Can't actually believe I'm doing a 5+1 fic but whatever. It was bound to happen eventually.

Aramis had screwed up. That was about the sum of it. It should have been a regular assignment: deliver some highly classified documents, don't get killed, be back in three days. Simple.

Only then they'd been ambushed on the road and it had been all they could do to just stay alive, let alone worry about getting away to deliver their cargo. They'd known exactly where the documents were – tucked neatly into Athos' jacket, out of sight – and when it became clear that the musketeer wasn't going to relinquish them without a fight, they'd battered him into semi-consciousness and dragged him away.

And that was about when things started to go wrong. A stray bullet took out d'Artagnan's horse and dragged the both of them to the ground, pinning the youngest musketeer and – judging by the snapping sound and the following scream of pain – breaking his leg. Porthos instantly moved closer to cover him whilst he was helpless but that left Aramis' back undefended and it wasn't long before he was forced to back into the trees to keep from being surrounded.

Now Aramis might be the best shot in the garrison but that didn't mean he wasn't an expert swordsman too – the few faults in his technique had been eradicated under Athos' tutelage. But even the best can be brought down if they let themselves be distracted. There had been a yell of pain, instantly recognisable as Porthos and Aramis had frozen for the briefest of moments in a momentary flash of terror and then –

Well, everything got a little hazy after that. What he did know was that he'd woken up several hours later to the sight of a very tense Athos beside him and bare stone walls, complete with a thick wooden door. Across from the entryway, the smallest rays of light were struggling their way through a minute gap – it couldn't pass for a window – that was barred; As if there was any chance of them fitting through it anyway.

"About time you woke up," Athos griped sullenly, clearly in a foul mood. "I half thought you'd died on me."

"Your concern is truly touching my dearest Athos," he sniped back. He wasn't exactly in the best of moods either. His head was aching fiercely enough that even the dim light was enough to aggravate his eyes and at some point someone had managed to take a decent shot at his ribs, leaving them aching and bruised. "The others?"

"Not here."

"I can see that."

Athos just gave a small, one-sided shrug, wincing a little. Aramis immediately zeroed in on the little hints of pain written all over his companion and rose from where he was sprawled on the floor. "Where are you hurt?"

"It's nothing 'Mis, don't worry about it."

And that just sent his concern skyrocketing. Without requesting further permission he started pushing and poking at Athos, probing for the injury he was sure to be hiding. It only took him a few moments for his fingers to find that the left shoulder was oddly misshapen and that the slightest pressure had Athos paling too fast for it to be anything other than a dislocated arm.

"You're an idiot," he admonished, irritation filling in to cover his worry. Athos grunted at him. "You know that I'm going to have to reset that, don't you?"

"I'm aware. You've done it before." His voice was thin and breathless.

"So I don't need to warn you that it will hurt?"

Athos glared at him and silently began tugging at the ties of his jacket with his good arm. It took quite a bit of squirming and a lot cursing to get Athos out of his shirt but eventually the man was bare chested and white as a sheet, chest heaving with the force of his panting.

"Do you need a minute?" Aramis asked as gently as he could.

"Just do it."

He didn't wait to be told twice, holding the limb firmly and starting to rotate it with practiced ease. Despite the number of times he'd done this, it still unsettled him to see the bone moving beneath the flesh in unnatural patterns, to hear the muted gasps of pain that the action caused. When the bone realigned and moved back into place with a sharp pop Athos yelled through clenched teeth, his whole body clenching and coiling in response to the pain.

"Stay awake," Aramis cautioned, hands going to his friend's face to make him look at him. "Athos, stay awake."

His eyes rolled dangerously in his head but Athos eventually blinked himself back into something resembling coherency. He groaned softly, trying to quell his shaking – it just made the pain worse.

Aramis was muttering in Spanish, instinctively falling back into prayer in times of need. Without even thinking about it, his fingers moved to the crucifix around his neck.

"You know I hate it when you do that," Athos muttered indistinctly.

"What? Fix dislocated shoulders?"

"Speak Spanish."

Aramis blinked. "My mother was Spanish. I'm perfectly entitled to speak it should I choose," he retorted, mildly affronted. "France isn't technically at war with Spain right now anyway."

"No," Athos said, shaking his head lethargically. He didn't seem fully conscious. "Not that. I don't like not knowing what you're saying, be it Spanish, English or Ancient Greek. You could be insulting me for all I know."

"It would take a cruel man to insult you in this state my friend."

Athos snickered softly, eyelids drooping again. Aramis tapped his cheek insistently. "No, none of that. I'll speak French if it makes you so much happier but if you fall asleep and leave me here all alone then I'll only ever speak to you in Spanish. Maybe English. I've been meaning to get some practice in."

"You strike a hard bargain."

"Yes, well, needs must. Besides, you're normally the one with all the plans. How are we getting out of here exactly?"

Athos thought for a moment. "The others get away? I couldn't see."

"Neither could I. Last I saw d'Artagnan had a broken leg and Porthos… I think he might be injured too but I didn't see." Fresh worry tore through the musketeer as he remembered the pained cries of his two friends. Dealing with Athos had allowed him a distraction to everything else around them but the simple truth was that they were really in trouble here.

"So, not much chance of a bold and daring rescue then?"

Aramis dug deep for his usual witty, unruffled disposition. "Slim to none I'm afraid. Looks like it's down to us."

Athos groaned softly. "How heavy do you think that door is?"

Aramis rose and padded over to it softly, leaning against it to test for give and rapping against it with his knuckle. There was a dull thud that spoke of several inches of wood. He sighed heavily. "Too heavy. Guess we have to wait until they open it and then make a break for it." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Do you still have the documents?"

Athos fumbled through his discarded jacket with one arm and found the parchment still tucked inside it. They both frowned at it

"They didn't do a very good search."

"So we're being held by idiots," Athos remarked, quirking an eyebrow. "Perfect." He seemed to have recovered slightly and there was colour back in his cheeks, a brightness in his eyes that spoke of a growing awareness. "Still, it should make escaping easier."

"So, we wait?"

"Depends on whether or not you think you can squeeze yourself through that window."

Aramis squinted at the space that was no wider than his head. "I think it unlikely. Maybe if d'Artagnan were here he could have a go."

Time passed slowly after that. They kept themselves occupied with idle prattle, distracting Athos from the pain in his shoulder and Aramis from his growing discomfort at being confined. Despite their best efforts though, the walls were pressing in on them both when they heard movement outside the door.

Aramis stood and helped Athos up, carefully avoiding his now swollen shoulder. He'd put his jacket back on but had allowed Aramis to tear his shirt into strips to make a rough sling in a vain attempt to prevent the joint from further aggravation.

"Ready?"

"Let me go first," Aramis told him sternly. "I don't want to end up having to put your shoulder back in twice in one day."

Athos didn't have time to reply to that before the door was pushed inwards and Aramis was throwing himself forwards, dodging the sword tip and slamming a fist into the man's nose. The bone crunched unpleasantly under his fingers but he didn't have time to dwell on it as he lunged for the second man. A third guard managed to get his pistol drawn but Aramis threw his opponent at him, taking them both out.

When he turned around, Athos was watching him from the door of the cell, an eyebrow raised. "Looks like you won't be needing me after all. You seem to manage well enough all on your own." Regardless, he dipped and snagged one of the fallen guards' swords, swinging it experimentally with his uninjured arm – thankfully, his dominant right.

They stopped only long enough to relieve the guards of their weapons before taking off down the dimly lit corridor. Aramis tried to ignore Athos' strained breathing. Three more men tried to stop them but they were taken down swiftly, before they even had the chance to call for help and the musketeers progressed swiftly. The problem was, they had absolutely no idea where they were going.

"Aramis, stop," Athos ordered quietly. They paused in a shadowed alcove, just out of sight of the corridor they were following. "This isn't going to work. We need to know where we're going – I'm pretty sure we're going around in circles."

"Maybe we should ask them politely then," he suggested wearily. Concern for his companion was making him edgy again. "But I take your point. So what do we do?"

Athos' lips quirked. "Well, ask them politely of course."

Ten minutes later they were marching out of there, bearing no further injury and feeling just a little proud. The next man they had run into was only too happy to tell them where to go when he found Athos' sword at his throat and once they had their information, Aramis had taken a certain amount of sadistic pleasure in knocking him out. They'd hurt his friend after all.

Their day only got better when they found an unguarded stable, and were able to sneak away two horses that could get them to Paris. They hadn't been so far from the city when they were taken and it should be less than a day's ride. Aramis had had to help his friend into the saddle when it became very apparent that his left arm was unwilling to cooperate any further; Athos grumbled unhappily the whole time but he nodded gratefully at the help.

They'd only just gotten through the garrison gates when they were hailed with "Well, that certainly makes things easier." Treville was eyeing them from the balcony with a gentle smirk on his lips. "Porthos has been demanding that I send the regiment out to find you two for the last three hours and I was running out of excuses."

Exhausted though they were, they both perked up at the mention of their teammate. "Porthos is here? Is he alright?" Aramis felt the nervous energy rising again and he was almost overcome with the need to see his three friends together and safe again.

Treville seemed to read the desire in his face because he inclined his head. "Porthos and d'Artagnan are both in the infirmary right now – nothing life threatening." His eyes flickered to Athos. "The documents were lost I imagine?"

The musketeer pulled them out from where they were still tucked inside his jacket and waved with them. "Have you ever known me to be so careless?"

The Captain's sly smile was fond. "Bring them to me then and go to the infirmary. I want the both of you checked over before you even think of doing anything else. Give me a full report in the morning."

d'Artagnan crowed happily when they appeared in the doorway, sliding himself further upright on the bed he was laying on. Porthos rose to his feet and dragged Aramis into a hug before the smaller man even knew what was happening, though he was happy to return the embrace a moment later. Once he disentangled himself, Porthos clapped Athos on his good shoulder and beamed at them both. The leg of his trousers was torn and the white of clean bandages poked through, but he seemed relatively unhurt.

"Miss us?"

"Something like that," Porthos replied easily, relaxed now that all of his friends were back within arm's reach.

Aramis herded Athos onto an empty cot and eased him out of his sling and jacket, intent on looking over his shoulder now that there was sufficient illumination to see more than vague shapes. Seeing the black and blue swelling had them all hissing in sympathy but Athos just looked at it dispassionately and sighed.

"That's going to take forever to heal, isn't it?"

"As if you've got anything to complain about," d'Artagnan griped. "I've broken both the bones in my lower leg – I'm going to be stuck in this bed for weeks."

Aramis' eyes flickered to the oddly shaped lump beneath d'Artagnan's covers that must be a splint and frowned softly. "They've been set?"

"By Treville's own physician," he informed them smartly. "It was a clean break – no need for surgery." The paling of his usually tan skin was enough to tell them just how much it had hurt, despite the absence of knives.

"For someone whoYou seem very chipper about it all," Athos observed wryly, before hissing when Aramis prodded at his shoulder. "What purpose did that even serve?"

"I need to know if there's a build-up of fluid. Ergo," he said, and poked him again. Porthos and d'Artagnan both laughed at the murderous expression on Athos' face while Aramis winked at him.

"I hate you all."