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or Charmed, although, I wish I did… because some of the crap we had to put up with in Seasons 7 and 8 would have been replaced by something a lot better… like a spin-off featuring the Halliwell brothers.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. I'd originally intended to convert it to screenplay format for the contest on thecharmedsons website, but I'm definitely not making the deadline now. Too many setbacks, including the weather have delayed the process. That's okay, I'm still going to finish this… I know some of you are chomping at the bit for me to get to writing on the other twenty-one episodes of Season One after you've heard my ideas for them. I just hope that this one or those don't disappoint you and that you enjoy reading them as much as I'm enjoying writing them. 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 Three

Chris made his way further into the apartment, leaving the door open behind him as he entered. He knew Wyatt wasn't here and much to his frustration knew Wyatt wasn't in the building either. Beyond that, the elder witchlighter had masked his presence from the younger. Chris sighed in annoyance and walked towards the kitchen area to grab something to write Wyatt a note on. "I see how it is, you do the dishes and then run," Chris complained out loud. Wyatt hadn't even had the courtesy to leave him a note.

Well, Chris was definitely going to leave a note. He had an urge to write Wyatt a novel, he'd settle for something a bit simpler. He pulled open a drawer and fished out a large yellow notepad and a ballpoint pen. Chris looked at the pen, tossed it back into the drawer and pulled a Sharpie marker out instead. The bolder the words were written, the less ability Wyatt would have to say that he hadn't noticed the note.

While Chris wrote he grumbled to himself under his breath about the injustice of being left to clean up a mess all by himself. "I must have 'Waste Management' stamped on my forehead somewhere… oh, wait, I do, and it's Wyatt Management. Demons he can handle, but not dust bunnies. It would serve him right if I cast a spell on his room so that he couldn't leave until he cleaned it up… Oooh, wait a minute…"

That was a tempting idea. He couldn't take the credit for it. He wished he could say that he had thought of it himself, but that was one of their mother's inventions. He continued working on his note as he entertained the idea, smirking at the possibility of booby-trapping Wyatt's room like Piper had done a few times when they were teenagers.

Thanks for doing the dishes. Laundry is downstairs in the machine.
We've got a new neighbor. I'm helping her move in and then I'm going to class.
I'll see you this evening.

P.S. Clean your room, you big slob. Someone could get hurt.

Chris tore the page from the yellow notepad, then with a laugh pulled a roll of Police Caution tape out of the back of the drawer. He was sure Wyatt didn't know that he still had it. They'd gotten it from one of their friends as a gag gift for their housewarming party and he'd been hiding it from Wyatt until just such an occasion that it might be useful. Now, he knew exactly what he was going to use it for. He taped the note to Wyatt to the door to his brother's room like a Police crime scene Notice, and then crossed the rest of the tape back and forth over the doorway.

He stretched the last piece of caution tape over the door, working the words he was about to say in his head.

"My brother dear, who dwells in here,
When you again in your room appear,
Your messy space you must clean and clear,
Or trapped inside you'll be held austere."

When he was finished, the dark-haired young man stood back to admire his work with a smug grin. "Teach you to run off and expect me to finish picking up after you. It's not personal gain if it's teaching him a lesson…"

Chris was chuckling to himself as he started towards the door to return to helping Samara when the phone rang. "Probably Wyatt with some lame excuse for why he had to run out," he mused aloud as he crossed to answer it.

The main phone unit was mounted to the wall in the kitchen with its small video panel. Chris picked up the earpiece of the phone and tapped the button on the side of it to answer. The magical snare he'd just set for Wyatt still had him laughing a bit when he answered the phone. "Joe's Morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em," Chris said chirpily. He stood in front of the video panel, grinning wryly when he realized who was on the other end.

"Cute," Piper's voice said from the other end as her image flickered onto the video panel in front of Chris, "You know those sorts of things worked a whole lot better before the invention of video phones."

"True, but they're still classics and fun," Chris replied, "What's up?"

"Your father and I just finished going through Security at the Airport and we're waiting for our flight. I thought I'd check in with you boys. Where's your brother?"

"Heck if I know," Chris said, "He bailed on me. I'm sure he'll be back in time to pick you two up at the airport though. Where's Dad?"

Piper smiled, "Nervously pacing in front of the windows and looking out at the planes on the runway. You'd think the man had never flown before."

"You guys are supposed to land at around seven, right?" Chris asked.

"About seven-thirty. We're on United 134 to Chicago, then United 882 to Boston. I emailed Wyatt the flights last night, so he should have everything" Piper said. She paused for a moment and Chris watched as the digital image of his mother frowned. His mother's eyebrows furrowed in concern, "Is everything okay?"

Chris chuckled, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, just had a feeling," she answered, "It's probably nothing."

"Nope, everything's fine if you don't consider Wyatt's attempt at leaving me to finish straightening up for you guys on my own. I'm sure he'll have a doozy of an excuse as to why he had to up and leave. I've got a couple of things to get done before class, Mom, so I'd better get going…"

"Now boarding zones one and two for United Flight 134 to Chicago…" Chris heard a voice say in the background.

"That's our flight anyway," Piper said, "I'll call again when we land in Chicago. Love you!"

"Ditto, Mom," Chris said, "Don't give Dad too hard a time about flying." Chris smiled as his mother winked before she disconnected. He turned the phone off, replaced the earpiece in its spot and ducked out of the apartment again without noticing the busted lamp that would have been a giveaway that could give him a hint that something more going on beyond cleaning-duty-desertion.

Samara was walking back out of her door into the hallway when he stepped out. "Was he ready to send out a search party for you?" she asked Chris.

Chris shook his head, "Nope. Actually, I might send out one for him later. He decided to run off somewhere and didn't even leave a note. He's trying to get out of cleaning up, but when he gets home he's going to have no choice. Like I told you earlier, sometimes he's the overprotective big brother type and some times he needs a good solid kick."

The young woman laughed a bit.

"Ready to get some more boxes?" The dark-haired witch glanced at his watch, "I can spare another half an hour before I need to head to classes."

"Sure, I'll take the help for as long as I can get it," she said and the two of them headed towards the stairwell together.

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

Almost exactly thirty minutes later, Chris glanced at his watch after he set another box down on Samara's counter. "That's about all I can manage…"

"It's more than I could have gotten done in such a short time on my own," Samara said when she put down her own box. "Really, I'm not sure it's possible to thank you enough. Some of this stuff is heavy, it would've taken me all day."

Chris shrugged and raked a hand through his brown hair, "It really was no trouble. I'm actually sorry I can't help you finish getting the rest of it out." His green eyes strayed to the spot where that box he'd thought he had seen a crossbow in earlier had been. The smile on his face came close to fading when he realized it wasn't there. Inwardly he scolded himself again for paranoia. She had been perfectly normal once she'd relaxed and accepted that he really was just a nice guy trying to help. In fact they'd been carrying on pleasant conversation.

Granted, she probably knew a lot more about him now and he still only knew her name, that she had an overprotective older brother, and a very vague explanation of her job. Living right next door, though, he was sure they would have plenty of time to get to know her better.

Samara leaned back against her counter, "Don't be. You've done plenty. I wouldn't want to be the cause for you being late for class. Getting you into trouble would be poor repayment for all the help you've given me. I have to say though; you're almost too good to be believable. It just makes me wonder if it's some scheme you have arranged with that guy from the forth floor… and if you've helped all the young women in this building move in so that you could charm them."

He grinned, "You'd be the first. Maybe I can introduce you to Wyatt later. I'll see you around."

"I'm looking forward to it. Bye Chris," Samara called after the dark-haired man as he headed out of her apartment. From the quick retreat he made, and the extra glance at his watch he made, she was sure that he had stayed just a bit longer than he probably should have. She really did hope that he hadn't made himself late to class because of her.

Samara pushed herself gracefully off of the counter and walked over to stand in the doorway in order to watch Chris leave. The friendly smile gracing her features dulled and her honey-hued eyes narrowed slightly. In an acutely paranoid manner, she looked down the hallway in both directions making sure that no one else was around. She stepped back from the door and closed it, sliding the deadbolt into place with a click.

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

A swirl of brilliant blue and white lights coalesced and formed into a pair of figures behind a group of old buildings. One of the two staggered away from the other as though he were drunk and doubled over with his hands resting on his knees. D.J. grimaced, his dark mop of hair hanging down over his glasses into his eyes as he tried to catch his breath from the disturbing method of transportation.

"I… hate…" he panted out, swallowing back a wave of nausea, "…you…"

"You don't mean that," Wyatt said, completely un-phased. The muscular blonde straightened his shirt and patted D.J. on the back.

"How about… I… hate… orbing…?" the half-manticore groaned, looking up, "I feel like I'm going to be sick… it's so… ugh…"

Wyatt smirked and shook his head, "Pull yourself together. Now, where was this church at again? I think I got us close."

D.J.'s stomach was doing summersaults. Demons, or in his case half-demons were never meant for orbing. He covered his mouth with the back of his right hand as he slowly straightened himself and made a face at Wyatt.

"If you do that too long it might stick that way," Wyatt quipped, "Should be right around the corner, right?"

With the hand he wasn't using to ensure he wasn't going to lose his breakfast with, D.J. gestured upwards to point at the steeple visible above the other buildings. Wyatt's face practically shone with satisfaction and he grabbed D.J.'s free hand to start dragging his friend after him again. Walking off the nausea was the best thing for him.

"…Chris is going to kill me… right before he kills you…" D.J. groaned as he let himself be dragged along behind Wyatt. Orbing like that always threw his shimmering off for at least an hour until whatever the whole transportation of turning into purity and light had done to his demonic half passed. Until then, he was as good as Wyatt's prisoner and his friend knew it. Too bad hitch hiking was out of the question.

Around the corner a crime scene parameter had been established with yellow crime scene tape and a couple of black and white squad cars, a fire truck, a coroner's van, and one unmarked police car. A press van, complete with its reporter and camera crew were off to one side too, adding to the break-neckers come to see what had happened. Official personnel were moving in and out of the building.

Wyatt stopped forcibly dragging D.J. behind him as he got close enough to get a better look. It wasn't like his scruffy friend had anywhere to go. Wyatt's size let him sort of muscle his way through the crowd that were quietly murmuring with one another about the tragedy that had taken place in their community last night. Most of what he picked up from the conversations going on did nothing to help him learn anything. He wished he had brought his press pass with him as an after thought. It was a bit late for that now. He'd have to find another way to get more information.

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like he was being watched and not really by anyone in the crowd. He turned to look around and his eyes fell on a large, black-feathered crow resting on the roof of a building across the street. His eyebrows furrowed in the direction of the bird. He could swear the thing was looking right at him. Shaking the feeling off as nonsense, he pushed his way to the front of the gathering.

D.J. didn't have as much success at moving through the crowd as Wyatt did.

"The woman that lives above the building across the street saw the flames and called the fire department," Wyatt heard one woman saying.

"Such a shame to happen to a historic building."

"I can't believe something like this happened right under everyone's noses."

A few gasps sounded as the coroner moved out, pushing a white cloth draped cart ahead of him. Again the murmurs in the crowd started up. Not only had this been arson, but also possibly murder. Wyatt glanced back towards D.J. to see his friend trying to battle through to get back up beside him. Clearly the demonic community was just a step ahead in the knowledge beyond the mortal community.

Wyatt moved away from the crowd towards the side of the building, walking like he belonged. That was the best way to avoid questions, at least from those who might not know that he belonged. He wasn't going to learn anything else just standing there on the sidelines. He had to get closer.

D.J. ground his teeth together in frustration when he saw Wyatt start off. "For Pete's sake," he whined. Wyatt ducked under the crime scene tape towards the side of the building and much to D.J.'s surprise not a single person stopped him. "What is the standard for law enforcement these days?" he muttered to himself. One of the other men in the crowd looked at him and D.J. just flashed the guy a smile. When he turned back towards Wyatt

Wyatt was actually walking rather boldly towards the door of the church, surprised that no one had asked him just what he thought he was doing yet, when a woman's voice called out to him from behind.

"Wyatt? Wyatt Halliwell, it is you!"

The blonde witch turned around to look towards the source. Only his widened blue eyes broke the 'I belong here' act that he had been putting on in order to get closer. She was approaching him. A woman of average height, made just slightly taller thanks to pair of smart looking black heels, dressed in a navy blue suit. Long, dyed-dark curls were swept back from her ivory complexion. The woman's brown eyes were fixed on Wyatt as she strode towards him purposefully. He was caught.

With a somewhat nervous laugh and a smile, Wyatt greeted the woman he hadn't expected to see again, least of all here, in a million years. "Andrea… uh… hey…"

"Hey yourself, Halliwell. Just what do you think you're doing?" the woman, Andrea, asked with a raised eyebrow. She had reached him now and was looking expectantly at him for an answer.

"Would you believe me if I said I was sightseeing?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Andrea mused, "At a crime scene?"

Wyatt moistened his lips and coughed, "Yes?" Then he folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at her, adopting that demeanor of belonging again. "And what are you doing?"

Andrea moved the coat of her suit aside to reveal the badge hanging at her waist, "Working."

There went Wyatt's bubble, completely burst. His arms dropped back to his sides and he cleared his throat, "I uh… I knew that. Right, working, I knew that."

"Still doesn't explain what you're doing here…"

Wyatt's blue eyes darted towards the crowd, "D.J.! Andrea, you remember D.J. don't you?"

The woman nodded to the young officer standing at the tape to let D.J. through and the shaggy-haired man joined the two of them after a small nodded greeting to Andrea and a disapproving look at Wyatt. Andrea tapped Wyatt's chest with her index finger, "You're avoiding my question Wyatt. Of course I remember D.J. He's at least has picked up his phone to call me every once in a while these last three years unlike some people I know. I just talked to him two days ago."

"You did?" Wyatt looked at D.J. "You didn't tell me that."

D.J. just shrugged his shoulders and kept his mouth shut.

Andrea was scanning the crowd again, her lips pursed together as though searching for someone, "Alright, where is he?"

"Who?" Wyatt asked rather innocently.

"You know who," Andrea said, "We've got Athos, Porthos… we're only missing Aramis."

That actually brought a smile to D.J.'s face again, references to entertainment history usually did. Be it obscure literature references or semi-contemporary pop-culture, D.J. was a walking Scategories Game of useless knowledge. If some of the game shows popular in the Eighties, Nineties, and early Zeros had still been on the air, he could have made it rich. Wyatt was looking like the reference was lost on him.

"I dunno, I always pictured Chris more as the d'Artagnon type myself," D.J. offered, "The Chris O'Donnell version." That caused more amusement to shine in his eyes behind his glasses, "Chris and Chris. Fitting. Can I be Porthos?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Andrea said warmly to D.J.

"Chris isn't here, it's just us," Wyatt interrupted the movie-trivia moment to speak to Andrea, "I didn't realize you were a cop now… you uh… you look good as a brunette…"

"A lot can happen in three years, Wyatt, but you might know some of that if you'd bothered to keep in touch with me," she said, some of the warmth leaving her tone. Not much, but it was enough to remind Wyatt of just how unhappy she was that he hadn't kept in touch. "D.J. told me the other night that you've been in Boston for about a month now. Would it have killed you to look me up and give an old friend a call?"

Wyatt shifted his feet uncomfortably, "Can we go back to the line of questioning about what we're doing here? I liked that one better. I meant to call you. It just sort of, slipped my mind. I've been busy…"

"You're as horrible a liar now as you were when we were teenagers," Andrea said, "Alright, so what are you doing here poking your nose around my crime scene like some reporter on the trail of a story?"

Wyatt didn't get a chance to answer her.

"Detective Payton?" a fellow in a dark suit called from the door into the scorched church.

Andrea held up a finger to him, and looked from Wyatt to D.J. and back again. "You two stay put. I've got a sneaking suspicion as to why you two are here. I'll see what I can do, but you're going to owe me explanations."

As soon as she had walked out of earshot, Wyatt turned to D.J. and hissed at him. "Just when were you going to mention to me that you've been playing phone tag with her?"

"I meant to, but it just slipped my mind," D.J. said coyly. Wyatt balled up his fist and punched D.J. in the arm. While D.J. was rubbing his arm, Wyatt kept his eyes on Andrea and the man he guessed was her partner having a discussion on the steps of the church. "There's been nothing at all stopping you from picking up your phone and calling her Wyatt, except yourself. So don't blame me for your stubborn wounded pride."

Wyatt just cut his eyes at D.J. and made a 'hmpf' sound.

"I'll take that as your Neanderthal way of saying that you agree with me that it's entirely your own fault," D.J. said, "On the bright side, now maybe we'll be able to learn more about this without me having to call Chris to tell him that you got put in jail for entering a crime scene without permission and disturbing evidence, which I know you would have done as soon as you got into that building."

"Yeah, this is a much better situation," Wyatt grumbled, "It's easy for you to talk like that, she's not your ex-girlfriend."

"Not really my type," D.J. said, "even if she is a brunette now."

"I don't think you know what your type is," Wyatt responded automatically.

Andrea was making her way back over to them and her partner was leading the other investigators out of the building.

"I'm sure this one is connected to the other four, but this one is a little different since it included the arson. Matt said he thought he recognized D.J from two of the other scenes. I gave him the good old 'you're a psychic' excuse. While I know you two aren't the average citizens and your reasons for looking into this are a bit more paranormal, you're still civilians and this is a crime scene," Detective Payton said, "You've got three minutes, you two. I don't know what you expect to find in there, I went over it with a fine-toothed comb. But seeing as I'm not quite as blessed with talents as certain individuals, you might find something that I missed."

That was one good thing about Andrea Payton. She already knew about magic. She already knew about Wyatt, his brother, and even D.J. That was how she could already have a guess as to why D.J. and Wyatt were on the scene and why she had expected Chris to be there as well. She was a witch too.

As good as it was to have a friend in law enforcement, his parents and aunts had always had Darryl, Wyatt was a little unsure of how he felt about Andrea being that person for him. They hadn't exactly broken things off on the best of terms and then for him not to have even called her in four years to see how she was doing when his best friend had obviously kept in touch with her. Ugh.

"Thanks," Wyatt said, "I owe you one."

"I think you owe me more than one, Wyatt," Andrea said, "But we'll talk about that later." She held up three fingers and gestured to the door, "Get moving, the clock is ticking."

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

Wyatt was all business when he entered the building with D.J. He took in the scene with a critical eye. Maybe not of a police investigator, but that of an investigative reporter was just as good in some instances. From the large broken stained-glass window to the melted puddles of wax that had once been candles, Wyatt walked through the soot blackened and burned space in silence.

D.J. didn't dare interrupt him.

The broad-shouldered witch stopped and rested a hand on one of the singed pews, intending to use it for support as he bent to study the spot on the floor where the chalk outline had been drawn. That contact to the pew was all it took. Wyatt gasped as his eyes shut and his entire body stiffened like an electric shock had poured through him. The images came in a flooding rush that bombarded Wyatt's mind, forcing him to witness whatever it was fate chose to bestow upon the gift of premonition.

A darkened room with a pentagram carved into a stone floor. Candles rested at each of the points and a crumpled body lay in the center of large symbol. The room was only illuminated by the candlelight, but there were robed figures and ever so faintly it could be made out that the room seemed much like a courtroom.

A flash of light.

Glass shattering inward as a massive axe-wielding figure leapt inside.

A young woman backing away from the figure, trying to spout off a spell. The figure cleaving the young man she was with using the axe. Wyatt felt a chill as in the vision he watched the man fall lifelessly near the very pew that had sparked the vision. The axe-wielder sliced the woman next and she burst into flames. The murderous figure moved back to the body and yanked something from around the dead youth's neck.

A flash of light.

Somehow the simple premonition had changed midstream. Wyatt felt himself being pulled, actually drawn into it. The images were no longer hazy, colorless flashes, but full color. Like he was actually experiencing this in person. He felt like he was actually there.

The darkened room again. Only now Wyatt wasn't looking on it as an outside observer, but from the position of the figure in the center. Now bound and spread eagled like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. He craned his neck to look around him, squinting into the dim light. Necklaces. Five necklaces, including the one he had just seen taken from the youth were placed at each of the points around him. Wyatt tried to move his hands and legs, but they were bound. All he could do was lift his head to look towards the shadows. The large figure with the axe stepped forward from the other robed and hooded figures, looming over him. Poised at his head.

Raising the axe.

The axe descending towards his neck. He tightened his jaw in preparation for the blow he knew was going to come, but he would look his killer in his eyes when he died.

Wyatt cried out and jerked his hand away from the pew as though it was still hot from the flames. He was glad that D.J. was there to grab him when his legs nearly gave out from the swift wash of exhaustion from whatever that just was hit him, covering up the fading pain. He knew most of the color was absent from his face as he gasped for breath.

"Wy?" D.J. asked in concern, supporting Wyatt until he was sure he had his footing back.

"…I… I'm okay…" Wyatt reassured in a voice that sounded half like he had expected not to be. Images of the axe coming towards his neck and the lingering pain of having felt it danced in his head again and he swallowed hard. Wyatt lifted a hand to his neck, feeling it to be sure everything was still attached. He lifted his eyes to look at D.J. and smiled weakly, "…that was new."

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Author's Note: There, Chapter Three (Or, technically Chapter Four if you count the Prologue) is finished now. :) Yes, I intentionally named her "Andy" before anyone asks... dear, sweet Trudeau, that's my little homage to thee. Now things are going to start picking up. Bwah hah hah.