Meanwhile, Pt 2: Bleed into the Purple (Director's Cut)

Family gatherings have a strange way of becoming open-forum observations. In some families it's a thoughtless attempt at conversation when the football game ends and no other topic presents itself. Family youngsters are the easy targets of said observation (certainly easier than adults looking at themselves). Things like "She's got her Mother's eyes" or "He's as stubborn as his Daddy" make their way into group discussions as children tear at packages like savages salivating over a fresh kill. The Prescott Street family – a village that raised its own children – was only a teency bit different. Magic was the family business – the whole family's business – and the act of being born was in itself an initiation into the First Family of Benevolent Magic (the word "benevolent" being the preferred substitute for "good").

River's memory was ruthless in its accuracy. Not photographic per se, but what pictures his mind did take – and they were many – his mind sharpened and saturated, creating a clarity and vibrancy that rivaled any High Definition display. As a child, whenever he was introduced to a family acquaintance, he knew that some variant of "He has Chris's eyes" or "He's just like his dad was at that age" was on the way, usually immediately following "Hello" and "Nice to meet you". Once upon a time, the absence of such sentiments left River feeling uneasy, as if a sadistic saloon pianist had clunked out the shave and a haircut but withheld the two bits.

For Piper, the resemblance was striking, so much that her breath would flutter upon seeing her second son in a son of his own. The way his shoulders could slump and still look proud. The way those "heartbreaking" eyes could be as spiteful as they were warm. Even the parts of his lean chest that his breath would fill.

To River, the similarities had never been more acutely obvious than they had been this night, and boy did that piss him off. His response to seeing his long less-than-lost dad surprised him as much as anyone. A few angry words from Chris and River made a postal worker look like a meditation guru. And the thing that had ticked him off most of all would've been the most embarrassing to admit: Chris was sleeping between his brothers, right there in the middle. And that was his spot.

Meanwhile, River had orbed both Rider and himself into the cell of black quartz that had been prepared for him.

"Damn it," River said in a sharp hiss.

"Rough night?" Rider's eyes peeked down at the blade still sitting cold against his throat. For River, the decision of whether or not to take the knife from his little brother's throat was like deciding whether or not to let go of the head of a rattlesnake, for fear it would turn to strike. Ultimately, he chose to play it safe; historically, Rider wasn't the type to react calmly is such situations.

"What the hell was he doing there?" (I can't even say his damn name?)

"Well woudja look at that? I was gonna ask you the same question."

(If only you knew, little bro...) "Why was he there, Rider?"

(Oh what the heck) "We were having a sleepover."

River snorted. "A what?"

"Yeah, we ate cookie dough, watched 'Pretty in Pink', gave each other facials. You really missed a good time."

"Hey, if you don't wanna let me in on your little secret, then..."

It probably wasn't the best time to be admitting that Chris had been reading his eighteen year-old son a bedtime story. "Look, Dad's just a little on the protective side."

(A little?) "So he has to sleep in the bed with you? That doesn't seem a little pathetic to you?"

Whoa. Why was he dissing their daddy? "Ya know, you're right. I mean it's not like there's any danger of us being kidnapped in the middle of the night or anything."

Okay, point for Rider. But kidnapping had hardly been the plan. In fact, it'd been the opposite. If River could've gotten to Rider and Riley before the angry mob showed up... So what was he supposed to do now? If only he could find a way to get to Riley... But judging from Chris's reaction to a foreign presence in his kid's room, he'd be on Riley like white on rice. And he'd seen first-hand that fighting his way past Chris wasn't an option. And boy did that just burn him up all the more.

On his best day, River was a sub-par small talker, and even if he excelled in the art, what does one say while stalling to consider his next move while holding a lethal weapon at his brother's Adams apple? "So... you can heal?" He figured he could've done worse.

"For about three years now."

The green in River's eyes was currently winning the battle with the blue. "Can Riley?"

Eighteen questions left 'til he got to twenty. "Yep."

"Did he teach you?" It was easier to ask the back of his brother's head.

"Why? Wanna hire him?"

Since when was Rider sarcastic? "Ya know, you're not exactly the ray of sunshine you used to be."

"This coming from 'The Source who Stole Christmas'?"

That stung. "Ya know what? Fine, then how about you just shut up and let me think?"

"Well it's always good to try new things."

"Speaking of new things, how's that shutting up going?"

"Ya know..." To most folks, it'd seem as though Rider were merely musing aloud, when in fact he was following his standard operational procedure for 'tense' situations: ceaseless chattering. Like Chris said, that 'spaz energy' had to go somewhere. "I bet I've imagined what it'd be like when you came back at least a thousand times..."

River scoffed. "Disappointed?"

"I mean, I know you like to make an impression, but Jesus Fund-raising Christ, River."

"Too showy?"

"Thanks to you, Dad's probably price-checking vasectomies online as we speak."

"Really? Cause I think I'm really winning him over."

"The only thing you're winning is a free trip to that big recycle bin in the sky when Dad gets his hands on you."

River's cheeks burned. He'd gotten cocky. Everything he knew about war taught him that . The thought of pride going before a fall might be a cliché, but there's a reason clichés have stuck around the way they have. "I'm not worried." Were he made of wood, his nose would be growing. Just like the bruise on his ego of considerable size.

"Big talk for someone who just had his ass orbed back to him. Not mention that you just kidnapped Piper Halliwell's grandson, the son of the Ring of Nine's field captain, the nephew of the Ultimate Power, the..."

"When did you become such a name dropper?"

"Hey, I'm just sayin' that, short of kidnapping the baby Jesus, you couldn't be more screwed. And even then..."

"And they say Wyatt has a Messiah complex."

"Fine. Better take your 'yuks' while you can get 'em, because Grandma's the scariest thing on two legs when you mess with her family."

"You mean the grandma that barely knows you?"

Okay. Point for River. Although... "Hey, I'm instantly lovable. As opposed to the learn-to-love me personality type that, say..."

Three runaway words: "that Chris is?"

Also true. However... "I was gonna say 'you'."

"Ooh. Harsh, little bro."

'Little bro'. The last time he'd called him that, it had sounded so different. All playfulness or protectiveness. None of this acidic prickliness or need to chop him down. Even as a boy, River had always been a serious, unusually focused person, but his aura had never worn spikes before.

"Look," Rider said, "I don't know what your problem is with him. But it's your problem."

Three more words made a break for it: "Not for long."

"Decrypt please."

"I'm just saying you don't know your hero like you think you do."

"Oh, and you do."

Hardly. "I know his reputation."

"You mean the one he technically doesn't have yet?"

It had been a weak argument, but also River's only argument. Taking evasive action, he said, "Just so I know where we stand, you're not planning on being any help at all tonight, are you."

"Depends. How long does it take Stockholm Syndrome to kick in?"

"Nicks the drama, Shatner. This isn't a kidnapping."

"Let's see. Grabbed from behind, knife to the throat, forcibly orbed into a condo-sized chunk of purple rock candy. What would you call it? Search and Rescue?"

But hearing those words spoken, it occurred to River that 'search and rescue' was exactly what this night had become. He just needed a 'where' for the search, and a 'how' for that rescue. "Look. I'll explain later. Right now, I've gotta get back."

"Why? Got an evil casserole in the oven? Or just anxious to get back to your darkly clad little buddies?"

Strange. It'd been a long time since he'd perceived the word 'evil' as an insult. "How about you quit throwing that word around?"

"Casserole?"

River knew that he was stalling. Chris had thrown the granddaddy of monkey wrenches into his airtight game plan. Now even backup plans A-through-C were ripe for file thirteen. "Look, I know this is a cliché, but there's a perfectly good explanation for all this."

"Did it start with you under an anvil? Because that I could believe."

"Rider, I'm serious."

"If you go, I'm coming with you."

"No." Sharp. Direct. Precise. River.

"Yes. If you go, you're taking me with you." (So I can make sure you keep your dark-lighting little mitts off my family.)

"No. You're safer here."

"You're cracked, Humpty, if you think leaving me in a cage..."

"I wouldn't have brought you here if it wasn't safe."

"Imagine my relief," Rider said. "Ya know, call me crazy..."

(Too easy.)

"...but somehow I felt safer with my Dad and my brother."

That stung. "You're with your brother, you ass." So much for feeling like the third musketeer again.

"Yeah, my brother the psycholighter." Rider turned his head, eyes narrowing in accusation. "So how'd you get to be a darklighter anyway."

Long story. "No time. Look, I'll be back. Just don't try to orb out."

"Why not?"

"Just... Trust me."

"Nope. What else ya got?"

"How 'bout it'll hurt like Hell when it shatters your orbs?"

Rider studied the darkened crystal, which seemed to be emitting its own dark, violet light. "What is this stuff anyway?"

"It's black quartz."

"Your birthstone?"

"It's crystallized Darklighter poison."

Not only evil, but clinically insane.

"Are you mental? This stuff is like kryptonite to me."

"Hey, it's no multi-vitamin for me either."

"And yet here we are."

"Relax. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

"I'd say that ship's already sailed, wouldn't you?."

"Look, I brought you here because it's the safest place for you right now."

"As opposed to the mansion stuffed to the rafters with the most powerful witches of all time?"

"Did you happen to notice the small army that barged in on us? Those were hired assassins."

"Ya mean they weren't Midnight Mormons?"

"More like midnight murderers."

"My next guess."

And onward the clock ticked.

"I'll be back for you. I promise." It sounded so detached, as though some part of River meant it, he just couldn't determine which.

"If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my family again..." Without calling for it, Rider orbed the athame to his hand, elbowed River in the ribs, smashed his foot with his heel, head butted him with the back of his head, spun around, and with his telekinesis, slammed River into the wall.

River's mouth was open long before he could push the "Ow!" from his throat. It was his ego, though, that was taking the bear of all beatings tonight.

Rider lunged toward him, pressing him into the cell wall with his knee and forearm. He raised the athame to River's throat. "...then you've gotta a whole truck-load of other things comin'."

River breathed in a hiss as he flattened his body against the wall. "Eeeasy Skunk Boy."

"That's Skunk Man, to you." Actually, the bleached white lock of hair did seem a little silly at the moment. He was hardly to blame though. When his cousin Holly was under stress, nobody's hair was safe.

Rider was so close, his breath was heating River's skin.

River turned his head away. "Christ. Even your breath is pissed off."

"Well I get a little punchy when people try to murder my family."

"Hey, Chris attacked me first."

"And let me guess. You went straight for the peace talks. Right?"

Mix one cup of anger with one cup of embarrassment. Stir until awkward. Serves one prodigal son.

"Right?"

River sighed. "So sue me. I've got issues."

"No, 'V'. You've got a lifetime subscription."

"Cut me some damn slack, wouldja? My morality's a little fuzzy right now."

"So let's see if we can't clear it up a little bit. Starting with what the heck happened to you, and why are you here?"

River's eyes rolled to the ceiling, as if subconsciously asking for help - just that morning, they would've sunk downward - and his hardened angst was becoming something more desperate, though he begrudgingly acknowledged this. "Look, 'D', I don't have time for this. I've gotta get back to the manor before..."

"If you think I'm letting a Darklighter anywhere near my family..."

"I'm not a Darklighter!" he said, hoping he meant it. "Not really."

"So the crossbow was, what, a fashion statement?"

"Conjured."

Okay, that much Rider could buy; as a child, conjuring had been the first of River's powers to be discovered. "And the black orbs?"

(Two years worth of blood transfusions...) But it'd take him until morning to explain that one, so instead he said nothing, hoping his little brother would see something in his eyes that would earn his trust, even if only tentatively.

They held each others' stares for an uncomfortably long time. This was the first chance they had to take a good look at each other, and without the verbal sparring, they became something akin to calm, each not only looking at but seeing the other.

The differences, physically speaking, were less noticeable to each other than their similarities. And yet not so. Both boys had their father's diamond-sharp eyes, though they differed in color. Rider's were a rich clover with strands of emerald woven throughout. River's were a cold sapphire flecked with shards of jade and hollow sky. But in a world bled dry of its color, their eyes were distinguishable still, for they mirrored two different lifetimes.

Rider's eyes shown of his dad's clarity of will along with the stubbornness to back it up, as well as a bouncy enchanted spark said to have come from his mother.

But River's eyes told a darker tale: that of someone made to hide among his enemies and calm himself their friend, made to pretend to lust for the slaughtering of angels, made to laugh at their weeping while his poison drained them of the last of their immortality, made to smile as the last flicker of life died in their eyes. Many nights, he'd lain awake trying to remember the moment at which he first forgot he'd been pretending.

Rider's experience of his brother awakened what could only be called pity, the reality of this being hidden by Rider as best he could, knowing that River had always been the proudest of all Chris's children. River looked like he'd been strapped to a chair in a padded room for six years and forced to watch Schindler's List on Monday through Friday with a Quentin Tarantino marathon every weekend. Where does one even begin to help someone recover from such a thing... whatever that particular thing was.

Maybe a simple act of trust would be a good place to start.

Maybe it was a triplet thing. Maybe it was that Halliwell intuition. Maybe it was the brothers falling back into step one tick of the clock at a time. Rider lowered the blade from his brother's throat. "River just... Just tell me what's going on."

It must've worked, this act of trust; River didn't fight him. Instead, he closed his eyes; an image of Rory sinking to the bottom of a fountain shown behind his eyelids. And when he opened his eyes again, he seemed more... human, somehow. "Rider, I think..." He hesitated for a time - (I think coming back here was a bad idea) - as long as it took to wrangle his emotions. Then, "I think I might've really screwed up."

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Hope y'all enjoyed it! Synopsis Thursday and the new chapter the following Sunday! Oh! And if you ask questions in reviews, could you pretty-please sign them so that I can reply with answers to the questions?

Talk to y'all soon!

Sincerely,

Alwyn