Hello, fellow miserable(s) people! I apologize for not updating in a while. My muse has somehow jumped out of the window in the night and run off to Paris without me. *Sigh* Well, looks like a have a new muse! So… I'm back. Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated! (Hint-hint.) I now officially ship 'Ponine X 'Parnasse. Because I'm cool like that. Also… the artist of the picture this story is based on drew another picture similar to it. She came up with the song title and idea, and I wrote it. So… you may not use it without m' permission. Let's see… it has no specific tune.

*Tips top hat*

My Sincerest Regards,

-Almost Novi

XXX

Enjolras, why can't you Care? (We Died Together)

I believed in nothing.

In my life, all I saw was darkness and despair.

And then… came you.

A fire that raged through my life.

Explosions of your voice screaming:"Revolution!"

I believed in nothing…

But then I believed in you.

Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?

We died together.

And you were all I believed in.

When I was tainted beyond comprehension,

You pulled me from the depths of Hell.

Without you, I would not be on this Earth.

I owe you my life, Apollo.

Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?

We died together.

I held your hand and shivered

As the guns pointed at us

I felt the bullets rip through me,

And my last sight was you,

Nailed to the wall

My Apollo.

Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?

We died together!

Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?

We died together…

XXX

Being a member of the living dead was odd. He still had thoughts and feelings, and he could speak… albeit with a little slur – and since he was drunk half the time, slurring wasn't abnormal – but still, it was odd. There were some small differences such as the slur and the slight limp he walked with, and then there were major ones: his skin had turned blue, his eyes were bleeding, and his chest was stained a rusty red. He still had all of his hair though, so at least he wasn't some balding corpse. He briefly wondered if Lesgle, the unlucky fool, has turned into one of the living dead as well. Then he would be a balding corpse, whether he liked it or not. Grantaire barked out a laugh. It sounded dry and forced.

"N-noble leader," he addressed the blonde at his left. "Ap-pollo…" He realized that even in death, he had his skeletal-looking fingers wrapped about a bottle of absinthe. He sighed and dropped it. It clattered on the ground, but didn't break.

Enjolras didn't spare Grantaire a second glance. He croaked, "Vive la république!" as well as he could.

Grantaire felt like crying. He had died with the blonde for God's sake, and here the man was ignoring him! For whatever reason, he had been brought back from the peaceful slumber of death to hobble around, following Enjolras like an adoring puppy, just as he had in life. There had to be some reason for this, though. Some divine reason, Grantaire thought sarcastically. If there was a God, He'd let me die in peace, alone and worm-eaten. Or maybe, if He was merciful and forgiving, He'd let me live in Heaven with Enjolras. Of course I'm a more likely candidate for Hell, but a cynic can dream, can't he? Undead Grantaire was snapped out of his thoughts by the woman on his right.

She was dressed in ragged clothing, with her trademark beige hat and men's overcoat. "M-M-M," she stammered, not used to the undead body and the stutter that came with it. "M-M-M'sieur Marius," she stuttered in a gravelly voice, and pointed her blue hand over to where Monsieur and Madame Pontmercy were currently clutching each other and shivering with fear.

"Indeed," Enjolras confirmed, his speech now smooth and flawless. He had gotten used to the form of the undead – along with all of its flaws and quirks – long before Grantaire or Eponine. At the rate Eponine was going, it didn't appear that she would learn anytime soon.

Grantaire sighed with anger. Even in death, Enjolras could adapt to any situation with the ease and grace of a god. "Ap-pollo," Grantaire tried again, doing his best not to stutter.

Undead Enjolras finally turned to look at Grantaire. His empty eye sockets burned with impatience. "Quickly, mon ivrogne," he rasped.

"It s-seems that your v-v-voice rasps when you are an-an-annoyed," Grantaire teased.

Enjolras's face softened a bit, and he wiped the blood from his cheeks. "I am not annoyed," he said. "Simply baffled. After all, I've been resurrected. And you as well! There must be some reason for this!"

Grantaire felt his heart skip a beat. Or… he would have if he had had a working heart. "A r-reason?"

"We've been brought back to avenge Patria!"

"Are you joking," Grantaire said flatly. He didn't stutter or groan this time, but his eyeballs seemed to leak out more blood with his annoyance. He growled; a truly undead noise.

Enjolras took no notice. Now he looked over to Eponine. She looked confused and out of place… even lonely. Her long, stringy black hair hung limply at her thin shoulders. She was so undernourished and skinny that the large coat practically enveloped her. She tugged the newsie cap lower over her snarled hair and sighed, her empty eye sockets looking for all the world depressed and world-weary. "Eponine," Enjolras said gently. He knew of her love for the Pontmercy chap; everyone with eyes did. Ironic, considering the fact I appear not to have any eyes, the blonde revolutionary thought. At least I can see, he added to himself. See, Enjolras? God did give you a gift with this afterlife! You can see, you have all of your hair – he cared very much about his hair – and you can now fight for Patria! A tiny voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispered: And maybe you will treat 'Tare better. Maybe you will show him how you feel.

Enjolras shut down that voice very fast.

He turned back to Eponine. Though he didn't exactly know how to talk to women, he did know that comforting the lower class citizens was a civic duty that he must perform. He staggered over to her and patted her shoulder. "Cheer up," he said with a light smile. (This didn't cheer 'Ponine, as the face the smile was on had no eyes and was oozing blood out of the empty holes where the eyes should be.) He wrapped a comforting arm around her (the most awkward and uncomfortable motion the beautiful youth had ever done) and said, "I know you love Pontmercy, 'Ponine. But look at the chap, girl. He is a married man with the love of his life. Look at the way they hold each other. Tell me, 'Ponine… did you ever think he really loved you?" he asked gently.

"In death," 'Ponine rasped. "In death."

XXX

Cosette buried her head in her husband's shoulder. "Marius," she whimpered. "They… they're just standing there!"

Marius tightened his arms around Cosette. "They're… conversing," he murmured.

Cosette looked up from Marius's shoulder. "What… conversing?" she repeated.

Marius gestured over to the three members of the undead. Enjolras, or had been Enjolras, had his hand on the former 'Ponine's shoulder and was trying his best to look comforting. The former Grantaire was off to the side, sporting a scowl and looking like a pouting child. Marius cocked his head. "This is… very odd," he said.

Cosette snapped out of her fear-induced stupor. Here were three blue-skinned members of the living dead, standing just one hundred yards away from her. These three… beings… had died violent, painful deaths for a cause that only one out of the three had believed in. The cynic had obviously chosen to die with Enjolras because of his unsurpassable devotion. 'Ponine had saved Marius's life. And here they were again, conversing like normal people.

"Should we… approach them?" Cosette risked asking.

Marius considered. The undead didn't seem to be presenting danger, per se, and seeing at least some of his dead companions might lift his guilt. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around Cosette and they began shuffling forward slowly. The small blonde woman found herself unafraid, while the sandy-brunette boy found himself very apprehensive; excited yet nervous. It was almost as if it were a dream.

"Grantaire? Enjolras? 'Ponine?" Marius said slowly. "Is it really you?"

Eponine shrugged out from under Enjolras's arm. She wiped the blood from her eyes with the hem of her sleeve and smiled. She bobbed her head in greeting. "M'sieur Marius," she acknowledged. She turned to Cosette. "Madame Cosette," she said gently.

And suddenly Marius had lunged forward and enveloped Eponine in an embrace. He hugged the dead gamin for all he was worth, nearly cracking her ribs. "Oh, 'Ponine, 'Ponine," he repeated over and over. "Oh, I'm so sorry, my 'Ponine."

Eponine was utterly shocked. Here Marius was… hugging her. And calling her his. And apologizing. And that was when she felt some sort of divine transformation within her unbeating heart. Marius would never love her. He never had, and he never would. She had found his beloved when no one else could have, and she had died saving his life. Without that, Cosette would have never found her husband, and Marius would be among the dead. She had sacrificed her happiness, her very life, and still Marius would never love her. But it wasn't because she was some dirty gamin, as she had previously thought. It was because his heart belonged to another. He will never feel this way, she thought, and gently pushed his back. "I m-made my choice," Eponine said confidently. "I regret nothing."

And that was when a certain black-haired dandy came along and ruined everything.

Well, that was that! Spring break is winding down. DX I'll try to get in another update for some story. I don't think I'll continue this one unless I get more reviews though. I dunno.