![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fic: Darkness Creeping In - Charmed
Title: Darkness Creeping In
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katikat
Fandom: Charmed
Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply here.
Genre: gen, future fic
Ratings: PG-13
Characters: Chris, Wyatt, OMC
Words: ~1300
Sequel to "Ashes in the Dust"
Prompt: "Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." - Abraham Lincoln.
Summary: I will do anything to get you back!
Beta: My darling yami-tai! *huggles*
Notes: I can't believe that I finally wrote another prompt. Hurray to me! XP
Chris doesn't know where his soul is going, where the mighty power that grabbed him from the afterlife is pulling him, to what place and who's calling him. But he can't resist the voice luring him back to the world of living, using the words of an ancient binding ritual to summon him and make him stay. He's so confused, so new at this... being dead that he doesn't understand what's happening to him.
And then he's there, in the world of mortals once more. He's as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke or morning mists over the San Francisco bay. He feels detached but mildly uncomfortable and there's a dark sense of foreboding sending shivers up his unearthly spine.
Chris looks around. Walls with broken mortar, dirty stained windows, a high, vaulted ceiling and rows and rows of dust covered, chipped pews. A church, abandoned. He stands in the aisle, right in the middle between the half open door and the altar two steps above the main level of the church, a myriad of candles surrounding the bare wooden table without a cloth and the statue of the Holy Maria with her outstretched arms lying smashed on the ground.
There's something there, on the polished desk. It's a body, a human body... dead, if he isn't mistaken. Who...
"Hello, Chris."
The voice is pleasant and it echoes through the altar room. The man is standing in the shadows behind the altar and he holds a leather bound tome in his hands. He's dressed all in black from his pants and boots to a shirt open at the neck. The man steps forward, the candles lightening his blond hair, giving him an unnatural, almost wicked halo. The smile that brightens his pale, grim face is so familiar...
"Wyatt?" Chris asks, unsure and his voice is barely a whisper in the vast space of the church.
The blond man smiles wider, almost grins. "You recognize me." He sounds relieved. "This thing," he taps the leather bound book, "said that you might not remember what had been, so shortly after death, that some things might stay lost if I summoned you too early before you gained substantiality in the afterlife, before you severed all your connections to your mortal life, before you became a separate entity that could be summoned as a whole... But I couldn't wait anymore, I'm sorry."
Chris is frowning now. He doesn't understand. His brother is smiling at him gently, waiting for him to move forward. And so Chris does. He doesn't walk, he floats gently towards the altar, towards his brother and...
Floating up the marble steps, he looks down at the body lying on the altar that's carved with strange, occult symbols. It's him, Christoper Halliwell, as he was buried... he's not sure how long ago. The body is naked, covered with a white cloth from the waist down for modesty, and there is a big hole where he was shot in his pale, pale chest. Chris looks at his face that's porcelain white, eyes closed, grey lips parted.
"I preserved it as best as I could. The book told me how," Wyatt explains, tapping the tome again.
Chris looks up, looks Wyatt in the face, in the eyes. There's so much fear, so much anguish behind the smiling mask and Chris still doesn't understand. He remembers that this is his brother and that he himself is dead. But how... why...? Details elude him. He thinks he should ask but Wyatt is so anxious for him to remember. Chris doesn't want to disappoint him. And so he just nods and Wyatt is content with that.
Raising his hand, Chris is tempted to touch the mortal shell that he used to wear, but he doesn't. "What are you...? I..."
Wyatt sets the book down on the altar next to the body's head, a strange looking athame lying in a hand's reach. "I'll bring you back to life," he says, his voice firm and steady, determined.
Chris frowns again. Bring him back to life? Wasn't that... forbidden?
Seeing his brother's confused frown, Wyatt continues. "What that scumbag did to you was wrong. You didn't deserve to die. And I will now rectify that."
"How?" Chris asks. His thoughts are weirdly muddled and it's hard for him to think straight. He knows that there is something very, very wrong here, something he needs to stop from happening but he can't focus his thoughts enough to figure out what.
Wyatt leaves the altar but he never turns away completely, as if he's afraid to let Chris out of his sight. He heads for the door leading into the vestry and pushing it open with a loud creak of the unoiled hinges, he reaches into the doorway and pulls out something... someone, bound, gagged and struggling. It's a man with greasy yellow hair and blue eyes open wide with horror, a little crazed too maybe.
Wyatt drags the resisting man to the altar where he drops the stranger to his knees and when the man tries to rise and dart away, Wyatt grabs him by the hair and smashes his head against the corner of the altar. The stunned stranger is left hanging in Wyatt's grasp.
"It's pretty easy, really," Wyatt says, finally answering Chris' question. His voice is cold and terrifying and despite of his incorporeal state, Chris shudders. "One life for another."
Chris' eyes open wide as he finally understands what Wyatt's talking about. He wants to kill this man to raise Chris from the dead. But that's wrong. Murder is wrong. Chris reaches out towards his brother. "Wyatt, you can't..."
Wyatt's eyes flash, turning dark. "I can't? He killed you and you left me and now I'm all alone!"
"Mom... dad..." Chris tries to interrupt.
His brother waves his hand dismissively. "They don't understand anything. They know what I could've been and they always look at me all worried and tense, especially now. You never did. You knew me, the other me, and you never judged, never looked at me like I was a bomb just waiting to explode. It has always been you and me against the others. At school, at home, everywhere. And I need that back. I need you back. Without you here, I feel like one part of my life is missing. And I will do anything to get it... you... back."
Wyatt's eyes, his face hardens to stone and he grabs the athame, pulling the murderer’s head back, exposing his throat.
"No!" Chris shouts, launching himself on his brother, trying to catch his raised arm and completely forgetting about his unearthly, unsubstantial state. Chris' wispy hands pass right through Wyatt's arm, his body, as the athame plunges down, as Wyatt thrusts it into the man's throat.
Chris floats aside and turns just in time to see Wyatt lift the man up and bend his bleeding, bubbling wound over the hole in the dead body's chest. The blood runs and drips while Wyatt mumbles the ancient ritual words, reading them from the book that lies open on the altar. Wind starts blowing and whistling through the church, the only thing unaffected by the sudden hurricane is the strange, eerie tome that seem to glow with an inner light.
In horror, Chris watches as the terrible wound in his body closes and color returns to his skin while his brother paints arcane symbols over his heart and on his arms and legs and forehead with his murderer’s blood, while the life-giving fluid still runs down the man's throat and down his front, soaking into his dirty clothes. Chris can't tear his eyes away from the horrifying scene even as he feels some strange power’s gentle, but more and more insistent pull on his soul.
And then a blinding light flashes outside, thunder booming and shaking the walls, the very ground. There is one last, terrible gust of wind that throws Chris' soul back into his body. The candles are snuffed, just like the nameless murderer’s life, and there's only darkness.
The End
Prompt table
Author:
katikatFandom: Charmed
Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply here.
Genre: gen, future fic
Ratings: PG-13
Characters: Chris, Wyatt, OMC
Words: ~1300
Sequel to "Ashes in the Dust"
Prompt: "Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." - Abraham Lincoln.
Summary: I will do anything to get you back!
Beta: My darling yami-tai! *huggles*
Notes: I can't believe that I finally wrote another prompt. Hurray to me! XP
Chris doesn't know where his soul is going, where the mighty power that grabbed him from the afterlife is pulling him, to what place and who's calling him. But he can't resist the voice luring him back to the world of living, using the words of an ancient binding ritual to summon him and make him stay. He's so confused, so new at this... being dead that he doesn't understand what's happening to him.
And then he's there, in the world of mortals once more. He's as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke or morning mists over the San Francisco bay. He feels detached but mildly uncomfortable and there's a dark sense of foreboding sending shivers up his unearthly spine.
Chris looks around. Walls with broken mortar, dirty stained windows, a high, vaulted ceiling and rows and rows of dust covered, chipped pews. A church, abandoned. He stands in the aisle, right in the middle between the half open door and the altar two steps above the main level of the church, a myriad of candles surrounding the bare wooden table without a cloth and the statue of the Holy Maria with her outstretched arms lying smashed on the ground.
There's something there, on the polished desk. It's a body, a human body... dead, if he isn't mistaken. Who...
"Hello, Chris."
The voice is pleasant and it echoes through the altar room. The man is standing in the shadows behind the altar and he holds a leather bound tome in his hands. He's dressed all in black from his pants and boots to a shirt open at the neck. The man steps forward, the candles lightening his blond hair, giving him an unnatural, almost wicked halo. The smile that brightens his pale, grim face is so familiar...
"Wyatt?" Chris asks, unsure and his voice is barely a whisper in the vast space of the church.
The blond man smiles wider, almost grins. "You recognize me." He sounds relieved. "This thing," he taps the leather bound book, "said that you might not remember what had been, so shortly after death, that some things might stay lost if I summoned you too early before you gained substantiality in the afterlife, before you severed all your connections to your mortal life, before you became a separate entity that could be summoned as a whole... But I couldn't wait anymore, I'm sorry."
Chris is frowning now. He doesn't understand. His brother is smiling at him gently, waiting for him to move forward. And so Chris does. He doesn't walk, he floats gently towards the altar, towards his brother and...
Floating up the marble steps, he looks down at the body lying on the altar that's carved with strange, occult symbols. It's him, Christoper Halliwell, as he was buried... he's not sure how long ago. The body is naked, covered with a white cloth from the waist down for modesty, and there is a big hole where he was shot in his pale, pale chest. Chris looks at his face that's porcelain white, eyes closed, grey lips parted.
"I preserved it as best as I could. The book told me how," Wyatt explains, tapping the tome again.
Chris looks up, looks Wyatt in the face, in the eyes. There's so much fear, so much anguish behind the smiling mask and Chris still doesn't understand. He remembers that this is his brother and that he himself is dead. But how... why...? Details elude him. He thinks he should ask but Wyatt is so anxious for him to remember. Chris doesn't want to disappoint him. And so he just nods and Wyatt is content with that.
Raising his hand, Chris is tempted to touch the mortal shell that he used to wear, but he doesn't. "What are you...? I..."
Wyatt sets the book down on the altar next to the body's head, a strange looking athame lying in a hand's reach. "I'll bring you back to life," he says, his voice firm and steady, determined.
Chris frowns again. Bring him back to life? Wasn't that... forbidden?
Seeing his brother's confused frown, Wyatt continues. "What that scumbag did to you was wrong. You didn't deserve to die. And I will now rectify that."
"How?" Chris asks. His thoughts are weirdly muddled and it's hard for him to think straight. He knows that there is something very, very wrong here, something he needs to stop from happening but he can't focus his thoughts enough to figure out what.
Wyatt leaves the altar but he never turns away completely, as if he's afraid to let Chris out of his sight. He heads for the door leading into the vestry and pushing it open with a loud creak of the unoiled hinges, he reaches into the doorway and pulls out something... someone, bound, gagged and struggling. It's a man with greasy yellow hair and blue eyes open wide with horror, a little crazed too maybe.
Wyatt drags the resisting man to the altar where he drops the stranger to his knees and when the man tries to rise and dart away, Wyatt grabs him by the hair and smashes his head against the corner of the altar. The stunned stranger is left hanging in Wyatt's grasp.
"It's pretty easy, really," Wyatt says, finally answering Chris' question. His voice is cold and terrifying and despite of his incorporeal state, Chris shudders. "One life for another."
Chris' eyes open wide as he finally understands what Wyatt's talking about. He wants to kill this man to raise Chris from the dead. But that's wrong. Murder is wrong. Chris reaches out towards his brother. "Wyatt, you can't..."
Wyatt's eyes flash, turning dark. "I can't? He killed you and you left me and now I'm all alone!"
"Mom... dad..." Chris tries to interrupt.
His brother waves his hand dismissively. "They don't understand anything. They know what I could've been and they always look at me all worried and tense, especially now. You never did. You knew me, the other me, and you never judged, never looked at me like I was a bomb just waiting to explode. It has always been you and me against the others. At school, at home, everywhere. And I need that back. I need you back. Without you here, I feel like one part of my life is missing. And I will do anything to get it... you... back."
Wyatt's eyes, his face hardens to stone and he grabs the athame, pulling the murderer’s head back, exposing his throat.
"No!" Chris shouts, launching himself on his brother, trying to catch his raised arm and completely forgetting about his unearthly, unsubstantial state. Chris' wispy hands pass right through Wyatt's arm, his body, as the athame plunges down, as Wyatt thrusts it into the man's throat.
Chris floats aside and turns just in time to see Wyatt lift the man up and bend his bleeding, bubbling wound over the hole in the dead body's chest. The blood runs and drips while Wyatt mumbles the ancient ritual words, reading them from the book that lies open on the altar. Wind starts blowing and whistling through the church, the only thing unaffected by the sudden hurricane is the strange, eerie tome that seem to glow with an inner light.
In horror, Chris watches as the terrible wound in his body closes and color returns to his skin while his brother paints arcane symbols over his heart and on his arms and legs and forehead with his murderer’s blood, while the life-giving fluid still runs down the man's throat and down his front, soaking into his dirty clothes. Chris can't tear his eyes away from the horrifying scene even as he feels some strange power’s gentle, but more and more insistent pull on his soul.
And then a blinding light flashes outside, thunder booming and shaking the walls, the very ground. There is one last, terrible gust of wind that throws Chris' soul back into his body. The candles are snuffed, just like the nameless murderer’s life, and there's only darkness.
The End
Prompt table
no subject
This was chilling, but heartbreaking too. Wyatt, unable to live without his brother and ready to break all the rules to have him back. It's like he's losing his soul in the process of getting Chris' back.
Halliwells, Winchesters; they're made of the same cloth, aren't they?
Not that I always have to bring everything back to SPN or anything lol
no subject
It was my New Year's Resolution to finish this darn prompt table and I will do it! *determined nod* Heh *sheepish*
BTW - your icon is beautiful!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject