AUTHOR's NOTE: Hi! Thanks for dropping by! I just wanted to preface the story by saying that it exists as a "crop rotation" exercise for my story "Brothers Halliwell" (the story whence the original characters I use for Luke and Noah's kids originated) which is my main priority. I'm hoping that there will be material that comes out of this story that I can use in the other. I figured since they're totally different story sets (Charmed vs. As The World Turns), it wouldn't be too terrible an exercise. However, I am committed to writing this story as its own separate entity, if it turns out that people should happen to enjoy it. I just wanted to be upfront about all this if per chance some one should stumble across my other story; there's a good reason the occasional line of dialogue might sound familiar. =-)

Hope you have fun!

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Luke: The Sequel

Warmth.

Of all Noah's qualities, it was his warmth, according to his boys, that went the furthest in defining him. And his voice. He could speak with a strength as soft as cotton, and even at its gentlest there was a snug, woolen certainty in his deep, settled baritone. Certain, but not stuck, it conveyed a will both firm and flexible, and even his sternest of scoldings, though rare, carried with them the promise of an olive branch, even at the end of a very, very long day.

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There was a knock at the door. "Dylan?" said Noah. "It's Pop, can I come in?"

(Uh-oh), Dylan thought, (he's using his 'sensitive new age dad' voice). "Uh… I'm in a meeting."

"Ah," said Noah, "So how about taking a break?"

"The forecast said rain; don't you have an ark to build?"

He heard Noah's muffled chuckle through the door. "It's on my 'to-do' list, right after picking your Dad up from Jedi training." said Noah. "So… can I come in?"

(Crap!) "Well, ya know what they say: There's no time like the present!"

"Mm-hmm… but did they get a call from their kid's headmaster?"

(Crap, crap, crap!) "Anything's possible."

"Dylan." Noah spoke just sternly enough to make known that this part of the game had come to an end. Soon followed the sound of a thirteen year-old boy plopping onto his bed, complete with deflated sigh over a symphony of springs.

"Fine," Dylan said, though not impolitely, "come on in."

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Meet Derelyn Perseus Snyder. Not even kidding. His true name and his most closely guarded secret, as was his birth certificate: the only real proof the name existed. Noah had suggested the name Derek, and while Luke liked the name, he felt it wasn't quite unique enough for the young man he intuitively sensed Dylan would become. So, he proposed the name of Roland, but already having a Rory and a Rowan (fraternal twins) in the family, Noah thought it would be one 'Ro' too many. So by the grace of sleep deprivation, they settled on the quasi-combination of Derelyn, but were calling him 'Dylan' before he was even a day old.

Anyone from a large family can tell you that when you're one of many children, you'll find a way, intentionally or otherwise, to carve out your own niche, be it a series of accomplishments unique (within your family) to yourself, or a trait that helps define you specifically and (hopefully) differentiates you from your siblings. You can certainly share this trait with your siblings; you would just happen to be that particular trait's specialist.

Dylan was known for... well... his mouth. Possessing a decidedly sarcastic sense of humor, he was someone you most wanted in your corner in a battle of wits, due to his talent for acutely spotting an argument's weakness, zeroing in on it, and crumbling it to the ground (you could practically hear the thud). None of this is to say he was manipulative; he was truthful to a fault, and the first to call fowl when something smelled fishy. Even so, he was hardly the sort to lie in wait with ears perked, eager to pounce at the first sign of insincerity. Though initially intimidating, he was enormously open-minded and compassionate regarding people's insecurities, though his own were scarcely detectible.

His motto: "I have no tolerance for intolerance."

"That boy is a little spitfire" his Grandma Lily would say with equal parts exhaustion and affection. "A pistol" was Grandpa Holden's word for him. Luke and Noah had a love-hate relationship with these descriptions because, while Dylan wore his feisty spirit as his strongest virtue, there was so much more to him than boldness. To be sure, his mind was a force of nature, emphasis on "force", but like all of the boys, he was genuinely courteous and respectful – his parents were big on manners; politeness was second nature to him – and his please's and thank-you's were always full, except when they weren't, in which case he would want you to know. Luke saw in him both Noah's sense of responsibility and his propensity for sarcasm. Noah saw in him Luke's… well… He basically saw Luke: The Sequel. A fair comparison, but incomplete. Where Luke had battled self-destruction, Dylan merely had yet to learn just where to draw the proverbial line. He was not a win-at-any-cost young man. That, he had gotten from Noah.

The visuals: Dylan was a little on the short side for his generation – 5'5" – but he was the tallest person Noah had ever known, even taller than his own husband, whose willfulness had set the bar skyscraper high. He had smooth, medium-length hair, whose color no one could agree on – usually cinnamon in any man-made light, but the shyest kiss of sun drew out the most striking cranberry-colored hues. His skin was creamy with faint reddish brown freckles, the kind found only when being looked for. His eyes – whose rich brown was deep enough to hide his pupils – were roofed by thick eagle-sharp eyebrows, one of them with a thin horizontal scar through its middle. His legs were slightly bowed, making his boot-cut jeans appear more belled than they actually were.

A handsome little devil, in a neo-hippie meets modern poet sort of way.

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Noah made a point to close the door gently.

"Dad's not home?" Dylan asked. "Because I was all prepared for you guys to double team me."

Noah must've stifled a chuckle, from the subtle single bounce of his shoulders. "No, he's home. He and Lee are in the kitchen getting ready for tonight."

"Okay, see, here's the thing: I get that Lee's a culinary prodigy and all, but do you really think that letting a nine-year-old work with boiling liquids is..."

"Actually," said Noah, to cut short his son's stalling. "I've got him keeping an eye on your Dad."

Dylan lowered an eyebrow. "So then Dad doesn't know about..." He made a paddling gesture with his open palm. "...You know?"

Noah was more intruiged than curious when he asked, "What makes you think that?"

"The distinct lack of screeching comes to mind," Dylan said. "After what happened today, I'd think he would be in full-on Diva mode."

Noah's eyes were weary from the long day, but kind. He said nothing else about it. Instead, he suggested, "How about scooting over?"

After a brief delay, more for effect than from genuine hesitation, Dylan walked his elbows to one side of the bed, his knees following suit, making space for his Papa to lie down next to him.

"So…" said Noah, also propping up on his elbows. "Where do we start?"

Dylan shrugged. "Julie Andrews is a big fan of the very beginning."

"Oh really."

"Apparently, it's a very good place."

"Is that so?" Noah bobbed his head. "And how do you know who Julie Andrews is anyway?" He eyed his boy with harmless suspicion. "Have you been messing up my DVD collection again?"

"Oh please. I'm the son of two gay guys. If I didn't have a rudimentary knowledge of musicals then Child Protective Services would come and take me away," Dylan said. "And by the by, it's never been proven that it was I who raided your DVD collection, so according to the Family Constitution, I'm…"

"Innocent until proven guilty. Yeah, yeah, yeah," Noah said and nudged the boy's shoulder with his own. Then, he waited, with a decidedly unassuming expression on his face, knowing that his son was no fan of shared silences. It took the young man two deep, slow breaths and the biting off of a stray sliver of fingernail he'd been gnawing at all day, before he could no longer tolerate the quiet.

"So…" Dylan hung his head, though not heavily, "Go ahead; let me have it. I'm sure I deserve it…"

"Son, do you really think I came up here to yell at you?" It wasn't a question.

"Of course not, but I really wish you would. It'd make you feel better. It'd definitely make me feel better. Plus, just think of all the money you'd save not spending it on Maalox."

Noah felt one side of his mouth attempting to grin. "I'm pretty sure I don't have a stomach ulcer."

"Not yet, maybe."

"Hmm, well, maybe you're right." Over the years, Noah had nearly perfected that tricky balance of authority, humor, and sensitivity, making the necessary adjustments depending on which son he was dealing with. "But I was wondering if I could get your advice on something."

Dylan said to himself, "Oh, here we go…"

"You see, I've got this friend who has a problem, and I'm not sure what to tell him, and since you're such a good problem solver, I was wondering if you might have any ideas."

Dylan sighed. "Okay, lay it on me."

"Well, he's a friend from college and one of their son's, we'll call him… 'Shmylan'."

"Oh yeah? Ya mean Shmuke and Shmoah's kid?"

"Oh so you've met him?"

"Yeah well, you know, I've seen him around."

"He's supposed to be a pretty cool kid."

"I'm nursin' a man crush as we speak."

"Really? That cool, huh?"

"Aw yeah." Dylan could be such a little stinker sometimes.

"Well according to his parents, this kid has a tendency to start arguments with his teachers…"

"I prefer 'differences of opinion'."

Noah sent him a knowing look. "You say potato."

The boy sighed in frustration. "So the whole 'Silence Is Acceptance' thing is just a good bumper sticker?"

Noah sighed as well, more swiftly than sharply, thought for a beat, then said, "Here's a thought. Why don't you just tell me how many years you're planning to take off my life and I'll see if I can't help you along. Maybe speed up the process a little?"

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Ha ha."

"I could eat more red meat. Maybe take up smoking?"

"Look, Pop, I get it."

"Just a ball park figure. We can work out the details later."

"You can stop now."

"Ten years? Twenty years? I can even get started tonight."

Dylan groaned. "All right, alright. I get it," he said. "But what I don't get is how you can raise me to speak up for myself but then get pissed off when I do."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Noah. "First of all, watch the language, and second: Dylan, nobody's asking you not to speak your mind. We're just trying to get you to see that charging head-first into battle isn't always the best way to get your point across."

"It's not like I'm calling them bad teachers or something – if they've got any sense at all, they should know that already," Dylan said. "And it's not just about voicing my opinion; Pop, they're breaking the rules."

"All of 'em?" Noah asked sincerely. "I mean, when you look at your track record..."

"So I don't look good on paper. A lot of people don't. Remember your…" – he used air quotes – "friend from college?" Dylan asked. "Check out his headline:" He cleared his throat. "'Gay college student manipulates girlfriend out of attending dream school so he can remain in the closet and play with the hangers'."

Noah scrunched his eyebrows. "How did…?" He stopped. "Who told you that?"

"Pop, we all figured out a long time ago that all of your stories that begin with your 'friend' from college are about you or Dad or both."

"Clever little bunch, aren't you," said Noah. "So what gave me away?"

"Well, seeing as how he's got top billing in all your stories, we figured that if he was such a good friend, we would've met him by now," Dylan said, "but the fact that his boyfriend's name was 'Duke' is what finally cinched it for us."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the writer in the family."

Dylan patted his father's back. "And admitting it is the first step to recovery."

"And we're not talking about me."

Dylan snapped his fingers. "Darn it. Thought I had you."

Noah went down the list of educational casualties: "Last year it was Mrs. Valzania…"

"That was civil disobedience and I stand by it."

"And Mrs. Brown..."

"You cannot outlaw the semi-colon; it's not right!"

"And this year Mr. Carver…"

"Eve's forbidden fruit was a red delicious apple? Please!"

"And Mister Dosset."

"Abstinence Only' is not sex education! Plus, he didn't even mention homosexuality. Think of all the poor gay kids runnin' around not knowin' what goes where."

"For the record..." Noah touched his forehead to his son's. "You're too young for anything to go anywhere with anyone," he said, and put the comfortable distance back between their faces.

"Yeah, but what happens when those kids grow up and wanna go 'camping on Brokeback?' They're not gonna know what tools to bring or what to do with 'em."

Noah suddenly felt the need to conserve his breath. "And now it's Mister Tory."

"Intelligent Design' is neither intelligent nor a design. The man is paid to teach; not preach!"

"Mm-hm." Noah exhaled, slowly, very slowly. This was probably going to take longer than he expected.

"And not only that, if they're gonna include 'Intelligent Design' in our so-called science classes, then on balance shouldn't they cover the principles of Scientology as well..."

"Ya think?"

"At least skim it."

"Uh-huh..."

"Seriously, I think the whole "thetans" thing is just as believable as a talking snake who talked some naked chick into eating a quince and duping her idiot boyfriend into eating it – and why the heck would God care? It's not like he was eating it."

Noah massaged his eyebrows. "I thought it was an apple."

"Funny. So does my alleged science teacher," Dylan said, "and the worst part is that Intelligent Design isn't even in the text book. He made photocopies from some antediluvian book he had at home…"

("I told Luke that word-a-day calendar was gonna come back to bite us.")

"Not only is it unapproved curriculum, it's completely inappropriate! I oughta turn him in for copyright violation. And if I find out that Kinko's had a hand in helping him, then I'm takin' them down too."

"Okay, okay," said Noah, patting him on the arm. "Why don't we deal with Junior High School first, and then we can take on corporate America."

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Dylan?" Luke said. "It's Dad. Can I come in?"

Dylan leaned his head on Noah's shoulder. "You'll protect me... right?"

Noah grinned. He couldn't help himself.