Some parts of the story (mostly about the timelines) might hint to 'The Disgraced Lord' (missaphelion)and 'Sunday's child' (VentusBruma33), both truly amazing stories.

Chris reached for the handle, opening the door as gently as possible with his shaky hands.

Wyatt was snoring softly, face down in his pillow, a bit of drool on his chin.

Chris clenched his jaw before he could do something stupid, like call out for his big brother, and closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath in. His ears were ringing. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest he wondered if Wyatt could hear it.

Worth it.

It will always be worth it.

He took another moment taking in the image of his brother. Taking in the shorter hair, the calm expression on his face, the speck of ketchup on the back of his neck, from earlier today, when he fought with Chris over the last piece of pizza.

No regrets.

He closed the door.

The big clock on the hall showed 23:54. Its shadow was cascading down the stairs and seemed to swallow him as he made his way up to the attic. His feet felt heavy. His stomach dropped at the sight of the old door.

Chris turned on the light and closed the door. His fingers clenched around the handle, knuckles turning white as he briefly considered bolting.

"Have you thought of running, kiddo? I'm not gonna stop you. Hell! It would make for some amusing few minutes, huh?"

His free hand curled into a fist as he turned around, letting go of the doorhandle.

"Lucifer."

"Oh? So, you do remember me!" the King of Hell mocked from the other side of the room. "That's funny. I don't recall 'past memories' being included in our little deal. Do you?" Lucifer asked, straightening his suit jacket as he approached.

His tone was light, but the threat was obvious. Lucifer wasn't happy.

The Devil stalked forward fluidly, a snake towards the mouse.

"Guess the world is just funny like that." Chris bit back. By some miracle his voice didn't shake.

Lucifer's eyes flared red with hellfire, but Chris held his ground.

Two years ago, a demon got lucky and managed to blast him right in the side of his head. He didn't wake up for a whole week. Wyatt had been besides himself with worry.

Chris doubted Lucifer didn't know that. That he didn't have demons watching him over the years. That he didn't know he spent the past two years relieving nightmares of a past life he sold his soul to get rid of.

Lucifer's lips curled.

"Did I sound mad?" he chuckled. "I'm not mad. Look, I even got your brother here so you can say goodbye and everything!"

Bastard. Chris thought, glaring.

He's spent weeks planning this day. Making sure his family wouldn't have to be here for this. Wouldn't have to get hurt like this.

He used magic to win an all-paid trip to Florida for his parents (and making it look like his mother won).

He convinced Phoebe to go with Coop on a date and Paige to stay with Henry and the kids.

He bought tickets to the Yankees game for his grandfather ("as an early birthday gift").

And he thanked the Havens that Wyatt had gotten invited to some birthday party of an old friend from Uni.

A friend who mysteriously woke up with food poisoning this very morning.

But a part of Chris...

A part of Chris was selfishly glad for this. For getting to spend this whole day – his last day – with Wyatt. For getting one last laugh. One last hug. Right before.

"And I know – I know you wanted privacy and everything." Lucifer grinned. They both knew even the neighbors will hear it. Wyatt will have to hear it. "So, I'll give you... Let's call it a piece offering!" he said and waved a hand towards the door.

A fiery sigil melted into the door.

Chris didn't recognize it. But it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what it meant.

Wyatt wasn't getting in. And Chris wasn't getting out.

Something growled behind him, and he felt his blood freeze in his veins.

Lucifer clapped his hands.

"Well, a deal is a deal."

The hellhound barked, making Chris flinch. He had a couple of years to come to terms with it, but he still couldn't stop trembling.

"Nobody's gotten such a good deal in centuries – to be honest, I was expecting a bit more gratefulness."

Chris didn't respond.

"Twenty years instead of the standard ten." Lucifer continued, watching the hellhound approach like he was waiting for some boring commercial to end. "Can't get any better than that."

The clock on the wall switched to 23:58.

Another growl.

Wyatt wouldn't be able to hear it. He wasn't close to death.

But he will be able to hear Chris very clearly.

The clock turned 23:59.

Lucifer laughed as the witch-lighter flinched.

Looking into the black eyes of his death, Chris got hit with a moment of weakness, making him consider screaming for his brother.

Wyatt would come to help him. Surely his twice-blessed big brother could get him out of this. Wyatt was powerful. Wyatt could do anything.

But...

But.

He couldn't do that to his brother.

There was an already too big of a chance that Wyatt would blame himself for this.

He couldn't risk his voice forming Wyatt's name in his brother's nightmares. He couldn't break his brother like that.

Lucifer was grinning. His teeth were too sharp.

And if somehow Wyatt did manage to kill the hellhound, Lucifer might go back on his word.

Your soul or your brother, Halliwell? Which one will it be?

His eyes fell on the photo frame near the Book of Shadows. Wyatt had his arms around Chris, grinning as he was dragging his little brother away from the study to a baseball game.

Which hell would you rather live in?

He couldn't lose Wyatt again.

Chris took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The clock struck midnight.

He heard the hellhound leap forward.

Worth it.

You were always worth it, Wy.

Wyatt woke up to screaming.

Terrible, heart wrenching, pained filled screams that had pure horror flow through his veins, because those were his brother's screams.

"Chris!" he hollered as he rushed out of bed, almost ripping his door out of its hinges as he flew up the stairs.

They were witches. They were fighting demons almost daily and they got hurt almost as much. He's heard Chris scream before. In shock, in pain, in fear.

But never like this.

Never so much terror. Never in such agony.

Never his baby brother.

Magic poured from his soul, his very being, and he lifted his hands forward, letting it all out with the intent to blast the attic door and every monster stupid enough to touch Chris.

He was still running up the stairs when his magic bounced off the door and back towards him, hitting him right in the chest, stealing the air out of his lungs. Shock colored his features as he landed at the base of the stairs.

He tripped as he was getting back on his feet, pure panic taking over because Chris was still screaming.

Still screaming like he was being burned alive and Wyatt couldn't get to him.

"CHRIS!"

The door wouldn't bulge. He couldn't orb inside.

"CHRIS!"

His hands reached forward calling for Excalibur. The sword materialized in front of him, and Wyatt turned it towards the door, slashing and stabbing.

His muscles were on fire. He still couldn't fully breathe properly.

Chris stopped screaming.

Desperation turned into horror and his magic reacted. The next time he brought the sword down, the door was blasted away, and Wyatt rushed in.

Then his whole world shattered.

Excalibur slipped from his fingers.

The blood was everywhere. On the walls, the furniture, the floor, all leading to the big dark puddle under his little brother.

"No..."

Deep gashes were bleeding all over his body. Claw marks ripping into his chest, his throat, his arms and legs.

"NO!" Wyatt screamed as he rushed forward, kneeling into the puddle of blood that covered the entire floor.

No. No. No. No. NO!

"Chris! Chris please -" his words got stuck in his throat, hands shaking as he willed his hands to heal. "I'm here! I – I'm right here! I got you!"

His brother's green eyes were grey and lifeless, looking at nothing. Tear tracks were smeared with blood along his face.

"Y-You're gonna be okay – You're gonna be okay! I'll make sure of it! I promise – I -" His hands were glowing.

Healing.

Healing was his job.

Wyatt could just heal him.

He could always heal him.

"Please. Please. Please."

Chris wasn't healing.

Not like this.

Please not like this.

His skin was cold and covered and blood.

"Chris?" a whisper escaped him. A plea.

His breaths were becoming short and elevated. Tears were pouring down his face.

"Please... Please – "

His brother wasn't moving.

"CHRIS!"

Wyatt went through the funeral in a daze.

With all his family in mourning, Uncle Coop kept an eye on him. The cupid called it shock. And after the funeral, depression.

For three weeks he never got out of Chris's room and barely ate once every two days, much to the distress of the rest of his family.

Then he woke up one day and switched to anger.

Rushing into the Underworld, Excalibur in hand and pain in his heart. Five days later, demons were cowering away from him in the farthest caves they could reach.

Two days afterwards, his family dragged him back home kicking and screaming until his mother finally yelled back. "Do not make me lose another child!"

Wyatt spent another day at home, unresponsive.

Then Piper summoned Grams. And their world shattered all over again.

His grandmother had been confused at their defeated stances. At the tear tracks on their faces. At the broken expression on their faces.

Her lips pursed and Wyatt couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Just tell me he's okay!" he'd blurt out, all pain and desperation, tears pouring down his face, ready to beg his grandmother to tell Chris how sorry he was that he couldn't save him. That he's been a lousy protector. That he failed as a big brother.

Penny looked at her great-grandson's red eyes and disheveled looks in concern.

"Who?"

They stared at her. Wyatt forgot how to breathe.

"Chris." Leo chocked up. "Chris d-died last week."

Penny looked between them in bewilderment.

"That's not – That's not possible." She said, looking around like she expected Chris to orb in and tell her it was just a stupid prank. "He's not with us."

Silence.

"...What?" Wyatt breathed.

"What do you mean he's not with you?!" his mother screamed.

The world turned blurry as his legs gave out under him. His father and Uncle Coop barely managed to catch him as he went down.

His ears were ringing.

Chris wasn't next to him.

Chains and hooks held Chris in place as the years passed by. A little over twenty-four years – almost three weeks in the outside world if his calculations were correct.

The pain kept him from wondering how his family was holding up. How Wyatt was holding up.

He's gotten somewhat used to the program around here.

Demons coming in, bringing all sorts of fun new toys to use to peal him apart until there was nothing they could cut out of him anymore. Then he'll blink and be whole again, not even a scar on his skin, and they'll start from scratch, all over again.

And again. And again. And again. And again.

Sometimes the demons disguised themselves, so he'd be looking at his mother or his aunts. Insulting him or berating him or even torturing him.

Sometimes they'd look like his father – like the old Elder Leo – and he'd come and stay and watch and not bother to lift a finger as someone who looks like one of his old Elder buddies picks up a whip and beats him within an inch of his life.

The hardest days were when it was his brother. Mostly the evil one, but sometimes it was the good one. Every time Evil Wyatt came it sent Chris into a panic like nothing else did – nasty little voices whispering in his head 'Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. Look how you failed him! What kind of brother are you?'.

But then one day, the demon messed up.

He was wearing Wyatt's face. The good Wyatt this time. Chris could usually remember that it wasn't really his brother in front of him. Usually.

His ears were ringing. It was too hard to focus on the words probably-fake-Wyatt was saying.

Until he heard it.

"We're not brothers." The demon snarled at him, and clarity washed over Chris.

This wasn't Wyatt. This wasn't his brother.

Anger rushed into him.

After so many years of just pain and terror, anger felt incredible.

He latched onto the feeling with an iron grip, letting the fury burn inside him from his very soul.

How dare this pathetic imbecile take his brother's face. How dare this Boogie-Man-Wannabe pretend to be Wyatt Halliwell.

In another life, his aunts pretty much disowned him when they thought he was working with Lord Wyatt, not knowing he was building a whole rebellion behind his back and smuggling prisoners from the inside – not bothering to find out.

In another life, his father barely remembered he had a second son. And when it mattered the most, he picked Wyatt over him. Once, his father told him he wasn't family and spent over a year trying to remind everyone of how much of a liar Chris was. Of how much his own family shouldn't trust him.

In the past, his mother kicked him out of the house, telling him she never wanted to see him again, not knowing how much he risked and fought and bled just to save her oldest son.

'I don't need you!' Wyatt had snarled at him. It had been the worst thing his brother had ever said to him. The incident had been burned into his memory, being the source of many nightmares in both timelines.

His mouth curled upwards, the first sign of a smile in decades.

Blood still poured of his open wounds, but now Chris was grinning.

The demon shuffled on his feet, looking nervous.

Green eyes came back to life.

"You're not Wyatt." He snarled back; voice raw from screaming.

Even in Wyatt's darkest moments, he never once told Chris they weren't brothers.

Bianca told him once that he would sacrifice the whole world if it meant saving his brother which made him no different than Lord Wyatt. Chris never disagreed.

He knew not everybody fell for all those 'I'm doing this to save the world' excuses.

Because Wyatt always came first and the world second.

Because good or evil, Wyatt had always been his big brother. His protector. His family. His hero. And Chris might like to think of himself as a good witch – one that would give his life to save the world.

But if push comes to shove – if he had to choose – the world could burn.

He might not be a good person. He might not be a good witch. He might not be Halliwell.

But he would never not be Wyatt's brother.

"I am Wyatt's brother!" he declared proudly. "And you will never be able to take that away from me!" he growled at the demon, bloody chains and hooks digging into his flesh as he tried to rush forward, to take the imposters' head off for this.

On the Hell throne, Lucifer smirked, swirling the red wine in his glass.

"Finally."

Red eyes flared in the darkness of Hell.

This was going to be interesting.

Next time:

'So, what will it be Halliwell? Will you work for the Devil?'