Disclaimer: Me owning the shows will never ever happen. Not even if I built a time machine and won the competition with the entity that guards time.
A/N: The Chris in this tale is the one that went back in time to save Wyatt from becoming Master Evil. So it follows the Charmed storyline, until the last few minutes on the show. When there's the narrative of what happens in the future, while their writing in the book of shadows. Oh, just posted a poll on my profile for this story so please vote.
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Tumbling to the carpeted ground, Dean landed in an undignified heap. A situation make even more embarrassing made by the smirk on the young woman's face.
"And I thought we got over this from last time. This time you wouldn't happen to know anything … cause my sisters are going to realize that something is wrong."
"Wrong? Why would they think any things wrong" he croaked out sarcastically.
"What's your name?" she asked, ignoring his tone.
"I'm Dean" he hesitantly supplied, still suspicious.
"My name's Phoebe. Still new to this whole witchcraft thing; not entirely sure how I summoned a ghost" she said hastily, leaving the room mid-sentence.
"Witchcraft? What you mean … ghost" he questioned he retreating form, only to end up appearing in an attic a second later.
Startled at the sudden change in location, Dean steadied himself against the wall. Gasping for air and fight the sudden nausea, he watched as 'Phoebe' made her way into the room.
"I've come across a lot of witches in my day. All evil, demon worshipping low life that I've come across" he growled, keeping her in his eyesight aware that she may try something on him.
He accusation was short lived though as he was thrown against the wall. Slamming heavily into the wooden beam, he fell hard to the floor. Through the beginning flow of blood he was able to see the concerned look Phoebe's face as he turned his faced, she ran to his side and then everything went black.
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"Dean. Dean. Wake up man" a muffled voice begged.
Startled by the voice Dean quickly grabbed for the gun under his pillow and brought it up to the speakers face. Slowly blinking his eyes, Dean was made aware that this wasn't a threat by the large eyes and random gasping sounds.
"Jeeze Chuck, you should know better to sleep a waking man unless it's an emergency! Haven't I yelled that at you before!" Dean said, climbing out of the bed and stretching.
"You might want to put some clothes on Dean" Chuck muttered, averting his eyes from Dean's form.
"You know Chuck you might want to spend some time with females, heck any type of company 'cause this wishing for toilet paper is still making with the creepy" Dean informed as he rummaged around the room looking for clothes.
"Funny Dean. Just came in to tell you that the hot waters running again" was Chuck's hurt reply as he made his way towards the door.
"Thanks" he gave up grudgingly; so quiet it could have almost been missed.
"What are friends for?! So what were you dreaming about?" Chuck asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.
"Honestly, have no idea" Dean answered, while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Why?"
"Man, looked intense. And in a bad sort of way."
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The news that the hot water was once again up and working, provided everyone with a burst of happiness, they hadn't experienced for a while. The return of constant warm water, meant showers, such a simple yet happy event for all occasions. Though most would not be having one anytime soon. The ones that would be allowed would be those in charge or those returning from a physical enduring task; mainly people on patrol.
Chris had recently returned from a night patrol, and had come 'home' to the news. With a laugh, he along with the group he was with, battled to find a spot early in the que. A promise of tales of their heroic deeds had quickly ascertained their position. Less truth and more along the lines of telling people what they wanted to hear.
That had been over half an hour ago, with Chris now curled up with a book near an open campfire. The memory of the group telling stories about their (new) life, and how happy they were made him ill at ease. They way they had easily forgotten about their past, their life and their family was unnerving. This was not the future he had hoped for. So this was why he now held this book in hands. A small book dedicated to what his family hoped for in the future. The tattered remains of dreams long since dead.
Staring at an object, he was startled when he felt someone sit beside him having completely missed his or her approach. Giving a small jolt, he was surprised when he looked over and saw it was Dean sitting next to him.
"All these times, I've sneaked up on you; I'm surprised you make it out on the field" Dean conversationally began.
"Not going to be attacked by any of those lot here," Chris defensively replied.
"Not what I was talking about" Dean returned, nodding his head in the direction of a guy glaring at them. "Looks like you got someone knickers in a twist" he smirked.
Sudden silence filled the area between the two men. Both though were obviously trying to come up with ways to keep it at bay, from the intent look on their faces. But both were failing, miserable.
"So what's this you're reading?" Dean asked after a few minutes, grabbing the book. "Diary?" he asked incredulously after flipping a few pages.
"More like family wish list" was the sheepish answer given.
"So tell me a bit about your family" Dean requested hesitantly.
"Why would you want to know that?" Chris returned defensively.
"Never really had one of my own. You know, the complete set" Dean began, making sharp hand guestures. "Demons took all that away when I was younger"
Startled by this expected admission, Chris glances up to look at Dean's face. A face that held a blank expression. That small bit of information completely changed his outlook on Dean. It provided so much into the man beside him, but yet possible such a small amount of who is was and who he became.
With a groan, Dean began to stand, convince that the request wasn't going to be answered. A loud defensive voice in his head scream out that it didn't really matter anyway; they're dead people now! While a smaller voice in the back of his head, recoiled at hurt at the lack of forthcoming tales. A hand snaked suddenly around his wrist and pulled him down to a sitting position.
"No problems. Just startled. Most people don't like to talk about what happened before" he supplied, providing a reason for the delayed response.
"It's okay" Dean answered, unknowingly leaning forward to her a tale of family life.
"I lived with my parents, brother and aunties. It was okay, seemed at the time unbelievable on how many people could live in the Manor, that's what we called the place. They were so professional outside, but truth was they were funny and so incredible corny … you couldn't believe it. One time …"
And so, that's how Chris and Dean spent their evening. Chris retelling family stories, though being careful to avoid the whole aspect of magic and demons in his families' life, with every now and then Dean jumping in to ask a question. It hurt like hell going through this but random parts in his tale he found himself laughing at the antics that all of them had done. He had tried to get Dean to talk about his family but he may as well been talking to a brick wall. He had been given a cold stare and a brusque reply: "I had a brother. But he's gone"
After that the conversation had dwindled and Dean then gave the order that he better head to bed. Sighing Chris made his way to the cabin that he shared with two other men in his group. Before he fell asleep he mused over meting Dean yet again. He was always drilling into people the line that wanting was bad, but somehow Chris couldn't shake the feeling that Dean wanted them to keep on running into each other.