thorium-230:
i drew sad old men unfollow me
a terrible attempt at drawing that “A Little Fall of Rain” scene between Javert and Valjean that I had mentioned a few days ago that has been making me cry for weeks now:
http://thorium-230.tumblr.com/post/47015575273/what-if-javert-got-shot-at-the-barricade-by-the
(jfc this doesn’t look like either of them i’m so sorry)
He attempts to struggle upright, but a large hand lands on his shoulder, preventing him from rising.
“Javert…”
He pays little heed to the quiet reprimand in the tone, but finds he hasn’t the strength to shrug the hand off. He slumps back, his breathing shallow and labored.
“Javert.”
The voice is sharper this time, tinged with a hint of fear. Javert can’t understand why.
“I’m alright,” he mutters gruffly, jerking instinctively as another hand covers the ever-widening crimson stain on the shirt over his belly. Strangely, there is no pain, even when the hand presses down. Perhaps it is worse than he thought.
There’s a strangled laugh from just behind his left ear, and the tone of it is all wrong. It sounds like a sob.
Javert swallows thickly, closing his eyes and willing himself not to break. Not here. Not now. Some distant part of his mind knows that he won’t last the hour, and strangely enough, he accepts it. But it hasn’t come to pass. Not yet.
“I’ve sent the young boy for a doctor. He won’t be long,” Valjean sounds pathetically hopeful, as though he thinks saying such things will make Javert believe them.
Javert makes to reply, but finds himself coughing uncontrollably. When the hacking, ragged sounds subside, he feels blood trickling from the corner of his lips. So it begins.
Valjean makes to remove his bloodied hand and touch his jaw but Javert instinctively prevents him from doing so, keeping his hand pressed to the sluggishly bleeding wound.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, breath rasping through failing lungs.
There’s a trembling sort of sound behind him, follows by the gentlest press of lips just behind his ear. His throat tightens further.
“It wasn’t meant to end like this,” Valjean sounds broken and angry, and Javert feels an unconscious surge of helpless anger bubbling up within him that he has managed to hurt this man yet again, regardless of who the fault truly lies with.
He clutches Valjean’s bloody fingers between his own, and earns a tender squeeze in reply.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, blood trickling in earnest from between pale lips. “I’m sorry, Valjean.”
He feels Valjean shake his head, those familiar curls brushing against the nape of his neck.
“Forgive me,” he clenches his jaw against the odd greyness eating at the edges of his vision, struggling valiantly to form words. “I have no right to ask it of you, but please. Valjean-“
The hand on his shoulder has moved to his jaw, and is turning him just enough to see Valjean’s face in the half darkness.
There are warm lips on his own.
This is as close to Heaven as he has ever been.
As the darkness closes in, Valjean cradles him against his chest, holding him with a gentleness that ex-convicts should not possess.
There are tears slipping down Valjean’s cheeks, but the last thing Javert sees is a trembling sort of smile. An intensely private look, meant just for him.
He will cherish it, he thinks hazily.
“Be at peace,” a gentle voice whispers. “Be at peace, evermore.”
And Javert obeys.
/casually sees myself out
