Note: I AM SO SORRY FOR LEAVING THIS FOR SO LONG! I lead a busy life, which on occasion goes from busy to insane. If I'd known it would be this bad I probably would have held off on posting and gone on a bit of a hiatus. (I'm so annoyed, I've got so much stuff I want to share that's half done/just needs editing, and I've had zero time to work on it). So I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME!

The quote is from Radical Face's "The Crooked Kind".

Chapter 2

So collect your scars and wear them well
Your blood's as good an ink as any

They managed to save Athos from his untimely end. It had all been a scheme of the cardinal's making, not that anything could be done about him. The man was practically untouchable. Meanwhile d'Artagnan had started to become a fixture in the garrison. He accompanied the three musketeers on their missions and the boy had acquitted himself most admirably. Particularly when it came to dealing with the criminal Vadim.

The four men were at Athos' lodgings enjoying a meal and celebrating another successful mission after seeing Bonnaire into the hands of the Spanish. Despite their reasons for high spirits Athos was quiet and well into his drink. It was not unusual, but there seemed more of a depth to his sorrow this night. Still, Athos was keeping his reasons quiet, and his friends would not pry. If he was content to ignore it, they would be too.

With the wine and good humour flowing - save for Athos - d'Artagnan had thought it the opportune moment to broach a certain subject. The others had been quite overprotective of him, especially Aramis. It was starting to get a little irritating, not least when the man pushed him aside and nearly took a sword blow.

"I don't need coddling, besides, you do know that if I'm hurt I'll simply heal right?" d'Artagnan asked, half exasperated and half amused.

"Well, it might look a bit suspicious if you're stabbed and then carry on walking around as if you'd just nicked yourself shaving." Porthos said with a grin.

"The cardinal would find out." Aramis gave the boy a serious look. "We have to keep these abilities secret. As helpful as they are… well, as helpful as your abilities are, you cannot parade them about for all and sundry to see. Porthos doesn't go flinging fireballs around the battlefield now, does he?"

d'Artagnan couldn't suppress a laugh. "He doesn't, but it's something I would dearly like to see!"

"Don't tempt him." Aramis' tone lightened a little. "He'd have us all out of a job if he could obliterate our enemies with one raised hand."

"You're wrong my friend, I could do it with one raised finger, nay - an eyebrow!" Porthos said with a raucous laugh.

After that Aramis seemed to drift a little from the conversation. Porthos could talk enough for all of them and he carried on regardless, only shooting a concerned glance to Aramis when the man winced and put a hand to his temple.

Wordlessly Athos got to his feet and went to place a bit of charcoal and paper by the young musketeer's elbow. He also retrieved another bottle of wine for himself before resuming his place at the table. They carried on eating and drinking while Aramis went suddenly still and silent. Athos and Porthos almost didn't seem to notice when the man's head shot up with clouded white eyes. They had gone through this time and again, it seemed a simple matter of routine for them. On the other hand this was the first time d'Artagnan had witnessed one of Aramis' visions. He stopped eating and watched his friend in stunned silence. Aramis picked up the charcoal and started sketching furiously. He seemed like a man possessed by the devil, if d'Artagnan didn't know any better he would have ascribed it to witchcraft.

Porthos had continued talking quietly with Athos giving the occasional nod as his contribution to the conversation. Only when d'Artagnan heard his name did he look away.

"d'Artagnan? It's a little disturbing, I know, but he'll be alright." Porthos inclined his head towards Aramis. "It always happens like this, he'll go quiet, get a headache and start drawing. We've learnt to keep paper and ink close to hand. He'll come out of it in a moment."

"His eyes though…" d'Artagnan's gaze was drawn back to Aramis. The man was still drawing, his hands moved so fluidly around the paper, it didn't seem human.

"Whatever he's seeing, it's not here." Porthos said grimly.

The charcoal dropped from Aramis' fingers and he sat back with a heavily exhaled breath. The mist cleared from his eyes, but he still seemed a little detached from reality. Aramis stared across the table, seeing nothing.

"Aramis?" Porthos tried. "Are you back with us?"

Slowly the man blinked and became a little more aware of his surroundings.

"There you are." Porthos dropped his eyes to the drawing. "What is it this time? Me winning at cards I hope."

Aramis looked down at his work and the reaction was immediate. The young musketeer shot back from the table with a gasp, his chair fell to the floor and he staggered to the window. He pushed it open so violently it was a miracle the glass didn't break.

"Aramis?" Porthos got to his feet and made his way over. The only answer was Aramis' ragged breathing.

Athos moved to look at the drawing. It depicted a masked man with a length of rope. "Aramis… who is this?"

With Porthos' hand to his shoulder, Aramis turned around to face them. His face was pale and his expression haunted. "It's Marsac. He's coming back."

~oOo~

Just as Aramis foresaw, Marsac returned, and he was filled with a thirst for revenge. Aramis quickly became ensnared in his cause, and who could blame him really? Twenty musketeers had been killed and nobody had been brought to justice. Still, Porthos was concerned Marsac was going to go down in flames and drag Aramis with him.

It was early when Porthos made his way to Aramis' lodgings, intending on having a quiet word - or a loud one, depending on how his friend reacted. On stepping inside he found Aramis sat at the table, head in his hands, leaning on a drawing. The man looked up, startled by the intrusion. Porthos noted his red, sorrow stained eyes.

"Aramis? What is it?" He stepped towards his friend.

Aramis said nothing, he just sat up a little straighter and pushed the paper over to Porthos. The lines of dark ink formed a man standing over a cross in the rain.

"That's me." Aramis' weary finger landed on the figure, smudging it slightly. "And that's Marsac." His finger slipped towards the grave, dragging a trail of ink with it.

Porthos was quiet for a moment, taking in what this meant. Some part of him was pleased there weren't two graves depicted on the page. However Marsac was going to die, at least he wasn't going to take Aramis with him. Still, this was a blow for Aramis, the two of them had been friends once, and the shadow of the massacre stood at both their backs.

"Will you tell him?"

"No… I might doom him by telling him. Too often you meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it. Besides, he doesn't know about us. I can't risk it. He'd probably think me mad anyway." Aramis ran a tired hand through his hair. "What can I do?"

"I don't think there's much you can do. Unless you want to tie him up in some dark corner of Paris until you think it's safe?"

Aramis gave a broken laugh. "How am I supposed to know when it's safe? It's never safe."

"Then you'll just have to wait for fate to take its course." Porthos put a hand to Aramis' shoulder.

"There has to be something…" His voice was hollow, he sounded so drained.

"All you can do is watch his back and be a friend to him. A better friend than he was to you anyway." Porthos spoke bitterly.

Aramis looked up at Porthos with the ghost of resentment deep in his eyes.

"What?" Porthos held his hands up in a placating gesture. "The man left you alone in the snow to die. That's not very friendly."

"You weren't there Porthos, you can't pretend to know what it was like…" Aramis looked away, back at his morbid drawing.

"I saw it afterwards, I saw you afterwards. And I saw you through it, the screaming, the nightmares, everything. That's what friends do."

Aramis reached out to rest a hand on Porthos' arm. "And I am grateful for it."

"You don't need to be, that's what friends are for." He put his hand back on Aramis' shoulder. "Just watch his back, and watch your own as well."

"Isn't that your job?" Finally Aramis let a small smile pull at his lips.

"Yes, but I'd never get anything else done. A man needs a break you know?" Porthos said with a grin.

~oOo~

"I'm sorry, old friend…"

Events wove together and tore apart around Treville and Savoy. Guilt, justice, revenge… It all came down to the measuring of lives. One for twenty, or twenty one. It turned out Marsac was destined to die by Aramis' own hand. He ended up killing the man he was trying to save.

After Marsac was buried Aramis went missing. Athos supposed he wanted some time to himself and was content to let him be, but Porthos was persistent in arguing that Aramis shouldn't be alone. So they split up and set out to find him.

It was Athos who came across Aramis first. He was in one of the more obscure taverns and well into his drink if the nearly empty bottle was anything to go by. Athos pulled a chair out and sat down without a word, he reached for the bottle and waited for Aramis. He would talk if he wanted to talk. Aramis was still slightly wet from standing out in the rain by Marsac's grave. His damp hair curled and hung about his face, almost giving him something to hide behind. Eventually he slumped a little further across the table and turned to give Athos a joyless smile.

"Wish I could disappear." Aramis' voice was quiet and dangerously close to slurring.

"Well, I'm glad you can't. I see how much it frustrates you and Porthos when I… go missing." Athos shot a look around the room. "But such talk is not for places like this. Why don't I take you home?"

"Why don't you join me? Sorrow drowning's your business isn't it?" Aramis managed to clumsily push himself upright and call for another bottle.

"And from my vast experience I can tell you that you will regret it tomorrow morning."

The bottle came, and another glass with it. Athos didn't object when Aramis started pouring him a drink. He simply gave a world weary sigh.

But Aramis didn't seem to notice the glass was nearly full. He kept on pouring and Athos was too late in snatching it from his hands. Wine ran over the brim and spilled across the table. Dark and red it spread. Aramis shot back from the table, nearly falling from his chair in the process. Athos reached for his arm to steady him.

"Aramis? Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry." The young musketeer's face was full of shock. His eyes darted around the table.

"It's just wine." It didn't matter, there was nothing to apologise for… or had he meant to reassure Aramis? It's just wine… it isn't blood.

Athos gave Aramis' arm a squeeze before letting go.

"I need to tell him." Aramis' eyes suddenly came to a sharp focus. "He needs to know."

Confusion furrowed Athos' brow. "What do you mean?"

Just at that moment Porthos and d'Artagnan stepped into the tavern. They scanned the room and its occupants before the lad pointed out their position. Suddenly Aramis lurched to his feet and staggered to meet them.

"Steady!" Athos followed him closely.

"There you are!" Porthos shouted happily as he stepped forwards to meet Aramis.

But Aramis ploughed past him and went straight to d'Artagnan. He placed a hand on the lad's shoulder. Though it was intended as a comforting gesture it seemed d'Artagnan was simply holding him up.

"I'm sorry, but you need to know." Aramis' other hand came to clutch at the boy's doublet. His words were fast and a little confused. "I didn't tell him and maybe I should have done, if I told him what I saw I might not have killed him. I didn't want to, but I had to, I had to make a choice…"

Porthos gave Athos a look of confusion behind Aramis' back.

Athos returned it with a look of alarm. Aramis was dangerously close to saying more than he should. "Maybe we should take this outside? Porthos?"

While Athos went to get the door Porthos stepped forwards to pry Aramis away from d'Artagnan. "Come on, I think you've had enough for tonight. Let's get you home."

"But he needs to know…" Aramis was compliant as they led him out of the tavern, but once they were on the streets he managed to twist out of Porthos' grip and latch back onto the lad. Thankfully it was quiet out at this late hour.

"What are you talking about, Aramis?" d'Artagnan supported his friend as best he could while he was being clutched at.

Suddenly Aramis stilled and seemed to sober as his eyes met d'Artagnan's.

"I saw you die." He said with a hollow voice.

d'Artagnan swallowed heavily and paled slightly. "When?"

"Before you met us…"

"Aramis." Porthos stepped forwards and put a hand to his friend's shoulder, making as if to pull him away.

"No. I want to hear what he has to say." d'Artagnan's voice was cold and hard.

Athos fixed him with a serious eye. "Knowing doesn't always help."

"Aramis, tell me what you saw." d'Artagnan spoke calmly, though his eyes were full of fear.

"You were dead, and Paris lay in ruins at your back. It all turned to ash and dust. There was nothing left... there was no one left." Aramis' grip tightened on the lad. "I wanted to keep you safe, but I couldn't keep Marsac safe. I had to tell you. I might fail again… I will fail again. It will come to pass. I'm sorry."

"But… I can't die." The boy sounded so lost.

"You can, you will." Aramis' eyes were full of sorrow, his grip on the boy's doublet loosened.

Porthos took Aramis' weight as d'Artagnan stepped back to slump against the wall they stood by.

"I'll get him home." As Porthos led Aramis away the young musketeer's eyes lingered on d'Artagnan. He looked as if he were watching a ghost.

Athos moved forwards to block Aramis from d'Artagnan's view. "It might not happen... not like that."

"Did you see it?"

"I did."

"And it was just as he described?"

"It was."

"How many of Aramis' visions come true?" d'Artagnan searched Athos' face as the man hesitated. "Tell me truthfully."

"Most of them." Athos admitted reluctantly. "But not all of them."

Not all of them could be verified - and that was the truth of the matter.

The boy seemed to wilt a little more.

"Look, whatever danger is coming we will fight it. You're as good as one of us now, and we do not give up our brothers so easily. Aramis is just lost in his own darkness, if he were himself he would not have condemned your chances so completely - there is a chance. So pay his words no mind and do not dwell on what may never come to pass. A man can easily let his grip on life slip when he is obsessing over his own death. You have to fight this."

d'Artagnan took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall.

"I'll prove Aramis wrong." He sounded a lot stronger than he looked.

"We all will." Athos added, with a rare encouraging smile.