Chapter Text
The potion was pushed aside.
“No, give ‘em to Prompto,” Noctis slurred, barely conscious.
“Noctis,” Ignis said, hands shaking while he kept Noct upright. He was drenched in blood from the gaping wound at Noctis' side, and for once he seemed to be unable to think straight, frantically trying to get Noctis to use one of the curatives.
Noctis groaned and swatted at the bottle in Ignis’ hands. “‘m good, Iggy,”
This was a mess. They were almost out of potions, only two left, out of elixirs, out of everything. The last shop they had seen was miles ago, the Regalia was parked somewhere far away at the street – this was a mess.
The muggy water of the Vesperpool was drenching all of them, seeping into their damp clothes and keeping them wet and cold. They had to get Noct out of it; his wound would easily get infected if he sat in it any longer.
Prompto was a dead weight in Gladio’s arms that he did not want to think about. There was blood dripping from him as well, an ugly wound on his head that probably looked worse than it was – at least Gladio hoped as much. Head injuries always bled a lot, didn't they?
Prompto was unconscious, his breath barely there, and he was covered in bruises. His clothes were shredded at parts and one of his hands was a bloody mess as well.
“Noct, c’mon,” Gladio ground out, rougher than intended. “We gotta move. Take the damn potions.”
“Prompto,” Noct moaned, swaying and leaning heavily on Ignis. “He needs ‘em more.”
“Highness–”
“Give’m one at least,” Noctis swallowed and had to close his eyes before he continued, “please. I can walk.”
Ignis looked up at Gladio, desperation creeping into his expression.
“Fine. C’mon, do it, Iggy,” Gladio said trough clenched teeth. One potion alone was unlikely to close Noct’s wound completely, it looked too big and too severe. But they had to move, now. Gladio was not only scared for Noctis, but for Prompto as well, the small man lying silent and motionless in his arms.
This would be haunting Gladio for a long time.
“We’ll be slow, but at least we’ll get out of here,” he ground out. “You gotta help him walk, Ignis. C’mon.”
Ignis stared at him for a second, indecisive, and then got moving. He unscrewed one of the potions and emptied it unceremoniously over Noctis head, where the turquoise liquid immediately dissolved into magical sparks.
Noctis groaned and, with Ignis help, managed to stand up.
Ignis repeated the process with their last potion on Prompto, who remained creepily still.
Noct leaned on Ignis, looking at his best friend in Gladio’s arms with a pained expression.
“Can you wash his face?” he croaked. “Just– Get the blood off?”
Gladio was about to say no, they really needed to leave before anything else would attack them, but Ignis was already bending down to collect some water in his hands, and he cleaned Prompto with quick, efficient strokes.
Gladio clenched his teeth again, careful to not dig his hands into Prompto's soft flesh, and started to walk.
He heard Noctis small voice behind him, a whimpered “Prompto,” and had to remind himself to keep calm.
Noctis felt bad about Prompto. Hell, he did, too. His focus had been on Noct, always on Noct, but he should have watched out better for their youngest one. Prompto could hand out just fine, but he was still prone to getting hurt.
Next time. He grunted, looking down at Prompto’s still motionless body, his closed eyes, his slack mouth. The wound on his forehead actually looked worse than Gladio had hoped, now that the bleeding had stopped. That it was still there in the first place was evidence enough that it had been more severe than they had thought. It was probably good that Noctis had insisted on leaving one of the potions to him.
Gladio pressed his eyes shut for a moment. He had not fought Gilgamesh for nothing. His father had served his king well his whole life without ever letting him down, and Gladio couldn’t even manage one fight. What a joke.
He was determined to follow in his father’s footsteps. He was determined to work harder, train more, pay more attention. He would keep Noctis save, and Prompto as well.
He could do it. He was going to find a way.
He would not let this happen again.