Athos had lost track of how long it had been since they had brought Aramis back to the garrison. To see his beloved brother so still, pale and silent, except for his nightmares, was a continuing source of heartache for all of them, he thought sadly.
These thoughts ran through his mind as he sat next to the bed, Aramis' hand clasped in his own.
After triumphing over the fever from their brother's infection, they had all felt that a corner had been turned, and that he would finally start to come back to them. But that had been three days ago, days that stretched by minute by aching minute, with no spark of consciousness to encourage their hopes.
He was beginning to realize that all of them might have to start preparing their hearts and minds for the unthinkable to possibly happen, no matter how they tried to avoid it. If he didn't wake up soon, he may never do so.
The very thought presenting itself in his mind caused the moisture that began to silently trickle down his cheeks now. Subconsciously, his hold on his brother's hand tightened in reaction.
Drowning in the sorrow of the likelihood of it happening, he failed for a brief moment to notice the slight pressure in his hand. Recovering, he stared, his expression slowly transforming his whole face in profound joy at Aramis' hand moving slightly in his own. Athos had never been one to let his emotions show-or sound. But his gasp was heard instantly by Porthos and d'Artagnan, who flew across the room to the bedside.
Because Athos' attention was riveted downwards, they looked, their expressions changing in an instant into the joy of their brother's.
Moments later, they watched as Aramis' eyes began to move under his lids, while his body twitched several times. Waiting, finally, his eyes opened.
They watched look around slowly, before focusing on themselves. His eyes then opened wide.
""F..free?" he asked, his voice scratchy from disuse and thirst barely audible. His expression looked slightly confused.
"Yes, Aramis, you are free, brother," Athos answered, voice still choked up to hear his brother speaking again.
"You..are r..really h..here?" he asked, still incredulous, and seeming not to remember anything of the rescue.
"We are, Aramis," Porthos answered this time. "You gave us quite a scare," his words deepening the confusion on Aramis' face.
Athos, seeing this, hastened to reassure him. "Everything is all right, Aramis."
E..every..thing a..all right?" he asked, his face lightening.
Seeing all three of his brothers nod their heads, his body visibly relaxed. They hadn't realized until they saw this happen that his entire body was tensed up.
"Aramis," Athos quietly said, "the men who hurt you are dead. They can never touch you again, mon ami. You are at the garrison in your own room, and one of us will be here all the time with you until you are well."
"Thank you…f..for my l..life."
"Thank you for coming back to us," Athos said, his eyes saying it as much as his words, Porthos and d'Artagnan laying their hands gently on his shoulders to express their own gratitude.
They had wanted to try giving him something nourishment, maybe just a cold broth, but they could all see that he was exhausted.
"Rest, Aramis. We will be here when you wake up."
He no sooner said the words than Aramis' eyes began to close, exhaustion claiming him.
Porthos fussed with the blanket, making sure to tuck it in up to his chin to keep him warm. D'Artagnan set about getting some broth from Serge to keep warm over the fire for when Aramis awoke again.
Athos continued to be a presence near him, just watching him sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a comfort to them all, except for the times his breath still hitched from pain.
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The next time he awoke, a few hours later, Porthos was sitting with him. He greeted Aramis with a beaming smile.
"How you feeling, 'Mis?" he asked.
"T..tired," he responded, his lids blinking drowsily as he spoke, as if to confirm his words. Scrunching up his face then, as if a shooting pain had occurred, he said, "Hurts."
Porthos face reflected his concern for his brother, as he said, "I know, Aramis. We sent for Dr. Lemay to come. He can give us something to help. It shouldn't be too much longer til he gets here."
Thinking of something, he reached for and took Aramis' hand in his own, saying, "If it helps, squeeze my hand when it hurts. I can take it."
He had barely spoken before Aramis gave his hand a squeeze, his eyes closing as the twinge came. It was a reflection of how weak he was now that Porthos barely felt it. Aramis normally was a strong man, but at this point, it was all he could do to make any impression at all.
It will get better, Porthos thought, a great sadness inside of him to physically feel Aramis' present state. He continued to hold his brother's hand as they waited for De. Lemay. Once he had been there, they could maybe try getting him to eat something.
Just as they were thinking of the good doctor, he knocked at the door, coming in as d'Artagnan opened it for him.
Porthos spoke up, saying, "He finally woke", Dr. Lemay, "and he needs something for the pain he's in."
Lemay sat down beside Aramis on the bed, laying a hand on his chest to check his heartbeat. Frowning, he next laid it against his neck.
All three Musketeers, gathered around the bed, saw the physician's reaction.
"What is wrong, Doctor," Athos asked for them all.
"His heartbeat is too fast," Lemay replied. "Was he, perhaps, having dreams, nightmares when he was asleep?"
"He has been, off and on, since we brought him back to the garrison," Athos told him.
"Maybe something I have will give him a deeper state of sleep-hopefully without nightmares," Lemay said quietly, not wanting to disturb the half-sleep Aramis had fallen into.
He next checked the various wounds scattered throughout Aramis' torso, frowning when he reached the burn on his leg.
"This one is healing much too slowly. He must have had it for some time before you got to him. It may be what is causing his slow recovery. I will use some more of my salve. Make sure it stays as clean as possible, and that he does not move it much."
"This is something for the pain, and one for a deeper sleep," he said, hanging Athos two brown bottles, which the swordsman put on an upper shelf of Aramis' bookshelf, so that none of them might accidentally knock them over.
He left a few moments later, but not before telling them to be sure and send for him if they needed to.
By now, Aramis was once more fully asleep, do they had no chance to try giving him some broth. They also had not had the opportunity to give him the med for sleeping better.
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Halfway through the night on Athos' watch, Aramis awoke once more. Blinking as he tried to focus, a slight smile graced his face as he beheld his brother.
"Safe," he said softly.
"Yes, you are, Aramis," Athos rejoined. "Would you like to try some broth, brother?" seeing that d'Artagnan had awakened and was heading to the pot simmering on the fire.
"I..I can try," Aramis responded.
It was a slow and halting process, and Aramis was unable to take in very much, but he finally had something in his stomach once again.
Athos had slipped the pain and sleep medicines in the broth, and within minutes of finishing, Aramis had fallen asleep.
The rest of this night, there were no nightmares, and no restlessness movements to disturb him, as the good doctor had said should be the case. Aramis slept peacefully and through to the middle of the next day, breathing even, and with no gasps of pain this time.
Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan breathed huge sighs of relief. Maybe this would result in his full recovery finally.