A/C: I swear that no matter what it looks like in this first chapter, it's not a death fic. This is however a torture fic, which was requested by Riddelly who simply wanted Grantaire watching Enjolras being tortured with E/R. This story starts during the final battle at their cannon death scene and goes from there. I suppose it's also worth mentioning that it's movie!verse. Also the first chapter is relatively short but the others will be much longer.
1/8
Point of view Grantaire.
He had to be alive, he had to be alive, he had to be alive... And what if he was? For how much longer? the thoughts echoed in my mind, forcing me to stay focused on one foot in front of another. Because I had to find Enjolras, he had to be okay, that's all that mattered. If I concentrated on anything else, concentrated on the bullet shots pounding the air, or how my head throbbed from the recent hangover...or the bodies at my feet, my friends... if I did any of that, I wouldn't be able to go on, I would just stop trying, stop looking-because I would end up finding the inevitable... his broken body amongst the rest. At that thought I started to run, to sprint, almost blindly, across the room full of death-the room of empty tables and chairs, one that we had spent such countless hours laughing and plotting in. And now dying. Now this was where they had all died, well almost all, if I was lucky, if he was lucky.
I couldn't hear their screams any more-not one. The shots had died away too. And yet the situation was so dire, that I couldn't help but think of this was more of a bad sign then a good one. If there wasn't any more noise, no more screams, no more bullets, then there was the possibility of there being no one to create the noise, for there to just be the stiffness of death stifling the air. As I continued onwards, I forced myself to slow down, to not rush ahead of myself as I rounded the banister
Oh my god he's still alive.
For a moment, I let my mind to just bathe in the glory of his face, so alive, so full of life. He shimmers, one in the crowed, as he has always done for me. For that one second, I allowed my shoulders to fall slightly, to relax into his gaze, my mouth parting and my eyebrows uplifting in such stunned relief. Because he is still alive. He's breathing. And he's right there, standing in front of me. But the release from the agonizing thoughts biting away at him was temporary. Because the soldiers that crowd the usually comfortable upstairs, reminds him of the fact that Enjolras is still breathing, that there is still a light glimmering in his eyes-however faint-isn't going to last. Standing before him, his love was going to die.
I can't live in a world without him, was the only thought that I was aware of as it passed through my mind. I stumbled forward, past the soldiers. No, stumbled was the wrong word, there had to be some thoughtlessness to stumble. I was shoving myself forward, one shoulder hurrying ahead before the other, as I launched myself forward. But it was like I was in slow motion, painfully slow, because I didn't want to speed this moment up, I didn't want to see him stop looking at me so intently. Because he was really looking at me, into me, unlike ever before. All those hours at the cafe, while he ranted and raved and did his wondrous speeches about his dreams, he had never looked into me. But here, now, this was his dream, in ashes and blood, the stench of death licking our noses with it's dread. And he was finally looking into me.
I crossed to him, and very numbly I noticed how none of the guards were shooting yet, just letting me teeter past. The way I was walking, I probably looked drunk. Was I drunk? I didn't really know. It didn't really matter, not now. I knew there was no way to save him, but I wanted, so desperately, to give Enjolras a gleam in his eyes again, instead of the empty eyes of the given up man that stood before me. Broken, he was broken; that's what his eyes said. And it tore me apart, because that's one of the things that always brought me to the cafe every day, to see how confident and stirring this young man was every night.
Without a word, I stood beside him, our eyes positively glued to each other. And as his fingers intertwined with mine, his other hand lifting his red coat that was clenched so firmly in his fingers, a grim smile spreading across his features, I saw it. The glimmer in his eyes, the confidence that could see a new world and the downfall of the king, it was back where it belonged. I had never been so happy to see such twinklies.
The gunshots were deafening. The pain was even more unbearable. But the pain was wrong. It shot up my legs, causing me to tumble to the ground, collapsing in a heap with Enjolras. There should be nothing in my legs, it should be my heart or my head, this wasn't the way to kill a full grown man. And as I fell, my vision hazing to grey and the inflaming pain, I felt Enjolras's fingers fall from mine, slip between my grasp, before everything disappeared into a black nothing.