Archive of Our Own ^beta

[The camera is hastily turned on, and a smiling young man plops down in front of it. He has curly dark hair and an abundance of freckles upon his face. His age is approximately sixteen to seventeen years old. He adjusts the camera slightly, before beaming even brighter.]

Hey all!

[He glances over his shoulder briefly, before turning back to the camera.]

So, I’m Renaud Courfeyrac. Call me Ren. Or, I mean, you can call me Courfeyrac too if you want. Uh, anyway. This here is the lovely barricade that my friends and I are manning. Well, technically this is the café. The barricade is outside. Lemme show you.

[Courfeyrac grabs the camera with one hand, and through the shaky video you can see him walking outside.]

[Muffled talking is heard, and then the camera is set down, presumably on a barrel or suchlike. Now there is another young man in the frame, squinting suspiciously at Courfeyrac. This young man is wearing a forest green sweatshirt and plain blue jeans, and his auburn hair is a mess.]

Ren, what is this?

Aw, Jehan, lighten up. I’m just recording this for posterity! History in the making! C’mon, you know this’ll sell for top dollar when this little insurrection of ours is studied in every schoolroom.

[Jehan nods, seeming convinced, and gives the camera a slight smile.]

Hello posterity.

[Courfeyrac laughs and picks up the camera again.]

Oh Jehan, always funny [he can be heard saying as he walks towards a large pile of wood.]

[He puts the camera down again, and spreads his arms wide as he beams proudly.]

This is the barricade! It doesn’t look like much, but this dump right here is the heart of the revolution!

[From off-screen, another voice can be heard, asking What’re you doing, Courf? Courfeyrac looks over, rolling his eyes slightly.]

Hey.

[This young man looks significantly more serious than either of the others we’ve met so far, but it doesn’t look bad on him. If one were so inclined, one could compare this youth to that of Apollo.]

Courfeyrac, what’s that?

A camera, Enjolras. I thought you had eyes.

Don’t take that tone with me.

Y’know, you’re not my dad.

[The two young men are facing each other now, Courfeyrac with his hands defiantly on his hips, Enjolras with his arms crossed. There seems to be a staring contest of sorts, before Enjolras throws his hands in the air with a huff.]

Fine, fine. Video all you want. But the revolution is no place for anyone who’s not committed.

[Again, Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, though most of his true annoyance seems to be gone now.]

Right. Don’t fight for a cause you don’t believe in and whatnot. Don’t worry, Enj, I believe in this cause. I’m just… recording history. This is history.

[That seems to coax a little smile out of Enjolras, and he reaches out to pat Courfeyrac on the shoulder.]

Right you are.

[There’s a shout off-screen and Enjolras looks over, visibly deflating as he does so.]

Looks like Grantaire found the wine. I guess I’d better go deal with that.

[Enjolras runs off and Courfeyrac grins back into the camera, picking it up again.]

And that’s Enj for ya. He’s one of my best friends, don’t worry. I just like giving him a hard time.

[He walks back into the café, sitting heavily down on a chair.]

Now, we wait.

[The feed cuts off.]                                                             

[It returns with a flash of noise.]

Hold his arms!

Watch the stick, watch the stick!

C’mon Bahorel!

[A man in civilian clothing is wrestled into the café by young men, Courfeyrac standing on the outskirts of them, presumably holding the camera. They tie the man to a post, double-checking the knots, and step back. Enjolras smirks, leaning closer to the man’s face.]

The people will decide your fate, Inspector Javert .

[Javert’s face contorts with rage and he booms out] Death to each and every traitor!

[Courfeyrac gives a laugh and turns the camera up to his face.]

He calls us the traitors, hmm?

[Enjolras pivots on his heel and walks out the door, gesturing for the other young men to do the same. Courfeyrac sets the camera down on a chair, and with one last pitying glance at Javert, he walks out of the room.]

[Behind him, a young boy of about eleven, with messy brown hair and impossibly dirty hands, scampers up, making faces into the camera.]

My name’s Gavroche and Courf is an idioooooot [he sing-songs, before laughing again and turning off the camera.]

[The screen flickers to life, and Courfeyrac’s concerned expression is the first thing that can be seen.]

The Guard is here, so I’d better go. Lemme just…

[He walks over and places the camera in a window, where it overlooks the barricades and the figures running back and forth on it.]

[Courfeyrac can’t be seen, but his voice is clearly heard.]

First combat. [muttered] Hope I know how to work a proper gun.

[He can be seen running past the window and over to Enjolras, who hands him a rifle and pats him firmly on the back.]

--and Godspeed [is the only bit of conversation that the camera picks up. Courfeyrac nods quickly and scales the barricade, perching on top with the agility of a monkey.]

[In the not-so-distant distance, the unmistakable sound of marching feet can be heard. Glances are passed between those on the barricade and behind, and guns are readied.]

[One clear shout can be heard.]

Who’s there?

[A moment of silence on the barricade, as no one knows how to respond. Finally, Enjolras speaks up.]

French Revolution!

[There must have been a command to fire, as the sounds of gunshots are clearly heard. The shots are answered by a volley from the barricade.]

[The shots continue for about a minute or so, before the tip of a National Guard soldier’s hat can be glimpsed above the barricade. Then the Guard swarms, slashing with their swords, shooting with smaller pistols. A fair few of them fall, alongside the revolutionaries. Gavroche fires a pistol up into a soldier’s face, laughing all the way, but the laughter quickly stops when it becomes apparent that the gun misfired. Across the barricade, Courfeyrac is valiantly straining to push away a leering Guard soldier with some sort of sharp weapon, but it’s clear that it is growing increasingly more difficult.]

[Two gunshots ring out, and the soldiers threatening both Gavroche and Courfeyrac fall, dead. The latter glances over to a space next to the alley, and he grins when a new arrival runs out, brown hair in a tizzy, anger in his eyes.]

[Marius has entered the barricade.]

Marius! You came! [someone shouts, probably Gavroche, judging from the accent.]

[Marius bounds up the barricade, seemingly looking for something in particular. He doesn’t seem to notice the soldier pointing a gun at him, but everyone else does.]

Marius, watch out! [Courfeyrac shouts, eyes wide.]

Pontmercy, get your rich-boy butt down here right now! [Enjolras commands, voice like stone.]

No!

[This last exclamation is uttered by an unknown figure, who grabs the barrel of the soldier’s gun, turning it toward themselves right as the trigger is pulled. The unknown revolutionary slumps to the ground, though they do not seem to be dead yet.]

[Marius evidently did not notice this, as he straightens up, grabs a torch, and lowers it towards the barrel he holds in his left hand.]

Clear out or I blow the barricade!

[The Guard officer in front of him scoffs, clearly doubting that Marius would be able to follow through.]

You’ll blow yourself up with it.

[Marius’ voice is dead as he nods and says] Myself with it. [He’s accepted his fate.]

[The officer’s eyes widen, and he seems to battle internally with himself before shouting] Back! Fall back!

[All of the Guard soldiers retreat, falling over each other in their attempts to leave as quickly as possible. On the barricade, Marius is still standing, torch still in hand. One of the yet-unidentified boys walks over and gently pulls the barrel of gunpowder out of Marius’ grasp, whispering to him as he goes.]

[Courfeyrac gazes sadly at the expression in Marius’ eyes, before jumping down from the barricade and crouching next to the revolutionary who jumped in front of the bullet meant for Marius.]

[He looks up frantically, eyes wide.]

Joly! Combeferre! She’s hurt!

[Two young men run over, one, the one from next to Marius, and another, a tall, skinny boy with light brown hair. They crouch down next to Courfeyrac, pushing the shorter out of the way as they begin to work.]

[Courfeyrac wipes his eyes and begins to approach the café, where the bodies of the dead are being dragged and the injured are being treated. He sits down heavily on the windowsill, picking up the camera as he does so.]

Well…

[He sighs, wiping at his eyes again.]

This is war. It’s not easy. It’s never going to be easy.

[He looks out the window, to where Marius is now crouched beside the girl who sacrificed herself for him.]

That was Eponine. I knew her only dimly, from a few ABC meetings and chance encounters in the street.

[Now he pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. A few dim sounds of talking filter in from the outside, offset by a few groans from the wounded lying inside.]

I’m definitely no Joly… but that was a fatal wound. Even I could tell.

[He breaks off into loud, racking sobs, and then buries his head in his hands. The camera captures all.]

The first to die was a fifteen-year-old girl who could have stayed safe at home, far away from here. What does that say for the rest of our fates?

[There is rustling outside, and the door opens. Marius is standing there, Eponine limp in his arms. Behind him trails Gavroche, the boy’s eyes wide and glistening. Marius lays Eponine down, pressing one last chaste kiss to her forehead, before sweeping back out the door. Gavroche still stands there, and Courfeyrac looks up at him.]

What’s wrong, kiddo?

[Gavroche wipes away a single tear trickling down his cheek, one of the few tears he’s permitted to escape in several years. You can’t be a sissy if you’re living on the streets.]

She… that was my sister.

[Courfeyrac’s mouth opens in a little ‘o,’ and he nods with understanding.]

Your sister, huh? I had a sister once…

[Now Gavroche looks interested, or maybe more like he’s trying to hide the sadness still in his eyes. Courfeyrac glances up at the ceiling, like he’s turning his eyes to heaven, and sighs before returning his attention to the boy in front of him.]

Yeah. Vivian. I’d brush her hair when she was sad; she’d sing me songs when I was having a bad day. She died last year. Drunk driver hit her when she was walking home from a choir concert. I told her, in the hospital, that I’d take her to an ABC meeting if she would just wake up. She… she didn’t wake up.

[Courfeyrac glances away, trying to keep his courage.]

She passed away the next day. But the last thing she told me, before the concert, was ‘Change the world, will ya?’ And that’s what we’re doing here, right? I believe ‘Ponine would want you to change the world too. And I know you can.

[Gavroche wipes at his eyes again and sighs, leaning up against the older boy’s shoulder.]

Eponine wanted to live by the beach.

[Courfeyrac nods, putting one arm around Gavroche and pulling the little boy closer.]

Vivian wanted to go live in America. Maybe I’ll have to go do that for her, once we leave here. I’ll take you to the beach and you can come visit me in America whenever you want.

[The boy nods slowly, burying his head in Courfeyrac’s vest and mumbling] Sounds cool. Thanks Courf.

Anything for my favorite little revolutionary.

[Gavroche nods one more time, before standing up and blowing his nose forcefully into his sleeve.]

Thanks again.

[With that, he ducks out the door, clambering on top of the barricade and sitting next to the middle-aged man up there, already sounding like he’s talking his ear off.]

[A flood of young men come inside, and Courfeyrac jolts out of his thoughts when Enjolras is frowning down at him.]

Courfeyrac, this is no time to be idle!

Sorry Enj. I was just thinking.

You’re always thinking. [Combeferre butts in, a slight smile on his face.] Maybe you should leave that to me instead.

[Courfeyrac laughs, scratching absentmindedly at his chin.]

Right you are, Monsieur Philosopher.

[Enjolras gives a heavy sigh, glaring pointedly at the two curly-haired boys.]

If you two would stop, we could call roll and actually do something productive.

[Courfeyrac gives a mocking salute, secretly sharing a grin with Combeferre.]

Yessir!

Oh my god, Courfeyrac, will you shut up?

Yessir! Anything you say sir! [He still says this teasingly.]

[Again, Enjolras frowns, and then the camera is on the ground, upside down but still filming.]

Whoa, whoa, whoa, Enj, chill, I was just trying to lighten the mood! [Courfeyrac shouts, a laugh in his voice.]

[There are sounds of a slight scuffle, and from what little you can see on the camera, mostly shoes and the cuffs of pants, Enjolras is definitely winning.]

[Enjolras is standing with his hands on his hips, and Courfeyrac is seated on the floor, presumably where Enjolras shoved him.]

Alright, I get it! Now help me up, you tall, pretentious idiot.

[Enjolras frowns even more heavily, and there is acid in his voice.]

There is no joking on the barricade. This is war. This is fighting. This is the revolution. This is—

This is history, yes, you say it all the time. And I told you, I get it. Just help me up, arsehole.

[The taller of the two grudgingly reaches a hand down, and Courfeyrac takes it gratefully.]

Knew you liked me somewhere deep in that black heart.

Shut up Courf, I can shove you back to the floor if I want.

I know you can.

[An exasperated sigh escapes Enjolras’ lips, not unlike a sigh you would give to a rascally but loveable younger brother. He turns back to the assembled young men, running a hand through his hair, and Courfeyrac picks up the camera from the floor.]

Lesglas?

Here!

Pontmercy!

Sadly, here.

Shut up. Next… Prouvaire?

[There’s a silence, filled with worried glances passing from one boy to the next. Out of the screen, Courfeyrac can be heard to gasp. Enjolras tries again, voice dripping with concern, concern that Jehan’s not just hiding in a corner writing poetry, concern that he’s legitimately not here.]

…Jehan?

[No response. Enjolras glances at where Courfeyrac’s eyes must be, right above the camera, and he sighs.]

Joly, check the wounded and dead. Bahorel, make a white flag… just in case.

[Those two young men disperse, while Courfeyrac sinks down in a chair.]

Oh my God [He mutters] If he’s captured, then… then what?

[It’s clear he knows the answer; he just doesn’t want to speak it aloud.]

[Joly returns from the search, shaking his head.]

He’s not here.

[Solemn nods echo from among the assembled, and Combeferre clears his throat.]

So… we’ll go get him back. A trade. This spy here [He gestures to Javert, still tied up at the pole and glaring] for our Jehan.

Our Jehan… [Courfeyrac echoes.]

[For a minute more, the café is a flurry of movement. Bahorel comes in with a white shirt tied to a pole. Enjolras barks orders, all the while scowling at Javert.]

Silence everyone! [he finally shouts.] Courfeyrac, Lesglas, and Joly, you three take the white flag out and offer a trade.

[The three of them nod, Joly grabbing the flag from Bahorel’s hand. Courfeyrac shoves the camera in his jeans pocket, but the lens is still uncovered. Together, the three young men walk out of the café and past the barricade, out into the unprotected street.]

[A shot whizzes by Courfeyrac’s ear, and he laughs, albeit slightly nervously.]

Can they not see our flag?

[Joly shrugs and lifts the flag higher. Just as the three of them reach the sidewalk, a shout can be heard from behind the National Guard reinforcement.]

Long live France! Long live the future! We are the future!

[Then a gunshot.]

[Lesglas and Joly look at each other, the former finally speaking up after a moment of pause.]

That was Prouvaire. Uh… maybe we should just go back.

[Courfeyrac scoffs at the taller young man, striding forward and only stopping once, presumably to look back at Joly and Lesglas.]

People have survived gunshot wounds. I’m not giving up on Jehan.

[He walks forward determinedly, towards the enemy’s reinforcement. Though they cannot be seen, it can be supposed from the sounds of running feet that Lesglas and Joly retreated back to the barricade.]

Who’s there? [a heavy voice booms out as Courfeyrac reaches the outer limits of the Guard encampment.]

My name is Renaud! I’m here to carry the body of your prisoner back to our barricade!

[There’s a scoff from in front of him.]

What do you want with a dead boy anyway?

[Courfeyrac raises his chin defiantly.]

It is our right to bury any of our fallen comrades with any honor we see fit. Jehan was a valiant young man, and I am here to carry him back.

[There’s a moment of silence from the soldiers, until finally a private comes out with Jehan in his arms and dumps him unceremoniously at Courfeyrac’s feet.]

Here’s your valiant boy, traitor.

[Courfeyrac gives a bow to the soldier, before kneeling down and carefully picking Jehan up. It seems to be difficult, as Jehan is just barely smaller than Courfeyrac, but he manages it. With another bow, Courfeyrac walks off, back down the street towards the barricade. When he reaches the barricade, he shoves past Enjolras, who seems to be trying to scold him, and heads directly into the café. He gently places Jehan down on the wooden floor, and sits down next to him.]

[Jehan’s eyes minutely flicker open, and he squints up at Courfeyrac.]

Ren? That you?

[Courfeyrac nods frantically and places one hand on Jehan’s chest.]

Yup, it’s me. How are you feeling, buddy?

Not that well… hey, may I borrow your camera?

[Courfeyrac pulls the camera out of his pocket and hands it to his friend, who turns the lens to his face and gives a week smile.]

Hi posterity. I’m Jean Prouvaire, the son of Antoine and Nadine Prouvaire. [He coughs, wiping cold sweat away from his forehead.]

Relax, Jehan. It’s okay. [Courfeyrac says softly from off-screen.]

That’s my friend, Renaud. [Jehan turns the camera to Courfeyrac, who has tears in his eyes, and then back to himself.] He’s the most amazing friend a person could have.

Aw, thanks bud.

No… no problem. [Jehan coughs again, and the camera shakes as the arm holding it gets weaker.] My name is Jean Prouvaire, I’m seventeen years old, and I’m going to die.

No, no, Jehan, don’t say that. It doesn’t look too bad, really. You will live. [Courfeyrac’s voice is frantic.]

Ren, don’t lie to me. I-I know it’s bad. But it’s f-fine. I’ll see you on the other side.

[He slowly lowers his arm onto his chest, the camera facing the ceiling, and gently squeezes Courfeyrac’s hand.]

It’s okay, my friend. I can feel the daises growing over me.

[Courfeyrac’s eyes widen as Jehan lets out one last breath.]

Jehan, Jehan, no. No. You can’t just quote Keats’ last words and then die on me, you stupid poet.

[He starts crying as he sees that Jehan truly is dead, and the tears drip down onto the camera lens, making the image blurry.]

No! You’re one of my best friends! You can’t leave me like this, Jehan. Do you see what you’ve done to me?

[Courfeyrac buries his head in Jehan’s green sweatshirt and sobs, curly hair bouncing. Finally, after many minutes, he composes himself. Wipes the tears from his eyes, cleans the camera on his shirt, and gently reaches over, closing Jehan’s blue eyes for the last time.]

Goodbye Jehan. I’ll… see you later.

[The door creaks open and Grantaire storms in, slamming the door back behind him and pounding up the stairs. Then Enjolras opens the door, sighing heavily and looking at Courfeyrac down on the floor.]

He’s gone?

[Courfeyrac gives a wordless nod, and Enjolras sighs again, walking over to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.]

Hey… it’s okay. We’ll remember him. We and that camera of yours will remember him, and one day the whole world will know his name, will know the sacrifice he made, will revere him.

I hope so…

Well, I know so. Now c’mon. Let’s rest so we have our strength for tomorrow morning.

[Again, Courfeyrac nods, and the two boys walk out together. Courfeyrac shoves the camera in his pocket and turns it off.]

--I’ve got a damned German test on Friday, and I haven’t even studied. [Bahorel is saying. This gets a laugh out of several of the others. Courfeyrac is sitting up on top of the barricade, pointing the camera down at the young men passing a bottle of wine around. Next to him, Gavroche sits, swinging his legs back and forth. The night is dark, but the stars and moon are visible, casting a strange glow upon the street.]

D’ya think we’ll survive this? [Gavroche asks abruptly, turning to face Courfeyrac. The older boy shrugs, flipping over on his back and staring up at the stars in the sky.]

Maybe. Jehan didn’t. Your sister didn’t. Others didn’t. But maybe we’ll have a chance.

[Gavroche nods, and the two of them slip back into silence again.]

[After many minutes, the fire below begins to die out. Gavroche looks over at Courfeyrac, and, realizing he’s asleep, gently takes the camera out of his hands, peering into the lens.]

Hey. [He says softly, running one hand through his messy hair.] I really hope we’ve got a chance.

[He returns the camera back to resting on Courfeyrac’s chest. A face pops into view not too long afterwards, the face of Enjolras. He opens his mouth, probably to scold Courfeyrac, but closes it just as quickly and sits down next to the sleeping boy.]

I’ll take the watch from here. [He mutters, checking to make sure he has his pistol.] Sleep well, Courfeyrac. This is history.

[With that, he reaches out and turns off the camera.]

[The first thing we see is Courfeyrac’s yawning face.]

Good morning. [He says sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. Sometime during the night, Gavroche slipped away, off the barricade, but Enjolras is still there. The red-headed young man looks over, rolling his eyes in fake annoyance.]

Good morning sleepyhead. Some watchman you are.

[Courfeyrac shrugs, sitting up and scooting down the side of the barricade, calling back] I’m an amazing watchman, what are you talking about?

[Courfeyrac strides into the café, patting Combeferre, who is sitting at the table and reading a book, on the head and walking over to a small cupboard set into the wall.]

Breakfast time, my friend. And since you are one of my greatest friends, I shall let you in on a little secret. I have food!

[He accompanies this with jazz hands, making Combeferre laugh.]

Excellent.

Excellent indeed! Now, what would you like? Stale pastries or stale pastries?

Wow, Monsieur Courfeyrac, I am impressed with your variety of options. Hmm… this is a difficult decision. I suppose I’ll have to go with… ah… stale pastries.

[Courfeyrac laughs too, and tosses his friend a box of Danishes.]

Pick two or something.

[Combeferre does so, before returning the box to Courfeyrac, who grabs two as well. Courfeyrac raises one in a mock-toast.]

To the revolution!

[A nod from Combeferre, and he raises one half-eaten jelly Danish.]

To the revolution.

[They chew in relative silence.]

Everyone, outside! You need to hear this! [Enjolras shouts. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both shove the last bites of pastries in their mouths and head out the door. Enjolras is standing atop the barricade, hands on his hips and a peculiar sad expression on his face.]

Citizens! This is the endgame!

[There are a few whispers, but most do not seem to comprehend. Enjolras sighs, passing one hand over his face.]

The people of Paris have not stirred. There will be no reinforcements. Anyone who stays here will die. Yes, history will remember us and one day the people will prevail. But now, the whole Paris army is out and within an hour they will be upon us. And we will not survive.

[Whispers spread among the crowd, and Courfeyrac shoots a nervous glance at Joly, who returns it.]

So… [Enjolras continues] Why should we waste more lives than necessary, for a lost cause such as this? Anyone who wishes to leave may do so, no judgments at all. I’ll give you a few minutes. If you wish to leave, come here, shake our hands, and go out to build a better world.

[He steps down from the barricade, and Courfeyrac runs over to join him. Enjolras appraises him for a few seconds, eyes slightly squinted.]

Are you sure you want to be here, Courf? Remember your family.

[Courfeyrac gives a sad smile.]

You here, Les Amis, you are my family too. And I will not abandon you.

[Enjolras shoves his hands deep into his pant pockets, staring down at the ground.]

You’re absolutely sure you want to be here? Quite sure?

Yes.

[Enjolras smiles and pats Courfeyrac on the back.]

I knew I could count on you.

[Several citizens come over, shake Enjolras’ hand, embrace Courfeyrac, and then leave.]

[Once everyone who wants to leave has left, Enjolras looks around at those remaining, and then looks up the street at the Guard reinforcement. His eyes widen, and he turns, frantically scanning over those who are still there.]

Cannons. They’re pulling out cannons.

[Joly looks like he’s about to faint, but Bahorel puts one arm around his waist to keep him standing. Marius peers over the barricade, nodding to confirm the truth of Enjolras’ statement.]

Everybody get—

[Enjolras’ shout is cut off by a blast slamming into the barricade, throwing shrapnel into the air. Most of the revolutionaries are hit by at least a few shards, and almost no one hasn’t at least one bleeding cut.]

[The Guard begins to advance, and fear is evident in most of the revolutionaries’ eyes. Courfeyrac pulls out his pistol, fighting side by side next to Combeferre. A man who no one has seen before is holding a mattress over the gap between the barricade and the building, as swords are stabbed into it all around him, but never touching him. Marius stands atop the barricade, firing indiscriminately down at each of the Guard soldiers.]

[Finally] They’re falling back, they’re falling back! [Courfeyrac shouts joyfully, before coughing into the crook of his arm.]

[Enjolras pats him on the back, before running over to the man at the barricade.]

Monsieur, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but thank you for being here. But you know we are all going to die.

[The man nods, his eyes full of pity.]

I know, young man. And thank you to you as well, for starting this uprising.

[Enjolras gives a smile, before running back and surveying which of his friends are left. Courfeyrac is coughing furiously, but seems to be generally alright. Joly is holding one of his ears as blood drips from it. Lesglas has a bloody gash across his chest, one that would surely get infected if he would be alive long enough for that. The others are in various stages of disrepair, but they’re not dead. Not yet. Enjolras smiles at each of them, before clearing his throat and commanding the attention of all at the barricade.]

This is a grim moment in our history, but our sacrifice is going to help build a better world. This barricade is made of more than just cobblestones and wooden chairs. It is made of hopes, of dreams, of love of our fellow men. We fight for the wretched of the Earth! And if we go to our deaths, we go to our deaths with joy!

[That is met with cheers, and more than one shout of] Long live the Republic!

[Enjolras pulls Marius aside, eyes full of concern.]

We’re low on ammunition. A few more minutes of this and we’ll be all out.

[Unbeknownst to them, Gavroche is lurking nearby, eavesdropping.]

[Marius nods slowly, glancing over Enjolras’ shoulder at the café and the young men running in and out of it.]

I’ll check through the dead bodies. See if there’s anything there.

[Enjolras curtly nods back, looking behind himself as well.]

Do that. And tell Courf to stop filming us.

I heard that! [Courfeyrac shouts from his seat on a barrel outside the café.] And never! We will be remembered by this video I make!

[Marius laughs at that, while Enjolras just rolls his eyes, and the former walks off to search through the dead bodies.]

[The camera clicks off.]

[It clicks back on.]

Gavroche!

Gavroche, get down from there!

[A flurry of shouts are sent after the little boy, who just laughs and sings as he skips around the fallen bodies between the Guard fortification and the barricade, stopping every now and again to pick up bullets that can be re-used.]

On est laid à Nanterre, c'est la faute à Voltaire. Et bête à Palaiseau, c'est la faute à Rousseau. Je ne suis pas notaire, c'est la faute à Voltaire. Je suis petit oiseau, c'est la faute à Rousseau! [The boy sings.]

[A gunshot fires, though it only hits an already-dead corpse.]

Hah. So you’re killing my dead for me, now are you? [Gavroche taunts, sticking his tongue out at the Guard soldier who shot.]

Gavroche, get back here. [Courfeyrac hisses from between tight teeth.]

[The boy looks back, giving a cheeky grin. Only seconds later, another shot hits him right in the chest, knocking him to the ground.]

Good shot… [He murmurs, hands flying up to his chest.]

[Courfeyrac gasps, already trying to climb over the barricade.]

You dirty bastard! [He shouts, tears already dripping from his eyes. It takes both Combeferre and Bahorel to pull him back down. The former wraps his arms around the shorter boy as he sobs, while the latter just looks on uncomfortably.]

Shh… shh… Courf, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright. [Combeferre soothes softly.]

[Marius exits the barricade, dodging a few bullets himself, and carries Gavroche back behind the barricade. Courfeyrac shoves his way out of Combeferre’s arms, kneeling next to Gavroche.]

Hey buddy… [He says softly, smiling down at the little boy.]

[Gavroche smiles back, though it pains him to do so, and reaches out for both Marius and Courfeyrac’s hands.]

If I get better will you take me to America? [He queries softly, squinting up at Courfeyrac.] And then the beach?

[Courfeyrac nods, swallowing down a sob.]

Of course, Gavroche.

[The boy smiles again, his eyes slipping shut.]

Hey… Marius. [He finally says after a pause.] It was good sport, wasn’t it?

[Marius nods, running one hand through the boy’s tangled hair.]

The best.

[Gavroche blinks one more time, before his eyes shut and that great little soul has taken flight. When he sees that, Courfeyrac presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, before reaching down and tousling Gavroche’s hair one last time.]

I’m gonna take you to America, okay? [He whispers, smiling sadly down.] When I see you next. We’re going to go to America and the beach. We can eat those swirly carnival lollipops. We can do whatever we want, go wherever we want, and no one will ever stop us. Just hang on a bit, and I’ll be there. Say hi to Jehan for me.

[The man who held the mattress bends down and picks up Gavroche’s body. He begins to carry it into the café, with Courfeyrac trailing behind him like a phantom. Gavroche is gently placed down on the floor, next to Eponine, and the man takes a few steps back.]

Excuse me, monsieur. [Courfeyrac says softly, walking over and pulling a ragged blanket over Gavroche, tucking it in around the edges. The man just watches, his dark eyes sad, until Courfeyrac sighs and straightens back up.]

Is he someone particularly dear to you? [The man asks, putting one hand on the boy’s shoulder. Courfeyrac just shrugs.]

Honorary little brother, I guess. My name’s Courfeyrac, by the way.

[The man nods and smiles gently.]

I’m Ultimus Fauchelevent.

Well, Monsieur Fauchelevent, you do know we here are all going to die, don’t you?

[Fauchelevent nods, peering inquisitively at Courfeyrac in front of him.]

Yes, I do. You know that too, right? Then why do you stay here? You’re a young man who could have a vast future in front of him, yet you’re here. Why?

Oh… honor, I suppose. Friendship. I got caught up in Enjolras’ dream one day, went along with it, and only now am realizing that it’s instead a nightmare. I’ve always wanted to die fighting for something I believed in, and this seems as good a place as any.

[He gives a shaky smile, before walking back out to the barricade with his head held high.]

[Outside, Enjolras is giving the orders for what will surely be the last stand.]

Those who are remain can retreat into the café once the barricade falls. Jam the door shut, and head to the second floor if necessary. If we’re going to die, let us die gloriously.

[A weak cheer goes up from the crowd, most people clearly too caught up in their thoughts to put much effort into the exclamation.]

Prepare yourselves, [Enjolras concludes, before running over to confer with Combeferre.]

[Courfeyrac walks over and peeks above the top of the barricade. Down the street, the Guard is slowly and lazily preparing for the final assault, knowing that the insurgents have no way of escaping.]

Hey. [A voice startles Courfeyrac, and he almost falls off the barricade. Instead, he just sighs and looks down at Enjolras.]

Hey yourself.

[Enjolras returns the smile, though there is a deep darkness hiding behind his eyes.]

You ready?

Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. A little worried for how my parents will react, if I’m being honest. The loss of another child will completely destroy my mom, but it’s too late now to stop it.

[Enjolras nods sympathetically and pats his friend heartily on the back.]

Look on the bright side, we’re going to go down in history.

[With that, he walks off, going off to talk to some of the others. Courfeyrac looks directly into the camera, and his eyes are growing misty.]

You don’t get it, Enj. [He mumbles.] History is great and all, but I thought I was going to live to at least twenty-five. I didn’t think I’d follow after Vivian this soon.

[He runs a hand quickly through his hand, before clicking off the camera.]

[Now, the Courfeyrac we see is much dirtier, and he has a bloody strip of cloth wrapped aro und his arm.]

Last stand. [He says solemnly, shoving the camera into his pocket.]

[The Guard soldiers have begun to come over the barricade, and they are hacking indiscriminately at the revolutionaries. Joly falls to the ground almost immediately, still bravely fighting back with his knife until a soldier pins him to the cobblestones and fires a shot right into his head. Lesglas is the victim of a different gunshot. Courfeyrac sees Bahorel bloody on the ground with a conspicuous wound to his torso, and almost misses hearing the shout.]

Courf, watch out!

[Courfeyrac whirls around, pistol at the ready, but the soldier is quicker, and thrusts a bayonet into his stomach.]

Well, hell… [Courfeyrac mutters, falling to his knees and pressing his hands over the wound as the soldier raises his gun, ready to fire the killing shot.]

[But that shot never comes, and Courfeyrac looks up to see Enjolras crossing swords with the soldier, until he stabs him right in the chest, right above his uniform sash, and bends down to help Courfeyrac up.]

C’mon Courf, we’re going to go into the café.

[Courfeyrac leans on his friend, eyes almost closed, as the two of them stumble into the café. There, Courfeyrac sits heavily down on a crate, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.]

No, no, Courfeyrac, get up. [Enjolras pleads, tugging Courfeyrac back up to his feet.]

I just wanna sleep… [The shorter mumbles, before applying even more pressure to his bleeding wound.]

And you will sleep, soon, but until then you’ve gotta stay with me.

[Enjolras helps his friend up, almost completely carrying him into a back room as the wooden door to the café is forced open.]

[Courfeyrac slumps down on another crate, grabbing Enjolras’ hand with a bloody one of his own.]

Enj, I don’t want to move anymore. Just lemme stay here.

No. This is history. [Enjolras chokes out, closer to tears now than he’s been in years.] This is history. Come on. You’ve gotta come on, Courf.

[Courfeyrac groans, eyes flickering open.]

Alright. Alright.

[He struggles up to his feet, and manages a small smile for Enjolras.]

This is history.

Right.

[The two of them make their way out to a back courtyard. Courfeyrac crouches behind a barrel or suchlike, pulling out his camera and fiddling with it, and Enjolras fears that that may be the last time he sees his friend. But he has bigger things to worry about, as a National Guard soldier rushes from the café and towards him, brandishing a sword.]

[It’s an intense but quick fight, one that Enjolras wins. Once he knocks the soldier out (maybe killed him?) he glances over to where he last saw Courfeyrac. The boy is now standing atop the barrel, one hand pressed to his wound but the other raised in a salute, and a bright grin on his face. Enjolras smiles back and returns the salute.]

[Courfeyrac plunges from the barrel as a new wave of soldiers comes and one shoots him, directly in the side. A killing blow. Enjolras’ eyes widen. Not because he thought it wouldn’t happen, but because he thought it would happen differently. But at least this way, Courfeyrac doesn’t have to slowly die from blood loss, just a bullet.]

There’s the one in charge! [A soldier shouts, and Enjolras raises his head as the Guard arranges themselves in front of him in a way to prevent escape.] Three… two… o—

Get your own café, this is ours! [A new voice booms, and Enjolras looks over to see Grantaire. The younger boy strides over next to him, looking up earnestly.]

Will you permit it?

[Enjolras nods, a smile creeping over his face, and he slings one arm over his friend’s shoulders.]

You are entitled to blindfolds, would you like them? [The commander asks, peering at the two young men. Grantaire gives a short, barking laugh.]

I piss on your blindfold!

[That gets a laugh out of Enjolras, and he reaches out to grab Grantaire’s hand. The two of them are still laughing when the bullets enter their bodies, practically pinning them to the wall.]

[The Guard commander smirks and turns on his heel, marching triumphantly back through the café.]

[Courfeyrac’s camera is still running, perched upon the low roof of the café, so as to get a view of everything that happened.]

[And so the revolution ends.]

[The camera gets picked up after about an hour or so, by a young National Guard soldier. There’s a crack in the lens, and it is bloodstained, but still in working condition.]

Uh… [The young man says nervously, looking around at the three dead bodies.]

Whose is this? [He asks, almost as if he expects them to reply.]

Well… I’m so sorry.

[He shoves the camera in his pocket, just like Courfeyrac used to do, and walks to each of the dead boys, closing their eyes and moving their messy hair off of their faces.]

You guys were brave. When I was your age, I was a coward. But you guys were brave enough to do this , weren’t you?

[The soldier sighs, sitting up on the barrel that Courfeyrac last stood on.]

I hope you got into heaven. Goodbye, monsieurs. I never knew you, but maybe I should have.

[The camera dies.]