Chapter 2

His Disgrace

Éponine trembled as her father's gaze fell upon her. Her mouth opened slightly, but closed when she saw the complete, utter rage in his eyes.

"What were you thinking!"

He paced over to her, gripping her by the shoulders. "You goddamn whore." He spat in her face and she tried to wipe it away with her hand.

Gripping her collar, he dragged her across the floor and grabbed one of the bottles of alcohol scattered across the kitchen tabletop.

He smashed it against her head, but still she was silent. "You still don't scare me," she whispered.

"Really? I should throw you onto that fire."

Éponine planted her feet on the ground before kicking back. The impact sent her flying across the ground, slamming into the wall. Then, slowly, she got to her feet. Green blood trickled from the wound on her head. With a hiss, she walked out the door.

She walked around to the back window and crawled into her room. "'Zelms," she smirked.

Her sister squeaked. Azelma Thenardier crawled over to her. "What did Dad do to you?" That was the least of Éponine's problems, because under her sister's eye was a large bruise the size of her father's palm. Éponine's jaw set.

"Nothing major," she muttered, before scooting over to her sister. "He hit you. That's all I care about. I'm too much of a coward to kill him, though. So, instead, how about we tell each other about our dreams."

Azelma bowed her head. Her dark red hair fell in her face, and through it she smiled. Six years younger than Éponine, she had grown to think of her older sister as a mother. And she was a mother. She'd held her every night since the one where her birthgiver had had enough and gone off into the night.

She did not hate her mother though. She didn't hate anyone, and the only one she hated in this world was Thenardier, her 'father'. Not for what he'd done to her, though. For what he'd done to Éponine.

"I'm a demon," she smiled, "I'm not supposed to have dreams."

Rolling her eyes, the eldest Thenardier girl picked up Azelma, and held her to her chest, rocking the twelve-year-old.

"Fine. I'll start. I once dreamed that we'd one day fly to the moon. We'd both get a big house, and it would be full of creatures made of moondust. Imps would be our friends, and we'd all have lovely tea parties. But one time, a big monster crept up from the depths. He was big, bigger than anyone could ever imagine. And Éponine promised that she'd keep her sister safe. And so, she faced the only way she could to make sure her sister lived. And so, while her sister was asleep, her fingers crept up the side of her sister's belly."

She re-enacted this, and felt the twitching of Azelma's belly. "And then- she tickled her little sister into space."

Azelma squealed with delight as her big sister tickled her. "That's – kind of- like us in real life. Dad's- the monster," she said between laughs.

Éponine fought the sadness in her eyes, because she didn't understand how her little sister could say that with a large smile on her face. Of course, Éponine knew her sister didn't feel grief. The years of dresses and dolls had vanished from her sister's tiny hands before she could catch a glimpse.

Éponine remembered it, though. She remembered it and clung to those memories like a balloon string. She caught them and put them in a cage. Éponine's only delights nowadays were those memories, and when she gave them to her little sister. For Azelma, they were dreams and stories, fragmented stars on which to hope and dream and pray, but for Éponine they were buildings, large mansions and small cottages where she could be safe.

Éponine pressed her lips to Azelma's temple. "What are you going to do about your wound?" Azelma asked, her large eyes gleaming up at Éponine. The smile remained, and her dimples were like little dams and those dams held all of her big sister's love.

"I'll stitch it up, somehow," Éponine grinned, clinging to her sister's small frame. "After you're asleep though. I don't want you hearing too much."

Azelma sighed. "Where were you, anyway?"

"No concern of yours. Mom made me stay the night." Whisper-soft fingers brushed through Azelma's hair. The auburn-haired girl's smile widened so that her teeth showed.

Suddenly Azelma's smile dropped, replaced by thoughtfulness. "'Ponine?" she asked.

"Mmmm?"

"Why did Mom hate us?" The words were horrible enough on their own, but the thing that was most disturbing was that it was said without any grief, not even any anger. It was said as though it was a thought that passed Azelma's mind regularly.

"She doesn't hate us. She just couldn't handle Dad."

Éponine still remembered her parents' final argument, clear as day. She'd seen her mother, orange hair matted down her back, the eyes that had been passed down to Azelma blazing. "You fucking bastard. You never do anything right! And I'm sick of these fucking kids clinging to my legs every hour of the day. I'm done. I'm leaving!"

Madame had disappeared to her room and come out with a full suitcase, going off into the night without so much as a backwards glance.

Éponine guessed that Madame had changed her mind, as Éponine often visited her 'mother', although it was usually to turn her into someone she was not. Éponine sighed as Azelma closed her eyes, and her breathing slowed. After a few minutes, she lay her sister down and went into the kitchen, where Thenardier was passed out against the floor.

"Pig," she snarled under her breath. Éponine exited the house, into the freezing night. Glancing up, there were no stars, only a rich black. Heaving a sigh, she watched as the bus for the City of Despair trudged along toward her. It stopped, and the demon inside, a man with a moustache and a smile stopped.

"Demoness?" he asked, an accent of some sort oozing over his words.

"Yes. I need to go to the City of Despair. As you can see, I tripped and fell."

The man nodded and Éponine heaved herself onto the bus. The bus took off again. In complete silence they went, until the dark shape of the City of Despair came into view. "This is your stop. Hope your wound gets better."

The streets were empty and desolate, but for Éponine that was not much of a change. Keeping her arms around herself for warmth, she tried to block out the silence. To herself she sang a lullaby she had once sung to her brothers, when the sounds of smashed bottles rung in their ears; when the only thing they could really make out was that there were two people fighting in the other room.

"Nightingale, nightingale, I saw you for sale,

Wept and cried bitter tears; you'd never looked so frail,

Took a key, opened your cage, in case you were afraid,

Nightingale, nightingale, how is freedom made?"

Over and over again she sang these lyrics, her bare feet scraping at the cobblestones. She sung it until she came to her mother's front door. With a sharp knock, she awaited her mother's appearance. The door was opened by a woman aged by stress, but clinging to the fragments of her youth.

Éponine gave her mother a sharp nod. "I need to stitch my wound. Mom."

She stepped into the light of her mother's home. It was a red glow, deadly and vibrant. It flickered on the walls thanks to the fireplace.

Madame Thenardier led her daughter over to a chair. "Sit down, darling."

Éponine glared at her mother's back. How dare she call her darling after she left them behind! After she'd provoked her youngest daughter to think those things, even though she could barely remember her face!

Madame took a stitching needle. "This should help."

Her daughter winced as she pulled the stitches through.

"Thanks, Mom."

"It's no problem. Oh, and darling? How's your sister?"

Éponine turned to her mother. "Even without you, she's okay. Even though she knows you don't love her."

Madame, who had finished stitching Éponine's wound, stepped back. "Oh, I do love her though."

The Thenardier daughter jumped to her feet. "No. If you did, you'd call. If you did, you'd have taken us with you. But of course, you're fed up with having a fucking kid clinging to your leg, aren't you? I'm sorry. Thank you, Mother."

In a rage, Éponine left the house and was grateful when she reached the City of Perpetual Winter.

The next day was her night off. Still, though, she went to Upper Earth. However, this time, she was dressed as herself, no makeup from her mother. Her clothes were her own, ripped and torn, made to fit a fourteen-year-old. A cap rested upon her head, hiding her scar.

Now, for some reason, her attention was caught by a tall wooden building, golden light radiating on the street below. Like a moth, Éponine darted to the front door. Her hand rested on the metal, hesitating before turning it and entering the warmth.

She decided she liked this type of warmth. It was unlike the screeching hot of the Underworld, friendlier and more welcome.

Her attention was caught by a number of voices laughing and joking. Quietly she ascended the stairs, until she stood before them. She sighed in relief when no one noticed her.

Éponine walked over to the back corner, sitting down in the shadow.

Suddenly multiple voices turned into only one. Her golden eyes searched for the one speaking, and found- none other than the man who had gotten her out of jail yesterday.

His eyes briefly skimmed over hers, before continuing his speech.

"Pssst!" hissed the voice of a young boy. Éponine froze.

"Gavroche?" she asked, without looking him in the eye.

"Yep!" he whispered, "The one and only!"

Without a moment of hesitation, she turned and wrapped him in a hug. "I haven't seen you in years!" she gasped.

"Not true. You've seen me plenty. I've been keepin' my eye on you, though."

Éponine laughed, and let him sit on her lap. She watched Enjolras over his shoulder. "Mademoiselle," he paused. "Only men are allowed in the Café."

She sneered at him. "Bitch please."

"Éponine!" exclaimed a voice that could only belong to Marius, the man she'd once been infatuated with.

Her head whipped around. "You recognised me? Well, bravo for you."

"How are you? Did you know Cosette and I were getting married?"

"Yes. Yes, I did Marius."

Éponine rolled her eyes. It was hard to miss in the newspapers people dropped at her and her family's door, rubbing their wealth in the Demon's faces.

She raised her eyes, and froze. Enjolras stood there, arms folded. "What are you doing here?"

A normal creature would've whimpered in fear. They would've run from the Café and never returned, terrified by the blue flames that flickered in Enjolras' eyes. Not Éponine, though. She was not afraid of him, or anyone. So, instead of running or screaming, she laughed in his face. "Pretty boy, what are you afraid of. It's cold out there, and it's a Café. So there'd probably be great booze." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

A man with curly, dark locks laughed. "There is!"

"You're not helping, Grantaire," hissed Enjolras.

Éponine tipped her head in defiance. It was as though she were a queen, a dark and terrible regality that possessed her. "Enjolras. You think I fear you. You think that just because I am a woman I will run from your meetings. But I do not fear you. So, go back to your speech, please."

"Éponine," he hissed.

"My presence is none of your concern."

In a huff, he walked back to the table, but being slightly distracted, his speech came out less fluently.

Éponine yawned, suddenly, and all eyes went across her. "Don't mind me," she smirked, "Just a little tired."

Anger flushed Enjolras' cheeks. He glanced around the room, at the people he called his men. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly. And even Grantaire could be considered one of his men.

Turning his attention back to her, he resumed his speech. "What they don't know is that people are in danger. Criminals in Upper Earth, demon pickpockets. Crime rates are higher than they've been in two centuries…" Somehow her apparent boredom had reenergised his speech, turning it into a living, breathing thing. But, as he mentioned demons, Éponine's hand flew up to her forehead.

A deep pain drove through her skull, beating inside her mind. She held the bridge of her nose. "Damn," she muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Do you need to keep interrupting me? At least show some gratitude."

Éponine raised her golden eyes. Her lips curled up in a smile, but it was uncertain and scared.

She pushed Gavroche gently off her lap. Rising to her feet she looked Enjolras dead in the eye. "Fuck you."

"No thank you."

The pain in her head ached more and more. Frowning, she set her lips.

"This isn't good," she whispered.

Gavroche glanced up at her. "Your head's hurting," he observed.

Reaching up, he grabbed her cap and yanked it off. With a little cry, Éponine snatched it back and put it on her head. "Any drugs for a headache. My stitches are hurting pretty bad. I… slipped and cut my head on the edge of a table."

She could feel the disbelief projecting from the men around her. Enjolras nodded. "Joly, get the first-aid."

Éponine sat down in the chair again, holding the bridge of her nose in her fingers, she made herself breathe slowly.

A few minutes later, Joly returned with a white bag. "Let me check your stitches."

Once again the cap was off, exposing the short line of stitches. "My Mom did the stitches."

"Not too well of a job."

"I'm not getting new stitches."

"Okay."

Somehow no one paid attention to Joly wrapping a white bandage around her head.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I owe you, Monsieur Joly."

Joly laughed. "I'm a medic. You don't owe me anything."

After his speech, as the men started to filter out of the house, Enjolras turned to Éponine. "Do you need me to drive you home?"

Éponine paused. "Uh… yes, please. But you don't need to. I can walk."

Enjolras shook his head gently. "There are more demons on the street than ever."

Éponine blushed. "They're not all bad," she whispered. "Like Gavroche."

"He's not a demon!" Enjolras exclaimed.

"I should know. He's my brother," she laughed. But then she stopped. Because she knew what that would mean for her. All colour drained from her face. "Oh god."

"That means… that means you are…"

"No. I'm not. Okay, maybe. Yes. But I'm not evil."

Enjolras shook his head gently. "Fucking Hell. What are you doing here? You know you could be executed for breaking the rules of border crossing."

Éponine nodded. "How could I forget? And I wanted to see the stars tonight."

Enjolras watched her closely. "You're brave."

"Not really."

"I'm still taking you home," he said.

Éponine bowed her head, hiding her face from view.

They left the Café, and Grantaire's voice rang out, woken from a drunken slumber. "Take care of him, Éponine!"

She turned around and flipped him off. "You take care of the alcohol for me!"

She could hear his deep chuckle as she got into Enjolras' car. However, it soon became apparent that they were nowhere near the Great Crater. But Éponine said nothing. She pressed on the window button and let the wind whip her face. "I've never been in an Upper Earth city that wasn't the City of Alexis."

"I'm taking you another way so no one sees us," Enjolras muttered.

After a few hours of silence, the car pulled to a stop. Éponine opened the door, but saw none of the sand that coated the ground near the Great Crater.

Éponine gave Enjolras a confused look, and then hopped out the car. There wasn't even a sound, only the whisper of the wind, threading itself through the grass. There were a few trees scattered over a grassy field, overlooking a large lake. The moonlight shimmered over the depths. Éponine went up to the summit of a small hill, on which the trees stood.

Enjolras followed her.

"Why did you bring me here?" Éponine asked. "I've done nothing for you."

Enjolras shrugged. "I fight for equality. I want Demons, Humans and Angels to be able to coexist. I want to be able to fulfil others' dreams. If I can't do that, I should at least do this."

Éponine watched the millions of stars that looked down upon her in silence. They gleamed. Then she tipped her head back and laughed. A raw, dark laughter that shook the mountains. "So, you're a Demon?" Enjolras then asked. There was nothing suspicious in his eyes.

The laughter died in Éponine's throat. "Unfortunately," she snarled. "And you can't judge me. You're a human. You have no idea what it's like to be a monster, what it's like to be feared. Even if you were an Angel, they wouldn't fear you, for you are inherently good."

He seemed to be battling some inner demon before he spoke again. "We're both freaks," he whispered.

"How are you a freak, other than your Revolutionary streak?"

Suddenly Enjolras grabbed a fistful of his own shirt. He pulled it over his head. Éponine's breath seemed to trip over itself.

Two white stumps on his shoulder blades. Two white stumps that should've formed into angel wings. He bowed his head in shame. "Even Angels can be terrible," he bit out.

Éponine decided not to ask about their origin. "Put your shirt back," she whispered, "They hurt you."

Enjolras snorted. "Who? The things on my back? They do not hurt me."

"If you say so-"

"They disgust me."

Enjolras slipped his shirt back on. He smiled at her then. "That went too deep for my liking."

Éponine shrugged. "I don't mind. I can forget if you like."

She chuckled. She let her legs fold underneath her, and she rested against the grass, her eyes were once again focused on what lay above her. "Highest Earth must have a wonderful view," she whispered to herself. Éponine almost reached out for the moon. She almost felt like spreading her wings and flying away to outer space. But to fly there would to be seen and gunned down.

Enjolras nodded. "They do. But they don't know what they have until they're exiled."

Éponine smiled at him not with pity, but with envy. "I'd gladly be kicked out of the Underworld if I could bring my sister."

"I had a brother as well."

"Had?" Éponine inquired.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped.

The Demoness would've usually reprimanded him, but within him she sensed a vulnerability that ran deep to his bones, shaking his mind.

Éponine's mind ran to her own brothers. She gnawed at her lip when she thought of the youngest two. With no idea of what had become of them, she kept her mind on other things. There was a dark silence in her mind. "Gavroche was keeping an eye on me the whole time. And I never knew."

Éponine's fingers played with the grass, pulling and tugging, knotting it. Despite the fact that she wanted to stay forever, the thought that she had to go home strained at her mind. Suddenly she got to her feet. "Goodbye, Enjolras. I'll see you soon?"

When she was met with no response, she faced the overhang. Dark wings burst from her back, leathery and dark. They created a silhouette against the moon. She was a truly awesome sight, terrifying and magnificent. "Yes, Enjolras," she said, "I am terrible, more terrible than you will ever be."

She fell forward, and he ran to the edge only to see the rocks parting around her body. And she had gone, as though she was never there at all.

All Enjolras could see for the next few hours was her, rocks moving like liquid, swallowing her whole, sparks flying as the claws on her wings grazed against the sides of the cavern. They flew into his face and they burnt slightly.

Enjolras frowned. He pushed his golden curls away from his face. As his car once again was driving on the tarmac road, he thought about her. He knew she probably wouldn't come back to the Café. But if she did, would he talk to her?

Even talking to a Demon was punishable by death. Or worse, torture. The High King, Valeus, was merciful for all except those that lived below. Even he was terrible. When the wheels of the red car finally stopped spinning outside his apartment, he stayed still for a bit, breathing deeply. Then he got out of the car. He walked calmly into the building. Due to his parents being part of the Aristocracy, they had given him something to live in. And it had been quite a fancy apartment when he'd first gotten it. His parents thought it would be the most shameful thing to live in something less than extravagant. But Enjolras had never been one to entertain their desire for perfection. He'd sold it all, and given the money to charity.

Now there was a twin bed with a bedside table, a couch, and a moderate-sized television. Other than that there was a kitchen, of course, in which he was decent at cooking, and a bathroom.

Enjolras, completely and utterly tired out by the day, still didn't go to his bed. He grabbed a book, on which the title had completely faded, the only visible thing on the cover being the author: Sébastion VeLeur.

Enjolras slipped under the covers of his bed and started reading about another dimension, full of talking gargoyles, and beautiful gypsies.

After a few minutes, he was too tired to function. Placing the book on the floor, he turned off his bedside light and fell asleep.

A little boy named Philip grins at Enjolras. Of course this is Philip Enjolras, so they are brothers. 'Big brother, I'm bored.'

With a half-hearted sigh, Enjolras takes Philip's hand in his own. "I'll take you to the horse yard. Jacobah will probably let us ride."

They are then in a stable made of marble. But they are already on their steeds. His is a horse stained chestnut, and his name is Rodriguez, and Philip's is a grey mare named Elexa.

Rodriguez trots into the corral, his golden bit clinking between his teeth. Enjolras canters him a few times in a circle, and then guides him to a jump. Rodriguez sails over the jump, and his hooves dig into the sand. Enjolras breathes gently. On a horse he is at ease. Suddenly, Rodriguez stops, ears back in nervousness. "Woah, boy," Enjolras whispers. He wheels Rodriguez around and guides him to the gate of the corral. "Your turn to warm up. Meet me in the paddock later," he tells Philip, and he opens the gate.

Rodriguez senses freedom and bucks. Enjolras mutters a harsh 'No,' under his breath. Rodriguez's hooves beat against the grass in a gallop. Enjolras grips Rodriguez's halter. In five minutes, they sail over the fence of the paddock. The other horses watch them. The rain from the night has made the grass green. But it makes the dirt turn into mud. Enjolras tightens his grip on the reins, giving Rodriguez a short rein.

Despite the shrill whinnies of the other horses, he can't hear anything except Rodriguez's breath coming in short wheezes. Suddenly the chestnut jolts to a stop. Uneasily, the stallion puts a hoof forward, into the mud. And he slips. Enjolras sails over Rodriguez's face, and the stallion rears, frightened by the lack of vision in his right eye. Thinking Enjolras is an enemy; he makes himself bigger than necessary.

Enjolras tries to roll over, but a hoof comes down- in the middle of his shoulder blades!

The picture fades into a hospital room. The doctor tells his parents that there'll need to be an amputation, but they should feel lucky that their son isn't a paraplegic. Enjolras does not feel lucky, as he is no longer a full-blooded Angel.

He catches a glimpse of a fancy apartment before he's back in the hospital and he's older. "But Angels don't get sick!'" his hysterical mother cries. "And they certainly don't die from it!"

"Unfortunately, this disease is tuberculosis, and something in your son has made him immune to the treatment. Unfortunately, your son is… gone."

Enjolras feels a hand on his shoulder. His head turns and he sees Éponine, standing before him. "What are you doing in my dream!" he cries.

"I don't know," she says. "I just wanted to say sorry. And thank you for letting me see the stars."

Enjolras feels tears gathering in his eyes. Éponine, smiling sadly, leans forward and presses her lips to Enjolras' forehead. "I know this doesn't help much," she whispers, "But carry on."

"Thank you, Éponine."

Enjolras' eyes flashed open and he rolled out of bed. "What the fuck!" he cried.

He got to his feet shakily. He was confused, and scared by this sudden appearance in his dreams. What did Éponine think she was doing, sneaking into them, into his memories, into the cracks? Why was she trying to make him feel better, kissing him on the forehead, and why, why could he still feel her lips tingling against his skin?

Nothing made sense.

Least of all her.

Enjolras arrived at the Café with no expectations. But there was the slight hope that a certain Demoness would be there. Not because he was attracted to her. It was a more pure thing. It was the fact that she was the only one who had ever seen his once-wings. The only one who actually knew what it was like to be an outcast.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so lonely.