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Thank you arcAngel-liberty4all for doing this prompt! It was a lot of fun:)
Brotherhood is not just a Bible word. Out of comradeship can come and will come the happy life for all. -Heywood Broun
xXx
A stifled scream pierced through the cool, damp air. The sharp, stinging slap of a whip against unprotected skin. The coppery metal smell of blood as it ran down the back of the person being punished. The occasional sound of a drop as the red liquid hit the stone floor. A groan of searing pain when the one being punished moved. The clank of metal against metal, chains against chains. Muffled sobs once the punisher left the one being punished in brief peace. Slightly audible winces when the salt from those tears ran into open, bleeding wounds.
This was hell.
He could feel the flow of blood as it ran down his back and legs, pooling beneath him on the hard, dirt covered stone floor, the throbbing from his ribs where they'd been beaten until they were black and blue and broke like twigs underfoot. He could feel the heat rising from some of the older wounds across his body, signaling the threat of an incoming infection.
This was hell.
The young man moved his sore, chafed wrists in their chains, desperately trying to finger the rough metal, looking for any give or weak spot. He couldn't stay in here, he wouldn't, not when his brothers could be in the next room or down the hall being tortured, just as he had been. He had to find a way to get to them. He would not let them die because of an enemy from the past wanting revenge. He would not let the men who had come to be his friends, his mentors, his brothers...family, in every right but blood to be slaughtered because of him. He would not let the strongest men he knew be broken by something that wasn't theirs to carry.
That would then truly be hell.
xXx
Flashback;
The young boy ran through the trees, desperate to get away from the sound of the baying dogs and yells of angry men. They were hunting him.
His foot caught on the root of a nearby tree, sweeping the leg out from under him, and sending him sprawling across the ground. The boy heard the sickening snap of his arm breaking as it twisted beneath him when he hit the ground. A loud moan of pain escaped him, the scream barely held back. He pushed himself back to his feet before stumbling away.
He couldn't let them catch him.
Henri grasped the edge of a tree, using it to propel him along. He was tired and hurting; his scrawny, ten-year-old body doing nothing to protect him from the freezing winter winds and slushy ground. His bare feet ached from the cold and cuts from the rough ground. His thin nightshirt and breeches were not enough to block the cold from seeping into his skin, wracking his slim frame with shivers.
Why did he have to be taken just before the most cursed time of year?
Henri paused, breath panting, sending wisps of moisture clouds in the air. He cradled his broken limb gently to his chest and dropped his head back, leaning against a large tree.
Just a minute of rest, then he'd run again.
He closed his eyes for a moment. That was the only time he could find any peace, any time away from the pain and evil. Behind closed eyes, he could see his smiling Mother's face before she died, or feel his Father's strong embrace. He could see home.
The young lad forced his eyes open again, blinking them blearily. He had to keep running. He had to get help. He needed to get the others out of there.
He pushed himself off the tree, continuing his stumbling run through the thick forest.
It was a bit later before he found any relief from the darkness, the winter sun peaking its bright face from behind distant hills.
It had been a while since he'd heard any other sounds of human life, the only sounds being heard were his footsteps against the now frozen ground and the chattering of his teeth. His moves were sluggish, barely could be considered steps at all. More like slips of his feet driving him forward, inch by inch. His feet were stiff and frozen, the rest of his body not much better.
Henri stumbled once more, this time not being able to catch himself. He hit the hard snow, just able to keep from landing on his injured arm.
If one good thing could come of this, at least the cold will keep his arm from swelling.
The young lad pushed himself to his knees before collapsing again, his body too weak to hold him up. He was still for a moment, before trying to push himself up again to no avail. He tried again, this time succeeding in staying in place. After a moment to catch his panting breath, the boy pushed himself to his feet once again. He kept on trudging, ignoring to spears of pain shooting through his extremities.
At least he could still feel them.
The boy reached the edge of the tree line and collapsed by the side of the snow covered path. He shouldn't stay there, should push himself to keep going, but his body protested, too tired to continue. The lad was just about to close his eyes and sleep when the sound of approaching horses reached his ears. He stiffened and readied himself to move, but didn't make it far. Fear flooded through him.
He couldn't be found, not when he was this close to freedom.
The approaching horses grew louder and he tried to push himself back into the trees, but his limbs wouldn't co-operate. He stopped moving completely when he heard the riders pull to a stop and held his breath.
"Good God...He's just a kid." The kind sounding, unfamiliar voices soothed him more than just about anything.
"Mon dieu...He's still alive!" The boy felt warm, strong hands roll him onto his back and closed his eyes, letting the kind tone of a woman's voice send him floating away into the oblivion that called to him.
xXx
Athos moaned as his return to awareness brought on severe pain through his head. He lifted his head from where it rested against his chest, blinking his blurred eyes to clear them. When that didn't work, he lifted a chained hand and swiped at his forehead and eyes, his hand coming away with a sticky, red substance.
Blood.
Athos snorted in derision. Of course, his head wound just had to be bleeding.
After a couple of more careful swipes with his hand he could see clearly enough to try and assess his surroundings.
His hands were bound with chains, which were attached to the wall on either side of him and above, allowing him little standing room. While he still had his boots, his pauldron and cloak were missing, leaving him with only his shirt and jacket. A quick survey of the minor aches and pains across his body, left him believing that he had some bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious. After figuring the best he could about his condition, he turned his attention to his two still unconscious brothers chained to the wall across from him and beside him.
Aramis was the one easiest to examine, as he was across from him, so Athos started surveying him first. The Spaniard must have lost his favorite hat in the scuffle that brought them here, as it wasn't perched atop his head. There was a little blood smeared across his face, but the Comte couldn't tell if he had an injury that caused it or if it had come from an outside source. The state of his comrades dress was the same as his own, and so skipped over that. But other than the obvious unconsciousness, Athos couldn't tell if he had any other injuries. Now Porthos on the other hand...
Athos' blue eyes turned stormy with his fury at seeing the state of his friend. The bruises that mottled the skin of his face showed the beating he'd taken. His left hand, while locked in chains, was bent at an odd angle, letting Athos know it was broken in at least one place. And considering the extensive bruising on two of his fingers, probably more. His state of dress was the same as his own and Aramis', except for the fact that his boots were missing, which allowed his to see the torn soles of the larger man's feet.
"Y'know, wit' the way y' keep starin' at m' I might start t'inking y' care." Athos jerked at the unexpected voice of his friend, raising his eyes from where they'd been focused on the man's feet to the slight smile on his bruised face. Athos winced, knowing that the action must be pulling on the man's injuries, but was doing it anyway to let him know everything was okay, so nodded and gave him his own quirk of the lips.
"How is the head?" Athos lightly fingered the wound on his forehead, feeling the scab that finally formed over the cut.
"Should be fine. How are you, seeing as you're the one that got the complete makeover?" Porthos laughed then winced at the pull on his wounds but answered anyway.
"Okay, considering. And y' know I look better than y' at my worst." Athos lightly grinned at his friend's retort, pleased that he was feeling okay enough to respond normally.
"Now that you two are done, want to see about getting outta here?" Aramis' accented voice startled the two, but they smiled at their third.
"Sure thing. Have any bright ideas?" Athos deadpanned, shifting his hands in there manacles pointedly.
"Well...give me a minute." Athos shook his head, only to regret it when his concussion made itself known again.
"Where is the Pup?" Porthos spoke up, his voice sounding clearer though tinged with worry. Athos gingerly shook his head.
"Not here. I hope he got away, but there were screams earlier. They sounded like him." Aramis clenched his fists, furious at the thought of their brother being tortured. At the very least, he woulda liked to have been with the young man so he could assess the damage he was enduring.
"I'm gon' kill the bastards that are doing this. Especially if they've hurt the lad more than usually. And even then, I'll kill 'em for hurting him period." Porthos muttered with a glare. Athos didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said he was of the same mind.
"I could skin them." Aramis stated helpfully. Athos smiled, but shook his head.
"Treville would kill you, especially after the last time you threatened that." Porthos grunted his agreement of Athos' assessment, but didn't say anything to contradict the Spaniard. He shifted his position slightly, his fingers moving over the metal of the cuff.
After a few hours Aramis and Athos could see the chains loosening and giving. A moment later and Porthos had his hand free. It took a little longer, due to his other hand being hurt, but Porthos got his injured hand free and cradled it carefully to his chest. Aramis and Athos looked on in amazement. Porthos turned to them and noticed their expressions.
"What? Some good things came from being raised in the Court, getting past locks is one of them." Aramis chuckled, though not his normally exuberant one.
Porthos undid their chains and they stood, rubbing at the chafed skin. They congregated around the door, listening for their captors. They could hear voices, but was indistinguishable how many there were. They leaned away from the door and whispered.
"We don't have any weapons and we're sure to be outnumbered and we're injured. What're we gon' do?"
"Speak for yourself. And we've had worse situations."
"Really? Name one."
"Ladies, if we don't move now we're not going get out of here. What do you say we move?" Athos broke in. The others nodded and took their places. Athos counted off with his fingers before pulling the unlocked door open. They startled the two guards enough that they could overpower them. Once they dragged the unconscious bodies into their former cell and gathered their weapons Aramis spoke.
"Well, that was easy." Porthos glared but didn't say anything as they continued down the corridor. They'd almost made it halfway down when a scream pierced the air, causing shivers to run down their skin at the haunting quality of it tinged with pain. They looked at each other in surprise.
"D'Artagnan."
They bolted down a side corridor towards the screams. They slid around the corner and almost froze at the sight of their brother hanging from the ceiling, but they didn't. Instead Aramis raised his pistol, firing a shot that hit the person holding the whip being used on their little brother. Athos darted in, parrying the sword that would have hit their injured brother before sending his own through the man's heart. Porthos grabbed a man by the back of his shirt and pushed him hard into the wall, a sickening crack signaling the damage done to the man's head, before he kicked the guy's legs out from under him.
Aramis, seeing that the other two had things well in hand, ran over to the young Gascon. He carefully ran his hands over the man's torso, gently as to minimize the pain he was inflicting.
"'Mis?" The slurred tone of the lad had Aramis smiling. At least he was lucid.
"Yes, it's me. You always seem to get into trouble whenever we leave the garrison you know. Maybe we should just chain you there so you can't leave." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, though Aramis couldn't see them behind the bruising surrounding them, causing them to swell and grinned slightly.
"Wha' can I say, the bad guys must love me. Or they're idiots." Aramis smiled in response, steadying the young man as Athos cut him down. The Gascon swayed unsteadily on his feet, but didn't drop.
"How' you guys?" Even injured and about to collapse the young man worried about them more than his own skin. Aramis shook his head at the young man.
"We're fine, mostly. It's you I'm worried about, as you've taken the brunt of it. Why'd they single you out?" d'Artagnan shifted on his feet, leaning slightly into Aramis when his legs wanted to give. Aramis darted a look to the others, seeing the same expression of worry reflected on their faces.
"We can worry about this later. We need to get out of here and get back to Paris. I need to look over everyone's wounds and Treville needs to know what's happened," Aramis said, changing the subject. He wasn't going to ignore the subject, just wait until everyone was safe. Athos gave a nod of agreement.
"Hopefully we'll find horses outside." And he was right. There was a rundown stable and there were horses locked in the stalls. After mounting they set a course back in the direction of home. Aramis rode in between Porthos and d'Artagnan, wanting to keep an eye on their injuries, while Athos led the way.
It was late by the time they arrived back at the garrison. The night guards took one look at them and ran for Treville and the physician. The four men wearily climbed down from their horses, their wounds pulling after being stiff for so long. Aramis caught d'Artagnan when he went to list sideways to the ground. Treville came running down the stairs, a bit disheveled considering the hour. He helped Aramis with the Gascon while Athos helped Porthos climb the stairs.
They settled d'Artagnan and Porthos in the larger man's room. The physician came bustling in followed by Serge, who'd come to see if he could be of any help. Once the physician had checked d'Artagnan and Porthos over, and Treville had checked Aramis and Athos, Serge had headed to the kitchen to heat up something for the men to eat.
"Rest will be the best thing for them. The young one will need his bandages changed every couple of hours, but I've cleaned it to prevent infection. I've done all I can, now, just rest and food is the best thing." With that the physician took his leave and Athos and Aramis made themselves comfortable around the bed holding their brothers.
It was morning before Porthos woke enough to eat and move a bit. After eating his fill, the trio quietly discussed what had happened.
"Did you see the way the lad acted when asked about why they targeted him?" Porthos questioned. Athos and Aramis nodded.
"What are we going to do? Pushing the boy never ends well," Athos stated. Aramis pursed his lips.
"We could ask, see if he'd tell us willingly?"
"What if I don't want to?" d'Artagnan's voice startled the men in their seats. Aramis bustled about him, checking his injuries, questioning how he felt and demanding he eat. d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, but drank the broth waiting for him. Once finished he carefully settled back against his pillows.
"To answer your question d'Artagnan, we won't make you, though we'd like to hear what you have to say." Athos stated carefully. d'Artagnan looked away, refusing to meet their eyes. Aramis sat next to him, wrapping an arm around the young man in comfort.
"They wanted revenge." d'Artagnan said softly, soft enough that Aramis almost didn't catch it. His eyes widened and he curled his arm tighter around the Gascon.
"What did they want revenge for?" Aramis asked carefully. Athos and Porthos straightened in their seats when they heard this.
"For ruining them when I was a child. They'd taken hostage all the kids in Lupiac when everyone'd gathered for a meeting. We were held in an old, run down church out in the middle of nowhere a ways away from the town. We were there for two weeks, waiting to be rescued. I was the one of the oldest there, so I made sure all their attention was on me and not on the younger ones. I helped Henri, a ten year old get out and escape." d'Artagnan took a breath, "He got to town and got help. They were so mad when they realized what I did, but they couldn't do anything about it as they were thrown in jail. They must've escaped, and hunted me down." d'Artagnan finished softly. The trio clenched their fists but kept the anger out of their voices, knowing that in his injured state d'Artagnan might take it that they were mad at him.
"Thank you, for telling us. Now, I'm gonna go kill the bastards all over again for hurting the whelp," Porthos stated vehemently. Aramis and Athos chuckled while d'Artagnan gave him a small grin. Aramis ruffled the boy's hair while Athos and Porthos squeezed his leg and arm.
"d'Artagnan, never be afraid to tell us anything, good, bad or indifferent. We're family, and family looks out for one another." Athos said. While not a man of many words, d'Artagnan knew he meant it whole heartedly. Looking around, the Gascon could tell they all meant it. His heart soared with love for his brothers.
"Family...I like the sound of that."
~Finish
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