Chapter 10 - Breathe
"I don't remember," the chocked up voice filtered out from behind the arms, as Aramis' entire body starting shaking more violently with fresh tears. "I can't remember what happened."
In a second Porthos had closed the distance between them and pulled the teen into a tight embrace. He could do nothing against his own tears that spilled down his cheek and he didn't even bother trying to tell the teen any comforting words. Aramis needed this more than anything else and Porthos was just thankful Athos had made sure the teen wasn't alone to work through it.
Minutes passed before the sobs subsided and Porthos waited patiently while the teen worked to get his breathing under control. Allowing his embrace to convey his comfort, Porthos waited in silence for Aramis to speak. This wasn't going to be like the other times where Porthos would offer him reassuring words and put a band-aide on the gaping wound and hope for the best. No, he was determined to cure the wound of the infection that had been festering all this time before covering it with a bandage to give it time to heal. And so the two sat in comfortable silence as Aramis organized his shattered thoughts.
"I thought if I came back," Aramis started his voice low as if not trusting it yet, "that maybe it would help, but it's all still a blur."
Porthos reached out to stop the teen's right hand, like he had on numerous occasions before. "Why don't we start with what you do remember, and then fill in the gaps," Porthos offered logically.
Slowly, Aramis pulled back to stare the older man in the eyes. "You know don't you," he stated rather than asked. Porthos sucked in a breathe waiting for the emotional explosion he was sure would follow, but to his surprise the teen merely crumpled in on himself, as if the fight had all drained from him. "You've been different since we went to see Ninon and I couldn't understand why."
Damn, Porthos thought. He had gotten used to the fact he couldn't hide anything from Athos, but he had completely misread Aramis. "I searched your name and your missing person's report came up, along with your file records," he spoke honestly, glad to be rid of that secret. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it."
Aramis let out a huffed chuckle, wiping the tears from his cheeks as he leaned back against the wall. "I remember my family, then Mama was letting us stay up late to watch a movie and then…" he trailed off, his eyes staring off into the distance unfocused. "…then I'm in a house with strangers, foster care."
Porthos bit his lip to keep him from interrupting, instead waiting patiently for the teen to continue. Surely the teen remembered more than that.
"Then there's the nightmares," the teen finally continued, his voice loosing strength. "I sometimes I see things happening like it's real but I can't do anything. It feels strange and sometimes when I wake up, I can't remember what happened but I feel terrified, cold and scared." His shoulders began trembling again as the memories resurfaced.
Never had Porthos seen these raw emotions currently on display. Some nights he had come close but the teen had always reeled himself back, his carefully constructed mask plastered back in place.
"I thought I knew, but then I see something new. It's like my mind can't decide what's reall and what's made up." Aramis made no attempt at wiping the tears that were streaming down his cheek. "I feel like I'm going insane."
With as much strength as he could without crushing the teen, Porthos held Aramis in a tight embrace trying his best to offer as much comfort as he could. It weighed heavily on him to know that behind his charming smiles, Aramis had been struggling with self-doubt and the thought that he was crazy.
"You're not insane Aramis," Porthos whispered calmly when the teen's sobs seemed to have subsided. "A lot of bad things happened to you that weren't your fault." Here he pulled back to hold the teen at arm's length to be able to make eye contact. "Aramis, you are not insane," he repeated when the teen had not reacted.
The teen stared back as if in a daze at first before blinking away the fog in his mind and finally allowing the older man's words to sink in. "How can you be so sure?"
A slight grin pulled at the edge of his lips as Porthos replied, "Because I've seen some crazy people and kid, you are far from it. Besides, I don't think Athos would trust a crazy person." The comment brought out a small chuckle from the teen.
"So what happens now?" The teen asked, not sure he wanted an answer. The thought of returning home, though welcoming as it was, was also a source of anxiety for the teen. What if this was all just another lie like the foster home people. What if Porthos was going to bring him back there instead. He hadn't realised his breathing had increased to the point he was now gasping for breath.
Seeing the building anxiety attack, Porthos quickly instructed the teen to bend his head forwards and take deep long breaths until the fit passed. He traced gentle circles on the teens back while he waited patiently for him to compose himself and get his breathing under control.
"First off, nothing is going to change, you understand?" Porthos started to explain once Aramis had calmed sufficiently. "I'm not going to drop you off somewhere and leave you so there's no point in getting yourself all worked up like that again. I think it's time that you know the truth so that brain of yours can stop mix you up."
Aramis felt weak as he struggled to stand but Porthos' firm grip ensured he wouldn't stumble or lose his balance. For the first time in years, Aramis felt more self-assured and confident, and the smile that spread across the teen's features managed to chase away the fog and shadows from his eyes.
Porthos lead him down the stairs and outside towards the car, but instead of opening the driver side door like Aramis had expected him to, he continued on to the back seat, where he rummaged through a duffle bag before pulling out file folder held together with paper clips.
"This is everything I know," the older man explained as he made his way around the car to the teen. "I printed out all the info from the police files, but I left out the pictures on some of them. I didn't think you needed to see those."
Seeing Aramis' hesitation, Porthos slowly reached for the teen's hand and deposited the file in the shaking fingers. "Aramis, I think you already know what's in here but you need to see it for yourself. Here," Porthos maneuvered the teen towards a patch of green grass just in the shade of a giant oak. "We're going to sit here together while you read through it and then we can talk about it."
Shakily Aramis nodded. Though this was something he desperately wanted, it was also something he dreaded. For years he thought he was crazy, that there something wrong with him, but now he was about to learn it wasn't him after all. Everything he saw in his darkest dreams, the sounds and images that haunted him day and night were real and not a fabrication of his fractured mind.
He jerked back involuntarily as he felt warm hands close around his own. Blinking a few times, he managed to get his eyes to focus. Porthos' hands had closed around the teen's shaking white knuckles that were currently clutching the file folder.
"Breathe Aramis," the older man encouraged as he helped steady and ground the teen. When Aramis seemed to have calmed down, Porthos moved towards the car to retrieve a plastic bag. Retaking his seat next to the teen, Porthos dug through the contents before pulling out a sandwich. "Am I right to assume you haven't eaten anything in a while?"
The sheepish smile that appeared on the teen's face confirmed his assumption and he wordlessly handed over the sandwich and a juice box. The bag had been shoved in his hands by Aramis' grandmother and she insisted he made sure her René had eaten something when the older man found him. That was a promise easy enough to keep, but one thing at a time.
After eating half of the ham sandwich, though he didn't ask where Porthos had gotten it, Aramis took a deep breath and opened the file folder to the first page to begin the slow and no doubt painful process of reading the contents. Porthos kept himself busy watching the slow movement of the sun across the sky, noting how the shadow started stretching further and further out, but he kept very still and quiet giving Aramis all the time and concentration he need to complete his task. The teen slowly turned one page after another, never saying anything or making a sound. Every once in a while Porthos caught a glimpse of emotion filter across the boy's face; sometimes anger, other times sadness and once tears dropped onto his cheek.
"It was all real…" Aramis eventually stated in a hushed voice as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks as he stared at the last page. "I'm not losing my mind, it was all real." And then the tears of utter sadness took over as he was finally allowed to accept the loss of his entire family, and grieve.
Athos watched as Constance moved around the kitchen humming a soft melody while she worked to get supper ready. The first day was a little tense for everyone but then Constance and D'Artagnan went about their daily routine, managing a fine balancing act that was keeping Athos included but not being overbearing. Athos like his personal space and for a five year old, was a very independent person. Constance had to control her motherly instincts or else she would always be fussing over him for one thing or another.
Though Athos missed his little family, he did enjoy this new family dynamic. Constance and D'Artagnan were kind and very accepting, giving him plenty of space to do his own thing but always keeping an eye on him. They could tell that Athos was missing Porthos and Aramis, and the older couple did everything they could think of to keep him busy.
When supper was finally ready, everyone settled around the table.
"Smells great Constance," D'Artagnan commented as he scooped himself a large helping of the steaming lasagna onto his plate. Realising that Athos was sitting there staring at the plate of the steaming pasta, the older detective put down his plate to pick up Athos'. He noticed the boy shaking slightly. "Here let me get you some."
Athos watched the older man pile on a generous helping onto his plate. As the plate was put down in front of him, the delicious smell flooded all his senses. Unable to bear it for much longer, Athos pushed his chair away for the table and ran. He wasn't sure were to but he just had to get away.
"Athos…" Constance made to go after him, but her husband stopped her.
"I'll go."
He had seen the change in the child's demeanor as he had started serving him dinner. There was just something about the look in his eyes before he all but fled the dinner table, and he had a gut feeling he might have an idea what was going on. He was not really surprised to find the boy hiding in his bedroom closet.
"Hey Athos," he called out gently just to make sure the boy had heard him enter, "do you mind if I join you?" When he didn't get a reply, not that he thought he would get one, he crouched down on hands and knees to crawl into the small space, his joints protesting at the awkward movement.
He glanced at the lump under the blanket at the far end before settling his back against the wall, stretching his legs out as best as he could. D'Artagnan waited patiently, knowing that Athos often needed time to work out his own thoughts and feelings before he was ready to say anything.
"I'm sorry," the boy eventually apologised through the blanket.
Frowning, D'Artagnan was slightly confused by the odd statement. "For what?"
"I didn't eat my dinner."
Slowly, D'Artagnan reached over to pull the blanket off of Athos' head. "You have nothing to apologise for. I haven't eaten my dinner yet either." He tried to make eye contact with the boy but Athos kept his gaze averted, finding the small thread of the carpet much more interesting. When it was clear the boy wasn't going to say anything else, D'Artagnan let out a small breathe.
"You know when I was little, my dad would make the best apple pie you'd ever tasted. I don't know how he did it, but the crust was always crispy and the apples always perfect." He glanced sideways, happy to see he had Athos' attention. "Then when he died, every time I saw apple pie, all I thought of was him. It was hard."
Athos sat there, still staring at the carpet but he had stopped moving. "Maman used to make me lasagna," he finally explained. D'Artagnan pulled his legs to his chest, inwardly relived he had been able to easily guess the source of Athos' troubles. He couldn't explain it but for some reason he seemed to always have an idea of what Athos' was thinking, almost like the two seemed to think along the same train of thought.
"It was her favorite," Athos continued in a small voice as if he was remembering every detail. After a few minutes, the boy seemed to remember where he was, "It just smelled like maman's and …. It made me sad."
Moving closer, D'Artagnan wrapped his arms around Athos' shoulders, hoping to offer him some comfort. He had never heard the boy speak of his mother and he couldn't recall Porthos ever mentioning it before. He felt honored that this young boy would feel able to confide in him, but at the same his heart broke at the thought of how much Athos' life got turned on its head when his mother died. He was only slightly surprised when he felt Athos' small arms tightened around him to return the hug.
Constance sat at the kitchen table alone for what felt like an eternity, wondering what she had said or done that could have sent Athos running. Secretly she envied her husband for the easy bond he seemed to have developed with the boy. She had always wanted children but life seemed to have had a different plan for her and so she contented herself with her work, caring for other people's sick children. But when Porthos had asked if Athos could stay with them for a few days, she was beside herself with excitement. Athos had kept his distance at first but slowly he had allowed her in his personal space, a small gesture that had meant the world to her.
It melted her heart when she saw her husband bouncing back into the room, carrying a small giggling child on his shoulders. The two bounced around before making their way to the table, and gently D'Artagnan lowered Athos to his chair before taking a seat himself.
"How about that lasagna?" he husband asked, grinning at the small boy. Though Athos rarely smiled, the corner of his mouth would always betray him to those who got the chance to be accepted in his inner circle.