Another Chris-related one-shot. I can't help myself. He's just so loveable.

I own absolutely nothing from "Charmed" other than this plot. Those rights go to Brad Kern.


--------------"The Reason I Fight" --------------

By marissa-christina


Having a big brother meant a lot of things. It meant more protection from bullies, a hero to look up to other than your father, a confidant, and a friend.

I suppose he had been all of those things…and maybe a little more.

Before he had turned…he was everything anyone could ask for in a brother.

People that we knew never really saw the changes in him, always mistaking his almost ever-present anger for grief. To this day, I still don't know why nobody ever noticed. Maybe it was because the changes were so subtle, so slow, that everyone was oblivious to it until it was too late.

But…something in me always knew that Wyatt just wasn't really Wyatt anymore.

He never used to get so angry. I guess that's what first made me realize something was…off. Wyatt had always been levelheaded and passive about things, no matter the situation. It was like he had this never-ending supply of patience. Especially when it came to me.

I was your typical little brother. I always wanted to do the things Wyatt got to do. Now normally, that would drive any older sibling crazy, having to concede with your younger brother going along with you everywhere you went.

But not Wyatt.

He used to try to involve me in any way he could. Whether it'd be playing baseball in the backyard…or trying to convince Dad to let me tag along to one of their "special training" gigs. Dad always caved. He just couldn't say no to his "golden" boy. Maybe that's where my parents went wrong.

Mom was the rule-enforcer, naturally. Dad orbed down only when it was convenient for him, so it was usually just Wy, Mom, the aunts, and me. We were raised in a loving, if not hectic, household. We had a…normal childhood. Well, as normal as it could be, considering we were the sons of an Elder and a Charmed One. Demons in the house were a common occurrence.

I guess the downside to all that was the lack of a social life. We weren't like the other kids at school.

We were "special", Mom would say.

I'm starting to believe that that's the reason why Wyatt never complained about me tagging along with him when we were younger. He knew that I was the only one on this earth who was like him. That I understood things that the other kids couldn't even begin to comprehend. I mean, other than Aunt Paige…we were the only ones of our kind. It's not everyday a powerful witch lays a whitelighter, you know.

Things started to change as we got older. When Aunt Paige died, I think that's what first put a dent in Wyatt's impenetrable shield. And that shield seemed to break down more and more…just like our family did. Aunt Phoebe's untimely demise a few years later only continued to strain Wyatt's vulnerable state of mind, although he never admitted to it. He claimed he was fine. He had to hold himself together for the family, for family always came first. I've got to say, he had a damn good facade when it all came down to it. Mom never suspected a thing, too caught up in her own sorrow at losing her sisters, something she never really moved on with even after Aunt Prue's death years before. She wasn't the one who heard Wyatt's quiet sobbing during the night when nobody was around. She didn't hear him mutter things in his sleep.

I suppose I should have expected something to happen eventually. I never did. He said he was okay. He always said he was okay.

Then again, I should have known it would be Mom's death that finally obliterated his resolve.

It was almost a cruel joke. My fourteenth birthday present from Fate was my mother's corpse bleeding out on the living room carpet and the beginnings of my brother's downfall from being the family's golden boy to becoming something out of a nightmare.

The Source of All Evil.

Now, if I was a demon, I'd be elated at this, hell, I'd probably consider it an honor. But that's the thing. I wasn't a demon. I was Christopher P. Halliwell, the little half-breed brother of the world's new tyrant, the youngest son and nephew of the legendary Charmed Ones. I was the epitome of good magic. And I thought at one time that Wyatt was, too.

But Wyatt couldn't decipher the bad from the good anymore. He was beyond the two sides. Unlike me, he wasn't stuck in the "good vs. evil morass". It didn't apply to him. Power was the only thing he cared about now. The only rules he followed were ones of his own making.

I can only imagine what Mom must think of him these days.

And as I sit here in the sun room, staring out one of the windows looking into the backyard, I can't help but wonder the same thing. I tried to summon her on more than one occasion, but they wouldn't permit it. I can still recall the amount of times Mom tried to summon Aunt Prue and yet even after twenty-odd years, she still wasn't allowed to see her. Mom would be pretty quiet during those days.

Damn it…I miss her.

I used to think that maybe Wyatt missed her, too. But, it seems to me that family doesn't mean shit to him anymore. Which confuses me, because if that was true, then why am I still breathing? It's no secret that Wyatt could kill me in the same amount of time that it takes one to blink. The question is; why hasn't he yet? I'm the only person who stands even the slightest of chance against him. I'm the one who's ever dared to defy him. I'm his enemy, and I'm still here.

So, why?

I don't think I'll ever know.

I remember the last conversation I had with him. It had been only a few weeks before I came here. He had me ambushed and brought to the Manor. My childhood home had been turned into a museum, or at least that's what Wyatt wanted everybody to believe. The history of the famous Charmed Ones was crammed into a tiny paragraph on the front of the pamphlets you got at the front door. The countless years my mother and aunts spent to preserve the family's secret was dust. What once was a warm, vibrant household had now become a cold prison, complete with its very own interrogation room in the basment. I know, I've been brought there enough times and experienced its uses first-hand.


"I hold no qualms about torturing it out of you, Chris."

Smirking, I shrugged. "I know."

Wyatt slowly circled me, hands behind his back as he regarded me with a cold stare. I knew I was beginning to piss him off. He'd always been too easy to read.

"But, I'd rather not resort to such extremes," he said, taking a seat across from me. Touching his fingertips together, he drilled a hole through my head with his eyes, causing me to squirm in my chair as I stared nervously (though I'd rather bite my own tongue off to admit it) back. I hated when he did that. The only other person who could make me feel like I was ten years old again was Mom.

"Stop giving me Mom's evil-eye," I grumbled before I could stop myself. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he stood up and advanced towards me. Before I knew it, I was lifted out of my seat and thrown into the basement wall. Letting out a strained groan, I tilted my head up and gave him a pointed glare, purposefully ignoring the fact that he had his arm up, hand poised for his telekinetic-strangulation. "Now, was that really necessary?"

Wyatt approached me, each step slow and menacing. "Don't ever mention her in my presence," he growled softly. Emitting a harsh laugh, I inclined my head to him.

"Why not, Wyatt? Because you know just as well as I do that she'd blow your sorry ass to Hell and back if she saw what you've done?" I retorted bluntly. He got that tick in his jaw and I knew he was seconds away from blowing a fuse. "Face it. Mom would have never condoned any of this."

I knew what buttons to push with my brother. Even now he was entirely too predictable. He couldn't kill me. So instead, he opted for backhanding me hard enough to send me flying to the floor. I didn't have a chance to recover from the blow as he telekinetically lifted me up, fist clenched as invisible fingers wrapped themselves around my throat.

Struggling against my bonds as I choked and sputtered from my oxygen deprivation, I barely felt him pull me closer so that we were now seeing eye to eye. "Don't. Ever. Bring. Her. Into. This," he snarled slowly before dropping his hold on me.

Collapsing in a heap on the floor, I panted heavily and rubbed my throat with shaking hands as I looked at him in complete contempt. "I can, and I will, you ungrateful bastard," I replied, my tone raspy.

To my surprise, Wyatt merely smiled, which immediately made me uneasy. "Of course you can. But…then again, if you said something like that to one of my demonic interrogators…I don't think they'd be as forgiving as I am."

"Forgiving?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, little brother. Forgiving," he replied in a tone one would use in explaining something to a small child.

Clenching my teeth, I got to up from the chair, eyes blazing fire as I looked over my brother's stance. "You're fucking crazy," I spat. "You've slaughtered hundreds of people for just looking at you wrong, and yet here I am cursing at you, defying you…and you have the balls to say you'll forgive me? You're a fucking hypocrite!"

He only shrugged. "It's different. They were not my brother. They didn't share my blood."

Pulling against the rope that bound my wrists, I continued to glare at him. "Oh, I feel so honored," I said sarcastically. "I don't consider you my brother anymore, so I guess that doesn't really apply to me." It was a complete lie, of course and it finally goaded a reaction out of him, though it wasn't quite what I expected. Why did he look so…taken aback?

"Whether that is true or not, you are still my brother and I would gladly treat you as such if you weren't so rebellious," Wyatt stated after finding his voice, effortlessly pissing me off once again.

"Rebellious? Is that what you think this is? Me just acting out?" I asked belligerently. He crossed his arms, his stance way too casual for my liking.

"Yes. You're upset that I'm gaining the attention---"

"---Because you're murdering people and no one is doing shit about it!" I admonished, effectively cutting him off. "Let's get one thing straight. What I'm doing is not an act of rebellion, Wyatt. It's a last effort to stop you."

He let out an exasperated sigh and sat down. I knew what he was thinking. I felt the exact same way every time we got into it like this, fighting the never-ending battle between my views and his.

"This was my destiny, Christopher. The world doesn't revolve around the good versus evil deal anymore. It's all about---"

"---Power," I finished, shaking my head. We'd had this conversation so many times that it was beginning to sound like a broken record.

"Exactly. And because I have the power, I shouldn't be forced to abide by the rules of this world. I shouldn't have to be tied down."

"Talk about an ego," I couldn't help but add, ignoring the condescending look he shot at me.

"It's the truth. If you would only cooperate, then you'd have a place in my empire alongside me. You'd have everything you'd ever need…"

As he dragged on, I was casually and quite obliviously undoing the binds around my wrists, my gaze never faltering from his face.

"…And we could destroy any other who would dare oppose us. It'd be so much more easier."

With the ropes now completely off, I held them in my palms as I kept my arms behind my back for effect, making it look as though I was still tied up. "True. But it'd be wrong."

Wyatt scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. "We'd be above morals, Chris. Don't you see? We could be the rulers of the world. Two brothers born out of the greatest power ever known, accepting the role we were created to obtain."

Sighing, I leaned back in my chair. "You're delusional, Wyatt. Even though we can doesn't mean we should."

He let out a frustrated grunt. "You're always making the simplest things complicated! Why can't you just accept it like I have? To embrace the power that we were given! Why do you have to continue to fight it?"

Looking at him straight in the eye, I prepared myself to begin the last serious talk I'd hoped to have with him before I went through with my mission, my last resort. "I'm fighting for what matters. For what little hope that still exists in the hellhole you've created. I'm fighting for the countless innocents that our family fought for. I'm fighting because it's the right thing to do."

He remained silent throughout this, and I was getting even more incensed as the bored look in his eyes surfaced.

"But you want to know the first and only reason I'm fighting, Wyatt?" I asked, my tone of voice losing the anger and gaining a tired, almost despairing quality that I hoped would have an effect. "I'm fighting because I knew you before you turned. I knew the real Wyatt. He was my big brother, my hero. He was the one who protected me from bullies and took the blame for me when I got into trouble. He was the one who I could talk to about Dad's neglect."

The mention of our absentee father caused Wyatt to go rigid in his seat, his fingers absentmindedly curling into fists, his knuckles turning white. I thought I heard something snap.

"But most of all, he was my best friend. And I fight for him. For what you used to be," I said softly. Dropping the rope, I stood up out of my chair and threw my arm out, catching my brother off-guard as I telekinetically threw him against the basement steps, the residual energy being emitted from the underground Nexus enhancing my powers and making the force of the throw much harder than normal, tipping the scales to my advantage.

Wyatt groaned loudly as he recovered from the impact, looking at me through slightly dazed blue eyes. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the small vial containing the anti-sensing potion I had stashed in there before I was ambushed. Ripping out the cork, I downed the dark green liquid just as Wyatt began to pull himself up. Shoving the empty bottle back into my jeans, I gave him an almost apologetic smile before TKing him into the nearest wall. He hit the wall with a resounding thud, but recovered quicker than before, the beginnings of an energy ball forming in his palm.

"Remembering who you used to be is the reason I fight, Wyatt," I ended agilely before orbing out, Wyatt's rage-filled yell ringing in my ears as I disappeared in a flurry of blue lights.


As the last of the memory faded away, I was startled out of my reverie by a light tugging on my pant leg. Glancing down, I gazed into the depths of innocent blue eyes that sparkled playfully.

"Kwiss!"

Giving the kid a small smile, I leant down and scooped him up, settling him on my lap. Wyatt clapped his hands and bounced on my knee, his curly blond hair bouncing along with him. "Hey there, buddy."

He looked over at his playpen and giggled, telekinetically orbing his stuffed bear, Wuvey, into his arms. Holding the animal up towards me, he waved it around. "Kwiss, play!"

Taking the bear from him, I proceeded to occupy the child, and every laugh I got out of him only fuelled the fire of my determination to duly eradicate whatever evil had turned him and conserve this innocence, for the world's sake…and our own.

I would save my brother.

No matter what it took. Because for once, it was my turn to be his protector and I refused to fail.


Another little one-shot I dished up. Thank you! I recently edited some of this, so it looks better than it did. Leave a review for me!