5/6/13

Thanks for the support and I am glad people seem to like this

EmmaLaird – Yeah … I wouldn't advise hugging him

TotaltotheMax – Thanks, I am feeling better and my exams are almost over … so soon you may get updates out of boredom!

Gavroche T – Thanks a lot and hope you like this one as much!

Chapter 4

The next time Combeferre weakly opened his battered eyes; he was back in his apartment. He let out a spluttering sigh of relief which woke up his protective bodyguard. "Luce, thank god you're awake," Enjolras exclaimed and Combeferre flinched slightly. Combeferre did know what had gotten into him; but everything reminded him of those days in the cell. Even the comforting voice of his best friend made him panic unnecessarily. In every shadow, their presence lingered; in every whisper of wind were their laughing taunts. "Useless! Just a little crying child, how can this one fight in a revolution,he can't even defend himself against one man," the wind insulted him and his mind frantically fought again the seeds of panic that were growing at an alarming rate.

Usually after occurrences such as this, the subject would be withdrawn and nervous. Well, that's at least what Joly had said when he had finally been able to tell the amis what had happened. Enjolras had hated lying to them all but thankfully they had forgiven him in an instant. Courfeyrac and Jehan were running the meetings in Enjolras and Combeferre's absence and for once the revolutionary wasn't concerned about the revolution at all. His only concern was the weak, slightly trembling boy in front of him. Anyway, Joly has said that Combeferre would not want any contact for weeks due to it bringing back memories. That was why Enjolras was shocked when Combeferre spontaneously threw his scarred arms round Enjolras' chest and pressed himself as close as he could. Enjolras froze; stiff and tense, unsure of what was right to do in this situation. Grantaire remained stood in the doorway almost as shocked as Enjolras was. Enjolras' mind was made up when Combeferre started shaking and sobbing into his chest. Despite what all the medical books said, Combeferre needed his brother's affection; so Enjolras softly hugged him and played with his blood stained hair.

Once Combeferre had finished with his outburst, Enjolras prised the trembling man off his chest. Combeferre had his eyes squeezed shut and tears were gathering underneath on his dark bags. Tears continued to fall silently and Enjolras just sat by his side giving him all the time he needed. Once the tears had stopped falling, Combeferre remained in a sort of weak daze. Enjolras tried to get him talking but a slow shake or nod of the head was all he could get from the stone figure. He helped Combeferre weakly to his feet, with a slight nod to Grantaire. The cynic had hired himself as Enjolras and Combeferre's bodyguard until all this was over. People said that he didn't care about anything but that was untrue; nothing mattered more to him than his friends, and he would gladly give his live for them. They had run a bath earlier and it had cooled down enough for Combeferre's sensitive skin to be comfortable. Combeferre dragged his weak feet, leaning on Enjolras to take the weight off his shattered ankle. Joly had promised him that everything would heal with rest and time, but the ankle still worried Enjolras greatly.

He sat Combeferre in the tin bathtub and felt bile rise in his throat at all the blood and grime that immediately rose to the surface. Combeferre seemed completely oblivious to the state of his bath water; he just sat hunched over and stared at the bare wall. He had not uttered a single word since they had found him in that cell. But Joly had also said this would happen; he would just have to wait. Gently, with the softest cloth he could find, Enjolras began to clear away the wounds caked in blood. Joly was coming back later to treat them; he said there was nothing he could do until Combeferre was awake. Every time he touched one of the plethora of cuts, Combeferre flinched away and Enjolras winced as the guilt hit him full on again. This was all his fault; it was all his fault his elder brother had been hurt like this. And he would never forgive himself.

It was a slow and tedious process but Enjolras went about it with patience that he hardly ever displayed. Soon all the dirt and blood was out window and Combeferre was wrapped in a fluffy towel, trembling as he sat on the bed. Enjolras had hold of Combeferre's hand after helping him from the bathroom and Combeferre was gripping it with all his strength. Combeferre needed clothes to replace the ones he had lost on the cell but as soon as Enjolras managed to prise his hand out of Combeferre's iron grip, Combeferre choked on a sob and frantically clutched at Enjolras' shirt. When Enjolras freed his shirt, Combeferre eyes frantically darted around and panic spread throughout his body. He wrapped his trembling arms around his knees and started rocking backwards and forwards on the bed with his eyes clenched shut. Enjolras dived back next to him and took hold of his shaking hand once more. Combeferre stopped rocking and curled up leaning on Enjolras; he was instantly soothed by the blonde's presence. Enjolras tenderly massaged his palm and Combeferre's tense expression softened.

A few moments later Grantaire returned with clothes for the naked man and Joly in tow. Enjolras had sent their faithful and surprisingly sober bodyguard to get the clothes and the doctor as every time he tried to leave Combeferre, the man broke down. Grantaire had explained all this to Joly on their way over so as he treated Combeferre's copious quantity of wounds, he made sure that Combeferre was always in contact with his younger brother. Combeferre drifted into an uneasy sleep leaning on Enjolras just after Joly had finished treating him. "His wounds will heal with time but his mental state is what I would be more concerned about," he sighed and Enjolras nodded solemnly.

"Do you know why he doesn't want me to let go of him?" Enjolras asked, gently stroking Combeferre's hair in a repetitive motion.

"I am not absolutely sure. But I believe it is that he was with you when he was kidnapped and you were the one to rescue him. When you last left, all this happened; so he doesn't want you to leave in fear that this will happen again," Joly explained as tears gathered in Enjolras' usually cold eyes.

Joly had left hours ago and Combeferre was curled up, still latched onto Enjolras' hand. But the revolutionary could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, images of Combeferre in pain assaulted his senses until his eyes snapped open again with tears gathering. Enjolras had always been marble; whenever people would usually cry Enjolras was stoic. He had seen death and experienced pain but a tear had never fallen. Some people would say he was subtly optimistic; it was true to did enjoy seeing the best in people and always seeing the best in a situation. This was too much; there was no good side and that was why the tears poured freely down his porcelain cheeks. Grantaire sat in a chair by the door staring into the distance, but his new revolver remained loaded and ready in his hand. He was taking no chances.

Grantaire watched the pair with an eagle eyed awareness. He was nowhere near his usual drunken stupor but what Enjolras didn't know was that he was not sober either. It was a common misconception that if Grantaire was sober then his mind would be clear. Actually when he was sober he was actually more delirious than drunk. The time you needed to talk to Grantaire or the coherency you needed him to be at was after one or two glasses of wine; as soon as a normal person would be turning tipsy was when he was at his best. And he needed to be at his best. He knew that neither of those thugs will be returning, he had made sure of that, but the Surete had infinite resources. This time they would not be caught unaware. Enjolras didn't know what had happened once he had carried Combeferre's limp body out of the cell. Enjolras wouldn't want to know what happened as soon as that door had swung shut. Grantaire sat there thinking to himself until Enjolras broke the awkward silence that had fallen upon them. "Taire, what did you do to the two guards?" Enjolras asked and Grantaire froze. The drunkard was suddenly fixated with a certain patch on the floor as Enjolras asked the one question he didn't want to answer. "And the Surete…" he began before Grantaire's voice echoed over his.

"No! ... Just..don't ask 'Pollo, I can't. I'm sorry," he mumbled with his head hanging limply in his slightly trembling hands. "Actually to hell am I sorry!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. However suddenly the moment was lost and he soothed his voice for fear of waking the pained man. Grantaire sunk back into the chair as his resolve faltered. "Just don't ask Enjolras, I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, staring at the same plain patch of floor. He couldn't look into Enjolras' eyes after what he did; he was sorry for it, but they had it coming.

Grantaire distracted the thugs and their leader while Enjolras made a run for it carrying Combeferre. Rage burned through his veins and his mind was clouded with a blood red haze. Enjolras was always against killing; of course when the barricades arrived he would kill but before then he did not want people to die. And apart from Bahorel, the rest of the amis could not kill in cold blood. Grantaire had killed for lesser crimes than this; these villains would not be shown any mercy. Grantaire stopped running abruptly and spun on his heels. He darted into another room like the one Combeferre had been held in, leading the thugs and their leader after him. He kicked the door shut, effectively locking all four in a room together. He drew his double revolvers that he had got from suspicious sources. They were a new invention and he found them so useful as you didn't need to reload after a shot. "Put down your weapons or I shoot!" he threatened with his trigger finger twitching. He wanted to kill them so badly.

Neither thug made a move to lower their own pistols and they looked on the verge of shooting. "One more chance," he growled but the captain just laughed almost manically.

"Kill him," he snarled but was instantly silenced by a bullet to the throat and another one to the heart. Blood spurted from his neck and seeped through this shirt as he crumpled onto the floor, his eyes still wide open in shock. Both men stood gawping at their fallen leader before both weapons clattered on the rough stone floor. Grantaire smirked and kicked the weapons away from them with his two still leveled at their heads.

"Now on your knees," he ordered, cocking the guns with a skilled ease.

"No way! You won't shoot," one of them taunted. "You would have killed us by now if you were gonna," he laughed and the other one nodded. Without a second thought, a bullet ripped through the air and tore through the cocky one's kneecap. He fell to the floor onto his knees screaming in pain. The second one instantly sunk to his knees, fearing the same treatment.
"Good boys," Grantaire teased with a sadistic smile, circling around them both. "Now," he began while pulling out his pocket watch. "You have thirty seconds to make peace with the gods and beg for my forgiveness and your lives," he stated and both men began to panic. They never imagined this little job would end in merciless bloodshed.
"Why are you doing this?" The uninjured one, who Grantaire had nicknamed Dum, cried out at him.
"Because you hurt my friend, and while I would love to do to you what you did to him, I really don't have the time," he sighed. "And it would be irresponsible, of me to leave you alive to do that to other people," he added as an afterthought.
"Please have mercy," the other one, Dummer, called out but Grantaire just laughed.
"If you knew me, then you would know that hurting my friends is a very bad idea, unfortunately you will not live to learn from the mistake," he smirked and after a slight pause, he shot both men in the centre of the forehead. Their limp bodies collapsed forwards onto the floor and blood seeped into a pool around their bodies. "Lesson learned," he murmured as he left the room in his wake.

Every shadow was a body, every noise meant they were coming to get him; every movement was them preparing to hurt him. This was paranoia to the extreme. He had never been the worried type. Combeferre, the doctor and philosopher, was the type to take whatever the world threw at him and not worry of what was going to come. But now everything reminded him of those scarring five days that would be forever ingrained on his mind. He needed Enjolras; his fractured mind seemed to believe that if Enjolras was there everything was fine, if Enjolras left him then bad things would happen. That was all his mind could rationalise so when Enjolras tried to leave panic overcame everything as he desperately fought to make his anchor stay. Thankfully Enjolras did not leave his side all the way through the night and he was a soothing presence as the night terrors tore what remained of his sanity to shreds.