Disclaimer: I don't own the characters Chris and Wyatt Halliwell, or Charmed, although, I wish I did… because some of the crap we had to put up with in Seasons 7 and 8 would have been replaced by something a lot better… like a spin-off featuring the Halliwell brothers. I don't own 'em. Not making any money. Etc. Etc.

Author's Note: This is the story-version of a set of scripts I am working on for a spin-off… namely the Pilot Episode to eventually be converted to screenplay format for the contest on thecharmedsons website. This is set 18 years after the series finale of Charmed, when Chris and Wyatt would be taking over the Halliwell legacy. Someone asked who D.J. was, he is the half-manticore baby from the episode "Little Monsters" in Season Six, just all grown up. I kind of picture him being played by Colin Hanks (who was on Roswell, when that show was on the air). Samara, however, is my own creation… Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next installment. As usual, please read and review. Thanks to those of you who have already!

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Destined: The Charmed Sons

Episode 1.1, Pilot: The Crucible

Chapter Two

The laundry room in the apartment building had rather outdated washing machines, but for being so many years old they were still in remarkably good working order. Chris just hoped that there was still one open when he got down there. With only three washing machines for a building that housed several residents the chances were usually good that they were in use. Most of the residents were college students or young adults with their first apartments - which often enough equated to the same thing. There were a lot of new faces in the building, including Wyatt and Chris, and there weren't any schedules for the use of the washers. In that respect, living in this building was almost as bad as the dorms where Chris had lived his first year away at school, but it was an exchange for the low rent and the close-to-campus location.

Chris hefted the laundry basket as he made his way down the steps. One of the neighbors dodged around him, pounding down the stairs while he slung his backpack over his shoulder. Chris barely managed to dodge out of the way and keep hold of the laundry. The younger Halliwell brother shook his head with a grin. "Ya know a simple 'sorry!' goes a long way!" he called after the disappearing back as the fellow dodged around the corner and vanished from sight. Chris removed himself away from the wall he'd pressed against to avoid being trampled and winced as he heard a woman's voice yelp and the sound of either someone dropping something or falling.

"Uh oh," Chris mumbled, starting to hurry down towards the sound still carrying the basket of clothes. The dark-haired young man rounded the corner and looked down the stairs towards the next landing. "You okay?" he called down when he saw the figure rubbing her lower back as she bent to pick up items that had been scattered from a now relatively crushed box. Books and belongings were scattered haphazardly across the landing.

"Peachy," the young woman grumbled, "There's nothing quite like being trampled by your new neighbors. He didn't even stop to see if I was okay." She lifted her head to look up at the laundry-toting figure descending the steps towards her and froze with the book she'd just picked up halfway from the ground, looking at him skeptically. "…Thanks for caring. There aren't a lot of people that do, it seems, these days."

Chris set the laundry basket down and bent to help the young woman pick up her scattered belongings. "You don't have to thank me. He almost trampled me too and it's beginning to become a weekly occurrence. That was Kevin, he lives in 4C if you want to get even later," Chris said, holding another book out towards her.

She was about five-feet seven, give-or-take an inch, with sandy, shoulder length hair and eyes the color of warm honey. "You don't have to help me," she said politely, watching him like she was trying to determine some ulterior motive to his kindness. The offered book was taken with a reserved smile as she stuffed it in the box with the others. "Thank you though. Really."

"I'm Chris, Chris Halliwell," he offered belatedly, grabbing up a couple of candles that had rolled towards the next flight of stairs down from the landing. This time when she thanked him, he just said, "You're welcome," rather than arguing with her that he was just doing what anyone would (or at least should) in this situation. Chris decided to make some small talk while they worked, "Just moving in?"

The young woman didn't offer her name straight away, tucking more belongings into the damaged box, "Yes, actually. I just recently relocated here to Boston for a new work assignment." Her smile rose just a bit more, when she processed his name. Chris missed the flicker of recognition that passed over her honey-colored eyes while he was bending to scoop up some more of her belongings from the floor. The young woman looked away quickly, grabbing a shoebox filled with items that had fallen from the larger box. "It's nice to meet you, Chris. I'm Samara."

"That's not a name you hear very often," Chris said, "Hebrew name meaning 'guardian', right?"

Samara looked up at him again with a somewhat sharp motion, and eyes that narrowed suspiciously at the back of his head. "It is." She answered carefully.

As if reading her mind, that she had to be wondering how he knew that, Chris replied, "One of my Aunts has a… friend… in Iran by that name. I probably wouldn't know that otherwise, but she likes to talk about the people she visits in her travels." There was only a slight hesitation when he said the word friend; he had very nearly said 'charge' instead. It was one of his Aunt Paige's charges to be exact. "It's a nice name," Chris said, and then fell silent.

The pair of them continued picking up her belongings in awkward silence for a bit, with each one looking at each other intermittently when they thought they other wasn't. Finally Samara rose, rubbing her lower back, "Thanks again for your help, really. I've got a lot more boxes to drag up, with any luck without being barreled out of the way by more over zealous college students." Samara picked up her box. With a gesture that appeared somewhat nervous she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She was trying to find a way to gracefully leave the conversation so they could both get back to their business, although, she was slightly reluctant to leave his presence.

Chris beat her to it. The dark-haired man flashed her a friendly grin, "You're welcome. If you give me a few minutes to get some laundry started, I can give you a hand carrying some of your boxes up?" He really didn't have any ulterior motives, except to help someone out that he thought was in need of assistance. If it took away from his time to continue straightening the apartment so be it. That was just the sort of selfless thing typical of the young man's personality. Besides, it would do Wyatt some good to do some of the work at making the place presentable to their parents.

"Who says chivalry is dead?" Samara asked with a soft laugh that was only slightly forced. She had expected him to just go on about his day and leave her to her own devices. "That would be great. I'm moving into apartment 3B. If you don't change your mind, you can meet me up there. I'll even get some coffee started." With that, the young woman turned to begin climbing the stairs with a dancer's grace that was only marred by a faint indication of her stiffness from the tumble down the stairs.

"I won't change my mind," Chris said. He was glad to offer his help to someone in need. She wasn't an 'innocent' needing saving per se, but she had said that she was on her own here and in a new city. He could empathize with that, having been in the same boat himself two years ago. He had made friends in the area now, and now he had Wyatt around too. The dark-haired witch's sage colored eyes watched her for a beat longer before he started down the stairs to the laundry room once more.

She was moving into 3B, which was right next door to his and Wyatt's apartment in 3A. That was an interesting little coincidence. He hadn't even known that apartment was empty.

------------------------------Fade to Black-----------------------------

"I hate it when you do that," Wyatt scowled.

"Do what?" D.J. said in perfect innocence. At least the expression he had was meant to be the image of perfect innocence.

Wyatt knew better. He gave D.J. a look that plainly stated that he could see right through him. "Start to tell me something like that and then spout off some nonsense about waiting for Chris before you'll tell any more. A witch was killed in Salem, wasn't a demon that did it, hey, Wyatt -- let's wait for Chris now that I've dropped this big cliffhanger on you."

"I just don't like repeating myself needlessly," the shaggy-haired fellow said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and moving to one of the barstools.

"But you do that all the time," Wyatt griped, the grouchiness from his lack of sleep returning, "You don't like repeating yourself, but I hate when someone gets all: hey I have something important to tell you, so I'm going to tell you just enough to make you crazy with impatience because I just know you'll want the rest of the details, but I won't give them to you yet. I'd rather sit here and watch you suffer because I told you that something big just happened and I enjoy knowing something that you don't know. All those 'I know something you don't know' secrets make me crazy!"

"Impressive, I don't think you took a breath through that entire little monologue there. Are you done?" D.J. asked.

Wyatt exaggerated taking a breath and leaned on the counter, staring at D.J. "No, not unless you tell me what's going on."

"You really need to work on your patience, buddy," D.J. said, watching Wyatt grumble, then start to pace back and forth. D.J. picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. He was rather comfortable in his seat, watching Wyatt pace with noncommittal interest. The half-manticore was about half a year younger than Wyatt, which made him older than Chris, but sometimes the older witch seemed like the younger of the two brothers. Like right now, when he was wheedling to try to get D.J. to tell him before Chris got back.

"You could just tell me, you know," Wyatt said, "If you don't want to repeat yourself when Chris gets back, I can give him a recap. Hmm? How 'bout it?"

"I don't know, I was kind of intending to tell the both of you at the same time," D.J. said. He took another sip of his coffee and smirked. Who was he kidding, he knew that eventually Wyatt would say something that would convince him to go ahead and tell him, but he really would rather wait for Chris. It was just amusing to see the lengths that Wyatt would go to before he got to that point. Wyatt walked past again, took several steps, turned again and paced back once more. The half-manticore was right, Wyatt needed to work on his patience.

The blonde witch sighed and stopped his pacing long enough to grab his own cup of coffee. "The suspense is killing me D.J." Wyatt complained. Suddenly he had an idea and the sparkle of it showed in his crystal blue eyes. Wyatt set his coffee cup down and grabbed D.J. by his arms, "If you tell me, I won't tell your dad you were in the Underworld by yourself."

"I'm going to tell you Wyatt, when Chris gets here," D.J. said. His green eyes did widen behind his glasses though as he gave his friend a look, trying to determine if Wyatt meant his threat. His dad would kill him if he knew he'd been in the Underworld again. Damn Wyatt and knowing him too well, to know what would get to him the most. He weighed whether the risk was worth it. "The last time I told you what was going on and Chris wasn't here, you decided to go off and handle it all on your own."

"I did handle it all on my own," Wyatt reminded him.

"As I recall, you got caught in an alley that someone had cast an anti-orbing spell on and almost got shot by a Darklighter because you couldn't wait an hour until Chris got out of class before trying to pull some harebrained Power of One act," D.J. glared, trying to brush the other man's hands off of his arms. Wyatt held on stubbornly, "You're hurting me, but Chris'll hurt me more if I tell you and you go running off without him again."

"I am not, I'm barely touching you. I just don't want you shimmering out of here before you tell me what's going on," Wyatt said. He rolled his eyes, "D.J. I'm a big boy and I would have gotten out of that. Instead I had to figure out how to get both myself and my little brother out of there without either of us getting shot."

D.J. laughed, "What?! That is so not the way it happened and you know it. You're leaving some holes in that story that I could drive my truck through! If Chris heard you say that---"

"Chris, Chris, Chris," Wyatt rolled his eyes, "D.J. focus here. All I'm saying is that I've handled stuff on my own plenty of times and I don't need to have Chris there to get something done. We've been on the other side of the country from each other for two years working independently. I don't need someone to hold my hand, least of all my baby brother. Yeah, you remember him, Chris… who, I might add, is the one that runs headlong into trouble by himself too often, and gets in over his head because he's not powerful enough to deal with the situation! Not me." Wyatt released D.J. but stood right there in front of him, as if ready to grab him again.

"I don't know, you've got this whole cocky 'I am the Twice Blessed' invincible thing going on for you right now," D.J. tossed at Wyatt, then flashed him a smile over the rim of his coffee cup, "It's kind of sexy, in a delusions of grandeur sort of way. You're totally turning me on and I'm not into blondes."

Wyatt let out an exasperated breath, and swatted D.J. on the arm, "Why can't you just be bad at keeping secrets?"

"What, you mean like you?" D.J. asked with a smirk. "I'm just trying to look out for your best interests T.B.. Do you really want to see Chris sulking around for the next few weeks because you left him out? I don't know about you, but I hate watching the Chris-pity-party-parade marching around. You know he lives for this. And what's got you so gung-ho this morning anyway?" The last D.J. added with a suspicious sounding mirth, raising his eyebrows above the rims of his glasses at his friend. "Chris usually has to light a fire under you to get you this eager to kick demonic ass. Does this have something to do with your parents coming to town?"

"It has everything to do with my parents coming to town," Wyatt responded automatically, then turned to glare at D.J. as the rest of what his friend said caught up with him. "…he does not have to light a fire under me. I just don't go looking for trouble like he does all the time. Plenty of it comes our way on its own."

D.J. finished off his coffee and got up to get another cup, "Funny, you're the one that's looking for trouble this morning."

"Remind me why I'm friends with you again?" Wyatt grumbled.

"Yeah, see, this sleep deprivation thing is not a good look for you. You're no fun when you're cranky, you're taking a little good natured teasing to heart," D.J. reached over to punch Wyatt lightly in the shoulder, "You know the two of you work best together. It's been proven time and again."

"Chris is always telling me I should take more initiative and go after demons and such before they come to us. Keep them on the defensive and running scared like they have been for the last couple of years. Well, I'm going to take the initiative this time," Wyatt said.

"Yeah, but you know as well as I do that Chris didn't mean doing it alone." D.J. didn't like the sparkle that he saw in Wyatt's eye now. Nothing good could come of it.

"Am I the Twice-Blessed Witch or not?"

"Just a few minutes ago you were complaining about everyone expecting you to be perfect--" D.J. started, but was interrupted by Wyatt.

"That is so not the point! Initially anything has to have an investigation right? To get more facts. I can do that, I'm a journalist for heaven's sake. I don't need Chris to do that. I'd rather he stay here, be safe, finish this cleaning madness for our parents and I'll take care of this on my own so he doesn't have to. He'll be none the wiser and everything will be fine. We'll probably even be back before he ever notices that I left."

"I really don't think that--"

"I've made up my mind," Wyatt said stubbornly.

"You two really work better togeth--"

"We are not attached at the hip. If it turns out that I do need him, I can yell."

"Yeah, but he'll be back from the laundry any minute and--"

"AND he has class. We don't need to bother him," Wyatt said, smiling again as he stood up, "We'll take care of this… you can tell me the rest on the way."

"On the way? Wyatt? On the way where?"

"Salem," the Twice-Blessed Witch said, grabbing hold of his friend's arm again suddenly and orbing the two of them out before the half-manticore could argue any more.

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Apartment 3B was set up almost identically to the one that Chris shared with his older brother Wyatt. The standard furniture and the counters were stacked with the unpacked boxes of someone just moving in. Next to the door was Chris's empty laundry basket that he had set aside to help Samara out. The apartment is empty until Chris, who holds a box in his arms, pushes the door open. The dark-haired young man is smiling good-naturedly as Samara enters next, also laden with a big box.

Coffee is brewing on a coffee maker that had been pulled out from a box labeled kitchen before they made their latest run down to her vehicle. Samara sets her box down, motioning Chris the rest of the way into the apartment and gesturing to where he can set his box down.

"So, what did you say you do again?" Chris asked her.

"I didn't," Samara responded as she, slid the box out of the way to rummage in the one marked 'kitchen'. The woman's honey eyes lift briefly to look towards Chris. It was like, even though she had decided to let him help her and was grateful for the help, she still wasn't sure what to make of him. Or whether to trust him, but Chris could have sworn more than once she had looked at him like she knew him. Samara continued, offering at least a little bit more information about herself, "I just said that my company had reassigned me. I work for an agency that sends supervisors to look over teams that are stationed around the world. I've been working for them for a few years now and I guess my latest assignment is something of a promotion. I'm finally supervising a team here in Boston, making sure they have what they need and aren't making any mistakes that could cost the company, that sort of thing. It's really boring."

"Sounds kind of exciting actually, at least in the vague way you've put it. Makes it seem like you're some sort of spy or something. Like this TV show I used to watch with my Aunt Phoebe, still comes on reruns… about this woman who is a part of this spy-network, but also secretly works for the CIA as a double agent," Chris said, leaning on the counter for lack of anything constructive to do.

Chris couldn't decide if Samara looked amused at his comment or not, she had turned back to unpacking the box marked kitchen, "Trust me, it's really boring, but the pay is rewarding. I doubt you want to hear the details. What about you? Do you work anywhere?"

"I put in volunteer hours at the hospital, but I sort of have to for my major."

"Right, college student… see, I keep forgetting that. You're pretty mature compared to most," Samara said. She couldn't have been much older than him. Maybe Wyatt's age if Chris had to guess. One thing his mother had taught him was that you never ask a woman her age. "It could just be the fact that you cared about someone other than yourself. So, what's your major?"

"Pre-med," Chris answered. Samara had turned around to look at him with a small smile and upraised brows above her honey-eyes, "What? You look surprised."

The young woman turned her back to Chris again, frowning into the box and then moving to open another not finding what she was looking for, "Impressed actually… and not so surprised. I had you pegged for medical school or social work. You cared enough to stop to help me, when you could have just blown me off and completely ignored me. Most people would have. What made you decide to go into medicine?"

Chris watched her rummage through her latest box and caught a glimpse of something black and silvery metallic tucked in there with just a hint of something that had feathers. His mind had to be playing tricks on him, but he could swear that it looked like a crossbow. For just a heartbeat, the young witch froze at the counter, trying to get a better look without appearing to snoop in her things. Considering the damage crossbows had inflicted on him in the hands of Darklighters over the years, it was something that had been ingrained in his brain to be cautious of. She didn't look like a Darklighter though.

"You okay?" Samara asked, pulling two coffee mugs from the box and closing it before he could get a better look. She turned to look at him with concern, "Chris?"

He gave a small start and then had the sense of mind to blush. What was the matter with him? Thinking something like that! I'm such a paranoid little freak, he thought. It was probably just another kitchen appliance of some kind. "I'm sorry, I'm fine, really. What was your question?"

Samara looked at him oddly, shook her head and went to pour them both some coffee, "What made you decide to go into medicine?"

"My Dad's a doctor," Chris answered, "It was either medicine or photography like my Aunt Prue. My brother's into journalism. I used to think if I did photography we'd make a good team, but in the end I decided to go with my heart. We're still a good team, but we have to have our own lives too. Can't do everything together."

Samara held out the coffee mug to Chris, holding her own in her hands and blowing the steam from the surface of it, "I had an older brother growing up. He was always telling me what to do, or not telling me things that he was going to do that might be remotely dangerous to me so that I wouldn't get involved, worrying about me constantly. Kind of annoying, but I knew it meant he loved me. I always preferred him doing that than ignoring me completely. What's your brother like?"

"Wyatt? Sometimes like an overbearing and overprotective shadow, sometimes like a little kid that I need to give a swift kick to, to get him going," Chris said with a smirk the crossbow-or-not situation forgotten again. "I should probably go let him know where I am. He'll be wondering why I didn't come back and might send out a search party. You mind?"

"Not at all," Samara said.

"It's right next door," Chris said, "I'll be right back and we can get some more boxes."

Chris took a quick sip of his coffee, set the mug down and then went to grab the laundry basket by the door. He slipped out with a casual smile to his new neighbor. As the door closed behind Chris, Samara blew out a breath, brushed her hair behind her ears and bent to pick up that box that Chris had been so suspicious of. She carried it out of the room.

Meanwhile, Chris opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. The laundry basket was dropped next to the door, "Hey, Wy… can you go down and check the laundry in about twenty minutes? I'm next door helping our new neighbor move in…" Chris frowned, stepping further into the apartment, "Wy? Hey, Wyatt?"

Scratching his head, Chris said aloud to the empty room, "Where'd he go…?"

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