While the rain had stopped, the sun had yet to make an appearance and the wind only seemed stronger and colder than before. D'Artagnan tried valiantly to suppress the shudder that ran through him but found that tensing his muscles made them ache far worse than before. His eyes were glued on Aramis' horse, watching intently as Aramis kept Athos' unconscious body steady. He could see Aramis' lips moving but the words were lost on the wind.

'He's going to be fine y'know,' Porthos' voice had him jumping in his saddle and he let out an inadvertent groan as his side pulled painfully. He threw a glare in Porthos' direction but it was only met with a smirk.

'He will be fine,' Porthos repeated, his leg brushing against his youngest brother's. D'Artagnan could only nod in response, forcing his body to suppress another chill that ran through him. He could feel Porthos' eyes staring at him but he ignored him. He was focusing all of his energy on keeping himself upright in his saddle but his reserves were depleting rapidly. He was starting to worry he wouldn't reach the inn.

'Where are you hurt?' Porthos asked, reaching a hand over and gripping the back of D'Artagnan's neck. He could feel the slim body trembling against him and his concern ratchetted higher.

'Hurt my side a bit,' D'Artagnan shrugged, unconsciously leaning into his brother's touch, the warm skin feeling so wonderfully reassuring.

'A bit?' Porthos echoed, an eyebrow raised to show how unconvinced he was by the boy's self-diagnosis.

'Maybe more than a bit,' D'Artagnan smiled back at his brother, wrapping one arm around himself and laying a hand gently against the torn wound. His body ached and, although he could feel shivers running through him and his body was trembling with cold, his forehead was dotted with sweat and his skin felt like it was burning.

'Aramis will take a look at you when we get back to the inn. We'll take care of you,' Porthos promised, his hand squeezing D'Artagnan's neck. He could feel the boy nodding against his hand and he was reluctant to remove it. D'Artagnan needed comfort and if this was the only thing he could offer him then he would be damned if he took it away from him.

Up ahead of them Athos' eyes fluttered open and he gazed at the scene in front of him from where his head rested against Aramis' shoulder. He tried to piece together what had happened and where he was. There was no denying he was on a horse, that much was obvious, but he couldn't place exactly how he had gotten there.

'You passed out,' Aramis interrupted his thoughts. Having been watching his eldest brother so intently, he knew the second he had regained consciousness and knew that he would be disorientated.

'D'Artagnan?' Athos croaked out, turning his head from side to side to see if he could see the other soldiers.

'With Porthos,' Aramis reassured, 'He'll keep him safe until we get back to the inn. I want to take a look at your leg and sort that fever.'

'I'm fine. The stitches feel secure, I don't think any have ripped. It just feels very tender,' Athos confirmed as he reached a hand down and pressed it against his wound.

'I'm sure it is very tender, Athos. You were shot,' Aramis deadpanned, grinning as Athos sighed in frustration. 'But let me be the judge on how well you are.'

'Sir, yes sir,' Athos grunted back with a smirk, allowing himself a brief moment of weakness and dropping his head back to Aramis' shoulder. Aramis tightened his arm around his friend's waist but made no further acknowledgement.

Aramis turned his head to look over his shoulder at his other brothers behind him. He could hear the pair talking but couldn't make out the words that were being spoken. He was concerned about their youngest and the wound that he had been trying to conceal but he knew that Porthos would take care of him and stop him from doing anything stupid in his absence. Well, anything more stupid than sacrificing himself to a gang of bandits to save them. They were going to be having serious words when they reached the inn.

He could see D'Artagnan gripping at his side and could see the blood covering his shirt and it did nothing to calm his nerves. He seen the boy leaning forward in his saddle until he was almost flush against his horse and heard a groan force its way from his lips. His eyes met Porthos' and he raised his eyebrows in question. Porthos simple shook his head in response, his hand remaining on D'Artagnan's neck.

Porthos leant over until his head was level with D'Artagnan's and Aramis could see his lips moving but couldn't make out any of the words. He watched D'Artagnan's head nod and Porthos shake his own and sigh loudly. Aramis smirked, imagining the conversation taking place. Turning his head forward he had never been more thankful to see the outline of the inn ahead of them, the light in the window his own beacon of hope.

'Nearly there,' he muttered to Athos and he felt the body in front of him twitch and sit upright as though the information had given him a burst of energy.

Aramis felt more than saw Porthos' acknowledgment of the inn as both his and D'Artagnan's horses strutted up beside them. Aramis couldn't help but notice that Porthos had removed his hand from D'Artagnan's neck but had taken full control of the reigns of his horse instead. Aramis shared a look with his brother and clicked his tongue to urge his horse forward. Athos' horse followed quickly behind.

No sooner had they reached the inn than several things happened. Victor greeted them at the door, the dawn light just peeking over the horizon to light the inn as though it were the holy grail. Porthos jumped off his horse just in time to rush over to the far side of D'Artagnan's horse to catch his youngest brother as he let out a soft moan and slumped out of the saddle towards the ground.

Porthos wrapped his arms around D'Artagnan's waist in an effort to save him from hitting the dirt. He felt the wet blood of his brother's shirt and heat of the wound and the touch was enough to send D'Artagnan from partial lucidity into full unconsciousness. Porthos watched in fear as D'Artagnan's eyes rolled into his head and his head collapsed into Porthos' shoulder. Porthos shouted Aramis' name and he appeared beside him as if by magic.

Aramis pulled off a glove and placed it against D'Artagnan's forehead.

'Inside, now.'

Porthos slipped an arm under D'Artagnan's knees and hoisted him into his chest, walking as fast as he could with the extra weight into the inn and following Victor up into the room they had shared before. He placed D'Artagnan onto the bed that he had previously occupied and turned to Aramis for further instruction.

Aramis had already helped Athos sit on the bed he had resided in earlier that night and was in the process of ridding himself of his doublet and gloves. He crouched down beside D'Artagnan's bed, helping Porthos strip D'Artagnan of his blood and dirt stained shirt. He clucked his tongue and sighed in annoyance as he seen the state his brother's body was in.

He reached for the wound on D'Artagnan's side, noting with displeasure the weeping and swollen state. He touched it briefly and felt instantly uneasy with how hot the wound was.

'What's the verdict?' Athos spoke up from behind him and Aramis turned his head to face him briefly.

'Stab wound, deep enough to require stitching but all of them are torn. No doubt as a result of his midnight trip with his friends.'

Porthos returned to the room, the other soldiers unaware he had even left - he had a talent for that - and deposited Aramis' medical equipment he had located next door in the room D'Artagnan had been using. He had also brought in the rest of the brandy and started pouring it over the equipment Aramis would need.

'I'm glad you have been paying attention dear Porthos. I'll make a nurse out of you yet,' Aramis joked with a smirk, taking the tweezers from Porthos' hands and ignoring the fake scowl he received in return.

Aramis started picking the ripped stitches out of D'Artagnan's side as carefully as he could, dropping them into a bowl Porthos was holding beside him and wiping away the fresh blood that appeared on D'Artagnan's skin. He stopped for a brief second when a moan wrenched itself from D'Artagnan's lips and the boy's head tossed on the pillow beneath it.

Before anything could be said Athos appeared at Aramis' other side, limping towards the bed. He sat himself at the head of the bed, pulling D'Artagnan's head onto his lap and pushing his fingers into the boy's dark hair to silence him. It worked instantly and Aramis resumed his surgery. Porthos smirked in Athos' direction but it was lost when the eldest musketeer's eyes remained on his young charge.

D'Artagnan let out another moan and his eyelashes fluttered open. He blinked owlishly at Athos' pale face above him and was momentarily confused as to why he was lying in the man's lap. His memories came flooding back to him and he gasped as he tried to push himself upright.

'Oh no you don't,' Porthos grunted, placing a remarkably gentle hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder and pushing him back to where he had been. 'Aramis is working hard to fix you, let's not break you again quite so soon, hmm?'

D'Artagnan stared at Porthos, hearing the words but struggling to understand in his weariness.

'Athos, your leg…' D'Artagnan started as he went to push himself up again.

'My leg is fine. You did well,' Athos assured him, pulling his charge back down and placing a hand on his forehead.

'But Aramis said-'

'Aramis will look at it once he is finished taking care of your wound. And, when you are feeling better, we are going to have a serious discussion about you putting yourself into unnecessary danger,' Athos deadpanned as he looked down at the pale face of his youngest brother. The boy's eyes gazed up at him with a trust that had Athos' stomach dropping into his knees.

'And about you not telling us when you're injured,' Porthos chirped up from where he had positioned himself at the end of the bed, one hand on D'Artagnan's shin. He watched as Aramis carefully removed the last of the stitches and placed them into the bowl he was holding.

'There was no time,' D'Artagnan croaked his argument, clearing his throat. 'And you were all hurt, I had to take care of you.'

'Which is admirable,' Aramis assured him as he smiled, cleaning away the fresh blood that oozed from the wound, 'But we need to take care of you as well. Remember that.'

D'Artagnan could only nod in response, swallowing down the nausea he felt as Aramis touched his side. The room was softening around the sides of his vision and it was only Athos' hand on his head and Porthos' hand on his leg that was keeping him present. He heard Aramis whisper an apology before he felt his side burning and he desperately tried to pull himself away from the pain.

Aramis was shushing him and placing a cool hand on his chest. He blinked his eyes open from where they had fallen shut and stared at the blurred figures around him. He felt Athos clearing tears from his cheeks, unaware that they had fallen and he sucked in a shaky breath.

'You're alright,' Athos hushed him, his hand never budging from his head. D'Artagnan could only stare at him, his vision blurring and going white around the edges. He could feel Aramis wiping his side again and felt the needle pierce his skin and he gasped. It hadn't felt as sore when he had done it himself. He let out a pitiful moan and turned his head away from the medic.

'D'Artagnan?' Athos called, leaning closer to his youngest brother to gain his attention. But it was no use. D'Artagnan shook his head to clear his vision but it only resulted in stars crossing his vision and he was only aware of his name being called by his brothers before he let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

'He's out,' Athos confirmed, pushing D'Artagnan's sweat soaked hair away from the boy's face and staring down at him.

'He will be fine,' Aramis assured him, not taking his eyes off his stitching in front of him, 'And that's my definition of fine, not his.'

Porthos chuckled and stood from the bed, pulling D'Artagnan's boots off and draping him with a blanket. He left the room in search of food and wine, leaving his other brothers to deal with their youngest.

Aramis finished the stitches and tied them off, washing his hands in the bucket beside him before grabbing a bandage and wrapping it around his wound. Athos helped lift the prone body upright, crossing D'Artagnan's arms across his chest as Aramis wrapped the bandages across the boy's torso and knotted it at his side.

Athos replaced D'Artagnan on the bed, adjusting the pillow under his head and pulling the blanket up to under his chin, tucking them around the slumbering body. He turned around in time to see Aramis smirking and patting the other bed beside him.

Athos rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the mattress beside him, stretching his leg out with a grunt. Helping him remove his trousers, leaving him in his braies, Aramis checked the stitches and nodded in contentment.

'The boy did well, these are strong. No infection and they've held. You'll be sore for a while but you will be fine.'

'Aramis, I am well. I have been shot before you know,' Athos deadpanned, standing up and sitting in the chair that Aramis had previous occupied beside D'Artagnan's bed.

'And isn't that a ringing endorsement for Musketeering,' Aramis laughed, slumping onto the cot he had previously occupied. Porthos returned with a tray of food and Victor snuck in behind him carrying several bottles of wine.

'We are in your debt, Monsieur,' Aramis smiled as he removed his boots and threw them to the side of the cot.

'No, the boy saved my life. I am in his debt,' Victor smiled and nodded at the soldiers. He slipped out of the room and closed the door silently behind him.

Athos smiled down at the unconscious boy in front of him and pushed the damp hair back from his brother's forehead. He left his hand on the boy's warm forehead and released a sigh.

Aramis and Porthos shared a smirk and started pouring wine and fixing plates of food. It felt like a long time before dawn.

When D'Artagnan awoke the world was fuzzy and it took him several minutes before he could make out where he was. His side felt raw and he moved his hand to touch it.

'I wouldn't if I were you,' he heard Porthos' gruff voice from beside him and turned his head to look at his brother with a frown. 'Aramis will be very upset if you ruin his fine stitching.'

D'Artagnan blinked at him before pushing himself upright. Porthos tutted and helped him sit up against the headboard.

'Are you well?' D'Artagnan asked, coughing to clear his throat and humming in appreciation when a cup appeared before him. Aramis smiled as he handed the water over and set down beside D'Artagnan's covered feet, his hand gripping his brother's ankle.

'We are all fine, thanks to you,' Aramis watched as D'Artagnan downed the cup of water, grimacing at the bitter taste of the pain reliever Aramis had mixed into it. He slumped against the headboard and Porthos helped him lie back down, ignoring his protests.

'Athos?' D'Artagnan questioned, wincing as the stitches in his side pulled. His wide eyes looked from Aramis to Porthos.

'Is fine. Get some rest. We will talk about your self-sacrificing nature when you wake,' Athos called out from his bed, his injured leg resting on a pillow in front of him. Porthos shifted so D'Artagnan could see his mentor and smirked as his youngest brother visabilly wilted at the sight of their leader.

Aramis could see D'Artagnan had more questions but the boy was physically wilting before them, his eyelids already drooping.

'Rest, D'Artagnan. We will talk when you are awake.

D'Artagnan barely nodded and closed his eyes, his body relaxing under the blankets. He fell asleep quickly, helped along by Aramis' pain draught.

The other musketeers relaxed in relief; their brother would be fine. They would take a few days to recover then return home with the knowledge that their brotherhood was stronger than ever.