A/N: Co-Authored with Boooyakasha. WARNING: TORTURE WILL ENSUE, CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED

*I wish I owned The Musketeers, but I don't. :/

Enjoy!

Athos leaned up against a post in the garrison, fingers drumming impatiently on the leather sleeves of his doublet, arms crossed over his chest as he waited for the rest of the inseparables to join him in the yard.

They were running late, inexcusably late, two hours too late. Athos had never claimed to be a patient man but waiting on them for this long was ridiculous!

They'd had one job! Athos speculated, frown deepening on his face. Just one! Go to the butchers, strike a good bargain and bring back the turkey for the garrisons' evening feast.

Treville was counting on them, counting on him. It was an easy enough task for three skilled musketeers -so what was taking them so damn long!?

Aramis rolled away from the punch with ease, backing away with a carefree smile on his face as he eyed his opponent.

It had all happened so quickly.

They had merely been on their way down to the butchers when D'Artagnan had noted the set of Red Guards on their tail -Aramis daring to let out a loud, particularly snide remark in their direction.

Porthos had laughed and clapped a hand on his brothers' back adding to the insults as D'Artagnan shook his head in frustration.

And that's when everything had gone to hell.

"Let them come, 'Mis-" Porthos encouraged, "-there's neva' been a man in the Red Guards that can scare me."

Aramis ducked under a wildly swinging fist and swivelled back to his brother, "Well that may be easy for you to say, but i'd rather like to keep my nose in the center of my face!"

"If I recall correctly, Aramis, you started this!" D'artagnan called, shooting a fist out into one mans' throat before beaming triumphantly over to his older brothers.

They had decided it would be best not to kill anyone today, they didn't need Athos or Treville hanging over their shoulders, reprimanding them endlessly.

No. Only turkeys would die to day -and they would be gobbled up later. All's well that ends well, right?

"Wrong!" Aramis corrected the lad, swirling around his adversary with dancing feet, "I was merely pointing out the facts!"

"Oi!" a guard yelled, highly offended.

The three musketeers merely smirked and dove back into the fight. The turkeys could wait...right now, these guards were in dire need of knuckle sandwiches.

Ducking under another high blow sent a particularly clumsy red guard spiralling into a nearby wooden beam of a stall -his tripping feet sending him to lose purchase on the ground and face plant himself in a particularly hefty pile of horse muck.

Aramis cringed in sympathy, biting his knuckles as his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Ah! Tha's more like it! Looks jus' like the pig you wer' describin' 'Mis!" Porthos taunted, chuckling at the state of the brown/red guard.

Aramis gave the unfortunately spitting guard an observational look before sending his brother an encouraging smile and tipping his hat, "Tis true" he chuckled.

The peaceful moment was short lived, however, for suddenly, a second red guard charged the musketeers in a fit of rage -powered on by the downfall of his friend turned out to be his own downfall however as Porthos stuck out a fist and clotheslined the foolish man.

He clattered to the floor with a groan alongside his fellow man. Four down. Only the musketeers remained -smiling devilishly.

"Soooo, with that done-" Aramis put in conclusively, clapping his gloved hands together, "-shall we continue?"

"Aye, we shall" Porthos grinned, patting his brother on the shoulder and stepping over the hastily spitting red/brown man.

D'Artagnan shot of a grin at the unfortunate guard as they turned to leave; his twinkling eyes forgoing barely hidden mischief.

Not ten minutes later and the trio had collected a relatively sizeable prized turkey and were headed back to the garrison, pockets light but spirits high. This would be a glorious feast.

In D'Artagnans satchel hung seasoned strips of meats, hams, chicken breasts and perhaps what seemed like uncooked sausages while Aramis slung a sack of breads, cheeses, berries and biscuits.

"Mmmm, you really think Treville 'd notice if we jus' ate one?" Porthos grumbled sullenly eyeing the sack hungrily as he hefted the turkey higher over his shoulder.

"Yes, Porthos" Aramis berated, eyes rolling as a sigh escaped his lips. His brother loved to complain endlessly where his stomach was concerned. Wouldn't want to pass up a free nibble if he could afford it.

"Knowing you, Porthos, you'll probably get carried away and eat the whole bag" D'Artagnan jested, slapping his brother playfully -even snickering when the large man delivered a daunting scowl.

"Shut it whelp or i'll lock ya out when the meal starts" Porthos threatened, glowering eyes holding a promise.

D'Artagnan slowed his stride at this latest barb. He would not be found backing down from a fight -or an argument.

"Oh yeah? And how you gonna do that if i've got the keys?" D'Artagnan shot back, jingling the keys from his belt with a free hand.

Porthos stopped immediately and snatched for the keys, "Oi! Give 'em back! 'oo said ya could 'ave those anyways!?"

D'Artagnan backed up swiftly, deftly avoiding the angry swipes with a cheeky grin, "I did" he confessed, jingling them at his brothers nose once more before leaping back out of reach, cackling maniacally as Porthos almost dropped his turkey in pursuit and ended up juggling the meat desperately above his head, tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration.

With a deep sigh, Aramis came to a stop -now ten feet ahead- and pinched his nose.

"Porthos! D'Artagnan!" Aramis barked, turning on his heel to deliver a stern 'Athos' staredown.

Unsurprisingly, it worked. The two bickering brothers froze and looked over to Aramis like a rabbit in the sight of a shotgun. Caught.

Aramis gave them his most unamused stare, "Would you please quit squabbling and hurry up! The light is dimming and we are running late! We dont have time for this nonsense"

D'Artagnan was the first to fold back into a more proper position, slinging his sack over his shoulder as he clutched the keys in a tight fist -opposite his brother.

Porthos let out a low, unsatisfied growl and followed after his hastily retreating younger brother, and Aramis.

He could get his revenge for the teasing later on tonight Porthos promised himself. Perhaps steal the lads plate….or shove sauce in his boots.

Porthos grinned evilly at his brothers' back. Yeah, saucy boots sounded like a great idea.

Revenge would be sweet.

A/N: It starts out really fluffy, but there is more to come! We've already written a few chapters for this, and they should be going up over the next few days! Please leave a review if you enjoyed, I'd love to hear from you!