The Christmas Drifter

Chapter One: Savior

Phoebe Halliwell was late.

It was exactly two days before Christmas, and she regretfully admitted she didn't have a single gosh darn gift to show for it. The holiday season had dutifully crept up on her without a moment's notice, and she had initially hoped to avoid the insane crowds and the terribly caustic hustle and bustle that came with the unquestionably boisterous chaos of the holiday season. The streets were meticulously lined with strings of colored lights and bright green wreaths with big red bows, and the incessant chatter around her was becoming harder and harder to drown out, as she casually made her way over to the local bakery. Breathing an intense sigh of relief, she quickly yanked open the door and smiled as it shut behind her.

She had it on good authority that Piper was dragging her feet in preparing for the so-called festive 'costumes optional' extravaganza she was hosting at P3 in about six hours, and the club was bound to be jam packed with bodies lining up at the door for discounted drinks and as fate would have it- free cookies. That was likely all the incentive some people needed to get themselves off of the sofa and away from the television set, even if the end result was added calories. But it was obviously common knowledge by now that the indubitably stressful event in question had ruefully commanded her older sister's complete and undivided attention and was clearly leaving time for little else.

Phoebe figured she had no choice but to ultimately do her unemployed best to save all things holy and preserve the Halliwell spirit.

The short, jovial young woman behind the counter must have been eagerly anticipating any arrival that would constitute pulling her from the deeply despaired trenches of unrequited boredom, because she happily tossed a yellow flyer into the Charmed One's empty hands, and her face immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Her long blonde curls bounced wildly on either side of her round profile, as she excitedly tapped a fluorescent pink nail across her own copy, professing a wide-toothed grin. Her gold nametag read 'Brenda' in evenly spaced black capital letters. "It's buy one get one free with the pastries today. We're running an early bird special because we're closing at noon tomorrow. You should try the pecan and maple. It's just so good."

"Yeah, that's...that's really great and everything, but I, uh...well, I was actually kind of hoping for a pie," she informed her, laughing nervously, and feeling just a tinge of guilt over her opponent's unwavering enthusiasm.

"A pie?" Brenda looked as if she'd just been slapped.

"A pie," Phoebe confirmed. "Do you guys have any pumpkin?"

The newly perturbed sales girl stubbornly folded her arms across her chest, her friendly demeanor rapidly deflating when she rolled her eyes and pointed behind her to indicate the top right shelf. "We've only got chocolate, cherry, and apple," she added, her voice clipped.

Phoebe merely nodded, doing her utmost best to refrain from laughing, as she effortlessly peeled a wad of cash from the front left pocket of her jeans. "Okay, I guess I'll take the chocolate then."

"Are you absolutely positively sure you don't want a pastry?" Brenda attempted yet again, cheerfully carrying on the conversation like nothing had happened, while she clumsily reached for the deliciously crafted pie.

Phoebe nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief once it had been safely placed inside one of the brown paperboard boxes lining the clean counter, and hastily tossed a couple of bills towards the cash register, rocking back upon the balls of her feet. "Yes, I'm absolutely positively sure. The last I checked, my sisters and I weren't planning on eating pastries for Christmas dinner. I mean I appreciate the offer, I really do, it's just..."

"Forget it, it's cool." She reluctantly collected the money and promptly handed Phoebe her change. "If my boss wasn't being so stupid about it, I seriously wouldn't have even asked. I think he's freaking out over all the leftovers we're gonna be stuck with. Boo hoo, right?"

"You could always donate them to the homeless shelter down the street," Phoebe warmly suggested. "I'd bet they'd be eternally in your debt."

Brenda only shrugged as it were some unnecessary chore that she couldn't possibly be bothered to tackle. "I don't know, I mean don't you find those people kinda creepy?"

"Creepy?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I saw one of them looking in the window here the other day during my shift. Big, buggy eyes, and they got their icky sticky paws all over the stupid glass. I had to go outside and wash it afterwards. The boss would have literally had a giant cow. Not the best day ever, that's for sure. I wasted like twenty minutes just scrubbing. My nails are in for a rude awakening."

"Oookay. Well, I, um...I really think I should be going now." Phoebe began to reach for the box, forcing a tight grin. "Best of luck and all, and I'm sorry about the window." But as her fingers accidentally brushed Brenda's, it triggered an unexpected jolt of unexplained events as she was tossed roughly into the vague images of a premonition, startling her to the core. She saw a tall figure in a hooded cloak following a man of about the same height down a deserted alleyway, neither of their faces visible. He seemed entirely unaware of the stalker that was gradually creeping up and gaining ground behind him, pulling his black coat closer to his rangy frame, while his worn boots graced the dark pavement in long, rapid strides. The hooded figure was withdrawing a sheathed object from beneath the cloak, and even through the hazy vision, she already knew it was an athame. Once uncovered, it caught the reflective surface of the sunlight, and the sharp blade sliced clean into the unsuspecting man's back, rendering him unconscious and bleeding.

Phoebe opened her eyes again to glance at a shaken Brenda, who was hysterically trying to get her attention with words she couldn't hear. After mumbling that she was fine and there was no need to freak out, call a doctor or fall into unspeakable panic, she simply took the box and walked as calmly as she could out of the bakery, her feet suddenly traveling as fast as they would carry her once she'd passed the exit. It didn't make sense. None of it did.

She usually only got a premonition when the person she touched was in danger. Brenda was completely safe, she wasn't caught and cornered in an alleyway, and there had been no one in that bakery that had posed any kind of threat or resembled some hell bent cloaked maniac intent on stabbing some poor innocent soul when his back was turned. With an athame, no less. Phoebe had her suspicions that the weapon of choice was only the half of it, and she surmised that part two was the teeny tiny revelation that the man in question was probably a witch. Or worse.

Clutching the pie box closer to her chest, she headed toward the only alleyway that was within viewing range, and came to the idiotic conclusion that she had no pertinent means with which to defend herself if she was indeed ahead on the time table that had played out so violently in her premonition. She'd been brushing up on her hand to hand the past few weeks, but a ceremonial knife was tricky, and it almost always meant a dead body was going to be involved sooner rather than later. She thought about calling out to see if anyone needed help, but that was practically a plea to the killer that she was very much available and willing to die, and she'd seen enough horror movies to know that the chicks who went and did it weren't exactly praying for survival by the time it ended, because they were already buried six feet under long before the closing act.

"Decisions, decisions," she muttered to herself, as she slipped by what she presumed was a makeshift house made out of cardboard with piles of blankets stacked inside, and an overturned coffee mug and cracked plate resting on top of it. She instantly thought back to Brenda and her disdain for the lifestyle people like the owner of the rundown establishment before her had been forced to make for themselves, leaving them no other alternative for survival. Blaming it on her impulsive nature, Phoebe went about fishing in her pocket for the loose change she'd acquired upon purchasing the pie, and expeditiously dropped it into the dilapidated living quarters. "Happy holidays," she added quietly to no one in particular.

Two elderly gentleman a few feet away were deeply engaged in what looked like a rather complicated board game, and one of them was rolling a pair of dice to determine his next move, a dark green baseball cap covering a thick, snow white head of hair. His red jacket was torn at the shoulder, and he sported a curly white beard and mustache. The other had black hair with traces of gray woven through it, and he let out a distinct yell of disapproval when he realized his friend was going to be winning by the time he executed the current play. Snowy White mumbled something she couldn't hear in return, and it was followed by a bellyful of laughs while he gleefully went about cheating Black and Gray out of a victory.

"You really shouldn't be here."

Phoebe jumped at the sound of the deep voice, and nearly succeeded in slamming right into the tall, broad-shouldered man who possessed it, her hands clutching the pie even tighter to her tiny frame, as she summarily backed up flat against the brick wall behind her in her own ridiculously last minute plotted method of defense. Her breaths were coming in surprisingly ragged gasps, and she struggled to string together whatever words popped into her mind that would adequately suffice for a spur of the moment vanquishing spell, inwardly cursing herself for failing to concoct any kind of a potion in case her rhyme and verse wretchedly crashed and burned. "Okay, buddy, I don't want any trouble."

"You shouldn't be here," he repeated, very nearly closing her in.

"Hey, I'm warning you. Don't take anoth..." But she found herself feebly aborting any thoughts she may have been in the process of formulating when he decided to uncomfortably invade her space, allowing her a glimpse of his features for the first time. Her heart caught in her throat and her cheeks flushed an impossibly bright shade of crimson as her fingers fumbled for purchase, risking a very serious tumble with the box she still held within her grip.

He was gorgeous. A pair of inquisitive blue eyes watched her carefully from beneath a beautifully chiseled face composed of a fair amount of dark stubble and a pair of generous lips, both brows set in a determined line of concentration. His brown hair was a tad bit disheveled and could have used a trim, but the slight unkempt appearance of it was a minor distraction when she took in the extremely worn condition of his tattered tan sweater and blue jeans, a pair of grimy beige work boots completing the frayed ensemble.

"I'm looking for someone," Phoebe spoke up, still unsure of whether or not he was a threat, but finding herself lost in those stupid, mesmerizing blue eyes of his despite herself.

"Are you sure about that?" The man only laughed and shrugged, gesturing about him with a comical flare, as he prudently indicated the rest of the people occupying the alleyway. "Because I really don't think we're your clientele."

"No, I mean I think someone might be in danger," she tried, doing everything she could to remain vague and avert any details surrounding her premonition. "I'm pretty sure I saw him come down this way. It's kind of important that I find him before he-"

"Well, where I come from, that usually involves calling the police. You're in a bad part of town, Miss. I think it would be better for everyone here if you just go back the way you came and let the proper authorities handle it."

"Oh, and that just happens to include you?" Phoebe scoffed, becoming more irritated by the minute. "Listen, pal, I don't see a badge, and you are not the boss of me, so why don't you just get the hell out of my way? It's a free country."

"I don't think you realize how dangerous-"

"Yeah, especially during the Christmas season, right?" she added, attempting to play along. "Gee, what are they going to do, try and steal my pie out from under me?"

"We don't want any trouble," he reiterated. "Leave."

"Or what?" she challenged.

"Or we'll carve you up into tiny pieces and let the Source take what's left," came the arrogant reply, as the warlock it belonged to dexterously blinked himself into view, thoroughly clothed in the same hooded cloak Phoebe had momentarily glimpsed in her premonition. His face remained entirely obscured by the dark garment, and she knew it would be literally impossible for her to determine anything concrete about him, save for his hackneyed, yet sinister tone.

"Samson."

"Wait, you know him?" she demanded, her eyes tracking to her mystery man with his threadbare clothes and dirty boots, and realized she had probably miscalculated in more ways than one. Maybe it hadn't been a cry for help after all. Maybe it had all been some elaborately constructed scheme meant to render her and her sisters powerless, or even dead. Seriously dead, by the looks of it. The very thought of it was starting to make her sick to her stomach.

She'd willingly allowed herself to fall into a trap and had deliberately ignored her better judgment. It wasn't the first time, and she sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the last.

"Come now, Belthazor, aren't you going to introduce us?" Samson taunted. "Taking into account all of the rumblings I've heard from down below, I think it's safe to say that this one's rather special. You just hit gold, my friend. It's amazing what falls into our laps when we least expect it, isn't it?"

"You need to go," Belthazor told her quietly, keeping his attention solely focused on his adversary, his expression currently unreadable.

And that was when she saw it.

Laying in a crumpled heap beside the brick wall of the alleyway, was the same black coat she'd seen in her vision at the bakery. The same black coat the man who was stabbed was wearing.

All that seemed to be missing was the athame.

"Who are you?" Phoebe whispered, her own voice on the verge of cracking.

"Oh, he doesn't have time for a bedtime story, sweetheart. In fact, just between you and me, I'd say it's about up." Samson smirked, calmly extending the palm of his right hand, as the knife swiftly materialized in a rapid puff of smoke. "Am I right, Belthazor?"

"Raynor sent you because he was too much of a coward to come himself," Belthazor interjected, shrugging, as he began to languidly circle the warlock. "You might be his right hand man, Ian, but he still sent an amateur."

"Amateur?" he echoed, chuckling loudly. "Did you really think I would arrive without backup, Cole?" Before Phoebe could open her mouth to scream, her chocolate pie had slipped from her arms onto the hard pavement below, and Samson had roughly yanked her against him, placing the athame directly across her throat. She squeaked as she felt the blade sink a fraction into her skin, tightly shutting her eyes from the sharp, burning pain. "I hadn't planned on the little witch, but let's just call her a bonus, shall we? Two birds with one stone."

"Witch?"

"You really are out of practice, aren't you?" he continued. "And to think, The Brotherhood prided your loyalty, your...accomplishments over my own. I mean can you imagine anything more absurd? I did everything they asked, everything I was supposed to, everything right." He shook his head angrily from side to side, as if wrestling with an internal struggle he hadn't quite managed to overcome. "She's a Charmed One, you idiot. A Halliwell. Her and her sisters take pleasure in destroying our kind."

"I'm not your kind, Samson. I never was." Phoebe saw a bright blue ball of energy take shape in and consume his right hand, noting the way in which Belthazor gradually drew his arm back as if threatening to toss it, his blue eyes narrowing in deliberation. She smelled the metallic stench of blood, and began to feel the warm trickle of it trailing the length of her neck, causing her to shiver. "Let her go and deal with me."

"Why would I do that?" he snapped back. "She's no good to us alive."

"She's not a part of this."

"You made her a part of this when you decided to stop for a little chat. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong."

"I'm the one you want," Belthazor insisted. "You came here for me, so let's finish this." Phoebe saw his blue eyes meet her brown ones for the briefest of moments, and what she detected there wasn't malice, but a surprisingly haunting display of concern, masked so efficiently from obvious years of practice that she nearly missed it. This man, who she barely knew, let alone trusted, was genuinely trying to reassure her that everything was somehow going to miraculously be okay- and she didn't have the slightest idea as to why.

"I'd heard the rumors about you going soft," Samson chided, grinning. "Never would have believed it. But look at you. She's already got you wrapped around her little finger, and you're letting her. You're actually letting her do it. This girl has power, Cole. We could use that power."

"I don't want it, not anymore."

"Maybe it would be better if you had something to fight for." Phoebe, all too keen on what Samson was implying, remembered that her hands were still free, and saw the opportunity she needed to take advantage of the situation by bringing her elbow back and roughly slamming it into his solar plexus, knocking him startlingly off guard as he frantically scrambled to regain his staggering loss of balance. He lashed out at her violently with the athame, and she dodged his swipe by dropping to her knees in a crouch, transiently swinging out a foot towards him in a failed attempt to try and trip him up.

Her prayers were answered when Belthazor allowed his energy ball to deflate and charged his enemy at an alarming speed, rigorously knocking him onto his back with a markedly sharp crack. Samson grunted in frustration, and miserably fought to reclaim the upper hand, his knuckles tightening around the knife. The sound of a fist connecting repeatedly with bone had her cringing, and she noticed the alleyway was completely deserted now, which meant any kind of help she could have gotten was entirely out of the question. Of course, the circumstances surrounding the battle akin to a bar brawl weren't exactly the most normal, either. Anybody with a perfectly sane mind would have more than just a little trouble wrapping their heads around the fact that two men who apparently weren't even human were duking it out in full force like no tomorrow.

She heard a piercing scream slice through the air, and Belthazor clutched his arm in seething affliction as he rolled away from Samson, lightly gritting his teeth while he tried in vain to numb the sharp, unrelenting pain that shot straight through it. The warlock was already lifting himself up to his full height and had begun to advance towards Phoebe, wiping the ceremonial object clean with the dark cloak, it's blade a glistening shade of silver once again. "You must be the one who can see into the future," he mused. "You know, I think I'm going to really enjoy this."

"The Power of Three will set us free," she started to chant, shutting her eyes. "The Power of Three will set us free, The Power of Three will set us free." Waiting a fraction of a second, she slowly went and re-opened them, only to find out the spell had proven to be a clear and utter failure. It was precisely what she'd feared. She was two sisters short, and despite mentally cursing herself for the zillionth time in truly believing she could have honestly taken on this entire situation herself, she instead continued to stay right where she was and proudly stood her ground. If she was going to die, it was probably good to put up the bravest front she could, even in the face of pure, unadulterated evil. She wasn't about to give up and reveal the location of her sisters, and if the cost ended up being her life, so be it.

"Stupid witch," he sneered. "Now hold still. This won't take long."

"Hey, we never got to finish our conversation." A bright blue energy ball sailed past Phoebe and hit Samson square in the chest, causing him to erupt in a giant reign of fire until there was virtually nothing left of him, the athame cascading clumsily to the asphalt below. She saw Belthazor in a sitting position on the tough concrete, a smile gracing his beautiful unshaven face, his uninjured arm outstretched with the remnants of his magic. "If it's one thing warlocks have always lacked, it's manners. I'm going to apologize for him in advance."

"You're a demon." It was more of a statement than a question, and she couldn't help but feel just a tad bit tense around him yet, especially given what she'd bared witness to in such a terribly short amount of time.

"Half demon," he alleged quickly in his defense, already hurriedly pushing to his feet. "My father was mortal."

"Yeah, okay, but you're still a demon," Phoebe accused softly.

"A demon who just saved your life," he offered, somewhat perturbed. "It's not exactly something I do on a daily basis, so maybe you could try to appear a little more grateful."

"You knew who I was, didn't you?" she went on, ignoring him. "When you- you knew."

"It's a long story, but seeing as I'm already well on my way to being incapacitated here, it's going to take awhile to tell it." He stumbled somewhat, as he tried to walk towards her. "Maybe you should sit down."

"Oh, I'm the one who should sit down? You look like you're about to become another tasty treat in a second round of Go Fish. You need to do something about that wound, hot shot."

"You wouldn't happen to know of any doctors who specialize in demonology in the area, would you?"

She laughed, as she propelled herself to move in spite of her current skepticism that remained regarding his intentions and condition, and she placed one hand upon his good arm, while the other casually enveloped his back. She sniffed then, lightly scrunching up her nose. "You might also want to hit the shower. I know someplace where you'll be safe, but I can't guarantee there won't be more guys from this Brotherhood thing trying to find you. That's all on you, pal. You can...well, you can stay until you- c'mon, all right? It's not up for debate and I won't have a dead guy on my conscience for Christmas. Even if he is part demon. But be forewarned that we still need to talk, and my sisters might try and vanquish you. I know it's not too comforting, but we don't really make this a habit, and I'm sure even Casper had a few tricks up his sleeve."

"Well I appreciate the heads up, so thank you," he corroborated, nodding.

"No problem," she muttered, leading him out of the alleyway, her curiosity overwhelming her as to what the hell she'd just dragged herself into- and during the holidays, no less. It did precious little in divulging answers where her premonition was concerned, and she was already preparing to let a strange demonic homeless man into her house. "I was actually supposed to show up with a pie, but I suppose you'll just have to do."

Not long after they had departed, a pair of long fingers hesitantly reached over and retrieved the fallen athame, quietly shimmering out of view in a silent exit.