17/4/13

Thanks for all the support and I am sorry about the wait. I have had so much work and have been in a generally foul mood these past few days!

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Sorry mate but you will have to wait until next chapter to find out about the bag!

Stagepageandscreen – Thanks a lot and I am sorry about the wait for this chapter

Sarahbob – I'm sorry but you will have to wait for the next chapter to find out about the bags contents, hope you still like this chapter though!

Juliet116 – Thanks mate and sorry for the feels overload!

Justme – Well what's the fun in that :) I would write before posting but I don't want to waste my time if no one likes it!

I apologise again that a lot of this is the same as WMAL but it needs to be for the plot continuation! I apologise profusely!

Chapter 8

When Grantaire awoke, the pounding in his head was three times as worse as before and his whole body was stiff from hours of non-movement. He tried to stretch out but his hands were securely handcuffed behind his back and to the post of the bed he was sat on. The heavy cast iron door creaked open and Grantaire moaned with the pain roaring through his head. An average prison warden stepped in confidently and shut the door after him. He heard the telltale click that told him it was locked again; that little click vanquished all thoughts of a dramatic break out. Not that a breakout would work anyway. It wold probably get them all killed. The warden held a plastic tray and sat down on a chair in front of Grantaire before placing it in front of him. "It would be much easier to eat without these," he stated clinking the metal handcuffs together.
"Those are to stop a repeat of last night's incident," the warden replied emotionlessly and picked up the glass of a clear liquid. To any unsuspecting person it would be seen as an average glass of water; but Grantaire knew and he held back a smile.
"Vodka, you have really out done yourself," The drunkard chuckled leaning forwards towards the precious liquid. The warden tipped it up into Grantaire's mouth and he gulped it greedily. The alcohol flowed through his veins; it was as if the plain glass of liquid brought the winecask back to life again. The warden held his finger to his lips and Grantaire nodded. "Thank you," he whispered as the pounding in his head was vanquished by the might of the alcohol. The warden nodded and proceeded to feed him all the dry bread that came on the plate. Grantaire wolfed it down finally realising that withdrawal and blood loss made you exceedingly hungry.

The warden had been gone for a while and Grantaire was working on the handcuffs. Most government issue handcuffs have a weak link and a bending point. It was just a matter of finding it. It wasn't that he wanted to break out or run; it was just that he wanted to make a point, and handcuffs are exceedingly painful to wear. He was working through the links when the door creaked open again this time with an incredibly less friendly face. "Morning Captain, your henchman seemed to have forgotten to remove these when he came in," Grantaire smiled, clinking the handcuffs together but the captain just glared at him. "What was that last night?" He snarled at Grantaire with hate oozing out go every cell in his body.
"Well I thought let's see how he reacts if I try to kill myself," Grantaire exclaimed, annoyed that he couldn't use his hands; comments like this always went better with hand gestures. "And my prediction was right," he smirked and received a punch the face for that answer.
"The handcuffs stay on," he murmured "And don't think of doing that again or I will be ending your life," he threatened and Grantaire was inclined to believe him.

"I need to ask you some more questions," the captain hissed about that story you told me yesterday. The one about your father," he exclaimed and Grantaire nodded he thought back and imagined it as if he was living through Enjolras' eyes.

The two boys ducked and dodged through the crowded streets of Paris. The young Enjolras and Combeferre had just finished at a meeting. Enjolras' mind was full of ideas and revolutionary thoughts. He had just met his idol; a man named Rene. Passion and joy radiated from him. That was soon to be crushed like an ant. "There you are!" Enjolras' dad roared from the other side of the road. The man had been abusing his son for months and Combeferre had finally convinced Enjolras to run. Enjolras spun around, his eyes wide with fear. Those eyes that, only moments ago, were wide with revolutionary passion. Combeferre also spun round instinctively. Combeferre panicked at the sight of Monsieur Enjolras and sprinted towards his house dragging Enjolras behind him. Enjolras followed close behind, his heart racing, both with anger and embarrassment. His father ran after them and grabbed Enj's other arm in a frantic attempt to stop them running. Enjolras yanked back, his eyes shining with anger, making him look wild. His father punched the young boy in the face before Combeferre could move him out of the way. Enjolras tumbled to the ground, unable to catch himself, a hand automatically going to his cheek where the fist made contact. Combeferre dived in front of Enjolras standing proud. "Get out of the way child," Enjolras' father hissed. Combeferre shook his head and was slapped across the face but he remained on his feet protecting Enjolras at all costs.

"Shut up runt!" Enjolras' father shouted kicking Combeferre in the stomach. Combeferre feel to the floor obviously in pain. Enjolras pulled Combeferre back, shoving him towards the house. "Get out of here!" he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I am not leaving you!" Combeferre wheezed. Enjolras' father grabbed Enjolras on the wrist, and pulled the boy towards him. "Get out of here," Enjolras growled again, his voice rising, his eyes flashing as he was dragged towards his father. "No!" Combeferre shouted pulling Enjolras away from his alcoholic father. Enjolras' father just pulled his son back and pushed Combeferre hard onto his back. His head banged against the floor and his eyes rolled into his skull. "Combeferre!" Enjolras cried, racing to his friend's side, shaking him. "Combeferre, please!" He turned to his father, boiling with rage. "You monster!" he roared, attacking him with all the might he had. Enjolras' father grabbed Enjolras by the hair and pulled him away from Combeferre who was rolling over groaning with a concussion. Enjolras winced at the grasp, trying to yank back. "Let go of me," he roared, trying to get to his friend. "No you are coming home with me," his father snarled lifting Enjolras over his shoulder. Enjolras struggled and fought against his father, finally ripping free and tumbling to the ground, his head hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud, where he lay unconscious. Enjolras' father picked up the unconscious boy and carried him back home. Combeferre awoke with severe dizziness but still stumbled over to Enjolras' house banging on the door as blood trailed down the back of his neck. He sunk down, leaning on the door.

Courfeyrac desperately wanted to know what was in the bag. He had run across the city with that bag' he needed to know what was in it. As he had got most of the buttons undone someone thumped on the door. "Police! Open up!" a gruff voice yelled through the thin wood. Combeferre grabbed the bag sliding it under the bed and threw the blanket over Enjolras. Courfeyrac jumped with a panicked adrenaline and helped the struggling Enjolras lie down under the blanket. The police couldn't know he was here. That would blow them right out of the water; Grantaire's sacrifice would all be nothing.

"Courf, lie next to him. They can't know he is here," Combeferre insisted in hushed tones. Courfeyrac nodded and slid gently under the blanket she he was as close to Enjolras as possible without them actually touching each other. He didn't want to hurt Enjolras. He was still weak and it was obvious how much his wounds pained him; no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it still shone through. Enjolras was panting from even the small movement that they had hurried in their rush to hide him. Courfeyrac tried to calm his breathing and he gently held Enjolras' hand; partially to reassure Enjolras and partially to reassure himself that everything would be alright.

Courfeyrac could hear Combeferre open the door. "Evening officers, can I help you?" he asked. "Sorry for not responding quicker I was in the bath," Combeferre apologised. Courfeyrac tensed wanting to jump out and kill that man for what the police had done to Enjolras and was inevitably doing to Grantaire as they spoke.

"Are you Monsieur Combeferre?" the guard asked.

"Have I done something wrong?" Combeferre asked. "Or is this about Ricard?" he enquired knowing full well it would defiantly be about Enjolras.

"It is about your brother Ricard Enjolras may I come in?" the captain asked.

"I'm sorry but can we do this elsewhere I have a sick friend in there and would rather not disturb him," Combeferre lied. Courfeyrac picked up on his hint and pretended to cough from under the blanket. Enjolras coughed as well but, by the pained look on his face, he wasn't pretending. "See I'm the doctor for my group of friends so they come to me when sick," Combeferre explained.

"Would you care to come with me down to the bastille? You are not in any trouble we just need to ask you some questions to help with our enquires," the captain insisted and Combeferre walked out proudly locking the door after him. Courfeyrac heard the lock click signifying they were both gone. He slowly slid out of the bed and pulled the blanket off Enjolras' head.

"Will he be alright?" Enjolras wheezed as Courfeyrac helped his back up again.

"Combeferre's strong, he will be fine I am sure," Courfeyrac reassured him.

"He better be," Enjolras stated as he leant back and closed his eyes.