A Father to Us All
Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables.
A/N: I was inspired to write this one-shot when I saw a production of the show in which the scene in the sewers was a little grittier. Thenardier is shown dragging a random body around in most productions, but in this one the body was very clearly one of the students that the audience had gotten to know pretty well. Thenardier used these large metal tongs to rip out the dead boy's teeth… It was so awful that it made me consider another route the story could have gone: what if Valjean stepped in to stop Thenardier from doing any more damage? Here's a little AU scene for you.
Here's a hint of gold.
Thenardier kneeled down to get a better look. His trousers soaked in the shit and scum of the Paris sewer, but he paid it no mind. He was rapt by the gleam of that bloodied prize.
The corpse was fresh. He'd pulled it down here himself to get the first pickings. Plenty of other vermin would be combing the streets tonight, hoping for half as good a catch. The call to the barricades hadn't gone unheard- oh no- Thenardier had heard it loud and clear. A revolution meant one thing: unguarded pockets on easy targets. Any man this side of the Rue du Bac knew that much. But Thenardier was cleverer than those sorry bastards; he knew which barricade held the lot.
All these rich young boys playing soldier.
He grinned. He grabbed hold of the young man's face, his fingertips pressing divots into the skin, and pulled apart his lips to see what he could find.
Gotcha.
A shiny gold filling smiled back at him. Thenardier rubbed his hands together and licked his lips in delight. He choose this particular boy for his fine clothes and unmarked face, both sure signs of wealth, but he might have chosen any of the students. That was the beauty of the "Les Amis de l'ABC", or whatever they called themselves: they had stronger minds than guns, and plenty of little toys that would make a good price. That's why he'd headed for Les Halles first when he heard the cry to arms. He knew those brats didn't have a chance in Hell.
He jammed his fingers between those jaws and pulled at the gold. It stuck firm; his grasp slipped thanks to the blood wetting the dead boy's mouth. He'd need his instruments for this.
But he would have to be quick if he wanted to get his hands on any other treasures tonight. He reached a hand into his coat for his tongs.
A sudden splash rent the air as a body came catapulting down into the muck. Thenardier leapt back from his prey at the shock. The figure surged up, spewing waste in all directions. When the man had his bearings, he reached down into the sewer-run and hauled up what looked like a great bloody sack. Thenardier relaxed where he stood veiled in the shadows. It seemed he wasn't the only one picking at the students tonight. But there was something off about this other man, something he couldn't place yet. Then it hit him.
"Valjean? Ain't the world a remarkable place!"
Valjean jolted, drawing back like a hunted animal.
"Who's there?" He demanded, squinting into the darkness.
Thenardier crept forward into the light, smirking.
"Just an old friend."
Valjean's brow drew down in fury. He drew the body he carried closer, almost protectively, and spat back,
"Don't come any nearer, Thenardier. You'll regret it "
Thenardier laughed a loud, coarse cry. He turned his back on the other man. He pulled out his tongs and set back to work, kneeling over his corpse once more, and seizing a handful of hair.
"Make all the threats you want, old man. Are we not here in common cause?"
He dragged the head back by it's crop of black curls, bearing the neck forward.
"How are we different, really? Think, Valjean: I've this one, and you that one. And who gives a damn?"
He pushed the tongs into the boys mouth.
"What do think's worth more- his watch or his teeth? Or maybe his hair?" Thenardier yanked hard with the tongs and the boy's front bucked forward with the force of the pull. The tooth stayed in. Blood ran down the boy's chin and dribbled onto his loose cravatte.
"Got a knife on you? This hair's about long enough to cut. How much could I get, ya think? Five franks? Ten?" He laughed again, nearly choking in his amusement. He pulled harder on his prize.
"Damn tooth! Come on, now!" He growled.
He never saw the fist coming.
Valjean moved without thinking.
No, that wasn't right: he had thought very hard about what he wanted to do to that man. He'd made a list of what he would do. That list grew longer with every second that Valjean stood watching the monster.
He recognized the dead boy immediately. How could he not? Less than an hour ago, that boy had stood beside him. He had put his arm around Marius to offer comfort, to calm the boy into taking rest. He had smiled reassuringly at Enjolras when he was told to take the watch, whispering a kind word only Valjean had overheard. Your friends are with you, he'd said.That young man had cried brokenly when little Gavroche fell. He had cradled the orphan in his arms and wept. Valjean could not remember his name. But he would never forget his face.
That face was now being defiled by the leech before him.
Blood ran out the boy's mouth. His body was drenched in shit. He had been robbed already of his life, his valuables, and now even his hair and teeth? There was no dignity here. No compassion. If Marius were awake to see it…
This is his best friend.
The thought struck pure, radiant hatred into his Valjean's veins. Then he remembered.
Marius's best friend… Courfeyrac.
Gently, he set Marius down. He balled his fists.
He lunged.
The first blow knocked Thenardier clean into the filth. He went in face first, open-mouthed. He choked, unable to breathe, writhing in the refuse. Finally, he pushed himself up with the intent to flee, but the criminal was too fast for him.
He struck again and again. He lashed out with every limb until the man could hardly whimper in pain: a fist to the face, a kick to the ribs, a knee to the throat… For the first time since the bishop's reprieve Valjean forgot his mercy. For those few brief seconds he was once more an inmate at Toulon, rolling in the mud of the workyard as he fought a fellow convict. He may be older but he was still strong. He could still make him hurt. He sent one last punch to the jaw, and finally, breathing heavily, he fell back.
Thenardier scrambled to his feet.
"They should have hanged you!" He spat at Valjean. His voice went an octave higher in his distress.
Valjean grabbed him by the coat and pulled him close.
"Next time I see you, I'll make you wish they hanged you."
Thenardier's eyes widened. Valjean shoved him back. He wasted no moment but turned tail and took off into the darkness of the sewer.
Valjean sighed.
He leaned down to Courfeyrac. He took the vicious tongs from his mouth and threw them into the muck. He closed the boy's eyes which had stared into emptiness. He wiped the blood from his chin. He folded Courfeyrac's hands across his chest.
He didn't want to leave. But Marius couldn't wait. He had done the best he could do for this one. He would just have to accept that.
"Lord," He whispered, running a hand through Courfeyrac's dark hair. "Lord, please. Bring this boy the peace he deserves. Bring him home to you."
It was a thankless job, fighting for the dead. But someone had to do it.