This is the first fanfic I've written in a while so forgive any errors. Always a fan of D'Artagnan whump. Please let me know what you think!
The pelting of rain on Porthos' hat had him grumbling under his breath and glaring at the dark clouds above him. So far the autumn had been thankfully mild but he knew it was on the turn and the winters in Paris were often cold and miserable. Of course, he thought, the bad weather has to start the day they were returning from delivering a missive that would take them away from the comforts of the city for several days. The thought of sleeping on the wet ground had Porthos huffing.
Aramis smiled as he glanced in Porthos' direction, having known his brother long enough to know exactly what he was thinking. Having grown up on the streets, Porthos was used to living with the bare minimum but since becoming a Musketeer and having enough money to sustain him, Porthos had grown accustomed to his home comforts. The idea of camping in the cold and the rain had them all feeling deflated but Porthos most of all.
Athos led the group forward, silent and vigil as they travelled. Although the only valuable item they had on them was the anxiously awaited reply from the Duc de la Guise currently hidden in Athos' doublet, that didn't mean that they were any less of a target. D'Artagnan brought up the rear of the pack, pushing his drenched hair out of his face and shaking the excess water from his gloves. Being a farmer he was used to being outside in all types of weather but it certainly didn't make it any easier. He was looking forward to getting back to Paris and sitting beside a roaring fire in the nearest tavern.
He was just thinking of how to convince Athos to let them stop at the next inn that they saw and spend the night out of the rain when a gun shot rang out around them. He ducked instinctively, already reaching for his own pistol and looking around for the shooter.
A group of 8 bandits were roaring as they ran over the hill towards them, swerving between the trees and firing bullets in their direction. Aramis and Porthos took 2 out before they even had time to pull their triggers. D'Artagnan and Athos took out another 2 as they jumped down from their horses and drew their swords.
A loud grunt accompanied by a groan from Aramis had Porthos spinning around to look in his friend's direction. He witnessed 2 of their attackers assault him, yanking on the sword in Aramis' hand which pulled his shoulder awkwardly and Porthos knew instantly that the shoulder had been pulled out of the socket. With the pommel of a sword smashing into the back of his friend's head, his knees collapsed beneath him and Aramis slumped to the ground.
Porthos growled as he rushed towards the attackers. Slashing one across his unguarded stomach and spinning round to reach the other one, a harsh shout of his name from D'Artagnan had him turning to see a pistol pointed at his face. He ducked as the bullet went over his head and hit another if his attackers through the shoulder, dropping him to the ground.
Porthos nodded his thanks at D'Artagnan as he watched the boy turning to face his own targets. Another pistol shot echoed around them and both remaining Musketeers turned and watched as Athos dropped like a stone to the wet ground, his hands grasping at his thigh. D'Artagnan could already see the blood pooling from the wound but didn't have any time to process the information before a swift boot was taken to Athos' head and his eyes rolled back.
'Athos!' D'Artagnan shouted, racing towards him, slashing at any of their enemies that stood in his way. He turned to call out to Porthos but the words were lost in his throat when he seen the butt of a pistol slam into Porthos' temple and he crumpled.
For a brief moment D'Artagnan felt dramatically out of his depth. Of course he was a Musketeer, the satisfying weight of the pauldron on his shoulder a constant reminder of how hard he had worked for this, but he suddenly felt very much on his own and for a second, completely helpless
It was the sharpness of a blade slashing across his hip that stunned D'Artagnan back into the battle. He hissed and jumped back, pressing his left hand to the bleeding cut on his skin. Thanking God that it wasn't as deep as it could have been, he raised his sword and fixed a glare on the bandit.
There were 2 more running in his direction and he knew he would have to dispatch them quickly so that he could get to his brothers and assess their injuries. He knew they had to be bad enough to render all 3 of them unconscious in the middle of a battle.
A quick jab with his sword had the bandit in front of him dropping to his knees and a swift kick to the chest had him sprawled on the ground, his breathing stopped.
Spinning quickly, D'Artagnan elbowed one of the remaining bandits on the temple before slashing at the other. Moments later both bandits lay on the ground, blood pooling around them.
D'Artagnan pushed his hair out of his face, grimacing as it stuck to the blood on his hand. Pressing his back against a nearby tree he took a second to compose himself and calm his breathing. No sooner had he started than he was running over to where his brothers were lying.
Aramis was just starting to stir when D'Artagnan dropped beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. Aramis opened his eyes with a gasp and grabbed the collar of D'Artagnan's doublet, pushing him back. When his eyes adjusted to who was actually in front of him, Aramis let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding and offered a small smile to his youngest brother.
'Thank God,' Aramis breathed, closing his eyes briefly. He let go of D'Artagnan's clothing and dropped back to the ground.
'Are you okay?' D'Artagnan asked while looking over Aramis, trying to assess the damage to his brother's body.
'Nothing serious, just a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion,' Aramis shrugged with a smirk, gasping when his arm pulled at the action.
'Yeah, nothing serious,' D'Artagnan scoffed with a shake of his head. 'Will you be ok for a few moments while I check on the others?'
'Absolutely, go! Let me know their injuries as you go, all my equipment is in my saddle bags. I'm not sure how much help I will be but I'll try my best,' Aramis admitted, hissing as he tried to sit himself up, holding his left arm tight to his side with his right hand.
'Aramis, stop moving,' D'Artagnan scolded, reaching over and helping Aramis sit up and lean back against a tree.
Aramis flashed him a smile, closing his eyes and swallowing back his nausea. He hated concussions, he didn't like feeling unsteady and he truly hated not being able to help his brothers when they were injured. At least D'Artagnan wasn't injured. He would help them.
A glance at his other brothers determined that Athos needed his help sooner than Porthos. The blood seeping from a gunshot wound in his thigh filled D'Artagnan with dread. There was no way Aramis could operate with his arm the way it was and if the blood coating the side of Porthos' face was anything to go by, he wouldn't be able to see straight let alone dig out a musket ball.
'Athos?' D'Artagnan spoke gently, shaking his shoulder. A groan pulled itself from Athos' lips as his eyes fluttered open.
'Did they get it?' were the first words from Athos' mouth as he fixed his pain-filled gaze onto D'Artagnan's face.
'No, they didn't get it,' D'Artagnan assured him, already reaching for the scarf around Athos' neck to wrap around his leg. 'You've been shot in the leg, try not to move it if you can. The ball's still in there, I'll need to get it out but I can't do it now. We need to get somewhere clean.'
'You? Why not Aramis?' Athos questioned, hissing when D'Artagnan finished tying the knot around his leg.
'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' D'Artagnan scoffed, flashing a smirk at Athos' scowl. 'Aramis has dislocated his shoulder and hit his head, he's not going to be fit enough to operate, unless you want him to cut an extra hole or two?'
The look on Athos' face had D'Artagnan giving him a smile and pat on his arm.
'Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine talking me through it. I can handle it,' D'Artagnan assured him.
A groan sounded from his other side and Porthos rolled onto his side, gagging as he vomited into the grass. D'Artagnan scrambled over, holding onto Porthos' shoulder so he didn't fall into the mess while his other hand rubbed up and down his brother's back, whispering words of encouragement.
When it seemed that Porthos was finally done, D'Artagnan helped pull him back and leant him up against a tree. He ran over to his horse who had thankfully not bolted but instead seemed content to wait by the sidelines and observe. Grabbing his water skin he jogged back over to Porthos, offering him the liquid to rinse his mouth out.
Having rinsed his mouth and taken a few sips to calm the nausea Porthos let out a sigh and let his head fall back against the bark.
'Better?' D'Artagnan asked as he moved over to Aramis and handed him the water skin.
'Bit,' Porthos shrugged, his eyes still closed. He knew if he opened them he'd be seeing two D'Artagnan's in front of him. He hated concussions.
'I'm sure. There's an inn nearby, we passed it about 30 minutes ago. If we can make it back there we can get fixed up. Athos has been shot and I need to get the ball out. I need to fix Aramis' shoulder and you both have concussions so it's probably best if you can lie down in an actual bed,' D'Artagnan explained as he walked between his friends checking Athos' wound and the gash on the back of Aramis' head.
'It'd be best if you put my shoulder back before we move. I won't be able to ride with it like this,' Aramis explained, shuffling back closer to the tree so his back was flush against it, already undoing his belt to put it between his teeth.
'Are you sure?' D'Artagnan questioned, already feeling a cold sweat on his forehead at the thought of causing Aramis more pain. Aramis simply nodded, his teeth biting into the leather of his belt and resting his head against the tree trunk.
D'Artagnan knelt beside him, drawing in a deep breath as he reached for Aramis' hand. With one hand gripping Aramis' hand and the other on his shoulder, he looked into Aramis' eyes and offered him a small smile.
'On three,' D'Artagnan breathed out, lifting Aramis' arm and steadfastly ignoring the grunt that came from his mouth.
'One,' D'Artagnan nodded, and with a sudden movement he lifted Aramis' arm and pushed against his shoulder, an audible pop sounding around them accompanied by an agonised groan.
Aramis' eyes fell closed as he pulled the belt from his teeth with his good arm, breathing deeply and trying to stop the tremors in his frame.
'Little shit,' Aramis breathed with a laugh, peeling his eyes open and shooting a mock glare at his youngest brother in front of him. D'Artagnan smiled, wiping the sweat off his forehead and dropping his hand back down to his knee.
'I was taught by the best,' he smirked, reaching over to undo the sash from around Aramis' waist, wrapping it around his arm and shoulder and tying it tightly so the arm was stabilised. Jumping up, he jogged over to Aramis' horse and grabbed the reins and led the horse over to its rider. Helping Aramis to his feet was the easy part, helping him onto his horse was another issue altogether. D'Artagnan crouched down and let Aramis place a muddied boot into his hands. After counting to 3, and this time 3 meant 3, he helped lift Aramis onto the back of his horse, reaching up and holding him by his weapons belt to steady him when it looked like he might topple off the other side
'I'm good,' Aramis assured him once the world stopped spinning around him and he swallowed down the urge to vomit up his breakfast. The look D'Artagnan gave him assured him that he did not believe him at all but he knew the boy had his work cut out for him getting the 2 elder Musketeers on their horses.
As D'Artagnan walked away he felt himself stumbling as his vision sparkled with black dots. He reached for his side and was dismayed to pull his hand back and see the blood coating his glove.
'Are you okay, D'Artagnan?' Aramis questioned having seen his brother trip over his own feet. He raised an eyebrow at the silence that reached back to him.
'Y-yes, I'm fine,' D'Artagnan assured him, turning back and flashing him a smile, 'Just got up too quickly, the heat of the battle, y'know?'
Aramis nodded his head but watched closely as D'Artagnan made his way over to Porthos. The boy was hiding something, Aramis just knew it, but if he was able to be on his own 2 feet and help the others onto their horses then it couldn't be that bad.
'Do you feel well enough to ride on your own?' D'Artagnan asked Porthos as he crouched down beside him. He smirked as his friend tried in vain to wipe the blood from his temple. As it was removed, more quickly flowed to cover its place. Head wounds did like to bleed.
'If you can help me up I'll stay up,' Porthos grunted with a nod, holding an arm out to his younger brother. D'Artagnan pulled him to his feet, grunting as Porthos came up but kept falling forward into him. It took all of D'Artagnan's strength to right his brother, holding onto his shoulders and standing there until Porthos' eyes cleared to look at him.
'I'm fine,' Porthos stated, already stumbling towards his horse but only staying upright due to D'Artagnan's fierce grip on his jacket.
'Mm hmm, of course you are,' D'Artagnan chimed in beside him, a chuckle leaving his lips as Porthos turned to glare at him. Using the same technique to get Porthos onto his horse as he had with Aramis, D'Artagnan grabbed the reins and led the horse over to Aramis.
'Can you keep an eye on him? I don't want him wandering off,' D'Artagnan stated as he handed the reins over to their resident medic. He watched as Aramis nodded with a smile at both him and Porthos, turning into a grin as he watch D'Artagnan duck a swipe from Porthos' massive paws.
D'Artagnan could hear Aramis asking Porthos questions as he walked towards Athos, knowing they were the typical questions that were asked when they had suffered from a head wound. He knew Aramis' head couldn't be that bad if he remembered to ask Porthos who he was and where he was born.
Steadfastly ignoring the burn that had started in his side where the blade has hit him he knelt down beside Athos. The oldest Musketeer had his eyes closed but D'Artagnan knew he wasn't asleep. He looked to be composing himself against the pain. D'Artagnan could only hope that the bullet in his leg hadn't hit the bone. He was sure he could remove the ball and stitch up the wound but he knew next to nothing about dealing with a broken bone.
'Are you going to help me onto my horse or are you going to sit there all day getting your backside wet?' Athos muttered beside him. His eyes were now opened and D'Artagnan had a feeling that they had been open for a while before he noticed them.
D'Artagnan gave him an indignant look before reaching down and grasping his forearm.
'Ready?' D'Artagnan asked even as Athos was pushing himself up with his other arm.
'Just get me up,' Athos hissed as he jarred his leg against the ground. D'Artagnan nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips and helped pull Athos to his feet. He stood for a second and let Athos lean against him until the world righted itself before him.
An almost imperceptible nod from Athos had D'Artagnan moving over to his own horse. He helped Athos into the saddle and had to swallow a moan that threatened to come out of his mouth when he felt a sharp pain from his own wound. Luckily for him Athos was too busy trying not to make a sound himself to notice. D'Artagnan took a deep breath and went to grab the reins of Athos' horse before pulling himself onto the saddle of his own horse, reaching around Athos to hold the reins.
He was glad he had the foresight to ride with Athos as no sooner had they started walking back towards the inn than Athos head slumped forward and D'Artagnan had to steady him in the saddle.
'He's out again,' D'Artagnan called over to Aramis who was walking several meters in front of him. Aramis only nodded in return, no surprise evident on his face. They had all been shot several times, except, he presumed, for D'Artagnan, so they knew how painful it was, especially when the ball was still in the flesh. He knew he had all the necessary materials to get the ball out and sew the wound shut, he just hoped that D'Artagnan would be able to keep a level head long enough to do it.
Athos was his mentor, the one he looked up to most and he understood how difficult it would be to be to take care of his wounds. Aramis felt the same whenever any of his brothers were hurt but he had been their medic for long enough for it not to affect his work.
Keeping the horses at an even walk back towards the inn, Aramis kept up the constant stream of conversation towards Porthos. He had been getting responses to begin with but those responses had now been reduced to grunts and groans. At least he was staying awake. If he could just keep him awake until they reached the inn then it would make their jobs a lot easier.
No sooner had he thought it than the inn was in their sights. It was run down, the sign for Le Cheval Rouge weather beaten and splintered but still visible. There was only 1 light in the window but D'Artagnan was hopeful. Stopping his horse beside Aramis, he handed over the reins before practically falling from its back. He took half a second to compose himself against the pain in his side before walking to the door. It was, thankfully, unlocked and D'Artagnan pushed it open, happy to be out of the rain, if only for a moment.
'Hello?' He called out when there was no one in the room for him to see. He heard shuffled footsteps to his right and an old man appeared, holding a torch aloft in his hand.
'What do you want?' He spoke softly, his free hand reaching for the pistol he kept nearby.
'Forgive me, monsieur, but I was hoping that you might have some rooms free for the night? My name is D'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers. My friends and I were attacked and they are injured. We need somewhere to spend the night and to attend to their wounds,' D'Artagnan explained, hoping against hope that the glare of the man before him wasn't directed at him.
'King's Musketeers you say,' the man nodded, a smile suddenly breaking out on his face, 'Of course you must stay here! There is no one else here, hasn't been for some time, but you are more than welcome to stay. I have rooms upstairs that would fit 3 if that would suffice?'
D'Artagnan nodded, a grateful smile on his face.
'Merci monsieur, we are very grateful for your hospitality. I will get my comrades if you would be so kind as to show us to the room and perhaps provide some hot water so that I may see to their wounds?'
The innkeeper only nodded in response, already making his way into the kitchen to start heating up the necessary water.
Getting his brothers into the inn was much easier said than done. Porthos seemed much more alert now that they had arrived and was able to dismount from his horse without D'Artagnan's help. He stood with his back pressed up against the stonewall of the inn as he watched D'Artagnan lead all 4 horses to the hitching post at the front of the inn and tied the horses to it.
'There is a barn at the back, I will see to the horses once we are settled,' D'Artagnan assured his brothers. Aramis nodded in return, reaching down and grabbing D'Artagnan's outstretched hand and used him as balance to get down from his saddle.
He groaned as his feet hit the ground, the reverberations spiking their way through his shoulder.
'Easy,' D'Artagnan cooed, rubbing his hand up and down Aramis' back until he was back with him.
'Thank you brother,' Aramis breathed, a smile on his face that barely reached his drooping eyes.
'Porthos, if you are able, can you help Aramis in? The innkeeper has rooms available upstairs and will show you to them,' D'Artagnan explained as he walked over to his own horse, already bracing his legs to be able to get Athos off his horse without both of them falling to the ground.
Once he was sure that Aramis and Porthos had both gone inside, D'Artagnan took a second to gasp out a breath, pushing one hand against his side. He was starting to think that he had been hit worse than originally suspected. It would have to wait though, his brothers were in far worse condition.
See to them then see to yourself, he thought, the sentence running on a loop in his mind as he steeled himself against the pain.
He reached up and around Athos' waist, pulling him towards him and locking his knees in anticipation of the extra weight that was about to hit him. Athos was not the heaviest of his brothers, that honour went to Porthos and his muscles, but when he was unconscious, the dead weight was hard to shift.
As he pulled Athos off the horse and into his chest, a moan sounded from Athos' lips and his eyes fluttered open.
'Hello,' D'Artagnan greeted with a smile, 'You're just in time for the party, can you help me get you inside?'
The words seemed to make no sense to Athos as he looked around him with lidded eyes.
'We're at an inn, I'm going to fix you up but I need your help to get in. Do you think you can do that?' D'Artagnan explained, already throwing Athos' left arm over his shoulder and standing up straight. This seemed to sink in as Athos nodded and took as much of his own weight on his undamaged right leg as he could.
Getting upstairs had been a challenge and by the end of the journey both Musketeers were gasping for air. They stumbled towards the only open door in the hallway and were greeted by the sight of the 2 remaining Musketeers already sitting on their chosen beds.
Looking around D'Artagnan could see 2 proper beds and a cot in the corner, the cot that Aramis had already claimed. In the back of his head D'Artagnan recognised that there was no bed for him to sleep in but he pushed the thought away. He had too much to get done to sleep for a while anyway.
There was a soft knock on the door and the innkeeper stepped in, holding a tray out towards the men.
'I've put some water on to heat for you but in the meantime I've brought you something to eat and some wine to warm you up a bit. Terrible weather we're having today, and for you to travel in it, it must be awful,' he spoke as he walked over to the table by the wall and set the tray of bread, cheese, and cured meats down.
'Merci monsieur, we are in your debt,' Aramis bowed his head slightly before making his way over to the table.
'Nonsense, I don't get very many visitors in these parts so it's nice to have a bit of company, even if it is only for a brief visit,' the innkeeper explained, 'My name is Victor, please let me know if there is anything else you require while you are here, I am only too happy to oblige. I will bring the water up in a few moments.'
'I will come with you, monsieur, I need to stable out horses and get them out of the rain,' D'Artagnan voiced as he walked towards the door. 'See if you can both eat something and try and get Athos to eat something too if he is able. I'll be back to see you in a bit.'
With that D'Artagnan left the room followed by the innkeeper who closed the door soundlessly behind them. Aramis' gaze didn't leave the door, his eyebrows furrowed as he chewed on a piece of bread.
'What?' Porthos asked as he poured a cup of wine for himself and Aramis, most of which went into the cup which he was rather surprised at.
'I'm not sure,' Aramis uttered, taking the proffered glass from Porthos' hand, 'I just think D'Artagnan is hiding something.'
'Wouldn't be like him,' Porthos offered with a smirk, knocking the cup of wine back before setting it on the table. 'Look, he's upright, he's walking, there are no obvious injuries, and he's managed to get all of us here without incident. If he is hiding something it's obviously not that bad.'
Aramis hummed in response, his face unconvinced even as he stood up and walked over to the bed where Athos lay, attempting to get him to eat something.
Outside, D'Artagnan had managed to get all 4 horses into the barn and removed their saddles, the saddlebags piled near the door ready to be taken inside. He quickly brushed them down before putting out enough feed to last them for a while before he turned to leave.
A sharp burn caught him as he twisted and he was left nearly on his knees, only the nearby wall saved him from hitting the floor. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before leaning back against the wall and pulling up his shirt to inspect the damage.
He cursed to himself as he finally seen what the blade had done, the cut far deeper than he initially thought. He was sure helping 3 burly Musketeers on and off horses hadn't done him any good either. He grabbed a bandage from Aramis' saddle bags and pressed it against the wound, the pain of which nearly had his knees buckling beneath him. He ignored the blood still dripping down his side, staining the tops of his trousers and pulled his shirt back down. He would deal with it later.
For now, he had his brothers to take care of.