Chapter Thirteen

Monday 9:15 AM

Chris tried to trudge up the stairs as lightly as he could, although, with a hangover, silent wasn't exactly his best friend. Of course, the aspirin his mom told him about sure was helpful, so... A thought struck him. He didn't know why he wanted to keep quiet. In fact, it startled him that he did so. Paige and Phoebe should have been long awake and at work by now, Mom was probably playing with Wyatt right now, probably waiting for D—Leo to come and baby sit, and, well, he was awake, so it couldn't possibly be for him...so, who in the manor did that leave...?

Oh, yeah.

He cursed inwardly as he walked up the stairs, emotionally drained after last night's beer binge. Insisting that, after everything that happened last night, after messing up the attic so badly with one of his "episodes," and then just leaving, he was just an ass.

A great, stupid, selfish, retarded, idiotic, uncaring, inconsiderate ass.

He finished the stairs and awkwardly reached out for the ornamental gargoyle that acted as the doorknob of his room. The sisters didn't know about...and, in his future, they never would have... It was a hidden room in the manor, an illusion hiding the actual door, and was closed off for so long, that, when they did open it (now, as well as in the future), stale and musty air sprang forth to choke them, and the inside was so dusty that the blue, red, and mauve satin covers on the very big, very expensive four post bed looked like they had been covered in dust for at least a couple decades.

The room obviously used to belong to one of their more powerful ancestors because, well, for one the way the room was decorated, all lavish and pristine, crystal chandeliers, a very extensive library of the oldest looking books, a very heavy-looking ottoman at the foot of the bed, and other sorts of furniture, and, if one took a closer look, all the items in the room seemed to have been place there for a reason. For example, the four candles hanging on the walls were all precisely in equidistant and they faced the four directions of the elements, and hanging from each candle holders were elemental symbols. The place had a magical harmony to it and anyone within the room could have easily used it to magnify their powers or used it to make a very powerful energy barrier without having to use up their own energy either. Who ever designed the room obviously knew what they were doing. And, secondly, the spell that kept the door invisible was, obviously, still active.

Before, in other, more laughable and happier, drunken stupors, he wondered if he was as powerful as her...his ancestor. Technically, he knew he was, but, with his powers bound, and only a few of them managing over the little lid that kept the others shut, he didn't know if he was really worth as much as his other not-bound brothers. Scratch that. He knew. He knew he wasn't as powerful as them. He knew he was weak, but he liked to cling to false hope.

Ha. False hope. Ha ha.

But...that was then and right now...now, Chris didn't want to think about smelly pillows, or dusty books or old ladies who had really expensive taste and had strong powers...in her time, at least. No, right now, he just wanted to...get in bed with the lump that suddenly formed there...?

Chris blinked. It wasn't because he was sleepy that he wanted to go to bed, because, in fact, the sofa bed was as comfy as his mom said it was. But...right now...he didn't feel like...facing the world again. Not just yet. No. He still had some moping time left, and, damn it, he wanted to use them.

But, soon, the defiance and anger, the stubbornness and pride left him, and he thought that it was actually sort of funny that Brett was sleeping in his bed...again. It was funny for a lot of reasons, actually, not just because they were former...fellow time travelers. One of the reasons was because, Brett was actually the one who found this room in the first place. A boring afternoon, chores, and a backfired spell later, Brett stumbled upon the one room in the house that actually called for privacy, seeing as how it didn't let teleporting of any kind into it. Actually, that afternoon also ended up with a few demons, some singed hair, new powers, and the need for new furniture, plus the avoidance of one of the upstairs bathrooms, but that was another story all together.

So he stared. He stared and he stared, but he didn't see. He couldn't. Because, ever since...whenever he looked at Brett, he didn't see him anymore. He only saw good memories and dreams of how thing were supposed to be, because it was just too painful to think about the bad memories and how things actually were. He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to hurt. So, he stood there, mind replaying all the good times they had together, because the alternative was just too messy, too psychologically damaging, too...yuck. So he fought, just like always, a fight that he knew he would lose, desperately trying to stall for time, only delaying the inevitable realization that things were like the way they were now, along with pain of what could have and should have been, and weren't, in any way, the way they were in his head.

He stood there, unmoving, his lips resembling something of either a smile or a grimace. He didn't feel it when a hand reached out and rub his shoulder. He didn't see her when she walked in front of him and bring him into a full hug that he hesitantly reciprocated, his mind still fighting the losing battle. But, he did hear it when she started talking. He couldn't catch most of it, maybe because, she wasn't really saying anything, and he was only picturing her soothing voice. He did know it was real when it finally, truly uttered two words.

"It's okay," she whispered, like a mom calming a crying child. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

Children are such asses.

He tried to stop her. He tried to pull away, but his body wouldn't let him. He wanted to believe her so much, wanted to think that, maybe, she was right; that it would be okay, that everything would be fine. But...this wasn't his mother. Her hair wasn't as light as it should have been, nor did it have the grey streaks that always seemed to remind him of Rouge. Her skin wasn't as fair as he knew it was—would be?—from where he came from. Her hands weren't callous and dry from hot-watered dishes. She didn't have a scar to the side of her neck when a Swarm demon attacked when he was nine. Her scent of lilacs and lilies was stronger, more pungent. She didn't seem as tall as she should be. She wasn't as worn down by demons and children. Her face didn't' have the slight smile wrinkles of a fake spirit. She didn't have the slight frown wrinkles of the silent obliviousness of truth. She still had some fight. Her eyes were still bright. She had hope. She wasn't blind. She noticed things. She noticed him. She comforted him. She soothed him. She hugged and rocked him with the ease of someone who seemed to have always had, even though he knew she would never.

This wasn't his mother.

But...it's been so long now. And for some reason, he could start to feel his whole body ache, and something told him that it had nothing to do with hangovers. For so long now, he'd been so cold, so lonely, and now here she was, one of the things he always wanted so badly: the comfort of a mother, hugging him, telling him that it was okay, that everything would be okay, that he was safe. She ran her hands up and down his back whispering things he always wanted his mother to say to him. She breathed silent assurances that soothed insecurities he didn't even know he had. Whispers of acceptance and mumblings of "blessing not permission," reached his subconscious and he became confused because tears began to streak his eyes, even though he knew they couldn't have because he used them all last night. Besides, she was warm, and he hadn't been that for years now. Sure, he thawed sometimes, but...he was never really warm since six years, ten months, two weeks, four days, twelve hours, and twenty-five minutes ago.

So, as he reached up to hug her back, he gave up. Because, unlike him, she was warm, and he went for so long being cold, that he forgot for a while what warm felt like. He let himself melt into the embrace, and welcomed the words of encouragement and reassurance he so desperately craved. And, even though this wasn't his mother, and because of that, he knew that it wouldn't be valued as much, at least his woman loved him, accepted him, and he smiled because, now, he could raise the number on the list of people who genuinely cared about him to a whopping one...it could be four or five, depending on this woman's sisters, her ex-husband, and a certain lump that was in the middle of his bed. Right now, he'd do anything for a little warmth, because he wanted to believe her assurances so badly, that everything would be okay, that she loved him no matter what, because he knew that he didn't...believer her, that is...not really. But he pushed that down and smiled, because, even though the acceptance of his woman was not the acceptance he really wanted, needed, it was something, and, from a world of despondence and hopelessness, one didn't take things like that lightly. You took what you could get, and as she hugged him just a little tighter, he held on to her a little tighter, too, seeking the comfort of someone who wasn't there, but at the same time, succumbing to the pleasant feeling of belonging, even if it was just for a while.

Children were weak.

He almost whimpered when she began to pull away, and he knew he was stuck in some little world because he couldn't see or hear much of what she was saying. And though he only heard murmurs of "work" and "P3," something about "Wyatt" and "Shelia's" and the words "talk later," he did hear her say "I love you" and it made him smile and happy enough to return it and watch her walk away.

With nothing to do, with the exception of breaking down and crying, his eyes wandered the room again, seeing things that weren't there: memories, shadows of a time that was and never would be, along with things he knew he could never really let go.

But, they say you can't hide forever, so it was only a matter of time until his eyes, sad and wet and heavy as they were, only drifted back to rest on his fellow time trav—his former lover, his former best friend, his former brother...his betrayer, and at that moment, that one magnificent and dreadful moment, he acknowledged what his subconscious always knew; that, though he understood to be the things he said earlier, one needed to be involved in certain activities—activities that (Chris was certain) neither of them had done (at least) together in such a long time...(six years, ten months, two weeks, four days, twelve hours, and thirty-two minutes ago)—that somehow, Brett would never be a "former" anything, despite how much he wanted it to be that way or how much he didn't, would never stop being all those things to him: his lover, his best friend, his brother, and...his betrayer.

A lot of things dawned on Chris right then.

It dawned on him that he hadn't seen the sight before him in six years, ten months, two weeks, four days, twelve hours, and thirty-three minutes, but, for some reason, it felt like it was the most regular thing of the day. It was familiar and strange at the same time. It was familiar in the way that he could look through the Book, the way someone would pour coffee, the way he saw his mother everyday. But, at the same time, it was strange because Chris hadn't seen Brett look through the Book in a long time or pour coffee or see him everyday. It was like...Brett had always been there before, but at the same time, no matter how many times he saw it in his past, it was like the first time Brett spent the night. It just felt...right for Brett to be there.

It dawned on Chris the real reason why he was mad at Brett. He could never hate Brett, not really, and especially not after knowing that future Wyatt treated him like a...ha...trophy wife instead of a boyfriend, but he could be mad at him. He was mad because he was jealous, which usually would have been fine because he was jealous of everyone. He was jealous of his mom's obliviousness to her son turning evil. He was jealous of his Aunt Phoebe's ability to not care much for her old family when she got a new one with Uncle Jason. He was jealous of his Aunt Paige's ability to dive into her work and let it consume and engulf her, a personal getaway from the magic at home to the magic at magic school. He was jealous of Wyatt because...well, who wouldn't be? He was jealous of Matt because, well, Matt didn't turn with Wyatt and help him raise hell on earth even if it was only for a few years. Hell, he was even jealous of Leo and his amazing ability to drop and not care about anything except the things that related to his job and to Wyatt, which included the half the world, Mom, Wyatt himself, Matt (because his powers were unbound), and, oh yeah, anyone else that he could hear call him, except for his own God damn son!

But, he, realized, he was never jealous of Brett before. He wasn't jealous of Brett when he found out that Brett had more money than Chris ancestors ever had put together. He wasn't jealous when he found out that Brett was an only child. He wasn't jealous when Brett became really, really skilled in the Craft. He wasn't jealous even when Brett always seemed to make more friends than him, even when he didn't mean, nor want, to. Part of him knew that it could possibly be because, for some reason, Brett was his back then, that Brett chose him to be close friends with. But, though he wasn't then, for some reason, he was now, and the only reason he could come up with just made him even madder and more upset. Upset in the way your stomach was when you had to get over a hang over...like he wanted to now.

He was jealous because, even after all this time, Brett still had more control over showing his feelings than Chris did. While Chris got angry and bashed the other boy into walls repeatedly, the other still didn't use his powers to stop him, even though, Chris knew, that, with his mind as angry and upset as it was then, Brett would have easily subdued him, but...he didn't. He kept his calm, mostly. And instead of fighting back, he took it. And that made Chris feel even worse because...maybe...maybe it wasn't because Brett had more control. Maybe it was because Brett just didn't care as much as Chris did.

It dawned on Chris that, maybe, he could hate Brett, in at least some way now. He hated Brett the same way he knew he loved him. He knew he always found something to hate in every body, including his mom, his aunts, Matt, Wyatt, especially his father, and anybody else he ever met. The only problem was, like jealousy, he never hated Brett before, and, like jealousy, it was probably because he knew and thought once upon a time that Brett had always had and always would choose him.

He knew better now.

It dawned on him that children were stupid and crazy and dumb and idiotic and weak and insane and inconsiderate and selfish and screwed up and any other negative adjectives that he could think of because...because people shouldn't be this torn up between pinning a person who traveled through time to find a previous person who also traveled through time in hopes of saving the world and kissing him till his lips were bruised and holding him for all of eternity, and beating the person who traveled through time to find a previous person who traveled through time in hopes of saving the world into a bloodier pulp then he saw yesterday afternoon when, he was still had a shred of sanity left.

It dawned on him, that of all the surprises and shocks that rocked through his brain since this little list started was that...the one that surprised and shocked him the most was the one where he realized that it wasn't as surprising and shocking as he thought it should have been. Some part of him, no matter how crazy that made him sound right now, knew that Brett would always be part of his life, whether he wanted him to or not, and, had anyone been paying attention to his thoughts, they would know what he wanted Brett to be...again. And, as comforting as that thought was, the thought that Brett would always mean something to him whether it meant something positive or negative, was equally frightening.

The last things three things that dawned on Chris' mind before the rustling of satin bed sheets, beautiful brown hair, and alabaster skin moved, sounds of someone waking up, dragging him out of his little world were:

One, that he didn't know how to react to the fact that it wasn't as surprising and shocking as he thought it should have been. He knew all the information, but...he didn't know what he was supposed to do or feel about it.

Two, that he was a child.

And three, that he was sad about the fact that he didn't know how to react to the fact that is wasn't as surprising and shocking as he thought it should have been, because everything, everything he could possibly want, whether it was revenge or affection, was laying right here in front of him, and for some reason he didn't know what to do with it which just made him...well, sad.

And he hated himself for that.

Yes!!!! I can edit crap again! I already have the next few chapter stored in my head so all I have to do is type them! I hope to get them to you as soon as possible. I'm sorry if you thought that there were any new chapters, but don't worry, they'll come soon.