"Gran...taire..?"
The man stared down at his fallen god. No. How could he be injured like this if he were truly a god? How could his Apollo be lying here like a broken marionette?
"Enjolras, you fool."
Despite this, Enjolras smiled still. "No longer...coward..," he said slowly, as if attempting to make sense of the situation He'd been hit over the head mulitple times with a musket and collapsed on the stone street. He was not dead, much to Grantaire's relief, only dazed and slowly recovering.
R blinked rapidly and looked around them. Two men lay dead and one was dying in the arms of another frightened, but alive student. Feuilly and Courfeyrac were collapsed in a bloody puddle in front of the doorway, guns still clutched in both their hands. Les Amis' young hypochondriac was holding onto the younger Jehan Prouvaire, who was growing weaker by the second. They were situated under a nearby table where Joly was pressing his already blood-soaked vest to Jehan's chest.
Grantaire tried to block out Jehan's desperate pleading, which was growing more shrill. Tears welled up as he felt his whole world ending. The yelling of soldiers and students clashed outside the battle-worn cafe. Screams and sobs of women echoed through the silent cafe. Enjolras grunted as he attempted to sit up. Grantaire gathered his friend in his arms and held him up.
"J-Joly," Grantaire weakly shouted . The doctor looked up and across the room to the alcoholic. His heart broke as the shape of his fearless leader lay in the arms of a drunken fool. Joly was sickened and saddened by the turn of events. He felt as if he were a coward, hiding here in the Cafe Musain from the National Guard while his friends were systematically captured and killed protecting their liberties.
Grantaire's fair hair was matted across his forehead. A knife wound was crusted over with dried blood. In his arms, Enjolras was muttering nonsense He clutched his head and moaned in agony. Granitare looked down at him helplessly. "What do I do?" Joly motioned for him to stop speaking. A familliar voice cried out through all the chaos and gunfire.
"VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE! VIVE ENJOLRAS!"
A grunt of pain was followed. Enjolras flinched and looked towards the direction of the voice. The figure of a beaten and battered Combeferre fell in front of his deceased friends. The young philosopher looked at the sight in absolute horror. The three concious men in the cafe could see Combeferre's lips moving in a silent prayer for his dead friends.
A pale hand grabbed a fistfull of his black hair. 'Ferre's face contorted in pain as he was forcefuly pulled upright. Grantaire held Enjolras closer to his chest as Joly gathered the dying Jehan closer. He whispered a desperate plea to hold on longer and remain silent.
"Joly, I can't feel," Jehan sobbed.
Joly shushed him and clutched onto his hand tightly. "I'm here, do not worry," Joly whispered reassuringly.
Combeferre felt the pull on his hair increase. "Bastards," he cursed, spitting on the soldier's boots. He was thrown down and felt the cool metal of a musket push against the back of his neck. "Let us shoot him now! Right in front of his mongrel friends!" "They are dead! They are dead!" Combeferre was sickened by the joy in the other Guardsman's tone. "We'll shoot them again for good measure. They could be playing dead, like the other traitors."
"You will not TOUCH THEM YOU SLIMEY SONS OF WHORES!"
Enjolras felt a stab at his heart as he saw the scene unfold. " 'Ferre," he whispered. Grantaire was stunned silent. The guards beat the student's already battered body with the gun. A scream of pain ripped from his throat. Crimson droplets sputtered from his lips as he coughed. Joly felt Jehan curl into his chest as if he were trying to escape from the pain. The doctor locked eyes with Grantaire. The alcoholic mouthed rapidly, so fast that the doctor could barely read the mesage.
"Slow," Joly mouthed, wincing from the sounds of a gun hitting his friend's bones.
"I will surprise them. You take 'Jolras and Jehan and run."
"You fool! I will not make it five paces. Enjolras is too dazed and Jehan-!"
Grantaire held a finger to his lips and words became audible from Joly's mouth. The beatings suddenly stopped. "Did you hear that, Alan?" Enjolras' eyes widened. He broke from Grantaire's grasp and crawled weakly to Joly. "No! Enjolras!" Grantaire fell over in an attempt to grab Enjolras' ankle. Enjolras growled in frustration, but was pulled over in a flash by Joly. Grantaire scuttled out of the way, back under the table.
"Alan, go search the cafe! I will deal with our friend here!"
"ENJOLRAS! RUN! FLEE! DO NOT WORRY ABOUT MY SAFETY!"
Another hit on the back. A shout of pain.
"VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE! GO!"
A gunshot. Combeferre collapsed onto the ground next to Courfeyrac and Feuilly and fell to his eternal sleep.
Enjolras bit his lip to keep from speaking. His head was pounding like a drum. Joly pulled him close. The revolutionary squeezed the doctor's shoulder in gratitude. The two men scooted backwards towards the wall. Thankfully, they were under a black table cloth and hidden from view. However, they could still see Grantaire. The alcoholic was watching them and the soldier carefully. The soldier, called Alan, kicked over a chair. Grantaire silently crawled away from the soldier, all whilst keeping eye contact with Enjolras. The fallen revolutionary leader could not take his eyes away from this man. He felt Joly's hand on his arm.
"C'mon you bloody ingrates," seethed Alan. He cocked his musket and pointed it around the room. "Why don't you make this easier on yourselves." Enjolras put an arm across Joly and Jehan, as if he could shield them. Joly felt something wet seep through his ruined white shirt. He looked down at Jehan, who had burried his face in the doctor's chest. The poet's eyes were half-closed and blood trickled down his lips.
At the horror of Joly, Enjolras, and Grantaire, Jehan coughed.
Alan whirled around to the direction of the three revolutionaries and pointed his gun. "There you are you sly mongrels!" Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who sat there stunned. He held his breath and silently prayed to God to protect his and his friend's souls. "Alright now! Time to-!"
Enjolras aimed a kick at the man's groin. The soldier cried out in pain as Enjolras knocked him to the ground. "GO, JOLY! GET OUT OF HERE!" The doctor obeyed his commander, picked Jehan up in his arms, and fled downstairs. He pulled the door shut just in time as the other guard fired his gun at the fleeing man. Enjolras punched Alan's jaw, knocking out some teeth. Grantaire could only watch for his body would not allow any movement.
Meanwhile, Joly struggled getting Jehan down the steps. The poet moaned and spurted blood from his lips. Tears welled in Joly's eyes. "Hang on, Prouvaire. You're going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine," he said unsteadily. Jehan, despite the pain, smiled. He collapsed in Joly's arms just as they reached the table where Les Amis had met so often before.
"Useless, useless." Jehan's eyes misted over with tears. He met his friend's stare. "What?" "Don't try to save me, Jolllly. The Lord is calling me. I'm going home." The hypochondriac shook his head rapidly. "No, no, no, Jehan! Don't talk like that. You're going to live, trust me." Jehan grimaced as blood trickled down his lips and staining Joly's white shirt. "Sorr'," murmured he. Joly wiped his face with his free hand. "Don't worry, mon ami."
Jehan coughed and clutched at his chest. His eyes shut tightly in agony. "It hurts! Mon Dieu, I thought dying was supposed to be as it was written; painless and as if one were falling asleep!" Joly smiled despite himself. "You're going to be alright," he repeated. Jehan looked up at his friend. "You are the best brother a man could ask f-f-for-" He was interrupted by a bone shattering cough. The dam broke and tears fell like rain down Joly's cheeks.
"Don't go, Jean. Don't leave us here in Hell. I can't bear to be without any of Les Amis, but you.." He trailed off. Jehan's glistening eyes questioned him.
He inhaled sharply and continued, pulling the boy to him. "You're the one I could relate to most. 'Twas hard being one of the youngest in the begining. But you, I could relate to you. I found it easier to talk to you. And you are so eloquent, Jehan. God, you do not know the wonderful way you have with words. You are my brother, my better half! So please, please don't die, Jehan!"
Jehan was speechless as he watched his doctor, friend, and brother collapse in sobs. Joly's tears fell onto his own face, mixing with the poet's own tears. Another body-wracking cough sounded in the room. Jehan grabbed onto Joly's bare arm, grabbing it tightly and staining it with blood droplets. "Joly, what h-h-happens? What happens after w-we d-die?" "You k-k-know, Prouvaire." Jehan closed his eyes. "We k-k-killed. Sinners, w-we s-sinned."
"Shut it. You're going to Heaven, Jehan. You'll go to Heaven even if I have to go to Hell in your place." Jehan tried to laugh, but he was weakened further by a cough. His chest exploded in a fiery pain. He screamed and let out a final sob. Joly, too, cried with his dying friend.
Suddenly, Jehan's pale face seemed to recover its youthful glow. "I see Him, Joly." "J-Jean?" "I-I see God. I-I see Jesus, His Son! Oh don't you, mon ami?"
Jehan reached out in front of him, as if he were a child reaching to his mother. "He's calling me home! Oh, I see Mother Dearest! She's been gone nearly six years now, do you know?" Joly sniffed and hugged his friend. "What is she doing?" Jehan smiled and reached again. "Oh, Joly, she's beckoning me! She's beckoning me to her! Oh Mother, Mother!"
Joly burried his face into Jehan's curly hair."Go to her, my friend. Go to your mother." Jehan cast a weak glance up to the hypochondriac. "But, Joly-" "I release you. Just, promise me one thing Prouvaire." Jehan's eyes began to close, but he fought to keep them open this last time. Joly licked his lips and wiped Jehan's face free of tears.
"Promise me you'll be waiting for me. Wait for me there in Heaven. Tell the Amis to, as well."
Jehan nodded and put his hand on Joly's cheek. "Of course..." Joly looked down at him, holding the dying student's hand. "Jehan Prouvaire, I only regret that I never gave you my heart here on earth. Perhaps Heaven shall be another chance." Jehan felt his friend's lips on his cheeks and shut his eyes. He grew limp in Joly's arms and stopped breathing as his friend's lips left his skin. "Jol...y," he finally whispered and went silent. Joly leaned over his friend's corpse and let out a mournful yell.
Enjolras swung his fist again at Alan's head, knocking the man unconcious. He took the soldier's gun and shot him on the spot. Grantaire's eyes widened as his Apollo turned to the other advancing guard and shot him point blank in the head. The Cafe Musain became swarmed with National Guardsmen, who knocked Enjolras back to the ground. They dragged him downstairs easily, as the leader did not struggle. He cast one last look at Grantaire before he disappeared.
Joly heard nothing as he continued staring at the lifeless body of Jean Prouvaire. "Jehan, Jehan," he repeated over and over again."Sir, there's another survivor down here!" Joly looked behind him and smiled sadly. He kept an arm supporting Jehan's unmoving shoulder. Ten National Guardsman pointed their guns at him. "Give up, traitor," hissed one. "We already killed your friends and captured your leader." Joly saw a burly soldier push forward Enjolras. The revolutionary leader cast a glance down at Jehan, then looked away. "Jehan, I am so sorry," whispered he almost inaudibly. Joly turned himself so he faced his leader.
Enjolras broke from the grasp of the guards and went to Joly. He put a hand on the young man's shoulder as he uttered a cry of remorse. "It's my fault, Joly," Enjolras confessed. Joly shook his head, ignoring the laughs and sneers of the Guardsmen. "No. You're wrong, Enjolras." He grinned sadly at his leader.
"You've inspired me and all of France. And now, in the face of death, I thank you. If not for you, I would not have discovered who I am today." He looked down at Jehan and held the dead man closer to himself. "And Jehan helped me as well. He's taught me so much. And I cannot wait to thank him, in God's Kingdom." Enjolras stared at the hypochondriac in astonishment.
He clasped hands with Joly. "It was an honor to be under your leadership, Enjolras," thanked the doctor. "We'll wait for you. You and the WineCask."
A guardsman grabbed Enjolras and pulled him back. Joly took Jehan's hand and pressed it to his lips. "Hold on, mon ami," he whispered.
"Ready! Aim!"
I only regret that I never gave you my heart here on earth
"And-"
Perhaps Heaven will be another chance.
"FIRE!"
Twelve bullets pierced the doctor's body. His eyes widened in shock as the first bullet pierced his body. The final one hit his head, killing him finally. Joly's head fell and blood dripped down onto the previously deceased poet.
Enjolras watched helplessly as another one of his friends died, as he had done just twenty minutes before at the now fallen barricade.
"Come on you!"
He heard the call. Grantaire stood up unsteadily. He staggered to the doorway. "Ready. Aim. FIRE!"
Grantaire collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. Who had died? Joly? Jehan?
..Apollo? Had they killed him already?
Grantaire had nothing to live for anymore if Apollo was gone. He silently opened the door and walked downstairs. No one turned. Twelve men had their guns aimed at Apollo, who stood against the wall. "Shoot me!" Enjolras offered himself, holding out his arms.
The sergeant made the calll. "Take aim!"
Grantaire stepped forward. "Long live the Republic! I am one of them."
The crowd of Guardsmen turned to look at him. Two men pointed their guns at him, but lowered them as Grantaire tiredly staggered down. "Long live the Republic," repeated he. Enjolras caught his friend's determined look as he made his way towards him. Halfway to Apollo, Grantaire saw the bodies of Joly and Jehan. He caught his breath and stared at them. "The doctor and his poet," the alcoholic stated. He sighed and said a quick prayer to God that the souls of the young men were safe in His hands.
Enjolras watched as Grantaire straightened up and walked towards him with pride. His eyes opened in wonder at the sudden transfiguration of Grantaire. Said man took his place next to Enjolras. "Finish both of us at one blow," said he. Grantaire turned to his Apollo gently and held out his hand. "Do you permit it?"
It was a single question with a thousand answers. Oh, Enjolras could have answered a thousand ways.
No, you foolish man! Run! Run far away from here and live!
You've always supported me. I've been too foolish to recognize it until now..
Do not shoot this man! He is an innocent! He had no part in the fighting!
"Do you permit it?"
Enjolras grabbed the back of Grantaire's head and made his forehead meet his own. Their lips lightly brushed against each other's, but only for a milisecond. Grantaire's heart jumped. "Thank you, Grantaire." "For? All I have been the drunk who messed with your plans and life. I've been nothing but a curse upon you." Enjolras shook his head. "You've supported me, despite your skeptical nature. You were always at my side, even at the barricade. God, you save me after I was bludgeoned over the head. I owe you my life." "I owe you mine! You saved me from myself! After joining Les Amis, I stopped drinking as much as I had in the past." Grantaire took in a shaky breath as he ran a hand through Enjolras' hair. "Apollo.. I cannot live without you. Like our dear hypochondriac could not live without his young poet. I have lived with you and I shall die with you. I will die not a lonely drunk, but a loved man."
Enjolras smiled and embraced Grantaire. They broke apart and looked at each other. Enjolras took Grantaire's hand, holding it tightly. The guards aimed their guns at the two men. Grantaire caught his breath and entwined his fingers into Enjolras'. Enjolras gripped Grantaire's hand hard and stared at the guns bravely.
The order was shouted. Eight bullets pierced the two men. Grantaire fell to the floor, his hand still holding Apollo's. The revolutionary bowed his head as the bullets wracked his body. He stayed still, as if nailed to the red stained wall.
His vision grew blury, but the focus remained on Grantaire. The drunk had died immediately. Blood seaped from his back, upon which he lay. His eyes were open and staring blankly at Enjolras. " 'Taire," he tried to say.
" 'E's still alive! Finish him!"
Enjolras felt the final bullet enter his abdomen. He gasped in pain, feeling blood coat over his throat. He sputtered the crimson liquid and coughed finally. Enjolras felt numbness creep over him.
It was frightening to the young man, surprisingly enough. He who had never been frightened of anything (except for women, Grantaire had teased). The fear of the Unknown crept over the dying man. He shut his eyes as a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. His body relaxed. Enjolras felt as if the floor opened up beneath him and he fell. Where he fell, he had no idea.
But if where he fell included Grantaire and Les Amis de l'ABC, it was alright by him.
Oh by the way, I do not own Les Miserables.
Yeah this little fic popped into my head while watching some Les Miserables stuff on YouTube and while watching the 25th Anniversary Concert. I intend on this to be a oneshot, but I think I need some closure with the whole Joly/Jehan relationship.
Speaking of which, I wrote this with slash on the brain. So if you find some slashy elements with the Joly/Jehan stuff, thats why. The E/G slash was kinda intended. I just love how Ramin Karimloo and Hadley Frasier added the little bromance between their characters. So adorable.
This story has elements from the book and musical so it pleases just about everyone (I hope)
Read, Review, and All that Jazz. Thanks lovelies