The Power of Two—Help Wanted
Genre: Family
Characters: Wyatt Halliwell; Chris Halliwell
Summary: Wyatt and Chris share an apartment and attend Stanford University. Between balancing checkbooks and tempers, the brothers deal with demons, warlocks, and midterms all in a day's work.
Author's Note: This is just something very silly I've had floating around on my computer for a while and I thought: aw, what the heck! I hope you all think it's funny, too.
"A Demon Ate It"
Wyatt Halliwell learned quite a few things growing up, one was to never invite demons into the house because they almost always came in whether they were invited or not and tended to scorch the furniture. Another was: if Mom and Dad's door was closed with a purple scarf tied on the knob, do not enter for fear of being scarred for life. The most important thing he learned, however, was that family always came first, before girlfriends, before sex, before privacy. That last lesson meant that when Wyatt's younger brother, Chris, had graduated high school and decided to attend Stanford as well, Wyatt was expected to open his arms and the door to his apartment to him.
On a Tuesday afternoon, Wyatt Matthew Halliwell stood watching his 18 year old brother vegetate on the couch in boxer shorts eating a bowl of Wyatt's Captain Crunch and hogging the TV. Their parents had footed the bill for a two-bedroom apartment with a moderately sized kitchen, a dining area and a living room. There was plenty of space for two people to cohabitate, but not enough room for two brothers to cohabitate, especially if one of those brothers was named Christopher Perry Halliwell.
"Chris, you were supposed to go grocery shopping. You took the list this morning and assured me that you were going to the store," Wyatt said, struggling to keep his temper in check. His mother would not appreciate it if Wyatt orbed his brother home in an urn. "There are no new groceries and that is the last of the Captain Crunch, which, might I add, is mine!"
Chris crunched the cereal dry, because there was no milk. He looked up at Wyatt through a mop of messy brown hair. "Oh yeah, the store. Yeah, sure, I'll go. I just want to watch the end of The Big Bang Theory. This show is hilarious. You need to watch it, man."
Wyatt heard his nerves sizzling and popping like frying bacon and he reached out, snagging the cereal from Chris's hands and shoving him off the couch. "It's a rerun, meaning it will come on again! Go to the damn store!"
"Geez!" Chris picked himself off the hard wood floor, glaring at Wyatt. "If you're that desperate for groceries, you should go to the store yourself!"
"No, I went last week and the week before! We are supposed to be taking turns!" Wyatt growled.
"You didn't go the week before," Chris grumbled, scratching his head and ruffling his hair worse. He yawned and glanced around the apartment and Wyatt followed his gaze. The decor was a bit Spartan: one couch, one recliner, a coffee table, a TV. The only reason why they had a dining table was because Chris, despite his slothful ways, liked to cook actual meals and invited his classmates over for dinner. "We need a foosball table."
"No we don't; we need groceries! You, of all people, should want a stocked pantry and refrigerator." Wyatt didn't understand why a guy that couldn't just heat up Chef Boyardee Ravioli, but instead would hand-make pasta shells and stuff them with braised duck couldn't be bothered to go to the market.
"Fine." Chris snatched his cereal back from Wyatt and trudged to his room, hopefully, to put on clothes. Wyatt didn't put it past his brother to go out in his boxers and flip-flops. Wyatt couldn't wait for the call to bail him out of jail for indecent exposure, so he could say: Why don't you ask Mom to get you out?
Wyatt sighed and flopped down on the gray leather couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table and closed his eyes, head tilted back toward the vaulted ceiling. He had a night class every Tuesday and Thursday that ran from 6:00 – 9:00, and he usually took a nap before it. Unfortunately, he liked to take that nap after munching a bowl of Captain Crunch. It was hard to fall asleep without his sugar high. Stupid little brother.
The door to Chris's room closed and flip-flops trod across the floor. Wyatt heard Chris fishing for his car keys in the glass bowl on top of the built-in bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room. "I'm gone."
"If you don't come back with Captain Crunch, I'll kick your ass."
"Geez."
The front door closed and locked and Wyatt dragged a hand over his eyes. He patted the couch for the remote his brother liked to lose between couch cushions. He came up empty. He snarled. "Remote." He held out his hand, picturing the flat, white remote nestled in the deep "never-never" of the couch. A swirl of blue lights danced in his palm and the remote materialized, laden with Crunch Berry dust. Had Chris been this much of a slob at home? Wyatt didn't think so. Mom would have put him up for adoption.
He turned off the television and let the remote clatter down onto the round coffee table. It was a black, modern plastic deal that hadn't cost all that much, but looked interesting enough for Wyatt to want to put his feet on. He'd picked it out for his first apartment, and it had survived the move to his second. He didn't, however, know if this table would survive Chris and his coaster-less ways.
Wyatt let his body melt into the couch as he swung his legs up onto it. He was counting on Chris returning before 6:00 and being his usual noisy self that way Wyatt would wake up in enough time to get to class without having to set the alarm on his phone. He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and let it fall onto the table next to the remote.
He drifted away, dreaming of Crunch Berries, cremating little brothers, and foosball tables, while ignoring his buzzing cell phone.
(~*~)
"Damn." Chris pressed the "Call End" button on his touch screen and tucked his phone in his back pocket. Wyatt the Terrible hadn't specified if he wanted Sharp Cheddar or Mild Cheddar String Cheese and Chris knew that Wyatt just might breathe fire if he brought home the wrong kind. Chris scowled at the grocery list half written in his brother's chicken scratch and half written in his own neutral print.
Two jugs of milk, one low fat (written by Wyatt), one all fat (written by his truly). He couldn't cook what he wanted with healthy milk. He wandered down the aisles of the grocery store, pushing a metal shopping cart and pondering the dairy aisle. Should he go for the cheap brand or the one he liked? The one he liked. He pulled down a carton of Horizon whole milk, and, on second thought, added some chocolate milk to the cart as well.
Butter. He needed plenty of butter, and heavy whipping cream. Oh, and cream cheese and sour cream. He let the crumpled list fall into the cart and he piled groceries that weren't on the list on top of it. He could make shrimp fettuccini, or eggplant lasagna. He drifted into the produce aisle, staring at fresh fruits and vegetables.
Chris hated going to the grocery store because he always spent too much. Mom and Dad only put so much money into his account each month. If he spent it all, he was expected to get a job to pay for his extra needs. Five weekday classes and Saturday Magic School didn't mesh well with mundane job to him. He could drop Magic School, but that would disappoint Dad. The old man had started pushing upper level magic courses and graduate level study, and wanted Chris and Wyatt to set good examples. Chris had no intention of going into graduate level magic study, but he wasn't going to tell Dad that while he still needed an allowance.
The strawberries looked better at the market down the street, cheaper too.
Chris smiled as the lone thought wandered into his head from a nearby shopper. He looked away from the heads of romaine lettuce to see a soccer mom in sweats and tennis shoes scrutinizing a plastic container of strawberries. Telepathy could be so awesome at times, so long as he stayed in control of it. Shielding to keep random thoughts out and his own thoughts in was harder in crowds or when he was tired or sick, but he'd gotten used to it. The act was instinctive now; only really loud surface thoughts from others found their way into Chris's head.
The blueberries, too. I think I'll go back to the other store for fruit and veggies.
Chris debated if he should go to the woman's other store, too. Cheaper and fresher were always nice. He looked in his semi-full cart. It would be hell putting all of the groceries he'd already gotten back, though. But did he really want to check-out in two different stores? Mom would. She'd go to 10 different stores all over town in a day to get the best ingredients, but Mom ran a restaurant and was a professional chef. Chris just dabbled and had a knack for knowing what tasted good together.
No, he'd stay here, get more expensive produce, continue to weigh down his cart, and get Wyatt's cereal: Captain Crunch. Now, did Wyatt want regular Captain Crunch or just Crunch Berries, because Chris had seen him pick the Crunch Berries out and fill a bowl with them on many occasion. He made it to the cereal aisle and frowned at the lack of Crunch. There were multiple boxes of Cheerios, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Chex, and Rice Krispies, but where was the Captain Crunch? He saw the gap where Captain Crunch should be and cocked his head, staring into the cavern created between the cereal boxes to see if a box of Captain Crunch hid in the back.
No. Nothing. This was perfect. Chris could not return to the apartment without that cereal. He was going to have to go to the other store after all. How irritating. He wrinkled his nose at all of his groceries. Dammit; he would buy them here, pack them into the car and pray they wouldn't melt on the way to the other store or while he was inside hunting for Wyatt's precious Crunch Berries.
"Stupid Crunch Berries." Oh. Chris blinked. He caught a glimpse of Captain Crunch red behind a Cheerios box. Was someone hiding the last box of Crunch? Chris snickered and snagged the box. He grinned. Captain Crunch's cartoon face smiled at him from underneath his blue pirate hat. I am the man!
He dropped the cereal in his cart and continued his shopping. Once his cart was so full he grunted while pushing it, he decided he had enough food for a few days. He headed for check-out, completely bypassing the self check-out station. Chris hated self check-out with a passion. He didn't like bagging his own groceries and he hated how loud the automated speaking voice of the machine was. "Foot Fungus Spray, 16.99!"
He wanted to spare himself the mortification. No one needed to know what was between his toes but him. Chris leaned on the cart, studying the two shoppers in front of him in line. One was a middle-aged lady with her little kid. The boy wore big red boots, a cape and a mask. Chris shook his head. Kids were so beyond him at that age. The other shopper, the one at the front of the line, looked like the typical surfer dude: bleach blond, dark tan. He chatted up the female cashier, and Chris rolled his eyes, wondering how much longer they were gonna drag the transaction out.
He thumbed through a cooking magazine on the rack beside him. He always went for the ones with pictures of sweets on the cover. Chris loved baking as much as he loved cooking. Breads and cakes were fun, messy, but fun. He could make a cake with what he bought; maybe he'd do a chocolate raspberry cheesecake. Wyatt was partial to those, and maybe it would get him off Chris's back for a while.
Chris shoulders tensed as he felt a presence creep into his brain. His eyes went wide, alert. He only felt like that when there were malicious thoughts present. Robber? Cashier going postal? Angry soccer mom? Who was it?
"Sir? Sir?" Chris snapped his head forward, looking to see that the shoppers in front of him were gone and the female cashier was staring at him impatiently.
"Oh, sorry." Chris pushed his basket forward, still looking over his shoulder. "Here we go." He started loading groceries onto the conveyer. He usually tried to group his groceries according to size, type and temperature, but today he placed the groceries on the moving belt in the order in which he grabbed. Something bad was going to happen. The feeling was still there, tickling his brain.
Chris ignored the beeping of the scanner ringing up his items and focused on the people in the store. They all looked normal. There were no faces twisted in rage; he didn't hear any raised voices or foul language. He sighed and extended his senses, reaching out with his mind to touch the thoughts of those around him. He hated doing it; he felt like a home invader when he touched other people's minds.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. He reached further and shuddered. He felt its cold, determined presence. It was outside, waiting. Chris groaned. Great. It was probably a demon and it probably wouldn't wait for him to put his groceries in the car.
He got out his phone and dialed Wyatt again. The call went straight to voice mail. "Dammit, you lazy shit. I know you're taking a nap. Call me back immediately."
"How are you doing today?" The cashier asked Chris.
Chris stared at her. "Fine."
She blinked at his curtness. "Sorry I asked."
"It's okay," Chris said absently. The girl blinked at him again and shook her head. She sacked groceries as she rang them up, quick and efficient. Chris could appreciate that, but he did not appreciate that she was putting his poultry in the same bag with his bread, and putting jars with boxes. As quickly as she sacked the groceries, Chris was placing the brown paper bags back in his shopping cart.
"That'll be $202.96," the cashier said flatly.
She eyed him, and Chris made a face at her. "What?"
"You shopping for your mom? What is this stuff? What guy buys veal and eggplant?"
"My groceries are my business, thank you," Chris said. He swiped the debit card that had been gifted to him when Mom and Dad opened his bank account. He typed in the pin and looked out through the glass windows of the store, hoping to catch a glimpse of what waited outside for him.
"Whatever," the girl said. She tore his receipt from the machine and handed it to him. "Have a nice day. Did you need any assistance to your car?"
Yes. "No," Chris said. He tucked the receipt in his pocket and pushed his basket to the entrance of the store. Maybe he should leave the groceries here and come back for them later. It could be an easy-to-vanquish demon, and he might not even get his clothes dirty.
He sighed and pushed his groceries outside. The sun was still out; he had two hours until sunset. Most demons liked to do things at night. If this demon attacked him it would be because he was desperate… or weird. Chris didn't know which he preferred.
"Hold it, Witch."
Chris spun, throwing a straight punch and just missing the man in black standing behind him. Demon, darklighter, or warlock? Chris sent his power forward, probing the man and recoiling at the dark void in his head. This thing was shielding his thoughts. Someone had tipped him off that Chris was a telepath, meaning he had been lying in wait for Chris for a while. He might have even been following him, and Chris hadn't noticed. Sloppy. Two months in college and he was letting demons follow him shopping.
Fine, the demon/warlock/darklighter was masking his thoughts, but that didn't protect him from Chris making his brain ooze out of his ears or orbing him to L.A., or flinging him into the dumpster in the alley behind the store with his telekinesis.
"You stole something from me," the man hissed, a forked tongue licked out between his lips.
Oh yuck, a definite demon. "I did not!" Chris was many things, but a thief wasn't one of them, and he certainly would never take a demon's things if he was. Anything they coveted Chris was sure he'd find disgusting.
"Yes, you did. I hid it so no one would find it."
Chris raised a brow. "Well, I didn't dig up any treasure or anything. I think you got the wrong guy, dude."
"No." A smoky hand darted toward the grocery cart and Chris cried out.
"Hey!"
It grabbed a paper bag and rifled through it, extracting the box of Captain Crunch. Chris stared, dumbfounded, as the demon dropped the rest of the groceries back into his cart and slunk away, fading into the shadows… with Wyatt's cereal.
What the hell?
Chris stood frozen for a moment more before shuffling to his car, still glancing at where the demon had been. Going back to his previous question of what he preferred, he now had an answer. He'd take a desperate demon over a weird one any day, because that was just crack-tastic and now he was going to have to go to another store for Captain Crunch and his ice cream was going to melt.
He loaded the groceries into the trunk and backseat of his car, shaking his head and grumbling, while ignoring the strange looks tossed his way by passersby.
(~*~)
Wyatt came awake at the sound of keys rattling in a lock. He reached for his phone to check the time, and frowned at its glowing face. He'd missed two calls, both from Chris. He sat up, rubbing his face as the door came open to reveal Chris holding two paper bags of groceries. Wyatt checked the time, 5:24, and got up to take a paper bag from Chris. He peered inside, seeing celery stalks, lettuce, carrots, and bell peppers.
"How much more stuff you got in the car?" Wyatt asked. When Chris shopped, he tended to go overboard.
"A lot," Chris said, sounding grouchy.
"How much did you spend?" Wyatt asked, knowing he was going to cringe at the cost.
"A lot," Chris said. He set the grocery bag down on the bar and marched toward the front door again.
Wyatt set the bag he held down on the coffee table and frowned at Chris. "What's the matter with you?"
"Weird trip," Chris said. He stepped through the door, but just before he could disappear around the corner, Wyatt remembered something.
"Hey, did you get my Captain Crunch?"
"A demon ate it."
Author's Note: Told you it was silly. Well, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!