Ignis has had nightmares before. Even as an adult, he still has them. Usually they involve the sort of mundane nonsense one might expect: showing up to a council meeting without his trousers, trying to assemble everything last minute for school despite having finished his formal education years ago, he's even had a rather absurd one that involved ruining every dish he'd tried to prepare for a meal. The ruined food had then chased him around the house. He'd established his "no Ebony after 4pm" rule after that.
What makes it hard now, is that he can't flick the bedside lamp on and know that he is in bed, in his room, hyperventilating over images that exist only in his head. There is no light now, only darkness. It's been weeks. Sometimes it feels like minutes, other times like years. All he has is a small sliver off to one side that flashes brightly if there is light. When the sun disappears, or the lights are shut off, he loses it, and he is plunged into utter void. It is disconcerting to say the least.
Above all things, Ignis has been trained to serve. Now he must let others serve him, at least until he can get his bearings. He fears he never will. Determination can work wonders, but not in the time they have. He needs to be able to perform his duties now. Suddenly tasks he's done since childhood have become impossible. He tries, he fails, and tries again. He has always been so sure of himself, but now he isn't. Perhaps it would be best if he were to stay behind? Noctis has Lady Lunafreya and her brother, Lord Ravus, to help him. No one will notice if he steps back.
Except Noctis will not hear of it. Neither will Gladio, or little Prompto, or the Nox Fleurets. For some reason, this both surprises and touches him more than he had expected. Reluctantly, Ignis agrees to continue on. They promise to help him. He promises to try. It's something.
When they lose Noctis, the nightmares become worse.
He is running in the dark, his friends calling out to him in pain and terror, begging for help, but he cannot find them. He reaches out, expecting to touch Noctis, only to find he's put his hand into the Prince's rotting corpse. The dreams do not specify, but Ignis knows the grisly death is his fault.
Ignis starts awake with a half-swallowed shout, flailing a bit in the tangled bedclothes. Beside him, Ravus stirs and reaches out a hand. Gladio and Prompto have taken to sharing when they can afford the luxury of a motel. He and Ravus have the other bed, and Luna- he's come to think of her as that now- has the flop-out couch to herself.
"Ignis?" Ravus' voice is low and rough from sleep. His hand descends to Ignis' shoulder, making him start.
"It's Ravus," the prince tells him. "You're alright."
Obediently, Ignis calms, or tries to. He's quieter now, holding onto Ravus' remaining hand for dear life. He's shaking. He can't help it. This is his fault. Noctis is gone because of him. The world has gone dark. Noctis is gone. His fault, his fault, his fault, his fault…
"Hush..."
Ravus draws him close, tucks Ignis' head under his chin in an impromptu hug. Ignis knots his fingers in Ravus' shirt and tries not to sob. It doesn't work very well. Ravus says nothing, just strokes his hair. After a while, the tears hurt less, and Ignis has calmed enough to sleep again. He nods off just as the sliver of white at the edge of his vision begins to lighten with the first fingers of dawn.
They let him sleep in. Ravus' chest is not beneath his cheek when he wakes up, and Ignis wonders how mortified he ought to be. Ravus, however, has not gone far.
"Morning," Ravus tells him.
"Is it?" Ignis asks, choosing to deliberately misinterpret the greeting.
"Yes. Late, but still morning. 10am."
That's late for him. Ignis is horrified, but Ravus gently presses down on his shoulder to keep him from jumping up.
"It's fine," he says. "We managed. Not coffee and croissants, but we did alright."
He presses a bowl into Ignis' hands. There's a spoon scraping against the rim. "Nothing fancy, but at least it's not burnt."
The powdery-fruit scent of instant oatmeal hits Ignis' nose and he smiles a little. It would indeed take talent to burn instant oatmeal with only water from a motel hot pot. He waits until Ravus has shuffled on the carpet, presumably stepping away or turning his back, before attempting to eat. He's a bit clumsy still, and he'd prefer not to have a witness to any mess he might make.
There's a sort of division of labor between Ravus and himself. Ravus becomes his eyes, Ignis makes up for Ravus' missing hand. It isn't perfect, it takes them a while to establish a rhythm, but they work better with each other than any other member of the team.
Does it fulfill some sort of trope that the two handicapped members of the party should gravitate to one another? Perhaps it's their shared Tenebrean roots. Ignis was born in Tenebrae, learned to speak from Tenebraen parents, and lived there long enough to acquire an accent. It's not as pronounced as the Nox Fleuret's, but it's unquestionably there. Little regional in-jokes and phrases that he hasn't heard in ages creep back into conversation. He laughs at a remark that sails over both Gladio and Prompto's heads. He tries to explain, but it's one of those things that can only be experienced in order to be appreciated. Ignis hadn't realized he'd missed this.
It takes them all a while to adjust to life without Noctis. For a while they had camped in the Gralean Keep, but eventually could not justify staying there. They needed food, water, supplies, and the light just kept getting shorter and the temperatures colder. Prompto had assured them they did not want to try to weather a Garlean winter in the clothes they stood up in. It had been wrenching, but in the end, they'd had to leave. There were others who needed them more.
They have two tents. They don't use them. There is some vague mumbling about how a lady ought to have her own space, but it's empty formality. One more person in a four-man tent isn't ithat/i much of a squeeze. Prompto and Luna together add up to one of Gladio or Ravus. It's tight, but not unbearable. Besides, with the light fading, it's cold, and they all appreciate the shared heat. Gladio takes one end, then Prompto, Ignis in the middle, then Ravus and Luna at the other end. Ignis is reasonably sure no one sleeps that night. He certainly doesn't.
They hold to that order the next time they camp, and the next. When they finally reach a motel, the men take the beds and Luna the cot or sofa. There is some chivalrous nonsense, but she dismisses it. She's not interested in splitting a bed with her brother. Apparently she'd rather sleep dogpile alongside everyone, or by herself.
The nightmares ebb and flow. Some nights are better than others. Mostly Ignis is so tired that he does not dream at all. It isn't often he has time for a full REM cycle. He hates and loves dreaming. It is the only way he can see the faces of those he loves. It isn't often he wakes up with a shout in a cold sweat anymore, but it does happen.
When it does, Ravus starts awake with him.
"Ignis," the tone is gentle, yet firm. It calls him back to reality, to the chilly tent and the hard stone beneath his sleeping bag. Ignis rolls into the arm that unfolds for him. By now this is familiar, an acceptable way to receive comfort. They are comrades in arms, teammates, friends. Ignis is beyond grateful that their remaining prince allows him this. Ravus will hold him until he calms, and say nothing about it in the morning. Around them, the others snore undisturbed.
Ignis freezes as Ravus touches his lips to his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Ravus mumbles after half a beat.
"No, I…" Ignis stammers. "It's...it's..." He cannot complete the sentence. Is he reading too much into the gesture? Surely it was done simply to calm, to comfort, and nothing more. Yet drawn so close, he can feel the embarrassed heat radiating off of Ravus' face.
"When Lunafreya's upset, she comes to me and I do my best to comfort her," Ravus explains. "I forgot myself. Please excuse me."
Ignis nods. "Of course."
Strangely, there's a part of Ignis that's disappointed. It does make sense, however. He's done the same for Noctis many times. The thought makes him swallow hard. It hurts.
"Ignis?" It isn't until Ravus' thumb smears wetness across his cheek that Ignis realizes a tear has escaped. He feels his cheeks burn and he turns his face away.
"Ignis," Ravus says again gently. "Do not be ashamed to grieve for your prince, for yourself."
But he is ashamed. He's felt like a fool since the crystal took Noctis. If he's honest, as long as Noct was still with them, his eyesight had seemed a small price to pay for his prince's safety. Now...it feels as if he's taken a foolish risk and come up short. He's impaired himself, and by association the rest of the group. He can try and try and exert himself to the ends of his strength but it isn't enough. He does not deserve the patience, the kindness they have shown him.
"I feel as if I've failed," he admits. "Failed Noctis, all of you, myself…"
"Luna would say we're a pair of noble, self-sacrificing idiots. We're both guilty of the same thing: we care too little for our own wellbeing."
Ignis blinks. It's a reflex, one tied to confusion and a small measure of shock.
"I'm not sorry I lost my arm to protect my sister. If faced with the choice a second time, I would still do the same. I believe you would too."
Ignis nods, silent.
"You have my respect," Ravus tells him. "We made our choices freely, but that doesn't mean they were without consequence or pain. You need not suffer in silence. Let us show you the same care that you have shown to us."
Taking a deep breath, Ignis nods and lets Ravus draw him close. He's big like Gladio, solid and warm. The subtle thump of his heartbeat beneath Ignis' ear is reassuring. Noctis is still gone, the world is still falling to pieces outside, but Ignis finds peace enough to sleep.