Authors note: I've not tried one of these challenges before. There follows my stories for the 'whumptober' challenge that I found on tumblr. I will note at the start of each chapter who the whumpee is and in brackets who else is in the story. It will be a mixture of short stories and vignettes. Some will be open-ended for possible use in full stories later on. I hope you enjoy them.
Chapter One - Stabbed
Porthos (D'Artagnan, Athos and Aramis - all briefly)
He reached up and pulled his bandana from his head. Porthos wondered if he should never leave the garrison without wearing the square of cloth. The number of times it ended up employed as a makeshift bandage for one of them were innumerable.
This time he was using it himself and on himself, which was unusual. Generally, when he was injured one of his brothers would be tending to him. But not this time. This time he was on his own.
His brothers were not there.
It was just him, and four bodies. The men he had killed in quick succession had been fair fighters. Not to his standards, he had not entertained the thought that he might not win, at least not at the start. The affray had not been as easy as it could have been. After taking out two of the men one of the better swordsmen had managed to catch him unaware and thrust his main gauche into Porthos' leg.
Knowing that he was injured Porthos had focused all his energy in overpowering the last two men. It had been difficult, but he knew he would manage it. He could not lose.
But as the man who had stabbed him had stumbled backwards clutching at the reciprocal main gauche thrust into his chest, Porthos had been unable to stop himself from sinking to the ground.
Knowing there was a strong possibility of passing out Porthos worked quickly. He wrapped the bandana around his leg, tying it firmly. He doubted the bandage would stop the blood, but it would help. Pressure from his own hand would have to act as a backup for as long as he could maintain it.
He knew the next part was going to be the hardest. He had to wait. His brothers would come for him, but he did not know how long it would take them.
Porthos looked about and saw a comfortable looking tree a few yards away. With an undignified slow shuffle, the wounded man moved to lean on the tree. He sighed, at least he would be relatively comfortable.
When they came, thought Porthos, he knew exactly how each man would react. Despite the pain, he was in and the increasing struggle he was having to remain awake Porthos chuckled.
Aramis would fuss about checking the wound, wanting to clean it and if he could not stitch it immediately dress it properly. His friend would talk to him all the time, Porthos knew it was Aramis' way of keeping his patient calm, but he also wondered if it helped to keep the medic calm as well. Caring for his friends in such a manner occasionally took its toll on Aramis, but he rarely let it show.
D'Artagnan would, after an initial check on Porthos' wellbeing, search the area, set up a perimeter to patrol and search the bodies for any information they might have on them. The young Musketeer would keep close enough in case he was needed but be watching the area carefully. He would ensure Aramis could work unhindered and that no further harm would come to Porthos.
Athos, however, would berate him. Porthos knew he would be in for a dressing down. He had gone off on his own after all. Their leader would want to know what made Porthos decide he could deal with the men on his own. Aramis and d'Artagnan would tell Athos not to be too harsh. And then Athos would glare at Porthos for a few seconds before shaking his head with a smile.
Porthos closed his eyes for a few seconds. At least he thought it was a few seconds. When he opened them again it was dusk. He realised he must have passed out. Looking at his leg he saw the bandana was soaked through with his blood. If his brothers did not arrive soon they would not have a friend to stitch up or protect or berate.
He started to close his eyes again before something brought him back to alertness for a few seconds, it was the sound that had woken him in the first place. A most welcome sound.
Looking up, he saw them. The three of them. Their expressions each confirming what Porthos had already concluded. Porthos could tell Aramis was assessing his wellbeing before he had even leapt from his horse. D'Artagnan was scanning the area carefully for any further threat. And Athos had a look somewhere between concern and annoyance.
Porthos knew that he was safe, he welcomed the reactions of his brothers and loved them each for those reactions.
Authors note: There will be a sort of sequel/follow up to this one later on in the month...