Slaughter of Innocence, a charmed fanfic

Slaughter of Innocence

Disclaimer: I'm too pressed for time ro make this in any way funny or diabolical...so I'll tell you in a plain, boring way that I do not own Charmed. Or this lovely song by Switchfoot.

This is a one-shot and will be the only chappie. Sorry!

Welcome to the planet

Welcome to existence

Everyone's here

Everybody's watching you now

Everybody waits for you now

What happens next?

His face lay on the asphalt, motionless as the rest of his small body quaked. Everything about him seemed completely dead, other than his shuddered gasps that erupted every so often. Even his green eyes, once so full of life, were glazed and unfocused, watching life slip away. It was an odd thing to watch people die, she thought. An odd thing indeed. Yet the blood thirst that came with her phoenix heritage would never escape her soul, and sickeningly enough, she was enjoying every moment of his trauma.

She knew that, had this been another time and place, she'd have felt compassion for the little boy. He was no older than ten years old, with brown hair and a sad, innocent face. But she was a phoenix. This was her job, so naturally, as a loyal member of the Resistance against Wyatt, she was sent to kill enemies. "Once a killer, always a killer," her little sister had once said maliciously. The night before she was killed, that was. Not that Bianca cared. She'd never felt that strong a relationship with the girl, anyway. Yet she felt that by killing this boy and the many victims before him, she was slowly avenging Tamara's death. Slowly, but surely.

The boy coughed and she kicked him. "Quiet, you," she hissed as he cried out. "Shut up."

"Who…who are you?" he wheezed, shutting his eyes after giving up on the battle to see her face.

"Nobody. It is none of your concern. To you, I am merely the end…and the last person you will ever see and hear." She smiled a sick, grotesque smile. She loved more than anything taunting her victims with the life they would never live. It gave her such satisfaction to watch the realization that they would never again walk on this earth dawn on their faces.

But she was disappointed. This boy…he neither cried nor shed a tear. His face was twisted in defiance, his eyes forever burdened by the world. It was his eyes that captivated her the most. They seemed to bear the world's knowledge, so full of sadness and woe. She'd seen the same look of desperation in the eyes of the elders that she was privileged to communicate with as a higher member of the Resistance, lead by the elders themselves.

"Kill me," he begged. "Kill me, please."

Now, this was interesting. He wanted to die? What a strange boy, she thought, staring at him in a new, confused light. "No can do," she sneered, "I prefer to watch my victims suffer. Deal with it."

Her own eyes flickered in distant pleasure, watching the blood seep into a great pool around his stab wound. Sickening as it was, it made her feel so in control. So powerful that she, a mere thirteen-year-old girl, had control over the fate of another. It was she who decided who lived and died.

"Do you—do you think I'm really powerless?" he choked out. "I—I c-could've gotten away. I let you st-stab me. I'm n-not stupid." He drew in another gasp of air, coughing up more blood. She was so fixated on his misery that his words almost never reached her ears. When she finally registered what he'd said, she merely laughed, long and cruelly.

"That's pretty pathetic, kid. Think you're invincible, huh? Since you got good ol' Wyatt protecting you? I dunno why I was sent to kill you, but that's obviously got something to do with it. You screw around with demons like him, then we screw you."

"No," he choked. "No! I—I don't—you can't think—Wyatt's insane…I have nothing to do with him…"

She faced him, holding a long, hard expression on her face. "Yeah, right."

I dare you to move

I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move

Like today never happened

Today never happened before

After a while, it became clear to her that this boy wasn't giving up. There were several times that she could've sworn he was out for good, but he'd always let out another little hiccup or cough. Breath seemed beyond him. She knew from experience his time was short.

"Amuse me," she demanded airily after a long while of silence. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"Chris," he moaned. "Why are you still here?"

"I told you," she snapped, "I can't leave until you're dead."

"Then kill me," he pleaded once more. She wished she could see his eyes again, but his eyelids were closed over them. Maybe if she just looked deep enough into those bright emeralds, she could convince herself that what she was doing was right. She could find that hidden hate and malice that she was told his heart beheld. And then she'd know it was okay to kill him, and that she really wasn't killing a naïve, innocent little boy.

"Look at me."

He didn't respond. Time seemed to freeze. Her curiosity itched at her conscience, urging her to find out more about the mysterious little boy she was sent to assassinate.

"Open your eyes and look at me," she repeated, giving him a harsh kick in the ribs.

His green eyes burst open in shock and pain, and a dry cry escaped his throat, crackling.

She searched through his eyes. There wasn't a trace of guilt or hate or malice within them. She instantly regretted forcing him to face her; now she was as uncertain as ever. The boy looked so innocent, straining to hold onto his own life that he knew was no longer in his hands.

"Speak."

He didn't hesitate. "I hate you."

She decided not to hesitate, either. "Sometimes I hate myself, too."

There was a long pause and she wondered if he was finally dead or not. A part of her wanted to get it over with, hoping that perhaps the guilt would fade away with his life. Yet another part of her clung to the soul of this poor, lost boy. How could he come off as a murderer? That was what she had been told. According to the elders, the boy was working with Wyatt and had murdered many innocents. But he seemed almost incapable of doing so.

She thought back to what the boy had said earlier. That he could've escaped from her. Was that true? Did he possess enough power to avoid her blade? Nobody had ever escaped her. She prided herself greatly with this fact. She was more powerful than all of them.

"What did I do?" he asked her, eyes suddenly twice their normal size. "What did I do wrong?"

"You dealt with Wyatt, dumbass."

"No," he insisted, coughing up blood again at the effort to speak. "No, I never….never…I hate him."

"Why, you little liar, you—"

"Wait," he begged, "wait, please. Hear—" he let out another prolonged cough and moan of agony. It didn't strike her as satisfying anymore. He'd been holding on so long…never before had she seen such a fighter. It was horrible, watching him struggle. She wanted to run away, but she owed him her listening ear. "Hear me out," he managed to croak. "I'm not—not who you th-think I am. I am…Wyatt's….brother….not…on his side. I'm—I'm a good witch."

Bianca's spine seemed to chill in shock. "His brother?" she repeated weakly. The boy couldn't even manage to nod. Suddenly he looked to pale, so peaceful and still. His head lolled to the side and his eyes slowly closed for the last time. His jagged breaths ceased and she stared at him, longing to pull him back to her side of the world just a bit longer, to question him.

Now she would never know for sure whether or not he was lying.

Welcome to the fallout

Welcome to resistance

The tension is here

Between who you are and who you could be

Between how it is and how it should be

She didn't know how long she sat there, leaning against the alley wall and staring at the corpse of the ragged, beaten boy. It all became very clear to her. Of course he possessed enough power to kill her. He was the brother of the Source of all Evil. How could he not possess such great powers, as the son of a Charmed One and an Elder? She shuddered. By coming here…by trying to kill this boy…her very own life was in danger.

Why hadn't he tried to fight back? She knew she could never justify this murder, never feel the power she longed for over his fate, knowing that he never even fought back. She'd simply hit him from behind while he wasn't looking. It was wrong. Suddenly she couldn't resist a newfound urge—she grabbed the boy by his shoulders, shaking him violently, screaming:

"Why didn't you fight back?? Why did you do this to me? You little rat, you scum! How could you do this? Why did you want to die? You knew! You knew, didn't you? Get your ass back here and fight me! Come back!" She shrieked, shaking his body until she found that she herself was shaking more than ever before. Sobs of remorse escaped her. Not just for her empty victory, but for the lost little boy that she couldn't bring back. She killed an innocent. She'd never forgive herself for that.

She was so wrapped up in her sobs and cries that she never even heard the footsteps coming until the man had approached her.

"What…?"

His low, bewildered moan captured her attention, watching the man fall to his knees beside the little boy. "No, no, no…" he cried out.

She recognized him. It was an elder that she very seldom came across in the council. A well known fact, it was, that he wasn't well-liked Up There. The other elders had banished him from the majority of their meetings, for reasons unbeknownst to her and the other mortal members of the Resistance.

He'd always seemed so broken…but not like this. Never before had she imagined an elder crying piteously over such a boy. So many questions flooded through her like a tidal wave, but all she could manage was to sit and watch silently.

"So this…this is what became of you," the man sobbed.

"He deserved to die," Bianca burst after a moment.

The man shot up to his full height, overshadowing her. She felt neither fright nor intimidation; no elder would kill, especially an Alliance member. But the anger that radiated through every cell in his body was enough to be felt from miles away. Through instinct, she too shot up, facing him with all the bold confidence she could muster though he was at least a foot taller than she.

"He deserved to die?" the man said under his breath in a low, threatening tone. "Little Chris Halliwell deserved to die?! And tell me, whoever you are, what has this boy ever done to you?!"

Bianca took a step back, not sure how to answer the question. "Don't ask me. I was told to kill him. I'm a member of the Resistance!" she cried. "I am a phoenix! Don't question my actions, I am merely under orders! All I have been told is that this boy is guilty of a crime punishable by death. Working for Wyatt."

"Chris never worked for Wyatt," the man sobbed. "They were brothers."

Bianca felt a pang of guilt, a feeling she was not accustomed to. She knew what it was like to be related to a savage. Her little sister, the one she was avenging. The little voice in the back of her head that she'd blocked out was telling her all along that Tamara had gotten what she'd deserved, hunting down anyone to kill out of blood thirst. But Bianca was angry at her killers, whom worked for Wyatt, and vowed that she would kill all connected to his power. She had no idea while stabbing this little boy from behind, she was, in a way, also killing herself. She was killing the girl she saw in the mirror every morning.

"That is not what I was told," she defended herself. "I was told that this boy was a murderer, working for Wyatt."

"This boy was Wyatt's brother," the man repeated. "Wyatt took him away from us years ago. Kidnapped him. We thought he was dead, we gave up our search. It looked as if Wyatt had killed him when he disappeared. If I had any idea…he was alive…"

"I don't understand," Bianca said.

"What is there to understand?" the man choked. "One of my boys is a murderer and the other is dead. There is nothing understandable about that."

I dare you to move

I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move

Like today never happened

Today never happened

"Who are you?" asked Bianca incredulously. "You're an elder; that much I know. Tell me the rest. Who is this boy? What makes him so innocent? You are not making any sense."

The man let out a sigh, cradling the small boy's head in his arms. "There's a lot that will never make any sense." He paused. "You want to hear the whole story?" he fumed. "I suppose it's my duty to tell you. You are, after all, my son's murderer."

The words stung but she didn't move her eyes out of his intense stare.

"My name is Leo Wyatt. As you probably know, I married a witch; my charge, Piper Halliwell, a Charmed One. We had two sons: Wyatt and Chris. They were born five years apart. (A/N—Sorry but this makes more sense to me.) There had always been something strange about Wyatt; I knew this since the day he first received powers. He used his powers for the wrong reason, even as a toddler."

"Wyatt's the Source of all Evil," Bianca accused.

"I know that! Don't interrupt me," Leo ordered, "or you may be joining him." He cast a sorrowful glance at the boy in his arms. "Chris was born when Wyatt was five. Wyatt hated Chris; on several occasions, even tried to kill him. Chris was taken away by Darryl and placed in a foster home when he was four and Wyatt was nine." Leo paused to take in a shuddering sob. "But Chris never made it there. Wyatt orbed him away and we never saw the two of them again."

She looked again at the pale corpse of the boy. "They told me he was working for Wyatt."

Leo's hardened gaze lifted once again. "They're liars. They told me he was dead." Another sob escaped him. "Can you imagine, knowing for the past five years that you're first born killed his little brother, and you were too ignorant to stop it?" His eyes filled with new tears. "That's right! It's MY fault! I was always Up There, I left Piper to deal with them. Piper was so fixated on guiding Wyatt in the right direction that nobody even noticed Chris existed. But not Wyatt. Wyatt eventually came to see that Chris had equal power to his own, and instead of viewing him as a threat, took Chris as his own. And while we thought Chris was dead, he was truly being tortured because he wouldn't turn to the dark. At four years old, he knew what was wrong and what was right. And there was nobody to save him, nobody to care."

Bianca had nothing to say. She saw this boy, the one that fifteen minutes ago she'd viciously stabbed, and viewed him in a new light. Why hadn't she seen it before? Of course he could've escaped, she thought a second time. But he'd given up all hope, just as she had. He knew that there was nowhere left to turn and he knew that he was being hunted despite his innocent past. He let death come. And it was her own fault for not seeing this.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered.

"Don't be. It's my fault. All of this is my fault…" He ran a hand through the boy's brown hair. "Five years. It's been five years since I last saw him, but the instant he escaped I knew. About a half an hour ago, I sensed a power greater than one I've ever felt, emerging from nowhere. That instant I knew it was Chris, back from all those years. He escaped. I tried to find him…but the elders found him first…I'm so sorry, Chris…" he wept. "I'm sorry."

Maybe redemption has stories to tell

Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell

Where can you run to escape from yourself?

Where you gonna go?

Salvation is here

"I'm dead," Chris said to himself tonelessly, watching the clouds with mild interest. He sighed. "Should've seen this coming," he noted, staring down at his scuffed up shoes. "At least it's finally over."

The walls seemed to vibrate emptiness, the prospect of being alone in the world mocking him as it had his entire young life. Seeing light, though; that was a change. He'd been in the darkness for so long, as Wyatt's prisoner. When he escaped, he knew that it wouldn't be long until Wyatt found him. But now he was dead. He forced a small smile.

"Can't mess with me anymore, Wyatt," he cried out. "See? Dead now, Wyatt! You can't have me anymore! I'm free," he whispered. "Finally." He fell back onto the clouds and closed his eyes, feeling safe for the first time in the nine years he'd lived. It was finally over. All the pain and agony had finally come to an end, and he was further from Wyatt then he could've dreamed.

Then a presence interrupted his calm. He sat up, eyes narrowed. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice smaller and panicked.

"You are in the presence of the council of the elders," a voice informed him.

"What?" he stammered. "You mean I'm not dead?!" He knew the look of shock written all over his face wasn't what they had been expecting, but nonetheless he gawked at the clouds around him, not sure of what was speaking to him or where it was coming from.

"Not yet, that is. Don't push it," said a harsher elder.

Chris gulped. "What do you want?" he demanded, trying to shield his intimidation and sudden fright. "Why aren't I dead?"

"The question is: Why ARE you dead?" asked the first elder that had spoken. Her voice was gentle. He felt safe speaking to her, but he had his secrets he would only reveal with great reluctance. He was hesitant in speaking back.

"Because…" He shrugged, unable to provide a response. "I don't know. I take it Leo's not here?"

"Okay, let me rephrase this," the gentle voice said thoughtfully, ignoring his query. "Where have you been all these years? Why did you not fight the Resistance member?"

Chris' nine-year-old face hardened at these questions. "I was captured years ago. I don't even know what year it is, I've been down there in that dark dungeon so long. Wyatt kept trying to turn me evil." He gulped again. "He…hurt me. But I didn't—I couldn't turn. I just knew I wasn't supposed to, I guess." He laughed bitterly. "Nobody even knew I was gone, did they? I've always just been little Chris, that annoying nuisance that no one thought of. Never even once did anyone try to look for me. Why didn't I fight that girl? I'll tell you why. I put so much into being good after so long that if the good side thinks I should die, then let them kill me. I've got nothing left to do on earth anyways."

He heard the urgent clicking of their voices, excluding him from their conversation. He fell back and lay down again, resting his head in his arms and staring up at the faux sky. Hours seemed to pass, though he knew it must have only been a few minutes. He was quite used to enduring hours of loneliness. Wyatt would lock him in that cell for days at a time, perhaps sparing him a roll or soup can every day or so. There would be no one to talk to and no one to comfort him. So this wasn't as bad as he might think. What was another fifteen minutes of waiting compared to his entire life?

Finally the clicking ceased. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're sending you back."

If a tornado, a tidal wave, a hurricane and a strike of lightning could ever hit someone all at once, it did just then. "What?!" he demanded, shocked. "You…you're what?!"

"We were wrong to send an assassin for you. At first we saw you as a threat to all humanity; you are much more powerful than even Wyatt himself. Now we see…you're a great force of good. Welcome to the Resistance. You are being sent to earth…and someday, you will save us all."

"Wait—please—I don't understand—"

"We are truly sorry for what has been done in your past, and it is all we can do now to beg for forgiveness on behalf of us all. Farewell for now, brave warrior. It is not your time."

Chris braced himself as the wind sucked him downwards…he called out to nothing and no one. Just like always, the only person to hear him cry was himself. His calls merely echoed into nothingness until he felt the he himself was gone.

I dare you to move

I dare you to lift yourself

Lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move

Like today never happened

Bianca and Leo sat in knowing silence until the moon drove the sun away and they were surrounded by a misty, magical looking fog, sobbing for the lost soul slaughtered so cruelly. Night succumbed the earth and Chris' face paled even more, becoming genuinely lifeless. The spilt blood dried, leaving them nothing but his body. The blade still remained clutched in her hand so hard that her knuckles were white, and Leo went on holding the boy in his lap as if willing him back to life. "I can't heal the dead," he'd kept repeating to the air. "I can't heal the dead."

Her eyelids seemed to droop from exhaustion, but she knew that she wouldn't sleep. She wasn't sure if she'd ever sleep again. She was a murderer; worse than that, the murderer of an innocent little boy. How could she ever sleep again?

So that's why she thought she was having a genuinely cruel dream when she saw the paled body stir and those deep green eyes open in shock. His mouth opened and a small cry escaped him.

Leo gasped and began to heal on reflex. Chris coughed, life suddenly returning to him, and Leo hugged him closely.

Bianca's eyes filled with grateful tears. She didn't know how and she didn't know why, but he was alive again and her conscience was restored. Chris' eyes darted from her to the man, confused for a moment, until awkwardly hugging the man back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I can't believe you're here…Chris, they told me you'd been dead for all these years…I'm so sorry…I can't believe what you must have gone through…"

Chris' mouth was still hung open in shock, speechless. Bianca let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, kid. Guess you weren't evil after all."

"I…I'm not dead?" Chris asked.

"No, you're right here with us where you belong," said Leo. "It's been too long…you're so grown up…"

"Dad?"

Leo smiled. "You still remember me."

"I had dreams," Chris admitted, "but I never thought they were real."

"I'm so sorry, Chris…I love you."

"I love you too."

Bianca smiled and shimmered away.

Today never happened

Today never happened before

WOW it is such a relief to have fanfic back up!! lolI never realized just how much time I spent on this!!! Hahaha. NOT ADDICTED!! lol.

Pink-Charmed-One