Author's Note:

Thank you to everyone for your lovely reviews follows and favourites- this chapter explores the relationships between the characters- I was quite pleased with it so hopefully you will be too! Just a heads up, not sure if there will be a chapter tomorrow as life is pretty busy, but I will try and make time to write it and get it up

Athos followed D'artagnan for a few minutes, watching as his gait became more unsteady and his arm wrapped more tightly around his torso, as if he were trying to hold himself together. It was only when he staggered into a fruit stall, causing the vendor to swear angrily at him, that Athos decided that D'artagnan's life was more important than his pride, and decided to step in.

In a few strides he had caught up with the boy, and would have laughed at the stubborn look sent his way if not for the physical state the lad was in. With an expression on his face that allowed no argument, although it did incur a great deal of glaring, Athos slung D'artagnan's arm over his shoulder and began walking him in the direction is the garrison, worrying more than he let on about the fact that not only had D'artagnan not kicked up a fuss, he hadn't said anything. In fact, he was so silent Athos couldn't even hear him breathing.

"You still alive?" he deadpanned, trying to keep the atmosphere jovial: honestly, Aramis was much better at distracting injured men than he was.

"I'm just about hanging in there" replied D'artagnan, in a voice that sounded less sarcastic and more breathless than he had hoped for. Athos frowned, a suspicion forming in his mind- he may not be a medic, but he had spent enough time with injured men to know the signs of broken ribs when he saw them. Rather than asking any more questions and increasing the pain he knew D'artagnan was in, Athos merely continued their slow shuffle towards the garrison, praying that Aramis had apprehended that D'artagnan may have been more injured than he had let on.

One quick trip to the infirmary later, and Aramis and Porthos had laid out everything they could possibly need for when D'artagnan returned. Porthos noticed a frown line forming on Aramis' face and knew something must be wrong- the medic didn't like to frown, lest it lead to wrinkles later on in life.

"What's wrong?" Porthos questioned, watching as Aramis started and his face relaxed into a smile

"Mon ami, sometimes I reckon you can read my mind. I was merely trying to work out how D'artagnan could have sustained injuries that fitted in with how he was acting- he must have been too close to that explosion for comfort" Aramis fretted.

Porthos internally smiled: Aramis would always deny it, but he was such a mother hen when it came to any of them being injured. He reckoned that this went back to Savoy- the medic hadn't been able to save anyone then, and the memories of all of his fallen comrades still haunted him. Now, any time any of his brothers were injured, he fussed over them, no matter how insignificant the injury. Clearly Aramis' protective instincts occurred because he was terrified that he would not be able to save his brothers if they did get injured, just like he couldn't save his brothers in Savoy.

Porthos started: he had just included D'artagnan in their brotherhood. True, the boy had not been with them long, but he showed promise and as Athos put it, could indeed be the finest of them all one day. However, this was not what set him apart from all the other recruits Porthos had seen come through the Garrison. It had only been a few months since D'artagnan had charged through those gates demanding a duel, but in those months, Porthos had seen a remarkable change in Athos' character and attitude. D'artagnan gave him purpose again- to train one so like himself (and although Athos would never admit it, he and D'artagnan were remarkably alike) meant Athos could hopefully ensure that D'artagnan did not make the same mistakes that he had. His fondness of the boy was more than reciprocated- the Gascon respected Athos above all else and would most certainly die for him. The bond of brotherhood had been created between them, even though D'artagnan was not yet a musketeer.

While Porthos mused over how D'artagnan had infiltrated their previously impregnable group so easily, Aramis had wandered outside to sit at their usual table to wait for Athos and D'artagnan to return. He tried to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach as the minutes ticked past and still the two men did not return, but to no avail. Therefore, when Porthos returned to the courtyard, it was to see a clearly pent up medic pacing in a small circle.

"Hey" called Porthos. "Come and eat something, you'll be no use to D'artagnan hungry"

"How can you even think of eating right now?" Aramis snapped. "They should have been back by now, what if something's happened?"

Porthos nodded to Serge, who brought over two bowls of broth with a sympathetic smile- by now, the whole garrison knew what was going on.

"I'm always hungry" Porthos covered his unease with a grin. "Come on, wearing a hole in the ground isn't gonna help anything".

With a sigh Aramis conceded, slumping at the table. He was just about to have a mouthful when the sound of heavy footsteps caused him to look up.

Seconds later, the table was deserted and the soup sat forgotten.