A/N: I love everyone that's reviewed and faved and followed this like omg u guys it means so much to me. I haven't even got many but the ones that are there are just willing me to go on with the story. You WILL get ur Enjonine my babies dnt u worry a pretty little hair on any of ur heads
Éponine didn't wake for a whole day. A whole 24 hours she was unconscious, but of course, it was to be expected. Cosette often sat by her side for the better part of most hours during, cooling her forehead with a damp cloth.
She happened to be there when Éponine first opened her eyes, and she grinned in delight.
"Éponine!" She whispered, but the excitement was evident in her hushed tone.
Éponine's eyes were still trying to adjust to the light, and she realised that she recognised the voice. She turned her head, her face screwed up in pain, confusion, and slight annoyance at this overexcited being. She blinked once, twice, three times, and then her eyebrows shot up.
"Cosette?" She whispered, her voice raspy. "What am I…?" She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut in pain at the thumping in her head.
"You were shot." Cosette said matter-of-factly, standing up from her chair.
"Yeah, could have guessed that myself in all honesty. What am I doing here? Why are you looking after me?"
Cosette smiled as she soaked the cloth in more cold water. She wrung it out as she spoke.
"My father said he found you, half dead on the paving stones by the Luxembourg Gardens. Said you must have dragged yourself from a place behind the barricade. Or maybe from in between the barricade and the guards. He said he didn't know."
Éponine shifted uncomfortably. These people could be arrested for harbouring a supporter of the uprising, let alone someone who was partaking in it.
"But don't worry." Cosette smiled at Éponine, bringing the cloth to her head. "Father said that whichever one it was, there would be no judgement passed on our behalf, and that we would be safe from the Law if no one spoke about it, and you healed quickly." Éponine blew out a breath, and settled back down into the pillows, wincing at the pain.
"Why have you done this for me, Cosette? I was nothing but cruel to you when we were young. You would have right to cast me out onto the streets, and leave me to die!" It made Éponine uncomfortable to see such kindness towards her from a person she had once been horrible to.
"I do not care much for the past, Éponine. I follow the righteous path of the Lord above, and He tells us that forward is the way to go." Éponine eyed Cosette warily, still not fully understanding. She had never been much of a religious believer herself, so that was probably why she didn't get it. Sometimes she attended Mass, usually on Sundays but really whenever she reminded herself that she should probably go. It was more to keep some faith, that there was the idea that there was someone still watching over her. But the older she got, the less and less she believed.
Cosette smiled at her. "Are you hungry?" She asked, folding the cloth and hanging it over the bowl. Éponine shook her head slightly. The pain in her shoulder and hand were winning over the hunger pains in her stomach, but Cosette carried on out the door. "Well, you should eat anyway. I'll imagine you've not eaten for a while. It'll help speed up the healing process."
Éponine didn't actually want Cosette to leave, but she was too stubborn to call out. The truth of it all was that she hadn't properly thought about everything in any of her conscious moments. It had been niggling at the back of her mind, but Cosette had been an excellent form of blocking it out, distracting her from it. But now, she'd left to make something to eat for them both, and now Éponine sat in a deafening silence, filled with nothing but painful thoughts and memories of the days past.
The image of her little brother beside her, dead. The thought of all of her friends being dead, and having no one left in the world apart from her sickening parents and her father's gang of street rats. She had no knowledge of what had happened after her 'death', and for this she let her head hang. How many had suffered? How many were now dead, undeservingly, as she lived?
She remembered the bodies laying all around her. Each one with that horrible, glassy look in their eyes, reminding her of their everlasting death.
All of those charming men, her friends. Grantaire, Bahorel, Marius, Joly… Actually, now that she came to think about it, she didn't remember seeing Marius' body. Or Enjolras' for that matter, and she would have known if he was there. The bright jacket he was wearing that night, anyone could spot him in a crowd of millions.
Were they still alive? No, it was impossible.
Well, she was still alive, wasn't she?
No, it was definitely impossible. Without a doubt. Enjolras would never let his friends die and then run from the spawn of his ideals. And being such good friends with him, Marius would never do it either.
Éponine became aware of the tears that were wetting her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand so Cosette would not see them.
"Éponine, is soup alright?" Cosette popped her head around the doorframe. I'd rather you start on fluid foods instead of solid, it'd probably be better for you. Madame Lapointe says you need meat for health but for now I'd think-"
"Is Marius alive?" Éponine blurted out, knowing that Cosette would have an answer. She was bound to. Éponine remembered the amount of times she had passed letters between the two, so it was inevitable that Cosette would know if he were dead or alive.
Cosette stepped further into the room, and clasped her hands together.
"Marius Pontmercy?" She asked, clarifying that they knew the same one. When Éponine nodded, she raised her eyebrows slightly. "How do you know him? And how do you know that I'd have any clue as to his demise?"
Éponine looked down at her hand, all bandaged and deformed. That was for him, she'd taken these wounds for him, and it could have all been for nothing if he was dead now. If only she could have taken a few more for him, and for Gavroche, and Enjolras, and Jehan Prouvaire, and Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, and Grantaire, and-
"Éponine?" Cosette urged, and Éponine looked up at her.
"Sorry. Um, he was my friend." She replied, and shrugged her shoulder, the uninjured one. "And he never stopped talking about you, ever. His friends would often get annoyed because you would distract him from Patria and her needs and Les Amis de L'ABC couldn't have that. No woman was allowed to drag a man from his duties to his country, in their eyes." Éponine smiled to herself as she said this, remembering how their friends would chide Marius for drifting into daydreams about Cosette all the time.
Cosette smiled and blushed, looking at the floor.
"Yes, Éponine. He is alive. He was taken to his grandfather's, Monsieur Gillenormand, and it is there he is being taken care of. He must have recovered rather quickly, because I received a letter from him this morning actually, informing me of his whereabouts and his current state." She was grinning to herself, swinging her body around gently like a lovestruck little girl. But Éponine ignored it, and tears began to fall freely from her eyes. Marius was alive and well, recovering safely.
"Did he know whether anyone else had survived?" She asked, and Cosette looked at her.
"He didn't mention it, but I could ask in my next letter if you'd like? Or you could wait until he's well enough to visit." But Éponine wanted to know as soon as possible.
"Please, if you would, ask in your next letter. I need to know." Cosette nodded, and left Éponine with her thoughts again.
It took a few days for Éponine to tone down the grimacing every time she sat up or leaned too hard on one of her injuries. She had grown a little more independent, and by the end of her fourth day at Cosette's house, she was getting up out of bed, and walking around the house.
Dr. Marchand had encouraged her to get exercise, and said he would come along to clean her wounds every four days until they got better.
On the fifth day of her stay, Marius came to visit, complete with his arm in a sling like Éponine, and a walking stick.
Éponine had not been so excited to see someone in her life. It wasn't even because of feelings that she still harboured for him, and she knew that without a doubt. She jumped up, ignoring the pain searing through her right shoulder, and hugged him with one arm as tightly as she could, recieving the same warmth back.
"'Ponine," He whispered her nickname with a friendly fondness she knew she would have gone mad without. "I'm so glad you're alive."
For the first half hour of his visit, they sat and cried with each other, mourning the loss of their friends. They had already spent most of their tears in days earlier, especially Marius, who had less to occupy his mind than Éponine, but the sight of each other being alive brought up emotions again that could produce tears in a heartbeat. Cosette was heartbroken for her lover and her friend as they sat, letting out more and more salty tears.
When they had finished, she sat down at the end of Éponine's bed. Marius had taken up the chair by the bedside, the one which she usually sat in, but she didn't mind for the moment.
"'Ponine?" Marius asked, and Éponine looked up at him. "Was there… something going on between you and Enjolras?" More tears sprang up in her eyes, but she dropped her head before anyone could see them.
"What makes you think that?" She asked in reply, keeping her head down.
Marius sighed, and began twirling his walking cane in his hand.
"I suppose it's the way he spoke about you. When you died. Or, when everyone thought you had died. And then, he fought with such vigor afterwards, with such a vengeful demeanor."
Éponine smiled at this.
"Win it for me." She had said, her last words to him. And her little bourgeois soldier had tried his hardest. He had tried to make her proud, and that he had done. He had fought fearlessly and tried his best to win, and any such effort was worth a thousand commendations.
It physically hurt Éponine to think of Enjolras dying. Alone, taking his last breath, with a Guardsman probably standing over him, holding his bayonet to his chest. She was making it worse for herself, imagining all of this, and now she had started fully crying, her shoulders shaking with her gentle sobs. Cosette reached for her leg and squeezed it in a comforting way through the duvet, running her hand up and down it a few times.
It took around a week and a half to pull Enjolras out of his fever-induced coma. It wasn't necessarily a coma, but he was definitely asleep more than he was awake. And when he did wake, he was delirious, not knowing who Joly was, or remembering any of the events that had happened in the past days.
But when he did finally wake, normally and of his own accord, he began to remember things.
First, he remembered Joly.
"Joly, where are we?" He asked, looking around the strange room, lit dimly by two large candles, decorated by religious ornaments.
"Do you know your name, my friend?" Joly asked warily, standing up from his chair.
"Antoine Enjolras…" The blonde haired boy was confused at his friend's odd behaviour. "Why am I in so much pain?" He groaned to himself, noting that breathing was difficult.
"You are in a convent, Enjolras. You have been wounded to an almost fatal point."
Then, he remembered the bloodbath.
"What? How? I -" He stopped himself, and his eyes widened. Suddenly, everything was coming back to him. The battle, the guns, the injuries, the deaths, his own death. But why was he still here?
He didn't care. He didn't want to be here. He was sure he had died alongside all of his friends, but now he was alive while they were dead? There was nothing just about that. He had led his friends to their death but he didn't even join them. No, he wasn't even gracious enough to die for them, for his cause.
"Why did you save me?" He asked Joly, tears falling down the sides of his face as he stared up at the ceiling. Joly seemed taken aback. "Why?!" Enjolras shouted, his face reddening. Joly frowned, sitting back down next to him.
"I had to, Enjolras. I had to. It's my duty as a doctor to preserve life. I wasn't going to let my friend die!" He reasoned.
"I did! I let my friends die, so why couldn't you?" Enjolras spat, not wanting to look Joly in the eye.
"Enjolras. We all knew what we were getting into. There wasn't one person in Les Amis that didn't believe anything was going to play out in full. We all knew that there would be a day that would boast death for a lot of people, and we fought on with you still."
Enjolras was silent after this. He closed his eyes in his stubbornness, and lay as though he were dead himself. It was the least he could do, for his fallen comrades.
"I'll get you something to eat." Joly stood up once more and made his way to the door.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need your sustenance."
"I don't care for sustenance."
"And I don't care for your childish stubbornness." Joly warned, and Enjolras kept quiet. He had to remember that Joly had also lost his friends, and had gone out of his way to look after Enjolras in all the hours he had been unconscious. Or days. He didn't actually know how long he'd been out.
Joly left the room, and Enjolras was glad of some time to himself now, although it came with the haunting of his friends in his mind. Yet, there were still some blanks. He only remembered his death and the death of his fellow revolutionaries. The smell of gunpowder and blood was still fresh in his nose. The shots ringing through his ears, the look of life leaving everybody's eyes.
But everything before that was blank. And he willed and willed himself to remember, but he couldn't.
He refused to let Joly tell him what happened. He would only let him jog his memory slightly, but he wouldn't let him fill in all of the blanks. That was his job only, considering it was already disrespectful enough of him to not even die like the rest of his friends for his country, let alone forget everything that happened.
Joly tried to assure him that it was normal that he had lost some of his memory. After all, he had probably fell hard to the floor after being shot, receiving some trauma to his head resulting in some memory loss. He was adamant that it would return with time and that Enjolras shouldn't force it, but Enjolras could do nothing but force it. He couldn't lay there and wait for his own memory to return. These things were important, these were things that needed to be remembered.
"What happened after the first battle? Against the guards? Don't tell me the whole story - just what happened exactly afterwards. Jog my memory." Enjolras had asked Joly one afternoon, after being able to sit himself up in bed without too much pain.
"Well," Joly sat down in the chair, and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "The wounded were being tended to, and everyone was looking for you. You'd disappeared, and we weren't sure if you'd been killed, or injured, or taken hostage by the Guardsmen." He sat back again, waving his hands slightly as he talked. "But then, you stood up, from behind some sign with a skinny bundle in your arms. It was Éponine. Made some speech that inspired us to go on. I can't quite recall the words you said. Remember anything?"
There was a frown etched across Enjolras' face.
"Who's Éponine?"
A/N: So... I guess that the story's title is kind of ironic now isn't it