If he had been given the chance, he would have died in the June Uprising, not sixteen years later.

He had been eleven then, and only nine when the July Rebellion had occurred.

He was fearless to the point of cockiness, but selfless to the point of fearless. But he always remebered.

"'Ey! I was in the rebellion of '30! Y'ain't got a right t' throw me out!"

Courfeyrac didn't listen to the boy's complaints. He took Gavroche by the collar and slipped away, into the night. Gavroche returned, only to find fighting. Courfeyrac spotted him just before his death. The man died screaming to Gavroche to run away, and that wasn't something Gavroche could deny.

He returned the next day to find the bodies. Every. Single. Body. The eight men that had almost seemed like a second family for Gavroche were dead. He didn't see the newest one, but he wasn't entirely sure what he had looked like.

Gavroche looked at them, piled in a very undignified manner, and felt himself shake with anger. Looking back over his shoulder through unshed tears, he said, "I swear, I'll make sure their work's continued."

Before he left, he picked up the red flag that was still in Enjolras' hand.

He did make sure their work was continued.

By the time he was twenty-seven he was the leader. He gave speeches, rallied, and did everything that Les Amis de l'Abaissé had done. He formed his own band of freedom fighters.

And when the time, came, they rebelled.

Except this time, the people came. They came in their tens of thousands, and they stormed. Gavroche led them down the street to the French army.

"French Revolution!" he cried, "vivent les peuples!"

The people followed his lead, racing down the street. Furniture piled, and a barricade so high that it went to the rooftops was built.

Gavroche picked up the old, bloody red flag. Raising it high, he shouted, "vive la France ! Vive la République !"

And he almost thought he heard them, the voices he had not heard for nearly sixteen years.

Do you hear the people sing?
Lost in the valley of the night.
It is the music of a people who are climbing towards the light.
For the wretched of the earth,
There is a flame that never dies.
Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise!

Gavroche died holding the flag, shielding another with his body. But the revolution succeeded, and he knew that Les Amis would have been proud.