When D'Artagnan regained consciousness it was to the sound of rain and the smell of sweet, damp undergrowth. He peeled his eyes open and blinked around him. He was aware he was lying on his front, the unmistakable scent of wine and horse telling him that the cloak beneath his head belonged to Athos. The musketeer recruit furrowed his eyebrows and tried to remember what had happened.

He tried to turn his head but a shot of pain ran from his shoulder through his spine and he halted all movement. He could hear footsteps approaching and he held his breath in a moment of panic.

'Shh, it's alright lad, it's only me.' D'Artagnan let out his breath when Porthos' low voice swept over him and his firm hand rested on the base of his back.

'You've been injured but Aramis patched you up. He's certain you'll be alright,' Porthos explained, kneeling down in D'Artagnan's line of vision.

D'Artagnan nodded gently, careful not to move his shoulder. He could feel the thick padding tied to his back just above his right shoulder blade and assumed that's where he had been injured.

'Water?' He croaked, his tongue feeling swollen and his head feeling light from blood loss.

'There's some over here and I have some broth ready for you to try and get your strength back. Do you think you can sit up?'

'If you help me,' D'Artagnan confirmed, reaching a hand out from under his blanket and holding it out to Porthos. It took a few minutes but soon enough D'Artagnan was settled as close to the fire as he dared, a mug of broth in his hands and Aramis' lavender-scented cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

'What happened? Where are the others?' D'Artagnan asked around small sips of soup. His stomach was rolling but he was adamant he wasn't going to make a fool out of himself by being sick in front of a musketeer. It was already bad enough that he had gotten himself injured.

'They went on with the missive. We weren't too far from the Comte's estate so they figured it best for us to stay here and they go on ahead. They'll be back soon. And when they're back be ready for a tellin' off from Athos. He ain't best pleased with you,' Porthos shook his head, a false scowl on his face. He could see D'Artagnan's face pale and allowed himself to crack a smile.

'Aw you'll be fine, lad. He's not really upset. What was it he said?' Porthos took a dramatic pause to remember the words. 'Ah yes. "Does that boy have no self-preservation? Or is it just a habit of risking his life for trained soldiers?"' Porthos finished with a smirk, reaching over and plucking the empty mug from D'Artagnan's hands, replacing it with some water. He took a moment to pull Aramis' cloak tighter around the boy's shoulders.

D'Artagnan wanted to repeat his question about what had happened but the memory came flooding back to him.

The three musketeers had been given a mission to deliver a letter of importance to a Comte who lived a half-days ride away from Paris. Tréville had permitted D'Artagnan to go as well as part of his training - and also because he couldn't stand the thought of D'Artagnan being left unsupervised and without his mentor. Honestly, he had told Athos during one of their meetings, the boy was a magnet for trouble.

That statement proved more than truthful as, only a mile from the Comte's estate, they were set upon by a group of bandits. While their technique and skills left much to be desired, their numbers more than made up the difference. Even D'Artagnan, who had only been training with the soldiers for a few months, easily dispatched 4 in minutes.

The other musketeers worked together as a well oiled machine, each well aware of where the others would be positioned and jumping in to assist should they be called for. D'Artagnan, working outside the group, was able to see the attack before the rest, his vantage point showing a scarred bandit running up behind Athos while he was busy fighting 2 others.

D'Artagnan's voice stuck in his throat as he went to shout a warning to his mentor. He debated whether he would be able to stop the attack in time but abandoned his thought and took off at a run instead. He would make it, he was sure of it.

Porthos shouted a warning to Athos who turned just in time to see his attacker raise a dagger and prepared to stab him. Athos gritted his teeth and braced himself for the pain; he knew he couldn't defend the attack.

The pain came from the side and wasn't the sharp pain of a blade he was expecting; instead the pain came from an 18 year old Gascon slamming into side and hurling him to the ground. The wind was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the forest floor but he inhaled quickly when he heard D'Artagnan shout out in agony and watched as the younger man slumped into the nearest tree.

Aramis shouted out D'Artagnan's name and ran towards him, ducking under Porthos' swinging arm as he took out one of the few remaining attackers. Aramis caught the boy before his knees hit the dirt and he wrapped his arms around his waist, lowering him to the ground, his lips close to his ear as he whispered words of assurance.

''Ow is he?' Porthos asked as he stomped over, his eyes searching the trees for any further bandits but relaxed when he was satisfied the battle was finished.

'Stabbed,' Aramis deadpanned without turning, D'Artagnan choking out a laugh beneath him. Porthos rolled his eyes and walked over to help their leader to his feet. Athos reached out an arm and Porthos pulled him upwards, a gasp eliciting from Athos' mouth.

'You good?' Porthos grunted, a hand on his friend's back to steady him. Athos only nodded in return.

Athos limped towards Aramis and D'Artagnan, an arm wrapped tight around his aching ribs.

'How is he really?' Athos asked, all but collapsing beside his brothers on the grass.

'He'll survive. He'll be in pain for a while but nothing he can't handle,' Aramis stood quickly, rushing over to his horse and returning with his saddlebags. He emptied his flask of brandy over D'Artagnan's shoulder, wincing as the boy shouted in pain.

'Sorry,' he apologised softly, threading a needle and starting his stitching. D'Artagnan felt every stitch, ever needle jab. It was horrible. But a swish of blue caught his eye and he watched as Athos shed his cloak and folded it. Their leader lifted D'Artagnan's head and slid the cloak under it, his hand resting on his head.

'Thank you,' D'Artagnan breathed, his breath hitching as Aramis continued to stitch.

'You were lucky they didn't hit bone. Any further right and you'd be in a lot more pain,' Aramis called out and D'Artagnan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

'I think I'm in enough pain as it is,' he responded, sharing a smile with Athos. He hissed as he felt the thread pull through his skin and his body shuddered. Athos patted his head gently.

'Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you awaken.'

Whether it was the cloak beneath his head, the loss of blood, or Athos' comforting hand in his hair, D'Artagnan drifted off.

Porthos watched as D'Artagnan shivered, even under the heavy cloak, the cup of water in his hands sloshing to the ground. His teeth were chattering together and his eyes were crinkled in pain. The rain dripped around them but they were protected by the crop of trees above them. A cool evening wind rushed passed them and even Porthos shuddered at the chilled air.

'C'mere,' Porthos started, shuffling closer to D'Artagnan until their arms were touching.

'Was Athos alright? I pushed him over,' D'Artagnan queried, wrapping his functional arm around his torso, the other lying useless at his side.

'He's fine,' Porthos chuckled, 'I think he'd take a few bruises over a knife to the chest any day.'

Porthos watched D'Artagnan's pale face struggle to contain a wince as he shifted on the ground and sighed.

'Aramis left something to take the edge off but said you should only take it if you really need it. I think you really need it,' Porthos stated, leaning over and grabbing his saddlebag and producing a small vial from the pouch.

'No,' D'Artagnan shook his head, swallowing down his nausea, 'I can manage.'

'D'Artagnan-' Porthos started but was abruptly cut off.

'No. I can manage,' D'Artagnan stared into Porthos' eyes with a pleading look, his pale face and his shivering form causing Porthos' stomach to turn to ice.

'No need to put on a brave face, kid. If you're hurt you don't have to hide it.'

'I'll survive. Besides Athos and Aramis will be back soon and I doubt I'd make it halfway back to Paris if I'm drugged.'

Porthos snorted and D'Artagnan scowled in return.

'If you think we're even goin' to attempt to head back to Paris while you're injured I don't think you know us at all.'

'I'll make it.'

'I have no doubt about that,' Porthos huffed, 'Look, let me explain something to you. We're your brothers. You're hurt. It's our job to look after you when you're hurt. And if that means Athos has to fork out some of his Comte silver then so be it.'

D'Artagnan grinned and Porthos felt a bit of his worry lift.

'Alright. Give me some of that then,' D'Artagnan held out his hand and Porthos handed him the vial.

D'Artagnan uncorked the vial and struggled to contain a gag at the smell that emitted from it. He held his breath and downed the liquid, shuddering at the bitter taste.

'There now. You'll be right as rain soon,' Porthos smiled, shuffling to get into a comfier position on the hard ground. His elbow bumped D'Artagnan's bandaged shoulder and it took all the boy's energy to contain his gasp of pain. The padding around the wound did little to soften the blow and the pain radiated across his shoulders and down his spine.

The world dimmed before his eyes and he could hear Porthos calling his name but it sounded like he was underwater. He took a deep breath to steady himself but it didn't help and he felt his head slump onto Porthos' shoulder.

'There now. Take a minute. You'll be alright,' D'Artagnan became aware of Porthos talking to him slowly and he was sure several minutes must have passed since his shoulder was hit.

'I'm okay,' D'Artagnan croaked out, attempting to lift his head from Porthos' shoulder but aware that the older man had his hand placed against his hair, petting it with a gentleness that belied the man's size.

'No you're not. But you will be. I'm sorry,' Porthos frowned, allowing D'Artagnan to raise his head and blink around him.

'S'okay. We'll keep it between us,' D'Artagnan grinned lazily and Porthos knew the pain relief had kicked in.

'Alright, time for a lie down, 'eh?' Porthos stood and removed his coffee-scented cloak, shaking it out and laying it on the leaves below them. He indicated for D'Artagnan to lie down on it and the boy shuffled across. Porthos replaced Athos' cloak and helped D'Artagnan lay his head on it again, lying firmly on his stomach and avoiding all contact with his wound. He spread Aramis' cloak across the boy's back, unconsciously tucking it in around him.

'Thanks, P'thos,' D'Artagnan mumbled and closed his eyes. He wasn't aware that he had fallen asleep but knew he was dreaming. He dreamt of swords slashing at him, blood dripping and angry faces shouting. He dreamt of blue cloaks covering him, the swords bouncing off them, doing no damage. He dreamt of the heat of 3 warm bodies standing protectively in front of him.

He awoke with a start and was quickly shushed and calmed by a hand on his head and another gripping his calf.

'You're alright. You're safe,' Athos' warm voice soothed him and he felt Porthos' firm hand squeeze his leg. He was aware of Aramis moving the bandage from his shoulder and checking the wound but his touch was like feathers and he felt no pain.

He blinked several times, aware he was losing time between each blink but was very aware of Aramis' cloak being draped back over him when the medic was done with his examination. He could hear them speaking over him but they were quiet and his nose was filled with lavender, vanilla, and wine, and the scents drew him back to sleep. He was safe.