The force field around her, keeping her from them is powerful- powerful enough that he can't get through it fast enough, created from enough dark magic that the underlying pacificity of his father's powers will surely get through too late.
His aunts are unconscious, lying next to his mother but all he can focus on is her; all he can see is the demon's knife leaving her abdomen, the blush pink of her top darkening, the stain spreading like ink in the fabric. His little brother is clutching at his hand, tugging and pulling, desperate and pleading, begging his big brother to fix it, fix everything like he always does.
Wyatt feels himself fall to his knees, the helplessness settling on his shoulders forcing him to the ground, watching as his father's lightning finally gets through the force-field. He hardly notices Chris run to their mother's side as his father incinerates the demon. His eyes are still on the spreading stain when fingers settle on it, his father's glowing hands pressing into the wound, the blood seeping between Leo's fingers. Wyatt can't move, he seems to have lost all ability to. He stops concentrating on moving and instead concentrates on sending every bit of power inside him to his father, to his mother, draining himself even after his vision goes dark.
At the funeral, his father's hand resting on his shoulder like a lead weight, Chris hiding his face in the crook of his neck, Wyatt doesn't cry. Instead he puts an arm around his little brother, brings him in closer and silently vows to be strong.