my favourite part of the enjoltaire dinamic is how R is just the normalest realest depressed guy ever(freak) while Enj is basically a cool guy who was never normal for a second of his life(also freak but different)
bad: Enjolras sees Grantaires art of him and immediately deduces his romantic feelings
chad: Enjolras sees Grantaire carefully observing their friends and drawing them and is like “oh wow that is so time consuming R is paying such close loving attention to the people he draws that is the epitome of friendship and brotherly love” and secretly wants to be drawn by him more than anything else
Related: it's really fucking stupid that "hypochondriac" is generally taken to mean "someone who wants attention and will lie to get it" not "anxiety disorder" which is what it literally is. It's always played for a laugh.
TimeTravel! Au where established-relationship modern Enjoltaire accidentally go back in time to barricade day and meet canon-era-reluctant-frenemies Enjoltaire with a series of awkward misunderstandings. Or include all of the Amis, or a fluffy kidfic(or not, since they're in a middle of a warzone), idk you decide.
So I really let the ‘idk you decide’ do a lot of heavy lifting here in terms of what this prompt became. Sorry Nonny!
Time Travel AU (kinda/sorta), E/R, established and also not, Modern AU and also Canon. Referenced/implied canonical major character death.
The crowd was suffocating, a mass of bodies that jostled Grantaire from every side as he tried his best to push through, but he didn’t care. He had one singular goal: he had to get to Enjolras.
He caught flashes through the crowd of Enjolras, using the hood of a car as a makeshift stage, shouting something into a megaphone that was drowned out by the roar of people, and though Grantaire’s temper was soured by having to shoulder his way through the masses just to get to his boyfriend, as always, even the briefest sight of Enjolras in his element was enough to make him smile.
A smile that quickly faded as Grantaire finally made it to the front of the crowd, only to see a platoon of police officers in full riot gear approaching.
“Enjolras!” Grantaire shouted, but his voice was lost over the noise of the crowd, especially as others had caught sight of the approaching cops.
Enjolras glanced over his shoulder, his expression hardening as the police drew closer. “Citizens, stay calm,” he shouted through the megaphone, but the crowd was already beginning a panicked scattering.
Grantaire was knocked almost to the ground by folks trying to flee, and by the time he struggled to his feet, it was to see a police officer drawing up behind Enjolras, baton at the ready. “Enjolras!” Grantaire called, but it was too late: the police officer clubbed Enjolras in the legs, and Enjolras pitched forward, off of the hood of the car and out of Grantaire’s line of sight.
Grantaire’s blood ran cold, and he immediately started pushing back through the crowd, but he couldn’t seem to make any headway against the masses of people. His heart raced with pure terror as the cops all but surrounded the car that Enjolras had been standing on.
“No!” Grantaire screamed, clawing at the people dragging him in the opposite direction, away from where Enjolras had fallen. “No, Enjolras! Enjolras!”
He struggled in vain, wordless sobs punching from his chest as he watched a cop yank Enjolras upright by his hair, a trickle of blood running down Enjolras’s pale forehead. Somehow, Enjolras’s eyes found Grantaire in the crowd, and he mouthed something that Grantaire couldn’t quite make out. “No,” Grantaire gasped, as the cop raised his gun to Enjolras’s head.
And pulled the trigger.
“NO!”
Grantaire sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving, drenched in sweat. “Grantaire?” Enjolras asked sleepily. “Grantaire, what—”
He broke off when he saw the state Grantaire was in, sitting up immediately and gently touching Grantaire’s arm. “It’s ok,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, just loud enough to be heard over Grantaire’s harsh breathing. “You’re ok. It was just a nightmare.”
Grantaire swallowed, hard, and shook his head, but no words came. Instead he turned and buried his face against Enjolras’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of the man who was very clearly still alive, still here, still next to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s shirt.
“For what?” Enjolras asked, stroking Grantaire’s hair. “For having a nightmare? I’m not entirely sure that’s something you can really control…”
Grantaire shook his head again and pulled away from Enjolras. “No, for not getting to you in time,” he said hoarsely.
Enjolras frowned. “In your dream?” he asked, and Grantaire nodded. “What happened?” Grantaire made a face and Enjolras’s frown deepened. “You dreamed I died again.”
It wasn’t a question, and for good reason. This was the fifth or sixth time in the past few weeks that Grantaire had been besieged by nightmares of Enjolras being killed, frequently enough that it was becoming a habit. And not one of Grantaire’s fun habits.
Not that Enjolras would consider most of Grantaire’s habits fun, but that was an argument Grantaire supposed could wait for another day.
He realized a moment too late that Enjolras had asked him something, and blinked at him. “Sorry?” he said, his voice still hoarse.
“I said, who was it this time?”
Enjolras’s voice was light, almost joking, and Grantaire knew that he was trying to make him feel better, even if it didn’t actually do anything to slow his still-racing heart or calm his still-shaking hands. “Cops,” he said.
Enjolras didn’t look surprised, just nodding slowly. “EDCAB,” he said, pronouncing each letter with no small amount of venom, and Grantaire gave him a startled look. “Even Dream Cops Are Bastards.”
Grantaire half-smiled. “Pretty sure dream cops are included in the ‘all cops’ part of ACAB,” he said.
“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt to specify.” Grantaire didn’t laugh and Enjolras’s forehead puckered with concern. “This is becoming a pattern,” he said. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it.”
Grantaire made a noise in the back of his throat, imagining the field day his therapist would have with this revelation. “I am talking to someone,” he said dismissively.
But Enjolras didn’t so much as a crack a smile. “You know what I mean.” He ran a hand up and down Grantaire’s arm. “There’s only so many times that I can tell you that you’re worrying for nothing, that I’m perfectly safe, that nothing’s going to happen to me. Especially since your subconscious doesn’t appear to be getting the hint.”
“In fairness, my subconscious is probably a better judge of the relative danger you put yourself in than you are,” Grantaire muttered, sliding away from Enjolras and standing up, grabbing his t-shirt from where he had shed it the night before and shrugging it on. “Between the cops, the far-right groups—”
“Which are really one and the same,” Enjolras said sourly.
“—and the regular fringe groups with an axe to grind, and just the fact that you make a pretty easy target—”
Enjolras scowled. “Are you victim-blaming?” he asked.
Grantaire rolled his eyes, heading into the kitchen to start the coffee. “No,” he said. “But that doesn’t also mean that you can’t take some reasonable precautions for your own safety.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Mom,” Enjolras called, and Grantaire rolled his eyes again, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard as he waited for the coffeemaker. Enjolras padded into the kitchen a minute or two later, leaning against the fridge as he watched Grantaire. “You said that you couldn’t get to me in time.”
“Huh?” Grantaire said distractedly.
“In your dream. You apologized for not being able to get to me in time.”
Grantaire braced himself against the counter and shook his head. “Not just this dream,” he said quietly. “Every dream.”
Enjolras frowned. “So is that what this is really about?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Grantaire said tiredly. “Look, just...just drop it, ok?”
“Fine,” Enjolras said, though his tone indicated that it wasn’t. Grantaire could feel his eyes on him as he poured them both cups of coffee, and when he passed him the mug, Enjolras asked, “Are you ok?”
Grantaire shrugged, resting his hip against the counter as he took a swig of too-hot coffee. “I’m fine.”
Enjolras didn’t look convinced. “Well, look at this way,” he said bracingly, the teasing tone back in his voice, “even if you had gotten to me, what would you have been able to do to stop it? Going down in a hail of bullets together is only romantic when Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid do it.”
Grantaire stared at him, his heart in his throat. He knew that Enjolras was only joking, but somehow, that made it worse, that he would dismiss this as nothing more than a joke. “Maybe there’s nothing that I can do,” he said, his voice low, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”
Without another word, he went out onto the balcony, closing the sliding door after him with more force than was necessary.
This time, Enjolras didn’t follow him right away, which was probably for the best. Grantaire knew he was being ridiculous, just as he knew that Enjolras had only been trying to make him laugh. It was an effort he would normally appreciate, if the image of Enjolras with a gun to his head wasn’t seared on the inside of his eyelids.
A few minutes later, Enjolras poked his head out from the sliding door. “Can I come out?” he asked.
“Pretty sure you didn’t ask permission to do so back in junior high, so Lord knows I’m not going to stop you now.”
Enjolras laughed lightly, stepping out onto the balcony. “Cute,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Grantaire said with a sigh, turning to rest his elbows on the balcony railing.
Enjolras leaned on the railing next to him. “I didn’t mean—” he started, but despite his reaction earlier, Grantaire didn’t really need to hear it.
“I know,” he repeated instead, a little gentler this time, and Enjolras nodded.
“We’re ok, right?” he asked, studying Grantaire carefully.
Grantaire turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “You already asked me that.”
“No, I asked if you were ok,” Enjolras said. “Now I’m asking about us.”
Instead of answering, Grantaire snaked an arm around Enjolras’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him lightly.. “We’re—” he started, breaking off when there was a horrible sound of groaning metal. “Was that—?”
Before he could even finish the question, the railing they were both leaning against gave out with a horrible shriek, sending both men tumbling to the ground twenty feet below.
----------
Grantaire groaned, feeling like he had been hit by a semi-truck. “Enjolras?” he muttered, feeling with his hand since he wasn’t quite ready to open his eyes. “Enj—”
His hand landed on something soft and he did finally open his eyes when he heard Enjolras groan, “You can stop molesting me at any time.”
“Oh thank God,” Grantaire said, realizing for the first time that despite the ache that seemed to permeate his body, nothing seemed broken or even bleeding. He carefully pushed against the ground to sit up, realizing for the first time that they weren’t lying on the sidewalk outside their apartment building. Instead, they were in some dark alley, lying on… “Cobblestones?” Grantaire asked, rubbing the back of his head as he looked around. “Where the hell are we?”
Enjolras sat up slowly, looking just as confused, though after a moment he froze, staring at Grantaire’s chest. “I think the better question is when are we,” he said, nodding towards Grantaire’s shirt.
Grantaire glanced down and let out a yelp. He was not dressed in the t-shirt and boxers he had previously had on. Instead, he was wearing a loose linen shirt with a green vest and matching cravat. He looked quickly at Enjolras, who was similarly dressed, though his vest was red. “What the fuck is going on?”
Enjolras braced himself against the wall as he stood, wincing the entire time. “If I had to guess,” he said, glancing around them, “we’re both hallucinating from our fall.”
Grantaire scowled and leaned forward, pinching Enjolras’s thigh. Enjolras let out a high-pitched noise and glared down at him. “What was that for?!”
“Proof we’re not dreaming,” Grantaire said. “Help me up, would you?”
Enjolras glowered at him but nonetheless helped him to his feet. “I didn’t say we were dreaming, I said we were hallucinating. There’s a difference.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.”
Grantaire winced as he brushed his pants off and Enjolras frowned. “Are you ok?”
“I’ve had hangovers worse than this, don’t worry,” Grantaire assured him, glancing around them as well. “So when do you think we are?”
“Judging by the clothes, sometime in the first half of the 19th century,” Enjolras said with a shrug.
“Care to narrow it down any?” Grantaire asked dryly. “Other than night time in what I’m guessing is Paris?” Enjolras ignored him, instead snagging a discarded pamphlet from where someone had tossed it. “What’s that?”
Enjolras shrugged, not looking up from the pamphlet. “Some kind of pamphlet,” he said vaguely.
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Well no shit, I can see that. But a pamphlet for what?”
“For General Lamarque’s funeral.” Realization flashed across Enjolras’s face. “I know what date it is,” he said, his eyes wide. “It’s June 5th. Or early in the morning June 6th.”
Grantaire stared at him. “You got that from some random dude’s funeral?”
Enjolras gave him a look. “Sure, when the ‘random dude’s funeral was the major catalyst of the June Rebellion?”
“The June Rebellion?” Grantaire asked tiredly, certain he was in for a lecture on how those who don’t remember history were doomed to repeat it.
But Enjolras seemed willing to save the lecture for a different time. “Short rebellion that took place in Paris at the beginning of June, 1832. An unsuccessful uprising, obviously.” He squinted at the street name written on the edge of the building at the end of the alley. “And if I’m right, we should head in this direction so that we don’t get stuck in the crossfire.”
They set off slowly down the alley and turned right onto a deserted street. Grantaire glanced over at him before remarking, half-fond and half-exasperated, “You and your knowledge of every obscure uprising in western civilization’s long and sordid history…”
Enjolras laughed lightly. “Hey, I’m not the only one who remembers it,” he said. “I heard a rumor that someone was going to make a musical out of it.”
“Out of the June Rebellion?” Grantaire asked, incredulous. “Bit dark for a musical, don’t you think?”
Enjolras shrugged. “Well, after the success of Hamilton, I think we’re going to see a lot more musicals based on historical events,” he reasoned.
Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, but the June Rebellion? What are they gonna sing about, cholera? Deplorable working conditions? The prison-industrial complex in early 19th century France?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Enjolras said good-naturedly. “There’s a reason I’m a political organizer and not a musical writer—”
He broke off and Grantaire snorted. “Sure, including the fact that you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but—”
Enjolras caught his arm. “Grantaire, shut up,” he ordered quietly. “Someone’s coming.”
Sure enough, out of nowhere, a figure popped up, holding a rifle aimed at them. “Identify yourselves as friend or foe of the Revolution,” the person called, and Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged startled glances.
Because it sounded like…
But it couldn’t be…
“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras managed as the figure approached.
Sure enough, as the figure approached, they were able to make out his features, which matched Courfeyrac’s almost identically. Even stranger than that, when he saw them, the man who looked like Courfeyrac immediately relaxed. “Ah, Enjolras, Grantaire,” he said, lowering his rifle. “What are you doing this far from the barricade? When last I saw you, Enjolras, you were planning for tomorrow with Combeferre, and of course, Grantaire, you’ve been sleeping off the drink for hours now in the Corinthe.”
“And it was time that I got back to it,” Grantaire said quickly, glancing up at Enjolras. “Come find me when you can get away,” he said, his voice low, and for a moment, it looked like Enjolras would argue, probably to tell him that it was better that they stuck together.
But Grantaire suspected that it would be easier to figure what the hell was going on if they split up, or at least less obvious that both of them had no clue what was happening.
Enjolras hesitated but then nodded. “Be safe,” he said, leaning in automatically to kiss Grantaire’s forehead like he had hundreds of times before.
“I doubt that even in 1832 I’m the one who needs that reminder,” Grantaire said with a small smile, and he squeezed Enjolras’s hand before heading off to the building that Courfeyrac – or the man who looked exactly like him – had indicated.
Enjolras fell in step next to Courfeyrac, following him in what he could only assume was the direction of the barricade. But if this was Courfeyrac, he was unusually quiet for the man that Enjolras knew. Then, abruptly, Courfeyrac said, “I did not realize that you and Grantaire…”
He trailed off, but his meaning – and the reason for his unusual quiet – was clear. Enjolras realized that in this time, he and Grantaire must not be together. “It is...not something we’ve been, uh, public about,” Enjolras said carefully, watching Courfeyrac closely.
To his surprise, Courfeyrac laughed lightly. “Well, perhaps you’ve not been,” he said with a grin that was eerily familiar, “but there is none who could doubt the depth of Grantaire’s feelings for you.”
Enjolras was uncomfortably reminded of those first few years of barely managed friendship between him and Grantaire, when Grantaire had gone out of his way to get under Enjolras’s skin and how it had taken him forever to realize that it was because Grantaire liked him. “Apparently I’m not a quick study,” he muttered, and Courfeyrac laughed again, though he broke off quickly, growing more somber as they approached the barricade.
“Combeferre was just up there when last I saw him,” he said, pointing toward the barricade. “I must return to the watch lest we lose any others.”
The heaviness of his words hit Enjolras hard, and he wordlessly gripped his shoulder before letting him go. He wondered who they had lost, if it had been any of their friends who also existed in his own time.
It was a chilling thought.
He clambered up the back of the barricade to the small enclave Courfeyrac had pointed out and peered down, less surprised to see a tall man who looked just like the Combeferre from his own time.
But what he didn’t expect to see was that Combeferre was not alone.
And as both men turned to frown at him, he definitely did not expect to see that the man crouched next to Combeferre was...himself.
----------
“Uncanny,” Grantaire breathed, watching his own shoulders rise and fall lightly as he – the other he, the one clearly from this time, this universe, whatever it was – snored softly from where he was slumped over the table in the Corinthe.
The man had the same messy dark curls, the same bump in his nose from when he had broken it – though Grantaire doubted very strongly that this version had broken it falling off his skateboard in elementary school – even the same crooked fingers wrapped loosely around a green glass bottle.
It was like looking at a mirror image, and was one of the strangest things Grantaire had ever seen.
And he had once taken LSD with Bahorel.
The man shifted slightly in his sleep and Grantaire hesitated. He knew that he himself would hate being waken, but at the same time, there really wasn’t any other option.
So after another long moment, he leaned in and poked himself – the other himself – in the side. “Grantaire?” he half-whispered. “Grantaire, wake up.”
The man opened one eye. “Go ‘way,” he mumbled.
“Grantaire, wake up,” Grantaire said, louder this time, and it was enough to make the man open both his eyes.
“Enjolras?” the other Grantaire slurred before blinking and focusing on Grantaire. “Oh,” he said stupidly. “It’s you.”
----------
Enjolras stared dumbly down at the copy of himself, who frowned slightly. “Citizen,” the other Enjolras said. “Have you come to join our Cause?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Enjolras managed, wondering how in the hell he was going to possibly explain this.
Not that it mattered – at his words, the other Enjolras jumped down from the barricade, gun at the ready. “Then speak plainly,” he growled, grabbing Enjolras by the lapels with his free hand. “We have had our fill our spies and—”
He broke off when he finally saw Enjolras’s face, surprise followed by confusion crossing his own. Combeferre followed him down, his weapon also in hand, though he stopped in his tracks, his own eyes widening when he saw Enjolras. “What is this?” he asked, looked at the other Enjolras for explanation.
An explanation that either Enjolras was very clearly lacking.
To Enjolras’s surprise, the other Enjolras recovered first. “My cousin,” he said, a smoother lie than Enjolras would have managed. “From the country.”
“Right,” Enjolras said, nodding quickly. “His cousin, uh, Maximilien.” It was the first name that popped into his head and both Combeferre and the other Enjolras arched identical eyebrows. “I, uh, I was afeared that too late I might have been to attend to the barricade.”
He flushed when he realized he was talking like Yoda mixed with some kind of medieval knight, but thankfully, neither Combeferre nor the other Enjolras appeared to have noticed, or else were too caught up with confusion over what exactly was happening to care.
“Give us a moment,” the other Enjolras ordered quietly, and Combeferre hesitated.
“Are you certain?” he asked, eyeing Enjolras warily.
The other Enjolras nodded. “This man is no traitor or spy,” he said. “On that, I would stake my life.”
Combeferre hesitated for a moment longer before bowing his head and nodding. “Be quick,” he told the other Enjolras. “We have much to discuss before dawn.”
The other Enjolras nodded again and Combeferre left, though not until after one last furtive glance at Enjolras. The other Enjolras finally released Enjolras and set his gun down, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Who are you and why do you bear my face?” he asked bluntly.
Enjolras licked his lips before asking, a little desperately, “Would you believe me if I told you that I was you from the future?”
The other Enjolras considered him for a long moment, his brow drawn and his expression impassive. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I would not.”
----------
“So I am you,” the other Grantaire said slowly. “Or, more accurately perhaps, you are me.”
Grantaire nodded. “Right.”
The other Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I would believe that I had drunk too much absinthe,” he said, squinting at Grantaire, “save that I know not why my drink-addled brain would supply this particular vision.”
He raised the bottle in his hand to his lips, letting out a small noise of disappointment when he realized it was empty. “Just like that?” Grantaire asked skeptically. “You believe me without any explanation?”
“What other explanation is there?” the other Grantaire grumbled, tossing the empty bottle aside. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
Grantaire gaped at him. “And now you’re somehow quoting Star Trek?” he spluttered.
The other Grantaire leaned back in his chair. “I do not know what trek through the stars you reference,” he said, scratching his chest and yawning, “but do you suppose the stars you see in your time are the same as in mine?”
Grantaire resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and made a mental note to rein in the philosophizing the next time he, Joly and Bossuet got drunk. How neither of them had hauled off and decked him yet… “I guess so,” he said with a sigh.
“In your time, is there also…” Grantaire braced himself for what many questions the other Grantaire inevitably had for him, but to his surprise, all the other Grantaire asked was, “Is there an Enjolras?”
“Oh, yes.”
Grantaire didn’t hesitate in his answer, but something in the two words had the other Grantaire leaning forward again, his expression unreadable. “And you and he are friends?”
The other Grantaire sounded slightly surprised, but Grantaire just shrugged, a little helplessly. “Friends, lovers, partners...Enjolras is my everything.”
He knew he sounded like a lovesick idiot, but he learned long ago not to bother trying to hide it. The other Grantaire looked even more surprised by this. “Lovers,” he repeated, shaking his head slowly, before peering at Grantaire closely. “But you are not his everything.”
Grantaire blinked, surprised (though he supposed he probably shouldn’t be) by how perspective the other Grantaire was, even three sheets to the wind. “No,” he said. “But he and I understand that. He has the Cause, and everything that comes with it, and he would not be the Enjolras that I fell in love with without it.”
The other Grantaire shook his head again, something like awe creeping into his tone and across his expression. “So you have found a way to be together in spite of – or perhaps because of – who he is.”
The other Grantaire didn’t word it as a question, but Grantaire nodded nonetheless. “Yes,” he said. “It took a lot of work – I mean, it still does – but we have found a way to work it out and be together.” He paused, his heart sinking just slightly at the look on the other Grantaire’s face. “I’ll take it you and your Enjolras…”
“He despises me.”
The other Grantaire said it so plainly that Grantaire flinched at the starkness of the words. “I’m sure he doesn’t.”
But the other Grantaire didn’t appear to have heard him. “Maybe it’s enough,” he murmured. “Enough to know that in another lifetime, we found a way…”
He trailed off again and looked up at Grantaire. “Do we die here?”
The abruptness of the question took Grantaire aback. He didn’t know if he was referring to we as in him and the other Grantaire, or the other Grantaire and his Enjolras, but it didn’t really matter since he didn’t know the answer either way. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.
The other Grantaire nodded heavily. Then, abruptly, he muttered, “If Enjolras’s time is come, let us hope mine is as well. There is no life worth living without him in it.”
Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth. As much as he wanted to tell the other Grantaire that he was wrong, hadn’t he had a similar thought just that morning? “I don’t think your Enjolras would be pleased to hear you say that,” he said instead.
To his surprise, the other Grantaire managed a ghost of a smile. “Nor yours, I’d imagine,” he agreed before looking at Grantaire plainly. “But you understand, do you not?”
The breath seemed to catch in Grantaire’s throat, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I understand.”
For one long moment, the other Grantaire studied him closely before his shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. “Well, it has been strange and yet surprisingly pleasant to meet such an apparition as yourself,” he said, already leaning forward to again rest his head against the wood of the table. “Now you should leave me to my slumber.”
Grantaire stood, before hesitating. “Will you promise me something before I go?”
The other Grantaire cracked one eye open. “What would you ask of me?”
“If the worst that both you and I fear comes to pass, if you are to lose Enjolras on this barricade, will you go to him in the end, and die with him?”
He honestly didn’t know what made him ask it, other than the lingering memory of his dream from what seemed like so long ago and yet like no time had passed either. That and what the other Grantaire had said, lingering just the same: Maybe it’s enough to know that in another lifetime...
“I do not think he would want me there,” the other Grantaire said, lifting his head off the table.
Grantaire shook his head. “I think you might be surprised.”
A small, sad smile lifted the corners of the other Grantaire’s mouth. “Forgive me, but your Enjolras seems much gentler than mine. And while he might want you by his side when the end comes, I do not know if I can believe the same for my own.”
“Then don’t do it for him,” Grantaire said bluntly. :Go to him for yourself. Because you deserve to know that he dies knowing that you loved him enough to die by his side”.
“Perhaps I will,” the other Grantaire murmured, closing his eyes again. “But only with his permission. I owe him that much, after all the ways I have failed him.”
Grantaire opened his mouth to argue more, but closed it again when he heard a soft snore coming from the other Grantaire, and he shook his head again. “Good luck,” he whispered before turning to leave the other Grantaire to sleep off the alcohol.
He had no idea if the other Grantaire would even remember the conversation when he woke up.
But he hoped he would.
And regardless, he knew he would never forget it.
----------
He had barely taken two steps from the Corinthe when he almost ran smack into Enjolras. “Enjolras,” he gasped, before hesitating. “It is you, isn’t it? Not, uh, some other Enjolras?”
“Considering it’ll be well over a century before cloning is invented…” Enjolras said with a tired smile, and Grantaire sighed in relief. “I’ll take it you also met your doppelgänger?”
“If that’s what you want to call him,” Grantaire muttered.
Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What would you call him?”
Grantaire considered the question for a minute. “Weird as fuck,” he said finally.
Enjolras laughed before glancing over his shoulder, his smile fading. “C’mon,” he said, taking Grantaire’s hand. “We need to get out of here. The National Guard will be attacking soon.”
They walked together in silence for a good distance until Enjolras judged them relatively safe. “Here,” he said, shouldering a door open. “We should be safe in here.”
“You can’t just break into someone’s house!” Grantaire hissed, even as he followed Enjolras inside.
“I’m not,” Enjolras told him. “Didn’t you see the sign outside? This building is abandoned. Now c’mon, if we can get up to the roof, we should have a pretty good view.”
Together, they headed up the stairs; from there it was a quick scramble up to the roof, Enjolras pulling Grantaire up after him, and they sat down together. “So, what, we’re just going to watch ourselves get killed?” Grantaire asked.
Enjolras sighed. “Believe me, if I could think of an alternative…”
He trailed off and Grantaire sighed, resting his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “It was weird, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “Meeting different versions of ourselves. Seeing what we could have been like.”
Enjolras nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “My other self didn’t believe me, at least not at first.”
Grantaire laughed lightly. “Strangely enough, the other Grantaire believed it immediately.” He nudged Enjolras gently. “Who’d’ve thought that I’d be the believer and you’d be the cynic.”
Enjolras half- smiled. “Certainly not me,” he agreed. “Speaking of, what did you and the other Grantaire talk about?”
Grantaire’s smile faded. “Not much,” he said. “A little bit about what’s going to happen. A little bit about what he should do if it does happen.”
He didn’t specify what the ‘it’ was that he was referring to, but Enjolras seemed to understand, since he nodded slowly. “And what did you tell him?”
“That even if there is nothing that he can do to stop it, being with you in the end is enough.”
“Grantaire…”
Enjolras’s voice was pained, but Grantaire just shook his head. “Don’t,” he said.
“But there is so much in your life worth living for—” Enjolras started, his voice heated.
“Of course there is,” Grantaire said easily. “A million things to live for. But the only thing in my life worth dying for is you.”
Enjolras ducked his head but didn’t try to argue further. After a long moment, he turned to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Grantaire tilted his head back to kiss Enjolras properly before asking, “What about the other Enjolras? Did you tell him that he would, y’know, fail?”
Enjolras squinted toward the horizon and the sun that was slowly starting to break over the buildings. “No.”
Grantaire lifted his head off of Enjolras’s shoulder so that he could look at him. “So you lied to him?”
“No,” Enjolras repeated. “I told him the truth. Just...not all of it.” He sighed, glancing back over at Grantaire. “I told him that no matter what happens on the barricade, he will have done his part in changing the world.”
Grantaire nodded slowly. “I’m not sure I would call that the truth.”
Enjolras gave him a ghost of his usual smile. “Yeah, well, as already discussed, you always were a cynic.”
“In all other lives besides this one, anyway,” Grantaire said, setting his head back on Enjolras’s shoulder. “So now what?”
Enjolras sighed, wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “Now we wait, I guess.”
It was over almost as quickly as it began, and even though they were shielded from witnessing the worst of it, Grantaire still shuddered at every cannon blast or gunshot they could hear. When it finally died down, Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras. “Is it finished?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Enjolras just shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure.”
Suddenly, there was one final barrage of gunshots that sounded through the stillness of the early morning, and then…
They woke up.
----------
It somehow hurt even worse than before, though Grantaire wasn’t sure that was physically possible. “Ow,” he croaked as a bunch of EMTs loaded him onto a stretcher.
“He’s awake!” one of them called before leaning down to tell him, “Sir, there’s been an accident. Your balcony collapsed. We’re taking you and your friend to the hospital.”
“Don’t—” Grantaire started, though his voice was muffled by some kind of mask over his mouth.
The EMT shook her head. “Don’t try to talk,” she told him.
But Grantaire reached up with a shaking hand to pull the mask off just enough to tell her, “Just...keep us together.”
She replaced the mask and squeezed his hand. “I promise,” she told him.
Grantaire nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he passed out again.
----------
When he woke up the next time, Grantaire was in a hospital room, feeling a lot less like he’d been hit by a semi-truck. A quick glance at his hand told him it was likely whatever was in his IV that was doing the heavy lifting. “Oh good,” a familiar voice said, and Grantaire turned his head to see Enjolras in the hospital bed next to him. “You’re finally awake.”
Grantaire smiled slightly at him. “Mmm,” he agreed. “And they gave us the good stuff.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Enjolras warned, wincing slightly as he readjusted to lie on his side so that he could see him. “You broke your arm and fractured your ankle, in case you were wondering.”
“Oh, is that what those casts are for?” Grantaire asked.
Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “How can you possibly manage to be sarcastic while on morphine?”
Grantaire shrugged, wincing as he did. “Experience,” he said dryly. “What about you?”
His eyes flickered over Enjolras’s body, but he didn’t see any obvious injuries besides some bruises and scrapes. “Cracked a few ribs,” Enjolras said. “You apparently broke my fall.”
“Figures,” Grantaire muttered. “Well, at least you’ve had broken ribs before.”
Enjolras snorted. “Yeah, I think there’s a punch card I can get. Ten broken ribs and the eleventh one they’ll set for free.”
Grantaire laughed, though he stopped when it made his own ribs ache. Enjolras half-smiled. “Thanks for catching me, though.”
“Anytime,” Grantaire said with a wink that too quickly turned into a wince.
Something shifted in Enjolras’s expression, and he hesitated before asking cautiously, “Did you, um, did you have a dream while you were...out?”
Grantaire blinked, sluggish memories slowly coming back to him, images from a dream he couldn’t quite remember, like they were just out of reach. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I did. Something about…” He thought about it for a long moment before snorting a laugh. “Something about the June Rebellion, of all asinine things. Clearly I’ve been spending too much time with you.” He looked over at Enjolras, tracing his features with his eyes. “You were there, I think.”
Enjolras managed a smile. “You were in my dream, too.” He paused before asking, “Was yours a happy dream?”
Grantaire shrugged and winced. “We were together,” he said simply. “That’s enough to make any dream happy.”
“Good,” Enjolras said. “I just...I didn’t want you to have another nightmare.”
Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I think…” He frowned slightly. “Don’t ask me how, but I think I’m done with those dreams now. Like something happened in my dream that made it….I dunno, ok somehow.”
“Yeah?” Enjolras asked, watching him closely.
“Or maybe I’m just high as balls on morphine.”
Enjolras laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably more like it,” he said. “You should get some rest.”
“So should you,” Grantaire said with a yawn. “Besides, there’s something I gotta do first.” He stretched his hand out from his hospital bed toward Enjolras.
“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked.
“Trying to hold your hand, you dolt,” Grantaire said sleepily. “Since I can’t hold all of you right now.” Enjolras hesitated and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Do you permit it?” he asked sarcastically.
Enjolras scowled but nonetheless took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and they stayed that way until both of them fell asleep again.
How about Enjolras who's been in a relationship before but his ex wasn't a very good person and whenever they would do anything d/s, he wouldn't provide the aftercare Enjolras would need to prevent bad sub-drop, so Enjolras doesn't actually know that's something necessary and normal, and so he's startled and confused the first time him and Grantaire do something that is d/s that afterwards Grantaire treats him so softly and takes care of him. When he tells Grantaire why he's so shocked he explains his previous relationship and Grantaire sees red and promises himself that he would never treat Enjolras like that and Enjolras has to get used to being taken care of like that.
(PS I love your writing 🥺)
Grantaire had never seen Enjolras looking as tiny and delicate as he did in that moment, still flushed and breathy from before, his concave belly rising up with every little rushed breath.
He brushes his thumb light as a feather on Enjolras's wet lashes, both to wipe those tears away and call Enjolras's eyes on him, smiling sweetly when they opened.
Slowly, he runs his hand up and into Enjolras's curls, brushing them off his forehead before cradling him into his arms, sat on his lap with Grantaire's back against the headboard and bundled up between the sheets.
Grantaire runs his hands over his body and soothes soreness away, nuzzles his warm face and helps him drink, and is met with blue eyes once again, looking up confusedly at him.
Enjolras's lip trembles and he shivers between his arms, "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice a tiny little thing. Grantaire smiles at him and kisses his nose, places his hand on Enjolras's tiny waist, "I'm taking care of you".
"Why?"
It's Grantaire's turn to be confused then, still hugging Enjolras close to his chest, still sweetly petting him, "Because you deserve it, and because I want to. Because you've been good and perfect for me, and you took such good care of me, now it's my turn to take care of you, to make sure you're alright and safe and warm, to let you know how much I love you, to let you know how good you are".
Enjolras whimpers in his arms and looks at him with big round eyes, overwhelmingly filled with tears, "I am?"
Grantaire's heart shatters. He takes Enjolras's face between his hands, "of course you are sweetheart. You're my perfect darling. What did I do do to make you doubt? You must tell me love, please"
"Nothing, I just-" Enjolras shivers again, and he follows Grantaire's movements as he tucks the blanket more tightly around him, and another fit of tears shakes him whole, makes him curl in a tight ball into Grantaire's chest, seeking warmth and comfort, "I don't know why I'm crying, I really like what you're doing, I'm just not used to it".
At that, dread falls on Grantaire, but he tries to keep his body relaxed and open as not to startle him. Carefully, fearing his answer but already expecting it, Grantaire tucks Enjolras's head under his chin, "What do you mean, darling? You don't like being held?"
Enjolras mumbles into his chest, and it's tiny and low and all kind of trembling and a bit ashamed, that yes, I do, I've just never been held before, and Grantaire suddenly wants to kill anyone who dared to lay hand on him with anything else but tenderness. He wants to cover Enjolras in praise, tell him how perfect he is, how smart and wonderful and beautiful he is.
He kisses Enjolras's temple and fully curls around him, holds him as tight as he can without hurting him, tips his chin up with gentle fingers and smiles at him with all the love he has for him, "It's okay love, it's okay. I'm here to hold you now. You can cry all you want, I'm here, I got you. It's okay".
I headcanon that all of Les Amis have a teeny tiny tattoo that spells "ABC", and Grantaire handpoked it on everyone on this miserable miserable night in which Enjolras had been officially disowned by his family.
They were all camping in Joly and Bossuet's Living room, everyone trying to console a crying Enjolras: Jehan was silently braiding his hair, Courf told jokes and so on, until Feuilly said something that made everyone else go quiet.
"I never had a family, so I can't really understand how you feel, but now I found this one and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. We may not share the same blood, but you're my brother in any way that matters, alongside everyone in this room".
And that really lit the spark. They had a family in the ABC, and Les Amis were forever. So Jehan took out a sewing needle from their purse, and Combeferre procured the ink, and Grantaire with a trembling heart but steady hands impressed the letters on their skin.
gracieabrams
dailybridgerton
areudirty
2087
