Chapter Text
Chapter 9
"Aramis, you've only just been stitched back together yourself. Let the doctor take care of Athos-"
"I need to do it."
Athos opened his eyes again, relieved when there was light on the other side of his lids. The physician was still by the bed, but Aramis's shoulder was now wrapped in a bandage and his arm secured in a sling, and the marksman was on his feet.
Treville was close by, the captain looking exasperated. "Aramis-"
"Thank you for your help, doctor. I can take it from here."
"It- it certainly would be no trouble for me to handle it instead-"
"I said, I need to do this!"
Athos didn't know how much the captain or doctor knew yet about his wounds—specifically how he'd sustained them—but he fully understood why Aramis needed to be the one to put him back together. Taking pity on his friend, he mumbled from the cot, "I trust Aramis is capable of dealing with a few lacerations. Thank you for your assistance, doctor, but let Aramis handle the rest."
Unsure, the physician turned to Treville, who in turn eyed Athos. The musketeer didn't break his gaze, and finally Treville nodded.
"Very well. Come, doctor, I'll show you out."
Athos waited as the physician gathered up his things, leaving a bottle of pain draught with cautious directions not to use too much. Then he and the captain left, leaving Athos and Aramis alone. Aramis huffed and muttered under his breath. Athos watched him, noting his friend wasn't meeting his eye.
"How bad?" Athos asked softly. Aramis's head jerked his direction, and Athos clarified, "Your wound."
"Oh. This? Just a scratch."
Athos snorted lightly. Though he wasn't sure why he would have expected any different of an answer.
"I'm only relieved you understood the message," Aramis added, looking away again, fixated on his task of unfolding and smoothing a pile of linens to use as bandages, then refolding them again awkwardly one-handed.
"Yes, it was a good thing he brought me a blade. I'm only sorry I had to rip it out of you before I could use it."
"Yes, well…" Aramis made a sound like he was trying to laugh, though it fell flat. "I suppose I had that coming."
"I fail to see how."
"Athos," Aramis sighed. He turned back to the swordsman at last, face crumpling. "Must we keep up pretenses? I can't bear dancing around the matter. Let us say it and be done: I tortured you."
"Your dramatics continue to astound. You hit me a few times."
"With a whip."
"Merely a crop. And I would add, in order to protect our brother. If it's any consolation, I would have done the same. Now are you going to tend to the wounds or not?" Struggling upright in the bed, still dizzier and weaker than he would have liked, Athos tried to shrug out of his shirt. In spite of his dismissal, it did hurt to move.
Aramis hurried to help pull the shirt down off his shoulders, carefully extricating his arms. Athos couldn't help but hiss in discomfort as the fabric rubbed over his wrists. He hadn't realized before how shredded the skin was from hours of struggling to loosen the bonds even a fraction.
"I'm sorry." Aramis sounded miserable, leaving Athos to shake his head.
"Aramis. My friend, you have nothing to apologize for. We both know you did what you had to."
"I could have left them looser, perhaps you would have been able to slip out of them. I could have-"
The marksman cut off, dipping one of the linens into the bowl of clean water left by the physician. Athos couldn't restrain a soft noise of longing at the sound of the cool water splashing back into the bowl. Aramis immediately reached over to the bed, picking up a water skin that had been left, and handing it to Athos.
"Slowly," he cautioned.
The advice was difficult to follow, as parched as Athos was. He took a long draught, relishing the water even more than he did a bottle of wine after a long day. It felt as though years had passed since he'd last had a drink, besides the broth Treville had given him.
"How long were we there?" he asked once he'd drank his fill, trying not to tense as Aramis moved around behind him with the dripping rag. The first touch against the wounds still made him inhale sharply, though.
"Two nights. This would have been the second full day."
Athos's shoulders sagged. He shuddered slightly against the cold water that trickled down his back as Aramis dabbed gingerly at the lacerations. Though they continued to sting and ache, it was nothing compared to the disquiet he felt.
"Is that really all it was?" he couldn't help but murmur. It had seemed so much longer. That he was already so weakened after so short a time, Athos felt a rush of something that wasn't quite shame, but certainly wasn't pride.
"You were kept in the dark," Aramis pointed out. "I doubt you slept much. Between sleep deprivation, hunger and thirst, and not being able to move… little wonder it felt longer." He paused, then in a lower voice: "Wounded alone in the dark and cold, I know that he wanted to torture you, and I know that such a thing would be effective. Athos, I should have…"
He trailed off with an air of helplessness. Athos closed his eyes, understanding.
"Aramis, you did nothing wrong," he tried again. He wanted to assure Aramis this would not become his Savoy, but Athos wasn't sure at the moment he could promise this wouldn't leave a permanent mark. And not the ones on his back.
"Come now, Athos," Aramis said as though knowing exactly what was going through Athos's mind, as he so often did. "I know you. You don't have to pretend you weren't affected."
Athos sighed. He supposed there was no use acting otherwise, only he was eager that Aramis shouldn't have the additional guilt put onto his shoulders needlessly. The truth was he was indeed left with horror and even fear at the memories of crushing blackness and immobility, suspended in nothingness, as near to hell as he could imagine.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, sharper than he'd intended. "That it was awful? Then let it be said. I didn't know where you or Porthos were, or whether you'd been harmed. I didn't know if it was day or night or how long I still had to remain strong when all strength had been taken from me. Yes, Aramis, I was quite affected. But every awful thing was of that man's doing, not yours."
"But I-"
"And in fact, his mistake in sending you to me is what allowed me to hold on." Athos paused, then shook his head. "You kept us alive."
"If not unharmed."
Well, they never emerged from anything unharmed. No blame should be put on the musketeer for that. By now, Aramis had finished sponging off the lash marks on Athos's back. None were deep enough for stitches nor open enough for concern of infection, so Aramis left them unbandaged and helped Athos into a clean shirt. From there he moved to start cleaning and dressing Athos's wrists. The swordsman bore it stoically.
"You're owed an apology as well," he finally said after the silence had lingered on for a while.
Aramis frowned without looking up from his work. "Why?"
"I don't remember anything from our capture, but I gather it was on the way back from the tavern. I believe I was… not much help to you."
"You know the things I said about your drinking were not said with sincerity."
"They were also not entirely untrue. If his intent had been murder instead of kidnapping, I could not have stopped him." He shook his head. "I don't believe I could have lived with that."
"Well, if his intent had been murder, you wouldn't have lived with that. He would have killed you, too."
Athos glared at him. "You know what I mean." But he was relieved to hear more of the usual Aramis back in his friend's voice. Wrists bandaged now, Athos took another long, grateful pull from the water skin. Then he leaned wearily back on the cot and closed his eyes.
"And Porthos?" he asked with exhaustion.
"He'll make a full recovery as long as I can keep him off that leg."
Athos didn't want to ask if Aramis had been forced to cause that wound as well, so held his peace. He would get the full story when he checked in with Porthos later, as he was sure it would be a more accurate telling in regards to how much blame Aramis thought he ought to bear.
After a moment, he realized Aramis hadn't returned to his own bed, and was sitting silently on the edge of the cot. Athos opened his eyes and gave his friend a quizzical look.
"You have doctored me as much as I require. You should rest."
Aramis half-chuckled, then looked away. "Yes. Only I… I'm afraid that when I open my eyes, the nightmare will be true and I'll have killed you after all."
Athos didn't say anything for a second, then nodded. "And I'm afraid that when I open my eyes there will be nothing but blackness and silence and cold. So let us make a deal. I'll stay here, and when you wake you'll see me quite alive, and I'll see you and know I'm not… back there."
He thought some tension eased away from Aramis's shoulders. Athos himself was silently thanking either d'Artagnan or Treville to have thought to let them stay in the same room. As long as Aramis was there, he felt safe to let himself slip away, not into unconsciousness but a true slumber at last.
.o.O.o.
Porthos wasn't sure how long he slept; he was just relieved that he'd been allowed to sleep at all. There was no sunlight peeping through the narrow window of his barracks room but he could hear the sound of fellow musketeers down in the courtyard, so he suspected it wasn't too late into the night. His leg throbbed. But he was alive.
A light snore drew Porthos's attention to the cot set up beside his bed. D'Artagnan was sprawled across it, gangly limbs dangling over the edge towards Porthos. Relaxing back down a bit, the musketeer couldn't help but offer the sleeping lad a sad smile.
"Sorry I missed our breakfast, pup."
"You know, he refused to rest while you three were still out there. It's a wonder he didn't collapse from exhaustion."
Porthos hadn't realized the captain was standing just inside the door, but he also wasn't surprised. One look at Treville's face said their commanding officer probably hadn't gotten much sleep, himself.
"'e's a tenacious one," Porthos agreed with fondness.
"Tenacious and insubordinate to boot. I ought to have him on stable duty for the rest of the week."
Porthos canted his head, giving Treville a knowing smile. He wasn't fooled for a second. Sure enough, the captain shrugged as he pulled up a chair and sat beside Porthos's bed.
"Though I suppose I can't do that. We might not have found you in time if not for his tireless efforts." Treville shook his head, watching the lad sleep. "He's a fine musketeer." Turning back to Porthos, he gestured to the bandage around his thigh. "How is it?"
"Eh…" Porthos glanced down as well with raised brow. "Feels like I got stabbed. But th' bastard's dead, and Athos an' Aramis are alive. Can't ask for more than that. Doc patch 'em up?"
Treville nodded his assent. "Porthos… what happened? What was he after?"
Porthos took a long, slow breath then shook his head. "Captain, you ever come across a man, touched in th' head... not addled, but… no soul? A man who can't feel like normal people do, not love or friendship or nothin'? Brain's workin' just fine, but nothin' in his heart?"
"Once or twice."
"He said we were fascinatin'. Because we were so close an' he didn't know what that felt like. So he wanted to break that bond. For no reason… just to see if he could."
Bit by bit, Porthos told Treville everything that he knew. How they had been captured, the rules of the game where Athos was supposed to believe Aramis had simply turned on him, the increasingly violent orders Aramis had to carry out in order to keep them all alive until help came.
"So Athos's wounds…"
"I wasn't there," Porthos replied. "But yeah, I heard everythin' Pierre told 'im to do. Aramis was a wreck over it."
"So I can imagine. And you?"
Porthos shook his head with bitterness. "Mostly left me alone, 'cept when he needed Aramis to do somethin'. All I did was sit there. Maybe without me there-"
"Then I would be mourning the deaths of some of my finest men right now instead of trying to put them back together. I don't believe it mattered whether he had leverage to force Aramis to play along or not, Porthos. He would have killed them either way. From what Aramis has told me, the only reason they were able to best him was because you forced his hand while they were still well enough to use it to their advantage. You were crucial here, Porthos."
The musketeer wasn't sure if he believed that or not, but his captain's absolution in the matter was no less a relief because of it. Porthos nodded, then sighed.
"Athos is the one 'e really seemed to want to hurt. Just don't understand why. Or how come no one's realized before how mad he was an' put him away."
"As to why, normal men like you and me will never understand. As to the latter, I may have more insight on. We investigated the family a little deeper once you'd been seen to. It seems the parents knew something wasn't right with him. After the mother's death, the father kept Pierre more or less cloistered, dismissed most of the servants, and moved to a smaller apartment in the city. Few people even knew of Pierre until the father's funeral, and then there was no one to keep him away from the public. The servants refused to stay on."
"All but one," Porthos grumbled, remembering Jean's lack of concern for the atrocities he was helping commit. "Probably not much more sane than Pierre." Another thought occurred to him. "Captain, there were two of the Red Guard…"
With a dark look, Treville nodded. "Yes. They were found. I've already been to inform their captain that their murderer has been found and killed. It's not much comfort, but perhaps it'll help provide closure for the families." He paused, then finished, "One of them was beaten as well. I take it he was in Athos's place."
For a moment, Porthos didn't say anything. He recalled what Pierre had said, how the previous game had ended the way he thought it would. The musketeer closed his eyes. "I guess when he thought the other had betrayed him… he turned against 'im in return. That's what Pierre was tryin' to get Athos to do."
But that would never have happened, Porthos thought with almost desperate determination. The thought of their brotherhood dissolving especially in such a horrible way made him short of breath. Suddenly he wanted nothing but to be at his brothers' sides, to see for himself once again that they were alive and well and together.
"I wanna see 'em," he decided, sitting up in the bed and throwing the blanket aside.
Treville quickly stood, holding up a hand. "You need to rest-"
"I've been restin', now I need to see they're alright."
With an exasperated sigh, the captain shook his head but swiftly slid in to pull Porthos's arm across his shoulders for a prop. "I don't know why the four of you insist on ignoring orders every time I give them to you. One would almost forget I'm the captain."
"Nah, you'll always be our captain." That madman had said no one ever came for the Red Guard soldiers… but Treville had come for them. Porthos's heart warmed in spite of the fire shooting through his leg with every step as he limped across the floor. "Thank you."
"It's only for a moment," Treville griped. "Then you're coming back to bed."
"That's not what I meant."
"P'rthos?"
D'Artagnan sat up on the cot, eyes unfocused.
"Don't even think about it," Treville immediately snapped. "D'Artagnan, you are not to leave that cot-"
"Are you going to see the others? Wait, I'm coming, too."
Porthos grinned as both he and d'Artagnan ignored Treville's muttered complaints about musketeers who couldn't do as they were told. Besides, much as he hated to admit it, having the support on two sides made walking much easier as d'Artagnan immediately took Porthos's other arm around his own shoulders.
Then together, the three made their slow, painful trek towards the room next door.
.o.O.o.
Aramis spooned some of the hot soup into his mouth, grateful for every warm bite. He'd tried to sleep, truly he had, but just as he'd feared, it was a restless slumber filled with awful dreams. The marksman stole another look at Athos. He was placidly eating from a bowl of his own, nothing but the slightly distant look in his eyes to reveal any of his own discomfort.
Seeing him there was helpful, but the nightmare was still burned into Aramis's vision.
The riding crop was heavy in his hand and heavy on Athos's back. Each strike flayed open another wicked stripe down the musketeer's unprotected body. Athos couldn't bear the attack silently, pleading for Aramis to stop. Aramis tried, desperately trying to drop the weapon, to turn away, ANYTHING, but his hand moved of its own volition, not taking orders from him.
Beside him Pierre stood with smile stretching over the edges of his face, a dagger sticking from his chest. No blood spilled from his wounds, but Aramis's hands were coated in red. It was a wonder the rod didn't slip from his grasp.
"He'll never forgive you for this," Pierre said, though his mouth never moved.
"Stop!" Aramis begged, knowing somehow the madman was the one preventing him from ceasing his attack. "Please, he'll die!"
"He's already dead. Look."
And he was. Athos hung from blood-coated ropes, swaying with each strike.
"No!" Aramis cried, still unable to stop. "Athos, forgive me…"
"Never," Athos's voice growled into his mind, spoken by some unseen phantasm, since the musketeer himself was dead…
"Aramis, where are you?"
The marksman blinked, realizing he'd been holding the soupspoon halfway to his mouth, staring into the distance at the memory of the nightmare. He'd woken up with a cry, near panic, unfortunately waking Athos as well. But seeing his friend alive and well was the only thing that had brought him back to reality, Athos and the solid presence of his captain when Treville swooped in with firm orders to wake.
Turning to Athos now, Aramis tried for a smile. "Right here," he said lightly.
"If it would help to hear the words again, I do forgive you."
Aramis closed his eyes. "I know."
The sound of the door being pushed inwards had Aramis look up again to see Porthos limping in, supported on either side by d'Artagnan and Captain Treville.
"Porthos," Athos greeted, normally bland voice colored with true delight. "D'Artagnan."
"You're awake," d'Artagnan exclaimed cheerfully, reminding Aramis that the lad hadn't been able to speak to Athos himself yet.
"I was afraid you might sleep through supper, Porthos," Aramis put in, holding up his bowl. "How many meals does that make you've missed? I'm astonished you're still on your feet."
"Barely," Porthos grunted as he left his two supports to sit on the edge of Aramis's bed. "'m starvin'."
"I'll have more soup sent up," Treville assured them.
"An' maybe some wine for Athos, it's been a night or two since 'e had a drop."
The remark was said as a joke, the same thing any of them might have said under normal circumstances, but Aramis noted the shadow that crossed Athos's face.
"It's not even tempting at the moment," Athos said, almost to himself.
In the silence that followed, Treville straightened and nodded to the four. "I'll have Serge send more soup. And then I have some very important paperwork I must see to. I expect it will take me exactly fifteen minutes, and then Porthos and d'Artagnan are going back to the other room and you're going to rest. The physician says all four of you are suffering from exhaustion. Three of you from an extreme ordeal, and one of you who can't follow the simplest of commands."
"I think he means me," d'Artagnan confessed in an unapologetic undertone. It made Athos smile, and that alone did more to make Aramis feel better than any amount of rest.
Treville glared at d'Artagnan, but it was obviously just for show. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly, sir," Aramis assured him with a tired but jaunty two-fingered salute.
Fixing them each with another stern look, the captain backed out of the room, giving them a moment together at last. Silence fell again, broken by the rumbling of Porthos's stomach.
"Here," Aramis said with a snort, handing him the rest of his own bowl. "This is my second helping anyway."
He half expected Porthos to refuse to take his food, but this was Porthos and that had been a foolish expectation. Porthos took the bowl with a nod of thanks and began slurping it down.
"I take it he didn't give you anything to eat in all that time, either," Athos mused, setting his own empty bowl aside.
Porthos shook his head in answer, still attacking the food with ravenous fervor. "Captain been in to see you?" he asked in between bites.
"Very briefly," Athos replied. "Aramis… woke abruptly."
Aramis winced, but didn't say anything. There would likely be a lot of "abrupt awakenings" in their near future. He saw Athos and Porthos trade a look and a nod. Nothing was spoken, but he knew when Athos returned to his apartments, Porthos would reclaim the role of going to Aramis on such occasions, as a balm against the nightmares.
Part of him wanted to be embarrassed to need to be looked after. But mostly, he was grateful to know they would be there. At any rate, it was nothing new for Porthos; he had been the reason Aramis didn't lose himself to the nightmares after Savoy.
"Anyway," Porthos went on, looking to Aramis. "Those two Red Guard? Treville says they were found. Dead."
"Red Guard?" Athos asked.
"The players he had in his first game," Aramis explained, thinking over it. How on earth had Treville and d'Artagnan put all the pieces together?
"Yeah, seems the one wasn't as forgivin' as Athos. Reckon he killed the other, or at least didn't stop Pierre from doin' it. Then was killed himself. They didn't hold on."
"But we did." Aramis looked between the others. "He was so sure we would break. At least we didn't give him that."
"He didn't know you nearly as well as he thought he did," d'Artagnan maintained staunchly.
"Funny," Porthos said. "The thing 'e was convinced made us vulnerable is what saved us in th' end. Well, that an' d'Artagnan."
"Yes, I believe we owe him one. Or several," Athos agreed with a raised brow.
D'Artagnan smiled, shrugging easily. "You would have done the same for me."
"Too right, we would," Porthos declared, clapping him on the back. "From the sound of things, you had the captain runnin' ragged."
"An Inseparable in the making," Aramis added, smiling.
For a moment, they lapsed into silence once more, reveling in the simple joy of being alive, the joy of food, water, light, of each other's presence.
Feeling lighter, Aramis set his hands on the shoulders of the two closest to him. As long as they had this, they had everything they needed to heal in body and soul, and to emerge stronger.
"All for one," he murmured.
The other three shared a look, then immediately returned the gesture, completing the circle.
"And one for all."