LOVELIES! I know! I'm terrible! I know! But don't hate me too much... B/c i'm coming back with a very long chapter! (i think at least...) I hope that this will be my longest silence (cross your fingers and pray with me.) and i will hopefully continue and finish this story in the near future (I know! it's almost there!)

Alright, enough from me (who does still love you despite the dry spell...) here's chapter 11!

Warning: Bloodshed... and unknown outcomes

Disclaimer: Not even in my time away did i get any rights... at all...

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Chapter 11: Blood of men

"Gentlemen, tomorrow roll in the canons. This protest is ending and after our attack, no one will ever hear the people sing."

The air around them was eerily quiet. There had been no word of Javert's mission as being successful, but, Combeferre prayed, there was also no word of it being unsuccessful either. That single thought allowed sleep to finally claim Combeferre's exhausted eyes the night previous.

The rattle of someone clambering down the barricade robbed the false sense of safety from him, well, the crash sounded closer to falling.

Shooting up from his cobble stone bed he rose to face Grantaire; the unusually sober student finding his way in the faint dawn to the entrance of the wine shop.

"Sorry I woke you Ferre." He mumbled, his sleep heavy coffee eyes not finding Combeferre's own bloodshot blue ones.

"I would've been up soon anyway." He reassured before looking back towards the top of the barricade where their fearless leader still slept, his blond curls over his (thankfully) peaceful sleep, even in the weak light they glowed.

"Thank you," He whispered, "for helping him find sleep." He nodded his head up to the sleeping sun god perched atop his masterpiece.

"S'nothing, Ferre, really, he'dve found sleep with or without me, I probably kept him up longer." The drunk sighed sadly, continuing to move towards the Corinth's beckoning door. Combeferre's arm stopped him though.

"R, you and I both know he would've attempted to stay up all night in a effort to watch for the returning guard, you helped him." Combeferre hesitated for a moment, before finishing his thought. "He does need you R, despite everything he puts up in defense, he does need you."

Grantaire's eyes widened for a moment, before his face collapsed into a sad smile. "Ferre, he needs me as much as he needs an apparent death warrant from the university's president. I'm as he says, here for the opportunity of free booze." He let out a hollow bark of cool laughter, but Combeferre signed.

"Grantaire, we both know you're here for more than that."

Grantaire was about to respond, but he simply shook his head. After a few moments of silence, he looked back up.

"Thank you Combeferre, but I must take my rightful place upon this barricade."

And with that, Grantaire disappeared into the darkened wine shop and Combeferre could only watched as his soon drowned silhouette foreshadowed the drunk's future.

Consumed in silence once more, Combeferre had only moments to breath in the still air that hung at his shoulders and constricted his heart with worry. Only moments before his ears were polluted with the terrible sound of metal boots on cobble, followed by what sounded like wooden wheels, burdened with weight and dragged along the pavement.

In moments, the barricade was wide awake, each student taking place behind odd bits of furniture, and Combeferre shuddered to realize the pieces were chosen based on how protective they could be.

He squinted in the sun's harsh rays to see Enjolras crouched behind a large cart wheel, one ear trained to the opening, his eyes scanning his friends.

"YOU AT THE BARRICADE, LISTEN UP! NO ONE IS COMING TO HELP YOU FIGHT. YOU ARE ALONE WITH NO ALLIES, NO FRIENDS! GIVE UP NOW OR WASTE YOUR LIVES FOR NOTHING!"

The voice was hard and loud, draining the color from each face as it rung mercilessly in their ears.

Enjolras looked back, pain in his eyes as he addressed his men, his brothers.

"Amis, we have no weapons and the people have not risen. I will not waste your lives, I will not let you die."

The barricade was silent, taking in Enjolras's words, but Bahorel let out a bark of laughter.

"Dear chief, you may lead us, but you can't control us, we rose, we'll stand beside you."

The others nodded along with Bahorel's statement. Cheers rose and fists beat the sky and Enjolras's lips turned upwards.

"They appear to have large weaponry." He warned weakly.

"We'll give 'em hell anyway." Bousset supplied.

Enjolras looked back to his center and his guide. Combeferre and Courfeyac glanced at each other, eyes swimming with fear, anticipation, and rebellion, nodded, and looked back towards their chief, smiling.

Enjolras took a deep breath and turned back towards the threat.

" YOUR THREATS MEAN NOTHING TO THE CAUSE! OTHERS WILL RISE TO TAKE OUR PLACE, UNTIL THE EARTH IS FREE!" He shouted back to the commander.

They were once again drowned in silence, but the peace was shattered by a single noun that would change their lives for what would seem like forever.

"CANONS!"

The large carts were awkwardly rolled forward, groaning under the immense weight of the outdated metal weapons.

"FIRE!"

The antiquated ball made contact with the defenseless wood, splintering the structure into a million pieces, and sending several students flying.

"FEUILLY!" Bahorel cried, watching the ginger student sail backwards.

"EVERYONE FIND COVER!" Enjolras screamed from his shattered perch, blood now drenching his shoulder where a particular shard found it's mark.

They were running back towards the only sanctuary they had left, but even as they slammed the pathetic doors, glass already shattered from the hits, shut, the guards began pouring in the crack.

Combeferre didn't make it to the closing doors, too busy aiding Joly to his feet after the young doctor caught his ankle on a broken bed frame. Too busy to notice the malicious grin of the young officer who almost gleefully smashed the hilt of his gun into the back of the young philosopher's skull.

Feeling darkness consume him he barely had time to pray that his Éponine was safe.

Enjolras watched in horror as his brothers fell. Fearful to move from his place huddled with Joly, and Courfeyac in the attic room of the Corinth, he didn't even know if they were alive or… he couldn't bear to finish the thought.

He'd seen Marius get nicked in the hip as he attempted to rebuild the wall. Bahorel charged at the man who shot Feuilly in the shoulder and Enjolras recoiled as he heard the gun go off as the fighter collided with his target. Bousset tripped on his way up and was handcuffed and dragged away (not that this was any better, but at least he knew Bousset was still breathing.). He hadn't seen Combeferre since the canon blast and he hadn't see Grantaire since before his eyes sealed for the what he was fearing was the last night sleep of his life.

Closing his eyes tightly for a moment, he prayed for the first time in years that not only for the ones he'd see fall and their safety, but that Grantaire was not here, not anywhere close to this disaster. Enjolras didn't know if he could bear another brother's blood on his hands.

Suddenly the harsh pounding of footsteps vibrated through the attic room. Without a second thought, Enjolras began pushing his two remaining companions to the hatch that led to the roof.

"Enj, what?" Courfeyac whispered desperately, tears springing to his eyes.

"You need to get out and find help, from somewhere, anywhere, please. Don't let our friends die."

"But Enj, what about you?" Joly whimpered, looking up to his leader with equally teary eyes.

Enjolras forced a weak smile.

"I'll be fine Joly, just please, your ankle is broken I believe and there's a hospital not far. Courfeyac, take Joly there and try to get paramedics or someone medically trained out here, please." He pleaded one more time, the sound of footsteps getting louder.

"Please!" He almost shouted, pulling down the hatch and letting the bitter morning light poison the darkness.

Courfeyac was frozen for a moment more, before nodding sadly and lifiting himself up the ladder before turning to help Joly. With one last look at his leader, Courfeyac blew a kiss.

"Give 'em hell Chief. Don't let them win this fight."

Enjolras almost laughed and sighed in relief as he saw Courfeyac and Joly disappear.

He barely had enough time to shut the hatch before the door splintered open.

"You!" An officer shouted.

"'E's the leader! 'E's the brat who caused all of this!"

Enjolras stood tall and looked his potential murderers dead in the eye.

"Yes. I led them, and I brought about this structure and I will fall with it, so do it, kill me, finish your job, but my death will only spark anger in the hearts of the people. It is my blood that will fuel the revolution that will bring you and our satanic president down!" He spoke, raising his voice at every note.

"Kill me! Then you will feel the wrath of the full revolution! VIVE LA REVOLUTION!" He cried, beating the dank air with his fist, that was when the first gun was fired.

Valjean was below dragging yet another wounded student to the alley after starting with Marius when he heard the gunshots. Eight he counted, he almost cringed when he felt the strange connection to the eight friends who followed their leader willingly. What truly frightened him was the crashing of glass and the body falling out the attic window.

Placing the student he was carrying as gently and as quickly as we could to the ground, he raced to the bottom of the window to catch the falling student, but fate had different plans.

Not only did the boy's foot catch with the windowsill, but his beloved red jacket also caught the fragmented glass and tore down his arm, relieving slowing his fall. When he stopped falling, to anyone far off, the red jacket looked to be blood dripping from his open wounds.

From below Valjean held baited breath as he scanned the dots of blood that stained the boy's shirt.

He released a shaky breath when he only counted four, and all seemed to be shoulder wounds, not that that was any less lethal, but at least the boy had a chance if Valjean could retrieve him in due time.

But, as he listened to the soldiers' cheers and victory shouts drowning the groans of the very much alive and very much in pain students above and in the alley, he wasn't sure when that chance would arrive, if it arrived at all.

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