A/N: In which Gladio finds a solution to Noct's god problem.

xxx

When Noctis woke he was cold again, but not as terribly as before. His sinuses felt clogged and stuffy from the unrelenting chill, and his headache from the previous night had settled into a leaden pressure behind his eyes. But a ghost of warmth lingered around him, like the hot springs that sometimes lurked beneath the frozen tundra of the Ghorovas Rift.

Blinking open sleep-swollen eyelids, he found he was still in the driver's seat, but now minus a Shield. Based on the clanging cacophony he could hear reverberating from the other end of camp, though, the man hadn't gone far. Feeling a brush of fabric against his chin, he lifted his hands to discover Gladio's shirt tucked around his shoulders and arms.

Levering the seat up, Noctis opened the door and rolled stiffly out onto the frigid cave floor. He hissed at the shock of it against his bare feet, hopping in place until they grew used to the sensation. Then he hobbled over to where Gladio, who had indeed returned to his native shirtless state, knelt beside the electricity deposit, fiddling with a complicated-looking tangle of wires, gadgets, and boxes whose settings were labeled with symbols Noctis only vaguely remembered from the darkest days of high school math.

He shuddered and looked away. But his eyes landed on the evidence of Gladio's own partially healed wounds instead, sword slashes reduced to long purple lines and bruises yellowing in swaths across his ribs and back. Noctis immediately decided that today's potion—one of the few remaining of their rapidly dwindling supply—would be going to his Shield. And he'd make sure Gladio drank it, even if he had to dump it in his water bottle.

"Missing something?" Noctis asked, his voice rough with sleep.

Gladio turned, setting down his equipment, and took the proffered shirt. "You needed it more than me. I happen to like the cold."

"I might've drooled on it a little."

"It's seen worse," Gladio said, shrugging back into it without a second glance. "Feeling any better?"

"Bit of a headache, but overall, yeah. Thanks."

Gladio frowned. "Those concussions not healing right?"

"No, they are," Noctis assured him. "This is from…before, I guess. It's not a big deal; just a little pressure."

Gladio's frown deepened, but he didn't pursue it. His gaze flickered to Noctis' arms, still bandaged beneath the shredded mess of his sleep shirt. "You take your potion yet today?"

"Not yet, but I will," Noctis blithely lied. "Anything else, Ignis?"

Gladio snorted. "Yeah, actually. I think we're almost back in business—just a few more repairs. If all goes well, the Regalia'll soon be purring like a kitten." He thought for a second and then amended, "Maybe a sick, one-eyed kitten. Either way, get ready to hit the road. She left a whole lot of her fuel on the cave floor before I was able to plug the leak, but here's to hoping we still have enough to make it back to town."

Noctis regarded his friend in genuine wonder. "How'd you learn all this?" He motioned toward the car, then swept his arm out to include the veritable electrical substation Gladio had constructed on top of the deposit as well.

Gladio shrugged. "Survival, pure and simple. Driving in the Night was suicide if you didn't have a good pair of headlights and some basic mechanical know-how."

Noctis knew. He had seen the victims.

"As for this…" Gladio's glance encompassed both the glowing concentration of natural electricity and the tangle of wires that trailed away from it up to the car. "Some hunters back during the Night started messing around with the deposits; found you could do a lot with the right tools and a couple of good meteor shard-powered multipurpose converters." He picked up one of the heavy, arcanely labeled black boxes Noctis had been trying not to look at and waved it around as he talked. "This baby's the holy grail; all you need are the standard hookups, a couple 'a switches, resistors to get the current right, a multimeter, good wiring that won't burn up…"

At Noctis' glazed look, the corners of his lips twitched upward. He continued, "Anyway, it's not what it looks like. I barely get the science myself; just know how to mash a couple of wires together. I had Iggy grab me the essentials when he was in Old Lestallum, in case we ever ran into a situation like this."

"You didn't happen to ever hook up with Holly, did you?" Noctis asked.

Gladio's eyebrows shot to his hairline, his expression going somewhat shifty. "Why?"

"Cuz it seems like you two'd have some real chemistry. She'd probably consider this kind of thing pillow talk—oh Astrals, you did, didn't you?"

Gladio smirked, unperturbed, and crouched to adjust a few connections. "She's nice. Loves her work."

"I'm sure," Noctis muttered. "Much as I'd like to hear all the gory details of your ragingly successful love life, I kind of less enjoy the idea of Ignis' haggis-flavored pickle crisps for breakfast, so I think I'm gonna go catch us some fish."

"You do that," Gladio said with a self-satisfied grin. "No catfish, though. They taste like algae."

Noctis waved him off and made his way back to the trunk. Ignoring his fishing gear for the moment, he rifled through the med kit for some ordinary, over-the-counter painkiller. His headache was intensifying far more quickly than he'd expected. Pressing the heel of his hand between his eyes, he downed a couple of tablets. The water soothed his throat and, after a moment, seemed to file back some of the sharpest edges of the pain. All the running and fighting followed by a day lost to unconsciousness had probably left him dehydrated.

Grabbing his rod, Noctis crossed their camp and settled in next to the river—hopefully for the last time, he thought, warily eyeing a Necromancer that was lurking nearby. It seemed to stare right back into him, its bony fingers and empty face the stuff of nightmares.

Noctis shuddered, remembering how one of the daemons had managed to take Prompto by surprise, once, in these very caverns. Threading its bony fingers through his friend's hair, it had brought his face up close to its own, as if for some horrible parody of a kiss. Prompto had hung limp, seemingly paralyzed, his expression frozen in a rictus of agony as the monster began siphoning away at his very lifeforce. Noctis, frantic, had brought the entire Arsenal to bear, stabbing deep into the miasma of its heart over and over until the thing had finally dropped his friend back to the ground…

Shaking his head—as if he could somehow dislodge the memory—Noctis cast his line. The Necromancer floated away into the darkness, the sounds of its deep, mindless intonations crawling up his spine.

One hour and two fish later, Gladio's shout of triumph echoed through the caverns, emphasized by the sudden roar of the Regalia's engine. Noctis perked up, momentarily distracted from the pain that had only very recently begun advancing from lone percussionist to a full-fledged drumline at the back of his skull. He'd never thought he would describe the sound his dad's car made as "sweet," but there was a first time for everything.

"Not yet," Gladio called, releasing the ignition as quickly as it had fired up. "Couple more things to finish patching first, but we're looking good for getting her healthy again by lunch. Should probably wait till dark before we blast outta here, though, in case there's still Niffs lurking around outside."

"Copy that," Noctis acknowledged, smiling in relief. "I'll start packing."

Reeling in his line, he trailed the riverbank the short distance back to camp. Once there, he returned what few items they'd unloaded back to the trunk. As he wedged the last grocery bag into place, a sudden, stabbing pain lanced through his skull, starting in the front and burning straight through to the back…and then it was gone, almost as quickly as it had appeared. He swayed, his vision blurring, before catching himself on the fender.

Pressing his knuckles against his forehead, Noctis breathed deeply. Then he pushed himself back upright and started toward the pile of loose gravel and rock that he had designated as his fish cleaning station. Astrals, but that last one had felt like the receiving end of a haymaker from Titan himself.

He frowned, slowing. This was the third time Titan had popped into his thoughts since only last night…

Another wave of pain juddered through his head. He gasped and stumbled, his suddenly quaking legs nearly sending him to the ground. It faded, but he stayed hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily as the familiar aftershocks washed over him.

Familiar.

They were familiar…

The answer hit him at the same time as the agony. Titan…Titan was calling him. The god had been looking for him, and had found him.

And he was angry.

The pain slammed into him then, a blaze of white-hot torment, tearing through his brain even as Titan's shouts boomed back and forth inside his skull. Noctis forgot which way was up and which down, lost his sense of space, time, smell—his world narrowing to a searing prison cell of misery. It smashed through his mind, over and over again, its sharpened edges tearing straight through him—

And suddenly it released him, leaving a terrible ache in its aftermath.

Shaking and whimpering, Noctis realized someone was holding him, shouting into his face. Gladio, of course. Blinking sluggishly to clear his vision, he clawed for focus.

"…ong…Noct! Noct! You need to tell me what's wrong—"

"Titan," he interrupted unsteadily, between gasps. His voice sounded like it had been scraped from the muck at the bottom of Crestholm Channels. "Titan's found me."

Gladio stared down at him, his eyes wide and afraid—not of the god, but for him. Guilt skittered across Noctis' heart. He so rarely saw Gladio afraid.

He tried to explain. But words were difficult. "Wants me…to come to him. He's summoning me."

"Summoning you?" Gladio exclaimed, his voice nearly a yell. "What, with a nail bat? He couldn't've said please—"

But the next wave was on him. Noctis could only writhe in his friend's arms, clutching at his face and hair in agony. Gladio looked around, frantic, and suddenly he was gone. Noctis twisted on the cave floor, moaning with prolonged cries of misery.

But then Gladio was back. And all at once he was dragging Noctis to his feet, one arm wound beneath both of his, the other holding aloft his shield.

The pain receded. Comprehension returned just long enough for Noctis to realize he was being pulled from their safe circle of light out into the darkness of the cave.

"What are you doing?" he choked. Struggling, he flailed for purchase, trying to plant his feet. But he only succeeded in banging them against the sharp rocks of the cavern, helpless against the inexorability of his friend's hold. Gladio didn't look at him.

Ahead, a dim blue light flared to life. Something whispered.

"Gladio!" Noctis shouted, panic clawing its way up his throat. Clutching at the big man's arms, he craned his neck, trying to see up into his face. But his friend was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, striding relentlessly forward and dragging Noctis along with him.

Was it a Confuse spell? Had Gladio been hit while Noctis was squirming on the ground? It was the only explanation. Renewing his struggles, he threw his heel backward into his Shield's knee, followed by a maneuver geared specifically toward breaking the vicelike armlock in which he was currently trapped—he knew, because Gladio had taught him that move himself. But his friend neither faltered nor stumbled, and Noctis couldn't find the purchase he needed to follow it through. Instead, his Shield merely shifted him to the other side of his body, readjusting his hold so that he could pin Noctis' arms tightly to his sides.

The whispers surrounded them now, eldritch blue flames congregating before them, more drifting in from the corridors like scattering dandelion seeds played in reverse. Gladio stopped.

"C'mon!" he roared at them. Noctis gaped up at him, but was suddenly too busy being flattened by another torrent of suffering to notice anything more.

As the latest round of Titan's incoherent shouts finally ebbed, Noctis blinked through watery eyes to see that the Necromancers had been only too happy to oblige Gladio's request. A flurry of spells was hurtling their way, from Confuse to the daemons' blistering Delta attack. Gladio raised his shield, tucking them both in behind it. The Magitek-imbued metal hummed with the strain of repelling such potent forces, but it held.

"Come on," Gladio whispered, and Noctis' newest theory shifted to the possibility that the pain had addled his brain so badly that he was hallucinating the fact that his Shield kept inviting a mob of Necromancers to come feast on their souls.

But more attacks were already streaking through the air. Gladio perked up, his eyes sharpening, his gaze zeroing in on what appeared to be a puffy green cloud of a spell. It zipped through the darkness, faster than the others.

Just as it neared, he inexplicably lowered his shield. Swinging Noctis around in front of him, he thrust him straight into its path.

Noctis kicked and fought, eyes so wide they were mostly whites, but now the pain was back again, bursting through his brain and his skull and smearing him into the darkness…

…And then it was gone.

Not just retreating, but gone. Titan's voice was stripped from his mind as if it had never existed.

Noctis fell completely limp, the sheer relief of it drying up everything he had left and leaving him in a mess of shaky laughter and hiccups, despite the still-imminent danger. Gladio was retreating now, sheltering Noctis against his side as he raised the shield to cover them both. Spells continued to ping and hiss against the metal, but Noctis soon realized he could make out the individual shapes of the rocks again. And the next thing he knew they were back at the Regalia, safe in the light.

Gladio set him on the ground, propping him up against a tire. Crouching in front of him, he pressed one hand against the side of the car next to Noctis' head, gripping his arm with the other.

"Noct," he said urgently, shaking him as he leaned in. "Noct, can you hear me?"

"Load and clear, cap'n," Noctis replied giddily, the enduring relief leaving him feeling somewhat drunk. The only things that hurt now were—well, his whole body still, but that was because he had torn open some of his still-healing wounds—not to mention created a few new ones—with all his writhing. With a trembling hand he reached up to rub at his face, mildly surprised to discover tears on his cheeks. He wiped them unconcernedly away, the memory of the pain still too fresh to allow for something as inconsequential as embarrassment.

For a few moments Gladio didn't say anything, merely tipping his head forward and letting it hang there. His hand was still pressed rigidly into the car next to Noctis' ear, his breathing slightly ragged. Noctis didn't think he had ever seen his Shield so unnerved.

"Gladio," he said, trying not to let his words slur. "Did you just purposely get me Silenced?"

Gladio finally raised his head, his expression haggard. He released Noctis' arm and moved back to sit on his heels, hands hanging loosely between his knees. And now the Gladio Noctis knew best began trickling back in, the man's shoulders straightening with his characteristic easy—albeit momentarily subdued—confidence.

"Yeah," he said, "I did." After a protracted moment, he continued, "Why didn't you tell me you'd been having those headaches?"

"I thought I kind of did, this morning," Noctis said, wincing as he pushed himself upright against the tire. "Why didn't you tell me you were gonna drag me out on the hungry daemon tour?"

"I did," Gladio replied, a bit of bite to his voice. "You didn't hear me because you were screaming."

"Oh."

They both lapsed into silence.

Then Noctis asked, "So how did you know that would work?"

"I didn't; not for sure," Gladio replied, and now he settled back to sit on the ground, legs crossed. "It was more of an educated guess really. I figured there's crystal magic and there's planet magic—kinda connected, but kinda not. Planet magic's the sort of beefed-up abilities that all the wildlife have naturally—even daemons, 'cause they used to be living—while the crystal was kind of its own show, as we know because now that it's gone you can't use it anymore."

His gestures grew more animated as he warmed to the subject. "Silence blocks all the magic originating naturally from the planet, right? Legend has it that the Six popped out alongside the creation of the world. So I figured, what's more connected to our world than the gods? Most people think they're the origin of magic itself." The tension in his shoulders finally eased, and he leaned back onto his hands. "Which is why it made sense that any old run-of-the-mill Silence should've cut you off from whatever garbage mental hold it is that Titan's apparently still got on you. Theoretically."

Noctis stared. "…the hell, Gladio."

"Hey, just 'cause I've got these doesn't mean there's nothing up here," Gladio said, pointing to his bulging arms and following it up with a quick tap against his head. "Your numbskull Shield just so happens to have graduated at the top of his class."

"Don't tell any of your lady friends that," Noctis said, wiping the back of his arm across his still-running nose. "I don't think they expected brains to be part of the package."

Gladio smirked. "I may not look smart, but at least I look good. Some of us can't manage either." He flexed, preening ridiculously, then side-eyed Noctis, continually underfed for his twenty-one-year-old body and caked in a semi-permanent crust of dirt and blood.

Noctis scowled. Obviously someone was making a full recovery. "I hate you."

"I know, and it's adorable. Now," Gladio said, all business again. "You gonna tell me what Titan's deal was?"

Come. The Great One summons you. Come now.

Titan's deal, which Noctis now knew intimately due to the fact that it had been blasted directly into his brain repeatedly and at great length, was that Bahamut had told the rest of the gods that the King of Destiny was running rogue through time, screwing up the prophecy. Titan, along with the others, had been ordered to retrieve him.

But if Noctis relayed that to Gladio, he would also have to inform his Shield that Bahamut was awake in this time and demanding his return.

If he told him Bahamut was awake and demanding his return, it would lead to uncomfortable questions about the Draconian himself.

If uncomfortable questions about the Draconian were asked, certain truths about the monster he was might be revealed.

And then Bahamut would kill them. He had promised.

Noctis shrugged, aiming for casual. "I'm really not too sure, other than what I already told you. Probably wants to talk to me about the whole coming back to life thing. Besides that, it was mostly a lot of yelling. Articulation has never been one of Titan's strong suits, you know."

Gladio's eyes narrowed, and Noctis shifted uncomfortably beneath the force of his scrutiny.

But then something flickered in the darkness, backlighting him in a cold, otherworldly light. Noctis frowned, leaning to see around his Shield's bulk. "Hey…uh… our friends from a few minutes ago seem kind of pissed."

Gladio twisted around to look, before levering himself back up into a crouch. "Yeah…" he said. "They're really sticking around, aren't they…"

He eyed the drifting phantoms for a moment, alert and unusually tense.

Then his tone abruptly changed, his entire body stiffening. "Get in the car."

Noctis scrambled clumsily to his feet, the cold combined with the exhaustion of his ordeal leaving him sluggish. One leg gave out beneath him and he fell hard onto the stone. Swearing, he scrabbled for the doorframe and dragged himself up.

"Get in the car!" Gladio bellowed, and suddenly dark magic was flooding the cave, spells rattling off his shield like hail on a tin roof.

Noctis toppled gracelessly into the passenger seat, not bothering with the door, then dove over the center console to the driver's side. Clambering upright, he turned the key; the engine sputtered and wheezed for a heart-stopping moment before roaring to life. Gladio fell in after him.

"Head down!" his Shield yelled as Noctis stomped on the gas. Noctis ducked just in time for a nasty-looking bolt of blue-violet electricity to sizzle past his ear. Jerking the wheel to the side, he swung the car around, tires squealing, wires and leads snapping as the movement ripped them free of the deposit. The hood flew wide before slamming violently closed again. Daemons shrieked and hissed as they were caught beneath the full force of the headlights, cringing back from the glare.

"Uphill! Follow the river!" Gladio shouted. Noctis did, the Regalia lurching and bouncing as they barreled toward the low, cramped tunnels that ran up toward the surface. He winced as they splashed through toxic pools he couldn't avoid, sprays of poison fanning up on both sides. Small stalagmites snapped like matchsticks against the undercarriage. Noctis cringed at the sound, remembering the expansive swathes of damage that had been left by the underbrush alone—part of why they'd ended up trapped in this daemon-infested mess to begin with.

Gladio twisted in his seat to catch the spells coming in from behind, crowding against Noctis' side so that he could cover them both. His shield was glowing with the heat of the magical barrage. Noctis heard him grunt in pain as a stab of lightning splashed into the metal plating and broke into fragments, crawling around the edges to sink into his hands. He stepped harder on the gas, the cave walls blurring past at terrifying speeds.

Then, in his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a flare of brilliant light—bright enough to leave afterimages on his retinas—streaking through the darkness from their left. He had just enough time to shout a warning to Gladio and duck forward himself as a twin Delta attack screamed toward them. Gladio whipped around to face it, just managing to catch it on his shield. But the force was too great. Pitching backward, the big man disappeared over the side of the car.

"Gladio!" Noctis screamed.

He stomped hard on the brake. The back end of the car spun halfway around, rubber burning. It came to an erratic, swerving halt at the edge of the river, its nose illuminating the water and a good chunk of the trail of wreckage they'd left behind. Noctis' chin ricocheted off the steering column, and he blinked through stars.

But Gladio was all that mattered. Clambering up onto the dash, Noctis leaned out over the windshield, searching frantically for his friend. Daemons swarmed around the car, those that came too near crumpling in the high beams. His eyes raked back and forth through the darkness where his friend had disappeared, probing every rock and pothole. But he couldn't see him…he couldn't see him…

All at once, Gladio exploded from the depths of a poisonous green pool, toxic spray flying as he lunged for its edge, gasping and choking. With a cry, Noctis vaulted over the windshield and slid down the hood, falling to his knees in front of him.

"Get in the river!" Noctis yelled. He wrapped his arms around his friend, trying to pull him up; a burning, tingling sensation immediately began to crawl across his skin. Heedless, Noctis readjusted his grip, wedging himself beneath his Shield's arm in a breathless attempt to prop him up. The big man finally staggered to his feet, leaning on him heavily. The two of them made it a few lurching steps before they toppled forward, falling more than stepping into the river.

Noctis was too afraid for his friend to feel the water's chill. He immediately set to work scrubbing him down, using both hands—all he had—trying to rub the excess poison from Gladio's body before it had a chance to sink deeper into his skin. Gladio tried to help, but it was clear he was flagging. His breath came in panting wheezes, his teeth grit tightly in agony. He sagged as the current pummeled against him, wilting with the pain.

"Stay with me, Gladio. Stay with me," Noctis growled, and forced him back up. Gladio wobbled to his feet, water streaming from him in a torrent, clearly no longer even seeing the daemons that droned and rasped on the fringes of the light.

Somehow, mainly through a lot of yelling paired with adrenaline-fueled strength, Noctis got him up over the hood and back into his seat. Gladio slumped bonelessly into it, brackish cave water pooling on the leather. Outside the direct light of the high beams, the Necromancers had grown bold; now they thronged the sides of the car, reaching inside with hands that burned with dark magic.

But Noctis was already wheeling the Regalia around. Aiming them back up the tunnel, he stomped on the gas. The car lurched violently forward, sending him flying back in his seat. Water sprayed from the ends of his hair as he swerved wildly back and forth, doing his best to dodge the flood of magic coming at them from behind. Far up the corridor, he could see the faintest impression of what he fervently hoped was daylight. He began to mutter a prayer, immediately thought better of it, and settled for jamming the gearshift up a notch instead.

And within seconds, they were, in fact, popping out into sunlight. It also happened to be the same moment he learned their problems were only beginning.

Two Imperial dropships orbited high overhead, set in what seemed to be a search pattern hinging on the nearest stone arches. Noctis squinted, his eyes watering painfully in the sun's harsh glare after so many hours spent in darkness. But he forced them open, peering up at the hovering craft. It seemed their pilots hadn't spotted the Regalia yet. That would change in about two seconds; an incredibly expensive, highly customized vehicle with a known royal history plowing its way through the bush wasn't likely to be missed.

But if Gladio was going to live to see the sun set, he would need an antidote. Which they didn't have. The only place they were going to find one was somewhere with people in it. And that required driving.

They didn't have a lot of fuel left, either. Between what they'd lost on the way in and the fresh leak he could smell bleeding out beneath the undercarriage, Noctis was quite frankly amazed they'd made it this far. But he'd figure all that out when the time came.

"Hang on," he muttered to Gladio. His Shield was fully unconscious now, sagging sideways into the door; his head lolled and bounced along with every bump they hit, sweat-matted hair plastered to his jaw. His skin radiated heat—far more than usual—as the poison burned through him.

Noctis tightened his fingers around the wheel. Then, resuming his madcap pressure on the gas, he sent them bursting out into the sedge.

The dropships spotted them almost immediately. Wheeling around, they swooped down on him like predatory birds, matching his speed. Noctis heard the hydraulic pumps of the cargo doors opening, that telltale sign that he was about to experience some decidedly unpleasant weather.

And sure enough, a squad of swordsmen rained down just in front of them, punching through the bushes and unfolding into what was essentially an eight foot tall barricade of armored bodies. Noctis jerked the wheel to the right, swerving around the line with such force that it would undoubtedly be making itself known later. Bullets pinged off the Regalia's frame as he passed; more chased them from behind. He hunched forward, shoulders tensed, praying none had hit Gladio.

Unexpectedly, they flew over a small rise—the Regalia going briefly airborne—at the same moment a smattering of higher-caliber rounds whizzed close past his ear. The bullets embedded themselves in the reinforced glass of the windshield as they landed again, the car's hood slamming wildly open and closed. Snarling his way through a decidedly unkingly selection of expletives, Noctis jerked them out of the line of fire and vectored them into a course paralleling the road.

But rocks and boulders lurked beneath seemingly every bush here, sending him careening from side to side. Growling, Noctis plowed on anyway. Vegetation exploded around them, tossing twigs and plant detritus up into his face and filling the air with the scents of sage and scrub. He groped for the button that raised the top—only to discover that half the control panel had been charred by some errant spell or another. Several more obscenities—some of them borrowed from a treasured collection Ignis used when he didn't think anybody was listening—spilled from his mouth.

And then, suddenly, a chocobo track appeared, hidden in the shadows of an arch. Wrenching the wheel around, Noctis swung the car over to follow it.

The trail was narrow, closed in on either side by thorny scrub, but it was such an improvement over their previous situation that it may as well have been blacktop. Low, bristly trees slapped at them from the sides, squealing horribly as they scraped along the car, but otherwise their path remained clear. Rust-colored dirt billowed up behind them in a cloud as they tore down the track. The second dropship followed them closely.

The engine sputtered thirstily, and Noctis grit his teeth. The Regalia could still make it to Taelpar. She had to. If only they could find the damn road…

And there. The highway came up on him suddenly, but Noctis was running on such heightened, hair-trigger reflexes now that spinning the wheel like a sailor riding a hurricane was beginning to feel like his entire life. He whipped the Regalia around and up onto the pavement, the car bucking wildly on its frame. Aiming them west toward the outpost, he floored the accelerator. And prayed that they would make it on time.

They topped a rise, wind tearing at his still-damp hair and clothes, the flat plane of concrete beneath their tires an enormous relief after all the bouncing. Leaning forward, Noctis strained for a glimpse of the tunnels—

—And there, blocking the road from shoulder to shoulder, sat an armed Imperial barricade.

"No, no, no!" Noctis shouted.

But there wasn't time to throw a tantrum, because a third dropship had appeared, rising up from the forest. Clutching the wheel, he slammed on the brake again, spinning them back eastbound.

And he despaired. Taelpar had already been a stretch; Cauthess—the only other source of civilization in the region—was an impossibility. It was simply too far, the roads too treacherous for the speeds at which he was being forced to take them. Gladio was strong; Noctis had once seen his Shield scrape through an entire day with soldier wasp venom in him, which was about a whole day longer than most. But the Regalia wouldn't run on air, and with no towns or even outposts for miles…

Noctis raised his eyes to the sun-bleached sky, desperate for ideas. What he wouldn't give for one of Aranea's random drop-ins just now. Instead, all he had were a couple of standard-issue Magitek engines, one of which was actively trying to kill him and the other which…for some reason wasn't.

He frowned, his thoughts grasping, before the obvious answer came to him.

The new arrival was ignoring him for a very simple reason: it was nothing more than a pre-programmed troop carrier, one of possibly hundreds they'd encountered throughout their original journey. Many dropships ran automated circuits, having been configured for a single route. The deployments of the MTs themselves were triggered by certain conditions (such as the sighting of a renegade prince posse, for example)—but only at predetermined locations.

This one was flying a pattern Noctis had seen dozens of times before, during the many hours and days they'd spent in pursuit of Dave's regional hunts. And if memory served, he knew exactly where those drop locations would be.

A sudden idea flickered dubiously into being. It was foolhardy, reckless, and insane. Assuming he lived through it, there was a high likelihood that Ignis would simply go on to murder him instead, once he found out. With his backup plan daggers, no less. Gladio, if he were conscious, would grab the wheel and drive them off the embankment before letting him see it through. Even Prompto would probably pistol whip him first—apologetically—and ask questions later.

But there was no other way. Not if he wanted to save Gladio.

And so Noctis slowed, training one eye on the carrier that was still actively pursuing them and the other on the roadside, alert for landmarks. The former chose that moment to swoop ahead and release its supply of troops, their armored feet clanging into the asphalt. Noctis did his best to veer around them, but the tires caught on the fine gravel along the side of the road. The Regalia spun off the pavement, crashing through a fence and back into the scrub.

That was fine; he'd wanted to exit anyhow. Staunchly ignoring the pieces of fender that were now flying off into the brush, he aimed them toward the shortest of the arches—still soaring a good hundred feet high. The engine sputtered as they rattled and bounced, the last of the fuel sloshing up the inside of the tank and leaking out into the dirt. Noctis gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, but his foot didn't ease on the gas.

Ignoring the emptied dropship altogether now, he craned his neck to watch the pre-programmed carrier. Paralleling them, it approached the landform's crest, its engine deepening in pitch as it slowed. All at once it turned, before coming to a hovering halt just below the arch's apex, high above.

Noctis floored the accelerator. And with a terrific, bone-rattling lurch, he steered the Regalia straight up onto the stone.

Driving up the arches was something they had only ever attempted with the Regalia-D, and never even close to the top. Their base model Regalia now made her displeasure plain, her tires having not in the least way been constructed for such an undertaking. The ground dropped out sickeningly from beneath them as they ascended, the chocobo trail shrinking to a narrow ribbon—and then to a thread.

But Noctis' eyes were for the dropship alone. Its cargo door swung open, ponderously, and an outfit of assassin MTs tumbled out.

Not that they would have much to do here in a moment. Noctis downshifted as the Regalia climbed, rattling so hard his teeth were clacking together. The engine returned to a roar…then coughed.

"Please…please…" he begged, tapping the pedal beseechingly. "Just a little more…"

And then, just as the cargo door began to reel shut, Noctis drove the Regalia straight off the edge.

They soared through the air, high above the hills and the forests and the twisting gray strip of a highway far below, king and Shield and car. And Noctis knew, for several terror-stricken seconds, that this was certifiably the worst idea he'd ever had.

Then they hurtled through the gap—just barely clearing the lip of the door—to land in the cargo hold, hard, blowing out all four tires and every one of Gladio's painstaking repairs in the process. Noctis' face slammed into the wheel—again—this time splitting open the skin on his forehead. Blood ran into his eyes as he clung tenaciously to consciousness, knowing they were just as dead if he let himself go as they would be if he'd missed the jump altogether and plummeted to the ground below.

In fact, a pair of assassin MTs—the reserve force—was already stamping toward them, their boots echoing on the stark metal floor. Wiping an unsteady arm across his eyes, he cast a hurried look at Gladio. His friend was pale but alive, and Noctis was grateful to note he'd had the presence of mind to buckle himself in before losing consciousness.

Leaning over Gladio's legs, Noctis popped open the glove box. Ignis' daggers tumbled out from where he had haphazardly shoved them the night before. Clutching one in each hand, he whirled just in time to catch the first assassin's downswing.

The impact was enough to send pain shooting through his wrists and all the way up into his elbows. Grunting, blades crossed, Noctis gathered his strength and threw the drone back. It stumbled slightly, but was up again immediately. Noctis stepped up onto the cushions of the driver's seat, his hands gripping the frame of the windshield, watching it advance.

"Spin then kick…" he whispered.

And sure enough, the assassin began revolving, its blades flying in a deadly pirouette. Noctis took the opportunity to hop over the windshield and out onto the hood. Tracking his movements, the drone slowed, before angling a steel-clad kick toward his legs. Again using the windshield for leverage, Noctis cartwheeled over the attack and straight into the creature's expressionless metal face, bringing them down to the deck together. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he flipped a dagger in his hand and drove it unceremoniously through the automaton's throat.

He heard the second drone's footsteps stamping along the far side of the car—it was going after Gladio. Scrambling to his feet, Noctis sprinted around the hood, adrenaline singing through his veins. Yelling, he hurled himself bodily into the thing's back, taking them both to the hard metal floor. It was a reckless move, far more likely to get him killed than not; but Gladio wasn't awake to see it, and besides—the alternative had been never waking up at all. Noctis jammed his blade into the back of the thing's neck, coldly severing its mechanical spinal cord.

And then he was alone. The Magitek engine thrummed, low and ubiquitous, its gentle vibrations producing a strange sense of serenity. Smoke drifted in a lazy cloud from beneath the Regalia's hood; otherwise, all was still.

His breath coming in harsh gasps, Noctis climbed painfully to his feet. He stumbled as he pulled open the passenger door, half falling into Gladio's lap but too tired to change course. His friend hung limply in his seatbelt; Noctis reached out to press his fingers to his neck, fear pounding in his chest. But while not exactly robust, Gladio's pulse was surprisingly steady. For a moment he felt a strange, illogical sort of pride in his Shield.

But that lifebeat wouldn't last long—no matter how durable Gladio was—if he didn't find help soon.

Leaving the door open, Noctis dashed over to the cockpit—only to come to a skidding halt in front of its sea of dials and switches, somewhat at a loss. Thanks to Bahamut's thirty-one reruns of that fateful night with his Shield and Aranea, back in Reflection—with Noctis as the sole, unwitting spectator—the control panel wasn't quite the inscrutable wilderness it could have been. That being said, he doubted he'd be able to distinguish an airspeed indicator from an altimeter if his life depended on it. Or Gladio's life, for that matter. He did know, from many bygone hours of sitting hunkered down in the brush spying on Imperial bases with the other three, that the autopilot would stay engaged for the entire duration of the mission—which ended either once the ship had achieved its programmed number of laps, or after all its forces had been deployed.

His gaze turned toward several mechs waiting in a corner, humming softly in some sort of low-powered standby mode. They were advanced models that he, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto had successfully destroyed a handful of times before, back in a different life, but which would most certainly kill them now. Seeing as they definitely counted as the aforementioned forces, that meant—in Noctis' estimation—that the ship still had several hours of circuits to accomplish before it considered itself mission complete. (Provided it didn't happen to drop the killer Magitek on someone else's head first—say, Ignis' or Prompto's.) And once the ship considered itself mission complete, it would immediately return to its home base for maintenance.

Noctis didn't want to go to an Imperial base. Which meant he had to figure out a way to land this monster manually.

"Right. Landing," he muttered to himself. "If I were a flight manual, where would I be?"

No flight manual made itself immediately apparent. Not even in the hidden compartments he knew about from Reflection Aranea.

"Okay then," he said. He reached out and flipped the only switch whose function he knew for sure—the one that disengaged the autopilot. Mostly because it was labeled "Autopilot Disengage." That, at least, was a start.

Then he took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he strained to remember all the non-gory details of Gladio and Aranea's flight (the gory ones were already seared into his brain forever). He had never gotten to see them land, but he had watched Gladio take off thirty-one times. All he had to do was everything Gladio had done, but in reverse, right?

Something about that seemed off, but Noctis had very few choices right now, and even fewer that were actually good. Gladio lay slumped and shivering in the Regalia's passenger seat, his face sheened in sweat. Poison was not the way his friend would want to die. He'd always had some asinine saying, something to the effect that if he absolutely had to go, it had better be at the feet of his king—the Shield as broken as his shield, or some such heroic nonsense. Evidently that would mean he had done his job.

Well, Noctis was going to make damned sure he wouldn't be going at all.

He leaned over to squint through the windscreen's grill. If he had to guess, he would say they were well into the Saxham region now. In fact, they were coming up fairly quickly on a stone arch. Straight into the side of it, as it happened.

Noctis yelped, jamming the stick forward. The ship lurched into a sudden, sickening dive, throwing him face-first into the console and rolling the Regalia forward on her mangled rims. Yellow warning lights flared on the panel like stars.

He let go, and the ship leveled back out. But now they were all set to flatten themselves on the giant rock bluff behind the Cauthess Coernix. Groping for the stick again, he dragged them to the right, narrowly avoiding taking out several of Lucis' most famous landmarks in the process. The arches whizzed past the windscreen, their proximity setting off several more alarms to add to the growing chorus.

They were going much too fast. He needed to figure out a way to reduce the power. Remembering Gladio pushing forward the throttle as he had eased Aranea's ship skyward, Noctis pulled it back.

The ship slowed dramatically, followed by a very worrisome sputtering noise. A shrieking soprano section joined the choir of alarms.

"Crap crap crap crap—thrusters!" Noctis yelled. He slapped at a button he remembered Aranea pointing out.

The ship shot upward like a rocket before sinking into an abrupt, wobbly descent. Then the thrusters evidently cut out altogether because it was suddenly falling the last ten feet to the ground, dropping like a meteorite.

There was a horrific crash. But in the end he was still alive, so at least there was that.

Rolling to his stomach, Noctis crawled out from beneath the console, alarms screeching at him like a singing Goblin troupe. Groaning, he grabbed the Regalia's front bumper and used it to haul himself to his feet. He staggered over to Gladio, catching himself on the door, then reached out to check his friend's pulse. It was fluttering now, reedy and tenuous as a butterfly's wings.

Noctis breathed out a quiet oath; the poison was spreading far faster than he'd hoped. Half running, half tripping over to the windscreen, he pressed his face between the slats and peered out.

They seemed to have grounded in a shallow little canyon—a place where the four of them had once spent a deplorably long time hunting for treasure map pieces. More importantly, though, the Coernix station lay only a mile or two beyond it, just on the other side of the stone bluff.

But how to get Gladio there? If there was one sure thing in his life at this moment, it was that the Regalia wouldn't be taking them anywhere anytime soon.

Noctis stared at the man, wringing his hands. Despair seeped through his body and leeched away what little strength was left in his limbs. He wouldn't have been able to carry Gladio's dead weight even on a day he hadn't been shouted at by a god, magicked at by daemons, stabbed at by MTs, and then crawled from the smoking remains of both a car and an airship crash. But he was terrified to leave him alone for the time it would take to make the trip all the way to the station and back. Prompto might have been able to do it, and possibly Ignis—but Noctis had never been a particularly fast runner, even at the best of times.

His gaze flickered past the sleeping mechs, briefly entertaining the idea of climbing inside one and jogging it quickly over to the Coernix. But if anything, a mech's controls would likely prove even more complicated than the dropship's. Visions of misfiring the cannon, blowing a crater in the outpost, and toppling whatever arches still remained after his precarious flight sprang to mind. Plus, he doubted any shopkeeper would be willing to hand over an antidote to some bloody, tattered ruffian showing up at the door in a highly advanced Imperial killing machine. If he turned up alone, he may at least be able to finagle a bonus muscle stimulant or energy drink for the run back…

A memory snicked into place. Energy drinks…Prompto…

Dashing to the back of the car, Noctis slapped the release. Plunging shoulder-deep into the trunk, he tossed aside tools, tire irons, and cheesy puffs, digging until his fingers brushed against a badly dented can.

It was Prompto's kupoberry-flavored Power-EX. Noctis had seen his friend perform some truly remarkable feats after drinking one of these: on their second night in Caem he had successfully relocated Monica's Citadel-sized woodpile from the bottom of the hill to the back of the house for her in under ten minutes. Gladio had rolled his eyes as Prompto preened about it afterward. Of course, the eventual aftereffects left something to be desired, just as Gladio had promised—Prompto later spent an hour with most of his face buried in the toilet bowl. He'd remained remarkably undeterred, though, insisting the drawbacks were well worth the perks.

Now Noctis cracked one open and, without hesitation, downed the entire can. After a moment of consideration, he drank the second too. Within moments a jittery, buzzing energy was humming through his veins, leaving him feeling immensely strong.

Jogging back to the passenger side door, Noctis threw it open. Leaning over, he unbuckled Gladio's seatbelt, then pulled the man's bulk up and across his shoulders. Keeping his Shield's tree trunk limbs properly secured against a frame that was never built for anything bigger than an Iris or a Prompto proved to be something of a challenge, but eventually he had everything tucked into place. Power surged through his legs, strength singing in his back and core.

So this is what it felt like to be Gladio all the time.

Kicking the cargo door release, Noctis jogged out into the sunlight, his Shield bouncing awkwardly against his back. The Coernix waited just beyond the bluff, out of sight but filling him with hope.

"Hang on, Gladio," he murmured.

Shifting his friend more securely across his shoulders, Noctis ran.

xxx

A/N: Like I said…Silence isn't exactly a thing in FFXV…but it's in all the other FFs so I'm calling it canon.