Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The frog begged, ‘Please, please, princess, only a kiss from a princess can turn me back into a prince. And the princess pitied the ugly little frog, and kissed him,” Courferyac said dramatically, snipping the last thread on Jehan’s new jacket. 

Jehan sat obediently with Feuilly, Courfeyrac’s son, holding Javert, the small white kitten who was looking very tired of this story for the thirtieth time, and they both gasped, Jehan in exhilaration, Feuilly in disgust. “And when she did, the little frog turned into a handsome prince, and they lived happily ever after.” 

Jehan sunk down in their chair, sighing happily. “I hope I can marry a handsome prince or something.” Courfeyrac pulled them up and slipped the jacket over their shoulders. 

Feuilly, on the other hand, was still disgusted with the kiss. “Well, you won’t see me kissing a frog, never ever, ever, ever.” 

Jehan laughed, picking up Javert. “I would kiss a frog, absolutely, especially if it talks.” They wrapped Javert up in a green scrap of fabric, kissing him on the tiny pink nose, and pushing him toward Feuilly. “Here, you kiss the frog.”

“No!” Feuilly laughed, and the two children chased each other around the room, laughing and shouting. Javert was getting very agitated and on more than one occasion almost dropped. Finally he tried to make his escape, but Jehan accidentally tripped at the same time, and Feuilly bashed into them, sending Javert flying into the wall. 

Courfeyrac snorted, “Now, now, you two, you should probably stop tormenting that poor cat.” He stooped down to pick up the remaining scraps of cloth that had fallen on the ground.  At this time, Jehan’s father, Jean Valjean, came into the room. 

He scooped up his small child, swinging them around through the air. “How’s it going, Courfeyrac?”

“The jacket’s finished, but I think those pants are a bit tight,” Courfeyrac replied, gesturing to Jehan, and they blushed. 

“Could you come by soon and make a pair?” Valjean asked sheepishly, “This one’s growing so fast I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“No problem, for my best customer,” was the reply, “Come on, Feuilly, we should get home. Your Dad’ll be wondering about us.”

When the pair got home, Combeferre lifted up his son in a hug. “How’s my favorite boy?” 

“What about me?” Courfeyrac whined, crushing his family in a hug. 

“And my other favorite boy,” Combeferre laughed, giving Courfeyrac a kiss. 

“So, what’re we making tonight?” Feuilly asked excitedly once Combeferre set him down. 

“I was thinking,” Combeferre said, “We should send some new clothes to those orphans. You think we should send some of your too-small clothes?” 

Feuilly nodded in agreement. “Can we give the clothes to the orphanage that you got me from? I want the kids to be like me and get a nice home.”

Courfeyrac put his hand over his heart, touched, and Combeferre said, “Absolutely, sweetie.”

That night, the little family was curled up on Feuilly’s bed, and Combeferre was talking about how he wanted to make an even better orphanage for children. “It’ll be all like a great big family, and there’ll be enough to eat, and we’ll have enough beds for everyone and I’ll be able to take care of all of them,” he explained, showing Feuilly the doodle he had made for the front of the building. 

“We’ll be able to take care of all of them,” Feuilly corrected him, hugging him tightly. 

“Yes, and it’ll be our place,” Combeferre nodded, taking out a pen and scrawling across the top ‘Feuilly’s Home.’ 

Feuilly nodded, then suddenly turned around on the bed and looked out the window. “Jehan’s storybook said that wishing on a star will make your dreams come true, so I’ve got to wish on a star.” He proceeded to beg the star in hushed whispers.

Combeferre laughed. “Wishing on stars will only get you started. You have to put in the work as well, which we’re doing right now.” 

“Now, Feuilly, I need you to promise me something,” Courfeyrac said slowly. Feuilly nodded. “I know you’re so excited about your dream, but, remember not to forget what’s important--love, friendship, and family.”

Feuilly nodded, and the two parents tucked their son into bed. As soon as they left, though, he jumped up again and began wishing again. 

He realized just then that he wasn’t alone. There was a big, slimy, green frog sitting on the broken windowsill.  They stared at each other for a moment, then the frog croaked loudly, startling Feuilly. “Ribbet!”

Feuilly screamed and ran inside to his parents’ room in shock. There was no way he would ever kiss a frog. Never ever.

Chapter Text

Six years later, Feuilly was working at a factory making fans. He worked all the time, trying to save up for the home for orphans. He had two shifts that he was going, and was the most diligent worker at both, even though he hardly had a chance to sleep.

After working his first shift, some other workers would offer to go dancing with him, but he refused, saying that he had to work that night, and he wasn’t going to miss a shift, Missing a shift meant you could get a warning, and a warning was one step closer to getting fired, and he couldn’t afford that.

One day, while he was working, Jehan came in with their father to visit.

Feuilly looked up, and smiled. “Hi, Monsieur, you ready to be crowned Mardi Gras King again?”

Valjean laughed. “That would be a surprise. For the fifth year in a row.”

“Daddy,” Jehan said excitedly, “Tell Feuilly who’s coming for Mardi Gras!”

“This old town is lucky enough to be hosting--”

“Prince Bahorel of Maldonia!” Jehan interrupted, cheeks red in excitement.

Feuilly handed the two of them a fan. “Well, I would say, the best way to a man’s heart would be to make yourself look cool, am I right?” He dramatically waved the fan in front of his face.

“And he’s staying with us at our house in the guest room!” Jehan continued, looking ready to combust in excitement. Feuilly knew that their childhood dreams of marrying a prince were still alive, and rekindled by the prince’s arrival, and he chuckled.

“Could you maybe… make a special fan for me? Just to, you know, make me look cool?” Jehan asked, taking out a wad of money. “I’ll pay you, all I really want is one dance tonight, like in a fairy tale. Please?” They shoved a wad of money into Feuilly’s hands.

Feuilly looked down at the money. This looked like the right amount for the down payment to buy the building he wanted to use for the orphanage. “Yes, yes, absolutely,” he stammered, and Jehan hugged him tightly.

“Thank you so much!” Jehan cheered, the hug nearly strangling Feuilly.

-------

On the way home, Feuilly ran into Madame Thenardier, who he was buying the building from. “So, Feuilly, you got the money?”

“Yes, I do, if you can bring the papers tonight, that would be great,” Feuilly replied, trying to dim his excitement, but shoving the wad of money Jehan had given him into her hands, “Could I go over in a few hours and start straightening up?”

"Whatever you want to do,” Madame Thenardier shrugged, heading home herself.

After work, Feuilly called on his parents to help him get the place ready. Courfeyrac came in, helping Combeferre along. He had been in an accident that had nearly cost him his life, but it only left him permanently unable to work.

Inside, the building was dark and dusty, covered in cobwebs and something that neither parent wanted to point out to their excited child.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Feuilly asked, twirling around the biggest room, “We’ll have dinner in here, The bedrooms will be over here--”

“Feuilly, are you sure about this?” Courfeyrac interrupted uneasily, looking around the old place.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I am almost there, I’ve almost got the place we dreamed about.” He tipped a table upright, then pulled out some chairs for his parents to sit on. “Do you see it yet?”

Combeferre tilted his head, and squinted. “Absolutely, actually, I see it. Everything has a place in here. Good for you, Feuilly.”

“What about some grandkids?” Courfeyrac asked, “You’re not that young anymore, Feuilly, and you only have a certain amount of time.”

“Let the boy have his fun, sweet one,” Combeferre replied, putting a hand on his husband’s comfortingly, “And then pester him about children. He’ll certainly have his hands full with the children coming here,” he added with a laugh.

Chapter Text

The docks were full of paparazzi and interested passerby wanting to see the famed prince of Maldonia. When he appeared out of the ship, the crowd cheered to see the handsome young man standing on deck. When the boat landed, he was immediately off in the crowds, playing some kind of guitar to a few fangirls.

Still on the boat was his butler, a bitter but good-looking man named Montparnasse. He was busy dragging all the luggage off the boat and muttering curses under his breath.

Bahorel danced along through the streets, making sure his presence was known, flirting with all of the local girls, even Feuilly as he walked home, but he wasn’t interested in fun and games. Montparnasse chased Bahorel through the city, trying to keep up without dropping everything on the ground. His efforts were rewarded with getting his backside stuck inside a tuba.

“Hey, Montparnasse! You finally got into the music, am I right?” Bahorel laughed, watching Montparnasse struggle to jerk himself out of the instrument. “Get it? It’s funny because you’re actually inside a tuba.”

“Yes, yes, very funny,” Montparnasse growled, voice dripping with poison. He heaved the bags under his arms, trying to occupy himself so he didn’t punch Bahorel in the nose.

A strange man strode out of an alleyway and approached Prince Bahorel with a scheming smile on his face. “Excuse me,” the man said, putting an arm around Bahorel, “You must be the famed Prince of Maldonia.”

“How did you know?” Bahorel was immediately surprised.

“Maybe he read the local magazines, like a normal person,” Montparnasse suggested sarcastically, “Now I don’t think he’s trustworthy, your royal highness, so we should be getting along--”

“Actually, I am not a normal person, my boy,” disagreed the man, “The name’s Thenardier. You see, I have friends on the other side.”

“What’s the other side?” Bahorel asked interestingly, letting himself be guided along in the direction of a shady-looking building. Reluctantly, Montparnasse followed them. Inside, the walls were covered in masks, and it seemed like when Bahorel said ‘The other side.’ “He’s got friends on the other side,” they seemed to chant.

Thenardier, however, dismissed it, saying the room had an echo. “Now, gentlemen, seat yourself down, and relax yourself. The more you relax, the more I can do.” His scheming grin had not left his face the whole time. “I can change your future; I can see into your soul--” Thenardier nudged Montparnasse, “--You do have a soul, don’t you, Montparnasse?”

“Yes I do, dare you assume I don’t,” Montparnasse hissed, setting the luggage beside his chair. He was too tired to argue.

“I’ve got voodoo, I’ve got hoodoo, I’ve got things I ain’t even tried,” Thenardier explained, spinning his cane, “And I’ve got friends on the other side. Now, I’ll read your cards.” He laid them out face-down in front of the men, then turned to Bahorel. “You, young man, are royalty from across the sea, but your parents cut you off their loot, so you’ve got to marry for money, but if you do, you’re stuck. What you need is green.”

Montparnasse was rolling his eyes at Thenardier’s dramatic flair. “Get to the point so we can leave and go to the hotel and sleep. I can’t sleep on boats.”

Thenardier then turned his cards to Montparnasse. “You, little sir, have been walked all over. By your mother, you father, your brothers and sisters, and if you were to get married, you’d probably double as a doormat for your wife.” Montparnasse’s eyes were huge, and he could feel a painful lump in his throat, knowing everything that Thenardier had said was right. “Good news, though. I see in your future, a man you you always wanted to be, just what you’ve always wanted. Now, I can fix your futures to however you wish me to.” He smiled, not taking his eyes off the expensive-looking pocket watch hanging out of Bahorel’s vest.

“Really? You can change my future?” Bahorel marveled, sitting forward in his chair.

“Yes. Now, shake my hand, do we have a deal?” Thenardier asked, sticking out both hands. Bahorel took the left, and Montparnasse the right. Instantly, a puff of smoke began to fill the room, and a horrible whirring sound filled their ears. The chair grabbed Bahorel’s hand and quickly cut him, extracting a drop of blood.

Thenardier laughed as the two were struggling against the chairs that were holding them in place. “Oh, yes, now you’re changing, you feel it yet?” Thenardier grinned schemingly again. “I hope you’re satisfied. But in the case of emergency, I always tell my customers; don’t blame me if you aren’t. Blame my friends on the other side.”

Chapter Text

At the Mardi Gras festivities, Feuilly was trying to collect donations for his orphans’ home, the Prince was due at any minute, and Jehan was frantic. They were adjusting their costume every three seconds, not sure if the pants fit right. They kept asking Feuilly if it looked okay, and if he was sure it didn’t make their rear look larger. 

“I promise, Jehan, you look like a princess,” Feuilly promised, gratefully accepting a large fleecy blanket. 

“Oh, gosh, there’s the Prince,” Jehan gasped, clearly panicking. There, indeed, in all his regal glory, was Prince Bahorel, being very polite and formal with the the other party guests. 

“Jehan, you’ll be fine, I’m sure he’ll dance with you,” was the distracted response. 

“No I won’t, I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t flirt, heck, I can’t talk to men in general,” Jehan stammered, wringing their hands nervously, hiding behind Feuilly.

“You’re talking to me, silly, just… introduce yourself and ask to dance, simple,” Feuilly laughed, moving so Jehan, curled up behind him in a semi-fetal position, was on display to the whole party. 

They turned upward, and began pleading, “Please, please, please let this work out.” When they saw Feuilly’s confused expression, they explained, “I’m wishing on a star. I’m that desperate.” Finally, they fluffed their hair, adjusted their tiara, and began walking over to the Prince. They curtsied, blushing profusely, and in an embarrassed muffle asked if the Prince would like to dance with them. The Prince smiled, bowing and accepting the offer to dance. 

The pair glided perfectly across the dance floor, and Feuilly nodded along to the slow beat of the music, waiting for more people to bring donations. He had put far too many signs all over the town, in mailboxes, in public privies, on his neighbor’s dog leash, everywhere. 

The pile of supplies was actually pretty big. As he was marvelling at how many things that had been brought, Madame Thenardier walked over. 

“Hello, Madame,” Feuilly greeted her, “Do you have the papers for me to sign? I brought a good pen I know works and every--”

“Actually, Feuilly, someone else made an offer for the place,” Madame Thenardier interrupted him. “The sum they were offering for it was more than yours, so I’ll have to give it to them. Unless you can come up with the money in three days.” 

He stared at her in disbelief. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Well, considering your background…” Madame Thenardier looked at Feuilly’s bright red hair and freckles, “A factory might hire you. Just keep your hair short and don’t get it near the machines. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my other half has got to be somewhere…” As she walked away, Feuilly noticed she was wearing the front half of a horse costume. 

When reality hit, Madame had already accidentally bumped into someone, they bumped into someone else, and they fell into the pile of supplies. The pile crashed down, covering Feuilly in soap, toothpaste, and some kind of food donation that he had accepted out of kindness. 

Jehan stopped dancing to run over to him. They pulled him up and tried to wipe to gunk off him, but it only smeared more. “Oh, I’m so sorry, come on, I’m sure I’ve got something that’ll fit you at least a little--Please excuse me for a moment, Prince Bahorel--”

Bahorel waved them off, then turned to the punch table with a sly grin on his face.

Chapter Text

Jehan did find an outfit for Feuilly up in his room; an elegant prince suit that actually fit him perfectly, despite Feuilly being much taller than Jehan ever would be. Jehan wanted to ask about the orphans’ home, but Feuilly told them to tell him about dancing with the Prince. They did oblige.

“I really was starting to believe star-wishing didn’t work. But I guess it does! He’s actually really sweet,”  Jehan was just rambling on, but Feuilly needed the distraction. 

Finally, he came out of the dressing area, fully dressed. Jehan clapped their hands excitedly. “You look so handsome, Feuilly! Wait, you’re missing something--” They placed a costume crown on his head. They sighed, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Remember when we were kids, and we’d dress up like this all the time, playing pretend?”

“Yes, I remember,” Feuilly nodded, thinking about all the days gone by. He tugged the paper that Combeferre had given him when he was younger that showed the orphanage building. It was well-worn, and wasn’t ever going to come off the page. 

There was a call outside, and Jehan jumped up. “There’s the prince, come on,” they said, grabbing Feuilly’s arm, but he pulled back. 

“I’ll join you later, I’m just going to… you know, stuff,” Feuilly stammered, And Jehan nodded, heading out. Once they were gone, Feuilly went out on the balcony. He looked up, and could see the stars. He sighed, then began begging the brightest star for help. “Please, please, please.”

When he lowered his head, he realized he wasn’t alone. Sitting on the balcony railing, was a big, green, ugly frog. He smirked at the sorry creature. “I suppose you want a kiss?” he joked.

To his surprise, the frog grinned and said, “Actually, I could use some loving right now.”

Feuilly shrieked, and raced back inside. The frog followed him. “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything,” it said, trying to get up on a table. Feuilly was about to whack it with a book when the frog interrupted him. “Wait, I know this story!” he said, looking at the cover. 

“Feuilly stopped and turned the book so he could see it. “‘The Frog Prince’?” he read. 

The frog nodded. “I used to beg my mother to read it to me every night! Oh, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Bahorel--” Feuilly smacked him flat on the table, “--Of Maldonia.”

“What?” Feuilly stammered, “Then… who’s downstairs dancing with my friend?” 

“I have no clue, but it isn’t me,” Bahorel replied, getting his bearings. Feuilly set the book down, and Bahorel opened it, looking at the pictures of the princess kissing the frog, then the pair, both humans, getting married. “Yes! This is what you must do, Prince. You must kiss me.”

“What? I’m not kissing a frog,” Feuilly made a face, backing away from the table.

“Look, I’m a Prince. I will give you whatever; and I mean whatever you want. I promise,” Bahorel pleaded, hopping to the edge of the table. 

Feuilly thought for a moment. “You mean… absolutely anything?” he asked, thinking of the orphans’ home. 

Bahorel put a flipper on his heart. “True to my word.”

“Only one kiss? Just one?”

Bahorel nodded the affirmative. “Unless you beg for more.” He wiggled where his eyebrows would be if he had them. Feuilly rolled his eyes, disgusted, but he leaned down and pressed his lips against Bahorel’s slimy mouth. There was a puff of smoke. 

Bahorel opened his eyes and felt his arms, but he was still wet, and on the table. He looked over the side of the table. “How’d you get all the way down there--wait a minute.” 

“How’d you get all the way up there?” was Feuilly’s muffled reply from the folds of his costume. He stuck a hand out, and noticed that his arm was now a dark green color. 

He grabbed the now giant crown, and in one of the jewels, he could see that he was now a big, green, slimy frog as well. He jumped up, tackling Bahorel on the table. “What did you do to me?” He shouted, trying to strangle him at the same time. Bahorel wiggled away, trying to get out the window before Feuilly got a grip on him. 

Feuilly grabbed his leg, yanking him sideways. “Get back here, you slimy little-”

“Actually, it’s not slime, it’s mucus,” Bahorel corrected him, and the two of them fell off the balcony into the party. 

Jehan and ‘the Prince’ were dancing happily together to Le Parfum de Fleurs. It seemed like, impostor or not, Not-Bahorel was having a fun time himself. The frogs could’ve easily snuck out, if Jehan’s dog, Azelma, hadn’t noticed them. She barked loudly, then began chasing them around the venue, knocking over tables, people, and musicians. 

The dog bounded around Jehan and their partner, getting the leash tangled around them, pressing them together. Losing their balance, Jehan grabbed onto the Prince instinctively. Not-Bahorel looked at Jehan’s arms wrapped around him, and grinned. “Um… hello,” Jehan said awkwardly. 

Meanwhile, the real Bahorel grabbed a bunch of balloons, and began floating away. “Hey, make room,” Feuilly shouted, grabbing the ends of the ribbons, just out of Azelma’s reach. 

“Why didn’t that work?” Bahorel yelled in exasperation. “You’re a prince! It should’ve worked! The voodoo man told me it would help me!”

Feuilly looked at him incredulously. “I’m not a prince! It was Mardi Gras, you know? You dress up? I’m a factory worker! I make fans!” 

“What? No! You were supposed to be a prince!” Bahorel growled, then caught himself. “I mean, I’ve been cut off the royal budget, so I guess I shouldn’t be complaining too much about someone lying.”

“Wait, you can’t even give me what you promised?” Feuilly was beyond mad now, he was livid. “I should just pop all these balloons and watch you fall to your death.”

Bahorel’s eyes went wide. “No, no, please don’t do this!” he pleaded, but he didn’t have to. It wasn’t Feuilly who would pop the balloons. A thunderstorm rolled in just then, and a strike of lightning sent to two frogs falling to the bayous below. 

They landed in the water. The splash from Feuilly’s impact hit Bahorel so badly that he nearly drowned. 

“Feuilly…” he gasped, pointing behind him. “There’s a… a… alligator…”

Feuilly stopped, and his eyes went wide. “Did you just say… all-i-gat-ors?”

He was responded with a loud snap and a sharp “I want the fat one.” 

The pair of frogs shrieked, jumping towards a hollow tree. Once they were safe inside, they looked out to see if the alligators had left yet. They hadn’t, and were still waiting outside, snapping their jaws. 

“I’m not fat! You just wish you were this jacked!” Bahorel shouted, flexing his muscles,  then sat down in the tree, looking around. “Well, I guess we’re stuck in here,” Bahorel sighed, scooting over next to Feuilly, trying to get his arm around his waist, “I guess we should just get comfortable--”

Feuilly slapped him in the face, then rolled over to go to sleep. “We’re getting up early tomorrow. We need to get back to that voodoo guy.” 

Chapter Text

In the morning, the man who was pretending to be the Prince and Jehan had breakfast together on the terrace. Jehan was being their regular awkward self, while Bahorel was cool and collected, quite honestly thinking that Jehan was actually cute.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that frog thing last night, then got pulled into it. That usually doesn’t happen,” Jehan apologized, then added respectfully, “Your Highness.” 

Bahorel waved the idea away. “No need to be so formal. Besides, the situation was nothing to worry about. I’ve endured worse and survived,” he assured his friend, and, adding a title to his name added, “Sir.”

Jehan blushed, then looked at the table. “I’m sorry to correct you, sir, but… I actually prefer ‘Mx’ instead sir...” they mumbled softly, “If that’s okay with you?”

“Oh! Of course,” Bahorel replied, putting his hand over Jehan’s, “I’m sorry I never asked.”

Jehan, flattered, smiled. “You’re quite the gentleman, Prince Bahorel.”

Bahorel, who had been staring longingly into Jehan’s eyes, replied, “You can call me Mont-I mean, Bahorel, just Bahorel.”

“Oh, okay, just Bahorel,” Jehan nodded, letting Bahorel take their hand and continued to blush furiously. 

“So, I was wondering…” Bahorel was losing confidence in what he was saying with every word, noticing that his hands were turning back to their pale complexion in messy blotches and hoping Jehan wouldn’t. 

“Is your nose all right?” Jehan asked, “Because it’s… more pointy.”

“Oh, Never mind that,” Bahorel stammered, wiping his nose with a napkin, “The light’s… changing quickly in the mornings.”

“Oh. Well, what were you saying? I’m sorry I interrupted you,” Jehan gestured to him to finish what he had been saying. 

“Right.” Bahorel took a deep breath, looking Jehan in the eyes and feeling his eyes turning from brown to green. “Would you like to be my… royal partner, or whatever you would like to call it?”

Jehan’s eyes widened, and they stood up in surprise. “I--really?” Bahorel got down on one knee and nodded. They stammered, “Yes! Yes!” They walked over and hugged Bahorel hard, then pulled away a little. “Was that too tight? I’ve been told that I-”

“No, it was perfect,” Bahorel assured them, hesitantly giving them a kiss on the forehead. 

“Oh! We should plan out the wedding,” Jehan said quickly, “When should it be? Maybe, I don’t know, do you think it would be too much if it was tomorrow night at Mardi Gras?”

Bahorel’s eyes widened, genuinely excited. “Yes, actually, that’s perfect. Why don’t you plan it, since you seem to have a better idea of how to plan things, and I’ll see you later?” He did realize that was the least romantic thing he possibly could’ve come up to say after proposing, but his hair was already straightening out.

Jehan nodded, and, after giving him a quick kiss, hurried out the door to get to planning. Montparnasse sunk into a chair, turning fully into himself, and sighed dreamily, to his surprise. 

The mooniness didn’t last long though. Thenardier appeared at his side from seemingly nowhere and snatched the talisman holding a drop of Bahorel’s blood from inside Montparnasse’s shirt. In response, Montparnasse folded his arms over his chest and slapped Thenardier’s hand. “Pervert!” 

“Oh, relax, you’re such a drama queen,” Thenardier rolled his eyes, then looked at the empty talisman. “Come on, we need to go back to my place and get more blood.”

“Oh… about that…” Montparnasse mumbled. Thenardier turned to him expantly, eyebrows raised. “He was in that little glass jar, and he couldn’t breathe very well, and he was gasping, you know he has asthma, so--”

“You let him out?!” Thenardier shouted angrily. 

“Look, I don’t kill people anymore. Especially royalty. I only unscrewed the lid a little, but those legs of his are awfully strong--”

“You are the worst assistant I’ve ever bothered with,” Thenardier groaned. “Now we have to find him, and you have to put the talisman back on so you can keep tricking that boy--”

“Actually, they don’t identify with any particular gender,” Montparnasse corrected him. 

“Well, it needs to be seduced into the plot, either way,. Its father’s got to die for this to work,” Thenardier said carelessly, and Montparnasse’s fists tightened under the table. 

“Wait. You did not tell me that someone was going to die,” Montparnasse snapped, “Their dad’s all Jehan’s got.” 

“If we don’t kill him, then it won’t get the money that’s undoubtedly going to be left in a will. So we can’t get to it, so that’s why he has to die. I’ll make it quick and mostly painless, I swear,” Thenardier explained, studying the talisman, trying to gauge how much blood they actually needed.

“You know, I’m starting to lose interest in this stupid plot. I don’t really want to hurt Jehan. They’re actually really sweet, and they have a soul that actually cares about me,” Montparnasse muttered under his breath.

Thenardier turned around and shoved him deep into the seat, holding him there by his princely suit. “We don’t care about its feelings, we just trick it,” he growled. 

“It’s they, geez. You call that stupid jokemobile of a vehicle a she,” Montparnasse hissed back, pushing him off.

“So I’ll need to call upon my friends on the other side to get the real prince back. And we’re not loosening the lid this time,” he added, glaring at Montparnasse, who stuck out his tongue at him in response.

Chapter Text

Bahorel was woken up by a loud cracking sound. He climbed up and looked out of the hole. Outside, Feuilly was building a raft. “Oh, good, we’re getting going.”

“Yeah, get your teenage tail out here and help me,” Feuilly snapped, “So we can go fix the problem you caused.”

“Oh, all right.” Bahorel jumped out and sat down on the raft with a twig with some spiderwebs on it, and began playing it like a guitar. 

Behind them, there were three ridges floating along, listening to the strumming. “Ooh, I want to, Bossuet,” One said.

“I know, Joly, but they’ll be scared, and we don’t want that,” another said.

“But I know this tune, Musichetta…” the third whined. 

“But… you know what? I like spontaneous performances.” Joly jumped out of the water and began playing his handmade trumpet as loud as he could. 

“Well, looks like we’re showing off,” Bossuet shrugged, getting up and playing his undersized clarinet. 

Musichetta rolled her eyes, but laughed, and began drumming out a rhythm on her four-drum set. Bahorel turned around, wondering where the rest of the band came from. He nearly had a heart attack once he discovered the alligators following them. Quickly he realized that the gators meant no harm and he grinned, playing his guitar louder. Feuilly turned to see what the racket was about, then saw that Bahorel was having fun with the newcomers. 

Finally, the impromptu concert ended, but Joly kept playing some ridiculous trumpet solo, then stopped because he was out of breath. When he perceived everyone staring at him he replied breathlessly, “I like being spontaneous.”

“I should take you back to the party to perform,” Bahorel said, “You guys are amazing.”

“Oh, we tried that, but there were too many big guns,” Musichetta replied, and the other two curled up into protective balls. “We’re all still recovering from last year.”

“Well, that was fun and all,” Feuilly said, pushing the tiny raft along, “But we need to get going. We need to find a way to reverse a spell.”

“What do you mean?” Musichetta asked, tucking away her drumsticks.

“Hold on to you hats, my friends,” Bahorel answered dramatically, climbing onto Joly’s nose. 

Joly shook him off. “Nope, not getting salmonella from a frog.” Bossuet rolled his eyes, seating himself on a log and promptly falling off.

“Okay, I’ll stand here, if you’re so worried,” Bahorel stood on the raft. “We are not frogs. We are humans.”

The alligators stared at him, then at each other, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?” Joly snorted.

“No, really, we’re humans,” Bahorel repeated, “I made the mistake of going to see this guy who said he’d fix my future, and this is what happened. I had to kiss royalty, and this guy lied to me--”

“It’s not lying if you never asked,” Feuilly argued, pushing the stick deeper into the mud, trying to get moving. “Now, mister Princey-Pants, are you planning to help me out here?” 

“There’s always Pere Mabeuf,” Musichetta suggested, “He’s the voodoo king around here.”

Bahorel’s eyes lit up. “You said voodoo king? Could you take us there?”

“What? No!” Joly shook his massive head. “Too creepy, he gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Bahorel thought for a moment, then called out to the gators that were wandering away from them. “You know, it was great meeting you guys, it’s too bad that you can’t be human and perform for people.” The gators stopped and conferenced. 

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “Cute, but it’s not going to work.”

“Hey! You two! We were just thinking, do you think Mabeuf would turn us into people too?” Bossuet asked excitedly. Bahorel shrugged, then beckoned them onto the raft. That went well until Bossuet tried to get on, and the raft sunk straight to the bottom of the bayou. “Why is it always me?” he muttered. 

The group decided to allow the frogs to ride along on them, and they supplied a fanfare of music along the way. Feuilly had to keep directing them the right way so they wouldn’t run into any trees, but for the most part it was smooth sailing.

-------

Thenardier, back in his shop, was making a deal with the Beings That Be. He explained his whole plan--Montparnasse would marry Jehan, securing the largest amount of money in the whole city. Then he would kill Jean Valjean, getting his inheritance. When that happened, he would have a puppet show working all through the city where the demons could use as they pleased. The largest head--which appeared to be the leader--considered the deal, then agreed. A piercing shriek signaled several shadow messengers to search for the frog that would supply their ultimate reign. 

Chapter Text

It was late when the gators decided it was time to go to shore for the night. They sat on the sand, quietly tuning their instruments. The frogs were tired and hungry, which isn’t good when one is trying maintain their human instincts. Bahorel was the first to give up, seeing a big bug just nonchalantly looking up at the night sky, holding a small bottle and intermittently sipped from it. 

“Well, might as well eat,” Bahorel said cheerfully, hopping over and aiming his tongue at the bug. He fired, but he missed. He fired, and he missed again. “This is harder than I thought,” he laughed, trying again. 

Meanwhile, Feuilly, who trying to think of some way to get home faster, noticed the bug, and his stomach growled. “Oh no. No way am I going to eat a bug.” But his tongue had different plans. It shot out, pulling Feuilly with it, and it hit a bull’s eye on Bahorel’s shoulder, and the two of them crashed together, tongues tangled. 

Musichetta heard the noise and came running over with the other gators behind her. Bossuet was the first to react. “I’ll get it!” He picked them up and began twisting them around, trying to loosen the tangle, but if anything, it was worse. 

“I’ll get a stick,” Joly volunteered, and the other gators joined him. 

The bug, which was evidently a firefly, heard the commotion and flew over to inspect the situation. “Well then. Never understood why everyone needs to show off their touchy-feely relationships.” He looked up at the sky. “Angel, you know I would never do this to you unless you wanted to.”

“Can you help us?” Bahorel mumbled awkwardly, trying to balance on one foot. 

The bug examined the tangle, then said, “Sure, excuse me, sir… the name’s Grantaire, by the way.” He crawled in between the frogs, lit up his light, and began working through the sticky mess. As soon as he popped out and the frogs were apart, the alligators were back with a log that they were calling a stick. 

Joly dropped the stick, which splashed loudly. “Well, I guess we’ll need to apologize to that owl.” 

“Thank you sir,” Feuilly praised Grantaire, who shrugged. “But we need to get to Pere Mabeuf’s as soon as possible.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Feuilly turned around to look at the gators, who were suddenly very interested in their instruments. “Are you taking us the wrong way on purpose?”

Bossuet was the first to crack. “He’s a really creepy guy! He’s a million years old and blind, but he runs around like a nut and can read! But he’s still blind!”

“Well, you said he’s a voodoo man? Maybe he voodooed up vision or something,” Bahorel suggested. 

Grantaire looked at him incredulously. “I am a stone-drunk flying bug with a light-up butt, no motivation or belief in life or knowledge of voodoo, but I can tell you for certain that’s not how it works.”

“Okay, so anyway, we need to find Pere Mabuef--for real.” Feuilly glared at the gators, who looked very sheepish. 

“I can show you the way,” Grantaire volunteered, “I know a shortcut.” 

Chapter Text

As they strolled on, Grantaire began talking about this girl firefly he had known for a long time, and Feuilly let himself join the conversation. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Oh no,” Grantaire laughed, “I might like both the ladies and the gentlemen, but I do have a lover. His name’s Enjolras.”

“Neat, where’d you two meet?” Bossuet asked interestedly. 

“Well, it was a night not unlike this one, a full moon, and it was somewhere around here, we talked a little while--he’s not much of a talker, but that’s okay with me--and he smiled, and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly.”

“Aw, that’s adorable,” Musichetta said, sighing. “I wish it was a little more romantic how I met these guys.”

“What was wrong with it?” Joly exclaimed, “We both loved you like crazy, but you didn’t love either of us, then one day you suddenly seemed a little interested in being around us, and now--”

“--And now we’re practically an old married trouple now,” Musichetta finished with a smile. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’d change it for anything. You two are perfect.”

Bossuet looked at the two frogs. “You know, we’re all basically married and you’ve got a boyfriend. You think they’d be a good pair?”

Grantaire gave Feuilly and Bahorel one look, then said, “People say opposites attract, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

A silence fell over the group until it was broken by Bossuet sitting in a pricker bush. “Why is it always me?” he whined. 

“Let me see,” Musichetta said, and Grantaire held up his light so she could see it. 

“The darkness… It’s closing in…” Bossuet whimpered, and Joly began going off about something on the subject of infections and he started bawling. “Joly, stop it or he’s not getting these prickers out.”

Granatire moved closer and Bossuet whimpered again. “Ow!”

“I haven’t even touched it, sweetie,” Musichetta groaned. This was going to be a long night. 

While the others dealt with their problem, Bahorel couldn’t help poking fun at Feuilly. “You know, I think I figured out your problem. This is it--you do not know how to have fun. You work, work, work, all the time, you’ve forgotten how to enjoy life.”

“And yours is the opposite. You have no idea how to work. All you know how to do is run around and break the furniture,” Feuilly replied, hopping ahead of him to push aside a branch. “Can you pick up the pace? I’d like to get home before my next birthday.”

Bahorel coughed a cough that sounded an awful lot like “A bump on a log.”

“What’d you say?” Feuilly whipped around. 

“Nothing.” Bahorel shrugged, then coughed again, “A stick in the mud.”

“Listen, you piece of trash, I’ve been working two jobs trying to get half of a living while you just sit there in your ivory tower eating off a silver platter. So you have no right to judge, mister,” Feuilly snapped back. 

Bahorel mumbled, “They’re polished marble, there’s a very big difference.”

As the group went on, they didn’t realize they were being watched. Paton-Minette, the greatest frog hunters in the bayou were watching the frogs hopping along, getting excited. Gueulemer peeked through the branches. “Take a look at those two jumpers. I can taste the frog legs already.”

Brujon shouted, “Yeah, and they taste real good with that sauce, right, Gueulemer?”

“Will you keep quiet?!” Gueulemer snatched the walking stick from Brujon’s hand and smacked him with it. 

“I’ll get the nets,” Babet volunteered. Brujon stood blankly staring at the two of them. “You need to get the boat ready,” Babet reminded him, trying to fight the urge to punch him in the face. Brujon snapped to attention and nodded, hurrying to untie the boat. 

Bahorel just barely caught the end of the conversation, and hurried to catch up to Feuilly. “Hey, I think we’re getting followed,” he said uneasily. 

“I think you’re annoying,” Feuilly replied in irritation. 

“No really I think we need to--” before Bahorel could finish, he was scooped up into a net. “Aah!”

Feuilly whipped around at the sound of his shout and saw Gueulemer heading off with a wiggly net. “I got the fat one! You two get the little one!”

“It’s all muscle!” Bahorel whined, “Why is it that everyone thinks I’m a fat frog?”

Babet grabbed Feuilly, but he slipped out of his fingers. He began reaching for his belt.

Meanwhile, the gators and Grantaire were having a time getting the last briar out of Bossuet’s finger. “Ow! Ow!” he cried, and Joly put his arm around him comfortingly. 

“All done!” Grantaire announced, and the three sighed gratefully. Suddenly Babet burst from the bushes chasing Feuilly, holding a large rifle. 

Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet all shrieked at the sight of the big man with a big gun, and shot into the bushes, which still had plenty of briars to go around. Grantaire slapped his forehead. He looked over where the gators were looking, and saw Gueulemer with a net containing Bahorel. 

“No, no, no!” He shouted, and in battle-war-cry format he yelled, “A bug’s got to do what a bug’s got to do!” he shot right up Gueulemer’s nose, causing him to drop the net, and releasing Bahorel.

Finally, Gueulemer sneezed and Grantaire shot like a bullet out of his nose and onto a rock. He sat up dizzily. “I think I just chipped my favorite tooth,” he said groggily.

Feuilly was running from Babet, but had not considered that there may be more. Brujon came at him from the other side, but tripped over him and landed on top of Babet, sending Feuilly flying right into his box. “Hey, I got one!” he cheered. 

Once they got back to the boat, Babet sat down on top of the box so Feuilly wouldn’t escape. 

“Hey, Gueulemer,” Brujon said, “What happened to yours?”

“Shut up,” Gueulemer snapped, pushing the boat back into the water and rowing away.

Bahorel was swimming away, then realized that Feuilly wasn’t behind him. He turned to see Feuilly trying to chew open the box he was stuck in. Without thinking, Bahorel shot out his tongue, sticking it to the side of the boat and slapping into it, making a thud.

“Did you hear that suspicious noise?” Brujon asked of the others. 

Gueulemer paused. “Yeah, something ain’t right.” He took off his hat to think, and the other two stared. Bahorel was sitting on top of his head! Gueulmer looked up to see the other two staring at him, and asked, “What’re you two gawking--Ow! Stop! What are you--Ow!” Brujon had taken his walking stick and begun whacking Gueulemer’s head, trying to hit Bahorel, but Bahorel was jumping way just in time. Babet stood up, and Bahorel called to Feuilly, “Go!” 

Feuilly followed his instructions, pushing the lid off the box and hopping out. 

At this point, Brujon had become desperate to get the frog, and picked one of the rifles still in the boat and aimed it at Gueulemer’s face. This would’ve been fine if Bahorel had not been on his face at the time. Feuilly quickly jumped up and aimed the gun down, shooting straight through the bottom of the boat and through the crotch of Geulemer’s pants. “Aah!” he screamed.

After a few minutes of hopping around the boat, causing the frog hunters a large amount of physical harm, the men were lying on the bottom of the boat. “These two frogs,” Babet mumbled, “Aren’t like any frogs I’ve ever seen. They’re smart.”

“And we’re tough, too,” Feuilly added, hopping down next to Bahorel in front of the hunters. The hunters were on their feet in a second, rowing away from the bayou as quickly as they could, leaving the frogs laughing in their wake. 

The gators crawled sheepishly out of their “hiding” place, Grantaire pulled out their prickers to their dismay and his annoyance, and they decided to relax for the night. 

Feuilly began making a enat little bed out of leaves, and Bahorel waited patiently for Feuilly to make his so he could sleep. But Feuilly pulled his covers over himself and closed his eyes. 

Bahorel nudged him. “Can you make one for me? Please?” He hoped the extra manners would help his case.

“Make one yourself,” was Feuilly’s mumbled reply. 

Bahorel shuffled awkwardly. “Nice one. I don’t know how to make one.”

Feuilly grumbled, “Of course, the boy has never done his own laundry.” Then he sat up and grabbed some leaves. “You fold these up nice and neat--” he handed Bahorel the pile “--then you stack them up, and you have a nice little mattress.”

Bahorel looked at the leaves for a moment, then, realizing Feuilly was watching him, started reluctantly trying to fold them up. One was a cup shape, so there was no way to actually fold it.

“Okay, that one wasn’t fair,” Feuilly admitted, “No one wants to fold a fitted sheet.”

Bahorel had no idea what he meant, but kept going, corners sticking out all over the place. Finally, the torture was over, and he held up a sloppy pile of leaves. Bossuet covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh, while Joly and Musichetta shook their heads. 

“Nice job. Keep practicing, and you’ll be great at this,” Feuilly praised. Bahorel felt a nice warmth flood through his body as he laid down on his lumpy mat and stared at the sky. 

Grantaire looked up, and smiled, floating over to a clearing. “There’s Enjolras!” he sighed dreamily, gesturing to the sky.

Joly looked up. “Hey, I want to meet this guy.”

“Yes,” Bossuet agreed, “Where is he? He sounds charming.”

“He is charming, but capable of being terrible. Can make anyone feel inferior. But how can you miss him? He’s the brightest firefly in all creation,” Grantaire replied, pointing up at the sky. There, hovering in the sky, was a bright, glowing red-yellow star. “He likes coming out at night because the black sky looks better with his red light,” Grantaire explained, flying over to a tree and quietly tended to carving a small heart with an “E+R” inside it using the edge of his tiny glass bottle. 

Bossuet looked out at Enjolras, then began to say, “That’s a star-” but Musichetta slapped her hand over his mouth. 

“It’s amazing, really,” Grantaire continued, “That Enjolras would tolerate someone like me, ugly old bug that’s lost all belief in anything except for him, a beautiful, flawless--” he stopped and turned back to the star. “Sorry, angel, I know you don’t like compliments, but you also like the truth.”

Feuilly didn’t know what to say. On one hand--or flipper in his case--he should let Grantaire continue with his imaginary romance with an unattainable love, on the other, he should tell him the truth. 

Grantaire looked back up. “Angel, I heard a nice song earlier, and I thought about you. I mean, I think about you all the time, almost all my life is spent thinking about you, but I learned the words, and I wanted you to hear it, if you want.” He waited a moment, as if waiting for a response, then sang quietly, “If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied, illuminate the no’s on their vacancy signs, and if there’s no one beside you when you’re soul embarks, then I Will Follow You Into The Dark…”

The alligators looked at each other and shrugged, and picked up their instruments and commenced a very quiet accompaniment. Bahorel tapped his foot to the beat, then took Feuilly’s hands, pulling him close to him. Feuilly yanked himself from his arms, hopping away. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never danced before. I’ll never learn.” Feuilly lowered his head. If he were still human, he would have flushed red. 

Bahorel smiled, taking his hand again. “If I can learn how to fold something, then you can dance.” He paused, holding his other arm blankly in the air next to Feuilly. “Now, I’m not sure how to dance with another man. This is an experience. We’ll figure it out.” He finally decided on Bahorel’s hand on Feuilly’s waist, which caused Feuilly to panic for a moment, then Feuilly’s hand went to Bahorel’s shoulder. 

Bahorel guided Feuilly across a lily pad, stumbling a bit, then pulling him back up laughing, and finally dancing perfectly. Feuilly’s eyes were sparking like emeralds in excitement, and Bahorel was pretty sure that needing to kiss someone but wanting to kiss someone else was completely wrong, but he wasn’t particularly minding the feeling. 

He was staring longingly at Feuilly’s lips, then Feuilly was tugging away again. “Well, Jehan’s got themselves one heck of a dance partner.” He patted Bahorel’s hands awkwardly. “We best be pushing on.” 

Bahorel was about to protest, then realized that he was right. They did need to get going. 

Chapter Text

Thenardier’s friends on the other side were close on their tails, watching their every move, waiting for an opportunity to capture Bahorel. Finally, he hopped just a little further left than he should have. A shadow grabbed him and began trying to pull him away.

He shrieked, alerting the others. “Help! Something’s got me!” 

His friends tried to shake off the demons, but they were persistent. When they managed to get one off, another would take its place. 

Suddenly, there was an explosion of bright, flashing light. One by one, the demons were struck with the beam, crying out as they shriveled to nothing.

Bahorel righted himself, then looked to see where the light had come from. Standing in a clearing was a very, very old man with clouded eyes, swinging a walking stick around. “Don’t mess with me! I’ve got the power of God and voodoo on my side!” he shouted, then finished out with a war-like cry and set the stick down like nothing had happened. “Not too bad for an eighty-year-old blind man, huh?”

Bahorel, Feuilly, Musichetta, Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire were at a loss for words. There seemed to be no appropriate response for this occasion. 

“Are you Pere Mabeuf?” was Feuilly’s only question. 

“Sure am,” Pere Mabeuf replied with a grin, and the gators silently backed up. “Don’t be scared, Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet,” he continued, gesturing to the three of them, and they instantly stopped, looking at each other in horror. 

“I told you he can read,” Bossuet whispered. 

“And write as well,” the old man called. “Now, come along inside and let me see what I can do for the lot of you.”

-------

As it turned out, Pere Mabeuf lived in an old boat, which had seemingly crashed into a tree, making it the perfect place for a ghost story. From the branches of said tree, several bottles of all different shapes, sizes, and colors hung as ornaments.

Once inside, Pere Mabeuf called out, “Gavroche! Gavroche, sweetie, papa’s home!”

Whatever the group was expecting Gavroche to be, it certainly wasn’t a six-foot-long green python. Pere Mabeuf bent down to the snake, and he wagged his tail like a dog and somehow managed to wiggle in the air. “Who’s a good boy, Gavroche? Who’s a good boy?” Pere Mabeuf petted the snake’s head, then tossed him some--presumably--dead rodents, which he quickly gobbled up. 

Feuilly and Bahorel wanted to keep their distance from Gavroche, but they need to talk to Pere Mabeuf, so they hopped up onto the edge of Pere Mabeuf’s pen. 

In the pen sat a little boy, probably around seven years old, crying quietly. Next to him, two girls, probably four years old, one with blond hair and the other with brown, sat hugging him as he cried.

Pere Mabeuf shook his head. “That's Marius, Cosette, and Eponine. Don't mind him. He's always doing that, crying away. Always nightmares about his grandfather hitting him for not holding the same opinion as he did. He'll cry it out eventually."

“But he's so scared!" Feuilly exclaimed, hopping in with the small children. 

Marius paused in his sobbing to look at Feuilly, then Cosette put a hand on his head and gently stroked his hair. “Ssh, it's all right, don't cry."

Feuilly shook his head, putting his hand on Marius's small, but significantly larger one, and he pulled away in disgust. Feuilly had forgotten that was now covered in mucus. “It's okay for you to cry. Everyone cries at some point."

Eponine rested her head on his shoulder. “Your nasty grandfather can hardly hurt you now. You're safe.”

Marius sniffled and buried his face in Eponie’s shoulder and whimpered, “But big boys don’t cry.”

“Yes, they do, Marius,” Feuilly said, “I cry if something scares me, or something isn’t working, but it all gets better soon. Don’t worry.” He asked gently, “What happened to your parents?”

“They got really sick,” Marius explained, peeking out. Cosette rubbed his back gently. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Mine did too. But they’re always looking out for you, you know. My new parents, Courfeyrac and Combeferre, they told me that whenever I started missing my old parents, that when someone passes away, they look down on everyone from a star. Your parents are stars now, making sure you grow up to be a good boy,” Feuilly explained, patting his hand, and this time he didn’t pull away. 

Bahorel watched this all from afar as Marius's breathing steadied and he wiped his little pink nose on his sleeve. He felt a strange sort of affection for Feuilly, someone who without hesitating went in to help a child that wasn't even his. 

“Well, you got him to stop crying," Pere Mabeuf said, “You're an orphan yourself, aren't you, Feuilly?"

“Yes, sir. My parents adopted me when I was a little boy. A human boy."

 “Ah, and you want me to fix that," Pere Mabeuf sighed, turning to a book and saying to Gavroche, “Always what they want, eh? Never what they need."

Bahorel mimed weighing something in his hands, saying, “The things we want and the things we need, same thing, right?”

Pere Mabeuf shook his head. “It don’t matter what you look like, what you wear, how much money you have, we don’t care. Doesn’t matter what your background is or what kind of critter you are either. They all come in here, knowing what they wanted, not realizing that they need to dig a little deeper and found out who they really are on the inside.”

Pere Mabeuf set the gators and Grantaire to work making some kind of food. Quite frankly, Feuilly was scared to ask what was in the pot. It didn’t look like the others had any idea either. 

Bahorel was completely confused. Pere Mabeuf turned to him and said, “You, Prince Grenouille, are a rich little boy who wants to be rich again, yes?” Bahorel nodded eagerly, hoping that the crazy old man could do something about it. “But money won’t make you any happier. Did it ever? No! Money won’t keep you company, money won’t be there to pick you up when you’re down. All you need is some self-control, and you’ll be all good. Just look inside yourself, little man, and figure out what really matters.” 

Bahorel looked where Pere Mabeuf was pointing and saw Feuilly busy playing some bizarre finger game with the children, who were now laughing and smiling, Marius’s cheeks still a bit flushed. He watched them having fun and realized what he was feeling inside himself. It wasn’t money he wanted. 

Pere Mabeuf approached him. “Might I have a word with you?”

“Yes, sir,” Feuilly replied, slightly nervous from the old man’s tone.

“Hmm, you’re a difficult one to figure out,” Pere Mabeuf hummed, lifting him up and setting him on his shoulder. “Your father, the one with the glasses, he’s a real loving man, isn’t he? He loved you from the second he met you, and he was always there for his family. Not saying your other dad, the one with that fluff on top, ain’t a good dad, just saying that Glasses wanted to share his dream with you, and you’re seeing it through even though he can’t.”

“But he’ll see it,” Feuilly assured him, “During the workers’ rebellion, a bayonet in the chest that should’ve killed him just hurt him too bad to work anymore. Courfeyrac’s taking good care of him, I know that.” Feuilly smiled thinking about his fathers at home, probably reading together or Courfeyrac making Combeferre laugh to the point of pain. 

“Well, you’ll need to dig a little deeper than you already have,” Pere Mabeuf explained, opening a window. The group hadn’t realized how long they stayed util the morning light poured in from the sun’s rays. “Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes,” Feuilly nodded, “I’ve got to dig a little deeper, and get enough money for the orphanage!”

The only present who were excited by this were Cosette, Eponine, and Marius, who cheered. “We can get a real home!”

Grantaire dropped the spoon he was holding and shouted, “He said to dig a little deeper to--forget it, you guys aren’t listening to me.”

“So, now we know what we need, but it doesn’t hurt to get what you want too, right?” Bahorel asked, trying to be subtle in his request. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you want to be human again,” Pere Mabeuf grumbled, stirring the stuff in the pot. Instantly an image popped up in the liquid. “Both of you get over here. Now, you, Princey-poo, need to kiss a royal before midnight.”

The image that popped up was Jehan. Feuilly squinted at the picture. “Would that work? I mean, I know their father was elected the king of Mardi Gras, but does that work?”

“It counts, royals are royals,” Pere Mabeuf shrugged, walking away from the pot. 

“But why by midnight?” Bahorel asked. 

“Because that’s when Mardi Gras ends,” Feuilly answered, watching Grantaire trying to play pool with a pea and his bottle as the gators kept shifting their weight, throwing off his aim. Every time he’d try to make a decent shot, the floor would move and the pea would roll away from the hole in the floor. 

“So we should get going!” Joly announced, picking up his trumpet and beginning to walk out the door.

“Wait, what about us? Can you turn us human?” Musichetta asked Pere Mabeuf as the others got their things packed up and were thanking him for his help.

“It’s not what you want, honey, it’s what you need,” was all Pere Mabeuf said. Marius, Cosette, and Eponine waved through the window, “Come back soon!”

Chapter Text

“Well, there’s a paddleboat right here,” Bahorel pointed out, trying to shove the gators forward. 

“But… there are people on that boat,” Bossuet protested, “They have big guns that’ll shoot us.”

“We can hide,” said Feuilly, “It’ll be fine, trust us.” Bahorel glanced at Feuilly when he referred to them as us. 

“We do not have time to be arguing, that boat is going to be in Paris by the time you guys get going,” Grantaire groaned, shaking his head. 

After a few more minutes of convincing, the gators finally agreed to go, and clamored into the boat. A loud group of fellows in bizarre costumes were coming from one way, and everyone panicked. The frogs and Grantaire hid behind a bucket, but Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet couldn’t fit behind anything. Feuilly and Bahorel grabbed onto each other in a panic, then released each other in realization of what had just happened. 

The costumed partyers stopped at the gators and smiled. “Nice costume, fellas,” one said, tweaking Joly’s nose. 

Musichetta didn’t know what one of the others was looking at until she remembered she had her drums hanging around her waist. “You guys play?” He asked. In a panic, the trio picked up their instruments and blared out the beginning chords to “Waterloo.”

“Hey, you’re good!” one said, “You guys want to join us tonight at Mardi Gras?” 

The gators looked at one another in excitement, then hurried after them join them. Grantaire shook his head and went off to find out if this boat had any half-decent wine, so that left Feuilly and Bahorel to figure out something to do. All they could do was wait impatiently for the ride to be over. 

Although, Bahorel’s mind was preoccupied. He was most definitively and assuredly having a problem. He was finding it hard to stop looking at Feuilly, who, was a quite nice-looking frog, and he was strangely enjoying spending time with him. 

-------

That night, Bahorel realized exactly what his problem was. Even bigger problem, he didn’t know how to handle it. Then he decided on the--probably--best method of fixing the problem. He wasn’t one to follow fairy tales, but at this point, he needed all the luck he could get. 

Bahorel looked up at Enjolras, and sighed. “Please, please, please. I’ve accidentally fallen in love, and I want him to be happy. Please let this work--”

“Oh no you didn’t!” A voice behind him shouted into his ear, and he whipped around to find a very angry Grantaire, bottle at the ready to smack him in the head. “You want to go, Bahorel? Are you trying to steal my love? Well, I’ve wished and pined for far too long for you to go--”

“No! No, I’m not stealing your boyfriend,” Bahorel assured him, putting up his hands defensively, and upon seeing Grantaire’s suspicious brow, he added, “I swear. I’m in love with Feuilly, not Enjolras. He’s pretty, but not my type. I need your help, a little.”

“Wait, you’re in love with Feuilly?” Grantaire suddenly seemed interested. “Wait, you’re seriously going for the cliche profess-your-love-by-moonlight thing?”

“You were doing it earlier,” Bahorel pointed out, “And I want to be ready. But I don’t know how.”

Grantaire sighed exasperatedly. “I do it because he’s actually there to hear it. He goes out at night, like myself.”

“What’s the thing you say to Enjolras?” Bahorel asked out of curiosity. 

“Our thing is the song and the whole profession thing that embarrasses him. I tell him that when I die, wherever I end up, I want to be with Enjolras, like that song. You, what do you feel for Feuilly?” Grantaire asked him. 

“I really don’t know, I just really want to spend time with him. He’s actually really cool, and seems to be able to tolerate me now.” Bahorel shrugged. 

“Maybe just surprise him with something. Look, I’m doing my romancing thing with the fact I’m a proud cynic, so maybe I’m not the person to talk to about this,” Grantaire suggested. 

Bahorel shrugged, then his eyes lit up. “I know what I can do. How about this--I told him when he first agreed to kiss me, that I would get him the money for anything he wanted, so once I’m a human, I get a whole bunch of jobs, and pay it all off for him. He’s been trying so hard for so long… of all people Feuilly deserves it. He’s going to love this.”

“You, enslaving yourself to achieve another person’s dreams? I’ll believe it when I see it,” Grantiare called after him as he hopped away to get the surprise ready.

-------

“What on earth are you doing?” Feuilly laughed, stumbling blindly up to the top of the boat. Bahorel was holding his hand over Feuilly’s eyes, and was trying to keep his own heart rate at a remotely healthy level, which was difficult when Feuilly kept falling and grabbing onto him. 

“Okay, now you can look,” Bahorel lifted his hand. Feuilly saw a small table, just for two, with a huge candle in the middle of it, and gasped. “Did you do this?” 

Bahorel nodded proudly, then pulled out a very neat and tidy stack of leaves he had found on a plant and figured the plants wouldn’t miss them too much, and promptly dropped it. “Ah, sorry, I’m not usually like this,” he apologized, scooping up the leaves, and if he were human at the time, his face would’ve been flushed. 

“It’s cute,” Feuilly assured him, and he nearly swooned. 

Bahorel clumsily stood up, refolding everything. “Look, I can fold stuff properly now.”

“Congratulations,” Feuilly laughed, giving him a small applause and a smile that completely melted his heart. 

Bahorel leaned flirtatiously on the table, and promptly his elbow fell off. “So, I wanted to tell you that, I have dated many--” Feuilly frowned, “--okay, three, or four people, and none of them had made me feel the way that you do.” He was hiding a small box his hand, then was interrupted by Feuilly saying, “Look!”

He looked to see what he was pointing at. Evidently, Feuilly had not heard a word he had just said, It was a vacant building off the shore of the bayou. “What is it?”

“It’s where we’re going to fulfill our dream,” Feuilly explained, sitting down on the edge of the roof and dangling his feet. 

Bahorel’s ears--well, where his ears would be if he was human-- perked up. “What do you mean, our dream?” He sat down next to Feuilly, fighting the urge to take his hand in as subtle a way as possible.

“Oh, my parents adopted me from a shady-looking orphanage, so now we’re going to make an even better orphanage than the one they got me from,” Feuilly elaborated, and Bahorel’s face fell, but tried to hide it. 

He now knew that Feuilly cared more for his family’s dream than him. Which was fine, he supposed, he was only about to propose that they get married one day. He knew that he would have to something for Feuilly though. He would die with a guilty conscience if he didn’t. He had tricked him into becoming a frog, so he would have to pay him well for that. 

The question was what to do now. “Uh… Feuilly?”

Feuilly looked at him expectantly. Bahorel’s words were stumbling all over each other as he said with a lump in his throat, “I just want you to know that with this whole dream thing, I’m behind you all the way.”

“Thanks,” Feuilly replied, hugging him. Bahorel hugged him back, then began to ask, “Hey, do think that we might make a cute--”

The captain of the boat, Champmathieu, called out, “Prepare to dock!”

“Hey, is that the mayor?” A passerby called out.

“No! I’m not Valjean! Why does everyone think I’m the mayor?” Champmathieu cried in frustration. 

Bahorel and Feuilly turned and hopped up. “I’m going to find Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet,” Feuilly said, beginning to walk away. Bahorel hopped down below, feeling quite unachieved. Suddenly something snuck out and grabbed him. 

“Aah!” he tried to call for help, but there was no one around to hear him scream.

Chapter Text

“Now we’ve got you,” Thenardier cheered, “And you’re not getting away again.” He lifted Bahorel in the air and quickly cut his finger again, letting the blood drip into the talisman. He turned to his partner to work the magic, but was surprised to see that Montparnasse was standing, arms folded across his chest, and pouting at him.

“What do you want now? It better not be another complaint about the way the prince’s hair is, because we can’t fix that, it’s just curly. And I don’t care if you don’t like the dark skin, you have to deal with it.” Thenardier tossed Bahorel into a case then locked it up tightly, leaving the keyhole open so Montparnasse wouldn’t freak out. 

“No, it’s not that,” Montparnasse assured him. He stalked around the room, then leaned against the fireplace. “I was just wondering… why couldn’t you wear the disguise? Why couldn’t you pretend to be the prince and make Jehan fall in love with you and break their heart?” 

Thenardier’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you said that you were a heartbreaker.”

“I am, but not to people I actually have feelings for. And I like Jehan. And they like me back. I’m not doing this anymore. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to.” He sat down in a chair and stuck out his tongue again defiantly.

“But you’ll be getting everything you’ve ever wanted, right? Other people doing the work for you, all the money you could have in the world, and Jehan would be happy as well! Isn’t that nice? It likes the prince, not you.” He watched in satisfaction as Montparnasse’s face fell, realizing that he was right. 

“Now, put on the stupid magical necklace and I swear if you say anything more about the fact that amber isn’t your color I will punch you in your pale little face.” 

Thenardier held up the talisman and was about to place it over Montparnasse’s head when the younger asked yet again, “Why can’t you wear it?”

Thenardier’s patience was just about run out, but he put the necklace around his own neck, showing that the magic didn’t work on him. “Satisfied? Now put it on, get out there and get married already.”

Montparnasse stumbled out in his royal outfit and climbed up on the float that he and Jehan were getting married on. He couldn’t help but think that Jehan was a genius at planning this kind of thing. The whole situation was beautiful.

Jehan got up next to him and smiled excitedly. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” Montparnasse replied, then squinted at them. “Needs something…” he tugged a small tulip from the side of the float and put it in Jehan’s hair. “There. You look perfect.”

Jehan hugged him, and Montparnasse hugged back, burying his face in their soft hair. “I love you,” He whispered, meaning it. 

“I love you too,” Jehan replied, eyes sparkling. Montparnasse could feel his heart breaking because they weren’t saying it to him, and prayed that Jehan couldn’t feel it.

Chapter Text

On land, Feuilly found the gators still playing with the band, having the time of their lives, so he let them be. Grantaire, however, was flopped over in half a glass of wine on the deck of the paddleboat. He yanked him out the glass and woke him up. They went to reconvene with Bahorel, but they couldn’t find him anywhere. 

They got swept up in the flood of festivities, and even though he was already drunk, Grantaire kept trying to sneak off to the liquor vendors.

“Come on, focus,” Feuilly said again, holding onto his arm. He never thought that a firefly’s light could have a strobe setting, but here he was. 

“You know, he really loves you a lot, but you didn’t hear that from me. Just thought that might interest you,” Grantaire said, pulling his arm out of Feuilly’s grasp. 

“Wait, really?” Feuilly turned to face him, “Is that what that whole thing on the roof was?”

“Yes, he wanted to propose, but you kind of shut him down,” Grantaire explained, picking at some dirt on his bottle, which he was still carrying.

“Wait, how would you know what happened up there?” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Unlike some people, I actually do talk to my boyfriend. That’s primarily what we do,” he said, about to elaborate, but Feuilly’s look of horror shifted his focus.

Standing on a float, prepared to get married, was Jehan and Bahorel. Feuilly slowly changed from shock to hurt, hopping away. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going, Feuilly?” Grantaire called after him.

“He’s happy, that’s fine. I’m not upset,” Feuilly insisted, wiping his eyes. He also didn’t know that frogs could cry. 

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” Grantaire said, sounding like the effort to be optimistic hurt him, “Look, there’s always hope. Even if you’re separated, like Enjolras and me--”

“It’s about time you figured out that Enjorlas is a star. Might as well know now rather than go another night trying to confess your love too someone and get your heart broken,” Feuilly snapped angrily, “Face it, Grantaire, you are never going to be with him.”

Grantaire’s heart visibly broke, and he looked up at the sky. “Please, please don’t listen to him, he’s just really upset. He doesn’t mean it. You’re real, you know I love you, angel…” he continued to try to cheer up Enjolras, who stayed stoic from his perch in the sky. Then he hurried off to find out what had gotten into Bahorel’s mind.

-------

At the wedding, Montparnasse was praying that he wasn’t sweating too noticeably. Thenardier was waiting in the shadows of an alleyway, holding a voodoo doll of Jean Valjean, holding a pin at the ready to give him a horrid heart attack. Sitting next to Montparnasse was a very wiggly box, containing Bahorel. Whenever he would try to break free, Montparnasse would stomp hard on his tongue. 

Grantaire slipped over to the box, having seen it move and knew he wasn’t so drunk to be seeing things. He snuck through the keyhole, and found Bahorel nursing a bruised tongue. “What’s up?” he said casually, leaning against the interior. 

“Grantaire, our kiss is getting away! He’s going to marry Jehan and it will be all over!” Bahorel exclaimed, fidgeting with the lock helplessly for the millionth time. 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Allow me.” He pushed Bahorel out of the way and clicked around inside the lock, and came out a minute later. “You’re welcome, wimp. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to crash.” 

He flew out of the box as the Bishop of Digne, who was conducting the wedding asked of Montparnasse, “Do you, Bahorel, take this soul to be legally and spiritually bound to yours for as long as you both shall live?”

Montparnasse was about to reply the affirmative when Bahorel burst out of the box, kicking Montparnasse in the leg and jumping off. “What the heck is with this place and the frogs?” He shouted, in all honesty. 

Grantaire flew up behind him and grabbed the talisman, and pulled, nearly choking him, but successfully pulling him off the float and into the crowd. Once Grantaire had pulled it off, Montparnasse immediately became his original form again. He quickly ducked into an empty library to conceal himself. 

“Bahorel, are you all right?” Jehan called out, concerned. 

“Yes, Flower,” Montparnasse replied through the door, “Just… composing myself, is all. Did I mention you look lovely tonight?”

Thenardier growled and shoved the voodoo doll into his pocket along with the pin. Of course something had to happen and spoil his plans. On top of this, he had a stupid partner who couldn’t just get stuff done. 

“I’m going to try and get that kiss!” Bahorel called, jumping off the float.

Grantaire zoomed around town, trying to find Feuilly. “Feuilly!” He finally found him next to the bayou, watching the other fireflies’ lights blinking on and off. He looked up at the sound of his name.

“What’s wrong?” Feuilly asked, wiping his eyes, which were strangely like a human’s eyes and therefore turned red.

Grantaire pushed the talisman into Feuilly’s hands, saying, “It wasn’t Bahorel who was marrying Jehan. They were marrying that butler guy who came with Bahorel, but he was wearing this magic necklace and it made him look like Bahorel. I hope that made sense.”

“Not at all but I’m sure when we have more time you can explain it to me,” Feuilly said, hopping away.

“I’ll hold them off!” shouted Grantaire, who had stopped a horde of shadow demons advancing on them. He chased them around with his light until they were burned out, one after another--

Slap. Thenardier smacked Grantaire to the ground like a fly. Grantaire landed hard on the ground with a thud. He stomped hard on the ground.

Crunch. Thenardier walked away, not looking back at the crushed firefly.

Chapter Text

Thenardier stalked around town, looking in vain for the talisman, or someone with the talisman. Finally, he spotted Feuilly across the road, trying to drag the huge pendant on the ground. Feuilly turned quickly to see Thenardier coming up to him. 

He started to run but Thenardier called out, “Wait, I’d like to make you an offer!”

“I’m not interested!” Feuilly shouted, pulling the talisman with all his might over a rut in the sidewalk, “And anyway, talking to animals and thinking you understand them is one of the warning signs of insanity.”

“No, I know I’m not insane,” Thenardier replied, “I happen to know that you’re human, and that you’re working to become human so you can build an orphanage.” He stepped froward. “I used to have children. Don’t know where they went, but I know I had them once. Nice little brats too. I wish all little children could get a nice home.”

Feuilly was annoyed that Thenardier was trying to play with his feelings. It was getting on his nerves how much Thenardier was relating to him.

“Your father there, Combeferre? He wanted this too, didn't he? Too bad he never got to see what you’ve built up.”

“He isn’t dead!” Feuilly snapped, “Why does everyone keep think he’s dead?”

“People make assumptions when people get stabbed, Feuilly. Anyway, I’d like to make you a deal.”

“I’m not even tempted,” Feuilly snapped, but to be truthful the whole thing really touched him.

“Just hear it--I can make you a human again, and get you the money you need to help all those children. All I ask in return is for that nice little necklace you’ve got there. Imagine, everything you’ve wanted.” Thenardier extended his hand beckoningly.

Feuilly thought about it. He had wanted so long and worked so hard only to have Madame tell him he couldn’t beat the price of someone else, someone who probably like Bahorel, just not as kind or as sweet or really cared a lot about him--

Bahorel. Suddenly the orphanage seemed like such a small thing. He didn’t need the orphanage as much as he needed Bahorel, to be with him and spend his life with him. 

Feuilly narrowed his eyes at Thenardier. “That’s not what I want. My father may not have gotten what he wanted while he was well, but he did get what he needed. He needed love and support from me and Courfeyrac, and he got it. Besides, this thing has done enough damage.” Feuilly threw the talisman to the ground, and it splintered to pieces.

Thenardier screamed, “Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done!” The ground began to shake and quake as the remaining angry shadow demons crept forth from the ground. “I have more plans! I promise! I have a backup plan!” He pleaded. But the demons were done waiting. They grabbed at Thenardier and dragged him deep into the earth, repaying his debts to his ‘friends’ on the other side.

-------

Jehan knocked on the door again. “Bahorel, you’ve been in there for an hour. What’s wrong?” When there was no answer they yanked open the door, and covered their mouth with their hand. 

Inside was not Bahorel. It was a much younger-looking man, probably at least five years younger, with straight jet-black hair, moon-pale face, and was shorter and slimmer than Bahorel ever was. The suit didn’t fit right anymore, and he looked startled. 

Jehan stammered, “What… what is going on? What happened to Bahorel?”

“I…” There was no way for Montparnasse to explain the situation before some--very real--royal guards came up and affronted him. “Jehan, please listen to me. I’ve been using magic to look like the prince. I was tricked into it. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

Jehan’s eyes were now filling with tears. “You mean the fairy tale of the past three days… that’s all it was? A made-up story for…?” They grabbed the bright tulip from their hair and tossed the flower to the ground with a soft sob. “When you said you loved me… that was a lie?”

“No! Please let me explain!” Montparnasse pleaded as the guards pushed him into a police cart. The last thing he saw as he was driven away was the betrayal on Jehan’s face.

Jehan watched the cart drive away, then curled up on the steps of the library and cried. “Why is it that whenever I kiss a frog, that’s all he is?” they sobbed into their arm.

From next to them, a voice said, “Well I can tell you if you kiss this frog you won’t be disappointed.”

They sat up abruptly. “Who said that?” 

Bahorel replied, “Hello.”

Jehan shrieked in surprise, about to run off, but Bahorel stopped them. “Look, I need your help with something.” He looked up at the clock tower. It read ten minutes to midnight. “But I need to explain it quickly.”

Chapter Text

Feuilly was wandering around the town, trying to find Bahorel and tell him everything on his mind. He felt like if he didn’t find him soon, his heart would explode, whether he returned Feuilly’s feelings or not. It had to get out.

Finally, he could hear his voice near the library. Bahorel was saying, “I need you to kiss me. I need to be human. I will always owe you one.”

Feuilly felt a tug of jealousy, and began to hop away, then heard Jehan reply, “But… why do you need to help Feuilly? How do you know him?”

“We’ve been through a lot the past few days,” Bahorel admitted, “I was a complete louse to him, but in all honesty… I’m kind of in love with him. He’s like my… Enjolras, if that makes any sense at all.”

“No, it makes sense,” Jehan replied, wiping their nose, “Feuilly’s a lovable person. He’s like the brother I never had.” 

Feuilly snuck behind Bahorel and hugged him hard from behind. “I’m in love with you too!”

Jehan sniffled again. “All right, I’ll do it. Just because I can’t have a happy ending doesn’t mean that you two can’t. Feuilly, I’ll get you the money you need for that orphanage.”

“So you’ll kiss him?” Feuilly asked hopefully. Jehan nodded, picking up Bahorel, who was far from enthusiastic. 

Just as Jehan kissed Bahorel, the clock struck midnight, and he was still a frog. “No!” Jehan cried, kissing him repeatedly, but nothing changed. “Oh no, Feuilly…” their eyes filled with tears again, placing a shaken Bahorel, who wasn’t expecting extra tries, on the step next to them, and buried their face in their lap. “Why am I such a failure?”

“You’re not a failure, Jehan. I took too much time explaining the whole thing in detail,” Bahorel responded once he had recovered himself. “The only thing you might want to work on is your kissing. Sorry, but that was a little less than romantic.”

“Sorry,” Jehan whispered softly again, taking out a handkerchief. They caught a look at themselves in a puddle. “You wouldn’t think I was planning to get married today.” 

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Feuilly assured them, “We may not be human anymore, and I might not have been able to do what I wanted to do, but we’re together, so that’s got to count for something. And you’ll find the perfect person, you just don’t know it yet.”

The touching moment was ruined when the alligators raced up, Musichetta scolding Bossuet for dropping something. “I’m sorry,” Bossuet whimpered, and she hugged him tightly. He set down what he was holding. It was Grantaire, and he wasn’t looking too good. His wings were bent out of shape, and his breathing was forced.

“Grantaire,” Feuilly said softly, “Thank you. So much. For everything. But… we’re going to stay frogs.”

“Why?” Grantaire’s voice was hardly above a whisper.

“It’s not what we want, but it’s what we need. We need each other.” Bahorel’s eyes watered. “Are you going to die?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

“It’ll be all right,” Grantaire gasped, “I’ll finally be with Enjolras.” He looked up gently to the star, and smiled. “Will you permit it, my love?” His light flickered out, and Grantaire passed away.

Bahorel choked out a loud sob, then covered his mouth, trying to pretend it didn’t happen. Feuilly wiped a tear from his eye, then whispered, “Poor Grantaire.”

The group carried Grantaire’s body to the bayous, where he had lived many happy days. They laid him on a leaf, and floated him down the river, silently wishing him the best in the afterlife. 

As the leaf drifted around a bend, a bright light shone in the sky. They looked up, and it was Enjolras, still glowing brightly. But something was different. There was another star, just as bright, and the star’s left point touched to Enjolras’s right side. Feuilly and Bahorel smiled, knowing that Grantaire had been right. He was with Enjolras. 

Chapter Text

Feuilly and Bahorel, finally knowing that they loved each other, got married by Pere Mabeuf in the bayou. Cosette was a ring bearer, Eponine tossed birdseed, and Marius was a very happy flower boy. 

“...And I declare you husband and prince! You can kiss the… bride?” Pere Mabeuf announced questioningly, and Feuilly and Bahorel kissed, then a flash of green light burst from nowhere. The gators were in disbelief. 

When the glow receded, Feuilly and Bahorel were standing in their human form! Feuilly looked at Bahorel and laughed.

“What, my husband?” Bahorel asked. 

“You look funny as a person,” was Feuilly’s gasping response.

Bahorel felt his black curly hair, his dark face, his strong arms, then replied, “There’s nothing wrong with it, right?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it,” his husband replied.

“How are you human?” Musichetta asked, grabbing Bossuet’s tail before he dove into the cake. The young children peeked from behind it, faces covered in frosting.

Feuilly smiled at Bahorel. “Prince Charming, you just kissed yourself a prince.”

“Can I do it again?” Bahorel asked, and Feuilly nodded.

-------

The happy royal couple went back home to get legally married, since apparently a random blind voodoo hermit wasn’t qualified to join souls together. They did open the orphanage, after a long three days of working odd jobs--Bahorel didn’t even know that there were people who took out chamber pots--and bringing the money to Madame. 

She looked at the money skeptically. “You sure this is enough to make me want to give you that warehouse?”

“Maybe, but if it isn’t, we’ve got this,” Bahorel said, opening the door.

“What did you get?” Feuilly asked, and in crawled Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly, all growling like other alligators do. 

Madame panicked and threw the key to the couple on her way out the door.

They may have been happy, but Montparnasse, on the other hand, was let off easy under the assumption that he had been hypnotized into impostering the prince, but was still given community service. His services were most needed at Feuilly’s Home, folding the laundry. He hated the job, but it was better than rotting in jail. 

While he was folding one day, he found a fitted sheet. “Nope, nope, not happening,” he shook his head. He was not dealing with that today. He had enough of a tangle to sort out in his heart before this sheet. 

“Can I try it, Montparnasse?” Montparnasse turned around to see Jehan, wearing a long dress and a man’s jacket, holding in their small hands the huge sheet. 

“I-if you want to,” he stammered, terrified of the thought that they would recognize him, and whipped back around to face his pile of laundry. “How do you know my name?”

“I asked Feuilly,” was the simple response. He listened to a full minute of grunting and rustling, then a loud crash. He turned back around to see a pile of sheets dumped on top of a wiggling sheet. 

He snorted. “How’d that feel?” Jehan stuck a hand out of the cloth, and Montparnasse took it hesitantly. 

Jehan stood up, twisting the fitted sheet around in a mass of rustling, then handed him a brick of cloth. “It’s all tangled up inside, but it just has to look nice, right, Montparnasse?”

Montparnasse looked at the brick, then at Jehan, then said, “You know that other than what I looked like, none of that was a lie, right?” 

“Really?” Jehan’s eyes lit up. Montparnasse nodded. They looked Montparnasse up and down, and added, “You’re a lot prettier than Bahorel.”

Montparnasse put a hand on his hip and rolled his eyes. “Well, I knew that from the beginning. What was going on with that hair? Totally out of control.” 

Jehan giggled awkwardly, and Montparnasse could feel his heart melting faster by the minute. “But when you said you meant everything, you mean… you love me?” they asked, getting excited. 

“Well, I certainly like you a lot,” he replied, shrugging. Jehan’s face was glowing, and Montparnasse was already reconsidering what he had just said. 

Suddenly he was off his feet, pressed against the wall in a hug and a kiss. Then Jehan sat up quickly. “Was that too much? I’m usually too much, I’m so sorry…” they started backing away, flushing red, but Montparnasse pulled them back for another kiss. 

“Yes, yup, absolutely, I lied when I first answered your question…”

“How much is it bail you out?” Jehan asked dreamily.

“I have no idea,” Montparnasse shrugged, “Besides, whatever it is, I’m sure you can’t afford it.”

Jehan rolled their eyes. “Sweetie, I have an entire inheritance to blow before I die. What do they want for you?”

“A lot,” Montparnasse replied. 

“Sounds good to me,” Jehan laughed. 

Grantaire and Enjolras remained together high up in the sky. Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly ended up preforming at a local tavern, Le Taverne du Corinthe, where guns where not allowed.  Bahorel and Feuilly were very happy to see that Marius, Cosette, and Eponine were enjoying the orphanage as they had hoped. The pair couldn’t have their own children, but nonetheless, as they always do, they lived very happily ever after.