Prompted by: Anonymous
Prompt: I know it was like six months ago, but any hope for a hurt/comfort #1 starter with platonic Chris and Wy? Preferably Chris being the one saying number one?
( hurt/comfort dialog prompts | 1. "Can you please come and get me?" )
Originally published 21 October 2017.
"Hey, uh, Wyatt," Chris began over his cell phone. He wet suddenly-dry lips, glanced over at the mortals lying hunched over on the ground just outside the bar. "Can you please come and get me?"
Silence for one, two, three beats. Then he heard his older brother sigh on the other end of the line. "Chris, what did you do now?"
"Nothing!" Chris insisted.
Beat. Chris could almost hear Wyatt raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "Well, nothing much," he amended. "Okay, these guys came after me at the bar. It was self-defense."
"You didn't use your powers, did you?"
"Come on, you know me better than that."
More silence. Then Wyatt gave a long-suffering sigh. "Okay, fine. I'll come pick you up. Just try not to kill anyone else before I get there, Chris, all right?"
Chris couldn't suppress a smile. "Got it."
The click informed him that Wyatt had hung up. Chris pocketed his cell phone, glanced over again at the very large, very drunk guys now either curled up in the fetal position or lying supine (one was groaning softly), and decided to lean against the wall while he waited for Wyatt.
He winced as pain shot through his rib cage and lower abdomen when he made it over to the wall. True, Chris could take care of himself—he'd learned martial arts from both his Aunt Phoebe and an instructor here in San Francisco—but taking on five guys at once had not been his best idea. Especially not when (as far as he could tell) they were all regular humans, so he couldn't even use his powers to help him out.
Wyatt pulled up in Piper's SUV fifteen minutes later. Chris opened the passenger-side door with his telekinesis and gingerly slid into the seat.
His older brother looked over at him, frowned. "You don't look so good."
Chris managed a weak grin, gestured out the window. "You should see the other guys. And uh… don't tell Mom. She'd try to kill me."
Wyatt rolled his eyes and put the SUV in gear. "She'd have to get in line."
"Hey, it was self-defense! I told you, they came after me."
"Uh-huh. And you didn't provoke them at all."
Chris frowned at his brother's sarcastic tone, glanced away. "One of them called me pretty. I hate being called 'pretty.'" He sighed and closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest. "I don't suppose you could heal me first and then chew me out later?"
"I will—when we get home. Until then you're just going to have to deal with it."
"…Fine."
"And Chris?"
"Hhmm?"
"If you anything like that again—"
"You don't have to say it, Wy. I know."
"Do you? Really? Cos sometimes I wonder."
Chris laughed softly, then winced as the action hurt his bruised ribs. "Who are you, my Whitelighter?"
"Right now, yes. And your brother, who's telling you that if you do this again I will tell Mom. So shut up and let me drive so we can get home and I can heal you."
Green eyes opened; Chris looked over into the driver's seat. "Jerk."
When Wyatt didn't respond with his usual reply, Chris just sighed and leaned back against his seat again.
It was going to be a long ride home.