A Glimpse into the Future

Big Brother's watching you. - George Orwell

The Halliwell Manor was empty. It always was nowadays, when there weren't any tour groups filing in. The only thing that ever signified life was the small rays of light that entered, trying to rejuvenate the house.

Except that day, one man stood in the middle of the room, letting the light wash over him. His head hung low, and his face was obscured by shaggy brown hair. Green eyes stared straight down, examining a spot on the floor. He looked like a statue, almost a part of the Manor, except for the black clothes. Those stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the brighter, yet much dustier furniture. It was the only way to tell that the man didn't belong.

This man's name was Christopher Halliwell.

His mouth twisted at the thought of the last name. Halliwell. He was the last Halliwell. Technically, his brother was still alive, but no way in hell was he going to acknowledge that. As far as he was concerned, the day his youngest cousin died, so did his brother.

This place made him sick. It reminded him that he once did have a normal brother, and a – somewhat – normal family. Sure, it hadn't been perfect, but it was there. Now? It was gone. Everything was gone.

Except the house. It had been preserved, just like a fucking museum. Dust might have covered it, but otherwise, it was exactly the same. He walked around every inch of the area, and couldn't find one thing different. He came to a stop, as he spotted a rather large, discolored spot on the rug. That was his fault. He had been drunk and thrown up.

He was 16 at the time, and his grandfather had just died.

Wyatt, of course, had been nowhere in sight. But he did later give his bullshit righteous act on how he should take care of himself.

Vaguely, he wondered if Wyatt had already been working with the demons by then. Then again, did it really matter?

No, probably not. All of that was in the past. What mattered was the present, and what he needed to do to fix it. It seemed practically impossible.

Sighing, he started to climb the stairs. He went past the second floor, and straight up to the attic. For a moment, he stayed in the doorway, appraising the room morosely, and remembering the many days he had went up there, just to see if his family would visit him.

They never came.

Absently, he crossed the room to stand in front of the wooden stand, fingers already going to open the Book that usually sat on it, when he realized something.

The Book was gone.

Fuck.

The Book was gone.

For a moment, he thought he might've been mistaken, that he was seeing things. He tried a spell to conjure up invisible objects, but nothing helped.

The Book was gone.

Wyatt had taken it.

Fuck.

"I was wondering when you would notice it."

Chris whirled around.

"Wyatt," he greeted coldly, already planning escape. His brother had already blocked off Orbing and Shimmering into the attic. He needed a different way.

"Great greeting, Chris. No, 'How are you?' or 'Where have you been?'" Wyatt said dryly, crossing his arms.

"I know where you've been, Wyatt. In the fucking Underworld, ordering around your fucking minions," Chris snapped, even as he edged a few steps back.

Wyatt's mouth tightened, a sure sign he was angry. "Well, what would you have me do? Stay up here, and wander the streets, all the while trying to avoid the Witch Hunters?" he retorted, eyes flashing.

"I'd rather you didn't consort with demons."

"I don't see anyone else trying to help us."

"They're trying to make you into the fucking King of All Evil, Wyatt!"

"So?" shrugged Wyatt. "What's the difference between Good and Evil?"

Chris stared at him, in a completely different light. "They killed our mother Wyatt. And our Aunts. Doesn't that count for something?"

"I believe we killed the ones that did that," said Wyatt coolly. "Together."

"Exactly! We killed them! That was our job! And now look at where you are," Chris gestured a hand at him, acting as if he had never seen anything worse in his life. "Ordering around demons, and playing at being their ruler."

"It wasn't the demons that killed Prudence, Chris," Wyatt said quietly. "It was the hunters. Don't tell me that every human should be considered Good. Don't tell me that you're the light shining on this fucked up Earth."

Shutting his eyes, Chris took another step back, not wanting to think about that day. When he had regained his composure he said, "Where's the Book, Wyatt?"

The older man arched an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Where's the book, Wyatt?" Chris repeated.

He shrugged again. "Don't know."

"Tell me."

"I told you, I don't know," Wyatt growled.

Chris bit his lip, mind racing. And then it occurred to him. "You really don't, do you?" Chris murmured. "You always were a terrible liar." Wyatt said nothing, allowing Chris to continue with his train of thought, while he paced back and forth. "And if you don't know, that means..."

Chris stopped his pacing, a small smirk forming on his face. "They took it, didn't they?" he laughed. "What irony! Your so-called demon friends took the Book of Shadows!"

"A minor miscalculation," Wyatt said, quoting something that they both knew Chris had said in the past when the Book had been stolen under their protective eye.

Shaking his head, Chris wondered how it had come to this: both of them on opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other. They had promised, once, that they would stick together, to the end of the world.

He guessed promises didn't mean much nowadays.

Taking another step back, Chris opened the glass doors, letting Wyatt stew in confusion on his side of the room. "You know, Wyatt, you're right," Chris said with a small smile on his face. "I'm not Good. If I was, I would have figured out a way to stop this long before now."

"There's nothing to fix, Chris," Wyatt said softly. "You can't fix Fate."

Chris nodded thoughtfully. "But I can try."

And with that, he jumped out the window, ignoring Wyatt's yelp of surprise. He felt the wind rush through his hair, and thought for the first time in awhile, things could get better.

Just before he Orbed, he thought that he could see a glimpse of Death.

Note: I really need to stop writing so many one-shots. Reviews are welcome!