Summary: Three weeks after landing in a new universe, Chris is on a hunt involving a vampire nest when he receives some unwanted help by a teenaged hunter by the name of Annabelle. Assuming that he's a fellow hunter, she takes him back to the bunker where she stays with her guardians Sam and Dean Winchester.
There's a catch: Chris Halliwell is a Whitelighter-witch from another universe in hiding from his brother, the Source of All Evil. And Dean Winchester makes no secret of the fact that he hates witches.
Notes: Tumblr RP with annabellehareven-winchester set in her main universe and my Chris' Supernatural crossover verse (Saving People, Hunting Things). She played her own OC, Annabelle Hareven-Winchester, and any canon Supernatural characters that showed up.
Chapter One
Chris Halliwell narrowly dodged the swipe of a vampire's claws and telekinetically threw another against the wall of the warehouse where this particular group had made their nest.
It had been three weeks since he'd found himself in a different universe after trying to escape an attack from Darklighters under the control of Wyatt Halliwell, the Twice-Blessed good-witch-turned-warlock—and Chris's older brother. Since then the 22-year-old half-witch half-Whitelighter had found himself moving from town to town, tracking down demons and other supernatural threats and doing what he could to vanquish them. It was rather difficult when he didn't have the Halliwells' Book of Shadows to refer to and the beings in this universe were different from the ones he was used to dealing with. In between stealing food and clothes while trying to find places to sleep, Chris was doing as much research as he could via Internet cafes and public libraries.
The vampire growled in anger and bared his fangs before lunging at Chris again. Chris ducked, tried to dive aside and found himself trapped in a corner.
"Great," he muttered sarcastically then prepared to orb out.
Before he could orb, the vampire that cornered him was suddenly missing a head and the witchlighter was sprayed with dark blood.
The vampire fell to its knees then completely to the floor leaving a teenager with a machete standing in its place. The girl smirked at the man in front of her before turning his back to him to deal with the rest of the nest.
"A hunter and a witch walk into a vampire nest. How do you think the joke ends?" she asked over her shoulder as she took out a few more members of the nest.
Belle didn't usually interfere with supernatural creatures' wars, but she had heard that this witch wasn't like any that she'd seen before. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her so she took the three hour drive to the next to check it out. Her sources hadn't lied. This was an interesting case and she was determined to see it through.
Chris blinked vampire blood out of his eyes and sighed inwardly. So much for keeping his cover as a mortal hunter. If this girl knew he was a witch, then there wasn't much point in keeping his powers a secret any longer.
"The hunter and the witch walking out of the vampire nest," he answered before reaching out with his magic. He telekinetically grabbed one vampire by the throat and lifted it up into the air, concentrated on twisting the head at an unnatural angle so that the vampire broke its neck.
Chris let the vampire fall unceremoniously to the floor as he reached for a machete and brought it down hard. Faint satisfaction thrummed through him as the vampire's head became severed from its neck.
A few more dismembered heads hit the floor before the nest was cleared. Annabelle turned to the man and extended her hand for a handshake.
"I'm Annabelle Winchester. You've made quite a name for yourself in the hunter community considering no one knows your name or what you really are. You're not like the other witches. Nice to meet you, Mr….?"
"Perry. Chris Perry." He gave his usual alias without thinking. Even if Wyatt didn't exist in this universe, Chris didn't want to take the chance of anyone recognizing his family name and making the connection to the Charmed Ones—if the Charmed Ones existed in this universe and timeline. "And thanks, I guess. I'm assuming that comment about not being like other witches was a compliment?"
"As long as you don't suddenly decide to use your powers for evil, yes. I'm a Woman of Letters. Would you mind coming with me and answering some questions? You aren't in trouble. It's just for our files."
Chris tensed, bristled. I am not evil, he wanted to snap. Instead he forced himself to relax and accept her invitation. "Fine, if I absolutely have to. Lead the way."
He'd go with her for now, see what this "Woman of Letters" thing was about. Chris would rather have her and whoever she worked for assume he was a full witch rather than a witchlighter—so far all of the research he'd done led to the conclusion that Whitelighters didn't exist in this universe. Hopefully that meant there weren't any Darklighters either, but he didn't want to take chances.
Belle led Chris to her car and drove to the bunker. Once there, she lead the man to one of the interview rooms. "Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to eat or drink? I can get it for you while I grab what I need."
Chris took a seat in one of the chairs. "Water and a sandwich would be fine, thanks."
"No problem. Please stay in this room while I'm gone. I don't want you to get lost. If you do, it'll take days to search the whole bunker for you." With that, the teen left to gather a notebook, pen, recorder, sandwich, and a glass of water in preparation for her interview with the witch.
While Annabelle was gone, Chris leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, breathed deep and tried to dispel some of the tension. He sent up a short plea for help to Cerridwen.
His body was still wound up, still ready for a fight. Growing up in San Francisco under Wyatt's reign, then as his brother's lieutenant when he was older up until he'd betrayed him…
Chris's grip tightened on the arms of his chair, turned his knuckles white. He couldn't give in, couldn't have a panic attack here, now, not when he was about to be interrogated by a mortal that presumably hunted witches…
A short time later, footsteps echoed through the long corridor outside and Annabelle reappeared in the doorway. The tension in the room seemed to hit her as if she had run into a wall. She stopped for a moment then came back into the room and set everything out on the table.
"Are you all right? You look a bit.. pale…"
Chris managed to draw in a couple deep breaths, shook his head. Relax. Relax. He's back in another universe; he can't get to you here. …
It wasn't working. Panic had his heart beating faster, his chest tightening. Chris pushed his chair back so hard it skidded on the floor, then sank to the ground and curled up in a ball with his head between his legs and his hands clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms.
Annabelle watched with wide eyes for a moment before getting her bearings back. Countless nights spent helping post-Purgatory Dean through similar ordeals after nightmares gave her some idea of what she needed to do. She gave Chris space not wanting to make matters worse and spoke to him in a calm, soothing tone.
"Chris, I'm gonna sit down next to you, okay?" As promised, she sat at his side, but was sure to put some space between them. "Can you lift your head up for me please? If you do that, it'll be easier to breathe. I'll even take some deep breaths with you, and we can go outside if that'll help."
It took a while for her words to register, but when they did Chris slowly lifted his head and tried to breathe deeply, to sink into a meditative state (or, at the very least, an altered state of consciousness). His thoughts were too much of a mess to clear into a calming trance, but the breathing seemed to help a little.
"No outside," he croaked. "Stay here. Can't—"
He cut off the rest of his sentence, closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Focus. Anything that would help him cut through the overwhelming panic. "Is this place warded?"
"Okay. We'll stay here. Yes. The bunker is warded against everything imaginable. I had to alter the wards just to allow you in. Hey, you're doing a good job. Just keep breathing. We're all right. We're safe here. I won't let anything hurt you."
"Let's sit up straight and put our hands above our heads. That'll open up your chest and let more air in. Like this," she clasped her hands behind her head and sat up tall. "And we can take some deep breaths together. In through the nose… And out through the mouth. Nice and slow."
Chris followed her advice, gradually felt himself calming down as the panic attack eased up. Once he felt relatively calm and in control again, he glanced up at the water bottle and concentrated. It slid off the table and into his open hand.
The witchlighter unscrewed the cap and took a sip. He glanced over at Annabelle, tried to say thank you but the words never left his mouth. "Interview?" he prompted after a few seconds.
Annabelle gave a small smile. "I think it can wait. Do you want some tea? I have some that's made specifically to help anxiety. We can also move somewhere that doesn't seem so foreboding if that'll help?"
Chris smiled faintly, nodded. "Tea and moving would be great, thanks." He slowly pushed himself to his feet, grabbed the edge of the table for support before snagging his sandwich and starting to head for the door.
She walked close at his side the entire way to the bunker's kitchen in case he needed some support. It was a bit of a long walk. On the way, they passed several rooms filled with files, what looked to be a torture chamber, a few fairly bare bedrooms, and a huge library. Finally, they came to a kitchen.
Much like the bedrooms, it was bare besides the necessities and a few decorations to make it feel like a home. If it weren't for the abundance of flannels, coats, shoes, and a few other personal items; one could assume that the kitchen was in a hotel room.
"Make yourself at home."
Belle smiled and gestured to the table. There were enough chairs to seat six, but only three looked to be used on a regular basis. The teenager turned to the stove and picked up a kettle. She filled it with water, turned the stovetop on, and set the kettle down on one of the burners. She brought two rather plain blue mugs out of the cupboard, put them on the counter, and put a teabag in each before sitting across from Chris.
"That should be ready in about five minutes. Are you feeling all right? Do you need anything at all?" Annabelle asked, her head tilted slightly to the right.
"No, I'm fine." Chris sat down at the table, eyed the sandwich hungrily for a moment before taking a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then realized how hungry he was and started to eat faster.
"How did you find this place anyway?" he asked, pausing in between wolfing down his food.
"It's a long story, but the short version is I live with two other hunters and their grandfather travelled forward in time to give them the key so that they could restart the Men of Letters. It's kind of nice. It gives us a permanent home and it keeps us busy, but not many people want to work with the Winchesters so it's basically just us."
Chris finished his sandwich and bit back a smart remark. Let her do all the talking for now—he was already working through exactly what to tell her and what he was going to keep hidden. At the very least he did not want her knowing he was half-Whitelighter and from another universe.
Putting on a casual yet wary demeanor, he leaned back in his chair as if he were mulling over her words. "I wonder why." His tone wasn't quite as sarcastic as usual, but there were definitely traces.
The tea kettle let out a shrill whistle before Annabelle could respond, and maybe that was for the better. She got up and poured the boiling water into the mugs she had sat out. As she sat down, she sat the mugs on the table.
"So, where are you from?" she asked, deciding to move the focus away from her family.
"San Francisco," Chris replied, reaching for his mug of tea. He took a sip, set it back down. He could tell her that much, anyway, without giving too much away.
"What brings you to Kansas? Seems like it would be a lot more exciting there."
"I crossed someone I shouldn't have and needed to go on the run." It was the truth, just not the whole truth. "I ended up in Kansas after hearing about that vampire nest."
Annabelle nodded. "You're more than welcome to stay here until it all blows over if you'd like. I promise you wouldn't be bored. We've got all the amenities one would want from a hotel and plenty of space plus enough warding to keep all of heaven and hell out."
"Thanks." Chris accepted her offer even though he wasn't sure how safe she would be if his brother ever discovered him—or how long it would be for Wyatt to come after him.
He took another sip of tea, then idly started turning his mug around while staring intently at the tea bag inside. After a few long seconds of silence, he looked back up at Annabelle with intense green eyes. "As long as I don't use my powers for evil, you said." He found himself bristling almost involuntarily. Chris wasn't new to the concept of witch hunters—Cernunnos knew he'd encountered enough after Wyatt had exposed magic to the mortal world—but even the slightest mention of them left a bad taste in his mouth. "Who decides that I'd get to be killed? You?"
Annabelle averted her eyes. She knew very well that if she and Chris became close, it would take a lot to get to the point where Annabelle would kill him or allow someone else to; and with them living in the bunker together, there was really no way around getting to know each other.
"I don't know… I suppose it would be whoever found out and got to you fastest," she answered. "Why?"
He shut down again at her question, cut off any traces of emotion. "I'm a witch. You're a hunter. Mortals don't exactly have the best track record with us once they find out we exist and magic is real. Do the math."
"Well, the times have changed and I'm not heartless," she snapped. She took a deep breath before continuing, this time calmly. "Do you really think I'd lead you directly to my home if I didn't trust you and see you as an equal? If I wanted you dead, I would have let that vampire kill you or done it myself."
Chris glanced away, sighed through his nose. "No, I guess not," he admitted reluctantly. Then, cautiously: "You'd said I'd gained a reputation in the hunter community. What were they saying about me?"
"Some of them are how you think they are. That type was scared. The rest of us were impressed. We've never seen anything like what you do except from demons and angels, but you're neither. The former wanted you dead. The latter voted to recruit you and keep you safe. We all think it'll be great to have you in our corner when things go bad. There are a lot of people who want to meet you."
"…Right," Chris said slowly. Come to gawk at me, more like. "What else did you want to know about me? For your 'files'." He couldn't help adding in a few drops of sarcasm on the word files.
"Nothing for now. It can wait," she yawned. "Make yourself at home and take whatever you need. The first three rooms on the right are taken, but you can chose any other one that you'd like to be yours. I'll knock when breakfast is ready if you're still asleep when I wake up. Until then, goodnight."
Annabelle gave a small smile and headed to her room.
As soon as she was gone, Chris left the kitchen area. He wanted to explore the bunker before going to sleep—as it was, he wasn't very tired. If he could find an archive or a library, he could do some research, find out just what Annabelle meant when she and other hunters talked about witches (among other subjects).
He'd made it twenty strides out of the kitchen area when he had another thought (along with a sudden pang that came from missing his mother): he could cast a spell back in his room, try to ask Piper or Grams (or great-Grams) for advice… if they could hear him, that is.
Chris hesitated for a moment, torn between his two ideas; then he sighed and headed for a room to pick out after grabbing five candles, a pinch of rosemary, a Cypress sprig, a mortar and pestle, and a yarrow root. First he would try the "To Call a Lost Witch" spell for Piper; if that didn't work, then he'd need the candles to summon his relatives' ghosts.