Disclaimer: I will own this once I get my claws… I mean hands… on Aaron Spelling and Brad Kern… But until then, it's theirs. Until then…

I AM NOT PROMOTING ALCOHOL, PEOPLE. Just showing what Damien does to get out of a boring lecture. And sorry in advanced for all this angst. It actually hurt me to write, and that's saying something.

An eighteen year old Christopher Perry Halliwell could be found rocking on a bed in an old, but fresh-off-the-market looking apartment. If he was capable, he would have noticed that nothing appeared to be changed, or that things looked in even better condition than in which he'd deserted them. The floor had always been regularly vacuumed, hard tops dusted, refrigerator refilled… everything. Except things he had been working on before vanishing when he was sixteen… plans for the Volley Rampage tactic he'd created while under an obedience spell cast by Wyatt himself… scattered reports turned in to him about Resistance members and doings… everything, but none of it disturbed.

Yet the fact was, Chris wasn't capable of looking at and noticing his old apartment. All he could see was the memory, the deaths… the torture. All he could feel was his pain, his friends' and family's pain. Their desperation, yet their never ending strength beneath it all. That strength hurt him the most… They had been strong for him… and he had repaid them by allowing their deaths.

Well… he had tried to stop Prue and Paige from dying. They had been the last two and he had folded. He had told Wyatt the location of that damn city of innocents… and Wyatt killed their aunts anyway. Then turned around and destroyed the city, too.

And now Chris could hear them. The people in the city he had condemned to death. He could hear them screaming in his head, begging for someone to help, begging to know why… begging just not to be raped or tortured before they were killed. Begging to be killed before their children so they wouldn't have to witness their progeny's agonizing demise. They screamed out the names of any and every magical being they'd ever known, some who'd helped them, others just from around. Most called for Paige, knowing her whitelighter senses would hear them. The others called for Chris. Him. Their killer. And they died none the wiser.

"Chris! Chris, please--"

"--help! Please, oh God--"

"--Not my daughter-- please, not her! Oh God, help--"

"--us! Please, Paige, help! Help…"

"Chris, please… help us…"

"SHUT UP!" Chris yelled at the top of his lungs, rocking back and forth furiously, now. "Just shut up; I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… just… leave me alone… I'm sorry…"

"Who're you talking to, Chris?" asked a very familiar, friendly voice.

Chris' eyes shot up. There was Victor Bennett, sitting beside him on the bed, smiling warmly at him. But… Chris' eyes went wide and he could barely breathe. "Grandpa…" he whispered, then blinked furiously, shaking his head. "No. You're dead. I saw you die in the hospital. You're dead and you can't come back and you're not here. Not here, not here, not here…"

"Chris, shh, son," Victor soothed, reaching forward to hold his nervous wreck of a grandson, but Chris pulled away sharply.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded, yelled, cried… It was so hard. So hard…

"You weren't responsible for my death, Christopher," said Victor softly… then faded away. The spot beside Chris was as if no one had ever been there at all.

The boy stared at it for a moment, head spinning, thoughts whirling and flying so fast he couldn't even catch them. His mind was crueler than even he had thought. The dead people he didn't know wouldn't shut up. The last moments of their lives were horrible and completely his fault, but it was over a year ago! What did they expect him to do? His guilt was already killing him enough without them shoving it even more so in his face.

They wouldn't shut up. And then there was his team again, right in front of his eyes, yelling at him, crying at him, demanding to know why they deserved to die when all they did was follow his lead without question, with complete trust. Demanding to know why he had lead them straight to their excruciating deaths…

They were standing in front of him, but their bodies were as mauled as they had been when they had each finally died. Not any of them was a pretty sight to behold. And Paris… oh, Paris…

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, shaking violently with suppressed sobs. "I'm so sorry…"

"Chris, help us, please! Paige! Chris! Phoebe… Prue… Piper… Anybody…"

"Please God, not Jenny!… not Jenny, too…"

"ANDREW! NO! ANDREW…! Somebody help! Somebody--"

"--help! Please, anybody…! Help…"

"I promise I won't be a bad girl no more. Promise. Just, please, don't hurt me…"

Chris sobbed even harder beneath the voices, beneath his friends' accusing eyes. He couldn't do this. Why was he still alive? Why did he have to survive everything? WHY?

"Help," he sobbed quietly, barely able to speak through the heart wrenching flood of tears. "…please help me…"

He didn't know who he was begging for help. He didn't care. Anybody… anybody at all was good, if they would just… put an end to this… this pain… Anybody…

"Chris, baby," said a new voice, a voice he could hardly distinguish from the others. But he knew this one, too. If he could just think… "Chris, come on, honey, snap out of it. Whatever you're seeing or hearing, they're not real. They're not there. It's just you and me, baby. You and me. That's all. Now come on, Chris…"

Chris shook his head. He couldn't see the speaker through the tears in his eyes, or through the images of flames… of a burning city… clouding the rest of his vision. His team… Andre, Duncan, Joden, and Paris… all so accusing, all so sad and in pain… It wasn't right. They were dead. No more laughing and horse playing… they were dead. Did they even get funerals or did Wyatt just incinerate their corpses like he did most torture victims'? Oh God, Paris…

"Chris!" said the voice, more sharply. "They are not real. But you can make them real. Whatever it is… the voices… they don't have shape. Give them shape, make them physical to you, baby. Make them into… a cube or something. Okay, Chris?"

But Chris shook his head again, seeming to be more of a five year old than eighteen year old. These people that were screaming and dying… they were people, not cubes! How could he do that to them? How could he make them so insignificant and impersonal? Like they didn't matter? How could she ask him to do that to them, their memory?

"Chris, give them shape, damn it!" the voice commanded, not in frustration but… something else. He couldn't tell. There were just too many emotions… "Make them squares and physically squash them so they don't bother you anymore. Okay? You can do it, Chris, I know you can. Come on. Don't torture yourself like this. You're no good to anyone insane. Come on."

Chris blinked vigorously, trying to clear his head, but it was too crowded. He could briefly get rid of one thing, but then the other was still there, still so overpowering… It hurt so badly… they all wanted him dead. He had killed them all…

But Bianca's face, clearer than anything else, brighter than anything he'd seen in years, suddenly made it's desperate way to the front of his mind. Her face was pleading, but uninjured. And it was still loving, and supportive…

He took an unsteady breath and swallowed hard. Whatever voice was giving him the clear instructions was right. He could do this. It was just going to take a little bit of willpower… So, in a last desperate attempt, Chris mustered every ounce of control he still had over his vindictive mind and grasped onto it firmly. He focused on the voices… the people that were still begging and crying… and forced an outline around them and made their voices solid objects in his mind. He had no idea how he was doing it, but his mind could and so he did. He forced the outline inwards and compacted the voices so that they were still there, but he could push them, now.

He tightened his grip on his mind and 'physically' forced the block of people down. Down in his mind until they were getting so far from the surface, their voices were mere whispers echoing hollowly in his ears.

Gathering strength from that accomplishment, he moved his eyes to his team… his friends… and told them goodbye… and threw his mental powers at them, forcing them to dissolve into nothingness. As horrible as it sounded, he hoped they would stay away. They were dead… he shouldn't have to see them and be reminded of what he had done… they should just stay dead and leave him alone…

Chris blink a few times, clearing those thoughts away and swayed slightly where he sat. He was exhausted to the very marrow of his very bones. He drew a deep breath and cleared his vision, and could have laughed aloud.

Bianca was kneeling in front of him completely soaking wet, water pouring steadily from her hair and onto the carpet. She was wearing nothing but a towel that was so wet it clung to every square inch of her body. But she didn't seem to notice. Her cinnamon eyes were glued to his face, watching and waiting for a sign that he was okay. Or otherwise.

The boy smiled wryly at her. "You look like a wet rat."

For a moment, Chris thought she would laugh from the relief he suddenly felt rush through her, but then she was glaring and smacking him upside the head. "What the heck is wrong with you, boy?" she demanded none too kindly. "You don't call your girlfriend a wet rat! I oughtta ditch your butt right now for that comment! Jeez-zus…"

Chris rolled his eyes, trying to cover up the way his entire body was quaking. This wasn't right. It felt so wrong… Hurt so much… The voices were actual people he had killed indirectly. But he had killed them, nonetheless. A whole city of defenseless innocents… And here he was, using all the effort he possessed to cover them up with emptiness. Emptiness. Nothingness. Instead of people who had died for no reason other than a family spat. And using so much energy to suppress these screaming, thrashing people was a pain he was only too used to, but a pain he'd never be immune to…

"… Chris, did you hear me? Hello?"

"Huh?" came Chris' eloquent remark.

"I said that we need to get you out of here," Bianca repeated patiently, getting to her feet. Chris moved to rise as well, but she put her hand on his shoulder, holding him down. "No. I'm just going to go get clothes on and I'll be back. You need to rest for a while. You've had a long-- really long day. But I'll be back soon. Promise."

Chris nodded mutely and watched as she strode from the room in nothing but that towel… He briefly toyed with the idea of causing a little telekinetic wind… But no, they had work to do and he had a mind to control. Adding powers atop it all would just make everything messy again, and, contrary to popular belief, Chris didn't like messy.

As the door closed behind his ex-fiancée, Chris allowed himself to tilt sideways and fall into the pillows on the bed. He was so tired… And again, he thought about how living in the past had made him soft. There, he could sleep whenever he chose to without having to worry about that damn curse the Elders in the future had put on him. Of course, he almost always had bad dreams, but with a life like his, who wouldn't? It was still sleep, not 'relive all my bad memories lying down', like it was here.

He groaned unenthusiastically at that thought and snuggled deeper into the pillows. Maybe he could just pretend he was asleep for a while and it would trick his already overloaded mind and make him feel less tired when finally had to get up… Tricking this sorry excuse for a mind shouldn't be too hard…

He had hardly closed his eyes, however, when Bianca was flinging the door back open and slamming it shut behind her, breathless and dressed. He groaned again when she came and pulled on his shoulder. "Five more minutes," he whined, rolling over just enough to see her expression. It wasn't one to tolerate games at the moment. Needless to say, he got up.

"Where are we going?" he asked, no longer tired as he followed her back to the door. He leaned back against the wall as she opened it and peered around for 'company'.

-----------------------

"Back to the manor," Bianca replied quietly. Finding no one, she lead the way out into the hall. The two moved together with the grace of hunter and huntress as though knowing the steps of this dance by heart. It hardly even distracted them from their conversation.

"Back to the manor," Chris repeated flatly. "Why? We've kind of already tried that and it kind of blew up in our faces."

"If you're implying that any plan I executed went badly," said a new voice and Damien shimmered in, arms folded and looking as casually indifferent as always, "then think again, Christopher. There were merely a few calculated risks taken and dealt with."

"Dealt with," repeated Chris flatly, making Bianca look at him in concern. It was uncommon for him to repeat things so flatly so many times a day. Maybe twice a week, but besides that, he'd have had a sarcastic comment just waiting for the opportune moment to slip out. Now he was simply waving at those moments as they moved right on by. He really is out of it, Bianca mused.

Damien arched an eyebrow, observing Chris. "So…" he said slowly, "you're not insane. That's… unexpected."

Chris scowled at him. "Unexpected? What, were you waiting for me to lose it?" A little better…

"No, I was expecting you to lose it. Honestly, did you not notice how 'expect' is the root word of 'unexpected'? Christ, maybe you are insane after all," Damien shook his head in mild annoyance and exasperation. Mild. Emotions never fled freely across Damien's mien. ((A/N: sorry, had to do it :wicked grin:))

Chris crossed his arms and continued glaring at this evil excuse for a brother. Damien just rolled his eyes before turning his attention to Bianca. "He's at a meeting with the head powers. There won't be any security at the Manor, but that meeting is so boring he'll be looking for any excuse to cut it short. He's going to sense you the moment you step foot in the front door."

"So we go in the back door," concluded Bianca with only a hint of mock in her voice. "Come on, he'll take a few minutes to make sure he's not mistaken. He wouldn't believe we'd do this again so soon."

"I can't believe we're doing this again so soon," Chris muttered, seeming not to be in a good mood anymore. He was particularly throwing Damien harsh looks. Bianca could see the faint lines of stress in his countenance and the way he couldn't stand still anymore. She knew he was internally struggling again, but not necessarily about Damien. Who wouldn't be a little bad tempered after watching everyone they loved being tortured for hours and hours until death? She knew that she herself would have given in after the first knife went through her little sister's hand…

"Get over it," Damien was saying indifferently. "You're the one that has a problem with the way things are now. Don't take it out on me."

Bianca held up her hands, interrupting before Chris could snap back. "Boys, please. Now is not the time. Damien, are you going to come with us?"

"Definitely not. I have to get back to that meeting… just left to grab a beer when I felt you two sneaking out," came the unconcerned reply. Bianca noticed for the first time the shape of a beer bottle in a side pocket of his trench coat.

"Aren't you still, like, over a year underage?" she asked, amused.

Damien gave her a look. "My God, woman. Do you really think anyone's crazy enough to ask to see my license or something?"

"You finally passed the driver's test?" asked Chris, openly grinning. "What, did Wyatt threaten to kill the instructor if he didn't pass you?"

Damien glared coldly and smacked Chris upside the head. "You asshole. I got my license on the second try and you damn well know it. You're the one that took the test six times before Wyatt destroyed the last department of transportation and you had to get a fake one-- just to please Aunt Freebie, no less."

Chris glowered. "I only failed those times because you sent demons after me and I charged with reckless driving, and you damn well know it."

"BOYS!" Bianca yelled, thoroughly annoyed, now. They shut up. She threw Damien a look. "You, get back to your meeting and don't drive until an hour after you finish that--" Chris inserted an alternate instruction here, which we can all hazard a correct guess, but Bianca ignored it, only throwing him a silencing glare. "-- and you, come with me. No more bickering like little three year olds."

She paused as Chris flicked his wrist minutely at… the wall. He mouthed something at it, obviously trying to be discreet about it. Judging by the fact that she had noticed, she could say quite confidently that it wasn't working. She tried to catch his eye to ask him without words what was up, but wasn't successful. He seemed to be getting very stressed out about whatever he was seeing, tapping his foot where they stood, restlessly looking around… She shared a look with Damien, whose expression was neutral. At last Chris angrily sighed and said loudly, "Would you just shut up, already!"

They continued staring at him. After while, he seemed to notice them again. "What?" he asked, perplexed.

Damien rolled his eyes and gave her a look she couldn't decipher before shaking his head and turning his piercing grey eyes to Chris. "Don't screw it up, Christopher," he said by way of farewell and good luck. He shimmered out, unscrewing the beer cap as he did so.

Chris and Bianca shared looks, each thinking something different. Then they came to the same silent conclusion that they should get going again, and started once more for the exit. They wouldn't use magic unless it was absolutely necessary. Wyatt could sense their presence, but not unless he wanted to, and at the moment he had no reason to believe they weren't in their rooms. He would, however, sense them the instant they used magic. They weren't eager to face the consequences that would come with being caught, so they could live with walking until they came to a car they could jack to drive the rest of the way.

Several times in their walk Chris would suddenly veer to the side as though to avoid running into something, or someone. Several times he would tell people that weren't there to go away. To say that Bianca was worried would be a serious understatement.

It wasn't long, though, before they were out of the headquarters and on the decaying streets of San Francisco and making their way to the Halliwell Manor Museum once again.

Wyatt watched as his younger brother slid into his seat at the meeting. Of course Damien was a head power, being a Halliwell automatically made one powerful, but the teen didn't take this seriously… at all, apparently, judging from the beer he was drinking. Wyatt briefly wondered if he was right in letting Damien off the hook so easily. After all, the young man had tried to lead his littlest brother back to the past to change all this… That hadn't been a tiny little miscommunication problem.

Maybe he was just drunk, thought Wyatt, eyes wandering to that beer again. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Chris was smoking marijuana at age thirteen, and beer wasn't even illegal. Of course, Chris smoking pot had bothered him, too… Eh, he didn't know. Dealing with demons and disobedient witches was so much easier than family-- a point every Halliwell could agree on.

He turned his attention back to meeting. It was hard to watch the entire world at the same time and rule over it with an iron fist, so he divided the world into divisions and placed 'trusted' demons in charge… these were those demons. He was trying to get straight answers out of them about how settled the demons were. Wyatt couldn't stand the constant fighting and scavenging. He wanted a world of order, not chaos. What he had now, right after the war, was chaos.

"… and then there are those who have trouble with the idea of living in one place, so there are sometimes… disputes over land," one demon, a powerful grimlock in charge of Division 18, was saying uneasily. "Not real fighting, I mean, not complete anarchy… they still live to serve you, my lord, but…"

Wyatt vanquished the stuttering demon without even looking at it. "Damien, you're in charge of Division 18, now. I want those demons working to clean the place up, not destroy it more. You did a wonderful job with your divisions. I saw a few of them myself yesterday. No fighting. Wonderful. Do it again."

Damien arched an eyebrow. "They don't fight because they're all stoned out of their minds," he said with a hint of a smirk. "Who knew marijuana relaxes the nerves."

Wyatt gave his brother a look. He knew he had recognized that acrid smell as something besides vanquishing smoke. Now he knew. "Damien," he warned in a hard voice. "Did I legalize m--" but he cut the sentence off abruptly, cocking his head to the side as though hearing something. There was something, an absence of something, at the edge of his mind that left too large a hole to go unnoticed. Something was missing. Then it hit him. "Chris," he hissed as he felt his little brother gone from the building. He sensed the surrounding area and also found Bianca missing from her rooms. To say he was angry right then would have been the understatement of the year. He was livid.

He stood from his seat at the head of the long table and announced quietly, "This meeting is over."

Though his voice was barely above a whisper, it carried through the silent room and the effect was immediate. Every demon shimmered out, leaving only Wyatt and Damien, who also rose.

"Wyatt, what--"

But the eldest held up a hand, immediately silencing the younger. "Damien, I swear if you had anything to do with this, so help you God…"

"Do with what?" asked Damien, bewildered. He was giving him a look as if asking for verification of sanity. "Wyatt… you're angry. And extremely powerful. And you've had a stressful day. Please don't kill anyone." Pause. Then, "… important." Another pause, and then, "Ah, hell. Go on a killing spree if it rubs your Buddha."

He took another sip of beer, honestly unperturbed, as usual. Wyatt's scowl darkened. Okay, so maybe Damien really didn't know what was going on, but 'rubs your Buddha'? What the heck…?

But now was not the time to be decoding the origins of strange metaphors. Still unsure whether he had Damien's loyalty or not, Wyatt commanded in a deadly cold voice, "Vanquish the guards that were supposed to be posted outside Christopher and Bianca's rooms-- if there are any left to vanquish. And the same with the guards at the exists. Then stay here and await further commands. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," replied Damien indifferently, then looked down at his empty bottle and his expression became mournful. Wyatt ignored that and flamed out. Damien stood up and muttered, "Right after I get another beer…"

A/N: Thank you everyone who reviewed! I updated in, like, three days just so I wouldn't get my throat slit by a certain reviewer... winkwink... Anyway, and I couldn't help but update on 06-06-06. At 6 o'clock. Heh. Leave it to me to base something on that, no matter how Christian I am... Anyway... more Charmed Ones next chappie. REVIEW!