He thinks it can't get much worse; after all it has been the worst few days of his life. He remembers the crazed look in Noct's eyes as he had chased him through the train, remembers the brief moment of confusion as he tumbled down from the rooftop. He even has flashes of memory of the trip to the fort, tied and gagged and bleeding on the floor of an Imperial airship. He really thinks it can't get worse.

He's wrong.

Ardyn is back for another chat and Prompto can't decide which one he hates more, the hours upon hours of bored silence or the moments in between where Ardyn comes to talk to- at- him. Prompto's not sure what he's supposed to do during these exchanges; there's a cut above his eye that he earned for talking too much and a split in his lip for talking too little.

Ardyn says something; Prompto's not quite sure what, he's started to tune the chancellor out at this point. The man is still talking and Prompto's smiling a little, even though it hurts his lip where it's split, because he truly believes that Noctis and Ignis and Gladio must already be on their way for him.

Maybe Ardyn's had a particularly bad day or maybe something Prompto's said or didn't say has touched a nerve. The slight smile on the face of his prisoner seems to have kindled a rage in the chancellor. Prompto flinches as the blows rain down, but thinks really it's more of the same and he's already gotten so good at disassociating from the pain. Then he's hit hard across the throat.

Prompto knows something is wrong- really, terribly wrong- the second it happens. There's an agonizing, grating, tearing feeling and he's gasping for breath. His throat has clamped down on itself and he continues to try to force air into his lungs, chest straining with the effort. Ardyn must realize that's he's gone farther than he meant to because the man mutters something and hurries out of the room, the iron gate clanging shut behind him. Prompto barely notices. His entire world has narrowed down to the pain in his throat and the rush in his head from lack of oxygen.

Minutes that feel like an eternity pass before Prompto is finally able to pull in enough air to calm his panicked brain. The pain is still there and he's making this awful, wheezing, guttural sound as he breathes, but at least he's not dying. His hands twitch in an attempt to massage his throat but they're still bound up above his head where Ardyn put them. He concentrates on breathing. He hopes they rescue him soon.


They finally come after hours. It could have been days, Prompto's not sure and he's lost his only method of time-keeping. Ardyn hasn't come back since the incident.

Gladio works to release him from the metal contraption and he drops to the floor, hands going immediately to his injured throat. Breathing is still too hard and his probing fingers produce new waves of pain. Noctis is talking to him, trying to make sure he's okay, and Prompto wants to say something back, wants to say how happy he is they came for him, but he can't. He can only lay on the cold, cement floor and gasp and thank whatever gods exist in his head that it's finally over.


They're back in the Regalia and Prompto never thought he'd be so happy to see a car in his life. Gladio is driving, seat pushed back all the way to accommodate his bulk, because Ignis can't anymore and Noctis refuses to take his eyes off of his friend. Prompto is stretched out across the back seat, head in Noct's lap and face pressed into Noct's stomach. Noctis is running his fingers through Prompto's hair and murmuring comforting nothings and reassurances. Prompto thinks he might be whimpering, but there's no sound and he's just so tired, so he's not sure.


The fight over motel rooms is nearly a knock-down, drag-out. Noctis still balks at the idea of letting Prompto out of his sight and he and Ignis argue for several terse moments before Gladio steps in to break it up. Ignis wins, because even blind, he is still the best caretaker that they have. Prompto is too worn out care either way but he cooperates when Ignis leads him to the bed and helps him undress.

He sleeps and his dreams are endless, dark hallways. He screams but no one can hear him.


Noctis approaches his friend tentatively, potion in hand. Prompto waves it away. It would be his eighth in just three days. The cuts and bruises have all receded under healing magic and all he's left with are shiny pink scars and the memory of pain. His breathing has eased as much as it's going to; it's still not one hundred percent but he can get by reasonably well. The only thing that hasn't come back is his voice.

Noctis screws up his face and looks like he's going to try to foist the potion on him again. Prompto wants to comfort his friend, but he can't so instead he lays down and faces the wall, until he hears the click of the door shutting.


It isn't until two days later when Gladio remarks that they're running low on gil and suggests a local hunt that Prompto perks up again. Physically he's fine now, and while he's not getting much sleep, he feels more than up to a hunt. Besides, he's dying to get out into the fresh air, out from under Noct's worried stare and Ignis' constant, watchful eye.

He sees the look that passes between Gladio and Ignis when Prompto indicates that he's going on the hunt with them. Gladio starts to say something but trails off as Prompto pulls out his gun and begins to load ammunition into the clip, moving in a tense, precise way that halts any argument.

Their prey is a pack of couerls that have taken up residence in a nearby canyon. And now Prompto is a little nervous, because they've had problems with couerls in the past, but he smiles and gives the guys a thumbs-up because he's still worried they're going to try to send him back to the motel. Then it starts and he's too caught up in the frantic sweep of energy to be nervous anymore.

The familiar sounds of battle wash over him and he relaxes into it, feeling more like himself than he has since the train. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gladio rush past, swinging his broadsword in a great arc, while Ignis hurls tiny balls of lightning that Noct has prepared. Noctis is seemingly everywhere at once, disappearing and appearing again with a whoosh and a flare of blue light as his blade sinks into couerl flesh.

Prompto is too confident and it's going too well, delivering devastating hits from his circular saw, when something huge knocks him flat onto his back. His circular saw flies out of arm's reach and his chest hurts as the couerls crouches down on it. The monster starts to sink its claws into his skin and warm saliva drips from his bared fangs into Prompto's face. He reaches blindly for his gun, bringing it up between his face and the couerl's and depressing the trigger.

It's jammed. He tries the trigger again and again, but the gun clicks each time, refusing to fire. He tries to scream, but there's no sound, and he suddenly realizes what a hindrance that is in battle. He throws his head to the side and sees his friends, still engaged with the other couerls. He can't call for help. But he's not ready to die, not here on the ground because of some oversized cat, not when he's already survived all that Ardyn and the empire could throw at him.

He does the next best thing and tightens his grip on the butt of the gun, slamming it into the couerl's face with every last ounce of strength he possesses. He feels the monster's teeth tearing furrows in the skin of his hand as the creature springs back, off his chest. He's relieved beyond words to see Gladio rush in from the side. A quick flash of steel and a dull thud and the couerl drops to the ground, dead. And just like that the battle is over and the only sound left their hard breathing and the sharp sound of weapons disappearing back into the ether.

Prompto closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can, trying to gather his wits about him quickly. He pulls himself into a sitting position and inspects himself. There's a row of holes in his shirt and some blood soaking through and there's even more blood dripping down his right hand from the couerl's teeth but he's alive and it's definitely not the worst he's had.

He grits his teeth and fends off the helping hands of Noctis and Ignis in favor of pushing himself off the ground. Noctis continues to try and fret in that overly-concerned way of his, but Prompto wants none of it, so he turns and starts walking back to the car by himself.


Prompto holds himself together through sheer willpower on the drive back to the motel. Once there, he practically slams the door in his friend's faces before dropping facedown onto his bed. He's still bloody and he's probably ruining the sheets, but he can't bring himself to care. He's never felt so helpless, not when his home was destroyed and his best friend's world shattered and all he could do was stand there and watch, not when he was tied and strung up by Ardyn, not when Noctis was lying unconscious in Altissia and none of them knew whether he would wake up again or not.

Because not only does he feel helpless; he feels like a detriment. He's an anchor, dragging his friends down and he can't stand the thought because the last thing any of them needs right now is something else to worry about. He can't keep going in to battle if he's only going to make things harder on the others.

Tears leak out from under his closed eyelids and for the first time in a long time, he lets them. The door opens softly and he hears someone step lightly up to the bed. Prompto opens his eyes, ready to wipe his face and smile at Noctis and pretend everything's alright again.

But to his surprise, it's Ignis above him, with a look of such sorrowful empathy on his face that Prompto feels more tears course down his cheeks. Ignis sits down on the bed, his back warm against Prompto's and reaches for his hand. Prompto grabs hold and laces their fingers together and the unspoken 'I know how it feels' hangs in the air between them.

They stay like that until Prompto has cried himself out and Gladio's knocking on the door, telling them to get ready for dinner. And as their hands unclasp, Prompto looks at Ignis and his scars and touches his own throat and hopes that somehow, by the end of all this, they will have gained more from the empire than they've lost.