Disclaimer: In the words of lolcat. Do Not Want! ...to be sued. So. Don't. Please?

Chapter Two: Blood in the Library.

November 16th, 2020. 6:00

This was not where he was supposed to be. It was his 16th birthday. He was supposed to be doing many things. Having cake with his family. Desperately dodging his various dead relatives whose only mission in death seemed to be to ask awkward questions about girlfriends. At this point, he'd settle for standing in a DMV line even though the idea of having a license meant nil to someone who merely had to think it and they could be halfway across the world. Point was, Chris would rather be doing any of those things. Any. Instead, where was he now?

In jail. Grand.

Chris blew his bangs out of his eyes irritably, eying the handcuffs ringing his wrists and chaining him to metal table before casting around to look for a clock even though he knew the room didn't have one. It was less to actually know the time he knew that perfectly well, he had a near freakishly correct inner clock. He was just attempting to find something else to look at than the wrinkled detective before him, who'd done nothing but glare at Chris quizzically for the last couple hours.

The detective seemed to be convinced that Chris had committed some sort of crime or another, not that he'd deigned to say exactly what that crime was. Chris had tried to start up a conversation in a number of varying ways, each one growing less and less polite, but the cop didn't speak. At least not beyond a few basic paperwork questions that Chris carefully answered before the man switched back to staring at him with glazed over eyes.

It was infuriating.

Usually, Chris was a fairly calm person, but in a way more obviously genetic than learned, he was more than a bit of a control freak. He liked thing to be as he planned them to be. When they weren't, he got agitated. He could deal with it, he'd just have to go make another plan to work around it and the world would be golden. Of course when that failed he got... neurotic.

.. and there was no way to more effectively take away a person's sense of control than lock them to a table for no conceivable reason and then proceed to watch them like a circus sideshow. Frankly it was a credit to his patience that Chris had lasted this long. He'd held onto his patience simply because he didn't want to give them any reason to ransack the Manor. There were lots of things in that place that would be very, very awkward to explain. Even with that cheerful mental image in mind, Chris's will was running thin.

And dammit! The man would not. Stop. Staring at him.

"Would you stop that." Chris bit out the words even before he'd made the decision to say them.

The cop's wrinkled forehead shrunk into each other, giving him an unfortunate resemblance to a badly groomed pug. Yet he kept staring. The man was damaged. Chris twisted his hands in the cuffs and let out a shaking sigh, trying to distract himself from the urge to orb out of the damn things. That would crack magic open quite nicely, especially with that handy camera up in the corner.

Instead, Chris cast his glare upwards, staring through the foam ceiling tiles and up into Elderland, deciding that it was safe to at least be mad at them. They'd probably had something to do with this. They'd been less than charitable ever since Chris had turned down a charge a few months earlier. It'd taken a patented Piper death glare to get them to back down. Maybe this was some kind of childish elder retribution. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Talking to God?" The detective finally spoke, voice gruff and seemingly out of place after so much silence.

"Oh, so you're speaking now?" Chris tched, annoyed and unsurprisingly not receiving an answer. He finally shrugged and added, "Not god. Just some people who think they are."

The older man opened his mouth like a fish then closed it, scratching at his receding hairline and casting around uselessly while he tried to process that information. Chris couldn't even stir up the will to guess to what conclusion he was coming to, just as long as it wasn't related to a straight jacket.

"Now, what did you say your name was again?" The detective looked up from the papers again, visibly concentrating as if Chris were going to attempt to trick him. For a second, he entertained the idea of doing so, before his mind snapped back to the straight jacket and a search warrant with the Manor's address on it. Instead, he just settled for an martyred sigh.

"Christopher. Perry. Halliwell."

The man squinted, "Not a junior?"

"No!"

"Then what's your dad's name?"

"You know who he is." Chris didn't roll his eyes, he rolled his whole head, "Leo Wyatt? The guy standing out there in the waiting room yelling at your boss and getting you fired." Chris rolled his eyes. Leo and the family had kept them updated on their efforts over the whitelighter link. So far the police had stonewalled them almost entirely.

The detective tapped on the desk, "You sure he's your real dad?"

"Yes."

The silence dragged, "You got an older twin or something?"

Chris attempted to toss his hands in the air in frustration only to be tugged down again by the handcuffs. "For the love of... No! That isn't even possible." He nearly growled, "Look, I don't know what damage you have, and I'm not sure what you have against me, but you've got to get over it. You can't just come to my school, in the middle of class, and arrest me with absolutely no explanation. The least you could do for me is to provide that."

The detective's expression went from confused to annoyed, "We've got every right to ask you questions, kid. Have a little respect for the badge and cooperate."

"I had a 'little respect' when I got here eight freaking hours ago! Excuse me if I'm running low on it now. Besides, I haven't lost my respect for the badge, I've lost my respect for your badge." Chris was growling now, barely resisting the urge to orb, if only just to go look up his rights. He knew there were laws against this somewhere. He should have a guardian in here with him at least.

"Just--" Chris took a calming breath, "tell me what the charges are."

The Detective looked him up and down cautiously before attempting to speak, "Okay then, you're here on charges of impersonating a minor, resisting and evading arrest, escaping from prison, and assault on one Sergeant Morris..." The man's eyes slid to the left and he mumbled another sentence too low to hear, and Chris wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"What was that last part?" He pressed.

The officer refused to look at him, "... seventeen years ago."

"You've got to be kidding," Chris stared in wonder at the collective stupidity, "I wasn't even conceived yet."

"So you say..." The Detective said dramatically, "Your prints match perfectly to our records."

The teenager scoffed, "Then your records are crap. This is insane."

A sharp knock broke off whatever incredibly witty retort the detective was conjuring up and Henry Mitchell poked his head in the room, making a small calming gesture at Chris before stepping in.

"Detective?" Henry tapped the man on the shoulder and gestured at the phone in his hand, "We have Darryl Morris on the line. We sent him those pictures and he wants to speak with you."

The Detective crooked an eyebrow but took the phone nonetheless.

"Ah, Sergeant M-- I mean Chief, apologies. We were just hoping you could just confirm the identity-- Well, no." The Detective's confidence visibly slid away, inch by inch as the voice on the other side of the phone spoke. A steady minute passed by until the detective's face was a nice shade of red.

Chris waited until he was fully absorbed with the phone call before looking up at Henry with raised eyebrows. His uncle just smiled smugly to himself.

"No, well, yes. Yes I am aware of how aging works. No, you're right people do not age backwards... I-I do understand... No sir, I am not an idiot... Yes I do like my badge. There's no need to call my superiors. Yes. Y-...You want to what?" The Detectives face crumpled into near fear, then back to the typical confusion before he held out the phone to Chris. "He wants to speak with you..."

Chris tossed another look at Henry, and with his silent nod, he twisted his hands inside of the cuffs and took the phone. "Uh, Hello?"

"Sorry about that," The voice said easily. It was deep and kind voice, one that struck a sense of familiarity in him.

"No problem... I guess." Chris responded feeling slightly out of his depth.

"They've been told to let you go. Sorry it took so long," Daryl chuckled lightly before he sighed, "Tell your parents and aunts hello and... I'm sorry, for, you know, everything. Any time they're in my neck of the woods, they're welcome to stop by. Sheila misses them."

Chris let the words sink in, face softening. The man sounded tired and...sad perhaps. "Sure," He answered eventually before continuing hesitantly, "So... do I want to know how this happened?"

"Oh hell no." Daryl laughed outright, "Still gives me a headache sometimes!"

Chris couldn't help but smile, if just a bit, "Noted. Thanks." Better just to write this off as some kind of spell gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"Anytime.. and I mean that this time. Oh, and Chris? Happy Birthday."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

November 16th, 2027. 9:30

Chris had discovered a long time ago that he was particularly adept at pretending to read. What was sad was that he had to do it so often, just for a moment of peace, and he'd discovered quick that nothing quite deflected inquiring minds quite like a glaring librarian. He loved every member of his family dearly... all 14 of them. As a whole, though, they were all nosy, loud, and collectively ignorant of the concept of alone time. Thus, he'd practically carved out a corner of the library for himself just for such times that his family was being inquisitive.

All he needed today was just an hour to collect his thoughts and steel himself for the inevitable train wreck that was going to be his day. He didn't think he could take much more than that before one of the Halliwells braved the stacks and dragged him out. In the meantime, though, he holed up in the Magic School library, using the time to figure out exactly what had happened to him in the Manor's kitchen. He was still shaken from it. Every so often he'd reach up to the left side of his chest, just to make sure his heart was still beating.

He still felt... odd, though he couldn't pinpoint what was off. It was like he was... detached. Floating above his own head and watching someone else live his life for him. Every other minute a stray feeling passed through his mind like a ghost, nondescript but there. When that wasn't happening, he'd get aches and pains, sharp and sudden, but barely there, skin prickling like it had just fallen asleep before finally disappearing in the next second.

Chris jumped as he felt another pain down his back, shooting down his spine in hasty spikes. He hissed and snapped the book in his lap shut irritably. It was getting worse. He twisted to rub his back, mind drifting off again, mind chasing down possibilities at a hundred miles an hour. Then the idea struck him...

What if it wasn't magical? What it it was it wasn't some magical backlash or long distance curse? What if there was just some normal mortal problem?

"You're in the way,"

Chris nearly jumped at the voice, and he twisted to see a man standing next to his chair, a rust red book in hand. He was sharp faced and pale. Hell, the man didn't look like he'd slept in years. Chris frowned at him, naturally suspicious. The man seemed surprised for a second and raised his hands as if surrendering.

"Apologies," He said in a thin voice, "I must return this book." He pointed lightly and Chris followed his finger to the shelf directly behind him that he was blocking.

He should have felt apologetic, he was sure, but another wisp of emotion danced through his skull, sending him into a dark suspicious mood for a moment. He moved out of the way wordlessly, eyes narrowed.

The man simply nodded a thanks and awkwardly slipped behind him to stash the book in its empty spot. He moved to turn away before something on the shelf caught his eye and he reached out to pull three more books out and put them back in their correct order.

Chris crossed his arms protectively, staring the man down, "Are you a librarian?"

The man stopped shortly, in the middle of freeing six more books to be put back, blinking at him dimly. "No." He shook his head and returned to putting the tomes in their rightful space.

[[ I call upon the ancient power. To help us in this darkest hour. Let the book return to this place. Claim refuge in its rightful space.]]

Chris blinked, momentarily shocked at the random spell, before forcefully shaking the thoughts away and turning back to the man who seemed to be completely lost in his own head, shifting books down another shelf to make room for the proper owners.

"So you're a teacher then?" Chris pressed.

The man twisted, yet again, seeming surprised that he was being talked to. "No. I'm not a teacher." He moved to go back to the shelves, but Chris telekinetically pulled the books from his hands and slammed them into their respective spots.

"You're too old to be a student. So who are you?" Chris demanded.

For a split second, the man seemed angry, clouded hazel eyes narrowing dangerously, and in a flash, it was gone.

"Alumni," He stated simply, "I'm an alumni."

Chris huffed moodily, as the random emotion retreated, making him feel off balance and floaty again. He didn't like it.

"...you are?" The man asked, unblinking.

"Leaving." Chris grabbed his jacket, frowning forcefully and trying to pass by the creepy pale man... except said creepy pale man evidently didn't want to let him leave. He'd stepped right into Chris's path, cutting off any escape in the narrow aisle.

"You are also too old to be a student." The man stared up at him, until his eyes slid to the side where a book about imps was completely out of place between two spell books.

Chris glared, "Alumni. Now if you'd just let me pass, I'll give you and your OCD some alone time, you both seem to love each other very, very much."

The man's attention snapped back, "No. What is your name."

Chris sighed and swiped a hand over his eyes. All of a sudden he just felt so tired, so spent. He eased a breath out, trying to dispel the weird mood and mostly succeeding. He looked back to the shorter man who was still staring at him unnervingly.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped. I'm just not feeling well. If you could just step aside, I need to go talk to a healer about it."

The man blinked quickly and tilted his head. "No."

"Okay, man," Chris snorted, anger returning quickly, "Move."

"No."

"Oh, that's it." Chris raised his hands and gestured at the shelves, sending books sailing from opposite shelves and nesting back absolutely out of order.

The man's mouth dropped open and a small infantile sound dropped out of his mouth. It was the high pitched whine of a toddler who'd had his toys taken away and cruelly stashed on a high shelf. Chris felt momentarily bad before slipping past the man and escaping.

Another pain stabbed him in the ankle, tripping up his steps. He managed to catch himself on a desk, and waited as his ankle throbbed for a few seconds before it faded completely.

"Christopher," Ms. Donovan came up next to him, patting him on the shoulder in slightly mollifying way only a childhood babysitter could do. "Are you alright, dear?"

He tested his ankle hesitantly. The pain was completely gone, "Yeah," He frowned, too confused to be embarrassed at tripping over nothing, "I think I'm-- Ow! Son of a--" Chris jolted and pulled his forearm up against his chest in pain.

"What in the..." Chris pulled his arm out slowly and heard Ms. Donovan gasp as they both watch his sleeve quickly saturate with red, his blood already running down his fingers and pooling on the floor.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Why won't it heal?" Ms. Donovan asked worriedly, hands gripping Chris's shoulder protectively. Chris pressed his lips together at the pain, wondering the exact same thing but not particularly wanting to venture an answer.

The floating feeling had decreased somewhat, receding into the back of his mind, occasionally taunting him with bare flashes of recognition or feelings that didn't even last long enough for him to give a name to. He didn't really want to think about that either, especially not in front of Ms. Donovan. She was a sweet woman and deserved not to worry about him.

It didn't help that she'd absolutely refused to leave him alone, dragging him up to his father's office and tearing through the halls to find a whitelighter when they discovered Leo wasn't there.

Now the two of them had him firmly seated on the sofa, arm stretched out with the Whitelighter, Joseph, bent over it, spreading a disgusting looking gritty brown paste over the open gash on the inside of his arm.

"You're lucky, you know," Joseph glanced up briefly, "If you'd have been outside of magic school when this had happened..."

Chris just grunted in agreement, tapping irritably with his good hand as the whitelighter pushed the goop hastily into the still oozing gash. He got that Joseph was just attempting to get the bleeding to stop, but could he at least try not to cause more pain?

Joseph smoothed the paste out, making Chris hiss, before bringing out a bowl of purple tinged water and pouring it over his arm. The paste and blood slicked off, revealing a scabbed over, but obviously much more healed wound on his arm.

"So?" Ms. Donovan looked at the whitelighter expectantly, "Why didn't it heal?"

Joseph frowned quickly as he pulled out some clean bandages and went to wind them around his arm. "I have no idea," he shook his head, then paused and looked up at Chris almost hesitantly, "unless it was--"

"Self inflicted?" Chris asked, annoyed that he would even think that. "No. It was not." He sank back into the chair, tired and blood deprived.

Ms. Donovan patted him on the arm sympathetically, "We really should find your father."

Chris cracked open an eye and looked down at himself, frowning. The cut had most likely nicked something major in his arm because his side was almost completely covered in blood. He looked like a suicide victim at a bad haunted house. The thought made him almost sympathize with Joseph's thought... which then made him jump to what his parents would think.

"Augh," He slid a hand across his face again, "No we shouldn't."

The woman and the whitelighter blinked at him. Joseph spoke first, "Why the he-er..heck not?"

Chris sent him a wry grin. He must be new.

"Look," He sat up straighter, trying to convince the both of him he was fine, "My parents are crazy protective enough as it is. If they see me like I am now, they're going to have a coronary and then Mel will never get to move out of the house. So no, we're not going to tell them."

The Whitelighter and Librarian traded looks then looked back to him as if he was nuts.

"Just!" He added quickly, "just until I get a change of clothes and a reason for this at least. If I can propose a solution, then they'll be less likely to freak out. Okay?" He eyed them both, willing them to go along with it.

Neither of them looked particularly happy to be put at odds with the ex-elder and eldest Charmed One, but with a little more prodding, they eventually agreed to giving him two hours to fess up or they would for him.

Chris pulled his watch out of his pocket and used his clean sleeve to wipe the blood off the face.

Whoops. In all this, he'd nearly forgot. So much for the creepy correct internal clock.

"Ms. Donovan, Joseph. Thanks, but I'm gonna get started on this right now." He went to jump off the couch and was hit with a severe case of blood loss induced vertigo before regaining his bearings and orbing out. He barely comprehended the transfer, knowing where to go by heart, a few seconds later, he materialized in another apartment.

"There you are, I was about to get..."

Chris heard her voice before he even finished orbing, her tanned face and dyed copper hair forming as the blue lights of the orbs cleared his vision. She took one look at him and her face dropped into open disbelief. "... worried." She finished her sentence dully.

"Uh, hey," He smiled apologetically, "Sorry I'm late. I was a bit...sidetracked."

"Tell me who did this," Bianca looked up, face dark, "because I'm going to kill them."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A/N: Yep. Bianca's going to be around. I think people mistreat her a lot in fics and I've never quite understood the outright hate people have for her. She's just about as contrary as Chris is and I find that ridiculously interesting. Plus, the poor boy has gone through hell and dammit, he deserves to be happy. SO! Yeah, hullo Bianca. Also, I can barely remember Ms. Donovan. If she's out of character, I blame her old age.

Also, my dad's a cop. I don't hate them nor do I think they're stupid. But, since I've got some eyes on the inside, I'm explicitly aware that there are some dumbass law enforcement employees out there, just like any other job.

Cheers.