Konichiwa Okay, this one is a little weird – very un-Chris-ish, but I was just in that sort of mood. This is one of my late-night-not-really-trying oneshots, so please don’t flame. Like I said, it’s pretty much the opposite of Chris; but I was in one of those moods. You know the ones. You can’t really blame me, though, since I’m starting school tomorrow –sigh– Whatever.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Charmed.

I don’t give a damn about Innocents. I know everyone thinks I do because I’m a good witch—a Halliwell, in fact—but the Innocents can all burn in hell for all I care. Sometimes I think that I’m just like him, that if I admit that I don’t care, I’ll lose my humanity… So I don’t ever say the words out loud, but that doesn’t stop me from believing it in my heart. All that ‘saving the Innocent’ stuff is just a load of crap.

If they’re so innocent, why are witches saving at least half of them from demons that feed on their selfishness? And why the hell can’t they just find their own damn way to protect themselves? Why didn’t the Power That Be just give them powers and let them save their own asses?

I’m afraid—all the time now—because sometimes I wonder why I’m fighting. What if I decide to give up one day because, hey, maybe he’s right? What if there is no good or evil; what if it really is all about power. It sure seems that way—he’s got power, and everyone seems to be kissing his toes.

And why do I fight him—why do I feel the need to relive to story of Cain and Abel—if not for Innocents? I guess that’s what everyone believes, that I’m a hero, one who sacrafices his life to save Innocents. They can’t even begin to imagine how wrong they are.

I don’t give a damn about Innocents; they can all burn in hell for all I care. The only reason I do all this—risk my life for people I don’t even know—is because that’s what my mom wants me to do. Hell, you can call me a Momma’s boy; I don’t care. She brought me up, drumming the manta into me until I could repeat it in my sleep—and probably often did. Our job is to protect the Innocents, not punish the guilty.

Family means everything to me… everything. I loved my mother—still do, even though she can’t love me back anymore. Well, she can… but I can never hear her reassuring words wash over me.

“I love you, baby.”

I’ll never hear her sweet voice whisper something comforting into my ear just before I nod off to sleep in her arms. Okay, so her voice wasn’t exactly sweet most of the time, considering more than half of my life was spent looking for ways to get in trouble. Sure, she usually sounded more pissed than loving; so I don’t really know anyone who would use the word ‘sweet’ to describe her voice. She had this way, though, of making everything seem okay in the end.

I don’t care about those damn Innocents, the ones that don’t even thank you for saving their lives. Half the time they don’t even know we’re risking our lives for them, but when they do they shower us with distrust and hate—for being different, for saving their freakin’ lives. They don’t care—they don’t see a hero or even a human for that matter; all they see is the witch underneath.

I’m different. I’m a freak.

So you know what, you Innocents can go find someone else to save your asses. You don’t want us, and we don’t want to waste our lives saving you. But, of course, that would be going against my mother’s teachings; and that is something that I’m not willing to do—even for my peace of mind. I promised at her grave—as tears blinded my vision—that I would continue to fight, that I wouldn’t let evil win.

But sometimes I’m not even sure evil exists. Sounds crazy, huh? I guess he got to me more than I thought. Living with someone practically your whole life does that to you sometimes.

I don’t even know why or how I’m still alive—emotionally, at the very least. I lost everyone I ever loved… well, not everyone. In some ways he’s gone, but when I see him standing before me I can’t help but feel comforted somehow. He’s still here—and I know my love for him won’t stop him from killing me, but I can’t help but feel reassured. He’s always taken care of me, and now shouldn’t be any different.

Of course, it is different—he’s different—but that’s okay. I love him anyway. I don’t even know why anymore, but I guess it’s because he’s all I have left. I guess that’s not much, huh?

If he’s the only person left in the world that I care about, though, why do I have such a hard job joining him? I know it’s not because of the Innocents—hell, I probably wouldn’t mind feeding the Innocents to him one a silver platter. They’re not the problem—far from it. It’s Mom. Why did she have to teach me all about those helpless Innocents.

I still don’t understand it, though. She’s dead, yet he’s still very much alive. Why can’t I just forget what she taught me and give up? I know it’s what I want more than anything—to be with him again, to be safe again.

At first I thought there was something wrong with me. When I was little, I didn’t care about the Innocents—never—and I was afraid that it might be because I was evil. I didn’t want to be evil because I knew what my family did to evil—they vanquished it. And let me tell you, being vanquished wasn’t high on my to-do list.

Although now…

I tried to pretend that I was just like everyone else—that I cared about the stupid mortals that I was destined to protect. Sometimes, I think I even fooled myself. I saved more Innocents than could ever be counted, but I didn’t want to. It’s not that I wanted to specifically kill them; I just didn’t care at all about protecting them. I wouldn’t mind hearing their screams and tortured pleas. I guess that makes me evil, doesn’t it?

The funny is, I wouldn’t really care if it hadn’t been for what my mother instilled in me from an age before I could even remember. Protect the Innocents. I didn’t do it for them, though—still don’t—I do it for her… because I love her and because she told me to, taught me to. And if she wanted me to kill them, I’d do that to—just because she asked me to. I would give up my heart to hear hers beat again.

Well, life’s no fairytale; and I think my fary godmother broke her magic wand. She’s not coming back—she’s dead. I saw her die, saw her take her last breath as I held her lifeless body in my arms, saw her eyes flutter shut even as I begged her to fight for just a few minutes longer. I called for every damn Whitelighter I’d ever known—the joys of anti-orbing spells—no one could get in. Clearly, the demons that had killed her weren’t as stupid as I might have thought.

Of course, they were stupid enough to think they could get away with it. The moment the spell was lifted, I orbed to the Underworld, killing every freakin’ demon in my path until I found the ones I wanted. And I didn’t just kill them; I made them beg for mercy until they were nothing more than small piles of ash.

And then, I broke down and cried, sinking to the floor and burying my face in my hands. I was horrified at what I had done—at the way I had just killed the demons with a chilliness I’d never felt before. It scared the shit out of me—not because I murdered the demons, but because I knew that I would have done the same if it were just some stupid mortal. I would have driven a dagger through someone’s heart without giving him a second glance.

You could say that makes me like him, but I disagree. You see, there’s one big difference between the two of us, one no one in the magical community—or my family—could ever ignore. He had power. I was just someone in the background, second best. He was their whole freakin’ world, and I was just the extra—the mistake.

What’s funny is that I still loved them with all my heart, the same heart that was torn into shreds on y fourteenth birthday. People think they’ve had crappy birthdays because some distant relative forgot to get a gift or because they didn’t get the exact video game they wanted. I really pity them—or maybe I envy them, I don’t know—they don’t know a thing about the real world.

Come back to me when your mom is killed in your arms with you unable to help… on your birthday—come back to me then, and we’ll see how much you care about some freakin’ relative that lived in Arizona and you didn’t even know for more than half your life. We’ll see how much you care about that stupid video game then.

When you see the things that I’ve seen, you get a better perspective on life. Sounds like a load of bull, I know—believe me, I know. It’s true, though. Once you get past the confusion and sadness and anger and absolute hatred for every living being on the planet—including yourself—you’ll realize that you’ve learned something.

You’ve learned that nothing matters.

If I’m lucky, people look at me and think I’m a hero, protecting the world from him when I’ve got nothing left to fight for. Mostly, though, they see me for what I really am—a freak of nature, something out of the ordinary, a witch. So what? Let them stare, let them point their fingers and whisper about me behind my back—or right in front of my face, I don’t care. Let them pull their kids into their houses as I pass, whispering not to look at the witch.

They don’t seem to get that I don’t care what they throw at me. I don’t care how they feel about me because I can assure you, I most definitely feel the same way about them. You think I should be burned for my sins? Well, I’ve got news for you—the feelings mutual. We’re not in Salem; I won’t burn for you just because you point your finger and scream, “Witch!”

And if it weren’t for my mother’s mantra, the one she repeated every day for fourteen years of my life, I would be at your throat in a second. I swear I wouldn’t even hesitate for a moment, and you’re life would end before it really began. If it weren’t for my mother’s mantra… But it’s her mantra, not mine; so I don’t know why the hell I keep listening to her voice inside my head.

“Why do we need to protect them, Mommy?” I remember asking before I realized that I wasn’t supposed to think that way, that I had to hide what I really felt.

“Because they’re Innocents, baby.”

Innocents. I hate that word. I don’t give a damn whether they live or not. I just want my family back. Let the Innocents die at his hand; I don’t care one way or the other. The only reason I’m doing this is because it’s what she would have wanted—it’s what my mother wanted.

So even though she’s dead and even though the only person left is the one I’m fighting every second of every day of every week, month after month after month—I’m still going to protect those damn Innocents. Yeah, the ones that can’t defend themselves because, hey, that’s what witches do, right? It’s all for the Greater Good.

Like hell.

I don’t even know why I’m doing this anymore. Mom’s gone, and I should be with the only person I have left in the world—he’s doing what I always thought about doing anyway, so why the hell not? Mom’s gone; she’d never know the difference.

But I can’t—I can’t disobey her. I loved her. No. I love her—always. Forever. No matter how many times I replay her death in my mind or in my dreams. No matter how many times I try to forget so that I can just give up and go to him. No matter how many times I close my eyes and wish—no, plead—for death to finally come and claim me. No matter how many times I curse those freakin’ Innocents under my breath because they’ve ruined my life, stolen my family. I’ll continue protecting them.

I already know why—I’ve already gotten myself convinced. It’s the freakin’ right thing to do. So my mom’s gone, dead. My father doesn’t give a shit about me one way or another. The rest of my family died as well. And he’s off being his rampaging, evil self. Looks like he’s the only one I’ve got left. And even though I’ll never join him willingly, there’s one thought that keeps haunting me—day and night. Because I know it will never happen—it can’t as long as I continue to defy him and follow my mother’s mantre… the one I don’t really give a shit about in the first place.

And that one thought keeps spiraling in my head, threatening to make me lose my mind—oh wait, I forgot that I already lost my mind.

“I just want my brother back,” my thoughts scream. No matter how much he tortures me, no matter how much I pretend that I hate him, that I’m good, I still just want him back.

I sigh and lean back against the hard, wooden chair, closing my eyes so that I can pretend that maybe—just maybe—everything okay. Maybe the world isn’t in its own personal hell with it’s own personal Hitler to guide it. Maybe my family’s really alive, sitting in a home that isn’t a museum for the public—the Innocents—to visit. Maybe life was really just that: life.

Who am I kidding? There is no life; he destroyed it—my own brother destroyed the world, sending it to hell in a handbasket—and you want to know what the worst part about it is?

I don’t even care.

--End---