(I have a new idea for a story and I just started writing. This is what came out. I have no idea if it is any good. It follows the events of Grantaire going to Barriere du Maine to do Enjolras' bidding and it just completely turns into something different afterwards...)

He should have known it! He should have known that Grantaire of all people would not be fit for the job. He should have known better than to let the drunkard make him believe that maybe he was good for something. That maybe he did believe in something. But here Grantaire was, playing dominoes for Heaven's sake! Enjolras shook of anger and he felt strangely betrayed. How could he have let his mind slip into thinking that maybe the most cynical member of their group would change if only he was given the chance? Enjolras was embarrassed. Grantaire had made a fool out of him.

He stormed across the streets of Paris back towards the Café Musain; rage too profound to even think straight and therefore he did not think himself capable of speaking with the members of the Cougourde of Aix anymore. He had sent Grantaire as his representative to Barrière du Maine; he had – for once – decided to swallow his doubts concerning the wine cask and give him the opportunity to prove himself. And oh, how he had failed. How he had humiliated Enjolras, the Amis and all the things they believed in. Apart from being outraged and furious, Enjolras recognized the feeling of intense disappointment. Somewhere deep down, he had really hoped Grantaire would step up and prove his worth to them.

"Enjolras! Enjolras, please wait and let me explain!" a voice behind him called. Enjolras knew it was Grantaire; he knew that Grantaire had seen him at Barrière du Maine. He could still see the shocked expression and the shame in the drunkard's wide eyes. Enjolras turned around, wildly, eyes flashing dangerously and hands clenched into fists. "Don't bother, Grantaire. Just leave, and for all of our sakes, don't ever return," Enjolras growled as he continued his way to the Café. He really wished Grantaire would leave him alone now, because his fists were aching to take a swing.

"You do not mean that! Enjolras, I admit my mistake, but you have no right to send me away. That is not only up to you and I doubt the others will be so quick to dismiss me without even giving me a chance to explain." Grantaire recognized the desperation in his own voice, but he did not care. Enjolras could not send him away. Without these meetings – no matter how useless Grantaire thought they were – he had nothing. Without this group of friends; without their faith and inspiration; Grantaire might as well be dead. "Enjolras, please!" he called again when the blond man he so admired, ignored his pleas and just kept on walking.

Enjolras did his best to block out Grantaire's voice, but when he reached the deserted Café and made his way up the stairs to the backroom, heavy footsteps behind him told him that he was still being followed, and something inside him snapped. He spun around so fast that his vision was tilting slightly. With just a few steps he was only inches away from Grantaire; their foreheads nearly touching. "I thought I told you to leave me alone Grantaire," he said in a dangerously controlled and calm voice; though the anger was clearly there too. "How dare you? How dare you come after me after this?"

Grantaire recoiled a little and drew in a shaky breath. "You speak of justice and equality; of forgiveness and second chances and yet here you are banishing me from your life without offering me any of those things you so passionately speak about. That doesn't make you any better than those you oppose, Enjolras." He had gone too far. Grantaire knew that he did. And so the sudden slap in his face hardly surprised him. He raised a trembling hand to cup his cheek and knew a bruise was forming already.

After hitting him, Enjolras slammed his fist against the wall behind Grantaire and turned away with a frustrated shout. "I do not understand you, Grantaire!" he roared, "You do not make any sense to me whatsoever. Why must it be your goal in life to mock everything I do? Why do you strive to make a fool out of me? Why do you keep coming back if you don't care about anything we try to accomplish? Why Grantaire?"

Grantaire swallowed, but kept silent. For once he wasn't in the mood to counter Enjolras' words with arguments. He had screwed up and he knew it. Enjolras had given him one chance, and he blew it.

"Every single day I wonder if maybe – just maybe – there will be a day when you will prove all my doubts about you wrong. Every day I hope that you'd put your quick tongue to better use than to scoff at me. Every day I pray that you see how much of a better person you could be if only you'd try; if only you'd allow yourself to believe in something. And every day, you disappoint me. And then today, you ask to be my representative; you offer to do something for our cause…And I trusted you. Never have I been so disappointed in someone and the worst thing is that I don't even know why I care! Why do I even care about you and your actions? I don't understand."

Enjolras was close to panting and now spoke more to himself than to Grantaire, who was still pressed against the wall and looked guiltily to the floor; tears gathering in his eyes. "I am sorry," Grantaire whispered in a broken tone; one that Enjolras had never heard before. "I don't know why I failed you; I really wanted to do well this time. I am terribly sorry even though I know you'll never believe me. But please don't send me away, Enjolras? I need you and the others like I need the air I breathe; please don't banish me from your group."

Enjolras glared at him and shook his head in disbelieve. He really did not understand this person who stood before him. He just didn't make any sense. Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut short by a loud cracking beneath his feet. Before he knew what was happening, the floor on which he stood shifted; the wooden planks snapped and suddenly, Enjolras felt himself falling. He hit the ground below him hard and winced when a sharp pain shot through his right leg. But that was nothing compared to the blinding, white hot pain that followed and ripped a gut wrenching scream from his throat.

Grantaire watched horrified how the floor beneath Enjolras gave way and how his perfect, marble statue tumbled down. He was momentarily frozen to the spot, but then Enjolras' pain filled scream tore through his heart and he flew down the stairs; calling Enjolras' name as he went. He felt sick to his stomach when he reached the blonde's side and saw the reason of Enjolras' broken moans and pained face: a large, sharp wooden stake had pierced his friend's right side. He gasped and tears sprang to his eyes. This was bad; very bad. Enjolras' eyes were clenched tightly shut and his hands desperately grasped around the floor in search of something to hold on to.

Grantaire immediately fell down next to his blond friend and took one of his hands in his own; he winced when Enjolras squeezed it with all his might. "Enjolras? Enjolras are you with me?" he asked anxiously.

Enjolras' eyes fluttered open; blue eyes glazed with pain. He looked at Grantaire for a second and tried to understand what on earth had just happened. Then his eyes trailed down until they came to the object piercing his side and he quickly looked away again; swallowing convulsively. "Grantaire," he whispered quietly, "Grantaire, take it out. Please, you have to take it out."

Grantaire's eyes widened and he shook his head. "I can't," he replied; ignoring Enjolras' attempt to roll his eyes, "Enjolras, I can't take it out. You'll bleed to death if I do. I…you need a doctor…Joly and Combeferre aren't far from here. C-can you move?"

Enjolras let out a laugh, although it sounded a lot closer to a strangled sob. "What do you think?" he said through gritted teeth; his hand squeezing Grantaire's even tighter as the first tears made their way down his cheek. He let out a miserable groan. "I can hardly breathe without that thing stabbing deeper. Besides, I think I broke my leg." He tried his best to keep his composure, but it was all too clear to Grantaire that Enjolras was in unimaginable pain. He had to be.

"I…ah…God, Apollo….okay, well than I'll go get them for you, alright?" Grantaire suggested, even though he really didn't want to leave Enjolras alone. "I know where you sent them and I'll be right back; less than fifteen minutes, I promise." But just when he loosened his grip on his friend's hand, Enjolras' grip turned iron and he furiously shook his head.

"No," Enjolras breathed weakly, "Don't leave, please….R, don't…d-don't leave me alone."

"Enjolras, I have to get you help! Who knows how long it will take before anyone else comes back here?" Grantaire tried to convince the younger man, but Enjolras kept shaking his head; and refused to let go of Grantaire's hand. And there were some emotions in his eyes that Grantaire had never seen there before: fear, vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Please, Grantaire," Enjolras muttered, "Please, just this once could you do as I ask? Stay…" He closed his eyes as another fierce wave of pain washed over him. "I-I don't want to be alone…I don't want to die alone." Those last words were spoken so quietly that Grantaire had to strain his ears to hear them. But he did hear them and they made his world spin so violently that he had to close his eyes or else he would have fallen over. He's not going to die. He cannot die. Not like this."Please, just stay here…" Enjolras whispered again.

Grantaire had to bite his lip to keep from crying. How could this have happened? One second Enjolras had been fine. He was furious, of course, but he had been fine. And now his marble statue was cracking and talking of death and asking him to listen to him; just this once. How could Grantaire disobey him again? What if he left and Enjolras did in fact die? Then he would've failed again; he would have refused to live up to his Apollo's dying wish. Wordlessly, he settled down on the floor and he gently carded his fingers through the golden locks.

"Okay," he said shakily; his heart hammering in his chest as he doubted his every word; his every decision, "Okay, I'll stay. Don't you worry, I won't leave, I promise. But you are not dying Enjolras, because it is not your time. Not like this. So don't you dare give up on me. We'll just wait together – here – until the others return. Everything will be fine."

Enjolras nodded his head ever so slightly and a small, grateful smile tugged at his lips. They stayed like that for a few minutes – in silence – until Enjolras started to shiver a little. Grantaire took off his own coat and draped it around his young friend's body; carefully avoiding the disturbing wound on his side. Their hands were still linked together; although Enjolras' grip had lost most of its strength. Hundred thoughts were running through Grantaire's head. Have I made the right decision? Should I go and seek help anyway? Is he going to make it? Is there something I can do to ease his pain?

Yes! There was an answer to that last question. Grantaire always wore a flask of brandy with him and it might just take the edge off Enjolras' pain. He softly pressed the flask against Enjolras' lips and coaxed him into taking a sip or two. To his surprise, the fearless leader obeyed at once and gratefully drank out of Grantaire's flask until the drunkard decided he had had enough. He didn't know if it had helped at all, because Enjolras did not say anything, but he did feel his body relax a little and he just prayed that was a good sigh.

"R?" Enjolras mumbled after another few minutes of silence; eyes still closed and breath now coming out in small gasps, "Talk to me?"

Talk to him? About what? What does he want to hear? Grantaire searched his mind, but he couldn't think of anything. What was there to say? Only minutes ago they had been fighting. Enjolras had been so angry with him; had punched him in the face. And now he wanted - needed - Grantaire to talk to him? The cynic closed his eyes in quiet desperation and prayed for Joly or Combeferre to come in. Enjolras was so very pale. He needed help.

"Okay," Grantaire said softly while he kept carding a hand through Enjolras' hair. "Okay...I-I'll talk...uhm...well, you know I've never really been like this at all, Enjolras," he began quietly. He didn't know what brought this on, but Grantaire suddenly wanted Enjolras to know why his life had turned out the way it had; why he was the way he was. "I used to be very different from this shell I am now...I used to have a real future when I was younger. My father was willing to pay my studies; I was going to attend the School of Arts, you know...I was happy; I had a nice family...It was all so very different from how it is now..."

Enjolras didn't say anything, but Grantaire could tell he was listening by the way his blond friend softly squeezed his hand every now and then.

"Everything was going the way it should...until they attacked my little sister..." Grantaire sniffled sadly, "They raped her, you know...they robbed her and raped her and no one came to help. They wounded her so badly, she passed away even before my father had found her... And those bastards; they got away with it. They got away with it just because of their status and their dirty money...And my parents, they couldn't cope. They lost their only daughter; their little sunshine. There was no one who could help; nobody even cared. Father killed himself and my mother slowly wasted away until she died as well; so a year after I lost my sister, I lost both of my parents. And I was the only one left behind."

Grantaire never spoke of his past; not ever. Why would he now? He didn't understand, but words were flowing freely from his mouth and he couldn't stop them. He somehow needed Enjolras to know that he'd never meant to become this bitter, negative person.

"I was broken...I dropped out of school and I wanted nothing more than to just kill myself as well. But I was too much of a coward; I had the knife, but I couldn't do it. I drank instead and I just kept on drinking and I never stopped. And somewhere along the way, I turned into this bitter person who just can't bring himself to believe in anything anymore. I've been disappointed so many times in my life, Enjolras...I wouldn't even be able to tell you about it all. And I don't know why I'm even telling you this. It is no excuse for my behaviour of today, but I guess I just wanted you to know. I just want you to know that I was a different person once. I really was."

Grantaire squeezed Enjolras' hand and watched how more tears trickled down his face. He wondered if it was just the pain that brought them on.

Enjolras felt miserable. Breathing was becoming harder and harder; the pain was nearly unbearable. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat and every muscle in his body shook violently. He was scared. "Grantaire?" he whispered quietly and Grantaire leaned down to hear his words. "I don't want to die like this. Not like this..."

"You're not. I promised you wouldn't, remember? And I intend to keep that promise to you; even if only just this once. I will not fail you. Please don't give up, Enj-"

A movement in the corner of the Café made Grantaire's head snap up. There was a small shape that the cynic recognized at once. "Gavroche! Thank God, it's you. I...we need your help!"

TBC.

(I have no idea if anyone even remotely likes this concept; it was just something that kept playing in my mind. Please do let me know if you want me to continue it)