Thank you so much for your support guys! I never really planned for it to go this way, it was just meant to be all fluff, but I just can't help myself… Anyway, I've been working like crazy trying to put this together before the weekend, which I'll be spending away from my computer, enjoying the Swedish summer heatwave (which is rare!) by the beach together with my best friends and so much wine it would make Athos jealous. And of course, my hat.

I hope you enjoy this!

Five.

Every single one of the Musketeers woke up the next morning with a moan of pain. Athos woke first, having not slept more than an hour without having one of his dreams. He reached for the bottle he left next to his bed, as his normal ritual. More wine always helped his hangover. The eye opener. He sat up in the bed, rubbed his face with his hand before having another mouthful of the wine. Looking over at his friends, he really wanted to let them sleep longer, but they had to get moving if they were to catch up with Bastien before he reached the Spanish border. If he did get there, he would be out of their reach, and they would probably lose him forever.

He decided he could let his brothers sleep a little while longer while he prepared breakfast, so he donned his clothes, while stopping now and then to get some more wine down his throat, before he walked downstairs to the kitchen to find the chef.

The tiny little woman with the big smile who had greeted them with open arms last night was already up, baking bread in the kitchen together with a young man.

"Good morning." She greeted, Athos nodding his reply. "Was the room to your comfort?"

"Very much so, madame. I'm here to inquire about breakfast, we haven't eaten in many hours, and we yet have many hours in the saddle. I'm wondering what you have to spare for us? I will happily pay whatever you see feasible."

The woman smiled as she went to get a tray. "Oh you Musketeers, I bet you have a great appetite. Strong men like you. Let me pick some together for you, and hopefully it shall last you for a while on your journey."

Athos smiled as he sat down to wait, and not too long after, the woman handed him a tray with everything he could've asked for. Bread in different variations, cheese, roasted ham, fruit, vegetables, and boiled eggs. A jug that smelled delightful of pressed oranges accompanied it all, together with a jug of fresh water.

Athos brought the tray upstairs, and walked around the beds to wake them all up, starting with d'Artagnan who moaned loudly as he rolled over, his hands going to his side already before his eyes opened. Athos fingers gently peaked underneath the bandage, finding the boys ribcage shifting in the colours of the rainbow, but the stitched wound looking better than hoped.

"Good morning d'Artagnan." Athos said quietly. "There is breakfast on the table, I suggest you dig in before I wake Porthos up. How are you feeling?"

"Oh please don't ask." D'Artagnan sighed as he said up, his hand carefully holding his ribs as he got out of bed, swaying over to the table to have something to eat.

Athos didn't say anything, instead he walked over to Porthos, giving him a rough shake by the shoulder. The man growled, as he threw the blanket off himself. Athos hadn't even realized how bruised Porthos' body was, most part of his left side seemed to be covered in bruises from what Athos could see, which was to expect after having Zad roll over him. They had all ended up underneath their horses a couple of times, and it was usually not as bad as it looked, as long as the horse was spread over a bigger area. When the horse fall and roll over you, it's spreading out its weight, making very little damage to the fragile human body. The real pain comes from when just a part of the horse – a knee, a hoof – comes falling down over you to hit a small area of your body. Concentrated force. That's when bones shatter.

Athos jerked Porthos' shoulder again, and the man answered with another growl.

"There is breakfast on the table." Athos said gentle, which made Porthos eyes pop open. It worked like a charm every time.

The big man heaved himself up, stretching carefully and moaning against his sore body. Everything hurt. It felt like he had been running face first into a brick wall. But that sounded stupid, even for him... He looked down at himself, and saw the purple, green, blue and yellow bruises covering his darker skin. Oh right. Zad.

"You okay?" Athos asked gently as Porthos took his hand, allowing Athos to pull him up to his feet. Porthos grinned sleepy as he patted Athos' shoulder.

"Great, just great."

Athos smiled lightly as Porthos joined d'Artagnan by the table, he himself walked over to Aramis who was whimpering in his bed. Athos didn't have to touch him to know that Aramis had a fever, he could see his brother sweating through the thin sheet covering him. He walked over to the bucket by the wall of the room, grabbing the soaked cloths, rinsing them out slightly before walking back to Aramis, sitting down in the bed next to him and wiping his brow gently. Aramis eyes fluttered open for a second before closing again, and a small moan escaped his lips. Athos continued to wipe the sweat off his forehead and cheeks, his neck and chest. He pulled his fingers gently through Aramis' damp hair, massaging his scalp.

"There's breakfast on the table. I need you to at least try to eat something."

Aramis nodded silently, his eyes open, wet with tears from pain, fever and sheer exhaustion. Athos grabbed him by his elbows, heaving him up into sitting position, immediately noticing the change of colour to Aramis face. Athos had just enough time to grab the bucket standing by his own bed and pushing it in front of Aramis as the man retched violently, his body trembling with the convulsions.

Athos pulled his fingers through Aramis hair to keep the unruly locks out of the way, while squeezing his shoulder as Aramis heaved. Looking up, Athos met the worried eyes of Porthos and d'Artagnan, both of them having naturally stopped eating as Aramis bent over. Porthos filled a cup with water and walked over to his comrades by the bed, sitting down on Aramis' other side, his hand on his friend's shoulder, very careful not to aggravate the sore back. Porthos helped Aramis drink when his own hands betrayed him, shaking violently to the point where Aramis thought he would drop the entire cup into his lap. At the same time, Athos had gotten his hands covered in the salve still on the table from last night, applying it as gently as he possibly could.

Aramis' eyes were shut tight as he tried to mumble grateful words, but his voice was barely audible, hoarse and raspy. He gave up trying to speak and slumbered in exhaustion instead, his breath ragged from the fever, and Porthos helped him lay back down on his side in the bed as Athos put a cold cloth over Aramis brow. The two of them joined a worried d'Artagnan by the table and the trio slowly nibbled away at their breakfast, none of them really feeling like eating anymore.

"He's not going to be able to ride." Porthos said quietly. "And we have to get Bastien before he leaves the country."

"We need full strength to take down Bastien. My guess is that he is worse than LaBarge, and he almost took all four of us down in the brawl. He is not as strong as LaBarge though, but probably even more dangerous." Athos sighed, his mind frantically trying to figure out how to do this, before he looked over at d'Artagnan.

"I'll fight." D'Artagnan shielded his pride immediately, he knew what Athos was thinking.

"No you shouldn't. I don't doubt your ability, but I will not take the chance. Hurt ribs shouldn't be handled lightly, miss a parry and a blow to them could puncture a lung, and there's no way of saving you from that."

D'Artagnan scowled, knowing very well Athos was right, but not wanting his friends to leave him out of anything that would potentially, or well, definitely, put them in danger, put them in a situation he would have no control over and not being able to help.

"We ride alone?" Porthos asked, meeting Athos' nod.

"I don't see any other option."

"You shouldn't go alone!" D'Artagnan immediately protested. "We know what we are up against, and that man will not hold back for anything! We all saw that! He doesn't care what happens to anyone but himself and he enjoyed setting Aramis on fire. He was laughing!"

"We can handle ourselves." Athos argued back.

"I know that Athos, but this man is something extraordinaire. He will not stop for anything. He's no gentleman. He will do everything his sick mind can think of to bring you down. He will fight dirty."

"And that's why I'm bringing Porthos." Athos smiled lightly, his hand gesturing to his friend across the table.

"Dunno if that is a compliment." Porthos mumbled through the bread in his mouth.

"We're not arguing this d'Artagnan. You're to stay here and take care of Aramis. We sent word to Treville yesterday with what happened and our directions, hopefully he'll get it and send men out to search for us and help us. I'll make sure everything is paid for here, including the physician if Aramis, or you, would need it. In the meantime I want you to keep his back clean, cover it with the salve several times a day and keep him cool. And don't do anything that could hurt yourself." Athos rambled, while donning his leather and weapons.

Porthos had gotten up to get ready as well, while Athos grabbed a handkerchief from his bag, neatly rolling up some of the bread and cheese into it, putting it back into his bag for them to eat while riding. He grabbed one of the bottles of wine off the table, placing that carefully into the bag as well. He turned to Aramis, walking over to the man who had once again fallen back into a restless sleep, leaning down close to him and put the back of his hand towards the man's steamy cheek.

"We'll be back before you know it. Rest my friend, rest."

With those words, Athos turned to leave the room, grabbing his bag and hat on the way out. He gave d'Artagnan a pat on the shoulder.

"Stay here. We will return, with or without Bastien. Take care of him, we will see you soon."

And with that, Athos walked out of the room, as Porthos gave d'Artagnan a quick hug, along with a good pat on the back. "Promise to look after him for me."

"I will, if you look after him for me." D'Artagnan mumbled, sending a glance over his shoulder towards his mentor who had already left the room.

"I will protect him with my life."

"Just don't let it cost you your own life. I do like you too, even if you won't believe it." D'Artagnan smiled as Porthos patted his shoulder roughly, forcing d'Artagnan to stumble forward slightly, biting back on the pain vibrating through his side.

"We'll be back before the moon gets full. You have my word on that."

"I'll hold it to you."

And with those last words, Porthos had left the room too, leaving d'Artagnan alone with a whimpering Aramis.

Athos went to talk to the landlady about his friends' prolonged stay, along with their horses, offering her as much payment in advance as he could, with a promise to pay for the rest upon their return. The woman, who might've been the best woman in the world, saw no problem with them staying, and promised the mighty Musketeer that she would look after his friends and make sure they stayed comforted. Porthos had contemplated if he should tell Athos that this woman was flirting with him or not, but decided against it due to their lack of time. He could tell him on the road, he needed to get the horses ready. Athos was incredibly oblivious to her batting eyelashes, of course.

Athos said his thanks before meeting Porthos outside, Roger and Zad ready and waiting for another hard day's ride. Athos took the reins from Porthos, and they both jumped up onto their mounts, and took off. Walking for a good half an hour before easing their horses into a trot, not wanting to go full out on their tired friends. They knew hours of riding would be in front of them. They kept a steady pace, following the tracks they had found after Bastien took off with his friends yesterday. The rain that had fallen during the night had dug out deep tracks of horses' hooves, and the sun that had risen early this morning had already dried it, leaving tracks easy enough to follow. They were both very thankful for that, as long as they could track them, they still had a chance of finding him.

They both rode in silence, emotions of the last couple of days' events replaying in their minds, both of them lost to their own thoughts.

...

Athos' mind was locked on Aramis, pictures of him whimpering in bed flooding before his eyes. They had all been sick before, and not just from a little bit too much alcohol. Athos had seen big battles over the years, which was always followed by injuries of all the worst kinds, and both Aramis and Porthos had been lying on tables somewhere in front of him having their skin stitched back together more than once. Of course it had been reversed as well, him on the table, but that never bothered him that much, seeing his friends hurt was far worse than his own pain. Injuries, he could handle. Sickness, he was bad at. He couldn't help but to feel so extremely useless and helpless when the fever set in and took control. It was like a thief you couldn't catch, someone out to steal your friend's life, but someone you could not challenge to a sword fight. Someone you had to wait out, and just hope the verdict would benefit your own sanity. You can burn and stitch cuts, and you can splinter a broken bone, but a fever…

A few years ago, the flu had ravaged through the garrison, leaving many Musketeers sick and bedbound. A few had paid with their lives. Athos hadn't been touched, and neither had Porthos, but as Aramis hadn't showed up for breakfast, they had gone to his place only to find him trembling violently in his bed. Athos and Porthos had stayed with him for days, despite Treville warning them, not wanting them to catch it themselves. They had stayed. Nothing would make them leave each other's side when someone was that sick. No, of course they had stayed, bathed Aramis in attempt to bring his fever down, held him as he retched anything they tried to feed him, holding his head as they pour water down his throat, and just keeping vigil in shifts for days. They never gave up hope, and one morning during Athos' shift, Aramis eyes had fluttered open to focus on Athos, and Aramis had given him a small, exhausted smile, before dropping back to sleep. It had been one of the most cherished moments of Athos' life.

Porthos had gone through a fever that could've only been sent from hell as well, after a bad blow to his lower back with the edge of a broadsword. They had been ambushed while riding through the woods, and where they had been out riding with no place to stop for stitching. Aramis had done the best he could, but the fever had wrapped itself around Porthos before they knew it, but even so Porthos pressed on that he would ride. There hadn't been much of another option being that they were out in the woods with only their horses, miles from the nearest town.

They rode until Porthos literally fell out of the saddle, body shaking from the fever. They propped him against a tree in a glade nearby, and Athos had left his two comrades alone to find help. He had never pressed Roger as hard as he had that day, the horse galloping through his own exhaustion by willpower alone, knowing his master never asked for him to run like that if it weren't a matter of life and death. Roger had been drenched in sweat and white with lather as they had arrived to the town, the big, powerful beast nearly collapsing into the straw bed Athos got him as soon as he could, getting a stable boy to care for him.

Athos had gotten a cart with two strong horses, a physician and supplies, leaving Roger sleeping in the stall under the bribed stable boy's surveiling eyes. Upon arriving back to his friends, Porthos had the colour of deadly white, and Aramis was on his knees next to him, his rosary entangled around his closed fingers, his head bent down and the whisper of a prayer on his lips. Athos had expected the worst, and almost fallen from the cart in despair. The physician had been at Porthos' side in a moment, assuring Athos that the big man was in fact still alive, by the neck of it.

It had taken what felt like an eternity but was really the span of about a week, before they had gotten the worst of the infection out of Porthos, having taken him to the village, gotten his wound reopened, drained, leeched, cleaned and re-stitched, only to have to open it several times again to drain the puss out of it. Porthos was not a man you could take down easily, and he fought like a bear throughout the whole ordeal, which Athos was eternally grateful for. He had no idea what he would do would he be to lose one of them.

Just the thought of losing another brother sent shivers down his spine, and he quickly shook it off. Aramis would be fine. D'Artagnan would see to that. D'Artagnan would be fine too, a couple of days rest would do him good.

He really liked that young Gascon, and his gut had been telling him there was something about the lad from the moment he had walked into the garrison and challenged Athos, in honour of his father. Athos had been having the upper hand the entire challenge, and he had been careful not to actually hurt the boy. Had it been an actual fight, say with a criminal or possibly a Red Guard, the boy would've been on his knees halfway through it. He had been so raw. Athos had also been able to tell that the boy favoured his right side, and Athos knew what an injured ribcage looked like in a fight, even when adrenaline and emotions took control of the pain, pushing it back. The boy was well trained, but with too much emotions built up inside to be able to control it.

'Talent won't keep you alive if your heart rules your head.'

But there had been so much potential, he had seen the will and strength in his hurt eyes, he had the flexibility, agility and power of a soldier, and the way he had defended his departed father was very noble, as far as Athos was concerned.

D'Artagnan had followed them around after Athos had gotten out of the chains, and he had begged Athos to spar with him, having a taste of how good it had been during the challenge, and eager to learn more. Athos had turned him down several times, weeks passing, mostly to see how much the kid actually had wanted it but also allowing his ribs to heal before testing his full abilities. He never told d'Artagnan that though, he just kept him on an arm's distance as he followed them around like a lost puppy.

Then suddenly one day they had welcomed him into the garrison, and Aramis had tested his shooting skills, then Porthos had tackled him down in a brawl – Porthos had just been playing with him for quite the time, wearing him out, before dumping him in the hay much to the horses' annoyance. Then Athos had handed him a rapier. D'Artagnan had been tired and sore from his earlier opponents, but he didn't turn it down. Instead he fought valiantly and well, until Athos had pinned him down, sprawled over a table, with d'Artagnan's own sword to his throat, without Athos even working up a sweat.

Letting go of him, Athos had given him a soft grin, as Aramis and Porthos had flanked him, Athos sheathing his sword as he looked over to his two friends before looking back to d'Artagnan, meeting the lad's eyes as he was breathing rapidly, sitting on the table, his hands down on his thighs, bent over as he tried to catch a breath.

"Verdict?" Aramis had asked, as Athos nodded approvingly.

"Let's make a man out of him." Athos grinned, looking from Aramis to Porthos, then back to d'Artagnan, locking eyes with the youngster, his dark eyes sparkling with joy and excitement from hearing Athos' words. "Better yet, let's make a Musketeer out of you."

"Athos?"

Athos' mind returned to the present by the sound of Porthos' voice, and he looked over to the man on his left side, an eyebrow rising in question.

"They'll be okay. We'll sort his mess out."

Athos nodded towards him, but he honestly wasn't sure how they would do it. They needed backup, but there was no way they could go to Paris to find their friends. That would mean stop tracking Bastien, giving him a bigger headstart. And after what he did to Aramis, there was no way any of them would just let Bastien flee. They would get him. Preferably to Paris and to court, but Athos really wouldn't be sad if someone accidentally shot Bastien in the stomach and left him to die on the roadside, slowly and painfully. Who knew… Pistols were sneaky weapons, could go off, just like that…

"I can see the doubt in your eyes Athos."

Athos sighed. Porthos knew him so well.

"I don't like this. But we will get Bastien. We will bring him to France where he will pay for his crimes."

"We will do it. We will do it for Aramis."

Athos gave Porthos a short nod in agreement, before the men urged their horses into canter and they once again fell silent.