Execution has a way of making men believe that they're not going to wake up again. And so it was that when d'Artagnan stirred again a few moments later, he was terribly confused by the whole experience.

He was aware enough to tell that though his hands were still bound, there was no longer a rope around his neck and there were hands around his chest but they weren't hurting him. It would seem that his horizons had improved drastically even if he had no idea how.

That lead him to the realisation that he couldn't see because his eyes were closed and that he could in fact hear what was happening around him again. There was a familiar, comforting voice in his ear calling his name, with some urgency too. Further off there was the more distressing sound of fighting, the clang of swords mixed in with the crack of gunfire, and it was enough to rouse d'Artagnan into at least semi-consciousness.

"'Mis?" He managed to choke out, trying to focus on the person supporting him. His voice sounded terrible and his throat burned.

The hands tightened around his torso for just a moment, a reassurance to them both. "Oh thank god," Aramis murmured. "I thought we were too late." He paused for a moment, shifting them both but d'Artagnan was too disorientated to protest the manhandling. "I need to help the others. Stay here," he warned.

d'Artagnan wanted to point out that he was still tied up and even if he hadn't been, he felt half dead, so where exactly was he going to go? But Aramis was already gone before he'd found the breath to speak.

He wanted to help his friends - and work out what the hell was going on and where they'd come from all of a sudden - but his body was telling him in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going anywhere. His ribs and stomach were both pulsing with pain and he could feel rope burn around his wrists - again - but worse than any of that was the fierce agony of his throat. Every breath felt like he was breathing in flames, and the skin felt tender and swollen. It would seem that being killed was more painful than he'd expected.

He must have passed out again then, because the next thing he was aware of was someone cutting through the ropes at his wrists. Fighting the urge to flinch away from the feeling of steel against his skin, he blinked his eyes open instead.

Porthos was standing somewhere near his feet, saying something to Athos who seemed to have settled himself down besides d'Artagnan's head and he must have been half asleep still because he could have sworn that Athos had a hand on his hair. That left Aramis as the man holding the knife behind him. The terror and adrenaline that had been keeping him together seeped out of his system and d'Artagnan sagged into the earth with unrestrained relief.

"d'Artagnan?" Aramis sounded alarmed by his sudden relaxation, and his face appeared above him, lined with concern. He saw him awake and smiled warmly. "There you are. Thought we'd lost you for a few minutes. Please don't do that again."

Porthos crowded closer so that the three of them were packed closely around his head. It was a little intimidating. "What happened?" Dieu, his voice sounded thoroughly awful. It hurt terribly too but he already felt feeble enough that he didn't want to seem any weaker by admitting to it.

The three of them looked at each other over his head, sharing another of those private, silent conversations, and d'Artagnan felt his heart sink. He'd somehow assumed that everything would have returned to normal but apparently he was wrong. The soft, understanding smile on Aramis' face did little to reassure him as he said "Worry about that later. You're exhausted and it's a long story. Rest. We'll still be here."

He didn't want to rest and aching as he was, he didn't think he'd be able to. But against his will, his eyelids drooped, weariness soothing his pained body wonderfully. Too tired to worry about anything else any more, d'Artagnan slept.

Despite his promise, Aramis was not there when d'Artagnan next awoke, and nor was anyone else. He was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room and momentarily panicked that he'd been taken somewhere undesirable, before he spotted Athos's jacket, complete with pauldron, slung over the back of a chair. Wherever he was, they couldn't be too far away and at the very least that meant he was safe.

Shifting a little, d'Artagnan found that he was feeling a little better and that his ribs had been wrapped tightly, probably by Aramis. Which must mean that they'd seen the vivid bruising he'd had decorating his torso for the last week or so, and would no doubt have questions about that which he didn't want to answer. Although if they'd saved him, they surely knew of Matthieu's treachery.

His attention was diverted from his thoughts as the door was pushed open and a weary looking Athos entered, glancing briefly at d'Artagnan and then starting when he realised he was awake. "d'Artagnan," was all he said.

Neither of them seemed to know what to do, with Athos staring at him as though he was surprised by his presence and d'Artagnan still unsure as to where he was or how he wasn't dead. Instead of asking, he simply replied, "Athos." While it still burned to speak, he sounded a little less like a dying man, which was more comforting than he felt it should be.

"You're awake."

"Yes."

There was an awkward silence. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused."

"No doubt you have questions," Athos said as though he was disappointed, looking out of the open window.

Stung, d'Artagnan frowned at him. "I'm sorry," he said, making it clear that he was in fact not at all sorry, "Am I keeping you from something?" Exhausting days and sleepless nights, racked with insecurity, had left him feeling a little more uncharitable than his usual, bubbly self.

Athos actually looked stunned by the viciousness there before he blinked it away. "Not at all," he soothed. "What do you want to know?" He settled himself in a chair beside him.

The most succinct question d'Artagnan could offer was 'what happened,' but the last time he'd asked that, they'd told him to go back to sleep so that they wouldn't have to answer. If Athos was willing to talk, d'Artagnan didn't want to scare him away again too quickly. "Where are the others?"

"Getting something to eat. We've not been back in the city long; Aramis thought you'd be asleep for longer."

"We're in Paris?"

"My apartments, specifically."

Which meant that d'Artagnan had, through no fault of his own, stolen Athos' bed. He wasn't sure whether he should feel guilty about that or not. "Why not the garrison?"

Athos looked away again, uncertain. "There are... complications."

"Complications like Matthieu?" If he had to pry the story out of Athos one question at a time, he'd do it. He was sick of being denied information that directly affected his life expectancy; if more treacherous Musketeers were about to spring out of the woodwork to hang him, he'd appreciate a little forewarning.

"Yes."

"Is there anyone else I should be worried about?"

"We don't know yet."

"That's reassuring."

"It's why we brought you here."

d'Artagnan had a suspicion creeping through his mind and though it made him sick, he had to ask. "Did you know that he was going to come after me?"

The pained look on Athos' face was answer enough, even if the man seemed incapable of speaking. A white hot flash of betrayal swept through d'Artagnan, so much sharper than when he'd realised Matthieu was going to kill him. Because Musketeer or not, he hadn't liked Matthieu and had never really trusted him, certainly not with his life. But time and time again he'd put his life on the line for Athos, Aramis and Porthos, and he'd had to trust them to keep it safe for him when he couldn't.

Rage and heartbreak warred for dominance in his heart, but he was able to ask steadily, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Athos was silent for a very long time, staring out the window and d'Artagnan wondered if he had any intention of answering him. Just as he'd decided that he might as well go back to sleep, Athos spoke. "Treville requested that we keep it between ourselves. While we didn't like it, but..."

"You followed orders like good little soldiers." He hadn't meant to sound quite so accusing but he was hardly about to apologise.

Athos flinched. "d'Artagnan-"

"No, I understand," he cut in, feeling his heart beating too fast under too-small ribs. "You follow where the Captain leads. I didn't expect anything else." Except he had, hadn't he? That's why he felt so angry now. He'd expected them to have his back even when Treville was the one holding the knife but they'd just let him stroll in and stab him, as though all the friendship they'd worked towards was nothing but wasted time. Perhaps it was.

"It wasn't like that," Athos defended, looking out of his depth. He clearly hadn't wanted to be the one having this conversation and now that he was stuck in it, he didn't know what to say. "We wanted to protect you-"

"By sending me out alone, so that they could execute me without anybody else getting in the way?" Morbidly, he wondered what Matthieu would have done if he hadn't been alone. If maybe Etienne had been sent with him, would he still have been ambushed? Would Etienne have died too?

"d'Artagnan let me speak," Athos ordered.

"Why?" He replied, laughing bitterly, uncaring when it made his ribs and throat ache. "Why should I believe a word you say? The last Musketeer I spoke to was trying to kill me. How am I to know that you're any different?" As soon as the words were out, he knew that he didn't believe them. Athos had had plenty of opportunities to kill him before now, with much less chance of suspicion falling on him and yet he hadn't. d'Artagnan, however misguided, still considered Athos safe. The words hadn't been meant as an accusation, but as a punishment, flung with the intent to hurt, to wound, so that Athos might understand the pain of betrayal.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, d'Artagnan forgot that no one knew betrayal quite like Athos did.

"Do you truly think that of me? Of Aramis and Porthos?" Athos' voice was quiet.

"No," he admitted after a moment of charged silence. "But that doesn't mean I trust you either."

"The others will be back in a few minutes. We'll explain everything."

"And then what happens?"

Athos raised a shoulder in a lopsided shrug. "I think that depends on what you want to happen. Just... Hear us out. Don't let a rash act ruin your career."

When the others returned, d'Artagnan was forced to endure Aramis' medical checks before they gave him any answers, and he bore the manipulations with ill grace. Aramis' whole frame was tense with nervous energy and he wouldn't quite meet d'Artagnan's eyes, face carefully blank.

"You'll live," he announced eventually. "Just be careful with your ribs."

d'Artagnan nodded and quirked a brief smile of thanks. Whatever else they'd done, they'd stopped Matthieu from having him hanged. "So," he said when they'd all settled themselves, Athos and Porthos in the two chairs and Aramis perched on the end of his bed. "Are you going to explain?"

"Yes," said Aramis decisively, shooting the others a warning glare not to say anything, "But first, I want to know about those bruises of yours."

"I got knocked around a bit before they strung me up."

"And the ones that are several days old?" d'Artagnan didn't say anything, just stared Aramis down until he looked away, a little shamefaced. "I suppose we haven't done anything to make you confide in us."

Sighing heavily, d'Artagnan felt weariness seeping into his bones. He just wanted this to be over. "Tell me what happened. All of it, not just about Matthieu."

Athos glanced at the others and took a deep breath. "A few weeks ago, the Captain became aware of... unrest within the regiment. All he heard were whispers, nothing solid that he could act on and he didn't know which Musketeers he could trust to help him. Eventually he realised that he was helpless alone, and he came to the three of us."

"Actually, he came to Athos," Porthos corrected. "We just tagged along."

"And I wasn't told because you didn't trust me?" He was impressed at how steady his voice was.

"Of course we trust you," Aramis told him, as though he was surprised that the thought had even crossed d'Artagnan's mind. "How could we not after all we've done together?"

"It wasn't lack of trust that stopped us from telling you," Athos reassured. "Treville was adamant that we not get you involved in this because he was worried it would make you more of a target than you already were." d'Artagnan frowned, confused, and gestured for Athos to continue. "He suspected that some of the instigators were bitter about you earning your commission at such a young age, and the fact that you were... not noble."

"You can just call me common," d'Artagnan told him.

Athos inclined his head but didn't say anything else, so Porthos picked up the tale, his deep voice somehow calming. "After some arguing-"

"A lot of arguing," Aramis put in.

"-We eventually agreed that it would be safer for you if you remained unaware of the tension in the garrison."

"You thought I was unaware? How could I possibly have not noticed that several Musketeers hated me? It seemed pretty obvious from where I was standing." He saw all three of them glance quickly at his torso and away again, and knew they were remembering the bruises hidden under his shirt, suddenly understanding.

"That was our mistake," Aramis said very softly, sounding as though he were in physical pain.

"You should have told us about that," Athos told him, trying very hard not to make it sound like a reprimand. "We would have helped."

"You weren't exactly around. And you'll have to forgive me if I didn't much feel like sharing."

Porthos, apparently sensing the growing tension, took up the story again. "It was a mistake not to tell you, but it was a decision made in your best interests, and we can't change it now.

"Anyway. You'll remember that we were sent away? Officially, we were on a covert mission near Leon, but in truth we hardly left Paris. Our main aim was to put our ears to the ground and see what we could find out. I had Flea put out feelers throughout the city and Aramis reached out to some of his mistresses. It took several days for us to find out anything at all and even then it wasn't much - just some vague notion of rebuilding the Musketeer glory but with no names or plans to back it up. We knew that something was definitely wrong but no one could tell us who was causing the trouble."

"But then when we'd been gone for about a week, Treville sent us a message telling us to return as soon as we could," Aramis said.

d'Artagnan frowned at that. If they'd gone to ground to dig up information, then they'd risked it all to return prematurely. "Why?"

"You," Athos told him.

At d'Artagnan's questioning look, Aramis expanded, "He told us that you seemed to be a little worse for wear. Of course, you hadn't said anything, so he couldn't be entirely sure that it was anything other than an accident, but..."

"My eye," d'Artagnan said, only just remembering. He vaguely recalled Treville observing him suspiciously closely one day in training, and realised that Athos had returned that night.

"And pretty much the rest of you, apparently," Aramis agreed. "Athos returned almost immediately. Porthos and I stayed away long enough for him to confirm that there was a problem."

"You hadn't slept that night," he recalled to Athos, thinking of how exhausted he'd looked in the morning after the others had returned. He played through events in his head, trying to remember what came next. "You left again, though, later that day. What was the point in coming back at all and risking everything?"

"Well, we had to make sure you were okay," Porthos pointed out, as though it were obvious. "And you clearly weren't."

"I was doing all right," d'Artagnan defended. "You don't need to protect me."

"It's not a matter of 'need,'" Athos said. "It's a matter of wanting to. You're our brother, we're supposed to look out for you."

d'Artagnan wasn't about to admit to the warmth that pooled in his stomach at Athos' casual acceptance of him like that. It wasn't to say that he wasn't still furious with all of them, but things didn't seem quite so dire now that he had them in front of him and actually communicating for what felt like the first time in years.

"But still, why come back for a few hours?"

"We had planned to stay for longer," Aramis told him. "Especially when we realised what you were going through. And when you wouldn't give us a name, we started to understand how this all must look from your side of things. We hadn't realised how badly we'd abandoned you."

d'Artagnan didn't really have anything that he could say to that, apart from, "So you thought leaving again was a good idea?"

"We did have something of a plan," Athos replied, sounding slightly offended at his lack of faith. "We had thought things through."

"Not enough, apparently," Aramis reminded them all with a grimace as he looked at d'Artagnan's neck. The Gascon realised that it was probably covered in an impressive array of bruises, and suddenly felt self conscious. "We saw you fighting with Matthieu and decided that he must be at least part of whatever was going on. And then when he moved to kill you..."

"We couldn't let it go any further," Athos said. "So we headed out again. Treville was to send you to us the next morning and once safely out of the city, we could explain everything to you."

"The missives for Cherbourg."

"Yes. He trusted that you'd follow his orders not to open them; they were just blank pieces of parchment."

d'Artagnan actually laughed a little at that, hissing a little as his ribs protested. "Of course they were."

"But Matthieu got to you first. When you didn't turn up, we headed out to search for you. Thankfully, you'd been taken not far from the meeting point so you weren't all that hard to find."

"Only, by the time we got there, you already had a noose around your neck and Matthieu was spouting some nonsense about 'a better future for the noble Musketeers,'" Aramis told him, face paler than normal. "When he saw us, he kicked the chair out from under your feet."

There was a brief silence and d'Artagnan took in their grave features, suddenly realising how weighed down by guilt they all were. None of them looked like they'd slept that much recently and it was all finally starting to make sense. d'Artagnan had been so busy being angry and insecure, that he'd stopped trying to see it from their perspective.

"I'm pretty sure he was building up to that anyway," d'Artagnan reminded them. "It wasn't your fault."

"If we'd told you about what was going on, you might not have been there in the first place," Athos argued.

"Maybe not. But I also might have had my throat cut while I slept in the garrison. Matthieu was the one that had me hanged, not you." He paused for a second, remembering the terrible tightness of the rope around his neck. "Thank you, for saving me. It was not... Thank you."

He'd wanted to say 'it was not how I wanted to die,' but his thoughts had immediately swung to 'I don't want to die,' and the resulting panic threatened to engulf him so he swallowed the words.

"Sorry that we were late," Aramis told him, offering the most hesitant of smiles that d'Artagnan slowly returned.

"What happened to Matthieu?" he asked then, suddenly curious.

A perfectly evil smile spread across Porthos' lips and d'Artagnan almost flinched away from it. "Treville has him."

"What exactly is Treville intending to do with him?"

"We need to know if there's anyone else in the regiment we need to be wary of," Athos told him. "Two of Matthieu's men were Musketeers, though the rest were unknown to us. Treville thinks that might be more, which is why you're here and not at the garrison."

"Which other Musketeers?" He needed to know who was willing to die just because of him.

"Pierre and Marchand."

d'Artagnan frowned at that. "Pierre was fine with me up until the second time you left. That day he was a little... short tempered, but I thought he was just in a bad mood. Marchand never said anything against me to my face. He was kind to me even."

"Traitors the lot of them," Aramis said with real venom. He was understandably irritable when it came to Musketeers turning on each other.

"I take it you can't think of anyone else who might be trying to kill you?"

d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow at Athos but he just shrugged. It was a fair question. "There were some who spent a lot of time with Matthieu who gave me trouble but that doesn't necessarily mean they want me dead. I'm fairly sure you can trust Etienne, if you want another opinion. He was watching my back when you guys were gone."

"We'll find them, don't worry."

"And where am I going to stay until then?"

Athos frowned a little, "Is here not sufficient?"

It sounded like he was trying not to be offended and d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "If I'm staying here, where are you supposed to sleep? You look like you need the rest more than I do. In fact, all of you look exhausted."

"You've not looked in a mirror recently, have you?" Aramis asked, smirking a little. d'Artagnan tried futilely to kick him without moving any of his upper body.

Athos sighed. "You can stay here d'Artagnan. I'm fairly sure these two layabouts-" he nodded towards Aramis and Porthos, "-will want to stay near you for the foreseeable future and I'm the only one with apartments large enough for the four of us."

"I'm not making you all sleep on the floor," he protested.

"You're not making us do anything," Porthos reassured. "We want to stay. Besides, I've slept in worse places."

"I don't know," Aramis said, examining the floor critically, "Athos really could sweep in here more often."

Athos glared half-heartedly and d'Artagnan found himself chuckling with Porthos, the last traces of anger dripping off him and leaving him feeling lighter than before. Athos saw him relaxing and sobered a little, straightening his shoulders. "I know that we've done you wrong, d'Artagnan. We're truly sorry for everything you suffered because of it and we promise that we'll do better next time. I'm not asking you to just forgive us like nothing happened but I hope that what's been done has not permanently damaged our friendship, and that maybe one day we can be as we were before."

Porthos was nodding and Aramis smiled with a "What he said."

There wasn't any more anger in d'Artagnan to hold this against them. They'd explained what they'd done and why, and admitted that their reasoning had been flawed, but all of it had been done to try and protect him. They hadn't just abandoned him because they didn't care or because they thought him unworthy, but because to remain would have put him in danger and they wanted to spare him that. They'd been wrong, but for the right reasons. "I need you to promise me that the next time something like this happens, you'll tell me."

"I swear it," Athos said, the others repeating him.

Satisfied, d'Artagnan smiled, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time. "Then I think that we'll be okay," he announced and then cried out in mock outrage as Aramis darted forwards to ruffle his hair.

Despite feeling like he'd been run over by a cart, d'Artagnan's injuries weren't all that severe. He still wasn't eating solid foods but he was up and about, though remaining confined to Athos' apartments, much to his growing frustration. The others made it more bearable, keeping him occupied with card games or knife throwing competitions (which Athos refused point blank to take part in and d'Artagnan won every time - Aramis' losing streak had lead him to suggest a shooting competition instead at which point Athos had jumped in and forbidden it).

All in all, d'Artagnan was feeling rather content about the whole thing. His mood only brightened when he received word that Matthieu had rolled on his compatriots and all of them were now in custody, ready for trial with the king. The message was accompanied by a summons from Treville for the four of them.

Standing in that familiar office, d'Artagnan twitched anxiously, just barely soothed by his friends' solid presence beside him.

"d'Artagnan. I take it the others have filled you in on what happened."

"Yes Sir."

Treville looked expectant and wary all at once. "And?"

He knew perfectly well what was being asked, but he decided he was going to be awkward for the sake of it. He was still a little angry with Treville after all. "Sir?"

The Captain rolled his eyes and sighed in the manner of a man wondering how he'd gotten himself into that position. "Is there anything I should know about the state of affairs between the four of you?"

d'Artagnan shrugged, smiling just a little. "I shouldn't think so Sir."

"Good," he growled, and it didn't sound like he thought anything in the world was 'good,' but there was a softness in his face that spoke of relief. d'Artagnan was willing to forgive him for that alone. "It might interest you to know that when we arrested Matthieu's companions, many of the other Musketeers spoke in your defence. Etienne in particular seemed enraged at the slurs against your name. It would seem that you have many more friends here that you might imagine."

A creeping smile stole onto d'Artagnan's face, warmth filling him at the words. Treville seemed aware of the effect and shooed them all out of his office with fake impatience, muttering about paperwork. The others headed straight for the stairs to get some food - staying at Athos' lodgings meant that they had to survive on what they could cook themselves and none of them had any great skill - but d'Artagnan lingered on the balcony. He leaned against the railing, looking out on the courtyard, catching Phillippe's eye and receiving a nod and smile, that he returned. It was nothing really, a simple gesture of good will, but d'Artagnan felt it light him up from the inside out.

He was home.