As they had ridden, the sky turned gray and soon they were covered in a gentle mist that was not quite heavy enough for rain but was too heavy to be considered anything else. Porthos had remained quiet, offering the occassional grunt when d'Artagnan prodded him to stay awake, but otherwise they rode in silence. Up ahead, Aramis had a similar challenge with Athos, who remained steadfastly in his saddle but seemed to be slumping more and more as they rode. Aramis looked behind him and shared a knowing look with d'Artagnan – they would need to find someplace to stop soon or risk the two injured men falling off their mounts and harming themselves further. As if the fates had known how dire their situation was, an inn appeared in the distance as they crested a hill. Aramis again looked back at d'Artagnan, this time a look of relief on his face and the young man felt a knot in his chest release just a bit at the knowledge that his friends would soon be safe and warm, their wounds being taken care of at last.
For his part, d'Artagnan was grateful that Aramis rode ahead so that he wouldn't see the grimaces of pain that were more frequently appearing on his face. He found himself more often slumping in his saddle, trying to relieve the pull on his wounded side, and he now forced himself upright again as they arrived at the inn. A stable boy met them as the two men dismounted, before turning their attentions to their wounded comrades. Aramis seemed to have an easier time of things and he called back to d'Artagnan as he adjusted Athos' good arm over his shoulder, helping the man to the inn. "I'll get us a room and get Athos settled. Bring Porthos up and then I'll need two buckets of water and my supplies brought up."
d'Artagnan nodded – they'd done this enough times to know what was needed and it made sense that he was the one running for supplies so that Aramis could take care of the wounds. He turned his attention back to Porthos who still sat on his horse, looking blearily down at the Gascon through half-open eyes.
"Alright Porthos, it's time to come down so you can lay down on a real bed." As he said this, he reached up for Porthos' arms, readying to take his weight and assist the man down to the ground.
With little grace, Porthos simply shifted his weight to the side and, before he knew it, d'Artagnan had his arms full of concussed Musketeer, struggling to keep them both upright. He bent down and tucked his shoulder under Porthos' arm, reaching his arm around to hold him at the waist, and in this fashion the pair stumbled slowly toward the door of the Inn.
"Next time," d'Artagnan panted, "I'm letting Aramis take you," he continued as he stared, daunted, at the stairs, "and I'm helping Athos".
He hauled the larger man's bulk up the steps, breathing heavily. "After all, you'd all feel guilty if I injured myself as a result of your massive bulk".
d'Artagnan pulled him to the top of the stairs, Porthos making eye contact briefly and flashing him a small grin at the young man's comments. d'Artagnan was pleasently surprised when he saw two beds in the room and he helped Porthos gently lay down on the one that was unoccupied. Standing up straight, he stifled a groan as his wound reminded him that he was less than fit himself and looked over at Aramis who was removing the wadded bandages from Athos' shoulder.
"My supplies if you please. Quickly." Aramis spoke without turning from Athos and d'Artagnan forced his feet to take him back out of the room to make his request for both cold and boiled water and to retreive Aramis' medical supplies from his saddlebags.
When he reached the stables d'Artagnan took a moment to check that the horses had been well-cared for with food and water, and then simply stood braced against Aramis' horse, willing his heart to stop pounding and the ache in his side to calm. He raised a hand to his face, wiping a sheen of sweat off his forehead, and realized unhappily that his hand was trembling. He knew that his wound would require treatment soon and he fervently hoped that Aramis would tend to their friends quickly so that he might have some relief. He gathered Aramis' medical supplies and steeled himself for the return trip, only to find that the Innkeeper had readied the two buckets of water but had left them at the bottom of the stairs for d'Artagnan to carry. Groaning to himself, the young man made the trip back to their room with Aramis' bag, dropping it at the medic's feet before turning around to collect the water buckets. Bracing himself at the bottom of the stairs, d'Artangan bent forward slowly, picking up the two buckets and feeling a sharp stap of pain through his side. He realeased his hold on both buckets, nearly dropping them as he bent forward with a gasp and brought his left hand under his doublet to his injured side. He could feel how wet the bandages were and the trickle of warm blood down his side where it was being absorbed by the waistband of his breeches. Looking to the top of the stairs, he prepared to again the lift the weight of the buckets, determined to help Aramis look after their brothers.
The trip upstairs was nearly d'Artagnan's undoing and he took a minute at the top to rest and slow his breathing before entering their room. Aramis nodded his thanks when the water arrived and proceeded to dip a clean rag into the water to clean around the still seeping shoulder wound. d'Artagnan paused behind him to look at Athos' face which was slack in either sleep or unconciousness – either would work and would spare his friend the discomfort of having his wound cleaned and stitched; the young man hoped it lasted until Aramis was done.
"I'll need some wine or brandy and then Porthos will need his wound properly cleaned as well. You can leave it uncovered until I've stiched it and then we'll have to take turns waking him during the night," Aramis said.
d'Artagnan grunted in agreement, heading out of the room and back down the dreaded stairs to purchase the spirits that would be needed to help the wounded men with their pain and used to disinfect their wounds. The return trip was as awful as d'Artagnan expected it would be and, after placing two bottles of wine on the table beside Athos' bed, he lowered himself heavily into the chair next to Porthos' bed. The older man was once again asleep and d'Artagnan tapped his cheek gently in an effort to rouse him. Porthos rolled his head in an effort to escape the young man's hand, but the Gascon was persistent and was soon rewarded by two unfocused eyes.
"Wha?" the musketeer breathed out.
"I need to clean the wound on your head and then Aramis will sew it for you. Do you want some water? Or perhaps wine to ease the pain?"
Porthos began to shake his head, stopping when he realized the folly of doing so. "No," he answered quietly. "Jus' wanna sleep." And with that, his eyes once again closed and his face became relaxed as he fell asleep, escaping the pain of his wound.
d'Artagnan shook his head in fond amusement, leaned forward carefully to remove the bandage, and meticulously cleaned the jagged laceration underneath. When he was finished, he leaned his head back against the wall behind his chair, stretching his legs infront of him and closed his eyes. This was the position Aramis found him in when he had finished with Athos and turned to his next patient. Aramis' eyes twinked at the sight of their young friend snoring quietly.
"I guess that means I'll take the first watch my friend," and he squeezed the Gascon's shoulder affectionately before sitting on the bed next to Porthos to again put his sewing skills to good use.