He ran through the streets, past the carnage and fighting. He coughed, choking on the thick smoke the cannon fire created. He stumbled, regained his balance and then gagged as he realized he'd tripped over the body of one of his comrades.
Enjolras veered into a wall, needing to catch his breath. The sounds of gunfire were everywhere mixed with screams and protests. Blood was thick in the air, he could smell its coppery scent and he cursed himself for bringing them to this.
It was never supposed to be like this. His friends were dead and dying all around him and he was being hunted by the National Guard. He was a criminal just for wanting change. How many deaths would be laid at his feet once he died? Would God condemn him for creating this massacre or would he be praised for doing holy work?
The sound of a bullet hitting the stonework close to his head pulled Enjolras out of his thoughts. They would be out for his blood; he was the leader after all. He ducked into the tavern and slumped in one of the chairs. It was over. They would come and execute him publicly as an example.
The sound of snoring was heavy in the corner of the room. Enjolras was shocked to see Gantaire sleeping with his head pillowed on the table. Only Grantaire could sleep though a revolution Enjolras thought sadly.
"Wake up, my friend," Enjolras prodded. "You must get out of here." He shook his friend's shoulder. If he could save someone… Anyone... his conscious would offer peace.
"Leave me be," came the grumbled response. "Let me sleep."
Enjolras hauled him up unceremoniously. "Damn it, Grantaire, you must go. Now. Look at me."
"Apollo in all his glory."
"This is no time to fool," Enjolras chided. "Listen to me, they are all dead. You must flee. Save yourself."
"No one is going anyway," a voice called from the doorway. "All traitors to the crown must die."
More soldiers were coming in, cutting off all thoughts of escape.
Enjolras though fast. "He's not part of this; I've never seen him before. He's just some drunkard who fell asleep here. You wouldn't kill an innocent would you?"
"There are no innocents here," the soldier spat.
Instead of being insulted, Grantaire looked admiringly at his friend. "Enjolras, you do care. I knew you did. If I meant nothing to you, you wouldn't care if I lived or died. I will not run. I will stand with you, as one of your supporters. " Squaring his shoulder, Grantaire's words became more passionate, leaving all traces of drunkenness behind. "I've been a bad friend, and yet he still tries to treat me as a friend, looking out for my welfare when I have done nothing useful for him. I may not have been there to fight with my brothers but I am damn sure of what I say now. Kill me with him for I am a rebel. I would die beside him as a brother in arms, if you'll permit me." He held out his hand. "It is my choice, your conscious is clear."
Enjolras was moved beyond words. For one moment in his life he dropped his veneer and allowed a human emotion to rule him. The tears stung his eyes and burned a path down his cheek. He squeezed Grantaire's hand. "Vive la revolution!"
"Vive la revolution!" Grantaire echoed, knowing he could die happy.
The last thing they heard was the sound of gunfire.