A/N: Thanks everyone who's reviewing! ^_^ This is set in S2.

#18. Athos isn't given to panic. But despite appearances sometimes, he does still feel, and to have something to lose is to know fear. Athos has a great deal to lose.

Athos sat up with a gasp, chest heaving as he flung himself off the bedroll, nearly landing in the small campfire. Sharp cries ripped themselves from his throat with every exhalation, his inhalations nothing but wheezing gulps for air. There was motion all around him, groggy and disoriented shouts and questions, but Athos ignored all of this. He wound up on his hands and knees, leaning away from the fire and his bedroll, and emptied his stomach. When he closed his eyes against the remembered horrors, they only stood out clearer.

"Athos!" someone was shouting, hands gripping his shoulders. "Athos?"

"I'm sorry!" he choked out, the same words he'd been repeating over and over again to the specters hovering above his sleeping form, demanding his penance with cold faces and blame-filled eyes. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry!"

"What? Why are you sorr- Athos, you were dreaming!"

The words barely registered, the sharp voice only making Athos more desperate to get away. He knocked the hands away and lumbered to his feet. With no clear direction in mind, Athos stumbled away from the fire and the voices and the questions, not stopping until his feet splashed into water and he tripped to his knees on the soggy bank.

Alone, Athos bowed his head until he felt the freezing water lapping against his hair. He reached shaky hands up, gripping the wet locks, and gave in to the wracking sobs.

The visions just wouldn't go away... d'Artagnan's lifeless body... Porthos's hate filled eyes... Aramis's tortured form... How dare he have had the audacity to think this circle of friends was really his to keep? He would bring death and destruction to all of them just as he had his own family, a curse upon everyone closest to him. They would all fall in the end, and blame him, scorn him, hate him, and rightly so, and he would pay for his sins by watching his brothers die in torment and fear, and- oh God, their screams, how they echoed in his head, until Athos wanted to scream as well, just to drown out the sounds of his brothers' agony.

For a moment, Athos stayed hunched over where he was, until the frigid temperatures of the water and surrounding air started to soak into his brain. There was nothing like a bucket of freezing water to bring him back to his senses, and gradually the familiar feeling guided Athos to reality once more. He took several gulping breaths and sat back on his haunches, staring out into the black night with tremors still racing through his body.

"That was... unexpected," a voice spoke up softly from behind him.

Athos went rigid, listening as careful footsteps approached. He wanted to snap at Aramis to go away and leave him alone, but at the same time he couldn't bear the thought of the marksman leaving his sight now that he was there. Jaw clenched, Athos didn't speak as his friend slowly sat down close beside him.

"You certainly know how to keep a musketeer on his toes while on sentry duty," Aramis went on lightly. "I thought we were under attack and I'd missed them somehow. Gave the others a bit of a shock, too."

Athos remained silent, rubbing his face in his hands. Between the water and Aramis's calming presence, realization was dawning quickly at what a fool he must have made of himself.

"Sorry," he finally muttered gruffly.

"Yes, you mentioned that," Aramis said, pulling a piece of river grass to chew thoughtfully on the end, not looking at Athos or crowding him out—just being there. After a moment, he added, "We've all had them, you know."

Athos cursed and twisted away, splashing water on the back of his neck to help wash away the sweat soaking his body. He did know. Every so often, he'd even been the one in Aramis's position now, a silent, grounded presence for one of his brothers after the nightmares took hold. It was different, being on the receiving end.

"Do you want to talk about-"

"No."

Aramis nodded, not pushing. Again, Athos swore and looked out over the water.

"You were all dead," he murmured. "Brutally. Cruelly. Because of me. You- you blamed me, rightfully. And I was..."

"Left here on your own with nothing but guilt for company?" Aramis finished for him with another easy nod. "I know that one."

"It was my f-" Athos couldn't finish, throat closing up so suddenly that he jerked back in desperation for air. It wouldn't come, lungs spasming as they clutched at whatever oxygen they could get and then Athos was wheezing.

"Breathe, my friend," Aramis spoke up, turning to him at last. "Slowly... that's it... we're not dead yet. Not tonight. And not by your doing."

"I couldn't stop them-" Athos choked as his entire body shuddered. "I-"

"Shh, breathe first, talk second. Listen to your medic."

Frantically, Athos nodded. Aramis set his hands on Athos's shoulders and started with an exaggeratedly slow, deep breath. The swordsman tried to follow the breathing pattern, finally feeling himself start to steady out.

"I'm sorry, Aramis," he murmured again, not meeting his friend's eyes.

Aramis only sighed. "For what specifically? Because I have a suspicion you don't have to be."

"I sent you and Porthos to cut off the vicomte's men from the back," Athos blurted out, memories of their nearly failed mission blending with memories of the nightmare plaguing him. "I made that call. I didn't know they'd set a trap of their own."

"No, I imagine that was their general idea," Aramis returned lightly as he reclaimed his seat at Athos's side. The marksman sobered when Athos shot him a glare. "Is that what brought this on? Might I remind you that both Porthos and I are just fine? You got to us in time, not a scratch—well, only a few scratches, such is the life of a musketeer—on either of us. Any of us would have made the same call, Athos. Your mind doesn't deserve to torture itself over it."

Athos sighed again. He knew the burdens of leadership meant shouldering the weight of mistakes, accepted that as part of his duty to king, country, and garrison. But between the near miss today, the presence of Milady in his life reminding him of all his past mistakes, the constant fear that Aramis would be found out and taken from them for his love for the queen...

Beside him, Aramis quirked a smile his way. "This is where you say, 'you're right, Aramis.'"

Rolling his eyes in his friend's direction, Athos huffed lightly.

"You're right, Aramis," he intoned with dutiful sarcasm.

"Because you always are, Aramis," the marksman prompted, grinning wider.

"I hardly think so."

"You wound me."

Athos shook his head, but the remaining specters had been chased away. His heart was still heavy, but that was more or less his natural state. A heavy heart, he could contend with, so long as the panic had receded and he had his friends at his side. A hand fell on his shoulder and Athos looked to see Aramis's smile covering a more serious concern in his eyes.

"You with me?" Aramis asked.

As though it was ever a question.

Athos nodded, returning the gesture. "Thank you, my friend," he said softly.

As long as they were at his side, they would remain united. And anyone or anything who tried to threaten that, well... the four brothers would deal with that as they always had.

Together.