The Beauty and the Beast

As the first drop of rain hit Alfred’s nose, he just simply couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to go out searching for Francis. Even though his jacket was warm, he was going to be soaking wet and cold in just a few minutes. A quick look on the sky confirmed his worries – clouds everywhere, clouds heavy with rain. The trees wouldn’t give him much cover either, most of them had already shred off their leaves.

“Man, I’m such an idiot,” he grumbled, forcing his bare hands deeper down into the pockets of the jacket. “No gloves, no scarf, no nothing. And I can’t even go back just yet – Matthew will never let me in after just twenty minutes of searching.” True. His brother had locked the door as soon as Alfred had stepped outside. Alfred snorted. “Such a twat.”

He wasn’t following any road. It was only lighted up by a few street lamps here and there, and if the drunken neighbours decided on going racing again tonight as they mostly did, he could easily been overlooked and run over. He wasn’t really longing for a week’s rest at the hospital.

The rain stated to fall. Alfred took in a deep breath of the cold air and lowered his gaze to the ground in front of him. It was already wet from the morning’s rainfall, but now it was turning into a soaking mess. His shoes slipped down into the mud, and he had to rip them free for every step he took. Swup-swup. The sound was annoying. Swup-swup. Sw-… “Oh, fuck it!” Alfred lifted his right foot, looking at it with annoyance. Water had slipped in through the heel and had soaked his sock. “It’s just too much!”

In anger he kicked the nearest tree with all his strength. “Fucking, fuck-fuck! Bad things always happen to fucking good people like me!” He turned his gaze to the sky, screaming: “When is it my turn to experience something good and see Francis in pain, hah?!”

The rain dripped on his face. He wiped his nose off in the sleeve, but as he opened his eyes and looked at the wetted spot, it wasn’t just rain. It was blood. Red blood. Alfred’s eyes widened.

“Wh… what the…” He looked up again. Through the dark he could see the shadow of something hanging down from the tree. It looked like some kind of shirt. He started to circle around the tree in order to get a better view, but he had hardly taken three steps before he understood from where all the blood had come.

A few trees away a car was standing with wrecked front and crashed windows. As he slowly approached it, it became clear to him that it wasn’t just any car – it was Francis’ imported, specially made green sports car. There was no way there could be two of those in the same, little town. Alfred’s heart stopped beating. He sank to his knees. The smell of blood was killing him, choking him. Just how bad had the accident been? Were Francis dead?

“Daddy…” Alfred’s low voice whispered. He forced himself up on two feet again, ran to the front of the car to peek in through the shattered glass. “Daddy!” But Francis wasn’t there. Pieces of the clothes he’d been wearing before taking off was spread all over the front seats, and as he looked up, from the tree locks of the man’s blond hair were hanging.

It quickly occurred to Alfred, that this was no regular car accident. Hitting a tree shouldn’t rip up your clothes or spread blood metres away or have your body disappearing. Someone must’ve come by to make the situation even worse. And that someone had taken Francis with them.

“This isn’t true,” Alfred gasped, tears coming to his eyes. “This just fucking can’t be true!” He backed. He turned around. He ran.

*

Francis woke up in pain and bandages. He grunted as he tried to move, but soon figured out it was no need – his body wouldn’t react to any of his commands.

‘What happened?’

Francis tried to remember. He’d been on his way back home, presents on the backseat. He’d taken a look at them, thinking about his sons. As he’d turned his gaze to the front again, something had slipped across the road. Something… huge and hairy and monster-like. Then it had all gone black.

“How are you feeling?” Francis forced an eye open at the sudden voice. Above him the smiling face of a young man watched him with careful eyes. “Oh my, you’re not well, are you now?”

“Who…?” Francis choked on the sentence. He gasped in air, but it was as if his lungs had collapsed, and he could hardly get his breath. The man hushed, patting his hair with a gentle hand.

“Now, now, don’t try to speak. My name is Tino, I’m the servant of this castle’s master.” Francis forced both of his eyes open, the confusion in them was clear. “My master, Arthur,” Tino tried to explain, “he was the one who brought you here. You’re lucky, you would’ve been dead if it hadn’t been for him.” Tino placed a hand over Francis’ eyes, gently closing them. “Try to sleep now, it’ll do no good for you to stay awake.”

“B-“

“Don’t even try to protest, or I might get upset.” Tino’s voice was suddenly harsh, but as Francis kept quiet, the man could almost hear how Tino smiled brightly again as he added: “You’re safe here.”

*

Alfred was running and though he had no idea in which direction his home was, he did not dare to stop op in order to figure it out. His heart was racing, tears were slipping down his cheeks, and he could hear himself whimper. Him! The strong, handsome man from town, him!

But he wasn’t going to try and play it cool. Not after what he’d just seen.

There had always been rumours, been myths regarding the wood. As he was little, his brother would read some of them to him. Some of them had been silly, some of them had been scary, but never had he believed one of them.

Until now.

“I have to get home, I have to get home, I have to get home,” Alfred repeated breathless, trying to keep his mind focused on that one goal. “I have to get home.” But he’d been running for ten minutes. If he had been running in the correct direction, he should already be back. Where did it go wrong? When he left the road. As he decided to leave the road, he’d decided to leave his only safe track back to the mansion. “I’m so fucking stupid!”

Alfred fell. His foot hit something, and he tripped, he fell, he crashed down into the mud. It hurt like hell, and he was desperate to get up and get moving, but as he raised his gaze, a pair of black boots was in front of him. Alfred screamed, it had to be the murder! He tried to get up, but the person grabbed his jacket and lifted him up and up into the air in a firm hold. Alfred kicked everywhere.

“Let me go! Let me-…” He went silent as his eyes fell upon the man, who had gotten a hold of him. The guy was tall, had dark hair and was wearing a shiny pair of glasses. He didn’t say a word. He just slowly placed Alfred back onto the ground, letting his hand slip to his shoulder instead.

“Berwald,” the man said with a deep voice. Alfred wrinkled his brows, still shaking with worry.

“B-Berwald?” The man pointed to himself. “O-oh, you’re Berwald? I’m Alfred…” The man nodded.

“Lost?” Alfred nodded. It was as if they’ve both gotten back to the baby-state, where no one can really speak or gesture or do anything complicated. The man patted his shoulder lightly.

“Come. Castle’s close.” Castle? Alfred wondered. He didn’t even know there was a castle in the wood. But Berwald seemed like a good fellow, and he was keener on following the man than running around alone in the dark, so as the guy started walking, he slowly followed.