Athos was very familiar with guilt. He had lived a very lavish life in his youth, but still, guilt found its way into his chest and sat there like he was its home. Athos took pride in his ability or rather lack of ability to express what he felt. He had practised his stoic stance over the years and even as a child Athos hadn't understood how people could put so much emotion on their face and act like it was natural. Athos had learned early on that he was the unnatural one, everything he felt was on the inside and there was so much of it that wasn't his, so he had no right to express it. He had experienced every kind of emotion till he had learned to block the feed back. It was impossible for an empath to stop connecting to people around them, it was the natural state of things. But he had learned to cut off the emotions bouncing back in that connection. He had learnt to dehumanise it.

But guilt MADE him human. It made HIM feel rather than someone else's. It was the one emotion he couldn't ignore, that he couldn't hide. It was a doorway into the things he blocked off, it opened up all of the regret and anger that he too often refused to feel. Guilt was too familiar, too close to home.

And Aramis, a man so ruled by his emotions, got under the older man's skin. The way the younger man flirted around with his emotions like he had too many and too much to spare. Aramis's emotions were wild and unpredictable but overall positive. He was a happy man, giddily so. But there was anger there to, a furious fire that was rarely lite but when it was it was in the name of protection. Protection of him, Porthos and d'Artagnan. He had seen that fire tonight, in foggy eyes and a scream croaked voice. Aramis had been angry, yes, but worse he was shocked at the betrayal that his brothers committed. That anger, Athos would dare say he feared, had been aimed at them.

Now Aramis slept relatively calmly in his bedroom down the hall with Porthos standing guard. Athos couldn't stand there and watch his handy work play out. It wasn't the induced sleep that was the catalyst for his guilt, it was the betrayal in Aramis eyes when he realised what was happening to him, what they did to him, against his will. They had taken away his awareness behind his back and gotten caught red handed.

He was not like Porthos, he couldn't comfort the younger man with kind words and overbearing hugs and affection. Athos couldn't sit there and watch, he couldn't shower the younger man with kind words and apologies that he didn't deserve forgiveness for. That's why he was sitting in the lounge, staring at the picture-less tv and listening to the struggles down the hall.

Aramis had started screaming about half an hour ago and they hadn't been able to wake him, too drugged to wake from his terror and again the guilt rose. Porthos had yelled for help and both d'Artagnan and Athos had run to his aid, to find Porthos pinning the younger man down and blocking unaimed blows. It was a joint effort to restrain Aramis and eventually they had gotten the screaming to stop. They detangled the sheets and positioned the Spaniard so he was resting half on Porthos. The large man stroked the tangled, sweaty hair and whispered things too low for Athos to hear.

They had soothed the nightmares, but the calm didn't last long. Soon after Aramis had calmed, he started muttering and shaking his head. The guilt started to rise again. The muttering started to form words, pained words that were said in a panicked rush. More confusing, the words were a mix of French, Spanish and an odd English. Then the screaming started again and that's how it had gone, like a cycle. Screams, pained muttering and haggard breathing, till Athos, couldn't stand it anymore and retreated to the lounge and found a bottle of rum in the liquor cabinet waiting the night away.

Porthos was managing in chasing away the demons, he didn't need Athos hovering around full of self-pity. But Athos knew that the larger man was tearing himself up over being able to help so little. Of only being able to temporarily stop the screams, they couldn't reach the root of the problem. Aramis wouldn't let them.

Athos knew why he shouldn't but he couldn't help get a little feedback from the younger man. With Aramis's wild and impressionable emotions - a man so ruled by them - it was impossible to not get a little feedback and Aramis was afraid, he was terrified of them finding out something and more worrisome, he was terrified of himself. It did something to Athos heart that Aramis didn't trust them to tell them. Afraid of their reaction, afraid of them. Looking back, Aramis was a very private person and had mastered the art of reflecting evasive questions with flirtation and charm. But he didn't have his charisma here, it had gone with his awareness and consciousness. Aramis tact couldn't help him now, not with him on display and so unaware of it.

It felt wrong to peer into his friend's mind and sift through the secrets and lies that Aramis told himself. Truthfully Athos was afraid of what he would find there. He noticed the little things in Aramis that he tried to hide. The little ticks and the way he smiled when his sniper went off. The way he revelled in the violence that consumed him. Thankfully Aramis was not ruled solely by his emotions, the man had a practised control over the violent storm inside him and it only showed on rare occasions, usually when his brothers were in danger. It was in the name of protection and Athos could live with that. Even if when it happens, the smiling, joking Aramis they knew seemed to disappear.

They did not mention their faults, their wrong doings and their flaws. They all ignored the parts that they wished where secret, to keep up the illusion of ignorance and innocence that they had all lost in their own dark ways. Porthos in his youth, fighting for survival. Athos, himself through the actions that had happened in his name that was his fault. And lastly Aramis, whatever made him twitch when snow fell and scream in his sleep was unknown and that concealment was starting to spread distrust. Could they keep ignoring his secret past when it was starting to affect the present?

Athos's thoughts were snapped in two by another set of screams, this time they were rougher and broke off halfway through. This wasn't what was meant to happen. They hadn't thought of this scenario when they had thought up their plan. But Athos wouldn't apologise for the enforced sleep, Aramis needed it, he was torturing himself trying to stay awake. But Athos would BEG for Aramis's forgiveness for the betrayal of his actions and hopefully, Aramis will see his side of the story. They hadn't told the kid for that reason, the guilt and Aramis's anger was a thing to be feared.

Athos sighed as he stood, staggering slightly. He looked down at the bottle still in his hand, to find it two-thirds empty. Porthos was not gonna be happy. He slowly followed the yells to Aramis's bedroom, leaving d'Artagnan asleep on the couch.

Aramis was yet again tangled in the sheets, pale and shaking. It reminded Athos of the time the younger man had had a high fever and became delirious. At least this time he wasn't thrashing around. Porthos was trying to untangle the sheets again, every time the larger man's fingers brushed against Aramis pale skin, the younger man would flinch away.

Porthos looked up when he noticed Athos was in the room. He looked at the older man with pleading eyes. Athos put his rum down on the chest of draws behind him and got on with untangling the sheets with care not to touch Aramis.

" He's sweating buckets, but he's really cold," Porthos mumbled as they both took a side of the sheet and pulled it up back over Aramis, who was mumbling something and shaking his head. Athos learnt over the bed to place his hand on the younger man's permanent frown. Aramis flinch a little at his touch.

Aramis was cold and with Athos hand against the younger man's skin, he could see how pale he was as well. " We should get some more blankets,"

" He would just kick them off again," Porthos said as he motioned to the pile of blankets in the corner, already abandoned.

" Go get some rest, I'll keep an eye on him,"
Porthos looks unsure, but he also looks tired and the stress of minding the Spaniard was probably getting to him.

"Go, I've got this," Athos reassured.

Porthos gave a reluctant last look at their charge before heading through the door, making the motion of picking up the almost empty rum bottle and taking with him a bit exaggerated. The bottle scraping across the cabinet combined with Porthos stopping out of the room, couldn't block out Aramis's heavy breathing. A pained whine rang out in the silence.

Athos sat down against the head rest and ran his fingers through the younger man's hair, Aramis calmed almost instantly. The twitching stilled and Athos prayed the calm would last a little longer than the last time.

It had been three hours, Aramis should wake up soon. Athos dreaded his anger, he doubted that the Spaniard would wake with fluttering eyes and slow movements. As if on cue, Aramis started to mumble again. Hushed words not meant for Athos's ears. He shouldn't listen, Athos knew that these words where parts of the secrets Aramis so valiantly protects, with a fearlessness similar to when he protected his friends. Was he protecting them now?

Even if Aramis's words were incomprehensible, it was obvious how painful this was for him, Athos hoped Aramis wouldn't remember it. Aramis's head snapped to the left and the muttering became words. Hushed and pained. A literary of nos and pleases rained from Aramis mouth combine with a sharp kick from both legs in an attempt to kick the covers away.

Athos tried to calm him again, but the nightmare had a firm grip on his mind this time. Aramis sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to choke on it. The mumbling stopped and was replaced with panicked breaths, it sounded like he was having a panic attack. Athos thought he might of actually prefer the mumbling. That way he knew Aramis was fighting whatever he was facing, now he seemed overcome by them.

Athos didn't really know how to help, but at least Aramis wasn't screaming anymore. It was like he was too shocked to force the terrified noise from his lungs like breathing was more important than screaming and as much as he wanted to him just couldn't.

Athos laid down next to the sleeping man. Where their arms touch, Athos could feel how cold Aramis was and hoped that he could give him a little bit of warmth that Aramis had denied the blankets off. Maybe Aramis would accept him.

Athos slept in the end, close enough to Aramis to know if the unending nightmare made him fight or scream again. There was little they could do about the shock he seemed to be in, stuck in the endless cycle. So Athos slept with Aramis's horrid symphony of pleads and nos to remind him of his own guilt and his own horrors. Athos knew he would dream tonight, he would experience his own nightmares along side one of his closest friends. Like a punishment, Athos willed himself some rest.

He came awake with a start, launching himself into a sitting position, choking on a silent scream. Aramis didn't know where he was, confused by the rapid change in scenery and the darkness that wrapped around him. Was he back in the vail? His legs and feet caught in something, icy hands twisting around his ankles. With a few panicked kicks, he still found himself trapped. He willed himself to still and think past the memories controlling his panic. He sat like that for a few moments trying to figure out how to breathe again, trying to ignore the fact he couldn't see anything, till suddenly he was breathing too much. Panic flared and the room seemed too small. Aramis placed his hand against the mattress to steady himself, still unable to slow his haggard breathing. He flinched back when his fingers touched flesh and fell backwards off of the bed. Someone was there, someone living or most likely just died, bloody and messy, because that's what it was always like. Now on the floor, Aramis's panic flared again. He looked down at his hands that he knew where shaking, expecting blood, but the darkness stopped any inspection. The cold of the forest still stuck to his skin, his stomach churned and he felt bile rise.

Aramis didn't remember running to the bathroom, nor closing the door and locking it. He knew it was locked because someone was hitting it and shouting. Too loud, echoing inside his head. Aramis wasn't listening, concentrating too much on the dry heaving that rang through his entire body, making him shake even more. Aramis skin felt raw and deadly cold to him, so pale it matched the porcelain of the toilet he was leaning over.

The banging continued, people were arguing just outside the door. It was too loud, too close. Aramis needed out now, but he had trapped himself in the bathroom. One sharp, louder thud on the door, made him flinch back, landing on his behind.

He was cold, too cold. It felt as if snow had ripped his skin clean off and seeped right into his veins, determine to freeze him from the inside out. Aramis crawled into the shower and forcing the water on full heat with one quite jab. He sat under the water flow, still fully dressed, clinging to himself hard enough to bruise, waiting for the heat. He could still hear screaming, of his friends and souls that were trapped like he had been. He slammed his eyes shut, a white and red forest flew into his vision behind his closed lids. He gripped his arms tighter around himself and dug his nails into his flesh, wanting the pain that it brought. But his numb skin refused to feel anything that was real. He jerked his head back hitting the tiles behind him, hard. Pain rang through his head, it was a different pain to the numbness that was his skin, it felt real and he needed the distraction.

Aramis focused on the voices that were muffled by the door, to keep his mind in the present. The shouting outside had stopped, replaced by one worried voice, it wavered ever now and again. His mind still mulled too much to actually tiger out the words. The water was hot now, burning hot. But it relaxed the pain in his joints and Aramis slowly unfolded himself.

With the heat came realisation, the memories of the night started to come back to him. Reality mixing with the allusions his mind conjured up. As the shock died, tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks.

Aramis didn't know how long he sat there, lost in his thoughts and letting the boiling water consume his iced skin. Only when the voice from behind the door had stopped and Aramis was sure that his friends no longer waited for him, did he pull himself up on shaking legs, turn off the shower and manage to untangle himself from his soaked pyjamas. Aramis opened the door, wrapped in a towel and avoided all of the mirrors on his way to his bedroom, thankfully not assaulted by his brothers. He couldn't face them yet. He needed space right now, just a little bit of space and he knew they wouldn't want to give it to him, too ruled by their worry to realise how much he just needed to get away, just for a bit. That thought made him panic, he needed out NOW.

Aramis next motions were a blur, completely on auto pilot. He got dressed, ignored the finger shaped bruises he had made on his arms, packed a bag and was halfway to the front door before someone came out of their hiding place. It was Porthos. The larger man stood between Aramis and the front door, blocking his exit. Aramis didn't even meet his eyes as he pushed past him, refused to even reregister the apologies Porthos was saying as he went. Once outside with only the pinching wind and darkness of the night for company, Aramis felt like he could finally breathe.

Chapter End Notes

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