By the time D'Artagnan arrived outside the room they were staying in he could feel the back of his neck dripping with sweat and small tremors wracking his body. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he opened the door and walked in.
Dropping the saddle bags beside the table, he reached over and snagged a chunk of bread. While eating was the last thing on his mind and his appetite had completely deserted him, he knew he would need to keep his energy up. By the darkness gathering outside he reckoned it to be around dinner time and if he wanted to get any sleep that night he knew he would need to get started.
'Aramis,' D'Artagnan started, looking beseechingly into the medic's eyes, 'I need to remove the bullet from Athos' leg. Can you make sure I'm doing it right?' The sudden feeling of self-doubt threatened to overwhelm him and he had to turn away before Aramis saw the glimmer of panic in his eyes.
He distracted himself by making his way over to Athos' bed with Aramis' saddle bag and started to unwrap the equipment he would need. Aramis was beside him a moment later, a soft hand squeezing the back of his neck.
'I will be with you the whole time, mon ami,' Aramis assured him with a smile. He frowned as he felt D'Artagnan's hair against his hand.
'You need to get out of those clothes and get dry soon though, D'Artagnan. You're soaked through,' Aramis warned, sitting in the chair that Porthos pushed towards Athos' bed.
'I will soon, I promise,' D'Artagnan nodded, the lie falling from his lips. It amazed him how easily he was able to push his own cares aside when it came to his brothers. Having grown up an only child and losing his mother at such a young age, D'Artagnan always tried to put the needs of his father first. Always up as soon as the dawn broke to help him on the farm, no matter how much his tiredness urged him to rest. Never complaining when the food on his plate at night seemed less as the winter drew closer. Even when they had travelled to Paris, he made sure that his father rested as often as possible, his age weakening his reserves.
When he met the Musketeers, les inseparables, after he was sure they weren't going to kill him in the middle of their garrison, he felt something click. Freeing Athos and helping Porthos and Aramis win in the fight against Gaudet and the traitors had made him feel like he needed to help them. It felt ridiculous at the time, what would 3 Musketeers need him to protect them for? But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had to stay with them.
Apparently the feeling was mutual as more often than not he was being pushed behind one of his brothers before a fight, or feeling one of them watching over him in the middle of a card game, ensuring that his opponent was neither cheating nor stupid enough to accuse him of the same, or even small things like finding a cake or extra cheese tucked into his saddle bags when he was sent out on solo missions.
A sudden warmth swept over him and he nodded to himself, he would do this because his brothers needed him. He needed to protect them now. Sitting down beside Athos on the bed, he removed Athos' boots and leather trousers, leaving him in just his braies and used a blade to cut around the bullet hole so he could see the wound more clearly. At some stage while he had been out attending to the horses their host had brought them buckets of cold and steaming hot water along with a selection of towels.
Dipping a small towel into the now warm water, he wiped away the excess blood from Athos' pale skin, happy to see that at least the wound had stopped bleeding. He knew it would start again once he took the bullet out but at least he had been granted a short reprieve.
Aramis handed him a blade that he had soaked in brandy provided by Victor and gave him an encouraging smile. D'Artagnan took the blade with a sigh, forcing his hand to stop trembling as he pressed it against Athos' thigh.
Sending a short prayer to anyone watching him from above he pushed the blade down and into the wound. The most resistance the now unconscious man offered was a moan and a pull of his leg, which Porthos was quick to press down onto the bed to prevent any further movement.
D'Artagnan held his breath as he moved the blade around inside the wound, his eyes growing wide as he felt the tip hit metal. With a steadiness that belied his fear, he twisted the blade and pushed the musket ball up as far as he could. With his free hand he reached in, past the blood oozing out of the wound grasped the ball between his forefinger and thumb. He held it in the palm of his hand, staring at it with a small smile.
Aramis chuckled and gave him an encouraging pat on his back, the excitement in Porthos' laugh filling the room.
'Well done whelp,' Porthos congratulated, offering a punch to D'Artagnan's shoulder before going back to the table to pour more wine, something that he knew would help calm everyone's nerves.
Taking the needle and thread, he concentrated hard to not allow his trembling fingers to show as he threaded it. Wiping the blood away from the wound, he whispered a quick apology in Athos' direction before he doused the wound with brandy. The fact that Athos didn't even flinch filled his heart with dread and he turned to look at Aramis.
'He's lost a lot of blood,' Aramis explained, reaching over and placing a hand against Athos' forehead. 'But he has no fever and I pray that it will remain that way.'
D'Artagnan nodded at the explanation, taking a deep breath and releasing it before piercing his brother's skin and pulling the thread through. He ignored everything else that was happening around him, only focusing on the task at hand. He could feel Aramis' presence beside him, watching closely as he stitched the wound shut. He could only hope he was doing it well. He had never sewn a wound closed before and he didn't want to leave Athos with a hideous scar.
Aramis' hand on his arm jolted him out of his thoughts and he turned to look at him, holding the needle in his hand.
'You're shaking,' Aramis stated with a frown. He looked at D'Artagnan's face, his frown deepening. He could see the sweat dotting his brow, his cheeks flushed pink, and the overwhelming exhaustion in his brother's eyes.
'I'm fine,' D'Artagnan assured him, pulling his arm away and resuming his stitching. 'It's just a lot of pressure, I don't want to do this wrong.'
'You're doing fine pup,' Porthos called from across the room, a cup of wine firmly stuck in his grip.
'And you might want to slow down with that wine brother, you have a concussion remember? There's no point in getting yourself into a stupor if we're going to have to wake you every few hours. You know the drill,' Aramis warned, standing up and removing the cup from Porthos' grasp, smirking at the indignant look on his brother's face.
Porthos spluttered at the medic, glowering at the grin on his face and crossing his arms across his chest.
'It's ok, petit enfant, you can have some when you feel better,' Aramis goaded, taking a sip of the wine still in his hand. Porthos' glare intensified.
'Need I remind you that you also have a concussion and I will not be dealing with either of you feeling the effects of your drink of choice,' D'Artagnan called across the room, cutting the thread attached to Athos' skin and placing the needle on the table beside the bed. He didn't want to move it too far as he had a feeling he might be needing it for himself.
A hearty laugh left Porthos' lips as he stood up and started to undress. If they were staying for at least a few days to allow Athos' wound to start healing, he might as well get comfortable. Stripped down to his undershirt and braies he slid under the blankets and slumped onto his stomach, his arm hanging off the edge of the bed.
'Wake me whenever you need to but if you throw any water over me you will be sleeping out with the horses,' Porthos mumbled around his pillow.
Aramis chuckled, throwing a glance over to D'Artagnan but the boy was still focused on wrapping the bandage as precisely as he could around Athos' thigh.
'You did well pup,' Aramis assured him as D'Artagnan finished tying the bandage and covering Athos with a blanket.
D'Artagnan flashed a smile at Aramis, the elder Musketeer sighing when it didn't reach his eyes. If he was honest it barely reached his lips. He could see the tiredness oozing from his brother's body and knew the sooner they sorted his shoulder the sooner they could both get some well deserved rest.
'Right then let's get this shoulder wrapped then I can get some sleep,' Aramis grinned, reaching up to unwrap the sash the was currently keeping his shoulder stabilised. He undid and removed his doublet with difficulty before settling back on his cot looking sadly down at his boots.
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and smiled at Aramis as he knelt before him.
'Need some help?' He smirked already reaching for the medic's foot. The task was completed quickly and the boots were discarded at the end of the cot. Aramis sighed with relief and flexed his toes, scooting back on the cot until his back was pressed against the wall.
'You need to stabilise my shoulder against my chest, it shouldn't take more than a day and I'll be right as rain,' Aramis explained, handing the bandage to D'Artagnan and placing his arm against his chest.
D'Artagnan wrapped the bandage around Aramis' arm and back as gently as possible. His eyebrows furrowed as he focused, wanting to make sure that the bandage was tight enough to be effective but not to cause the medic anymore pain.
'That's good, really good,' Aramis praised as D'Artagnan finished tying the bandage in place. Aramis sighed as he shuffled on the cot so that he was lying down. He wanted to remove his trousers but he felt his energy flagging dramatically now that he was lying down and comfortable. The food and wine had warmed him as well and he could feel his eyes closing.
'Get changed D'Artagnan then get some sleep. You deserve it. Wake me in a few hours and I'll take over the watch,' Aramis mumbled as he watched D'Artagnan place a blanket over him and smile.
'I'm just going to go and get some fresh water then I'll get some rest,' D'Artagnan spoke softly, pulling the blanket up over his brother's shoulders. He was stunned at how easily the lies were coming from his mouth tonight. He knew he would get some rest but he needed to see to his wound first. Then he had to wake his brothers every few hours to make sure they would wake up. And then he had to check Athos' wound to make sure no infection set in and there was no fever…
The list kept growing the longer he thought about it and he felt his shoulders slump under the overwhelming responsibility. He would do it all, they were his brothers and he would look after them as if they were his blood, but he felt so tired.
Grabbing the needle and thread that he had left on the table, he put them into Aramis' saddle bags and slung it over his shoulder, grabbing his own as he walked towards the door.
'D'Artagnan?' Porthos' sleepy voice called out from the other side of the room as he turned his head to look at his youngest brother.
'Go to sleep Porthos, I'm just going to thank Victor then I'm going to get some rest,' D'Artagnan assured him as he stepped towards him, readjusting the blankets so that all of his brother was covered. And that was no easy feat.
Porthos simply nodded in his response, turning away to face the wall again and resuming his snoring.
D'Artagnan shook his head with a fond smile before looking at each of the Musketeers in turn. Once he was assured that all were sleeping peacefully, or unconscious in Athos' case, he crept out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.
A soft shadow snuck around the corner and it was shortly followed by Victor's frame, a bucket dangling from one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other.
'I brought some more hot water up incase you needed it and some more brandy. You boys need to warm up and get some rest,' Victor explained with a smile.
'Merci monsieur, I don't know how I can thank you enough for your help. Would you mind if I used one of your other rooms? We are more than happy to pay you extra for it,' D'Artagnan nodded towards the closed door of the room next door.
'Of course, of course, you must have a bed to sleep in. You look worn out,' Victor scolded as he walked towards the door and opened it. He set the bucket of water and the candle on the table before lighting the candles in the room to give more light.
'There are extra blankets in the drawers should you need them,' Victor spoke as he pointed to the chest at the end of the bed, 'I'm going to retire myself but my room is downstairs if you need me. Please do not hesitate to come and get me.'
D'Artagnan smiled warmly at the old man.
'Merci, I hope I will have no need for your assistance tonight but I appreciate the offer.'
Victor nodded and said his goodbyes before exiting the room and closing the door behind him with a soft click.
D'Artagnan sighed and collapsed onto the bed. He could feel his body shivering and knew he needed to fix his wound now but his energy had fled. He took several moments to gather his courage before standing up again.
He removed his doublet with a hiss and threw it onto the bed before reaching down and pulling his blood stained shirt over his head. He almost cried out at the pain he caused by pulling at the wound on his side but managed to bite his lip in time.
He removed his weapons belt and set it to the side. He would need the leather of it soon enough. He took out the needle and thread from Aramis' saddle bags and doused them with the brandy that Victor had provided. Threading it carefully, this time taking several attempts before the thread went through, he watched as his clumsy fingers shook.
He stood with his back pressed flush against the wall so that he could see the wound clearly. Dipping a towel into the nearby water he wiped the blood away from the cut and frowned at the depth of it. He put the leather of his belt between his teeth and bit down hard. Mumbling a short prayer and closing his eyes he grabbed the bottle of brandy and poured it over the wound.
He bit harder into the belt, sure there would be teeth marks in it when he removed it from his mouth and struggled not to let his knees collapse beneath him. He set the bottle back onto the table and took some deep breaths through his nose. He could do this. He would sew the wound shut, hopefully without crying, then go and keep vigil over his brothers. He would sleep when they were better.
Sleep sounded so appealing to him. He shook his head to remove the black dots from his vision and grabbed the needle and thread. Pushing back against the wall he looked down as he pierced his skin with the needle. His eyes filled with tears and he moaned against the sharp pain. Stopping when the first stitch was through he took a moment to compose himself. He could feel sweat dripping down his back and his eyes felt as though they would fall closed any second and wouldn't reopen.
Steeling himself against the pain and exhaustion he soldiered on, making stitch after stitch in his pale skin, struggling hard not to cry out. His brothers were in the next room, resting from their own injuries. They didn't need him disturbing them. He knew if he woke Aramis and told him what had happened the medic would conjure up a pain draught that would put him out of his misery.
He scolded himself for even thinking of waking his brother. Aramis needed rest. His relief could wait.
Finally the last stitch was made and he tied the thread off, cutting the remainder away and setting the needle on the bed. He allowed the belt to drop from his jaws onto the floor and sucked in a shaky breath.
Unravelling a bandage he quickly wrapped it around his waist and tied it at the side. He grabbed a clean, dry shirt from his saddle bag and threw it on before reaching into the chest and grabbing a pile of blankets.
The world spun before him and he fell against the door frame, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he was sure he would be able to stand on his own two feet, he made his way out of the room and snuck back into the room where his brothers were thankfully still sleeping.
He closed the door behind him, placing the blankets on the floor beside the wall and dropping down on top of them. This would have to do as a resting spot, he thought as he sat back against the wall. He ached to sleep in the actual bed next door but he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on his brothers from there.
He rested his head back against the wall, wiping the sweat from his forehead and ignoring the trembling running through his body. His skin felt as though it were pulled too tight across his bones and the room was dimming around him.
He didn't notice when his eyes slipped shut and his head fell forward.