As the day wore on and the sun moved across the sky, Athos and Porthos took turns by d'Artagnan's side, pouring water into his mouth when he woke sufficiently to swallow and bathing his neck, chest and face with cool water when he turned restless with fevered sleep. Porthos managed the stairs twice in order to check on their horses, bring back fresh water and more food and wine as the evening shadows returned near the end of the day. Aramis had slept deeply, rising only once to relieve himself, have a drink of wine and confirm that his patient was no worse – no better either, but he was at least holding his own – and then returned to sleep once again. It was as Porthos returned with their evening meal that Aramis returned to wakefulness, his stomach grumbling appreciatively at the aromatic stew, reminding him that it had been far too many hours since his last meal. As he rose from the bed, Porthos grinned, pushing a bowl in his direction. Aramis seated himself at the table and gratefully dug into the hearty stew, moaning in appreciation as the food sated his hunger.
"Any change?" he asked between bites.
Porthos shook his head. "No change but his fever's no worse. We've managed to get some water into him when he's woken, but he never really seemed to recognize us or know what was going on."
Aramis nodded. "And Athos?" he questioned, looking over at the older man who had fallen asleep next to d'Artagnan's bedside.
"He's spent most of the day caring for the boy. I tried to get him to rest a couple times, told him I'd take over for a bit, but you know what he's like when it comes to d'Artangagn."
Aramis nodded again. They had both seen the change in Athos since d'Artagnan had wheedled his way into their midst. What started out as stern annimosity towards the boy's unchecked exuberance had softened to concerned annonyance and they both knew that Athos cared deeply for the young man's future and wellbeing. Step by small step Athos had begun to guide his young protégé, showing him how to prepare supplies for longer missions, teaching him the court etiquette that was a necessary part of their service at the palace, and sparring with him and correcting his form, ensuring that critical flaws in his swordwork wouldn't result in gaping holes in the boy's defenses.
Most importantly though were the occassional looks of encouragement that the boy needed as badly as he needed sustenance to survive. The signs were often subtle, but Porthos and Aramis noted the softening of the older man's eyes when berating the young man to think before acting; they caught the rare placement of Athos' hand at d'Artagnan's neck, which would make the young man dip his head in pleasure; and they observed how Athos drank less on stormy nights, making sure that the Gascon was with his brothers late into the night – too late to return to his own lodgings – so he'd invariably spend the night with his friends, keeping at bay the nightmares of another rainswept evening when his father was killed.
When they had gone after Vadim, Athos was torn between responsibility for the King's protection and his desire to keep the young man safe. He'd argued passionately all of the reasons why d'Artagnan should not participate in the subterfuge that eventually led to Vadim's death, but that had only hardened the Gascon's resolve to make his mentor proud of his efforts. A well-timed hand placed on Athos' arm by Aramis interrupted Athos' rant and had him examining his protégé who stood stiffly at the harsh words being said in front of Captain Treville. Treville, for his part, was also watching Athos closely, trying to decide whether Athos' concerns were warranted or simply born of fear for the young man's safety. When Athos realized the attention and tension his words had garnered, he caught Treville's eye and stated, "We'll explain to the boy what to expect in the Chatelet and how he can best keep himself alive with someone like Vadim." With that, he turned and exited the Captain's office, but not before seeing the wide grin that d'Artagnan wore at his mentor's acceptance of the mission.
During the time that d'Artagnan had spent in the prison, Athos adopted a façade of calm, acting almost dismissive of the fact that one of their own was placing his life in peril for the sake of France. When they found d'Artangan missing and blood on the floor of the abandoned house, the look on Athos' face was equal parts ferocity and anguish, and his two brothers knew that none of them would rest untl the boy was once again secure in their midst and those who had caused him to come to harm had been brought to justice. Athos' relief upon finding d'Artangan alive and mostly unharmed shifted rapily to anger at the boy's lack of self-preservation at having pursued Vadim out of the tunnels rather than allowing the Musketeers to deal with him. As he grasped d'Artagnan's arms, he harshly reprimanded the young man for his foolishness, reminding him that a Musketeer could not succumb to such lapses in judgement, lest they bring harm to their brothers as well as to themselves.
Athos' words left d'Artagnan empty inside. He was ashamed at having disappointed his mentor and, even worse, given additional credence to the belief that he had no place among them as a fellow Musketeer. As he turned to walk away he stumbled, and Aramis and Porthos shared a look of concern as their gazes moved rapidly between the retreating man and Athos, who now stood still, his criticism of the young man having exhausted him. Before he had taken more than ten steps, d'Artaganan stumbled again, reaching out with his hand to find support as he swayed. Aramis glared at Athos over his shoulder as he moved to take his place next to the Gascon, grasping his hand and moving close to murmur in the young man's ear. Porthos had taken Athos' arm to prompt him into motion, a gesture that was brushed off almost immediately, but had the desired effect of moving them forward, following the other two out of the tunnels and back into the daylight.
They had ended up at Aramis' lodgings, d'Artagnan almost dead on his feet from the stress of the mission and the blow to his head. Once there, Athos had watched as the other two men helped the boy undress and settle onto Aramis' bed. Aramis whispered words of comfort to their nearly asleep charge as he gently prodded at the boy's head wound, examined his chest and stomach for any hidden hurts, and tsked unhappily at the damaged and torn skin present on both wrists. Porthos in the meantime kept a restraining hand on Athos' arm as he watched the older man's desire to alternately jump forth and comfort the Gascon, and turn away and hide himself in several bottles of wine. When Aramis was finally done he smiled at the other men. "He'll be fine. His wrists are a bit torn up and his chest is bruised, but the head wound closed on its own and now I think he's just tired. When he wakes we'll need to get some food into him but I'd wager that he won't stay resting for long."
Athos released a shuddering sigh and nodded gratefully to Aramis. "Then it's time I reported our success to the Captain and had Vadim's body taken care of."
As he turned to leave, Aramis looked pointedly at Porthos, who turned to follow Athos from the room. "I'd best be going with you. Nothing else I can do here anyway."
Athos didn't respond but the slight hitch in his step let the two men know that Athos understood what was happening and that he appreciated the gesture. Later he would find a tavern and drink until the worry and emotions of the past few days dulled and allowed him to sleep, and Porthos would be by his side to make sure he made it back to his bed before the dawn.
Aramis finished his bread and bowl of stew and leaned back in his chair, relishing the temporary feeling of having his hunger satisfied and being both warm and relatively comfortable, an uncommon occurrence when they were travelling during a mission. Exhaling deeply he pulled himself from his seat and walked over to Athos, placing his hand softly on the man's forehead and assuring himself that no fever was present. As he moved to pull Athos' shirt back, he noticed two blue eyes staring at him in return. Holding the older man's gaze for a moment to ensure he was aware and going to allow Aramis' examination, he proceeded to pull back both shirt and bandage, gently prodding at the wound underneath.
"Looks good. No redder than yesterday and no signs of infection."
Athos grunted in reply, having guessed that already since the wound didn't pain him any differently from those in the past.
"How are you feeling?" Aramis asked.
"Well enough," Athos paused, "considering". His gaze wandered back to d'Artagnan before sending Aramis a questioning look.
"I haven't had a chance to check yet but I will while you eat your supper."
This earned another grunt from the older man but, at a stern look from Aramis, he pushed himself slowly out of his chair and sat down at the table where Porthos was already placing a full bowl infront of him. Athos poured himself a glass of wine, drinking deeply, and then glared at Porthos who had used the momentary distraction to pull the wine bottle away.
"The stew's quite tasty. Reminds me of that little place we found in Montbard. You quite enjoyed it there, if I recall."
Athos took a mouthful of the stew, chewing and swallowing before he looked up to answer. "Actually, I believe it was you who enjoyed Montbard, especially the attentions of that young barmaid, what was her name, Suzette?"
Porthos guffawed in laughter, "Yea, she was right spry, she was. Almost made a man forget King and country."
A slight smile tugged at Athos' lips as he spooned another bite into his mouth.
At d'Artagnan's bed, Aramis was slowly peeling away the bandage covering the young man's side, dampening it with a wet cloth where the wound had seeped and was now sticking to the gauze. "As I recall, Porthos, you had that young lady eating out of your hand. Thought you walked on water after you'd protected her honor from that group of rowdy young men."
Porthos rolled his eyes, still grinning. "What else was I to do? You lot had retired early and the tavern owner turned a blind eye. Have to maintain the fine reputation of the King's Musketeers, you know."
Aramis hissed as the bandage came free, revealing swollen skin, puckered around an angry red wound. "Porthos, can you help me roll him? I need to see his back."
Porthos stood on the other side of the bed and together the two men gently rolled d'Artagnan onto his good side, revealing an exit wound that looked significantly worse than the entry wound.
"Infected," Aramis said, unnecessarily. The men knew that d'Artagnan's continued fever and unresponsiveness was indication enough that the wounds had been left untreated for too long and had begun to fester.
"Drain or cauterize?" Athos asked.
Considering the state of both wounds again, Aramis finally replied, "Drain, I think. If we cauterzie there's too great a chance that the infection will remain trapped beneath the skin."
Draining the wounds would require the removal of both sets of stiches followed by a thorough cleaning. Porthos knew from experience that the process would be a painful one and he winced in sympathy for their young friend as they laid him down on his back again.
"What assistance do you require?" Athos asked.
"None from you my friend. You're still recovering from your own wound and have pushed yourself too hard today already." Athos looked ready to protest, but a raised hand from Aramis stopped him before he could utter a word. "Porthos, I'll need more wine, clean bandages and my sewing kit." At that, the medic turned back to d'Artagnan's side and began to remove the stiches with a small knife.
At first d'Artagnan remained unaware of what was happening around him, but as Aramis began pressing on the newly unstiched entry wound, the young man began to moan and toss his head, his sounds of distress growing as the pus was cleaned from his side. Athos moved to the head of the bed, hushing the Gascon with soothing words while stroking his hair. Porthos, again on d'Artagnan's other side, place a comforting hand on the man's chest and ensured he remained still enough to allow Aramis to work.
"There," Aramis spoke with satisfaction as the wound ran only with clean blood. "We'll need to prop him up on his side again to do the same with his back."
"Wouldn't it be easier to lay him on his stomach?" Porthos asked.
"It would, but the pressure on his other wound would be too painful to endure," responded Aramis.
Working together, the three men rolled d'Artagnan onto his side, but soon found that they were unable to hold him there without blocking Aramis' access to the wound. Athos huffed and stood up, motioning for Porthos to back away from the bed. Aramis cast an amused look at Porthos as they watched the older man lay down beside the Gascon, positioning himself so that the boy lay partially on his front, leaning against the older man's chest. In this position, Athos could continue to comfort the boy and stabilize him when the pain got too great.
"Well," Athos looked at Aramis, "get on with it." Attempting and failing to hide the grin on his face, Aramis motioned for Porthos to hold a candle closer to d'Artagnan's back and began the painful process of draining the second wound. While the young man whimpered occassionally, his close contact with Athos seemed to be doing both men a world of good and soon Aramis was tying off his last stitch and securing a fresh bandage to the boy's back.
"All done," Aramis declared, slowly unrolling his body to a standing position. "Shall we lay the boy back down on the bed?" he questioned, eyes watching for Athos' reaction.
"He seems to be resting comfortably, wouldn't you say?" Athos queried. At Aramis' nod he continued, "Then it seems ill-advised to disrupt his sleep."
Expecting this outcome, Porthos repositioned the blanket across both men and then he and Aramis retreated back to the table to sit down. "Always knew you'd make a good pillow, Athos," Porthos chuckled.