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tigriswolfFandom: "Charmed"
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun.
Warnings: takes places in the unchanged future; spoilers for everything to do with the Chris plotline
Pairings: incestous slash; some het
Rating: R
Wordcount: 2120
Point of view: third
Wyatt fell into the darkness the day his brother died. It was a waking dream, first cousin of a premonition, just far more powerful.
Nothing done by half for the beloved Twice Blessed Heir of Magic.
He saw the terror Chris felt; he heard Chris’ dying gasp, the murmurs and begging for Wyatt to save him; he smelled Chris’ blood.
Wyatt knew that, unlike Aunt Phoebe’s premonitions, his waking dreams always came true. He’d nearly driven himself mad before, trying to keep them from coming to pass.
This one, however, of his brother’s death—no matter the cost, it would not happen.
The road to hell, Wyatt knew, was littered with the corpses of those who thought they did right. Oh, well. Lucifer would be interesting to talk to.
Wyatt fell into the darkness when he was fourteen. The waking dreams came more and more frequently, and he pulled away from his family, trying to save his brother. He spent all his time researching or in the Underworld, establishing contacts.
Chris appeared about fourteen in the dream, so Wyatt knew he had time. He studied his brother, as well, getting to know every facet of Chris’ personality. He wanted to understand Chris, every nuance of his being.
For two years Wyatt planned, waited, and watched. He knew that all his communication with the demons darkened his soul, but Chris—Chris was worth anything.
His plans succeeded and failed at the same time.
Chris lived but every member of their family died. And a part of Chris—the hope and faith and light and joy and happiness—was destroyed as their mother breathed her last in his arms.
Wyatt had to choose. And his choice was made during that waking dream, the horrendous daymare where his brother died and he couldn’t do a thing.
He could have his mother and father, his aunts and uncles, his cousins—he could have all his family but the one that mattered most. Or he could let them die. He could stand aside and let the demons take the lives of the most powerful witches in the world.
So he made the choice and felt a part of his soul wither as Chris sobbed over their mother’s corpse.
His hands itched to heal—he had the power—but he couldn’t. He had made the choice.
Mom, Dad, Aunt Phoebe, Uncle Dex, Aunt Paige, Uncle Kyle, Prue, Mel, Paul, Pete, and Pacey—all dead.
But Chris lived. This was the day of the waking dream, and the time of Chris’ death had passed. Chris lived, and that was worth anything.
Wyatt made his presence known and knelt beside Chris. He touched his little brother’s shoulder and Chris stiffened, then fell into him. His tears had slowed, but now they renewed with force. Wyatt wrapped his arms around Chris, rubbed his back, but didn’t say anything. He had never lied to Chris before, and to start now—
Chris trembled in Wyatt’s grip, his tears abating at last. His hands held the front of Wyatt’s shirt, his head rested on Wyatt’s chest, and he queried softly, “Do you think I’m a fool, Wyatt?”
Wyatt’s heart stopped and Chris pulled back, releasing his shirt and cupping his face, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice none went for me? Why?”
Wyatt licked his lips. “I had a vision. I had to choose.” He wanted to look away from Chris’ eyes but couldn’t.
“You let them all die for me?” Chris asked, horror coloring his voice and eyes. “All of them?”
Wyatt nodded, finally tearing his gaze away. He took comfort that Chris still touched him, hadn’t yet jerked away, orbed away, that his eyes didn’t yet scream hate.
Wyatt would be able to take the hatred, though, because Chris would be alive to hate him.
“I’ll never forgive you, Wyatt,” Chris whispered. “And I’ll never forget.”
Wyatt nodded, bringing his eyes back to Chris, who finally looked away.
Wyatt fell into the darkness the day his saw his brother die. Chris fell into the darkness the day his family died in his place.
Wyatt brought all his power to bear after the Charmed Ones and their families died, and took over the magical world. Chris stood beside him, eyes dead and face cold.
Demons were wary around Wyatt but completely terrified of Chris. Something about him—once the brightest light of the greatest witches in the world—just whispered of hopeless darkness and dreams shattered by the worst of betrayals.
Some brave—or suicidal—demons asked themselves why Wyatt kept his insane younger brother around, but they never vocalized their query. They figured the power he had was worth it, or he was just good in bed.
Wyatt knew of their wondering, knew of their questions, knew that Chris toed the line and almost wanted to cross it—but Chris kept the memory of their family alive. He never helped hunt the rogue witches or punish the demons, but he never stood against Wyatt, either.
Sometimes Wyatt missed his fiery younger brother, wanted the curious and wonder-filled boy, instead of the frozen shell—but the boy died, by Wyatt’s hand, with their family. Only the shell remained.
Neither of them enjoyed their nights together, neither took comfort in the nearness or warmth of the other’s body, neither loved the man their brother had become—but that didn’t stop them. That didn’t keep them from each other.
No matter that it was Wyatt’s fault—they were all that remained, the only two who came even close to equaling the other.
It was not gentle, not soft, not loving at all. It was hard, angry, filled with bitterness and rage on the edge of hate—but Chris always pulled back from that precipice.
Wyatt always took comfort, small though it was, in the fact that Chris seemed to refuse to hate him. Seemed to actively back away from anything that would lead to loathing.
Sometimes Wyatt wanted to hold Chris, to return the innocence stolen from him by a choice he had no say in, to kiss Chris and take away the scars on his soul—but Chris would not let him. Would never let him.
And afterwards Chris always stood, pulled on his clothes, and stalked back to his room. Demons knew to get out his way: the first few times some didn’t and Chris didn’t even look at them to blow them up. Once he reached his room, Wyatt knew, Chris collapsed on his bed, put up a silence spell, and sobbed.
The only times Chris showed emotion was after Wyatt took his innocence again. Wyatt wasn’t sure what his little brother cried for, what he poured his heart out through his eyes for, but he guessed it had to do with their family, where they were, who they had become—and what they did, but Wyatt knew he wouldn’t stop. They couldn’t.
I’m sorry, Chris, Wyatt thought, rolling over and staring at the ceiling, imagining Chris beside him, longing to hold Chris. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you. I’m sorry, I am—but I can’t be sorry you’re here. I can’t be sorry you’re alive.
He turned his thoughts from Chris and useless regrets to his plans for the world.
Wyatt knew that Chris—the Chris he remembered fondly and loved enough to let his family die—had awakened somewhere deep inside the cold Chris who ruled by his side.
Chris laughed now, and smiled, and sometimes would stay in Wyatt’s bed and talk with him of the past, of their childhood. Sometimes he’d let Wyatt hold him and remain in Wyatt’s room all night instead of stalking back to his own.
And Wyatt knew what that meant. He knew Chris had plans in his mind, plans to ‘save’ Wyatt. He didn’t do anything about them because Chris—his Chris—was alive again, somewhere, and slowly rising to the forefront.
Wyatt watched Chris plan and plan; they both knew Wyatt could go into Chris and find out what he was doing, but they also knew that it would kill Chris all over again, and Wyatt could not bear that.
And finally, for the first time in nearly a decade, Chris said, “I love you, Wyatt.”
They lay in Wyatt’s bed, on the eve of something—Wyatt could feel it, but did not yet understand. Wyatt hugged Chris closer and said, “I love you, too, Chris.” He even risked kissing Chris’ forehead, but Chris shifted and pressed their lips together.
Wyatt knew, then, that Chris would be leaving soon. But he decided to just enjoy his brother, finally, and give Chris at least one good memory.
And after Chris left, Wyatt went on a rampage, killing hundreds of demons and witches. He destroyed cities and leveled buildings, and he cried himself to sleep.
He had fallen into this darkness for his brother, to save Chris from death. He had fallen deeply and completely; only Chris could have pulled him from it, but Chris joined him after their family died.
Somehow, though, Chris climbed out of the darkness, walked out the door on his own, and found a way back to the past to save Wyatt. Somehow Chris thought he could keep everything from happening.
Wyatt could stop it. He had the power, and he wanted his brother back—but it would kill Chris, it would shatter his soul and break his spirit.
So Wyatt would let Chris go. He would let Chris try and save him, keep everything from happening. Chris had it wrong, though. He didn’t know the truth, couldn’t ever know. And he couldn’t stop it. No one could stop it, except Wyatt.
And Wyatt made the choice once. He’d make it again. Chris was worth the world, and Wyatt would burn it down to keep Chris alive.
Chris would try to save Wyatt, but Wyatt had no need to be saved. Wyatt had willingly fallen for Chris—and the only way to save Wyatt would be if he came back. And Chris never would.
Kissing him and saying, “I love you,” had been Chris’ goodbye. Kissing him and saying, “I love you,” had been Chris saying, “We’ll meet again, Wyatt, and the world will be right, and we’ll be happy. You’ll see.”
Wyatt went to bed every night and dreamed of their childhood and the one time Chris had been happy after his fourteenth birthday.
But Wyatt was patient. He was the Twice Blessed Heir of Magic, the new King Arthur, the Source of All Evil. Wyatt could wait because he knew the truth. He knew that the moment would come again, that waking dream, that daymare, the moment of choice would make itself known—
And Wyatt, forever, would choose Chris. Always, over anyone else. He knew that, deep inside, in his soul—Chris was the end and beginning, all that mattered. Wyatt would eternally choose Chris, over anyone and anything, even himself.
And so Wyatt ruled his empire, waiting. Eventually Chris would return, they’d live this life over again.
Maybe, one day, a life far from now, Chris would realize that he belonged with Wyatt. His “I love you” and his kiss wouldn’t be goodbye, wouldn’t be an end—but a beginning.
Because Wyatt would always fall into the darkness. And Chris would always fall with him.
Wyatt smirked at his demons. They’d rejoiced and lamented when Chris left because he was so feared, and yet Wyatt killed so many of them as a result of his leaving. The demons shifted, fearfully, wondering what the smirk meant.
“Today,” Wyatt drawled, “is my little brother’s birthday. Go out and celebrate.” All the demons shimmered, blinked, or vanished.
Wyatt walked through his home, what once was the most expensive hotel in San Francisco, into his room. He stared at the bed and a soft look entered his eyes. He laid on the bed and pulled one of the pillows close, wrapped his arms around it, and inhaled deeply, imagining Chris’ scent. He imagined Chris in his arms, imagined Chris’ voice—the entire reason he rules the world, the entire reason he fell. His whole reason for existence, he now realized, is Chris, to protect Chris. He is the Twice Blessed, the most powerful person to ever exist. And he exists only for Chris.
He made the transition to slumber gently and dreamt of his childhood, where life seemed so simple and pain so far. He dreamt of the boy Chris was, of the innocent love they’d shared.
Wyatt Halliwell, all-powerful ruler of the world, dreamt of a childhood most would never believe he’d had and tears coursed down his cheeks.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-17 02:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-17 02:43 am (UTC)