More than Battered

"A little battered, but just about serviceable."

"Are you talking about yourself or that pistol?"

(The Musketeers, Season 2, Episode 5: Athos and d'Artagnan talking in the cellar of the former Comte's burned down manor.)

A/N: This is my first longer story ever written in English (I'm no native English speaker), but because there's no adequate fandom for 'The Musketeers' on German pages I just had to try. And because Athos is my favourite character and –to cite my beta- because we only whump those we love, I decided to give my mind plenty of scope. This is what came forth.

It could be seen as a missing scene between Season 2, episodes 5 and 6, slightly off-show, 'cause it's my fantasy. Somehow it also became more similar to a chamber drama, the major part of the story taking place at the garrison. And, as I am a nurse loving her job, it might be just a little bit medicine-centred. Sorry for that, maybe my next try will get better. ;)

Aah... almost forgot to mention: This might become a tiny bit supernatural, somehow...

Don't like it, don't read!

Twenty-one chapters planned, including a short epilogue, to be updated every three or four days.

I owe nothing of 'The Musketeers', I simply borrow the boys to toy around with them!

On final note: Very much thanks to my great beta -Space Cowboy- who did a great job in finding all my vocabulary abuse and grammar mistakes and in trying to make me a better writer.

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Chapter One

Something was wrong.

Turning his head for the fifth or sixth time after they had left Pinon, d'Artagnan studied his mentor carefully. Athos had been in the lead when they had started their trip back to Paris, eager to get away from his memories, but overtime he'd slowed down and was now riding at the back. So now d'Artagnan had this odd gut feeling there was something wrong with their leader, that he was hiding something.

Flashback…

Athos stood between the villagers swaying slightly, hands bound and looking dishevelled, when their rescue-party arrived at Pinon. Porthos was the first to arrive at Athos' side, jumping from his horse and cutting the rope. Athos merely nodded his thanks, turned around and disappeared into one of the barns.

D'Artagnan watched him closely, noticing that Athos was favouring his left side a little, but apart from that seemed to be okay. Sharing a quick glance with Aramis he understood that their medic had also noticed. Because they both knew that the swordsman was the last one to talk about -in his own eyes- minor injuries, neither said a word; and shortly afterwards Athos simply had left the village.

At first, d'Artagnan couldn't understand Athos' behaviour, denying his duty, deserting his tenants, but later that day he would come to realize how much being back in Pinon truly bothered the Comte.

They were in the cellar of the Comte's burned down manor, looking for weapons to use in the forthcoming skirmish, when the Gascon finally understood. Athos' reaction to his little teasing made him see how awkward the whole situation was for his mentor, being reminded of his younger brother's death.

During the skirmish with the Baron and his son, it seemed as if Athos was holding back, but when it came to the duel between him and Edmond his swordplay was as excellent and elegant as always. Even when the defeated nobleman attacked Athos, who was talking to Catherine, from behind, d'Artagnan watched the scene rather relaxed, but when the crack of the gunshot rang out, and he saw Athos and his combatant drop to the ground, the Gascon's heart skipped a beat.

For some seconds he was frozen in place before he hurried over to the heap of people, none of them moving. When Athos struggled to pick himself up, d'Artagnan felt the urge to ask him if he was okay. And, non- surprisingly, he got a 'yes' as an answer, which he didn't truly believe. For that reason, the Gascon decided to watch his mentor even more closely, just in case.

As they were getting ready to leave, the former Comte acted much more like his usual self, calm and, self-composed, whilst handing over his seal ring to the new mayor. Athos, in fact, seemed to even appreciate his brother's involvement, giving his thanks for their support, before they finally left Pinon.

End flashback…

Thoughtfully, the youngest musketeer looked over to his brothers, trying to find out if anyone of them had noticed what he had, concerning Athos.

Porthos and Aramis were engaged in their usual banter, teasing each other and chuckling like children. Captain Treville now was riding in the lead, looking back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure they all were still following. But none of them seemed to be concerned about Athos' withdrawn behaviour, most likely pinning it on the swordsman's well- known bad moods in conjunction with the events of the day.

So d'Artagnan turned his head again and shot another glance back to the figure behind him, assuring himself that his observation was no imagination.

Athos was no longer sitting upright in the saddle, but beginning to slump down. He wasn't wearing his hat, so d'Artagnan could see his face clearly. His mentor's forehead was glistening with sweat, more than he would have expected given the rather normal temperature, with some of the tiny drops slowly trickling down his cheek.

What concerned the Gascon was, that the ex-comte didn't seem to care about it. On the contrary, the swordsman was pulling his cloak around him as if he was feeling cold. Also, the man's face was pale, even compared to his usual colour of skin, and his eyes were tightly closed. Studying him more intensely, d'Artagnan could even see traces of stifled pain marring his face.

Yes, something was absolutely wrong.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan called in a low voice while encouraging his mare toward the medic.

The marksman, who was talking with Porthos, looked back to him and slowed his horse. "Something wrong, lad?" he asked once they were riding side by side.

"Yes. Look at Athos and tell me what you think."

The older man grinned briefly and shook his head. "Nothing to be concerned of, pup, it's just his grouchy mood."

"Take a closer look," d'Artagnan protested.

Perceiving the worry in his brother's voice, the medic turned his head and watched Athos carefully. "Ohhh..."

"He's hiding something, I'm sure," the youngest musketeer said. "I assure you, he was already injured when we arrived at Pinon, cracked or even broken ribs maybe. You remember the maiden talked about him being beaten down and kicked in the side?"

"You're right. But there's more," Aramis agreed.

"That's what I'm talking about," grunted the Gascon. "Maybe he took another wound during the skirmish?"

"Perhaps. So let's slow down just in case."

*14AAA41*

Athos was hurting. The pain in his left side was annoying, but that was something he was used to. This was not his first time riding with cracked ribs. But the pain in his back was getting worse.

Trying to remember what had happened and when, he allowed his mind to return to the place he never wanted to see again.

Flashback...

After his duel with Edmond, he barely noticed that he'd been stabbed. It stuck a little, but nothing to be concerned of, or worth mentioning. Besides there was only a little blood, so he considered it a simple scratch, nothing more. Even during the clean up of the village he had more trouble with his aching ribs, but again, he didn't think it worth mentioning.

That night he slept little, although exhaustion was taking its toll on him. He was lying on his bed, trying to rest, but not able to stop his mind from wandering. Thoughts of Anne, his wife, and Thomas, and everything he had lost in life due to his actions were keeping him awake.

In the morning, his back was still hurting a little, feeling like strained muscles, and when he touched it, he again found a bit of blood, but not enough to even think about telling Aramis. So he simply had put on his cloak, masking the little blood stains on his shirt, and went to write the letter for the new mayor of Pinon, grateful for the chance to hand over the responsibility.

Mounting his horse made him wince, causing him to hiss through gritted teeth, but luckily none of the others had noticed. So he left his former estate with relative ease and led his brothers back to Paris, eager to quickly bring as much distance as possible between himself and Pinon.

End flashback...

Since two hours now, maybe a little longer, Athos' back was hurting badly. Every movement of his horse sent flashing shots of pain through his left flank and a part of his back, and he struggled to keep upright. He tried shifting positions, but even slumping down was causing pain to his already aching ribs.

Pitting his will against his pain, he managed to ride seemingly normal for the main part of the trip, but now he had no more will left, the constant pain winning the upper hand. He was no longer able to watch his surroundings, letting the horse walk on, blindly following the others. On the verge of his awareness he was still hearing the voices of his brothers and the noises of the horses, but it was making no sense at all.

He felt dizzy and exhausted, his eyelids heavy, as were his limbs. His head was also feeling too heavy to hold upright, and his fingers were turning clumsy. For another little moment he wondered what could be wrong with him, before he tried to mobilize his reserves, but there were none left. He couldn't even recognize if his brothers had noticed his bad condition because he lacked the energy to look up at them.

Eventually, Athos couldn't fight it anymore and he gave into the darkness that promised freedom from his pain and let himself drift away.

*14AAA41*

Aramis and d'Artagnan were riding on either side of Athos, and one moment everything seemed fine, the next, they were sharing a worried glance as their brother slid silently from his horse.

"Aramis!" the Gascon shouted, jumping from his mare, while the marksman gripped the abandoned reins to stop the horses from running away.

The youngest musketeer arrived in time to prevent Athos from hitting the ground hard, and with the limp weight of his leader in his arms, d'Artagnan stumbled and struggled as his mentor slid slowly off his horse, trying to bring him to the ground gently. Only seconds later Aramis was at his side, searching for a pulse at Athos' neck.

"Is he alive?" the Gascon asked anxiously, holding Athos in his arms.

"Yes. But his pulse is weak and his breathing is uneven. Something is definitely very wrong, he must be injured."

"Hey, what's going on here?" asked Porthos, startling them. Neither Aramis nor d'Artagnan had noticed that he and the Captain had turned around. "What's wrong with Athos?"

"Don't know," d'Artagnan answered, while Aramis palpated the unconscious man's body. "He collapsed and dropped off his horse. I was barely able to catch him."

"Aramis?" Porthos pressed for an answer.

"Damn!" The Spaniard's curse startled them, and seeing the blood stain on his right hand didn't make things better.

"What is it?" The youngest wanted to know.

"Porthos, can you raise him? I have to look at his back." Aramis concentrated on his patient, ignoring the question.

Without hesitation, Porthos went down to his knees, gripped Athos under his armpits and pulled him up to his chest. Immediately, the medic pushed Athos' cloak away, dragged the injured man's shirt out of his breeches and pulled it up. The sight made him inhale sharply. "Damn."

Athos' left, lower back and his flank were a big bruise, swollen and shining an angry red. And right above the bruise, just under his ribs, was a little round wound, marked by a small amount of dried blood.

"He's been stabbed," stated d'Artagnan, fully understanding Aramis' reaction as he looked at his brother's back as well.

Aramis nodded. "Based on the location and the look of it, the dagger might have hit his kidney. He might be bleeding internally." Aramis dropped his head and shook it lightly, his exacerbation evident. "Stubborn idiot."

"But shouldn't there be more blood if the injury is that grave?" Porthos asked.

"Not if it was inflicted by a small dagger. If the entry wound's small enough it might have closed mostly on its own," the medic explained.

For a moment there was nothing more than shocked silence. Then Aramis looked up and smiled briefly as his bag with supplies suddenly appeared at his right side, given by the Captain's hand. D'Artagnan smiled at him, thankful for his quick thinking, and realized that the man had stayed in the background fully aware that something was going wrong, but not wishing to interfere before it really was needed. And his timing had been perfect.

"Do you need something else? Water? A Fire?" Treville asked.

"Thank you, but no. There's not much more I can do for him, other than bandage him. It should hold till we get him to a proper physician..." Aramis' voice faded and the Gascon saw him swallowing thickly.

"We must hurry back to Paris," the medic continued, before stopping again and obviously concentrating on his hands. Carefully, he folded one of the linens, pushed it against the unremarkable, yet dangerous wound, and gave d'Artagnan a nod, silently asking him to take hold of the cloth so he could wrap the bandages around Athos' middle.

Pure anxiety allowed the Gascon's voice to crack while he stared at the motionless man in front of him. "What do you mean, there's nothing else to do, you just said he was bleeding? Will he even survive the trip back?"

The medic gingerly touched one of his younger brother's arms. "This wound is beyond my skill, d'Artagnan. There's no other choice than to take him back to Paris as soon as possible. He simply has to hold on as long as he needs." While speaking, Aramis guided d'Artagnan's slightly shivering hand back to the linen clothes being used as bandages.

So unnerved by his mentor's condition, the younger musketeer hadn't even noticed his hand had strayed. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and resumed pressing the cloth onto Athos' back.

The moan that came from Athos made them all flinch, causing Porthos to grip his burden a bit more firmly to his chest, and Aramis to hurry with his bandaging. When they were done, and the wounded musketeer was laid back gently onto d'Artagnan's lap, he uttered a small cry, making his brothers look at him hopefully.

The Spaniard softly patted his brother's face. "Athos? Are you with us?"