A quick note: thank you very much to everyone who has left reviews on this, I really do appreciate it. But I'm going to ask you to do something for me: please stop character bashing the Halliwells in your comments. That's not what this story has ever been about, and the only thing you're accomplishing is making me feel bad. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest of this story.
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What Chris never told the sisters was that 2003 was not their target date, and it was not the first year that he traveled back to. His original target was 2001, and his original goal was to prevent Prue Halliwell's death, with the working theory that the original Power of Three would be stronger and more equipped to protect Wyatt from corruption, or if that failed, to defeat him.
Obviously, it didn't work. He didn't reveal himself to anyone, but he fucked it up anyway - he hadn't known about Tempus' involvement. The time demon was able to sense his presence, and it was enough to throw everything off: he went straight to the Source with the information, and so he was conveniently nearby when Phoebe and Leo struck their deal. The Source thought he was delusional - injured, paranoid, ranting about a visitor from the future - and killed him immediately after he held up his end of the deal. And this is how it unravels: instead of a weakened time demon, it was the Source's best assassin that went to the Manor that day, and so it was that Prue Halliwell lost her life. And Chris couldn't do a goddamn thing about it - not without exposing himself further. All he'd managed to do was change the time and circumstances of Prue's death - which must have been the first change that Bianca felt: the history books swapping out one demon's name for another.
Once he was back in the past, opening a portal was easy - all he needed was access to the Manor, which was a hell of a lot easier in the early aughts than it was in 2027. He moved forward another few months, to late 2001, after Paige's emergence and the reconstitution of the Charmed Ones, but by that point he had no idea what he was doing, no plan to follow other than "stop it, by any means necessary." He continued networking, trying to solve the mystery on his own, but it was hopeless; he couldn't risk going back to 2027 to see if his efforts were working, and without information on the consequences of his actions, he couldn't act too decisively for fear of making it all worse. Since he couldn't save the original incarnation of the Charmed Ones, he knew he had to save the second one - but preventing Paige's death wasn't a guarantee of success, either, and he knew he couldn't possibly do it from behind the scenes. So he made the decision to reveal himself, to lie, to place himself in the situation directly, and fuck the consequences. It was the only option he had left - and by that point, he knew there was no going back. Anything he did was going to erase his own existence - he just had to hold on long enough to ensure that he fixed the worst of it. Just long enough to be sure.
He's not sure if he'll ever tell them the whole story. It's not as if he were acting with pure intentions - Prue was, and still is, just a name in a history book to him. He only ever saw her from a distance. But playing God with her life got her killed almost a month earlier than her original death - the one that only Chris and Bianca now remember. Does it still count? Does that original original version of Prue still exist, somewhere among all the other versions, in the afterlife? Do they all float around out there together - dozens of Phoebes and Prues and Paiges and Pipers, commiserating about their shitty, violent deaths, watching the current timeline scroll by like a daytime soap opera?
His own mother, the version of Piper that gave birth to him, died in a car accident. Of all things. It drove Wyatt mad - quite literally speaking. He was absolutely convinced that there was evil involved, some nefarious, car-crashing demon that took her away from them, and that obsession never, ever left him. But it wasn't evil. It was just a stupid fucking car accident. Isn't that something? Chris still can't believe it, after all these years. Anyone who thinks the universe doesn't have a sense of humor just doesn't know it well enough.
Like traveling two decades back in time to save your long-dead aunt and prevent an apocalyptic future, and accidentally running into a time demon who just happened to be tangentially involved. Just a stupid coincidence. How much of history happens like that? Lucky breaks and bad timing. Wars starting and ending, death and birth and falling in love - how much is really fate? Or is fate just a bedtime story magicals tell themselves to explain the madness of the universe?
Of all people, Chris should be the one with the best ability to answer that question, and he has absolutely no clue. And doesn't that tell you something?
Bianca keeps her word and returns within the hour, looking harried and smelling like clove cigarettes and vodka sulfur - the Underworld bar scene's specialty. A brief argument occurs when Piper realizes (belatedly) that P.J.'s spell won't work on her, which Bianca cuts off with an eye roll and a succinct word: "Mayflower."
"It's her, Piper," Chris says immediately.
"Oh, what is that?" Piper asks in disgust, "you two have secret passwords? What exactly was this 'Resistance' you keep mentioning - a 60's spy movie?"
"It's not a password, it was the name of our cat," Chris tells her, rolling his eyes. Piper gapes at him. "What?"
"You had a pet cat," Piper says slowly, "in your apocalyptic original timeline?"
"Well yeah," Chris says, "we weren't living in underground bunkers or anything. People had, you know, jobs and lives and everything. And pets."
"And so you named yours 'Mayflower'?" Piper interrupts, looking suspiciously amused.
"Hey, don't look at me, I'm not the one who was raised with a fetish for colonial America," Chris says pointedly. Bianca smacks his arm, but her mouth is twitching. "You should've heard the names I rejected - "
"Okay, that's quite enough," Bianca interrupts. "Mayflower was our familiar, Chris, you never did treat him with the proper respect."
"Because he was a total bitch," Chris replies. He turns to Piper. "Peed on my shoes constantly."
"You deserved it," Bianca says easily, wrinkling her nose at him. Chris makes a face back at her, quickly wiping it away and arranging his expression back to seriousness when he catches Piper looking.
"Okay," she says, shaking her head and turning to Bianca, "I do like you. I just decided."
"Thanks," Bianca says, nonplussed. "You're gonna like me more when you hear what I found out at Bune's."
"What?" Chris asks, not having to work at seriousness now. Piper's shoulders straighten too, in anticipation.
"Well, Wyatt's alive and free, as of about six hours ago," Bianca says. "Somebody spotted him at the bar and recognized who he was - he wasn't using a glamour, for some reason - "
Piper groans out loud, rolling her eyes. "Reckless, stubborn - never mind," she says, stopping short when she realizes they're both looking at her, "keep going."
"Well, he got into it with one of the regulars there," Bianca says, eyeing Piper carefully. "A warlock named...Hathor, Hawthorne, something like that. Who cares - he's dead. Wyatt vanquished him right there in front of everybody. It was quite the scene, apparently."
"You don't mean Hackthorn?" Piper asks.
"Yeah, that's it - Hackthorn."
Piper curses. "He's a - well, not an ally, exactly. But Paige knows him - she bribed him for information a lot. They had a sort of agreement."
"Then Wyatt probably went to him for information too," Chris says. "Something must have gone wrong."
"Obviously," Bianca says dryly. "I've never heard the name before, so if I've met him we weren't formally introduced. But everyone I talked to said they were arguing about me, loudly. After the fight Wyatt orbed out - causing another big scene, I might add. Poor Bune's gonna have a lot of PR work to do after this - a Whitelighter in his seediest bar." She shakes her head in faux sympathy, clicking her tongue.
"Okay, so this is good news, right? Mimi might not have him after all?" Piper asks. "If he's been ignoring my calls this whole time - ooh, he's so dead."
"Well, this is the part that's gonna make you like me," Bianca replies. "So they were arguing about me, right? Everyone heard it. I've got a friend who works at the bar - this is the girl who told me all of this. She's the one I told you about, Chris, that I lived with for a few years in New York?" Chris nods. "She's half-nephilim," she explains to Piper, "long story, but she isn't evil - at least not in the traditional sense - but she can't lie, either, because of the angel blood. Her word is good."
"Since when can't angels lie?" Piper asks with a snort. "I'm standing right next to one who can do it really annoyingly well, thank you very much."
"Whitelighters aren't angels," Chris tells her. "There are Whitelighters, and then there are angels. Angel angels." Piper makes a face at him. "What? Don't give me that look, it's true. They can't tell falsehoods - it's physically impossible. The nephilim are their children, and they can't do it either."
"How is it that I have finally caught up to you in the timeline and you're still lecturing me about weird magic crap," Piper says rolling her eyes. Chris shoots her a dirty look.
Bianca snorts, drawing both their attentions. "Sorry," she says, biting her lip. "I just - I think I just realized where Chris gets his...well, everything from."
"Shut up," Chris says, shoving her shoulder. Bianca snorts again. "Your point?"
"Anyway," Bianca says, shaking her head, "so she follows Wyatt a little, right? As a favor to me. And she catches sight of him with a young girl - brown hair, Mortal-style clothes. And Wyatt keeps calling her 'P.J.'" Bianca raises her eyebrows. "Which...I'm assuming you've kept a close eye on the real one, so…"
"No, we definitely have the real P.J.," Piper says, her brow furrowed. "That's smart, though. Impersonating her - no wonder he hasn't looked at their notebook. Why would he need to, when he thinks she's there with him?"
"Was there anything to indicate their plan, a location?" Chris asks.
"Ximena told me they mentioned Magic School," Bianca says. "Which makes sense. It's a good strategic location, and since she's pretending to be P.J., it wouldn't arouse Wyatt's suspicions too quickly, like some hovel in the Underworld would."
"Is it not in operation anymore?" Chris asks. "I thought there were protections on it to prevent evil from entering."
"There are," Piper says, "but they can be corrupted. It's happened a few times by now." She shakes her head. "It's still in operation, technically speaking, but there's no Headmaster currently. Leo did it for awhile, but he stepped down about six years ago when his Elder duties got to be too much. They haven't found anyone willing to do it since."
"Well, shit, that's depressing," Chris says.
"Willing and capable, I should say," Piper corrects, waving one hand. "Okay, so assuming they're there, and assuming Wyatt is along for the ride under his own…relative free will, then who knows what big conspiracy theory she's spun for him. No matter how much he trusts P.J., he's still a grown man. There's no way he would go along with something like this without contacting us, unless he had some sort of proof that this was an extreme situation of some kind."
"Max Shaw," Bianca says suddenly, turning to Chris. "Obviously the idea is to make me the bad guy. But she's been impersonating another Phoenix, too. And Wyatt still thinks you're M.I.A., Chris."
"She's made him think I'm being held captive or something, probably," Chris reasons. "And if he gets in touch with any of the family, I'll be killed or injured."
Piper sighs sadly. "Yeah," she says, "yeah, something like that would do it."
"It's a risky plan though, she knows she can't keep it up for long," Bianca says. "She knows it won't hold up under a confrontation."
Chris grimaces. "You're sure he wasn't…"
"Positive," says Bianca firmly.
"Then whatever her plan is, she's going to be enacting it soon," Piper says. She firms her jaw. "So we move now. Paige will have a vanquishing potion ready by now, and Richard's been waiting for my call. They'll both be ready."
"What about," Chris winces as he says it, "Leo? Wouldn't he be - "
"Let's just say that bringing him into the situation isn't going to make Wyatt less confrontational," Piper says firmly. "I'll explain later."
"Noted," Chris says neutrally.
"Whatever happens," Piper says firmly, with the every ounce of matriarchal authority she's capable of, "thank you, both of you, for all that you've done so far. I know none of this was your choice. Whatever the others might say, I know none of this was your fault. You especially, Bianca." Piper holds out her hand for a handshake, which Bianca accepts with visible surprise. "I'm sorry, for whatever it's worth. And thank you."
"There's no need for apologies," Bianca says slowly. She shoots a quick glare at Chris, a silent promise of severe consequences should he ever dare to make fun of her for what she's about to say: "I'm already his wife in all the ways that matter, madam. It's not even a question."
"Good." Piper pauses, smiling thinly. After a second, it falls. "Wait - did you just call me 'madam'?"
"I thought it was better than 'ma'am,'" Bianca explains wincing. "I'm sorry; I was raised by two vodun witches from Georgia; I can't help it."
Piper sighs, her mouth twitching. "'Madam,'" she says, bemusedly, glancing at Chris. "I can live with it. You ready, kiddo?"
"Oh, very funny," Chris tells her. Piper breaks face, smirking. "She used to say that to her stomach when she was pregnant with me," he explains to Bianca. "Which is an extremely surreal sentence. Yes, yes, I'm fucking ready, let's go kill a shapeshifter."
"Right on," Bianca says. "Just - one thing - who the fuck is Richard again?"
"Piper's not-boyfriend," Chris explains.
"Ah," says Bianca.
"Oh my God he's not - ! Never mind." Piper huffs. "We're gonna need so much counseling after this is over."
Richard Montana was a footnote in Chris' life in 2003, but he always seemed decent enough. A bit of an annoying tool, sure, and a pain in the ass, but most male witches are. Himself included.
This version has gone completely grey, and he looks Chris in the eye, and carefully does not greet Piper at all, which Chris appreciates. "Chris Perry," he says, with a firm handshake, "damn, man. Never thought I'd ever see you again."
"Been a minute," Chris replies, eyeing Paige, who stares back at him, unapologetic, her eyes wide and innocent. "Heard you're back in the business - Piper said you have some kind of counseling firm…?"
"Oh, Montana," Bianca says, in sudden realization. "No shit, you're the demon shrink?" Paige snorts loudly, then covers her mouth with one hand.
"That's one way of putting it," Richard says wryly. He looks over at Piper, who is very conspicuously not making eye contact with anybody. "We can catch up later, though. Paige filled me in."
"Did she," Chris says neutrally. Piper kicks his ankle - hard.
Paige narrows her eyes at the entire room. "One all-purpose vanquishing potion for everyone, here we go," she says, holding out a cloth bag full of potion vials. Richard reaches out and takes one, passing the bag to Piper, who is still looking everywhere but people's actual faces. "Kind of tricky to whip one up that wouldn't hurt Little Miss Demonic Nikita over here, but as always, I shined under pressure." Paige shoots Bianca a smarmy smile. "You're welcome."
Bianca raises an eyebrow at Chris. "Ah. I see what you meant, now."
"Hey," Paige says. Chris sighs, shooting Bianca an unimpressed look. She looks back at him, unrepentant.
"Alright," Piper cuts in, before it begins. "Enough, we're short on time, people. Pheebs is with the kids?"
"Safe and sound Up There," Paige says.
"I won't be much help if things get dicey," Richard says quietly. "My powers are passive now."
"But you have better magical senses than any of us combined," Piper replies, equally grave. She glances at Chris and Bianca. "He might be able to...reach her. Whoever she is."
Chris looks over at Bianca, who looks as skeptical as he feels. That's the real reason she wanted him along? "You want to reason with her?"
"If she's got a knife to my son's throat, then yes," Piper says. "Metaphorical or not."
Chris looks at Bianca again, who has arranged her face to neutrality again. "You're the boss," she says simply.
The room falls quiet, as if humbled by such a plainspoken truth. Piper nods, her shoulders straightening. "Right. We orb in together. Paige, you got the juice?"
"Do I have the juice," Paige mutters, rolling her eyes. "Cozy up, folks. Let's rumble."
One by one, they grab each other's arms and hands, forming a loose circle around Paige and Piper: nothing new there. Chris glances at Bianca, who blinks slowly back at him, stone-faced as she always is, right before some action. Richard is much the same - wary lines around his mouth, his brow furrowed, and he keeps looking over at the sisters, concern in his gaze.
"Wait," Piper says suddenly, "if we get separated, if somebody gets hurt - "
"Back to the Manor," Paige says, leaving no room for argument. "I set up an alarm; Leo will know right away if somebody orbs or shimmers in. He'll be ready."
"I'm not - " Piper starts, but Richard interrupts, gently: "we're not leaving without Wyatt. Don't worry."
Out of the corner of his eye, Chris sees Bianca raise her eyebrows slightly. Paige smiles, looking over at Chris briefly, a sort of smug look on her face. Like she knows something he doesn't - which frankly, considering the situation, isn't hard to do. Chris rolls his eyes at her; she really hasn't changed a bit.
"Everyone ready now?" Paige asks. When nobody replies, she nods, and reaches over to take Chris' wrist, completing the circle. "Here we go. Brace yourselves."
Chris catches one last glimpse of Bianca, firming her shoulders, before the world dissolves into blue light. And that's the very last thing he remembers of the following seventy-two hours.
Chris wouldn't call his Aunt Pheebs nice, exactly, but she is kind. Kind how she saves innocents all the time, of course, but kind also in that she's always going out of her way for people, even when she doesn't like them. Like for instance, the neighbors they had at their house in Houston, who were always throwing loud parties and stuff, and getting in the way when demons attacked. Aunt Pheebs still made a point of sending them food when one of the people who lived there got sick, and she always stopped to talk to the two younger girls who lived there, even if they were kind of bitchy and always laughed at her, muttering snide comments beneath their breath.
She's always doing things like that. Stopping to talk to someone handing out those Salvation Army pamphlets on the street about how magic is evil, witches are all agents of the devil, yadda yadda yadda. Being polite to old men who leer at her and Billie, holding hands in the grocery store. She scolds Chris for making fun of mortals - one time even grounded him, for saying something vulgar about a girl in his class who said during a group discussion that witches were God's punishment for humanity's sin.
"They're afraid of us," she'll explain, rarely patient in her lessons except for when Chris truly doesn't understand. "And they're right to be. Look at what's happening to the world, baby. Look at how many people are hurt every day. It's not their job to see the nuance - it's ours, to be compassionate."
"But that's not our fault," Chris will say, and all she does then is hug him, and tell him that it doesn't matter. Chris isn't sure if he agrees with her there, but the older he gets, the more he understands what she's really trying to say.
Billie's not nice or kind. She's sarcastic and kind of mean, snappy and irritable even on good days. The only person who can make her smile is Aunt Pheebs, and Chris stops seeing even that after the attack that finally drives them out of Texas, when a demon hit her with some kind of pain spell that left her permanently afflicted with aches and muscle spasms that no pill or potion can ease, no matter how much research Aunt Pheebs does. She and Chris don't get along very well, but she's the one who takes him school shopping and makes sure he always has clothes that fit. She leaves books in his room when he's not there, and they always seem to be ones he's never read before, perfectly suited to whatever he's interested in at the time. She tells loud stories about his mother and his other aunt, not talking to him directly, but Chris knows it's for his benefit, since Aunt Pheebs never talks about Piper and Paige. One time she even gave him pictures of the mausoleum where they're all buried - all three of them, Piper and Paige and Prue. There were empty spots on the wall, spaces for Phoebe and maybe him and Wyatt too, one day. If it's still around, whenever they die.
Every year on Christmas Day, his dad and his older brother come for dinner. Chris vaguely remembers them being around a lot more, when he was little, but by now they're like strangers: dazed looking men in golden robes, comically out of place in their slapdash, Goodwill kitchen, making faces at Billie's cooking and asking Chris weird questions. How's school? How are your grades? What spells have you been working on? Chris never knows how to answer, so he usually doesn't say anything, and Aunt Pheebs always gets mad at him, wants him to try harder. "He's your brother," she'll say, like that means something. Like blood is more important than anything else.
On his eighteenth birthday, a year before she dies, Aunt Pheebs gives him a check for ten thousand dollars and the remaining pages from the Halliwell Book of Shadows, all that she was able to salvage from the Manor before it was invaded by the demons that still reside there today - an impenetrable, occupying force, commanded by the mysterious Source (or...something else, whatever he is) who's commanding all the chess pieces nowadays. It's been years since they were forced out of San Francisco, and Aunt Pheebs still hasn't been able to figure out who it is - just that they're powerful, and terrifying enough to bend half the Underworld to their will. Chris and his friends are working on a plan to draw him out, which he hasn't told Aunt Pheebs and Billie about yet, afraid that they'll try to stop him, tell him it's too dangerous.
"Ripped out like this," Aunt Pheebs explains, "separated from the Book itself, and from the Nexus beneath the Manor...they're not going to carry much power. But it's the knowledge that's equally important." She flips through the tattered pages carefully, reverently. It's the most random collection of spells - household charms for protection, vanquishing potions for demons long dead, an entry by some random ancestor on poltergeists that's mostly incorrect. But Chris feels as if he's being given the Dead Sea Scrolls, presented to him personally by Jesus Christ himself. Or Herself, as the case may be. "One day, you're going to reunite them with the rest of it, and restore the Book to its rightful state. I Saw it in a vision, almost ten years ago."
"Did you See any tips?" Chris tries to joke. "Hints?"
Aunt Pheebs just shakes her head. "It doesn't work like that," she says. "Not anymore. You know, when I was young, I used to see...movie scenes. Like a little play in my head, of something that was about to happen? Isn't that nuts?" She laughs. "It's the gift and the curse of having the power I have: the stronger you grow, the more you See, and the harder it is to understand."
"So what else have you Seen about me?" Chris asks, always ready to issue a challenge. Of all the lessons they've taught him, it's that one that will keep him going, through even the darkest of times: always keep pushing. When you think it's enough - it isn't. Just push harder. Offending people is the least of your concerns.
"I've Seen," Aunt Pheebs says, cradling his face in her wrinkled, calloused hands, "a good woman, who will come into your life at the exact moment that you need her. Out of nowhere - like a lightning strike. She'll follow you into Hell itself, and she'll take good care of you, if you let her."
Chris wrinkles his nose. "Sounds too good to be true."
"Most love stories are," Aunt Pheebs says, smiling. Her eyes sparkle, big and wet. "I've Seen...hard roads ahead, pain and sacrifice. Anger, loss…"
"Typical," Chris mutters.
"Nothing you can't handle," Aunt Pheebs counters. "You're going to fix it, you know. Do what we couldn't."
Chris feels breathless, the weight of her hope settling heavily on his shoulders. But it's always been there, unspoken. He's been waiting for it for years; it's almost a relief to finally take possession of it - the responsibility he's been silently dreading and wanting, all his life. "I thought your visions were hard to understand. This all seems pretty specific to me."
"I don't need to be psychic to know that you're ready," Aunt Pheebs says, letting her hands fall away, folding them in her lap. She looks out over the Bay, the wind ruffling the lapels of her coat. Up here, tucked away on the highest beam of the Golden Gate, is the closest they can come to the city where she was raised, and the house she left her heart in. Chris takes her here as often as he possibly can. "You're stronger than we were, in a lot of ways. Different, and still young, sure - but still stronger. Better prepared, that's for sure."
"Thanks to you," Chris says, nudging her shoulder. She smiles, faintly, and Chris wonders if now is the time to tell her about his plans. About May the Whitelighter, and the Bodewell brothers, and the half-demon girl who betrayed her father to save an innocent. Friends who want to help - friends with plans. But she looks so peaceful, he almost doesn't want to ruin it with talk about their grim future. "So after I save the world," he jokes, "and I meet my lightning strike girl, and we move to the suburbs and have a bunch of babies - you and Billie will finally retire, right? Move into our attic and be the grumpy, witchy grandmas you were destined to be?"
Aunt Pheebs smiles at him, tremulously, and for the first time in years, starts to cry. "That sounds wonderful," she says haltingly. Chris reaches out and wraps his arm around her shoulder, unsure of what else to do. Frightened a little, by her tears.
"I'm sorry," Chris says unsurely. "I didn't mean to make you upset. Ruin the moment, and all that - "
"No," Aunt Pheebs says, furiously wiping at her cheeks. "I'm the one who's sorry, baby. I'm...just so, so sorry."
Years later (or years before, depending on your perspective), Chris will sit in this exact spot and berate himself for all the things he didn't tell her. The questions he never asked and the conversations they never had. But in that moment, high above the ground, sitting there in silence, it was hard not to feel that she already knew all of it. As if he could come up with anything to say that she didn't already sense, and feel, and understand, and forgive him for.
"You know I love you," Aunt Pheebs says, grabbing his chin and kissing his cheek fiercely. "I'm so proud of you and I'll love you forever, in every world, in every dimension. Every single universe. Don't you dare ever forget. Don't you dare think I'm gone, Chris."
"I know," Chris says warily, an eerie feeling prickling at his neck. "I know, Aunt Pheebs, of course - "
"Time to wake up, baby," she says, and slaps his forehead with her palm. And Chris chokes, on nothing, and pitches backward, his stomach roiling and his head spinning, and then, and -
"Wake up," comes the voice again, thinner and reedier than Chris has ever heard it, but intimately familiar all the same. A hand hits his forehead, slapping his skin absurdly. Chris bats the hand away, half-awake, his eyes peeling open to shadowy darkness. "Come on man, say something, lemme know you're okay, c'mon, Chris - "
"Shut up please," Chris mumbles, his head feeling like it's been split in two. The shadows in the room make his head spin, and he slams his eyes shut again, swallowing the rush of saliva, trying to will the nausea away.
"Chris?" The voice sounds intensely relieved. "Oh thank God, man. Thank God. I knew you weren't dead but I was afraid - "
"Shut up, please," Chris says again, and the voice falls obediently silent. He groans softly, pressing the flat of his hand against the side of his face. He's bleeding, somewhere around his temple. The ground below him is hard tile, and his shoes and socks are gone. There's a throbbing pain in his right leg, and something is impeding his breathing, thick congestion making each one painful. Internal injury of some kind - broken rib? Chris touches his own rib cage, testing, but it feels normal - must be something else, then.
He opens his eyes again, slowly, assessing: shadows on a high ceiling, from torches or a fire. Magic School - definitely. But the room is cold, and there's another person there, breathing loudly and rattling something - restraints of some kind, it must be. Chris himself isn't tied up, but he can make out the dim shape of a crystal, lying a few feet away from his head - a crystal cage. He's been tortured, obviously. There are heavy cuffs around his wrists, and Chris can already tell what they are: magic null cuffs. He touches one with his hand, his heart growing cold. There aren't many people in either world who would be able to build a pair of these. He thinks of Bianca, and the panic sends his heart rate tripling.
"Chris?" Tentative, and still familiar. Chris turns his head, already knowing what he'll see. "Are you…"
"I'm fine," Chris interrupts, gingerly sitting up. His brother is just outside the boundary of the crystals, his wrists encased by the same null cuffs, face stricken. Chris stares at him for a second, thrown by how young he looks. "Are you - what's - "
"I'm fine too," Wyatt says quickly, tossing an anxious glance over his shoulder. "What do you remember? Quick, before he comes back."
"Before who comes back?" Chris asks, frowning. "Nothing, I don't…" he trails off uncertainly. There's a spike of something - a flash of memory, someone yelling in anger… "Where are the others?" he demands. "Where's Bianca?"
Wyatt's face darkens. "So nothing," he says. "Damn it. I'd hoped…" his face creases in concentration, and he reaches carefully beyond the boundaries of Chris' crystal cage, clearly aiming to knock one of the crystals out of place. The magic null cuffs allow him to breach the boundary, but the second he gets close to the crystal itself, a forcefield knocks his hand back stubbornly. "Damn it!"
"That's not going to work," Chris tells him, sighing. "These aren't normal Pyrites. Quartz, probably, maybe even diamond. And see the etchings?" He gestures to the crystal closest to Wyatt. "We can't break it by force. There's probably a password, or a spell."
Wyatt sighs, tossing another glance over his shoulder. "Explains why he left me here on my own," he says, falling to his knees outside the boundary. "Smug asshole."
"Who?" Chris demands, mirroring him and raising up to a sitting position. His head swims, and he grips the side of his temple, grimacing. "What the hell is going on, where are the others?"
"I don't know," Wyatt says heavily, swallowing. He glances up at the high ceiling, his face shadowed in the torchlight. "We're at Magic School. He brought me here - you know he's a shapeshifter, right?"
"And you know it too, now?" Chris asks. "Obviously."
"He was posing as…" Wyatt winces. "Bianca. That's how he got me here. I was looking for you…" he trails off, looking shamefaced. "Anyway, I don't know who he really is. And I only saw Mom and Aunt Paige for a second before they got orbed out again. He's set up some kind of...ward, I don't know what the hell it is, but it bounces anyone back that he doesn't want in here. He let you and Bianca - the real Bianca - in, and Richard too, but it knocked you guys out."
"Where are they now?" Chris demands. "Where's - "
"I don't know," Wyatt interrupts gently, reminding Chris strongly of Leo at his most compassionate. "I don't know, man. He's had me in these," Wyatt holds up his hands, showing off the cuffs, "since we got here, and he can orb me around wherever he wants. I only saw them for a second. And he's had you in this thing for...awhile now. I've lost track of how long it's been." He gestures at his feet, which are chained together crudely with what has to be another magical chain of some kind, judging by its eerie glow. "I haven't exactly been able to get the upper hand yet."
"Who is it?" Chris asks. Wyatt blinks at him. "I mean, who is he posing as?"
"It's," Wyatt says, his face collapsing weirdly. He looks even younger than before, his face scared and pale white. "I don't - I - "
Chris shakes his head, holding out one hand. "Okay. It's okay, Wyatt." He doesn't need to hear it out loud to know.
"I didn't mean it," Wyatt says, rubbing his forehead, shoulders slumped. "Chris, I swear. I didn't mean to - "
"It's not your fault," Chris says, eyes already on the cavernous doorway. The shadows are changing, flickering differently, and he can sense the presence there before they even come fully into the room. "Listen to me, it's not your fault. Whatever happens, remember that."
"Chris," Wyatt says, gulping. The rest of his sentence falls away as he looks over at the doorway, blanching in fear. Chris looks over too, his heart freezing once again. It's a face he told himself he'd never have to see again, not after the last time, but - deep down, somehow, he knew that wasn't true. It always comes down to this, doesn't it. Wyatt, his eyes dark and cold, standing in a doorway, smirking. His worst nightmare come to life, over and over and over. Chris should have known.
"How sweet," the other Wyatt says, sneering at the both of them. The torch he carries floats out of his hand and settles neatly into a wall hanging, lighting up the dim space a bit better, enough for Chris to see the edges of the walls. "Do you want me to give you lovebirds a moment alone? I can dim the lights again, if you prefer."
Wyatt - the good Wyatt - makes a muffled sound of outrage. Chris doesn't look over. "Nice costume," he snaps instead. "Very accurate. You wanna show me your real face now, or are you having too much fun dressing up like your dead boss?"
"Christopher," Wyatt says, making a mock face of hurt, "I'm hurt, little brother. Aren't you even a little happy to see me?"
Chris rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, loud enough for both Wyatts to hear. "It's the same routine with you people every time, isn't it? You can't just murder me like a grown up, you have to put everyone through a bunch of melodrama first."
"I'm not sure what you mean by 'you people,' but I want to remind you that this is a safe space, Christopher," the other Wyatt says. "Bigotry isn't welcome in my home. Isn't that right, Wy?"
The younger Wyatt just shoots him a venomous glare. "Stuff if it up your ass, you self-inflated prick," he says.
Other Wyatt laughs. "What a mouth! We all know who he got that from, don't we." He stares the good Wyatt down, eyes narrowing, and makes a false lunge, causing the younger man to flinch, lurching backwards and falling onto one of his hands. Other Wyatt laughs again, meanly. "The famous Halliwell wit, alive and well even in this goody-two-shoes universe. Some things are universal constants, aren't they?"
Chris scoffs, studying him. He's got the look down pretty well - long, curly cherub hair, dark circled eyes, black robes - but his Wyatt would never carry himself like this person is, his weight unbalanced, leaning more heavily on his right leg. He keeps propping his hands against his hips, too, which looks ridiculous on this Wyatt's muscled, beefed-up physique (another propaganda tactic - two seconds at hand-to-hand with him, and you'd figure out that it was mostly potions and glamour spells). Whoever this shapeshifter is, it's probably a woman. Someone who knew Wyatt well enough to imitate him, but not down to the details. Someone not experienced enough to know the differences in the body language of women and men.
"You're not Maya, are you?" Chris guesses. The Other Wyatt eyes him, a cruel smirk on his lips. "No. Maya wouldn't be stupid enough to bring me over instead of killing me. You must be new." Chris smirks. "A low leveller? One of the fan clubs, maybe? Some pretty piece of ass he kept around for kicks?"
"Careful, little brother," says the shapeshifter, still clinging to the fiction. "What would your fiance think of that sort of talk?"
Chris snorts. "Full access to the inner circle got you some delusions of grandeur, huh? You know, just because he fucked you doesn't mean he trusted you - "
His sentence cuts off abruptly as the crystal cage ignites, sending him spiraling into a torrent of sudden, full-body pain. Chris dimly hears the good Wyatt yelling angrily, and as the electricity finally relents, he can hear the shapeshifter laughing, too, the sound echoing off the high, distant walls.
"You jackass," the good Wyatt is still spitting, once Chris comes fully back to himself, panting in a sweaty heap on the ground. "You evil, arrogant - "
"Evil, arrogant, jerkhead!" taunts the shapeshifter, imitating Wyatt in a high-pitched voice. "Keep your mouth shut, kid, or it's your turn in the hot seat." He circles the cage, his boots clicking loudly on the floor, and bends down to peer obnoxiously at Chris' face, pressed limply against the tile. "Get it, little brother? Hot seat? Because I'm electrocuting you." He reaches across the boundary and slaps Chris' face, laughing sharply. "It's funny."
"Fuck you," Chris spits, jerking his face away. His whole body is twitching with the aftershocks; no wonder he's lost the last few days of memory. It's a miracle he's not dead by now.
"What's your play?" the other Wyatt demands. He sounds angry, with an undercurrent of fear, but his voice is measured and strong. Attaboy, Chris thinks dimly. "What the hell do you want? Because if it's just to torture us for all eternity, I've got news for you, pal - Magic School isn't exactly the safest place to hide us away from, oh I dunno, the Charmed Ones? Literally the most powerful witches of all time? Heard of 'em?"
"Heard of them?" says the shapeshifter, incredulous. Still bent over Chris, he chuckles, pitching his voice quietly, as if they're sharing a secret. "Can you believe this guy? Have I heard of them."
"Leave him alone," Chris says, struggling to turn over, get off his back and into a more defensible position. His entire body aches. "Just - leave him out of this. I'm the one you want, right?"
The shapeshifter peers at him through Wyatt's eyes, his head cocked. Behind him, the real Wyatt is watching them tensely, crippled by the restraints, his face intent with anger and worry.
Chris laughs, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Such a cliche. This is the play, isn't it? This is the endgame. Wyatt was just bait - it's me you wanted." Clarity comes, as it often does, with a healthy swell of pain. "Something went wrong, didn't it? You weren't expecting the poison to work so quickly, or maybe - you got called away. Something. I woke up too fast, and by the time you went back to get me, the family was there."
The shapeshifter rolls his eyes. "Are you quite finished?"
Chris laughs, incredulous. "That's rich. Very rich. How long did you work on this plan? How many years? This big elaborate plot and for what? So you can torture me? Look me in the eye when you kill me?" He laughs again, shaking his head. "You're pathetic. All that work, just for some fucking melodrama."
"Well, you're so fun to torture," the shapeshifter says, with a shrug. "You do kind of ask for it. I know, I know, that's problematic to say, but it is true sometimes, isn't it? Some of us just...bring it on ourselves." He waves his hand slowly over the nearest crystal, sending another low-level wave of pain through Chris' body, forcing him to fall to the ground once again. "You start to like it after a while, too. Crave it. Your girl certainly did. She begged for his favor, by the end, you should've heard her. Cried whenever he stopped. Whined like a dog."
Chris grits his teeth, his vision bleeding into red at the edges. "Shut the fuck up."
"Are you thinking about what I might have done to her?" he continues, smiling with all his teeth. Chris clenches his fists against another pulse of electricity, biting down the scream, grinding his forehead against the floor as his body seizes. "Where she might be now? I was there, you know. Four whole weeks, all day, every day. He was obsessed." The voice trails off, as does the pain, and Chris gasps for air, dimly hearing Wyatt's angry utterations, a few feet away. "Not with her - no, she was just another demon, one in a million. But with you." Hatred drips from every syllable. "Always you, Christopher, little brother, the lost lamb. Every plan was about bringing you into the fold, forcing you to see reason. He gave you chance, after chance, after chance." With each emphasized word, the shapeshifter pulses the crystals again, lighting up Chris' veins in bursts of impossible pain. "And what did you do? You erased him."
"You're a psycho," Chris mumbles, spitting out blood from where he's bitten through his lip. "He was evil. You're both fucking evil. Rot beneath the world's shoes."
"He loved you!" Another shock, longer this time. The ceiling swims, the sounds of the two Wyatts' matching cries, opposite in intent, swimming in and out like a radio losing clarity.
Chris grits his teeth harder and pushes through. He can almost feel the wind on his face, smell Aunt Pheebs' shampoo: don't you dare, Chris. Don't you dare.
There's a ringing in his ears that he slowly realizes is actually just the shapeshifter's laughter, higher pitched than Wyatt's ever was. Chris blinks his eyes open, his body trembling violently, and realizes the electricity has stopped again. The good Wyatt is clutching his ankle through the crystal boundary, his face creased in distress.
"So sweet," the shapeshifter says, laughing again. A woman's laugh. "Gonna be a long night, boys, better settle in. Everyone comfortable? Need some water, snacks?"
"Who the hell are you?" Wyatt spits. "What do you want from my family?"
"I am your family, kid," is the reply he gets. The shapeshifter rises to their feet, hair lengthening into long, blond waves that look ridiculous on the other Wyatt's body. "Or I might as well be. I certainly deserved it more than him." She spits the last word, kicking sharply at the crystal and sending another vicious spike through Chris' body. Wyatt jerks in tandem, absorbing some of the shock, judging by the grimace on his face. Chris quickly kicks his hands away.
"Don't bother, Wyatt," Chris slurs. "Just don't. She's not worth it." He glares up her. "It doesn't matter who she is. Nobody's going to remember. Not a single fucking person."
The shapeshifter graces him with a cold look, as soulless as Chris has ever seen - demon, warlock or brother alike. "Poor little brother," she says, clicking her tongue. Her face elongates, turning Wyatt's face into absurdity. Something halfway between his brother and something else. "Your memory acting up again? My name," she forms a dark ball of energy between her hands, spitting and crackling with Darklighter energy, "is Wyatt Halliwell."
Chris laughs at her, as meanly as he can manage. "You can try," he says. "Go on, give it your best shot."
She smiles darkly. "Well, if you insist," she says.