Enjolras sat in his cell with Combeferre, chains on their wrists and ankles preventing them from moving much. It was dark and the little light that entered the room brought no comfort, only torture from the memory of the outside world. Enjolras knew what was to come, and he was not afraid for himself, but he was afraid for his dearest friend. The medical student did not like pain. He didn't like to cause pain, and he didn't like to endure it. He believed the in cause, but he had wanted it to come naturally.
"Enjolras," Combeferre said quietly from Enjolras' left. Enjolras looked at him. "Are you afraid?"
"No. I will gladly take whatever punishments they give me. I will gladly suffer and die for France and for the oppressed." Enjolras replied quietly, but his voice was filled with passion. Combeferre sighed and shook his head, smiling a sad smile.
"Yes. I know you will."
There was silence.
"You are afraid though, I see a slight flicker of fear in your eyes." Combeferre realized after a while.
"I am afraid for you, mon ami." Enjolras explained after a pause.
"I know." His friend said. "But you shouldn't be. Do not fear for me more than you fear for yourself." And a tear streamed down Combeferre's cheek. It was obvious that these two friends, these brothers, were only worried about the other. They loved each other and were close enough that they seemed to be one, as if they were married, but without the romance.
Combeferre was the gentler side of Enjolras and balanced him out, preventing him from acting rashly when his passion carried him away. Grantaire was Enjolras' opposite, but Combeferre was Enjolras' balance. It is much easier to accept a balance than an opposite.
Enjolras reached out towards Combeferre as far as he could and Combeferre reciprocated his action. Their fingers just barely touching. It was a terrible thing to separate these two brothers, and being so close to each other, but not close enough to bring comfort was painful. Combeferre wept bitterly, but Enjolras did not shed a single tear. Combeferre understood why.
"You ought to rest." Enjolras said gently and clumsily stroked Combeferre's outstretched fingers. His friend nodded and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.
Enjolras watched until his friend's breath had become steady and he knew that Combeferre was asleep. He was exhausted, but could not sleep with so many thoughts going through his mind. So he stayed awake.
Someone grabbed Enjolras and forced him to his feet, unchaning him from the wall roughly.
"Come with us, rebel!" He sneered and forced Enjolras' arms behind his back.
"Enjolras!" Combeferre cried. The loud clanking of the chains and the gruff voice had awoken him. Enjolras looked at Combeferre and offered a small reassuring smile, then he allowed himself to be lead from the room. The men took him down a hallway and into a small room. The laid him onto a table and tied him there. Enjolras did not struggle, although he knew what was coming.
"Are you the leader of the traitors?" The man asked. Enjolras stiffened. He was no traitor, he was a patriot. He loved his country dearly, she was his only love.
"No." He responded. "I am the leader of the abaisse!" A sharp pain entered his arm and he felt a warm sticky liquid trail down it. He stiffened and did not cry out.
"What were you trying to accomplish?" The man demanded. The man was big and strong.
"I wanted to free the people from tyranny and from oppression! I wanted to free them from rule of man!" Enjolras replied passionately. This time, the knife slid down his theigh and he gasped a little in surprise and a slight protest escaped his mouth.
"Who were your contacts?"
Enjolras did not utter a word. A large hand slapped him hard across the face.
"Who were your contacts?" The man asked again. Enjolras still did not answer. A stick hit Enjolras hard against his lower ribs and a loud crack echoed through the room. Enjolras finally cried out and panted as the pain increased. It wouldn't stop, the pain wouldn't stop. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands to keep from crying out again.
"Who were your contacts, scum?" The man demanded. When Enjolras did not answer, the man moved his hand towards the broken ribs. Enjolras flinched a little, but did not speak. The man pressed down and Enjolras gritted his teeth and thrashed a little. Sweat gathered on his forehead and he began to feel cold. He felt his mind panicking, searching for the answer the man wanted if only to make the pain stop. He shook his head. He would not give them what they wanted.
"What are their names?!" The man screamed and slowly dug the knife into Enjolras's stomach. Slowly sliding it along. Enjolras heard a far away sound, a sound like those made at the barricade. His mind went back and he could see his friends. He heard the last cry of Jean Prouvaire and heard the deafening blast of a cannon. He felt the blood of others splatter against him and heard their dying pleas. But he knew this was not where the noise was from. The pain in his throat told him it was his own cry of agony, his own voice begging for the pain to stop. He felt as if two halves of him were fighting against the other. One was begging for the pain to end and willing to say anything, the other was determined and would not fold. He wondered which would win.
"What are their names?" The man's voice was a little calmer now. Enjolras was still panting and trying to recover from earlier.
"I...will not tell you." Enjolras said determinedly and stared coldly at the man. A blinding pain shot through him and his mind could not longer think. All he could focus on was the pain, the immense pain that filled his eyes and ear. All he could hear was the pain, all he could feel was the pain, all he could taste and smell was the pain. How did they expect him to speak when he couldn't even think?
After what must have been hours, the pain stopped and the man leaned forward so that his nose was nearly touching the revolutionary's.
"What are their names?" He whispered. Enjolras took a shaky breath, knowing the pain was going to return, and probably worse than before.
"Who's names?" He asked quietly.
"Get in there rat!" The man yelled as he threw Enjolras into the cell. Enjolras landed against the stone wall hard and the breath was knocked from his lunges. His hands were chained again as well as his ankles. He couldn't focus, the pain was overwhelming.
"Enjolras?" Combeferre's far away voice asked cautiously. Enjolras struggled to find his way back from the blurry world his mind was in. He heard the door slam and curled in on himself instinctively.
"Mon ami, what have they done to you?" Combeferre asked quietly as another tear streamed down his cheek. Enjolras had a red mark across his face and his eye on his left side was puffy. He had obviously been hit hard, probably with a hand. He was bleeding on his arm and leg and his breathing seemed labored. He winced every so often - mostly when he breathed in - as if being alive hurt. Combeferre guessed a couple of his ribs had been broken. Combeferre reached out to try and touch his younger friend, to comfort him in some way. He wished he could remove the pain. His heart ached for Enjolras.
Enjolras finally looked up at Combeferre and took a breath. "Do not fret 'Ferre, i can bear it." He reached out his own hand and gently touched Combeferre's. Combeferre smiled a little and tried to be strong. It wasn't fair to ask Enjolras to comfort him when he himself was in pain.
"They tortured you. What did they want?" Combeferre asked quietly and caressed Enjolras's fingers with his own.
"They wanted to know who helped us, but I will never tell." Enjolras replied, the strength in his voice returning. Combeferre nodded solemnly.
"When will they kill us?" Combeferre asked after a pause.
"Once they have received all their answers."
"Our friends are fortunate to have died in the battle." Combeferre spoke again and turned his head away from Enjolras. Enjolras knew Combeferre was afraid for both of them, and he did understand.
"If they kill us publicly, it will be a victory for us. We will be remembered better than those who fell at the barricade." Enjolras argued gently. He was even more exhausted than he had earlier. What time was it? Was it night time or day? It was so difficult to tell!
"Enjolras…" Combeferre trailed off and shook his head. He didn't want his friend to be upset with him, especially not now.
"I understand." Enjolras said and gripped Combeferre fingers gently. Combeferre was surprised and turned to look at Enjolras again. He saw compassion as well as determination in the blond's eyes. So his friend understood. He knew that Combeferre did not want to die in this way. He understood that dying as a martyr here did not appeal to him as if did to Enjolras. There was something else in the blond's eyes though. He looked exhausted.
"Enjolras, rest." Combeferre whispered and wished he could touch his friend's golden locks. Enjolras leaned as far as he could towards Combeferre, and Combeferre did the same, leaning towards Enjolras. His fingers were just barely able to stroke his beautiful friend's curls and Enjolras let himself relax slightly. His brilliant blue eyes fluttered shut and his mild allowed him rest at last. Enjolras' thoughts drifted to the future he had always imagined. He dreamt of it and how beautiful his country would be when his people were finally free. The children would play happily in the streets, all would have the opportunity to be educated, none would go hungry, and there would be no king or emperor. There would be a much better system of government, one that would ensure freedom and equality for all. One that would not place one man above another.
Combeferre watched his friend dream and smiled as he saw how content this beautiful angel looked. Now that he was not in battle, he looked so charming like any other twenty year old man. But Enjolras was not any other twenty year old man, he was an angel of justice, he wanted nothing more than to bring equality to all the world. He was so pure and innocent, except for the blood on his hands from the barricade, but that blood had to be spilt, and Combeferre was sure it would be forgiven.