December Desolation Chapter 41

Porthos was torn.

His arms burned with the strain of cradling Aramis in his arms, keeping his admittedly light friend's body up off the ground, but he could not put him down. At the same time, he ached equally to scoop Athos up off the floor, to press his head protectively against his shoulder, hold his limbs still and just hug him until the tremors wracking his body eased.

Gritting his teeth, a growl rumbled low in his throat and his hands tightened unconsciously in Aramis' baggy shirt, which drew a whimper of protest, the fabric brushing against sensitive skin.

"D'artagnan" he rumbled, "quickly, put your shirt under Athos' head, and press down on his shoulders, we don't want him hurtin' that hard head of his anymore"

With a rush of movement, the younger man had padded his mentor's thrashing head and slender hands were squeezing his shoulders securely with a comforting grip, he was reluctant to manhandle Athos but hoped his presence would filter through this fit.

"P'thos?"

Both conscious and lucid members of the group turned their attention to the thin voice that floated weakly over to them.

"Aramis, what's wrong?" Porthos murmured into the Spaniards' curly hair.

"I was… about to ask you… the same thing" he chuckled weakly in between coughs, "are we there yet?"

"Almost, almost" he soothed, rocking slightly as he felt tears welling up in his eyes again, why could nothing ever be simple for them.

Alarmingly, Aramis' usually tan skin had drained of all colour, leaving him tinged an unhealthy grey which screamed blood loss. If he wasn't treated soon it would be too late for their brother, he would pass the point of no return where his body would begin to shut down, unable to replenish blood and keep organs functioning.

"Athos?" Aramis rasped, voice dying in his throat partway through his query.

"Is fine" was D'artagnan's relieved response, meeting Porthos' eyes and giving a terse nod.

It was at that moment that Athos began to show signs of life, stirring once again, but this time with more natural movements, his limbs remaining under his control. Clutching at his head he levered himself upright, grudgingly accepting the assistance that D'artagnan offered, simply lacking the energy for his usual acerbic remark that would keep people at bay. Not that this tactic was usually effective with the three nuisances that dogged his footsteps every day, no matter how cutting he was with his tongue, they stuck by him.

Leaning weakly against their youngest companion's leg which he had propped up for the sole purpose of supporting the older man, whilst maintaining his dignity.

Athos outstretched an imperious hand and was immediately supplied with a water skin.

Swallowing the slightly unpleasant lukewarm water, he slowly raised an eyebrow at the charged silence between their group, feeling both sets of eyes with their concerned gazes boring into him.

"Problem?" he drawled, lip twitching in amused anticipation of the shocked outrage he would momentarily be facing. Although it was tempered by the marching band which had taken up residence behind his temples.

"I'm not gonna dignify that with a response," Porthos' tone was scandalised, but tinged with regret as he continued. "We will be getting to the bottom of this and having words about your lack of caring about yourself! First, do you think you'll be able to walk the last couple o' yards?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be able?"

Silence reigned for all of ten seconds before D'artagnan gave a nervous laugh, warily eyeing Porthos as he fumed wordlessly, waiting for the requisite explosion that always followed Athos' rare moments of idiocy.

"Just get up before I say something I'm going to regret"

Numb limbs from sitting slumped on the frozen ground hampered their progress, struggling to stretch from cramped positions to standing. D'artagnan carefully hauling the older man to his feet, steadying him with a hand to the elbow before propping him precariously against Roger, hoping that he would be safe enough for the few moments he would have to leave him there. Repeatedly glancing back, the young man hauled Porthos to his feet, receiving a grateful grunt for the aid which allowed him to keep their injured friend in his arms.

Having gathered the reigns of their horses in one fist, he looped his other arm around Athos' back, determinedly fixing his eyes on the cabin and staring straight ahead. If he avoided making eye contact with the older man, he could not be pierced with the death glare he was currently sporting, although blunted considerably.

The road before them seemed to stretch endlessly, one mile becoming one hundred as the four weary men forced one foot in front of the other in a determined and slightly wobbly march up the hill. Snow had settled on the ground in enormous mounds which may have appeared picturesque at first, but drained the energy from their bodies with each laborious step. Now, it had melted and merged with the muddy surface of the country lane to create a marshy, sludgy nightmare threatening to take their feet out from underneath them with every step.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, the men released a collective sigh of relief, those of them that had struggled their way up in thanks for the respite and Aramis for the end of the jostling that even the lovely Porthos was unable to prevent, despite his best efforts. The cottage that they had been aiming for was now revealed in all its crumbling glory. What once would have been a quaint little two-story farmhouse, had clearly been left to rack and ruin over the years. Red brick dust cascaded from the walls and coated the grass surrounding, the creeping ivy gouging its way through the foundations and reclaiming the structure into nature. Even the oak front door had seen better days, beginning to splinter into wood fragments around rusted hinges, strangely enough the tarnished iron doorknocker remained in one piece and D'artagnan gave it an industrious knock. Listening to it echo around the inside.

"I doubt anyone would be home, judging by the appearance this place has been uninhabited for years"

"That's so helpful Athos, why not carry on and depress us all even further" D'artagnan bit out through gritted teeth, the strain of the day beginning to grate on him.

"Please, don't… don't fight"

"They aint fightin', don' you worry your scruffy head" Porthos murmured into his brother's hair, levelling a venomous glare at the others, with a clear warning to knock it off.

"But…"

He hushed him gently as his frail body was wracked by coughs, pulling him a little closer to absorb the shock as he raised one booted foot and, with a resounding crash, forced his way inside.

Aramis clutched at the larger man's shirt as he was jolted in his arms, the disorienting feeling of falling settling low in his stomach. There was no fear in his heart however, he knew there was no danger for him, Porthos would never let him fall. He allowed the larger man to carefully peel his fingers open and settle him carefully on the most intact bed they had located within the house, the straw mattress the thickest.

A soft hand rested gently atop his head,

"Rest Mis, we'll take care of you"

A/N: Bit of a filler chapter sorry, but I need to get back into the flow of writing after University. Next chapter, much more comfort! As usual please read and review, your comments keep me writing :D