Author's Notes: This entire fic was inspired by "Run Boy Run" by Woodkid, which was used in a trailer for the show. To me, it is very much a Porthos song.

I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

They rode slowly for two hours before Athos called a stop.

"What is it?" asked Aramis, scanning the surrounding trees. Athos didn't answer right away. There was a patch of earth and leaves that was disturbed, turned up recently. He sat and listened. The woods were quiet, filled with nothing but the sounds of birds. He examined the ground.

"Something fell here and was dragged away. Something big." They dismounted and followed the drag marks. Away from the road, out of sight from anyone who wasn't looking, was the body of a black stallion. Even stripped of its tack, Athos recognized it.

"That's d'Artagnan's horse," he said quietly.

"It's been shot," Aramis pointed out.

"We're getting close."

From the road, they picked up the signs of a struggle. Crushed plants and sporadic drag marks. Yards from the sight of any traveler on the thoroughfare, hidden by thick undergrowth, was a camp.

There, built like a lean-to around a large oak, was what looked like no more than a hunting cabin.

As they approached, a young man came around the side of the cabin. His eyes went round with surprise and before Athos could even speak, he raised his pistol.

But Aramis was faster and the man fell in a heap. Athos nudged him over, but he was clearly already dead.

"Would have been nice to ask him a question or two."

"I'm sorry," replied Aramis lightly, reloading. "He seemed rather impatient to kill you. My mistake." Athos felt the corners of his mouth turn up.

"Well, shall we see if anyone is home? Do try to leave them alive for a bit." Aramis dipped his head gallantly.

Athos drew his own pistol and walked toward the shelter. He looked to Aramis and pulled the rough door open quickly and Aramis leveled his gun and peered inside. He chuckled softly.

"I'm fairly certain I'll let this one live, Athos." Athos looked over Aramis' shoulder and felt warm relief slide down his shoulders.

D'Artagnan blinked at them owlishly from the darkness of the cabin. The newest Musketeer was bound to the tree that made up the lean-to's support. As his eyes finally adjusted to the light streaming in from the open door, frantic energy welled up, and he pulled at his bonds, mumbling behind the cloth covered his mouth. Athos' smile quickly fell.

As he worked at the ropes and Aramis undid the gag, Athos took in his young friend's state.

Athos had seen d'Artagnan in plenty of dangerous situations. Situations that most men are not equipped to handle, and yet d'Artagnan had never shrank from them, nor panicked. But right now, fear was rolling of him in waves.

"We have..." D'Artagnan rasped, coughed and then tried again. "We have to go. They're hunting Porthos."

"Did he escape? Then why are you still here?" asked Aramis.

D'Artagnan pulled on Athos' jacket, his voice nearly frantic.

"No, they're hunting him. For...sport." For a moment, Athos could not pull any air into his lungs. Surely, d'Artagnan was confused.

"Explain," he ordered. "From the beginning."

"There isn't time!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.

"We cannot go charging off without an understanding of what has happened. From the beginning." D'Artagnan took a deep breath and wiped at his face with trembling hands.

"They shot my horse. Had a pistol on me before Porthos could do anything."

"How many?" asked Athos.

"Five."

"Well, only four now," murmured Aramis.

"The leader told Porthos to run."

"He said he wanted to hunt you? Actually said that?" interrupted Aramis. D'Artagnan nodded quickly.

"They told Porthos they'd give him a head start and then they'd come after him. If he refused, they'd shoot him and hunt me instead. The man said the only way we'd live, is if Porthos won."

"How long ago?"

"This morning, couldn't have been much after 8 o'clock." Aramis cursed and turned away. Athos ignored him.

"Anything else? Have you heard anything? Seen anyone?" D'Artagnan shook his head.

"No, no one. No shots, either, until just now." He paused for a moment. "The leader, the man in black...he said..." D'Artagnan's voice quavered. "He said 'men make excellent quarry'." He looked at Athos with pleading eyes. "Athos..."

"None of this is your fault," he interjected. "The horses are outside, eat and drink something. We're going after them." D'Artagnan glanced at Aramis and stepped out of the shelter.

Athos looked at his friend's stiff back. And then he recognized the things he'd found. Porthos' sword, pistol and belts were in a heap in the corner.

"Aramis."

When Aramis turned, Porthos' doublet was clenched in his fists.

"I'll kill them." His voice was calm, almost casual. But his face...

Aramis was amiable and debonair. He could diffuse a fight or convince a woman with his effortless smile. It wasn't always an act, but it was a skill. One Aramis used with the same accuracy with which he shot the centers out of bulls-eyes. Athos wasn't certain that he'd ever seen Aramis lose control. Even when it seemed like he was behaving recklessly, it wasn't because he was thoughtless. No, it was because he focused so tightly. Fixated on one target, consequences and everything else would slip away.

It made him an irresistible seducer.

An excellent marksman.

A ruthless adversary.

When Aramis looked over at Athos, there was no endearing rogue. His concentration was honed keenly and coldly.

"As slowly as I can manage. I will kill them all."

Athos nodded. He expected nothing different from Aramis.

Because this was Porthos.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Was he one of them?" Athos asked. D'Artagnan stood, staring down at the man Aramis had shot.

"Yes."

"Probably left behind to make sure Porthos didn't double back and you didn't escape."

In the afternoon light, he could better see the bruise that bloomed over the side of d'Artagnan's face. He fought down the anger that was now a rolling boil in his gut.

Because Athos needed to settle d'Artagnan down. He'd spent the better part of a day tied to a tree with nothing to do but exist in his own head. He was still shaking, anxiety creasing his too young face. He put his hand's on d'Artagnan's shoulders, squeezing firmly.

"Listen to me," he said, forcing d'Artagnan's eyes up to his. "Porthos is a skilled fighter, especially hand-to-hand. And more importantly, when it comes to improvisation, he's the most dangerous man I've ever seen." Athos softened his voice. "Do not despair of him yet." Guilt and worry danced across d'Artagnan's face, but he took a deep breath, marshaling his emotions.

"How did you know we needed help?"

"Innkeeper in Artenay. Apparently, this has been going on for some time. Travelers never making it do their destinations. Going missing."

"They've done this...to others?" Athos watched d'Artagnan carefully, but the panic didn't resurface. Only disgust.

"It seems so. This whole situation smacks of practice. The ambush, the conditions."

"Porthos only agreed in order to protect me," admitted d'Artagnan.

"It doesn't sound like he had any other options," said Athos, stepping back. "He knew we'd come looking. Let's not disappoint him."

"I'm going to stay here." Athos blinked in surprise. D'Artagnan went on quickly. "We don't even know where to start. They might come back here. Porthos will definitely return, if he can. I don't want him to find an empty shelter and no sign of me."

"That's a good idea," said Athos, impressed. He'd wanted to suggest it, but he was afraid the head-strong Gascon would hear no part of it. The boy was learning.

"We'll regroup here at nightfall." Aramis looked at him sharply.

"That only in a few hours, Athos."

"I know. But they know this area, we don't. What kind of rescue party are we, stumbling around in the dark? It will allow us to split up." Aramis looked like he was going to object, but he clenched his jaw and said nothing. He walked over to his horse, grabbing extra munitions.

Athos did likewise, removing his hat and cloak, slinging a water skin across his shoulder. D'Artagnan stepped up next to him, voice soft.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I told you, Porthos will be fine."

"Not Porthos." Athos gave d'Artagnan a measured look from under his hat.

"Aramis guards Porthos so fiercely. He's nearly taken our heads off and we're his friends." D'Artagnan shook his head. "I hate to think what he'll do anyone else."

"Porthos has not had an easy life. He grew up alone." Athos stopped and scanned the forest slowly. "He is a Musketeer now, with a home and companions. But Aramis works very hard to make sure Porthos never has reason to doubt it."

"Surely Porthos knows," said d'Artagnan, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Of course. But, we all need reminders, now and again." He clapped d'Artagnan gently on the shoulder and raised his voice so Aramis would hear. "Stay alert. If Porthos returns, fire two shots. We'll head back this way."

"How do you want to do this?" asked Aramis, his voice cold.

"I'll take the east, you the west?" Aramis nodded when Athos looked over, his hands tight on his musket.

"Porthos bought time the only way he could," said Athos. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer."