Enjolras opened his eyes. Where was he? He was staring up at a dark sky, but something was blocking his view. It was difficult to tell what it was since it was nighttime, but by putting his hand out to touch the object, Enjolras decided it was a table. A table. The barricade. Then he remembered. He had been fighting and giving orders when...something happened. Ouch! His head hurt. That made sense - he had been knocked unconscious. Enjolras knew instinctively by the silence that the barricade had fallen. All of his comrades were likely dread.
He tried to move his other arm, and then his legs. Slowly, he rolled over and saw a gap in the barricade. He gently crawled out into the open, his head throbbing as he did so. He surveyed the area and saw something. A body. Enjolras walked over to it and knelt reverently. It was Combeferre. A cool sticky dampness quickly covered Enjolras' hands and knees, and he realized it was Combeferre's blood. Blood covered Combeferre's chest and lay around him like a sheet. Enjolras looked around at the other bodies littering the area and then turned back to Combeferre - his oldest friend.
Enjolras felt heavy in his chest and his eyes began to fill with tears. He allowed them to fall freely down his cheeks as he silently mourned his friends. He knew they sometimes had found him harsh, and no doubt wondered if he cared about them, but he always had. He had been willing to sacrifice everything - his time, life, energy, and friends - to give France a chance at becoming the country he thought it should be. Even now, seeing his friends dead around him and the land he loved the same, he did not regret it. Perhaps this failed revolution would inspire another.
He again looked down at Combeferre and then took him into his arms and stood. He carried Combeferre into the café and laid him on a table. He went back to the bodies and carried each one inside, one by one. Jehan, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Joly, Marius, Gavroche, and the girl. He looked around in sad confusion. Where was Grantaire? Had the drunkard abandoned them? Enjolras searched in the café, on the barricade, in the center (where many of his friends had been found), until finally, Enjolras heard a noise. He turned to his left and looked down. The sun had begun to rise and it was now bright enough to make out the dark green colour of a vest, and the dark brown curls belonging to Grantaire.
Enjolras knelt close by and wondered if perhaps the man was still alive.
"Grantaire?" He asked softly. A gentle moan escaped the man's lips. Enjolras' eyes widened and he tried to remove Grantaire from the pile of chairs around his legs.
"Stop! Uhhh...what, are you trying to kill me faster?" The drunken man protested feebly. He looked up at Enjolras and gasped.
"Apollo? You're alive?!" Grantaire asked. "I...I hoped you-" he groaned a bit louder as Enjolras finally managed to free him. Enjolras frowned.
"Apollo?" Enjolras asked. Grantaire grinned, but then his face contorted in pain. That was when Enjolras saw the blood. It covered Grantaire's right leg, as well as his left side. Enjolras was uncertain of what to do.
"Enj-Enj-Enjolras!" Grantaire gasped and clutched at Enjolras' hand. Enjolras allowed his hand to be taken.
"Is there something I can do?" Enjolras asked, looking at the cynic more softly than usual. Grantaire chuckled.
"Do you know how to fix this?" He replied and gestured to his wounds.
"No." Enjolras admitted.
"Well then -" Grantaire winced again. "...would you...would you let me rest my head on - on your lap? J-just until I die?" He requested sweetly. Enjolras paused and stiffened a little, but finally consented. He helped Grantaire to position his head on Enjolras' lap.
"Th-thank you." Grantaire smiled.
"How is it I came to wake up under there?" Enjolras thought out loud after a pause. Grantaire coughed.
"T...that was me." He coughed again.
"You?" Enjolras responded. A nod. "Why?"
"I...I couldn't let you...die. When I saw you fall, I...knew I had my...chance - chance to save you. I gr-grabbed you and slid you u-under the table, but then I-I got..."
"Shot." Enjolras finished impatiently.
"Yeah, th-thanks for putting it so bluntly." Grantaire joked.
"Why couldn't you let me die?" Enjolras said, looking down at Grantaire's brown eyes.
"B-because...you're all I li-lived for." He smirked. "And now I'm dying for you."
"You mocked the revolution." Enjolras said coldly. He couldn't help it from coming out.
"B-because I didn't want you to get killed for humanity. Humanity is f-full of f-fools." Grantaire explained. He shook and his eyes drooped a little. His hand which had been gripping Enjolras' so tightly, as if it anchored him to life, began to loosen.
"I am alive - you have accomplished your task." Enjolras said a little bitterly. He would have preferred to die a martyr along with his friends.
"Yes...I-I did. And you will not mourn me...long." Grantaire agreed. "But please...do one thing for me."
"What is it?" Enjolras asked.
"Sing me a song." He replied in such a soft and pleading voice. Enjolras wasn't sure what to sing, but he would fulfil this dying man's wishes - the man who saved his life.
"If Caesar had offered me
glory and war
for which I must abandon
My mother's love
I would say to great Caesar:
'Take back your sceptre and your chariot.
I love my mother more, alas
I love my mother more." Enjolras sang with his angelic voice filled with passion. Grantaire smiled sadly.
"Of course you would. Goodbye...Enjolras." And with that, the hand fell to the cobblestone street, lifeless. Enjolras picked Grantaire up in his arms and placed him with the others. He knew what he would do with his other chance at life. He would continue to fight for his mother, the Republic - France.