Chapter Text
Thank fuck for Combeferre.
God, thank fuck for Combeferre and his cleverness and level-headedness. He… quite frankly, Grantaire isn't sure what the ABC would be without Combeferre.
Thanks to him, Grantaire took out all the members of the Patron-Minette he could find.
How, one might inquire?
Éponine Thénardier, Marius' neighbour; that's how.
Marius had never mentioned her last name, and apparently she is Monsieur Thénardier's daughter. That fucking asshole. Even if he didn't know he's working with demons, he's still a slimy and vile man. His soul had been like a viscid, greasy void where kindness and human empathy should be; he is disgusting. Truly a sickening man.
Men like Thénardier are the cause of much of Grantaire's cynicism.
Grantaire is initially a bit distrustful of this Éponine, but meeting her melts away his every concern that she might be a co-conspirator.
She's a young cheerful girl with brightly coloured clothes and hot pink hair (not unlike Musichetta's, though Éponine also has a few streaks of purple here and there) and she's happy to help Grantaire when he tells her the purpose of his visit. More than happy, really; she doesn't seem to be very fond of her father.
Her girlfriend, a brunette named Cosette (Marius' ex from lycée— apparently both of them had skipped a few years and that's what really got them closer, though it was also the only thing that they had in common. Marius is still a few years older than her, though) who seems even younger than Éponine, maybe around eighteen or nineteen (she dated Marius when she was fifteen and he was seventeen, according to her)— though she does add that she lives with her Papa, not with Éponine— is awfully cheerful about tracking down father-Thénardier as well.
"Oh, he's awful," Cosette says solemnly as Éponine goes to the bedroom to grab the notebook with addresses and names. She sips her tea carefully from a mug with 'I'm just a girl' written on it in a swirly script. "They abandoned two of their children, apparently— and basically little Gavroche as well, though now my Papa took him in; he's growing well, and he's such a darling, really. Azelma is currently still with the Thénardiers, though Papa will probably win the custody battle." She seems very proud of all the actions her Papa is taking against these people, and Grantaire finds himself rooting for her Papa as well. "They're terrible, really, and he treats his wife like a dog and his children like pawns." She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Disgusting behaviour, if you ask me."
Grantaire is inclined to agree.
"Cosette, smile!" Éponine says as she returns, dimples on her cheeks. "Come now, ma chérie, you look dreadfully solemn; better smiling-wrinkles than frown ones, no?" She pinches Cosette's side, probably very aware that she's ticklish there given how she immediately takes the mug from her girlfriend as the giggles start. "There you go, Mademoiselle!"
They're tooth-rottingly sweet and Grantaire leaves feeling oddly empty.
He… god, Cosette could've been a younger brunette female version of Enjolras. She was so earnest and set in her opinions— she made Grantaire think of Enjolras, sue him. He misses his idiot human.
Anyways, he gets names and addresses, and he kills who he finds. There's a lot of blood involved and the details are blurry.
Claquesous is nowhere to be found, but Grantaire is an angel— he has a long, long time to look; he's in no hurry.
Some time passes, and he's worried about Enjolras in that time. He skips the meetings (though the rest of the ABC seems more than happy to still hang out with him for some reason) so he doesn't see Enjolras. But he hears from the others that he's hunting all the time, and that's definitely risky. Also, judging from how concerned Combeferre looks every time Enjolras is brought up, he's not doing super.
God, why does Enjolras have to suffer the consequences of Grantaire's poor decisions?
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but in hindsight, keeping a secret like that is really not realistic long-term. Enjolras was bound to find out, one way or another; he's not dumb. He would've figured it out and the outcome would've been the same. Maybe Lucifer just… sped things up, and put on a lot more emotional strain on Grantaire.
At least Grantaire knows none of his friends will get hurt due to hi nature. Not by Lucifer, anyways.
Heaven, though…
If Grantaire managed to attract Lucifer's attention, it's more than likely he has attracted Heaven's as well. He ought to be more careful. The damage might be done, but he could maybe throw them off his trail. Throw them off his friends' tail.
So, Grantaire stays alert and tries to limit the usage of his angelic powers.
It's inconvenient that Enjolras wants nothing to do with Grantaire; he can't exactly be safe if Grantaire isn't there with him. Not that he's not competent on his own, but he's human. Humans die all the time.
So, when Combeferre calls and says, "This could be nothing, but check on Enjolras. I have a bad feeling," Grantaire doesn't hesitate to open his senses to find Enjolras' bright soul. He finds it quickly enough, and he also feels two other presences with him that make him fly over to Venice instantly.
He fucking hates being right sometimes.
Enjolras is in a church, with two angels. Like, actual angels, not the statues Catholics love putting everywhere. Though, mind you, it is an Italian church; therefore it is Catholic, and indeed there are many statues of the biblically inaccurate angels humans adore. The church isn't terribly big, and Enjolras and the angels are right in front of the first row of benches.
It's the first time Grantaire sees other angels in a bit, and it nearly surprises him when he sees their forms; he's not used to seeing others anymore. But he's nothing if not adaptable, so he doesn't dally by staring or greeting them.
Grantaire lands between the angels and Enjolras, ready to grab him to bolt if needed.
"—us where he is, and we'll leave you alone— Rachmiel?" Zachariah does a double take when he sees Grantaire. "You're alive?" But surprise quickly gives way to some sort of grin. "Excellent! You can help us, then."
Grantaire winces at the use of his original name. Though— Zachariah's reaction means they weren't looking for him… they're searching for Lucifer, then. Maybe Lucifer, to fuck with Grantaire, made it so Enjolras could be tracked down by Heaven. That motherfucker.
Grantaire says, "I go by Grantaire now."
Zachariah scoffs, amused as if Grantaire just told a joke. "But that's not—"
"What are you doing here?" hisses Enjolras, grabbing one of Grantaire's shoulders, his beautiful soul glowing golden like always. Grantaire isn't going to lie: it's wonderful to be in his glorious presence again.
It's always wonderful.
But, Enjolras is angry, Grantaire can tell. And exhausted. Hunting non-stop and sleep-deprivation, Grantaire assumes. A human is no match for an angel, much less a human in Enjolras' state. "You—"
Grantaire puts his hand over Enjolras' on his shoulder. Though he doesn't have the power required for it, he transmits an image of a sigil drawn in blood into Enjolras mind with as much clarity as possible. Enjolras blinks, momentarily caught off-guard. His blue eyes are wide with surprise. "In case shit hits the fan," Grantaire explains quietly, face solemn. Then he turns to the angels.
"What do you want with him?" he asks, letting his hand fall from Enjolras'. He doesn't like letting go of him, but it's necessary in case he needs to kick ass.
Zachariah gestures at Enjolras like a car salesperson would gesture to a car they want to sell. It's… well, Grantaire has never liked Zachariah. He somehow had had a corporate vibe to him in the B.C.s. "He met Lucifer, we want to know where he is," Zachariah says, smiling emotionlessly. That dead-eyed look of 9-5ers and late-stage capitalism supporters. "We'd appreciate his cooperation."
"And I've said, I don't know where he is," Enjolras tells Zachariah, pushing past Grantaire. Fucking idiot— Grantaire pulls him back by the arm, and receives a glare for his troubles. The glare is entirely uncalled for, since Enjolras is the one who can get vaporised simply by giving an angel the wrong look; does he not fucking get that?
Grantaire keeps a hand on Enjolras' arm, the other hand casually slipping into the secret pocket for knives in the cargo pants Enjolras wears when hunting. If Enjolras notices, he gives no sign.
"I can confirm, he doesn't know where Lucifer is," Grantaire tells the angels. And he adds, "In fact, Lucifer went to great lengths to ensure neither of us were interested in knowing his location."
By distracting Enjolras with his dramatic reveal and making me promise to stay out of it, he internally adds. It is what it is, though, and Grantaire will (eventually) get over it.
Zachariah frowns. "Well, that won't do; we do require his location."
That's literally— has he not been fucking listening?
"And we, unfortunately, do not have it," Grantaire emphasises, slowly, holding Enjolras' arm tight as he keeps one hand behind Enjolras' back. He prays Enjolras' doesn't move.
Tilting his head, Zachariah says, "I don't believe you." Ah, so he had heard.
Two more angels appear, apart from the one next to him. Grantaire does his best not to recognise them, because he will have to kill them, and the less he knows who they are, the better.
The first to take a step gets Grantaire's blade in the chest, and so the fight begins.
Grantaire pushes Enjolras away the moment he throws his knife, and Enjolras is shoved into one of the wooden aisles people sit to pray. (Ironic, perhaps.)
Grantaire barely manages to fly to grab his blade and the one his now-deceased sister held before the other two are on him. The one that was with Zachariah initially grabs Grantaire from behind, and Grantaire manages to headbutt him, while the other receives a kick that would've killed a human. Shattered ribs, punctured lungs, internal bleeding, all the works.
Since angels aren't humans, Grantaire gets punched in the face.
He slashes the angel holding him, and the fight goes on.
Punch, kick, slash, stab when possible— grace shines out from some of his cuts, if they were made with an angelic blade.
It's been a while since Grantaire actually fought someone equal in power, and there's two of them. He's bleeding in multiple places and he's breathing hard, and physical exertion is actually getting t him.
Grantaire is not going to win, that much is clear; and he needs to get Enjolras out of here before he loses. Before he dies. Grantaire… is surprisingly upset about that, since he'd like to make amends and possibly hang out some more with Les Amis, but he'll accept his fate.
But Enjolras needs to get out. Preferably with some Enochian on him, hiding him from other angels. He's human, angels will not only kill him, but destroy him. And make him suffer, and Enjolras doesn't deserve that, never in a million years.
Because Grantaire needs to keep him safe, that's what he's here for—
"Stop!"
All the angels turn to Enjolras, whose hand is red and hovering over the sigil.
Brilliant boy.
Grantaire feels himself smile, even though he tastes blood and he's actually tired for the first time in centuries. He flies to Enjolras, standing next to him to make sure everyone knows where he stands. With who he stands, and will always stand.
Though, he definitely doesn't look threatening; his siblings are much less battered-up than him. But, still, a statement is being made
Grantaire was undeniably losing this fight, but at least they'd know that he's doing it for Enjolras.
"You don't know what you're doing, boy, put that hand down," warns Zachariah, sounding slightly panicked and shooting Grantaire a dirty look. He'd been comfortably watching from the side, after all. Fucking coward.
Enjolras grabs Grantaire's hand.
At first, Grantaire doesn't mind, and he turns to Enjolras to look at him. Then Grantaire realises Enjolras is about to activate the angel banishing sigil, and fuck, that shit banishes angels. If Enjolras holds his hand, they'll be banished to god knows where— and the journey is painful for an angel like Grantaire, but for a human like Enjolras?
Well, to be entirely forthcoming, Grantaire doesn't actually know what happens when a human gets banished along with an angel. But it certainly, without shadow of doubt, cannot be good.
Before Grantaire can tell him to let go, now, if he's going to actually activate the sigil, Enjolras says, "Fuck you," to Zachariah, and puts his hand on the sigil.
Everything happens very quickly. Actually, everything about this happened very quickly; the fight couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.
It's all rather jarring.
Short amounts of time can change many things, Grantaire has realised. If he hadn't gone to the Musain, if he hadn't talked with JBM, if he hadn't said yes to that werewolf quest, if, if, if if if if if if ififififififif—
So many little decisions that gradually but surely change your future.
Grantaire wonders, distantly, if Enjolras deciding to hold his hand when the sigil got activated will be the last decision Enjolras ever makes. If deciding to bring Grantaire to safety as well— an innocent, kind choice that many people would make— will be the end of Enjolras' burning existence. Being ripped apart by an angelic sigil is not a good way to go, not for anyone, not for Enjolras.
And Grantaire hopes, prays, it isn't the end of Enjolras' existence. It won't be, if he can help it— and so, though Enjolras can't see his wings, Grantaire does his best to wrap them around him to keep him safe, even if just barely. Grantaire himself will be greatly weakened by the sigil spewing him out in some random place, but he'll do what he can for Enjolras.
Grantaire feels himself violently ripped from reality before being hurled back in at random, at full force, and Enjolras is still stupidly holding his fucking hand.
Idiot.
Beautiful, caring, idiot.