Disclaimer: Charmed isn't mine. But this story is.
Set: Mid Season 6
Author's Note: This is my first Charmed fic and I have seen nowhere near the entirety of the episodes. Apologies for any ignorant blunders.
Charmed
The Sandman's Apprentice
by
Starzangel
P1: Hushabye
The corridor was incredibly long. Quite possibly it could be said to be endless and the meaning would be literal. There was no sign of an end or a turning, or not that Chris could see. All there was were doors, lots and lots of identical, plain, metal doors - one every three metres on each side. Their dull metallic hue was in fitting with the white walls and ceiling with its dim strip lighting, and the slate-coloured lino. Everything was simple, clinical and in severe lack of the welcoming touch. It even stank of disinfectant.
Every fibre of Chris's being wanted to get out of there. Something was very wrong with this place. He could sense the darkness of it, lurking behind the odd façade. He broke into a run, praying for a way out.
Of course, the regimental doors were the obvious means to attempt escape. But Chris could feel the unearthly power behind them - whatever they were the entrances to was not good.
He hurried on, passing tauntingly identical door after tauntingly identical door.
There was no sound except the thud of his shoes against the flooring and the increasing harshness of his rapid breathing. Sweat beaded on his brow and his limbs felt like lead.
It hurt as if a metal band was tightening around his forehead and his lungs couldn't seem to draw in enough oxygen.
The air was getting thinner.
Much thinner.
His running steps began to falter. He staggered against a door, his vision spinning. The metal was cool and firm, not shifting a millimetre in its frame under his weight. Chest heaving and muscles burning, Chris was incapable of pushing away and standing on his own. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and his jelly-like legs finally gave way, sending him down into a limp heap.
Beneath his cheek the cold door seemed to pulse, the dark power behind it wanting to drain his white magic. His eyes were hypnotically drawn to the door handle, his hand itched to reach up for it. Fighting against the enforced desire, Chris screwed his eyes up tight. But the image stayed with him. Burning in his retinas.
Open it.
The disembodied voice was deep and taunting, echoing in his mind.
No. I won't. Chris opened his eyes and fought to sit up straight. But he failed. It felt like there was a vice around his chest, tightening and tightening. He couldn't breathe.
Would you rather die? Open it!
"Chris?"
A familiar female voice broke through, seeming to come from far away.
"Chris!"
The voice was getting louder and was unmistakably Paige's.
He tried to reply, but her name died on his blue-grey lips.
"Chris, wake up!"
Chris's eyelids slid back and the blonde witch's face came into focus. She drew back, releasing his shoulders now that her shaking had gotten the desired effect.
Shifting, Chris found himself sat on the sitting room sofa at the Halliwell Manor, bathed in sweat and trembling.
"I must've dosed off..." he mumbled, realising that the nightmarish corridor had been just that, a nightmare.
Paige moved the old demonology book, which had slipped off his lap, and sat down beside him.
"Are you ok?" she asked, concerned.
"Yeah. Just a nightmare." He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand, as embarrassment coloured his blanched cheeks a little.
"Reading stuff like that is bound to give you nightmares," Paige declared, indicating the text. "Worse than cheese."
He managed to grin back at her.
"Maybe you should give all this demon seeking a rest for a bit," Paige suggested, seriously. "You've been working yourself a little too hard recently."
Chris's grin fell, displaced by irritation and anger. He stood up and glared down at her.
"Well someone has to!" he snapped. "The demon that converts Wyatt could attack any day now. The future depends on me working out who it is before it's too late."
"You've been saying that for weeks," Paige tried to reason, spreading her hands.
"That's because it's true!" Chris sighed, exasperated and bitter. "I'm so sorry if I sound like a broken record, but you lot don't seem to be getting the gravity of the situation through your pretty little heads!"
Fury burned through his tired body. They didn't know what was at stake here! But they couldn't, Chris reminded himself, that was the point, they didn't know, not really. And Paige was only acting out of concern for him. He sighed again, but it was a longer, calmer release of breath this time.
"I'm sorry." He rubbed his aching temples with a hand, as he looked down, ashamed. "I've not been able to sleep much at night and it's making me a bit..."
"Cranky?" Paige supplied.
"Yeah." He gave her an apologetic half-smile.
"It's ok." She reached up and gently squeezed his hand. "You've been through a lot lately and I know you're only trying to help."
He squeezed her hand back in thanks, before letting go.
"I was about to head into work," she told him, standing up to grab her jacket off the coffee table. "I can pick you up some sleeping tablets on the way, if you like?"
"Nah. Thanks, but I'll be fine," Chris politely declined her offer.
"If you're sure?" She paused in the doorway, car keys in hand.
He nodded.
"'K. See you later."
"Bye," he called after her.
Alone in the room, Chris picked up the ancient, leather-bound book and flickered through until he recovered the page he'd been reading. With a distracted yawn, he headed for the kitchen to get a hot drink to orb up to the attic with. The caffeine would pretty much be a necessity if he wanted to cross-reference his demonology text without falling asleep on the Book of Shadows.
I'll be back.
Chris stopped in his tracks, frozen by the sound of the threatening, disembodied voice.
I'm not done with you yet, Christopher.
To be continued...
A/N: Any good? Worth continuing?