Chapter Text
The wind howled outside the Halliwell Manor, rattling the windows. Inside the house, everything was still, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the living room and the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. It was an ordinary night. Or, it had been.
The air in Chris Halliwell’s room was thick with unease. The walls seemed to press in on him, and the faint sound of the clock ticking down the minutes only heightened the tension in his chest. He sat with his knees pulled close, his head buried in his hands, trying to push away the overwhelming sense of dread that had been gnawing at him for weeks now. Something was wrong.
His breath was shallow, his face pale, his heart racing. He’d had bad nightmares before, but this time was different. This time, it felt more real - like something he had experienced before, yet in a time that didn’t belong to him.
As the images twisted and turned in his mind, suddenly, his entire body stiffened and another vision came crashing in, more vivid than anything he had experienced before.
Today was his birthday, and he had been cooking all day with his mother. Soon, his aunt Phoebe and his brother would be coming to celebrate. Maybe even his father, too, if he got the time…
Chris was looking forward to this family dinner. You don’t turn fourteen every day.
All of a sudden, without any warning, the atmosphere changed in the Manor. The air became suffocating. It was unbearable.
Chris found himself standing in the hallway, but the house felt colder, emptier. The scent of dust and aged wood lingered in the air, but there was something else... something darker.
His mother was standing near the kitchen doorway, her expression one of fierce determination. She had grabbed a glowing vial of potion in her hand, her eyes scanning the shadows as she moved cautiously through the house.
Before Chris could move, the door slammed open.
A demon, tall and cloaked in black, with eyes like burning embers, stepped into the house, its laughter reverberating off the walls. It was an attack, one they hadn’t seen coming. The demon’s eyes locked onto Piper, and in an instant, it lunged toward her.
“Chris! Stay away!” she screamed.
“Mom!” Chris called, running forward, his voice strangled with panic. He could barely hear his own words over the pounding in his chest. He couldn’t think. He just had to get to her. “Mom!”
He raised his hands and sent a blast as powerful as he could towards the demon, but it was not enough to do anything. Not enough to stop the demon.
Piper held up her hand as well, casting a defensive spell, but to no avail. The demon’s claws raked across her chest, and she fell back with a cry of pain, her potion slipping from her hand and shattering against the floor.
“Mom!” Chris cried out again, desperately, as she collapsed. He tried to pull himself toward her, but it was impossible to move. His limbs felt heavy, his energy drained.
"Wyatt! Dad! Please, you have to come!" Chris pleaded, calling out to anyone who could help, but no one came.
He felt it. The barrier. The Elders were stopping them from hearing any of Chris’ calls.
It hit him all at once —the knowledge that nobody would come to their aid. The thought crushed him.
And then, the demon turned its eyes on him, a wicked smile stretching across its face as it raised its hand, sending a blast of dark energy toward Chris. He tried to shield himself, but he was too weakened already, his power too unstable. Yet he forced himself to stand up again, attacking the demon again and again even as it crushed him and threw him around like a ragdoll. Chris knew fighting was his only chance to survive, so he gave his all, until finally, the creature was vanquished, disappearing with a high-pitched scream that would haunt Chris for the rest of his life.
And then, everything went black.
Chris gasped, his eyes flying open.
The vision had been so real. So painful. He could still hear his mother’s cry, still feel the overwhelming helplessness of watching her die without being able to do anything. He clutched his chest, gasping for breath as if he could still feel the sting of the demon’s attack. The room around him was the same as before, the familiar walls of his bedroom, but everything felt distant. Nothing seemed real anymore.
His gaze flicked to the door, and there, standing in the doorway with a look of concern etched across his face, was Wyatt. His brother stepped into the room, his expression taut with worry. He had just orbed in, clearly worried. “Chris? What’s going on? You were calling my name,” he said.
Chris jumped, the sound of Wyatt’s voice dragging him back to the present. His heart pounded in his chest. "I... I -" he began, his voice a mere whisper. He shook his head.
Wyatt's brow furrowed, and he crossed the room in three quick strides, kneeling down beside his brother. “Talk to me, man. What’s going on?” he said, softly.
Chris was shaking like a leaf and Wyatt immediately put his palm on Chris’ forehead, checking for a fever. He frowned - Chris’ forehead was not warm. On the contrary, his brother’s skin was ice cold.
"It was Mom. She died - I couldn’t protect her! I’m so sorry -" Chris mumbled.
Wyatt gave him a small smile. "Hey, it’s okay. Mom's fine. It sounds like you just had a bad nightmare. Do you want me to get you something? Maybe a glass of water? Some milk?"
But it was as if Chris was not hearing him. "I called you! I called you and Dad!" he went on, panic creeping into his voice. "Why didn't you come?" His hands clenched the sheets beneath him.
Wyatt frowned. “What are you talking about? I heard you. That’s why I’m here. See?”
Chris looked up at that. Tears were running down his face. This was very unusual - Chris rarely let anyone see him cry - even his brother. Wyatt placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Chris, hey..." he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. "Whatever your nightmare was about, that didn’t happen. It wasn’t real. I would never let anything happen to you, you know that, right?"
But Chris shook his head vehemently, his eyes wide with the horror of the vision he had just witnessed. Wyatt had never seen Chris like this before— so utterly terrified.
“No, it was not a nightmare. I know it wasn't, it was real, Wyatt! You have to believe me! I felt it. I know I lived this. B-but… I also know I didn’t.” his voice cracked as he spoke. " I-I don’t know what’s happening to me, Wy -" He rubbed his eyes nervously.
Wyatt’s hand froze on his brother’s shoulder. A sick feeling twisted in his stomach. He didn’t want to believe it, but there was something about Chris’s words that cut through the denial.
"Chris..." Wyatt said, his voice low, the unease creeping into his tone. "It’s okay, I believe you." After all, visions were not an uncommon power in their family.
Chris’s lips trembled as he met Wyatt’s gaze. His brother’s warmth, his usual unwavering confidence, was comforting. But something inside Chris—something deep and dark—still felt wrong.
Wyatt squeezed his shoulder. "You’re not alone, okay? We’ll figure this out together. I promise."
But even as Chris nodded, his heart pounding in his chest, a part of him couldn’t shake the vision. The haunting certainty that it was not just a nightmare—that it was a glimpse of the future, a future where he would fail his mother...
He closed his eyes, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill again. He would be turning fourteen in a week. His vision had taken place on his birthday. What if this was the future he was headed toward?
The thought made him shiver violently.
“Hey. Come here,” Wyatt said softly, pulling him into a quick, tight hug.
Chris closed his eyes, his mind still reeling from the vividness of the vision, and for a moment, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort of his brother’s embrace, even though everything inside him screamed that something was horribly, terribly wrong.
Wyatt felt it, too. There was something off about this whole situation, something that Chris wasn’t telling him, and the pit in his stomach only grew deeper. As he held his brother, his mind was already at work. First, he had to figure out if this was really a vision, or another new power that his brother had just acquired. And then, of course, if it was indeed a vision, they would need to prepare for whatever Chris had just seen.
No matter what it was, Wyatt would protect his brother. Which was why he needed to understand what Chris had just experienced.
“Do you want to talk about it? What you saw?” Wyatt asked quietly, his voice soft but insistent.
Chris swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, his thoughts still jumbled and uncertain. "I... I don't know if I can. Not yet. I’m not ready."
Wyatt nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave Chris. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” he said quietly. He squeezed Chris’s shoulder one last time before pulling away.
Chris gave him a shaky smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Thanks, Wyatt."
“Are you good? Do you want me to stay here tonight?” Wyatt offered, but he knew the answer even before Chris shook his head and said he was fine.
Wyatt smiled inwardly. His little brother hated to be coddled.
As Wyatt turned to leave, his gaze lingered on Chris for a moment longer than necessary, the uneasy feeling gnawing at him.