"Lair," Antonio said before lifting his pistol once more, D'artagnan's heart leaping into his throat.
The shot rang loud through the trees, echoing in D'artagnan's ears as he watched his brother fall to the ground, blood splattering across the mud.
D'artagnan couldn't breathe, the shock of seeing Philippes murdered being too much for him. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at his brother's lifeless body. He had told Antonio what he had wanted to know and he had still fired the shot.
The rest of the musketeers were suddenly in uproar, shouting at Antonio who simply stepped back, his men coming down hard on them.
Beaumont, one of the more quick tempered musketeers, managed to land a punch across one of the Spaniard's face before being shoved forcefully to the ground.
The Captain turned to look at D'artagnan who still knelt by the fire, staring at his friend's body. D'artagnan then gritted his teeth and quickly managed to pull himself up, ignoring the pain and driven by the anger that had built up quickly within him.
He ran at the Captain with a roar and managed to tackle him to the ground, landing harshly on top of him.
He slammed a punch into Antonio's face with difficultly, swinging both hands due to them being tied with rope. He got two more punches in when he was suddenly being pulled back by two Spanish soldiers grabbing him around the arms.
"I told you the truth!" D'artagnan shouted and Antonio simply stared blankly at him from where he had pushed himself up to sit.
D'artagnan pulled at the two Spaniards holding onto him, giving anything to be able to land a good kick in Antonio's stomach. However, his effort to break free was fruitless when he was tugged backwards, the Spaniards' hold on him too strong. He was suddenly thrown down to the ground, shouting so many colourful curses at the Captain that even Athos would be proud of him.
A boot kicked him roughly in the ribs and he had the wind knock out of him, silencing his shouted cursing.
Another kick and his ribs were screaming in protest, D'artagnan squeezing his eyes shut in pain and trying to curl up on himself to protect his already aching body. The Spaniard's boot connected with his ribs once again before landing a harsh kick at his face. A crack sounded and D'artagnan was sure his nose was broken from the sudden flare of pain radiating from it.
"Leave him," Antonio then called out to his men after coming to a stand and dusting himself off. The Spaniards stopped the beating before dragging D'artagnan back over to the musketeers, throwing him harshly down next to Duval and Beaumont.
Duval came to kneel down next to were D'artagnan simply laid on his front, his head turned to the side and gasping for breath.
"D'artagnan?" He mumbled to not draw more attention to them, the Captain having moved over to the fire and ignoring them as he cleaned his face up. "D'artagnan?" He repeated once their leader didn't reply.
D'artagnan laid there, his ears ringing and heart pounding in his chest, his eyes locked on to stare blankly at Philippes' back where he laid dead a few metres away.
"I-I'm... I'm f-fine," he finally managed to breathe out, the ringing slowly dying down in his ears. Duval's hand moved to D'artagnan's shoulder, lowering himself down to D'artagnan's level.
"No you're not, but that's okay," he simply said. "You want me to roll you over?" He then asked and D'artagnan squeezed his eyes shut in pain, humming in agreement.
Duval glanced at Beaumont who helped him gently roll their leader over, stopping D'artagnan's back from hitting the ground hard.
He let out a groan, wincing in pain as he came to rest on his back on the dusty ground. He had little effort to move by himself, his body aching and throbbing. His chest was rising and falling slowly, trying to reduce the protect from his ribs. His breath came out shaky as he kept his eyes closed, focusing his mind on anything except the pain.
Beaumont ripped part of his shirt off before using it to gently wipe away the blood on D'artagnan's face from the broken nose.
"I'll have to snap it back into place," Beaumont said, and D'artagnan simply hummed in response, not bothering to reply with words. He squeezed his eyes shut and grunt as Beaumont snapped his nose back, cleaning the blood up once again with the ripped shirt.
"You look great," Beaumont said, trying to lighten the mood.
For a second D'artagnan felt as if Aramis was by his side, fixing him up like he did so many times before. He missed his brothers, his heart aching out for them all. He wanted to hear their voices, Porthos' booming laugh, Aramis' teasing words and Athos' dry tone.
He never knew how much they meant to him before his moment; he realised then that he had taken their time together for granted, knowing he would give anything to embrace them all into a tight hug once more.
He didn't sleep well that night, between Duval's loud snoring, Beaumont continuous shuffling next to him and the pain he was in, it was difficult to turn his mind off.
The presence of his dead brother laying a few metres away kept him awake until early in the morning, wishing he had done something more.
But what? What could he have done that would have given Philippes a different fate?
Tears formed in his eyes and he didn't force them back down, allowing them to fall down the side of his face and land on the ground where he laid. He broke down that night, the darkness allowing privacy even when he was surrounded by people. They were all asleep minus two Spanish guard who sat by the dying firing, keeping watch over the camp.
D'artagnan knew they were paying him no attention, which allowed him to silently cry without them knowing that Antonio was slowly getting to him.
After seeing the French soldiers get slaughtered and then to have his brother murdered in front of his eyes... He didn't know how much longer he could cope, the tears now flowing freely as he tried to suppress his sobs to not wake the musketeers around him.
After he had finally worn himself down, no more tears to be let free, his mind was slowly catching up to his tired body and beginning shutting down so he could rest.
He fell asleep early in the morning with the hope for his three brothers to find them soon and the guilt of Philippes' death playing on his mind. He knew he would never forgive himself for what had happened, his heart going out to Philippes' family.
With one last heavy sigh, D'artagnan slipped into a restless sleep, his mind and body finally giving up on him.
Aramis woke them early that morning, throwing his hat at Athos who laid the furthest away, before turning to give Porthos a gentle shake.
"I made breakfast," he then stated and Porthos click onto the smell of his cooking. "Eat up and then we can hit the trail," he said and Athos pulled himself up to sit, stretching his back as he did so before rolling his still aching shoulder.
He looked at the marksman and saw how much the man wanted to get back on the road. He let his eyes fall from Aramis' face and down to their breakfast, his stomach not fancying the food this morning.
Athos hadn't eaten much last night either and both his brothers had noticed. He just couldn't, nausea rising up within him each time he tried to eat. He thought of D'artagnan and how he knew the musketeers weren't getting fed enough while in the hands on the Spanish. It stopped him from eating, feeling greedy, however he decided if he wanted to get his brothers back he had to be fit. So he pushed down the nausea he felt after every bite of his breakfast, determined to eat quickly so they could push forward in finding the missing musketeers.
XXXX
Athos rode ahead of the two, eyes scanning the area to make sure it was clear. He couldn't stop his mind from thinking of D'artagnan, the rope laying abandoned on the ground and the blood in the dirt. It had gripped his dreams yesterday and from the look of both Aramis and Porthos he could tell it had kept them awake as well.
"Hold up!" Porthos suddenly called and Athos snapped from his thoughts to turn around quickly, a wave of worry washing over him. "That's D'artagnan's," the larger musketeer said before swinging his leg over and dropping down from his horse. Aramis slowly lowered himself down after Porthos, wincing slightly in pain from his still healing wound.
Porthos plucked up the feather that stuck out from the ground and twirled it in his fingers.
"It's from his hat," he said, glancing over at Aramis before his eyes rested on Athos.
"He's leaving a trail," Athos said, taking the feather from Porthos and studying it.
"So he's alive then," Aramis said what they were all thinking, the hang from the tree and the bloody injuries not taking D'artagnan down.
It seemed to bring a slight sense of ease over the three of them, finally knowing that their brother was alive and still focused enough to begin leaving a trail.
"It seems that way," Athos then said, looking up from the feather and at Aramis. They locked eyes and Aramis allowed a small smile to appear on his lips, flashing his teeth.
"Yet we don't know how badly injured he is," Porthos said, breaking the two away and causing them to look over at him. The larger musketeer shifted where he stood, still not being able to believe D'artagnan was safe until they had him and the others back.
"There's no trail of blood, that has to mean something right," Aramis said walking over to Porthos and clasping his brother on the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. Porthos just nodded, looking down at the ground and taking a deep breath in.
Aramis and Athos both felt his pain, knowing that they would find the missing musketeers anywhere from unharmed.
They knew what happened when you were a prisoner of war, knew what it was like to be tortured for information. The pain would eat away at D'artagnan, his body giving up before his mind had a chance to stop it.
They all just hoped they would find him before the Spanish Captain could break him.
However Athos knew D'artagnan was strong, he had seen him grow from the reckless boy who strolled into the garrison fully intent on killing Athos to a man, a musketeer who was calm and collected, thought with his head and not with his heart.
"Let's continue," Athos spoke up, snapping them all from their thoughts of their brother and continuing on their journey to find him.
Sooooo... erm, sorry for this chapter. So much Dartagnan hurt.