Chapter Text
Breaking Point
Part 1
Chris never thought he should complain about his life. He was, in overall, a well-balanced, healthy child. His parents divorced when he was very young, but his mother loved him and his brother cared for him. His aunts were around, mostly, and he got along well with his cousins. His father was an asshole though, but he didn't let himself think too hard about that. His life wasn't bad either. He was a smart boy. He wasn't necessarily popular at school, but he had a few reliable friends.
Of course, there was this small matter that his mother was the matriarch of the Halliwell family, his father a full-time Elder, and his brother the Twice-Blessed with incredible magic power at disposal. He was just Chris, just the brother of the Wyatt Halliwell, just the nerdy guy in the back of the room and he was happy to remain 'just'.
But the world excelled at fucking around with people's lives, and Chris was no exception.
"Why Chris? Why did you do it?"
He was sitting on a chair, light-headed, chest pounding hard. He was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted. His hands were still red from the blood of his mother. And Aunt Phoebe stood in a corner of the room, staring at him like he was some kind of monster.
"Why?" she kept asking, her eyes filled with tears.
He opened his mouth. His jaw hurt. Leo, high and mighty Elder, had forgotten himself and punched him multiple times before being restrained and taken away.
'Murderer! You are not my son!'
"I didn't do it," he repeated. He had only walked in the attic, only seen his mother's lifeless body on the ground, rushed to her. He had tried again and again to call his father, but Leo had ignored him. He had tried to call Wyatt (who was Up There with Leo too), Aunt Paige (who was attending her daughters' school play), anyone who could hear him.
No-one ever came.
"I Saw you, Chris," Phoebe repeated, her voice shaking. "I Saw everything. God, I can't-"
She left the room, slammed the door behind. He could hear her sobs on the other side, the equally upset voice of his aunt Paige. He didn’t have the strength left to cry. The multiple accusations had taken the fight away from him.
"No Wyatt don't-"
His brother opened the door and stormed inside. He was red-eyed, his lips trembling, his whole body tensed. He had just heard the news.
"What happened?" he only asked, his voice shaking, disbelieving. And Chris, too tired to defend himself, to try to make another person understand, merely said blankly.
"I was doing my homework. I heard a noise upstairs. Went to check. Mom was there. Dead. I called. No-one heard. That’s it."
And he closed his eyes and fell silent. He waited for another condemnation, for another judgment, this time from one of the few people he trusted above everything. He waited for his world to crumble entirely.
"I believe you."
His eyes snapped open and he looked up. Wyatt, eyes gleaming with tears, stood tall and strong and was looking at him with certainty.
"I believe you. I heard you. They wouldn't let me go down." His voice cracked. "They wouldn't- I'm so sorry Chris. I wanted to come, I-"
And he meant it. Chris knew he meant it. That if could turn back time, he would have told the Elders to fuck themselves and orbed to him because unlike his father -unlike Leo -Wyatt always answered. It suddenly didn't matter if the rest of the world believed Aunt Phoebe over him. It didn't matter, because Wyatt did, and that -that was enough to keep him hoping.
The doors slammed behind him and he sensed the heavy wards settle once again. Even with the nullifiers around his wrists, he still felt the magic running around the facility.
"Probably jealousy pushed him to act. The need for attention. You know these days, kids can be unpredictable. You said he was smart? It's alright. The facility was built to keep people like him in. We'll make sure he’s under tight surveillance.”
Internment in an asylum. Chris hadn't tried to fight the decision. Not when he knew his life was more endangered if he stayed with the sisters and Leo than here. They believed so deeply in his guilt that he knew they wouldn't help if he was in trouble. The staff of the asylum here wouldn't let him die or have him too damaged, if only to maintain its reputation. He wouldn't be entirely safe either, but he would find a way to survive. Out there, there was still someone who put the blame on him, someone who killed his mother, and if he wanted to find them, he needed out.
The room he was put in was entirely white, white enough to hurt the eyes. He would be alone there. He was considered too 'unstable' to have a roommate. He believed in a completely different reason. Most of the inmates were hardcore madmen, and he had no illusions as to what might happen to fresh blood with a pretty face. Wyatt was still the Twice-Blessed and had sworn loudly to anyone who could hear that he would be visiting him as often as he could. It would do no good to draw the ire of one of the most powerful witch of the world. Now, Chris decided as he settled on his bed and closed his eyes, he only needed to bid his time.
He expected the looks. He expected the frictions. He expected the hard words, the taunting, the bruises from inmates and the indifference if not cruelty of the staff. He never expected the experimentations.
Wyatt couldn't sleep. He was tired, both physically and mentally. Every day, he woke up in his grandfather's spare bedroom, stared at the greyish ceiling, and remembered. It had been four years since he had last spoken to his aunts, since he had seen his father, or gone Up There. His anger against the Elders or his family hadn't subsided. They were trying to move on, trying very hard to forget about the nephew that had "murdered" their beloved sister. Phoebe occupied the manor now with her husband Coop and her three daughters. He hadn't stepped back in there since Victor offered him shelter.
"Why don't you come and stay with me?"
His grandfather hadn't believed Chris to be guilty. His trust in magic was relatively ambivalent to begin with, and while he did believe Phoebe saw what she did, he couldn't imagine Chris raising a hand against his own mother. Wyatt had flatly refused to live under the roof of people who did.
"When can I move in?"
His aunts and father hadn't contested his decision, mostly because they didn't stand his perpetual defense of his brother. They believed he would eventually resign himself and face reality, and return to them on his own. They underestimated his stubbornness and determination to believe in Chris’ innocence.
He wouldn't complain though. He was free. He could go anywhere without restraint. He wasn't locked up between four walls, losing weight throughout the years, the will to live slowly fading from his eyes. It broke his heart every time he went to the asylum, but he knew it was necessary. He needed to remind the staff who Chris' brother was, who they would have to answer to, if he ever got hurt. Wyatt did his best to build himself a reputation, to make himself feared and respected by both allies and foes. He was the most powerful student Magic School ever had. He hunted down high-class demons without backup. At age twenty, he made sure everyone knew his name. And in a few hours…
"I can get guardianship over you. When I turn twenty-one, I can make that request. And then I'll get you out, I swear. No-one will stop me. They won't fucking dare. I’m more than just a reputation; they know they can’t beat me, I made sure of it."
Chris had barely reacted to that, only offered him a kind smile. He didn't believe it would work, it was obvious, but he played along for Wyatt's sake.
"And when you get out, we’ll go wherever you want. You pick the place, I’ll orb us there. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the Pacific, the Sahara or the Artic. You pick, and we’ll go. So think about it.”
"Thanks Wy," he said softly, and that had ended their meeting.
He would be twenty-one in a few hours. The paperwork was done. Victor had prepared a second room to welcome his second grandson. They had bought a temporary set of clothes and everything they could think of. They knew it wouldn't be easy. They knew they would be woefully unprepared. But it didn't scare them. Chris was coming home, and that was it. There would be no alternative.
He didn't have to go through all the trouble to free his brother; the sisters involuntarily did it for him. After four years of complete silence, they could finally summoned Piper's ghost. It had been a last attempt to discourage him. Chris was too dangerous to be left out, they said; he had to pay for his crime; and who better than his own mother than to remind him of that.
Instead, Piper cleared his name. A shapeshifting demon had taken Chris's appearance and stabbed her to death. She had been caught by surprise, had belatedly recognized her mistake and vanquished him by blowing him up, but it was too late. She had died listening to her son's desperate cries for help.
Victor nearly blew a fuse as Paige shakily explained everything on the phone, and Wyatt didn't waste time orbing to the asylum to demand his brother's release. He found the staff in turmoil. Chris had somehow managed to get out of his nullifiers and escaped the facility with a bunch of other dangerous patients. Four days ago.
Wyatt lost control of his emotions and of his powers. He blew up half the building in a fit of rage.
It took them three weeks to find him. Three weeks of scrying, casting spells, searching in person. And when the sisters finally did find him, Chris didn't surrender quietly.
Wyatt orbed on a scene where Paige had a bleeding forehead, Phoebe had a broken arm. Chris was firmly standing in a corner with a baseball bat in his hand, ready to strike, and half a dozen pieces of wood and debris floating in midair around him, pointed at his aunts. He looked like a cornered animal, eyes wild and cold, the line of his mouth hard with tension. He was ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.
“Chris,” Paige was calling. “Chris, come with us. You can’t run forever.”
Wyatt turned his attention on his aunts then. They looked so much older than in his memories, much more used by life. They had a severe shock after realizing they had been wrong all this time, and now that they were facing the consequences of their mistakes. He vaguely wondered if they ever had to.
Sensing his brother was about to find a way to dart away, he stepped between the sisters and Chris, in full view, his hands wide open, facing him.
"Let's go Chris. Remember what I told you? We'd go anywhere you want once you got out. Anywhere."
He didn't move, but Wyatt thought he saw something glimmer in his eye. Feeling encouraged, he went on:
"Gramps has a room ready. You know I've been living with him. He never believed it either. You know it. He told you, didn't he? He came to visit you too. They wouldn’t let him in after the third time because of the magic interference. Everything’s ready. We only need you now."
He was listening. His eyes slowly shifted towards him…and Phoebe opened her mouth:
"Please Chris, we're so sorry-"
The walls went back up.
"I am not going back," he hissed, ready to bolt.
"You are only going wherever you want," Wyatt retorted and, taking a leap of faith because he trusted his brother would not attack him, stepped closer. "I won't allow anyone to hurt you anymore. Not even the aunts."
He heard them gasp in shock, and thought ‘yes, you are the enemy in his eyes; you won't gain his trust with just a lousy heartfelt apology. Chris didn't bulge, still on his guard, but didn’t run either. Wyatt took it as a positive sign.
"Come Chris. Wherever you want. I promised you that, and I swear I will keep that promise."
His brother wanted to trust him. He could see it in his eyes. He could see the panic, the uncertainty, and still the need to rely on one thing, to hold onto one single thing before his sanity snapped-
His face turned into pure terror as his body turned bright and dissolved into orbs, and Wyatt knew exactly what was going on and thought: 'oh no you don't'.
He pulled into his magic -greater than anyone expected, greater than the Elders could ever counter -and yanked the orbs to him. Chris reformed and ended sprawled on the ground, at his feet, shaking so violently Wyatt didn't hesitate. He knelt on the floor, wrapped his brother in his arms and held him tight. Chris fought back at first, like a spooked animal who found itself trapped and wanted out at all costs. Desperation made him strong, but Wyatt was stronger and did not release him. After a few moments, he stopped fighting and broke down into sobs. Wyatt kept holding him, growing angrier and angrier –he could feel his ribs thought the fabric -and glared at the sky.
"Don't you think you've done enough?” he roared. “You leave him the fuck alone. Alone! Or I swear I will get up there and beat your ass. I will fucking do it!"
Chris burst into hysterical laughs, and finally, finally, curled his shaky hands into his sweater and held him back.
Victor and Wyatt had prepared themselves, far before Chris arrived. They expected nightmares. They expected changing behavior. They expected bursts of paranoia, of anger, of aggressiveness, destruction even. They expected him to hide, run even. They expected a rollercoaster of emotions and the volatile magic that came with it. They did not expect him to act...subdued.
Chris never put up a fuss. He thanked them for the clothes –too large for him, but Wyatt trusted he’d eventually eat enough to fit in –shared their meal, and spent time with them on the couch watching TV or reading books. But he didn't leave the apartment, preferring to sit astride a chair and watch the world through the window. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t laugh. There was the occasional smile there, but it felt so faked it bothered Wyatt. It bothered him a lot.
"You don't look good."
He glanced up, saw Nora Blunt take a seat across him at the cafeteria. They had gone to Magic School together and were now studying in the same college. She had been his academic rival before the Event, and one of the few who hadn't blindly trusted the visions of Phoebe Halliwell.
"Didn't you hear the word?" he asked a little sarcastically. She opened her homemade meal -damn it smelt good, far better that the cafeteria’s suspicious meat and sauce -and dug in.
"Who didn’t?” she replied. “How is he holding up?"
Direct and to the point. That was one of the few things he liked about her. Well that, and the fact she knew how to keep a secret. She'd witness his breakdown when Chris was sent to the asylum, twice, and never blabbed to anyone. She even brought him a few helpful books when he began researching ways to gain custody of his brother.
She wasn’t perfect; some called her cold and unfeeling, but those idiots were wrong and he liked her a lot. He would have probably asked her out if he hadn't been obsessed with protecting Chris for so long. And she deserved better than the idiot he was anyway.
"He's too quiet. I'm worried it's the calm before the storm."
"Asocial quiet or just reserved?"
"Reserved."
"He has his own room? Keeps his door locked?"
"Yes to the first and no to the second. He always leaves it cracked open but we never get in, even when it's our turn to clean. It's his space."
Nora hummed and nodded.
"That's good. But you're right. He's bound to explode sometime. He spent four years in an institution..." her voice trailed off. "Did he get a health check?"
"He won't come close to doctors and he doesn’t want anyone to touch him. A friend of Gramps gave him a light check over but that's pretty much all. We're working on it."
Nora frowned. She said nothing at first, kept chewing on her lunch, but seemed deep in thoughts.
"Keep trying to get him checked. Ask if he needs some healing. If he gets defensive about that, you'll have to worry."
Wyatt stared at her intensely. Nora had been studying psychology for the past two years and had good instincts when it came to people. He trusted her advice.
"How so?"
She put down her fork, looked a bit gloomy.
"I have a friend who made her internship in that place. She found out they have experimental treatment applied to patients and apparently, your brother was one of the subjects."
Wyatt's blood slowly froze and his head began to spin. His chest felt tighter all of a sudden.
"What are you saying?" he asked, fearing the answer. Nora, usually so cool and calm, looked deeply disturbed.
"Experimental treatment can be...hard. A few so-called doctors like to test their new methods down there, because none of the patients are likely to be released anyway."
Wyatt felt he was going to be sick.
"But shouldn't they like, notify us, or something?" he asked, hoping she was wrong, hoping his baby brother had slipped through the cracks, hadn't gone through-
"They must have notified the legal guardians," Nora went on softly. "You wouldn't have been told, unless his legal guardian –or Chris himself –did."
And Wyatt knew exactly where he would be orbing in the next two minutes.
His father was in conference with other Elders when he showed Up There. No-one tried to stop him; it was pointless, he had been granted too much power and had the experience to use it. He ignored the startled looks and shouted:
"Leo!"
The Elder turned around, looking vaguely surprised. Wyatt didn't give him time to speak. He used his telekinesis to throw him back against a white immaculate column. His father made a pained sound and crumbled on the ground. One of the Elders tried to intervene. Before he could take one more step, Wyatt glared at him and hissed:
"Don’t even think about it." Wisely, the Elder stopped. He added louder: "Everyone, out. I need a word with my father."
It took them a short amount of time to realize now was not the moment to contradict him. Within five minutes, the place was completely empty. Leo managed to stand, rubbing the back of his head.
"What do you want, Wyatt?" he asked, looking both tired and resigned.
"Did you know about the experimental treatments?" Leo flinched and Wyatt had his answer. “You gave them permission, didn’t you. You let them experiment on him.”
“They would have never truly hurt him,” he replied with a shrug. “It was for the greater good. The results could have helped others.”
Wyatt stared at his father in silence, seeing him as he had never seen him before. Distant. Uncaring. Not even embarrassed to be confronted…
A niggling memory came back to him, and he remembered that day when Chris was found, facing the sisters. When he had almost been forcefully orbed Up There. Or rather, what Wyatt had assumed to be Up There.
"You tried to call him back to you that day.” He didn’t put it as a question, and given his father’s expression, didn’t need to. “Why?"
Leo's features hardened and Wyatt prayed, begged, anyone who would hear that he would not say what he feared.
"I wanted to ease his pain, so that he would return quicker to a normal life."
Wyatt's magic pulsed again within him. He had never considered truly hurting an Elder, not even his father. But now-
"You wanted to erase your mistake, didn't you? You wanted to wipe his memories." He felt his anger grow. "You wanted to make him forget the four years he spent in there because of you!"
"You don't understand!" Leo bellowed. "He killed my wife! He deserved to stay in that place!"
"Chris didn't! A demon did! A demon tricked mom and killed her! Mom said that the day she came back, you were there, you know it!” he felt his whole body shake in fury. “You can’t stand the fact you could have saved her, but you didn’t. You heard Chris call that day, didn’t you? I did, so there was no way you couldn’t have heard him.” Leo’s expression darkened. “You put him on mute for so long, you didn’t bother to check what was going on.”
"You don’t know what it was like, to deal with Chris,” Leo hissed between clenched teeth. “He was always weird, always different. He was hard to handle.” No, Wyatt thought, he was clever, cleverer than you, but you didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to admit your second son might be better at something than your first. That he deserved your attention too. “It could have been him, he could have done it."
"So you would have done the same to me, if that shapeshifter had taken my appearance?"
Leo stared at him in shock.
"You would never hurt your mother, Wyatt."
"But Chris would?"
Leo shut his mouth. He looked angry, lost and so many things at the time -but Wyatt didn't care.
"Chris destroyed our family. He should have never been born and you know it."
There wasn't much decor Up There. A few columns, a few benches...nothing overly materialistic, just meant for the Elders to sit and hold council. Every piece it of it exploded under the pressure of Wyatt's magic. Leo took a step back, staring at Wyatt straight in the eye, stunned.
"You're right, Leo,” he said coldly. “Chris isn't your son. You never deserved to be his father." He took a step back. "Stay away from us. If I realize you touched him in whatever way, I will return and I will destroy this place completely. Stay the fuck away from us."
He orbed back to the apartment, straight to the living room. Chris was there, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV in a daze. He looked up upon his arrival, tilted his head on the side.
"Wow, you don't look so good Wy. Something wrong?"
He stared at his brother, watched every part of him, and wished he had insisted on healing him the moment he orbed them in the apartment the very first time.
"Show me."
Chris schooled his features so subtly he almost missed it.
"Show what?"
"Show me what those bastards did to you." He paused and breathed: "I know. About the treatments."
His brother looked away.
"Then you know why I don't want to talk about it."
"Chris-"
"Drop it, Wyatt," he said, his voice taking a deep, suddenly angry tone. "I swear, drop it."
"No."
Chris' inhaled sharply and looked down. He was still too thin, still so...vulnerable. And Wyatt remembered his brother was just too fucking young for this shit. But he couldn’t be coddled forever, and Wyatt needed him to be alright, at least physically.
"I won't let it go, Chris," he went on. "Leo told me he wanted to orb you up to erase your memories. It must be bad, so I am not letting it go."
Chris barked a bitter laugh.
"Oh really? He's so eager to get rid of the evidence?"
The room began to tremble as he began to curl on himself. Wyatt took the spot next to him on the couch. Time for a different approach.
"It pissed me off so badly," Wyatt said. "I wrecked everything Up There."
The room stopped shaking and Chris made a chocking sound. Wyatt recognized it as a laugh.
"God, wish I'd been there to see it."
"It was satisfying," Wyatt admitted.
"Bet Leo didn't expect that."
"No, he didn't."
Chris looked a little cheered up. Then, his smile fell.
"They were trying to figure out why my orbs remained white even after I ‘killed’ mom. They mostly healed me after practice, so there’s nothing to show, per say." He paused, pulled his sweatpants off his left leg. It looked normal, at first glance. When Wyatt brushed it with his magic, he could feel the wrongness inside –something had messed around with his muscles, the nerves. He tried to heal it. It didn’t work.
"I can't walk for too long," Chris admitted. "I have a limp after thirty steps. I’ll probably need a cane or something. Won't be able to race you to the bathroom anymore," he added drawly.
And Wyatt thought it was a shame he hadn't blown up the entire facility back then.
Wyatt stopped pushing, mostly because Chris asked him to. He knew he had begun to open up to Victor, because he caught the old man drowning a few glasses of whiskey with misty eyes. And later, when Phoebe complained over the phone that Wyatt wouldn't let Leo near Chris to help him heal, he turned red.
"That bastard shows up in my apartment, and we'll find out if innocents can kill Elders once and for all!"
Chris had looked at him with such awe Wyatt had resisted the urge to take a picture.
Time went by, and of course, the little hidden things became more visible. Like how he flinched ever so slightly when they made sudden loud noises; or how he would force himself to eat, only to discreetly vomit later in the toilet when he thought they were busy.
"He has been having nightmares," he told Nora one day. "He’s had them from the beginning. He just hid it well, like the rest. Didn’t want to make us feel bad, he said. I think he was afraid we’d kick him out if he made too much noise."
She had tied her hair up. It made her jaw look sharper, a bit different, but still attractive. If he dared, he would touch the strand of hair that fell over her forehead. Her golden eyes lingered on him, and he felt the urge to talk some more. She always listened.
"How did you find out?" she asked.
"He forgot to cast the silent spell one night. Gramps and I woke up at two in the morning. He was screaming. When he woke up, he didn’t recognize us, and he started begging…"
His voice chocked and couldn’t come out anymore. Nora pressed her lips together, looked like she wanted to say something but held back, because it would be useless. Instead, she took his hand and squeezed it tightly. Wyatt swallowed hard and let the tears pool down his cheeks.
"What's her name?"
Wyatt looked up. Chris was standing behind the stove, attempting to cook a new recipe. Neither Victor nor Wyatt were stellar chefs, and since Chris had trouble eating anyway, they let him use the kitchen to cook whatever he fancied. He tended to munch on the ingredients he used, which was better than no eating at all. And Wyatt had to admit, he wasn't half bad at it either.
"Sorry what?"
"Her name. The girl you're seeing."
He was starting to talk more and more too, about something he’d seen, about something he’d read, about things he’d noticed. He could always tell when something was wrong, could guess the issue most of the time too. Chris had always been sharp, even as a child. Now, he sounded like he could almost read minds.
"I'm not seeing a girl," he protested.
"You came back home with a stupid dreamy smile on your face twice this week. I don’t think the history of European arts makes you so happy." He thought of Nora and couldn't help his ears flush. Chris smirked knowingly. "So? What's her name?"
Oh, what the hell. He was dying to talk about her with someone, and while he was close to Victor, his grandfather wasn’t the best to speak of love interests. It wasn’t like he had many close friends either. Just one, actually. And he was in love with her.
"Nora Blunt. You might remember her from -"
"Magic School," Chris interrupted with a nod. "She was the only one who could wipe the floor with your ass in dueling class. Class 4 Elementalist, right?"
"Good memory," Wyatt said, a bit surprised.
"You had such a crush on her," he went on, and Wyatt stared in disbelief. "She was the only girl that ever caught your attention for so long. You talked about her all the time, even when you were dating Sally Thompson."
"I did not! And I didn’t have a crush," he protested.
"It was hilarious,” he went on. “Especially since she had a crush on you too."
This time, he straightened. He didn’t know that.
"What?"
"There was poll going on, as to who would confess first. I thought you'd have the guts around seventeen, if she didn’t kiss you first. Guess my internship wrecked your love life a bit."
Chris had developed a whole new set of euphemism to speak of the asylum. 'Internship' was his favorite so far.
"Love wasn't my priority back then," Wyatt conceded. He was working on admitting that he had suffered during that time too. Prisons weren’t always made of stone, and his mind had been trapped long enough. "But you weren't really wrong."
Chris looked over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised in a 'do tell more' fashion. He obliged.
"I had a breakdown, about a year after you..." Wyatt wasn't as great with euphemisms. "She found me, gave me a whole 'it's alright to feel a bit down but your brother still needs you' speech. Very blunt, but very sincere. I didn't want to hear it at the time though, so I kissed her to shut her up."
His cheeks burned at the memory. It had been clumsy and short, and definitively not his brightest moment, especially since she’d slapped him and left the room afterwards. Chris looked amused.
“Kissed her, you? Really?”
“I may have had a crush on her back then,” Wyatt reluctantly admitted.
“And she forgave you?”
Wyatt buried his face in his hand.
“I had to earn her forgiveness, and we never spoke of it again. She still consented to give me her number when Magic School ended and we kept in touch after that. She’s in psychology right now, but I think she’s considering switching to archeology.”
Chris hummed and focused back on his cooking.
“She’s dating anyone?”
Wyatt shrugged.
“She dumped her last boyfriend sometime two weeks ago.”
“So what are you waiting for?”
“Again, what?”
“Do I have to spell it out to you? Ask her out, dumbass.”
Chris bluntness made him blink. A fork flew out of the cupboard and landed straight in his hand. Wyatt raised an impressed eyebrow.
“You’ve been working on your telekinesis,” he observed.
“I do have to keep myself busy during the day,” he retorted. “And don’t change the subject.”
“Not changing the subject,” Wyatt protested and stood from the chair. “Putting an end to it.” He approached the stove and checked the pan. “Whatcha making?”
“Carrots, beans, onions and potatoes, mixed with minced meat in tomato sauce,” Chris replied. “Something I found on the internet.”
Wyatt made some appreciative sound –lunches were really something to look forward to, now that they had a fulltime cook at home. If he caught the pensive look on Chris’ face, he didn’t think much about it.
The sun was out, but the weathercast mentioned a bit of wind coming up. Chris picked up his jacket and the walking cane Victor had brought him a few days back and orbed out of the apartment. Both his grandfather and brother were out, and he intended to take advantage of their absence to do a few things of his own.
He appeared in the corner of the street, in a dead angle. The noise of the crowd made him hesitate, but only briefly. He had done this before, he could do it again. And he didn’t want to be late.
He engaged in the street, using his cane to damper his limp. His leg hurt a bit, but he needed the exercise. Aside from a few curious glances, he drew no particular attention. Good. He headed towards a building filled with college kids, eyes seeking for one person in particular. Four years, nearly five had gone by, but he was pretty sure he would recognize her. Wyatt had showed her picture on his phone; she hadn’t changed that much.
It took him five minutes of intense staring in the crowd before he spotted her. She was walking rapidly, a heavy looking bag thrown over her shoulder. Dark hair tied in a high ponytail, eyes focused ahead of her, lost in her thoughts.
“Excuse me, are you Nora Blunt?”
The young woman slowed her steps and stared at him. He could tell his face rang a bell in her memory, but she couldn’t quite place him.
“Who are you?”
The British accent was still there. She still had those golden irises, the distinguishable mark of class 4 Elementalists.
“Wy’s brother.”
He noted the moment recognition set in.
“Chris?”
He grinned, amused. He hadn’t thought physically possible that eyes could grow this wide.
“Long time no see.”
“Bloody hell,” she paused, hesitated, and he could tell she wasn’t sure how to react. “I thought –wow, you look really different. Taller, mostly. You’re almost as tall as Wyatt and he’s a bloody giant.” She met his eye again. “Your brother’s not here, if you were looking for him.”
“Nah, I’m just wandering by. Need to exercise. It does my leg some good.”
She involuntarily glanced at it before catching herself.
“Wyatt told me about it,” she admitted. Chris nodded, he suspected it already. “He told me about…a few things too. Are you alright?”
While a bit superficial, it was a genuine inquiry. Nora Blunt might not be the kindest woman around, but she did care, in her own way. He remembered that from school, and had assumed she mustn’t have changed that much. He hadn’t come for a heart-to-heart though.
“You’re going to have to make the first move, you know.”
Nora blinked at him, taken off-guard by his words.
“Excuse me?”
“Wyatt. If you want a relationship with him, you will have to make the first move, because he sure never will.”
She opened her mouth, stunned, shut it up right after. Her cheeks flushed a little and she looked away, embarrassed.
“It’s not like that,” she protested. “We’re good friends.”
“Of course you are,” Chris agreed. “And that’s a great base. But watching him carry a torch for you stopped being fun. You should really snog him sometime, see how he reacts.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“He’s –wait, what?”
“I’m guessing it’ll end in a heavy make-out session,” he went on unashamedly. It was kind of fun to rile her up. She was very easy to read. “If you make a move at your place, expect a rated R aftermath.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” she snapped and pointed her finger at him. “Whatever is going on between your brother and I is your brother and mine’s business.”
He raised a pacifying hand.
“Easy, I’m not taking any more of your time. I also wanted to say ‘thank you’. I know you stood by his side when he needed it most. I appreciate what you did.”
That seemed to placate her a little.
“He’s a good man, your brother.” She checked her watch. “Class. I need to go.”
Chris hummed and thought that he had no doubt she was somehow relieved she had to leave. He could only hope she would think a little more of Wyatt and consider…well, actually making a move. He wasn’t lying; a pinning Wyatt was amusing to watch, but only so long.
“See you around then,” he said. She didn’t leave right away, stared at him for a few seconds more instead.
“I’m glad the wrongs were righted. I mean it, Chris. What happened was unfair, to both of you.” She reached for his arm, gave it a light squeeze. “If I can help in any way, just give me a call, okay? I’ll tell Wy to give you my number.”
Her offer came out of the blue, but Chris felt she was being sincere. Even if he was now a bit uncomfortable, he liked her more and more. She would be a good fit for his brother.
“I’ll remember. Thanks.”
She gave him one last smile and took off. He watched her leave in silence. She had good timing, in a way. He hadn’t wanted to find an excuse to leave when he was about to meet someone else. Someone he wasn’t sure his brother would approve him seeing, too.
Wyatt dropped a cardboard box on his bed. Chris stared at it before staring back questioningly.
"It's your old stuff. Some of it. Gramps and I put it in boxes and kept them in storage until you return. The clothes shouldn't fit you anymore, but there are books, things you collected, music and other…” he ran a hand in his hair, looking embarrassed.
Chris nodded slowly. His stuff. It'd been years since he had considered anything his.
"There's more down there. Just tell us when you want us to bring more up. Of if you don't want to go through it, or if you need help. Just, whatever. You get to choose, alright?"
He hadn't known what to say; only that he would keep that first box and unload it later, alone. His brother and grandfather had accepted it and left him to his own devices. And when he had opened it...
He found the notebook. The one he had enchanted at twelve, with his cousins, and through which they corresponded to create their pranks. A two-way spell with a twin notebook they kept on their side. He had thought it clever at the time. He wasn't sure why he opened it first. Perhaps some vague nostalgia, or a need to remember a time things weren't as messed up as they were now. And he found them, the childish lines. 'get ready, we’ll orb in at four ' 'did you buy the pepper?' 'Mom's onto us, abort plan and report next week'. There was no date tied to the writing, only a vague chronological memory. Until…
'Chris, they said you killed Aunt Piper, but it's not true right? right? Mom said she Saw you do it, but it was a possession or a demon trick, it had to be! Please tell me, please please please tell me you didn't do it! They won't let us see you and I promise I will believe you so just tell me please'
His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the handwriting. And the messages didn't stop there.
'Wyatt said you didn't do it, Mom keeps saying you did. She trusts her powers and Wyatt trusts you. I trust you and Wyatt more than I trust mom's powers, so if you ever read these lines, I want you to know I'm on your side.'
He put down the notebook, his chest clenched painfully and he suddenly had trouble breathing. He didn't know what to feel right now. He didn't know if he should keep reading. The notebook was filled with more notes, pages of them. Through them all, it was the same handwriting. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him.
‘Mom said they brought you to the asylum, that it was the best they could do for you. I don’t believe her. I think she just wants you out of sight. Wyatt moved in with Gramps, he refused to come live with us or Aunt Paige. I can’t say I blame him. They came in one morning to box your stuff and take it all away. I’m glad they did. I thought Uncle Leo would get there first and burn everything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.’
He kept reading.
‘…I asked if I could visit you at the asylum again. Mom refused, again, and dad backed her up, again. It’s not a place for me, they said. I’m too young, maybe when I’m older. I asked them if it was a place for a fourteen year old. It’s the first time mom ever slapped me…’
‘…It’s tough at Magic School. Everyone knows what happened, they keep asking and bugging us for details. Wy has it worse. He’s lost a lot of friends, if not all of them. They think he’s got a few screw loose since they locked you up. He won’t talk to me, or anyone of the family. Know-It-All-Nora manages to draw a few words out of him sometimes. She’s the only one, actually…’
‘…Headmaster Gideon made some speech about good being corrupted in the face of jealousy or ambition, and the walls cracked so loudly everyone thought the building was about to crumble down. Wyatt did it, everyone knows it, but no-one could prove it. He’s hunting demons on his own now. He doesn’t have space to prepare potions at Gramps, so he’s only relying on his own powers. He’s grown so powerful it’s scary…’
‘…Wy is done with Magic School. I think everyone is relieved about that. He’s off to study arts or history or something alike in college. Gramps told us the last time he visited. He only comes for us now. He’s still mad as hell at Mom, and Mom still believes she’s in the right. It pisses me off to think of it, because I still remember the day she slapped me…’
And little by little, the messages began to change.
‘…I met an asshole today, Tommy Flinch. Everyone think he’s hot and special, but he’s just a big mouth with nothing to show. He tried to hit on me, even thought I’d be flattered if he called you a nutjob in my face. He lost two teeth and I got detention and a half-broken hand, but it was worth it…’
‘…Parker is becoming a little princess. She keeps stealing my clothes and Mom defends her. She always does. I think it’s her way of punishing me. It’s so tiring I’ve decided to apply for an internship in a high school overseas. There are programs for exchange students in Europe. I spoke to my teachers about it, and they say I’m smart enough to apply. Mrs. Dart slipped and said I was as smart as you. She liked you a lot, you know. I took it as a compliment…’
‘…I got enrolled in a magic high-school in France! I can’t believe I will be leaving a full year! I’m so terrified and excited at the same time! It’ll be the first time I’ve gone so far away from home on my own…’
‘…I chose to stay in a dorm, not with a family. The girls living there are from all over the world, it’s pretty neat. I’ve been improving my French too! Nick –full name Nicolas –is a local and shows us around during the weekend…’
From there on, the notebook turned more into a teenager’s diary. It was both oddly perverse, heart-lightening, and angering to him. He was privy to read her inner thoughts, learn very personal details that he would have rather not known. He was amused by the mistakes she made, about her adventures.
He was angry by the fact she got to live that life, while he was locked up.
‘…I returned home for the summer holiday. Nothing has changed, it’s so depressing. I think I’ll apply again next year…’
‘…They’re going to try to call Aunt Piper’s spirit again!!!! Gramps told Mom that Wyatt was applying to get guardianship to you, and she doesn’t want you out! I really want this to work so this fucking business is over…’
The last entry was dated from a few days ago, shortly before the aunts cornered him.
'Come home Chris. I beg you. You don't have to talk to them, to me, to anyone. Just come home and be safe. You went through enough.'
And that made up his mind.
He felt her presence as she arrived in his back, and turned around.
Prudence Johanna ‘PJ’ Halliwell, eldest daughter of Phoebe Halliwell, looked completely out of breath. He hadn’t been sure about meeting with her. What she wrote in the notebook did not necessarily reflect her true thoughts, and he thought she pictured him more like some tragic character than a human in flesh and blood, but it made him curious. Curious enough to see for himself. She looked a lot like her mother, with darker hair, perhaps, and a different nose. She seemed stuck in that period in-between adolescence and womanhood. Her eyes were wide and she was panting like she had been running all morning.
"Shit," she said. "It is you!"
And before he could move, she stepped inside his personal space and gave him a tight hug. He stiffened, not used to someone else's ready contact -not quite avoiding them but not welcoming them either –and didn’t move the whole time. His heartbeat accelerated at once and he felt sweat beginning to pearl down his skin.
"I'm so glad, believe it or not. I'm so glad you got out." She finally stepped back. "How are you? You're so tall! Why are you and Wy that tall? And you look..." she stared at him up in down. "I better not introduce you to my friends right away, you're too pretty. They’ll be all over you and scare you off-"
'Hey pretty boy, come over here.’
He stiffened further as the memory fleetingly crossed his mind. PJ seemed to notice and flushed red.
"Sorry, I'm such a babble mouth when I'm nervous. Am I making you uncomfortable? Of course I am, silly me. Just tell me what I need to do to make you feel better, I don't want to screw this up. I'm serious. I mean, you must have read all the embarrassing details of the notebook. I hope you wanted to see me, ‘cause I wish...I wanted to go there, but mom wouldn't let me."
She had written it in the notebook. Twenty times. And ranted about the unfairness of the situation, about how she wasn’t allowed to question it. Her insistence had been a source of tension with her parents. She had to let go, but hadn’t forgotten. She had never forgotten.
"Chris, you look a bit pale, you're alright?"
Phoebe’s face superposed over hers and he suddenly felt sick. It was too early. He wasn’t ready.
"I need to go," he blurted and stepped away. Thankfully, she didn't try to follow him.
Later, he found himself facing the notebook. He took his pen, opened it at the last written page. PJ hadn't added anything since the simple ‘OK, see you there’, after he wrote a localization and a date. So he plucked up the courage and did.
'Today was not a good day. Let's meet some other time.'
It seemed she was keeping watch anyway, because it barely took her two minutes to answer.
'I'll wait. It was nice to see you, no matter how short. Love you.'
He read the two last words again and again. Wasn't sure how he wanted to feel about them. He knew he was loved, if only by Wyatt and Victor. But they acted, didn’t speak, and that mattered more. Reading the lines…it felt slightly different. He shut the notebook and placed it in the drawer of his nightstand. He had forgotten what it was like, to be told ‘I love you’.
His mother used to say it. His aunts used to say it. His -Leo used to say it too. And now the first one was dead and the rest turned their back on him.
He was too uncomfortable to accept the words right now...but maybe one day…if it was from PJ, the munchkin that kept following him and Wyatt around when they were little, the girl that took his side against her parents growing up…if that PJ was real…
He clearly wasn’t ready to hear, to accept those words. But he hoped that one day, he would be.