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Normally he’s really good at not getting on people’s nerves. Well. That might be an overstatement. Prompto knows that he’s annoying, the same way he knows that he’s blond and has freckles and is never gonna be taller than Gladio (barring some intervention from the Astrals). But normally, as in 80 % or the time--90 if he’s being generous--he’s able to keep it under control. Heck, half the time he actually makes the guys laugh. Noct’s the easiest and Iggy’s the hardest, but he can usually get Gladio to crack a smile.
But after about half an hour of tapping his hands on the dashboard (according to Ignis) even Noct has had enough.
“Prom, are you planning to chill any time soon?” he says, and there’s a laugh in it, but oh, there’s an exasperation that Prompto does not miss. He sits on his hands, Ignis plays the radio, Gladio returns to his book.
“I got another one in my bag if you’re that bored,” he tells Prompto.
“I’m good. I’m not even bored I’m just--” Prom finishes with a hand gesture he knows doesn’t really mean anything. He’s not bored, is the thing. There’s just this pain riding the side of his chest and he hates sitting still whenever he has any kind of cramp. Get up and move, his brain keeps yelling. Well, between him and brain, he’s in charge. Otherwise he’s never go running. So he chews on his lip and focuses on the way the breeze ruffles his hair, and most importantly he sits on his hands. They get to camp without incident.
That’s the first day.
The second day he shovels half of breakfast down before he realizes he doesn’t feel hungry, he feels sick. Noct laughs out loud at his bewildered expression.
“You see a ghost in your oatmeal?”
“No... Ugh. My stomach hurts.”
“You’re eating too fast,” Ignis says, dropping his empty coffee can primly into a garbage bag.
“I guess.” Prompto shrugs. He feels like he always eats that fast. Gladio’s chowing down with reckless abandon, but then again, Gladio is not an example of an average human specimen, so he shouldn’t be basing any health theories around him.
It’s hot in the car. It’s always hot in the car, even with the breeze from the top down, but today it’s so hot Prompto’s shirt sticks to the back of his seat and breakfast just kind of sits in his stomach and burns.
Noctis falls asleep. Gladio is weirdly peppy, commenting on the scenery as it rushes by. When he pokes Prompto in the back of his head he groans.
“What’s eating you?”
“My stomach huuuurts.”
“Stop being dramatic. If you’d just eat at a normal pace you wouldn’t be having this problem,” Ignis shot Prompto a disapproving look. In response, he slumped lower in his seat, peeling up the back of his shirt as he went.
“Hggnnnh.”
“Noct’s supposed to be the princess,” Gladio snorts.
“Ghnwha?” Noctis sits upright for a second and then slumps back, evidently still asleep. They all remain frozen and silent for a moment. Then Gladio roars with laughter and Prompto and Ignis can’t help but join in.
+++
There’s hot and then there’s feeling like you could burn yourself on the rivets of your jeans. Prompto is the second one. That chest cramp is back too--now with coughing as an added bonus. He spits thick clear mucus into his hands, and later thick kinda brown-tinged mucus. He wipes them on his pants and hurries to keep up.
“Igggggy, I’m dying!”
“Hurry up Prom!” Noctis calls. Hey, since when does he walk way out ahead? Prompto can outstrip him any day. But when he tries to pick up the pace--ugh, that cramp comes back. He’s been sick like this, back in high school. It went away in about a week. A long ass week of having to dodge Noct’s questions about why he wouldn’t come hang out, but just a week. And it was worse then, he’s pretty sure. He remembers feeling much more sorry for himself.
It’s just the heat that sucks. There’s haze rising off the dirt. His blood feels like it’s bubbling--like it’s boiling in his veins. And Ignis and Gladio, and Noct in a jacket of all things are striding ahead like it’s nothing.
“Is anyone else about to literally combust?”
“Ugh, Prom,” Noct groans. Admittedly, this is the tenth time he’s mentioned the temperature.
“I’m serious! It’s so hot I’m gonna die!”
“It’s the desert, Prompto!” Ignis snaps. There’s actual reproach in that one, like he wants to remind Prompto that he didn’t have to come, but he’s not gonna do it in front of Noct. Well no shit. He knows exactly which one of them is not supposed to be here.
“Oh right, hahaha…” When he shuts his eyes for a second the world turns unnervingly on its axis. They fly open again. Somehow he’s still upright, but the guys are way ahead. He swallows something thick and metallic.
“Guys, I--”
“Prompto, shut up!”
“Prompto, please.” That’s Ignis and Gladio, respectively. He throws his hands up in mock surrender, grinning sheepishly.
“Geeeez, rude.” He tries to at least keep pace, but it’s useless. Eventually, Noct falls back to walk beside him, hands still stuffed in his pockets as Ignis and Gladio march on (apparently utterly unaffected by the heat).
Prom’s so intent on just walking that he can’t think of anything to say. Noctis bumps his shoulder gently.
“You okay?”
“Myup!”
“Just don’t stay up playing King’s Knight tonight.” Noctis says. Prompto laughs on cue.
“Hey, Noct, come here!” Gladio calls then, and thank astrals, because he jogs ahead right when Prompto starts coughing. The thick stuff smears the back of his hand pink, but he wipes it away, as when it does it kind of falls out of his head. He’s just thinking about not slowing down the group. He’s just thinking of his enemy, the sun. He’s just thinking of Noctis, who is now looking back at him and grinning, and the grin fills him up entirely--it scoops all the poison out of him so he can leave it behind, a mere imprint of something ugly in the dry caked dirt.
That’s the second day.
+++
Clearing up normally only involves throwing out Noctis’s vegetables, but Ignis finds himself staring in bewilderment at a half-eaten bowl of soup.
“Thanks Igster! That was great!” Prompto chirps.
“But you--” he starts, before he’s interrupted by Noct’s shriek as Prompto startles him into falling off a cliff or something in that game of his.
“Prom! Oh my god, I’m gonna kill you!”
“Haha!” Prompto cries, gleefully dashing away. Noctis is out of his seat grinning. Ignis dumps the soup. It’s good to see Noctis like this. He’s so prone to melancholy, especially now. Maybe the soup wasn’t to Prompto’s taste. Noct and Gladio liked it, seemingly, be he’s more used to cooking for them. He tries not to fixate on it. Not everything is a veiled insult, he reminds himself. Not everything is an act of passive-aggression. Especially with these three.
“Hey, watch the tent!” Gladio yells, when Noct trips over one of the pegs and falls on his face.
“Ow, fuck!” Noct groans into the dirt. Ignis raises a disapproving eyebrow. In the near distance, Prompto is bent double, wheezing with laughter. Ignis sighs, adjusting his glasses.
“One of you is going to help with the dishes,” he says. Seemingly, his threat falls on deaf ears, but all the other men suddenly find themselves busy with other campsite activities. Ignis contains his smile.
+++
Gladio used to be a heavy sleeper. It might be nice to pinpoint an exact time when he lost that particular trait. It would give his life a kind of comforting simplicity. Oh, it was when he joined the crownsguard. When he became the shield. When Insomnia fell. But there was no clear moment. He always had nightmares, his whole life. He had actual night terrors when he was a kid. It was just, at one time, he could sleep through the smoke alarm, and then somewhere later Iris getting a drink of water would wake him up.
He was contemplating that, and the emptiness of the tent ceiling, and how badly he didn’t want to know what time it was. And he was also contemplating what woke him up. Probably a bird call outside the tent. Possible a dream he’s already forgotten. Then he hears someone turning in their sleeping bag, and ah, right, it’s Prompto again, he’s always squirming around or kicking Noctis in his sleep. That’s why they reorganized in the first place, because Noct can sleep through anything.
If he just chills out, he’ll be able to get back to sleep. There’s a sound from the other side of the tent (definitely Prom) kind of like a sob, or maybe a gagging noise. Gladio turns his head a little, strains his ears. He can hear muffled coughing. Prom was coughing when they walked out here too. He’s got a cold or something, Gladio figures. Then there’s that sound again, almost like choking, and he debates shaking Iggy awake. Silence falls over the tent. He strains his ears.
There’s a bird call in the distance, so far out it seems surreal. There’s the soft rustlings of the breeze against the tent fabric. There’s Noct lightly snoring beside him. Nothing else. He rolls over and feels sleep--yes! Glorious!--pulling at him. If he just lets go, he’ll tip over out of consciousness.
He lets go.
+++
The fourth day is actually fine. It’s sort of cold, even though the sun seems just as high and bright as it did before. And Prompto can tell he’s not exactly keeping pace, but at least he’s not melting like chocolate in a hot pan.
He’s thinking hazily about how he wants to clean his gun when he gets the chance, and then he’s coughing, and then he can’t breathe. Something hot and thick rises in his throat and he’s on his knees, he’s spitting into the dirt. His mouth tastes like metal and poison. His throat is burning--and the sun is hot again. It’s beating down on him so hard he feels like in an instant he’s going to be a stain they will leave behind, a mere imprint of something ugly in the dry caked dirt.
+++
Gladio’s laughing at Noctis for tripping on a rock and Noctis turns back glaring, mouth open like he’s about to give Gladio an earful about what a shitehead he’s being (he is perfectly aware he’s being a shithead). Then Noctis’ mouth snaps shut, and he darts between Ignis and Gladio.
“Prom?”
Gladio follows Noct’s predicted trajectory, right back to Prom, who’s on his hands and knees more than ten feet back, hacking a dark substance into the dirt. No, he’s actually vomiting, Gladio can see as he jogs behind Noctis.
“Prom, sh-shit.” Noctis’ hands hover for a second like he’s not sure where to touch. He takes Prompto’s arm and it looks like he wants to help him up but a second later Prompto’s gagging again, and there’s more black puke in the dirt, a muddy thick substance that Ignis and Gladio both recognize immediately as blood.
Gladio crouches in front of them both and presses a hand to Prompto’s forehead. Ignis is waiting for him to say something. Ugh. It’s like touching the hood of the Regalia after it’s baked in the sun all day.
“He’s burning up,” Gladio says.
“Is that blood?” Noctis asks. He’s looking to Ignis and Gladio (mostly Ignis) for reassurance. Ignis’ mouth is a grim, flat line.
“Gladio, get him up. We need to get back to the car immediately.”
+++
There’s absolutely nothing good about hospitals. Noctis has always hated the sight of blood, the smell of disinfectant and the weird pink atmosphere; like viscera in water, diluted enough to be almost imperceptible. But he’s not leaving Prompto until they make him.
He wakes up for a bit while they thread the IV in, and then they take him for x-rays but when he’s back, he’s sleeping, and Noct climbs into the bed beside him.
“You guys are over-overreacting. I’m fine, I’ve had this before.” Prom was struggling to breathe when they brought him in, and now he’s playing with the nasal cannula, tugging on it like he wants to pull it out. Ignis very gently reaches over and takes his hand away.
“Noctis, if you keep frowning like that you’re going to give yourself a headache.” At this, Prom leans forward a little to look at Noct, his brows furrowed together.
“What exactly do you mean, you’ve had this before?”
“Like, had a cold like this. It’s not that bad.”
“While you were getting x-rayed I spoke to the doctor and she told me you have pneumonia and a suspected ulcer.” Ignis clears his throat when Gladio clenches a fist. “Not all that bad is the wrong phrasing.”
“It’s not the wrong phrasing, it’s the wrong idea! Why didn’t you tell us?” Noctis says.
“Haha. Uh, I tried.”
Noctis has been cut right to his bone before. You kind of forget what pain feels like until you feel it. It’s just an idea in your memory.
“Shit,” he says softly. And Prompto laughs, which is fucking brutal.
“I would have just slowed us down. And I figured, you know, it’d go away. It went away when I was in high school.”
“Yeah, in high school you weren’t fucking walking for--”
“Not the time, Gladio. Later, maybe.” Noct looks, and Ignis probably saw the way Prom flinched back, the way he curled in on himself. Fuck he looks small. Fuck, he looks bruised. Not literally just… Prom’s always a peach, now he seems like a dropped one.
For once, Prompto’s the one who falls asleep, and Noct is stuck lying awake beside him, staring at the ceiling and feeling his heart roll over in his chest. Gladio reads, that bastard. Ignis goes out and confers with the doctor and various nurses. He’s avoiding having to look at Prom. Gladio’s avoiding having to look at Prom. Noctis would do it too, but it hurts him to not look at him.
He finds his fingers in the blanket and interlaces them with his own. And then, because he’s Noctis, he falls asleep.
+++
Prompto wakes up in the dim blue light of the hospital room, feeling absent. Gladio is awake, for once not reading (probably because it’s dark) but scrolling through his phone. The scars on his face are in stark relief from the backlight.
Prompto watches him from under his lashes for a little while.
“How you feeling?” he asks, and Prompto startles. He didn’t think Gladio had noticed he was awake.
“Shitty. My stomach hurts.”
“You want me to get a nurse?”
“S’not that bad.”
“So, I should get a nurse?”
“No!” Noctis stirs, and Prompto drops his voice back to a whisper. “No, it’s not actually that bad.”
Gladio is staring him down. Then he does the last thing Prompto’s expecting. He half stands and presses a kiss to the crown of Prompto’s head. Prompto can’t help but blink as he settles back into the chair.
“Sorry we’re all idiots,” Gladio says gently. “You gotta try not to die because of it, is the thing.”
“Uh, message received. I won’t.” Noctis is drooling slightly. Prompto scrubs his IV-free hand over the side of his mouth, and wipes the resulting wetness off on the nubbly hospital blanket. “Die, I mean. I won’t do that.”
“You do that, kid.”
Gladio doesn’t go back to his phone like Prompto is expecting him to. He doesn’t do anything. He just sits there watching Prom and Noctis. Not really staring at them, just watching. And Prompto wants to stay awake to see how long he’s going to keep this up, but he feels the drag on his eyelids, and Noctis is heavy beside him, and the lights are dim. It’s not particularly peaceful, with loud, long beeping going off somewhere in a hallway at intermittent moments, and footsteps and voices passing by. But it’s a battle between exhaustion and annoyance and curiosity, and exhaustion wins.
He half wakes up at some point and finds that Noctis is holding his hand, and he’s just close enough to consciousness to puzzle that a moment, before he’s slipping, falling back in.