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“Prompto! Look out!” Noctis yells, about one second too late.
Prompto has no time to react before one of the garulas they’re currently fighting slams into him from behind, sending him tumbling through the mud with a yelp. His breath leaves him in a heavy whoosh and his ears ring from the sudden impact his head has with the ground . Somehow he manages to get some control and tuck himself into a roll, getting out of the way to avoid getting trampled any further. Disoriented, he starts to stumble to his feet, shaking and gasping as he tries to get his breath back.
Gladio’s there a moment later to haul him the rest of the way up, and Prompto’s muscles groan in protest at the rough action. “You good?” Gladio asks, hand on his shoulder, looking Prompto up and down with concern.
“Uh— yeah, I think so?” Prompto wheezes. He can still stand, and he can still shoot, so that’s as good as they’re going to get right now. The fight won’t stop just for him, and they really can’t afford to have him sit this one out. He can deal with this later, once they make it back to the outpost they’d come from and restock their curative supply.
Gladio claps him lightly on the back. “Then let’s go, we’re not done yet,” he says, and separates from Prompto to get closer to the action once more. Prompto’s still a little shaky, and he can’t quite breathe properly yet. He’s not exactly seeing double, but it’s close enough to it. His thoughts are a little hazy but he works through it, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s careful where he aims, and only pulls the trigger when he’s confident he won’t miss or hit the wrong target.
The rest of the hunt goes smoothly enough. No one takes any more hits and eventually the last garula keels over with an anguished cry. Prompto lets his pistol fall back into the Armiger, squinting over at where Gladio and Ignis have started collecting proof of their success and Noct is shaking himself out. He thinks he should probably start making his way over to them.
Prompto takes one step and everything hits him all at once. His chest aches so badly that his knees buckle and he practically crashes to the ground, managing to catch himself on his hands and knees. His head is pounding.
Someone shouts something a little ways away, and the next thing Prompto knows, Noct is coming out of a warp and dropping to his knees beside him. “Prompto. Prom,” he says anxiously, hands hovering. “What’s wrong?”
“Hurts,” he groans. His chest is practically on fire, and his head pulses so strongly he gags. There’s suddenly something stuck at the base of his throat and he starts coughing, which does nothing to help the pain in his chest nor his head. He coughs until he spits something thick into the dirt below him.
“Oh, shit,” he hears Noct say from beside him. Specks of blood glisten red in the afternoon sunlight, painting the dirt and grass. He can feel more dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Gross,” he croaks, moving a clumsy arm up to wipe at his face. His side screams in protest and he groans and nearly goes down, if not for Noct grabbing hold of him.
“You’re okay,” Noct tells him, a bit frantically. “We’re gonna get you to the car and fixed up, okay?” Gladio and Ignis are hovering above them now, and Prompto’s not entirely sure when they’d gotten there.
When they pull him to his feet, he hisses at the pain, even though he thinks they’re trying to be careful. Being upright brings on an entirely different level of disorientation and nausea. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” is all he gets out as he twists away from Gladio before he gags loudly. He spills his lunch, and when he looks, there’s more blood mixed in. That’s... probably not good, he thinks, a bit dazed.
“C’mon, you done?” Gladio asks, holding Prompto firmly so he doesn’t crumple back to the ground.
Prompto goes to nod his head, but it just makes him nauseous again and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to fight it. Gladio scoops him carefully into his arms, trying not to cause further pain but ultimately failing. It’s better than walking, Prompto thinks, letting his head fall against Gladio’s chest and trying to ignore the way it pulses as he jostled with Gladio’s steps.
Something brushes his hair and he opens his eyes to the blurry form of Noct walking beside them, face scrunched with concern. “Don’t close your eyes, Prom,” he says.
“‘Kay,” Prompto mumbles, and tries to do what he’s told. He hates seeing his boyfriend look so scared, so if keeping his eyes open will help alleviate that fear even the slightest bit, then he’ll do it.
Gladio carries him all the way to the car as steadily as he can. Wordlessly, Noct climbs into the back seat first and helps Gladio carefully maneuver Prompto in after him. He ends up on his back, head resting on Noct’s thigh, legs bent and feet planted on the seat so he’ll fit. The other two get into the front and Ignis starts the car, quickly pulling out onto the road.
“How are you feeling?” Noct asks, looking down at him. His eyes are pinched with worry.
“Like I got run over by a garula,” Prompto groans.
Noct lets out a sort of strangled laugh. “Right,” he says.
Laying on his back like this makes Prompto cough again, and he feels more thick blood come up, choking on it a little before Noct turns him awkwardly onto his side and he spits it out. It gets on Noct’s pants. “Sorry,” he says, and goes to wipe it off as best he can.
“It’s fine, Prom, I’m sure I’ve had worse,” Noct tells him. He grabs Prompto’s hand and holds it in his own. “Don’t worry about it, just relax.” This new position is pretty uncomfortable for his chest, so Prompto has a hard time just relaxing. It doesn’t help that pain shoots through him with every bump in the road they hit.
Noct keeps him engaged and talking for the entirety of the ride, even if all Prompto wants to do is curl up and shut everything out. Every so often he coughs up some more blood, which isn’t good, but it isn’t the largest amount he’s ever seen, so it’s probably not that bad. At least, in Prompto’s muddled mind, that makes sense. Gladio eventually reaches back with the little pack of tissues they keep in the glove compartment so Prompto can stop hacking blood onto the knees of Noct’s jeans.
It seems like an agonizingly long time before they pull off the road and into the outpost. Gladio twists around to see how Prompto’s faring, and as soon as the car’s parked, Ignis does the same. “We’ll be right back,” he tells them, turning the car off the popping his door open.
“Just sit tight,” Gladio adds, and then they’re gone, the slam of their doors ringing in Prompto’s head in their wake.
“Just a few more minutes,” Noct tells him, running careful fingers through Prompto’s hair. It’s nice, and Prompto feels his eyes slipping shut again. “Don’t close your eyes,” Noct reminds him again, and takes his hand away when Prompto opens his eyes again. Prompto wishes he would keep playing with his hair, but thinks that it would probably lull him to sleep if he did, so maybe it’s for the best, since Noct’s so keen on keeping him awake.
“‘M’fine, dude,” Prompto says, trying to reassure him. He clumsily pats Noct’s thigh. He knows internal injuries are nothing to play around with, but it’s not like he’s coughing up gallons of blood over here. He’s sore as hell though, and he doesn’t think he’s ever had a headache this bad before in all his life. He really can’t wait to take a potion or two and just crash.
Noct rubs Prompto’s bicep gently and simply hums in response. The car is silent save for Prompto’s strained breaths. He feels a tickle in his chest and starts coughing again, groaning at the pain it causes him, and reaches blindly for another tissue. Noct presses a clean one into his hand and Prompto spits the blood into it, crumpling it up and dropping it to the floor of the Regalia with all the rest.
The back door opens just moments after his coughing fit dies down, and he squints with the extra sunlight the pours in across the backseat. Ignis’ figure moves in to block out most of it, potion in his outstretched hand, and Gladio’s peering over his shoulder. Noct helps Prompto grab the offered potion and crush it against his chest. He sighs heavily at the relief it brings, now that he finally feels like he can breathe right. Ignis passes another potion over and Prompto repeats the process without Noct’s help this time.
He’s still a little sore, and his head is still pulsing faintly, but Prompto’s able to sit up on his own and lean back heavily against the leather seats.
“All good?” Noct asks, still sounding incredibly worried, though there’s no more panicked edge to his tone. Prompto knows from experience that Noct won’t be able to stop worrying until Prompto’s back in perfect condition, and then for a few more days after that.
“All good,” Prompto confirms, giving them all a tired, lopsided grin. “Sorry for the trouble.”
Noct breathes a sigh of relief, shaking his head. “Just don’t do that again,” he says, reaching to pull Prompto into an awkward hug. Over Noct’s shoulder, Prompto can see Ignis and Gladio giving him relieved smiles of their own.
Prompto rubs Noct’s back firmly. “Don’t worry, I’m not in a hurry to get trampled again anytime soon.” Noct snorts a laugh, squeezes Prompto a bit tighter, but not enough to cause any pain or discomfort, then lets him go. “I dunno about you guys,” Prompto says, resting his head on Noct’s shoulder. Noct tips his head onto Prompto’s and laces their hands together in turn, still a bit clingy even now that the danger’s passed, “but I could for a bite and then a twenty-hour nap.”
“Well,” Ignis says with a relieved chuckle, “you’ve certainly earned it.”