Work Text:
Prompto blinks at the world around him, his arm around Gladio’s waist, strong and sure. Ignis lingers behind, quiet except for his uneven footsteps. The world is so, so dark. Reaching into his pocket, careful not to touch the cold weight of his gun, his fingers find his phone. The screen is shattered, but he can still clearly read the time. 10:35. And he knows what that means, knows that the sun has not risen. Knows that the sun will not rise again for a while. They've been walking for what feels like days, trying desperately to find a haven, constantly outrunning daemons and beasts that haven't been picked off yet.
It feels like it's been days, but they finally find a haven after walking for Astrals knows how long. Time hasn't really been passing, to him. The chairs and tent are all set up quickly. None of them look at the empty one at the edge of the half circle.
“Listen,” Gladio says, the hazy teal glow of the haven throwing the sharp angles of his face into perspective. “About that barcode.”
“No offense or anything, big guy,” Prompto says, reaching up to scratch at the healing cut on his nose, “But I don’t want to talk about it. Like, ever. Sorry not sorry.”
“Yeah, I get that, but that’s not where I’m going with this.”
“Okay.”
Behind them, an Iron Giant’s footsteps thunder closer. It groans at them, eyes bright and angry at the holy magic, then turns away. Prompto listens to it stalk away from them. A few steps away, Ignis lets out a snuffling snore, his head falling to his shoulder, mumbling something suspiciously close to Noct’s name in a desperation that only comes out in the vulnerability of his sleep. Prompto’s eyes water, and he sniffs once, loud and sharp. His eyes search out Gladio’s, but the other man has turned his gaze towards the sky.
This is already so, so hard.
“My dad did my tattoo,” Gladio says, softly. “And I’m going to do one for Iris, soon. If she still wants it.”
“That’s cool, dude,” Prompto nods. “Still not sure where you’re going with this, though.”
“I mean I can cover that barcode up. If you want me to.”
“Wait, for real?” Prompto turns towards Gladio too quickly, the movement making him dizzy. Gladio could cover up his barcode. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Just going to a little shop back in Insomnia that wouldn’t ask too many questions. The artist would just think it was a bad, drunken tattoo choice. Noct wouldn’t have even though anything about it. It would have been insanely easy. Astrals, he’s dumb.
“Yeah, whatever you want. Could even do a chocobo,” Gladio laughs, bumping the side of his leather boot into his leg. “We could use Penny as the reference.” Prompto smiles a little at that, despite the dull pain of longing he feels in the center of his chest for his pale green chocobo. Man, what he wouldn’t give to just bury his face in her feathers for a couple of hours. Drown out the world. Pretend that he could hear Noct mumbling something about how much he hates beans over the sound of Ignis cooking in the background.
But that’s dumb. Noct is gone . And with him, their chocobo whistle. Ignis hasn’t been able to cook since Altissia. He’s getting better, though! Only, it’s been mainly low ingredient soups so far. More broth, less veggies. Which, he supposes, he should probably get used to. Not like many veggies can grow without the sun, anyway. Yay , rationing .
He tries to ignore that, for the time being. That’s tomorrow Prompto’s problem. Current Prompto’s problem is figuring out how to make it through 12 hours without a breakdown. He’s been kind of a mess since Noct disappeared.
They all have.
Out of all of them, Ignis has been handling this the worst. Yeah, Prompto may have shot the Chancellor of Douche-heim in the back of the head in a blind of rage. And yeah, maybe Gladio had to go off for a bit and fuck up some Garulas, but Ignis? Ignis hasn’t really said much of anything since they left Zegnatus.
“That’d be nice,” Prompto whispers, fingers tracing lightly over the stark black lines. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s looked at it with anything but disgust. Up until he fell (Noct pushed you, his traitorous mind whispers to him,) off the train, he’s only ever kept it hidden because his parents told him to, when he was younger. He didn’t understand why he had to keep that ugly green wristband on at all times, but it makes sense now. And when he looks at the mark, at the sharp lines and numbers, he still feels a level of hatred that makes him feel kinda pukey. The tattoo starts to itch, and he can smell his flesh burning all over again. Aranea may have given him a potion, but. Potions don’t heal anything beyond the physical wound.
“Just let me know, okay? No pressure.”
A piece of wood in the fire cracks and spits out embers at them, the flame low and dying. And suddenly, Prompto is brought back to one of the movies he and Noct would watch together whenever Noct would have a bad day. The guy couldn’t get out of bed sometimes, the weight of his future and his “shitty brain” getting the better of him. And so Prompto imagines two large eyes in the center of the small fire, a tiny little mouth, the low hum of a beating heart.
Miss you, dude. Miss you so fucking much.
“Yeah,” Prompto whispers, his throat thick. “I will.”
“Good,” Gladio nods. “I have some ideas, if you want to hear them.”
“I think I need a bit, dude. That’s...kind of a lot. You know?”
“No worries, I get it.”
“Okay.”
Desperate to move Gladio’s attention off of him, his eyes fall on Ignis. Who is very much still asleep, and is very much probably having a nightmare. His shades are tucked into his shirt pocket, the bright scars over his eyes on full display. Gladio follows Prompto’s eye line, his gaze resting on Ignis, slumped over in his camping chair. Every couple of seconds, his left hand twitches. The ring has left its mark on him.
“Help me move him?” Gladio tilts his chin towards Ignis.
Prompto nods. He gets up from his own chair, stumbling a little over himself, his legs tingly and numb from sitting for so long. He watches as Gladio gently puts his arm behind Ignis, lifting him up enough to get him standing. Prompto slides up and slings Ignis’ arm over his shoulder. Ignis’ head hangs, and his good eye flutters open, milky and unseeing.
“Prompto?” Ignis asks, groggy and disoriented. Prompto’s heart sinks to his stomach. He has a feeling where this conversation is going to go. He nods at Gladio, and they start walking towards the tent.
“Yeah, Iggy?”
“Where’s Noct?”
“He’ll be back soon.”
“I need to mend his shirt,” Ignis says. Gladio sighs, and opens the flap of the tent. They lay Ignis down, taking care to remove his shoes for him. Prompto makes to lay down next to him while Gladio zips the tent back up.
“You can fix Noct’s shirt tomorrow morning,” Prompto says, softly. “Go back to sleep for now, Iggy, okay?”
Ignis doesn’t respond. Prompto’s fingers sneak into Ignis’ pocket, drawing his shades out to lay near his shoes so they don’t end up breaking if Ignis rolls over. He pulls the blanket up, making sure Ignis is covered as much as possible before crawling under it himself. He can hear Gladio settling in on the other side of Ignis. His eyes flutter closed, heavy and tired.
“Night, blondie.”
“Night, big guy.”
If Prompto tries hard enough, imagines deeply enough, in that weird state of being awake and dreaming, he can just about hear the sound of Noct’s steady breathing at his side. He can pretend that if he were to roll on his side and stretch out his hand, just a little bit, he would be able to reach Noct's shoulder.
Night, Noct.