It's by pure coincidence that Gladio and Prompto are both passing through Hammerhead when Talcott contacts them. Gladio takes the call, and Prompto can't distinguish the words, but he hears the deliriously high pitch of Talcott's voice. The years had mostly weaned the kid off childish excitement, so it can only mean - Prompto stares at Gladio in mute appeal, barely restraining the urge to tug on his jacket sleeve, and Gladio doesn't leave him hanging.
He disconnects and says, "Noct appeared in the Galdin Quay, kid's bringing him here."
"Shiva's mercy," Prompto breathes out. And then, because his hope was always hard to kill, adds, "and?"
"Him and Iggy," Gladio clarifies, and Prompto pumps his fist and tactfully pretends not to see Gladio swallow and dash his hand across his eyes.
The truck pulls up and Noct steps out; seeing him is a shock. It's been ten years; on some level Prompto expects him to have come out of the Crystal unchanged, as if the entire world was put on pause, waiting for him to return. Seeing this new, unfamiliar, grown-up Noct - with a beard, of all things! - makes Prompto feel the weight of the years that went by, track the change in his and Gladio's bodies.
Gladio's leaner, tougher, older; a father now, and a husband. Prompto's… well, still Prompto, he thinks, but now that he sees Noct, he can't quite reconnect to who he was ten years ago; can't reconcile himself with that younger, bouncier version.
All of this flashes through his head while Noct is unfolding from the truck cabin; bouncy or not, Prompto rushes in nevertheless, and gets his hug in before Gladio catches up - ha! Noct stiffens for a moment, a little startled oof of sound, - Gods, ten years in that place, ten years that had actually passed for him, and does he even remember how to touch, how to be touched?
But Noct hugs him back before Prompto has time to second-guess himself, and then Gladio gets in on the hug. It just feels so fucking good, and if Prompto needs a moment to wipe his face against the sleeve of Noct's shirt, well - Noct is now taller than him, the asshole, and the gesture goes nicely unnoticed.
And then there's a small, polite cough from the truck, and Noct disentangles himself and steps back, and Prompto stares because - shit, just seeing Noct is bad enough. He believed Talcott but didn't really believe believe him, not until Noct was an exhausted, unwashed, daemon-splattered reality between him and Gladio - and then there's Ignis, whom Prompto last saw as a reanimated fucking burned corpse.
He's been, ever since the call, dreading seeing Ignis like that again; alive but unrecognizable, burned to the bone, held together with indescribably wrong bits of the holy magic. dragging himself alongside Noct's quest to help him one last time, because, well, isn't that on brand for their lives? And Prompto isn't sure he can bear it.
But Noct helps Ignis down from the truck - and okay, this is weird, when did Ignis need help for something that easy, ever? Still, he looks, to Prompto's profound relief, more or less normal - in the same alien older way they all are, sharper, his hair unstyled and longer than Prompto's ever seen it - his skin unblemished by burns -
Prompto stumbles, because it's like his brain is buffering what he's seeing, letting him catch on only one portion at a time, and now he's gotten to the fact that there's a black rag carefully tied over Ignis' eyes. He keeps his hand on Noct's shoulder even after he's left the truck.
"Iggy," Gladio rumbles, for once ahead of Prompto, and steps forward to engulf Ignis into a hug.
Ignis folds into him without hesitation, which is new, and weird. Ignis is - was - never standoffish but also never really physically demonstrative. But then, Prompto thinks, what does he know about the space Ignis and Noct shared for those ten years? Who can say what it does to you, what it lets you experience, what it leaves you hungry for?
Those are unpleasant things, and Prompto deals with them the same way he's dealt with every unpleasant thing in his life to date, by plowing through them. He steps right over to Ignis and elbows Gladio so there's space for him to join the hug. Ignis is solid under his hands, if bonier than Prompto thinks he should be, sweaty and exhausted and real - and smelling faintly of ozone.
"Igster," Prompto says somewhere into Ignis' collarbone. "It's so good to have you back, man. Don't ever pull this shit again, okay?"
Ignis disengages him gently, inclines his head to look at him (or rather somewhere to the left of him). "I can't say I've enjoyed the experience overmuch myself, you know. I'll endeavor to do better."
Noct declares that they're going to Insomnia in the morning, to deal with Ardyn once and for all. Prompto is gratified he doesn't ask him and Gladio whether they're going along, treating it as a given, as well he should. There's an urgency to his motions, to his words, that Prompto has only seen in him once before, on their miserable dash to Zegnatus Keep. He isn't sure what it's about. Ardyn sat in Insomnia for the last ten years, brooding malevolently, and will probably sit there for a week or so longer without much trouble, but he does not ask.
They set up camp slightly away from the clusters of people in Hammerhead, choosing not to take up one of the caravan wagons; their camping equipment, stored for years in the Armiger while Gladio and Prompto, by unspoken agreement, made do with rougher hunter fare, is pristine and untouched. Prompto almost offers Ignis the place at the camp stove, and bites his tongue at the last possible moment. Ignis does not make a move for it anyway; he's sticking to Noct's side, a hand constantly on Noct's elbow or shoulder, and the tentative, stumbling caution of his motions hurts Prompto's heart.
He's not alone in noting, apparently, and after dinner Gladio demonstrates that ten years have not chipped away his habit of dishing out tough love.
"So," he says. "Ignis. You prefer to stay here, or do you want somebody to get you to our digs in Lestallum to wait for us?"
Ignis raises his head in Gladio's direction - and Prompto articulates to himself, for the first time, what's been bothering him ever since Noct and Ignis came back: the slight delay in Ignis movements, like he's a lagging videogame character - but it's Noct who answers, firm and immediate. "Ignis is going with us."
"But he can't - "
"Noct," Ignis says, softly. "Let us not waste this night on arguments."
Noct starts like he does want and plans on arguing, but Ignis is already turning to Gladio and Prompto, raising his hands to the knot of his blindfold, and Prompto's breath catches, because he's absolutely sure he does. Not. Want. To see.
The knot gives, the dark fabric slides down Ignis' face, and there's nothing Prompto was afraid of underneath - no charred skin, no blood - and then Gladio swears, low and horrible, because Ignis opens his eyes, and the Crystal burns from within.
Prompto averts his eyes fast - the photographer in him is mesmerized by the sheer graphic wrongness of that image, and the rest of him would rather keep his sanity intact, thank you very much. He drops his gaze and Gladio gets up and paces up and down, angrily, and out of the corner of his eye, Prompto sees Noct's hands, gentle, pick the blindfold up and tie it around Ignis' head again.
"Hell," Gladio says, finally, the most non-obscene thing he's said in the last ten minutes. "What does it mean then?"
"It means," Ignis says, "that I'll go with Noct until the end of the road. I do apologize for the inconvenience."
Noct flinches at that, very quiet, and Ignis turns to him, touches his hand. "You need to tell them now," he says, and Noct swallows and nods.
"There's something you two need to know," he says, slowly, and Prompto almost stops him, almost shouts at him to stop. He waited for so long, he and Gladio did, for ten dark and long years, waiting for that one night of normalcy, familiarity, reason - for their return - and now Ignis is something… different, and Noct is obviously not about to tell them anything good, and -
Gladio drops into the chair next to him, puts a heavy warm arm over Prompto's jittering knee. "Spit it out, Noct," he says, - and Noct, with Ignis silent and straight-backed and desecrated by his side, does.