to him since he got here—makes him regret the motion instantly, but he endures it. Just like he's endured everything else here. He has to survive. He has to. There are so many things that he has to say to Noctis. So many things that he needs to get off his chest. So many things he needs to hear Noctis say to him.
So, while he hurts... he can't die. Not yet. Not like this.
"Ignoring me, hm?" Ardyn chides. "You know, I can make you stronger."
It doesn't take a genius to know what Ardyn means. The code imprinted on his hand is a constant reminder of how close he became to being on the other side of the battle he fights every day now. Make him stronger. Prompto manages to snort a laugh at that. Make him soulless more like. He's seen enough MTs to know what they're like. And as bad as the normal ones are, the ones around here are somehow worse. Even if they weren't, there is no way in hell he'd ever submit to Ardyn. He'll never betray Noctis and the others like that, just to become stronger. Not now, not ever.
He shakes his head desperately to insist to that point. "No," he says, trying to sound calm and resolute, but sounding more desperate, pleading, than anything. "Don't make me into... into one of those!" It's been a long time since he'd tried pulling against the restraints holding him in place, but the mere thought that he could possibly come out of this as one of those... as a soulless, mindless MT, makes him panic enough to try again.
The panic catches the attention of a nearby patrolling MT, which makes it walk down the hall. Loud, echoing steps in the otherwise empty space make Prompto's eyes widen with panic.
When the first cell door opens, he makes one last desperate, fruitless pull to get out of the wrist restraints. When the second door opens, he pleads, "no..." to the MT. Pointless though it is. Even if it could hear him, it wouldn't listen. The last thing he remembers in that moment is the impact of a metal fist against his left temple. Accompanying the sharp pain and the trickle of blood, the image of the MT—as well as everything else around him—fades into blackness as he falls unconscious again.
*
The next thing he remembers is falling. Not the dream type of falling when you just don't land, but just falling from where he was restrained, down to the floor with a hard thump, and landing in a heap with a gasp. For a second he's scared. Scared that Ardyn has come to take him somewhere to make him into one of those. Into an MT. But then he hears it.
"Hey, you alright?" Gladio's voice hits his ears first.
Iggy's is next. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?" The tone brings to mind Ardyn's taunts, that even Iggy, after all he's been through, wants to help Prompto, and makes him feel weak all over again.
"I'm fine," he replies. Though he's very much not fine. He aches all over, but he can't bring himself to care. "Thank you, Noct."
He knows that Gladio and Iggy likely had no small part in his rescue, but he can't be bothered to care right now. He'll thank them later. Right now, Noct is right beside him and is all he really wants to see. Selfish, maybe. But he can't help it.
"No sweat," Noctis says, trying to be as casual and calm as ever. But he doesn't quite make it.
The voice sounds familiar in its sound, but different in its tone. The tone, though, makes his knees buckle in surprise as he tries to pick himself up. It's the kind of tone he's always wished to hear coming from Noctis. The concern, while there and very obvious, isn't what he's talking about. There's a softness to Noctis' tone. Not the usual softness, either. Noctis has never had a terribly loud voice. Prompto has always been the loudmouth of the pair, after all. Always trying to urge his best friend into horseplay or fun and easy conversation. But this softness is a heavy softness. Like Prompto is all that matters in the world.
That, Prompto decides, was worth staying alive for on its own.
"Tell me..." Prompto starts, after a few seconds, his words trailing into nothing as Ardyn's words ring in his mind like an alarm bell. Was that just the crown prince's way of getting rid of his useless, dead weight of a friend? He blinks and pushes himself back up onto all fours, then to a seated position. "Were you worried about me?"
Noctis looks at him in surprise, then concern. "Of course I was..." he answers. Then, the surprise turns to incredulity. "What kind of question is that?" he asks while kneeling next to Prompto. He looks like he wants to reach to help Prompto up, but he's hesitating. Always hesitating. It's not the first time Prompto has caught him reaching out like that. But he never makes the final move, never closes the distance completely. Prompto longs to know what it would feel like if he did.
"Of course," Prompto speaks up again, ignoring his question. "That's why you came. Like I believed you would..." he continues, putting his hand beneath him and weakly pushing himself to his feet.
"Prompto..." Noctis speaks, his voice shaky with some kind of emotion that Prompto can't identify right now.
But Prompto continues, unsure what has emboldened him. Maybe it's just relief that he's with the others again. Maybe it's delirium from pain. Whatever it is, though, he can't stop himself from saying, "that's why... I kept telling myself that I can't die. Not until I could see you. And hear you tell me that I'm not a fake." His own voice shakes a little with the words. "That I'm the real me."
Noctis' eyes turn down to the floor. "I'm sorry..." he replies, shame wrapping his voice and making him sound a bit strangled.
But Prompto knows, deep down in his heart of hearts, that Ardyn can't be right. That Noctis would never try to get rid of him. That Noctis doesn't see him as dead weight. That's not the kind of person Noctis is. That's not the kind of person that he fell for. "Don't be," he says, hanging his head a little, hiding his eyes for a second before turning to look up at Noctis again. "Everything's alright now."
Maybe it's his relief, but in that moment, Prompto swears that he sees Noctis looking at him the very way that Prompto had always wanted him to. It makes him want to say all the things that he's been holding inside. But right now, they have a job to do. Right now, they have to get the crystal. So, instead, he breathes in, looks at his friends—his family—and says, "let's go."