So this is a pure 'feel trip' for all you whump lovers out there ;) I purposely did not specify who it is that got whumped in this story (so that you may all enjoy it from whichever character angle you prefer). As a side-note, I realized that although Aramis, Athos and d'Artagnan suffer the most injuries from fanfiction writers, we often don't consider how it affects the person doing all the comforting... So here's my take on it!
Be warned, this does get pretty dark/angsty/graphic, but that's life. I hope it brings you some strong musketeer 'feels' but not complete devastation ;)
"Hold on, brother…helps comin'... Jus' keep yer eyes open" Porthos commanded, fists now clutching at the bloodied leather scraps.
A bubbling gasp was the only sign that his brother had heard him. There was no answer.
Chilling winds whipped down the lonely alley, tossing grit against his eyes while the heavy scent of copper and gun smoke chased its' way up his nostrils.
Unable to escape the harsh environment, Porthos instinctively leaned over his brother to shelter him from further harm.
It would do no good, Porthos' mind hissed. The damage was already done. He had been too late to stop it.
A ragged moan suddenly broke out from below, snapping the devastated musketeer away from his self-loathing.
"It's alright, shh, just stay still" Porthos comforted.
A rivulet of crimson slowly dribbled down his brothers' chin, as if marking his body for death. Porthos quickly denied the claim and swiped it away with tender fingers. There would be no more blood tonight.
Not if he could help it.
Another dreadful moment of silence slipped by. Only his anxious breathing and the shallow gasps of his brother could be heard now.
He was thankful for those gasps…it meant his brother still lived, still fought to live, that he would survive.
Holding onto this hope, Porthos decided to put a little more pressure against the leaking hole in his brother's side, shushing him when it provoked another agonized moan.
He wished it hadn't come to this. Just sitting here and waiting for help. But he couldn't move…not when his brother drowned himself in agony over every small movement…Not when the journey would lose more precious blood...Not when he was expecting aid to arrive soon…
And so they had to stay here. Had to wait. Had to pray for a miracle.
"P'rths…" a weak voice murmured.
His brother.
"Don't talk. Save your strength" Porthos stated, resolutely.
But his brother shook his head, his glassy eyes gazing up into his own with such determination, "You need…to leave" he choked.
Porthos' brow instantly grew together in anger, his fingers tightening into the cold, damp leather lying in his lap, "Don't you dare say that to me" he growled, eyes shining slightly.
His brothers' gaze seemed apologetic for a moment before it scrunched once more in pain, his body growing taught as he braced against it.
Porthos held on in silence, stroking at his comrades' dark hair in what he hoped would be taken as a comforting gesture.
"They'll….come" the voice gasped again.
"I don't care if they come, I ain't leaving you" Porthos stated lowly, his dark eyes flitting about the unmoving corpses once more to search for new danger.
They may have won this battle, but the price had been to dear Porthos cringed, willing away the tears and doing his best to keep a straight face for his injured brother.
He needed to be strong for both of them right now. He couldn't afford to lose himself to the sorrows, his fight was not over yet…
The musketeer regiment must have heard their skirmish…must have heard the battle cries, the discharge of muskets, his rough voice begging for aid. Yes, they would surely come. It was only a matter of time.
Hopefully, not too much time…
His brother squirmed suddenly in his arms, drawing Porthos back to the present.
"Hey! No. Stop it. Stop moving you dolt, you're only gonna make it worse" Porthos chastised, worriedly, taking his brother's arms and forcing them back to the ground.
There was no way he was going to let the damned fool get up and crawl out of here. He'd bleed out before he even reached the end of the alley…
Porthos quickly erased that haunting vision from his mind and settled on arranging his cloak back across his brother's torso.
He was already so cold. So pale.
Porthos couldn't ignore the facts any longer.
"T'lk to me…please" a voice begged, hollow eyes slowly fluttering closed.
"You gonna stay awake if I do?" Porthos inquired, heart beating rapidly in concern.
"Mmmm" came the vague answer.
Porthos carefully maneuvered himself into a more comfortable sitting position against the brick wall and drew his limp brother closer against his chest.
With a nervous cough, Porthos drew his weary eyes back up to the inky black depths hanging over the city and thought hard on what he could say to distract his brother from this dismal situation.
Never had he been so lost for words than he was in this moment.
"…I don't know where to begin" Porthos confessed, apologetically.
Only silence greeted him.
Floundering for a story to occupy their minds, Porthos raked his memory for any light-hearted tales he could share.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I got caught for stealing blueberries as a kid?" Porthos recalled, a faded smirk turning up the corners of his lips.
Once again, silence invaded his senses. Porthos gulped awkwardly.
It didn't feel right to disguise such a life threatening situation with irrelevant tales…but if it helped his brother maintain his sanity and find a reason to keep fighting, he would damn well do it.
Porthos paused for some kind of response, then, looked down to his brother for some kind of response. He regretted the decision.
Ashen skin, blood stained lips and deeply ringed eyes instantly clawed at his vision, haunting his soul and torturing his mind in one swift blow.
He couldn't fight this alone. The reality was too grim, too devastatingly real. If help didn't arrive soon, his mind would perish alongside his brother's body.
"Please…" a small voice interrupted.
Porthos grudgingly dragged his eyes back down to his brother, an apprehensive expression betraying his true fears.
"…continue"
Porthos sniffed, his vision blurred. Why was it so damn hard to keep it together when he needed to most?
"So demanding…" he jested, quietly.
His brother graced his humour with a weak smile, stifling a few wheezes, if only to make the moment seem more normal.
"Uh, where was I?…" Porthos muttered, mind racing to uncover the happy memory before his brother was too weak to hear it.
"…..blueberries" the voice whispered.
"Right…" Porthos reminisced, patting his brother with an affectionate smile, then, beginning with his story.
"So, as a kid in the court o' miracles, there was never that much food lying around-" he began, "-and it's not like ya can just steal food all the time…'cause, eventually, someone ya stole from would end up squattin' beside ya and decide to murder you in yer sleep-" Porthos explained.
"Pleasant" the voice muttered, then coughed weakly.
Porthos smiled, "Yeah, well, that's life for ya"
This time, no smile was offered through the gloom.
Porthos quickly resumed his tale, losing himself in idle details and recalling how he'd earned the nickname, 'blueberry bandit' after having stolen from a vendors' generous supply of blueberries.
When he had finished, he sat there with a wide grin on his face -mind free from the feelings of misery and anguish, thanks to his brother's tactical request.
Unfortunately, it didn't take Porthos long to float back to reality.
"Hey? You still with me?" Porthos inquired, nudging his friend softly.
"Mmm" the voice strained to reply.
Concern marring his expression once again, Porthos peeled his bloodied hands away from the wound in his brother's side and surveyed the extent of the damage.
The bloodied wound still wept heavily, though not as heavily as before. Was that a good thing? Was the hole clotting itself from the inside …or was his brother simply running out of blood to spill?
He desperately wished he had the answers.
Porthos placed his hot palms back over the injury and apologized when it caused his brother to whimper in pain.
"I know it hurts. I'm sorry… but I gotta do this" Porthos explained, feebly.
"H-help?" his brother inquired weakly, dim eyes drifting open and sliding up to his shadowed face.
"Yeah, it's comin'" Porthos promised, his throat constricting hotly. He hoped his promise hadn't been a lie.
"…when?" he probed.
"Soon" Porthos assured, brushing the dark strands of hair back out of his brother's eyes.
A moment of silence quickly shrouded both men in it's depths. Saying what they both could not.
Help would not come soon enough.
Porthos quickly looked away and occupied his mind by scanning the dimly lit alley once again; his eyes roaming over each lump of flesh and scrutinizing it until he was sure it would not present a threat to them.
"P'rths?"
"Yeah?" Porthos inquired, bowing his head back to his brother.
"…dying?"
"What!?" Porthos stumbled, eyes blowing wide at the sudden statement.
His brother remained silent.
"You are not dying" Porthos boomed, his frayed temper causing his body to tremble.
"I can feel…"
"No. I don't wanna hear it" Porthos interrupted. "-You're jus' out of yer head 'cause o' the blood loss. That's all"
"But-"
"Please, brother. Just- don't" Porthos begged, hanging onto his sanity.
His brother slowly closed his crimson lips and settled once more into silence.
The overwhelming tension his brother had created slowly began to leak Porthos' tired mind and reveal itself in small twitches and trembles.
No longer, could he hide his feelings from his brother.
"S'alright" his brother comforted, a cold hand squeezing his knee.
"Yeah" Porthos lied flatly.
A feeling of dread was gradually suffocating him from the inside out. He had done all he could to help…there was nothing left to do now than wait.
But waiting was stealing precious life from his brother… They should move…perhaps, try again to find help.
Porthos began to slide himself out from beneath his brother's back until only his arms held the limp man upright.
From here, he caught his brother under the arms and gingerly dragged him to his feet.
"P'rthssss…." his voice hissed, face scrunching tightly in pain as his fingers dug sharply into Porthos' skin.
He would bare his brother's pain. He had to.
"Sorry…but we can't stay 'ere any longer" Porthos admitted, raising his brother further.
His brother moaned pitifully, a whimper ripping itself loose of his broken body, unable to stifle it.
"I'm sorry" Porthos repeated, guilt flooding his system.
"Can't…" his brother pleaded, breathlessly.
"We have to" Porthos persisted, looping his neck under one of his brother's arms while his free hand wrapped itself around the weeping wounds on the opposite side, supporting his body against his own.
"…h-hurts" the voice whined.
"I know…" Porthos mumbled, taking his brother's weight and sliding them forwards a step.
His brother hissed between his teeth, bowing his head against the pain it caused him.
Porthos continued to stumble forwards in silence, dragging his limp partner with him every damned step of the way.
A few more moments of pained grunts, gasping and whimpers echoed through the alley until his brother spoke again.
"P'rths…please" he begged, testing his friends' resolve.
"Don't ask me to stop" Porthos chided, forcing his way forwards towards the lip of the alley.
His brother became silent at this, drawing Porthos' curiosity with it.
A hot flush of fear lit fire to Porthos' veins as he spied a thick stream of stringy red liquid, drool down from his brother's mouth and spatter the dirt with colour.
"No!" Porthos cried, turning to cradle his brother in his arms and kneel against the dirt once more.
"I'm…sorry" he choked, blood dribbling down his pale neck.
Porthos swiftly wiped it away with the sleeve of his arm, then, drew his brother's body upright to assist with his latest breathing difficulties.
"S'not your fault" Porthos croaked, stroking his brother's head.
"T'is" his brother argued weakly, snaking a tired hand up to clutch at his friend's.
"No" Porthos replied, adamantly, shaking his head. "You didn't see it coming…that was my job"
His brother shook his head minutely, wincing as the motion disturbed his injuries. "Can't…protect…everyone"
"Supposed to…" Porthos argued stubbornly, then, looked away to avoid his brother's disapproving stare.
A watery cough suddenly tore itself from his brother's chest, forcing him to cast aside the childish quarrel and focus on more serious matters.
As the coughing grew harsher and more pained, Porthos shook his head violently and applied more pressure to the wound.
"What should I do? Please, tell me…" Porthos begged, eyes blurring with tears.
His brother gasped and spat another glob of blood aside, heaving pained breaths in and out with concentrated difficulty.
"Need…" he stammered.
"What? What do you need? I'll go get it" Porthos vowed hastily, leaning in further to hear the request.
"Need…" the plea cut off again, followed by a sickening sound of gurgling.
"Please… Just tell me what you need. I want to help…" Porthos grovelled, his voice acquiring an edge that bordered on hysteria.
When his brother choked on more words, Porthos began to desperately list suggestions, "Do you need water? Blankets? Silence?…uh…" he faltered, looking to back to the corpses for answers -or supplies.
"Perhaps they've got medicine on 'em…I could check" Porthos offered, beginning to pull away.
But his brother held on tight, "No…don't…leave"
"I'm not leaving, jus' gonna see if they've got anythin' we can use" Porthos filled in, gently lowering his brother to the dirt before dashing over to the corpses in search of loot.
"P'rths…"
"Just hang in there…" Porthos called back, tossing aside spent muskets and emptying pouches of their strange contents.
"P'rths….."
"I haven't found anythin' yet" Porthos divulged, still searching away madly.
"P'rths…..Need…."
Porthos' head whipped up towards his brother, their eyes locking for a brief moment to convey their conflict to the other.
"Need…" his brother repeated, tears shining in his eyes.
Porthos dropped the unopened pouch, leaving it to rot beside its' owner as he clambered back over to his brother -completely missing the medicinal markings that tumbled free.
"Need…" his brother choked. Porthos quickly cradled his brother's body back into his own and began rubbing a firm hand against his back to encourage a healthier breathing habit.
"I'm here now" Porthos comforted, bracing against the emotions that threatened to rip him apart.
He had come no closer to finding help or relieving his brother's pain. They were stranded. Alone. Dying…
Porthos bit back a sob and held on tighter.
"Need your-"
Porthos looked his own body over, "What?…Do you need my belt?" he scrambled, trying to piece together the logic. "My gun? My sword? What? Please, just tell me…"
"Forgiveness…"
Porthos' mind drew blank with that breathless confession. His forgiveness? For what? Why?
"I-I don't understand….you want my forgiveness?" Porthos babbled, confusion spreading across his face.
Another gurgling noise drew out into his lap followed by more of the crimson, slippery liquid. Porthos immediately pressed his free hand against the hole in his brothers' chest, but could still feel the flow pressing between his fingers and dripping down to the dirt.
This was not good.
"Please…"
"But…you have done nothing wrong…I don't-" Porthos fretted, trying to comprehend his brother's strange terms.
"For…leaving" he rasped.
"Leaving? But you're still 'ere…" Porthos frowned, utterly confused.
"Not long…" his brother confessed, shivering against the wind.
Icy tendrils of fear suddenly clawed their way back into Porthos' heart, "No. You don't mean that…"
"Must… accept"
"No. There's a way outta this, you'll see…" Porthos encouraged.
"P'rths…" his groan protested. "Closure…"
"NO. Stop it! I'm not going to accept this from you. You can fight this! You always have and you always will. Don't give up on me now" Porthos resorted to begging, pulling his brother closer.
"No…choice." More blood spilled to the dirt. Both men whimpered.
"Please…" Porthos held his brotherly dearly, no longer bothering to monitor their safety.
"…..Can't….h-hurts" he whispered, eyes shuttering closed once more.
"If you don't stop talkin' like that, I'm gonna give you something else ta think about" Porthos lied, cracking his knuckles if only it would rouse his brother.
This time, his brother did not respond.
"Hey, don't you fall asleep on me again" Porthos grumbled, shifting about to assess his quiet brother.
Silence.
"You want my forgiveness?" Porthos proposed.
His brother stirred slightly.
"Well you're gonna have to stay awake to hear it" Porthos taunted, checking the wound idly once more.
They were running out of time…his breathing had grown shallow…
"Pl's…" he moaned.
Porthos sighed, committing to a statement he neither agreed with nor understood.
"I-"
Suddenly a loud gunshot split the air. A single bullet had fired.
Silhouettes of many armed men now stood at the opposite end of the alley, the moonlight tingeing their edges in a pale white glow.
The target tumbled forwards without a sound.
A harsh cry sounded a moment later while the murder weapon clattered back to the earth.
Porthos' stared at his brother in disbelief. His gun had been fired. His brother had shot someone. Had protected him.
For now.
"Noooo!" An anguished voice screamed out into the night.
It seemed familiar.
Porthos dared to turn his focus back on the overwhelming odds standing at his back. It was only on this second glance that he recognized something familiar about them.
He knew them. Musketeers.
Porthos' heart slugged painfully in his chest…But if they were musketeers, who had been shot?
Torn over his dying brother and attending to the latest tragedy, Porthos did the only thing he could think of. Call for help.
"Don't fire! It's us! Please, he needs help!" Porthos boomed, both relief and anxiety swelling in his chest.
He could hear boots running up behind him. The clinking of metal weaponry against belts. The quiet noises of distress in the background that signalled someone had indeed been shot.
Porthos braced for impact…but it never came.
His brothers' in arms quickly tucked into the situation before him, dedicating their expertise to the wet, limp form lying against his chest.
Help had come.
Porthos almost wanted to laugh deliriously with the relief that had suddenly been bestowed upon him, but he repressed the urge.
"Don't worry brother, they are here to help" Porthos assured, patting at his brother's stiff shoulders and worming his way out from under his body.
He could be of no more help here. As much as he wanted to linger, he would only get in their way.
The men quickly drew his brother aloft and swept back to their horses -preparing their comrade for the ride of his life. Literally.
Numbly stumbling to his feet, Porthos teetered back over to the growing huddle of men standing a few paces away.
His gut clenched once more, the hairs on the back of his neck alerting him to some sort of unnatural scene that now awaited him beyond the blockade of musketeers.
Pushing his way through thanks to his natural strength and bulk, Porthos muscled his way to the front of the crowd.
What he witnessed there brought him to his knees, amongst his brother.
His fallen brother.
Breath running cold in the air, Porthos clutched at his head in denial, his face contorting into anger and misery all at once.
He could not blame his brother for taking the shot…he had not known…could not see his target…only sought to protect him…
But why did it have to his returning friend who took the fall?
Porthos bit his cheeks and thrust a fist into the dirt, hearing the knuckles crack under the heavy impact -yet hardly feeling a thing.
Why must he suffer this torment!? Why must this night prove to be so damned!? Why couldn't it have been him!?
No one deserved this.
Porthos ignored the hands clutching at his shoulders. Ignored the tender words that sought to compose, drag back and comfort his broken mind.
Instead, he scooped his brother up in his arms, stumbled back and walked off down the alley.
There was no need to rush this time. The garrison could wait. This night would never end, Porthos was sure of it.
He would never forget this night. He would always be reminded of this tragedy in the darkest hours of night...or whenever he walked down a lonely alley.
Or whenever someone uttered the same words or shared the same expression as his late brother…
The list was endless.
Porthos kept placing one unsteady boot in front of the other, letting his instincts guide him home.
Senses coming alive with the rush of adrenaline still flowing through his veins, Porthos' indulged his need to feel by wrapping fingers around the limp body of his brother.
He could still feel the warmth of life that the paling skin still held, could still catch the scent of the crimson stream cascading weakly from his brother's hairline, could still see that his eyes gazed up to him -not yet filled with the glassy film of death.
Almost as if his brother was day dreaming, in the dead of night.
Porthos looked away, locking these memories in the back of his mind and returning his focus back to the path ahead of him.
It was a long one…it would take a long time to travel. But he was sure he would make it, eventually.
With the help of his brothers at his back.
The longest day was coming to an end…
Please leave a review! I hope this fic wasn't too emotionally scarring for you, if it was, don't worry! In the series, no one is dead…yet ; )