Well, this is the end. I thank all of you who stuck with me through this journey. I love you all. The prequel will be up soon! :)

Thank you.

-CM

It was after dark when the old man returned. "I have seen their camps, counted each man. But beware, they have armies to spare. Their danger is real."

Enjolras pushed a sofa out of the way to get the man safely behind the barricade. "What is their plan?" he asked. "They intend to starve you out, until they start a proper fight. Concentrate their force… hit us when it's light…" The man seemed to revel in the dismay on Enjolras's face. Suddenly,

"LIAR!" shouted little Gavroche, munching a Twix from on top of an upturned cabinet. He gracefully got to his feet. "Good evening dear Inspector, lovely evening, might I say? I know this man, my friends, and he's Inspector Javert!"

The Amis were in motion instantly, in a flurry of movement. Grantaire caught the man by the arms and Enjolras made to take his gun away when the man, Javert, punched Enjolras in the eye. He stepped back, dazed, and the other Amis led him into the café. He still struggled, and Enjolras ran up to him again, curls a blonde mess, and when the man made to punch him again, Enjolras whacked him with a curtain rod. They tied him up.

Suddenly, loud footsteps, marching footsteps, alerted them. Enjolras darted outside, taking a gun from the outstretched arm of Combeferre. He peered through a peephole in the barricade, aiming his gun. He could see dozens of soldiers. "We will not hurt you!" shouted the lead soldier. "Unless you are the rioters. In that case, orders have been given by the government to disarm and take you into custody."

"We will fight to the death for what is right," said Enjolras steadfastly.

"Who's there?" shouted the lead soldier. "Are you the traitors we think you are?" The Amis made no reply. "I said… who's there?"

Enjolras could deny it no longer. In a cold and clear voice, he shouted: "French Revolution!"

"You leave us no choice. We will take down your barricade and take you all into custody. FIRE!"

Instantly, a round of powerful shotgun shells assailed the barricade. None of them reached the Amis. "You'll have to do better than that!" he shouted. There was another: "FIRE!" All of the students rushed backward as a round of bazookas assailed the barricade. There was a large gap, and soldiers rushed in. "We are taking you into custody!" shouted one of them. Jean Prouvaire, whom Enjolras did not know was there, stepped out, aiming a rifle at the soldier. The soldier pointed his handgun right back. They were less than two feet from each other.

"You will leave us unharmed. You will go back and tell your comrades at the other barricades to stand down. You will go to the government and tell them that we've won. Or, I will have to shoot you."

"Too bad I got there first," said the soldier, pulling the trigger. Prouvaire slumped to the ground, blood pooling from his ginger hair. "NO!" Combeferre shouted, instantly running over to the barrel of ammunition. He lit a match. "Fall back or I blow the barricade."

"Blow it up and take yourself with it," replied the lead soldier. There was nary a moment of hesitation. A solitary tear slipped down his cheek. "And myself with it."

He held the match blindingly close to the barrel, and the lead soldier shouted: "Back! BACK!" Instantly, all the soldiers retreated. Combeferre immediately extinguished the match, and he and Enjolras ran to patch up the barricade. Only Courfeyrac alone was behind the barricade, holding the broken body of Jehan.

Everything soon got patched up. Courfeyrac tenderly picked up Prouvaire and brought his body into the café. "Everyone, rest," said Enjolras. "We'll need our strength for the morning light."

Sleep did not come easily that night.

When the morning finally did come, Combeferre walked over to Enjolras. "Enj, we're the only ones left."

"What?" he asked, incredulous.

"It's not that big of a surprise. The people have not stirred! We're abandoned by those who still live in fear."

Enjolras, realizing the clarity of the situation, rose. "Let us not waste lives. Let all who wish to go from here."

"No need to send us away, 'Jolras. We're with you to the end of the line." piped up Bahorel.

"We're low on ammunition. We need bullets," added Courfeyrac.

Suddenly, a small voice alerted them to what was happening on the other side of the barricade. Little Gavroche had climbed over the top, collecting ammunition pouches from when they had fallen off of soldier's belts. They all peered through. "Gavroche," whispered Combeferre anxiously. Gavroche was standing in front of the enemy camp, taunting them. "Little people know," he sang. "When little people fight. We may look easy pickins', but we got some bite!"

He continued gathering bullets. "Gavroche!" said Enjolras. The little man turned and winked at them. "So never kick a dog, because it's just a pup!" One of the soldiers fired, the bullet missing by inches, the soldiers laughing. Gavroche picked up more ammunition. "Cuz' we'll fight like twenty armies! And we won't… give… UP!"

Another bullet was fired, this one hitting Gavroche in the leg. He fell to his knees, still brave and still singing. "GAVROCHE!" shouted Courfeyrac, running after him. Combeferre grabbed him, holding him down. "Wait! Wait!"

There was commotion behind the barricade, but Gavroche was still singing: "So you'd better run for cover, when the pup… grows…" Another gunshot silenced all of the Amis and made Gavroche tumble to the ground, little body still. Courfeyrac broke free of Combeferre's grip and leaped over the barricade to pick up Gavroche and all the ammunition he had sold his life for.

Only on the other side did they allow their tears to start.

Enjolras stood tall, realizing what he was about to do. "Let us die," he said. "Facing our foes. Make them bleed while we can."

"Make them pay through the nose," said Bahorel. "Make them pay for… every man," sobbed Courf.

"Let others rise to take our place, until the Earth is free!" he shouted. There was no stopping the flame now. It consumed every single one of them. "FIRE!" shouted the soldiers. Another blast from the bazookas broke the barricade. Enjolras leaped and grabbed the tattered red flag before it could fall. To the others, he appeared like an avenging angel, avenging her death and all their deaths to come.

In the confusion that followed, Enjolras lost count of how many of his friends he saw fall. Bahorel. Gone. Bossuet. Gone. Joly. Gone. And finally, it was just him on the top floor of the café, with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. The Chief, the Guide, and the Centre, but of what? The Amis were gone, dead, abandoned. And as he watched Combeferre and Courfeyrac fall, his friends, he realized that there was nothing left to fight for.

But he would fight on anyway.

So that was how the soldiers found him, on the top floor by the window, holding a tattered flag, curls a bloody mess, pride and sadness and regret glimmering in his eyes. There were eight of them. They took aim.

"Wait!" shouted a familiar voice, and suddenly there was Grantaire, running towards him at the window. "Long live the Republic. I'm one of them." And he took his spot beside Enjolras. "You don't mind, do you, Apollo?" he asked. Enjolras clasped his hand with a smile.

The smile had not ended when the volley rang out. Enjolras, pierced by eight shots, stayed leaning against the wall as if the bullets had nailed him there. Grantaire collapsed at his feet.

Forgive me, he thinks. I tried.

Enjolras…

Enjolras… come back to the light. We're waiting.

When he opens his eyes, he sees her. She's sitting on his bed, clasping his hand. She's wearing those red jeans and that striped shirt. "Hello," she says, smiling. "Hello," he says, and presses their lips together. They walk outside, into the street, and all the Amis are sitting on the curb.

All there.

All smiling.

He turns around and sees his apartment, silhouetted by a blinding blue sky.

"Welcome to Heaven," laughs Courfeyrac.

He sits down beside them.

"Are you happy?" she asks.

"We failed them."

"No, we didn't. Look at the news!"

She shows him a paper, and it reads June 6th, 2014 and all he sees is the article on the front page.

Gregory Enjolras's Amis have changed France forever, as their sacrifice prompts the immediate passing of new welfare and housing laws.

"Are you happy?" she asks again, their fingers intertwined.

"Yes," he replies.

"That's all I need to know."