When D'Artagnan finally reached the Bonacieux residence, after navigating the winding streets and taking too many wrong turns, he found Monsieur Bonacieux standing at the door blocking his entrance and his bag of meagre possessions lying in the snow before him.

'You cannot stay here. I have a reputation to uphold and I cannot have dirty young farmers ruining that.'

D'Artagnan's eyes widened and he found himself almost struggling to breathe.

'Please, monsieur, I have nowhere else to go tonight. Please allow me to stay for tonight and I will leave tomorrow.'

'No,' Bonacieux huffed, stepping back and closing the door, 'you have caused too much trouble for us already. Go and bother someone else.'

D'Artagnan honestly felt like the world was crashing around him and he almost pinched himself to make sure that he wasn't having a nightmare. What was he to do now? Where could he go? For a brief moment he thought about heading back to the pub and requesting shelter with the musketeers as payment for his assistance but he pushed the thought out of his head immediately.

For one, he had no idea where he was. The streets were all looking identical and he couldn't tell which way was which through the dark and the snow. Secondly, even if he could find his way there he doubted they would want to help him. He had accused Athos of murder; no one forgave that so soon. And thirdly, his legs were definitely not going to carry him much further.

He picked his bag up and headed towards the streets. He looked behind him but Bonacieux had already closed the door and there was no sign of Constance coming to save him. He was alone again.

A million thoughts were rushing through his head and he tried to focus. He could feel his legs getting weaker and knew he had to find a place to rest and something to eat soon. He briefly considered going to the stable where he had left his horse and hiding there until morning but disregarded the thought. He would get caught and would probably be accused of being a horse thief knowing his luck.

He walked slowly, placing one careful foot in front of the other, keeping his head down. The snow was heavier than before and he was struggling to seen in front of him. The only benefit of that was that the streets were deserted and he didn't have to worry about a collision with anyone. He was so cold. He couldn't remember a time he had been colder and he put his hands under his armpits to try and keep his fingers warm.

He was so focused on not getting any colder that he didn't notice anyone walking towards him until he bumped into a broad chest. He blinked in surprise and a flash of a blue cape caught his attention and he raised his head. His hope was dashed as although the men in front of him were Musketeers, they were not the particular set of soldiers he had hoped to see.

'And what do we have here?' The one in the blue cape smirked, stepping around D'Artagnan so he was behind him and eyeing the bag over his shoulder.

'We've been getting a lot of complaints about street rats stealing valuables,' the other man shrugged knowingly. It was obvious he was a recruit, the lack of cloak and pauldron giving his status away.

'Let's have a look then. Need to make sure you haven't stolen anything,' the older soldier nodded, grabbing at D'Artagnan's bag. D'Artagnan struggled with him briefly until the other man grabbed his arms and brought them behind his back, securing them with rope. D'Artagnan's eyes flashed with stars the moment the soldier grabbed his injured arm and he stumbled to the side.

'Woah there! You're not getting away that easily,' the recruit laughed, holding D'Artagnan's bound arms tightly. D'Artagnan shook his head to clear his vision and his thoughts. He wanted to explain his injury; that he wasn't trying to escape them but he worried if he opened his mouth he would vomit.

'Would you look at that!' The musketeer preened, bringing his hand out of D'Artagnan's bag and dangling an ornate crucifix from his fingers. 'Where would a street urchin like you get something like this, hmm?'

'It was my mother's,' D'Artagnan choked out, wringing his wrists in his bonds and wincing as the rope chafed his skin.

'I'm sure it was. And where is your mother so we can verify this?'

'Dead. A long time ago. I'm afraid you will have to take my word for it.'

The musketeer laughed with a shake of his head and pushed the contents of the bag back in.

'Unfortunately it is not me you will have to convince. Captain Treville will address you tomorrow. Until then you can stay in our jail.'

D'Artagnan wanted to protest but the recruit spun him around and started marching him towards the Garrison and everything happened to quickly D'Artagnan couldn't tell which way was up.

Before he knew it he was led down a set of steps and pushed into small stone room. There was a torch outside the barred door but no other light for him to use. The recruit had the decency to cut the rope around his wrists before locking the door behind him.

D'Artagnan shivered as the coolness of the room seeped into his bones and his legs felt like they could no longer support his weight. His knees buckled and he collapsed into a corner of the room, hissing as his ribs throbbed and his arm pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He felt too warm and too cold at the same time and knew that wasn't a good sign.

He pulled his knees up against his chest and braced his ribs. He wanted to think of a way out of his predicament but his eyes closed on their own accord and he knew no more.

The next morning found Athos and Porthos at their usual table sharing a basket of bread. Porthos looked up in concern when Aramis stormed towards them, throwing his weapons belt on the table and placing his hands on his hips.

'Bad night with your latest conquest?' Porthos smirked, chewing his bread loudly with his mouth open. Athos shot him a glare.

'D'Artagnan is missing,' Aramis huffed, pacing back and forth in front of his brothers.

'What do you mean, missing?' Athos questioned, dropping his bread onto the table and wiping his hands on his breeches.

'I mean that Monsieur Bonacieux expressed his displeasure at our visit yesterday by turfing the boy out on his rear.'

Athos was about to reply when Treville appeared at the top of the stairs, motioning them to follow him to his office with a glare.

'He looks as happy as always,' Porthos grumbled, finishing his breakfast off in one bite. The three soldiers followed their captain into his office, Aramis closing the door behind them.

'There have been reports of thieves in the market,' Treville started, settling himself behind his desk.

'Yes so we have heard. Do you want us to go and investigate these claims?' Athos spoke, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

'No, Claude and Sebastian caught one of them last night. He's down in the hold currently but I want you three to go and speak to him to find where the others are hiding.'

'How do you know he is a thief?' Porthos asked, stepping forward towards the desk when Treville pulled a bag out from behind him.

'He had this with him,' Treville explained, emptying the bag onto the table and lifting the crucifix into the air.

Athos nodded, his hands looking through the rest of the meagre contents. Clearly the owner of these items didn't have many funds. The clothes were thin and threadbared and there was no money enclosed.

Aramis lifted a folded piece of paper from the pile, opening it and reading it with a frown. His eyes widened and he looked from Porthos to Athos and back to the paper. Once word stood out above all others. D'Artagnan.

'That is no thief,' Aramis hissed, thrusting the paper into Athos' hands. 'That's the boy who helped save Athos' life.'

Athos heard Porthos let out a distinctive growl at the revelation and he placed the paper back on the table.

'What claims do Claude and Sebastian have that this man is a thief? Did they allow him to explain?' Athos' clipped tone did nothing to hide his anger at the lack of justice in this case.

'I don't know. They are too young and inexperienced and that is why I asked you to investigate.'

Aramis huffed, already halfway out the door before Treville had finished speaking. Athos and Porthos quickly followed.

Athos marched forward to the barred door and demanded the guard open it. There was no hesitation and the door was flung open. Aramis pushed passed his friend and rushed into the room.

'D'Artagnan?' He called, quietly stepping towards the boy. D'Artagnan had curled himself into the corner of the room, his knees brought up to his chest and his uninjured arm wrapped around his shins. He injured arm was limp at his side, his fingers twitching. He lifted his head from where it had rested on his knees and Aramis' steps stopped suddenly when the boy's eyes blinked owlishly at him.

'It's Aramis,' the soldier spoke softly, moving closer and kneeling down beside the trembling figure.

'Aramis?' D'Artagnan croaked, blinking at the other man in an effort to clear his blurry vision.

'Yes it's me. What are you doing down here? We will have to have a word about what you think are acceptable lodgings.'

D'Artagnan huffed a small laugh and turned towards the door. He could see Porthos and Athos standing in the doorway and the stern look on Athos' face sent a shiver down his spine.

'I didn't steal anything Aramis,' D'Artagnan promised, looking imploringly at the older man.

'We know you didn't. And Treville knows you didn't. He has asked us to come down and let you out but I want you to come with me to the infirmary. I want to see your injuries,' Aramis explained, pushing D'Artagnan's hair away from his face and planting his hand on the boy's forehead. He frowned and glanced back at his friends with a shake of his head.

'Aramis,' D'Artagnan whispered, his eyes wide and watering and looking entirely too young, 'I don't feel well.'

Before Aramis could reply he watched in horror as D'Artagnan's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped against the wall.

The Musketeers froze in the doorway as Aramis grabbed D'Artagnan by his shoulders.

'D'Artagnan!? Come on, lad,' Aramis huffed, shaking D'Artagnan and resting a hand against his cheek. He felt a presence behind him and Athos crouched down beside him.

'What's the matter with him?'

'Where do I start? I need to get him to the infirmary. Fever is too high but he's shivering. Definitely something more going on than some busted ribs and exhaustion.'

Aramis patted his way down D'Artagnan's body, feeling the bones in his shoulders and ribs, ignoring the flinch D'Artagnan gave him when his rib cage shifted under his ministrations.

'Broken ribs definitely.'

He ran his hands down D'Artagnan's arms and stopped when D'Artagnan flinched and whimpered and attempted to move his right arm away from Aramis. Aramis quickly let go and pushed the sleeve of the boy's jacket and shirt up and huffed at the raw and weeping wound.

'Oh you stupid boy.'

Aramis shook his head and huffed in frustration.

'I gave him that,' Athos stated, his face something akin to horror.

'Athos-' Aramis started but was cut off when the older soldier jumped to his feet and marched from the room.

'Well, that's went well,' Porthos nodded, crouching down in Athos' abandoned spot.

'Indeed. Porthos, would you mind?'

Porthos sighed loudly and looked at Aramis from the corner of his eyes.

'Sometimes I think you lot just keep me around for the muscle.'

'Well we were going to tell you but didn't want to hurt your feelings.'

Porthos smirked as he placed one arm under D'Artagnan's limp knees and another under his trembling shoulders and hoisted him into the air.

The two soldiers made quick work of leaving the dank dungeon and settling their patient into the clean infirmary, stripping him of his damp clothes and covering him with several blankets.

'He's so thin,' Porthos growled, throwing himself into a chair beside the bed. He glared at the bruised rib cage of their young friend as though his gaze would right the wrongs that had befallen him.

'I know, dear Porthos. But a few meals of Serge's fine cuisine well set him right,' Aramis explained with a soft smile, sitting on the bed beside D'Artagnan and looking carefully at the weeping wound on the boy's arm.

'I wish he had have come to me with this when it happened. Or at least have kept it clean.'

'How was he going to do that when he was too busy gallivanting across half of France in order to save my life.'

Aramis and Porthos looked up to see Athos standing in the doorway, his uniform askew and his face like thunder.

'Where did you disappear to?' Porthos called from the other side of D'Artagnan's bed, leaning over and dipping a cloth into the cool water on the table and placing it on the boy's head. He may not be a medic but he had watched Aramis work enough times to know the basics.

'To right a few wrongs. Treville has been informed of the health of our prisoner, or lack thereof, and Sebastian and Claude will be duly reprimanded. They should have at least had the sense to check the boy for injuries. Stupid.'

Aramis and Porthos shared a knowing look across the unconscious patient. It had been a while since Athos has been so passionate about anything, let alone an orphaned Gascon.

'Rightly so. Now, since you are here, make yourself useful and get me the things I need to mend this wound. The word stupid does not just apply to our fellow soldiers.'

With his instruments in hand, Aramis began cleaning and stitching D'Artagnan's wound, holding his still when he tried to pull away from the wine or the needle piercing his skin. He had just begun to bandage the wound when D'Artagnan let out a soft moan and fluttered his eyes open.

'Welcome back lad. Worried you were going to miss all the fun? Don't worry, Aramis hasn't even started preparing his lecture yet so you've plenty of time for that.'

D'Artagnan blinked in confusion as he looked around the room, utterly confused as to how he arrived there. The last thing he remembered was being accused of being a thief and being brought to the Garrison. He was sure he was still there but this was certainly not the cell he had been placed in.

'Do you have a death wish?'

D'Artagnan started at the sudden interruption and he stared at the angry soldier at the foot of his bed.

'I-I'm sorry?' D'Artagnan managed to croak out, coughing to clear his throat and wishing he couldn't feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment at how weak he must look.

'Apology accepted. However, my friend asked you a very important question. Do you have a death wish? Why did you not ask us to see to your wounds? Why were you wandering the streets being accused of being a thief? Why did you not go to your lodgings as agreed?' Aramis shot the questions at his patient, one after the other without giving him time to answer and Athos held his hand up to stop him.

'D'Artagnan,' Athos started, his voice calm but his face the opposite, 'We would have helped. Why wouldn't you have asked us?'

'I didn't want to be a burden,' D'Artagnan shrugged, hissing as he felt his ribs shift. 'I did have lodgings, I promise, but Monsieur Bonaceiux made it clear that I was not welcome. I didn't steal anything. Everything I have in that bag is everything that I have. I swear to you. The crucifix was my mother's. It is all I have left from her. I couldn't bear to leave it in Lupiac.'

'You are an idiot,' Porthos sighed from beside him and D'Artagnan rolled his head on the pillow until he was facing the dark skinned soldier.

'I'm an idiot?'

'I'm glad you agree. I took all your money. Why didn't you say anything? If I'd have known I wouldn't have cheated quite so well.'

D'Artagnan smiled at the admission, swallowing down a wave of nausea that rushed over him. He took a moment to collect his thoughts but before he could speak them aloud Athos interrupted.

'D'Artagnan. You saved my life. The least I could have done was make sure that you were rewarded for your bravery and that your wounds were seen to before you left us. For that I am sorry. And I will speak to Monsieur Bonacieux.' With that Athos nodded at the boy with a small smile and left the room.

'I think he likes you,' Aramis smirked, holding out a glass of water to D'Artagnan.

'I would hate to see what he would be like if he didn't like me,' D'Artagnan huffed, drinking the water and shuddering at the bitter taste. He glared accusingly at Aramis. 'This is drugged.'

'It's hardly drugged, lad. A pain reliever and a mild sedative to help you sleep. You've been through a lot the last few days and I would be remiss as a medic if I didn't see that your wounds were properly seen to and that you were fed and watered before you leave us.'

D'Artagnan thought for a moment before drinking the rest of the water.

'Good boy. Now sleep. We'll be here when you wake up.'

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes at Aramis but allowed his heavy eyelids to close. He didn't remember falling asleep.

'I'll see about collecting those new clothes you ordered him. And I'll ask Serge to have some broth ready,' Porthos nodded, standing up and stretching until his bones clicked.

'Thank you brother. I will stay here,' Aramis stated, replacing the cloth on D'Artagnan's head with a cooler one and reclining back in the wooden chair, his legs resting on the soft bed. He placed his hat over his face and sighed. It was going to be a long night.