Hello again! Just so we're all on the same page, this story is purely based off of the 2012 movie, including its inaccuracies, such as the Musain being used for the barricade instead of the Corinth. I did add some things not shown in the movie, but I think they work well with it. Also, although it contains elements from my other stories, treat it like it has nothing to do with them or you'll get confused. It also includes an odd pairing, but I've seen weirder. Enjoy!
Thanks to Shadowcrest Nightingale for beta-ing!
Much love,
Unicadia
"Don't go in there, boy."
Marius Pontmercy started at the voice. A crooked, middle-aged wheelwright stood next to him, looking up at the remains of the Café Musain – the same café Marius and his friends used to meet in, and the same café in front of which they had built a barricade and were slaughtered – all except Marius.
Now, a year later, Marius decided to visit it again. But this man . . .
"Why not?"
"It's haunted."
Marius forced out a laugh. "Haunted? Ridiculous. Haunted by what? Rats?"
The man glared at him and waved a finger at the broken building. "Ghosts."
"There's no such thing as ghosts."
"Oh, ho, ho! Think we're smart, eh? Well, I can tell you this. Street rats don't hang out there. The gamins and gamines say they heard laughter and footsteps from the upstairs room. And as for myself, I've investigated it too, and I've heard it. At night especially you can hear them. I should know. I live right next to this place. Shouts, always laughter, banging. Even saw a light in there once."
Marius sighed, trying to appear exasperated and trying to ignore his pounding heart. "I'm certain it was just a gang having a party."
"That's just it, though! I return in the morning, and there's no sign of anyone ever being there. Everything is exactly the same."
"Your imagination, then." Marius looked the café up and down, shivering at the dark blood stains on the walls, the broken door, windows, and shutters which carry horrifying memories into his sleep. Ghosts – ghosts of who? His friends who died here?
"No, no! Others have heard them, too," the man insisted.
Marius took a step forward.
"Stop! There's no telling what they'll do to you!"
Marius faced him again. "Who do you think these ghosts are?'
The man lowered his head and whispered, "Those boys who fought here in that failed uprising a year ago. I say they're here to wreak their revenge on those who didn't come to their aid."
"I highly doubt that," said Marius dryly. "And I especially doubt they would do anything to me since I was their friend."
The man's eyes widened. "You fought here, boy?"
"Yes."
The man stared at him in awe. Marius turned and walked toward the Musain. Every step closer to the door weighed heavier and heavier on him, until he stopped right in front of it. Ghosts – ghosts didn't exist, but he was afraid of facing that dark place with the room he and his friends had occupied so often, and now where many of them had died.
He pushed the broken door open.
Darkness greeted him, and it was a couple minutes before he made out the tables, the turned-over chairs, the shattered bottles, the chopped-off stairs, the ominous dark patches on the floor which didn't seem to be the shadows of anything.
Not a sound broke the graven silence.
Marius stepped in and almost immediately drew back. The air was musty and thick and reeked of death. He put his handkerchief to his nose and re-entered, stepping over the piles of debris.
He stopped in the middle of the room, gazing up at the ceiling and wondering at the bullet holes in it. He then glanced around and shuddered. This was it. Need he see more? He turned to go and froze at the sound of hollow laughter from above. He whirled around, shaking uncontrollably. "Who's there?"
"Oh, Marius, now you've offended me," chuckled a voice, also from above. "Surely you haven't forgotten me so quickly?"
The voice sounded eerily like his friend, Courfeyrac's.
Another voice joined it. "Come, Courfeyrac. You know Marius has his head too much in the clouds to remember anyone's laughter, except perhaps his Cosette's." This was followed by a disapproving snort, very characteristic of Bahorel.
Panic rising within him, Marius shouted the first thing he thought of: "You're dead! You're all dead!"
And now, to his horror, he saw something materializing at the top of the stairs. "True . . . we are dead. But here we are. I don't know if even Combeferre can explain it."
Combeferre, their gentle guide with the unceasing steady gaze. Marius, disregarding the stench, stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket and backed away toward the door.
"Wait!" The figure above appeared completely. Courfeyrac, his wild dark curls falling into his brown eyes, a playful smile on his lips. Marius stopped, transfixed, but not until he saw the bloody bullet wounds in his friend's abdomen were the tears loosed.
"What happened to you?" he choked.
Courfeyrac laughed and leaped down from the mangled stairs, his feet making no sound as they hit the floor. "I was shot. What else?"
Marius jumped as he heard a stifled giggle not far from him. "Oh, Marius," laughed a child, who could only be Gavroche.
"Please don't cry, Marius," came a soft voice, reminiscent of Jean Prouvaire's. "You know how it breaks my heart."
"Everything breaks your heart," rumbled Bahorel.
"Marius," said another voice. "It's been a long time." Enjolras, their leader? His beloved friend?
"Yes," Marius whispered.
Courfeyrac strode across the room and placed his hands on Marius' shoulders. Marius sucked in a breath, but did not move. He couldn't feel his friend's hands.
"Would you like to see the others?" said Courfeyrac, smiling softly.
Marius, still trying to understand what was happening, frowned. "I don't know . . ."
"Oh, come, now! They're dying to show themselves!" Courfeyrac turned toward a dusty table and added, "If you'll allow it, Enjolras?"
The chairs surrounding the table were empty, but Enjolras' voice emanated from one. "Very well. But just this once."
Marius gasped as shadowy figures materialized, sitting on chairs or standing. All his deceased friends. He even saw Éponine Thénardier sitting at a table with Joly and Lesgles, and little Gavroche, her brother, playing dominoes with Feuilly. Grantaire sat by himself, but he looked fresher and more vitalized than he'd ever seen him before.
They all bore the wounds which killed them. Marius stared in horror at the bloody bullet hole in Bahorel's forehead.
"What are you looking at?" said Bahorel, clambering down to the first floor.
Marius could not help staring at Éponine. She had loved him – when, how? As his gaze fell on her, Éponine slid halfway under the table, her hand covering the wound on her chest, her face bright red. Her eyes looked up at him, then turned away again, filled with shame. A strange sense of guilt seeped through Marius. He was startled, though, when Joly reached over and stroked her free hand.
"How – how is this possible?" Marius breathed, looking round at all of them.
"I'm not sure," said Combeferre from his place beside Enjolras. "But it's good to see you again. Why didn't you come sooner?"
"I – I – couldn't." Marius caught sweet Jean Prouvaire's gaze and choked upon seeing the bullet wound in his right eye. "I hurt too much. Coming here would – would've made it worse."
"You've suffered," Joly murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"I've suffered? What about all of you?!"
"Don't fret, Marius," said Feuilly, smiling a little. "Not all of us suffered."
Even so, a fleeting memory rushed through Marius' head – panic, blood, screams. Bahorel lurching backwards as a bullet smashed into his face. Combeferre and Prouvaire banging on doors, screaming, "Please!" And vaguely, Enjolras and Joly pulling a dazed Prouvaire away toward the café . . . he never saw what happened to the others. He shuddered, still unable to fully comprehend how he managed to survive.
Most likely seeing the distressed look on Marius' face, Courfeyrac said, "Enough of that! Let us speak of better things. What's going on in outside world? Our existence is limited to the good old Musain."
"The people are still restless. They're enraged at what happened here."
Enjolras smiled a little.
"Tell me," said Combeferre, leaning forward. "How's Adelaide doing?"
Adelaide . . . oh, Combeferre's young wife. "She's having a hard time finding a job because of Destiny, so I'm-"
"Destiny? Who's Destiny?"
Still shaken, Marius gathered his thoughts. Right, Combeferre couldn't have known. "Oh, I'm sorry. About eight months after the barricade, she gave birth to a daughter. Your daughter. She named her Destiny."
Combeferre's face broke into an uncharacteristically huge grin. He laughed and smacked Enjolras on the back. "A daughter! Destiny! What a name for a child of the revolution!"
"A perfect name," said Enjolras.
"Anyway, my grandfather's been helping her out while she looks around for work, but you know how people are about single mothers," said Marius, twisting his cravat around his finger.
Combeferre sobered, but said, "Thank you, Marius. It means the world to me." Then, turning back to Enjolras, he said, "A daughter! Destiny! She must be a beauty, like her mother. Is she, Marius? Is she beautiful?"
Marius couldn't think straight. "I think so."
"Hey, 'Ferre!" laughed Courfeyrac. "You going to hog Marius all to yourself? We'd like to ask him a few questions, too."
Combeferre reddened. "Sorry."
"So, Marius. What's my girlfriend been up to?"
"Which girlfriend?" Courfeyrac had had so many women in his life, it was difficult to recall who the last one had been.
"Lucille. You knew her, didn't you?"
Lucille. ". . . right. She, uh, died a couple months ago from cholera." He didn't look at Courfeyrac.
"Oh. I see." Courfeyrac stepped back and sat down with Enjolras and Combeferre.
"Come, Marius," Combeferre beckoned him.
Marius hesitated. He felt unworthy to join them, ghosts though they might be. And he was still frightened. "I can't."
"Sit," Enjolras ordered gently. "You're one of us. You always will be."
Marius awkwardly made his way over to them, picked up a fallen chair and sat down, but none of these familiar movements felt normal.
"Can you tell me what's happened to the fan shop I worked at?" asked Feuilly.
"Ha! I win again!" Gavroche cried out, and Feuilly, looking down at the dominoes, laughed and ruffled the boy's blond hair.
"Well, at first," said Marius, watching Gavroche set the game up again, "when people figured it was abandoned, it got ransacked – everything stolen." Feuilly's face fell. "But then this man from England found it and made it over into a café. It's called 'The Artisan's Café.'"
Feuilly let out his deep, rich laugh. "I love it!"
Marius glanced at Éponine, who didn't look at him. Once again, he felt guilty for having taken her for granted and his heart ached a little. "Do . . . do you want to know about your parents, 'Ponine?"
"No." She paused, then said, "But are they in prison?"
Marius' heart sank. "No."
Éponine pursed her lips like she already guessed this and said nothing, but moved closer to Joly.
"How's Musichetta? What's she doing?" asked Joly.
Was it just his imagination, or did Éponine stiffen a little? "To tell you the truth, I don't really know. I'm sorry. I do know she's taken it very hard. She hasn't worn any color except black since it happened."
"Poor girl. I miss her."
At this, Éponine leaned over and whispered in Joly's ear. He smiled and kissed her cheek.
"What's with you and 'Ponine?" asked Marius, thoroughly bewildered. Éponine reddened and looked away.
"Hm? Oh, that." Joly blushed. "Well, we both died and we had both lost our loves" – again, the guilt – "and we found we had a lot more in common, and the rest is history."
"We're all history!" cried Bahorel, and they laughed, and the Musain rang with the voices of the leaders of Les Amis de l' ABC once more, though Marius had difficulty letting himself laugh freely.
"Marius," said Jean Prouvaire, once they settled down, his smile somehow still beautiful with his bloody face, "you haven't told us anything about yourself. Did you ever marry your Cosette?"
Marius couldn't help smiling back. "Yes. Actually, she's pregnant now."
"Another child of the revolution!" said Combeferre.
"Yes." Marius lowered his head, wondering how to ask the question which had been burning in the back of his mind. He looked at Enjolras, their brave, blond leader, and felt courage warm inside him once more. Enjolras could always do that in life, and now even in death. "What – what happened after . . . after I was shot?"
Combeferre gave him an odd look. "Why do you want to know?"
"I need to know what happened to my friends. That's all. Please tell me."
"I don't remember when you went down, Marius," said Enjolras, running a hand through his curls.
"They had breached the barricade . . . we were retreating into the café . . . that's all."
"Ah. Me, Prouvaire, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, Lesgles, and some others barricaded the door . . ."
"You chopped the stairs off," said Combeferre, "and some of us got up there before they broke in."
"Prouvaire and I were killed down there," said Lesgles, his face passive. "This room."
"I was firing out a window upstairs when I got shot in the chest," added Feuilly. Marius swallows.
Enjolras continued, "And then the last of us were throwing stuff down the stair opening at the soldiers – bottles, cups-"
"Joly's mirror," laughed Courfeyrac softly.
"Right," chuckled Enjolras.
"They stopped shooting at us," said Combeferre, "but we knew they were still there. We had one gun between us last four: Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Joly, and myself. We positioned ourselves in front of the stairs, waiting for them to reappear."
"You were shielding me with your arm," whispered Joly. "At the time, I didn't notice."
"We waited," said Enjolras. Marius wondered at the crack in his voice. He was dead. They were all dead. And yet . . . "We waited, ready to sell our lives dearly, ready to fight to the end when they came up, but-"
"But they never did," said Combeferre.
"What happened?" Marius breathed.
Courfeyrac gave him a wry smile and pointed to the holes in the ceiling. Marius' blood turned cold.
"They somehow missed me," said Enjolras, shaking his head. "It was the worst moment of my life, seeing my friends suddenly fall dead beside me without any warning."
Marius shuddered.
"Then the soldiers came up. I didn't fight, I waited, when Grantaire here," and Enjolras smiled at the curly-haired man, "joined me, thereby joining the Cause he so long cared nothing for." Grantaire smiled back, the warmest, most genuine smile Marius had ever seen him do, without a trace of cynicism. "They fired – and that was it."
Marius blinked through his tears. The room was silent, save for his sniffles and breathing.
"Marius . . ." Combeferre whispered. Marius looked up, his face tear-stained. "I have something very important to tell you."
"Yes?"
"Whatever you do here on Earth, do not take people for granted, do not take your life for granted. Live life to the fullest and love all people. Life is much too short to worry about . . . things. We all learned that."
Marius nodded, wondering if Combeferre knew about how Éponine love him. From faraway, he heard the bells of Notre Dame tolling the hour. Marius sat up. "I have to go." He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve.
"Then go," said Combeferre. "It was truly wonderful seeing you one last time."
Marius started at these words. "Won't I be able to come back and see you all again?"
"I think . . . we were waiting for you, Marius. And now that you're here, it's time we moved on. To Heaven."
Marius closed his eyes against the new surge of tears. He already had to say goodbye to his friends once – that was hard enough. Now he had to say goodbye again, and he knew it would be the hardest thing that he'd ever do.
He stood, and the rest stood as well. He embraced each in turn, surprised that they were solid enough for him to do so.
"Give my parents my love," said Jean Prouvaire.
"Tell Adelaide I'll always love her, and kiss Destiny for me, will you?" Combeferre bestowed his rare smile on Marius.
"Of course."
"Congratulations on your Cosette," said Courfeyrac. "Try not to annoy her too much."
"I promise."
"And tell the people," added Enjolras, "that God has not forgotten them."
"I will proclaim it from the cathedrals," says Marius.
"I hope you've learned a thing or two," said Gavroche as he hugged him.
"About what?"
The boy grinned up at him. "About little people."
"Yes. I have."
They saw him to the door. Marius stepped out onto the street and looked back. Éponine, her head on Joly's shoulder, gave him a small smile and said, "Farewell, Monsieur Marius. I wish you the greatest happiness." Her smile disappeared a minute, and she no longer looked at him, as if pondering something. Suddenly, she cried after him, "And ask Cosette to forgive me!"
Marius nodded, smiling through his tears. "I will."
"Remember what I said about life, Marius. It would be really stupid of you not to heed the words of a ghost." Combeferre smirked.
"Go shout from the cathedrals, Marius," said Enjolras, "so the angels can hear you."
Marius looked at them another moment, memorizing them, trying to catch in his mind Enjolras' golden curls, Combeferre's steady smile, Courfeyrac's laughing face, Jean Prouvaire's stunning blue eyes, Feuilly's workman hands combing Gavroche's hair, Bahorel's lazy stance, Lesgles' melancholy-banishing grin, Grantaire's relaxed arm on Enjolras' shoulder, Gavroche's childish face with that adult air about it, Joly's gentle practiced fingers stroking Éponine's cheek as she leaned on him, and Éponine herself, gazing at him and smiling, no signs of jealousy, only happiness.
He turned away and didn't look back.
The next day, Marius returned. But the Musain was empty, except for the broken chairs and tables. Marius started to leave, when he heard, distantly, the sound of laughter from the second floor. He smiled and stepped out of the café forever.