Evening my lovelies :)

Only one chapter tonight I'm afraid but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same

As always mega thanks to everyone who follows/favourites/review this story

Enjoy

xxx

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the musketeers.

Chapter 12:

It had been over two hours since Aramis had started to tend to the young Gascon. During that time Athos had bound Porthos's ribs – despite the vehement protests from the man himself that he was fine and didn't need Athos's fussing. He had also managed get the larger man to eat – it may have only been some bread, but considering circumstances Athos counted it as a win.

Since then, with nothing to occupy himself with – aside from fulfilling the occasional request from the group's medic for things like more light or fresh water, Athos had taken to pacing by the foot of the bed. He had originally been sat by the boy's side, stroking his hair whilst practically demanding a running commentary from the Spaniard as to the boy's condition. It was only when the medic – who up to that point had been so focused on his young charge that he hadn't spoken to either of the other occupants in the room, save for the sporadic bark of an order, had finally snapped at him, threatening to kick him out of the room if he didn't stop, that Athos had removed himself from his protégé's side, much to Porthos's great amusement, he had seen the medic getting increasingly tense and aggravated by Athos's constant badgering and knew it was only a matter of time until he exploded at the man.

So far Aramis had been correct in his earlier assumption that the younger musketeer would be too weak to fight against his ministrations, though he would admit he was concerned that the boy hadn't even stirred when he had dug the ball from his shoulder. The medic was torn between wanting his younger brother to stir and awake to show he was improving and wanting the lad to stay unconscious, blissfully unaware of the pain no doubt ravaging his body.

He had managed to remove the bullet from the Gascon's shoulder after some trouble, it seemed that the shot had embedded itself within the lad's shoulder blade – cracking the bone which resulted in the medic having to dig deeper than he would have liked to remove it. Aramis had winced at this, although luckily not the boy's dominant hand this injury would still put him out of commission for several weeks – especially when coupled with his broken ankle and wounded hand.

Having successfully removed the ball from his shoulder Aramis had quickly set to work on creating the most powerful poultice he could to draw out the serious infection that had set in. Before he could apply it however he was forced to dig though the wound again to remove all foreign fragments that had lodged themselves in there, such as pieces of the shirt he had been wearing when the shot pierced him, dirt and debris from his fall down the hill and whatever had been on the – frankly filthy rag that Corbin had his men use to bind the injury.

And unfortunately for the medic it was during this that D'Artangan had shown signs of waking – his brows furrowing in pain and heartbreaking whimpers escaping from his mouth.

"Shhh D'Artangan I have you my friend but you need to stay still" Aramis coxed when the boy started to twitch and tried, subconsciously to move away from what was causing him pain.

Fortunately for the sharpshooter the first sounds of pain had brought Athos straight to the boy's side. Normally this display of emotion from their leader would have him teasing the man ruthlessly, but for now he was simply glad for his presence. Athos always seemed to have a way with the boy when he was injured, it would typically be only him who could calm him when fevered, so knowing D'Artangan was in the best hands he returned to cleaning the wound, sending a smile to Porthos who had brought another candle over having anticipated the medic's thoughts.

"Le' … 'im go you b'sta'd" D'Artangan weakly mumbled whilst trying vainly to raise his good arm to attack the figure his fevered mind was causing him to see in his sleep.

Athos raised a questioning eyebrow to his companions, he had no idea exactly what their usually mild mannered Gascon was seeing and, if the returning look on Aramis's face was anything to go by neither did he.

It was Porthos, however who instantly recognized what was plaguing their young whelp and the guilt he had been battling down for the last few hours came surging back to the forefront as he fell to his knees and gripped D'Artangan's good ankle in a desperate attempt to anchor the boy.

"I'm fine D'Art" the larger man implored fervently hoping his voice could penetrate the boy's fevered mind. Ignoring the questioning looks from his brothers which were now turned on him he continued "He's dead lad, he ain't hur'ing anyone anymore. Athos got 'im remember"

Whether it was the desperation in Porthos's tone or simply the mention of his beloved mentor's name none of them knew but thankfully the boy seemed to calm at that statement.

"…P'thos?" came a weak voice from the boy in the bed, the voice was laced with so much pain and hope it broke his brothers hearts, before D'Artangan cried out in pain as Aramis dug out the last stubborn bit of debris from his shoulder.

"Easy little brother" Aramis soothed "That was the last bit but now I need you to lay still while I stitch this up okay, otherwise you'll end up with a horrid scar"

The order was lost on the fevered Gascon as he once again called for his brother, who practically shoved Athos out of the way to be in the lad's line of sight, guilt once again festering when he saw the eyes of his little brother, glazed over in fever and pain.

"I'm here whelp," he said, squeezing the younger man's hand. Aramis took full advantage of D'Artangan's distracted state and began stitching up the boy's shoulder.

"…'m sorry… P'thos" D'Artangan murmured weakly in between winces of pain as the medic stitched his wound. "…'ts all my fau't …'m sorry you got h'rt."

The younger musketeers desperate pleas for forgiveness almost broke the larger man – D'Artangan had been tortured and still blamed himself for Porthos's injuries, and that was something he could not… would not allow to stand.

"D'Artangan!" the commanded, squeezing the boy's hand harder to force the Gascon to, once again focus on him. When he saw those fever-filled eyes on him again he continued, "This ain't your fault okay! You held out better than most men could even dream of in that situation… Corbin would 'ave hurt me regardless of you. Him 'nd he's men are to blame not you understood?"

D'Artangan looked like he was going to protest when Porthos spoke again "listen closely whelp. I. Don't. Blame. You" as he held the young Gascon's eyes, his own pleading the injured man to believe him and after several agonizing moments it seemed like he did as the Gascon's tension visibly lessened and within seconds the boy was asleep once again.

"Oh. Now he falls asleep – once I've finished stitching him" Aramis said sarcastically, though the tone was fond. Lifting his head to face his brothers Aramis could see the need for good news so spoke again "I've cleaned the wound and stitched it up, I have a strong poultice which should help fight the infection though we are going to need to keep a close eye on it. All that's left to do is to bandage it." He could see his brothers visibly sag with relief and hated the next part he had to give them "his fever is cause for concern though. Its alarmingly high and with his body already weak from Corbin's action" Pausing to get himself together he turned to look his brothers in their eyes – he needed them to understand how serious this was "I fear he may not have the strength to survive."