A/N: Hi! This is a revamp on an old story of mine, that I recently came across again and would like to finish. You can find the old version by clicking on my username, but if you're coming across this story for the first time, that version really isn't worth reading. I hope to update this one frequently, as well as actually end it! Thank you to anybody who has reviewed/read me before; all of that is welcome.
-
It was cold when Chris orbed onto the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, but that didn't necessarily say anything about the weather-- he was up among the freaking clouds; what could he expect? In light of his recent failures, too, the fact that he was wearing just jeans and a thin t-shirt on an icy bridge didn't matter. It was irritating, but most things were; mostly, it was irrelevant.
Bianca's death: if he was honest with himself (and he usually was; he had to be), then that was what it all came down to. He sunk down onto the ground, and wrapped his arms around his knees, remembering the way she had looked in the attic. She hadn't been the person Chris remembered, that was for certain, but even so, he had loved her-- and now she was dead.
And the flashes of anger he kept feeling, the ones that were completely unrelated to his mood. This might have surprised some people (either that or, yeah, made them try and coax him into therapy), but Chris knew that they were caused by what remained of his link with his two brothers. He knew that the anger was Wyatt's, over Chris' escape. And he knew that it was only a matter of time until Wyatt sent someone back to the past-- another assassin. Like Bianca.
Honestly, he was sick of it all. It wasn't that he couldn't handle it; it wasn't that this was anything different from what he did back at home-- lying, manipulating, fighting. It wasn't that he wanted to go home, either. His home was in ruins-- a museum, to be more specific, or in Wyatt's words, "a piece of historical gold". A freakshow would be more honest, and that's what Chris called it. His home may as well have died with the first Charmed One.
But it hadn't. His home was more than the Manor, of course-- it was his family, and wasn't that why he was doing this? When his family were dead-- then he could give up.
(But of course that wouldn't happen, because who else was causing this but his family? The evil dictator, the one who used to be just "that older Halliwell boy"? Lies, lies--)
"Chris Perry, get your ass down here right this instant!"
Oh, Piper was angry again. He sighed and orbed back into the attic.
-
Reappearing in a cascade of blue orbs, Chris had prepared himself for an attack, as any smart Halliwell (or indeed, any smart witch) would do. Looking around the attic, however, he was surprised to find the three Charmed Ones simply standing around, and making a small irritated sound, Chris whirled around again. That couldn't have been all they called him down for, not with Piper sounding so angry. It damn well better not have been all they'd called him down for.
It wasn't for another moment that his eyes settled on the boy lying on the floor. Chris evaluated him quickly: average height and weight; brown hair; breathing shallow. He was on his side, with blood sticking to his sweater, and for just a moment, Chris thought that perhaps he was a demon, after all. Only a moment, though-- and he made a small, rare cry of surprise.
… Alright, rewind. Not so surprised: outright flabbergasted. Horrified.
"What is it?" Piper asked, looking at him.
Chris just shook his head. It took him another moment to collect himself, to think, but finally: "…Where did you find him?"
"He fell out of a portal," Phoebe, always so helpful, put in. She was eyeing Chris with a curious expression, but he keeps his face blank --all right, maybe a little agitated-- with no intention of sating her nosiness. "Paige thought maybe we should move him, but-- we didn't touch him; we were hoping you'd know what to do. It was a time portal."
As he would have expected. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and anger in his head (anger that might actually have been his own for a change, irrational as it was), but he nodded, walking over to the boy's side.
"Why didn't you ask Leo to heal him?" Chris asked irritably as the thought hit him. He crouched down, anyway, and smoothed the hair away from the boy's forehead as clinically as he could manage. It was definitely who he thought. "Did it not occur to any of you that all the blood here might mean that he's dying?"
"We thought he might be another assassin." It was Phoebe again-- squirming, this time. "But, um, we can call him now, of course. Leo!"
Whatever else Chris had to say about the man, he couldn't deny that Leo took orders well-- at least from the sisters. It was only a moment before he appeared, in fact, surveying the situation and moving over to the brown-haired boy's side. Chris stepped aside and crossed his arms, trying not to make his worry evident.
"He'll be fine," Leo announced a moment later, and the blue light under his palms dissolved. He straightened himself, and glanced up to the sisters. "Which, by the way, who is h--"
The boy didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, though. The moment Leo had stepped away from him, he had doubled over (as well as he could on the ground, anyway), panic lighting up his eyes. He gasped when he saw Chris, but let his head fall back against the floor.
That was just like the sisters. Don't give the potential demon a pillow or anything.
"Chris?" the boy said, and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." It was hard to speak, like this, with the sisters watching. He couldn't say everything he wanted, not right now. But he couldn't tell the boy to shut up, either, not without hurting them. Which --as reluctant as he was to admit it-- he didn't want to do.
"No, I-I'm sorry." He wouldn't have thought the boy would have had the strength in him, but he manages to pull himself up, lunging for Chris. Phoebe shrieked, and he thought he might have seen Piper raise her arms, as well, but there was a muttered "don't" and the boy was hugging Chris tightly around the shoulders. Oh, oh my God. The sisters were never going to let him live this down.
"I told you to do as I ordered," Chris said, very aware of both how cryptic his words were and just how much attention the Charmed Ones were paying him. "To stay where you were. Was that too difficult for you to comprehend?"
He didn't let go or step away, though. The boy cringed in either embarrassment or shame.
"Let's go and have some coffee before we figure this out," Phoebe broke in, and Chris finally moved away from the boy to stare at her. The sisters were nosy and paranoid-- not quite to the same extent as him, but enough so that it didn't make sense that they'd be willing to have coffee with someone they regarded as a stranger and a potential threat.
Or did it? Phoebe was an empath, and it was clear the boy was uncomfortable. She would have been able to feel the pain from the wound in his side, as well.
"You have some explaining to do," Piper added.
Going downstairs to discuss this over drinks wasn't really any different to remaining up in the attic and discussing it, but Chris followed their lead downstairs. The entire time, his mind was on the boy-- who tagged alongside them like he wasn't sure where to put his eyes. Chris would have been keeping an eye on him if he had thought he needed to; as it was, Leo was the one who looked at him somewhat suspiciously. But Chris knew the boy to be a lot more open than himself, and Leo liked those types. He'd be right.
Five minutes later and they were all seated around the coffee table in the living room. Piper, at least, had apparently decided the boy wasn't a threat-- he certainly didn't look it. She handed him a glass of milk, while Chris rolled his eyes and folded his arms yet again.
"Who are you?" Paige apparently couldn't wait any longer. "I mean, you don't look much like a threat, so… do you think you could clue us all in here?"
"Future consequences," Chris broke in with. The boy had opened his mouth to speak, and he couldn't have that happening. "Paige, you know better than that. You guys, too." Leo, Piper, Phoebe.
"Not this time," Piper put in, and put down her mug. "You can't just keep having people arrive in our house, Chris, and expect that we're going to trust them. Or you. We're not asking for the damn lottery numbers, but a name would be nice."
"Zach. I'm Zach," the boy broke in before anyone else could. "I really am sorry about all this trouble, but you know--"
"They don't, Zach." Chris stared at him, face unreadable. "And if they don't know enough to know when to stop asking questions, either, I'm not going to explain anything else."
There was a moment's awkward silence, and then Leo's: "So, how do you two know each other?"
It was both Chris and Zach who met him with glares, this time. Piper, Phoebe and Paige were all staring as though they hoped to get an answer, and Chris took this as his chance-- standing and striding across to grab Zach's arm.
"Later," he told the room at large, and he and his brother disappeared in a swirl of blue orbs.