A sudden crash of thunder awoke D'Artagnan with a start, his body jolting forward. He hissed harshly as the fresh stitches pulled in his side and he closed his eyes against the burning pain. Opening his eyes, he gazed around the room, noting the soft light from the candles on the two tables in room highlighting his various brothers in their beds.

He rested his head back against the wall, sucking in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, still unsure if he had fallen asleep or unconscious, but it didn't seem that he had slept for too long. None of his brothers had moved from their previous positions and he only felt a slight sting of envy at their sleeping states. How he wished he was able to lie down and sleep.

His eyes burned, and he felt so lightheaded he was afraid he wasn't going to be able to get to his feet. His head turned as he heard a groan come from Athos' bed. He quickly crawled across on his knees until he was by the bedside, grasping at the eldest Musketeer's hand.

'Athos? You with me?' He asked, squeezing the cold hand tightly.

Athos' only response was to groan again and turn his head towards D'Artagnan. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as he struggled to open them.

'That's it, come on, plenty of wine here if you only let me know you're alright,' D'Artagnan teased, raising himself up on his knees and looking into his brother's face.

Athos' eyes slipped open and it took him a few moments to recognise the face before him.

'D'Art?' He questioned, turning his head to look around the room. 'Where am I?'

D'Artagnan let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. 'You're safe. We're at an inn not far from where we were attacked. Do you remember anything?'

'I was shot?' Athos asked, his head flopping back to face his youngest brother.

'Yes, you were but you're going to be alright. I'm glad you're awake, you worried me,' D'Artagnan scolded as he let go of Athos' hand and placed it back on the bed. He struggled to his feet, taking a second to lock his knees before they collapsed under him. He walked over to the table near Porthos' bed and poured Athos a cup of water.

Trying his best not to stumble back he held the cup and raised Athos' head with his other hand, helping the Musketeer to drink. Athos gulped the water like a man in a drought before D'Artagnan took the cup away.

'Don't want you to be sick,' D'Artagnan warned, setting the cup on the table beside Athos' bed.

Athos took a few deep breaths before looking at D'Artagnan.

'I was promised there would be wine.'

D'Artagnan choked out a laugh, shaking his head fondly at his eldest brother.

'I never promised wine, I simply stated that there was wine, and you can have as much as you want after you rest for a while longer,' D'Artagnan nodded, pulling the blankets back up over Athos' shoulder.

Athos stared at his youngest brother's face, noting the glazed eyes, the pink cheeks, and the sweat dotting his forehead.

'Are you alright? You weren't hurt, were you?' Athos questioned, struggling to keep his eyes from falling closed. The overwhelming tiredness threatened to smother him.

'Just a scratch,' D'Artagnan assured, shaking his head, 'I'll be fine, Aramis took care of it.'

And again, the lies fell so easily. He watched as Athos narrowed his eyes and looked at him. He had a way of looking at him that made D'Artagnan feel as though he were staring into his very thoughts.

'I thought Aramis was too hurt to look at injuries?' Athos asked knowingly,

'Your's needed stitching,' D'Artagnan explained, 'Get some more rest and we can get back to Paris sooner.'

Athos wanted to call his brother out, knowing the boy was hiding something. A sudden thought burst into his head and he looked beseechingly at his brother.

'The letter?'

'Where you left it,' D'Artagnan assured him, settling in the chair beside the bed and stretching out his legs.

'Good, good,' Athos mumbled as the adrenaline fled as quickly as it had come. Now that he knew their cargo was safe he could relax. His mind became fuzzy as he closed his eyes. Through the tiredness he felt as though he was forgetting something. The thought quickly left his mind as sleep claimed him once again.

D'Artagnan sighed, closing his eyes and resting his arms on his knees. Athos seemed coherent enough and Aramis had already explained to him about the blood loss. He would be fine.

He knew he should check on Porthos and Aramis to make sure they too were fine but exhaustion hit him and he struggled to lift himself. Another sudden crash of thunder had him jumping and adrenaline spiked throughout his body.

Another crash sounded, and he realised it wasn't thunder at all and it wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from downstairs. Quickly he went next door and grabbed his sword and his pistol before sneaking down the stairs, pressing his back against the wall to gain a better vantage point.

He saw 2 men with hoods turning over tables and throwing chairs. He ducked his head to see further and spotted Victor sat on a chair in the corner, a gag wrapped tightly around his mouth, a hand gripping painfully at his shoulder.

'Where are they?' The hand's owner hissed, his face pressed close to Victor's. Victor shook his head, glaring hard at the bandit.

'They must be upstairs,' a voice called as it walked down the corridor where Victor's private rooms were located. 'There's nothing back there.'

'Pierre, Thomas, go check upstairs. Find that letter. Kill them if you need to but do not come back without that letter,' a gruff voice ordered, moving away from Victor. D'Artagnan noted the relief that sagged from Victor's shoulders and he reached up to remove the gag.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and glanced up the stairs. He would protect his brothers and their cargo at all costs. He stepped down the last few stairs and raised his sword in the direction of the bandits.

'There is no need for killing,' D'Artagnan stated, watching as the 4 bandits in the room raised their respective weapons. 'The letter is not here.'

'Well then where is it? You can't have delivered it to Paris already, it must be here,' Victor's captor growled, taking several steps towards D'Artagnan.

'Your friends were not able to take the letter from us before, what makes you think you can?' D'Artagnan said smugly, ignoring the piercing pain in his side at the reminder of what they had gone through to try and get the letter from them.

'No, they weren't able to but rest assured I will. You are injured, as are the others, so I don't think you'll be putting up much of a fight.' the leader laughed, walking closer to D'Artagnan until he was standing beside him. D'Artagnan squared his shoulders and glared into the bandit's eyes.

'The letter is not here, it was hidden before we came here. Do you think we would be stupid enough to keep the letter when we may not be able to defend it?' D'Artagnan stated, raising his chin in defiance. The leader stared into D'Artagnan's eyes, looking for evidence of a lie.

'He makes sense Felix,' Pierre shrugged, glancing between his leader and the Musketeer.

Felix nodded, his hand grabbing his pistol and pointing it at D'Artagnan's face.

'Very well, Musketeer,' he sneered, taking the safety off the gun, 'You will take us to the letter. If you refuse I will happily go up and kill your friends where they lie.'

D'Artagnan glared at the bandit in front of him. Reluctantly and with a sigh he nodded. He would not let his brothers be murdered when they had no opportunity to defend themselves. He could at least distract the bandits for long enough for the other musketeers to rest and recover before they discovered what had happened.

'Drop your weapons and get your horse,' Felix ordered, turning on his heel and heading out the door and back into the rain. Pierre stood by the door as the others left, training his pistol in D'Artagnan's direction.

D'Artagnan placed his pistol and his sword on the nearby table before walking over to where Victor still sat slumped in the chair.

'Are you alright?' D'Artagnan asked, crouching beside the old man. The pull of his stitches had him wincing before he could stop himself.

'I am fine, a bit roughed up but nothing I can't handle,' Victor assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you alright? You've been injured.'

'Nothing I can't handle,' D'Artagnan smirked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small leather purse.

'I know it is a lot to ask of you monsieur, but could you check on my friends in a few hours and make sure they are well? Take this for your troubles and for the rooms,' He muttered to avoid being overhead by the guard at the door. He pressed the purse into Victor's hand. Victor shook his head vehemently causing D'Artagnan's heart to drop.

'I'm sorry I don't have any more money, this is all I have,' D'Artagnan looked at the purse and glanced back up at Victor, panic highlighted in his eyes. As he had only recently been commissioned into the Musketeers he was still using his hard-earned pay to clear the debts that he had accrued following the destruction of his farm.

He had to repay Monsieur Bonacieux for the many months of rent that was owed, he had to pay to rebuild his farm, he had to purchase new boots and several new shirts - constantly being involved in sword battles was doing nothing for his wardrobe - and that was before he paid for his own food and the many, many bottles of wine he owed his brothers for their help. Being the youngest had its downfalls.

Victor tutted before snatching the purse from D'Artagnan's hand.

'That is not what I meant, boy. I will look after them with no charge, you do not need to pay me for that. I will, however, keep your money here so it is safe. I cannot trust those men not to rob you as well,' Victor explained, pocketing the purse and squeezing D'Artagnan's trembling shoulder.

D'Artagnan breathed his thanks, pushing himself to his feet and heading towards the door. He took a moment to glance towards the stairs where his brothers were sleeping upstairs. Mouthing a short prayer, he smiled at Victor before heading out the door into the storm, Pierre closing the door with a click behind him.