So, I left you with quite the cliffy with the last chapter. I figured I better get this next chapter done as soon as possible so you wouldn't have to wait too long after that! Thank you for the comments and I do apologize for the cliffy, but then again, no I don't! LOL!

Just to let you know, my busy time at work begins today so the next chapter may take a bit to get done and posted. Throw in the fact that next Wednesday I'll be flying to Las Vegas to attend the Supernatural convention...yay me...and it could be even longer since I won't have any time to write while I'm there. I will try as hard as I can to get the next chapter done before the convention, but no promises.

I think that's all I need to say right now, so on with the story :)

Chapter 8 – Rescued

A gunshot suddenly rang out and all hell broke loose.

The Inseparables had little time to think when the gunshot rang out, followed almost simultaneously by a second one. They ducked instinctively, then a few seconds later, when they realized individually that they had not been hit, they turned their attention to their young Gascon friend. d'Artagnan still had the gun in his hand, his dark eyes wide as he stared at a point just behind them. The three turned their heads in unison to find a man sprawled on the floor, one hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. Crimson fluid leaked through his fingers and it was then that the three musketeers realized that it was this man whom d'Artagnan was aiming at and not them. Athos caught sight of a smoking pistol on the floor just out of reach of the man and everything clicked into place. This man was either going to shoot one of them or he was going to shoot d'Artagnan. In either case, d'Artagnan had hit his mark first. A sudden cry from Aramis had him whipping his head around. His heart plummeted when he saw Aramis rush to their friend and press his hand to the young man's ribs. It was then that he saw the fresh blood running down d'Artagnan's side. He looked up and met the pain filled eyes of his protégé. d'Artagnan blinked once, then twice before his eyes rolled back in their sockets and his head fell forward, his body going limp and partially hanging in the air from his still shackled wrist.

Athos lunged forward at the same time that Porthos grabbed Jean from where he stood in the doorway. "Tie him up!" Porthos spat as he pushed the shocked man toward his fallen leader. "If you try anythin' at all, I'll gut you," Porthos added. When Jean nodded his head, Porthos rushed to his friends. Athos had wrapped his arms around the Gascon's hips and was doing his best to not only hold the unconscious young man up so Aramis could inspect his wound, but also to relieve the pressure on his shoulder and arm. Both Athos and Aramis had seen the wound on d'Artagnan's shoulder, had known immediately that it had been cauterized, but with his side bleeding profusely, that was the wound that took precedent at the moment. Athos glanced up as Porthos arrived and tilted his head to the point where d'Artagnan's wrist was shackled.

"We need to free his wrist, but be careful of his shoulder…it looks like he's either been shot or stabbed, then the wound burned shut," Athos said. Porthos eyes went wide with shock and he turned to look at his young friends shoulder. He pursed his lips, keeping the curses inside then turned to Athos and nodded before leaping up onto the platform where he began to carefully inspect the shackle. He glanced down at Athos and whistled to get his attention. "Can you move behind him? He's doing to drop when I get this bugger off of him," he asked when the older musketeer looked up at him. Athos nodded and carefully maneuvered himself to where he was sitting behind the Gascon. It was then that he saw, at least partially, the damage done to the young man's back. He growled low in his throat, but contained his anger for the moment as there were more important things to worry about at the moment. He gently wrapped his arms around the young man's chest, careful to put as little pressure on his back as possible, but enough to hold him steady while Aramis worked on his side and Porthos worked on his wrist. It didn't take long before the shackle popped open and d'Artagnan's arm was free. Porthos carefully lowered his arm, but the movement still drew a gasp from the young man's lips and his eyes flew open. He fought against the hands that were on him, only to quiet when Athos whispered into his ear.

"Shh, d'Artagnan…you are safe now."

d'Artagnan stilled and slowly turned his head. "'thos?" he breathed out.

"I'm here," Athos responded, his lips curled up into a soft, relieved smile.

d'Artagnan gazed at his mentor with dull, pain filled eyes that within moments brimmed with unshed tears. "You came for me," he whispered, voice tinged with relief.

"Of course we came for you, pup, did you really think we wouldn't?" Porthos offered when it was clear that Athos had lost his ability to speak. Porthos stepped down from the platform and moved into d'Artagnan's line of vision. He smiled when d'Artagnan lifted his eyes to him. "Sorry it took so long," he added guiltily. There was a ghost of a smile on d'Artagnan's lips, but within seconds the smile turned into a grimace and the young man cried out in pain.

"Sorry," Aramis said, his dark eyes worriedly taking in the paleness of his patient's face. "I have to get this bleeding stopped," he added as he went back to work.

"Is…is it bad?" Athos asked, voice tight with concern.

"The shot grazed his rib...it's broken, but I can't tell if it's from the gunshot or from him being beaten," the medic answered angrily. "If the shot had been anymore to the left…it…," Aramis' voice trailed off, the medic unable to put into words what it would have meant for their young friend.

"I didn't tell," d'Artagnan whispered, apparently unaware of the conversation going on around him.

"What was that?" Athos asked.

"The l'tr…d'n't tell," the Gascon repeated, his words slurred as what energy he had was depleted.

"We know you didn't," Athos said as he brought one hand up to tenderly brush the hair from d'Artagnan's eyes. The young man gave a soft sigh as his eyes slid shut, his body sagging against his mentors chest, his head falling back to rest on Athos' shoulder. "Aramis?" Athos called frantically as fear clenched his stomach.

Aramis looked up from where he was bandaging d'Artagnan's side and watched. He gave a quick grin before going back to wrapping a piece of cloth around the young man's chest to hold the bandage in place. "He's out, but he's breathing. It'll be for the best since we need to move him off this platform so I can get a better look at him," he said. "Porthos, I need something on the floor that we can lay him on," Aramis instructed. Porthos nodded then removed his cloak and laid it on the floor at the base of the platform.

"We need to be careful of his back," Athos said, his eyes cold as he glanced over at the tied up man on the floor.

The man grinned, his eyes meeting Athos' icy glare. Athos' lip curled up, but a soft groan from his protégé brought his attention back to where it belonged. "You two ready?" Aramis asked as he moved into position at d'Artagnan's feet. Porthos nodded from where he stood at d'Artagnan's side, ready to lift him as soon as Athos moved to his other side. Once Aramis gave the signal, the three men ever so carefully lifted their young friend and moved him from the platform where they then set him gently onto the cloak, both Porthos and Athos holding him in a sitting position so Aramis could examine his back. What Aramis saw made his blood boil and a string of Spanish curses rolled off his tongue as he turned to glare at who he assumed to be Amyot.

"You bastard!" Aramis spat. At his words, Porthos, who had yet to see the Gascon's back tilted his head so he could get a look. The rage the suddenly roared to life inside of him and if he was needed to hold the young man, he would have stomped across the room and ripped the man's head from his body.

"I'm gonna enjoy getting' my 'ands on you," the big man hissed as he glared daggers at the smirking prisoner.

Aramis took a few deep breaths to calm himself before continuing on with his assessment of d'Artagnan's back. He followed one particularly painful looking welt, sucking in a startled breath when it continued up and around the Gascon's neck. He gently tilted the unconscious man's head back and let out a pained cry when he saw the welt across the front of d'Artagnan's throat. Both Athos and Porthos followed his line of sight and it was all they could do to keep from running over and butchering his torturer.

"That one's a screamer, I have to tell you. Squealed like a stuck pig when I did that to his back," Amyot called from where he sat, the entire front of his shirt stained a deep red. "Wasn't so loud when I had his head under water though," he added with a wide grin.

That was it, the straw that broke the camel's back. Porthos had heard enough. He turned to Athos and met the man's rage filled eyes. "You got 'im for a minute?" he asked. He smiled when Athos nodded his head.

Porthos stood and glared at Amyot. He tilted his head one way, then the other, working out the kinks then strolled across the room where he stood over the bound man. He gave one look to Jean as he stood in silence beside the man. A slight lift of Jean's lip told Porthos that he would not interfere. Porthos knelt before the man and reached for his shoulder. The scream that tore from Amyot's lips when the large musketeer pressed his thumb into the hole in his shoulder was music to the Inseparables ears. When Porthos finally pulled his hand away, Amyot began to heave, the contents of his stomach spilling onto this outstretched legs. When he had stopped he looked up at Porthos then turned his gaze onto the still unconscious Gascon.

"I should have killed the stubborn little brat when I had the chance. Should have held his head under the water until he stopped thrashing about," Amyot spat. "Nothing but a pain in my ass."

Porthos reached down and grabbed Amyot's hair, yanking his head up until their eyes met. "That's our Gascon," he said fondly before pounding his fist into the smirking man's face. Amyot's face went blank and when Porthos released his hair, he fell to the side and lay perfectly still. Porthos stood over the man for a few moments then hurried back to his brother's sides.

"'ow's 'e doing?" Porthos asked as he dropped to his knees.

Athos looked his way and tilted his head. "Still the same," he answered. "Didn't even flinch when Amyot screamed."

"We need to get him out of this room and some place warmer and with more light so I can work on him," Aramis said, his gaze meeting those of his brothers when they looked his way.

"Uh…I can show you where to take him," Jean said as he stepped up to the men, his eyes moving to the young man between them. "He's going to be okay, isn't he?" he asked with obvious concern in his voice.

Aramis sighed as he brushed a hand over his face. "I hope so, though it is hard to tell right now. I need to be able to examine him more closely," he answered.

Jean nodded, his hands clasped together before him. "We have an infirmary set up…I'll show you the way. We have food…water…wine…"

"We need to make sure Amyot is secure. We can't just leave him here since we don't know if the others have taken care of the rest of the men," Athos said.

Jean looked back at his former boss and nodded. "I'll tie him up nice and secure then we can lock him in this room until you figure out what you wish to do with him. I have the only key," he said.

"Why are you helping us?" Athos asked as he watched the man move to further secure Amyot.

Jean looked up from his work and shrugged. "Amyot went mad…at least that's all I can think of for why he changed so much. He used to be so impassioned about his cause, but then he just…snapped. When he brought your young friend here and I heard how d'Artagnan had taken out three men, despite his young age, I…I don't know. I saw something in him…when we were ordered to secure him in here, he showed no fear. And even through everything that Amyot did or had done to him, he never told us anything about that damned letter. His loyalty despite everything he was going through was inspiring. I helped him when I could…gave him water, but I wasn't with him alone enough to do much more I'm afraid," he explained as he gave the cloth he had tied around Amyot's ankles a firm tug.

Aramis glanced over and smiled appreciatively. "Are you the one who released his one wrist…gave him a pistol?" he asked.

Jean nodded as he stood and moved closer to the musketeers. "I tried to free him. When you and the others attacked, I knew that I may have a chance so I hurried down here. I got one arm free, but then I heard Amyot coming. I knew I would never get him free and out of here so I gave him a pistol and promised him that I would find the musketeers and bring them to him," he explained.

It was Athos' turn to look at the man, and though he wasn't quite as trusting as the others, the man before them had proven himself worthy. "Thank you. We owe you a great deal for keeping him as safe as you could," he said.

Jean tipped his head in acknowledgement then went to the door and looked out into the passageway beyond. He turned back and nodded. "I don't hear anything. Hopefully the others have been dealt with," he said.

"Can you gather 'is things? 'is weapons, doublet and shirt? Do you know where they are?" Porthos asked from where he still knelt beside his brothers.

"His weapons were taken to be stored with our other weapons," Jean answered. "His doublet is here somewhere, but his shirt…it was cut from him so Amyot could cauterize his shoulder," he added guiltily.

Porthos nodded as he looked at the man. "Gather 'is doublet then while we prepare to move 'im," he said.

"Of course," Jean said before he moved further into the other side of the room to search.

Porthos turned back to his friends, his dark eyes moving over the unconscious man between them. "'ow are we gonna move 'im without 'urting 'im?" he asked.

Aramis let out a breath as he thought about how to proceed. "We can't carry him over a shoulder because of his ribs so you'll have to carry him in your arms," he finally said.

"But what about his back?" Athos asked, his blue eyes moving to once again take in the damaged skin.

"It will hurt like hell if he awakens, but it won't do any more damage than what's already been done," Aramis replied. "No matter how we carry him, it's going to hurt…unless he stays unconscious."

Porthos nodded as he looked from one friend to the other. "Then I will carry 'im," he said.

"Good then," Aramis said. "Now, lay him down…gently."

Athos and Porthos did as they were told and eased the Gascon to the floor. He groaned softly, but didn't awaken, shedding light on just how painful his injuries were. Once he had settled again, the two musketeers wrapped the cloak around his torso. Porthos eased his arms beneath the young man's shoulders and knees, being as careful as he could to not cause the Gascon any undue pain. Aramis and Athos moved to his other side and together they helped Porthos lift him from the floor. d'Artagnan let out a soft cry of pain and his eyes fluttered open, only to fall shut a few moments later, causing each man to sigh in relief. They knew the journey to the upper floors would jostle the young man and hoped that he would remain as unaware as possible until they could get him into a comfortable bed. When they were ready, Athos led the way out of the room, followed by Porthos and d'Artagnan, then Aramis. Once in the passageway, they waited for Jean to exit the room and lock the door. He went to the front of the group and handed both d'Artagnan's doublet and the key to Athos. "You should keep hold of this," he said. "Follow me…we'll take the back way, just in case."

Jean started down the passageway in the opposite direction from which they had come, the three musketeers and their precious burden following closely behind. They took several turns into other hallways until they finally reached a flight of stairs that led up to the main level. They ascended the stairs, Athos taking the lead, his sword at the ready, when they reached the door at the top. He eased the door open and peered into the space beyond. Seeing and hearing nothing, he stepped into what turned out to be a large bedroom and held the door for the others to come through.

"This is Amyot's room," Jean explained when they were all through the door. "I'll take you to the infirmary now. You'll have everything you need to take care of d'Artagnan."

Athos nodded appreciatively and the group followed the man out into the hallway beyond. Within minutes they were at the makeshift infirmary and Aramis was pleasantly surprised to see that there were indeed plenty of supplies to handle all of d'Artagnan's injuries.

"There, on the first bed," Aramis instructed.

Porthos nodded and carried his friend to bed Aramis had indicated while Athos walked ahead to pull the blankets and sheet back. Together, the two musketeers set the young man on the edge of the bed and held him upright while Aramis removed his boots and breeches, leaving him in just his braies. When he was ready to be laid down, they pulled Porthos' cloak away and eased him down, Athos lifting his feet and helping to maneuver him until he was lying straight on the bed. Aramis left the Gascon in his friend's capable hands and turned to Jean. "I'll need hot water and wine to clean his wounds," he instructed. Jean nodded his head and made for the door, stopping and turning when Aramis called after him. "If you see our fellow musketeers, tell them what has happened and let them know where we are," he said.

"What if they attack me?" Jean asked fearfully.

"They may try, but if you are unarmed they will not hurt you," Athos said from where he sat on the edge of d'Artagnan's bed. "Tell them that Athos sends his regards and is still the best swordsman in the regiment," he added with a smirk.

Jean looked confused at the statement, but nodded his head before rushing from the room. Aramis carried the supplies he had gathered to the bed and set them on the table next to it. "Porthos, there are clean bandages in the cupboards. Will you please bring as many as you can to me?"

Porthos nodded and did as he was asked while Aramis went to work fully examining their young friend. He first looked at the wound on his shoulder, hissing when he saw how red and inflamed it was now that he had light. "This is infected and will need to be re-opened so I can clean the infection and any dirt and particles out. Since I don't know if he's been stabbed or shot, there is no way to tell if there is still a ball in there or not. We'll have to wait until…uh…did anyone catch d'Artagnan's friend's name?"

Both Athos and Porthos shook their heads in response, drawing a sigh from the medic. "We'll have to ask when he returns, and we'll have to ask if this is a gunshot or stab wound," he said. Aramis went back to his triage of the Gascon, his fingers deftly moving over each rib. "He has cracked ribs on both sides so when I clean his back, we'll have to sit him up," he said before moving on with his examination.

He felt the length of each arm and leg, smiling when all the bones felt intact. He then examined the Gascon's shredded wrists and shook his head in dismay. "He tried hard to get free," he said when the two others looked at the young man's wrists.

"Whelp went through hell," Porthos muttered, his eyes glistening as he stared down into d'Artagnan's lax face.

"Stop, Porthos. This wasn't your fault," Athos drawled.

Porthos looked at his friend in dismay. "Sure feels like it is," he said.

"No one's fault," a weak voice croaked and all eyes turned toward the young man in the bed.

"d'Artagnan," Athos breathed out as he immediately took the young man's hand in his own.

"'m sorry," d'Artagnan whispered, his half open eyes looking up into the worried, yet relieved faces of his friends.

"What do you 'ave to be sorry, for, whelp?" Porthos asked.

"I thought you had forsaken me," the Gascon said, his voice barely audible. "I was wrong to think that."

Aramis smiled as he lifted d'Artagnan's other hand and held it tightly. "We would never forsake our brother," he said with a fond smile.

Tears filled d'Artagnan's eyes, one spilling over to trail lazily down his temple. "Brother," he whispered, a slight smile curling his lips. His eyes closed once again and the three men looked at each other, each with their own tears to hold back. Athos looked down at their youngest and brushed the hair from his eyes.

"Sleep, brother…we're here now," he whispered.

Yay...no cliffy! And the boys have been reunited! Double yay! Now, what should we do with Amyot? I haven't yet decided if he will die now, or answer to Louis first. Hmmm...

Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you'll let me know what you thought of this chapter. Take care all :)

Cindy