Chapter Text
D'Artagnan may not have taken pride in the fact that he had been captured, but he did take pride in the fact that it had taken six Red Guards to take him down, and even then, he had landed a hit on every single one before being knocked out from behind.
D'Artagnan also, if he was being honest, somewhere deep inside took pride in the fact that he was considered by others to be so important to the greatest of the Musketeers that taking him hostage would bring Athos, Porthos, and Aramis running. He had barely had time to feel a flash of relief when he saw his dearly loved brothers, a flash of fear that they had come and would be harmed somehow, before his head was roughly shoved into an ice cold tub of water and held down.
"Don't come any closer," one of the Guards warned, grinning as he pushed D'Artagnan's face into the bottom of the tub, "or I don't let him back up." The other Musketeers froze, and D'Artagnan found himself yanked out of the tub by his hair, gasping for breath, muscles clenched from the cold.
"D'Artagnan, are you alright?" Athos called out. His voice would sound typical to the Guards, D'Artagnan knew, because they didn't truly know Athos. He could hear the underlying worry in his mentor's voice, the slight shake just subtle enough that only his brothers would hear it was there.
"Still breathing!" D'Artagnan called back, the smirk on his face meant to let his brothers know he still had his fighting spirit. He saw Athos affectionately roll his eyes, Aramis and Porthos each let out a chuckle, and then he heard and saw nothing but the rushing of water in his ears and the hard cold bottom of the tub.
He was held down longer this time, and came up gasping and hacking, barely able to get a single breath in before his captors plunged him back into the tub again. Caught so unawares, his mouth had still been open, and the freezing water had rushed in, leaving him retching when he was suddenly pulled back up and immediately pushed back down. D’Artagnan knew he couldn’t last through this much longer, and he knew the more this torture was perpetrated against him, the more likely his brothers would act rashly and risk their own lives to make the pain D’Artagnan was suffering stop.
So this time, when his face was shoved under the water, he minimized his struggle, letting the exhaustion he felt show through, allowing a small amount of breath to escape his lips before he sealed his mouth shut again. The bubbles indicating breath dispersed, and D’Artagnan purposefully let his eyes slip closed and his body go completely limp.
As he had expected, he was immediately pulled out of the water and dumped unceremoniously onto the hard street. Holding back a wince, D’Artagnan was pleased to realize he had been thrown down face first, making it harder for his captors to notice his chest still rising slightly with breath.
“You weren’t supposed to kill him until we had killed them!” D’Artagnan heard one of his captors yell, and he couldn’t help the adrenaline rush that came with knowing the first part of his plan had succeeded.
But, then, oh, hearing his brothers’ screams, Athos’ usually strong call broken on a desperate shout of D’Artagnan’s name, Aramis begging him to wake up, Porthos’ growl sounding more like an anguished groan. It took everything he had not to at least move a finger, give them a hint that he was alive. And hopefully staying that way, considering he was desperately holding back from coughing up the water in his mouth, trickling too close to his throat on its way to his lungs.
Listening carefully, D'Artagnan could hear when the Guard closest to him started to move towards the Musketeers. Reaching out, he slid the man's dagger from the strap on his boot and swung hard, slicing the Guard's tendon and stealing his sword in two quick movements. Unfortunately D'Artagnan found he couldn't do much else, as the water inside him surged its way back up, leaving him hacking and retching on the ground. Luckily, his instincts honed by countless hours of training had him bringing the stolen sword up quickly enough to block an incoming thrust, before one of his brothers took over, and D'Artagnan could double back over and acquiesce to the water's purge.
Within practically no time at all, he felt a familar hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles as D'Artagnan painfully coughed out the last few drops. "You're alright, D'Artagnan, it's good that it is all coming back out."
"Hurts," D'Artagnan choked out, and Aramis drew him in close to his side, brushing his soaking hair out of his pale face.
"I know," Aramis said soothingly, and D'Artagnan felt Aramis' sure hands expertly checking him for any other injuries before coming back to rest around his shoulders. "But it is far preferable to you being dead like we had thought." Aramis put a hand up, stopping D'Artagnan from speaking. "Do not apologize, you did exactly what you should, distracted them, surprised them and took one out of the fight so we could finish the rest. You protected us. That does not mean it was any less painful for us to see, but we blame you for nothing."
"He's right, lad," Porthos said, kneeling on D'Artagnan's other side before sweeping him into a warm bear hug. "Not many could have taken that much of that damn water, but you did, and cut a man down besides."
"Of course he did," and Athos' voice was as warm as Porthos' hug, as he too knelt down, right in front of D'Artagnan. "He's one of us, isn't he?" Athos reached over and squeezed D'Artagnan's shoulder, gently knocking their foreheads together before removing his cloak and tying it around D'Artagnan's shaking-cold body. Helping D'Artagnan to stand, Athos wrapped him in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his temple before moving to D'Artagnan's side, taking most of his weight. "Now let's get you home, so Aramis can make sure you don't go collapsing on us again."
"I collapsed on purpose!" D'Artagnan protested, and the laughter of his brothers as they walked back to the barracks together warmed him to his soul.