Seventeen

"Ah-ha!" D'Artagnan shouted as he swung the big stick towards Athos, who barely had time to blink before the stick collided with his face, a sickening crunch echoing through the glade.

"Oh Goddammit!"

D'Artagnan paled as the stick fell out of his hands, landing with a thump in the grass by his feet. His hands instantly went up to grab Athos' shoulders, steadying the man to sit down on his knees as he swayed dangerously.

"Oh.. Oh, Athos, I am so, so sorry… I… I never thought I'd actually hit!"

Athos mumbled incoherent words with both his hands pressed to his face, blood seeping through rapidly, in the same time as Aramis and Porthos came running, their swords drawn, ready to attack whoever had attacked their friend.

"What happened?" Aramis asked, his voice calm but his appearance giving off worry as he knelt next to Athos, gently pulling Athos' bloody fingers away from the face. Porthos was still twirling his Balizarde, looking around for enemies.

"You owe me 5 livre." D'Artagnan mumbled quietly as he met Aramis eyes, removing one of his hands and jumping to the side to let Aramis have a proper look at Athos who was blinking rapidly, trying to stay alert through the blinding pain.

"You hit him?!" Porthos barged, sheathing his sword.

"I never thought I would actually land a hit!" D'Artagnan cried, feeling terribly bad for hurting his friend and mentor like this.

Athos raised a hand and placed it on d'Artagnan's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze, letting him know he wasn't mad, as he followed Aramis finger with his eyes, allowing their own physician to do what he did best.

"Well, it doesn't seem like you have a concussion." Aramis smiled relieved, before turning his head to look over his shoulder, his hand squeezing Athos' shoulder. "Porthos, if you'd please, could you grab some cloth from my saddle bag and go and soak it in water?"

Porthos gave a short nod, before leaving the scene. Aramis took Athos' nose between his thumb and index finger, gently probing the nose, much to Athos' disapproval. The blood was already slowing down, but still dripping neatly down Athos' face, his moustache and beard all splotched along with the entire front of the once white sweater. D'Artagnan silently promised to buy Athos a new one.

"So, this nose on the other hand, is rather broken I'd say. We could let it be, but it will be crooked and that would be a sour sight to look upon." Aramis said, and Athos sighed loudly as he knew what was coming.

"Just do it." Athos wheezed, closing his eyes and preparing for the pain, which did follow a second later as Aramis cranked it hard and reset the nose. Athos whimpered loudly, falling forwards towards Aramis who put a hand on his shoulder again, d'Artagnan holding firmly to his other one, keeping Athos upright as he didn't have the strength to do so himself. In the same time Porthos came back, handing the soaking wet cloths to Aramis, who took them with a grateful nod, pressing them towards Athos' nose, which had started bleeding steadily again.

"Help me lay him down, will you?" Aramis asked, looking over at d'Artagnan who nodded, removing his leather jacket he put it behind Athos, before helping Aramis to lay the man down, his head resting on the jacket. Aramis then shifted Athos who didn't object to anything anymore, rotating him until his feet could be placed on a nearby log, getting them a bit elevated. Aramis grabbed one of Athos' hands, placing it so he would hold the cold cloths towards his nose.

"Rest my friend. Head back. Keep the cloth in place, it will ease the pain and reduce swelling. Will you be able to stay awake or should we stay with you?" Aramis said gently, squeezing Athos' shoulder.

"I could hold your hand." Porthos offered with a smirk, which was followed by Athos mumbling something that sounded very much like 'go away you fool'.

"Please give us a shout if you start feeling sick, okay?"

Athos nodded and mumbled something more incoherent, and the three comrades let him be by himself as they all stood and walked over to the horses, Aramis cleaning off his hands, drying them on another piece of cloth. He then looked at d'Artagnan before sighing, grabbing some coins out of his saddlebag and handing them over to him.

"Congratulations. You are the first of us who has been able to hit Athos. Well done. If you do it again, I will kill you."

D'Artagnan smiled and let out a nervous, short laugh. He was rather sure that Aramis was actually completely serious, even though the man was smiling. No on hurt any of the Musketeers and got away with it. He might've been given a freebie but he wouldn't do it again. In his defence, he had never in his wildest imagination believed he would hit. Athos was cool now, his eyes closed, but he might be a bit mad later, when he could see out through his eyes again. Well, worst-case scenario d'Artagnan would just have to play the 'Well you shot me'-card one more time. There was nothing quite so effective as guilt tripping.

A few hours of rest later, Aramis walked over to Athos who had fallen asleep in the shade, the cloth still in place even though his hand had fallen to his chest. Aramis removed the blood soaked rag, glad to see that the nose had stopped bleeding. It was badly swollen though, and bruises had begun to take shape. That would look neat by the time they arrived to the garrison.

Waking his friend up carefully, Athos moaned and rolled over to his side. Aramis moved, ready to help his friend out if he got sick, but Athos managed to bit back on the nausea, and with Aramis help he managed to get to his feet.

"Can you ride?"

Athos nodded tiredly, and moved over to his friends, who already had all the horses saddled and ready to go. Athos grabbed a hold of Roger's mane with one hand and the saddle with the other, and heaved himself up. He looked over and met d'Artagnan's eyes, the brown eyes full of concern and regret.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. You just proved that I have to work on my defence."

D'Artagnan smiled, relieved that Athos wasn't angry with him.

"Let's go home." Aramis smiled, urging Belle into a walk.

They would ride today, stop tonight and by midday tomorrow, they should – hopefully – be back home in Paris. Their little journey was coming to an end. They were all looking forward to coming home, home to their own beds, the garrison, and everything that came with it. In the same time, they were quite enjoying spending time together, just the four of them. It was always bitter sweet to come home where they would split up to different lodgings, end up on different missions and not spend every hour of the day together. Sure, they drove each other close to the border of insanity whenever they spent too much time together, but no one could ever question their friendship. No matter how much they teased each other, it would never go too far and they would always just banter back at it rather than taking offense. And that's what friends do.

Athos looked up at his friends, and couldn't help but to smile to himself. Their backgrounds were so, so far apart from each other. Aramis had grown up with close relations to the church, d'Artagnan grew up plowing at a field down South. Porthos had been a small time thief from the Court of Miracles, and Athos himself had once been a Count - un Comte. Their upbringings couldn't have been further apart, but the twists and turns of life had put them together, and thanks to their different upbringings, handing them different experiences and different skill sets, they made an unconquerable foursome.

Athos knew his life had been a difficult one, and he had been forced to make decisions no man should ever have to do. But he also knew his actions had led to where he was today, and he could not picture his life without his friends anymore. He was certain he could've had a happy life with Anne, and today he might still be living at the estate, Anne with blue flowers in her hair, servants waiting and children at their feet. He would've adapted nicely, for sure, because that's what he was brought up to do, but his heart had always loved the battle, and turning this direction, he did not want to look back. He felt alive in the heat of clinging swords, and coming into this brotherhood had saved his life. What more could he wish for than three brothers that loved him with all their might?

He never did get the chance to live out his life as a devoted husband, nor did he ever become a father, but he did find love. That was something he would never question.

They reached an inn just as the sun was setting after a quiet ride. They had taken it easy, decided just to walk their horses the last couple of days to keep Belle happy, and now also due to the fact that Athos was swaying in the saddle along with Aramis. Now they were only half a days' ride from Paris but as the sky was turning darker, not only from the lack of the sun but also from the thunderstorm rolling in, they decided it was better to stop for the night than to keep going.

"I really don't think we should stop." D'Artagnan suddenly mumbled as they came upon the inn.

The inn wasn't large, it was just a two stories building with sloping roofs, built with grey stones, located right by a small lake. It looked dark and quiet, but they could see the flickering light of a fire from inside the open doors. To the others, it looked like a rather welcoming sight, and would definitely provide shelter from the rain. Now all of them were looking confused at d'Artagnan.

"I mean… Maybe there's another inn somewhere near by? I don't like the look of this one…" D'Artagnan tried come up with an explanation for his words.

"This looks fine to me, and as far as I know, there's not an inn in sight. The rain will arrive shortly and I'd rather be inside by then." Porthos argued.

Aramis and Athos nodded in agreement, and d'Artagnan backed down, following the men down the path towards the inn. They could all sense something was off, but they didn't continue to question it considering he had folded. They did however meet each other's eyes, and silently agreed to keep an eye on him.

All four of them came to a halt outside of the inn, just as the sky opened up above them. They were fast, jumping off their horses, Athos and Porthos took the four of them into the stables at the back, as d'Artagnan and Aramis hurried inside the main building. Aramis took his hat off as they entered, eyeing the place around. The downstairs had chairs lined up along the wall, allowing people to sit down and warm themselves by the fire. Further inside were tables and chairs set up to a dining area. A bell was hanging by a ladder, and Aramis happily chimed it.

A man came down the stairs just moments later, and was happy to inform that he had an empty room with a big king size bed to offer them. Stew was cooking in the pot and there was plenty of wine in the cellar.

They spent the evening in the dining hall, happily emptying bottle after bottle, and also filling their stomachs with good food. They could all notice d'Artagnan's change in appearance as they had entered the building, but half a bottle of red wine later, the youngster seemed to have succumbed to the alcohol and relaxed visibly. By midnight, they all climbed up the stairs to their bedroom, this time with only one bed in it, and soon all four of them were fast asleep.

Athos woke up in the middle of the night, his dreams fidgety as always. Something was amiss. He pulled his arm free from Aramis who was wrapped around him, his nose snuggled up to the bend of Athos' neck. Athos rubbed the hand through his face, immediately regretting it as he jarred his nose. Blinking away the pain, he then opened his eyes fully and looked around as a throb was felt inside his stomach. Something was wrong… He looked over his shoulder. Hadn't d'Artagnan been cuddled up behind him when he went to bed?

Spider senses tingling, he was suddenly sitting up, he looked over the bed, and his worry grew steadier as he realized there were only three of them in the room. D'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen. His boots, jacket and trousers were still on the chair he had left them, but his weapons were gone. If Athos wasn't worried before, he sure was now.

The lightning flashed through the room, shortly followed by a loud thunder.

He was on his feet in an instant, Aramis slipping off him completely, after a groan escaped the sleeping man's lips he twirled in bed, found Porthos' body and decided he was just as good to sleep upon as his other friend. Athos donned his trousers, boots, doublet and jackets before leaving the room. He peaked over his shoulder before leaving, pleased that Aramis and Porthos were still sleeping peacefully. Surely, he wouldn't need them. D'Artagnan had been drinking a lot more excessively than the he was used to, he was probably just outside emptying his stomach contents. Or that was at least what Athos was trying to tell himself.

Walking down the ladder, the inn lay quiet and empty. The fire downstairs had almost burned out, there were some drunkards sleeping around it, some of them still clutching to the bottles. D'Artagnan was still nowhere to be seen.

Athos walked outside, the rain making him wish he had brought his hat. It pouring down, like someone just opened up the ceiling, and the heavy rain hitting his face made him see white blinding lights. More maybe it was just the lightning? He couldn't tell. Pulling his doublet closer, he looked around, and spotted a familiar figure almost immediately. He was sitting just a couple of steps out onto the yard, on his knees, body bent forward, face in his hands. If Athos hadn't been worried before, he certainly was now.

A few quick strides brought him over to d'Artagnan's side, and as he got closer he noticed the younger man shaking on the ground. Not just shaking, but violently trembling. Athos was on his knees in the deep puddle of water in an instant, sitting down next to d'Artagnan, placing his hand with extreme care on his back. Even though he barely touched him, d'Artagnan's head flailed up and Athos was suddenly staring down the barrel of a pistol.

"Hey." Athos said his hands rose up. "It's me d'Artagnan, it's Athos."

The pistol in his face was shaking intensely and d'Artagnan's bloodshot eyes flickered back and forth, not focusing on anything. It was hard to tell due to the rain, but Athos was certain that d'Artagnan was crying. His breathing was laboured, and Athos was wondering how long the lad had been out here for. His puffy shirt and smalls were soaked all the way through.

The pistol was still levelled between Athos' eyes. No sudden moves. One of Athos' hands moved so both his hands were on the same side of the pistol, before he moved it again, closer and closer to the weapon. The back of his hand was soon touching it, and he carefully pressed, to move it away from his face and making sure he wasn't in the line of fire was that to go off. He knew d'Artagnan would never shoot him, but right now, d'Artagnan didn't seem to know it actually was him sitting there. D'Artagnan's mind was far off, at some bad place. Athos recognized the signs of a man remembering a trauma a little bit too vividly.

Another flash of lightning. More thunder. D'Artagnan gasped as a reaction to it.

Athos pressed at the pistol until it was lowered to the ground, and he was safe from any bullets that might be forced out of it. He heard footsteps behind him, though he didn't turn around, all his focus was on d'Artagnan. He knew there was no need to worry about being attacked anyway – if there's one sound in the world he knows, it's the sound of his friends. Athos carefully pried the pistol out of d'Artagnan's slightly blue, trembling fingers, and he suddenly released it.

"Athos."

Athos looks away from the weapon at the sound of the lad's voice. It's barely a whisper, so quiet that Athos isn't even sure if he actually heard it. But as he looks up, he meets d'Artagnan's eyes. And they are focused on him, staring at him. His blue lips are shaking, and Athos is realizing how cold the man in front of him is. It's not freezing out, the early summer has been fair to them, but the lack of sun and the heavy rain will make any man cold if spent too long time out. Athos could already feel the chill on his own skin, and he was wearing several layers.

All of a sudden, d'Artagnan is in Athos' lap, before the older man even knew what was going on. D'Artagnan's fingers are curling up into his doublet, pulling at him as the Gascon's head falls towards his chest. He's definitely crying now, his entire body heaving along with the cries of pain and sorrow. Athos' arms are immediately pulling him into a tight hug, one hand across his back, rubbing it up and down as he twirls the fingers of his other hand into the lad's hair. What has caused this?

"Mon dieu."

Lightning. Thunder.

Athos' flinches at Aramis' choice of words, but he doesn't turn around. He is focused on holding onto d'Artagnan right now, who is trying to breathe through his tears.

"Athos… I… I didn't recognize this place, it was daytime last we were here…" Aramis words was not above a whisper as he walked closer to the two men on the ground, coming up right behind them. "And over a year has passed… But I think this is the inn where he lost his father."

Athos' freezes. That would explain a whole lot.

"D'Artagnan?" Athos whispers, his hands gently caressing the man's skull, not sure what to do to ease the cries. The head pressed against his chest nods. "I'm so sorry. I never knew."

"No' y'fault." D'Artagnan heaves. His tears are slowing down, but his breathing is rapid, way too rapid for anyone's liking. He doesn't seem to be able to catch his breath. Aramis is suddenly by his side too, a knee down into the muddy ground, grabbing a firm hold of his shoulder.

"D'Artagnan, we're all sorry, we didn't recognize this place. We'll ride on to Paris. But first we need you to breathe, okay?" Aramis gently apologizes, his knuckles carefully rubbing d'Artagnan's breastbone. "Listen to me, slow breaths. In… and out. That's right, another one now." Another flash of lightning lit up the world for half a second, thunder following obediently.

Aramis is the calm of the raging storm above their heads and Athos is glad that he is here. That is Aramis' superpower - no matter the emergency, the man can remain focused and steady. When you are panicking, you can look into his eyes and see calmness, and so much comfort. His eyes alone could probably make thunder fade. At least Athos attention is drawn away from the storm as he observed Aramis. His slow breathing is helping d'Artagnan, and the younger one releases one of his hands from Athos' doublet to grab onto Aramis' instead. Aramis takes the hand, moving it to his bare chest inside the doublet and linens, placing it across his own sternum.

"Here, feel my chest, close your eyes and just breathe along with me. You can do it. Let your fingers feel how my chest rise and fall, and breathe with it."

Athos could feel himself relax at Aramis' words, and it worked for d'Artagnan as well, his breathing slowing down considerably by each breath. Soon, he appears to have taken control of himself, but his body is still trembling. Aramis can feel the cold coming from d'Artagnan as well, and the minute d'Artagnan manages to take a couple of controlled breaths, Aramis is suddenly behind him, his arms by his armpits, pulling him up to his feet, earning the smallest of a 'yelp'. Athos gets onto his feet as well, the two of them steady d'Artagnan as he sways dangerously as his bare feet won't take his weight.

Porthos is nowhere to be seen and Athos has a feeling that the man is preparing a bath upstairs, they all are very aware that they need to heat him up and soon. Aramis probably told him to get it ready before moving up to the two of them on the ground. Getting d'Artagnan inside, his suspicions prove to be true as they find Porthos boiling water over the fire, which has been reset with new, dry logs.

"Not too hot. Just steam it up." Aramis smiles to Porthos, as they carry on dragging d'Artagnan inside. Aramis pulls him out of his soaked clothes as Athos get towels that he wraps around the shaking body. Aramis moves down to d'Artagnan's feet, pulling the icicles into his lap and gently begins to rub them in an attempt to get warmth back into them, earning shallow whimpers from d'Artagnan. Athos sits down behind d'Artagnan, pulls his arms around him and brushes his hands up and down his arms. 'At least he is still trembling with cold. It's when the trembling stops it turns really bad.' Athos thinks, something he had learned from experience, and he can't help but to send a glance into Aramis' direction, memories from finding Aramis in the woods of Savoy passing through his mind. He quickly discharge the thought, focusing on d'Artagnan, who actually is trembling.

Porthos arrive shortly with the hot water, emptying it into the tub along with the other water he poured in earlier. The hot and cold mixes together into water just higher than human body temperature, and with some help, d'Artagnan eases himself into it, wincing as his numb legs begun itching and cramping immediately. Athos takes a towel to ease under his head as a pillow, and d'Artagnan's eyes drift shut. They all watch as his breathing evens out, and his trembling figure soon relaxes to the heat.

"He'll be alright?" Athos mumbles, looking over at Aramis who is sitting on a stool next to the young one.

"He will as soon as we are out of here, I'm sure. I wish he would've told us."

"He probably thought he'd manage." Porthos said carefully, the others nodding along. They had all been in situations they were uneasy with, but thinking they could cope they had just pressed on until it all went upside down and inside out. They had learned to tell their friends when their intuition told them to get out, but d'Artagnan was still their rookie, not certain always how to deal with everything thrown in his way. He had appeared alright even as they went to lay down in bed, but the darkness of the night can do a lot to a man's mind. The thunderstorm probably didn't provide any kind of comfort considering d'Artagnan had lost his beloved father in similar weather. Stopping at the same inn had probably been too much for him to bare.

Sitting by the side of the tub for a while, Aramis soon managed to get the other two men to go back to bed, saying he would be looking after the youngster for a while longer before waking him and moving him back to bed. Athos and Porthos agreed, knowing arguing Aramis would be pointless, and they went back to bed. Both of them slept restlessly for the upcoming hour, before Aramis was suddenly back in the room, tucking a sleepy, drained and still cold d'Artagnan into the sheets of the bed, covering him with blankets before squeezing himself into the bed. Aramis pulled the Gascon into a tight hug underneath the covers as they could all hear his tears. Porthos moved his long arm across Aramis, placing it on the Gascon's side, and Athos rolled over and put his hand on d'Artagnan's head, gently smoothing his hair. In the embrace of his friends, d'Artagnan soon drifted off to a restless sleep.