Chapter Text
June 7th, 1832
Javert stares up at the stars, their constant vigil overhead having once provided guiding comfort. The night has fallen quite now that the student revolution has ended. He dares not to think what became of those radicalized children. They were delinquents who needed their spirits crushed, but less bloodshed would have been preferred. It was no surprise that they'd chosen violence rather than petitioning a legislative body like a civilized person.
Dragging his gaze away from the sentinels he had so admired, his eyes meet the dark waters of the Seine. Running his leather clad hands over the faithful stone barrier, he hauls himself up onto the bridge's rail. It was only proper that he fall, disgraced, under the shining lights of the stars he'd so admired. Not long before the barricades had been erected, he had vowed that he would never rest until 24601 was safe behind bars. Instead, he'd been the one leashed like a dog. He could still feel the rope that had been placed around his neck by rioting children. He could feel those piercing eyes as he'd been dragged into an alley by the beast he was supposed to bring to justice.
Javert moves his feet closer towards the edge while directing his gaze back towards the heavens. The gates to paradise were now and forever locked to him. He'd faltered in his pursuit of justice. He'd let his convicts act of saving his own life cloud his duty to the law. In cutting the ropes and allowing him life, Jean Valean had damned his very soul.
The entirety of Paris seemed to hold its breath, the night air deathly quiet as he surrendered himself. With a prayer to God above as the holy bells of Notre Dame chime through the night, he tips himself forward towards the fires of Hell. With his arms spread like brown wings, Javert falls in disgrace like Lucifer himself.
Despite inflicting this fate on himself, Javert still finds himself caught off guard by the currents of water pulling him under like vengeful spirits. Like one vengeful spirit, for strength like this was matched only by one. The further he sinks towards his final resting place, the warmer the water seems to become as he's pulled further towards a painfully familiar heat. As if by some animal instinct, he starts attempting to claw towards the surface. The more he struggles to try and learn how to swim in his final hour, the more the Seine River begins to resemble Toulon, the more the water wraps around him like shackles. He was being dragged down, his penance secured in an eternal chain gang of sinners. He starts to imagine 24601 beside him, rather than a memory to look down on. The futility of his struggle, however, is made evident by the burning in his throat and lungs as though sulfer had been poured into them.
Before his head fully submerged, he could have sworn he'd heard his name called. Who would be calling for him? Who would even notice his absence? He had no family, no friends, not even a colleague to mourn his loss on this earth. In the inky nothingness of the river, ghosts of the past swam before his eyes with only one constant on this journey into Hell. The only person among the living who would feel his absence would be the one to reap the benefits as an unpursued man.
The many faces of a single man swirl obsessively while a strong current wraps around him. As he submits to the darkness, he could almost fool himself into believing he was wrapped in someone's arms. His body is jerked sideways with such force that any chance of it being a person trying to save him is erased. Only the weighted manacles of his watery prison could be pulling him anywhere. The only person with the kind of strength that could free him would never dare try and save Javert.
At least, not twice.