katikat | Fic: Fade to Black

Title: Fade to Black
Author:

katikat
Fandom: Charmed
Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply here.
Genre: gen, future fic
Warning: character death
Sequel to: "Conversation about Death"
Words: ~1100
Prompt: "There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it." - George Bernard Shaw.
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Notes: My big thank-you goes to my lovely

yami_tai for her amazing beta job ;)

His sole goal in life was to keep Wyatt safe, to keep him from turning evil. And now he’d achieved it. Wyatt was safe, Wyatt was a good witch, he died protecting his brother but he never thought that it would be like this. Never...

-----

Chris and Wyatt were at the supermarket down the street, picking up the last bits and pieces for Chris' birthday party - some napkins, paper plates and some sort of unpronounceable Vietnamese spice that Piper wanted to try on their barbecue food. They were laughing, bickering and shoving each other and once their basket was full, they headed for the cash desk.

They just rounded the end of the last aisle, Chris in front, Wyatt bouncing behind him and poking his brother in the ribs, when the counter came in sight and Chris stopped so abruptly that Wyatt ran into him from behind.

There, at the cash desk, a man with greasy yellow hair stood, clothes stiff with filth, a baseball cap on his head... and he was pointing a sawed-off shotgun at the cashier. The robber had heard them coming, heard their laughter and now he swung around, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Chris noticed that the man had blue eyes, that they were wild and wide open, crazy... before shoving Wyatt back hard behind the shelf, the basket dropping to the tiled floor, spilling its contents everywhere. The powerful blast caught him directly in the chest from not even ten feet away. It lifted him from his feet and threw him backwards and dimly, he thought: "Ouch, that'll hurt..."

He never felt himself hitting the ground.

-----

When he opened his eyes, he was still there, in the store but everything was eerily quiet. There were no shouts, no shooting, no sound of feet running. For a moment he feared that he’d gone deaf or that everybody was dead. That Wyatt was dead!

Sitting up abruptly, he wanted to call out to his brother but before he could even open his mouth, a gentle voice stopped him. "Easy, Christopher. It's over. Everything is over now."

Blinking, Chris looked up and there he was, Clarence. In white clothes, surrounded by a halo of golden light. His personal Angel of Death had come for him. His appointed life-span had run out.

"Clarence?" Chris whispered. His mind felt still rather fuzzy.

The dark-skinned man smiled and offering Chris a hand, he helped the younger man stand. "Did you expect someone else?" he chided. "I promised to come for you when your time arrived."

Chris nodded numbly. So that was it. It was over. Everything was over. No more everyday worries, no more potions to mix and no more demons to kill. No more getting up at the crack of dawn to get to the shower before his brother ran it cold...

Brother! Wyatt!

Snapping to attention, Chris looked around wildly but the store was empty: there was no body, no bloody smear, nothing at all. There were no people and the shop's windows were blank, showing no street or cars or pedestrians...

Chris turned towards Clarence and gripped the Angel of Death's hand. "Wyatt! Where's Wyatt, Clarence? Is he okay? Is he safe?" he asked, panicking. He remembered pushing Wyatt away to protect him from the shotgun's blast but that was it. Chris didn't know what happened to his brother.

Clarence looked at him, sad and sorrowful. "He's not here, Christopher," he said softly.

Chris' panic didn't subside. "Does that mean that he's okay?" he demanded anxiously.

Shaking his head, Clarence sighed. "I don't know. I came for you. You were my assignment. I don't know if another Angel of Death..."

Chris squeezed Clarence arm even tighter and shook him. "Please, can we look? Please, Clarence. I need to know that he's okay."

Looking very sympathetic, Clarence nonetheless shook his head firmly. "No, Christopher. You are dead and your place isn't on Earth anymore. I must take you where you belong. Even now, we've been here longer than appropriate. The rules..."

"Screw the rules!" Chris shouted, stepping away from Clarence. "Screw them! In the last twenty-three years, you've bent the rules so many times where I was concerned. What's another exception?" There was so much desperation in his voice, so much pain when he continued. "I need to know for sure, Clarence. I devoted my whole life to his protection. I need to know that he's okay." His voice broke and there were tears in his eyes.

Clarence frowned, then shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Chris' words about bending the rules were true. In the end, he just sighed and shook is head but it wasn't a gesture of refusal but one of resignation. "Fine," he submitted. "I always had a soft spot for you." He lifted his forefinger in warning though. "But this is the last time!"

Chris nodded and watched as Clarence closed his eyes and concentrated, then waved his hand. And suddenly, everything rushed back: cars, people, movement, sounds...

A harsh, painful sobbing.

Slowly, Chris turned towards the sound and his throat tightened. "Oh, Wyatt..." he whispered, covering his mouth with his hand.

There he was, Wyatt, sitting on the ground and holding Chris' bloodied, lifeless body in his arms, rocking back and forth, back and forth. He was embracing Chris tightly, clinging to his brother. There was a dark, red smear on the white wall where Chris hit it before sliding down, the pool of blood growing larger and larger around the brothers, soaking into both of their clothes. Wyatt's skin was snow white, eyes swollen and tightly closed, tears running down his cheeks. His blond curls were disheveled and there was a bruise forming on his forehead where he must have hit his head when Chris shoved him.

Wyatt was disconsolate and his desperation was rolling off of him in waves. And Chris couldn't stand seeing his brother like this.

Chris wanted to step closer but Clarence gripped his arm tightly. "No, Christopher," he said and this time, his tone didn't allow any arguments.

"But..."

Shaking his head, Clarence repeated. "No."

Chris stood there helplessly, his heart seizing painfully. He knew that he was going to die but he never thought that it would be like this. He never realized how much his death would hurt the people he would leave behind. He was so sure that his family would be okay, that they would face the loss together, that they would...

But now, seeing Wyatt so desolate... His brother was still sitting there, rocking Chris' dead body gently, petting his hair and his back, whispering "nonononono" under his breath while more and more tears were sliding down his flushed cheeks.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"We must go." Clarence's voice was kind, sympathetic but firm and when Chris looked at him with tearful eyes to beg for... he wasn't even sure for what... the Angel of Death just shook his head and laid a gentle hand on his charge's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

And then everything faded to black.

The End