Enjorlas didn't even bother knocking.
"Grantaire!" He shouts. "Don't-"
"He's already gone," Jehan comments, from his own bed. Quite unnecessarily, because the rest of the room is painfully empty.
"Gone where?" But he knows. "He can't."
Jehan shrugs, and turns a page in his book. "If you'd been about twenty minutes sooner, you would have been able to argue that with him. But arguing that point with me is a waste of time, because I'm not the one who ran out the for the moment he heard the cure was going public."
"It's not tested yet," Enjolras says, his head spinning. Too late? Inexcusable. "They haven't had time to test it yet."
"I know that. And Grantaire does too."
"Then why is he going?" Enjolras is gritting his teeth in frustration. "He's being an idiot. Hasn't he been listening during the meetings?"
"I think these are all great questions that should be directed at him. I'm not the mind reader, here."
Enjolras rocks back on his heels, surprised at the undercurrent of anger in Jehan's usually mild tone. "What?" He's getting mad at the wrong person, and he knows it, but it doesn't mean he can stop himself. "And you're the one who can see the future! Why didn't you warn us? Warn me?"
Jehan turns the page in a book he has definitely given up on reading. "Because sometimes things don't have anything to do with being a seer, and everything to do with knowing our friends, Enjolras. Can you please go? Your indecisiveness is giving me a headache."
"...Do I catch him in time?"
Jehan closes his book, and looks up at Enjolras. In the comfort of his own room, he usually forgoes the floral bandanas he wears out in public. His empty eye sockets don't surprise Enjolras anymore, but the look of pity and hurt does come at a surprise.
"I don't know. I can't see anything, there."
Enjolras gives the clairvoyant a curt nod, and tries to get out of there as fast as he can without running, Jehan's 'good luck' still ringing in his ears.
Combeferre still has the keys to one of the school's less conspicuous vans, and Enjolras knows where his roommate keeps such things, so he takes them with a muttered apology. Combeferre would say yes if he were here, he's sure, but he's off doing whatever certified geniuses do when they're given a day off, and Enjolras doesn't have time to track him down. In theory, he could just let his defences down, take off the inhibitor, and reach out, finding his friend almost instantly, but that would be an invasion of privacy. So the inhibitor stays on, and he steals the van instead. Well, borrows.
He hadn't thought anything of it, that quiet. And now he's paying the price.
He parks the van further from the factory than he wants to. It's crowded, a mixture of mutants cueing up for the cure, baselines watching, police watching the mutants. There's a lot of uniforms, and Enjolras tugs at his collar nervously, even though he knows he's one of the lucky ones, who doesn't have to hide if he doesn't want to. Aside from his inhibitor, which will look like a hearing aid to anyone close enough to look, he's like any of the humans milling around, either as support for mutant friends or here for the spectacle. He takes in a deep breath, squares his shoulders, makes sure there's no skin between his gloves and his sleeves, and then he's diving into the fray. He tries to make a point to count the uniforms, the weapons they're carrying (batons in easy reach, guns look a little off model and he should get a closer look, if he can, because they're planning a protest here in the next few days, and any prior knowledge of what they'll be up against will help), but he can't concentrate, can't plan right now, because he's desperately looking for a head of curly hair, somewhere in this lineup.
There's a bunch of protesters here today as well, of course, but not much organization. Pro-cure, pro-mutant, anti-mutant and mutant registration, they all blend together. Enjolras and his Amis have a lot more than directionless signs planned, that's for sure, and they will be hard to ignore. But today, Enjolras wants nothing more than to go through the crowds unnoticed, moving as fast as he can without risking contact. There are a lot of people here, and the line moves slowly. He sees a few faces he might recognize, but he can't dwell on them, he's looking for once face in particular-
And then he sees a face he can't ignore, one that makes him stop so suddenly that he almost collides with a news crew.
"Eponine?"
The girl's head whips around, and even with her hair tucked up under a hat, she's hard to miss. Her metallic skin shimmers in the bright light, and she scowls at Enjolras with as much distaste as she can muster.
"What are you doing here?"
He stares at her, ignoring the cameraman glaring beside him. "I'm… looking for someone."
"Go home," she snarls. "Or go to hell. Go somewhere else."
Eponine is usually harsh, but he hasn't heard her this harsh, before. There's a wild look in her eyes, something more than anger, and there's an urgency in her voice that doesn't really make sense. Unless, of course, she's trying to get him to leave before someone else comes back.
Someone like Grantaire, who walks up next to him, an iced drink in each gloved hand, and a look on his face like an animal caught in a trap.
"R," Enjolras starts, but Grantaire walks right by him, their shoulders almost brushing as he hands Eponine her drink and then proceeds to pointedly ignore Enjolras. But Enjolras is nothing if not stubborn. "R, Eponine, you need to come home. I know you've been at the meetings, you've heard what Combeferre and Joly have been saying about how untested this is. You're not stupid, either of you. I don't understand what you're thinking."
Grantaire looks surprised, but Eponine answers for the both of them. "Of course you don't. You don't have to deal with stuff like we do, Enjolras! You can't understand having a normal life because you have a normal life." He opens his mouth to argue but Eponine is there, her hand covering his mouth as she glares up at him, which isn't fair, because she knows she's the only one who can touch him without her thoughts opening up to him, inhibitor or no. And when he pisses her off enough, she takes advantage of that fact. "Don't give me some shit about not being able to touch anyone. If you tried to control your powers, instead of just hiding from them, you'd be just fine. Me and R? We're in a totally different position. So turn around, golden boy, and come back and change the world later, okay?"
She pushes him back, and he stumbles, and she might have taken it even further, but Grantaire has a hand around her arm, holding her back. His eyes aren't on Enjolras, even still. They're watching the cameraman, who hadn't walked away like Enjolras thought he had. In fact, he seems to have caught the whole exchange. Enjolras wants to punch something. He's usually not so unaware of what's happening around him. But Grantaire has a way of always bringing out the worst in him. He can't remember if any of them had said anyone's full name, even. If they have, Combeferre will have his head. He's already had his name featured in a few articles about protests and that one unfortunate library incident, so it's not like he's an unknown, but he'd rather not make himself known here before they're ready to come out in full force, here.
"Come back with me." He says, purposefully turning his back on the cameraman.
"We'll come back when we're done." And Eponine turns her back on him. Fine. That's fine, maybe. Except it really isn't.
"Will you?" He wonders if Eponine means that, or if Eponine will go back to her family, who kicked her out when she woke up made of metal. Grantaire's never mentioned a family, never indicated he left anything behind when he moved into Xavier's school. But even knowing that neither of them really have anywhere else to go, he has this fear that if he walks away now, he won't see them again.
And finally, Grantaire speaks. "Is this really about some sheep leaving the flock, Apollo?" Enjolras hates that name, hates that Grantaire gave him such a mocking codename that seems to be in danger of sticking, even though he doesn't see the point in codenames. It feels like with it Grantaire is knocking everything he stands for, calling him the god of knowledge and light as he locks his powers away. "Or is it because you actually give a shit about me and Eponine?"
This blindsides Enjolras. "What?"
Before, Grantaire wouldn't look at him, and now he's not looking away, searching for something on Enjolras's face. By his frown, he doesn't see it. "Yeah, thought so."
"I… It's dangerous. You don't even know if it's going to work-"
"And if it does, you have to kick us out of the clubhouse. We get it." Eponine's tone is dismissive, the line is moving up and he moves with it. He's running out of time. He's not used to this, feeling out of control, feeling a step behind, and yet here he is.
"No. No one is kicking anyone out, I don't know where you got that idea."
"Yeah, 'ponine, that would be pretty hypocritical of him." There's a commotion in front of them, but Enjolras doesn't care, because Grantaire looks properly angry, and he should used to their fighting, but it's different, when Grantaire's not laughing. "Really, Apollo, I thought you were all for making sacrifices for the cause."
Grantaire's doing that thing again, where he takes words Enjolras has said in the past and twists them, makes them untruths. Enjolras takes a step forward, a sharp retort already on his lips, when there's a loud scream, and the cops from before come pushing past. One shoves Enjolras from behind, enough to make him stumble forward and right into Grantaire. They go down in a tangle of limbs, and Grantaire lets out a loud grunt as he hits the ground with Enjolras on top of him. They lay there for a moment, and Enjolras knows he should get up, but God, this isn't how this was supposed to happen, how did he even know I left? Jehan must have told him, dammit, of course he picks today to care-
"I care," Enjolras mutters, his head spinning. There's a pain in his wrist, something like burning, and his thoughts are all scrambled. Beneath him, Grantaire freezes, and then there are hands on his shoulders, yanking him up. He tries to stand, but his legs are like jelly, he can't carry his own weight. He can hear everything, everyone, and his hand aches, his glove has slipped down and his wrist looks wrong, grey and dead and he realizes he can't feel his fingers, which should concern him but he can hardly hear his own thoughts under the barrage of those around him.
Oh God oh God I didn't mean to touch him, I don't know how that "Eponine, we have to get him to-"
Dammit Enjolras you idiot what were you thinking "I can carry him, give me a second-"
Fucking muties, wish we could move to stage two already. "Is there a problem here, miss?"
"Too much excitement, I think, we're taking him home." Don't pass out, Enjolras, we're so fucked if you pass out.
"We're students at Xavier's, our van's just over there." If you killed him, R, that's it, that's the end, I can't be responsible for anyone else, I can't live through this again.
I can't believe I got that on camera, that's gotta be a promotion right there. "Miss, would you care to comment on the school's reaction to the cure going public? Are any more students here?"
There are arms around him, cold arms that aren't quite the right shape, and he's moving, thoughts going too fast for him to grab onto any except the two constant streams above him.
Gotta call Joly, once we're in the car, number will be in Enjolras's phone, get him to meet us at the driveway, fast as we can "Grantaire, can you drive?"
Not like this, no way. "Don't think that's a good idea, Eponine." He's not gonna die because of me, this is why I was here in the first place, so this wouldn't happen again
"Fine, just… try to keep him still."
Voices are getting quieter, further away. The thoughts are getting louder, but it's like hundreds of voices screaming in his ears, he can barely catch a word here and there.
"His inhibitor-" Can he hear me?
Deal with it later "Just keep him awake!"
"...Enjolras?" I'm so sorry, shit, I would never
"Grantaire!" Can't let him
"Apollo?" don't die please
"Marius? Find-" I don't think
He has to make it "Hey, wake-"
Familiar voices join the two, concern and panic and fear wash over him and he's drowning in it, in the sounds of his friends trying to save him, save him from what he's not sure, he doesn't know if it's working, he can't feel his arm and he's very tired
I love you please don't die
The voice is familiar, but he's too far gone to place it. Still, it rings in his ears, the last thing he hears before the world goes blissfully silent.
Enjolras wakes up all at once, and the first thing he is aware of is the silence. He hears the humming of lights, and when he opens his eyes, he sees the ceiling of the med bay. He probably shouldn't be able to so quickly distinguish the med bay by its ceiling, but that's a thought for another time. In this case, he just lets himself breathe, trying to recall what he's done to wind up here, again.
"You're awake!" It's Jehan's voice, sounding happy but not at all surprised. "I said you would be, soon. The others went for food. You have about… ten minutes to collect yourself, before you're swamped by well wishers."
"...Thanks." He tries to sit up, and notices belatedly that there's something off about his balance. He looks down at his arms, both on the outside of the blanket. His right arm looks normal, if strangely pale. He's not used to seeing that much of his own skin. His left arm… it looks like it's wilted, grey and gnarled and he can't feel it, only has an awareness of his arm to just past the elbow. He tries to move his fingers. Nothing happens.
"For the record," Jehan says, and his voice is soft and full of apologies. "if I had seen this, I would have stopped you."
Pieces of memory start to slot into place. The crowds, the shoving, falling on Grantaire, thoughts overwhelming all other sounds. His arm burning.
He brings his right arm to touch his left. It feels like leather. It feels wrong. Enjolras falls back against the pillows, and tries not to panic. Tries not to think about his arm. Tries not to think about how Grantaire must be feeling (It wasn't his fault, Enjolras quickly dismisses any anger that rises, it wasn't his fault, his glove slipped down and he must have brushed against his neck or something in the fall. No one's fault). Tries not to think about anything at all.
It almost works. He can even fake a smile, when his friends return. They're all relieved to see him, awake and alert, and he remembers their panic, and and their smiles help make his a real one.
He remembers the last thought, the I love you. He adds that to the list of things not to think about. Courfeyrac brought him his gloves, and once he struggles and strains and finally gets his left hand into one as well (Marius moves as if to help him, but Cosette holds him back with a shake of her head), he can greet everyone properly, with a handshake or a hug. There's an awkward moment, after he's said his hellos to everyone, where he's worried they might ask him how he's feeling, if he's okay, so he dives right into talking about the strange guns the police are carrying, and his friends let him. A few minutes later, Grantaire slips into the room, turtleneck and gloves in place like an armour and a promise, and Enjolras meets his eyes across the room, offers a smile. He doesn't smile back, but he stays, and that's what's important.
Enjolras will pick up the flag and fight again tomorrow. Today, he sits surrounded by his friends, and that is a victory too.