Heu guys, I hope you enjoy this. This was written for you Whitefang. Hopefully, this fits what you requested. Hope you all enjoy!
All mistakes are my own, as I tried to do this myself...
D'artagnan stumbled into his room at almost midnight, rain dripping off his soaked clothes and pooling on the floor. To be honest, he didn't notice it. He didn't really notice anything actually. After all he'd drank the last couple of hours it wasn't a surprise.
D'artagnan stumbled his way towards the chairs that sat next to the table, intent on stripping and draping everything on them to dry. Unfortunately his body had other plans, since he lurched to the side and crashed into the wall. The young man stifled a chuckle that wanted to slip from his lips. Why he was trying to laugh he didn't know..it didn't make sense. What was so funny?
The Gascon gave up on getting undressed and just climbed into bed, wet clothes and all. He was beyond tired, as he hadn't been sleeping well the past couple of days. But the nightmares kept coming, no matter what he did. So, he'd decided to try getting drunk. It worked for Athos, maybe it would work for him.
D'artagnan flopped over, burying his face in his pillow to smother the tears leaking from his eyes. It was the one year anniversary of his father's death this week, and he was having a hard time dealing with it. He didn't think the others had caught on yet so maybe he could get through this without bothering them. After all, who wanted to be bothered with a grief stricken kid when you had your own problems to deal with?
A little while later, D'artagnan cried himself into unconscious oblivion.
D'artagnan woke the next morning, to the morning sun streaming across his face and pillow. From the looks of it it was about breakfast time. Breakfast...breakfast...Breakfast!
The young man scrambled to get out of bed, only pausing when the world tilted nauseatingly around him. Once he'd gotten his equilibrium back he scrambled to get out of his still damp clothes and into some dry ones. Damn, he was gonna be late. The others would kill him.
D'artagnan struggled to pull his boots on, while ignoring the pounding protests in his head and stomach. If the others caught him like this...
Once he was presentable he made his way down the stairs towards the courtyard, after having located his friends at their normal table. He slid in beside Aramis, who was sipping a cup of coffee.
"Hey, sorry I'm late. I must've slept harder than I thought." D'artagnan excused, hoping they would just leave it at that and move on. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
"Kid, you look like you didn't sleep a wink last night. It's not a good look on you." Porthos stated as casually as possible, trying to keep too much worry from inflecting his voice. He and the others had noticed the young man's pale pallor the last couple of days but hadn't said anything, as they'd thought he'd come to them if something was wrong. Apparently, they might need to rethink that opinion.
Aramis' frown directed at the young man beside him went unnoticed, as the Gascon started a conversation with Athos on his training for the day. He'd thought the young man looked bad yesterday but now...he looked about like death warmed over. The dark bags under his eyes, testament to the little sleep he'd gotten and the almost sickly pallor of his skin showed the little food he'd consumed.
Athos watched inconspicuously, while continuing his conversation with the lad, as Porthos and Aramis did a visual examination of the kid. He could tell by the look on their faces it wasn't good, that much he guessed himself. He couldn't ask now though on what they thought, as D'artagnan hated to be fussed over in front of his face. He'd just have to ask them later.
The next day brought no change that the others could see to their young friend. He still looked almost sickly and still wasn't eating anything substantial. In fact, he'd started to look sick at the prospect and sight of food.
The trio watched worriedly as they watched D'artagnan spar with another Musketeer. Earlier that morning, Aramis had caught the young man changing and had barely suppressed his gasp of shock at being able to see the ribs poking out enough to be able to count them easily. Fortunately D'artagnan hadn't noticed and Aramis had pretended not to see it while with him. Afterwards, he'd sat down with the other two, while D'artagnan was out of earshot, and told them what he'd seen. They came to the conclusion that they'd have to speak to the young man about the subject. When all the training was done for the day, they'd pull D'artagnan aside and talk with him. Maybe when he realized someone knew something was wrong, he'd open up.
When they finally had the time to talk to the Gascon, they pulled him aside and into the stable.
"Come, D'artagnan, lets take a ride." The trio mounted, having already saddled the horses, and waited for him to mount. They pretended not to notice that his hands were shaking when he grasped the horn of the saddle. Once he was up they were off.
D'artagnan watched suspiciously as the others made casual conversation. He knew something was up with them just hadn't been able to pin down anything from what they'd said and done. Other than the out of the blue ride out of the city. What was going on?
Finally, the trio pulled their horses to a stop by a stream in the woods, not far off the road. They dismounted before letting the horses loose to graze by the water. While watching them warily, D'artagnan did the same. Once they found a spot in the sun, they sat down and settled into silence. It was only broken by the sound of the flowing water, the horses snuffling and their soft breathing.
"D'artagnan, we know something's wrong, at that you probably don't want to tell us, but we've seen how it's been effecting you this last week and we're worried. Please, tell us what's going on. We're worried about you." Aramis quietly asked from his spot beside the young man. To their dismay, D'artagnan only stiffened in response.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Guys, I'm fine. There's nothing wrong." D'artagnan replied, hoping that they didn't catch on to the lie. Not that it was any of their business even if they did.
"Dartagnan, stop lying. We know something's up. Aramis caught you changing and he said that he could've counted your ribs if he'd wanted to. We're here for you, but only if you'll let us be." Athos stated, knowing he came across more judgmental and accusing than he should've as soon as he said it. They all watched as the Gascon's face darkened with anger.
"It's none of your damn business, Athos. Oh, and like you all talk to me when you have problems? You know what, screw you." D'artagnan got up and mounted his horse before furiously riding away.
"Well..that went well." Porthos spoke up from his spot beside Athos. A collective sigh sounded through the trio.
D'artagnan didn't speak to them for a few days, and after that only when necessary. The trio watched from the sidelines as his condition continued to decline but knew that their worry wouldn't be welcome. They'd also noticed that Treville was keeping an extra eye on the boy. Seems like they weren't the only one's worried about him.
Later that evening, they got pulled aside by the Captain.
"What they hell is going on? One minute you're all buddies and inseparable, and the next D'artagnan isn't talking to ya, isn't working with ya, is actually completely ignoring your exhistance. And then he keeps looking worse every time I see him, which is saying something. Anyone want to explain all this to me?" He demanded, taking his spot behind the desk. He worried about all his men, really he did, but these four...they were his best but they were also the ones who always got into trouble.
"It started last week with him not sleeping well, not eating right etc...But it continued on and he just got worse and worse. Finally, we'd had enough of it and pulled him aside quietly to ask him about it. We probably didn't phrase things like we should've and he got mad and stormed off. You know the rest of the story." Porthos explained from his chair in front of the desk. Aramis and Athos nodded in agreement, solemn looks on all their faces.
Treville sighed, but instead of annoyed, it was sad. He leaned on his crossed arms, quietly reprimanding himself.
"How could I not remember? I should've and then I could've given him time off to deal." He muttered, more to himself than anyone. The trio looked at each other confusedly. Eventually, Athos spoke up.
"What are you talking about? So he could deal with what?" Treville looked up in surprised shock.
"Don't you remember? His father died one year ago last week."
Hearts stuttered to a stop around the room. How they hell could they forget that? The trio looked at each other shamefully. After a moment it changed to resolve. They knew the problem, now they could fix it and put everything right again.
D'artagnan stumbled out of a tavern late at night and into the barrage of rain coming down. Wonderful, more rain to darken his already black mood.
The Gascon unsteadily made his way towards the garrison, all the while trying to keep from being sick. The alcohol he'd drank wasn't settling well on his empty stomach. It probably didn't help that he'd mixed his liquors too.
Once D'artagnan reached the gates of the garrison he'd already been sick once and was trying not to upchuck his insides again. He slid through the gate, nodding to the guards there, before carefully making his towards the stairs that lead up to his room. He slipped and fell into a puddle of mud that formed right in front of them. He pulled himself out of the slippery mess with disgust. Great...now he wasn't just wet, he was muddy too.
He finally made it to his door, leaving a trail of mud behind him. Once he got the door open and slipped inside he realized that he wasn't alone in the room. Surreptitiously pulling his knife out of it's holder he spun around, intent on stopping whoever had just stepped up behind him. He slashed the dagger at what he thought was the other man's chest. A hand reached out and grasped his flailing arm by the wrist. He struggled to pull away, but as inebriated as he was, it wasn't working.
"D'artagnan, enough! Stop fighting me, before you hurt yourself." Athos' voice finally made its way into his succonscious. He stopped pulling against the hold on his wrist, but he did glare at the man in front of him.
"What the hell are you doing in my room? Get out, I don't want you here!" D'artagnan jerked hard enough to get his arm released from Athos' hold. Once he'd looked around the room however, he realized it wasn't just Athos who'd invaded his privacy. Aramis and Porthos sat in chairs by the opposite wall to him. D'artagnan gritted his teeth in annoyance and anger.
"D'artagnan...we know what's going on. Why didn't you just tell us? Why didn't you come to us? We would have been there for you." Aramis quietly asked, a sad intonation in his voice. D'artagnan glared at him in response.
"Tell you what? That it's been one year since my father died. That's something that you should've remembered. But no, you guys just think it's okay for you to tell me what to do, or try to help me when you won't let me help whenever you guys have a problem. That's hypocritical of you, you know. Why should I trust you to help me, when you won't let me in and help you? Hell, why do you hang out with me if you don't want me around? C'mon, I see how you all just communicate flawlessly with one another but when I ask, no, it's time to lie and cover it up! So no, don't talk to me about coming to you for help!" D'artagnan all but shouted. He knew that the words would be hurtful to them at they probably didn't make a lot of sense, but he didn't care.
The trio cringed at his words. They knew it was true, as much as they didn't want to admit it. They did do that, lie and cover it up when he asked what was wrong, and it was hypocritical to think he would come to them. Porthos stood and walked over to the young man. He didn't touch him, as much as he wanted to comfort him, because he knew it wouldn't be welcome.
"Lad, we're sorry for that. Yes, it was hypocritical of us to think you'd come to us when we don't come to you. But we do want to help you, if you'll let us. We'll try to be better at letting you in. Please, D'artagnan." D'artagnan glared up at Porthos, while holding back tears. He was angry yes, but he didn't want to lose his friends. They were all he had. There was still a part of him that wanted to let them in, let them help, but there was also a part of him that was angry at them. Maybe it was irrational, because they'd known each other longer than he's been here, but c'mon, didn't they trust him?
D'artagnan pushed Porthos back a step, away from him. His body shook with the cold, anger and just too many pent up emotions. He wanted them away, he wanted them to stay. He couldn't decide what he wanted. He wanted their comfort and he wanted to kick them out.
Aramis saw the indecision on his face and knew he was internally fighting with himself. He stood and went over to the young man. He pulled him into a hug, even though he could feel the tension in the Gascon's body. He wrapped his arms tightly around the boy's shivering frame, not caring that he was soaked through. D'artagnan moved as if to push him away, but after a moment he collapsed in Aramis' arms, sobs slipping past his lips. He buried his face in Aramis' neck, trying to stifle the sound of his grief. He heard footsteps come up behind him and felt two extra hands land on his shoulders.
"We're here for you, D'artagnan. Just let it out. Let it go." Athos quietly said from behind him, his familiar voice bringing slight comfort to the young man. D'artagnan just continued to sob the tears he'd kept locked up for so long.
While nothing was really fixed between them, they had time to do so. For now, they were there for the young man they called one of their own, and that was enough.
What did you guys think?