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“I’m so cold,” Noct whines. Again. As if they’ve all forgotten in the last five minutes. As if none of them are also freezing.
Gladio grits his teeth in irritation. He runs hot, yeah, but this is miserable even by his standards. The hike to the haven goes straight through tall grasses that have frozen stiff, whipping at their legs with each gust of the bitter-chill wind bringing in the storm front.
“Me too,” Prompto joins in, because of course he does. “Are we theeere yet?”
“Yes,” Ignis deadpans. “We’re all comfy around the campfire. You’re merely hallucinating.”
“I knew it,” Prompto gasps, staggering dramatically. “Goodbye, cruel reality!”
“He’s finally lost it,” Gladio sighs.
“Finally? I believe it’s been gone quite a while,” Ignis quips, earning an offended “Hey!” from Prompto and a snicker from Noct.
Gladio lets himself hope that they can settle into teasing instead of whining. He’s got something in his shoe, he’s freezing his ass off, and they’re cutting it way too fucking close to dusk. He’s extremely not in the mood.
His hopes are dashed about three seconds later.
“Gladi-oooo,” Noct calls up. “I’m making it official. Issuing a new royal decree. You’ve gotta give me piggy-back rides whenever I’m tired, from here on out.”
“Wow. Hell no.”
“Come on, you wouldn’t even notice the extra weight!”
Noct’s being extra bratty today for some reason. And yeah, the kid’s lips are slightly blue, but tough titties. Gladio’s not there to annoy for fun and sport. “Nope.”
“Why not?! That’s what you’re here for, right?”
Gladio nearly chokes. “That’s what I’m here for?” He keeps striding forward, eyes searching for the tell-tale glow of the haven’s runes. It should be visible soon, this close to dusk.
“Yeah,” Noct continues on, oblivious to the way he’s jumping up and down right on top of Gladio’s breaking point. “You’re the muscles, y’know?"
"Lifting heavy stuff! Swinging the big sword! Bench-pressing Behemoths!" Prompto gestures dramatically with each line. "You’re good at all that!"
“That’s what I’m good at,” Gladio echoes again, angling them to avoid a line of boulders up ahead.
“The brawn, as it were,” Ignis adds, smirking.
And Gladio — well. Maybe he's cold and tired and annoyed already. So maybe he loses it a little bit.
He stops abruptly, and Prompto runs directly into his back with an oof. Ignis and Noctis don’t, but they do draw up short.
“Huh. Well, as the brawn, I probably shouldn’t be trusted to navigate to camp. Sounds like a brain thing.”
“Oh, come now, Gladiolus,” Ignis huffs. “It was merely a bit of teasing. No one is challenging your orienteering.”
But Gladio merely folds his arms and waits. Whatever. They want to pretend he’s a big dumb rock, he’ll play along. They can make it the last ten minutes back to camp without him finding the way.
Ignis rolls his eyes and charges ahead to take the lead. “Fine. Have it your way. We’re close enough.”
*
An hour later, the four of them sprint across the border of the haven as the eerie lights of daemons begin blossoming in the distance.
Everyone is extremely cold and extremely pissed off. Gladio himself is disgusted that apparently no one else pays any attention to anything more than the vague direction of their actual campsite.
“You’ve made your point admirably, Gladio,” Ignis hisses through teeth gritted against chattering. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us we’d passed that tree three times,” Noct shoots, betrayed.
"Well, I can't believe we walked in the wrong direction for an entire mile," Prompto sighs.
And everyone's looking at him expectantly, like they're waiting for him to start setting up camp.
So Gladio retrieves a single camping chair from the armiger, unfolds it, and takes a seat. Then, he pulls out his romance novel and turns on his clip light to read by. If they’re not ready to apologize, he’s not ready to forgive them. “It was the sorriest sight I ever saw,” he declares, earning two identical glares from Ignis and Noctis and one sheepish blush from Prompto. “Guess I need to see what else you can’t do without me.”
*
There are, it turns out, a lot of things they can’t do without Gladio.
Refilling the propane tank for the cooktop. Identifying the right spot to pitch the tent. Actually pitching the tent, which currently sits in a tangle of half-telescoped poles and a sad puddle of green nylon.
He can’t believe he hasn't noticed it before. It’s not like the guys don’t help set up and break down camp. But he’s always running the show: directing, doing the technical work. And apparently, without him, there are very few tasks any of them can complete from start to finish — or at least not while freezing cold and tired and hungry.
"Can't you start a fire, Noct?" Prompto asks, huddled over a sad pile of logs that’s absolutely not set up correctly to burn for any length of time.
"If I had a lighter," Noct shrugs. "I suck with the flint."
There’s a lighter in the armiger. Gladio flips a page.
"Dude, you are a lighter! You have literal fire magic at your fingertips! Can't you just, y' know--whoosh—" Prompto mimes waving a hand over the logs.
Gladio almost feels bad for Noct. He knows it's a sore subject, the way he relies on flasks to externalize magic that Lucis Caelums can usually do with the flick of a wrist.
"No," Noct says sourly. "If you wanna toss a fire flask at it, be my guest."
“Can I?” Prompto asks, all eagerness. “Oh, oh, or Ignis — can you do the flaming dagger thing?!”
“A flask is likely to send the entire campsite up in flames,” Ignis says shortly. He's sitting across from them, having given up on trying to set up the camp stove with cold-numbed fingers. “And no, I am not going to stab the logs for you.”
“Hmmm.” Prompto frowns at the logs like they’re one of his inventions that isn’t quite cooperating. And then his eyes light up and he snaps his fingers. “Oh, I know! If I dial the setting way down, it’s basically a giant lighter!”
“Great idea!” Noct cheers, sounding pleased for the first time all evening.
“Absolutely not,” Ignis cuts in, but it’s too late.
Prompto summons his Flamethrower and aims directly at the logs, spinning a dial on the all the way to the lowest setting.
A giant spout of flame erupts from the other end.
Noctis screams. Prompto screams. Gladio yells in manly alarm. Ignis — clear on the other side of the campsite — gracefully leaps off of his camp chair and somersaults out of the way a moment before it's completely engulfed in flame.
*
One Blizzara flask used as a fire extinguisher and thirty minutes later, it’s still snowing magic on their sad collapsed tent, which Noct has propped up with one of his old polearms. Everyone is inside. No one is speaking to anyone, especially not to Gladio, but they are still all huddled around him for warmth.
Tomorrow, he’s teaching everyone how to pitch a godsdamn tent.
*
In the morning, Gladio wakes before anyone else. He sets up the camp chairs (including the spare he’d packed) and builds a small fire. He reconnects the line for the camp stove, opens the valve to turn the gas on, and lights a burner to boil water for coffee.
Then, he walks over to the tent, reaches down with one hand, and hauls the entire structure upright, with the floor weighted down by his three friends sleeping within. He gives it a couple of deft shakes to straighten out poles and fit them into the right places, and the entire thing pops up with a satisfying snap.
He goes back and finishes the coffee, pours himself a mug, and sits down to read his book and watch the sunrise.
Ignis is out first, a few moments later. “My apologies,” he says, looking defeated and disheveled in last night’s clothing.
Gladio hands him a cup of coffee. Ignis sniffles gratefully and takes it to sit by the fire.
Prompto’s up next. He rubs his eyes as he emerges from the tent, then beams at Gladio. “Oh, thank Six, you’re back. Dude, that sucked, we are never crossing you ever again.”
“And I’m never getting on the wrong side of your Flamethrower,” Gladio teases, tossing Prompto a granola bar.
Prompto winces. “The dial broke and went all the way back to maximum strength, it could have worked—” he cuts off from peeling his granola wrapper when he sees the way Gladio is glaring at him “—b-but it’s a terrible idea and I’ll never do it again and I’ll learn how to start a fire!”
Gladio grunts. Damn straight he will.
Noct is the last up, of course, and the haze of fog around the haven is evaporating in the mid-morning sun by the time he stumbles out. He gratefully accepts the cup of coffee Gladio pours him, and sits in silence as Ignis and Gladio chat over their next quest destination, with Prompto occasionally interrupting to ask whether chocobos could possibly be used for certain parts of the journey.
“Hey Gladio?” Noct says quietly, once Ignis moves to prepare an early meal at the stove and Prompto heads off on his morning run.
“Yeah?”
Noct frowns, steeples his fingers together in a move that’s eerily reminiscent of King Regis at a Council meeting. “I rescind my royal order about the piggy-back ride.”
Gladio snorts. Brat. “That’s very gracious, Your Highness.”
“I know,” Noct says, casually flipping him off as he stands before holding out a hand to help Gladio up, too. “Now show me how to break down the tent.”