Entr'acte, part 5

Porthos let it go on for a couple of hours. Aramis was keeping d'Artagnan's pain down, but he couldn't do anything about the fever. d'Artagnan was exhausted and barely coherent; the third time he confused Porthos with Aramis Porthos smiled blandly, patted him on the arm and dragged Aramis into a corner. They weren't far from d'Artagnan – the Cell wasn't big enough, they were crouched over Athos as it was – but he wasn't in any state to pay any attention to them.

"Why are you letting this happen?" he hissed.

"I promised."

"Make him sleep!"

"He'll fight me if I try." Aramis shook his head. "He won't stay awake much longer. He just doesn't have enough left."

"What's the dark place? What's scaring him so bad?"

"He thinks it's Hell. Or Purgatory, maybe."

Porthos stared at him. "What?"

"It's dark and cold and empty, and he can't get out, and death drags him there." Aramis glanced down at Athos with a sigh. "Normally once whoever it is is dead, d'Artagnan's safe. But it's not happening this time. He's afraid to sleep because he thinks he'll be pulled down."

"Because it's Athos?"

"I assume so. This is the first time d'Artagnan has been this close when Athos –" Aramis cut himself off. "He would have been shielding on us, I suppose."

"You think it's Hell?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. Only that it terrifies him and I promised to help him. And since we are currently locked in a Cell in a church, which is the other thing that terrifies him…"

Porthos grimaced, nodding. "Yeah. This might not have been my best plan ever."

"It was the only choice we had."

"Still."

Aramis glanced over as d'Artagnan shifted. "He won't stay awake much longer; he just can't do it. But I won't force him. I promised him."

"Yeah." Porthos sighed. "All right."

"You can get us out of here, by the way?"

"Ain't met a lock I couldn't pick yet. Can't imagine this one's any different. You give the word, we're out of here."

"Good." Aramis nodded, pushing wearily to his feet and going back to sit next to d'Artagnan.

Porthos glanced down at Athos. Dead for half a day now, he didn't look like any other dead body Porthos had seen; Porthos was taking that as a good sign, though the wounds hadn't started to heal yet. "Hurry and wake up," he murmured. "We need you."

d'Artagnan was drifting, had been for a while, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer. Aramis was helping as much as he could, but he knew he was starting to slip, getting closer and closer to the dark place.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't. He opened his eyes; it was like looking through a heat haze, but he could see Aramis leaning over him. "It's gone."

"What's gone?" Aramis' voice was muffled and echoing, as though d'Artagnan was under water.

"The dark place. It's gone."

That worried Aramis for some reason; d'Artagnan couldn't trace the feeling to anything he recognised. "I'm glad," Aramis said, still echoing. "Can you sleep now?"

"After he gets here."

"After who gets here?"

"Treville." d'Artagnan was vaguely surprised – didn't they know he was coming? – but the feeling washed away before he really registered it.

"Treville's coming?" Aramis said. Porthos was suddenly paying attention. d'Artagnan let himself enjoy that; it felt like a blanket wrapping around him.

"d'Artagnan, focus," Aramis said firmly. "Treville's coming?"

"He's almost here." d'Artagnan thought for a minute. "He shouldn't be coming here. What if he gets sick?"

"If he gets sick we'll take care of him. He's close?"

There was noise somewhere in the church. d'Artagnan waved vaguely towards it, catching Aramis' arm while he was distracted and levering himself up to sit. "You should be resting," Aramis said half-heartedly, helping him.

Satisfaction from Porthos, and the Cell door creaked open just as Treville reached it. "Should you be here, sir?"

"How did you get into the village?" Aramis added.

"The men on the barricade sent for the priest." Treville was worried about them; that was kind of nice. "What's happened to Athos?"

"I killed him," Aramis said tightly.

"Didn't," d'Artagnan said sleepily. "He's on the way back."

"We've really got to work on your sharing skills," Porthos muttered.

"He always wakes." He rolled his head around to look at Treville. "Captain."

"d'Artagnan," Treville answered, looking at Aramis.

"Influenza. Past the worst, I think, but he won't be up and around for a while yet."

"And you two?"

"We're fine."

d'Artagnan stopped paying too much attention. The tension Porthos and Aramis had been carrying all day was easing as they spoke, and though Treville was worried it had the sharpness of new worry; it wasn't ground in and hopeless like most of the people around here.

Eventually he realised Aramis was trying to get his attention, and he dragged his eyes open again. "Tired."

"I know." Aramis' voice was so hard to hear, now; d'Artagnan was mostly following his emotions. "We're leaving. Can you walk?"

"No." After a long moment he added "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." There was some talking over his head, and then someone helped him up and they were moving. d'Artagnan did his best to help, but after the third time they told him to stop helping he just gave up, letting them drag him. There was movement, there were Musketeers – though not too close – and then there was silence and stillness and his brothers around him.

d'Artagnan slept.

Athos usually woke quickly all the time, whether he'd been injured or not. Now, however, he seemed to take a long time to wake properly, lingering for a while in a sort of daze. He could hear Porthos and Aramis talking quietly, and another voice that – after a long time – he remembered was Treville's. He couldn't hear d'Artagnan, but no one seemed worried or upset.

Memory was slow to come back, but eventually he remembered the mission, the influenza, the accusation he hadn't been able to talk the villagers out of. He remembered the pyre, the others shouting; he remembered –

He jerked upwards. Aramis was there, talking far too quickly for Athos to follow, firmly pressing him back down; Athos let himself be pressed, but he gripped Aramis' arm to ground himself.

By the time he started understanding what they were saying, Aramis had stopped talking to him and started talking about him instead. "…so long, we don't know what it might have –"

"Aramis." His voice was thick; he swallowed several times, trying to clear it.

Aramis looked back down at him. "Awake?"

"I believe so. Water?"

"Can you sit up?"

No, Athos discovered when he tried. Porthos hauled him upright, sitting behind him to prop him up. Aramis helped him take sips of water, waiting patiently in between each.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Athos asked once he felt a little better.

"Sleeping. He's doing better. Wore himself out waiting for you to wake up."

"Wake up," Athos echoed.

"How much d'you remember?" Porthos asked.

Athos swallowed. "I remember the fire." Aramis twitched; Athos reached up for his wrist, holding it tightly. "Thank you, my friend."

Aramis trembled, very slightly, but he didn't answer, only coaxed a little more water into him. Athos let him do it; whatever was bothering him, he'd confess it eventually, and if he didn't Porthos would.

"You've been dead a while," Porthos said. Athos couldn't read his tone at all.

"How long?"

"Most of a day."

Longer by far than he'd ever been gone before. Athos rarely actually died; he could only remember one other example since he'd joined the Musketeers, and he'd woken after what would have been a night's sleep that time.

Frowning suddenly, he looked around for Treville. "When did you get here, Captain?"

"Earlier today."

"You shouldn't be here. The influenza…"

"Someone had to come in after you, and I wasn't going to ask one of the men to do it. Besides, I've only been anywhere close to you and the priest, and he seems well enough."

"The priest," Athos echoed.

"Tell you everything later," Porthos promised.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" Aramis asked.

"Just tired."

"Still?"

"Mmm."

There was a noise from somewhere beyond Treville. Porthos glanced up, going to crouch out of Athos' field of vision. "Look who decided to join us. How're you feeling?"

d'Artagnan answered, too quiet and raw for Athos to make out the words. After a minute Aramis frowned, standing to join them. Athos listened more carefully; he still couldn't make out words, but d'Artagnan was very insistent on something.

Treville moved to crouch next to Athos. "Can you move? He wants to see you, and you're slightly more healthy than he is."

"How reassuring," Athos murmured, reaching for Treville's arm to lever himself up. Even that movement all but wore him out.

With Treville's help, Athos got to his feet. Aramis came to help them, scowling when Athos swayed. "You should be resting."

"So should he," Athos replied breathlessly.

d'Artagnan was watching intently as Athos shuffled across, easing down to sit next to him. As soon as he was close enough d'Artagnan reached out, hands tangling in his sleeve.

"All right," Athos said, startled, shifting closer so they were pressed together hip to shoulder.

"Do you remember?" d'Artagnan asked, plucking at his sleeve.

"Remember what?"

That seemed to confuse him; he looked over at Aramis, licking his lips. "Dark," he managed.

"Between the fire and waking up, Athos," Aramis said. "Do you remember anything?"

"I was dead. What's to remember?" d'Artagnan shuddered, and Athos sighed. "I remember nothing. Even the fire is hazy."

"You don't remember," d'Artagnan repeated.

"What is it you want me to remember?"

He shook his head sharply. "Not remember."

"Not remember," Athos repeated. He was totally lost in this conversation. "I remember Aramis saving me from burning," he offered.

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. d'Artagnan turned to bury his face in Athos' shoulder. He was absolutely silent, but his shoulders were shaking and Athos' shirt quickly grew damp.

"All right, lad," Athos murmured, cupping the back of his head gently. "We're fine."

The others carefully pretended they couldn't see him. Aramis brought over a water skin, retreating when d'Artagnan grew more distressed at his presence; they talked quietly by the door for a while before Treville and Porthos slipped out.

Athos hadn't realised they were back in Pierre's barn until now.

Eventually d'Artagnan's grip loosened, though he didn't make any effort to move until Athos nudged him gently. Sitting back, he meekly took the water he was given. He didn't let go of Athos the whole time.

"What's wrong?" Athos asked finally, when he thought d'Artagnan was steady enough.

d'Artagnan blinked. "What?"

"What's wrong?" Athos repeated patiently.

"I'm just – glad you're alive. Again. Still."

"d'Artagnan was quite sure you'd wake up," Aramis offered from where he was leaning in the doorway, half watching the yard. d'Artagnan's grip tightened when Aramis spoke, loosening when he didn't come any closer.

"What's wrong?" Athos murmured.

d'Artagnan shook his head sharply. "Nothing, just – " He shook his head again. "No, nothing."

Athos studied him for a moment before looking across at Aramis. "A moment?"

"Mmm. You both need to rest."

"And we will. In a moment."

Aramis nodded, heading outside to join the others. d'Artagnan watched him go, tracking him long after he was gone from sight.

"Tell me," Athos said quietly.

d'Artagnan was silent for a moment before hesitantly explaining, "Aramis feels guilty. Because he shot you."

"Saved me," Athos said automatically.

"We have told him."

"I'll talk to him," Athos promised. "It's bothering you?"

"Makes me uneasy," d'Artagnan admitted. "I'm still – " He gestured loosely. "Uneven."

"I can go talk to him now."

"No." d'Artagnan's grip tightened on his arm.

"All right," Athos agreed quietly. "He did say we should rest."

"I can do rest," d'Artagnan agreed, grip loosening again. He shifted a little, leaning against Athos' arm.

"You're warm," Athos noted.

"Aramis says I'm getting better. I'm just tired. I don't feel sick."

"You'll be tired for a while. Influenza's difficult to get over. That's part of what makes it so dangerous."

"It's all right. You'll make sure I take care," d'Artagnan said sleepily.

"d'Artagnan," Athos murmured, "what is it I'm not supposed to remember?"

"The dark," d'Artagnan breathed.

He was asleep before Athos could ask anything else.

Aramis glanced up as Treville stepped into the barn. "Captain. Where's Porthos?"

"I sent him to look for these mummers. They may need help." He glanced over at the others. d'Artagnan was leaning against Athos in a way that suggested nightmares to Treville; both men were asleep, though Athos was starting to stir. "How are they?"

"Athos seems only to be tired. d'Artagnan will need care, and rest, but I believe he'll recover."

"Good."

"Captain," Athos said softly.

"Athos. How do you feel?"

"Better, thank you. How long was I asleep?"

"Hardly any length," Aramis offered. "Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"No, thank you. We need to talk."

Aramis glanced at d'Artagnan. "Maybe not in front of him."

"He's already feeling your guilt, and we can't get far enough away from him right now anyway, not without crashing his shields." Athos shook his head slowly. "Do you think this isn't what I wanted, Aramis?"

"I didn't know you'd revive when I shot you," Aramis said tightly.

"If I had died," Athos said carefully, "truly died because you wanted to spare me burning alive, I would have died grateful. You spared all of us tremendous pain, Aramis. If I'm ever in a situation like that again, I hope you'll remember. A quick death at your hands is always, always going to be better than a slow death at someone else's. And I will never be anything but grateful to you for it."

Treville was carefully studying the barn wall, so he wasn't sure exactly what passed between them, but after a moment he heard Aramis leave. He hunkered beside Athos, pushing his hat back a little. "Now that he's gone, are you thirsty?"

"Parched." Treville smiled faintly, standing to retrieve the nearest water skin. "How much did you See?"

Treville passed him the 'skin, considering. "I Saw the pyre. I Saw Aramis – he worked hard, didn't he?"

"Too hard. We couldn't make him stop."

"Surprise me," Treville muttered. Athos snorted agreement, stoppering the 'skin again and passing it back. "He'll come around?"

"What, Aramis? I think so."

"He's afraid you'll really die," d'Artagnan murmured. "Afraid you'll never die." He dragged his eyes open, blinking to focus on Athos. "It doesn't scare you."

"What comes, comes," Athos told him. "Go back to sleep."

"Am asleep."

His eyes were closed again and his breathing hadn't changed. Treville watched for a moment, shaking his head. "He actually is asleep, isn't he."

"He's been coming and going for a while," Athos agreed. "Aramis isn't worried. Not any more than he was anyway, at least."

"It was bad?"

"I was dead for all the worst parts, but I believe he was very ill. It didn't help that being sick made his shields weaker, made him feel sicker, made his shields weaker…" He shrugged, careful not to jostle the boy. "You have other Musketeers?"

"Reinforcing the barricades from the other side. We brought supplies, enough for a few days. Hopefully by then the worst will be over."

"Hopefully," Athos echoed, eyes gone very distant.

Treville pushed back to his feet, heading for the door to keep watch over his men.

d'Artagnan woke.

For the first time in a while, he actually felt awake. He pressed lightly against his shields, testing. Athos and Aramis, both nearby, and the dreadful guilt Aramis had been feeling had eased. Treville, somewhere not too far away, doing something mindless and repetitive and rather enjoying it. Porthos didn't seem to be around, but the others weren't worried.

He pushed a little further, reaching for the village. Some people were still sick, he could tell, including one d'Artagnan recognised as Christophe. He couldn't bring himself to feel sorry. Some people were recovering, and some hadn't fallen ill at all. d'Artagnan wasn't sure it was enough people to save the village, but every life saved was a joy.

"d'Artagnan?"

"Aramis," he answered, forcing himself to sit upright.

"What were you saying?"

He frowned. "Was I saying something?"

Aramis studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind. How are you feeling?"

"Just tired. And kind of heavy all over. Not sick, though."

"Influenza's final gift. You'll be tired for a while, I'm afraid."

"How's Athos?"

"He's fine. He slept and now he's fine."

d'Artagnan tapped his arm, waiting for him to meet his eyes. "If I was on the pyre, I'd want you to shoot."

"You and Porthos both. And I suspect Treville will tell me so soon."

"I know it doesn't help, but it is true." d'Artagnan shifted slightly. "I need to go outside."

"Need help?"

"Yes. Please."

Athos was outside, but he carefully busied himself near the well until Aramis and d'Artagnan were finished. d'Artagnan shuffled across to sit on the well wall, pulling feebly on the rope.

Athos raised an eyebrow, and d'Artagnan shrugged. "I've been ill."

"I've been dead."

The dark place loomed suddenly, sense memory so strong d'Artagnan reeled back. Athos caught his outstretched hand, steadying him, and a moment later Aramis' fingers pressed against his throat.

"No, I'm fine," he managed, reaching up to catch Aramis' fingers, tugging until he let go. "I'm fine."

Athos looked at Aramis anyway. Aramis nodded slowly. "He's fine. Tell him," he added to d'Artagnan.

"Mmm."

"I mean it." He hauled up the bucket, balancing it on the wall and striding off.

Athos frowned, watching him go. "Is he angry?"

"Worried." d'Artagnan disentangled their hands, scooping up a handful of water to splash his face.

"Worried?"

"About the dark place."

Athos frowned again. "This is what you didn't want me to remember."

"What?"

"You were very anxious to know if I remembered."

"Was I? I don't remember that. Do you?"

"No." Athos watched him. "You were relieved last time, too. What is it?"

d'Artagnan thought for a moment. "Aramis calls it Hell."

"What do you call it?"

"I've never – just the dark place." He smiled faintly. "It's too cold there to be Hell."

"But you think it's something – else. After."

Athos didn't believe any of this, but at least he wasn't trying to talk d'Artagnan out of it yet.

"I think," d'Artagnan said carefully, "it's somewhere people pass through. No one stays there. It's just empty and cold and dark. It's…nothing."

"And you've seen it?" Athos murmured. "You've been there."

"People pass through when they die. If I'm not paying attention, if I'm not shielding, I sometimes get dragged along. They pass through, but I don't have anywhere to go. I'm just – stuck."

"This happens often?"

"No. If I'm shielding, there's no problem. Even if I'm not, sometimes, it's all right. Thérèse Dubois didn't drag me down."

Athos was silent for a minute; he was starting to believe, or at least to believe it was real to d'Artagnan. "You asked if I remembered. You were glad I didn't. Did I drag you down, d'Artagnan?"

"I think you were stuck there." d'Artagnan kept his gaze locked on the barn. "You couldn't go on, because you weren't dead. You couldn't get back until your body was ready. So you were stuck."

"d'Artagnan."

"I didn't go with you. I would have, if you'd taken much longer to wake. It was dragging at me, but I didn't fall."

"I'm glad," Athos murmured.

"It isn't something I worry about. But it is something I'm aware of. Aramis keeps a watch for it."

Athos nodded. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. It doesn't often matter. If I need it, I'll tell you what I need. What's Treville doing?"

"Cutting firewood, I think. As a thank you for Pierre."

"Pierre," d'Artagnan echoed. "Where is he?"

"He's in the tavern." d'Artagnan glanced at him; Athos shrugged. "I haven't allowed Aramis to leave the farm. I don't know how anyone's doing."

"It's mostly burned out, I think," d'Artagnan said distantly. "A lot of deaths. A few people are still sick. Some are recovering and some weren't ill at all." He blinked, refocusing on Athos. "Christophe is still ill."

Athos didn't react outwardly, but d'Artagnan felt the spurt of shameful joy. "You should get back inside," Athos said, just a hair too loudly. "Would you like some help?"

"Please. I can't believe how tired I am. I haven't done anything."

"It will happen for a while, I'm afraid. Don't worry. When Porthos returns, we'll be leaving."

d'Artagnan nodded, concentrating on walking straight. Athos was doing most of the work, but by the time they got inside d'Artagnan was having trouble keeping his head up. He sank onto the pallet with a relieved sigh, falling asleep almost at once.