Hey guys! I'm back with chapter three. Don't worry, Gavroche is making an appearance as I did promise.

Thanks for the six new reviews! To Bookdancer, AnimeWolfAlienRaptor4, Hagios, FictionalCharacter, Emma, and Guest, thanks so much for the positive comments and constructive criticism!

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables. I only own OC's.

Enjolras was furious. Courfeyrac could feel the anger emanating from him as they ran up the barricade. Yes, he was angry, but there was also an undercurrent of something else. It seemed to be fear. But that was ridiculous, Courfeyrac thought. Enjolras wasn't afraid of anything, was he? But on this night, Enjolras had been afraid. Twice.

Once when Gavroche had wandered out into the enveloping fog, and now, when Grantaire followed. He couldn't bear to lose two friends in one night, not even at the barricade, where death was handed out freely. Not even if it was Grantaire, who he had always looked down on in distain. But Enjolras knew, even if he tried to push him away, Grantaire would always be his friend. And the death of a friend was the one thing that frightened him, right down to his very core.

And so he ran down the barricade, feeling horribly exposed on the wrong side of the constructed wall. Courfeyrac was hot on his heels even as the others trailed behind. Courfeyrac had been very close to Grantaire and Gavroche, Enjolras remembered. The three of them had been inseparable, but especially Grantaire and Gavroche.

Suddenly, Enjolras realized that Courfeyrac had frozen ten feet behind him, eyes wide open in horror. He slowed and then stopped cold as a scene out of his worst nightmares unfolded.

Grantaire was standing there, holding something in his hand – a small leather bag, it looked like. A strap was attached, too short for anyone but a child. It was Gavroche's, Enjolras realized. The boy's body was nowhere to be seen, but this thought disappeared as soon as it came.

For standing not fifty feet away from Grantaire's stoic form was twenty men. Enjolras knew what was about to happen. A voice in his head screamed at him to grab Grantaire and run, but his feet wouldn't move. The sight of those twenty men froze the blood in his veins, for each of them was carrying a rifle. Enjolras knew that the butt of each rifle was emblazoned with a symbol, a letter N and a letter G entwined together, ending in snake heads – the symbol of the National Guard.

"Grantaire!" Courfeyrac screamed.

As if from far away, Enjolras watched as twenty rifles, the same twenty rifles that killed Gavroche, fired upon their newfound victim.

Arsenault walked away into the fog, aiming for the approximate place where he had seen the boy fall. Gaspard's last comment was true; the boy had little chance of survival. But the least he could do was give the body a proper burial.

He could still hear his father-in-law's voice echoing in his ears. "This National Guard is not what you expect," he had warned. "They are not heroes. To be honest, they are a bunch of cowards who enjoy killing. Or they are from poor families and joined the Guard to have bread to eat and a soft bed." Arsenault hadn't believed him, but now he could see the truth.

Shooting a child, he thought, shaking his head. How in the world did the National Guard sink so low? Wrapped in his thoughts, he almost stepped on the very person he was trying to save. Luckily, he glanced down a moment before his black boot made contact. He quickly staggered backwards, almost falling over. The child was a mess.

The poor thing had been shot at least five times, but considering it could have been twenty, that wasn't so bad. The shots themselves were placed very fortunately. Arms, legs, but nothing vital, thank God. Even so, the boy could very well have bled to death by now. His face was pale and lifeless.

Even as he was upon the brink of death, or perhaps already there, Arsenault could tell that the boy was beautiful in the particular style only children could pull off. He would have grown into quite the looker, Arsenault thought with a gloomy half-smile.

He shook off the morbid thoughts and bent down to take the body away. But as he put his hands underneath the small form, a slight movement caught his eye. Had it been his imagination, or had that finger twitched?

It twitched again. Then the smallest of breaths escaped from his mouth, and Gavroche's eyelids fluttered open.

Grantaire didn't believe it; he didn't want to believe it. But there it was, lying on the ground.

A leather bag with a small strap attached.

Heat flooded his eyes, but he fiercely rubbed it away. That's what you get for hoping, you fool. More pain. Nothing but pain. He picked up the leather bag with shaking fingers.

This had been Gavroche's, there was no doubt about that. He had always carried around that little leather bag. Suddenly, a memory grabbed hold of him.

"Hey, 'Taire!" Gavroche loped easily to his side, a leather bag looped around his neck. Grantaire only noticed it now – Gavroche always wore that thing.

"What's in that bag you always carry 'round?" He asked as they walked aimlessly through the streets of Paris. "Just wondering." Gavroche didn't answer, and Grantaire saw the look on his face that meant he was reliving memories of his less-than-happy past. "Hey, if you don't want to, you don't have to tell me." Gavroche was still frowning. Grantaire sighed. "Whaddaya say to dinner at the café? On me." Gavroche brightened immediately.

"Sure, only you'd best be prepared with enough money. I plan to eat a lot." He grinned.

"Do you get enough food these days?"

"Well, not enough to satisfy, but enough to keep me and my two boys alive and kicking." He looked slightly guilty. "Ah…'Taire? Could you buy them dinner too? I mean, we've been living rough these past few days. Barely a mouthful between us, know what I mean?" He looked up hopefully. Grantaire groaned inwardly; it looked like he'd be the one without a mouthful tonight, but he couldn't say no to Gavroche.

"Sure, kiddo. 'Long as they don't eat too much; I'm not exactly sitting on a pile of francs right now." Gavroche laughed.

"I know, I know. Thanks, I owe you one."

Later that night, Gavroche invited his two little gamins into the café. The owner looked at them suspiciously. She dragged Grantaire over and hissed, "What in the Lord's name is going on, Grantaire? I'll not let a bunch of vagabonds eat in my café!"

"Madame, please give them a chance. They're starving, and I'll pay for everything, I promise."

"You can't pay for bad publicity! What will people think if gamins start feasting in my shop? They'll stop comin', that's what'll happen, and then I'll be the one starving!"

This was going to be harder than he thought. "If you're afraid of bad publicity, then couldn't you give them a private room to eat? I'll pay extra, of course." If I can.

"Well…" She hesitated, and Grantaire smoothly pressed two francs into her palm. She sighed. "Oh, alright. But just this once, because you're one of my best customers, got it? Don't go around telling people that this café accepts gamins and other filth." Grantaire smiled.

"Thank you, Madame."

Grantaire had spent his whole week's earnings on those three gamins – they ate like wild wolves – but it was worth it to make Gavroche happy. Not that he earned much every week, anyways.

"Hey, 'Taire?" He was walking the boys back to the elephant by the light of the crescent moon. "You asked about this thing I carry 'round, right?" Gavroche pointed at the leather bag.

"Yeah?" They arrived at the elephant. Grantaire helped the two little gamins up into the belly of the beast, hovering protectively as they clambered into the dark hole. He had grown fond of the two boys, just as he was fond of Gavroche.

"Well…Here, let's go over there." Grantaire followed Gavroche as they walked the shadow of a tall building. He sighed. "It's from my childhood, back before my parents gave me up. During the summer, there would always be shops set up outside, selling useless stuff like decorations and ornaments – just trying to get a bit of money, I guess." He shrugged. "Anyways, during this one summer, these really rich people came to the inn and stayed there a long, long time. We got paid off really well, too. So my parents took me and my sisters outside and told us that we could each get one little toy. We ran off and searched for the best toys. I eventually found a stall that sold stuffed toys. They had every kind you could dream up – dogs, cats, tigers, even dragons and unicorns. But it was the penguin that brought me there.

"It sounds pretty stupid, but the penguin was just so adorable. It looked like it always went to bed with a full stomach and a smile on its face. I wished that I could look like that, someday.

"It was clearly handmade, but it was still charming. It was pink, and had four friends. They were white, blue, brown, and a kind of fluffy fabric I've never seen before. Eponine and Azelma caught up soon enough, and they were openmouthed at the penguins too. So when Papa and Mother found us, we begged them for the penguins. We ended up getting the whole family at a discounted price – one for each of us. I got the pink one." He pulled something out of the leather bag and showed it to Grantaire.

It was the penguin toy. The chubby body and big round head were disproportioned, the flippers and feet were tiny, and yet – there was no other word for it – it was adorable. Grantaire could see immediately how a young Gavroche would fall in love with a simple toy so quickly.

"It really is charming. And you've kept it with you ever since?"

"It reminds me of a time when I had a family who wanted me. And I keep wishing that one day, I'll look happy and well-fed like he does." Gavroche smiled, serious for once.

"It's a he?" Grantaire was genuinely curious, as he'd only seen this side of Gavroche once in a blue moon.

"Yep. His name's Rêve-Mignon. Kind of strange, but there you go."

"It's unique." They stood there, staring at the toy for a while. Then Grantaire said,
"You know you'll always be family to me, right, 'Vroche?" Gavroche grinned.

"I know." He embraced Grantaire tightly. Then he slipped the penguin back into his bag, and Grantaire knew his moment of seriousness had passed.

"So where'd you get the bag?" Gavroche's grin turned mischievous.

"I stole it off a lovely old gentleman in the Luxembourg Gardens."

"Gavroche!" Grantaire reprimanded, grinning. He ruffled the boy's hair. "And I always thought kids could do no wrong!"

"I'm not a kid," Gavroche protested. "'Sides, it didn't look like he wanted it anyways. He left it on a bench and walked off. So I wouldn't call it stealing, strictly speaking."

"Yeah, right." Grantaire laughed. "Was there anything in the bag?"

"S'matter of fact, there was – a journal, and a very pretty one at that. It was covered with little blue flowers and all."

"D'you give it back?"

"I tried to. I left it on the same bench, and it was gone the next day. Either he picked it up or somebody else did." Gavroche smirked. Grantaire shook his head, feigning worry.

"Someday you're gonna go and get yourself arrested, and then I'd have to spend my whole life savings to bail you out. Then what would we do, penniless in the middle of Paris?" They both chuckled. Then they headed back to the elephant, where Grantaire helped Gavroche up and bid him good night. He walked away thinking about that penguin.

Grantaire realized he had been standing, frozen, while the memory ran its course. He could feel tears running down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. The penguin. Was it still inside the bag? But as he reached in, his fingers encountered nothing but the supple leather. Where was it?

He felt an irrational fear come over him as his eyes hunted the ground, looking for a hint of pink. Where is it? Where is it?! Then he saw it. A feeling of relief washed over him, as unexplainable as the terror.

It was hiding behind a scrap of black fabric, right by his foot – he had almost stepped on it. He bent down to pick it up.

He heard Courfeyrac scream his name.

When Gavroche fell, the sound of guns ringing in his ears, he had known he was going to die. The basket fell out of his numb fingers and crashed down on the ground next to him. Strange, he thought. It doesn't hurt. The only thing he could feel was numbness, slowly stealing through his body. And there was a wetness, spreading from his splayed limbs.

A vision of Grantaire appeared before him, tears coursing down his cheeks. Gavroche smiled weakly. I'm so sorry, Grantaire. I didn't mean for this to happen. Please stop crying. He tried to think of a way to comfort him. I don't feel any pain. I don't feel much of anything now. A small sigh escaped his numb lips. I didn't see them until the very end. I was being stupid and careless. Forgive me, please. Don't think this is your fault; it isn't. It's all mine. I'm sorry, 'Taire.

He thought of Eponine, dead at the barricade. He thought of the two little gamins he had taken in, hopefully sleeping by now. He thought of his leather bag, and his fingers closed involuntarily on the strap. He hoped they would bury him with it.

When he had joined the barricade, his mind had been full of thoughts of a heroic end. But this wasn't heroic at all. None of the deaths at the barricade had been heroic. They were all just schoolboys shot down for going too far with their radical ideas to change the future. He was just a gamin, foolhardy and reckless – and he was paying for it with his life. Now that it was at last time to leave it all, he found he didn't want to go.

Gavroche hadn't had enough of the world yet. He was just ten years old, and would have celebrated – as much as he could – his eleventh birthday in just six weeks. He was too young to die, but only realized it on the brink of death. There was no going back now.

Regretfully, he thought of his best friend, his protector, his brother – Grantaire. I didn't mean for this to happen. Then he had closed his eyes for what he believed to be the last time.

But now he was staring at a man standing over him, with no idea of what was going on. The man was wearing the unmistakable jacket of the National Guard, black pants, and black boots. Gavroche tried to wriggle away, but as soon as his muscles contracted, a bolt of agony shot through him that nearly made him faint again.

"It's alright, gamin. I'm here to help you." He had a strong yet melodious voice, not that different from Enjolras's. "Don't move, you'll only make things worse. I'm going to get you to a doctor."

Gavroche was confused – this man was clearly part of the National Guard, yet he claimed to want to help him? He must be lying, Gavroche decided. He was preparing himself to fight when the man picked him up.

Immediately, his wounds – wherever they were – protested, a wave of agony forcing a cry from his throat. He barely held back a second scream, not wanting to seem weak. Gavroche gritted his teeth and pounded on the man's leg.

He only managed to tear a bit of fabric away before the pain shot through him again. The fabric fell through his fingers as he screamed.

"Don't move, gamin! I'm not here to hurt you!" The man thought for a moment, then added, "I'm Arsenault."

A flood of understanding and relief washed over Gavroche at the sound of that name, and he stopped fighting. He let Arsenault carry him away, letting go and allowing himself to faint.

He saw it just before his eyes closed.

The leather bag had fallen from his body, lying open and empty on the ground.

I like writing flashbacks...

And so Grantaire is still in harm's way. I was going to write him out of that sticky spot in this chapter, but oh well. Next chapter, he'll be out of there, one way or another! As for Gavroche, you'll see later why that penguin was necessary…ish. I'm still not sure if he should live or not but I'm thinking about it. As always, please review and I'll see you next time!