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The snow storm outside picked up by the time Barry reached the Beast’s castle. He pulled his horse towards the front entrance, the Beast laying across its back, unconscious from his fight with the wolves. His fight to save my life, Barry reminded himself, looking back at the strange man.
When he traded his freedom for the freedom of his foster father (his real father was already locked away for the rest of his life. Barry couldn’t bear to have another locked away if he could do something about it), he thought that the Beast was just that—a beast. After all, what kind of person would lock away another that was sick and needed help? When he’d been led from the dungeon and into a nice bedroom, Barry had been confused, yet somewhat grateful. It hadn’t changed his opinion on the Beast, but it had shown him that maybe things weren’t as they seemed.
That was definitely proven when the castle servants made themselves known; apparently, there was some sort of curse on the castle that had turned them all into household objects which, honestly, explained the whole ‘Beast’ thing. Then, he’d let his curiosity get the better of him and broke the one rule he was given: he went into the West Wing.
He hadn’t known it was the Beast’s chambers until he saw the clawed up bed, the painting of a handsome man ripped in its frame, and broken furniture littering the room. The only thing that looked untouched was a small, elegant table near the balcony window. On top of it was a simple pink rose protected by a dome of glass. Barry felt drawn to the flower, his feet carrying him all the way over to the table.
He hadn’t noticed he was being watched from the corner until it was too late. The Beast jumped from the shadows and pushed Barry away with a roar. Barry had never been more terrified in his life as he was when he ran down the main stairs and out the front door, forgetting his promise completely.
When he’d heard the wolves surrounding him in the woods, he’d thought he was done for. He hadn’t expected the Beast to come bursting from the trees, taking on the entire pack by himself andwinning. Barry felt that fear once again when the Beast’s attention turned back to him, but his eyes weren’t angry—they were apologetic and concerned. Then, the Beast passed out at his feet, and Barry knew he couldn’t leave him.
The servants—Felicity the teapot, Diggle the clock, Roy the feather duster, and Thea the candelabra (and the Beast’s sister apparently?) came running (as best they could) out of the castle, each asking a million questions as Barry lifted the Beast off of the horse and dragged him towards the door.
“Felicity, I need a rag and a bowl of hot water.” He ordered, pulling the Beast into the sitting room. Luckily, there was already a fire roaring in the fire place. Barry laid him out on the rug in front, checking the Beast over for injuries. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that there was only a bite mark on his arm.
He was cleaning it off with the water when the Beast woke up, shocked and confused to find himself in his own parlor instead of out in the snow and even more surprised to find Barry still with him and caring for him.
“That was stupid.” Barry told him without looking up from the wound. “You shouldn’t have come after me. You almost got yourself killed.”
The Beast growled. “Sorry I went after you to save your life. Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t have had to.”
“Maybe,” Barry snorted, “if you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away.”
“Maybe you should have done as you were told and stayed out of the West Wing!” He shouted back. Barry threw his rag into the bowl and glared up at the Beast.
“Maybe you should learn to control your temper and actually talk to people instead of roaring in their faces all the time!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Barry could see the servants cowering behind the furniture, but he wasn’t going to show his belly just because the Beast was being a jerk. The Beast obviously picked up on this, calming down enough to look somewhat ashamed.
Barry took a deep breath and returned to cleaning the wound. After a few minutes of silence, he smiled. “Thanks, by the way.” He felt the Beast jerk in surprise, and he blushed. “You know, for saving my life.”
The Beast nodded awkwardly. “You’re welcome, Barry. And, it’s Oliver, by the way.”
Barry’s smile grew. “Thank you, Oliver.”
Oliver smiled back, and a warmth filled Barry’s chest. Maybe, after saving each other’s lives, there was something there that wasn’t there before.