Disclaimer: The Musketeers are not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

Spoilers: 1.10 Musketeers Don't Die Easily

A/N: When the first season started airing in the U.S., I got it in my head to write a tag for every episode. I started this almost immediately after the finale, but somehow forgot to finish it. Finally, it's done. Enjoy!

Neil Gaiman's graphic novel of the same name inspired the title of this story.

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"Perhaps I was saving myself." – Athos, 1.10 Musketeers Don't Die Easily.

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Chapter One: Athos

Athos paused in his drinking, the bottle half way to his mouth, the memory so clear in his mind. He lowered the bottle slightly then very deliberately set it down on the ground next to his bed.

The blood on Aramis's hand and Porthos's entreaties for d'Artagnan to stay awake had nearly done him in, bringing him so close to blowing their mission. Threatening to kill his wife was supposed to be a ploy to ensnare her, but in that moment, he'd actually wanted to do it. If he'd had another pistol ready at the time, he just might have done it.

Standing by and letting that woman take his friend away, bleeding and unconscious, had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. The only thing keeping him from completely losing it had been the fact that Aramis had kept whispering reminders that d'Artagnan was alive and breathing, and that he the younger man was doing his duty by following their plan.

When he'd reached the barracks, it had been a near thing to get to his room before he began to violently retch into his chamber pot. Everything that he'd ingested recently had been brought up. It had been years since overindulging in drinking had resulted in him surrendering to a sour stomach, though he had the strong suspicion it wasn't really the drink causing this reaction.

By the time Athos had re-emerged, he'd been shaky and feeling hungover with Porthos remarking that he'd looked like crap and Aramis handing him a cup of water to drink. They'd spent the rest of the night together sitting at their usual table underneath Tréville's office balcony. His friends were probably both afraid to leave him alone in case he went after Milady.

Seeing d'Artagnan alive, though clutching at his wounded side, had left him feeling a mix of emotions – guilt and relief chief amongst them. Continuing their charade in front of the rest of the Musketeers had been another difficult challenge. Reuniting in Tréville's office, joking about what had happened and how their plans had gone slightly wrong had been a sort of balm to his wounded soul. When d'Artagnan had rounded them up into a four-way hug, it had been tangible evidence that the younger man was indeed alive and not a hallucination.

After the fight for Constance was over and he'd let his wife go, they had all gone their separate ways in order to wrap everything up. Watching d'Artagnan escort Constance back home, he had been torn between doing his duty and ensuring that his two young friends stayed out of trouble.

Athos had detested letting d'Artagnan out of his sight again so soon, the younger man having walked away from his brothers too many times already in recent memory.

Hours later, they had gathered at the Wren for something to eat and drink. They'd all been surprised that d'Artagnan had rejoined them so soon. Athos and the others quickly guessing the same thing: Constance had broken d'Artagnan's heart once again. D'Artagnan was refusing to talk about what had happened and was attempting to put forth a brave face, but they could all see that he was devastated. Keeping d'Artagnan from using drink to drown his sorrows had kept him from drinking too much as well. Helping him had created a buffer and kept his demons, both old and new, at bay.

Eventually exhaustion had won out and they'd left the tavern together intent on getting some sleep. They had walked at a sedate pace, each of them seemingly reluctant to let the others out of their sight after they had all nearly died multiple times.

Because of their collective stubbornness, he could see that none of them were going to speak up about their desire to stay together the whole night, each perhaps thinking that the other needed time to themselves to process what they'd been through. As a result, they all went their separate ways.

When he'd first entered his room, that's when he'd truly felt the loss of his friends' presence. With them beside him, his demons were held in check. Without them, Athos could feel his demons encroaching upon him, trying to clutch at him almost as if they had physical forms. He could feel them now, waiting for him to fall asleep so that they could invade his mind and tear him apart from the inside.

He had quickly made the decision to not even bother trying to sleep. It would be pointless with all the nightmares he was sure to have. His demons would see to it that any rest he did get would be mere minutes compared to the eternity he would spend within the dreams he would have. He most certainly did not need to see himself shooting d'Artagnan yet again or any other scenario that a dreamscape could twist to new, horrifying dimensions.

Aramis and Porthos had made him get a few hours of restless, dream-filled sleep the night he had shot his young friend, the amount of wine he had drunk aiding in that endeavor. Regardless of whether or not he slept on this night, his nightmares would still be waiting for him. He was really only delaying the inevitable.

Athos had grabbed a couple of bottles of wine from the stash in his room and removed his weapons, doublet, and boots before reclining on his bed to drink the night away.

Now, as time slipped slowly past him, all he wanted was to see his friends – his brothers – and make sure they were safe and sound. He was willing to bet that none of them were experiencing a good night's sleep on this night.

Exhaustion was weighing down his eyelids, making it more and more difficult for him to stay awake. Athos blinked and sat up, refusing to give into Hypnos who would in turn let Morpheus have his way with his inner demons.

He got out of bed and started pacing the length of his room, but discovered he had traded one problem for another. He may not be dreaming, but being awake didn't prevent his mind from recalling in detail and dwelling on the terrors of the past couple of days.

After seeing d'Artagnan's surprised yet pained face in his mind's eye for the hundredth time, Athos strode over to his bed and pulled his boots on. He barely remembered to grab his doublet and weapons on the way out of his room.

When he stepped into the courtyard and saw the table the four of them usually occupied, an idea suddenly came to mind, stopping him in his tracks. He turned and headed towards the supplies he was oddly certain that he would soon need.

For the first time in days, he felt like he could smile.

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To be continued.

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A/N: Thanks for the encouragement to get this done, celticgal1041!

Thanks for reading!