Work Text:
Combeferre picked up a gun, weighed it in his hands, and headed for the door.
Two steps into the hallway, he turned back and slipped a key from his pocket into the lock of one of his draws. Two pistols lay inside, side by side. He slid them into his belt. He may not need them. Somebody would.
***
A shot whistled over Enjolras’ head. He ducked, cursed. His hands were empty. Somewhere, in the chaos, he had put down his gun. The men of the National Guard were mounting the barricade, and here he stood unarmed. His eyes met with the man’s atop the barricade. The man raised his gun.
The heavy, reassurring weight of a pistol appeared in Enjolras’ hand. He ducked behind the edge of a table, and fired a single shot.
The man went down.
Enjolras’ caught Combeferre’s eye, and nodded.
***
Combeferre saw his pistol knocked from Enjolras’ hand by a stray shot. He flinched, but now was not the time for flinching. At his feet lay a bloody sword. He shouldered his own gun, picked up the sword, wiped it on his coat, and passed it to Enjolras.
Enjolras glanced at him, just for a moment, with grateful blue eyes, before he disappeared back into the fray.
***
There were no longer many of them left alive. A tiny group huddled at one end of the barriacade. Enjolras did not know what had become of the others. In his hand, he held a gun of the National Guard. He did not know where it had come from. The fight had become a blur.
***
Unarmed, Combeferre lifted a wounded soldier from behind the barricade. He didn’t feel the first bayonet go in. The sudden pain seemed to burst from within his chest, rather than without. Once. Twice. Thrice. His breath was gone from his lungs. He toppled backwards and for a moment, he saw the sky – as blue as—
***
Enjolras clambered up the barricade, the gun of the National Guard slipping from his bloody fingers. Unarmed, facing down the enemy, he reached out a desperate hand. It remained empty.
He looked over to meet Combeferre’s eyes. They remained fixed upon the sky.