"The bandits have made a mess of things around here," Athos saw all the trash outside the village, not normal in one this poor where they needed everything they could get.
"Yes, they have," Porthos agreed looking around on his guard.
"How many did they say were here?" Aramis asked.
"Only ten or so, I've heard they are a difficult bunch that's why our reinforcements will be here tonight. Let's scout it out," Athos turned and watched d'Artagnan in the rear. He was especially on edge. His last encounter with bandits was in his own town and he had not talked since they had gotten on the road.
Aramis looked as cocky as ever and Porthos as stoic as he normally looked. But d'Artagnan's silence spoke volumes and he knew he should talk to the kid tonight. He was so young, something conveyed on his face when he was this scared.
They circled around the village/ camp their radius getting bigger every time until they found a suitable spot to camp. D'Artagnan still seemed off as he started the fire and did all the chores in complete silence.
"Are you alright?" Athos questioned as he yet again stoked the fire.
"Yes, fine," Athos went to touch his arm and he jumped out of his skin across the fire away from Athos. The closer he was to him the more he realized a thin sheen of sweat around his hairline on a very cool night. His normally dark skin, paled, and cheeks flushed.
"Are you ill?" Athos raised his voice slightly.
"Who's ill?" Aramis turned around in full on medic mode.
"D'Artagnan," Athos cursed himself for not noticing earlier.
"I'm fine. Perfectly fine," he claimed and then proved it to not be so when he coughed into his sleeve and nearly doubled over in pain and exertion.
"Whoa, whoa settle down," Aramis grabbed his arm and pulled him down on a stump close to them as he continued to cough.
"I'm okay, just got something in my throat is all," Porthos scoffed from the other side of the fire.
"Yeah I think we know you are not battling bandits tomorrow. Your fever is high, the cough sounds as if it could be the beginnings of pneumonia, and you need rest," Aramis gestured for Athos to lay out his mat to sleep on and he did quickly.
"I'm fine! Just a little tired from today. A good night's rest and I'll be great in the morning," d'Artagnan tried to argue but was stopped by Aramis who shook his head.
"I can't risk it. It's my job as a medic, even if it's just a field one," he pointed to the mat laid out and d'Artagnan rolled his eyes before laying down. He wasn't happy about it but this was going to be the only way they might be convinced to let him fight tomorrow.
He did feel better in the morning but not at his peak although he played it that way. Aramis proclaimed that he could be on look out but not in the thick of the battle. He sat on his horse while the battle began. The men were much more skilled than they had anticipated and the men could ride. They were incredible on the backs of the horses. He had seen several horses attack riders while the men stayed on. He wanted to join but knew that he would just distract the other men.
He was a great horseman himself, from Gascony as a farm boy, he knew his way around the saddle. He hadn't fallen off a horse since he was 12 and it was one his father threw him on to break one summer when his father's best mare had died.
He finally saw the opportunity to jump in when the numbers diminished on their side and he rode in feeling the adrenaline he almost forgot he was ill. The others knew they needed him and each acknowledged one more person they knew they had to watch his back.
He fought on horseback finding his way through the massacre he made it to the leader in the back who was signalling. He must have had some sort of military background teaching these men to ride and fight as well as they did. Take out the leader, cause some panic, that was a straight forward plan.
"Where's d'Artagnan?!" Aramis asked Athos over the clanging of swords and he gestured to where he kept an eye on the boy quickly approaching the man.
"He's not on his horse!" Aramis yelled back and Athos jerked to look back just as the captain of the bandits horse came down on d'Arganthan's ribs. He must have fallen from his horse and was definitely unconscious as he made no move when the horse came up to pounce again.
Athos knew he was too far and Aramis as well as they sat on their horses temporarily paralyzed sure he was dead when Porthos came flying off his horse launching himself into the shoulder of the captain's horse. It fell to the side clipping the side of d'Arganthan's head as the captain sprawled out on the side of the horse.
Aramis and Athos had fought with new rage and had chopped down almost every opponent. Aramis was off his horse before Athos could blink and was at the side of d'Arganthan in no time at all.
"Come on, let me see," Aramis whispered to himself rapidly as he pulled up on his shirts finding some very broken ribs. He examined his head next the gash was very daunting looking but the lack of the knot on the back of his head concerned him much more.
The battlefield quieted around them as the bandits were almost dead. Porthos and Aramis took care of the guards as Aramis continued to tend to the injured man, "This has to swell. Has to."
He hardly noticed Athos standing over him, "What has to swell?"
"His head, I know he's hit it, and if doesn't swell that means the bleeding is internal. His brain is bleeding," Aramis tried not to look panicked but failed miserably as he kept muttering about the swelling.
Porthos ignored his own shoulder he was fairly sure was dislocated as he watched Aramis make sure the ribs weren't constricting his breathing.
"You can't treat the brain here. We've got to get him back to the barracks," Porthos was a much needed voice of reason as Aramis nodded.
"We need a wagon!" Athos yelled, the mood adjusted and turned frantic again as everyone prepared to move. He was placed gently in the back as Aramis ordered them to stack things around them so he wouldn't move too much on the journey. The ribs jostled under his hand and he knew he could not mess around.
Aramis turned around at one point and without warning went to Porthos and flung his shoulder back into place leaving him reeling with stars in his eyes as Aramis hopped back in the wagon and signaled they go. A small groan escaped d'Artagnan everytime they hit a bump in the road and Aramis was torn. He repeatedly felt for a bump hoping it appeared. He knew he was unconscious when he fell off his horse and he needed some sort of swelling.
But none came and the three Musketeers looked very grave as they pulled into the gates of Paris shouting instructions. They needed all hands on deck. Needed everyone with somewhat of a medical background if they were going to pull this off.
They had moved him to bed when he started to stir. He groaned, clenching his eyes shut, and Aramis prayed that he would be okay. Or at least somewhat okay when he woke up.
"My head," he ground out without opening his eyes. He moved slightly appearing to try and sit up and Aramis held his shoulders firmly.
"You've got to stay down," at hearing a new voice his eyes flew open and he looked at Aramis wildly.
"Who are you?" he looked around the room, "Where am I?"
"I'm your friend," Aramis answered, he knew memory loss was possible with head injuries, "We're in your rooms. Don't you recognize it?"
"Who am I?" he asked, "My head hurts. It hurts really bad. Can you make it stop?"
He never looked younger with his face half soaked in blood and so distraught. Aramis nodded before thinking, "Of course, I need to you to take this draught and it will help. It won't taste good."
The other doctor's were impressed with Aramis' bedside manner and the calmness about him. He was a natural healer and when he succumbed back to the pain he turned around to look at the doctors, "No way that was normal."
"We're going to do everything we can for him. Injuries of the brain are tricky but he is young and strong. Stay positive. Go get some food and rest while we set ribs. It's going to be a very long night," a doctor instructed and he was hesitant to leave his charge in another's care but he knew he had to do something about the blood and grime all over him from battle much of the blood being d'Artagnan's from his head injury.
Athos and Porthos waited behind the door, "They wouldn't let us come in. How is he?"
"When he woke up, he could not remember his own name," Aramis said wearily continuing walking to the bath house.
"What are the doctors saying?" they followed wanting news.
"Head injuries are tricky. I told them he was sick so the fever may or may not be a sign of infection. They are being careful not to wrap the ribs and encourage pneumonia but they have to reset many of them. It's tedious work that I was not up for. I am already so tired and who knows how long he'll be down for?" he threw off his weapons in his own room on the way to the bath house as if they were on fire, "I knew he shouldn't have fought. I knew it."
"He is a stubborn kid. He would have fought regardless of fever or illness. This is not your fault," Athos comforted, an usual trait for him. It wasn't very often you saw Aramis frustrated, "We're going to stand guard, see if there's news."
"Tell me if there is. I need a bath. Or something. Not sure what I need," Aramis sighed heavily and continued to make his way down the hall.
Many doctors had left when the three came back from dinner and all three were allowed in the room. Aramis was happy to see his breathing normal and pupils fine. He knew that was theory of how damaged the brain was, dilated pupils.
"He has not woke up. Remember, the memory loss is not uncommon. Do not be upset by it. It should come back within the next few days," the last doctor assured as he left, "I'll be back later to check on him."
The three thanked him and then assumed positions around the bed waiting for their young friend to wake up. They dozed through the night unconsciously taking shifts to make sure he never woke up in distress. Athos kept saying to himself that sleep was a sign of healing and Aramis would agree but Aramis also knew how tricky head injuries were.
D'Artagnan woke up many times over the course of the week that followed and every time he only remembered what happened the day before not the twenty years of his life before. He established an easy relationship with Aramis who he called his friend now even though all he could remember was what had happened the day before. Athos and Porthos intimidated him and inadvertently he would breathe harder when they were in the room. He was slowly adjusting to their presence but there was no sign of the real d'Artagnan in there. The d'Artagnan they knew and loved seemed to be gone.
It was about a week into it when the fever, that had not quit yet, spiked. He spent many hours of the day screaming out in fever dreams about his father. Dreams he didn't remember when he woke up. It was all the more frustrating for Aramis whose nerves were worn down to strings. Strings Porthos and Athos plucked at more often than not making him snap at them.
It was a saving grace when Treville came and called the two for a mission. He'd often check on d'Artagnan and could tell Aramis was straining to keep his temper under wraps being as sleep deprived and overworked as he was. Treville had offered other doctors and other vigils and while they would come Aramis would still watch over his young friend day and night catching a few hours of sleep every couple of days. It was not healthy but Treville couldn't say he wouldn't do the same.
They didn't want to leave d'Artagnan's side but were happy to be able to get out. It was a short three day mission and they left Aramis with a warning to Treville that he was just about on the point of collapse.
"NO!" Aramis cries could be heard throughout the halls of the barracks, "NO!"
D'Artagnan shook before him having a seizure. The fever was too high, his brain too sensitive, his ribs not stable enough for this to happen. How he had failed his friend not getting the fever down in time. He convulsed for a short number of minutes before settling back down, his breathing returning to normal.
Amaris knew he was blessed by some hand of God when the ribs hadn't moved. And checking the stitches on the side of his head he knew they were not mangled. He spent the rest of the day putting cold compresses he had requested from the queen around his chin and under his arms. The fever lowered itself again but d'Artagnan was yet to wake up.
Aramis, tired, scooted the cot they had placed in there for him next to d'Artagnan's and let himself rest if only for a brief moment.
"Aramis," Aramis didn't stir when he first heard his name but jerked awake when something cold was thrown on him.
"What the hell!" Aramis turned around ready to snap at Athos and Porthos for waking him when he saw d'Artagnan stare down at him from his bed.
"How did we get back here?" he asked, "Where are Athos and Porthos? They're fine right?"
"What's your name?" Aramis shot back, "Do you know who you are? Where you are?"
"Of course, my name is d'Artagnan, Charles d'Artagnan. Are you okay Aramis? Do you know where you are?" Aramis started laughing joyfully jumping up from the cot.
"I assume you don't remember any of the last ten days?" Aramis asked and d'Artagnan shrugged.
"What did the last ten days involve? The reason my ribs are mutilated I hope," the sarcasm was back and so was some color. Aramis put a hand to his forehead, the fever was gone.
"Yes, and I'll explain. What do you remember?"
"Not much, camping, seeing the riders, they were incredible," Aramis nodded remembering himself.
"You were thrown from your horse by the captain. The horses were trained to attack people as well, I'm sure you remember," a nod of acknowledgment from d'Artagnan and he continued, "The captain's horse went stomping on your ribs when Porthos tackled the horse. Yes, you heard that right he launched himself in the shoulder of it when it went for your head but it did clip it. However, you were out cold from falling so that's two head injuries you had to account for plus an illness it would have been nice to know about. You've spent the last week not remembering anyone's name including your own."
"Do you have any idea why not just my ribs and head hurt but my entire body?" he asked shakily looking weak and pale now that the flush from the fever had finally left.
"You just barely had a seizure. I assume from your spiking fever, but the fever is gone leaving only sore muscles in its wake," d'Artagnan smiled at Aramis who had a joyful look on his face and hoped he remembered this all when he woke up again as he drifted off to sleep to Aramis' soft voice telling him to do so.
He woke up still remembering and finally recovering. Aramis was in a much better mood and the captain felt it safe to stop by and visit the boy. He was weak but able to sit up and talk enough to hold a conversation which was much better than how it had been a week ago.
The day Athos and Porthos were coming home d'Artagnan decided he needed a bath. Filling one up in the corner of the room and putting curtains up d'Artagnan felt like a king with his private recovery. He knew he was bound to his room for a while yet so he was glad to be able to soak his sore muscles. He was in said bath while Aramis dozed, there only if he needed them, and the two other Musketeers walked in.
"Aramis?!" Athos voice was full of panic as he saw an empty bed, "Where is he?"
Porthos shook Aramis, who was coming to reality again slowly, "Gentlemen! Settle down! D'Artagnan!?"
"Yes!" he called back from behind the curtain.
"He's just taking a bath. He's got a lot of sore muscles," Aramis grinned up at them, "And he knows his name now. And remembers. He remembers!"
"Ahh hah!" Porthos picked up Aramis in a giant hug, "Get out d'Artagnan let me have a look at ya!"
It took d'Artagnan a good five minutes to get out and get just his undergarments on. Even still he was afraid of slipping on the wet floor and Aramis went behind the curtain once he had them on and helped him put his pants on.
"You don't need a shirt. Now that your fevers gone we're going to wrap those so you're a little more mobile," he nodded, tears shining in his eyes from the pain and gingerly stepped out Aramis under his arm as they beelined for the bed.
"Hey kid," Athos sat down next to the bed and wrapped his hand tightly around his arm. D'Artagnan squeezed back with considerably less strength and did the same to Porthos who smiled widely at the Musketeer.
"I'm okay," he told both of them who had tears in their own eyes as they all explained the story with minor details portraying what they had perceived.
"How's your shoulder doing?" he asked Porthos who rolled his eyes seeing the guilt on his face.
"Don't go there. The horse was going to trample your face in. I acted on instinct. I don't regret it," at that d'Artagnan smiled all traces of guilt gone. He knew if he was as large a man as Porthos he would have done the same.
"I haven't fallen off a horse since I was 12," he mumbled as they chuckled and watched his eyes flutter open and closed again.
It wasn't too long before he couldn't escape the idea of sleep and slipped back under. Aramis went to his own rooms to sleep and Porthos and Athos played cards on the other side of the room glad to be back to stand vigilant over the kid.
It was almost a month until he was allowed out. Aramis stood at his beck and call despite his arguments that he didn't need him to do so. His strength was at all time low. By the time he had walked down the stairs from his floor on the barracks he was winded and struggling. The ribs were not completely healed yet and he often got headaches. He was tired of being tired and began to do exercises with Athos again. Small ones that he was not at much risk for doing.
The day of a grueling session that had him writhing on the ground when he moved the wrong way Athos had to carry him back to his room and fill the bath for him to soak. It wasn't pleasant for either of them.
They went to a play that d'Artagnan fell asleep during and couldn't hardly get out of the uncomfortable chair to go home. His progress wasn't fast enough for his liking and he took his frustration out on any inanimate object in his path.
During a particularly bad day for the pain Porthos had held him arms apart by the shoulders and cocked his head to one side, "I know you think you're the only one struggling. But I'm telling you we're all for one and one for all. We know how it is more than most people. So, quit your fit throwing and get your act together."
And he truly knew they were all for one and for all by the small amount of advice given to him. And he lived by that advice until his dying day.
**Sorry had no idea how to end it, it's a curse.