No. 24 You're Not Making Any Sense No. 25 I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks
Prompts: #24 blindfolded, #25 blurred vision, disorientation
Athos was the closest to the church's beautiful stained-glass window when he heard something fizzle and turned to look. He shouldn't have. With a flash and a bang, the window bulged and exploded, spraying glass directly into his face. He clamped his eyes shut, but not in time. He cried out as tiny shards burrowed into his skin and into his eyes. Clutching his face, he stumbled back against a pew and fell.
"Athos!"
"Help him, Aramis! We'll go after them!"
Athos heard quick footsteps running away and the creaking of the front door. Voices rang outside. Muskets fired. Steel glanced off steel. He tried to look, but - God - his eyes! Pain bit into them like thorns, mounting to pure agony when he blinked. He felt glass trapped behind his eyelids, scraping across his corneas. Involuntary tears streamed down his cheeks; his nose began to run profusely.
"Athos!"
He heard Aramis above him, felt hands batting his away from his face.
"Don't rub! Let me see!"
The soft leather of Aramis' gloves cupped Athos' face, and he sensed his friend's steadying presence.
"Can you open your eyes?" Aramisasked. "Can you see?"
Athos tried. He forced his eyes open to small slits, but as soon as he did, the pain intensified to a stabbing that almost took his breath away, and he clamped them back shut. His face was slick with tears and - oh God - was that blood? He could smell iron, mixing with the sharp scent of explosives having gone off.
"I don't know," he gasped. "I think I can see something, but…" He moaned, his hands automatically reaching for his face again until Aramis stopped him. "It's all blurry. It's… are my eyes bleeding?"
Athos heard the fear in his own voice, but he had to know.
"Stay still," Aramis answered. "And I'll have a look."
The marksman had that calm air about him now. That firm but reassuring tone that gave whoever had got hurt hope it wasn't as bad as it felt.
Athos felt Aramis' fingers - now without gloves - touch his face, probing gently. His fingertips pulled at the skin above and below his eyes, and Athos gritted his teeth as his lids were slowly prised apart. Immediately, the intense, stabbing pain flared up and more tears spilled from his eyes as he tried to see past the watery blurriness. It was unbearable, and he rolled his head out of Aramis' grip and pressed his eyes shut again.
"There's blood, but your eyeballs look intact," Aramis explained, one hand comfortingly on Athos' chest as he squirmed on the floor. "You have cuts and nicks on your lids and around your eyes - I think that's where the blood is coming from. And I suppose you still have glass in your eyes. I have to wash them out."
Athos heard the plop of a waterskin being uncorked, and he prayed that the water would help. The pain was bad. It felt as if someone was driving needles into his eye sockets.
"I have to open your eyes," Aramis explained. "Try not to blink and keep still."
The fingertips returned, and so did the agonizing pain. When Aramis let water drip into his eyes, Athos forced himself to hold still, but he couldn't quite suppress a whimper. His bootheels scraped over the floor, and he clawed at the rough stone with his fingers.
"I know," he heard Aramis' gentle voice. "I know, keep still, I'm almost done."
When the water stopped and Aramis released his eyelids, Athos gasped in relief. The stinging was still bad, but he found that, if he kept his eyes closed and still, the pain became manageable.
"Better?"
"Yes. Thank God, yes."
Aramis patted his shoulder.
"Good. I'm going to bandage your eyes. Then we'll get you home and let Doctor Lemay take a look. Can you sit up?"
Aramis' weapons belt clinked as he took it off, and Athos heard the swishing of his sash being pulled from his waist. As he pushed himself up to sit, his thoughts were racing.
"Do you think..", he started, fighting a tremor in his voice, "...do you think there will be permanent damage?"
Water dribbled, and a wet handkerchief was carefully pressed to his eyes, hands guiding his own to hold it in place.
"I can't say," Aramis said softly. They were soldiers long enough to refrain from sugarcoating any injuries, and Aramis knew that Athos needed honesty and clarity above all. "I'm not a physician. Let's wait what Doctor Lemay says."
When Aramis secured the handkerchief with his sash, rapid footsteps reentered the church. In his shock, Athos had completely forgotten about his brothers.
"How is 'e?"
"Is it bad?"
Porthos' heavy and d'Artagnan's lighter steps came to a halt to Athos' right and left, hands alighting on his shoulders.
"He got glass in his eyes," Aramis explained, tying the sash at the back of Athos' head. "I rinsed them, but we'll need Doctor Lemay to look at him."
D'Artagnan hissed through his teeth, and Porthos grumbled an expletive. Athos could imagine the look of anger and worry on their faces.
"Did you get them?" he asked into the darkness, trying to shift their focus away from his injury.
"Two," Porthos replied. "One got away. An' we found a cart stacked with more explosives. I think we interrupted them while they were still riggin' the church."
"They were!" D'Artagnan jumped in, but Athos heard the uneasiness in the Gascon's voice and felt his nervous gaze on him. "They wanted to blow the whole place up! During mass, most likely, with the Duke kneeling in the front pew."
"So, an assassination attempt," Athos thought out loud. He groped at the air around him. "Help me up! Treville needs to know about this."
Hands grabbed him under the armpits, and one bracing arm slid around his back as he stood, gathering his bearings. The wet cloth felt soothing on his face, but he was disoriented in the darkness under the bandage.
This isn't forever, Athos told himself, but fear clawed up his spine as he took a step and had to rely on his brother's aid for balance.
What if it was?
"Don't worry," Aramis said, tightening his grip on him. "I've got you."
(To be continued…)