"I'll be back in a couple of hours." Twenty-one year old Chris tells his father's back, he gets no reply per usual.
The younger man sighs as he exits the safety of his 'home', slipping down the narrow alley between their apartment building and the burned-out police station next door. Checking over his shoulder has become second nature over the last few years. Turning left at the next street, he doesn't even blink anymore at the rusted hulks of abandoned cars, and collapsed buildings. San Francisco looks like a war zone -has been a war zone for years. A probe buzzes overhead, and he slips under the cover of a tattered shop awning to wait for it to move on. It may not be looking for him specifically, but he doesn't want to draw attention. The machine moves off, and he continues his trek.
His father had been borderline comatose since he'd arrived here several weeks ago bringing with him news of death. Actually, no, scratch that, he'd been comatose for seven long years, ever since his cursed fourteenth birthday.
"No." Chris whispers aloud as he creeps through the alleys and back roads of his once beloved city. "Don't go there." But it's too late to stop the onslaught of memories.
Flames are still licking up the walls when Leo bursts into the house. Wyatt rushes in, on their father's heels, running a shaking hand through his blonde hair.
Chris turns away, gripping the lifeless hand tighter, her pale white skin stark against his own soot-covered fingers. He swipes at the tears rolling down his cheeks, feeling the ash smear across his face. His chest hurts.
"Flamente Extingto." Wyatt's voice breaks the tense silence, extinguishing the fire.
Chris feels a hot spike of fury rising from the coals of agony and grief: they should have been here. Why didn't they come when he called?
Wyatt...the twice blessed child, two years older and always reminding him that he's better with magic than his little brother. Wyatt murmurs another spell to repair the house, then crosses the room and crouches beside him with a grim frown.
Chris tears his gaze away from the broken figure on the floor, and glances over his shoulder at his father.
"What happened, Chris? Where's Piper?"
Chris remains silent for a moment, shame and anger vying for control. "What do you care?"
He wants to scream, but his voice comes out cold and barely audible.
A muscle ticks along Leo's jaw. "Excuse me?"
Glancing away, Chris feels heat creeping up his neck, and balls his hands into fists. Eyes blazing with pain and rage, he stares his father down."Why didn't you come? I called and called and called! Both of you! And now..." He breaks off and throws himself over the crumpled heap behind him, his small body wracked with painful sobs.
Tears streaming down his face he glares at his father, and moves slightly to the right, revealing the bloody, pale, lifeless face of his mother, Piper Halliwell. "Now she's dead!"
The following two weeks had been a haze of grief and anger. Chris had barely spoken to his father or brother, and they had returned the favor. Then Wyatt had just up and left the Manor without a word. For weeks, Leo had tried unsuccessfully to find him.
Then the reports began reaching them: a charismatic new leader rising to power. Resistance, when it happened, was crushed efficiently and brutally. Then the news channels dropped out, one by one. They were replaced with pro-Wyatt propaganda machines.
Then Leo left.
His father abandoned him, retreating to the heavens, leaving him confused, angry, and broken.
It was the last he had seen of his father until he returned, just recently -a broken shell of a man. The last Elder.
Chris continues on after stopping to clear his head and shake the tears from his eyes. Seven long hard years later, and even the thought of that day or the mention of her name is enough to bring tears to his eyes. It gets easier, people keep telling him, but it really hasn't, not for him, not after seven years.
Hours later...
Chris repeatedly flicks his hands at the demon who is slowly advancing towards him, his potions long gone. The demon is stronger than he'd expected it to be and his potions had only made it mad...all ten of them.
The demon itself doesn't appear to have any powers but the thing is huge and equipped with long talons it can eject at will. No way Chris can beat it in an up-close fight, especially not with the sprained ankle he's currently sporting.
Chris' worry factor increases as the beast fights through his freezes with ease and is only knocked back a little by both his explosive power and telekinetic blasts.
Deciding to get serious and stop playing with its prey the demon charges with surprising speed, closing most of the distance between them quickly. Chris barely notices the telltale tense of the demon's legs as it launches into the air and dodges, hissing as a twinge of pain shoots up his leg. The demon however is not so lucky and crashes headfirst into a tree and lies there dazed.
Seeing his opening Chris draws his special athame, emblazoned with a triquetra and blessed with the power of three, a final gift from his mother. Chris takes aim and puts an extra telekinetic push behind his toss. The athame hits its mark, burying itself up to the hilt in the demon's chest.
The demon roars in outrage as well as pain and Chris puts all he's got left into the next five blasts. The demon howls and explodes into dust.
Satisfied, Chris is feeling pretty good, shoulders relaxing as the tension bleeds out of his frame.
The demon's talons rip through his middle. Pain. White-hot agony shoots through him, ripping an anguished cry from his throat. Chris staggers. Looking down at the talons buried deep in his chest, he barely has time to catch his breath, before they rip back towards the tornado of ash slowly reforming in front of him.
Gasping, Chris falls to his hands and knees in the dust, clutching his middle. Blood dribbles hot and sticky across his fingers as he tries to hold it in. "Dad!" No orbs form and a sob wracks him, bringing a fresh wave of pain.
The demon, now fully reformed, laughs evilly.
Approaching the fallen half-angel, the demon crouches next to Chris and drags his talons down his cheek leaving long gouges. "Did you know that Sarpedon, a Celerity demon, once killed your Aunt Phoebe and Mother in a similar way." The demon places a hand on Chris' shoulder and his world spins out of focus.
Chris finds himself in the same position in an achingly familiar location, his home -his real home. Realizing blood is no longer oozing past his fingers Chris carefully eases back onto his heels, yelping to find himself translucent. Pain flares up in his face as the demon, positioned behind him, grabs his face and wrenches it towards the scene unfolding in front of them.
Sarpedon has just shoved his wolverine-like claws into Phoebe's stomach, Phoebe falls to the ground and Chris tries to tear himself from the demon.
"Next." Sarpedon sneers, facing Piper.
On the floor Phoebe holds up the amulet. "Hey! Where's your amulet?"
Phoebe falls unconscious and her hand falls to the ground. Chris watches in horror as her chest stops moving.
"No!" Chris feels the pain radiating from his mother as she cries in outrage: she will not lose another sister. Chris watches, helpless as Piper blasts Sarpedon, vanquishing him, but propelling the spiked glove into her stomach.
Piper falls to the ground, the glove protruding from her stomach. "Leo." She moans and her head falls to the side, facing Chris, and he can see her eyes are glazed over, sightless.
"Noooo!" Chris feels his world spin again, and he's back in the alley.
The demon releases him, and he braces for a vicious slash...oblivion, but leans down and whispers. "Your father came and saved them then. But will he come for you now? Will he even miss you?" Then he shimmers out, laughing.
Chris forces himself to his feet and staggers slowly home, occasionally calling out for his father, in vain.
Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again.
Maybe someday you'll have woke up,
And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one:
"Isn't something missing?"
Breathing burns like fire under his ribs. He's bracing his hand on the wall to steady is faltering steps, a gruesome trail of bloody handprints marking his path. Memories mock him, flashing back to the weeks after the death of most of his family, and after Wyatt left them: his father seemed to always be crying.
You won't cry for my absence, I know
You forgot me long ago.
Am I that unimportant?
Am I so insignificant?
Isn't something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?
Light-headed, he stumbles, catching himself on the rough brick wall. More painful memories rise from some deeply repressed recess of his mind: once when he was five, Wyatt had gone missing and Leo was frantic, crying and searching until they found him. A few weeks later, a demon kidnapped Chris. and when he eventually escaped a few days later, his father acted like nothing had happened. Wyatt later told him their father had given up almost immediately, and never he never cried.
Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone.
Isn't someone missing me?
Chris pauses, trying to catch his breath, a near-impossible task with pain knifing through him every time he inhales. He's always heard that your life flashes before your eyes when you...his brain falters. 'No, not going there. Just a few more yards.'
The macabre parade of memories isn't done with him, and a series of painful images cascade through his mind. Things he's tried to forget. Leo had a bad habit of taking his anger out on Chris without thinking, and later he'd apologize, driving himself mad with guilt. Chris would assure him it was fine.
Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again.
I know what you do to yourself,
I breathe deep and cry out:
"Isn't something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?
Now that he thinks about it, Chris realizes he can't remember the last time his father had said "I love you" to him. As a kid, he'd always look for his father's approval, usually never getting it. A deeper ache settles in his chest, something more insidious than the physical wound draining his life away.
Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone.
Isn't someone missing me?
Chris leans against the alley wall, his hand slick with his own blood. He's begun shivering, and he knows he's slipping into shock. He only has moments before it's too late.
And if I bleed, I'll bleed,
Knowing you don't care.
And if I sleep just to dream of you
"Dad! Please come!" It comes out a hoarse croak.
No orbs form and Chris slides down the wall, his strength ebbing, his vision growing hazy. With a shuddering breath, he summons up the last of his strength, calling for the last person he wants to see. "Wyatt-Wy..."
As Chris slips into unconsciousness, he dreams of his father coming to heal him, telling him how sorry he is and telling him that he loves him.
And wake without you there,
Isn't something missing?
Isn't something
Chris stirs to a deep voice calling his name, "Da-?" Chris mumbles.
As the world comes back into focus, he concentrates on the face looming over him: he swallows down the bitter disappointment that his father, once again, didn't come to his rescue. Instead, Wyatt's scruffy face and halo of wild golden hair regards him with an intensity he's rarely seen in his brother before. Wyatt's hand is warm against his chest, and he feels the healing energy pouring into him. Breathing is easier, and the pain is gone.
Wyatt helps Chris to his feet, and embraces him.
Horrified, Chris feels the hot track of tears running down his cheeks, stinging where they enter the scratches Wyatt hadn't healed yet.
Wyatt is watching him with quiet intensity, his eyes full of concern, but Chris sees something beneath the concern, something dangerous. He shivers under that look. "Who did this?" Wyatt asks, his voice a low growl.
Chris responds softly and Wyatt growls low in his throat. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him."
Chris suppresses a shudder, knowing the demon in question would soon be begging for death.
Wyatt steps back, and orbs out saying. "I'm sorry, little bro."
Chris orbs home, finding his father in the same spot he'd left him two days ago. Leo doesn't acknowledge the entrance of his youngest son. As though nothing had happened.
Almost two years later...
Chris draws in a shaky breath, as blood pools underneath him. There's no scar from before, Wyatt's healing saw to that, but the pain is familiar -Gideon's athame sunk to it's hilt in almost the exact same spot as before. Except this time there would be no healing.
Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.
"I'm not going to choose between you and Wyatt, Chris...I can't!" Leo's voice is rough with emotion.
Chris knows he's dying, but his sacrifice would be worth it: history would not repeat itself.
He pushes Leo's hands away: it's not working, and they don't have time for this. The warmth of the kiss Leo presses to his forehead before he obs out lingers.
Chris knows this time around his other self would know his father's love.
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone.
'My father in the future probably doesn't even know I'm gone, let alone notice my death.' Chris thinks.
'Isn't someone missing me?'
This time things will be different. This time my father will miss me. Someone will miss me.
Chris smiles weakly and turns to face his father, who begs him not to go. Chris doesn't want to leave this version of his dad behind, he knows he'll be missed but he can't hold on any longer. In his father's arms, confident of his love, Christopher Perry Halliwell releases his hold on life with a final breath.