Title: Heart of Darkness.
Fandom: Beauty and the Beast – Disney - General
Characters: Belle, Beast, Gaston.
Prompt: Dark.
Word Count: 6135
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: “She can hear the joy in his voice, cold and sharp like the knife he probably still holds.” What if Gaston hadn't fallen off the tower?
Author's Notes: Contains non-consensual sex and violence. I blame the writing workshop for daring me to do it :P

She helps the Beast climb to the balcony, praying Gaston’s aim isn’t as good as everybody claims. Belle knows she’s just fooling herself, but she’s too scared to think anything else. She tries to convince herself this isn’t happening. The Beast is not wounded, falling to his knees, whispering her name with the voice of a dying man.

And Gaston is not following, knife raised for another another strike.

“Please, don’t!” Belle begs, trying to stand between the two men. Gaston pushes her away effortlessly and stabs his enemy again. The Beast roars. Gaston laughs. Belle screams. When she rushes to the Beast’s side once again, Gaston does nothing to stop her. They all know the Beast is not going to make it after this.

The Beast raises a paw to caress Belle’s face. His one word comes in a ragged whisper.

Run

How can she do such thing? She cries and begs him to stay with her. She needs him, she...

“It’s over, Belle,” Gaston says behind her. She can hear the joy in his voice, cold and sharp like the knife he probably still holds. Such an awful thing, his pride. Maybe she’s next. She should probably care. But she refuses to aknowledge anything but her dying Beast.

When she says nothing, Gaston’s hand falls on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. From the corner of her eye, she sees the rose, once so alive, now dying. Only one petal remains now.

“It’s over,” Gaston says again. “He’s dead. Nothing stands between us now.”

She laughs as she stands up, his hand still on her shoulder. It’s a sad, mad laugh. “What makes you think that?”

Gaston smiles through his confusion. “You are just tired, Belle. We’ll go back to the village now. We can get married tomorrow. Everything will be perf--”

“I am not marrying you.”

His smile vanishes. “Don’t... You are mine now!”

She spits in his face. “No matter what you do, I’ll never be yours!”

Belle knows she’s getting more than a “Have it your way” now. Still, the slap is almost a surprise. He starts to drag her away from the balcony, toward the West Wing. She cries, reaches out and scratches his face in a vain attempt to free herself. Big mistake. He pushes her, straddling her as they fall. Her head hits the floor with a loud thud and for a moment the pain won’t allow her to think straight. Gaston’s face is blurry under the pain and the rain falling on her face. But his hands, so big and strong as they rip away her clothing, are perfectly clear. She screams and tries to push him away, but it’s a battle she’s already lost. He hits her again and again until she stops. It’s not the beating that shuts her up; it’s his eyes. They’re ice, stone, iron, shining with madness and bloodlust. She’s only seen such A look on wild animals, like the wolves who almost killed her that winter night months ago. The Beast can’t save her tonight.

He’s laughing now, undoing his breeches with one hand as he removes what remains of her dress with the other. She can’t stop him and she doesn’t know if the pain she feels now comes from the way he takes her or from her heart breaking. He claims her with painful thrusts and harsh words, calling her his over and over. And the blood flows. From the scratches on his face. From her lips. Between her thighs. Maybe she’ll bleed to death and it will all be over. Maybe she died when she hit her head and she’s in hell now, where Gaston rapes her for all eternity.

Only a few feet away, eyes a warmer shade of blue watch helplessly. Such a short distance, but it might as well have been a mile-wide chasm. Oh, God, the Beast! Bleeding to death, so close and so far away, this cruel, dark picture the last thing he sees as his life fades. His mind racing, trying to will his body into action to help her, his heart breaking as he realizes there’s nothing he can do anymore.

And then it’s over and Gaston falls on top of her, groaning and gasping, his lips on her cheek, soft and gentle. It is worse than the violence.

“Mine,” he repeats before slipping off her. She closes her eyes and hugs herself for a moment in a vain attempt at comfort. She’s naked, bleeding and shaking as she reaches out, guiding herself by touch and feeling alone, looking for something to cover herself. Her fingers come across soft fabric and she pulls it closer, wrapping it around herself. It’s only when she’s covered that she realizes it’s the Beast’s cape, ripped away during the fight. She buries her face in the fabric, wishing for death to come, take her to the Beast. Gaston’s steps move away from her, but not too far away. Just close enough to...

Belle looks up. He stands by the Beast’s body, knife in his hand. There’s no way he can take the head with such a weapon, but there are body parts. It would be all a matter of breaking the bone in the right place. And Gaston is taking a trophy home anyway.

No. He can’t...

Clutching the cape around her body, she throws herself at Gaston’s feet. She couldn’t save the Beast from a painful death. But she won’t allow him to become a broken piece of Gaston’s trophy collection.

“Don’t!” she sobs, and her voice is raspy and shaking. “Please, Gaston. Please...”

For a moment she truly believes he’s going to lunge at the Beast and dig the knife into the dead flesh. But he only smiles. He’s got Belle on her knees, begging for mercy. He believes she’s finally broken.

And maybe, Belle thinks as he helps her to her feet and leads her out of the West Wing, he’s not too far from the truth.

Behind them, the last rose petal falls.

*

Maurice is following the objects up the stairs, towards their Master’s room. He knows something’s wrong. And his heart is heavy with anguish. They all stop when they see two figures approaching. Gaston and Belle. His daughter wears a long purple cape around her, her hair curtaining her face. Through the wet chestnut strands, Maurice can see blood and fear. His hands close into fists as he takes a step towards them. The objects do the same. They are not letting this man take Belle away.


“Stand back!” Gaston orders the old man and the objects.

“Release her!” Maurice demands to Gaston. He’s about to stand between his daughter and the hunter when Belle speaks.

“Papa, please! I can’t... Not you too.” She looks at the castle’s servants, all armed and ready to stand up for her. She, the one who brought death and chaos to their lives.

Maurice gasps, for he suddenly knows they’ve lost: somehow Gaston defeated the Beast and it’s now taking what he considers rightfully his.

Belle glances at the approaching objects. She shakes her head and tells them to stay away. No more people will be hurt tonight because they love her. She was once a prisoner in this castle to save one she loved. History repeats itself now. But this time, it’s a hundred times worse. She realizes too late now how much she loved her Beast, and how in all his initial cruelty there was nothing compared to the Hell Gaston represents now. And as Gaston leads her out of the castle and on his horse, she isn’t sure she doesn’t deserve such punishment.


*

There’s a hero’s welcome waiting for Gaston. They all gather in the tavern to praise his strength and bravery in facing the monster that threatened their village. Now they can sleep at night, knowing they’re safe from the Beast.

If only Belle could see that. Poor Belle, shaking even in Gaston’s embrace, her gaze lost as he talks of the future, the wonderful life he’s going to give her. Her lovely face is bruised and she clutches a long purple cape around her. Gaston puts an around her shoulder, pulling her close to him. She pushes him away, her eyes suddenly wild and mad.

“Don’t ever touch me again!” she exclaims, her voice harsh, unfamiliar to everyone. “You... how could you?” She turns towards the people gathered around them, a prayer in her eyes. “He was kind and gentle... He didn’t deserve to die. Please, you have to believe me...” Her voice breaks and she hides her face in her hands, sobbing.

No one speaks at first. They’re not sure what to make of this woman, so ungrateful at her savior, so insane in her defense of the Beast. Some start whispering. She’s gone mad, poor thing. One or two dare say those three words no one ever speaks aloud, but can’t help think about after Belle’s first words when asked about if the beast was vicious.

Maison des Lunes.

Gaston finally speaks, his voice cool and gentle as he addresses Belle.

“You are just tired, dear,” he says, gesturing towards Madame Leprince, the bartender’s wife. “You need to rest. I’ll come see you in a few moments, after I finish making the arrangements for our wedding.”

She looks at him and opens her mouth to reply but says nothing. Something about the way Gaston looks at her makes her follow Madame LePrince without a fight. Gaston doesn’t wait for her to be gone to address the villagers.

“She’s having a hard time right now. The beast killed her father, you see... ripped him apart right in front of her before I could stop it.” He sighed again. “ She needs time to recover and I’m going to be there. Still, I’d give anything to make sure her father was safe...”

There is a slight edge to his voice on those last words, an insinuation that makes Belle stop suddenly at the foot of the stairs and turns her head slightly towards him, just for a second, before following Madame Leprince.

*

Maison des Lunes.

She should have known better. Of course they don’t believe her. They never will. They never saw the goodness IN the Beast, the wonderful, gentle creature she grew to love. To them, Gaston’s good looks and strength deserve their undying devotion and trust. She thinks of Gaston’s words.

I’d give anything to make sure her father was safe...

Papa... Gaston would kill him. If Belle still refused to marry him he’d go back and kill her father. And he would lock her away. Would being locked in the asylum be worse than becoming Gaston’s wife? Probably not, but as long as she lets Gaston win, her father and the Beast’s servants will be safe.

While she thinks about this, Madame Leprince speaks softly to her, a sponge in her hand, gently dabbing at Belle’s face and neck. Belle’s eyes fill with tears as she thinks of the blood and bruises concealed under the cape. She suddenly longs for a bath, even though she knows there is not enough hot water and soap in the world to make her clean ever again.

The sponge barely grazes her left cheek and she winces. Madame Leprince frowns, but her voice remains calm in a vain attempt to comfort her.

“That monster really hurt you,” she says.

Belle almost smiles. “Yes. The monster did.”


*

By the time Gaston comes to see her, Belle is sitting on the edge of the Leprinces’ bed, dressed in a nightgown two sizes too big, the cape carefully folded and lying on her knees. Her hair falls over her face, concealing all traces of pain and anger. Gaston kneels next to her, cups her chin in his hand and pushes her hair away. There’s no love in his gaze. It’s all about the pride. He wanted the most beautiful girl in town. Now he has her, possesed under rain and thunder and the eyes of the one she truly loved.

For a moment, she thinks about doing something, yelling, asking for help. Then she remembers how much everyone loves Gaston. It would be hopeless to expect the villagers to believe her story.

So she meets his gaze with a heavy heart and a grim purpose. The Beast is dead, her father is gone, but she is with the man who made everything happen. And he’ll pay. Somehow, she’ll make him pay.

*

The wedding is small, intimate. Only the priest and a few of Gaston’s closest friends are present. And the Laroux sisters, sobbing hysterically, wishing one of them was the bride. Belle would trade places with them anytime. She’s scared, fear and pain beating loud in her chest, telling her to run before it’s too late. She didn’t run when he told her to. And she can’t run now.

The priest declares them husband and wife and she finds herself looking up, admiring her dashing husband’s face, or so the witnesses believe.

She’s actually looking at the sky above them. It’s a beautiful, cloudless day, the sky a perfect shade of blue.

Like the Beast’s eyes.

Belle can feel the pain burning, turning into deep, dark hatred as Gaston kisses her.

She’s doing this for him. And for her father. And for everyone whose life has been changed forever because of her mistakes.

*

It rains that night. How proper that the sky should cry, Belle muses. She has no tears left. Gaston is all smiles and sweetness as he undresses her. He’s talking but she can’t hear him, her mind drifting away to a world where such horrors don’t exist. A place where she reads Shakespeare and the Beast’s voice is a husky whisper with childlike glee as he asks her so many different questions about the books she loves. Yes, there was so much goodness in the Beast. She used to believe there was at least a little bit of good in everyone. Gaston has proved her wrong.

Belle feels as if she’s floating above the bedroom, watching herself and Gaston from above. He’s the one doing everything: touching, kissing and thrusting. She just lays there, eyes closed, the perfect bride. No use fighting him now. He might not slap her again, but there are so many areas that clothes can conceal just so the villagers can’t see the bruises. Besides, she’d rather let him have his glory now, let him think things are going his way.

Then he’s done, slipping off her and gathering her in his arms. She can’t help a shudder, but he mistakes it for cold, rubbing her arms and pulling the blankets over them. She stares at her hand over his chest and briefly wishes she was strong enough to dig her nails into his body, crack him open like an egg and let him bleed to death as she watches. She could even start with his throat first, let him choke on his own blood, her dark gaze the last thing he sees as his life dims. She imagines a hundred different ways to torture and kill, all bloody and violent and just what he deserves.

And Gaston smiles, mistaking the trailing of her fingers over his muscles as a clear sign of admiration.

*


The next morning she finds herself in the garden behind Gaston’s cottage, enjoying a few moments of sun and silence. Gaston stands nearby, always vigilant. He might see himself as the winner now, but he’s still cautious enough to keep an eye on his wife outdoors. Belle has the feeling one or two of his friends will be keeping watch by the cottage “in case Belle needs something” during Gaston’s hunting days. Let them. She’s not going anywhere until Gaston pays for what he’s done.

Belle gathers flowers _ sweet smelling bundles of white, yellow and purple, soft against her skin and with names she doesn’t know or can’t remember at the time. There are also other plants she picks just to keep her hands busy: leafy greens, dark berries and dried leaves. Gaston smiles as he watches, too busy basking in the glow of his triumph to notice the slight tension on Belle’s shoulders when he approaches her. Too happy about having what he considers rightfully his to taste the hatred in Belle’s kiss, or to see the cold, hateful purpose in her eyes as they walk inside the cottage.


*

One time, Belle was trying to reach for a book on the higher stacks in the library. It wasn’t until she was close to the last rung of the ladder that she realized how dangerously high she was. But she wouldn’t go back until she had the book. She lost her footing when coming down and would have met an unfortunate end at the ground below if the Beast had not been there to catch her.

The moment she had been safe in his arms he had held her against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, impossibly fast. His arms shook slightly as he set her down and Belle got the feeling it wasn’t because of the impact of her fall. She should have moved away a couple of steps once her feet touched the floor, but she didn’t. And he didn’t try to push her away. His breath was warm against her face and when she looked into his eyes, there was something she’d seen before. The way he looked at her when they sat together and read about knights in shining armor rescuing princesses, or stories about impossible, bittersweet loves. She’d read about that look, but never thought she’d see it in the eyes of the Beast.

It was then that she realized how confusing her feelings were. He was her friend, and she couldn’t be thinking of him in any other way. Except for the parts where she did. How safe she felt in his arms! How much she enjoyed the sound of his voice! How confusing her feelings were! It was new, scary and good, something she had never felt before. All those mixed emotions making her long for his touch, making her move closer as they danced. She could have stayed like that forever, dancing the night away with her Beast.

She should have stayed there. She should have never returned to the village. She should have never allowed her father to leave the village. She should have been clearer with Gaston from the beginning, and maybe that way she would have been able to stop tragedy for touching their lives this way.

Maybe.

Once upon a time, she could appreciate what all the girls saw in Gaston. On the outside at least. Tall, dark and handsome. It was the inside that bothered her: vain, arrogant and unkind. Not what she wanted. Now that she’s seen all of him, felt him hot and ravenous against her own body, she muses how close she once was to true beauty. There is no beauty in this union. She’s come to hate the sight of his naked body as he slides under the covers next to her. There is nothing but pain and discomfort in the way he takes her. He’s rough and quick, taking his pleasure with harsh thrusts and a triumphant glint in his eyes.

And then there are the times when he kisses her neck after they’re done and whispers. “He never could have given you this.”

He’s right.

It’s only when she knows he’s alsleep that she allows the tears to come. She eventually falls asleep as well, dreaming of sky blue eyes and soft, warm fur against her cheek.

*

Her chance for revenge comes in the form of a present from Gaston himself. A book, of all things. She almost laughs out loud when she reads the title.

Exterior Beauty - hairdo and finery by Madame Pourtoi.

“I had the bookseller order it just for you,” Gaston says. Belle mutters a thank you. She rarely speaks these days. Gaston doesn’t mind it too much. A silent, submissive wife is alright with him.

She reads it, for there is nothing else in the cottage. Some of the ideas in the book make her shudder. Some are pretty amusing. And then she sees it.

Belladonna. Deadly Nightshade. Used for the eyes, but also a poison. The description of the plant makes her heartbeat race as she glances at the flowers and leaves and berries she’s picked and placed all in one vase.

Purple flowers and dark berries.

And she knows what to do now.

*

Night comes. She makes sure everything is perfect. Gaston talks of his day, about his plans for their future. She’s learned to nod and smile just enough to keep him satisfied. She can even massage his feet now without a look of utter disgust ruining her perfect wife charade. And her mind is on other things tonight. Like, for example, the deadly nightshade in the second drink she will serve him. She knows he’ll take it in one long gulp, just before going for his meal. He is in such a good mood today. He truly believes he’s won.

Belle takes her seat in front of him. She catches a brief glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror (God, the man needs mirrors everywhere!). What she sees makes her blood run cold for a second. The woman who glances back at her is ruthless, dead inside, with only one purpose. It is what Belle has wanted since Gaston destroyed everything she held dear. And yet a little part of her still cries.

This is not right.

Gaston’s laugh is like thunder in her ears.

You are not him.

Belle remembers briefly seeing Gaston crouching in fear and defeat, the Beast standing in front of him, before Belle called her beloved’s name. The Beast could have killed Gaston. But he didn’t. For her.

If you do this, he truly wins.

He asks for another beer. She nods and stands. As she walks into the kitchen, her mind is a battlefield of emotions, and she’s not sure anymore who should win this one. She thinks of the Beast, lying under the rain as Gaston raped her. Of her father, hopefully safe at the castle, but so worried about her. Of the castle and all who lived there. Home.

Gaston’s voice brings her back to reality. “Belle! Where is my beer?”

She stares at Gaston’s glass, then at the belladona in its little glass vial. She’s spent the afternoon boiling flowers and berries, almost burning her hands preparing the poison that would avenge her loved ones and set her free. She picks up the bottle with trembling hands.

“I’m coming,” she calls out. She serves the drink, holds the belladona over the glass. She can do this. She can...

No, she can’t.

She places the belladona back in the table and picks up the beer before going back to Gaston. As she watches him drink and eat, another plan starts to form in her mind.

*

Gaston dreams of a bear. It’s bigger than any animal he’s ever met before, and very powerful. Before Gaston has a chance to raise his gun, the monster is all over him, a cruel rain of fangs and claws ripping the hunter apart. And no one comes to his aid.

He sits up straight as he wakes, a thin film of sweat covering every inch of his body. He never loses, not even in his dreams. Something is not right.

When he turns to Belle’s side of the bed she realizes what it is.

She’s gone.

*

Belle’s feet hurt and she’s shivering, despite the cape around her shoulders, by the time she reaches the crossroads. But she doesn’t stop. It’s too late to go anywhere but forward now. She knows that trying to reach the castle through the forest in the middle of the night is sheer madness, but she doesn’t care anymore. Even the dangers of the woods are better than another minute with Gaston. She thought she could do it. She thought she could avenge the Beast’s death. She was wrong. Now she’s doing the only thing left.

Shadows creep between the trees, taking menacing shapes. Belle does her best to ignore them, focusing herself on one thing only.

I can’t die in the woods. I have to get home. I want to see Papa. I want to see… I want to see his grave. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to tell him I love…

One of the shadows steps forward, stands behind her. She runs without looking back. Gaston has followed her. She should have known it would happen. Before she can chastise herself more, the shadow reaches her, calling her name.

And when she hears his voice she stops and turns, tears flowing before words can come out.

*

Gaston pushes branches and leaves away as he makes his way through the woods. That wretched, defiant girl! How dare she leave! No one makes a fool of Gaston. She’s going to pay for this. By God, he’s going to find her and make her pay for this rebellion. He will make that night at the castle seen like a walk in the park compared to what he’s going to do to her.

He suddenly hears her voice, low and broken by sobs. That makes him smile. Silly Belle. Probably tripped and fell and hurt her ankle and is now terrified, realizing what a mistake this was. Maybe he’ll be a little more lenient because of it. Maybe.

He finds her sitting under a tree, bundled up in the purple cape she brought from the castle. Something is wrong. Gaston takes a step forward and Belle sees him. She clutches the cape more tightly against her body as she looks around nervously. Her gaze finally settles on Gaston.

“You made a big mistake, Belle,” he says, taking another step forward. She makes no attempt to run away. Has she finally given up? Or is she ready to repeat the submissive wife act, pretend she’s sorry and beg for Gaston’s forgiveness? Then she’s not looking at him anymore. She’s looking behind him.

Gaston’s blood freezes, he stops breathing for a second and he knows with a cold, cruel certainty that the Beast is now standing behind him.

*

He spins around, rifle raised, only to have the Beast snatch it away, then snap in half as it was just a twig. Gaston swallows as the Beast steps forward. The monster is in no hurry. He knows every second is a rush of fear coursing through Gaston’s veins. The once triumphant hunter fall to his knees, hands shaking as he raises them in a vain attempt to ask for mercy.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” Gaston begs. “I’ll do anything! Anything! Please!”

The Beast scoffs, his head slowly shaking. “Too late for mercy,” he says, his voice so low and yet so clear.

Belle watches them in petrified silence. She tries to to look away when the Beast finally lunges forward with a roar. But it’s only when both men fall to the ground that she can close her eyes. She covers her ears as well, but the Beast’s roars and Gaston’s screams find their way into her mind in a bloodcurdling whirldwind. She refuses to see what’s going on, but her terrified mind fills her with images of death and agony. She knows it’s a lot worse than what happened to her. For the Beast makes sure Gaston pays for his crimes in the most painful, cruel ways. And Belle can almost taste the agony in Gaston’s screams.

He might deserve it, but it doesn’t mean she won’t stop shaking. The screaming stops and she opens her eyes, forcing herself to stare at the body, the town hero now just spilled blood, crushed bone and ripped flesh in the middle of the woods, her Beast slowly standing over it.



*

By the time he looks at Belle, blood covers the front of his shirt, his face, his paws. His heart still beats with the rush of bloodlust, but his mind slowly clears up, taking in what he’s done.

He doesn’t regret his actions. He would have taken the entire village to save Belle. But now when he looks at her, he realizes how much she has seen of him in the last few minutes. So much violence. So much rage.

Yes, he would have taken the village. That had been the one thought in his mind as he made his way through the woods. Everyone had warned him that he was still too weak, to wait for his wounds to fully heal. But he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t allow anyone to join him either. It was a dangerous plan and he didn’t want to risk anyone’s life but his own. They watched him go, everyone fearing the worst. Everyone, except the Beast.

He simply believed he could bring Belle back. Nothing else mattered.

He had never expected to find her in the middle of the forest, her running away when she felt a presence behind her, her stopping when he called out her name. Their first encounter had been rushed and anxious As they both realized they wouldn’t be alone for long. And now it is over. Gaston is dead and they’re together. But at what price?

They stare at each other in silence. He wants nothing else but to hold her, let her know she IS safe now. But how can he step forward when she has just witnessed his darker side come to life? She’s free from one monster and is now facing another one.

“Belle...” he says softly, tentatively.

The rest of his words are lost for a moment when she runs to him, her arms around his neck and her face buried in his fur, not caring about the blood. He holds her tight, wanting to believe they’re only trembling due to the spent energy and the cold air.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, tears filling his eyes. “I should have been there for you. But I just... I... Oh, Belle!” He closes his eyes, cursing his wounds. He should have come to her sooner, regardless of how long it took him. Who cares if he didn’t make it in the end, as long as Belle was safe, away from that brute? He keeps on talking, apologizing, saying loving words. Then she speaks, a soft whisper that silences him.

“You’re alive.”

Her tears are warm, her hands silky soft against the back of his head. There’s no fear in her eyes when she finally takes a step back to look at him. Her hands move to his arm, feeling the muscles underneath the clothes. He’s just a little bit thinner now after days (or was it weeks? Months? Years?) of bed-ridden agony. And she can tell.

“You’re alive,” she repeats, and her voice breaks this time. She can’t stop crying now. And the Beast does nothing to stop her. He just holds her close again, letting his own tears flow.

Everything seems to fall together in place, dark and heavy on Belle’s chest, memories of stormy nights and sunny winters. Of soft paws caressing her cheek and human hands ripping away her clothes. Of husky sighs as she reads Shakespeare and rich baritone laughter. Of true beauty and true monsters. Of the thunder and lightning night she thought she died at the hands on Gaston and the moment, just a minute ago, when he died under a full moon to the the tune of his own screams.

She loses track of how long they stand like this. But it doesn’t matter, for they’re together now, the way it’s supposed to be. The second time they break her embrace she moves away, towards Gaston’s body. He brought this down on himself. And yet she knows she’s to blame somehow. He thought once that he could truly have her and she never truly proved him wrong until that fateful night.

Belle has no hatred left for him _how can she wish harm on a dead body?_, but she can’t say she’s sorry he ended up this way after everything he did. She will have to live with it for the rest of her life. There’s nothing else she can do.

By the time the Beast stands behind her, one large paw over her shoulder, she’s smiling for the first time since the battle.

“I want to go home,” she says.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and leads the way.

*

At first, no one finds it strange that their mighty hunter isn’t around. He sometimes leaves for long hunting trips after all. But then a day passes and people start growing uneasy. Especially LeFou, who knows Gaston so well. He passes by the cottage, deciding to ask Belle about it, only to find the place empty. Now he knows for certain something is amiss. Search parties spread across the surrounding forest, armed and very concerned. Maybe they just wanted some time alone, someone says. But no one can shake away the dreadful, tragic feeling.

One the dawn of the third day, they find him. These are some of the bravest, strongest men in town after Gaston, but none of them can help feeling sick after such A discovery. Jean, the blacksmith, falls to his knees and throws up behind a bush. Michel, the merchant, has to rest his back against a nearby tree and close his eyes, doing his best not to faint. LeFou is the one who approaches the body first. He swallows hard and breathes through his mouth, doing his best to ignore the gore and the stench as he kneels by Gaston’s body, his hand resting against the dead man’s cheek, the one that is not scarred and covered in dried blood. He waves his other hand, doing his best to keep the flies away for a few moments.

LeFou is also the only one who cries.

*

They find the cape not too far from the body. LeFou remembers it wrapped around Belle after Gaston rescued her from the Beast. Poor Belle, so scared and so confused after what had happened. Gaston did his best for her, married her and gave her a home.

Why did she have to leave the safety of her house, go into the woods? They imagine her, eyes wild and hair floating behind her like a dark veil, running away from safety, too distraught by pain and anguish to realize what a reckless decision she was making.

And Gaston, so brave and noble. So willing to take her in, even when the town thought it was best for her to be locked away at the asylum. They can see him as well, running after Belle, trying to save her from herself and the dangers lurking in the woods.

They can’t even begin to imagine what creature killed them. Back when he came back from the castle, he loved to tell anyone who would listen about the beast he had defeated. Oh, what a horrible monster, with sharp fangs, cruel eyes and impossibly large claws! And Gaston had killed it, saved the village from a cruel fate. Whatever had killed him, it must had been even bigger, angrier, stronger.

They had to believe that. Only something so powerful could have taken Gaston down.

*

The sun shines upon them when they bury Gaston. The whole town is paying their respects, crying for their lost hero. As the casket is lowered, it starts to rain. How fitting, some say under their breaths, that the sky should cry for Gaston’s demise as well.


*

Belle watches everything in the mirror. She sighs with relief at the villagers’ theories. They won’t be coming to the castle. Even if someone believes the Beast is alive and had something to do with it, they’re too afraid without Gaston’s leadership.

She places the mirror back on the table just as the door opens and the Beast comes in. He sits next to her, his paw on her hand. They smile at each other, Belle resting her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. This is not a dream. When she opens her eyes, she’ll still be in the Beast’s arms, and their eyes will meet, and she’ll wonder at how sweet and how loving they are. They’re together now and nothing else matters. This is their happy ending.

Outside the castle, thunder roars, and it’s no longer a reminder of Gaston’s laughter.

FIN

ETA: Alright, I asked all parts involved to stop. You didn't listen. Comments are frozen and any attempt at reigniting this will be stopped as well. Take your arguments somewhere else.