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"This is fine. I'm alright, d'Artagnan."
"You're trapped in a pit and have a wooden stake coming out of your body."
"Ah, yes, I do. However, you will note it's really quite a small stake, in the end."
Aramis gave d'Artagnan the best smile he could manage at the moment, really more of a grimace than anything, laced with pain. In spite of his flippant attitude towards the situation, this was bad. Gut wounds were risky at the best of times, let alone when he was skewered clear through in the middle of a dirty hole. The glower d'Artagnan directed back at him said he wasn't mollified in the slightest.
"How's he doin'?" Porthos shouted down from the top of the pit above them. "Aramis?"
"Still here," Aramis replied through gritted teeth. He tipped his head back to look up at Porthos, regretting the movement when it made his vision swim.
Even silhouetted against the well-lit woods above them, Aramis could see Porthos's tension and anxiety. He knew Porthos would rather be down here beside him instead of d'Artagnan; as the smallest of the group, though, d'Artagnan would be the easiest to pull back out. Porthos's strength would best serve them from the top.
"Alrigh'," Porthos finally said. "Well… just… hang in there!"
Aramis considered a quip about how he couldn't do much else at the moment, but the best he could manage was a strangled half-laugh which only made the worry on Porthos's face intensify. He felt d'Artagnan give his arm a careful squeeze before shouting back,
"I've got him, Porthos! How's it look up there?"
Porthos cursed. "The bandits spooked the horses an' they bolted with all our supplies. Athos went to track 'em down. We can't pull Aramis up without any rope or leverage."
"If the bandits come back-" d'Artagnan began, but Porthos cut him off.
"Let 'em come back an' I'll finish what we started! Should throw 'em all in their own pit, that's what we should do."
"Much as I'm inclined to agree," Aramis snorted, surveying the booby trap he'd fallen into during the fight, "I'd prefer they keep a distance for now."
Fortunately for the bandits, they seemed to have decided not to press their luck with a second round. The only sound in the pit was Porthos's anxious muttering overhead, d'Artagnan's quiet reassurances that Aramis was going to be just fine, and his own stilted breathing. Aramis cursed his luck. How could he have fallen for something as simple as a pit full of sharpened spikes covered loosely in branches and fallen leaves?
"It could have been any of us," d'Artagnan said now, jolting Aramis out of his pain-filled reverie.
Aramis frowned. Had he asked the question out loud? He wasn't sure anymore, the pain and blood loss starting to make his head swim. If they didn't get him out of here soon, and stop the bleeding… well, he didn't much want to think about it.
"Aramis?"
"He alright?" Porthos shouted down again.
This time, d'Artagnan paused, which Aramis took to be a bad sign, before realizing that he should probably answer Porthos himself. He cleared his throat and croaked out,
"Never been better…"
"Can you see Athos returning yet?" d'Artagnan called up, though a little softer this time as though it would make Aramis somehow unable to hear the concern.
Well, that was another bad sign. Aramis swallowed and closed his eyes against another wave of pain, forehead pinched and shoulders drawing in with the stress. The more he tensed, the more it hurt. There was nothing to be done, though, and each passing second made unconsciousness look better and better.
"Not yet- wait! Someone's comin'..."
Somehow through his own tension, Aramis could still feel d'Artagnan shift into a rigid, coiled posture. If it was anyone coming to fight, the younger musketeer ought to get out of the pit, and fast, Aramis thought wearily. Otherwise they would both be fish in a barrel.
"It's Athos!" Porthos called down, leaving both Aramis and d'Artagnan to heave sighs of relief.
The movement only made everything hurt worse, if that were possible. Aramis focused as much of his attention as he could on taking slow, deep breaths. It didn't help. Close by, d'Artagnan was again assuring him that everything was going to be okay, that he would be out of there soon, that they would get him back to Paris.
From somewhere up above, Aramis could vaguely make out Athos's voice calling down like a herald of the God he didn't believe in. The thought made Aramis snicker with a dizzying ring. It wasn't until d'Artagnan shouted back an answer that Aramis realized there had probably been a question in the voice from above, probably directed at him, but his mind wasn't holding still long enough to register what that question might be or what the correct response would have been.
"Aramis, I need you to focus!"
A hand patted his cheek, forceful enough that Aramis felt himself slamming back to full consciousness with an unpleasant jerk. He choked back a shout of pain as well as he was able and turned mystified eyes to d'Artagnan.
"Wha-?" he slurred.
"I need you to focus," d'Artagnan repeated. "We'll have to pull you up off that spike. Athos and Porthos will pull with these ropes while I try to keep your weight even, alright?"
Aramis looked down to see that d'Artagnan had already looped ropes around his knees and torso. When had he done that? Aramis must have slipped into unconsciousness for a moment there; knowing what was about to happen and how torturous it would be, he wished they had just left him passed out.
"Aramis?" d'Artagnan prodded, more insistently.
"Yeah," Aramis croaked, stealing himself and reaching to wrap an arm around d'Artagnan's offered shoulder. "Alright."
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
D'Artagnan stooped, ready to take Aramis's legs as well, then looked up. "Pull!"
Aramis's world immediately shattered into heated explosions of pain. Stars burst in his eyes and he couldn't hold back the wrecked scream that ripped from behind stubborn lips. Though he tried to keep his body in roughly the same position as both ends were hoisted slowly up, it did little to stop the searing agony. Watching the bloodied tip of the spike inching out of him as he was raised off of it, Aramis nearly passed out again.
"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan gushed in his ear, clutching him tightly under the legs and arms as he tried to help steady him. "I'm sorry… just a little more… Aramis, just hold on, you're almost clear."
Someone, or two someones, were shouting his name from up above, but as he was pulled off the spike one yanking motion at a time, Aramis could take no more. As the tip disappeared at last and his torso was freed, the edges of his vision turned grey and then finally to blessed black.
.o.O.o.
Porthos's heart was thumping in his chest as he heaved on the ropes, shouting for Athos to keep the horses pulling as well. Athos was clutching both bridles, trying to lead both the beasts at an even speed so that Aramis would be lifted cleanly off the spike, but it seemed to have done little to make the experience any less painful.
With his best friend's screams ringing in his ears even now that Aramis was slumped in the ropes, silent and unconscious, Porthos was barely keeping his cool.
"Little more!" he bellowed to Athos, letting the horses take the weight of the ropes so he could crouch down and reach into the pit. "Almost got him!" And oh hell, there was so much blood. Porthos could already see the red stain starting to spread afresh now that the spike holding Aramis together was gone.
Somewhere down in the pit, d'Artagnan shouted wordlessly, ducking his head to wipe away drops of blood that had dripped onto his upturned face.
"Porthos, you're going to have to stop the bleeding!" the lad yelled frantically, as though Porthos wasn't already keenly aware of that. "Can you reach him yet?"
Porthos stretched out further, frantic fingertips finally scrabbling to grab Aramis by one coat sleeve. A few seconds later and he shouted for Athos to stop the horses and hold them in place as he heaved Aramis the rest of the way up to solid ground.
As soon as the marksman was clear, Athos yanked the ropes free of the horses and rushed back to their side.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos yelled, gesturing for Porthos to release Aramis from the loops.
"No, take care of him first!" d'Artagnan shouted back up. "I'm not going anywhere!"
Porthos traded a grim look with Athos and yanked the bandana off of his head to press it against the freely bleeding puncture wound on Aramis's front. Athos was already struggling out of his weapons belt.
"We need something for the back as well," Athos growled. "Hold him up, I'll get his sash."
The normally bright blue fabric was already covered in dirt and blood, though, ripped where the spike had punched straight through. In the end, Athos could only take a bit of one trailing end and slice it off with one swift gesture of his main gauche. He bundled it up and pressed it against the wound in Aramis's back, then tied his belt around it.
"Where are th' bandages?" Porthos demanded, looking towards the horses. The two that Athos had recaptured were placidly nibbling on the grass, but he realized before the question was even finished that neither of them belonged to Aramis.
"We should all start carrying them from now on," Athos tersely replied. "This will do for the moment. He needs a doctor as fast as we can get him to the next town."
"That village we passed," Porthos said as he continued to clutch Aramis tightly. "Wasn' more than ten minutes behind us."
"We'll have to take the chance there's a doctor there," Athos decided. "At the very least, there will be an inn where he can rest and heal." He cinched the belt tighter, drawing a soft moan from Aramis's throat. Even as secure as it was, both makeshift bandages were already blossoming with red. Athos looked pained and glanced over his shoulder, then at the pit beside him. He hesitated.
"Hold him," Porthos growled, waiting until Athos did so before hastening to his feet. He hurried to grab one of the horses and swing himself up, then trotted back to Athos and held out his arms to help wrestle Aramis off the ground onto the horse in front of him.
"I'll get d'Artagnan out and meet you as fast as I can," Athos promised. "Porthos..."
He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Porthos could feel Aramis's shuddering frame, the trembles getting weaker by the second, and he knew there would be no room for failure.
With nothing more than another grave look between them, Porthos nodded, then yanked on the reins to urge his horse forward as fast as he dared.
.o.O.o.
Aramis was cold.
He hated the cold. Cold was an empty, desolate feeling that reminded him of worse things. Furrowing his brow, Aramis twisted slightly against the bonds encircling his chest and arms. His breath stuttered against the stab of pain the movement caused.
"Aramis?"
The voice to his right was soft and worried and sounded very much like d'Artagnan. Aramis's heart fell. Was d'Artagnan lost out here in the cold as well?
"Are you awake? Aramis, come back to us. You're safe now, you just need to wake up."
Though he didn't want to open his eyes, neither did he want to leave his friend out here on his own. Blearily, Aramis forced his eyes to blink their way open, head lolling to the side. His surroundings were surprisingly bright, given how cold it was. A foggy figure leaned in closer to him, and the blurry outlines sluggishly coalesced into the sharper image of d'Artagnan.
A weary smile broke across the lad's face, expression warming with relief. "There you are," d'Artagnan murmured. "Can you hear me?"
"Mm," Aramis managed. He swallowed against a dry, raspy throat and slowly blinked. Puzzled eyes roved over the room as it become more clear. Aramis was almost surprised to realize there was no snow to accompany the cold, and what he had taken to be bonds holding him captive was nothing more than a blanket tucking him into an unfamiliar bed. Tilting his head the other way, Aramis caught sight of Athos slumped asleep against a table with several bottles littering the floor at his feet. Beside him was a chair, in which Porthos was stretched out on, snoring quietly.
Despite the pain in his abdomen, Aramis found himself smiling softly.
"It's been a couple days now," d'Artagnan supplied in a low voice, answering the unasked question. "Took a lot of arguing to get them to sleep. Well," he amended, "it only took a few bottles for Athos, and he was surly as hell about it."
"What happened?" Aramis asked, equally soft, as he moved to sit up in the bed. The movement made him gasp in pain and reach for his abdomen.
D'Artagnan grimaced. "Ah, yeah… don't move too much. Here, you need water." He reached for a cup sitting beside the bed and helped boost Aramis up enough to tip some of the cool liquid down his throat. It made the cold worse, but also left Aramis a little more refreshed. "Porthos raced you back here to a doctor." d'Artagnan went on. "He got you stitched up, but there was already an infection… You were injured when we fought the bandits, do you remember?"
Right. Aramis gingerly peeled the blankets back to examine the bandages wrapping the wound from the spike he'd fallen onto. It was still throbbing; he could only imagine how much blood he would have lost, which accounted for how cold he felt now. Not to mention the infection, which would have brought fever… and his friends had had to watch all of that. Aramis winced and glanced up at d'Artagnan, noting the exhaustion and anxiety on his face.
"What about you?" Aramis croaked. "Alright?"
D'Artagnan blinked then released a surprised snort of laughter. "Me? You're the one who fell on a spike and lost half the blood in your body. All I-"
"You jumped in after me," Aramis said, memories and clarity starting to return anew. "You were in the hole with me." That must have been a most unpleasant experience. More and more he remembered now the persistent voice refusing to let him drift away, the solid presence grounding him against the pain. Aramis regarded his friend with growing fondness and reached out a still shaky hand. "Thank you."
"You would have done the same," d'Artagnan muttered, shrugging. "For me or either of them."
Aramis wouldn't dispute that fact. He glanced back at the other two with warmth starting to thaw the chill in his bones.
"I'm afraid we lost your horse," d'Artagnan went on with chagrin. "Mine and Porthos's are the only ones Athos was able to find right away, and none of us wanted to leave you to go look for the other two. Your bags… your medic kit..."
"I can get a new one," Aramis said, sinking back into the pillow. "You three, however, cannot be replaced."
He was rewarded by d'Artagnan's beaming smile and soft huff of laughter.
"Get some rest," d'Artagnan whispered. "I'll let the others know you're on the mend when they wake. They'll be glad to hear it."
Wearily, Aramis nodded and closed his eyes. Even without being able to see his brothers close at hand, he could still feel their presence beside him, knowing even in his exhaustion and pain that they were never far away.