Porthos was quick to grab d'Artagnan as he wilted with a whimper of pain. The young Musketeer was panting, his eyes screwed shut.

'What-'

Porthos was confused, d'Artagnan had been fine a few seconds ago. They were all a little the worse for wear. The thugs that were holding them had not been gentle. He knew that Aramis had been on the receiving end of a kick to the ankle leaving him limping slightly. Athos had a bruise blossoming on his cheek. And Porthos was sure he would suffer in the days to come from the over-the-top twisting of his arm behind his back when they had been grabbed.

But up to that point, d'Artagnan had shown no signs of being injured. He walked normally and reacted quickly enough to the thugs' demands. Until they disappeared.

The words of the leader of the thugs echoed in Porthos' mind.

'You're lucky none of you are badly injured. My boss don't want damaged goods.'

Porthos supported d'Artagnan as he wilted, his head lolling forward.

'D'Artagnan?'

Aramis indicated for Porthos to lower his unwelcome burden to the ground. Athos moved to the barred doorway and peered along the corridor, glancing back occasionally with concern.

'Where are you hurt?' Aramis was trying to push d'Artagnan's hands away as he searched for an injury.

'... side,' was all the injured man could say.

Porthos adjusted his hold on d'Artagnan, twisting around to sit behind him and support his head on his knees. Aramis unbuckled d'Artagnan's weapons belts and doublet, pushing the leather aside. He made a disapproving noise. Porthos leaned over a little to see the injury.

D'Artagnan's shirt was stained with blood. The fabric was ripped revealing the injury. Porthos glanced at the leather of d'Artagnan's doublet, he spotted the two holes. The ball from a gun had hit d'Artagnan, grazing his side, and leaving a deep furrow. An uncomfortable injury which would impede d'Artagnan's ability to move.

But more importantly, at that moment, might lead to his death, not from the injury, but at the hands of the thugs.

'Get it covered before they come back,' said Athos. 'You heard what they said.'

'Sorry,' mumbled d'Artagnan.

'Shh,' said Aramis as he pulled the injured man's shirt loose so that he could get a proper look at the injury. 'It's not deep, just deep enough.'

Aramis paused, looking around their current place of incarceration. The cellar room had been converted into a strong room. The barred door was not for keeping people in, but rather to keep people out. Around the room were rows of hooks and shelves designed to hold weapons. No weapons remained, only dirty, dusty outlines stained the walls and shelves. Porthos knew what Aramis was looking for: something to bind the wound. There was nothing.

He started to undo his doublet and untuck his shirt.

'We cannot let them see the ripped shirts,' said Aramis as he began to do the same. 'Make sure you can still tuck the shirt in.'

Porthos nodded as he began to rip a few strips of fabric from the bottom of his shirt.

'D'Artagnan,' said Aramis, making sure he had the injured man's attention before he continued. 'I'm going to bind it a little tighter than I would normally, you won't be able to take a full breath, but it should help to stop the bleeding.'

'That's more important,' said d'Artagnan. 'Don't fight them.'

'What?' asked Porthos.

'If they see the injury, don't fight them. No point in you getting killed as well.'

'You're not getting killed,' said Porthos. ''Cos we ain't letting them know you're injured.'

D'Artagnan looked up at him for a few seconds before nodding. Porthos could see that d'Artagnan was unconvinced. Both Aramis and Athos wore the same expressions.

If d'Artagnan was forced to do anything physical their facade would quickly be found out.

Porthos supported d'Artagnan as Aramis wrapped their improvised bandages around him. D'Artagnan tried not to react to the manipulation and mumbled a few more apologies as Aramis worked. Aramis kept talking to him quietly.

Athos remained by the door, watching along the corridor. Once the dressing was tied, Aramis covered the blood-stained shirt with d'Artagnan's doublet rebuttoning all the buttons. He leaned back and looked at d'Artagnan with a critical eye.

'You'll need to keep your arm over the holes in the leather,' he said, 'if they see them, they might make you take the jacket off.'

D'Artagnan managed a nod.

They all looked around as a clanging sound reverberated around the room. Athos had straightened up.

'Get him up,' he said without glancing back. 'They cannot see him struggling to stand.'

Working together, Porthos and Aramis eased d'Artagnan up to stand before standing close beside him. D'Artagnan rested his arm over the holes in his doublet. The three remained further away from the door. Porthos was sure they looked suspicious standing so close together but, with luck, Athos would keep the men distracted.

They could only hope the men did not stay long. D'Artagnan needed to rest for a while if they were lucky enough to get some food and water that would help the injured man.

But what they wanted and what they got were not necessarily going to be the same thing.

The End.

Whumpee: D'Artagnan. Featuring: Athos, Porthos and Aramis.