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They had been ambushed on the road by bandits on their way to visit D'Artagnan's mother in Gascony. He had not seen her since his father's death, and the Inseperables had been given leave to accompany him on his journey - though he had protested that he could manage just fine on his own, when Treville insisted that they go with him, he couldn't say no. One couldn't defy the captain of the King's Musketeers when he gave such an order. He rolled his eyes fondly at the memory of that day in the office. Such a big fuss, and for someone who wasn't even a proper Musketeer yet.
Now though, he found himself glad for their company. On his journey to Paris, at least, he had had his father to accompany him. If he'd not had Athos, Aramis and Porthos by his side - well, it would have at the very least been an awfully lonely journey - and he did not particularly want to be alone with his memories - when he was, they caught up with him. So much happened in his time with his new friends. So many fights and dangerous situations. He had to admit he was glad to be getting away from it all and spending a few days with his dear mother, who no doubt would sob awfully and hug him and ask him never to leave her again. The thought of it made him smile. He wished nothing more than to see her again, the last of his living relatives - and wasn't that a strange and morbid thought? Once she was gone, he'd be the last of his family, and that was a daunting prospect, but he shook those kinds of thoughts from his mind, and simply hoped that his mother would approve of his new companions.
He paused in his musings, however, when Porthos subtly raised a hand to motion for them to halt, eyes darting furtively to locate the source of whatever disturbance had caught his suspicion. All was quiet and still - there was no branch snapping, there was no shuffle of loose shale - there weren't...
There wasn't even any birdsong. Something had definitely spooked the wildlife. D'Artagnan's hand went immediately to the hilt of his sword when he felt the strange charge in the air. It was as if the whole world were waiting for that one sign of movement with them.
Unfortunately, that one noise happened to be a gunshot - a shot which felled Athos in the blink of an eye. D'Artagnan's own gun was drawn and he whipped around and fired on the shooter, who dropped down dead where he had stood, with little fuss. But now that the first blood had been spilt, more bandits were coming out of the woods. D'Artagnan left Porthos and Aramis to deal with the rest of their enemy, as he knew they were fully capable of doing, and he leapt off his horse and ran to the side of their fallen comrade.
Athos looked pale, and his mouth was set in a grim line, but he was still conscious, so the Gascon lad had the Lord to thank for that at least, he supposed, as he ripped a clean strip of cloth from his shirt.
It's a wonder we have any left, the number of scrapes we get in, he thought absently whilst packing the wound with the cloth to stem the flow of blood and then wrapping the rest around to keep it in place.
"Athos, you still with me?" He asked, and Athos squeezed his hand in reply, too exhausted to even speak.
"Good, Alright. I'm going to try and get you onto my horse - do you think you can manage that?"
The wounded man nodded, then paused with a frown.
"Th' others?" He asked urgently. D'Artagnan stared him down with a grim determination in his eyes.
"You are no good to them wounded, besides, there were only about fifteen of them, they'll be fine." He paused when he saw that the older man was going to protest again. "You doubt them, Athos?" There was a sting in his words that made Athos concede his point.
"Get out of here, d'Artagnan!" Aramis called over, and the boy smirked at Athos, who would have rolled his eyes if they weren't half shut from exhaustion. D'Artagnan's smile fell.
"Come on, you great lump, let's get you onto the horse." He muttered, hiding his worry with annoyance. A habit which he had picked up, funnily enough, from Athos himself. He dragged him over to the horse and helped him mount (which meant he had to lift him onto the horse and then fasten his legs to the saddle so he wouldn't fall) and hopped right on behind him.
"Fight well, my friends!" He called back to the companions he was leaving behind, for now, at any rate, and he gathered up his reins and he urged his horse into a gallop. Home was hardly even two miles away, and his horse was strong, and would, he hoped beyond all hope, last at this flat out pace with two on his back.
"You still with me, Athos?" D'Artagnan asked as they galloped through the fields and past the town, getting ever closer to the farm.
"mmm."
"Come on, Athos. You have to stay awake. I'm not letting you die - not now, not when we're so close. You'll be just fine. Come on. Hang in there - can you do that, for me?" It made an interesting echo of a conversation which he was quite sure he was on the other end of at the time, but no matter.
"I... I don.. so tired" Athos complained, his voice barely more than a breath. D'Artagnan tightened his grip on the man, as if he could ward off death physically.
"You are going to stay alive, and the rewards for that are most definitely going to make it worth your while."
"Oh?" Athos asked, lips curled in mild amusement despite the pain.
"Well, I can't very well have your cock in my mouth if you're dead, can I? As far as sinning goes, sodomy's my limit." He teased easily.
"What have I done to the poor innocent Gascon farmboy - your mother might just leave me to die." He moped, but this was good, he was talking, and he was clearheaded - if he had to stoop to flirting to keep him that way, then so be it.
"Don't be an idiot. She'll love you. It's me she'll want to kill, for not visiting her so long, especially after father..." He trailed off and shook his head.
"Ah! Here we are. Stay awake just a little longer, my good man." He told him, which just earned him a baleful glare. Good, if he had enough energy to be grumpy, he was most definitely going to live. D'Artagnan hopped off the horse and called through to the barn, where he was sure his mother would be at this time.
"Mother! I have an injured friend! There are bandits hardly two miles from here, and he was shot in the shoulder. Have you any of your salve about you?" at hearing his voice, his mother dropped the bucket she had been meaning to fill with milk from old Bessie and, upon hearing of her son's friend's plight, took action - for though she was an emotional creature, she knew when best to become a practical one.
"In, bring him in. There's beds I made down the stairs for them, for Monsieur Treville sent me a pigeon he did - can you imagine anything so fancy my boy? Shouldn't seem so to you, no wonder, with all of Paris under your boots, but bring in your poor friend and I will do what I can for him." So instructed, d'Artagnan left his mother to prepare and went to lift Athos down from the horse. His lover grumbled, but allowed himself to be supported as they made their way to the front room, where indeed, beds of a sort had been made for them.
"Now then lad, off with the shirt." At his blush, the old woman chuckled. "Come now, I was a married woman, and am a mother besides. I've nothing to fear nor learn of bare-chested men. Off with it now." She instructed. It was difficult for Athos, so d'Artagnan assisted him, and if the boy's mother saw the tender care he took with his friend, well, she wasn't one to notice anything amiss in that. She took out a cloth and began to clean the offending area, checking his back to see that yes. It was a clean shot right through. She hmmed thoughtfully as she dabbed away at the dirt. "My salve can do a great deal, but it cannot work the impossible. This will need stitching. Charles, my boy, will you fetch my sewing kit? You know where it is kept." D'Artagnan nodded and scurried away. Athos watched after him until he felt something cool on his wound, it itched, but it also felt strangely soothing.
"He's rather worried for you, my boy is." She told him. Athos inclined his head in a nod.
"I suppose I should not tell you this, as it will only worry you more, but he is, more often than not, the injured party among us." Athos told her. "Damned fool always has to put himself between us and danger." The old woman paused in her ministrations and gave him a long look and a wry smile.
"Ask him about the scar on his left thigh, the next time you get the chance - he's always been reckless, and the story of that one proves he is so to a fault." Athos almost spluttered, but kept himself in check - that didn't , it couldn't mean that she knew about them, about what they were to each other - could it?
"I see the way you look at each other, lad, and I've been around for a long time. As long as you take as good care of him as you can, I've no quarrel with it." She paused, hearing her son's footsteps on the stairs. "But if you hurt my boy, you wouldn't be safe from me in the ninth circle of hell - is that clear?" He nodded so furiously that he aggravated the wound, and d'Artagnan returned with the needle and thread.
"Want me to knock you out, Athos? She'd give Aramis a run for his money." He teased, handing his mother the tools, which she put to quick and efficient use. She then bound it up using fresh linens, and stood back, quite satisfied with her work. "Well now. You should be right as rain in no time, good sir."
"Call me Athos, if it please you, Madame d'Artagnan" He told her with a weary smile, before lying down on the bed and falling asleep. D'Artagnan shared a smile with his mother, and sat next to the sleeping Athos.
"I have your bed made up for you, dear."
"I'd rather stay here, Maman. He'd always stay by my side when I was injured - it wouldn't be right if I didn't do the same." His mother smiled secretly to herself, and shook her head fondly.
"I'll bring down a pillow then, my lamb."
"Mama" He exlaimed in a whisper, absolutely scandalised.
"Oh hush" She giggled. "he's sleeping. You need not fear him stealing it to use in the throes of passion." Her son turned a gratifying shade of beetroot, and with her work done, she picked up her skirts and went to fetch that pillow.
When Porthos and Aramis eventually made it to the farm, covered with cuts and scrapes, but otherwise unharmed, though a damn sight weary, the sight that greeted them was an odd, if endearing one. D'Artagnan lay curled up against Athos's good shoulder, leaning into the crook of his neck. Athos had curled his arm around the boy protectively, and had his chin rested atop his head.
"Hush now, don't laugh" The Gascon's mother admonished them. "They deserve the rest." She gave them a analyzing gaze before tutting. "And the pair of you could do with a washing up and a plate of hot soup. Come along now." They were utterly bewildered and enchanted by her, and Aramis was at his most charming when she was wiping the blood from his forehead, which made her laugh pleasantly.
"You're a lot of silly young lads." She told them firmly, still smiling. "But I do believe you're good for my boy."