Ok guys, here's part ii!

I love this story, I really wanted to do an Eponine the Vampire Slayer, so it was a lot of fun to write!

Come find me on tumblr - eponnjolras - and drop me a prompt for the fic war (the purpose of which is to kill each other with feels)! Speaking of, I wrote this for the fic war, to fill a prompt from tumblr user poeticbibliophile ("are you afraid of the good you can do?" - you'll find that line in part 1!).

Hope this doesn't kill y'all with feels.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I really hope Hugo doesn't have any, like, divine knowledge that this exists. He's probably gonna haunt me soon...

Since she learned the truth about him, Enjolras had only seen Eponine once.

It was entirely by accident; he happened across her one night several weeks ago when she was on patrol. Her face when she saw him – well, she was less than thrilled. In fact, he thought the look she gave him would burn him where he stood (who needed the sun when Eponine's glare equaled its bright, burning rays?) as she screamed at him that she had opened up to him, had told him things, but he had been lying the whole time. She had pointed her crossbow at him, and something told him that if he pushed her, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot him.

So he had left, melting into the shadows as he so frequently did when he was near her, and had not seen her since.

Until now.

It had taken a few days for the news to get to him: just a few days past, a young hunter had been mauled by a werewolf, her pray. That young hunter was none other than Eponine's younger sister, Azelma.

And now, the broken young woman is sitting against her sister's headstone, her feet and hands leaving smears in the loose soil. She's staring off into the distance, oblivious to everything. Enjolras wonders what she's thinking about, what she's remembering.

She isn't safe here, that's for sure. Alone in a cemetery at night and completely unaware even to his presence a mere ten feet away is rendering her extremely vulnerable to ambush.

He suddenly doesn't care if she tries to kill him.

Eponine doesn't notice him until he's standing over her, and when she finally does, all she asks is, "Are you finally here to kill me?" Her voice is raw, hollow, quiet.

Enjolras squats down in front of her. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes puffy and red, her jaw smeared with the dirt of her sister's grave.

"Where's Gavroche?" he asks gently.

"With Javert," is the hard response.

Relief sweeps through him. The child should not be alone right now. Still, he needs his sister.

"Eponine, you must be strong for him. You're all he has, don't abandon him now."

Eponine glares at him, a hint of the fire he had come to love in her eyes. "Don't tell me how to take care of my brother," she snaps. "I don't need advice from a lying bloodsucker."

The words sting him a bit, but he understands her anger. And he understands why she's lashing out.

"You're out in the open here, completely exposed," he informs her, ignoring her attack.

"I'm not a child."

"You need to be away from here for a while," he replies, much more gently.

Eponine shakes her head, but he reaches out for her anyway, lifting her dead weight to her feet. She crumples in on herself, though, unable to stand as she begins sobbing anew, so Enjolras swings her into his arms with ease. The look she gives him when he does it is almost comical; he can practically hear her asking if he just picks up crying women and carries them around regularly.

Enjolras takes her back to his apartment, holding her through the night as she cries over Azelma, until she finally drops off into a restless sleep.

He brushes hair out of her eyes, wondering when his intrigue and infatuation with her had turned to love.

Marius is Turned a few months after Azelma's death.

Enjolras thinks that Eponine will kill him, simply for being of the same species as the creature that almost sucked the boy dry, but her confusion outweighs her ferocity.

He can tell that vampires are no longer black and white for her. Whereas once she thought that they were all soulless, evil murderers, he has taught her that many can overcome that.

Enjolras belongs to Jean Valjean's Coven, he informs her the very night that Marius joins him in this purgatory to which he has been damned. Valjean's daughter, Cosette, reciprocated the human's feelings. When one of Eponine's parents' vampires attacked him, leaving him very nearly dead, Cosette appeared. The only way to save Marius, Enjolras explained, was to Turn him. Cosette made the choice, and was successful.

And although Eponine is angry that Marius has been taken from her (though she admits that he was never hers to keep), she can clearly no longer differentiate between her feelings towards the state of vampirism. On the one hand, Marius has been taken from her, forever to walk the night and belong to a different species and live an existence where even she cannot follow. On the other, he would have died were it not for Cosette Turning him; were it not for her, he would be yet another body in the ground, just like Azelma. This way, at least he gets to go on with some semblance of a life.

Enjolras ensures her that Cosette and his Amis will teach the Changling to control his urges for blood, to live off blood from butchers' shops instead of fresher human blood. Eventually, he will recover from the Change, and become quite like his human self again.

Eponine is still angry, but she seems to consider his words. He is grateful that he is slowly changing her mind about vampires, that she is learning that they are not all evil, just as not all humans are good.

It's a struggle for her, coming to terms with her conflicting feelings towards vampires.

Some days, she acts like she hates him, like she'll murder him on the spot if he says the wrong thing.

Other days, she treats him almost like he's a human friend. Even a human boyfriend sometimes (she's been known to slip her hand into his when they're walking through the streets on her patrols or after he takes her for burgers – hers, medium rare, and his, so rare it's almost still alive).

Enjolras hopes that eventually, she will accept him completely, that she will want to meet the Amis and Cosette and Jean Valjean, (despite the Coven leader being the very vampire that Javert hates and wants to kill the most) that she, as a slayer and a woman of power, will be able to speak to the fact that not all vampires are evil.

One day, he finds himself answering questions about his former life.

It starts with his name. No longer able to refuse her, to lie to her or keep the truth from her, he answers without hesitation. It actually surprises him. He's losing himself in her. "Gabriel. My name was Gabriel. Now I just go by my surname."

"Gabriel," she repeats, trying out the name. It's been so long since he's heard it that it sounds almost foreign to him. Still, he likes hearing it from her lips, and he finds himself wondering what it tastes like on her tongue.

"How old are you?" she asks curiously, jarring him out of his trance.

Enjolras just smirks at her. "I've lost count of all the years," he admits. "I died in 1832. So getting close to 200, I suppose."

"Tell me," Eponine demands.

He sighs, but does not refuse her. He no longer can, especially after hearing his name on her lips. "I'm French, actually."

"You have no accent, though!" she cries, rather surprised.

He just shrugs. "I've been around a long time. Long enough to both perfect my English and adopt the accent in this country."

"How did you die?"

Enjolras thought for a moment. It was so long ago, and the details were so fuzzy. But he had read history books that mentioned the event, read about his own insignificance. It still hurt him, knowing that he had set out to change the world but had just missed becoming historic.

"There was a revolution in the streets of Paris. I was the leader, actually. I was a law student at la Sorbonne. My friends and I – we all died. It all happened very quickly."

He was distracted for a moment by her, staring at him with rapt attention. Eponine was actually fascinated by this, he realized. Perhaps she didn't hate him as much as he thought. Perhaps she was beginning to understand that he lived in this hell just as much as she, but that he didn't delight in it like so many others who crawled from the underworld.

"Go on," she urges.

Enjolras sighs again, but complies. "There was a woman at the barricade. I don't know who she was, but as we placed the bodies of each of my friends in our café, our little headquarters, she performed what she told us was a sort of 'last rites' for them. It wasn't until I clawed my way out of my grave that I learned what had happened. She Turned us all."

Eponine was staring at him, a mixture of horror and enthrallment on her face.

"How many people have you killed?" she asks. The question is soft, but firm. She does not fear him, he realizes, and he suddenly is uncomfortable with the feeling. He's been so used to the sense of power and superiority his existence provides that he's no longer familiar with what it's like to be around humans who aren't frightened by him.

Once again, Eponine has managed to offset him.

He clenches his jaw, suddenly angry. "That's not of your business," he growls.

"But–."

"Eponine!" he shouts, stopping short and turning on her, suddenly angrier than he's been in a long time.

She takes a step back in alarm, and he notices her hand go to her hip, where her stake hangs from her belt in a makeshift sheath next to Azelma's silver dagger. Her eyes are wide with surprise and, he sees, a hint of fear.

There it is. Satisfaction and self-loathing sweep through him simultaneously. He's delighted, in a predatory and instinctual sense, to see the fear in a potential victim's eyes. However, it's Eponine, the human woman he has come to love so much, and he never wants to see her look at him with fear. He doesn't want that from any human, but especially not from her.

Still his anger is bristling dangerously beneath his skin. He clenches his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms, and grinds his jaw as he glares at her.

The fear in her eyes fades, replaced by a flash of confusion, followed immediately by anger herself.

Eponine turns on her heal, then – her! If anyone, it should be him storming off – muttering something that sounds a lot like "vampires" as she stalks away.

Enjolras doesn't know what happened.

One minute, he was in his apartment, deeply involved in Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami, and then next minute Eponine was bursting through his door. She was hysterical, screaming and crying about Gavroche being missing.

He tried to calm her, tried to insist that the boy was likely with Javert or another slayer, or safe at a friend's house, but Eponine insisted that something was wrong.

"This has never happened before, he's never just up and disappeared. He always tells me where he'll be, and he knows better than to go anywhere alone at night without me or another slayer! I just know something is wrong. I can feel it. Please, Gabriel, please help me," she cried.

His stomach twisted when she said his name. Without a second thought, he picked up his phone to call Combeferre.

Ten minutes later, he, Eponine, and all the Amis were fanned out across town, searching for the child.

Courfeyrac found the boy. He called Enjolras, out of breath, informing him that someone from either the Thénardier or Tholomyes Covens had attacked him.

Enjolras arrived moments later at the boy's side, and immediately knew what had happened. Little Gavroche was crumpled on the ground, lying without movement. His eyes were closed, and his blonde mop of hair matted with his blood. Two punctures on his neck indicated his fate.

He listened for a pulse, but if there was one, it was too faint for even his hypersensitive vampire ears to pick up. But there was little time; he brought his wrist to his mouth, breaking the skin with his sharp incisors, pinching the veins to drip blood into the child's mouth as Courfeyrac watched.

It was the only way.

Eponine came a few minutes after him, dropping gracelessly to her feet next to Gavroche's limp body as she sobbed at the sight of him.

She cradled her brother in her arms, screaming and crying. It took Enjolras a few moments to realize that she was speaking – no, she was begging him to help.

"Turn him!" she cried. "Please, Turn him! He's my baby brother, I can't lose him."

"I tried, Eponine, it didn't work–."

"Try again!"

Enjolras sighed doubtfully, but did not argue. She watched with a semblance of hope lighting up her teary face as he repeated his actions, but the child did not respond. Her face slowly fell.

Enjolras reached out across Gavroche's lifeless body and gripped Eponine's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His voice broke as he said it. "Whoever attacked him took too much blood. He's gone, Eponine. I can't do anything. He's gone."

She broke down.

He hadn't felt so helpless in at least a century.

Even though the funeral was during the day, he and Courfeyrac went. They covered themselves entirely for protection from the rays of the sun, and sat in the back of the room.

Enjolras found himself rather selfishly wondering if Eponine held the service in a funeral home rather than a church so that he could attend. Not that it mattered.

She was alone now. That was the only thing that mattered. She needed him.

If she noticed him there, she didn't acknowledge him. She just sat in the front, directly in front of the child's coffin, in between Javert and Musichetta. She did not cry, did not speak apart from giving the eulogy – throughout which her face remained steely and emotionless.

His slow-beating heart broke for her.

Enjolras went to Gavroche's fresh grave that night, looking for Eponine. He fully expected her to do what she did when Azelma died, to take her place against the headstone, but she is not there.

He searches for her around the town, even at her own home, until the sky begins to turn a purple rather than dark blue. Giving up, he heads home.

And that's where he finds here.

When he opens the door, he finds her sitting on his bed in the dark, waiting for him. He stays where he is as she stands, not sure whether she intends to break down in his arms or attack him for being the same type of demon that took her brother's life.

"I thought you were never coming back," she whispers indignantly.

Eponine takes a step forward, and he takes one back, still wary of her intentions.

She sighs. "Don't worry," she says. Her voice is strangely hollow. It worries him. "I'm not armed," she continues, opening her hands as if to prove it.

Enjolras shuts the door behind him, but does not move closer. He loves her, sure, but he does not trust her. Not when she's like this.

She sighs again, a little more exasperatedly this time, and kicks off her shoes and pulls off her white t-shirt and jeans.

He stares in shock, as Eponine stands before him in a black bra and panties, raising her arms again. "See?" she says, turning as if to display her lack of weapons. "I'm not armed."

She slinks over to him, where he's rooted to the floor, still too surprised to move. Her hand goes to his chest and she raises herself on her toes, whispering seductively in his ear, "Unless you want to do a cavity search."

Enjolras snorts at that, finally able to move again. He tries to back away from her, because this is wrong, she's not in her right mind tonight and she's in no state to be doing this, but his back hits the door.

Eponine smirks, and brushes her lips against his jaw. When she kisses down his neck, reaching the hollow of his collarbone, a low growl emits from his throat and he grabs her bare shoulders, straightening her, staring into those dark eyes he can barely even make out in this lighting. She's staring back expectantly, and when it becomes too much for him, when he crashes his lips to hers and kisses her hard and fast, she is ready. Her arms lace around his neck, her hands knot in his blonde curls, her body presses flush against his as she rolls her hips against his.

His clothes are off in a matter of seconds, followed by her underwear, and they fall back on his bed, moving quickly and passionately.

Suddenly he's wondering if this is the first time she's been with a vampire. Then he realizes that of course it is, that she hated his kind before she met him, and, especially after her brother's death, she still does. She wonders if she'll loathe herself tomorrow for her inability to control herself around him, or if she actually sees him as a friend, as possibly something more–.

Eponine cries out in pain. Shit. Enjolras had lost his concentration – not to mention he had largely lost control of his bodily reactions to her and their movements – and his incisors had extended without his noticing. He had cut her lip.

The smell of blood mixed with sex and with her almost made him come apart right there, but the combination of horror, hate, and lust on her face stopped him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely, his voice low. "Please–."

"Bite me," she whispers back, her voice just as rough. He thinks she's tell him to fuck off, and moves to get off her, exasperated with himself and just needing a release and needing her, but, to his surprise, she cries out in indignation and tries to hold him in place with her legs.

Her arms wrap around his neck again, and she gives him a mischievous look before turning her head away. Enjolras' brain sluggishly realizes that she's exposing her neck to him. She bucks her hips into his and, panting this time, again whispers, "Bite me."

Oh. Now he understands. It's a terrible idea, but he can hardly refuse her anything anymore.

He begins moving again, and Eponine groans. The groan turns into something very close to a scream as he first brushes her neck with his lips, then licks it, then finally, hesitantly breaks the skin.

Blood wells beneath his lips and it takes all his concentration not to lose control and suck her dry right then and there. This was a bad idea. He pulls away, staring at her, her blood smeared on his mouth, but her arms tighten around his neck as she tries to pull him back down.

"Don't stop," she whispers, and Enjolras is unsure if she means the sucking or the fucking, so he does both.

When he reattaches to her neck and begins to drink, trying as hard as he can to not lose himself in his instinct to kill her, she whimpers. But those whimpers slowly turn into moans of pleasure, and suddenly she's writhing beneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips and her fingers knotted in his hair and pressing him further into her neck.

Enjolras barely remembers his own Change all those years ago, but the Changlings he's talked to over the years describe the Bite as being extremely euphoric. He wonders what it's like to have that ecstasy mixed with the bliss of sex. Then he realizes that it probably feels for Eponine how it feels for him – the bliss of sex mixed with the ecstasy of partaking in her blood, in being inside of her in so many more ways than just a sexual one.

Eponine is loud, almost screaming below him, and he feels her clench around him, coming apart beneath him. Moments later, the combination of her sweet, hot blood and her own moment coax his, and he comes hard, gulping her blood down and thinking that he has never experienced anything like this before.

She is breathing hard and shallow underneath him, and he has stopped moving, but his instincts took over when he came and he no longer has control over his actions.

He is drinking deep, and for a moment she seems okay with it, totally fine with the fact that he is going to drink her dry and fucking kill her, but then she's squirming beneath him, fighting him with what little strength she has left.

Enjolras doesn't even notice. He's too lost in the blood spilling from her neck and the intoxicating strength it gives him. It's been decades since he's drank from a human – he had almost forgotten how delicious hot, fresh human blood was. He can't stop.

That is, until he's flying off the bed and into the dresser. The painful collision knocks some sense into him and he immediately retracts his teeth and stares at Eponine in horror. To his surprise, she does not seem angry or frightened or even ready to slay him – rather, she's staring at him with an odd, appraising expression he doesn't recognize.

He feels the blood – her blood – dripping down his chin. She slides out of the bed, and he notices that she's rather white and Enjolras wonders just how much blood he took from her. Then, feeling sick, he decides that he doesn't want to know.

Eponine is suddenly against him then, and he watches with confusion as she reaches out, tracing the contours of his face with fingertips that touch him as lightly as a summer breeze. Her eyes focus on his bloody mouth, and she swipes a finger across his bottom lip, collecting a sample of her blood. She stares into his eyes with a darkness that wasn't previously there – even during their surprisingly violent and hot sex – and she slowly brings her finger to her mouth.

When she opens her lips, he understands, and grabs her hand before she can taste her blood. He doesn't know whether she's trying to understand or turn him on again, but it makes him sick. What he did makes him sick.

Enjolras' hand is gripping her wrist tightly. "I could have killed you," he rasps, suddenly angry – with her, with himself, with his fucking existence, with this stupid hell he would forever walk in.

"I'm more resilient than I look," Eponine replies mildly.

He stands up, turning away from her and quickly dressing himself. He doesn't turn around as he says, "If I don't go right now, I might not be able to keep myself from killing you," he hears his self-loathing in his voice as he speaks, and wonders if she can hear it too. "I need to go get control over myself. I hope you're still here when I get back."

She is, and that surprises him, he is certain, more than anything else that has happened this entire night.

Eponine is pretending to be asleep when he returns – he can hear her pulse quicken when he walks in, despite the deep breathing she's feigning to try and trick him into thinking she's unconscious.

He climbs into bed with her, brushing his fingertips against the swollen wound he left on her neck. A feels her shiver against him, and, as much as he still hates himself for what he did to her, her reaction to him delights him.

"I know you're still awake."

Enjolras is expecting a cheeky reply on her part, perhaps even a kiss, but is surprised when she breaks down and begins sobbing into one of his pillows. He should have known that he could only distract her for so long before her world came crashing back down. Perhaps he shouldn't have left her here alone in order to gain control over himself again. He should have stayed and dealt with his urges himself, because she needed him.

Too late. And anyway, he's here now. He pulls Eponine to him, kissing the knobby mountain where her spine joins her neck and shoulders, and she rolls over, crying into his chest. He holds her until she really does fall asleep.

It's been a few weeks since their otherworldly sex, and Eponine has gone wild.

He has had to rescue her from more fights than he would like – she's taken to throwing herself blindly in while she's patrolling, relying on her anger and ferocity to carry her through rather than the technique and skill and planning that will keep her from being killed.

She's starting attacking more vampires at once than she can actually take, just for the rush being outnumbered gives her, and Enjolras has had to step in too many times. He has half a mind to go speak to Javert himself, though he doubts that would go over too well with anyone.

So it does not surprise him when, one night, Grantaire bursts into his room, shouting that Eponine had dropped herself into a nest inhabited by members of the Thénardier Coven.

Enjolras sighs exasperatedly, expecting this to be like one of her new-normal fights, but something in Grantaire's face suddenly frightens him, and minutes later he had arrived at the abandoned building.

Combeferre was inside, searching for Eponine with Bahorel and Courfeyrac. Joly and Bossuet had gone to find Musichetta for help, and Feuilly and Jehan were at another entrance to the building, trying to find a way in to help the slayer.

"She was fighting twelve vampires, the idiot," Combeferre murmurs, following voices – none of which were Eponine's.

A crash sounded downstairs, and moments later, Musichetta stormed in with the other Amis. She had broken down the back door.

Together, they silently crept to a room emitting loud music and the jeers and laughter and cries of his fellow, but oh-so-different, nightwalkers.

They attack. Enjolras isn't sure how long the fight lasts, but most of the Thénardier vampires flee. He desperately searches the room for her as his friends run through the house, looking for both Eponine and other victims.

Musichetta screams.

There is Eponine, lying motionless, crumpled in a corner violent, bloody gashes and punctures all over her body.

"You idiot, what the hell have you done?" he hisses at her, scooping her into his arms and holding her against him.

Enjolras hurriedly brings his wrist to his mouth, just as he did in this situation a few months back with Gavroche, and cuts himself, opening Eponine's mouth and allowing the blood to flow into her throat.

This is not the fate he wanted for her – she did not deserve to be so damned as he, not after everything she had done and everything she had been through. She did not deserve to become something she so hated.

But he would not lose her. He could not lose her. He was too in love with her. If – when – she woke, they could continue to slay, to hunt the Thénardier and Tholomyes Covens, the vampires around the world who were evil. They could still protect people.

But he couldn't go on existing without her. He couldn't let her go somewhere that he couldn't follow; in life, he would always be able to find her. Earth may have been Hell, but it was a place to walk among the living – the living humans and the living demons.

But he was damned; he would never be blessed enough to go where Azelma and Gavroche and – and where she went in death. They went somewhere beautiful, someplace that a cursed and damned creature of hell and darkness could never follow. And it was selfish, to try to deny her that peace, that weightless existence with her family; by doing this to her, by Changing her, he would deny that fate to her forever.

He was crying, he suddenly realized, tears of blood – it had been so many years since anything had prompted him to cry that he had forgotten that vampire tears were not the same liquid as human ones.

"Come on you idiot slayer, I need you to wake up!" he snaps at her limp body.

He isn't sure how long he sat there cradling her. He doesn't know who is there with him, except when he hears Musichetta whisper that she thinks it's too late. He just stares at her closed eyes until the night melds with early morning and the Amis – if they were even still there – depart before the sun rises.

Enjolras has almost given up hope, crying into her chest and hair, kissing her temple and running his hands over the scar he had left on her neck all those weeks ago.

"Please," he begs her.

But there is nothing. She is gone.

He sets her on the floor, knowing that he has to leave or be confined there with her corpse until the sun sets. So he strokes her bloodied head tenderly, kisses her forehead, and turns to go.

Gabriel….

He has just reached the doorway when he hears the faintest pump of a heart accompanied by what he imagined might be the name only she knows. He turns slowly, and sees her body shudder once. His own slow heartbeat picks up a little bit – not that it's anything compared to even a slow human heartbeat, but blood does pump through his body – and he rushes back to her side.

The wounds have already begun to heal a bit, and he can sense the change in her as the virus he carries takes hold in her.

Those brown and gold eyes flutter open suddenly, startling him a bit, and snap to his blue ones.

She grins weakly, showing off new, sharp incisors, and whispers his name again.

"Gabriel…."

Enjolras strokes her forehead, smiling at her as he gathers her slowly healing body in his arms. "Eponine," he whispers back, kissing her.

When he pulls away, she murmurs, "Thank you," against his lips.

"For what?" he asks, a little surprised.

She rolls her eyes at him in a way that is so human, and he's suddenly sure that Eponine beat the Change, that her newfound vampirism hasn't even changed her a little bit. "For finally taking the hint." She runs her tongue over her new teeth.

She wanted this, he realizes. She wanted him to Turn her. That's why she had gone on all these damn suicidal missions in the weeks since Gavroche's death, because she wanted him to Turn her. She could have allowed herself to die, could have even taken her own life, but she wanted to Change, wanted him to Turn her.

She wanted him. For eternity.

Enjolras smiles at her, and she returns it as she sits up to kiss him again.

Eternity, he can do.

And now, Eponine can too.

Fin.

Thanks everyone!

Until next time!