#etiennecombeferre

Combeferre grit his teeth, trying to focus on Joly’s voice above the ringing in his ears and the, now thankfully distant, gunfire. He had no idea how many others, if any, were still alive; and truthfully he wasn’t sure if he or Joly would make it out alive. The armed guards had left the site where their barricade had previously stood, yes, but he was sure they were surrounded by other blockades and even managing to get away from their location and back to somewhere that was safe was going to be a challenge. He managed a nod in response to Joly’s words, trying to focus on his friend rather than the searing pain from the bayonet wound that had pierced through his shoulder. As he studied Joly, he noticed that he was also not in the best shape - hardly surprising given the circumstance. The least Combeferre could do was be still and try make it easy for him to get him in a stable enough condition that he was able to offer that same support. “The— the others? Are we…?”

He could not put into words how relieved he was to have kept a small bag of medical instruments in his coat pocket at that moment. The relief, however; was washed over with adrenaline and sheer nerves. Neither of them were in good shape and they were far from safe where they were now, even without the national guard in sight. If they were discovered they’d be executed. He had been shot in the thigh of his leg, the one that already limped beforehand yet was far worse for wear now. He’d tied a tunicate on it, full of high hope that it would be enough until they were safe. 

He was most worried for his friend at that moment, he could think of little else than the desire that they both make it out of there alive. “I . . . I don’t know.” He stuttered, trying his best to push thoughts of their friends of his grief from his mind. He had to focus. He grabbed a piece of leather from his bag and put it in Combeferres mouth for him to bite down on. “I know you already know this but don’t scream.” He reminded. 

He was swift as he could be while still being careful as he searched in the wound with his plyers for the bullet. Once he found it he pulled it out and let it fall the ground. This was a setting he had never practiced medicine in prior and he couldn’t help but tremble but since he didn’t see his bleeding increase, he was sure he managed not to nick an artery. With that done, he grabbed a needle and wire thread. He stitched it quickly in sloppily, a pang of guilt striking him as he did that it would likely leave a terrible scar. Still, they didn’t have time for him to be slow and gentle. 

“I’ll fix that up again when we’re safe, we need to get out of here. Fast. Can you stand?”

Grantaire figured this would happen sooner or later.

He managed to scream enough inflammatory things at Enjolras’ rallies that he was bound to be picked up for “disturbing the peace” sometime. Granted, he thought it would be by the actual police rather than whatever paramilitary-esque group this was. He knew some people had it out for activists, but not enough to kidnap and chain them, to starve and beat and leave them for days.

“Whoever it is this time,” he struggled to say, “I won’t give you the satisfaction–”

Courfeyrac waved his hand dismissively as he sat down at the table in the corner of the Cafe Musain, where he and his newfound friends had begun to hang out at from time to time. He never got sick, and with it being his first year of university, he definitely wasn’t going to start now.

“Did you see who it was?” Cosette whispered, clinging to Combeferre’s arm a little too tightly. It was hard to tell whether she shunned his question on purpose. “The person who followed me — what did they look like?”

“Shaking hands? What shaking hands? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, it’s you that needs to have a steady hand. It’s way more important for doctors to have steady hands than lawyers. I can hide shakey hands with wild gestures to emphasize my points. But that’s besides the point because I do not have shakey hands.”

@etiennecombeferre

He’d been talking with Enjolras and everyone, eyes peeled for if anyone had seen Combeferre. He’d sent messages to all his friends at every hospital with a picture of Combeferre. He was determined to find him, but he didn’t expect Combeferre to show up in his own hospital. In his own rotations. There was no name on his sheet, no information he was just a John Doe.