Cloaks and fire don't mix – part 2
AN: Y'all thought I was going to make you wait ages for part two. Psyche. This part is even longer than the last part so there's even more peril (I'm so sorry), but also some soft moments to make up for it. I hope you enjoy, leave me a review if you do!
TMTMTM
"Give me your cloak." Aramis demanded urgently, rearranging his own so that it mainly covered his head and shoulders.
"I should go-" Athos started, but Aramis cut him off.
"There's no time to argue, I'm faster, I'll go."
As much as he didn't like it, Athos knew the medic was right, so he undid his cloak and passed it over. Aramis wrapped it around his shoulders and lower body before taking out his pistol.
"Hand me your gun."
"What are you going to do?" Athos asked, genuinely mystified.
In answer, Aramis aimed his own pistol and shot at the hinges of the open door. The shot rang true and the hinges flew off, making the door list to one side.
Athos quickly handed him his own pistol and the sharpshooter fired at the second set of hinges. Set free from its moorings, the door crashed to the floor, creating a path through the fire.
Aramis tossed both pistols back to Athos and took a running leap through the gap in the wall of fire.
Athos lost sight of him for several heartbeats, but suddenly he emerged with the two children, handing the younger one to Athos and setting the older child down.
Aramis turned and dashed back into the room again and Athos was horrified to see the fallen door begin to blacken and curl.
Their window of opportunity to get the baker and his wife out was rapidly closing.
"Aramis, hurry!" He yelled, hoping to spur the other man on.
The child in his arms began to cry again as smoke flooded the hallway from the burning room.
More smoke was slowly creeping up the staircase towards them and Athos felt like he was being cornered on two fronts.
"Mama!" The older child shouted as the woman, wrapped in one of Aramis's cloaks for protection, appeared at the entrance to the room.
She walked over the charred door, stumbling as the wood cracked and moved underfoot, but made it onto the landing. She rushed to her children, hugging the oldest.
"Thank you." She said to Athos, looking horrified and relieved at the same time.
"Take them downstairs and climb out the back window." Athos instructed, passing her the youngest child. "I'll make sure your husband gets out."
The woman looked torn for a moment but then nodded and hurried down the stairs.
"Aramis!" Athos called, trying to see into the room. Everything was a haze of yellow, orange and black. The fire was rapidly swallowing the door and they would only have moments before the room became impassable again.
A silhouette appeared in the entrance, wrapped in the other blue cloak. A selfish part of Athos hoped it was Aramis, but he also didn't want the baker to die.
The man was coughing as he escaped the burning room, stumbling into Athos's waiting arms. When Athos pulled back the cloak, he saw it was the baker.
"Your wife and children are heading outside. Where's Aramis?"
The man turned to look back into the room, just as the wall of fire closed over the entrance once more.
"NO." Athos shouted, desperation making his voice even louder. "Aramis!"
For a few seconds, he felt sick and utterly helpless. He couldn't lose his brother, not like this.
Athos was contemplating charging into the room, when a figure threw itself through the wall of fire, crashing to the ground and rolling to a stop in front of Athos and the baker.
Aramis looked up at them, his eyes glazed and face covered in soot. His left arm and leg were on fire from where he'd jumped through the blaze and Athos and the baker hurriedly knelt down and patted the flames out with the remaining cloak.
"Aramis? Are you alright?" Athos asked, trying not to let his voice shake. He gently took hold of Aramis's shoulders and helped him sit up.
"...Bit…warm." Aramis said breathlessly, before he started coughing.
"I'll help you get him out of here." The baker said, handing the cloak to Athos and moving to pull Aramis's right arm over his shoulder.
Athos took his left, and between them, then managed to get the marksman on his feet and down the stairs.
By the time they got to the window, they were all coughing hard and Aramis was sagging in between them.
Athos made the baker climb out first, conscious of the flames that had made it through the closed door and were slowly eroding the room. He helped Aramis out next then pulled himself out after.
When he hit the ground, his knees gave way momentarily and his palms hit the ground. Athos took a second to breathe in the fresh night air before looking for Aramis.
The other man was in a similar position, coughing hard and breathing in the starlit air like it was a lifeline. The baker was hovering next to Aramis, unsure of what to do.
"Go to your family, I've got him." Athos said hoarsely, picking himself up. The baker nodded and ducked round the side of the building.
"Come on." Athos said resolutely, gathering Aramis under the arms and pulling him upright. Aramis uttered something that sounded like a thank you, but his body was too wracked with coughs for it to be clear.
They reached the front of the bakery just as the ceiling caved in, black smoke bursting out of the second storey windows in an ominous cloud.
The baker and his wife were holding each other and their children. Neighbours and other onlookers surrounded them in a supportive group.
The family looked appalled to see their home going up in flames, but when they saw the two Musketeers, the woman rushed over and hugged each of them in turn.
"Thank you. I cannot thank you enough. Without you, we would have died in there." She handed Athos back the cloak she'd been wearing.
Athos nodded in acknowledgement, taking the garment from her. "Just doing our duty."
He tuned and addressed the wider crowd. "Unless you're helping put out the fires, move away from these buildings, you're not safe here. Our Garrison is open, head there and you'll be given water and food."
"Thank you, Monsieur." The baker said somberly. "We owe you a great debt."
"You don't owe us anything." Aramis croaked, more lucid now they were out in the cool air. "Just get to safety."
The family headed for the Garrison and Athos supported Aramis as they walked back to du Pont's manor. A large cluster of civilians and other Musketeers were still trying to put the fire out.
Constance saw them coming and ran over. "There you are, I was worried sick. Did you find the baker and his family?"
"They're safe, we've sent them to the Garrison" Athos replied, helping Aramis sit down. He dropped their cloaks in an unceremonious pile and grabbed water and a cloth.
"The bakery is about to collapse though, so we need to keep people away from the building and make sure the others around it are evacuated." He continued, pouring water onto the cloth and holding it gently against Aramis's forehead.
Constance nodded and relayed the orders to several other folk, who ran off to alert families in nearby homes.
"Are you both alright?" Constance asked, handing Aramis some water to drink.
"Aramis almost got himself killed trying to be the hero, but I think he'll live." Athos said. His tone came out harsher than intended and Constance gave him a look that told him he should apologise.
Athos had never been good with apologies, so he put both his hands on Aramis's shoulders, looked him squarely in the eye and said, "I thought for a moment you were trapped or dead. Don't ever risk your life like that again."
Aramis smiled tiredly. "You know I can't promise that."
Athos raised an eyebrow. "That's what I'm concerned about."
He rolled up Aramis's left sleeve to inspect the damage to his arm from where his clothes had been on fire. There was a red welt on his forearm, but it wasn't as bad as Athos had feared.
Constance applied a wet cloth to it while Athos pulled off the marksman's boot and rolled up his trouser leg. This burn was worse but surprisingly small.
"Your indomitable luck persists." He said, looking up at Aramis. "You'll have a scar, but hopefully it won't be too bad."
Aramis looked down to see for himself. "Another one to add to the collection."
Constance gently hit him on the shoulder. "Don't be so blithe. You were both lucky to leave that building with your lives."
Aramis smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."
Constance looked at him for a moment and then pulled him into a careful hug. When she pulled back, Aramis looked at her questioningly and she simply said, "You saved those people. They would have been dead without you."
Athos finished his ministrations and sat back on his knees. "Where are d'Artagnan and Porthos?"
Aramis looked around while pulling his boot back on, half expecting the two men to materialise on command, but Constance paled.
"Porthos found du Pont but went back inside looking for d'Artagnan. He", her voice wobbled but she ploughed on, "he'd brought one of the servants out, but hadn't returned after that."
"They're both still inside?" Athos asked, his tone sharp. Anyone who didn't know him would think him annoyed, but Constance and Aramis knew that tone for what it really was. Worry.
Constance nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Athos and Aramis looked at each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them.
They both stood up and began to run towards the entrance to the manor, Athos swiping their cloaks as he went.
Constance called something after them but neither man heard her. As they closed in on the main doors, Athos dunked the cloaks in a nearby bucket and threw one to Aramis.
"Let's find them and get out." He yelled and as they crossed the threshold and walked into the flames.
Fire raged everywhere, snaking up walls and eating through artwork, curtains and furniture. Aramis immediately began coughing again and Athos pulled him down to try and avoid some of the smoke.
They ran, half-crouched, through the main foyer until they reached the stairs.
Through the orange heat-haze and smoke, Porthos was visible, trapped under the beam.
"PORTHOS." Aramis yelled, running forwards and crashing to his knees next to the taller Musketeer. Athos was right behind him, immediately testing to see if they could move the beam.
"He's alive," Aramis called, relief billowing through his tone, "just unconscious."
The beam was only pinning Porthos's left shoulder and upper back and when Athos looked across the stairs, he could see why.
The other end had landed on the wide wooden handrail, rather than the stairs itself. It was probably the only thing keeping Porthos from being crushed.
"If we lift this end, we should be able to get him out." Athos shouted, the roar of the fire making it impossible to converse in normal tones.
Aramis nodded and moved into position next to Athos.
"One, two, three." They both heaved upwards, but the beam hardly moved.
"Again!" Athos bellowed and they managed to lift it several more inches before they could go no further.
"We need something to hold it up, otherwise we're not going to be able to lift and pull Porthos out at the same time." Aramis called, voice strained.
Athos looked frantically around him and spotted a large chunk of brick and plaster that had dislodged from the ceiling.
Running over, he grabbed it and hefted it back to their position on the stairs.
Setting it on the stair next to the end of the beam, he said "When we lift again, I'll push this under to hold the beam up."
Aramis nodded determinedly.
"One, two, three!" They both lifted with all their strength, crying out with the effort.
The beam moved higher this time and Athos used his knee to shove the hunk of plaster under its end.
He felt the beam crunch down on the makeshift boulder and Athos was momentarily worried it wouldn't hold, but as he and Aramis cautiously let go, it creaked and stayed in place.
Aramis dashed around the side to Porthos, who was now groaning in pain. The tallest Musketeer had been wrenched back to consciousness when the weight was lifted off him and he was now coughing and trying to move.
"Porthos, we're here." Aramis shouted, gently cupping Porthos's face. "We're going to pull you out, OK?"
When Porthos nodded, Aramis stroked his hair softly and said, "This might hurt; brace yourself."
He moved to the other side of the beam where Athos was slowly pulling Porthos out from underneath. Aramis grasped Porthos's doublet and helped pull him the rest of the way out.
Porthos cried out as his left shoulder was jostled and Aramis suspected something might be broken.
As Porthos's body slid free, he immediately tried to push himself up using his right arm.
"Slowly," Aramis shouted over the roar around them, "we don't know what injuries you have yet." He broke off coughing and Porthos looked back at him, concerned. Then his eyes went wide.
"D'Artagnan!" He shouted, "he was upstairs."
Aramis and Athos looked at each other again, tension and unmasked fear in their eyes.
"I'll go," Athos said, "you get Porthos out."
Aramis nodded, but Athos was already dashing up the stairs.
Aramis unwrapped his damp cloak and wrapped it around Porthos's head and shoulders. He could see a gash on Porthos's forehead that was leaving a trail of blood down the side of his face, but no other visible injuries.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so." Porthos shouted back.
Aramis moved to Porthos's right side and pulled his uninjured arm across his own shoulder. Shakily, they both got to their feet and began moving slowly down the steps and across the foyer.
The heat was so intense that Aramis, with no protection, felt like his hair and skin were being singed. When Porthos looked at him, horror and gratitude mingled in his expression, he could see the yellow and orange of the fire reflected in his brown irises.
"Keep going." Aramis shouted, even as the wall to their left crumbled and showered them with dust. More debris fell from the ceiling, missing them by an arm's length.
Just when Aramis thought they weren't going to make it, he saw the open doors and the darkness of the outside.
Digging down into his last reserves of strength, he took on more of Porthos's weight, and dragged them both over the threshold.
TMTMTM
As Athos ran up the stairs, he thought only of d'Artagnan.
Was he hurt somewhere? Was he even alive?
As he made it to the top, he found his answer.
D'Artagnan lay prone across the landing. He was lying on his front, one arm was stretched out in front of him and there was a gash on his forehead dripping blood.
Several chunks of plaster and other pieces of debris lay around him and the fire was steadily creeping closer to his still form.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos yelled, running forwards and dropping to his knees next to the younger Musketeer.
He pressed his fingers to d'Artagnan's throat, feeling for a pulse like Aramis had shown him. A regular thrumming rose up to meet him and he exhaled in relief, coughing as he did so.
Athos wasn't a particularly religious man, but when he put a hand on d'Artagnan's chest and felt the rise and fall of life, he sent up a prayer to whatever gods did or didn't exist.
He tried to rouse d'Artagnan, knowing it would be easier to carry him out if he were conscious, but the Gascon's head lolled and he showed no signs of waking.
Guess we have to do this the hard way, Athos thought.
Lifting d'Artagnan into a sitting position, he wrapped his cloak around the other man's torso, then pulled him over his shoulder so that d'Artagnan's upper body was resting against Athos's back.
Crouching, with d'Artagnan's hips on his shoulder, Athos pushed quickly into a standing position, grunting with the extra weight.
D'Artagnan was slim and lithe, but he was taller than Athos, and Athos felt every one of those extra inches as he made halting progress back towards the stairs.
Descending the staircase, he felt pieces of flaming ceiling shake the wooden structure as they crashed down around him. The fire's heat was so intense that sweat dripped from his brow.
But he kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to let go of his precious cargo. D'Artagnan had brought light and energy into his life and he was going to get them both out of here if it was the last thing he did.
Between one moment and the next, the entrance was in sight. Athos could feel a cool breeze and he quickened his pace, but then darted back as the now-molten chandelier groaned above him.
The chandelier cast a shadow over the centre of the foyer and Athos was reluctant to pass under it, knowing it might fall at any moment. But with fire wicking off the walls, he couldn't go round the outside of the room.
Steeling himself, he set off across the open space.
When he was directly under the chandelier, he heard a shriek of breaking metal and knew what was happening.
Athos didn't look up, he simply ran. Only adrenaline allowed him to get clear of the huge structure before it smashed into the ground behind him, sending a hot cloud of dust racing after him.
He ran the last few steps through the open doors and suddenly he was outside.
All his energy left him and he fell to his knees, pulling d'Artagnan's weight forward as he did so, so that the young man didn't hit the ground.
Instead, d'Artagnan ended up in his lap, soot-streaked and dirty, but alive.
"Athos!"
"D'Artagnan!"
Athos looked up to see Aramis and Porthos hurrying towards him. They dropped down beside him, Aramis immediately feeling for a pulse at d'Artagnan's neck.
"Is he alive?" Porthos asked, too impatient to wait.
Athos nodded, coughing. "He's alive," he croaked, and both Porthos and Aramis deflated in relief.
"I think he was hit when the ceiling fell."
"Let's get you away from the entrance, I fear the whole place is about to come down." Aramis said, looking up at the blazing manor.
Aramis and Porthos each took part of d'Artagnan's weight, Porthos only using his good arm, and together the three of them carried him away from the building and over to where other people were gathered.
They lay him on the ground, Athos supporting his head on his knees, and Porthos rushed off to get some water.
Aramis tried to wake d'Artagnan and when Porthos returned with a bucket, the medic used some of the water to wash the blood and soot from the youngest Musketeer's face and cool his hot skin.
Porthos offered Athos water, while Aramis dribbled some into d'Artagnan's mouth.
The youngest Musketeer swallowed reflexively and then suddenly he was coughing, eyes opening blearily.
"Thank god." Porthos breathed, and Aramis looked up and grinned at him and Athos.
"D'Artagnan, are you with us?" Athos asked, unsurprised at how gravelly his own voice sounded.
"I think so." D'Artagnan replied haltingly and Athos was so relieved to hear him speak that he ran his hand through the other man's hair.
"You gave us quite the scare."
"What happened?" D'Artagnan asked, before recognition came into his eyes. "The fire! Did everyone get out? I was with a maid, did she make it outside?"
"We think all the staff got out. Constance mentioned seeing a maid, we can check if that's the one you were with. Porthos got Monsieur du Pont out and Aramis got the baker's family out." Athos said, coughing again as he finished speaking.
"And Athos got you out." Aramis replied with a smile, patting d'Artagnan on the shoulder.
D'Artagnan hissed in pain and Aramis immediately removed his hand.
"Sorry, sorry. I'll need to check you all over for injuries." Aramis said.
"And someone needs to check you," Athos added, "you'll need to have those burns treated."
Aramis nodded and Porthos looked at him sharply.
"Burns?" The taller man asked.
"I got a little too close to the fire while we were helping the baker's family, but it's not bad." Aramis said, holding his hands up at Porthos's accusatory look.
"He's actually not lying for once", Athos said dryly, "his injuries aren't life-threatening." They all knew of Aramis's tendency to downplay his own wounds so he could look after them first.
"But he was actually on fire." Athos added and Aramis looked like he'd just been betrayed and offered up to the enemy.
"What?!" Porthos half shouted. "Are you alright? Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I'm fine." Aramis said, giving Athos a look that said that was underhand, before turning to Porthos and patting his uninjured arm softly. "Truly, I'm OK."
They gazed at each other for a moment, before Porthos read the truth in Aramis's eyes and visibly relaxed.
Then, D'Artagnan began to sit up, Athos supporting him, and the charred cloak around his upper body fell away.
"Whose is this?" He asked, holding up the burned material.
"It'll be mine or Aramis's," Athos replied.
"One thing's for sure, we're definitely not going to be able to wear these again." Porthos said, holding up the cloak that had been wrapped around him, which was almost completely black with smoke and burns.
Aramis sighed dramatically. "We'll have to ask Treville for new cloaks. Again."
"Well, they've certainly served us well." D'Artagnan said, looking at the destroyed material. "It could have been a lot worse if we hadn't been wearing these."
"Which is why I don't think he'll begrudge getting us new ones this time." Athos said mildly.
"But 'e'll make us pay for them." Porthos said and Aramis and d'Artagnan groaned in unison.
Porthos chuckled before they all lapsed into silence. In the space between words, they looked at each other, feeling a shared swell of gratitude that they were all alive.
"I'm glad you're all OK." Aramis said tenderly, breaking the quiet.
"Same here." Porthos added and Athos and d'Artagnan nodded.
There was an unspoken agreement among the four of them that cloaks, uniforms, and weapons could be replaced, but people couldn't. And each of them was irreplaceable to the others.