Dark Destiny

(Charmed Sons Virtual Series)

Season One, Episode Two

Dark World

Scene Three

"This is so stupid," Michael groaned, pacing back and forth in the room that was supposed to be his from now on. After complaining day in and day out about the cramped living space he, his mother, and his sisters had shared, he now found it impossible to get comfortable in this huge bedroom. It was too empty. It lacked what made a room into a bedroom. Sure, it had a bed and a dresser; but it was devoid of love and comfort. It lacked family and memories.

He closed his eyes against the wall of pain.

He'd never been given the chance to mourn for his family. Wyatt began training him the day after he moved in and had given him no respite from the rigorous schedule. Michael knew he was being worked to death, knew it wasn't healthy for him; but he didn't really give a damn right now. The only thought on his mind – the thought that plagued him day and night and kept him going when he felt he might collapse – was the sweet taste of revenge. Chris Halliwell would pay for the lives he had taken.

"Michael!" Mel snapped irritably from behind the closed bedroom door. She knocked once loudly and burst into the room, not bothering to wait for his answer. He was just beginning to get used to Mel's rebellious personality. She only seemed to care about doing things that would piss off her parents, who weren't even here to see her do it anyway.

Let her lose her mother, he thought bitterly. Then we'll see how much she wants to go against her.

He didn't know how right he would be.

"What?" he muttered, turning his back to her while he walked over to his dresser. He rummaged through the top drawer until he found a dark gray, long-sleeved shirt. Pulling it over his bare chest, he then found a pair of black pants to wear over his boxers. His mother, Jeanne had always hated black, but Michael was still in mourning and would probably be for some time.

When he turned around again, Mel was staring at him, eyebrows raised. "You're just now getting dressed?" she snorted. "Wyatt and I have been up for two and a half hours already."

Michael scowled. He hated when Mel stressed how close she and Wyatt were. She pushed Michael out of the picture as far as she could, not wanting the threat he posed to her and her cousin's relationship. As long as Michael stayed away from Wyatt, Mel could be friendly – amiable at times. However, at times like this – fifteen minutes before Wyatt started the daily hour-long training with him – she sniped and growled at him as if he were the biggest evil, worse than Chris.

"Yeah, well, some of us like to sleep," Michael grumbled crossly. "Look, what are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you that there's some breakfast outside," she said, sounding for all the world as if she had been forced into bringing the message.

"What happened to Xanther —" Michael began in confusion, referring to the demon who normally informed him when breakfast had been made for him.

"He was vanquished," she interrupted concisely. Then, with a smirk, she added, "I vanquished him. He was pissing me off."

"You know, Wyatt wouldn't want you killing off all his demons," Michael thought he should mention as he walked past the girl towards the door. She spun around to glare at him, and he smirked, his eyes purposely gliding past her. It felt good to get her riled up. He most definitely couldn't do it to Wyatt. Chris was the real person he wanted to hurt, but that Halliwell wasn't here. He would have to make do with this one.

"Don't tell me what Wyatt wants," she snapped. "I think I know him slightly better than you do, you jerk."

"Oh really?" retorted the older witch. "Then why am I getting the private lessons?" He left her to contemplate that and went to grab a quick bite to eat before Wyatt called for him.

Michael scampered into his parents' bedroom, ducking into his mother's arms. He wrinkled his nose as he informed Jeanne, "Daddy smells again."

Jeanne sighed heavily, shaking her head. "Go to bed, Michael," she murmured, not wanting her son to witness her husband's actions again. "It's way past your bedtime."

"Not tired," countered the four-year-old almost instantly. "I want Daddy to say g'night to me."

"I'll let him know," she lied, knowing Michael would be asleep before his dad could come in anyway. There was no way she was sending that man into her child's room at a time like this. Not again. She had her children's health to think about, after all.

Just as the boy scurried out of the room, down the hall, and into his bed, a towering brunette stomped into the room, swaying on his feet. Jeanne wrinkled her nose. Michael was right; her husband did smell.

"Oh, Malcolm," she sighed. "Not again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he chuckled throatily. He staggered towards the bed and pulled Jeanne roughly to her feet, kissing down the back of her neck. She leaned into him until a wall of alcohol filled her nostrils. Almost gagging, she pulled away. "What was that about?" he demanded angrily.

"You're drunk," she stated flatly. "Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning." She headed toward the door to tuck Michael in and to make sure Dani was still sleeping after her father's boisterous entrance.

"Drunk?" he barked. "I don't think so – I can hold more of the stuff than anyone I know."

"Yeah," Jeanne retorted without thinking, "and it looks like you actually tried to do just that."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he hissed lividly, eyes darkening with lust as his wife flipped her hair over her shoulder as if to disregard her husband. She always looked so sexy when she was angry. "Don't you dare walk away from me!" he growled.

"And why not?" she snorted. "You don't own me."

"Where are you going?" he demanded roughly, storming toward her.

"To kiss my children good night," she responded coldly. "I think you should go to sleep now, Malcolm. You'll have a killer headache in the morning from the looks of things."

"You go to sleep," he replied indifferently, shoving her aside. "I'm going to go check on the kids."

Jeanne's eyes widened, and she shook her head, grabbing his arm forcefully. "No, don't," she said, not wanting a repeat of last week. Michael might have forgotten, but Jeanne didn't think she'd ever forget. "You're not yourself right now," she pleaded.

"That's bullshit," he snapped, shrugging out of her grip. "Can't a man kiss his kids goodnight?"

"Yeah, except that's not all you'll do."

"Shut up," Malcolm growled, his words slurring together as he glared at the woman before him. "Shut the fuck up, you bitch. You don't own them. They're not your kids; they're mine, too." He stormed off to Michael's room and entered raucously without stopping to think that his son might be sleeping.

"Hi, Daddy!" cried an excited four-year-old boy, seeing his dad burst into the room. He hopped out of bed and wrapped two stubby arms around his father's leg.

Malcolm shook the boy off. "Hi, sport," he said, walking over to the bed. "Can I have a hug and kiss g'night?"

Nodding vigorously, the boy wriggled back onto his bed and planted a kiss on his daddy's nose. Then, he linked his hands behind Malcolm's neck, burying his head in the man's broad shoulder. Suddenly, he pulled away, nose scrunched. "You smell like a fire, Daddy," he giggled.

The hit came before Michael could even blink. "Who told you that you could talk to me like that?" he snarled, backhanding the boy so hard that he fell backwards on the bed. A tiny pair of eyes filled with tears, but Michael quickly brushed them back. He didn't want Daddy to see him cry; Daddy never liked it when he—

"What are you – a baby?" the man sneered. "You crying like Dani?"

"N-no," Michael whispered hoarsely. "I'm not – I swear!"

"Don't lie, boy!" Malcolm growled, grabbing a handful of his hair and wrenching him off the bed to the floor. The 'boy' curled up into a small ball, hoping to block his face and chest from the onslaught of kicks and punches he knew would ensue. It didn't take long for the pale-skinned boy to turn a dark shade of red with bruises developing on every open piece of skin.

"Stop it!" he heard his mother yell behind Daddy. "Stop it! What the hell is the matter with you?" Through squinted eyes he saw Mommy pull his daddy off of him. A muffled groan escaped his lips, and he prayed Daddy wouldn't hear it. If he did… A tremor of dread raced up the boy's spine at the thought.

Mommy's protective arms encircled him, lifting him onto the bed and tucking him in. "I'm so sorry, baby," she sobbed.

"Will Daddy tuck me in, too?" Michael asked fearfully. "I don't want Daddy to tuck me in tonight. Will you stay with me?"

"Of course, baby," Jeanne whispered into his ear as she kissed him goodnight. "I'll stay with you until morning."

Satisfied and immensely relieved, the four-year-old fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning, he found his arms and legs a lovely hue of purplish blue; and he ached all over. He glanced over at the rocking chair beside his bed and wasn't too surprised to find it empty. Mommy had probably already woken up and started breakfast for him, Daddy, and Dani.

Meanwhile, Jeanne could be found locked in the only bathroom in the house, a small stick in her hands, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't look any different.

"I'm pregnant," she murmured, her voice barely over a whisper. Oh god, what would she do now? Malcolm already abused their eldest child; what would happen when Dani grew old enough to make silly mistakes that every child made? Would she be beaten as well? And then, when her father was sober, would he come back to her begging for forgiveness – which, of course, she would offer. How could she not forgive her own father?

And now a third child would be brought into this madness? A third child to be beaten and bruised – physically and emotionally. Jeanne couldn't do that to her children; she wouldn't put them into that sort of danger. She loved her husband dearly, but she absolutely couldn't put up with this anymore. She'd given him more than enough chances to sober himself up, but he continued to go out nearly every night and come back drunk. Enough was enough.

Creeping into her son's room, she saw him slipping out of bed as quietly as he could. When he noticed her, he smiled brightly. "Hey, baby," she whispered.

"Daddy's still sleeping?" he asked, wondering why she was talking so quietly. Silently, the boy's mother nodded and pulled him close to her.

"Listen to me very carefully, baby. We don't want Daddy to wake up because he had a long night, understand? You are not to make any noise. Do you hear me?" Without uttering a sound, the boy pressed his hands over his lips and nodded. A weak smile flitted over Jeanne's features. "Very good. In fact, I think we'll go out for the day so that Daddy won't be bothered. Does that sound like fun?" Again a nod.

It took an hour and twenty minutes for Jeanne to dance around the small house, packing away her children's clothes, old toys, and her own belongings. Two suitcases and a backpack later, Michael stood by the door, waiting for Mommy to wrestle a jacket over Danielle's head. Finally, she tied the baby into the pouch hanging over her chest, grabbed the two small suitcases in either hand, and nodded to Michael. They were ready.

Heaving the backpack onto his shoulders, Michael opened the door for Mommy and skipped down to the sidewalk. "I'm ready!" he called to her, eager to finally be able to use his voice after having been silent all morning. The three of them walked the mile down to the train station. With one last, forlorn look back the way they had come, Jeanne bought two tickets and ushered Michael onto the train. He never realized that they wouldn't be going back.

TBC...