Whatever he was laying on was soft and he was warm. Above him, the wide wooden beams of the ceiling were warmed by the sunshine streaming into the room and, while he had no idea where he was, he felt inexplicably safe. Turning his head slightly his gaze fell upon Aramis, bent uncomfortablly with his head laying on the bed, while the rest of his body sat in a chair. Additional inspection revealed Aramis' hand over his own – from experience, he knew this was the medic's way of ensuring he was woken if his patient needed anything. Shifting his gaze beyond his own bed, he found a similar scene being played out on the other side of the room where d'Artagnan dozed in a most uncomfortable position in a chair, while Porthos snored in the other bed.
Deciding that it was time to see how badly he felt, Athos moved his hand in preparation to shift, at which Aramis startled and lifted his head. A slow smile spread across Aramis' face when he saw his patient awake and he brought a cup of water to Athos' lips, asking "How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?"
Athos drained the cup of water, handing it back gratefully, and then cautiously moved his wounded shoulder. He winced as the pain made itself known, but overall it was tolerable and he knew that he would be able to ride. "It's fine," he responded to Aramis, who promptly rolled his eyes but nodded in understanding. "How is Porthos?"
"He should be fine although he'll be uncomfortable for a few days. The wound bled a lot, which is to be expected with head wounds, and he's been dizzy and nauseous. I'm actually surprised we didn't wake d'Artaganan with his repeated bouts of sickness, but I think the two of you getting hurt hit him hard and he was exhausted."
Athos nodded and moved to get up. "No, you need to stay still for a while longer," Aramis placed his hand on Athos' chest. "You bled heavily and I'm sure you'll feel weak for a few days. Let your body rest while we have the time. It's still early and there's no rush."
Athos nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the mound of pillows Aramis had placed behind him. "Do you think we should wake them?" he asked, motioning with his head at their two sleeping friends.
Aramis rose and stretched as he answered, "No, let's let them sleep a little longer. I'll go down and see what I can get for breakfast and then we'll wake them so they can eat."
It turned out that the innkeeper's wife had been expecting them to be hungry and had prepared a basket loaded with fresh baguettes and an assortment of cheeses and meats. Aramis placed the basket on the table and offered Athos a baguette, which the man took, looking pointedly at the bottles of wine. Sighing, Aramis brought the already open bottle over, keeping it out of Athos' reach. "After this, you switch to water, alright?"
The look of disgust on Athos' face was expected and made Aramis smile, and he handed the bottle over once he received a nod from the older man. Next, Aramis moved to the other bed, placing one had on Porthos' arm and the other on the man's cheek.
"Porthos…Porthos." The large man rolled his head in an effort to move away from the voice that was disturbing his sleep, but Aramis was persistent.
"Porthos, it's morning and time for you to wake." The response was another grumbling attempt to roll over and return to sleep.
Aramis winked at Athos, a mischeivious grin on his face. "Porthos, your brothers are in danger and we need your help." The reaction was almost instantaneous and Aramis leaned back as Porthos' upper body snapped upwards and the man swung his feet over the side of the bed in preparation to stand. Aramis placed his hands on the man's shoulders, holding him in place as he swayed dangerously, still trying to seek out the danger to his brothers while attempting to focus through the dizziness that assaulted him from his head wound.
"It's alright, Porthos, be calm. We are all safe and it's time for you to try and eat something. Are you ready?"
Aramis held Porthos' gaze for several seconds as the other man processed what he'd been told, then nodded minutely as comprehension dawned. Porthos readied himself to stand and Aramis moved to give him room while still staying close enough to keep a hand on his arm so that he could help him up. When Porthos nodded, Aramis pulled slowly on the man's arm, gently bringing him to an upright position. They stayed that way for several seconds as Porthos adjusted to being vertical and then Aramis helped him walk the few steps to the table, pouring him a cup of water once he was seated.
"Well, that's two taken care of," Aramis said as he looked over at Athos who was still nursing the bottle of wine. Aramis looked at their youngest member, frowning at the fact that he had managed to sleep through everything that had been going on. Bending over the Gascon, Aramis shook the man's shoulder gently.
"d'Artagnan." There was no response and Aramis frowned as he tried again. "d'Artagnan, the sun has risen and so must you."
Still, the young man gave no indication of waking. Sighing, Aramis shook harder, earning him a groan and the beginings of awareness from the Gascon. "Don'….please," d'Artagnan mumbled as the shaking reawakened the pain of his wounds. "Hurts…."
Aramis leaned closer to catch the barely audible words and asked with concern "What hurts?"
Placing his ear next to the young man's mouth, he discerned the word "side". Leaning back, Aramis pulled apart the Gascon's doublet revealing a large red stain on his shirt. Underneath he found a sodden bandage which hid the cause of the young man's lethargy and pain – a bullet wound. The discovery pulled a gasp from the medic, which in turn caused Athos to sit forward, a serious look on his face.
"What is it Aramis? What's happened?" Aramis rose and turned to him, reaching for his bag and the second bottle of wine.
"He's been shot." Aramis made his way angrily back to D'Artagnan. "He's been shot and he didn't say anything. Not when I asked him to take care of Porthos; not when I asked him to fetch my supplies; not even when I asked him to haul full buckets of water up the stairs. How could he not say anything?"
Aramis' face held a look of anguish as he knelt infront of the Gascon and prepared to expose the man's side to get a look at the extent of the damage. At his words, Athos made to get up and Porthos' head jerked up and looked in his direction. Sensing the change in his friends, Aramis lifted his hands in warning.
"No, the two of you, just stop. I will probably need your help later, but for now I need to focus on d'Artagnan. I can't have you hurting yourselves in misguided attempts to get up and move around before you're ready. The best thing you can do right now is to stay still and finish your breakfast. Then I'll check on you both and we'll decide how best to proceed."
Porthos and Athos shared a look that communicated their dissatisfaction with this arrangement, but also their grudging understanding that Aramis was correct in what he was asking. Neither man was ready to move around on his own and the chances were high that they could collapse and hurt themselves further, creating additional worry and work for their brother. As much as they disliked it, they would need to be patient and wait until Aramis had completed his assessment and treatment of d'Artagnan's wounds.
"I've done all I can," Aramis stated as he straightened from where he'd been sitting next to d'Artagnan, who he'd moved to Porthos' bed as soon as he'd discovered the man's untreated wounds. He'd spent the last hour hunched over the young man's side, diligently cleaning out bits of thread that the ball had forced into the wound when it passed through d'Artagnan's shirt, and had then disinfected and stitched both wounds before wrapping them firmly with clean bandages which now circled the entirety of the Gascon's body. The young man had remained quiet throughout, with the only signs of life being the tossing of his head and a few mumbled words when Aramis poured a good amount of wine over both the entry and exit wounds.
Placing a hand on the young man's face, Aramis drew back tiredly, looking around to find the water buckets and assessing the amount of water that was left. "He's warm. The wounds were left too long and infection has set in."
"This is not your fault Aramis," Athos placated. "He knows better than to leave wounds untreated and when he's well again, we will all remind him of his responsibility to stay hale and hearty for his brothers."
Aramis nodded but didn't make eye contact. He moved to pick up the nearly empty buckets of water, but Porthos' hand on his made him pause. Looking up, he caught Porthos' eye, questioning the action.
"I'll get it. You need to rest now or you'll be no good to anyone." Porthos nodded toward the bed that had been occupied earlier by Athos before the man had moved slowly and carefully to one of the chairs at the table. "Cold compresses to manage the fever?" Porthos asked as he cautiously bent to gather the water buckets.
Aramis nodded, but wasn't quite ready to give up responsibility for his charges. "I should get the water. Your head," he pointed at Porthos, "if you lose your balance due to a spell of dizziness on the stairs," he left the rest of the thought unsaid as he stepped forward to take the bucket from Porthos. For a moment, both men's hands rested on the handle of the bucket before Porthos acquiesced to the look of concern in Aramis' eyes.
"A'right, but straight to bed when you get back." Aramis nodded wearily and headed downstairs to refill the bucket at the well. Porthos looked at Athos, his eyes still crinkled with residual pain from the concussion he'd received, but Athos merely raised his uninjured shoulder in a lop-sided shrug.
"You know how he is when one of us is hurt," Athos pointed out placidly.
Porthos nodded, "Doesn't mean I have to like it any better when he runs 'imself into the ground takin' care of us." Athos returned Porthos' nod.
"That's why we will return the favor of his care by approaching our responsibility to him with the same commitment he shows us."
At that moment Aramis returned with the refilled bucket and placed it next to d'Artagnan's bed. With pointed looks from both Porthos and Athos, he touched his hand once more to the young man's head before retreating to the other bed. "Wake me if he gets any worse." With that, he tumbled into bed, allowing the peace of sleep to provide him a brief respite from the worry that came with treating his fellow Musketeers.