twicexborn:
He doesn’t know what to when he wakes up in this world. He is on the floor of the attic, so familiar, but so different. The stack of magic texts in the corner by the window seat–the part of the attic was essentially Chris’ the one where he went when it was too cold to go to the bridge, to think, to study, it was his place. But his place was gone. There were no magic texts, there was no cup of cold coffee, hell, the window seat was missing. He wakes up with a blonde–was that really Aunt Prue?–standing over him. His mom in the corner fluttering her hands in a nervous way he had never seen, a girl, about Wyatt’s age, looking so much like his little sister stands behind her.
What was this world?
Before he can get an answer, the blonde raises her hand in a threatening gesture Chris recognizes. How could he not? He had done it so many times. It sends him on the defensive, he does a back roll, his hand grabbing for a knife as he does. The witchlighter is thankful his girlfriend was much more paranoid then him in some respects. But when Chris feels the wave of telekinesis coming at him, basically as strong as his, he has no choice.
He orbs.
He appears in alley. But then suddenly there are gasps, and shouting and–shit why are they running toward him? Fucking shit. Chris cursed in his head as he took off, thanking himself for keeping up with his soccer practices and skills. Because if not, he’d be captured by now–probably.
Instinctively, he reached out with his sensing ability, trying to find the red thread that should lead him to Bianca. Please, please, please.
He mentally cheered when he found it, and grinned when he realized she was close by and quickly he took off for her direction.
Of course, he doesn’t realize she’s moving and then he slams right into her. He barely stops at her voice, doesn’t even realize her eyes are more afraid, less haunted, more innocent. Every instinct screamed at him to get her, and himself to safety. And Chris has learned to follow that voice and that instinct.
“Bianca, babe. We gotta move.” He hissed, reaching for her hand. “People are after me, and–fuck, I don’t know. Aunt Prue is here? She blonde–mom’s not mom, my sister isn’t my sister, I don’t feel Wyatt–we gotta go!” His voice is soft, but also hysterical and urgent.
she’s far too bewildered with this guy’s actions to even protest. not to mention, he’s far too busy letting his mouth run away with him to even notice that she hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about. the logical part of her brain tells her to leave him alone, go on about her business because whatever trouble he’s in she doesn’t want to be a part of it. the other part of her, a very small, tiny little bit of course, feels the need to at least get him out of harm’s way and then leave him in the dust. it might have something to do with the way he’s looking at her, like he knows her from somewhere. or he could be crazy. the little voice in her head argues with herself before she let’s out a sigh. of course this is happening. “this way,” she says giving in. somehow she knows she’s going to end up regretting this later.
bianca leads the two of them through the back alleyway, curving and twisting around with familiarity. she was used to having to maneuver her way around in tight situations. shimmering was too risky half the time and frankly, she isn’t sure what this guy’s deal is and whether or not he’s even magical. although, there’s a part of her that believed he was.
when they’re far enough away she turns on him, shoving him roughly against the wall. “okay, dude. now you’re going to explain to me why i shouldn’t knock you out and run off while you’re unconscious. and you better come up with a quick explanation for it because i’m fairly impatient and if i’m going to end up dead for helping you out i’d really like to know now.”
