Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An Alternative Unchanged Future

Part 1: Wyatt

‘I’m sorry, but this is for the greater good.’

Wyatt woke up panting, his senses in high alert, his magic boiling in his veins, ready to react to any upcoming danger.

It took him far too long to realize he was not in danger, but in his bedroom, safely tucked under the sheets. His breath still quick, he closed his eyes, tried to relax. For the past four nights, he kept having the same nightmare. Something was chasing him, and he could only run away, not even fight back. He wondered if it meant anything, of if was just the reflection of his own worries. His alarm rang. He slammed the buzzer off and forced himself up.

The apartment he had found was small but cozy, well suited for a single man with a meager salary to live on. He had been lucky so far; the temp job agency always managed to find him something to do. He never stayed long enough at one place to have people question his repetitive absences when charges were calling for help. It was a temporary solution anyway. He wouldn’t stay in this apartment forever no matter how much he loved it. Away from the family, away from everyone, his little cocoon…

His eyes fell on a piece of fabric peeking out from underneath the couch. He bent over to retrieve it and grimaced. The yellow sweater belonged to his now ex-girlfriend. Tracy must have forgotten it when she came to pick up her last belongings. She wasn’t very big on cleaning, leaving that task to him in the name of male-female equality. Bull, she was just lazy. Still, now that she was gone, his place would be clean again. He would have to mail the sweater to her address, or drop it off at one of her friends, or whatever.

He fell back on the cushions and barked a laugh. At least Tracy had been a distraction. When Chris had introduced her as a fellow witch, when she had openly hit on him, when he had asked her out on a date, he had only been seeking for company. Tracy had been fun, a bit loud and obnoxious, but not mean. He thought she would be enough, but after a while…he couldn’t stand her anymore. Her incessant I’m-the-girlfriend-of-the-Twice-Blessed got to him and they broke up in a wildly unnecessary fight –her high-pitch voice bringing the worse of out him –that ended with him orbing most of her stuff back to her apartment.

Apparently, he hadn’t seen the stupid yellow thing. He just hoped she wouldn’t take it as his way of trying to get her back.

A whirlpool of white lights appeared in his living room and Leo orbed in. Wyatt bit back a groan. Not so early in the morning….

“Wyatt, I just came from a meeting with the Elders. What happened?”

Far too broad question, dad, he thought sarcastically.

“With what?” he decided to ask.

“Karl.”

Oh man; what did the little whiner say again?

“He’s a dick,” Wyatt said bluntly. “I asked if he could be assigned to someone else.”

Leo sighed with that disappointed air.

“Look Wyatt, I know it’s hard, but not all of your charges will be easy to work with. I had a lot of charges too before meeting your mother, and it didn’t always go smoothly. Just be patient, Karl is acting out because he feels insecure, it’ll pass in time.”

Wyatt felt the more and more familiar angry pulse in his veins, but swallowed it down and forced himself to nod. This was his job, his destiny. He had to deal with it.

“I understand. I’ll try.”

“I know you will,” Leo replied with the same satisfied smile he itched to slap off his face. “You look tired. Try to rest a bit, alright?”

When? Wyatt nearly asked, but his question echoed in an empty space. Leo had already left.

He breathed in deeply, exhaled softly, and picked up his phone and headphones. He launched his favorite playlist and laid back on the couch. Electro began to resonate in his ears, and he closed his eyes to listen to the beat. Chris had sent him his new work yesterday, and he hadn’t taken the time to listen to it yet. Trance wasn’t his first choice of music, but he liked listening to his productions.

When Chris was seven years old, Grandpa Victor had brought him to a rehearsal of a philharmonic orchestra. That day, his brother had decided music would become his future. Most of the family –himself included –had believed his interest would fade in a matter of weeks. Over a decade later, he proved them all wrong by actually living off his music. His early works had matured and he owned his own channel under the name of DJ Warren. Homage to their ancestor, he claimed –although Wyatt suspected he just lacked imagination and picked up the first name that he could carry for the rest of his life without shame.

He exhaled again, felt himself being carried away by the melody. The bass resonated through his body and the pitch sounds felt like electric shocks going through his system. Breathed in, out…

The jingling sound interrupted his relaxation. He gritted his teeth, took off his headphones and, after quickly preparing himself, orbed to join his charge.

His whitelighting duties, as he called them, had begun on his twentieth birthday. Leo had been somehow convinced he wanted to be a whitelighter ASAP, and had assigned him his first charge, Linda. She had been a nice witch, very kind and understanding –a little flattered to be his ‘first’ as she jokingly called it. He had been assigned two others as time went by. Dennis was a witch in his mid-thirties who usually listened to his advice. Karl was a middle-aged man, who took one look at him and decided that he had been granted the privilege of being protected by the Twice-Blessed, therefore didn’t need to do much.

Wyatt hated him, had petitioned twice to be relieved from him, but the Elders had denied his request. So Karl was still his charge, and he needed to answer his call. He joined him at the entrance of a lair –demonic, but the feel of it. The witch had his arms crossed, was tapping his foot impatiently.

“You’re late,” he grumbled at his approach. Wyatt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Patience, he thought, remembering his father’s words.

“What’s going on, Karl?” he asked. The man didn’t seem injured or confused, just very irritated.

“I need help to vanquish this demon,” he announced bluntly. “If we go in there together, it’ll be easy-peasy.”

Wyatt frowned. He knew that tone, that nonchalant arrogance. Karl may be a ‘good’ witch, but he was also a freaking lazy one.

“I’m here to help. Not to do your job,” he pointed out coldly.

The man’s frown deepened.

“You’re here to clean up behind me, kid,” he hissed. “With your freaky powers, you should be the one doing my job.”

Wyatt glared at him, the familiar urge to strangle that dumbass returning to pump his veins. His fingers twitching uncontrollably and-

Karl started turning blue, his hand reaching for his neck while making a weird gargle in the back of his throat. He fell on his knees, his body convulsing and Wyatt thought that watching him writher like a worm, twitch helplessly was so satisfying, and now maybe he would stop babbling like an idiot-

What are you doing? He suddenly stopped the power he’d been unconsciously using. Karl gasped, greedily breathing for air. When he glanced up at Wyatt, he looked terrified.

“You are mental!” the witch snapped. “You are a freaky mental-“

Fuck this, Wyatt cursed and orbed away before he did something truly irreparable.

His mother was already up and busy when he arrived in the kitchen. She beamed happily and welcomed him with opened arms.

“Good morning Wyatt,” she greeted, patted his back, and pulled back with a frown. “You’ve lost weight recently, haven’t you?” without waiting for his answer, she tugged on his arm. “Sit, I was just making breakfast.” The clean and dry pans tended to claim the contrary, but he didn’t comment and meekly obeyed. He didn’t eat much lately, mostly because he didn’t have the time to cook, and after growing up eating Piper Halliwell’s food, take-out almost tasted bland.

“Thanks mom,” he said. He watched her move around the kitchen, humming cheerfully. She looked well and healthy, blooming for a woman her age, and he would have smiled if not for the red shirt.

…eyes wide and empty, mouth opened, white chef uniform tainted in deep red and Chris crying ‘Wy, help’…

“Your top doesn’t suit you,” he blurted before he could stop himself. “You should change it.”

Red on her body –anywhere on her body –brought back memories he would rather forget. It made him edgy, a little restless, and he already wasn’t in a great mood.

“I like this one,” was her simple answer. She knew why he spoke those words of course. For years she hadn’t worn any shade of red because she would see the way he or Chris would tense, how they would act overly protective, almost hyper vigilant, and the terrible nightmares that would follow. It wasn’t until he and his brother both decided that they needed to get over it and bought her a shirt with some hint of red for her birthday that she wore it again.

“I still don’t like it,” he added stubbornly.

She put down the plates on the table, met his eye. She didn’t look annoyed or sad or even disappointed, just very calm and understanding.

“I’m alive, Wyatt. You saved me, remember?”

“Chris saved you,” he corrected, clenching his fists a little. “He came home early and called me right away. If he hadn’t…”

Wyatt and his father had been in an Elders’ meeting when he heard his brother screaming for him. His cry had sounded so different than usual, so desperate, he hadn’t asked for permission and orbed out on the spot. He got hell for it later –you shouldn’t sneak out like that, Wyatt! his father had chided before realizing what was going on –but if their mother had died because a bunch of old geezers disconnected with reality had prevented him from leaving, he would have never forgiven them.

Sometimes, he still heard Chris’s cries in his nightmares, when he dreamed of what may have been, had he not disobeyed…

“What is truly bothering you?” Piper asked, breaking through his thoughts again. There was a hint of concern in her voice, and her expression sharpened. The full concerned mom-mode was activated.

“It’s nothing,” he heard himself saying. “I guess I’m just in a mood. Didn’t catch a full night sleep this past week.”

That part was true and it seemed she bought it, since she relaxed slightly.

“Alright.” She began mixing the flour and eggs. “Do tell me what’s going on in your life; I haven’t seen you much lately.”

They spent a half-hour in peace, something that Wyatt was grateful for. Alone time with his mother helped him breathe as much as listening to Chris’s new music track. They caught up with the latest news, the latest gossip, until Piper had to leave for work in turn. She packed him two Tupperware –because she claimed he was in dire need of food –and asked:

“Are you stopping at Chris’s today?” He hadn’t intended to but perhaps he might, if only to tell him what he thought of his new track, so he nodded. “Here, will you give him this?”

She handed him over another box filled with food. Wyatt took it.

“Thank you on his behalf,” he said. “He’ll love it.”

“You’re a sweet child, Wyatt,” she replied and kissed his cheek. “I love you and I am very proud of you. Take care of yourself, alright?”

He smiled back, orbed away and wondered if she would still be proud if she knew what he had done to Karl just earlier.

Chris was at home. Wyatt found him sitting in his makeshift studio slash office, head deep into his work. He didn’t have to announce his presence. His brother’s nose did the job.

“Smells like food,” he said before Wyatt could speak. He looked up from his screen, turned around and grinned widely. His hair was held back with a headband, keeping his eyes unobstructed. Sometimes Wyatt wondered why he just didn’t cut the whole thing. Shorter hair was more practical, but Chris claimed he liked it better this way.

“Mom pitied you and sent me over as her errant boy,” he joked. Chris was already salivating.

“Oh tell me she made her special curry sauce,” he begged. “I’m famished. You ate lunch yet?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

Chris paused and checked his watch.

“Damn,” he cursed. “I guess I did have an early breakfast. Want some coffee? I may have…stuff left in the shelves up there.”

He stood up, and Wyatt obligingly followed. The apartment itself was unusually warm, and Chris only wore a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans torn at the knees. As he checked through the cupboards for something eatable and drinkable, Wyatt launched a new batch of coffee. He let his eyes linger on the bare arms and shoulders, noted the firmer outlines.

“You’ve been working out?”

“Yeah,” Chris replied. “There’s a local gym behind the block. I have to stay in shape, and Sylvia pointed out that I may have been indulging lately. My model coworker, remember?”

His brother had a bunch of model coworkers, but ‘Sylvia’s’ name rang a bell. He must have mentioned her once or twice before. Whatever her opinion may be, Wyatt thought his brother was skinny enough. Or maybe it was just his genetic constitution? Chris had always been thin, but in good health.

“I listened to your new record,” Wyatt said to change subject. Chris found what he wanted and orbed everything on the table. The coffee now warm, Wyatt picked a mug and helped himself. “It sounded a bit different than what you usually do,” he pointed out. Chris sat on the table and opened a packet of biscuits.

“That one was co-composed with Lorelei. She asked me to check her arrangements and write lyrics as a favor.” He nodded towards the coffee. “Pour me one, will you?”

Wyatt frowned as he complied and pushed the filled mug in his direction.

“Lorelei’s a professional DJ. Are you working with or for her?”

“Relax, we signed a contract. I will receive a percentage of whatever that song brings in. And my name is on the paper.” Chris added with a smile: “I like her music. I’m flattered she offered to partner up on something, but I’m not an idiot. A little extra won’t hurt.” His brother’s income might be even more irregular than his, but he was living off his passion. He still had this modeling gig going on and his community college classes to attend to, but he looked thriving. Wyatt envied him a lot for that. “So, what’s bothering you?”

It took him a few seconds to actually hear the question.

“What?”

Chris pointed at his own face, a spot between his eyebrows.

“You have that little wrinkle right here. Something’s on your mind and I will safely assume you didn’t talk to mom about it.”

“How do you-“ he began before shaking his head. He had no idea how his brother did it, but his instincts were scarily accurate. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Of course it’s probably nothing,” Chris repeated, leaning back in his chair, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Spit it out, I’m all ears.” He took a sip of the mug, waiting expectantly.

Wyatt’s shoulders sagged and he sighed heavily. Now that it was just him and his brother, he felt…more at ease. Safer. Odd, since he had grown up under the watchful eye of the Halliwell matriarch and was the Twice-Blessed, heir of Arthur yadda yadda yadda. Chris was, had always been his haven. Sometimes, he wondered who the older, wiser brother was between them two.

“I’ve had these…dreams. Nightmares, really.” Chris nodded encouragingly. “I’m not sure what they mean, and they’re always the same.”

He described them, even though there wasn’t much to describe: being lost in endless corridors, feeling the chase of a monster on his tail, the terror and confusion, and most of all, these terrible words…for the greater good…

“Think it could be prophetic?” Chris suggested once he was done.

“No,” he shook his head. “They feel like old memories. The kind of stuff I locked up in there and forgot.”

His brother took another sip, looking deep in thoughts.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Wy,” he said eventually. “Maybe you could ask mom? If it’s a memory, she’s bound to know if something happened to you.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted, almost amused. “Remind me how many things happened to us growing up?”

“Can’t hurt to ask,” Chris retorted without missing a beat. “Or if you don’t want to go through mom, you should try Enola. You know, the shaman? She has a shop in San Francisco. I go there when I need special ingredients and stuff. I can text you the address.”

Wyatt remembered her indeed. She used to freak him out with the purity of her magic energy waves. His aunt called her efficient.

“Sure,” he said. “What do I have to lose?”

“She’ll tell you if you’re wasting your time,” Chris added as he reached for a phone. “She’s honest like that.”

“Thanks,” Wyatt said, and meant it, mostly. He waited a few seconds and asked in turn: “So, what kept you up all night?”

His brother momentarily froze –barely a split second, but Wyatt didn’t miss it. He glanced up, met his eyes, asked:

“What makes you think something kept me up all night?”

Wyatt smirked, already guessing what must have happened. He knew his little brother very well too.

“Let’s see…you had an early breakfast, so that would be like, what, three or four in the morning? Early breakfast means you’ve been out late and didn’t bother going to bed. Since you were working on your music when I arrived, you must have been inspired…and we both know what’s your favorite source of inspiration.”

Chris rolled his eyes, his cheeks reddening a little.

“I didn’t actually go out,” he said. “I was up the roof.” Wyatt inclined his head in silent invitation to continue. “I just needed a smoke, went up there. The next door neighbor was there too; I never saw her before. We chatted for a bit, then we went our separate ways. Nothing happened.”

“She pretty?”

“Yeah,” Chris nodded with a light smile. “Petite. Almond eyes. Dark hair. She doesn’t smile much, talks sharply. I think she believed I was going to hit on her. She relaxed after a while. Sounds smart enough.”

“You have a name?”

“Bianca. No last name. Too lazy to check it on the way back too,” he added with a shrug.

A strong jingle echoed in his head for the second time of the day and Wyatt winced unhappily. He supposed he should be glad he had this much time with his mother and brother.

“Elders?” Chris guessed accurately, again.

“Elders,” Wyatt confirmed grimly. His brother watched his reaction with slight worry.

“What did you do this time?”

“Tried to strangle Karl with my telekinesis,” he blurted honestly.

Chris stared at him blankly for five full seconds before whistling:

“Wow, he must have really pissed you off,” he finished his coffee in one go and put the empty mug down on the table. “I wouldn’t worry that much; you told me he was an asshole to you before. Maybe they’ll actually assign another whitelighter to him.” He stretched his arms, cracked his back. “I’m going to take a nap. Just orb back in if you want to hang around. Spare room is still free.”

“I have an apartment of my own,” Wyatt reminded him. Chris grinned.

“Your apartment doesn’t have a triple protection against orbing-shimmering-beaming parasites.” Chris was very protective of his privacy, almost obsessively so. Not even their aunt Paige could orb into his apartment. She had to knock like everyone else. Wyatt, however, was keyed into the wards. Chris claimed it was a malfunction, but Wyatt knew he didn’t add that extra layer of protection on purpose. It warmed him every time he thought of it.

“I’ll tell you how it goes,” he replied instead. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He orbed out, actually relieved that his brother hadn’t judged him. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted, had Chris stared at him as if he were a monster.

The meeting went as expected. Karl had complained about his mistreatment. Wyatt had tried to explain his point of view. The council of Elders wasn’t interested in his version and gave him another warning. Wyatt left Up There feeling even more frustrated, but unsurprised. Gideon was amongst the five Elders present there for council, and his old headmaster had an amazing talent to sound both encouraging and insulting at the same time. He knew some of them loved being able to ‘boss around’ the Twice-Blessed.

At least they got Karl off him. Marcus would replace him –put a whiner with another whiner, they’d do well together. The temp agency hadn’t called him, so he basically had a free day. He decided to check out Enola’s shop and see if he could meet with the shaman.

He found her easily, and she had anticipated his visit. She knew exactly what he wanted before he even had to open his mouth. He was led to an enclosed room, with incents and perfumes wafting through the room, offered a potion and left alone. Wyatt drew a few protection runes in the earth around him, just in case, drank, laid down, and closed his eyes.

The caves were cold and dark. The man’s robe brushed the ground as he approached, and he could see the glittering reflection of the athame’s blade. ‘This is for the greater good.’ He was tired, but he kept orbing away. He couldn’t let the man catch up with him. The man was scary, the man would hurt him. He was scared now, lost and hungry and he wanted mommy. He wanted auntie. He wanted daddy. He wanted someone, anyone-

He fell face-to-face with a pale-looking man with dirty blonde hair. The demon stared at him with narrowed red eyes, a hesitant expression on his face. ‘It doesn’t feel right’, he whispered, his voice low and cold. ‘Leave before I change my mind.’

And he left, kept orbing, with every bit of strength he still had, until he finally heard a voice that was not the man’s and he-

Wyatt woke up of his trance in sweats. He remembered. The nightmare was not just a nightmare, but as he suspected, a memory. And not just any memory. He was a kid, barely more than a baby, and he’d been somewhere –the Underworld, he belatedly realized –and he’d been chased by a man. A familiar man. A man that wasn’t supposed to be bad.

An Elder.

A fucking Elder.

A fucking Elder had taken him and had run after him with a fucking athame. And when he came face to face with a demon –the demon let him go.

An Elder tried to kill him. A demon let him go without hurting him.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to work like that. Elders were supposed to be good, demons were supposed to be evil. Elders were supposed to save lives, demons were supposed to kill.

He had to be mistaken. He had to be mistaken. There was no way an Elder would come after him. It had to be a disguise, or a trick, or-

-he wanted daddy and auntie but the blue lights didn’t mean it was them, it could also mean it was the bad man and so he kept going and going and-

‘This is for the greater good.’

-sense of evil coming from his body and the smell was terrible and the black coat decorated with golden strings and those terrible evil red eyes-

‘Leave before I change my mind’

No, he realized shakily, there was no mistake. The one running after him had been an Elder. The one letting him go had been a demon. In that moment of his childhood, good and evil had been switched and he didn’t understand why. Wyatt chuckled a little, then his shoulders began shaking and he started to laugh. The laugh changed into something hysterical as the realization truly dawned upon him. An Elder tried to kill him as a baby.

It didn’t make sense. He was good. Good. He was raised to be good, his family was good, Elders were good.

Or were they really?

Was he?

He was the Twice-Blessed. Blessed. Not Cursed. The Elders themselves had made it so that he’d be this powerful. Why would an Elder attack him? Why would a demon let him go? Where was the line? Was there a line anymore?

A burst of anger ran through his body. All this time, he’d been playing by the Elders’ rules, following their words in blind faith, advocating their work. For what in the end? He was the most powerful witch on earth, they made sure of it. Demons were nothing in front of him. He could blow them with a snap of a finger. Demons…but not only. No being on his world could oppose him. No-one could force him to do anything. So why had he been so complacent all these years? Why did he obey like a freaking little lamb, when the very people ordering him around tried to kill him as a baby!

Too many thoughts mixed up in his mind. He needed to get out, head somewhere quiet and…He didn’t wait for Enola to return. He orbed out, and headed to the only place where he felt safe.

Chris wasn’t there when he arrived. He curled into a corner of the living room, breathing heavily, staring at the black TV screen. The pictures –or now he knew, memories –played again and again in his mind. It was slowly driving him crazy –all the things he had been taught, the things he had believed in, had been wired to believe in, these notions of good and evil biting him back in the face.

You’re here to clean up behind me.

Karl’s words came back to him and his power pulsed in his veins, answering his emotions. Was that all he was? A cleaner? A cleaner for ‘good’?

No, I don’t think so, he thought bitterly.

“Wy?”

He flinched at the sudden light in the room, didn’t realize he had been there so long. Chris was home, but he didn’t feel better. No, if anything, he felt worse.

“I went to Enola’s,” he started quietly. “Followed your advice. I made a vision quest. They were memories.”

Chris dropped whatever he had in hand and quickly stepped closer. Then, just a few feet away from him, he froze. Wyatt didn’t look up.

“When I was a kid,” he went on. “When I was a fucking baby, someone stole me. Tried to kill me. I was gone for two weeks. I remember everything.”

He thought his brother tried to step closer. There was motion in the corner of his eye, but it felt very…slow. Too slow.

“It was a fucking Elder who did it. An Elder tried to kill me as a baby. I never trusted them before, never could. How can they expect me to trust them now? How can they expect me to believe what they think good is, when they are fucking morons themselves!”

His magic reached out of his body and a loud crash followed. Something had just broken into a thousand pieces somewhere.

“Wyatt?” he heard Chris called warily.

“What is good Chris?” he snarled, his whole body now tensed and wired up. “What is?”

Another piece of furniture flew across the room. He covered his eyes, shivered as he tried to breathe.

You’re here to clean up. You have to be patient.

He was the Twice-Blessed. He had to do many things he didn’t want to. He couldn’t care less about whitelighter duties. He didn’t want to be a whitelighter; he had to. Because that was his Destiny, and fuck what his true desires were.

“They’re such a bunch of hypocrites!” Wyatt spat, almost shouted. His head was hurting, his heart pounding and his fingers curled into his hair and he pulled it, pulled it to make it stop. “Every one of them. Elders. Witches. Ungrateful charges. They all take you for granted, and when something goes wrong, it’s always my fault!”

The walls cracked and the floor began to tremble. He breathed through his teeth, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Things crashed loudly into walls, shattering into pieces. He could feel the debris flying all over the place, the destruction ongoing. He didn’t want to stop. What should he do now? If good and evil didn’t matter anymore, what was the meaning of his life? Of his power? Should he take over the world like he was tempted to after his mother nearly died? Destroy the Elders as he had dreamed of a few times? Go on a rampage and reveal magic to the world, so that he wouldn’t have to hide anymore? If he could use his magic freely in the open…wouldn’t it feel great?

“Wyatt! Snap out of it Wyatt!”

Chris’s voice. His brother’s voice. The one person who never used him, never judged him –teased and mocked and fought but never judged –who trusted him…or was it a lie too?

His thoughts shifted slowly and he blinked back to the present. Chris was lying flat on the floor, low enough to stay out of reach of the stuff flying around the room. His brother’s hand was tight around his left ankle.

“You have me Wyatt. You will always have me. I won’t let you go through his alone. I swear Wy, you’ve my brother! So get a fucking grip on yourself!”

Stuff was still flying around the room. Wyatt suddenly realized he was literately wrecking his brother’s apartment. His home. The place he had chosen to settle in, to live in, to work in after he finally left the manor on his own, no help needed. And he was wrecking it, because his telekinesis…

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. He ordered his magic to come to a halt. Pieces of furniture lowered to the ground gently. Silence fell in the room and he realized his brother was still holding his ankle, face down, breathing heavily. Chris hadn’t moved yet, even if everything had come to a halt, and for a second, Wyatt thought he had been injured. A lot of heavy pieces of furniture had been flying around, and if he got hit…

Uneasiness replaced his earlier feelings. If Chris was hurt…

“You’re alright?”

His voice seemed to jolt him awake, and Chris immediately crawled closer and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pressing his face into his neck.

“You will always have me,” he said, his voice coarse and trembling. “I swear Wy, I’m not leaving you alone.”

He was shaking. Chris was terrified, and yet he still clung at him. In spite of the violent tremor running down his body, he didn’t let go.

“I’m not leaving you Wyatt. I’m not leaving you alone.”

He repeated the words again and again, and Wyatt was suddenly wrapped in his brother’s scent, in warmth, his voice…His embrace was surprisingly strong. In spite of everything…in spite of his fear…Chris trusted him to do the right thing. In spite of every part of his body shaking, his little brother was trying to stand by him, to comfort him, to reassure him. If it was a lie…Wyatt wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe him. Good and evil didn’t matter when his brother was concerned, because he chose to trust that the adoring eyes of that annoying little brother, their closeness as they grew up, was real.

So he slowly wrapped his arms around his back in return, felt the sturdy, surprisingly firm presence under his fingertips. He always thought Chris was the weaker one, that he needed protecting most.

Perhaps he was…wrong.

Wyatt was the powerful one, but Chris always, always had the steadiest, strongest mind. Chris never needed anyone. He never needed him.

What was he useful for?

Chris’s grip tightened around his shoulders. Wyatt opened his eyes, saw the disaster that had become his brother’s home.

“I wrecked your place, sorry,” he said, feeling oddly detached with himself.

He heard Chris snort and made a sound, half a cry, half a laugh.

“It’s just stuff,” he replied. “Stuff can be bought back.” He stiffened suddenly and whispered: “My records?”

Wyatt glanced at Chris’ office and telekinetically opened the door to peek in. Chris said nothing, waiting tensely, like a ticking clock.

“All clear,” he announced, and felt the sigh of relief. “I guess I didn’t want to touch your work.”

Chris released him and sat next to him, back against the wall. His skin had turned white, his fingers were still trembling. His eyes, however, remained steady and clear.

“Don’t ever freak out like this on me again, Wy.”

Wyatt remained quiet, as he felt he couldn’t promise such a thing, not yet. All thoughts of Elders and demons and right or wrong were dimmed for now. But if he found himself in a dark place…

Chris broke the silence first.

“This is the stupidest idea but I need a drink.”

Wyatt hesitated as he watched his brother slowly stand up. He had to lean against the wall, clearly not stable, but he took a few steps in the direction of the kitchen counter.

“May I join you?” he asked.

Chris laughed again.

“You kidding? You are carrying the bags up there.” He gave him one stare, very reminiscent of their mother, that meant he would not take ‘no’ for an answer. “And we are getting shitfaced.”

The rooftop did offer a great view, especially in the dying sun. The city of San Francisco was spread underneath their feet, lights in the building brightening the space. In other circumstances, Wyatt would have taken a few seconds to admire the landscape. As it was, he couldn’t stop staring at the remarkable amount of bottles in the bag Chris made him carry to the top. No using the elevators, of course, little bastard.

“Is mom aware that you’re an alcoholic?” He didn’t know half of the brand names in there. Chris picked up a bottle, sat against the back wall and opened it with a quick trick –too fast, Wyatt didn’t see it happening. Did he use telekinesis?

“Not an alcoholic and shut up. I’m allowed to drink after what you just pulled.” He brought the bottle to his mouth and took a long, deep swipe. “Pick your poison,” he added.

Wyatt complied and sat on the floor next to him. His earlier anger had left him, he felt almost back in control. Or at least, as much in control as he could manage. If Leo showed up right now, or if the Elders or his charges called, he might snap back very fast.

Using telekinesis, he uncapped the bottle and took a long sip. From the corner of the eye, he noted that Chris had regained his colors and was playing with the neck of his drink.

He was glad, somehow, that Chris still trusted him enough to let himself be vulnerable. Some might say it didn’t matter whether he did or not, since Wyatt would easily get the upper hand if they had to fight, but Wyatt knew better. Chris never lowered his guard, even amongst friends. He may smile, laugh, joke and all, but there was always, always that tiny part of him that kept watch, even subconsciously. Years of dealing with unexpected demons attacks had cemented that habit. He always switched that instinct off when they were together, to truly relax. Just like right now.

“So,” Chris said after they had respectively finished their first bottle and were halfway done with the second. “Any idea who’s the bastard that came after you?”

Wyatt frowned. He hadn’t expected Chris to tackle the matter so quickly. But then, perhaps it was a strategy from his part. I’m being vulnerable and open to you right now, please return the favor. Worse part was it was kinda working. He took a swing of his beer and swallowed a mouthful. He didn’t really want to be sober to do this.

“No. He was too tall for me, I couldn’t see his face.”

Chris hummed and drank some more.

“You should talk to Roland,” he eventually said. “He’s haughty and a bit of a snob, but he’s not an asshole.”

Wyatt nearly choked mid swallow.

“I just told you an Elder tried to kill me as a baby, and you want me to talk to another Elder?” he asked in disbelief. Maybe he wasn’t as bright as he thought; or the alcohol was muddling his brains.

“He had very strong opinions about our parents’ marriage and didn’t hide it, which makes him perfect. You know exactly what he thinks of you when you stand in front of him. Besides, as an Elder himself, he is in a good position to investigate,” Chris replied with a shrug. “I trust him as far as I can trust an Elder.”

Wyatt made a double-take. This was the closest thing to a high compliment that Chris could ever make, and it was to Roland?

Did something happen between the two? He wasn’t aware that his brother knew that particular Elder. To him, Roland was just one of the Elders with whom he didn’t interact much with. One that Leo wasn’t particularly fond of, which perhaps did give him kudos in Chris’ eye. One he didn’t think liked them much in return either.

He was about to ask for an explanation, why would such a stupid idea be a good one, or if Chris just needed to be orbed back to bed, when the door leading to the staircase opened. Both brothers turned around. A woman stepped in and froze mid-step when she saw them.

“Oh,” she said, startled. “Sorry. I’ll just…”

“Hey Bianca,” Chris greeted with a small wave. “Come along and join our pity party. I brought the bottles from my housewarming. Plenty to choose from.”

She hesitated a brief moment, Wyatt wondered if she had been glancing at him, before approaching.

So this is Bianca, he thought as she stepped by him. She looked just the way Chris described her –petite, dark hair, serious face…tired circles underneath those tired eyes…He hadn’t mentioned she was slightly older, or that she looked really damn hot. Especially in those boots.

He watched as she reached inside the bag, grabbed the neck of the bottle and pulled it out. She smelt something light and eerie, a cover to hide the scent of blood. His eyes caught the tattoo on her wrist, slightly familiar, and he racked his brain to remember where he had seen-

Oh. Oh. He glanced at Chris, wondering if he knew his neighbor was an assassin witch that was very likely coming back from a mission, and his brother muttered to his unasked question:

“Not a fucking word, Wy.”

Of course he knew. He wouldn’t miss something like that. The question was, did she know who she was going to drink with tonight. Chris scooted over to give her some room and she sat on his other side, far away from Wyatt. He snorted and took another swing of his own bottle. Yeah, she probably did.

“So, how was your day?” Chris asked.

The newcomer emptied her bottle in one go. Wyatt held back an impressed whistle.

“I hate my job,” she blurted once she was done. “I hate my family and ask me again in five more minutes I will hate the fucking world.”

Wyatt laughed, a mix between a chuckle and a snort, and raised his drink in a fake cheer.

“I hear you sister,” he muttered, took another sip and leaned his head back against the wall.

He closed his eyes. The alcohol was muddling his senses and rocking him into a comfortable, warm bubble. He was on a rooftop, sharing a drink with his brother and a Phoenix witch. Good and evil gathered again around blurry lines. Yesterday, he would have sent the woman on her way without a care for Chris’s opinion. Now…now that he heard her bitter words, he thought she might actually have more morals than that fucking Elder did.

Oh the things that can change in one day, he thought sarcastically.

No-one spoke for a while, until Chris started chatting with the newcomer and she slowly chatted back. He tuned them off and focused back on his brother’s latest advice.

Contacting an Elder, in his opinion, was not a brilliant idea. He wanted to find out who took him, not take the risk of spreading the news, not take the risk of having that Elder cover up his fellow’s mistake. It made him briefly wonder if Elders covered up for one another or if they trampled down each other. If Chris recommended this Roland…

Wyatt sighed and closed his eyes. He needed to get in touch with an Elder about his whitelighter duties anyway, preferably not his father. He was done with it. No more babysitting. No more putting his life on hold because some dumbass witch needed advice or help. He needed a fresh start and breaking off with his old so-called calling, a calling he found more burdensome than fulfilling, would be a good beginning.

“Hey Wy, you better not be plotting world domination out of revenge.”

He glared slightly at his brother. Bianca looked unsure whether he was joking or not. Wyatt knew he wasn’t.

“Not tonight,” he said seriously before humoring him: “Maybe tomorrow.”

Chris hummed with some sense of content and fished out another bottle. Wyatt swallowed the rest of his and dropped it on the side. The moon was rising over the lighted city. His brother was here, no demons were threatening the peace. He switched his whitelighter sense off to make sure no Elders would call for him, and relaxed. For the first time in months, he felt alright.

Wyatt stared at the city of San Francisco as the sun rose. The Golden Gate Bridge was the best place to meet an Elder as he really didn’t want to orb Up There. Having a one-to-one conversation with those old geezers would be tough enough, especially with his new knowledge. Being surrounded by them might wake up murderous impulses.

Two silhouettes orbed next to him. The first one he expected. The second was not welcomed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked his father dryly. “I only asked to talk to Roland.”

His father stiffened, taken aback by his tone. Wyatt didn’t care. He was done being the perfect golden boy. He had played his part far too long.

“Wyatt,” Leo began. “If you are having issues…”

“I asked to talk to Roland alone,” he repeated, forcing himself to remain calm. Acting up like a toddler would not help his case. Chris had coached him through this. His brother unfortunately had the experience to deal with an obtuse father. “Or will you not respect my wishes?”

Use the right words, shove in his face exactly what he is doing to you, Chris’ voice whispered in his ear. But never raise your voice and stay calm.

“I’m worried about you, son,” Leo insisted, taking a step closer. Wyatt crossed his arms and glared at him.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” he asked, firm and steady.

His father looked unhappy, almost wounded, but eventually orbed away. The remaining Elder lowered his hood. He barely looked past his mid-thirties, brown-haired, straight inquiring gaze. Not the eyes of a cold-blood killer. Wyatt briefly wondered what his story was, and what sacrifice made him become a whitelighter in the first place. Would it be rude to ask how he died? How long ago? He had known a few Elders that lived over three hundred years, and Chris had mentioned Roland to be one of the oldest amongst them.

“You requested an interview with me,” Roland started. He had a lighter voice than Wyatt expected. Not particularly forthcoming but not hostile either. If anything, he sounded intrigued. “What did you want to ask?”

So this was it. Be honest, Chris had said. Don’t waste both your time. If he doesn’t believe you, you’ll know quickly, and he won’t blab in either case.

“One of your own tried to kill me as a baby,” he blurted. “I want to find out who.”

If Roland was surprised by his words, he didn’t show it. The Elder merely cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“That is a serious accusation, Wyatt,” he said slowly. “What led you to believe that?”

“Series of nightmares, a vision quest, and the mistrust I always felt for Elders in general.” Wyatt began to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t like that inquisitive stare, questioning his words without the need to speak. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until…

“And what do you expect me to do?” Roland asked eventually.

Wyatt blinked, a little startled.

“You believe me?”

“Your family and Elders have not always seen eye-to-eye, but in time of need, we still could work together,” Roland replied calmly. “While I am not convinced, I believe you wouldn’t speak those words carelessly. Elders have, sadly, lost their ways before.” Mid-thirty in the face, but those eyes…the solemnity in them betrayed an old knowing soul. “Again, what do you expect me to do?”

“I-“ he was genuinely surprised he would actually been listened to. To be fair, he barely interacted with any Elder Up There. His father and a few others served as buffers. He wondered if Roland would be different. “If I start investigating, things won’t go well. I’m not my brother. I won’t be sneaky. I will ask question and get angry when I get no answer.”

“You want me to investigate in your stead,” Roland summarized, sounding utterly baffled.

“If you don’t do it, I will, and we both know how that will end,” he repeated. His heart was starting to beat a little harder; he could feel his frustration growing

The Elder frowned, still looking confused.

“Why did you not speak to your family about this?”

He had genuinely considered it before Chris gave his opinion. Wyatt had to agree with it.

“My mother and my aunts will make a lot of fuss but won’t get any results. Elders are respected and if they come down too hard, they will likely earn the animosity of the magical community in the process. My father won’t listen and try to pin this on fatigue and exhaustion. I am exhausted, but I am not paranoid. I don’t know why I dreamed of this, why I remembered it now, but I want to find that guy.”

Roland kept staring in silence. When he spoke again, Wyatt knew he had made up his mind.

“You will be removed from your duties as a whitelighter effective immediately. Linda and Dennis will be assigned to someone else, and you are not to orb Up There until the matter is cleared.”

That was not the answer he expected, but in his mind, still a pleasant surprise. That spared him the effort of listing all the reasons why he wanted off the job.

“Can you do that?” Wyatt blurted hopefully. “I mean, demote me as a whitelighter?”

Roland gave him a long suffering look.

“You were given the responsibilities of a whitelighter while you are still half-witch and have fundamentally different needs, since you are still alive. You may not realize it, but quite a number of Elders were against you taking up whitelighter duties. Demoting you will hardly cause any riots, aside from…the usual ones.” Wyatt thought he was subtly refereeing to Leo and his followers. Roland paused, pressed his lips together unhappily. “As for the other matter, I can only observe for now. I will investigate,” he added before Wyatt could speak. “Because if an Elder is willing to risk the wrath of the Charmed Ones for attacking the Twice-Blessed, I dare not imagine what he would be capable of on others.”

That…was something Wyatt hadn’t considered. Not that he cared about it either. The prospect of not being a whitelighter anymore was…heart-lifting already.

“You do realize that requires a lot of trust on my part. What tells me you’re just going to slack off and focus on other worldly danger? Or just pretend to investigate and then lie about it to my face?”

Roland snorted, shaking his head.

“And here I trust you are not lying to mine. As previously mentioned, your family and we don’t have the best relationship. You could be inventing a story to stir trouble amongst us.” Point, Wyatt privately conceded. “Do you know the reason why I agreed to meet you, Wyatt?” he then asked almost sarcastically. “Leo would not quit asking why you requested me. His repetitive questions made me wonder the exact same thing. I still do not know, for the matter, why you chose me.”

“Chris seems to trust you,” he pointed out. Roland looked surprised. “Isn’t there a reason why?”

“The last interaction I had with your brother goes back to a few days after your mother was stabbed. He asked to speak to an Elder, I answered his call. He made a reasonable request, and I granted it.” He shook his head again. “Your family truly confuses me.”

“What was it?” Wyatt interrupted sharply. So soon after their mother’s attempt murder? “The request. What request did he make?”

Roland sighed, annoyed.

“He requested to be assigned to another whitelighter. He mentioned his father had too many duties to watch over the whole family, and having another one for emergencies would be wiser. As I said before, it was a reasonable request, and I granted it. Ginny is assigned to him and the…” his voice trailed off as he frowned to think. “Four youngest children of the family. Leo keeps his eye on yourself, your oldest cousins and your mother and aunts. It was an arrangement befitting everyone.”

He’s haughty and a bit of a snob, but he’s not an asshole.

“I see,” Wyatt said, feeling a little lost. He had just wanted an interview to deal with a potential mad Elder. Now he was no longer an official whitelighter, had found out not every Elder was crap, and that his father hadn’t been watching over Chris for far longer than he thought.

For having been a whitelighter himself, Wyatt wondered how Leo could have watched over the whole family and still done a good job. The answer had been he sucked at it, because while his mother and aunts were mostly self-sufficient, there were too many people. At least his brother had been safer in the past six years than in his early life.

“May I inquire something, Wyatt?”

He realized the Elder had been staring at him again, with a different kind of look. A sort of cautious inquiry, like he had a question on his mind but was almost afraid to ask.

“What is it?”

“Your brother, Christopher, is truly the last barrier standing between you and madness.”

Wyatt met his eye without blinking.

“I hear no question there.”

Roland nodded slowly. A silent understanding seemed to settle between them, and Wyatt understood Chris’s appreciation a little better. That Elder was neither blind, nor an idiot. He wondered how long Roland had truly been watching them, how much he really saw…if he had witnessed last night’s meltdown…if he had realized early on that as long as his family, as Chris was safe and well-protected, Wyatt would have no reason to do something stupidly terrifying. Like take over the Underworld and destroy the secrecy of magic. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, so for now, he would be content living the ordinary life of an ordinary witch.

“We will be in touch, Wyatt,” Roland said as he pulled his hood back atop his head. “Good day.”

He orbed away.

“Good day too, Roland,” Wyatt whispered to the empty space.

His head felt already lighter, consequences of being freed or placebo effect, he didn’t know. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and exhaled. In a few seconds, he would have to orb to his brother, then his mother, to tell them the news. Chris wanted an update. His mother…he thought he would tell his mother about his demotion, but not the kidnapping. She wasn’t like Aunt Phoebe, who couldn’t keep a secret, but she might take it out on Leo and Leo…

His father wasn’t ready to hear some things. Maybe he never would be.

Wyatt didn’t really care anymore.

He pulled out his phone, slipped his headphones on and launched his favorite playlist. As Chris’ new song began, he sat down and just enjoyed the music. He had the time to do so now.

Chapter Text

An Alternative Unchanged Future

Part 2: Chris

The studio set was crawling with people, technicians, photographs, models…Chris ignored them all and forced himself to remain still.

“One more shot!”

The flash blinded him once again, and he resisted the urge to blink or wince. No matter how many years he had done this stuff, he couldn’t get used to it.

“Thanks guys,” the photograph finally said. “You’re free to go.”

Next to him, Olivia, his coworker, left out a heavy sigh.

“God, I can’t believe he took five extra pictures,” she complained as she followed him off set. She had been a model for seven years and one of his mentors when he started this activity. Her Swedish mother had given her good genes and long blonde hair, and she had the perfect body fit to wear anything. They often paused in pair when a couple was needed because they looked good together.

The few coworkers he considered friends immediately joined him.

“That guy took forever,” Kevin, a tall blonde with deep blue eyes and the beach boy physique, muttered. “I mean, we were done like forty minutes ago. How many times did he make you change again?”

“Too many to count,” Chris replied wryly.  

“Whatever, it’s done now.” Sylvia, mid-twenties, Italian roots and a brisk temper on bad days, was already on her phone, checking her notifications. “So, big night tonight? Jesse sent us a reminder through the chat room. How many will you be?”

Chris scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling a little bit embarrassed.

“Actually-”

“Chriiiiis!”

He winced when he recognized the voice. So did his friends. Within five seconds, they had all deserted him, leaving him alone to face one of the few people he equally loved and found most irritating.

“Hello Aunt Phoebe.” The middle sister of the Charmed Ones beamed and gave him a tight hug. Standing behind her, her youngest daughter, Peyton, looked like she wished she was anywhere but here. “I didn’t realize you had a day off.”

It was late morning; Phoebe should have been at her office helping others finding love…or at the manor, chasing after her latest demon.

“I’m just passing by, thought I’d stop to say hello to one of my favorite nephews.” He would believe her in ordinary times. However, his aunt could be a very different person in the private and public spheres, and while he loved her when she stood amongst family, he liked the public ‘Ask Phoebe’ a lot less. Right now, she was wearing her public face. “Still as busy around here, isn’t it?”

He nodded in silence, wondering what she could possibly want. Although with Peyton here, he had a vague idea.

“We’re almost done with the shooting,” he announced, glanced at the photographer, who shooed him away from afar, and amended: “Yeah, we’re done.”

“Oh, good,” she said absentmindedly. “I’ll have to greet Gerald then.”

She left him and headed straight towards another photographer before he could tell her ‘Gerald’ had left five minutes ago. Peyton stood back, looking flushed and uncomfortable. She wore pretty clothes that flattered her form, very unlike the usual stuff of her wardrobe.

“Mom thinks I should be a model,” she mumbled under her breath. “PJ did it a few months; Parker did it a full year. I don’t really want to, but she won’t listen, especially since some guy named Patrick is looking for teen models.”

“She’s a celebrity,” Chris pointed out. “Advertising herself through others is a bit of a default mode.”

When he had stumbled upon the recruiter during a visit at her office, Phoebe had nearly gone through the interview in his stead. It made her look good to have some family in the ‘business’, or so she believed. Chris found contractors easier when he didn’t mention she was his aunt. His cousin sighed and crossed her arms.

“I’d prefer if she went straight to the manor instead of wasting her time here. Women have been disappearing lately, that’s more important. You heard about it?”

He nodded. A demon had been abducting witches from their houses. The Charmed Ones were on the job, but the few leads they managed to find didn’t really bring them anywhere. He had made a few trips to the Underworld himself to try to find out more, but with little success.

“I’m hoping I can get something from Alistair,” he said. That odd duck of a warlock was friendly to him, and Chris tried not to think too hard why. ‘Tall and lanky, sexy ass, pretty face and sexy eyes, what’s not to like?’ He still had shivers remembering that conversation. “I’ll be paying him a visit this afternoon with Wy. If I hear anything, I’ll let you guys know.”

Peyton nodded before asking:

“How is Wyatt? I haven’t seen him in over a year. I mean, he still answers to texts but he’s not saying anything much either.”

Chris hesitated. The meltdown from eighteen months back hadn’t been divulged to his aunts, mostly to prevent them from freaking out. As far as he knew, only he, Wyatt, and perhaps their mother were aware of why he had truly been demoted from his whitelighter duties.

“He’s adapting to his new job,” he replied honestly. “Odd hours and all. It’s almost a miracle he could free himself tonight.”

Peyton nodded, her eyes a little brighter.

“I asked him to record your performance,” she declared with a little smile. “I’m underage so I won’t be able to enter the club; not that mom would let me anyway, but I wanted to see. He’ll probably stream it live. Tamora, Kay and Henry will be at home because Uncle H. has the night shift and Aunt Paige is following a lead about that last demon case, so we will be watching you together.”

“At least I know I’ll have a few people watching me,” he joked. He heard Phoebe call from afar and grimaced. “Good luck, Pet.”

Peyton grimaced and bid him goodbye. The moment she disappeared, his three coworkers miraculously returned.

“Can’t believe she’s trying to show off her kids again,” Kevin muttered. “I mean, how long did it take her to get over the fact Francis picked you over daughter number 2?”

“They were looking for a boy, not a girl,” he reminded them, although his aunt and Parker had been a little distant for a few months after that. The rumor that the director changed the gender last minute because Phoebe was bringing her daughter around hadn’t helped.

“If it makes you feel better to think that way,” Sylvia waved in again.

Chris laughed wryly and pointed out:

“Keeps the tension out of family diners.”

“Anyway,” Olivia peeped in. “Nine at Barolo’s right? We’ll be there. Who else will be playing? We got interrupted before you could say.”

“Tennessee Alzar will open the show. Lorelei and I will perform the few pieces we did together. She wanted to sing this time, and she’ll let me play in a few songs of my own in the middle of her concert while she gets a break.”

Lorelei was the only true professional amongst the three. He and DJ Taz had been invited as a favor, as they had all worked together on a few songs in the past year.

“Ah shit,” Sylvia suddenly groaned, staring back at her phone. “Tracy might show up too.”

The three others –him included –groaned.

“As long as she leaves my brother alone and doesn’t come to the after party,” Chris muttered unhappily.

“He should have mailed her that shirt instead of dropping it off at her house,” Sylvia said. Her fingers were hitting the screen at a speed that made his head hurt. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye out. It’s a big crowd; I doubt they’ll find each other anyway.”

“Just focus on your music, Chris,” Kevin added with a wink. “And break the house down. I want to be able to brag that I’m DJ Warren’s work buddy tomorrow morning.”

Wyatt was already in his apartment when Chris returned. His brother had made himself some coffee, with enough to spare for him, and was staring at the pictures on the wall. Or rather, at one particular picture. Chris was standing next to his grandfather, holding his very first DJ controller. The whole family had pitched in to get him the thing, and he remembered almost bursting into tears when he realized what he had been gifted. Aunt Phoebe had shredded a tear, no doubt influenced by his own feelings.

It was a very happy memory, one of the few he had of his whole family.

“Hey,” he greeted, bringing Wyatt’s attention to himself. “Did I make you wait?”

“Nah, I just arrived.” He put his empty mug in the sink. “You good to go?”

He had let his hair grow in the past months, and they were long enough to be tied in a small ponytail. The way he had dressed –clothes close to the skin, fully black –showed off the way his body had bulked with muscles. He had changed since he had entered a program to become a firefighter. Even though he called the job stressful, he clearly enjoyed himself more than his time as a whitelighter. Chris appreciated he had taken the time to follow him through another demon hunt.

“Yeah. We need to go to a backstreet alley first –it’s easier to access Alistair’s lair from there. Magic vibes to reinforce his wards, something like that, I never really understood.”

“We’re going there by foot?”

“It’s fifteen minutes away and in a crowded area. Orbing will only draw more attention.” He headed to the door. Wyatt followed. “Alistair is an ally,” Chris added. “No need to use threats or hit him.” He paused and added privately: He might enjoy it.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow, as he suspected something else was at play.

“What else should I know about this demon?”

“He’s the lovechild of a Succubus and a Nightmare,” Chris replied immediately. “He infiltrates people’s dreams and feed on their desires. He’s pretty harmless actually.” His brother had this ‘where the fuck did you meet him’ expression. He provided an answer: “I met him at a friends’ gathering actually. Didn’t realize what he was until his eyes lit up in a weird way.”

They opened the door, stepped into the corridor.

“You’d have to be close to see that,” Wyatt pointed out suspiciously. “Were you making out or something? Was that during your experimental phase?”

Chris felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment as he locked the door behind them.

“Yeah,” he admitted before adding quickly: “But that was years ago.” He heard his brother snicker and decided to ignore him: “I need you around to keep him focused. If there is only one person, he tends to activate his powers without thinking and will invade your mind even if you’re awake.”

“Lovely friend you have.”

Chris paused mid-step, turned around and gave him one leveled look.

“Tease all you want Wy, but I bet you that once we’re done down there, he’s going to visit you during your sleep.” He grinned slightly at Wyatt’s sudden uncomfortable expression and couldn’t help but add, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively: “Beware, you might even like it.”

“Chris, my favorite doll!” Alistair bellowed happily. “Welcome to my humble abode!”

Damn, he is tall. Chris thought he would be used to it by now, but every time he met that demon, he kept being caught off-guard. Alistair looked more like a wire with incredibly long legs and arms, red hair thrown back and held down with gel, pale skin and grey, almost translucent eyes. He was handsome in an androgynous way, delicate features and full lips. His voice was deep, velvety and seductive. He had decorated his ‘abode,’ basically a cave, with colorful drapes, paintings and funky decorative trinkets. Plenty of bright colored clothes were exposed on a hanger; a table was filled with makeup. A large comfortable-looking bed with blood red sheets was unmade in the corner.

“Ooooh and you brought your brother!” In the background, Wyatt looked like he had just stepped into an alternative, painfully colorful world. His attention snapped back on the demon as he stepped closer for inspection. “Welcome, Twice Blessed.”

Wyatt had to crane his head up, which was a novelty since he was rather tall himself, watching the demon very warily.

“I came here to ask for information, Al,” Chris said. The demon didn’t tear his gaze away from Wyatt. Not good.

“Twice Blessed,” he repeated, ignoring him. “Or is it Twice Cursed?” Wyatt visibly tensed. Alistair took a step back, his head cocked on the side, pensive now. “Too many blessings can quickly turn into something bad.” He began walking in circles around him. “It’s eating you from the inside, isn’t it? Good and evil…do you still stand behind the line? Or do you throw it all away?” he leant forward and whispered something in his ear. Wyatt tensed even further.

“Alistair!” Chris snapped sharply. The demon stepped away with obvious regret. His brother’s fists were clenched hard. “I didn’t bring my brother around so you could feed on him. I have a question.”

Alistair made an odd kind of hiss and turned his attention back on Chris. He wondered how such beautiful eyes could also be so creepy.

“Ask away, doll.”

You are doing this for the witches, he reminded himself and braced for the next part of the conversation.

“People have been disappearing lately. Seven witches, all women taken from their homes. There were traces of dark magic around them. Does it ring a bell?”

Alistair remained silent a few seconds, his head tilted on the side, biting his lower lip. Chris hoped he was thinking of an answer and not daydreaming.

“Could be,” he replied eventually. “There’s this fellow, Garath. Been moving around a lot lately. Twisted fantasies, that demon. He loves to make them scream.” Chris pressed his lips together while Wyatt’s expression turned thunderous. The demon began walking again, following the draped walls of his cave like a lion in cage. “Oh yes, I can hear them, when I feed. Not my favorite taste,” he went on, almost absentmindedly. “He hides in the deeper Underworld, inside the darkness, hard to catch. Quite strong too. If you want him dead, aim for the eyes. Or call in your family.”

So Alistair personally knew him and disliked him, else he would have never given out so many details. He didn’t like Chris that much.

“What has he done to you?” he asked nonetheless. Alistair sniffed and snorted.

“Bastard messed up one of my feasts and dared to look down on me.” He paused in his walk, stepped closer to him this time. His hand reached out to his face and a finger followed the line of his jaw. Barely a brush over his skin, but enough to make his skin crawl. “You, doll, will do my biding by sending the Charmed Ones after him. This once, I will ask for no compensation.”

“Step away from him,” Wyatt’s voice kept him grounded and Alistair complied, looking regretful. A weight lifted from Chris’ shoulders –a weight he hadn’t realized existed. Perhaps Alistair had been about to feed off him after all. “Chris, we’re leaving.”

“So soon?” Alistair sounded genuinely sad. “You didn’t even tell me what you thought of my new clothes, doll.”

Chris took a few seconds to actually look. He wasn’t a specialist in fashion, but his job as a model did give him a few pointers. Right now, the smart black suit and shoes…

“Clothes look good. You can throw the purple shoes. Red or black only.”

Alistair looked happier.

“Thank you, doll. Good hunt, and send my love to…” he paused, cocked his head in thoughts. “Never mind, you don’t know him. Good hunt.”

They orbed back straight to the apartment after that. Getting out of Alistair’s lair was always easier than getting in, most likely because Chris’ apartment wasn’t warded against his own orbing.

“I can’t believe you are friends with such a creep!” Wyatt snapped once they were safely between four walls.

“Allied,” Chris nuanced. He was going to head straight to the shower and get rid of the smell of Alistair’s lair.

“You are not meeting him on your own again,” his brother declared thunderously. “What would happen if you were stuck with him?”

“He usually has better manners than that. I think he was just excited that I brought someone else with me.” Chris removed his shirt, threw it in the laundry basket. He would have to take care of that soon, the pile was growing. He looked back and asked: “What did he tell you by the way? You looked like he struck a chord.”

“Nothing important,” Wyatt snapped even harder. Chris paused mid-movement, watching him very carefully. Last time his brother had been so wired up, his apartment had been left in tatters and he had seriously feared for his sanity. “It’s…” his voice trailed off as he seemed to realize how cautious Chris had become. Wyatt deflated like a balloon. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” At least he had calmed down. His brother wouldn’t confide into him unless he really wanted or needed to; he just had to be patient.

“Speaking of which,” Wyatt picked up. “What did he mean by compensation?”

Chris felt his embarrassment grow a little.

“He doesn’t give his information for free. Sometimes he wants stuff, or a favor, or peanuts. He’s a huge fan of peanuts. I usually bring him a bag whenever I drop by. And he…” he cleared his throat. “He fed on mom once. He told me while she was dreaming, she called my nickname. He’s…attached now. Really, Wy, he’s not that bad,” he insisted when his brother made a face. “Once you get to know him a little better, he’s friendly. Very weird and creepy, but friendly.”

Wyatt stared at him in even bigger disbelief.

“And they call you the wise one,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Whatever. Let’s drop by the manor to tell mom. You got a show to prepare and I’ll take a nap.”

In the end, Chris nearly missed his own premiere. DJ Taz was already on stage, warming up the crowd, when he stormed into the backstage, utterly out of breath.

“Finally!” Lorelei, star of tonight’s show, snapped angrily. “Where the fuck were you?”

I was down in the Underworld hunting a demon with my mother, my aunt and my brother, because my other aunt couldn’t bother to show, he mentally replied. He was genuinely peeved at Phoebe, probably stuck into negotiations regarding her work. Next time she showed up, she could keep her ‘favorite nephew’ comment to herself.

“Family emergency,” he gave the usual reply.

"Whatever.” Her make-up was made, she was ready to step on the stage. It seemed he really didn’t come a second too late. “You are entering the stage after my fourth song. I'll call you, you take over. We play our two collaborations and then the stage is yours for fifteen minutes."

It was exactly the terms of the agreement, no surprises here.

"Deal."

DJ Taz finished his part and left the stage. Lorelei breathed in deeply and said "wish me luck" before stepping in full view. The crowd out there shouted in welcoming. Chris couldn't help but feel awed at how much noise two hundred people could make. He waited in the background, stood well out of the way of the technicians. His phone vibrated, a text from Wyatt with a picture attached. He was in the middle of the crowd, standing next to Sylvia and Kevin and if he wasn't mistaken...

Was that his mother? He thought she had headed home after they finished vanquishing the demon…she never mentioned she would be showing tonight. Maybe she changed her mind.

'Waiting for your turn on the scene' was the only message. He chuckled a little nervously. His heart seemed to pound into his ears and he barely noticed the moment it was his turn. His body was shaking, but it wasn't with fear.

Fear was watching his brother let his powers loose in his apartment, not quite understanding what was going on, but knowing he was the only one there to witness it and do anything about it.

Fear was kneeling into his mother's blood as she was dying, screaming for help and not being answered.

This wasn't fear. This was excitement, the rush of adrenaline. This was something he hadn't realized he had been waiting for. He stepped on the stage as Lorelei called his name, and he heard the crowd answer in turn. He waved, smiling nervously, and settled behind the table. He launched the first song as Lorelei grabbed the mike and began singing. The familiarity reassured him and soon enough, they were working together. It was an amazing feeling, moving around the buttons, producing the melody she was singing on. Lorelei had a beautiful voice, wished she could exploit it more often. And he…well, he couldn’t sing for shit, but he could compose around it.

As their second collaboration song ended, she left the stage with a wink.

He was alone facing the crowd now. The lights were on him, he could barely see the other side of the room. Someone screamed his stage name and he launched his first soundtrack. There was a momentary silence before the beat seemed to wake up the crowd. People started dancing and shouting and Chris grinned as he lost himself in his music. The audience’s response to his sound was exhilarating.

Sweat started dropping on his forehead under the heat of the lights and he started to feel dizzy. The voice of the crowd became louder and louder –he threw in a loud, low bass ‘bonnng’ –they shouted back. His headphone pressed to his left ear, he launched a new track –and the energy was amazing, pulsing through his veins, the voices and people dancing on the front row –and he thought he bounced and danced at some point too, in a trance himself-

It was over too quickly but rules were rules, and Lorelei was the true star of the show. He thanked the audience with a wave, kissed Lorelei’s hand as a thank you and left the stage. Once out of the public eye-

His knees felt weak and he nearly stumbled down. Someone guided him to a chair, brought him a bottle of water. He drowned it at once.

“Hey man you’re alright?”

DJ Taz stared at him worriedly. Chris felt the grin split in face in two. He had never done drugs, but he supposed this feeling was the closest it would be.

“I feel fucking amazing,” he replied, and his coworker grinned right back.

His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. He picked up without thinking.

"Hello Peanut," his mother's warm voice greeted him. He could hear the sound of bustling activity in the background, meaning she still was around. "How are you?"

"Exhausted," he said honestly. The dizziness had passed, the adrenaline was gone; he was now slowly recuperating in the back room. Some technician had guided him to a more silent area to get himself back together. He wished someone had told him how surreal everything was on stage.

"You were amazing." He definitively heard the hint of pride. "People definitively loved you!"

He would have to wait for the reviews on the internet next morning to know for sure, but it was nice to hear, even from his totally biased mother.

"Thanks."

"Your brother agrees," she added, and he heard Wyatt speak over: "You were great!"

He felt another smile grow on his face, a little more genuine this time.

"Thanks Wy. You both leaving?"

"You know how I feel about electro and trance," Piper said, and yes, he remembered her early grimaces when he made her listen to his pieces. She didn't like it, but she would come to watch his show. He was grateful for her continuous support; without her encouraging him to do what he loved, he might not have gone this far. "And your brother has to get up in the morning. Come tomorrow at home for diner, we will celebrate."

Wise that she didn't mention lunch; he probably would still be sleeping.

"I will," he promised.

"Are you staying till the end of the show?"

"Yeah. Lorelei’s team is dining out once everything is over; I was invited to join." He glanced at the stage. The show would keep going on for a while. "I'll just jump in the crowd. I know where my friends are."

"Good for you. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night peanut."

"Night Mom, night Wy. And thank you for coming."

Piper laughed and said:

“Sweetie, this was your first show. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Still bearing a stupid smile on his face, Chris hung up, put his phone back in his pocket and left the backstage. He used the small door leading to the side room and melted into the crowd. He had gone to one of Lorelei's concerts before, had enjoyed the light atmosphere, the playfulness and dancing in the air. He fully intended to enjoy it once more.

He was making his way through the room when he spotted her. Chris had no idea if she came on purpose, or if she were just here to enjoy the music. He cut through the mass of people to get closer, watching her dance, oblivious to the rest and when he reached her...

Bianca’s eyes widened slightly, a little surprised. She looked stunning in that black sleeveless shirt, low-cut neckline. Her eyes were dark -pupils dilated, mouth parted opened, and there was a slight line of sweat on her face. The room was hot, he realized, his own shirt sticking to his skin. Chris gave her a side smile, whispered 'hey' because speaking in this noise would be utterly useless. She smiled back, mouthed 'hey' back, and pulled him towards her. They danced together for a while, standing close, stumbling into each other whenever the crowd moved around. He ended stepping behind her, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist and her hands on his thighs.

They'd been talking on and off for the past eighteen month, meeting on the rooftop, never quite edging into that territory, even though he had subtly tested the waters. A few flirtatious sentences, brushing her as he walked by...she never responded to them, so he assumed she wasn't interested. But tonight, the adrenaline was pumping through his veins, their physical closeness made him stop thinking and he was feeling brave, or maybe insane.

He lowered his face into her neck, pressed a kiss on her shoulder. This was crossing the line she had laid down, he knew it, but...She detangled herself from him and he thought he had pushed her too far. Instead, she cupped his face, pulled him down and kissed him.

For a few seconds, he didn't answer. She had caught him off guard and he would have never expected her to…

But then his body reacted instinctively. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her flush against him, buried a hand in her hair, held her tight and strong...He felt her sigh against his mouth, felt her relaxed, the weight of her arms around his neck and how she held him there. She was warm and solid and he could smell her, touch her; it was the best freaking feeling in the world.

They parted for air, still impossibly close. He pressed his forehead to hers, not willing to break the contact yet. She did it for him anyway. She stepped back, out of his arms, eyes lingering on him as she kept moving and slowly vanished into the mass, as if swallowed by the crowd. He watched the spot she had disappeared into for a very long time before returning to the backstage. Her touch lingered and he still tasted her in his mouth. The desire to dance had faded now, but the look on her face –wonder, apprehension, want –would follow him throughout the night.

Chris woke up the next morning -or rather afternoon -to a sound of the doorbell ringing again and again. His whole body felt sore and his throat felt dry. His head hurt too, the sun was shining too brightly for his tired eyes. He had barely been standing on his feet when he returned the previous night. After locking his door, he hadn’t even bothered walking to the bedroom, only fell on his couch and fell asleep on spot. He still wore last night's clothes, stinking of cold cigarette, cheap alcohol and sweat, his hair must be a birds' nest, his face must be puffy and his breath would definitively be lacking, but he did not give a damn.

The doorbell kept ringing. With an unhappy grunt, Chris left the couch reluctantly and toddled towards the door.

"What?" he barked, half-awake.

His father was standing on the other side. Later, Chris would remember that scene as the first time he ever saw him both speechless and outraged at once. It was kind of funny and he would have laughed, had he not been nursing a hangover.

"What happened to you?" Leo asked with that same disapproving 'I'm disappointed in you' tone he always used when he was a child.

"A hell of an after work party," Chris replied briskly. "What do you want?"

Whatever was ailing him seemed more important than asking for an explanation as why his own son looked and smelt like a junkie, because he asked:

“Can we go inside? I can’t orb into your apartment.” He paused. “Why can’t I orb into your apartment?”

“It’s warded,” Chris replied sharply. “And I’m sure whatever you have to tell me won’t take long. So once again, what do you want?”

Leo did not look happy, but he complied:

"You have to talk to Wyatt. He won't return to be a whitelighter. He's abandoning his duties. I don't know what to do anymore."

Chris stared at his father in disbelief.

"Are you serious?"

"This was so important to him," Leo went on, almost desperately. "I don't understand why Roland demoted him in the first place...I've been trying to convince the others to reinstate him, but they keep saying Wyatt isn't fit. I understand a lot of things happened, but past events shouldn't impede on his dreams!"

Chris thought for a moment that he had hearing issues. He had to have hearing issues. Surely, his father couldn't be blurting so much bull in so little time. But the tone, the eyes, the body language, so earnest and…he couldn’t believe it.

"You are actually serious."

"I have never asked you for anything," Leo went on. "But just this once, I need your help."

And once again, Chris wondered if he had woken up in an alternative world, or if his drink contained a little more than just alcohol. He had never thought his father capable of being so obtuse and determined to stay blind when facing an unpleasant situation. Even Phoebe came to terms with reality after a phase of denial. Leo had almost a year and a half to come to terms with the situation. He pressed his lips together. It was time for a wakeup call.

"What's my job, Leo?"

His father frowned.

"What does it have to do with-"

"Answer this,” he interrupted sharply. “What's my job?"

"Obviously you don't work in an office," Leo shot back, irritated.

"No, but I've been independent for the past two years."

Leo crossed his arms impatiently.

"Your mother helps you," he pointed out. "I know she spent a lot of money to help you move in here."

"Yeah, she was paying me back,” Chris snapped back. “I loaned her money a few years ago because the restaurant wasn't doing great, and you are hardly in any position to help. I was already earning an income at sixteen -not much, but just enough to help her get out of debt.” It wasn’t a story well-known amongst the family. Only Wyatt was aware of their arrangement, because he had overheard that conversation. “Everything she 'gave' me was her paying me back. So once again, what could have I been doing all this time?"

Leo shut his mouth, suddenly looking uneasy.

"I don't know."

Chris felt a slight pang in his chest, and wondered if he had been hoping he would know the answer. The same frustration he felt ever since he was a child build up again and stuck in the back of his throat. He thought he had given up on Leo a long time ago. Perhaps he hadn’t after all, and now it was time to really stop hoping.

"You don't know me, dad. Why should I ever help you convince Wyatt to do something he never wanted? Being a whitelighter wasn't important to him, it was important to you; and you have no idea how much he hated it." He stepped back into the apartment, his hand tight around the door. "He's happy now. If you truly watched over your son like you claimed to, you'd see it."

Leo’s face had fallen into disbelief.

"It's his destiny," he whispered, almost petulantly.

"You don't know that. Who told you? Destiny itself came knocking at your door?" Leo opened his mouth, Chris interrupted. "I don't want to know. I really don't and I'm tired right now. You say you never asked me anything, but tell me, tell me one thing you have done for me in the past decade? One single thing." He paused. "I bet you don't know either. The answer is none."

Leo remained silent. Chris stepped back and slammed the door in his face. He leaned back against it, let himself slide to the ground. He heard the familiar tell of someone orbing away, figured Leo had sent himself out. Chris ran both hands in his hair. He couldn’t keep going on like this, with Leo. He really needed to let go of this want for recognition, before his father managed to disappoint him even more and he came out...

“Fuck this,” he cursed. Last night had been a blast. He had his first show, he had fun! He would not let his father drop his mood over his own stupidity.

His phone vibrated, and he took it out of his pocket, a part of his brain marveling that it still had battery. He had too many notifications, messages from his Internet accounts, texts from his friends, his cousins, and a few missed calls from known and unknown numbers. He swiped everything away and texted his brother:

'Leo is being a nuisance. What triggered him this time?'

Wyatt was online and the answer came surprisingly fast.

'Roland finally found out who kidnapped me as a baby. He took his time building a case and gathering evidence. Old pal of Leo's. He's being recycled.'

Wyatt hadn't written a name. Either it was someone completely unknown to him, or someone very familiar. No wonder why Leo was so wound up then; especially since he didn't like Roland. The Elder wasn't friendly to begin with, for sure, but Chris liked him anyway. He listened. He didn't act on impulse. Even if he was completely incapable of defending himself due to his pacifist nature, he was still very capable of seeing the bigger picture. Still...eighteen months to finally catch an Elder. Chris wondered what took him so long.

'Will you be able to confront him?'

'Don't know. Maybe not the best idea. I really do want to make him swallow that stupid moustache and tear him into pieces.'

Moustache. For some reason, he thought of Gideon. His old headmaster, that had been directing Magic School for centuries, had never been their greatest fan.

'Gideon?' he texted.

'Yeah.'

Well, he'll be damned. No wonder why Roland took his time. Gideon was almost untouchable Up There due to his position. He hoped that Elder had not done more damage over the years.

'You better after last night? I orbed in this morning, you looked like shit even in your sleep.'

Chris snorted.

'Nothing rest and a shower won't cure. Didn't hear you come in.'

'An earthquake wouldn't have wakened you up. Have to go, I'll see you tonight. Don't forget mom's dinner.'

Right, he thought. The picture of food was not quite appealing right now, but perhaps in a few hours...he glanced at the clock. 3pm. Yeah, a few hours. Just enough time to make himself decent, maybe read through his messages and-

A new message popped up. His heart skipped a beat as he read Bianca’s name.

‘Just wanted to say, congrats for your successful premiere. There are a lot of good reviews out there, I’m happy for you.’

Not a word about the kiss. He felt a little disappointed but answered anyway.

‘Thank you!  It was fun. I hope I can do that again soon.’ He hesitated, added: ‘Didn’t picture you as a fan of trance.’

‘I enjoy DJ Warren’s stuff; I was there for him yesterday. You mentioned you worked in the music industry, but I didn’t realize it was you till I saw you on stage.’

Oh, he thought, a little flattered, and couldn’t bite back a smile.

‘People don’t expect a Halliwell to play electro in underground rooms.’ They never spoke of witchcraft during their meetings, even though he was certain she knew who he was. He wondered if that was one of the reasons she kept him at arm’s length. Except for last night. Last night…he decided he might as well ask. ‘Did your kiss mean anything? Because I’d like to ask you out and kiss you again, properly this time.’

There were no messages for a while, so he decided to take a shower to feel a little bit more like an actual human being. When he returned, he nearly missed her reply amongst the fifteen new notifications.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. A Phoenix and a good witch dating is unheard of.’

He snorted. Like he fucking cared. He knew she had stopped carrying on hits about a year ago, when she no longer showed up on the rooftop smelling like blood. She wasn’t evil at root, she was just born in a family with a fucked up tradition. Walking away from it mustn’t have been easy. He wanted to ask her about it. He wanted to ask a lot of things about her.

‘Is that your only objection? I like you. I think you like me too. I say we give it a shot. No regrets. If you don’t want to, just say it and I’ll never mention it again.’

He waited after sending the message. He didn’t want to miss her answer. It came fifteen minutes later.

‘Tuesday, 7pm. You know where I live.’

He beamed for the rest of day.

Chapter Text

An Alternative Unchanged Future

Part 3: Wyatt

The fire had spread everywhere in the house. Wyatt wished he could wipe away the sweat on his forehead, but the helmet meant to protect his face wouldn’t allow it. He dropped a curse and ventured further inside the burning house. An irresponsible babysitter had left the house to play hookie with her boyfriend during naptime. By the time she returned, everything was in flames. The kid she was babysitting might still be inside. At least, the neighbors had called for help just in time.

He spotted a teammate waving in his direction, signaling there was nothing to be found. Damn it. Nothing found meant going upstairs. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and exhaled softly. The staircase was mostly spared, but still on fire. From the corner of the eye, he saw two others bringing on the huge fire hose. Water spurted and eased the flames. The moment the intensity had lessened, he followed his colleague upstairs. The smoke was obscuring his vision and he nearly tripped once or twice on the way.

Gotta love telekinesis, he thought as he used his powers to maintain himself straight. Roly-poly, the guys called him, because he never seemed to tumble down.

He checked the closest room. Nothing. His teammate also motioned an empty space. That left the third door furnace. He hoped, for the kid’s sake, that he had either found refuge elsewhere, or was already dead. Five months on the field and he had met a few burns of various degrees. A fire of this intensity? It would be a miracle if the kid wasn’t roasted.

He kicked the last door open. Surprisingly, the inside was relatively spared, which was a good sign. The even better sign was someone peeking out from underneath the large corner bed. Wyatt approached slowly and lowered himself. The child was curled there, a boy no older than three, his eyes wide in fear, clenching at a blanket. He crawled back at an impressive speed, out of his reach.

“C’mon little guy,” he whispered.

Very subtly, Wyatt telekinetically lifted the boy upwards and made him slide in his direction. Once he was close enough, he grabbed his arm and pulled him out. The child cried and made a token attempt to escape but quickly subdued.

“Now let’s get out of here, kid.”

Before he could leave the room, he saw something glowing and flying at high speed. Something looking eerily like an energy ball. It hit the ceiling over his colleague’s head, made it crack and fall down.

Shit, Wyatt thought.

He directed the child’s face to his chest and used his telekinesis to deviate the parts falling on him. His teammate, miraculously, wasn’t buried alive but still had a leg stuck underneath a heavy-looking block of concrete. Wyatt quickly motioned ‘I’ll be back’ and hurried down the staircase. He put the boy in the main hall, gave him a shove shouting: ‘get out of the house’, and made sure he had actually gone out before returning upstairs. His teammate, unsurprisingly, hadn’t moved an inch.

I really love having powers, he thought as he ‘pushed’ away the debris. Not too heavy to be credible, he might be muscled now, but he still had heavy equipment on his back. He grabbed the colleague’s arm, slipped it around his neck and both made the road downstairs.

The fire was starting to die down thanks to the rest of the team’s efficiency. Walking back outside, he was almost blinded by the sunlight. Others came in a hurry to relieve him from his burden and once he was far enough, he removed his helmet.

This time, he wiped his forehead in relief.

A crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch the unfolding events. From the corner of the eye, he spotted the parents holding the child. All three were crying. He slipped away and glanced back at the house, remembering the incident. The ceiling couldn’t have collapsed on its own. He was certain he had seen an energy ball seconds before…

“Hey Halliwell! Stop twiddling your thumbs and come over here! We need extra hands!”

His mind snapped back into the game and, with a replying nod, he joined the rest of his team. He pushed the energy ball in the back of his mind and figured he would just have to investigate a little later.

“Good job today Halliwell.”

A hand slapped his shoulder hard. Wyatt looked up. Garry Meldom, his team leader, gave him a bright smile.

“Thank you sir,” he replied. He liked Garry. The middle-aged veteran had welcomed him with enthusiasm, happy to have fresh meat to chew on –sorry, refresh the troops.

“Heard you brought Evans down after putting the kid to safety.”

Ah, there was a hint of cautious approval.

“Had to set the priorities straight in little time,” Wyatt explained. “The guys were working on the fire fast, it didn’t take me long to go down and go back up. I wouldn’t leave anyone behind, not even Evans.”

“Smartass,” the man shot back without heat and squeezed his shoulder one last time before releasing him. Wyatt had just told him what he really wanted to hear. Full approval then. “Nurse checked you yet?”

“I’m fine, M. Meldom, sir,” he assured him. Thanks to his whitelighter self-healing, he was probably the healthiest employee here. Not that his team leader knew that.

“Did I say if it pleases your highness?” he asked severely. Wyatt held back the urge to roll his eyes. “Stop by the infirmary, Halliwell. That is an order. And check on Evans while you’re at it. Half a ceiling fell on her leg, she might enjoy the visit of a friendly face.” This time, Wyatt bit back a grimace. The man laughed. “I’m kidding. I know you two still can’t stand each other. Check in with the nurse and go home.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. He had one worrywart mother already.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad. Be safe and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Garry left. Wyatt finished changing, picked up his vest and headed to the infirmary. As expected, Dr. Goldstein, a middle-aged man with the patience of a saint, was waiting for him. The checkup didn’t last long, thankfully, and soon enough he was walking out of the office and past the infirmary room. He slowed his steps and stopped in front of the half-opened door. Someone was still in there, and he had a good suspicion who.

Curiosity got the best of him. He pushed the door opened and glanced inside. A woman was sitting on the only bed of the room, staring at the floor with a tensed expression. Her feet were swinging over the surface, a bandaged wrist rested over her thighs. She hadn’t seen him approach so he knocked on the door.

That startled her out of her thoughts.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Ashley Evans was one of the few women working at the station and the only female firefighter amongst them. He didn’t think she was particularly pretty: tall and lanky, athletic body due to their intense activity, angular face with a mop of long blonde curls falling over her shoulders. Her big green eyes spoke a lot more than anyone he’d ever met though, and even now, he could tell she was wondering what the hell he was doing here. Wyatt wondered the same thing.

It wasn’t like they got along. Evans was a bit of a loner, good at her job but not really getting involved with the team. He trusted her to have his back on the field, but she definitively wouldn’t make it on the list of his friendly acquaintances. They kept things civil and professional at work, but one sparkle could ignite a fire and both would end up arguing over stupid things. He couldn’t help it. He hated her attitude.

“Why, look who’s here. Hello emo-man,” she greeted, slightly sarcastic.

…and she had an issue with his choice of clothing. Black, from head to toe. He couldn’t help it if he favored this color, or that it suited him so well. He wasn’t even wearing makeup.

Wyatt bit back a smacking retort and glared at her, already regretting his choice of stopping by. He blamed his whitelighter days. After a rough time, he always popped by his charges to check on them, even Karl.

“Garry’s asking if you’re alright,” he chose to answer instead. It wasn’t quite a lie, his team leader had asked about her earlier. “You did get crushed by that ceiling.”

The sneer shifted slightly and for a brief moment, he read apprehension in her eyes. While his nickname was roly-poly, hers was unlucky lucky. Every now and then, whenever something went wrong, Evans was systematically in the middle of trouble, as if some bad karma kept following her around. Wyatt briefly remembered the flickering energy ball in the burning house and wondered if karma didn’t have a little help.

Gotta make a little detour before going home tonight, he reminded himself.

“I’m fine,” she replied eventually. The flicker of fear had vanished, replaced by her customary imperturbable front. That was one of the things that irritated him the most. Always hiding her feelings behind a mask, never truly honest. Wyatt bit back a sigh and stared at her bandaged wrist.

“What’s the damage?”

She shot him an impatient stare but still replied, mostly because she had no reason not to:

“Light sprain on the ankle. Wrist is broken. I’ll live another day. I’m on light duty for the next three weeks though.”

She tried to stand up away but her ankle failed her and she tripped. He caught her right on time and used the physical contact to infuse a little healing magic. He felt the ‘light sprain’ was anything but light, so he supposed she must have been trying to hide the extension of her injuries.

“Need me to carry you around?” he asked and couldn’t help but add: “I’ll even do it bridal style.”

She glared at him.

“Fuck off Halliwell,” she growled and shook her arm away from his grip. “And mind your own business.” She tried to put her ankle down again, and he noticed the startled frown when the pain she expected didn’t happen. A few seconds ticked by before she seemed to remember that she didn’t want him here. “Go home, I’m fine.” She paused, avoided his eyes as she added: “And thanks for coming back for me, back then.”

Did she truly expect him to leave her behind? he thought, confused. Just as he was about to reply, a jingle echoed in his head. It took him a few seconds to recognize it and when he did…

Elders? Seriously?

No Elder had tried to contact him since Gideon’s recycling last week. None would have a reason to contact him anymore. Fully demoted from his status as a whitelighter, barely speaking to his father anymore Unless…

He realized he was still standing in the infirmary and Evans was staring at him with narrowed eyes. He had been silent far too long.

“Yeah whatever,” he said quickly before turning around. “See you tomorrow.”

He left in a hurry, wondering if his intuition was right, and waited to be completely alone in a side alley to orb out. He ended up on top of the Golden Gate Bridge and nearly tripped as he reformed, since the wind seemed to be blowing harder than usual. Someone was already waiting for him; a hooded figure he immediately recognized, even from behind. He might have cut contact with most of the Elders out there, but there was still one he would willingly meet, and that Elder knew it.

“Evening Roland,” he greeted.

The other man lowered his hood. Imperturbable eyes met his, and Wyatt began to wonder why he had been called. He hadn’t seen Roland since Gideon’s recycling, and even then, he hadn’t believed there would be a reason for them to meet again.

“Good evening Wyatt,” the Elder replied, his voice calm and monotone as ever. “You look better these days.”

Wyatt shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Job’s harder than being a whitelighter, but at least I earn something at the end of the months. And I have teammates. Makes it easier. But you didn’t call me up here for a chitchat, did you?”

Roland nodded gravely. Wyatt wondered if ‘grave’ was his default expression, because he never saw him smile up till now.

“I actually have a favor to ask of you.” Wyatt frowned. Roland went on: “There is a woman working in your station. I would most appreciate if you could keep an eye on her for a while.”

Nope, no and no way in hell. He hadn’t gone out of this business just to jump back in.

“I’m not a whitelighter, Roland,” he reminded him coldly. “You demoted me yourself.”

The Elder nodded knowingly.

“She’s not a witch. She’s not even a future whitelighter. I am not asking for a full-time surveillance, just…” the Elder hesitated and added: “This is a personal request. This woman has survived thirty-seven attempts on her life in the past ten months, all provoked by demons.”

Wyatt bit back a whistle. Thirty-seven attempts in ten months? A mortal?

“If she’s ‘nothing special’ as you say,” which she definitively wasn’t, because that must be a kind of record. “Why the particular interest?”

Roland pinched his lips into a thin line.

“She is the very last of my descendants,” he admitted. Wyatt felt his jaw drop slightly. The Elder pointed out drolly: “I had a family when I was alive, Wyatt. My children had children of their own and so on.”

And that was when Wyatt remembered that every Elder Up There must have a story to tell. Gone through many things and life experiences. And Roland might be a stick in the mud, he too had lived a life before dying.

“Oh,” he could only say, because what else could he say. “The last of your line?”

“Orphaned young, no relatives left from my side,” Roland confirmed somewhat gloomily.

“And you never noticed before?” Wyatt asked.

“I only check on them every seventy years or so,” the Elder added, almost defensively. “I cannot let my personal worries impact my duties. That is not why I became an Elder.”

“Never said that,” Wyatt protested. Every seventy years? Was that the ‘once in a while’ for Elders? How old was the guy exactly to have such a fucked up notion of time? “So you just want me to, what, protect her from any other demons?”

“The best course of action would be getting rid of those demons altogether,” Roland said. “But as you said, you are no longer a whitelighter and I cannot –and will not -force you to do my bidding. This is a personal request.”

He could refuse. Wyatt had a feeling Roland wouldn’t hold a grudge, since it didn’t seem to be in his nature. Still, the thought of declining the offer made him uncomfortable. He supposed it was his basic nature as a ‘good’ witch that predisposed him to care of innocents, whether he wanted it or not.

“Why don’t you ask my mother or aunts?” he wondered instead.

“You have access,” Roland replied promptly. “It will be easier for you to act and not appear suspicious. Your mother and aunts sometimes lack…subtlety.”

Because I’m the poster child for subtle? He almost retorted. Chris was the sneaky one of the family. He was…not. But having access…perhaps he had a point. Wyatt had to remember Roland was slightly more down to earth than the Elders he used to frequent.

“Whatever,” he said with a shrug. He had already made up his mind anyway. After all, he owed Roland for catching Gideon in the first place. Watching over a coworker shouldn’t be such a hassle. “Fine, I’ll do it. So, what’s that woman’s name?”

The Elder nodded gratefully.

“Ashley Evans.”

And Wyatt could only think: fuck.

“How long have you been standing here?”

Chris was sitting on the rooftop next to him, a half-lit cigarette in his hand. Wyatt rolled his eyes.

“Barely a few hours,” he replied.

Three days into the ‘mission’ Roland had given him, and he had finally found out where his temporary protégée was living. Not that far from his apartment actually, which came as a surprise. Then again, he orbed to his work most of the time, so he never truly had to walk or drive the usual roads. Or use public transportation. Thus, lessening the chances of running into her.

“I see,” his brother said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “So, how’s it like to be a stalker?”

Wyatt glared at him again.

“Not a stalker. I just wanted to make sure which apartment she lived in. I’m not warding the whole building if I can help it. Too much energy to spend and I’ll be looking suspicious if I start engraving stuff in the wall.”

“You could have just asked her, y’know?”

Wyatt sent him a Look.

“That woman and I can’t hold five minutes before we start getting into an argument. It’ll only look suspicious if I start trying to cozy up with her.” He stared at the cigarette. “Thought you completely quit.”

His brother rolled his eyes.

“I’m nervous, alright? Second date with Bianca is tonight, I don’t want to mess it up again.”

Wyatt stood up to stretch his legs and began to pace. Sitting for an extended period of time was starting to give him cramps. He never was one to stay put, it wouldn’t start now.

“I mean,” he went on: “What rotten luck is it to have not one, or two, but five demons interrupt a first date? We got late to our reservation so our table was cancelled, it started raining…”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get a romantic kiss-in-the-rain,” Wyatt snickered. Chris glared.

“It’s not as romantic as it looks in the movies,” he retorted dryly. “We fell in a puddle because she slipped on her high-heels and brought me down with her.” Wyatt did laugh then. “Not funny!”

“Kinda is.” He nicked the cigarette, ignored Chris’s protesting ‘hey!’ and crushed it underneath his shoe. He would thank him later. The smell of cold cigarette tended to linger on clothes and if he was meeting up with her…he wasn’t certain Bianca approved of that habit too. “What did you plan this time?”  

His brother shot him another nasty look before replying:

“Diner at my place. I’m cooking. At least I’m sure no-one will be able to attack us through all my wards.”

“Checked with her allergies before?” he nodded. “She has any?” He nodded again, pressing his mouth into a thin line. He looked both annoyed and amused. Wyatt started to smirk –he didn’t know why, but he had a hunch… “Let me guess, peanuts?”

“Shut up Wy.”

In the end, after another few hours of observation, he got a glimpse at one of the demons harassing her. It was past eight when he somehow managed to spot the suspicious shadows in the corner of the street. Chris had orbed away a long time ago, still edgy about his date and ready to cook a feast to impress his special guest, leaving Wyatt alone and wondering how long he should keep watch. And he was glad he had stayed long enough to see it.

They were dressed in black suits, looking normal on the outside, but people kept tiptoeing around them, as if instinctively feeling the danger. A group of five at first glance, watching the building with eager interest. He could be mistaken and they could have been waiting for someone else, but his guts told him they were expecting one person and one person only. He hesitated, wondered if he should go down there, but in the end the unthinkable happened.

Evans walked out of the building, a determined look on her face.

What the hell? He thought, stunned, especially since she headed straight to the group. He watched a few seconds more as she spoke to one of them, her body language irradiating fury even though he couldn’t see her expression.

She is going to get herself killed for good, he thought again and orbed down into the street. There weren’t many people out there at this time anymore, something he was thankful for. The lesser there to witness the altercation, if magic came to play…well Cleaners had to exist for a reason, right? He casually walked down the road, pretending not to pay attention to what was going on, until he reached the six. He could overhear part of the conversation now.

“-want from me?” Evans was asking.

She looked tired with deep circles underneath her eyes, her whole body tensed. The fear wasn’t obvious from afar, but now that he was close…Five mouths curled into identical creepy smirks.

“This is all a game,” one of them purred and the sick, sweet tone made Wyatt’s skin crawl. “And it’s coming to an end.”

Something in his words –or maybe the whole lot –seemed to revive a bit of Evans’s fighting spirit. She must have felt they wouldn’t be reasoned with. So she stood straighter, narrowed her eyes and hissed:

“Fine, go to hell.”

The group burst into laughers but she stood her ground. He suspected she couldn’t care anymore.

“Hey assholes,” Wyatt snapped, finally making himself known. “Didn’t realize it was that fun ganging up on one single woman.”

He didn’t say ‘mortal’ as it would have betrayed him as a witch. And Evans might take it the wrong way. Five pair of eyes stared at him unhappily, as if he had intruded on some precious time between friends. Only Evans looked startled and stared at him with wide opened eyes. She wordlessly seemed to say simultaneously: ‘What the fuck are you doing here’ and ‘get the fuck away idiot’. Wyatt ignored her and sneered back at the group. One of them, the leader, he suspected, eventually spoke on a grim, threatening tone.

“Stay out of our business, kid. Who do you think you are?”

So the demons definitively hadn’t recognized him. Had he been absent from the hunting stage that long? Or was the group just plain stupid? Perhaps there was something to play here. Roland had mentioned repetitive attacks…and the demons mentioned a game. He vaguely remembered his parents talking about an underground game ring where demons fought each other to gain power at some point…but that had been years ago. Had someone picked up the same principle and twisted it into something else? He decided that hiding his identity wouldn’t be a bad thing for now. If they couldn’t recognize him, he wouldn’t advertise his presence yet.

“I’m her boyfriend. Fuck off.”

It was an obvious lie. Evans gawking in disbelief contradicted him right away, but the demons were too annoyed to call him on it. The streets were empty but a lot of windows were lit up, and Wyatt would bet a lot that at least five people were spying on them. Magic was out of the way for now. Wyatt maintained eye contact until they collectively chose to retreat temporarily. Given their nature, he didn’t doubt they would return very, very fast.

“You’re lucky we’re in a good mood, kid,” the leading demon hissed before taking a step back. The rest followed his lead. “This isn’t over.”

“I’m counting on it,” he replied and gave them what Chris had nicknamed the ‘c’mon and get me’ smirk.

The demons sneered in unison before walking away. Wyatt waited until he was out of their sight to turn around and look at her. Evans was pale, her lips pressed tightly into a line. She kept staring at the last spot the group had gone. Now that they were alone, he could see her hands shaking.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said quietly. “They will come after you now.”

That was the endgame, and sooner than later, but he couldn’t let her know.

“We’ll see,” he replied instead. They weren’t high-leveled demons, he doubted they would succeed in taking him down.

“No, Halliwell, you don’t get it,” she snapped back, her voice holding a hint of panic. “Those fuckers have been stalking me for months. The cops won’t do a fucking thing because they can’t catch them too. People keep getting hurt whenever they try to step in. They are monsters!”

She was genuinely scared, he realized. The flashes of fear kept lightening her eyes, hidden beneath a mask of anger. She was just a mortal, he remembered, a woman to boot with an unusual profession. The world wasn’t kind to people like her. And if demons had been trying to kill her over the past year…well, maybe there was a reason why she was so standoffish at work.

“So he knows your building,” he asked instead. “Does he know in which apartment you live?”

She pressed her lips together.

“Not yet, but it’s just a matter of time now.”

She sounded defeated. That was very unlike the Evans he knew. Wyatt shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Had she been a witch, he would have given her a few pointers, asked permission to engrave a few wards on her walls, and help her draw a plan for a clean vanquishing. Evans was not a witch. He was not a whitelighter. In her eyes, he was just a colleague, a teammate she didn’t even like that much. He sighed and made up his mind.

“You’re not staying there tonight,” he declared.

Evans narrowed her eyes at him and that was thankfully a familiar look.

“Oh really?” she asked sarcastically. “And where should I go? Your place?”

He considered it and thought it might not be a bad idea.

“Why not? You’ve never been there.” And Chris had kindly helped him ward the place with a triple protection. No demon –or any magic-transporting being –would be able to penetrate those defenses. Aside from his brother’s apartment, there was no other place as well guarded in the city.

“Look Halliwell, I’m sorry but I can’t.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, looked down. “I don’t need your pity. I handled them so far. I’ll keep handling them.”

“I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I left you at their mercy.” She snapped her attention back on him again, annoyed this time. He went on seriously: “They will return the moment I leave, and they look determined. I didn’t like the way they said this was ‘coming to an end’.”

Evans snorted.

“There are a group of sickos, Halliwell. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

Actually, you have no idea what they’re capable of, he thought, and just as the thought crossed his mind, he spotted another creep eyeing them in the shadows. Yup, his instincts were telling him that if he left her alone tonight, she would not live past tomorrow. Roland’s request didn’t happen a moment too soon.

“I’ll take my chances. It’s too late anyway,” he added. “They know my face. Might as well spend the night at my place, I’m not that far away from here anyway.” Evans eyed him suspiciously. He sighed and added: “No funny business, I promise. My mother raised me better than that.” She stared at him for the longest time, as if she had never seen him before. He added: “You’re taking the couch. My bed is my fucking bed and no-one else’s.”

That made her lips twitched the slightest. It softened her features a little and he wondered what she looked like when she smiled. In the end, she slumped her shoulders, looking and sounding just as defeated.

“Fine. It’s not like I have anything to lose anyway.”

Well, it wasn’t like they were great buddies or anything, he silently admitted. He would take what he could get, as long as she didn’t end up alone.

“That’s the spirit,” he said and touched her arm. She barely reacted but he didn’t push his luck. “C’mon, let’s get away from here.”

They arrived at his apartment shortly after. The wards his brother had set up in his place were perfectly active; he could sense them as they crossed the entrance. At least, they would be well-sheltered for the night. Evans, who had been very quiet up till now, looked around the room with unfiltered curiosity. He wondered what she saw. He kept a tidy living-room, necessary since his apartment wasn’t that big. However, decorations gifted by his family were spread a bit all over the place. The funny-looking Pluto by Chris stared down on them from the top of the cupboard, a painting made by Tamora during her art class hung on the wall, pictures of the family were pinned on the fridge…

“You can’t live here,” she suddenly blurted. “It doesn’t…give the right vibe.”

The right vibe?

“Sorry to disappoint, this is my place.” He dropped his vest on the hanger at the door. “Why would you think that?”

She gave the apartment a second glance and turned to face him.

“Halliwell, ever since I’ve known you, all I’ve seen you wear is black. This?” she waved a hand around. “This is…colorful.” Her eyes landed on the coat hanger. “You actually own colorful clothing?”

Her astonishment could have been funny had he not felt slightly offended by her genuine reaction.

“And me wearing black means I can’t appreciate colors?” he asked.

“I thought you were going through a late emo phase or something!” she huffed at her own words. Her eyes finally landed on the stereo and the huge pile of CDs next to it. As if hypnotized, she stepped closer and picked the first CD.

“You won’t find heavy metal in there,” he warned, deciding he should be amused in the end.

“No, but I didn’t expect DJ Warren either.” She flipped checked the second CD on the pile. “You’re a fan of his?”

“I like him,” he replied and contemplated the situation. This was the longest time he stood in her company and they hadn’t bickered or argued about something yet. Different circumstances, he supposed. “You know him?” he asked instead.

“Not really,” she put down both CDs. “I just heard he was growing popular lately.” She eyed the couch next. “So that’s my bed for the night?”

Clean laundry was piled up on the corner of the foldable couch. He would have to find an extra blanket –there was one somewhere, he knew it –and a pillow. Maybe let her borrow a shirt and shorts so she could sleep comfortably.

“Yeah,” he confirmed and picked up the laundry. “Bathroom’s there.” He nodded at the closed door. Did he clean it recently? He thought so. Like, two days ago? Yeah, it would be considered clean. “No bathtubs, just a shower. I’ll get you a towel or something.” He turned around to glance at her reaction. She stood there, watching him with a vague smile. It irritated him. “Something funny?”

She shook her head.

“You’d go this far for someone you don’t particularly like,” she started. “I was just wondering how far you’d go for someone you loved.” He didn’t reply, because his answer would probably scare her. Somehow, given the way she stared at him, he thought she already suspected. “Thank you for everything. Really, it means a lot.”

Wyatt paused. He almost shot her his customary ‘whatever’ and moved on, but the atmosphere didn’t…fit. So, instead of answering casually like he usually did, he merely replied:

“You’re welcome.”  

Wyatt looked around in silence. Up There had always been a little too white for his taste; the golden robes of Elders did nothing to alleviate his mood. A few had dared to come and greet him. He had merely nodded back and ignored any attempts of discussion. Per Roland’s orders, he hadn’t orbed to this place in the past eighteen months. It hadn’t changed one bit and he truly hadn’t missed it.

“You came after all.”

He glanced to the side. Chris had just orbed in and seemed to stand even more out of place with his jeans torn at the knees and his green jacket. Given his hair in a bird’s nest, he also assumed he had just dressed up in a hurry and stepped out of bed.

“Thought you didn’t care for this,” he retorted. His brother shrugged indifferently.

“Moral support,” he retorted. “And I wanted to see if Leo would show up.”

Both brothers fell in silence as a sort of procession of Elders began. Gideon appeared, surrounded by six others. The group walked across the place, headed to what seemed to be a portal. The recycling portal, someone had said. Wyatt stood there, knowing Gideon would definitively spot him. He was never granted a one-to-one conversation with him, but he wanted to take the chance to face the man who tried to kill him. The motivations still weren’t clear, at least not to him.

Gideon stopped walking at once, narrowed his eyes at him and glared.

“You will become the greatest evil on this earth,” he hissed. “The world will regret letting you live.”

Wyatt snorted. That corroborated his dream sequence.

“Didn’t it occur to you that your actions might turn me evil?” he railed ironically. “The ultimate figure of good acting alone, gaining the trust of the Charmed Ones to kill a baby. How brave of you, Gideon. How brave.”

The Elder sneered before being taken away. Wyatt watched him leave. He supposed he should be feeling something like relief, or a sense of…accomplishment perhaps? Instead, he felt nothing, except the hand of his brother on his shoulder.

“C’mon Wy, let’s go.”

Wyatt glanced at his brother. Chris’ guarded expression didn’t betray much, except that he seemed to be boiling inside. He nodded, orbed away and…

He was suddenly standing on the edge of a demolished building. San Francisco was in ruins. Demons were running around, chasing and killing the army, witches, innocents they came across. It was a battlefield, and demons were winning but he wasn’t afraid. No, he wasn’t afraid because he was the one who started it all…and he loved it. He loved standing on top of everything. No-one to control him, no-one to stop him from using his magic, no-one…no-one by his side…because they were either against him, or dead. And his brother…where was his little brother?

“Chris?” he called out, but deep inside, he knew the answer. His brother was-

“You have disastrous dreams, Cursed One.”

He didn’t look up. He already knew what he would see if he did. Alistair would be standing on the side, wearing a tacky vest with equally tacky trousers and shoes. It seemed that Chris hadn’t paid him a visit for a while. His brother would never advise him to wear this kind of stuff, even if he was a tasteless demon.

“I thought you only fed on dreams and desires, not that you materialized in them.”

The demon smirked and shrugged.

“What my doll doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I have very little influence on the dream itself anyway. As he said, I am rather harmless. A shadow in the back of your mind, something you will forget when the worries of the day begin.”

Wyatt did look up and stared at him. Creepy, beautiful eyes, stared right back.

“Will I forget this conversation?”

“Who knows? I don’t often care to chat with my food.” He looked out to contemplate the landscape. “So you dream of destruction. My doll’s dreams are much more pleasant.” He hissed with a creepy sense of pleasure. “He dreams of family, friendship…love. And music. It’s all so naïve and sweet…so vulnerable too. His mental barriers are so low in his sleep…sneaking into his dreams…so easy…”

Alistair licked his lips, and something snapped inside Wyatt -a protective instinct perhaps, or the need to make him stop talking. He suddenly reached out and tightened his fingers around the demon’s neck. Alistair’s eyes widened in surprise, but his smile stretched frighteningly wide.

“Oooh, touchy.”

“You stay away from Chris,” he hissed. “I don’t care if he calls you ally, if you lay a finger on him-”

“Why would I want to hurt my favorite doll?” Wyatt squeezed tighter. Alistair seemed to giggle in ecstasy. “Oooh maybe I do have an influence in real life after all.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The demon’s eyes glowed yellow.

“Wake up Cursed One, before you kill her for real.”

He opened his eyes at once. His arm was stretched up, his fingers digging into something soft and squeezing hard. Evans’ face was turning blue.

Shit!

He released her immediately, cursed and backed away. She fell on her knees to the floor, gasping for air.

“Shit!” he cursed again, already feeling dread and regret. “I’m sorry. Fuck, Evans, I’m sorry!” then he asked: “What the hell are you doing in my room?”  

She was back on her feet already, backing towards the door.

“You sounded like you were having a nightmare, I just wanted to wake you up.” She seemed to gather her senses and glared at him. “Are you crazy!” she snapped. “You just tried to kill me!”

“I didn’t mean to!” he protested. “I didn’t- I don’t strangle people in real life!”

“Oh, so you only strangle people in your sleep?”

“Yes! I mean,” he corrected quickly when she stared at him. “NO! It was a fucking dream! Not reality!”

“Not for me, asshole!”

He took a step closer. She reached for the nearest object and threw it at his face. It took him a huge mental effort to remember he was not supposed to use magic in front of a mortal, and ducked the flying potted plant Paige had gifted him.

“You stay away!” she snapped, already reaching for something else.

They had classes about situations like this. Take the control over someone who had lost it. Evans wasn’t really lashing at him right now, but at five men in black suits ready to come after her. And he had just made things worse.

“You stay the fuck away!” And there went the kid piggy bank. “Leave me alone!” The dream-catcher. The Superman figurine someone –the twins, he thought –bought him as a joke. “Leave-“

She chocked on a sob and he took advantage. Before she could move, he closed the distance between them, caught her wrist before she could reach anything else and held her tightly against his chest. She tried to fight it –clawing his arms, his hips, hitting every surface she could reach –but he was physically stronger, taller and broader and unless she had a power or super strength, she would not break away.

I’m sorry, he thought, genuinely guilty because she was panicking. I can’t let you leave yet.

Eventually, the fight left her and she sagged into his arms. He remained quiet, not willing to trigger another strong reaction, just kept holding her, unmoving. The silence of the room was only broken by her irregular breathing pattern and occasional sniffs. Waiting was the worse, because he didn’t know what she could be feeling…if he was doing the right thing, or not.

“There is no correct attitude,” Garry had told them on training day. “Follow the guidelines, but if your guts tell you otherwise, follow your guts.”

Evans suddenly took a deep, shaky breath.

“Why me?” she whispered. “Why did they pick me?”

Sensing she had calmed down, Wyatt decided to slowly release her. He almost wished he hadn’t a split second later. Evans’ eyes were red, desperate. Like she was this close to giving up. He didn’t know what to do.

“You can’t give up now. That’s not like you,” he said, hoping it wasn’t the wrong thing to say. Evans didn’t even twitch.

“Months, Halliwell. They’ve been after me for months. I can’t do this anymore.” she stepped away, sat on the bed, elbows on her knees, hands hanging low. “There’s so much I can handle, and I can’t. I’m so tired.”

Evans was one of the tallest women he knew; and yet, seeing her there in a shirt far too large for her, cowering in a corner of his bed, wary of him –of everything, he thought she looked…small. Vulnerable.

He took a deep breath, stepped closer and sat next to her. She didn’t seem to register his presence, not even when he tentatively put his hand over her arm.

“We’ll figure this out, alright? You’re not alone.”

She pulled her arm away, her face closing up again.

“The last person who told me that ended up dead in the gutters,” she announced bluntly. “I’m not dragging anyone down with me. They are my problem, I’ll have to deal with them.”

Wyatt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Alright, not the time to go down a pointless conversation that would only end in circles. When he opened them again, she was staring at the floor, deep in thoughts.

“Next time, I’ll fire a gun,” she blurted out loud. “My dad left me one in a drawer at home. If they come again, I’ll fire.”

Oookay…that was an unexpected shift.

“And you are telling me this because?”

Evans stood straighter. Her eyes had cleared again. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good or a bad thing.

“So you know why I will end up in jail.”

He stared at her, really stared at her.

He would later blame it on the nerves, on the stress, on the absurdity of the situation. His mother and aunts had gone and protected many mortals before, had brought them to the manor, even revealed their secret at some point. And now it was his turn, and he knew he was screwing everything up.

Because he burst into laughs.

When he looked back at her, Evans looked absolutely seething.

“You think it’s funny?” she snapped.

It wasn’t and he thought that in spite of everything, she had guts. Ten months of being stalked, being good at one heck of a job, following him to his apartment when they weren’t in particularly good terms…he wondered if she and Chris weren’t the same kind of people. Not particularly strong physically, but an iron determination to keep moving forward. There was a steadiness in her eyes that reminded him of his brother…and maybe a bit of Roland too.

“You are really one of a kind,” he said instead. “It’d be a shame if you ended up in jail.” Besides, Roland would likely kill him.

She was definitively staring at him like a lunatic. He was about to say something –what, he wasn’t sure, when he suddenly felt the wards tremble, very subtly, as if something had tried to intrude.

So that was it. Perfect timing. The unwanted guests had arrived, all he needed was an excuse to go outside and…his eyes lingered on the cupboard where he spotted a pack of cigarettes. Probably a forgotten back left by Chris some time ago and he forgot to throw away. Very likely outdated too, but she didn’t need to know that. Perfect, once again.

“I need a smoke,” he declared as he stood up and headed to the closet to grab some trousers. The suddenness of his movements made her flinch away. She was still wary of him. “Wanna join?”

“I’m fine right where I am,” she replied, staring at him like he had definitively lost his sanity. “You’re going outside?”

He nodded.

“On the rooftop. Won’t be long,” he assured her. “Don’t open to anyone that isn’t me. I’m not taking the key if you’re inside.”

He needed her to feel safer in the apartment, to let her barricade herself, and at the same time, make sure she wouldn’t leave. He had to give her space right now…and he had to hunt some demons down. Not telling his identity earlier had been a good move. Now they wouldn’t suspect a thing until it was too late.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said instead, sounding vaguely suspicious.

“Only in time of high stress.” He pretended and stepped out of the room. The apartment was dark and quiet. He turned on the light, picked up his vest and opened the door. “Don’t fall asleep when I’m gone, or I’ll be locked outside. My brother has a spare but he’s with his girlfriend tonight and won’t pick up his phone.”

A lie, but he would rather stay locked up than ruin Chris’s date. Evans came out of the bedroom slowly. In the light, he could see the red trace of his hand on her neck. Now, he really felt the urge to leave for a different reason.

“You are really going out now?” she repeated, stunned. He shrugged in return.

“No-one will bother me at this time of night. Don’t forget to lock the door, and don’t open to anyone else.”

He shut the door behind and headed straight to the rooftop. Just like Chris’s building, the area was accessible and flat, bordered by handrails. He knew the neighbors tended to party up there during the summer. It was the perfect place for an ambush too.

The rooftop was empty when he stepped on it. The moment he came closer to the handrail though, he felt their presence.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the boyfriend.”

The demons from earlier stepped out of the shadows. All five were grinning with that crazy smile, slightly reminding him of Alistair’s. Wyatt took out the cigarette from his pocket, realized he had forgotten a lighter. Looked at the closest demon.

“Wouldn’t happen to have fire on you?” he asked calmly. The demon’s expression twisted into a rictus.

“Fire?” he repeated, finding some amusement in the question. Wyatt didn’t blame him. There was a sort of irony here, him asking a demon for fire. “Oh I can give you fire. You are one gutsy witch, you know that? Great wards, strong enough to keep me and my friends out.”

He barely battered an eye.

“Oh, no,” he said, sounding bored. “Too many of you against one little me. How will I ever get out of this situation?”

The demons stopped laughing.

“Are you mocking us?”

Wyatt snorted.

“Five against one measly little mortal and you couldn’t kill her for the past ten months? What do I have to worry about?”

“There are rules to observe,” one of them grunted. “Else I would have fried her a long time ago.”

“Rules?” he asked, trying to sound as ironic as possible. “What kind of rules? Like, only attempt to kill her during her day job? First to kill get the prize? Or are you all helping each other out?”

One of the demons opened their mouths. The leader prevented him from speaking by putting a hand over his shoulder.

“We’re wasting time, Gladys,” he growled. ‘Gladys’ –and Wyatt bit back the urge to laugh –nodded in agreement.

“So…anyone else is playing the game? Or is everyone here?” he asked, because those demons sounded like dumbasses and he didn’t have much time to waste if he wanted to hunt them all tonight. Especially if Evans was waiting for him down in the apartment.

“We all gathered for the grand finale,” and Wyatt thought: of course you did, idiot. “Now, goodbye little witch.”

Five energy balls began to glow. Wyatt called upon his magic, thrust his hands forwards and pushed. The wave of destruction blew all demons at once. The energy balls imploded with barely a sound and silence fell back on the building. He knelt, pressed his cigarette to a scorching mark, and waited until the tip ignited. At least, one of the bodies had been useful.

A sense of relief washed over him. Evans should be safe now. He pulled on the cigarette –terrible taste, it was definitively stale, but at least the smell would remain–and as he exhaled, something came to nag him. Demons didn’t often play games. Those five didn’t seem smart enough to install rules amongst themselves. Was there something going on behind the scenes, or was he thinking too much? Should he talk to Chris about his suspicions? Or was he getting ahead of himself? His brother was smart and well-informed, but he wouldn’t know everything. The only ones who moved around the magical community, got the best ground information, and could answer the quickest would be his mother or his aunts. Except that he had given no sign of being interested in returning in the field, so to speak. And his father might take it as an interest of resuming whitelighter activities.

I’ll mention it to mom next time, he promised himself. At least he and Roland were square now.

He leaned against the handrail, watched the city sleep, thought of Evans again…of the mark of his hand on her neck.

The deal with the demons might be over, but his dealing with the woman surely weren’t. He would still have to face her in a few minutes, work with her the next day. His mother and aunts only had to say ‘day is saved, thank you for coming, let’s never meet again’. He wondered if their working relationship would be impacted. If things would change, for better or worse. Hopefully better once she realized she wasn’t being followed anymore. He thought he might like to find out what kind of person she was, when she didn’t act so hostile around him.

The cigarette reached the end. He crushed it on top of the handrail, dumped it in the only trashcan left.

Evans was watching a TV show when he knocked back. She looked perturbed and pensive, barely made a comment on his absence.

“You alright?” he asked. She nodded and settled more comfortably on the couch, the blanket over her knees. Her skin looked paler than before and she kept avoiding his eye. He frowned. Something was odd. Evans was never this quiet. “Sure?”

It took her a few seconds before she nodded again.

“I’m just tired, it’s been a long day,” she said sharply. “I’ll…go to sleep. Yeah, sleep. Go back to bed, Halliwell.”

Ooookay, that sounded odd. He stared at her a few seconds more, wondered if the events of the night were still getting to her.

“Fine. Good night. And don’t come into my room, I wouldn’t want to accidentally strangle you to death again.”

It was a bit of a dick move, but he needed to check if…She stiffened and glared at him. Yeah, the spark was still there.

“Trust me, I really won’t dream of walking in there again,” she snapped and turned the TV off. Wyatt shrugged and closed the door behind. Hopefully, Alistair would stay out of his mind this time around.

“…so we decided to end the evening like that. I even walked her to the door.”

“Right,” Wyatt said absentmindedly. The phone was left on the desk on speaker so he could focus on the paperwork. He was stuck on the station today while all the others were out, and Garry had just asked for a report on their last intervention. Chris had decided to call him at that very moment to vent about his diner date with Bianca, which thankfully had almost gone well this time. Wyatt just let him talk, because otherwise, he would have to pretend to be listening face-to-face later.

“Sucks that her mother called at that moment. But you know what? I didn’t mind. I like the pace. It’s different, like a will-they-won’t-they kind of dance,” he added on a dreamy tone: “Did get to make out with her though.”

“Uh-hum.” House of fire, little boy missing…he couldn’t exactly write that he had seen an energy ball hit the ceiling before it fell on Evans. Just write ceiling fell unexpectedly, he thought. Let their insurance do whatever they wanted with that piece of information.

“It’s amazing the kind of bullshit her family put her through when she said she was stopping,” Chris went on. “I mean, she had to tell them I was keeping a close eye on her, and by ‘I’ she actually meant you. Pretty sure they know it’s a lie, but your reputation is enough to keep them at bay, thank you for that.”

“No problem,” he added, only half-listening. The date of the intervention was…he checked the calendar. And after getting the kid and Evans out, what had he done already? Ah right, they needed help with the hose.

“I want this to work out. I really want this to work out. You didn’t tell mom about Bianca by the way?”

It took Wyatt a few seconds to realize he was asking a question, and an extra second to understand it.

“Course not,” he replied. “Should I?”

Chris only snorted.

“Better not Wy. As long as you keep your mouth shut, I won’t slip about your little intervention with your colleague. You wouldn’t want Phoebe tattle to Leo about that.”

Wyatt noticed the lack of ‘aunt’ in front of Phoebe. So his brother still hadn’t forgiven her for dumping them before his first concert. He hadn’t called their father ‘dad’ for years now so that was less surprising.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want him to get any ideas,” he muttered. He added a few words and signed the document.

“You never told me how the evening ended by the way.”

Wyatt sighed, cut the speaker and stuck the phone between his cheek and shoulder.

“Nothing much to say. We slept, I fed her burned toasts in the morning, walked her back to her building, gave her my number in case she spotted another issue, and left for work. She hasn’t showed up yet but she had an eventful night. If she doesn’t come, I’ll probably stop by her place to check if everything’s alright.”

“Five demons at once,” Chris added, and his tone sounded both awed and envious. “Your best so far?”

“Seven is my best, but those were small fry so that didn’t really count.” He shut the folder and stood up, intending to put it away. “Gotta go. Unlike some I won’t name, I have work to do.”

“I know you’ve been doing paperwork,” Chris pointed out. “You always put your phone on speaker when you do. And it echoes when you speak, don’t try to deny it.”

“I’m not on speaker,” he protested.

“Not anymore and that’s why I openly spoke of demons.” Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Stop rolling your eyes and I’ll talk to you later.”

He sighed.

“Yeah, whatever. Take care little brother.” He waited for the answer before hanging up and slipping the phone in his pocket.

He headed to Garry’s office, knocked on the door. His team leader told him to enter. At first glance, he could tell something was wrong. The man looked like he had aged a couple decades and his coffee was still smoking. Garry loved his coffee first thing in the morning.

“You’re alright sir?” he asked, wondering why he suddenly had a bad feeling.

“Just got bad news, that’s all,” he said before sighing. “Well, you might as well know now. It’ll tell the team later. Evans won’t be joining us for a while.”

Wyatt felt his good mood drop at once.

“Why?”

“She was hit by a car just this morning. Some driver high on drugs. He was killed on spot, and she’s currently at the hospital.” The grimace on Garry’s face made his blood run cold. “They don’t think she’ll make it.”