A/N: This was for a prompt where someone wanted a poisoned d'Artagnan. Enjoy

Porthos was entirely at a loss as to what to do in this situation. Only d'Artagnan could manage to get himself nicked by a poisoned dagger. The boy had been a magnet for trouble ever since he arrived, but nothing like this had ever happened before.

And Athos and Aramis - the second of which would undoubtedly know what to do - were still not back from their patrol. It would be hours before they came back, and Porthos wasn't quite sure that this idiot had that long.

Porthos was no idiot, he knew that d'Artagnan would need a doctor, and fast. He was just so used to relying on Aramis that he had no idea where to find one. He was not panicking. Not in the slightest.

"P'thos?" He looked down at the boy in question, who he had just caught when he staggered backwards and fell into him. D'Artagnan was pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes were already looking glassy. Porthos's gut churned as he decided to take action.

"Come on, Gascon, I'm taking you back to Constance's, and then I'm going to find you a doctor." And with that he swept the boy easily up into his arms - and honestly, he hardly weighed anything. Had he been eating recently? If he had been more lucid, perhaps our young hero might have protested that he did not need to be carried like a swooning maiden - as it was, he was exhausted, and he didn't quite understand why.

Constance certainly hadn't expected Porthos to barge through her front door, carrying her lodger in his arms, and looking, by all counts, terrified.

"What's wrong?" She asked, rushing after him as he strode up the stairs to place d'Artagnan on the bed. If possible, he looked even paler than before, and his breath was getting raspy. Porthos didn't like the sound of that.

"Some bastard had a poisoned dagger and nicked him with it. Didn't notice until the idiot collapsed onto me." Constance nodded, and took charge of the situation.

"Right. Go and fetch some water and cloth. Keep him cool. I'm going to get Monsieur Joli, he lives close by." She paused, noticing how wary the Musketeer seemed. "I wouldn't let anyone I didn't trust near that boy, Porthos... I- he's important to me." She admitted in a whisper, and at Porthos's nod, she practically sprinted to search for the physician.

And so now Porthos was left to deal with an ill and possibly dying d'Artagnan. He wasn't like the others - he'd seen enough death to know that you can't choose who it comes for. He accepted the possibility far more easily than Aramis or Athos would have - easily, but not readily. Though he wasn't as close to d'Artagnan as Athos seemed to be - which was odd in itself, but something had clearly happened when the Gascon had gone rushing back to find the man - but that did not mean he was not fond of the lad. He brightened the place up - even if it was by getting in more trouble than seemed possible for just one man.

He carefully wiped the boy's brow with the cold water, and found himself talking, just to fill the heavy silence that he felt in the air.

"Listen, kid. I know we don't talk all that much, and all I ever do is try to get you drunk at the pub and maybe even laugh at your idiocy sometimes. But... I'd care if you died. Especially on my watch. You know they would never forgive me - don't you? Well, Aramis might, eventually, since he wants to be a priest one day. But Athos isn't the type to forgive. And your Constance - because she is, you know. Yours. Well, she'd obviously kill me if I suggested in any way she belonged to anyone but herself, but you know what I mean. You both make such obvious bedroom eyes that it's a wonder her husband hasn't strangled you yet." He paused. D'Artagnan's fever seemed to have cooled a little, but his face was still twisted in pain, and his breathing still sounded harsh. There wasn't much he could do but wait and hope that this doctor knew how to work miracles. "I guess what I'm trying to say here kid is don't die. You're kind of the glue that's holding us messed up bastards together. We need you. And there are less extreme ways of getting out of training-"

The door was flung open and Porthos praised his self-control that he managed to just look up and seem mildly irritated while in reality his heart had just about jumped out of his chest. He hadn't even heard them approach.

It was not the doctor, however, but the two other Musketeers.

"We ran into Madame Bonacieux when she was looking for the doctor. We rushed straight here. How is he?"

"His breathing's gotten worse. I've not been able to do much more than keep him cool. And even that's a challenge." Aramis nodded, biting his lip in his distraction. He examined the wound on the boy's arm, which looked awful now.

"I'll need to clean that. Go fetch some clean water."

"Not your errand boy" Porthos grumbled, but hurriedly did as he was bid. When he got back, Aramis took the bowl of water gratefully and began his work. D'Artagnan seemed to be growing steadily worse, and they didn't know what to do. Athos looked completely in shock - like he was losing a son, or a brother, or something.

"Aramis-" Porthos began, as a thought occurred to him. "Do you suppose that putting him in a cold bath might help more?" He asked. Aramis frowned, and sighed angrily.

"Dieu! I should have thought of that. It will keep the fever down, hopefully." He checked the boy's pulse "and perhaps it will slow his heart rate. It is too fast, too thready. If the poison goes through his entire system..." He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. "Well, we need to buy him as much time as we can." They all nodded agreement, and Athos went to fill the bath whilst Porthos lifted the boy with the utmost care, lowering him into the water as gently as he could. It was worrying that the boy hardly seemed to react to the change in temperature, but there was little else they could do - it was up to fate, and Constance finding the physician, now.

Thoughts?