A/N: WARNING: Violence ahead. For that this chapter is rated M

He rummaged through the bag and made sure he had enough rolls of bandages and duct tapes; sometimes these had been the only things he had to hold together the people around him and Aramis had learned through experience the importance of the combination. A tremble went down his spine as his thoughts raced ahead to Athos and zipping close the bag he stuffed it back in the foot-space before grabbing the other one.

As the car sped on at a pace Porthos rarely employed, Aramis prepared their side-arms.

"Get off the main road at the next turn," d'Artagnan spoke up from his seat in the back, "we may be able to save time this way."

"Are you sure," Porthos asked.

"Yes, it takes two and a half hours to get there and this route might save us fifteen minutes,"

Porthos grunted and took the turn, Aramis felt the seatbelt dig in his side and glanced at the white knuckled grip his friend had on the steering wheel. The big man gave him a sideways look and he knew that the worry there wasn't what had his brother on the edge, Porthos had been studying him ever since their little incidence on the roof with Dujon.

They had deposited the three men with the building security before the police could get there on Alice' call and had ducked out without drawing any further attention to themselves. Aramis rechecked the safety on the weapons and laid them gently on his lap.

"I knew he would talk," he said quietly, "if correctly motivated."

"And if he hadn't? Would you have dropped him?"

He couldn't answer it either way.

"I'm glad he didn't wait for us to find out," he said.

Porthos flinched and Aramis looked away.

He could feel d'Artagnan's surprised eyes on him and he was aware of the sad look his brother tossed his way every now and then. Still Aramis kept his eyes fixed onto the passing greenery, there were a lot of things he could face but the pity in his brother's face wasn't one of them.

He was aware that he was broken; he didn't need the confirmation from Porthos.

No one said a word for the rest of the ride until d'Artagnan announced that they were five minutes from the factory's gates. Porthos stopped the car and reversed it much to the boy's surprise and Aramis rolled his eyes at the younger one's bewildered expression.

"There's no need to announce ourselves," the big man told d'Artagnan as he turned the car into a grove of trees, "if we're lucky they wouldn't even know we were there."

He guided the car through the uneven terrain and parked it where it could not be seen from the road. The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above and mixing with the shadows worked perfectly to camouflage the vehicle. As they exited from the car Aramis only hoped that Athos was not in a condition that would make the distance to the car a problem.

Closing the door behind him Aramis turned to see the two men glaring at each other.

"And where do you think you're going?" Porthos blocked d'Artagnan's way.

The younger man blinked up at him; his eyes narrowed and chin out.

"I'm coming with you,"

"No you're not,"

"You can't stop me,"

"I think I can spare some of my duct tape," Aramis offered, "but I'd rather have you ready with the car when we get back with Athos."

D'Artagnan frowned at him, looking unsure as he crossed his arms before him and widened his stance to hold his ground. Aramis raised a brow, he could see the fear lurking in those dark eyes but it was eclipsed by defiant stubbornness, he had known it wouldn't be easy to intimidate the lad.

"You get the duct tape while I hold him down?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head and couldn't stop by responding to his brother's grin with his own. Taking the keys from Porthos, he grasped d'Artagnan by the shoulder and turned him back to the car. He dropped the keys in the young hacker's hand.

"We need you to be our getaway," he said and hoped that the boy would take it as the sign of trust that it was, "so don't run off before we get back."

The narrow face regarded him with a grim sort of weariness, lips pursed close in a thin line and dark eyes intent. Until d'Artagnan gave a short nod and let his arms drop by his side in a huff.

"Fine," he said grumbling some choice words that left the other two men grinning.

"Good boy," Aramis couldn't help but pat the younger man on the head, grinning at the deep scowl as the hacker halfheartedly shoved him away, "and don't destroy the upholstery," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan threw him a rude gesture and went around the car to sit behind the steering wheel. Smiling at the dark glare focused his way; Aramis followed Porthos' lead by tucking his weapon at the small of his back and walking out of the grove. They trudged along the dirt edge of the road in silence until the red bricked building came into view.

The 'L' shaped structure was four storeys tall and deceptively quiet. They moved in an unspoken agreement, scanning the overgrown grounds and ducking low to avoid detection from the many windows at the ground floor. They came up on either side of the single door set in the building face and pressed back flat against the wall.

"You do know that he's trying to help right his wrong don't you?" Aramis said as he moved under the ledge to peer in through the broken gap in the smoggy window glass.

There were only two men posted inside and he mused that either Mendoza was overconfident or this place wasn't as important as they had thought. Praying it was the first one, Aramis signaled the number to his friend.

His irritation flaring as the big man snuck opened the door and slipped inside without warning. Cursing under his breath Aramis followed him in and found the two guards unconscious.

"I know he's trying, I just don't want to see him dead because of it," Porthos grinned at him as they worked to strip the men of their weapons.

"Aww Porthos you do care," Aramis smirked and quickly zip-tied the guards, taping their mouths shut.

"He's a good kid, but reckless," Porthos nodded as they moved carefully through the desolate lobby.

"Which one of us isn't?"

Aramis didn't glance back as he caught the shadow of the man on patrol in the corridor ahead and moved forwards to wrap an arm around his throat. When he felt the man go limp in his grasp he let him slump against the wall, working quickly to secure him.

He stopped at the end of the corridor and felt Porthos come to a standstill a few steps behind him. He glanced back to find his friend looking at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Aramis shrugged a shoulder, a grin twitching at the corner of his lips that had the big man rolling his eyes.

"Fine but if I find a motorcycle in his garage I'm dismantling it," Porthos said.

Aramis turned his gaze around from scouring the hall beyond and glared at the man.

"I knew it. I knew it was you."

He had been sure it was Porthos that had left his dear Mercury in pieces but his friend had never accepted it out loud, even when he had helped Aramis put it back together before they had joined the army.

"Yeah well better me dismantling it than you crashing it,"

"It happened one time and it wasn't that bad an accident," he said before it struck him, "wait, you destroyed my motorcycle out of some twisted protective instincts?"

Porthos crossed his arms and glared right back at him.

"What do you think?"

"I thought it was pent up rage from not going to the Court,"

"It was pent up rage at you nearly breaking open your skull," Porthos walked past him and grabbed the nearest man from the five who had been playing cards.

Aramis followed close, taking out the first with the butt of his weapon to the head, disarming the second and dipping under the punch coming his way from the third. He turned to knock out the second one, aware that Porthos would take care of the other. A grin escaped him when he turned to find his friend lowering the unconscious man over the two by his feet.

Working in tandem they made sure this lot wouldn't be a problem in the near future.

Aramis straightened to regard the rotting sofas and a few broken tables that spoke of the area once used as a break room. To his left was a corridor lined by doors on either side, some of which were thrown open from where washed out sunlight spilled through; and up ahead of him the hall continued past the two staircases.

"Between the three of us, I think we'll make a psychologist very rich one day," he told his friend before nodding to the corridor, "I'll take that and you search ahead?"

"We meet back here,"

Aramis nodded and held his weapon ready; this was the part he hated, the point where he had to see one of his brothers go into danger alone. But it was a mutual feeling and the warnings were loud though unspoken between them as they parted ways.

He moved along the shadows of the corridor, peering around moldy door frames and gently pushing open doors that were close. Room after room he found empty and abandoned and a strange feeling crawled up his spine. This was too simple, too easy and Aramis couldn't shake his unease over it.

Stopping at the end of the corridor Aramis stared at the closed door before him. It was built out of heavy metal and at the back of his mind he knew what he was looking at. Holding his weapon steady he reached out and opened the door, ready to face a an abandoned freezer that he had little hope of being clean considering the state of the building.

Chilly mist rolled out to him.

Freezing and dry on his skin…

…snow crunching under his boots, the smell of frozen woods lingered about him when the sound of gunshot in the distance broke the air…

…Aramis shook his head and pried his fingers away from the door handle. This was not right; the factory was abandoned so there was no need for a working freezer. He didn't want to consider what Mendoza needed it for and sucked in a sharp breath, the horrible thought dawning at him that Athos could be in there…

…his eyes catch the sharp blue ones of his friend and they drop the firewood they had been collecting. It's a secure area they are sure of it, but his fear is reflected in Marsac's gaze as the two of them break into a jog to get back to the campsite…

…he shivered and zipped closed his jacket.

The fluorescent light thickened the haze about him as his breath puffed out in shredded plumes. His heart fluttered in his chest at the thought of finding his brother in there as his eyes darted from the empty meat hooks to regard what his toe had bumped into.

Milky eyes in a sunken face gazed back at him from the floor…

…he's dropping to his knees by the black clad figure on the ground, the red stain had spread too dark under the man yet he hoped to find a pulse under the cold skin. The blank look in Marvin's eyes is fixed on the way they had come from.

"He was coming for us," Marsac moves ahead with caution.

He gently closes the dark eyes of the dead young man and follows his friend...

…the shudder that rocked him had nothing to do with the cold he wasn't registering any more. The body at his feet had taken a bullet to the head and Aramis blinked rapidly until his mind linked the face with the name.

He had found Cornet.

Beside him were his men, but there were more than four bodies in the room.

"Not Athos please," it fell from numbing lips in a desperate plea, "not Athos, not Athos, not Athos,"

He stumbled ahead from one body to the next, hoping, wishing, praying that he would wake up from this nightmare…

…Donovan, O'Bryan, Williams…

…"Not Athos, not Athos…"

…the coppery tang of blood in the air; Corbin, David, Henry…"

… "Please not Athos…"

…Matt, Anthony, George, Tommy…

…he swallowed back the urge to throw up. Aramis never registered the men who came in after him, he never saw the butt of the gun that smacked against the back of his head and dropped him unconscious.

He pressed back against the wall and peered around the edge. The staircase beside him lay silent and he let his gaze travel to the one opposite. The dust on the chipped tiles was disturbed by many feet that had trodden up and down the stairs recently, but as he cocked his head to the side to listen for the sound of footsteps there were none forthcoming.

Porthos hurried across the stair cases and past the broad closed panels of service elevators. He stopped before the wide double doors set at the end of the hall and squinted through the square glass in the door that may once had been clean. He could make out machinery and what could be a conveyer belt in the room ahead.

Weary of people who could be behind any piece of equipment, Porthos nudged open the doors just enough to slip through.

The wall far to his side was mostly windows and despite the grime on the broken glass panes the light was still too much for his liking. Porthos moved slowly, making sure to not make a sound as he covered the distance from pillar to pillar.

"Porthos…?"

There by the wall, hair plastered to his skull, pale as a ghost was Athos.

In three long bounds Porthos crossed the distance between them and wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders pulling him in an embrace. He didn't miss the way the other man shivered in his grasp and held on even tighter, letting both their fears abate as he ignored the moisture that burned in the corner of his eyes.

"Thought I'd find you half dead," he pulled back, noticing the damp clothes as he grasped the back of Athos's neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"There still may be a chance of that," Athos said.

"What?" Porthos stepped back further, "where are you hurt?"

He noticed that his friend was leaning against the wall, but not out of choice. His blood boiled at the manacle locked around the man's waist and anger flashed hot in his eyes at the sight of the destroyed bandage around the ankle that clearly spoke of its mistreatment.

Porthos knew the manacle was closed with the lock but it didn't stop him from grasping the metal and pulling with all his might, he wanted to rip the thing right out of the wall.

Athos coughed and reached out to him.

"Stop, stop, the key's with Mendoza,"

Porthos found it hard to pull his gaze away from the torn and bloody wrists, the rope still hanging around one of them.

"The crossbows," Athos rasped and cleared his throat, "you have to stop them,"

Porthos glanced the way his brother was looking and saw what he was talking about. Taking out his dagger from the sheath around his leg he marched over to the pillar and cut the silver wire that seemed to link the crossbow to the mechanism around the clock taped beside it. It seemed the clock was a timer waiting to depress the trigger of the crossbow.

"There are ten more," Athos said, "and around thirty minutes left before they set off,"

Rage seethed under his skin as he grit his teeth and went over to the other crossbow Athos had nodded towards, he wanted to beat Mendoza into a bloody pulp for putting his friend in a kill-trap like some injured animal. Porthos looked around until he found a plastic barrel that he used to reach the second one and then the third, fourth and fifth crossbow; Mendoza had made sure to have them spread out over the area and it took him a minute to spot the next one.

That was when the double doors were thrown open.

Porthos turned with his weapon only to find all the weapons of his enemy pointed not at him but towards his injured friend.

"Look at that Athos, I didn't have to chase them down after all," Mendoza moved past the three men who had accompanied him, "and I'm sure they'll know where The Hound is,"

Porthos found the man studying him and tamped down on the urge to shudder at the uncomfortable crawling gaze.

"You know where the hacker is," Mendoza studied him,"isn't that so?"

"Even if I did, what makes you think I'll tell you?"

"I have my ways," a smile slithered onto the man's face, "just like I know you'll drop your weapon and give yourself up,"

Porthos' finger curled around the trigger and three guns pointed at Athos. He growled deep in his throat, hating the fact that he could do nothing to save his friend, that Mendoza had them both pinned in every way that mattered. Glancing aside he found his friend glaring at the enemy in tight lipped fury.

Porthos lowered his weapon slowly.

Let the man take it from his limp grasp.

And when the punch across his face came, Porthos hoped that Aramis would come in to tip the scales.

He wasn't much surprised at the next blow although he caught the fist the third time around. Mendoza grinned at him, his beady eyes flicking in the direction of Athos. The threat wasn't worded bit crystal clear and Porthos let go of the fist in his grip.

And then the blows rained wild.

Distantly he heard Athos yell at the man to stop but it seemed like ages until the heavy man was out of breath. Porthos reeled to grasp a pillar in order to keep standing.

"Bring him along," Mendoza ordered.

And hands grasped his arms, twisting them back and tying up his wrists. He refused to be dragged around and forced his feet under him, willing his legs to take his weight as he was pulled out of the workroom where Athos had been.

He shook his head to clear the blood from his eye that seeped from cut above it and found two men coming up to them from the opposite direction; between them they held up a limp figure Porthos would recognize anywhere.

"Aramis…"

"Ah yes, the other one," Mendoza spared a glance over his shoulder as he waddled up the stairs, "bring them up."

Even as he was thrown into a chair Porthos had his gaze fixed on his unconscious friend. It slightly eased the vice around his heart to see the man stirring as his arms were bound to the arms of the chair he was deposited in.

A growl ripped through him as Mendoza headed over to his friend and pulled his head up by his hair.

Aramis winced as his dark eyes squinted at the face before him.

"So good of you to join us, I've been told you're rather a violent sort," Mendoza said.

And just as Porthos had expected Aramis head-butted the man, rising up to his feet he rammed the chair back into the man behind him, throwing him against the wall with a bone jarring crunch.

"Enough!" Mendoza pressed the muzzle of his gun against Porthos' head, "sit down or I'll blow his brains out!"

Wide dark eyes sought out Porthos'.

He could tell that it was not just the mix of unconsciousness and capture that was churning in the turmoil in brother's gaze, he could read fear there and he knew Aramis feared not for himself but his friends.

"I found Athos alive," he said.

"For now," Mendoza snarled, wiping the blood from his nose.

Porthos paid him no mind and silently urged him friend to come out of the terror he was wading in. Moving slowly, his brother awkwardly sat back down in the chair he was bound to. Counting it as a win, their captor glanced at the unconscious man on the floor and grinned at Aramis.

"As I was saying," he said, "I know you two had been with The Hound this morning. So it makes sense that you would know where he is and he knows where my money is."

Mendoza fixed Aramis with a lewd grin.

"You will tell me where The Hound is,"

"Good luck with that happening," Aramis snorted.

Mendoza turned around and Porthos had no time to brace himself for the meaty fist that connected with the side of his face. His teeth clicked with the force of the hit and he bit his cheek, blood coating the inside of his mouth immediately.

"Wrong answer," Mendoza said, "where is The Hound?"

Aramis stayed quiet.

Porthos' head snapped back at the next hit. Blood trickled out of the cut high on his cheek and soaked his beard.

"Wrong answer again," Mendoza smirked at the other man and repeated his question.

Aramis' eyes had a wet sheen over them, his face as white as a polished marble and just as blank as a statue carved out of it. Porthos silently willed his brother to not give the boy up; he could take a few hits he was sure, in fact he bet himself that he could take more hits than Mendoza had the stamina to dole out.

The next hit left his ears ringing.

When he rolled his head back straight it was to meet his brother's gaze head on. He could tell Aramis had understood the plea and he reveled in the silent support that bore him forwards for the next blows.

His friend didn't flinch once, nor did he look away.

The mute agony in the brown eyes fixed on him bolstered his fortitude. It was as he had wanted that eventually Mendoza was left gasping for breath. And still Aramis held his gaze even though Porthos could only see out of his right eye, his left having swollen shut by then.

"Just to let you know Mendoza," Aramis' voice didn't waver, his tone was flat and he didn't look at the man, "I will punch your face in for this."

Porthos sat up straighter as something darker than pain and helpless grief flashed in the eyes that beheld him. The large man beside him gulped in a few more breaths before he raised his hand and wriggled his thick fingers at Aramis.

"And I drowned Athos under my hand, what'll you do about that?" he challenged.

"Nail it to the wall,"

Mendoza laughed.

But Porthos saw what lurked in his brother's eyes and he pitied the laughing fool; all the while hoping and praying that d'Artagnan had had the sense to call backup by now.

He had rolled down the car window and was halfway draped out of it. The sun had begun nearing the horizon a while ago and d'Artagnan glanced again at the way the other two had gone. Worry nibbled at his thoughts as he tried to keep them from straying towards horrible scenarios. Staring through the gap in the trees he gazed at the road beyond and sat up abruptly when a car sped by.

He could have sworn that he had seen Dujon behind the steering wheel.

D'Artagnan exited the car and made to the edge of the road, staring down the way the car had gone and wishing that there was some way to confirm his suspicions. Last he had had seen Dujon, the man and his two companions were awaiting the police to take a shake of his head d'Artagnan hurried back to the car as he dialed the number of Treville's office on his mobile phone, the only way of contact he had with the man. The engine revved to life as muttered under his breath for the Captain to take the call.

He had just managed to guide the vehicle back onto the road when the Captain picked up.

"Treville,"

"Captain this is d'Artagnan we found Athos at least I think we did because Aramis and Porthos said that Mendoza would have holed up in a place the police wouldn't know about and Alice said had Cornet found the workshop and Dujon told us where it is but now I think Dujon is here and the other two aren't back yet and I think they might in trouble –"

"d'Artagnan?" he could hear the frown in the Captain's voice, "slow down lad what are you talking about? Where are the other two?"

He stared down the road as the car ahead turned right onto a faded dirt path and he just knew that if Dujon was here it couldn't end well for the two who had gone in there. They were in there because of his mistakes and d'Artagnan had had just about enough of the mess that seemed to keep on stretching from that one error.

No one had ever accused him of being patient.

"D'Artagnan?"

He jumped slightly at the sharp voice in his ear and drew the phone away from himself. With another shake of his head he set the car in motion, ignoring the Captain's demand for his attention as he turned onto the path which led to the rusting gates of the factory that were thrown open wide. Eyeing the silent building before him and the car that was rolling ahead over its grounds, he put the phone back to his ear.

"Trace my phone Captain and bring help," he tossed the device on the seat beside him.

This was Athos' car and he felt a twinge of guilt for what he was about to do; but he figured one more notch after what he had done to the man, especially in the way of saving his life was worth it. D'Artagnan rechecked his belt, took a deep breath and sped the car on, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

Aramis and Porthos had wanted quiet and stealthy but clearly that wasn't the way he mused as a grin broke on his face, his head wobbling slightly as the car flew over the bumpy ground. He saw the surprise in Dujon's eyes as the man turned away for a hasty exit just before d'Artagnan drove Athos' car into the side of the other vehicle.

The seat belt dug a burning line across his torso as white filled in his vision. The airbags knocked the breath out of him.

His chest hurt.

Gasping at the spreading fire in his breath he curled an arm around his ribs and could have promised anyone who would believe him that he felt the cracks in his bones under his hand.

Forcing his head up d'Artagnan peered through the windshield across the crushed metal; his swimming vision took some minutes to focus on the men in the car beyond. He couldn't tell if they were dead or unconscious but d'Artagnan hopped that it was the latter. He knew that even when they would come around it would be a struggle to escape from the vehicle that was pinned to the wall.

With a trembling hand he unbuckled the seatbelt and exited the car. Cradling his aching ribs he slowly made his way to the door, hoping the others had made use of the distraction he had offered. His brain, half addled by the pain that rose and fell with every breath, failed to caution him about the way he simply walked into the factory.

He only paused when he saw the two men squirming in their bindings.

"Huh," he nodded vaguely, "so they went by here,"

The men wriggled as he sucked in a breath and bent to pick up one of the discarded weapons. The gun was an awkward weight in his grasp as he moved on ahead. D'Artagnan was not much surprised to find another bunch of tied up men left in the hall and wondered what his life had come to be.

"No need to get up on my account gentlemen," he walked past the fidgeting group.

Stopping only when he heard rapid footfalls ahead.

He stood more than halfway across the hall and watched two figures appear out of bend in the wall a few feet away from him. Two figures that he did not recognize and d'Artagnan raised his weapon and fired. The sound wasn't as deafening as the pain that rolled down his shoulder and into his lungs at the force of the recoil.

D'Artagnan clenched his eyes shut and gasped as two more shots rang out.

Pressing a hand against the wall for support he did a mental check for new wounds. He reasoned that he wouldn't be standing if there were any bleeding bullet holes and blinked open his eyes. It was to see the two men sprawled onto the ground, one of them lying still while the other clutched at his bleeding leg. His eyes widened with surprise as relief edged cautiously closer in his thoughts.

D'Artagnan staggered ahead and stopped by the wounded men to look up at the landing where Aramis stood. The man nodded at him as he threw aside a gun and turned away, unwinding what looked like wooden arms of a chair from his forearms.

"Get Porthos," he tossed over his shoulder.

D'Artagnan frowned as he slowly made his way up the stairs. He had expected a better welcome, had been looking forward to surprise if not gratitude at least.

"Hello d'Artagnan fancy meeting you here," he muttered under his breath in a singsong voice, "I just thought you might need me to save your sorry butts. Oh please, we were just waiting to see if you'd follow us in. How terribly clever of you."

He stopped the one man conversation he had going when he reached the landing and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

"Oh joy more stairs,"

"And where do you think you're off to Mendoza?" Aramis voice filtered down to him.

D'Artagnan pushed ahead.

Now that he paid attention to it there was something off in the man's voice, something like the chilly edge of a bloodthirsty blade. He came up into the corridor to find Mendoza backtracking from an advancing Aramis.

"The Hound! You were here all along!" the large man stopped in his tracks.

"I can see you're busy so let me just get out of your way," d'Artagnan gave him a smug grin and crossed into the room that had the door left open.

Inside he found a man unconscious and bleeding from his shoulder but that was not what brought him to a breath stuttering halt. It was the man slumped in the chair beyond.

"Porthos?" he exhaled.

If the man heard him he made no response, his head remained eerily still where it was dipped down to his chest. D'Artagnan felt relieved tears sting his eyes at the sight of the chest moving, he hadn't even realized how much it would hurt to see one of these idiots dead.

Slowly he crouched before the man and reached up. Carefully, gently, he braced the face with a hand on either side and lifted.

The sight made his blood boil.

Both of Porthos' eyes were swollen shut, his skin puffed and broken in places.

"Porthos?" he whispered, "C'mon now. You can't let this beat you."

The bloodied lips moved, twitched as though in a smile.

"St'll unbeat'n,"

"That's right," he grinned, eyes bright with unshed tears, "just hold on alright? I'm going to free your hands."

He hurried behind the man and took his switchblade to the blood soaked ropes; curses falling from his lips when he felt the blade slip and nick the torn skin further. When his arms fell free beside him it was only d'Artagnan's quick reflexes that stopped Porthos from toppling off the chair as he sagged.

"Whoa hey! Alright, alright, I gotcha," d'Artagnan grunted under the weight.

" 'thos, d'wn in w'rksh'p." Porthos gasped, "needs 'elp. Keys w'M'nd'za,"

"We'll get to him,"

"No time," Porthos pushed away from him, "keys w'M'nd'za. N'time."

D'Artagnan helped the man lean back against the wall and patting his knee he pushed again to his feet.

"I'll get the keys and Athos," he said.

He went on into the corridor where the screams had died down; thick whimpers filled the air instead. D'Artagnan carefully approached Aramis who had Mendoza stuck to the wall as he proceeded to deliver blow after blow to the man's face. He averted his eyes from the damage and called to Aramis.

Once, twice.

D'Artagnan shifted on his feet.

"Aramis, Porthos needs your help," he said.

The man stopped, fist still raised in the air.

The eyes that turned to regard him were of death itself.

D'Artagnan shifted back a step.

"Porthos needs you and apparently Athos is running out of time," he was proud that his voice came out steady, "Mendoza has the keys that I need."

Aramis blinked.

He turned back to the man in his hold and stepped back from him. They watched quietly as Mendoza slumped down to the floor.

Taking it as a permission to approach d'Artagnan darted forwards and began searching for the keys, keeping his gaze deliberately below the man's face. His success on his find turned to sickening horror when he saw Aramis unsheathe the dagger strapped to his leg and went ahead to use it to pin Mendoza's hand to the wall next to his tilted head.

"I'll get Porthos," Aramis said.

He had tried.

There were parallel lines in bruises around his waist where the manacle had cut into his skin.

With most of his weight on his good foot it had been a pathetic struggle.

But he had tried, not by the thought of saving himself but his brothers.

The fact that Aramis hadn't found him after Porthos told him that his other friend had been captured as well. Athos did not want to be the leverage held over his friends; he refused to do nothing while he was sure they suffered. Breathing heavily, he slumped back against the wall and blinked away the sweat from his eyes. His uninjured food ached but that was nothing compared to the bone deep throb in his other ankle. According to the nearest clock he had a little under ten minutes left.

Fear was a strange flavor on his tongue.

It left his heart racing as if it could outrun death.

Athos bit back a scream.

The last thing he wanted was to beg for mercy from where he knew it wouldn't come. He had a feeling that should he yell Mendoza would drag his brothers to him and make them witness his end. If he was to die he wouldn't want that to be the most powerful memory of him for his brothers.

But Athos did not want to die.

He sucked in a breath and strained against the metal.

His head shot up as the double doors opened and d'Artagnan half ran half stumbled in like a disoriented colt.

"Athos!" he rushed over, gasping for breath, "Athos!"

He held out the silver key in his hand, his other pressed against the side of his chest. Athos snatched it from his grasp as the boy bent to clasp his knees and breathe. As he turned the key in the lock, he kept an eye on the young hacker who seemed about to keel over.

It clicked.

He pulled.

The lock didn't open.

Athos looked up in horror at the clock.

Five minutes.

"The crossbows," Aramis called from the door, "cut the wires!"

Athos turned his head to see him supporting Porthos. As d'Artagnan hurried to the nearest rigged crossbow Aramis eased his friend down next to the nearest pillar and hurried over to Athos. There was a thick bunch of keys in his hands.

"One of them has to work right?"

Athos nodded as his friend set to work and over his shoulder he saw d'Artagnan using the same plastic barrel Porthos had used to reach the wires he had to cut; the frown on his face a mixture of pain and determination. Athos looked back down when he heard the lock open. His breath hitched as Aramis quickly drew it out and threw it away.

Three minutes.

Aramis pulled at the manacle, trying to pry open where the curved metal joined to form the loop. They each held onto the curved bar of thick metal and pushed and pulled. Athos' grip slipped and he dropped his weight on his broken ankle, gasping at the spike of thorny pain that shot up to his hip.

"It's alright Athos, you're alright," Aramis' voice filtered through the haze of pain, "I've got you,"

Sucking in a deep breath Athos looked to d'Artagnan. He had lost track of how many crossbows the younger man had disarmed but he could see that he was still pushing the blue plastic barrel towards another pillar yet.

The clock announced there were barely two minutes left to him.

"There's no way to stop this," it left him in a hushed tone, "it's over 'Mis."

"No," Aramis held him by his upper arms and ducked to catch his gaze, "it's not over Athos, you're not dying today."

Moisture rose unbidden in his eyes and he found himself clutching at his brother's hand that rested on his arm.

"It's –"

"It will be alright," Aramis bit out, "we'll get through this."

It was probably the biggest and last lie of his life but Athos nodded along. He looked past Aramis at the young hacker who was pushing the barrel to another pillar and to Porthos who was trying to get to his feet using the pillar at his back.

There was less than a minute left.

Athos looked to Aramis and in that instance he knew. He knew that his brother was aware of what was going on behind him; he knew that the man was alert to the slipping time and to his horror Athos knew now what he was up to.

"No," he shook his head and shoved at his friend, "No!"

Aramis' fingers' dug in his biceps and the man had the nerve to give him an infuriated glare.

With a rage that crackled under his skin Athos glared back.

"MOVE DANM YOU!"

"No,"

Eleven alarms wailed –

–Porthos stumbled to his knees –

–one crossbow triggered –

–d'Artagnan stopped in his tracks –

–one bolt flew to its mark –

–it found two.

TBC

This was the first coherent chapter in my mind for this story hence the faster update :) [with that ending, not sure if its a good thing though]

Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. To the people who leave me reviews you are the reason I write when I should be asleep [and I DO need it] and Clara, Ruth and Debbie thank you so much for your continuous support, your words leave me grinning like a fool.

*this is me running away to hide*