A/N. This is a warning. Get your tissues out cause this is a freaking sad story. I think the saddest on I have ever written.

Disclaimer: I would change this story so much if I owned it.

i.

The first time, no one knew what to do. She was broken in his arms as he ran fast, down the streets. After a worried text from her, he runs out of his apartment. He forgets he owns a car, he only cares about her. And right now, she's scared, crying, petrified or even worse.

He calls her as he's running, to make sure she stays with him. And once he finds her, it's nearly all too late.

He knew a hospital would be useless, they knew her family too well.

Joly.

That's who he had to go to.

Enjolras runs through corridors and alley ways, away from her pain and the stares of passerbys. He whispers soft words in her ears whenever she moans in pain or moves in his arms.

Finally he reaches the apartment and he bursts right in, he clears off Joly's table, sets her down. He goes into Joly's room and pulls out a half naked (thank god it was from the waist up) Joly and tells him to fix her.

This is not pity. Not for any of the Amis boys. This is Eponine. Their fragile Eponine. And she was fading fast.

Thankfully, Joly was a fast learner. He never asked where the bruises, cuts, signs of rape, slashes, bite marks, hickies, nail marks, were from. He knew how to mold a cast in less time than it takes for Enjolras to drink his grande black coffee with two espresso shots. He knows how to gauze her, stitch her, fix her.

Her eyes widen as the pain comes rushing into her body, she starts screaming out. He rushes to her side as Joly wipes sweat off his forehead. She laces her fingers through his and squeezes with all her tiny frame can. And he lets her.

That was her way of getting rid of her own hell.

ii.

The second time is not of horror or of fright. Its by choice. She drags him down to the tattoo parlor off of 42nd street, coffee in his hand and cigarettes in her's.

He tells her how stupid this is. She chuckles and lights a Marlboro Black and sticks it between her teeth.

She looks at the book and flicks the ashes. He watches her carefully. He watches how the bruises faded, the marks are no more, and she has healed. She's back to being his Eponine.

This is not lust. This is love and she sits in the chair, her shirt pull down to expose her shoulder. She's been staying at his flat for the past month and she finally has meat on her bones.

She winces as the needle starts to ink her skin. He grasps her hand and she squeezes it once more.

Now, No Fear, is forever on her back.

iii.

The third time was the hardest. It was the worst he has ever seen her. Belt marks, bleeding, welted, they are all on her back. At the ripe age of twenty-one, her childhood still haunts her. She calls him, texting would be useless, seeing as her thumbs are probably broken. Her voice is broken and uneven, it hurts to breathe. More cracked ribs.

He gets to her faster than the last time, he brings Joly with him as well.

She groans and curses and screams as Joly tries to figure out how to fix her. There's no way he can do this without a hospital's help.

He carries her, as always. Her body molds perfectly into his arms. He can no longer smell her scent of vanilla and hope. It was masked by blood and her broken eyes.

Joly takes her to a doctor he knows he can trust. Joly pays for her visit, down to the tissue she used to clean her face after she told Joly what had happened.

Enjolras walks back in and she reaches for his hand. Her hand feels odd in his now as they wrapped her broken thumb. She cannot squeeze his hand at the moment. He wipes the sweat from her forehead and his hand lingers on her forehead for a moment.

This is not the Eponine he loves. This is the Eponine he protects. The Eponine he loves is laughing at the moment in the back of his mind as he runs his fingers over her tattoo.

iv.

The fourth time begins with a phone call. But its not her phone, its Joly's. Joly is engulfed in tears. The only words Enjolras can interpret are "Eponine." "Hospital." God almighty, he wishes he had heard the rest.

He takes his car to the hospital and packs the clothes he had bought her. He pulls the oversized tote over his shoulders and walks into the hospital.. They direct him where to go, but once he gets there, the bed is empty.

She must be in surgery, he thinks. That bastard of a father must have beaten her to that point.

But she's not in surgery.

He walks around the hospital until he finds Joly and the tote falls. The clothes scatter the floor as he puts the pieces together, as he adds two and two. The tears, the rest of the conversation, the empty bed, the odd looks the nurses gave him. This is what it adds to:

She's dead.

His Eponine, with the beautiful dimples, with the perfect smile, with the contagious laugh. His sunshine, with the wavy tresses, with No Fear tattoo, with the cigarette addiction. His love, his world, his life. Is dead.

He stumbles to the floor and Joly notices him at last. Joly walks to his side and pulls him into a room for privacy. Joly pulls her clothes back into the tote. He sits and stares at the floor.

"It wasn't a beating that killed her, Enjolras."

He looks up at the broken doctor, begging to know what did.

"She took a bunch of pills and a gun to the head."

His world crumbled.

He didn't even realize it was the funeral until Joly clears his throat. He had been staring at her body for too long. People were giving him warm rubs on his shoulder, but it didn't matter.

The makeup artists made it seem like the bullet never lodged in her brain.

He sees her hand and, when no one's looking, he takes it one last time. He holds her limp fingers and realizes that she's never coming back. He will never see that tattoo again or smell or taste Marlboro Black on his lips again.

She was terrified of her past. And her past always came back haunting her.

But he always eased the pain.

This is the end. For both of them. There was a letter, left unopened. There was a three word phrase never said, and a four word answer never spoken back.