Summary: All he ever wanted was to meet his real family. To breakaway from his abusive foster father and have a life with his real parents. And then when Chris meets the boy, Wyatt, he might just get that chance. But can it really have a happy ending?
Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed or any of it's characters! If i did, then Wyatt and Chris would have came back from the future earlier in season 8 and vanquished Billie and Christy!
A/N Hey! This is a new story of mine that i decided to write because i was bursting to get it out! I know this type of storyline has been done before but i couldn't resist! Oh and also, this story deals with child abuse and it also has swearing in it so if you can't stand reading that stuff then don't read this story! Oh and another thing, Chris knows nothing about magic at the start of this story but don't worry, he'll find out about his magical heritage soon enough! Anyway, i hope you's like it! xx
Chris crept down the stairs as quietly as possible. He didn't want Rob to hear him. He stepped into the kitchen silently and quietly opened the stained cupboard door. He reached in and took a packet of crisps out of the plastic bag. He opened the packet and ate hungrily. His jaw ached with every chew, a result of the punch he'd received from his foster father Rob the night before. He looked around the messy kitchen. Plates of congealing food still lay on the table from a couple of nights ago. The sink was piled with dirty dishes, the fridge door and cupboards were greasy, the vino floor tiles were coming up. Basically it was a tip. The same with the rest of the house really. The whole house was a rubbish heap. He wondered why his social worker had even considered Rob when you could tell just from the house that life with him would be hard.
Chris stopped eating when he heard the creak of a floorboard from upstairs. He stared up at the ceiling fearfully but no more noise was heard. He let out a sigh of relief.
He'd first came to stay with Rob when he was nine years old. He'd been with foster families and in and out of Care homes his whole life. Well almost. He knew that he'd had a real family once. But then when he was 11 months old he was found on the doorstep of a woman's house. The woman's name was Valerie Johnston. She just so happened to be a social worker and had looked into his case immediately. But she couldn't find out anything about him. All that was known was that his first name was Chris because it had been written on a piece of paper and pinned to the blanket he was wrapped in. Chris didn't even know what his name was short for; if it was short for Christian or Christopher. He didn't really care to be honest. He didn't have a real second name either. He was just called after whoever he was being fostered by and then that surname was kept until he was fostered by someone else.
So now his name was Chris Brown. He'd lived with Rob, short for Robert, for 5 years to the present day and it had been a living hell. Rob was a temperamental, bald drunk. And he usually took his anger out on Chris. Sometimes it just took Chris to say the wrong thing or give him the wrong look to set him off. Or sometimes it was nothing at all. It was like his brain had been wired up wrong and was a time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest nudge.
Chris heard Rob coughing upstairs as he put his crisp packet in the bin. He spitefully hoped that the man was choking to death but the coughing stopped and Chris sighed.
"Oh well." he muttered.
He walked back into the hall as quietly as before and picked up his school bag that was lying on the floor by the front door. He hated school with a passion but he knew that anywhere was better than staying home with Rob. Sometimes Rob would beat him so much that he'd have to stay off school until the bruising went down. A lot of the time Rob would forget not to hit him in the face and so he would go to school with black eyes and a bruised jaw. Rob normally tried to only hit him in places that were covered by his clothes but sometimes he got so angry that he just hit where he could reach, whether it was Chris's stomach or his face.
Chris walked out the front door and closed it quietly behind him. As he walked down the cracked path, he let his mind wander. It was the same thing that he thought about a lot. About what his real family were like. He imagined two loving parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, maybe even a brother or a sister. He thought about how great it would be to have an older brother to protect him, to have a dad to go to football matches with, a mom that would fuss over him and looked after him when he was sick. He'd thought about it so much, it was like a fairytale that he would use to get himself to sleep.
Two years back he'd had a dream that he still remembered. In the dream he was being cuddled by someone with soft skin and long, dark, brown hair. It was a woman and she was singing softly to him. It sounded like a lullaby. The woman held him in one arm and stroked his face and hair with her other hand. He remembered the softness and coolness of the hand on his forehead. And then the dream had ended. He was convinced that the woman in the dream had been his mother singing him to sleep when he was a baby. She sounded so kind and gentle. What frustrated him most about the dream, was that he had never been able to make out her face. All he knew of her was the soft skin and brown hair. It made him proud to think that he had inherited his brown hair from her. He wondered if he had her eyes too. Or maybe he had his dads eyes, he didn't know.
He turned into a different street. This street was his favourite. It was filled with old Victorian houses, most of them painted different colours. His favourite one though, was a magenta coloured one with stained glassed windows where the attic was. It had beautiful flowers and shrubs growing outside it with stone steps leading up to the front door. He tried to imagine what it would be like to live in that house but it just seemed so out of his world that he couldn't. All he knew was old flats and houses, with damp patches in the corners of the walls and weeds taking over the gardens.
He soon arrived at his high school. The place was swarming with teenagers talking and laughing with their friends and larking around. Chris stood up straight and walked through the hall, pushing past people that got in his way. This was how it normally was. He put on a mask of someone that didn't give a crap about anything and that wouldn't take any crap from anyone. Inside though, he was as vulnerable as a six year old kid. When he first started the high school, he'd got into lots of fights. People thought because he was small for his age that they could push him around. When he was younger he probably would have just kept his head down and took it but after Rob started abusing him, he changed. He would get pushed around back "home" and he didn't want it happening at school too. So he fought back. And usually got in lots of trouble for it. He now had made many enemies in the school. He didn't have any friends because most people where either scared of the people he fought with or they were scared of him. Which was quite funny really because he was smaller than most boys his age. It didn't really make sense that people would be scared of him.
Suddenly someone pushed him from the side and he went flying into the lockers. The attacker grabbed him by the scruff of his t-shirt with both hands and pinned him against the lockers. Chris recognised him as Marcus Louden. One of the main people he had problems with.
"Get off me!" Chris exclaimed angrily struggling against him.
"I heard about you and my Cassie last night, Brown!" Marcus hissed angrily.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Chris retorted.
"Don't lie to me you little shit! Brian told me how you were trying to hit on her in the car park!"
"I don't own a car, why would i be in the school car park! And did it ever cross your mind that Brian is trying to stir things up!"
"I think i'd believe my best friend over a little asshole like you!" Marcus growled furiously.
Chris could hear Brian and the rest of Marcus's cronies sniggering in the background. Suddenly a teacher turned the corner of the corridor and saw them.
"Hey you two! Cut it out!" he called walking swiftly over to them.
Marcus and Chris glared at each other and Marcus let him go.
"Come on." he said gruffly to his friends and they stalked off.
"Okay, do you want to tell what that was about?" Mr. Wood asked him as he walked up.
"No." Chris said firmly. He grabbed his bag and walked off down the corridor, glaring at anyone that looked at him.
Mr. Wood watched him go and sighed. He knew something wasn't right with Chris. He'd been trying so hard for the last couple of months to get Chris to open up but he was so distant. Suddenly the bell rang for first class and he quickly set off.
Chris knocked on the door of his History class. He was ten minutes late.
"Come in." came the gravely voice of his teacher, Ms. Smith.
Chris opened the door and stepped inside.
"Ah, you finally decided to show up then Mr. Brown." she said.
"It's only been 10 minutes." said Chris snappily.
Ms. Smith shot him a murderous look but didn't pursue it.
"Sit down." she snapped.
Chris took flopped down into his seat and pulled his history books out of his bag, laying them on the desk. He hated it when teachers held back with him. The headmaster, Mr Quinn, had told them all about his experiences in foster care and told them to be gentle and patient with him. It was Ms. Smith that found it the hardest to be nice to him and in some ways he liked her for it. He hated the fake smiles and sugar coated tones of voices the other teachers used whenever he was in class. It was only Ms. Smith and Mr. Wood that (almost) treated him like every other pupil. Well them and his gym teacher, but that would be explained later.
Ms. Smith continued with the History lesson but Chris couldn't concentrate properly. His mind kept wandering as usual. Soon the lesson was finished and Chris was broken out of his daydream by the bell ringing. He got up and left the class.
At lunch break, Chris wandered aimlessly around the school grounds. He didn't have any money to buy lunch and Rob never bothered to buy proper food so he couldn't bring one with him. After lunch break he had PE. He didn't mind that, he liked PE. It was one of the only subjects that he was actually good at. Apart from Home Economics. He was quite good at cooking too. Soon the bell rang and he made his way to the gym hall.
Marcus was seriously pissing him off. They were playing soccer and Marcus had already kicked the ball high enough for it to hit him on the back of the head three times. He gritted his teeth and decided just to ignore it and continue the game. Soon the teacher told Marcus to swap places with Andrew and go in goals. Chris smiled inwardly. This was just the chance he needed for payback. He sprinted towards the player with the ball and managed to get it off him. He ran towards the goals, skilfully kicking the ball in front of him. He got within shooting distance of the goals and kicked the ball, hard. But he wasn't aiming to get the ball in the net. He was aiming it for Marcus. Right where it would hurt the most...
Marcus cried out in pain as the ball connected with his lower regions and he fell to his knees. Chris smiled, almost bursting out laughing. He suddenly heard the gym teacher's whistle and he looked over to see him gesturing for him to come over. He looked pissed.
"Uh oh. I'm in trouble." Chris thought as he walked over.
Mr Kirkwood was writing something on his clipboard that he carried everywhere with him. Chris saw a flash of pink and his heart sank. It was a detention slip.
"Another detention." Chris thought grudgingly.
"Here you go." said Mr Kirkwood handing him the detention slip. "It's for today after school."
"But i didn't do anything!"
"Don't try and lie to me saying that that shot wasn't deliberate!" Mr Kirkwood snapped.
"He started it with kicking the ball at my head!" Chris snapped back.
"Don't you dare talk back to me! Go get changed, you're not playing any more!" Mr Kirkwood said pointing towards the direction of the changing rooms.
"Fine." Chris said like he didn't care and walked off. He ignored Marcus's gloating smile as he walked past, suppressing the urge to punch him in the face.
Once he was in the changing room, he punched the wall instead. And then he swore and shook his hand as the pain seared through his knuckles. He hated Mr Kirkwood the most out of all the teachers. Now that he thought about it, he was sure Mr Kirkwood hated him too. He always took someone else's side of the story, even if he knew Chris was right. Today was no different. Chris quickly got changed and left for next class as soon as the bell went.
The last lesson went painfully slow (it was maths) but finally the bell rang for the end of the day. Chris dragged himself reluctantly to detention. He considered just skipping it but he knew he'd get in BIG trouble the next day. But staying for detention meant it would mean he wouldn't get out of school until 4:30 and Rob finished work at 5:00. He would be in trouble if he wasn't home when Rob got in. Putting the two options against each other, he decided that getting in trouble for not turning up for detention was much better than being beat into a bloody pulp for not being home. So he just left.
Once he was out the gates he turned in the direction of his house. He kept his eyes down as he walked, lost in his thoughts once again. Suddenly he walked straight into the back of someone and ended up dropping his school bag that he'd decided just to carry in his hand. The zipper opened and all of his school books spilled out onto the muddy grass.
"Shit." Chris muttered as he bent down to pick them up. He didn't bother to apologise or even look at the person he'd walked into.
"Hey watch where you're going kid." said the person.
Chris looked up and shot the boy a "fuck you" look. The boy in question, was much taller than him with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes. He looked at least two years older than him and looked like he wouldn't have much bother beating him up. Chris didn't really care though. He just wanted to get back to his house and hide away from Rob.
"I'm not a kid." he added to the look.
"Yea right. You're like what? Ten?" said the boy with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Try fourteen." Chris retorted dryly, still gathering the mud smeared books.
"Oh sorry, my bad. You're just kinda small for fourteen. No offence." the boy added. He bent down and helped Chris gather the books.
Chris bundled them back in his bag, zipped it up properly and stood up. He looked at the boy.
"Thanks." he said and made to walk past him.
The boy watched him walk away. He had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd seen the boy before.
"Hey wait!" he called.
Chris turned around. "What?"
"What's your name?" he asked, trying to see if that would jog his memory.
"Chris Brown." Chris replied. "What's yours?"
"Wyatt Halliwell." Wyatt replied.
"Nice to meet you Wyatt." Chris said. He saluted with two fingers, smiled and walked away again. This time Wyatt let him go.
Where had he seen him before! He looked so familiar. When the boy had said his name he had felt a pang of sadness. Chris. His mom and dad had told him how his baby brother Christopher had been kidnapped when he was just 11 months old. They'd never seen him since. But for some reason, Wyatt had this feeling that he was still alive. He didn't know how he knew. It felt like they were connected somehow and when Wyatt had talked to the fourteen year old Chris Brown, he felt the connection strengthen. Wyatt shrugged it off. It was probably just a weird coincidence.
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