A/N: A huge thank you to everyone I can't respond to directly!
TMTMTM
Porthos kicked the barn door open and spun out of the way as his hair stood on end – a flash of powder roaring in the same breath. The sound of the shot shattered the last vestiges of quiet night and drove Porthos's stomach to his throat as he noted how close that had been.
D'Artagnan stepped up, taking his place to fire his own weapon into the darkness. There was a cry and the boy rushed in. Aramis slipped in on the Gascon's heels, both pistols in hand. Porthos drew his sword and followed, breathing a curse at the eagerness of his injured friend.
The space was dark and his vision took a moment to adjust.
He heard the ring of steel as d'Artagnan engaged with someone to the right.
Another man burst out of the shadows next to Aramis, swinging a rifle like a club. Porthos stepped forward to aid his friend. Aramis didn't turn to meet the threat. Instead, his friend seemed unaware, his focus locked on something at the center of the barn, his body rigid, his arm up and aiming. Porthos glanced across the space and froze as he saw what his friend was so desperately focused on.
In the center of the barn, Athos hung by a noose around his neck, his boots brushing the dirt floor.
Aramis grunted as the man's strike connected. He went down on one knee, his shot missing entirely.
Porthos's vision shifted red. His heart thudded its raw fury in his ears, singing through his limbs. He charged at the man who was levelling a second blow at Aramis. He grabbed the man's arm and shoved it aside, slamming his fist across the man's brow. He dragged the bandit to the ground, his sword finding the man's throat with a savage thrust. Porthos scanned the darkened stalls for more men to kill, daring any man to strike his wounded friend again. Beside him, Aramis forced his other arm up, a breath hissing past his lips.
The shake in his hand stilled and the marksman fired his last shot.
The rope snapped and Athos dropped.
Next to them, d'Artagnan ducked his opponent's sweep and came up thrusting the point of his sword through the base of the man's chin. He tore his blade free as he stepped past and rushed to Athos's side.
Aramis was struggling to stand, his eyes fixed on the scene.
Porthos put a hand under his arm to help him, feeling through the contact his friend's desperate need to be at there, to be useful.
"Does he live?" Aramis managed to grit out.
D'Artagnan cut Athos's bonds with his sword and dropped the weapon to press both hands against the man's face. Long fingers tapped at his cheeks. The boy was breathing in gasps. "Athos. Athos, come on. Wake up. Please Athos."
Then at the far side of the barn, Porthos glimpsed a shadow dart out from behind two tethered horses.
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos bellowed. He left Aramis to surge forwards. His hand reaching for his dagger.
The shadow straightened, the barrel of a pistol coming up as d'Artagnan pushed to his feet. The sound roared into the space, the flash blinding. The shot buried itself high in d'Artagnan's chest. The boy twisted away with a cry. Staggering a step then collapsing.
Porthos threw his dagger. The shadowed figure hissed as the knife whistled past and disappeared into the darkness behind.
The man turned and leapt onto the nearest horse. He kicked it into a rearing charge. The big animal thudded past d'Artagnan and barreled straight for Porthos and Aramis and the open door behind them.
Candlelight flashed across steel as the bandit leader raised his sword. Porthos brought up his guard and deflected the man's strike, his arm going numb with the force. The horse thundered past and Porthos turned, feeling a flood of panic for Aramis behind him. Aramis dodged the charging horse by throwing himself to the side and flattening against the stall doors. Hooves pounded the ground where he had been a moment before.
Horse and rider wheeled through the barn door and out into the night.
Porthos cursed and reached for his pistol. Realising as he drew a bead that he'd already used his shot. He flipped his gun up and cursed again.
Aramis staggered past him, not caring that their quarry was once again making good his escape. He fell to his knees next to d'Artagnan, hands fumbling with the buckle on his belt.
D'Artagnan was still conscious. He had pushed himself upright and was reaching towards Athos. The boy blinked tears out of his eyes and Porthos wasn't sure if they were a reflection of the pain that had swept a pale hand across his face or a consequence of his sorrow.
Aramis unwound the sash from his hip and balled the fabric against d'Artagnan's shoulder.
"No Aramis," d'Artagnan gasped, "Help Athos."
"Quiet," Aramis said. He wrapped an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders and pressed with the heel of his hand against the wound.
D'Artagnan cried out, arching against Aramis's grip, his right hand fisting in Athos's coat where the man lay beside them.
Porthos stood fast, fists clenched at his sides, feeling abraded and raw. Anger burned through his veins, the jagged need of it setting him grossly out of place in the tableau before him. The adrenaline in his heart was urging him to go; to leave and not wake up to the reality before him. There was no rational part of his mind to point out that the anger was the shield that he had set between himself and the dread of loss.
"Go Porthos." Aramis said glancing up, "I'll take care of d'Artagnan. Take the other horse and catch that bastard."
Porthos didn't need telling twice. He had three good reasons right in front of him to run that bastard through. Hell, he even had a few good reasons waiting in the wings. He strode across the barn and swung onto the remaining horse. He kicked it into motion and galloped after the man, visions of his fallen brothers spurring him into the night.
