A/N: The penultimate part of my werewolf AU.

Full title: In the Light of the Full Moon, We Reveal the Nature of Ourselves

Warning: I've been informed by many people that this is heartbreaking and that I am a cruel person for leaving it as a cliffhanger. So stay tuned for the final part after this!

It was a mission like any other – and with Les Inseparables, that always meant trouble. Treville had sent them to investigate a reported disturbance on the outskirts of the city, where they had been unprepared to deal with an ambush by the Red Guards, brought on by the humiliation felt by the Cardinal at their deception. They had fought, of course, but the Red Guards overwhelmed them by sheer number. D'Artagnan had been shot in the thigh, and from there it went downhill. They were captured and shoved in a dungeon cell underneath an abandoned château.

Athos couldn't keep his eyes off d'Artagnan's wound for very long, and when he did it was only ever for them to dart about frantically in search of some method of escape. Eventually, d'Artagnan tired of his fretting.

"Athos, listen to me. You have to go, find the others." he instructed through clenched teeth, gripping the hole in his thigh that had been caused by the pistol shot. It was still bleeding, although sluggishly, which made him think that perhaps there was some small trace of silver in the bullet, which meant Red Guards, because as their leader was a man of the cloth, it was hardly surprising that there were some precautions taken for protection against the supernatural. At any rate, he was grateful for it right now because it meant Athos wouldn't see the usual rapid rate at which he healed from anything which threatened his life. It still hurt like an angry she-wolf's bite, though.
"How can you even suggest-" Athos stuttered in shock, before his expression changed to one that the young Gascon had become intimately familiar with over the past year or so. His determination smelled like steel. "I won't leave you, d'Artagnan. I'll get you out of this, somehow."

"Athos!" He all but growled. He needed his friend to leave, and soon, or he might actually bleed out from this wound. "I'll be alright for another hour at least. We have no idea of Aramis' or Porthos' whereabouts or condition. You need to find them Athos, we need them if anyone is getting out of this alive."

Athos frowned, and to d'Artagnan, the internal conflict felt like the tense and silent moment before a storm. Eventually, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, having begrudgingly given in to d'Artagnan's superior logic.
"Aramis will never forgive me for this."
"Aramis doesn't need to know. Here" he reached into his pocket with his blood-free hand, to pull out a key which looked remarkably similar to the one used to lock them in this dungeon in the first place. Athos gaped at him in surprise.

"How did...?"
"Collapsed against the guard who shoved us in here, didn't I?" He answered with a grin, and Athos could hardly help but smile.
"I shall have to have a word with Porthos about his teaching you his tricks" he admonished, but took the key from d'Artagnan's outstretched palm anyway. He pause a moment, taking in the sickly pallor of the boy's skin and the blood which dribbled thickly down his fingers. "Don't you dare die on me, Charles d'Artagnan, and that's an order." d'Artagnan smiled tightly at the sentiment, despite his pain.
"Oui, Mon Ami. Now find our friends, and hurry." Athos nodded, and carefully surveyed the area before unlocking the door and dashing off in search of their brothers.

D'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief - he was alone at last. He took the hand from his thigh and began to dig through the wound to find the ball. It smarted far worse than whenever Aramis had patched him up, but then, his injuries had never actually been life threatening before, so he had never had to accelerate his healing, except that time with Milady, and as she herself was a vampire, they had agreed not to out each other, as they would both be burned for it. It had actually made it easier to get her to trust him. One shunned monster to another. She told him the truth about what Thomas tried to do. He attempted to force himself on her - not that she would have needed to do anything other than erase his memory, she wanted vengeance for even the attempt of violation, and rightly so. That did not excuse her other murders, nor did it excuse the fact that she pointed a gun at Constance.
She had spoken in his mind then, as vampires like to do (a ridiculously disconcerting and frankly disturbing habit which he thought they should drop), and asked him "shall we show them a fight between monsters, little puppy?"

Eventually, he got a hold of the ball and dug it from his flesh. He had to bite back the scream building in the back of his throat, making his lip bleed in the process. He couldn't risk Athos coming back here and seeing. Oh, the wound would still be bad, but it wouldn't kill him now. All he could do while he waited for his leg to repair itself was wait, and hope that Athos found the others so that they could get out of here fast.

Athos found Aramis with ease, a little roughed up but otherwise unharmed. The doors were ridiculously easy to kick down from the outside.
"d'Artagnan, is he alive?" The man demanded, gripping Athos' shirt front tightly, his eyes wild and desperate. Athos lifted his own hands to settle on Aramis' shoulders.
"He was when I left him. But likely he won't be if we don't find Porthos and get back to him soon. We have to hurry." Aramis nodded and Athos allowed him a bare moment to gather himself, and they set off to find their missing brother.

D'Artagnan had been giving himself some time to rest before trying to stand, but now he could here a familiar voice - it sounded like Porthos was being led out to the courtyard of the abandoned château they were being held at. His veins turned to ice as he realised what that meant.

Athos and Aramis realised it too, from where they were stood at the exit of a back kitchen, hidden just out of view of the main courtyard. Porthos was being dragged, kicking and fighting hard, to a home-made gallows. They stared on in horror - they had no weapons to shoot down their captors. They were frozen by the impossibility of the situation. Porthos could not be hanged. It couldn't be happening again.

But d'Artagnan was not so inhibited by his shock as the others. He could run now, injured leg be damned, and he was not going to let his friend die tonight. With uncanny speed, he swiped a dagger and sword from one of the Red Guards and took him out with a head-butt, turned on the spot to slice open the next man's chest with malevolent glee, manoeuvring himself until he stood between all of them and Porthos, a deadly human shield, breathing heavily but with eyes bright as fire. He may look up to all of his three friends, but he was the only wolf among them and as such, he is their Alpha. He was hard-wired to protect his pack to the death, and he would, now that it came down to it.

One of the red guards stepped forward, sword in hand,
"So loyal to vermin which belongs in the gutters, Monsieur Musketeer. Should have been drowned at birth, like the defective dog he is" D'Artagnan glared, and Athos wasn't sure he had ever seen anything more terrifying.
"You want to talk about dogs, you coward, you pig? Do you know what happens to cowardly pigs like you, do you?" Porthos's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but d'Artagnan knew this was the only way to keep the others safe. "They get eaten up by the Big, Bad Wolf". His eyes flashed, and he made himself change in front of his brothers.

This change was different than the others. He felt more powerful, bigger, and completely driven by the need to protect his pack. Before the red guards had time to get over the shock, he pounced on the first and crushed his windpipe with the weight of his paw. The next he bit into their shoulder and flung them against the wall of the châteaux, shattering their spine. It continued until all ten bodies were scattered across the cobblestones, blood dribbling between them.

The great wolf turned, panting happily, to his pack, who were safe now. But their faces were painted with expressions of horror. It cut him to the bone that Athos was staring at him with a look he had once reserved only for Milady. Monster, that look said. Monster, horror, danger, and worst of all: I trusted you.

Porthos had been wrong. They didn't understand. They never could.

With one look to the only friend who understood him, he turned tail and ran off into the night, not caring that his wound had reopened and would probably kill him. His pack was safe now, and they hated him. Without them, he'd be better off dying anyway.