A/N: Thank you elbcw, SnidgetHex, pallysAramisRios, Issai, and Lauraline94 for reviewing!

No. 21 - Bleeding through the bandages

Athos kept his eyes peeled on the road ahead and surrounding countryside. Though they had dispatched the bandits that had ambushed them many lieue back, his guard was now up. They couldn't afford another attack.

"Athos!" Porthos called from behind.

Athos turned in his saddle to see he and d'Artagnan had each stopped on either side of Aramis's horse. D'Artagnan had one arm out and was holding onto the marksman's shoulder as he listed sharply to the side.

Athos quickly spun his steed around and rode back. Once up close, Porthos reached out to pull aside Aramis's jacket, revealing blood had soaked through the bandages around his stomach. Again. He'd taken a deep slice across the side during the ambush, and though they'd bound it as best they could, riding kept reopening the wound.

Athos dismounted, and Porthos backed his horse up before doing the same. They both reached for Aramis while d'Artagnan held him up on the other side. Aramis's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he was breathing harshly through his nose, his grip on the pommel making the tendons in his hand stand out alongside white knuckles.

"Aramis, let go," Athos instructed.

It took the marksman a prolonged moment to comply. He'd been using every ounce of strength to stay in the saddle and struggled to process doing anything else. Athos would chide him for not saying anything about his wound bleeding through the bandages again, but Aramis was likely no longer aware of it at this point.

Athos and Porthos managed to get him down and on the ground, then unwrapped the soiled bandages. They were running out of clean ones to replace them with.

D'Artagnan brought over a canteen, and Athos took off his scarf to wet and tried to clean the blood away to see how bad it was. He passed the canteen to Porthos, who helped Aramis drink some, though he choked on the water as Athos accidentally brushed a painful spot.

"What should we do?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly.

Athos eyed the jagged wound that continued to weep blood from the edges. None of them were skilled enough to sew something this deep. They needed a proper physician for that.

"We could burn it closed," he suggested.

Aramis grunted and tossed his head to the side. "No."

"Even if we did that," Porthos put in, "it could still open up again while riding, only it'll be worse from the burning."

Athos canted his head in concession of that, but they didn't have many options.

"I can go for help," d'Artagnan volunteered.

Athos's jaw tightened. Granted, there was no reason to think there would be more bandits about, but after what happened, he couldn't bring himself to feel comfortable sending the lad out alone without anyone to watch his back. But leaving only one of them to stay with Aramis would make those two far too vulnerable as well.

"We aren't close to a town," Athos pointed out.

That was one of the reasons they were in such dire straits, having been unable to get Aramis somewhere where they could treat his wound without forcing him to sit atop a horse for hours on end.

"I can ride faster by myself," d'Artagnan argued. "I can make it to Paris by nightfall and return with help tomorrow."

Athos exchanged a look with Porthos, whose eyes subtly conveyed his agreement. Athos finally relented and gave d'Artagnan a clipped nod. "Very well."

D'Artagnan nodded back and moved quickly to his horse, taking a few moments to unload several of his supplies to leave with them. Then he mounted up and paused to look at them. "I'll be back," he promised.

Athos watched him ride off, hoping he hadn't made a mistake.

He and Porthos made camp and got Aramis settled as comfortably as they could on a bedroll and covered him with a saddle blanket. Lying on the ground at least allowed him to rest, and his wound seemed to stabilize because of it.

Athos and Porthos passed the time mostly in silence, alternating the watch and constantly checking on Aramis. They woke him periodically to get some fluids into him, but he wasn't very lucid for those moments. His color was only slightly better from lying down, but the blood loss was still a concern. Yet there was nothing for them to do but wait for d'Artagnan to return.

The night was agonizingly long, but the next morning when Athos woke Aramis to take some water, his eyes were clear of the previous day's haze. He accepted the help drinking, not even trying to lift his arm and hold the canteen himself.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked.

"Still alive," he replied tiredly, which wasn't really an answer. He shifted slightly, only to tense up with a grimace. "I'm sorry for letting someone get past my guard like that."

"Hey," Porthos interjected. "Could've happened to any of us."

Aramis shrugged his eyebrows in apparent acceptance, then roved his gaze around, brow furrowing. "Where's d'Artagnan?"

Athos opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a horse's whinny. He jumped to his feet, on guard for trouble. But after a moment's look at the incoming riders, he smiled down at Aramis.

"He's right there."

Riding in with the cavalry.