Work Text:
“Combeferre, J-Jehan killed himself.”
For a moment, Combeferre freezes stock still. He gets the feeling that he should be saying something to Courfeyrac, who he can hear sobbing loudly on the other side of the phone, but his brain is still computing.
Jehan.
Jehan had...
“Oh.” He manages to breathe out eventually. His frozen muscles suddenly allow him movement, resulting in a jerky attempt at running through to get his coat and shoes. “Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac listen – I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay, hush, I’m on my way.”
Courfeyrac doesn’t make any indication that he’s heard him, and Combeferre is for a moment torn between staying on the phone as he drives and hanging up to call Enjolras, but then there’s a clatter from the other side and he can still hear muffled wailing, but it sounds like Courfeyrac has dropped his phone.
“Ten minutes, Courfeyrac, I’ll be right there.” He says, just in case, and then hangs up his phone as he practically throws himself into the driver’s seat of his car and ignites the engine. He calls Enjolras and puts his phone on hands-free as he drives off as fast as he can without it being dangerous in the rain.
“Hello?” Enjolras’ voice greets him.
“Enjolras.” Combeferre says, and he knows that Enjolras will read his tone and know there is something very wrong.
“What’s happened?” The blonde says. Combeferre thinks he can hear Grantaire in the background, but he’s not really paying that much attention.
“Jehan has-...” The words catch for a moment, so Combeferre has to try again. “Jehan’s committed suicide, from the sounds of it Courfeyrac has just found him. He just called me. I’m heading over to their place now.”
He hears Enjolras gasp a little, and now he can definitely hear Grantaire clamouring in the background. He briefly remembers that Grantaire and Jehan have always been very close friends and that Enjolras will now have to tell him.
“We’ll be over as soon as we can be.” Enjolras tells him, and Combeferre lets out a little breath he wasn’t aware of holding.
“Thank you.” He says, and Enjolras hangs up without another word. Combeferre drives in silence, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
~~::.::~~
He uses the spare key he knows is under a potted plant – they are all still so co-dependent that they all remember where each other keeps the keys – and doesn’t bother to lock it again as he hurries in. He can hear Courfeyrac’s heartbreaking sobbing from the front room, and navigates himself down the hall and towards the source.
Combeferre sucks in a sharp breath. For some reason, the first thing that catches his eye is a small, harmless papercut on Jehan’s left index finger. There are similar cuts on the tips of each finger, small, relatively harmless. It’s the huge, deep, gash up his wrist that makes Combeferre shudder, the smaller cuts and scars that criss-cross it hardly visible through the sheer amount of blood...
Courfeyrac is still desperately clutching Jehan’s body, crying into the junction of his neck and shoulder.
“Courfeyrac...” Combeferre murmurs as he kneels down behind Courfeyrac. He tries to gently pull him away, but Courfeyrac just clings tighter and wails louder. “Courfeyrac, you need to let him go.”
“No.” Courfeyrac sobs. “No, no, no...”
“Courfeyrac, come on.” Combeferre gently pries Courfeyrac’s grip loose, and carefully lays Jehan down and takes Courfeyrac into his arms as he tries to grasp for him again. Courfeyrac screams, struggling and beating at his chest as he pulls him off the bathroom floor and back through to the bedroom.
“Let me go, let me go, I need to – I need – I – Jehan! Jehan! Jehan!”
“Courfeyrac, hush, hush.” Combeferre tries to soothe. They don’t get to the bed, but the carpet of the bedroom is at least plush, and not the bloodstained tiles of the bathroom. They collapse into a tangled pile of limbs, Courfeyrac still struggling weakly to get out of Combeferre’s grip on him.
“I shouldn’t have left him alone, he said he was fine but I should have stayed anyway, but I thought I’d be okay to go to class, just for an hour or so, I shouldn’t have left him alone please don’t make me leave him alone again.” Courfeyrac gives one last tug and then falls forwards into Combeferre’s chest. Combeferre threads his fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair, hushing to him as he continues to cry and occasionally mutter brokenly.
Combeferre hears the click of the front door, heralding the arrival of Enjolras and possibly Grantaire. It’s the two of them, and Grantaire’s eyes look red-rimmed. Combeferre looks up at them and he gets the feeling he looks somewhat pleading, and the two kneel down on either side of him and Courfeyrac. Enjolras places a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder and shares a sombre look with him; Grantaire presses himself against Courfeyrac’s back, his own shoulders shuddering a little.
“We called Marius.” Enjolras says quietly. “He said Courfeyrac can stay with him and Cosette for as long as he needs.”
Combeferre nods. Courfeyrac can’t stay here, not now, and Marius has always been very close to him, almost like a brother; they lived together for almost four years, and Marius will know exactly what Courfeyrac needs.
“You two take him over there.” Combeferre tells him. “I’ll... I’ll sort everything else out.”
“Are you sure?” Enjolras asks, his eyes searching. “I’ll stay with you.”
“Grantaire can’t take Courfeyrac by himself.” Combeferre tells him. It’s not just a matter of Grantaire not knowing how to drive; Combeferre is sure that Grantaire is in no emotional state to be responsible for Courfeyrac, still sobbing harshly into Combeferre’s chest. Enjolras looks between him and Grantaire – he sighs, and squeezes Combeferre’s shoulder.
“I’ll take them over and come back.” He says. Despite that not quite being what Combeferre was aiming for, he’s grateful – the support Enjolras is offering is something Combeferre needs. Combeferre sighs and nods, and tightens his hold on Courfeyrac for a moment before carefully extracting himself and passing Courfeyrac on to Grantaire. Courfeyrac seems to realise for the first time who it is who has arrived, and his crying doubles.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s my – I shouldn’t have – I’m so sorry.”
“Hush, Courfeyrac.” Grantaire murmurs, his voice shaking a little. “It’s not your fault.” And then, quieter, “I’m sorry too.”
Enjolras helps them both up and strokes a soothing hand over Courfeyrac’s head, pressing a kiss to Grantaire’s temple and wrapping his arms around them to steer them out of the house. Courfeyrac struggles against them for a moment as soon as he realises they’re trying to make him leave, sobbing and trying to scream but managing only hoarse cries, and the last thing Combeferre hears is “Don’t make me – stop – Jehan – I’m sor-” before the door shuts and the trio are gone.
Combeferre leans back against the wall and rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes drifting around the room – scattered paper and a few pens, lying on the floor; the cork billboard on the wall with photos and sketches and poems all tacked on; a desk, with some of Courfeyrac’s Law textbooks, Jehan’s quill and ink, Courfeyrac’s favourite mug, the novel Jehan had been reading, almost finished, but not quite – he looks around and there’s a weight that settles ever heavier on his chest, before he finally takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes – wills away tears, for now – and stands, reaching into his pocket for his phone.