December Desolation Chapter 43

Two hours and many bloody buckets of water later, the doctor was sweating profusely, exhausted to the point his hands were beginning to shake ever so slightly with fine tremors. His work was far from over however, after much struggle most of the wounds on Aramis' body had been cleaned thoroughly and dressed with fresh linen, or sewn with thick black thread to piece him back together.

They had left the worst for last, in the futile hope their patient would be worn out by the ordeal and at last fall into blessed unconsciousness, allowing them to get on with treatment without worrying about holding him still.

Porthos, who was hoping his friend would be spared this latest torment, was extremely tempted to employ the same method his friends utilised so they could get near him to stitch him up without being cracked in the shins as he fought to get away. One look at the injured man's pupils told him to shelf that idea, dismissing it as a very bad one, his left eye consisting almost entirely of pupil. He remembered enough from Aramis' lectures on medicine to know that hitting a clearly concussed man in the head again, was just asking for trouble.

Turning to the doctor who was sat at the end of the bed massaging aching hands, he passed him a cup of water. "How's it looking?"

Heaving a mournful sigh, he shook his head "not good, not good. His feet are a mess, they obviously smacked him with some kind of blunt instrument repeatedly on the soles." a sympathetic grimace stole across Porthos' face as he continued.

"It's these cuts that are causing me concern" the doctor gently traced along the slits that carved through the skin of Aramis' feet, "they're already infected and beginning to heal, trapping the infection inside. Matters weren't helped any by him walking on them, he's got lots of small scratches and is caked in dirt."

He met Porthos' eyes and gave a grim smile "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, because I know you are all soldiers and no strangers to pain. The skin needs to be reopened and the infection drained, you will need to hold him down or I risk causing more damage."

Athos loomed silently over the doctor's shoulder, paling alarmingly at the sight of his brother's mangled feet. "Do you have anything for his pain?" he inquired, barely a wobble in his voice despite how clearly his upset was displayed in his clenched fists.

"Unfortunately not, if you'd look here" grasping Aramis' arm he rotated it gently to expose his inner elbow, pointing carefully, "do you see this pinprick here? He has been injected with some substance but as I cannot find out what exactly that was, I can't take the risk of giving him a tonic that could react badly."

"Pop… Poppy milk"

All heads snapped up to meet hazy brown eyes as they stared tiredly at the three clustered around the foot of the bed. Athos pinched the bridge of his noise in frustration, it seemed his captors had tried every method to incapacitate their brother, not only that but to prevent any possible relief.

"Are you certain son?"

"Positive" Aramis rasped, slightly more lucid than moments previously, "and please call me Aramis"

"He likes to be polite" Athos snorted quietly from beside the doctor who gave a small bemused smile before addressing his now conscious patient.

"Well Aramis, as I have told these fine gentleman already, your feet are beginning to turn septic and need draining."

"I understand, if you had a piece of cloth I would be much obliged" Aramis managed to breathe out shakily.

It was so typical of their marksman to be aggravatingly blasé about everything, and Athos rolled his eyes in well learned frustration. In two steps, he was perched on the edge of the narrow, rickety wooden bedframe and yanked his trademark scarf from his neck in one fluid motion. In seconds, he had meticulously folded the strip of fabric in crisp lines which he then placed tenderly between his brother's teeth. Cupping the back of his sweaty neck he pressed their foreheads together, "you idiot" he chuckled softly, smoothing back his hair. "You know you just have to ask and we'll be right here with you. I promise." Slipping his hand into the smaller man's, he squeezed tightly and motioned for the doctor to begin.

An agonised cry was torn from the injured man's throat at the medic's ministrations, more of a guttural choked off scream that was muffled by Athos' scarf. Whose owner was now wincing in pain himself, for Aramis had a grip on his hand that felt almost like it was being crushed between two concrete blocks. However he grit his teeth and squeezed back with equal force, determined to let his brother know that he would always be there for him, he would help him cope and never again would he abandon him, let him down like he had a week ago.

Thankfully the doctor moved quickly and more of Aramis' tan skin was covered in blindingly white linen strips which immediately began spotting with blood. Easing the bandana from between his friends lips, Athos chuckled at the deep teeth marks embedded in the fabric, waving it teasingly before tired brown eyes. "You owe me a new scarf"

"If we ever reach civilisation alive" Aramis whispered, giving Athos' hand another squeeze where it was still encasing his "then I will buy you as many scarves as you desire"

"I'll hold you to that" the usually dour man smiled warmly in response.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked with a hint of a smile to his voice, "are you crying?"

"You two are just too damn adorable when you get all mushy like that" the larger man sniffled from the corner where he had retreated to assist the doctor.

"You're one to talk, calling us mushy" the other men laughed.

"Sleep now Aramis" was Athos' stern instructions as he tucked the blankets securely around the other man's thin form "you need to get your strength back and sleep off that damn drug if we're to leave for Paris anytime soon"

A/N: Sorry for how bitty this is, just a chapter to tide you over while I try and sort out how this story is going to proceed! Hopefully another chapter soon :D