AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'd just like to thank everyone for all the great reviews, and for sticking around in spite of the delays. Now, on to chapter 8.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Two hours after going to bed, Clark was still wide awake.

Hands folded behind his head, he watched moonlight and shadows play across the ceiling. His mind was too active, too busy thinking, to let him rest.

What must it to be able to trace your ancestry back for generations? To know that your great, great, however-many-more greats, grandmother's name was Melinda?

Too bad Chris wasn't in Ms. Simonson's class, Clark thought with a bitter smile. He could complete that assignment with no problem.

Clark frowned. He wondered when Chris heard the story about his ancestor being burned at the stake as a witch. Clark had a pretty good idea what would happen to him if people knew what he was. And he'd seen enough of movies where benevolent aliens were imprisoned, tortured, and experimented on to give him nightmares. But Chris knew, for a fact, that a member of his family was killed for having powers like his. Whether it happened a few hundred years ago or not, that had to play with a guy's head.

Only, Chris didn't seem nearly as, well, paranoid as Clark sometimes was. Clark always felt uneasy talking about his own powers, even with his parents. And so did most of the other people he'd met with special abilities. Jeremy, Alicia, Ryan. They all talked about their powers like they were dirty little secrets, and painful ones at that. But Chris talked about his powers so openly and freely.

Maybe it was because, growing up, Chris wasn't the only one. Since everyone in his family had special abilities, being able to do the things he could do didn't make him a freak. It made him…normal.

Clark's heart clenched in his chest. What must that be like? To have your abilities, to be different from most people, but still feel normal?

Sighing, Clark turned over and closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep. But, just as he relaxed enough to drift off, he heard a noise.

Instantly alert, Clark sat up in bed. There was someone was downstairs.


All was quiet and still in the darkened Kent kitchen. Until a column of sparkling blue lights pushed the shadows away.

Solidifying into human form, Chris staggered into the counter. Bending over, he panted, dragging deep gulps of air into his tired lungs. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and his legs barely seemed steady enough to hold him up.

Chris was still trying to catch his breath when the kitchen light came on. Startled, he looked up to see Clark standing in the doorway, tying the belt of a blue, terry cloth robe.

"I thought I heard someone down here," Clark began. Then, he took a good look at Chris. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he gasped. His hand trembled as he wiped the moisture from his brow. "Mostly."

With a worried frown, Clark came further into the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Nothing, really. I just orbed to and back from the spot where I 'arrived'. I guess it took more out of me than I expected." Never fond of looking weak in front of others, Chris forced himself to stand straight, and took what he hoped looked like a confident step away from the counter.

His legs collapsed almost immediately.

In an instant, Clark was across the room, grabbing hold of Chris's arm to keep him upright. He moved so fast that, for a second, Chris would swear he was nothing but a blur.

Maybe it was an alien thing.

"Take it easy," Clark said. Guiding him across the room, he helped him into a chair at the kitchen table. "I guess you aren't used to teleporting that far, huh?"

Chris didn't comment. The last year or so, playing his cards close to the vest, and letting people jump to their own conclusions, had become a habit. Which was why he hadn't told the Kents everything. They might have a son who was from another planet, but even they might have trouble with talk of demons, witches, magic, time travel. What he'd told them was hard enough for them to swallow. He didn't want to push his luck.

Truth was that, back home, Chris could've teleported from here all the way to San Francisco without breaking a sweat. But here, in this dimension, it seemed to take more of an effort. Orbing Martha Kent out of the street hadn't been a problem. But orbing all the way to the town sign left him feeling drained, like he'd run the whole way. And getting back to the farm had taken even more out of him.

It seemed that magic worked differently here, and his powers were being effected in ways that made no sense. Orbing was harder, but his telekinetic ability worked just fine. And he'd had a premonition, which wasn't one of his powers. Yeah, it was in his genes or whatever, so maybe one of his kids would have it or something. The point was, he shouldn't have it.

"Why'd you go back there?" Clark asked as he took a seat. Then, as if he just realized, "You were trying to get home."

Chris nodded. "I figure I came through a kind of doorway, and that it might still be there. If I can figure out how to open it, I should be able to go back through, right?"

Clark looked doubtful. And his, "I guess you could be right," was less than convincing.

Chris almost laughed out loud. Something told him Clark Kent was a terrible liar.

But Chris knew the doorway was there. Vorlek demons couldn't create them out of thin air. They opened those that already existed. Unfortunately, unless you were a vorlek, opening one of those doorways wasn't easy. None of the spells Chris tried did the trick. And, with the way magic worked in this dimension, he had no clue what would.

Chris was startled by a sudden thought. Does this dimension even have demons? Or an Underworld? Or Elders? Or…

"So," Clark said, interrupting Chris's chaotic thought. "Can I get you anything?"

"Uh, actually, I didn't orb straight to the guest room because I wanted to grab a glass of water."

"Let me get it." Standing, Clark went over to the sink.

Slinking down in his seat, Chris watched Clark with tired, half-lidded eyes. Clark definitely didn't fit his image of what an alien would be like. No pointy ears, no forehead ridges, no blue tinted skin. Nope, Clark just looked like a guy. A tall guy who worked out, and looked more mature than other guys his age, but still just a guy.

As Clark returned to the table, he found Chris staring at him. "What?" he asked as he handed over the glass.

Chris took a quick sip of water before he said, "So, you're from another planet, huh? What's that like?"

Sighing, Clark re-took his seat. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Well, it's not like I was raised on another planet, came to Earth, and had to adjust to a different culture. I was pretty young when I, uh, got here, and I don't really remember anything before. And even though I knew I was adopted, and that I could do things most people couldn't, my parents didn't tell me I wasn't…"

"Of this Earth?" Chris interrupted with a mischievous grin.

Clark rolled his eyes, but a slight smile curved his lips. "Yeah. I didn't know about that until a few years ago. In some ways, it was nice knowing there was a reason I was so different. But it also made my life more complicated than I ever wanted it to be."

Chris nodded. He knew all about complicated lives. In his future, he was used to being looked at with suspicion, anger, even fear. Not because of anything he'd done, but because he was Wyatt Halliwell's brother. To some, it didn't matter how much good Chris did, that he wasn't the one who'd killed their sister, or imprisoned their father, or driven them from their home. He was related to the man terrorizing them, had the same blood running through his veins. And, if one brother could turn, why not the other, right?

Sometimes, when Chris was trying to help one of the covens rebelling against Wyatt's rule, he first had to prove he could be trusted. That he wasn't a spy for his brother who would turn on them at the drop of a hat. It could be frustrating.

"I sometimes think being 'normal' would be easier," Chris admitted. "But I couldn't have done the things I've done, helped the people I've helped, without my powers."

"Yeah," Clark said, his gaze distant, his frown thoughtful. "I guess so."

Watching the younger man, Chris wondered what he was thinking. Probably about his own powers.

Chris wondered what they were. He wished that premonition had been clearer. Thanks to the flashes, he knew Clark had abilities humans didn't have. He just wasn't sure what they were. He was pretty sure Clark was stronger than most people, and faster. What else could he do?

Chris supposed he could ask, but it seemed rude somehow. After all, a guy didn't just walk up to a fellow witch and say, "So, what can you do?" Well, not unless it was a combat situation, and you needed to know what the others could do so you could plan a strategy that would, hopefully, keep everyone alive. Otherwise, they told you if they wanted to tell you and, if not, you just didn't know.

"I better get back to bed," Clark suddenly said. Yawning, he stood up. "I have school tomorrow."

"Well, I don't have school tomorrow, thank God, but I could sleep." Chris pushed himself to his feet. Satisfied that his legs were more steady, he followed Clark to the door.

"Actually, if you're going to help dad around the farm tomorrow, you can use all the rest you can get."

Chris frowned. "Uh, yeah, about that. I've never worked on a farm before. So, when your dad said he expected me to do 'chores', what did he mean?"

Pausing, Clark opened his mouth as if to explain. But, instead, he simply grinned. "You'll see."

And, suddenly, Chris Halliwell felt more than a little worried.

(TO BE CONTINUED)