Chapter Two: Not Right

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

This whole waiting thing was driving him up the wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The stupid clock wasn't helping.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

No one would notice if it just…disappeared. Would they?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Seriously, it totally didn't match with the rest of the décor in the suite, anyway. He'd practically be doing them a favor by just getting rid of the thing.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Groaning, Prompto forced himself back onto his aching feet and paced over to the window to stare out at what was left of Altissia for the trillionth time. The sun had set hours ago now—much earlier than it should have—and there was still no sign of Noct or Gladio anywhere. He'd tried calling both their phones, but neither answered and he'd given up after only a couple of halfhearted attempts. If Gladio hadn't found Noct yet, he had bigger things to worry about than putting Prompto's mind at ease. They'd lost the light, and Altissia was a mess—Noct could be anywhere.

The thought only made Prompto's legs itch that much more in his desire to do something useful. The day he'd found out that Noct was leaving Insomnia to get married, he'd made a promise, if only to himself: he wouldn't be that helpless kid anymore who stood by while other people, better prepared and better trained people, did what was necessary for the prince. He swore he would do everything in his power to be worthy of the Crownsguard duds they'd given him to wear the day before they departed and the Kingsglaive uniform gathering dust in the trunk of the Regalia. Even when times got hard—when they lost their home and had to battle Astrals and journeyed into the deep, dark places of the world to find a stupid sword—Prompto had kept going, because that was what Noct needed from him.

Today shouldn't have been any different. He was exhausted and sore and ready to collapse and sleep for a week—but none of that mattered right now. Outside the window, there were people sifting through rubble in an attempt to salvage what they could of their city; Prompto could hear their shouts of equal parts dismay and relief alongside their tears. They were clearing streets so that they could move the injured and the dead. They were gathering lost belongings so that they could be returned to their rightful owners. They were putting together shelters and fires and food…

And Prompto just stood there watching from the safety of the suite, totally worthless in a way he'd sworn he never would be again.

Well, not totally… he huffed silently, glancing over his shoulder at where Ignis was resting on the couch. The last few hours had been rough on him, and he'd needed Prompto there. That had to count for something, right?

It was a small comfort—microscopic, really—but he couldn't deny that things would have been a hell of a lot worse if he'd gone running after Gladio and left Ignis on his own.

They'd been lucky to find a doctor at all when they made it back to the hotel. Prompto had maybe not been very nice to the guy at the front desk when he said all the medical staff had been evacuated, but hey, if it got the dude motivated enough to go look for one, he figured that was a win. By the time help arrived and they'd started clearing away all the blood, Ignis started coming to—and Prompto wished he hadn't.

Potions didn't work.

Elixirs didn't work.

Phoenix downs sure as hell didn't work.

Nothing had any effect on the enormous burn covering his left eye and the surrounding flesh. All the curatives in the world couldn't pry his eyelid open where the charring had literally fused it shut, his eyelashes matted and bloodstained beneath already rotting skin.

No amount of money or royal authority would convince his right eye to go back to the green-blue that was now overshadowed by a lifeless, iron grey.

"You're staring again."

Dammit.

Chuckling uncomfortably, Prompto rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "Just…making sure you're all right."

Ignis sighed heavily, his voice gravelly and hoarse to match his appearance. "I am as well as can be expected."

Which, if it were Prompto, meant he was a total mess. To wake up knowing you'd probably never see again? He couldn't even imagine.

The doctor had told them not to lose hope just yet, that his inability to heal Ignis didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't regain at least some sight in his right eye, but Prompto wasn't sure just how much he believed that. The burns were too severe even after the potions had stopped the bleeding, leaving them looking like they were weeks old rather than hours. Still, Ignis was Ignis, and he was so unruffled that Prompto almost checked to see if he'd passed out again when the doctor had finally taken his leave. He hadn't. He was just annoyingly Ignis.

Unable to hide his whine of irritation, Prompto collapsed into one of the chairs opposite the couch and folded his arms, staring up at the ceiling. What he wouldn't give to go to sleep and wake up to find that this whole day had just been one really long dream…

"Impatience will do no one any good."

Annoyingly. Ignis.

"Eurgh, how can you be so calm?!" Prompto finally blurted out, throwing his hands in the air and staring incredulously at where Ignis was lounging as comfortably as possible on the sofa. "We've got no idea where they are and you're—"

He only just managed to stop himself before he said something supremely stupid. Most of the time, he wasn't able to quite catch those kinds of things before they fell out of his mouth like chocobo turds, but he got lucky every now and again. It didn't really matter, of course, because Ignis was goddamn Ignis and always seemed to hear the things you didn't say almost more clearly than the things you did.

"If anyone is likely to find Noct, it's Gladio," he calmly reassured Prompto after a moment. If it weren't for the way his right hand went from carefully relaxed to stiffly settled on the armrest, Prompto would have thought he was going to let the other bit slide. "As for my own condition… I confess, I am holding out some small measure of hope."

Well, that was news. Frowning, Prompto leaned forward in his seat. "What's that?"

Ignis hesitated, almost like a kid who was afraid to say what he'd wished for when he blew out his birthday candles. Broken promises and unfulfilled wishes were kind of the name of the game these days, so Prompto couldn't exactly blame him. Eventually, though, he sighed at his own reticence—he probably would have rolled his eyes if…well, if.

"Lady Lunafreya."

It took a second for what he was getting at to click, and when it did, Prompto almost smacked himself. It wasn't like he was trained in the royal art of knowing everything about everything, though, so nobody was going to blame him. Probably.

"Ohhhhh, that's right—she's got that whole mystical magical healy stuff, right?"

A pause. "…For lack of more sophisticated terminology at present, that is essentially the gist of it."

Leave it to Ignis to find some way to point out his inadequacies while still agreeing with him. Clearly, his injury wasn't affecting him that badly.

"You think it'll help?" asked Prompto, trying to keep his skepticism to a minimum. "I thought that only worked on the Starscourge."

Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Ignis countered, "Her abilities are of most use to those suffering from ailments related to the darkness that plagues our world, yes. As there is little else to explain my own condition, however, it is as likely to help as anything else we might try."

There was no arguing with that one: nothing else worked, so hey, it was worth a shot. Even if it wasn't, Prompto wasn't about to rain on Ignis's parade. The guy had to keep hope alive, right? That was sort of the Oracle's job—that much he knew. She wasn't merely someone who went around healing the sick and looking smoking hot doing it (not that he was about to tell Noct that in this or any lifetime). Just seeing her face or hearing her voice gave people hope and the strength to carry on. That was worth more than a real cure sometimes. He'd found that out himself when they'd written to each other all those years ago.

Prompto was still thinking back to those days, wondering without much faith if they would ever feel like the innocent kids they'd been back then again, when heavy footsteps echoed in the hall outside and a loud bang shook the door as someone practically kicked it down. He'd never been much of a runner despite years of trying, but he was pretty sure he should get a gold medal for how quick he made it from his chair to the door. It would make up for the way he threw it open and promptly froze on the threshold, everything inside him going cold all at once.

"Move," grunted Gladio, shoving past him and making a beeline for the bed.

"Did you find him, Gladio?" demanded Ignis as though from the opposite end of a tunnel in the middle of a rainstorm even Ramuh would be afraid of.

Gladio wasn't forthcoming with a response, so Prompto answered in the affirmative for him. He'd definitely found the prince, that was for sure. After besting two gods and half the empire's army, though...Prompto had to admit he'd have thought Noct would be in better shape.

Instead, he was unconscious in Gladio's arms, wrapped up in the latter's jacket against the chill that had settled over Altissia in the gathering dark. His clothes were waterlogged and his hair was plastered to his forehead, drops of water streaming down his neck to vanish beneath his shirt. Noct had always been paler than anyone Prompto had ever seen, but his skin was downright white against his black attire. The only color to be found in his face was the slight bluish tinge to his lips and the twin black arches where his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. If he weren't shivering beneath his clothes and what Gladio had loaned him, Prompto would have thought the worst.

Really, he should have thought the worst anyway.

"Give me a hand here, Prompto."

"R-right," he stammered, forcing himself into action. Now wasn't the time to stand around doing nothing!

The next few minutes—hours?—days?—passed in a hazy blur of motion. Prompto stripped off Noct's jacket, shoes, and socks while Gladio retreated to the bathroom. When he returned a moment later, it was with all the towels they had. He tossed one to Prompto, and the two of them hastened to scrub the water out of Noct's skin and hair before he caught an even deeper cold than he probably already had. For a while, they didn't say anything, working in silence as Ignis hovered on the periphery of Prompto's vision like a ghost. It took him too long to realize what hell it must be for him to not be able to see what was going on, to not really know whether Noct was all right. (Prompto and Gladio didn't even know that, and they could see just fine.) Ignis had always been the one at the fore when it came to taking care of the prince; this was supposed to be his job.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

By the time they had Noct settled under the covers, finally beginning to look like a living person again, the energy Prompto had somehow located before began to fail him, and he trudged over to the couch to collapse in a heap. Everything hurt—everything was aching. Man, what he wouldn't give to just pass out…

"Shit, Iggy, what the hell happened to you?"

Ooooooooof course.

"Never mind that right now," Ignis waved him off impatiently, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Prompto, realizing why, hauled himself up and guided Ignis over to one of the chairs, which he sank into with a nod of grudging thanks. "What happened after we lost contact?"

Gladio looked like he might resist the change in subject, but apparently he was too tired to argue as he found his way into a chair of his own and exhaled whatever impetus to protect Noct had kept him going all this time. It was the most worn out Prompto had ever seen him.

"Everything's a mess out there," began Gladio, shaking his head. "I got to the Altar, but Noct already had help. Titan."

"The Archaean came to his aid?" breathed Ignis.

Gladio grunted in affirmation. "Yup. My guess is Leviathan wasn't feeling too generous, so he stepped in to remind her what her duty is."

Prompto thought back to the events of that day, how they'd had to dodge scores of the Hydraean's attacks on the way to the altar, and shuddered. If Leviathan's job was to help Noct, how the hell did she get it that wrong?

"Would've gotten Noct out sooner, but Titan raised a wall to keep the water in when it all fell apart. Took forever to find him after that—too much rubble."

It was obvious Gladio didn't plan to regale them with the whole story, but Ignis devoured every word and then questioned him for even more. He was ravenous for news about how Altissia was faring in the wake of the rite—the wall of water coming down, the enormous stacks of debris that piled up all over the place, the flooded streets and buildings—and the aftermath of Noct's battle. He wanted to know exactly how Gladio had found the prince, floating in one of the canals on the other side of the city, and gotten him back to the Leville in one soggy piece. Gladio did his best to accommodate him, whatever it cost him to do it, but Ignis was never satisfied.

There was one subject, however, he seemed to avoid like the Scourge. Knowing he was only delaying the inevitable, Prompto eventually cleared his throat and asked for himself.

"So, uh…where's Lady Lunafreya?"

Prompto would be glad until the day he died that Ignis never had to witness the pained expression of grief and guilt that crossed Gladio's face, or the glance he shot at Noct where he was completely unaware of their conversation across the suite. In a way, he envied him that: Ignis wouldn't have to see the tough, strong Gladiolus Amicitia look so lost.

For an interminable minute, Gladio couldn't seem to find the words to answer, which was in itself a response. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled something out that Prompto couldn't quite see, and stared down at it in the palm of his hand. He didn't meet either of their eyes when he quietly informed them, "She fulfilled her calling."

Ignis stiffened in his seat for the briefest moment before slumping forward and dropping his forehead into his hands in a show of hopelessness Prompto didn't think he was capable of. This was Ignis they were talking about! He was never at a loss for answers, even if they weren't always the easiest to hear; he was the one who kept them going even when it seemed like it would be so much easier to just stop.

But their last hope was gone, and he was the one who would never see the light of day or any of their faces ever again.

It seemed to cost Gladio a great effort, but he stood up and appeared to gather himself. The moment was hardly longer than the blink of an eye, yet it was enough to give Prompto a clear glimpse of what it was Gladio was holding: the Ring of the Lucii. King Regis's legacy and Noct's birthright. The whole damn key to the Crystal and the empire and everything—right there in the palm of Gladio's hand.

He strode past them in silence, looking for all the world like the ring weighed far more than the heaviest sword, and approached the bed. Noct didn't stir as Gladio reached down and placed the ring in his left hand, closing the prince's fist around it. Maybe it would have been best for one of them to hang onto it for safekeeping until he woke up, but Prompto wasn't about to tell Gladio that. The ring was Noct's. His grasp was where it belonged.

Taking a deep breath, Gladio made a valiant attempt to smile that only failed by a hair as he returned to his seat and cautiously inquired, "So, I told you my story. What the hell happened to you?"

Prompto opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. It felt like a garula was sitting on his chest, weighing him down until the only thing in the world was pain: for Lady Lunafreya's fate, for Gladio being forced to bear witness, for Ignis's eyes, for Noct's grief when he woke up—for his own. How was he supposed to put all that into words?

Ultimately, he didn't have to. As always, Ignis seemed to know exactly what to say.

"Nothing. Just a small sacrifice in the greater battle."

There was no way Prompto was going to deny Ignis something he desired when he so rarely asked for anything. But goddamn, how hard was it to find sunglasses in this city?

Yeah, okay, so maybe people were sorta busy piecing the shattered remains of their lives back together, but seriously—one pair of sunglasses? They really shouldn't have been so hard to find, and Prompto was really trying. He'd scoured the city for a couple of hours already; a few of the shops furthest from the destruction had reopened, stocking plenty of food and clothes for people who had no homes left. Prompto thought they'd be a good enough spot to start, but they were having enough trouble keeping the necessities on the shelves. When he'd asked one of the clerks about sunglasses, they'd stared at him like an MT was growing out of his face. He'd figured out pretty quick that if he was going to do this, he probably shouldn't bother asking anyone else for help—they had bigger fish to fry.

The thought sent a pang of sadness shooting through his stomach, and Prompto sighed heavily as he stopped by the gondola. In the last couple of days since Leviathan ripped Altissia to shreds, Noct hadn't budged an inch. They'd tried everything just short of shaking the hell out of him—which Gladio briefly considered and Ignis strictly forbid—but he was dead to the world for now. Well, not dead, but close enough. He was breathing and some color had returned to his face after those first few hours, but otherwise, he was the same as he'd been when Gladio had found him. Until he woke up, there really wasn't much the three of them could do. It wasn't like they could just ditch him here and keep going, after all.

So, they found little things to occupy their time and tried to help out where they could. Gladio had been spending most of the wait outside their hotel room, putting those ridiculous muscles of his to use. There was plenty for him to help with—moving debris, lifting the injured, hauling supplies, you name it. Besides, he said it was the least they could do after they…sorta kinda…wrecked the city.

Ignis, on the other hand, was going out of his mind between boredom and impatience for Noct to awaken. He hadn't left the hotel since the incident, and Prompto honestly didn't blame him for a second. Ignis couldn't see what he looked like, but he had to know it wasn't pretty. Based on the way he would gingerly poke at his wounds when he thought they weren't looking (spoiler alert: they were), it caused him enough pain that he had to be aware it didn't look right. Neither Prompto nor Gladio would mention it—they weren't that mean—and Ignis never brought it up. That didn't mean he cared to step out amongst the populace just yet, though, not when he had a prince to metaphorically watch over and no glasses to dull the sight of mottled skin.

That was exactly why Prompto was on his little venture, as it were, unfruitful as it was turning out to be. The more time passed, the more restless Ignis appeared to grow with his injury, and he'd finally reached the point that morning where he couldn't stay silent about it any longer. It seemed to take all the patience he was capable of mustering for him to wait for Gladio to leave, and then he had turned to Prompto (which was super creepy because he somehow seemed to know where he was even though he couldn't see anything).

"Would you mind running an errand for me today?"

"Sure!" he'd exclaimed eagerly, soooooo ready to get out of the Leville after sitting there for hours on end. Prompto had done it gladly to make sure that Ignis wasn't lonely, and he would continue to do so for as long as it took him to get better, but it didn't mean he liked it.

Ignis being Ignis, he seemed to glean all that from just one word and had smiled slightly as he made his request. "I'm sure stock will be limited, but as I've lost my glasses… I was hoping you wouldn't mind fetching a new pair for me."

The Regalia's brakes couldn't screech to a louder halt than the wheels in Prompto's head did in that moment. Grimacing, he had slowly inquired, "Uh…you sure you're gonna…need those anymore?"

"Sunglasses, Prompto," clarified Ignis with all the grace in the world. They could have been talking about the weather, although Ignis couldn't see that either.

"Ohhh…. Uh, yeah, I can do that. You…really don't wanna leave everything alone a little longer?"

"I doubt it will make much difference to the injuries," he'd shrugged reasonably, and Prompto couldn't help but agree. Anything that hadn't healed already probably wasn't going to get much better anytime soon. "Besides, I'd…rather His Highness did not get the…full effect right away."

Aha. So that's it.

Any number of replies would have been appropriate—Noct won't care, he should see what happened, he wouldn't want to be kept in the dark haha get it the dark (okay, that one probably wasn't great)—but Prompto wisely kept his mouth shut for a change. If there was one thing Ignis had in spades, it was dignity, and he was already testing its stamina enough in asking Prompto for a favor. The last thing he wanted to do was steal away Ignis's last dredges when he still had to face Noct and his own demons every day, unseeing.

So, Prompto hadn't argued. He hadn't said a word, actually, until he remembered that Ignis didn't know he was nodding and kinda had to. He'd left shortly after that, thinking he'd be back quick—but man, was Altissia proving him wrong today.

Getting around wasn't nearly as difficult as it had been that first day after Leviathan, but he was running out of places to search when he finally stumbled across what he should have been looking for near the customs docks. One thing there was no shortage of in this city—up until a couple of days ago, at least—was souvenir stands. Sure, most of the wares were scattered around with no one to man them, but a patron was a patron, right? He'd just leave a few gil, grab a pair, and head on back to the Leville. If they were really lucky, he'd even find something that wasn't covered in chocobos. He would wear it, but Ignis was another story.

Prompto was digging through a stack of sunglasses and visors (with hideous patterns—seriously, who the hell wears these?!) when he practically jumped right off the dock at the sound of a bark mere centimeters from his ear. Whirling around, he raised his hands to plead his innocence only to find a familiar pair of judgy amber eyes staring him down.

"U-U-Umbra!" he exclaimed, unspeakably relieved even though the Messenger obviously didn't think much of his scavenging.

When he spends three hours looking for sunglasses, then we can talk.

Shaking his head, Prompto pasted a weak smile into place and asked, "What're you doin' here, buddy?"

Umbra huffed as if the answer should be obvious, and Prompto figured it probably would have been last week. It wasn't like they'd been expecting to see him again, though. After all, he belonged to Lady Lunafreya and had only ever come to see Noct when she had something for him. That wasn't exactly an option anymore.

It wasn't like a dog was going to tell him what he was doing there, though, ordained by the Astrals or not, so Prompto sighed heavily and shrugged. Maybe Umbra was supposed to be a sign that he'd been at it long enough for one day. The sun was already lower in the sky than it should have been at this time, so he figured this was as good a time as any to abandon the search and tell Ignis he'd try again tomorrow—

"Whoa, perfect!"

He would swear in front of the Six themselves that the sunglasses he spotted when he turned back to his ill-begotten spoils so hadn't been there a second ago. They were exactly what Ignis would want: dark glass set in frames that looked almost eerily similar to what he'd always worn. There were no decorations or markings on them; they didn't even have a brand name etched into the side like the other pairs did.

Where the hell did these even come from…?

The slightly suspicious look he shot Umbra went seemingly unnoticed, and he wasn't going to look a gift chocobo in the mouth, so he plucked up the spectacles and held them up to the sun, making sure there weren't any scratches. It wasn't like it would impede Ignis's vision or anything if there were, but he wasn't about to give Specs a damaged pair of glasses just because he wouldn't know the difference.

In an even broader stroke of luck, they really were perfect through and through—not a scratch on them.

"Weird," he mused, pocketing the glasses nonetheless. Hey, he wasn't about to ask. If these were some kind of gift from the Six, it was about time they started giving back to the cause, and he meant way more than just some stupid blessing.

Glancing back at Umbra, who was waiting way more patiently than any dog had a right to, Prompto grinned and sprung back to his feet to point at the hotel further down the main stretch. "All right, mission accomplished! Let's go see if Noct's awake, huh?"

Umbra let out an aborted bark that clearly said he wasn't expecting it, and Prompto's heart fell right back down into his stomach despite its brief reprieve. Seriously, would no one just let him have one thing?