The medic becomes the patient

This story was supposed to be for"AnnA2474", who wished for the musketeers being caught in a snowstorm, with Aramis I deviated a bit while I wrote this. So it got more a story of Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan having to save Aramis' life without really knowing what to do.
AnnA2474 I will write your plot the next time, I promise. I just couldn't stop myself this time.
Hope you like it nevertheless.

Even if it was cold and windy, the four musketeers were sent on a mission two days ago. They were supposed to ride to Lyon to get Fournier, a prisoner there. The musketeers didn't know why he was so important that he was brought to Paris to meet the king, but that wasn't their business though. Important for them was just to get Fournier and get him to Paris alive. Nevertheless Treville had informed them to be careful, as Fournier was a very violent and ruthless man.

The musketeers were lucky to arrive in Lyon on the second day, the good weather the last days had helped them.
Fournier already waited in front of the prison for them, hold by two guards and chains around his wrists and feet. He was a tall and muscular man, with blue eyes cold as eyes. If they would have had the choice they would have let him walk all the way to Paris, but the king wanted Fournier as soon as possible. Because of this they had a fifth horse. Fourniers chains around his ankles were opened so he could mount up. Aramis bound his wrists to the saddle and his ankles to the stirrups. The horse was bound in between Porthos and Athos, so the prisoner would have no chance to escape.

Aramis mounted up again before they headed back to Paris. It was already afternoon and the musketeers wanted to get as far as possible, before they would camp. As long as it didn't get much colder than now, they could stay outside and wouldn't need to sleep in an Inn. The journey went by without any incidents. As it began to get darker, Athos decided to make a camp. D'Artagnan began to search for wood, while Aramis opened the chains of Fournier once again to get him off his horse. Fournier had just dismounted, his ankles and wrists unchained for the moment, as he hit Aramis into the face. The marksman was caught in surprise as Fournier took the dagger from Aramis and hold it against his throat. Athos and Porthos had their guns aimed at the prisoner but didn't dare to shoot, as their friend was used as a shield. Aramis tried to struggle free but stopped as the blade cut into his sensitive skin, leaving a trail of blood.

"Let go, Fournier. Otherwise we will have to kill you," Athos warned and took a step forward. Porthos didn't seem as composed as their leader, fury sparkled in his eyes as he had to see how Fournier dared to threaten his friend. Fournier laughed. "You won't kill me, the king needs me alive." No one answered to this, as everyone knew that Fournier was right.

"Don't move or I will kill your handsome friend," the criminal said as he walked back slowly. Aramis tried to get a grip on his gun unnoticed. He slowly pulled it out his holster, but the movement must have betrayed him. Fournier looked down and saw the marksman's hand on his gun. The criminal didn't think twice as he slid across Aramis' throat and then stabbed him into his back, before he started to run. Aramis eyes widened as he felt the blood rushing out of his throat. He clenched a hand around the wound in disbelief. He felt into the arms of D'Artagnan who were just coming back again, confused and overwhelmed as he saw how his brother was hurt so badly and Porthos and Athos rode after Fournier.

Aramis gripped at the Gascons shoulder, his eyes full of panic. He tried to say something, but it was muffled by the blood that searched his ways through his throat and mouth. "Don't talk," the Gascon said scared as he didn't quite know what to do with the marksman. "I'm here, everything is fine." He didn't believe himself, but he needed to talk to Aramis, that much he knew. He wanted to lay the medic down but noticed the blade in his back. Aramis gasped for air, his grip around d'Artagnans shoulder tightened as blood instead of air filled his lungs. The gascon sat down and laid Aramis onto his side. He digged a small hollow so Aramis' head would lay lower than the rest of his body. He watched shocked how blood spilled out of the marksman mouth.

The Gascon shoved away his own fear and tried to stay calm for his brother. "Everything is going to be okay," d'Artagnan assured as he bandaged the marksman throat with his scarf. Aramis looked up to his brother and the look in his eyes nearly broke the gascons heart. He had never seen his brother with so much fear in his eyes as in this moment.

Porthos and Athos came back with Fournier a few minutes later. He was now chained again. While Athos bound him to the next tree, making sure their prisoner wasn't able to move, Porthos ran over to his hurt friend. "Aramis," he kneeled beside him, "Are you with us?"

The marksman wanted to answer but no words wanted to leave his blood filled mouth. "How bad?" Athos asked as he arrived. D'Artagnan just shook his head. He really didn't know. They couldn't see how deep the cut at Aramis' throat was. But that he was still conscious was probably a good sign. Aramis coughed out some of the blood, before he lifted his hand shaking. Porthos took it immediately but the marksman shook his head slightly.

"Bag." He brought out before he coughed out more blood. D'Artaganan understood and ran over to Aramis' horse to get his medical supplies out of his saddlebag. He opened it besides Aramis. "We have to stitch the wound," Athos announced and looked at Aramis if he was right. The medic wanted to nod, but pain rushed through his body making him clench his eyes shot. "Don't move, don't talk," Porthos said while he ran his hand through his brothers hair. "Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Aramis blinked once.

"I will do it," Athos kneeled beside him and took a needle out of the bag. He knew that his work wasn't the most beautiful ones, but as he saw how shocked Porthos and d'Artagnan were, he knew he was the only option left. It wasn't easy as Aramis needed to remain on his side and coughed every again. Moreover the skin at the throat is much more sensitive than on other parts and the marksman clenched under the pain. Athos sighed in relief as he made the last stitch. As he wanted to bandage the throat again, he felt the cold and weak hand of Aramis on his own. He blinked twice. "Why not?" Porthos asked confused.

Aramis tried to grab something from his bag, but he was too weak and his arm just fell down. He closed his eyes as frustration overwhelmed him. He needed to explain to them or otherwise the blood inside him will kill him slowly. But how? He himself had done this just two times, and one of them wasn't successful – still it was the only option. "Glass… tube," he finally whispered, which caused more blood fill his mouth. D'Artagnan searched for the glass tube and hold it into his hands, unsure what to do with it. "Scalpel." Aramis said in between coughs.

"What are we supposed to do?" Porthos looked at his brothers helpless. They shrugged. Aramis tried to get in some more air into his lungs, before he opened his mouth once again. "Cut… put it… in… blood comes… out… throat."

"We… We shall cut your throat open again?" Aramis blinked once and then closed his eyes completely. The talking had exhausted him. The three musketeers looked at each other, no one dared to do it.

"Okay… I do it." Porthos sighed and grabbed the scalpel. "Aramis, you need to help me… Blink when I'm at the right place." The medic opened his eyes again, his vision was blurry but he noticed how Porthos finger searched for the right place. Aramis blinked as he thought that it would be correct. HE wasn't sure either. "Okay, okay." Porthos breathed in hard, before he made a small cut, took the glass tube and put it in it.

Aramis eyes fluttered shut as the blood began to leave his trachea.

With their brother unconscious, the three remaining musketeers could tend to the stab in his back fast. They then wrapped him into blankets and laid him down next to the fire. Athos woke Aramis after an hour to be sure he was still alive and everything was as alright as it could have been.

Aramis didn't seem to really notice that Athos ways speaking to him, his eyes danced around unfocused. He lifted his hand and touched the tube carefully. "Out," he mumbled before his arm fell down again. Athos had noticed that no blood was leaving his brothers trachea anymore, so he followed Aramis' command and pulled the tube out, before he finally bandaged the throat.

Every hour someone woke Aramis to check on him until the sun started to rise again.
"We need to get him back to the garrison," D'Artagnan said. The others agreed, even though they knew it wouldn't be a pleasant journey for their friend.

Porthos mounted up and sat Aramis in front of him. The marksman was still asleep, his head rested against Porthos shoulder. He was terribly cold so they wrapped another two blankets around him, before Athos mounted up too. They had laid Fournier over his horses' back this time, making sure he wouldn't be able to move and blindfolded him.

Aramis woke up hours later and let out a small groan, which cursed him to flinch at the pain. "Hey, you okay?" Porthos asked quietly. Aramis nod slightly, before he closed his eyes again. He felt so weak.

As long as Aramis was asleep or unconscious – no one knew – they rode as fast as possible. The musketeers decided to not sleep and ride through the night. They could be home and sunrise. They just fed their horses and ate a bit themselves before going on. Aramis woke up every then and now for just a few moments. It was as they entered the garrison, as he woke up again. The medic looked around confused, as strong arms got him from the horse he was apparently sitting on. He wanted to protest as Porthos carried him through the court. "I'm fine." He muttered before clenching his eyes shut in pain. "Sshh. You shouldn't talk." Porthos laid him in his bed carefully. Aramis needed a few more moments to remember what had happened. He felt thirsty but the thought of swallowing disturbed him too much.

Aramis woke up again in the evening. His brothers sat in his rooms and rose as soon as they saw his eyes open. "How do you feel?" D'Artagnan asked concerned. "Thirsty," Aramis said and regretting it immediately. Porthos helped him to sit up, while Athos held a waterskin on his lips. Aramis felt some water stream into his mouth and swallowed it. The pain was too much, so he lay down again.

It was hard work to get enough water into their friend, but somehow they managed to get Aramis to drink at least a little bit every then and now. It needed four days until he could speak a few more words at once. At the sixth day he finally tried to eat soup instead of broth. He got better. Slowly, but he got better.

At the tenth day Aramis walked down into the court where his brothers sat and talked. They silenced the moment he came up to them. "You should be resting." Athos said. Aramis shook his head. No, his throat was hurt not his legs –even though the wound on his back still burned every now and then.

"I want to thank you," he said, voice rough and quite. It took a lot effort for him to talk in whole sentences but he needed to say this finally. "That you have saved me. This operation was a very difficult one. I owe you my life."