As always, thanks for your feedback! :) Are you ready for a reunion?

Eleven.

They rode through the night, rested during the hottest hour of the day, and then rode the following night. By the time Athos and Porthos came back to the inn where they had left their friends, dawn was only a few hours away, the sounds of birds coming alive as a slow breeze eased through the woods.

The sight of the inn in the distance had been a welcoming one, and now they reined in their horses, dismounting and leading the tired horses into the stable in the back. Buttercup lifted her head and whinnied quietly as a welcome back upon recognizing her friends. Belle moved closer to the stall as well, shaking her head with her ears pricked forward. Roger and Zad both answered softly as Athos and Porthos untacked them, placing them in stalls. Athos dug in his saddlebag to find treats, which he handed to all four horses, giving the mares a scratch on their foreheads as well, before the two men walked into the inn, which lay quiet at the moment, all lodgers and owners still asleep.

Athos and Porthos quietly made their way upstairs, to the room where they had last seen their friends, and Athos peaked in through the door. The sight that met him made him smile, his heart melting knowing they were still safe.

There were four beds in the room, as it had been. Two of the beds stood empty, while the other two were occupied by sleeping men. D'Artagnan was in one of the far off corners, sleeping on his unhurt side, his legs curled up and hugging his pillow. Aramis was in the bed standing by the other far corner, sleeping on his stomach, a sheet entangled around his legs, one arm under his pillow and one hanging limply off the bed. His hair was a big mess. 'Well, we all have to sort out our hairdo's after this is done with', Athos thought, pulling his fingers through his own bird's nest stuck to his head.

Athos and Porthos made their way inside, as quiet as possible not to wake the other two, and Athos immediately made his way to Aramis, putting the back of his hand carefully towards Aramis stubbly cheek, and he instantly released the breath he didn't even knew he was holding. Aramis' clammy skin was gone, the fever had broken and he was resting peacefully, his body and mind at ease. Athos leaned over him and gently lifted his linen sweater, desperate to see the extent of the injury to his back. He was positively amazed at how well it looked. There were some scarring on a few patches along his back, but it had a pleasant colour and all the blisters were gone. It still had a long way to go before being completely healed, but it was definitely a whole lot better.

Athos felt his knees buckle with relief as he walked over and sat down at one of the chairs by the table, meeting Porthos' worried eyes. Athos just gave him a wide smile and a nod, and he could see Porthos relax substantially. Athos looked over to d'Artagnan sleeping on the bed where Porthos was standing, and Porthos nodded back to Athos. He seemed fine too.

Porthos shoulders slumbered and he put away his hat, pulled off his gloves and his heavy leather jacket, hanging it over the backrest of a chair. He pulled his boots and trousers off, leaving it with the rest, before he climbed into one of the beds.

"Good night Athos."

"Good night Porthos."

Athos sat a long time just watching his friends as they slept, the bottle that had been standing on the table was slowly being emptied. It was over. Bastien was on his way back to Paris, he was not longer on their hands, and Athos was proud that they had managed to catch him. He was being dragged to justice, their fellow Musketeers making sure of that. And Treville would make sure he got what he deserved. And now they had arrived here, seeing their friends still fully alive and looking a lot healthier than earlier. The big lump that had been stuck in his throat since they separated was gone in an instant.

Athos smiled to himself, finishing the bottle before undressing down to his breeches, before climbing into the bed, and for the first time in a long time, he slept without nightmares.

…

His head was spinning dangerously, and he pressed a hand towards the nearest tree. The rough, cold bark was cutting gashes into his palm as he slid down to a knee, violently retching. Over and over until there was nothing left.

There was nothing left. Nothing.

By his feet were twenty dead Musketeers. Twenty. They were not meant to be dead. They were meant to be training. It was meant to be an exercise. Not a massacre. Last night they had been happily feasting on a deer Marsac had brought down, Aramis had cooked it over a big fire. They had been drinking but not excessively, just enough. They had shared stories, songs and memories of their homes. They had told each other about their worries, their loves, their dreams and futures. They had been friends enjoying each other's company.

Aramis looked over to where crows were dragging skin from bones, and he turned over and retched again, nothing but sour tasting bile.

He was alone. Alone with twenty dead bodies, alone with twenty dead friends. They had only taken down a few of their attackers, and they had brought their own with them upon leaving as they believed everyone to be dead. Aramis barely remembered fighting, his head was hurting so bad, the cough in his throat hurting painfully. It was so cold.

He took a tentative step forward. Almost fell, but managed to find his knees with his hands, leaning over he closed his eyes and breathed as the white searing light left his vision. He had to walk away from his. Like Marsac had. Marsac had been his brother, the first man who had greeted him into the team, the first one to pat his back as he earned his commission and they had spent years fighting by each other's side. They were brothers, and Aramis had thought that would never change. He would never leave Marsac, and Marsac would never leave him.

Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno. One for all and all for one.

But Marsac couldn't stay. He was so ridden with guilt – why was he alive and they were not? He had just gotten up and left, too stricken by the horror box realize that he left Aramis there, left him with the crows and wolves and thieves and the cold and dark night. Aramis could've gotten up too, and walked away from it. He didn't have to sit with the bodies, they were dead and wouldn't know if he left them. But he couldn't leave them, he couldn't leave their dead bodies alone. He had to guard his friends. He hadn't been able to guard their lives, but he would guard their bodies so they could be brought home to their families for proper burials. Someone would come for him, someone would.

So he sat down. Right amongst them. He found a sword. It was newly polished – the owner hadn't even had the time to swing it before losing the battle.

Aramis dropped it and bent over to retch again.

The night was the most difficult hour of the day. There were wolves coming in, smelling the dead meat, and what they thought was an easy meal. They were surrounding him, creeping into the camp, their paws deadly quiet against the snow. Aramis stood in the middle with his own sword that he had found somewhere amongst the bodies. The wolves were looking at him with wary, yellow eyes that seemed to burn like fire in the moonlight.

One wolf put his sharp teeth into a Musketeers thigh and ripped a big chunk of frozen meet straight off the bone, and that's when Aramis lost all the control he had promised himself to keep hold of. He was thrashing his sword best he could, finding another sword in his frantic dance, waving them around like possessed, screaming from the top of his lungs, letting all anger, worry, fear, angst and hatred out. Nothing would ever hurt his friends again and get away with it. He would kill everything that dared to go near the camp.

One for all and all for one.

Athos was suddenly in his dream, holding him tight to his chest, brushing his hair, begging him to calm down. Aramis looked into his eyes, and Athos promised to never leave him behind.

Then Aramis closed his eyes, and as if it had all been a dream, Athos was gone, once again leaving Aramis hurt, feverish and completely, utterly alone.

'No, Athos, no please, do not leave me. No, you promised…!'

Aramis was jolted from his nightmare by a pair of strong hands. He panicked for a second, someone had a firm grip of his shoulders, shaking him wildly while repeating his name over and over.

"Aramis, come on, snap out of it. Open our eyes, we are here."

That voice. Aramis eyes snapped open, to find a pair of clear blue eyes stare back at him. They were filled with worry, panic, sorrow, anxiety and hurt, tears oozing on the edge of breaking lose.

"Athos?" Aramis barely breathed the word, so afraid that this would be a dream. 'Please don't let this be a dream. Please, let him be here.'

"It's me Aramis. We are back. We are safe and we have returned to you just like we said we would. We will never, ever abandon you. Never! Do you hear that!?"

Athos voice was loud, but he was not angry. Well, at least not with Aramis, how he was feeling about his own decisions at the moment was another story.

Aramis flailed out of the bed, jumping to wrap his arms around Athos' neck. Taken aback by the sudden reaction and speed, Athos fell backwards and they both landed in a pile on the floor, hugging tightly, rocking each other back and forth.

"You came back." Aramis whispered through the tears falling from his eyes, as they broke free.

Athos put his hands on Aramis' cheeks, holding him close.

"I told you I will never leave you, and I mean that. I am sorry we left. But it's all over. Treville has Bastien. He will not be a bother. We are back here. And I will never, ever leave you."

Aramis nodded, once again wrapping his arms around Athos. The normally so restricted man who would not bend to hugging and sobbing on the floor in the early wee of the morning, was now embracing it with open arms. And it was beautiful. It was so human. Aramis suddenly remembered there was one more person he needed to see, and he spun his head around only to be grabbed by two big hands by his armpits, pulled roughly to his feet, spun around and wrapped into a big bear hug from Porthos. They didn't say anything, they just hugged it out, enjoying the moment. D'Artagnan offered Athos a hand up, and Athos got up, pulling his lad into a hug as well.

They had all been sleeping peacefully and exhaustedly when Aramis thrashing violently in the bed, shouting for Athos to stay, had woken them up. No matter how tired any of them were, they got up to shake him awake. They would not let him suffer anymore, they were there, and they were always there.

As Aramis and Porthos broke apart, Porthos shared a hug with d'Artagnan as well, as Aramis just stood still and breathed in the scene, before he put his hands on Athos and Porthos shoulders, his medically trained eyes looking over them both, searching for injuries.

"We are both fine Aramis. Tired perhaps from the lack of sleep, and sore from a lot of riding, but other than that we are perfectly fine."

"How?" D'Artagnan asked, also eyeing them over, especially Athos. Athos was the best one out of them when it came to hiding his injuries, not liking the fuss.

He was not as bad as he had used to be, before he could have an open gash and still claim to be fine, now he would most of the times let them know, mostly because hiding it was not worth the shout-down Aramis would do when finding a bad wound or a cut that Athos had been neglecting. It had happened too many times, and by the time Aramis had found them, usually by completely ignoring Athos when his gut feeling told him something was wrong with the man, it had usually already turned infected. Then Aramis would shout in anger. Athos would agree while drinking wine. Aramis would shout more. Athos would drink more. Aramis would shout all while soaking the cut in wine. And Athos would complain that Aramis was just wasting wine, and then he would drink whatever was left.

"Treville came with help." Athos smiled, trying to conceal a big yawn escaping his lips, but it was doomed from start. And once he started, he could not stop, and it was of course very contagious. Soon they were all yawning.

"Let's go back to bed then." Porthos finally muttered. "We are all alive and unhurt but I'ma gonna sleep now. When we wake we talk everything over, important thing is that we are all together again."

"Here here." Athos nodded, them all joining in for a four-sided hug again. Athos and Porthos then quickly retreated to their beds, both of them falling asleep before their heads even seemed to have hit the pillows.

Aramis looked at them and smiled, so much relief going through his body that he barely knew what to do with himself. Out of instinct, he walked up to the sleepy Gascon and pulled him into a hug. D'Artagnan was a bit startled at the sudden affection, but pulled his arms around Aramis, embracing the hug from his friend.

"I'm sorry I've been such a pain while they were gone."

"You haven't. You've been injured and worried and have bad memories, there's no shame in that. But they are home now, and they are safe."

"And utterly exhausted." Aramis said, breaking the hug and looking over his shoulder. "We should let them sleep it out. They will most likely need it. We can ride tomorrow. We still have several days ride in front of us even though we can keep the speed a bit faster now, but I will not rush." Aramis grinned, and d'Artagnan nodded pleased, letting another yawn escape.

"Let's go back to sleep yeah?" D'Artagnan smiled, and Aramis nodded, feeling his own rough nightmares the last couple of days had taken their toll as well. They all could do with more rest, not just Athos and Porthos. So the two men still standing moved over to their beds as well, sunk down, and soon the room was filled with snoring as four brothers all rested peacefully, lips curving up into smiles as their unconscious brains knew they were safe and sound.