Currently going through the horrors (thinking about the barricades). Turns out getting shot in the leg, being tied to a post for hours, thinking the guy you’ve been hunting for years is about to kill you and then he lets you go and forever changes your worldview, and then throwing yourself in the Seine are horrific to dwell on. Who would have guessed.
I don’t have any memories specifically of that jump, but I know it still went the same way. I know I looked at the stars one last time. They felt… mockingly cruel and hollow.
Part of me really wishes that all those fix-it fics, Post Seine AU, those ones, was what happened to me. But god knows it most likely wasn’t. I died, and there you have it. I spent the last, what, 48 hours of my life with a limp, with little sleep, food or energy, while I had a moral crisis.
Come to think of it though, I really was meant to die there. I’ve talked about this before with some friends, but my superiors as far as I remembered hated me for the obvious “son of prisoners” thing. They didn’t trust me. They probably thought I was naturally deceitful, or that I wasn’t sincere enough.
I was a terrible spy as well. Could barely tell a convincing lie if I was found out and there was no way in hell someone wouldn’t have recognised me. It was a suicide mission plain and simple - I didn’t even know, and I was the only one sent to spy, at least that I remember.
When Enjolras says in the Brick that my friends killed me when the whole hostage debacle happened he was right. They did. They actually did. And I didn’t even realise then. God, that fact sickens me. I really did die alone in the world.
— Javert (Les Misérables) #📺🎙💥
✉
