The rage takes over him completely, swallowing the void inside of him whole and leaving nothing of the man behind. Gaston doesn't see Maurice's face anymore, the world being drowned by the sounds of war and the nagging voice yelling inside his head.
"You will never marry my daughter,"Maurice says.
You're not good enough, he hears. Not handsome enough, not manly enough. Too stupid to learn how to read, even though he could never focus on the pages. Worthless, useless, nothing but a brute.
Not strong enough, not fast enough.
A gunshot echoes in his mind at the same time he throws the punch; the hurt he felt in his tired feet and bottom all gone, traded but a ghost burn on his shoulder, a skyrocketed heartbeat and a unsettling wrath. It the old man isn't with him, he's against him.
And nobody stays in Gaston's way.
You're no hero,his mind insists, and he's not sure who the voice belongs to. Was it his father's, long gone, or his neglectful mother? Was it Belle's soft voice, or Maurice's?
Was it his own?
What you are is gone, the war is gone. You're pathetic.
Not good enough. Never good enough.
You couldn't save them, it reminded him as countless faces of young soldiers poured through his mind. They trusted and followed you and you weren't enough. You never will be. You're the shell of a man lost at war.
"Gaston!"
The arms are holding him again but he doesn't react, he doesn't feel them. Gaston thinks he kicked the knocked out man at least once but he can't be sure, he's all but gone in the battlefield and all he sees is red and self-loathing. There's a soothing voice in his ear but all he can hear is death.
"Gaston, please, he's out already!" the voice begs, reminding him of every good his mind purposefully forgets. That he's a hero, going through enemies like they're nothing with explosions behind his back. Of the women whose husbands died at war he saved. Of the feeling of belonging. That he's a paragon, perfect image of a man. "Yes, that's it, that's it. Welcome back, Gaston. My captain."
Gaston looks at the voice, his vision blurry and clouded.
And there is LeFou, his presence bright like a beacon calling to him, and suddenly with a sigh all is fine again. He can breath again, he's himself.
Because LeFou is with him.
With one glance at the elder lying on the ground he knows what to do, mind flooding with different thoughts now that he's back, like the calm before the storm, planning the next step of an attack plan. Gaston shouldn't have lost his head again but now that it's done he has to lessen the consequences, stop it from going too far and getting on his way. From making someone think he's less than the hero they all know and adore. That he's not enough.
He can't afford to be otherwise.
"Come on, LeFou. Let's tie old Maurice up."