Heh. I just got COMPLETELY lost in the new login area. If you're reading this I guess I managed to claw my away out alive. Barely...

Random one shot that was niggling at me last night and had me writing until late. Well, early. Enjoy and tell me what you think.

Chris stared at the small cupcake in front of him on a plate on the floor. He couldn't believe he was still being this pathetic — not at sixteen. But here he was anyway. For the second time in his life here he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom staring forlornly at the tiny scrap of food in front of him. Big cakes weren't really his thing anyway — they were too over-the-top; too show off-y. Plus the fact he always put big cakes together with big celebrations — his mother had always managed to whip one up somehow in between fighting demons and holding the entire family together.

But this wasn't really a big celebration. In fact, he felt that he really probably didn't deserve even this meagre offering. He stared at it some more and picked the cherry off the top and flicked it towards the trash. Cherries weren't for cakes. Cakes and fruit weren't meant to go hand in hand. Cakes were cakes — fruit was fruit. One was unhealthy and the other wasn't. It was as simple as that. The flying cherry hit the wall and missed the bin, but he didn't care. He had stopped caring about a lot of things two years ago.

The cherry left a space on top of the cake and Chris sighed at the emptiness. It was weird how he was managing to relate that space to himself. A hole where something needed to be in order to make you, well, you. Whole. Complete. Whatever your choice of words. He always pictured cupcakes with the cherry, even though he didn't actually like cherries at all. It made the cupcake less of a cupcake somehow — a gaping hole in the top.

Just like the gaping hole inside him.

He snorted, not fully believing that he was actually sympathising with a cupcake. But still, one had to admit — there were similarities. Both had had something torn from them and tossed aside without anything they could do about it. Well, that was a lie. A cupcake was powerless and Chris was far from it. The cupcake could do nothing but watch as it was torn apart — Chris had had the power to do so and yet he had done just the same as the cupcake. Watched.

He looked at his clock — it was just past six in the evening. He sighed. He'd been in his room for an hour now. Wyatt banished him upstairs at five with strict orders not to come down "or else". Chris didn't know what the "or else" was, but he had seen his brother deal with demons and it looked like it hurt. A lot. So that was always a chilling ultimatum for him. One day he might grow a spine and start to defy his brother. One day.

Sometimes, if he pulled back his rug and pressed his ear to the bare boards he could hear snatches of what Wyatt was talking about. It was always some meeting or the other, normally with the topic of demons. Chris suspected that the meetings were with demons as well as about them, but was finding it hard to find the courage to ask Wyatt what the hell was going on.

He was a worm. A cowardly worm that wasn't good enough to be a Halliwell. He didn't deserve to be alive and sometimes he wished he could trade himself for one of the better ones — someone that would have the courage to stand up to his brother. Also, someone older than him. Someone that wouldn't belong to Wyatt on paper.

Ever since Wyatt had become his only living — Leo didn't count, technically dying in the Second World War — relative, Wyatt had been using all kinds of strange spells to trick and confuse and delay social services in any way he could think of to make sure Chris stayed with him until he was eighteen and old enough to become his brother's guardian. It had felt like chains tightening when Wyatt had scrawled on the dotted line on his eighteenth birthday. As if he were signing Chris's life away.

Chris leaned over and picked saturninely at the paper casing of his cake, eventually peeling it off and grazing any remnants of the cupcake from it with his teeth before throwing that towards the trash as well. He didn't miss this time and it bounced off the wall and into the wastepaper basket.

He could hear faint mumblings of conversation below him and he held his breath, trying to hear it. But he didn't catch anything other than them suddenly going quiet. He looked up at the door and was severely tempted to go across the first floor hallway and listen at the top of the stairs. The teenager gnawed on his bottom lip and got up quietly, pushing the cake on the plate under the bed and stretching.

He padded stealthily to the door and crouched down next to it, peering through the keyhole to get a glimpse outside. Confident that there was no one there to jump out on him he opened the door just wide enough to slip out if he breathed in and slunk through, closing it with a quiet click around him.

The hallway as dark and quiet and he could hear the faint patter of rain on the roof. It was spattering against the windows, the dark clouds dragging an early night with them. He tiptoed towards the top of the stairs, purposefully taking an odd route across the floor, avoiding all of the boards known to squeak.

He crouched down slowly next to the wall and tried to breathe as shallow as he could. The conversation was much louder now and he could hear it quite clearly above the rain. Wyatt was talking to his stupid little camarilla.

"…posted here, here and here. Then, on this side of the city—"

"I thought—"

"You thought what?" Wyatt asked. Chris could almost see Wyatt's icy blue stare and winced for whoever was receiving, it even if the recipient did happen to be demonic. No one deserved that glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Just forget I asked," the voice mumbled and settled down again.

Chris frowned as he listened in. They were definitely planning something down there. Chris through Wyatt had a map of the city out on the dining room table, because every now and then Wyatt would say something and then pause as if gesturing to it. Wyatt seemed to be telling the occupants of the dining room which parts of the city they needed to be in for this particular thing. It seemed to be taking a long time and there were many different parts of the city to dole out, apparently.

"And then once you're in position I'll appear here," Chris heard the faint squeaking of a marker pen on plastic. Wyatt had drawn something on the laminated map. "And we'll finally take the blinkers off the stupid mortals and let them know once and for all that they can bow down or else."

It was the "or else" that chilled Chris to the bone. He had heard it used many times on him, but never thought Wyatt would actually carry out his threat. He had just made sure to keep in line just in case he was wrong. But it sounded like Wyatt was deadly serious this time and it scared him.

Chris decided that he had heard enough. He knew that Wyatt was going to expose magic but because he was so useless he had no way of stopping him. Maybe he could come up with some half-assed plan to stop him? And get himself nearly killed in the process? Yeah, that would definitely work. He'd do a lot of good if he was battered and bloodied up from a fight with Wyatt.

He got up slowly and began creeping back across the upper hallway, avoiding all of the creaky boards. He was nearly at his door when he heard Wyatt talk again.

"Wait."

Chris stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening and his heart hammering. Had Wyatt just sensed for him? If so, then Wyatt would know that he wasn't in his room where he was meant to be. And that meant that he was royally screwed. A chair scraped back in the dining room and Chris gulped, picking his way as fast as he could towards his bedroom door. He was just about to put his hand on the handle when orbing lights appeared right in front of him. He recoiled in horror, realising how busted he was.

"W-Wyatt. Uh, hi? I was, uh… going to the, um, bathroom."

"No you weren't," Wyatt said simply, his eyes boring through his brother.

"What?"

"You play with your ring finger on your left hand when you're lying," Wyatt told him and Chris immediately shoved both of his hands into his pockets. "And your eyebrow twitches a little."

'Note to self — become a better liar,' Chris thought dryly.

"I really was just going to the bathroom," Chris said, trying to stare Wyatt down even though the blueness of his brother's eyes terrified him. He hadn't been able to meet Wyatt's gaze for a long while. He could feel adrenaline forcing his blood to agglomerate in his muscles, ready for fight or flight. Definitely the latter. He couldn't fight Wyatt either physically or with magic.

"Look, Wyatt, I'm kind of tired. I'm going to go and turn in early, okay?"

He dissolved into an orb cloud and appeared on the other side of his bedroom door, sinking down the wall in relief. Hopefully, that had disarmed Wyatt.

His brother's orb cloud appeared and Chris sighed, standing up and leaning against the wall just before his brother had fully materialised.

"Did I tell you to just orb away from me?"

"No, but—"

"Don't 'but' me, Chris!" Wyatt said, striding across the room and grabbing Chris's arm, practically dragging his brother over to the bed.

"Hey! Ow!"

Wyatt flung him down into the mattress, which squeaked in protest. "What's going on downstairs is for the good of you as well as anyone else. If you keep getting in the way then there's no way you can benefit from it, got it? Now stay out of my business." He started to walk away towards the door.

"You're going to expose magic."

The silence that followed his words horrified Chris. He hadn't meant to say that. It had just spilled out. Wyatt stopped, halfway to the door and turned slowly, his blue eyes suddenly blazing.

"I thought you were 'just going to the bathroom'?"

"Well, yeah. I mean... uh…"

"Don't lie to me! You're doing it again!" Wyatt yelled, seizing Chris by the shoulders and shaking him.

Chris winced. "Fine! I heard… some stuff."

"How much?" Wyatt demanded.

Chris shrugged noncommittally. "Not much. Look, don't get mad. I was just… wondering. That's all."

"Wondering?" Wyatt exploded. "Wondering! When I told you to stay in here and not come out you were still wondering!"

"I'm sorry! I won't do it again."

"You're damn right about that," Wyatt snarled, waving a hand and summoning crystals to surround the room. "Because you are going to stay in here whether you like it or not, got it?"

"Yes," Chris said glumly, looking down at the floor. God, he was such a rat. A submissive little rat that did everything Wyatt wanted just so he wouldn't get hurt. He hated himself. He hated how his mother must be looking down and feeling about him right now. He just… hated.

Wyatt turned to leave for the second time. He was about to exit when his eyes spotted something. "Hey, Chris. What's this?" Wyatt asked suddenly, gesturing to a shoebox that was sticking out a little from under the dresser. He was curious to know what was in it. Could it be Wiccan supplies? Could Chris be working towards spells and potions after Wyatt had specifically forbidden him from doing so?

Chris's eyes widened but he tried to play it cool. "Uh, it's just some junk. Stuff. You know?" He bit his lip and prayed that Wyatt wouldn't go near it. Just let him go back to his meeting and leave him alone. He wanted to wallow anyway. Wallow in self-pity at his incredible uselessness. But Wyatt was walking towards it and he gulped and got off the bed.

"Look, Wyatt, just leave it alone. It's only junk. Your meeting's waiting for you."

"Exactly," Wyatt shot back. "Waiting for me. They'll wait because they know what will happen if they don't. Now…" He nudged the buff coloured box out from under the dresser with his shoe. He picked it up, then grabbed the lid and threw it to the floor.

"What—?"

"See? Junk. Just leave it alone," Chris stuttered. "Please, Wyatt. It's not yours," Chris knew he sounded pathetic, but he was desperate. That box was all he had left of his mother…

The blond wrenched off the tissue paper covering everything and looked inside stirring it up with his hand. "What is this stuff?"

"Just some of Mom's things," Chris said quietly.

Inside the box was half a bottle of the perfume Piper always wore. He had snuck it from her bathroom the day she died. Whenever he wanted to see her, her sprayed a little on his pillow and it helped him fall asleep. There was also a tube of lipstick and a linen napkin which Piper had kissed with the lipstick on. There was a recipe in her handwriting and a birthday card she had signed from both her and Leo, trying to make Leo's name look different from her own writing in a vague attempt to tell Chris that Leo did still care.

Her engagement ring and her wedding band and a pair of tiny, diamond-stud earrings were in a small square jewellery box. Also, there was a pot of her moisturiser in there and the bottom of the box was lined with one of her drawer liners, making sure that it smelled of her clothes.

Chris looked down ashamedly as Wyatt stirred everything up inside the box uncaringly. Wyatt was never meant to have found that. Two days after Piper had died, Wyatt had cleared her and Leo's things from the master bedroom, gave sold anything worth selling and dumped everything else in a large trashcan. He had then claimed the master suite as his own.

Chris had taken some things from the bathroom the day Piper had died and had managed to come up with a few more mementos by sneaking out of the Manor and rifling through the bin on the curb before the dustmen came along and emptied it, carting off the last remnants of his mother to a landfill.

"You kept all of this stuff? For two years?"

Chris shrugged again. "Yeah. Just… memories, you know?"

Wyatt snorted and continued to look through the box. He popped open the jewellery box and found the rings and earrings, and slid them into his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Chris demanded, distressed.

"Chris, they're diamonds," Wyatt said, with a slight confused frown in his brother's direction. "They're worth something. You can't turn them into cash if they're stuck in a box under your dresser."

"Give them back," Chris commanded, suddenly very ready to fight his brother. "You worked so hard to get rid of all traces of Mom from this place, and that box is all I have left. So just leave it alone. Please, Wyatt. I'm begging you."

Wyatt looked up and grinned. "Yeah? Begging hard enough to get down on your knees?"

"I'm not playing games with you, Wyatt," Chris snapped, his eyes glinting. His hand shot out and the box flew from Wyatt's grasp. He had nearly caught it when Wyatt used his own power and the box zoomed back towards him. Chris pulled harder and the box floated back towards the middle, torn between the two telekinetic brothers.

Wyatt used his other hand to throw Chris backwards onto the bed and the brunette's power slipped, allowing Wyatt to receive the shoebox with amused arms.

"Nice that you thought you could fight me," Wyatt said, smirking. "Now… What did you say about begging?"

"I'm not getting on my knees," Chris spat. "I'm not part of your stupid demonic claque."

Wyatt eased the floral-patterned drawer liner out of the box and inhaled. The smell was fading, having been in the box for two years. He put the box on the dresser behind him and held the liner with his thumb and index finger of both hands in the middle of it.

"Don't—"

But Wyatt yanked down hard with his right hand and up with his left and it tore in half. He let the two pieces float to the floor, watching Chris's face the whole time. This was actually vaguely amusing. With all of this junk, Chris had been fooling himself that his mother was actually still with them for two whole years. He'd been finding comfort in her long after she had been buried. It was funny. But sad. It had to stop, it really did. Acceptance of her death and his newly-formed guardianship needed to set in. And severing all ties with the old way Chris had done things was the way to do it.

"You know what you need to do," Wyatt said, holding the recipe up and pretending to read through it.

Chris's face was burning with shame and embarrassment but the witch-whitelighter heaved himself from his bed and knelt on the floor. "Please Wyatt," he mumbled to the rug. "Please just leave that stuff alone."

"Can't quite hear you, Chris," Wyatt said airily, balling the recipe and throwing it back into the box. He picked up the birthday card and looked at the picture on the front.

Chris didn't realise he could blush and deeper than he already was but he managed it as he looked into Wyatt's face, trying to hold back tears. "Wyatt, please leave that stuff alone. I'm begging you."

"Well… Seeing as how you asked so nicely…" The blond reached down and picked up the tissue paper, folding it over the contents. He then picked up the lid and refitted it. He held it out for his little brother to take.

Chris looked up at him warily from the floor. Was this a trick? His green eyes narrowed as he got up slowly and walked towards Wyatt. The brunette made a snatch for the box but Wyatt whipped it out of the way.

"Sorry. You missed." The blond waved a hand at it and the box flared, disappearing.

"No…" Chris whispered, tears rolling off of his nose and cheeks. "No… WYATT!" He flung out his arm but Wyatt held up his hand and the power bounced off his palm, which was glowing blue. It hit the wall lamp and shattered it in a blaze of blue sparks and frosted glass.

"YOU BASTARD!" Chris yelled, sobs choking his screams as he finally got up.

"Good night, Chris," Wyatt said as he left the room, taking the key out of Chris's side of the door and using it to lock his brother in.

"NO! You come back here! We're not done yet! WYATT! YOU HEAR ME!" Shouting was making his throat feel like sandpaper, but he didn't care. He tried using his power on the door but the crystals flared and nothing happened. He tried again with the same result and he ran to it, pounding his fists on it. "COME BACK HERE!" He kicked the door for good measure and the slowly slid down it, resting his head on his knees. "Come back," he squeaked, being overtaken by sobs as he looked up and saw all that remained of his mother powdered and grey, backed by a black scorch mark on the paintwork. That was it. That was finally it. Piper was actually, truly, one hundred per cent gone.

Wyatt closed his eyes, leaning against the outside of Chris's bedroom wall and listening to his brother screaming at him. He could feel Chris's thumps through his body and he looked down at the box at his feet.

He had had to do it. The sooner Chris accepted the fact that his mother was gone, the sooner they could start their new, better life together. But Chris had to officially let go first. He couldn't make the best for his brother if his brother was clinging to ghosts from the past.

The blond bent and picked the box up, shoving the tissue paper aside and removing the napkin. He lightly traced his fingers over his mother's lips and draped it over the side of the box. He pulled out the bottle of perfume and sprayed it onto the linen, waiting for it to settle before inhaling the smell of his mother.

It was a smell that he had always associated with warmth and comfort. But that had been when he was a child. And before Piper had left them. And Wyatt Halliwell was no longer a child. He screwed the napkin up and flung it into the depths of the box.

He looked at the box as he waved his hand over it, banishing it once and for all. He swallowed, almost seeing where it had been for a whole minute before his resolve hardened. That was that. His mother was truly gone and he had a better world to make downstairs. He took a deep breath and made for the staircase.

Behind the locked door, Chris sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve and got up and paced the room, just plotting ways to get Wyatt back for what he had done.

Eventually, after he had exhausted himself by pacing he looked up at the clock. It was nearly eight o' clock and he could barely see anymore. He hadn't turned any of the lights on, and any light from outside was having to filter through a thick stream of water on one side of the window and slight condensation on the other. He sat down by his bed again, reached under and slid the cupcake out.

His hands were shaking but he wasn't sure why as he pulled a blue and white candle out from under his mattress, and then a lighter. He pushed the small candle into the top of the cake where the cherry had been and flicked the lighter, causing a small flame to spring forth. He watched it waver in a draught for a while, sniffling a little but refusing to cry anymore. That would mean Wyatt would have won. He then cupped his hand around the lighter to stop it going out and held it to the wick of the candle.

It flared to life and he let the lighter go out, watching the candle be consumed by the flame. It reflected in his eyes, which were wet with tears he was determined not to shed. He had nothing left now. There was nothing more of his mother to comfort him, to help him sleep, to reassure him and say that everything was going to be okay… That was it. She was gone.

Only when the wax started to run over the top of the cake did he finally reach down and pick up the plate, bringing the cupcake to his lips.

"Happy birthday, Chris," he murmured to himself, blowing the candle out and ending another year in a guttering flame and a coil of smoke.

These appear to me sometimes without warning and I have no choice but to write them. If you wish to see more then tell me you enjoy them and I'll know not to keep them buried on my hard drive.