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[somepoorsoul]

For two weeks, Athos has been chasing a ghost.

He has caught glimpses, of course, and more than glimpses. This creature that wears his brother’s face appears in the dark of night to taunt him and remind him of the horrors his failings have set loose upon the world. Each night, despite himself, he goes searching - for more abuse, and more pain, and another desperate glimpse of Thomas’ face, even twisted in agony.

You are the monster, Thomas’ cold eyes, as blue as Athos’ own, seem to say every time they do find each other on this hellish Darrow’s ashy, abandoned streets. You are the reason I stand before you thus, a creature of blood and hate. You should have protected me, and instead you brought a deadly Jezebel into our house, and abandoned your family, and brought pain to every person you have known since.

Even when Aramis and Porthos stand by his side, the truth of that silent accusation lodges his way into his heart each time he catches sight of Thomas’ ghostly form.

Now, night has fallen again on this dark Darrow, and the same force, the same need that has drawn Athos to the streets each night draws him to the Bramford’s roof. Leaving Porthos and Aramis to sleep in what is left of their apartment - after much argument, he had finally convinced them to rest for a few hours at least - he takes the stairs to the very top, and there, looks over Darrow’s eerie skyline. His heart pounds and his expression is tight with expectation - though for what, he does not know.

Above him, not a star is visible in the sky. Below, no light shines.

Then, somewhere behind him, Athos hears a sudden sound that interrupts the ghostly silence.

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[somepoorsoul]

But Athos is trembling so hard that he cannot even keep his feet. His sword falls from his hand, clattering on the pavement, and Athos follows, sinking to his knees with his face buried in his arms, where he shakes, and shakes. He does not even notice when the dark, ash-filled Darrow melts away, and by some miracle they return to the city they know. Thomas is gone, the streetlights glow again, and the sounds of the city filter into the alley where they are gathered.

[afineseamstress]

Heart aching, Aramis maneuvers he and Porthos down to the ground and pulls Athos to him, cradling him away from the world even as it changes, brightens, freeing them at last from their endless nightmare. "It's all right now," he murmurs, staring sadly over Athos' shoulder at Porthos. It is over, but it never should have happened to Athos at all. "It will all be all right."

[du_vallon]

Porthos lets out a grunt when he hits the ground, but relief floods him for the changing sky and the way the city lights up again. He could weep, as it's been nearly two weeks of that ashy grey and he just needs to hold onto them. He pushes Aramis around Athos, forcing a hug and a hold because he's too weak to do that right now.

"Breathe, Athos," he compels. "Just breathe."

[somepoorsoul]

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Athos tries to listen, tries to do what they say. For some time his breaths come in small, sobbing gasps, but finally they begin to steady. Slowly he becomes aware of the nearby sound of automobiles, the brightening of the light around them, and most importantly, the arms wrapped tightly around him. “Aramis,” he whispers, voice choked. “Porthos."

[afineseamstress]

They must make for a sight, huddled as they are on the sidewalk, but Aramis would not move for the world. They are safe and they are together, even if they are hurting - the worst is over now.

"It's all right," he says again, holding Athos tightly as he weeps, grateful for the shield of Porthos' embrace. "We can finally go home now. You were so brave, Athos. We are so proud of you."

[du_vallon]

Porthos only keeps his hold on the both of them, as protective as he can be. He refuses to let go of them, refuses to let Athos down when he needs them the most. "You did good, lapin," he soothes. "We understand," he vows. "You did the right thing and it took all your courage."

He glances around them, hoping Aramis will condone a hospital visit instead of the usual at-home treatment, just this once.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos shudders, thoughts of that demon still mingling with memories of his brother, the day he died, the knife in Anne’s hand dripping blood. Now that blood is on his sword; he shudders again, and coughs, and struggles to focus on the soothing sound of Aramis’ and Porthos’ words.

Thank God they are so close to home. Athos longs for a shower long enough to clean away the blood, and muck, and fear of the last two weeks off his skin; he longs for warm sheets and a familiar bed. Slowly he raises his head and wipes a hand over his eyes to clear away the wetness there. “I need a drink,” he manages to rasp. “And then you, Aramis, need to get Porthos patched up."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis grimaces for Porthos' stubborn wounds. It has been weeks, and still they manage to persist. "We are not leaving you to drink alone," he tells Athos, for the thought of leaving him now is unthinkable. "Drink at home. We will all clean up together, and sleep safely for the first time in far too long."

[du_vallon]

Porthos releases his palm from his side, where stitches have broken free and left his wound (from when Oliver had kicked him into the wall and something sharp and long like a rebar had scraped and punctured). Must have opened when his feet hit the ground. He struggles to his feet, happy that the bruises have begun to heal at least. "We've got plenty of alcohol and a very big, very warm bed for you," he agrees.

[somepoorsoul]

“Check his wounds yourself, then.” Athos lacks the strength to argue further, but he insists upon that much. Aramis may not be a modern doctor, but he can check for infections and broken bones. By God, Athos will not have Porthos suffer further harm because they were too busy looking after his well-being.

Inhaling a few more slow, shuddering breaths, Athos allows Aramis and Porthos to help him to his feet. He is still trembling when he puts away his sword, but remains standing. “Home,” he says, voice still hoarse. “Let’s go home."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis curses for the blood staining Porthos' shirt. Perhaps free of that ashen world, the wound will finally heal. He can only hope that adrenaline will carry him long enough to restitch it properly. Already he feels lulled by their new, comparative safety. He feels as if he could sleep for years, now finally able, but he will need to get through the stitches without his hands shaking with exhaustion first. The sooner they reach home, the better.

Aramis pulls Athos in against his side, ready to steady the both of them on their journey home.

[du_vallon]

"It's fine," Porthos says gruffly. "They pulled when my feet hit the ground, it's not injured again. A few stitches and I'm fine again." He just wants to feel fine again, and he wants to sleep. He wants all three of them to sleep curled up in their bed for days. He starts the slow walk inside forcibly, out of sheer stubbornness just to get them moving.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos sends Porthos a Look - he has enough of his mind to show his disapproval, if not much more - but begins the slow walk to the Bramford’s front door without further comment. He leans heavily against Aramis, too tired to even feel the shame of being made so helpless. For once, he is grateful for the elevator inside the building, relieved when it takes them swiftly to their floor. Within minutes of departing that ash-filled hell, they are back in their comforting apartment once again.

Athos has never been so glad to see these familiar rooms.