A/N: This is a sequel to 'When Tomorrow Came' which has been in my head for absolutly ages, but only now has allowed itself to be written down! Updates may be few and far between at the moment because I have scary public exams in less than a month *minor mental freak out ensues* , but I will try my best to update as regularly as time allows!

Disclaimer: As I am not male, French, or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? I am simply trying to convey my love for Les Amis de l'ABC into some cohesive structure- please don't sue me! Much love and enjoy x

Out of the darkness

'Hold on Apollo… Please? That's it… Just breathe… That's it... In...Out... In... Out.. I've got you… It's alright… Everything's going to be alright 'Jolras… Just hold on… Please… We need you… Please… Don't leave us… Don't give up on us… We'll get you out of here, I promise... Please don't leave us...'

The voice is getting fainter as he struggles through the never-ending cavern of darkness that has enfolded him, desperately trying to reach it. Knowing that he has to reach it and yet... Everything hurts. He can't breathe. His lungs scream silent cries for the sweet taste of oxygen, but however hard he tries to force them to work, they continue to compress and he's choking, gasping, dying…

White hot explosions of panicked fear erupt over his shattered self as he struggles, desperately trying to evade the clutching grasp that continues to hold him, rock him as if he is a frightened child, whispered sweet nothings floating through his shattered mind that make no sense. Everything hurts. The icy pain that has enfolded him into a clutching, perverted embrace silently laughs at his struggles; dark eyes glinting menacingly as it watches his shivering shade stagger towards the door of Death… He's ggasping for oxygen and yet choking on the sweet, metallic stink of blood as he crawls on knees that can't support his weight… Why does it hurt this badly? He doesn't know. The pain that had erupted in his chest in a burst of fiery heat is steadily spreading over his weakly struggling body and there is nothing he can do about it. Nothing. It steadily sucks away at his shattered self until he is nothing but a shivering shell that is clinging to the fraying thread of silver life by a fingertip, watching it slowly slip through clutching, snatching fingers; knowing that it is too late…

Cold. Wet. Soft voices washing over him as he floats through the soft warmth of oblivion. Voices he recognizes but he can't think where or why or when he has heard them before. The soft sensation of coarse wool being pulled over his shivering body as frigid lips softly brush his icy forehead; a blissfully brief kiss that is mixed with the salty ice of pain and fear as capable hands enfold him into a clutching embrace; refusing to let him go. He feels thick, nimble hands that make him think of Grantaire softly caress his face as a voice continues to whisper sweet nothings to him, telling him that everything will be alright. That they are safe. That they are together. But are they? He needs to know. Needs to make sure that they really are safe; the battered remains of his group of revolutionary dreamers who have stuck stubbornly by his side, regardless of where his prideful dreams for a free France have taken them… His friends… His brothers… Combeferre. Courfeyrac. Feuilly. Gavroche. Grantaire. Marius. Cosette. Adrienne. His Mother. M. Frauchlevent. Joly. Bahorel. Bossuet. Jehan. Eponine Thenardier. Toussaint. He doesn't know and yet he needs to know. It is his duty to know. He needs to lead them… Needs to lead them to cold, clear land of freedom and yet…

Desperately, he tries to open his eyes, but they feel as if they have been slammed shut by a force he can't quite place. More voices. He feels himself sink into the unknown comforting bulk of whoever is holding him, finally allowing his shattered muscles to give way as his body slumps, his head rolling into the comforting crevice of a shoulder bone as he tries to do what they want. The pain in his chest has receded to a dull, throbbing ache; an ache which is slowly spreading its' way over his shattered self, refusing to let him out of its clutching embrace. The soft stink of rain rises to his nostrils as he feels the slight pressure of thick fingers pressing onto his neck, searching for the faint throbbing iambs of a pulse. His head lolls painfully into the weight leaning over him as if his neck cannot support his weight. 'Just breathe for me Enjolras. Everything's going to be alright. We're alright. We're safe now. It's alright. I've got you…'

The voice continues to wash over him, numbing the fiery bursts of pain that are steadily coursing through his shattered body; pain that is slowly sapping the last vestiges of strength that he clings to; leaving him nothing more than a weakened shell of his former self. He feels hands on his face; thick, capable hands with nimble fingers slowly brushing his mop of wet, blood caked hair out of his eyes. Trembling, salty lips brush themselves against his icy forehead as he shivers convulsively against the unknown body. It is cold. So cold. Why is it so cold? He doesn't know The comforting pressure of a hand silently slipping into his own as fingers curl in silent invitation. He squeezes back with as much strength as he can muster, knowing that it is not enough. The sound of hushed footsteps, bodies rising, voices washing over him as he feels himself being scooped up into a clutching embrace; feels a trembling finger trace the line of his cheek as something coarse and warm is dragged over his shivering frame. Feels his head slip softly into the crook of an unknown elbow as capable hands clutch him to a hard, dependable chest as words continue to wash over him. Words that don't make any sense as he feels himself slipping back into the blissfully comforting darkness of oblivion; unable to fight it any longer, unable to hold on as the fight that has consumed him for so long slowly ebbs away; leaving him weak and cold and stranded on the beach of this strange new reality.

The creak of a door being opened. The musty smell of sweat and antique leather mixed with the salty sweetness of tears and metallic stench of blood as he feels two fingers press down for a pulse and a sigh of heady relief as it throbs through shaking skin, stubbornly reminding them that he is still with them; that Fate has not considered it part of her perverse duty to carry him back to the angels. Snatches of conversation as he feels the jolting, sickening rhythm of wheels slowly speeding them away from the danger, the pain, the memories… The soft, warm weight of a body pressing itself up against his own as a head thrusts itself under his chin and a small hand clasps his own, desperately trying to ignite the flickering flames of life into the icy digits. The slight pressure of a hand being placed on his good shoulder, steadying fingers digging into the thin cotton of his jacket. A blissfully brief kiss sweeping his cheek as an ice cold palm reaches up to feel his forehead. A kiss that tastes of lavender soap, of honey, of deep pools the colour of clear water, a laughing smile… 'Maman?' The word rises to his lips, a soft kiss of a word; but falls; cut short by a useless, lolling tongue lying dormant in a barren mouth still thick with fear as he finally allows himself to fall into her comforting weight. His fears are silenced by another kiss; a hand reaching up to caress his cheek as he feels his head loll against her bosom, the faint throbbing iambs of her heart straining through her chest sending him to sleep quicker than any lullaby as her fingers entwine themselves in his mop of golden curls, softly detangling the mop of dried blood and shit with as much care and devotion as a mother bear grooming a wayward cub.

He jerks unconsciously away from her touch as the light fingers hit his tender scalp, his sleeping brain suddenly full of thick hands, silver knives and blinding, excruciating pain as he struggles away from her clutching embrace; knowing what will come next. He feels a hand on his other shoulder as another presence moves slowly through the shadows of his broken mind, a presence that smells of ink and wet leather as the calloused fingers tighten instinctively on his shaking shoulder. 'Easy Enjolras. It's alright. We're safe; it's going to be alright. We've got you Mon Ami. It's alright. I've got you. I'm here mon petit, it's alright'. A whispered apology, a blissfully brief kiss and he is safe again; slumped against his Mothers' chest as Combeferre continues to hold his shoulder murmuring a string nonsensical verses and epithets through the heady silence; words that make little sense as the fiacre continues on its jolting, rumbling way towards their unknown Promised Land of safety and he is softly transported back to the blissful blackness of oblivion; safe in the knowledge that they are with him; that they haven't left him and that for now, at least they are alive.

A/N: Please feel free to read and review! Suggestions, comments, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain, especially at the moment so you know... if you want to hear more from me *hint!* Much love and enjoy! x