A/N:The June Rebellion, or the Paris Uprising of 1832 was an unsuccessful, anti-monarchist insurrection of Parisian republicans from June 5 to June 6, 1832.The final struggle came at the Cloître Saint-Merry, where fighting continued until the early evening of June 6. Anyone who continued to fight was shot immediately. Total casualties in the rising were about 800. The army and national guard lost 73 killed and 344 wounded; on the insurgent side there were 93 killed and 291 wounded. The forces of the insurrection were spent.
Written for those who fell during the June Rebellion, and Victor Hugo, for giving it life and to his readers who love it still today.
He knew it was all pointless. He always had known that. Still, hadn't he stood by his side and loved him? Encouraged all those boys? Why hadn't he warned them, told them to get out while they could? Grantaire guessed it was those eyes of his. Enjolras. Grantaire was never sure how he truly felt about Enjolras, just that he loved him and admired him, wanted to be just like him.
June 5th had come and passed, but Grantaire had spent it sleeping in a wine shop. He wasn't aware of what was going on, and even if he would've, would he have gone to fight? Another body with a gun, that's what Enjolras would say.
Enjolras has one love--the revolution. That would always be his love. Any woman to even smile at him passing by would be at fault, he making sure to let them know of their infraction. Enjolras couldn't love, not really. He only felt respect and passion. No, love was not an emotion Enjolras knew. Grantaire wished he did.
Waking up, he pulls his wine bottle closer to his chest. The room reeks of alcohol, not that he can tell, but he does recognize that he's in a wine shop. It's strangely quiet, though, and not a person in sight, nor a candle burning. It does make him wonder. He closes his eyes again for a moment, vaguely remembering the night before....
"Grantaire!"
He's pushed back by calloused hands, the blonde before him shaking with rage. Grantaire smiles, stumbling.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing? We're ready to start...and here you are, per usual! We talked about this, Taire..." he mumbles softly, but Enjolras hardens his glare. "Just get out. If you can't stop drinking for this country and this cause...." he's trembling, unable to look his fellow friend in the eye, "then get out. I don't know why I let you join. I've told you over and over your alcoholism just gets in the way...you couldn't quit it, even for this....Just go."
And Grantaire had, without a second thought.
Had he ever really believed in the revolution? Had he ever believed in anything other than Enjolras and his passion? Enjolras had scolded him and rejected him for his drinking habits and lack of conviction....but in sending him away, was Enjolras simply getting Grantaire to safety? He'd never be able to fight, Grantaire wasn't like that. How many stray cats had he brought in, only to have Enjolras make him put back out (Enjolras feeding them before they left out of general respect). Grantaire thought just maybe, after all the people who had compared them to the greatest duos of all time, that they might be right. And Enjolras might know it. Enjolras never returned a hug or complement, or even a smile. Did Enjolras care? Being safe in this wine shop, Grantaire had to believe he did.
Suddenly, the floor is trembling, and his eyes are wide, caked with sleep and tears from the whiskey burning down his throat. He comes out of his stupor, immediately sober as he sees the familiar flash of blonde.
He's bleeding and sweaty, defeated and grey looking. Enjolras in his red coat, covered in his own blood, hair matted to his forehead. He's surrounded and without a gun. Grantaire doesn't take a second to think before leaping up, and two of the National Guardsmen are pointing those guns at him.
"Taire," Enjolras breathes in warning, but Grantaire comes over to stand by Enjolras.
"Who are you?" one the men asks.
Grantaire locks eyes with Enjolras for a moment, drowning in the deep-set blue eyes that he loved, before slipping his hand in the blonde's. Enjolras smiles slowly, and Grantaire realizes it's the first he's ever seen from him.
"Who are you?" the guardsman asks again.
Grantaire's eyes don't leave Enjolras as he breaths his last words.
"The Revolution."
The last thing Enjolras heard was that Grantaire believed. The last thing Grantaire saw were the endless blue eyes. The last thing they had to hold onto were each other.
The tragic story of the children of the barricade. The lost boys of the Les Amis de l'ABC.
Written for those who fell during the June Rebellion, and Victor Hugo, for giving it life and to his readers who love it still today.
He knew it was all pointless. He always had known that. Still, hadn't he stood by his side and loved him? Encouraged all those boys? Why hadn't he warned them, told them to get out while they could? Grantaire guessed it was those eyes of his. Enjolras. Grantaire was never sure how he truly felt about Enjolras, just that he loved him and admired him, wanted to be just like him.
June 5th had come and passed, but Grantaire had spent it sleeping in a wine shop. He wasn't aware of what was going on, and even if he would've, would he have gone to fight? Another body with a gun, that's what Enjolras would say.
Enjolras has one love--the revolution. That would always be his love. Any woman to even smile at him passing by would be at fault, he making sure to let them know of their infraction. Enjolras couldn't love, not really. He only felt respect and passion. No, love was not an emotion Enjolras knew. Grantaire wished he did.
Waking up, he pulls his wine bottle closer to his chest. The room reeks of alcohol, not that he can tell, but he does recognize that he's in a wine shop. It's strangely quiet, though, and not a person in sight, nor a candle burning. It does make him wonder. He closes his eyes again for a moment, vaguely remembering the night before....
"Grantaire!"
He's pushed back by calloused hands, the blonde before him shaking with rage. Grantaire smiles, stumbling.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing? We're ready to start...and here you are, per usual! We talked about this, Taire..." he mumbles softly, but Enjolras hardens his glare. "Just get out. If you can't stop drinking for this country and this cause...." he's trembling, unable to look his fellow friend in the eye, "then get out. I don't know why I let you join. I've told you over and over your alcoholism just gets in the way...you couldn't quit it, even for this....Just go."
And Grantaire had, without a second thought.
Had he ever really believed in the revolution? Had he ever believed in anything other than Enjolras and his passion? Enjolras had scolded him and rejected him for his drinking habits and lack of conviction....but in sending him away, was Enjolras simply getting Grantaire to safety? He'd never be able to fight, Grantaire wasn't like that. How many stray cats had he brought in, only to have Enjolras make him put back out (Enjolras feeding them before they left out of general respect). Grantaire thought just maybe, after all the people who had compared them to the greatest duos of all time, that they might be right. And Enjolras might know it. Enjolras never returned a hug or complement, or even a smile. Did Enjolras care? Being safe in this wine shop, Grantaire had to believe he did.
Suddenly, the floor is trembling, and his eyes are wide, caked with sleep and tears from the whiskey burning down his throat. He comes out of his stupor, immediately sober as he sees the familiar flash of blonde.
He's bleeding and sweaty, defeated and grey looking. Enjolras in his red coat, covered in his own blood, hair matted to his forehead. He's surrounded and without a gun. Grantaire doesn't take a second to think before leaping up, and two of the National Guardsmen are pointing those guns at him.
"Taire," Enjolras breathes in warning, but Grantaire comes over to stand by Enjolras.
"Who are you?" one the men asks.
Grantaire locks eyes with Enjolras for a moment, drowning in the deep-set blue eyes that he loved, before slipping his hand in the blonde's. Enjolras smiles slowly, and Grantaire realizes it's the first he's ever seen from him.
"Who are you?" the guardsman asks again.
Grantaire's eyes don't leave Enjolras as he breaths his last words.
"The Revolution."
The last thing Enjolras heard was that Grantaire believed. The last thing Grantaire saw were the endless blue eyes. The last thing they had to hold onto were each other.
The tragic story of the children of the barricade. The lost boys of the Les Amis de l'ABC.
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