Chapter One

Enjolras groaned as he came to, his blue eyes flicking around the room. Around him lay the bodies of Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Jean Prouvaire. He bit his lip, trying to ignore the pain that shot through his torso. It was then he heard footsteps running up the stairs. Oh, please don't be the National Guard again.

"Enjolras?" Her voice pierced the silence.
"Eponine!" His voice was just above a whisper. She ran over to him, a smile on her face. The smile faded the instant she saw the blood pouring through his white shirt.
"You've been shot?"
"As it seems," he forced a smile. Eponine helped him lie down, dashing over to where Joly had kept the medical supplies.
"I can remove that bullet," she mumbled. "It's going to hurt a little, but I can do it."

Enjolras bit his lip. Eponine took a deep breath. After locating where he had been shot, she cut his skin. Enjolras cried out in pain, which made Eponine flinch.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She warily picked up the tweezers, seeing the bullet that had pierced his skin. "This is going to hurt." She retrieved the bullet, Enjolras screaming at this point. She stitched and bandaged the wound, glancing up at his face. He had his eyes closed, his breathing steady. She buttoned his shirt before rushing over to the table where a bucket of water was sitting. She cleaned the materials she used, then put them back where they were.

Eponine returned to Enjolras's side, brushing his blonde curls out of his face. She didn't know how long she sat there beside him, waiting for him to wake up, but when he did, the sun had set. He groaned as he awoke, his eyes fluttering open. Eponine grasped his hand.
"'Ponine?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse.
"It's me," she whispered. "You'll be alright." He nodded, kissing her hand.

"Thank you for saving me."

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she smiled at him.
"It was no problem, darling," Eponine murmured, kissing his forehead. Enjolras grimaced, glancing around, gazing at his friends.
"They're all dead," he whispered. "Everyone of them... they're dead because of me."
"They chose to fight, Enj. They were willing to die for their country. They were willing to die for their beliefs. It wasn't your fault."
"Gavroche - what's wrong with me, allowing a twelve-year-old boy to fight?" He shook his head, his hands covering his face. "I was sure we could win, I was sure the plan was foolproof! It wasn't, and now they're all dead."

Eponine shed a few tears. It hurt her to hear what he was saying. No matter what she said, he wouldn't accept the fact that it wasn't his fault.
"Come on, Enjolras. Let's get you home. That wound isn't going to get any better here." She helped him to his feet, allowing him to put most of his weight on her. He limped out of the cafe, sighing when he saw the street. What was left of the barricade still stood, just as it had when he last saw it. Eponine noticed what he was looking at, and decided to distract him.

"Enj, there's Madame Huchloupe," she spoke, pointing to the older woman.
"Good evening, Madame," he nodded curtly.
"Why, M'sieur Enjorlas, you're still alive! It's a miracle! On your way home, I presume?"
"Precisely, Madame." He flashed a sad smile at her. "I'm afraid we must get going. Good day."
"Good day."

Eponine thanked God that she knew where Enjolras lived. Opening the door to the house, she led him to his room. He slowly sat down on the bed, then he laid down.
"Get some rest, Enjolras. Call me if you need me." He nodded, his eyes tired. Before she had the chance to walk across the room to the door, he was fast asleep.