Disclaimer: I do not own Les Misérables and it's characters, as much as I want to.

A/N: This is the first time I write Les Mis, so please do not judge me. I'm a great fan of the musical and the film, and I picture the movie cast as my characters. I am covering a period of time, from his 8th year until he dies, to be precisely. There is mention of Cosette, just go with it, I want her in it so she is in it. I did change some thing because I think it is better that way. Please review!

'NO Papa, please! I'll behalf! Please!' screamed an eight-year-old Gavroche Thénardier. His father threw another fist at the little boy, causing him to break Gavroche's nose. There was blood falling from Gavroche's face, not only from his nose, but also from a big wound on his forehead. 'Please Papa, I'm sorry! I'll behalf!' Gavroche said a little quieter. Monsieur Thénardier looked at his son, like it was some sort of parasite that had to be destroyed. The worst part was that you would think monsieur Thénardier had been drinking, but he hadn't. He was this cruel to his son. He was like a saint to his daughters Eponine and Alzema, but to Gavroche, who had come last, he was like a beast. Even Cosette had been more welcome in the household. And that's saying something.

'GET OUT OF MY SIGHT YOU LITTLE BRAT! BETTER NOT CATCH MY EYE! GO UPSTAIRS AND MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL!' Thénardier screamed and his son ran as fast as he could up the stairs to his little bedroom in the attic. It was a freezing winter and it was almost as cold as in the attic as it was outside. Gavroche curled himself up to a tiny ball and sat in the corner of his improvised bed. He stopped crying, he couldn't cry anymore. Not tonight. There was a awfully great change that his father would come up and give Gavroche another beating. His mother didn't care, she was exactly the same. Always so proud of her daughters, but Gavroche? Gavroche lost count of the numbers of evenings his mother yelled at him and told him he was a mistake.

Gavroche wasn't right this time. He had fallen asleep an hour or so after he was sent upstairs, and he woke up by the sun that shone into his room through the window. Clearly, it had stopped snowing, but when he rose to his feet and looked out the window, he saw so much snow.

Gavroche put on his boots and walked downstairs as quiet as possible. He had survived the night, but the day was a complete new adventure.

His sisters were already up. 'Gavroche, how do you feel? Does anything hurt?' Eponine asked as she strode forward, to her little brother.

'Nothing more than the usual, I guess.' Gavroche replied. He took a seat and the littlest piece of bread from the basket. Gavroche never had the same amount of food as the rest of the household. Eponine, Alzema, even Cosette. They all had flesh on their bones. Gavroche only had some skin.

'Gavroche, Maman and Papa aren't up yet. Eat some more, please!' begged Alzema while Eponine came back with a wash cloth. 'Did Papa hit you with an candle holder or something?' She asked whilst cleaning Gavroche's head wound.

'They will figure it out that I ate more, and yes, it was a candle holder.' Gavroche whispered. He started to eat the dry piece of bread. He would never dare to put cheese or something on it, no.

'Why does Papa this to you?' Eponine whispered. She didn't meant to say it, but Gavroche heard it. His answer broke both his sisters' hearts.

'I am a mistake.'

Gavroche finished his bread and stood from the chair. 'I have work to do.' and with that he left the kitchen en went outside. His work, as Thénardier called it, was most of the time doing heavy work and being outside in extreme weather. Gavroche still thinks his father did it to maybe get rid of him that way. But Gavroche was a strong kid, and it was amazing how he survived day after day in the Thénardier household.

That night would have been probably the worst. Madame Thénardier had locked Eponine, Alzema and Cosette in their rooms, so that they wouldn't interrupt or try to help their little brother. Thénardier had made up the worst excuse ever.

'YOU DIDN'T CLEAN THE GARDEN HOUSE! I'LL GIVE YOU A LESSON, DISOBEYING ME, HOW DO YOU EVER DARE?!' Thénardier screamed at Gavroche. 'You didn't tell me to clean it.' Gavroche whispered. He saw his grandpa's cane in his father's hands. That wasn't promising good news. 'DON'T YOU DARE TO BLAME ME FOR IT!' and the first hit was a fact. Gavroche was hit on his left shoulder, causing him to wince in pain. He tried not to show weakness, because that would make it only worse. Another hit with the cane, this time on his already wounded head. It started bleeding like crazy. Gavroche placed his right hand palm on the wound, to try to stop the bleeding.

Gavroche let it just in. He felt a lot of pain, and he gave into it. Both his father and mother were hitting him repeatedly with objects and their bare hands. The last punch he felt was in his chest. All the air got knocked out of his lungs, and he passed out.

Madame Thénardier opened the door. 'Make it quick, it's snowing again, maybe he dies. One less mouth to feed.' she added. Monsieur Thénardier pulled Gavroche out of the house by holding him by his hair. He threw Gavroche in the snow a street away from the inn, spat on the boy en walked back.

The snow soon got red, and redder, and Gavroche only got bluer. It was snowing hard, really hard and it wouldn't take long for the weather to take the little Gavroche's life.

Enjolras was a young student obsessed with revolution and democracy. He wanted to liberate the poor civilians of Paris, make a better city for them. One night he was walking to Café Musin, the headquarters of Les Amis l'ABC, a student group that was willing to fight for revolution. And they would some day. The whole plan was still small and had a lot of wholes to be filled, but Enjolras would fix it. He made that vow for years.

On the way from his house to the cafe, he always passed an inn. He'd never been close, and he didn't plan to. But this time something odd got his attention. Long, red lines of snow were leading from the door to somewhere in the street. He knew the color well enough to know it was blood. A lot of blood. He decided to follow the bloodlines. It didn't take to long to find what he was looking for. Not far from the inn lay a little kid in the snow, red from blood and blue from the cold. Enjolras didn't doubt for a moment and ran to the child. He took off his favorite red coat, wrapped the kid in it and started carrying him to the cafe, with all hope that the kid wasn't dead already and that Joly was there.

Getting nervous by the step, Enjolras started running. He could already see the warm lights of the cafe, and that triggered him to run as fast as he could, maybe even faster.

'JOLY! MARIUS! SOMEBODY!' Enjolras screamed towards the cafe. It was Coufeyrac who opened the door.

'What the... Enjolras?'

Enjolras ran inside. 'Is Joly here?' he asked, catching for breath. He had never ran that fast. Joly stood up from his stool and ran over to Enjolras, who laid the kid down on an empty table. Joly removed Enjolras' coat from the kid and looked at him with pity. Joly was a medical student, but most people thought that he was an doctor already.

'Is he still...' Marius Pontmercy asked from behind Coufeyrac. 'Yes. But barely.' Joly said. He didn't waste any minute and lifted him carefully from the table and took him upstairs. There was a little guestroom up the stairs from the cafe. It was never used until now. Marius and Coufeyrac followed immediately, but Enjolras fell down on a chair. Combeferre, a philosophical student and also one of Enjolras' closest friends, laid a hand on his shoulder. Enjolras was completely covered in blood.

'You might have saved his life. Where did you find him?' Combeferre asked.

'A street away from that creepy inn. And the worst part, I found him by following the bloodlines that came from the front door of the inn.' Enjolras swallowed away some tears.

'I know the master of the house, Thénardier. A con, a terrible father. They have kids, I know they have a son.' Combeferre said slowly. 'Maybe it is him. Thénardier only loves his daughters so, it is possible.'

'That doesn't mean he can almost murder his son and drag him out in the snow to let him die.' Enjolras swore under his breath. 'Enjolras, calm down. We can worry about this later, first we need to wait and let Joly do his job.' Grantaire said. Grantaire wasn't a big fan of the whole revolution thing, but somewhere he was. He was an alcoholic, but had sobered up immediately when Enjolras carried in the child.

Marius and Coufeyrac walked downstairs with their heads down.

'Is he d-dead?' Grantaire asked.

'Not yet.' Marius said.