Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The boots of the red guards echo over the stone cobbled steps, jasmine fills his nostrils, making it impossible to breath without choking. He can’t help but think of her. Athos has thought about dying many times, dreamed of the cold embrace death would greet him with, yet he feels his chest tighten and his knees weaken. He’d had nothing to live for before, no one that might miss him if he was gone. In his mind’s eye he sees Porthos’ boisterous chuckle and Aramis contagious smile, it causes fear to settle in his stomach and a shred of doubt to make him regret wanting things to end.

The only force keeping him moving is the rough shove from a guard, pushing him toward the long row of cells. The sun is high in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard, for a brief second Athos thinks he sees the lanky untrained form of Thomas. It’s gone before he can be sure, sending his heart racing. A panic sets in his body, sending his limbs into a state of numbness that he doesn’t feel when Savourez manhandles him, all but tossing him into one of the darkest cells Athos has ever seen.

The darkness screams around him, rushing him from every corner of the stone prison. Athos can barely breathe, his mind disappears as he tries to fight, to remind himself that this isn’t real.

He wants wine. He needs it so desperately he can feel his body trembling.

Athos knows they’ll never grant him the pleasure of drowning himself, so instead he curls himself by the gate, his head resting on the bricks behind him. It’s in this moment that he decides to give up, not because he thinks Porthos and Aramis aren’t coming for him, but because he’s so damn tired; tired of keeping the demons at bay, of seeing Thomas every where he looks with a haunting look on his young face, lord he even misses the sweet release she use to give him. A high he could never entirely replicate.

“Confess your sins and God will forgive you son,” Athos hardly hears the priest, the ringing in his ears makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

He thinks of the wife he killed and the brother he murdered as he chokes out that he’d killed the woman he loved. “Save your forgiveness for someone who deserves it, father.” Athos sure as hell doesn’t. His eyes flutter shut as the priest walks away, and the world fills with colour, of lilac blues and chestnut browns, she’s so close he can almost touch her, he can smell her jasmine and cinnamon perfume. He baths in until his eyes snap open and darkness engulfs him again.

“"Olivier." His name echoes off the walls, mocking him in his brothers voice. " Olivier."

The pitch black has a life of it’s own, claws reach for him, trying to latch on and drag him back into the dark hole of his mind, only this time they’ll be no escape, no salvation to pull him out. “Have you given up?” Whispers of shadows dance around him, growling and taunting. “I thought you were stronger than this, Ollie.”

His heart plummets at the nickname, his body frozen. Standing in the middle of the cell is the imagine of what might have been, what should have been, had Athos not allowed that woman into his life; Thomas stands tall, his whispy hair flowing in every direction, his jaw is strong and covered in hair, barely containing the small smirk in the corner of his lips. It takes every ounce of his self control to not vomit into the corner.

“Don’t call me that me,” He sucks in a breathe and then another, focusing on anything other than the older version of his kid brother in front of him. “I’m much to old for such things.”

“Still not old enough to willow in self doubt and regret,” Thomas mutters, his voice deep and hoarse, like a grown man who’d spent his life yelling and giving orders. “It’s seems you’ll never out grow certain things, Ollie.”

Athos wants to be sick.

There’s a sweat on the back of his neck he hadn’t noticed before, it runs down his back as his baby brother sits in front of him. Athos sees how unkind the years have been to him, he has stress lines and up close his once bright red hair is dull and fading. It almost like looking in a mirror. “What are you doing, Ollie?” His lips turn into a scowl, an expression that looks wrong on him, like it doesn’t belong there.

Athos returns the scowl, breathing slowly. “Waiting to die.” He answers without thinking and it causes a look of sadness to overtake Thomas. Even as a child his brother had always been a firework, a force of laughs and smiles, always following him around like a puppy and making him laugh whenever he was to far into his own head. Sadness wasn’t something Athos was familiar with on Thomas.

“Why would you be waiting to do that?”

The silence between them shatters when Athos tossing his head back and laughs. It fills the cells, echoing all the way down the halls. “I killed you, you died because of me.” The words are poison on his lips, difficult to swallow and even worse to say out loud.

“You didn’t.” Thomas counters, his voice strong. Even in death his brother saw not one fault in him, he only saw the brave older brother. “Milady killed me, that had nothing to do with you, you couldn’t have know.” He should have. Athos brought that woman into his home, into his life and Thomas had paid the price. “You have people who love and care about you, Athos. Aramis and Porthos would be quite sore if you were to die, especially without knowing how you feel for them.”

Aramis and Porthos.

Athos has been so drawn into his own thoughts he’d forgotten about his friends. He’d figured they were better off without him, that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally shaken them. “They wouldn’t, not if they knew.” It had been five years; five years of just the three of them, of Athos glowing in their presence and soaking up what warmth and comfort the pair offered him. In that time he’d never had the courage to tell them full story, to afraid of what they would think of him. “I can’t lose them.”

Athos has never spoken the words out loud before, the realization of how much he depended on Porthos and Aramis was almost suffocating. He could choke on how overwhelming the feeling to kiss both of them suddenly was, the desire to say a final goodbye, to give them a proper farewell instead of the blank, shaking stare he’d given them as he was hauled away.

Fuck.

“I think,” Thomas stands again, his large frame overpowering Athos, like a tree blocking the sun. “They’d surprise you if you’d give them a chance, it’s almost been a decade and they haven’t abandoned you.” His attention is suddenly on the door Athos is leaning against, “You don’t have long to decide what you want to do Athos, there is still time to fight.”

Thomas disappears as a pair of red guards comes into the cell, Savourez hauls him to his feet, handling him like some sort of criminal. “The King’s justice awaits.” He snorts, an inside joke Athos knows he’ll never have the pleasure being apart of. “You damn musketeers think yourself better than the rest of us,” His pistole ends up in his side in the same place the man had sucker punched him hours before. “Now you’ll hang like the rest of them.”

I’m not. His mind whispers, allowing the self doubt to sink deeper. This was the death he’d deserved, he should have followed Thomas and Milady after failing them both so horribly. He doesn’t take the bait, rather than snapping a snarky reply, Athos hangs his head and steps forward, the long hallway toward the gallows is to narrow and far away, the more they walk, the farther it seems. Athos can feel himself slipping away, nothing but an empty shell in his place.

In the corner of his eye, he watches Thomas walk with him. His brothers shoulders are square and tight, like it’s difficult for him to be there, Athos is just about to turn to him and tell him to leave when Savourez stops suddenly and changes direction, hauling him down a different hallway. He’s been on the other end of the kings justice long enough to know where they’re headed. "I'm to be shot death like a dog in the back an alley." He doesn't realize he's said the words out loud until the priest and the guard look at him.

Athos can feel Savourez wicked grin blaring into his back, “What a more fitting death for a loyal dog to the king?" He grabs onto his cuffs and pushes him down the steps. "His majesty doesn't want to have one of his muskateers publicly executed, bad business and all that." Athos feels an urge of anger pass through him. He knows king Louise is an arrogant, selfish child but he cant imagine the king would kill him away from prying eyes.

This has to be apart of something bigger, they were the king’smusketeers, he’d never kill one them privately, away from the adoring public. Or maybe he would. Louis was so wrapped around the Cardinal, it was hard to tell who actually ruled over France. The boy king or his puppet master.

Keeping his face straight, Athos flares a growl toward the guards as they attach him to the wall, rifles aimed and ready to finally put him out of his misery. Only he finds he didn’t want to die, there was a small part of him that would always go to far into the darkness of his mind, but his years spent with Aramis and Porthos had made the taste of death sour on his tongue.

“They’ll come, Athos.”

They won’t. Athos has faced death many times, had been held back from it clutches by a kind smile and a warm hug. This was different, it felt final.

“Don’t give up, Ollie.”

Athos closes his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest as the wind whistles around him. Aramis grins shyly behind his eye lids, his slim well trained hands cupping his face as he mutters sweet words of love and encouragement, Porthos stands at his side, his solid presence keeping him grounded and safe, he keeps his arm around his waist, preventing him from drowning. It’s a dance they’ve done a million times and yet it feels fresh and new.

Athos finds himself wishing for the real thing. He needs them, he doesn’t want his last moments to be broken fragments of words left unanswered and touched undiscovered.

His entire body trembles as he stands in shooting range, he wonders if this is what Thomas felt like moments before death finally claimed him. Had he been scared or lonely?

“Take aim!”

Thomas is with him again, only this time he’s laying in a pool of his blood, gasping for breaths as his wife leans over him, there’s a wicked look on her face, one Athos never saw, You’re such a fool, Olivier. A blind fool. He flies into a panic, his breathing getting caught in his chest, his eyes snap open and he growls. "Come on, shoot, damn you!"

“Hold your fire!” Athos swears he can feel the bullets pierce his skin, except they haven’t shot him. Aramis, beautiful Aramis, is climbing the stairs in a haste, a look of murder on his face. Porthos is right behind him, ever the silent shadow, ready to strike if need be. “You shouldn’t be in such a hurry to die.” To anyone else it would appear as if Aramis was angry, but Athos catches the wince in his voice and the fear in his eyes. “Your release, signed by the king.”

Athos could almost kiss the two of them.
"Get these chains off him." Aramis snaps, waving his hand in direction of the guard. He all but slumps into the waiting arms of Porthos, his body fitting perfectly into the larger musketeer. He can hear how fast his friend’s heart is beating and for a moment feels guilty for giving up.

“I'd thought I'd finally shaken you two." His voice trembles a bit, if either of them notices they don’t say, instead Porthos shields him, his hand resting comfortably on his back. Despite wishing Aramis and Porthos would give up on him, he knows he’ll never be able to get rid of them and he’s entirely grateful for the pair of them.

Porthos answers this time, his voice hard and full of emotion. “Believe me there are easier ways.” Athos leans closer to the larger musketeer and doesn’t reply, his eyes locked on the boy leaning against the staircase; Thomas is standing there, a wide smile on his face, he offers a small nod in his direction and disappears just as the sun hits him, D’Artagnan stands in his place, a grim look of determination on his face.

Goodbye, brother.

Goobye Thomas.

Chapter Text

Athos cant shake the feeling of death, it clings to his uniforms, shrinking the material against his skin, making it impossible to breath, or focus on anything other than the strong beat of his heart in his ears. He needs a drink, desperately.

Aramis and Porthos lead him to the nearest tavern, each within arms length and ready to catch him if he falls apart. Apart of him wishes he would break so his friends won’t leave him, but he knows neither Porthos or Aramis are likely to take his eyes off him until he stumbles home, drunk off his ass. It’s being alone in his room that frightens him; the darkness is to loud, to damn tempting and he knows how easy it is slid back into that endless hole.

It’s happens so often Athos almost always welcomes it, however being so close to death, to leaving behind the men he loves, he wants nothing to do with it.

Athos feels the emptiness hit him when they enter the tavern, blank face of men stare at them as they walk through, reflecting the numbness coursing in his aching body. Aramis releases him briefly, shifting him into Porthos as they slip into the corner of the room. “You can sit, Athos, we aren’t going anywhere.” The logically part of his brain knew Porthos was right but deep down he’s terrified to let go of the larger Musketeer. “Sit, Athos.”

He slowly lowers himself into a seat, his hat slipping above his eyes. Athos is grateful for the coverage, he doesn’t have the energy to explain why he’s anxious. Much to his relief Aramis returns with three tall glasses of wine, he sits beside him on his right, Porthos on the left, the pair boxing him in, concealing him from whatever horrors they think is coming for him.

Aramis slides the cup toward him, “Drink, Athos.” It’s hard to believe he’s hearing those words from Aramis, the same man who constantly shoots him worried glances and muttering quick prays under his breath when he’s to intoxicated. Athos hopes his hands aren’t shaking as he grabs ahold of the glass and slowly drinks, the wine is warm going down his throat, healing him in ways nothing else ever could. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t.

Porthos has his arm wrapped around the back of his chair, offering him a leverage to latch on to. “You don’t need to, not if you aren’t ready, “Athos can feel the glare the larger musketeer sends Aramis. “We’ll be here whenever your ready.” He simply nods and allows himself to drown in the wine, savouring every sip like it’s his last, neither of them move except to refill the drinks.

Night has fallen by now, they are some of the last few customers in the tavern, taking up an entire corner to themselves. “Do you want us to take you back to your rooms, Athos?” Aramis ask a short while later. He can tell by the deep rumble in his voice that Aramis is exhausted, he can’t imagine what he must have gone through today to free him, a task certainly not easy when the world seemed to be out to smite him.

“No.” He mutters a reply, to far gone to come up with another answer. He doesn’t want to move, Athos wants to stay in the corner of the tavern and drink until he can’t feel anything. Most of all he doesn’t want to be left alone, not having Porthos and Aramis with him would surely be his downfall.

A tender hand comes across the table and gently removes his hat, placing it on the table, Porthos discretely places his on top of Athos’, his dark eyes searching his. “We aren’t going anywhere.” He says, a small smile on his lips. “We’ll stay here all night and get drunk if you want to.”

“Porthos-“

Aramis sighs, a deep soul crushing sound, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You two will be the death of me..” he mutters, hardly missing the irony of his sentence. “We do eventually have to retire to a room, much as I like spending the nights with the two of you, I’d rather not spend it laying on hay in the middle of the street.” Athos almost cracks a smile at the imagine of Aramis cuddles into a bundle of hay.

“You may leave if you must.” He replies, not glancing up from his glass. In truth he’s scared of what he might see, he hasn’t looked at either Porthos or Aramis since the two of them saved him. Athos is scared to see the look of disappointment on their faces, he’d given up, had thrown his faith in them out the window. Even the sweet promise of death would never be enough to release that imagine out of his mind.

“We aren’t going anywhere.” Porthos says again, his voice louder, more assertive. “Right Aramis?”

“I already said-“

“Aramis-“

“Yes! I already said we weren’t going to leave him.”

It clicks suddenly, how hard it must have been for Aramis and Porthos to see him on the edge of death. Athos has wanted to slip into the grips of his final days for such a long time he’s forgotten that he’s not the only one affected by his decision anymore. For the first time that night he looks up from his drink to look at his brothers; both look overly tried, Aramis has dark circles under his eyes, his hair astray, Porthos doesn’t fair much better, his posture is slumped, his eyes glossy and exhaustion coats his speech.

Athos feels bad for keeping them awake, especially because he needed them to keep him grounded. Slowly rising from his chair, he grabs his hat and places back on his head. “Go and get some rest.” He mutters, cutting their argument off midstream. “You two can bicker in the morning once you’ve slept.” He could put his own feelings of dread on hold for now, he could do that for Aramis and Porthos.

Without waiting for a reply he slips out of his chair and starts to head for the door, ignoring the pit in his stomach as he stumbles through the street. He’ll just go home and drink until he passes out. It’s worked in the past, there’s no reason for it not to do the job now. Only he’s about five feet away from the tavern before he feels his stomach turn and he’s thrown up everything from the day before.

Fuck, he was a mess.

“Breathe, Athos.” He can’t, his lunges refuse to corporate. Leaning against the side of the building he groans, trying to take in a much air as possible. This is the part he hates. The hangover, throwing up like some fool. “In and out.” Aramis has his hand on his back, running soothing circles into his skin. He closes his eyes, focusing on the repeated motion of Aramis’ finger and slowly starts to breathe again. Slowly Athos raises his head, letting the fresh air wash over him. “You need a minute?”

He needs more than just one. Athos needs a life time.

Porthos offers him a cup, without hesitating he tosses it back, washing away the foul taste in his mouth. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve drank enough tonight, Athos.” He hums in reply, to afraid to open his mouth. He lets the bigger man pull him into his side, Aramis tucks himself into his other side and the three of them start back toward the garrison.

Athos is slow walking back, hoping by the time he arrives he’ll be somewhat presentable and decent. He still has a reputation to keep up with, the other Musketeers look to him to lead them, to be unshakeable, d’artagnan especially. His plan to be swallowed by the darkness of his own thoughts is cut short when Porthos leads them toward his rooms, the bigger man doesn’t allow for debate as he ushers Athos and Aramis in the door, locking it behind him.

He feels trapped in a way, it must have shown on his expression by the way Porthos took his face in his hands. “It’s just so no one will bother us.” He explains, speaking like he would to an spooked animal. “You aren’t stuck here, Athos, you can leave whenever you want.” His thumbs trace his cheekbones, easing his fears with each stroke.

Athos finds he doesn’t want to leave, their presence keeps him from slipping away. He needs them more than he’ll ever let them know, thankfully his friends seem to understand without him having to say. Aramis slowly works on undressing him, pulling his sword and pistole on his person. “Don’t need those.” He muttered, with a worried undertone. Porthos hasn’t released him, keeping him firmly in his grip as Aramis strips in him down to his underclothing.

They both lead him to the oversized bed, neither of them speaking as they lay him down and crawl in on either side of him. Once before Athos wouldn’t have been able to handle the closeness, right now he’s craving it, needing it almost as badly as he needs air. Porthos is a steady presence behind him, his arm wrapped protectively around him middle, keeping him afloat. Aramis lays in front of him, whispering words of comfort in Spanish, his fingertips running through his hair, soothing him into a sleep.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long time since Athos has been able to sleep without being piss drunk, he feels less groggy and ready to face the day. It’s the first time in months he’s slept without a single nightmare, he’d been certain he would have been plagued with them, instead he slept silently, not waking up once during the night.

It takes his mind a second to realize why he’s overheating, Porthos and Aramis are still fast sleep, his friends snores filling the room like a steady drum beat. Athos carefully pulls himself out of the tangle of limbs and goes in search of something to wash the sour taste out of his mouth. He only finds a small cup of wine on the table in the corner of the room, a scowl slips on his face as he drowns the liquid in one gulp.

It doesn’t take the sour taste away but it does settle his nerves. Athos pulls his clothes back on, leaving his sword and pistole where Aramis had left them. He knows he’s safe here, he doesn’t need the weapons. He sits in one of the few chairs Porthos has and looks at his friends. He’s never fully understood the relationship that Aramis and Porthos have, the touches when they think no one is looking, the lingering looks of longing and worry, they’d always been joined at the hip, even when Athos had first joined them, he’d noticed.

It’s never been more present then when Aramis comes staggering into the garrison, the smell of sex and a woman clinging to his body. Porthos always leaves the room, not before sending a deadly glare in the direction of the Spanish man. At first Athos thought it had been jealousy, Aramis, without fault, had a woman to warm his bed. Athos had figured Porthos had been jealous that he didn’t have the same but after being with the pair for as long as he had, he knows it’s the complete opposite. Porthos is jealous of the woman, he hates the attentions Aramis gives to them.

More times than not he hates the attention Aramis gives to woman as well, it’s almost worse when Porthos returns in the same state, it feels and hits deeper. Not because he cares about Porthos more but because he more selective with the woman he sleeps with. In a way it feels like he’ll never be that person for Porthos.

He hates himself for it, both Aramis and Porthos deserve to be happy. Athos shouldn’t stand in their way of happiness, of the warmth of a woman, he’d sought the same things once after all, when life had been more simple.

“I thought you’d be sleeping longer,” Aramis pulls him out of his thoughts, his strong accent sending trembles through his spine. There’s something about his sleepy form and raspy voice that has always made him weak in the knees. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect less from you.” It’s meant to come out as a tease but Athos can see the pain under the intent. Aramis had come close to losing him, the hurt of that wouldn’t just go away.

“Earlier riser,” He answers, deciding to spare Aramis the fact that he’d been over heating and felt to suffocated in their cuddle. “There’s work be done.” Porthos slips into the middle of the bed when Aramis moves, he stirs for a moment before his snores refill the room. Athos finds himself comforted in the sound, it settles his soul way booze never could.

“Treville gave us a few days off.” Us. As if they were incapable of being without the other. It was true, in a way, Athos has always been with the two of them, even from his earlier days as a Musketeer, Aramis had pulled them into their pair and hadn’t let him go. “You almost died, he doesn’t expect us to show up to work for at least 48 hours.” He clarifies once he sees the confused look on Athos’ face.

“That’s hardly a reason-“

“Athos, don’t.” Aramis mutters, pulling himself from the bed, there’s annoyance and a hint of something he can’t identify in his tone. “Just don’t.”

Athos looks his friend up and down, a deep frown on his face. It wasn’t like Aramis to openly disobey him, especially after a night of drinking. “What’ll you have us do then?” He asks, his arms crossed over his chest, the chair suddenly feels to fair away, Aramis sends him a glare before he begins to pace the room, something he only does when he’s angry. “We can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Why the hell not?”

Athos raises an eyebrow at his friend, causing the other musketeer to pause his pacing. Aramis hardly swore, he must be entirely cross with him. “You almost died, Athos. Why don’t you understand that?” He does, more than he can explain. It easier to pretend like it never happen. Athos knows if he goes down that hole, he’ll never come out.

“Death is common given our profession.” He mutters, his eyes never leaving the other musketeer. Their brothers died everyday, giving their lives for king and country, Athos couldn’t figure out why he was so different, why Aramis cared so damn much. He hasn’t had someone care so passionately for him since Milady and it almost killed him.

Aramis is standing in front of him, his hands are on his face and for a moment Athos feels himself melt in his touch. “I don’t know what happened in your past, Athos, that makes you want to die so badly but you can’t.” He says, his voice hitching with emotion. “I can’t lose you, it would kill me and I was so damn close to being to late yesterday.. I almost let you die..because I wasn’t quick enough.” Athos has know Aramis for years, has seen him break down at the death of some of their comrades but he’s never seen him on the verge of sobbing, not for him.

His heart breaks for Aramis, he shouldn’t feel at fault for what happened. Athos knows both Aramis and Porthos did whatever they had to to free him. He would never blame either of them. “It isn’t your fault.” He replies, meeting his gaze. “You and Porthos did everything you could to try and save me, I wouldn’t be standing here with you if you hadn’t, Aramis.” He hates how upset this has made Aramis, it hurts more than Athos thought it would. “I’m alive only because of you.”

Their lips are together suddenly and Athos feels himself freeze. It’s not the kiss that causes him to pause, it’s the passion, desire and desperation that does. Aramis has put all the feelings from yesterday into a single kiss and Athos feels dizzy. He’s pulling away and staring at Athos before he has a chance to respond. “Athos... I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“

“I never thought I’d see that,” Porthos cuts in, a grin on his lips. “It’s about damn time.”

Athos feels his heart in his chest, pounding so loudly he’s certain they can hear it. The panic is starting to set in and he can feel himself starting to shut down. He needs to leave. Now. Thankfully Porthos is behind him, centring him. “You alright, boss?” He mutters, his large hands keeping him from fleeing. Athos has never been more grateful for the larger musketeer.

“I’m fine.” Perfect actually. He wants to kiss Aramis again. He wants to see what kissing Porthos would feel like. “Kiss me.” Please. Aramis stares at him with wide eyes, a small smile on his lips, like he’d been expecting his reaction. He moves, taking his face between his hands and kisses him again, more slow and deep, savouring every moment.

Athos returns the kiss carefully, not nearly as experienced as Aramis but it doesn’t seem to matter much. He presses his forehead against Aramis’ when he pulls away and smiles, “I didn’t think you felt that way toward me..” he mutters, hardly recognizing the joy in his tone. “I never thought..”

Porthos chuckles behind him, leaving a small kiss just below his ear. “We both do, we both have for a long time, we just weren’t sure if you did and we didn’t want to scare you away.” Athos shifts around to kiss Porthos, this is is just as passionate as Aramis, as if he’d been waiting a life time.

“I didn’t know for sure, not for awhile.” Until he’d been faced with death and they had been his final thought. “I do love you,” Athos looks between the both of them, soaking up their attention and love. “Both of you.”

Athos knows this isn’t going to be easy, both Porthos and Aramis don’t know the extent of his past or how messed up it’s made him but he knows he loves them and they him and for now, it was enough.