A/N: Good morning my lovelies. I haven't been writing much fanfiction lately, which is sort of a let down. Recently, however, I saw the movie Les Mis, and of course I fell head over heels in love with Enjolras and Eponine. Reading some of the fanfics around, I came up with a few ideas of my own, and well, I began wondering how it would have been if the two had lived, and the world simply went on with Marius obsessing over his new love Cosette and casting Eponine's feelings aside. How would she deal with the loss of Gavroche, how would she react if she found that Enjolras was still alive? So, I don't know where this whole fanfic is going, but I guess if anyone's reading, we're going on the ride together. Forgive me if anyone is super ooc, I'm merely going off of my own mind. I haven't read the novel, sadly, so this is all musical movie based. And now, to get the formalities out of the way...

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, they are all borrowed from Victor Hugo, who owns all of their miserable lives and has reduced me to tears on many occasions through their back stories. I am not making any profit off of this story, and I can promise you, I am simply writing for my own pleasure.

A World About to Dawn

The sky was red, the color of the world that just weeks before the young revolutionary was sure he could change. Now, it simply served as a reminder of that fateful night, of the blood stained cobblestones he'd seen with blurry vision, of the death of his comrades. In the chill of the early morning air, his slender figure shuddered; not from the cold, but from the sheer impact of the memory. He was reminded every night by his own nightmares that he should have been the one to die. Instead, hanging from that banister above the Cafe l'ABC, he simply fell to unconsciousness. God was kind enough to have Marius retrieve him from the streets only days later, both nursing their own wounds, Enjolras feverish and on the verge of death for the second time. He had begged his friend to let him die there, but of course Marius, being the decent man he was, took him instead to a hospital and had his wounds attended to. To Enjolras' utter distaste, he was only released on the condition of having a care taker. Marius willingly took that position onto himself. Once a day he would visit, usually on his way to seeing his darling Cosette. Some days she too would come, bringing along fresh bread or soup for his weakening body. It was miserable for Enjolras to have to nurse his pride while his body slowly regained strength, but Marius seemed to understand.

The nights were sleepless, Enjolras kept that much to himself. He could only sleep in short bursts throughout the night, and when he was blessed with the fortune of having a full night of sleep, it was plagued by the terrors he kept pushed in the darkest corners of his mind. Thankfully Marius rarely stayed the night, and when he did, Enjolras did not succumb to his screaming fits that came with his terrors. Something about having company kept him more alert, forced him to want to stay awake rather than push Marius into worrying further about his friend's mental state. He was already insisting that Enjolras abandon his apartment and move in with him; the freckled boy was currently living with his grandfather once again; taken in after his injuries. While he enjoyed Marius' company, he didn't need the charity. He could manage living in his apartment, he would be fine on his own, he always had been. A few bullet holes couldn't keep Enjolras from being the proud revolutionary he once was.

Today, however, he was feeling weaker mentally than he had in a long while. While his body was finally strong enough for him to take a walk, he was unable to keep his mind from drifting back to the faces of those fallen men he had grown to love in the months preceding that night atop the barricade. He could recount them all; Grantaire, Joly, Combeferre, Jehan, Courfeyrac... Even little Gavroche, who had acted as his shadow for months, he too was missed. The thought of the little boy with his shaggy red hair and endless energy made Enjolras wince. He could remember the night in the cafe that he'd picked the boy up and placed him on the table, calling for his men to fall silent. He'd announced that this young man, little Gavroche, was to be an honorary friend of the ABC, and he'd pinned that red white and blue pin to his chest. The child had flung his arms around Enjolras and thanked him quietly in his ear, proud to be accepted as an actual member of their cause. That memory was one of the most vivid, and worse, it contrasted so starkly with the memories of that night that would slip so easily into his thoughts. Even then, as he trudged on his way through the Parisian streets, he recalled watching the boy nimbly climbing down the barricade, spitting at their enemy and letting out a loud cry of 'Vive la France!' before he ultimately crumbled to his death, blood blooming from the hole put directly in his chest. The tears that sprang to Enjolras' eyes at the simple memory made him more and more aware that he needed to refocus his attention on where he was walking rather than what had happened in the past.

In the early morning light, he found himself before the large iron gates of one of the many cemeteries, just outside of town. Here, he knew too well, was where the bodies of his fallen comrades rested. The gates, which already stood ajar, creaked a bit as he slipped past them, but otherwise the world was deathly silent. He had only been here once, on the eve of his friends funerals. They had been buried together, side by side by side, as their families assumed they would have wanted. Even Gavroche, whose family had not acknowledged his death, had been buried with them. As he made his way along the path toward the gravestones of his friends, a figure came into view. It was a woman - slender and kneeling before a cluster of graves, her tiny frame shaking. As he drew nearer, he came to realize that these graves were the very ones he had been looking for, the ones of his friends. Unsure of the woman's identity, he assumed she was a relative of one of his men, and decided to join her in her mourning. He quietly approached the young woman, standing a few feet behind her.

"They were brave men." he uttered quietly.

The woman, who hadn't heard his muffled footfalls over the sound of her own sobs, froze for a moment at the sound of his voice. When she didn't move, Enjolras took a step closer, unsure if she was afraid, or simply unable to speak.

"They fought boldly, bravely." he continued, nodding his head. "They fought for a cause they wholeheartedly believed in. They were good men."

The figure rose slowly from her knees.

"They were not men." she breathed. "They were boys."

Enjolras was taken aback by the statement. Yes, they had been young, but would you see them as anything other than brave men who had faced the government for a morally right cause? He opened his mouth to argue his point, but lost his breath when the woman turned, her dark eyes meeting his own. The surprise that bloomed on her face matched his own.

"Monsieur Enjolras-" she breathed.

There was a moment of silence between the two. Enjolras searched for the name of the ragged looking brunette in his mind. He had seen her more than once at the Cafe de l'ABC, but she had always been with Marius. Marius' Shadow, they had called her, knowing too well of the devotion she held toward their unknowing friend. But he had also seen her with Gavroche. As the memory of the night crept back into his mind, he recalled the way Gavroche had run to her as if she were family, hugging her proudly as he displayed his revolutionary pin. The name came rushing into his mind, and his gaze flickered to the gravestone, the names displayed before his eyes. Thenardier.

"Eponine." he said quietly. "You're alive?"

"I could ask the same about you, Monsieur." she said softly, her gaze falling to the gravestone once again. "I expected your name to be here, along with theirs. I was surprised to find it missing."

"You were absent for the funeral." he commented dryly. "It was weeks ago."

She turned quickly, a spark of rage igniting inside the brunette. She took a step forward, dangerously close to Enjolras. Her chin was brought up so she could see his face clearly. It took almost all of her strength not to physically push him for saying something like that. Accusing her of not being there by choice. It was disgusting.

"If you have forgotten, Monsieur," she said through her teeth, nearly spitting. "I barely crawled away from that barricade with my life. I have been nursing my wounds on the streets, close to death for the past weeks. Forgive me for being out of touch."

She shouldered past him roughly, her arms folded over her stomach as she stormed away, leaving Enjolras rooted where he stood, eyes wide in astonishment. He had assumed she had returned to the Thenardiers, but apparently, she had taken up living on the streets, unable to get herself home in her condition. Guilt formed a heavy pit in the bottom of his stomach when he realized she was still probably suffering, and that her retreat would only lead her to another cold night sleeping on the streets. If he was unable to help her through fighting on the barricade, why couldn't he offer her help now. He turned quickly, watching as her figure slipped through the gates at the opposite end of the cemetery and out of sight. With a new found determination, he made after her.

"Eponine!"