Who: Enjolras and Grantaire, NPC!EMTs What: Dreams turn lethal because FAILED REBELLION. When: Mid/late November Where: Their apartment to the hospital Warnings: Blood. Medical things. Surgery. Rest TBD Status: Incomplete
Grantaire’s sleep had been fitful as of late. The Dreams were getting more and more dire and Grantaire could tell that the end was coming, it was just a matter of when. That night, he had fallen asleep on the couch while he’d been sketching the faces of the friends he made in the Dreams, as if that would get the images out of his mind, as if that would separate the pain from his mind.
Silence. He’d been awakened by silence. Drunk and passed out in the middle of a revolution (go figure), but he was drawn towards the back where he saw Enjolras staring down the National Guard defiantly. Waiting for the end and death of his plans but holding to his ideals. Belief. Faith. No, those did not exist, but belief in Enjolras would always rouse something within the drunk as he stumbled into the room.
“Long live the Republic. I am one of them.”
Gone was the drunk, the cynic, the disbeliever. In his place was one who believed, who would accept death for ideals he had refused to let himself believe because they’d only lead to death, for what did Death matter now?
“Long live the Republic.”
He was beside his leader then, the voice of the National Guard preparing to kill them both and only one question remained.
“Do you permit it?”
A defiant smile, a grasp of his hand, all he had wanted and it took Death to receive. A fitting end to a pathetic drunk life. The bullets sounded around him but Grantaire was only aware of the man beside him, the final gift he could be granted -- acceptance.
And with that, he was awake, gasping for breath. Something sticky on his shirt. Hot to touch… Blood. Groaning in pain, he manage to push himself up, to stumble towards Enjolras’ room and open the door.
“H..help…” it was grunted as he felt himself fall against the doorframe, no longer able to hold himself up, sliding down as he clutched his chest where the bullets had pierced his skin in the Dream.
Enjolras himself had been asleep after an exhausting day of court. Changing the world was hard work. It didn’t happen over night. Enjy knew this, but at the same time he was drained from it. Some of the lawyers in his firm had lost their way to money and expensive cars. They’d sold their souls for some shiny wheels and Enjolras had gotten into countless arguments over it. Today had been no different than the last.
He tried many ways to open the eyes of the men he once respected as friends and colleagues but they were blind to the dirty world they were creating. That day he’d begun to contemplate leaving the firm, starting his own up. But he was just a student. Nobody was going to want to hire him without his license yet. So he slept it off, and heavy. He very nearly didn’t hear Grantaire. He only heard the door, and his eyes opened groggily.
“Grantaire? What’s going-” He stopped short when he saw that crimson liquid and immediately his cell phone was out. He was dialing an ambulance as he stood to steady him.
"Fucking revolution." It was all he could really get out, and it was more an attempt at staying conscious than anything else. It wasn't like Grantaire actually had the energy for a conversation. He was bleeding out and fuck it hurt.
On the line, the dispatcher collected the information, trained to handle whatever attitude she got depending on the situation. The most important part was getting an ambulance to where ever was needed and to let the person on the other end of the phone know that help was on the way.
Enjolras barely had time to grab at a pair of pants before the dispatcher was talking again. He was trying to have some patience but Grantaire's blood was on his free hand. He didn't have time for extra bullshit. The phone was hung up immediately after the woman for what she needed to send an ambulance. "Good dammit you can't -" he couldn't even seem to finish sentences. He was too busy trying to stop the blood until the ambulance came.
"You'll be okay. " He was trying to be the rock here but all the blood was concerning.
If Grantaire were more coherent, he’d probably make a crack about how this was payback for having to sit over Enjolras’ bed for three days while he’d been stuck in the stupid sleep coma. But he wasn’t coherent and he wasn’t in a joking mood. He was in a trying to stay conscious and alive mood. And most certainly not coherent. Pain. Feeling completely drained of all energy and life. It was great. A fitting end. So fitting.
Still, he was trying to stay conscious, even if it was a losing battle.
Once the EMTs got to the apartment and got him into the ambulance, it was a lot easier to start zoning out. It wasn’t like he was really up for answering questions. No. He was quite content to just go to sleep. He felt cold and very tired. It was like he could feel himself slipping away but if it was the him here or in the dream, who could say.
With one of the EMTs getting answers from Enjolras since Grantaire wasn’t answering, the other suddenly found Grantaire crashing and they went to work to resuscitate and stabilize him. It was tense, but they at least got Grantaire’s heart beating and him breathing again. But they needed to get him into surgery once at the hospital.