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Prompto stops short just around the corner of the street where he had left Noctis. The prince had lent him his hat since the blond’s hair was still wet from the shower he’d taken after gym class. Now that they were parting ways, he should probably return it. So he swipes the hat off, taking off at a brisk jog.
He rounds the corner into a nightmare.
Noctis is on the ground with two bigger figures on either side of him, grappling with his hands and feet. He pauses for only a moment before running headlong into one of the figures and tackling them to the ground. He manages to land a few glancing blows across the figure’s face and arms as he shouts for help before a blow from behind pitches him face-first into the concrete. He feels his nose break and warm blood spills across his upper lip.
A foot catches him in the ribs before he can get his bearings, followed by another across his shoulder and another in his back. Finally, a foot slams against the side of his head, squishing it into the pavement. He can feel the blood start to run sideways, and he spits a globule of bloody saliva towards the second figure
“You just had to go and make things difficult, didn’t you, kid?” He hisses. “We were nice n’ waited for you and the princeling to be done with your little playdate. And this is the thanks we get?” He stuffs his foot into Prompto’s gut and the blond can’t hold back a retch of pain. His mind is working a thousand miles an hour. They obviously drugged Noctis, since he hasn’t moved an inch, but they haven’t drugged him yet. So they don’t have any more.
But they’ve already got him pretty much subdued, they can just knock him out and take Noctis and then he would have been absolutely useless.
He clenches his teeth and looks up at the second figure. “Take me instead.”
The figure looks surprised. “And why would I do that? I was going for the prince. It seems like some random is quite the downgrade.”
“We-we’re friends,” he says, “So they’ll still do what you want. But if you hurt Noctis you will never be forgiven. They’ll hunt you down with everything they have rather than give you the satisfaction of holding the prince hostage. But with me, it… it doesn’t matter. They still care but you’ll have more freedom.”
He holds the second figure’s gaze for uncomfortably long. “Well fuck that actually makes sense.”
“Yeah, seems they’re pretty close,” the first one says. “And think of the bad press if they let an innocent citizen suffer.”
The foot on his head lifts up, and he’s sure he’s going to have a bruise there soon. But now’s not the time to think of that. Rough hands grip his upper arm and heave him upright. The change in altitude makes his vision go momentarily fuzzy, but he manages to blink it back. He has a job, after all.
He steadies himself, then follows where he’s led. Before he’s shoved into the van, rough hands pat him down. One of the figures releases his grip to grab Prompto’s phone from his pocket, tossing it aside as if it wasn’t worth a full month’s salary. The blond takes that moment to kick into action.
“Hey!” the man who had been holding him snaps as the blond manages to wrench away. “Get back here!”
But Prompto has no plans to listen. Instead, he darts towards his friend, the plan only partially formed in his mind, but it was the best option he had. Before he makes it to his friend, he pitches forward, landing on his stomach next to where the prince lay unconscious. He takes only a second to slip his hand into Noctis’ pocket, disguising the motion with his attempts to get up. He just needs-
There it is .
He grips it like a lifeline, slipping it up his sleeve so they won’t notice it.
A hand grabs him by the hair and he resists the urge to grab at it, instead swallowing down a whimper.
“Thought you were slick, huh?” A voice hisses, “Thought you could get away?” The hand drags him back, forcing him to bend and stumble towards the van. He gets tossed in unceremoniously, breath forced from his lungs, and someone clambers in beside him. Moments later, the van lurches into motion.
Prompto staggers to a sitting position, wondering what the hell he was going to do now.
Noctis groans and sits up. Wherever the hell he had been sleeping had screwed up his back and he felt like it was all on fire. Glancing around, he notes with confusion that he’s… on the sidewalk? He staggers to his feet, rubbing the inflamed scars to hopefully make them settle down.
He tries to blink everything back to clarity, but everything was just so muddled and foggy. Did he pass out? Must have. Must not have eaten enough. He starts to make his way back to his apartment to sleep off the fog when he catches sight of a glint on the ground. His phone. He pockets it swiftly and makes his way the few blocks to his apartment building.
The attendant gives him an odd look and looks like he wants to say something, but lets him pass.
“Good afternoon, Highness,” Ignis says as he enters. “I was about to call… you…” He trails off, looking the prince up and down.
“Hey, Ig,” Noctis responds. The words seem like they get half stuck around his tongue and he groans.
“What happened, Noctis?” Ignis asks severely, stepping close into his space.
Noctis takes an instinctive step back. “Nuthin’” he responds, though that’s not quite correct. “I don’ know,” he amends.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
The prince shrugs. “I think I passed out but I’m fine now,” he says.
Ignis’ brow creases in worry. “Why don’t you lie down on the couch. I’ll make you some soup?”
Soup sounds delectable, and he says as much to his advisor before stumbling over to his couch and flopping face first.
Ignis’ phone ringing shakes him out of his momentary stupor but he does his best to ignore it and go back to sleep.
“Hello? Yes, Noctis is at home, why do you ask?” There’s a pause before the advisor sucks in a breath. “He seemed rather out of it. Said he passed out but can’t remember. I thought he might be ill-” Ignis stops short as if he’s been cut off. “Oh my gods, you can’t be serious…. No, I understand. I’ll wait for Gladio and then bring him over immediately.”
Noctis shifts around, peering out at the advisor from the armrest. “Wha’s going on?”
Ignis looks back at his charge with a neutral expression that seems weirdly out of place. “Your father requires your immediate presence at the Citadel. There’s been an…. Incident.
Prompto manages to stuff himself in a corner of the back of the van, bracing himself so he doesn’t shift when the van makes a tight turn. His attempt at remembering which turns they take ends up in failure after the eleventh or twelfth turn, but that was a longshot plan B anyway. So he waits until the car pulls to a stop and he’s dragged out.
They tie him to a chair in some abandoned warehouse he didn’t even know existed in Insomnia and start shuffling around camera equipment. He realizes with a sinking heart that they’re going to film him, and probably live stream it, based on their setup.
“You think they’re gonna pay attention even?” the woman mutters.
“Probably. Blondie and the princeling are pretty tight.”
The woman snorts but drops the subject.
In the silence that follows Prompto dares ask, “What do you even want?” though his voice shakes in fear at the possible answer.
The man barks out a laugh. “It’s over your head kid,” he slaps Prompto’s cheek, not quite hard enough to be a full slap but not so gentle as to be kind or playful. “But you’ll make a half-decent pawn, once this all gets set up.” He glances back at his partner, who shrugs.
He doesn’t want to think about what that could mean, but unfortunately, there’s little else to think about.
Noctis manages to fall asleep in the car ride over (of course). His head seems clear of the fog he was in earlier and now he’s more concerned at his gaps in memory. And this sudden transfer over to the Citadel. Had there been an attack? Was he in danger?
Ignis and Gladio take him in the back way, and he can’t help but notice the uptick in the number of Kingsglaive and Crownsguard around, and how tense both his advisor and shield looked.
They meet Regis in his private study. The king looks like he’s aged a decade in the weeks it’s been since they last saw each other, and he pulls his son into a tight hug. “I’m glad you are unharmed,” He murmurs.
Noctis lets himself be drawn into the hug, waiting until his father pulls away to ask, “What’s going on?”
At those words, Regis slumps slightly. “It’s… a sensitive subject. But it seems Prompto was kidnapped and is being held for ransom.”
Noctis stares disbelievingly at his father, then at Ignis and Gladio. “Wh- how? How do you know -”
The king places a hand on his son’s shoulder. “They send an encrypted message saying they will provide proof. I wanted you back at the Citadel in case they used this as a ruse to try and capture you, but I don’t think this is something you need to see.”
“Like hell it isn’t!” He snaps, “If those bastards have Prompto, we need to get him back. What do they even want?”
Regis sighs. “Their demands are… stringent. They want the new law that I put in place to be lifted and anybody who was arrested under those provisions to be released within 24 hours of the law being overturned.”
Anger, confusion, and fury simmer in his chest, threatening to bubble over. “So…. so they kidnapped Prompto for… to overturn a stupid law ?” He growls. “We need to find these guys dad. I’m gonna-”
“Noctis, that is enough,” His father says sternly. “We are in the process of tracing them. I have one of our technicians coming to brief us as soon as they make any progress. We must be patient and wait for their proof. We can go from there.
They don’t need to wait long. The kidnappers send a message with a link to a live stream. One of their IT technicians gets called in to help with the process and make sure there’s nothing malicious in the link besides the contents. After a few cursory checks, the technician gives Regis a thumbs up and he nods at her to proceed.
The live stream shows grainy footage of Prompto, tied to a chair facing the camera. He looks off to the side, but even with the lower quality, Noctis can see the bruising on the side of his face and the dried blood under his nose. It twists something deep in his stomach, and he balls his hands into fists so tightly his basically nonexistent nails dig into the flesh of his palm.
“So this is your proof,” a modulated voice speaks from behind the camera. “And if you want proof we’re serious…” the voice trails off and a figure in a grey hoodie steps forward. They shove what appears to be a sackcloth bag over Prompto’s head then walk off camera.
“Noctis, we should leave,” Ignis snaps his gaze over to the prince. “You don’t need to watch-”
“I’m not leaving,” he hisses in reply.
The figure comes back with a bucket of water and Noctis feels faint at what he knows is coming next. Gladio’s hand comes down on his shoulder, whether to comfort him or keep him from taking a swing at the computer screen he’s not sure, but both ways, it works.
He can only watch in disgust and horror as the hoodies figure pulls the chair at an angle and starts pouring water over his friend’s cloth-covered face.
Prompto thrashes, half-screaming and half-choking for what seems like hours before the bucket empties and he’s released.
They can hear his labored breathing over the live stream and it sets Noctis’ blood on fire. He pacifies himself by imagining wrapping his hands around the hoodies figure and squeezing every bit of life out of them slowly, watching the light fade out.
“So,” the modulated voice says, “Every hour you delay in overturning that law and releasing those prisoners, we try something else on him. If I were you, I-”
“Come on, sleepyhead!” Prompto manages to call out, though his voice his hoarse and scratchy. The hoodies figure slams him across the back of the head with a bucket, and the modulated voice makes a tsk noise. “Any time he acts up, however, we’ll give him a taste for free. Tick tock.”
With that, the feed goes dark.
Air rushes into Noctis’ lungs. For the last minute, he didn’t even breathe and now his lungs were realizing it.
“What did he mean by ‘come on, sleepyhead’?” Gladio asks. “It’s got to be a code of some kind…”
Noctis furrows his brows. “He- he calls me “prince sleepyhead” sometimes. He could be asking for help?”
“We need more information,” Regis says. “Were you able to pull a location from the live stream?” he asks.
The technician shakes her head. “They set it up to switch VPNs every 15 seconds. I couldn’t get a solid lock on before it would change. I-” she pauses, taking a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I tried, but they came prepared.”
“Well, what do we do? We don’t know where he is, we have no way to find out where he is, and every minute that we waste brings Prompto closer to danger,” Ignis points out. “We must have a strategy moving forward. Is there a way to trace an IP address through a VPN?”
The technician sighs. “I tried . But every time they switch VPNs you have to start over. I barely have time to get started on one before it switches, and I haven’t observed the pattern long enough to be able to hack into the actual software they’re using. So unless I have like… a day, I’m not gonna be able to do anything,” she says, eyes bright with held-back tears.
“I understand,” Regis says, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You did your best. Why don’t you take some time off, okay? I apologize for calling you into such a high-stress position.”
The technician nods and takes her leave. The rest of them descend into a helpless silence.
“I will confer with Cor and see what can be done-”
A ringtone interrupts the king, and Noctis scrambles to answer it. “Hello?” Perhaps the kidnappers got in contact with him, maybe there was something he could do-
“Prompto?” a vaguely familiar voice asks.
“What?” His thoughts stop dead in their tracks out of sheer confusion. “No, this is Noctis, who is this?”
“It’s Claudius, from school. Why do you have Prompto’s phone?”
Noctis furrows his brow in confusion. “I don’t-” he pulls the phone away. Prompto’s phone has a…. Yellow… chocobo phone case. “I… have Prompto’s phone,” he murmurs. Then a thought hits him. “Sorry, gotta go,” he says as he hangs up. Ignoring everyone else’s confused looks, he pulls up Prompto’s contact list. Sure enough, his phone number was under the name “sleepyhead”.
He looks up, hope blossoming painfully hard in his chest. “It’s… Prompto. He… he has my phone.”
Ignis’ eyebrows raise. “You mean-”
“He has my phone. With the tracking app. I have his, and he put me as “sleepyhead” in his contacts. That was his way of letting us know that he has it, I’m sure of it!”
Gladio wordlessly takes off out the door, half dragging the technician back into the room.
The hope swells even more when the technician finally leans back in the chair. “I’ve got a lock on the location,” she says with a relieved smile.
Prompto doubles over, shoulders pulling against the bonds. The wet sackcloth no longer covers his mouth, allowing him to cough up water against his painfully scratchy throat.
Before he can straighten, something hits him hard from behind. His ears ring with the impact and the world goes momentarily grey. A hand grabs him by the neck, pinning him back in the chair and cutting off his oxygen.
“Pretty stupid of you to open your mouth when we specifically told you not to,” The woman growls in his ear. “What sort of punishment should we give him?” She calls.
“I wouldn’t mind having a little bit of fun of my own. Couldn’t do this to the prince, but…” the man trails off, and Prompto can hear the footsteps coming closer through his own heavy breathing.
Then a hand grips his upper arm and drags him sideways in the chair. Then something cold and hard slices across his soaked bicep, leaving it in fiery pain. He can’t bite back a scream as he thrashes to get away from the man, but another slow slice follows the first and somehow it feels worse than a quick cut.
He can feel every change in pressure as the man drags the blade down his arm, settling in the crevice on the underside of his elbow. The pain of his throat all but disappears for the new pain blossoming across his arm.
The man lets go, and for a moment, Prompto allows himself to think that will be the end of it. But then he grabs his other arm and repeats the process, deeper this time. From beneath the sopping wet sackcloth bag, he feels his vision go grey from the pain, but he forces himself to breathe through it and stay conscious.
The man sighs and steps back. “I guess I shouldn’t do too much before the hour is up,” he sighs.
Prompto just hopes Noctis was on the other side of the camera and that he understood Prompto’s hint.
As time wanes on, he’s less and less confident in getting rescued. They’ve still got his head covered though but now it’s damp rather than sodden, but he’s unable to get a clue to what time it is and he’s certainly not going to give his kidnappers the satisfaction of asking.
“Whoopsie daisy,” the woman says, shifting from her spot next to him. “Let me know when we’re live.”
There’s a pause, and then the man speaks in the modulated voice. “Well, it looks like your first hour is up. So we’re going to move onto our next special.”
Panic chokes Prompto as a hand grabs the back of his chair and yanks it backward. He falls with a yelp, arms smushed, and head cracking against the hard concrete.
A foot presses against his sternum, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure until he’s sure his ribs are going to crack. Pain explodes through his torso and the breath is forced from his lungs. He manages a choked grunt as he attempts to shake the woman’s boot off him with little luck.
Just when he’s sure he’s going to pass out from the pain, there’s a loud crashing noise from all around him and the weight immediately disappears from his chest. Even with the bag covering his face, he can see a flash of light illuminate the area with a loud whine.
A pair of hand Prompto doesn’t recognize grab him tight and haul him to his feet. “We’re getting out of here,” the male voice murmurs in his ear. There’s a crackle and a moment of weightlessness before the bag is lifted off his head.
He blinks back the sudden brightness, head aching as his bonds are loosened. He looks back into the face of his savior and sees a fairly young-looking Kingsglaive. “C’mon kid, we got a van waiting over here.”
Numbly, Prompto follows. He had hoped, but he wasn’t sure… but it seems like Noctis got his hint.
“Hey, you okay kid?”
Prompto looks up and realizes his vision is entirely grey and he’s stopped moving. “I…” is all he manages before promptly passing out.
He wakes up in a fairly comfortable bed with…. Something… wrapped around him. He wakes up in a panic, positive that he just dreamed of his rescue.
Noctis shifts beside him, arm draped around Prompto’s chest and body pinning the blond’s arm to his side. It seems Prompto’s sudden consciousness didn’t bother the prince’s sleep, so he does his best to settle back and calm his racing heart.
Listening to the steady breathing of his friend sleeping beside him slowed his own, until he felt himself sleeping into sleep as well. As he drifted off, he nuzzled back into Noctis’ hold, realizing that he would do anything for his friend. No matter what it took.