This is my first fanfic of Les Miserables, so please be nice. I welcome all reviews! This story will be about Gavroche and Grantaire, but strictly in a non-romantic way. I mean, Gavroche is about ten years old. They'll be more like close brothers here. This is based off of the book (unabridged) and the movie. Enjoy and again, please review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or the characters in any way. If I did, I would be dead for a while now. I only own my OC's, which is basically just Jean-Pierre Gaspard.
Gavroche knew in his heart that when he joined the revolutionaries at the barricade, there was almost no chance of his surviving. And yet, he still went. Perhaps he was tired of being a gamin, tired of running around in the streets. Sure, it could be fun, but behind the mask of jovial cockiness was a lost boy without a loving family. And so, he chose to fight for the barricade. At least he could go down in flames and glory – better than getting gutted by Patron-Minette in the dead of night.
But now, watching Eponine die in Marius's arms, it didn't seem like such a good idea to him anymore. He felt sorry for his sister. Gavroche had seen the way she followed after Marius like a lost puppy. She was in love with him, but he was completely oblivious. And now Eponine was dying from a bullet that was meant to be for him.
Suddenly, Combeferre shouted out. "We haven't got enough ammunition!" Gavroche spotted the dead National Guardsmen through a tiny hole in the barricade, still sporting their mostly-full cartridges and powder kegs. Without a second thought, he climbed into the framework of the barricade and out the other side. He could tell that the fog was thick enough to hide his small form from the eyes – and the bullets – of the National Guard. He wasn't going to carelessly throw his life away.
Gavroche found a whole basket of cartridges right next to him. He could hear the Amis shouting his name and commanding him to go back, but he ignored them. He hummed a little tune under his breath as he continued harvesting the ammunition.
Jean-Pierre Gaspard of the National Guard was deeply shaken. Never before had he seen such a rebellion, such determined foes. One of them had even threatened to blow the damned thing! He shuddered. They were clearly out of their minds. However, the National Guard were just as determined as they, and would give them what they deserved – an impromptu firing squad, and good riddance!
Now both sides were resting, but keeping up a sharp lookout. Gaspard settled in, resigning himself to a cold, sleepless night in the dirt. He took a last, fleeting glance towards the barricade – and froze. A small, child-like form was moving around, picking up things and putting them in what seemed to be a basket. The fog that had concealed the figure was thinner here, closer to the resting army. Gaspard was delighted and confused – delighted at the chance to rid the blasted barricade of a fighter, but confused because it seemed to be no more than a child.
His fellow men were stirred, seeing the figure. The captain signaled sharply – they were to keep silent. Gaspard smiled cruelly, realizing the plan. They would give their victim no sign of attack – until the bullets ripped through his body.
All the Amis were clustered at the top of the barricade, shouting and crying out to Gavroche. Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Prouvaire, even Marius – they were all there, except for Grantaire. He came staggering drunkenly out of the café.
"Wass goin on?" he slurred. Then he caught sight of Gavroche, exposed for all to see. Immediately his drunken demeanor disappeared. Grantaire sprinted up the barricade and would have charged down had Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel not grabbed hold of him, forcing him to stay in place. Courfeyrac was silently crying, tears flowing down his face.
"GAVROCHE!" Grantaire bellowed, half sobbing. "GAVROCHE, COME BACK!" He broke down, weeping, as he continued to shout the little gamin's name.
"Why won't he listen?" Combeferre cried desperately. "He'll get himself killed!" At this, Grantaire's weeping intensified considerably.
Most of the Amis were either weeping or on the verge of tears. They kept calling to the little gamin they all loved, the little gamin who just wouldn't listen to their pleading cries. Up on top of the barricade, they could just barely trace Gavroche through the encroaching fog. He continued nearer and nearer to the National Guard, until he was right next to them. Grantaire was almost hysterical for the boy he considered as family.
Enjolras went rigid. At this opportunity, Grantaire managed to wriggle out of his grasp, but Prouvaire and Marius grabbed him. He could see…but no, it couldn't be. They wouldn't fire upon a mere child…would they? For just beyond Gavroche, a line of Guardsmen were slowly and carefully standing up, aiming their rifles at the boy.
The Amis' cries died away. Grantaire even stopped struggling. They all waited, fearing the worse, hoping for the best. If the Guardsmen fired, Gavroche would be lost. But perhaps, just perhaps, the gamin would move out of their line of sight…
Gavroche slowly drifted farther and farther away from the barricade, his friends' shouts reduced to so much white noise. He was thinking – thinking about his parents, thinking about Eponine, thinking about the two little gamins who should be sleeping in the elephant as of now. He felt a pang of worry; had they found their way back, had they remembered how to keep the rats out? Or were they lying somewhere on a street, freezing to death?
He thought of the Amis, crying out his name again and again. He thought of Grantaire, who had always loved him like a brother, who had treated him best. Grantaire would be wild with worry. "Don't worry, Grantaire," Gavroche whispered into the night. "I'll come back, you'll see, everything'll be fine."
He didn't realize when the fog started thinning, didn't realize when the muffled shapes of the National Guardsmen started appearing out of the darkness. He didn't realize when they started raising their guns to aim at him and his friends' cries stopped abruptly. His mind was fixed on a group of bodies a few feet away, sure to provide a great number of cartridges – and then he would go back. The basket was overflowing anyways.
Something, some sixth sense, caused him to turn towards the sleeping army, to see the line of Guardsmen all aiming for him. And then it was too late.
Gaspard held his breath, waiting for the moment to shoot. He grinned again, his cheek pressed into the butt of his rifle. The little gamin – for he could be seen quite clearly now – had no chance, absolutely no chance at all. Twenty men had him in their sights; twenty men were ready to see him fall. And they would.
The gamin turned slightly, caught sight of them. Gaspard could imagine his eyes widening. The captain raised his arm, gave the O.K.
The boy had no time to run, no time to take even one step.
Twenty guns fired simultaneously.
The Amis held their breath, not daring to hope. Gavroche suddenly turned towards the line of rifles.
Grantaire found himself praying, something he hadn't done for longer than he could remember. If wasn't a proper prayer, just a mindless wishing. Dear God above, let this gamin live, Dear God above, let him live, let Gavroche live, let the boy live, let him live, let him live let him live…
The sound of guns firing echoed in Grantaire's ears as he saw Gavroche jerk and collapse. And then he was falling, falling, into an endless tunnel of anguish and nothing mattered except that Gavroche was dead, Gavroche was dead, Gavroche was dead!
His friends' faces swam above him, and then they disappeared entirely into the unrelenting black grief.
What did you think? Please review! I'm not sure where I got the name Jean-Pierre Gaspard from, I think it's got something to do with a Jean-Luc Gaspard but I don't remember who he is. :) I've got a second chapter ready, will update when it's all edited up!