Disclaimer: I don't own any characters in this chapter but Paris, and she's not even really there anyway so what's the point of pointing out that I own her? Anyway… hey, I own the dead New Nirvana victims, too, but… they're not there, either… Wow this is going to be a strange and confusing chapter, you can already tell. Anyway…
Dedicated to Alexander "Alex" "Lex" Eavestone: March 3, 1991 - June 17, 2005. The boy I firmly believe could slam a revolving door. Happy… sad… first death day. A year… 52 weeks… 365 days… Yesterday or a lifetime ago, but not a year. Anyway, since I think I'm finally getting over you, I think I can admit to the world that yes, I was the one who drew the Hitler mustache on your funeral picture… and connected your eyebrows… and wrote that the funeral arrangements were done by 23 trained llamas… Eh, I know I'm going to Hell for it, but you know it was funny!
In the Farthest Future where Chris is insane and Wyatt is very angry and Damien is about to get really drunk. On with the story:
Wyatt flamed out with every intention of going straight to the Manor and killing Bianca and throwing Chris back into the memory, but once he got there, the museum was empty. They hadn't arrived yet.
He growled in frustration and conjured a high voltage fireball, throwing it through the roof even as he did so. He stared at the spot it went through, panting heavily in his gradually dissipating rage. Come on Wyatt, he thought, taking a deep breath and letting it out. You are better than letting your emotions get the best of you. Now calm down and think about this.
He took one last deep breath and released it slowly. His mind was clearing, now, and he realized he wouldn't even have to place Chris back in that memory… There were many other options that had so much more… class than that. So many other things that weren't completely overused and dull to stand by and watch. So many things he could participate in himself… and watch the shock and pain flood into Chris' eyes all at once when he realized what was happening…
Wyatt sighed, pushing that last thought from his mind. He lifted a hand and raked it through his curly blonde hair, trying to not feel the stress that always seemed to be tugging away at the corners of his mind nowadays. He had to remind himself that he didn't like to see the shock and pain in Chris' eyes… that was the Source's powers trying to bend his thoughts and feelings again. Evil power did that a lot of the time… He had to remind himself that he still loved his little brother and wanted him to join him again. But if that boy kept crossing him…
Wyatt suppressed another growl and covered up the sudden angry beating of his heart with a sigh. This would be the last time his little brother crossed him. This had to be done to keep Chris… indisposed. To keep him from fighting him. From fighting the whole damn world… This had to be done.
Wyatt took another calming breath… and called the shape-shifters.
---------------------------------------------------
Chris watched with weary eyes as his ex-fiancée peeked around the corner of a neighbor's house to see if the coast straight to the Manor was clear. The voices of the deceased echoed hollowly, ceaselessly in his ears and he had to close his eyes and squash them yet again. He couldn't afford the distraction at the moment. He had to help Bianca. He had to protect her from the angry Wyatt he knew would be waiting as soon as they got there. He could not let them distract him.
"Okay, come on," whispered Bianca, taking his hand and leading the way quickly to the back door. As much as he didn't want to be distracted, however, he still felt distracted from his vigilance by the fact that her hand was warm. Why were so few peoples' hands warm these days?
There was a pause in his thoughts as though they themselves were not quite able to believe they had just thought that. Duh. Because evils' temperatures were cold to the touch, and everyone in this world was evil or dead. Dead people's hands were cold, too… Hallucinations, though… he wasn't quite sure. He didn't think hallucinations had warm hands. After all, they were creations of his mind, and his mind was colder than freaking ice most of the time.
"Chris, did you hear me?" Bianca's voice cut through his drifting thoughts. Again. She tugged on his hand after picking the lock on the door, trying to get his attention.
"What?" Chris asked, blushing slightly at his own (lack of) attention span. This was such a frickin' horrible day, it was definitely going down in the books…
Bianca just shook her head and led the way inside, trusting he would follow. Chris felt something in his heart clutch. She put up with so much from him, he had no idea how she was still on good terms with him. Maybe that's why she agreed to marry my brother, he mused thoughtfully. Then, Oh my God, Monica and Logan!
"Bianca," he whispered as they went through the only-too-familiar basement and started quietly up the wooden stairs. "What happened to Monica and Logan? Did they really… are they…?" He couldn't finish the question.
Bianca froze in mid step, her back to him. There was silence. Slowly, she turned around to face him, her brown eyes glossy. She blinked the tears back. "Chris…" she began softly. "Monica… she held on as long as she could but… her husband had given away their baby to you to raise, you know, and she… she had nothing left."
"Monica killed herself," Chris breathed, thinking back to the silver-eyed, laughing girl that had spent so much time at the manor with Wyatt. She must have done it before he went to the past, too, and he hadn't even heard about it. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He couldn't lose it again. So why had he asked? He knew the answer would be bad… it always was… "And Logan?"
Bianca blinked a few more times and swallowed hard. "He wouldn't stay with me after you left. He orbed back to Wyatt. He's still too young to understand why his daddy wants him to do things that Uncle Chris said were bad… So Wyatt's convincing him that you were… mistaken. Logan's… not a sweet little angel anymore, Chris…"
One word was running through Chris' mind. It wasn't a nice word. Never was. He'd actually taught it to Logan by accident. Who knew little two or three year olds were like parrots, repeating everything they heard-- and with exuberance, too. Eh, he'd managed to convince the kid that he shouldn't say it when he was in civil company. That had led to a whole new mess of questions, too…
"Chris, help us! Please, don't let the take my baby! Please, Chris!" screamed some voice in his head. Yet another dead innocent he'd probably known…
"No, please God, no-- don't hurt her! Please, don't hurt my little girl! Not my little angel…"
"Please, no-- don't. Mommy said that was bad, please don't… don't hurt me… Mommy said…"
"Chris, snap out of it, baby," came Bianca's firm voice, sounding like it was muffled, trying to reach him through the voices like trying to swim through glue. "Come on, they're not real, make them leave. They're not real. Come on, baby."
Chris mentally forced the voices back yet again. This was getting… ridiculous, for lack of a better, more sensitive word. He couldn't keep doing this.
His glamoured blue-green eyes looked up to find Bianca watching him with concern. They were still standing on the stairs, which was a relief seeing as he hated finding himself in a different place when he had no idea how he got there. He offered her a weak smile, which was the best he could come up with at the moment. She returned one of her own and began up the stairs again.
Chris could feel how worried she was. How determined she was. He could feel how much she loved him. He felt his heart clutch again. God, he didn't deserve her. She didn't deserve this…
The kitchen was empty. They sped through it, ducking under the red ropes without hesitation until they were making their way up the stairs to the attic. The attic was completely empty. Bianca conjured a piece of white chalk and raced to the wall to draw the triquetta.
"Please tell me you remember the spell," she said, stopping suddenly to turn and look at him.
Chris felt his heart drop like a shard of ice into his stomach. Oh shit. He had remembered it only a few hours ago when Damien was helping… but now it was buried under the more prominent voices of the deceased. Not willing to let the love of his life down, Chris closed his eyes and concentrated on remembering the page in the book. He had almost complete power over memories. He could find that page in his mind. He knew he could.
As soon as he began digging, the memory of his last Aunt's death shot up into the forefront of his mind. He immediately cringed out of it, eyes fluttering open in protest. Bianca was watching him with concern. Again. He took another breath and closed his eyes. He had to rewind that memory to the point where Wyatt was putting him into it. Then he'd be able to search his past mind for it.
Oh, no. Paige screaming her last scream; Prue shedding her last tear; the cousins… all the cousins sobbing with their mothers… his uncles, trying to be strong for their families… his team… defiant and rebellious to the very end. And Paris… oh God, Paris…
"Wyatt, st-stop," gasped a seventeen year old Chris through the ragged sobs. Tears poured freely down his cheeks mixing with the pool of blood that covered the entire floor… inches deep. He was chained to wall with anti-magic cuffs… His friends and family's corpses… pieces… lay strewn about him… all who were left were the two greylighters… both already looking pathetic after watching all their kin being tortured… slaughtered. Both with tear stained faces and hoarse, burning throats. "Please… d-don't, Wyatt. I'll t-tell you… please don't k-kill th-them, too…"
"Chris, no!" cried Paige hoarsely, tears still spilling down her cheeks. Passion, despaired passion blazed furiously in her eyes. "I did not just watch my family, my children die for you to give up now! You do not tell him, Christopher. Don't you dare!"
The boy just shook his head; he had been numb as his uncles and cousins were tortured and killed barbarically, but now the pain was coming back. He couldn't… wouldn't… survive watching everyone… these last two people he had in the world besides Victor… Grandpa… die. He couldn't lose them… all the goodness from his childhood he had left… He couldn't watch them die…
"Chris, baby," wept Prue, eyes so blurred over with tears it was hard to see their color. She was trying to smile but the effect was lost on everyone… More tears just continued to flood. "You have to be strong, baby. You have to be strong. I promise you'll be okay if you're just strong for this…it's just… just me and Paige and everything… everything will get… will get…" easier. She was supposed to say easier. But she couldn't force the word out. Couldn't force her voice to speak anymore lies… She just cried. And Wyatt held the newly conjured atheme to her throat.
"You were saying?" his voice prompted icily, threateningly. His baby brother hesitated, desperate, haunted eyes trying to find strength in his last aunts' gazes… Wyatt stabbed the dagger through Prue's abdomen and began to slowly drag and twist it upward. The woman didn't scream; Paige sobbed harder, and Chris broke.
"New Nirvana is by Lansing, Wisconsin!" he shouted desperately, voice breaking. "Now, h-heal her. Please, W-Wyatt… heal… her… Please…" his voice broke off as his and Wyatt's eyes met, Wyatt's searching for the truth. He found it, and to Chris' immediate relief, pulled out the atheme that had stopped at Prue's sternum. Then he stabbed it back through her throat.
Chris and Paige both screamed in shock and despair… but Wyatt merely smirked and summoned a demon. "Send the dragons to Lansing, along with every mid and upper level demon not already engaged. Leave none alive," he added with the coldest smile Chris had ever seen in his life.
"You bastard!" screamed Chris, voice breaking all over again, tears spilling anew. "You can't-- cant'-- how dare you? What do you-- no, no, no, no, no… you aren't… can't…"
"Chris, Prue told you to be strong, we have to be strong," said Paige, though it was more like a whimper. So much crying. So much silent crying… "Be strong…"
"No, no… can't… please don't leave me," Chris whispered. "Don't leave me, too…"
"Chris, I'm not going anywhere," said Paige, suddenly firmly. Chris stared at her, then… it wasn't Paige. "Come on, baby, snap out of it. You are not back there again. You're in the manor, in the attic, and we're sending you back to the past to save everyone… everything. Come on, it'll be alright, baby. Just snap out of it…"
Chris blinked furiously, blocking out the sounds of Paige… the sounds of this world shattering around him… blocking out the stench of the blood he was practically drowning in… blocking out the death and hopelessness… "Bianca?" he whispered hoarsely, trying to force his way out of the memory. He still couldn't find her face through… through the chamber… the dungeon chamber…
"Yes, sweetie, it's me," said the voice, slowly sounding more like his lover's and less like his aunt's.. He felt a hand, a warm hand, caress his cheek. "Come on, baby. It's okay. Just… wake up, okay? It's just a bad dream. It's all just a bad dream… Come on, sweetheart. Wake up, now."
Slowly, so slowly, the chamber began to fade from his vision, dissolving into the familiar Halliwell attic. There was Bianca, kneeling in front of him with a loving smile, and behind her…
Chris' eyes snapped fully open and he crawled backwards hastily. He didn't remember falling to the floor, but he sure as heck was there, now. Behind his girlfriend, there stood Prue, Phoebe, Paige, and… Paris. None of them bloodied and beaten, or burned and shredded. They were corporeal and… smiling, loving. They were not possible.
"No, no, no, not real," he murmured, his clambering backwards stopped suddenly as he hit the wall. His breath was caught in his throat, eyes frozen wide in shock… in desperation. "Stop it, stop. Don't… don't do this, you're not real. Not here. You're dead… dead, dead, and you… you--you can't be here-- stop. You-- can't-- be-- real! Bianca… stop it. Help. Make it stop…" he was rambling, now, mumbling. He doubted anyone could understand a word he was saying, but he didn't care. He had to get away from these delusions before… before he broke. And what was Bianca doing? She was just kneeling there, where he had been when he had woken up, not moving, smiling that same, unnervingly loving smile… Didn't she see them? Didn't she know they were dead? Why wasn't she… doing something? Why was she just kneeling there freaking smiling?
"Chris," began Paris, shattering whatever emotional barrier he had just built up with his denial strategy as she walked forward. She came over and knelt down in front of him, looking at him with her serene, caring indigo-blue eyes. "It's okay. We came back to help you--"
"YOU CAN'T COME BACK!" Chris yelled, suddenly enraged for reasons beyond his comprehension. "HE MURDERED YOU ALL WITH DARK MAGIC! YOU CAN'T COME BACK TO EARTH WHEN YOU'RE KILLED WITH DARK MAGIC! You know that, Paris!"
"Shh, Chris," Paris whispered, pulling him into a hug.
Chris, surprisingly, didn't pull away. In fact, he hugged her back, gripping her tightly and never wanting to let go. He couldn't touch hallucinations. He could feel her; she was real. She was here. Who cared if she was alive, or if she was just breaking the rules in the afterlife to come help him-- he needed her and she was here and that was all that mattered. She was here. They were all here.
Prue smiled. "Yeah… you would know, wouldn't you?" she asked in a gentle voice.
Chris, perplexed, looked up, letting go of Paris to see his eldest aunt. "What are you--?"
"Dark magic," answered Prue easily. "You practiced so much of it after we died… killed with it…"
Chris' confused expression deepened. What… was she blaming him? Was she mad at him? What was she… on about? Oh, no. Prue hated him. He had screwed up, using dark magic, and now she hated him. Oh, no, Prue hated him. Oh no; oh no; oh no…
The three witches were walking towards him and Paris, and he struggled for words to say, anything to say that would make her forgive him. Prue couldn't go back to the afterlife… or back to where ever she came from, hating him. He couldn't leave it like that.
"Prue, I'm sorry," he managed at last. Everything, grasp of the human language, thought process, was all escaping him. So what came out sounded like something a little kid would think of, but he didn't care. "I tried to be strong… I really, really did, but… everyone was gone, and you were gone, and I just… I missed you so much, Prue…" he said weakly, searching her calm blue eyes for a sign that she still loved him.
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Paris stood, took Chris' hand, and pulled him to his feet. Prue took the last step between them and pulled him into a tight embrace. It was a good enough answer for him. He closed his eyes, letting the woman comfort him and tried to breathe in her familiar scent, but was met with the smell of… some heavy perfume that could only be associated with dead, rotting roses.
As soon as he realized that that was wrong, the woman was using her grip on him to whirl him around roughly and wrench his hands behind his back. He had no idea what to do as she snapped the familiar anti-magic handcuffs on his wrists, locking them tighter than kind. What the heck… was all his mind could register. He was sure his face was a picture of horror and bewilderment.
Before he could get any words out to express this, however, Prue's fist connected with his face so hard he was thrown to the ground, supporting a nastily split lip and spitting out the blood that came with it. He twisted onto his back, the handcuffs digging into his wrists harder than ever, to look at his 'aunt'. She was… another woman, now. Black, scamp-y clothes, dyed red streaks in her black hair, a foul expression on her sharp face.
"That's for vanquishing my sister, you son of a bitch," the new woman spat, but Bianca cut her gloating short by jumping angrily to her feet and shouting,
"I told you he was not to be harmed!" His ex-fiancée conjured a… fireball and chucked it at the stranger. Last time he checked, Bianca didn't have that power…
"Bianca, what's going on?" asked Chris from the floor, a bit shriller than he'd have preferred. His eyes shot between Paris, Phoebe, Paige, and Bianca. Something like, 'Oh damn, I'm losing my mind again, oh damn, oh damn, I've lost it, oh damn,' was going through his mind. Bianca throwing fireballs, Prue changing into someone else-- had his mind done that or was she a shape shifter?-- Prue, Paige, Phoebe, and Paris all being alive… or here, at least. No, none of it was possible. It was his mind. Was he out of his memory? Was this just a continuation? Was Bianca trying to get him to snap out of it right now? Oh damn, he had no idea what was happening, what was real, what was his imagination… oh damn, he was so confused and lost. Oh damn.
Bianca's brown eyes snapped onto his and he felt himself being telekinetically pulled into the air, then dropped upright on his feet. Thankfully, Chris managed to keep the stand and not let his suddenly weak knees make him fall. His unnatural blue-green eyes sought out Bianca's… or Bianca. Oh damn, it wasn't her. Oh damn, he knew it. Oh damn, it was Wyatt impersonating a girl! Or… both their fiancée… at one point. That sounded more 'professional'. Wait… it was Wyatt! SHIT.
"Bianca?" repeated Wyatt innocently as he morphed back into himself. "You couldn't possibly mean my ex-fiancée, that Bianca, could you?" He jabbed a thumb carelessly behind him. Chris, feeling the color slowly draining from his face, dreading what he would find, leaned slightly to the side to see what he was pointing at.
There was Bianca, struggling but being held onto firmly by… Paige and Prue. But… he whirled around. Paige, Prue, Phoebe, and Paris were still gathered around him, here, smiling smugly. His eyes went wide as his entire world seemed to spin beneath his feet. "Wyatt, what the hell are you doing to me?" he breathed, feeling like he was going to be sick.
Wyatt smirked. "I'm making sure you're too insane to fight me anymore. I bet you can't tell me who's really holding onto this traitor, here, can you? And in that case, who are those people standing with you? And what about her, in the door?"
Chris' eyes went to the door, just because he knew Wyatt wanted him to, and found nobody there. If he thought he felt sick before, he didn't know what he was talking about. Now he felt like he was going to vomit all over the place. "Wyatt, there's no one there. You're lying just to make me believe I'm even more insane than I think," Chris murmured, more to hear it himself than say it to Wyatt.
"Really?" said Leo's… his father's voice from the doorway, sounding dangerous. But there was no one there. Chris was sure. There was no one there. "So you mean to tell me, you little brat, that I don't exist? After you killed me, you want to say I'm not even here? How dare you… How dare you!"
Chris flinched at the oh-so familiar tone. It was getting closer. Was Leo there or wasn't he? Wait, Wyatt had said 'she'. What the… "Oh, God…" Chris murmured, blinking furiously. He tried to keep his breathing regular, but it wasn't working. "Oh, God…" he tried to rake his hands through his hair in his clear distress habit, but remembered his hands were cuffed behind his back. He was sure his wrists were bleeding by now. He still didn't care. He was losing his mind. Or was he…? The dead voices, still screaming in his ears, abruptly reminded him that yes, he was losing, in fact, his mind. He didn't know whether to say 'Oh God' again, or 'Damn it'.
A flash of Paris screaming as Wyatt dug his fingers into the stab wound and tore upwards… a little girl sobbing for her mama to wake up, for someone to wake her mama up… he went with, "Oh, God," and sank to his knees as the tears started to come back but remained swimming in his lost, traumatized eyes.
"Chris," Wyatt said, calling his little brother's attention back to him. Chris looked up to find Wyatt only inches away from him, gazing into his horrorstruck eyes with innocence. "Bianca has to die for betraying me again, but I'll let you live, okay? Then, after time, once you can tell shape shifters from family members, we'll talk about you joining and actually helping me again. Now, if you'll just stand by these fine people for a moment as I…" he strolled over to Bianca, conjuring an atheme as 'Paige' put her hand on his shoulder.
Chris couldn't breathe. What the hell was going on? At his 'aunt's contact, he suddenly felt emotions begin to boil below his skin. Boil. Was it anger? Was it sadness? Was it despair? Was it hate? He didn't know, but he wanted that woman to stop touching him. He hated physical, and that contact was real, hallucination it was not. He felt this boiling feeling become directed towards 'Paige'. Was it Paige? Had Wyatt summoned her from the dead using dark magic to cancel out that little clause that said séances for dark magic victims wouldn't work? Was a séance a good magic thing, or neutral? Why the hell was he thinking about séances when Wyatt was stabbing Bianca with that very real looking atheme? But was that Bianca? Or was it a shape shifter, like he was beginning to suspect either the one holding his shoulder, or the one holding the alleged Bianca was…? Oh, God, Bianca! It was Bianca, he could feel it. He could feel her life… and it was draining from her body…
"Bianca!" Chris yelled, making a jump to his feet, trying to get to the love of his life, but 'Paige' wrenched him backwards, sending him colliding with the floor. No, no, no, no. He did a flip back to his feet and kicked Paige's feet out from under her. Prue rushed at him and he felt that boiling feeling at her, too. He kicked her in the face, sending her crashing to the floor several feet away. Phoebe and Paris both came at him, tackling him to the ground.
He struggled madly, feeling Bianca's life draining… draining. She was bleeding out. Wyatt wasn't going to end it quickly for her. "Bianca!" he shouted again, desperately trying to fight his way to her. Draining… draining… It was almost gone. Maybe she would die quickly… Her breath was shuddering… she still had some left. "No! BIANCA! Wyatt, you can't-- she's all I have left-- please, Wyatt! HELP HER!"
Tears were flooding down his cheeks, he was struggling madly beneath the attacking bodies of Phoebe and Paris. Oh God, Paris… But… Bianca needed him. Paris was dead. Paris wasn't coming back. Bianca still had a chance. Slipping, he was always slipping… and she was draining until she was almost gone.
He had no idea what, but he must have done something right, for the next thing Chris knew, he was free of Phoebe and Paris and falling forwards without his hands. He hit the attic floor for what felt like the hundredth time, but this time he could see the other figure slumped on the floor. Bianca… lying in a puddle of blood, slumped to the side… dagger protruding from her stomach. He couldn't see where Wyatt was… couldn't feel him through the pain, panic, and desperation shared between him and the dead New Nirvana people…
"Chris, help us! Please, don't leave us!"
"You promised you would be here, Paige! You PROMISED! Now she's dead… they're all dead…"
"Why? WHY? YOU HAVE TO HELP US!"
"Somebody… please… help him… please save… him…"
"SHUT UP!" Chris screamed, unable to feel Bianca anymore through their stupid whining. They were in too much pain… he couldn't pick out hers. Couldn't find hers. "YOU'RE DEAD, SO JUST SHUT UP! I-- WANT-- BIANCA!" They wouldn't. They wouldn't shut up. More tears splattered to the floor. Angry tears, desperate tears, hopeless tears.
He didn't know how, but somehow he managed to stumble up beside her and fall back down in front of her. "Bianca, please, baby," he whispered, wrenching against his cuffs. He couldn't… but he had to… to touch her… one last time. Her eyes were half-closed. Blood oozed from the wound. Her lips were barely open, trying to breathe, trying to stay alive. Was she even conscious? "Bianca, please, wake up. Come on, Bi, it'll be alright if you just… just hold on…"
Slowly, as though in a trance, Bianca's doe-brown eyes turned to him. She took a deep shuddering breath. "Chr-Chris," she breathed hoarsely. Chris nodded encouragingly, trying to smile, trying to pretend she wasn't about to die. He was failing miserably. She took another deep, quavering breath and whispered painfully, "If you can… f-finish what we… st-started… and be-- be strong, Chr-Chris…" Her eyelids fluttered and slowly her prostrate form began to go limp, breath coming out one last time with the barely audible words, "…I love you…"
Chris watched with an incomprehensible… dread as her eyes closed completely. For a moment, a moment that felt like a lifetime, he just stared at her… at her… body. Then the boiling feeling came back, but only briefly before everything… his thoughts and emotions… just slipped into oblivion.
In a daze, he relinquished all control, and gravity carried him onto his back. His eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling and he felt nothing. And strangely… feeling this nothing was the scariest thing he'd ever felt in his life.
A/N: Okay, I lied. The Charmed Ones reunite with him next chapter. Anyway, don't ya'll love how fast I'm updating? Thank Stoneage Woman for it. Honestly, no one's ever threatened to boil me in my own blood before... that was good. Anyway, REVIEW!
Avallyn Black-- yeah, this one remembers the sixteen/seventeen year old's experiences (with Piper, Leo, Paige, and Phoebe from the past). Well... I'm sure he would if he just stopped to think about it. He's kind of too crazy to at the moment...