Chapter Text
The mind of Jean Valjean worked in a peculiar fashion: in Montreuil-sur-mer on every one of his days off he could not compel himself to leave the house before at least midday - and only then to hand out alms to the poor; but for every day he was needed in the factory he be up and working well before dawn even though it was long before he was expected. Valjean’s most plentiful well of motivation was always brought forth by acts of service, so it was that in the moment the little boy had asked for his protection Valjean felt within himself the will to face his niece. If the malnourished child was the cost of the weight the woman suffered under he’d move mountains to alleviate them both.
For a moment before he moved away Valjean thought to try and comfort the boy as he hid his face in his knees, more so than it already was covered in the sack he wore, but it felt wrong to try and reassure the child when he now felt he must be the cause of the little ones suffering. He moved quickly away into the church proper, to the awaiting woman in the company of the ex- inspector.
“I’m sorry - for the delay I was simply ah….” He said easing down onto their level.
“Praying.” Javert finished for him, in that slightly strained way he always spoke when he was forced to tell a white lie.
“Of course, I was praying-” in a manner of speaking, he’d been praying everyday he woke up closer to this moment.
“Yes well, it makes little difference.” The woman’s voice was quiet he had to cut his sentence short to hear her properly, for in the empty church it distorted in a fashion that seemed almost threatening.
“Even so, I understand my lack of grace likely offended you, I had intended on stopping by the church before knocking for you, but sadly in my age I find myself more forgetful.” Valjean attempted to chuckle but it came out sounding like more of a choked wheezing than an actual sincere laugh.
“As I said - it makes little difference, we haven’t much to discuss.” The worry lines in her forehead grew more pronounced as her mouth settled into a subtle frown.
“Have we not?” Valjean asked. He could think of more than twenty things just off the top of his head he would have liked to discuss, most of which pertained to the too thin little boy with the bag over his head.
“We should retire to the cottage - even so. The walls have ears in a town as small as this.” Javert interrupted the conversation looking past Valjean.
The older man shuffled away slightly. He had to concentrate on not looking over his shoulder. The child had seemed scared at the thought of his mother finding him here, perhaps he was out after curfew. Ether way he could not betray the boy’s trust by drawing further attention to him. Instead he began to follow slowly after Javert intending to be the last one out.
“No, we will do this here.” The woman hissed and Valjean halted only a few steps away from her.
“Really, I think we should not-” he began softly. The boy; his nephew did not need to be privy to this.
“I’m told you’re my uncle, my ‘long lost uncle Jean’, the one that died in prison.” Joan didn’t even acknowledge his words bridging the distance Valjean had left between them. She stopped finally directly in front of him.
“Yes I am.”
“How long have you been free?”
“Almost nineteen years.” Almost as long as he’d been imprisoned. The thought had never crossed his mind until now
“How much of that time did you spend searching for your family.” The woman snapped.
“Ah, well I’m- I did not-” Valjean had of course expected such questions but now he was actually being asked his prepared responses had completely abandoned him.
“My mother spent every day of her life looking for you, she walked for five days to Pontarlier on the date of your release even though she had no money to spare.”
Jean had no words to accompany that revelation, he was lost in the image of his dear sister, the only family he had left in the world at that time, waiting dutifully for a wolf that had long since given up on returning home. He’d never felt so wicked or evil for breaking his parole. His sister had never stopped searching for him, his heart twisted painfully. He brought a hand to his chest as he leaned against a pew for support.
“He was not in a position to find you until very recently. If your looking for someone to blame for his absence in your life, blame me - I am the cause of most of his suffering.” Javert reached out as if to channel away the woman’s hatred.
She did not even spare Javert a glance however, completely focused on Valjean as she responded “It’s not so very easy to excuse evil, Monsieur. My uncle has been the devil himself to me all of my life. It’s his fault my sisters and brothers are dead.” She spat.
“You can’t find him the cause for all your ills!” Javert moved now placing himself completely between Valjean and his niece.
“I think you’ll find I can and very much will.” The venom in her words seemed stronger now somehow, like she wanted Valjean to hear her hatred now his friend was protecting him from the sight of it.
“Is that it then you horrible wretch, you had us travel from Paris to torture a good man!” Javert screamed; that righteous fury ringing as clearly through his words as it had last year. When the man had asked Valjean to be who he was supposed to be - to kill him, rather.
“I had you travel here for my mother, so you can know how she felt at Pontarlier, when she was not welcomed by family as she’d prayed.”
He could never pay back such a horrible debt, he could see his sister waiting outside the parole office sizing up every poor soul that went inside each time hoping one of those men would recognise her, that she would pull them in to an embrace to large for her small frame, that the pack would be united once more. But no one ever did. She died without ever knowing what became of him. He could not breathe, the old man ambled over to sit in the pew he’d been using as a support.
Javert was at his side in an instant fussing over his health telling him to slow his breathing. Valjean shooed him aside gathering his remaining strength he pushed words out of his mouth; a last consolation. “You may not believe it but I should still like to help you in some way, I have money enough to keep you in comfort all your days.” He couldn’t feel his hands so it was a bigger struggle than it should have been to find his purse.
Joan did not even allow him the time to find it, she scoffed. “I don’t want your money, or your comfort, I don’t want anything from you except your suffering.”
“I’ve had enough we’re leaving.” Javert pulled him up with shaking hands but Valjean would not be pulled past his niece.
“No not yet.” The old man whispered at the floor as he stood in front of the woman for what would likely be the final time. He fidgeted with his hands as he gathered the last of his courage trying to find the right apologies for the little girl he’d abandoned.
“No of course, I’m sure you’d like to finish your prayers - well I’ll save you the trouble. Your going to hell Jean Valjean, I don’t care how much you pray or how much of a good man you think you’ve become: the lord sees all - he sees what you really are.” With her confession spoken the woman turned on her heal and marched out of the doors church which creaked as they swung open and less so as they closed again.
“She is gone.” Valjean mumbled at no one in particular.
Javert had to walk Valjean out of the church toward the small inn they had been staying at but Valjean could not feel the wind nor the floor beneath him. It was as if he were dreaming, like the day had been a fabrication of his mind one of the many nightmares he’d had along the trip.
The world passed by Valjean in a blur of indistinguishable motion.
His fingers were numb as Javert gripped them between his hands. The old man did not know when it had happened but they where in his room in the inn, he was sitting by the fire and Javert was on the floor between his knees gripping both hands above his head like he was praying. The world was fading in and out of focus but it sounded like maybe Javert was mumbling something to him but he couldn’t tell what.
Looking distantly around the room his bags where out on the bed and the closets and drawers where open like someone had been packing for him. The fire was lit and warm, he could feel it against his cheeks. A jerky sort of motion began to overtake the man in front of him, his hands shook between the other man’s and the grip began to loosen.
The world came into grater focus as Valjean began to softly stroke the hair of his friend. Javert gasped but leaned into the steady rhythm of his hand running through the loose length of the man’s black and grey locks.The older man had wondered, since they began meeting socially, what it would be like to feel the ex inspectors hair. It always appeared so soft, an odd piece of softness on the otherwise stern head of the serious man.
He nearly lost himself in the sensation when he felt the other man shift slightly and Valjean realised he must be resting terribly uncomfortably on his knees. The older man remembered himself, stroking one last time before retrieving Javert’s hands that had come to rest on his knees. The younger man started slightly as if he too had returned from some distant daydream looking up at Valjean with wide eyes and wet cheeks. It was the expression that tugged the old man’s batted heart open once more and suddenly Valjean was overwhelmed with a light warm feeling. The devotion shone across Javert’s face, in the set of his brows and the grip of his hands it all seemed to scream ‘I am a loyal friend, a true friend, I beg you don’t forsake me because I caused you harm’.
The day had been disappointing of course, distressingly so, but it is always the worst tragedies of life that show you the things you take for granted. He had in Javert a companion, one that would stick with him through this hardship. What had the man said all those weeks ago - that he was a wolf who thought he’d lost his pack - Javert had not been talking about any long lost family member but about the two of them.
He could see it clearly now; the man’s face, as they had talked of each other in silly childish terms, when he’d said ‘they are lucky to have each other’ Valjean felt himself begin to tear up. He was far luckier to have Javert than Javert was to have him. The man in front of him began to move more frantically muttering apology after apology for things that Valjean could not understand, he could not trust his voice so instead he lifted Javert’s hands to his lips pressing a kiss just below the knuckles one on each hand. This brought silence to his friend. Their eyes met though with his back to the fire Javert’s expression was hard to parse.
Whatever moment the two men where trapped in did not last long before Javert pulled away - slipping his hands from out between Valjean’s loose grip and using them to help pick himself up from the floor. Valjean might have been worried if he’d not caught a glimpse of a tight smile on his friends face as he pushed himself up and finally on to his feet again.
Valjean’s hands where cold with out the embrace of Javert’s, he rubbed them on his knees and they began to warm up - but it was not the same. For his part Javert had begun packing again - now that Valjean felt the world was a bit more concrete he couldn’t allow the other man to finish all the preparations alone so he stood and began helping.
***
It was not long before the two men where back on the road again, Valjean had wanted one last visit to the church before they left but it was only a short one. Javert waited outside. Once it was done they had walked past the woman’s small cottage and Javert had to stop himself from spitting as they passed it. Finally when they’d reached the carriage the footman had only a couple of adjustments to make to the suitcases on the roof before they could depart. The trip over to the first in on the three day journey home passed far quicker than it had to get to the town.
During the ride Valjean had mostly slept, likely exhausted from the emotions of the day. Javert tried to remain as still as possible when the old man’s head began to rest at his shoulder. Valjean seemed at peace able to accept things as they were but Javert could not understand any of it. The cruelty of Valjean’s supposed family was beyond belief, perhaps not for anyone - he’d certainly seen more wicked people - but Valjean was different he was the kindest man he’d ever met. The idea that the evil woman, who’d treated him so badly as to create this entire trip to taunt him, was related to a saint by blood. Well, Javert could almost not believe it.
The carriage ride was bumpy in places and sometimes they would go over a stone and Javert would feel Valjean’s soft hair brush against his cheek and they would grow irritatingly warm at the contact. That was another curiosity. He could almost still feel Valjean’s fingers carding through his hair, the thought of it was enough to make his mouth dry and face uncomfortably hot. The old man had probably just been trying to make him feel better, stroking the dog whining at his master’s feet. What was less easy to explain was Valjean’s kisses against his knuckles, Javert had been terrified for one crazy moment that the other man could read his mind - like he had sensed the urge Javert had to kiss his own weathered fingers. The man’s expression had been sweet though, the gentle face of a parent kissing a child’s bruises better. Javert realised he was an idiot.
He put the thoughts out of his mind instead focusing on the swaying of the carriage. The next moment he was being startled awake by a knocking on the window. They had arrived at the first in.
Javert helped Valjean out of the carriage and aided the footman with their bags, the trip had drained more of his energy than he’d expected though as he was only able to carry his own suit case, the thing felt so much heavier than when he’d loaded it on to the cart in the morning. There was only a single room left, but that had happened in the first inn they’d stopped at and so it was no issue for them to share.
Javert made a fool of himself as he had to use both hands to lug the heavy suitcase up the stairs and into their room. Both men were still sleepy from the trip so they got ready for bed as soon as they had bid the footman good night. There was a short argument about who should have the bed but Javert was too tired to press the issue when Valjean finally suggested they share.
Javert removed his greatcoat and hooked it on the coat stand next to his hat, he pulled the silk cravat from its knot at his throat and, with his suit jacket and waistcoat, folded it delicately onto the chest of drawers he’d rested his suitcase on top of, next he pulled his boots off to rest beside the door and took off his pants folding them too so that he was only in his shirt (which fell down to his knees - low enough to cover him adequately for bed) and stockings.
Finally he opened his suitcase to stow his clothes away safely for the morning.
In the case however half of his neatly folded clothes were gone, replaced by a mess of dirty looking fabric, Javert opened his mouth to question the offending fabric when the mess moved and instead of words a scream ripped through Javert’s throat, he moved back only to trip over his own boots and pull the coat stand with him as he went falling to a heap on the floor.
From the floor, Javert could see the fabric rise from the case, the left over pristine clothes now shifting and bulging, curling around the dirty cloth as if something were trying to push its way out. It was a peculiar sight - made worse by the figure emerging from with in the folds of clean fabric. It was small and covered in loose fitting dirty cotton encasing a much thinner main body like a miniature scarecrow.
Valjean came into view above him he, at least, was still in his pants - though he’d removed his boots and jacket. The man fussed over him momentarily but Javert batted him away pointing at the figure emerging from his luggage. Both men froze as the small person turned its head so that they were faced to face, though the creature did not have much of one - only a sack with two crude wholes cut out where the persons eyes would be. Slowly the small figure raised an almost skeletal hand in a short wave.
Valjean was the first to speak.
“Maestro?” Valjean seemed to ask the scarecrow, as he moved away from Javert and toward the figure cautiously.
The little thing nodded furiously and tried to move out of the suit case but it must have been caught on something because in the next instant (before it had any time to fall) valjean was lifting the small creature into his arms.
“What have you done child, you could have been killed!” Valjean wined like a wounded animal. He paced with the child(?) in his arms before placing them on the bed likely so that he may get a better look at them.
Javert quickly tore his great coat from the stand that had collapsed on him wrapping it around himself properly so that he appeared at least slightly more composed - as composed as a man could be caught with his pants down in the company of a child. God, he felt like burying himself alive.
“I followed you!” The child said as if they’d won a game of some sort. The voice was bazar though it didn’t sound like the screechy, whiny tones that was common among children. It was smooth and controlled the child spoke like a song.
“I can see that, what, I’m struggling with is how you might think this was a good idea?” Valjean sighed resting his hands on his knees, he’d crouched so that he was eye level to the little scarecrow.
“Our eyes are the same.” The child pointed between Valjean and themself.
Javert had not been able to make heads or tails of anything that had happened since he opened his luggage but this was by far the hight of his befuddlement. The child’s eyes could not be distinguished under the bag, and even if they could what the hell did any of it have to do with the conversation they where having?
That was when Valjean started crying.
***
His uncle was a strange man, as it turned out, he was no less strange now - even though he was no longer a stranger. Erik, sure, had not planned things out perfectly (for one he hadn’t realised that they would stop before they reached their home) but he hadn’t thought his uncle would react this badly.
“Don’t be sad, I’m sorry!” Erik felt tears around his own eyes but instead of letting them run painfully down his face he began trying to blink them away.
“I’m alright child, you simply startled me. I’ve had a difficult day.” His uncle recovered from whatever melancholy had possessed him quickly enough, and with the aid of his friend was moved around him to sit on the bed. Now, instead of the soft worried gaze of his uncle meeting him at his level, the tall man looked down upon him like all the paintings of saints in the church: like he did not belong.
Erik turned away from the spectre to pray for forgiveness at his uncle’s side.
“I’m sorry.” He tried, the words had never made much of a difference in the past but his uncle seemed different, or so he hoped.
“No, no, it’s not your fault,” the old man smiled down at him though his eyes didn’t crease to match his mouth. “- you should have not snuck into Javert’s suit case.” Uncle turned to look up at the man in question.
“I didn’t mean to I thought it was yours!” Erik defended. The boy had assumed all of the cases belonged to his uncle so he had not bothered thinking too hard about which one he would sneak into. It was already hard enough to climb inside with nobody noticing.
“You should not have snuck into anyone’s suitcase, you should not be here,” the words were stern but not spoken like a scolding, the tone seemed less composed. “good god your mother must be worried sick!” Uncle finished frantically suddenly standing and moving to the door as if to immediately run the boy back home.
“She won’t mind! She says I’m the same as you!” Erik exclaimed reaching a hand out towards his uncle before the cold gaze of the taller man froze him in place .
His uncle halted his retreat turning to look at him slow enough that Erik managed to tuck both of his hands behind his back by the time he’d finished. “The same as me?” The man asked just as slowly.
“She says I was sent by god to punish her.” Erik said simply.
The boy remembers how it felt in the church tucked behind the piano for the first time hearing his mother speak to another person the way she spoke to him. His mother had always hated him, for as long as he could remember, at first he had assumed that she was like that with everyone but eventually he saw he was wrong. At church his mother made friends easily, she spent lots of time talking to the women before and after each mass. He’d consoled himself with the idea that she may simply not like children but that wasn’t it either. She was always so kind to the village children, handing them sweet apples from the tree in their backyard in the summer: Erik was not allowed to touch the tree let alone eat a fruit off it.
Then he’d met his uncle and it was like suddenly Erik had found his family for the first time. Erik understood why his mother hated him so much; he was like his uncle. The boy decided then what he had to do, if his uncle would leave he would follow.
The old man in question had stared at him for quite a while before he’d cleared his throat and spoke again quietly - like he was talking to himself “Are you hungry child? Let’s see about fetching you some dinner.”
Erik nodded smiling behind his mask.
Dinner was awkward, not for anything his uncle had done (the man hadn’t even tried to peek behind his mask as he shifted it slightly so that he could feed his food under it), no it was awkward because of the inclusion of an unwanted third member to their functional duo. The tall man, Javert, followed his uncle everywhere he went: helping him down stairs; opening doors for him and fetching him any number of things. Their friendship was odd, more akin to the type a man might have with his dog and they had an odd manner of communication that seemed to make conversation unnecessary. So the table was silent as Erik tucked into dinner.
The men at the table either side of the boy exchanged funny expressions until finally the tall one spoke.
“First thing tomorrow morning, we are going to send your mother a message explaining where you are. Then, if she can’t fetch you we’ll simply have to return you ourselves.” The words left no room for argument but that didn’t stop Erik From trying.
“No you can’t-” he yelled, putting down his cutlery and projecting his voice closer to the taller man in an attempt at intimidation.
Javert was not moved in the slightest by his protest not even regarding his voice trick “I can and will,” he said simply crossing his arms and glaring through the boy.
“Unless-” his uncle began, the older man was looking at him now mouth pulled into a straight line though with the way his moustache curled up at the ends it almost seemed like he was smiling.
“Unless, unless what Valjean?” His companion barked horribly. His voice was scratchy and rough, nothing like the smooth tones his uncle spoke with.
“Fleeing home is a desperate move Javert, the boy is scared of his own mother, that is not how things should be.” Valjean nearly whispered the last part of his sentence looking away from Erik briefly to direct an odd look toward his friend.
Erik smiled, his uncle was arguing for him to stay! The kinship he’d felt for the man may actually be mutual. Obviously his uncle had seemed kind and generous in the chapel, but Erik would be lying if he said that was the only reason he’d ran away, no, he was not certain the man in front of him would be any better than any of the other adults the child had met. He had seen an opportunity to be free of his mother though. Even if his uncle took him back to her, one day, he would escape for good - this trip had already given him a taste of a better life and he would fight for it!
“We can not simply keep him he’s not a lost puppy he’s someone else’s child!” His uncle’s horrible dog yelped interrupting his train of thought, and Eriks eyes snapped up to glare at the man’s horrible grimacing face.
“I wasn’t suggesting--” his uncle began but Erik would not hear it.
“You can keep me!” He stood up on his chair forcing his uncle to acknowledge him again. “I promise I’ll be better than a stupid puppy! I can sing and play you songs, I’m very good at being quiet too, and I don’t eat much…” Erik noticed his large empty plate and muttered “usually.” Which was true, some days he would not even eat at all!
Their was a tense silence as Erik looked between the two men trying to decipher what their faces meant, they looked at each other like they were talking again but without words.
“We will decide what to do in the morning, it is far too late to be arguing.” His uncle finally spoke to which the other man only nodded once in return.
After dinner Erik felt more full than he ever had, he did not realise how tiring eating could be he nearly fell asleep walking back to the room. He was ushered over to the bed when they all entered and his uncle lifted him up and tucked him in. It was all so nice that Erik was even more startled at the brush of his uncle’s hand onto the top of the sack covering his head. The boy jumped away. He could only stare for a moment wide eyed at the man. For his part his uncle looked just as stunned with his hand still in the air brushing the outline of where he had been lying.
“Do you not remove it for bed?”
He looked at the Tattered fabric around his eyes on the inside hem of the sack then he pulled the mask forward so not even his eyes would be visible. So that he could not even see out of it.
“Never.”
“Alright then… Goodnight—” He heard his uncle retreat back slightly then pause. “I’m sorry, I realise, I never asked for your name?”
“It’s Erik.”
“I am Jean, you’re - I suppose - great uncle technically, and this is my, my companion Javert.”
“Good night uncle Jean.” I hope you decide to keep me Erik thought to himself Looking up at his uncle.
“Have a nice sleep Erik, I’ll see you in the morning.” The man pulled the blankets up and tucked them around Erik so that he was wrapped completely in the cozy bed. Warm and safe at least. A more comfortable sleep than he had ever had before drew Erik into its embrace the boy smiled as he let it take him.
***
Javert had always been an early riser he’d needed to be in his previous line of work, but the night sleep on the floor had been horrible, he’d woken up several times throughout the night until he’d managed to find a position he could actually sleep in once he had though, he found himself sleeping way past what he had intended to. The suns position suggested it was no less than a few hours after dawn. He also woke up to an empty room. Valjean was not in the chair and the bed was neatly made.
He got himself dressed, packed and stumbled outside to look for his companion. The ex inspector was not looking long before he spotted them, they where just outside the stables: boy and man taking turns feeding hay to the houses. It looked like Valjean had found the boy some new clothes nothing fancy but a fair bit cleaner and better fitting than the rags he’d been wearing the previous night, his head remained covered in that old burlap sack though. The child looked so much smaller in an outfit closer to his size. Javert found himself ruminating on it all. He didn’t doubt the boy’s mother had the capability of being just as retched to her spawn as she’d been to her uncle, but the reason eluded him. At least Valjean had wronged her (from her own warped perspective) what offence could her child have possibly committed for her to starve and neglect him so?
That was all if he believed the boy at all, Valjean seemed to of course, what with the child being so young and seemingly vulnerable , but Javert had (regrettably) sent younger boys to prison for theft. It wasn’t inconceivable that a street urchin had figured out that the old man with the shiny shoes and fine clothes was in town looking for his long lost family and decided to try conning them. It would certainly explain the child’s reluctance to show his face.
Javert was pulled from his thoughts for the time being by a nasally voice chatting to someone behind him, the accent was English, extremely difficult to understand and a bit annoying but Javert found himself focusing on the conversation anyway, an old habit he’d picked up working in the police (particularly stupid criminals could be caught just by listening to idle gossip alone). From what he could make out the man was complaining about a message he was supposed to deliver, he’d apparently stopped at every inn on this road all through the day and most of the night since he had a name to deliver to and not an address. This is where inspector Javert would have toned the idiot out as irrelevant information before he could however, a name was spoken: clearly, like the man had repeated the correct pronunciation over and over until it sounded right. A name only one person in the whole of the world would have cause to deliver a letter to.
Javert was upon the messenger in an instant the man startled at the ex inspectors piercing gaze.
“You’ve a message for Jean Valjean?” Javert asked, though the question was pushed through gritted teeth and that combined with his fearsome Expression likely caused the tremor in the man’s voice when he carefully responded.
“You know where he is?”
“If you hand me the letter I’ll make sure it gets to him.” The ex inspector stuck out his open palm in a manner he had many times before in toloun when he was in charge of confiscating contraband.
“I- I’m meant to give to him, only him, it er- it’s important.” The man stumbled back reaching for the saddle of his horse.
Javert levelled a glance at the man the woman must have given him a description of Jean, she’d want the letter delivered to its recipient no matter how much she hates him, perhaps it was filled with more taunting words or maybe…
“Did she send you to check on the child?” Javert questioned, thinking he may have been sent to bring the boy back.
The man raised an eyebrow and began shaking his head. “Just to make sure message made it to Valjean, and -” recognition sparked inside his eyes, “ah! You are Javert then, yes?”
“Indeed.” So the woman was likely unaware the boy was missing.
“Ah, you are travelling with him yes! You can give him this, thank you very much.” He pressed the letter in to his palm like it was on fire.
Javert grunted a noncommittal little sound the man seemed to mistake for an affirmative and began turning to leave before Javert stopped him.
“Would you bring something back to the woman you received this letter from?”
“Mabey” the man made a little motion with a hand indicating for Javert to hand something to him.
Javert grumbled placing a few coins into the man’s awaiting palm. Luckily he’d had the foresight to write out a short note the night before simply informing the boys mother that he’d snuck into one of their cases and that they would care for him until he could be returned.
The English man smiled at the coin and the letter nodding to himself as he quickly jumped back on his horse and back down the dirt path toward Rouen.
Javert opened the remaining letter with little guilt at the action, if that evil old hag had sent Valjean another letter he was certainly going to screen its contents before he even entertained the idea of handing the thing off to his friend. The message was as brief as the first one they had received.
‘If you ever return to Rouen, I’ll have you returned to the prison you should have died in.’
Well that made returning the child slightly more complicated.
***
Valjean had spent the whole of the morning with the boy, after breakfast Erik had asked if he was allowed to go outside, Valjean had felt his heart shatter in the tiny apprehensive voice he’d spoke with. Valjean had smiled and reached out for the boys hand as he’d asked where the child would like to go, regaling him with all of the things they could do around the inn. They had walked through the small woods at the back of the inn first and Valjean had pointed out each of the birds they passed telling the boy the names of them and how to replicate their calls.
Eriks clothes had managed to become even filthier on the excursion and Valjean made it his mission to find a replacement when they returned from their short walk. Luckily a woman passing through the inn had a spare set of clothes for one of her younger boys that Valjean had managed to buy with some of the money he had intended on giving to Joan. Erik had seemed a little nervous in the new outfit to begin with holding his arms out oddly and walking in a careful slow manner. Valjean had asked the child if he did not like the new clothes or if there was some problem with the fit but the boy had gasped and shook his head furiously.
“I don’t want to ruin them.” He’d muttered softly gently running a hand over the collar of his new shirt.
“You don’t have to worry about that my boy, even if you do I’ll simply buy you new ones.”
Valjean had not been able to get the memory of the boys wide eyes, so shocked the whites of them could be seen through the crudely cut holes of the bag, out of his mind for the rest of the morning.
Erik had wanted to see the horses after that he did not ask in so many words of course, the boy was still very shy, but his eyes had lingered on them each time they had passed the stables so Valjean had asked the stable hand if he and his nephew (the word fell awkwardly from his mouth but he supposed he might get used to it) could help with feeding them. The man seemed grateful for the assistance.
They where not long by the stables when a familiar figure stepped out of the inn. Valjean spotted Javert from the corner of his eye as he turned to grab another hand full of hay from the bucket behind him, but he didn’t acknowledge the other man as he turned back to his task. Almost immediately after he felt the man’s eyes on his back.
“Please don’t let him take me back to her.” The boy pleaded looking past him at Javert, using Valjean’s bigger body to hide behind.
Erik had grabbed his hand while he spoke for the first time of his own accord and Valjean felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Was Cosette ever this small and scared had she asked the same thing of him all those years ago when he’d bought her from that awful madam and her retched husband. Back then they had ran together fleeing through the streets of Paris hunted by the same dog. Valjean found the familiar urge to run curling through his stomach and making his legs tense with anticipation, how far would they get before the inspector caught them this time?
“I’ve prepared our cases on the coach and the footman said he would be ready to set off within the hour.” Javert called out clearly striding toward them.
His voice made Valjean jump, turning to look back at his companion he was struck with how different his eyes were. He’d never consciously noticed it before but Javert’s eyes had lost their near constant suspicious squint they where wide and relaxed. He seemed at peace. What was he thinking, Javert was a friend a trusted companion not a hunter. Not anymore. If a decision was to be made on Erik’s fate they would do it together.
Valjean asked the stable hand to keep an eye on Erik while he and Javert had a small moment to talk away from little ears. The boy attached to those little ears looked as if he might try to complain but he did not say anything as Valjean lead Javert away; far enough to not be overheard.
***
“We need to discuss this-” Valjean began.
“I agree.” Javert interrupted and then with only a single pause for breath he continued, “With a fast enough horse I could make it back to Rouen by the end of today.”
“Your proposing… taking the boy back, by yourself?” Valjean spoke slowly.
It wouldn’t be the most optimal choice of course, the boy would not likely leave willingly which would complicate the situation. Still the fact remained, “I never want you to go back to that town again.”
“Have you sent someone to inform his mother then?”
“I have arranged something yes.”
“Well then I prepose we continue our journey home, once we receive her response we will know how to proceed.” Valjean suggested staring across his face likely for a chance to intercept his arguments before they could be made.
Instead of wasting his breath Javert asked, “Then you will take him in, if the boy is right if she no longer wants the child you’ll be his guardian?”
Valjean smiled at that, in a way that might seem quite thoughtless to anyone else but Javert knew better, which is why when he finally answered with a simple, “Yes, yes I will.”
“Alright.” Is all Javert could say in response.
The ex inspector still didn’t trust the situation but Valjean could not be reasoned with once he’d set his sights on a new charity case. He’d learned that after the months he’d personally witnessed the man doting on the dog who’d successfully ruined his life multiple times.
“I would appreciate your help.” Valjean muttered, looking past him back towards the boy, and the words were so strange Javert found himself repeating them.
“My help?”
He must have sounded confused enough because Valjean was looking at him again continuing, “If I end up caring for the child, I mean, truth be told he reminds me of you in some ways.”
Javert balks “I can’t possibly see how.”
“He seems to have spent a great deal of his life being told he is not like other little boys and never will be.” the older man spoke softly, though his words still cut. Javert was behind bars again with all of the world on the other side, but not his world his world had four walls and a pile of hay in the corner where a bed should be - even when the door was opened and he was dragged out he never left that box. He wondered then about the boy, about the shape of the cage he was trapped in.
Javert could not imagine a situation he would actually help where the child was concerned, even if they were similar, he doubted he would have been able to help a younger version of himself. Not in the right way - not like Valjean had helped him. Perhaps that was the point though, Valjean must have identified something in the boy that Javert may be able to address. “I will do what I can - if it comes to that of course.”
“Of course.” Valjean smiled at him, and Javert smiled back.
Both of their smiles paled in comparison to the jubilance in Eriks voice when Valjean lifted him up and told him the boy would be staying with them for the next few days at least.
For a moment it felt like Javert had finally done some right by Valjean, for a moment he felt he’d reunited a family.