a/n: Hey this is my first Charmed fan fiction and I am very proud of it, for many reasons. I do hope that you enjoy this tale which takes place in seasons five and six while Chris, the older one, was still alive. Also Richard did not take the power striping potion but pretended too. I do not own anything to do with the world of Charmed, only what I have created for this story.

GREW UP

Looking for something.

I've never seen.

Alone and I'm in between . . .

THE FRAY

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

All Hollows Eve, one of the darkest days in the year of a witch's life. Yes, it is the day when their powers are the strongest, but it is also when the demons come back for their revenge. Each year brings more tormenting than the last, as a witch's powers grow, demon after demon hunts the unsuspecting witch down wanting revenge. The demons are less now, but they still cause horrific trouble all around the world.

If a witch is born on this day, no matter if the family is deeply good the child could still turn evil. In this age the child would have only one purpose; to bring back the evil that the Charmed Ones destroyed a year ago. An ancient family of witches waited on the thirty-first for a birth. The hospital was decorated in black and orange, the mortal's view of Halloween. The witches did not tremble, but hoped that some demon would not find them here in this joyous place.

The father to be was seated down in a brown leather chair outside the maternity ward. From the seat in which he sat, he could hear the screams and howls from the woman he loved, in dire anguish. He knew his family used to be evil; it had been up to him and his brother to be good. He had done his best to try to be good. So how could he call this punishment for being bad? All he wanted now was a blessing or a sign to show that things in course changed, that he had made a difference.

Though to be good he had chosen to perform no more magic and with that his brother had followed in his steps. Behind the door laid more screams of pain. Hold on a bit longer, just hold on . . . He thought in the silence of the room where only he sat.

His eyes glanced toward a huge clock above the nurse's station. Ten minutes until All Saints Day. Ten minutes was all she had to push for; ten minutes in pain, awaiting a child. Ten minutes sitting in a leather chair in a waiting room filled with worry. That was it.

Though as he sat there he began to wonder if she could make it; the girl he loved was a mortal, and because of this she did not understand the complications that came with his long blood line. She could not understand the terrors of having a child on the Day of the Dead, for a family who was once evil in everything they did.

His brother walked into the waiting room with two cups of hot coffee clutched in his hands. He slowly took one of the empty leather seats next to his brother. Five minutes now, could she make it any longer? A shadowy figure appeared but the father to be neglected it, he did not want any fiend after him now. All of his focus was forced on the doors that were to the maternity ward. The brother, without the father to be detecting, motioned the shadow to do something and it did as the brother commanded it to do.

The first stroke of midnight rung from the clock above the nurse's station the most powerful time to perform magic. A new day had just begun, his heart jumped with joy, his child was hopefully saved. The new life would not be a battle ground for good and evil, evil could not have this child. His child would be good. This was the sign he had been waiting for, the sign to prove that he had made a difference. A few moments later the screaming had stopped for a bit and cries were heard, though moments later the howling continued.

He began to wonder if something went wrong, if anything had happened to the one he loved so much. The father wanted to jump out of his chair to see if his wife was alright. The doctor shortly walked out of the two doors and motioned the father to follow him.

The woman he loved was weak but still breathing heavily. In her arms was not just one little baby but two new lives wrapped in pink cotton blankets. The doctor turned to the father and shook his hands, "Congratulations, sir, two little healthy girls."

He looked at his fiancé oddly, for up till this very moment his family line had only produced male heirs. Now, though, she cradled two little girls. Her eyes met his as she offered him one of the two girls. "This one is Amy Elizabeth," she chimed motioning toward the little life in her arms, "and this one is Alexandra Erin." He smiled at Alexandra as he swayed her in his arms, everything seemed to be right.

Outside of the room where the family sat rejoicing the births, the shadow waited patiently to be beckoned again. His purpose would soon come; his master would get what he truly wanted this night. A person stepped out of the room where the girls laid and walked toward the shadow.

The joy would settle down in a few hours. People would leave and go home, to drift off into a pleasant slumber. Others would fall asleep in the hospital but, when everyone left the father remained inside. Intact with his dreams and pacific slumber on the cold plastic couch in the room where his love laid. The woman was asleep too from all the labor she had preformed. This was the shadow's only chance.

To do the first part of the pact that had been created not much long ago. He slowly crept up to the woman's bed and waved his hand across her weak body. Then instantaneously he disappeared from the room without an eye seeing him. Her heart rate began to increase by the second and her body jolting with every second too. Her fiancé woke up from his slumber running to find some help for her. But, when he came back a minute later with help she had given in to death.

It was now all up to him. All he had left of the woman he loved were two little babies. He was now left to raise these girls without their mother. As he silently wept for his lost love, the questions came hard and fast drawing him for his grief. How could he do this? How could he raise the girls when he knew Montanans fathers do not live long?

How could he raise them when he too would die soon?