Chapter Text
They always did their best to avoid situations like this but sometimes, like now, it was made impossible. This time they were being forced to fight in the streets of Paris, darting in and out of the innocent Parisian people, thanks to a group of red guards who had once again failed to keep charge of their prisoners effectively.
“Why do I always feel like we’re left to clean up their mess?” Porthos shouted over at his friends after knocking one of his opponents to the ground.
d’Artagnan ran over and made quick work of binding the prisoner’s hands together while he was still unconscious. He then gestured to one of the nearby red guards, “Take him away. I am assuming you’ll be able to keep hold of him now.”
The red guard sneered but he wasn’t in a position to argue so he did as was told. Over the other side of the street, Porthos could see Athos also ordering red guards. He presumed it was something to do with the couple of prisoners beside him on the floor that were now tied together looking dazed and confused.
“Not in the church!” Aramis’ yell caught all their attention. He was racing after a couple of red guards who had taken their fight into St. Joseph’s. Athos, Porthos and d’Artganan shared a look before chasing after their friend.
Inside the church, it was chaos. The three prisoners left to be apprehended were picking up every available item to use as a weapon against the guards that were trying to capture them. The guards were retaliating in kind. Tables, candles, books were being thrown with reckless abandon and absolutely no respect in sight. This was clearly horrifying the priest who Aramis had dragged into a corner away from the violence.
Athos and Porthos quickly grabbed hold of the guards and pushed them aside. Aramis sort to help them when d’Artganan took over protecting the priest.
With the guards out of the way, the fight calmed as the musketeers and prisoners circled each other; each side weighing up their options.
“This stops here,” Athos stated firmly, “You can come quietly or we will end this.”
Aramis moved towards Athos, “I agree but perhaps we could move this outside of the church?”
“We’re not going anywhere!” One of the prisoners growled as he lunged forward with a dagger which clashed with Aramis’ sword.
The fight quickly started up again; each musketeer facing a prisoner. There was really no contest and it would have ended just as quick, however, a disgruntled red guard decided to make an unwelcome reappearance.
The shot rang out. The bullet clipped Athos’s opponent on the arm but carried on through the stain glass window behind him. Cracks appeared immediately around the hole but the damage seemed contained to one corner.
d’Artganan had to hold back the priest from attacking the red guard. He was furious but so was Aramis and with no one stopping him the guard ended up with a heavy punch to the gut.
Unfortunately, being momentarily distracted, Aramis took his eyes off of his opponent who took the opportunity to grab hold of the musketeer round the neck and force a gun to his forehead. Athos, with his opponent distracted by his bleeding arm, acted quickly and pulled out his own gun. His shot hit the target and Aramis’ was instantly freed. The prisoner however made his final mark as he fell backwards, taking a candle stand with him, he hit the previously damaged window. The cracks inched bigger but the pressure eventually proved too much and the whole thing shattered. With the sun shining in from outside, the shards of glass cast a rainbow as they fell; it was devastatingly beautiful.
Porthos used the unexpected event to finally end the fight with the last standing prisoner but no-one felt like celebrating. This did not feel like a win.
There was silence.
d’Artagnan finally allowed the priest to move and he walked slowly over to where the glass lay covering the floor.
Aramis couldn’t look. He felt sick. He went to sit down and ran shaky hands through his hair.
Porthos sent Athos a pointed look and then went and sat by his friend putting a comforting arm on his shoulder.
d’Artganan, at something of a loss, decided to try and straighten up what he could. He began righting tables and restacking books.
Athos nodded at the Gascon approvingly and then moved to stand by the priest, “We will fix this Father. I don’t know how. But we will.”
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