A/N: This is a fill for an old prompt that asked for Aramis focused h/c, and then one of the comments on the prompt mentioned maybe using the idea of Aramis hiding an injury. I ran with that. I also made it a bit of a chase fic, because, why not? Tropes are awesome.
Once On the Run
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"Athos," hissed d'Artagnan, balancing his hand against the tree trunk on his left and trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. The Athos-shaped shadow in front of him stilled, turning in the darkness so that the whites of his eyes caught the moonlight. The horse he'd been leading swiftly through the pitch nickered softly at the sudden stop.
D'Artagnan bent forward, trying to catch his breath. "Porthos," he huffed out, gesturing behind him to where Porthos's shape could be seen bowing through the trees. "I think that hit to the head is bothering him worse than before. Are we safe enough to take a moment?"
Athos didn't answer, his own breathing dragging heavily as he pressed his mount's reins into d'Artagnan's hands, then moved past him, catching Porthos where he swayed. "Easy," d'Artagnan heard him say. "Easy. Here, sit here."
"Don't we need to keep going?" Porthos mumbled. "We can't have lost them yet."
"We've time enough," Athos contradicted, pushing at the scarf-turned-bandage concealing Porthos's forehead and squinting at it in the moonlight. "If you trust Aramis's intuition in his position as rear guard as much as I, which I know you do, you know we'll have his alert well before they overtake us."
Porthos grunted, catching Athos's fingers before they could touch the narrow gash. "I hate running, Athos."
The nail on the head.
D'Artagnan fidgeted even as Athos sat back on his heels and drew up a waterskin. "I know," he replied steadily. "I know. Nevertheless, that is the course before us. There are brave battles and foolish ones. We were lucky before. Now drink," he ordered.
Porthos swallowed thirstily, then pushed the skin away. "One horse remains to us. You could ride ahead," he insisted. "Or the boy. Treville's bound to have reinforcements down by now. They'll have made it to Angers at least. If he rides hard-"
Shaking his head and drawing close, d'Artagnan interjected. "It's too dark," he said, not wanting to be sent off while the three remained in peril behind him. "Riding would not be swift going for any of us. Not without risking injury."
Athos glanced at him, nodding carefully. "D'Artagnan is right. Besides, I'll not have us divided. Not now. Nor would you, were you thinking clearly."
Porthos scowled, taking another drink before leveling purposely clear eyes at both of them. "Fine, then. Speaking of not being divided - Aramis?"
Athos looked up again, then jerked his head into the darkness behind. "Get him," he ordered d'Artagnan. "Tell him Porthos needs looking at." On the tail end of that, Athos huffed, a breath of thinly veiled worry that made his eyes flash. "Then remind him that I said our rear guard need not be maintained at such a distance. No unnecessary risks now, not even from him."
"No need," came a voice, whispering through the blur of trees just as d'Artagnan registered the quiet tread of tired footsteps. "I'm here." Appearing through the brambles and branches, Aramis looked rumpled in the scattered light. Almost droopy.
D'Artagnan paused a moment to wonder if the bluish-gray moon glow made them all look as bad.
Tucking away his pistol, Aramis dropped to his knees beside Athos and lifted a hand to Porthos's hair. His fingers shook. Clear as day. As though the shadows had parted just to allow the light to catch the tremble.
D'Artagnan frowned even as Athos caught Aramis's wrist, gripped it fast and dragged it back into the light when Aramis attempted to draw it away. The trembling continued, leaching down his entire arm, making him look thin and tense. D'Artagnan's heart clenched.
Aramis's chin dropped, hair falling forward. "Athos..."
"Don't," growled Porthos. "Just tell him - where and how bad?"
Aramis switched gazes, forehead creased, eyes too dark for d'Artagnan to read clearly. "Your head..." Aramis said, fixating on the crusty line of blood on his brother's scalp.
"Is fine," finished Porthos. "A simple cut, as you said before - just got a bit dizzy from the rush. I'll be fit for fighting in two breaths. I'm suspecting you won't be. Now tell him."
Keeping hold of Aramis's wrist, Athos palmed his jaw with his other hand, making Aramis face him. "Aramis?"
Shadows hung over Aramis's expression, marking the stubborn wall he projected. The rigid mask of deflection that would have been far more effective if it weren't so crumpled. "I'm..."
"If you're trying to convince yourself that I won't risk taking the time right now to search you, you're wrong," Athos said lowly, voice darkly calm. "I will, and you know it."
It took another half second but Aramis slumped, grunting wearily in defeat. Awkwardly, he used his free hand to reach for the buttons on his chest, fumbling ineffectually.
Releasing his wrist, Athos moved in, deftly taking over the task until he'd exposed enough of Aramis's torso to see the blood.
Growling softly, Porthos loomed forward, clamping a hand to the back of Aramis's neck and knocking their foreheads gently before leaning out of the dim light to allow Athos better access. "You're a bloody idiot, sometimes. You know that?"
"Hold still," commanded Athos, then pressed in closer while Aramis made a sound halfway between a wounded bird and trapped wolf.
Whichever it was finally cracked the tightening box around d'Artagnan's voice. "Why didn't you say something?" he hissed.
"It isn't deep," Aramis answered roughly. "They had reinforcements arriving. We did not. We had no time to linger more than we already had."
"If you'd told us," Athos admonished absently, as though going through the motions, but the tone was ominous. D'Artagnan shifted his stance, wishing he was better at deciphering the amount of real anger lined within Athos's wryness.
"There was no time," Aramis repeated, giving nothing.
"It's bleeding," informed Athos, folding Aramis's sash in half before leaning back in to do something that made Aramis whimper - whimper and clutch at Athos's shoulder. "It requires needle work."
"We don't have Aramis's kit," reminded d'Artagnan, unnecessarily from the look Porthos shot him, but he persisted. "No cloth, either. We don't even have wine."
"D'Artagnan," said Aramis, the whimper in his voice restrained. "It isn't serious. It'll be fine."
It would have been more convincing if it didn't sound like Aramis's voice was losing strength by the word. If Porthos's hand on his neck didn't seem to be the only thing holding him upright. If they weren't navigating through a forest in the middle of the night with a raiding party intent on seeing them silenced.
"Can you walk?" Athos asked. D'Artagnan blinked, realizing the question had been directed to Porthos, not to Aramis.
Aramis jerked his head around to stare.
Porthos tugged the scarf back into place over his gash and met Athos's scrutiny boldly. "As far as you need me to."
Athos grunted, then finished tying off Aramis's sash. "We've created enough distance for ourselves, no doubt, and will remain enough of a challenge to follow in the dark as to make us difficult to overtake. For the time being, we'll continue. Until we find a safer location or more defensible position." Clasping Porthos hand, he rose to his feet, pulling Porthos with him. "I'll lead the horse. Aramis rides."
Aramis made a sound of denial through his teeth. "Athos."
"Aramis rides," repeated Athos, halting Aramis with a flashing glare. "Give us a moment and we'll help you into the saddle."
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to be continued...
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