A/N: This is technically a follow-up to my story Vigil but can be read on its own. Basically all you need to know is; D'Artagnan was seriously injured in a fight with the Red Guards and Athos blames himself. D'Art wants to set things straight. Enjoy!
The world was muffled and blurry when he finally awoke. He wasn't sure when exactly he had fallen asleep, but it had been a most fitful slumber and he was almost sad to awaken from it. He lazily reached a hand out from under the warmth of his blanket to rub groggily at this eyes, peeling them open with much effort to gaze around the room.
The first thing D'Artagnan noticed was that he didn't know where he was. The second was the slumped form of Athos lying in a chair next to his bed, seemingly asleep if his deep, even breathing was anything to go by.
Suddenly the events of the day came crashing to the forefront of his mind, startling him into full awareness. The fight, the gunshot, the blood. Just the thought of how much blood had escaped his body made him want to gage, he really didn't remember much, but the feeling of his tunic sticking to his chest slick with blood was a memory that would not be vacating his mind or dreams anytime in the near future.
D'Artagnan's gasp of shock quickly morphed to a coughing fit, his eyes scrunched up in pain as he held his aching chest, each cough reverberating through his battered body to cause more suffering. Vaguely he was aware of a reassuring presence beside him, a comforting hand rubbing gentle circles against his back urging him to "just breathe" and eventually he was able to calm the raging storm of pain down to a small sprinkle.
"Athos." He finally sighed, knowing without looking it was the elder Musketeer comforting him.
"I am here D'Artagnan." Athos' calm voice responded. The man's hand hovered a moment near D'Artagnan's back but was quickly withdrawn after it became apparent the young man had his coughing under control.
D'Artagnan took a moment to run his hand over his face, taking in the haggard appearance of his mentor and role model. "What happened?" He questioned, keeping his voice soft so as to not aggravate his wound.
"Do you remember the fight?" Athos responded immediately, worry slipping past his cracking mask.
"Yes, I more-so meant, afterwards."
"We brought you back to the Garrison. With the help of our surgeon, Aramis patched you up." Athos relayed, his voice cold and impassive. He was just stating facts. D'Artagnan did not need to be aware of the countless hours he and Porthos had been kept waiting, dreading news of his death. The way Porthos had paced impatiently back and forth and back and forth in front of the door. Or the way Athos had sat perfectly still, eyes trained on the room where the fate of his youngest brother had been held in the balance. No, there were some facts D'Artagnan did not need to be privy to.
"And the Red Guard, the one that-" D'Artagnan could not bring himself to actually say the words, not yet anyway.
"He has been apprehended and will be punished most severely."
D'Artagnan nodded, his eyes falling to the far corner of the room where he noted for the first time the presence of his other two friends. Somehow he wasn't all that surprised to see them there, he was however, surprised by their silence.
The youngest Musketeer paused a moment, before glancing up at Athos with nervous trepidation. "Athos are you- are you upset with me?"
Athos' eyes snapped to D'Artagnan and something akin to agony flashed through them before it was carefully hidden by his usual impassive expression. "Why would you ask such a question?"
D'Artagnan shifted nervously, biting his bottom lip before continuing quietly, "You just, seem so cold. Distant. I thought perhaps you were disappointed in me."
"D'Artagnan how could I be disappointed in you for something that was clearly not your fault?" Athos questioned, but didn't pause long enough for D'Artagnan to formulate a response. "You misinterpret my lack of visible emotions for disappointment when it is the exact opposite. I am simply attempting to keep calm, not let my emotions get the better of me. You had us all very worried."
"Sorry." D'Artagnan mumbled.
Athos sighed heavily, his arms coming to rest on his knees as he hunched forward. "It is I who should be apologizing D'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What should you be apologizing for?"
"Everything. Getting you into this mess, not being able to protect you."
"Athos, what happened today was not your fault."
"D'Artagnan please, I am not seeking absolution. Your injuries fall upon me, the fact that you were wounded today is inexcusable and I am to blame."
D'Artagnan paused a moment, his mouth hanging open as he tried to think of exactly what to say, knowing he had to choose his words carefully. "Athos, it is because of you that I am still alive." He didn't remember much of what had happened after realizing he had been shot but he remembered a constant pressure on his chest, Athos' grim face filtering just on the edge of his perception, grounding him and keeping him focused when else he might have wandered.
Athos began to shake his head in denial but D'Artagnan cut him off. He wasn't sure how long Athos had been wallowing in self-blame but it had to end, he had to end it. "No, listen, what the Red Guard's did was wrong, and it is obvious that they were the ones to provoke the attack. And I was the one that chose to fight back and that Guard, whoever he was, chose to abandon the rules of a fair fight and fire upon me. But Athos," D'Artagnan swallowed thickly, the memories of his injuries almost choking him. "What happened to me, the events that transpired today, in that you are blameless."
"You should listen to 'im ya know." Porthos' deep voice interjected from the far corner, cutting Athos off before he could deny D'Artagnan's words.
"Hey, I've been saying as much all day, but since when has he ever listened to me?" Aramis responded, the room beginning to feel more like it should, more lighthearted and less gloomy.
Athos still looked unsure, but a sideways glance from D'Artagnan had a smile capturing the corners of his lips. He sighed heavily in defeat, perhaps not entirely believing the words that had been spoken but realizing he could not win a battle against the three most hard-headed Musketeers in the regiment. "I am still sorry you were wounded so grievously."
"Athos," D'Artagnan responded immediately with a lopsided grin. "We are the King's Musketeers, danger is our business."
"Plus," Aramis remarked, stepping closer to the bed containing his wounded comrade. "We seem to have attracted the type of dismal luck that enjoys companionship."
"Yes it does seem whenever one of us is in trouble the others are never far behind." Athos stated.
"Hey, ya know wha' they say." Porthos said with a grin. "All for one."
"And one for all." The other three chorused.