A/N: Thank you all so greatly for your kind follows, favorites, and reviews! I'm sorry this second installment is so short; it was difficult to find a proper breaking point. The completion will be uploaded tomorrow! Enjoy.

Aramis tried to look affronted at the intrusion on his horse, but Athos could tell he was relieved. Especially so when Porthos silently reached around Aramis's waist, took the reins, and leaned in a bit closer. "Rest, mate. I got'cha."

Instantly relaxing back with a shuddered sigh, Aramis smiled tiredly. "Careful there…p-people migh' star't'talk," Aramis closed his eyes against the warm vibration at his back as his brother chuckled. Behind them, Athos picked up the reins of Porthos's horse and led her along with a smirk pulling at his eyes. They had a long road still yet to make camp for the night, but at least for now, Aramis could rest.

Chapter 2

It was three hours later by the time their little band reached the small outcropping of rock they'd used as a camp the night before. And good timing, too, for there was an evening snow beginning to fall and Porthos had been glancing over at Athos with an increasing worry for at least an hour now.

Aramis had been unconscious since shortly after Porthos joined him on his horse. Head lolling against Porthos's shoulder and breathing choppy and harsh, he looked every bit a man close to death. Porthos had been trying his best to shield his ailing brother from the cold, but his clothes were sodden and torn and the cloak Porthos had slung over him could only keep out the most bitter parts of the breeze.

The clearing was small, but possibly the best site for their needs. The overhanging rock created a three-sided tent just big enough for the small group, and a weaving of branches in the trees above made for a place just dry enough to keep a fire going and the snow from drowning them.

Athos leapt from his horse first, hastily tying off his and Porthos's horses to a tree, before rushing to his friend's side. Porthos had been trying to gently rouse their beloved sharpshooter, but his eyes were bleary and hardly conscious when they finally drifted open. "'ey, 'Mis. We're gon'na stop for the night," he left the implication of getting off the horse silent, but Aramis managed a weak nod anyway. He straightened minutely, although, even in his state, he knew he was at the mercy of his brothers now.

That thought couldn't have made him happier, nor more content, his present agonies aside.

Without a word, Athos reached up, priming himself to catch Aramis as Porthos gingerly eased him out of the saddle. In reality, it all happened rather quickly and with a smoothness that (unfortunately) denoted expertise. In naught but a moment, Aramis was leaning heavily into Athos's arms and Porthos was leaping off the tired horse behind him.

Taking advantage of his free moment, Porthos hastily brought Trista to the other horses, unwrapped all the blankets they had, and laid them on the ground, close to where he knew the fire would soon be.

With some difficulty, Athos helped Aramis to the blanket-covered spot and lowered him down. The man was too far gone by now to attempt any sort of stubbornness; he whimpered openly as he wilted onto the blankets still warm from their horse's backs. Porthos had vanished to collect suitable wood and kindling while Athos hovered by their charge. He ached so badly to take away the pain, to actually know what ailed their precious brother (aside from the obvious), but all he could do was crouch beside him, silently asking what he could do.

Sensing his unease, Aramis forced his eyes open from where they had slid shut and pushed his expression into the slightest of smiles. "Don't w'rry, 'Thos. 'll b-be okay."

He was trying so hard not to slur or shiver just to reassure his friend, Athos had to return the look. Placing a hand impossibly gentle in that intimate place just by Aramis's neck, he replied, "I know you will, 'Mis, but you know we're going to worry, anyway," then, smile dropping and words darkening, added, "Let us help you through this."

Aramis faltered then. He tried to busy himself with watching Porthos light the fire and gather a pot and pile of fresh snow for hot water, but eventually he matched Athos's gaze again. The sheer brightness alighting above the dullness there scared Athos. "Everythin' h-hurts. F-feels like becomin'n i-icicle..."

"You're thawing out. Let's get 'ya warm first, then," suddenly, Porthos had appeared behind him, sat, and gathered him up into an enveloping embrace. After helping remove Aramis's sodden outerwear, Athos wrapped the blankets around both his brothers, leaving only enough of an opening in the soft cave for the fire's hot air to permeate.

Once satisfied, he backed away to care for their horses, set up the sleeping area, and gather some wine and supper. As he worked, he constantly found himself glancing at his brothers, reassuring himself that Aramis was really with them, still alive.

By now Aramis had fallen asleep again, but in much more comfort than before, even with the increasing shivering as his blood began its slow crawl to warmth. Porthos had his back against a tree, absently running delicate circles across his best friend's back. They were completely lost in the blankets he thanked God they thought to bring, but what Athos could make out warmed his trembling heart. All he could see of Aramis was a tiny out cropping of hair from its place at the crook of Porthos's neck. He'd turned to his side as he fell asleep, unashamedly curling into the larger Musketeer's lap as he soaked in the warmth of rescue. Athos knew if he could see it, Aramis's features would be swathed in pain as fading numbness brought forgotten injuries to light, but at least the fear seemed to have vanished for now. Porthos, for his part, was lost in his own world, still recovering from the terror of thinking their dear brother was dead, and worse, imagining what horrors the poor soul must have faced in the silence of the abandoned wood before they found him.

Athos knew that as far as Porthos was concerned, Aramis would never leave their sight again.

Athos couldn't agree more.

Eventually, with everything set, Athos himself found a place by the fire and poked at the stew he had slowly bowling in their pot. Porthos hadn't moved his gaze from the flames in over an hour, and Athos sighed. "Too close this time," he murmured, eyes locked on the shape of Aramis under the wool.

Careful not to wake their companion, Porthos snorted a little. "Every time is too close, in my opinion," then, turning his gaze downward, shifted his arm up to wrap around Aramis's shoulder as it softly rose and fell with every wounded breath. "Man has a penchant for trouble...an' a curse in the snow."

Athos shook his head, desperately wishing he could share something even a little encouraging. If he were honest, such sentiments were never his forte, but Porthos knew that, too. "There will be nightmares again, after this."

Porthos sighed despite himself, absently curling around Aramis a little tighter. "I know."

oooooooooooooooooooo

Another hour later, after the sun had already set and the fire was glowing bright, bathing their camp in warmth, Athos knew they needed to tend to Aramis's injuries...as much as it pained him to wake him.

Porthos knew this, too, and carefully made to shift Aramis slightly higher against his chest. "'ay, 'Mis. Wakey, wakey, sleepin' beauty."

Athos pulled back the blankets a little and nearly grinned. Despite all he must hurt, Aramis had shrunk himself as tight as he could with one arm tucked around his waist and the other with a sleepy fist in Porthos's shirt. His brow crinkled when Porthos shifted under him, and he unconsciously turned his cheek further into Porthos's neck. Aramis always looked younger than his years, but this was ridiculous.

"He never did wake easy," Athos noted as he moved to jostle Aramis's shoulder just slightly. "Aramis, you need to wake for a moment...you need to eat, and your wounds need tending."

Groaning like a child, Aramis began to rise, slowly. "Not hungry," he murmured. "...jus' need sleep."

Rolling his eyes, Athos wouldn't have anything of it. "This won't take long and then you can sleep all you want."

The process of getting Aramis up and lucid was a little more difficult the any of them would have liked; with his drowsiness and slurred speech, it had become quite apparent that he had at least a small concussion. That, coupled with the silence of the dark winter wood, had Aramis left with little concern for his pride and even less for his emotions. He never made a move from Porthos's hold, aside to let the bigger man up to relieve himself, and even then it was only a moment before Porthos was supporting his weight again. Surly, if he'd been in his right mind and not frozen solid with cold and fear, Aramis would never dream of allowing himself to be so coddled. But as he was, there wasn't a part in him that cared of his pride, his shame; even the usually overwhelming sense of acting in the way that every man internally believed to be strong.

He'd managed to eat a little, but it wasn't long before he'd set down his bowl with unsteady hands, mentioning a sudden nausea that Athos had been grimly expecting. Definitely a concussion.

Bending low beside his brothers, Athos forced on his best 'don't lie to me' face. He waited until Aramis got his stomach under control and eventually met his stare. "I know this is the last thing you want to think about now, but-"

"Y'need to know about m'injuries," Aramis mustered with a sleepy smirk. "'s okay." Then, grounding himself, Aramis took silent comfort in Porthos's warm grip on his arm. He knew he didn't have to tell them everything, but in a way, he also knew if he didn't get it out now, he never would. Even if the whole event was nothing in comparison to the past, it would just eat him alive if he kept it...just like Savoy.

There was no sound for a long moment, and Athos was afraid his brother had already begun to lose himself, until there was a deep sigh and Aramis ran a trembling hand through his dirtied hair. "Most of it was jus'...the run of 't mill kidnapping," he had to pause every few words to gain his breath. But, he thought wistfully, at least the shivering had diminished. "There's a...few cracked ribs, 'think ankle go' stepped on...maybe kicked in 't head…other places,"

With each word, Porthos found himself struggling with his temper, and Athos fisted both hands so tightly he'd have surly drawn blood if not for his gloves.

Aramis took a few hitched breaths, closed his eyes, and leaned further against Porthos. "Shoulder...dislocated...'put it back in 'lready. Dunked my head...in water a few times...d'n much r'member."

Seething, Athos fought to keep his voice calm. "How long were you left in the woods?"

Their hearts both froze when Aramis shook his head. His expression suddenly fell from tired resignation to heartbroken. "...can't..."

Both knew in that second Aramis had reached his limit. He really had wanted to tell them, but…he was just so tired. There were unbidden tears welling up in his dark eyes, and he turned just slightly; an unasked signal for comfort that Porthos could not ignore. He wrapped his arms tight around their broken brother, even as Athos rested a protective hand just above the knee of Aramis's uninjured leg.

"AHH!" the action was an unexpected distraction when Aramis suddenly cried out at the light pressure. Recoiling at the blood suddenly staining his hand, Athos featured morphed into a medic's: stony and grave.

"How'd we miss that?" Porthos nearly yelled.

Athos didn't respond, only worked to speedily tear Aramis's dark pant leg around the apparent wound.

"Oh," Aramis winced, somewhat grateful for the distraction himself. "and then there's that."

Athos frown deepened further when he finally saw the gash, bloody and raw and edging on the beginnings of infection. Words dripping with the harsh venom of worry, Athos growled, "Why didn't you mention this before, you fool?"

Aramis shrugged, not the slightest concerned by Athos's tone. "Forgot."

"Porthos, go to the bags and get the kit," Athos ordered, eyes never leaving the wound.

Nodding shortly, Porthos eased Aramis to lean back against the tree that had been Porthos's backrest and bolted.

Later, Aramis found he could remember little of the whole affair. He remembered a dull pain, a blinding agony, gentle voices, and a beautiful view of trees glowing under moonlit sky before a blissfully darkness settled around him.

The reality found Athos unapologetically scraping out any sign of injection from deep in the flesh, grimacing at the slick of Aramis's too-warm blood as it oozed through his fingers. Porthos held the wounded man down, begging to anyone who would hear to swiftly let the man past out. Athos worked as quickly as he could while being thorough and doused the gash in wine without warning. Aramis screamed for the first time then; a harsh, ragged yell tearing from his throat and far into the brisk air. Porthos felt his eyes burning for the hot tears streaming down Aramis's face, but instantly stilled when Aramis breathed out once last pained breath, arched his head back and finally, he fainted.

TBC...