19/4/13

So I hope that prologue was enough to perk your interests because here is part two!

The song sung in his chapter is a famous French revolutionary song called Ah ca ira (It'll be okay)

Enjoy! Things start to get a bit messier now

Thanks for my one reviewer! Review if you want this to continue guys … if no one likes I will stop

EmmaLaird – Thanks so much! I really hope you like this chapter

Chapter 1

Day 1: 2:50pm

Enjolras looked at his pocket watch as he ran. It was just coming up to three o'clock where the first injury would be occurring. He suddenly felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of Combeferre being hurt because of his rash actions. He threw up at the side of the road due to the horror. Eventually, Enjolras arrived at the Musian panting practically falling in the door. "Jolras? Are you alight?" Joly asked from his seat by the door.

"Everyone!" he shouted and the café fell eerily silent waiting for some inspirational speech from their passionate leader. "Go home! There will be no more meetings here!" he shouted and the silence thickened even more. Everyone was sat there gawping at him in utter disbelief.

"Enj are you ill or something?" Courfeyrac asked stepping towards him.

"I am fine! Go home!" he ordered and slowly his followers trickled out of the Musian into the humid heat until only the core amis remained behind. "You guys as well. The revolution is over," he ordered, still reeling in shock.

"Julien you are not thinking straight," Courfeyrac insisted taking hold of Enjolras' arm. Enjolras viciously pulled it out of Courfeyrac's grip.

"No I am thinking straighter than I ever have been. Grantaire is right this is a waste of time. I'm just going to get you all killed or hurt!" he exclaimed.

"Where's Combeferre when you need him," Marius murmured standing up. A sob stopped in Enjolras' throat at the mention of Combeferre's name.

"Enj, you look sick," Jehan mumbled almost pleading with Enjolras through a single look. Enjolras feel his heart break in two but he had to do this for Combeferre.

"I am not sick, or tired, or insane. The revolution is not worth it!" he screamed and was thrown backwards as Bahorel smacked him round the jaw. His head thumped against the floor and the world went black.

Day 1: 5pm

Blood trickled down the side of his face from a battered temple. Combeferre blinked awake slowly as footsteps echoed towards him. He was sat on a solid oak chair in the centre of a bare room. Whenever he tried to move and inch, all four limbs were secured firmly in place. Handcuffs restrained his arms behind his back and thick rope made sure the revolutionary couldn't move his feet. There were only two things of note in the room; a small window that was securely bared from the outside and a massive clock that was directly in his eye line. His situation had been explained in great length and he hoped with all his heart Enjolras would not succumb to the threats. The revolution was more than just one man. The footsteps grew louder as his captor grew closer. It was five; time for take two. The door clicked open and the captain strolled in as it was locked behind him. "Did you have a nice rest kiddo?" he chuckled and Combeferre responded with an expressionless stare. He would not let this man win. "Ah ca ira, ca ira, ca ira," he mumbled through the pain.

"What was that?" the captain asked patronisingly.

"Les aristocrates a la lanterne!" he whispered with a smile. The captain glared daggers and slapped Combeferre across the face.

"Stupid revolutionary boys!" he snarled but regained composure. "Just thought you would like to know, little Enjolras is doing exactly like I instructed him to but not quick enough for your sake," he chuckled drawing out the knife he had been threatening Combeferre with last 'session'. Combeferre kept his breathing level and steady even in front of the knife and sadistic cop. "One cut per two hours," he smiled and ran the knife agonisingly slowly, about half an inch deep, down the side of Combeferre's neck. Combeferre bit back the cry of pain but his head began to grow heavy and his thoughts woozy as the hot liquid ran down his chest. The last thing he heard was the footsteps and laugh of the captain.

Day 1: 6pm

"Jolras … Enjy!" a voice called to him through the fog.

"I'm sorry alright! I didn't mean to knock him out, just knock some sense into him," another voice shouted but everything was muffled by the pressing fog.

"Wake up Enjy," the voice called but everything was getting clearer for him. Unfortunately, as things became clearer, so did the skull raking pain. Enjolras groaned slowly lifting his head.

"What happened?" he groaned, holding his pounding head in his trembling hands; he could only remember come to the Musain to stop the revolution then all was blank.

"You came in spouting nonsense and Bahorel punched you to knock some sense into you. You've been out cold for three hours," Joly explained from his place knelt in front of Enjolras. Enjolras jumped to his feet in horror.

"Three hours!" he exclaimed in a panicked frenzy. He had wasted three hours; Combeferre had been hurt again in that time. He had to get to work, this could wait no longer; he had to save his best friend. Actually Combeferre was more than his best friend; Combeferre was his big brother, his guide.

"Enj sit down we think you are ill," Joly said softly.

"I am not ill! I am fine but the revolution needs to end!" he shouted while tearing posters off the walls. Combeferre had already been in the hands of that maniac for over three hours. Three hours too long.

"Julien Enjolras sit down now!" Courfeyrac ordered pushing him onto the seat. Enjolras desperately struggled against him but the other man was too strong.

"It needs to stop!" Enjolras shouted at them, his eyes were a maelstrom of frenzied emotions. He wanted to pour out everything to his closest friends but the words kept on swirling round his head; If you try and tell anyone of our deal or show anyone this message then you will not see him again … alive!. Courfeyrac produced some hand cuffs from his pocket; Enjolras gawped, surely they wouldn't. Courfeyrac wouldn't dare try and handcuff him. He did dare; he cuffed Enjolras to a pipe at the side of the room. Who knows why Courfeyrac had handcuffs but no one was asking any questions.

"Explain Enjolras!" Courfeyrac insisted and they all watched him expectantly.

"I can't!" he shouted in despair while struggling against the cuff.

Day 1: 11pm

The chimes from the overly sized clock woke Combeferre from his pain induced sleep. Eleven o'clock, strike four; it was starting to take its toll on his strength. These people knew what they were doing. They knew exactly where to cut to make it hurt the most but not kill him. Combeferre's body was coated in a dry layer of blood and the three cuts already made stood out a brilliant crimson against his pale skin. Every breath was an effort but he knew there was more to come. Combeferre's eyes drifted slowly shut but he would not be able to remain that way for long. A frozen bucket of water was splashed over his entire body causing a gasp of shock to slide past his usually stoic facade. "Wakey, wakey," he chuckled and Combeferre panted shivering from the cold. At least some of the blood washed off down a drain in the corner of the cell. "Eleven now. Your friends are a lot more stubborn than I expected. Oh well at least I get to play with you more now," he grinned and Combeferre tried to remain emotionless. !"

"Ah ca ira, ca ira, ca ira. Les aristocrates on les pendra!" Combeferre chuckled to irritate the guard further. He pulled out the same knife as the two times previously. The knife tore through his shirt and it was discarded on the floor. The captain flipped his knife casually and held it to Combeferre's cheek. "Nah, I don't want to hurt that pretty young face of yours," he chuckled and instead ran the knife slowly the side of his stomach. It didn't touch any major organs but still sent shooting pain up his chest every time he tried to breathe. "Night, night sweetheart. See you at one," he smiled and the door thumped shut behind him. Blood dripped from his wound and Combeferre shivered as he fell asleep.

Day 2: 8am

"Monsieur Combeferre," a voice called out to him through his uneasy sleep. The voice was certainly not what he expected; to being with, it was a she. Combeferre pushed his exhausted eyes open. In front of him stood a relatively short and thin girl, probably about his age. She was nothing spectacular or noticeable but she brought a slightly relief in this time of pain. She smiled slightly at him and brought a chair over to sit in front of him. "I am here to give you your meal and clean some of this horrible blood away," she explained and Combeferre nodded weakly; he was trying with all his might to keep his head and body straight despite the pain inflicted upon him.

She picked up the tray and Combeferre's stomach replied with a growl. He hadn't eaten in a day and the blood loss hadn't helped at all with his increasing hunger. Slowly and methodically, the girl managed to feed him half a bowl of broth and a slice of bread before he felt incredibly sick. "I'm going to put something on your cuts that will sting to begin with but will help with the pain," she explained and Combeferre nodded weakly again. She brought comfort in this room; it felt good to have someone who actually cared about him in this dreaded place. Her hands trembled slightly as she dabbed the liquid on Combeferre's cuts; Combeferre smiled the best he could and it succeeded in reassuring her. She was right, it did sting when she applied the medicine but slowly it soothed the pain that had been plaguing him. "Thank you," he muttered closing his eyes again.

"You're welcome monsieur," she smiled softly. "I am not supposed to be doing this but … your friends they aren't giving up on the revolution," she whispered and Combeferre nodded.

"Vive la France," he whispered.

Day 2: 1pm
They clicked and Enjolras cheered. He had been working on the handcuffs ever since he woke up from the drug induced sleep the others had put him in. Finally they clicked open and Enjolras jumped to his feet. All the rest of the amis were out rallying and making apologies for Enjolras' behaviour. They had to be stopped. He only knew of one person that could help him stop this revolution. The famous cynic; the winecask they always rejected. Grantaire. If anyone would help him stop a revolution, it was the man who hated the revolution. He ran out into the afternoon heat and ran on autopilot to Grantaire's small flat. As he ran, he found himself automatically clutching the blood-stained note in his trembling hands. He knew the way to Grantaire's apartment off by heart and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The drunkard had to help him; he just had to. He was the only one that would even consider it. He was terrified for Combeferre. His best friend had been in the hands of that maniac for almost a day now and had been hurt every two hours. He must feel so deserted now; I'm trying Lucien, I really am!

Enjolras usually tried to avoid Grantaire's apartment building at all costs; it was a hive for crocks, rapists, whores and other unsavoury individuals. Enjolras hurried through to Grantaire's dingy little apartment and thumped as hard as he could on the door. He breathing was incredibly ragged and he leant against the wall trying to catch his breath.

"Looking for some fun sweetie," a whore chuckled from the shadows cast by a door frame.

"N-no … I'm looking for Grantaire," he stated while trying to hide his nerves created by being in a place such as this.

"What would a pretty thing like you want with the winerat … he ain't even working tonight?" the whore asked stepping closer to Enjolras. He breathed deeply trying to ignore the comments she made about Grantaire's profession. The whore stepped closer running her finger round Enjolras' collar and widening it slightly. "I can think of my more fun people you could associate yourself with than him," she giggled as Enjolras tried to step away. For every step he took away, she stepped closer. The whore ran her tongue across her teeth and reached to grab him round the waist.

"Adele back off!" Grantaire shouted from the now open door.

"Come on Taire you always get the good toys," she pouted dramatically.

"Get lost Adele!" he insisted and she backed off enough for Enjolras to dart behind Grantaire. "If anyone comes asking for me, leave them the fuck alone of I will beat your face in!" he shouted.

"Love you too Taire," she giggled and he just rolled his eyes, slamming the door.

"What do you want Enjolras?" he asked grumpily, picking up the nearest bottle to the door.

"I need your help," Enjolras admitted and the bottle Grantaire was holding nearly hit the floor.

"You, the mighty god Apollo, want my, the worthless drunkard's, help? Maybe the others are right, maybe you are ill," he gawped.

"Don't rub it in R!" He exclaimed, still clutching the tattered note in his trembling hands.

"I hear you have been swayed to the dark side," Grantaire stated plainly, avoiding Enjolras' eyes, and Enjolras nodded.

"I need the revolution over … as quickly as possible," he sighed while trying not to wince at his words.

"What is wrong Apollo?" Grantaire asked finally looking up at him. Enjolras looked nothing like the marble statue he usually was. Dark shadows lined his eyes and they were slightly bloodshot. His skin took on pastiness that was at least two shades lighter than its usual hue.

"Nothing is wrong I have just come to my senses!" he snapped back at Grantaire. The trembling was what worried him the most; Enjolras' hands were shaking noticeably and he could not stand still at all.

"Correct me if I am wrong but I believe it will have something to do with this," Grantaire replied, suddenly pulling the note out of Enjolras' fidgeting fingers. Enjolras dived forwards frantically, needing to get the note back from Grantaire; if he read it then Combeferre was dead.