Heaven Help Us
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx


Summary: Chris is alone and close to breaking. But after a demon attacks, leaving him fatally wounded, it's down to the Sisters to save him. Can they overcome their anger and distrust for the Whitelighter from the future? Or will they abandon him?

Post-'Prince Charmed', so Leo trusts Chris … sorta, but the Sisters don't.


Inspired by My Chemical Romance's 'Heaven Help Us', this is a bit of a one-off fic, its sole purpose being to calm my nerves during Exam week. Huh, I needed a break from revision, so sue me.

Ahem, actually, scratch that. Please don't sue me, as I confess I do not own Charmed, its settings, scripts or characters or anything at all to do with the show. I'd love to own Chris, though …


You don't know a thing about my sins,
How the misery begins.
You don't know,
So I'm burning, I'm burning.


Chris sighed, defeated, abandoning his place beside the Book of Shadows for fear of losing what was left of his sanity. Rubbing his temples, he sank to the floor and sat, cross-legged, glaring at the family heirloom as though the World's problems were entirely its fault.

It was useless. He knew the damn thing by heart, anyway.

And, seriously, who was he trying to kid? It wasn't as though any of his 'leads' so far had aided, even remotely, in solving the ongoing mystery of who had turned his brother.

So, what was the point?

What the Hell was the freaking point?

Footsteps from below him pulled the Witchlighter from his spiralling thoughts with a start. Someone was walking towards the staircase. And Chris, knowing his mother's footsteps almost as well as he knew the back of his own hand, was pretty sure he could venture a guess at who's face he was about to see if he didn't get out of there, quickly.

Neither mentally nor physically up to another shouting match with 'Piper', Chris let loose a quivering sigh, his eyes welling with unshed tears, before he orbed away, his orb-trail vanishing from sight just as the doorknob turned.

The only indication of his presence inside Halliwell Manor, as Piper Halliwell stepped over the threshold, was the single, solitary tear that plummeted to the ground, splashing into oblivion as it collided with the wooden panels beneath her feet.

Gone, in a matter of seconds. Almost as though it'd never existed.

The attic was eerily silent, now.

Piper shook her head in dismay. Turning to leave, she sighed heavily, determined to question the kid sooner or later. He wasn't going to get away with dropping a bombshell like that about her shoulders without an explanation. If he was going to tell her that her son, - her innocent little baby boy, the ultimate image of flawless beauty and truth, - was going to grow up to be a mass murderer who ruled the World with an iron fist, he, at the very least, had to justify his claims.

And yet, she mused sadly, as the door clicked shut behind her, she wasn't really sure if she could even bring herself to trust him, anymore.

How could she believe him after all of the lies?


Later That Night …

The moon was laughing at him.

He could hear the mocking chuckles of the gently swirling wind, hear the distorted rustles of the amused Autumn leaves, hear his heart beating out a bass accompaniment against his chest. But the moon …

She was so bright. So full. A beacon of whiteness amidst a black and velvet night; her magical, ethereal glow disturbed every now and again by a passing wisp of cloud. So bright. So full. So beautiful.

And yet, she was laughing at him. She mocked the lone figure - with his torn shirt, profusely bleeding wounds and white, glistening skin - who was struggling to remain upright as he shuffled noiselessly towards Prescott Street. She twinkled with amusement, winking contentedly as the figure finally fell to his knees, exhausted, weak and shivering violently, the quiet stillness, save Mother Nature's private chorus, frequently disturbed by low, rasping breaths.

He was too far away. Too many streets stood between him and number 1329. His home. Or at least, his old home. He didn't belong there, anymore. He didn't belong anywhere, anymore.

Cold. So, so cold.

He was too weak to orb. Too weak to even raise his head. But he had to try.

The wind suddenly picked up, its wickedly biting chill tearing into exposed flesh. Fallen leaves fluttered down around his head, teasing but never quite touching.

While the moon merely quivered expectantly, hanging high from her lofty perch.

Silently watching …


Halliwell Manor was quiet.

Prescott Street's inhabitants were ecstatic about that, though also admittedly suspicious. The large and attractive red house standing proud in the centre of the street was not usually known for its stillness. The three Halliwell Sisters were unmistakably odd, everyone had agreed on that. So it was only fitting that they lived in an 'odd' house.

Bangs and clatters were nearly always echoing out from within The Manor's scarlet walls, often loud enough to be mistaken for an explosion of some sort. Many of the neighbours had wondered time and again if there wasn't some extensive building work going on, something that had taken just short of seven years to finish, but no vans or lorries or trucks or anything ever stopped in front of the house to signify such rigorous decorating. And still the noises came. Often from the top floor, funnily enough; the Attic seemed to be used more than the rest of the house put together, most of the time. Which was 'odd' in itself. No-one ever uses their Attic, except for storage. Alright, maybe as a converted bedroom every once in a while, but did the Sisters not have enough bedrooms, already? A three storey house … no, they certainly had more than enough.

So, what was all the noise about?

Prescott Street certainly had fun speculating about that.

And yet, here it was. Midnight chimed the arrival of the 'Witching Hour', and the majestic home was shrouded in silence, only one golden square of light visible, filtering out over the lawn from the conservatory. The two younger sisters had moved out, or so their neighbours had been told. Maybe that was why it was so quiet, these days.

But curious or not, Prescott Street intended to take full advantage of the calm. Who knew how long it would be before another miniature earthquake rocked the foundations of the weird, crimson house?

Safely hidden away within their untroubled sleeps, the street's residents remained pleasantly oblivious to the scattering of blue and white lights, which hesitantly, sluggishly coalesced into a young man, hunched over and shaking tremendously in the middle of the road.

Directly in front of the 'odd' house.

But the brown-haired, green-eyed youth wasn't on his feet for long. Barely two seconds passed by before his trembling form crumpled to a heap on the ground, body failing due to an unbalanced but forceful combination of pain, blood-loss, fear and exhaustion.

If only the sleeping citizens of Prescott Street had noticed him. Perhaps the Halliwell Sisters and their mysterious red house wouldn't have seemed so 'odd', anymore.


A/N: Uhuh, just a li'l teaser chapter, this one. But the rest being uploaded depends on you guys.
What d'ya think? Continue or No Continue?
Please review and let me know if I'd be wasting my time.

xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx