Messenger
An Assassins Creed III and Final Fantasy XV Crossover
There are a number of people working under the umbrella Assassin, and Prompto should avoid all of them unless he wants to end up dead, Ardyn warns him.
He takes that to heart. No more alleyway shortcuts, always staying vigilant on his rounds now that they know his face, staying away from places they could jump him from above... Ardyn warns him they have a favored habit of jumping people from above, on top of rooftops and catwalk pathways between them, because no one expects it. Its almost their trademark.
The time he met Gladio in the alleyway is not the last time he sees anyone matching the descriptions Ardyn gave him, dressed in white and red robes, but he's a lot more quick to spot them now. Every time he does, he makes it a point to go the other way, before they spot him or have a chance to get close if they already have. He actually gets quite good at it, with a little practice. He starts losing track of how many heel-face turns he's had to do in the several weeks since that time. At one point, he's sure he even spots the same big, burly man again, with others dressed the same as him, but he doesn't stick around long enough to confirm it. Considering he's rarely seen anyone quite so big though, he has few doubts.
Its strange how different the city seems to look when he has to be so aware of his surroundings, and even more when he was hyper-aware with the threat of people who might want to kill him just for carrying mail. Then again, he was warned that, at times, there are those who want to get a hold of important documents, and its part of his job to safeguard them. Quite a few of his employer's clients are well-involved in local politics. Its quite an honor that they be trusted to carry such important documents, even if they only take some of them.
A change of pace comes when his employer gets a few jobs that'll take him outside the city, past his usual routes.
Their delivery service does pretty well, but more than that, Mr. Izunia seems to have a liking towards him and a higher trust that he can get things done right where others can't. Its enough praise to make him glow a little, and it'd be nice to have deliveries where he doesn't have to be hyper-vigilant for once.
Still, its... a little bit unnerving. He's never been out to the frontier before or other towns on his own. Certainly, he's taken cart-rides with others on the rare occasion, but never alone, and never having to navigate the terrain himself. He really hopes there's no wild animals, but hopefully, on horseback and following clear, main rods, he won't be long enough reaching his destinations that he'll cross paths with any animals anyway.
Its a bit different being outside the city making his rounds on horseback. For one, its colder. Or at least, it feels colder, since he's not moving around so much. Normally all the running around keeps his blood moving and, even though he can still feel the chill, its nowhere near as bad. Now is a little less bearable, a little more windy and a lot more quiet.
In its own way, its nice. Less bustle, not having to look over his shoulder so much to make sure people aren't following him... though he checks behind him a few times down the road just to be sure.
He shivers a bit in the saddle, slouching in the hopes it'll help him stay warmer, and he can't help glancing to the sides and back with the impression he's being watched all of a sudden.
Maybe he's... just being paranoid. But maybe he's not.
He purses his lips, watching, and for a moment he thinks he sees something large move in the trees. He squints, but then his horse falters and shifts with a nervous wicker, dancing to the side and snorting, tossing its head up.
It makes him more alert, but his attention shifts to what's in front rather than behind. Something moves again, something just as big as what he thinks he might've seen before. Only a few seconds more, and whatever he glanced, its huge and it comes bounding down the cliffs, screeching like a demon as it lunges at him and his horse.
The equine startles with a panicked bray and turns, kicking backwards before taking off into the snow before Prompto can even think to steer the animal any other way.
Plowing through the snow, it takes his own panicked mind a bit to realize how far off the path they've wandered, and by the time it actively registers in his mind, the world is spinning as his horse is toppled over, sending him rolling through the snow. The sounds his horse makes as the monster cat clamps over its throat are some of the worst sounds he's ever heard, but even more pressing, it turns on him, prowling forward and screeching madly.
Prompto can't help breathing hard until he's almost choking on gasps. He manages to find enough sense not to whimper in fright, even as he starts quickly crab-walking backwards, though the deep snow makes it difficult.
Staring down already-bloodied jaws is terrifying, but what really gets him are the eyes; intense, focused, unflinching. If wild cats could speak, the look it gave now would be as clear as an I'm going to kill you from a person.
It was going to kill him and feel nothing for it, and that was a fact colder and harder than the bitter winter air around him or frozen earth beneath him.
The cat roared at him and pounced, and its only by pure instinct he thinks to draw his small handgun and fire.
He thinks he hit it, but everything happens so fast he's not sure.
He's pinned underneath the animal faster than he can blink, bright blue sky and grey clouds blocked out by brown fur and a flurry of kicked up snow. The only thing that saves him from massive fangs ripping out his throat is they're too busy ravaging his arm and coat sleeve, not quite sure which screams are his own and which belong to the mountain lion.
For what feels eternities longer than it is, the only thing Prompto knows is that he's in the middle of nowhere and he's going to die, going to die, doing to die. The pain in his arm makes him sick even through the adrenaline, trying to push the big cat off but its far stronger and heavier than he is. Then he thinks it lets go, but he's not completely sure, and it screams in his close-eyed face, writhing and yowling on top of him.
For several gasping moments, he doesn't register that its weight is gone off of him, or that its vicious noises have stopped. By the time he does realize it, he curls over on himself, cradling his bloody arm against his stomach.
When he manages to get some clarity through his panicked haze, clear his vision, its to an offered, bloody hand and a voice. "You alright?" Its a familiar voice somehow, but he can't place from where.
He's still shaking too badly from the attack and he can't seem to get his eyes to focus on anything properly. He blinks several times, trying just to breathe, and his eyes dart in search of the big cat, only to find it dead and bloody in the snow.
Its... dead?
And he's... still breathing.
He can see his breath.
He's alive. Hurt, but alive.
He still hardly notices the person near him, much less recognize who it is, still trying to come to terms with what all happened.
"Hey... you still with us? Do you need help back?" The hand is still extended, although it backs off a little, and the person hums quietly. "Can you move your arm?"
For several beats, Prompto doesn't response at all to the question, simply catching his breath and closing his eyes, part of him in disbelieve and another counting his blessings and thanking the heavens for not letting him die out here, being torn limb from limb by a wild animal.
Finally he nods, shakily, and his eyes crack open to wander to the offered hand. "...I-I... yeah, I'm... I'll live."
He starts to reach out and almost takes the hand, but its too familiar in a way he doesn't like suddenly, his gaze wandering further to the other's face, and his breath catches in his throat when the realization hits him, pursing his lips in a tight light.
Shit. Shit.
Suddenly he's not so sure he's happy to be saved when the face he recognizes is Gladio's. It wasn't a blessing. It was a god damn omen.
His thoughts only stall him for a moment, before he quickly retracts his good arm and scrambles back as fast as he can, trying to find his feet despite how cold his legs are and how shaky he already is. He doesn't wait to hear a single word the assassin has to offer, turning around to bolt.
He hears Gladio start after him, calling out roughly "Hey! Hey, stop!"
He's not listening. Mister Izunia warned him not to, that they're dangerous. They'll say anything to get what they want and when they get it, they'll probably kill him. The snow is thick and his legs are still shaking and not wanting to move, but he forces his body anyway, bursting out of the thicker snow onto a more shallow, flat stretch. Its much easier and makes him that much quicker, less impeded, and he picks up his pace.
"You're going to fall in if you go any further!" He hears the words Gladio says behind him, but he doesn't quite register what they mean and he's not sure he cares.
Its a thought that's there one moment and gone the next, just as fast as the ground gives out under him and he falls straight down and everything turns black and ice cold for a moment. Without thinking, he gasps and his airways fill with liquid ice, making him cough for air and find only more sharp, liquid ice. Its a moment of raw, stupid panic, flailing to find the sky, open air, something familiar through painful cold.
He manages to make out some semblance of what might be light, faint as it is, but trying to move in the direction he thinks might be up (its so hard to tell where he is), he just hits a solid wall that slips right by him anyway.
The panic, as powerful as it is, is short-lived, tumbling blindly through blackness, barely able to feel his own body except ice like daggers in his lungs, faintness crushing down on him with growing rapidity. His thoughts were already too deep in a haze to think of death, only that everything was slipping away faster than he could recognize it.
He doesn't even feel Gladio grab a hold of his jacket, one thread of consciousness by another quickly slipping away from him until the only thing he can register is cold, and even that starts to drift away from him.
He doesn't think it could get any colder, but it does, the same time as it gets brighter again. Painfully bright, even. For a moment that's all he recognizes is stark white, and its a fleeting moment he finally thinks that he's dead. More of an idle musing than anything.
Reality comes crashing back in full, unpleasant force when he manages to get the smallest snatch of air as water escapes his nose, and then another, and he sputters painfully over icy water that his body starts trying to heave and hack out in rattling force. Its air that enters his lungs, but it burns just as sharply with every inhale and ragged cough, curling on himself in the snow. A firm hand hits his back several times to help him hack up water.
It feels like forever before he's able to draw in a single breath without choking on it, and even then he wouldn't say its an improvement, his limbs locked up and too cold to move, chattering his teeth through blue-tinted lips.
He curls on himself tighter, thinking for more than a few seconds if this was how it felt coming back to life, he'd rather have stayed dead. He's not on the ground long before arms pick him out of the snow bridle-style and hold onto him tightly, starting to walk.
"Don't you die on me now," Gladio mutters, voice tense through clenched teeth.
Its surreal enough he wonders if he really did die or if he's close enough to it that he's hallucinating when Gladio picks him up. Either way, though the thought of a threat is there, he finds he doesn't care enough to pull away and neither does his body. It takes no time at all for him to curl closer to his chest, even though Gladio is just as dripping wet and almost as frozen as he is.
Almost as cold.
And that almost is enough difference that instinct overpowers doubt, trying to press himself closer in the hope it will help stave off painful cold even a little, silent save for chattering teeth and too-quick, full-body shivering breathing.
It takes a great deal of time, but Gladio finally manages to take them both to a roadside inn. At some point before they reach it, Prompto slips out of consciousness curled in Gladio's arms, but even so he keeps trying to nestle against his chest and away from the cold air. He shivers the whole way there and then some after they reach the building, the water in his hair having turned to ice.
He barely manages a half-coherent whine of protest at being stripped of his clothes, but its a short-lived protest that dies away feeling dry cloth rubbing down his skin and hair and a blanket dropped over him to curl up in, which he immediately gathers up like a cocoon.
Gladio (he assumes its Gladio anyway, but can't be bothered to open his eyes) crawls in next to him and wraps thick arms around him, pulling him close and curling around his smaller form with his own shivering and slightly-chattering teeth.
Gladio's warmth is far from unwelcome, despite that his overall presence would have been any other time. He doesn't even think of who it is, nor does he care, scooting in close thoughtlessly. He's too exhausted and still too cold to think of anything as complex as friends and enemies.
He falls into deeper unconsciousness with the simple satisfaction of another body nearby sharing its warmth, until his shivering ebbs away little by little and his rest is only interrupted by the occasional fit of rough, haggard coughing.