A/N: Same warnings as last time, except for the massacre, I think.
Porthos and Athos curse loudly when they realize what is happening with Aramis. He's gone before they have a chance to stop him and in the crowds of people, tracking him is difficult. They follow the wake of angry people and stopped cars, hoping they can get to Aramis before anything can happen to him. On his own, he's not a danger to anyone in the middle of a flashback and panic attack. But someone might run across him unaware of what's going on. From the average person to medical professions, over the past year they've run across far too many who don't have enough knowledge to understand how to work with Aramis and jump to hasty conclusions about his worth or his mental state.
The path Aramis takes is random to them. They don't have sight of him yet and unfortunately, the areas are still busy with pedestrians, leaving them a path of annoyed walkers to follow. When the sidewalks empty out, the further south Aramis takes them, they have to make some guesses about where he might've gone. A couple times, strangers point them in the right direction. They find his jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves at various spots on the way, letting them know that they're on the right track.
It's an hour before they track Aramis down to an alleyway. At first, they miss him in the dirty alley, but just as they're passing Porthos spots Aramis' familiar blue sweatshirt, which he'd worn under his jacket. As they get closer, they see he's huddled in a heap of trash, legs bent at the knees, head pulled down and hands, arms wrapped around it tightly. He's making some noise but whether it's mutterings in languages they hardly know or a heart-wrenching keening, they can't tell.
"You think he's alert," Porthos asks. They're still several feet away and Aramis has yet to notice them. In his current state, they don't expect recognition. Right now, Aramis will see them as a danger and they can only hope that he won't bolt again or fight them when they approach.
"I doubt it," Athos says. "We would've been met with an angry look by now." He takes in the familiar features of Aramis in a panic attack and the aftermath: harsh breathing, rocking, crouched down, muttering.
"He must've had some flashbacks too if he started shedding his clothing," Porthos says, keeping a clear eye on Aramis. If the young man is going to bolt, he wants to be near to catch him. Porthos doubts they'll find him a second time in the city.
"Yeah, unfortunately, he's going to catch a cold again if he stays like that for much longer." Aramis is already shivering despite his just getting through an attack.
"Let's get a jacket on him, at the very least." Porthos moves to take off his jacket, taking a step forward.
"Wait." Athos puts a hand up. "It should probably be me." Athos gives Porthos an apologetic look.
"No, you're right. On his bad days, he has a greater tendency to recognize you than me." It hurts that Aramis is like this, considering he stayed with Porthos for a couple months before they moved into Athos' house. He's spent just as much time with the young man as Athos, yet he always reacts better to Athos' touch in the midst of an episode.
He sees Athos taking off his jacket and making a careful approach, doing his best not to upset Aramis.
"Athos," Porthos begins, "be careful." It's not that he doesn't trust Aramis. He's been combative and lashed out at them on occasion, though it's been a while. But given this unusual situation, Porthos can't help but give a word of caution.
Athos nods and continues forward. He's speaking calmly to Aramis, working to reassure him that he's okay and that he can trust him. He just about is close enough to lay the jacket over Aramis when the young man lunges forward, landing a solid punch to the side of his face that sends him reeling back. Porthos half catches Athos, repositioning him gently so that he's leaning against Porthos, half bent at the waist as he deals with the sudden throbbing on the left side of his face. He has a hand held over the area as though it might help with something. He's not sure yet if it's just a bruise or if Aramis managed to cut him or break a bone. It was a hell of a punch and unexpected from him.
"How's your cheek," Porthos asks. He tries to get a glimpse beneath Athos' hand, but it's hidden. "Or did he get your eye? I couldn't tell."
"Ugh," Athos exhales loudly, not caring what it might do to Aramis. He doesn't want to be mad, but it hurts and it was unprovoked. He was just trying to help.
"Athos," Porthos asks concerned.
"It's fine, I think. I don't know. It's not that I can't take a punch, but…" Speaking is strange and difficult with the throbbing.
"You didn't expect it, least of all from him."
"Yeah."
"Pull your hand away and let me get a look at what he did."
"It wasn't his fault."
"And it wasn't yours either. Fact is though, he punched you and I can guarantee that as bad as you feel now, he's going to feel just as bad thanks to this."
"I know. I don't think he did anything serious," Athos says, pulling his hand away. Porthos takes a few moments to examine the side of his face.
"Probably a black eye and a bruise. Does it hurt to move your jaw?"
"Sore, but not painful."
"Good. He didn't break the bone there. And it looks like your nose is fine too. You're not going to look too pretty tonight, though."
"I don't imagine so." Athos lightly prods the area, testing out the pain level and injuries for himself. "What're we doing with him?" He gestures absently in Aramis' direction. The young man has resumed his former position and is back to shaking, shivering, and muttering.
"Wait him out, I guess. Unless you think we should call Treville."
"No, I don't want to disturb him unless it's absolutely necessary. And Aramis won't thank us much if we get him out here today," Athos says.
"Damn what Aramis thinks. If we need Treville, then we'll call him."
"But we don't right now. Let's give him a bit longer to settle out."
"Alright." Porthos is reluctant to agree but willing to defer to Athos. He knows that Athos understands the young man better than he does. While Porthos soon warmed up to the man, quickly finding the innate desire to protect him, Aramis didn't easily reciprocate. Moving in with him was a matter of necessity, not want, though it did help the young man to learn to trust him more. Still, even Porthos has to admit that when it comes to the really bad situations, he's out of his depth. There were a number of times when he and Aramis lived together that he did have to call Athos or Treville for guidance.
To occupy himself, Porthos digs around in the trash in the alleyway to find a couple of wooden crates that look reasonably clean. He holds one up to Athos, who's been leaning against a dumpster watching Aramis. The other man gives a shoulder shrug and takes the crate. They're careful not to sit too close to Aramis but keep close enough to hear if anything changes and to protect him if need be.
"'thos? P'thos?" Aramis' scratchy voice is so low that they barely hear it nearly an hour later, just when they are considering calling in Treville.
"Aramis?" Athos restrains himself from moving forward just yet, still feeling the aftermath of his last encounter with Aramis.
"Where?" He's looking around frantically, trying to process his surroundings.
"Calm down, 'Mis. We're here with you. It's me and Porthos. We're just down an alley, safe and sound."
"It's 2012," Porthos adds. "It's December. You're in Chicago."
"2012? Alley?" There's still a panic, confused tone to Aramis' words. "Time. Time to go eat."
"'Mis?"
"Soup kitchen. Where's the soup kitchen? Have to be there in line or won't get any. Have to be early to miss the others." Aramis tries to stand, but the cold has left his joints stiff and he collapses back down in a heap. "Don't want to miss eating again."
"He thinks he's on the streets still," Porthos says. Aramis has only told them snippets of his some six months on the streets but from what Porthos has gathered, it wasn't just the mental illnesses that were hard on Aramis.
"You're safe, 'Mis," Athos says. "You live with us, in a big house that I had no idea at the time why I bought but works perfectly for us now."
"No. Need to go. Can't miss. Days since last time."
"He's not going to listen to us, Athos," Porthos says.
"I know." Athos sighs. He looks at Aramis, who's still trying, rather unsuccessfully, to get up. "Maybe we go along with him?"
"And take him where?"
"I think there's a park nearby. We can take him there and maybe the change of surroundings will shake him out of this."
"Alright." Porthos sighs. "You still want to go eat, 'Mis." He turns back to Aramis.
"Have to," Aramis says, looking out past them.
"We'll help you get there."
"Really? No one ever has." He gives Porthos a surprised look that has Porthos wanting to find everyone who ever hurt Aramis when he was homeless.
"We're going to," Athos says. "Here, we'll help you up." He and Porthos put out their hands, waiting for Aramis to make the next move. There's some hesitation from Aramis, but he eventually puts his hands out for them. Although they get him to his feet slowly, he still sways. Once he's steady, he makes to move again.
"Hold up, Aramis. You're not steady enough to walk on your own."
"'m fine," Aramis mutters just when his knees bend. Fortunately, Porthos is right there to wrap his arms around his waist and keep him upright.
"You don't want to faceplant, now do you," Porthos says, keeping his voice light.
"No. No," Aramis mumbles.
"Hey," a voice at the end of the alley calls out. "You guys need help?" It's a middle-aged man and he's already making his way down the alley. Porthos can feel Aramis tense in his arms at the noise.
"No, we're fine," Porthos says, trying to keep his voice even for Aramis' sake.
"Doesn't look like it." The man pauses and looks them over. They feel the scrutiny and judgment. "Maybe I should call the police."
"We are the police," Athos says, stepping forward, hands out to placate the man, who has his cell phone in hand already.
"You don't look like it."
"We're Musketeers. We stumbled across this man while we were out on a case and we're getting him some help." Athos works to keep his tone even as he lies. He reaches in his pocket for his badge, which he's glad he always carries. He holds it out to show the man, who takes longer than Athos likes to examine the badge.
"I guess it's fine," the man mutters.
"We thank you for your concern, but we do have the situation under control. We're trained for things like this."
The man looks at them again, lingering doubt clear in his eyes, but he doesn't say anything more before walking away. Porthos and Athos wait until he's out of sight to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Good job, Athos," Porthos says with a grim smile.
"Yeah." Athos sighs, turning back to Porthos and Aramis. Time to get back to the task at hand. "Let's get him to the park."
Porthos nods. "You still with us, 'Mis?"
"Alley. Soup kitchen. Have to eat."
"That's it. Let's get you to that soup kitchen."
The walk is slow and it takes continual prodding from Porthos and Athos to keep Aramis moving and focused. He, fortunately, doesn't question where they're going. For Porthos, it's enough to convince him that Aramis isn't really alert yet, still caught in a haze of his flashback. They encounter few other people on the walk to the park and those who they do run into, veer a few feet away from them, some staring in the other direction, others openly gawking to the point that Porthos wants to yell at them to either offer help or pretend not to notice like everyone else.
Aramis is oblivious to it all, still mumbling about needing to get to the soup kitchen to eat. The desperation and worry in his tone cuts at Porthos and makes him want to find this soup kitchen to find out what happened. How ever they treated Aramis, it wasn't right or fair, that much he knows. The thought makes him hold onto Aramis a little tighter.
When the worn-down gray and red buildings give way finally to the park, Porthos thinks he's never been more glad to see brown grass and bare trees. They guide Aramis to a secluded area of the small park where there's a wooden bench surrounded by a few bare trees. They're still within sight but are out of the way of most of the foot traffic that might come through.
"Have a seat, 'Mis," Porthos says.
"Where's the kitchen? This isn't the kitchen. I need to go." Aramis tries to move away from them, but they each grab a hold of him, immediately trying to calm him so they don't draw attention again.
"There's no soup kitchen you need to go to," Athos says. "If you're hungry, we have snacks with us." Athos is worried that they might have to call Lemay or, worse, take Aramis to the ER. He's been in a disoriented state for a while in the past, but it's been a few months and he's never had this much interaction and still remained in it.
"Are you hungry, 'Mis," Porthos asks.
Aramis nods, not looking at either of them. Porthos searches through his backpack to find Aramis' favorite snack, goldfish crackers. He pops the lid off the container and holds them out to Aramis.
"Have some goldfish crackers," Porthos says. When Aramis doesn't reach into the container, Porthos pulls out a few and puts them in Aramis' hand. "Here, try a couple." He taps underneath Aramis' hand, exchanging a worried look with Athos. It takes a moment or two, but Aramis does finally eat the crackers in his hand and then reaches for more from the container, eating one after another quickly.
"Slow down," Athos says. "They're not going anywhere."
Aramis slows. Then, about halfway through eating, he stops.
"Where am I?" Aramis' voice is the clearest it's been in a couple hours though there's still the undercurrent of confusion.
I just thought I'd stick something down here about some new writing I'm doing over on Tumblr. It's some original fiction for a Whumpmas challenge. It's also lady whump, which is rather new for me. If you're interested, you can find me under the same name there as here. (I can't guarantee it, but chances are if you run across this screenname somewhere, it's me.)