InsaneJournal

Long Live France!
Who: Courfeyrac, dream Les Amis,
When: Saturday Night (fast forward to around three Sunday morning for him waking up) /June 1832
Where: The Barricades
What: A dream
Warnings: Violence/Character Death (Not Courfs)






He'd had auditions earlier today, and then gone fencing, then to a friend's party, so when Courfeyrac crashed on the couch after he'd gotten home, it wasn't much surprise he'd fallen asleep there, watching some truly horrible romantic comedy he hadn't been following the plot of anyway. When his mind turned to dreams, he probably should not have been surprised...

...

Marius had saved his life with one shot, right after he'd saved the boy, but now that that had been done, Courfeyrac had no time to go to him just yet, to be surprised that his friend had come to join them after all, when he had thought the other man unlikely to come join them, given his sentiments. He'd take it, of course, and welcome Marius gladly, but later, after the National Guard now all over their barricade, attempting to come at them was pulled back. Right now, there was still more to do, and he and the others were standing firm while Enjolras attempted to direct traffic , issuing commands rather calmly for the moment, Courfeyrac thought, as he was propelled into action again, among the smoke that was too thick to see much of anything, the noise of the battle, the acrid scent of fire, and the shouts. It was easy to lose yourself, to think only of aiming, squinting through the smoke, to lose sight of everything but staying alive another moment, aiming for the bastards, doing his best to get to them before they got to him or any of the others.

Things were going badly, or at least, not going anywhere, until a shout came up. Marius again! Courfeyrac blinked, the smoke stinging his eyes as he watched Marius bringing out their powder barrel they had been keeping in Corinth's taproom and there his room-mate was, shouting that he would blow the barricade, would blow them all if the guard didn't back off.

Marius was a fool, Courfeyrac thought, and was impressed by this. At least if they went out now, they went out with as many of the guard as they could, and to be honest, he didn't actually expect that they would all live through it anyway. This way they'd be together. He glanced about to see the others, to give Jehan some sort of encouraging smile and to get the same from him, even while they awaited death, when Marius's threat... was that working?

They'd backed off now, and in the scuffle, Courfeyrac lost Jehan for the moment as he ran forward to hug Marius, to thank him for his life. Without his arrival, and the quick thinking he'd just shown them, Courfeyrac would be dead. That was more than worth a hug for Marius, a hero's welcome that he deserved now in the departing smoke, as the National Guard went for reinforcements, and the doctors and medical students went to help the wounded, laying them on mattresses taken from the barricade. Somewhere in the midst of this, as he waited for orders of what to do next, Courfeyrac heard Enjolras calling for a roll, to re-establish where they were and who was with them. Now, Courfeyrac could turn to Jehan, make sure he was all right, even though he knew the poet would be there with the rest of les amis.

Enjolras went down the roll, checking off each of them in their turn, and with each one of his particular friends, Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief, growing as they neared the end of those in their little group, he smiled, almost as Enjolras had one last name to call, wanting to go to Jehan now, then paused as Enjolras finished the name, then looked around without an answer.

It took Courfeyrac a minute, a long minute to fully grasp the fact that Jehan wasn't there. He'd wandered off, or was among the wounded, but not dead. Jehan couldn't be dead. Wounded, he still would have a chance, a small chance, but a chance, or he had wandered off to...something, but he was here, he was alive, they had to die together, and not this. He moved through the motions himself, checking, a pit in his stomach sinking as Enjolras and Combeferre came back to him, shaking their heads.

If Jehan was not here, and wasn't dead, that meant...

But it could not mean that. They couldn't have taken Jehan, of all people, Jehan. Courfeyrac called out for him again as Combeferre and Enjolras quietly moved away and spoke together, evidently debating what to do. They were going to get him back? Surely even Enjolras at his most set on the death of a hostage they had taken would not let Jehan die so he could kill that spy. It wasn't worth that. He should go to the tap-room, tell them, get them to listen to negotiate. He moved forward to get to them, then turned at a sound, down the street. A lot of noise, sabers clanging, as if Jehan was fighting back.

If he was fighting back...Courfeyrac's heart skipped a beat again, it meant Jehan was still alive, that they could run to help him, and he took a step forward himself before someone was grabbing him, pulling him back so he didn't do something like give himself away. He understood the idea, really, but if Jehan needed him, he was going to get to him and...

"Vive La France!" Jehan's voice, louder than usual rang out, and Courfeyrac was proud of him for that, resolved to tell him when he got to him, or when Enjolras and Combeferre were able to head out under some sort of truce to get him back. "Long Live France!" Jehan continued, and Courfeyrac wondered that he still was yelling, that he wasn't running too. Surely that didn't mean, they couldn't actually have restrained him somehow. Please, God no, not Jehan, never Jehan, who even now was yelling, who, Courfeyrac knew, wasn't going easily into death, who would have still been fighting even...

"Long Live The Future!" Jehan added one last time, and, scarce seconds afterward, the sound of gunfire rang out, and Courfeyrac was falling to his knees on the stones of the barricade, then woke, shaking and silent, in the wreckage of the coffee table.