Chapter Text
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D'Artagnan shivers from where he sits between Aramis's bent up knees and feels Aramis attempt to tug him closer into his chest in response. It doesn't work too well. Aramis's limbs are shaking nearly as badly as d'Artagnan's, his arms jerking and twitching around d'Artagnan's ribs. They feel strong and weak all at once, and d'Artagnan flutters at the terrible burden he's putting on his comrade, making him care for him and swaddle him while his own muscles barely work.
Scrambling the heels of his soaked boots into the dirt in an effort to control his own body, d'Artagnan wars with his embarrassment and need. If it weren't for his stupidity and helplessness...
"Lean, d'Artagnan," Aramis commands in a trembling voice. "Don't fight it. We'll..." he breaks off in a shiver. "We'll... have you... sorted... soon."
"We'll have both of you sorted," speaks Athos, suddenly there, kneeling to d'Artagnan's left. "The fire is going and Porthos has the bedrolls set up, just as we did in--"
"--in the Jura," chatters Aramis, finishing for him.
"As we did in the Jura," agrees Athos, gripping his hands to the sides of d'Artagnan's cold neck and watching them both with stoic eyes. His fingers feel only slightly warmer than d'Artagnan's skin and there is a cold weariness in his expression that reveals the effect the descent in weather is having on all of them.
"In the Jura?" d'Artagnan struggles to ask.
"Two... miserable weeks," shudders Aramis.
"Porthos," Athos calls without breaking eye-contact.
"Almost ready," Porthos calls back. "Can you get them over here?"
"Not alone. They're not going to be able to walk. If you come get d'Artagnan, I'll bring Aramis."
D'Artagnan blinks, flushing at the idea of being carried, but the extra blood in his face does nothing to heat his skin. His limbs continue to twitch without his control, like detached opiliones legs. "Sorry... about... the... river," he trembles out, trying to keep his shivering jaw from biting off his tongue.
"It was not your fault," says Athos, a near smile softening his eyes. "Besides, Aramis loves swimming and insists that cold water is good for the soul."
There's a huff against d'Artagnan's back, the flutter of Aramis's ribs against his, but the expected sound of accompanying laughter doesn't come.
"Aramis," says Athos seriously, arm snaking past d'Artagnan's gaze. "Breathe."
D'Artagnan works his throat, trying to turn his head to see Aramis's face, but before he can, Porthos is there, lifting him from the ground and out of Aramis's grip without ceremony. "Come on," he says, as though he's giving d'Artagnan a choice. "Athos has him."
Seconds later it seems, d'Artagnan is sitting dully by the fire, feeling the promised heat of it attempting to penetrate his skin while Porthos strips him with precision. The awareness of what's happening sends a new twinge of embarrassment up his spine. His ears prickle and his hands fumble. "You... don't... have to... I can... I can... myself," he slurs.
"Not this time," Porthos rumbles gently, stilling his wrist and then pulling his damp shirt off over his head. "This may be new for you, d'Artagnan, but we've been in situations like this before. You'll freeze if we leave you to it, and there's no shame in leaning on us for this."
Beyond Porthos's shoulder, Athos is holding a stripped Aramis against his chest in the same way Aramis had been holding d'Artagnan near the trees. They're in the lee of the simple lean-to Porthos had strung up with tent-cloth next to fire, and Athos is fumbling with a fold of blankets, working to drag them over himself and Aramis both.
"Now you," Porthos orders, hooking his arms below d'Artagnan's.
Within moments, he finds himself nearly buried in the pile of blankets and bedrolls, Porthos pressed up along his back, warm and solid, though now that d'Artaganan is a little more sensate he can tell Porthos too is shivering. Shivering, but not as much as Aramis in front of him who is beginning to shudder and wince, a look of vicious pain flashing over his face. D'Artagnan has no idea why but tears suddenly prick his own eyes in response, leaking down his cheeks.
"Hey, it's all right," says Porthos, tucking him tightly against his chest, while at the same time reaching over him to press his hand to Aramis's sternum. "The coldness takes your body out of balance for a while - doesn't let you control everything - but it will come back. Just breathe. Keep breathing. You're okay."
"Aramis," he stutters, hating the desperate and young sound in his own voice, feeling nearly the same desperate and childlike panic that had seized him when the icy water had first closed in over his head, dragging him under the broken bridge.
"Sometimes it just hurts when the heat comes back into your body," explains Athos, carding a hand through Aramis's hair, and then mirroring Porthos by tucking close to Aramis's back and reaching over to press his palm to d'Artagnan's skin. "He's been through this before. He'll be fine soon enough. Right, Aramis?" he whispers.
"Yes," Aramis gasps softly, opening his eyes and rolling his head to face d'Artagnan with an expression that's almost reassuring, pliant and accepting as Athos's hand rakes through his hair again. "Yes... I... promise."
D'Artagnan feels his emotions wobble around inside him for a moment longer, stiffening his muscles and prickling at his need. He watches Athos glance over his head, exchanging some kind of silent conversation with Porthos - about him, he's sure. But when Porthos rolls slightly, shifting them both until d'Artagnan's shoulder and arm are pressed warmly along the curve of Aramis's ribs, he abandons his embarrassment and surrenders, taking comfort in the in-and-out expanse of Aramis's lungs, in the strong arms enfolding him. In the way Athos's palm rests smoothly over his sternum.
He surrenders, and lets his breathing sink into the warmth and concern of his brothers. The chattering of his teeth and aching muscles surrendering with it.
"D'Artagnan," Athos questions, peering at him over Aramis's shoulder. "Are you still with us?"
"Yes," he says, eyes still oddly wet. "Yes. I'm here."
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fin
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Short and... sweet? Random? Disturbing? Short and... something.