A/N: I ought to take this time to first explain that I know nothing about medicine or anatomy, so I hope you can forgive my lack of knowledge and just go with it, as it were. I also want to thank all those who read, reviewed, favorite, alerted, and etc. Fanfiction seems to have got their hit/visitor counter fixed, though if y'all wanna keep leaving reviews, please do carry on! ;)

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Gwaine's sixth problem, which may have been and always would be the greatest, was his complete and utter refusal—nay, inability—to accept help from others. It tied into his hubris, yes, a bit, and also his pride—for Gwaine had a great deal of pride, contrary to popular opinion—it was shame he didn't have, which was different.

"All right, all right, all right," he insisted, shoving Merlin and Arthur off of him, "I've got it, give it to me."

"Gwaine, no, what are you talking about?" Merlin said, batting his hands away. Was everyone going deaf? Why was no one listening to him? "We've got to get this cleaned."

"Aaaarghh, lemme do it!" Gwaine said, sitting up, but he only got about halfway up before Arthur intervened, shoving him roughly back to the grass, and Gwaine fell back with a whimper he tried to disguise as a manly groan.

"Gwaine," Arthur told him sternly. "Every time you move you bleed more. Lie still. That's an order."

"Pfft!" Gwaine chuckled, though he knew it, too, and anyway was getting tired of how sticky he felt all over and how red everyone's hands were. "You think an order will work on me?" he asked with a wink.

"It's either that, or I sic Merlin's pout on you."

As if on cue, Merlin turned those pleading baby-deer eyes on him in all their adorable glory, and in all seriousness, not a hint of smile or that Arthur was forcing him to do this. "Oh, God, fine!" Gwaine moaned and settled back. He shivered. The wind had picked up a slight chill in the past however long he'd been bleeding out, though then again that also could simply be that he was bleeding out his warmth all down his—

"Yeeeeowholyfuckingshite!" Gwaine bellowed, sitting up so hard he broke free of both Lancelot and Arthur holding him down. "Agh! That hurts!" His eyes flashed at Merlin, who was guiltily holding the flask of liquor. "And that's good stuff, mind!" He added, regretting his outburst as Arthur and Lancelot guided him back down, this time his head pillowed on Lancelot's knee. At least like this he could look around now. That was good.

He caught sight of Percival and Elyan looking at him all wistful and pathetic, then quickly looking away, going back to making bandages.

People only didn't look at you like that when you were dying.

"Dammit," Gwaine breathed, closing his eyes. He managed only to hiss and stiffen as more of the whiskey was thrown on him, and some on his arm as well. "Christ. Ow." A few more labored breaths before he realized they weren't going to torment him any further and he cracked an eye open. "Any chance you saved any of that for me?" he asked, his grin hopeful but faint.

"Not to drink," Merlin said, apparently in a bossy mood. "You've lost enough blood already."

Gwaine shrugged. "Worth a try."

Arthur had stood up now, and looked down at him, deep in contemplation. "We'll need a bier. Sir Percival—"

"Oh, man, I'd love a beer," Gwaine said, perhaps beginning to feel a bit loopy because he was almost certain that that wasn't what his sovereign had actually meant.

Percival had come up, Elyan beside him. "I need you to go into the woods, get two stout poles. We'll need to make a litter to carry him on."

"Carry who on, the pig?" Gwaine said, lifting his head.

"Which one?" Lancelot joked quietly, pushing his head back down. Gwaine had the feeling that Lancelot was humoring him—Lance wasn't even remotely that funny normally—but he let it slide and laughed appreciatively:

"Haha, ooh—hey, wait, no bloody fair. You can't carry me!"

"Believe me, none of us are looking forward to it, either, Gwaine—"

"You saying I'm fat?" he hoped he was only sounding breathless to himself.

"—but you're certainly not riding a horse in that condition," Arthur concluded, using that my-word-is-law voice. For once, Gwaine didn't have the strength to argue. "Now, Sir Percival," he said. Then, walking a bit further away, "Sir Elyan—I need you to ride to Camelot. Take my horse if you need to, and ride like the wind. Have them send a cart back for us, and tell Gaius what happened. He may want to come with you."

"Sire."

Gwaine blinked, and Elyan was gone.

Finally, "Sir Leon."

"Yes, sire?"

"I need you to strip that boar. Don't bother with all of it, but get the choicest cuts, as much as one horse will carry and you can get off it in half an hour. It looks like we'll have a longer journey back than we anticipated, and we'll need the meat."

Leon nodded, glancing helplessly at Gwaine, and turned back to the pig.

Now Arthur was frowning at Gwaine again, sighing like he had the world resting on his shoulders. Which he did, you know, he just didn't often look it. Merlin had the same look, come to think of it.

So Gwaine felt it was his duty to cheapen the moment: "For a moment there I thought you were talking about me." He grinned sideways.

"That's not funny," Merlin said, laughing.

"It was a bit funny," Gwaine insisted, gladdened by the sight of Merlin's smile, however brief.

Then, "Okay," Merlin said. "We want to leave that—those—to heal open or it could get infected. Can't sew them, can't cauterize. So we'll just have to wrap them up and…make sure Gwaine doesn't move."

"Oh, is that all?" Lancelot asked, "I was worried there would be a harder part to the plan," he said, with sarcasm sharp enough to wound.

"I'm offended," Gwaine said. "Usually people wait til I'm pretending to be passed out before they start referring to me as if I'm not here."