The afternoon was cold and miserable as the two Musketeers rode down the forest path, the autumn leaves swirling around the legs of their horses as they slowly made their way home. They had been tasked with delivering a portfolio of documents to a Comte about eighty miles from the city- it has been an easy two day ride there, and they had set off this morning on the last leg of the journey home, each man looking forward to a warm bath and a large quantity of good wine.

Aramis looked round, eyes wide as he took in their woodland surroundings- he enjoyed riding through woods; he found them peaceful, calm. The man on his left, however, seemed to have rather a different view.

'Do you think this place is haunted?' d'Artagnan muttered, eyes narrowed as he looked around.

Aramis snorted and shook his head. 'No, I don't.' He smiled, looking across to the Gascon. 'Why do you think it is?'

'Well, the trees look all skeletal without their leaves...' the younger man shuddered- he had grown up surrounded by the fields and forests of Gascony, so was no stranger to the changing woodland seasons; Autumn and Winter in the forests had made him uneasy since he was a child. 'I prefer woods in the summer.' He added, pulling his winter cloak further around his shoulders.

His horse trembled beneath him as he patted her neck- she was a novice to long rides, and d'Artagnan was coming to the conclusion that he probably should have chosen a smaller journey for her first trip out. She was skittish and prone to listing to the left, but she had a fine temperament and made him laugh, so that was why he had chosen her.

Aramis chuckled, patting d'Artagnan's back as they continued to follow the dirt path through the woods. He looked across into the trees as they heard a fox scream somewhere in the distance.

'Listen, lad- ghosts!' He teased, laughing as the younger man rolled his eyes. 'Keep your eyes peeled- we may yet see a ghostly headless spectre, or a phantom coach riding through the forest with their deceased passengers!'

'Now you're just making fun of me…' d'Artagnan grumbled, patting his horse's neck again, before he smiled as Aramis chuckled once more.

'I would never! I-' the medic's voice was cut off as both men heard branches snap behind them- he steadied his horse as they looked round to see three men riding towards them, hoods covering their faces.

'This looks fun…' d'Artagnan muttered- Aramis gave him a sideways glance; the lad had only been out on missions with them for a few weeks, and he still had an air of naive enthusiasm about him, and Aramis certainly did not like the look of the men who were riding up to them.

'Stay behind me, lad.' He muttered, before wondering why he had said that- the younger man had certainly proved himself to be more than capable; he supposed he just didn't fancy explaining to an angry Athos how the Gascon had come to harm on his first mission just with him.

As he had expected, d'Artagnan gave him a sideways look in return, an eyebrow quirked as he nonetheless made his horse walk backwards behind Aramis as the men approached. 'Probably some men returning from a decent day's graft?' he muttered to the older man, who snorted and shrugged.

'Hopefully!' he replied- he knew he and the others had become rather pessimistic when it came to newcomers and strangers; d'Artagnan was still of the notion that any stranger was a friend unless proved to be a foe.

The cold wind chilled them to the bone as they patiently waited a few seconds- both Musketeers knew their horses were tired after a hard day's ride, so on the balance of probability could not outrun the younger looking steeds coming up to them. Aramis laced his fingers around his dagger in his inner pocket, more than ready for whatever these men wanted.

'Evening, Gents!' he called as they approached- he could see each man had black hoods covering their faces, which left only their eyes visible. 'Lovely afternoon for a ride!'

A weighted silence followed the medic's words. D'Artagnan looked from one man to another, a frown on his face as the man in the middle looked at the two Musketeers, as if judging which one would be the best to address.

'Musketeers?' he finally spoke, his voice loud in the relative quiet of the forest. 'What are Musketeers doing round these parts?'

'Just passing through, Sir.' Aramis smiled easily, although his voice had an edge to it. 'Just going home.'

'You must have a reason for traveling so far out of the city...' the man muttered, eyes turning to Aramis- the medic could see they were a deep shade of brown. 'What was your purpose?'

'What interest is it for you?' d'Artagnan asked, a restless feeling creeping into his legs that told him something was going to go very wrong very soon.

The man in the hood shrugged, eyes flicking to the Musketeer's empty packs that hung either side of their horses. 'Perhaps you're transporting goods to the city? Good of...considerable value?' he asked, looking to the two men to his sides.

'Quite the opposite in fact- good day!' Aramis said, giving a sarcastic doff of his hat to the three men and making to turn his horse to the forest road ahead.

'I wouldn't do that-' the man replied, before drawing a pistol from his cloak. -'If you want to keep your heads!'

Aramis sighed to himself as he felt irritation rising into his chest. 'Come now, lads- I assure you we have nothing to offer. Perhaps you'd care to take a look?' he offered, showing them the insides of his empty packs.

The man in the middle did not move to take a look- instead he clicked the safety mechanism off his pistol and aimed it at d'Artagnan's chest. 'You city folk are all the same- you think you are so smart and can bluff your way out of anything!'

'I told you, we have nothing!' Aramis growled, eyes flickering to the younger man beside him, who had his eyes only on the gun now pointed at him. 'I have two apples and some blank scrolls of paper, if you're that intent on stealing from us?'

'Very funny-'the man said. 'If we don't get...' he looked d'Artagnan up and down, before pointing at his feet. 'If we don't get them boots, and that lovely blue cloak...then we'll take them by force!'

'Cloaks and boots?' the Gascon echoed, eyebrow quirked as he looked over to Aramis. 'I had these boots specially made!' he grumbled. The man with the gun, however, did not appreciate the humour- with a growl he lifted the pistol to the air and squeezed the trigger as a warning shot.

The sound exploded into the relative silence of the forest path, sending birds squawking into the air in a black cloud- d'Artagnan reflexively squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden noise, but he knew something was very wrong from the way his horse reacted under him.

'Steady girl!' he cried as his horse reared upwards with a panicked squeal and began bucking to get out of the danger. 'Steady!'

Aramis took this opportunity to lean forwards and punch the man closest to him in the head, sending him off his horse and onto the forest floor with a groan. The man in the middle growled out and pointed the gun at the medic, squeezing the trigger again and narrowly missing Aramis as he threw himself forwards to grab him and pull them both off their horses and onto the floor.

As the blast of the second shot filled the air d'Artagnan knew if he didn't get off his horse she would make him- with wide eyes he tried to swing a leg off to get to the ground, but with a thrill of panic he felt his boot tangle into the stirrups. 'Steady girl!' he shouted to try and calm down his panicking horse- with one last, loud whinny she reared to her highest height, sending the younger Musketeer up and off her back, landing head first onto a large rock buried near a crop of trees.

Aramis growled out as the man with the gun landed a punch on his jaw, sending his face to the side- scrabbling up he kicked the man in the chest before reaching for his dagger. Seconds later the breath was knocked out of him as the only other man standing threw himself at him and brought them both to the floor- he growled out as the man punched him in the nose; feeling warm blood trickle down his face he headbutted the man in the face, sending him upwards as he clutched his head. Finally able to grasp hold of his knife Aramis brought it out and brandished it in front on him; the man he had headbutted, blinded by pain and the blood in his eyes, threw himself forwards towards the medic, and fell upon the blade, whereupon his eyes widened and he sank to the floor.

Aramis sat back, breathing heavily as he wiped his bloodied nose. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do, he mused as he stood up, massaging his jaw. 'd'Artagnan?' He spoke into the silence, suddenly aware that he had taken down all three men by himself- where had the younger man gone? Looking round with wide eyes he finally spotted him lying in a heap behind his horse, who had now seemed to have calmed down.

'd'Artagnan?' he called- the younger man stirred, moving his head a little as he tried to sit up. 'Thank God...' Aramis breathed, thankful that he wasn't dead. With a pained wince he stumbled across the path towards him- he looked across to the path ahead as he spotted movement; the man who held the gun and had threatened d'Artagnan had stood up, the pistol once again in his hands and aimed at the youngest Musketeer.

'No!' Aramis shouted, running across and in front of the path of the bullet- the pistol went off a third time, the noise deafening and the muzzle flash blinding the older Musketeer as he fell to the forest floor in front of d'Artagnan, pain exploding in his side. He lay still for a few seconds, dazed, as the pain started flowing from the wound. He sensed someone running away and opened his eyes to get a sideways view of the man who had shot him running down the forest path, his horse and potential treasure forgotten. He groaned as he put a hand to his side- bringing it back he saw scarlet covering his shaky palm; breathing heavily he moved so he was looking up at tree canopy, and at the dark clouds hovering across the sky, before he closed his eyes with a wince as pain flared once more.

'A...mis?' he heard a voice groan from behind him. Opening his eyes he groaned loudly as he sat up, a hand clutching his side to keep some pressure on it as he moved round to face d'Artagnan, who was staring at him with wide eyes from his position lying on the ground.

'You- you're alright lad...' he moaned, moving slowly forwards, each movement felt like fire as he dragged himself closer to the Gascon. He looked him over, noticing at once a bloody cut on the top of his head- peering behind him he could see a blood-stained rock by the tree. I t-think you hit your head q-quite hard...' he muttered, before groaning deeply into the silence as he clutched his own side.

'Head hurts...' d'Artagnan muttered, teeth chattering as he laid back and put a shaky hand onto the wound.

'I know...it will h-hurt for a while...' Aramis nodded, before looking further down the path, wincing as the movement jarred his wound.

'Hit my head...' the younger man repeated, eyes closed.

'Keep your eyes open, lad...' Aramis turned back to him, shaking his shoulder a little. 'Let me see those eyes...' he chuckled, before groaning again.

D'Artagnan's eyes fluttered open and locked onto Aramis'. 'Hit my head.' he muttered- Aramis' heart sank as the younger man nodded to himself, muttering the same sentence under his breath.

'I know you're in a lot of pain, but we need to get b-back to the city...' he muttered, his own teeth chattering as a cold wind whipped round the path. Breathing in as deeply as his wound would allow he whistled to his horse, who came over at once- Aramis gritted his teeth as he took a reign and manoeuvred his horse into a lying-down position. 'Come on l-lad..' he muttered, turning to the Gascon, who had his eyes closed again.

'd'Artagnan- come on, look at me lad,' he instructed- the younger man looked across at him, eyes unfocused.

'Hit my head.' he said again, before groaning. 'Don't feel well...' he added, before grasping Aramis' shoulder and vomiting by the tree.

'It's alright, you're a-alright...' Aramis soothed, pain enveloping him as the younger man put his weight on his shoulder and caused his wound to stretch. He waited a few seconds for d'Artagnan to stop dry-heaving, before sitting up straighter. 'You need to get on the horse, alright? Now I'm going to help you, but you need to stand up for me.' he instructed, trying to keep as much pain out of his voice as possible. He hitched in another breath as d'Artagnan suddenly lurched upwards, scrabbling for the horses' reigns.

'Steady, slowly...' he muttered, before moving upwards himself as he helped the younger man to clamber on his horse. 'That's it...' he added, before clasping a hand to his side again as pain exploded once more- he used his fingers to quickly probe the wound, and winced as he felt the hardness of the bullet lodged into his flesh. 'Damn...' he whispered to himself, before wiping bloody fingers on his trousers and painfully clambering atop his horse behind d'Artagnan.

'Hit my head A...mis...' d'Artagnan muttered, before he groaned low in his throat.

'I k-know...f-fancy falling off your h-horse like that!' Aramis replied, breath hitching again. 'C-come on...lets go h-home before you get into any more m-mischief, eh?' he added, before moving his horse forwards and down the path.

After they had journeyed about two miles into a rapidly-darkening night, Aramis knew that they were too far from the city to get any decent help. His wound flourished in pain constantly and blood oozed down and soaked his underclothes and cloak; every time the horse moved the sticky blood caught on his clothes and caused pain to spark in the wound. He needed to remove the bullet and stitch it up now, otherwise he was going to bleed to death on his horse.

Keeping a tight hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder to keep him steady and upright, Aramis spied what looked like an abandoned farmhouse.

Thanking his lucky stars he urged his horse forwards before she came to a stop by the door. 'Down girl...' he whispered, before groaning as he helped d'Artagnan get unsteadily off the horse.

'T-that's it...good lad...' he muttered, giving him an encouraging smile. 'I'll t-take a look at your head once we're inside...'

'W-where are we?' the younger man muttered, before he frowned across at the medic as Aramis guided him into the empty farmhouse. 'What happened?'

'You h-hit your head and I got sh-shot...'Aramis recounted, putting a hand on the Gascon's shoulder and squeezing lightly as he looked up, mouth open in horror. 'Don't worry- they're g-gone now...'

'Aramis- you got shot?!' the younger man breathed, eyes wide.

'D-don't worry about me...' Aramis smiled despite the pain as d'Artagnan's eyes flew to the wound at his side. 'Sit down and I can c-clean your head..'

Nodding, the younger man sat against the wall, groaning as he put a hand to his head again.

'Let me see..' Aramis muttered, taking some water from his pack and some fresh bandages- with deft hands he doused the wound on the younger man's head to clean it, before wrapping it in the linen to keep it clean for the journey home- he patted d'Artagnan's shoulder as he groaned out in pain, before sitting back, breathing heavily, as the younger man leaned against the wall, eyes closed against the pain in his head.

'Stay a-awake...' Aramis muttered, clicking his fingers in front of d'Artagnan's face.'I need you to stay awake till we g-get back home.' he added, before finally looking down at his own wound.

Fumbling open the buttons, belts and knots on his uniform with shaky, blood-stained hands, he finally exposed the large wound in his side. Blood continued to drip from the wound, and, hitching in a series of pained breaths, Aramis set about cleaning the wound. Unstoppering the last of the water with his teeth he upended it over the wound, hissing with pain as his wound protested.

He looked up as he heard d'Artagnan groan under his breath, and the medic could see he was once again fluttering in and out of consciousness. 'Stay awake, lad...' he breathed, voice now hitching with concern as pain flowed through him. Throwing out a hand he shook the younger man's shoulder, causing him to open his eyes. 'T-tell me a story...' he muttered. 'D-distract me...' he added with a dry, pained chuckle.

With a deep sigh, d'Artagnan sat up straighter as he fought to keep his eyes open. 'A story...' he repeated, as he watched his friend pull out fresh bandages and his suturing kit from the inner pockets of his cloak. 'Mmm...m'not too good at stories...' he groaned, before looking up as Aramis groaned out.

'You t-tell good stories...' the medic muttered as he fought the urge to vomit from the pain as he took out some long-handled tweezers and began tentatively probing the wound to find the bullet. 'What w-was your favourite thing about l-living in Gascony?' he asked, voice hitching again as he felt around the wound.

D'Artagnan looked up, his eyes wide as he fought a wave of nausea- his brain was foggy, as if he was wrapped up in a tight blanket inside his mind, and his head throbbed where he had hit.

'M..my mother's c-ooking...' he finally muttered, his voice echoing into the silence of the farmhouse. 'She d-died when I was eleven, but I r-remember her in the kitchen, baking r-rabbit pies and bread..' he let out a breathy, fond chuckle. 'She a-always smelled of spices...'

Aramis nodded, eyes screwed shut in pain as he finally located the bullet and gingerly pulled it out. Sitting back with a long growl he let out a pained breath as he flexed his shaky fingers. Now it was time to stitch- pulling out his needle and thread he looked up the the younger man, who was looking around, eyes still round as saucers.

'How are you f-feeling?' he asked, him, patting his knee when the Gascon did not reply. 'd'Artagnan?'

'Woozy...' came his reply. 'My head feels...full...'

'I'll g-get you a matron as soon as we g-get home...' Aramis promised, before painfully moving so he was sat next to the younger man, with his back against the wall. 'Let me j-just do this...' he muttered, before beginning to stitch his wound.

'N-need any help?' d'Artagnan sluggishly turned to him, blinking a few times.

'No...just keep your e-eyes open for me...' Aramis smiled, before clenching his teeth as he continued to stitch his wound. It wasn't easy, as his wound was in a very inconvenient area, but soon the wound was closed in as neat a way that his shaky hands could manage.

Sitting back with a gasp the medic rested his head on the cold brick wall, letting seconds trickle past as pain flowed through him. He turned his head as he heard d'Artagnan moan low in his throat again. 'Lets get you h-home...' he whispered, catching the younger man's shoulder and squeezing comfortingly.

'And g-get your wound looked at t-too...' d'Artagnan pointed out as Aramis painfully dragged himself upwards, before he bent to help him up.

'What, th-this?' the medic motioned his wound. 'This is a scratch!' he chuckled wetly as he helped d'Artagnan stagger to the horse. 'I've had w-worse wounds from Porthos when I've woken him from one of his af-afternoon naps!' he added, smiling as the younger man let out a breathy laugh as he helped move him onto his horse.

'L-lets go home...' he groaned as he once again heaved himself into a sitting position behind the Gascon. Digging his heels into his horse's side they slowly made their way back onto the path and headed back to the city, hopefully without any further interruptions from wannabe thieves on the road home.

Thanks for reading! It's quite a bit longer than the one shots I normally write, but for some reason I couldn't stop!

Hope you enjoyed my first foray into proper hurt!d'Artagan, as I don't normally write hurt/comfort for him...that may change in the future! ^^

Please review!