A/N: Picking up from Chapter 22 and whatever mess Ignis and Prompto have managed to get themselves into now.
(Note: content warning for brief but slightly disturbing descriptions of violence/injury/death. If you'd rather skip, hop down to the bottom for details.)
xxx
Ignis stared blankly at Aranea, reeling for a moment as two worlds collided. Though he'd never actually seen her during the Long Night, her vivacious manner, on top of her many years in and out of Gladio's life—and thus in and out of Ignis' own—had been enough to paint quite a vivid picture. To reunite with a younger version of her—only recently disenchanted with her Imperial employers and still deep in the midst of a number of personal moral battles—was, as Prompto would say, a trip.
Speaking of Prompto, his highly excitable friend seemed to have no such trouble adjusting.
"Aww, 'Nea, that was my kill," he pouted, as the last of the Red Giant's miasma seeped away into the ground.
Aranea's pale eyebrows rose to her hairline, surprised and obviously less than amused by the familiarity. "Say again?" she tartly replied, fingering her lance.
Prompto blinked, taken aback; Ignis himself was quickly recalibrating, remembering that in this time, they hadn't yet been friendly, per se, so much as bound by a mutual dislike of the same people.
But Prompto recovered quickly. "Hey, you call me 'sweetcheeks' all the time so I don't wanna hear it."
Aranea's eyebrows all but disappeared into her silvery bangs. But now the corners of her lips were turned up in that amused, self-assured smile Ignis remembered so well.
"Fair enough, cupcake," she said. "So what's your boys' deal? Slumber party no good?" Her eyes ran up and down them in a manner that might make Ignis vaguely uncomfortable on any day besides the one where he'd been wearing the same pair of pajamas through oceans, forests, daemon attacks, and angry gods and hadn't showered in so long that he could have sworn he'd seen a Tonberry hastily sink back into the ground at their approach.
"As a matter of fact," he said, struck with sudden inspiration, "we were rather hoping to negotiate a ride."
Even as he said it an army of misgivings rose up to assail him—suppose the phase effect kicked in mid-flight? They'd certainly find themselves in a lovely little pickle then. But he shooed them all away—they had to find Noct. Preferably before the gods did. But if not, his mission wouldn't change. He was determined to get Noct free of them, once and for all. Even if he had to die trying.
"Oh yeah?" Aranea replied. "Sorry, Jeeves, but I'm not a taxi service."
"Come onnnnnn, 'Nea—Ara—err, Commodore," Prompto floundered, grasping for recovery as Ignis mouthed 'Jeeves' to himself in supreme disgruntlement. "Please can't you take us to Hammerhead? I haven't showered in days or eaten in so long that these secondhand decomposing colonies of some dude's foot fungus I've got tied to my feet—or 'boots,' if you will—are starting to sound downright savory."
"Seriously, Blondie, was that supposed to convince me to say yes?" Aranea asked, looking thoroughly turned off.
"Uhhherrmmm…probably not, now that you mention it," Prompto admitted.
"Where's that pretty-eyed prince of yours, anyway?" Aranea abruptly asked. Finally stowing her spear, she pulled off her helmet and tucked it beneath an arm, propping it up with her hip. Her hair flew free, slightly sweaty and billowing lightly in the engine's updrafts. "And your friend with the muscles? I thought the four of you came as a packaged deal."
"Yes, we typically do," Ignis said. He hesitated only a moment before deciding to plunge on ahead. They'd thrown caution to the wind so long ago it was probably floating somewhere off Accordo's westernmost isles by now. "We don't know exactly where they are right now—but we do know they'll soon find themselves in danger of the gravest sort, assuming they haven't already. It's terribly urgent that we locate them. To that end, there's a possibility they may be waiting for us in Leide."
If he were on speaking terms with the gods right now, he'd be praying zealously that Aranea's emerging conscience proved stronger than her old mercenary ways. Unrestrained by Ardyn's "protection," the Imperials of this timeline were proving far more dangerous than those of their own.
"You lost your prince?" Aranea frowned. "You should really keep better track of him. Or hadn't you heard? Aldercapt's gone and nailed him with a bounty the size of Diamond Weapon, enough for any one of us good little Niffs to retire on right now. He wants your boy dead."
"Yes, so we'd discovered," Ignis replied, striving to banish the dry bit of sarcasm that so desperately wanted to emerge. He eyed Aranea with renewed caution. Perhaps a small entreaty to Shiva wouldn't hurt, after all…
But the concern in her expression seemed unfeigned, and he detected no underhandedness in her manner. He boldly forged on.
"Two nights ago we were ambushed by a large airborne Imperial force—several companies, at least. That was how we were separated. We haven't been able to contact either of them in the days since, and can only pray they weren't captured." He regarded her earnestly. "However, until we know more, we must attempt a rendezvous in Hammerhead."
"Well, if they were, nobody's told me." Aranea squinted up at her still-hovering ship, its floodlights blinding against the backsplash of the night. "There hasn't been any traffic about it on the airwaves, either. Doesn't mean Aldercapt isn't sneaking around chasing after his own private agendas, though." She thought for a moment, her brow furrowed.
Abruptly, she made a decision. "Okay, boys. In the interest of full disclosure: I don't want your prince dead any more than you do. Not that I think the Lucian government's got the monopoly on goodwill and virtue, either—but we need the checks and balances. And quite frankly, we need them soon, before Aldercapt goes all the rest of the way off the rails. If you think me taking you to Leide will make that happen sooner, then I'm in.
"Besides," she said, her eyes running back over their unkempt, rumpled, grime-coated forms, "it doesn't look like you'd've paid me back for gas anytime soon, anyway."
"Aww, yeah! You're the best, Aranea!" Prompto crowed.
Ignis sighed in abject relief, one sliver of tension in a sea of many melting away. So many concerns remained: what they would do if Gladio and Noct weren't at Hammerhead; the fact that his calls to their phone were no longer even connecting, but landing directly in voicemail; where they were going to obtain the needed funds to replace all their equipment and supplies, or even a charger for the single, dying phone they had left to their name. But for now, they'd been granted just a bit more room to breathe, and he was going to take that space by the lapels and hold on for dear life.
Aranea spoke into a small radio hooked on a strap at her shoulder. In response, the dropship glided to the ground. Its floodlights beamed over the darkened hills, the grasses flattening beneath the updrafts of its turboprops. And there was another tiny relief: it seemed she'd brought a copilot tonight, probably Biggs or Wedge. They now had much less chance of dying horribly in a careening ball of flame if the phase effect kicked in.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. Catching Prompto's eye as they tramped up the boarding ramp, Ignis attempted to convey the need for vigilance with a lift of his eyebrow. It wasn't much to go on, but Prompto seemed to understand regardless.
They both halted at the back of the ship, the cargo doors hissing shut behind them. Aranea continued on into the cockpit, where Biggs did, indeed, man the helm.
"Feel free to take a seat," she shot back at them over her shoulder. "No need to be shy. You might remember my ship's got a few more frills than your standard MT transpo, to include reclining chairs." She jerked her head toward a row of truly marvelous, ergonomically correct loungers lining the walls just aft of the cockpit.
"Thanks, but we'll just stay back here," Prompto replied, staring at the cushions longingly.
She turned to eye them. "Unlike you, Dollface, Biggs and I have showered in recent memory. You two're seriously going to stand back there the whole time?"
"We're just trying to spare you," Prompto said, grinning in a sickly manner. "Wouldn't want to kill Biggs with my stench. Nifleheim'd probably consider it an act of aggression and then we'd really be screwed."
Aranea snorted, but settled down into the pilot's chair. "Suit yourself."
Biggs took them airborne as smoothly as a cloud billowing up into the sky. Ignis' stomach dropped with the unaccustomed motion. Seizing advantage of Aranea's distraction, he leaned in close to Prompto.
"Don't mention anything about our time in Steyliff," he murmured. "It would almost guarantee a triggering of the phase effect, considering how Ardyn managed to so painstakingly insert himself into that little adventure."
"Emphasis on the pain," Prompto muttered. "I wonder what stories they've got in their heads to replace it? Then again, seeing as we were all pretty confused as to why Ardyn was there to begin with, maybe it doesn't make a difference whether they remember him as part of it or not."
"Yes, that man was the essence of convolution," Ignis agreed.
"You know, if we do manage to trigger both Aranea and Biggs at the same time, at least it'll be a fitting end to a couple of really fantastic days," Prompto grumbled.
"Chin up, Prompto," Ignis said. "We're shaving off days of walking, in addition to miles of problematic hitchhiking, and with any luck, will be reunited with Noct and Gladio by morning."
"Yeah," Prompto agreed, worry shading his voice. "I really hope so."
They flew on, the moon shining large and luminous in Aranea's modified windscreen. Prompto shifted from foot to foot to keep his muscles from cramping up after their long hours of walking, finally resorting to hopping up and down. Eventually he gave up, slumping down to rest against the cold steel bulkhead. Within moments he was asleep, his dirt-streaked, stubbled face slack and open, evoking a strange combination of ruggedness and innocence.
Ignis remained on his feet, knowing that if he allowed himself to relax, even for a moment, they'd soon both be sacked out on the floor. And, much as he liked and respected Aranea, he still didn't fully trust this version not to wake them in chains enroute to Gralea.
Speaking of…the mercenary in question was currently engaged in low, tense conversation with her copilot. Ignis began second guessing his decision to keep his distance. Proximity would introduce more opportunities for conversation and thus the triggering of the phase effect, but at least they'd be better positioned to watch for any underhandedness. He took a few casual, shuffling steps forward, leaning awkwardly at the waist in an attempt to hear.
"Why don't you come on all the way up, Jack," Aranea suggested, raising her voice without looking at him. "We got something suspect going on that you and Shortcake might wanna be in on."
Coloring slightly at his unceremonious calling out, Ignis motioned Prompto—who was already scrambling blearily to his feet—forward to join them.
"Is there a situation?" Ignis asked, stepping up cautiously to stand between their chairs. He looked down at a sea of controls that might as well have been written in Old Solheimese, for all the meaning he could glean from them.
"Depends on where you're standing, but yeah, maybe," Aranea said. "We've got another dropship out there, but they're not squawking."
At Ignis and Prompto's collectively blank looks, Biggs supplied, "It means their transponder's turned off, mate."
Ignis simply blinked, while Prompto made a polite, generic noise that could have included anything from understanding to wanton confusion.
"Landlubbers," Aranea sighed. "Look, all Imperial craft are required to keep them on; it's how we identify each other on radar. If we can't ID these guys, I'll be required to investigate, after which I'll be expected to file an immediate report. As we could be dealing with anything from malfunctioning MTs to pirates, that process is guaranteed to dump a toolbox's worth of wrenches in our plans. So you might wanna start looking at some contingencies real quick here."
"Couldn't this transponder simply be broken?" Ignis asked.
"Could be, 'cept they ain't replied to our comms either," Biggs groused. He reached forward and depressed a button on the control panel. "Oi! Unidentified ship! You'll be wantin' to identify yerself right quick if'n you don't wanna become a shiny trail o' glitter in the sky!"
"Thanks, Biggs, I'll take it from here," Aranea said with a slight roll of her eyes. Punching her own switch, she announced, "Unidentified ship, please provide your callsign and status or measures will be taken. I say again: please provide—"
A crackle of static burst from the radio, followed by a very familiar voice.
"—no, shut up, I got it. It's this one right here. Hey, Aranea, can you hear me?"
"Gladio?" Ignis gasped. Beside him, Prompto made a squeaky noise of shock.
Aranea gestured wildly at Biggs to cut the comms. "Go secure," she told him, her voice tight.
Then she swiveled all the way around in her seat to glare at them, eyes hard. "All right, spill. Who the hell is flying that ship and what do you know about it?"
"Erm…" Ignis said, at a quite literal loss for words, even as his sudden rush of joy nearly overwhelmed him. He laughed, not meaning to, but he couldn't help it. "I suppose the only answers I have for you are Gladio and Nothing."
Aranea narrowed her eyes. "Gladio. Right. The gorgeous one with the muscles."
Turning back around, she stabbed Biggs' transmit button. "Hey there, Big Guy, thanks for finally responding," she said sweetly. "Now how about you tell me what the hell you're doing in an Imperial craft before I take you out of the sky? Comms are secure, by the way, so feel free to spill the beans."
"Hey, now, let's all keep our shirts on," Gladio replied, sounding tinny and distant over the radio. "There's a perfectly reasonable explan—"
"I stole it," a new voice interrupted, and Ignis felt his knees go weak, the last of his tension sloughing away. "Sorry about the late response; it took us a while to figure out how to transmit."
"Noct!" Prompto yelled, and dove for the console, elbowing Aranea and Biggs out of the way. Jabbing at the comms, he yelled, "Noct, what the hell, man? We've been looking for you guys everywhere we were starting to think you were dead cuz you wouldn't answer your phone for days and seriously, dude, doubleyou-tee-eff's up with the stol—ow!"
"Prompto?" Noct's voice returned, disbelieving, as Aranea shoved the blond aside.
Leaning back in, she said, "All right. Look. I don't even want to know. I already told your friends here that I'm not gonna get in your way, and I meant it. But I'd really appreciate it if you could keep your hands off the Imperial goods for a while. At least when I'm around. I'm gonna have to do some serious log-scrubbing as it is, so maybe you could say a prayer to your Lucian gods that I don't get inspected next time I dock."
"I'll keep my hands off once Aldercapt starts doing the same," Noct levelly replied. "But thanks. We owe you, Aranea, and we won't forget it."
Aranea muttered a "huh" beneath her breath and began to sign off, but suddenly Gladio's voice cut in.
"Aranea," he said, seriously. There was a heavy pause, and then, "…it's not for nothing."
Something in those words seemed peculiarly meaningful to her. She stopped with her hand hovering above the comms switch, her brow furrowing.
"Careful, Gladio," Ignis murmured between gritted teeth.
But Aranea only leaned forward, depressing the transmit button. "Red Ten out," she said.
Prompto burst into laughter, his joy uncontainable. "They're alive!" he whooped, barreling into Ignis' arms. "Alive, Iggy! I don't know what the actual crap they think they're doing, but they're alive!"
"Yes, yes, so they are," Ignis smiled, clasping his friend close before moving to pry him forcefully from his person.
"Right," Aranea muttered. She looked at them almost accusingly. "Sounds like your pretty prince is growing into his crown. I don't remember him being so annoyingly resolute."
Alarm bells clanged somewhere in the back of Ignis' head, dimly, reminding him that they'd been treading the thin ice so aggressively it was a miracle they weren't already at the bottom of the lake. Yet at the moment, he simply couldn't bring himself to care. Noct and Gladio weren't dead or rotting away in some Imperial prison. They weren't even wandering lost through the wilds of Lucis, forcing him to post a fulltime watcher at Hammerhead while somehow expanding a search net all across the continent with resources he didn't have—an undertaking he had begun to fear was becoming an inevitability. He'd made so many contingency plans he'd considered getting them each their own appointment books. Now he could leave it all behind, rerouting his focus toward keeping Noct safe and out of the gods' grasping hands.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to try to step more carefully. Or at the very least, redirect their hosts' attention.
"His Highness is a gem, isn't he," Ignis agreeably replied. He met Aranea's gaze, offering her a knowing smile. "Now, Biggs, what say you teach us a little something about these controls? I must admit, there was a time, as a child, that I briefly entertained the notion of becoming an airship operator."
"Oh, ya want t'learn the piloting ways, eh?" Biggs asked, his eyes lighting up. "Cheers to that, old bean. Now just settle on down here and listen up. Yer in for a right real treat…"
xxx
Ignis and Prompto crossed the threshold of the Hammerhead parking lot shortly after midnight. The smells of grilling hamburgers and motor oil lingered in the air, trapped in the heat that still radiated from the pavement. The nights had grown cooler since their last visit; but after days of braving the autumn chill of the highlands in nothing but their pajamas, the comparative warmth felt positively luxurious.
Aranea had left them with a warning against the growing Imperial force occupying Insomnia, sternly urging them to keep their heads down even in the backcountry. Then she deposited them in the wastes of Longwythe, citing her desire to avoid awkward questions. It had meant nearly a two hour hike (counting the daemon attacks) through the wilds. But it was hard to mind once they'd caught sight of the sign post—complete with its iconic hammerhead shark—rising up over the desert.
And now they could see the caravan, with its familiar rust stains and outdated paint scheme, and in front of it, the best sight of all.
"Gladio, you big lunk!" Prompto hollered, nearly bursting Ignis' eardrum, and charged forward. Gladio, waiting beneath the awning in a white plastic chair, a tray of hamburgers sitting at his elbow, rose to greet them. His huge, toothy grin stretched from ear to ear.
Prompto leapt on him, laughing. Gladio easily caught the exuberant blond in one arm, before yanking Ignis into a rib-cracking embrace with the other. Ignis allowed himself to be pulled into the melee without complaint, reveling in the near-overwhelming relief of being back together with all the people he cared about most in the world.
Well, almost all. "Where is Noct?" he asked, gently disentangling himself from his friends' arms.
Gladio's smile mellowed, replaced by the level, unruffled expression Ignis had grown used to as his default in this new life of theirs.
But there was something else there, now, something…potent. Ignis' forehead creased. Fear and resolve and outrage and even peace—he saw it all, there in his friend's gaze, unlikely and confusing as the combination was.
He frowned. Though it had been only two days, something had obviously changed.
"He's showering," Gladio replied, and Ignis realized he could, indeed, hear the squeal of pipes through the camper wall. "After that, we should let him sleep. It's been a rough couple of days."
Ignis narrowed his eyes, regarding his friend searchingly. Gladio returned the gaze evenly. An unsettling suspicion sprang to life in his gut.
But it was a time for reunion, not the airing of fears. "You rather look in need of some sleep yourself, now don't you?" Ignis pointed out, handily ignoring his own exhaustion. "To say nothing of a potion."
"Yeah, seriously dude," Prompto agreed. Though he was obviously disappointed about his inability to rugby tackle Noct into the pavement and never let him go again, it seemed he was taking the situation in stride, for now. "What've you and Noct been doing, G-man, the Annual Imperial Mud Run Ultra? Volunteering at a coeurl rescue? You're supposed to give the coeurl kittens the chew toys, not be them."
"Pot, kettle," Gladio said, slumping into his chair and tipping it precariously back against the camper's wall. He nudged the pile of burgers their way. Prompto, not needing to be told twice (or even once, truthfully), dove at them like a starving falxfang. "And what about you? You try fixing Monica's shredder again?"
"That hurts, man," Prompto said, throwing himself into an empty chair. "You stick your leg down the feed one time and your bros never let you forget it." He stuffed a burger in his mouth, where it vanished like an unwary hunter down a gigantoad's gullet.
Sighing in noisy bliss, Prompto wiped ketchup from his chin and went immediately in for a second. "So what kind of drug deal did you have to go in for to snag us a caravan, Gladster? After all our stuff got blown into the Afterlife back at Caem, I assumed we were pretty much flat broke. Like, roadkill flat. Jetty's that's been open for three days flat. Annoyed Ignis flat—"
"We were," Gladio quickly interrupted. "I got a loan from Cid. He heard what happened at Caem and credited us a couple thousand. Should be enough to get us back on our feet, not to mention a few more nights in the caravan."
He looked at them, then added, seriously, "They're okay, by the way. Iris and the rest."
Ignis couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips, as Prompto sat up straight, his eyes wide. "You heard from them?"
"Cid got a call this morning. They're safe in Old Lestallum, recovering from some 'mystery' illness. Cid thought it might've been a virus they'd been passing around, exacerbated by all the stress." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
Prompto blew out a long breath, almost seeming to fold in on himself in the chair. He sat that way for a long moment, the burger forgotten in his hand.
Ignis laid a hand on his back in understanding, patting it soothingly. "I imagine we have Cor to thank for that," he said. "With any luck, he'll remain in Cleigne for some time yet—hopefully long enough for us to get our affairs in order here and move on. I suppose this means I should begin a shopping list, then."
"Already done," Gladio grunted, shoving a strip of paper across the table. Ignis scooped it up to find a grease-spattered diner receipt, on the back of which was scribbled a long list of items in Gladio's sprawling handwriting.
"Guess you can knock the footwear from four down to two, since it looks like you guys took care of that already." The big man glanced at their feet and did a double-take. "Sort of."
"Iggy, if you cross out that 'four,' I will slap the pen right out of your hand," Prompto declared, beginning on his third hamburger, albeit at a slightly more sedate pace. "In fact, why don't you give that thing to me—I'll go find us some threads right now."
"Will you indeed?" Ignis asked uneasily, imagining shopping bags brimming with tartan and cartoon moogles, scrawled with questionably pithy sayings like "Sassy, Classy, and Bad-Assey."
Prompto regarded him in mock offense. "No need to drop a litter, Ig, the twenty-four-hour shop only sells hunter gear in pretty much two colors ever. I just figured the sooner this happens, the better, cuz once these clothes come off, I'm heading straight over to Crestholm to throw them down the jormungand pit. And if Noct looks anything like you right now, G-man, I really hope he wasn't planning on getting back into his after that shower."
"Well in that case, I suppose I can't see a problem with it," Ignis uncertainly replied. He passed him the receipt as Gladio dug a wad of cash from his pocket.
Prompto accepted the bills, his eyes glittering with an unholy light. "Don't wait up," he said, barely concealing his glee. "Gladio, you and Noct'd better be filling me in on all your crazeballs adventures first thing in the morning."
Grabbing a fourth hamburger for the road, the blond bounced happily away across the parking lot.
"No plaid!" Gladio yelled at his back.
Without turning, Prompto raised a hand, four of his five fingers curling down in acknowledgment.
"Can't believe you gave him free reign of the shopping list," Gladio said, propping his feet up on Prompto's vacated chair.
"I suppose I'm getting soft in my old age," Ignis acknowledged, snagging a hamburger of his own. "Or senile."
"Or sleep-deprived. Iggy, you look terrible," Gladio said bluntly. "When was the last time you got any rest? You've been pulling all the watches, haven't you?"
"No," Ignis replied indignantly, only lying a little. "Besides, you're one to talk, Mr. Bags Under Your Eyes the Size of Takka's Serving Plates."
"I already got a nice, long, poison-induced nap," Gladio said, stretching expansively. "I'm probably the best-rested out of all of us."
"You were poisoned?" Ignis asked, appalled.
"Maybe a little. There weren't any antidotes in the Regalia, so Noct carried me to a Coernix. Slept right through him crashing both the car and a dropship."
"…What? Just...what?" Ignis exclaimed, aghast.
"Long story," Gladio said, yawning. "We'll catch you guys up as soon as we all get some sleep. Can't wait to hear yours," he added, eyeing the bloodstained hole in Ignis' shirt. "Not to mention how the hell you managed to land a ride with Aranea."
"Yes," Ignis replied softly, still feeling a tad faint. "There are stories to be told, for sure."
They sat quietly for a moment, Ignis finishing off his hamburger and washing it down with the tepid water left at the bottom of his canteen. A warm, sage-scented breeze blew in from the moonlit wastes, nudging at the stack of napkins Gladio had wedged beneath their tray. Ignis grabbed one before it could flutter away, using it to wipe the grease from his fingers.
Then, still fixed on dabbing at a spot on his nails, he murmured, "You know already, don't you. About Noct."
Gladio didn't immediately reply. The sounds of night insects chirruping from the depths of the sandy washes floated in to fill the silence, and after a moment Ignis looked back up.
His friend didn't ask for clarification, but simply nodded. The odd expression from earlier had slipped back into his eyes, now combined with something dark and distant. "Yeah. He told me everything."
Surprise jolted Ignis—and perhaps, if he were being unmitigatedly honest with himself, the tiniest bit of jealousy. But the feeling was quickly swallowed up in the relief that Noct had, at long last, opened up.
"Well…I must say I'm rather amazed," Ignis remarked. "But I'm quite heartened that he's finally decided to reach out for help."
"He was at the end of his rope," Gladio replied.
His posture was relaxed, still, but Ignis noticed for the first time the latent tenseness in his shoulders, the defensive positioning of his legs, the way he angled himself toward the caravan door, ready to place himself in the way of anything that dared to harm the one inside.
Ignis drew back, startled. Gladio was in full-fledged Shield mode. And Ignis was somehow on the wrong side of it.
"The question is," the big man continued, "what do you know about it?"
"A good sight less than you, it appears," Ignis returned, his eyes not leaving his friend's face. He kept his voice neutral, some well-honed sense urging caution, as if he were tiptoeing around a powder keg in a burning house. "But some. Gentiana paid us a visit."
Gladio's expression grew positively dangerous. "Did she now."
"Yes," Ignis replied. "She told us that Bahamut had forced Noct to…inflict death on himself. Repeatedly." His voice momentarily wavered, the very thought of it still enough to nauseate him. He continued, "Ostensibly in preparation for his final sacrifice, but in reality to sate the Draconian's appetite. She didn't seem to approve."
"Ah. She didn't approve," Gladio said with a dark little laugh. "Must've been hard for her. She say anything about that little funhouse called Reflection?"
"She mentioned it," Ignis cautiously replied. "Briefly."
"So I bet she filled you in on all the ways Bahamut used you and me and Prompto to get what he wanted from Noct," Gladio said, and now his gaze was glittering with barely suppressed rage. "No? I take it she didn't mention the time Bahamut put him in a room with nothing but a sharp rock and told him to find a way. Or when he was forced to disembowel himself as a sacrifice to save Prompto and it took him hours to die, lying there in the dirt with ants crawling on him. Or when he walked into a pack of Bussemands to sacrifice himself for you and they ripped him into literal pieces. Or when—"
"Stop," Ignis whispered, horrified, feeling his stomach churn dangerously. "Please stop."
They stared at each other, Ignis reeling with anguish and desolation and a thousand other emotions he couldn't name just then. Gladio's eyes were smoldering, his shoulders heaving.
Then, suddenly, the fury leaked away. The big man slumped back, drained. "I'm…sorry, Ig," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you. It's just…I watched him fall apart. And then when he started to tell me about some of the things he'd been through, it was all I could do to keep from losing my breakfast. Hell, I still can't—" He stopped, visibly swallowing.
And now Ignis understood. It wasn't that he was on the wrong side of Gladio's shield. It was everybody and everything. Right now, it was Gladio and Noct versus the world. In the face of such a terrible truth, Gladio had instinctively attempted to keep it contained, controlled, locked away where it couldn't cause any more pain. But it was too virulent, too vast to keep in check—and now it was bursting at the seams, spilling out in a flood of heartache.
"He went through thousands of deaths like that, Ig," Gladio said angrily, barreling on. "Thousands. He did it because he thought if he didn't, he'd be the reason for the annihilation of every person on this star. Not his fault; Bahamut shoved that shit straight into his brain. Showed him what their ends could look like. Showed him what ours could."
Ignis nodded numbly, his thoughts reeling. It was several long moments before he could bring himself to speak.
When he finally did, his voice sounded like he'd swallowed sandpaper. "How might we help him?"
"Keep the Six's hands off him, to start with. We got him Silenced this morning," Gladio said, a brusque, businesslike tone edging aside the misery of before. Ignis knew his friend operated best as a man of action. "Titan found him and got into his head, so we had to resort to drastic measures."
Titan. Of course. Ignis rubbed the bridge of his nose. More stories to be told…
"It shouldn't wear off for a few more days," Gladio was saying, "thanks to the nastiness of the Daurell daemons. Never thought I'd actually be happy about that. Car's gonna need quite a bit of work, so if it's not drivable in time we can walk up to Keycatrich—see if we can't find ourselves some magic-strong daemons down there in the trenches."
"And in the meantime work out a more lasting solution," Ignis murmured. He was filled with a sudden, fledgling hope. Gentiana hadn't known where Noct was. If they could devise some way to make that condition permanent… "Silencing Noct to keep out the gods—I must say that's rather ingenious, Gladio."
"Yeah, well, at the time I was only thinking of Titan. Didn't know it'd end up being the whole damn club."
"Indeed," Ignis sighed. "Well, at the very least we've got options now. Should the perpetual Silencing become untenable, perhaps the lady of Malmalan might concoct a potion to perform the same function."
"Oh yeah, the old biddy back in the woods? Not a bad plan," Gladio nodded. "See, Iggy, this is why you're the brains of the operation." Shoving back his chair, he stood. "I'm gonna go check on him."
"Let me," Ignis said, pushing his own seat back so hastily it nearly tipped over.
Gladio raised an eyebrow but retreated from the door, motioning Ignis in. "Holler if you need me. I'll be right here." He returned to his chair, resuming his vigil.
Ignis pulled open the door, yanking on it a bit as it stuck in its frame. Warm, humid air from the shower rushed through the gap, lightly fogging his glasses. He absently wiped them clear, then paused, looking back at his friend.
"Gladio," he said. "Thank you...for sharing the load."
For a moment, Gladio looked surprised. Then his expression softened, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "It really been that long since we had a proper heart-to-heart, Iggy?"
"No," Ignis said. "But it's been a long time since we've had you. We missed you during the Night."
Gladio returned the gaze, and Ignis again saw that glimmer of peace. As if, despite all that had happened, all the terrible truths that had been revealed, something at war within himself had been laid to rest.
"Yeah. Well I'm back now. And this time I'm not going anywhere."
Ignis nodded, smiling softly. "I'm glad."
Then he turned and climbed the stairs, the aging camper creaking beneath his weight.
That old familiar smell of worn carpet and linens washed in cheap detergent pummeled his senses as he nudged the door shut behind him, and Ignis realized the sound of running water had ceased some time ago. The folding door to the tiny bathroom, just ahead of the back bedroom, stood ajar, but the lights to both rooms were off.
"Noct?" Ignis called softly. When he received no reply, he mounted the final step, his eyes flickering across the cramped space.
And there he was, sprawled face-down on one of the narrow folding futons, deeply asleep. He wore only a damp towel, tied around his waist. His arm hung off one side of the bed, his fingers brushing the floor. The blankets were still stacked neatly on the small center table, untouched. It appeared as if he had stepped out of the shower, aimed himself in the general direction of a bed, and then fallen asleep on his feet enroute.
Smiling gently, Ignis pulled a quilt from the stack and tucked it carefully around Noct's frame. His eyes brushed over the fading bruises on his back, then landed on the straight, pink lines of what appeared to be potion-healed gashes, littering both his arms.
He frowned—where had those come from? Perhaps he and Gladio had encountered more resistance in their flight from Caem than Ignis had assumed. There was still so much that he didn't know.
He shook his head. Questions for another time.
Kicking off his poor excuses for footwear (but then immediately gathering them up again to set neatly beside the door), Ignis curled up on the futon opposite, the tiny collapsible table all that separated them. Pulling a threadbare fleece from the stack, he draped it over himself, heedless for the first time in his life (and probably the last, quite honestly) of the level of filth that was still ground into his skin.
But sleep eluded him, all that he had learned from Gentiana and Gladio prying unrelentingly at the edges of his mind. Demanding his full attention, every shred of thought he had to spare, and then some. Forcing his imagination to wade undeviatingly into the horrors his friend had endured—some known, now, others still only half-imagined—his brain spinning overtime around the rest. None of which he now had any power to prevent or control, the damage already long past done.
—took him hours to die, lying there in the dirt with—
Exhaling sharply, Ignis sat up. He pulled the fleece around his shoulders, folding his legs up beneath himself on the couch.
Then he twisted around to stare at his king in the dark—studying that fine-boned profile that was part Regis but ever so much more just Noct. He found himself reminded, fleetingly, of another time, another memory—one where his friend's face had looked very much as it did now—slack and unaffected, deep in a repose that was forever beyond Ignis' reach. Uneasy without knowing why, he tried to recall—when had that been—?
And suddenly he was right back there in that accursed throne room—seeing what his eyes hadn't been able to, but which his mind had supplied in excruciating detail. Witnessing again the premonition Pryna had thrust upon him, that terrible day in Altissia (how quick he had been to dismiss that dreadful vision, explaining it away as mere possibility, and not the reality it had always been). Regis' blade forced through Noct's chest and out between his shoulder blades, pinning his lifeless body to that chair. Noct's face—empty and still—
—only now it was his Noct, today's Noct, the one they had already coaxed back to life in a fleeting pursuit of normalcy in this strange, alternate past. The tombs of the kings flashed through Ignis' mind, each one they had visited—but now they were Noct's tombs, all of them, and the gods sat high above, looking down, a hulking, winged shadow looming up behind them, radiating satisfaction—
Ignis shuddered and forced his mind still. Standing suddenly, he padded briskly over to Noct—picking his way carefully over his legs—before lying back down, wedging himself into the sliver of space between his friend's blanket-shrouded form and the camper wall.
Then he stared out into the darkness, sleep flown, keeping watch over his king. Keeping watch, and keeping the daemons at bay.
xxx
A/N #1: We're in the last stretch here, y'all—probably about the last 25% of the fic, so a couple more months of updates if I'm able to stick to my current schedule. On that note, 2023 has just about flattened me already—so your continued encouragement is MUCH appreciated. Thank you so much for the comments and love you've already given. 3
(And to Mizu Fullbuster from the last chapter, to whom I can't reply in a DM - thank you very much! The end of the game was the reason I wrote this thing to begin with. :) So glad you're enjoying!)
A/N #2: Okay, and EVERYONE. Mysteriousbean5 made some FREAKING BEAUTIFUL art for Chapter 23. I seriously couldn't have imagined a more perfect and heartrending depiction of that scene. Please, please go check it out over at Tumblr!
A/N #3: And finally—if you came down here for instructions on how to avoid the slightly graphic content, you'll want to bail partway through Ignis and Glaido's conversation—basically skipping the paragraph sandwiched between Ignis saying, "She mentioned it…" and the line starting with "They stared at each other, Ignis reeling with anguish and desolation…"