A/N: Thanks to those still reading and reviewing. The prompt this time around was self-inflicted. Athos comes home this time to find Aramis and d'Artagnan have gotten themselves into a bit of a mess.
Red-Handed
When Athos gets the garbled text from Aramis he's not sure what to do, though his first instinct is to leave it be. Chances are Aramis is playing around with his phone again. Then when he gets a text from d'Artagnan a minute later asking for him to come home ASAP, he just about runs out of the store.
"In here," he hears d'Artagnan call out the second he opens the back door. d'Artagnan, and likely Aramis, is in the kitchen. Athos slams the door shut and rushes down the short hallway into the kitchen. There he finds both men sitting on the floor in front of the oven. Aramis has a dazed look on his face and a towel, partly saturated with blood, wrapped around his right hand. That explains the gibberish text. Athos sighs and looks to d'Artagnan, who had a few cuts of his own, but nothing serious like Aramis. Instead, his major problem is a plastic jar on his right hand.
"What's happened here," Athos asks, kneeling in front of the two. He grabs a new kitchen towel to change the old one on Aramis' hand. As he changes the towel, he examines the cut. It's going to need stitches. "Why haven't you called 911?"
d'Artagnan raises his jar covered hand as an explanation.
Athos quirks an eyebrow.
"Don't need ambu'ance," Aramis slurs, hissing as Athos squeezes the towel tighter.
"This needs stitching, even with your head knocked about you have to understand that." Athos turns to Aramis to give him a serious look.
"You take us," Aramis says as though it's the easiest solution.
Athos sighs before giving in because it is the easiest solution.
"Alright, up on your feet then."
d'Artagnan is the first to attempt to stand, which isn't easy considering he has a plastic jar on one hand. Aramis, seconds later, makes an attempt of his own, clumsy though it is. And Athos is left wondering why they called him and not Porthos as he debates which of the younger men to help.
When Aramis plops back down woozily, Athos grabs d'Artagnan's hand, the free one, and pulls him to his feet, holding him until he's steady.
"Help me with this one." Athos tosses a hand in Aramis' direction. The man in question gives them a hazy glare that is lacking completely in the heat it is meant to convey.
Together, they get Aramis to his feet, d'Artagnan putting his jar covered hand underneath an armpit to get Aramis standing. As they support Aramis out to the car, Athos wishes Porthos would come home to help him deal with these two.
"You sit in the back with him and make sure he keeps pressure on that hand. With the blood loss and head injury, he's going to be confused."
d'Artagnan slides in first, buckling up. Then he helps Athos get Aramis in and buckled. Holding back another sigh at the sight of the two wounded men, Athos gets in the front and drives them to the ER.
Thanks to the cut on Aramis' hand, they are taken right back to an exam room. The nurse tries to make d'Artagnan wait, but she's new. One of the nurses who knows the quartet sees them and ushers the three back and puts Aramis and d'Artagnan in beds next to each other. The doctors and nurses have learned to do this to keep them calm. Separate them and they will cause trouble quicker than a bull in a china shop.
As the more serious of the two, Aramis is first seen to.
"Stop moving about, Aramis," Athos scolds. He's squirming as the nurse cleans his hand, making it difficult for the man to do his job.
"Hurts," Aramis whines in such a way that Athos feels like he's dealing with a child rather than a grown man.
"Well, that's what happens when you… do whatever you did." Athos trails off momentarily as he realizes he doesn't quite know what happened that got these men in this predicament. He's really gotten to a point that he finds it better to not ask, especially when it comes to d'Artagnan and Aramis.
"Trying to help." Aramis sinks his head back on the pillow, trying to fight the urge to pull his hand away. He knows he should keep it steady, but hands are sensitive. Every little bit of cleaning pulls and stings at the cut. When a sudden jolt of pain makes him yelp and jump, unconsciously, pulling his hand from the nurse's grasp, Athos sighs and walks away from the bed, counting to thirty because ten just doesn't cut it with these two.
d'Artagnan leaves his bed to sit next to Aramis' bed, on the opposite side of the nurse and Athos, giving him his free hand to squeeze. Aramis tries not to look grateful. Pain is something he's used to, but between the placement of the cut and the wooziness from his injuries, he's feeling less than capable of dealing with the pain.
"Sorry," Aramis mutters and gives his hand back to the nurse. He's used to dealing with these men, so he doesn't bat an eye at the situation but he does go gentler with the cleaning.
"I'm sorry this happened, Aramis," d'Artagnan says, guilt clear in his voice.
"It was an accident. Not your fault," Aramis says. He looks to the younger man to distract himself from the work on his hand.
"If I'd been more careful though…"
"And if I'd not been so careless."
"Would either of you care to enlighten me on what happened or are you going to keep speaking in riddles." Athos barely has control on his anger. From the sounds of it, stupidity played a major role in this.
"You mean you don't recognize this." d'Artagnan holds up his hand with the jar on it.
"It's a plastic jar," Athos answers easily.
"It's the lining to the cookie jar."
It takes some five seconds for Athos to put it all together and then, instead of getting angry, he bends over, laughing uncontrollably at the image of d'Artagnan with his hand caught in the ceramic Cookie Monster jar that'd been a gift for Aramis from Treville's kids last Christmas.
"Ho… how did 'amis get… cut," Athos asks between catching his breath.
"Tried to help him get it off by pulling it," Aramis explains. He'd felt bad that d'Artagnan has quite literally gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, reaching for the last of the chocolate crackles, Aramis' favorite cookie. The young man panicked when Aramis walked in and got himself stuck.
"The jar broke, cut him, and he fell back into the counter," d'Artagnan says.
Unfortunately, Athos can all too easily picture the scene and he's sent into a deeper state of laughing.
And that is how Porthos finds them nearly a half hour later. Athos still laughing, not consistently, but still at random, irritating moments. Aramis lying on the bed with his hand being stitched and d'Artagnan, still with the plastic jar on his hand, lending his free hand to Aramis for comfort. When Porthos asks what happened, Athos, who's had a grand total of five minutes without full-blown laughing, breaks out again, falling off his chair. Aramis and d'Artagnan give exasperated sighs and Porthos considers leaving them here and going back to enjoy a quiet evening at home.
