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Chapter Text

'The smile was not ended when the report resounded'

'With eight bullets through him”…”stood”…”as if the bullets had nailed him there'…

'…as though struck by lightning, fell at his feet…'

'…Grantaire, as though struck by lightning'…

Huh…?

Ah…

That name…that moment…that memory…

Correct...

They were together…
The gunfire had engulfed them together…

Together…

After their revolution…

And this was with a smile…

C’est la mort…

Ou…non…?

The feeling under his head was hard. He could feel himself breathe. How..?
It must’ve been an aftermath sensation…that must be how one feels after death…

That must be it…

But he breathes.

Inhale. Exhale.

His lashes flutter. His head moves slightly. Cobblestones.. Cobblestones under his head. Slowly the light floods his vision as he’s greeted with rays of it.

Enjolras slowly opens his eyes. His head lolls slightly to the side. He indeed feels cobblestones under his head. He’s lying in a room…too small, too gray…dark almost...if not for the rays of light illuminating his face from a small window on the wall.
His hand slowly moves to his chest. No wounds, no blood, no torn clothes. No…bullet wounds. His fingers twitch slightly.
He can hear his breathing, and the beating of his heart.

What’s...going on?

He makes to sit up slowly, but his head lolls back, and he remains lying.
No..no, it must be his mind playing tricks on him, somehow…
It has to be…

Suddenly he hears groans. Faint, but definitely there. Multiple. He’s not alone in that strange place.
Those voices are way too familiar. That voice.. He knows that voice. That voice-
“Combeferre!!!”

Enjolras jolts upright, sitting up, almost losing his balance. He stumbles to a door, almost crashing onto it. He’s in a room. The door is strange. Metallic, iron, heavy. Locked.

He bangs on the door desperately.
“Combeferre!! Is that you?! Can you hear me? Are you alright?”
“Enjolras?”
More voices join the conversation. Familiar voices that slowly make their way into Enjolras’ ears, bringing an almost relieved smile on his face, their situation momentarily forgotten. Les Amis. His friends. His friends are there too. His friends are alive.

“Enjolras?! Are you okay?”
“What’s going on?”
“Feuilly”?
“Jehan!”
“Gavroche!!”
“Courfeyrac!”

Banging on iron doors, yelling, calling out each other. They were all there. In separate rooms. Locked up.

They had died.
They all remembered it well.

What’s going on now?

Suddenly a bright light engulfed the room. Enjolras squinted, grunting. Shielding his eyes, he attempted looking at the source of it. An..oil lamp? Right in the middle of the ceiling. The natural light of the little window drowned in the flood of this artificial sun.
Why is it so bright..?

Suddenly a door opened inside the room. How hadn’t he noticed it before?
A voice called from within, “Gather in the main room.”
Authoritive. Creepy. Almost…mechanical. Monotonous. The moment Enjolras attempted to demand answers, the voice cut him short again.
“What is this place? My friends a-“
“Gather in the main room.”

Each time the command was repeated, it seemed to Enjolras that the voice turned creepier.
He thought he could hear the sound of similar doors opening coming from when his friends’ voices had been moments ago. So they were all being guided somewhere.
By the third time it echoed, he felt compelled to follow the voice. He started walking in the cobblestoned tunnel, and out of this strange room.
“I have to make sure the others are safe” he began thinking, following a light at the end of the tunnel, “before attempting anything else.”

Images of the rebellion flashed through his eyes. Artillery men, voices, the insurgents defending their barricade. Until their very last breath.

'Long live France! Long live the future!' Jehan had said.
'He could be your brother' Combeferre had told him.
'He is.' he had replied back.
'This must be done.'

'Finish us both with one blow'
Grantaire had turned to him with a gentle smile.
'Permets-tu?'
He had clasped his hand, smiling.

Suddenly, Enjolras came to a halt, jolted out of his thoughts. Another bright light greeted him coldly as he exited the tunnel. Much to his relief, he saw his friends. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Joly, Feuilly, everyone, coming out of a respective tunnel exit, with a bewildered, confused expression on their faces, much like himself. And Grantaire. Grantaire was there too. But his relief didn’t last much.
They were guided in a corridor. A cold corridor with multiple doors, just like the cells they were in moments ago.
Suddenly, a bright light shone above an iron door in front of them. Enjolras’ face paled in horror.
Around the door, gathered, were people. Armed, wearing strange clothing, pale, cold and white. Black gloves. The unsettling, dark mask of a plague doctor.
Matching perfectly with the compelling, mechanically cold voice coming out of them.
“The one with the glasses. He’s the one coming in first.”

Chapter Text

“…What…?”

“The one with the glasses. He is coming in first.”

Silence. Somehow the room felt even smaller, albeit being a corridor.

“No. Absolutely not.” Enjolras stepped forward. “You owe explanations.”

“Enjolras..” Courfeyrac began, lightly grasping his arm.

“What is going on?”

“He comes in first.”

“This place, all of us.. How? It was real! It was all real! The barricades-“

A bayonet pierced through his shoulder. His voice momentarily died in his throat. Time froze, along with everyone in the room.

'…pierced by eight bullets. He stood as if they had nailed him there. He simply bowed his head.'

Enjolras stumbled backwards, stunned. Jehan, Combeferre and Courfeyrac rushed to him. He could hear his own breathing, ragged.

“Oh God!!..are you alright Enjolras?” Jehan made to touch his friend’s shoulder, only to hesitate, not wanting to cause him pain.

“It doesn’t look that deep” Combeferre breathed in relief, “It didn’t severe any muscles..” he dabbed at the wound with a handkerchief.

“I’m alright..” Enjolras muttered.

The uniformed captors slowly moved forward, bayonets in hands. Joly and Bossuet shifted closer to each other, while Bahorel started to march towards them. More weapons raised.

“No” Combeferre straightened up, grasping Bahorel by his shoulder, “Let us not tolerate any more unnecessary violence”. He glanced around at the captors, cautiously, before averting his eyes back to his friends. “I will go.”

“Don’t” Enjolras hurried up. “We know nothing! About our whereabouts, about the situation, about them! I cannot let you go-“

“If it will keep you safe, Enjolras” Combeferre stopped him, “I will do it. They said they want me first. That means that they probably plan on taking us all in there one by one. Maybe, if I have what they are looking for, they can spare you. And we somehow find a way to escape from this place.”

Enjolras clenched his fists, but said no more. All his emotions were laid bare in his eyes. Combeferre knew. He placed his hand on his friend’s unwounded shoulder, before taking a step towards the captors.

The door in front of them opened. The room inside, unlike the well-lit corridor they were standing, was dark. It was impossible to say what, or even if there was anything inside. Two of the captors stepped inside, while the other two stayed outside, pointing their bayonets and weapons towards the friends, as if threatening them if they opposed. One of those who were going inside took Combeferre by the arm, leading him in. Combeferre turned around for some seconds, trying to calm his friends even slightly.

“Be safe” he said, and disappeared into the room with the captors. The door closed.

Les Amis stood motionless, not even daring to breathe. The situation was getting more and more eerie the longer they stayed there, but they couldn’t simply storm out. Not with their friend captive.

“..What happens now?” Feuilly whispered.

“Those bastards” Bahorel cursed, “Just you wait once we find-“

The captor pointed his bayonet at him suddenly, way too close for comfort. Bahorel froze, the weapon stirring something inside him. He cursed. He remembered too well. He took a slight step back.

“Enjolras look out!” Gavroche shouted.

Enjolras immediately whirled around to the sight of the other captor approaching him, holding a small vial.

“No!”

As he immediately rushed to step in front of his friends, the captor grasped him by the arm forcefully, immobilizing him, pulling away the bloodied vest to reveal his bare wounded shoulder. He tipped the vial slightly and a drop of its content fell on the wound. Enjolras winced as it stung.

“We need them good and healthy” the captor spoke in that mechanical voice under the mask, turning to the other at the door.

Joly approached Enjolras, inspecting his wound. “It seems to be healing” he said perplexed. “A medicine..?”

“Good and healthy” Enjolras echoed through clenched teeth. Talking about them as if they were a piece of meat or objects. He looked at the floor and soon back up again. Now it sounded weird, but the captors never seemed to address them directly, other than when they ordered them. Whatever they were doing, ever since he and his friends woke up in those cells, they always spoke among themselves and only addressed them about the orders they were giving them.

“What is this all about?” he demanded one more time.

“Gather outside and take a stroll.” said the captor, and at that moment, another door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing daylight.

Enjolras blinked dumbfounded. Take a stroll? The moment he made to open his mouth again bayonets were raised at them once more.

“Gather outside and take a stroll.”

Les Amis slowly began walking towards the exit, Courfeyrac taking Gavroche by the arm as the little one attempted to charge at the uniformed strangers.

As they went out the door, the squinted at the light. The sky was clear, but it wasn’t sunny. There was a mild breeze. Enjolras had to rub his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. There was seawater all around them. They were on an island- at least, whatever this place was. The place they were kept in was a tall, dark building. It vaguely resembled a thickly-built castle. Rocks were seated all around it. Rocks and plain, slightly damp ground. No sand or plants anywhere. The sea was splashing onto the rocks, sending droplets everywhere.

“What..in the world..?” Grantaire muttered. “This…this is the middle of nowhere.”

This was the most accurate description they could give of this place.

The captor made sure they all exited and entered back in, closing the heavy metal door.

“What are we going to do now..?” Jehan questioned in a quiet voice, clenching the fabric of his coat.

Enjolras seemed not to hear, deep in thought. But he did. His brow was furrowed. He didn’t know where they were, what this place was. Or even how they got there, and what would be done to them. Combeferre was still in there, and God knows what danger he was in. Or, if they’d ever see him alive again.

“We have to escape.”

Chapter Text

The sky’s blue seemed to be getting colder, the wind angrier. The waves crashed onto the rocks more frequently. Nobody knew how much time had passed. Jehan and Feuilly were inspecting the “castle”, with thoughtful, worried faces. Courfeyrac was trying his best to lighten his friends’ mood even a little bit, while Joly was fussing over Bossuet’s supposed scraped knee, a result from exploring the island.

Grantaire, sitting on a rock nearby, was gazing at Enjolras from afar. He was at the edge of the island, seemingly staring at the sea, though he knew this wasn’t the case. His brow was furrowed, his blue eyes now grayish, as if reflecting the ocean and the sky.

“He’ll be alright, you know” he slowly got up, approaching Enjolras.

Enjolras turned towards him.

“He’s a tough lad” Grantaire continued. “And I know you’ll find just the perfect plan for us to escape. I know you.”

‘What about me?’ said Grantaire. ‘I’m here.’
‘You?’
‘Yes, me.’
‘You? Rally Republicans! You? In defence of principles, fire up hearts that have grown cold!’
‘Why not?’
‘Are you capable of being good for something?’
‘I have the vague ambition to be.’ said Grantaire.
‘You don’t believe in anything.’
‘I believe in you’.

Enjolras looked at this transfigured drunkard, whom he had snubbed and rebuffed so often in the past. He loved all his friends dearly. And, well, Grantaire was likeable too. He did not hate him, it was just… He could not fathom or share the ideas of this skeptic, this cynic. For he believed with all his heart that change could indeed come, that freedom was ahead of everyone, had they had just a little bit of hope in them. Enjolras had hoped that their rebellion would spark even the slightest of that hope people had deep inside them, even just a stir. And though they were just a little bit early, for fear and disbelief still kept gripping people’s hearts, he saw that change in Grantaire. He saw him spark, and that the man’s words were true and earnest as he meant them. ‘I believe in you’. He remembered their conversations. He replayed every memory in his head as if he were reliving it now. Faith had come. Even at the very end. End..? Well…they would see…

Enjolras did not want to, but had feared that people would be too afraid, without hope to actually believe that change could come. And Grantaire was just like that, stating that everything was hopeless and meaningless. But in the end, he proved to him, alongside his true potential, that his love and admiration for him were true. And now, in this strange place and time, his words remained hopeful and with conviction.

‘He pressed his hand, smiling.’

He wanted to open his mouth and answer him, but right now felt that words failed him.

“Grantaire, you-“

Suddenly the sound of the big metal door opening pulled their attention away from each other. Gavroche ran back to the friends. Two familiar plague doctor masks stepped out in the pale daylight, glistening coldly. Enjolras clenched his jaw.

“Gather inside.”

“Where is Combeferre?!” Courfeyrac demanded.

The second captor raised his bayonet. “Gather inside.”

Feuilly grunted, and Enjolras cursed under his breath. It’s always the same, no matter what. Never an explanation. Any question and any defiance dismissed. A single order given. Every single time. This
oppression.

Dragging their feet, Les Amis slowly took the way back into their castle-like prison. They walked past the vast corridor, their steps echoing on the cobblestoned ground. They gathered once again outside the room Combeferre had been taken in.

Enjolras felt cold sweat on the back of his neck. His mind was racing. He was worried about his friend, and also just remembered that he hadn’t given Grantaire a proper answer yet. He briefly swept the room with his eyes, finding him just a few steps away.

The metal door slowly opened. Everybody held their breath.

The other two captors from before slowly came out of the room, weapons in hand.

Combeferre came soon after them. He was rubbing his eyes as he exited. Enjolras quickly raked him over. He seemed unharmed..

The friends rushed to him.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“What did they do to you?”

“I am alright..” Combeferre replied. But his tone.. He seemed perplexed.

“I..I am not quite sure what happened..”

Joly and Feuilly stopped in their tracks.

“Wait…What do you mean..?” Courfeyrac asked slowly.

“You entered the room with those people” Jehan began.

“That I did…But… It’s all pitch black afterwards… I woke up to a bright light..too bright. And I was sitting on a chair, my hands tied” Combeferre blinked, and rubbed his eyes again slightly.

Enjolras’ eyes darkened. What is going on?

“You’re saying..that you have no recollection..of what happened inside that room..?”

Combeferre’s affirmative gaze was enough to make his stomach churn uncomfortably. His heart started thumping louder in his ears, as the room suddenly felt smaller and darker.

Before anyone could react further, the captors suddenly raised their bayonets. Les Amis flinched, Courfeyrac pulling Gavroche closer to him. Grantaire involuntarily took a small step closer to Enjolras. The latter didn’t miss it. But he also saw with the corner of his eye- Combeferre didn’t seem to flinch as much.

“You will be brought back to the cell. A cell for all of you.”

Indeed, moments later, they were led into a bigger room, with the same cobblestoned ground as the whole place. Similarly to their previous cells, there too was a small window up in the wall. Little pale light entered this time, for it was close to dusk. The friends were somewhat relieved they weren’t separated this time, but even that did little to soothe away their fears.

The white-clothed captors gave no further instructions. They left them a tray with bread and water, leaving and locking the heavy metal door. This silence indicated that, perhaps, this whole ordeal was to be repeated. Again and again.

“What is going on..?” Gavroche questioned, his tone almost hesitant this time.

“This is actually…a very good question” Bahorel replied. “But.. I’m afraid you aren’t going to get your answer soon enough, young lad”

Enjolras was almost at a loss for words. He raised his head slightly, taking a brief look at his friends, and they place they were in. How… How did they end up like this..?

“Are you sure you feel alright?” he approached Combeferre.

“Yes, don’t worry” Combeferre smiled faintly. “I’m sorry.. I cannot remember whatever it is that occurred in there.. I don’t know. I don’t know how that’s possible. It.. It makes no sense to…”

“I know” Enjolras almost whispered. “Nothing makes sense, ever since the first moment…not here.” His gaze shifted from the ground to the small, little-comforting window of their prison. He took a slight step towards it, and clenched his fists.

“I’m worried. What is this all..?.. What are they up to..?”

How do I stop this? How do I protect you all?

Chapter Text

One dawn after the other, one day after the other, one dusk after the other. Each day seemed more gray. They passed almost in a blur. The friends were occasionally allowed outside, confined, of course, in their little island prison. They mostly spent their time inside the big cell, designed to “accommodate” all of them. No matter how much they tried to decipher the situation, how many sleepless nights passed while trying to explain, to understand what was going on, it was all in vain.

The captors brought them food occasionally, their monotonous, eerie voices echoing every time Les Amis were given a command. Any question was ignored, instead only intensifying the repeated order. The creepy plague doctor masks seemed to be made of ice in the cold light of the “castle”. After Combeferre, it was Jehan who was made to enter the strange room. Then Bossuet. Then Feuilly. During the following days, but not every day, one of them was guided inside a room after they were made to gather in that dark corridor. But… It was never the same room. Every time someone thought they were sure about which room it was so they could investigate, or at least somehow try to, all their clues were sunk back in the dark they had surfaced from.

The young men who had gone through those rooms always seemed to come out unharmed. Seemed. But…were they?

Just like Combeferre, they seemed alright. However… Just like Combeferre, they seemed momentarily lost when they exited, until they seemed to be coming back around a little. Just like him, nobody remembered what had occurred inside. The moment of entrance was always followed by hollow darkness, the next spark of memory being the bright artificial light shining above them, combined with the feeling of hard, tight rope burning the skin of their wrists.

Enjolras’ mind was reeling. Many nights he stayed awake, trying to find any way for them to escape, or at least, protect them, to no avail. His heart squeezed in frustration, feeling that he was letting his friends down.

The pale moonlight illuminated the strange rocky island. Huh… Was this the same moon he gazed at when he sat awake at the Musain, planning the rebellion..? The rebellion. Something that seemed almost dreamlike now. What had happened? He was sure his memory did not fail him. They had died. And yet…

During most of those nights Combeferre, Courfeyrac and the rest of their friends were awake with him, talking in hushed voices about the situation, planning every strategy they could think of. Why was it never enough..?

The latest days though, as they came after the little “visit” inside the dark rooms… felt like a cold hand gripping the heart. The four of them seemed a bit more tired. A bit less..reactive. That first day they woke up in those separate cells, up until they were first gathered and later led outside… Memories. Memories flooded their minds, memories of their final moments at the barricade, of their shared life together before. Of their life. Each time a weapon was raised at them, each time a certain word was spoken, a movement, a touch. It always, always brought memories. Reliving them again and again.

But now…?

They no longer flinched at the weapons as much. Did not seem to be lost in thought as deeply as before. Not a trigger at certain words or feelings.

Enjolras had noticed. The ground disappeared under his feet every time he witnessed that strange room and those strange people locking away a tiny part of his friends, little by little.

But how…?

How…?

Why…?

He convinced his friends to get some rest, try to get some sleep.

Combeferre, Jehan, Bossuet, Feuilly…

He felt that he was losing them. And he knew. He knew this wouldn’t be over yet. He didn’t know whose turn it would be next, or what they’d do to them. But they had to escape. Before it was too late.

The pale moonlight fell ethereal on his face.

“Quel beau marbre.”

He turned his head towards the source of the voice, and the quiet rustle of fabric.

Grantaire emerged slowly from the shadows of the cell, stepping quietly away from the sleeping friends. He strode across the room, gingerly sitting down next to Enjolras.

“..Do you really believe this is the appropriate time to make jokes?”

“Oh no, not at all. Surely, you must misunderstand me.” Grantaire spoke softly, his eyes wandering around until they settled on the small window. Enjolras gazed at him intently. Truly…he could be.

‘Long live the Republic! I am one of them!’

He replayed that moment in his head again. His eyes drifted down to his chest, to the little tricolor cockade he was still wearing. Then something clicked, and he quickly turned his head back to Grantaire. He could swear he was gripping something in his hand, but he couldn’t distinguish, it was too dark.

“You are a strange man” he said softly. “Deeming any plan for change impossible, without sense..Having seen the world, but it was it that took you down in the abyss of ignorance and despair. Denying the possibility for change, for the better…and yet…”

Grantaire slowly turned to him, the corners of his lips slightly upright. “Didn’t I tell you..? You’ll see.”

‘You are incapable of believing, of thinking, of living, of dying.’
‘You’ll see.’

“I know” he continued, “I know that something is going on. And whatever that might be, it cannot be good. But we will think of something.”

“Gather in the main room.”

The voice, the light, the room, was even colder that day. Now, it was Courfeyrac’s turn to be led inside.

Outside at the rocky shore, Combeferre was pacing anxiously. Enjolras had stayed vigilant the closest he could at the entrance door. Jehan and the others were close by, trying to keep Gavroche calm. The young boy’s face was grim.

Everybody held their breath when they were allowed inside once again. Silence was heavy the moment they gathered in front of the room.

The door opened. But this time, Courfeyrac didn’t come out on his own.

Enjolras stood there, taken aback by what was happening. Jehan had his hands on little Gavroche’s shoulders as the boy worriedly tried to hurry over to the door.

Four of the captors came through the door, carrying an unconscious Courfeyrac.

“Courfeyrac!” cried Gavroche.

“Where are you taking him?” Enjolras demanded.

“This one’s special” said one of the captors in an unsettling, monotonous voice, motioning to the young man. He then addressed the lot, “Await for orders.”

“Answer me!!” Enjolras shouted as Gavroche panted, trying to run to Courfeyrac but Les Amis didn’t let him.

“Where are you taking him?!”

The captors walked away, as more of them came to restrain the boys. Bahorel tried to punch his way out, but he was restrained with chains. Jehan hugged Gavroche to protect him, and Combeferre stood in front of them both to shield them.

“Hey!!” Enjolras tried to chase after them, but they restrained him too. He refused to stay in one place, constantly trying to break free. He wanted to protect his friends.

“Enjolras!” yelled Grantaire as he and Feuilly were restrained too. “Let us go!!” he yelled to the captors. In all of the fuss, one of the captors said to another who was holding what looked like a small gun, “Deal with them.”

As Enjolras was trying to break free, he suddenly felt two stings down his arm. He looked down to see two small thick needles pinched in his forearm. He then was released. He quickly plucked the needles out of his arm and tried to chase after the direction the captors with Courfeyrac had followed, but all he could do now was stagger.

“Enjolras!!!” Grantaire yelled and tried to break free. “Let me go!!”

The captors loosened the chains and released him, just in time for Grantaire to rush forward and catch Enjolras who collapsed in his arms. “Apollo!!” he shook him, “What did you do to him?!”

“Lock them up” said one of the captors to the others. “Take the kid away.”

Les Amis were forced to retreat as they were locked inside the big cell. Gavroche was screaming and kicking his feet in an attempt to escape, but they gagged him and took him away.

“If you hurt him” Bahorel yelled as Jehan shed tears, “You’re dead!!”

The door closed and locked.