Who: Belle and the Beast
Where: The Beast's Castle
Warnings/Rating: Safe, I have no doubt.
Curled in a patch of spring sunlight in the silent garden just inside the tall walls of his castle, the Beast was dreaming. The chill of winter remained in the air as it came down the slopes of the mountains, and the lingering cold twisted and condensed into tendrils of fog that curtained the crumbling castle at their foot, but that day sunlight managed to filter through the low-hanging gray clouds and linger on the frozen ground and dormant roses.
The Beast had found the patch of sunlight after a temper had uprooted him from his tower and sent him prowling about his small territory, looking for something to tear. He had not changed from his horrible amalgamation form in months, and he was beginning to realize that the phase of unpredictable changing was finished. Torn between relief that he would not suddenly come to himself again with his mouth full of feathers or his feet dangling from the rafters, and rage that his temporary human form was again lost to him, the Beast destroyed everything his claws could reach and then went looking for more.
Fortunately, the invisible servants knew when to make themselves scarce, and eventually he spent his rage, and found himself again lonely and tired in the old garden. His various mismatched parts ached, and the wolf's muzzle couldn't reach the striped horse's haunches, so he lay down and set the massive set of grubby gray wings over the bear's concave chest.
In his dream, the Beast was remembering when he was not the Beast at all. He was talking to his older brother, responsible golden bastard that he was, muttering in his sleep and twitching like a barn cat.