Porthos was glad when their camp came into view. He did not like to admit when he was in pain. And as he would soon be relieved of his burden, he would not have to admit it.

'I know you're in pain,' said Aramis. 'Every time you have to steady me, you're breathing harder.'

Porthos lowered his head for a second before nodding.

'I'm grateful you've not complained,' said Aramis.

'I'm grateful we all got out of there in one piece,' replied Porthos as he helped his friend to hobble to the centre of their camp.

'I'd hardly call this one piece,' remarked d'Artagnan who was walking a few paces behind them.

Porthos glanced back, taking in the blood on his friend's face.

'Yeah,' he said, 'it wasn't our finest hour.'

Between them, they had collected an assortment of injuries. Their escape was frenetic and confused, Porthos did not know what each of them had contributed to the fight, but they had all paid the price in some way.

Aramis was limping after being kicked down some stairs. Porthos doubted it was just his knee that was affected, but that was the injury that led to him needing support as they hurried away.

Athos, who was walking with care, was probably suffering from a knock to the head as well as injured ribs. He had taken a beating from their captors after speaking out of turn during their questioning.

D'Artagnan initially escaped without any significant injury until he tripped over a loose stone and fell hard onto another stone leaving him with a nasty cut to the forehead. Porthos intended to tease his friend mercilessly about his fall when they were all safe.

And Porthos had been unlucky in a brief sword fight to take a wound to the back of his shoulder, which he was sure had only been made worse as he helped Aramis limp away during their escape whilst Athos and d'Artagnan concentrated on stopping their head injuries getting the better of them.

'I will deal with the fire,' said Athos as he eased himself to his knees by the remains of their campfire.

Aramis was sitting by his saddlebag, rifling through the contents of his medical bag. He was looking up occasionally at each of them. Porthos guessed he was working out what he would need to deal with each of their injuries.

He went to get to his feet but stopped himself and stared at his knee for a few moments before he shook his head and sighed.

'I'm afraid you are going to have to come to me for attention,' he said. 'If I try to put weight on that I will probably pass out.'

He pointed at his injured knee. Porthos chuckled. He took a couple of steps forward before realising d'Artagnan was staring into the distance vacantly, the blood threatening to drip into his eyes.

'Hey,' said Porthos, 'd'Artagnan.'

He guided his friend towards Aramis and eased him to the ground.

'Sorry,' said d'Artagnan, 'got a bit lost.'

'We noticed,' said Athos, 'and I thought my head injury would be the worst.'

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan's wound with a critical eye, 'it's not deep, it just looks nasty. You'll have a magnificent bruise and probably an equally magnificent headache.'

'Already have,' admitted the young Musketeer.

Aramis nodded before looking up to Porthos, 'I need water to clean the wounds.'

Porthos turned to walk to the stream that ran past their camp.

'Let me look at that cut first,' said Aramis.

Porthos sighed, he had rather hoped his injury was not bad enough to need much attention. He undid his doublet and shrugged out of it, trying not to wince as the move aggravated the wound.

A sharp intake of breath from Athos told Porthos the wound was bad.

'That is impressive,' said Athos as he continued to work on building the fire up. 'I do hope he will not need stitches.'

Porthos rolled his eyes, 'one time,' he said. 'I reacted badly one time.'

'By nearly killing me,' retorted Aramis. 'You are the only person I have ever been scared of.'

Porthos huffed out a breath, 'I did apologise.'

Aramis tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, 'I know, several times. Now come here so I can see if we'll need to tie you down to have stitches.'

Reluctantly, Porthos crouched next to Aramis who pulled the collar of his shirt away from the wound to get a proper look. He could feel Aramis gently touching his shoulder.

'It probably should be stitched, but I think we can get away with a dressing and a sling, but you must keep the arm still.'

Porthos nodded with relief, he was aware of Athos letting out a relieved sigh as well.

'What about you?' said Athos, his question aimed at Aramis.

'What about me?'

'You are injured as well, and you cannot hide that fact.'

Aramis nodded before shifting slightly so that he could ease his breeches up a little. There was no obvious bruising or grazing but the injured knee was swollen.

'Cool cloths,' said Aramis. 'Not much else we can do.'

Porthos pushed himself back up to stand, 'best get some water then,' he said.

As he collected the water, he could hear Aramis interrogating Athos about his injuries.

'They were not holding back,' Athos admitted, 'I believe I have bruised ribs. My breathing is mostly fine, but it is uncomfortable.'

'Let me sort these two out and then I'll see what I can do for you.'

Athos huffed, 'a pain-killing draught perhaps?'

'Probably,' replied Aramis, 'although we could all do with one of those I think.'

'But we're not out of danger yet,' said Porthos as he handed the freshly filled waterskins to Aramis. 'My shoulder doesn't hurt and if you're not going to use me as a pin cushion it shouldn't start hurting either. I won't need your witchcraft.'

'I would like one,' said d'Artagnan, who was still staring into the distance.

Porthos thought it was a good sign that he was at least able to follow their conversation.

'Athos, would you do the honours?' asked Aramis with a nod towards the wraps of herbs that made up the draughts.

Between them, they began to deal with their injuries. Each man contributed. Even d'Artagnan made himself useful, wringing out the damp cloths for Aramis' knee. Athos mixed up the pain-killing draughts and heated them on the fire. Porthos supported d'Artagnan as Aramis cleaned the cut and wrapped a dressing around his head.

Once all the ministrations were done, they sat around the fire in silence for a few minutes. Each man no doubt replaying the escape in their mind wondering if they could have done anything differently, wondering if they could have avoided their injuries.

It was not long before d'Artagnan nodded off, Porthos leaned over and pulled the blanket that was lying over him up a little. Athos was staring at the fire, and Aramis was intermittently changing the damp cloth over his knee.

Porthos looked at his immobilised arm and frowned.

'What is the matter with you?' asked Athos.

'Other than the obvious?' said Porthos with a grand gesture to the sling supporting his injured arm and shoulder. 'I was just contemplating mounting up.'

Aramis paused as he wrung out the cloth for his knee, 'you're right,' he said. 'I don't actually think any of us will be capable of mounting up in the morning.'

Athos sighed, 'let us worry about that in the morning,' he said.

Porthos smiled, 'we'll work something out.'

Aramis shrugged, 'it's what we do.'

The End.

Whumpee(s): all four.

Author's note: And that's the end. I was not sure if I would get them all done in time. This one is probably still warm from my fevered last-minute writing.

Thank you for your comments and follows/kudos.

I have plans to expand a couple of the stories and if real life will allow, I'll get them written soon.