Based on a prompt from the Les Miserables kink Meme. Goes without saying, but I do not own Les Mis in any way, shape or form other than various versions of the soundtracks.


Chapter 1

The first time he noticed the sentinel was in Toulon, about 5 years into his sentence. He was a young guard with a moderately pretty face. The man did nothing in particular, was simply walking down the line of cells, but it was enough to attract Valjean's attention.

He was usually quite good at picking up the moods of other people. It was a useful gift here, being able to tell whether or not he could continue to push; having a sense of if a person was bluffing, but as he watched the blue uniform stalk past, Valjean felt nothing but a curious tingling sensation up his spine. It was odd, but he dismissed it soon enough.

It was a few weeks later that he heard the other guards whispering about the gypsy sentinel who had joined their ranks. He had heard of sentinels, of course. Practically on par with faie creatures, gargoyles and matagots, they were things of legend. Oh, there were those who believed in sentinels, but they were not a common thing.

It was strange how quickly his mind took to the idea of the sentinel guard, Javert. He saw him a few times a week, easily; either watching the prisoners suffer their manual labour, or passing by their cells, be it while they were sleeping or eating their pitiful rations. The man had sharp eyes, and seemed to easily spot trouble almost as soon as Valjean felt it bubble forth from their minds. It left the convict with a strange feeling in his chest, was it admiration? No, that was not something he felt for those who chose such a violent career. He knew it was not attraction, for although the guard was far more pleasant to look upon than anything else that walked these corridors, Valjean prided himself in needing a decent personality also to find a person attractive.

This odd feeling was more difficult to dismiss. It clung to him like a headache for weeks.


As autumn turned to the harsh nights of winter, then eased off into springtime, Valjean did not concern himself with the young guard. He could still hear the other guards' gossip, their comments on 'was it true the gypsy's mother used to haunt the women cells?' or how 'the freak had stopped another escape attempt and claimed he had heard the commotion, despite being on a different level.' He did not let this bother him, even though he found himself believing in the extraordinary senses of the other.

Régis, or 17957 as the guards called him, had been here many years. Valjean had never asked why, but knew his stay was extended thanks to his violent temper. Régis claimed that sentinels were as real as God in his Heaven, as real as both angels and devils. He claimed sentinels were incomplete beings though, that they required their guide, the other half to their soul to bond with them and stabilise them or they would burn out.

Valois, 20116, had agreed with this while they were once again working in the docks. He said he'd been there when a sentinel's guide had been killed, a female sentinel, but she had turned animal. Alternating between whining a high pitched and pained noise and then snarling with inhuman fury, Valois put the sentinel down with his shotgun. She had been his sister, and he had not objected to being taken here. He did not regret sending her to her guide though.

Valjean found himself wondering if Javert had his other half. He found the idea most disagreeable, an odd feeling of jealousy and rejection churning in his gut. It did not make sense.


As the nights grew warmer, Valjean spent time in a separate cell. His escape attempt had been foiled by the one guard he had a fascination with. He did not entirely object to being so separated from the other convicts, for though many of them suffered sentences too harsh, all of them were bitter and it often weighed down Valjean's mind. A fight that had resulted in the death of a guard and subsequent death of the convict that had killed him filled the area with such heavy feelings of anger and despair, of such a desire for violence, that he had found himself unable to wait out the remaining time for his release, despite the fact that he knew getting caught attempting a second escape would result in an increase of time.

As he had snuck through the dark grounds though, the wish to take Javert with him, away from the corruption had been startling. He had pushed it from his mind and carried on, unable to fully break the thought of Javert from his thoughts.

He had not gotten far when he'd heard a soft footfall behind him. Spinning, he saw a lithe body pointing a rapier at him.

"Stop there, 24601."

He had frozen momentarily, then taking a breath, he had calmly returned to the young sentinel. Surprise had then flitted briefly across the man's (boy's? He looked little more than a child this close...) face.

Valjean sighed as he shifted against the cell wall. He had not even tried to flee after being found, had simple allowed his arms to be cuffed behind his back, had simply allowed the young guard to march him back to the prison.

He remembered the guard's hands. He had not worn his gloves and Valjean had seen, and felt, the calluses that covered his skin. They were the hands of a child who'd been through a workhouse, or put to use on a farm, not of a child pampered and protected. It had made the guard seem more human, despite the claims of his colleagues that he was not.

His cell was opened and his attention turned to the one whom he could not feel.

"I thank you, Guard Javert. The last time I attempted escape, it took them nearly 2 days to bring me food."

Dark eyes focused on him, as the man set the tray down. "It is not just to starve a man, not even a criminal."

Valjean stood with Javert, intending to thank him again, a desire of something other than the usual hostility of guards and convicts between them. Javert froze as he took a breath, his face going oddly blank. Valjean frowned, and moved closer, reaching out a tentative hand to the guard.

Javert did nothing, eyes focused on nothing. Valjean realised, with a jolt, that he could now feel the other man, though the feelings were all vague and oddly detached. He looked over at the door. Was another guard going to come in, maybe object over the amount of time Javert had been here? But, no. No one entered. Javert breathing was going faint; like it wasn't even properly occurring to him that it was a necessity.

"Javert? Javert! Wake up, man." And still the guard did nothing.

An icy stab of fear made its way under Valjean's skin. He was reluctant to actually touch him, the man was still armed. He glanced down at his meal. He would eat, maybe that would give the guard time to recover from whatever was bothering him.


He sat and ate slowly, though the food was bland and not enough. He slowly cleaned his bowl with the bread roll he had received, eyes barely leaving the other's face. He was pale, still breathing too softly and sweat was beading on his forehead.
Licking the crumbs off his fingers, Valjean stood. He walked over to the entrance and looked out, peering up and down the corridor. No one was there. He could easily leave. He walking quietly back over to the sentinel. The man's face almost had a blue tinge to it now. Could he leave? He would be free, from a physical cell at least. He looked into the man's dark eyes. Would he start breathing properly on his own again? Would anyone soon come looking for him? The other guards had made it clear they did not care for him. If he left, would that make him a murderer? He did not literally put his hands around the man's throat, but would God ask why he did not assist anyway?

Though it pained him, there really was no choice. He slowly detached the rapier from the man's hip. He was stronger than the man, but did not wish to risk such harm. Having set the weapon down by the wall, Valjean wrapped his arms slowly around the sentinel, tucking his face into his neck.

He did not truly know what he was doing, but he allowed instinct to guide him. The guard gave a soft whimper, and folded into him. Valjean sagged slightly at the unexpected weight, leaning back into the wall and sinking to the floor. He gazed longingly at the way out as Javert curled into his arms and slept.

He did not move. Until Javert stirred and bolted, several hours later, Valjean held still, protecting his sentinel against his chest.