This isn't much, but I couldn't get past them being blown up and then immediately being just fine. So… not so fine, but determined.

Episode 3: Brothers in Arms

The Big Bang

Porthos took a deep breath as he came back to his senses, coughing as the thick smoke filled his lungs. He blinked hard, his eyes burning. Slowly his memory caught up and he remembered the flash that had gone off directly in front of them, the ear-splitting boom of the explosion drowning all sound, throwing him back against something too soft to be the brick wall or wooden steps they had just descended.

Breathing shallowly, he realized he was lying on the ground, dirt and rocks pressing into his cheek. His ears rang in the aftermath of the blast, his head feeling as if it would roll off his shoulders at any moment.

"Aramis?" He opened his eyes, but the smoke and dust were too thick to see through. His friend had been right beside him when they'd come down the stairs and Porthos moved his arms, searching the ground around him for a sign.

"Porthos?"

The big man recognized d'Artagnan's voice despite the choked off cough and pushed himself from his prone position, balancing on his hands and knees as his lungs forcefully expelled the smoke he'd taken in.

"D'Artagnan?" he rasped out. "You all right?"

"Think so," the Gascon replied, his voice scratchy, harsh, his breath wheezing in the thick air. "You?"

Porthos grunted. "Fine. Treville?"

"Here." The Minister's voice was rough, but Porthos could hear the man shifting behind him, suddenly realizing what he'd landed on when the explosion had blown him off his feet. Despite having a very large Musketeer land on top of him, Treville was moving and Porthos knew that if he was able to get to his feet on his own, he was more than likely still in one piece.

"Aramis?" Porthos called again, coughing against his fist as he squinted through the haze. "Aramis?"

The sound of falling timber and rocks met his call, the smoke an eerie heaviness in the silence.

"Here!"

Porthos shuffled toward the sound of d'Artagnan's voice, waving his hand back and forth in an attempt to dispel the thick smoke in front of his face. As he drew near, he could make out the Gascon's form hovering over Aramis, lying silent and still on the ground.

"He all right?"

Porthos dropped to his butt beside his friend, shaking his head to clear the high-pitched whine from his ears.

"He's breathing," d'Artagnan sighed in relief, placing a hand on the marksman's chest. "And his heart's beating."

"Any blood?"

d'Artagnan bent closer, running a hand across and around Aramis' head. "There's a bump on the back of his skull, but it's not bad. I think he's just stunned."

"Things explodin' in your face'll do that," Porthos remarked.

The smoke was drifting up and out, light beginning to seep into the small area just below the stairwell. D'Artagnan shifted forward and slapped a hand gently on Aramis' cheek, eliciting a moan from the unconscious musketeer.

"That's it, Aramis. Time to wake up."

"What –" Aramis took a breath as he woke, gasping and coughing violently. The marksman rolled to his side, trying to breathe in the thick air and d'Artagnan helped him to a sitting position, leaning him back against the brick wall behind him. "What… happened?" He spoke like his throat was filled with gravel, heaving coughs choking him after each word.

Running a hand over his friend's dusty hair, Porthos climbed to his feet, his arm shifting to the wall the marksman leaned against for balance as he swayed. The smoke was thicker above, and he fanned his hand again to push it away, watching it disperse enough to see through the gloom.

"Someone was waiting for us," Treville presumed. The Minister limped over to them, leaning on the wall just beside Aramis. His face was streaked with dirt, his hair and fine clothes a mess, but he looked unhurt, protected from the force of the blast by the bulk of Porthos' and Aramis' bodies in front of him.

"Kristoff?" d'Artagnan asked, the old soldier an obvious choice. He scuttled up the wall, attempting to brush the dirt from his doublet.

"Nah," Porthos shook his head, closing his eyes against the dizziness it elicited. "He could've just shot us. He'd no reason to blow us up."

"Then who?" d'Artagnan asked the question that was on all their minds.

"Doesn't matter," Treville responded, pushing himself upright and shuffling toward the destruction of the passageway. Though relatively steady, the Minister kept one hand on the railing of the staircase to help with his balance. The smoke had cleared enough to see through to the opening they had been heading to, now completely collapsed and unbreachable. "We won't get out this way," he stated. "We'll have to go back up and out the front."

There was still shooting coming from outside the building and none of them relished walking back through the upstairs room knowing they would be exposed but seeing little alternative.

With three of them back on their feet, Porthos leaned down and offered an arm to Aramis, who was still coughing, but seemed more aware now that they'd managed to assess the situation. With d'Artagnan helping on the other side, they levered the marksman up, holding tightly until they were sure his legs would take his weight.

"You sure you're all right?" Porthos asked, ducking down to get a good look at his friend's eyes.

Though clearly in pain, Aramis grinned, the dirt on his face making his teeth and the whites of his eyes shine brightly in the gloom. "I've had worse."

Porthos chuckled. "Yeah, you have."

With a slap on his friend's back, they started up the stairs, climbing out of the haze directly into the pistol sights of Kristoff and his soldiers.

Fin