Warning: Descriptions of injuries and blood

Five

Reactions

Éponine took great pleasure in how loudly the kitchen door slammed shut behind her. The rest of her aggression and pent up anger was taken out on the floor beneath her feet as she stormed away.

She felt within herself and brought her other side to the surface. She could hear the snarling and feel the raking of sharp nails in her chest, desperate to get out and scratch and destroy, but she forced it down and instead began to scent. She needed Combeferre – she needed his calm voice, his sensible words, but more than that she needed to make sure that he was okay too.

She picked up his scent and followed it. It was familiar to her; the plain, clean scent of soap beneath the slightly stronger smell of Bahorel's cooking. It wasn't long before she found him, resting his back against a wall with his hands braced on his knees, breathing hard through his mouth.

"I can still taste it," he murmured. When he raised his head, she saw that his eyes were glowing purple and his fangs had grown, sticking awkwardly over his bottom lip, so large she wasn't sure he'd be able to close his mouth.

Before Éponine had come to live with them, her exposure to vampires was minimal. Vampires, as a rule, generally lived in the human world and rarely ventured into the demon realm. The reason for this was very simple – most demon's blood was toxic to vampires so their primary food sources were human blood and animals, so it was more of a practical matter than anything else. So it still surprised Éponine, sometimes, when she saw Combeferre's true nature. Normally, he was so quiet and soft-spoken and sensible, and it was hard to pair that side of him with the snarling, fierce monster he could become when he scented fresh human blood.

She had been told that a lot of vampires who denied themselves fresh human blood couldn't help but let their vampire sides come out when exposed to blood. Combeferre drank mainly pig's blood and occasionally bags of human blood that Bossuet managed to smuggle in, but it was never, ever fresh blood. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him be exposed to human blood before – she'd seen this side of him a couple of times but usually as an instinctive defensive response.

Seeing him now, shaking and trying to rein himself in, she couldn't help but resent Cosette even more for her presence.

"I knew having a human around was a stupid idea," Éponine ground out in response, rushing forwards and taking him by the arm. "Let's get you down to the training rooms, that should be far enough away."

"This isn't Cosette's fault," Combeferre said, letting himself be led. "It's not her fault."

"She should be more careful," Éponine sniped.

"Éponine, please. She couldn't have known..." The more they walked, the more Combeferre seemed able to walk without help. She looked at his face, and saw that his eyes were returning to their normal warm brown colour and his fangs were slowly getting smaller.

"Well, she still got the better end of the deal," Éponine muttered, scratching at her arms. She could feel the fur rippling beneath her flesh, wanting to take over.

"How so?" Combeferre was frowning at her, and she felt her cheeks flush with the burn of his clear disappointment in her.

"She got Marius fawning all over her," Éponine answered despite herself, hating the way her words were dripping with disgust. She dug her nails in harder as the itching got worse.

Combeferre sighed. "No one can help their feelings, Éponine," he pointed out. "And it's not all bad...yet."

Éponine ran her hand further up her arm towards her shoulder. Her joints were beginning to ache, a dull, sickening, maddening pain that she knew wouldn't shift. Still, she began to rub in circles, letting her fingertips press hard into her skin.

"You need to go for a run," Combeferre said. "This situation is getting to you. You need to relax."

"I spoke to Bossuet before," Éponine said, flexing her fingers. "We were going to go for one tomorrow."

"Make it tonight," Combeferre instructed. "The last thing any of us need is you losing your temper."

"I can control myself better than that, thanks," Éponine scowled, even as the raking in her chest intensified and was joined by growls and whining.

Combeferre's eyebrows flicked upwards in disbelief. His footsteps were slowing down. "I think I'm all right now," he said. "Thank you for walking with me."

She waved a hand. "No problem."

His fangs were almost completely back to their normal size now, and his eyes were back to brown. He looked down at her with an inscrutable look in those eyes. He cleared his throat. "I mean it, Éponine," he said. "Go for a run tonight. That's not a request."

She pulled a face. "It's really not as bad as you think," she lied, her jaw beginning to ache.

He almost rolled his eyes – she could tell that's what he had been about to do before he caught himself.

"Éponine, you're a werewolf, not a martyr," he said. "Just as I have to drink blood even though it sickens me to do so, and Bossuet has to fly every so often, shifting shape and running is part of your nature and it helps you feel better. You need to."

She scowled and aimed a light punch at his arm. "I'm not a werewolf," she said. "That's such a human term."

"Fine, you're a shape shifting demon," Combeferre replied, the corner of his mouth tucking upwards. "And I'll remind you of this the next time you go to refer to me as a 'vampire'."

"All right then, bloodsucking demon," she said, rolling her eyes. The pressure and ache in her jaw alleviated slightly as her mind accepted the fact she needed to shift soon, and the raking within calmed slightly as her wolf accepted she was getting what she wanted.

"I'm going to go and speak to Enjolras," Combeferre said, gesturing to the opening of the corridor they were stood outside. "Go and speak to Bossuet now. And please, avoid Cosette until you've shifted. For both your sakes."

He gave her a very pointed look, turned on his heel, and walked away.

OOO

Dinner that evening was a very sombre affair. The incident with the knife seemed to have put a dampener on everyone's moods, even Courfeyrac's, and Cosette had never wanted to be as far away as possible from a single place before.

The only good thing was Grantaire's presence. He had turned up not long after Éponine had stormed out, and had been filled in on what had happened by Bahorel. He alone seemed unbothered by everything – that was, until everything seemed to get the better of him and he burst out with, "Can you please cheer up, Cosette?"

Although the question was directed at her, and no one else, all the demons in the room looked up at Grantaire. He, however, was firmly fixed on Cosette.

She felt her eyebrows twitch upwards in response to her friend's request, and she shrugged. She stared down at her plate of food, and pushed some of it around with her fork. Her thumb throbbed from beneath the bandage that Joly had put on for her, a reminder of the events of earlier evening, the guilt she felt for having distressed Combeferre and the anxiousness over what she possibly could have done to upset Éponine.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

"No, you're not," he sighed, and in that moment it felt like they might be the only two people in the room. He set down his fork. "Do you want to go and talk about it?"

She mimicked his action and put down both her knife and fork at the same time. "I'm...I'm not feeling particularly hungry," she said, quietly, sliding off her stool. She flapped a hand at the plate of mostly untouched food. "I'll...I'll clean that up later."

Then she hurried out of the kitchen, pointedly avoiding everyone's gaze. She squeezed Grantaire's shoulder as she passed him.

"Do you want company?" he asked, snagging her wrist.

"No," she said, her throat closing up slightly as more images of Éponine's face as she stomped out of the kitchen flashed before her eyes. Pulling away from him, she shoved through the door and into the corridor, just wanting to be alone.

She managed to keep a reign on her feelings until she was inside hers and Grantaire's room, when she threw herself face down onto the bed. Then the tears fell heavy and fast and she couldn't bring herself to stop them. She hadn't cried quite like this since arriving in this place and now every mixed up, strange feeling she had about being here was rushing out.

She didn't even know why she was here – none of them seemed to – and she was bored and she missed home and she was sick of how awkward Éponine was being with her, sick of second guessing everything, sick of how alien this world was for her. And she was frustrated with the fact that not even Grantaire's presence was making her feel better. Grantaire, who had been a permanent fixture in her life for years; Grantaire, who was like her older brother; Grantaire, who she trusted with her life; Grantaire, who had never failed to put a smile on her face before.

She didn't want him to see her cry, because she wasn't sure how he would react if he did. She had a strong feeling that he was close to a breakdown himself and she wasn't sure if she could pull him through that either.

What she needed was her father. She hadn't been away from him for this long in years, and neither had Grantaire, really. Her father was such a solid, reliable, and strong presence in both of their lives; she always felt like she could make it through anything that life threw at her as long as she had her father by her side.

And now he wasn't there, to reassure her that everything was all right, to reassure her that she was not the problem, and to reassure her that she was going to get out of here alive. Because she would, if her father was with her; there could be no other possible outcome – that was the amount of faith she had in her father's ability to get them through everything. That was what he did, after all. Adopting her, an orphaned, unloved child, and raising her as his own; taking Grantaire, drunk, damaged Grantaire off the streets and giving him a home and clothes and a reason to live; running his charities, donating to other ones, helping anyone who needed it.

Her father saved people, even if he insisted that was an overstatement. Cosette could list people that her father had saved. And that was why she needed him now, because at that very moment she felt like she was drowning and had no one to drag her out of the water.

OOO

"Is she going to be okay?" It was Jehan who spoke first after Cosette's departure from the kitchen, and his tone was concerned. Grantaire looked towards him; the auburn-haired man was worrying his lower lip with his teeth, and staring at the door.

Grantaire shrugged. "Probably. It's Cosette. She's had a lot of shit thrown at her in her life, and Éponine..." He paused as he tried to think of a way to say what he meant without coming across as mean. Then he thought of the uncharacteristic waver in Cosette's voice as she spoke to him and thought, fuck it. "I suppose Éponine isn't quite as bad as the people who made Cosette's life hell when she was a child, but she's not too far off behaving in that way. I think she'll be able to handle it because, as I said, it's not yet as bad as it could be. But if it gets worse..." He trailed off.

Silence met his words, and then Enjolras spoke. "What do you mean? What is Éponine even doing?"

Grantaire turned towards the blond man, who had also set aside his knife and fork and was staring at Grantaire with one eyebrow raised.

"She's making things uncomfortable," Grantaire said. "Please don't tell me you're so oblivious that you didn't notice?"

"I don't see how she's doing that," Enjolras said. "Maybe Cosette is just feeling a bit sensitive."

"Cosette is being sensitive?" Grantaire snorted. "Yeah, right."

Enjolras leaned forward, and it might have been Grantaire's imagination but every other demon around the table edged backwards. "What is that supposed to imply?"

"Look, even though you seem to think otherwise, I am not stupid," Grantaire said. "And unlike you, I'm not oblivious. I've seen the way Éponine can glare and snap at Cosette and then she's okay with everybody else. It's not hard to see that she doesn't like Cosette –"

"She's –" Enjolras tried to cut in, but Grantaire raised one hand for silence.

"No, let me finish," he said, sharply. "I've also observed how fucking nice Éponine gets around Marius. It's like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and she isn't like that with anybody else but him. Sorry, Marius, if that makes you feel uncomfortable but it's true. And with the fact that Cosette is the only other girl in this place, I don't think it's difficult to work out that Éponine might be a little bit jealous. And is possibly overreacting just a little bit, especially considering that all that has happened so far is that Marius and Cosette get on with each other. It's hardly worth the dirty looks that Éponine gives Cosette whenever they're in the same room."

"Éponine has been through a lot," Enjolras said, his tone just as sharp as Grantaire's had been.

Grantaire shrugged. "So has Cosette. That's no excuse to be a shitty person."

"Are you calling Éponine a shitty person?" Enjolras' cheeks were flushed.

"I'm more thinking that her behaviour towards Cosette is very shitty," he said. "And I told you, when I first arrived here, that my number one priority is Cosette and always will be Cosette. And if Éponine keeps on with that shitty behaviour I am going to defend Cosette because that's what I do, okay? This situation is hard on Cosette. I don't think any of you realise just how close she is to her father. They're practically each other's lives. I'd hate to see how he is dealing with this. And Éponine's behaviour isn't fucking helping, Enjolras, so stop shaking your head. You don't like what I'm saying because you know it's true."

"I just think you might be overreacting," he said, with a little sniff that made Grantaire want to throw himself over the table and break Enjolras' nose.

Grantaire snorted. "This isn't me overreacting," he said. "Me overreacting would be hunting down Éponine and dragging her by her hair to apologise to Cosette and forcing her to promise at gunpoint that she'll be nicer to Cosette in future. Which I will do, if the pettiness doesn't stop."

"Right, stop it, you two," Courfeyrac cut in, his tone weary. "I get it. Éponine is our friend and we all care about her, and we're all starting to care about Cosette too. This isn't worth arguing about. I'll have a word with Éponine myself and see if I can get her to ease up, okay?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Grantaire said, jumping off his stool. "Now, I'm going to go and see if Cosette is okay. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

OOO

Later on, Courfeyrac was lying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and drumming out a rhythm on his stomach with his fingers.

He was distracted by the soft sound of a sigh, coming from across the room, where Jehan was curled up on the armchair in the corner, dragging a brush through the same patch of deep orange hair in a way that told Courfeyrac he wasn't really focused on what he was doing.

"What's up?" Courfeyrac said, tucking his hands beneath his head.

Jehan didn't reply. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and stretched his body, a deep groan issuing from his chest, and then he swung his legs off the bed and stood. He padded across the room until he was stood in front of Jehan. He put a hand over Jehan's, easing the hairbrush out of his hand and tossing the brush to one side.

He now had Jehan's attention. Jehan was still chewing on his lower lip – he had been ever since dinner, and now the pink flesh was more of an angry shade of red and Courfeyrac suspected it was bleeding a little.

Courfeyrac sighed, and touched his fingers against Jehan's cheek. "Stop worrying so much," he murmured.

"I just..." Jehan frowned and now sucked on his lower lip before speaking again. "I hate it."

Courfeyrac tightened his grip on Jehan's hand and gently tugged him out of the armchair. "I know," he said, towing Jehan towards the bed. He flopped down on it himself and pulled Jehan down onto his lap. "But it's not really our problem, is it?"

"I just don't like arguing," Jehan said. "I hated the way Grantaire and Enjolras were talking to each other. And Cosette...Did you see her face? I mean, I had noticed how Éponine looks at her sometimes, but I hadn't realised...Oh, I just want to go and see Cosette and make sure she's okay."

But Jehan made no effort to actually move off Courfeyrac's lap; instead, he wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac's neck and pressed his face into Courfeyrac's neck.

"I'm sure she's fine," Courfeyrac said, trying to keep his voice soothing. "She has Grantaire."

"I know," Jehan mumbled. "I just..."

"Stop worrying." Courfeyrac pressed his mouth against the other man's auburn hair. "You can see her tomorrow."

"And I feel bad for Éponine," Jehan continued, raising head and looking as if he hadn't realised that Courfeyrac was speaking at all. "Because it's not her fault she loves Marius – or her fault that Marius seems to have his eye on Cosette..."

"He does, doesn't he," Courfeyrac mused. "I wonder if it's reciprocated?"

"Hmm," Jehan said, now resting his chin on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "It would be sweet. But still, Éponine...Oh, and then there's the whole..."

"Jehan," Courfeyrac said, easing backwards onto the bed. Jehan didn't follow, but their hands ended up linked, their legs still tangled together somewhat. "I know you're worried about our friends..."

Jehan was chewing his lower lip again. "I just want them to be happy."

"I know," Courfeyrac said, rubbing circles on the back of Jehan's hand with his thumb. "I do, too."

"I am just amazed that we have so many oblivious friends," Jehan sighed, squeezing Courfeyrac's hands.

"Are you?" Courfeyrac pulled on his hands so that Jehan leaned forwards somewhat. Courfeyrac grinned. "I thought it was to be expected with that lot. All too wrapped up in...other things."

"And yet we notice," Jehan said.

"Yep," Courfeyrac said, closing the space between them to steal a kiss. A coppery taste was left on his lips that betrayed the fact Jehan's lip probably was bleeding.

The kiss was soft and lasted a few moments, and when it was over their hands were no longer linked but tangled in each other's hair. It was Jehan who broke away first, breathing heavily, and he traced a line down Courfeyrac's throat with his nail. "I'm glad that we weren't oblivious," he said.

"Same," Courfeyrac grinned back. "Although, as we said, the rest are still oblivious considering that none of them seem to have noticed us disappearing together every single night..."

"Funny, that," Jehan said, dropping a kiss just beneath Courfeyrac's eye. "Wouldn't have anything to do with a little fairy charm I detected earlier, would it?"

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. "You noticed that?"

"I'm part-fey," Jehan said, pointedly. "Of course I noticed. And remember, I'm not oblivious..."

"No, you're not," Courfeyrac agreed. "You don't mind, do you? It's just, I find I like us having a little secret..."

"Fairly big secret," Jehan chuckled, as Courfeyrac pressed open-mouthed kisses down Jehan's neck. He sighed, as Courfeyrac's hand played with the hem of Jehan's jumper.

"I love you," Courfeyrac whispered, his breath hot against Jehan's neck. Jehan shivered.

"I love you, too," Jehan murmured back, and their lips met again.

OOO

Combeferre padded as quietly as he could down the corridor. Just because he didn't sleep didn't mean that he should be waking everybody else up with his night time wanderings. He wasn't sure how many of them were actually aware he did this as often as he did; but he enjoyed walking through their compound, thinking things over. It was amazing what one could learn by doing this, the things you could hear. It was the very simple answer to how Combeferre knew most things that went on in this place.

The truth was, Combeferre's race had very excellent hearing and it was hard to do anything other than eavesdrop sometimes.

Tonight it was incredibly quiet; he had heard shuffling behind Éponine's door, which didn't shock him as she was almost as bad as he is when it came to sleeping. He knew she had been for a run with Bossuet, which reassured him somewhat when it came to her stability. And he heard muttering behind Grantaire and Cosette's door – and then Jehan's bedroom was completely silent, without even the sound of rustling bedsheets. Combeferre allowed himself a small smile at that, wondering two things – when Courfeyrac would remember that fey magic didn't always work on vampires, and when the rest of their organisation would see through Courfeyrac's little trick.

He left the living quarters behind, walking past the kitchen – there he could hear the sound of sweeping, probably Bahorel – and through to the offices. He passed Joly's room, with its door propped open and the light switched off, and Enjolras' office with its door firmly closed and locked.

He found himself drifting to a halt when he realised he was coming to a dead end; he sighed and turned on his heel to walk back up to the gym and training rooms.

That was when he smelled it. It was the scent of blood – not human, or belonging to a demon race he could drink the blood of, because none of his hunting senses burst forth. And he thought he recognised the smell; it was definitely familiar. He had been in its presence before at least once, and it didn't belong to anyone who lived here...

That thought had him striding down the remainder of the corridor to its end, when it opened out into what Courfeyrac had titled the Room of Doors. It was their exit from the compound, and the least occupied room of the entire set up.

As it was night time, the lights were off, but Combeferre could not miss the dark shape that was huddled on the floor. He slammed his hand onto the light switch and the large room flooded with bright light.

He ran forward towards the figure lying on the ground. He saw dark hair and something jolted in his chest, and he began second-guessing whether he had seen Éponine coming back from a run earlier in the night.

"Éponine?" he cried, dropping to his knees and carefully placing a hand on the figure's shoulder.

It was not Éponine – how could he have ever thought it was? Werewolf blood was very distinctive and he knew Éponine's scent better than anyone's. It was Musichetta, he could tell by the bright yellow of her eyes and now it was obvious to him from her scent.

She was hurt, but that was too tame a word. Her face was swollen and bloody and discoloured, one eye almost completely shut, her lips cracked open. It was obvious she was struggling to keep a hold on the glamour that kept her looking human as her skin occasionally flushed green. Both her legs were jutting out at odd angles, and he was sure that one shoulder was dislocated, and there were scratches and cuts and gouges all over her body which he now realised was completely naked.

Her eyes – the one he could see, anyway – was vacant and rolling back into her head, but she managed some sort of smile for him. She was missing teeth, too, and her tongue was covered in blood. "I'm..." she rasped. "I'm to deliver a message..."

"Who did this to you?" Combeferre hissed, shrugging out of his dressing gown and trying to cover her with it.

"The...The Demon King wants the girl," Musichetta mumbled, and spat blood out of her mouth. She raised her good arm and he saw her fingers were twisted and bent out of shape. "He says...He says you have..." Her eye fluttered shut.

"Musichetta," Combeferre said, something like panic beginning to rise inside him.

"One hour," Musichetta muttered. "Then he...Then he attacks..."

Combeferre was on his feet in seconds, hurtling back into the corridor. His hand slammed into one of the many bright red panic buttons situated around their compound; a heartbeat passed and then the shrill, shrieking sirens began.

A/N: Just to clarify some things - Éponine is a werewolf, Courfeyrac is a fairy (kind of - like Éponine and Combeferre, this is the human term for his race and it will probably be elaborated on at some point), Jehan is part-fairy (his other side will also be elaborated on) and Bossuet is a shapeshifter like Éponine (animal side to be revealed soon ;)).