The Storyteller

At the same time, down in Riley's room, both Rider and Riley were sprawled out on the gigantic king-sized bed. Riley lay on his tummy, listening to his brother read from an enchanted book of folktales, Riley's most prized literary possession.

"How about Rapunzel?" Rider suggested, skimming the table of contents. "We haven't read that one in a long time."

"Here's the headline," said Riley, "Young damsel with split ends seeks Prince who is too dumb to find a ladder . . . No thanks."

Rider's grin teased and his eyebrows questioned, "Damsel?"

"She's in distress isn't she?"

"Fine, you win," Rider relented. (Jeez, what's his problem?) "Moving right along... How 'bout The Maiden With No Hands?"

"It's just Helen Keller with a different ailment" griped Riley. "Next please!"

"Alrighty then!" said Rider, continuing the search. "Ooh! Ooh! Here we go! Jo'cinta & Jo'rinda?"

"Jo'no-thank-you."

(Okay, who is this guy and what has he done with my brother?) "Last offer," Rider said with a slight groan. "The Three Little Men in the Woods."

"May they live long and prosper! God bless! May the road rise up to meet them . . . and no thanks."

"It's a good thing Grandma's not here to see you like this;" said Rider. "You'd be breakin' her heart."

"What do you mean?" Riley asked sincerely.

"You know how she's always going on about how glad she is that the grumpy gene skipped our generation?" asked Rider. "You're coppin' a pretty typical 'Dadittude' at the moment."

Were it anyone but Rider, Riley's gut reaction would've been to deny such a charge, but considering the source, he opened himself up to the possibility.

"I am, aren't I," he said apologetically. "I haven't been like this all night, have I?"

Rider kept the mood as light as his mental fatigue would allow. "Seeing as how it's in my job description to help maintain your self-esteem, I find it unwise to answer that question."

"Ya know, it takes you longer to say 'yes' than anyone I know."

"A-ha!" Rider exclaimed. "There you go again!"

Riley's reply was interrupted by the pounce of a certain 25-year-old expert time-traveler, as he landed flat on the bed between the two young men, like the third member of a weekend sleepover. Without saying a word, he rolled over onto his back, and took great satisfaction in throwing his sons' own words back in their faces.

'Dad, when can I have my own bedroom? I don't have any privacy,' he teased. 'Dad, why can't I have Uncle Shane's bedroom when he goes to Harvard?'

The two brothers looked questioningly at one another, a tinge of guilty pleasure on their faces.

"Let's see, what else?" Chris wondered aloud. "I know there's one that I'm forgetting... Oh, that's right, 'Dad, I can't sleep 'cause Rider snores like gravel in a blender; can I please have my own bedroom?' ... I think that one was my personal favorite."

Chris looked to his left, where Riley was lying on his tummy. "Ringin' any bells?"

"Not a single jingle," Riley coyly replied. He looked to his brother. "Any of that sound familiar to you?"

"Nope!" returned Rider. "In fact, some of those words I've never even heard before."

"Well, ya better learn them," said Chris, "before people start accusing me of stunting your growth by letting two eighteen year olds camp out in the same room."

"Don't see that happenin'," said Riley. "You're the 25-year-old with two 18-year-old sons. I'd say you're far better suited for the role of 'man with stunted growth'."

Chris feigned annoyance, but his insides chuckled. "You guys, you do realize that, if you ever wanna settle down with someone, this little setup is gonna be a problem, right?"

"Actually it won't," said Riley, "It's a big ol' king sized bed; we could fit two more people in here easy."

Chris looked questioningly from one to the other, waiting for a follow-up. "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Rider.

"This is the part where you tell me that you're not speaking from experience."

"Actually," Riley began.

"Ya know what? Never mind." Chris quickly interrupted. "I don't wanna know."

And he meant it: He didn't wanna know. However, he also saw the moment as a rare opportunity to fight fire with fire. "Oh that reminds me, Rider, I never got to answer your question about where babies come from."

"Objection!" said Riley.

"On what grounds?"

"I don't know yet, but they'll be really, really good grounds! ... Nice and fertile, lotsa trees."

Chris smiled; a surprisingly common occurrence amongst his present company. "Relax, you two, I was just gonna say, if you have any questions, Grandma's door is always open."

For many of us, the "talk" was awkward enough with our own parents. Can you imagine being taught the 'facts of life' by your grandparents?
Rider looked past his father to Riley. "Well I'm scarred for life. How 'bout you?"

"I've already forgotten it. It was that traumatic."

"So Rider," said Chris, strategically changing the subject. "you lookin' forward to your motorcycle class?"

Rider's face perked right up like a jack-in-the-box. "Man, I am so..." (Whoops!) "I mean: Man, I am so confused as to what you're talking about."

Chris dealt Rider the traditional parental facial expression that he'd spent five years perfecting: the 'you-and-I-both-know-that-you're-lying-through-your-teeth-so-you-can-drop-the-act' expression.

Riley thought to himself as he stared with baffled astonishment at his chronically over-informative brother. (I just don't get it. No matter how often we practise avoiding Dad's sneaky little word traps, he still takes the bate, every..single..time!...)

If a voice could slump, Rider's would have. "How'd you know?"

"Well, I didn't for sure," said Chris. "Until I cornered a certain uncle of yours on it."

With timid hesitation, Rider asked, "Are you mad?"

Chris all but smiled. "Do I look mad?"

Though Rider sighed with relief for himself, he still held out concerns for his doomed Uncle Shane. "So then, are you mad at..."

"Shane?" Chris shook his head. "Not really, but now I've got someone to yell at after your first mailbox collision."

In a mildly defensive tone, Rider said, "What makes you so sure I'm gonna..."

He was cut short by the challenging certainty in his father's knowing glare.

"Yeah, you're right," Rider quickly mumbled. "What if I promise to be really careful?"

Chris's expression held firm.

"Yeah you're right."

Having run out of ideas, Rider went with his go-to defense: youthful frustration, "I swear, I run into one mailbox and suddenly I'm some wreckless adrenaline junkie."

And still, Chris's eyes worked their magic.

"Well, at least I'm a safe wreckless adrenaline junkie."

It was all about the eyes.

"Okay, I don't wanna play this game anymore," griped Rider.

"Rider, why didn't you just ask me?" Chris said sincerely.

"Would you have said 'yes'?"

"Hell no! Are you crazy?"

"Headache." moaned Rider, massaging his temples. "You know, you make about as much sense as a submarine with a screen door. First you say..."

"Rider, you know the drill ... You would ask; I'd say 'No'. You'd pout for a week; I'd give in."

"But..."

"And don't pretend that you don't know that that's how things work around here because it hasn't changed in five years."

"Dad, do you have any idea how much energy it takes to pout for an entire week?" Rider asked flatly. "Seriously, at the end of that week, my lips could bench press an elephant."

Chris rolled his eyes.

"It's not like I have a motorcycle anyway."

(Oh, what the hell!) "Yeah well, something tells me that won't be a problem for too much longer."

Rider stared suspiciously at his father. "Hold on a cotton pickin' minute... Does this mean you're gonna let me go?"

"I'm saying you can take the class," answered Chris. "I'm not promising anything."

Unbeknownst to himself, Rider's leg muscles started to twitch with giddy excitement, "So I can get my license?"

Chris felt like he was trying to steer a runaway train. "You can get your license and then maybe... maybe we'll see about finding you a motorcycle." (Oh, who am I kidding? He might as well start picking out pads and a helmet.)

(Who is he kidding? I might as well start picking out pads and a helmet.) "Sweeet!!! Dad, I can't even tell you..."

"Don't thank me yet," Chris cautioned. "You're gonna have to do one hell of a job in that class before you even think about getting outta the driveway."

"How hard can it be? It's just like my speeder withou-"

"No, Rider, it's not!" Chris insisted. "Motorcycles don't have anti-collision magnets or equilibrium gages. It's all guess work. You've gotta be 10 times more careful."

"But Dad..."

"Don't 'But, 'Dad' me... Motorcycles can be replaced. You can't." Chris said firmly. "Rider, I know that taking things seriously isn't really your thing but I'm not kidding about this."

Rider sighed, surprised at how genuinely worried his young father was. "Okay." he said earnestly.

"Thank you," said Chris, with an exhausted sigh of his own. "Pop quiz: tell me about the pretty white signs with the pretty black numbers on them."

"You're serious?"

"If you want those tires to go anywhere near a street, yeah I am," said Chris. "So, those white signs are..."

"Important information to which I am to stricktly adhere."

"And they are not..."

"Modern art for roadside viewers."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel better already."

To watch Chris's five-year evolution from willful young adult to willful young parent was much like watching a tree grow from a sapling to a giant oak, right before your very eyes. However, just because the evolutionary process was a quick one, doesn't mean it was a graceful one. At least, not at first. In fact, most of that first year, Chris treated fatherhood as some sort of fragile antique that he didn't want to risk breaking by picking it up.

Also, the notion of future consequences provided quite an obstacle in itself. After all, it's quite challenging to get to know someone who can't tell you anything about their past and very little about themselves. Such a discipline was engrained in the boys' heads at a very early age. By whom? They wouldn't/couldn't say.

The one thing that Chris would forever remember about the day that Rory brought the boys back from the future was making the decision whether or not he'd be willing to read a bedtime story to two 13-year-olds. In one of Chris' less than sensitive moments, he laughed at the idea, and it broke Riley's heart. In all fairness, Chris had no way of knowing that Riley had always regretted that he'd never been read a bedtime story. He knew full well how ridiculous such an act might appear to most people. He didn't care.

Had Chris noticed the look on young Riley's heartbroken face as he scoffed at the idea of reading to him, he would've handled things differently. Rory, however, did see the young man's face, and responded in the most un-Rory-like manner to date.

Rory stormed towards Chris, grabbed him single-handedly by the neck, pushed him against the sitting room wall, and held him there, as he said (and I quote): "If those two turn twenty and they want help wipin' their asses, then you damn well better help wipe 'em. If they're thirty and they want help blowing their noses, you damn well better help blow 'em. And, if they turn fifty and they want you to read 'em a bedtime story, then you god damn well better read 'em a (censored) bedtime story, or I will make DAMN sure that you do! Do you understand me?'

With the fear of both heaven and hell spread across his face, Chris nodded. It was a side of Rory that no one had ever seen before, or has ever seen since.

After Rory had stormed out of the Main Hall, Chris loudly complained, "How the hell can he be mad at me for something I haven't even done yet?"

At that point, Leo loudly cleared his throat.

"Oh... Never mind."

"So, what story are you guys reading tonight?" Chris asked his boys.

"Good question," Rider answered, handing the enchanted book to his father. "We haven't been able to pick one out yet."

"It's my fault," said Riley, part confession, part complaint. "I'm just...I dunno. I'm just in a mood."

"Really?" said Chris. "Interesting. You'd think you were a Halliwell; you know how moody those crazy witches can get."

Riley replied with a small grin, thankful for the lifeline.

"Do you want me to read to you?" asked Chris.

Riley made the conscious decision to roll his eyes. "Dad, we're 18. We can read our own st-"

"I'm gonna repeat that," Chris interrupted, looking Riley directly in the eye. "Do you want me to read to you?"

With his face turning red, Riley replied, "Yeah, that'd be nice. Would ya?""

Chris gave no answer. He cracked the book, turned to The Twelve Brothers, Riley's all-time favorite Grimm's Fairy Tale, and began to read.

"Once upon a time..."

Two minutes later...

"Okay, Evel Knievel," Chris quietly said to Rider, "Looks like your brother's asleep. Why don't ya hit the light?"

"Yeah?" said Rider, a slight shimmer in his eyes. "You mean, we're playing sleepover?"

Chris frowned a bit. "If you promise to never call it that again, then yeah, we are. Now cut out the light."

"Yes sir!" By simply focussing his eyes on the wall switch, Rider doused the overhead lights. "G'night Dad," he said, and moved into a cozy position.

(Now what are the odds that he'll go straight to sleep?)

"Dad?"

(That's what I thought.) "Mmm hmm?" said Chris, his voice becoming lazier by the minute.

"Did you really write 'Property of Chris Halliwell' on a Darklighter's head?"

Chris said with a slow yawn, "Something like that."

"Does that mean you have him stored in a closet somewhere?" asked Rider. "Maybe you're saving him for a rainy day?"

"Nope," Chris replied, and his words began to slightly slur. "He's history."

Though he truly did give it an honest try, Rider just couldn't seem to convince his questions to wait. "Any particular inspiration behind the event?"

After a deep sigh, Chris answered, "He made Lee do all that... eye and voice stuff."

"Oooh... I'll bet your picture's in more than a few demonic post offices."

"Mm hmm." Chris said, his voice drenched with fatigue, as he spoke between his yawns. "That Darklighter's just lucky that it wasn't one of you two."

"Aww Dad, you old softy!"

Chris poured out the last of his energy. "Rider?"

"Uh huh?"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

And with a cozy smile on his face, Rider did just that.