Red and Black Friday

by synchronysymphony

a black friday au. I don't know

book Valjean hates book Marius and so do I

also I'm so sorry that I have brought this into the world

/

/ Prologue /

"We're not doing that."

Enjolras tries to assume a stern face and bangs his cup down for emphasis. Unfortunately, no one looks impressed.

"Aww, come on," wheedles Courfeyrac. "It's an American tradition."

Enjolras glares at him. "We're French."

"So? It's multiculturalism at its finest! We're here in the grand ole United States; we should take part in their culture. It's globalism! You know you support diversity in all its forms!"

"Well, I do support diversity, but-"

"And it would be a bonding experience for us. A way for us to get closer, as the family that we have become!"

"You guys were my family when I had no one else," cuts in Feuilly with an exaggerated pout, and Enjolras groans.

"He got you in on this too?"

Feuilly grins at him. "Because we're family."

"Ohana." Courfeyrac stands up and points at the group. "That means what?"

"No one is left behind or forgotten," at least six people chant obediently. Enjolras isn't one of them.

"Come on, guys," he pleads. "Are you all really going to take willing part in this greed-fueled and exploitative capitalist tradition?"

Courfeyrac nods. "Yeah."

Enjolras looks to his last bastion of support. "Combeferre, help."

"Sorry." Combeferre shrugs. "It's just Black Friday. I don't think there's anything too terribly atrocious about us checking it out, you know, just once." He smiles at Courfeyrac, who beams back and drops a kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks babe, you're the best."

"You never used to be this easy to persuade," grumbles Enjolras. His best friends smile at him in tandem.

"Love you too."

Enjolras is all set to go into another tirade against the evils of capitalism when a warm hand settles on his back and a deep cigarette-scratched voice sounds in his ear.

"What's going on?"

"Grantaire!" Enjolras stands up to greet his potential new ally. "You agree with me, right?"

"In general, no." Grantaire chuckles, and it's a beautiful sound that Enjolras is Absolutely Not Focusing On right now. "What's the question right now, though?"

"Well." Enjolras stands up a little straighter. His time has come. "You know how capitalism is a destructive construct that has been the downfall of innumerable lives and is even now working to dismantle the threads of reasonable society?"

Grantaire quirks an eyebrow. "You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"Well, because of this oppressive power structure, countless people have had to endure inhumane conditions, working at terrible hours for minimal pay just to fuel the greed of the bourgeoisie privileged classes who disregard this effort as they please, as long as they can freely revel in their hedonism."

"That's terrible," says Grantaire solemnly.

"Right?" Enjolras turns to the rest of his friends. "See? He gets it!"

"Of course I do."

"R," Courfeyrac whines. "Don't encourage him."

Enjolras is rather insulted. "You're the one we shouldn't encourage!"

"What are we not encouraging him in, exactly?" Grantaire wants to know. Courfeyrac gives him a big, toothy grin, and as the rest of their friends join in, Enjolras knows that the battle is really and truly lost.

/ 1 /

"We're here!"

Marius can't resist a little sigh of relief. It's been hours, and he's been up since 3 in the morning waiting in this horrible line. Most of the others don't seem too bothered, probably because they all maintain completely ridiculous and unhealthy sleep schedules, but he's used to going to bed at 10 every night, and this is a new experience for him. He's just happy that Enjolras insisted on bringing along enough coffee to fuel a small army and didn't notice when Courfeyrac stole some for him.

He's not sure exactly how he made it this far, but somehow he did, and they're about to enter the store, and Courfeyrac is doing a victory dance that looks frankly inappropriate for the public eye.

"I'm gonna be an American idiot," he's singing, although those are the only lyrics he seems to know, so he's mostly just scatting and shaking his hips. Grantaire and Joly are joining in- loudly- and Combeferre is looking like he wishes he were elsewhere. Marius can't blame him. He doesn't quite know how he got roped into this, only that he did, and now everything's progressed too far for him to leave gracefully.

"Let's go in now." Courfeyrac seizes him by the hand and tows him towards the door before he can say anything. "This is going to be so great!"

"It'll be great," echoes Marius, trying to convince himself. It doesn't work, but Courfeyrac beams at him.

"That's the spirit!"

Before he can say anything else, he's ushered through the doors of the mall, the rest of his friends behind him, and for better or for worse, he's inside.

/ 2 /

Bahorel has just about had it.

He's been Black Friday shopping before; on his last visit to the US, he spent 50 dollars on candy alone. But it's never been like this. There are angry people everywhere, and he doesn't want to stereotype, but they all seem to be middle-to-upper class PTA-soccer-mom-white-Suburban-driving assholes and that's the exact class of people he hates the most. Already, he's almost come to blows five times, and he's only been here half an hour. Maybe Enjolras is right, the bourgeoisie really do need to be taken down.

Right now, a cargo shorts-wearing couple, equally red-faced and furious, is screaming at a harassed-looking employee, trying to convince her to give them a discount. Bahorel has no idea why they think they deserve one, but they're adamant, and the poor girl looks close to tears. He figures if someone's going to do something, it may as well be him, so he stomps up behind the couple and taps their shoulders. They spin around in an impressive display of synchronization.

"What?"

Bahorel gives them his best glare, and he can see the dismay flooding their faces. He's terrifying even when he's not trying to be, and he knows right now he looks like a force to be reckoned with. Still, the couple makes a valiant effort.

"You got a problem?"

"Yeah." Bahorel crosses his arms so they can see his rippling biceps. "Wanna find out what it is?"

The couple looks like they're about to excuse themselves from the situation, but just at that moment, a pack of security guards comes strolling by. The woman starts waving frantically.

"Excuse me! Security!"

The security guards turn and begin to walk over, and Bahorel starts flexing, preparing himself for a fight. He hates cops, and these guys look like total pigs, so he's definitely not opposed to beating them down. He grins fiercely at the one who seems to be the leader.

"Is there a problem, officer?"

"Is there a prob-" begins the security guard at the same time, then trails off, glaring. Bahorel raises an eyebrow at him.

"We're the ones with the problem," the woman breaks in. "This man is threatening us."

"Am I?"

The woman looks a little pale, and one of the security guards takes out his phone to page his cohorts.

"3C, come in. We have a rowdy African American here."

Bahorel stares at him pointedly. "I'm Samoan."

"A rowdy African American," repeats the security guard. "Block 3C."

Oh, so this is how they want to play, is it? He can deal with that. Bahorel flexes obviously, and the couple runs away. Some of the security guards look daunted, but they stand their ground.

"Reinforcements are coming," quavers one of them.

Bahorel grins at him."I'm here all night."

As it turns out, he's not there all night. It takes several guards, all working together, but finally they have him cornered.

"What is your deal anyway?" snaps one of them. "You some kind of protester or something?"

"Sometimes."

The security guard shakes his head. "You're a damn nuisance."

Bahorel grins at him. "You should meet my friend Enjolras."

As the security guards work together to haul him towards the door, Bahorel catches sight of Jehan standing on top of a clearance-priced desk, trying to stay out of the way of the crowds. He waves at them, and they stare for a second before giving him a Hunger Games-style salute.

"You did good!" they shout, their high-pitched voice audible even above the noise of the mall. Bahorel waves again.

"Keep fighting for me!"

Jehan bobs their head enthusiastically. "I will!"

The last thing Bahorel sees before the security guards toss him out the door is Jehan flipping all of them off, and he thinks he can rest assured that they will continue to carry his torch. Then his head hits the concrete, and everything goes black.

/ 3 /

Even if Jehan hadn't promised to pick up where Bahorel left off, they're pretty sure they wouldn't have remained out of the action much longer. This crowd is one of the worst they've ever seen, and they've been to enough protests in their short lifetime to have seen some pretty bad ones. There are angry people everywhere, and true, some of them may be twice Jehan's size, but that's no reason not to join in the fray. Without waiting for a better opportunity, they dive off the desk, and straight into the chaos.

Their first target is a middle-aged baseball dad, who seems to be throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of aisle 13. He's waving his fists and screaming, and even the bravest soul would feel hesitant about approaching him. But Jehan isn't just brave; they're intrepid, and they aren't going to let this specimen of white privilege have his way.

They make their way over to him, and at first he doesn't notice them, but when they tap him on the shoulder, he turns on them with a ferocious glare.

"What the hell do you want?"

Jehan smiles sweetly. "Sir, are you aware that you're creating a disturbance?"

"So what if I am? That's none of your business, bitch."

"Oh dear." Jehan clucks gently and shakes their head. "This won't do. Please come with me, sir." The man starts in violent surprise.

"What the fuck- "

"Right this way." Jehan takes him by the arm and tows him through the crowd, ignoring his angry shrieks of protest. They somehow manage to get to the front of the store, although it does take quite a bit of time, and they stop in front of the still-crowded entrance.

"Listen, you have a year to think about this," they say. "Maybe reconsider your life choices during that time. Anyway, it's been real. Goodbye now."

"Wait, what do you mean good-"

Jehan tosses him out the door. "I mean goodbye."

Some of the people around Jehan glare at them darkly, but most of them look happy, and a few of the employees even start to applaud. Jehan smiles and waves at them all before wading fearlessly back into the crowd. They have a mission now, and no amount of toxic masculinity is going to keep them from carrying it out.

/ 4 /

Marius looks around him in confusion. How did all this get so out of hand? One minute, they were all cheering and watching Grantaire give Enjolras a piggy-back ride around the store, and the next, they were making a citizen's arrest. Now they're holed up in the alcohol aisle, trying to decide what to do with this strangely belligerent man whom Gavroche claims to know.

"I'm telling you, he's a dick," he's saying. "He arrested my sister when we were here last year."

"Which sister?"

"Both of them!"

The man glares at him. "They deserved it."

"Excuse me?" Eponine raises an eyebrow. "You wanna run that one by me again?"

"You heard me! It's your fault I couldn't catch that Montparnasse kid too. I should have you arrested for obstruction of justice."

"Trust me, justice isn't what's being obstructed here."

"Okay," Combeferre breaks in. "Let's just calm down, shall we?"

"Why?"

This is a good question, and Combeferre looks stumped. He turns to Courfeyrac for help. Courfeyrac flounders for a second, then pats Gavroche on the head.

"Well, first of all, can I just say that my son is very clever?"

"What the fuck, I'm not your son."

"Don't swear, son."

"Let's make a democratic decision," Enjolras breaks in enthusiastically. "Everyone in favor?"

"Aye!"

"Great!" Enjolras smiles brightly at all of them, then realizes he's supposed to be playing the role of the judge, and shifts his features into an impressively stern pout. "Okay, Mr. Javert, if that's really your name- "

"It's inspector!"

"All right. Mr. Inspector, then. What are you doing here? And you better tell the truth."

"I always tell the truth," says the inspector, sounding nettled. "But I don't have to answer any questions I don't want to. That's my right."

"Sure," says Enjolras. "And we have the right to report you for stalking."

The inspector glares at him. "You wouldn't do that."

"Wanna bet?"

They stare at each other for a tense minute, and Marius is really beginning to worry. He doesn't want to be here if a fight is going to break out. Fortunately, the inspector finally backs down.

"Fine," he says. "Yes, I was following you. Are you happy?"

"Actually, I'm more creeped out. Why were you following us?"

The inspector blusters for a second. "Well, you're all criminals. It, it seemed like a good thing to do."

"But did you have probable cause?"

"I don't need that!"

"Actually yes, you really do."

"I wouldn't argue with him," chimes in Grantaire. "He's pre-law."

"I don't care," sputters the inspector, even as Enjolras preens and looks pleased. "I am the law!"

"You're the law?" Gavroche looks at him critically. "Then why do you have all these things in your pockets?"

"Wh- why were you looking in my pockets?"

"I was just looking for your wallet, chill."

"Wow, you really do have a lot of stuff in here," says Eponine. "Guys, look at all the shit he has in his pockets!"

Enjolras fixes the inspector with a terrifying glare. "Were you or were you not planning on taking these items home with you?"

"Well, maybe but- "

"And were you or were you not following us around for doing the same thing?"

"No! I mean, yes, but I was planning on paying for them- "

"So you admit you were profiling us?"

"Based on prior evidence!"

"Is that admissible?"

The inspector looks truly uncomfortable now. Marius feels bad for him, and is considering stepping in to save him from Enjolras's wrath, but at that moment, Courfeyrac lets out a sharp yell, and everyone shifts their attention to him.

Combeferre touches his arm in concern. "What's wrong, babe?"

"It's Jehan!" Courfeyrac points wildly in the direction of the furniture section. "Look! The bastard cops got them!"

Everyone looks. Sure enough, a squad of security guards have surrounded Jehan and are attempting to restrain them. They're doing a good job fighting, but they're too small, and the guards are too strong.

"Oh shit." Grantaire releases Javert without a second thought. "We gotta help."

"Do you think they'll do a hostage exchange?" asks Enjolras. "I mean, they're cops, this guy here is a cop, maybe if we give them him, they'll let Jehan go."

To Marius's mind, this is flawed reasoning, but the others don't seem to question it.

"Great idea," says Grantaire. "Let's bring him over before it's too late."

He and Enjolras are about to haul Javert to his feet, but Combeferre holds up his hand with a grief-stricken expression.

"Wait."

Everyone stops what they're doing and looks over to see the security dragging Jehan to the exit, much too far away for anyone to reach in time. Even so, Marius can hear them shouting from across the whole store.

"Justice! Liberty! We will not sacrifice our freedom for tyranny! Long live democracy!"

"Shut up, kid."

"Democracy!"

The cops open up the door and toss Jehan outside. The last glimpse Marius catches of them before they hit the sidewalk and the doors close is one elegant middle finger raised in a one-finger salute to the security guards, and to any part of the overbearing system that would deny them justice.

As a unit, all of their friends turn to glare at Javert.

"You know your cop friends?" says Enjolras. Javert nods. "Well, they just screwed you over in a major way."

/ 5 /

Joly doesn't really know how he got separated from the rest of the group. Because of his small size, he's used to being tossed around in crowds, and knowing this, he and his friends had taken extra care to keep him close. Somehow, though, he'd lost his grip on Bossuet's hand, and now he's all on his own in what he thinks is the home appliance section. Really, he's pretty sure this place could give a couple circles of hell a run for their money. There are children screaming loudly and adults screaming even louder, and someone seems to have spilled an entire Thanksgiving dinner on the floor. He's trying hard not to touch anything or come in contact with any of the diseases that these unvaccinated children of privilege are undoubtedly infected with, but it seems to be a losing battle.

He's just trying to determine the best way to leave this battleground for a safer haven, when a large family comes rushing into the aisle, pushing everyone else aside. He hides behind a conveniently-placed mattress, trying to dodge their advance, but one of the children manages to tackle him and wipe her nose on his shirt without any sort of by-your-leave. He can't help it; he lets out a horrified scream. The mother looks at him askance.

"Rude much?"

Joly can't even find it in himself to argue. He has to find a way out of here, or he's going to start developing diseases that no one's ever heard of. Without a word to any of the now-outraged shoppers, he loops around the back of the aisle, trying desperately to get away before some other disaster can befall him, but in his haste, he forgets to look where he's going, and slips on a puddle of something. Not only does he not want to think about what it was he just put his foot in, he's now airborne, and it promises to be a hard (and unhygienic) landing. Goodbye, world, he thinks.

Before he can hit the ground, though, he feels a strong arm wrap around his waist and set him gently back on his feet.

"Careful there, love. Wouldn't want you to fall on that floor."

Joly looks up in delighted disbelief. "Bossuet? You found me?"

Bossuet chuckles. "Of course. I couldn't leave you to face this crowd alone, could I?"

Joly throws his arms around his boyfriend's waist. Really, he couldn't have asked for anyone better. "I love you, Boss."

"I love you too, mon joli."

"Can we get out of here now, please?"

"Of course." Bossuet scoops him up, bridal-style, and starts to wade through the mess of children and unidentifiable sludge on the floor. Joly settles against his chest, feeling safe (and more importantly, clean). What would he do without this man in his life? They've just made it past the furniture department when Bossuet turns his head and lets out a sharp exclamation.

"Oh shit!"

Joly clutches at him in panic. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Feuilly." Bossuet points with his chin, and when Joly follows his gaze, he can see the reason for his alarm. Feuilly is standing by himself, armed with what looks like a fan blade, and surrounding him-

"Are those bronies?"

Bossuet nods grimly. "I think so."

"We have to help him." Joly jumps out of Bossuet's arms and takes a firmer grip on his cane. "There's no way we can let him be overrun like that."

"Agreed." Bossuet cracks his knuckles. "Let's go."

Together, they storm up to the crowd of bronies. Feuilly catches sight of them, and his eyes widen.

"Go back," he mouths. "It's not safe."

"That's why we have to help," says Bossuet, and in that moment, Joly knows that he's never been more in love.

"We're not leaving you alone to deal with this," he calls. "Come on!"

The bronies react to the sound of his voice, turning as a crowd (or should it be herd?) to size up their new opponents. Feuilly takes this opportunity to clobber a few of them with his fan blade.

"Take that, you!"

"Go back to your basements!" shouts Bossuet, and throws a vase with expert aim. It hits one of the bronies on the side of the head and shatters on impact. Joly makes a victory fist.

"Yes!"

The bronies don't seem to take kindly to this. While a few of them stoop to corral their fallen comrade, several more advance on Bossuet like a murderous, fedora-wearing wall.

"You're gonna pay for that," one of them says. Bossuet, to his credit, doesn't look too scared.

"Come at me, then," he says.

They do. Joly has never thought of bronies as being especially deadly before, but the way some of them are moving bespeaks lethal intent. It's clear he has to help, or his boyfriend is going to be in a world of trouble. He waves his cane, more for emphasis than anything else, and lets loose one of the high-pitched screams that has made him so useful at rallies.

"Hey, guys!"

Some of them look, but not enough. Joly's voice is a little hoarse by now, but he clears his throat and tries again.

"Princess Celestial sucks!"

This gets a little more attention. Most of Bossuet's attackers stop in their tracks and glare at him with an outraged expression. Joly feels very small indeed, but he perseveres.

"The art is ugly, and Twilight Sparkle isn't a well-rounded character!"

"Oh you done it now, boy." One of the bronies stalks towards him, actually pushing up his sleeves. Joly wants to laugh, but he's too busy being terrified. Fortunately, Feuilly comes to his rescue.

"Hey asshats!" He twirls his fan blade over his head and comes galloping over, knocking over two people as he does so. "Horses can't have magical powers! Your entire premise is flawed!"

While the bronies roar in outrage and turn to attack him, Bossuet takes the opportunity to clop the leader with another vase. In retaliation, the bronies all round on Feuilly, perhaps not recognizing where this latest attack came from. This only seems to fan the flames of Feuilly's fighting spirit, though, and as Joly hoofs it to the left flank to help dispatch a particularly nasty-looking specimen in a Rainbow Dash vest, he thinks that they might actually make it out of this successfully.

His optimism doesn't last long. One of the bronies somehow manages to call for backup, and before they know it, an entire force of security guards is swooping down on their tails, ambiguously threatening nightsticks a-blazing. Bossuet looks nervous, which is perhaps understandable, but Feuilly looks the head guard in the eye and gives him a charming smile.

"Can I help you?"

The guard doesn't look impressed. "Yeah, you can get out."

"Oh." Feuilly makes puppy-eyes and pouts his lower lip, looking so much like an adorable golden retriever that Joly has no idea how the guards aren't giving up right then and there.

"Why are you asking us to leave?" Bossuet asks. "Have we done something wrong?"

One of the guards gestures at the now cowed-looking group of bronies. "Well yeah, you're causing a disturbance. But the mane problem is that these gentlemen say you were attacking them?"

"Only because they attacked me first," says Feuilly. "It was self-defense on my part, and then my friends came to my rescue."

"Self defense?" The guard snorts. "Like we haven't heard that one before."

"You probably have," says Feuilly coolly, "seeing as you always seem to use it as an excuse to shoot innocent civilians."

"Feuilly," warns Bossuet. Feuilly clears his throat and looks down.

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

"You sure couldn't," snorts one of the guards. Everyone turns to look at him. "Because, you know, you really didn't do yourselves any favors just now, so you didn't help... okay. I'll shut up now."

The lead guard gives him a stern look. "Please ignore him; he's new. Now. Who's going to prove that you were indeed defending yourselves? You boys don't really have a leg to stand on here, it seems."

"No, I really don't," says Joly before he can stop himself. Bossuet turns the warning look on him, but it's too late. He's already reaching down to take off his prosthetic leg. The guards recoil in shock, and one puts his hands over his eyes as if he's expecting Joly to start unhooking other body parts.

"What the hell- "

"So." Joly takes his leg and waves it under the head guard's nose. "As you can see, we are all unarmed."

"Un- " The leader shakes his head. "Unbelievable."

"No, he has a point." Bossuet clears his throat and puts on his lawyer voice (which never fails to make Joly weak at the knees- or knee, as the case may be).

"Does he?"

"He does." Bossuet gestures at his friends. "Do any of us look like the type of people who would attack civilians for fun?"

The guard looks at them critically. "Yes."

"Maybe not him," adds one of the others, pointing at Feuilly. "But you two, for sure."

Feuilly raises one ginger eyebrow. "Interesting. Is that because I'm white and they're not?"

"Oh, hey, let's not bring race into this."

"Let me guess. You're all colorblind?"

"Sure. Black, white, yellow, green, purple- it doesn't matter."

Feuilly looks totally unimpressed, and Bossuet rolls his eyes.

"Of course."

"Anyway!" The head guard clears his throat, obviously attempting to regain control of the situation. "Suspicion issues aside, it's very clear that all three of you were assaulting these poor men, and that's illegal. So we have no choice but to escort you off the premises."

"Those poor men assaulted us," says Feuilly. "Is that not an issue?"

"Again, the only ones saying that are you."

"I mean, do you want to have a look at the security cameras?"

"Not necessary. You three are leaving right now."

Joly straps his leg back on and does a knee bend. Bossuet gives him another look.

"Joly, no."

"But we could win!"

"They're cops."

"They're pigs!"

"No." Bossuet sighs and nods to the lead officer. "Fine. We'll leave."

"Good." The head guard gestures to his men. "Take 'em out."

His men comply, a little too enthusiastically. As they're circling around the three boys, one of them casually shoves Joly, smashing his head against a shelf. Joly sees stars.

"What- what was- "

The guard shrugs, smirking. "Oops."

Joly is still too dazed to see it happen, but the next thing he knows, the guard is lying on the floor clutching his nose, and Bossuet is standing over him looking furious.

"Let's just get something straight," he says. "That's my boyfriend right there. You touch him once, you get your nose broken. Touch him again, it'll be a lot more than that. Clear?"

The guard grunts. Bossuet seems to take this as affirmation, because he gives a sharp nod before turning to Joly. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." Joly wiggles his neck experimentally. "Well, I might have a bit of a concussion. Possibly a slipped disk. Or a spinal fracture? Anyway I'll deal with it later. Thank you, love, that was amazing!"

Bossuet puts an arm around him. "You're amazing."

"Oh hey, so does this mean we're fighting now?" Feuilly cracks his knuckles, looking entirely too happy. Bossuet and Joly look at each other, then shrug in tandem like the super synchronized couple that they are.

"I guess so."

"Awesome." Feuilly bounces in place, apparently chomping at the bit to go down in what will undoubtedly be ignominious defeat. Joly loves him, he really does. He smiles at his friends in one last display of bravado.

"Okay then. Let's go!"

Sadly, it's not long at all before the guards have the three boys completely surrounded. Joly would have liked a little more time to brawl with these guys, maybe preserve his reputation as a fighter a bit more, but what can he do? He's approximately the size of a very small Shetland pony. Besides, he did get in a few quality punches, and he's pretty sure that's what counts in the end. As the guards are pushing him out the door, he just has time to look at his friends and smile. They've had their own fighting heyday, and no one can take that away from them. Bossuet smiles back at him, a beautiful, warm, heart-melting smile, and he thinks dizzily that he wouldn't want to be by anyone else's side right now. Then the guards open the doors and toss them out onto the hard concrete sidewalk, and everything goes black.

/ 6 /

"Where's Grantaire?"

"I- I don't..."

"I don't think he knows, Enjolras," says Combeferre. "Otherwise, he'd probably have told you after the first three times you asked him."

"Oh." Enjolras nods and lets go of Marius. "That's true. Sorry."

Marius isn't really sure if he says anything in reply, but he does shoot Combeferre a grateful look as he hurries to hide behind Courfeyrac. Enjolras may be tiny, but he's scary as all hell, and he really knows how to grab the front of someone's shirt so they can't run away.

"Why do you care anyway?" asks Eponine. "Did you want him to stay here and hold your hand throughout this whole stressful time?"

Enjolras blushes, but he doesn't deny it. Eponine smirks at him.

"Oh honey."

She's probably about to go on, but Marius realizes she might have the answer to his own particular problem, and he jumps in.

"Do you have cell reception in here?"

"Yeah, 4G. Why?"

Marius holds up his 2008-era flip phone. "I'm off the grid. I only have reception when I'm outside. Sometimes not even then."

"Oh, is that why you never answer your phone?"

Marius is determined not to be derailed. "Look, can you text Cosette and tell her we're all okay? She wanted me to give her updates, and I don't want her to worry."

"I mean, I guess." Eponine sighs long-sufferingly and sends off a quick message. "There. You happy?"

"Yes. Thank you, Eponine!"

"Whatever."

Despite her put-upon manner, Marius knows she's not really bothered. She likes to help people, and she doesn't seem to mind when he asks her for favors, but she has to maintain a cool facade in front of her friends. He can understand that. He, too, wants to look strong in front of these guys. It's not like they're as tough as Eponine, but they're pretty intimidating in their own way. In fact, they don't even seem to mind interacting with the rabid-looking shoppers around them. Marius is terrified of pretty much everyone in the mall at this point, but Enjolras has gone up to a group of angry Sports Dads, seemingly without fear, and is talking to them like they're not all at least a foot taller than he is and practically foaming at the mouth. He's gesturing emphatically, and seems to be telling them something very important. Actually, this might be a problem. Marius goes over to Combeferre.

"Should he be doing that?"

"Doing what?" Marius points, and when Combeferre figures out what he's looking at, he groans. "Damn it, not again. Okay, I'll go get him. Stay here."

Marius is very happy to obey, and watches, slightly awed, as Combeferre strides over to retrieve his best friend from the clutches of what has to be imminent doom. They seem to be remonstrating with each other for a bit, but Combeferre wins out, and soon he's back, towing a very angry-looking Enjolras by the hand.

"I was getting through to them!" he's protesting. "They were about to see reason!"

"They were about to beat you up," says Combeferre dryly.

"I feel like you think I'm weaker than I am."

"I mean, you were the one who knocked yourself out by walking into a door frame the other day."

Marius doesn't get a chance to hear Enjolras's reply. Before he can move away, a swarm of NRA-tshirt-wearing men with neck beards comes rushing up to him, shouting incoherently.

"What's this?" screeches one of them. "You gay or something?"

Marius looks around him in confusion. He would have thought he was the least gay-looking out of all his friends, especially since Courfeyrac is only a few feet away. But these guys are obviously talking to him.

"I-is that a problem?" he stutters out. The man glares at him.

"Fuck yeah it is! You know what we do to people like you?"

Marius isn't positive, but he thinks he can hazard a guess. "Do you beat them up?"

"That's right!"

The neck beards rise up like a wall of synchronized rage. Marius thinks dizzily that this is going to be the end of him, and he prepares himself for death. He closes his eyes and hunkers down, ready for the inevitable barrage.

It never comes. Marius hears a hair-raising shout, and the sound of blows beginning to fall. Since he doesn't feel anything, he thinks it's reasonable to assume someone else is being hit right now. He cautiously opens his eyes, and can't suppress a sigh of relief. Eponine has stepped between him and the Republicans, and is single-handedly fighting them off. She turns over her shoulder as she fights.

"Marius, get out of here!"

Marius doesn't need to be told twice. He runs as fast as he can towards the rest of his friends, miraculously only tripping twice. For their part, the Republicans don't seem to care. They're too focused on fending off Eponine.

It seems like an eternity, but finally Marius finds the others, about 20 feet from where they'd been before. He runs at them at full speed, and unable to stop himself, barrels straight into Enjolras and knocks him over. The expression on Enjolras's face as he gets to his feet will probably give Marius nightmares for a week, but he doesn't have time to focus on this right now.

"Guys," he gasps out. "Republicans. Eponine."

"Eponine's a Republican?"

"No! They attacked me, and she saved me and now they're attacking her. You have to help!"

The others don't need to hear another word. They've all been through enough mistreatment at the hands of Republicans to understand the struggle that Eponine must be facing now. As a body, they run back the way Marius came, not even bothering to ask him if he's okay. Honestly, Marius finds this a little rude, but he doesn't want to say so, since the last time he did, Combeferre had asked him why he thought this, and had provided an in-depth psychoanalysis of his reasoning. So instead, he meekly follows after his friends, trusting that they'll protect him if things get bad. Neither Enjolras nor Combeferre seem to notice, but Courfeyrac does, and gives him an approving nod. Good, so he did something right after all. That's a relief.

By the time they reach Eponine, it's a little too late to do anything. The Republicans have her surrounded, and seem to be winning the fight, although Marius does note that there are significantly fewer of them than there were before. Even overwhelmed as she is, Eponine doesn't miss the arrival of her friends, and shakes her head violently at them all.

"Get out of here!" she shouts. "Go on!"

Marius thinks this is fairly clever of her, since she's managed to warn them all without alerting the Republicans to their presence. Unfortunately, the others don't take her advice.

"Hey, neck beards!" hollers Courfeyrac. "What are you doing here? Texas is that way!"

"Your politics are bad!" adds Enjolras.

Marius doesn't think either of these taunts are particularly cutting, but some of the Republicans seem offended. They whip around with frightening expressions.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard them," says Combeferre. "Why don't you go on back to your basements and leave us in peace?"

A crafty look crosses the face of one of the men. "Hey, I know your game. You're trying to save the girl. I guess chivalry isn't dead after all!"

"Is that what they're doing?" The other Republicans begin to mutter among themselves. "We should have figured that out. Why didn't we get that?"

"Because you're stupid," says Courfeyrac, evidently in a last-ditch effort to derail them.

"We're not stupid," grumbles one of the Republicans, but his brothers quickly shush him.

"They're still trying to play us, Paul."

"Now!" The lead Republican turns around to address his pack. "Do we, or do we not take kindly to being played?"

"No!" roar back the rest of the Republicans. The leader nods.

"That's right. So, I think we should show these kids a what-for!"

"What for!" screams Paul. His friends just give him a look, and he subsides, looking sheepish.

"Let's escort the lady off the premises!" continues the leader, unperturbed. "That'll teach them to mess with us. Come on now!"

"Wow, you guys really know how to reach out to the younger generation," says Eponine. The leader smacks her.

"Quiet, you."

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac surge forward, but they're too late to do anything. All they can do is watch as the Republicans drag Eponine to the doors and toss her outside. The last thing they see before the doors close on her is her flipping all of them off with both hands. Marius bows his head in respect; this is how he always thought she would go.

He's hoping they can sneak away while the Republicans are distracted, and is about to broach the idea to Courfeyrac that maybe they should consider getting out of here while the getting is good, but unfortunately, his friends seem to have other ideas. Enjolras is spitting mad, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac don't look much happier.

"They're not going to get away with this," says Enjolras. "We're going to make them pay! Come on, Marius!"

This is exactly what Marius had been afraid of.

"I'm not sure," he ventures, well aware that his voice is quavering. "Don't you think Eponine would have wanted us to go in peace? She never liked to fight fire with fire, you know."

Enjolras gives him an incredulous look. "Are we talking about the same Eponine?"

"Come on, man. Don't give up on us now." Courfeyrac slaps him on the back, just a little bit too hard. Marius winces.

"Are you sure, guys?"

"I mean, obviously." Enjolras is probably about to go on- he's got that look- but before he can, a huge hand settles on his shoulder, and he jumps about a foot in alarm. "W-who...?"

"Good morning, boys."

Marius stops dead in his tracks. He knows this voice. Timidly, he takes a few steps forward, knowing that trying to hide or get away now would be useless. He clears his throat, and everyone turns to look at him, including...

"Mr. Fauchelevent?"

"Mr. Pontmercy."

Marius thinks he's about to fall over. True, he's not very brave by nature, but something about this man makes him quake to the bottom of his shoes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" he manages to get out. Mr. Fauchelevent fixes him with a stern look.

"Now, that's not such a polite thing to ask, son."

Somehow, Marius gets the feeling that being called "son" in this context isn't a good thing. "I'm sorry?" he tries.

Mr. Fauchelevent doesn't look impressed, but fortunately Enjolras chooses this moment to cause an interruption, flying backwards straight into a shelf of half-price crockery. Three particularly angry-looking individuals are looming over him with clenched fists, and Marius wonders what he did this time.

"You think you're something special, don't you pretty boy," sneers one of them. His friends cackle, apparently thinking that this is an intimidating insult. "Well, we gotta tell you. You're not!"

"You told me already," says Enjolras. The men don't pay him any notice.

"We don't want you in here, princess. Why don't we help put you back where you belong?"

"How about you don't do that?"

"Too late to apologize." The first man gives him a shark-like grin. "You're outta here."

"Okay, first of all, I definitely wasn't apologizing. Second- "

"Would you shut up?" The man aims a sharp kick at him. "Now, where were we?"

"Asinine taunts and vapid displays of toxic- ouch! -social norms manifested in your- ow! -single-minded drive to- shit, that hurt. Look, you need to stop doing that!"

"We'll stop doing that when you stop being such a prissy little princess."

"Okay, I feel like you're using deliberately gendered terminology in order to insult me, and that's-"

"Shut up!"

The men converge on him, and Marius completely loses sight of him for a moment. He's beginning to think that the next time he sees his friend is going to be at his funeral, and he's about to start bewailing this fact, when Mr. Fauchelevent leaves his spot at Marius's side and strides over to the thugs.

"Excuse me."

The thugs don't pay any attention, too intent on beating up Enjolras, so Mr. Fauchelevent takes two of them by the back of their shirts and lifts them into the air like misbehaving rodents. Suddenly left alone, the third thug stops mid-punch and looks around confusedly.

"What the- "

"Please don't swear," says Mr. Fauchelevent. "Now. Can one of you tell me what the hell you think you're doing?"

/ 7 /

Courfeyrac knows he shouldn't have left Enjolras alone, but he saw Cosette's dad coming in, and he figures if anyone can keep his friend out of trouble, it's him. Seriously, the man is built like a brick wall; not even Enjolras could get beat up under his watch. Plus, Combeferre is there, and there's no one like him for keeping people in line. Sure, Marius is there too, and that might complicate things a bit, but Courfeyrac is pretty sure things are under control.

This is why he felt okay about leaving. It's getting late, and he wants to complete his mission as soon as possible, before everything good is bought up (or broken, as the case may be). Since this is his first Black Friday experience, he wants to buy something to commemorate his time, nothing expensive or fancy, of course, just a little memento that he can keep to remind him of this experience he's shared with his friends- and the larger community. But of course, he can't do this with Enjolras around, so he had taken the opportunity to sneak off while everyone's attention was fixed on Marius and his (frankly hilarious) attempts to interact with Mr. Fauchelevent.

Now, he's in the home appliances section, and he's not really sure how he got there, since last he knew, he was in the clothes department, but he figures this is as good a place to start as any. He's just looking over some light switch covers, when a touch on his shoulder makes him jump.

"Courf, what are you doing?"

Courfeyrac spins around to see none other than his beloved boyfriend and better half standing in front of him, arms crossed and looking less than pleased. "Oh! Ferre! Good to see you, man. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." Combeferre looks at him incredulously. "Are you shopping?"

Courfeyrac carefully sets down the light switch cover he's been looking at. "No." Combeferre raises an eyebrow. "Okay, yes. But not for a bad reason."

"Is there such a thing as a bad reason?" If it had been anyone else, Courfeyrac would have assumed this was a hypothetical question, but Combeferre looks genuinely curious, so he feels he should explain.

"I wanted to commemorate this time we had," he says. "I know it's problematic, but that's sort of the point. By contributing in this, I'm connecting with my community, and I'm getting to see the struggles that our fellow people have to go through. Also, I wanted a souvenir."

"Hmm." Combeferre doesn't look totally convinced, but he doesn't argue either, so Courfeyrac marks this one down as a success.

"So, what do you think?" he asks, gesturing at the light switch covers. "Do you like the glittery one?"

"It doesn't really match our decor, does it? I like this blue one."

Courfeyrac nudges him, rolling his eyes. "Of course you would, you tasteful decorator, you."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"That depends. Are you insulted?"

"No, I'm flattered."

"Oh. Well then, no."

Combeferre gives him a light peck on the cheek. "You're cute."

While Courfeyrac tries to remember how to breathe- really, it's ridiculous how mushy he gets over even the smallest displays of affection- Combeferre rifles through the shelf of home appliances, digging through the broken and unusable specimens with admirable purpose. Finally, he grins and holds up something that looks round and beveled and completely unrecognizable.

"What do you think?"

Courfeyrac wrinkles his nose. "What even is that?"

"A decorative towel-rack screw, of course."

"Oh. Obviously."

Combeferre is probably about to say something else, maybe explain why decorative towel-rack screws are vital to the smooth functioning of society, but at that moment, Courfeyrac's heart leaps into his throat and he reaches out in panic.

"Ferre, look!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Look!" Courfeyrac points, and Combeferre follows his gaze. After a second, he figures out what he's looking at, and exclaims in dismay. "Gavroche! How did he even get there? I thought he was with Enjolras!"

"I thought so too. Did he follow us?"

"I don't know, but we gotta go get him."

Courferyrac nods. "Come on."

Together, they fight their way towards the middle of the furniture department, where Gavroche is attempting to escape the clutches of a pack of security guards, none of whom seem intent on showing him any sort of lenience. He's kicking and fighting admirably, but it's clear that this battle is imminently one-sided.

"Get off me, you pigs," he screeches, wriggling out of the grasp of yet another oversized guard. "I'm ten years old for god's sake! This is child abuse, and it's punishable by law!"

"Punishable by law," says one of the guards. "Punishable by law, he says. Hey, you know who carries out the law?"

The other guards pretend to think. "Hold on. Is it us?"

"I think it's us!"

They all cackle like they've told a hilarious joke, and make for Gavroche again. "Sorry, kid," snickers the leader. "Ain't no one gonna help you now."

"Incorrect!" Courfeyrac surges forward, filled to the brim with rage. "I'm gonna help him. What do you think about that?"

Gavroche looks up, obviously trying to hide his relief. "Courf!"

"Don't worry, lil' buddy. I got this!"

The guards look mildly concerned, and seem as if they're reconsidering their actions, but before Courfeyrac can get to them, a pack of sweaty fedora-wearing Men's Right Activists sweep in out of nowhere to surround him.

"Oh look, it's one of them homosexuals," says one of them, a fine specimen in a "My Little Pony Is Not For Girls" shirt. "What are you doing here?"

Courfeyrac really has no time for this. "Look, I'd love to have an intellectual debate about atheism or something, but I need to get through here. Can you- "

"He needs to get through here!" The MRA turns to his friends. "Where do you think he's going?"

"Probably to get some dick," says another one, and they all snort like a pack of hyenas. Courfeyrac is so done.

"That's not even a good insult. Look, can you just move, please?"

"He said please!"

"Ha! What are you, gay or something?"

"Oh yeah, you are!"

"Good one!"

"That's not a good one." Courfeyrac vainly tries to elbow his way out of the crowd. "Seriously, I'm not fucking around here, can you- "

"He's not fucking around!" The Brony looks around at his friends. "Except, he is. You know, because he's gay."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Ha!" The other MRAs jostle each other, unfortunately sending a multitude of sweaty elbows into Courfeyrac's face. "He doesn't get it!"

"There's nothing to get."

"You know what he does get, though?"

Courfeyrac groans. "No."

"Dick!" The MRAs all scream in hilarity and high five each other. "Good one!"

"Okay, seriously, I need to get through here. The cops over there are trying to beat up a child, and I need to stop them. You're pro-life, right? Shouldn't you be all up in arms about this?"

"Cops, you say?" The Brony fixes him with a glare. "I bet you're one of those social justice assholes, aren't you!"

"Well, actually- "

"Listen, you! Cops are important. You stupid "P-O-C's" need to stop hating them senselessly, because all they do is help. All lives matter, especially cops' lives."

Courfeyrac sighs. Where is Enjolras when he needs him? "Look, I don't have time to explain to you how wrong you are. Can you let me through here? You can beat me up later or whatever. I just need to save the kid."

"I don't think so." The MRAs give him a variety of frightening grins. "We're not letting you off that easy."

"I literally have done nothing to you."

"You're gay, aren't you?"

"Pansexual, actually, but- okay no, that's not the point. Why are you guys like this? I'm a man, aren't you supposed to be sticking up for me?"

"You obviously lack our superior intellect. You're not like us, get it?"

"Why?"

"You're Mexican."

"No."

"Whatever. You're something. And you're gay. We don't stick up for men like you."

"Wow, you guys are really progressive, aren't you."

"What did you just say?" The brony's face darkens in rage. "I know you didn't just say that."

Courfeyrac grins. "What are you going to do about it?"

This, it seems, is the wrong question. As a body, the MRAs surge around him, grasping his arms and legs and lifting him up bodily as they drag him through the store. Courfeyrac barely has time to register the group of security guards doing the same thing to Gavroche before they're at the entrance of the store, and the MRAs are attempting to toss him outside. He screams and fights, grabbing at sweaty tshirts, goatees, and a fedora that comes off in his hand, but all to no avail. The MRAs are too numerous, and too strong. They drag the doors open and are getting ready to toss him out, when a familiar high-pitched voice cuts through the noise of the mall.

"Wait!"

Courfeyrac struggles to turn his head without pushing it into one of the MRA's armpits.

"Enjolras!"

"What the hell is going on?" Enjolras comes striding over, and stands in front of the MRAs with his arms crossed, tiny and fearless. Courfeyrac wants to hug him.

"Oh, sorry m'lady," says one of the MRAs, letting go of Courfeyrac to tip his fedora. "Far be it from me to exhibit such rough behavior in front of your sweet feminine eyes- "

Enjolras cuts him off with an impressive glare. "I'm a boy."

"Oh." The MRA gives him a condescending once-over. "Are you one of those weirdos?"

"Excuse me?"

"Like this homosexual here." He points to Courfeyrac, and Enjolras seems to remember why he's here.

"Oh, right, so you're bigoted and disgusting, and you need to find a scapegoat in order to sate your inflated egos and toxic sense of hypermasculinity. I get it. But why don't you use me instead?"

The MRAs gape at him. "What?"

Enjolras points to himself. "Me. Throw me outside instead of him."

"What? Enjolras, no." Courfeyrac tries to fight his way out of the MRAs' grasp, either to smack his friend or to pick him up and take him away where he can't make any more bad decisions (or maybe both), but the MRAs hold on tight.

"You're not going anywhere."

"Yes I am," argues Courfeyrac.

Enjolras bobs his head enthusiastically. "Yeah, listen to him! He's right!"

"Is he now." The MRAs look at each other, then something seems to dawn on them. "Well now. I guess he is."

Courfeyrac isn't sure what's going on, but judging from the look of dismay on Enjolras's face, it can't be anything good.

"I'm serious," Enjolras tries one last time. "Take me instead."

The MRAs give him a nasty smirk. "No way."

"You can't do this!"

"Watch us."

"No, wait- "

The rest of Enjolras's cry is drowned out as the MRAs heave the doors open, and Courfeyrac belatedly figured out what's going on. He twists around to look over their heads, to where Enjolras is fighting against the three men holding him, and catches his eye.

"Keep on fighting for me," he calls. "Don't let them get away with this!"

Enjolras nods (an impressive feat, given his current position). "Don't worry! I won't!"

He probably has more to say, but Courfeyrac doesn't hear it, as the MRAs toss him out the door and into the hard concrete, and everything goes black.

/ 8 /

Marius is lost.

Granted, this isn't anything unusual (hell, he's been lost three times today alone), but he has the distinct feeling that this time, it could become a problem. For one thing, he hasn't seen any of his friends for at least half an hour. For another, he's pretty sure he's lost his wallet. Most concerning of all, however, is the assortment of fuming shoppers surrounding him, all furiously angry, and shaking their proverbial (not to mention literal) fists in his face. He's not sure what it is they think he did, but judging from their expressions, it must have been something truly bad. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they don't keep him in the dark long.

"Hey, kid," hisses one of them, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. "You're friends with that blond asshole, right?"

Marius doesn't have to ask which blond asshole they're talking about. However, he has no intention of admitting this. "N-no," he stutters. "I've never seen him before in my life."

His attacker's eyes narrow. "Funny. I don't think I specified whether it was a guy or not."

Oh crap.

"Well, I just assumed... I mean..."

"Look, give it up." Another person steps forward, all muscle and fury, and Marius thinks he's about to wet his pants.

"I'm sorry," he squeaks. "For everything. Please don't beat me up."

"It's a little late to apologize, seeing as you're already friends with him," says the first one. "Maybe you should'a thought of that years ago."

"You're right, I should have."

"What, now you're agreeing with us?"

"Absolutely."

Both the shoppers shake their heads in disgust. "Pathetic."

"Y-yes."

"This ain't gonna stop us from beating your ass, kid." The muscled shopper flexes one brawny arm and does a knee bend. The crowd roars their agreement.

"Kick his nerdy ass," shouts someone.

Marius is a little offended. Isn't it terribly cliche to call people nerds and mean it insultingly? He's getting flashbacks to middle school, and that's never fun. Then, too, there's a crowd of people clamoring for his blood, which is... not ideal. He wonders if it would be better to stay and try to defend himself, or to run away. Neither option sounds very appealing, frankly. If only his friends were here! He glances around desperately, hoping for deliverance, but of course none comes. Maybe he shouldn't have run off and left Enjolras and Mr. Fauchelevent, he thinks. If they were all together, these people would be trying to beat up Enjolras instead of him, and Mr. Fauchelevent would be saving them both. But how was he to have known? This doesn't seem like the sort of thing that's supposed to happen.

Right on cue, one of the shoppers lets out a war cry and comes charging forward, both arms raised. Marius jolts backward in panic, and he does move out of reach of his attacker's flailing fists, but his feet catch on something (what, he doesn't know), and he goes down to land ingloriously on the sticky tile floor.

Miraculously, though, this seems to be the one thing the shoppers hadn't expected him to do. They pause their attack to stare at him for a minute, and this is all the time Marius needs. He rolls away from the mob, not bothering to stand up or navigate with any degree of certainty. At this point, all he wants to be is away.

His journey comes to an end when he rolls up against someone's feet. Embarrassed, he tries to scramble upright, but he doesn't quite manage it, and ends up in a half-crouching-half-kneeling position that's ridiculous even for him. For a second, he doesn't even want to look up, hoping this person will ignore him, but then they reach down, as if offering to help him to his feet, and he has no choice but to accept the situation.

"Are you all right?" comes a kind voice, and now Marius does look up, surprised. It seems that out of all the people in the mall, he's managed to crash into none other than Combeferre.

"I'm doing okay," he says, trying for a jovial and unworried tone. "Just dandy, you know?"

Combeferre looks confused. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"Totally. I mean, wait. No."

"Pardon?"

Marius has no idea what to say next. "I haven't been down here long," he tries.

"Well, here." Combeferre takes his hand and hauls him to his feet with no discernible effort. "I'm glad to see you're safe, by the way. I got separated from everyone else, and I have no idea what's going on with them."

"Enjolras got beat up," Marius offers, in an attempt to be helpful. Immediately, he realizes that this wasn't helpful in the slightest. Combeferre blanches and stops moving entirely. Marius isn't even sure if he's breathing.

"He what?"

"Oh. Um..."

Combeferre clutches the front of Marius's shirt and gives him a frankly frightening look. "By whom?"

"Oh. I'm not sure. There were three of them, though?"

Apparently, this hadn't been a good thing to say either. Combeferre looks like he's about to explode. "Well, is he okay? What happened?"

"I'm not really sure," Marius admits. "I left."

"You left?"

"I mean, Mr. Fauchelevent was there. I figured it was okay."

"You complete idiot," Combeferre hisses. Marius thinks his glare could probably melt steel beams. "You do realize this is Enjolras we're talking about? He weighs like 90 pounds, and the other day he got knocked down by a dog. It wasn't even a big dog, either. Like, I realize that he tries to be tough, but he's really not. Can you please think about someone besides yourself sometimes? I don't want a repeat of the Elevator Incident."

Marius wilts a little bit. He definitely doesn't want another Elevator Incident, especially if it's on his conscience. "I'm sorry, Combeferre," he mumbles.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," Combeferre says. "Come on, let's go find him before he gets into any more trouble."

"Okay." Marius meekly follows Combeferre as he fights his way through the chaos of the store. He seems to know exactly where he's going; maybe he has some sort of Enjolras sensor or something. Actually, that would make a lot of sense. Is it possible for two people to be telepathically connected? Marius is so busy wondering if it's possible for him to form a connection with Cosette that he almost walks right into another angry mob, and only stops when Combeferre grabs the back of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" he wants to know. "Watch out, would you?"

Marius thinks this bit of criticism is a little unfair, because it's not like Combeferre always has his head in the game either, but he decides not to say anything. The man did just save him, after all. He gets ready to duck out of the way before the shoppers can use him as their next target, but unfortunately, Combeferre doesn't seem to have the same idea. In fact, what's he doing? Marius tries to reach out and stop him, but it's too late. He's already dived into the very heart of the mob.

Marius watches in awestruck horror as Combeferre fights his way to the center, where one poor security guard is doing his best to defend himself against the onslaught of angry shoppers.

"Why aren't there any more microwaves?" one of them screeches. "Do something about it!"

"I can't," protests the guard, but his voice is drowned out in the general cacophony.

"Idiot!"

"Pig!"

"Proletariat scum!"

Combeferre pushes his way into the crowd. "Okay, that's enough."

For a second, everyone stops what they're doing, turning to look at this new player in the drama, and seemingly unconsciously, they move aside to let him in. Marius has to admit, his friend does make quite a striking figure, tall and poised as he is. Unfortunately, this probably won't be enough to save him from the masses.

Oblivious to this danger, Combeferre wades through the crowd until he reaches the security guard. There, he stands over him, doing his best to fend off the attacks of the screeching people around him.

"Listen, everyone," he calls out. "This man obviously hasn't done anything to you. Why don't you leave him alone and go on your way?"

"Why don't you go to hell?" snaps one of the shoppers immediately. The others follow with even more vehement and crude suggestions. Combeferre looks completely done with everything, but he still raises his voice to try again. Marius really has to admire his tenacity.

"Look, what are you even doing here? You're not doing anyone any good. Don't you have enough stuff already? Go home!"

"You go home!"

Combeferre sighs. "Okay, I guess we're doing this the hard way." He bends down and hooks one arm around the security guard, lifting him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

The guard tries to scramble to his feet, looking like he's seen the face of heaven itself. Combeferre does his best to help him, but before he can get very far, someone in the crowd hits him over the head with an electronic keyboard, and he goes down like a sack of bricks, dropping the security guard back down on the floor.

Marius lets out a little squeak of dismay, then immediately realizes this was a bad idea. As half the crowd goes to throw Combeferre (and the unfortunate guard) out the door, the other half comes up to him, grinning ferociously.

"What's this?" says one of them. "Did nerd boy have a friend?"

"N-no," Marius stutters. "No friends. I don't have any friends."

His attacker frowns. "That's sad."

"Oh. Um, yeah, it's been a struggle."

"We're still gonna fight you, though, just to be clear."

Damn it. "I'm terminally ill," he tries. "Tomorrow could be my last day on earth."

"Aww, I'm sure that's not true."

Marius feels a surge of hope rush through him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Today is your last day on earth."

The shoppers grin at him menacingly, and Marius thinks he's about to faint. How does he keep getting into these situations anyway?

"P-please no," he whispers, but this doesn't seem to have any effect. The crowd keeps coming, and if anything, they look even more bloodthirsty than before. Marius says a quick prayer in his head. This is the end of him, he's certain.

Suddenly, he feels himself being hoisted into the air. He doesn't resist, deciding that he's already dead, and he's being pulled directly to heaven. At least, he hopes it's heaven. He's preparing his introduction for the pearly gates, when he hears a very familiar voice in his ear.

"Hello there, son."

Oh shit. So it's hell, then. He makes an undignified sort of squeaking sound, and flops his legs around in the air.

"Hi, Mr. Fauchelevent."

"I see you were stirring up some trouble just now."

Marius thinks this is incredibly unfair. "It wasn't my fault," he huffs.

"So you're not the type to take responsibility for your actions, hmm? Maybe I should warn Cosette."

"Oh. Um, I guess I maybe did have something to do with it, now that I think about it..."

"So you're a troublemaker? I might have known."

Marius isn't quite sure how he got into this situation, but he thinks he would almost rather be fighting the mob. "I'm not a troublemaker," he says meekly. "If you're looking for troublemakers, you should talk to Enjolras. He's a bad seed, sir. But I'm nothing like him."

"You could stand to be a little more like him," says Mr. Fauchelevent sternly. "I like that boy. He's like the son I might have known if God had granted me a son."

Marius decides that he's officially done with talking. "I'm sorry, sir," he says. "For everything. Please don't hate me."

"Son, I don't hate anyone."

Marius breathes a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. "I'm glad to hear it, sir."

"Now, plain old dislike, on the other hand..."

"Oh."

Mr. Fauchelevent seems to feel that he's adequately gotten his point across, because he doesn't say anything more on the topic, and just starts to walk briskly away from the crowd. No one tries to stop him; in fact, they don't even seem to notice him. Marius isn't entirely sure how this can be, since Mr. Fauchelevent is approximately the size of a tank and twice as scary, but he doesn't want to question this piece of good fortune. There is, however, something else that he wants to question.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the bathrooms."

Marius shakes his head, because that /can't/ be right. "Sorry. What?"

"I'm taking you to the bathrooms."

"But I don't have to go."

"That's not it. I'm taking you home. There's an easy way out through the back."

"Why don't we just use the front door?"

"I'm afraid that's not an option. I might be strong, but I don't think I could get you through the whole mall without someone attacking you."

That certainly isn't very encouraging. Marius begins to twist around, vainly trying to work himself free.

"Put me down!"

"Why, so you can go get yourself killed?" Mr. Fauchelevent ostentatiously holds on even tighter. "I don't think so. I promised Cosette I'd bring you home in one piece."

"But- but...!"

"Okay." Mr. Fauchelevent shifts so that he has one arm free. "I'm going to get you to safety whether you like it or not, but you're making this excessively hard. I have no other choice. Sorry."

Marius dimly registers that Mr. Fauchelevent doesn't look sorry at all, and in fact looks happier than he has all day. Somehow, this doesn't seem like a good sign.

"Wait, what are you- "

Mr. Fauchelevent somehow manages to crack his knuckles with one hand, and Marius knows he's really and truly done for. The man's hand is probably the size of Marius's entire head, and as if that's not enough, he has tattoos all across his wrists. Wait. Tattoos? Marius takes a second look, and gasps. Those are prison tats if he's ever seen them. Suddenly, the more mysterious parts of Mr. Fauchelevent's life are beginning to make sense. He's about to say something, do something, maybe, but before he can figure out what, Me. Fauchelevent's prison-tattooed fist crashes into his face, and everything goes dark.

/ 9 /

Enjolras thinks he finally understands what it means to be alone in a crowd. He's been at the front of the store ever since Courfeyrac's tragic misadventure with the MRAs, fighting to keep people from exploiting the workers any more. It's a hard job, but someone's gotta do it. He only wishes he had some help. Apparently, people don't like being told that their complicity in maintaining the capitalist infrastructure is harming society, and they've been making their disapproval known in no uncertain terms. He's already been knocked down twice, and there's an annoying cut above his eye that won't stop bleeding. If Joly were here, he would probably have a heart attack. Sadly, Joly isn't here, and neither is anyone else, and Enjolras is really not having a good time. It's not that he's expecting anyone to defend him, far from it, but somehow he does seem to fare better when his friends are at his side. This is nothing, though, he reminds himself, since if his efforts change just one person's mind, he's made an important difference.

Now, if only he actually could change someone's mind. So far, all of his experiences here have been rather negative. People have yelled at him, tried to beat him up, actually beat him up, hit on him, and tried to make out with him. Several people have also proposed to him, and he's pretty sure this should say something about the state of society, but he doesn't really want to think about what. Overall, it's enough to make him want to quit. But he's not one to give up easily, not when there's work to be done, and besides, he doesn't want to give the security guards the satisfaction of watching him leave. There's been a pack of them staring at him this whole time, looking at him like they want to eat him, and he's not exactly sure why they're here, or why they find him so interesting, but he's decided that he's going to stay here as long as he can, if only to piss them off more.

Unfortunately, this might not be very long at all. The more time he spends here, the angrier everyone is getting, and he's pretty sure he's going to have a real fight on his hands soon. A fight which, by the way, he's sure not to win. He's big enough (figuratively speaking) to admit that he's the weakest out of all his friends; even Joly can pick him up and carry him around, and he's been out-arm-wrestled by Gavroche more times than he wants to count. If he were any less stubborn, he would have already run off to find Combeferre now.

He knows, though, that he could never do this. After watching Jehan and Courfeyrac get thrown out under his watch because he was too ineffective to stop it, he made up his mind that he would go down fighting too. If his wonderful friends were brave enough to bring the fire even under such terrible circumstances, he can't let them- or the cause- down. He may not be much, but he's going to give it everything he has, all the way until the end.

He takes a second to rest his aching throat, then raises his voice again so the latest incoming shoppers can hear him.

"Attention, everyone! Think about what you're doing. I know you don't mean to hurt anyone, but your actions are fueling an already-oppressive system of capitalism and hedonistic greed. Do you really want to do this? Think of your fellow people. Are they any less than you? Why should- "

"Hey!" A rough voice cuts him off mid-speech, and a frankly ridiculously-oversized man appears in front of him. "What are you on about, bitch? You calling me greedy?"

"I'm telling you that willfully or not, you're participating in a tradition of- "

"Talk normal!"

"Okay. Yeah, you're greedy as hell. What do you think about that?"

The man stares at him for a second, flabbergasted. Then he pulls back his fist and aims a punch that Enjolras manages to duck just in time. "Here's what I think!" He tries again, still aiming too high. "Stay still!"

"Stop trying to hit me!"

"Stop being a communist, you unpatriotic dumbass!"

"Okay, first of all, I'm not sure what you think communism is, but I'm so not- "

The man roars and swings again. "Shut up!"

"What's your problem?" Enjolras wants to know. "If you're so into patriotism, shouldn't you be into free speech too?"

"No! You're being offensive!"

"That's not really the criterion in question, though."

"Just shut up!" The man aims another punch, this one successful. Enjolras braces himself against the wall, trying to wait for the world to stop spinning.

"Ow. Okay, so we have a fundamental disagreement here. I'm right, and you're stupid. I guess I can see how that would be a problem for you."

"What?" The man's face registers pure amazement. "I know you didn't just- you didn't... Hey! Security!" He snaps his fingers at the security guards, who have been watching this scene play out with undisguised interest. "This little bitch is trying to start something over here!"

"Stop calling me a bitch, you hideous oaf!"

"What?" The man points at the security guards again. "Get over here already!"

The security guards finally move from their place at the wall and come sauntering over, each wearing a uniquely terrifying expression. Enjolras feels the sudden desire to run away, but he forces himself to coolly cross his arms and stand his ground. This is it, hour zero, and he's not going to give up.

"Come at me," he says.

The security guards grin at him, en masse. "Oh, we're going to all right."

"Except me," cuts in one of them, walking away as he speaks. "You're too pretty. I can't do it."

His fellow guards shrug. "Your loss."

They assume a fighting stance, all flexed muscles and closed fists, and Enjolras does his best to look contemptuous. What, so they're trying to attack him? Big deal. He thinks he's just about figured out the perfect way to glare at them from half-lidded eyes, when he hears a very familiar voice floating over from the direction of the food court.

"Wait! I'm with him!"

All calmness gone, Enjolras whips his head around to see if his close proximity to death is making him imagine things. Because if he's not mistaken, that's Grantaire running over to him, heedless of the crowd in his way. He's not exactly sure what's going on here, and he definitely doesn't want Grantaire to get in trouble because of him- but deep down, he's also glad for the company. If he has to go, he'd be very happy if Grantaire's is the last face he sees.

While Enjolras tries to figure out his conflicted emotions, the guards, apparently just as puzzled by this turn of events, stand still and let Grantaire walk through their ranks until he's standing by Enjolras's side.

"I'm with him," he says again. "And just for the record, can I say that capitalism is a disgrace to humanity?"

The guards roar in outrage, but Enjolras barely hears them. He's too busy being overwhelmed with love for the man beside him. There's no doubt about it, he's about to be thrown out, but he can't help feeling happier than he has in forever. Grantaire is with him, helping him, standing firm by his side when he doesn't have to, even proclaiming a political belief for the first time. And he's not being facetious; Enjolras can tell. This is really happening.

Suddenly, he knows that he really has made a difference after all. Maybe he hasn't been successful in his attempts to dissuade people from shopping, but that's okay. He's made Grantaire believe, and that's more of a miracle than he could ever have expected. This is all he's ever wanted. Today might have been horrible, and it's going to get a lot more horrible in a couple seconds, but it's all been worth it. He wants to say something, to try to communicate this, but Grantaire acts first. He turns to Enjolras with a look of indescribable gentleness, and gestures almost imperceptibly.

"Do you permit it?"

Enjolras takes his hand and squeezes it, smiling. He tries to put all of his love and elation into his expression, and Grantaire must catch it, because he smiles back, an adoring look in his eyes.

They're still looking at each other when the guards close in, and the world goes dark.

/ 10 /

Cosette is bored. She's been alone in the room all day, and aside from a text from Eponine, she hasn't had contact with any of her friends. She's been intermittently spamming her entire contact list with snapchats of herself, and online shopping for sale-priced makeup, and it's not a bad way to pass the time, but she's missing the excitement that her friends always bring.

So when she hears a knock on the door, she rushes to open it, hoping that it's someone coming to visit. Her friends know where she's staying, since they're all in the same hotel, and being who they are, they love to descend on her at all hours without warning (not that she minds- it makes things much more interesting). However, when she opens the door, it's not one of her friends standing on the other side. Rather, it's a white-haired old man, holding an ornate cane like a club, and glaring from under his impressively bushy eyebrows. Cosette has never seen him in her life.

"Can I help you?"

"I sure hope so. Have you seen my grandson?"

"I don't think so?"

"Huh." The old man scratches his nose, a gesture that looks oddly familiar for some reason. "I thought for sure he'd be here. I already tried that idiot Courfeyrac's room, and goodness knows you two are the only friends he has."

Something clicks inside Cosette's brain. "You're Marius's grandfather!"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you that?"

Cosette nods, then frowns, suddenly concerned. "Why are you looking for him? Is something wrong?"

"Well, yes. You see, today is Black Friday. And I have it on good authority that my ridiculous grandson decided to go shopping today. Now, I haven't heard from him in hours, and neither has anyone else, so I thought I would come and see you and see if you knew anything."

Cosette clucks gently, pursing her lips. "Oh dear, I'm sorry. I really wish I could help you. But I haven't heard from him today either. If it's any comfort, I'm sure he's fine. He's with Eponine and the boys, you know." She stops, realizing that Marius's grandfather has no idea who Eponine and the boys are. Sure enough, he wrinkles his forehead and leans forward, looking irritable.

"Huh?"

"He's with a group of people," Cosette clarifies. "They're friends of ours, and they're good people. I'm sure everything will be okay."

"Ah. Well, if you say so." Marius's grandfather leans even further forward, now looking much less irritable. "Say, did anyone ever tell you that you're a hot little piece?"

"Excuse me?"

"Man, if I were twenty years younger..."

Cosette tries to keep a polite expression on her face and ignore the urge to smack this old pervert with his own cane.

"Oh?"

Fortunately, before anything can escalate, her father's voice comes floating through the hall.

"Hello sir, can I help you?"

"Oh." Marius's grandfather turns around to see who's speaking. "Good morning. Mr. Fauchelevent, I assume?"

"That's right. Good morning, Mr. ...?"

"Gillenormand."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Gillenormand."

"Likewise."

They nod at each other, all grave politeness, then Mr. Gillenormand speaks again.

"Do you think I might trouble you to let me wait inside? I'm waiting for my grandson, you see."

Cosette is hoping her dad will say no, but he just nods and waves the old man inside. "Certainly. We're waiting for some of my daughter's friends too. Who is your grandson?"

"His name is Marius."

"Oh, I see." Cosette's dad looks like he's regretting welcoming Mr. Gillenormand inside, but he just sighs resignedly and gestures to one of the chairs. "Well, make yourself comfortable."

They all sit down, and a fairly uncomfortable silence pervades the room. Cosette is considering saying something to break the stillness, but before she can think of a neutral topic, there's another knock on the door. Her dad goes over and opens it, obviously relieved, though when her friends file into the room, he adopts a suitably disapproving expression.

"Hello there, kids."

"Hello sir," squeaks Enjolras. He's bruised and bleeding, but his face is radiant, and Cosette is 99% sure that this is because he's holding hands with Grantaire. She can't help smiling cheekily at them both; she's wanted this to happen for almost as long as they have.

"I see you made it," continues Mr. Fauchelevent. "How are you all feeling?"

"We're great," chorus Enjolras and Grantaire, beaming. The others shake their heads and roll their eyes.

"We're not."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Although, I'm not really sure what you were expecting. What were you thinking, going out to do a stupid thing like that?"

Enjolras raises his hand. "It was my fault."

"No it wasn't." Mr. Fauchelevent looks over the group. "Bahorel. What were you thinking?"

Bahorel looks indignant. "It wasn't my idea!"

"It was me, really," Enjolras says. "Blame me."

"No. Courfeyrac?"

Courfeyrac steps forward, looking properly ashamed of himself. His shirt is ripped, and for some reason, he's holding a fedora. "Yes sir."

"Any excuses?"

"No sir."

"Good. Now, I'm sure you know what I have to say about all this, so I don't think I have to say it. And you kids have learned your lessons, I'm sure."

"We have."

"All right. I'm glad you're all okay. Next time just be careful to think about what you're doing." He looks around the assembled group, and nods, seemingly satisfied. "Okay, lecture over."

Feuilly lets out a little sigh of relief, and the others giggle, but it's clear they feel the same way. Mr. Fauchelevent is the closest thing many of them have to a parent, and they don't want to be scolded by him if they can help it. Joly comes over to him and throws his arms around his waist (which doesn't look strange- he can't be expected to reach any higher).

"I heard you came to check up on us. Thank you!"

Mr. Fauchelevent ruffles his hair. "Of course I did."

Seeing this happy result, the rest of Cosette's friends shyly approach her dad to give him a hug. He reacts with good grace, slapping Bahorel and Bossuet on the back, giving Enjolras an extra-tight squeeze, and even picking up Jehan to spin them around the room.

Unfortunately, all of this catches the attention of Mr. Gillenormand, who gets up and comes over, bearing a remarkably lecherous expression. He's actually rubbing his hands together. Cosette has never seen anyone do that in real life.

"Well hey, what do we have here?" He comes over to Enjolras and chucks him under the chin. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you."

Oh no. The old man couldn't have picked a worse target. Everyone collectively holds their breath as Enjolras looks disgusted and tries to back away. Mr. Gillenormand pursues him.

"Don't be shy. Who do you belong to?"

"Excuse me?"

Enjolras's expression is frankly terrifying. Cosette isn't sure what's going to happen if no one intervenes, but she knows it won't be pretty. Honestly, she sort of wants to see the sparks fly, but before anything can happen, Mr. Gillenormand catches sight of Marius hanging on the edge of the group, awkwardly glancing from side to side as if he really would rather not be there.

"There you are!"

He leaves Enjolras (who immediately runs over to Grantaire and holds onto him for safety- Grantaire looks rather pleased with this), and descends on Marius in one bound. Marius's face falls almost comically.

"Oh. Hi. I was wondering if you'd see me."

"Were you avoiding me?"

"I mean..."

"What?" Mr. Gillenormand's eyebrows pinch together. "You ungrateful little brat! After all I've done for you, this is how you repay me?"

"You literally have done nothing for me."

"I paid for your ticket out here!"

"No you didn't. Courfeyrac did."

Courfeyrac waves genially. "Yo."

"You little punk." Mr. Gillenormand looks furious, and Cosette hopes Marius will throw him out soon. "Why are you like this? Who raised you?"

"Not you."

"Ooh!" Cosette joins her friends in whooping and hollering. "Ooh! Get 'em, Marius!"

"My son finally learned how to clap back," adds Courfeyrac tremulously. Gavroche looks at him, betrayed.

"I thought I was your son."

"Oh, now you're my son?"

"Okay, look," interrupts Mr. Gillenormand, practically vibrating with rage. "Are you going to apologize? Because if not, I'm out of here."

Marius waves at him. "Don't let me keep you."

"Ooh! He said that!" Courfeyrac waves too, looking a hundred times sassier than Marius. "You heard him. See ya, gramps!"

Mr. Gillenormand sputters with rage. "What- what- "

"I think you heard the boy," breaks in Cosette's dad. "May I show you to the door, sir?"

"No need." Mr. Gillenormand stalks to the door, red in the face and fuming. "I'll show myself out. Let me just say, you are the rudest group of people I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. I hope I never see you again. Good day!" He storms outside, slamming the door behind him, and for a second, no one speaks. Then the irrepressible Courfeyrac raises his fist in the air.

"He's gone!"

This seems to break the spell. Everyone starts talking at once.

"What a nasty old man. I can't believe he's related to Marius!"

"I know, right? We should have kicked him out sooner."

"Enjolras, I wish you'd gotten the chance to go off on him when he tried to hit on you!"

Enjolras pouts, evidently (and understandably) not wanting to relive the memory. "Me too. He reminds me of my relatives."

"He's not quite /that/ bad," says Combeferre. "I mean, at least he doesn't beat people up."

Marius shakes his head. "No, he does."

"Oh. Well then."

"Okay." Marius clears his throat and grimaces a few times, as if preparing for an unpleasant task. "I wasn't sure when would be a good time to do this, but since my grandfather left, I think I'll do it now."

Courfeyrac steps forward, apprehensiveness personified. "Marius. Marius, no. Whatever it is you're doing, don't do it."

"I'm going to do it."

Marius comes over to Cosette and takes her hand, which isn't that strange, and tows her towards the door, which is a little bit more so, but Cosette is used to Marius and his weird antics, so she merely holds up a hand to stop him.

"What's going on?"

"Cosette." Marius looks her straight in the eye, a troubled look on his face. "I hate to do this, but... I think it's time you chose between me and your dad."

"What?"

"I'm not going to stay here with him, even for you. You don't know what he's done, Cosette. He's a bad person. Let's go."

"Okay, hold up." Cosette takes her hand out of Marius's. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes."

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

Marius looks like he hadn't quite anticipated this reaction. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, you should be sorry." Cosette glares at him, eyes narrowed. "Not only did you have the audacity to ask me to choose between you and my dad, you just assumed I would pick you. Why is that? Are you inherently better? Are you more worthy of my respect?"

"Yes?"

"No! You just proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Why the hell would I pick you over my own father?"

"He's not your real father. You aren't even related by blood!"

"Blood means nothing. He's the only family I've ever known, and he's a saint."

"He's been to jail!"

"So has Enjolras."

Enjolras nods happily. "I sure have."

"Okay, but that's different."

"Oh yeah? How?"

Marius scratches his head, trying to think. "Enjolras was doing something good," he says finally. "He took the fall for the rest of us after that protest, and went to jail so we wouldn't have to. So it was a problem with the system, not with him."

"Okay!" Enjolras wriggles out of Grantaire's arms and comes over to where Marius and Cosette are standing. "Let me tell you something here, you bourgeoisie bastard. If you think the system is more discriminatory towards me than Mr. Fauchelevent, you must be even more myopic than I thought. You've been hanging out with us for awhile, so I thought you'd picked up some common sense, but it looks like you haven't, so let me break it down for you. I'm white. Mr. Fauchelevent is not. Now, in a racially-based discriminatory system, which one of us would be more likely to suffer from systematic disadvantage?"

Marius points a trembling finger in Mr. Fauchelevent's direction. Enjolras nods curtly.

"Good. Now, here's another thing- "

"Hold up." Cosette has to raise her voice a little, but finally Enjolras quiets down and looks at her expectantly. "I appreciate that you're trying to help, love, but this is my fight. You can yell at Marius later. Right now, it's my turn."

Enjolras blushes a little bit (which is incredibly cute, but Cosette isn't going to tell him this) and goes back over to Grantaire. "Sorry, I got carried away."

"It's okay! At least you're not a judgmental asshole like someone around here."

Marius looks stricken. "Are you talking about me?"

"Yes."

"But that's not fair. I didn't do anything problematic."

"Don't think that using the right terminology is going to get you off the dock, mister." Cosette points her finger at him. "You claim to be a loving person, but I'm not seeing any evidence of it right now. How are you not going to give the benefit of the doubt to someone like my dad? All he's ever done is good."

"He saved my life," adds Enjolras, who evidently doesn't quite understand the concept of staying out of a fight.

"Never mind that," says Eponine unexpectedly, laughing at Enjolras when he sticks out his tongue at her. "He saved your life, Marius. Shouldn't you be, I dunno, saying thank you or something?"

"Wait, what?" Cosette hadn't known about this. "Marius, are you fucking kidding me?"

"I didn't think anyone knew about that," says Marius sulkily. "Besides, he punched me in the face."

"I'm pretty sure you deserved it."

"And he dragged me through the bathrooms."

"Okay." Cosette holds up her hand to stop him and turns to Eponine. "What exactly happened? Do you know?"

Eponine smirks. "I mean, obviously I know. I know everything."

"Do you want to share?"

"I sure do. Okay, so first of all, I wasn't there, but my dad told my sister and she told me, so this is accurate. Anyway, everyone was getting knocked out and shit, I mean even Combeferre bit the dust for chrissakes, and if you ask me, it's a miracle that this shabby fuckboy even made it this far. But finally, he came up against a bunch of a-holes who wouldn't quit, and they were about to kick his ass, but then Mr. F came along and dragged him to safety through the bathrooms cuz that's a shortcut or whatever. Apparently, he made it really fucking difficult, so he had to punch him and shut him up, and this little cockface has got a shit attitude, so I don't blame you, Mother F!"

Mr. Fauchelevent frowns slightly. "Mother F?"

"And that's the story," finished Eponine. "Marius was a complete dick, and Cosette's dad was the complete opposite of that, whatever that is."

Marius looks like he's about to cry. "Eponine, I thought you liked me!"

"Way to put me out there like that," says Eponine indignantly. "Rude much?"

At least three people make the same alarming grimace. "Wait, you like Marius?"

"Used to. Used to!"

"So you don't like me anymore?"

"Why do you care? You have a girlfriend!"

"About that." Cosette crosses her arms and gives Marius a pointed look.

"Oh no."

"I'm not sure how I feel about continuing a relationship in which my significant other bears an overwhelming distrust for my father. Not only is it problematic in the ways we discussed- and a lot of ways we didn't- but it could be a problem for me too. What if I do something that doesn't adhere to your strict moral code? What if I get arrested at a protest and go to jail? Would you stop loving me?"

"Of course not!"

"But why?"

"Because... Because it's you! I could never stop loving you!"

"Okay, no." Cosette sighs. "Look, don't take this the wrong way. I'm sorry about how things worked out too. It's just that I have certain standards for a relationship, and, well. I need to be with someone who's not a complete asshandle."

All her friends cheer, and Eponine gives her a high five and a fierce grin. "Work, bitch."

"You know it." Cosette looks over at her friends, who are ecstatic, and her dad, who looks troubled. Oh dear. "Dad, are you all right?"

"Yes, but I think you should stop and think about what you're doing. Please don't do this on account of me. I want you to be happy."

"But I am happy." Cosette goes over to her dad and pats him on the head, just like she used to do when she was little. "I could never be happy with someone who wasn't respectful and kind. Besides, romance isn't everything in life. I have you, and my friends, and really, what more could I want? I don't need Marius in order to be happy. I never did."

Marius makes a choked sort of sound. "You don't need me?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't be saying any of this."

"Oh wow." Cosette rolls her eyes so hard she thinks she's going to strain them. "You just can't stop saying stupid shit, can you?"

"You're just saying that because you know I'm right."

"Marius, there are no possible worlds in which you are right."

"Ooh!" All her friends slap each other on the back, faces alight with excitement. "Ooh! Get em!"

Cosette sighs. Her friends might be enjoying this, and true, there's a small part of her that feels the same, but for the most part, she just feels bad. She hates to think badly of anyone, and it's painful to think that Marius has turned out to be this way. In fact, she'd still like to give him the benefit of the doubt, but with how things are progressing, this doesn't seem like a very viable option. For better or for worse, it seems that things must be over between them now. She takes a deep breath and speaks.

"Marius, I'm sorry, but I think for now, we should just be friends."

Marius doesn't say anything, and for a second Cosette wonders if he understands that she's breaking up with him. Then, he sits down on the floor and begins to howl.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," he sobs. "My whole life is over. You've shattered all my dreams- and my heart, too!"

Everyone looks completely unamused now. Enjolras even looks scared. If Cosette hadn't been the one to cause this damage, she would do something, but she feels that anything she tries now will just make everything worse. Fortunately, Courfeyrac takes one for the team and sits down beside Marius, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Hey there, buddy."

Marius wails loudly and clings onto Courfeyrac's sleeve. "She broke up with me!"

"Yeah, she did. Sorry, man."

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Okay. I hate to say this, but... you kind of did."

"Courfeyrac!" Marius's face shows blank astonishment. "How could you? Why aren't you on my side?"

"I am. But you did fuck up, man. I can't really deny that."

"Yes you can! If you were really my friend... "

Courfeyrac looks around the room and gestures like can-you-believe-this. "Marius, when are you going to understand that things don't have to go your way all the time?"

Marius replies to this by sobbing and flailing his arms. "I don't know why you guys are being so mean to me! I don't deserve this!"

Courfeyrac seems at a loss for words. He looks at his friends again as if asking for help, but no one else seems to know what to do either. Just when things are becoming really tense, Bahorel stands up, cracking his knuckles.

"All right, I see we got a problem. And there ain't no one better at fixing problems than me."

Feuilly puts a hand on his arm. "Hold up. Violence is never the answer."

"I hate to disagree with you, bro, you know I do. But I gotta. Violence is a pretty damn good answer sometimes, and I can't deny it."

"I can."

"Too bad."

Bahorel goes over to Marius and raises him to his feet. Marius looks at him with wide, teary eyes.

"What?"

"Recalibration."

Bahorel grins fiercely and pulls back his arm. Before Cosette can so much as make a sound of protest, he's already punched Marius square in the middle of his tear-wet, scrunched-up face.

Everyone stares in shocked (though not unsatisfied) silence for a minute. Then Grantaire grins and goes over to slap Bahorel on the back.

"Thanks, man. That takes care of that."

/ epilogue /

It might be a bit of an exaggeration, but Eponine think she's never been happier than she is in this moment. There's something about near-death experiences that bring people together, and she's pretty sure they've all just done some quality bonding right now. Judging by how content her friends look, she thinks they'd be inclined to agree.

Joly and Bossuet have invited their mutual girlfriend Musichetta, and all three of them are now attempting to convince Bahorel and Feuilly to start a fight club with them. Combeferre is doing his best to persuade them not to do this, but his protests aren't as effective as they could be, because Courfeyrac is standing behind him, kissing the back of his neck and whispering things in his ear that make him stutter and turn red.

Off to the side, Jehan is sitting on the bed, braiding ribbons into Cosette's hair while they watch the entertainment unfolding in front of them. Occasionally, one of them will shout suggestions to Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, and Combeferre will turn around and stare at them, looking betrayed. Next to them, Cosette's dad is listening patiently to Gavroche as he enthusiastically prattles on about his latest adventures in video gaming. Eponine isn't at all surprised that the two of them are getting along; Mr. Fauchelevent is a decent sort, and Gavroche could make conversation with a shopping cart if he had the mind to. Still, it warms her heart to see them.

Tucked into the corner are Enjolras and Grantaire, snuggled up together, and oblivious to everything around them. Eponine is somewhat surprised that no one is making fun of them, but she supposes there will be plenty of time for that later. As if providing a direct counterpoint to their adorable-if-slightly-nauseating displays of affection, Marius is lying face down on the floor next to them, occasionally making pathetic sniffling sounds that everyone tactfully ignores. Overall, it's a wonderful scene. Eponine wishes she could keep it in her memory forever, just like this. She's a little annoyed at her own sentimentality, but she's pretty sure she has good reason to feel this way. After all, she has the best friends in the world.

After a moment's deliberation, she pulls out her phone and opens the camera. Usually she doesn't like to have pictures taken of herself, but in this case, she thinks it's appropriate to make an exception.

"Hey guys," she says. "Let's take a picture of us all together. That way we can remember today."

"Eponine!" Cosette stands up, delighted. "That was so sweet! Are we getting to you, finally?"

Eponine rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Just come take this stupid picture with me."

Cosette's smile doesn't dim at all. If anything, she looks even more radiant. "I'd be happy to. Come on, everyone!"

All their friends cheer and get into position. There's nothing they like more than taking pictures, and the fact that Eponine is initiating it is exciting. Jehan spends a long moment adjusting everyone and posing them artistically around the inert body of Marius (who has refused to budge), before handing Eponine's phone to Mr. Fauchelevent.

"Will you take one of just us?" they ask sweetly. "And then we'll do one with us and you. And then you and Cosette. And then Eponine and Gavroche. And then you and Cosette and Eponine and Gavroche. And then all of us again. And then just me."

"Just you?"

"Yeah, I've been working on my character shots."

Mr. Fauchelevent smiles. "I'd be happy to help. Only, I'm sure you don't want me in the pictures."

"What?" Everyone except Marius looks at Mr. Fauchelevent in dismay. "Of course we do! Why wouldn't we?"

"Oh. Well- "

"No nonsense now." Jehan pats him on the arm and nods at him firmly before getting into position with the rest of the group. "Take our picture, and then we'll take yours. You deserve all the lovely pictures in the world!"

Mr. Fauchelevent chuckles, but he looks touched. It's hard not to be touched by Jehan. "Okay," he says. "Everyone get ready- 'revolution' on three. 1, 2, 3..."

"Revolution!"

Eponine throws her arms around as many of her friends as she can, caught up in the joy of the moment. Sure, life has its ups and downs, but she knows she can ride them all out with no trouble. With these people by her side, there's nothing she can't do. Cosette presses a kiss to her cheek, and she turns, laughing in pure delight. No matter what's coming, Eponine knows she can handle it. She will never have to be on her own again; now she has everything she could possibly want. This is her happy ending.

/end/