New chapter! It gets pretty angsty, so enjoy!

-M

As Aramis woke up, the sounds of men screaming filled his ears. His eyes snapped open, and almost instantly, a coughing fit took ahold of him.

"Easy there, 'Mis," a familiar, gentle voice said. "You're alright."

"Those men," Aramis muttered. "They're … dead?"

Looking around, he saw that he was surrounded by beds with soldiers on them, all of them coughing and moaning. On his right, Constance was laying on another bed, asleep. D'Artagnan was sitting on a chair next to her, his wife's hands in his own.

"Not many of them survived," he heard Porthos replied. "You, Constance, and a few others were the lucky ones."

"A-Aramis?"

The marksman's eyes fell back on Constance who was just beginning to wake up. Without thinking, he stood up and limped to her bed, not paying attention to Porthos yelling at him to continue resting.

"I'm here, Constance," he said softly, trying hard not to pay attention to his wounds. "I'm alright."

"He most certainly isn't," Porthos said, rather angrily. "The physician told us that you received a third degree burn from a large piece of wood that fell on you while you were in there. If it gets infected, you could die. You have to rest, Aramis. We cannot lose you."

"As one of the only medics in here, I must do something to help," replied Aramis. "I will take it as easy as I can, but no promises. I will not have the deaths of all these poor men at my hands. I already blame myself for not being able to save all of them."

He and Porthos fell silent, their gazes locked. Aramis saw this anger in the bigger man's eyes, and he really couldn't understand why it was there in the first place.

But soon enough, Porthos' gaze softened and tears began to form in his eyes instead. Suddenly, he pulled Aramis to him, wrapping one arm around his waist and placing the other on his head.

"I just don't wanna lose you, Aramis," he said quietly. "I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me, Porthos," said Aramis. "I promise you. I said the same thing to you last night and I'm right here. I will be just fine."

When the two of them pulled away, Aramis left to go find the medical supplies he might need.

He visited every man in each bead for the rest of the day. He performs minor surgeries, and even helped the physician do some of the harder ones, despite the man's wishes.

But even with all of his hard work, two of these poor, young soldiers died, unable to handle the burns they received, or the remaining fire in their lungs.

When the second one stopped breathing, Aramis' eyes widened, and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I couldn't save you."

"You did everything you could," said Constance, who had been helping him with his patient. "There was nothing more you could have done." Knowing that he needed it, she pulled Aramis into a gentle hug, sighing when he returned it. "You are doing way more than your body can handle, Aramis," she said after a couple minutes, when she felt Aramis begin to tremble with fatigue. "How about you rest for an hour? The physician will be fine without your help."

Aramis shook his head as he pulled back from her. "I have to help whoever I can," he replied, his voice tired. "I have to-"

He was cut off when a scream erupted.

Aramis immediately dashed to the patient, despite his wound, and began treating the cadet that had gotten burned. As Constance listened to what was going on, she found out that the boy still had shrapnel in his body.

So the marksman was forced to take out the shrapnel. He tried hard not to pay attention to the boy's screams as he took each individual piece of shrapnel out. When he was finally finished, he took the cadet's hand and squeezed it. "You did good," he said. "You did good."

"T-thank y-you, S-s-Sir," was the broken reply.

This went on for the entire day.

Aramis constantly busied himself in trying to help another, but didn't even pay attention to himself. It was only when he almost collapse did he realize that something was wrong.

"You have a fever, Aramis," said Athos as he felt his friend's sweat dampened skin. "And a nasty one at that. You need to get some rest. Maybe you can avoid the worst of it."

"I have to take care of them," Aramis said, pointing at all the beds. At this point, it was almost like an obsession to him.

"Well you won't be able to take care of them if you're dead," said Porthos. "Please, Aramis, you need to slow down. You still have an injury of your own."

After thinking about it for a second, Aramis finally nodded. "Alright," he said tiredly. "I'll get some sleep. It's nighttime anyway."

XxXxX

But that night, Aramis' fever got even worse, thanks to his burn. When the physician took a look at it, he realized that it had gotten infected.

"You will need to use this salve on the burn," he had explained to the others. "It will sting a little bit, but the most important thing is to get the infection out as quickly as possible. Do this every two hours or so."

"We will," Athos had replied.

They still didn't expect the nightmares that this fever was giving Aramis. When the first one came, it all too difficult to watch.

Constance and Porthos always sat beside him, ready to calm him down if need be.

D'Artagnan and Athos, on the other hand, had sent a letter to Her Majesty, explaining the situation. They told her that it wouldn't safe to come and visit Aramis, but promised that they would inform her of any changes.

As they came back into their 'infirmary,' they saw Constance and Porthos trying help Aramis fight through one of his viscous nightmares.

One thing that his friends all knew about Aramis, was that his nightmares were probably the worst ones out of all of them. They all blamed the Savoy Massacre for this burden.

"It's alright," Constance was saying as the two other men appeared. "Aramis, you're safe. Oh, please, wake up…?"

Porthos stood up and shook his head. "He thinks he's back in the fire," he explained. "He thinks that he can still save the men."

Suddenly, Aramis cried out, curling into himself. Sweat was steadily dripping down his face and body, seeping into his covers. His hair was completely soaked with it, covering his eyes. He was breathing heavily, his face full of pain.

Athos sighed. "This is going to be a long night."