This is what I wish we were getting as a Charmed Spin-Off. I hope you enjoy!

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The warm light of the setting sun did not help to ease the mood in the Halliwell manor that evening.

Nothing could have lifted the spirits of those inside on a day like this.

Chris watched as the orange glow filtered through the stained glass of the sun room, casting a beautiful haze. Usually, he was not the most observant of people, and he probably wouldn't have noticed the slow advance of the light. But today, he was looking for any distraction from what was going on around him.

They had buried his Aunt Phoebe that day.

His beautiful, energetic, vibrant Aunt Phoebe, who had been taken from them in an instant less than a week ago. The demon had come so fast, and his attack had been swift—no spell, potion or healing could have brought her back. Her sisters had watched her crumble, and Chris could still remember their anguished screams from the other room.

Those screams rang in his head every night as he tried to drift into a restless sleep.

He and Wyatt had been next on the scene, and they had seen her body—already cold and lifeless—on the floor. Together, they had kept the demon at bay, and the four had managed a spell to banish him from the house. But the irreversible damage had been done.

Phoebe was gone. The power of three was broken.

And the Halliwell family was in shambles.

Chris knew that this was not the first time his mother had lost a sister. He had grown up with many stories of his Aunt Prue and they had even managed to summon her a few times in recent years. But that, of course, did not lessen the blow in any way. His mom was the last of the original sisters now. Everyone she had grown up with was now gone, and he could see the indescribable pain on her face.

Piper Halliwell may have been a tough, kick-ass witch but she could still be broken.

It was hard for the young man to see. He knew that he was helpless and could do nothing to ease her pain.

His father was currently holding her as she sobbed on the couch and a red-eyed Paige had her arm around Uncle Coop's slouched form.

Chris was not afraid to admit that he had done his fair share of crying too, but he was currently attempting to keep it together for the sake of the others. He'd somehow managed to make a basic dinner that evening, and he had spent over an hour with his arms around his cousin Prue as heart-wrenching sobs had racked her body.

As hard as it was to lose the Aunt he had loved dearly, he knew that he was not the one suffering the most that day. His heart broke for Prue, Parker and Peyton—his cousins were all still teens, and they had already faced unimaginable loss.

He had watched them all go through a variety of states that week. From numb with shock, to overcome with grief. The young man had done his best to be there for them but, once again, he knew that there was little he could do.

Nothing could make this easier for them, and the pain would never go away.

Closing his eyes, Chris searched for the three and let out a sigh of relief as he sensed them together in the attic. They had left the rest of the family in the living room a short time ago, and Peyton had mumbled something about needing space.

No one had stopped them, of course, but Chris (being the protective older cousin that he was) could not help himself from checking on their whereabouts every few minutes. He wouldn't have blamed them if they went on some sort of grief-stricken rampage, but the logical part of his brain knew that it would not be wise in their current state. The best way he could help, and honour his Aunt Phoebe, he figured, was to make sure that her girls stayed safe—and that was what he was determined to do.

"I think I'll go clean up the kitchen." Wyatt mumbled as he slowly rose from the chair on Chris' left. The younger brother nodded. It was probably best not to leave all of those barely-eaten plates of food out over night.

He contemplated helping, but Melinda beat him to it as she silently followed their oldest sibling towards the kitchen.

As he watched his brother and sister disappear from sight, he could not help an unwanted thought from crossing his mind. Now that Aunt Phoebe was gone, and the power of three was broken, their family was more vulnerable then they had been in a long time. His mother and Aunts had done so much to protect them over the years, and he wondered if this horrible event was a signal that it was time for the younger Halliwells to step up to the plate.

Like his mother, Chris had always wanted a normal life and (understanding his impulse) she had often said that she would fight for him to have that chance. But, like it or not, the young man knew that he would never be normal. In fact, as a witch and a whitelighter, he was far less normal than even his mother and his chances at a magic-lite existence seemed slim. And now, despite his own desires, part of him wanted nothing more than to protect his family from further pain. He had never been the strongest fighter, but maybe if they could hone their skills, they could take the burden off of his mother and Aunt Paige as they dealt with their loss.

The sisters had done more than their share to protect the world.

They had suffered enough.

Perhaps it was their turn now.

With a deep sigh, Chris redirected his gaze to the orange beam of light on the floor. He hated that he was thinking about demon fighting at a time like this. But, even though he knew they all needed a break, things were never that easy for the Halliwells. In fact, he though with a scowl, the underworld would probably be sending a stream of attackers after them now that they were weak and mourning.

There was nothing fair about it but there was also nothing they could do. Like it or not, they were the world's strongest magical family and they would always be targets.

Unable to dwell on that thought any longer, Chris looked around for any mundane distraction. After a moment, his eyes fell on the grandfather clock and he mindlessly watched the pendulum swing back and forth beneath the glass.

One, two, three.

His eyes traced the ornate patterns on the round piece of metal as it moved in its repetitive motion. He willed himself to be hypnotized by it. As dull as it was, anything was better than focusing on what was going on around him.

He wanted his mind to drift away.

Ten, eleven, twelve.

The young man began to feel the calming effects on his body until a very sudden and unanticipated buzzing sound suddenly broke him from his trance.

He jolted into an upright position and quickly looked around the room. He had no idea what had caused the loud and unpleasant noise but a quick look at his family seemed to indicate that no one else had heard it.

His father caught his eye for a moment, clearly confused by his sons' odd convulsion, and Chris did his best to keep his expression calm. The last thing he wanted to do was worry anyone else at a time like this.

As discreetly as he could, the young man slowly stood up from his seat and walked into the hallway without giving his relatives another glance. The sound had been so sharp—painful even—and the effects were still vibrating in his head and he stumbled down onto the bench in the manor's entryway before finally letting out a long breath.

Perhaps it was just some sort of weird physical effect of his exhaustion and grief. Chris had always loved science and was currently excelling in his pre-med program at SFU. He knew that the human body was capable of many strange things, especially when under pressure, and he tried to let himself be reassured by the thought.

Then again, an unwelcomed voice in the back of his head reminded him, he wasn't exactly human…

Before he could contemplate it further, the sound intensified again. His head was consumed by it and he was vaguely reminded of the feeling of a dentists' drill. He raised his hands to massage his temples and gave a quiet groan as the pain slowly subsided.

He had never felt anything like this before, and his mind raced as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

Perhaps the demons were coming for them even sooner than he had thought. They were relentless, after all, and they would probably revel in kicking the Halliwells while they were down.

But of all the days, he had hoped that they would at least get some reprieve from the usual magical mayhem.

As he tried to calm himself with more slow breaths, he contemplated orbing up to the attic to see if the book had any insight. He could sense that his cousins were still there, however, and he really wanted to give them the space they needed. They had just buried their mother. They did not need him bursting in with a magical crisis.

He racked his brain, trying to think of any demon that was capable of this sort of thing. Barbas, maybe? He certainly enjoyed messing with them in subtle ways.

"Chris?"

The young man looked up to see his father quietly approaching. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had not even heard the man's footsteps and his heart had jumped slightly at the sudden sound of his voice.

"Oh, hey dad." He replied, doing his best to regain his composure.

Leo looked tired, and his eyes were lined with red, but he still did his best to give his son a warm smile before sitting next to him on the bench.

There was a brief pause before the older man spoke.

"Are you okay?" His father questioned as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

Chris shrugged, not wanting to trouble his dad with the strange noise he had just started hearing. Leo had enough to worry about and Chris was determined to figure things out for himself.

"I'm okay as I can be, considering the circumstances." He replied, looking down at the old wooden floor.

Leo have his shoulder a light squeeze before letting his arm drop to his side. Chris could tell that there was something on his father's mind and he waited nervously for the man to speak again.

"Back there…" Leo began, tilting his head in the direction of the sun room. "You seemed to get a fright all of a sudden."

Chris silently cursed his father for being so damn observant. The man was a whitelighter, after all, and he had always been good at picking up on subtle things.

"Did something happen?"

The young man began to wave his hand dismissively but, before he could summon a proper response, the unwanted buzz surged through his head once again. Despite his best efforts, he could not suppress a wince of pain and he instinctively clutched his temples.

As it faded, he quickly recomposed himself and looked back towards his father with worry in his green eyes.

It was not reassuring to see a similar expression on the older man's face. Chris knew that he could not deny what was going on.

"I…just in the last few minutes…this terrible noise keeps ringing in my head. It's so intense that it almost hurts." The boy paused, trying to quash is growing anxiety. "I have no idea what is going on. Why me? Why today? I swear to god if some demon…"

"It's not a demon, Chris." His father cut in, halting his sentence. The older man ran a hand though his greyish blonde hair as he let out a troubled sigh. "I can't believe…I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" Chris asked, still confused. Apparently, his father knew what was going on but the young man was still in the dark.

There was a tense pause.

"It's the elders."

Chris felt his blood run cold as the simple statement left his father's lips.

His mind raced as he tried to come to terms with what this meant. Although he was half-whitelighter, he had grown up sharing his mother's annoyance with the powers that be. They always seemed to intervene when it was least convenient, and their arrogance rubbed him the wrong way. He hated feeling like they were their puppets and the crap that they had put his parents through over the years was enough to churn his stomach. He knew that, in their eyes, he shouldn't even exist. He'd always hoped that they would leave him alone.

Why the hell would they decide to bother him on a day like this?

And what the hell did they want?

"The elders?" Chris managed to choke out, his mouth open in disbelief. "You're telling me that those sadistic bastards have decided to torture me on the day of my Aunt's funeral? Of all the messed up, stupid…"

"Chris, please." His father cut in gently, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder once more. "I know you don't like them, and I know the timing is terrible, but they are only working for the greater good. And, despite what you may think, they don't choose when our destinies unfold. They're simply there to guide us when they do."

Chris scowled. He had heard similar statements from his father before, and he knew that the man understood better than most. He had been one of them for a period and Chris could remember all the drama that had occurred almost a decade ago when they had unclipped his wings and reassigned him as the Charmed One's whitelighter.

His mother had been furious, of course. But his father had accepted it in stride, explaining that nothing could be done to fight the will of the universe.

A sudden, and worrying, thought crossed the young man's mind. "Is this the sound you heard when they summoned you back to whitelighter duty?" Chris asked, looking towards his father.

The older man paused, clearly thinking back to that time. "Is it sort of like a loud buzz? That vibrates in your head, almost like a dentists' drill?"

Chris felt his stomach plummet as he listened to his father's adept description.

"Yes." He whispered, trying to ignore his growing nausea as the implications began to sink in. "But this can't be happening. They can't make me be a whitelighter. Aunt Phoebe is gone, I need to focus on helping mom and Aunt Paige. I don't want this. I can't do this. I'm not one of them."

Chris knew that he was rambling, but he didn't care. He could feel a panic spreading through his body and he desperately tried to think of a way to get himself out of their terrible situation. His mother would be so disappointed in him—she supported his drive for a normal life and had been helping him plan excitedly plan for medical school. Magic had already taken so much from her. She wouldn't want a whitelighter for a son. A call from the elders could throw everything off track.

It would make everything worse than it already was.

"I can't." Chris repeated, his voice breaking.

He could hear his father draw a deep breath beside him and he looked over to see the deep guilt and regret in the man's eyes.

"You were born a whitelighter, Chris. There is nothing you can do. Nothing I can do. It's my fault, and I'm so incredibly sorry."

"No, Dad—"

His sentence was cut off by a fresh wave of head-shaking pain and Chris let out another anguished moan. This time, it seemed even more intense then before.

He wondered how bad those bastards would let it get.

One thing was for certain, he could not live like this. Something had to be done.

As the sound subsided, the young man drew a shaky breath and stood up from his spot. His anger had not abated, but his face was not set with determination.

"I'm going up there." He declared, doing his best to steady himself. "I'm going to tell them that I am not their pawn and that this has to stop. Now."

Leo looked ready to say something in response, but instead he simply nodded and gave a soft "okay."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No" he replied, determined to fight his own battles. "You stay with mom. I'll be back as soon as I can." Chris continued, glancing back towards the sunroom where the rest of the family had (thankfully) remained. "If mom asks, tell her I went for a walk to clear my head."

His father nodded again and, with one final breath, Chris allowed the world to dissolve into heavenly blue.

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