A/N: Finally a story featuring my two favourite characters! Small spoilers for 1.03. And a big thanks to all you talented Musketeers writers whose stories, I know, helped spark my muse. The title is from the Ernest Hemmingway quote and all quotes were once again features on Criminal Minds. Unbeta'd so all the mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I've got it on my Christmas list, but until then it's still belongs to the BBC.

After all, what is every man but a horde of ghosts? Oaks that were acorns that were oaks.

– Walter de la Mare

We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways we are our brother's maker.

– Bonaro Overstreet

At the Broken Places

D'Artagnan had been so relieved when Aramis finally suggested that they rest for the evening. They'd been riding all day and he was exhausted, though, he suspected that it was more the mental rather the physical exhaustion that had him inwardly sighing with relief. An abnormally uncomfortable silence had settled over the party, the tensions from the past few days continuing to rise to what he feared was a near breaking point. D'Artagnan shook the thoughts from his head as he led the horses to the stables. This mission was quickly becoming a nightmare and he was more than ready for it to be done with, and to get back to the familiar, everyday routine that he'd come to look forward to each and every morning since he'd begun his quest to become a musketeer. It was only as he began tying off the horses that the memory hit him.

Like a tidal wave the memory overwhelmed him and the world began to spin. Desperately he reached out, looking for anything to stabilize him, his hand finding the edge of the stall's gate. He gripped it tightly, one arm across his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push back the waves of nausea and ruthlessly suppressing the image that had haunted his nightmares for weeks after he first arrived in Paris. Taking a breath, he swallowed and forced himself to stand upright, silently scolding himself for his loss of control. Then, suddenly, a voice rang in his head.

Athos

As the name echoed in his ears a feeling of dread swept over him and he knew what he must do. Spinning on his heel, he ran back to the inn where he found Aramis waiting, one hand around a rope connected to Bonnaire's wrists. "Porthos is upstairs. Unfortunately, there's only one room….," began Aramis.

"I'm going back," declared d'Artagnan, barely even registering Aramis' words.

"What?" exclaimed Aramis.

"I'm going back for Athos. He's in trouble."

"And you know this how?" asked Aramis in a pointed tone.

"It's just a feeling," admitted d'Artagnan, "but I can't ignore it." He insisted, undeterred by the exasperated look on Aramis' face.

"You can't go, I need you here."

"No, you don't, but Athos might," argued d'Artagnan.

"You're wrong and Athos can take care of himself," snapped Aramis.

"Under normal circumstances I would agree," countered d'Artagnan, "but these aren't normal circumstances and if you weren't so pissed at him, I'm sure you'd agree with me!" Aramis' eyes flashed dangerously, but d'Artagnan was determined, meeting the musketeer's glare with a steady, unflinching gaze of his own. The stalemate dragged on until the younger man finally let out a sigh.

"Look," he began, deciding on a new tactic, "I was as shocked as you were at Athos' actions, but doesn't that just tell you how wrong things are?" He swallowed and took a breath before continuing: "You know this is the first inn I've been able to look at without first thinking of my father." Aramis' eyes immediately shot back to d'Artagnan, a stunned look on his face. Between the four there was a tacit understanding of subjects that were never to be spoken of and this was one, and he felt a lump growing in his own throat as the young man continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I couldn't even look at an inn without thinking of him, at first. Six months, that's how long it's been for me – and this isn't even the same inn. From the look of that house, it looks like it's been years since Athos has been back, years, and it took something like this to force that choice onto him. I don't think I even want to know what happened there, but I know that he shouldn't be alone with it. Aramis, please," begged d'Artagnan, "I know you can feel it too." He held his breath as Aramis remained silent.

"You know if you're wrong, he's going to be pissed beyond reason," replied Aramis, at last.

"I'll handle it," assured d'Artagnan with a sigh, relieved at being given leave to go.

"Be careful," warned Aramis.

"You too. We'll meet you back at Paris as soon we can."

D'Artagnan felt the panic rise in him as he saw the smoke on the horizon. He pressed his heels into his mount, urging his horse onwards, nearly forgetting his own words to Bonnaire as the sight of the burning house grew clearer. He pulled on the reigns as he felt the heat of the flames wash over him.

"Athos!" he cried, praying that his friend and mentor was not inside, "Athos, can you hear me?" He screamed the man's name again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement and he turned, desperately hoping to see Athos. Confusion flitter over his face as the figure of a woman on horseback fled into the night, but the crackling of the flames quickly brought his focus back to the reason he'd returned. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and rushed inside, determined to find the man who had become both father and brother to him.

D'Artagnan had never coughed so much in his life. What began as a tickle in his throat had exploded into a full on fit as his body attempted to expel the smoke from his lungs. It seemed as if an eternity had passed before he could bring it under control, and upon finally doing so, he was surprised to find his hand still resting on Athos' knee. The older man had collapsed on the grass and for a moment d'Artagnan feared the worst, but then he saw the slow rising and falling of the man's chest and a wave of relief washed over him. The relief soon began to tinge with guilt, though, as d'Artagnan remembered the man's grief-stricken, drunken confession – words that he was sure were not meant for any man's ears, much less a man who only six months ago had tried to kill him. The popping of the flames and the sound of crashing beams snapped d'Artagnan's attention to more pressing matters.

"Athos," he said gently, shaking the man on the shoulder, "Athos." He repeated, now worried that he might have to drag the man to a safer distance. Athos finally let out a pained groan and d'Artagnan felt his heart break at the sound, but he forced himself to press on. "Athos, I need you to get up. We have to move. It's not safe here."

Athos blinked at the words, the alcohol, smoke and revelation of his wife's survival causing his mind to spin. But the soldier in him recognized the tone. It spoke of urgency and that it came from a friend was enough to motivate the man to attempt to rise. His limbs felt like lead, but with assistance, he felt himself being pulled upright and he vaguely registered that his feet were moving. Somewhere deep in his mind he registered that he was not moving completely under his own power, a large portion of his weight being carried by the presence beside him. That same part balked at the idea of being supported as he was but his exhaustion far outweighed his objection, and so, for once, he allowed himself to lean another.

"No!"

The cry startled Athos from his sleep; his eyes snapped open as he propelled himself upright, his hand automatically reaching for his weapon. He immediately regretted the sudden movement when the world began to spin, his head pounding with the after-effects of copious amount of wine he'd drunk. Groaning, he rubbed his hand over his face and tried to clear the fog from his head. As the haze lifted an uneasy feeling settled over the musketeer as he realized that he did not recognize where he was.

"No!" came the cry again. And it was with a start that Athos realized that the voice had not been in his head. Cautiously, he peered over the edge of the bed and was shocked to see his friend on the floor, beads of sweat forming on his brow, eyes moving swiftly beneath closed lids. Athos was about to lower himself from the bed when the boy's next words caused him to freeze. "Father, please." The desperate, broken whisper cut Athos to the core and he could feel his heart shatter as a lump formed in his throat. His next words, though, had Athos jumping from the bed.

"Athos! Athos, no!" screamed d'Artagnan beginning to thrash in earnest.

"D'Artagnan," called Athos, reaching out to rouse the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. He quickly regretted that choice as the boy lashed out, catching Athos in the jaw, sending him crashing onto the floor, bright spots forming in front of his eyes. The sharp pain in his hand caused d'Artagnan to wake and it was with horror that he realized what had caused the jolt.

"My God Athos, I'm…did I….I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Are you alright, are you alright?" babbled d'Artagnan, crawling over to his friend's dazed form.

"I'm fine," rasped Athos, reaching out to squeeze the boy's hand reassuringly. "That was my fault. I should know better than to startle someone from their sleep." He felt his heart clench as d'Artagnan's eyes suddenly clouded and the boy quickly dropped his gaze. D'Artagnan swallowed as he tried to control his breathing, attempting to push back the images that haunted his dreams.

"No soldier is without his nightmares." Athos' voice stirred d'Artagnan from his reverie and he felt a lump form in his throat as he looked up and saw the gentle smile on the man's face. The small, grateful smile on d'Artagnan's face immediately loosed the tightness in Athos' chest.

Athos closed his eyes and let out a sigh, putting a hand up to rub his jaw where he'd been struck. He was in the middle of marveling at the boy's strength when it all came back to him. He felt his breath grow ragged and his heart began to pound, but the sound of movement next to him reminded him that he was not alone. Ruthlessly he pushed back the panic and utter desolation that the night's revelation had brought him and forced himself to open his eyes. As blue met brown, he felt a surge of gratitude flow through him as he saw only concern, compassion and acceptance in the dark eyes.

There would be no questions, no demands for answers, and at the realization Athos let out the breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. He gave the boy a small nod before waiving off his offer for assistance and pulling himself from the ground. He took a few moments to gather himself before making his way back to the bed. He was about to lie back when he noticed d'Artagnan settling in on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"There's only one bed," replied d'Artagnan.

"And it's large enough for two," intoned Athos.

"I wouldn't wish to presume…," began d'Artagnan, hesitantly.

"You're not presuming, I'm inviting you, now come on," he insisted. He held back a sigh at d'Artagnan's continued hesitation. "We have a hard ride ahead of us with much time to make up, and you will be far too stiff and sore for the journey if you sleep on the floor. So get yourself into the bed, that's an order." He gave the boy a small smile at his last statement and was pleased when the boy nodded, quickly acquiescing to his wish.

D'Artagnan climbed into the bed, staying as close to the edge as possible, not wanting to encroach on Athos' space. His eyes flittered up in confusion as he felt the man pull his pillow in closer. "Sleep," was the only answer he received. "We have a long journey ahead of us." Closing his eyes, he let out a breath and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Athos could not help the tender smile from spreading over his face as he watched d'Artagnan sleep peacefully and he resisted the urge to card his fingers through the boy's hair. A part of him wished to stay awake, both out of fear of what sleep might bring and a desire to remain on watch, but the soldier reminded him of his own words and with a sigh he decided to follow his own advice and attempt to get some rest.

As Athos awoke the next morning from a surprisingly dreamless sleep, he was surprised to find that d'Artagnan had already arisen and was setting breakfast. Any tension that he might have felt quickly melted away at d'Artagnan's smile and silent invitation to join him. They ate in companionable silence and it was only as they reached the stables that Athos noticed something odd. "Where's your cloak and your sword?" questioned Athos. The boy's reaction was enough to put Athos' suspicions on alert. D'Artagnan bit chewed nervously on his lip, his eyes firmly fixed on his boots. "You've already disobeyed one of my orders coming back for me, so I'd recommend the truth," stated Athos, arms crossed a pointed look on his face.

"Hot water is expensive," muttered d'Artagnan, eyes quickly flicking from Athos' face back to the ground.

Confusion flittered over Athos' face before he let out a sigh. He should have realized that he smelled much less of smoke than he should have. Without a word he marched back into the inn and soon returned, cloak and sword in hand. "I believe these are yours," stated Athos, holding the items out. "Considering how this mission has gone so far, I think it a fair bet that you will be needing at least one of those things in the near future. And besides, that's twice you've saved my life – I'd like to think it's worth at least a few coins," continued Athos before the boy could object.

"Thank you," replied d'Artagnan earnestly, "though I'm fairly certain that we're even on any score." D'Artagnan gave his friend a small smile before donning his cloak and mounting his steed. As Athos mounted his own horse, the two men locked eyes each making silent vows: to watch, to protect, to ensure the other never again stood alone. They rode in a comfortable silence that was only broken as they spotted a familiar foe ahead.

"Our Spanish friend – leave him to me. D'Artagnan," continued Athos before he took his leave, "say nothing to the others of what happened." Though he was not afraid that the boy would gossip, he did fear that d'Artagnan might feel compelled to speak out of concern. Athos felt a ghost of a smile spread over his lips as the boy solemnly gave his word. He needn't have done so.

Athos took a breath as he stepped into the yard, his eyes immediately falling on his friends. As he looked over at the three men he felt his heart pound and hands grew cold and clammy. His actions had nearly cost Porthos his life and he was unsure if he'd ever be forgiven, or that he even deserved it. But after all his brothers had done, he owed them at least make an attempt and if it took the rest of his life he would make it up to them.

"The Spanish king wrote to Louis demanding that he put a stop to Bonnaire's activities," explained Athos, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, still unable to meet Aramis' eyes. He looked over only when Aramis revealed Bonnaire's fate. At the news, his head sagged and let out a sigh only barely containing a groan at the cruel twist of fate. It was only as Porthos bemoaned their helplessness that an idea struck him.

"Well, maybe we can't but I think I know someone who can," stated Athos, a devious smile spreading over his face.

"What do you mean?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Well you know what they say about 'the enemy of my enemy'," replied Athos, leaning in to share his plan. As he explained his scheme he felt almost embarrassed at the awe in d'Artagnan's eyes, but relished in the joyful grin and grateful looks that Porthos gave to him.

As they rose to put his plan into action, he smiled as Porthos and d'Artagnan near ran to the stables: Porthos eager to stop the slaver and d'Artagnan just eager as always. But as he turned to towards the stables himself, he felt a hand on his arm. It was Aramis. With some trepidation he met the man's eyes and was relieved to see only warmth and forgiveness in the dark pools. He felt his eyes dampen at the reassuring squeeze, managing only a small nod and only just holding back a sob of relief. As he watched his brothers prepare, he made one more silent vow: that never again would he allow the ghost of his pasts to endanger his brothers' future. Thomas was dead and the woman he'd loved was no more, if she ever had been real. In his blindness, he'd allowed her to take one brother from him. He would not let her take another.