Chapter Text
Enjolras had always wanted to be a hero. They remembered, as a kid, watching the news and dreaming to be one of those masked men flying over the city, fighting crime and darkness, and helping people live in a better world. They had always fantasized about having powers and joining them.
They spent hours imagining how they powers would be. They would maybe fly, or maybe they could light things on fire, maybe they would be super strong. They were so certain that, one day, their powers would manifest themselves in an amazing way and they could use them to change the world.
Then, one day, it happened, but they barely noticed it. Their neighbor’s cat had gotten stuck on a tree. Enjolras simply asked him to come down and the cat jumped into their arms.
It didn’t feel weird, at the moment. Enjolras had always been good with animals. And the first changes were so subtle that they were barely changes: people that gave them what they wanted when they simply asked for it, their mother making their favorite dinner every time they asked or buying them every toy they wanted, their ability to get away with murder which they thought it was just because they were clever… They were too little to do more than ignoring it and keep dreaming of flying.
Until the day when the class bully hit their best friend, and, overcome with rage, Enjolras told him to jump through the window.
The class was on a first floor. Luckily, the kid only broke a leg. But Enjolras realized their dreams of flying were over. Being a hero was no longer something to aspire to, but the only ethic use for a power like theirs.
As soon as they were old enough, they got in touch with the National Guard and exposed their plan: a team of heroes, working hand in hand with the law forces, of which them could be a part of. Lamarque, who by then wasn’t yet a general, was the only one who thought it was a good idea, but she doubted them, at first. You’re dangerous, she told them. How could they be sure they would never use their power against them without them even noticing? Enjolras could get anything they wanted and no one could stop them.
She was right, as always. Lamarque was always right.
Even so, Lamarque accepted to give them a chance. Because Lamarque always saw the best in people. And Enjolras spent months proving themself, proving they were worthy, that the only ethical and good use their powers could have was helping people. They worked harder than anyone, to the point of forgetting they had a life beyond the mask. They didn’t care. They were contributing to make the world a better place, fulfilling the responsibility that their powers had imposed on them. They told themself they were happy like that.
Then Lamarque created the team and named them leader. Lamarque earnt a promotion with that group and Enjolras earnt a life, even if it was bounded to their work. They learnt to have friends, even if they didn’t know neither their names nor their faces. And they never stopped dreaming of being a hero, of using those wicked powers to turn the world into a better place.
They tried as best as they could. They never failed, never doubted, never faltered. They were the leader of Les Amis; they couldn’t afford to.
That’s why it annoyed them so much when someone on their team made them look bad.
Like the day their dream shattered to pieces for the second time.
They’d spent hours in front of the main computer of the tower, videocalling Lamarque and other bigwigs of the National Guard, giving half made explanations and making up excuses that not even them believed. They had sent everyone else home; if that had to taint someone, it must be them alone. Them and the person responsible for the mess, of course. But the reproaches kept coming and they couldn’t give the answers they didn’t have.
“With all due respect,” they finally interrupted Javert’s fifth reprimand, “I can’t give any more explanations. We’ve barely had the time to talk after the incident. We couldn’t clear up what happened. Let me talk to him. I’ll be back in a while. With explanations, not excuses.”
Lamarque stared at them like she could see what was inside their soul and, despite Javert’s grumbling, nodded in silence and hang out. Enjolras sighed.
They took a few seconds to compose themself and breathe. It had been a calm day, without incidents or bigger problems than the attack on the bank. They were common robbers, they didn’t even have powers. Something simple, easy to handle. Why did he always manage to mess everything up?
They shook their head in silence. That wasn’t fair, they still hadn’t given him the chance to explain himself. And they had to admit they were worried. Algos had always made very clear that he didn’t want to be a hero, that he didn’t believe in the ideals that Enjolras defended. But he had always done his job, even if it was splashed with sarcastic comments. It wasn’t like him to fail like that. And, underneath the rage that boiled in their guts, Enjolras could feel the tendrils of worry chocking them. Lamarque and the Guard didn’t matter, they didn’t owe them more explanations; they simply needed to talk to him. They straighten their mask, retied their ponytail to catch the rebel locks that had escaped it and headed to the room Algos called his in Les Amis’ tower, where they had asked him to stay and sleep himself sobber while they dealt with the consequences of his mess.
“I can’t and I won’t make anyone do anything against their will today,” they said out loud, and immediately the extenuation of using their powers came over them.
They were almost sure they had mutilated their powers that morning, but it was always good to repeat it before an important conversation. They couldn’t afford for them to meddle in them. And they didn’t want to deal with the moral dilemmas that they brought them so often.
Only when they were sure they wouldn’t be able to force him to do anything, they knocked on the door, maybe with a bit more rage than what was necessary. They didn’t wait for him to reply; they came in with furious strides and stood before the bed with their arms folded over their chest and a severe glance.
“I’m going to need you to explain to me what the hell happened out there, R.”
R didn’t deign to look at them. He was curled up in bed, still wearing his old black costume, hugging a bottle. Just as they had left him when they came back to the base. That made rage burnt stronger than worry in Enjolras’ guts. He could at least pretend to care.
“I fucked up and crippled the wrong person. You were there- you have eyes,” R groaned, and took a long sip from the bottle.
Enjolras frowned. The bottle was precisely the fucking problem.
“Yes, I have eyes. And I see that you are, as you were, drunk as hell, so I really hope you have a better excuse. I really, really hope you have it. Because I’ve been trying to save your ass for hours, but Lamarque is furious, R, and I need something better than “I fucked up”. So, please, work with me. Give me something better.”
“There’s nothing better,” R sighed, turning around to sit up and drink another sip. Even with the mask on, the bag under his eyes and the tiredness on his face were perfectly visible. “The robbers were all dressed as civilians, and this guy was running just next to the girl. I couldn’t have known she’d run straight into a driving car. Might have done so anyway without my meddling. I don’t know what else you want me to come up with.”
“I want you to tell me why the hell you were drunk out there!” Enjolras yelled. They could feel their powers struggling with their own self-imposed limits, fighting to let go the rage in an order that couldn’t be ignored. They breathed deeply; their own chains held them down. “People could have gotten hurt, R. What if you had crippled the driver and he had run over someone? I want an explanation better than “I fucked up”, I want to know why you were drunk. I’m trying to help here, don’t you see? Give me an explanation. I don’t want to tell Lamarque that you can’t be trusted out there. I know you’re better than that.”
“I wasn’t drunk. I had some drinks, but… I just missed my shot, and then something stupid happened. If you make someone stop running and a car runs over them, is that on you as well?” R snorted. Enjolras had to bite their tongue to not tell him that yes, it was. “I’ll go to the hospital and tell her sorry if that’s what you want to hear.”
“No, it’s not! You can’t be drunk when you put on that mask, R, I don’t care if you only had one beer or ten. You hold powers unknown to most of the people and work officially outside the law. It’s your responsibility to use them only to do good, to help and not hurt people, to always be in your best condition so accidents like this do not happen. We’re already on thin ice with most people that see us as nothing more than vigilantes, we can’t afford accidents like this to happen. And if you can’t understand and won’t even try to explain yourself, maybe I should talk to Lamarque and tell her you can’t be out there until you get your shit together.”
R let out an incredulous laughter than did nothing but inflaming Enjolras’ anger. Every trace of worry that they had left diluted with that sound.
“I don’t have a best condition and Lamarque has known that from the start. I didn’t fuck up because of the drink, in fact, I need no help fucking up at all.” He snorted. “People get hurt all the time, Ange, it’s literally in the job description. The only thing we can do is try to keep the numbers to a minimum. And sometimes the minimum isn’t zero. And that fucking sucks. And I feel shitty about it. And if you want to put me in time out for that, so be it. I can’t do anything besides saying I’m sorry or self-flagellate for a while.”
Enjolras glared at him. They hated that he had to make everything so difficult all the time. Anger was giving way to disappointment. They dug their nails in their arms to the point of blood to focus on the pain and forget about it. Why couldn’t he let himself be helped, tell him what really happened? Why didn’t he even bother to defend himself?
They should know by now that R would never let them help, no matter how many times they offered. After all, why should he? They didn’t know each other’s faces, each other’s names. Only those stupid nicknames they called each other because they refused to use they noms de guerre all the time.
“Yes, you have it. It’s called “sobriety”,” they hissed. “But fine, have it your way. If you’re not able to take your duties seriously enough, I’ll tell Lamarque to put you out of active service. So go home, Algos. And don’t bother to come back until you’ve gotten your shit together.”
“I’m not…!” R grumbled, but he sighed before finishing the sentence and dropped to the bed. “Whatever you say. Lamarque is not gonna put me on time out. That’ll just make it worse, don’t even bother. Just… let me sleep here, Tyche.”
That name angered Enjolras even more. It wasn’t even their name, it was just a stupid joke R started because he thought their name was ridiculous (okay, it was, but that was not the point) and, since then, he refused to use another with them. It annoyed them that, not even then, when it could very well be the last time they saw each other, R deigned to treat them by the name they had chosen.
“Whatever you say.” They gritted their teeth. “I told her I would talk to you and get an explanation, but since you refuse to help, I’m pretty sure she will agree with me. Go home. And don’t you dare put on that mask again until everything is solved. I don’t want to see you drunk and with that mask on ever again.”
They stormed off the room like a hurricane, angry and sad. They hated R and they hated his secrecy and that he never bothered to fix his messes. They hated him.
The main computer was still on and Enjolras knew that Lamarque would probably be behind hers, waiting for an explanation that would never come. They sighed and called her again. In less than two seconds, the face of the Minister of Defense appeared on the screen again. Enjolras got instantly calmer. Her severe but kind expression, her gray hair tied down in a tight bun, the wrinkles under her eyes, the security she exuded; simply seeing her face was enough to calm Enjolras down. Lamarque always knew what to do and how to proceed in a just but kind way. There wasn’t anyone like her in the Kingdom and Enjolras was honored to have won over her trust.
“Well?”
“I don’t have anything else. I’m sorry. Algos showed up drunk, misused his power and crippled a civilian. He refuses to talk or give explanations and I consider that’s not an attitude that can be consented in this team. I want to ask you to put him out of active service until he gets better. In this state, he’s a danger, to himself and to others.”
Lamarque listened in silenced, without interrupting, as she always did. She crossed her hands under her chin and glared at them. As always, Enjolras felt that she could see deep inside them, all the feelings and thought that, sometimes, they hid even to themself. Her face didn’t give away even a clue of what she was thinking.
“I see,” she said in the end. “Alright. Tell Algos to come to my office later to fix this. I’m sure he will be more… communicative with me.”
Enjolras didn’t bother to tell her that it was three in the morning. Neither of them had decent sleeping schedules. They couldn’t, with that job. In any case, Lamarque didn’t give them the chance. Before they could say anything else, she hanged out.
Enjolras sighed. They were exhausted; certainly, they didn’t have the strength for another shouting match with R. They knew full well that he hadn’t gone home (when had R listened to them, after all?) and they didn’t want to, they couldn’t face him again.
They scribbled a small note with Lamarque’s orders (signed with a very angry “Scarlet Word”) and slid it under his door. He didn’t deserve more.
Damn, they were so tired… All they wanted was to go home and cuddle with their cats. Usually, they would spend the rest of the night at the headquarters, updating the paperwork and checking the city security cameras, but they were so tired… Damn it. One night. No one could reproach them one night.
“I’m home,” they said.
As soon as they shut up, the metallic walls of the tower were replaced by the yellow walls of their living room. A white ball of fur rubbed against their leg with a meow while the other cat, the black one, stared at them from their bedroom’s door.
Enjolras threw their red coat and the mask on the floor, without bothering in picking them up or taking anything else off, and collapsed on the bed. Immediately, the two cats cuddled with them, meowing softly. They sighed. Now it was everything in Lamarque’s hands.
“I will sleep eight hours and have no nightmares,” they mumbled before closing their eyes.
And indeed, they did.
💥💥💥
Grantaire never asked to be a hero. He never wanted to hurt others, he never wanted that neverending pain rotting in his guts or the responsibility of using it for what Ange called “the greater good”. He never wanted that anyone’s life depended on him. It was imposed to him. What else could he do?
There was something else he could have done, so long ago. But Lamarque saved him. Lamarque gave him a purpose and a life. For some stupid reason, Lamarque still believed in him. Ange’s words wouldn’t change that.
After Ange walked away with furious strides, he gulped the bottle in one go and pried the stupid mask of his face, throwing it down next to the bed. He knew the leader wouldn’t come back to check if he’d left, so what? It felt gratifying to piss them off, even with something so small.
He opened another bottle and took another sip. It was stupid. Lamarque wasn’t going to kick him out, no, Lamarque couldn’t kick him out, because she had that stupid moral code and that stupid idealism and she insisted on seeing the best in him even when there was nothing good in him. And tomorrow he would be back at the meeting room and grin at Ange from across the room, because he loved to rile them up, and fuck things up even more. And there was nothing that Ange could do or say about it. Sure, they could order him to leave, but they would never do something like that, they were too stupidly righteous do to something like that.
He kept drinking until he blanked out. No, Lamaque wouldn’t kick him out of the team, she would never kick him out of the team…
He woke up with heavy fist pounding on his bedroom door and a terrible headache that throbbed in his temples in the same way that the pain that beat in his marrows. That asshole, they wouldn’t even let him sleep…
“Ange…?” he muttered, rolling over as he grabbed his mask from the floor with unsteady fingers and fastened it again.
But it wasn’t Ange’s voice that answered from the other side of the door.
“Algos. Open the door. We have you surrounded. Resistance is futile. You are under arrest for the murder of General Lamarque.”