Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom! :( Or any of the others, for that matter, but I can still play with them!

This is a little idea I got when I went to see Love Never Dies. I thought it was amazing, by the way, despite the fact loads of people can't seem to stand it. Although I agree the story could use some more work - little too simple and predictable. But still, this is an alternate ending to Love Never Dies. Can't believe no one else has already posted something like this - had a quick scan through to check - but anyway, here it is.

Also I cut a few of the lyrics to make it work a bit better in writing form. You probably all know them anyway ;D

It was like some grotesque, twisted parody of what things should be. The night was soft and cool, the moonlight brushing everything with silver, the sea a beautiful, shimmering eternity of rippling water. And she was standing with four of the people she loved most in the world - her son, her angel of music, her best friend, and Madame Giry, the woman who had been like a mother to her since her father's death... only Raoul was missing. Raoul, who she thought of now with a sinking heart and the knowledge that she would never see him again. And so it was just the five of them, standing there on the pier under the beautiful, cloud-strewn sky, continued to play out this disgusting scene which she still could not believe was happening. Meg's arm around Gustave's throat, the silver barrel of her gun against the boy's forehead. The rest of them frozen before her like statues, terrified, certain that any movement however small would lead to nothing but a terrible and sudden death.

She could almost see the Phantom trembling beside her, wrestling with fear and rage, breathing hard and fast through his nose like a bull about to charge. The sight reminded her of how he had been all those years ago back at the Opera house in Paris, how his emotions had been so raw, so child-like, spinning from love to fury in mere seconds. She could see that he wanted nothing more than to rush forwards, perhaps even kill the one that was threatening his son as he had killed before, but he was holding himself back as best he could. He hovered between her and Meg, his arms outstretched slightly, his hands twitching in and out of fists.

Angel of music, guide and guardian...

The phrase leapt into her head, random and unexpected, catching her off guard. She almost laughed. Words from a time when everything had been so much simpler, when she was just a girl beginning a career in the Opera, practically a child, when there had been no deaths and no complications and nothing like this... They all flinched as Meg made a sharp gesture with the gun, and tears sprang from Gustave's wide eyes. Christine felt her heart shudder in her chest at the sight, forced back a shriek.

"Who swayed the local bosses? Curried favour with the press?" Meg hissed, her voice shaking wildly, her tears sending huge, black tracks of mascara and make-up down her pale, gaunt cheeks. "No, not her. And who kept singing, desperate for your favour?" A sob tore her voice. "Who kept dancing, hoping you would save her?"

The sight of her made Christine want to cry herself. She could barely believe that this was Meg, the sweet, talented dancer who had once gripped her hand and smiled back in Paris. Meg's voice rose to a raw shout, making them all start once again.

"Who kept dying? And this is what you gave her!"

She stared at him with desperation and blame flickering in her gaze. He stared back, his hands slowly lowering, his face dark with a sudden understanding. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Meg glanced around at them all, suddenly quiet and eerily calm. She took a deep breath.

"Now that I've got your attention at last," she spat. "Here's the big finish and then you can go!"

She suddenly hurled Gustave away from her and lifted the gun to her own head. Christine rushed to catch her son as he staggered backwards, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, fierce embrace. She could have broken down right then and there, but she pulled herself together and pushed the boy behind her, straightening. She realized with a jolt that the Phantom had moved away from her and towards Meg, his hands held out in submission, his voice soft and gentle. That voice, that never failed to mystify its audience, now even seemed to quell the quiet roar of the sea as he stepped closer to Meg, holding her gaze.

"Give me the gun, Meg," he whispered. "Give me the blame for not seeing the things that you've done for me. Please, Meg, give me the chance to see you clear at last..."

Meg gazed at him, and suddenly relief swept across her face. The gun shivered in her hand. "See me...?"

"I understand, Meg, I have felt what you feel now. You feel broken and bruised, you feel robbed of love and pride, but I can see all that beauty underneath." His voice wove a spell that they all fell under, a wonderful beauty that all of them couldn't help but submit to. "This is not you. Diamonds never sparkle bright if they aren't set just right. Beauty sometimes goes unseen... Meg, please. We cannot all be like Christine..."

"Christine..."

Meg's voice turned hard as stone, and her eyes flashed with grief and fury. He seemed to know at once that he had made a mistake: he stepped back smartly, his eyes narrowing once more. Christine pushed Gustave further back, her heart in her mouth.

"Christine?" Meg repeated shrilly. "Why... It's always Christine!"

And then the gun was swinging to face her, and she imagined she saw sparks leap from the barrel as with a screaming gunshot the bullet was released, like a fanfare for death. There was a flash of darkness, something hit her in the chest and sent her stumbling back. Gustave's hands clawed at her arm as he let out a cry of fear and horror. Through the haze of confusion she could hear Meg stammering and crying.

"N-No, I didn't m-mean t-to! No!"

"Meg!"

"M-Mother, please!"

She looked up, trailing her hand over her chest, over her stomach, searching for blood... but there was none. Frantically she span to face Gustave, gripped him by the shoulders as she stared at him. No blood. No wound. Just fear. Wide-eyes stared straight past her at something else. She turned slowly, dreading the sight that would meet her. The other three stood in a triangle. Meg had dropped the gun. Her hands were pressed to her face, her eyes huge and still weeping black tears, her whole body shaking. Madame Giry stood motionless, for once all of her cool-headed calmness gone completely, a mixture of emotions etched deeply onto her face. The Phantom stood in front of Christine and her son, between them and Meg, staring past the trembling girl's head and into the sky. His hands were folded over his stomach.

It took her so very long to understand. So very long to see that his legs were trembling, that Meg's gaze was fixed on his hands, that everybody else was unhurt. And then he swayed, toppled heavily to his knees, and the cold truth of what had just happened hit her in the face like a punch. She heard herself gasp, rushed unsteadily forwards to catch him as he dropped towards the ground. Her hand met something warm and sticky, and she peeled it away to find it wet with scarlet blood.

"No," she whispered.

She pulled him over onto his back, slipping her arm behind his head. He was jerking convulsively, his bloodstained hands still pressing against his stomach as if trying to push the blood back in. She saw it all again as if watching it from above - Meg turning to her, the gun going off, the flash of black as he dived between her and Meg, his hand that had shoved her back out of the way. It all flashed before her eyes like a horror film. He suddenly let out a twisted, painful sound and her heart leapt to her mouth. She pressed her free hand against his face, and his eyes flashed quickly to hers. They had lost that mystery, that dark secrecy that made him everything he was. Now, all she saw in those eyes was agony. And that terrified her more than the blood that was leaking between his fingers in a thick stream.

"No, no!" she cried, her voice rising.

"Mother, say something, please!" Gustave was sobbing, hanging back, his eyes riveted on the blood. "Mother!"

She couldn't think. She didn't know what to do. "Madame Giry... Madame, get help! Quickly!"

She heard a scuffle as Madame Giry took off towards the land, heard Meg let out another sob.

"No, no I didn't want this... I didn't mean it... Christine, Master, please..."

She ignored them all. She pushed his hands down, clawed open his waistcoat with trembling hands. He gasped as her fingers touched his wound, his body flinching sharply in her arms. As she laid her hand flat over the spreading bloody patch he lifted his hand, brushed his finger-tips against her cheek, his touch light as a feather. Words shivered from his lips, tinged with pain and surprise.

"Christine... my Christine... so beautiful..."

Her throat closed and she felt hot, scalding tears rush from her eyes. How could he still find her beautiful, how could he still think her wonderful when she had lost her naive youth, when her face was beginning to line with the events of the years? She felt like screaming. Why, why, why did it always have to be like this? Why was it that every moment they had a chance to be together, something always managed to ruin everything? The Phantom - her Phantom - was lying heavy in her arms, his life ebbing out of him in a dark crimson pool, when they should have been setting out on a new live together. Her angel of music revealed as flesh and bone, broken. She had never seen him bleed before, never believed that he was just a man who could tear and hurt and bruise just like her. And even now he looked at her with love, with admiration, with adoration that ripped her heart in two.

"My Christine... It wasn't supposed to be like this..."

"Where's Papa?"

Christine looked up, forcing herself to breathe past the knot in her chest. Gustave stood before her, his face stained with dirt and tears, begging for her support and comfort. She stared at him, her mouth hanging open, unable to take in what he was asking her.

"Where's Papa? He should be here!"

She wet her lips. "Gustave... Your father, your real father, he's... he is here..."

Confusion played over his face. He followed her gaze, and then yelped in disbelief. "But... but I..."

"Erik! Erik, please forgive me!" Meg cried out, slumping against the railings.

Christine blinked. "Erik," she murmured. He looked up at her, his hand still trailing over her cheek. "Erik," she repeated. "Your name... I never knew..."

"It was never important," he breathed. "Your voice, our voices removed any need for names."

She felt another surge of deep, overwhelming grief. Never again would she become lost in his music, never again would their songs surge together and form magic out of the darkness around them... He shifted as if to try to get up, and fell back at once, a short yell breaking past his lips. His hand slid down and fisted in her coat, clenched until his knuckles turned white. She reached up to hold it, pressed her fingers against his until he released his grip, allowed his palm to slid into her grasp. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, and only brought himself more pain.

"Erik, Erik!" she cried. "It's alright, you'll be fine, any moment now Madame Giry will be back with help and... and..."

He twitched his head in a short shake, and she broke off. He squeezed her hand, shutting his eyes tightly as another wave of pain swept over him, pain that she could almost feel herself.

"O-Once upon another time, our st-story had o-only begun," he whispered, his voice shuddering and trembling. "I had a t-taste of joy... t-the most... I ever knew..."

He opened his mouth to continue, but all that came out was a whimper that made her skin crawl. His jaw clenched, his whole body shaking. And he was growing limp in her arms, a dead weight, his hand in hers losing its hold. She shook her head desperately, trying to stay calm, trying to force herself to believe that it wasn't happening.

"It can't be over," she said, almost to herself. "Our story can't be done... Erik, my angel of music, please... please stay by my side, guide me."

The echo of a smile shimmered over his face, twitching at his lips. He blinked slowly, and she realized with a jolt that his eyes had slid out of focus. "You... Christine... you chose me..."

She gulped down a thick sob, forcing herself to smile at him encouragingly. "Of course I did."

"I... I heard you s-sing... once more..." He was staring past her, gazing at the dark sky. His lips formed silent words, words she couldn't make out. Part of him had already slipped away, even as she tightened her grip on his lax body, even as she dug her fingers into his hand. She stared into his face, searched for the Phantom she had fallen in love with so long ago. Her eyes traced his mask, his nose, his lips. And she recognized the words on those lips. She nodded, speaking them aloud as he mouthed them.

"Remember, love never dies," she said. "I know... My love is yours, Erik."

Another sluggish blink. A shallow breath pulling in through dry lips. Shallow, but too deep all the same; it ended in a rasping cough which sent a thin trail of blood creeping from his lips and trickling down his chin, following the curve of his mask. She wanted to wipe it away, but with one hand she was supporting him and with the other she was holding his hand. And she would not release either hand, no matter what. A pair of shoes suddenly appeared before her, and she looked up to see Gustave crouching down opposite her. He knelt beside his newly discovered father, all trace of childish fear gone from his face. He reached towards the mask with his small fingers, pressing his lips together. Christine made a small noise in the back of her throat, and shook her head as she looked up. She didn't want Erik's last memory to be of his son screaming in horror. But Gustave turned his gaze down and reached out once more, hooking his fingertips around the edges of the mask. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it away.

She saw him stiffen at the misshapen, twisted skin, heard him suck in a sharp gasp. But then he placed the mask in his lap and reached out once more, placing his hand flat against the mottled cheek.

The gesture was so simple, and yet conveyed so much that she felt herself welling up once more. Her heart swelled with pride - pride for her son who had known enough to look past the surface, pride for her Phantom who had built himself a new life instead of giving up. So many emotions rushed in on her that she felt overwhelmed, that she could barely see clearly. She blinked hard, brushing her thumb over the back of Erik's hand. His quiet breathing hitched.

"C-Christine..."

She bent her head and pressed her lips against his forehead, at the place where ugliness met beauty. She knew he was gone long before those whispered breaths stopped beating against her cheek, against her skin that was marked with blood where he had reached for her. The real him, the Phantom, had dissipated like smoke a good few minutes ago, but she had pretended not to see. She imagined that he was fine, that Madame Giry would appear at any moment with a miracle to save him. She rested her face against his forehead. It felt so right, even when his skin was so cold, it was as if they fit together like a jigsaw. She heard Gustave call her name.

Like a dream in the moonlight, that silvery shine which turned even the blood seeping across the pier into something beautiful, that softened the sound of Meg's keening wails, she knew that when she opened her eyes, it would all truly be over.

So she kept her eyes shut, and she listened to the music of the night.

Hopefully that was okay, I've never really written a hardcore death scene before :D Felt like it dragged on a bit, but couldn't bring myself to cut anything else.

Please do let me know what you thought.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.