Of all the possible futures, I was not expecting this!

This story has been running around in my head for a little while and is a different take on the 'Chris waking up in the future after he fades away' stories I have read. It therefore obviously takes place after Chris fades away, at the end of 'It's a Bad Bad World part 2'

I don't own anything, evidently, otherwise there would have been a spin of series about the next generation after Chris faded away in season 6.

I hope you enjoy it.

The basics:

Italics are memories

'thoughts'

"Spoken aloud"

Chapter 1

Chris's POV

Chris lay on his mother's bed feeling his last gasps of air approach. The pain in his body was replaced with a strange tingling feeling and the room around him swirled uncontrollably. The sensation was similar to when he stated to cease to exist but there was a different pulling sensation. 'Perhaps I will get to go home,' he thought. With one final look at his weeping father he gave in to forces at play, he closed his eyes and let his last breath leave his body as the darkness overtook him.

Light filtered in through Chris's scrunched up eyelids waking him from his sleep, yet he refused to open them in fear of finding out where he was. He could clearly remember the past events which ended with him being stabbed by the Elder Gideon. His fingers gingerly traced down to his stomach for any traced of wetness left from the wound but found no evidence of it. Shocked that the wound was gone he sat bolt upright pulled up the shirt he had been sleeping in, vaguely noting that his clothes had changed and looked down at his stomach. Not even a scratch or scar as evidence of the wound. He knew that any wound inflicted by a blessed (or cursed, depending on the way you look at it) athame would leave a scar. 'He must be dead, it was the only answer, but then...'

Upon further inspection of his body he noted he had put on weight, or at least he wasn't incredibly thin like he had been due to his restricted diet in the war which lead to him not be able to eat much in the past even when his mother tried to force it down his throat, until she realise the permanent damage the war had done to her son's stomach. He was more muscular as well, a six pack, like he worked out a lot, something that he has not ever has much time to do before. If he was dead why would his body change so drastically? Surely his appearance in the afterlife would not change? He had seen many people once they had died and apart from the disappearance of the wounds that lead to their death, they looked the same build and age as they were when they died, never an ideal of what they could be, not like him.

Scared of what he might find he looked up from his stomach, after giving it a good poke, just to check that the six pack was indeed real, not some weird glamour, he past a slow gaze around the rest of the room. It was beautiful to say the least. The walls were made out of white marble panels divide alternately by high windows and elaborately tiled columns that stretched up to the obscenely high ceiling which was beautifully painted with dancing Grecian figures, nymphs and muses on closer inspection, which encircled a scene of a man in profile pulling a sword out of a stone. Excalibur. His eyes traced back down the long gold and green curtains that lay closed across the windows, down across the plush carpet, a recent addition he assumed, quickly settling on the pieces of ornate furniture, a large green velvet covered couch with dark wooden supports carved into a vine design and a huge ornately decorated dark wood wardrobe (were those gems and mother of pearl in lay?) to name a few, up onto a platform where the four poster bed in which he sat stood. The bed itself was massive, much larger than even a king bed, he felt like a child in his parents bed. He quickly wondered where they got such large sheets from, 'how stupid of him, magic of course'. The donna seemed to be hand embroidered in a mirage of shapes and patterns and the sheets were the softest he had ever felt, though that was not saying much if he looked back at his previous sleeping arrangements, his cot at the resistance and the couch at P3. The mattress was amazing and he wouldn't be surprised if some magic was involved in making it so. Taking in the massive room as a whole there was no other way to describe it but as a room a king would sleep in, a room that belong in a palace.

Chris was so confused and if he was willing to admit it, starting to panic. What was he doing here? Was he dead or alive? He severely hoped that this wasn't the afterlife; this really wasn't his sort of thing. He had always imagined the afterlife to be gardens, plains and beaches, the great outdoors where the weather was perfect and there was no need to ever go inside. He had never thought that it could be large palace like rooms, in truth he found the thought of this as the afterlife scary and stressful. If this was death, what was he meant to do all day and why was he in bed? Do you sleep when you're dead? Not that he had really thought about it but he didn't think you did. When his Grams was summoned and stayed for over a day he never saw her sleep. He was so confused! Was he dead or did he dare consider the other option, that he was still very much alive and in some version of the future that he didn't understand, had he changed things this much. The only logical solution to him for the being alive argument was he had got very drunk, sensed for the comfiest bed in existence and orbed here and fallen asleep. Chris was really starting to worry now; full out panic was not too far away.

He gave the room another scan, to deeply rooted with fear to get up and explore, noticing things he hadn't the first time. Though the room and most of the furniture were very old, there were quite a few new additions, there was a very large plasma television in front of the green couch fully equipped with a Playstation 16 and an X-Box 3600, (yes, whether he was alive or dead he was definitely in the future) though it looked like these were barely touched. There was a sound system and to the right of the bed a door which lead into a very modern and shiny bathroom (do dead people need to pee, being dead was still the most logical answer to him). As he scanned back once more time, he noticed one object in the room he never expected to see. In a marble alcove, stood a sword embedded in a stone: Excalibur. Seeing the dreaded sword that had taken millions of lives in his past truly made him panic, mixed with his confusion he could no longer think straight. He tried to pull his body up against the head board to get as far away from the evil object but found that he couldn't . Something was around his right ankle keeping him in the bed. He pulled down the covers and found that a gold shackle was locked around his ankle and the other end around the bed post. His ankle was wrapped in soft fabric and padding so he could hurt himself but the fear of being restrained terrified him. He tried to orb, but nothing happened except the shackle glowed slightly, absorbing his magic. Chris screwed his eyes closed and tried to physically remove the restraint as full blown terror flooded him. He didn't know how he got here. How he got into this situation. As if answering the thought, a memory flashed before him.

Two strong men had him by the shoulders and were leading him (more like dragging him) down a long corridor, through a large set of double doors, the shackle already around his ankle, preventing him from orbing or defending himself magically. "No! No! I don't want this. Please don't do this to me!" he cried as they dragged him down another corridor.

"Shhh Shhh, little brother, it is going to be alright, you're not in this alone, you need to calm down," said Wyatt as he walked beside the men who held Chris, who turned and glared at his brother. Wyatt turned to the man on Chris's left and replaced him in the action of dragging Chris down the corridors, placing Chris's arm over his shoulders and holding his wrist firmly, his other arm behind his little brother rubbing circles on his back trying to get the younger man to calm a little.

Another person off to his right tried to sooth him with comforting words, "It's going to be alright Honey, we love you and know you can do it and will be with you every step of the way. It is going to be ok, just breath." His mothers comforting words did nothing to ease the panic inside him. She sensed this taking his hand and holding it tight in hers.

His father, his aunts Phoebe and Paige (Phoebe was crying into her husband's shoulder) we some of the others in the party that were marching him toward the room, now in sight, all trying to calm him down with comforting words. None of it worked. Once they had him in the room, his mother and aunt pulled down the bed covers and with his father's help in lifting up his legs, Wyatt and the other man lifted him up onto the bed. An old man in a white robe, lock the other end of the shackle around the bed post with a grim look, gave a bow and looked him in the eye, "It is for the best your Royal Highness, try and get some rest, tomorrow will be a big day." With one more bow he left, followed out by a few other, leaving behind his immediate family, who were all looking at him with loving yet sad eyes.

(End of memory)

Chris was panicking so much that he was starting to hyperventilate. He hated being restrained in anyway, after multiple stints in evil Wyatt's captivity. This mixed with the unknown and strange room, had him almost paralysed, his head buried into his knees.

"Chris, Chris, little brother, it's ok, it's ok." Said a voice and Chris looked up. He had not heard anyone enter the room. He saw Wyatt finish materialising and his fear got even worse.

Wyatt's POV

Wyatt was woken from his sleep by a great feeling of confusion and fear. In his jumbled early morning brain it took him a second to place where it was coming from. His brain clicked 'Chris!' and he was out of his warm bed in a second, wrapping his dressing gown around himself and orbing to his brother room.

He was shocked at what he had found. Chris was curled up in a ball in the centre of the grand bed, shaking. What was the most strange though was the huge feeling of confusion that emanated from his little brother. Fear he could understand, giving the day, but confusion, no, Chris knew exactly what would happen didn't he? He stepped towards his brother and pulled himself up onto the bed to sit beside his brother, reaching across to try and rub comforting circles on the boys back. Instead of calming him it had the opposite effect. Chris looked up at him his fear growing even greater and he tried to pull away from him, but his brothers shackled ankle stopped him from going far. This didn't stop Chris from trying, and Wyatt was forced to grab Chris and wrap his arms around him to keep him still and stop him from dislocating his knee or something. In all his life Wyatt had never seen Chris act like this to him, in fact his presence was generally one of the best ways of getting him to calm down, but Chris's shaking only got worse. Chris struggled but after a minute realised it wasn't working and stopped, turning to Wyatt to take him in. After a good minute of Chris's wary inspection, his brother asked is a croaky voice, "Are you good, Wyatt, or did I fail and this is some sort of sick joke?"

Wyatt returned his brother's stare for a moment before it clicked.

Chris's POV

Chris felt Wyatt trap him in his arms and he struggled for dear life to get away, but he was exhausted and in the end gave up. He turned to his brother and noted that this man had short blond hair and eyes that were filled with love and concern. He wore a grey dressing gown over a light blue tee shirt and what he swore were snoopy boxes but he couldn't quite see. He looked good, not like the all black wearing, evil bastard from his past. He couldn't stop his thoughts from spilling out as he said, "Are you good, Wyatt, or did I fail and this is some sort of sick joke?"

Wyatt stared at him for a minute, clearly confused by his words and then he saw understanding register in his brother's eyes, closely followed by shock, sympathy and love.

Wyatt leaned forward and enveloped Chris in a large hug, Chris's head in his brother's chest. He looked up and saw tears in his brothers eyes as he rubbed his back and in a soft voice said to him, "Yes, Chris, I'm good thanks to you little brother, your back in the future, it's the year 2026, happy 23rd birthday." He kissed the top of his head.

Wyatt's POV

Oh my goddess, this was the other Chris, the version of his brother who it had previously been thought to have died. Scanning Chris through the psychic bond they shared, it seemed that his little brother had finally received these memories and at the moment these memories were dominate and the other set of memories were pushed back in his brain and were not accessible to the panicking boy. 'No wonder he is confused, and good timing,' he sarcastically thought to himself, 'the council is going to 'love' this'. Chris was still staring at him with wary eyes. He reached forward and drew his brother in for a hug, giving Chris the reassuring answer he needed, leaving out the parts he was sure he wouldn't want to hear just yet, "Yes, Chris, I'm good thanks to you little brother, your back in the future, it's the year 2026, happy 23rd birthday." He kissed the top of his brother's head. His brother relaxed slightly and he sent out a telepathic message to the rest of the family to get to Chris's room quick, in less than thirty seconds they were all there either having run from their rooms or teleported in some way.

Wyatt looked up from the top of Chris's head at his family looking at the two of them with worried eyes. "Chris gained his other memories, he can't remember this life at the moment, can you Chris?"

His little brother looked up at his family with wonder in his eye settling on his mother before. Shaking his head, "No."

Chris's POV

Chris shook his head, No, as a tear sliding down the side of his face at the sight of his once dead and now very much alive mother. It was almost too good to be true. His whole family was here alive and well, including some people who he had never met before. He assumed cousins by the way they clung to the sides of his now alive aunts and the men he assumed were his uncles. In a flash his mother was up on the bed on his other side hugging him tightly, telling her how much she loved him, and that it was going to be alright. His father also hoped up on the bed facing him with a sad smile, and a similar message to the one his mother was whispering in his ear, patting his leg gently. Chris had calmed down a lot but was still very much overwhelmed and confused. He looked in his father's eyes and gave him a small smile in return. His father turned away and looked into his wife's eyes, talking silently to each other.

Piper shook her head at one of the looks her husband gave her, "No, not yet, he needs time to adjust, but you need to go and tell the council. Chris can't go through with it today, it will have to wait till the next full moon."

Leo gave a nod to his wife and a weak smile to his youngest son, reassuring him that he would be back soon, there was just something he needed to do, before turning towards the door, one of his uncles turning to go with him. But before he got even half way across the large room to the door, it opened and a group of people came in lead by the old white robed man Chris remembered from his one memory of this life, the man who had shackled him to the bed.

Before he could be stopped the man strode into the room to the foot of the large bed and in a large and self important voice asked, "How are you this morning your Royal Highness, I hope your little tantrum of last evening is over and you got lots of rest for your coronation today."

All Chris could do was stare back at the unknown man in shock. What had he said, 'coronation', 'his coronation', 'his coronation today'. His head couldn't process it but it was slowly starting to come to some totally irrational conclusions. The royal looking room, the sword in the stone, the fresco on the ceiling. No! Goddess may he please be wrong! The sword was Wyatt's, not his, never his.

His father and uncle grabbed the robed man and dragged him out of the room, protesting a little. The other strangers with an angry look from his mother and brother quickly followed.

Chris looked from his mother to his brother and back again, taking in there sad and uncomfortable looks, "What?... What did he mean?... Coronation?... What?" he manages to stutter out between shaking breaths.

"Chris, Sweetie," His mother started, she looked like she too was on the verge of tears, "It was never Wyatt that could pull the sword from the stone, Hon, it was you."

Chris shook his head violently, the pit in his stomach growing to the size of the Pacific Ocean, "No, No, it's Wyatt, in my past I saw him do it, I saw him... I, I saw him." His eyes pleading with his mother to take back what she had said.

"Peanut, was I dead when Wyatt drew the sword in your past?"

Chris nodded.

"We think then that on my death that Wyatt, as your next closest family member became, the Lady, or in this case, Lord of the Lake and was meant to give the sword to you, but because of the darkness inside him, kept it for himself." Chris felt himself drowning in the ocean that now resided in the pit in his stomach, everything was unfortunately starting to make sense and he felt like the future he had imagined, a simple life with his family in the manor, was being ripped from him and it hurt, it hurt so badly.

"Coronation" He managed to croak, trying to stop sobs from taking him over, his brother sensing he was close to a full break down, rubbed circles on his back helping him hold on.

His mother nodded, she was full out crying now, "Yes sweetie, today, was meant to be your coronation as King of Magic, your 23rd birthday, but don't worry, your dad is going to fix it, he will get the council to put it off until you're feeling better and your other memories come back, it's going to be okay, it's going to be ok, I promise."

But Chris couldn't hear his mother anymore, three word sentences were whizzing round in his mind, "King of Magic", "Your Royal Highness", He had created a future for himself much worse than the one he had before. He couldn't be king! He didn't know how! He would screw everything up! Chris finally let his tears fall, collapsing into his mother's chest and let his sorrow and pity over take him.

End of Chapter 1

So what do you think? Should I attempt to write the next chapter? I have a rough idea of where this is leading but I still need to figure some stuff out, like should Chris and Wyatt have wives/fiancés/girlfriends. I refuse to make either character gay. I have a lot off gay friends and I love them dearly, but I live in hope that there are good guys like Chris and Wyatt out there that will be available for me one day.

I hoped you liked it yet, I would be awesome if you reviewed, but please don't go to hard on me. 'puppy dog eyes'

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