The City That We Loved

Only The Good Die Young

A/N: I'm just going to apologize in advance. Have tissues ready. And happy Barricade Day!! (Sorry, Vialleran, for head jumping.)

Enjolras couldn't tell what time it was when he woke up. There was some light streaming in through the holes in the man hole, indicating it was day time, but there was no way to tell exactly what time it was. It appeared he was the first one to wake up, too.

He touched his back and instead of feeling the rough cuts on his back, he felt bandages. He managed to get himself into a sitting position. He was afraid to look over at Bahorel, to find him gone. He may have been the only Amis he rarely spoke to. The fact that he could be gone before Enjolras really knew the guy killed him.

He made himself look and let out a breath of relief. Bahorel was sleeping soundly a distance away, a bloody bandage wrapped around his waist. Joly was sitting on the ledge, his head back against the wall, his eyes close, his hands covered in dried blood.

Enjolras got up and walked over to Bahorel. It was hard seeing him like this. Bahorel was by far the largest Amis strength wise. To see him reduced to nothing but bandages, blood, and sickly pale skin was painful. Enjolras blamed himself for Bahorel's injury.

He'd been reckless the way he handled getting them out of the prison. Though he hadn't been in the right mind with his own injuries, he should've handled it differently.

Suddenly, Bahorel gasped awake. His blue eyes went wide and he sat up quickly. Enjolras grabbed his friend's hand. He looked around at the other Amis, hoping someone else had woken up.

"Lie down," Enjolras said. "It's okay. You're okay." Bahorel was panting, his forehead beaded with sweat, but he did as Enjolras told him to.

Enjolras could see fresh blood through the bandages. The stitches had torn.

"Dammit, Bahorel," Enjolras said. He went to nudge Joly awake but Bahorel grabbed Enjolras' arm and shook his head.

"N-No," he stuttered painfully. "N-No...there's nothing he can do."

"How can you be so sure?" Enjolras asked. "All he has to do is stitch you up again and you'll be fine."

"I-I came to last night briefly," he said. "I h-heard...what Joly said to Combeferre. I'm bleeding internally. They can't do a-anything...without taking me to a h-hospital...and...and there's no way to get me there."

"We'll carry you," Enjolras said. "Here. I'll get Courfeyrac and we'll--"

"I won't make it," Bahorel said, simply. "D-Don't worry about me, chief. All I ask is that you stay with me...please?" Enjolras stared blankly at Bahorel. He wanted to argue with him but he knew he was right. His shallow breathing and pale skin gave away he wasn't going to last much longer.

So Enjolras sat up on the ledge next to Bahorel. He couldn't look at him. Enjolras had only seen one other dead body in his entire life and that had been his aunt--who he'd barely known. But this soon to be corpse was his friend. A friend who he didn't know very well but still...a friend.

"Before you go, Pierre," Enjolras said. "I just want to say I'm sorry." He looked at Bahorel and felt his stomach churn when he realized...

Bahorel was dead.

***

They found him sitting there, staring blankly at the corpse of Bahorel.

Enjolras was almost as pale as the body...not the body--Bahorel. Bahorel was not just a body and he wouldn't be reduced to that.

Those were the thoughts running through Grantaire's mind.

Bahorel had been the only other Amis who drank with R and managed to keep up with him. R had considered him his best friend. Possibly his only real friend among the Amis.