Hullo, my friends! Back for another story WHEN I should be updating other stories, but oh well. Here is my Musketeers fanfic and leave me a comment please!

D'Artagnan gazed into the eyes of the man who had just tried to kill Louis XIII at four o'clock in the morning. His sword was raised in front of him in what was supposed to be a threatening manner, but honestly D'Artagnan was just trying to stay upright. In fact, he was so exhausted his eyes were half lidded and closing over sea blue eyes before snapping back into focus.

Louis stood behind him, watching cautiously from over the Gascon's shoulder, but D'Artagnan paid him no mind as the man with brown hair, blue eyes and a malicious scar across his face grinned. What the hell was the man grinning ab- the man's fist suddenly made contact with the farm boy's face. He had just broken one of the sword play rules: you might play fair, but your opponent might not. He had lost focus, which he was trying desperately to keep. But the much older, more muscular man had big fists that he swung wildly. That...and they hurt like mad.

"Oh come on, Gascon, can you not keep your focus?" The man taunted. D'Artagnan didn't pay any attention, blocking and dodging and swiping his sword to match his opponents.

The man seemed to know that D'Artagnan was tired and weary, so he wore him out before starting to really pummel him. He managed to get a few shots to the younger man's torso before he was aware enough to block.

He nicked D'Artagnan's cheek, who grunted in pain and began really hitting back to injure, and the boy got a nice stab to the man's upper left arm and a swipe across his forehead. He was just about to kick the man's feet from out under him when a blade suddenly appeared from the middle of the man's chest.

The convict, looking down in shock and back at D'Artagnan, eyes wide in fear and surprise, dropped to the ground when the blade was removed. There stood Athos, a look of impatience and his forever present anger there, staring at his young companion, who was looking down at the blood staining the floor around the dead man's torso.

"D'Artagnan," he muttered in that gruff voice, grabbing said musketeer's forearm and dragging him towards the other end of the room, away from the intruder.

"Mmhm?" D'Artagnan murmured back tiredly, eyelids fluttering. Athos gave him a shake, making the boy's long locks of chocolate colored hair dance across his face and into his eyes a little, managing to drag them up so the baby blue orbs were visible.

"You lost focus," Athos scolded, nearly yelling, "you let him get too close!"

D'Artagnan made no response at first, which made Athos say darkly, "were you listening to me, boy?" The young country boy nodded, head lolling a little, and that was when Athos actually inspected the boy for injury.

There were thin scrapes to his torso which made thin lines of blood through the white nightshirt D'Artagnan was wearing, and his cheek was bleeding freely.

"I'm up at four in the morning Athos, after a long day of practice, give me a break." D'Artagnan retaliated, shrugging Athos's hand off of him. Athos, who had been pondering how deep the stomach wounds were, snapped his sharp gaze back to the annoyed child standing in front of him with his arms crossed, his sword sheathed on his belt.

It had not occurred to Athos that the boy had been injured severely, but now that it did, he really should stop that bleeding, accursed boy.

"He'll be the death of me," Athos muttered, "the idiot child." D'Artagnan was overconfident and cocky, carefree and headstrong, always looking for a fight to entertain him and an adventure to go on. It annoyed Athos to no end that, seemingly, with almost every mission they went on, D'Artagnan ended up damaged in some sort of way, shape or form.

"D'Artagnan," Athos barked, aggravated further that D'Artagnan had his gaze locked elsewhere, "Boy!"

The Gascon snapped to attention at this. Though Athos was curious, he was tired and had little patience right now. Well, less patience than before, that is. So like really, practically none.

"Hm?"

"Strip." Athos said curtly.

"Excuse me?"

"Take off your shirt, boy!" D'Artagnan did as told, but Athos caught the little winces and curses that flew freely from his mouth as he slowly and carefully removed his shirt.

Athos knew D'Artagnan had fine muscles and was skinny as most children were, but he couldn't help but notice that D'Artagnan's ribs poked out a bit too much, his collarbone a bit too pronounced.

But the boy had abs and biceps, and could run fast too, so he supposed this didn't really mean necessarily anything.

Louis quoted, "oh D'Artagnan, I'll call my personal physician."

"Your Majesty, that really won't be necces-"

"tut tut, I insist."

"Well...thank you, You're Majesty."

"Of course, D'Artagnan." Louis sent for the physician and made D'Artagnan sit down. Athos decided that this was the perfect time for a long, boring lecture about incompetence (which, in Athos's opinion, D'Artagnan had an unlimited supply of much like his cockiness and sarcastic responses) and began in a growl, knowing this would escalate to shouting.

"D'Artagnan, you need to keep your head in battle, you need to be aware of your surroundings at all times!"

"I kno-"

"And you need to understand the importance of focus, boy! You are dimmer than most, but a fine swordsman, and I'd like to keep you uninjured for three days, at most! Seeking fights and overconfidence is a weakness and it is most unwise, even for a half wit like yourself! Do you never think?"

Silence met the rhetorical question, so Athos continued. "You need to use your opponents weakness, and never let your guard loose! You are arrogant, cocky. Sloppy."

"Hey!" D'Artagnan protested, extremely angered and mere notches from rising to his full height. Only Louis orders and presence kept him sitting. "I have been trained finely, thank you very much Athos, and I know what I can and cannot accomplish, I do not need your lectures in sword adequate!"

"You very well do, if it will peg you down a few! Your head is nearly as big as an airship, D'Artagnan, and do not talk back to me!"

D'Artagnan growled, glared at Athos, and balled his fists. "I-"

"Athos, D'Artagnan, that is enough!" Aramis interjected, becoming peacemaker between the two clashing heads once again, as was an action on many occasions.

"Do not!" Athos roared at Aramis, who glared at him with a ferocity seemingly incapable for the religious man.

"I do not-" D'Artagnan tried, but Aramis silenced him too with a look.

"Now, I expect this matter to be rested for the night. Enough." D'Artagnan looked at his feet just as the doctor entered, but Athos and Aramis had a stare down.

Their staring contest was interrupted by a loud, extremely original curse from D'Artagnan's direction where they turned their attention. The physician was cleaning out the boy's wounds with a wet rag and doing rather well to ignore D'Artagnan's fluent original cusses.

"D'Artagnan!" Aramis scolded lightly, but said country boy did not hear him over his monologue. He was staring at the ceiling of the courtroom where the fight had originated, head back and hands clenching the under sides of the chair.

Aramis sighed, shaking his head, and turning his gaze back to his older companion, who had walked away without his notice.

D'Artagnan had asked not to be helped with the intruder, but he had just been so exhausted and hardly had his head in the duel- it was lucky Athos stepped in when he did. But Aramis realized it had made D'Artagnan feel useless and weak, not something they wished for the boy to feel-but in all fairness, the boy could be knocked down a few notches.

"Ow," D'Artagnan muttered barely loud enough to be heard by Porthos from across the room- who realized the gauze was being wrapped around his middle, "ow..."

Porthos, sharing a look with Aramis while Athos stared out the window with his eyes crossed, felt sympathy.

The dawn was barely creeping across the horizon by the time they made it back to their little house, D'Artagnan dragging his feet more than usually from tiredness, but otherwise bandaged and alright.

The four made their way through the door and shut the cold, dewy morning air out and entered the warmth of the small yet cozy house. D'Artagnan collapsed in a chair, leaned his head back, and fell asleep like that a few moments later.

He didn't look at all comfortable, but it was somewhat Athos's way of revenge, he thought. However, D'Artagnan was a boy, and Athos did have a heart underneath all that masculinity. Approaching the young man slowly, Athos shook D'Artagnan's shoulder a bit.

"D'Artagnan? Boy, wake up." No response. "D'Artagnan?" Athos shook him a bit harder and spoke harsher, "D'Artagnan!"

The boy's bright blue eyes fluttered open, and Athos managed to coax the boy out of the chair upstairs to the spare room. The boy spotted the bed, smiled wistfully, and plopped down on it face first, not bothering to change out of the bloody shirt or take his shoes off.

Athos changed the shirt, removed the shoes, drew the blinds to block out the morning sun and muttered, "Goodnight, D'Artagnan" before closing the door. He did not miss the returned, albeit slurred response of "Goodnight, Athos" on his way out.

Well, there's chapter one! HURRAY! I'm already started on chapter two, so it will be up soon! Please comment again and digital cookie for you if you do! (::)