Chris, Eryn and Wyatt looked at each other. Chris and Eryn opened their mouths to speak…

"Not. A. Word. Not a single sound from either of you," Wyatt told them, glancing back and forth between the two. Both of them closed their mouths. Wyatt sighed and closed his eyes. "Good. Serenity reigns for another sixty seconds." He opened his eyes and focused on Eryn.

"Eryn, I showed you the spare room on the second floor, right?" he asked her. She nodded. "Okay, go grab your stuff from the living room, that's where you're staying for tonight." She nodded again and orbed out.

Wyatt waited a beat then glanced at Chris. "She isn't that bad, y'know, bro," he told him. Chris snorted.

"Yeah, y'know, Dad said the same thing, and I almost believed him until she opened her mouth just then," he replied. Wyatt frowned.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe she has more important things to think about right now than make friends with someone when she probably isn't going to be alive in a couple of days?" he demanded, slightly angry with his younger brother. "Or that maybe that's her way of defending herself against verbal attack? You have not been the best host in the world today, y'know."

Chris sighed and walked over to sit on the sofa. "I know…it's just…she bugs me!"

"Ever occur to you that you may just bug her as badly as she does you?" Wyatt asked.

Chris frowned, then sighed. "I guess…"

"You guess?" Wyatt scoffed. "Geez, Chris, I never knew you had such a high opinion of yourself. You're starting to sound like an Elder."

Chris froze, then slowly got to his feet.

"What did you say?" Chris asked, his eyes flashing angrily as he took a step towards his brother.

"You heard me," Wyatt said coolly

"Don't you dare compare me to them!" Chris spat, furious.

Wyatt shrugged. "If the shoe fits…" he said casually. Chris growled and took another step towards him, but Wyatt flicked a hand at him, and Chris found himself flying backwards and landing on the sofa.

"And don't you dare get too cocky, kid," Wyatt told him, his voice grim. "You may be nearly seventeen, but I'll still whip your ass if you try and fight me. Get it? Got it?" Chris nodded sullenly. "Good."

Wyatt walked out of the attic, but stopped at the door. "I think you should have an early night, Chris," he said, his voice a little softer.

"I don't have school tomorrow," Chris retorted sharply, not looking at him.

"Never said you did," Wyatt responded, walking back over and sitting down beside him. He slid an arm around Chris' shoulders and went on.

"It's just…you've been attacked by Seekers twice today, and a six foot ten Stoli. Now, maybe it's just me, but if I'd nearly had my hand ripped off and then my mind assaulted by two sadistic troll-eagle-bloodhound-freaks, and then been tossed around the attic by a demon with hands approximately the same size as a pair of hubcaps, I'd want to sleep for a coupla days right about now. But, maybe that's just me."

"It's not just you…" Chris murmured, drawing his feet up off the floor and curling up with his arms around his legs. He let his head fall back against the back of the sofa, straightening when Wyatt gave a sudden hiss.

"What?" he asked, glancing around the attic nervously.

"I forgot to get Dad to heal you," Wyatt explained, before adding, "Turn your head to the left." Chris shot him a quizzical look. "Just do it."

Chris looked to the left. He felt his brother run his fingers lightly over his neck, then heard him say, "Um…well, that's different." Wyatt's fingers left his neck, then Wyatt said, "Okay, you can look back now."

"What's up?" He asked him. Wyatt stared at him.

"What's up? What's up? What's up is that you have fingerprints on your neck!"

Chris' eyes lit up. "I do?" He got to his feet and ran out of the attic, calling over his shoulder, "I have got to see this!" Wyatt got slowly to his feet.

"Anyone would think it was a good thing to have Stoli fingerprints on your neck," he grumbled, following him. He found Chris in the bathroom, in front of the large mirror above the sink, looking sideways at his neck in the mirror.

"That is so cool…" he murmured, tracing the print with his fingers as Wyatt leaned against the doorjamb. Wyatt snorted.

"Oh, yes, so cool to have a demonic thumbprint on your throat," He replied sarcastically. Chris turned his head slightly, examining the bruise.

"I think it's a middle-finger print, to tell you the truth…"

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Listen, have a shower and go to bed, okay? And don't be too long about it. I don't want you slipping over in the shower." Chris looked at him in the mirror.

"Like I'd ever do that," he retorted. Wyatt shrugged.

"I did that time that ogre thought I was a demon 'cause I threw that energy ball. Remember, he smashed my head into a wall and gave me the biggest concussion of my life," Wyatt reminded him.

Chris snorted. "That was you. This is me." Wyatt glared at him.

"If I didn't know you were born a moron, I could've sworn that Stoli damaged your brain, tossing you around like that."

Chris smirked. "Look who's talking…" he said, trailing off. Wyatt's glare intensified, and he tossed Chris a towel, adding a little TK to it so that the towel's force knocked his brother back a few steps.

"Hurry up. I want to have a shower, too," he told him, backing out of the bathroom and shutting the door.

"Then why aren't you having a shower first?" Chris asked him. Wyatt stuck his head back into the bathroom.

"Let it never be said I was not a gallant individual who let his younger brother have a shower first," he replied with a faint smirk, glancing upwards.

: Scoring Brownie points? : Chris asked him through TP. Wyatt smirked.

: Like there's no tomorrow. : he responded. : I actually want to be alive to celebrate my twenty-first. :

: Let me guess. Your charge, right? : Chris thought, amused

: The girl is insane: last time I was there she used me for target practice, for chrissakes… : Wyatt's mind-voice trailed off as he closed the door.

Chris laughed out loud. It was just his brother's luck that he got assigned a charge who wanted to use him for target practice. He flicked his right hand at the shower door and it opened with a bang. Another flick of his wrist, and the Hot and Cold taps both twisted to the left. Water began to spray out of the shower-head.

Chris counted to ten before pulling his T-shirt over his head and kicking off his jeans. He stepped under the shower spray and let the water - that was at just the right temperature - wash away the grime of the day. He gave a contented sigh as the hot water needled his back, relieving the sore muscles from his aerial display in the attic, courtesy of the - now-vanquished - Stoli. He tilted his head back slightly so that he could wash all the dust out of his hair.

After fifteen minutes of standing under the hot water he felt almost human, instead of like a demonic punching bag. He turned the taps off and wrapped the towel around his waist before stepping out of the shower. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair, instead of being the dusty brown it had been, was now black from the water. His bruises had come up as black and dark purple marks encircling his throat, and he had a large one on his left shoulder, where he'd hit the ground and the stand for the Book of Shadows when the Stoli had tossed him. A series of smaller bruises, scrapes, and cuts ran down the insides of both his forearms, and on his stomach.

Gotta get longer T-shirts, he thought, then he smirked as a thought occurred to him. Any other kid would say "Gotta stop being thrown around by demons".

Turning away from the mirror, he TK'd his clothes to him, then walked over to the door and knocked on it to let Wyatt know the shower was free before orbing to his room.

For a moment or so he surveyed the mess he'd left it in in distaste, then he tossed the clothes he was holding into the hamper beside the door. He flicked his hand at his CD and MD collection, and they all flew up off the ground and into their proper place in the CD/MD rack. A second flick of his hand sent his clothes flying into his closet and hanging themselves up neatly.

Half a minute later, his room was completely tidy again. As he looked around, admiring his handiwork, he gave a large yawn. Suddenly tired, he walked over to his dresser and grabbed a pair of boxers and a T-shirt out. He pulled them on and TK'd his towel into the hamper. He collapsed on his bed with a sigh and closed his eyes. Within a minute he was fast asleep.