No.6 Please...
Prompts: #6 get it out #20 field medicine #31 torture
"Hold still!"
D'Artagnan whimpered and struggled against his brothers' grip.
"Get it out, Aramis! Get it out, please!" Tears were streaking down the lad's face.
Aramis looked him straight in the eyes. "I will. But you have to hold still or you'll make it worse. You can do this! Porthos and Athos have got you."
Biting down on his lower lip, d'Artagnan stopped squirming and nodded. On his knees, he was still shaking from pain and shock, but he settled into Porthos' arms braced around his chest, and he let Athos hold his forearm down.
Slowly and carefully, Aramis slid his dagger between D'Artagnan's palm and the head of the nail that went straight through it. D'Artagnan shuddered, and Porthos and Athos tightened their grip on him. Aramis suppressed a surge of rage. It hadn't been enough for those bastards to rough the lad up. Before they'd left, they'd nailed his hand to a chopping block. Luckily, Aramis and the others had found him quickly, and Aramis said a prayer of thanks that the young Gascon hadn't tried to tear himself loose. It would have ruined his sword hand forever. But they had to make quick work now. Their youngest had held it together bravely, but he was frightened and in severe pain, and he'd clearly reached the end of his rope.
"All right," Aramis said calmly, catching the lad's fearful gaze. "I'll lever it out now. It's going to hurt, and I'll have to take it slow, but it'll be over soon, and your hand will heal. However, you mustn't move, you hear me?"
Nostrils flaring, eyes, wide, d'Artagnan nodded again. His cheek was bruised, one eye swollen, and his lip was split, but all of that seemed to pale against the terror of having his hand nailed down, and Aramis couldn't blame him. The lad was doing what he could to not fall apart, and Aramis looked forward to telling him how brave he'd been and how proud they were.
"Athos? Porthos?"
Athos, inscrutable under the brim of his head, gave a curt nod. Porthos grunted in dark agreement. Aramis focused back on d'Artagnan.
"Ready?"
His little brother gave a shaky nod.
With the edge of his blade, Aramis nudged the nail upward. D'Artagnan stiffened, eyes squeezing shut. Aramis repeated the motion. With every lift of the nail, d'Artagnan's breathing quickened.
"Easy, pup." Porthos, his cheek against d'Artagnan's from behind, rumbled into his ear. "Easy. 'e's almos' done."
"Nnnnghhh...!"
Gritted teeth bared, d'Artagnan's good hand flailed, looking for something to grasp. Athos caught it in his free hand, using only one arm to lock d'Artagnan's injured one in place. D'Artagnan's fingers whitened as he desperately clenched them around Athos', but the older Musketeer neither flinched nor let go.
"I know," he said, voice calm and steady. "I know. It's nearly over."
Aramis kept his eyes on what he was doing. He trusted Athos and Porthos, and he had to focus on keeping the nail straight as he maneuvered it out of d'Artagnan's flesh. Looking at the Gascon's tormented face would be a distraction, and, right now, he held the Gascon's fate in his hands. If he did this right, d'Artagnan would be swinging a sword only days from now. If he did it wrong, he would lose his hand.
Fresh blood welled up around the nail, forming a spider web of crimson rivulets as it trickled down to be soaked up by the wood. D'Artagnan's whole body trembled in his friends' grip, but he didn't move. Aramis had a better view of the nail's position and the injury now, and it didn't look or feel as if the metal had gone through bone. Another half inch, and he would be able to pull it out.
Aramis repositioned the dagger and gave it another nudge.
D'Artagnan bit back a sob.
Porthos shushed him gently, but the big man looked at Aramis in growing concern, and Athos' cool eyes threw him a silent appeal. Their youngest couldn't bear this much longer.
Aramis took a deep breath and grabbed the nail between his fingertips. With a sudden, forceful twist of the dagger, he pushed it upwards. D'Artagnan screamed, and Athos and Porthos struggled to keep him from flailing. Aramis paid them no heed. Grunting fiercely, he pulled hard - and pulled the nail free.
With a gasp, d'Artagnan tucked the injured limb against his chest, and Athos and Porthos let him. They held him loosely as, on his knees, he curled up around his bleeding hand and breathed hard between fading sobs.
Disgusted, Aramis tossed the bloody nail aside and hurried to pull a bandage from his supplies.
"You did good," he said, coaxing his patient to sit up a little. "Very good! Now let me see that hand."
The Gascon lifted a sweat-streaked face and, still shaking, fought to regain his composure. He was still breathing hard, but defiance was flickering back into his brown eyes.
Extending his hand, he let Aramis examine it.
Porthos had released the lad from his protective embrace and sat back on his haunches, tipping his head back in relief and, possibly, saying a prayer of thanks. Athos, too, was giving d'Artagnan some space, but he squeezed his shoulder in a quiet gesture of respect before he stood up and resorted to silent looming.
"It doesn't look too bad," Aramis stated, inspecting the wound from both sides. "Can you move your fingers?"
Teeth gritted, d'Artagnan did.
"Good." Aramis nodded and smiled. Immense relief flooded him. "Good," he repeated, and, catching Athos' gaze, he saw the same expression, even if well-hidden, in his pale eyes. He, too, had known what was at stake. And judging by the way Porthos' shoulders relaxed, they all had.
D'Artagnan managed a small smile as well. Except for the minor wounds on his face, he was starting to look like himself again.
Aramis reached for a thin flask in his kit.
"I'll clean this quickly, and then wrap it up. I'm not putting in stitches. It'll stop bleeding with a bit of pressure on it, and stitches may do more harm than good here. We'll have to check for infection, but the nail wasn't rusty. Keep that hand still for a few days, and it should heal quickly."
D'Artagnan flinched when Aramis poured alcohol over the wound, but except for a sharp hiss, he didn't waver. Carefully, Aramis wound a bandage around his hand.
"When can I hold a sword again?"
Standing beside the Gascon, Athos gave a short laugh. It was such an uncommon sound that all three of them looked at him in surprise.
"And he's back," Athos provided with a smirk, adjusted his hat and turned on his heel to fetch their horses. Eyebrows raised in wonder, Porthos exchanged an amused glance with Aramis.
"What?" D'Artagnan looked at them quizzically. He had not been with them long enough to understand the weight of the moment.
"Nothing," Aramis said lightly and pulled d'Artagnan to his feet. He unwound his sash from his waist and fashioned a sling out of it. Tying it behind d'Artagnan's neck, he gave him an affectionate pat.
"Come on, soldier! Let's get you home. When Treville hears about your bravery, that commission won't be far off."
D'Artagnan's eyes lit up in his dirty face.
"You think so?"
"I don't think so. I'm sure."