Silence. Suffocating, soothing, so many descriptions - interpretations. The absence of noise, it's a terrifying concept, that gap.
d'Artagnan wonders if he's dying, he thought he'd be scared. Instead it's just the next thing on his to-do list. There is no fear here, no, it has been replaced by a feeling of contentment. He is ready to go.
But then the rush of blood past his ears makes itself known and the cocoon of silence built around him is ripped down as his senses return, bringing pain with them, burning pain that will not stop.
No one can save him now, at least that was what he thought. d'Artagnans' brothers-in-arms would never leave him. There is a dripping on his cheek, and he smells home. Cradled into someones chest, frantic hands applying pressure to his chest, fingers darting over him quickly doing their best to sew him back up into something whole - something fixed.
More dripping. A drop trickles slowly down to his mouth and he tastes salt. Tears. That smell is Athos, clutching d'Artagnan as if their lives depend on it. The fingers patching him together are Aramis, taking over being the calm one while Athos breaks down. Athos' apprentice and the man he had begun to view as a son was dying in his arms, he was entitled to losing a little control. Porthos has both his hands holding cloth over his ribs. HIs ribs, were not meant to be outside his body, limited as d'Artagnans' medical knowledge was he knew that much. And it hurt, it hurt like hell. He let out an involuntary groan as Aramis' prying, but helpful, fingers skimmed by a piece of bone jutting from his chest. The arms supporting him tightened and d'Artagnan tensed as he heard relieved curses and prayers to God being spoken.
"d'Art? d'Art hold on, you're going to be fine. Just stay awake for me." That was Porthos, his gentler side exposed now the young Gascon was hurt.
"We need to move him, he won't last much longer out here." Aramis muttered to Porthos. Where was here? What had happened to him? d'Artagnan remembered something about delivering an important letter to La Rochelle, then heading back to Paris. They were nearly home weren't they?
"We are a days ride away from the outskirts of Paris, you really think he'll last that long?" Porthos questioned.
"I think he's going to have to." Aramis responded, d'Artagnan wasn't far off about them being close to Paris. He would be fine, he wasn't entirely hopeless.
"I c'n do it" d'Artagnan spoke up. Speaking had hurt more than he'd anticipated, and sent a sharp pain running all through his rib cage. He sucked in a deep breath, which didn't help matters at all, and groaned again.
"d'Artagnan? Good God he's actually awake, didn't expect that much of you my boy. Most soldiers would be unconscious by now." Porthos said. d'Artagnan cracked open his eyes and saw a grin of relief stretched over Porthos' face.
"Always the tone … of surprise Porthos … I would have thought … you might have more faith in me … by now" d'Artagnan huffed, wheezing periodically through his sentence.
"Ha, there's no doubt of you anymore d'Art, there hasn't been for quite some time." Aramis assured him.
d'Artagnan was comforted by this, he was very aware that his position as a newly commissioned musketeer was by no means stable if he royally mucked things up. It was good to know that whatever had happened the others didn't blame him for it. Now the only problem was remembering what had happened.
"There was an ambush, whoever it was thought we still had the letter. They're all dead now, one of them sneaked up behind you when I thought I'd killed him. I'm sorry, this is my fault." Athos.
Athos who hadn't said a word when he opened his eyes, Athos who cried on him when he must've thought d'Artagnan was dying because looking down at his hands God were they pale. His mentor had been silent until now and d'Artagnan buried his face into Athos' chest, making sure he was really there, that they were all really there as memories bombarded him and made themselves known.
Now he remembered. He had sheathed his sword having thought the fight over when he was bowled over by a last attacker. Shouts of alarm rang out from the other musketeers and the man punched him in the stomach. He was larger than d'Artagnan by far, and now he had him pinned d'Artagnan knew he wouldn't be able to escape his hold. He felt his ribs crack and break and thought it was as bad as it would get. Then the man pulled out a knife and sliced across his rib cage, as d'Artagnan gave into the darkness enveloping him.
Throughout his flashback d'Artagnan started trembling and clutched to Athos, shaking like a leaf. Athos muttered soothing words and cradled him until d'Artagnan gave into the blissful darkness once more.
When d'Artagnan next woke there was a crisp white bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs. As he shifted himself onto his elbows he felt a stab of pain that left him breathless. d'Artagnan decided that sitting up was a bad idea so slowly manoeuvred himself back down and glanced around the room he was in.
Athos' quarters, which meant his three friends wouldn't be very far away. While at first he tried to stay awake to greet his friends, d'Artagnans' eyes gradually drifted shut and he slipped into a light doze. He stayed this way, happily resting and warmed by the sunlight streaming through the window onto his bed, until he heard the sound of three sets of footsteps trudging up the stairs most likely coming back from the garrison.
Try as he might d'Artagnan was exhausted and could not bring himself to open his eyes. He felt the bed dip and hands begin to remove his shirt as the other two settled down in chairs next to his bed.
"I do hope you aren't expecting this to become a regular thing 'Mis" d'Artagnan teased as the shirt began to be lifted.
He feels Aramis jump and he hears Porthos chortle in the background, and say something about how he was certainly Athos' boy. d'Artagnan wondered what he meant by that.
He opened his eyes to see the three men wearing similar expressions of relief and was immediately enveloped into a 'gentle' hug from Aramis and Porthos. d'Artagnan smiled, feeling better already from the contact with his friends, though it left him aching a little.
d'Artagnan turned his head to see Athos just before he was gathered into his arms, and Porthos and Aramis tactfully retreated outside.
" 'Thos? It's alright, I'm okay" d'Artagnan said, face buried into the older mans' shoulder until he pulled away to talk to him.
"You nearly weren't, and it was my fault." d'Artagnan began to protest but Athos silenced him with a look. "You are not just an apprentice to me anymore d'Artagnan, you have wormed your way into by heart and made me care. I didn't even realise until you were hurt, but you have become my family. I care for you like I would care for a son. As soon as I saw you fall I lost it, I killed the man quicker than he deserved but I was so angry -"
"Athos, it wasn't your fault - " d'Artagnan began to interrupt again but was almost immediately cut off by Athos.
" No d'Artagnan, I should have realised that man was not dead. I have failed you, as a brother-in-arms and as a son." Athos continued.
"You have not failed me." d'Artagnan paused and thought over what Athos had just said more carefully, his pain hazed mind trying to piece together what he had just heard. " Did you just say son?" d'Artagnan asked.
"Yes. I did. I understand that you most likely do not view me as a father figure, especially after this, but it is how I view you. As my son." Athos said firmly, needing to make his point clear.
A look of worry ran across Athos' face as d'Artagnan continued to be unresponsive.
"d'Art?" Athos prodded the man, hoping for some response. d'Artagnan smiled, and then pulled Athos back into a hug.
"I see you not only as a mentor, but as a father also. You have cared for me and treated me like a son. I could not thank you more" d'Artagnan said.
Athos broke away from the hug and laid d'Artagnan back down on the bed.
"Rest now, son. You need to regain your strength." Athos told him gently, the small grin across his face enough to tell d'Artagnan that they both understood each other.
"I've got no problem with that." d'Artagnan yawned, drained of energy after their heart-to-heart his head hit the pillow and he fell asleep again.
Athos smiled down at the sleeping figure, thankful he had pulled through. d'Artagnan had had a fever, one of the cuts on his chest had become infected, and at one point they thought d'Artagnan may have punctured his lung. He had been unconscious for the better part of two weeks. Aramis hadn't known if he would survive or not. He bent down and kissed d'Artagnans' forehead, before settling into a chair by his beside and falling into an easy sleep, knowing his son was safe to live another day.