AN: This is probably the angstiest thing I have ever written. I managed to traumatize myself with my own fic. Someone already filled this prompt, but it was back in August (which was actually when I wrote this) so I think I'm okay to fill it again.
Based on this prompt from the kink meme: Someone - or more than one - willingly sacrifices themselves so that others can live. Something along the lines of "save yourself I'll hold them back" or a door that can only be locked from the wrong side that has to be secured. Bonus points for heartbreaking conversation between the one(s) who is/are going to die and the ones who are going to live (or just the ones who will die) when both parties know what will happen but are powerless to change it (eg from either side of a locked gate or something).
They pounded through the tunnel, torches casting flickering shadows across the slimy walls. The sounds of pursuit echoed from behind them, getting closer as they stumbled through the knee deep muck. D'Artagnan led them, arms above his head to keep the plans from the clinging mud, but Aramis could see the boy was tiring, and there was no other with the strength left to take his place.
"We ain't gonna make it," Porthos croaked, giving voice to his fears. Athos ignored him, urging D'Artagnan on as he hurried behind him, left arm pulled close to his body to keep from jostling the break.
"Athos, we're not going to make it," Aramis repeated, stumbling again in the muck as his leg gave out for the dozenth time. Porthos tried to catch him, hauling him along despite the obvious pain on his face. Three of his ribs were broken, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. They hadn't had time to reset his dislocated shoulder.
"You must move faster," Athos snapped curtly, not looking back. "Keep going, D'Artagnan. They mustn't get the plans, or France could fall."
"I can't move faster," Aramis cried angrily, frustrated with his own weakness even as he felt himself slowing further. Porthos's hand on his arm was all that was keeping him upright. Blood trailed from the deep slash in his thigh to mix with the muck and slime.
"We can make it," Athos said furiously, whirling around to glare at him. Ahead, D'Artagnan paused, watching them uncertainly. "Don't stop!" Athos shouted.
Aramis stared him down, catching the flicker of fear in the blue eyes. "Athos. I won't make it," he said shrugging helplessly. "You know it as well as I."
"No," Porthos growled, stepping forward menacingly. "Shut up, Aramis. I'll carry you if I have to."
"With a dislocated shoulder?" Aramis asked, smiling sadly. "Not even you could manage that, mon cher."
"Both of you will be silent this fucking instant!" Athos hissed, the urgency robbing him of his polished speech. "There's a gate ahead. If we close it behind us, they cannot follow. I don't want to hear another word about anyone being left behind."
The sounds of pursuit drew ever nearer, and Athos didn't wait for a reply. He shoved D'Artagnan ahead of him and hurried forward while Porthos hauled Aramis after them. Aramis tried to focus on the light of Athos's torch and not the sickening feeling in his head as his lifeblood leaked into the mud.
Aramis lasted only another minute before he collapsed, feeling slime squelching against his bleeding leg, the bandage long since unwound and trampled underfoot. Porthos cursed and hauled him upright, pulling the injury from the muck.
"Now it'll get infected," he growled, ignoring Aramis's protests as he slung his arm around his shoulders.
Aramis didn't have the heart to tell him he'd be dead long before infection set in. Let him hope for as long as he was able. Aramis knew the truth, and he knew somewhere inside, Athos did as well.
This was a killing wound.
"There!" D'Artagnan called excitedly from around the next corner, relief a tangible presence in his voice, and Porthos charged through the sludge, dragging Aramis along to see the youngest Musketeer ducking beneath the lower edge of the round gate hanging from the ceiling above, already half closed.
"How do I close it?" he asked, grunting when Athos ducked under and shoved him aside.
"There should be a switch," Athos muttered. Aramis could hear him running his hands along the wall. "It'll seal the tunnel until the corresponding switch is flipped above."
"Go and help," Aramis murmured, shoving Porthos in their direction as he braced himself against the wall beside the half closed gate. If it shut now, he would be trapped on the wrong side.
He leaned back against the grimy stones, feeling the absence of his hat like the loss of a limb. It was lying behind them somewhere, no doubt trampled and soiled beyond all recognition.
Aramis tapped his fingers against the wall, listening to the muttered curses from the other side of the hanging gate. He could just see his brother's legs and boots, their torsos hidden by the thick stone.
Then his fingers slid against something that wasn't slime or crumbling brick. This was metal, rusty and barely visible when he looked down at it, but metal.
He had found the switch.
On the wrong side of the gate.
He opened his mouth to call out to the others and tell them of his discovery, but something made him pause. If he told the others, Athos would insist on staying behind and closing the gate, trapping him with their angry pursuers.
Athos would die.
Aramis's leg pulsed with pain, reminding him that he was already lost. He would not let another fall in his stead. If someone had to die to protect France's future, it would be him.
There was no time for goodbyes. Taking a deep breath, he choked out, "I'm sorry," and wrenched the rusty lever with all his strength.
He heard Athos cry a question and D'Artagnan yell in horror when the gate creaked and began to descend, but the worst noise was the sudden squelching of mud and slime as Porthos threw himself beneath the gate, narrowly avoiding being crushed as it slammed down, separating them from Athos and D'Artagnan.
Aramis dropped to his knees, sinking into the mud, hands pressing against his eyes as he tried to deny what he had seen.
Porthos, on the wrong side of the gate.
Porthos was going to die with him.
"No!" he shouted, surging to his feet once more with an unexpected burst of strength. "No! You cannot do this. It was my sacrifice to make!" He slammed his fists against Porthos's right arm, careful even in his hopeless fury not to injure him farther. "How could you do this to me? You are forcing me to watch you die!"
"You were gonna force me to leave you behind!" Porthos snarled, catching his wrists. "Make me walk away, knowing you were dyin' in here, alone! You don't get to ask that of me, Aramis! We go, we go together."
Aramis gazed at him helplessly, knees giving out as his fury burned away as fast as it had come. Porthos caught him, keeping him upright. The sounds of pursuit had slowed at the crash of the gate, but now they drew closer, and Aramis could see the flickering of approaching torches.
"They're coming," he whispered, fumbling for his pistol.
Porthos nodded grimly. "Aye. But there's a minute or two yet." He reached out and stilled Aramis's frantic movements, his hand a comforting weight on Aramis's own.
"The way I see it, I can't watch you die, and you can't watch me die, so we'll just have to kill 'em all," Porthos said with forced lightness. "Then we just sit pretty until Athos picks us up."
Aramis nodded, clinging to the false hope. He knew he was dead, but maybe, just maybe, if they fought hard enough, Porthos could make it.
"Hey," Porthos said softly, one hand rising to rest warmly against the back of his neck, curling around to pull him nearer. "It was a good run, eh?"
"The best," Aramis murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Think Athos'll ever forgive us?"
The lightness of a moment before was gone now. Porthos's dark eyes were deadly serious. "No," he admitted bluntly. "But I wouldn'ta done anything different. 'M glad he got away."
"Me too," Aramis whispered. "Wish you had gone with him."
Porthos chuckled, and the sound was honest in spite of the tears pricking his eyes. "You had to know I was never gonna let you die alone."
Aramis smiled sadly, meeting his gaze. "I thought we weren't going to die."
Porthos didn't respond. His hand tightened until Aramis leaned forward, resting his forehead against Aramis's own.
"Porthos?"
"Mmm?"
He couldn't say the words. It would make it too real, too hopeless. So he murmured, "Miss you," and heard Porthos's watery chuckle in return.
"Yeah," Porthos breathed, hand almost painfully tight. "Miss you too."
Torchlight exploded upon them as their pursuers finally rounded the corner. Porthos's hand dropped to his blade at the same moment as Aramis's, preparing for what was to come.
They didn't pull apart until the last possible moment.
There will be a follow up chapter about Athos. It might actually be worse than this. Feel free to scream at me in the comments.