Chapter Text
The day of the full moon, Enjolras's skin itches. It starts somewhere around where his hackles would be and spreads out through the day until a few hours before sunset, when he feels ready to burst open revealing the animal underneath. It's like the rest of the month he manages to be a wolf and human in parallel, never the two shall meet, but when the moon is full and tugging at his consciousness, his skin suddenly gets two sizes too small.
None of the other wolves he knows feel it: Combeferre just looked confused and said 'you don't tear off your skin to change' like logic might fix everything. Jehan commented once that on moon days, his shoes felt two sizes too big, as though they would fall off his feet. Enjolras has never found out if this was supposed to be comforting, or just Jehan being Jehan.
It never goes away. Most months he has learned to ignore it, to put it to the back of his mind, but if he's stressed or if anything bad is going down it surges up again stronger than ever.
By the time he's reached the Musain, forcing his bike through the swing-door so as not to waste precious moments locking it to the stand outside, he has fielded five texts and three phone calls from his family telling him that they understand his whatever is important but could he please calm down a little because he's making the whole pack shake.
He drops his bike in the doorway. Combeferre is at the bar, he has his back to the door but his head lifts when he feels Enjolras come in and he turns on the stool to face him. "You need a car."
Enjolras lives five minutes ride from the Musain. It would have been slower to drive in Paris traffic and he's had that argument with Combeferre a hundred times already. He doesn't go for a reprise today. ‘Ferre's fingers are white around his glass and the water in it is trembling.
Of course, it would have been quicker still to run - four paws are faster than two wheels and it's not like Enjolras can't afford the toll - but with just over an hour to the full moon and his skin vibrating like a leaf on the wind, Enjolras has no faith in his ability to change back.
"Come on," 'Ferre says, already off his stool and moving towards the door by the bar marked Privé. "She's in the back."
The text Enjolras had got had just said 'code red bar now' which was their standard alert for 'someone is in more trouble than I can deal with without you.' Or - as Combeferre liked to put it - everything has gone to shit and you’d better do something because I'm sure as hell out of ideas. But Combeferre had said 'she', and disasters didn't usually get their own pronouns.
Enjolras casts his eyes around the bar as he follows Combeferre. Marius is curled up in the corner with Bossuet and Joly hovering around him in a way that suggests Cosette has already been called. Enjolras isn't usually the one called in for the emotional disasters though, and 'Ferre is ignoring Marius and pushing through the door.
Enjolras follows and finds Musichetta sitting on a crate of beer with a human girl. He doesn't recognise her by sight - brown hair tucked mostly away under a stained beret, faded grey blouse hanging too loose on a slim frame - but she smells of cheap alcohol, unwashed drunkards and the northern sewers. The same scents that seem to cling permanently onto Grantaire.
She looks up at him, eyes sharp as a wolf. "You must be Enjolras." She throws it like an accusation, as though he's supposed to answer for it in some way. "I thought you'd be taller."
Enjolras turns sideways to Combeferre, trying to fit all his questions into one quizzical expression. This girl doesn't look like a disaster, although she's eyeing him up like she wants to cause one.
"Enjolras," Combeferre says. "Meet Éponine." He turns from him to the girl. "Enjolras might be able to help Grantaire, if you tell him everything you told me."
Musichetta stands up. "I'll just -" she says, heading past the two of them and out the door. Éponine watches her go, then gives Enjolras another searching look, like she might find something in him she didn't the last few times.
Enjolras resists the urge to bare his teeth and turns from her to Combeferre. "What's happened to Grantaire?" Enjolras hasn't even seen Grantaire since the meeting last week. If this girl has lost him he isn't going to be any help. He doesn't know where Grantaire lives, what he does day to day. All Enjolras's attempts at conversation have crashed and burned in pits of embarrassment. Has he vanished? Combeferre is better at scent tracking than Enjolras, but maybe he thinks Enjolras has a better memory of Grantaire's scent?
Combeferre waits a moment, in case Eponine speaks, then sighs. "He's been arrested. Apparently."
"That's right," Éponine cuts. "You can't trust the human girl. Maybe she walked all the way across town to trick you into thinking your pet human was in trouble just for kicks. Seems like the kind of thing us humans do, right?"
"No one's accusing you of lying," Combeferre says, in the tone of one who has said this over and over and is still not believed. "It just doesn't seem like Grantaire, he's never done anything like this before."
"He'd never have done it at all if it wasn't for all you, if it wasn't for this." She waves a hand at the room, accusing a few crates of beer and a barrel of wine. "He threw a rock," she says, aiming her words at Enjolras. "And they arrested him. He's been in a cell since this morning."
"Why?" is the first question that comes to Enjolras's mind, followed by at what? and then this morning? but he holds down those two.
Éponine fixes her glare on him. "I don't know, do I. Message I got was pretty garbled. Apparently when he called he got through to Dad who mentioned it in passing to Gav who made Mum promise to give me the message immediately, so obviously I only got it three hours later. By the time it got to me it was 'your brother says Grantaire's thrown a rock at someone, go see if he'll be working tonight when you've finished clearing glasses.'"
She kicks at the crate of beer she's sitting on. "There's no bus to the police station, and little to no chance they'd let me in to see him. Figured he'd talked about this place enough, one of you do-gooder dogs might be hanging around. You're supposed to give a crap about humans, right? Or is that just a load of old horseshit."
"We care," Combeferre says stepping in before Enjolras can do something stupid like get angry. If he looks beyond the bravado and the death glares, he can see Éponine's hands are shaking almost as badly as his and this close to the moon he can hear how fast her heart is thumping.
How bold does a human girl have to be to walk into a nest of wolves and ask for their help? Enjolras focuses on breathing slowly, steadying his own heartbeat, resisting the urge to scratch at his palms. "Was it an accident?" he says. "I could call my lawyer."
Éponine's mouth twists. "He was pissed off about something when he left. Normally he just gets pissed enough to get pissed, if you know what I mean, but maybe he did something."
Grantaire never came to the Musain without smelling strongly of wine, and never sat through the meetings without a bottle or more to hand. Feuilly sold him the dregs of barrels, bottles past their prime, anything he couldn't sell to anyone else but Grantaire never complained and he got a fair discount.
He spent entire meetings sitting at a table at the back of the room drinking or sketching something on any scrap of paper he could find. Some meetings he showed up, sat at his table and promptly fell asleep, only waking up as everyone left.
He always came though.
Éponine looks over at Combeferre. "That's all I've got, same as I told you before, now can I go? This place is giving me fleas."
Enjolras bites down his snarl. "Considering you're here asking us for help, you could be a bit politer."
She bares her teeth right back at him, as though she was a wolf herself. "You think I want to be in your den begging you for help? With your dogs and your traitors, I'd be happy for you all to go to hell but Grantaire's mine and god forbid but he likes you. He comes to your meetings and does whatever the fuck you want. He never had problems until he met you dogs, so far as I'm concerned you owe him."
Combeferre always says Enjolras's temper will get them all into trouble, and the pull of the moon definitely isn't helping. There's few enough humans in their group and if he manages to alienate Grantaire's friend, they might lose one of the few they have. "We're on your side, Éponine,” Combeferre says, while Enjolras bites down on apologies that - judging by her face - will only make this worse.
“I didn’t mean -” Enjolras says. “Helping you, that's the point of all this. We're on your side and his side, we want to help."
Éponine stands upright. Not that it helps, she's still a good head and a half shorter than Enjolras. "You've probably got a pack in the city with a big house and half your cousins are in parliament." She leans forward to look directly in his eye. "You're about a million miles, and more than a million euros away from my side and I'm pretty sure you've forgotten that." She steps back, turning away to grab her purse from the floor beside the crate. "But they won't let me in, so I guess you're all he's got."
Combeferre steps aside obligingly to let her storm out.
"She's... interesting," Enjolras says. "I'm guessing we believe her?"
"Marius vouched for her trustworthiness," Combeferre says. "Of course, then she called him a mongrel and a traitor so I'm not sure he'd do it again." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "But I found this while I was waiting for you."
Enjolras takes the phone. It's open to a news story: Senator Tholoymès has been admitted to hospital with a concussion from an object thrown with force colliding with his head. A suspect was in custody and had confessed.
Enjolras sits down on the recently vacated crate. "You think that was Grantaire?" It seems unbelievable. Sure Tholymes is one of the men they have come back to over and over in the fight for equality, but he was always struck off lists of people to take action against. Too powerful, too well connected. The idea that someone might take him on alone beggared belief, the idea of it being Grantaire, well.
"I know it's hard to believe, but we have to act for the worst case scenario. Even if the Senator makes a full recovery tomorrow, he's not going to drop this. A human raising a hand against a senator? That would be amazing for his campaign, and the press would have a field day. A bad judge could get Grantaire in max security for years." Combeferre is kicking his foot against the ground, not meeting Enjolras's eyes. It doesn't matter, this close to the full moon they don't really have any secrets.
"You think I should claim him."
"We always discussed it as an option. Your pack would take him a lot further than a lawyer could, further than any amount of money. If Grantaire was claimed before he threw the rock, any decent lawyer can prove he wasn't responsible." He glances up, drags a hand across the top of his head. "I can't see another way out, and believe me I've been trying."
"He wasn't claimed before, any wolf will be able to tell that."
"He was picked up by the Saint-Denis police." Combeferre says, then rolls his eyes at Enjolras's confused expression. "They don't have a werewolf on permanent staff. Day of the full moon, there probably hasn't been a wolf there all day." His fingers tap impatiently against his thigh. "If you can get in there tonight, claim him and get him out there'll be no way to prove that he wasn't yours before he threw anything. You can take full responsibility."
And where a human would get life in prison, Enjolras gets a slap on the wrist and a fine. Justice for all. "Are you sure about the station? If there's one wolf there we'll all get done for fraud."
"I'm sure. The place is led by a man named Javert. He's a werewolf sympathiser but he's never found anyone willing to turn or even claim him. He's sent about a hundred letters to different pack leaders, including your father. Play up the rich young pack heir and he'll be falling over himself to please you."
Enjolras feels a sharp pain and glances down to see he's been scratching at his palms hard enough to graze the skin. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to ignore them. "This is the ultimate last-ditch solution, we said. What if something happens to Bahorel tomorrow? Or Feuilly?"
"I don't know," Combeferre admits. "All I know is we can worry about Feuilly tomorrow, tomorrow. Right now Grantaire is sitting in a cell wondering if anyone's going to come for him and what are we supposed to say? Yes, we could've got you out but we chose not to?"
Enjolras gets off the crate. He needs to pace. "I could say he's a friend of the family, give him the name without the connection. Maybe if I suggest to Javert that I'll turn him if he let's Grantaire go."
"Oh that's sure to work. Just roll up to the station and try it. 'Yes, I know he's committed GBH and if you let him out there's no way of tracking him but he's a family friend and I'd really like it if you didn't shut him up in prison.’"
Enjolras turns on him. Combeferre has a single eyebrow raised as though daring Enjolras to contradict him. "This isn't a joke,” Enjolras says. "He doesn't even like me, he's hardly going to agree to be bound into my pack."
Combeferre shrugs. "He might like it more than prison."
"Not much of a choice, is it."
"Right now the only options are letting him make that choice, or you making it for him. Believe me, I've been trying to think of another option. I know how you feel about him, if there was any other way -"
When they first started the group, Combeferre had been in charge of creating contingency plans if any member got in trouble. He’d asked then if Enjolras would be willing to claim a member in dire need, and then put that at the bottom of a very long list of options. If he’s bringing it up, there’s no other way. "I know." Enjolras glances at his watch. "The moon's going to rise in an hour."
"Take my car." Combeferre starts unbuttoning his shirt. "And get that hoodie off. When you show up at that station you need to be the kind of wolf that screams 'my uncle plays golf with the supreme justice and my mother is more powerful than god' not 'I only own three items of clothing and all of them are red'."
Enjolras opens his mouth to object then looks down. He's wearing a zip up hoodie (red) over yesterday's T-shirt (also red). He holds out his hand for the shirt. "He still might say no."
Combeferre shugs. "We've got to try."
*
Grantaire looks awful. It might be the halogen bulb in the little room the receptionist had led Enjolras to - after a fair amount of yelling and a call to a superior officer. The white light casts off Grantaire's dishevelled curls, leaving dark shadows twisting across his face, only matched by the thick bands under his eyes when he looks up to see Enjolras standing in the doorway.
"Fuck." He sounds tired, his voice grating a little. Enjolras should've brought him some water, some wine, something.
He's sitting in a metal framed chair, but isn't handcuffed. Javert had offered all too eagerly to sit in on the meeting, an offer Enjolras had hastily declined. He'd had to point out multiple times that werewolves rarely had trouble in competitions of strength against humans, and if some miraculous escape did occur, he could just shift forms to deal with it.
"You look awful," he says, which is not a good start but he can't stop staring at Grantaire's T-shirt, old, grey and stained and hanging loose on his shoulders.
Grantaire cracks a smile. "Pick-up lines like that, it's a wonder you're still single."
The first time Grantaire had come to the ABC he'd stumbled through the door, interrupting Enjolras mid-speech - right at that perfect moment when, after several minutes of build up, Enjolras had finally figured out his point and was ready to talk about it all day - and stared around at them, as though he'd expected to find something else beneath the fluorescent sign reading Le Musain.
Enjolras never found the thread of that speech again. He said something about unity then returned to his seat, let Combeferre deal with plans and strategies and didn't turn in his chair to look at the human in the back slouching as he watched with a bottle of wine in one hand more than twice. He was a distraction, maybe, but he spent most of the meeting more focused on his hands and the wine than the speeches so Enjolras figured he wouldn't come back.
But he did. Showed up to every meeting with his hair in various states of disarray, his hands at various stages of shake. He started leaving sketches on napkins - each of their faces picked out in perfect detail, hints of wolves lurking in the shadows of their eyes - and tapping his fingers in time to Enjolras's more rhythmic speeches.
He came for three weeks without saying anything at all, and then his first contribution was a "that's what she said" that sent Enjolras's entire train of thought off the rails and a smile that hit Enjolras somewhere else entirely.
Enjolras pulls out a second metal chair and sits down, even if he doesn't urgently need to be seated now, he has a feeling he'll need to before this conversation gets much further. "Why?" he says.
Grantaire shrugs, like he honestly can't remember. "He was being a dick." He reaches up to brush curls out of his eyes. "I'm guessing you being here means that I shouldn't have."
Javert had spent a solid fifteen minutes going over all of the evidence in his case of Grantaire Vs. the entire Government senate. Enjolras had had to point out that his dad was best friends with the senator in question's boss just to get him to shut up long enough for Enjolras to turn the law back around on him. Any claimed human has the right to meet with the wolf that owns them.
Lucky Javert was a human. A werewolf would have spotted the blush, the raised heartbeat, the total lack of any shared scent between them and sent Enjolras packing without so much as a wave goodbye.
"He was a pretty important dick," Enjolras agrees. He's tired, itching all over and he has half an hour at best to get Grantaire out before the full moon hits in earnest. "Javert wants to prosecute you for Grievous bodily harm, conspiracy to commit assault and possibly attempted murder, he was fairly adamant about it all." Right up until Enjolras had claimed Grantaire as part of his pack, when Javert had suddenly got very quiet and bug-eyed. Funny how that worked out.
Grantaire's mouth opens, stays open for a moment, then closes again. He's staring as though still trying to make sense of the words coming out of Enjolras's mouth.
Enjolras isn't doing so well himself. He's looking at Grantaire and trying to imagine bonding with him. The whole exercise seems futile, even in his head. He couldn't convince Grantaire to get coffee, let alone to surrender his life and liberty.
"Well," Grantaire says, when the silence has stretched entirely too long - the moon is coming and Enjolras needs to get this done, but he can't find the words when Grantaire keeps looking at him. His eyes are green, did Enjolras know that before? "Thanks for coming, I guess. And for - letting me know. I'll be honest, I wasn't even sure Thénardier would pass on a message. Did Éponine call you?"
"She came to the Musain, caused a bit of a stir." He decides not to mention the assorted insults or the way Marius had been huddled in the corner of the bar.
Grantaire seems to get it anyway. "Yeah she's not such a big fan. I meant - I didn't expect you to come."
Enjolras blinks. "Who did you -?"
"Feuilly," he shrugs. "Maybe Jehan. Someone who actually likes me." He offers up a smile as though this is some solid fact that they’re supposed to bond over.
Somehow, Enjolras manages to resist the urge to laugh hysterically. "You think I don't like you?"
Grantaire tilts his head a little. "I'll be honest, until you walked in here I wasn't sure you knew my name, so -"
"You're a member of the group."
"Am I?" Grantaire visibly brightens. "Cool."
"I mean," Enjolras steels himself. Twenty minutes to moonrise. "You've officially won the 'most reckless member of the ABC' award." He half reaches out to take Grantaire's hand, then realises they're almost definitely not at that stage of friendship, and his palm drops awkwardly onto his own knee, trying to pretend like that was what it intended all along.
"Is the prize multiple years in prison?" he says it with his customary grin, but it doesn't come anywhere near his eyes and even in human form Enjolras can smell him starting to sweat. "Because I don't win many contests, but I think maybe I will regret winning this one."
"We have a back-up plan, of sorts." This is it then. Make or break. "Combeferre and I, we planned out different levels of what we could do to help out. It's - my pack, my family are pretty high up, in government. My name is worth a lot."
Grantaire's forehead folds into a slightly confused frown. "Are you suggesting we get married?"
"No," Enjolras says quickly. "Nothing that - not like that. I mean, my pack." He stands up, he has to move. "There's this wolf ritual, it's called 'claiming' or 'bonding'." Also 'mating' but no need to bring that one up at all ever. "I claim you and that would give you the protection of my pack. So where a human would serve multiple years of jail time, with my name and a pack behind you there would be different expectations from the courts. They’d be more lenient, it would be as if I had done it, or as if you were a wolf.”
Enjolras stops pacing and turns back. Grantaire's expression has gone from confused to guarded. "I know what claiming is," he says. "Humans as things. I thought that was everything you were fighting against. Bit hypocritical, isn't it?"
Enjolras drags a hand back through his hair. "Yes," he says simply. "Yes, I disagree entirely with the system, it's a horrible system and it's been abused endlessly to force people into all kinds of awful situations but right now it might save your life."
Grantaire looks down at his own hands, silent for a long moment. "You said this is your last ditch emergency plan."
Combeferre claimed Courfeyrac after an incident with a warehouse and a fire. Joly and Bossuet both put their names forward for Musichetta after she was caught spray painting slogans on the overpass. They had been saving Cosette for emergencies, but then she met Marius and no one could bear to tell her she couldn't turn him. Not when they clearly wanted it so much. Enjolras was the last ditch plan and somewhere along the line he seems to have become the only plan.
"Maybe you should save it. I'm sure anyone in the ABC would make better use of it than I would."
If he was a wolf, Enjolras would press up next to him, nip his ears and push at him until he brightened up. Emotions are so much easier to deal with when they're wolves. "You're in the ABC. It's yours, if you want it."
Grantaire hasn't asked what a claim entails, just sits there tearing apart the cuticles of his fingers. "If I don't, I get at least five years in prison. What happens if I do?"
"We have a pretty good lawyer. And Javert - he's one of those humans who likes to suck up to us, to wolves. When he found out who I was -" he'd been one step away from bowing and scraping. Being from an old wolf family had its advantages. "A fine, maybe some community service. My family might have to throw some parties." He glances down at Grantaire's hands and adds, with a confidence he doesn't quite feel but is getting better at faking. "You could walk out with me right now."
Grantaire looks around himself at the grey walls, the plain metal tables like he's actually contemplating a lifetime of it. "Ok," he says it soft, like Enjolras might not have the ears of a wolf, might not catch it. "If you're sure you want to bond with me."
Whether Enjolras wants to bond with Grantaire is a question that could keep a debate team going for a month, but he definitely doesn't want to leave him here a moment longer than he has to. "Okay." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Fifteen minutes to moonrise. He should've looked this up in the car on the way over, but Combeferre called so many times with last minute advice on how to play the 'rich young wolf' card that Enjolras had just left him on speaker.
Grantaire leans over his arm to get a look. "Are you looking up how to claim a human on wikihow?"
This close, Enjolras can sift past the booze and the piss-stench of the smells down to something underneath, rich and earthy that's all Grantaire. His weight is warm against Enjolras's arm and Enjolras tries to ignore the way his face is heating up. "I've never done this before."
"That's what she said?" Grantaire offers with a vague attempt at a grin. "Isn't it just a bite? I'm sure there's biting involved."
"That's the gist," Enjolras says, scanning the article quickly as he can. "There's a ritual you can do so the bond is a bit more equal, I have all the supplies in the car." Probably. It's Combeferre's car and he doubts Combeferre would go anywhere without at least one emergency medical kit stashed in the trunk.
His phone pops up a notification letting him know it's fifteen minutes to moonrise and he should be finding a safe space to change.
"Shit," Grantaire says when he sees it. "Just do the quick one."
The quick one is one hundred percent what Enjolras is fighting against and he scrolls quicker. The ritual just needs a few sacred knives, a splash of blood from both parties, five minutes of chanting but if he rushes he might be able to get through it in three. Still not enough time. "I could use it to take advantage."
Grantaire raises one eyebrow at him. "I really, honestly don't think you could." He kicks Enjolras in the ankle. "Either do the quick one or come back tomorrow, fearless leader. I haven't spent a night sober in a while, but the beds here are uncomfortable enough that I probably won't need to worry about falling asleep."
Nine minutes to moonrise and Grantaire's right, they really don't have time. "I need to bite you somewhere they haven't seen, they have to believe you've been claimed for months."
"Lying to the cops, I like it." Grantaire says, standing up and pulling his T-shirt up. "Hip? Lucky for you I haven't been strip-searched or this could have got awkward fast."
Enjolras is definitely not thinking about that, also trying hard not to think about what he's about to do. With the minutes literally flashing by to the full moon, doing a controlled shift is going to be hard enough without the distraction of Grantaire's slightly shifting stomach, the newly exposed triangle of dark skin, the way his jeans are sitting low where they confiscated his belt. "Are you sure?" he asks again.
"I'm not getting less sure," Grantaire says, and it's not exactly eager assent but it's going to have to do because Enjolras's teeth are already shifting, his jaw stretching out to make extra space. He can feel the moon running under his skin, pushing him towards a full change. Everything would be simpler, everything would be easier. Wolves don't have to worry about rules and rituals, they see something they want and they take it.
He remembers at the last moment to keep the bite small, enough to break the skin but not enough to require medical attention - does Grantaire have insurance? They'll need to add him to the pack policy - and as soon as he tastes iron and warmth in his mouth he breaks off, tearing his face away and turning his back until he can push the call of the moon down. A pressure pushes somewhere at the back of Enjolras's mind, like something's making space, and then eases off.
God, he wants to break down on all fours. He wants to run. Behind him Grantaire smells of sweat and booze and something new, spreading out from his hip. A low thrum of fur and forest and pack.
Enjolras breathes in the smell of home, and his mouth shrinks back to human size, delaying the change just a little longer. "Are you alright?" he says, a little muffled through oversized teeth as soon as he has a mouth that can form words. "I didn't hurt you too bad?"
He turns around. Grantaire still has his T-shirt hiked up. He’s not looking at Enjolras, just watching his own blood slowly dripping down to his jeans. "I'm fine.” He tugs his top down sharply, presses his hand over the dark area where the blood starts soaking through. “You said something about walking out with you?"
Enjolras can smell the blood, but right now it's not too visible to the casual observer. Grantaire's right though, they need to leave right now.
*
It takes everything he's got in him to stay upright. Javert catches them before they've taken two steps out the interrogation room, saying something about how he's not sure this is in line with official protocol. Enjolras shrugs, playing the disaffected rich boy role as well as he knows how. "I need him with me."
"He threw a rock at a senator," Javert says.
Enjolras glances over his shoulder to where Grantaire is still following, determinably not limping, one hand pressed against his side. "A rock? Really?"
Grantaire grins back. "It just sort of came to me."
"I may need to question him further," Javert says.
Enjolras rolls his eyes and gives a long sigh. "What is there to ask? He threw a rock, he just admitted it. Case closed. Any wolf could tell you that he's mine, I'll keep him with me. You want to hear from him -" he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card, flicking it in Javert's direction. "The number of my family's lawyer. Give that a call, we'll make sure he comes in."
"With all due respect -"
Enjolras turns on him, lets the moon creep a little further under his skin so his eyes flash and his hackles shiver. "Are you implying that my pack might break faith with the law?"
Javert makes a valiant attempt at meeting Enjolras's gaze for all of half a second before he folds. "Of course - I mean - I hold your father in the highest regard. As always I can only strive to reach the heights to which your people may attain."
He'd always known that some humans idolised wolves, desperate to join them. He'd just never actually met one. He turns on his heel and keeps walking.
"Paperwork," Javert says, with the air of one playing an ace, half jogging to catch up. "There are some release forms, and of course I'll need to run a test to confirm the bond between you." He cast a suspicious look towards Grantaire. "He didn't mention it at all when we brought him in, or during questioning."
"I didn't want to bring shame on the family," Grantaire said easily, as though he'd been holding the excuse ready for some time. Not that it was even an excuse, really. At least half the bound humans were given strict instructions not to bring up their packs in times of trouble so as to avoid situations like this one, where Enjolras could be named as responsible for Grantaire's actions. But how would Grantaire know that?
Enjolras looks down at his watch to cover his surprise. Ten minutes. "Are you aware of the time, officer? I am in somewhat of a hurry."
"Perhaps if we kept him in a cell overnight, you could collect him in the morning when you have - ah - recovered?"
By which time Grantaire will have had no choice but to reveal the brand new wound on his side and the whole ruse will be dead in the water. "I need him tonight. He grounds me."
Javert glances back at Grantaire in surprise. Not exactly unwarranted. Grounding humans are known for being solid, dependable personalities. Unemotional, definitely not prone to random acts of violence. "You need to sign his release papers," he says, this apparently being the one hurdle he will not skip around. "There's a lunar hotel two minutes down the road, you'll be able to make it."
Enjolras resists the urge to scratch his arms against the nearest wall. "I suppose we'll have to."
*
He has to break the first rule of politics: Never sign anything you haven't had at least three lawyers read in full. Javert keeps pulling out more and more pieces of paper. The bond test - a quick blood sample from both of them - flickers orange for a moment longer than normal. Long enough for Enjolras's claws to scratch at their beds from nerves, but before any human would notice the delay the LEDs turn bright green. Bond confirmed.
Grantaire gives Enjolras a rueful 'guess you're stuck with me' half-smile and Enjolras has to force his eyes down to the signature box before his hand starts growing fur. His fingers are already twitching which is a pain for holding a pen but he has to sign for Grantaire's release, the release of his personal property (a mobile phone from about fifty years ago, two shoelaces, a belt, three pencils and a rock) and the guarantees that he would remain in Enjolras's custody until such a time as he was summoned to trial.
Finally Javert pushes a ten page document on the correct treatment of a prisoner under house arrest into Enjolras's hands with a final 'mention my name to your father, won't you?' that Enjolras is determined to ignore, and they're allowed out into the street where the last glimmer of yellow light is just fading off the horizon.
He tosses Combeferre's keys to Grantaire. "You can drive, right?"
"I... can?" Grantaire's got his phone in one hand, hitting the first speed dial without looking down at it.
Enjolras doesn't offer further explanation, just slides into the passenger seat. His vocal chords are starting to twist and he's not sure how to explain that it's taking all his focus to make sure his hands remain hands, let alone remember how to work a steering wheel.
"Hey 'Ponine," Grantaire is saying as he gets into the driver's seat and starts the car. "Yeah, he got me out but I'm not gonna make it to work. Full moon. No, I'm not but unless you've made a friend with a car in the last twelve hours, I'm stuck here."
Enjolras tries to calculate distances to the nearest bus stop - if he really forces the change down they could have five minutes - but his brain is running at about 20% human and isn't great at maths at the best of times.
Grantaire smells really good. If they'd waited five more minutes on the bond test Enjolras wouldn't even have been nervous, the way the pack scents are mixing into the familiar weight of Grantaire's presence.
"You'd think jail would be a valid excuse," Grantaire has managed to balance the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can reverse the car out. "No, yeah I get it. I think until sunrise? I'll give you a call when I'm headed back." He lets the phone drop into his lap, pulling onto the main road. "Éponine says thanks."
Enjolras looks at him.
"Okay she actually said 'guess he's good for something' but that's, like, Eponine for thanks." He squints through the window. "Was she awful at the Musain? I wasn't sure what to do, I didn't know any of the emergency numbers."
The emergency numbers were permanently on a blackboard at the Musain with instructions for every member of the ABC to memorize at least one of them in case of an emergency. Enjolras snarls a little.
"Yeah," Grantaire agrees. "But, like, I wasn't expecting this any more than you were."
Then why did you do it? the question sits somewhere at the back of Enjolras's mind but he doubts Grantaire would understand that one in snarls. He opens the glove compartment instead, digging around as Grantaire pulls off the main road. The hotel card is under a few packs of biscuits and an over-engineered breathalyser, but at least it's there.
The Lunar Hotel is an island of blue lights, the same bland cream-and-pastels decor that's present in a thousand identical buildings nationwide. They don't stop to park the car, Grantaire cuts the engine in front of the steps and Enjolras holds himself upright long enough to get into the lobby. A flash of the pack loyalty card gets a man in a concierge jacket to come running.
There's a big clock on the wall counting down which is something Enjolras could definitely live without since it's well into the seconds.
"Um -" Grantaire has come in. Enjolras pulls himself to a stop, letting the concierge run on ahead to open the nearest suite. "I need to park, I guess."
One of the bellhops walks over, clearly not sure what to make of him. "We have a valet service and -" His eyes flick down to the blood soaked into Grantaire's T-shirt, then he turns to Enjolras "Your bond will be staying with you?"
Grantaire rubs the back of his neck. "With the wolf? Me? Is that - do we normally do that?"
Enjolras pushes back at the change, fighting for control of his own throat. This close to moonrise every word cuts but he can't leave Grantaire with any doubts. "The claim, I'll feel it, I won't -" he swallows, clarifies. "The wolf won't hurt you."
Grantaire hesitates half a heartbeat longer, then drops Combeferre's car keys into the bellhop’s hand and follows Enjolras into the suite.
It's fairly basic - has to be, with wolves running wild every full moon. There's a small cot in the corner, a bathroom with a sign on the door reading 'please lock during transformation'. Normally there would be food provided, but then every time Enjolras has stayed in one of these before they've given the desk staff more than thirty seconds warning.
Speaking of. There's a metal sheet that can be pulled across the window, but it's been left open and the moonlight is spilling out over the frame. Enjolras grits his - human - teeth against it long enough to push half of Combeferre's shirt buttons free and then loses the battle and has to pull it off over his head.
Grantaire coughs behind him, shutting the door to the suite with a bang. "Stripping. Right. Should have considered that. I'll just - uh - find something for this bite."
Enjolras should care, should say something but he's been fighting this off for too long. It's all he can do to get his belt and flies open before he's kicking off his shoes and jeans into a heap on the floor.
And he changes.
There are essays, theses, books on the subject of how wolves fit inside human skins, how the shift breaks and rebuilds every bone in the body, how fur grows at an impossible rate, teeth don't replace but simply change shape, adapting to fit a muzzle growing where there was none before. Lifetimes of research have gone into basic details: where does a tail go when not in use, where do claws come from, why - why - does rebuilding the entire human form in the space of a few minutes not go hand in hand with the kind of intense agony usually reserved for victims of particularly brutal torture.
It doesn't hurt at all. Switching shape is a hard stretch after a long day, kicking off an uncomfortable pair of shoes after walking a mile, dropping a heavy load - finally - to the floor. Everything relaxes, settles and is simpler.
Enjolras shakes himself to dislodge any stray strands of fur, stretches his forepaws out before him, lifts his head to catalogue the smells in the room. They clean these chain hotels well, there's barely a hint of whoever shifted here last. Even the walls are almost odour proof, he can just about detect a female wolf next door, but no more. There's no food, not within his sense range, and he bares his teeth, growling to himself at the idea.
His colour vision has faded out, blurring at the edges but his sense of smell has increased more than enough to compensate. A door opens behind him and he lifts his muzzle to smell the warmth of a body, faint traces of alcohol, a low underlying note of self as though he was duplicated and part of him was resting under Grantaire's skin.
He turns to watch Grantaire shutting the bathroom door carefully behind him. If he breathes deeper, he can smell traces of Eponine on Grantaire's skin, as well as Javert, the iron of the handcuffs they used to arrest him, the dried piss stench of the holding cell.
"Right," Grantaire says, the human words taking their time to trickle down into Enjolras's consciousness. "Wolf."
He's holding a towel to his hip, but Enjolras can smell the fresh blood underneath it. More than that, he can feel the mark of his teeth in Grantaire's skin, the slight shadow in the back of his mind where Grantaire has settled into place.
In wolf form, his head is a little higher than the bite. He pads forward - the rough scattering of twigs and pine needles they scatter in these places is no substitute for earth - and touches his nose against Grantaire's hand. Smells like home, wine, cheap hotel soap.
Slowly, the hand moves to touch his head, smoothing the fur down between his ears. Grantaire is mumbling something but his wolf mind doesn't waste time understanding it. He touches his nose to the cuts instead. They're well done, shallow enough that the blood flow is already stopped. Mine.
Satisfied, he pads away from his human towards the window where the moon shines down on his fur. In the light, he lets his eyes slide shut and tilts his muzzle up to join the howl. He's distant, too far from home, but he can still feel his pack slipping in behind him, their voices echoing just behind his eyelids, filling out the sound. Some of the pups start poking at the new branch in the pack web, trying to work out why Grantaire isn't howling with them.
‘Really, dear?’ his mother sighs. Wolves don't have words, but the feelings that go with them come easy enough.
Enjolras bristles a little ‘had to, justice!’ and she lets him go, with the vague knowledge that they will have words as soon as they have the bodies to go with them.
There's a press of familiarity and Combeferre is in the howl, closer than any of the others. Through him, Enjolras can feel the warmth of a sofa, Courfeyrac nearby, can almost hear Courf laughing. Combeferre touches the connection to Grantaire very briefly, and there's a flare of understanding. ‘Good.’
He's pulled back out into the real world with a jolt, a press of warmth against his shoulder and his eyes flash open, nose lifting to smell - homesweatsweetmine - and Grantaire, sitting next to him watching the moon.
Enjolras stops howling, lets his pack slip off into their hunts or - for Combeferre - their monthly naps. Grantaire is speaking, soft human sounds that quiet down the urge to follow the pack into forests, running down deer between the trees.
Enjolras turns his muzzle into Grantaire's neck, to breathe in the familiar smells of him now mixed up with the underlying thread of mineminemine and after a moment he feels warm fingers threading back through his fur, running warm down his back.
Emotions are easier for wolves. He sinks his head down onto Grantaire's knee in the moonlight and his tail brushes back and forth behind him.