Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed. BTW, a warning, mentions of hypothetical (non-graphic) infant death and mother death. This is not a nice world that the Halliwells are now in! It's the dark future with a good Wyatt and a different Source. Expect violence, upsetting things, etc. Though nothing will be graphic, I wouldn't be able to write that. Enjoy!

Chapter Four

Discovering the Difference

Elizabeth Halliwell awoke with a start. Overcome by a certainty that something, she didn't know what, was terribly wrong, the young witch fell back on instincts from her first life. Before her eyes had fully opened, she had rolled into a defensive pose. In her left hand, she clutched a knife that she had been holding beneath her pillow. In her other, she held a ball of crackling electricity raised to hurl at any enemies that might have surrounded her as she slept.

When she finally opened her green eyes and took in the room she was in, she was deeply disturbed.

The most important thing, of course, was that Niko was nowhere to be seen. It troubled her greatly, because she could never have slept through a struggle, nor would she not have at least felt him leaving the bed if he had done so willingly. She always at least felt it, even if it didn't fully wake her. Where was he?

The next question that was troubling her was similar. Where was she? She was in some sort of room. It seemed to have once been a home office, but was long-abandoned by its former owners, left to waste away under its neglect. The walls had once been blue by the looks of it, but had since faded to a greyish colour. Mould crawled up the walls in various places, and Liz spotted a rat peeking out of a hole in the left corner. The blinds had rotted away, and the broken window was covered by two damp sheets of cardboard to keep out the weather. The desk was in the best state of repair, and held only an old computer and a thick layer of dust. Liz had been asleep on the ground, resting on a long trench coat with a threadbare quilt to cover her, a rucksack serving as her pillow.

"What is going on?" Liz murmured under her breath, assessing the situation with a deep frown. She might have thought she had somehow been kidnapped, if not for the fact that she was unrestrained, and could freely access her powers. Although now she thought about it, it had been harder than usual to summon the electro-ball, as her friend Declan had jokingly named it in the first timeline. And it had not only been weaker than usual, but flickered out before she wanted it to, something that hadn't happened in a long time.

Liz bit her lip, surprised to break through a scab she hadn't realized was there. She coughed as blood filled her mouth, and swiped a hand across her chin to wipe it away. Then she stared at her hand. It was thin, thin in a way it had never been in her second timeline. You could count all of the bones, she was so malnourished.

For a second, Liz panicked, convinced that the entire second timeline had been nothing more than a blissful dream, and she was still a fugitive in the first, leading a worldwide guerrilla resistance while her elder brother and his lieutenants ruthlessly hunted her and all of her associates down.

The only thing that told her that was not the case was the sword lying within arms' reach of where she had been sleeping, its hilt covered by a dirty rag. Excalibur. If the second timeline had been a dream, if she had never time travelled, than Excalibur would be in Wyatt's hands, worsening the corruption of Gideon and the other various traumas in their painful and scarring childhood.

But Excalibur was with her, which meant that this was something else. The first thing she needed to do, then, was find out where her allies were, in order to discover what was happening. Liz shut her eyes tightly, reaching out with her mind in search of her family. Most of what she felt made her want to collapse in despair, but one thing fanned a flicker of hope in her chest. Two (and a half) presences, just down the hall from her.

Liz's eyes snapped back open, and she grabbed Excalibur before hastily making her way out of the room. She kept her guard up as she padded down the hall, noting a door leading into a kitchen and living area, a bathroom and a front door respectively. It definitely seemed like an abandoned apartment of some sort, though why it had been left to decay in such a manner, Liz didn't know.

She reached the room where she could sense the sleeping pair, and opened the door as quietly as she could, entering on light feet. 'You're as quiet, it's like you're a shadow or something' Aaron Carmichael, a trusted commander in her first life, and a mortal whom she had never spoken to in the second, whispered in her ear, giving inspiration for one of Liz's passcodes of 'Shaded Angel'.

She gave the bedroom a cursory glance, the quick sweep allowing her keen gaze to observe almost everything. It had once been a light colour, perhaps a soft yellow or dark ivory, but, like the room

Liz had been in, it had faded to grey from years without being cleaned. There was a double bed-frame in this room, but no mattress, Wyatt and Emily were sleeping on coats, like Liz had been, also with bags for pillows. They had a patched sheet to cover them, just barely. The two of them were closely entwined in an unconscious attempt to shield themselves from the cold of the room. Other than that, there wasn't much in the room. An empty wardrobe with one door missing, a vanity with a cracked mirror. These windows weren't completely broken like the ones in Liz's room, but they were cracked, and had only a thin, moth-eaten curtain tugged partly across.

Liz sighed and hurried across the room, crouching at her snoring brother's side. The sound of the snores worried her. While Wyatt always snored in his sleep, giving much ammo for teasing from family and friends alike, you could tell from the sound what state of health he was in. Right now, Liz had the sinking feeling he was sick, though not as ill as the time he'd had appendicitis and ended up in hospital when it suddenly burst.

Leo had been away, and Piper had dismissed it as a stomach bug. Leo, when he returned, had quickly realized what was actually wrong, but it had already burst by the time they reached the hospital in the car. As it was a natural illness, they weren't able to heal it magically. It had been the only time Liz had ever truly feared for her brother's life, and the then six-year-old girl had spent the whole time Wyatt spent in surgery sobbing into Piper's stomach that he was going to die.

Liz dismissed the memory and reached out to gently shake her brother's shoulder. His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, accidentally dislodging his wife and making her cry out in surprise as she too startled awake.

"What the hell?" Wyatt burst out, taking in the room and his sister's malnourished frame in shock. His voice was croaky and hoarse, as if he gone days without water. Or he had been coughing badly.

You know things are bad when Wyatt Matthew Halliwell starts swearing, Liz concluded mentally. There was no mirth in her thoughts, though usually she found a dark humour in the way the second timeline's version of her brother couldn't even make himself say 'fuck', while she had used to wish that his counterpart's greatest flaw was a salty vocabulary.

Liz had never been vain, but she still had her pride (and quite a bit of it. She was a Warren witch, after all.), and keeping herself in a certain condition was not only part of that, but also helped separate her two lives. In the first timeline, she had been a ragged mess, dressed in dull, faded and patched fatigues with knotted hair and a dirty face. In the second, she kept herself healthy and well-put together, and was always pleased with that fact. She dreaded seeing herself in the mirror, if Wyatt and Emily were anything to go by.

Wyatt's hair was longer, and the curls tangled into a knot so bad, it would probably need to be cut. He was so thin it seemed like he was a skeleton with skin stretched tightly over the bones, and his usual healthy tan had been replaced by a gaunt, pale complexion, save for his cheeks, which were flushed a rosy red from fever. He wore a blue checkered shirt under a red hoodie, a pair of jeans, and he had been wearing his runners in bed. They had been sellotaped in several places to keep them together, but it wouldn't last much longer. The clothes were baggy due to his thin body.

Emily didn't good either. Her golden curls were also badly matted, and they looked nearly brunette from lack of washing. There were bags under her eyes that looked nearly black, they were so dark. She was wearing men's jeans, using an old winter scarf as a substitute for a belt and a faded knit sweater that stretched over her swollen stomach, which seemed a bit smaller than Liz remembered, though that could have been her worry making her see things that weren't there. The thing that worried Liz most about Emily's appearance, however, was how small she seemed. Emily was an artist, and very vivacious and cheerful. So far, the only problems with her pregnancy had been the baby's magic acting mischievously and ostentatiously. Yet now, Emily looked so weak, Liz doubted she would be able to stand on her own two feet. It reminded her uncomfortably of the pregnant women in the Resistance tunnels of her first life. A time and place with a mother-and-stillbirth rate equal to that of the late 1800s.

Liz didn't express her concern, however. They needed to get to the bottom of this, and if Liz expressed worry about Emily, and by extension, the baby, the couple would be distracted by panic. Liz wouldn't blame them for it, of course. But she had a sinking suspicion that time wasn't on their side when it came to dealing with this unseen enemy.

"I don't remember what happened," she informed her alarmed brother and sister-in-law. "Do you?"

"The last thing I remember is falling asleep at home after coming home from dinner with you, Him, and Mom and Dad." Wyatt replied, looking worried as he wrapped an arm around Emily's thin shoulders. "Em, what about you?"

"That's what I remember as well," she murmured, leaning against Wyatt. Wyatt looked down at her anxiously, clearly picking up on his wife's weakness.

Liz frowned, absently reaching out to press her hand against Wyatt's forehead to check his temperature. For once, she didn't correct her brother or scold him for not calling her husband by his name. "Me too," she agreed tensely. "Niko isn't here. I have no idea how this happened, my wards should be impenetrable. Wyatt, you have a fever. 101 degree, at least. Maybe higher."

"I feel like crap," he admitted. "And starving. Is there anything to eat while we sort this out? Em needs her strength."

Liz shrugged, trying to hide her stress. Emily looked near-tears already, there was no need to make things worse for her. Wyatt and Liz had grown up with demons being considered similar to homework in the Halliwell family, a necessary evil that nobody liked but was dealt with with varying levels of ease. Emily, however, had grown up as a regular witch in a half-mortal household. Her only power was premonitions, and they weren't particularly strong, either. Emily hadn't even interacted with the Halliwells much until she and Wyatt had hooked up at a party. As far as Emily was concerned, waking up someplace unknown, having been physically altered, was grounds for panic. Even Liz, who was the most controlled person ever to live, according to her family, was struggling not to panic.

"I'm not sure," she stated, resisting the urge to bite her bottom lip in thought. "I didn't search the place. I came straight here to wake you guys up after I sensed your presence. Check the bags, and I had one in my room too. We might have something."

If they did have any food easily accessible, it wouldn't be much, Liz reckoned. Their thin bodies and the pang of hunger she could feel denied the possibility. For once she was thankful that food had been so scarce in her first life. It meant that she was able to (mostly) ignore the agonizing pangs in favour of thinking as clearly as possible.

Wyatt, meanwhile, was rummaging through the bags. He finally withdrew half a banana, mostly brown, and stared at it in dismay.

"Just eat it, Emily," Liz instructed her absently, still thinking. "I'll find something proper later, but just have that for now."

Grimacing, as she had never liked bananas, Emily took the fruit from her husband and began to munch on it glumly.

Liz had begun pacing the room, but a wave of dizziness made her stop and place her hand on the vanity table to steady herself. When she did so, she suddenly fell into a vision.

Beth kept her disguised sword at the ready as she stepped into the abandoned apartment. The door had opened easily with her telekinesis, and she could sense no signs of life inside. That didn't mean too much, however. Overconfidence in Paige's sensing ability had been the Charmed Ones' death.

The apartment was in better shape than Beth had seen in a while, and was certainly spacious enough for them. Practically a palace compared to some of the places she had stayed in over the years. The only inhabitants of the building were some rats, and Beth made a note of their nest so she could hunt them later. Finally satisfied that the place was safe, she left again, sealing the door with a spell.

She gathered her strength and orbed back to the old warehouse they had been staying for the past three weeks. It was drafty with a destroyed roof, and Wyatt was now sick from the cold. Beth had cared for him as best she could, but the fever still stubbornly stayed. Still, it wasn't too bad, and the apartment was far warmer.

The warehouse, despite the draft and fallen-in roof, had been a good home for the past few weeks. But as Emily's due date crept ever closer, finding a place with some degree of warmth where they could stay longterm became more and more of a priority. Infant deaths were common (in contrast to the stories of their parents' youth), and Beth was determined to safeguard her brother's child as if it was her own.

Emily was dozing when Beth arrived back, her most common occupation nowadays. The baby sapped what little strength she had, the infant unknowingly killing his mother. Beth hoped Emily would survive the birth, but they had all accepted the likelihood of her death. Emily had insisted from the onset that she would birth her baby, and happily die for him. Beth privately thought bringing a child into this world was far crueller than killing it in the womb, but she had said nothing. It was Emily's decision, even more than Wyatt's. Beth just hoped her brother could survive the loss of his love. If the baby died as well, then he definitely wouldn't.

Wyatt, flushed red from his illness, was guarding the entrance. His gun was lying across his lap, and Beth tossed him a case of bullets she had come across while searching the building.

"Well?" He asked hoarsely, opening the bullet chamber and refilling the four empty spaces.

"I found a place," Beth answered tiredly. "Once Emily wakes up, we'll go. Then when we're settled in, I'll see about finding some more food."

"I'm sorry I can't help more," Wyatt sighed, his guilt clear.

Beth smiled bitterly. "Not your fault that power-hungry bitch killed our family and bound your powers," she pointed out, her hatred for Her blatant.

"Someday, she's going to pay for everything she's done," Wyatt vowed.

Beth nodded. "Someday," she agreed.

The vision ended, and Liz fell to her knees with an anguished moan of despair and grief. 'Killed our family and bound your powers' repeated over and over in her mind. Everything she had sacrificed, everything she had done, was all for nothing. All her work save for Wyatt's morality had been undone, and Liz had no idea how to fix any of it. She didn't even know what needed to be fixed.