#d'artagnan whump

[99point9percentwhump]

The Three Musketeers - Part I: D'Artagnan 

[staydandy]

The Musketeers (2014) - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : In 1630s Paris, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos are a group of highly trained musketeers who meet D'Artagnan, a skillful farm boy with hopes of becoming a musketeer. The series follows them as they fight to protect King and country. (Wiki)

Whumpee : D'Artagnan played by Luke Pasqualino (center right) • Porthos played by Howard Charles (center left)

Country : 🇬🇧 UK Genres : Action, Adventure, Drama, Bromance

Notes : This is a Partial List - I didn't list every bit of whump, just what caught my attention the most • There is a lot of emotional whump involving the other 2 characters, Athos (left) & Aramis (right), I just don't usually focus on emotional whump - and I was heavily distracted by D'Artagnan lol

Episodes on List : 4 Total Episodes : 30 Total Seasons : 3

*Spoilers below*

01-01 : D'Artagnan is hurt jumping out a window

01-02 : … continued from previous ep. ...

01-10 : Shot

03-06 : D'Artagnan & Porthos are trapped in a collapsed building

[scattered-winter]

oh this is giving me so much insp for whump situations HELLO

[sick-bay]

A list of my favorite whumpees (and characters i want to see more whump of!)

Zuko (from ATLA) - back when I was a kid and watched the show on TV I didn't even know what whump was but I always loved that final fight against Azula (you know, the one where he gets hurt)

Ace (from One Piece) - he’s always been my favorite OP character and I like the found family trope he has going on so I like fics and stuff where the other crew members are taking care of him (pls don’t mention his d-word to me, i WILL cry. Actually, he's alive and well!!)

Todoroki (from BNHA) - he's my favorite character in BNHA and tbh he’s very whumpable (also I really enjoy fics where Aizawa ends up looking after him like the dad he is)

Jason Todd (DC) - i've seen like one batman movie ages ago and i have not read a single batman/outlaws/etc. comic and i do not really plan on changing that BUT i have been following the Wayne Family Adventures webtoon for the past 3 years for fun and i love it! jason is my favorite and i love it when the tough guys get sick/hurt and rendered helpless and vulnerable! there's lots of fics and i'm excited to read them all hehe

Hak (from Akatsuki no Yona) - he canonically gets hurt A LOT and I'm enjoying it. Big, strong, tough guys getting hurt is just chef’s kiss! (I wish there were more fics about it but the manga itself is feeding me quite well so I can’t really complain)

Kaito Kid (from Case Closed/Detective Conan and Magic Kaito 1412) - he's always been my favorite character in the anime and even though I don't keep up with the anime itself, I've watched all the episodes and movies he shows up in lol He's just so whumpable and I love it when when he gets hurt and Shinichi ends up saving him, even though they're rivals.

Vanitas (Vanitas no Carte) - I don’t actively seek out whump content like fics for him but I did enjoy that one episode where he got hurt and ended up with a fever and all that.

Zack Fair (from FF VII) - the kind of whumpee who's loud and cheerful but gets uncharacteristically quiet when he's hurt and/or sick imo! There really isn't enough whump fics about him... Especially not about mentor Angeal and mentee Zack...

Cloud (from FF VII) - another big, tough guy! Very whumpable as well (though there is surprisingly little whumpy fics (and I'm not a fan of psychological whumpy stuff, I prefer it physical with the characters getting bloody and all that <3))!

Noctis (from FF XV) - I only played the game a few months ago (no, we will not talk about the ending. It’s not real) but I've read whump fics and sickfics about him a few years ago already lol Again, I love the found family kinda trope (is it found family if they've all already known each other and have been close for years? Anyways, I love the bond the group has). There is a lot more Noctis whump content than there is Cloud or Zack whump content.)

Suguru Geto (from Jujutsu Kaisen) - HOW COULD I FORGET HIM??? Well probably because there is nowhere near enough whump/sickfic content for him… I am in desperate need for moreeeee!! Maybe the anime onlys will feed me once the new season is out and they'll get to know him… I am hoping that will happen…

Leon (from Resident Evil) - there is NOT enough whump content for Leon! That being said, I enjoy fics where he works together with the BSAA and everything goes to shit and he gets hurt <3 (In my mind he's besties with Claire, Chris and Jill even though canonically he's never even interacted with Jill as far as I'm aware of but that doesn’t matter to me!)

Ghost (from CoD) - honestly I played most CoD games way back when I was in middle school but I never paid much attention to the story itself lmao But because I played the previous games all those years ago I got the new one that was recently released (just because nostalgia, you know?) and it started this new found love for whumpy Ghost. There is NOT enough content of that though (please, I am literally begging, give me more Ghost whump). Another big (like literally, the guy is huge <3), strong dude that I like to see bloody and hurt.

d'Artagnan (from The Musketeers, like the movie or the show or the book idk, just d'Artagnan) - I've known about the Three Musketeers since I was a little girl idk everyone knows them I guess?? ('All for one and one for all!' and all that. It's just famous) but I've only watched that one movie a few years ago (the one with Logan Lerman). Anyways, I enjoy whump fics about him. Simply because he's the 'baby' of the group and the others are like mentors to him and more experienced and even though he's talented and he can hold his ground, I love it when he gets hurt and the others take care of him.

Legolas (from The Lord of the Rings) - I've always loved him. He's always been my favorite but for some strange reason I never thought about whumpee Legolas until like a year ago??? I absolutely love the bromance between him and Aragorn and Gimli and the idea of him talking in elvish with Aragorn when he's hurt and/or feverish is just so dear to me!

[veneataur]

I finally managed to finish this one. There's more to come in the AU but this story that I started in 2018 is finally done.

[kats-kradle]

Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)

Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon, d'Artagnan & Porthos du Vallon, Aramis | René d'Herblay & Porthos du Vallon, Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon

Characters: Porthos du Vallon, d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), Athos | Comte de la Fère, Aramis | René d'Herblay

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), Pneumonia, Salt and Light, Guilt, Prayer, athos and aramis get rlly snappy at each other when someone they care about is hurt

Summary:

“Oi, where’s your head at?” Porthos scolded, giving d’Artagnan a harmless wack with his sword. “I nearly stabbed you. It was your idea to spar, now act like it.”

The only answer he received was d’Artagnan falling to the ground like a sack of bricks.

Or:

D’Artagnan contracts pneumonia, and no one deals with it well.

Written for Whumpmas in July Day 25: environmental whump

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Get To Know Your Fanfic Writer

Tagged by @ptork66 - thank you! :)

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

Don't remember the exact year, but it must have been in the early 2000's.

First character(s) you wrote for:

Jack Bauer from 24

Main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Athos, Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan, Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott, Cristóbal Rios and La Sirena's Emergency Holograms

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

I only just started writing for a new fandom that’s eating my brain. No clue what’ll be next.

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

The Musketeers, Cormoran Strike, Star Trek: Picard (La Sirena), Supernatural

Platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

If one considers “brotherhood” a platonic pairing: Athos & Aramis & Porthos & d’Artagnan; Sam & Dean Winchester

Romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Castiel/Dean Winchester; Cormoran Strike/Robin Ellacott

Your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

Didn’t check, but I’m pretty sure that hurt/comfort and whump are at the top, and then it’s probably brotherhood, angst or action

Your current platform where you post your works:

AO3, Tumblr

Snippet of the WIP you’re currently working on:

From a Whumptober fic that I didn’t manage to finish on time:

Athos doesn’t think; he acts. There is no time to think. There isn’t even time to shout a warning. His eyes on the dagger that’s hurtling through the air, he throws himself against d’Artagnan, pushing him out of the blade’s trajectory.

This was fun! Tagging (without any obligation) @lulacat3 @notmanthelessbutnaturemore @procrastinatorproject @jazzfic @regionalpancake @105nt @hobbeshalftail3469 and whoever wants to do this tag!

[old-fic-recs]

Ask Me, I Will Remain Mojsengojs

When Athos rides into the garrison one morning, badly wounded, it's up to the others to find out what happened. Does his haunted past have anything to do with it? (Of course it does!) Set after season 1 finale.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Gen

Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)

Characters: Athos; Aramis; Porthos; d'Artagnan; Treville; Milady de Winter; Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Whump!Athos; Anxiety; Comte Athos; Haunted past; Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Caring friends; Mystery; Shooting; Raids; Trouble; Pain; Horse accident; Whump!d'Artagnan; Angst; Flashbacks; Kidnapping; Brotherhood; Death; Love; Grief; Angsty; Whump!Aramis; Porthos being a solid rock

Published: 2014-08-21

Completed: 2014-11-13

Words: 64131

Chapters: 19/19

[221bsunsettowers]

The Musketeers (BBC): Hostage Situation

Written for @badthingshappenbingo​ and @jemmalynette​ , who gave me the prompt combination of show and space on the card!

Fandom: The Musketeers (BBC)

Prompt: Hostage Situation

D'Artagnan may not have taken pride in the fact that he had been captured, but he did take pride in the fact that it had taken six Red Guards to take him down, and even then, he had landed a hit on every single one before being knocked out from behind.

D'Artagnan also, if he was being honest, somewhere deep inside took pride in the fact that he was considered by others to be so important to the greatest of the Musketeers that taking him hostage would bring Athos, Porthos, and Aramis running. He had barely had time to feel a flash of relief when he saw his dearly loved brothers, a flash of fear that they had come and would be harmed somehow, before his head was roughly shoved into an ice cold tub of water and held down.

"Don't come any closer," one of the Guards warned, grinning as he pushed D'Artagnan's face into the bottom of the tub, "or I don't let him back up." The other Musketeers froze, and D'Artagnan found himself yanked out of the tub by his hair, gasping for breath, muscles clenched from the cold.

"D'Artagnan, are you alright?" Athos called out. His voice would sound typical to the Guards, D'Artagnan knew, because they didn't truly know Athos. He could hear the underlying worry in his mentor's voice, the slight shake just subtle enough that only his brothers would hear it was there.

"Still breathing!" D'Artagnan called back, the smirk on his face meant to let his brothers know he still had his fighting spirit. He saw Athos affectionately roll his eyes, Aramis and Porthos each let out a chuckle, and then he heard and saw nothing but the rushing of water in his ears and the hard cold bottom of the tub. He was held down longer this time, and came up gasping and hacking, barely able to get a single breath in before his captors plunged him back into the tub again. Caught so unawares, his mouth had still been open, and the freezing water had rushed in, leaving him retching when he was suddenly pulled back up and immediately pushed back down.

D’Artagnan knew he couldn’t last through this much longer, and he knew the more this torture was perpetrated against him, the more likely his brothers would act rashly and risk their own lives to make the pain D’Artagnan was suffering stop.

So this time, when his face was shoved under the water, he minimized his struggle, letting the exhaustion he felt show through, allowing a small amount of breath to escape his lips before he sealed his mouth shut again. The bubbles indicating breath dispersed, and D’Artagnan purposefully let his eyes slip closed and his body go completely limp.

As he had expected, he was immediately pulled out of the water and dumped unceremoniously onto the hard street. Holding back a wince, D’Artagnan was pleased to realize he had been thrown down face first, making it harder for his captors to notice his chest still rising slightly with breath. 

“You weren’t supposed to kill him until we had killed them!” D’Artagnan heard one of his captors yell, and he couldn’t help the adrenaline rush that came with knowing the first part of his plan had succeeded. 

But, then, oh, hearing his brothers’ screams, Athos’ usually strong call broken on a desperate shout of D’Artagnan’s name, Aramis begging him to wake up, Porthos’ growl sounding more like an anguished groan. It took everything he had not to at least move a finger, give them a hint that he was alive. And hopefully staying that way, considering he was desperately holding back from coughing up the water in his mouth, trickling too close to his throat on its way to his lungs.

  Listening carefully, D'Artagnan could hear when the Guard closest to him started to move towards the Musketeers. Reaching out, he slid the man's dagger from the strap on his boot and swung hard, slicing the Guard's tendon and stealing his sword in two quick movements. Unfortunately D'Artagnan found he couldn't do much else, as the water inside him surged its way back up, leaving him hacking and retching on the ground. Luckily, his instincts honed by countless hours of training had him bringing the stolen sword up quickly enough to block an incoming thrust, before one of his brothers took over, and D'Artagnan could double back over and acquiesce to the water's purge.

Within practically no time at all, he felt a familar hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles as D'Artagnan painfully coughed out the last few drops. "You're alright, D'Artagnan, it's good that it is all coming back out." 

"Hurts," D'Artagnan choked out, and Aramis drew him in close to his side, brushing his soaking hair out of his pale face. 

"I know," Aramis said soothingly, and D'Artagnan felt Aramis' sure hands expertly checking him for any other injuries before coming back to rest around his shoulders. "But it is far preferable to you being dead like we had thought." Aramis put a hand up, stopping D'Artagnan from speaking. "Do not apologize, you did exactly what you should, distracted them, surprised them and took one out of the fight so we could finish the rest. You protected us. That does not mean it was any less painful for us to see, but we blame you for nothing."

"He's right, lad," Porthos said, kneeling on D'Artagnan's other side before sweeping him into a warm bear hug. "Not many could have taken that much of that damn water, but you did, and cut a man down besides."

"Of course he did," and Athos' voice was as warm as Porthos' hug, as he too knelt down, right in front of D'Artagnan. "He's one of us, isn't he?" Athos reached over and squeezed D'Artagnan's shoulder, gently knocking their foreheads together before removing his cloak and tying it around D'Artagnan's shaking-cold body. Helping D'Artagnan to stand, Athos wrapped him in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his temple before moving to D'Artagnan's side, taking most of his weight. "Now let's get you home, so Aramis can make sure you don't go collapsing on us again."

"I collapsed on purpose!" D'Artagnan protested, and the laughter of his brothers as they walked back to the barracks together warmed him to his soul.

Bedside Vigil, Concussion, Confrontation, Ambulance Ride, Dehydration, Magical Curse, and Stabbing are still open! I’m writing pretty much only for Geralt/Jaskier, Buck/Eddie, TK/Carlos, and Magnus/Alec at this point, so feel free to leave me a prompt!

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 24 - The Musketeers

Day 24: Blindfolded Fandom/Setting - BBC’s The Musketeers, early S1 before d’Artagnan is commissioned Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

"Filthy cowards!" d'Artagnan raged, squirming with all his might in an attempt to get back up on his feet. The thick rope that had been wound around his middle kept his arms trapped down at his sides, preventing him from drawing a weapon or throwing any punches. It also made it harder to keep his balance. Between that disadvantage and the blindfold wrapped over his eyes to keep him from seeing which direction the next attack would be coming from, d'Artagnan had no opportunity to defend himself.

The red guards who had waylaid him all seemed to find this terribly entertaining. Their jeers and taunts circled the unfortunate recruit, as did a heavy kick every time he tried to clamber back up.

D'Artagnan gasped as another blow came out of nowhere, driving the wind from his body and leaving him to double up and wheeze for precious oxygen. The insults levied at him fell on deaf ears. As soon as he got free of this, he thought with fury, he was going to beat each and every one of them into the ground, single-handedly.

"Shouldn't have thrown in your lot with that Musketeer rubbish," one of the guards snickered. The statement was followed by a hand fisting in his hair, pulling him halfway up off the ground. "Everyone knows they're sorry excuses for soldiers."

D'Artagnan felt blood dripping from his nose over his lip as he bared his teeth and snarled blindly back, "One of them is worth ten of you!"

His loyal declaration was paid for with a punch to the cheek. What was one more bruise to add to the myriad he was rapidly accumulating? Reckless and outraged, the Gascon added, "None of you would dare face one of them one on one! You aren't fit to even speak of them!"

More blows rained down on him and he couldn't see to brace himself. Pure stubbornness (and the fact that they probably couldn't hear him anyway over the shouting and jeering) was all that kept him from any audible sounds of pain. For crying out loud, he wasn't even a musketeer! ...Yet! But when he was, oh, he would make them pay for this...

"One of 'em is worth ten of us, didya hear that, lads?" one of them asked with a loud guffaw. "Well, there are ten of us, aren't there? An' one of you. Which means... you might want to recalculate that, little pig farmer."

"You'd think all his time wrestling pigs would have made him better at this," another hooted.

D'Artagnan's blood surged hot at the insult, and he snapped back, "You're saying you're no better than pigs, then?"

A beat of silence followed; he could just imagine their collective brains trying to work through the statement, which eventually one of them did. An angry shout preceded more kicks and punches that d'Artagnan couldn't evade, try as he might to anticipate the next shot. Surely they would tire of this soon, he thought frantically. Despite the Red Guards' ongoing rivalry with the Musketeers, they couldn't actually kill him... could they?

"Wait, I know what'll make him squeal," one of the men suddenly called. "Where's Bruno?"

D'Artagnan had no idea who Bruno was, but the excited agreement from the others left him with no doubt he wasn't going to enjoy finding out. Multiple pairs of hands grabbed him by the arms, hauling him up to his feet and dragging the blindfolded recruit along. He struggled and shouted, doing his best to wriggle free of the rope around his middle, but they held him firm. Somewhere nearby, he heard a gate or door being opened, then he was pushed forward. Tripping on the cobblestone, d'Artagnan ended up sprawled on the ground again, only to freeze at the sound of throaty, furious barking.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, trying to scramble back from the newest threat, knowing that he had no chance at fighting off a dog without the use of his hands. "Bastards!"

"Bruno, you hungry?" one of the guards closest to him asked. Footsteps retreated, leaving d'Artagnan alone.

Bruno, and he sounded huge, started barking and snarling even louder, sounding desperate to get at d'Artagnan's throat.

Heart pounding in his chest, d'Artagnan said his mental goodbyes to anyone who had ever known him.

"Get 'im, Bruno!"

D'Artagnan felt something huge barreling forward, heard the sound of heavy paws and enraged growling; he curled up to make as small a target as possible and finally gasped in fear.

Having finally achieved the reaction they'd been hoping for, the red guards dissolved into laughter.

.o.O.o.

Athos wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Since d'Artagnan's first, rather memorable moment barging into their lives, he'd proven himself something of a magnet for trouble. Athos recognized it; he had two other brothers who were just as bad. What he was not expecting was for the Red Guard to have gotten themselves involved with the newest recruit.

Though, he was quite sure it would have taken nothing more than a snide comment about the musketeers in general, or one of the three Inseparables in particular, and d'Artagnan would have been trying to duel the entire complement of Red Guard. Athos shook his head in spite of the silent affection. Loyalty was commendable. Perhaps once they taught him to temper it somewhat...

In any case, even Athos had not been expecting a full squad of red guards to have waylaid the boy. Cowardice was one thing, but surely this was beneath even them. Coolly, the swordsman drew a pistol and fired it into the air. It worked to make all of the guards duck and spin around in fright, though it had also made d'Artagnan flinch violently from his spot on the ground. Not what he'd been going for.

"Restrain that brute," he ordered calmly, nodding to the dog they'd been using to taunt d'Artagnan. The beast was still wearing a collar and lead; he suspected they hadn't been planning to actually let the animal attack d'Artagnan, only wanting to get a frightened reaction from him.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan asked shakily. "Is that you?"

"Mm," Athos assented, directing his coldest glare at the Red Guard lieutenant, the one who should have been above this childish game. "Porthos."

"You lot," Porthos growled in disdain, dismounting from his horse and storming over towards d'Artagnan with his dagger in hand. The red guards scurried to get out of his way. "Pathetic, that's what you all are."

"The next time you get bored, we'd thank you to find your entertainment elsewhere," Aramis added flippantly, his own pistol idly resting on his leg but pointed right at their attack dog in case any of them had the bright idea to loose the beast after all. "And leave our recruits alone."

Athos watched as Porthos cut d'Artagnan free and pulled the blindfold away. The lad was quick to jump to his feet, and he was a mess of bruises, but Athos was pleased to see he appeared only furious and not scared. Good. It wouldn't do to let the bullies know they'd obviously gotten to him. He was also glad to see Porthos merely offering d'Artagnan a hand back up without fussing over him too much, none of them wanting to give the guards the impression that d'Artagnan needed coddling or protection. Lifting his chin, Athos turned his attention back to the lieutenant.

"Although," he went on. "If you're so anxious to prove yourselves against a musketeer, any one of you may challenge me. Right here. Right now. Any takers?"

His eyes slid from one to the next, daring each and every one of them to try their luck against a musketeer who was ready and able to fight back. To nobody's surprise, each of the guards looked away as his eyes settled on them. By now, Porthos was back on his horse and given d'Artagnan a lift up behind him. Athos nodded in satisfaction and glowered around once more, just to make sure the message had sunk in.

"The captain will hear of this," he growled, before wheeling his horse around and charging out of the Red Guards' courtyard.

He led the way back to the Musketeer garrison at the same clipped pace, but immediately swung down from his horse to grab d'Artagnan as soon as he dismounted from behind Porthos. Without a word, he took the lad's chin in his hand, turning his face this way and that to see what damage had been done.

"'M alright," d'Artagnan assured him, wincing and bruised, but as fierce as ever. "Next time I see one of their sniveling faces, I'm going to-"

"Whoa there," Aramis chuckled. He stepped over to the recruit, draping a casual arm around his shoulders. From his unconcerned grin, only one of his close friends would realize he was getting in place to grab d'Artagnan if he collapsed. "Don't get me wrong, I do love the idea of those tontos getting what they richly deserve."

"An' the captain would feel the same," Porthos said with a smirk, only barely masking the vengeful ire Athos knew he felt at their recruit being picked on. "But then he'd have to reprimand us..."

"And then you're mucking stables..."

"And most importantly, there's no sense giving the Cardinal reason to convince the King not to give you the commission you deserve," Athos finished for them. From his assessment, the lad had come to no real harm, nothing worse than some bad bruises and injured pride. "Now go see Serge. We had him save some supper for you when you weren't back in time."

Clearly still raring for a fight and unsatisfied at the lack of vengeance, d'Artagnan nevertheless nodded and headed for the mess. Athos watched him go, rubbing his chin broodingly.

Aramis crossed his arms and smirked. "There's some fire in that one."

"He's gonna make a great musketeer," agreed Porthos. "If he can stay outta trouble long enough."

Yes, Athos mused with a silent nod. Yes, he was quite sure d'Artagnan was headed for greatness. And they would be behind him every step of the way.

[99point9percentwhump]

Whumptober 2022 Day 13 - "Are you here to break me out?"

[capitaineathos]

Day 5 - Rescue! :)

This one got away from me a little bit, and it’s a bit longer than I’d intended, but it didn’t feel right to end it before the last scene happened, so I just went with it.

And there are mentions of torture in this one, but not hugely graphic.

[scattered-winter]

oh my god i need to whump d'artagnan so so so bad

[whumpapalooza]

Athos shoots D'artagnan

the way you can barely hear Porthos going "stay awake, stay awake, stay awake" is my jam

[whumprecs]

Hiya! I’m trying to find a Musketeers whump fic I read some time back, and I was wondering if you and/or your lovely followers might be able to help me? Thanks <3 // Summary: Part 1. D’Artagnan sits vigil beside a gravely-wounded Athos; in a rare moment of semi-lucidity Athos tries to say goodbye. Athos later recovers, D’Art never brings it up.

(2/2)Part 2. Athos sits vigil beside a gravely-wounded D’Artagnan; in a rare moment of semi-lucidity D’Artagnan tries to say goodbye. Athos is absolutely *devastated*, to the point that when D’Art later begins to recover he can tell that something is wrong. When he figures out what happened, he says he understands from how he felt when Athos did the same, but he doesn’t regret it because he wouldn’t want to risk leaving anything unsaid. You know, this sounds incredibly familiar, and when I reached out to the author I thought it belonged to she said "No, but I would totally read it" - whoops.

So Musketeers family - sound familiar?

[flowers-creativity]

Almost the Full Set

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Aramis (René d’Herblay), d’Artagnan (Charles), Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere) Prompt: Dragging themselves along the ground Warnings: Injuries (bloodless), pain, basic field medicine Summary: When things go wrong on a mission, Aramis has little choice but hide and trust in his friends to find him.

Notes: Whoo boy, this is indulgent and very whumpy XD.

@badthingshappenbingo​

Read it on AO3

The Musketeer bent low over his horse's neck, face almost in its mane, as he narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the path in the low light. He could feel the poor animal's muscles tremble beneath him and knew he had to stop and rest soon. Already, he had had to slow down considerably from the earlier headlong flight, or else he would have risked injury to his horse and himself when the forest grew denser around him. Luckily, the same applied for his pursuers, and the sounds of their calls and horses had all but ceased – he wasn't sure if he had succeeded in shaking them completely but at least he had put distance between them and him.

Aramis felt for the thick package of papers in his shirt beneath his doublet. So far, so good. It was fortunate that their Captain had had warning that someone would try to intercept them on their mission, so they had prepared for the eventuality of being separated. They each bore a package with the King's seal but he knew that his package was blank inside. So were the packages Athos and Porthos were carrying – the lot of carrying the real documents had fallen to d'Artagnan this time. He hoped that all of his brothers had escaped, naturally, but the price if their youngest was caught was the highest. And they had almost made it to their destination, too …

The marksman shook his head to dislodge the distracting thoughts. There was no use speculating on the others' fate – he had to concentrate on his own path, and hopefully they would all reach the meeting point with the courier who was to receive the documents the next day. He ruthlessly shoved down the what-if thoughts dogging his heels.

Suddenly, something small and dark darted out of the underbrush and right between his horse's hooves. The beast, already at the end of its tether, reared up, dancing on its hind legs as Aramis latched onto its mane, trying to rein it in. But whether it was the horse's fatigue or his own, whether his skills deserted him in the moment or the animal was too far gone to react to his guidance, the next moment, the reins were torn from his grip, and then he was suddenly weightless, suspended in mid-air for what seemed to last forever, before the ground came rushing at him. He landed hard and then tumbled down a slope ass over head, pain shooting through his body so relentlessly that he could barely figure out where it originated. His head hit a rock, and darkness rose around him. The last thing he knew before it swallowed him was his body rolling to a stop in an awkward sprawl, limbs akimbo.

Then he knew no more for a long time.

Aramis' eyes fluttered open, a groan working its way up his throat. He forced himself to halt the upward movement his body instinctively wanted to engage in and to lay still and take stock. He ached. It seemed to be everywhere, and it took some time to disentangle what was what. His head was ringing from the blow it had suffered, and he raised a hand to run it carefully over the back of his head which felt like a tonne of bricks when he raised it. There was a big lump at its back, and he flinched when his fumbling fingers pressed on it. On the plus side, his right arm was obviously in working condition. He flexed his left hand and gasped at the sharp pain in his wrist that answered the small movement. Alright, the left arm was not quite so whole … His legs were next, and it only took another small movement to tell him that his right arm was probably all he had going for him. His left leg was agony radiating from the lower leg up to the hip and down into the toes – the right was faring slightly better but also protesting any movement involving his knee.

Aramis took a moment to let the pain abate and just breathe, at the same time perking up his ears to check if he could hear anything. Had his horse run off? And what of his pursuers, had they caught up to him while he had been unconscious for however long it had been? There were no sounds beyond those common at night in the forest, bushes rustling and some bird calling in the distance.

Finally, he gathered his courage and, leaning onto his uninjured right arm, he pushed himself upright. Discomfort thrummed through him as the bruises undoubtedly painting his upper body made themselves known. Another minute to breathe, and then he clumsily patted his chest. While it awakened all sorts of pain, none of that was the sharp pain of a broken rib biting into the inside of his chest, so he hoped he had been lucky at least in that regard. Not that he was feeling lucky in any way … There was no sign of his horse, and he dared not whistle for it to return. If the men on his tail were still nearby, he would certainly reveal his location to them.

He went about checking his legs and left arm with his right and ended up determining that he had a badly sprained wrist, his right knee was dislocated, and his left lower leg was broken. Fantastic. With most of his limbs injured, he was practically immobile on the forest floor, with no horse that could help him escape and no chance of getting help since he had no idea where his brothers were, nor could he hope that anyone else was nearby who did not belong to his pursuers. As far as hopeless situations went, he did not care to imagine how it could be worse. And he could feel old ghosts starting to whisper at the back of his mind, reminding him of the last time he had been alone in a forest …

Aramis gritted his teeth and shoved back against the thoughts. He knew his brothers would come for him as soon as they could. The question was when that would be and what he could do until then. The temptation to simply lay back and fall asleep – or maybe pass out – to escape the pain of his injuries and the feeling of loneliness creeping up on him was strong. He looked around the small hollow he had landed in and up the slope he had rolled down. If he was lucky – a bold assumption right now – the riders had passed him by, not seeing the dip in the forest floor and following the trail left by his horse, but he could not be sure of it, having no idea for how long he had been laying senseless. As it was, his only protection was the shadow of the slope, the trees around him too far apart and sparse to offer much cover. That wouldn't do if they were still around or returned to search for him.

His gaze settled on a patch of brushwood between two trees a few lengths from him, and he exhaled slowly. He could crawl underneath there and be well-concealed from any spurious looks, though it might not offer much protection if someone was determined to find him. Still, it was all he had right now.

Slowly, with unending care, he turned onto his side and tried to get onto his hands and knees to make his way over. However, as soon as his weight shifted onto his right knee, his leg started screaming, and it took all of his willpower and nearly biting through his lower lip for him not to do the same. He collapsed forward onto his stomach, his left arm joining into the cacophony of his ailments when it was trapped underneath him. Aramis screwed his eyes shut, his breath coming in rapid bursts as he wrestled the pain back under control. It seemed to take ages until he could finally free his arm and now lay with his face in the soft forest soil, panting. It took even longer until he could muster the courage to try again. Shifting back onto his left knee had more pain racing up and down his leg but it was bearable – for a moment, until he moved his right arm forward and tried to follow it with the opposite leg, and the pain swelled in a horrible crescendo. This time, the part of his body that rebelled was his stomach, and he tried desperately to hold himself up as vomit punched its way up his throat and out of his mouth. At the last moment, he avoided falling into it face-first by letting himself sway and topple to the left, managing to get his arm out of the way in time. Then he lay on his side, heaving some last empty gasps, tears leaking from the edges of his eyes.

Wearily, Aramis finally raised his head to look around and think again. His situation had not changed, he still needed to get to the cover. Crawling on hands and knees was not an option, though, given his experiences right now. What else was there? He groaned as he had to admit there was only one other way he could think of right now, one that mostly required the work of his arms – he could probably use his left if he kept the wrist raised. He'd have to drag himself over the ground.

He still had so much dignity left that he did not simply flop onto his belly – and thereby into the pool of vomit – but laboriously turned onto his back and then back onto his belly on the other side. Then he took a deep breath and murmured to himself: “Get to it, Aramis!” He dug his left elbow into the earth first to test if it worked and managed to drag himself forward without his wrist touching anything. It was not graceful, nor was it painless, but bit by bit, hand over elbow, he managed to worm his way along the ground towards the promise of cover and safety. The drag marks he left behind were probably a heavenly present to any tracker who came by … He just had to trust that they were not easy to see from atop the slope, which was all he could hope for, really. If someone climbed down into the hollow, they would surely find him, drag marks or not.

By the time he made his way to the underbrush, he was trembling and his vision was swimming and darkening, starbursts of pain bursting through, and all he wanted to do was collapse. He forced himself to endure until he had dragged himself beneath the branches, though, and painfully manoeuvered around so his face was oriented towards the slope and the path atop of it, drawing his pistols and sword and laying them down at his right, ready to be taken up in a single movement.

Then he put his right hand beneath his head, resting his cheek atop it, and sighed out a last, torturous groan before he closed his eyes, and the darkness swallowed him.

The next time Aramis became fully aware, light filled the forest and made him wince as his eyes fluttered open. He had been dragged back to something like consciousness by pain a few times throughout the night but it never lasted long, and he was half expecting the same right now. Still, he tried again to open his eyes, squinting until they had become accustomed to the brightness. Then he lay quietly, taking stock and listening to any sounds infiltrating his impromptu hideout. His injuries still smarted but hadn't worsened, and he knew that while his throat was dry, he could stay in place for quite a while, maybe even one or two days, without being in danger. The thought sent his heart rate soaring, though, and he sent a fervent prayer to God that he would not be forced to endure this. Right now he was holding on, the early autumn forest still lush and green enough with only a few patches of red, brown and gold mixed in that he knew it was not the same. He still had to wrestle a jolt of panic down whenever he remembered that he was alone and barely able to move, and no one knew where he was.

Resisting the urge to shift which only would awaken his aches and injuries, he lay his head down again and sighed. At least his work of dragging himself into the shelter of the underbrush had paid off – he doubted the men were still nearby. Now he had to hope for the opposite, that he wasn't too well-hidden for Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan to find him. “Hurry up, please,” he murmured to himself.

He drifted, then, the unrelenting pain and discomfort keeping him from surrendering to sleep again while he was too exhausted and sore to stay fully aware. This state was not that deep that the sound of voices did not pierce through the veil, however, and he raised his head, trying to listen intently.

“--sure?”

“--course not sure but--horse tracks--” Scraps of their talk floated down to him, and he held his breath. Oh, he hoped this was not his mind playing tricks on him, or was he delirious from pain and old ghosts?

“--like a goddamn needle--haystack.”

Throwing caution to the wind, he raised his own voice: “Athos! Porthos!”

There was a short silence, then he heard the best sound in the world: His best friend's voice, calling out in relief and disbelief: “Aramis!”, and then the sound of someone crashing and sliding down the slope.

“Here!” he called again, “I'm here!” He bit down hard on his lip as he moved stiff muscles to drag himself forward a bit, out of the underbrush's protective shadow.

Heavy steps came closer and then came to a stop before him. For a moment, he only saw boots in front of his face, then Porthos dropped into a crouch to meet his eyes. “There you are!” he said happily, relief in every line of his face. “What have you done to yourself this time?”

“I'll have you know it was my horse and the earth who did it to me,” Aramis huffed indignantly but then inclined his head in concession and enumerated: “Sprained left wrist, dislocated right knee, fractured lower left leg.” He hesitated but added: “Hit my head, too, and I was unconscious for a while, so possibly a mild concussion, too.” His head was actually the least painful part right now, and he was chalking his nausea the night before up to the pain rather a concussion, but those were hard to determine in yourself.

Porthos' eyebrows had risen ever higher with each item on the list, and Athos who was coming up behind him huffed in a mixture of exasperation and some relief: “You really outdid yourself this time.”

Aramis craned his neck up to look at his oldest brother and deadpanned: “Yes, well, I'm quite disappointed I didn't get the full set.” He nodded to his uninjured right arm. “Though I think there's also an extensive collection of bruises to go with everything else. I won't go tumbling down a slope again very soon, I assure you.”

“That's good to hear,” Porthos grumbled. “We all appreciate that.” He moved to one side and gestured to Athos to take the other as he carefully took hold of Aramis' left upper arm.

“You probably won't be doing much of anything for a while besides sitting around in bed and being bored to death,” Athos said mildly while he followed Porthos' example and grasped his arm on the right.

Aramis rolled his eyes which made his head ache more – alright, he had probably been right about the concussion – and replied: “Lovely.” He steeled himself for what would come next and bit down on any sounds of pain that threatened to escape when Porthos and Athos pulled him from the shrubs and levered him upright. It was still less painful than anything he could have done on his own, he was sure, and they did their best to be as gentle as possible. They slung his arms over their shoulders, and he put down his right leg very carefully to take some of his weight to prevent all of it resting on Athos' shoulders – the difference in height between Athos and Porthos meant that he was hanging slightly lopsided between them.

They waited quietly until he had adjusted to being upright and had stopped panting as if he had run for several leagues. His head suddenly snapped up, and he asked anxiously: “d'Artagnan?”

“He's up there with the horses,” Porthos soothed him.

Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. “The mission?”

“Completed,” Athos said as he and Porthos slowly began to move and Aramis did his best to at least move his right leg with them without jarring the knee too much, keeping the broken left leg clean off the ground. “d'Artagnan had arrived at the chateau first and had already handed off the papers to the messenger before Porthos and I got there.”

Aramis nodded. “Good work. So, was I the only unlucky man who had someone on their trail?”

Porthos snorted. “No, you only were the only unlucky one who fell off his horse,” he replied. He hesitated, then added: “Though I did get lost and only got there this morning when Athos and d'Artagnan were about to leave and look for both of us.”

“I'm quite thankful you made it in time,” Athos drawled, “one needle in a haystack is bad enough.”

“You did find this needle well enough,” the marksman said with a smile. “Thank you, brothers.”

The other two Musketeers did not reply – all of them had thanked the others for similar acts, and all of them had been told that there was no need for thanks but they still kept doing it. Aramis figured they had given up on protesting for similar reasons as he had. Some things just needed to be said.

Getting up the slope was difficult and painful for the injured man, and at one point Athos had to call for d'Artagnan to come and join them to help. The young Gascon followed the call with an eagerness that clearly told of how difficult it had been for him to stay behind and look after the horses while the others went to get Aramis. The marksman suspected that d'Artagnan had to restrain himself forcefully from accosting him with an embrace but as they were balancing quite precariously on the uneven decline, he was very glad that the Gascon did manage to do so and just went to help them without comment.

Finally, they arrived up top, and Aramis felt like collapsing on the spot. The others seemed to be aware of that, and Porthos and Athos carefully lowered him to the ground while d'Artagnan rushed off and returned a moment later with a water skin he thrust at Aramis. He took it gratefully and drank from it deeply but forced himself to stop and wait if the water would settle long before his thirst was satiated.

He was aware of d'Artagnan kneeling down at his side and Athos softly relating to him what Aramis had told them about his injuries. As long as they didn't touch him, however, Aramis did not care what they did right now, concentrating on catching his breath, taking some more sips from the water skin and waiting for some of the agony accosting his legs to die down. He was brought back to more awareness by d'Artagnan's hand on his arm and his voice saying his name.

“Aramis,” the Gascon repeated, observing him with a worried frown that smoothed out slightly when he raised his eyes to meet the young man's gaze. “I think we need to set the broken leg and relocate your knee before we can go,” d'Artagnan said uncomfortably. “Or do you think it's better to leave them until we're somewhere a physician can care for you?”

Aramis smiled grimly. “No, you're right,” he said, “the pain will far more manageable once everything is back where it belongs.” He did not look forward to it but it had to be done. While d'Artagnan had already proven an adept student in field medicine, he had little experience with broken bones as of yet. But Porthos and Athos were here, too, and had their fair share of experience in this regard.

d'Artagnan bit his lip worriedly but finally nodded, steeling himself, and got to his feet. “Porthos, can you find some sticks to splint his leg?” he requested. He fetched his medic satchel from his horse and returned to sort through it and ready a pile of bandages at Aramis' side. Then he held out a small flask of brandy to him. “Since we don't need it for any of your injuries, you may as well use it,” he smirked. “As impressive as they are, at least you did good work keeping this bloodless, for once.”

The marksman snorted and snatched the flask out of his hand. “We'll speak about that again when you come off your horse during a chase through a dark forest,” he replied, pointing it at the young man, then opened the flask and took a large swallow, relishing the burn down his throat.

“Pfft.” d'Artagnan only gave him an obnoxious grin, as if the idea of him falling off his horse was too ridiculous to contemplate, and Aramis rolled his eyes – ouch – and took another drink. Already he could feel some of the edges of the pain dull as the alcohol filled him with a subtle warmth.

Before long, Porthos was back with two sturdy pieces of a branch, and d'Artagnan looked them over with a satisfied nod. He then waved over both Porthos and Athos, positioning them to hold Aramis down while he knelt down next to his legs. “Ready?” he asked the injured man. Aramis took a deep breath and nodded – he was as ready as he'd ever be.

“On three,” d'Artagnan said, and Aramis braced himself. “One – two – three!” Pain burst from his leg and overwhelmed his vision, his mind, his body … For a moment, it was everything, and the rest of the world came back to him only slowly. He was aware of a large hand stroking his hair, of a deep voice murmuring something – he did not understand the words but the tone was soothing, comforting. Finally, he blinked his eyes open, tears clinging to his lashes and breaking the light into a kaleidoscope of colours. Porthos' face appeared over him, upside-down, and the brawler asked: “There, you back with us?”

Aramis nodded weakly. He raised his head until he could see d'Artagnan down by his legs and waved at him. “Go on,” he rasped, his voice rough and throat dry. He wanted to have this over with, delaying the inevitable would only make it hurt worse.

Porthos caught his head as he let it fall back again and lowered him carefully to the ground while there was quite some discussion between d'Artagnan and Athos he didn't follow. All that counted was that a bit later, one of them touched his hand and said. “All right, Aramis, here we go. On three. One – two – three!”

His other leg exploded in pain, and Aramis jerked upwards, throwing his head back. Strong hands held him down as he tried to escape, and he thrashed blindly. Maybe he was screaming, but he could not hear it himself over the ringing in his ears.

Sometime later he came back to himself, throat and head aching, but it was an improvement that he could actually feel this over the pain in his leg which was simmering down to a manageable level. Porthos was still at his side, stroking his hair, and he rolled his eyes upwards to meet his gaze. “Water?” he asked breathlessly.

Porthos nodded quickly, and a moment later a water skin appeared and was carefully held to his lips. He only took a few sips but they soothed his throat, and he sank back with a thankful sigh.

d'Artagnan reached for his hand to give it a squeeze and said: “It's over, you did it.” While the young Musketeer got to work bandaging both lower limbs, Athos got up and moved so he could kneel down opposite of Porthos, laying a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder. “We'll rest a while so you can recover,” he told him. “What do you think how much time you need?”

“Athos, that's not fair!” Porthos protested but Aramis put a hand on his arm – or at least attempted to; he actually ended up patting weakly at the front of Porthos' doublet. “It's alright, Porthos,” he told him. Directed at Athos, he said: “d'Artagnan should have some of the powder for a pain draught – have him make me one, please. After that, I'll need to sleep for a bit, and then we can go. Two hours, maybe?”

Athos nodded and patted his shoulder. “I'm sorry, my friend,” he said, “but even if the mission is no longer pressing, we should get back to Paris. I'm sure you will recover better in a bed than camping on the forest floor, too.”

“Quite likely, yes. No need to apologise, I understand,” Aramis replied.

d'Artagnan joined the other two and handed Porthos a cup. “How are you doing?” he asked the injured man.

Aramis gave him a smile, even if it did not reach its usual brightness. “I'm alright and happy you've turned out such an adept pupil. Finish up with this one, please?” He gestured towards the sprained wrist.

“Of course,” d'Artagnan nodded. By the time he had wrapped the limb firmly with a bandage, Porthos had made the marksman drink the draught, and Aramis was blinking sleepily up at his brothers gathered around him.

“Sleep, Aramis,” Athos ordered, “we'll be here when you wake up, and we'll take you home then.”

Aramis nodded, his eyes heavy with fatigue. “I know. You always do.” And secure in this knowledge, he breathed out, closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.