No matter how many times they returned to it, climbing the stairs of Lestallum without its punishing sunlight pounding on his back and head was weird. The light bearing down on them was artificial now, Lestallum's lights blazing at all times of the day, and the air, even with the remaining meteor shards, was cool. Maybe even pleasantly cool, but Gladio would've paid a fortune to sweat and grumble and complain about the heat again.

"Can't wait to see Iggy," Prompto said with forced brightness by his side. "I bet he's gotten some serious gossip to share."

Gladio grunted in lieu of an answer; he didn't really want to talk about Ignis. He tried to remember what intersection they needed to take next. Back then, due to being in Holly's good graces, they've snagged a ground floor of a little house to themselves, with a cellar attached, but it was somewhere deep in the guts of Lestallum, and for some reason Gladio could never quite find his way there on the first try, despite coming back several times.

Maybe he could beg his way into one of those cramped apartments closer to the center, for expediency's sake. Pay his way with labor, leave Prompto to entertain Iggy with news and answer his questions.

He hadn't done it yet, though, and Prompto solved his dilemma by tugging him in the right direction. Two stairways later, he remembered where they were, about ten minutes away from opening the door and letting themselves in.

"Six," Prompto said, "I hope Ignis didn't use up all the hot water yet. I could kill for a shower. I have daemon gunk in the places I didn't know I had."

"Yeah," Gladio said, curtly. So did he - they were almost two months on the road, the longest away from Lestallum since the sun went out, and between keeping watch and making sure everybody made it through in one piece he'd barely snatched more than a few hours of sleep here and there - but somehow he couldn't muster up any joy at the image of the little cramped shower cabin. He could barely move around without banging his shoulders, and - and it probably was dirty, to boot. It's not like Ignis could clean it properly.

Finally, they were on their street. Gladio squinted and tried to imagine how it was in normal Lestallum: narrow, winding, the shadows softening it, making it quiet and alluring. Now еhe bright sodium light brought every crack in the pavement and every scuff mark on the walls into sharp relief, illuminated every piece of garbage strewn around. It looked sterile and dirty at once. People scurried past them, their heads down and their clothes worn.

Their house was sixteenth on the left side. Gladio hung back and let Prompto deal with the keys. He wondered if he could get away with claiming exhaustion and going straight to the guest bedroom to sleep, without chit-chat or anything.

Prompto opened the door, and Gladio blinked in surprise at the bright light inside.

"Huh," Prompto said. "Maybe somebody saw us at the checkpoint and told him? Hey, Igster! We're home!"

Gladio braced himself and then blinked in surprise; the steps coming from the kitchen were brisk and sure, with none of the careful, just a bit hesitant shuffle Gladio expected - and without the accompanying thump of the cane.

Ignis came out into the hallway and smiled at them both. "Ah, welcome home! I hadn't expected you for a while, I'm afraid. Come in, come in."

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the apartment. Gladio gaped at the empty doorway in astonishment, and Prompto threw him a quick, startled glance, but obediently bent down to unlace his boots.

They followed the distant clatter into the apartment. Gladio frowned at the state of the main room: clothes and junk on the floor, a couple of pillows, a throw blanket. Didn't Ignis realize stuff on the floor was dangerous for him?

"Just a minute," Ignis shouted from the kitchen, over the hum of the microwave. "Take a seat!"

Gladio dropped onto the sofa, and Prompto collapsed into the chair across from him. "Oh, man," Prompto whispered, "is he cooking again? Can you believe that?"

The microwave dinged, and Ignis came out into the room, carrying two plates like a waiter. He walked unerringly to the table and dropped them off without hesitation. "Just rations, I'm afraid," he said, "the fresh food had been somehow scarce. Enjoy!"

Gladio stared at him. "I thought you didn't know we were coming? Where'd you get extra rations?"

Ignis paused for a moment but smiled at him again, all determination and teeth. "I knew you'd come sooner or later, and those things keep. I've just saved a couple in advance to welcome my friends home. Should I not have?"

Prompto, who could never stand a hint of conflict in the room, broke in. "And a good thing you did, Igster! I'm so hungry I could eat my boots!"

"Indeed," Ignis said, "indeed, tuck in. How was your trip?"

"Fine," Gladio said. He concentrated on chewing so he wouldn't say anything else; Ignis' tone was grating on his nerves.

"It was okay," Prompto said, bound and determined to bulldoze them into normalcy, and for a second Gladio was so exhausted with him his teeth ached. "We cleared the road between Galdin Quay and here out, put up all those new lamp. It should be good for the caravans for a while."

"Excellent civic work," Ignis said, pleasantly. He was giving Gladio an uncanny impression he was looking straight at him, even though his head was tilted away, and his eyes were - well.

Gladio rolled his shoulders. "Why aren't you eating? It's better not be your own portion I'm having, Ignis."

"Thank you for your concern, Gladio. I'm simply not hungry, that's all."

"And what have you been up to, Iggy? What's new in Lestallum?"

"Ah," Ignis said, breezily, "this and that. Nothing to compare to your good effort."

And just like that, the remains of Gladio's appetite fled. He put the fork down with a clatter. "Ignis," he said, "either get it out or shut the fuck up. You might get around three rooms okay now, but there's no fucking way you could be anything but a problem in a real fight, and you - "

"But of course," Ignis said, smoothly rising to his feet. "Dear Gladiolus, you've made it crystal clear at our parting."

"It's not like you fucking argued," Gladio hissed at him. Between them, Prompto was trying to melt into the sofa, looking back and forth with wide, unhappy eyes. "You know it's dangerous, for you and for the others."

"Such inspiring concern about my welfare, as always."

Gladio clenched his fists almost against his own volition. "Cut the crap, Iggy. Didn't hear you arguing back then, did I?"

He was breathing heavily. Gladio could remember the nightmarish trek out of Gralea, Ignis stumbling and silent, Prompto maniacally trying to stay cheerful, hiding from the daemons in half-ruined houses strewn with empty clothes, hunger and sleepless nights, always staying on guard. He had kept pushing and pushing Ignis, waiting for him to fight, and Ignis had just folded and folded, like a house of fucking cards, and now he has the fucking gall to...

"But how could I," Ignis said smoothly, unruffled, with an ironic half-twist of his lips Gladio suddenly longed to smash off his face. "You were so persuasive! So solicitous!"

His voice turned vicious. "After all, you couldn't exert this courtesy to our King, could you? I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to, ah, close the barn door after the chocobos were all gone."

Gladio saw red; he always thought it was just a figure of speech, but he felt it now, the room wavering and crimson around him, and he was on his feet, and lunged -

"Iggy," Prompto said urgently, and the rising - something - in his voice yanked Gladio still. "What did you make for Noct the first time we were in Lestallum? After we first went to the market?"

Gladio gaped; Ignis turned to Prompto, a quick, weirdly mechanic motion, like he moved his body instead of -

"Something he liked, no doubt. It's been so long ago - "

Prompto's gun barked, shockingly loud. Gladio recoiled, for a moment so overwhelmed by the sheer surreality of the world around his mind refused to cope. He felt, with incredibly compelling clarity, the sharp rocks of the latest haven they'd camped at under his back.

Ignis flew back, the surprise on his face almost comical. He slid down the wall, hand trying to cover a jagged hole in the front of his shirt, left of the center, his heart, no hope, Prompto had goneinsane, what could he -

Then Ignis threw his head back and laughed, loud and gurgling; the wound between his fingers wept black, and when he looked back at them it was with malevolent, amber eyes.

"Ah," he said, in the oily voice that still chased Gladio through his dreams sometimes. "Clever little thing, aren't you, my dear?"

Gladio groped for the Armiger and couldn't touch it; his body refused to move. Prompto was motionless too, caught surging up from his seat; his face was bleached entirely pale, eyes shockingly dark.

"Where's he?"

"Safe and sound, of course," Ardyn said. He got to his feet in an expansive, sweeping motion, Ignis' face nauseatingly flowing and changing over its bones.

He strode between them, pausing to pat Gladio's cheek, not paying any attention to a strained sound of rage Gladio managed to push through his frozen lips. "After all, that was what you left him for, wasn't it? I just kept him company."

"And now," he said, "as entertaining as it was, I must bid you my farewell. Places to see, daemons to herd... But rest assured, you have my thanks for your friend's delightful hospitality."

The entrance door slammed shut a moment later, and the spell holding them snapped clean. Gladio's sword was in his hand, useless in the tiny room; he looked across the strewn table at Prompto, seeing his own horror reflecting back.

They tore through the house, rooms empty and dark, until the only space left to check was the basement.

At the top of basement stairs Gladio flicked the switch, and the light came on immediately, spilling from the crack of the open door downstairs. It scared him more than any kind of horror movie setup - darkness, of flickering lights, creaking steps - would have. But he took the steps down nevertheless, weapon in hand and Prompto close on his heels, and if his head was full of useless, warbled prayers, nobody had to know about it.

The door opened easily under his hand. Nothing jumped out at them, shrieking, from beyond. The cellar, lit by the bright unforgiving light, was too small and too empty to hide anything - shelves full of empty jars and rusty tools, cardboard boxes piled in one corner around a wooden crate, cheap tacky linoleum on the floor. No blood, no chains, no - no body.

He turned to Prompto, floundering, feeling like if he did lose momentum now, here, he would stop and drown. "Could Ardyn take him out of Lestallum? He said 'safe and sound,' what - nearest haven? We have to go, ask Holly for help, set up a search grid."

"Wait," Prompto said. He looked sick, washed out, face the color of old bleached linen, and Gladio knew he was remembering another brightly lit cell - and that tray of shiny sharp instruments Gladio had thrown to the floor in his hurry to get him off that cross.

"Wait," Prompto said again, almost dreamily. "Safe and sound..." He took a step forward as if there were something compelling and gross in equal measure pulling him forward - and Gladio looked along with him, and saw, again, that wooden crate in the corner.

He lunged forward, scattering the boxes - Gods, Gods - the crate was nailed shut, the nails mockingly bright and new in the old planks. The greatsword made for a shitty crowbar, but he managed to get it under the crate lid anyway and pushed with all his might, and with a groan of wood the lid gave. The stench hit him like a closed fist. Human waste, old blood, sour smell of infection; he heard Prompto retch behind his back. He had to make himself look.

Ignis was naked, folded up tightly on the bottom of the crate. His tied hands were tucked under his chin, the skin under rough twine bloody and torn, weeping pus; same with his ankles. Gladio couldn't tell if he was breathing. Prompto made a high, horrified sound, almost a whine.

Gladio disappeared the sword without a thought; he reached into the crate with shaking hands, meaningless words spilling from him without his conscious input. "Now," and "I'm here," and "please," and "please," and "please."

Under his palms, Ignis felt brittle, feather-light, a pile of old tissue paper rather than flesh and bones; Gladio pulled him out of the crate practically without an effort, like he were an infant. He cradled Ignis to his chest - he needed to check if Ignis was breathing, if Ignis was - and Ignis' body tensed in his arms, coiled desperately. There was a familiar tug on the armiger, and Gladio threw himself back on instinct rather than thought, so Ignis' desperate dagger strike scored a hot line against his cheek instead of opening his throat up.

They crashed to the floor. Gladio twisted to avoid the second hit, and Prompto was on top of them in the next second, grabbing Ignis' shoulders and holding on to him. Ignis was shuddering, more intent than movement - sounds were spilling from him, rasping and unfamiliar, a shadow of words. "Stop being him, stop, stop, you don't have a right, stop being..."

Gladio sat up slowly, his head still ringing from its smack against the floor. He looked at the tableau before him without really understanding it, like it was happening somewhere else and to somebody else. Prompto had dismissed the dagger back to the armiger, and Ignis ran out of whatever little store of energy he possessed; he went slack in Prompto's horrified hold. He hadn't tried to uncurl, and probably couldn't; Gladio could see the open sores on his left flank, his thighs, his arms, could trace the bumps of his spinal column and count his every rib.

They'd been away for two months. He'd made Ignis stay in Lestallum. His mind shied away from themath.

He climbed back to his knees and crawled over to Prompto and Ignis. "Iggy," he said; his own voice was hoarse as if he'd been shouting for hours. "Ignis. It's us."

Ignis jerked his head away, folding tighter in on himself.

"I'm sorry," Gladio said, uselessly. He called the knife again and attacked the twine around Ignis' ankles, for the lack of anything better to do. His fingers slipped in blood and gore, and Ignis' breath hitched with each tug on the rope. Gladio had to dig the twine out of his bloody skin. Prompto was back to talking, hysterically fast, spilling reassurances and apologies and arguments into the void of Ignis' terror without a result.

The knife slipped through Gladio's fingers, clattered on the floor; for a moment he couldn't make himself pick it back up. He cupped Ignis' cheek again, dry skin stretched tightly against his high cheekbone. "I just wanted you to be safe," he said, and the words cut his throat to shreds, coming out. "I swear to Six, that's all I wanted to do."

"Liar," Ignis spat, and for all that he was talking to Ardyn, the word found home when the dagger didn't.

Ignis went silent and still. Prompto scrambled for his pulse, and Gladio made his fingers uncurl, one by one, and pick up the knife, and finish the job of setting Ignis free. He climbed to his feet and took Ignis from Prompto's arms, holding him to his chest like Ignis were a child, and carried him out of the basement. Step by rickety step.

On the top of the stairs he had to stop for a while, shake his head; he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do next. Ignis felt unsubstantial in his arms, weightless; Gladio kept glancing at him and then away. The stench was more of a living presence than Ignis himself.

Prompto touched his elbow. "Bathroom. We need to," and Gladio saw the convulsive bobble of his throat, "clean it all out before we use the potions."

Gladio followed him. Prompto busied himself with getting the first aid kit, and Gladio stared dumbly at the shower cubicle.

It was, like he expected, dirty, and at the sight of it he felt a stab of such wild rage - at himself, at Ignis who couldn't stay whole, at Noct who abandoned them - that he finally woke up.

"We can't put him in there," he said and heard the fury in his voice. "He'll get another infection just from the floor."

"Yeah," Prompto said with false nonchalance, "I don't think Ardyn was super concerned with housekeeping."

Eventually, Gladio settled down on the floor of the shower cabin himself, legs out of the door, and settled Ignis - still curled up, and he didn't relish the prospect of getting him straightened out- in his lap. Prompto took the shower head and hovered around them.

Water ran down Ignis' legs and stomach, murky and disgusting, splashed on the bathroom floor. Ignis was rigid and unmoving in his arms - they had to move him around, force his limbs apart, and if not for the soundless puff of his breath against Gladio's throat, he'd think they were washing a corpse.

On his left side the pressure sores were the deepest, creeping into Ignis' flesh almost to the bone. Prompto's hands, busy with antiseptic and cotton and water, shook; Gladio stared until everything dissolved into a weird, senseless blur of white and red and blue and black, devoid of meaning, devoid of pain.

The grouty tiles dug painfully into Gladio's back. It felt unreal, like it were one of the six hells, one reserved to people who failed in their duties as comprehensively, as horribly, as Gladio had. But the water had barely begun to run cold when it was over. Prompto disappeared for a while, then returned with a clean sheet. He helped wrap Ignis up and held onto Ignis as Gladio rose, grunting, to his feet. He was silent. They stared at each other for a while.

"Bedroom," Prompto said, finally. "Come on."

They had to go through the living room again - Gladio saw the bullet hole in the wall, splattered by the black gunk, and shuddered in visceral revulsion. The bedroom was dark and empty, the bet immaculately made, a thin layer of dust on the bedspread.

Prompto swiped it off, and Gladio lowered Ignis down carefully; his hands shook with the strain he hadn't noticed until now. "Elixir," he said, harshly.

Prompto pulled it; they were down to six, the rest of their precious supply given to Cor to share with the glaives and the hunters. It wasn't even supposed to be used within the city walls, not for anything short of a mortal wound. But just imagining taking Ignis to the overwhelmed bustle of Lestallum's hospital, surrendering him to the indifferent, jeering strangers - when any of them could be Ardyn again, waiting, mocking - Prompto nodded at him, and upended the bottle over Ignis' still form.

The light of Noct's magic at once comforted Gladio and caused a fresh stab of rage - if only he were here! If only, if only - as it ran over Ignis' bruise-mottled skin, knitting flesh together. Despite knowing better, Gladio hoped that it would be it, that Ignis would sit up, pristine and annoyed, and bitch them out for being so late to the rescue. But of course, it didn't work like that. The deepest sores left ugly scars behind, to keep company with the old branching burns whose origin Gladio knew and hated. The bruises faded from deep black to light yellow; Ignis' limbs didn't lose their rigid fold. And, with his skin clean and whole, Ignis' state of emaciation looked even more obscene.

"Gods," Prompto said. "Gods. He couldn't spend all that time without water. He would have died. How?"

"You know how," Gladio said, harsher than he intended.

Stop being him, shouted in the desperate ruin of Ignis' voice, hung between them. Prompto stared at him, then swallowed, swallowed again; his face lost what little color it still kept. He turned on his heel and stumbled out of the bedroom; in a moment Gladio heard him coughing and retching.

He wanted to follow him - to comfort - to fix at least something in this miserable mess. But just the idea of leaving Ignis alone even for a moment made his chest tight with panic.

He leaned over Ignis and laid his palms against one folded arm, massaged gently, quietly, feather light. The arm refused to stretch out. He wanted Ignis to wake up, and dreaded it: both Ignis not knowing who he was, trying to fight in horror and last dregs of defiance, and Ignis recognizing him and throwing his sins into his face.

He would wake up, though. He would wake up, and if Gladio needed to stay by his side every day until Noct's return to keep him safe, that's what he would do. "I swear," he said, and held his breath, but Ignis didn't wake. "I swear, Iggy."

Some time late Prompto, red-eyed and hoarse, slipped back into the room. "Sorry, big guy," he said, and Gladio nodded at him. "He's still out?"

"Yeah," Gladio said, "that's probably for the best. We need to have it together when he wakes up. He's not out of the woods yet."

Prompto stopped by the bed and awkwardly, gently touched the sole of Ignis' foot. "The fridge is empty. Do you think Ardyn fed him at all?"

Gladio shrugged helplessly. "He obviously wanted to keep him alive, but - you see. We need to be very careful with the food now, because - "

"I know," Prompto said, too quickly. "Electrolytes, juice, broth, baby food, the works. It's - Gladio, should we take him to the hospital? If we fuck this up..."

Gladio's throat seized. "Too many people. We can't protect him there."

"Okay," Prompto said. "Okay. Let me go and get something. Talk to Holly, cash in the trophies. We can take it slow and see."

Gladio could've kissed him in gratitude. Then Prompto grimaced. "How do you know that I'm, you know. Me. When I come back? If he can look like - I think he wanted us to find out, that's why he talked like that, but if he didn't - if he just kept pretending to be Ignis, and we bought it, and we, like, crashed for a couple of days and went back out - we could've been sleeping right now, over his head, while he was - in that goddamn box - "

He was breathing faster and faster, blotchy red returning to his cheek, and Gladio abandoned Ignis' side and went over to them, folded him to himself - warm and solid, muscle and wet clothes, alive and familiar.

"Hey," he said, "hey, no. We got him, it didn't happen, we got him, it's not happening again. He's not there, he's here, he's healed, he's going to be fine. Don't fall apart on me, kid, I can't - "

Prompto pressed his face into his chest; Gladio could feel his erratic, fluttering breathing. "Okay," he said, muffled. "Okay. Passwords from there on, right? Something that only we know. Something that he couldn't - shit, what if Ignis told him something, what if he were watching us, he's like - "

Gladio shook him a bit, gently. "King's Knight, okay? Usernames. Whatever Ardyn knows about us, I bet that's not it."

"Oh," Prompto said. He shuffled out of Gladio's embrace, and Gladio immediately missed the warmth of him. "Okay. Yes. That would work. Okay. I'm going then."

Gladio listened to his steps echoing through the apartment - almost to the door, and then back, anxious, leaning through the doorway. "You got him, right?"

"I do," Gladio said, and wished he didn't feel like he was lying.

Ignis stayed either asleep or unconscious. Gladio kept working on his limbs, although he knew it was more to reassure himself that Ignis was there than to achieve anything reasonable right now. He kept jumping at every sound, reaching into armiger.

At the second hour he rubbed his face, chasing the sleep away, and was startled to find the cut that Ignis gave him. Ardyn had obviously been blocking Ignis' access to armiger while he had kept him captive. Ignis must've felt its return, and laid in wait, conserving the last of his strength for that one strike, and Gladio felt an intense, scorching burst of pride in him at the memory. But if he woke up and didn't believe them, if he would think himself to still be a prisoner - and, knowing that he wouldn't get a chance to strike again, would go for the last remaining option?

He entertained for a while the blood-freezing visions of Ignis getting a dagger and slitting his wrists the moment their backs were turned, and finally got up to dump the linens out of the nearest drawer and fill it with everything sharp and small enough from the armiger. The tangle of weapons looked faintly ridiculous. He thought, fleetingly, that Dad would've skinned him alive for treating their weapons like that, and then lost several moments just staring, rubbing hard at the goosebumps rising on his biceps. Dad was dead, and Noct was lost, and the world was in ruins, and here he was - here he was...

He went back to his self-appointed task.

Exhaustion was pulling him in one direction, and tension in the other; when Prompto came in, Gladio almost beheaded him before he came to his senses and pulled the strike at the last moment. Prompto jumped back, hissing "Lokton! Lokton, dude!", but waved away his apologies. He dumped most of his loot on the bedside table.

"Good news is, the hospital people agree that we're better equipped to care for Ignis properly now. Bad news is, I now know everything about the refeeding syndrome, and I'm never going to sleep again, ugh. We have to follow a feeding plan and, like, look out for symptoms, and bring him over immediately if something goes wrong. And I had to like pledge my firstborn for those supplies, those people don't fuck around."

Gladio went to help him to untangle the IV line and dropped it; he stared at it for a while, unsure of how it ended up on the floor, until Prompto took over.

"You need some sleep, Gladio. I'll set it up, I'm still wired."

Gladio wheeled on him, incredulous, ready to rage all over again - and met with Prompto's implacable stare and his hands, pushing at his chest.

"Go to sleep. You're too tired to think straight, and I can't deal with both of you out of commission, okay? I'll keep watch, I'm good for another two-three hours, then we'll switch."

He pushed again, herding Gladio to the cot in the corner of the room, and Gladio folded. "We're in for a long haul, and we need to be - we need to be better about this shit. So you're going to sleep, and then I'm going to sleep, and we'll figure out the schedule, and - it's going to be fine."

Gladio looked at Ignis at that; saw him, for a moment, not as a person, but as one of the desiccated, lovingly prepared corpses in royal tombs. "It won't," he said but didn't argue further. He fell sideways on the too-small cot and listened to Prompto bustling around until he couldn't anymore.

Prompto, true to his word, woke him up later, immediately dropped on the vacated cot, and was snoring before Gladio blinked his eyes fully open. Ignis was still out cold. Gladio checked his pulse, shifted him on the other side, and went to work on his leg.

The sleep he'd got had taken an immediate edge of panic and confusion off, leaving him free to think. He wanted to get Ignis out of this house of horrors, but they were unlikely to find anything in Lestallum not packed to the rafters with people, and the house, at least in theory, was defensible. It's not, he thought with a mirthless snort, like Ignis would know the difference, not for a while.

It was close to dawn, and Gladio was considering waking Prompto up so he could get some food and a desperately needed piss when he realized that Ignis had woken up. He hadn't moved or said anything, that time, but the quality of his motionless silence had changed; under Gladio's arms he was tense and still, holding himself contained like a scared animal.

"Iggy," Gladio said. "You're safe, it's me. We're back, we found you, he's not here."

A slow wave of shaking went through Ignis at that, starting in his shoulders and traveling down; he tucked his head closer to his chest and didn't say anything. Gladio knelt by the bed and took his hand, tugged on it gently, laid it against his cheek; it as cold and stiff like a piece of unyielding metal.

"Come on," he said, helplessly. "Let's get you something to drink."

Ignis' face spasmed at that, but he stayed silent. Gladio hitched him up, supporting his head with his hand. He grabbed one of the juice packages at random and opened the cap with his teeth, brought the juice to Ignis' mouth. Ignis pressed his lips tightly together, rolling his head slightly away. Even this little act of defiance clearly cost him, making him shake harder.

"Just a couple of sips, come on," Gladio said. "Even if you don't believe me, you need to drink, Iggy. You got to stay with us."

The shaking stopped; his entire body just went slack in Gladio's hands. Whatever he was hearing, Gladio had a horrible, sinking feeling he's heard it all before. Like he was fighting for the form's sake, but knew that he would lose, every time.

The Ignis he had known had never accepted defeat, no matter how battered he was. Gladio had always known it by heart, had seen Ignis get up and keep going regardless of how hard he'd been knocked down. Had Ardyn robbed him of that? This time, or earlier?

Had Gladio? The first fight Ignis had walked away, defeated, from was with him, after all. The fight to get him to stay in Lestallum; safe and sound, Gladio thought, and Ignis made a small, gasping sound, making Gladio realize that he was crushing Ignis' palm, squeezing it too tightly.

He dropped it like he was burned and stumbled away from the bed in horror - and for a moment he was ready to stumble through the doorway, to tear through the house, to just - keep going until he hit Lestallum gates, to go out into the dark and just run, and run, and run, and run...

He hit the wall, and then again when he did not feel the pain; again, and again; his knuckles split and bled, and he stared at the bright red for a while before the pain registered.

"Wha?..."

Prompto was sitting on the cot, blinking muzzily at him. On the bed, Ignis was trying to tuck himself in even smaller, cover his head with his hands. Ignis didn't have the option of running anymore, and Gladio did not deserve it.

He shook his hand out absentmindedly, flexed the fingers and decided that nothing was broken. "He woke up."

Prompto flew off the bed and skidded across the room. "Ignis! Igster, are you with us?"

Ignis curled up even tighter, and Gladio sighed and went back, making sure not touch Ignis that time. "He doesn't - he didn't believe me."

"Iggy," he tried again, gently. "Come on. Ask me anything. Anything he couldn't have known. Anything only I could know."

He looked at Prompto over Ignis' head and saw despair. Prompto beckoned him over and whispered, "What do we do? I can't force feed him, but if he doesn't believe us..."

Gladio rubbed his hand down his face, hard. "See if you can get another IV in. We just have to keep trying."

Prompto busied himself with the needles and bottles, and Gladio went back to the bed. He was careful not to touch Ignis that time, just sat close enough that Ignis could - hopefully - feel the warmth of his body instead of whatever an abomination like Ardyn seems like.

"Hey, Iggy," he said. "Remember how hammered you got when you were eighteen? Noct was at his brattiest, and you stole your ankle's cognac and got absolutely wasted, cried on my shoulder about how Noct was growing up badly and it was all your fault. I mocked you for thinking you were actually his mom, and you tried to punch me. Missed a mile wide, too, you were that sloshed. And the next morning Cor rode our asses hard ad in the training, and you threw up all over him? You made me swear I will never ever tell anybody, and here I am, breaking my oath."

Ignis continued rocking in small, minute motions; he didn't give any sign that he heard Gladio, but he wasn't also - screaming, or trying to attack, or reaching for the weapons - so Gladio decided to take what he could.

"Remember how Iris got picked on by this asshole in her class when she was ten, the son of one of Dad's political buddies, and I was going to go and kill him, but you went instead? Scared the pants off the little pissant, all with a smile. He never as much as breathed into Iris' direction again. I still don't know how you did that."

No reaction again. Prompto, jittering nervously, returned to the bed. "Hey, Igster," he said, slowly. "You just listen to Gladio's memory tour, and I'm going to get the IV going, okay? I'll have to put a needle into your hand, sorry about that."

His first touch to Ignis' arm wouldn't have popped a soap bubble, but another wave of shivers went through Ignis nevertheless. "I'm sorry, buddy," Prompto said, sounding on the verge of tears. "I know it's terrifying. I'm sorry he pretended to be us. When he had me, I..."

"Wait a second," Gladio said.

Prompto jolted to a stop, watching him.

"Ignis," Gladio said. "Listen. I know he must've pretended to be either of us. He probably talked to you, and played games, and gave you water, and," - his split knuckles ached when he clenched his fists - "maybe even pretended like you were rescued, only to hurt you again. I know that, I know it's too dangerous for you to trust us now. But had he ever managed to be both people at once?"

He held his breath, but Ignis was silent.

"I'm going to take your hand now, okay? And Prompto will take the other. You can touch his face, can touch mine, can ask any questions you want. Whatever he could do, he couldn't do that."

He nodded at Prompto and reached out to take Ignis' hand; thanks to his efforts earlier, he could straighten it out gently now, tug it from under Ignis' chin. Prompto took the other.

Ignis shuddered, but did not resist; his face was twisting as if he was grappling with something too vast, too terrible for him to understand.

Prompto was crying silently, open-mouthed. Gladio just held onto Ignis' hand, determined to wait as long as Ignis needed.

Finally, Ignis opened his mouth. "Prompto," he croaked, "what's my score in Justice Monsters?"

Prompto made a bubbling sound, somewhere between laughter and a sob. "100 001. I think the one on the end was just to fuck with us. Noct was skipping those etiquette classes, and you made him a bet he'd have to go if youl beat his score, and then you went in and fucking obliterated us both. Coolest show of my entire teenage life. I thought you were some kind of a superhero."

Ignis raised his right hand very carefully, and Gladio leaned down to him, scarcely daring to breathe. Ignis touched his fingers to the edge of his scar, traced the edge of his eyebrow. Then he tugged his left hand, and Prompto folded over to him, submitted to the similar examination, letting Ignis smudge the tear tracks on his face.

He released them both and dropped his head back against the pillow. And then, in the almost soundless whisper, asked.

"Why didn't you come?"

Gladio sucked in a breath, reeling, jerking away from Ignis.

"Ignis," Prompto said, faintly; always ready to go into the breach, and at the moment Gladio loved him for this - but it wasn't on him.

He knelt by the bed, took Ignis' palm again and laid it flat against his face, so Ignis could "see" him as he spoke.

"I couldn't bear to look at you," he said; it hurt like an old wound. "I'd look at you getting around, tapping that cane, and all I could see would be how colossally I fucked everything up."

Ignis was silent.

"And I couldn't - I told you it was for your own safety, and it was true, Ignis, I swear on my mother's grave I would've given everything to never see you hurt again. But it also was because I was a coward and because I hated to see my failure. My responsibility."

Ignis was silent still.

"I failed you so badly. But I would do everything to keep from failing you again."

He faltered in the face of Ignis' silence, and Prompto reached over, filled it as he always did. "We won't leave again, Iggy, I swear. You'll get better, and - and if we don't split, Ardyn can't pull this shit again, right? We'll stick by you if you'll - if you'll let us. Please?"

Ignis tugged his hand back from Gladio's loose grip; with a monumental, jerking effort he turned over on his back, dragged his resisting legs away from his chest, put his heels flat on the mattress.

He scrubbed at his face - weakly, jerkily, leaving a wet smeared mess behind - and said, still fighting for air but with great dignity, "I'd like that juice now, please."

Gladio fumbled for the package; his hands shook. He brought it to Ignis' mouth and had to wait - thirty seconds, forty, a minute - while Ignis fought his own resolve.

Prompto looked at them, mouth half-open, face awash in hope. Finally, Ignis opened his lips and took the first sip from Gladio's hands.

"Thank you," Gladio said. "I swear, I..."

Whatever he said, Ignis didn't hear; all the tension left him, and he was fast asleep.