Chapter Text
Noctis steals another glance at Prompto before his eyes slip back to his screen.
“Hey, whatever you’re moogling is going to be less helpful than getting him to an actual doctor,” Gladio says, leaning over the back seat. Noctis stows his phone but gives Gladio a pained look.
“I was looking up how to check someone’s temperature.”
“You’ll find that human sense of touch is woefully inaccurate when it comes to estimating the severity of fevers,” Ignis chimes in. There’s a chastened silence.
“But it’s not good, huh?” Noctis says. Ignis steals a glance in the rearview mirror, but Noctis sees him do it--he’s strictly checking for cars before switching lanes.
“Probably not good,” Gladio says. Noct presses first his palm and then the back of his hand to Prompto’s cheek. Whether he’s any better or not is absolutely opaque. But his breathing sounds like each breath has to run through a soaked sponge, and even in the dim moonlight Noctis can see how flushed he is.
“Should we be looking for a hospital instead? What if the clinic can’t do anything?”
“I don’t think Prompto is in mortal danger, Noctis. But I also think it would be unwise to wait until morning to get him to a doctor.”
“Are we--”
“Noctis I hope the next words out of your mouth are not going to be ‘there yet’ because forgive me, but I will lose my composure.” Ignis keeps his eyes fixed on the road. Gladio makes a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. Noctis snaps his mouth shut. Prompto stirs in his lap.
“Prom?”
“Ngh. Five more minutes.”
“Prompto,” Gladio says, in his not-asking tone. Prompto cracks an eye open. It looks like a monstrous effort.
“Prom, how do you feel?”
In lieu of a response, Prompto lets his eyes slip closed and flashes a weak thumbs-up. Noctis doesn’t grind his teeth, because he does not do that anymore but he sure thinks about how good it would feel about now.
“I’ll be right there just give me a minute,” Prompto mumbles, and Noctis snorts. It’s almost funny, and then it’s also...well, it feels like there’s ice in his guts, like his chest can no longer contain all the organs inside it with the same ease it generally does.
“Hey. Try to wake him up properly,” Gladio says. Noctis give Prompto’s shoulder a shake, and then his eyes are open again. He takes a breath that makes it sound like his lungs went through a cheese grater. Noctis winces.
“Hey buddy,” he says. “Do you know where we are right now?”
Prompto glances up.
“We’re in the car?”
“Yeah.”
“Wha’ happened to the hotel?”
“We had to leave because you’re sick.” Prompto’s eyes widen, and Noctis actually has to pull back fast so their foreheads don’t crack together, because suddenly Prompto is very invested in sitting up.
“Whoa buddy,” Gladio says.
“We--I--no, I’m fine,” Prompto says.
“I beg to differ,” Ignis counters without hesitation. But Prompto is making a face like someone just kicked his puppy and his hands are balled into fists in his lap, but he’s shivering all over, and hiss arms are trembling.
“Ignis aren’t-aren’t you tired? We don’t have time for this,” Prompto says. This time the look in the rearview mirror is for Noctis. It’s one raised eyebrow. He tries not to cringe.
“Prom. You’re sick.”
“I’m fine, dude you’re overreacting.”
“You’re like really fucking sick.”
“Yeah but I…” Prompto sags in on himself a little. “I’m slowing us down,” he says, really softly, so soft Noctis almost can’t make it out over the sound of the engine. And he knows that Ignis and Gladio couldn’t hear it, because neither of them turn, and neither of them speak. Prompto is still sagging, so Noctis puts his hands on his shoulders.
“Were you sick the whole time? Since me and Iggy and Gladio?” Noctis whispers.
Then Ignis makes a sharp intake of breath and Gladio says: “Oh fuck.”
Noctis looks up the second before Ignis slams on the brakes and Noctis’ face smacks into the back of the headrest in front of him, but he manages to throw out an arm to keep Prompto from slamming face-first into the center console. There’s a red giant rising out of the shadows just beyond the reach of the headlights. In a moment, its flaming sword throws the trees around them into stark relief and draws shadows where before there was soft empty night.
Noctis has his fingers clenched in the fabric of Prompto’s shirt. He doesn’t realize it until Gladio is hopping out of the car and Ignis is pulling his weapon from the Armiger and they both look back to him.
Right. Because he’s leading the fight.
“Prom sit tight, okay?” he says, but he can’t stick around to wait for acknowledgement, he has to warp out into the space between the impending daemon and the Regalia.
The fight is longer without Prompto. It’s harder without him, and then Noctis is dodging the sword as it comes down and Gladio takes his swing. This is the moment. But he realizes too late there will be no one to take the shot, and when the thing rears back up they’re all dead, because there’s no time and then.
Then the shot rings out in the dark and the giant staggers just like it was supposed to and Noctis makes the warp strike, and the thing goes down, but he doesn’t wait to see it. He turns back to find Prompto leaning on the hood of the car, gun still in hand and one eye still shut.
He’s sagging, like his knees are giving out under him.
“Noctis,” Ignis calls sharply, but Noct is already warping, and he catches Prompto before he can topple forward into the dirt.
“I got you,” he says. In a minute Gladio is there and the two of them help Prompto back into the car. He’s really flagging now, almost as limp as he was when Noctis woke up in the hotel. That was maybe an hour ago, but it felt like a week. This time Noctis takes the front, but he twists around in his seat while they’re waiting for Ignis to jog back over.
“Can’t believe we pulled that off,” Prompto says. Noctis watches Gladio press a hand to his forehead, and his frown deepens.
“Pretty hot there buddy,” he says.
“Hey you don’t look so bad yourself, big guy,” Prompto shoots back, but he says it with none of his usual enthusiasm.
“For the record, don’t think you’re not in shit. You were definitely supposed to stay in the car.”
“Ooo sorry for saving your asses.” Prompto takes a wheezing breath and then coughs. Gladio gives Noctis a look that he would call panic if he didn’t know that the big guy never panics.
“Yes, that was quite a shot,” Ignis says, ever the diplomat.
“You still awake?” Noctis hears Gladio asks softly. Prompto hums in response.
“Iggy can we go?” Noctis says, which is pointless because it’s not like Ignis can start the car faster, and it’s probably a good thing he’s not driving because, well, he speeds a little on good days.
As it turns out (although Noct might have guessed this) there are situations in which Ignis Scientia will break the speed limit.
Despite his efforts though, the sky is beginning to lighten by the time they arrive at the clinic. The doctor, clearly coming off a night shift, gives Prompto little more than a once-over.
“He’s dehydrated, exhausted, I’d say even a little malnourished. But besides fluids there’s not much we can do here. I’d recommend a hospital but...his fever’s already down, it should keep dropping. Obviously if it doesn’t we’ll keep him longer, but like I said...” She gives Ignis an almost pained look--maybe just exhausted. Before Noctis can open his mouth to say that doesn’t matter, Ignis nods.
“You may as well discharge him into our care then,” he says.
“Fluids and then take him home, provided he perks up,” she says. Noctis is already abandoning that conversation to retake his seat in an incredibly uncomfortable chair beside the curtain partitioning Prompto off from the rest of the clinic.
Prompto’s passed out on his side, still in his clothes, blanket slipping down off his shoulder. Gladio wanders back over to tug it back up before Noctis can get up, and then he gives Noctis a nod and says he’s going outside to get some air.
Noctis waves him off. His eyes are slipping shut almost, but he doesn’t want to sleep. In a few minutes a nurse comes in to hang an IV bag.
“I’m gonna get you out of here by six, okay? If we’re lucky,” he says. Noctis nods. Ignis comes over and then leaves to find Gladio. Noct rests his chin in his hand.
“Hey, Noct?” he hears from the bed. He’s on his feet so fast it almost makes him dizzy.
“Yeah buddy?”
“You mad at me?” Prompto’s face is still flushed, but he looks a little better already. Noctis wants to touch his cheek, but he can’t--he doesn’t know how to make himself reach out, and it seems so awkward .
“No? Why would I be mad?”
“Just… I’ve been kinda useless lately,” Prompto mumbles, like he’s saying it to the paper sheet beneath him. Noctis blinks. It’s like getting slapped in the face.
“Is that what you call taking care of me and Specs and Gladio? Useless?”
“No, but--”
“Fighting off MTs on your own?”
“I didn’t know you knew about that, actually.”
“Yeah, well, Specs told me.” Noctis goes back to grab the chair and drags it up so he can sit next to Prom instead of towering over him. “Not to mention the red giant. I honestly thought we were toast for a second there.”
“Huh, if Cor could see me now. Well, maybe not right now.” Prompto rubs one eye.
“You should sleep if you’re tired,” Noctis says.
“Do you tell yourself that every time you get in the car?”
“Not every time.”
“Most times,” Prompto mumbles. He’s smiling. His hair is falling across his face, a little sweep of gold. But as they sit in silence, the smile slips, and Prompto glances behind him at the machines, the IV, the water-stained ceiling. “I hope this isn’t costing us a whole day. What time is it?” he asks. Noctis has to take a calming breath (advice from Ignis he is following for the first time in his life).
“You should have said something.”
“I know.”
“All this… this could have been way worse. Ignis, or-or you…” Noctis can’t put that into words, not quite. Not now anyways. Prompto gazes up at the ceiling.
“I know. I fucked up.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“You could be. You should be.”
Noctis glares down at the paper sheet, and the plastic underneath, and the off-pink linoleum floor.
“You really scared the shit out of me, you know that?” Noctis says. Suddenly it’s easy to reach out, and he brushes Prom’s hair out of his eyes. Prompto presses up into the touch like a kitten, so Noctis just leaves his hand there, feeling a little awkward. It’s worth it when Prompto reaches up to grab his hand and sighs.
“Don’t worry, you can’t kill me. I never get sick.”
“Yeah, clearly,” Noctis snorts, and then a shaky laugh bubbles out of his chest, and he’s so flooded with relief he’d have to sit down if he wasn’t already sitting.
In three minutes Gladio comes back with Ignis in tow. In an hour, true to his word, the nurse unhooks Prompto’s IV and they discharge him.
It’s six am when they get out, and the sun is coming up proper. Ignis puts the top up before they get in, and Noctis assumes it’s so the ride will be quieter, but as they’re pulling out onto the road the first raindrop begin to fall. Prompto leans on Noctis’ shoulder, and Noctis presses his forehead to the window. It feels almost like they are going home after a long trip, and the notion makes Noct so sad it almost physically hurts him.
But in another second, as more drops cut sharp little lines across the window, he feels better by an inch, and it’s another inch after that.