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tigriswolfTitle: No Tears Can Wake The Dead
Fandom: "Charmed"
Disclaimer: Not my characters, ‘cept for the ones that are. Just for fun.
Warnings: spoilers for everything
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1170
Point of view: third
Quickly the aunts followed, and their children. Chris mourned them all, wept so much he was surprised he didn’t float away. He locked himself in his room and ignored all of Wyatt’s attempt to pull him out of his pain, to distract him from his despair.
Grandpa came by, and Uncle Darrel, and the few friends he had—even Leo deigned to visit. That drove Chris straight from his room into a towering rage, which only Wyatt could control. Leo left the Manor and Chris never saw him again.
When Chris learned seven years later that Wyatt killed him, he didn’t mourn at all. Sometimes he wondered what that says about him, but honestly, he was too busy keeping that world from happening to care.
When it was just Wyatt, Grandpa, and Chris, Chris learned that crying solved nothing and only made the problem worse.
Grandpa was weak from all his smoking, and growing weaker by the day. Wyatt could barely stand to be in the same building with him because of how useless it made him feel.
Chris, though, basked in Grandpa’s presence. He listened to Grandpa’s stories, of Grandma and Grams and Mom and the aunts when they were younger. He spent every second he could with Grandpa because he wanted to make up for all his fights with Mom, with the aunts, with Prue and Mel and Pete’n’Paul.
And so when Grandpa died days after Chris’s fifteenth birthday, Chris resolved to never cry again.
Not only because it wasted energy he could use elsewhere, but because it bothered Wyatt, who wanted to do everything he could for Chris.
It wasn’t until he was sixteen, though, that Chris realized what his older brother had become. And honestly, by that time Chris didn’t really care.
All he had in the world was Wyatt. And he’d stand by Wyatt through hell, he swore, because nothing else would be taken from him. Not without a fight of everything in him, every power and all the rage—and god knows he’s powerful enough, with enough rage to light the world on the fire.
Wyatt alone has the strength to stop him, and Wyatt would have stood by his side, had it come to that.
But it never did. Instead Chris waited nearly five years and realized he had to leave.
It was the hardest decision of his life, to abandon his brother, but Wyatt wasn’t Wyatt anymore. Something inside him had died, some part of him only Chris knew existed had withered and faded.
And Chris couldn’t take it anymore.
He’d lost too much in his life. Lost more than anyone should have to. So he thought about it for months and finally chose to save his brother. To fix this broken world before it was ever broken.
He wasn’t too clear on how to pull off that last part for a long while, but it finally came to him while lying on the floor in the ruins of P3 a year after leaving Wyatt.
He had to return to the past. Something had to have hurt Wyatt, stolen a part of his soul, all those years ago. What other explanation could there be? How else could Wyatt rule the world so coldly, caring only for Chris and power?
He planned for months, seeking out every powerful being left in the world, anything Wyatt hadn’t turned or destroyed. He joined the Resistance, or pretended to, leaning everything they knew.
Chris hadn’t always been such a good liar, but he’d always learned quickly. And this was the most important thing he’d ever attempted, trying to save Wyatt, the world—and, in the process, himself. His family.
He knew it would be hard, but anything worth doing is. He knew it would hurt, seeing them again, and them not knowing who he was, but it’d be better that way.
He never wanted Mom to know what happened her, the world he came from, what her oldest had become—he didn’t want any of them to know.
Chris chose his entrance point with care: during the mess with the Titans. They were slowly falling apart, wanting to go their own ways. Leo was about to become an Elder; Wyatt was still a baby, not even one year old.
Not the best time to enter their lives, and yet the only place he truly could.
And Chris felt himself dying every day he saw his mother and she never saw him. Every time Aunt Phoebe or Aunt Paige or Mom looked at him with anger and hate.
But he would save Wyatt, and he would not cry. He hadn’t cried since he was fifteen, a lifetime ago.
Chris did his best to stop whatever turned Wyatt, because something had to’ve. He researched and he vanquished, he acted and he intimated. He hunted and hunted, killing more demons than the sisters would ever know.
And they didn’t have a clue of how powerful he was. He hid his powers so well the strongest witches hadn’t the shadow of hint. If it wasn’t so sad, it would have been funny. Actually, it was pretty funny anyway, he admitted to himself in the backroom of P3 after another argument with Mom and the aunts, and Leo playing some demented referee.
Chris wondered when the sisters grew up, when they had become the powerful, beautiful, driven witches he remembered, and then he wondered if he made them up. Or maybe Wyatt did.
It wouldn’t surprise him, given all he’s learned. And sometimes he wants to go back, to just be Wyatt’s damned powerful sidekick, to rule the world. Because even though it was wrong—sometimes he’s so fucking tired he just doesn’t care.
Chris gave up on crying when he was fifteen.
Chris has given up on a lot of things in his life, things he probably shouldn’t have. At twenty-three he feels so old, older than by any right he should.
He’s seen too much, done too much—and damn, he wants to go home. To his brother, to all the family he has left.
Because the sisters and Leo and the baby—they aren’t family. They wear the faces and the voices, the mannerisms, but something’s off.
Chris gave up on crying a lifetime ago, but now he cries.
Fandom: "Charmed"
Disclaimer: Not my characters, ‘cept for the ones that are. Just for fun.
Warnings: spoilers for everything
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1170
Point of view: third
Chris gave up on crying when he was fifteen.
Before that he cried rarely, true, but still more than probably the ‘average’ boy. He had more to cry about, of course; how many others can say demonic assassins are after their entire family, and that they themselves have nearly died so many times they’ve given up counting?
Chris never let his mother hear him, or his cousins, aunts, and uncles. His father wasn’t there to care, and his brother knew, but Chris still didn’t speak of it. It wasn’t that he was ashamed—though, he was, a bit—but really... he just didn’t want to talk about why he cried.
And then his mother died. His crying could be excused after that.
Quickly the aunts followed, and their children. Chris mourned them all, wept so much he was surprised he didn’t float away. He locked himself in his room and ignored all of Wyatt’s attempt to pull him out of his pain, to distract him from his despair.
Grandpa came by, and Uncle Darrel, and the few friends he had—even Leo deigned to visit. That drove Chris straight from his room into a towering rage, which only Wyatt could control. Leo left the Manor and Chris never saw him again.
When Chris learned seven years later that Wyatt killed him, he didn’t mourn at all. Sometimes he wondered what that says about him, but honestly, he was too busy keeping that world from happening to care.
When it was just Wyatt, Grandpa, and Chris, Chris learned that crying solved nothing and only made the problem worse.
Grandpa was weak from all his smoking, and growing weaker by the day. Wyatt could barely stand to be in the same building with him because of how useless it made him feel.
Chris, though, basked in Grandpa’s presence. He listened to Grandpa’s stories, of Grandma and Grams and Mom and the aunts when they were younger. He spent every second he could with Grandpa because he wanted to make up for all his fights with Mom, with the aunts, with Prue and Mel and Pete’n’Paul.
And so when Grandpa died days after Chris’s fifteenth birthday, Chris resolved to never cry again.
Not only because it wasted energy he could use elsewhere, but because it bothered Wyatt, who wanted to do everything he could for Chris.
It wasn’t until he was sixteen, though, that Chris realized what his older brother had become. And honestly, by that time Chris didn’t really care.
All he had in the world was Wyatt. And he’d stand by Wyatt through hell, he swore, because nothing else would be taken from him. Not without a fight of everything in him, every power and all the rage—and god knows he’s powerful enough, with enough rage to light the world on the fire.
Wyatt alone has the strength to stop him, and Wyatt would have stood by his side, had it come to that.
But it never did. Instead Chris waited nearly five years and realized he had to leave.
It was the hardest decision of his life, to abandon his brother, but Wyatt wasn’t Wyatt anymore. Something inside him had died, some part of him only Chris knew existed had withered and faded.
And Chris couldn’t take it anymore.
He’d lost too much in his life. Lost more than anyone should have to. So he thought about it for months and finally chose to save his brother. To fix this broken world before it was ever broken.
He wasn’t too clear on how to pull off that last part for a long while, but it finally came to him while lying on the floor in the ruins of P3 a year after leaving Wyatt.
He had to return to the past. Something had to have hurt Wyatt, stolen a part of his soul, all those years ago. What other explanation could there be? How else could Wyatt rule the world so coldly, caring only for Chris and power?
He planned for months, seeking out every powerful being left in the world, anything Wyatt hadn’t turned or destroyed. He joined the Resistance, or pretended to, leaning everything they knew.
Chris hadn’t always been such a good liar, but he’d always learned quickly. And this was the most important thing he’d ever attempted, trying to save Wyatt, the world—and, in the process, himself. His family.
He knew it would be hard, but anything worth doing is. He knew it would hurt, seeing them again, and them not knowing who he was, but it’d be better that way.
He never wanted Mom to know what happened her, the world he came from, what her oldest had become—he didn’t want any of them to know.
Chris chose his entrance point with care: during the mess with the Titans. They were slowly falling apart, wanting to go their own ways. Leo was about to become an Elder; Wyatt was still a baby, not even one year old.
Not the best time to enter their lives, and yet the only place he truly could.
And Chris felt himself dying every day he saw his mother and she never saw him. Every time Aunt Phoebe or Aunt Paige or Mom looked at him with anger and hate.
But he would save Wyatt, and he would not cry. He hadn’t cried since he was fifteen, a lifetime ago.
Chris did his best to stop whatever turned Wyatt, because something had to’ve. He researched and he vanquished, he acted and he intimated. He hunted and hunted, killing more demons than the sisters would ever know.
And they didn’t have a clue of how powerful he was. He hid his powers so well the strongest witches hadn’t the shadow of hint. If it wasn’t so sad, it would have been funny. Actually, it was pretty funny anyway, he admitted to himself in the backroom of P3 after another argument with Mom and the aunts, and Leo playing some demented referee.
Chris wondered when the sisters grew up, when they had become the powerful, beautiful, driven witches he remembered, and then he wondered if he made them up. Or maybe Wyatt did.
It wouldn’t surprise him, given all he’s learned. And sometimes he wants to go back, to just be Wyatt’s damned powerful sidekick, to rule the world. Because even though it was wrong—sometimes he’s so fucking tired he just doesn’t care.
Chris gave up on crying when he was fifteen.
Chris has given up on a lot of things in his life, things he probably shouldn’t have. At twenty-three he feels so old, older than by any right he should.
He’s seen too much, done too much—and damn, he wants to go home. To his brother, to all the family he has left.
Because the sisters and Leo and the baby—they aren’t family. They wear the faces and the voices, the mannerisms, but something’s off.
Chris gave up on crying a lifetime ago, but now he cries.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-06 01:47 am (UTC)Because the sisters and Leo and the baby—they aren’t family. They wear the faces and the voices, the mannerisms, but something’s off.
You really capture his exhaustion and his frustrations in those lines...and his loneliness too.
I keep hoping that I'll find a happy-ish Charmed fic in your LJ...but something tells me that's not going to happen...but since your writing is as awesome as it is, I'm okay with that ^_^.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-06 01:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-28 01:40 am (UTC)Your poor inbox will be flooded with all these random comments of mine for your old CharmedFic...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-28 02:19 am (UTC)