Light At The End Of The Tunnel
Whumptober 2022- Comfort/You Can Rest Now
Constance was startled by an incredibly ill-mannered pounding on her front door. Her surprise was only heightened when she saw the Inseparables as she opened it; her admonishment of whomever was so rude was instantly quelled, not only because of the three men who she had come to know so well, but also Aramis' instant apology in light of their emergency.
Then, lurking in front of Porthos was the one who they had thought was lost to them- D'Artagnan, crumpled over, looking so small and weak that it couldn't possibly seem to be the brash, energetic, incorrigible young man she had begun to come so fond of.
"Constance…" was all that Athos, the one out of all of them that she knew the longest, said. "If you please."
"Get in here," Constance waved them all in hurriedly.
"Apologies for the intrusion, madame," Aramis, ever the gentleman, said. "We would have continued straight on to the Garrison, but I'm not certain our young charge here would have…"
Would have what?, Constance dared herself to think.
As D'Artagnan passed Constance through the threshold of her front door, he smiled weakly and simply said, "Constance," as if in greeting. He looked like hell- sporting a black eye, his clothes torn and muddy, and barely able to walk were it not for Porthos propping him up. She would have been amused, mistaking him as drunk were it not for the obviously serious injuries he must have sustained on his dangerous solo mission.
After they were all inside, Aramis said to Constance, "Madame, I hate to further intrude on your hospitality, but…I require a few more things for our wayward Gascon. May I ask that a bath be run for us? Plus, some water and food are also essential. I wouldn't insist but he…"
"No need to explain. I'll give Athos and Porthos what they need to draw a warm bath with towels, while I put some food together."
"Water…" D'Artagnan managed to say.
"Oh yes, madame- he is parched. And malnourished. Not to mention sleep deprived, and suffering blood loss. But if some water can be quickly procured-"
"W-water, please…" D'Artagnan whispered.
"Straight away," Constance replied.
"I will help in any way that I can," Athos said, following Constance, determined that Constance receive as much assistance in helping provide everything that his young brother needed.
As Constance filled a mug from a water basin, she and Athos stole a quick glance at one another. Instead of fear and worry, they were both sporting wide smiles.
Not needing to be said between them is the fact that all of them had begun to fear the worst- that D'Artagnan's mission had gone horribly wrong, and, worse, as certain clues and bits of information began to surface, they seemed to confirm the worst (blood found at the scene, witnesses describing the boy's abduction. etc.)
So while D'Artagnan had clearly gone through a terrible experience, and with the injuries and bruises to go with it, he was alive. And that was something.
The smiles were of deep relief.
The hatred and vitriol aimed at his captors, now captured themselves, would have to wait.
"Here, D'Artagnan- drink," Constance said, handing D'Artagnan the mug filled with water.
No one missed D'Artagnan grasping the mug firmly with both hands. Even so, they were shaking so that it took great effort for him to drink without spilling the contents.
As he drunk greedily, making small whimpers of pleasure that the drink provided, his assembled audience all shot looks of gratitude that their young brother was returned to them, safe and sound, more or less.
"Alright, now for your bath. I'm not sure what you got yourself into when not in our care, but you smell like a pig that has been rolling in the mud for a month."
"Smells like ya got the mange, in fact," Porthos teased.
"I don't have the mange- you have the mange," D'Artagnan shot back.
"Oh, is that right?" Porthos laughed, his relief growing. If D'Artagnan can be this mouthy after his ordeal, how bad could it have been?
After a warm bath had been procured for the boy, everyone was hovering around when Aramis began undressing D'Artagnan, readying him for the bath.
D'Artagnan blanched, waved at everyone and said, "No, go away, go away! J-just Aramis…"
So everyone left to give D'Artagnan their privacy.
Once he was divested of his clothes, including his smalls, he then sat in the soothingly warm water, Aramis proceeded to bathe him. When D'Artagnan put up no fuss, it gave Aramis license to continue. This included washing the boy's hair. As he cleaned it, Aramis saw various flotsam depart the boy's hair- twigs, dirt, grime, and God knows what else.
Only when Aramis aimed the wash cloth at D'Artagnan's private parts did the boy protest. He grabbed Aramis' wrist and defiantly said, "I could do it."
"Be my guest,' Aramis said, handing the washcloth over to his younger brother.
D'Artagnan made a slight effort to wash himself there, but did such a weak job of it that Aramis simply said "Alright, good job," grabbed the washcloth back, and then proceeded to wash there anyway. D'Artagnan did not fight him in doing so.
Once cleaned and dried, Aramis took some of the bandages provided by Constance, and gently applied them to two of the most grievous wounds he was able to discover on D'Artagnan's body, which ended up being a slightly deep stab wound to the chest, and what appeared to be a musket shot to the side, a graze that, if a centimeter more to the left, could have been a mortal wound.
Aramis stayed in medic mode, clinically treating his patient, for two reasons: one, to assure he provided the best focused care for his brother, and two, reminding himself that during D'Artagnan's rescue, his captors were all either killed or now in prison. So he could rest easy that justice had been served. It allowed him to keep his emotions in check, as much as they could possibly be, given the circumstances.
His other injuries- one black eye, and angry bruises to the side of the stomach- would heal, but the stomach bruises were worrying due to their proximity to his kidneys. The boy had clearly been beaten, a victim of more than several kidney punches. Blows to that area are typically administered due to the unspeakable pain they cause. But a tragic byproduct of such a beating- if the thrashing administered is frequent, and severe enough- is kidney damage, the result of which was something that Aramis did not want to think about.
Aramis then helped D'Artagnan into the clean clothes that Constance had provided.
Thinking on those stomach bruises, Aramis asked, "D'Artagnan, when was the last time you made water?"
"W-what?!" D'Artagnan replied, confused.
"Just answer the question. When did you last make water? It's important."
"I- I have to make water now," he admitted.
Aramis was pleased. "Good. I need to watch."
D'Artagnan protested. "I can make my own water! I mean- I can make water on my own!" he proclaimed.
Aramis was now growing just a bit impatient with his patient. "You can barely stand, so I will hold the chamberpot while you sit and pour your precious water into it." Aramis would not verbalize the part where he intended to examine it in case there was evidence of any blood in it, which could signal a problem.
"I'm not a baby!" D'Artagnan shouted, but it came out sounding more like a high squeak.
But Aramis had already procured the chamberpot, and had positioned D'Artagnan to sit on a chair. As Aramis kneeled in front of him, D'Artagnan began to protest again. "NO Aramis! I can-"
"Oh, for God sakes, D'Artagnan, I've already seen you in the altogether, I've already cleaned you up- just suffer this final indignity and you can go downstairs and eat whatever fine concoction Constance is cooking up for you!"
D'Artagnan seemed to be considering it. He was, after all, famished.
"D'Artagnan, I swear to God, if you don't pull down your smalls, I'm going to grab that member of yours myself!"
After a moment, D'Artagnan did as he was told.
Aramis watched D'Artagnan's face for any distress while the boy made water. Thankfully, he saw none. The stubborn Gascon was in no pain, another good sign.
No sign of blood either. Thank God, Aramis thought.
"What's all this interest in my member, anyway?" D'Artagnan suddenly asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, first you wash it, then you ask if it can make water," D'Artagnan said.
Aramis chuckled. "Never you mind. Can you please, for once, give your cheeky side a rest?"
"Oh, now you wish to see my cheeky side as well?" D'Artagnan smiled.
"Um, too late, I already have, you dolt; remember I just bathed you, no?"
D'Artagnan said nothing. After a moment, he simply asked "May I eat now?"
That's why he complied in the first place- the minute he told D'Artagnan there was food coming, he was doing anything Aramis asked to get to it as soon as humanly possible. The boy must be starving.
Coming down the stairs, Aramis positioned himself in front of the injured Gascon, walking down the stairs slowly, and backwards, closely watching D'Artagnan as he hesitatingly made his way down.
D'Artagnan got distracted by the entourage watching him at the bottom of the stairs- Athos, Porthos, and Constance.
"Hello!" D'Artagnan blurted out, smiling at his friends, attempting a wave, then slipping slightly.
"D'ARTAGNAN! Pay attention! What did I just tell you at the top of the stairs? Look at your feet as you descend! Do you want to have survived the TORTURE you just endured, only to fall and crack your head open on our own stairwell? Talk about irony," Aramis admonished.
The mention of 'torture' made the assembled audience blanch. But D'Artagnan was still smiling.
Porthos said, "Wait Aramis- are you mad at D'Art? I thought that was Athos' job!"
Feeding D'Artagnan was another exercise in spent patience, as he had insisted on feeding himself, despite shaking hands that could not hold the spoon. He reluctantly agreed that Aramis feed him the soup with meat that Constance had prepared until his own strength returned.
Each spoonful prompted a satisfied 'mmmmm' from the boy. After the third time he did it, Porthos gave out a snort. He fourth time, Porthos laughed, hysterically saying "every time!"
D'Artagnan yelled, "Porthos! S-stop laughing at me! I cannot help it! Constance- it's so good. It's- too good…"
"Never you mind, D'Artagnan. I'm just so glad you're enjoying it," Constance said.
As D'Artagnan glanced around the room, everyone was looking at him cheerfully.
Except Athos, whose countenance was more melancholy. It gave the boy pause.
D'Artagnan recalled a recent conversation with his mentor where he admitted that he reminded him of his younger brother, Thomas, who he missed greatly.
D'Artagnan returned to devouring his soup.
After Aramis had gotten as much water, wine, and soup with small meatballs into D'Artagnan as he could, the boy started falling asleep at the table.
Porthos then proceeded to carry the boy upstairs to his bedroom, to only muted protests from the barely coherent boy. Aramis followed closely behind, intending one last inspection of the Gascon before he fell asleep completely.
After a moment or so, downstairs Athos and Constance heard a low 'oompfh!" from the boy, followed by a loud apology being rendered by Porthos.
As they followed upstairs, Athos and Constance saw Aramis turn towards them and smiled. "It's nothing. Porthos dropped him."
"He did what?" Constance demanded.
"On the bed, on the bed," Porthos quickly added. "My foot caught on the blanket and I dropped 'im," Porthos explained.
"Porthos! Y-you dropped me!" D'Artagnan yelped, swinging blindly at the bigger man.
"I know and I'm sorry, pup," Porthos said, smiling.
"It's alright," D'Artagnan replied, eyes already falling shut.
Aramis said, " I suppose another inspection can wait until you get some rest."
As they all began to leave the room, D'Artagnan opened his eyes. He called out: "Athos."
Athos turned. "Yes, D'Artagnan?"
The boy paused for a moment, then seemed apprehensive. Tentatively he asked: "Do I make you sad?"
Athos appeared startled. "Now what would possibly make you think that?"
"Because…I remind you of Thomas."
Athos began to smile. "When I think of Thomas now, it is with a combination of fondness and a bit of- wistfulness.
"When I think of you, I only have pride and joy in my heart."
D'Artagnan began to smile.
"Now no more questions. Go to sleep. Otherwise I'll also recall how when you disobey an order, you also make me aggravated, furious, and drive me and all of us insane. Understood?"
"Yes, Athos," D'Artagnan replied, his eyes falling shut.
