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If it had been any other day d'Artagnan would have been - not alright, but he would have been managing. As it was, it was the five year anniversary of his brother's death, and his farm had just been burned to the ground. He felt like he'd failed his whole family, and then add the whole sorry affair with Const- he couldn't even think her name without tears burning behind his eyes. He loved her, damn it, and he couldn't stop, no matter what she said to him, and it broke him every day to wake up and know that he could not go to her, that she would not welcome him with her soft kisses and tender caresses - but apparently, those had all been a lie.
He resisted the urge to punch the wall. They were thin, after all, and Athos was lodged next door to him. The last thing he wanted was to tell Athos about this. He'd wanted so badly the past few days to drown himself in drink, but he'd not even touched a tankard of ale, for he was an honest drunk, and this was his burden to bear and his alone. There was no point in concerning the others with it. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling tired and torn and full of grief. He wanted nothing more than to collapse back into bed and the blessed blackness of sleep.
But then there was a knock on the door.
"d'Artagnan?" The voice was hesitant, which was odd, considering that this was Athos. D'Artagnan frowned. Treville had given them a day's leave, by way of apology for his seeming dismissal of d'Artagnan last week, but if he was being honest, the miserable Gascon would have preferred to be on duty - then, at least, he could have kept his mind on the task at hand. He was about to ask what the other man wanted when the man called again, "d'Artagnan, let me in, please." More because he was in stunned shock at Athos saying please than any other reason, he got up and opened the door.
Athos took one look at him and frowned. The questioning tilt of his head meant that he wanted to know what was bothering his young friend, who he had come to see like a brother. D'Artagnan did not have the energy to argue with him, not today.
"Sit, d'Artagnan" Athos spoke softly, as if it were a suggestion, and not an order. D'Artagnan knew better, so he sat down on the bed, waiting for whatever lecture or reproof the older Musketeer deigned to give him resignedly, keeping his eyes on the floor. Instead of saying anything, Athos cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes for a long moment, and d'Artagnan half fancied that Athos could see through into his very soul. But that was nonsense.
"d'Artagnan - what did you mean, when you arrived at the contest?" Of all the questions the other man could have asked, this was not one that d'Artagnan had quite expected, so it threw him off guard.
"It doesn't matter." He turned away from Athos' grasp, despite the comfort it gave him. He did not deserve it, he was-
"d'Artagnan, stop that." Athos growled. "Please, tell me what is troubling you - I beg of you. It hurts me to see you like this." He admitted quietly, "so let me help you." Seeing no change in d'Artagnan's eyes he sighed. "Fine, if you will not tell me why it is you, of all people, have lost faith in love, then perhaps you might tell me the other troubles you have?"
"It's worse today." D'Artagnan started, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It's always worse. Five years, five years to the day." He leant forward, his shoulders slumped, and his breath catching as he desperately held back the tears that he knew were desperate to break through the wall he'd built in his mind. He held his head in his hands. "Five years since I heard my brother's voice, since I saw him smile, and... and-" He pressed his eyes tightly shut, but it did nothing to dim the images which still flashed in stark relief across his eyelids, "since I held him in my arms and-" blood blood so much blood I have to make it stop but it won't stop oh god I'm so sorry Mathieu wake up wake up please don't go-
"D'ARTAGNAN!" Athos's harsh growl brought him back to himself, but he was still shaking like a leaf - he hadn't had a flashback like that in years. Athos was unsure how to deal with him in this state - how would he react to touch? Would he welcome it or would he lash out? Athos decided to risk it, and pull the young man into his arms. Immediately, d'Artagnan relaxed in his embrace and his breathing returned to normal. "Hush, hush, my lad, it's alright, it wasn't your fault." D'Artagnan snorted bitterly,
"So you say"
"So I know." Athos retorted, "Because I know you d'Artagnan, and I know you well enough that you would have done anything and everything you could to save him. Sometimes, though, it just isn't enough - and it hurts you and it breaks you, but that does not make it your fault. It was not the fault of anyone but those who decided to attack children for sport." He tried to reassure the boy, but inside, he was reeling - the loss of the farm, coupled with the upcoming anniversary of his brother's death - no wonder he had been reckless in his first confrontation with Labarge. "Do you think... would it help to talk about what happened?" d'Artagnan swallowed thickly, and thought for a long moment, before drawing a shaky breath and nodding.
"I... they'd taken the food and supplies we had gone to gather. They didn't care... they were just going to leave us out in the cold. But... Mathieu... he should have kept his damned mouth shut. He insulted them, called them cowards." D'Artagnan was shaking again, the tears streaming freely down his face. His next words were flat and emotionless, "They didn't much like that. I tried- I tried so hard to stop them, but they were grown men, and brutes, and they knocked me out of the way. They-" He clenched his fists as he forced the words out - "they held me down and made me watch as they slit my baby brother's throat. He was just ten, Athos - ten years old. Little Mathieu, mon petit frère."
There were twin gasps from behind the door, and it creaked open to reveal Aramis and Porthos, who were too shocked to be embarrassed that they had been caught eavesdropping. Athos looked up and glared at them, but d'Artagnan just looked up at them with a weary smile.
"You might as well come in, then." He told them resignedly. "I'm assuming that you more or less heard everythi-" before he could finish speaking, he was swept up into a hug by Aramis, who crushed him to his chest. D'Artagnan tried to protest, but his face was tucked into Aramis' shoulder so all that came out were garbled protests.
"You poor, poor boy." Aramis' grip on him tightened and he looked to Porthos for help, but the taller Musketeer just sat down next to him and patted him on the back.
"Athos make them get off, please" he begged when he had managed to wriggle out of Aramis' grasp a little, but Athos was just smiling his little half smile.
"Feeling better?" He asked kindly. And d'Artagnan realised, in this warm press of familiar bodies, that he did. Smiling, he put his own arms around his friends and held them close, vowing never to be helpless in the face of one of his brothers in danger again.
"But don't think this means I forgive you for almost killing him with your damned horse, Athos." The chuckle that gained him was music to his ears and he grabbed Athos so that he too was part of their pile-up of idiot brothers, all relishing in the fact that they were alive, and that they were together.