If We Had Survived... (Enjoltaire)

Chapter 13

A/N - Hehe, I tricked you, not for the better. You'll see what I mean :>

"Enjolras, are you okay?" Enjolras woke up, glancing around the room. Grantaire was gone. That must mean-

"He's alive!" Enjolras smiled for the first time in days, though it was cut short by the anguished look on Marius' face. "What's wrong, Pontmercy?"

"Grantaire is dead, Enjolras,"

"I don't understand. He was here last night," Unless-

No.

No, no, no.

That had never happened.

It was a dream.

"No, that- no. You're lying Pontmercy!"

Enjolras limped up the stairs and outside, going as fast as one could with a crutch towards the chapel, only to find nothing. Nothing. They couldn't have already put him in the catacombs, certainly not. He heard uneven footsteps behind him and whirled around coming face to face with Marius. Enjolras seized his arms, "Where is Grantaire, Pontmercy? Where is he?" His voice became more desperate by the second, "I need to see him,"

"Enjolras, "

"Enjolras, I warn you not to go. But if you'll ignore me - which you probably will -, they put him in another cot, one closer to them, so they were able to keep a closer eye on him," Marius rested his hand on Enjolras' shoulder, "Be careful Enjolras. And when you're ready, we'll go take a stroll through the streets of Paris and get a drink, sound good?"

"Thank you, Marius," Enjolras went as fast as he could with a crutch, trying to ignore the stinging in his foot.

At last, he could see the man. Grantaire's eyes closed already -as if he had died in his sleep, or the nuns had already closed his eyes for him-, his hands were folded lightly over his chest. Something about the peaceful expression on his face made him look afraid. Deep red stains of blood dotted his chin and lips, like paint or whine - only that it wasn't.

Enjolras couldn't bring himself to cry, couldn't bring himself to move. Just stare and take Grantaire's cold, pale hand in his and hold it tightly.

He felt Marius' hand on his shoulder, as Marius gently whispered, "Enjolras, there's nothing you could've done,"

He was right. And yet it frustrated Enjolras more. There was no one he could be angry with, aside from the one thing he already had incurable hate for. And what would he do? Start another revolution? Fail at it? Watch as everyone - even small children - died?

No.

There was nothing to do.

"Let's take a walk, shall we?"