After my oneshot's lovely reception, I decided to write a full-length story. I'd like to thank my wonderful beta, Wolfgrowl. You're a life-saver, Wolfy! So, may I proudly present to you:
Recovery
Belle had read all the books in her father's library, everything from the boring almanacs to the simple picture books he had brought her as a child to the ancient journals of war heroes who had been dead for ages. She knew better than anyone how this story went. The beautiful princess was to be locked the highest room of the tallest tower in the envious witch's dark fortress, where she would languish until her handsome Prince Charming climbed through the window and rescued her. And that was it. Happily Ever After. The End.
But things never were quite like the stories on paper, were they? The envious witch was a beautiful, cruel queen. Her room had no window for a clever true love to climb in through. Her Prince Charming was a smiling monster who called her dearie and made her laugh.
She shivered. The room was cold, so cold. The smooth stone floors were barren, and the heavy manacles around her wrists chained her to the wall farthest from the door. It was pitch-black in the cell, so dark that it made no difference whether she kept her eyes open or closed. Belle had never thought that shadows could hold weight, but these seemed stifling, pressing in on her from all sides. Her stomach snarled, and she pressed a hand against it. She hadn't eaten since she had been thrown in her stone cage.
She pulled at the shackles once again and sighed. Anxiety and fear were eating her alive. She jumped slightly as door opened. She squinted as the bright light of a candle filled the room, illuminating the smooth onyx walls and making the mirror propped up against the far wall gleam like silver.
Then she walked in, flowing black dress blending in with the dark stone of the walls. Belle felt her heart twist treacherously with fear. It was the woman from the road, the one who had given her that dangerous bit of advice. He—it hurt too much to think his name—had revealed who she really was. The Queen smiled down at her, the candle casting her sharp features in shadow. "Hello, dearie. Shall we begin?"
"Don't call me that," Belle bit out, voice dripping with acid. She hoped it hid the way she was trembling. "And what do you mean, begin? Why are you keeping me here?"
The queen made a tiny gesture, and Belle's head snapped to the side as an invisible hand slapped her. Her temple slammed into the wall, and blood trickled down out of a wound hidden in her dark hair.
"Who did this to you?" The question sounded so innocent, so innocuous, that it took a moment for Belle to grasp the full meaning of it.
The brunette resisted the urge to snarl. Anger would get her nowhere in this situation. But try as she might, fury still bubbled up in her tone. "You did. You put me in this godforsaken place."
The triumphant smile that rose to the queen's face would have been lovely on another woman, but on Regina, it reminded the thin girl of a cat closing in on its prey. "Wrong." She snapped her fingers, and Belle's eyes widened in a brief moment of clarity before the bone snapped in two.
Belle had broken bones before. Her nose, when she had still been a silly little girl who didn't watch where she was going. Her hand, when she had been knocked over and tried to catch herself. And, once, a broken leg that had been quickly remedied. But, she discovered quickly, none of these compared with a broken rib.
She swallowed a shriek as the pain blazed down her side and through her chest. Clutching at her side, Belle looked up at the woman with pure hatred as throaty laughter rang through the room. "You...bitch," she hissed, breathing ragged as agony seared through her entire body.
The queen just smiled, austere black eyes glittering in the light of her candle. "Oh, don't go cursing me yet. I'm just following orders. Rumpelstiltskin did this to you."
Wasn't it funny how a few words could send her whole world tumbling down around her?
"You're lying," she whispered hoarsely, blue eyes wide with defiance and disbelief. She had to be lying. He would never do this to her, no matter how angry he had been. Her hands clenched into useless fists, longing to lash out at something, anything.
Regina arched an eyebrow. "Am I?" She turned to leave before glancing over her shoulder. "Oh, he told me to give you this." She pulled something out of her billowing black sleeve and tossed it over to her. It hit the stone floor with a clatter, punctuated by the door's slam as the queen left the room. Belle's cage was enveloped in darkness again, and she reached forward to retrieve the item that had landed at her feet, only to snatch her hand back as the jagged edges cut into her skin.
Belle leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the shattered remains of a porcelain teacup on the ground before her.
The queen smiled sweetly. "Who did this to you?" she asked for what seemed like the thousandth time. Time seemed still in Belle's black pit, and she was no longer sure how long it had been since she had left the other dungeon. Days, weeks, months, years; all seemed true. Countless bones had been broken, more blood had been spilled, and the delusions her hunger brought her had only grown stronger over time.
"You did." Her answer was flat and almost mechanical, a stubborn reflex more than anything else. She watched the little candle's light dance across the smooth obsidian walls, watched as it took shape and smiled sharp-toothed grins at her. They're just a trick of the light, a voice at the back of her mind whispered. They can't hurt me. They're not real.
Not real. Just like witches weren't supposed to be real, just like magic and ogres and beasts weren't supposed to be real. They were supposed to be imaginary, but imaginary things seemed to have a knack for finding her.
Regina's smile grew, and she snapped her fingers. Belle took a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of whatever agony she had earned this time.
The smiling light-creatures on the wall perked up, lifting their heads. Regina nodded, and they stepped off the wall and into her room. Their forms were clear now, bright wolves who looked no more substantial that they had as dancing candlelight. They slunk forward, tongues lolling like the hunting hounds her father had kept. Tails wagged, sending showers of sparks everywhere. I was right, Belle realized as they circled her, drawing closer with every silent step. Light can't hurt me.
But fire could. The first wolf lunged, sinking teeth made of flame into her shoulder.
Belle closed her eyes as the wolves tore into her with blazing jaws and talons. Even the slightest brush of one sent pain rippling up her arm. Even with her eyes closed, white tinged the edges of her vision. Someone was screaming, and it took her a moment to realize that it was her.
Laughter, sing-song and delighted, rose above the dull roar in her ears and the hungry snarls of the wolves. "Who did this to you?"
Who did this to you? Who did this to you? Who did this to you? The question bounced around in her head, ringing in her ears and blocking out everything else. The hellhounds ripped into her skin, leaving dark, steaming burns wherever they touched. One clawed at her neck, and the screams rose to a piercing screech.
"Rumpelstiltskin," she whispered, and the wolves took a step back. Her head bowed, shoulder quaking with silent sobs, Belle did not see the smile spread across Regina's face.
"What was that, Belle? I can barely hear you, darling," the dark woman said, her tone mocking. "You musn't mumble, darling. Now, say it again, and speak up this time."
"Rumpelstiltskin."
The wolves slunk back to their place on the wall, growing more indistinct and fuzzy. The queen's eyes glittered like polished ebony, the look of a snake choking the life out of a mouse. "It's a bit loud in here, darling. Once more?"
"Rumpelstiltskin!" The shout tore itself out of Belle's throat and into the open air, all anguish and fury and sorrow. She glared up at Regina for a moment before something inside her broke, and she looked away, closing her eyes. The Queen smiled.
"Good girl." She waved her hand, and Belle felt the larger burns fade. The door slammed, the light going with Regina, and she was alone in the dark again.
The brunette took deep, ragged breaths as her heart raced. Inhale, exhale. One in, one out. The pattern was comforting in a way, the only sensible thing in her little dark world. A wave of revulsion swept over her. She had given in to Regina. She had said the words that the Queen had been trying to force out of her for months. She was a coward, breaking under a bit of pain. Her father would be so disappointed. He would be so disappointed.
Inhale, exhale. One in, one out. There was her reminder of why she had done it. She had said it to keep herself alive. She knew it wasn't true, just as she knew the Queen's feline smiles and sweet words hid poison. She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes drifting closed. She was so tired of fighting and running and arguing. Maybe it was better this way, to let the woman hear what she wanted to hear. She curled up, hissing in pain as the filthy fabric of her dress brushed the new burns and old bruises. Yes, she would be safer this way.
The last thing her eyes fell on before they closed was the pale pieces of porcelain.
It became a routine. Regina would arrive in her sell every once in a while, always asking the same question. "Who did this to you?" When Belle gave her the answer she wanted to hear, the rewards were small but welcome. A piece of bread. A broken bone healed. A glass of water. Wrong answers brought more pain or starvation.
"Rumpelstiltskin," the girl in the dirty blue dress answered dutifully from her corner of the room, voice raspy and weak. Her dark hair was matted with filth, and her wide blue eyes were dull. The wrong answer had slipped out last time, and the queen had broken three ribs with a flick of her fingers.
Regina smiled and waved her hand, and Belle felt the familiar pain of a bone resetting itself in the proper place. The Queen tossed a scrap of bread over to her that she quickly grabbed, drawing it to her like it was as precious as gold. The woman in black turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the darkness again.
She took a ravenous bite out of the bread, paying no attention to the odd taste in her effort to eat as much as possible. Her stomach still ached when the food was gone, but it was a small comfort to know that she wouldn't starve before the queen came again.
Belle felt it before it happened, a wave of nausea hitting her like a brick wall. She doubled over, retching up the little amount of food in the stomach. The dull roar in her ears was so loud that it almost hurt. Let's begin, shall we? a voice in her head whispered.
Screaming. It filled her head, the room, the entire world. The screams of her father and her friends and her long-dead mother. The screams of fathers and mothers and the youngest children. His screams. It filled her up, drowning out any other sound. She was blind in the darkness, a little blind bat running scared from something it couldn't see.
"Stop," she whispered. "Please, please stop." She pulled frantically at her shackles, trying to escape the noise. The cold metal cut into her skin, drawing blood. The voices had all come together in one piercing, terrified wail. She tried and failed to rise to her feet, too weak to stand. Pale hands scrabbled at the cold stone floors, and her pained screech joined the anguished howling of the voices in her head. She lifted one shaking hand to feel the jagged shard of porcelain bury itself deep into her palm.
She huddled against the wall, cradling her bleeding hand in her lap as she tried to ignore the screams from her poisoned, twisted mind. Her breath came out in short, ragged gasps, tears rolling down her cheeks. She pulled the sharp remains of the teacup out of her hand, and she didn't need to see to know that blood covered her fingers. What had she done to deserve this?
Who had done this to her?
Even as she curled up in the shadows, face hidden from the rest of the world, the voices in her head shouted the answer among their pleas for mercy and cries for help. You know, they accused. You know, you know, you know. Of course she did. Hadn't she known all along?
Who did this to me?
Rumpelstiltskin.
Emma answered her phone on the second ring after a moment of staring curiously at the unfamiliar number. She gave her number out only to a select few people. "Emma Swan speaking," she said, propping her feet up on the desk she had been given at the police station.
"Sheriff Swan?" The voice on the other end was nervous and definitely male. She could hear other voices in the background, too fuzzy and indistinct for her to make out. The man on the end certainly sounded familiar, but it took her a moment to place it.
"Dr. Whale, is that you?"
There was a sigh, anxiety leaking into his voice. "Yes, it's me," he whispered. "Sheriff, I need your help.
"Why didn't you call the station?" the blonde asked, leaning forward in her seat. The doctor sounded serious. "And how did you even get my number?" A bit of irritation colored her tone, but she quickly brushed it off. If the man had something important to tell her, she would listen.
"Uh, a friend gave it to me." Emma took this to mean Mary Margaret. "As for calling the station...it's not safe. She can get into public phone records." The blonde perked up. She could only be Regina. The doctor continued, "I just can't take it any longer. I mean, the pay is good, but this...this isn't right. I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to help people, not keep them locked up." He was talking faster now, becoming less coherent. "I wish I'd never agreed to it, but it's so damn hard to say no to her, you know? She could have ruined me if I'd refused."
"Slow down, Whale," Emma ordered, getting to her feet. "What are you talking about?"
The man on the other end sighed again. "Look, I'm putting my job on the line just by telling you this," he whispered, "so if anyone asks, you didn't hear it from me. Come down to the hospital as soon as you can. Check out the basement, and I promise it'll be worth your while."
Emma nodded, looking down to make sure her gun was in place under her jacket. "Okay, I'll be right over."
"Thank you, Sheriff. And, please, hurry. I don't know how much longer you have left before it's too late." The other end went dead.
Hope you enjoyed it, everyone! Read and review!