Disclaimer: Sill not mine.
AN: THREE THINGS! One – Yep, I suck. I'm the worst updater in the history of ever. TWO – I doubly suck for coming back with the shortest chapter ever. THREE – It's actually a pretty packed chapter, despite being slightly filler-ish. Also, foreshadowing.
People under suspicion are better moving than at rest. - Franz Kafka
Chapter Seven: Like a Shadow, Forever
November 2018
"That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life," Chris groaned as he watched as his kitchen counter – that five minutes ago had been relatively clean – unsuccessfully fight off the onslaught of cheese wrappers, bread crumbs, and various containers of lunch meats.
Giving up on the mustard, Gabe just shrugged in Chris' general direction and said, "then you need to start by looking up disgusting because this is damn good."
"You put chips on your sandwich!" Chris argued, throwing the emptied bag at him.
"Yeah!" Gabe responded. "Turkey, cheese, mayonnaise, sour cream and onion... barbeque is good, sour cream and cheddar, Doritos-"
"Just stop talking," Chris shook his head, repressing his laughter as Gabe tried to mash the monster sandwich down to a size that had a chance of fitting in his mouth. With a loud crunch, it gave way, sending shards of potato chips flying off in every direction.
"You are so cleaning this up," Chris said as he turned to walk into the living room. "Now get your ass in here, the game's about to start."
"Jesus Christ, it's just football," Gabe shouted back. "It's not even a good sport, like soccer or quidditch."
"Really?" Chris laughed. "Your bringing that up again?"
"All I'm saying is, you witches are all legal and verified and shit, and there's still no quidditch," Gabe shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Why is there no quidditch?"
"Unbelievable," Chris said, shaking his head as he stretched out on the couch, forcing Gabe to sit on the floor. It wasn't an unusual scene; the last two months had been spent like this, and, for the most part, life had been relatively normal. School was fairly easy, if increasingly dull due to the fact that his new high school tended to use more books than Magic School. And there was almost no practical approach to the lessons, mostly because one has a hard time stepping into a history book. Well, it wouldn't be that hard for Chris, but the rest of his classmates would find it difficult.
Gabe hadn't changed much after revealing his big secret except that he seemed a bit more relaxed when he and Chris would hang out alone. There were many moments when Chris could clearly see the forked tongue as Gabe talked, a feature he was always careful to hide in public; and he would walk around barefoot, something he wouldn't have dare done before because of his cracking manticore skin. Chris nearly passed out from laughing when he walked in on Gabe during one of his moisturizing routines which seemed to consist of spreading electric blue paste across the surface of his face and neck, as well as tying bandages soaked in the same mixture around his elbows and knees. Unfortunately, it did very little for his feet.
And then there was the shimmering. It was like Gabe was relieved to be able to do it so often and in front of someone who wasn't his dad. He would pop in during the middle of the night, insisting that Chris wake up and join him on some life-altering experience taking place halfway around the world. Truth be told, he was usually right. Chris' favorite had to be when they crashed a huge night-surfing festival in Hawaii. Neither of them could surf at all, but that didn't stop them from effectively closing down the beach the next morning when the cops came to break up the remaining stragglers.
It was ironic though, that Chris would gain a friend – and a good one at that, he'd decided – when his oldest friend Tyler wanted nothing to do with him. After the party at Misty Gold's house, after discovering Gabe's identity, after being told that his grandfather had cancer, Chris longed for something familiar, something he knew would never change. He and Tyler had fought before and they always managed to laugh about it the next morning. His pride kept him from making amends for nearly two weeks, but he knew his best friend to be just as stubborn. Eventually, his resolve waned and he needed to talk to his friend, but instead of being greeted by Mrs. Mathison's cheery face, he nearly orbed into the giant moving van parked outside the family home.
He was moving. That was what Tyler had been trying to tell Chris that night at the party, why he had been so upset that Chris changed their plans. Because he was leaving and didn't know how to tell him. Because he was worried about Chris, because Chris had already has so many horrible things happen to him this year, and he didn't want it to feel like it was yet another curse in Chris Halliwell's life. But now, Tyler had told him, he didn't care. He was done, just done and as far as Chris was concerned, he was building his own hell.
More than six years of friendship, done. Just like that. And if it were all his fault, Chris couldn't help but feel betrayed. Was one fight really so awful that they couldn't part on good terms? According to Tyler, it was and Chris was left, once again, feeling like another piece of his world was being chipped away. More than that, he felt as if he were being isolated from everything he'd ever known.
His mother, stolen from him. His best friend, finished with him. His grandfather was slowly being eaten alive by a disease that science still hadn't managed to cure, and as much as he hated to admit it, the distance between him and the rest of his family proved to be more than he had prepared for. He didn't visit them as often has he'd promised he would. Part of that was because he was trying to look after his grandfather while respecting Victor's wishes that no one else know about the cancer until there was a more clear diagnosis. And then after there was a clear diagnosis, of stage 3B lung cancer, Victor still insisted that he needed to be the one to break the news to the rest of the family. Chris knew that if Aunt Phoebe or Paige were to ask after him, Chris would break down and tell them. If he were to tell Wyatt, his brother would spread the news faster than he could orb. And Melinda.. she didn't need to know about it and Chris would never force her to keep this a secret. The other part was that Chris was terrified they would see through his facade.
Being friends with Gabe had inadvertently made Chris a better actor. He could smile now, when he wanted to scream. He could laugh when he wanted to crawl into the dark corner of a room and hide. He could joke and jeer and carry on a conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He could trick himself into believing he was happier, that he was moving on. But he if he studied the mirror closely enough, he could see the cracks in his spirit starting to shine through. His eyes were darker and shrouded, the pupils blown a bit too large to be normal. His skin felt loose where he had lost weight and that made his cheekbones appear sharp. His hair needed a trim, but he was afraid to cut it for fear that it would look even thinner than it already did. He knew that he looked different and it was not in that growing up sort of way and that would be obvious to anyone who bothered to pay close attention to him.
It wasn't something he planned on; it's not like he woke up one morning and decided on it. If it had been spelled out to him in black and white and he were then asked to pick a door, he certainly wouldn't have chosen this. But somehow, it had happened and he wasn't sure how to stop, he only knew he had to. Because now, it only took him two weeks to finish them off and then he was sneaking into his grandfather's and later lying about it – all for a few tiny, white, nondescript pills. All for a few hours of feeling nothing.
Somewhere along the lines, he had come to need, to rely upon pain pills just to get through the day.
Sometimes he thought Gabe knew. The way he would look at him sometimes seemed to say that he suspected. More than once, after allowing Gabe to borrow a notebook or a pencil, Chris noticed there were fewer tablets in his backpack at the end of the day. But he never said anything, which Chris found curious. But he couldn't exactly come out and ask Gabe why he continued to let him be a drug addict without admitting that he actually was, in fact, a drug addict. What if Gabe had no idea and Chris was simply imagining the disappearing pills? Except that Chris often counted them, just to be sure and he always knew, without a doubt, how many he had.
God, it made him feel so schizophrenic. Intellectually, he understood he had a problem; physiological, it was a necessary evil; and emotionally, it felt as essential as breathing.
"Want a bite?" Gabe asked, shoving his sandwich under Chris' nose and bringing him crashing back into reality. Chris wrinkled his nose and shook his head firmly. He might be a delusional pill addict but there was no way he was ever eating anything Gabe cooked up.
"Suit yourself," Gabe remarked as he inhaled the last half of his meal. "I think your team is losing."
"His teams never win."
He had to do a double take towards the door to be sure that he was seeing things correctly. Leaning against the door frame, curly blonde hair well past his chin and blue eyes sparkling dangerously was none other than his own brother. Wyatt crossed his arms in front of him as Chris just stared incredulously. There had been no indication whatsoever that he would be coming to visit, yet here he was as if he owned the place and the look in his eyes seemed to be demanding a reception. But he had none, nothing except:
"What are you doing here?" Chris questioned, his voice light in amusement as he got up from the couch. He noticed that Gabe has remain frozen on the floor and, if it were possible, looked even more surprised than Chris himself did.
"What do you mean, 'what are you doing here?" Do I need an excuse to visit my little brother?" Wyatt threw his arm over Chris' shoulder, half-hugging his younger sibling in such a way that it felt more like a choke-hold. "Hey," he nodded stiffly to Gabe. "You going to introduce me to your friend, Chris? Or are you just gonna stand there staring at me like an idiot?"
Chris glanced over at Gabe; the expression of surprise was gone at least, replaced by the heavily-guarded mask Gabe wore around strangers. There was a wary glint in his eyes that seemed out of place, but Chris didn't have time to ponder it's meaning as Gabe choose that exact moment to resume his life as an animate being.
"Hey, I'm Gabe," he offered his hand out to shake but Wyatt didn't take it. Instead, he just fixed Gabe with a hard, angry stare. That look was all too familiar to Chris, having been on the receiving end of it many times after many arguments and disagreements, but it seemed very out of place when directed towards his friend.
"Gabe," Wyatt repeated slowly, drawing the syllable out in a condescending manner. Gabe dropped his outstretched hand and crossed his arms over his chest, already on the defensive as Wyatt continued, "I'm going to need a bit more information than that, like a last name to start with. Where are you from, Gabe? Where's your family from? What makes you tick? I don't exactly know you, do I?"
Gabe's eyes narrowed into slits as he responded, "I don't know you either, pal."
"You don't know me?" Wyatt laughed and Chris cringed inside. He never noticed before how conceited his brother could sound; he was used to being recognized and fawned over but this was the real world. The only thing Gabe knew about Wyatt Halliwell was history book text and underworld gossip. He didn't even know that this Wyatt was a Halliwell, and how could he? Chris hadn't exactly been honest about his family.
"Well, logical reasoning leads me to believe that you're his brother, Wyatt Perry," Gabe hissed. The smirk on Wyatt's face dropped into a scowl at the use of Chris' purported last name. "Beyond that, I'm forced to draw my own conclusions about who or what I think you are," Gabe concluded, voice dripping in sarcasm and unsaid implications.
"Perry," Wyatt scoffed, shifting his incredulous gaze towards Chris for a moment before turning his attention back to Gabe. "The difference, Gabe, is that I'm not the one hanging out with your kid brother."
Chris had had just about enough of Wyatt's attitude. He thought he was used to his brother commanding the room – it's something that he'd always done – but this felt more personal, like Wyatt was going out of his way to be rude and to someone he had never even met before. "Wyatt, come on," Chris said. "Give him a break."
"No, it's fine," Gabe interrupted, holding his hands up in a position of surrender. "I think I'm going to go."
"You really don't have to."
Gabe looked over Chris' shoulder towards Wyatt, eyes searching, testing. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Wyatt nod but pushed that out of his mind as Gabe pulled on his boots and slung his bag over his shoulder, saying, "Yeah, I think I do. Thanks for the sandwich, Ritz. I'll see you around."
Gabe turned to leave the room only to find Wyatt nestled comfortably against the door frame, face twisted into a cruel grin. "Hey, it was great to meet you," Wyatt sneered and Chris had a sudden vision of Gabe burying his first in his brother's face; honestly, Chris had seen him snap over less. But instead, as it became obvious that Wyatt was not going to move, Gabe just slithered past him and walked away without another word. Gabe's lack of reaction was almost as disturbing as the whole situation. Almost.
"What the hell was that about?" Chris demanded.
"Perry?" Wyatt growled. "It's one thing for you to give up our name but don't tell your useless friends my name is Perry."
"I didn't tell him that, he assumed," Chris argued. "And you know nothing about Gabe so shut up."
"He seems like a spineless prick," Wyatt shot back. "He ran out of here fast enough."
"Because you were antagonizing him!" Chris retorted. "Why?"
"I just want to know you your friends are Chrissy," Wyatt explained. "I mean, your budding new social life has to be the reason you don't have any time for your family anymore. You can't even pick up the phone to call."
"Yeah, well, the phone goes both ways Wyatt."
"Don't pull that bullshit with me little brother," Wyatt instructed, pressing his lips together in a tight line.
"And stop with all this 'little brother' crap," Chris insisted. "It's annoying."
"It's what you are," Wyatt shrugged, flouncing down onto the couch. "On both accounts."
The pillow Wyatt was holding suddenly jumped out of his hands and slapped him across the face. Chris couldn't help but smile at the pure bewilderment etched across Wyatt's features as he wrestled with the pillow before finally sending it to its demise across the room, free-floating feathers following in it's wake.
"That was not funny," Wyatt sputtered.
"It was," Chris stated.
"So, what time are you coming over on Thursday?" Wyatt asked.
Chris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's Thursday?"
"Thanksgiving."
Thanksgiving... Chris had completely forgotten about Thanksgiving. Not the holiday exactly, but that his family might want to celebrate it. He wasn't in much of a giving thanks mood after everything that had happened this year and it was hard to believe that anyone else could be. Besides, how could he sit at that table knowing that Aunt Paige conjured up the whole meal instead of slaving away in the kitchen all day, yelling at everyone to keep out of the pumpkin pie and to stop stealing the whipped cream spoon. It wouldn't be his mother's Thanksgiving dinner and just knowing that, just thinking that, ripped the holes in his heart open to new depths.
"I didn't know we were having Thanksgiving," he said in a very small voice.
"Why wouldn't we?" Wyatt asked quietly, and Chris knew he already knew the answer.
"I guess I just thought that since-."
"It's a family thing," Wyatt interjected. "Family is important."
His tone was so final; Chris knew he wasn't going to say much more than that. The pain flared up again. He needed to talk to his brother about this, about losing mom, about spending their first big holiday without her. It was her favorite holiday. She looked forward to it all year; it was the one thing she could count on Leo to never miss. Paige would go the whole day without doing one thing work-related. The cousins would fight over who got to her make the ice cream. Phoebe would laugh and smile like her old self. It was always a perfect day and Chris just could not imagine a Thanksgiving could ever be like that again. Because she wouldn't be there. It was just another thing he would never have again, that none of them would ever have again and his stoic, cold as ice brother would not talk to him about it.
"It's going to be weird," Chris said before he could stop himself. But Wyatt didn't react at all, just continued to stare blankly across the room at the television screen. Chris cleared his throat, "I guess this is you inviting me, then."
"It's Thanksgiving," Wyatt answered. "You don't need to be invited. You should just be there."
Chris sighed, unsure of what else to say besides, "Yeah, okay."
"Great," Wyatt grunted as he got off the couch. "Plan on staying late, too. I need your help with something."
Before Chris had the chance to ask what it was or even protest, Wyatt disappeared into his swirling orbs. Apparently, the matter was settled. In just four short days, Chris would be back at the manor, sitting around the dining room table passing mashed potatoes across the room, pretending to smile while he died inside. At least, looking at the situation now, that's how he felt. Maybe it would surprise him. Maybe he would have a good time. Maybe...
Maybes weren't enough, he thought as he absently reached into his pocket and slipped a pill under his tongue.
He went to bed before Victor got back from the grocery store; eleven hours and four medically unneeded doses later, he orbed to school in a fog, wondering why they would even bother having a two-day week when if everyone was so damn intent on having a Thanksgiving holiday. But the public school system was not one to deny the horror of a Monday morning, so Chris ghosted along the hallways as best he could.
He was greatly relieved at lunchtime when he finally spotted Gabe along the senior hallway. That is, until he actually looked at Gabe and realized a few distinct new additions to his friend's appearance that decidedly weren't there the day before. Namely the dark purple bruises around his neck and the swollen bloodied gash just below his right eye. More than that, it was obvious that Gabe was trying to hide the wounds by lifting his jacket collar up to his chin and pulling a hat low over his eyes. Chris never knew Gabe to hide his battle wounds; he wasn't the type. Hell, he showed them off.
"Jesus, what happened to your face?" Chris asked.
"Nothing," was the only answer he gave, tugging at the jacket to pull it higher.
"Did you go to the underworld again?" Chris pressed.
"Yeah."
One word answers was another thing Gabe wasn't known for and Chris could tell if he was more worried or annoyed with the sudden change in attitude. "So what, you're not talking to me right now?"
"Seriously, not everything is about you," Gabe said harshly, his eyes flashing between bronze and steel. Chris knew this to be a sign that Gabe was agitated, that he felt cornered. But for the life of him, Chris couldn't think of anything he'd done that would make Gabe feel that way around him. Unless he was holding Wyatt's behavior against him. Gabe wasn't the type to do that either. Everything about him was just so out of character and it was starting to throw him off balance as well.
"What's wrong?"
Gabe slammed his locker shut. The sound echoed down the hall and Chris could swear he felt the ground shake with the force of it all. Gabe just glared at him, eyes tired. "Just back off."
"I'm trying to help you."
"Help me by leaving," Gabe said and breezed past Chris, the action nearly identical to how he had left the day before. Chris stared after him in disbelief when Gabe turned on his heel and leaned to whisper in Chris' ear. "Help me by giving me some of that hydro you keep in your pocket. My face fucking hurts."
Numbly, Chris passed him two of the tablets. Gabe quickly palmed them and then he was gone, without so much as a look back. That was it, he decided. He wasn't going to stick around for the rest of this day and he headed straight out the entrance doors, breaking into a run as he crossed the street and once he was hidden in the trees of the park, he orbed without a thought, without destination.
It was an odd feeling, this extended flight of consciousness. He was coming apart and breaking together, crashing and free-falling all at the same time. It was limitless, eternal, finite. It felt like mere moments that he stayed like this, even as he watched, felt, became the sun set. When he finally reformed, he was sitting on top of the Golden Gate Bridge and he wondered how far he could fall before he had to orb out. He wondered if he the water would break him if he didn't orb before he shattered the black depths. He wondered what it would feel like to orb underwater. He'd never done that before. He wasn't even sure if it could be done.
Would he see their faces as he fell down?
He dreamt of them that night, of their small frightened faces and he saw Phoebe engulfed in a fire of rage, his dead cousins pointing accusingly at him through the haze and Phoebe was hurling ice and flame at him. He couldn't defend himself, as his powers could be reached through his contrite. The elements cut a path through him, but he came to no harm. There was a force within him, absorbing the damage, keeping him from feeling it. The end never came, but he never got any weaker. It was as if he had a shield hidden inside him, protecting him.
He could see Wyatt as he stood just to the side, cold and unmoving, studying the battle as if he were an outsider instead of one of the guilty. A terrifying, scorching wave of fury washed over the bridge, burning Phoebe and the cousins into ash. Chris felt the shield appear in his hands, a heavy mass of silver and gold. He held it vainly ove r his head, knowing he would burn, that he deserved to burn. The shield melted in his grasp, but he was left unscathed. It was Wyatt who was damaged.
He was cracked, a jagged cavern down the center of his body and he stood in the molten remains of Chris' protector and laughed. It sound of it was the cruelest thing Chris could imagine and in horror, he watched as the crack in Wyatt expanded and broke the ground at his feet. The earth ripped itself apart and it screamed in pain. And Wyatt simply continued to laugh.
He was shaking when he woke up from this, shaking harder than if he had just survived an earthquake. It took three pills and a few swigs of Victor's whiskey before he trusted himself to even close his eyes again. After hours of tossing and turning, he cast a sleeping spell on himself, knowing he would pay for it later. And he slept through all of Tuesday with a fever he could feel down to his bones. Wednesday he spent with a chill sent straight from the Arctic. Even worse than all that was that he was miraculously well come Thursday morning. No matter how awful personal gain consequences could be, they always had impeccable timing.
AN2: I know, I know... Harry Potter reference... I've had Harry Potter on the brain. Though, I think it's ironic; as much as I love/adore Harry Potter, I've never once had a fanfiction idea. Weird... but the soundtracks are very conducive to a writing environment. I think I went through all eight scores while writing this.
AN3: Yes, I eat chips on my sandwich.
I write, you read, you review, and I write more... eventually.