The door was forced open, swinging to hit the wall behind and cause Athos to flinch from the sudden loud noise.
He curled further in on himself as if to protect his body from what he knew was to come. He knew it wasn't going to be nice, it never was.
He was grabbed before he could even register what was happening, being hauled to his feet roughly. He stood there, swaying dangerously between two of Tomás' men and without them Athos knew he would have collapsed to the floor.
He was too weak to sit up let alone walk, legs shaking from the strain of baring his weight. He flinched when a scraping sound echoed loudly through his cell, Tomás slowly dragging a chair into the room.
The man placed it against the opposite wall and sat down, crossing one leg over the other with his hands folded gently in his lap.
"Morning," he simply said and Athos gritted his teeth, weakly pulling at the guards hold on him which was just a failure in trying to break free.
His mind was fogged over in confusion, the drug they kept giving him messing with his thoughts and making everything unclear.
He needed to focus.
However, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop Tomás' face from blurring.
"How are you feeling?" Tomás asked in a soft spoken tone as if the man was taking to his friend. It made anger boil within Athos while also making him want to throw up. Athos simply gave the man his best glare in reply. Tomás chuckled slightly at what Athos knew was a weak attempt at one.
Tomás locked eyes with one of the guards and suddenly said man slammed a fist into Athos' stomach, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him gasping for air. The two guards then stood back, releasing their hold on Athos who swayed on shaky legs before a harsh push from one of the guards had him collapsing to the ground rather harshly.
"Such a pity you know," Tomás said, standing up with his cloak brushing behind him as he swiftly moved over. He grabbed Athos by his shirt, roughly pulling Athos up to look at him.
"Such a pity," Tomás said again, his free hand coming to brush Athos' cheek with his index finger so delicately but still managing to make him flinch away. "The most talented musketeer is brought to his knees with a few punches and a, if I do say so myself, mild drug," Tomás snarled awfully close to Athos that the swordsman flinched away again, wanting anything more than to be hundreds of miles away from this man.
He grimaced as Tomás breath brushed against his face, forcing down the feeling of throwing up.
Another punch and Athos was gasping for air, then another and another. He couldn't make out which was a kick and which was a punch or where they were hitting him. The pain was throbbing from every part of his body and making it impossible to pin point where it actual hurt. He simply curled up on himself to try and limit the damage caused by the beating on his already weak body.
He didn't know how long he could last but he had to last for D'artagnan's sake, he had to protect the boy from this awful man.
Porthos sat at the table in Athos' room, having woken up in the middle of the night from a bad dream.
He had needed to make sure his brother was safe, that Athos was alright and still breathing, that Athos was actually there with them and that Porthos hadn't just imagine Athos stumbling back into their lives.
The two weeks searching for Athos had been torture, pure torture, not knowing where he was or what was happening to him had eaten away at them every day.
Porthos never wanted to feel like that again... Completely hopeless and lost, with no clear direction in saving their brother. The last time he had felt so broken was when they heard the news of Savoy and that all their men had been slaughtered. He had spent days forcing himself to not break down, to stay positive, while part of him feared the worst. To have Aramis stumble back to them, broken and a shell of a man; it had taken time for things to heal. Then to feel so lost again with Athos going missing...
It wasn't right just three of them.
So after what Porthos didn't want to call, but knew it was, a nightmare, he ended up sitting at the table in Athos' room, staring up at the ceiling and not thinking at all. He just listened to the calm breathing of his sleeping brother, allowing it to ease his racing mind.
The subtle shift of Athos' breathing caught Porthos' attention, drawing him away from following the patterns on the wood ceiling.
He rose from the chair as Athos' head twitched to one side, the man suddenly mumbling something under his breath.
Porthos only noticed then the sweat covering Athos' body and the pained expression his face was pinched into. He swore at himself for not noticing sooner and quickly made his way over to the bed.
"Athos?" He gently asked, a hand moving to Athos' shoulder to shake it gently.
Athos' eyes snapped open the second Porthos had touched him and he violently flinched away from the larger musketeer, a fist coming up and hovering an inch away from Porthos' face.
Athos' eyes were unfocused and filled with fear. His body was tense, rigid from the nightmare he had been having and seemed to be still stuck within.
"Athos?" Porthos asked fearfully, trying to snap Athos out of whatever had a hold of him back in that nightmare. Porthos knew what it had been about and hated to think how bad it had been to make Athos lose his sense of his surroundings.
Athos suddenly blinked before realising what he was doing and exactly who was leaning over him. His hand dropped in a second and he started mumbling out a sorry.
"I didn't know it was you," he said, slowly pushing himself up to sit and wincing slightly from his still healing wounds.
"It's fine," Porthos said before leaning back and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "How you feeling?"
"Better than I look, trust me," Athos joked, knowing he looked a mess. He hadn't washed in a few days, his hair more messy and greasy than usual. He knew he was covered in sweat from the nightmare and that he had bags under his eyes that were as dark as his bruises that ran along his beaten body.
Porthos gave him a small yet sad smile in reply.
"Sorry I'm in your room. Couldn't sleep," Porthos said to change the subject and Athos shook his head slightly, waving a hand as if to wave the apology away.
"It's fine," he replied before slumping slightly against the beds headrest, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face gently, trying not to brush against any of the bruises on his face. He hadn't had a peaceful night sleep in weeks now, and his body ached for it.
"Athos," Porthos began, breaking through to the injured man once again and causing Athos to look up at him.
Porthos took a breath, thinking and ordering his words carefully.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He finally settled for and Athos stared at him for a few seconds.
Porthos could have predicted his reaction; this was Athos after all, the man kept everything bottled up, except his wine, opting to drink that down quickly and in silence.
Athos blinked, finally managing to get his brain in gear and come up with a response to Porthos' question.
"No, not really," he said, swearing at himself when his voice broke slightly. "Not yet anyway," he added and Porthos nodded in understanding, wanting to give Athos space and not pressurise him into talking.
They had no clue what Tomás had done to Athos except from beating and drugging him, the amount of mental impact of this on Athos was unknown to them.
Before Porthos could talk about his visit to the palace yesterday, wanting to change the subject and keep Athos' mind occupied, the door was pushed open rather forcefully.
"Have you seen D'artagnan, I can't find anywhere?" Aramis asked as he walked into the room, slight concern lanced in his voice. He paused when he saw the look on both Porthos and Athos' face, realising then he had interrupted something.
He saw the state Athos was in, skin pale and shining with sweat, most likely from a nightmare. Aramis just wanted to go over to him and hug him, tell him everything was alright. He would have done if it wasn't for the fear of hurting the injured man or from Athos punching him in response.
"No, I thought he was with you," Porthos said, breaking Aramis from his thoughts.
"Yes we were supposed to be training today, wanted to test my shoulder out after... You know," Aramis wondered off.
"After I shot you," Athos helped out and Aramis grimaced slightly. "Go on," Athos then said.
"Well he's not in his room or in the mess hall... Plus, his horse is missing," Aramis said, his voice awfully steady as he spoke but there was a slight hint of worry and fear building up within it.
"Tomás," Athos simply mumbled and they all locked eyes for a split second, knowing what had happened. Aramis and Porthos moved quickly, Aramis shouting back to Athos to stay put while they go search for D'artagnan.
Athos sighed, growling in frustration with himself for being unable to help.
He began to argue with himself over whether or not he should actually listen to Aramis' advice. He wouldn't be of any use if he did go after them and he probably wouldn't make it to the door before he passed out if he was to follow anyway.
He slumped back into the bed, trying awfully hard to not think about the danger D'artagnan was in.
He finally decided to ignore the voice in his head that told him to stay, incidentally it sounded a lot like Aramis, and decided to get out of his bed.
He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to D'artagnan and he hadn't be there to stop it.
Thank you for the follows, favourites and reviews, I always love hearing what you think. I thought we should have a little more of Porthos and how he's dealing with things, hope you guys liked it. Sorry for the slight weight for this chapter :)