One For All Chapter 10: Forever On Your Side, a musketeers fanfic

A/N: I think this song would make for an awesome Musketeers fanvid, but since I can't make one of those, I have to settle for going for a song fic instead.

"Forever On Your Side" - NEEDTOBREATHE

I won't pretend
That we can control the night
Or what kind of road we're on
Or where we will see the light
But right now I'm talking to ya
I'm looking into your eyes
Right now I'm trying to show ya
That we're gonna be alright

Aramis fumbled to turn the doorknob to his room at the garrison and pushed the door open with his foot. He stumbled over the threshold, a drunk and soaking Athos slumped against him. Porthos shuffled in behind him, supporting the drunkard's other side. They deposited him on the floor by the window and Aramis immediately went to get a fire going in the hearth, leaving Porthos to start peeling off Athos's saturated clothes.

Athos tried to shove Porthos's hands away, but his limbs flopped bonelessly. "Wh't 're you doin'?" he slurred.

"You're gonna catch a chill," Porthos replied gruffly and yanked the leathers off, dropping them on the floor with a wet slap.

"'M f'ne."

"You're not," Aramis said, turning to face the sodden man. "This is more than vice, Athos. You would have drowned face first in gutter water if we hadn't found you."

"And?" the man challenged, a spark of sobriety briefly lighting his gaze.

Aramis crossed his arms. "Is that your intent? Is that what you became a musketeer for?"

"It doesn't matter why I became a musketeer." He was down to his shirt and braes now and was shivering fiercely.

Porthos manhandled him closer to the now crackling fire.

Aramis stepped out of the way, still fixing the man with a stern glare. "It matters to us. What is it you hope to escape from every night?"

"That doesn't matter either, because it never works. I can never escape it," Athos said morosely and shifted his gaze to stare listlessly into the flames.

"Why did you become a musketeer?" Aramis repeated.

There was a long beat of silence, then a whispered, "Honor."

"Is it honorable to lay down and die in the gutter?"

"I didn't ask for your help," Athos snapped.

"You didn't ask for our friendship either, but you have it."

Athos closed his eyes. "I loved once."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look.

"What 'appened?" Porthos asked gently.

"She died." Athos's expression instantly closed off with the confession and he turned his head away.

Aramis shared another silent look with Porthos; they would not press for details.

Crouching down in front of Athos, Aramis waited for the man to meet his eye. "I know what it's like to have loved and lost. I know it can seem like nothing will ever be good again, will ever fill that void. But it can, and it will, if you give it time and a chance."

Firelight reflected in the anguished pools of Athos's eyes, and he didn't say anything. Aramis and Porthos finished drying him off and then tucked him into Aramis's bed. The man was out like a light shortly thereafter.

"Guess you're bunkin' wit' me," Porthos rumbled.

Aramis quietly gathered up the wet clothes and draped them over the back of a chair near the fire.

"You think he'll drink 'imself into the grave?" Porthos asked softly.

"We can only wait and see," Aramis replied. "And try to give him a reason not to."

Oh I don't know
What's around the bend
Oh, all I know
Is that my love,
It knows no end

Athos didn't know how it happened, how he'd been enveloped in this unlooked for brotherhood. He hadn't meant to grow fond of anyone ever again, to form attachments. Love made one vulnerable when loss inevitably struck.

But he'd been drawn to these two men like a comet pulled into their orbit. Aramis, with his quick wit and disarming smile, was a force of cheer to Athos's melancholy. Porthos bore himself with the force of a bull, and yet could have the gentlest manner and softest heart. Athos could no more deny this friendship than he could the rising of the sun.

And that's what these two were every morning after Athos succumbed to the darkness of his soul in the night. Never judging, never prodding. Just steadfast and true. And Athos, who thought his heart had shriveled up and died with his wife and brother, loved them for it.

All these pieces they fall in line
Because I'm forever on your side
Take my hand when you can't see the light
Cause I'm forever on your side
I will carry
You every time
Because I'm forever on your side

Aramis blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the vision of snow-covered trees. But it wouldn't leave. The winter thicket surrounded him, and he felt the nip of chill against his cheeks and the crunch of powder beneath where he sat, back pressed up against coarse bark. It couldn't be real, though. Savoy was a year ago. How could he find himself back there?

But he saw the bodies, laid out in the snow with reds of various shades melting the ice where it pooled, hotly spilled from once beating hearts. Carrion crows alighted on the ground, beady eyes piercing Aramis's soul as they opened their razor beaks to croak out the death knell.

He gripped his pistol tight, muscles taut as he fought to keep his ragged breathing quiet to listen for another attack. Someone was calling his name, and it made the forest tilt.

In the next eye blink, Athos was there, kneeling in the snow a few feet away with one hand extended cautiously. "You're not in Savoy," he was saying.

Aramis frowned in confusion, but a snap of a twig made him jerk, and he whipped his gun toward the attacker.

Porthos raised his palms in surrender. "Easy there," he rumbled gently. "Same side."

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a fist to them. "No, you can't be here."

"We are," Athos said. "And you're not there."

Aramis shook his head. "I see them. I can't stop seeing them." The first snow since Savoy had done it, had brought it all back with a vengeance. And the cold. It burrowed its hooks into his bones like the talons of Death coming to claim the one that'd got away.

"Then take my hand," Athos said. "And I will lead you back."

Aramis looked up at the arm stretched out toward him. All he need do was cross the distance. It felt immeasurably long, like a chasm gaping between them, the past and the present sundered and restitched into mismatching pieces in his head. Athos waited patiently, never taking his eyes off Aramis's.

He slowly lowered his pistol and leaned forward. Athos moved to meet him halfway, a solid hand grasping his firmly. Athos pulled him to his feet and he swayed. Porthos cautiously moved in and gingerly slung one of his arms over his shoulder. Aramis was shivering violently and his teeth started to chatter.

Athos and Porthos hemmed him in as they half carried him back to a small camp he'd forgotten even making. They bundled him in blankets and stoked the fire, then huddled close. He would protest the coddling if he wasn't shamefully desperate for it, for the tactile feel of warm, live bodies beside him.

But there was no disgruntlement or pity in their eyes, only pure, unwavering devotion.

Aramis knew he wouldn't be left behind in the snow ever again.

They'll beat you up
But don't let 'em keep you down
You're always tough enough
And I'll always be around

Porthos was used to bar brawls and late night duels after sore losers in a game of cards accused him of cheating. Never mind if he was. There was an excitement to those types of fights, a way to let out pent up energy and put some pompous red guards in their place.

Getting jumped by eight men in the street on his way home was something else entirely. Especially when the brutal punches and kicks were punctuated with racial slurs. They called him a mongrel for his darker skin, claiming he stole that musketeer uniform.

That made Porthos bellow with rage and slam a meaty fist into one of them. He'd dealt with racism growing up, experienced it still now and then, but he'd damned well proven himself in the Musketeer regiment time and time again.

He body slammed another thug, but there were too many and he eventually fell under their relentless blows until he was laying on the ground practically senseless, his entire body radiating with pain.

Hands grabbed his arms and started pulling. He grunted and tried to fight back, but his head was swimming and he couldn't see, one eye rapidly swelling shut.

He was dragged into a nearby building. Porthos caught glimpses of what looked like an empty storeroom. He was kicked onto his stomach and then his arms were yanked upward and secured to a post in front of him. He felt a tug and heard the rip of fabric as someone split his coat and shirt open down his back.

"Time to put this dog in its place," someone sneered, and there was a crack of a whip being tested.

Porthos tensed and renewed his struggles, but the rope around his wrists only grated across his skin.

Footsteps moved closer. Porthos sucked in a breath to brace himself.

And then a shot rang out. Someone yelled and shouts went up as a commotion broke out. Porthos tried to twist around to see, but it was dark and blood kept dribbling down his one good eye. He heard the screech of steel, pained cries, and the thuds of bodies dropping.

A hand settled on his shoulder and he jerked.

"Easy," Aramis's soft voice said near his ear.

There was a glint of silver and then the ropes gave way and Porthos slumped sideways. Aramis caught his shoulders and eased him back so he could lean against the joist. He could still hear swords clashing and turned his head just as Athos cut down the last man, the body dropping to join the others sprawled across the storeroom, evidence of the silent fury these ruffians had unknowingly unleashed upon their own heads.

"They all dead?" Porthos mumbled.

"No," Aramis replied, eyes still roiling storm clouds as he surveyed Porthos's injuries. "But I will see them hanged personally."

"'M alright." As much as he wanted these bastards to pay, he also didn't want to be a spectacle for the trial and execution.

Aramis finally met his eyes. "Yes, you are," he said, and it seemed those few words were laced with multiple meanings all rolled into one. "You'll be all right." "You're every bit the man these lowlifes couldn't hope to be."

Aramis put a hand on Porthos's shoulder. "Let's get you home."

Oh I don't know
What's around the bend
Oh, all I know
Is that my love,
It knows no end

Porthos dropped the light parcel box on the yard table where Aramis was sitting, cleaning his pistols. The marksman raised his brows at the package and looked up at Porthos.

"What is that?"

"It's a birthday gift."

Aramis's expression faltered, seeming taken aback. "How did you know that was today?"

"I snuck inta the captain's office and looked up your personnel record."

He'd tried to do the same with Athos's while he was at it, but that one had proven entirely elusive. Maybe Aramis could help him go back and take another look.

Except the marksman looked somewhat affronted by the admission, though it quickly gave way to curiosity and he pulled the parcel toward him. Porthos waited while he took off the lid and lifted out the item. Now Aramis looked stunned as he took in the hat with two feathers—one blue the other brown and orange striped—tucked into the leather band.

"Porthos," he breathed. "This must have cost you a fair share of this month's earnings."

Porthos shrugged. "Athos chipped in, so it's from both of us. He hates your old one. Says it looks like a drowned rat when it rains."

Aramis's mouth quirked, and he slipped the hat onto his head. "This is the nicest gift I've ever been given. I shall treasure it always."

Porthos grinned back at his friend's sincerity. As the months had gone on and Savoy had gotten further and further into the past, Aramis's cheer had become less a put-upon front and more back to his usual, genuine self. Porthos's heart swelled with joy to see real mirth radiating in Aramis's expression now from under the brim of the new hat.

"Now," Aramis said, "are you going to tell me when your birthday is, or will I have to sneak into Treville's office?"

Porthos smirked. There was no such record of his birth date, but he could give Aramis a merry chase for a bit. "Actually, I already have to make a return trip. Couldn't find Athos's the first time."

Aramis's eyes lit with mischief, and Porthos couldn't hold back the ensuing grin at seeing it.

Discordant screeches pealed throughout the air as blades clashed. Athos parried a strike and delivered a swift riposte. Around him, more mercenaries converged on their position.

Athos blocked another blow, his blade locking with its opponent at the hilt. He didn't have enough time as a second assailant came up behind him. But then a shot rang out and the man dropped, Aramis and a smoking pistol standing a few feet away. In the next breath, the marksman flipped his weapon around and used the handle to bludgeon another attacker.

Athos freed his blade and stabbed the one in front of him. Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he flung his main-gauche across the road to skewer the man charging up at Porthos's exposed back.

They made quick work of the rest of the mercenaries, the sounds of battle dying down. Which made the gunshot that shattered the air echo that much louder, and Athos felt burning pain crease his leg. Aramis whirled and fired his second pistol, killing the shooter instantly.

Athos toppled onto his side and clamped a hand around his bleeding thigh. Aramis rushed over, dropping down next to him and reaching to pull his hands away so he could examine the wound.

"The ball didn't penetrate," he reported, voice laced with both relief and tension. "But it's bleeding heavily."

Porthos appeared and yanked off his bandana, offering it to him. Aramis took it and deftly tied a tourniquet around Athos's leg.

"We need…to keep…moving," Athos gritted out between clenched teeth. They weren't far from their destination, and the sooner they reached it, the better for them all.

Aramis got up and went to Athos's horse, rifling through his saddlebags. He came back with the flask that was always at the bottom and poured the spirits over the wound. Athos slammed his head back against the dirt as a strangled sound garbled in his throat.

When he'd caught his breath, he bit out, "That was a…waste…of perfectly good brandy."

"Preventing infection is a better use for it than your maudlin bouts," Aramis replied.

He and Porthos each took an arm and hauled him to his feet, and Athos had to stifle another pained grunt. With their help, he hobbled over to his horse and they gave him a boost up. Then they mounted their horses after and flanked him as they rode on.

Oh I can't promise
That a day will never come
Where the ground beneath us
Falls out and we got no where to run
Oh but you won't be alone
When the water starts to rise up
No you won't be alone
My darling when the rains come

The water was rising fast. And while it was only sloshing over Porthos's thighs where he sat on his haunches in the sucking mud, it was rapidly lapping around Aramis's neck as he struggled to keep himself propped up on his elbows, his lower half pinned under splintered wood and squelching earth.

The recent rains and flooding had weakened the ground in the area, priming a sinkhole above one of the old tunnels from the nearby mine, which just had to give way when Aramis was walking across it. The shaft was already damp with standing water at the bottom. And it was still pouring.

Porthos clawed frantically at the mess keeping Aramis trapped, but at a cough and sputter, he swiftly abandoned it and turned to grab Aramis's head before he could go under. Aramis spat water from his mouth, arching his back with a pained gasp to tilt his head back. Porthos worked his knee underneath his shoulders to help hold him aloft.

But he couldn't hold Aramis's head above the water and dig him free at the same time.

"Porthos, my friend," Aramis sputtered. "I'm sorry it has to end like this."

"Don't you dare," he snarled. He'd get them out. There had to be a way to get them out…

He could feel Aramis's arms shaking from exhaustion and cold and knew the marksman wouldn't be able to hold himself up anymore. Porthos flashed a raging look of fury at the pile of rubble, willing it to shift from sheer will alone.

He turned back to Aramis with an apologetic grimace. "I need you to hold your breath."

Aramis's eyes were wide, but he gave a jerky nod in understanding. Porthos waited as he sucked in a huge breath, and then let his head drop beneath the surface.

He threw himself at the debris, yanking and pulling at whatever he could, but every time something shifted, more just seemed to fall in its place.

A bubble of air burst from the water to his right, and he scrambled to bring Aramis's head up again. Aramis coughed and sputtered, and Porthos's heart clenched with recrimination that he'd left him down there so long.

"P-Porthos," Aramis rasped, reaching up to grasp at his sleeve. "It's alright. It's alright."

The absolution for failing to save him only made Porthos want to roar at the heavens and rage at the God Aramis worshipped so devoutly. "If you want him, you'll have to take me too."

The rain pelted from above and the floodwaters inched ever higher. And then a voice screamed out over the howling gales, and Porthos suddenly remembered a fairytale story of a creature that would keen the names of those about to die, and he wondered if such legends could actually be true.

"Porthos! Aramis!"

Porthos blinked rain water from his eyes as he looked up in disbelief at the sodden figure peering down at them. "Athos!"

Athos shouted something over his shoulder, and Porthos saw other shapes moving around up there. In another moment, a rope was tossed over the edge and then Athos was rappelling down toward them.

"Hold his head up so I can get 'im free," Porthos commanded the minute Athos splashed down next to them.

Athos wordlessly switched places with him, wedging himself under Aramis and forcing his back to arch painfully, but they needed those precious few millimeters.

Porthos resumed his harried digging, heedless of cutting up his hands. He finally got the right piece to shift and yelled at Athos to pull. Aramis cried out in pain as he was dragged free. Porthos grabbed the rope and shoved it into Aramis's hands, worried for a moment about how shaky with chill his fingers were, but Aramis managed to grip tightly. Porthos gave the line two rough tugs to signal whoever was at the top to start pulling.

Two more ropes had been tossed down, so Porthos and Athos grabbed those and slowly made their way up, staying just below Aramis in case he slipped.

But they made it to the top where several pairs of hands each made to grab for them. Porthos thought he recognized some of the men from the village.

He crawled through the mud to Aramis and grasped him by the arms to pull him into a fierce embrace. When Athos landed on his knees beside them, Porthos hooked an arm around his neck and drew him in as well, clinging to his brothers in the middle of a deluge because they were alive and whole.

Oh I don't know
What's around the bend
Oh, all I know
Is that my love,
It knows no end

Aramis barricaded the door of the abandoned church with some broken pews. He had no idea if their pursuers were close or if they'd lost them, but he couldn't worry about that right now. Retrieving his med kit, he turned to see to his brothers' injuries. Porthos had taken a musket ball to the arm and Athos had some cracked ribs from getting clobbered with a wooden board.

Aramis went to Porthos first, who was sweating and fidgety. The lead was still in his bicep and Aramis needed to get it out. He wrestled the leather coat off and then the shirt, apologizing each time it elicited a sound of pain.

Porthos eyed the tweezers, needle, and thread like a feral animal as Aramis set them out.

"This will probably hurt," he warned in a light tone, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. Not that it was successful. He gripped his friend's arm tightly and inserted the tweezers into the wound.

Porthos flinched, trying to jerk away, and Aramis cursed under his breath as he fought to keep him still. Clenching his jaw, he decided fast was best and pushed the tweezers in deeper until he felt them scrape along the ball lodged in soft tissue. Porthos growled low in his throat, but Aramis got a hold of the offending projectile and yanked it out.

"There, that was easy," he said cheerily.

Porthos glowered at him.

"I have to clean it though," he went on, grabbing the flask of spirits and uncapping it. Porthos hissed when the strong alcohol streamed down his arm. "Now for stitching."

Aramis threaded the needle and leaned close to see properly. He tried chattering idly about anything and nothing to keep Porthos distracted, but the recalcitrant man kept growling and bucking every couple of nips and tucks. Aramis kept having to stop to let him settle and the entire process took three times as long. He was exhausted afterward, Porthos even more so, and the wounded man slipped into a doze soon after Aramis had finished wrapping the bandage.

"Not a very good patient, is he?" Athos commented quietly from where he was sitting propped up against a support column, arm draped protectively across his ribs and breathing shallowly.

"I believe it might do better to knock him out next time," Aramis conceded.

He went over and knelt down to help Athos out of his coat. It was much more difficult and painful than it had been for Porthos, and there was a glistening sheen on Athos's brow by the time they'd managed it.

Aramis palpated the ribs, drawing some pained hisses, but found no breaks. So he left Athos's shirt on and opted to just wrap the ribs over it. Once done, he passed his friend some wine and moved about cleaning up the supplies.

As the night waxed on, his two patients drifted off to sleep and Aramis kept watch at the window. Porthos snuffled in his sleep, and Aramis went over to card his fingers through the thick black curls until he settled. Athos was silent, sleeping upright to ease the pressure on his ribs. His coat had slid down to pool in his lap, so Aramis picked it up and tucked it around his shoulders gently so as not to wake him. Exhaustion pulled at his mind and made his limbs sluggish, but he would not allow himself to become remiss in his charge.

Besides, there was nothing he wouldn't do for his brothers.

Porthos thought about checking the taverns first, but something gave him pause and he ended up going out to the burial field instead. Sure enough, that's where he found Athos, standing at a freshly dug grave, bottle of wine in hand. It was half empty already.

Porthos wordlessly came up to stand just behind him, gaze falling to the name carved into the wooden cross. He bowed his head in a moment of respect. He hadn't known the new recruit, Simon, very well, but had seen the lad was capable and eager and too young to die.

"It wasn't your fault," Porthos finally broke the pall of silence.

"I gave the order," Athos said tonelessly.

"You couldn't 'ave known about the gunpowder. None of us did."

Athos didn't respond.

"What number is that?" Porthos asked, nodding to the bottle.

Athos shrugged one shoulder as he lifted it to his mouth to take a swig. "I stopped counting."

More silence stretched between them.

"Aramis is worried about you," Porthos tried, and he saw Athos flinch. "He doesn't blame you either, ya know."

"Maybe he should."

Porthos huffed. "He's smarter than that. So are you, when you 'aven't taken to the bottle." He reached out to clasp his brother's shoulder. "Come back to the garrison, Athos. Aramis needs you. Just like you need 'im."

It initially looked like Athos was going to be stubborn, but he finally knelt down and planted the bottle at the base of the cross, then stood on wobbly legs. Porthos ducked in to support him as they shuffled back to the garrison. Athos was heavy with drunkenness. Aramis had been heavy too when they'd carried him unconscious from the site of the explosion. But they were both alive and Porthos was going to see to it they stayed that way.

Oh I'm forever on your side
Oh I'm forever on your side
Oh I'm forever on your side

They stood in a circle, the acclaimed Inseparables, exchanging soft looks after their last harrowing mission. With flickers of smiles, they reached in and put their hands on top of one another.

"All for one."

"And one for all."