A/N: Thanks ever so much to all who reviewed! Well, here's the second instalment, about three months on from the last. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I'm a scrawny, ginger British kid. Do I really look like the sort of person who would own Charmed? Well, even if you think so, I don't. Nuh uh.
Summary: The first time Wyatt saw his little brother, his nose wrinkled in distaste. But he learned to like him. Actually, he learned to love him. brotherly love fic
Enjoy!
2.
On the treetop
Wyatt groaned, as he tossed and turned in his cot bed, trying desperately to block out the continuous wailing coming from the room next door. He growled, and folded his pillow viciously over his head, covering his ears; yet still, the muffled cries persisted.
Earlier, he had heard Mummy padding softly across the corridor and making shushing sounds. For a while, the cries had stopped. Once Mummy had left, however, the quieter but still audible snuffles and cries had begun again.
Mummy had not come back this time.
Wyatt scrunched up his face and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressing down the pillow around his ears, but he could still hear. He sighed, and sat up, shaking his head to dispel his drowsiness. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, feeling slightly light-headed, before blearily looking around his darkened room.
He couldn't sleep, so he might as well play with something. Or make the noise stop, somehow. But his baby brother never shut up. Never. Not unless Mummy was feeding him, or he was playing with something. Baby brother was very annoying.
Wyatt listened hard, and found that the cries had dulled to a soft, weak sniffling that was somehow even more distracting than the wails. Wyatt felt a strange feeling fill his chest as he listened to the sounds of misery, and felt a sudden unexpected surge of anger towards Mummy. Why was she not coming to help baby brother?
Wyatt could stand it no longer. Snatching up teddy, he gritted his teeth and orbed out of the room in a shower of crystalline blue lights.
He re-appeared in the next room, Auntie Paige's old room, which was now filled with unpacked cardboard boxes and drying baby clothes on a rack. The cradle stood by the window, surrounded by a moat of cushions in case baby brother somehow fell out. Mummy was very silly when it came to baby brother.
He padded across the soft, pastel blue rug towards the cradle, craning his neck in order to peer over the topmost bar and see inside. A quilted blanket was thrown over the bar, embroidered with the same symbol Wyatt saw all over the house. It was a magic blanket, Mummy had said, which formed a small shield if it was needed. Baby brother couldn't shield like Wyatt could; Wyatt puffed out his chest at this thought.
He put teddy carefully down, and curled his hands around the painted wooden bars of the cradle. He stood on tiptoe, and glanced over the rim, squinting to see through the semi-dark.
Baby brother had gotten tangled up in his blankets, with a single pink foot sticking out at the bottom of the cradle. Baby brother grew very fast, and always needed new clothes. He kept wearing Wyatt's old ones, too. But Wyatt didn't mind, because he didn't fit into them anymore.
Wyatt cleared his throat, and leaned further over in order to talk to the baby properly.
"Chessie?"
He said quietly, and all at once the muffled cries stopped. Wyatt frowned. He couldn't quite say baby brother's name out loud, but he tried. Mummy sometimes called it 'peanut', but mostly called it 'Chris'. Baby brother frowned, eyes roving over Wyatt's face, before he gurgled excitedly.
Baby brother turned his head, wriggling and struggling to free himself from the tangle of blankets. He looked sadly up at Wyatt, big green eyes misting over with tears as his face scrunched up, about to start crying again.
"No, Chessie, me'll do it."
He didn't want baby brother to start crying again; then Mummy would come, and he wasn't supposed to be still awake. He reached inside between the bars of the cradle, and carefully tugged the blankets free, then tucking them clumsily around baby brother more comfortably.
Baby brother blinked, and then smiled a toothless smile, making appreciative gurgling sounds while he continued to watch his big brother. Wyatt felt something warm fill his chest, and when baby brother reached up two chubby hands to bat at his face, he contentedly reached down a hand so baby brother could play with it.
"Chessie, you no cry n'y more. Cos me wanna go sweepies an' me canna wiv you cwying. Ok?"
Baby brother only giggled some more, fascinated with Wyatt's fingers, but Wyatt found to his surprise that he didn't mind. For a long while, he stood in silence, enjoying the feeling of those tiny hands in his, and wondering what baby brother was trying to say to him with those strange sounds.
Eventually, his legs began to ache and his eyes began to droop, and he yawned widely. He drew his hand away, and bent to pick up teddy, getting ready to orb away now baby brother was quiet.
Baby brother squeaked as Wyatt left his sight, arms flailing in mid air, face scrunching up once again. Wyatt frowned, bending over the cot so baby brother could see him.
"Chessie, me t'wired! Me go to sweep!"
He said angrily, frustrated, and baby brother flinched at the tone and began to cry. Wyatt stared wildly around, listening for any sounds from Mummy's room, but no footsteps came. He breathed a heavy sigh in relief, and turned back to where baby brother was sniffling.
Whenever he couldn't get to sleep, Mummy always used to sing to him. Or read stories, but that was only when he had been good, and baby brother was being very bad. Besides, Wyatt couldn't read properly yet.
"Ok, Chessie. M' gonna sing a song, like Mummy, and then you go to sweep. Ok? Me sing, then you no cwy no more."
Baby brother stared silently up at Wyatt, seemingly caught in indecision over whether to start crying again. Wyatt hastily swallowed, frowning in concentration as he struggled to remember the words Mummy sang to him every night:
"Wock a bye baby, on the twee top. When the wind b'ows, the c-radel will wock. When the b'wow b'eaks, the c-radel will fall…and dow' will come Chessie, c-radel an' all!"
Baby brother blinked, smiled, made a half-hearted giggling sound, then yawned widely. Wyatt grinned, as baby brother inexpertly rubbed at his cheek with a clenched fist, eyes drooping.
Exhausted himself, Wyatt plopped down on the soft carpet, groping about for teddy in the dark. Glancing around at the room, he shivered, and muttered tiredly to the emptyness:
"Blankie."
Immediatly, his blanket appeared beside him in a swirl of bright blue orbs, and he snatched it up, enfolding himself within it and snuggling down in a curled ball on the floor. He found himself smiling drowsily as he listened to the soft, whispered breathing of baby brother above him.
"Nigh' nigh', Chessie."
He murmured, before falling into a contented sleep, the smallest of smiles remaining on his lips as he dreamed of castles and dragons, and wicker baskets swinging gently from treetops in the Spring breeze.
A/N: I'm not entirely sure how old Wyatt is supposed to be in the series, but judging by comparison to children I know, I'd say he looks about three. Although I don't think Wyatt's actual singing would put Chris to sleep, the sound of something familiar might help calm him so…or maybe Wyatt's just a good singer, who knows?
Liked? Hated? Either way, comments are appreciated, so please review! Thanks again for reading!
