"Oh, god..." The girl kept saying, as she finally collapsed by her body. She did not weep, which Grantaire found impressive.
"Miss..." He mumbled, trying to gain her attention.
"Are you an angel?" She asked, looking up at him.
Grantaire couldn't help but laugh. "No... Dear, god."
Then he remembered. Enjolras - he'd been in the crowd. Grantaire stood up and tried to push through the crowd, finding another little ring of people. He pushed himself in towards the center and stumbled on top of a breathing body.
"Enjolras." Grantaire whispered. He looked around, as though someone would help. Everyone in the crowd stood back, their faces blank. They were willing to watch a man die rather than get their hands dirty.
"Do something!" He called, looking around at the blank faces. It was futile, Grantaire knew, none of them could hear him.
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later and Enjolras was whisked away. Grantaire boarded, taking a seat towards the front. He watched impatiently, as though he expected them to fix Enjolras on the ride there.
One of the medics, a boy called Combeferre by his team, managed to slow the bleeding. He seemed terribly calm, talking to Enjolras and asking for him to listen to his voice.
"Can you hear me?" He asked. "I need you to stay awake." There was a soothing essence to his voice, yet it also commanded.
When they got to the hospital, Enjolras was unloaded and Grantaire kept close to the cot. His mind became static, the memory of his own death too close to comfort. He had to take a step back, finding a bench on the far side of the hospital. Surely there would be surgery and Enjolras would make a speedy recovery. That had to happen, any other solution wouldn't be much of a solution at all.