Title: Save Me from Myself

Author: Camberleigh Fauconbridge

Rating: PG - 13 / T

Pairings: Enjonine [Éponine/Enjolras]

Summary: Modern AU. Enjolras has a dark secret that he strives to keep hidden— he is a werewolf. As a result, he has resigned himself to being alone for the rest of his life. He finds himself attracted to Éponine, but he cannot bring himself to put her in danger. Movieverse.

Disclaimer: Les Misérables and its musical counterpart are the property of Victor Hugo, Cameron Mackintosh, Claude-Michel Schönberg, Alain Boublil, Herbert Kretzmer, Trevor Nunn, John Caird, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of Les Misérables. No money is being made off this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Imagined Cast: Aaron Tveit as Enjolras; Samantha Barks as Éponine.

Author's Note: So I literally had a dream about this idea. Then I woke up and thought of Lupin from Harry Potter. So that's how this happened.

This is, as stated above, inspired by the character of Remus Lupin in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. And this is not based off Twilight.

Chapter One

It was nearing 11:30 at night. Enjolras drove on what seemed endless back roads, which were all but pitch black because of the trees. The forest of Saint-Thomas-Aquinas [1] was about eighty kilometers from Paris, but since it was so late, there was hardly any traffic, which was a blessing in itself. Coffee and the radio could only keep one awake for so long, after all, and he had never particularly like driving at night. At least the moon was full.

He didn't really see why he had to be out in the middle of a forest at 11:30. The photography course he was taking (as an elective alongside his Law and Political Science major) had sent him to several bizarre places— trying to get into the Parisian sewer system, for example, which he tried not to think about after it was over (who needed pictures of a sewer?)— but the other places he had gone to had at least somewhat made sense. This didn't. Driving to a forest, exactly in line with the lunar calendar, to get pictures of the full moon, so there could be at least a few pictures that didn't have the moon hidden by all the lights in Paris. Really. He had better things to do with his time, but he was about to graduate, so he couldn't just not do it. Better to get everything done so he could graduate than mess up his chances at becoming a lawyer.

He reached what he guessed was the middle of the forest and parked by the side of the road. Taking his camera and a flashlight (he was not about to sprain an ankle all for the sake of a picture), he walked in as a straight line as he could, which didn't work because there was no proper path, only what animals had made. Honestly, he wasn't made for this. He could argue politics with the best of them, he would persuade people to his viewpoint with one speech, but he completely was out of his comfort zone in nature. He'd be lucky to be back at the university by one o'clock. The sooner this was over the better.

Trying to hold a flashlight and set up a camera at the same time wasn't easy, but he eventually managed it. He didn't expect the darkness to be so severe when he switched off the flashlight. He kept the flash on because that supposedly helped improve the quality of the picture, found the moon through the thick tree branches, and began taking the pictures. Ten pictures and then he could leave.

One. The forest was surprisingly quiet; he thought there would be at least some noise from the nocturnal animals prowling about. But there was nothing except the camera's sharp clicking and his own breathing. It was almost unnerving.

Three. At last, there was something besides himself: branches quietly breaking as something moved. Although, he considered, he probably shouldn't be grateful that something was up and about nearby.

Six. Now there was a heavy breathing. The relief was now gone. What if it was a bear, or something? Or were there bears in this area? Regardless— a large predatory animal was wandering around, and he had nothing except a small pocketknife, since he was staunchly pro-peace. Great planning.

Seven. He was now getting slightly nervous. He couldn't defend himself against a bear or a wolf or whatever other large animal lived in the forest, he couldn't outrun one, and even if he could the car would only be temporary protection. Hurry up!

Nine. Now it was getting closer. The pictures weren't worth it; he should just abandon the assignment entirely.

Ten. The last one. Thank God.

He turned to leave— don't run, animals can sense fear, can't they?— but just as he turned on the flashlight and took a few quick steps in the direction of the car, something emerged from the undergrowth. The situation seemed like something out of a movie; but it was, unfortunately, all too real.

His first guess was that it was a wolf. Except it… wasn't, really. It had a vaguely wolf-esque look, but it was much, much too large to be a wolf. Its eyes were literally red— honestly, can this get any more like a movie? Wolves don't have red eyes!— and it didn't move like a wolf; it hobbled like an ape or something, but it still somewhat stepped like a wolf, if that made sense. It didn't make sense in his head, but it didn't matter whether it did or not, because the wolf-thing was coming towards him.

He scrambled for his pocketknife as the wolf started growling deep in its throat. Okay, think, Enjolras, keep calm, what are you supposed to do when faced with a large predatory animal that could easily rip your face to shreds and eat you alive? Don't make a sudden movement, right?— Too late. Or just don't move from now on. That could also work. The wolf was staring at him, and it was beginning to creep him out. He tried to stay still, holding the pocketknife out in front of him as a weak form of protection. Please…

Then all was hell as the wolf lunged for him. He gave a strangled yell and tried to run, but the wolf's weight knocked him to the ground. He stabbed at the great moving mass of fur and flesh and teeth and glowing eyes, but it didn't seemed to do anything.

Then the wolf bent its head, seized his arm in its jaw, and bit, hard.

He hazily recalled wondering why the wolf went for his arm instead of his throat or his chest, but everything was centered on this overwhelming, agonizing, utter pain in his arm as the wolf's teeth sank into his skin, feeling like it almost reached the bone. Then the teeth were gone and the pain remained, and the wolf lopped several feet away. Why doesn't it kill me? was his last thought before the world went dark.

Pain. That was all there was. He tried to push it away, make it stop, no—

Groggily, he opened his eyes, but his vision wouldn't work until he blinked for what seemed like twenty times. It seemed like the sun was shining directly in his eyes. Then everything came crashing down.

The pictures, the wolf, and the bite.

Those stupid pictures. All so he could get that last credit to graduate. Couldn't he sue the university, since he was injured (attacked) while doing an assignment?

Then he sensed something nearby. He turned his head to see—

—there was a middle-aged, graying man sitting with his back against a nearby tree, dozing lightly.

Enjolras saw his pocketknife a few feet away and dove for it, staggering to his feet. The man woke and got to his as well, shouting, "Don't do anything stupid, I'm not here to harm you—"

"I was attacked by some wolf-thing last night so I'm sure you understand if I don't take you at your word!" Enjolras snapped back.

"Here me out—!"

"Unless you say that you own that thing and set it on me and in which case I'm not exactly inclined to listen to you!"

"Stop talking and let me explain!" The man dug through his pockets and tossed a knife similar to Enjolras' onto the ground. "There. You're armed, I'm not. Will you hear me out?"

Enjolras didn't know what to think. "Do you know what that wolf-thing was?"

The man sighed. "Yes, I do. I'll explain everything to you if you don't stab me. Deal?"

Enjolras paused for a long moment, then hesitantly nodded. He did not lower his pocketknife.

"All right." The man seemed extremely weary. "It's a long story. I— you're not going to believe me. None of them do."

"None of— will you just get to the point?"

The man ran a hand over his hair.

"…you were bitten by a werewolf."

Enjolras blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, you were—"

"No, I heard you, but… that's— that's insane. There's no such thing as a werewolf. They only exist in, I don't know, Harry Potter or Twilight. Fiction. Not real life."

"They do exist in real life, unfortunately."

"And why am I supposed to believe you?"

"I— because I was the werewolf."

"Uh, no you're not. You're human."

"Not last night at the full moon I wasn't."

"There is no possibly way you could have been that wolf-thing or the werewolf or whatever. Werewolves don't exist. That was just some weird… whatever it was, and—"

"You've never seen a creature like that, correct?"

"Well, no, but—"

"It was somewhat like a wolf, correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"And it didn't try to kill you. It only bit you and then left. Correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then how can you say werewolves don't exist?"

"Because— because they're from fairytales. Things that are made up. They're not real, they never have been, and they never will be."

"Look—" The man suddenly began rolling up his sleeves. "If I show you my own bite will you believe me?"

"No."

The man sighed again. "Just look at it for a second, all right?"

He rolled the sleeve far enough so the top of his forearm was visible. Right below the elbow were several hideous scars that seemed to be bite marks from a large animal. "Look at it," the man said again. "And look at your own bite. Don't they seem similar?"

Slowly, suspiciously, Enjolras took off his coat, even though his arm hurt like hell to do so. Although the revolting amount of blood was enough to make his stomach turn, he pushed past it and focused on the bite itself. Strangely enough, the man's words seemed to be true. "How do I know you're not lying?" he asked.

"Would I create a mark on my arm simply to lie to you? I don't even know you. But do you believe me now?"

Enjolras shook his head, refusing to trust the man's words. "This can't be true. Werewolves are not real, they're fairytale creatures, they're..." He faltered, and said again, feebly, "Werewolves can't be real. You're making it up."

"Well," said the man, "I tried. Good luck when the next full moon lunar phase comes around." Then he added: "And I'm sorry for biting you," as he left.

Enjolras ran.

He was aware that he was acting like a complete coward, but you try being told that a werewolf bit you and see how you react. He almost forgot the camera— just leave it, the camera's the thing that got you in all this trouble in the first place—but he forced himself to go back. Once he finally reached the car, his hands were shaking so much he could hardly open the door.

It's not real. It's not real.

[1] There is no forest named Saint-Thomas-Aquinas eighty kilometers from Paris. At least I don't think there is.

The reason I named after St. Thomas Aquinas is because he said Omnes angeli, boni et Mali, ex virtute naturali habent potestatem transmutandi corpora nostra, which means "All angels, good and bad have the power of transmutating our bodies". Yes, it doesn't make much sense with this, but "Saint Thomas Aquinas" translated fairly well in French.