Aramis tore a piece off his shirt and used his teeth to tighten it around his right bicep. The six bandits that had attacked them were not skilled men but one managed to drive his dagger into his arm. The three inseparables had made quick work of them though and the fight was over in a few minutes. They had been walking back to their camp from taking a swim in the river when they were attacked. The river was quite a distance but they had not camped close so as to avoid being too exposed. He groaned at the realisation that they still had a fair amount of walking to do and hoped that, for now, the make-shift bandage would hold his bleeding at bay.

He looked around and spotted Porthos and Athos a few meters away, noticing with relief that both seemed unharmed. He started to make his way back to them on the gravel road. As he drew nearer, his eyes ran over them to check for any injuries or signs of discomfort. Porthos grinned at him as he approached but Athos eyed his arm and frowned.

"Did you get hurt?" He asked.

"No," Aramis replied, "it's just a cut. I'll bandage it properly when we get back to camp."

"Does it need stitching?" Porthos asked, his scarred brow crinkling as he eyed Aramis' arm himself.

"No," Aramis replied, "I'm sure the bleeding has already stopped."

"Very well," Athos said, "we best make our way back to camp. We have a long walk ahead and I want us to get back with plenty daylight remaining."

Aramis followed behind them as they began their long trek to their campsite. His arm was throbbing but he didn't complain; he was fine, he would take a closer look when they arrived.

If it weren't for the throbbing in his arm, Aramis would actually have enjoyed their walk far better. The spring sun was gentle and the birds were singing. Their camp was hidden amongst some high boulders, a spot they came across by accident when they wondered off the road. This was the reason they had left it unattended; it was far too difficult to find if one didn't already know to look there.

Aramis began to feel a little clammy and took a sip from his water skin. He sighed to himself; perhaps the sun was not as gentle as he thought. It wasn't long until he began to sweat. He squinted at his brothers' backs ahead of him. They were walking side by side, neither seemed to be finding the sun uncomfortable. Aramis frowned in annoyance, he always seemed to be more sensitive to weather and he didn't want to say anything or ask to walk amongst the trees. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and pondered what his brothers must think of him if he could not even stand to walk in the sun for a few minutes. He continued to watch them as they walked in front of him, they were walking strong and steady and he was barely keeping up. Why was he so weak? Why did he feel so weak after such a short fight?

He wiped his brow again and when he dropped his arm back he felt wetness along his side. He huffed in annoyance; he was sweating like Cardinal Richelieu in a brothel. Aramis smiled at his own stupid comparison and looked down at his side. His smile dropped. There was blood staining the entire side of his shirt and the whole sleeve by his inner arm. He looked up at his brothers as he realised his wound was far worse than he thought and was bleeding through his bandage. They continued walking; not realising what was going on behind them.

Aramis swallowed and continued to force his feet one in front of the other. He knew he should say something but what could they do for him here? What they needed was back at their camp. He followed them in silence and gripped his arm with his left hand, squeezing to apply pressure. It was not long until blood was dripping between his fingers. He swallowed hard again and began to get nervous. If he told them, they would stop immediately and they would waste precious time trying to help him. Aramis clenched his jaw tight; it would be safer to be distracted in their campsite, not out here in the woods on some strange path where they had just been attacked.

Aramis looked behind him; he was leaving spots of blood on the stones. His breathing was beginning to grow faster. He had to tell them. He didn't have a choice. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. His walking was slowing down and his brothers were slowly moving further away. He reached his arm up to grab the back of Porthos' shirt but his brother was far out of reach.

Dancing little black spots started to cloud his vision and his knees buckled, hitting the ground hard. He fell forward into the gravel road with a soft "hmmf" and his face hit the stones. The last thing he was aware of was the taste of sand in his mouth.

Porthos stared at the treetops above them, listening to the different birds. It was an odd thing; to be surrounded by such a peaceful sight after a fight.

"Any poetry you have to recite for us Aramis?" Porthos asked as he continued walking.

"Ah, Porthos," Athos said, "but there are no lovely women here for him to recite it to."

"I'd think you would be pretty enough Athos." Porthos said, halting in his tracks to dodge an elbow to the ribs from the brother beside him.

"Shut your mouth," Athos snapped, but the smile was evident in his voice as he continued walking.

"How about you, mon ami? No sarcastic remarks?" Porthos asked Aramis as he turned around.

Only Aramis was not walking behind him, he was lying on the ground a few feet away. Porthos felt the blood drain from his face.

"Aramis!" He yelled as he rushed to his brother's side, hearing Athos do the same just steps behind him.

"Aramis?" Porthos mumbled softly as he turned his brother over. His face was ghostly white and there were stones stuck to his cheek, "He's unconscious."

"What the?" He heard Athos ask and followed his gaze. Athos was holding Aramis' limp arm up, which was stained with blood.

As he ran his eyes over Aramis more closely, he saw that the wound on his arm had bled over the right side of his shirt as well. With a shaky hand, Porthos lifted his brother's shirt to make sure there were no other hidden injuries there.

"He said it was just a scratch…" Porthos said, disbelievingly. His heart was pounding so fast he could hear it.

"Fool," Athos said, "He should have said something."

Porthos grabbed his bandana and tied it around his brother's injury, his hands shaking slightly.

"We need to get him back to the camp." Athos said.

Porthos gently slid his arms beneath his brother and hoisted him up as easily as if he were lifting a small child. Athos helped adjust him so that his head was not hanging but rather resting on Porthos' shoulder.

"When he wakes up I'm going to kill him." Porthos mumbled angrily, holding his brother tighter in worry.

"Not unless I kill him first," Athos replied as they made their way back to their camp with renewed haste.

It was not long until they came upon their hidden spot, their horses happily tugging on grass, oblivious to the tension surrounding their masters. Athos immediately went to fetch a bedroll so that Porthos could lower Aramis down.

Porthos was reluctant to have him out of his arms. Guilt was chewing at him. How had they not known? How had he not noticed there was something wrong? He always prided himself on being an expert in all things concerning his brothers, but he had carried on walking while Aramis was lying on the ground behind him…

"Porthos?" Athos asked.

Porthos looked up from Aramis' face and into Athos' eyes.

"I didn't notice." Porthos said.

"We didn't notice, my friend." Athos said, his eyes moving to Aramis' face, "I don't know why he didn't say anything."

Porthos knelt down to gently lower Aramis onto his bedroll. They stripped the ruined shirt off their brother completely. The gash in his arm was deep; blood was still oozing from it after they removed Porthos' bandana and Athos tried to apply pressure with his palm.

"I'll get the stitching kit." Porthos said and went over to one of their saddle bags.

Porthos watched as Athos cleaned and stitched Aramis' wound as gently as he could. Their brother remained unconscious throughout the ordeal and Porthos wondered with great worry how much blood Aramis had lost.

"We need to get a fire going." Athos said as he wrapped a bandage around Aramis' arm, "Would you mind?"

Porthos didn't move, he kept his eyes on Aramis' pale face. All he wanted to do was hold him again. He felt a hand gently cup his cheek and looked up to Athos' bright blue eyes, always so full of determination.

"He's going to be fine." Athos said with a reassuring smile.

"I know," Porthos replied, "It's just… the way he was laying there…"

"I know. I was scared too." Athos said and moved his hand to his shoulder, giving a squeeze.

Porthos nodded and stood up to make a fire. The night would be on them soon and he had to walk a few meters from their camp to gather enough wood. When he got back, Athos was running his fingers through Aramis' hair and watching his face intently for even the slightest twitch.

Porthos smiled to himself. Athos was, contrary to what the majority of Paris thought, an incredibly gentle and caring person, especially when it came to his brothers.

He built the fire and they moved Aramis a little closer to keep him warm. Porthos sat down on Aramis' other side and watched as Athos began to cook the rabbit Aramis had caught earlier that morning.

Aramis took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. The smell of food filled his nose and his stomach suddenly felt very empty. He felt a finger go over his brow and opened his eyes to Porthos looking down at him, a small grin on his face.

"I keep finding little stones on you, mostly in your hair," Porthos said, "Athos is cooking."

"Athos is cooking?" Aramis asked, "Oh dear."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" came Athos' voice from behind Porthos' bulk.

Aramis tried to look past his friend with a cheeky grin but as he wriggled, pain shot through his right arm. He groaned at the sudden reminder that he was injured. He looked up at Porthos and almost cringed. Porthos looked furious.

"You're going to eat," Porthos said, "then we're going to chat."

"I second that." came Athos' voice again.

Aramis swallowed nervously and looked at his arm. He cringed properly when he saw the neat bandage around it and his bloody shirt tossed to the side. He looked up at Porthos whose face may as well have been carved from stone. He allowed Porthos to gently help him sit up and the bigger man sat next to him quietly, shoulder to shoulder.

Athos walked to them with two bowls. When he handed one to Aramis he narrowed his eyes.

"Finish it." Athos said, and went to retrieve his own.

"I wouldn't disobey him if I were you," Porthos mumbled from beside him, "You had him playing with your hair, he was so worried."

Aramis felt his heart flutter nervously and began to eat his food with determination. Athos did not take kindly to anyone who made him worry about his brothers, especially if it was the people in question themselves. He did not notice Porthos' soft grin beside him.

As his bowl became emptier, he slowed down his eating to prolong the time until they had their 'chat'. Aramis was not unaware of Athos eyeing his every move.

"I've seen a tortoise move faster than that, Aramis. Just eat your damn food." Athos said.

Aramis rolled his eyes and finished his bowl.

"More?" Porthos asked.

When Aramis shook his head he took the bowl from him and placed it aside.

"Why didn't you tell us you were hurt so badly?" Athos asked, never a man to beat around the bush.

Aramis sighed, "I didn't know. I didn't… I didn't realise."

Porthos huffed beside him, "You didn't notice a steady stream of blood flowing down your body?"

"Don't exaggerate." Aramis said but stopped himself from saying more at the dangerous look Porthos shot at him.

"Aramis," Athos said, "You were lying on the ground, unconscious. Would you not want an explanation from one of us if the roles were reversed?"

Aramis' hand unconsciously moved to his bandage, Athos was right as usual.

"By the time I realised I was bleeding and not sweating, I was already feeling dizzy. I kept quiet because all our supplies were here, not there. What would you have been able to do there anyway?"

He didn't understand why he was met with silence. His eyes fell to a bloody bandana on the ground. Porthos' bandana… it had blood on it. Aramis leaped up and turned to face Porthos so quickly both his brothers startled in fright. He swayed on his feet and Porthos shot out both hands to grab him.

"Aramis sit down!" Athos ordered and grabbed Aramis' torso from behind to guide him back to his bedroll.

"No!" Aramis wriggled from Athos' gasp, "Porthos, you're hurt! Show me where."

"I'm not hurt, listen to Athos you idiot!" Porthos said, tugging him down to the ground.

"But your bandana!" Aramis whined as he let them force him back down, "It has blood on it."

"It's your blood, Aramis." Porthos explained. He grabbed the back of Aramis' neck once he was sitting still again, seeming to sense Aramis' dizziness. "I tied it around your arm before we headed back here."

"Oh," Aramis said, feeling embarrassed for his outburst and focused on the spots of colour that were finally starting to disappear from his vision, "I just got angry when I thought…"

"What?" Athos asked, "When you thought he had an injury he was not telling you about?"

Aramis blushed and suddenly became very interested in his fingernails.

"It's not the same." Aramis mumbled.

When he received no reply he looked up and the looks they were giving him were murderous enough to give children nightmares. He looked down again and bit his lip.

After a few moments of deafening silence, Porthos moved closer and placed a soft kiss on Aramis' forehead and ruffled his hair. Aramis smiled, realising his brothers' anger had simmered down.

"Your life is not even the slightest bit less valuable than ours, Aramis." Athos said softly, "I hope one day you will realise that."

Aramis didn't know quite what to say. Without thinking he flung himself at Athos and wrapped his arms around his neck, ignoring the searing pain in his arm. He felt Athos stiffen and heard Porthos chuckle behind him. Athos' face must have been quite the sight since he was never very keen on affection. Just as Aramis was about to pull away however, the older musketeer wrapped his arms around him.

"You're going to pull your stitches you idiot." Athos said into his hair.

Aramis smiled broadly, "were you really playing with my hair?"

"Hush," Athos replied, ignoring a second chuckle from Porthos.

Athos was not quite sure what to do with the musketeer in his arms. It had taken only a few short moments for Aramis to relax and fall asleep. He looked up to see Porthos smiling fondly at the two of them.

He cleared his throat, "Would you take him?"

Porthos' grin turned wicked, "Even if I wanted to separate you two, I would never be able to. He has a grip of steel that one, especially in his sleep."

Athos narrowed his eyes dangerously. He looked down at his sleeping brother and wriggled a little so that he could get more comfortable. True to Porthos' word, Aramis groaned and clung tighter. Athos leaned against the tree behind him and Porthos brought a blanket to them. He settled down on Athos' right and threw the blanket over all of them. Athos pushed Aramis' head lower to lean against his chest and felt that he was rather comfortable. Aramis was not heavy and he provided some warmth. Athos felt Porthos pat Aramis' hair down and out of his face. He looked up to smile at his brother.

"I'm watching him like a hawk." Porthos said, his face serious but his eyes gentle.

"You and me both, brother." Athos replied.

They said not much after that. They fell asleep gazing at the stars and listening to the music of the owls and insects, accompanied by the pleasant sound of their brother's soft snoring.