There's a short passage posted on AO3 (Chapter 13) that continues directly from where the previous chapter was left, with Aramis shot and Athos facing off their assailants. It didn't stylistically fit this continuation so I didn't post or attach it here, so if you'd like to read it, it can be found in 'Whumptober' over at AO3.
And a warning, just in case: this one is filled with whump.
(II) "No, stop!"
Shadows.
Blacks and oranges - a slick wetness glinting across - and rasping breaths - echoing in the corridor.
A whisper: half a murmur, half a call: "Aramis."
Slumped against a wall, Athos is bleeding in three different places, but doesn't notice or understand that at all.
"Ath-os..."
And Aramis is still on the ground, right where he fell when the shot first struck him down, unable to even turn around.
"I'm here." (Why does Athos's tongue feel so heavy in his mouth?) "Let me.. let me see."
"Ath's - mmgh -"
"Sshh."
The shadows swirl.
(The blackness is overwhelming. There's a roaring heartbeat in the dark when he feels the warmth of Aramis's body nearby, and the odd sensation that time may have lapsed somehow. Not much: Aramis is still agonized. ) "I'm here," he says quietly, "Be still."
There are tremors, (coursing through his limbs, his whole being, up from his brow down to his chest and arms and legs) - and motion, soft, almost soothing. Reminiscent of swaying but it is not; like floating weightlessly on the waves, but it is not.
Aramis.
Comprehension takes its time to reach Athos: they are breathing, the two of them. Breathing together: up - down - gasp - stutter - up.. down.. because Athos is slumped over Aramis and their confused, pained breaths are synchronized. Impossibility is non-existent.
A wet, sickening sound from Aramis jolts Athos into trying to push up, to straighten, to shake himself out of this daze - wake up -
"Ath's - get it - Ath's -" (Aramis's voice is muffled but the pain is sharp, edges of fragmented glass.)
"I'm here." Weak and calm, Athos straightens himself with effort (a discovery of a stab wound in his arm goes unacknowledged), and pauses, looking over his friend. Aramis is shaking, gasping, reeling, lying on his front and unable to turn his neck to look up - he's panicking- Athos instinctively lays a hand his shoulder, very softly, to ground him.
"Calm. I'm here." (Why is he saying this?)
(Athos feels parched. Everything's muddled, smothered somehow; thoughts disappeared, he watches shadows swirl on Aramis's doublet, leading a dizzying, sicking waltz. A thin, wet line glints across Aramis's back: he vaguely thinks he must locate the source, but right now, any thought feels like trying to grasp at ghosts.)
A pain-filled cry from the marksman snaps Athos back from that murky brown. He blinks; frowns, (everything's clearer as if it's never been otherwise) and carefully leaves his other hand on Aramis's back, beginning his search for the little round hole. It is found quickly: just to the right of center on the upper back, a tiny pitch-black smudge on the lighter leather.
"Ath'-os - Athos, you must-" (Aramis is bordering on panic, straining to turn his head and catch Athos's eye) " Get it out - Athos, get it out-"
"Easy. Easy, be still. I'll take care of it." (Very weak and very calm - his tone is on its own.) Looking around searchingly for a moment, Athos pulls Aramis's dagger from his hip and cuts a rough line through the doublet from hem to collar. The dagger falls from his hand when it's done, but the wound is exposed now, and Aramis's shirt is soaked through.
"I can't - Athos - I c'-" He's close to sobbing-
"Ssh.. It's alright." (What is Athos to do?) "I'm here." (Why does he keep saying this?) Athos sits back down, one leg absent-mindedly stretched to the side, feeling stupified.
"Ath's -" a delirious rasp "get it -" a sharp moan " - out - get it OUT...! "
"Yes.. alright.." Blinking as if in a daze, moving as if with someone else's limbs, Athos takes up the dagger and leans over again. "I'll get this out. Be still."
" Jee-sus- just - "
"Aramis, you must be still. Do you understand?"
To his credit, the marksman tries to heed the command. Murmuring a final warning, (as if someone else is speaking), Athos slips the tip of the blade into the wound, and Aramis trashes - Athos throws his weight over his friend's back, trying to keep him still even as he digs around for the ball (Aramis is screaming - what is Athos doing) - and blood oozes out, in miniature rivulets like lava from a volcano's mouth (Aramis is shaking, breath trapped inside his lungs) - (Athos is shaking - are their tremors, too, synchronized? ) He doesn't notice, lost in his own struggle, when Aramis reaches his breaking point - with an animalistic scream Aramis bucks and even as his grip slips, Athos feels the tip of the blade pushing in when Aramis's body thrusts up - he yanks the blade out, dropping it with a clatter and falls on his back, horrified.
Shock last for only a moment.
He throws himself over Aramis, trying to hold him down so he wouldn't injure himself further - "DAMN it Aramis - STOP!" - but the marksman is driven out of his mind and tries to roll to his side, causing Athos to cry out when he falls on a wounded leg - "Stop - STOP -!" And then, slowly, finally, the trashing stops. Athos pulls Aramis to lie on his front again and himself falls back, breathing hard.
Time..
It is lost again.
Pain: sizzling, biting, burning in several spots - exhaustion.. and silence, smothering all sound.
There is sound.
A voice.
Aramis.
Aramis.
/
Aramis is finally still.
He is still conscious, by some unkind miracle; but the pain must be at new heights because he is still making unbearable sounds.
"Aramis," Athos calls roughly.
Nothing.
"Aramis, speak to me. Don't you faint now."
"..mmgh.."
"Stay with me."
"Athos..." - a heart-breaking attempt at suppressing a sob - "you must get this out."
"I can't do that with you trashing like a god-damn fish!"
"You can't - stop -"
" - cutting you like a fish?" Athos suggests mercilessly. Aramis's hand twitches as if to reach for him and Athos immediately seizes it in his own.
Damn you, Aramis - I canNOT do this!
I can't - stand this, Athos - I won't last much longer if you don't get the ball out.
. . .
Very well.
It is not as if there's ever been a choice.
/
Athos gave Aramis's hand a squeeze before letting go and picking up the dagger again. He ran it through the hem of his shirt once and positioned himself.
"Do promise not to die," he said flatly.
"Of all the times - Ath's- you pick now - to be a drama queen?"
"Very well.."
Sighing, Athos bent forward to press a kiss on Aramis's curls. "Remember. You asked for it, my friend."
He took a deep breath, and slid the blade in again.
/
Half an hour later.
There are eight figures in the dark corridor: six of them dead, like fish in a pond, and two still breathing, chests moving together, up and down.
Aramis, on his front, is half-pulled to Athos's lap, lying in an awkward sprawl. One of Athos's hands is draped on top of his head, and the other is resting on the side, palm open, the dagger lost.
Both of their eyes are closed.
And there's an alarming amount of blood on the ground.
(Note: Excuse the anachronisms. I 'invented' the waltz in the early seventeenth-century, as well as drama queens and who knows what else.)