Disclaimer: Like I would've killed Chris!

A/N: Well, I've not even watched the episode yet (UK viewer stuck at uni without cable), except for that one little snippet where Chris died, and, yes, I cried. The point is I've not seen the finale and I'm already writing fic that would get Drew Fuller back on my screen.

"You know, I just don't think this is the best idea ever."

"You always worry too much," Wyatt replied, a slight smirk playing about his lips as he turned to face his younger brother. Chris frowned back at him, running a hand through his short, cropped hair.

"Well, that's because you never worry," he replied.

Wyatt shrugged, turning back to the table and adding another ingredient to the pot on the table. "I worry about the important stuff."

Chris grinned. "Oh, you mean like you're not sure whether or not you're ready to propose to Bianca?" He shrugged as he watched his brother's shoulders tense. "Cos I could see how that could worry you."

Wyatt span round, brandishing a piece of parchment at him. "How is it that you're twenty-two years old and yet just as annoying as you were when you were seven?"

"It's a gift," Chris paused, and leaned over the table next to Wyatt. "And I still think this is a bad idea."

"Just a minute ago you said that it wasn't the best idea ever, you never mentioned it being a bad idea."

"I changed my mind. I mean, seriously Wyatt," Chris gestured at the pot on the table, "the potion isn't even the right colour."

Wyatt shrugged. "How exactly do you know what colour the potion is supposed to be?"

Chris glared at him. "Well, some of us weren't born the Twice-Blessed child and so actually spent some time studying the book."

"Look, Chris, my dearest younger brother," said Wyatt exasperated, "we're making a headache potion for Aunt Paige. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Personal gain, I tell you, personal gain," Chris said, shaking his head.

"Look, nothing that bad can come of this, I promise you," Wyatt said, absent-mindedly throwing the last ingredient in the pot.

Chris' eyes followed his actions as the potion began to hiss and steam in an alarming manner. "Ri-ight," he drew the word out, stepping away from the table and dragging Wyatt with him, "that might have been more reassuring if you hadn't just thrown batwing in a herbal potion!"

The two stared at the potion as it slowly stopped hissing, it's swirling contents becoming still. The purple mixture returned to it's innocuous state and Wyatt let out a breath of relief as Chris still eyed it warily.

"See, everything's fi…" The blast from the pot hit both Wyatt and Chris sending them toppling into the far wall of the attic as the purple potion leaked onto the floor from the blackened and broken tub.

The first thought that Chris had upon opening his eyes was that he was never going to repeat that particular action ever again. "Ugh," he croaked out, throwing an arm over his eyes to protect them from the sunlight streaming through the window at the end of the attic.

"Tell me about it," a crabby voice muttered from the side of him. Chris dared open his eyes just a crack to see Wyatt sprawled next to him, his normally neat blond hair in disarray.

Chris groaned again and massaged his temples slowly. "Okay," he said, his own voice sounding ridiculously loud to his ears. "Even I wasn't expecting that to happen."

"And you always come up with the worst case scenario."

"Another gift," muttered Chris, trying to lift his protesting limbs. He managed to struggle into a sitting position, seeing from the corner of his eye Wyatt doing the same. The waves of nausea that swam through his stomach made him topple slightly, Wyatt's arm catching him and leaning him against his shoulder.

"Just sit still for a minute, 'kay?" Chris tried to nod his ascent but the action just made him feel even more ill. "I'm sure we won't feel so ill in a minute."

"Uh-huh," said Chris, "and Aunt Phoebe is going to forgive us for giving Mel donkey ears."

The opening of the door caught Chris' attention but he decided not to open his eyes again. For one thing it might make him throw up again, and for another thing he'd learnt the more pathetic you looked the less your relatives were likely to kill you.

"Shit," Wyatt whispered. Chris opened his eyes quickly in surprise, making the room spin violently around him.

"What?" said Chris, worriedly, "What did we break this time?" The room stopped spinning and Chris felt an entirely different kind of sick.

The familiar attic around them wasn't looking quite so familiar. And the woman stood in the doorway, her mouth hanging open, looked like a far too familiar Piper Halliwell.