Scraps, like Snacks, is what it says it is. I originally intended to share the content I'll be putting here in Snacks, but since that one has turned into an unexpectedly compact collection of one-shots, I decided to keep it that way.

Here I will post (much) shorter passages, most of which dangle in the air. In fair warning, they might be frustrating to read. But I have a huge folder filled with such scraps of writing and it'll make me feel better to post them - it's a way of getting things out of the way. So allow me my rambling, pointless, sentimental nonsense, and feel free to guess at the larger context; share your thoughts/ideas as to what precedes or follows, or even, if you feel inclined, take them and run away with them. That would be exciting. :) Fanfiction is fast becoming a practice ground for being less apologetic in life.

Here is number one.

"d'Artagnan?"

"Porthos – don't touch him!"

"What?"

"Don't touch him - d'Artagnan - wait."

"Easy... easy, mon frére, you're safe. It's only us. Do you know me?"

Of course – of course –

"It is all well."

Is it?

"Look at me."

Aramis-

"Athos. All is well. Just breathe slowly."

I can't –

"Here. Follow this – can you follow this?"

What? What—

A beat. Slow. Strong. Steady.

"Steady now. Good. Breathe with me. That's it."

The world slowly emerged back from the fog and started to take shape.

"...Aramis-"

"You're good." For the warm hand that snuck to the back of his neck, the other one that held his freezing one over that dependable breast, the brow that rested itself against his and the friend that held his trembling body to himself, Athos stilled, and sunk into that embrace as his heart gradually slowed to a lower, acceptable beat. If he felt himself growing heavy, slumping towards a direction he was unable to discern, it was from a far point of mild curiosity; all he knew was the hand on his neck and the closeness of his friends, his skin that was ice cold but the warmth of a different kind that was steadily seeping into his core. He was sinking, sinking into a cocoon being woven by the meaningless, indecipherable, constant mutterings of assurance and comfort by the three voices he trusted the most in this world - safe; he was safe, finally safe.

He didn't notice when he was gently held and carried to the cot, but he did feel the thick blankets beings tucked around him and the stones that quickly found their way by his feet. He felt the weight of the mattress shift by the foot of the bed and smiled, unaware if his lips reflected the sentiment. There was a low, rumbling buzz around him that was pulling him in; he flinched slightly when he felt a cold hand on his forehead, but it didn't disrupt the pleasurable decent into the darkness. It wasn't the darkness of before, but something that shone softly with a golden glow; it grew like the opening of a blossom and kindly invaded his whole subconscious. His smile following its growth, Athos willingly let himself be absorbed, and descended into nothingness.