AN: Hey guys! First of all, I want to thank you all who read through Heart of a Tool and left comments. It's been heart-warming to read your thoughts about it, and I hope the second part lives up to the expectations. And in case you're not familiar with HoaT, please consider reading it before reading this story. Mind of a Tool is the second part of my Tool series and kicks off with the events I wrapped HoaT up with, so this might be a bit of a bender if you haven't read the first part.
I often add a song quote to a story to add a little spice, but this time I'm really requesting that you'd please listen to the theme song while reading this instead. I think the music adds to the reading experience nicely. Plus, the song gives a pretty good vibe about the overall mood of what Mind of a Tool is going to be: getting over it, rebonding and some genuine hurt/comfort. Also, I'll be rebuilding some of Prompto's bruised self-esteem. "It can't rain all the time."
I'm intending this to eventually become one of my nicest stories up to date. But bear with me, it's not going to get too nice too fast; I pretty much tore the guys apart in HoaT, now I'll be piecing them back together again. It might take a while.
I am so excited about this! I hope you'll like it, too.
Beta read again by Elillierose
Theme song: Broods - Free (I tried to link it here, but the FFnet really isn't friends with links. Please see the artist's VEVO on YouTube)
All the bracing in the world couldn't have prepared Prompto to the feeling of the golden blade sinking into his flesh. A moan of pain came out muffled as the fabric distorted the noise, his teeth gritting into it. The blood trickled down his fingers, small pools forming onto the floor. There was a lot of it, his head swam a little as his lap was quickly becoming tainted. He realized he wasn't ready for this, never was, never would be. Not by his own hand. His lashes moistened up as the eyes squeezed tightly to ride out the worst of it. Each shuddering pant held remorse, each broken whimper carried over his desperation-laced frustration in muffled sobs.
The blade had raked almost half the dagger's width under his skin, but its movement had stopped. Prompto's hand had stilled. As the initial pain had escalated, his wrist, his palm, his arm lighting up with self-inflected agony as the blade marred his flesh further, tearing underneath the tattoo, that was when the urge to self-preservation had rebelled against his free will. Heart over mind. Choice over automation. Will over instinct. The blade shook along with his hand, the edge biting a little further with each tremor. But he couldn't force it to finish the job; Prompto's resolve crumbled as the pain, the blood, the fear, the disgust of this became too much. What had he done?! The flap of the severed skin peeled back disturbingly. God, he had done this to himself! What had he been thinking? He bit the fabric harder to try to keep the pained cries at bay. His insides twisted, he wanted to throw up, because of what he was doing. And because he couldn't bring himself to finish it.
Tear streaks ran down his cheeks. A part of him was afraid. So afraid and in pain. Another part of him, however, cursed his damned weakness. This was his only chance. If it wasn't for this goddamned mark, he could lead a normal life, or at least as close to normal as possible, given their situation. He could be with his friends, he would have a place. A purpose. But because of it, he would be alone forever. An outcast. A threat to everything that mattered to him. A tool of the enemy. And he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He couldn't do this. His fear, the urge to spare him this agony had already won. He tried to force his hand, but he couldn't help it, he was frozen in fear. Paralyzed by the pain. Overwhelmed by the action. He felt dizzy. He felt like he was suffocating. Darkness and nausea rose in him in equal amounts, pooling in his gut, rising up his esophagus. A reflex took over, made the decision for him, and the blade slid across the tile floor with a telltale clink as he sagged over, landing on all fours and dry-heaving until the overload soon swept his mind into oblivion and he sank onto the floor, the cut bleeding his life away steadily.
Ignis had never been a deep sleeper. It wasn't in his nature. He was like a guard dog, alert and easily pulled back to awareness even from slumber. That's why, when the familiar pull of eather trickled along his nerves, the adviser was almost instantly awake.
Groaning a little in half-wakeness, he pushed himself to sit on the upper bunk. Instinctively he reached for his glasses that usually rested on a nightstand or a pile of clothes, by the left, within an arm's length. This time his hand met thin air, and the awareness came back to him fully. The dormitory accommodations. The distant hum of the motors of the airship. The gleam of light from under the bathroom door. The hazel eyebrows furrowed. Someone was clearly in the bathroom. Was that what had awoken him? Most likely. But what had that whisker of magic been then? Had he been dreaming? He waited for a moment, for anything, really. Nothing. Nothing but sounds of sleepy breaths. Ready to deem it a false alarm, Ignis had almost settled back under the bedcovers when the small sound of pain and asphyxiation carried from the other side of the room.
With a sharp gasp, the adviser practically sprang to sit up again; the blanket flew off him as he peered through the darkness, towards the bathroom and the lonely source of light. He hadn't imagined that sound, he was sure of it. "Hello?" he murmured, not wanting to disturb the others. As his eyes got more used to the scarce light, he took a note of the prince's sprawled form on the bunk next to him, an arm halfway over the bedframe and head tossed to the side. And even without his eyes he could discern the deep, half-snored breaths of Gladio from the lower bunk. So that left…
"Prompto?" It was so quiet he practically mouthed the name to himself. His suspicion was confirmed when a mixed sob slightly louder than the previous one sounded, the pitch of that distinctive to the blond. To the blond in pain, to be more precise. Feeling cold suddenly, Ignis quickly climbed down from the bed. As his eyes met the sleeping form of Gladio, he considered waking the man up, but quickly decided against that. It would be an embarrassing mistake if nothing turned out to be wrong after all. But as the sounds of sobs of agony became less guarded, less suppressed and clearly distinguishable as muffled, the bad feeling he had had lit aflame.
The sound of metal clashing onto tile and a thump of something heavier had Ignis' heart skip a beat. "Prompto?" Closing the distance to the bathroom door in three long leaps, Ignis didn't bother knocking to try the handle. Locked. "Prompto, open the door," he hissed. It was returned with silence. "Prompto?!" Now openly knocking, not caring about the noise he made anymore, the adviser demanded the younger man's attention, in vain as the dull pressed wood door remained shut, sealing its secrets behind it like a vault.
The movement and the creak of bed tore the brunet's attention from the door; Gladio had sat up on the bed, a hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "The hell, Iggy…?" he muttered, not sounding angry though, merely confused. This wasn't like Ignis.
"It's Prompto. He has barricaded himself into the bathroom. I think he might be injured." That got the brute's attention. Even in the dim light, the adviser could see the surprised rise of brows and the look of bafflement. He pushed the covers off him and flung himself onto his feet, stumbling slightly in the darkness. He hissed a sharp curse as his shin hit the bedframe rather sweetly.
"Son of a… ugh! How do you know?" he muttered, sparing a glance at the sleeping beauty on the upper bunk. Noctis was mumbling something unintelligent as the subtle commotion around him cut through his sleep, pulling him to wakeness.
Ignis ignored the both of them, his attention was back on the door. "I heard him…" he paused to think of a proper word for it, "whimpering." He tried to peer under it, but the crack was so narrow that he really couldn't see anything but the dull grey dotted tile. Until he saw something that made him gasp. Into his narrow field of vision trickled a streak of blood.
The adviser was on his feet in a flash, throwing his weight against the door. He had been right! "Prompto?!" The door rattled a little but didn't break; not wasting a moment, he tried again. This time it dented.
"Hey? What the hell's goin' on, Specs?!" came Noct's half-drowsy, half-incredulous mutter. But as he took in the scene, what the other was doing and Gladio's baffled-slash-concerned expression, it registered that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. "What're you–?" Noctis was interrupted by the sound of splintering as the door yielded, collapsing into the small space of the bathroom. Ignis stumbled after it, finding his footing before he trampled the lithe form on the floor.
On the tiles lied Prompto, his clothes and most of his right hand smeared in his own blood that was slowly pooling under the limp limb. In the corner sat Ignis' dagger, small red skid marks leading up to it from where the young man lied like a trail of evidence.
"Prompto?!" Noctis scrambled up, was jumping down as Ignis was already by the blond's side. Turning the younger man to lie on his back, the nimble fingers quickly went to check for a pulse, and he sighed in relief as he felt the beats under his fingers, still clearly distinguishable. The sharp eyes assessed the damage, and the adviser had to suppress the acid that tried to rise onto his tongue as the telltale signs of the young man doing this to himself were splayed out before him. He pushed that thought aside, though, not wanting to think about it right now. The wound was bleeding a lot. In the immediate lack of anything better, he clasped a tight hold around the wrist, trying to ignore the wet warmth seeping through his fingers.
"What happened?! What did he–?!"
"Not now, Noct. I need something to stop the bleeding with," the adviser told him sternly, fighting his voice to be that of calm despite the storm of emotions inside. The green eyes held a wish as they searched for the amber, the shield nodding his understanding. Without a word, he strode back to the bunks and grabbing the first bedcover that came to hand, he tore it up into a couple of inches wide strips. Satisfied, he ran them over to the brunet who was still clutching the wound, his own fingers mostly covered in blood already. "Thank you." Not wasting a second, Ignis begun to wrap the wound with the makeshift gauze, trying to ignore the way the crimson seeped through instantly. As the layers increased, though, the speed of the reddening slowed down, much to the adviser's relief.
Ignis tied the ends of the gauze and sat back to check his work; he sighed a heavy breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "That should hold the worst of it." The blond's ribcage rose and fell steadily if a bit shakily. His pulse had slowed down, understandably, but was still there and rather steady. He did a quick check on the young man for any other injuries, although he had a hunch that this was the only one. He had to push away the thoughts of whys and what-ifs; there would be time for them later, but now, now they had to make sure Prompto lived.
Noctis felt cold. The trembling of his hands finally registered as his finger accidentally brushed against his unclothed thigh. All he could do was watch as Ignis' hand reddened; his mind was completely blank. The sound of tearing behind him piqued his attention, but the significance of the action took time to dawn. It was like his head had been filled with nothing but fog, and the raven tried to wade through it but met nothing. As he watched the way the adviser tied the strips around his friend's wrist, heard the man saying something but couldn't bring himself to discern what exactly, it begun to dawn on him that Prompto had just tried to kill himself.
"Prom…" The whisper was barely audible, so quiet it only barely left his lips, but Ignis had heard it still. One glance at the prince's sad, lost look told the adviser enough.
"It is too early to jump to conclusions, Noct," he consoled, pushing the thought of being a hypocrite to the back of his mind. "We don't know what's going on, but right now we need to focus on stopping the bleeding. He has lost quite the amount of blood, but he'll live." Noctis was hardly listening to him, too shocked by what was presented before him. He had never imagined Prompto to do something like this, to be even capable of doing this. Then again, he had never imagined finding out all those other things about his friend, either. He felt like he was watching a stranger, a stranger who wore the face of his best friend.
"He did this to himself." It was almost a mutter. A statement, not a question. Not actual communication, a mere blurt. But Ignis nodded anyway.
"Yes. It certainly seems so. Although we shouldn't get ourselves ahead of this yet." The adviser laid a hand on his protégé's shoulder, giving it what he hoped to be a consoling squeeze. "Prompto's reasons are his own, Noct. He'll talk to us when he's ready." The younger man's look was incredulous, a cross of shocked disbelief and peeking heat.
"How can you say that?! He just tried to kill himself!" Noctis smacked the hand away, immediately regretting it as the surprised look flashed on the adviser's face. He was taking this out on Ignis now. Perfect. "Sorry," he said, sounding embarrassed.
"Noct," Gladio spoke up for the first time. He stood close, his arms crossed, a displeased look on his face. "I get it that you're worried, but lashing out ain't gonna help. Iggy's right, we don't know why this happened, so let's just focus on treating that and wait for him to open up about it." It was the voice of reason, Noctis knew, and he felt the heat rising onto his cheeks.
"Alright," he averted his eyes to hide the shame. He felt like an idiot about the way he had reacted. Ignis and Gladio must have been worried, too, but they handled it so much better.
It seemed like the bleeding had stopped, and they moved the blond back to his bunk bed, the injured hand propped over his chest to minimize the bleeding if there was still some. The blond hadn't even stirred, his mind far away. His face was relaxed, that of unconsciousness as he lied limply, the rise of his chest only barely visible. On the bed across sat Noctis, his arms propped against his knees, his chin resting on crossed hands as his gaze swept over the blond again and again, over and over returning to the haunting gauze over his wrist.
Why had this happened? He was still having a hard time believing it had. Was it because of what they had been talking about earlier? The way they had talked about it had left Noctis to understand that they were done with the subject, that it was over and dealt with. But if it wasn't because of it, then what was going on? His breath hitched as a face flashed in his mind, and a tremor ran along his spine. Had that man anything to do with this?! Was Prompto like this because of him?! A surge of electricity coursed through him, rage like wildfire spreading like an explosion. When Noctis sparked, he sparked good! He made a move to stand up, to go find that bastard with a Cheshire smile and beat the shit out of him, right now, but was held back by the flutter of blond eyebrows and a small groan. Noctis' throat tightened. "Ignis! Gladio!"
"What's up?" the shield asked, his eyes following the intense gaze of the prince. "Oh…" Ignis stepped up, too, having finished with washing the blood off the bathroom floor. They had come to the mutual conclusion that it was a sight none of them needed to see again.
Prompto's head beat like a marching band bass drum. Blood thumped in his ears heavily, and for some reason he tasted copper. Copper, and vomit. And although he was lying on something soft, his whole body seemed somehow sore, and his right hand throbbed. Slowly his memories returned to him, and he understood what it meant. He cracked his eyes open a fraction; his world was just blotches of color until, with a few slow blinks, the blotches started to take shape and features of the raven sharpened.
"Hey." Prompto tried to reply, but what came out of his throat was a strained croak that left behind a sting in his trachea; he coughed a few times, soon feeling a touch on his left shoulder that beckoned him to stay down. Blinking, the blond's gaze shifted over to Ignis, leaning over him from the other side of the bunk.
"Try not to move too much, Prompto." A small pause, and Ignis' brows furrowed a little. "How are you feeling?"
"A-" he tried, having to cough again as the words stuck to his throat. "Alright," he groaned. He was feeling far from alright, but he didn't want them to worry about him. A bit late for that, though, he understood as he read the silent question in all of their faces. It occurred to him that they knew, they had to since they were all looking kinda disturbed and he was no longer in the bathroom. Someone had tended to his wound, too, he noted, and a pang of guilt clenched his heart. "Thanks," he near-whispered, his eyes on his bandage to signal what he meant. The adviser's reply was a cut hum.
Noctis' tongue tickled with the question. 'Why.' One small word. But he held it back, nearly had to bite his cheek to hold it back. He knew it would be too soon. Much as he wanted to get his answer, he knew the blond wasn't ready. So instead he kept quiet, simply sat there.
"Here," Gladio knelt before him with a glass of water. "Drink it." Feeling the parch in his throat, Prompto's hand shook only slightly as he grabbed the glass near voraciously. The shield gave an awkward snort as he watched the young man to down it in one go. Once done, he handed it back, looking almost apologetic.
"I suggest you get some rest, Prompto." Ignis' tone wasn't a suggestion. "You lost quite an amount of blood. It will be still at least fifteen hours before we've reached Duscae." The look on the adviser's face made it clear that this wasn't a negotiable matter. Prompto opened his mouth to protest, but closed it, realizing that the man's mind was set and that nothing he could say would change that. So, he nodded quietly and relaxed himself back into the bedsheets and closed his eyes. The exhaustion caught up with him quickly, and eventually his breathing leveled into that of slumber.
Unbeknownst to Prompto, the others exchanged a meaningful look before all eyes were on him again. A disturbed silence stayed with the men even as the blond's breaths turned into light snores, signaling his sleep. What the hell had that been about?