A/N: Thanks to everyone, who's following or favouring this story! And to those reviewers I can't respond to personally, your comments are really appreciated.

On we go!

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Chapter Two

Why did Catherine save me?... Me... She should have left me hanging there... That was, what I deserved... God, it hurts... The boy should have killed me... Why did I fight him?... Why couldn't I surrender?... It would have been so easy... So much pain... Why didn't Catherine shoot me?... Why wasn't it me who got hit?... For all I've done... for all the pain I've caused... Pain... I've failed... failed my brother... my wife... my duty... I've run away... run... RUN..

*14AAA41*

"Athos..." d'Artagnan called. "Can you hear me?"

The older man's eyelids fluttered, his head moved, but as he tried to sit up, a white hot pain seared through his back. He couldn't help but cry out, clenching his hands into fists and squishing his eyes shut. Every part of his body was hurting, every little movement was causing more pain, even his breathing was affected.

He focused on the pain in his left back as it sapped every little bit of composure he had left. Soon he was struggling for air, unable to breathe, and getting closer to a state of panic.

"Sh, sh." There were hands on his chest, another cupping his cheek. "You must breathe, Athos. I know it's hurting, but you have to try. Look at me and breathe," commanded a well-known voice.

Athos forced his eyelids open and focused on the face in front of him, pleading silently for help.

"There you are. Good." Aramis gave him a little smile, than he took his hand and put it on his own chest. "Breathe with me, come on."

Athos breathed with his friend, but it took awhile for his gasping and unsteady breathing to return to normal.

Eventually, he was able to bring in enough air into his burning lungs, and his concentration on the task helped to ease his pain. When the pain finally decreased from infernal to just bearable, he realised that the hand on his face was definitely not their medic's.

Trying to look back, he shifted a little and froze, letting out a hiss of pain.

*14AAA41*

"Don't move, Athos," the familiar voice of his little brother told him, softly stroking his cheekbone.

"D'Artagnan," whispered the former comte.

"It's good to hear your voice," the younger stated. "You had me quite scared." Grinning at his mentor's questioning look he went on. "As usual, you said nothing about your injuries, but simply dropped from your horse."

Athos smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he whispered.

"No problem," the Gascon teased. "I had plenty of time to catch you."

A small laugh escaped Athos' lips followed by another hiss of pain.

"With your wounds, I suggest you avoid laughing for the moment," Aramis chimed in. "You've been stabbed, although I can't recall when that happened."

Athos frowned, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to remember. "End of the duel... barely not'ced ... stung.. stung a li'le, but nothing... nothin' important... Thought it just a scratch," he explained after a short while, slurring his words as he was forced to take breaks for breathing.

"It's obviously more than a scratch. There's a big bruise on your back and I'm quite sure you're bleeding internally. We must get you back to Paris as fast as possible. I'd rather avoid you riding horseback, but there is no other choice," the medic's voice sounded equally upset and concerned.

"I'll ride ahead and fetch the physician," stated Treville, reminding all of them of his presence with his unexpected offer.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a quick glance before Porthos stood up. But the Captain waved off the insinuated offer. "No need for company. We're no more than an hour ride from Paris, half if I push the horse. You'll be more helpful here taking care of Athos. I'll see you at the garrison." Treville said nothing further, mounted his horse and set off toward Paris.

Listening to the conversation, and noticing traces of concern on his brothers' faces, Athos realized his situation was much worse than he initially thought. "That bad?" he asked quietly.

"Worse," was the only answer he received from Aramis. "And it will hurt like hell," the medic added, rising to his feet and sharing a sorrowful look with d'Artagnan.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" the younger asked.

Sighing, their medic shook his head. "Sorry, but no. He will need all the adrenalin his body can provide, even if it's caused by pain. Any draught I can make will not only lighten the pain, but also calm his body down. And that is something I must not risk. I'm sorry, Athos." Looking down to his injured brother, Aramis received a brief nod of understanding back.

But d'Artagnan wasn't content yet. "I'm still not sure this is a good idea."

"It isn't," the medic replied. "But there's no other option. We have to go."

The Gascon held his breath, trying to calm his increasing concern for Athos' survival, before he breathed deeply and nodded his willingness. "Alright, I'll take him."

"I'm fine. I can ride on my own," Athos stated, hating the weakness of his voice. He had felt his apprentice's anxiety, so he'd tried to make a strong impression, but was betrayed by his body.

"I assure you, you won't even reach your horse without help. Not to mention riding on your own," the marksman growled.

The wounded man swallowed hard and then gathered himself. "Help me up, Porthos."

Porthos looked over at Aramis, who had fetched the Gascon's horse. The medic gave him a short nod.

With Aramis' authority, the big man gripped his friend under his armpits. "Here we go," he said, as he hoisted him to his feet.

As he was raised, Athos tensed and let out a pained groan, making his three brothers cringe.

"God... I'm sorry, Athos, so sorry," Porthos apologised, tightening his grip to keep him upright, while d'Artagnan leapt up and hurried to assist.

*14AAA41*

Black dots were dancing in front of Athos' eyes. The sudden increase of pain left him panting for breath and made his knees buckle. Had it not been for Porthos, he would have collapsed.

Fighting against the imminent unconsciousness he concentrated on regulating his breathing.

"Athos?"

The soft and concerned voice of his little brother gave him the needed energy to push away most of the pain. And the hands d'Artagnan laid on his back grounded him.

"I can handle it," he croaked.

"I'm surprised you didn't say that you're fine," Aramis scoffed, gesturing to d'Artagnan to mount his mare.

The former comte merely glared at him and carefully straightened himself. Giving a short nod to Porthos he allowed himself to be guided over to d'Artagnan's black horse. Looking up to the waiting Gascon he sighed, recognizing that he wouldn't be able to climb up there on his own.

"We'll help you up," Aramis stated.

Being manhandled onto a horse was embarrassing, but Athos had to accept that he had no choice. Bracing himself for the coming pain, he nodded.

It was painful already as he was lifted up by Porthos, and when d'Artagnan gripped him under his armpits to drag him up further, he couldn't stifle the small cry escaping his lips. But he immediately gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out again.

When Aramis finally pushed one of his legs over the horse's neck Athos was barely conscious. Again there were black dots dancing before his eyelids as he clenched them tight. He felt lightheaded once again and struggled to push back the seduction of unconsciousness.

"I've got you," their youngest assured him, while tightening his grip carefully, not willing to cause him further pain.

Athos allowed himself to be dragged up to, and against, his little brother's chest, then he let his head fall back while a small groan escaped his lips.

"Athos?" the younger man called.

"Has he passed out already?" Aramis' asked, his voice sounding worried and already knowing the answer.

"No," grunted Athos, forcing his eyelids open, but in too much pain and far too exhausted to lift his head. "I'm fine."

Hearing the well-known, but as always simply false statement, the medic huffed ironically. "Go," he commanded d'Artagnan. "Start slowly and we'll follow."

"Try to relax, Athos, I'll hold you," the Gascon ensured his wounded friend, as they started forward.

"I know," Athos retorted, putting his hand on his brother's arm and taking a deep breath. He flinched as the movement amplified the throbbing pain in his back and flinched again when the horse started to walk, unable to suppress another groan.

"Sorry," d'Artagnan whispered.

"Don't worry, d'Artagnan, it's not your fault. I'll bear it," he answered.

Leaning against the younger man and sensing the warmth radiating from his skin, the swordsman shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. He huddled up against his brother a little bit more, attempting to get warm, and hissed when the movement worsened the aching.

His keeper reacted instinctively by tightening his grip, holding him as firmly as he dared to his body to make him more comfortable. "You alright?"

"Cold," muttered Athos, before he again shivered, this time more violently. The trembling elicited another pained groan and he grabbed his brother's arm to ground himself.

"I've got you," d'Artagnan repeated, tightening his grip for barely a second before easing it again.

"Mh-hm," the injured man muttered, showing his absolute trust as he allowed his body to rest against his little brother's chest.

*14AAA41*

Somewhat reassured by feeling Athos' grip on his limb, the Gascon took a deep breath while encouraging his horse onward. He fully noticed the tension and uneasy breathing of the injured man's body, and he regretted that his friend had to endure the ride. Although he silently wished his brother would pass out, the continuous shivers and cold touch of his human burden made him worry.

He looked over to Aramis, who was riding to their left.

"He's shivering and quite cold to the touch," d'Artagnan told their medic.

Aramis nodded, his expression full of concern. "He must have lost quite an amount of blood already, given the huge bruise on his back, so he might be going into shock. You have to keep him awake as long as possible, d'Artagnan," he instructed. "If he falls unconscious..." Aramis let his words trail off, seemingly unable to say the words aloud, they both we're not daring to even think about.

*14AAA41*

Whilst the musketeers were slowly making their way to Paris, the Captain had already arrived at the garrison. He jumped of off his horse, tossing the reins to one of his approaching men, and began shouting commands.

"Michel," he called to one of his musketeers. "Go and call Dr. Lemay. He will be needed soon."

"On my way, Captain," the musketeer answered without question and went off.

Treville watched his obedience gratefully, although the king had him discharged, his men still behaved like he was still their commanding officer. They even couldn't stop calling him Captain. "You two," he pointed out two of the other waiting man, "prepare the infirmary, stoke the fire, and get water boiling," he continued.

The two he had ordered to the infirmary also left immediately, but others still waited in the yard. With a sigh Treville resigned to give them a short explanation, knowing about their concern for their fellows.

"Athos is severely wounded, maybe life- threatening. The others are taking care of him, trying to bring him home safe. We can do nothing but wait, so I need you to go back to your duties. Now..."

Watching his men leave, the acting Captain made his way to the office he still kept. He sat himself down behind his desk and ran a hand down his face. He was exhausted, and feeling a little helpless. All he could do now was follow his own advice and wait.