Gavroche and courfeyrac relationship trust

Combeferre is allowed to be unreasonable every once in a while | Archive of Our Own

Completely brotherly relationships, if the title didn't convince you. Suddenly the man raised his hand, and Courfeyrac and Enjolras watched in ill-disguised horror , . Really, he didn't trust the so called spy. Marius spun round to see Gavroche leap lightly from atop the trailer, sauntering casually over to. wanting Marius and wanting Cosette. Gavroche is jealous of Montparnasse who is dating Jehan. Combeferre and Courfeyrac need to work on communication. Explores the relationships/friendships of Eponine Thenardier with each of the - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Published: Sep 2 - Eponine, Gavroche - Complete.

He stood where his friends had fallen, accepting the sentence he had given himself, accepting his death, for that was the only way to atone for his crimes for sentencing his friends and fellow revolutionaries to death in this suicidal barricade mission of his.

The feel of the silky red revolutionary flag clenched in his hands, the warm sunlight streaming through the window to warm his back and the feather light brush of his blonde hair across his forehead were all sensations he drank in, knowing that those would be some of his last perceptions in this life.

Other, less pleasant, feelings were present too; the metallic scent of his friends' blood cloyed the room, the smell of gunpowder and ammunition stung his nose, warm red liquid running down his face… and the feeling of defeat, of sadness, loss and pain that created a vast chasm inside him; an endless hole that could not be felt.

He had failed the revolution, dooming the people of Paris to once more live in oppression and poverty. He had failed his Patria, leaving her once again to wallow in the darkness of monarchy, oligarchy and the endless night of despair.

But most of all, he had failed his friends; loyal people closer than family to him, people who would, without a second thought, gladly throw their lives down on his feet for him. Enjolras had failed each and every single one of them, had watched them be cut down before his very eyes, dying for the revolution he had persuaded them was possible, dying for his idealistic vision of the future… dying for him. Enjolras' oldest and most trustworthy of friends whom he had practically grown up with and whom had never left his side since childhood.

Combeferre who always pushed his glasses up his nose when plotting ways to bring about the Republic in their many talks on achieving a bright future, whose extensive collection of books on philosophy, medicine and the natural world had kept him occupied for hours, whose soft spoken wisdom tempered Enjolras' hotheaded and passionate nature. He had always been there for Enjolras, had been the only person who Enjolras confided in and, to his great credit, never let slip any secrets or betrayed any trust.

Enjolras and Combeferre were closer than any other of the Les Amis and both shared the burden of leading the group. Enjolras still recalled his gentle smile, astute intellect and wisdom and a general sense of comfort and home; feelings that associated Combeferre to be like an older brother to him. Combeferre had a brilliant mind, a gentle soul and never ending loyalty. Philosopher, medical student, bookworm, rationalist, reformist… brother.

Now his body lay on the bloodstained, bullet strewn floor of the Corinthe, unseeing eyes directed at Enjolras, empty and devoid of all the gentle wisdom he had possessed in life. Enjolras always found his friend to be slightly more than fickle with his affections and had been a bit disapproving of his friend's nighttime activities but had still respected him and liked him, not only for Courfeyrac's uncanny ability to charm crowds and build relationships with people, but for Courfeyrac's kind and warm heart.

He, Enjolras decided, was the epitome of charming and cheerfulness and many times had helped bring hope and laughter to the les Amis even in the darkest of times. Courfeyrac had brought the students' morale up during that dark, uncertain night before the barricades fell. He, with the help of Gavroche, had cheered everyone up and gave them hope in a time when Enjolras couldn't even give them hope. Courfeyrac had allowed himself to be the butt of some jokes in order for the men to laugh and Enjolras could still recall hours and hours of goofing off with Courf and the rest of the students during some of the lighter meetings at the Musain.

But because of Enjolras, Enjolras with his suicidal dream of revolution, Courfeyrac would no longer kiss another one of his grisettes, flash that ever so charming smile, would no longer exchange dirty jokes with Grantaire and would no longer try to lecture Marius futilely about the art of flirtation and seduction.

His bright, vibrant personality and life had been cut short for a cause that eventually failed. Enjolras couldn't stand the guilt that flooded his being. Beside Combeferre and Courfeyrac lay Joly; the medical student was sprawled facedown, crimson blood leaking out from underneath his jacket. Still and unmoving; this was not the Joly Enjolras knew in life. Joly in life had been always in motion, always buzzing around with armfuls of medical books and mirrors, always ready to check himself and the other Amis for exotic ailments.

Despite his overall neuroticism and inability to stop worrying, Joly had been a cheerful, humorous part of the group and had done all he could to help the revolution, from hiding illicit socialist pamphlets in his apartment despite the risk apparent, to healing those wounded on the barricade; working his medical miracles to bring back revolutionaries from the dead.

He had healed people, saved lives but yet, the sad sight of him motionless on the floor reminded Enjolras of the tragic fact that, in the end, no one saved Joly. The Les Amis who hadn't been with Enjolras at his last moments in the Corinthe had all perished outside. With the ruthlessness of the guards, Enjolras doubted anyone from his barricade had survived. Bossuet, Bahorel, Jehan, Feuilly, Marius, Gavroche, Eponine, the strange white haired man who had executed the police spy, Grantaire,… they had all died on the barricades, bent on pursuing the dream of the Republic.

Grantaire… he was a different matter; he and Enjolras had always butted heads in meetings and never truly looked eye to eye; Enjolras disproving of Grantaire's alcoholism, Grantaire always making sarcastic, cynical comments on Enjolras' vision of the Republic… but in the end, Enjolras missed even Grantaire. The man had always harboured some respect to Enjolras, although he covered that up quite convincingly, and Enjolras had always tolerated the drunk and accepted him at the very least.

But he hadn't seen Grantaire at the barricades or fall at the hands of the soldiers… where could he be?

Gavroche, Eponine and the white haired old man were not official members of the Les Amis d'ABC but they had contributed all the same to the Republic. Gavroche had given his life to collect ammunition, even throwing a bag back to their side of the barricade seconds away from being shot for the second time and his presence at the regular Les Amis meetings were always welcome because he was the symbol of what they were fighting for; a symbol for all the poor, uneducated and uncared for children of Paris.

Eponine was more of a puzzle; she attended their meetings regularly, yes, she was welcomed by the Les Amis and helped distribute pamphlets, true, but Enjolras could tell that she was there mostly because of Marius, not really for the cause. Still, she had given her life to save Marius at the first attack that nightmarish night and, as a chain effect of her sacrifice, Marius lived to protect the barricades with that powder keg stunt of his. Enjolras gave her a silent merci; enigma she was in life, she didn't stop being one in death.

The white haired man helped as well and Enjolras was forever grateful to him for saving his life when they first met, but he still scared Enjolras a bit. The way he had executed the police spy Javert in such a cold blooded way had shook Enjolras to the core. Dust stirred up in the air, and it stung his eyes "I need a volunteer!

He opened his mouth to yell again, but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. I know their ways. The words spoken had chilled him. The man who now stood in front of him reeled back, but then leant forward, speaking in a tone of one who had heroically done what was right, "In the days of my youth! Here was a man who had experience of the enemy, offering himself up as a spy. The people were indeed rising up. Perhaps they did have a chance. I have counted each man, each musket that they hold.

Really, he didn't trust the so called spy. There was something familiar about the man, the long hair, the pinched face. We shall spoil their game. They intend to starve us out, before they start a proper fight.

Hit us when it's light. All of a sudden a fist came out of nowhere and knocked the sixteen year old to the ground. Marius blinked up at the tall Inspector who was towering over him, and shuddered. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Enjolras and Courfeyrac edging up behind the man, intent on, at the very least, knocking him out.

The inspector spoke, his deep words like a second fist in his face, "Your Grandfather has disowned you, boy. Someone crouched down in front of him, taking his arms, and lifting him to his feet. Marius blinked back the brimming moisture, "I know. Marius was just a boy. He didn't seem it, he was insightful, wise, but there were times like this when he would say something, and it would sound so young, so scared, so childlike.

The guilt lay heavy on his shoulders. All the men on the barricades were there because he had asked them to be. He was the leader, and it was entirely his fault. Marius was young, too young to be there, he thought. Too young to understand the dangers of the barricades. Old enough to die. I want to fight, Enjolras. You should get out of this before it's too late. Even if I didn't stay to help, where would I go?

My Grandfather has disowned me, remember? Enjolras stared at the boy before him, it was true, where would he go? If life on the streets were better than dying on the barricades, he would have sent Marius away in a heartbeat.

But he wasn't so sure, he had seen the suffering of the poor, heard their begging cries, smelt the decaying odour that hung about their filth and grime. Besides, who was he to make Marius go?

He had no control over the boy he thought of as a little brother. Little brother, because that was what Marius was to him, and he wondered, distractedly, if Marius thought him a brother too. He tossed Marius a gun loaded with ammunition, and pulled out his own. Both students took their places alongside the other men. This was it, and Enjolras realized that these might be his last moments with his friends, but he couldn't say anything, couldn't afford to look weak in front of the enemy.

The troups pointed their guns in one single, solitary movement. The few who were wounded backed away, leaving the fighting to their healthier companions. Enjolras shot at a soldier who was getting dangerously close to the barricade, but more were following. The men beside him were getting desperate. Some were fleeing, but most stayed put with their terrified expressions, and for that he was grateful.

More are more bodies were falling to the ground on either side. Some just wounded, but most dead, and Enjolras was beginning to realize who had the advantage. Some soldiers were bold enough to start climbing the barricade, and he shot at them some more, but they just kept coming.

He cried out when a bullet grazed his shoulder, and fell to his knees as he felt the fiery pain blister his skin. A small boy, who Enjolras had never seen before, dragged the dark metal barrel away from Marius and into himself, just as the shot fired. Enjolras watched the small boy fall, and someone cried out.

Armed with a torch, and a barrel of gunpowder. Enjolras inched ever so slowly up behind the boy. The soldier nearest made a noise of anger in the back of his throat. The soldier's eyes widened as the young boy slowly brought the lighted torch towards the deadly barrel.

He put his arm around Marius and pried the torch from his grip, leading him back down the barricade. He didn't want to die. Marius wasn't listening, he was running. Running to where the fallen child lay. What are you doing here? He knelt beside the girl. The child was a girl, Enjolras realized, no older than fourteen. Please, I don't feel any pain. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Marius realised with a sudden shock that she was dead.

Someone lifted Eponine, and he felt the first tears that day fall. He had always been so good at suppressing them, but as he saw his best friend carried away, limp and unmoving, something inside him crumpled.

Enjolras moved closer to Marius, putting an arm around him, sheltering him from the pouring rain. Much better than this one. He let the boy grieve. Together they pushed away the edge of the barricade, leaving a hair's width of space for the bulky soldier to squeeze through. The soldier was met with twenty rifles pointed towards him.

He placed his hand out, in what might have meant surrender, but Courfeyrac was sure it was simply to placate the armed young men surrounding him. It was more apparent in Marius and Prouvaire, because they were younger, but every one of the Les Amis had changed. The soldier suddenly gave a cry of, "Look out! A shot fired, and a yell of pain was heard. Courfeyrac sucked in a sharp breath of shock. There had been a man at the window, but he hadn't paid any attention to him, thinking that he was just another student.

They may attack before it's light. Everybody keep the faith, for as sure our banner flies, we are not alone He was angry, Enjolras realized. There is no need to tire yourself out. Enjolras just walked away. Marius needed to be alone. He walked towards the singing, "Drink with me A handful of students were all who stood along the barricade, everyone else had deserted them. Marius was the bearer of more bad news. How could they hope to win with just thirteen of them?

It only took one glance over the barricade decorated in red for his worst fears to become realised. His insides froze, and then somersaulted in sheer horror. He smiled up at Enjolras.

Last Thoughts, a les miserables fanfic | FanFiction

Enjolras frantically motioned for him to turn towards him. The enemy was stirring, they had seen Gavroche. A sudden shot fired, and Gavroche jerked with a cry of pain. Someone ran out beside little Gavroche, and caught him. The figure got up with Gavroche in his arms and ran away, back towards the barricades.

Enjolras fell backwards in shock. He was aware of the wails of grief that came from everyone around him, but he couldn't cry, he could barely move. Somehow, this was even worse than the death of Eponine Thenardier. Their littlest revolutionary dead.

Someone was coming forward, and Enjolras forced himself to his knees. The person, carrying the limp body of Gavroche, staggered, and Courfeyrac launched himself over to catch them. Enjolras then realised who it was. He leapt to his feet. The boy was sobbing- of course he was. Gavroche had been shot in his arms. Enjolras grabbed Marius in a rough hug, and the boy bawled into his shirt.

Soon, his shirt would be stained with blood. No chance at all. Why throw your lives away? Maybe, Marius thought, they did have hearts. Enjolras was stony faced. Make them bleed while we can. Everyone was banging at the doors, pleading. Marius started to run towards him.

A sudden shot fired, and then a sharp pain in his ribs. He fell to the floor, clutching his side. Then all he knew was black. Enjolras couldn't bear to close the door with Marius out there, but he had to. The likelihood that the boy had in fact survived a shot like that was very low, and he felt tears come to his eyes at the very thought.

Marius could not get back up, and going out there now would be suicide. The old woman who had saved them, ushered them into another room. She told them that they could not stay in the house, that there was a door out back that would lead them to the street behind them. They thanked the woman profusely and left. The survivors were Enjolras, Courfeyac, and Jean Prouvaire.

Combeferre was killed by a soldier that Enjolras recognised as his second cousin. Bahorel and Grantaire were murdered with the same shot. The bullet passing through both of them. Joly and Lesgle had been among those hit by the cannons. Marius was most likely dead. The kid had fallen, he had seen it happen. It would have taken a miracle for the boy to have survived. Falling to his knees, Enjolras couldn't seem to hold back the tears that had been threatening since he'd seen Marius shot. He started to sob into the cold ground.

This ground had not been bloodied by the dead. It remained fresh, green with grass. They weren't any more then children, really, none of them were. Not Grantaire, not Joly Not even Enjolras himself. He was only half aware of someone rubbing his back, murmuring soothing, soft words in his ear.