Disclaimer: I don't own Alexander Dumas' characters, and I make no profit from this story.
AN: Hey everybody, this is one of my first short stories that I'm going to be practicing writing before I get started on my Dragon series. For those of you out there who have a problem reading attempted rape, or foul language of any kind, then you shouldn't be reading this story. Enjoy, and I'll have marked the attempted rape scene.
_
Chapter 1: Almost
The cool winds of the early evening were a great relief from the unbearable heat that Paris suffered only a few hours earlier, and the citizens were taking advantage of the welcomed change in temperature. Children played games like hopscotch and hide-and-seek with their parents watching or with their own hand-made toys outside. Men either sat outside reading, playing chess or cards, or simply chatting with one another with a bottle of wine. Women took advantage of the welcoming coolness as well by doing normal indoor chores outside, playing with their children, or drinking tea with one another out in their yards.
The regular citizens weren't the only ones who were thankful for the departure of the heat. The musketeers and the Cardinal's guards flooded the taverns and bars for a much needed drink after a long day of rounds and guard duty in the merciless sun. They were enjoying the blessed relief too much to get into the familiar brawls with one another, which both surprised and pleased the tavern and bar owners and customers. The rest of the evening, to the customers and owners happiness, was spent with the musketeers and the Cardinal's guards keeping to their own group, only swapping the occasional hate filled glance at one another every now and then but not acting upon it.
One musketeer -in training though he may be- was eager to enjoy as much of the cooler temperature as possible before he had to wake up on the morrow to another uncomfortably hot day.
D'artagnan stretched slightly, sighing in relief with he felt a couple of joints pop into place, and laid back against the roof of his shared apartment, his folded cloak acting as a pillow. He breathed in the sharp air and smiled as the familiar smells assaulted his senses; earth and rain from the plant life around the courtyard that his apartment sat in, the delicious smells of Planchet's cooking wafting up through the open window, the smell of pine smoke from the chimney, the faint aroma of pastries and cakes being made from the bakery just down the road from them, tobacco smoke from the pipes his neighbors were smoking, and the overall fresh smell of nature and sky.
Breathing in these smells and fully relaxing against the roof, D'artagnan closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift away into his memories.
It had been exactly three months since D'artagnan had first barreled, quite literally in Athos and Porthos' cases, into the lives of the three musketeers, and since then he had wormed his way very deeply into their hearts. D'artagnan knew that his friends would deny this even under the most grueling interrogation though, but it made him happy all the same that his friends would save their stronger feelings regarding him in private just for him to see. Multiple times since he began living with the three men they had showed the depth of what their friendship with him meant, and it filled D'artagnan with warmth that he was able to find a different kind of family to ease his homesickness for his parents.
Three specific incidents stood out to him in his mind and he smiled as the memories drifted to the front of his mind one at a time.
_
It was two weeks after the diamond retrieval mission, and D'artagnan had earned his place in the musketeer corps as a trainee thanks to Louis XIII reinstating the musketeers corps and praises from not only his friends, but from Captain Treville as well.
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis were a little worried about the boy since this entitled him to go on missions not only with other musketeers that he didn't know, but by himself as well though it would only be into the next village or city over.
The upside was that he was also able to go on whatever missions with the other three if they requested for him, which was all the time.
Right now, Porthos and D'artagnan were sent to the ports to follow up on rumors about possible pirates threatening to attack France's coast towns.
Since only Athos, Aramis, D'artagnan, and Captain Treville knew of Porthos' past life as a pirate, he was the clear and only choice musketeer to handle issues concerning piracy. D'artagnan was only too eager to go with him.
"As close as I have lived near the ocean all my life I have never actually seen it before our trip to England for the diamonds." This surprised the other three men who knew how adventurous the boy was, but none of them commented on it.
One week after Porthos and D'artagnan had arrived at the ports they had found out that the rumors about possible pirates were in fact true. Through heavy bribery and interrogation, Porthos was able to get the information on where and what time the pirates were meeting to discuss their plans on pillaging one of the nearby villages.
D'artagnan was more than a little bit angry when Porthos told him that only he was going to be confronting the pirates with the port's guards.
"These men have nothing on the Cardinal's guards, boy," he had said to D'artagnan after he broke the news to him, "they at least have some sort of honor and code that they have to live by, and some form of authority to report to. Pirates live under their own code with no honor involved, and the only masters that they follow are themselves. Killing you would be like killing a woman after they've had their fill of her; with a clear conscience and no form of regret afterwards."
Porthos had spoken in such a firm and serious voice that made D'artagnan realize that the man was being haunted by his own memories of when he had been on the other side of the law since he had first been given the mission, and finally finding their targets was bringing those memories forward in full force.
For the first time, D'artagnan was determined to listen to one of his friends' warnings about staying out of trouble.
If only life had really been that easy for him.
Some of the local juveniles had started a fire nearby from small explosives, and D'artagnan knew that he couldn't just sit in his room. When some help from the local townspeople, the fire was put out and the juveniles were hauled away to be kept in the local prison until their parents or some other form of authority for children could bail them out.
It was on his way back to the hotel that D'artagnan's luck changed in a hurry. Which brings the present back to the main focus.
"Come on boy, is that the best you got for me?!"
D'artagnan spit blood out of his mouth as he hatefully glared up at his adversary.
He had caught the man and his buddies harassing two women in the alley when he was on his way back from helping put out the fire.
He, of course, jumped in to help the women out, but he knew right away that he should have first studied his enemies before running in. He had said to Queen Anne months earlier that he couldn't help being reckless in choosing his battles, and he now wished more than ever that he had some form of self control over himself.
Without taking a chance to think about his next move, he charged at the much bigger, stronger man with a war cry, his blade held in his hand.
The man merely stepped to the side and with a hard thrust drove his knee into D'artagnan's midsection, his buddies cheering drunkenly nearby.
Gasping for breath, the boy was given no warning as the man dealt a vicious right hook to his cheek and nose, his teething snapping together sharply, his tongue in between. Blood dripping from his mouth and nose as he struggled to breathe, D'artagnan blearily stared up at the man as he tried to regain his wits.
With a vicious smirk at the boy at his feet, the older gentleman brought his foot up kicked it harshly at D'artagnan's face. He went down as the fire in his cheek and nose doubled, and his head hit the cold, unforgiving stones below him, but he refused to cry out.
Smiling maliciously in victory at the defeated boy, the man picked up D'artagnan's fallen sword and kicked the boy over onto his back.
"You feel that whelp?" he said nastily as D'artagnan tried not to breathe in the man's alcohol-laced breath, "that's the feeling of defeat. Of knowing where you really belong in this world; at the feet of the men."
His stomach clenching in pain D'artagnan rolled over to glare at the man square in the eye. Without even a second thought, he spit blood at the man's face, a spark of triumph running through him when he hit his mark. It was immediately put out when he saw the raw fury build up in the man's eyes after the blood and saliva had been wiped away.
With a roar of pure anger the man went into a rage and began to violently and repeatedly kick D'artagnan's ribs and back. Each kick to his already bruised and injured body felt like a hot knife being thrust inside him only to be brutally ripped back out again and shoved back in.
Though he was unable to prevent the painful tears from sliding out from under his eyelids, D'artagnan refused to allow any noises of pain to escape his lips which were bleeding as he had bit through the skin clean to stay completely silent.
When the man had finally tired of kicking D'artagnan bloody, he jerked the boy's face upwards in a tight grip.
"You're a very pretty looking lad, boy," the man drawled out, his hidden message received and understood by his men standing nearby, who began to smile salaciously to one another. The man's face broke out into a wide, nasty grin, the pooling lust in his eyes making D'artagnan gulp.
"Yes," the man continued, "and I believe that you also still need to learn your lesson about messing with the affairs of men where you clearly don't belong. I'm sure that my men would be more than happy to give you a, thorough, lesson and punishment."
The drunken laughter following this speech made D'artagnan's stomach clench in fear. Porthos and Athos had said months earlier that D'artagnan would be dead by sundown thanks to his impetuousness and recklessness and D'artagnan felt sure that this was possibly that moment.
His ribs cried out in pain when he was suddenly hauled to his feet by two other men who held his arms tightly. He was sure there were going to be bruises there later.
The leader of the group used the hilt of D'artagnan's sword to tilt his chin up.
"We're going to teach you the consequences of meddling in a man's business little boy," he man sneered with the same nasty smile still on his face, yellowed, crooked teeth showing, "just remember: one word out of you and we'll turn you into a human pin cushion."
\D'artagnan didn't even have time to reply or to think before each of the men holding his arms brought their free hands up and harshly pinched his nipples. At the same time, the leader in front of him shot his hand out and roughly cupped him where nobody else but him had touched.
His cry of pain and surprise was smothered by a mouth pressing unforgivably against his own. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood the leader thrust his tongue inside D'artagnan's mouth and roughly mapped out the inside.
D'artagnan could hear the remaining men laughing drunkenly, lustfully as they watched their leader and buddies molest him with forceful touches and brutal movements.
Fighting the urge the throw up from the smell and taste of the man D'artagnan tried to jerk his mouth and body away as much as he could, but the grips on his jaw and arms were as strong as iron.
Out of desperation and fear D'artagnan clamped his jaw shut tightly, trapping the man's tongue between his teeth. The taste of iron seeped into his mouth as the man pulled away from him with a roar of anger.
"You little bastard!" Fire erupted this time on D'artagnan's other cheek as the man punched him once, then a second time in the gut, once again knocking the wind from the boy. "I'll teach you mess with me."
D'artagnan's eyes went wide in fear when he looked up and saw the man fumbling with the fastens on his pants, and his mind almost shut down when he felt the two men holding him start to clumsily try to undo his own pants.
"No! Please don't!" yelled D'artagnan out of desperation, hoping someone out on the street could hear him. The leader looked up at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes as he finally got his pants undone and D'artagnan's were shoved to his knees.
"You're gonna regret that boy."\
The man didn't take a step forward before two blades suddenly protruded from his chest and his crotch. D'artagnan and the others watched in horror and fascination as the man fell to the ground in front of them, blood seeping from both his upper and lower body.
D'artagnan looked up to see who the man's assailant was and almost cowered against the men holding him. Porthos stood there with his sword drawn in one hand and another knife in the other. His clothes were covered in blood and what looked like body matter was staining the heel of his boots.
His eyes however were what made D'artagnan shrink away in fear.
His eyes had darkened till they were almost pitch- black with fury. Taking in the scene from the dead leader to the two men still holding D'artagnan's roughly handled body his face grew harder when he took in the boy's bloody and swollen lips and undone pants.
His dark gaze drifted over each of the men in the alley who shrunk back slightly but kept a firm hold on their swords; obviously they weren't as drunk as they had been acting earlier. D'artagnan's heart jolted with fear; these men were completely sober, and had been ready to watch their boss rape and share a young boy over half their ages with the rest of them.
As Porthos' gaze swept over towards his direction, his felt the two men holding his arms tighten their grips on him. A small sound of pain escaped him before he had time to stop it and watched Porthos go from seeing red to seeing purple in a split second. He knew that the look wasn't meant for him, but he still couldn't help but swallow in fear at seeing it.
Gone was the overgrown child, the everyday clown that made D'artagnan laugh till he was in stitches before ten o'clock in the morning, the goofball of the quartet that kept the comedic side of life alive in their home. In his place was a man that looked every bit his age and exactly like the blood stains and body matter portrayed him to be: a monster.
It was all over in under a minute. The two men holding D'artagnan seemed to vanish into thin air as he saw Porthos take on the rest of the men standing nearby. D'artagnan's knees gave out under him and just as he caught himself, he looked behind him to see both men on the ground with a knife sticking out of their foreheads. He turned around again just in time to see Porthos finishing off the last two men with a quick slice of his sword.
D'artagnan gagged at the scene and almost retched when he saw the amount of blood staining Porthos' sword. He quickly did up his pants as Porthos slowed his breathing down and tried to get himself under control.
The physical and mental abuse the boy had endured in the last couple of hours from the fire and the men finally caught up with up. As he slipped into the welcoming darkness his last vision was Porthos' worried face.
_
When he looked at D'artagnan the boy couldn't help but cringe at the still visible white-hot fury in the man's eyes. Porthos tried to soften his gaze but the adrenaline and rage still coursing through his blood wouldn't let him.
Blast it all! He told the boy to stay in the room!
The information he had gotten from one of the vic…pirates had been spot on. What the pirate failed to tell Porthos, though, was that not one, but three pirate crews were going to be attending the meeting. Somehow word got back to the pirates about the king's musketeers and the port's guards crashing the meeting, and they were taken by surprise. He and the port's guards had gotten into a vicious tussle with the pirates who didn't back down until every last one of them had either been captured or killed. Three guards were lost in the fight, and four more were critically injured. The job was done though, and taken care of.
He had made it back to the hotel when one of the servants in the lobby told him that the young man he was rooming with wasn't there. The servant had nearly pissed himself there in front of God and the guests when Porthos lifted him up by the front of his shirt and growled out where D'artagnan's location was. The man stuttered that a fire had broken out further down the street and the young man had flown out of the hotel to help put it out.
Porthos had taken off in the boy's direction until he came upon the scene of the fire. After asking a few of the townsfolk who were still cleaning up the mess the fire made about D'artagnan, he headed back to the hotel where they told him they last saw the boy walking in the direction of.
Porthos was halfway to the hotel when he heard a cry of fear and desperation coming from an alley hidden so well by the shadows that if Porthos hadn't heard the cry he wouldn't have known it was there. The cry sounding so much like D'artagnan's made Porthos' blood turn to ice as he took off into the alley.
The scene he walked in on unfroze his blood into white fire in a flash, the pounding of his heart so loud in his ears it blocked out the rest of the world.
There were at least ten local men in the alley, drunks by the smell of the area, and were laughing like hyenas at something going on in the middle. Two of the men seemed to be holding someone's arms back while the leader of the group beat him. At least that's what it looked like at first.
Porthos then took a second look at the men and realized that not only were they not drunk, but they were disgustedly aroused as well, and judging from what they were looking at it was obviously at the people in the middle of the alley. Porthos' fist tightened as he prayed that it wasn't who he believed was the middle of those three men.
When the leader pulled away Porthos' nightmare came true.
D'artagnan. His naïve, sweet, innocent friend D'artagnan was held up in front of all these men like a whore waiting to be passed around. His body began to tremble as he took in D'artagnan's flushed face, bruised and bloodied lips, and the rising fear in the boy's eyes. He finally snapped when he saw the men holding his arms each reach around and undo the ties to the boy's pants.
With a speed that Aramis himself would be jealous of Porthos had thrown two daggers at the leader's back as he drew his sword and the man had just pulled his pants down. He could only imagine what he looked like to D'artagnan having just come a very bloody battle without washing it away first; the slight hint of fear of looking at him made Porthos wince but he ignored that as he made short work of the rest of the men.
When he had finally calmed his racing heart and tempered his rage to a smolder he turned to see how D'artagnan fared, but was in shock at seeing the boy slip into unconsciousness.
Wasting no time he gathered the boy's sword and his own and practically ran to the hotel with D'artagnan in his arms. He barked at every servant who worked there not to disturb him after he had a maid bring him some water and rags. He cleaned the boy's wounds as best as he could before changing him into some sleep clothes and tucked him into bed.
Ordering one of the servants to bring him the biggest and strongest bottle of wine they had he pulled up a chair and sat there watching D'artagnan as he slept through the night.
_
D'artagnan winced as he remembered the two weeks that had followed that event.
Porthos and him hadn't spoken a single word the entire trip back home, and after Porthos had given his report to Treville. The only response that came from the man was preventing Athos and Aramis from hunting down the men who had attacked D'artagnan after Porthos told them.
D'artagnan had retreated to his bedroom after being fussed after by both Athos and Aramis, but Porthos wouldn't even look at him all night. It hurt D'artagnan but he figured that Porthos was just trying to get a grip on what had happened in the alley.
Two weeks had passed and Porthos still hadn't said a word to him. It drove pain through D'artagnan's heart that Porthos was deliberately ignoring him. Not to mention it hurt that in the nightmares he had been experiencing Porthos had ignored him as well, leaving D'artagnan to the mercy of those men.
It finally took a screaming match between Porthos and the other two to get a decent response out of the man.
_
"That's it man! We've both had enough."
Porthos looked up to see Aramis' uncharacteristically angry face and Athos' hard, stony glare.
"What are you ladies going on about now?" he said in what sounded in an uncaring voice, but the hint of defensiveness was there to catch.
"That boy up there," Aramis pointed up the stairs, "has been suffering nightmares since you brought him home and not once have you checked on him. You of the three of us should be the first person to help ease his mind!" Porthos snorted as he concentrated on the wine in his cup.
"Why should I? Our beloved Athos has taken up the job without a fuss from the boy." Porthos took a long drink of his wine to try and cover up the bitterness that had seeped into his voice.
"That's because you haven't spoken a word or even looked at D'artagnan since you came back to Paris," growled Athos, "what could you possibly be thinking that's telling you it's okay to ignore the boy after what happened to him?" Porthos slammed his mug down on the table, the first sign of his anger, the most he had shown in the past two weeks. Planchet could feel the rising tension in the air and made a quick escape upstairs to check on D'artagnan.
"You two didn't see the way that boy looked at me," he growled out, the anger and sadness he had been keeping down for the past two weeks finally resurfacing, "after I had finished dealing with those bastards for what they had done to him. He had looked at me with such fear in his eyes, like he expected me to come after him next."
There was silence for a little while after that. He half expected Athos and Aramis to leave him to his wine and go back to the boy even though he wished D'artagnan wasn't so afraid of him so he could. What Porthos didn't expect to happen next was Athos grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. Even though Porthos had a couple of inches and pounds over Athos the man was surprisingly strong.
"Then quit your damn moping and get your ass up there and comfort the boy," he snapped. Porthos shoved Athos off of him while Aramis caught him and steadied him on his feet.
"You're doing a fine job of it by yourself; why ask the person who scared the boy to death to go up and hold his hand?" he snarled.
"D'artagnan is not afraid of you Porthos," said Aramis after he let Athos go, "he was frightened of your temper, not of you. And if you think that by sulking and waiting around for the boy to come to you is going to patch things up think again!"
Porthos turned his mounting rage on the former priest. "Then explain this with your infinite wisdom abbe," he spat the word out, "I tried to help D'artagnan with Buttercup's saddle the other night, and you know what he did? He flinched away from me! From me! Like I was going to strike him! What do you say to that?!"
Aramis didn't let the venom in Porthos' words to his former occupation bother him as he snapped in return with equal ferocity.
"He flinches away from everybody these days Porthos. You, me, Athos, even Planchet! He is still getting over what happened to him. And if you would stop being a complete ass, he would be healing that much faster!" Only when Aramis was under the most extreme amount of stress or anger did the former priest swear, and boy was he feeling angry right now.
"I'll stop being an ass when the kid forgives me for putting him in that kind of danger! And all of us here know that that's not going to happen" "STOP IT ALL OF YOU!"
The three men turned around to the staircase and they winced on the inside at the state of D'artagnan. His face was pale and sunken, heavy bags from multiple nights lost without sleep forming under his eyes. His lips were chapped and cracked, and there was sweat beading his forehead. There was a blanket tightly wrapped around him and he was shivering.
His lack of sleep from the past two weeks had gotten him sick not only with fever, but also with a sore throat from all the screaming that he had done. It had hurt the boy to swallow even water. So it came as a surprise to the men that he was able to shout over their voices.
D'artagnan coughed violently from having to raise his voice and he was steadied by Planchet who had been behind him since he came down the stairs. The servant handed D'artagnan a cup of water who drank it gratefully despite the pain it caused his throat when he swallowed.
"Just stop it," he croaked out. He crossed the room on unsteady feet and grabbed the back of a chair when he stumbled a little bit. "I'm fine," he snapped out when Athos and Aramis moved forward to catch him. He righted himself up and focused the harshest glare he could muster on Porthos.
"What the hell is your problem?!" he bit out to the surprise of the others, "I've been going out of my mind the past two weeks thinking that you were mad at me because I left the hotel, and here I find out that your wallowing in self pity because you couldn't protect me from those men."
None of the other men knew what to say at this point. How could they though? The boy was practically saying that he didn't appreciate what Porthos had done.
"I am always going to be grateful of the amount of times you three have saved me in the past, and will save me in the future. But you need to realize that you cannot protect me from everything." D'artagnan said this with such firmness that the others opened their mouths to disagree but he interrupted them. "No, listen to me. Yes you three are the best that the king has in his musketeers guard, and my fighting skills have improved dramatically since I started fighting alongside you. But that still won't be enough to protect me from every hard lesson life is going to throw at me. I need you three to be around to soften the blow when I finally get hit with one of those lessons, not out drinking your guilt away because you couldn't stop it from coming in the first place."
He looked Porthos square in the eye as he continued, "And you can't keep blaming yourselves afterwards if I suffer side effects from those lessons." He looked around at all of them this time and lost the sharp edge in his voice.
"Look, you three here, out of everybody that I'm acquainted with, know that pain is the best way for somebody to grow and learn. We go through pain when our bodies get bigger, when we push ourselves to our limits in practice, and when we realize who it is that we can really trust in this world. It is through experiencing that pain that we become wiser and our bodies become harder and sturdier to physical and emotional wounds."
He managed to crack a tiny smile on his face.
"It's all part of growing up into a man." The faces of his friends made D'artagnan glad that they had such good poker faces when they were in public. The sadness and ache that D'artagnan saw made him realize that that was exactly what their biggest fear was; not being able to protect their youngest friend from the darkest lessons that life had to offer. He returned his gaze to Porthos with a pleading look on his face.
"So please, stop blaming yourselves so much every time something bad happens to me. I can handle it." There was silence that followed his speech for a long time. It was broken not by Athos or Aramis, but Porthos.
"When did you become so wise whelp? I thought that's what we had the priest for?" joked Porthos in a cracked voice, his eyes mysteriously bright. D'artagnan offered him another smile in return and replied with some of his old cheekiness.
"Oh, the same day I realized that I was going to be living with an overgrown child, a bear who likes to drink too much, and a lecherous priest."
That got a laugh out of Aramis and Porthos and a small smile out of Athos. D'artagnan immediately crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms tightly around Porthos' waist. The man was frozen for a full five seconds before wrapping his huge arms around the boy and returning the embrace. Feeling like his old self again, Porthos tightened his hold and swung D'artagnan around in a circle.
"Oof! Porthos unless you plan on wearing my regurgitated food on your clothes quit swinging me around." Porthos did stop at once when he saw that D'artagnan's face had gone even paler than before if it was possible and set the boy on his feet. When he shot a smile at the older man Porthos knew that he had been forgiven, for more than just swinging him around.
After that day the tension in the house was finally lifted. D'artagnan still had nightmares for another two weeks after that, and during that time he slept in Porthos' room with the giant right behind him; protecting his back from any dangers.
_
D'artagnan broke out of his thoughts as he heard a woman scream below him. Immediately sitting up, he reached for his sword as he watched a woman run into the courtyard below him. He relaxed though when he saw her laughing when her male companion grabbed her around the waist and spun her around in a circle before sharing a tender kiss.
Feeling like he was intruding D'artagnan immediately lay back down so he wouldn't watch. Hearing the young lady scream made him flinch slightly as the memories swirled around in his head, but just like he told his friends months ago, pain was a guide and not an enemy if he allowed it to be.
This way D'artagnan would be able to get on with his life without almost having to return back to that dreadful night every time he hears a scream.
Almost.