Prompt Post: Final Fantasy 15 #1

[ffkinkmeme]

Here is the Prompt Post for Final Fantasy 15! As the most recent individual instalment, FFXV has a dedicated post in anticipation of higher activity. This round will close when we reach 5000 comments.

Rules

1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on Ao3 is allowed, but links must still be posted on anon.
2. Concrit is welcome as per the author, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking (derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt) are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage and character death is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts may be cross-posted in any relevant prompting post.
5. Please link all fills to the Fills Post.
6. Don't be an asshole. Mods reserve the right to freeze, screen or delete at their discretion.
 

If you have any concerns or spot any rule violations please comment on the Ask a Mod post. Beyond that post and have fun!


Prompting Guidelines

1. Include the name of the Final Fantasy game/media you're prompting for, followed by the characters involved in the subject title.
2. For pairings use the name/name format (examples: Noctis/Prompto, Locke/Celes, Zack/Cloud/Sephiroth).
3. It's not required but we highly recommend including kinks and content warnings in the subject as well.


Links

Final Fantasy 1-6 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasty 7-14 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasy 15 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasy Dissidia, Tactics, Media and crossovers Prompt Post: #1

Ask a Mod
Fills Post
Chat and Off-Topic Discussion
Pinboard

Comments

FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2a/3]

[(Anonymous)]

He tried to be brave at first.

He tried hard — really hard — because being brave and calm would help Ignis, especially if they had the chance to escape. And with being tied up, no access to the armiger or his magic, and told that if he caused trouble they’d be taking it out of Ignis’ skin, since Ignis was disposable (and he, the implication went, was not), it wasn’t like there was much else he could do.

So: he tried to be brave. He let them gag him, stopped fighting, attempted to be the kind of dignified he knew his dad would be in this scenario, or Gladio, or, fuck, Ignis. He tried not to let how being cut off from the Crystal and his dad’s magic bother him, the absence of something he’d got so used to he didn’t feel it until it was gone. It just hadn’t lasted long. Not after they got out the pliers. Then he thought, as he started to cry, pathetic and helpless and frightened, that wouldn’t it be fucking awful and hilarious if he managed to choke to death on his own snot and tears behind the gag before they were rescued. They’d have to invent a better story for the press, and thinking about that managed to distract him a bit. Because he had to be calm, had to sit still and trust Ignis. Ignis knew what he was doing. And broken bones hurt a lot but they could be healed pretty easily. He and Ignis were going to be rescued, and Ignis was going to distract the bad guys until then. Because even if it wasn’t his job, like it was Gladio’s, then it was still what Ignis did.

But having to watch it — having to sit and listen to the bones cracking — he couldn’t, and Ignis wouldn’t have sat back and let them do that if their roles were reversed, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t actually do anything so long as he tried.

So they tied him up properly, ankles to wrists, rope attached to some kind of ring set into the floor behind him.

And then it got worse, and worse, and worse.

Then it stopped being frightening and started being terrifying, the worst of his nightmares, the scariest horror movie he’d ever convinced Gladio to let him borrow, that he was now in and couldn’t stop being in. Something had gone wrong; Ignis had just meant to be buying time, distracting them. He couldn’t have meant to — to torture himself. Not torture himself to death, because that’s what he was doing, and Noct couldn’t struggle, couldn’t access the armiger, couldn’t do anything at all to help him. There was too much blood, smeared all over the floor and Ignis’ body, and Noct could smell it, sticking to the lining of his throat, like he were back in the marilith attack — he could feel it all over himself even when he knew it wasn’t on him but Ignis, who was bleeding and gasping and biting back his wet, broken moans and whimpers.

Noct closed his eyes, would have put his hands over his ears if they weren’t tied behind his back.

He hadn’t thought they’d meant to kill Ignis, only hurt him. It was — okay, yeah, he’d been stupid and naive. But — having to sit and listen, know Ignis was killing himself on the other side of the room. It wasn’t — Noctis just wanted it to stop already, the Glaive to rescue them, to wake up and realise it was another shitty, shitty dream — but nothing happened except for how Ignis carried on killing himself. There was too much blood and Ignis wasn’t stopping, wasn’t even trying to stem the flow splattering out of him, spurts that hit the floor a foot away from where he was sitting. He was carrying on, and even though Noctis had his eyes closed he couldn’t stop himself taking peeks, because what if Ignis died while Noctis wasn’t looking? What if Ignis wanted to catch his eye before he died and couldn’t because Noctis was that much of a giant fucking coward he couldn’t even open his eyes to be there for him in the stupidest, weakest way possible?

There was blood, and too much blood, puddles and smears of it all over the floor, and Ignis’ face was grey and sheened in sweat. His eyes were glazed, unfocused. He was shaking. He was dying and in pain and Noctis couldn’t do anything but squirm pathetically and cry all over his gag.

Some fucking prince he was.

They’d made Ignis burn himself, and Noctis could smell charring meat and hear Ignis sobbing, making noises like a dying animal, like it wasn’t even Ignis in there, not even a person. He couldn’t do this — he wanted to die and he wasn’t even the one being hurt, but he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, collapse in on himself, stop existing altogether. He was sweating, cold, trembling hard. His heart was racing and it make him sick, made vomit swell in his throat. He couldn’t look any more — the last time he did he threw up and only just managed to swallow it back down without choking himself — but he couldn’t not imagine it. Couldn’t not smell it and hear it and gods this was his fault and he wanted to die, he just wanted to die, he couldn’t bear it—

He felt himself flinch hard as the door burst down, but even then it took a few seconds to actually realise what was happening. By the time he’d uncurled and opened his eyes the room was clear of anyone but him and four kingsglaive, their kidnappers all dragged out into the hallway, and Ignis — Ignis’ body — Noctis sat still long enough for the twine around his wrists and ankles to be cut, the gag’s ties around the back of his head to be undone, but he had his hands on the gag and he tore it out of his mouth himself, hard enough it caught on his teeth and yanked them painfully. The straps stuck to his skin, pulled out hairs on the back of his head; he barely noticed as he crawled across the floor, scrambling up only to fall back down because his legs had both gone numb. ‘Ignis,’ he was saying, over and over, and he wanted to shove away the two glaive kneeling next to Ignis, where he was lying on the floor, trousers soaked, black fabric shiny with blood, his pasty skin slick with blood, and was he even breathing? Was he alive? Gods, he had to be, he had to, there was no way he could die, he was Ignis—

‘Your Highness, please,’ one of the glaive said, and Noctis knew her and knew that he knew her, but right now everything was twisted up in his head and he needed to see Ignis, needed to know he was still alive, and she was in his way.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, the words rasping out on breath that was starting to hiccup. He could see around her to Ignis, as he lay there, and the glaive kneeling beside him, checking his breathing and heartbeat.

‘They didn’t — they didn’t even touch me,’ Noct said. He still had to let them inspect him, run their hands down his body to check for injuries, but it wasn’t as if he could have gone anywhere anyway because all he could see was Ignis’ body, red streaked and limp and sodden, and suddenly he didn’t have the ability to move any more. Because Ignis wasn’t moving. He’d been laid out on the floor, they weren’t checking his heart of breathing or anything any more, and he still wasn’t moving. The ground tilted away under Noctis’ hands and knees, and his heart squeezed and squeezed until he thought it might as well just give up. Ignis couldn’t — he couldn’t—

It was like the whole world drained away and got replaced with something awful and cold and painful and he was sobbing. He couldn’t stop himself shoving forwards, and there was a glaive’s hands on his shoulders trying gently to tug him away and he was fighting back because he was never going to leave Ignis’ side (not that it mattered because Ignis was dead and Ignis was gone and he was never going to tut at Noctis or smile at him in that way Ignis did, with his lips quirking up just at the corners, or sneak him out of the Citadel at night when no one else even knew he felt bad, he was dead and he was dead because of Noctis, Noctis’ fault—).

Which was when he realised they had an elixir and they were giving it to Ignis. Which means he had to be alive.

Hope flared in him, wild and terrifying, because what if he were wrong? But he pushed past the glaive and up on his knees beside Ignis, and he was still crying too hard to even speak but someone said: ‘He’s alive, don’t worry, Your Highness, he’ll pull through.’ — and it was like a star bursting to life in his chest, a million million tonnes of light and energy because Ignis was still alive and he was going to be okay.

‘He’s got,’ Noctis managed, barely, through his running nose and the way he couldn’t breathe properly, sobs tearing up his lungs. But this was important. ‘They — there’s nails in him. In the wounds.’ Because one of the first lessons he got drilled into him in healing magic was when not to use it, and how important it was that whoever was healing the patient knew as much as possible.

All four glaive paused, but only for a second. The elixir washed over Ignis, and the little wounds on his sides closed over, skin mending like those videos of things breaking played in reverse. ‘It’s most important we stop the bleeding,’ the glaive — Alceda said, and that was right, her name was Alceda. ‘He’ll be going straight to the hospital where they can operate and remove any shrapnel.’

Which made sense, but thinking of those nails tucked inside Ignis’ body, the skin grown over the top of them, made Noctis feel sick. More sick. His stomach clenched; he swallowed, hard, and gulped to try soften the sobs that were still spilling up and out of his lungs, making his chest hurt. He wanted to ask if he could touch Ignis, and was interrupted by the sight of Ignis stirring.

He lurched forwards, stopped by Alceda’s hands on his upper arms, her body blocking his way. ‘One moment,’ she said, and Noctis hated her, because Ignis was twisting, eyes blinking open, squinting to search the room. He was gasping out Noctis’ name.

‘Ignis,’ another of the glaive said, kneeling by his side, ‘good to see you back with us. I’m Sota — I don’t think we’ve met, but I’ve seen you around! You train with the polearm, don’t you? His Highness is right over there, unharmed; you just lie here and we’ll have you on your way to the hospital in no time. Try not to move, that’s it.’

Ignis didn’t even seem to hear her. He twisted, and gasped, and Noctis wasn’t even sure if it was in pain or trying to say his name. Ignis’ hands moved to his sides, and Sota grabbed him by the wrists. ‘Ignis,’ she said, firmer this time. ‘Ignis, can you hear me? I’m Sota from the Kingsglaive; hold still while we wait for the ambulance to get you to the hospital.’

Ignis shook his head, arching his back, breath starting to come panicky-fast. He was trying to tug his hands from Sota, but it was obvious he was too weak to do anything but struggle in her grip. Sota swore in Galahadrian.

‘No,’ Ignis said, and choked on the word, coughing. Noctis thought of the nails still inside him and didn’t resist as he was pushed back to sit on the sticky floor.

‘No,’ Ignis said again, whimpering, but he’d stopped trying to free himself. ‘Please, don’t—’

‘Ignis, you’re safe,’ Sota said. ‘Prince Noctis is safe. We’re going to get you to the hospital.’

There was a bruise spreading across Ignis’ waist, creeping slowly under his skin like wine soaking through a tablecloth. ‘No. I can — I can still—’

He broke off to pant, biting down whimpers, and that was when the paramedics arrived. They were talking to the glaives who’d been outside the room, and were firing off words at them and each other that were too hard, too quick for Noctis to catch. He pushed himself to his feet, head spinning, and grabbed hold of Sota’s arm.

‘I’m going with him,’ he said, and managed to be authoritative until his voice broke in the middle of the sentence. He looked down at Ignis, being lifted onto a stretcher. ‘I’m going with him,’ he said again, even worse than the first time.

Ignis didn’t seem to recognise him when their eyes met, but that didn’t matter. The thought of him being wheeled away, out of sight, the paramedics doing fuck knew what with him — Noctis felt like he’d shatter at just the thought of it. He needed to be there. Needed to see him.

‘You’ll have to ask the paramedics,’ Sota said. ‘You’ll need a checkup anyway, so if not we can drive you straight there after him.’

‘No, I’m going with him,’ Noctis said. ‘In the ambulance.’ His voice creaked with the last word. He only barely managed to hold back adding please.

‘D’you want me to talk to them?’ Sota asked, and the kindness and sudden understanding made Noctis want to curl up on the floor and cry. He nodded instead, a small, jerky movement, and broke away from her to follow the stretcher as they wheeled Ignis out of the room.

FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2b/3]

[(Anonymous)]

He didn’t catch whether Sota managed to speak to the paramedics, but when he clambered into the back of the ambulance behind Ignis, sitting down on the thin bench to the side, no one bothered him except to tell him to strap in. Noctis fumbled with the seatbelt and managed to clip it in. His hands were clumsy. The process of clipping in a seatbelt seemed more complex than it ought to be, or had been even a few hours ago. They were all talking, the paramedics, quick and calm like Ignis wasn’t gasping and shuddering, trying to fight the straps that tied him down to the stretcher. Noctis couldn’t figure out what they were saying. The words slid off him like oil on water, like they were talking in a language he didn’t know.

He wanted to reach out, reassure Ignis, but he was at Ignis’ feet and there was someone in the way from reaching over to touch even his thigh or hip. They were sticking the pads of a machine Noctis distantly registered as a heart monitor to Ignis’ chest. Noctis watched, thinking that they must have, at some point, cleaned away the blood, but he couldn’t say when. Ignis’ sides were blotchy purple, dark, like the worst bruises Noctis had ever seen — and he’d seen plenty of bad ones — only they were both massive, too, almost touching each other over his stomach, curling down underneath him. Noctis only managed to look away when they covered Ignis up with a thin blanket, tucking it around him. The siren started; the ambulance rolled forwards, and a woman sat next to him, strapping herself down.

‘Don’t worry, Your Highness,’ she said, with the briskness of someone who dealt with emergencies twice daily. ‘He’ll be right as rain. Now, let me have a look at you.’

It took a second to even understand what she wanted. Noctis just blinked at her, then nodded as she reached out to take his hands. He looked down, and realised she was examining the redness of his wrists where the rope had cut into him. There were thin lines of bruising, swollen and red, but it hadn’t even broken the skin.

‘Are you in any pain? Did they tie you anywhere else?’

‘No. Uh, and my ankles, but.’ Noctis bent his legs, lifting them so he could rest his heel on the seat and let the woman roll up his trouser leg and examine the bruises without having to get up. ‘That’s all. They really didn’t touch me.’

The ambulance turned, jerking Noctis to one side. His throat clenched, stomach bucking. Then the ambulance turned again and he had to swallow as he retched, vomit burning up his throat, the taste of it creeping into the back of his throat.

It was fine. They were taking Ignis to the hospital. They were going to treat him. He’d be better in no time. The heart monitor beeped, and beeped, and beeped. Had it got faster? All the beeping and the siren and the paramedics talking was too much. He couldn’t take any of it in.

‘No.’ Ignis’ voice made Noctis’ head snap up so fast a shiver of pain ran down his neck. ‘Please,’ Ignis said, tugging at his arms. His face was grey, sweat-sheened. His hair had fallen out of its styling and was sticking to his skin in clumps. He was panting open-mouthed, lips wet with red-streaked saliva, shallow gasping that made his shoulders hitch and shudder. His eyes were unfocused, his face scrunched up in pain.

‘Please,’ Ignis said, thick and breathless. ‘Don’t hurt him, I can still — I can still do it, please—’

He only stopped because he started to gag, whimpering around the wet, gasping heaves, and it took a moment to realise what he meant even though Noctis kinda already knew Ignis didn’t get what was going on. Ignis still thought they were back with their kidnappers. He still thought he had to torture himself, just to keep Noctis safe.

The paramedics were talking again, quick and forced calm, and the woman besides Noctis was leaning forwards to say something to Ignis and hadn’t that been the point of Noctis, shouldn’t he be the one trying to comfort Ignis? Only he couldn’t even move, barely even sit properly as he was jostled around in his seat, and his tongue was thick and useless like a giant slug in his mouth, and he wanted to be sick. He wanted to be curled up in bed. He wanted Ignis to be better. He wanted his dad.

Maybe the glaive would tell his dad which hospital they’d gone to, and he’d be there. Probably not when they arrived, but soon after, maybe.

‘Please,’ Ignis said, and Noctis wanted him to just stop already.

There was this feel of dread like a hand closing over his lungs — even though his lungs were fine, it was Ignis who clearly couldn’t breathe or something, he didn’t know. But seeing Ignis lying strapped up, covered with that shitty-looking blanket, crying and panting and struggling and in pain, thinking they were still back in that room — maybe he shouldn’t have gone in the ambulance. He was just taking up space. He didn’t want to see Ignis like this any more, and knowing that made him feel like the smallest, shittiest person in the world.

The woman sitting next to him handed him another blanket, and Noctis took it without thinking. He realised he was shaking, and tugged it over his shoulders.

It was weirdly, deceptively warm. He pulled it closer around himself.

‘Can you drive smooth for a minute?’

Noct didn’t hear if the driver replied, but the urgent sway of the ambulance slowed, and Noctis wanted to shout at them but couldn’t even open his mouth — they shouldn’t be slowing down — they should be going faster, what the fuck—

They pulled back the blanket and slid an IV needle into his arm; Ignis didn’t even seem to register it. The bag held clear liquid, but the writing on it was tiny, and Noctis couldn’t read it with his eyes stinging. He scrubbed at them. It was fine. Ignis would be fine. They’d been rescued, they were going to the hospital, and they’d operate on Ignis and even his fingers would heal fine and then they could just… move on. Go back to how it used to be. Noctis squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to push away the waves everything awful rushing up to crush him down, swallow him whole.

It was his fault. His fault and he didn’t even want to look at Ignis. Didn’t want to be around him unless he was better already, and what kind of person did that make him? What kind of prince, or friend?

The sound of crinkling made him open his eyes, and he saw them cover Ignis in a foil blanket, over the one he had already. He had a plastic mask over his face, too — an oxygen mask — and it distorted but didn’t hide his open, bloodied mouth. But he wasn’t trying to speak any more. He wasn’t struggling, either.

His eyes closed. Even though Noctis could see him still breathing, could see the heart monitor and the single line pattern of Ignis’ heartbeat, his insides lurched like he’d been dropped ten feet into cold water.

The ambulance stopped. The woman beside Noctis was already up, opening the back doors, and Noctis sat still while they wheeled Ignis out. No one paid him any attention. He fumbled with his seatbelt, unclipping it even harder than doing it up, and stepped down the ramp into the ambulance parking bays.

He could see the main entrance to the hospital, just down the road. He walked up to it and went in, ignoring how everyone was looking at him.

‘Oh—’ a woman sidled up beside him, eyes wide, dressed in some kind of nurse’s uniform. ‘Ah, um—’

She didn’t know how to address him, Noctis thought dully. ‘Please forgive the sudden appearance,’ he said, words coming out clean and routine. ‘I was accompanying someone who was just taken into ER. Is there anywhere private I could wait?’

‘Of course! Just this way—’ She hesitated only for a second before taking him through one of the staff doors, and Noctis followed numbly.

‘Some Kingsglaive will be here soon,’ he said, as they walked. ‘If they could be informed of my location, and brought to me if they ask, that would be ideal.’

‘Of course.’

What would be ideal would be if Ignis wasn’t hurt and they weren’t in the hospital in the first place. ‘Ignis Scientia,’ Noctis said. ‘That’s — my retainer. Who was just brought in. If I could have… if you could inform me when he is out of surgery and taking visitors, I would be grateful.’ Because he couldn’t ask her to break patient confidentiality by demanding she tell him everything. Couldn’t push and push and push until she gave in, like he did — like with Ignis.

He was put in a private waiting room, and given water and offered coffee or any other drinks, or food, which he turned down. Then he was left alone. He stared at the floor. He didn’t have his phone. He didn’t have anything that wasn’t the literal clothes on his back. They must have given him something to dull his magic, remove his access to the armiger, so he couldn’t even pick out his phone or a game or magazine or anything. He should have asked one of the glaive to lend him one of their phones. Or he could ask to use a hospital one. But that would involve speaking to people.

His hands were shaking, just a little. He clenched them tight, palm to palm, between his knees. When would the glaive arrive? Would they know where to go to find him?

What if he just got caught again when there was no one here and he was defenseless, and Ignis not there to protect him?

Where even was Ignis? What if he died? What if the surgery went wrong and—

Footsteps, a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, and Sota came in.

‘Your Highness,’ she said, and bowed. ‘How are you holding up?’

‘I’m, uh,’ Noctis said. ‘Good.’

Sota gave him a look that said she didn’t believed him, but was at least going to humour him. ‘I’ve asked a doctor to swing round,’ she said, ‘to give you another look over. Your father has been informed of the situation and is on his way here.’

‘Oh,’ Noctis said. He didn’t have anything else to say. His lungs didn’t seem to have enough air. He squeezed his hands harder between his knees until they started to hurt.

The doctor arrived first, and Noctis sat through round after round of questions, gentle poking and prodding, disinfectant and gauze on the scrapes around his wrists. Then the doctor left and he went to the bathroom to wash his face, and brush his teeth with a toothbrush Sota gave him, because he hadn’t brushed his teeth since before being kidnapped — obviously, but still — and they said he could use the shower but he didn’t want to risk being in there while his dad arrived, so he didn’t. He slouched back down on the soft cushions on the couch and at the muted TV playing on the wall opposite.

It was playing the news, but none of it about him being kidnapped. They’d managed to keep it hidden, then. That was — good, he guessed. Now he was safely back they could work out how to spin the story. And the kidnappers were dealt with and the Glaive would find out who was behind it all in the first place, because they hadn’t demanded information or ransom or anything. He supposed they could have been waiting to take him somewhere — and only him, because Ignis had obviously been kidnapped because he’d been with Noct, and was himself not necessary, expendable, and even just thinking that word made Noctis’ stomach go cold and tight. They’d have taken him out of Insomnia, leaving Ignis’ body behind. Waiting for the right moment or the pickup to arrive or something, Noctis didn’t know, and he needed to stop thinking about it because he could feel his hands practically vibrate even pinned down. Sota wasn’t looking at him, but she had to be able to tell.

He didn’t want to break down in front of her and his dad. But the shaking wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, and was Ignis doing okay? Were they cutting him open to tug out the nails right at that moment? Or setting his broken fingers? What if something had gone wrong? What if they’d opened up an artery and he was bleeding to death on the surgery table?

How long did this kind of thing last? Two hours? Five? Ten? They’d let him stay until he could see Ignis, right? What if it took all night?

His dad came into the waiting room quietly, without announcement, or even knocking, only Clarus by his side. He eased shut the door behind them, and Noctis looked up. ‘Dad,’ he croaked, and lurched forwards out of his chair at the same time as his dad stepped towards him and reached out to gather him up in his arms.

‘Noctis,’ his dad was saying, crushing him tight in the hug, and Noctis clung back and buried his face in his dad’s shoulder. He didn’t care that he was crying, or shaking so hard he thought he’d fall apart. His dad was here. He’d make it better. It’d be okay.

FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, Sota and Clarus talking somewhere to one side of the room, too quiet to hear properly. He stopped crying, after a while, but the trembles didn’t go away entirely. His whole body was exhausted, worn down, like he’d been through the worst ever training session with Gladio, and it was all he could do to stay upright and carry on holding on. Then he remembered how Ignis had to have felt, the blood everywhere and his whimpers, weak and desperate—

‘Noctis, shh,’ his dad said, soothing him like he was a little kid, rocking him gently back and forth where they stood. He’d started crying again, he realised dully, clinging on to his dad’s jacket and creasing it all up at the back. ‘It’ll be okay,’ his dad said. ‘You’re safe; it’ll all be okay.’

When they finally parted — Noctis taking a handful of his dad’s sleeve and not letting go as they sat down next to each other — he had to stop himself from simply curling up and falling asleep. He was bone-tired. His eyelids slid shut without him meaning them to, hot and heavy, and he couldn’t get them to stay open no matter what he did.

‘I was filled in on my journey here,’ his dad was saying, and Noctis turned his head and let it rest on his shoulder. ‘They’ve caught everyone immediately involved, and investigations into what, if any, larger group are responsible, and their motives. Ignis is currently in surgery; the last I heard, he’s going to be out in a few hours, and will make a full recovery. The rapidity of his arrival here, from becoming injured, means elixir based healing will be fully effective.’

‘Oh,’ Noctis said, the sound squeezing itself from his lungs. He should be more relieved, he felt, only he was so tired, and he’d known Ignis would had to have survived, undamaged, because he was Ignis, right?

‘When can I see him?’ he asked. A few hours was like, three to five hours, right?

His dad hesitated. ‘Perhaps it’ll be better to visit tomorrow,’ he said, and a cold, empty wash of panic swept through Noctis, kicking away the exhaustion into trembling adrenaline.

Noctis lifted his head, stared at his dad, met his eyes for the first time since he’d walked in. ‘No,’ he said, and he didn’t even know why he couldn’t go home without Ignis. Ignis was okay. He’d be okay. ‘No,’ he said again, because he couldn’t leave without him, couldn’t leave him here, on his own, go back and sleep in his bed while Ignis was halfway across the city without him—

‘He’s been through a lot,’ his dad was saying, but the words barely made it through the roar in Noctis’ head. And anyway he knew Ignis had been through a lot, he’d been there, he’d seen it.

‘I don’t care,’ Noctis said, and realised as he said it that it was selfish and childish and he meant it anyway, because there was no way he’d leave without Ignis.

What if something happened? What if they came back and hurt Ignis again?

What if they came for him, and Ignis wasn’t there to protect him?

‘Noctis,’ his dad said, soft and reproachable in a sort of way he never was, because he was giving in. ‘Noctis, he needs rest after what happened.’

‘Please,’ Noctis said, clutched at his dad’s sleeve harder. ‘He can get rest; I just need to see him. He needs to see me. He was — he—’

He was begging for them to let him keep hurting himself, he tried to say but couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat like thorns. Breathing around them hurt. Swallowing hurt.

‘Shhh,’ his dad was saying again, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in close. The smell of his cologne raked down Noctis’ throat. ‘We’ll ask his doctor what she says, whether we can see him or not. But Ignis’ well-being has to be our priority.’

‘I know,’ Noctis said. But seeing Ignis was for Ignis’ well-being. Ignis would want to see him, just as much as he wanted to see Ignis. That had to be right. Ignis would always want to see him.

He pulled away, and, without thinking, a habit from nervous energy, pulled his phone from the armiger. Oh. He shoved it back in again. ‘They gave me something, I guess,’ Noctis said. ‘I couldn’t access the armiger or anything. Ignis couldn’t either. It… I guess it’s worn off by now.’

His dad was almost definitely frowning, so Noctis didn’t look up at him. Instead he got his phone out again and unlocked it, checking his messages. There were lots — from Prompto, Gladio, his dad, Cor. Mostly from Prompto, he saw, scrolling through them. Prompto hadn’t known what was up except that they’d been planning on meeting and then Prompto had been stood up, until he’d eventually told to go home. His messages were a string of confusion and jokes turning to concern, turning to fear masked with more jokes. His last was: Gladio said something was up but couldnt say what. hope youre ok dude tell me when you can

Noctis stared at it before typing up an answer. I’m good, Ignis too. I’ll tell you more later, sorry

It didn’t really feel satisfying. He locked his phone again before Prompto could read the text and reply. He didn’t want to have to tell Prompto anything. Not yet. He’d say it later. And probably there was going to be an official story so he had to keep to that — at least over text, anyway.

‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’

Had his dad really been waiting for Noctis to lock his phone so he couldn’t pretend to be distracted? ‘I don’t know,’ he said, mumbling, still looking at his phone’s blank screen. ‘Didn’t think of it.’

‘What sort of thing was it? An injection, or…?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know, okay. It was… I mean I can’t remember them actually giving me anything but I couldn’t… I guess they must have done it when I was out or something.’

‘Are you sure it was something done directly to you? Only, I’m aware that there are reports of Niflheim technology that can block the crystal’s magic for anything within its sphere of influence. It may have been that.’

‘Oh,’ Noctis said. ‘I guess. Maybe. I don’t know. I still couldn’t in the hospital, I don’t think. Just after I arrived. But maybe I was doing it wrong or not trying properly, I don’t know.’

Had it been that? He’d just assumed it had been an injection or something, because… he didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it.

‘Can you remember?’

‘No,’ Noctis said, with more force than he meant, but it didn’t matter because why wouldn’t his dad just get off his back? He didn’t remember, so why did it even matter? It had already worn off. It literally didn’t matter any more.

They lapsed back into silence. After a moment, his dad said: ‘Noctis, I have a change of clothes for you. Why don’t you shower and get changed? Or I have pyjamas. You can have a sleep while we’re waiting.’

Noctis was half ready to say, I’m not tired, when he realised that he was — he was exhausted. He wanted that sudden prospect of bed and sleep more than anything. And his dad would be there.

More than anything — except—

‘Ignis,’ Noctis said, instead. ‘I want to see him.’

‘It may be a few more hours before he’s out of surgery,’ his dad said. ‘I can see you’re ready to drop off where you’re sitting. I promise I’ll wake you as soon as there’s news of him.’

Hours. He didn’t think he could last that long. He wanted to see Ignis, but… his dad was here. And he’d said Ignis would be okay. He said he’d wake him.

The four of them moved into a spare room, and Noctis showered, got changed into his pyjamas, and curled up in the bed. His dad sat next to him, pulling the chair as close as it would get. A doctor came around and took a sample of Noctis’ blood while he lay there, eyes drifting shut, loose-limbed and already half gone. ‘Just in case,’ his dad said, his hand on Noctis’, holding it while the doctor fussed over him. They dimmed the lights; Noctis fell asleep.

Re: FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Ugh, poor Noct is breaking my heart. It's an incredible amount of trauma to live throughm and the way he flip-flops between wanting it to just be over so he could have his regular Ignis back, and feeling guilty over it, is just killing me.

But I also like that this is, like, the first time that Noct knows for sure what Ignis' position in his life is, what's the price of his loyalty is, and I love that as terrified as he is by it, he can't even let himself think about losing it. It's selfish and understandable and worrying and sad, and I adore it.

Re: FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you!! I feel like losing people is right up there in 'things that Noct is most terrified of', especially when they're as close as Ignis is. And he is young and was brought up with Ignis catering to him utterly, of course he wouldn't want to give that up, even if he also loves Ignis as a person and not just a service.

Re: FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Ugh, ugh, Noct's fear when he thinks that Ignis is dead. Like, it's just so heartbreaking, and all the things that he thinks--about all the ways he'll lose Ignis--is just shattering. I love it.

And also, like, when Ignis starts to panic in the ambulance. Is it because he heard Noct retching?

Re: FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [2c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

<3 thank you! I think Noctis loves his people way more than he'll ever love anything else about his life, and losing them is his worst fear.

And not anything specific, but definitely picking up on sounds of Noct in distress!