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Chapter Text

"It's too cold for this," Porthos complained loudly as he walked into the garrison yard. The sun had barely started to lighten the sky when the messenger from Captain Treville had awoken three of his best men from their beds, requesting their immediate presence. Although when the Captain requested one's attendance, it was safe to assume that the summons was more of an order than a suggestion.

"You're getting soft in your old age," Aramis jabbed slyly.

"Oi, I'm not much older than you, friend," Porthos growled, before a slight smiled lifted the corner of his mouth. "I must say, that's an unusually colour your hair is beginning to turn at the temple there. Not a bad look. Makes you seem wiser." Porthos had to stifle a chuckle as Aramis drew a dagger and used its blade to see his reflection, searching for the grey hairs Porthos had been hinting at.

Athos kept quiet about his friends’ antics, only rolling his eyes as the smallest trace of a smirk tugged at his lip. He had not been too pleased to have been woken as such an hour either, but the leader of the group reasoned that his captain would not have sent for the three best soldiers in the regiment at such an ungodly hour if it weren't important. The three of them, along with d'Artagnan, had just completed a particularly difficult mission, having tracked a suspected English spy to a small coastal town three days ride from Paris. They had only arrived back in the city and retired to their respective lodgings hours earlier. As the three men drew closer to Treville's office the Captain himself appeared at the door.

"Follow me," was all he said before leading the way further into the maze that was the Musketeer garrison. The three men fell silently into line behind their commanding officer, curious as to what he wanted from them, but knowing from his shut off demeanour not to question him just yet. As they turned another corner, Aramis realised where they were headed.

"Why are you leading us to the infirmary?"

Treville's steps faltered slightly as the Spaniard's query. His continued silence began to worry Athos. "Captain?" A slightly frustrated sigh was all the response he received before the head of the regiment stopped outside, as Aramis had suspected, the door of the infirmary.

"Now, I don't want you all to lose your heads at what I have to show you. Can you promise me that?" Athos didn't even bother answering his captain's question before pushing past him and into the infirmary. The sight in front of him made the man freeze in his place.

"Athos, what..." Porthos' words died on his lips as both he and Aramis also pushed past the captain and Athos to find a beaten, bruised and bleeding d'Artagnan lying on the surgeon's table, two other musketeers hurriedly trying to patch up his wounds. Aramis gave a quick glance back at Athos' stricken features before moving surging forward into his role as a medic. He hurriedly took stock of the young man's wounds while asking the musketeers already assisting him what they had found so far. Porthos was about to step forward and help the marksman in patching up their comrade when he saw Athos turn on Treville out the corner of his eye.

"What happened?" He ground out through his teeth.

"Honestly? I don't know," Treville said, holding up a hand to stop either Athos or Porthos from interrupting. "I was woken about an hour ago by one of the night guards. Apparently, our young friend here stumbled up to the gates of the garrison and collapsed. The guards brought him here before fetching me and then the three of you. A far as I'm aware he has yet to wake." Before the two men could ask any more questions, they were interrupted by Aramis' voice.

Aramis was vaguely aware of the other men talking at the door, but he only had eyes for the youngest of the group. He wasn't sure how their youngest brother had come to be in such a state but the questions of how and why could wait. Right now, he needed to put his medical knowledge to good use. Taking stock of what supplies he had around him and what the other two men tending to d'Artagnan had already done, he quickly started giving orders.

"I need warm water, this basin has gone cold," he stated after testing the liquid with his finger. "And clean bandages, and a needle and thread."

While the men bustled about completing his orders, Aramis started inspecting the Gascon’s and making a mental list of injuries. Two bleeding head wounds, can't feel any break in the skull, but a few nice sized bumps. One pupil dilated too far, most likely a concussion. Bruising to the face over right cheekbone and left side of the jaw, split lip, bruising around the throat (possibly from a strangulation attempt?). Right shoulder dislocated and right wrist sprained. Bruising appearing on left arm. Rope burns on both wrists. Three, no four broken ribs, likely more cracked and bruised. Shallow cut along left side of chest (from a sword?) will need stitches. Stab wound to abdomen. No dark blood and from its position highly unlikely any internal organs have been hit. Will also need stitches. Musket wound to left thigh. Round went straight through missing the bone (thank God for small mercies). Will need to be stitched. Left knee severely bruised and swollen. Possibly dislocated at some point but has been put back in place. Right ankle is sprained. Doesn't seem too bad but will need to be bound and rested.

Aramis' clinical observations of the situation were interrupted by a pained groan from the man lying on the table.

"d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked, his hand going to the young man's hair to try and soothe him. "d'Artagnan, can you hear me? I need you to try and open your eyes for me." Despite his ministrations to try and calm the younger man, Aramis began to worry as d'Artagnan began to struggle.

"Athos, Porthos, I need you to hold him down while I stitch these wounds and try to calm him down. If he continues to struggle he's just going to do himself further harm."

Treville and the other two musketeers in the room left quietly as the three friends all began working to heal and calm their youngest. As the captain closed the door, he couldn't help but think once those three men found out who had done harm to the youngest of their group, he would almost feel pity for the responsible party. A pained cry sounded from inside the room, interrupting his thoughts. No, the leader of the musketeers thought. I will not pity whoever did this to d'Artagnan. Whatever happens to them, they will truly deserve

Chapter Text

Pain. That was the first thing that registered in d'Artagnan's mind as he began to rise from his unconscious state. Everything hurt. He tried to remember what had happened to him but all that would come to mind were staggered images of fists and boots pounding at him from all angles. Slowly, the young man became aware of hands on him and he began to panic, fearing his assailants had returned. The boy began to thrash around, as much as his weakened state would allow, determined not to give in to his attackers.

Two hands became six as somebody gently held his legs still and another pair of hands grasped his wrists, carefully pressing them to his chest. The last pair of hands found their way to his hair, fingers running through the sweaty locks as calm words began to break through to his semi-conscious mind.

"-ok, boy, you're going to be ok. Just calm down. You are safe now." Vaguely, d'Artagnan registered somebody speaking to him. Just who the voice belonged it, his muddled mind could not comprehend. Still, he knew that it was the voice of someone he could trust and the young man took comfort in that as he drifted back into the depths of unconsciousness.

The three friends relaxed their grip on the Gascon slightly as he calmed with Athos' words and fell back into unconsciousness. Aramis took a steadying breath before launching back into his work.

"I need you to grab those cloths and the warm water," Aramis addressed his friends. "Start cleaning him up. We need to make sure we find all his injuries. I'm going to start stitching the wound in his stomach."

After carefully washing the wound with alcohol he had found amongst the other medical supplies, Aramis carefully but deftly began to stitch closed the hole in d'Artagnan's side. As soon as he was done there, the sharpshooter-turned-surgeon moved across to the gunshot wound in the boy's thigh before tending to the cut to his chest and the still weeping head wounds. By the time he was able to put down his needle and thread, Athos and Porthos had finished cleaning the mud and blood from the rest of their friend's body. Having found no new injuries in need to stitching, Aramis announced that it was time to put the lad's shoulder back into place.

"Porthos, can you sit him up and hold him from behind. Athos, I need to hold his legs still, just in case he wakes up. I don't want him ripping any of his stitches. This is going to hurt."

As the three friends moved into position, d'Artagnan stirred slightly, a weak groan escaping his lips. Aramis sent up a quick prayer that the poor boy would stay unconscious, but it was not to be. As the medic took hold of his arm and began to move it into position, d'Artagnan's eyes flickered open. Feeling the pain in his arm intensify as Aramis readied to push it back into its socket, the boy began to struggle; attempting to move away from the source of his discomfort.

"I'm sorry," Aramis said as he quickly moved the limb back into place. D'Artagnan's strangled cry of pain before he promptly passed out again brought tears to the eyes of the men who had adopted him into their little family. Silently, Aramis reached for bandages and ointment to bind the boy’s arm in place and wrap his other injuries after covering the broken sections of skin with the cream to try and prevent infection. He also made sure to tightly wrap the injured knee and sprained wrist and ankle after caring for the rope burns on his arms.

Eventually he was done and all three of the musketeers slumped visibly with exhaustion. The sun was now filtering through the clouds outside, filling the room with dull light and Athos guessed they had been at work for a good few hours. Looking at his three comrades, he took charge.

"Porthos, help me move d'Artagnan over to the bed. Then I want you to help Aramis get cleaned up and make sure he eats something." Porthos did as he was asked, carefully cradling the boy, who despite their best efforts to feed him up, was still far too light, in his arms and moved him across to the bed at the other end of the room.  He placed him gently on the mattress as Athos arranged the pillows and sheets around him.

Although Porthos had no desire to leave d'Artagnan's side, one look at Aramis had him moving to do as their leader had asked. The Spaniard was slumped on the stool where he had collapsed soon after tying off the last of the bandages. He looked pale and drawn after the hours of work and was staring down at his hands in his lap, still stained with their young friend's blood.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Porthos said quietly as he wrapped his hand around Aramis' upper arm, gently pulling him to his feet. The two men left after one final glance back to where Athos sat, running a cool cloth over d'Artagnan's neck and forehead.

The boy hadn't developed a fever as such, but he was slightly warm to the touch and the older man hoped to fend off the heat before it truly took hold. Knowing that Aramis believed the boy to have a concussion, Athos decided to try waking him, afraid that if he slept too long he may not wake at all. Refreshing the towel in his hand, the senior musketeer wiped his friend's brow while speaking to him quietly. Gradually, d'Artagnan began to stir.

"That's it boy. Open your eyes." Athos continued to talk to him as he slowly blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light in the room.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan's voice was little more than a whisper, but Athos heard it none the less. He put his hand on the back of the boy’s neck and eased his head up, bringing a cup of water to his lips.

"Drink slowly, d'Artagnan." Once the young man had taken a few tentative sips, Athos laid him back down. It was then that Aramis and Porthos returned to the room. Upon seeing his patient awake, Aramis smiled.

"You gave us quite a fright." Aramis said, mostly to distract the boy while he checked on his wounds.

"Where am I?" d'Artagnan asked quietly, eyes watching Aramis as he worked.

"Thought you'd recognize the infirmary by now," Porthos chuckled quietly as he sat on the other side of the bed. "You certainly wind up here often enough. Though usually not with such serious and unexplained injuries. What happened, lad?"

Before they could get a response out of him, the boys had fallen back to sleep. Porthos frowned and seemed about to wake him again before Aramis stopped him.

"Let him sleep for a couple more hours before we wake him again," the medic said. "He seemed alert enough but I still would like to wake him regularly for a while to make sure those head injuries didn't do any unseen damage."

Everyone was quite for a moment before Athos shifted to stand. "The two of you stay with him. I'm going to talk to the captain. See if he has any new information on what happened to our young friend."

With that, Athos left and Porthos and Aramis settled in to watch over their little brother.