A Gentle Awakening
He finds them in the living room, Piper gently bouncing a hiccupping, red-faced Wyatt on her knee, while Phoebe and Paige sit on the floor browsing through numerous heavy, hardback books, some strewn in a crooked circle around them, others piled high and wobbly.
As he watches, Paige tugs loose another weathered text and with a grunt, lugs it over to her spot and plonks it down with a thump, dropping down beside it and sighing. "This is hopeless."
"Need another pair of eyes?"
All heads snap round at his voice and his aunts smile in obvious relief. "Chris!"
"Thank God you're here! We're dying over here."
"You want me to take a look?" Chris asks, jerking a chin towards their setup.
"Be our guest," Phoebe says, with an earnest waving of her hand.
"Yeah," Paige intercedes, and shoves the book towards his feet. "Take this one. I need a break." And with that, she listlessly flops back onto the hardwood floor, blowing out an exhausted breath, totally spent. "We've been going through this stuff for hours, and no such luck. We can't find this demon anywhere. Even Wyatt's getting disgruntled and all he's done is toddle around and play with his bear."
Going by the drying tear-tracks on his cheeks, Chris would well believe it.
Well - they're not the only worn out one's. He's been busting his ass down in the Underworld, always going the extra mile, kicking ass and saving lives, while surviving primarily on adrenaline and low-grade coffee. The concentrated, acidic stuff.
Throwing himself down on the couch beside Piper - a damn comfortable couch, at that. God, the relief in his aching muscles is instantaneous - in an ungainly assemble of loose limbs and knocking knees, Chris hauls up the battered book onto his lap and rubs his hazy eyes, before flipping it open.
A cloud of dust shoots into the air and he coughs, whacks his chest, and warily flicks the page over. "Old?" Chris questions, looking up with no amazement in his tone, only curiosity. He wonders if he's had the opportunity to skim through it before, or if this one's new to him.
Chris has done a lot of reading in his time. It wouldn't surprise him to recognise an odd thing or two, though it would be a pleasure if it was unfamiliar to him, even if a tad more time-consuming. A warm sense of nostalgia washes over him, and he almost smiles despite his exhaustion, drifting a fond finger along the spine.
He used to pore over these.
Paige nods. "Very."
"Yeah, so be careful with them," Piper pipes up, rocking her lethargic toddler as he blinks slowly and fights to stay awake. Her eyes are stern, expression just shy of hard. She's still not his biggest fan.
There's a twinge in his chest that he quickly dismisses as heartburn.
His voice is pitched low enough that no-one can overhear, "Always am."
For the next twenty minutes, they work through their bulky stacks in a comfortable silence. Broken only by the shuffling of pages and tired whines from Wyatt as their mother tries to lull him to sleep.
Yet, Wyatt's fussing continues and Piper sighs, shushing him while cupping the back of his head and bringing him against her shoulder. She opens her mouth, fills her lungs in preparation-
"Sleep, baby, sleep
Your father tends the sheep
Your mother shakes the dreamland tree"
Chris stops dead in his tracks, hand stilling.
He cocks his head, listening.
"And from it fall sweet dreams for thee
Sleep, baby, sleep
Sleep, baby, sleep"
His Mom (and it is his mom now, no longer Piper, time difference or no) holds his big brother close and croons softly into his ear. A memory envelops him, yanking him to the past - or, more accurately, into the future.
The lullaby rings in his mind, bittersweet and hauntingly beautiful.
Stifling a yawn, his vision blurs and the words on the page muddle, completely senseless. Shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the sound, Chris scrubs his eyes and carries on reading, but it's not long before he's distracted again.
He yawns and subtly stretches, joints popping, eyes stinging. He yawns again, dulled green eye's half-lidded and unfocused. He hasn't a hope of concentrating, ears straining to listen even as he tries his best to block it out.
He'd thought that he had more self-control than this, but clearly Chris was wrong, because all he can do - all he wants to do - is lean back, close his eyes, and listen to that voice. That familiar, hypnotic voice of his childhood.
Besides...he's tired.
He is so, so unbelievably tired.
"Sleep, baby, sleep
Our cottage vale is deep
The little lamb is on the green
With snowy fleece so soft and clean
Sleep, baby, sleep
Sleep, baby, sleep"
The soothing, mellow lyrics wash over him and he slumps back against the couch, book forgotten as it falls to one side, instinctively calmed by the unique musky scent of his mom next to him, faint earthy tones and fresh lavender, and suddenly incredibly, uncontrollably drowsy.
Chris doesn't feel himself tip sidewards.
Piper startles as a weight settles against her side, cutting off her quiet singing abruptly. She looks over to see that not only has Chris fallen asleep - asleep! To her lullaby! - but he is now snuggling into her shoulder, nosing at her sweater and rubbing his cheek against the soft material unconsciously.
"Uh, Piper-" Phoebe's voice belays the same confusion - and unanticipated affection - as Piper imagines must be written all over her face.
"I know."
"What is it?" Paige cranes her neck to catch a glimpse, squinting up at them. "I wanna s - oh. That's…new."
The young man's face has gone slack, lips parted, mouth hanging slightly open, breathing quietly and steadily. His expression is relaxed, peaceful.
All three sisters' insides turn to goo.
Chris just looks so sweet. As if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Not like their annoying, neurotic white lighter at all. He's almost unrecognisable. The hard lines of his face have softened, jaw line smooth, for once unclenched, with his taut body going boneless against her. He looks…youthful.
Young.
He looks like a boy that shouldn't have to carry the fate of the world on his own.
Maternal instincts tugging at her, Piper can't help but reach out and stroke his rosy cheek with the pad of her thumb, as guilt pierces her heart.
From this vantage point, she can't escape his childlike, boyish figure and spends a good ten minutes silently contemplating the extreme slenderness of his wrists, before examining his sunken stomach and then watching the movement of his chest as he breathes slowly in and out. Under the thin, cotton tee, it is all too clear how his ribcage juts out, an ominous outline emerging with every soft inhalation.
It's sickening.
They'd all noticed how hard their young whitelighter worked, how committed he is to his mission. Putting his life at risk day in and day out with not a single thought spared for his own safety.
But no-one intervened. They'd considered it his biggest asset.
They'd watched him orb in, exuding an aura of exhaustion and determination, complete with tell-tale, puffy eyes that are bloodshot and constantly on the verge of watering, pallid skin layered by dark and ever-darkening circles, and this faintly vacant expression, but they hadn't done a thing.
Why hadn't they done anything?
Chris is here to protect Wyatt, but who's going to protect him?
Dozing like this, it's difficult to picture Chris as anything other than defenceless. Like this, it strikes each Halliwell sister that he is far from invulnerable. How could he be? Looking as pure and angelic as that.
It leaves a sour taste in their mouths.
Picking up one of Wyatt's thick, fuzzy, baby blankets - blue and dotted with stars and crescent-shaped moons - Piper flings it over their slumbering whitelighter and fixes it around him, belatedly realising she's tucking him in. Wyatt, who has quietened and has been watching the young man curiously, pats his forehead with a tiny, grubby hand and pulls at his hair.
"Ah, ah," Piper warns, voice hushed as not to accidentally rouse Chris. "Nice and gentle. That's it."
Seeming to take the message seriously, Wyatt cautiously releases the locks and starts petting his nose and left brow, before Phoebe walks over and picks him up, intending to put him down upstairs.
Except she pauses.
"Huh," she says, head tilted.
"What?"
"It's Wyatt," the empath explains, "I'm sensing a great deal of affection from him right now. And there is like this...this surge of protectiveness. I've never felt anything like it."
"Could be for me. Do you think he still views Chris as a threat?"
She shakes her head. "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure it was directed towards Chris."
"That's a little strange," Paige comments.
"Tell me about it. Why would a one year old feel the urge to protect their supposed protector?"
"Well, I'm stumped."
"Maybe we'll ask him someday," remarks Piper.
"Maybe. It's not as if we'll manage to wring the answer outta Chris. Boy, is that kid tight-lipped."
"Yeah, speaking of - keep your voice down. We don't want to wake him."
Without thinking, Piper pushes a few stray wisps of hair away from where they have fallen into his eyes and flattens his hair with her palm, smiling slightly.
Then, still dead to the world, Chris begins kneading the blanket in one hand and turns his head, nuzzling closer and fluffing up his previously tamed hair in the process. He gives a sleepy snuffle.
It is, quite possibly, the cutest thing she's ever seen.
"Awww," Phoebe coos, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a squeal. "That is so adorable. Piper, how is he so adorable?"
She shrugs. "Beats me."
"Even Wyatt isn't that adorable."
"Uh, excuse me-"
"Sorry," she mutters, smirking, "But it's true."
"Yeah," Paige adds, "I'm gonna have to go with Phoebe on this one. Chris is, wow - he's scarily cute like this. Like a little, frustrating, obsessive, demon-hunting angel."
She scoffs, and it's mostly mock offence. Mostly. "Whatever happened to family loyalty?"
"Hey, I love my nephew," her sister defends, "You know I do. But he ain't got nothing on this."
"Hmm," Piper hums, non-committal, but she's grinning, too. "Maybe not."
She can't believe it herself how endearing and loveable he appears when he's not bitching about possible threats, scouring the Book of Shadows for future hunts, and chastising them for their quest for a normal life.
When he's not-
Piper sobers.
When he's not stressing about everything and everyone, because he has no choice than to shoulder the weight of their problems alone.
"We need to do better," she says, mouth tucked into a frown.
Catching onto her swift change of mood, her sisters' expressions turn equally grim.
"Yes," Phoebe agrees. "We do. For Wyatt's sake, if nothing else."
Nodding along, Paige chimes, "For everyone's."
"No." Piper shakes her head, smiling sadly. "For Chris'."
And then, because she can't resist, she scoops one of Wyatt's teddy bears from the rug and eases it into the crook of the young man's elbow, the picture of innocence.
A final reminder. Lest they forget.
There's a contented warmth in her stomach and she's only vaguely aware of the shuttering of a camera in the background. She'll ask for a copy of the picture later.
Chris comes back to awareness slowly. That in itself is alarming, considering that in his world in order to survive, he must wake up in a flash, tense and raring to go, forever on red alert. You never truly 'relax.' To let your guard down would be foolish, reckless, and could result in certain death. He knows the stakes, he's trained his body. Why would it disappoint him now?
What's changed?
Is he - shudder - going soft?
His limbs feel…weird. Too sluggish and uncooperative. Bound in a fleece material that unravels as he struggles against it. He frees his arms and feels his hands brush against something furry before it tumbles to the floor with a muted thud.
To his shock, and horror, Chris discovers he'd been bundled in a warm, fluffy blanket, now slithering down to his waist - and that furry thing he'd felt?
None other than a flipping beady-eyed teddy bear.
Chris slowly pushes himself up, swipes at his eyes, groans lowly. He feels so disorientated.
Something strange happens to his throat, then. An odd kind of tremble that exits in the sound of a whimper. Distantly, he hears a light giggle and the back of his neck burns. He's mortified. What is wrong with him?
Chris winces as his muscles protest after maintaining such an awkward posture for so long. He's gonna have such a bad kink in his neck.
Smoothing his tousled, wayward hair, and wiping at the drool drying at the corner of his lips, he blinks fuzzily and gives his eyes a second to adjust to the light, peeking over groggily at three thoroughly amused faces. And there's something else. Something…different.
Is that…is that fondness? In their warm gazes? With an added dash of concern to boot?
That can't be right. He must still be dreaming.
Only after blinking another three times and removing the gunk from his eyes does he croak, "W-what…?"
"Nothing." The reply is quick and dismissive. "Go back to sleep."
Chris frowns. "Piper-"
"I'm serious. When's the last time you slept?"
"Um - did I not just-?"
She levels him with a firm look, hands on her hips. "Properly."
"I don't know." Averting his gaze, he glances down and twiddles his thumbs, jerking his shoulder in a loose shrug, suddenly feeling all of five years old again. "I've been busy."
"Chris-"
"Save it," he says in a clipped voice, nostrils flaring as he shoves back his shoulders and straightens. He needs to regain control of the situation. Not to mention, himself. Fast. His lips thin, pinched brows failing to conceal his internal confliction - half pleased astonishment, half fear. They can't start treating him like this. Like…like he matters, somehow. It will kill him. When it's gone. "I'm fine. I don't need a lecture, I don't need your pity, and I certainly don't need a nap."
He spits the word, lets it squeeze out from between gritted teeth in disgust. It only makes him sound more petulant. Whiny. Like a little kid resisting their afternoon nap instead of a twenty two year old whitelighter arguing with his charges that they're insane.
"Too bad," Piper retorts. "Now drop the attitude and do as your told. You're exhausted. You're gonna burn yourself out if you keep this up. You can't keep this up, you know that, right? It's impossible."
"Ditto," Paige replies.
Phoebe nods, almost apologetic, but not quite. "What she said."
"Lie down. That's an order."
She can't know, can she? No way. Surely, he wouldn't have let it slip in his sleep.
Would he?
Surely they wouldn't believe him even if he did. Not the incoherent ramblings of an untrustworthy slave-driver.
No. No, they can't know. They wouldn't be so nice if they knew.
Chris swallows thickly, throat tightening. His eyes skitter away from her face and back again, and nothing's changed. She's standing as resolutely as ever, far from backing down. The worry in her gaze doesn't leave.
He gapes, all but spluttering out, "Y-you can't be serious-"
"Do I look like I'm kidding? C'mon. Move it."
There's a stubborn set to her mouth, and he knows this is one fight he is not destined to win. He's seen that look far too many times in his lifetime not to know how this will end. Sagging in defeat, Chris slides down the couch and shimmies around to get comfortable.
He tries - and fails - not to blush as she rearranges the blanket back around his shoulders from where it had fallen, and carefully evens out the crinkles, ever the perfectionist.
She's got that look in her eye. That goddamn look where her eyes go butterscotch soft and her lips spread and the tension lifts, and Chris feels like he's the centre of the goddamn world.
It makes something unbearably ugly and touched rise in his throat and stay there.
Piper's fingers find their way into his hair again, still smiling gently. Chris relaxes despite his will.
"It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs, carding featherlike fingers through his hair and teasing the chestnut strands. "You can sleep. Everything's okay." She lifts something from the floor. "Want your bear?"
Chris grimaces.
Oh, God. He's too old for that crap. For this coddling.
But, then…it just looks so soft, and it smells the same as always, and he wants nothing more than to bury his head in its scruffy fur and breathe in the scent of home.
He's been fighting tooth and nail ever since he got here, and it couldn't hurt, could it? To give in for just one moment?
He'll regret this if he does.
He'll regret it even more if he doesn't.
"Aw, what the hell," Chris grumbles, inwardly crucifying himself (indulgence is for the weak, a luxury, one he can't afford-) "Hand it over."
She quirks a brow. "Ahem. I think you're missing something there."
"Uh…gimmie?"
"Try again, mister."
"Sorry," Chris murmurs, a tad sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. "Please?"
"There we go," his mom's smile widens, "Was that so hard?"
Apparently not.
He cuddles the stuffed animal against his chest and rubs his cheek against a tattered ear, one that in years to come he will take great pleasure in biting and chewing and sucking over and over as his first set of teeth come in, slobbering all over the brown tuffs of fur and squealing if they dare part him from it for even one moment.
Sinking back into a plumped cushion, Chris takes a deep breath, enjoying the comforting sensations and dearly missed proximity of his mother, and allows his lids to flutter shut.
His lips unfold into something like a wan smile, feeling strange as it stretches his cheeks.
This is too much. This is wrong. Or, maybe it's so wrong that it's right, who knows?
He shouldn't.
But he is.
Chris banishes the doubts and shuts down his brain, for once disregarding his precious future consequences. He'll deal with the fallout later.
For now, he'll sleep.
At least if he's asleep, he doesn't have to think.