Before you guys all start swearing at me for starting another story I have good news. This one is entirely finished. Gasp. I know. I actually finished a chapter story. A round of applause? No? Fine. humph.

Anyway, this is an odd on just so you know. There are four chapters and one epilogue (don't think that's spelled right...oh well...wait yes it is). I will be updating once a week...or more often. Depends.

So this is a non-magic story with Chris and Wyatt. Enjoy

Oh, no beta so all the terrible, terrible writing is my fault. :)

Disclaimer:

A: I don't own charmed. Nope. Chris and Wyatt are not mine. I just steal, ahem I mean borrow, them from time to time. I give them back eventually.

B: In this story, I can't even claim all the plot. Bits and pieces yes...all of it no. The majority is "borrowed" from the horror film Vacancy as it was what gave me the entire idea. In fact...it's pretty much just Vacancy with Chris and Wyatt instead of Amy and David. But I did add some stuff so don't sue me for just rewriting the freaking movie.

I thought it was an interesting challenge to take an established plot, splice in new characters, and see where it took me.

This is where it took me.

Chapter 1

Wyatt rubbed is face wearily hoping to scrub away some of the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He glanced over at his little brother taking in the pale complexion heightened by the dark hair, and his tired expression despite the fact that he was sleeping. Chris shifted slightly, almost like he sensed Wyatt's gaze before settling back down propped uncomfortably against the door.

Wyatt shook his head refocusing his eyes on the dark road. It was the middle of the night in the middle of freaking nowhere with nothing but endless empty rolling hills cut neatly by the deserted two lane road he drove on.

He looked at Chris again, feeling the familiar ache in his chest that he always felt when he saw Chris nowadays. Part pain, part pity, all love. Chris was his world now, and even thought he knew that feeling wasn't mutual, his own never wavered. If anything were to happen to Chris now. Wyatt shook his head. He didn't know what he would do. If something happened to Chris…

A dull blur darted out into the road just ahead of him, and Wyatt, his normally sharp reflexes much duller than they had been thirteen hours ago, yanked the steering wheel to the left hard swearing when the car slid off the side of the road. It slammed into the ditch bouncing up and grating across a couple rocks.

Chris jolted in his seat, hands flying to the dash board as if to brace himself as the car came to a halt. He scrambled a bit jerkily clawing at his seatbelt before pushing the door open and all but launching himself out of the car.

Wyatt swore again shoving his own door open. He watched a possum saunter almost happily across the road and start munching at piece of road kill. Gripping the door hard and fighting the urge to add the possum to the pile of road kill, Wyatt turned facing Chris who was bent over slightly and leaning against the car not looking anywhere near as happy as the possum.

"There was a possum in the middle of the road," Wyatt stated gesturing unnecessarily at the animal on the road.

Chris shot him a look of disbelief. "Oh yeah Wyatt, better to kill us than decrease the poor possum population by one, huh?"

Wyatt bit his lip, fighting to restrain the want to roll his eyes. Yes, Chris was his world now, but that didn't mean the kid still didn't tick him off at times. "We're still alive, Chris. I can tell by that pissy look you're giving me."

Chris scowled. "Really? That's nice." He looked away staring into the dark hills. "Where the hell are we?"

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"This isn't the interstate, Wyatt."

The blonde nodded. "I know. Taking a shortcut."

He got back in the car gesturing for Chris to do the same. Chris swallowed and slid back into his seat shutting his door and buckling his seatbelt slowly. Once he was settled, Wyatt reversed back onto the road.

"Shortcut through where?" Chris asked after a minute.

Wyatt shrugged. "New Mexico I think. Or Arizona. Some place really."

Chris gave him an exasperated look muttering something under his breath and took a drink of water from a bottle. He closed his eyes leaning against the seat and breathing slowly.

Wyatt chewed at his lip worriedly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Wyatt."

"You sure."

"I said I'm fine," Chris ground out.

Wyatt nodded letting the matter go and drove in silence for a few minutes. He cocked his head to the side hearing a faint clunk noise from the engine.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Chris opened his eyes. "Hear wh—"

Wyatt held up his hand silencing his brother and listening closely to the engine. "I think the engine made a noise."

Chris rolled his eyes and looked at the clock. It was nearing one in the morning. "Kinda late for a breakdown now, dontcha think? You should have stopped somewhere earlier."

Wyatt shrugged not hearing anything else from the car. "Probably nothing. And I popped some of those trucker pills back in Texas. Thought I could make it all the way."

Chris huffed and slouched in his seat. "Whatever it takes to get this stupid trip over with as fast as possible."

"Come on now Chris," Wyatt rebuked softly. "I think it was good to see them again."

Chris snorted turning towards the window even more. "Yeah, whatever."

Wyatt sighed staring straight ahead again, hands flexing around the steering wheel. "You want a snack or something. There are some chips in the back."

"I'm fine," Chris said, almost before Wyatt finished. But he reached into the bag anyway producing an apple and knife. He expertly wedged the knife in cutting out a chunk. Almost thoughtlessly he offered it to Wyatt before eating it when the blonde refused. He cut out another piece munching wordlessly.

Wyatt cleared his throat beginning to think he'd liked it better when Chris was sleeping. Then he hadn't felt so awkward. On the upside, he felt completely awake now which only served to make him hyperaware of the silence in the car.

"You were really dreaming over there," he said finally. "Mumbling and jerking around."

Chris glanced at him and shrugged. "I dreamed you were trying to kill me. We were at Paige's party and they wouldn't stop talking about…them. You started screaming that you couldn't take it anymore and started strangling me."

Wyatt tightened his grip on the wheel cursing himself for mentioning dreaming as he gave a stiff nod. "You know I'd never do that."

Chris nodded pushing the knife into the apple again. "I know."

The car bounced over a pothole and Chris gasped as the knife slipped slicing into the soft fleshy part of his finger. He immediately brought the finger to his mouth sucking gently at the wound.

"You okay?" Wyatt asked concerned.

Chris nodded waving off Wyatt's alarmed look.

"I keep telling you how stupid that is. Why don't you just bite the damn apple like the rest of the world?"

Chris scowled tossing the bloodied apple onto the dash. "Hurts my teeth," he muttered carefully wrapping a band-aid around his still bleeding finger.

"As bad as cutting your finger off?" Wyatt asked seriously.

"It's not anything," Chris protested putting the knife and apple back in the bag. He settled back against his seat staring silently at the dark hills rushing by.

Wyatt drove quietly for a bit before reaching up to turn on the radio. He fiddled with the knobs sighing when all he got was static. Glancing at the road, he started to rifle through the CDs knowing better than to ask Chris to do it. He paused at a homemade CD biting his lip before sliding it in the player. He turned the volume up slightly tossing a wary glance at Chris as the first notes sounded.

The brunette tensed, turning hesitantly before looking at Wyatt fully. "Why do you have that?" he asked an accusatory note in his voice.

Wyatt shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I like hearing it." Chris huffed mumbling incoherently as he slumped down. "Look, Chris, you deal your way and I'll deal my way, m'kay?"

Chris didn't answer, but a few minutes later, a great deal longer than Wyatt thought it would take, he sat forward and punched the button to eject the CD. He leaned back staring out the window again.

"They're gone," he stated.

Wyatt smiled faintly. "At one-freaking-thirty in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, I'll take what I can get."

Chris chuckled mirthlessly. "It's been a year. You should know by now all we've got left is each other. And that's nowhere near enough."

Wyatt felt his heart clench painfully at the words all too aware of the truth they held for Chris but not for him. Chris was more than enough for him, but he apparently wasn't enough for Chris.

Wyatt drove for another half an hour before telling Chris to dig the atlas out from the backseat. Chris glared at him acidly as he did so, struggling to unfold it in his lap and focusing a flashlight on it. Wyatt glanced at the map as he drove eventually leaning over to tap a small, narrow road winding across the sheet.

"We should be about there," he mused.

Chris sighed, glowering at the map like it had personally assaulted him. "Why didn't you just stay on the freaking interstate? I mean would it really have been that hard?"

Wyatt clenched his jaw. "I don't know," he snapped, exhaustion wearing his patience thinner than it'd usually be. "Guess I wanted to make this as miserable as possible. See how big a bitch you could be about it."

He saw Chris's fist clench around the light and watched the firm line of his chin settle as he locked his jaw in an effort to keep from lashing back. Wyatt sighed, feeling the flash of anger and frustration fade a bit.

"I thought it would be faster," he admitted.

Chris gave a nearly imperceptible nod going back to scrutinizing the map though Wyatt knew he wasn't really looking at it. Chris could read a map about as well as he could read a Spanish novel. An odd word here or there made sense, but, as a whole, it might as well be gibberish. He would definitely have to buy Chris a GPS.

Chris looked up matching Wyatt's grimace at a rather loud clanking from the engine.

"Shit," Wyatt breathed stepping on the brake lightly.

Chris gnawed at his lip and leaned forward suddenly. He squinted at the windshield and pointed. "Is that something ahead?"

Wyatt drove slower, wincing with each clang, and never felt happier than he did as he watched the faded, old neon sign for the service station draw into view.

"There is a god," he muttered, turning into the lot.

A small, paint-peeling building form the fifties or forties, with a single gas pump out front, sat ominously among the dark hills. There were several large fireworks signs hanging along the room, and one of the hand painted signs read, "Every day is the Fourth of July at Small's".

Chris scowled reading the sign. "I hate the Fourth of July."

Wyatt let the car roll to a stop near the pump. He and Chris leaned forward slightly, both taking in the dark windows of the old building.

"Guess they're probably closed," Wyatt said neutrally.

Chris shook his head. "Yeah. Probably since 1957."

Wyatt sighed glancing at the pump and inwardly chuckling at the prices. "That's too bad. Good price on gas they got here."

Chris ignored him looking at the atlas again. He didn't object when Wyatt leaned over tugging the map from his hands.

"I remember going through that place there…Elida. You were asleep. Probably two or three hours ago. Maybe," he said.

Chris nodded. "Then that has to put us down here somewhere," he said pointing.

"There's a town…Downey. Gotta be a real car place there."

"If that's really were we are," Chris pointed out, ever the pessimist.

Wyatt glanced at the LED compass on the dash shrugging. "We're headed west. Eventually we have to hit California."

Chris scowled shaking his head. He looked up stifling a startled shout. Wyatt jerked around coming face to face with a man about his age, early-mid twenties, with short blonde hair and a friendly face.

"Sorry," the man said looking apologetic.

Wyatt let out a short chuckle, restarting his heart and glancing at Chris who had his eyes closed and a hand over his mouth. Wyatt rolled down his window.

The man grinned. "Just don't get much business around here. Wanted to make sure I got to you before you left. But I've gotta warn you, the gas price is a little steeper than the sign says."

Wyatt shook his head. "Actually, we're just having a little car trouble. I, uh, dodged a possum a few miles back."

"And we're lost," Chris spoke up, seeming to have recovered himself.

Wyatt sighed. "He's lost. I know right where I am. We're on our way to Downey," he said pointing down the road.

The man nodded looking thoughtful and subtly motioned his head in the opposite direction of Wyatt's finger. It took a moment before Wyatt understood, but Chris caught on first.

"He's telling you it's the other way, Wyatt," he stated bluntly.

The man nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. But it's real easy to get turned around out here without a map."

Chris arched a brow humorlessly and held up their atlas.

"Oh," the man said blinking. "Well, Downey's about thirty miles back. If you wanna pop the hood, I'll take a look and make sure you'll get that far."

Wyatt ignored Chris's smirk as he agreed, popping the hood and getting out of the car to look at the engine with the man.

"I hate to bother you with it this late," he said.

The man waved his hand dismissively leaning down to get a better look. "Oh, it's no bother at all."

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, went off the road, with the possum. Think I hit a low spot."

The man nodded reaching in and tinkering around. "Looks like it, yeah. Could you hit the gas for me?"

Wyatt climbed in the car and hit the gas. He and Chris leaned down some, peering under the crack of the open hood, watching the man's hands move around the engine. He pulled a wrench from his pocket and reached back under the hood.

"Who keeps a wrench in their pocket?" Chris muttered. Louder he asked, "Can he fix it?"

Wyatt shrugged and called out the window to the man. "What do you think?"

The man slammed the hood down walking around the car to Chris's side. Chris leaned back some not liking how close the guy was. The man lent on the door sticking his head halfway in the car and sighed. He shrugged smiling at Chris.

"Fan blade's bent. Rock musta hit it. She'll still drive fine. Just a bit noisy is all. You might want to have somebody smarter than me check it when you get where you're goin' though."

Wyatt nodded. "I'll do that, thanks. What do I owe you?"

"We're good. I should pay you for finally giving me something to do," the man chuckled. "Now do you need to know how to get back to Downey?"

Wyatt shook his head. "Actually, if you could point us back to the interstate, we're trying to get back to California."

"Emphasis on trying," Chris muttered ignoring the irritated look from Wyatt.

The man chuckled at the comment. "You don't want Downey then," he said. He shifted leaning further in the car to point at the map. "About seven miles down, there'll be a road on your right with a grove of trees beside it. Take that and keep goin' till you hit Westcliff. You'll run into a four lane there. Hang a left on that and it'll take you right back where you need to be."

"Thanks a lot," Wyatt said. He pulled a twenty from his pocket holding it out for the man to take. "Here. This way I won't feel guilty for dragging you out here so late."

The man shrugged but took the money. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a sparkler. He flicked his cigarette lighter igniting it. "Well…You just bought yourself a twenty dollar sparkler."

He held it out to Chris who, after a quick glance at Wyatt, gingerly took it holding it outside the window.

"Every day's the Fourth of July at Small's." The man rolled his eyes and motioned to the sign. "Owner makes me say it. You drive careful now," he said stepping back and waving.

Chris waved the sparkler out the window, staring at it intently as Wyatt pulled out of the lot and back onto the road. Wyatt watched him closely from the corner of his eye. Chris professed to hate Fourth of July, but Wyatt knew he missed the celebrations they used to have just as much as he did. And, as if to prove him right, Wyatt noticed a small smile start to bloom on his little brother's face.

"Guess maybe I should buy you a box of sparklers, huh?" he asked, glad to finally see a happy expression from Chris.

His words had the opposite effect of their intended purpose though. Chris's smile vanished almost instantly and he dropped the sparkler out the window. Wyatt bit his lip cursing himself as he watched the small glow on the road fade in the distance. He sighed heavily driving in silence.

He pointed ahead seeing a grove of trees and the side road veering past them. "There we go. That is what I'm talking about." He turned down the side road.

Chris clicked the flashlight on peering at the map again. "How far did he say this Westcliff place was?"

Wyatt shrugged. "He didn't."

Chris huffed frustrated. "I can't even find it on the freaking map."

Suddenly, the car lurched forward a bit. Chris dropped the flashlight and grabbed at the door handle. "What was that?" he asked quickly.

"I don't know," Wyatt said. "Did we hit something?"

Chris twisted around peering out the back. There was nothing on the road for them to have hit. "I don't see anything."

The car lurched again causing Chris to grip the door tighter and swore. The engine skipped.

"What the hell?" Wyatt said rhetorically.

The engine continued to skip, gradually slowing until it died. Wyatt pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. He pinched his nose, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch," he breathed.

He twisted the ignition getting nothing more than the engine turning over and over without starting. He clenched his jaw smacking the wheel with his hands. "Son of a bitch! So much for being able to keep driving it." He tried again with no luck.

Chris pulled out his cell phone, glancing at his brother warily. He held it up looking for a signal. The phone searched for a moment, then declared the area service free.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

Wyatt turned the key again only getting the same sickening groan. "Damnit!"

"Can't a car run without a fan?" Chris asked.

"Evidently not," muttered Wyatt. He hit the steering wheel again, snatched his travel mug, and climbed out the car popping the hood. He peered at the engine having not the slightest clue what he was doing and poked around a bit. He sighed. "Try it again," he shouted to Chris.

Chris shook his head. "It's not going to work."

Thank you, Chris, for your outstanding optimism. Wyatt tapped at the engine with his travel mug. "How do you know? Jeez, just try it."

Chris leaned over and turned the key. Wyatt pounded all over the engine with the handle of the travel mug. This was the American way; when in doubt, hit it. If that didn't work, hit it harder. The engine whirred over and over but didn't start. Wyatt slammed the mug down swearing loudly when it shattered. He kicked the ground, wincing when his foot hit a rock and heaved the remains of the mug into the bushes. He looked up and down the road, staring into the impenetrable darkness in either direction.

"How far back was that station?" he asked.

Chris shrugged looking faintly annoyed. "You're asking me to judge distance? I don't know. Five maybe six miles. Too far to walk in the middle of the night."

Wyatt bit his lip. "That means we sit here the rest of the night and hope some idiots like us happen to drive down this stagecoach trail.

"Idiots like you," Chris retorted, "Not us. I didn't get us lost."

"No," Wyatt said. "You slept through five states thanks to your Prozac/Zoloft cocktail." He shoved the hood down resisting the urge to scream loudly. He settled for glowering at the pavement, hands on his hips as he slowly counted backwards from a hundred. Chris didn't say anything the entire time, something Wyatt was infinitely grateful for. He didn't think he could handle any of Chris's snarky comments at the moment.

He sighed rubbing his eyes. Squinting, he cocked his head to the side catching sight of the edge of a piece of wood. He walked a few yards away pulling the fallen sign from the tall grass. The faded, bold print letters read, Prairie View Motel. One Mile Ahead. Wyatt smiled and held the sign up towards the car. "You feel like walking a mile?" he asked.

Chris got out of the car leaning against the door. He sighed, the puff of air fluttering his bangs slightly. "You want to trust a rotting, wooden, hand painted sign that was laying on the side of the road to really be correct in that there is a motel a mile up this deserted road?"

Wyatt dropped the sign back into the grass. "Come on Chris. What other choice do we have?"

Chris pursed his lips but nodded. "Fine." He reached in the car, grabbing the few things he thought they would need and walked to meet his brother.

They walked in silence for almost half an hour before Chris suddenly halted. Wyatt turned back raising an eyebrow. Chris just looked at him a moment, swallowing and seeming to burrow deeper into the hoodie he was wearing.

"I think that sign lied," Chris said dully. "This is a lot further than one mile."

Wyatt sighed and nodded. "Yeah but we're already walking. Might as well keep going."

He started walking again slowing when he didn't hear Chris following him. He looked over his shoulder to see Chris take a deep breath and start walking. Wyatt frowned in concern noticing the slight limp and the fine tremors shaking Chris's form.

"Hey, you okay?"

Chris shrugged catching up to him. "I'm fine."

Wyatt reached out taking hold of Chris's arm. "No you're not. Is it your leg?"

"My leg's fine," Chris said averting his gaze from Wyatt.

Wyatt rolled his eyes shaking his head. "All right. Come here. I'll give you a piggy-back ride."

Chris yanked his arm back looking scandalized. "No. I do not need to be carried like a kid. I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. Thank you."

"Chris," Wyatt said sternly, grabbing his brother's arm to pull him back. "No you're not. The doctors said not to strain your knee. That includes strenuous walking. We're in the middle of a deserted road. Can't walk back, can't walk forward. Now please, I can see that you are in pain, so please, please, let me carry you."

Chris scowled biting his lip. He looked up and down the road then back to Wyatt. "Fine," he said adjusting the backpack he was carrying.

Wyatt nodded. "Thank you."

He stooped down a little letting Chris clamber on his back. He hooked his arms under Chris's knees, hoisting him up slightly too comfortably settle his weight. Chris wrapped his arms around Wyatt's neck resting his forehead against Wyatt's shoulder. Once he was settled, Wyatt started walking again.

Chris was silent as he rested and Wyatt cast a glance at the sky wondering just how far the motel actually was or even if it existed. The dark expanse of the sky above them was filled with billions of sparkling stars. Wyatt whistled lowly.

"Wow. We never see the stars in San Francisco. It's actually kinda nice out here really. Mel would have loved it," he said.

Chris tensed. "Really?" he muttered into Wyatt's shirt. "Kinda weird coming from you. You were always the one who bitched about leaving the city. That's why we never went anywhere like this."

Wyatt sighed. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Every time I mention one of their names, you have a go at me," Wyatt said.

Chris shrugged. "Stop mentioning their names then."

"I'm not like you, Chris. I don't want to forget them so the pain goes away."

"Well then, aren't you the brave one, Wyatt." Chris pushed against Wyatt's back. "Put me down."

Wyatt shook his head tightening his hold. "No. You need to rest your knee. And maybe you'd be happier if you tried talking about it, instead of acting like it never happened. Like they never existed."

"Wyatt," Chris said warningly. "Shut the hell up."

"Chris, all I'm saying—"

He felt Chris shake his head. "No. All I'm saying is if you don't shut the hell up…" he trailed off unsure as to how to finish it, but Wyatt nodded anyway.

"Okay," he paused, "How's your knee? Be honest."

Chris sighed. "Been better."

Wyatt ran up to the receptionist nearly out of breath and trying to gasp out his name. He gripped the edge of the counter soundlessly mouthing his name while taking in long drags of air.

The young black lady behind the counter raised a questioning eyebrow. "Can I help you, sir?"

Wyatt nodded frantically. "My family. Halliwell. Piper, Leo, Chris, and Melinda Halliwell. They were brought here?"

The woman poked at her keyboard looking at her screen. "Mhum. What is your relation?"

"Son and brother," Wyatt said quickly.

"Third floor. Take that elevator and go left. Talk to the receptionist there and she'll direct you to the appropriate waiting room," she said pointing to the elevator.

Wyatt took off across the room punching furiously at the call button. He waited impatiently hitting floor three and pounding the button to close the doors. The ride up seemed endless and he squeezed out the doors before they were even fully open nearly knocking over a man with a coffee cup. He rattled off his name again to the older lady behind the counter. She checked his name and his family's names before sympathetic look adorned her countenance, and she directed him to the waiting area informing him the doctor would come speak to him as soon as he was able.

Wyatt collapsed in a chair, unaware of how uncomfortable it was. The waiting was agonizing, the pain and worry increasing with every hour, minute, and second that slipped by. He called Phoebe and Paige, aware neither would be able to make it into the city for at least two days. He paced around the waiting area like a caged cat, at times catching the concerned expression of the receptionist that worried him even more.

He didn't know when he dozed off in those completely uncomfortable chairs; he only knew that he was awakened by the tired voice calling his father's name.

"Mr. Halliwell? Mr. Halliwell?"

Wyatt blinked, realizing the voice wasn't calling his dad, but him rather. He jerked awake taking in the sight of the doctor before him.

"Doctor!" He scrambled out of his seat, fixing his stare on the middle age man before him.

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Halliwell, I'm Doctor Sorian. I have some news for you."

"What? Are they okay? How bad are they hurt? Are—"

"Mr. Halliwell, you might want to sit down."

Wyatt snapped his mouth shut and dropped back into his chair, the involuntary action completed before he'd even registered it. When a doctor told you to sit down…

Doctor Sorian took the seat next to him. "Now I need you to listen carefully. Are you fully aware of what happened?"

Wyatt shook his head. "Car crash." That was about the extent of his knowledge.

The doctor nodded. "Yes. A loaded Semi truck collided with the side of your parents car at an intersection."

Wyatt swallowed heavily a lead feeling settling in his stomach.

"Your sister, Melinda, was killed on impact—"

Wyatt choked, covering his mouth with his hand trying to hold in his sobs. The doctor's voice changed, he seemed almost reluctant to keep talking and spoke softly laying a reassuring hand on Wyatt's shoulder.

"Your mother, father, and brother were taken by ambulance. Your father died en route. Your mother and brother were brought here and taken to the OR. At one fifteen this morning your mother passed away. Your brother is stable now in the ICU. If there are no complications I feel confident he will survive."

Wyatt looked up. "Chris is alive?"

"Yes."

"Can I see him?"

"I'll take you to him myself."

They walked in silence the rest of the way, another good fifteen minutes of walking, before a small, rundown, roadside motel came into view. Wyatt set Chris down gently, and they both stared at the sight before them. Eight rooms stretched out in an L-shape, all badly in need of a paint job. A primer painted pickup truck sat outside the office under a "$19.00 A Night" sign that hung over the office screen door. Above that was a crooked "Vacancy" sign. Neither boy made any move towards the office.

"We could go back to the car," Chris said at length. "We can sleep on the hood and stare up at those stars you love so much."

Wyatt shook his head. "Maybe they'll have a phone we can use."

"Yeah," Chris muttered as they started toward the motel office. "Bet it's Alexander Graham Bell's first model too."

A bell above the screen door jingled as they entered. The small wood-paneled room had several security video monitors on the walls behind the desk. The image of Chris and Wyatt entering the office filled the screen. Chris shifted looking uncomfortable.

Around the room a few stock scenery pictures hung on the walls and a disturbing stuffed jack-a-lope, a rabbit with glued-on antlers, rested on the counter. At the rabbit's feet was a desk bell with a sign saying "Ring Me."

Chris jumped as sudden screams erupted from the back room behind the counter. He stared at Wyatt wide-eyed clearly communicating his want to leave and taking a step towards the door. Wyatt shook his head, gesturing for him to wait and rung the bell.

There was some rustling, and then a middle age man appeared from the back room. He was short, but still taller than Chris, maybe five-ten, and a little heavy set, dressed in a sweaty t-shirt and jeans. He had a pinched face, framed with thick, dark rimmed glasses, and fly-away hair that gave him a distinct advantage with the creepy factor.

"Hey, folks. Name's Mason. What can I do ya for?"

Wyatt bit his lip. "Uh, everything okay back there?" he asked, addressing the continuing screams. Mason cocked his head. Wyatt waved his hand to the back room.

"Oh." Mason disappeared back into the room a moment and the screams cut off abruptly. He came back holding up a television remote as an explanation. "Sorry about that. Gets a little boring around here late at night."

"I bet so," Wyatt replied. "Listen, our car broke down about a mile or so back. I just need to borrow a phone. See if we could get a tow truck or something."

"All we've got is that there pay phone outside," Mason said inclining his head towards the small booth visible out the window. "She works on dimes if you need 'em."

Wyatt dug a dollar from his pocket. Mason took it and traded it in for a cluster of dimes from his drawer. Wyatt nodded his thanks motioning for Chris to leave before him.

"Trouble is the only garage within ninety miles is Small's. Little place on Route Six," Mason said.

Chris frowned. "Yeah. We stopped there earlier."

"And Small's don't have a phone," Mason continued.

Wyatt stared at Mason a beat, then down to the handful of dimes. "So I probably don't need these then."

Mason smiled. "Not if you need a tow truck."

Wyatt threw a glance at Chris before filling his pocket with the dimes.

"But I could run you back there in the morning if you want. Too late to do much right now no-ways," Mason offered.

Chris looked at his watch and shrugged. "It's just a few hours I guess."

Wyatt shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Guess we'll need one of those nineteen dollar rooms then."

Mason nodded then studied them closely, looking them over and grinned. Chris unconsciously drew nearer to Wyatt.

"I can give you two the Honeymoon Suite for twenty-four. Go a few extras that the others don't," he said raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Wyatt looked shocked glancing quickly at Chris, who looked slightly disgusted, then back a Mason. "Oh. Oh! Oh no. Chris and I…we're just brothers. We're not—"

"Relax sir," Mason said. "Here at Prairie View Motel we don't discriminate based on race, gender, or sexual orientation."

Wyatt gave him a strained smile. "You know, it's late. A regular room will do."

Mason pulled a key from the hook behind him and slid it across the counter. "What the hell. I'll give it to you for the same rate."

Wyatt jerked out his credit card. "Okay, whatever. Thanks."

"'Fraid we're not set up for plastic. Cash only," Mason said.

Wyatt sighed. "Do you take dimes?"

Mason grinned, not getting the joke. Wyatt sighed, snapped a twenty from his wallet and reached for the key. Mason pulled the key back.

"And I need one of your ID's. Sort of a deposit on the contents of the room."

Wyatt clenched his jaw on the verge of being fed up with the guy. "Trust me, we're not going to take anything. I'm not up to carrying dirty towels a mile down the road."

Mason nodded. "I'm sure you won't. But rules is rules. I don't make 'em. I'm just the manager."

Wyatt huffed. It was way too late for this crap. He pulled out his driver's license and traded it to Mason for the key.

"It's the last one on the end there. Number eight. Might have to jiggle the handle a bit to open her up. She's as sticky as an old whore," he turned to Chris nodding his head. "Excuse my language."

Chris just turned, looking faintly sickened, and started moving for the door pushing through before Wyatt even started to follow. The blonde thanked the manager and made to leave.

"You have a good night now," Mason said. "And might I add a congratulation on your luck, Mr. Halliwell. He's quite a pretty thing."

Wyatt swallowed and just nodded, all but darting through the door after his brother. He jogged, catching up to Chris. The brunette glanced at him and back to the office.

"Grade A creep, if you ask me," he muttered. Wyatt could only nod in agreement.

All right and there's the start. I'll update again sometime next week Adios.

AN: The italics...yeah in case you missed it...they're flashbacks. Just so everyone's on the same page.

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