Charmed: Elizabeth Turner

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

Born with a sense of otherness, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Turner navigates her dual nature as a half-demon alongside her brother Cole, training rigorously to harness her powers while yearning for a life beyond servitude to the dark forces shaping their destiny.

46. Chapter 46: Paige of the Past Part 2

Chapter 46: Paige of the Past Part 2

October 16, 1998 – Friday

Halliwell Manor

Steam curled in lazy tendrils around Buffy as she stood beneath the steady stream of hot water, letting it soothe her muscles. The shower was a momentary escape—a rare pocket of peace amidst the usual chaos that came with being a half-demon Slayer married to a Charmed One. She tipped her head back, water running through her hair, drowning out the world beyond the tiled walls.

Then—thump.

A dull, heavy sound carried through the house, barely registering over the rush of water.

Buffy blinked, muscles tensing slightly. What was that?

Thump.

The second impact was unmistakable—a body hitting the floor.

Her Slayer instincts roared to life.

She shut the water off immediately, yanking the towel from the rack and scrubbing it over her skin with rapid efficiency. Every movement was precise, urgent. Her mind raced as she threw on the first clothes she could grab—jeans, a fitted t-shirt—ignoring the dampness still clinging to her skin.

Something was wrong.

Bolting out of the bathroom, she tore through the hallway and down the stairs, her bare feet barely making a sound against the wood. The closer she got to the kitchen, the heavier the air felt, thick with a strange, lingering energy.

Her breath caught when she turned the corner.

Prue and Piper lay sprawled on the floor.

Buffy's stomach dropped.

"Prue!" She rushed forward, sliding to her knees beside her wife, hands immediately checking for a pulse. Relief flooded her when she felt the steady, albeit slow, thrum beneath her fingertips.

Piper was unconscious a few feet away, her face slack, her body still.

Buffy's eyes flicked across the kitchen, searching for any sign of what happened—of who did this.

October 8, 1990 – Monday

Gateway High School

The metallic clang of the locker echoed through the hallway as Paige flipped it open, the scent of old textbooks and forgotten gum wrappers wafting out. A nostalgic smirk played at her lips as she ran her fingers along the familiar interior.

"I can't believe I remember the combination," she muttered, almost impressed with herself. She tapped the inside wall fondly. "I used to live out of this locker," she mused, eyes dancing over faded stickers and scribbled notes from years past.

Before she could dwell further, a shrill beeping erupted from within. Paige's head jerked up. "My pager!" she gasped, reaching into the clutter and pulling out a hot pink device with rhinestones bedazzling the edges.

Leo blinked at it, frowning in confusion. "You… had a pager in high school?" he asked, as if trying to piece together the logic of it.

Faith rolled her eyes, shifting her weight onto one hip. "Leo, it wasn't that uncommon. Diana had me carry one, especially after I was called as the Slayer."

Paige, half-listening, silenced the beeping with a practiced press of a button. She squinted at the tiny screen. "Michelle Miglis," she read, her brows knitting together. The name sent a flurry of memories tumbling into her mind—some amusing, some exasperating. "Ooh, I can't deal with her drama right now," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, as she unceremoniously chucked the pager back into the locker and slammed it shut.

The moment the door clanked closed; Paige let out a startled gasp.

Standing on the other side, practically materializing out of nowhere, was Michelle Miglis herself, her light brown hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She stood there, lazily chewing gum, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Michelle," Paige greeted hesitantly, eyes wide in a well, speak of the devil kind of way.

Michelle grinned, blowing a bubble before popping it with a loud snap. "Remember your whole peppermint schnapps theory?" she asked, tilting her head.

Paige blinked. "No," she admitted, her brow creasing.

Michelle rolled her eyes dramatically. "You know, how you can't tell it from a breath mint?" she reminded her, smacking her gum loudly. "Well, you're wrong. I got so busted," she smirked, like it was some kind of twisted badge of honor.

"Oh," Paige forced a short laugh, feeling a sudden wave of secondhand embarrassment for her younger self. "Sorry." She shrugged before quickly stepping past Michelle, hoping to dodge the inevitable gossip session.

Michelle, naturally, followed.

"You… drank in high school," Leo observed, his tone both judgmental and vaguely impressed. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his eyebrows arched high, silently asking Really, Paige?

Faith let out a scoff, crossing her arms. "Leo, you really need to come into this decade," she said, shaking her head. "Teenagers drink. I'm not even twenty-one yet, and I've drank." She tossed Paige a smirk. "Tell me you at least had some taste."

Michelle barely noticed their side conversation, too caught up in her own lament. "Ugh, I got grounded for two weeks," she groaned, flipping her hair. "My mom pulled the whole estrogen-fest thing—"we need to talk about your choices, Michelle," blah blah blah." She scrunched up her face in exaggerated disgust. "I swear to God, she's so damaged."

Paige rolled her eyes. "She's not damaged," she shot back, the statement automatic.

Michelle barely registered the correction. "You're right," she said with a smirk, "she's beyond repair."

That did it. Paige stopped abruptly, spinning on her heel so fast that Michelle nearly collided with her. "No, Michelle," she snapped, her voice sharp and unwavering. "She's not beyond repair. She's actually just trying to set boundaries, and believe it or not, you need them." Her tone softened just slightly, but the weight of her words didn't waver. "So maybe you should just… lay off. I mean, my God, how would you feel if she died tomorrow?"

Michelle's cocky smirk faltered. Her eyebrows shot up, eyes flickering with something unreadable—surprise? Annoyance? Maybe a sliver of guilt. "Jeez, Paige," she muttered, shifting awkwardly. "Morbid much?"

Before Paige could respond, the shrill ring of the school bell echoed down the hallway.

"Saved by the bell," Michelle muttered, shaking off the moment as quickly as it had come. But she hesitated, watching as Paige turned on her heel and hurried toward class. "Wait for me!" she called after her, eyes wide, jogging to catch up.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Paige sat in her uncomfortable plastic chair, arms crossed, bouncing her foot against the linoleum floor in barely restrained frustration. The classroom was suffocating—stale air thick with the scent of old textbooks and teenage apathy. Around her, students slumped over their desks, doodling in their notebooks or staring blankly at the clock, all equally as disinterested as the man standing at the front of the room.

Mr. Martin, the history teacher, droned on in a monotone voice, flipping through his yellowed lesson plan about American colonies or whatever—Paige had long since stopped paying attention. She desperately wanted to get out of there, to escape the prison of high school and find her parents.

A small, crumpled piece of paper landed on her desk. Paige smoothed it out and read the scrawled message inside:

"Donny is so hot!"

Paige rolled her eyes and turned toward Michelle, who sat beside her, barely suppressing a smirk.

Leaning in, Paige whispered, shaking her head, "You don't want Donny, trust me." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He winds up bagging groceries for a living and driving a Camaro." She shuddered slightly at the thought, as if the mere idea of it was a tragic fate.

Michelle, however, looked utterly unfazed. In fact, her grin widened. "I love Camaros," she said, completely serious, as if Paige had just described the perfect life.

Before Paige could reply, Mr. Martin's tired voice cut through their whispered exchange. "Would you girls please keep it down back there?" he snapped without even looking up from his notes. "I'm trying to teach."

Michelle barely hesitated before firing back, "But nobody's listening."

A ripple of laughter spread through the class.

Mr. Martin, unfazed, merely sighed. "Yeah, I know," he shot back dryly. "That's why all you delinquents are in this class."

Paige barely heard him. Her eyes flickered up to the clock above the door, watching the sluggish movement of the second hand. Every tick felt like an eternity. She exhaled sharply, her agitation mounting.

"This is ridiculous," she groaned under her breath, shifting in her seat. "I have to get out of here."

Michelle nodded in agreement, resting her chin in her palm. "I know the feeling," she muttered.

Paige shook her head. "No, you don't understand." Her voice dropped, the weight of her reality pressing down on her. "This is my last day with my parents."

Michelle blinked at her, frowning. "Okay… what are you babbling about?"

Paige didn't answer. Instead, she sighed again and raised her hand. "Excuse me, Mr. Martin?" she called, cutting through his lecture. "May I have a bathroom pass, please?"

Before he could respond, Leo and Faith materialized behind her desk, their faces serious.

"Don't even think about it, Paige," Leo snapped. "You have to follow the same path."

Paige barely flinched at their sudden appearance, but her frustration bubbled over.

"What is the problem, Miss Matthews?" Mr. Martin called from his desk, narrowing his eyes.

Paige ignored him, her focus solely on Leo and Faith. "I am tired of wasting my time here," she said, her voice sharp with frustration.

Mr. Martin, however, assumed her outburst was directed at him. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm boring you," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Paige groaned, rolling her eyes. "No, I'm not talking to you, Mr. Martin," she corrected.

The teacher arched an eyebrow. "Then who are you talking to?"

Michelle turned to her with a smirk. "Yeah, really. Who?"

Paige faltered as realization struck.

"Paige," Faith murmured, leaning in slightly. "Remember—only you can see us. Which means… you look crazy to everyone else. They think you're talking to yourself."

Paige swallowed hard. The last thing she needed was to look insane in front of a room full of teenagers. "This is stupid," she muttered under her breath. She could feel the walls of the classroom closing in, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a taunt. "I just—this is all just a bad memory. I need to get out of here," she said, pushing herself up from her desk.

The chair scraped against the floor loudly as she strode toward the door.

"Miss Matthews," Mr. Martin's voice boomed across the room. "You will sit down, be quiet, and wait for the bell just like everyone else!"

From behind her, the class erupted into a mix of cheers and chants. "Go, Paige! Go!"

Paige clenched her jaw. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

"Sit down, Miss Matthews!" Mr. Martin barked again, his patience thinning.

Paige turned back to face him, her frown deepening. "No, I won't!" she shot back defiantly.

"Paige, don't do this," Leo pleaded, his voice softer now. There was a warning in his tone, one that made her hesitate—if only for a second.

Then, without another thought, she grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open—only to find herself face-to-face with one of the school's security guards, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes sharp with suspicion.

"Going somewhere?" the guard asked, his voice low and unimpressed.

October 16, 1998 – Friday

Halliwell Manor

The kitchen was a mess of scattered chairs, a half-eaten pie, and the lingering tension of the attack. The morning sunlight filtering through the windows felt too bright, too normal, considering what had just happened.

Prue had just finished filling Buffy in on the horrifying revelation—Phoebe and Cole were possessed. Frankie and Lulu had hijacked their bodies and left nothing but chaos in their wake.

"Ow!" Piper growled from her spot at the kitchen table, wincing as she pressed an ice pack to the tender wound on her head. A fresh bandage covered the shallow cut on her neck, a stark reminder of just how close Cole's knife had come. "Ow!" she hissed again, pressing the ice pack down harder as if she could force the pain away.

Across from her, Prue wasn't faring much better. She sat stiffly in a chair, a matching ice pack firmly against her temple where she'd been knocked unconscious. "Ow!" she yelped, wincing as Buffy pressed the cold pack against her bruise with more force than necessary. "Ouch! Ooh." She glared up at her wife, eyes narrowing in mild accusation. "Stop fussing—we're fine!" she insisted, her voice firm but layered with discomfort.

Piper, still holding her own ice pack, attempted to nod in agreement—only to instantly regret it. "Ow," she muttered again, squeezing her eyes shut as another jolt of pain shot through her skull.

Buffy sighed, stepping back with crossed arms, clearly unconvinced. "Okay," she said, her tone making it clear she wasn't buying the act. "Uhm, Prue, why don't we go visit your friend Darryl?" She gestured toward the door, already forming a plan.

Piper shot her sister-in-law a look. "And what am I supposed to do?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Why don't you look through the Book of Shadows and see if you can find anything about getting the ghosts out of Phoebe and Cole?" Buffy suggested, glancing between them both.

Piper let out a heavy sigh, dropping the ice pack onto the table with a dull thud. "Great," she muttered. "Research duty and a head injury. Fantastic."

Prue huffed but stood, giving Buffy a final side-eye before reaching for her coat. "Fine," she said begrudgingly, "but if I pass out from a concussion in Darryl's office, it's your fault."

Buffy smirked, tilting her head. "I'll carry you home," she teased lightly, grabbing the car keys.

Prue rolled her eyes but couldn't quite suppress the smirk that tugged at her lips. "Come on, let's go before we lose more time."

With that, they headed for the door, leaving Piper alone with her aching head, the massive book, and the daunting task of figuring out how to exorcise two very stubborn ghosts from her sister and her sister's equally stubborn boyfriend.

San Francisco Police Department

Darryl tapped his computer screen, his brows furrowing as he read through the records. The glow from the monitor cast faint shadows over his tired face, a testament to the long hours he'd been working.

"Find something?" Prue questioned hopefully, shifting forward in her seat beside his desk. Her voice was laced with urgency, and behind her, Buffy stood with arms crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on the detective.

Darryl nodded slowly, his eyes still scanning the screen. "Yeah, there was a Lulu and Frankie in the database," he answered, his tone a mixture of intrigue and unease. He continued reading, his voice steady as he relayed the disturbing details. "Some crazy young couple. They robbed a series of jewelry stores in the '50s," he read aloud, pausing momentarily before looking up at them. "They killed three people before they were gunned down."

Prue sighed heavily and shut her eyes. "Great!" she snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Urrggghhh! I knew they were criminals," she added, dropping her chin to her chest in exasperation.

Buffy, however, remained focused. "We need to find them before they finish their job," she stated, her voice firm and unwavering.

Darryl exchanged glances with his partner, who looked just as thrilled as he did to be dealing with yet another supernatural crisis. "What job?" he asked, his skepticism laced with fatigue.

Prue and Buffy shared a look before Prue shrugged. "They must have some unfinished business here on Earth," she explained. "And they either can't or won't move on until it's done."

"It's how most ghosts work," Buffy added, her tone matter-of-fact.

Darryl ran a hand over his face, nodding slowly as if trying to absorb yet another bizarre twist in his already chaotic career. "You know for sure?" he asked, this time turning to Buffy, the half-demon Slayer.

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, but Prue cut in before she could. "Well, they didn't exactly take us aside and share their plans with us, Darryl," she said dryly, arching an eyebrow. "But it makes sense."

Buffy, unbothered, added, "Also, Darryl, I dealt with a ghost seven months ago who couldn't move on until he got forgiveness for killing the woman he loved," she pointed out. "I think I know what I'm talking about. Right now, we need to find those ghosts before they kill somebody—because if they do, Phoebe and Cole will take the fall."

That got Darryl's full attention. He rose from his seat, his jaw tightening, and gestured for them to follow. They trailed him as he rounded the corner of the precinct, stopping in front of a large map pinned to the wall. Red and blue pins dotted the surface, highlighting various crime scenes across the city.

He pointed to a specific spot, tapping his finger against the map. "The data says that Lulu and Frankie were gunned down here, outside of a jewelry store," he informed them, his voice thoughtful. His gaze flickered back to the women. "Maybe that's the job they were trying to finish." He suggested with a slight shrug, though the weight of the implication hung heavily in the air.

Prue and Buffy exchanged another glance, silent but understanding. They didn't have much time.

Yadav Diamonds & Jewelry

Frankie and Lulu strode into the jewelry store together, their steps perfectly in sync, radiating the kind of confidence that came with knowing they were untouchable—at least in their own minds. They swiped off their sunglasses in unison, their eager smirks widening as they took in their surroundings.

The store gleamed under soft golden lights, glass cases reflecting a kaleidoscope of shimmering diamonds and delicate gold bands. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and expensive cologne, but all Lulu and Frankie smelled was opportunity.

"One security guard," Lulu noted, her voice a sultry whisper as she leaned in, the curve of her lips barely moving. "Armed, right corner." Her dark eyes flicked to the bulky man standing rigid by the door, his hand hovering near his holster.

"Got him," Frankie assured smoothly, his gaze shifting to the other occupants.

"Two female customers," Lulu continued, reading his mind before he even had to speak. She let her eyes drift downward in thought, fingers playing absently with the hem of her blouse.

They moved together, as if dancing, coming to a stop at the counter. Frankie rested his hands against the glass, leaning in ever so slightly, his body language inviting yet commanding. The salesman, a middle-aged man with neatly combed hair and a trained, customer-service smile, approached eagerly.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice warm, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the surface of his newest patrons.

Lulu gazed down into the case, her eyes sparkling as though she'd just stumbled upon buried treasure. "We're looking for a diamond engagement ring," she informed him, her excitement so convincing it could have fooled even the most seasoned con artist.

The salesman nodded, slipping seamlessly into sales mode. "You came to the right place," he assured her.

Lulu widened her eyes in wonder, playing her role to perfection. "They're all so beautiful," she cooed, dragging a delicate finger along the edge of the glass, "I don't know which one I like best."

"You'd like the biggest one, baby," Frankie interjected with a knowing smile, his voice dripping with affection.

Lulu turned her attention back to the display, eyes locking onto a teardrop-shaped diamond set in white gold. It gleamed under the overhead lights like a fallen star. "Oh, there, that one." She gushed; her excitement almost childlike. "That's the one I want, baby." She turned to Frankie, her brown doe eyes wide and pleading.

"Excellent for quality," the salesman praised, drawing their attention back to him. "It's a perfect solitaire—one of our finest pieces."

Frankie narrowed his eyes at the ring, tilting his head as if giving it serious consideration. "I don't know…" he mused, dragging out the moment as tension coiled in the air. He glanced at Lulu, who was staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. "...The cut looks a little..." He trailed off, his voice dropping just enough to spark intrigue.

The salesman quickly shook his head, eager to defend his merchandise. "Oh, no. I can assure you—"

Frankie suddenly turned, his energy shifting in an instant. "You." He pointed at the security guard, his voice brimming with exaggerated friendliness. "You look like a regular guy. Could I ask your opinion?" His grin was charming, disarming, the perfect bait.

The security guard hesitated before shrugging, stepping forward, curiosity getting the better of him.

Frankie and Lulu exchanged a fleeting look—a private, knowing smirk. The trap was set.

"I just wanna know…" Frankie began, still pointing at the ring as the guard leaned down for a closer look. "…can I borrow your gun?" His voice turned sharp with dark amusement.

The security guard's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could react, Frankie struck hard, ramming his fist into the man's gut. The force knocked the wind out of him, his body doubling over instinctively. Without missing a beat, Frankie followed up with a brutal uppercut to the jaw, sending the man crashing to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Lulu clapped her hands together, giggling. "My hero."

Frankie crouched over the fallen guard, shaking his head with a laugh. "You stupid?" he taunted, plucking the gun from the man's holster as if claiming a prize.

Lulu's eyes gleamed as she watched him rise, weapon now firmly in his grip.

"Move over, baby!" Frankie ordered, motioning her away from the counter. She obeyed, sliding aside with effortless grace.

The salesman stumbled backward, hands raised in a silent plea, while the two female customers let out panicked screams, diving for cover.

Frankie smirked, lifting the gun. The store erupted in chaos as he pulled the trigger, shattering the glass case in one deafening shot. The diamonds within seemed to shudder before tumbling forward in a glittering cascade.

"We're back!" Lulu declared happily, practically skipping to the counter. She reached into the broken display, snatching up the teardrop ring with greedy fingers. She wasted no time slipping it onto her ring finger, turning her hand this way and that to admire the way it caught the light.

Frankie grinned at her. "I gotta hand it to you, Lulu." He mused, his fingers flexing around the grip of the gun. "This body's a live wire. The guy digs action, I can sense it." To punctuate his point, he fired off two more rounds into the ceiling, sending another wave of screams through the store.

Lulu, still admiring the ring, giggled. "This woman…," she mused, watching how the diamond sparkled, "loves the feeling of this diamond on her finger, although she'd never cop to it."

Frankie grabbed her, pulling her against him, and crushed his lips to hers in a frenzied, possessive kiss.

"Let's split, baby," he murmured against her mouth.

They turned to make their exit, their steps confident, victorious. But just as they reached the door, a sudden movement behind them made Frankie pause.

The security guard, battered but not out of the fight, lunged up from the floor, adrenaline overriding pain.

Without hesitation, Cole/Frankie turned, lifted the gun, and fired. The shot rang out, striking the guard in the thigh. The man let out a strangled groan, collapsing back to the ground.

"Should've stayed down, pal," Frankie sneered, before grabbing Lulu's hand and yanking her through the doors.

The bells over the entrance jangled cheerfully as they stormed out into the night, a stark contrast to the mayhem they left in their wake.

Unbeknownst to them, their entire escapade—their smirks, their laughter, their reckless destruction—had been caught on security tape. And when that footage surfaced, it wouldn't be Frankie and Lulu that the world saw.

It would be Phoebe and Cole.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"Oh no!" Prue gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she, Piper, Buffy, and Darryl stepped into the aftermath of chaos. The jewelry store, once a pristine showcase of elegance, was now a disaster zone. Shattered glass glistened across the counters and floor, reflecting the overhead lights in a way that made the scene feel almost surreal. Customers huddled together, murmuring in hushed, anxious tones, while store employees stood frozen in shock, their eyes darting toward the bloodstained spot where the security guard had fallen.

Paramedics maneuvered carefully through the wreckage, pushing a gurney toward the exit. The guard lay strapped in, his face pale but alert, his leg heavily bandaged. A low groan escaped his lips as they wheeled him past, his pain evident even through the numbing effects of shock and medication.

Piper turned sharply, her wide eyes meeting Prue's equally stunned gaze, both sisters rendered momentarily speechless. She swallowed hard before finally turning to Darryl. "Is he okay?" she asked, her voice laced with urgency as she gestured toward the wounded man on the gurney.

Darryl exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Looks like it was just his leg," he commented, though the frustration in his tone made it clear he wasn't taking this lightly.

Prue shook her head fiercely. "It shouldn't have been anything! Damn it, Phoebe," she hissed under her breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest.

Buffy's sharp gaze swept the crime scene, taking in the damage, the terrified customers, the traumatized employees. "We're too late," she observed grimly. "They did what they came back to do."

Darryl didn't waste any time. With a commanding stride, he approached one of the uniformed officers on the scene, signaling for him to step away from the witness he was questioning. "What went down here?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

The officer shook his head, his face still creased with disbelief. "Weirdest thing, Inspector," he began, clearly trying to make sense of it himself. "They could've cleaned this place out, but all they took was a diamond ring." His brows furrowed as he relayed the baffling detail, his tone edged with confusion before he turned back to his witness.

Piper wrinkled her nose, her brow knitting together as she processed the information. "That doesn't make any sense," she murmured, her voice tinged with unease. Beside her, Prue's frown deepened, her mind racing.

Darryl crossed his arms and looked at the sisters and Buffy warily. "Looks like your ghosts still have unfinished business," he mused, his expression a mix of skepticism and reluctant belief.

Prue groaned in frustration, throwing her head back. "Alright! We have got to find them before they kill somebody and Phoebe's life gets screwed!" she declared, the urgency in her voice unmistakable. Turning sharply, she locked eyes with Darryl. "Security tapes?"

Darryl nodded immediately. "Over there," he said, pointing toward a detective who was hunched over a VCR, preparing to review the footage.

Prue gasped suddenly, as if something had just clicked in her mind. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Piper!" she cried, her voice rising an octave in panic.

Piper turned to her, already knowing what was coming, her own eyes wide with dread. "Crap," she muttered under her breath before throwing up her hands and freezing the entire room in a single, fluid motion. The chaos halted mid-motion—officers' frozen mid-step, the detective's hand hovering over the VCR controls, a witness caught mid-sentence, their mouth still open. The store fell eerily silent.

A beat of stillness passed. Then, Andy and Darryl blinked, looking around in confusion.

Darryl turned slowly to Piper, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. "Piper… you froze the crime scene," he stated flatly, his tone carrying an unamused edge.

Piper offered an unapologetic nod. "Uh-huh."

Darryl's jaw tensed. "You cannot freeze a crime scene," he said, exasperation bleeding into his voice.

Piper barely spared him a glance as she strode toward the VCR, determination written all over her face. "Well, I did," she answered simply, not breaking stride.

Prue spun around to face Darryl; her expression fierce with frustration. "What were we supposed to do?" she demanded, her voice low but seething. "Let a stupid tape take away Phoebe and Cole's freedom?" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "They don't deserve to have their lives ruined because of the ghosts who are possessing them!"

Darryl looked down, his lips pressing into a thin line, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders.

Prue exhaled sharply, the fire in her eyes dimming just slightly. "Sorry, Darryl," she muttered, patting his chest in a brief, apologetic gesture before spinning on her heel and marching after Piper.

Darryl's gaze followed her, his jaw tightening as his irritation boiled over. He turned abruptly on Buffy, his voice lowered to an aggravated hiss. "I am sick and tired of your wife and her entire dysfunctional family," he snapped, his tone laced with exasperation. "I'm a cop, Buffy, I cannot falsify evidence—look!" He gestured sharply toward Prue, "your wife is wiping away fingerprints!"

Buffy's head whipped toward Prue, her sharp eyes catching the unmistakable sight of her wife swiftly wiping down every glass surface in the room, eliminating every trace of Phoebe and Cole's presence.

Buffy turned back to Darryl; her expression steeled. "Darryl, we have to do this," she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument.

Darryl's face twisted in shock, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "What?! No! No, no, no!" he protested, shaking his head as if trying to physically reject the notion. "This is tampering with evidence, Buffy! This is—"

"Yes!" Buffy cut him off with a sharp whisper, her eyes blazing as she took a step closer. "Now answer me this, Darryl—who did you bail out last night?"

Darryl's protests died in his throat. His brows furrowed as he stared at her, realization dawning.

Buffy arched a brow. "Exactly!" she hissed. "How the hell are you gonna explain it to your Captain when he sees my little brother's face on that security tape? Robbing a jewelry store?"

A heavy silence stretched between them. Darryl's gaze flickered toward Prue and Piper, who were working quickly, their movements precise and efficient, like this wasn't the first time they had to clean up a supernatural mess. His shoulders sagged in resignation. He sighed. "Hurry up, ladies," he muttered, his voice reluctant but firm.

Prue barely glanced up as Piper jogged back toward her. "Did you get it?" she asked hurriedly.

"Yep," Piper confirmed, a small videotape clutched tightly in her grip. "Did you—"

"Yep," Prue nodded, stuffing a cloth into her pocket. "Pockets too."

Piper let out a breath, shaking her head in disbelief. "I cannot believe we just did this."

Prue closed her eyes briefly, as if trying to push away the weight of what they'd just done. "I know," she admitted.

Piper drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. "Back in position," she instructed, and the two quickly rushed back to Buffy and Darryl. Prue discreetly slipped the security tape into Darryl's hand before Piper waved her hands once more, the store suddenly jolting back to life as she unfroze the scene.

The murmurs and rustling of people resumed instantly, as if nothing had happened.

Darryl barely had time to adjust his stance before an officer strode up to him, a look of urgency on his face. "Inspector?" the officer called. "Thought you'd like to know, a couple fitting the description just hit a bridal store on 4th. Stole a dress."

Darryl blinked, his brow furrowing. "What?"

The officer shrugged, clearly baffled himself. "A wedding dress," he clarified. "Go figure." With another casual shrug, he turned and walked away, leaving the group standing there in stunned silence.

Prue's eyes widened, her hands planting themselves firmly on her hips as her breath hitched. "Oh… my god," she whispered, her head shaking in slow disbelief, her mind piecing everything together like a long-lost puzzle finally snapping into place.

Piper's anxiety flared at her sister's reaction. "What?" she demanded, her tone sharp as she turned to face Prue fully, eyes darting over her expression. "What?"

Prue barely seemed to hear her, still shaking her head, muttering more to herself than anyone else. "It makes so much sense…"

Piper's patience snapped. "What does?" she pressed, her frustration bubbling over as she clenched her fists at her sides.

"Ugh!" Prue groaned, throwing a hand up to her forehead as if berating herself. "How could we be so stupid?!"

Piper flailed her arms, the panic rising in her chest. "PRUE!" she practically shrieked, too rattled to care about keeping her voice down. "Just say it already!"

Prue dropped her hand abruptly and met her sister's frantic gaze, her own expression resolute. "They're getting married!" she declared.

Piper's breath caught as her mind reeled, the realization hitting her like a freight train. She froze for half a second before throwing her hands up in the air. "Of course!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with both exasperation and sudden understanding.

Prue turned toward Darryl and Buffy, who still looked completely lost. "That's their unfinished business," she explained, gesturing animatedly as she put the final piece together. "It wasn't the jewelry store. It was a wedding! That's what they never got to finish!" She shook her head, half in frustration, half in awe. "They're in love, and they died before they ever had the chance to say 'I do.'"

Darryl, standing there with his arms crossed, exhaled heavily and leaned slightly toward Prue, his expression deadpan. "Do you people have any normal weddings in your family?" he asked dryly.

Prue smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Of course not!" she quipped without missing a beat. "We're not normal."

October 8, 1990 – Monday

Gateway High School

Paige sat stiffly on the hard wooden chair outside the principal's office, arms folded tightly across her chest, foot tapping restlessly against the linoleum floor. The low murmur of voices behind the closed door—her principal talking to her parents—felt like a judge and jury deliberating on her fate. Every second that passed only added to her agony, each moment stretching unbearably long. The worst part was knowing she didn't have much time left—time to see them, time to be with them—before…

Her thoughts were cut short when a voice suddenly pierced the silence.

"You okay?"

Paige jolted, nearly gasping, her heart leaping into her throat as she turned to see Faith and Leo standing there, appearing as if from thin air. She clenched her jaw, swallowing back the startled yelp that almost escaped her lips.

"No, Faith," she bit out, her voice sharp with frustration, "I'm nowhere near okay. My time here is running out. I haven't done anything."

Leo, ever the calm and steady presence, offered a reassuring nod. "You've done enough."

Paige's breath hitched, and her frustration boiled over. She shook her head vehemently, her eyes wide, her chest tightening. "I haven't done anything!" she repeated, her voice rising, tinged with a desperation she could no longer hold back. "I came back here to stop feeling guilty, only now I feel guiltier than ever because now I know what a damn disappointment I am."

Faith's expression darkened slightly, her brow creasing. "Is that what you believe?" she asked, her voice softer, probing.

Paige let out a hollow laugh, one completely devoid of humor. Her eyes, already glassy with emotion, widened even further at the question, as if she couldn't believe Faith had even asked. "Hello! Have you been watching or eating popcorn?" she snapped, sarcasm barely masking the pain underneath. "My Mom and Dad think I'm a total failure. I'm not. I can't let them die thinking that."

Her words hung heavy between them, but before either Leo or Faith could respond, Paige suddenly froze. A new thought flickered across her face, her expression shifting from distress to determination in a matter of seconds. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, as if a light had just switched on inside her. She had made up her mind.

"In fact, I'm not gonna let them die at all," she announced, her voice filled with unwavering resolve.

Leo's demeanor changed instantly. The softness in his expression vanished, replaced by something firm, almost foreboding. His eyes darkened with warning, sensing the dangerous road she was about to go down. "You can't change history, Paige," he said gravely, "only learn from it."

But Paige wasn't listening. She shook her head, her conviction only strengthening. "I am not letting them get in that car tonight, Leo."

"Yes, you will," Leo countered, his voice sterner now. His patience, already wearing thin, snapped as he added, "And if you break any more rules—"

"Screw the rules, Leo," Paige cut him off coldly, her tone like ice.

Leo exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling over. His eyes narrowed, his own patience running out. "Oh, is that the teenager talking or the adult?" he snapped back, his voice edged with irritation. "The reason we journeyed to the past was so you could learn from it." His tone softened slightly, but his words remained firm. "You see where breaking the rules has gotten you so far?"

Paige's breath came faster now, her heart pounding. Her lips trembled, but she set her jaw stubbornly, determined not to let the tears spill over. "They're my parents." Her voice cracked, raw with desperation. "I have to do something."

Then, before either of them could stop her, she turned on her heel and stormed toward the office, pushing the door open with reckless determination.

Faith sighed heavily, crossing her arms. "Leo, I get where she is going. You and I both know that time will not change. That death is inevitable. If it's their time, it's their time." She exhaled, glancing at the door Paige had just vanished through. "But let her have this. Let Paige have this chance to say goodbye. I just wish I could have had the same chance she's getting."

Leo studied her, his expression softening slightly. "You talking about your birth mom or Diana?" he asked, his voice gentle, understanding.

Faith's gaze flickered, her jaw tightening briefly before she gave the smallest nod. "Both," she admitted quietly.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Paige burst into the office, barely taking a breath before blurting out, "I'm sorry to barge in like this." Her voice was rushed, urgent, as if sheer will alone could halt what was coming.

The principal, a stern woman with sharp eyes and an unimpressed expression, barely looked up from the folder on her desk. She sighed; her gaze heavy with disappointment. "That incident in class today was the last straw, Paige," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm suspending you from school."

Paige's stomach dropped. She blinked, caught off guard, then scoffed. "Just for that?" she cried, disbelief coloring her voice.

The principal finally looked at her fully, eyebrows raised in incredulity. "Just for that?" she echoed, shaking her head. Then, flipping open the folder in front of her, she began listing off offenses with the precision of someone who had prepared this speech long before Paige had even stepped into the room. "For cutting classes, starting fights, smoking on campus, possession of alcohol." Each offense landed like a gavel strike, undeniable and condemning.

Paige exhaled sharply, tilting her head toward the ceiling as frustration bubbled up inside her. "I swear I don't turn out like this," she declared, almost pleading, her words thick with desperation.

A bitter laugh escaped her father's lips, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he shook his head. His disappointment was palpable, a weight pressing down on her from across the room. "Unfortunately, your actions speak a lot louder than your words," he said, his voice clipped with anger, making it clear that right now, he had no reason to believe her.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Paige hurried after her parents as they stormed out of the school, their anger radiating off them in waves. She struggled to keep up, weaving between students lingering near the exit. "It looks bad, I know," she admitted, her voice edged with desperation. She needed them to listen, needed them to understand before it was too late.

"But it doesn't turn out this way," she continued, her words tumbling out faster, frantic. "I promise. I—I get a degree in social work. I help others. I even get into Berkeley thanks to high test scores and a powerful essay on the death of my—" Paige's mouth snapped shut, realization hitting her just before she said too much. She swallowed hard, forcing a quick, nervous smile. "Well, let's just say a powerful essay." She pushed forward, her heart pounding. "Mom and Dad, you've got to believe me." Her voice cracked slightly, her emotions slipping through.

Her father stopped abruptly by the car, turning to face her with an exhausted expression. "How can we do that, Paige?" he asked, his tone flat but laced with frustration.

Her mother sighed, rubbing her temples before shaking her head. "We've seen your act too many times," she added tiredly, her voice softer but no less disappointed.

Paige's breath caught in her throat. She looked between them, searching for even a flicker of hope in their expressions, something to hold on to. "Please," she begged, her voice raw. "Just look at me as though you actually see me. I'm not who you think I am." She willed them to see beyond her mistakes, beyond the trouble she'd caused.

Her father let out a weary sigh, shaking his head. "How do you know what we think?"

"Because I can see it in your eyes!" Paige cried, pain flashing across her face. "Disappointment. And okay, yeah, I deserve it," she admitted, her voice dropping to a softer tone. "I do. All I can say for myself is that I'm... searching. And one day, I will find myself." Her shoulders sagged slightly as she exhaled a shaky breath.

Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but Paige quickly held up a hand. "Let me finish," she requested, her voice firmer now. "I'll find myself because of you two," she said, her expression shifting to something gentler, something filled with love. "You've shaped who I am. I am not a bad daughter. You did not raise a bad daughter. I'm good." Her voice thickened with emotion, tears welling in her eyes. "I just... wish you could see it."

For a moment, there was silence. Then her father's expression softened, his lips pressing together in something that almost looked like a smile. "Sweetheart, of course we can see it," he said, and Paige's breath hitched.

She blinked at him in surprise. "What?"

Her mother stepped forward, nodding. "We know you're good," she assured gently. "We've always known... but we also know that you're lost. And that scares us," she admitted, her own voice trembling as unshed tears threatened to spill. "And there's nothing in the world that we want more than to help you find your way home. We just don't know how."

Paige felt her chest tighten as warmth spread through her. A small, heartfelt smile tugged at her lips. "I think you just did," she whispered before stepping into her mother's waiting arms, holding on tightly as if she could make the moment last forever.

"I will stand by my word," she promised, voice muffled against her mother's shoulder.

Her mother pulled back slightly, searching Paige's eyes. "You promise?"

Paige met her gaze without hesitation, nodding firmly. "I promise."

The relief that washed over her parents was visible, their tense shoulders loosening, their smiles hesitant but real. They turned toward the car, but the moment Paige saw them move, panic clenched her stomach again.

"Hey! Hey, you guys," she blurted, stepping forward. Her parents turned back, eyebrows raised. "Can we just stay in tonight?" she asked, her voice thick with urgency. "And not go to the restaurant?"

Her parents exchanged a look, one of those silent conversations only long-married couples seemed to have.

Her father exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "We still have to talk," he reminded her.

Paige nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "We will. Just… at home."

He shrugged, as if considering it wasn't worth fighting over, and her mother gave her a warm smile. "Okay. Let's go home."

Paige barely contained the breath of relief that escaped her as she climbed into the car, shutting the door behind her. She glanced to her side—and there, waiting for her like ghosts in the backseat, were Leo and Faith.

Leo simply stared at her, his expression unreadable.

Paige gave him a casual, knowing shrug as she buckled her seatbelt. "What?" she asked, as if she had done nothing at all. The car pulled away from the curb but Paige barely noticed.

Streets of San Francisco

Mr. Matthews drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his tone casual and light as he drove toward home. "Well, what's it gonna be tonight?" he asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at his daughter. "Should we have pizza?"

The mood in the car had shifted considerably since they left the school, the weight of tension momentarily lifted.

Paige leaned against the seat, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at her lips. "I kind of miss Mom's cooking," she admitted, her voice softer now, more nostalgic.

Her mother laughed warmly. "Like you don't have it every night?" she teased, throwing her daughter an amused glance.

Paige shrugged, still smiling, but before she could say anything more, Leo's voice cut through the warmth, low and urgent. "You shouldn't do this, Paige." His tone was laced with warning, his presence heavy beside her. "You can't change the past."

Paige tilted her head toward him, her expression set, her eyes shining with quiet defiance. "I already did," she pointed out, the satisfaction clear in her voice.

Her father's voice snapped her back to the present. "Did you say something, honey?" he asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Paige quickly shook her head. "No, nothing." She forced an easy smile, masking the racing thoughts in her mind.

Leo wasn't done. His voice came again, more intense now. "You don't know what you're doing."

Paige turned fully toward him, her expression unreadable but her voice steady, unwavering. "Yes, I do," she declared.

And then, just like that, Leo and Faith vanished.

Paige barely had a second to process their disappearance before her eyes caught something—a massive pair of headlights, blinding in the dark, hurtling straight toward them. Her heart slammed against her ribs. "WATCH OUT!" she screamed, instincts taking over as she threw up her hands, as if that alone could stop the inevitable.

Her father let out a startled yell, jerking the wheel in a desperate attempt to swerve.

Her mother's scream pierced the air.

The truck barreled forward, too close, too fast.

Paige barely had time to react before she felt the magic surge within her, her body breaking apart into shimmering orbs just as metal and glass collided with a deafening crash.

The world spun.

Paige hit the cold, hard ground, her body rolling violently before coming to a stop. She gasped, her breath hitching in her throat as she pushed herself up on shaking arms. She turned her head just in time—just in time to see the twisted wreck of the car, flames licking hungrily at the crumpled metal.

And then the explosion.

A fireball erupted into the sky, the heat searing even from where she lay.

"NO!" Paige's scream ripped from her chest as she scrambled to her feet, her entire body trembling. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't care—she had to get to them. She bolted toward the inferno, lungs burning with every breath. They were in there. Her parents. Her parents were in there.

Before she could reach them, a strong force wrapped around her waist, pulling her back.

"LET GO OF ME!" Paige shrieked, thrashing against the hold.

Faith's arms were like iron around her, anchoring her in place, but Paige fought, kicking, clawing, desperate to break free. "I HAVE TO SAVE THEM!" Paige sobbed, struggling with every ounce of strength she had left.

"It's no use," Leo's voice came, softer now, heavy with sorrow. "Paige… they're gone."

Paige's body sagged as the words sank in, her breath coming in jagged gasps. No. No, no, no. She shook her head violently, her eyes locked onto the blazing wreckage. "No," she whimpered, her voice barely above a breath, as if saying it out loud could somehow undo it all.

A strangled cry ripped from her throat as she turned on Leo, her hands bawled into fists. She hit him—once, twice, her sobs making her entire body quake. "Why did you bring me back here?" she growled through gritted teeth, her fists pounding against his chest. "WHY?"

Leo took the blows without flinching, his eyes filled with nothing but sympathy.

Faith stood silently behind them, her face unreadable, her jaw clenched as if she, too, were fighting back her own ghosts.

Tears streamed down Paige's face as she sucked in a shaky breath, her chest heaving. "I thought I could stop the accident," she choked out, her voice breaking.

Faith held onto Paige firmly, her grip grounding but not forceful. Her voice was steady, unwavering, as she spoke. "You couldn't stop the accident because it was never your fault."

But Paige barely heard her, the words slipping through the overwhelming storm inside her. Her wide, tear-streaked eyes remained fixed on the blazing wreckage before her, shoulders trembling with every broken sob.

"It was my fault," she whispered, her voice raw, hollow. The guilt had lived inside her for so long, festering, deepening, carving its place into her very soul. She hugged herself tightly as though trying to hold together the pieces of herself that threatened to shatter completely. "It was my fault."

Leo stepped closer; his voice low, gentle but firm. "They would have died anyway." The certainty in his tone made her flinch, but he pressed on. "It was their destiny, Paige." His words carried no judgment, only sorrow. "Just like it was your destiny to be saved by magic."

Paige inhaled sharply. A flicker of understanding cut through the grief. She blinked, staring at the inferno as if seeing something beyond the flames, beyond the pain. "That's how I got out of the car." Her voice was barely audible, like she was speaking more to herself than to them. "I orbed out."

Leo nodded. "That's right."

Faith finally loosened her iron grip, though she kept her hands on Paige's arms, steadying her, keeping her upright when it felt like the world beneath her feet was crumbling.

Paige turned to them, confusion knitting her brow. "I could always orb?" The words came slowly, cautiously, as if she was still trying to piece together the fragments of her own past.

Leo's expression softened; his eyes filled with something close to pride. "Magic's always been inside of you." His voice was warm now, reassuring. "It saved you because you were meant to do great things with it. And you have… and you will." He gestured toward the wreckage, toward the burning past that had haunted her for so long. "Don't you see? This is what you came back here to find—the truth. What caused the accident. Why you survived it."

Paige swallowed thickly, her breath hitching in her throat. She stared at the wreckage, her parents' final moments reflected in the burning embers, and for the first time, she saw more than just tragedy. She saw fate. She saw destiny. She saw herself—the girl who had survived, not by chance, not by mistake, but because she was meant to.

Her face twisted in agony, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. "You need to forgive yourself," Leo said softly, the weight of his words settling over her like a blanket of quiet understanding.

But Paige only shook her head, her body curling in on itself, the pain still too vast, too consuming. "It doesn't matter," she choked out, her voice strangled with grief. "It doesn't matter. They'll never know…"

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening until it felt like she couldn't breathe.

"They'll never know how much I loved them," she sobbed, her entire body wracked with the weight of that realization. "They'll never know what good parents they were."

She crumbled, shaking, completely unraveling as the grief tore through her like a hurricane.

And Faith, without hesitation, pulled her back into her arms, holding onto her tightly as if she could shield her from the storm inside.

October 16, 1998 – Friday

Streets of San Francisco

Darryl barely had time to catch his breath as he threw open the car door, his heart pounding in sync with the urgency in their movements. "How many more chapels we got?" he asked, looking around at the weary yet determined faces of his companions.

Buffy, who was already scanning the darkened streets, shook her head. "That was the last big one," she reported, her voice edged with frustration.

Beside her, Piper let out a loud groan, dragging a hand down her face. "Ugh! We should have split up," she regretted, her voice rising with exasperation. "We could've covered more ground faster."

Prue scoffed, shooting her sister a sharp look as she pulled open the car door. "Yeah, because splitting up and taking on these homicidal maniac ghosts on our own—when we're already down two sisters, and when you still haven't found a way to exorcise them from Phoebe or Cole—definitely wouldn't have gotten us killed," she quipped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Piper whipped her head around, eyes flashing in irritation. "Fine!" she snapped, rolling her eyes before shoving herself into the front seat. "There's one more church in the neighborhood."

Darryl slid into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel tightly. "And what if they're not there?" he asked, glancing at Prue through the rearview mirror, his jaw tightening at the thought of chasing ghosts—literally—across the entire city.

Prue slammed her door shut; her expression set in stone. "Then we expand our search," she answered without hesitation, her voice firm, resolute. "To the entire city."

The car rumbled to life beneath them, and with a screech of tires, they tore off into the night, the weight of time pressing heavily on their shoulders.

St. Ignatius Church

The priest's voice echoed through the empty church; his words deliberate yet edged with unease. His gaze flickered between the couple before him—Lulu, resplendent in an old-fashioned wedding gown, and Frankie, sharply dressed in a suit—and the cold steel of the gun aimed at his chest.

"Do you take this woman to be thy wedded wife, to love, comfort, and honor," he intoned, his voice steady despite the circumstances. "In sickness or in health, for sorrow or joy, so long as you both shall live?"

Frankie, his expression alight with a fervor that didn't quite belong to the living, beamed at Lulu. "I sure do," he declared, his voice rich with devotion. He turned his head slightly toward the priest, tilting the gun just enough to make his point. "I'm gonna take good care of her this time," he added, his voice laced with a strange kind of certainty. Then, without warning, his body gave an involuntary shudder, and he let out a sharp breath, shaking his limbs as if to rid himself of unseen discomfort. "Woo!"

Lulu's eyes narrowed in concern. "You okay, Frankie?" she asked, studying him carefully.

"Yeah, yeah," he assured her quickly, rolling his shoulders like he was settling into a new suit. "It's just—this guy's all jumpy inside." He chuckled, a deep, unsettling sound. "Almost like he wants to get married as much as I do."

Lulu's lips curled into a knowing smile. "I know what you mean," she murmured, pressing a hand to her chest. "This one's, like, quivering inside of me."

They turned back to the priest, their eyes filled with expectation. Lulu's expression hardened. "What are you waitin' for? Continue," she ordered, nodding at Frankie, who leveled the gun again, a silent threat hanging between them.

The priest swallowed thickly before nodding. "Right." He cleared his throat and began again. "Do you, Lulu, take this man to be thy wedded husband—"

"I OBJECT TO THIS UNION!"

The sudden outburst rang through the church as Piper's voice cut through the air, sharp and authoritative. The large wooden doors swung open, revealing the intruding party. Prue, Buffy, and Darryl strode in beside her, moving with purpose as they advanced toward the altar.

Prue shot her sister an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised. "Corny much?" she quipped dryly.

Piper rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "Whatever."

The priest, still standing stiffly before the couple, raised his hands in exasperation. "I didn't call for any objections," he pointed out, eyes darting to the gun still pointed at his chest.

"Yeah, well, I still object," Piper shot back, crossing her arms defiantly.

Prue sighed before turning to her sister. "Seriously?"

Ignoring her, Piper lifted her hands and, with a flick of her fingers, froze the priest in place. She exhaled in relief—until her eyes snapped back to Frankie and Lulu, who remained very much in motion. Her relief turned into immediate panic. "Uh—you two are not frozen," she gasped, whipping her head toward Prue. "Why are they not frozen?"

Prue opened her mouth to answer, but Lulu beat her to it.

"Well," Lulu mused with a smirk, "I know I ain't the most technically minded, but I'd think it has somethin' to do with the fact that we're ghosts." She let out a lighthearted chuckle, nudging Frankie, who joined in with an eerie laugh.

Prue muttered under her breath. "Great. Just great."

Frankie's expression darkened instantly. "I warned you, witch," he growled, lifting his gun.

Before he could act, Buffy and Darryl surged forward, shoving Prue and Piper behind them. Darryl whipped out his firearm, his voice booming through the church.

"FREEZE!"

Buffy, standing firm beside him, didn't need a gun—her hand ignited with a swirling energy ball, its glow casting ominous shadows against the walls. Her stance was steady, her eyes locked on the ghostly groom.

"Put the gun down—slowly," Darryl commanded, his voice unwavering, while Buffy remained poised to strike.

The couple chuckled, their eerie laughter echoing through the high ceilings of the church. Then, without warning, Frankie's expression hardened, and he raised his gun once more, his finger tightening on the trigger.

At the same time, Darryl reacted, his training kicking in. A gunshot rang out, the sharp crack cutting through the tense air.

Darryl's bullet hit Frankie square in the chest, jerking his body backward. At that exact moment, Buffy let loose her energy ball, but Frankie's own shot went off simultaneously, the bullet slicing through her shoulder with brutal precision. The sudden pain caused her aim to falter, and the energy ball veered off course, fizzling out against a pew.

Frankie staggered, his breath hitching as he looked down at the wound in his chest. His lips parted, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and frustration. "Damn," he cursed weakly, his fingers going slack around the gun before it clattered to the floor. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Piper's eyes widened in alarm, her grip tightening on Darryl's arm as he slowly lowered his weapon. She stayed behind him, her heart racing in her chest.

Behind them, Prue kept her position near Buffy, but she saw the way her wife's body tensed. Buffy dropped her arm, her fingers pressing against her wound, lips clamped tightly to stifle the wince that threatened to escape. She didn't want to call attention to herself—not yet—not while everything else was still in chaos.

Then, Cole's body convulsed violently. A deep, unnatural shudder wracked through him as Frankie's spirit wrenched itself free, spiraling out through the gaping hole in his chest.

"Don't worry, baby." Lulu's voice rang out, her tone unnervingly calm. She stood just behind him, watching with devotion. "We'll try again." She promised Frankie, her lips curving into a soft smile. "Next time, we'll get it right."

Then, just as easily as Frankie's spirit had departed, Lulu's essence slid free of Phoebe. The moment Lulu left, Phoebe gasped sharply, as though surfacing from deep water. Her head snapped up, her dazed eyes clearing as realization slammed into her.

She turned to Cole, her entire body freezing in horror. His face was deathly pale, his body limp where it had fallen.

"COLE!" she screamed, launching herself toward him, her arms wrapping around his body as she pulled him onto her lap. Her hands trembled as she cupped his face, her fingers stroking his cool skin desperately. "LEO!" she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

Darryl inhaled sharply, still holding his gun with both hands. His stance was rigid, but his face showed the weight of what he had done. "I had no choice," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse.

"We know," Piper assured him gently, though her eyes remained fixed on Phoebe, watching helplessly as her younger sister clung to Cole, grief pouring from her.

And then Buffy gasped sharply.

Prue's brows furrowed in confusion, her focus shifting fully to her wife. "Buffy?" she questioned, stepping forward instinctively. But before she could reach her, Buffy collapsed entirely, her weight crashing into Prue, sending them both tumbling to the cold church floor.

"AH!" Prue gasped, barely catching herself as Buffy's full weight pressed against her. She scrambled quickly, shifting so that Buffy's head rested in her lap. But when she looked down, her breath hitched, and her entire body went rigid.

"Oh my god!" she choked, her eyes locking onto the deep red pooling beneath Buffy's body, her hands now smeared with it as she instinctively pressed down on the wound. "Buffy! BUFFY!" Her voice rose into a desperate scream, her panic drawing Piper's attention instantly.

Piper whirled around, and the moment her gaze landed on Buffy, her heart lurched violently in her chest. Her sister-in-law lay motionless, her wife kneeling over her, hands covered in blood.

"Oh my god," Piper whispered, her face paling. Then she glanced between the two fallen figures—Cole barely breathing in Phoebe's lap, and Buffy rapidly losing blood in Prue's arms.

A broken sob tore from Phoebe's throat as she turned her tear-filled eyes toward Prue and Buffy. Her breath shuddered as more panic took hold. "Oh no." She whimpered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Piper clenched her fists, taking control of the situation the best she could. With a sharp motion, she threw up her hands and unfroze the priest. The man blinked in disoriented confusion before she turned on Darryl. "Get him out of here," she ordered, her tone urgent.

Darryl blinked, startled. "What?!" he asked, incredulous.

"Take the priest and call for an ambulance, or two. GO!" Piper snapped, her voice carrying the full weight of her authority.

Darryl hesitated for only a second before nodding, snapping into action. He reached for the priest, dragging him quickly toward the church doors.

Prue's hands trembled violently as she pressed them against the wound, her fingers slick with Buffy's blood. Tears streamed down her face in silent devastation, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Buffy?" she called, her voice cracking as she gently spoke her wife's name. But Buffy didn't respond. She didn't even blink in acknowledgment. She only stared blankly at the ceiling, her chest barely rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

Panic tightened like a vice around Prue's heart. Her mind screamed at her to stay calm, but the fear clawing at her insides was relentless. "BUFFY!" she yelled suddenly, shaking her wife's limp body, desperation dripping from every syllable. When Buffy remained motionless, Prue's world tilted on its axis. "No. Oh no." she whimpered, her throat tightening, the air in her lungs vanishing like smoke.

Her hands pressed harder against the wound, as if sheer force alone could keep Buffy from slipping away. "Come on. COME ON!" she screamed, her sobs coming harder now, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her anguish. The blood—Buffy's blood—was warm and sticky beneath her hands, seeping between her fingers no matter how tightly she held them together.

"Oh, God, please no!" Prue choked out, her head snapping up toward the heavens as if sheer willpower could summon divine intervention. Her voice cracked under the unbearable weight of fear as she screamed, "LEO!"

A few feet away, Piper stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, her wide eyes darting between her two sisters. On one side, Prue clutched Buffy's unmoving form, her sobs raw and broken. On the other, Phoebe cradled Cole, his body shuddering with each shallow gasp for air.

Piper swallowed thickly, willing her voice to steady. "She can't die, can she?" she asked, her question barely more than a whisper. Her gaze flickered toward Prue as doubt crept into her tone. "I mean, she's half-demon… You need a potion to vanquish her, right?"

Prue's head snapped up; her tear-streaked face twisted in anguish. "I don't know, Piper!" she snapped, her voice raw as she blinked furiously to clear her vision. The moment passed too quickly for any answer to matter—her focus was still locked onto Buffy, onto the faint pulse beneath her palms that was slipping further away.

Meanwhile, Phoebe's whole body quaked as she clung to Cole, the tremors shaking her down to her very bones. His breaths were erratic, each one shallower than the last. His normally sharp, piercing gaze had dulled, the light inside them flickering dangerously.

"Oh, please don't die!" Phoebe begged, her voice breaking on the words. "Please, please don't die!" Her hands frantically stroked his face, trying to keep him here, to keep him with her. She shook her head desperately, refusing to accept what was happening. "LEO!" she screamed, tilting her head back toward the ceiling, her voice laced with sheer terror. "LEO! LEO!"

The name echoed through the church, bouncing off the high walls like a haunting refrain.

Piper stood between her sisters, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break through her ribs. She couldn't move. She couldn't decide. Going to one meant leaving the other, and that was something she couldn't do. The weight of it suffocated her. The sounds of Prue's sobs and Phoebe's desperate pleas crashed over her like waves, pulling her down into helplessness.

But then something snapped inside her.

She clenched her jaw, her hands curling into fists at her sides, her grief giving way to anger. Her face hardened as she tilted her chin up, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"CLYDE!" she bellowed, her tone thunderous, her eyes burning with rage. "GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The very air in the church shifted. A harsh wind whipped through the space, rattling the pews, flickering the candles. Then, in a violent swirl of energy, Clyde appeared beside her, his expression twisted in annoyance.

"Bring back Leo. Now." Piper cut him off coldly, her eyes dark and unrelenting.

Clyde held her gaze for a moment, then his lips twisted in frustration. He let out a sharp exhale and snapped his fingers.

Instantly, a familiar glowing doorway materialized beside him, and within seconds, Paige, Faith, and Leo shot out of it. Unlike before, they landed on their feet this time, Paige stumbling only slightly as she adjusted to the sudden change in reality.

Paige blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing where they were. Her clothes were back to normal, her hands flexing instinctively.

Leo, however, didn't need a moment to process anything.

His head whipped toward Piper; eyes wild with concern. "Buffy and Cole have been shot!" Piper blurted out, her voice cracking, desperation creeping in as she gestured between her two fallen loved ones.

Leo's gaze darted between them. Phoebe, kneeling over Cole, her face streaked with tears, her lips trembling as she silently pleaded with him. And Prue, her entire body hunched over Buffy, hands pressed down in a futile attempt to keep the blood inside her wife's body.

His jaw clenched. He made his decision.

Without hesitation, he rushed to Cole's side first.

Piper squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he wasn't too late. That he wouldn't be too late for either of them.

Then, she turned, locking eyes with Paige.

Paige inhaled sharply, understanding without words. Without hesitation, she moved toward Phoebe, ready to help however she could.

Phoebe stepped back instantly at Leo's command, but she couldn't let go completely—her hand found Paige's, gripping it tightly as they both watched with bated breath. Leo's hands hovered over Cole's wound, a golden glow emanating from his palms. The light flickered and pulsed, casting soft reflections on Cole's pale, sweat-slicked skin as the magic worked to undo the damage.

Clyde, still standing near the swirling door he had summoned, narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. His voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade. "FRANKIE! LULU!" he bellowed, his tone brooking no argument. His hands shot up, fingers curling in midair as if grasping something unseen. An unnatural wind howled through the room, and suddenly, Frankie and Lulu's spirits were yanked backward, spiraling through the air like phantoms caught in a storm.

"Where do you think you're going?" Clyde sneered as he dragged them back through the portal. With a sharp snap of his wrist, the door slammed shut behind them, sealing them away. The moment it vanished, the golden glow of Leo's magic intensified—its warmth spreading across Cole's body.

Then, with a sudden intake of breath, Cole sat up.

"LEO!"

Piper didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees beside Prue, her hands immediately covering Prue's own as they both applied pressure to Buffy's wound. The warm, sticky blood coated their fingers, but Piper ignored it, her focus laser-sharp.

Prue turned to her, her tear-streaked face a portrait of anguish. Her lips trembled as she spoke, her voice breaking apart like shattered glass. "Piper, she's unresponsive." The words were barely above a whisper, but the devastation in them was deafening.

Piper swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay composed despite the way her chest ached. "She's gonna be okay." Her voice wavered, but she pushed through it. She had to believe it. She had to make Prue believe it. Turning her attention to Buffy, she moved one hand to gently touch her sister-in-law's face, her fingers ghosting over Buffy's pale skin. "You hear me?" Piper's voice was firmer now, thick with determination. "You're gonna be okay, Buffy. Leo will be right over, so don't you dare die on us!"

A few feet away, Phoebe clung to Cole, her breath still uneven, her pulse still racing. Her arms wrapped around him as tightly as they could, as if holding him together would keep him from slipping away. "Thank God you're okay!" she gasped, her voice raw with emotion. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. "I was so scared. I thought… I thought—" Her voice cracked, unable to finish the sentence.

Cole reached up, gently cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. He offered her a reassuring smile, his touch grounding her. "Hey, hey," he soothed. "I'm okay."

A sudden, broken sob tore through the air.

Prue.

She let out a strangled cry when Buffy still didn't respond, her body shaking with the force of her grief. "Oh God, no. Please, no!" she pleaded, shaking her head, her fingers digging into Buffy's blood-soaked shirt as if she could will her wife back to her.

Her desperate cries pulled the others' attention, and in an instant, Phoebe, Cole, Faith, and Paige all turned toward the scene. The dread in the room was suffocating.

Piper's head dropped against Prue's shoulder for the briefest of moments, a silent exchange of shared pain and fear passing between them. But then, her resolve hardened. She snapped her head up, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "LEO!" she shouted, urgency laced in every syllable.

Leo was already moving before she finished saying his name. He ran to them, falling to his knees beside Buffy's still form. Piper quickly pulled Prue to her feet, gently guiding her away to give him space.

But Leo hesitated.

His lips pressed into a tight line as his gaze flickered over Buffy's body. Healing wasn't going to be as simple as it had been with Cole. Buffy wasn't just human—her demon half made things complicated. He could heal her, but only the parts of her that were human. It wouldn't be enough.

Leo's gaze darted to Paige. "Paige!" he called, urgency filling his voice.

Paige's breath hitched, but she didn't hesitate. She knew exactly what he needed. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him.

Leo reached for her, clasping her hand tightly in his own. nodded, her own magic rising to the surface, mingling with Leo's. Together, they reached for Buffy, placing their free hands over her wound.

The golden light pulsed and grew stronger, its warmth spreading across Buffy's body, seeping into her skin, coaxing life back into her.

Near them, Cole—still weak but stable—moved closer with Phoebe's help. His gaze softened as he looked down at Buffy, the worry etched into his features. "Elizabeth," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Phoebe slowly turned, her entire body rigid with barely restrained fury as she locked eyes on Clyde. Her death glare could have melted steel, and Clyde—ever the cocky ghost—raised his hands in a mock surrender, though his smirk never wavered.

"Uh… it's an unfortunate slip-up," he said with a nonchalant shrug, though his expression darkened as he narrowed his eyes at her. "I told ya, it's a dangerous journey." His voice carried a smug undertone, as if he had warned them all along. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished into thin air.

The moment Clyde was gone, Buffy let out a low groan, blinking herself back to full awareness as she sat up. Leo and Paige moved swiftly, each taking an arm and hauling her up to her feet. She swayed slightly but quickly regained her balance, rolling her shoulders with a wince.

"You, okay?" Leo asked, his voice filled with concern as he scanned her face for any lingering signs of pain.

Buffy managed a tired but genuine smile, glancing at both Leo and Paige. "Thanks, Leo. Thanks, Paige," she murmured gratefully. Her gaze then shifted to Prue—her wife, her anchor—who, without hesitation, threw herself into Buffy's arms.

Silent sobs racked Prue's body as she clung desperately to Buffy, holding her as if she might disappear again. Buffy wrapped her arms around her tightly, whispering gentle reassurances into her ear. "I'm okay." She repeated it again and again, each time pressing the words into Prue's skin, willing her to believe it.

Finally, she pulled back just enough to cup Prue's face between her hands, tilting her chin up so that their eyes met. "I'm okay," she said once more, her voice steady, her conviction unwavering. And before Prue could protest, Buffy leaned in, pressing their lips together. The kiss was deep, desperate—muffling Prue's sobs, grounding them both in the warmth of each other.

Piper let out a deep sigh of relief, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. She stepped toward Leo, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. "Well done," she whispered gratefully, glancing at Paige as well, her eyes filled with unspoken thanks.

Leo pressed a soft kiss to her head in response, his arms tightening around her. They had all come too close to losing too much tonight.

Meanwhile, Cole turned to Buffy, his brows slightly furrowed as he studied her. "Are you okay?" His voice carried the weight of both worry and sibling protectiveness.

Buffy, finally feeling steadier, gave him a small smirk. "Yeah, little brother, I'm okay."

She watched as Cole exhaled, his gaze drifting toward Phoebe. The moment their eyes met, everything else seemed to fade. There was nothing but them.

"You never answered the chaplain's question," Cole stated, his voice lighter now, more comfortable knowing that they had made it through the worst of it.

Phoebe let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she leaned into him. "I never answered your question," she corrected, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she steadied herself against him. Cole's breath hitched slightly as she took a slow, deep inhale. Then, with all the love and certainty in her heart, she whispered, "Ask me again."

A slow smile spread across Cole's face as he nodded, inhaling deeply before speaking. "Will you marry me?"

For a beat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Phoebe's face lit up, joy radiating from her as she nodded emphatically. "Yes, I will."

Cole exhaled sharply, a wide grin breaking across his lips as he pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"YAY!" Buffy cheered, her voice bursting with excitement.

Piper and Faith exchanged grins, warmth flooding their expressions as they watched the moment unfold.

Prue, finally steady again, released Buffy from her grasp and wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks. Then, shaking off the last remnants of her emotional turmoil, she strode toward the happy couple just as Cole released Phoebe from his embrace. She reached out and tapped his shoulder. Cole turned, smiling—but his expression shifted when he caught the mischievous glint in Prue's eyes. "This is for knocking me out," she announced with a saccharine smile.

Cole barely had time to frown in confusion before—smack!

Phoebe gasped, her eyes going wide. "PRUE!" she cried in disbelief.

But before Cole could even recover, Prue struck again. Smack! "And that was for shooting my wife, who is your sister," she added, her voice sharp with playful menace.

Cole let out a groan, rubbing his stinging face as Prue spun on her heel—only to pause, glance back at him, and extend her hand.

He eyed her warily before taking it. With an actual, genuine smile this time, she helped him to his feet. "Congratulations," she said, her tone lighter now, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Halliwell Manor

"Thanks, you guys!" Phoebe beamed, her eyes shining as she raised her glass. The four women sat comfortably around the dining room table; their post-battle exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the warm glow of sisterly companionship. Paige and Phoebe sat on one side, while Prue and Piper were on the other, the table between them cluttered with the remnants of dinner and a celebratory drink in their hands. With a shared grin, they clinked their glasses together, the soft chime ringing through the cozy room.

"You're very welcome, baby girl," Prue said, her voice affectionate as she smiled across the table at her younger sister, the protective warmth in her gaze evident.

Piper nodded, her expression slipping into something more serious. "Just no weddings till we vanquish the Source," she warned, her brow arching meaningfully.

Phoebe nodded dutifully, though a playful smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Noted," she said, raising her glass slightly in acknowledgment.

Paige, who had been mid-sip, suddenly hesitated, her nose scrunching as she peered down at the contents of her glass. "Apple cider?" she questioned, glancing between her sisters.

Prue nodded in confirmation, swirling her own drink idly. "Apple cider," she affirmed with a small smirk, knowing full well Paige had been expecting something stronger.

Phoebe turned to Prue, narrowing her eyes in mild accusation. "I still can't believe you slapped my fiancé," she said, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Twice!"

Prue merely shrugged, entirely unapologetic. "He hit me first," she reminded her with a pointed look, taking another sip before lazily gesturing with her free hand. "And he shot my wife—his sister—so..." She let the sentence hang, shrugging again as if the logic was obvious.

Phoebe groaned, rolling her eyes. "Prue!"

"Hey, be grateful," Prue added, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I could have sucker-punched him."

That earned a giggle from Phoebe, who shook her head in amused exasperation.

Piper, watching the exchange with a small smirk, shifted her gaze to her older sister. "Where is Buffy, by the way?" she asked.

Prue's expression softened instantly at the mention of her wife. "She and Faith are in Sunnydale," she replied, the familiar warmth returning to her voice. "They should be home very soon, though—like, now." She chuckled as she glanced toward the door, as if willing it to swing open at that very moment. Then she turned back to her sisters with a pointed look.

Phoebe caught on immediately, straightening in her seat as she turned toward Paige with an expectant expression. "So, Paige," she said, her tone deliberately casual but laced with curiosity. "You haven't told us yet, and we're dying to know."

Paige sighed, setting her glass down with a small clink, already knowing where this was going. "What happened in your past?" Phoebe pressed gently.

Paige hesitated for only a second before offering a one-shouldered shrug. "Well," she said, exhaling slowly, "I found out I was not responsible for the accident." Her voice was steady, and there was a quiet confidence in her nod that hadn't been there before.

"Of course, you weren't," Piper said without hesitation, her tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. Prue and Phoebe both shook their heads in agreement, their faces reflecting the unwavering support they had for their youngest sister.

Before the conversation could continue, the front door suddenly swung open, and a familiar voice rang through the house.

"PRUE?" Buffy called loudly, her voice carrying easily through the hallway.

A wide, radiant smile instantly split across Prue's face at the sound of her wife's voice, her heart lifting at the mere presence of it.

"Hey!" Piper greeted, grinning as Buffy and Faith came into view, both women stepping inside with the relaxed ease of family returning home.

Buffy returned the smile but then hesitated, cringing slightly as she glanced between them. "Oops. Are Faith and I interrupting something?" she asked, tilting her head in mild curiosity.

Paige simply shrugged, lifting her glass nonchalantly, while Phoebe shook her head, smiling.

Prue shot up from her chair, the legs scraping against the floor as she surged forward, wrapping her arms around Buffy in a fierce embrace. She held her tightly, not saying a word at first, just closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent of her wife ground her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the echoes of the earlier battle still fresh in her mind, but Buffy was here, warm and alive in her arms.

After a moment, Prue pulled back slightly, her lips curving into a smirk as she met Buffy's gaze. "Of course you are," she teased in response to Buffy's question, "but it's okay. I'm just happy you're still here." Her smirk wavered, her brow furrowing slightly at the weight of her own words, the near-loss of Buffy pressing heavily on her chest. Before she could dwell on it, she cupped Buffy's face and kissed her hard, pouring all her relief, gratitude, and love into that single, desperate kiss. When she finally pulled away, she turned back to her sisters, a bright smile on her face—one that immediately faltered when she caught sight of Paige.

Paige was smiling, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a sadness lingering beneath the surface, a wistfulness that made Prue's heart clench.

"What's the matter, Paige?" Faith asked gently, her voice soft with concern.

Paige hesitated, glancing sideways as if debating whether to speak, but when she finally answered, she seemed comfortable enough saying it aloud even with Buffy present. "I just—it makes me sad that my parents won't see… us, or what I've become," she admitted quietly, her gaze dropping to the table as if the words were somehow too heavy to lift.

A beat of silence filled the room before Leo's voice countered from the living room, his tone carrying a knowing warmth. "Actually, that's not quite true."

Paige's head snapped up, her brows knitting together in confusion. She turned just in time to see two shimmering figures materializing before her, their ghostly forms slowly becoming more solid, more real.

The room collectively stilled.

Phoebe's eyes widened, and she immediately flicked her gaze toward Piper, whose own expression mirrored her own—shock, awe, and a touch of disbelief. Prue's eyebrows shot to her hairline as she instinctively reached for Buffy's hand, watching the scene unfold with bated breath.

Paige, frozen in place, slowly rose from her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if to steady herself. Her eyes never left the two figures standing before her, barely daring to blink in case they disappeared like a cruel illusion.

"Uh… Leo?" Piper's voice broke the silence, her wide eyes darting to her husband, silently demanding an explanation.

Leo simply smiled; his gaze full of quiet satisfaction. "Let's just say that I owe Clyde now," he replied, his cryptic words laced with gratitude.

Paige barely heard the exchange. Her entire world had narrowed down to the two people standing before her.

"We know who you are, honey," Mrs. Matthews said softly, her voice rich with warmth as she gazed at her daughter with a proud smile. "Who you've become."

Paige let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the weight of their words sank in.

"We've been with you every step of the way," Mr. Matthews added, his eyes brimming with love as he took in the sight of his daughter—all grown up, strong, powerful, and yet still the little girl they had loved so deeply. "And we're so proud of you, sweetheart."

The dam broke.

A wide, tearful grin spread across Paige's face as a choked sob escaped her lips. Without hesitation, she surged forward, throwing her arms around both of them, enveloping herself in their embrace. And for the first time in so many years, she felt the warmth of their touch, the familiarity of their love, and the security of being their little girl again.

As Paige held onto her parents, Leo turned to Faith with a knowing smile. "And Faith," he said, his voice gentle. "An early birthday present."

Faith blinked, caught off guard as she turned toward him—only to freeze when two more figures began to materialize before her. Her breath hitched as she watched the shimmering forms solidify into two familiar faces—her birth mother, Ashara Bowen, and the woman who had been her Watcher and had become her surrogate mother, Diana Dormer.

Faith's throat tightened, her fingers curling into fists as she took an unsteady step forward. "Mom… Diana," she breathed, her voice small, almost disbelieving.

Before either woman could respond, Faith lunged forward, throwing her arms around them in a desperate, almost crushing embrace, as if she could somehow make up for all the lost time in a single moment.

Ashara pressed a soft kiss to her daughter's hair. "I've been watching over you since the day your father killed me," she whispered, her voice filled with the sorrow of their stolen time but also the immense pride of the woman Faith had become.

"And I've been watching over you since the day Kakistos killed me," Diana added, her grip tightening around Faith's shaking frame. "And I think Ashara will agree with me when I say—we are so incredibly proud of the young woman you've become, Faith."

Faith let out a small, shaky laugh, her shoulders trembling as she held them tighter, her usual tough exterior completely stripped away in the face of the unconditional love she had always longed for.

Phoebe watched the scene unfold, her lips pressing together as a tear slipped down her cheek. She stole a glance at Piper, whose gaze was darting between Paige, Faith, and Leo, pride and love swelling in her chest for the man she had married. Then she turned to Prue, who was openly crying, but smiling through her tears as Buffy held her close.

Phoebe sighed contentedly, feeling warmth bloom in her chest. She turned back toward Paige and Faith, taking in their radiant, tear-streaked faces, their laughter mixed with sobs, the sheer joy radiating from them. She had never seen them happier than they were right now.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting golden light over the room as Prue and Buffy moved through their nightly routine. The adrenaline from the day's events had worn off, but the weight of everything that had happened still clung to them. Prue sat on the edge of the bed, absently running a brush through her dark hair, her eyes flicking up to watch Buffy, who stood at the dresser, tugging off her shirt with slow, deliberate movements. There was an unspoken heaviness between them, a conversation hovering in the air, waiting to be had.

Prue finally exhaled and set the brush down. "Buffy," she said, her voice quieter than she intended, though the concern behind it was anything but subtle.

Buffy didn't turn immediately, instead slipping into one of Prue's oversized sleep shirts, the fabric swallowing her smaller frame. Then, finally, she faced her wife, already knowing where this was going.

"You're wondering how I almost died," Buffy said, her tone laced with something thoughtful, as if she had been asking herself the same question. She crossed the room, sitting beside Prue on the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. "Since being half-demon, a vanquishing potion should have been required to take me out."

Prue nodded, her brows knitting together as she studied Buffy carefully. It had been gnawing at her all night—how close she had come to losing her, how inexplicable it was that Buffy had been so vulnerable when she shouldn't have been.

Buffy let out a slow breath, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. "To tell the truth, I don't really know," she admitted, shaking her head slightly. "This is the third time I've almost died."

Prue stiffened slightly, her grip on Buffy's hand tightening.

"The first time, I drowned at the hands of the Master," Buffy continued, her voice distant as she recalled that moment—the cold water filling her lungs, the darkness closing in. "The second time was when the Source nearly killed me and Cole. And the third time was today."

Prue swallowed hard, the reminder of just how many times Buffy had brushed up against death making her heart ache.

"I figure maybe… something about my human half being the Slayer has something to do with it," Buffy mused, her expression twisting in frustration, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. "Maybe it makes me… I don't know." She sighed, rubbing at her temple. "More susceptible to death in ways that my demon half can't fully override? Maybe the Slayer part of me is tied to human mortality in a way I don't fully understand."

Prue frowned, absorbing Buffy's words. It made a strange kind of sense, even if it didn't provide the clear-cut answer she was looking for. A Slayer's destiny had always been to fight, to protect, but ultimately—to die young. Maybe Buffy's half-demon nature could only do so much to counteract that fate.

Prue reached up, gently cupping Buffy's face, her thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "Whatever the reason," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "I don't care. I just care that you're still here."

Buffy offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Me too."