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thelittleredheadedmusician · 5 years ago

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Three Card Draw

For @leonine-eagle as part of the Les Mis Halloween Exchange 2019! Your trick for the prompts mythology au and modern au! I know you asked for pining too and I tried, honest, but I don't think it landed which is why I labelled it gen. Though hopefully I fit in enough friendship feels for you! Regardless I hope you like it and Happy Halloween! Words: 11,617 Rating: T AO3

Being stuck in Limbo for a few centuries was boring. A few thousand years just made him angry.

Zeus had said that he was “a radical even your lauded Prometheus wouldn’t associate with” before chucking him in here. Enjolras was fairly certain he’d been forgotten about by this point.

Not that it made Enjolras any more remorseful. Especially seeing as he wasn’t remorseful to begin with. This just further proved his point that Zeus was a self-important asshat who disrespected women and took advantage of the mortals. It would seem the other gods still wouldn’t listen to him though, if they did maybe he wouldn’t still be in this plane of literal nothing. Or maybe they just couldn’t find him. Or maybe they were too afraid to share his fate.

Regardless, Enjolras wasn’t happy and was getting tired with just arguing with the version of Zeus in his head. Besides, he was a minor god anyway. And the god of freedom. Why was he being punished so severely? What did Zeus expect?

It would have taken him hundreds of years longer before he’d have been even the slightest bit of a threat. At the very least a century. Enjolras had a small following in the northern wilds outside a growing city called Rome; the group was expanding steadily but never at an alarming rate. Or, well, he’d assisted a bit in the Romans establishing a republic and that may have bolstered his following and increased his power. But still not enough to catch the attention of the Greek Pantheon.

Except, some of the Greeks’ followers had come to Rome and as a rapidly expanding city it caught their attention. Enjolras with it. So, he said some things, Zeus was awful, and he was thrown here. The last thing Enjolras heard as the portal closed was Zeus telling his son, Dionysus, that he could have Enjolras’s followers since “intoxication is just a variation on his theme.” That last bit was something that especially pressed on his nerves.

For the umpteenth time Enjolras was finessing the finer points of his argument that freedom did not equate rampancy and debauchery when there was a break in the nothingness. A rectangle had appeared to his right. He couldn’t exactly describe what it looked like beyond the fact that it was something in the nothing. Enjolras didn’t know what this meant or if it might be a trap or a punishment even more severe, but he knew he might not get another chance to leave Limbo. He walked toward it and then through it.

He’d walked right into a room with strips of light coming through window coverings and landing on two sofas, some small tables – all of which were strewn with books both open and closed – and two very shocked young men.

“Holy shit. Ferre, it worked,” the one said in a hushed tone.

“I’ll admit that I’m just as surprised as you are,” his companion replied.

“Are you- are you really a god?” The first asked, eyeing Enjolras suspiciously. Or, more accurately, shifting his suspicious gaze from the book open between them up to Enjolras before going back to the book.

It was quickly dawning on Enjolras that these two men had released him from his prison. Realizing the intelligence, compassion, and will needed to accomplish that quickly endeared the mortals to Enjolras. Besides, the answer was obvious. “What year is it?”

The second man blinked at him from behind two small panes of glass enclosed in some type of dark metal. “2019,” he answered quickly, and added almost as an afterthought, “AD.”

Enjolras frowned and raised his head to the sky, only to be met with a low white ceiling. It was close enough, if Zeus were listening he’d get the point. “Fuck.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re a god,” Courfeyrac remarked from where he was sprawled across the couch in Enjolras and Combeferre’s small apartment. His presence meant there weren’t currently books sprawled there, rather they were piled haphazardly onto the end table by his feet. “But,” he continued, “then you do something like this and I’m abruptly reminded.”

Enjolras glanced down at the bucket of cleaning supplies in his hand before throwing a look to Combeferre who seemed just as confused. Ferre lowered his book to better examine Courfeyrac as he asked, “You mean voluntarily clean the bathroom?”

“Yes!” Courf cried, swooning further into the sofa and making Enjolras roll his eyes to hide his smile. “Marius would never!”

Enjolras snorted. “Well it is Marius.”

Courf scrambled to escape the sofa. Enjolras had learned quickly that it had a tendency to absorb you if you sat there too long and it seemed as though Courfeyrac was the current victim. He’d looked into whose domain crappy apartment furniture fell under and while Combeferre insisted that it was Hestia Enjolras wasn’t too sure, there was no way she’d associate with the abomination that was Ikea. Enjolras was convinced that it was Loki. It was an ongoing debate.

“He is not that bad!” Courfeyrac insisted. Combeferre made a face before going back to his book, leaving Courf to give Enjolras a pleading look. “Really, he’s not.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, shifting the bucket to his other hand. “The first time I met him he told me that the gods were long dead and that if you were going to waste your time with religion it should at least be to the Catholic Church because at least they did good as an organization.”

Courf winced. Marius’s first impression had not been a good one and he knew. “That was his family talking, not him. You know that.”

Sighing, Enjolras turned to go scrub the toilet. “I do. I just have a tendency to hold a grudge. That happens when you spend thousands of years stuck in literal nothing.”

Following him to the bathroom Courfeyrac snorted and leaned against the doorjamb. “He’s harmless.”

“I know,” Enjolras admitted. “He’s like the thing from the flim with the singing frog.” He disliked not being able to recall the word. In a matter of months he’d managed to catch up on all the history and culture that he missed, with Courfeyrac and Combeferre as diligent and kind teachers, but there was still a steep learning curve and sometimes things escaped him.

Courfeyrac hadn’t responded so Enjolras stopped his scrubbing to look at him. Courf had tilted his head to the side and drawn his brows together in confusion. “Meet the Robinsons?” he asked slowly.

“No,” Combeferre appeared behind Courf, looking amused but benign. “The Muppets. He’s calling Marius a muppet.”

Courfeyrac looked between them, a pouty frown firmly in place. “Marius is…” he stopped, sighed, and continued, “Marius really is a muppet.”

Combeferre looked smug before turning to go back to the living room. Enjolras just snorted and made to keep cleaning. He’d thought that Courfeyrac had left too until he heard him speak again.

“If you don’t like Marius why are you friends with him? Is it just because you need the followers?”

Enjolras let the brush rest in the toilet and turned to look up at Courf. He understood why the question was asked but it still hurt a bit. Enjolras had quickly grown exceptionally close with Courfeyrac and Combeferre and enjoyed being folded easily into their loose group of friends. They were smart, passionate, and believed in everything that Enjolras had been working for before Zeus had exiled him. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were his brothers. And their other friends were just that, friends.

“No. Marius may be a bit misguided but he’s not the only one. Knowledge about the gods is lacking and something happened and no one seems to know what. It’s not his fault that this lack of knowledge impacted him. He’s a good person and seems to genuinely want to learn. He’s my friend and I want to help him,” Enjolras assured Courfeyrac.

Courf nodded, he sank so that he too was sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. “It’s just… I know that you need followers or worshipers or whatever to regain your power and like the twitter thing isn’t going as well as we thought.”

Enjolras shrugged, he wanted to reach out and put a hand on Courf’s shoulder but seeing as how he was still in the middle of cleaning the toilet thought better of it. “It’s gaining traction faster than anything I used to do and I am getting stronger every day. What’s important though is that there are mortals who want to make the world better for each other because it just proves my point: you never needed gods to begin with, just each other. And you and Combeferre and Feuilly and Joly and Bossuet and yes even Marius are proof of that.”

Courfeyrac seemed to be in better spirits as he leveled a searching look at Enjolras. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Say just the right thing?”

Enjolras smirked. “I am a god.”

Courfeyrac laughed and they could hear Combeferre booing the joke from down the hall, making Courf just laugh harder.

The weekly meetings at the Musain, a café near Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s university, reminded Enjolras of the rituals that his followers used to conduct. Though these he found much more enjoyable. There was a strident attempt at democracy and even though they all knew Enjolras was a god they never treated him as such. He reveled the egalitarianism of it.

Jehan still insisted that they open every meeting with a poem. Their compositions were far superior to any that Enjolras used to hear though and ranged in topics from soap bubbles to deforestation. Sometimes within the same poem.

It was during Jehan’s reading of a piece on feminism in the film industry that Bahorel ducked into the backroom late, another man on his heels. They settled into seats in the corner, as to not cause a disruption. Enjolras studied the new man as Jehan recited. There was something about the flash of his eyes under his messy curls and the twitch of his mouth that spoke mischief to Enjolras. The same look he’d seen about Hermes, Loki, and Sun Wukong.

Jehan sat down, finished, and rather than snap politely like the others all did the newcomer clapped loudly. He earned a startled look from Jehan and a glare from Enjolras. Bahorel winced and clapped him on the shoulder.

The newcomer looked at Bahorel in confusion. “What? It was good. I’m showing my appreciation.”

Bahorel sighed and made a face at Enjolras that clearly said, “What’re you gonna do?” Enjolras waved it off in favor of looking to Jehan to see what they thought of the whole situation.

They were grinning broadly. “You really enjoyed it?”

“Oh, very much yes,” came the reply. It was enthusiastic and warm but felt like it was the build up to something else and Enjolras was unsurprised as he continued. “The rhythm and cadence? The way you made the syllables fall just so! And-”

“R,” Bahorel interrupted, “why don’t you let me introduce you before you overwhelm Jehan by presenting an impromptu dissertation on their poetry.”

The man called R stopped and grinned. It was lazy and self-deprecating and that mischief was back. Something about it bothered Enjolras but he didn’t know what and he didn’t know why.

“I’m Grantaire,” he said with a sweeping wave of his hand.

Jehan beamed. “R!” they laughed and once it was pointed out Enjolras got the joke too. It was clever and he smiled at it.

“Bahorel beats me up once a week,” Grantaire continued after flashing a warm smile to Jehan.

“I do not!” Bahorel scoffed. He looked like Jason Mamoa’s little brother. Two inches littler and that was it. Compared to Grantaire who, from what Enjolras could tell, was stocky but not tall it wasn’t hard to believe Grantaire.

Grantaire rolled his eyes but his smile never faltered. “’Rel and I box at the same gym and for reasons lost to both of us became sparring partners. He invited me to save the world club and I got tired of saying no.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Bahorel, why would he keep inviting someone who didn’t want to come? Bahorel pointedly ignored him.

Bossuet leaned across the table and immediately swept Grantaire into a discussion with Musichetta and Joly. Enjolras knew he was frowning and was relieved to notice that Eponine was too.

Eponine was suspicious of everyone and it came in handy, she could normally tell how trustworthy a person was within a matter of minutes. Since no one seemed to know what had happened to the other gods, or if Zeus would track Enjolras down should he discover he’d been freed, it meant that keeping Enjolras’s identity as a god a secret was imperative. No one was allowed to know until Eponine gave her nod of approval. Enjolras could have easily confirmed their loyalties himself but he hated doing that, feeling that it was an intrusion of privacy and to ask someone to consent would tip his hand. Besides, Eponine hadn’t been wrong yet.

She glanced back at Enjolras and nodded. It seemed her frown was just mild annoyance and initial distrust. Eponine was settling back into her chair and turning back to listen to something Combeferre was saying. Something about Grantaire still seemed off to Enjolras though so he texted Musichetta quickly.

Enjolras: Do you have your tarot cards?

Musichetta: Never leave home w/out em! Why?

Enjolras: Can you do a reading on Grantaire? Can we trust him?

Musichetta: One sec.

Enjolras pretended to listen to Courfeyrac and Feuilly talk about the essay they were doing for the international relations class they were in together. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Musichetta excuse herself from the table, grabbing her bag and slipping it on. She pressed a hand to Grantaire’s shoulder as she passed, saying something likely along the lines of “be right back” and heading towards the bathrooms. About a minute later Enjolras’s phone lit up with a text from her.

Musichetta: Hanged Man, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Cups

Enjolras frowned at the screen. Tarot wasn’t in use before but picking it up was almost intuitive for him, though he did much better when the cards were in front of him. As such, it was taking him a second to recall the meanings of the ones Musichetta texted she’d drawn. For Musichetta it was a second language and she would often have entire conversations with her deck, to the delight and amusement of their friends.

She must have known that he was still working it out because another text appeared.

Musichetta: He has a past he’s not sharing and may not want to share with us. Something happened and I think it still is but ultimately we can trust him. He’s good people Enj.

Enjolras typed out a quick “Thanks” before flipping his phone so it was facedown on the table. He’d wait until she got back to really start but in the meantime he could get everyone’s attention.

“Alright,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of conversation. People quieted and the room’s attention turned towards him. Musichetta slipped back into her seat and gave him a nod. “Since this is Grantaire’s first time joining us and I think we could all do with a bit of a refresher on the twitter front let’s start there. Courfeyrac? Combeferre?”

“Right,” Courf shuffled his chair back so he could stand, “so we set Enjolras up with a twitter because this is the twenty-first century, I’ve read way too much The Wicked and The Divine, and his witty comebacks translate well into two hundred eighty characters or less.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt Courfeyrac.

“So far we’re at a little over a thousand followers and growing steadily. Um, we do need to work on your hashtag game.” He gave Enjolras a serious look and it was all Enjolras could do to not start talking about how he thought they broke up the flow and Courf would fire back about SEO and all sorts of terms Enjolras realized were important for social media but he was only just beginning to understand.

“The testing of followers to power has been… tricky,” Combeferre winced and Enjolras knew he was thinking of the other day in the kitchen. Enjolras used to be able to just will a flame into existence. He’d managed to light a candle and then Courfeyrac and Marius walked in and he’d nearly set the curtains on fire. “It seems that the physical presence of people who believe in Enjolras make him more powerful but that has also made gathering empirical data difficult.”

There was a laugh from the corner of the room and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire looking at them all incredulously. “You do know you sound like you’re talking about a cult? I mean, I told ‘Rel I thought he’d joined a cult but like I wasn’t serious. Look, nobody should be striving to be Jared Leto dude.”

“It’s not a cult,” Enjolras heard himself say flatly. “We’re trying to make the world better.”

“You know that’s exactly what someone leading a cult might say,” Grantaire still smiled but it was sharp and there was a little bit of mania in his expression now. Enjolras watched as he pulled a flask from somewhere in his coat and took a swig. “Or, you know, a new religion. Which is kinda like a cult. Now fuck Zeus, guy’s a dick who can’t keep his dick in his pants, but like I doubt that any of the gods are gonna go in for you trying to turn yourself into one. Believe me, it doesn’t work like that.”

Enjolras was instantly impressed and just as quickly furious. It was brave to speak so glibly about any of the gods and especially Zeus. Then again, what did this man know? No one knew anything about the gods except the gods themselves and as far as they could tell Enjolras was the only god around.

“Oh, and you’ve tried?” Enjolras heard himself saying before he could stop.

Grantaire just raised his brows and took another long pull from his flask. Enjolras knew what Dionysus looked like and it wasn’t the man at the other end of the table. Something about the angle of the brows and the mocking tilt of the lips and the flask in hand reminded Enjolras of him though and that made him see red.

“There’s no need to become a god when you already are one!” Enjolras threw his hands onto the table, pushing himself to his feet. He could feel his palms getting hot and his chest heaving as he breathed.

Grantaire just stared back from across the table. Enjolras saw there was satisfaction in his expression, Enjolras having confirmed his suspicions and risen to the challenge.

Someone was tugging on the sleeve of his sweater and Enjolras turned to see Combeferre giving him a look. It was part reprimand, part warning and Enjolras knew he needed to heed it. Combeferre was wise beyond his years and much smarter than Enjolras, which they both knew. He also had a much cooler head and was able to direct Enjolras’s anger much better than Enjolras himself was.

He returned to his seat, avoiding his other friends’ eyes and the smug look Grantaire seemed to be sending his way. The spot on the table where his hands had pressed smoked slightly and the plastic had warped. Enjolras felt himself flush as he examined it.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said, naturally filling in the awkward silence. He tried to catch Enjolras’s eye but quickly realized that was futile and stopped. “So, like I was, um, explaining? Since the gods draw power from their followers, we’re trying to get Enjolras social media followers and hope the sentiment transfers!”

Where Combeferre took Enjolras’s anger and pointed it at a target, Courfeyrac was able to shape it. Not blunt it, though sometimes he was able to do that too, but turn it into something that was wieldy. Focused. The easy cadence of his voice even now was helping to pull Enjolras back to the present. Not the past, where he was trapped and powerless. Or to the future he dreamt of and longed for and knew with enough help he could achieve. But the present where he was surrounded by his friends who believed in that future and wanted to do what they could to make it a reality.

Courf’s voice had been working, centering Enjolras in the here and now, until Grantaire interrupted. Again.

“Ho-ly fuck,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras whipped his head up to look at him and this time he really did look manic. “You really are a cult!”

There was some general sputtering and cries of outrage and Courfeyrac was saying “What? No. What? No! We- we- we don’t even have water!”

Enjolras found himself taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and opening them to focus on Grantaire. “You came because you were curious, for one reason or another, about what we do. We’re trying to help people and it just so happens that I have the ability to do a little more than the average. The gods have mistreated mortals for eons, using them as playthings and pawns. Then, leaving them to be crushed under the rubble of the wars the gods have wrought. We’re saying no more. No more fate or interference, just the freedom to live as you want without dealing with the fallout of beings too powerful and arrogant to give a shit.”

The room had gone silent; if he tried Enjolras was sure he might be able to hear breathing and heartbeats but even that seemed like a stretch in the hush that had fallen.

For the first time all evening Grantaire’s face had gone blank. “You want a revolution,” he said flatly.

Enjolras opened his mouth to contradict but Grantaire had cut him off.

“You want a revolution. Never mind the fact that the gods have fucked off ages ago. Never mind the fact that in a fight with a god all your so-called friends would die and you would be the lone martyr left standing. Who can’t be killed but certainly wouldn’t be allowed to just walk free. No, that wouldn’t matter because you have justice and righteous fury on your side. But wait, I don’t see Forseti or Sekhmet here? Oh, right. Because the gods have all fucked off and left the mortals to rot. How can you fight something that’s not even there?”

“I’m here,” Enjolras said with certainty.

“Good for you! I’ve spent half my life cursing Zeus and you know what? He still hasn’t shown. I feel like my evidence is more damning.” At that Grantaire stood, stuffing his flask back into one of the many pockets on his jacket. “Well ‘Rel, this was fun. Or something. Bossuet, Joly, give me a call and we’ll put a D&D game together.” He walked out the door saying, “I’ll just go, figure you don’t want non-believers in your little cult.”

Nobody moved in the wake of Grantaire’s leaving. Enjolras just blinked at the door, upset and hurt but he didn’t understand why. Not Grantaire’s words, but his leaving was certainly the cause. But why would that upset Enjolras?

Bahorel finally broke the tension. “Dude, I am so sorry. I didn’t- He’s not- I thought he’d be cool, y’know?”

Enjolras nodded. He felt himself relax as everyone seemed to refocus. Grantaire wasn’t the first naysayer Enjolras had met and he wouldn’t be the last. So why did he bother him so much?

Enjolras was shocked then when Grantaire appeared at the Musain the next week. He walked in late and carrying a bottle of wine but he didn’t interrupt, just sat in the back drinking and occasionally scoffing at something that had been said. He’d left as soon as the official meeting ended and took his bottle with him.

The next week the scene repeated itself. Again and again, week after week.

Finally, Enjolras was so infuriated by his own inability to work out Grantaire’s motivations he just asked. Breaking off in the middle of speaking he turned slightly to better address Grantaire, “What are you doing here?”

“Not being disruptive?” Grantaire hazarded, confusion plain on his face. “Or would you rather I be disruptive? Because I can be, don’t think I can’t.”

Enjolras huffed. “Oh, I am abundantly aware.”

Grantaire smiled, the expression what Courfeyrac would have called shit eating. “Well,” Grantaire said with sickening sweetness, “then the choice is yours.”

Enjolras felt his face heat. He turned and continued to address his friends. He could see Grantaire drinking from the bottle out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of the night was no different than any other, except that Grantaire stayed until the end. Enjolras was talking with Feuilly about an upcoming protest they were planning to attend when he saw that Grantaire was still there, helping Bossuet move one of the tables back to its place against the wall.

As everyone else filed out Enjolras lingered, noticing that Grantaire did too. Soon the other man was ducking out after Marius and Cosette, leaving Enjolras with Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“That was odd,” Combeferre commented, nodding after Grantaire.

“Aw, R’s harmless,” Courfeyrac waved it off, shrugging on his jacket. “He drinks too much and runs his mouth but he’s not a bad guy. If you don’t believe me use your weird godly powers to check for yourself.”

Enjolras made a noncommittal noise to that. “I just, I don’t understand why he keeps coming if he doesn’t believe in us.”

“He’s a skeptic.” Combeferre said it like it was a fact. Sunlight reflecting off gases in the atmosphere made the sky blue. Enjolras was a god in exile. Society benefits when women are given opportunities. Grantaire was a skeptic. “He wants to see if we can actually prove him wrong.”

Enjolras scoffed at that. He flipped the lights off as he closed the door to the back room behind them. Courfeyrac patted both Enjolras and Combeferre on the back before going to flirt with the baristas, who were definitely trying to see which one he’d ask out on a date first.

“Look, you’re going to think what you want and I won’t stop you. Just, that’s my opinion on the matter,” Combeferre gave him a level look. “If you don’t believe me you can always ask him yourself. And not in the middle of a meeting leaving him open to public embarrassment.”

Enjolras widened his eyes. “That’s not-”

“I know. He might not have.”

Enjolras cursed. It was ancient and long and his friends always begged him to tell them what it meant but it didn’t translate well so he never did.

Combeferre just smiled, shrugging. He gave a little two finger salute off the corner of his glasses before turning and weaving his way towards the door. He was heading back to the university to get some work done, meaning Enjolras had hours of an empty apartment ahead of himself to stew on the evening.

Enjolras took one last glance to the counter where Courfeyrac was fluttering his eyelashes at the girl with the pixie cut and glasses. She seemed unimpressed which was a far cry from her coworkers. There was no way Courf would be joining him to walk to the metro station anytime soon. Enjolras stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and headed towards the door.

He shouldered the door open and immediately flinched at the shock of the drizzle. Enjolras grumbled at the weather and everyone he could think of who might be responsible for it as he turned to walk down the sidewalk. He was brought up short though by the figure leaning against the wall just under the awning and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked incredulously.

“Knew you’d be the last one out.”

It was all the confirmation Enjolras needed. “I’m not. Courfeyrac is still in there,” he huffed.

Grantaire laughed, but it didn’t sound mocking. It sounded genuinely amused. Enjolras frowned, suddenly off balance.

“You know I never thought the god of poetry would be so fucking literal.”

“What?” Enjolras felt like he was getting whiplash, so thrown and unsure of what was currently happening.

Grantaire gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, come off it. You’re obviously Apollo, god of the sun and poetry and healing and music and a million other things.”

There was a lot wrong with that sentence but Enjolras managed to zero in on the most minor thing in his shock.

“Apollo isn’t the sun god, Helios is.”

Grantaire looked at him like he was crazy as he sipped from the cup. “Where have you been? They gave Apollo and Artemis the sun and moon ages ago.”

Enjolras frowned. “I was exiled.”

“No shit,” Grantaire laughed. “I mean, it was kinda obvious you weren’t in good standing.” He gestured with a nod back towards the café.

“No.” Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut as he shook his head. “No, I mean I was literally thrown into limbo.”

When he looked back at Grantaire he’d frozen and there was an undecipherable look on his face. But just for a second before it had flashed back to some color of amusement.

“You’re saying Dante actually got that bit right?” He teased.

Enjolras responded with a flat expression.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Go on, tell me how wrong I am.”

“It’s a term that is used to describe a pocket dimension wherein nothing exists, not even time.”

“Hmm. Fascinating.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows over the rim of his cup.

“You’re enjoying this,” Enjolras accused.

“Only minimally.”

“Why?”

“It’s amusing? You’re very easy to rile.”

Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms. He assumed that Grantaire chuckled but Enjolras was trying too hard to ignore the other man to tell for sure. He was stubborn but his curiosity won out and his mind had circled back to the beginning of their conversation in the silence.

“Did you really think I was Apollo?”

Grantaire spluttered a bit on his drink, coughing before he answered. “Well yeah. I mean, the whole blonde halo of hair kinda implies it as did the grand speeches and well it wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was a damn good guess.”

Enjolras hummed. He stared out at the street were a car passed, mist making swirling clouds in its lights.

“So I was wrong, I’m used to that. Do I get another guess or would you be so kind as to enlighten an unworthy creature like myself?” The delivery was dry but the bite of acid was still audible in Grantaire’s words.

Enjolras’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at Grantaire again.

Grantaire blinked and took another sip. “We can make it an exchange if you’d rather. You ask me a question and I give you an answer. In fact, you ask me two questions and I’ll answer both.”

Enjolras didn’t see the point or really follow what exactly Grantaire meant but this had been the longest interaction they’d had and so far it wasn’t crashing and burning. Which was exciting if only for the novelty. So, he did as Grantaire had said.

“What’s in the cup?” It was a genuine curiosity because Enjolras had never seen him drink anything that didn’t contain alcohol.

Grantaire gave a slow smile and swirled the cup once. It made Enjolras note the hand warmers he wore, knit from dark purple yarn they looked remarkably similar to the ones that Feuilly had made for him a few weeks before, in fact the only difference that he could see were that his own were gold. It made Enjolras wonder when the two had become friends and how he had not noticed. In fact, the longer that he thought about it the longer Enjolras realized that Grantaire had befriended all of Enjolras’s friends over the past few weeks, gestures and snatches of conversation and off-handed mentions all suddenly righting themselves in his memory.

He was pulled from his musings as Grantaire answered. “Mulled wine.”

Enjolras sighed. Right, most of those memories had something or other to do with nights out on the town and most, if not all, included heavy drinking.

“And where did you get mulled wine?”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Grantaire tutted, waggling a finger. “That’s your second question, you sure you want to waste it?”

Rolling his eyes was Enjolras’s only response. He couldn’t see anything else about Grantaire that could possibly interest him.

“Alright,” Grantaire shrugged. “Suit yourself. I made it.”

Now Enjolras was surprised and genuinely curious. He studied Grantaire to see if he might be teasing him in some way. Grantaire raised his eyebrows and tugged the corner of his lip up in a smirk.

“I bet now you wished you had asked a different question. Or had the ability to ask a third.”

Enjolras glared. Now Grantaire was teasing him.

Grantaire’s smirk turned into a smile. “Fine, I’ll take pity on the poor god and tell you one way you can make mulled wine. Granted, this would be for some shit mulled wine but still drinkable.”

“How kind,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Hmm, yes, thank you,” Grantaire preened. “You order a cup of hot apple cider, but you ask them to only fill it halfway. Then you go to the little bar with the creamers and what not and add extra cinnamon and sugar and steal a stirrer. Then, you fill the cup with your own wine and stir.”

He wasn’t able to help himself, Enjolras wrinkled his nose and took a half step back in mild revulsion. “That sounds disgusting.”

“I did warn you it wouldn’t be great.”

“Still.”

“You asked and I went above and beyond the call of duty to tell you about that. Now, I believe you owe me something?”

Enjolras sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was leaving the Musain before he spoke. “Liber.”

“No shit,” Grantaire whispered as his eyes widened. “No shit. You’re literally liberty leading the people.” He laughed and that hint of mania was back. Enjolras stepped towards Grantaire, reaching out to steady him if he had to. Grantaire jumped back as though Enjolras’s touch would burn him as he kept laughing and muttering “no shit.”

“Yes,” Enjolras hissed. He was hurt by Grantaire’s reaction. It made no sense for him to be and yet he was. “Now can you stop that?”

“Sorry, sorry. It explains so much though. Wow.”

Grantaire’s response was getting excessive. A sudden flare of annoyance flashed through Enjolras and he curled his hands into fists, feeling his nails bite into his palms as they heated up.

“You wanted to know,” he bit out.

Finally, Grantaire caught on to Enjolras’s mood and pressed his lips into a thin line, obviously trying to sober up. However, Enjolras bitterly thought that sober was not something applicable to Grantaire.

“My curiosity has been sated,” Grantaire said, holding up his hands in an attempt to dissuade or perhaps ease Enjolras’s temper.

“Yes,” Enjolras replied shortly. “Now, I really have been standing out in the rain long enough. Goodnight Grantaire.”

“I thought that the gods weren’t bothered by little things like weather?”

Enjolras had turned to stride off but now he pulled up short, glancing back at Grantaire over his shoulder. “Some have gone numb to the mundane, I hope to never do that. Especially after knowing only nothing for so long. Besides, why should the gods not experience life the same as the mortals they seek to rule?”

Grantaire didn’t answer and Enjolras didn’t expect him to as he continued once more towards the metro.

During the next meeting Grantaire came in late and sat in his usual corner. Enjolras ignored him as Cosette went over the process they would need to complete for a permit if they wanted to host a rally. When she finished Enjolras thanked her and stood to continue, except he couldn’t ignore Grantaire anymore because Grantaire was loudly questioning why they were having the rally in the first place. Enjolras explained but Grantaire continued to question until it had dissolved into little more than a heated debate, their friends observing it as one might a particularly interesting tennis match. And it did resemble one, with the speed of their volleys back and forth.

And so it went. Every meeting Grantaire would interrupt Enjolras, sometimes with rants and others pointed questions, picking apart whatever he’d been saying. It frustrated and infuriated Enjolras.

“I hate him,” Enjolras said after one meeting, flopping facedown onto his couch. That was one thing he liked about the twenty-first century: the couches were comfortable yet sturdy enough for the perfect melodramatic sulk.

“No, you don’t,” Courfeyrac called from where he was raiding their kitchen, Enjolras could hear the cabinets being opened and closed.

“I do,” Enjolras insisted. Except he said it into the cushions, so it came out as a muffled garble.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Combeferre teased. Enjolras could hear him smirking. “Maybe if the immortal being wasn’t pouting like a toddler, we’d be able to hear what he’s whining about.”

Enjolras pushed himself upright and threw a withering glare at Combeferre where he’d settled into the armchair.

“Well fuck. It actually worked,” Courfeyrac looked as shocked as he sounded, a corn chip frozen halfway between the bag and his mouth.

Rolling onto his back Enjolras huffed out a sigh. “Why does he bother? He obviously doesn’t care about what we’re trying to do!”

He felt his feet being lifted and raised his head to see Courfeyrac holding them so he could settle on the couch and let Enjolras’s feet rest in his lap. “You could always ask him?” Courf suggested now that he was comfortable.

“But why would Enjolras do that? When he’s obviously perfectly content to just complain about it on end instead,” Combeferre said dryly.

He didn’t deem that worthy of a verbal response so Enjolras just stretched out his arm and flicked his middle finger up instead.

“Every day I understand Zeus’s reasoning for sticking you in Limbo a little bit better,” Combeferre told him mildly. Courfeyrac snorted and then nearly choked on a corn chip. Enjolras rushed to sit up so he could make sure that Courf didn’t actually choke on a corn chip but thankfully he was already coughing and waiving off any assistance.

“This is what comes of you trying to make a joke,” Enjolras said darkly, flicking a hand towards Courfeyrac.

That time Courfeyrac did choke on a corn chip while laughing and Enjolras had to divine him better.

As Courfeyrac gulped down water in the kitchen Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“Touché.”

“And just fucking talk to Grantaire before one of you gets me killed!” Courfeyrac called from the other room.

“Wait!” Joly called as people started to set the backroom back to rights. “Before you go! Halloween party! Two weeks! At our apartment! You must wear a costume but need not bring anything. That is all.”

“I thought that Samhain was a Celtic holiday,” Enjolras said to Combeferre.

“Yes, but like most everything else in the past three thousand years it’s changed,” Combeferre joked.

Enjolras made a face.

“R,” he overheard Bossuet lament, “you have to come. It’s mandatory.”

“And if you don’t I’ll be cross and you’ll be sorry,” Musichetta added. Enjolras was trying not to listen in but the room was small and they were loud and there wasn’t currently anything else to distract him.

“I don’t have a costume so really I can’t,” Grantaire was insisting.

Enjolras couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and open his mouth. “It doesn’t seem in character for you to turn down such bacchanalia.”

Grantaire sputtered and it turned into a coughing fit. Bossuet clapped him on the back and Joly seemed to procure a cup of water from somewhere and pushed it into Grantaire’s hands. “I’m fine, fine,” he said as he got his breath back, waving off their help.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked. He might not get along with Grantaire, but he didn’t dislike the man. Besides, it was in his nature to care for all people.

“Yeah, you, uh, surprised me.”

Joly and Enjolras exchanged a look and Joly once again pressed the cup of water into Grantaire’s hands. This time he accepted, taking a drink before turning back to Enjolras with a challenging expression on his face.

“Are you going, oh fearless leader?” he asked.

Joly and Bossuet both turned expectant eyes on him while Musichetta raised her brows in a subtle but noted threat. “I had no intentions of not.”

“D’you have any ideas for your costume? I mean, you have time obviously, that’s why I wanted to say something tonight, but I was just curious,” Joly said excitedly.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s enthusiasm. “Not yet, but I’m open to suggestions.”

He caught the look Grantaire gave him. It was somewhat quizzical and something else that wasn’t quite decipherable.

Enjolras left the Musain with Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly tossing different ideas around, their voices overlapping and echoing out into the night. But, Enjolras couldn’t focus on anything but the memory of Grantaire, who had disappeared off into the night.

Enjolras adjusted his hat again, for probably the hundredth time in the last hour. Courfeyrac had talked him into dressing as a pirate for the party, arguing that they lived a life of freedom and fought against societal constraints and so Enjolras should be able to relate to pirates if only in an abstract way.

Lacking any better ideas and being presented with the poofy white shirt, foam sword, and oversized hat by Courfeyrac made Enjolras agree to the costume. He’d added his own black vest and skinny jeans. Combeferre had pointed out that a real pirate would be wearing tall leather boots rather than the Doc Martens Enjolras had gone with but he’d responded to that comment by flipping Ferre off.

He’d resolved to wear it with all the dignity he could muster, resulting in more than one compliment from his friends. “You’re like a blonde Will Turner,” Jehan had told him solemnly.

Enjolras wasn’t positive who that was but when he’d asked Courfeyrac he was given an appraising look and a “You know you kinda are?” Then Bahorel had snuck up behind Courfeyrac and thrown him over his shoulder and the two spun away laughing.

Musichetta had appeared then, sweeping over and trying not to hit anyone with her butterfly wings. She hugged him before holding at arm’s length to examine him. “I told R you’d show but he didn’t believe me. And he laughed at me when I said you’d even scrounged up a costume and yet here you are, looking wonderfully ridiculous.” She smiled brilliantly and the glitter on her cheeks sparkled in the purple fairy lights.

“I haven’t seen Grantaire, is he here?” Enjolras asked. He’d been trying to spot him since they’d arrived but hadn’t seen so much as his shadow among his friends.

Musichetta frowned, just slightly with her pink painted lips turning down and her brow wrinkling. “He’s been hiding in the kitchen all night. I don’t know why, he loves parties.”

Enjolras found that odd too. He’d admit that he didn’t know Grantaire very well at all but from what he did know he could tell that was out of character.

He made to say something to Musichetta about it, but she’d turned away to talk to Bossuet whose costume seemed to just be a blanket slung over his shoulders. Enjolras took the opportunity to slip away, heading towards the kitchen.

It was a long and narrow room tucked just off the side of the living room. While the rest of the apartment had been strung in fairy lights and was dark and loud with the sound of music, the kitchen was bright and quiet. Enjolras blinked at the sudden change. He turned to see Grantaire standing at the stove, stirring an overlarge pot.

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked before he could stop himself. From hear it looked as though Grantaire was wearing his normal jeans and flannel.

Enjolras had caught Grantaire by surprise and he startled, dropping the wooden spoon so that it clattered against the side of the pot.

“Fuck. Warn a guy?”

“Sorry,” Enjolras winced, stepping further into the kitchen.

Grantaire closed his eyes and took a breath, likely trying to slow his heart back down. “Hello Enjolras, happy Halloween. So good to see you too,” he said sarcastically with his eyes still closed. When Grantaire opened them he raised an eyebrow and Enjolras felt himself flush.

“Er, right. Happy Halloween.”

That made Grantaire’s lips twitch up into a grin. He nodded, satisfied. “I’m the fourth part of Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s lifecycle of a butterfly.”

Enjolras raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Joly had clearly been the caterpillar, he now understood that Bossuet was supposed to be the cocoon, and Musichetta was the butterfly but he still couldn’t tell what Grantaire was supposed to be.

With a snort Grantaire reached towards the other side of the stove and grabbed something that was leaning against the counter. When he held it up Enjolras could see that it was an overlarge flyswatter. “I’m The End.”

It was terrible, Enjolras couldn’t help but groan at how truly awful it was. Grantaire smiled and laughed happily. Enjolras couldn’t remember ever making Grantaire laugh before, or it least not like that. Normally if he was laughing it was because he thought Enjolras was stupid. This felt more like he was laughing with Enjolras rather than at him.

He went back to stirring whatever it was in the pot and Enjolras couldn’t stop his curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Mulled wine.”

Enjolras flashed back to the first night they spoke and felt his nose wrinkle at the mulled wine Grantaire had talked about then.

Grantaire must have remembered it too. He shook his head, “No this is the real thing. It’s nearly ready, do you want some?” Grantaire had grabbed a mug and a ladle and began to serve it.

Accepting it caused Enjolras’s fingers to brush against Grantaire’s. Grantaire jerked his hand back and Enjolras felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it and took a sip of the wine, it was warm and sweet with just the slightest kick.

“This is really good!”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Grantaire said lightly but there was an edge to it.

“No, really. This is fantastic.”

“You don’t have to fawn over it, it’s just wine.”

“Why must you contradict everything I say?” Enjolras asked, frustrated.

“Because you’re not always right! You act like you know everything and can just show up out of nowhere and save the world! Well you haven’t been here and you haven’t seen the things I have and you’re just so naïve!”

Enjolras stopped. He didn’t know how to respond to Grantaire’s outburst. Grantaire himself even looked as though he didn’t know how to respond to the outburst.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered quickly, staring wide-eyed at the stove and refusing to look up.

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said softly, “it’s ok. It makes sense that you would feel that way.”

Grantaire gulped. The silence that stretched between them was excruciating. From the other room floated the sounds of their friends laughing and the thump of the music. Enjolras finally set his mug on the counter and turned to leave. Grantaire still hadn’t moved.

For the first time Enjolras was nervous when he saw Grantaire slip in during the meeting after the party. He had no idea what the other man might do or say and, well it didn’t scare him exactly, but he was anxious.

Yet, nothing happened. Much like the meetings following the first that Grantaire had attended he sat and drank, saying nothing. He didn’t even so much as react to Enjolras. It was odd and more than once Enjolras found himself waiting to be interrupted and nearly stumbling when he wasn’t.

They ended earlier than normal and Enjolras couldn’t help but think it was because he and Grantaire hadn’t argued.

As everyone else started talking and stacking chairs Grantaire made to leave. Enjolras ran after him.

He caught Grantaire just as he was exiting the Musain, his breath coming out in a cloud in the chilly night air as he said “Wait!”

Grantaire stopped, then slowly turned around. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat and his shoulders hunched. Grantaire didn’t say anything, just stood there looking at Enjolras expectantly.

Honestly, Enjolras hadn’t planned this far ahead.

He froze as he mentally floundered. He normally was so careful and proud of his organizational skills. Even if Combeferre now refused to go shopping with him because Enjolras was too anal retentive. It was the one thing the other gods had actually liked about him.

Grantaire just stood there, waiting. Enjolras had to say or do something or else he might just walk away and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Why do you think that the social media follower idea isn’t working? Or at least it’s not working on the scale we expected. I have thousands of followers, but I don’t feel any stronger than I did a few months ago. Though a few months ago I suddenly felt stronger than I ever have.”

“What?” Grantaire blinked. Enjolras opened his mouth to keep trying to explain but Grantaire shook his head. “No, I mean, why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re smart and everyone else has given their ideas but you haven’t and I’m curious.”

“No.” Grantaire shook his head. “You don’t like when I share my opinions because they contradict yours. Why?”

Enjolras couldn’t name it. He just knew he needed Grantaire to tell him. He grumbled in frustration. “Because! Because you make me think! And you make my arguments stronger and remind me why I have to do this and you make me better!”

That at least got a reaction from Grantaire other than blank staring. He chuckled darkly instead. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I do!” Enjolras insisted and he realized he did. Grantaire’s apathy and cynicism pissed him off but it did make him think harder and fight more and he appreciated that. Right now though, in the face of it, Enjolras was just pissed. “Unlike you who doesn’t believe in anything!”

Grantaire’s face had gone blank again, but this time there was something cold behind his eyes. No, not cold, missing. There was something missing from behind Grantaire’s eyes as he stood there starring back at Enjolras. “Wrong as usual,” he finally said softly, devoid of any emotion.

Enjolras frowned and stepped towards Grantaire, expecting the other man to move he was surprised when instead Grantaire just ducked his head. Enjolras was so close to Grantaire and yet it wasn’t close enough. Testing his luck, he continued to walk forward until they were standing right in front of each other in the cold night air.

Finally, finally Grantaire did more than stare at his scuffed-up converse. He raised his head and met Enjolras’s gaze with a never before seen ferocity. This close he had to tilt his head up and Enjolras ducked his own in order to accomplish it.

He watched and tensed as Grantaire took a deep breath. A car passed and the door to the Musain opened and closed a few feet behind them but Enjolras was entirely focused on Grantaire, curiosity and anger still warring in his veins.

“I believe in you.” Grantaire said it with such weight that Enjolras actually took a step back. That wasn’t the only reason he’d stumbled though, Enjolras had been suddenly overcome with such a surge in his power that he was physically thrown off balance.

Grantaire caught him, shooting a hand out to grab his elbow and steady him.

Enjolras could do little more than stand there blinking at Grantaire as he tried to process the events of the last thirty seconds. A warm gratitude was spreading through his stomach mixed with an excited twinge of anxiety, curiosity and thrill raged at the amount of power he now felt he had, and over laying it all was layers and layers of shock. Shock for the power. Shock at Grantaire. Shock at himself for the relief he felt to know that Grantaire didn’t really hate him like he’d thought for months now.

“Are you ok?” Grantaire asked, he was studying Enjolras with concern and had managed to guide them from out of the middle of the sidewalk to the Musain’s brick wall.

“I- Yeah- I- Headrush,” Enjolras breathed out as he looked at Grantaire with wide eyes.

Grantaire looked back at him with entirely too much worry and Enjolras felt surprise wash over him again. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I- No- I- I’m good,” Enjolras said. He knew it’d be more convincing if he could actually speak but he now had a full grasp of the ‘speechless’ and ‘dumbstruck’ idioms.

They stood there studying each other, Grantaire with a frown pulling at his brow and Enjolras knew he was gaping like a fish but he felt that was excusable.

Seemingly satisfied that whatever danger Enjolras may or may not have been in had passed Grantaire began talking. Well, began cracking jokes that Enjolras quickly realized had always been his way of deflecting or processing.

“Now I know my having personhood can’t come as that much of a shock; Combeferre is the philosopher, I’m sure he’s talked to you about James,” Grantaire said wryly. It wasn’t effective at hiding his feelings though because Enjolras could still clearly see the frown at his brow.

“You don’t believe in what I’m trying to do,” Enjolras stated. It was a fact. He was still processing and he needed to know what of his impressions of Grantaire were right and which were wrong and where that growing anxiety was coming from.

“I don’t believe that we’re actually able of accomplishing the sweeping change you’re calling for.”

Now Enjolras was frowning and Grantaire was blinking. It was subtle but the way Grantaire said it was very specific. The stared at each other, a silent challenge to see who would explain first.

It was Grantaire. “I don’t think that it’s possible, I don’t believe it will actually work. But,” Grantaire took a deep breath and closed his eyes, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at Enjolras as he spoke, “I believe in you. I believe that you can and will accomplish anything that you put your mind too. I believe that you can change the world.”

Again, Enjolras felt like he was being hit with a wave as his powers surged. His knees buckled and he flung an arm out to hold himself up against the brick. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground until he was sitting on the gum-stained sidewalk.

Crouching in front of him Grantaire hovered and his mild panic was now palpable. “Are you ok? Seriously Enjolras, are you ok? You’re a god, you can’t get sick. Please tell me you’re ok.”

Taking a shuddering breath Enjolras nodded. “I- it’s- I don’t know,” he admitted.

Grantaire frowned and made to stand, obviously going to fetch Joly or Combeferre who would do little good – not for their still incomplete medical training but for the fact that they did not treat gods. And while Combeferre had stumbled across the spell that had released Enjolras from Limbo and he and Courfeyrac had successfully completed it that was the beginning and end of his magic dabbling. Jehan, who hosted seances and monitored corpse roads, or Musichetta, with her tarot cards and uncanny ability to know the next song before it was played, would probably be more help.

Quickly, Enjolras snatched Grantaire by the sleeve and held him in place. “I’m fine, just need to get my bearings.”

He looked skeptical, but when did Grantaire not look skeptical? He stayed though, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the freezing cement too.

As they sat there Enjolras’s heart slowed, which had been beating hard enough that it was only now that it wasn’t pounding did he even realize it had been. His breathing returned to normal. His palms still tingled but he knew that would settle eventually.

Grantaire sat watching him with quiet curiosity. His lower lip had been pulled between his teeth to worry. It slipped free as Grantaire gave him a shaky smile. “You sure you’re ok?”

Enjolras nodded. He was still collecting himself and part of that meant that he was trying to parse out how much of what just happened he felt he should share with Grantaire. Much like his earlier revelation, Enjolras suddenly knew that not only could he trust Grantaire, but he had trusted Grantaire for a long time now. If he hadn’t he never would have let his friends share so much of their plans during meetings. More importantly, he’d trusted Grantaire the very first time he’d followed him out of the Musain. He could trust him now.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras assured him. He relaxed, the rough edges of the bricks catching on the shoulders of his jacket. Grantaire seemed to relax at this too, settling more on the concrete. “I’ve been slowly rebuilding my power as I gain followers, right?”

Grantaire’s expression darkened but he nodded.

“Just now I had a surge of power. Twice. I- I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. It just, it wasn’t something I was prepared for and it hit me hard.”

This didn’t seem to put Grantaire at ease. A couple was walking down the street towards them so Grantaire skootched himself so they were sitting next to each other with their backs to the wall.

“What?” Enjolras asked once they’d finally passed.

“Nothing.”

“I thought we’d established that I do genuinely want and care about your opinion,” Enjolras said with only mild exasperation.

He earned an eyeroll.

“Seriously, R.”

That got his attention. Grantaire blinked at him and the surprise was so obvious it was almost comical. Enjolras couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk at Grantaire’s reaction.

Grantaire made a face. “You were just talking about how you didn’t feel as though you were gaining the same power to person ratio or whatever and then you’re brushing this off as a coincidence.” The words were mean, they were meant to be said mockingly, but they came out flat. Like Grantaire was simply going through the motions.

“I’ve noticed,” Enjolras tried to tease. Grantaire just glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “I want to know if you have any theories why because all I can come up with is a delay. You always seem to think I’m wrong so…”

That made Grantaire’s lip curl in distaste. He turned his head so that he was starring out into the street. Enjolras let him as emotions flickered across his face. When it became clear that Grantaire had retreated deep inside to wage war with himself Enjolras bumped their shoulders together. Grantaire jolted before settling with a pained sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Because,” he groaned, “it’s not ‘followers’ from which you derive your power. The gods are given power so long as people believe in them. It’s why the old gods have died out, passing on their realms to others either by choice or by force or without meaning to at all. It’s how new gods have risen, and what cold cruel gods they are. You only have power so long as people believe you have power. Or whoever they think you are.”

Grantaire’s words explained a lot, why he got stronger with each new friend and yet stagnated despite growing numbers. Why Zeus had forgotten and forsaken and seemingly ignored him. Why no one could explain the gods’ disappearance. Why Grantaire’s confession of belief had resulted in their current positions slumped against the wall. Well, maybe not. That was much more power than Enjolras had ever experienced and Grantaire knew more of the gods than Enjolras himself did.

“Then why did your belief affect me so strongly?” Enjolras asked softly.

He’d turned to look at Grantaire, leaning forward and pinning his gaze.

Grantaire blinked once. Twice. Swallowed, and spoke.

“That’s what happens when you win the belief of another god.”

Over the course of the following weeks Grantaire shared his secrets with Enjolras. It started on the sidewalk outside the Musain with a confession of faith. It continued inside the café and at one or another’s apartment, over food or coffee or a movie Grantaire insisted Enjolras just had to see.

“The 1830s were a sucky time to be a young adult,” Grantaire had started his tale. “I’d left my family and found myself in an alcohol fueled haze, stumbling from dance hall to pub to café to dance hall. I bumped into him somewhere in there.”

Enjolras took some sickly sense of vindictive justice to know that Dionysus had aged poorly in the wakes of capitalism. He’d been unable to adjust to the enlightenment and was preserving his power wherever he could.

“He just couldn’t go on. He was too weak,” Grantaire had frowned at the memory but Enjolras felt no sympathy for the old god. “So, he pulled me aside and told me everything, about the gods dying and needing to pass on his realms lest one of the new gods snatch it. He liked me, I was always kind to him, and I had amassed my own small group of fellow revelers that he seemed to think would keep me afloat.”

That had sparked a conversation about power and belief and together they managed to puzzle most of it out. The discussion – which alternated between a true discussion, a debate, and blatant bickering – lasted well into the night and they were swiftly kicked out of the Musain by the barista that Courf never seemed able to work his charms on. She’d seemed apologetic but also annoyed and the hour was so late that they both felt guilty and left a small pile of bills to try and make up for it.

“So you’re the god of wine?” Enjolras asked at the opening of one of their meetings, Grantaire quite literally having just opened his apartment door.

“Good afternoon, Enjolras. You’re really bad at greetings,” Grantaire said sarcastically. Enjolras grumbled as Grantaire stepped aside to let him in. “Less so wine and more general god of alcohol?”

This made them circle back to the power and belief equation. Enjolras was desperately curious to know what exactly fell under Grantaire’s domain. He hadn’t been too positive as Dionysus had simply passed on his divinity, essentially said that Grantaire had to fulfill his responsibilities, and then died. Through a lot of questions – Enjolras’s – and sighs – Grantaire’s – they worked out what did and did not fall under Grantaire’s control.

“I feel like Combeferre would be helpful in this conversation. Or Jehan or Musichetta.” Enjolras frowned down at his empty mug. He got up to make another cup of coffee and stopped in shock at how late it had gotten, the clock on Grantaire’s microwave blinking that it was 3:00 a.m.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask: did you have Chetta do a reading on me?” Grantaire called, he was still sprawled on the floor where he’d moved to lay down about a half hour ago though maybe it was longer.

“I wanted to know if we could trust you,” Enjolras admitted. He’d forgone the coffee and just poured milk into his mug.

Grantaire snorted, he sat up so he could shoot Enjolras a look. He didn’t say anything just laid back down.

“I trust Eponine’s judgement, but you can never be too careful.”

That made Grantaire snort again and rather than returning to his place on the couch Enjolras sat cross-legged on floor next to him. Rolling his head so he could look at Enjolras, Grantaire raised a curious eyebrow. “And? What’d they say?”

“That we could.”

Grantaire laughed. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop his smile, not that he wanted to anyway. “Fuck you, Watson.”

Another laugh came from Grantaire, loud and deep and warm. It made Enjolras feel warm too, with pride at being responsible for it and from listening to it.

“I might still have the text?” he offered, already reaching for his phone.

“Why not.”

“She did a three-card draw: Hanged Man, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Cups.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Well fuck. I feel intensely seen.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow but Grantaire didn’t elaborate. He’d looked up the meanings behind the cards after that first meeting, but he couldn’t derive anything more and trusted Musichetta. That Grantaire seemed to agree so succinctly was interesting though.

“She ever do a reading for you?” Grantaire asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

He shook his head before shrugging and making a noncommittal noise. Grantaire raised a brow. “She taught me about tarot and we did readings and all but never on me.”

With a nod Grantaire pushed himself so he was sitting upright. “I’ve found that they help just for like self-reflection.” Grantaire cleared his throat and Enjolras could tell it was because he was suddenly, overwhelming self-conscious. He charged onward though, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the overfull bookshelves in the corner of the room. “But it’s also an easy way to, uh, assess? Your domain? Power? Whatever. It’s a useful tool for a god.”

Enjolras nodded. He’d realized that but even with Musichetta’s help he was still remedial.

“Here,” Grantaire handed him a small velvet bag and took a seat across the small coffee table from him. “If you want, I can do you. Um, do a reading for you.” Grantaire flushed and Enjolras felt his own cheeks heating up.

“Um, sure?”

“Just shuffle the cards,” Grantaire instructed.

Enjolras pulled the deck out. Like Musichetta’s and the one that he’d seen Jehan pull out every once in a while, they were larger than playing cards, tall and broad. Grantaire’s were decorated with an intricate pattern of vines on the backs. They were cool and slippery as he cut the deck and passed chunks of it from hand to hand. Some cards stuck together, and others moved easily as he shuffled. Once he was satisfied Enjolras set them on the table between himself and Grantaire.

Grantaire picked up the cards and carefully pulled the first three, placing them face up in a neat row between them. Normally that’s all that he and Musichetta would do, quick and messy she’d call it and then add on “but effective.” Grantaire kept going, two more cards were placed below them and then a final one at the bottom creating an inverted pyramid on the table in front of him. Grantaire set the rest of the deck aside and frowned down at them.

“That’s a lot of the Major Arcana,” Enjolras observed.

Grantaire hummed. “Yeah, that happens with gods. Not sure why, besides the fact that we kinda exist on a larger scale? Or something. It’s just a theory.”

Enjolras nodded and began to study the cards with Grantaire. He was too distracted by the artwork though, bold paint strokes and bright colors tempered with thick, dark lines.

“Ok,” Grantaire said and startled Enjolras. He’d zoned out trying to make out the shadowed face of the Magician. “The top row is past and obviously represents you: rebellious, driven, focused, leader, with an innate sense of fairness and responsibility. Seven of wands, Magician, Justice.”

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire continued. “The next row is meant to be present, or the events that have led to your present. The Tower is destruction and downfall and well it’s obviously you getting your ass thrown in Limbo.”

“Gee, thanks,” Enjolras said sarcastically.

Grantaire held his hands up placatingly but gave a wicked grin. “Just saying. Wheel of Fortune is change so being freed but also your little save the world club and your desire to make change.”

“Those I could follow,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire shot him a glare. “You agreed to this.”

Enjolras shrugged and this time it was his turn to spread his hands in a placating gesture.

“Right,” Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him before returning to the final card. “Future, Two of Cups. Truce.” Grantaire frowned.

“Truce?” Enjolras asked, realizing that just sitting here, on Grantaire’s living room floor, was its own truce.

“Um, also connection and…” Grantaire’s ears turned red again. “Uh, attraction.”

Enjolras nodded. He reached towards the deck and drew the top card, placing it over the Two of Cups. The Knight of Cups looked up at them.

The Knight had his armor stacked at his feet and stood in his tunic and leggings. His hair was the same curls as Grantaire’s, and his eyes held the same mischief.

He’d never admit it, but Grantaire had been right. The cards were good for self-reflection and looking at them, hearing Grantaire explain them, the months since he’d met the other man all suddenly fell into place. When he looked up to meet Grantaire’s shocked eyes he could see that they had for the other man as well.

“Truce?” Enjolras asked again, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Grantaire grinned back. “Truce.”

#les mis halloween exchange 2019 #les mis #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #les amis de l'abc #mythology #my fic #writing #own writing

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