bringing a gun to a sword fight

Before they left Insomnia, Cor Leonis sat Prompto down and said to him, 'You're a ranged fighter.' He stressed the words like a threat, like it was the most important information in Prompto's life. 'That means you should stay out of melee unless absolutely necessary. Understood?'

Prompto replied, 'Yes, sir,' but he hadn't quite understood.

Staying out of melee is hard. If Prompto gets too far, it looks like he's slacking off. If he uses the gravisphere to take the heat off his friends for a bit, he brings melee to himself. And Noctis warps like crazy everywhere, bringing melee with him wherever he goes.

He does try, though. He dances around the battlefield to the best of his ability, staying out of the way of Gladio's wide swings and Ignis' long polearms, staying close enough to get to wherever he's needed, whenever he's needed. He spends a lot of time trying to find the sweet spot where he's far enough to be out of the way, close enough to actually be useful, and where he sees all three of his friends.

In his unprofessional, humble opinion, he's gotten pretty good at it. It's why he sees the incoming disaster first.

Ignis is in the middle of the fray, surrounded by goblins, steadily trying to get to Noctis who's battling a Ronin on the other side of the clearing. Gladio, standing closest to Prompto, is hacking away at a Yojimbo.

Prompto is shuffling around, trying to line up his best shot at the daemon without endangering Gladio too much. "This is an easy hunt, they said," Prompto calls to him. "Just a bunch of goblins, they said. I hate fighting at night!"

"Shut your mouth and shoot," Gladio yells back, voice strained from pure concentration.

Prompto squares his shoulders, raises his gun, aims, and—freezes when the very earth behind Gladio lets out a terrible groan. He stares, horrified, as the ground opens up and an Iron Giant rises from the bubbling, sickly purple portal of daemonic miasma, right behind Gladio.

"Guys," he shouts, suddenly insecure, certain that the survival scale of this fight just tipped deeply out of their favour. "Guys!"

Gladio hears the daemon, even if he doesn't pay attention to Prompto. Prompto sees him glance behind his shoulder, snarl, and turn just in time to block the Giant's greatsword from cleaving him in two.

Gladio is really fucking impressive. To Prompto, he's like a machine, taking and doling out hits that would kill Prompto dead. Prompto would bet on him in a fight any day. But not even Gladio can have eyes on both sides of his head—if he's turned to fight the Giant, the Yojimbo has clear access to his unguarded back.

Prompto lets out a cry, taking hurried aim again and shooting the daemon in the back—one, two, three, four, five, six times.

The Yojimbo seizes, but doesn't die. It pulls its sword back and lunges forward.

Prompto knows the blade is sharp. He knows it slices through flesh and sinew and bone like warm butter—he can tell by how Gladio cries out as it slides between his ribs, how he drops his longsword. Prompto watches it shatter into blue fragments as it disappears into the Armiger.

Somewhere in the background, Noctis is screaming something. Maybe Gladio's name. Maybe Prompto's. Maybe just a wordless cry of dismay. If Gladio hears him, he doesn't react. He sinks to his knees, arms thrown wide and palms upturned, as if petitioning the gods, or asking them, What kind of bullshit is this?

The Yojimbo unsheathes its sword from Gladio's back and sinks to the ground, already crumbling apart like dust.

Before Gladio, the Iron Giant raises its monstrous weapon again.

Prompto runs—a decision his body makes for him, because there's not a single part of his brain that's ready to watch as his friend is torn apart. He runs, dodging past the dying Yojimbo, dodging past Gladio, and slides to a kneel between him and the Giant's sword already coming down.

Prompto summons Gladio's shield. It's too heavy for him to hold—the bottom edge bites into the trampled earth as he nearly drops it. Prompto tilts it above their bodies, propping it up with his right shoulder, and braces.

- - -

Noctis watches the whole thing happen like the worst horror movie ever made.

The Ronin at Noctis' feet is dissolving into a cloud of miasma as Gladio is impaled, falling to his knees, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream. It absorbs into the earth as the Iron Giant, winds up again, its enormous metal sword raised high.

The Engine Blade materialises in Noctis' hand on instinct, but before he can think to warp, Prompto slides in out of nowhere, kicking up dirt as he goes. He stops between Gladio and the Giant, staring up at it—Noctis can't quite make out his expression at first, but then his own crystalline magic bursts to life around Prompto, illuminating the determined furrow of his brow, the furious snarl on his lips.

After that, Noctis can't see him anymore— he's obscured by Gladio's shield, guarding both of them. Prompto has to lean it on the ground to be able to hold it up, but he does hold it up, right as the sword comes down.

If Noctis were in Prompto's position, he would have parried, redirecting the force away from his own body. Prompto doesn't know how to parry with a shield. Prompto doesn't even know how to hold it. The sound of the sword hitting it is like a gong, metal grinding against metal, sparks flying everywhere. The shield tilts to the side and the sword slides down it, the Giant staggering forward.

Prompto must let go of it, because the shield glimmers out of existence. Gladio is crumpled on the ground, motionless, and Prompto is not looking much better, crouched above him, leaning back on one arm.

The Giant stares at them, as if it's surprised they're not a smear on the ground, and raises its sword again.

Prompto yelps, scrambles up to a kneel, and summons the shield again. Noct can make out his face for a fraction of a moment, eyes squeezed shut as he braces for impact, turning his left shoulder towards the giant.

Ignis calls Noctis' name. It's like a curse breaking.

Noctis won't let the sword hit again.

He warps straight into the back of the daemon's head, staggering it forward. Its swing goes wide, the tip of the sword hitting somewhere behind where Prompto and Gladio are. Noctis can hear Prompto scream, but doesn't have time to check on him.

"We need to get out," he yells in Ignis' general direction as he somersaults backwards to avoid the Giant's wandering hand. "Get them out now! We're retreating!"

He keeps an eye on his friends only to know where they are, trusting Ignis to extract them to safety—he sees Prompto sitting on his ass, hugging himself, looking shaken and shell-shocked. (Noctis dodges a furious giant fist, swinging wide to where he was a fraction of a second ago.) He watches, out of the corner of his eyes as Ignis cracks a potion—one of their last, he knows—against Gladio's chest. He can just about make out Ignis prodding Prompto into helping him lead Gladio away. (He rolls out of the way of the Giant's feet, trying to trample him into the ground.) He can see his friends disappear between the trees, in the direction of their campsite.

When Noctis can't see them anymore, he follows—warping into the treeline, leaving behind a furious and confused daemon.

- - -

The tent is, thankfully, already up. They set up camp earlier today while waiting for nightfall, for the daemons to come out. They thought they could take them. They thought they could handle anything.

Fucking idiots.

Noctis catches up with the guys just as they're trying to scale the rocky slope of the haven. Gladio is still out of it, Prompto seems to be flagging, and Ignis is clearly on the verge of becoming short with him. Noctis runs up to them and slides into Prompto's place, pushing him away by the shoulders. "I got it," he says, and Prompto makes a weird, whimpering noise in response.

Ignis lets out a breath through his nose, saying, "Thank you," as Noct throws Gladio's arm around his shoulders.

Together, they pull Gladio up the slope and drag him into the tent. There's blood all over his front, but the wound is nothing but a thin, pink scar across his ribs. Gladio's gonna be disappointed, but Noctis is secretly relieved.

Ignis takes Gladio's vitals, keeping his fingers on the pulse point of his wrist, frowning. He leans down to listen to his breathing for a moment, and when he raises again, his expression is neutral. "His heartbeat is within norm. He seems to just be unconscious."

"Shouldn't he be coming around?" Noct asks.

"I'll monitor him. Can you boil some water? We should clean up the blood before it stains the tent."

"Okay," Noctis says. "I'll start a fire."

Ignis just hums, already attempting to wrestle Gladio out of his jacket. Noctis pats Ignis' shoulder and rises up, ducking out of the tent and onto the haven proper.

Prompto is standing at the edge of it, staring at him. He's still hugging his torso with his left hand, like he sometimes does when he's nervous.

"Hey," Noct says. "You okay?"

Prompto blinks. His eyes shine in the dim light of their portable lamp. "Is Gladio...?"

"He's just sleeping," Noct says, waving his hand. "He's gonna be fine. Great job, by the way."

Prompto's eyes go a bit wider. "Yeah?"

"Of course," Noct says, crouching down by the fire pit. "Help me set up the fire?"

Prompto nods, and takes a step forward. He wobbles and stops, breathing picking up. Noctis jumps back to his feet, holding out a hand, but Prompto's too far to reach. Noctis watches as he half-collapses, half-kneels, then falls to his rear.

"Uh, I think there's something wrong with my arm," Prompto says in a thin voice.

Noct trips over the firewood in his haste to get to him. He falls to his knees, more at Prompto's side than in front of him, trying not to block their only source of light. "Let me see," he says.

Prompto's right forearm is mottled blue and purple, swollen, uneven. Noct can almost make out the bone and where it shattered. His stomach rolls.

"Bro," he says, voice light. "Did you just notice this now?"

Prompto hums. "Was kinda busy before," he says. His words are slurring a little.

Noctis turns towards the tent and yells, "Ignis!"

Ignis' head pokes out, looking mildly annoyed, but his expression changes to one of concern when he sees them on the rocky ground of the haven. "What's wrong?" he asks as he hurries over, gracefully sidestepping the mess of a fire pit Noctis kicked earlier.

"We've got a broken arm here," Noctis says, voice forcefully cheerful.

Ignis takes one look at Prompto's arm as Noct holds it up like a trophy, and says, "Oh, dear. How did that happen?"

"He blocked the Giant's hugeass sword," Noctis explains, and mimics Prompto's defensive pose as best as he can—crouched wide, head ducked, forearm up in an impression of holding a shield.

"Well," Ignis says flatly, crouching down. "That would cause this, certainly."

"Haah." Prompto exhales, probably trying to laugh. He's trembling against Noct's side, breathing fast. "Dunno how to use a shield."

Ignis shushes him, prodding at his forearm, his bicep, his shoulder. When he presses on the side of his chest, Prompto throws his head back and yowls like a wounded animal, a noise that makes Noct's hair rise. He feels panic for a moment, and the next thing he knows is that his face is buried in Prompto's hair, whispering platitudes. "Shhh," and "You're okay, it's okay, I've got you."

Ignis is also whispering to him, quiet apologies, rubbing his other shoulder. He's watching Noctis, though, eyes tight around the corners. "Take off his vest," he says to him. "We're cutting his shirt off."

"Nooo," Prompto whines, even as he lets Noctis pull his vest off. "Don't cut it."

"Do you want to lift that arm instead?" Ignis asks him, unimpressed.

"No," Prompto says, dejected. Then he mutters, "I don't wanna be naked in public."

Noctis snorts. "Who's gonna see you? The daemons?" His smile falls when Ignis cuts through the shirt, revealing Prompto's bruised ribs, blue and purple halfway down his side.

"You're gonna see me," Prompto says. His eyes are shut tight, his breathing thin and labored.

Noctis swallows past his dry throat, and grabs Prompto's good hand, squeezing. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like teasing him anymore. "Dude, you're lucky you didn't get turned into a pancake," he says, going for a joke, but his voice shakes too much to really pull it off.

"Is it bad?" Prompto asks faintly. Noct thinks he tries to squeeze his hand back, but is too weak to make it count. His hand is clammy and cold.

"You'll live," Ignis says.

They half lead, half carry Prompto to a camp chair, sitting him down. "Potion?" Prompto asks hopefully, deliriously.

"Hm," Ignis says, "perhaps in a moment. Are you going to be alright on your own for just a bit? We'll be right back."

Prompto raises a shaky thumbs up with his uninjured hand, though his expression is vacant, out of it.

Ignis and Noctis both shuffle to the tent, staring at Gladio's still unconscious form.

"Fuck," Noctis says. Ignis grabs him by the elbow and pulls him back outside. "What are we gonna do with Prompto? We can't give him a potion."

Ignis' mouth twists. "I wouldn't dare, even if we had one to spare. If his ribs are broken, which they most certainly are, and if they've pierced his lungs…"

Noctis shudders. "So what?"

Ignis is quiet for a while. He looks to the tent, then to Prompto, slumped by the unlit fire pit. "We can't leave Gladio here alone. We can't transport both of them. We have to wait out the night."

Noctis swears again, but he knows Ignis is right. "Can he wait that long?"

"We'll monitor him, and if his condition worsens, we'll act. Right now, leaving the haven is riskier than waiting for sunbreak."

Noctis nods his head, several times. "Right. Okay." He chews his next words before spitting them out. "I'm fucking stupid. I should have realized sooner."

"I didn't notice it either," Ignis says. "He showed no signs of injury… at first."

"Adrenaline, huh? What a drug." Noct grimaces. "He's probably in pain now. Do we have anything?"

"Only over the counter medicine, I'm afraid."

"Shit. I don't know how to make a painkiller."

"I don't know if that's even possible. Do you want to keep him company, or should I?"

"I've got him," Noctis says. "You get some rest so you can drive in the morning."

Ignis nods. "If he worsens—if he starts having trouble breathing, or losing consciousness—"

"I'll get you. I've got him, trust me."

"You know I do," Ignis says, smiling, and that makes Noctis feel better than anything else. If their situation was truly dire, Ignis wouldn't smile so easily, and his confidence is reassuring. Noctis trusts him, too.

- - -

Prompto breathes heavily, but no heavier than he did an hour or three ago. When Noctis prods at him, he denies having breathing trouble, but he admits to pain.

"I can deal with pain," Prompto says, for the third time tonight, swallowing hard. Noctis put his arm up in a sling and bundled him up in layers of clothing and blankets, so he looks like a pile of laundry with a pale face, reciting, "Pain is… temporary. Pain means you're alive," over and over like a mantra.

"Did you get that from Cor?" Noctis asks, deadpan. "What the fuck has he been teaching you?"

"How to stay out of the way, mostly."

Noctis shakes his head. "Great job with that," he says. He's been up entertaining Prompto for hours now—he can't have him lie down, as per Ignis' instructions, so they both sit in their camper chairs in solidarity. Noct really wants to lie down and sleep.

Prompto's hair is droopy and sad, all the gel and hair spray having given up after the last few hours of excitement. "Sorry," he slurs.

Noctis sighs. "No, don't be. You did… you did the right thing. You're the only one who didn't fuck up today."

"Doesn't feel like it," Prompto says. "This wouldn't have happened to you."

Noctis shrugs. "Probably. But I wasn't there. If it were up to me, Gladio would be minced meat. And Ignis didn't even see it happening."

"Aw… I do a cool thing once and Iggy doesn't see it…" Prompto looks at Noctis' with big, shiny eyes. "You saw, though, right? Did it look cool?"

It looked horrifying, Noctis thinks, but says, "Yeah, dude. You looked cool."

- - -

Gladio wakes up in the dark. He groans and grimaces, oddly achy. His ribs feel like he got shishkebab'd.

"Good morning, Gladio," Ignis says, somewhere to his left. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got skewered by a daemon," Gladio replies, 'cause it's the last thing he remembers. "What the hell happened?"

"Exactly that," Ignis replies. "Are you in any pain?"

The answer is yes. But Gladio catalogues and categorizes his aches, and none of them feel urgent or fresh, in the way that says, Danger, danger, you are bleeding to death. "No," he says, and looks at Ignis.

Ignis looks like he knows Gladio is bullshiting him, but he doesn't press it. He's sitting next to Gladio, elbow on his raised knee. His glasses are off—he must have been resting, too. "That's good to hear. Are you well enough to move?"

"Sure, Gladio says, and pushes himself up. He can feel exactly where the Yojimbo ran him through, like a whisper, a dull, hollow pain. "Move where?"

"It's nearly morning, and we need to get Prompto medical care as soon as possible."

Gladio sits up straighter. "He's hurt?"

"No need to panic," Ignis says, already pushing to his feet, "but yes. Noctis is with him, but I imagine he's in quite some pain."

Gladio gets up, too, only slightly wobbly. He probably could do with one potion more than he'd received, however many that was. "What happened?" he asks, but Ignis is already ducking out of the tent. Gladio follows after to find him crouched in front of a cocoon of clothes and blankets with a tuft of limp, blonde hair. Noctis sits on the other side of the campfire, watching Gladio with red-rimmed, half-lidded eyes of exhaustion.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Gladio says to both of them.

Prompto turns to him when he speaks, eyes going wide. His whole face is puffy and swollen like he's been crying, lips worried nearly bloody. He looks fucking miserable, but he smiles at Gladio like the sun just came up. "Hey! You're okay!"

"Of course I'm okay," Gladio replies, coming closer to Prompto to check on his condition.

"Don't touch," Ignis warns him.

Gladio doesn't. "Are you okay?" he asks instead.

Prompto's smile goes wobbly. "My arm's all kinds of messed up," he says in an uneven voice, like he's trying very hard to not slur his words. "But I'm good now."

"Are you in pain?" Ignis asks.

"Not if I'm very, very still," Prompto says, as though staying still is something he can do. His leg bounces even as he says it. "Or if I don't breathe."

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Gentlemen, let's pack up and get on the road. The sun should come up any minute. Gladio, are you…" Ignis trails off, giving him a way out in case he's unwell.

"Good to go," Gladio says, but Noct pushes himself from his chair first.

"I've got it," he says, and yawns. "You sit down."

"I'm good," Gladio insists, but Noctis just waves his hand and pushes past him towards where Ignis is hurriedly dismissing equipment into the Armiger.

Ignis said there was nothing to panic about, and both he and Noctis act calm and unbothered in front of Prompto, but Gladio can see that they're putting nowhere near the same amount of care into packing that they usually do.

Gladio glances at Prompto again to find him swaying from side to side, eyes unfocused on the fire. Gladio knows, in a horrible, sinking way, that he's involved in whatever fuck up got Prompto this hurt. "Hey," he says and lowers himself to the ground in front of him. "What's up with you?"

"You don't remember?" Prompto asks, and when Gladio shakes his head, he pouts. "No fair. I did a cool thing and no one saw it. Except Noct."

"So, no one important," Gladio says, and Prompto laughs, winces, and starts panting.

"He saved your life," Noctis says as he walks past to get the unoccupied chairs, like it's no big deal.

Now, Gladio winces. He can't quite remember what happened—his memory is spotty and fragmented, snapshots of moments, like some of Prompto's photographs. He can't put the scene into motion and play it over and find out what he'd done wrong. He's gonna need to sit down with them, with Noctis and Ignis and, most importantly, Prompto, and have them explain. And he'll have to apologize, because this, whatever this is, it's on him. He's their strongest, most experienced fighter, and he has a responsibility not just to Noctis.

Prompto shouldn't be sitting here, probably tethering on the verge of medical shock, while Gladio is okay.

"Nah," Prompto says. He wiggles a bit in his burrito, like he's trying to gesture, and then grimaces again. He lets out a long, hissing breath.

"He did," Noctis says, folding the chairs and dismissing them. "It was pretty badass." He looks at Gladio, eyebrows raised, and then shuffles towards the tent, kicking out one of the pegs holding it up on the way.

Gladio sighs. "Who'd have thought, huh?" he says, looking to the side.

"Not me," Prompto says. "I don't even really remember what happened."

"Shame," Gladio says. "Was hoping you'd tell me."

Prompto drags the tip of his boot (unzipped, Gladio notices) through the dirt. "Just." Prompto says, eyes cast down, playing with a bit of loose gravel. "You got ambushed from all sides, and I tried to get the Yojimbo, I really did. But it got you first. And then the Giant was about to get you again with that enormous sword, so." He sniffs. "It was going to smack you, and I wouldn't let it." He looks down at Gladio, leaning forward. "Your shield is so damn heavy. How do you hold it up?"

"I don't have noodle arms," Gladio says, feeling a little faint. "You blocked the Giant?"

Prompto wiggles from side and makes a little, "Eh," noise, like he's trying to motion, So-so. "I tried. But I must have done it wrong cause the impact rattled all my bones like loose change in a piggy bank. I think my teeth would fall out if I shook my head."

"We'll teach you how to use a shield," Gladio says. "Just for emergencies, so you don't break your arm again."

Prompto smiles at him. "Okay," he says, "but I'm never doing that again."

"What?" Gladio nudges Prompto's boot with his. "Are you saying you'd leave me to my fate next time?"

Prompto looks incredibly alarmed for a fraction of a moment, and then scowls at Gladio. "Ha ha," he says. "I'm too tired for your jokes, Gladio."

Noctis appears over Prompto's shoulder as if summoned. "We're ready to go," he says. "How about you two?"

Prompto nods, but it's clear he's not getting to his feet without help—probably because of his blanket entrapment and fatigue, rather than the injury itself. Gladio raises to his feet and claps Noct on the shoulder, gently pushing him out of the way. "I've got him," he says. "Which arm's the bad one?"

"The right arm," Noctis says.

Gladio scoops Prompto up, unheeding of his protests. Behind him, Noctis stuffs the last chair into the armiger, and pours some water to douse the campfire. On the other side of the haven, Ignis is waiting for them, putting on his driving gloves.

"Hey, Prompto," Gladio says quietly when he's sure neither Noctis nor Ignis are within hearing distance. "Thanks. You saved my hide."

Prompto yawns. "And I'd do it again," he says, kind of like a threat.

Behind them, the sun begins to rise over the horizon.