A/N: Having seen only the first eight episodes, please bear with me and do not hesitate to point out the abominable mistakes you'll no doubt find in these oneshots. They'll be kept...mm, sort of serious, but no promises are made. I find the prospect of twenty-six horrible things chained together in one continuity too hilarious not to make fun of.

Please feel free to leave suggestions, particularly for X, Y, and Z. I have X partly taken care of, but not so much for the other two. Other letters are also welcome to this party, so please ask away. If you don't want to leave a word, you can give me a situation and I'll do my best to find a word to fit it.

Intro aside, I hope you enjoy these oneshots. :D

(Please note that the characterization is based on that of the BBC version...and the 2011 version...and the book...and the fandom version...and things that make me go happy...and- you get it...:P)


~ A is for...Asphyxiation ~


Everyone else gives chase when the man starts to run, so d'Artagnan follows their lead.

He's always been a fast runner, but has recently become more practiced at it than even he'd care to be- there is, as it so happens, an awful lot of running involved when it comes to being a not-quite musketeer- and quickly pulls ahead, gaining on the criminal and nearly closing the gap between them. When the man suddenly ducks under a low gate and slashes at the rope holding it up, d'Artagnan doesn't slow down.

With only a few steps before the gate, he can hear a shout of, "d'Artagnan, wait!" somewhere behind him, but he's going too fast and what happens next is almost more from reflex than any actual intent.

He drops easily to the floor and slides under the falling gate in what is really a spectacular maneuver, clearing the space just as the heavy wood meets the floor, and rolls to his feet as gracefully as a cat, hair barely ruffled. Honestly, he's proud of himself for that one.

It registers a second later that the gate lead to a dead end, and that he's effectively cornered the criminal, whose only option for escape now is the window.

d'Artagnan forgets how many floors up they are, but there were a lot of stairs involved so he's confident the drop would be enough to break a person's legs if not kill immediately.

With a wide grin, he shakes the sweat-dampened hair from his eyes and levels his sword at the criminal's chest.

It's at some point during the fight that ensues that he remembers an important detail. There is now a gate separating him and the criminal from the Inseparables. The mechanism meant to lift said gate is broken. It isn't a worrying factor, certainly not requiring as much focus as avoiding being stabbed to death. The three of them together are more than strong enough to lift it, and he can help once the criminal is subdued-

The man, who is at least d'Artagnan and roughly a half tall, as well as close to three d'Artagnans wide, locks their blades and, instead of trying to pull the Gascon's sword away, throws his entire weight toward the startled boy, sending both of them stumbling toward the window. At some point, the sword is torn from d'Artagnan's grasp and he can almost hear the blades clattering across the floor, but now there are more pressing matters to worry about.

Like the fact that he's being bent painfully backwards with a strong hand pressing down on his neck. He's keenly aware now that he was right about the drop from this window, which it seems the man's intention to push him completely out of.

Oblivious to the shouting musketeers and doing what he can to ignore the alarming difficulty of breathing right now, d'Artagnan kicks and claws, thrashing wildly but uselessly. The pressure on his throat lessens when the man opts for grabbing his shoulders instead, grip like iron and completely unrelenting. The man's face is twisted into a feral grin, teeth showing and eyes glinting with pleasure. d'Artagnan's head and shoulders are caught in open space, his heart beating so rapidly it almost hurts when the drop begins.

One flailing foot connects with a target, and the man lurches back, dragging a relieved d'Artagnan with him. He drops uneasily to the floor, panting for breath while the criminal prowls and the musketeers work to open the gate.

d'Artagnan springs back to his feet as the man rounds on him once again, gaze darting frantically around the room in search of a weapon. He has time for a yelp before the man crashes into him, both of them tumbling down in a tangle of arms and legs. He's wrestled onto his back, pinned down and punched once, twice, a third time...he catches the man's wrist before all the stars have been blinked away, trying with both hands to push him away but failing miserably.

Before he fully understands what's happening, he's hauled upright and thrown against the gate, the man's hands locked around his throat and cutting off his pained shout. Aramis yelps as well, hand caught between d'Artagnan's back and one of the bars.

Now, there's a purely murderous look in the man's eye as he stares d'Artagnan down, pressing so hard d'Artagnan's sure the wood will crack at any moment. He tries to fight, to glare defiantly, but his fumbling hands are weakening and there's a sound like a drumbeat drowning out his friends' voices. His vision is dotted black, a strange gray mist appearing around the edges.

He half expects to hear some sort of choir at any minute, but the drums grow faster and harder, jarring his bones and making his head spin as everything disappears at once.

There's a sudden sound, thunderous and rattling, followed by a violent pull, and then he's falling...


The first thing he's aware of is that he really wishes he wasn't aware of anything.

He's lying down, something cold and hard beneath him, but there's something not quite like a pillow under his head, hands on his face, in his hair...it's an insistent touch that beckons him back from the dark, gentle but firm an accompanied by a worried voice.

"That's it, lad, are you with us?"

His reply is to squeeze his eyes shut further, grimacing. There's a faint sound, but he gives a pained squeak at the way it vibrates in his sore throat and finds himself completely unable to make words from the noise. But he's stubborn and, opening his eyes to look up at Aramis in groggy confusion, tries again until he chokes out a mangled version of 'what happened?' that sounds like a foreign language.

Aramis, who he can only see behind a too-bright white mist that appears almost like a halo, looks worried but smiles anyway. It's anyone's guess if he understood the question itself or just knows d'Artagnan well enough to know it would be asked. "Athos distracted him," he says quietly, "but it still took me and Porthos some time to open the gate. You'd already gone so quiet, we thought..." he shakes his head, pushing the thought away, "But, apparently we're not to have any peace yet. You're tenacious as you are reckless, chiot."

d'Artagnan huffs, but is glad to still be alive even if incredibly sore. His chest aches and his throat feels like it should be bleeding, but the drums have slowed to a tolerable rhythm and his vision is slowly clearing. If he looks hard enough, he can see Porthos hovering nearby, cocky smirk hiding the concern he'd no doubt been wearing moments before. "A..." he swallows, "A...thos?"

"Tending to our friend over there," Porthos answers, stepping nearer and looking so amused d'Artagnan wonders if he's missed some sort of joke. At his confusion, Porthos chuckles somewhat maliciously. "Knocked 'im out," he explains, "Wiv' a gun. Through the gate, no less."

"Ah." d'Artagnan squirms, trying to find enough purchase to sit up. Aramis seems wary at first, but eventually takes his young friend's shoulders and pulls the Gascon up, though doesn't let go of him after. "Easy," the older man says slowly, "Don't over do it."

"And," Aramis interrupts when the boy opens his mouth again, "Stop trying to speak, you'll make it worse."

The Gascon, now leaned back against his friend's chest, scowls but does as he's told, not missing the raised eyebrows from Porthos.

"Oh, this is gonna be a fun trip home," the big man says, eying d'Artagnan warily, "I hope you've got some paper, 'mis, else we'll never get 'im to shut up when 'is voice comes back."

"Maybe," Athos appears behind Porthos, looking exactly the same as he always does, save a little ruffled from their earlier activities, "Unable to speak, he'll actually listen for once."

Remembering the "wait!" that he'd ignored, d'Artagnan drops his gaze when Aramis' gentle squeeze reminds him that arguing is futile and mostly impossible. There's a sound, and after a few moments he can see the boots that belong to the footsteps as Athos moves to stand in front of him. He cringes, expecting to see Athos' infamous scowl when the man kneels, but he doesn't yet know the older man well enough, despite their time together, to see anything but the usual impassiveness when he finally looks up.

"Don't," Athos says eventually, "do that again."

d'Artagnan nods as emphatically as he can, but it's mostly a formality. They both know this incident will be topped within a month at most.


This can also be called the Rowana Renee Sucks at Endings show.

Please cast your votes for either: buried, broken, bruised, branded, or beaten for letter B :D