"Thank God!" d'Artagnan exclaimed as the barn finally came into view. They were moving slowly, trying not to cause Aramis any further harm, while the pale musketeer focused on biting down screams as d'Artagnan and Vabrino tried to carry most of his weight. Diana walked next to her father.

"The door is stuck!" Vabrino cried out as they arrived at the tall, wooden gate.

D'Artagnan carefully took Aramis' arm from his shoulder.

"You got him?" he asked Vabrino.

The Spaniard nodded.

D'Artagnan used all of his strength and forcefully kicked against the door multiple times, until it burst open with a loud creak.

As expected, rain started to slowly drop from the sky, and d'Artagnan heard thunder rage in the distance. Judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon.

"Let's get inside," he said and draped Aramis' arm around his shoulder again. Diana closed the gate behind them.

The barn wasn't very big. Some bales of straw were bound together in the corner. Usual farmer tools leaned against the wall, and a pile of hay was gathered in the center of the barn, next to another bale of straw.

D'Artagnan motioned to place Aramis there. They slowly moved over. The Gascon mustered his friend. Aramis' face was plastered in sweat, and his eyes were squinted in pain. It was a miracle he still clung onto consciousness.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked softly.

"Hm?"

"We need to sit you down. Are you ready?"

Aramis' head shot up and he surveyed the chosen place with tired eyes.

"You know we cannot stay here? They…they will know we are here," he answered breathlessly.

"It will have to suffice for the night," d'Artagnan replied. "No need to argue here, Aramis. So, are you ready?"

Aramis blinked in agreement.

"Born ready," was the faint reply.

On d'Artagnan's signal, Vabrino released Aramis from his grip and steadied the marksman by the shoulder as he stumbled. D'Artagnan slowly got down on his knees, pulling Aramis with him and propped him up against the straw. Even though all his senses screamed to help his injured friend, d'Artagnan knew the priorities, and he stood up.

"Watch him," he ordered to Vabrino and ran over to get some of the pitchforks and crowbars, as well as a shovel. He used them to barricade the huge door, and also got two wheelbarrows to serve as a blocking weight against the entrance.

Then, he headed back to Aramis, dropping the saddlebags and the musket next to him. Vabrino and Diana watched them with concerned looks.

"You are the one with the knowledge, Aramis. You need to tell me what to do".

Aramis leaned against the straw, his eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Well, how does it look?" he countered.

D'Artagnan undid the sash wrapped around Aramis' leg. Carefully, he ripped the hole a little wider, the edges of the material of the pants already soaked red.

"The ball is still in your leg. It's probably stopping the bleeding," d'Artagnan analyzed, "I think you were lucky. It could've been worse."

"Just…get it out. And clean it with alcohol."

"Where do you think I should get alcohol from?" he asked.

Aramis' face twitched as he shakily reached under his coat over his shoulder and pulled out a flask.

D'Artagnan took it, raising an eyebrow.

"You sly old dog," he commented and patted Aramis reassuringly on the side of his face; "I'd expect that from Athos, not from you."

Aramis' breathed raggedly.

"Porthos and I always carry some, just in case. Can't let…Athos have all of it."

D'Artagnan let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

"What do I get the ball out with?" he asked impatiently.

"My kit."

D'Artagnan looked over to Vabrino and gestured him to hand him the kit out of Aramis' saddlebags.

Vabrino quickly obliged and D'Artagnan pulled out a slim forceps.

"Seriously?"

D'Artagnan inspected the tool with a doubtful look.

"Make sure it's clean," Vabrino interjected.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis for confirmation, but the marksman lay slumped against the straw, his eyes closed and his face a mask of exhaustion. The Gascon noticed Vabrino saying something in Spanish to his daughter, and the girl turned away, facing the opposite direction. What followed was nothing a girl her age needed to see.

"Be careful," Vabrino warned, "he does seem to be very lucky, it's not too deep. But when you get it out, make sure to be precise. If you happen to damage anything, the bleeding might be too extensive."

D'Artagnan's face was blank as he stared at the Spaniard, surprised by his input.

"It's a miracle he is still conscious," Vabrino continued.

The Gascon gritted his teeth.

"He is one stubborn bastard."

D'Artagnan didn't wait for another second.

With his left hand, he pushed the leg on the ground, with his right hand, he tried to extract the ball lodged a few inched above the knee in the thigh. It was d'Artagnan's right wrist which was hurting enormously, but he tried to control the trembling and get the ball out of the leg. The moment he started, Aramis' back arched up in reaction, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips holding in the scream of pain.

"Hold him," d'Artagnan cried at Vabrino and the Spaniard quickly used his weight to pin the musketeer to the ground.

It was pure torture for the Gascon to see what pain he caused his friend, but he had no choice. After a few moments, which each felt like an eternity, he got the ball out and threw it away as if it was venomous. Blood poured out of the wound and d'Artagnan quickly cleaned it with the alcohol. Aramis struggled against Vabrino's hold in his pain and d'Artagnan had to help Vabrino to hold the musketeer down.

D'Artagnan took a small cloth drenched in alcohol and put it on top of the wound, before binding it with a clean bandage from the marksman's kit.

He sat back for a second and his gaze wandered to Aramis. He was lying flat on the ground, panting, but his eyes were wide open, glassy, staring directly at d'Artagnan.

"That's all I can do, I think," d'Artagnan said with an apologetic face, "I just hope it stops the bleeding soon."

Aramis managed a weak smile.

Thank you! he mouthed silently.

D'Artagnan looked over to Vabrino, who met his gaze with a concerned look. The nobleman pointed to Aramis' side.

"You might want to take a look at that as well."

D'Artagnan quickly crouched at Aramis' side to take a look.

There was a long gash along his left side. The blade had torn through the leather and the skin and muscle below. D'Artagnan quickly undid the buttons of the doublet, so he could have a better look at his friend's wound.

He whistled with fake cheerfulness, in a weak attempt to lighten the stressful atmosphere. It was a deep gash; the fabric of the beige shirt Aramis wore under the doublet was soaked with dark red liquid. The wound needed to be closed, fast.

"It's just really not your day today, is it?" he said. "It's definitely going to need stitching."

Aramis' raised his hand and gently patted the Gascon's arm.

"I have total confidence in you."

D'Artagnan managed a light grin and wanted to get everything ready, as a hand locked around his wrist. Vabrino stopped him, and stared at him with wide, brown eyes.

"You have hurt your wrist. You don't have a steady hand. Let me do it."

D'Artagnan snorted disapprovingly.

"You are a nobleman, seňor. You should not be practicing field medicine."

Vabrino gave him a confident smile.

"Noble or not, if this wound is not closed neatly soon, it will get infected or your friend might bleed out soon. I owe him my daughter's life as you said. Please, let me do this. It's not the first wound I've stitched."

"You guys do realize…I'm right here…right?" Aramis panted and groaned as the wound on his side came in contact with the alcohol out of the bottle.

"Yes, but right now," d'Artagnan replied as he handed the kit over to Vabrino, "you don't get to say anything here. I know you, Aramis, and what you might want to say, and I'm telling you that I'm not going to leave you here on your own."

Aramis' hand grabbed him by the neck and he pulled the Gascon down.

"Promise me…," Aramis murmured, "that if we manage to survive here tonight, you will find a way for us to leave this barn. I just…have this feeling…that we are not safe here."

D'Artagnan gently pulled Aramis' hand away and squeezed it.

"We'll leave in the early morning," he assured his friend, "and you are coming with us, don't even try to tell me otherwise."

Aramis' head sunk back into the straw.

"It takes more than a blade to the side or a musket ball in the leg to get rid of me. Thought you knew that by now," he commented breathlessly with an almost amused expression on his face.

Vabrino got the needle ready.

"You good?" he asked unnecessarily and Aramis just shot him a sarcastic look.

D'Artagnan put a hand on his friend's shoulder, holding him down and also to give him comfort.

"Let's just get this over with."


Athos and Porthos were mounted on their horses, hidden in the dark of the night in the cover of the trees.

"See that?" Porthos hissed and pointed to the north. They found a road and followed its course, now they saw a light, probably a fire, glowing in the dark, maybe a hundred or two hundred feet away from them.

"We need to be silent," Athos instructed, as he gently pushed his horse forward. "We have to see how many there are. And who they are."

Porthos let out a dry laugh.

"I doubt that Aramis and d'Artagnan would make such a big fire when they are on the run."

"Really?" Athos scoffed. "Do I have to remind you of the one time you and Aramis thought it would be a good idea to make a fire in the middle of the night while we were busy outrunning the bandits of Orléans?"

"It's been so cold we hadn't been able to feel our hands anymore, Athos," Porthos defended himself. "Not everybody can be such a callous bastard like you."

Athos hinted a grin, it took some tension out of the air to banter with Porthos like they did under normal circumstances. But he quickly regained his focus, and with a look at Porthos, he noticed the other musketeer concentrated on their task too.

"Let's go," he said.

They arrived at the camp within minutes. They stayed away at a safe distance, but spotted a lot of people around the fire. There were even tents built up, and horses bound to the trees nearby.

"Can you see how many?" Porthos whispered.

Athos narrowed his eyes.

"At least twenty men. There is no chance we can go out of a fight victorious."

Porthos growled, frustrated.

"Maybe we can … I don't know, kidnap one? He could tell us whether they know where d'Artagnan and Aramis are."

Athos threw him an indecisive look.

"What makes you think he'll talk?"

"'cause I'll make him."

Porthos' face was cold and determined.

"Well, it's our best shot I guess. But we need to do this quietly, wait for the perfect opportunity. If they notice us, we are damned. And we take the others down with us as well."

"You told me no more waiting," Porthos spat angrily. Athos didn't even flinch, knowing his friend's anger wasn't directed at him.

"I know. But we cannot win against twenty men at once."

"If I have to wait any longer, I'll show you how to win against twenty men."

"Being too hasty will not improve our situation or our brother's situation. I need you to focus, Porthos!" Athos growled, not in the mood to argue with Porthos.

Porthos swallowed down a witty response and nodded.

"Alright, we'll do it your way. But if we come too late for d'Artagnan and Aramis, I will blame you. Forever."

"Thank you for your confidence, Porthos", Athos replied wryly and returned his attention to the camp in front of him, "Now, help me find someone to politely ask about our friend's current location."


It had been several hours since they arrived at the barn and patched Aramis up. D'Artagnan, having reached a point beyond tired and exhausted, stood vigil, listening to any sounds he was able to hear through the thick walls of the building. He couldn't wait for all of this to be over, so he could finally get some sleep. The gate was still blocked, and there weren't many windows in the building.

Diana was asleep, using a pile of hay as her pillow. Vabrino sat next to her, staring at his hands, covered with dried blood.

D'Artagnan's own hands were stained with dried blood, and he had tried for the last couple of hours to rub it off.

Aramis, having lost consciousness halfway through the stitching procedure, lay slumped against the straw. D'Artagnan was surprised now to see the musketeer's eyes wide open, his warm, brown eyes staring back at him.

"You know, you should really get some rest," d'Artagnan addressed his older companion.

Aramis huffed out a weak laughter.

"I did until now. Hear anything?"

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"Everything is silent. But if we don't leave until morning we might be trapped."

Aramis smiled.

"We will leave soon enough."

He winced as he tried to prop up one elbow, closing his eyes as a wave of pain hit him as the movement jarred his freshly stitched wound.

D'Artagnan slowly crouched over to Aramis.

"Let me check the wounds."

Aramis weakly slapped his hand away.

"You just took care of me about five hours ago. I'll be fine."

"Since I'm familiar with your definition of fine, please forgive me if I don't believe your word," d'Artagnan responded and took a look at the gunshot wound. The bandage was soaked in blood, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

"I'm going to bind it anew," d'Artagnan proposed and got out another clean bandage out of Aramis' bags. The wound in the leg itself looked clean, and as good as a gunshot wound could look, he supposed. He wrapped it carefully, not without noticing the pale skin-color his brother-in-arms showed off.

"You're doing good, you know?" Aramis whispered, "thinking straight and keeping a clear head in a situation like this."

D'Artagnan froze.

"What do you mean a situation like this? It's just another mission. Sure, it didn't go exactly as planned, but when did it ever in the last few months?"

Aramis glared at him through hooded eyes.

"You know what I mean. Let's be real here, if Porthos and Athos don't find us within the next hours, we will never see Paris again."

D'Artagnan sighed, resigned.

"God, and I considered you to be the optimist of the group."

Aramis gave a weak chuckle.

"Well, if you are looking for optimism, you should have been stuck here with Porthos. I'm more the realist, especially in situations like these. I could give you comforting words, but I doubt that you would believe them."

"I'll remember that."

D'Artagnan smiled and patted Aramis on the shoulder before he carefully continued.

"No, all jokes aside, I'm glad you are with me here. No idea what I would do if I was trapped here alone."

"Right back at you," Aramis responded hoarsely.

"Despite your realism, which kind of disturbed me for a second. You know, since I never took you for such a realist."

Aramis let out a deep breath and winced as he slightly moved his body.

"Being wounded and separated from the rest does that to a man, occasionally. Trust me, I know."

His face was like stone and he stared at the ground.

D'Artagnan knew what his friend was thinking of, but he didn't dare to say anything, knowing it was a very sensitive subject. But he didn't need to ask, as Aramis continued.

"You know, back in Savoy, I really thought that was it. That I would be left and forgotten in that godforsaken forest. But I wasn't."

He made a short pause, obviously reaching his usual limits of what he was going to say, but he continued with an unsteady voice. D'Artagnan was more than surprised. Aramis usually wasn't one to spill about his past or his secrets. He really must think that this may be their final hour.

"I was found and I recovered. God gave me a second chance, and after all these years I spent as a soldier, I gained a brotherhood like the one I found in Porthos and Athos, and now, you."

He chuckled weakly and continued whispering, his mind somewhere else.

"You know, on the first anniversary of … well of Savoy, I wandered through the streets of Paris. With all the memories still being so painful, I thought it would be the best to be alone. I went to say my prayers, and afterwards, I got myself a bottle of wine and sat down near of the Place Dauphine. You know, brooding, remembering…"

He broke off to catch his breath but he carried on slowly but surely, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Out of nowhere, Athos and Porthos appeared. We hadn't known each other for so long, so it was still a different kind of friendship than the one we have today. But they sat down next to me, drinking, but not saying a single word. The whole night, they didn't say a word, they just sat there and kept me company. A lot of things have changed since then, but till today, I am still grateful for that."

D'Artagnan swallowed, but he tried to give Aramis a faithful smile.

"Well, one thing didn't change…," he said and Aramis raised an eyebrow. D'Artagnan grinned. "Athos still doesn't talk very much."

Aramis' eyes shone with amusement.

"True." He made a short pause, his breath coming out ragged and his hand clamped around his wound on the side, but he wasn't finished.

"They are not going to let us down, d'Artagnan. Just in case you needed some optimism. That is my optimism. My faith. My faith in God and my faith in our brothers, who will not rest until they find us."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes.

"I know. I'm sure they will find us. Because I really would love to see Paris again."

Aramis chuckled.

"Yes, despite her rotten streets and dirty taverns, she is still a beauty to behold."

D'Artagnan glared at his friend, an amusing smile mustering his face.

"You know, I was more thinking of the people there."

Aramis groaned.

"Don't remind me of that. I'm already frightened of the lecture from Tréville we all are going to endure. He is a good man and an incredible mentor, but he can scare the crap out of a grown man." His voice was low.

D'Artagnan couldn't help but laugh, before his face turned serious again and he stared dreamily at the window.

Aramis noticed that.

"But I'm sure you were thinking about lovely Madame Bonacieux, am I right?"

D'Artagnan blushed.

"That obvious, is it?"

He made a short pause before he continued.

"I think it's no secret I love her. From the bottom of my heart. I gave her my heart, but I don't know if she can ever give me hers."

He noticed how his voice broke and quickly looked away. The thought of Constance and his longing for her brought a pain up in his heart he never felt before. But on the other hand, it was warm and comforting, and he clenched his fist in desperation.

He felt a weak grip on his arm and shyly looked down into Aramis' eyes.

"I have seen a lot, d'Artagnan, more than you might think. I desired a lot, I was denied a lot. I was sure I knew what true love is. But I became a soldier and a musketeer, and my brothers-in-arms became my family. And I like the excitement, the danger of this life."

He stopped again and it didn't take a mind-reader to know that Aramis kept something back. But d'Artagnan didn't ask. This conversation got way more personal than any they ever had.

Aramis still continued, but he cut it shortly.

"Take it as it comes, d'Artagnan. You never know what good things are in store for you."

D'Artagnan just glared at him, not really sure what to say.

"And, trust me; I see the way she looks at you. If it's not your fate to be with her one day, and to be able to love her truly and honestly, then I might stop believing in true love. You two are going to find your way. I know it."

D'Artagnan looked at him gratefully and gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder. If that really was their last conversation, it was a good one. One of the most honest ones they ever had.

"Thanks, Aramis."

D'Artagnan always considered Aramis to be the overly romantic type, and from what he heard from Porthos, Aramis' multiple liaisons had given him trouble more than once. But from what he heard now, he was convinced Aramis didn't give his heart away as easily as it seemed.

"Aramis?" he called after a short pause.

"Hm?"

"I don't know how we are supposed to get out of here. If they know we are here, what are we supposed to do? Since you are way more experienced, I was counting on you to lead us to safety."

"Experience doesn't make me a better musketeer," he corrected slowly. "And besides, as you can see, I'm currently not in the condition to do that. You will do just fine."

D'Artagnan looked at him with a worried gaze.

"I'm not sure I can do that," he confessed.

Aramis exhausted features became hard.

"You can," he said confidently. "I might be in the regiment longer than you are, but you proved multiple times how clever you are. Have some faith in yourself, d'Artagnan. You will lead us out of here in a few hours. And we will do our best to survive until Porthos and Athos find us."

Aramis' dark curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his breath was coming out ragged due to the exhaustion and the pain he was trying to hide. Holding this conversation obviously had been more exhausting for him than he was ready to admit.

D'Artagnan was left speechless. In the last months, he tried so hard to impress Athos that he seemed to have overlooked the faith and the confidence Porthos and Aramis both offered him and showed so openly.

Aramis' words left his emotions shredded. He was scared. Scared that for once he had to make the decisions for other people, that their lives may be depending on the choices he made. He was grateful for the trust Aramis' seemed to have in him, but he couldn't conceal the fear that had a strong and firm grip over his body. Fear for the three lives he was responsible for now. He always admired Athos and how he seemed to make decisions so easily, but his current situation reminded him that it was a burden nobody wanted to bear gladly.

He nodded determined.

"You make it sound so easy. You know, Athos always says my actions are reckless."

"They are," Aramis commented dryly, "but Athos also called you talented, full of potential. Don't tell him I told you that, though."

D'Artagnan laughed.

"No worries. Thank you, Aramis. You are a great friend to talk to."

Aramis merely shrugged, not without his face twitching in pain.

"You are a part of us now, whether you like it or not. You should get used to this…well this…"

"Brotherhood?" d'Artagnan chipped in.

Aramis smiled.

" Trust me, once you've got it, it is too valuable to abandon again. You are not going to shake the three of us off, not so easily."

"I know, I tried." He eyed his comrade slyly, but then he winked reassuringly. "I don't take that for granted."

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, until d'Artagnan had to hide his laughter that suddenly overcame him, and in the current situation it nearly felt ridiculous.

"What's the matter?" Aramis asked curiously and eyed him tiredly.

"Just a little funny. How you three took me in. Considering I first met you when I wanted to kill one of you."

Aramis snorted.

"Yes, but I've got to tell you, that was quite an entrance you made there. And your sword-fighting with Athos? I was impressed."

He tried to sit up but gasped as soon as the movement jarred his wound.

"Let me have a look at it-," d'Artagnan said in a tone that tolerated no protest.

Aramis didn't even try to protest, and that scared d'Artagnan a little bit, since the marksman was always the first one to play down his injuries or the pain they caused him.

As d'Artagnan freed the side from the bandage that was covering it, he cursed.

Vabrino had indeed done some good needlework. But maybe they waited too long or whatever. The edges of the wound looked angry red, and small trickles of blood still seeped from the mostly closed gash. D'Artagnan probed the wound, realizing it was also quite warm to the touch.

"That doesn't look too good," he said to Aramis with a worried voice.

Aramis groaned.

"Quit touching it, damn it," he snapped.

D'Artagnan shrank back.

"Sorry."

Aramis let out the breath he was holding.

"I will get proper treatment for that when we make it back to Paris."

"You've got to make it to Paris first!" d'Artagnan said before he could think about it, the tone in his voice a mixture of desperation and anxiety.

He briefly closed his eyes.

"You did your best…," Aramis whispered and eyed Vabrino whose attention had turned to the two musketeers, "now, I would really like to get out of here."

While d'Artagnan carefully bound his friend's side, he had an idea.

"You know, we shouldn't make it too easy for them. Let's just leave the gate barricaded."

Aramis raised an eyebrow.

"Come again?"

"If we leave through a window or something like that, they will think we are still in here."

Aramis looked at him through hazy eyes, apparently letting the suggestion sink in.

"D'Artagnan," he began and let out a frustrated growl as he sat up as straight as he could manage, "you are a genius."

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"No. Just thinking clear, remember?"

"Yeah, I do."

He held out a hand.

"Would you mind helping me up?"


It was late at night, and Porthos and Athos were still watching the camp, growing more and more impatient as time went by. The men in the camp were awake the whole night, drinking, eating, and telling stories that Athos couldn't understand since he didn't speak Spanish.
Athos jerked out of his position as Porthos nudged him from his right.

"Over there," he murmured and waved with his pistol to a man near the riverbank. He sat down and washed his face with water from the river, and filled a bucket. Athos inspected the environment. He wasn't completely isolated, but it was the best opportunity they got within the last few hours. If they acted quietly, it might work.

Just as they bound their horses to a tree and waited to slowly emerge from their cover, they heard the faint thundering of hooves.

"Get back, get back!" Athos hissed and yanked Porthos back by the shoulder.

Those horses didn't belong to the Spanish raiders. Athos realized that the moment the men at the camp jumped up, drawing their weapons in alarm. They were shouting orders in their panic, trying to wake the few men who had actually gone to sleep.

A line of riders broke into the clearing. The sound of pistols being fired erupted through the night and Athos heard steel clashing on steel.

"Now or never," Porthos said and jumped out of the cover, but Athos was faster. He ran and tackled the man near them, before he had the chance to draw a weapon. He grabbed him by the collar and disarmed him, throwing the weapons to Porthos who easily caught them.

Without hesitation, Athos landed the first punch.

"You speak our language?" he asked.

The man looked startled as he nodded briefly, his eyes narrowed.

"You are following a Spanish nobleman and his daughter, accompanied by two musketeers. Where are they?"

As the man realized what Athos was talking about, he just raised an eyebrow and laughed. Athos growled and landed three more punches in the man's face in white, hot anger.

"Where are they?" he roared.

The man still provoked him with his cheerful laughter, not answering his question.
Athos punched him again, multiple times; with so much force he could feel some bones in two of his fingers snap. Pain spread from his fingers down his hand and arm, but he didn't care. The numbness resulting from the eager will to find the others prevented him from taking notice of the pain.

Seconds later, he saw Porthos holding his pistol against the man's head.

"He is not asking again," the tall musketeer snarled.

Around them, the heat of the fight was wearing down, the unknown riders, who didn't seem to notice them, clearly dominated the Spanish raiders and were on the verge of defeating them. The man's face was a mess thanks to Athos' punches. His nose was broken and blood was flowing freely out of it, staining his teeth red as he was still laughing. One eye was already beginning to swell shut. But he answered, even though his half-French, half-Spanish was difficult to understand.

"You will be too late. They locked themselves in a granero a few miles from here, near the river. A troop of ours headed out. They have commando to burn it to the ground before the sun rises."