Authors note: This is a continuation of a Whumptober chapter I wrote in 2020. You don't need to have read it, but if you are curious, it was Chapter 24 'You're not making any sense'.

Just Get it Over With

Porthos closed his eyes as he worked. In the inky blackness of their cell, he had struggled to find the lock on the door. He had struggled to get the pick in the correct position. He had struggled to concentrate. But once he closed his eyes it was as though sight was not a necessity to the work at hand. As he felt the pick click the workings of the lock he marvelled at the strangeness of the human mind. He also welcomed the few moments when he had to focus on one thing and could not worry about the state of health of his friends.

Athos was the only one of the four of them who was not obviously injured. They had all been manhandled when they were taken prisoner. Porthos doubted Athos was completely unscathed but compared to the rest of them he was the healthiest at that moment. Porthos was bruised and battered. It was true his head ached, but it was no worse than he felt after a tough bar brawl. D'Artagnan had been given a thorough beating from what Porthos could understand. He had not seen the results of the beating, but the odd hiss of pain told him that the young Musketeer was compromised by his bruises. And poor Aramis had been whipped. His friend was trying not to outwardly show how much pain he was in, but Porthos knew. Even in the dark, he knew. The pain was there in his voice, each time he spoke. Each glib remark was tinged with the shake of pain. Porthos did not need to see his friend to know that Aramis was suffering.

The complete darkness of their cell was disorientating and meant the four of them were keeping close together as they made their escape. Aramis had his hand hooked around Porthos' belt. Porthos knew that d'Artagnan was holding onto Aramis in some way and Athos was maintaining contact with d'Artagnan. Once Porthos had opened their cell door they would have to establish how they were going to move. The corridor the door opened onto was as dark as their cell. He remembered being dragged along it when it was his turn to be interrogated.

The only light was from torches that their captors carried with them.

The Musketeers would not have that luxury.

The lock clicked open. Porthos opened his eyes. He ran his fingers up the door to the handle and slowly pulled it down. The well-oiled handle turned smoothly. He pulled the door open a crack, feeling a gentle breeze of cool air. His friends remained silent. They would have heard the door open. But they knew there could be a guard outside. Porthos found only more darkness, as they had expected.

'Nothing,' he said quietly as he pulled the door fully open.

Aramis shifted behind him and cursed under his breath. Porthos felt the grip on his belt tighten for several seconds as Aramis worked through the pain. Porthos had been unconscious when Aramis was returned to the cell after his interrogation but from what he had gathered the lashing he received was substantial, his friend would be in discomfort for some time. And there was nothing they could do to help him at that moment. Apart from escape.

'We need to find our weapons and doublets,' said d'Artagnan. 'We need the intelligence, or this will all be for nothing.'

'I agree,' said Aramis.

Porthos nodded, then remembered his friends were as blind as him in the darkness.

'Which way?' he asked, looking back, wondering if he was even vaguely looking at his friends.

Aramis pulled at Porthos' belt as he was helped to his feet by d'Artagnan. Porthos matched Aramis' ascent as he stood up.

'The left,' Aramis said through gritted teeth. 'That's where they took me.'

'Yes,' agreed d'Artagnan. 'I remember going that way. Although I don't remember our weapons being in the room.'

'We may have been taken to different rooms,' replied Porthos, 'I'm sure I was taken to a room opposite this one.'

Porthos began to inch his way out of the cell with his friends trailing behind him. He moved slowly, the cost of losing contact with Aramis was too great. They did not want to spend time blindly reaching out to each other in the corridor. Porthos remembered the corridor was wide and long. It would be easy to lose one another in the void.

It was only a matter of time before their captors returned.

With one arm outstretched, Porthos felt along the wall. The stone bumped and scratched his fingers, but it was his only method of finding the way. When his fingers curled around a corner he smiled. A door.

He paused. He was aware of Aramis' breathing behind him. His friend was taking occasional gasping breaths as his wounds were agitated. D'Artagnan was moving with a shuffling step. Porthos wondered if he had been hit on his foot or ankle. They would not know the extent of each other's injuries until they were away from their captors and in something resembling light.

'Wait here,' said Porthos. 'I'll find our weapons. It'll be quicker on my own.'

'I'll try not to take offence at that,' remarked Aramis.

Porthos patted his friend's arm as he pulled Aramis' hand from his belt and rested it on the corner of the stones by the door. It was one of those moments when Porthos would have liked to make eye contact with Aramis. To look at the mischief in his friend's eyes. He hoped the mischief was there, despite the pain Aramis was in.

He stepped into the room. He contemplated moving away from the door and sweeping his hand in front of him in an attempt to find the table with their belongings. But he had not been in the room, he had no idea what the layout was. He followed the wall around, the tips of his fingers tracing the stone. His other hand was employed at waist height feeling ahead.

The table was set along the back wall of the room. He felt its surface stopping when he pushed something hard. One of their guns. After a little more exploring he found all of their weapons, still in the belts. Carefully Porthos picked the belts up. After working out which was his and putting them on he spent a moment arranging his weapons to his liking. Aramis' weapons were looped over Porthos' shoulder, he knew the injured man would not be able to wear them. Athos and d'Artagnan's weapons were arranged at the edge of the table ready to be picked up.

Further exploration of the large table found their doublets. Porthos could not help himself, after putting his jacket on, he felt the lining of d'Artagnan's. He grinned when he felt the hidden papers.

As he was about to step away from the table his fingers brushed against something else. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around what felt like a patterned stick. He picked it up, hearing the whisper of something dragging across the table. His left hand was able to pull along the lengths of thin knotted strands of leather. He had found the lash used on Aramis. Porthos sneered. With anger he bent the handle, rendering the article useless.

He retraced his steps, back to the door. He felt around the edge of the door, finding Aramis where he had been left.

'Did you get it?'

Porthos nodded before verbalising his response, 'yes. You were right, it's all there. And the intelligence is there as well.'

Using Aramis' arm as a guide, Porthos felt along to find d'Artagnan who was resting his hand on Aramis' waist. He pushed one of the doublets into d'Artagnan's hand before repeating the movement to find Athos. Once both men had put their jackets on, their weapons were also restored to them. Porthos returned to the front of their train of Musketeers.

'I think there's a strip of light there,' said Aramis.

Porthos looked around. He had no idea where his friend was looking. Aramis' hand moved to take Porthos' using his arm to indicate the direction.

'There.'

'I see it,' said Porthos. 'We just have to hope there is no one on the other side of it.'

'We are armed now,' said Athos from the back of their group.

'I'm not,' retorted Aramis.

'You would be a liability,' said Athos.

Porthos was not surprised to hear Aramis chuckle.

He moved off, towards the thin strip of light. A beacon, luring them towards it. Porthos dared to let go of the wall and walk into the centre of the corridor. After a few seconds, his outstretched hand pressed against flat wood. He looked down, the strip of light was unmistakable. It was no trick of the mind.

'Just get it over with,' said Aramis. 'What have we got to lose?'

Porthos took a breath and reached for the door handle, he turned it and pulled the door open. The resultant flash of bright light blinded him, causing him to inadvertently take a step back, knocking into Aramis who stumbled to the floor. Porthos was aware of a cry of pain from his friend, but the disorientation the shock of light was causing him made it impossible to react.

After hours of inky blackness, Porthos' vision was assaulted with bright white light. There was nothing else. He was not a man to panic, but he guessed the feeling he had at that moment was close enough.

MMMM

Athos had a thought forming in his mind that he should do something before the door was opened. Their slow progress inching along the corridor and waiting for Porthos to retrieve their weapons and doublets was about to come to an end. With light would come the ability to speed up.

The light would be welcome. It was wanted.

He realised a moment too late that it would also be a shock to their eyes. They had been in darkness for hours. At least it felt like hours. A sudden burst of light would blind them. So intent were they on escaping that the simple fact had eluded them. Until it was too late.

Athos did the only thing he could, he screwed his eyes shut and tugged d'Artagnan's shoulder forcing the younger man around. He could only hope the action would shield d'Artagnan from the worst of the glare of light that would greet them when Porthos opened the door.

A yelp of pain from Aramis and a gasp of shocked surprise from Porthos told Athos that the front of their group was in trouble.

He dared to open his eyes a fraction. With squinted eyes the bright light that now filled the corridor was bearable. He could make out d'Artagnan leaning against the wall trying to will his own eyes to open a little. Aramis was on the floor, lying on his side trying to ease himself back up, he too had his eyes closed. Porthos had stumbled back to lean on the wall, his hands up defensively as if he could fight off the light.

Athos moved to Porthos and grabbed his hand. Porthos pulled away.

'It's me,' said Athos firmly, knowing that Porthos would have no idea if the person who had grabbed him was friend or foe.

Porthos relaxed slightly and tried to open his eyes. Tears were already spilling down his cheeks.

'It will pass, Porthos. You just have to wait it out.'

'I can't see.'

'It will pass,' Athos said again, trying to inject calm in his voice.

But they did not have the time to wait for Porthos to regain his eyesight.

'We need to move. Porthos, I am sorry, but we cannot wait for your vision to clear. Or you Aramis.'

He looked across to Aramis who was shielding his eyes but appeared to have more vision than the unfortunate Porthos. Aramis managed a nod. D'Artagnan recovered enough to step up beside Aramis and offer support. Athos noticed for the first time that d'Artagnan was limping. He was favouring his right leg. Both d'Artagnan and Aramis were sporting impressive bruises on their faces. Athos did not like to think about their other injuries, hidden under their doublets.

Athos took a step forward and looked out into the corridor, he reached up to the bright lantern that was hooked on the other side of the door that Porthos had opened. He pushed the cover over the side that was closest to him, the dimmer light helped him. He was able to open his eyes again.

He could not help a sigh of relief when he looked up and down the corridor and found no one. No guard watched them incredulously as they made their unconventional escape.

Perhaps they would be lucky. Perhaps they would be able to slip out unnoticed by the group of men that were interrogating them. Perhaps they would be able to regroup, tend to their injuries and rest for a few hours before making their way home.

Perhaps.

The End?

Whumpee: all of them.

Authors note: it's the end for now at least. I'd like to expand this one into a full story, I think there's more fun to be had with compromised Musketeers.