InsaneJournal

Who: Chris and Connor. [Other gym-natives are welcome too]
What: Even whitelighters need looking after sometimes.
Where: The oh so popular gym.
When: Day 23 - Morning, maybe 8ish?
Rating: PG-13 tentatively.
Status: Active.



His will was strong, at least generally it was, but the magical hybrid had never had to deal with anything like this before. It may have sounded silly or unbelievable to anyone else, but Chris had never been sick before. When your father was a literal angel from Heaven with the power to heal almost anything, sickness and injury weren't really a problem. Of course, that had only been until the state of the world began to turn for the worst and the needs of a child became less important than the needs of the many. By then he was old enough to know how to keep himself healthy. But all the same, Chris had never experienced anything like this before, not even any of the several times he had been poisoned.

He was heeding Rose's words though. He didn't leave the gym, despite how badly he wanted to take Piper's body from this place before anyone else could see her (or what was left of her) and bury her. Perhaps it was partly the delirium from the fever that made him think he could manage to orb even a small distance without passing out, let alone orb someone else as well. But Chris had realized he didn't have the strength or ability at the moment to do much heavy labor, so he had turned to the first person he had chosen to trust in this crazy place, the one person he swore to himself he would look after and protect just as he would any charge back on earth. Really, it was just as well Rose had caught him and forced him to stay. And he would, so long as his magic didn't start to act up. Illnesses could have curious consequences, and for all he knew he might turn into a zombie himself. Thankfully, his mind wasn't anywhere near coherent enough to come up with that thought or Chris would have transported himself as far away from any of them as he could manage in his weakened state.

The whitelighter had gotten himself to a corner and curled up, a blanket wrapped tightly around him despite the high fever that had his hair clinging to his forehead. Half of his neck was hidden beneath bandages that weren't as white as they should be, but then, he wasn't holding still either. He scarcely remembered anyone even patching him up or getting him onto a cot. His neck and throat throbbed, though the latter was in part due to the dry heaving he occasionally had been doing when he regained consciousness as the smell of decomposition and old blood clung to him, a smell that had only been renewed by waking up next to his mother's dead body. The blanket helped with that, since it covered up his now quite dirty and stained clothes, which would likely have to be burned.

At the moment he was staring off into space, breathing elevated some but at least he wasn't hyperventilating anymore. Elliot would be proud. Well, if she wasn't scared he was going to die on her or get her sick too. The sound of footsteps nearby made his eyes focus and he turned his head in the direction of the sound, only to wince at the sharp pain that went through his shoulder and neck at the movement. Slow movements, right. One of the girls had told him that, though at the moment he couldn't remember which one.