Chapter Text
“Everyone alive?” Noctis wheezed. He flicked his arm and his sword shattered into motes of light, drifting away in the warm breeze. His clothes clung to his back and he flapped the hem of his shirt to cool his chest. Physical activity in this heat was the worst.
“All's well over here,” said Ignis. Gladio grunted in assent. He sounded winded, though not as much as everyone else.
One voice was conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Prompto?” Noctis looked over one shoulder and then the other. The area looked like every other part of western Duscae to him. Sweat prickled at his eyes as he let his gaze wander over the boulders, low foliage, scorched ground, and the scattered remains of broken Magitek soldiers in all directions. There had been a lot more of them than in previous encounters and the field of debris was expansive. But as far as he could see, the three of them were the only ones still standing after the fight.
Disquieted, Noctis raised his voice to carry over the landscape. "Prompto?"
Silence. And then:
“...oct...”
Noctis squinted. It was such a small noise he wasn't sure exactly where it came from or even if he had really heard it at all. He looked over at Ignis and Gladio, whose backs were already to him as they searched areas of their own. If they had heard the sound then they didn't show it.
“Prompto?” Noctis asked again, sweeping his eyes over the crumpled armor and mechanical limbs. He picked a direction and carefully worked his way around the remains. Smoke boiled from the corpses in dark, greasy pools. Red sparks like dying embers swirled around Noctis' ankles, disturbed by his passage. Eventually these metal warriors would sublimate into nothing, leaving a smear of soot and flaking rust as the only proof they ever existed. But in the meantime Noctis tried not to breathe the fumes as he waded through their remains.
He heard the noise again, a small croak. “Noct.”
It was louder this time, definitely not just his imagination. Was he getting closer? He scanned the area, looking for a sign. Then, he found one: at the edge of the chaos lay several crumpled armors shredded by bullet holes. Thick ropes of oily smoke coiled from each fresh perforation. They beckoned to Noctis like long, waving fingers.
The soldiers lay in a tangled heap of limbs, their green metal faces vacant and serene as ever. Noctis always found them creepy. Even in death, their jointed metal fingers twisted around the handles of heavy axes that were now, like everything, lightly dusted with an ashy residue of the smoke that churned from their bodies. There was something different about the edge of one of these weapons, though. An unusual luster. Noctis looked closer. Under the grime was a smear of ...something. Something wet and alarming, a mark nearly as broad as Noctis’ palm that coated the blade like a high water mark. His blood went cold.
He forced back a mounting sense of panic and raked his eyes over his immediate surroundings. Prompto had to be close. Noctis just had to find him. His eyes latched on something dark. A boot. Two boots. Also, legs. The rest was obscured by a large bush. Noctis jogged over and the rest of Prompto came into view.
Prompto was on the ground, reclining from the waist up against a low, sloping stone. His legs stretched out in front of him. His face looked waxy and his hair clung to the sweat on his forehead and cheeks. His arms were crossed over his waist with what looked like an uncomfortably tight grip. He was trembling.
Prompto cracked his eyes open and met Noctis' stricken stare. Prompto's mouth made the shape of Noctis’ name but no sound emerged.
“Ignis! Gladio!” Noctis shouted over his shoulder, his voice sharp with distress. The others were far away on the other side of field of wreckage, but he saw them whirl toward him at the sound of his call.
With reinforcements now on the way, Noctis knelt beside Prompto, his hands out and hovering uselessly over him, unsure of where to even begin. The blood had drained from Prompto's already-pale skin, leaving it a sickly, ghastly white. His body was racked with shakes and spasms, muscles clenching and recoiling in time with his shallow breathing. Prompto's forearms were pressed tight against his belly but Noctis could see blood seeping out around them, the red in brilliant contrast against the white skin.
Noctis swallowed. “Let me see it." When Prompto didn't immediately comply, he gently pried the clammy arms away by the wrists.
Noctis couldn't get a clear view of the damage. The shirt itself was a mess. The dark fabric was wet and heavy, the normally gray geometric lines now vibrant red on black. The shirt was cut nearly all the way across. There was no point saving this. Noctis peeled the wet shirt away from Prompto’s skin with one hand and, in a flash of light, summoned a dagger in the other. He slid the blade edge-up under the fabric and split the shirt from collar to hem with a few quick jerks of the knife. Like gutting an animal, he tried very hard not to think. He dismissed the knife, then exhaled and steeled himself. He pressed the shirt open and forced himself to look down.
The wound was a crisp line straight across the belly. It started left of Prompto's navel and stretched all the way to his right side, curving around almost to his back. It clipped his lower right ribs on the way. Blood chugged out steadily now that arms weren’t holding it in. If the smear on the axe had been an indication of the depth of the wound -- no, Noctis wasn’t going to think about it. Already he could hear a loud hissing in his ears and his peripheral vision was growing dim. His stomach was doing gymnastics trying to get free. He forced himself to breathe and the smell hit him like a punch, so strong he could almost taste it. Keep it together, he thought, both to himself and to Prompto, who now had his eyes squeezed shut and his head back against the stone, his teeth bared in a grimace. Prompto, too, seemed to be working hard to keep breathing.
Noctis was distantly aware of the arrival of Ignis and Gladio. Ignis went rigid for a moment before he wheeled on Gladio and commanded him to fetch the water bottles and extra curatives from the Regalia. Ignis' carefully moderated voice did little to disguise the sense of urgency. It didn't matter. It was already clear to everyone how bad this was.
Noctis could feel the vibrations of Gladio’s feet as he galloped back to the car, bounding over fallen MTs. Ignis knelt across from Noctis on Prompto’s other side, fishing inside his own jacket for a potion.
“Put pressure on the wound, Noctis.” Ignis’ voice was like an impact. Noctis startled and reality clapped violently back into place. Yes. The bleeding. There was so much of it, wow. The wound was so long he had to place his hands end to end to cover at least most of it. Warm blood welled up around his fingers as he leaned into the wound. Prompto jerked under him and choked on a yelp. One of his hands, still wet with his own blood, latched onto to Noctis’ forearm. Noctis wasn’t sure if this was an attempt to pry his arm away or brace himself against the pain. It didn't matter either way -- Prompto's grip was weak and his fingers were shockingly cold.
Ignis found the hi-elixir he'd been searching for. He looked at Noctis. “Is the wound deep?”
“I think so,” Noctis replied.
“Then put your weight into it.” Ignis tugged the cork out with a loud pop, as if for emphasis. “Apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding all the way through, not just on the skin.”
Noctis knew he was right. He’d learned enough through Ignis’ first aid drills to understand it all in theory. But the reality of it felt like a fist around his throat. He swallowed thickly. Seeing Prompto already in this much pain was hard enough. Noctis could see the muscles working in Prompto's jaw, sweat beading on his forehead. Saw his chest rocking with every rapid, irregular gasp. Sorry in advance, Noctis thought, and bore down steadily with all his strength.
Prompto eyes snapped open and he thrashed under Noctis’ palms like a dying fish on a cutting board. He clawed at Noctis' hands and wailed piteously with tears on his cheeks. Noctis' felt his own heart break clean in two. Prompto drew a long, wheezing gasp, shuddered, then collapsed bonelessly back onto the stone with a dull thump. His face went slack. His limp arms flopped to the ground. Then he was still.
Did I kill him? Did I kill him?! Oh GODS, did I kill him?! Noctis thoughts screamed in his head. If he hadn't been searching so desperately for signs of life he might have missed it: a weak, erratic pulse fluttered under his palms like it was trying to escape. Prompto was still breathing, somehow. Noctis reminded himself to do the same. Right beside him, Ignis was yelling something into Prompto's face but Noctis couldn't seem to hear it over the ringing in his own ears.
Ignis put a hand on Prompto's cheek and rocked his gray face upward. With the other hand he put the lip of the bottle to Prompto's teeth. “Open up!” he yelled again.
There was no reaction. Prompto’s lidded eyes were glassy and unseeing, though tears still flowed freely. Ignis took matters into his own hand and slipped his gloved thumb between Prompto’s teeth. He pried Prompto’s mouth open just enough to drizzle hi-elixir between his lips, relying on his body’s natural reflexes to swallow it. Half the elixir spilled out of Prompto's mouth and across his face. Ignis had to release him after a moment and Prompto's head flopped to the side. There followed a quiet fit of shallow coughs in response to what elixir he had aspirated. Each cough caused new gouts of blood to roll over Nocts’ fingers. Prompto’s arms flopped feebly against the ground as if struggling to defend himself.
After a moment Noctis could feel the wound growing warmer under his hands. It seemed that at least some of the elixir had made it down. Prompto's breathing became increasingly audible. He was recovering enough strength to start fighting back. Not against his injury, but against Ignis and Noctis -- the obvious source of his suffering.
“Another one, Ignis,” Noctis encouraged, though Ignis was already a step ahead of him with a new bottle of hi-elixir already uncorked. This time he slipped his hand under the nape of Prompto’s neck and gently leaned his head forward. Hopefully Prompto wouldn’t breathe so much of it this time. Ignis tipped the hi-elixir into Prompto’s mouth and Noctis could see Prompto’s throat working fitfully to keep up.
This time, mercifully, more elixir got in him than on him. Prompto was becoming lucid enough to start roiling with pain. His pedaling heels dug grooves into the dirt. His fingers clawed at the ground. His breath game in loud, rasping gasps that twisted into sobs and fat tears rolled into his ears. Ignis held him down with a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to brace him, to help him endure. Or at very least to keep him from hurting himself. There was an expression of deepest sympathy on Ignis' face.
The wound under Noctis’ hands seared with heat. He cautiously eased up on the pressure. The bleeding had slowed dramatically, thank the gods. Noctis reflected on his own experiences with hi-elixir in the past. He thought it felt like biting insects made of pure fire shredding him from the inside. New flesh grows with explosive speed. Muscle fibers twist and twine back together. Damaged nerves mend and reactivate all at once. It is a bright, electric sensation that left stars in his vision and made him want to tear off his own skin. And the burning -- the burning...!
Noctis had only ever experienced minor injuries compared to this, when it had been enough to just douse the wound with elixir. He had never even witnessed something so serious to merit actually drinking it. He could only imagine what poor Prompto must be feeling, but with the look of raw, excruciating agony on his face he had an idea.
Reverberations in the ground signaled Gladio’s reappearance. He was panting and had half a case of water bottles rattling around in their cardboard tray, still tangled in plastic packaging. Loose potions and elixirs had been jammed in the extra space, as well as a few phoenix downs wrapped in paper.
"Good timing," said Ignis. "That was my last one. A remedy, please, Gladio." Gladio wrangled a remedy out of the plastic and placed it in Ignis' waiting hand, then knelt by Prompto’s legs.
Ignis took his hand off Prompto's shoulder to pop open the remedy. "This may help with the pain," he explained, and poured it gently over Prompto's writhing midsection. Noctis could feel it fizzle like a carbonated beverage as it washed over his hands. It soaked immediately into his skin and was gone, leaving cool tingle behind. It had no other noticeable effect on him, of course, but after just a few moments his friend's violent convulsions started losing their power.
Prompto seemed to be gradually calming down. His breath came in deep, heaving rasps, like his lungs had suddenly rediscovered air. Noctis could feel the scorching heat from Prompto’s skin, which was a good sign. It meant the elixir was working. He slowly eased his hands off Prompto’s abdomen. The entire torso was covered in blood but fortunately none of it seemed to be actively flowing. Noctis plucked a water bottle out of the crook of Gladio’s elbow and cracked it open. The water was warm from being in the trunk of the car but Noctis still hoped it was refreshing enough. He sluiced it over Prompto’s skin to help ease the heat and wiped at the blood with his free hand. As the blood washed away, Noctis could see a new stripe of fresh scar tissue, purple and shiny against the white skin. It matched Gladio’s.
Everyone waited quietly as Prompto slowly came around. After a few moments, Prompto lifted his head from the stone and cautiously looked down over his own chest. He took a breath, then another. He pressed his mouth into a straight line and lay his head back again. Tears streamed down his face but this time they were from relief.
Ignis was the one to break the silence. “Have some water,” he suggested. He tenderly maneuvered Prompto into a more upright sitting position and held an open water bottle near his mouth. Prompto took a moment to steady his breathing and accepted the drink. A few sips rapidly turned to desperate gulping, as if Prompto abruptly realized how thirsty a near-death experience could make a person. Ignis had to moderate the angle of the bottle so Prompto didn’t drown himself. Noctis was just happy to see Prompto taking a more active role in drinking this time. You don’t appreciate this sort of thing until you watch one friend hold the other friend down and pour potions down his throat against his will.
“Welcome back,” Noctis said.
Prompto caught his breath after draining the bottle then looked at each of them in turn. His hair was matted with sweat and dirt and his cheeks were sunken. His eyes were heavy and dark. Noctis thought he looked more exhausted than was possible for a human being to look.
“Let’s never do that again,” said Prompto. Tears still dangled from his lashes.
Everyone seemed to feel the tension finally begin to drain away. Gladio clapped his hand against Prompto’s calf a few times. “You had us scared for a minute, buddy.”
Prompto’s gaze drew inward. His voice was quiet and a little raw when he said “...I was scared too.”
“How do you feel now?” Ignis asked.
“Sore... I feel like my whole body’s been trampled by garulas.”
“I’d like you to drink an extra hi-potion,” Ignis said, holding his hand out in Gladio’s direction, “for good measure.” Gladio rummaged the item out of the collection of bottles, uncorked it, and passed it to Ignis. “it may help you feel back to normal a bit sooner.”
Prompto looked at Ignis with an expression that said, haven’t I already been through enough?
Ignis pressed it into Prompto’s hand and said “Bottoms up.”
To Noctis’ secret relief, Prompto managed to raise the hi-potion to his own lips this time, though it took two shaky hands working together to do it. Judging by Prompto’s expression, the potion was a lot more tolerable than an elixir. He still pulled a face once he’d finished.
“There you go, that was easy,” said Ignis. “Think you can stand?”
“Yeah,” Prompto replied. Ignis, with his arm still behind Prompto’s back, helped rock him forward as Noctis took his arm to help pull him up. Prompto’s eyebrows snapped together as his body suddenly rediscovered his abdominal muscles. He wheezed. “Nope,” he corrected himself, sagging back onto the stone. “Just kidding.”
Noctis released him and looked to Gladio. “It’s all you, big guy.”
“What would you guys do without me?” Gladio asked, handing Noctis the package of water bottles. His face was easy with his usual self-confidence and he traded places with Noctis at Prompto’s side.
Gladio leaned forward and drew Prompto's arm over his neck by the wrist. Prompto could see where this was going but was helpless to stop it. All he could do was look undignified as Gladio eased his huge forearms under Prompto’s back and knees. Gladio hoisted him up off the ground and started carrying him toward the car. Ignis and Noctis followed on either side.
“You weigh nothing!” Gladio smirked.
“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Prompto whined, his voice weak and raw. He let his head hang backward, the picture of unnecessary hardship.
“Let this be a lesson to you,” offered Noctis. “Maybe in the future you’ll try a bit harder to keep your insides from becoming outsides.”
“That’s not fair.” Prompto protested, “Gladio got a big gross scar so why can’t I?” He lolled his head forward look Gladio in the face. “Actually, that whole experience sucked. Is that what it was like for you? When you got the one on your chest?”
“More or less. But I wasn't such a crybaby about it.”
“He was,” Ignis interjected, adjusting his glasses.
Gladio scowled. “See if I tell you anything ever again.”
When they reached the car, Gladio maneuvered Prompto into a sitting position on a nearby boulder. He kept one hand on Prompto’s shoulder to keep him from toppling over. “Time to lose the shirt,” he said.
Prompto looked confused just long enough to actually look at his clothes, as if he was noticing them for the first time. His shirt hung in rags from where it had been split horizontally, then vertically, exposing his whole torso. The tattered cotton had grown stiff from the soaked blood while other parts of it were still soggy with water. Prompto’s sleeveless jacket was intact but it was stained with dark blotches from front to back.
“I’m trying out a new look,” Prompto said.
“You look like a hot mess.”
Prompto made trembling finger guns. “But at least I’m still hot.” His face was pale and sweaty and he looked like he was going to be sick.
Ignis appeared with Prompto’s spare shirt in hand. It was still folded from being packed in the duffel bag in the trunk of the Regalia, and since they had just done laundry yesterday it even smelled clean for a change. The maroon tank top was warm from an afternoon spent baking in the car.
Noctis helped ease the ruined clothes off Prompto’s shoulders and Ignis delicately worked the clean garment back on. Gladio kept him from falling over. None of these actions were difficult for anyone except Prompto, who winced and grit his teeth with every motion. At least the smooth cotton felt soft against his tender new skin. Maybe life wasn’t completely bad.
...until he saw Noctis cramming his old clothes unceremoniously into a garbage bag. “Hey!”
“Hey what?” Noctis was unsympathetic. “You gonna wear these again?”
“The jacket is not so bad, right?” Prompto argued. “It’s black. The stains won’t show after we wash it.” Ignis looked shocked, then offended. “Oh, come on," Prompto continued. "It took me forever to sew all those patches on.”
Noctis looked down at the jacket in his hand and moved his thumb aside to examine a patch. It was a leather rectangle just under the point of the collar’s right lapel. There were words stamped in that Noctis had never bothered to read until now:
“‘It’s a beautiful day. Now watch some bastard fuck it up.’”
Noctis paused. He tipped his gaze up at the gloriously blue sky, then rolled his head onto his shoulder to give Prompto a sideways look.
Prompto’s eyes enlarged theatrically. “A prophecy…” he stage-whispered.
"We can work out the matter of your clothing later," Ignis interrupted. "For now, I'd like us to make haste back to Lestallum. Gentlemen, if you would," he gestured to the car.
Noctis wadded the jacket into the garbage bag and slung it into the trunk. Prompto once again found himself being carried car-ward by a large man. He was begrudgingly coming to terms with it.
Gladio poured Prompto into the front passenger seat and lashed him into position with the safety belt. Noctis and Gladio loaded themselves into their usual places in the back seat. A moment later they heard the trunk slam closed and Ignis reappeared at the driver's side. As he climbed into his seat, Ignis reached over and nestled a leftover bottle of Jetty’s soda in Prompto’s slack hands. Like everything else from the car, it was warm.
“Drink, if you feel capable.” Ignis twisted the keys in the ignition and the Regalia rumbled to life. “The sugar and fluids will help tide you over until we get to a clinic. Plus," Ignis looked at him over the rim of his glasses, "it will prevent you from turning into a toad.”
“You should drink it. You look green.” Noctis was joking, but Prompto looked like he had aged twenty years in one afternoon.
Prompto ignored him and was trying not to whine. "A clinic?” he looked at his stomach, as if he could see his new battle damage through his shirt. “Aren’t I already healed?”
"You left quite a lot of yourself behind out there, Prompto." Ignis flicked at the turn signal, checked his blind spot, and pulled out onto the road. "Curatives put you back together but they won't replace what you lost. And I suspect your current cheerful disposition is mainly due to the stimulating effect of the drugs. That won't last."
Prompto sagged in his seat. "Good. Something to look forward to."
Gladio reached over the the back of the seat and gripped Prompto's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "How about looking forward to sleeping in a bed tonight?"
"Yes. Gods," Prompto sighed and let his head hit the headrest. "I've never been so tired in my life."
Gladio chuckled and pat Prompto's shoulder, then leaned back into his seat and put his palms on his knees. He understood what Prompto was feeling better than anyone else.
Noctis watched the scenery fly past. He wasn't sure at first, but he was starting to notice the details: the roar of the engine was louder than usual. The tires squeaked against the road when making turns. His back pressed into the upholstery with unusual gravity. Ignis had sounded calm when he spoke but the motion of the Regalia betrayed him. Noctis had a feeling they would make it to Lestallum in record time. They weren't out of the woods yet.
The sun was still high and bright in the dazzlingly blue sky. Few days were as beautiful as this. In the Regalia, the canopy was down and the wind felt refreshing as it dried the sweat from their clothes. Prompto's cheek rested on the edge of the car door. He was fast asleep.