So this was hell.

Hell was the sound of muskets and cannons, of the burning red of the French flag, the screams for help. Hell was a musket, pointed at Marius. Hell was the burning in her stomach, the river of blood gushing out, the blurry outline of people running past her.

Eponine leaned against the barricade, gasping for breath, her vision swimming before her. There was a loud rush of sound, a heavy heartbeat. Above her, there was the sound of the hail of bullets, the sharp twang of a musket. Underneath her, she felt a warm wetness seep around her. She heard a distant shouting, a man threatening to blow up the barricade. There was a burning sensation, a numbing pain, starting from her gut, licking at her heart like a slow fire. Her hands groped for the source of pain, causing her to cry out in agony. All her instincts told her to run back to the shadows, to mend in the dark. But as she tried to stand, she felt herself collapse. Although the air was hot and muggy, she began to shiver and quake, her eyes slowly blinking as her teeth chattered. She felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her, voices urgently calling orders.

She mumbled through the pain. The arms held her even tighter, as she felt someone gently pries her hands off her abdomen. Another distant voice sounded, but this time, closer to her. Marius? She tried to turn and see, but the pain curled against her like a dragon, pulling her back. The voice began to speak urgently in her ear.

'Eponine, oh God, what have you done?'

Marius.

Oh God, she had to give him the note. She owed Cosette and him that much. With her hands still shaking, she patted her pockets, her head raised in a valiant effort to look him in the eye. Finally, she found the folded sheet of paper, the note from Cosette. Her breathing grew ragged as she handed him the slip of paper that would take him away from her, away to Cosette. Marius took the note. His hands were covered in gunpowder and looked burned. From saving her. Eponine smiled as she lay her tired head down on his chest. Another stab of pain shot through her, causing her to breath in.

"'ponine, what..."

Still trying to keep her eyes, out, she struggled to speak.

"It's from...Cosette...I kept it from you...I'm sorry..."'

Another shot of pain.

A little fall of rain began to fall. Through the cloud of confusion, the young girl felt the sweat and grime run down her cheek, following the curve of her neck. Softly, she whispered a song her mother used to sing when it was raining, back in the days of the inn. Above her, she felt the vibrations of Marius softly singing along in his lovely tenor voice.

"Rain...will make... the flowers grow..."

And then everything went silent. Everything went black.

There had almost been no time. After Eponine was shot, Joly had come forward, and ordered for her to be removed from the battle field. Marius had carried her limp body through the streets of Paris, before arriving at a cafe with a backdoor unlocked. Hastily, he paid the owned 20 francs to keep her safe, and ran through the cobbled path back to the barricade. He rejoined his comrades, nodding towards Combeferre, who tossed him a musket. It was then that Enjolras told them that they were the last barricade standing.

"We're the last ones."

Those four words reflected on all the men's faces, faces of despair and hopelessness. Enjolras looked at his friends. They were all covered in sweat and grime, some had injuries, some were lying or leaning against something, their bullet wounds seeping with blood. It didn't help that Marius discovered that all the gunpowder was seeped with water, a result of the shower of rain. Spirits were running low, and not because Grantaire had been drinking again. Someone mentioned the dry ammunition on the bodies of the dead National Guards, and the possibility of retrieving what they could gather.

It was then that tragedy struck.

Gavroche had always idolized Enjolras and his men too much. Later on, whenever his name was mentioned, the members of Les Amis would always smile fondly as they remembered the grubby little blonde who had been such a brave soldier, and would often spend many nights around a fire telling tales of the times Gavroche had saved their lives.

But on that night, when ammunition was running out, and it seemed that all was lost, Gavroche took it on himself to get the gunpowder. Slipping between the men and through the barricade, he began pulling packets of the gunpowder strapped to the sides of the dead soldiers. Courfeyrac was the first to discover what he was doing.

"Gavroche! What are you doing? Get back!"

The young boy turned and grinned at student. He nodded that he was okay, and continued pillaging off the bodies. The guards shot a warning shot at him, hitting a smoking wooden door. By now, Combeferre was scrambling over the barricade, trying to pull the boy back.

"Gavroche, are you insane? Come back before you're hurt!"

But the boy wouldn't listen. Gavroche stood up straight, his hands heavy with gunpowder. Then, he shouted towards the soldiers.

"Viva France!"

The bullet hit him in the chest, and he fell. He lay there amongst the dead soldiers, just a small blonde, glassy-eyed boy.

"No!"

Combeferre ran forward and picked up the boy, his tears falling freely. The rest of the men, both behind the barricade and amongst the guards, were speechless. Enjolras knelt by Gavroche, the boy breathing in jagged, rushed breaths. But still, the little man gave a half hearted grin as his arms fell to the side, the gunpowder boxes slipping to the ground.

"I got the powder..."

Gavroche coughed, a deep hacking sound that caused him to cry out in pain and turn as white as a sheet. Enjolras took the pin on his jacket and placed it on the boy's dirty shirt before Joly pushed forward. The medical student took one look at the bullet hole and took a deep breath.

"We need to get him away as well. In fact, we need to tend to the wounded as soon as possible. Feuilly, see if you can find a proper doctor or at least someplace we can take the injured, I'll see what I can do now."

While the men tried to get the injured boy away, Courfeyrac was standing at the top of the barricade, yelling at the soldiers, his tears matching Combeferre.

"Has it come to this? Has it not been enough? You starve the people, you force women into prostitution, you make men watch their families starve. Now you shoot the children? Have you no shame? Are you not Frenchmen just like us?"

For a moment, Enjolras was afraid they would shoot his friend, and moved to pull him down. Grantaire had the same idea, and both men began pulling at the arms of their philosophical friend, but Courfeyrac stood firm. Then it happened.

From the back of the National Guard, someone spoke.

"You know, I have a boy back home, kinda looks like him. Got the same hair, you know?"

Another man spoke.

"I used to live on the streets like him. Gets you real hungry."

One by one, the soldiers began dropping their weapons, taking off their hats and removing their uniform. The general, after watching his army fall apart, put down his gun as well. He came forward, and stood in front of the barricade, without a weapon or any form of protection.

"From this day forth, the people stand with you. Viva France!"

This cry was echoed behind him.