A/n: Ugh this was hard to write. I have a pretty clear vision of where this is going and I'm kidding myself if I think this is really only going to be seven chapters! I'm a little nervous, as typically Enjolras is responsible and Grantaire is the embarrassing drunk. I'm switching those roles completely in this story, while trying to keep them in character, and this is really hard! Please let me know how I'm doing!
Eponine sat, for as many hours in a row as the hospital staff would let her, at Courfeyrac's bedside. She became tangled in this group in a strange way. She and Marius attended the same high school, and were dating when they started freshman year of college. It ended mutually, but it was still a little weird when Marius started dating Eponine's roommate Cosette (whose father insisted she spend her freshman year in the dorms to "get the college experience") a few months later.
The girls managed to stay friends despite the weird history thing, and Marius' peculiar assortment of friends ended up accepting both of them anyway.
So here she was, with Courfeyrac. Marius originally roomed with Courfeyrac, and Eponine knew Marius well enough to know that he couldn't see him like this. Cosette sometimes came to keep Eponine company here, but it was hard for her, too. Eponine was the most…comfortable…with painful situations.
It was awfully painful to see the typically animated Courfeyrac sprawled unnaturally on the harsh white linen of the hospital bed, the beeping of a machine the only indication that he was alive. If you wanted to consider being in a coma being alive.
Eponine did not take the news of their friends particularly well. She was closest with Marius and Courfeyrac, but she was happy to know that at least Enjolras and Grantaire were unharmed…at least physically. She hadn't seen either of them since the accident since she urged them not to come to the hospital. They wouldn't want to see their once-dynamic friend looking like this.
"You have a hell of a spirit, you better snap out of this soon," she said to him. She liked to think that he could hear her. Eponine was wearing a black dress and tights with heels, all dressed up to go to the viewing. She had kicked her shoes off and was curled at the foot of the bed, mindlessly flicking through the limited TV stations the hospital had to offer.
She heard her phone buzz from her purse, and she sighed, supposing that she should probably head to the funeral home. It was Grantaire asking her to please hurry. Instead of the typical two viewings, the funeral home was just keeping one long viewing as a matter of convenience, and Eponine was not looking forward to the debacle. She assumed there would be hundreds of their fellow students there, people who barely knew her friends who had died, but who would show up just for the drama.
Certainly someone would get drunk and make a scene, she figured, probably some freshman who'd hooked up with one of the guys in a frat house her first weekend at school, looking for some pity. Unfortunately, Eponine could not have been further off about who would be causing the scene this time.
As she arrived at the funeral home, she immediately spotted Grantaire standing outside, chain smoking (probably) a pack of Camels.
"Look at you, all fancied up," she teased. Grantaire handed her a cigarette and lit it for her. "Thanks."
Without even waiting for her to ask, Grantaire offered, "Enjolras and I kind of had a fight. A kind of bad one." He leaned against the brick wall, dragging a hand through his messy black hair.
Eponine leaned next to him. "I have a feeling Enjolras isn't taking this well." Grantaire shook his head. "Well, not that any of us really are. We're all going to be pretty fucked up, probably forever. I just don't think Enjolras has really had anything near this bad happen to him before."
Enjolras was an only child to rich parents who spoiled him until he was old enough to realize how privileged he was. His extreme activist habits led to a somewhat strained relationship with them, but really he had a charmed life. He was dangerously handsome, and charismatic enough to make almost anyone believe every word he said. He was smart, and studious, and generally had his shit together.
Which, Grantaire assumed, was why he was acting so unlike himself. "I guess I can understand that, but he's actually blaming me for us not dying. He's pissed off at me because I got us kicked off of the ride and denied him his chance at a glorious death."
"To be fair, Enjolras probably thinks this accident is going to cause an overhaul of the amusement park industry and safety standards," Eponine remarked. She put out her cigarette on the side of the building. "We should go inside."
Grantaire followed suit. He wasn't even drunk, as Enjolras had pissed him off so badly that he'd driven straight to the funeral home after leaving his apartment. "I just don't understand why he's taking it out on me. I'd do literally anything for him and he says he would rather be dead."
"That's pretty fucking harsh," Eponine admitted. "But this reminds me of this quote thing I read. It was something about loving people when they're really hard to love, because that's when they need it most."
Grantaire blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyes. They walked arm in arm into the funeral home's viewing room. There were actually three rooms, usually separated by privacy screens, but the screens were taken down to make one large room holding six caskets and a macabre spread of pictures and memorials. He scanned the room for Enjolras, but he didn't see the giveaway blonde locks anywhere.
The next hour passed in a blur. Eponine and Grantaire met up with Marius and Cosette, who also had not seen Enjolras. They briefly discussed Courfeyrac, and sorely missed his company. Eponine was kind of right, there were an absolute ton of people there she recognized from classes but who she had never seen studying with her friends at the café or drinking with them at their favorite bar.
She hugged her friends' parents, cried at each of the caskets, and lovingly kissed the cold foreheads. Worst of all was Bahorel, whose forehead she couldn't kiss. His casket was closed. Eponine knelt at his casket anyway, her tears falling faster as the echo of his distinctive laugh rang somewhere in her memory.
Seeing the young laid to eternal rest is among the most painful experiences in the world.
Finally, Enjolras walked into the funeral home. Stumbled, actually, would be a more appropriate word. "Oh fuck," Grantaire whispered. Enjolras was clearly wasted, trashed, shitfaced, blitzed, bombed, blasted, bent…any combination of these applied to him. Eponine ran to him before Grantaire could.
"Alright, everyone, let's have a toast!" Enjolras slurred as he made his way to the front of the room. Not everyone heard him, but those around him stared at him disapprovingly.
"Enjolras!" hissed Eponine. She grabbed his arm, which he promptly wrenched from her grasp. "You idiot, you're being really disrespectful, let's go."
"NO Eponine," he replied. He leaned against a podium. Combeferre's mother approached warily.
"Enjolras, honey, maybe you should go with Eponine," she started to say. Enjolras' bitter laugh cut her off.
"No, no, no, you know where I should have gone? You know where? I should have gone on that goddamn roller coaster with the rest of these fuckers!"
Eponine gasped. She wasn't the only one.
"Grantaire! Get your ass up here so everyone can see us! The lucky survivors! How fucking lucky we are!"
Marius and Cosette stood with Grantaire on the far side of the room. It was impossible to tell who was the most shocked. They had spent the better part of the last three years together and none of them had ever seen Enjolras behave like this. He was the picture of decorum and class, except maybe when he was getting in trouble for starting a protest or something like that.
Something in Grantaire snapped. He was usually good-natured, if sarcastic, even with the ever-present alcohol in his system. He was witty and sharp. He and Enjolras had admittedly had a strange relationship over the past few years, slowly becoming friends despite bickering like an old married couple. Grantaire couldn't resist stirring the coals when Enjolras became too fired up about something, but this always worked for them.
For the first time, Grantaire felt that Enjolras had gone too far. He stalked to the podium, where Enjolras was continuing to babble the most horrible word vomit. Grantaire cursed at himself for leaving Enjolras alone with the bottle of moonshine. He briefly wondered what state he would find his apartment in. These and a million other thoughts crossed his mind in the few seconds it took him to reach his drunk friend.
With no hesitation, Grantaire drew a fist back and connected it with Enjolras' face. The blonde crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.