Hi everyone. So this is my first Les Mis fanfiction and to be honest, I have no idea if there is a large audience for Les Mis fiction or anything like that- I am a fairly new fan and will be the first to admit that I am not an expert on all the details of the story. All of my Les Mis fan fictions will exist purely because I really enjoy writing them; they are just for fun. I'm posting them in the hope that maybe, some other people will enjoy reading them too. I love Les Mis a lot and will always try to keep the characters as realistic as possible and keep everything as close to accurate as possible, but as I mentioned earlier, if I mess something up slightly, I apologize.

Anyway, I do hope this does end up being read by someone. If you do happen to read it, I would love it if you'd leave me a review and let me know. I know this isn't within the realm of fandoms that I usually do, but I hope you guys like it anyway. And I predict that there will be more Les Mis to come in the future too. Thank you all so much and I hope you enjoy.

(Also, I'm reposting this from a different account that I had made for the sole purpose of posting stories of a different category, but I decided I'd rather have all my stories together so if you did happen to already see this story, yes, I am reposting it through my original account.)

And I'm going to try posting this one last time- I don't know what happened, it something got screwed up the last time and the text was absolutely unreadable, so sorry about that. Hopefully it works this time.

Just a quick note about this specific story: any changes here from the details of Gavroche's death are intentional, and for the purposes of this story, some minor details have been changed.

Gavroche is seconds away from his death, and he knows it.

He throws the bag of ammunition over the top of the barricade, not even looking to see where it lands. Someone will pick it up, he knows. It will be used. He has done his job.

He sees a cluster of hands extending over the side of the barricade, all reaching out towards him, and he hears urgent whispers coming from different mouths. They are telling him to hurry up, to come on, so they can pull him over. Gavroche focuses on one of the voices.

"Gavroche, take my hand," Courfeyrac hisses. His eyes are wild and Gavroche suddenly feels the weight of the situation. These are his last moments. He must make them count.

And as he takes in the sight of all of the hands, Gavroche's mind suddenly begins to flash, and he sees countless scenes playing out in front of his eyes, the whole story of his relationship with the people to whom the hands belong overlapping to fill only a few seconds. But they seem to consume all the time in the world, suspended above the barricade. Gavroche knows that these stories are important enough to be his last moments. They are the most important moments of his life.