A/N: I did most of Whumptober for Merlin this year, but also a handful for Musketeers (aka Aramis XD). So I'm posting them in this collection.

No. 1 - Barbed wire

Aramis couldn't keep from swallowing around a dry mouth, even though the small movement made his throat bob against the barbed wire stretched across his neck. There was more wrapped around his arms, tying him to two fence posts like a macabre scarecrow. His shirt offered little protection from the vicious barbs that tore through fabric and flesh without discrimination.

There was nowhere on his body that didn't burn in some manner or other. The shredded cuts across his skin stung like fire. His muscles ached fiercely from being stuck in the same position all day and night. His flesh and mouth were baked and parched from the relentless sun beating down on him.

His captor appeared in his field of vision, the nobleman he'd been sent to deliver a missive from the King. Louis was summoning all the nobles in this part of France, and the musketeers had split up in order to cover all of them and then meet up again on the road home. Aramis had missed that rendezvous.

"I will ask you again," the baron said. "How much does the King know?"

Aramis struggled to form words without moving his throat too much. "I- don't- know," he rasped. The musketeers hadn't been told the reason for the summons.

"If I return to Paris, will I be arrested on sight?" the baron demanded.

"One can- hope," Aramis mumbled.

The baron grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, pushing his throat further into the barbed wire and tearing into already shredded skin. The pain made his whole body reflexively flinch, which in turn tugged at his arms and dragged the barbs into them more as well. He could feel fresh blood welling up and trickling down the inside of his sleeves, which were already stiff with dried blood.

The baron suddenly released him and spun around. Aramis blinked through watery eyes at the sight of three horses galloping down the lane toward the estate. The baron cursed and shouted for his men as he turned and ran for the house. Aramis could only watch as gunfire erupted between the two parties. But none of his brothers fell. With the pistols spent, they leaped from their saddles and drew their swords. Aramis couldn't follow the battle as it moved out of his line of sight, unable to turn his head as he was. He closed his eyes, praying for it to be over soon.

"Aramis!" Porthos shouted, and then he was standing before him.

Aramis cracked his eyes open again. "About time- you showed," he said breathlessly.

D'Artagnan arrived next, eyes blowing wide. "Oh my God."

Porthos was scrutinizing the barbed wire with unbridled concern. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Then Athos was there, expression more stoic but no less enraged over the treatment Aramis had endured. He drew his main gauche and stepped forward, eyes turning regretful as he met Aramis's pained ones. "This won't be clean," he warned.

Aramis blinked in understanding and tried to brace himself. Athos slipped the blade beneath the line of wire extending from the post across Aramis's neck and grabbed hold of one side with his gloved hand as he began to work the blade against the wire. Though he was trying to hold it still, the movement nevertheless reverberated a bit down the entire length, scratching at Aramis's already mangled throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a choked cry. Then the wire snapped and Athos carefully pulled the band away from Aramis's neck.

"D'Artagnan, we're going to need lots of water," Athos said as he moved on to one of Aramis's arms.

The young Gascon nodded and darted off. Aramis could only assume the baron and his men wouldn't be posing a problem anymore.

Athos worked carefully and methodically at cutting bits of the barbed wire off piece by piece, letting the gnarled pieces fall to the ground. It was an excruciatingly long process, but no more so than having been trussed up like this for the past twenty hours.

Finally, Aramis's right arm was free and it dropped like lead to his side, his shoulder jarring as the joint resisted unlocking its former position. Aramis sucked in a sharp breath and focused on breathing through a repeat of his other arm.

"Almost there," Porthos said encouragingly more than once, to the point where the words themselves didn't hold much meaning but Aramis appreciated the steady presence.

D'Artagnan returned with a whole bucket of sloshing water and some towels from the house. Aramis could tell by his twisted expression that he must look frightening. The young man hadn't yet learned the art of a poker face.

Then the last bit of wire was pulled away and Athos held on to Aramis's arm, slowly lowering it to his side. Free at last, Aramis took a stumbling step away from the fence, only for his locked knees to give out.

Porthos and Athos immediately caught him before he fell and eased him down to the ground, laying his bloodied arms in his lap. D'Artagnan brought the bucket closer and stood there with the cloths, no doubt having no idea where to start. Aramis was the field medic, and he didn't know where he'd start.

Athos took one of the towels and dunked it in the water, then reached for Aramis's neck. Aramis tried not to flinch away when the rag touched his shredded flesh, but it hurt like hell. Porthos growled something threatening under his breath.

"Unfortunately, you cannot kill the baron again," Athos replied mildly.

So the man was dead. Unfortunate indeed.

Athos continued to gingerly attempt to clean the cuts as best he could. "I don't think any of this can be stitched."

Aramis figured that was true. The barbed wire was so small, and the scores it made had criss-crossed each other too much to be able to suture a straight line.

Athos finished with his neck, and then he and Porthos each took one of Aramis's arms and carefully rolled up his sleeves to reveal the damage underneath. Porthos joined in the cleaning, and the multiple points of searing pain made it difficult for Aramis to focus and keep his breathing steady, but it was probably better to get it all over with. Once they were done, Athos gestured for d'Artagnan to hand them the bandages, which they gently wound around Aramis's arms. Then they took a long strip of linen and wrapped it around his neck, careful to make it firm enough without pressing too hard on his windpipe.

"What happened?" Athos finally asked.

"Not sure," Aramis replied tiredly. "The baron didn't appreciate the summons. Thought he was in trouble for something, wanted to know how much- the King- knew." He broke off with a labored inhalation.

D'Artagnan furrowed his brow. "Why would he think that? Several nobles were being summoned."

"I suspect the Cardinal didn't tell us everything," Athos said darkly. He watched Aramis carefully. "Rest a little longer and then we'll head back."

Aramis's head drooped gratefully.

"I'll find your coat," Porthos said, getting up.

D'Artagnan crouched down in his place and set a steadying hand on Aramis's shoulder.

"He should ride with you," Athos said.

D'Artagnan nodded eagerly.

Aramis didn't protest; he was too tired and in pain. But he was safe now and with his brothers.