It had all happened so fast. Or so it had seemed. The days had blurred together until he wasn't sure how long it had been since his father's death and the beginning of his quest for vengeance.

He couldn't even really remember how long it had been since he barged into the musketeers' garrison declaring war on Athos and battling him. He was out of his depth, he realised that before he had even lowered his gun and drew his sword but grief and anger were powerful mistresses, capable of twisting your mind until you were blind to everything except them.

The battle had ended quickly, not that he was surprised, and it was only after being cornered by the three experienced soldiers and watching Athos be dragged away by the red guards that the pain and fatigue hit him. He could feel the blood trickling down his forearm from where Athos' sword had hit him until it reached his fingers and he stared at it, fascinated by the red-coated skin until he remembered where he was and what he was doing. He wiped his hand against the back of his breeches and pressed his arm against his side, hoping to stem any further blood flow until he had time to assess the wound.

He felt suddenly lost. He had been so focused on finding this 'Athos' that had murdered his father. Now that the man had been taken to the Chatelet he didn't know how to react. For a brief moment he felt relief that his father's murderer was safely locked away and unable to harm anyone further, but a look over at the direction of the other two soldiers had his stomach dropping that something was very wrong. Was he really innocent?

Before he had a chance to ask them anything Constance was tugging at his sleeve and bringing him back to her husband's house. Sitting in the chair in front of the fire, he couldn't really remember how he got there or how he managed to be sitting naked from the waist up talking to Monsieur Bonacieux. Although it hardly seemed like talking with how Bonacieux sneered down his nose at him and glared at his wife.

Constance tried to wrap his ribs, the ache of which he felt burning deeply and he knew that they were at least cracked, if not broken. She tried but her skills were limited and he knew that the bandage would never hold. She glanced down at his arm as she wrapped and stared at the deep cut.

'How did you get that?' She questioned, reaching a hand over to grab his arm but he pulled back and shook his head.

'It doesn't matter,' he croaked, trying desperately to hold back the tears he felt crawling up his throat, 'I've failed my father. I can't rest until I know the truth.'

'That's lucky because rest is out of the question,' a voice called from the doorway as the two soldiers from earlier let themselves into the room.

'What in God's name are you doing?' Bonacieux hissed, glaring at the musketeers before him. 'You can't just come into my home uninvited.'

'Forgive us monsieur, we are only here to collect D'Artagnan. We need his help.'

Bonacieux turned his anger towards D'Artagnan who shrunk under the gaze.

'You have been here 5 minutes and already you have caused so much trouble. This will be affecting my business. God knows what my clients will think if they see soldiers and bedraggled boys coming in and out of my household,' Bonacieux shouted, waving his arms around the room. Constance tried to quieten him but he glared in her direction and she stopped with a huff.

'Go,' Constance spoke softly, helping D'Artagnan stand and handing him his bloodied shirt, 'your possessions will be safe here for when you return.'

D'Artagnan smiled at her as he dressed, grabbing his doublet and his weapons belt as he left the room.

Standing beside his horse outside, he breathed deeply and wrapped himself in his doublet and cloak. His arm was burning along with his ribs and he could feel himself starting to shiver from the cold. He tried to push it to the back of his mind as he saw the two experienced soldiers approaching him.

'Forgive us D'Artagnan but we really do need your help. Athos did not murder your father and he did not kill those other people. Something strange and disturbing it going on. Will you help us?' The lighter skinned man spoke softly, his eyes gentle and caring as he grasped D'Artagnan's shoulder and squeezed. The darker man stood behind him with a gruff expression on his face and D'Artagnan doubted he really had much of a choice. He simply nodded, not trusting his voice to come out.

'Wonderful,' the man squeezing his shoulder announced. 'Well then, since we will be working together we should get aquatinted. My name is Aramis and this is Porthos. Never fear, he may look like a bear but he's really rather lovely.'

D'Artagnan nodded at the introduction but one glance at Porthos had him doubting how 'lovely' he was.

'C'mon we're wasting time,' Porthos' rough voice called out as he walked towards his own horse, climbing on and wrapping his cloak around him. The snow was getting heavier and colder and they were still in the city. Out in the country and the open roads with no shelter from the wind it was going to get much worse. Aramis thought the same as he glanced at D'Artagnan's thin cloak with a tut and a shake of his head. That would not do him much longer. He made a mental note that once this fiasco was over he would see about rewarding the boy with some better clothes.

'You haven't exactly dressed for a winter in Paris,' Aramis spoke when they were just outside the city and heading towards the inn, sidling up beside D'Artagnan's horse. He frowned as the boy shrugged and didn't turn to face him.

'Not used to the weather I suppose,' his voice was quiet and his throat sounded as though it didn't want to give up the words. 'Lupiac is never this cold and with the increased taxes we were struggling.'

Aramis nodded, taking the opportunity to look at D'Artagnan properly. He was holding himself stiffly in his saddle, his fingers holding tighter to the reigns than needed and his cheeks were getting flushed however whether that was from the wind chill or a fever Aramis did not know.

'Something I can help you with?' D'Artagnan drawled, turning to face Aramis with a scowl. Aramis simply smirked and shook his head.

'Where do you learn to fight?' Porthos called from Aramis' other side, leaning over slightly to see passed his brother's shoulder.

'My father,' D'Artagnan answered, and God if that didn't make him want to empty his stomach.

'What happened?' Aramis asked, aware of the grief on D'Artagnan's pale face and offering a small smile.

D'Artagnan inhaled shakily to settle his nerves. He wasn't a child. In fact he was now the head of the house. He needed to be braver. He explained the story to the soldiers as they trotted towards the inn; he could see the smoke billowing in the distance. Aramis and Porthos were grasped by the events that took place, both feeling sympathy for a young man, clearly no older than 19, who had so recently lost his father.

'Where was he killed?' Porthos asked, adjusting his hat and knocking the snow from the top to the ground.

'Here,' D'Artagnan answered, almost a whisper barely louder than the wind around them as they turned a corner and stood in front of the inn.

'Jesus,' Porthos hissed, 'We're sorry, we didn't know it happened here. Thought you'd just been in a fight with them.'

D'Artagnan just shook his head and jumped down from his horse, unable to say anything else lest his emotions betray him. His knees buckled slightly and he had to grip the saddle to remain standing as he felt a rush of pain through his ribs and the light headedness of blood loss.

'You alright?' Aramis was beside him suddenly and D'Artagnan was sure he had floated there for he had not heard footsteps.

'Yeah,' he croaked, righting himself and heading towards the inn, 'just been a long a day.'

'Ain't that the truth,' Porthos sighed as he joined Aramis to walk to the inn.

'He's injured,' Aramis started softly towards Porthos, 'and clearly hasn't eaten in a while.' Porthos nodded in non-committal agreement and shrugged.

'Yeah but Athos needs us now. Can't be taking in strays. After this is over, yeah?' Porthos replied, watching as D'Artagnan spoke to the innkeeper. Aramis huffed, the medic in him clearly unhappy, but nodded in agreement. No rest until Athos was safe.

The discovery of Cornet and his men had Porthos shouting curses through the trees and Aramis uttering prayers around his rosary and D'Artagnan wondered how two men so different could be such friends. He may have only just met them but he could feel how close they were. He guessed being soldiers helped; being a brother in arms and looking out for each other. D'Artagnan had no one to look out for him anymore; he sighed at the thought and fought back more tears. He needed to get a hold of his emotions and focus.

He felt suddenly too warm and suffocated and he rushed to remove his cloak. Not that it protected much from the weather but the material around his neck made him feel choked and trapped and he needed it gone. The cold air around him helped him come back to reality and he suppressed a shiver as Aramis stepped towards him.

'The men who did this killed your father as well,' Aramis warned and he nodded in response. Aramis took a moment to look at him.

'Are you alright? You look flushed,' Aramis questioned, pulling off a glove and moving to place his hand on D'Artagnan's forehead. The younger man quickly stepped away from him with wide eyes.

'I'm fine. It's just been a long day.'

'Yeah, so you said,' Porthos snorted from behind Aramis. 'When was the last time you ate something? I'm worried this wind is going to take you away.'

D'Artagnan glared at him and Porthos laughed in response. Aramis used the distraction to plant his hand on D'Artagnan's forehead before he realised what was happening. He quickly snapped his head away and moved to mount his horse, a look of betrayal in his eyes. He clicked his tongue and his horse started walking towards Paris, assuming that the two men would start following.

'He needs to rest,' Aramis sighed at Porthos who was watching the boy moving away from them. 'Definite fever, slight but going to get worse. You seen him at Bonacieux's too; he's too thin. And he looks tired. And I'm worried about those ribs.'

Porthos nodded in agreement and clapped his hand to his brother's shoulder.

'I know you're concerned 'Mis, but Athos comes first. The kid'll be fine for now. I promise when this is all over you can fix him,' Porthos said around a reassuring smile. Aramis nodded thoughtfully before mounting his own horse and rushing to catch up with their charge.

It was only whenever they had freed Athos and they had invited him to the Wren for a celebratory drink did it hit him that he had done it. He had helped solve his father's murder and he had helped clear a musketeer's name as well. He felt a burst of pride in his chest for only a moment. He still had so much to worry about. Where was he going to live? He need a job, did he just go back to his farm? He was startled when a glass was set down in front of him.

'Good job,' Athos said with a smile, however small. D'Artagnan retuned it and gripped the glass in his hand.

'Thank you,' he replied with a salute of his glass, 'I'm glad we were able to save you.'

Athos gave him a brief pat on the shoulder and a squeeze of his hand before he left them and sat at his table in the corner. D'Artagnan's eyes followed him with a frown, his eyebrows furrowed.

'Don't worry about him,' Porthos huffed, taking his pack of cards out of his pocket and shuffling them, 'he always does this. He's a miserable soul.' He spoke loud enough for Athos to hear him and reply with a hand gesture that had him guffawing.

'Fancy a game?' Porthos asked with a glint in his eye, shuffling the cards between his skilled fingers.

'I don't have much on me,' D'Artagnan warned, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what coins he had to his name.

'That'll do you,' Porthos agreed with a smile. 'I'll let you keep the rest at Bonacieux's.'

D'Artagnan frowned slightly in confusion before shrugging and focusing on the game. Now that he had sat down and the heat of the pub was soaking into his bones he somehow felt worse than he had for days. His arm felt hot to touch and he cursed himself for not having taken care of it. Granted he hadn't exactly had the time but he knew what an untreated wound could do. His ribs were hurting him in his hunched over position and he squirmed in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. He could feel Athos' eyes boring into his back and he refrained from turning and looking at him.

It took less than 30 minutes for Porthos to take all of the money available on the table and while D'Artagnan was sure that he had cheated somehow, his head was swimming and he couldn't be certain.

'Another round?' Porthos asked, pulling the coins into a pile on his side of the table and getting ready to deal the cards out.

'Nothing left for you to take,' D'Artagnan smiled softly, showing his empty hands. He drank the rest of the wine in his glass and made to stand up.

'Do you have somewhere to stay?' Aramis asked from beside him and D'Artagnan contemplated asking Porthos why he didn't put a bell around the man's neck so they knew when he was coming.

'Yes,' D'Artagnan swallowed down the bile that he could feel in his chest, he really needed to lie down and eat something, 'Madame Bonacieux has offered me lodging in her husband's house.'

'I bet she has,' Porthos sniggered, downing the rest of the wine in his glass before refilling it. D'Artagnan scowled at him and grabbed his doublet.

'Lovely working with you gentlemen. If I stay in Paris, I am sure I will see you around, protecting the streets.'

D'Artagnan was out the door before they could say anything else and Aramis stood frowning at the exit.

'You're worried. What's wrong with him?' Athos asked as he moved over to their table, setting his bottle of wine down and pulling Aramis into the seat beside him.

'Where do I even start?' Aramis shook his head. 'Fever, last I checked, he's light headed, doesn't know when he ate last, or slept for that matter. Possible broken ribs, no doubt black and blue under that shirt. Of course I'm worried. He's a boy, Athos. A boy who just lost his father and doesn't know where else to go or who to turn to.'

Athos nodded and squeezed Aramis' upper arm.

'He will be fine. Madame Bonacieux will fix him up.' He didn't know quite how wrong he was.