I've been trying to clear out some of the half-finished fics on my computer. I have no idea when this was started, but I re-wrote it in around an hour and I know I won't re-read it for a while, so I've decided to post it instead. I hope you enjoy.

There is a lot of mention of blood and death so be warned. Also, there's an angsty witchlighter with unresolved daddy issues, but that's just Charmed so...

The dark-lighter arrow had burned when it pierced through his skin, lodging in his shoulder, spreading its poison throughout his body. Chris felt it sear, painfully, in his blood. Almost as much as his head pounded where he struck it when he fell. Not nearly as painful as the dark-lighter tearing the arrow from his body before it shimmered away.

Chris' vision wavered from blurry to black, occasionally whiting out completely when he tried to move. Still, he could make out the growing red puddle pooling underneath him. That was a problem, he knew.

Dark-lighters didn't go for a direct kill, they liked to drag it out. The arrow wound, if left untreated, wouldn't kill him for days, it was the growing puddle that was the problem.

That was how his mom died in the end, he remembered. Blood loss.

They had had to throw out the rug she had died on.

Although, Chris probably would have thrown it out anyway. It held too many memories. His mother's last, stuttering words, telling him that she loved him, his own begging for her not to leave, for Leo to turn up, for Wyatt, for anyone.

Wyatt had turned up, in the end. He had orbed in with just enough time to save his brother, but too late to save their mom. Chris had never made up his mind on which he found to be more unforgivable. His mom's death had been the last time he could remember truly loving Wyatt, and the first time he could remember truly hating him too.

There would be no Wyatt to save him now. There hadn't been for some time. Although, in the deepest part of his heart, the part of him that had inspired him to go on this suicide run and risk saving his brother, rather than just kill him, he knew that if he called Wyatt, he would always come. Or, he believed that he would always come. Chris didn't know what he would have done if Wyatt hadn't come to his aid. Or what he would have done if he had.

In his present – the future – he had made far too many enemies, on both sides. There were plenty of people willing to kill him because of Wyatt, almost as many as those who tried to kill him on Wyatt's orders.

The puddle had grown larger.

They would have to throw out this rug too.

Come to think of it, Chris didn't entirely remember throwing out the rug that their mother had died on. He thought that Wyatt had set it on fire, unable to stare at the stain of his mother and brother's blood. Their mother would have been annoyed, Chris was sure, but then again, she had always hated mess. She had hated it when they had gotten blood on the furniture as children. Almost as much as she hated them bleeding for anything.

They had been energetic children. Always bruised and scraped. It was handy, Chris supposed, with the benefit of hindsight. They had had a mostly normal schooling. They were accident prone enough that the appearance of cuts and bruises stopped alarming their teachers. They would just roll their eyes and smile fondly at them.

Chris wondered how many of those teachers had survived Wyatt's reign to be horrified at what that golden-haired angel had turned into.

The golden hair had come from Leo's father, Chris remembered. He had always, secretly, been glad that he had been the one that looked more like his mother. Even when he wasn't as good at magic, it was always obvious that Chris was a Halliwell, through and through. He had his mother's hair, his aunt's eyes, and his grams' glare. One would have to look closely to see where any resemblance was to his absent father. Chris had always been glad of that. Never had he ever had to look at any part of Leo staring back at him in the mirror.

When he had been younger, angrier and even more hurting than he was now, he had enjoyed pretending that Leo wasn't his father, that he was the son of one of his mother's many other attempts at finding love. But he knew better.

Even now, with their marriage falling apart, it was plain to see that his mom and dad loved each other more than anything. Except maybe Wyatt, the product of that pure love. And Chris and, later, Mel was just a by-product of some tense, angry argument that ended with them falling into each other to avoid destroying the house around them.

Chris was fairly confident he could pinpoint the exact argument that made his little sister. Leo had failed to turn up for a parent-teacher conference, Chris', of course.

He remembered sitting on the stairs, listening at raised voices gave way to louder noises until Wyatt covered his ears and orbed them to the kitchen to get ice-cream.

Chris hated that Wyatt had never lost that. He had never lost that desire to protect Chris from anything, even their own father, even as he lost as sense of Good.

He could never hate the big brother that had protected him from bullies, not even now that he was the biggest bully in the world. Even now, he still loved him.

"Wy," he murmured. His lips were bloodless, barely able to form the name.

Chris was distracted from the growing blackness by the tinkling sound of orbs.

"Wyatt? Why are we here, little guy?" Leo asked.

Chris would have groaned if he had the energy left to. It had been hard enough watching his mother hated him, but did he have to listen to his father love his brother while he continued ignoring his existence. He had spent his entire life listening to that.

"Chris!?"

Hands moved him, pulling his injured arm out from under his body, soaking it in the cooling puddle. Chris had assumed that his shirt had already been saturated, but apparently not.

"Hang on, buddy," Leo begged.

Chris felt the warm glow of Leo's healing over his shoulder. He knew the Elder would move to his head injury next.

It looked like he wasn't going to die. Chris wasn't sure how he felt about that. Instead, he just let the blackness continue to grow, despite Leo's quiet pleading that he look at him.

Chris wondered if they would replace the rug.

Leo had been holding his son in his arms when Wyatt had tilted his head to the side and whimpered.

"What's the matter, buddy?" He asked, not expecting an answer.

Wyatt had looked up at him and whimpered again, before orbing them both.

Leo had clutched Wyatt close, stunned, to be in the Manor. "Wyatt? Why are we here, little guy?" he asked.

Wyatt only wriggled in his arms, demanding to be put down. Leo carefully lowered his son to the ground, still unsure. The sisters were all out today. That was why he was looking after Wyatt. They were off at some spa-weekend to de-stress after a month of nothing but vanquishing demons. Ever their neurotic witch-lighter had been tired. He hadn't put up much of a fight when Piper demanded that he let them off. Even the little he had argued had been mostly for show, Leo was sure.

He had looked too run down to properly go toe to toe with the oldest Halliwell sister. Leo had worried that Chris was off hunting demons when he wasn't with the Charmed Ones. The witch-lighter couldn't heal, himself or others, and Leo worried whenever he went off on his own.

Their relationship had warmed considerably, but Chris still didn't seem to ever want to call Leo for healing. Not that the sisters needed much healing, with their self-sacrificing witch-lighter ready to jump between the sisters and any demon.

That had been part of what had warmed their relationship. That and the revelation that Chris was not a full white-lighter. Now that Leo knew that Chris didn't just look that young, but was in fact that young, and that jaded, he had become somewhat protective over him.

It was just his age, Leo told himself. It wasn't that he saw some similarities between Paige and Wyatt and Chris. It wasn't that he felt some responsibility for Chris, considering that, whoever his parents were, his and Piper's relationship had allowed their relationship to happen. It certainly wasn't that niggling feeling of familiarity that he now got whenever he looked at Chris.

He had found himself paying more attention to other white-lighters, searching for Chris' father among them. He was sure that he must know him. There were no white-lighters with the last name of 'Perry', but maybe Chris went by his mother's name. Like Wyatt.

Leo pushed that thought away. Chris didn't always seem to like him, and he liked him even less when he hovered or got too protective. He wouldn't appreciate Leo viewing him in the same way he did his son.

Wyatt toddled away from Leo, into the living room, and then he stopped. Leo followed him closely, making sure that there was nothing for him to trip over, then he too stopped. Froze, more like.

He had never seen so much blood, certainly not outside of a warzone anyway. At the centre of the river of blood was the witch-lighter that had occupied so much of his thoughts.

"Chris!?" Leo cried out.

Chris didn't move. Leo quickly snatched Wyatt and put him, safely, in his play pen. He didn't waste time before he knelt down next to Chris, his robes instantly becoming soaked in Chris' blood.

Immediately, Leo began to seek out the source of the blood. He noticed the blood on his forehead, and the matching smear on the edge of the end table. He knew that head wounds bled a lot, but not this much.

He hissed at the sight of the wound in Chris' shoulder. Carefully, he pulled the injured limb out from under the still body of the witch-lighter. Chris' sleeve, already stained red, was dragged through the puddle of blood, but Leo ignored that.

He held his hands over the wound in Chris' shoulder and began to heal it. He recognised it as an arrow wound, but there was no sign of a dark-lighter around. Chris would have been easy pickings in this state, if they had wanted Chris dead it wouldn't have been difficult to finish the job, so Leo wasn't too worried about his own safety. Especially since Chris hadn't called him.

Which was something he would be have a Talk with Chris about.

At least he knew it wasn't a trap.

Leo was relieved that Chris' injuries began healing without any difficulty. But his relief faded when he noticed that Chris didn't look to be waking up anymore. He could see slivers of green where the witch-lighter's eyes were still open, but despite his begging, Chris' eyes slid shut.

Leo privately cursed the stubborn witch-lighter, even while he put a hand to his forehead to check for any fever. He was sure that Chris hadn't been poisoned by anything other than the normal dark-lighter poison, but he had to be sure. It would be typical Chris to have made an enemy of a demon with some new or ancient poison that none of them knew about.

Chris' continued stillness didn't relieve Leo's worry, but he was confident that Chris just needed to sleep off the blood loss. And possibly the headache.

Leo turned to check on Wyatt. His son was happily playing with his toys, but he did cast a glance down at the injured witch-lighter. Leo had no idea what relationship Chris had managed to form with his son, but he wasn't bothered by it. Mainly because Chris seemed just as confused by the toddler's attention.

After ensuring his son's safety, he pulled Chris' limp body against him and he orbed them upstairs to Piper's bedroom.

He doubted that she would be happy to find the witch-lighter unconscious on her bed, especially as covered in blood as he was, but he didn't feel comfortable going into the other sisters' rooms. And he knew that Piper still had some of his clothes in her wardrobe. He tried not to think too much about that. It gave him too much hope for the future.

Speaking of the future, Leo carefully lay Chris down on Piper's bed, trying to sit him up comfortably. Chris' shirt was unsalvageable, but his trousers were alright, if not a little stained. Chris could clean them using a spell if he wanted, but that seemed a little morbid. Leo decided to leave that up to Chris. His own sweats wouldn't fit Chris anyway.

It was awkward trying to wrangle off Chris' soaked shirt, especially since it was Chris. With anyone else, Leo knew he would be able to just get through it, but Chris was the one person who would not want to be seen shirtless and unconscious by anyone. Much less Leo.

Still, he wasn't going to leave him in his own blood-stained clothing.

Once the sodden shirt was off, Leo dropped it on the ground. He considered leaving it out to burn it later, but he decided to throw it in the bin once he was finished. He snatched a soft pyjama shirt from the back of Piper's wardrobe and moved to wrangle Chris into it. He glanced down at the witch-lighter trying to piece together how to do so when he froze.

It was mainly the blood loss, but Chris' skin was chalk white, making the criss-crossing scars that decorated his skin stand out even clearer. Some had clearly been stitched closed whereas others had been poorly cauterised. His torso was a mess of scars. It was out of place on someone so young.

Another thing became uncomfortably clear in Leo's mind. Being half witch meant that Chris had gotten all these scars in his short life, but he would have also been entitled to a white lighter. Where had they been? Had they been killed when Wyatt took over? Had they been any good if Chris looked like he did? And, worst of all, if Chris was half white-lighter, was his white-lighter his father?

Leo had wondered who Chris' parents were. If one was a white-lighter he might know him. But when he thought about Chris' eyes and his stubbornness and his neurotic nature he couldn't think of anyone. He couldn't even think of any witches who could be Chris' mother - or father. It wasn't impossible that Chris' white-lighter parent was his mother but Leo didn't think that was right. Especially in light of his injuries. Leo couldn't imagine any mother allowing that to happen to their son, but maybe his opinion was clouded by Piper. If anyone left so much as a bruise on Wyatt, they would be blown to pieces - demon, white-lighter or innocent.

Chris groaned, his eyes moving underneath his lids.

Leo dropped the shirt and sat down on the bed in front of Chris, holding his head steady and trying to peer into his eyes. "Chris?" He called out a few times, trying to rouse him fully. "Can you hear me?"

Chris let out another sound that sounded like a moan but could have easily been a yes.

"Chris, can you open your eyes? Do you know where you are? Do you know what happened? Who I am?" Leo prompted. He hadn't had to check anyone for a concussion since his army days but he knew the basics largely hadn't changed. He might be asking a bit much of Chris at minute though, he was barely awake.

"Dad?" Chris slurred. His pupils were barely visible rolling around through tiny slits in his eyelids.

"No, Chris," Leo answered with a pit forming in his stomach. "It's Leo."

"Leo?" Chris slurred. He peeled his eyes open slightly more and, after a long moment, they settled on him. "Oh," he mumbled. "Right." Then, he fell silent.

"Chris," Leo called again. "I healed you but you hit your head and lost a lot of blood. Can you tell me what happened?"

Chris hummed. "Mom," he breathed, but before Leo could correct him, he squeezed his eyes and shut and took a series of deep breaths. "Uh, darklighter?" He guessed. "He shot me and I… I fell," he went on, sounding slightly more sure of himself. "Wyatt?" He wondered.

Leo needed a second to figure out what Chris was saying but then he found himself nodding. "Yeah, Wyatt orbed us here. Did you call him?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice but Chris didn't acknowledge it.

"I - I think so," Chris mumbled. "Not on purpose I was just…" He trailed off, and Leo took the time to fill in the blank with every terrible thought that he had had about his darling little boy going evil. What? Chris was just what? Thinking about all the times he had nearly died because of Wyatt? Wondering if he was always supposed to die because the twice blessed child? Recalling all the others who had fallen like he nearly had? But Chris didn't say any of that. "I was just remembering," he finished. "He saved my life once. It was very… I remembered…" Chris trailed off again. "We destroyed the rug."

Leo didn't have an answer to that. He didn't have a reply to the fact that, at some point, his son had saved the young man in front of him. Were they friends once? Or had it been a power move? For Chris to risk going to the past and saving Wyatt as opposed to killing him, surely they knew each other. Leo couldn't imagine anyone - witch, white-lighter or otherwise - doing the same thing for a stranger. He could imagine doing it for a friend. For family. But…

"I'm sure the girls will be able to get rid of the blood. It's gone through worse," he said as casually as he could manage.

But Chris just blinked at him slowly which made him guess that that hadn't worked out very well. "Thanks for… thanks for coming," Chris croaked out.

This time Leo blinked at Chris. "Well, it was Wyatt who heard you but," he paused. "Chris, if you had called me - if you need help, you can call me. I know that we haven't always gotten on." Chris laughed. "But, I wouldn't leave you to die. Not as another white-lighter, not as someone that I think of as… as a friend."

Chris froze for a minute, staring. "You really mean that?" He murmured, disbelieving.

Leo nodded. "That we're friends? Of course."

"No," Chris paused. "That you'd come if I called?"

Leo stopped. "Of course," he promised. "For Wyatt, for the girls, for yourself, I'd come if you needed. At this point, I'd come even if you didn't." He put on a stern face. "I don't approve of you spending all hours hunting demons by yourself. If the girls need a break, I might be willing to be your partner," he added with a grin.

Chris let out a choked laughed. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that. And your not even the right Leo." He sighed. "But I appreciate that, really. Just promise me that you'll keep meaning that? In the future? Because it's too late for that now, but in the past - uh, the future - there's still time - will be time."

Leo nodded, even if he didn't fully understand what Chris was saying. "Chris, if I wasn't able to help you in the future, I'll try to make sure that I don't mess that up this time - if it still happens. I promise."

Chris ducked his head away, avoiding making eye contact with Leo. "I believe you," he mumbled.

Leo smiled. "And Chris, about it being too late now? I disagree. Whatever relationship we have in the future, where you needed me and I didn't come, we can change that now. It's not too late for us," he insisted.

Grudgingly, Chris smiled but he kept his head down. He had grabbed the shirt that Leo had found for him and he absently ran his fingers over the material. "Yeah," he agreed. "Maybe."

Leo rose to his feet, giving Chris some privacy. "You can put that on and get some sleep, if you want. You were pretty badly hurt, you'll need a few hours to recover."

Chris slipped the shirt on over his head with a pained frown. Leo imagined that he had a bad headache right about now. "Thanks for the shirt, and for healing me," Chris said, shifting to lie down on the bed. "I'll be gone soon."

"It's no problem, Chris. I'll be downstairs playing with Wyatt if you need me," he offered, leaving the door half open behind him, like he would do whenever he put Wyatt to bed.

Behind him, Chris curled up on Piper's bed. Even though she wasn't his mother yet, she certainly smelled the same. Leo's clothes did as well. He hadn't been in a situation like this since he was child, sick and tucked into his parents bed while they went about their day, with his mom coming up to check on him every few minutes. In the evening, his dad would sit on the edge of the bed and check if he was getting any better. After, he would pull him onto his lap and tell him stories about being a white-lighter, or about demons that his mom and aunts had faced at some point - all softened and made appropriate for a child to hear.

Chris hadn't known that he still remembered that. But there were a lot of things about growing up in the Manor that he found himself remembering the more he stayed in the past, like all the little dents and stains that developed in a house with three magical kids, nevermind visiting friends and invading demons. There was furniture that he didn't recognise and decorations that he was sure hadn't been there when he was young, but it was all still home. Maybe, Leo acting like the father that Chris had always wanted - had faint memories of - reminded him that things hadn't always been so difficult, so strained.

He wanted to hate Leo, from the bottom of his heart, but it was hard. It was harder than it was to hate his Leo. But this one was different. He meant it when he said that he would always come when Chris called. He cared. On much more than a superficial level.

He promised and he meant it. Only time would tell if he followed through. For Piper's sake, for his own sake, for all of their sake's, he hoped that he would.