Chapter Twenty-Four: Further Into the Dark
The girl's name was Anne.
David clung to that bit of information as he sat, bewildered and overwhelmed, on the lumpy sofa in her dingy apartment. She paced erratically, stumbling on her injured ankle, eyes darting towards the windows and the door, her words coming in frantic, uneven bursts.
"I'm Anne. And I'm… well. See – I'm a witch. And those things that attacked, they're… I don't know. Warlocks? Talia usually tells me, but she's not… Anyway. I don't have a lot of power. Just the screaming thing. And I can't really control it." She spun to face him. "But I didn't hurt you. How is that… possible? Talia said-" Again, she stopped, tears abruptly filling her eyes. She turned away and continued her pacing. "I wish she was here."
David nodded. Her name was Anne. He was going to stick with that, because it was the only thing she'd said that made any sense whatsoever.
"I'm David," he offered finally, deciding he should attempt to introduce himself. He didn't know why, but he still felt the need to help her, regardless of how crazy she sounded.
He looked down. He was still holding her wallet.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes following his gaze, and frowned.
"You left it at the bar," David explained quickly, holding it out to her apologetically. "That's why I came out after you. I just wanted to return it."
She snatched the wallet and then took a few steps backwards, away from him, as though suddenly realizing she had invited a stranger – and older, male stranger – into her home.
Again, her eyes darted to the window, to the door.
Then she opened the wallet, flipping through it quickly to check that everything was still there.
"You really should sit down," David said after a moment of tense silence, trying to keep his voice gentle. "You're just making your ankle worse."
Anne glared at him defiantly. "I'm fine," she snapped, though the statement was undercut by a sudden wince as she shifted weight from one foot to the other. She dropped her wallet onto the table near the door and folded her arms over her chest, still glaring.
"Obviously, you're not," David countered softly. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and added, "I'm not going to hurt you."
"No," she said, her tone hard and flat, "you're not."
But she limped awkwardly over to the folding chair opposite him and sat down heavily. Her red-and-purple hair flopped over her eyes, and suddenly she looked so very young, and so very scared. Hugging herself tightly, she lifted her chin and glanced towards the ceiling. For a moment, David thought has simply avoiding making eye contact, but then she called out abruptly, "Talia!"
There was no response.
David raised an eyebrow. "Does she… live above you?" he ventured hesitantly. It seemed like a strange way to try to reach someone, shouting at them through the ceiling, but he couldn't think of anything else that made sense.
Of course, she'd been talking about witches and warlocks just a moment before, so…
Anne stared blankly at him. "She always comes when I call," she whispered, shaking her head. "Oh, God – it's all true, isn't it?" And without any more explanation, she buried her head in her hands and started to sob.
David started to reach towards her, then paused. He knew, somehow, that she would not welcome the comfort. She was trying her best to keep everything together, to hide her emotions from him, and she would not thank him for bearing witness to her inexplicable grief.
He dropped his arm to his side and looked away, studying the studio apartment.
The bed was pressed up against the far wall, half-hidden behind a rumpled curtain. There was a dresser peaking through the curtain as well, and a tall floor lamp. The living-and-kitchen area had a card table, two folding chairs, and the sofa all arranged haphazardly as though Anne had given little thought to where they belonged. The floor was covered in a threadbare rug of brightly-colored geometric shapes.
It was small and clearly pieced together, but it had a strangely welcoming feel. It was… homey.
David sighed.
Anne lifted her head and rubbed at her red-rimmed eyes. "So who are you, anyway?" she demanded hoarsely.
"Like I said before, I'm David," he replied. "David… Smith."
The girl laughed mockingly, her brave mask back in place. "If you're going to give a fake name, you really should pick one that sounds a bit more believable," she countered accusingly.
"I…" David chewed his lip. What could he say? If she didn't believe that his name was really David Smith, would she believe that he was suffering from amnesia? That he'd simply forgotten everything about himself, about his past life? That story sounded so far-fetched, even he had trouble believing it, and he was the one living through it.
Anne glared at him.
Desperate to change the topic, David asked, "What did you mean when you said it was all true? What is all true?"
"If this is some kind of really long con you're playing…"
"I'm not," David interrupted. "I don't – I don't have an agenda here. I was really just trying to return your wallet, and then…" He shrugged a bit helplessly. He still didn't understand what had happened.
Or why he was sitting here, trying to gain the trust of a girl who could apparently scream like a… a…
"What's that mythical creature that screams?" David asked, drawing a blank on the name he was searching for.
"A banshee," Anne replied automatically. "But I'm not one of them. Although Talia said the power is similar. But banshees feed on grief."
"Uh… okay."
Anne gave him a searching look. "You really have no idea about any of this, do you?" she said after a long moment. "But if you're just a mortal, why didn't my scream hurt you?"
"Oh, trust me," David said grimly, remembering the pressure of her voice drowning him, "it hurt."
"Not like it should have," Anne protested resolutely. "If you're not magical…"
"Magical?" David asked sharply. Magical? Remembering Anne's earlier statement – one that made as little sense now as it had before – he asked skeptically, "Like a witch?"
"Yes," Anne answered emphatically. "Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"A witch."
David blinked, and said the first thing that came to mind, "Aren't witches female?"
Anne shook her head in bewilderment. "You really don't know," she muttered She sounded disappointed, as though she had hoped he was someone else, or something else.
She looked away from him, and ran a hand through her hair, yanking roughly at the knots.
"I'm sorry," he offered, not really sure what he was apologizing for. Was he sorry that he couldn't give her any information, or was he sorry that he wasn't the person she was hoping for? Or were those two really both the same thing anyway?
Anne stood up. "You should go," she said flatly, dismissing him with a wave towards the door.
David leaned forward. "Are you sure I can't help?" he asked, strangely reluctant to leave.
The girl shook her head. "No," she said. "No – I need..." She trailed off, heaved a sigh. "I need Talia," she muttered under her breath, tilting her head back to glance up at the ceiling again.
"Maybe I can help you find Talia?" David suggested. That seemed unlikely – how could he help her find anyone when he couldn't even figure out his own identity? And yet… underneath the determination, underneath the tenacity, Anne looked so young, so scared, so alone, and he didn't want to just leave her.
But Anne shook her head. "No – no, thank you." There was a crack in her façade, a desperation that David glimpsed only for a moment. But then it was gone, flickering away, and she said, "If you really aren't a part of this, I can't get you involved. You'd just be in danger, and it's too much of a risk."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of what I am willing to risk?" David argued.
She gave him a sad, lonely smile. "Because I am who I am. And you're an innocent." She turned away from him, limping over to the window. "I wanted you to be someone else, I guess. I wanted you to be able to help me. I thought – I mean, since my scream didn't hurt you… well, I hoped you were different."
David heard the resolve in her voice, and accepted it with a reluctant nod. He couldn't force her to take his help, and he wasn't sure he'd be any help anyway.
And she was probably crazy.
Maybe he had to let her go.
He rose from the sofa and started towards the door. He paused there, debating giving her his motel room phone number. It couldn't hurt, could it? That way, if she changed her mind and decided she wanted his help after all, she would have a way of reaching him.
He turned back to make the offer.
At the same moment, Anne said, "I was hoping maybe the Elders had sent you."
David froze.
"What?" he asked hoarsely.
Anne turned around and stared at him, surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor. The surprise was immediately replaced by suspicion, which flared in her eyes as she narrowed her gaze.
"That word," David said, moving towards her rapidly. She tensed, as though afraid he might attack, and he felt a strange, half-mad certainty rising in his chest. That word – Elders.
He shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. His dreams, the names and words that had echoed in his mind…
"Elders. I know that word."
Anne swirled a spoon around in her cup of tea and stared hard at David. "You're serious? This is all… you are really serious about all this?"
David gave a wan smile and took a sip of his own tea from the chipped cup Anne had handed him. "Yes," he said emphatically, hoping he could adequately convey his sincerity. Hoping he could make her believe.
"This is crazy," Anne muttered. She drummed her fingers against the table, still skeptical, still unsure. "You just… woke up with no memory of anything? And then started having weird dreams that you can only just barely remember?" She shook her head. "I don't believe you. It's crazy."
It was not, David reflected, any more crazy than the fact that she was asking him to believe in witches and magic.
But he doubted she'd respond well to that, so instead he said a bit desperately, "I don't know what else to say." He'd laid out his whole story for Anne, told her everything that he could remember, ending with the dreams. He had nothing else to offer, no other way to prove his trustworthiness, but he needed her to believe him.
For the first time since he'd woken up with no idea who he was, he finally felt like he was close to something.
"It's the truth," he continued.
Anne exhaled slowly. "And the word Elders sounds familiar to you?" She chewed her lip. "Well… that's weird, too."
"Why is that weird?" David asked, demanded.
Anne hesitated, still not sure she should be revealing this much to him, but said at last, "If you were a witch, you probably never actually interacted with them. Your white-lighter would have done that for you."
A witch? When did she suddenly come to the conclusion that he was a witch?
"But aren't witches female?"
Anne rolled her eyes. "Obviously not," she retorted, "or I wouldn't have referred to you as one." She leaned forward, gazing at him with an intensity that should have been off-putting. And yet it wasn't – and David found himself more and more drawn to her.
Her gaze flicked, once again, to the window and then to the door.
David wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand, tell her that everything would be alright.
He didn't – he was fairly certain that she wasn't the type who like being touched. He knew – instinctively – she did not want that kind of comfort, didn't want anything that could be seen as pity. She was still on guard around him, even if she was opening up a bit more.
So instead, David focused on what she had said and asked, "What's a white-lighter?"
"It's like a… a guardian angel," Anne explained. She curled fingers around her cup and stared at the liquid intently. Her words were slow, unsteady. "They watch over good witches and mortals who have important destinies. When I first met Talia, I thought she was just a friend." She looked up with a rueful smile. "Albeit a friend who kept showing up exactly when I needed someone to help me." Her expression grew serious, and she continued, "Then, when my powers – the screaming thing – started going out of control, Talia told me who she really was."
"And what are Elders?" David asked impatiently. It wasn't that he was uninterested in Anne's story, but he desperately needed to know more.
"Uh… I'm not really sure. Talia said they're like… well, they're the people who assigned her to watch over me. And they have a lot of knowledge. I – Talia would always go to them when she needed information or… or advice." She swirled her spoon in her tea again, and David noted that she had yet to take a sip. "Talia didn't tell me about the Elders until recently, and I've never met one." She gave David a searching look. "It's weird that they would be what you remember. Not your white-lighter or any other witches, not even your family…"
"And Christopher Halliwell doesn't mean anything to you?" David interrupted.
Anne shook her head. Her nervousness had all but faded now, yet she still had that same slightly-skittish look in her eyes. "Sorry. I don't really know many witches, though. I've kind of been on the outskirts of things. I don't really do a lot with my magic. All it does is get me in trouble."
David frowned. "I don't know – that scream? Kind of seems like it makes you special."
Anne blinked at him, then burst out laughing. The laughter turned almost immediately into sobs, and she pushed her untouched tea away and rubbed angrily at her eyes, trying to stop the tears.
"Sorry," she muttered, choking on the words, "it's just that that is exactly what Talia said."
David winced. He hadn't meant to bring up bad memories, and it was clear that Anne was afraid for her white-lighter. "You think something happened to her?" he questioned softly.
Anne nodded and looked at him, flicking red-and-purple hair out of her eyes. "White-lighters can hear when a charge calls for them. She always hears me, and she always comes. But she hasn't come in the past couple of days and I…" She shrugged in a would be nonchalant manner, but her voice was rough as she added, "She would come if she was able to." She licked her lips, then admitted with great reluctance, "When you first showed up, when my scream didn't hurt you… I thought maybe the Elders had sent you to tell me what had happened to Talia."
She looked away quickly, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
David accepted this in silence. Anne was obviously grieving for Talia, already assuming the worse. And he couldn't imagine how frustrating it was for her to think she was finally about to get answers and then find out she was merely burdened with a man who had only questions.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Anne said with forced bravery, "Not your fault that you're not a white-lighter. And I'll be fine. I'm sure the Elders will remember me eventually." She picked up her tea and finally took a sip. She wouldn't meet David's gaze as she tried to regain control over her emotions.
David used the momentary lull in the conversation to think over everything he'd learned. He'd been forced to suspend his disbelief during the whole conversation, and some rational part of his brain kept reminding him that everything Anne was saying was crazy, and he was crazy for even listening. But a larger part of him wanted this to be real because finally, finally, he was starting to have some idea of who he might have been.
Well, sort of.
"Those men who attacked you…?"
"I think they were warlocks, although I don't know for sure," Anne answered. "My gift is rare, so sometimes warlocks come after me to try to steal it."
"Sometimes? How often is sometimes?"
Anne wrapped her fingers around her cup again. "Not that often," she said with a wry smile. "Talia said I wasn't powerful enough for killing me to be a boost in prestige, but my scream is dangerous enough that attacking me isn't something warlocks would do on a whim. So that protects me on two counts." She glanced towards the window. "But it's been getting worse – a lot worse. First Talia stopped showing up, and now I've been attacked multiple times in the past couple days. I don't know what is going on, but it's bad."
David remembered the woman he had seen murdered in the parking lot, the assailant who had disappeared so completely in the blink of an eye.
"Yes," he agreed softly, "it is."
"You know," Anne said abruptly, "if you lost your memories for a magical reason, we could probably get them back with a spell. I'm not really good at that sort of thing, but I have a friend who might be able to help. I'll call her tonight."
David smiled gratefully, and they arranged that he would return the following afternoon.
As the woman before him went up in flames, Chris couldn't help but wonder what exactly it said about him that he was dealing with his frustration by vanquishing sorceresses. It probably wasn't the most healthy coping mechanism. He was still resorting to violence to work through his issues, even if sorceresses were evil. Grandpa would have disapproved.
But Chris wasn't in the future; he was here, in this miserable past, and God –
He slammed his fist into the wall of the cave.
He hated it.
Paige had given him that look.
He'd seen it before. They'd all worn it – Aunt Paige, Grandpa, Bianca. The look tended to precede Grandpa's gentle reminder that Chris didn't need to bear all these burdens alone, or Bianca's huffy impatience when Chris pulled away from her. But with Aunt Paige, it always indicated the beginning of a lecture about how Chris was just as important as Wyatt, and that lecture would eventually evolve into a speech about Chris' martyr complex and how much it worried her…
He'd hated those conversation, but he'd still found it easy to confide in Aunt Paige.
This Paige was surprisingly easy to talk to as well. She didn't come with the same emotional baggage that was constantly present whenever he interacted with Piper.
And Phoebe was only interested in keeping the peace. It was understandable, Chris knew, because her empathic abilities made any argument physically painful to witness, but all too often that meant that she insisted on everyone ignoring their own feelings in order to get along.
But Chris could express an opinion and trust that Paige would actually listen to what he was saying. And he'd wanted – needed – to talk to someone about his conversation with Darius. He needed to reason through everything the Elder had said, and everything he hadn't said. He needed to brainstorm what this all meant, needed someone with whom he could bounce around ideas without having to constantly be on guard, without having to maintain the shattered remnants of his emotional walls.
But now Chris had seen that look in this Paige's eyes, and he just couldn't. So he'd given some mumbled, half-formed excuse about needing to check on things in the Underworld and he'd orbed.
And now the sorceress had turned to ash, the remnants of her body floating in midair for a moment before making their lazy way towards the ground.
"Are you trying to get my attention?"
The voice crept under Chris' skin.
He turned slowly.
"Vanquishing sorceresses," Lucifer said softly, running his fingers over the lines of his well-tailored suit. "Specially targeting beings I'm known to most frequently work with." He tilted his head to the side, regarding Chris with frank interest. "I truly can't tell if you are trying to get my attention or if you are simply letting off steam."
He was holding his sunglasses in one hand, and Chris felt an irrational desire to grab the stupid thing from the devil's grasp and crush it until the lenses turned to dust.
"Letting off steam," Chris answered. "Though the fact that you admire sorceresses more than any other agent of evil is admittedly why I picked them."
Yes, Grandpa and Leo would have most certainly disapproved. He could almost hear their lectures in his head. I'm not angry Chris. I'm just disappointed…
"Hm… well, you clearly did not inherit your father's pacifist tendencies if this is how you deal with your frustration," Lucifer meditated. He smiled, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of those blue eyes.
Chris laughed hollowly. "My father is not a pacifist," he said bitterly. Leo was definitely not a pacifist in the future, no matter how times he hypocritically preached it.
Lucifer's smile grew. "Of course he is," he said casually. "I won't deny he has some anger issues…"
"Anger issues you gave him," Chris accused.
"I did not give him anything," Lucifer defended himself, waving away the accusation as though he couldn't be bothered to answer it. But he continued anyway, "Gideon's betrayal left all those wonderful scars. I merely forced him to confront that anger." He'd been leaning casually against the wall of the Underworld cave, and now stepped forward. "But who a person is, and who circumstances force them to be, are often quite different. Really, Christopher, you of all people should know that."
Chris didn't answer. His memories of his father were too clouded by his own biases, but he supposed that Leo had been more of a pacifist – and a rule-abiding white-lighter – before he'd met Piper. Still, Chris had never met that Leo, and both this time's version of him and the father Chris had known growing up had been different.
"He died fighting in a war," Chris said finally.
"He didn't fight. He was a doctor, not a soldier," Lucifer replied, "and he was considered a hero by many who survived that particular battle because he refused to back down from his mission to save people even while under fire."
Chris gave him a long, questioning look.
"I wasn't there," Lucifer answered the silent question. "I had nothing to do with that battle. Actually, I didn't even have anything to do with the man Hitler became. Although," he smiled chillingly, "the 1940s were still a very busy time for me."
Chris didn't even want to contemplate the meaning of that statement, so instead he said, "I know what your endgame is."
"Civil war and the ultimate destruction of Good," Lucifer replied blandly. "It's rather obvious at this point, isn't it?" He studied Chris intently, then said with a sigh, "You know, you're a bit less fun now."
"Fun?"
But Lucifer didn't answer the question. Instead, he walked further into the cave, circling around the pile of ash that had been a sorceresses. "That is number six today. You keep this up, and we'll run out of sorceresses soon." He glanced at Chris and smiled mockingly, "Though evil does always have a way of coming back eventually."
Chris folded his arms over his chest. He'd hoped that vanquishing evil would make him feel better – or, at the very least, make him forget that look on Paige's face. It hadn't, really – but he had taken vindictive pleasure in knowing he was depriving Lucifer of those he most valued.
And again, he wondered bitterly, what did that say about him?
"Aren't you going to argue?" Lucifer asked, and he sounded almost plaintive. "I was really hoping for some whole speech about how Good will always triumph over Evil. This defeatist attitude of yours…" He shook his head. "It's disappointing."
"You want me to fight you?" Chris demanded.
"It's more fun," Lucifer answered with a disinterested shrug. "Although I suppose I should respect the fact that you can admit when you have lost. So few people in your family can do that."
Chris felt the anger bubbling in his chest. It hit him suddenly – the realization taking his breath away. Lucifer didn't care anymore. As far as the devil was concerned, he'd already won.
"You – you only care about fun," Chris snarled, the words pouring from his lips in a sudden surge of rage. "All the lives you've destroyed, everything you've taken from us… you've won, and you're already bored."
"Well… yes." The devil sounded nonplussed, and even a little surprised, as though he didn't understand why Chris was so upset.
Chris turned away, only just able to keep his anger in check. He would have loved to attack Lucifer, to beat the devil with his bare hands. But he doubted Lucifer would so easily allow himself to be caught, and even if Chris did manage to land a blow, it would accomplish nothing.
How could he defeat the devil when the devil had already won? As far as Lucifer was concerned, the battle was over. The civil war would run its course, and either the Elders would find common ground once more or they wouldn't. But the outcome didn't matter, because the war had happened.
Chris buried his hands in his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp.
"Oh. Now you're more interesting again."
"Shut up," Chris spat.
"No, really." Lucifer walked idly around Chris, circling him. "All that rage. I like it."
"Yes, I know. You find me a challenge," Chris growled sarcastically.
"I do," Lucifer agreed, "though I found you more of a challenge before you gave me your soul." Chris raised an eyebrow, and he hurried on as though trying to be reassuring, "I still find you a challenge now. But you can't hide your emotions at all. You are so much easier to read, wearing your heart on your sleeve."
"You don't know anything about me," Chris snapped back defiantly.
"Don't I?" Lucifer replied. He was still circling Chris in a predatory manner, and Chris found himself having to turn in circles as well to keep the devil in his sights.
He folded his arms over his chest, waiting.
Lucifer smiled thinly. "She's not your mother. This version of Piper – she's not the woman you know, not the one who raised you, who protected you, who loved you. You know this, logically, rationally. You even know it emotionally most of the time. But it has been getting harder, hasn't it? Every now and then, you catch a brief, tantalizing glimpse – your mother's eyes staring at you from Piper's face."
"I never had a problem with it before," Chris muttered sourly. That wasn't entirely true, of course. But it had been so much easier to think of Mom and Piper as two completely separate entities before he'd sold his soul. Any similarities between the two had been easy to ignore, or to explain away as coincidence.
Chris rubbed at his eyes.
"You had better barriers before," Lucifer answered. "You had better control of your emotions before."
Chris felt the anger flaring again. Lucifer was so casually discussing this, as though he hadn't been the one to shatter Chris' barriers, as though he wasn't entirely responsible for everything. "Why did you do this to me?" he demanded. "Was it just for fun? To watch me stumble every time I talked to her? Because I was a challenge?"
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. He was silent for a long moment, contemplating his options. He couldn't lie, but he could twist his words any way he wanted, and Chris was reminded quite forcefully of all the times that he'd warned the sisters not to believe a word Lucifer said.
"I did not expect this outcome," Lucifer replied finally. "I thought you would go insane. Most people do, when they can no longer control their emotions." He shrugged. "You surprised me."
Chris didn't reply.
Lucifer continued casually, "Your predicament is still fascinating to me, though, even if you didn't end up insane." He gave Chris a sudden, sharp look, and said as though just realizing it, "I suppose you could always go crazy later. Maybe it is just a delayed process…" and he trailed off with a thoughtful frown.
And Chris realized abruptly that Lucifer hadn't planned this. He didn't know why Chris hadn't gone crazy.
That was both somewhat comforting and incredibly disturbing.
"You thought things would be different," Chris mused.
"So did you," Lucifer answered biting. "At least you hoped. You told yourself that the sisters would be different from the people you remembered. You told yourself that you could keep them separate in your mind, that you could lie and manipulate them and it wouldn't matter because they weren't really family. Not yet." He stopped his circling and stepped closer to Chris. "But there was some tiny part of you that didn't want that to be true."
Chris swallowed.
Bianca had warned him, Aunt Paige had warned him, Grandpa had warned him. And he'd nodded and agreed and brushed aside their concerns, assuring them and himself that he would have no problem doing what needed to be done.
But.
The Charmed Ones – all the Halliwells – fought for family. They never gave up, not ever. Not until death. They stick together, supporting each other through idiotic mistakes and dangerous battles and furious arguments. For the first fourteen years of his life, nothing could have ever driven his family apart – excluding Leo, always excluding Leo – and that simple truth had pervaded every aspect of his life.
And some infinitesimally small part of him, some tiny voice he didn't let himself listen to, wanted that. He wanted to travel to a past where he was known and loved, where he had his family on his side, where he didn't have to do this all alone.
"You look at Piper and you see your mother. Not because she's actually there, but because you want her to be. Because you're tired of being alone." Chris closed his eyes in a desperately childlike desire to block out the truth, and he heard Lucifer laugh softly and murmur, "Yes, you are still interesting now."
Chris seethed. Lucifer was taunting him, laughing, mocking, so confident, so assured of his own success. He had managed to thoroughly devastate Good, and he'd left his fingerprints all over the damage. No one would forget what he had done – not for a very long time, if ever.
Chris' eyes snapped open. The pieces clicked into place.
And he smiled.
And as he orbed away, the last thing Chris saw was the devil's blue eyes narrowed in contemplation.
"Surely the Elder will let us have a white-lighter now," Piper muttered as she shifted her weight painfully against the pillows propping her up and gave both her sisters a once-over. They were perched on the edge of her bed, battered and bruised, but still standing, and for that she was incredibly grateful.
Every part of her hurt, and it was a bitter reminder of how much she'd been taking Leo for granted over the past few years. Since the moment he'd revealed who he was, he'd been at their sides when they most desperately needed healing, even breaking the rules and getting his wings clipped in order to save her. Despite the ever-present danger in their lives, Leo's ability had protected them from pain…
Well, mostly. He hadn't been able to save Prue.
She pushed that thought away and touched her stomach lightly with her fingers, worried.
"You can't fight anymore, sweetie," Phoebe said gently, her empathy picking up on traces of Piper's fear.
Piper nodded. "I know," she admitted. There was something ironic about how this had happened – just when her desire to fight evil had finally reawakened, when she had put aside her own emotional pain to focus on the destruction happening all around them, it was just at that moment of realization that she'd been forced to concede that she couldn't. The risk to Chris was unthinkable.
"But we can't just… not do anything," Paige said desperately. She closed her eyes, pale and drawn. "We have to help, we have to…" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"We have to do something," Piper agreed, "but I don't know what."
She couldn't stop the emptiness from spreading through her chest. It felt like the Titans all over again – only worse. Leo was gone, the community of Good was in disarray, the Elders had fled from Up There, and yet again, the Charmed Ones were left to pick up the pieces.
Only this time there were no easy answers. Vanquishing the Titans had been challenging, but in the end, a vanquish was still just a vanquish. Succeed, and it was over. The Elders had come back, the world had moved on, and if Leo's promotion had left its undeniable mark, it was at least a loss she had been able to bear.
But how were they supposed to fix this? They couldn't vanquish Lucifer, and even if they could, did it matter? Lucifer wasn't the enemy anymore – now they were fighting each other, and Piper wasn't about to vanquish the Elders… although it was often a tempting thought.
"Chris was here," Paige said after a moment. Piper and Phoebe looked at her, surprised, and she elaborated, "You were both asleep. And he only stopped by for a moment."
"But you talked to him?" Piper asked enviously. She couldn't keep the resentment from flaring, even if she knew that Chris' distance wasn't Paige's fault. Still, she'd seen how Chris acted around Paige, noticed that he was more comfortable with her, and Piper could not deny that she was bitterly jealous.
Phoebe squirmed slightly at Piper's words, but if Paige noticed her tone, she didn't show it. Instead, she said, "For a moment. He'd met with an Elder… Darius, I think? I guess Chris knows him in the future." She pursed her lips. "He sounded arrogant and egotistical."
"So a typical Elder," Piper cut in, rolling her eyes and breaking some of the tension. Paige grinned, and Piper asked, "But was he any help?"
"Um… yes and no," Paige said wearily. She hesitated, then said, "I'm worried about Chris."
"Why? Was he hurt?" Piper demanded, immediately frantic. She leaned forward, pushing through the pain in her abdomen. If something had happened to Chris…
"Not in the way you're thinking," Paige said quickly, softly. She met Piper's worried gaze, her eyes somber. She slanted a quick look at Phoebe, then turned back to Piper and said, "He and Darius were able to reason out why Lucifer came after us, and why he went after Chris specifically. And Chris…" She chewed her lip anxiously. "Chris blames himself. For everything."
"That's ridiculous," Phoebe said sharply, speaking before Piper could express her own outrage. "Is this because he didn't tell the Elders about the second deal?"
"Yes. But it's also more than that," Paige explained. "Chris thinks that Lucifer came after us because we have so much… influence… in the magical world. And that he went after Chris specifically because Chris was desperate enough to take the first deal."
"That deal saved Wyatt!" Piper protested, falling back against the pillows with an exhausted sigh.
"But it also started the war," Paige replied. Piper glared at her, and she held her hands up quickly, defensively. "I'm not saying this is Chris' fault. I don't believe that. But Chris does."
Piper closed her eyes.
If she had known where all of this would lead, would she have stopped Chris from making the first deal with Lucifer?
The answer to that was immediate and emphatic – yes. Although she could never regret saving Wyatt from his future fate, Chris' soul had not been an acceptable trade. She could not sacrifice one son in order to save the other.
Of course, she had allowed Chris' decision at the time, and that memory brought only self-recrimination no matter how many times she tried to justify her actions by the fact that she hadn't known Chris was her son. She should have known, and she never should have let him sacrifice himself.
Except, of course, that if Chris hadn't been her son…
She would have grieved the loss of the white-lighter who had turned out to be more devoted to her future than she'd ever expected, but protecting Wyatt would have come first. Chris' sacrifice would have been worth it.
If he hadn't been her son.
Did it make her a bad person that she would have been willing to accept that sacrifice from anyone other than her son? Or did it simply make her a mother?
She couldn't answer that question. Or maybe she just didn't want to answer it.
Phoebe's voice cut into her rambling thoughts, "Chris saved Wyatt. Even if that brought Lucifer into our lives, he has nothing to feel guilty about. He didn't start this war."
Piper opened her eyes.
"But that's just the thing," Paige said heavily, "he thinks he did. He thinks he was a fool to make the deal with Lucifer, that he started all of this, that it is his fault – and Darius certainly didn't do anything to make him feel less guilty. And he thinks…" She paused, gaze swiveling back and forth between Piper and Phoebe, then she said in a rush, "And I get the feeling that he thinks he should be the one to sacrifice for it."
"What?" Phoebe demanded.
At the same time, Piper said firmly, harshly, "No! I will not have Chris sacrificing anything else for this family."
"I don't think you could stop him if he really wanted to," Phoebe murmured worriedly. She reached out to squeeze Piper's arm reassuringly, but said anyway, "He inherited your stubbornness."
"But that's not… it's more complicated than just that," Paige pushed on, ignoring Piper's outburst. "Chris has this martyr complex."
Piper shook her head. "He doesn't seek out pain and suffering," she argued. "He doesn't want to carry the weight of the future on his shoulders. He didn't have a choice. That's not a martyr complex."
Her words were laced with guilt. He should have had a choice. She should have protected him better in the future, should have assisted him more in the past. He was her son, and he never should have been forced into all of this.
How had she failed both of her children so badly?
Paige stared at Piper for a long moment, clearly wrestling with what to say. Then, finally, she countered, "He might not actively seek out sacrifice, but… I think, when presented with the opportunity to protect someone else, he will always take it, no matter what it costs him. I think he believes that he should sacrifice. That it's his responsibility. It's almost like… like every single thing that goes wrong in his fault."
Frowning, Phoebe asked, "How do we convince him that it isn't? That he doesn't have to do everything alone?"
But Paige didn't have an answer.
Piper rubbed her eyes, wishing she had something to say, a suggestion now that Paige had fallen silent. But she didn't – and what kind of mother didn't know how to keep her own son from throwing away his life?
"I've seen kids like that," Paige murmured. "Children who just… so much had fallen apart in their family, and they always thought it was their fault. I remember this one girl who… God, she was just a kid and she… We had to put all three children in foster care, and she asked me if her little brother and sister could stay with their parents if she went away… would that make everything alright again? If she left, could the family stay together…" She resolutely met Piper's gaze. "When I look at Chris, that's what I see. The belief that our family would be intact if he told the Elders the truth."
"No," Piper whispered, horrified. "No. I won't let him do that. I won't let him throw his soul away through some misguided belief that… that… that we'd be better off without him."
"Piper…"
Piper shoved the blankets back, ready to drag herself out of bed and to hell with all the pain. "I know the world is falling apart. I know that we have to stop it, and I know that we have no idea how. And I know that Evil seems to be winning and Leo is gone and maybe none of this would have happened if Chris hadn't taken that first deal but I don't care. Because I also know that this world is better with Chris in it."
It was at that very moment that Chris orbed into the bedroom and announced without preamble, "I have to tell the Elders about the deal I made with Lucifer."