What You Left Behind
Disclaimer: I'm totally Victor Hugo in his vampire reincarnation. Written in modern America, four months after the June Rebellion
Life was beginning to become simultaneously more normal and more chaotic at the Pontmercy home. The financial situation reached stability with the help of Marius' new job, Valjean's inheritance, and reluctantly accepted help from Mr. Gillenormand. No more talk was had of war, he'd had enough for centuries, though whenever he'd turn on the news, he was saddened.
Life had one chaotic turn ahead, however. Cosette was pregnant. The two were already obsessed with baby names and nurseries, though they were only seven weeks in. Musichetta would visit often and they would talk about the more graphic details of everything, her exaggerating every detail. Cosette would always steer away from the topic of fathers though, because Musichetta was also pregnant, but also unsure of the father.
She knew one thing though: Whoever it was, her little son would be fatherless.
On to the topic of ghosts, and those who did not survive, there was one other who left the barricade, but left all he had there.
Grantaire spent most of his days with liquor, not too unlike before. The difference now is that much more was had, and much less relief came.
No relief came. In stupors more drunken than ever before he let himself fall into daydreams of different realities, different endings, different responses to the conversation he had with Enjolras the night before the barricade fell.
"Here's to dying tomorrow. Alone." Grantaire's words rang through the gathering of friends, severing the joviality in the room. The words rang true, silence filling the room.
"Grantaire." Enjolras' voice had a sharpness to it, though his voice was hoarse with fear.
The two exited the room, Grantaire ready for a lecture about his cynicism. Instead Enjolras placed his hand on Grantaire's shoulder. He observed tears in the man's eyes. "I am sorry about Jehan, I really am."
A sense of desperation ran through his veins as he observed the fear written on Enjolras' face. "Call it off." Enjolras opened his mouth in protest. Grantaire took hold of his hand and gripped it tight staring him in the face."No, Enjolras please! I can see it in your face, even you know it isn't going to work!"
As tears began to fall from Grantaire's eyes, he released the grip, but Enjolras did not release his hand. He took the other and turned Grantaire to face him.
"I can't. You know I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I believe in this R! Because oppression is wrong, and this, what we're doing, is right. This means more to me than my life!"
His voice lowered and he began to weep.
"But it doesn't mean more to me than Jehan's, or Combeferre's, or Courfeyrac's," His voice began to raise in pitch and volume like that of a crying child,"It doesn't mean more to me than yours. They're risking their lives, making their own decisions, and Jehan is dead, because they believe as much as I do."
Grantaire shook his head.
"But you're different R. We all know that freedom is not why you're here."
No words needed to be exchanged, Grantaire knew what came next.
"You want me to leave?"
"Yes." Enjolras choked on the word as it came out.
Grantaire broke loose of Enjolras' hands and stood up.
Tears were in his eyes and the words came with a whisper. "It's not my life I'm concerned with. Surely if you know I'm not here for revolution you know that."
Enjolras smiled. "My life is not yours to save."
"Save mine."
Enjolras pulled Grantaire into a tight embrace.
He whispered into his ear. "I'm trying to."
Tears in his eyes, Grantaire pulled away.
"God Bless the USA." Grantaire walked off.
The next day came and Grantaire was huddled in a corner, drunk and sleeping. He was awakened by a sudden sense of fear as he saw Enjolras alone, cornered into the wall of that familiar liquor store by soldiers.
What if?
What if he had gone to join Enjolras and died with him?
The gunshots rang out and he died hand in hand with the man he loved.
Heaven was nothing hugely spectacular, like walking on cotton candy clouds, or swimming in gold. It was more like the wildest of your earthly dreams came true. There he was hand in hand with Enjolras, sharing his love and his freedom.
What if?
What if Enjolras had survived and he hadn't?
This was Grantaire's second to last preferred reality.
Enjolras sat on the deck of his father's house, bandaged and expressionless. He had been rescued by his father, by the power of the older man's connections, but had suffered verbal abuse from his family, isolation, and survivor's guilt worse than death.
He knew that Marius was living, and had a wife and an baby on the way, but he was not allowed out of the house.
The words of his father stung more than the wounds ever could. "Your friends are dead because of you! You've brought incredible shame on our family and you will not leave this house until I can trust your judgment!"
"I'm an adult, I can leave if I please."
"Who would you go to? That Marius boy? Do you think he wants to speak with you? After all his friends dying, because of you? Besides, I can have you arrested and killed for treason just like that."
Discussion was closed. Grantaire wanted to tell him that nobody blamed him for anything, that they all made their own decisions, but when he extended his hand to rest on the man's shoulder, there was no hand to give.
Enjolras would sometimes speak, apparently to himself. But Grantaire would listen closer and hear his own name.
"You got your wish R. But dammit you should've stayed hidden. Maybe we both could've survived. We could do all those things we'd hoped, with no looming revolution. You and Marius and the girls, once they're done being pregnant and all, could turn my rambles into a drinking game. 'TAKE A SHOT EVERY TIME HE SAYS TYRANNY.'
"I'd be pissed but you know I'd be in a fit of laughter ten seconds later and we can go home and drink beer and watch your football and I steal the remote away and change it to CSPAN and then we compromise on some ridiculous reality show and you're scoffing at it but I'm just watching your eyes but...
"You're not here."
The man would always weep silently at the end of these conversations and Grantaire hopelessly looked on.
What if?
What if they both survived?
Grantaire could always spend days in this daydream.
Enjolras, after being released, called Grantaire's name. His body echoed in sobs as he stepped over the bodies of his friends and his cries became more desperate and hopeless.
Grantaire woke from his sleep and walked to Enjolras.
"You're still here."
"My dad has connections. He'll also make life hell but I'm alive."
"And so am I."
At this Enjolras practically tackled Grantaire with a hug and kissed his neck.
They ran off to Marius' home to stay for a while. They would tell stories of the old days, they would make fun of Marius for asking to sleep with Courfeyrac (which would render Cosette near catatonic with laughter), they would drink a lot when that got too sad (pregnant Musichetta excluded) and then play raunchy truth or dare.
Grantaire spent far too much daydream for his own good.
Because what if?
What if he woke up?
What if he had nothing to wake up to?
Grantaire did wake up, to find himself soaked in tears and vodka. He woke up to find that drunken fantasies are worse than reality. He took a bat to his liquor cabinet. He took his fist to the beer can in the fridge. He would never hold Enjolras, he would never hear his best friend recite limericks he had written again, he would never get to adopt Gavroche like he had planned, he would never get to slap Courfeyrac for a horrendous pun again.
There was no use in losing the remainder of his life on fantasies. He ran as fast as he could to he could to the Pontmercy home.
Marius opened the door to the dirtied and weeping Grantaire. His eyes filled with tears and he embraced his friend.
"I thought you were dead. It's been four months, where have you been all this time?"
"Drinking."
Marius closed the door as he led Grantaire into the living room.
"You have always done that, you socialized then. I know how you feel, you could've talked to me."
Grantaire sighed. "It wasn't the same, I was an addict then, but I became something else. I didn't even know what reality was."
"What is reality?"
"I abandoned Enjolras. He's dead now and I loved him. That's reality. I'm alone and my hands are already shaking from withdrawal. My last drink was two hours ago."
He sat down on the couch and began to shake with sobs. "That's reality."
Marius sat down next to his friend and put his arm around him. "Wanna know what reality is? I'm alive. We're going to watch boxing and we're going to share one beer. Tomorrow you can start a twelve step program or rehab or whatever you like, and in seven months, you'll have a nephew and a niece or two little nephews. You're a talented guy and you'll find a job that's perfect for you. Sure, Enjolras was your passion in life. Well he's waiting for you somewhere beyond that barricade. But one thing's for sure, no of them begrudge you your life. They love you." He smiled and poked his friend's cheek. "Especially Enjolras."
Eventually life did get better for Grantaire. He finished his twelve step program and became the greatest of uncles to Joly/Legles/Musichetta's and Cosette and Marius' children. He switched his major to law, and became a force for good against tyranny, and he adopted Gavroche's younger brothers, whom he found in foster care.
Every year he would still visit that old site of the barricade and he would cry against that wall, hoping that Enjolras could hear him, and that he was waiting.
"You left a lot behind Enjolras. But I guess this isn't forever. And I guess you knew what you were doing, leaving behind what you did."