"Athos, it's been almost two weeks. You need to wake up, now! No more sleeping, you have had enough time to rest. This isn't acceptable anymore, do you hear me?" Aramis took the unconscious man by the shoulders and gently shook him; Athos' head rolled limply back and forth on the pillow.
"I am not playing around; I am through being patient with you. What do I have to do to break through that fog in there?" Aramis began tapping the cheeks of his still-sleeping friend.
"Wake up, dammit!" Aramis shook Athos by the shoulders, rougher this time.
Porthos and d'Artagnan were on their feet, rushing to remove Aramis from Athos' bedside.
"What are you doing, 'Mis?" Porthos yelled as he pulled Aramis away.
"What is the matter with you?" d'Artagnan asked, shocked that Aramis would behave in such a way.
"Athos is in there. . . he is in there somewhere and maybe he can hear us. If he can hear us, then he needs to know that we want him back!" Aramis yelled toward the bed.
"'Mis, I have never seen you act like this wit' a patient before." Porthos panted hard after wrestling with Aramis. "Wha' has gotten into you?"
"He needs to fight his way back to us rather than settling in the darkness where it's more comfortable, Porthos. He needs to be the fighter that Iknow Athos is! He has to fight this coma holding him hostage."
"Aramis, the doctor said there is nothing we can do to wake him but that he would come around in his own good time," d'Artagnan retorted.
"Time is exactly what Athos does not have anymore, d'Artagnan. The longer he is unconscious, the more the coma wins and we may never get Athos back."
The Next Morning:
"You pull another stunt like you did yesterday, 'Mis," Porthos threatened. "You won't like it."
"No, you see, I disagree with you, Porthos," Aramis protested. "I think what Athos has been missing is rough tactile stimulation."
"What?" Porthos' brow crinkled in confusion.
"Tactile stimulation—touch!" Aramis took Porthos' hand and smacked it hard; the large Musketeer pulled his away with a deep growl. "You felt that, right? I got a reaction from you—it made you angry."
"Yeah, and if you hit me again. . ." Porthos' tone conveyed a threat.
"Each of us past have been injured badly enough that we have welcomed unconsciousness, am I right?" Aramis waited, hoping his brothers would be honest.
"Yes," Porthos and d'Artagnan answered together.
"Good, because I know I have." Aramis nodded to his friends. "Why do we do this, you ask? Because we feel no pain; the darkness is a retreat, it's comfortable and safe. Athos feels safe where he is. His body was in so much pain that it simply shut down. He needed to rest—I understand that—but the longer his body remains in a state of rest, the harder it will be for him to come out of it."
"But what about what Doctor Molyneux said, that there was no way to wake him?" d'Artagnan asked.
"I know Molyneux is right, in most cases, but not this time. When we sit by Athos' bedside talking to him and holding his hand, he feels comfortable; he expects it. What he won't expect is us getting rough with him, just enough to shock him a little. If we shock him, we might penetrate his darkness and get him to turn from the edge and come back to us. If we do nothing, Athos may go over that edge—and we've lost him for good."
"Aramis, I'm not sure I follow you," d'Artagnan stated, shaking his head. "However, I am sure that what you are saying is not medically sound."
"No, it certainly isn't medically sound," Aramis huffed in agreement. "But this time, I'm not talking as a medic; I am talking as a soldier. Athos always tells us to go with our gut instinct and never doubt it, right?"
"Yeah, sometimes 'at's all a soldier has," Porthos nodded. "Always follow what your gut is tellin' ya."
"Right, Athos is always telling me that." D'Artagnan looked to Aramis and nodded.
"He's right, and my gut is telling me that we need to dig down through the deep layers of his consciousness and pull Athos out—forcibly if we have to."
"By hitting him?" d'Artagnan asked, grimacing.
"No, not like that. . . I mean. . . dammit, I don't know!" Aramis raked both hands through his hair with a frustrated growl.
"'Mis, what are you sayin'?"
"Porthos, I know he can hear us. I don't know how he can hear us but I know he can. Athos has to want to come back to us. He needs to hear urgency in our voices; we need to give him a reason to come back. The physical stimulation—the smacking of his cheeks, or shaking his shoulders—might be what it will finally take to get his attention. Athos needs us to do more than just hold his hand."
~§~
A soft knock on the door, followed by Captain Tréville's head poking into the room, interrupted the boy's talk about how to break through Athos' coma.
"May I come in?" Captain Tréville asked, stepping through the doorway. "I came to check on you boys and see how Athos is doing."
"Still no change, Captain," Aramis sighed.
"I've officially reported the regiment to the king as recovering, as most everyone is recovering or has already recovered. I have opened the garrison gates so that the men may go check on their families."
"That's great news, Captain!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "With your permission, Sir, I'd like to go check on Constance and see if she's okay?"
"Yes, of course, d'Artagnan, go on." The young Gascon rushed from the room, leaving everyone smiling.
"How long will Athos remain unconscious?" Tréville inquired of the man lying motionless on the bed.
"There's no way to know, Captain," Aramis answered sadly.
"Well, it may be time to admit Athos to the infirmary and put you all back on duty," Tréville deadpanned. "There is no point to my best Musketeers being off-duty to sit watching Athos lie unconscious. It's been almost two weeks, Aramis and Porthos. . ."
"Don't you think I know that?" Aramis snapped, jumping to his feet to face the captain.
Porthos quickly stood between Aramis and the captain, forcing some distance between the two. "Easy, 'Mis," Porthos warned quietly.
"I need you back on duty," Captain Tréville stated. "Listen, I'll give you a few more days," he relented with a sigh. "If Athos hasn't woken by then, he goes to the infirmary and you are back on duty. It's time we start putting this broken regiment back together again."
"Cap'n?" Porthos asked softly. "How many? How many dead brothers are there?"
The captain sighed heavily and hung his head. "We have nine dead Musketeers, plus Doctor Senne—who succumbed to the illness just the other day."
"Oh merciful God. . ." Aramis wavered on his feet then fell into the chair beside the bed. "Nine brothers?"
"Bloody hell!" Porthos growled. The large Musketeer sat down in a daze on the edge of Athos' bed.
"Do what you have to for Athos, gentlemen," Tréville said softly. "Try to waken him, if you can, but just get him well. This Musketeer regiment needs him," the captain nodded and left the room.
Next Day:
"Athos, dammit, you need to wake up! You are neglecting your duty as a soldier!" d'Artagnan yelled. The Gascon later turned around to face Aramis, shaking his head as he felt terribly uncomfortable. "Aramis, I can't do this; it doesn't feel natural. I would never talk to Athos like this!"
"I know that, d'Artagnan; and Athos knows it too. God have mercy, if you ever spoke to Athos like that. . . well, we won't go there. Remember what I was saying about shocking him? This is exactly what I mean. You're doing good, little brother, keep it up," Aramis snickered.
"Why do I have to be the one to talk to him like this?" d'Artagnan asked with dismay. "Porthos would be better at this than me; he does 'angry' very well."
"You really want to go there, whelp?" Porthos growled.
D'Artagnan grimaced then swallowed hard as he shook his head.
"I though' not." Porthos approached the bed and paused there. He leaned over then took Athos by the shoulders and shook the comatose Musketeer roughly. "Wake up, damn you!"
Athos continued to lie still, his shirt now tousled from the rough handling, but otherwise unaware.
"I'm with our little brother, 'Mis." Porthos shook his head, frowning. "I can't do this to Athos; it don't feel right."
Aramis slumped in his chair and sighed. "I know. . . but I don't know what else to do, Porthos. It's all been for nothing—the conversations, holding his hand, wiping his brow—all for nothing! There is not a damn thing that I can to do to help him."
"You're wrong, 'Mis," Porthos corrected. "It hasn't been for nothin'. You said earlier that Athos can hear us and I believe you. If you give up on him now, if Athos hears the defeat in your voice, then he may give up also and our battle for him is lost—the coma wins."
"Where did the hope go of which you spoke about just a while back, huh?" D'Artagnan's eyes filled with tears.
"Hope died a long time ago." Aramis growled as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Next Day:
Aramis picked up Athos' head. He cupped his hands around his friend's cheeks, with his long fingers curling around the neck. "Remember what I said about my dream, Athos? Remember when I said I was so afraid we were going to lose you; that every gasp of breath you took might be your last?"
"I thought I was living my nightmare when you were sick. I was afraid that at any minute I was going to lose you. . . and we damn near did," his voice cracked.
"Don't do this, 'Mis." Porthos placed a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder. "Athos wouldn't want you to give up on him like this. He needs you to be strong; he's depending on you."
"No, I depend on Athos," Aramis corrected. "Maybe my earlier hope in waking him was actually misdirected desperation. I'm so afraid of losing him that I can't think straight."
"We are all afraid of losing him, Aramis. What kind of talk is this, anyway?" d'Artagnan huffed in disbelief. "Why are we talking like Athos is already a lost cause? The doctor said to just give it time, so I'm not giving up hope just yet!"
Aramis sighed and let his shoulders droop. "Athos, we depend on you—we need you. You are the stability and the bedrock our brotherhood leans on. Without you, we fall apart. I remember distinctly what happened after you. . . after you. . . God, I can't do this."
Aramis let Athos' head drop to the pillow as he collapsed over his friend's chest and cried into his neck. The medic was so worn and distraught—so broken—his intense sobs shook Aramis' entire frame.
"Aramis, please don't cry." D'Artagnan choked back tears as he reached for Aramis' shoulder.
"This isn't helping Athos—or us—any." Porthos muttered to himself, wiping his tears away with the palms of his hands.
"Plesssse do'. . . cry. No. . . te'rrsss. . ."
Aramis stopped mid-sob, holding his breath and not making a sound. He sat up quickly to look at Athos' face. "Am I hearing things?"
"No, I heard it too!" D'Artagnan yelled with excitement, his eyes wide.
"I heard it too, 'Mis!" Porthos smiled.
A tear squeezed its way from both eyes and rolled down Athos' temples, disappearing into his hair.
"Look, Aramis!" D'Artagnan jumped up from his chair.
"Athos?" Aramis rose from his chair to sit on the bed beside Athos. "My God, Athos! Are you awake?"
"No. . . m-more. . . cr. . . cry. . ." Athos went lax as he fell back to sleep.
"It's okay, shh. . . don't try to talk. You go ahead and sleep. Rest, we'll be here when you wake up." Aramis ran his fingers softly through Athos' hair before letting his hand rest on his friend's shoulder.
"Um, didn't you say earlier that Athos had slept long enough, Aramis? A few minutes ago, you wanted him to wake up; now you're telling him to go to sleep!" D'Artagnan laughed.
Aramis stood from the bed and grabbed his two brothers, pulling them together into a tight hug. The three brother Musketeers stood arm-in-arm—clinging to each other—laughing and crying together tears of joy and overwhelming relief.
Hours Later:
The three brothers sat by Athos' bedside, waiting for him to wake up again. No one spoke a word, each was lost in their own personal thoughts.
It was d'Artagnan who broke the silence.
"Aramis, are you sure he came out of the coma? Can a patient slip back into a coma after waking?" d'Artagnan asked, giving voice to his worries.
"Yes, he came out of the coma, but Athos is not suddenly going to be alert. His body needs time to adjust; he's been through a terrible ordeal. He needs time to become fully conscious, d'Artagnan."
"You know, 'Mis, there is one thing I'll be real glad 'bout when Athos is better?" Porthos grinned.
"What's that, Porthos?" Aramis asked absently, still watching Athos closely.
"I'll be glad when you're back to your normal self," Porthos grinned. "Righ' now, you sound too much like some kinda philosopher or somethin'."
A slight snicker was heard coming from Athos, causing all eyes to turn toward the bed.
"Athos? Come on, wake up! You certainly have been sleeping long enough now." Aramis tapped his friend's cheeks lightly to rouse him.
"In other words, it's about bloody time you woke up from your damn nap!" Porthos growled.
D'Artagnan's eyes grew wide as he looked quickly to Athos for his reaction.
The corners of Athos' mouth curled up with the hint of a smile.
"Come on, Athos, open your eyes now." Aramis tapped on his cheeks a little harder.
Athos turned his head away from the taps, moaning softly. His eyes remained closed.
"Athos, wake the hell up, dammit! We're tired of playing games now." D'Artagnan boldly asserted.
Porthos had to stifle a laugh as he clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder. "That's the way, pup."
Athos peeled his eyes open, only to let them slide closed again.
"Oh no, you don't! You're not getting away with that, Athos. What kind of Musketeer are you? You taught me that we never do anything halfway. You taught me to put my whole effort into the task at hand—or don't bother at all. Open your eyes, dammit, Athos!" D'Artagnan ordered his mentor.
As if following orders, Athos peeled his eyes open. His dull and tired eyes were unseeing, unfocused. He blinked several times, trying to clear his blurry vision. The Musketeer lieutenant scrunched his eyes closed then blinked again and again, until he could finally see. He turned his head to look at his three brothers watching him. "Wha' hapn'd. . .?"
"You were sleeping for a while, Athos. You were very sick, my friend, but it looks like you're going to be okay." Aramis leaned over and kissed his brother on the forehead, squeezing his hand gently.
D'Artagnan stepped over and planted a kiss on Athos' forehead. "I'm so glad to have you back, big brother." The Gascon gently squeezed his shoulder then moved to the side to give Porthos room.
Porthos moved forward to softly kiss the top of Athos' head. He placed his hand on the spot where he had kissed and left it resting there, gently stroking his hair. "Welcome back, brother. . . welcome back."