RP for fulltimewitch
Who: Chris and Prue, assorted others as needed
Where: The manor attic
What: Chris reaches a breaking point and turns to the only person who can help. Unfortunately, that person doesn't know he exists.
Somehow, Chris had gotten roped into babysitting Wyatt (and wasn’t that a joke) while Piper ran off to the club for some emergency or other involving the new bartender, and he was barely managing to keep his eyes open by the time she got back. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he didn’t like leaving Wyatt upstairs by himself, so he’d brought his brother into the living room and watched cartoons with him until Wyatt fell asleep, curled up against him and clutching his shirt like a security blanket. He was tired, so tired, and he hadn’t even realized it until he noticed how peaceful Wyatt looked and how quiet the house was, for once.
Chris heard the front door open and tensed instinctively, the temptation to sleep immediately vanishing as he prepared to fight (though really, what kind of demon would bother with a door anyway?), but relaxed when he saw Piper enter the living room. Sort of.
“What?” he asked almost defensively when he noticed the strange look on her face, like she was caught between competing urges to either laugh or make cooing noises. Oh. Right. His cheeks flushed slightly when he realized what he must have looked like, one arm draped around Wyatt as the toddler used him for a pillow.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby, go back to sleep,” Piper murmured as she picked Wyatt up and he fussed a little at being moved.
“Everything okay at the club?”
“Yeah. New girl’s just…new. Nervous. No big deal.”
Chris yawned and dragged his hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. “So I’m good to go?”
Piper nodded, but seemed to be debating something before she actually verbally answered. “You can stay here, if you want. I mean, I know the couch isn’t the best bed in the world, but it’s better than the one at P3.”
Looking up, Chris’s eyebrows arched somewhat skeptically. “Sure you don’t think I’m going to, like, go all evil on you in your sleep or something?”
“Please. I’ve dealt with scarier demons at the grocery store. I could handle you,” Piper answered with a wry grin, rolling her eyes. “But yes, I’m sure. You’ve never given us a reason to distrust you. Dislike you, maybe,” she admitted, and thankfully she rolled her eyes upwards and completely missed Chris’s wince, “and dislike your methods, but if you were evil, you wouldn’t be a whitelighter. Besides. Phoebe can’t sense anything from you and Wyatt obviously trusts you, so you’ve already passed two major patented Halliwell litmus tests.” She paused to readjust Wyatt to her other side. “It’s up to you. If it’s too weird or anything, you can still hang out at the club. I just thought you looked tired and like you could use a quieter place to sleep, that’s all.”
For a moment, Chris seriously considered turning down the offer; he could say goodnight and simply orb away, and that would be that. But this was the first open sign of trust that Piper had shown him since his arrival, and that validation, however misplaced, touched him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He’d tried so hard to keep a great deal of emotional distance between himself and the sisters, Wyatt, Leo, everyone even remotely associated with the Halliwell family, and now Piper was extending an olive branch. Piper, of all people, and that meant more to Chris than he could possibly say.
So, in fact, he said nothing, just nodded and paced in a tight, anxious line in front of the couch when Piper walked upstairs to put Wyatt down for the night. When she returned, she held a couple folded blankets with pillows on top, which Chris hastily took from her so that she could actually see where she was walking.
“Thanks,” she muttered absently, pushing a long lock of hair out of her face. “You’ll be okay down here?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“If you need anything, just yell.”
Chris couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, you too.”
Piper returned that grin so effortlessly it made Chris’s heart ache in his chest. He’d never really known how much they had in common until he came back to this time, and now he couldn’t stop noticing every little trait and personal quirk they shared.
“Goodnight, Chris.”
“…’night,” Chris answered. He’d never had problems referring to Piper or her sisters by name before, but it felt different now, wrong when it was just the two of them and she was being so…motherly. He half-expected her to remind him to brush his teeth before bed, too.
Despite how comfortable he’d been with Wyatt on the couch, Chris found now that he wasn’t sleepy, which left him with few other options but to continue pacing. The fourth time he passed the shelf full of photo albums, he finally caved and took the top one down, fingertips trailing reverently over the cover as he walked back over to the couch. It was the same album he’d looked through so many times as a child (or would look through, whatever), but the pictures weren’t as faded, the clothes not quite as laughably bad. There were pictures missing, pictures Chris could still vividly recall: his fifth birthday party, a trip the family had taken to the zoo, Wyatt’s third grade Christmas play when he got the role as the lead Christmas tree, so many cherished memories that hadn’t been recorded yet because they hadn’t even happened. Before the book was taken over by pictures of the kids, Chris saw now, it had been filled with pictures of Piper and her sisters, their friends, their own family long before any of them became mothers. They looked so young and happy, hopeful about the future they didn’t know would beat them down over time. In many ways, the pictures were more real to Chris than his increasingly dim memories of the real women, especially now that those memories were being muddled by what he knew of them in this new timeline.
Angry at the universe for putting him in this position and angrier at himself for doing nothing about it, he slammed the album shut and returned it to its shelf. Then, shaking with barely contained rage and sorrow, he crept upstairs to the attack, checking to make sure no one heard him before he closed the door behind him and then began setting up a ring of candles in the middle of the floor. This was stupid. This was so incredibly stupid and dangerous, he knew, and there was a very real possibility he was about to blow his cover. But he had to know, and if anyone could help him, it was her.
With one last glance at the door, he took a deep breath and began the incantation. “Hear these words, hear my cry, spirit from the other side. Come to me, I summon thee. Cross now the great divide.”
Now, he could only wait and hope.
Where: The manor attic
What: Chris reaches a breaking point and turns to the only person who can help. Unfortunately, that person doesn't know he exists.
Somehow, Chris had gotten roped into babysitting Wyatt (and wasn’t that a joke) while Piper ran off to the club for some emergency or other involving the new bartender, and he was barely managing to keep his eyes open by the time she got back. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he didn’t like leaving Wyatt upstairs by himself, so he’d brought his brother into the living room and watched cartoons with him until Wyatt fell asleep, curled up against him and clutching his shirt like a security blanket. He was tired, so tired, and he hadn’t even realized it until he noticed how peaceful Wyatt looked and how quiet the house was, for once.
Chris heard the front door open and tensed instinctively, the temptation to sleep immediately vanishing as he prepared to fight (though really, what kind of demon would bother with a door anyway?), but relaxed when he saw Piper enter the living room. Sort of.
“What?” he asked almost defensively when he noticed the strange look on her face, like she was caught between competing urges to either laugh or make cooing noises. Oh. Right. His cheeks flushed slightly when he realized what he must have looked like, one arm draped around Wyatt as the toddler used him for a pillow.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby, go back to sleep,” Piper murmured as she picked Wyatt up and he fussed a little at being moved.
“Everything okay at the club?”
“Yeah. New girl’s just…new. Nervous. No big deal.”
Chris yawned and dragged his hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. “So I’m good to go?”
Piper nodded, but seemed to be debating something before she actually verbally answered. “You can stay here, if you want. I mean, I know the couch isn’t the best bed in the world, but it’s better than the one at P3.”
Looking up, Chris’s eyebrows arched somewhat skeptically. “Sure you don’t think I’m going to, like, go all evil on you in your sleep or something?”
“Please. I’ve dealt with scarier demons at the grocery store. I could handle you,” Piper answered with a wry grin, rolling her eyes. “But yes, I’m sure. You’ve never given us a reason to distrust you. Dislike you, maybe,” she admitted, and thankfully she rolled her eyes upwards and completely missed Chris’s wince, “and dislike your methods, but if you were evil, you wouldn’t be a whitelighter. Besides. Phoebe can’t sense anything from you and Wyatt obviously trusts you, so you’ve already passed two major patented Halliwell litmus tests.” She paused to readjust Wyatt to her other side. “It’s up to you. If it’s too weird or anything, you can still hang out at the club. I just thought you looked tired and like you could use a quieter place to sleep, that’s all.”
For a moment, Chris seriously considered turning down the offer; he could say goodnight and simply orb away, and that would be that. But this was the first open sign of trust that Piper had shown him since his arrival, and that validation, however misplaced, touched him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He’d tried so hard to keep a great deal of emotional distance between himself and the sisters, Wyatt, Leo, everyone even remotely associated with the Halliwell family, and now Piper was extending an olive branch. Piper, of all people, and that meant more to Chris than he could possibly say.
So, in fact, he said nothing, just nodded and paced in a tight, anxious line in front of the couch when Piper walked upstairs to put Wyatt down for the night. When she returned, she held a couple folded blankets with pillows on top, which Chris hastily took from her so that she could actually see where she was walking.
“Thanks,” she muttered absently, pushing a long lock of hair out of her face. “You’ll be okay down here?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“If you need anything, just yell.”
Chris couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, you too.”
Piper returned that grin so effortlessly it made Chris’s heart ache in his chest. He’d never really known how much they had in common until he came back to this time, and now he couldn’t stop noticing every little trait and personal quirk they shared.
“Goodnight, Chris.”
“…’night,” Chris answered. He’d never had problems referring to Piper or her sisters by name before, but it felt different now, wrong when it was just the two of them and she was being so…motherly. He half-expected her to remind him to brush his teeth before bed, too.
Despite how comfortable he’d been with Wyatt on the couch, Chris found now that he wasn’t sleepy, which left him with few other options but to continue pacing. The fourth time he passed the shelf full of photo albums, he finally caved and took the top one down, fingertips trailing reverently over the cover as he walked back over to the couch. It was the same album he’d looked through so many times as a child (or would look through, whatever), but the pictures weren’t as faded, the clothes not quite as laughably bad. There were pictures missing, pictures Chris could still vividly recall: his fifth birthday party, a trip the family had taken to the zoo, Wyatt’s third grade Christmas play when he got the role as the lead Christmas tree, so many cherished memories that hadn’t been recorded yet because they hadn’t even happened. Before the book was taken over by pictures of the kids, Chris saw now, it had been filled with pictures of Piper and her sisters, their friends, their own family long before any of them became mothers. They looked so young and happy, hopeful about the future they didn’t know would beat them down over time. In many ways, the pictures were more real to Chris than his increasingly dim memories of the real women, especially now that those memories were being muddled by what he knew of them in this new timeline.
Angry at the universe for putting him in this position and angrier at himself for doing nothing about it, he slammed the album shut and returned it to its shelf. Then, shaking with barely contained rage and sorrow, he crept upstairs to the attack, checking to make sure no one heard him before he closed the door behind him and then began setting up a ring of candles in the middle of the floor. This was stupid. This was so incredibly stupid and dangerous, he knew, and there was a very real possibility he was about to blow his cover. But he had to know, and if anyone could help him, it was her.
With one last glance at the door, he took a deep breath and began the incantation. “Hear these words, hear my cry, spirit from the other side. Come to me, I summon thee. Cross now the great divide.”
Now, he could only wait and hope.