Title: Sanctuary

Author: brobdignagian

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: I am not the owner the Hunchback of Notre Dame, either the book, which is owned by Victor Hugo, nor the animated movie, which is owned by Disney.

Summary: What if Clopin and Quasimodo had met before the Festival of Fools?

Notes: This story is based on the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, as I have not yet finished reading Victor Hugo's book.

Clopin is still around 20.

Quasimodo is still around 13.

And, as always, forgive me if any of the characters are not in character.

Clopin vaguely floated into consciousness. He felt numb, fuzzy, heavy. Dimly, he wondered what in Paris had happened the night before that would have put him in such a state (Had he gotten drunk and passed out again?). Comfortable as he was, Clopin made no effort to fully wake himself up and face whatever dangers were destined to present themself to him—whether it be the hyper eight year old Esmeralda waiting to play with him, or Frollo's peeved guards, waiting to torture and maim him.

Frollo's guards…

Clopin gasped. His eyes shot open as he remembered the laughter of Frollo's guards and the abuse they had unleashed upon him. His eyes dashed around the room, barely taking in the vacant, cramped quarters of whoever's room he was in, desperately looking for an exit. He wasn't in a cell, but that was no guarantee he wouldn't be in one soon. He sat up, ready to get out of bed and make his escape…

…only to fall back against the pillow, gasping again, this time in pain. His chest burned. Clopin put a hand to his chest, surveying the damage. He was unable to make out the majority of it, as someone had already bandaged him up. Clopin's face darkened—they probably only wanted him alive so that they could torture information out of him later.

He needed to get out of there.

Bracing his arms against the straw mattress, he slowly pushed himself out of bed, trying not to damage himself even further. He made it half way before his arms gave out, and he collapsed against the bed once again.

He groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. He would have to go about this a different way. Glancing about the room once more, he searched for something close to him, so that he could grab a hold of it and pull himself up.

No such luck. The barren room was just that—barren.

With a deep sigh, he did the one thing that was guaranteed to get him out of bed. Taking a deep breath, he ground his teeth together and rolled off the bed. He held back a cry of pain as his chest hit the hard, wooden floor. Breathing hard, he rested his forehead against the ground as he gained back his breath and the ability to move. So much for trying not to damage himself even further.

Once he felt he could attempt escaping again, he propped himself up on his elbows. With one hand to the floor, and the other grasping the bed, Clopin managed to obtain a sitting position. Leaning against the bed, facing the door, he, once again, was trying to catch his breath.

"Come on, Trouillefou." He addressed himself. "Just, get to your feet." With a nod, and aid from the bed once more, he managed to stand.

He stood uneasily for a moment before he took a step (parallel to the bed, just in case he fell.). And another. And another, without falling. Clopin broke out into a smile—the ability to stand would certainly make escaping a whole lot easier.

He turned towards the door and took another step. However his foot didn't hit the wood as he had expected, but cloth. Looking down, he recognized his purple overshirt, dark blue shirt and black gloves.

Convenient. At least he wouldn't be wandering around without a shirt on.

Squatting down, he made quick work of pulling on his clothes. First the dark blue shirt, then the gloves, and then the tattered overshirt. Pushing himself back up with a minimal amount of pain, he straightened out his shirts before starting to the door once more.

When he got to the door, he grasped the doorknob and opened it just enough to see though. Pressing his long face to the crack, he peeked out. There wasn't anyone standing guard by the door. Clopin frowned. That was unusual—there was always at least one guard to watch him in case he escaped (He was infamous for it, after all.). He opened the door a bit more and stuck his head out. If that didn't get their attention...

Nothing happened. Clopin looked around. No guards anywhere. His spirits brightened—What luck! He threw open the door, turned left and (sticking close to the walls in case someone came or he stumbled) started walking, intent on finding an exit.

It wasn't long until he came upon what must have been the main room. There were tall windows, a table, and a man—a guard?—sitting at the table, presumably asleep, with his head resting in his arms upon the table. Going on tip-toe, Clopin snuck over to the guard, determined to remember the face so he could take his revenge later on when he had the right supplies. He leaned close...

Only to gasp and draw back when he caught sight of the guard's(?) face. Clopin was sure he would always be able to recognize that face—aside from the large nose and buck teeth, the skin above his left eye was enlarged, causing the eye itself to be twice as small than the right eye, which was normal compared to the rest of his face. Clopin took a step back. It was then that he realized the man had a hunchback, adding to his deformity.

Clopin was ready to forget all of his thoughts of revenge and just escape when the man's deformed eyes opened. Clopin took another step back, preparing himself for the screams and curses that were, without a doubt, fated to follow.

But the man yawned and stretched, his back cracking(the man winced), and began rubbing his eyes. Clopin took yet another step back, and turned around, ready to bolt for it (Surely someone with a back that bad couldn't be a good runner?), when the man said, "Oh, you're awake."

Clopin froze. He was caught. Slowly, he turned back around, facing the disfigured man. The man stood up and gave Clopin a friendly smile. Somehow, that was more frightening than the predicted yelling and cursing.

The man walked closer to Clopin. "Are you feeling alright? The guards hurt you pretty badly…"

For every step the man took forward, Clopin took a step back. The man frowned when he became aware of this fact, "What's wrong?" He asked, his pace slowing down.

Clopin's, however, did not. At least, until he hit a wall. Then, he turned, and ran down the first hallway.

…He froze as he realized it was less of a hallway and more of a balcony. Clopin felt his jaw drop at the view, realizing he was not, as he had assumed, in the Palace of Justice, but at the top of the Church of Notre Dame!

He was just wondering how in Paris he was going to get down from this high up, when he was broken out of his thoughts by the man grabbing his arm. Before Clopin had time to pull his arm away, the man frantically spoke. "Quick! You must hide!" The man then began pulling Clopin back into the main room, which he then started quickly looking around. Clopin heard the distant sound of footsteps.

The man lifted the tablecloth, turning back to Clopin. "Hurry, get under there!" Clopin didn't move—not quite trusting the possible-guard.

It was only the sound of Frollo's voice that caused Clopin to dive under the table.