blessed_twice | Room 226, Wednesday, Late Afternoon

After they'd seen Isabel disintegrate before their eyes, Chris had orbed himself, Dean, and Meg -- and Wyatt and Michael, both unconscious -- back to Fandom, to Wyatt's room. Dean had left with Meg and Michael, and Chris didn't envy Dean having to break the news to Michael about what had happened.

Some time later, Wyatt began to stir. He realized he was lying in his own bed in Fandom. So it had all been a dream, right? Isabel was fine. But when he listed his head he saw his brother sitting near the bed, a sad and anxious look on his face. "What happened?" he demanded.

	"I'm so sorry, Wy," Chris said, his eyes sad and slightly puffy.
	Wyatt pushed himself up. "Why did you stop me?" he demanded. It was easier to be angry than to think about Isabel.
	"I didn't want you to get yourself killed," Chris said. He was prepared to deal with his brother's anger.
	"They can't hurt me," Wyatt snarled. "And I don't care anyway!"
	"I care!" Chris insisted. "We tried everything we could. But do you really think Isabel would want you getting yourself killed on her behalf?"
	"I could've stopped them," Wyatt insisted. "I could've made them pay for what they did."
	"We can still make them pay for what they've done," Chris said. "But without risking ourselves in the process."
	Wyatt got to his feet. "I'm going back," he said.
	Chris stood up and put a hand out to stop his brother. "Not yet," he said. "We need a plan."
	"I don't care about a plan!" Wyatt snapped, knocking his brother's hand away. "I just care about making them pay. Didn't you see . . . see what they did to her?" His voice began to choke up.
	"Yeah, I did," Chris said, his voice cracking. He pulled Wyatt into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, dude. If only I would have found them sooner..."
	"She can't be gone," Wyatt said, voice shuddering. He didn't fight Chris's embrace. When their parents had "died," they'd been too young to fully understand and experience the loss, but this was raw and real, like a piece of him had been ripped away.
	"We'll figure something out," Chris promised. Hell, they had an entire book of ancient magic at their disposal. There had to be something in there about bringing back the dead or going back in time or something. Damn the personal gain consequences. They'd get Isabel back.
	"I can't lose her, Chris," Wyatt said brokenly, finally letting go of some of his tears. "She's the best thing to happen to me. I'll do anything to get her back, anything."
	"And I'll help you," Chris said. "But you have to promise not to go off half-cocked and get yourself killed. Because I really couldn't handle that."
	"I can't just sit here," Wyatt said. "I have to do something. Where's the Book?" He knew, however, from the times he'd read through the Book of Shadows for a way to bring their parents back, that a way for bringing back the dead wasn't to be found in its pages.
	"Still in my room," Chris said. "Want me to go and get it?"
	Before Wyatt could answer, there was a knock at his door.
	The power was still so new Peter wasn't sure if he liked it or even wanted it. But when he'd seen the picture he'd created without being aware of it, he knew he had to tell the people he'd drawn. Isabel hadn't been in her room, so Peter went to Wyatt's next.
	Wyatt really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but he opened up the door. "Hey, Peter," he said. "Now's not really a good time. . . ."
	Peter immediately looked concerned. "What's wrong?"
	Most people Wyatt might've brushed off, but Peter deserved to know. "It's Isabel," he said haltingly. "She's . . . gone."
	As torn apart as Wyatt was, Peter knew what 'gone' meant. Knee-jerk denial plus the picture he'd brought with him made him say "That's impossible."
	"We wish it was," Chris said, stepping in. "But we watched it with our own eyes." There was no need to mention their plan to try to reverse things.
	"No, that's - " Peter tried to make sense of it. "Was this on the beach? Today?"
	Wyatt shook his head. "No -- it was in Roswell." He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of Isabel aging and turning to dust.
	"Then something's wrong," Peter said. He looked to find a space where he could put his journal down so both Chris and Wyatt could see the picture. It was a sketch of Isabel on the beach, attacking Wyatt. "I drew this."
	Chris stared. "But... that's not what happened." Then he cocked his head at Peter. "Wait. What does you drawing that have to do with anything?"
	"I draw the future," Peter said. "It's one of my powers. If I draw something then it ends up coming true."
	"The future?" Wyatt repeated. He started at the drawing, brushing his fingers against the image of Isabel. "That means we can get her back. But what's she doing?"
	"Looks like attacking you," Peter said. "That's why I came up here. I knew if this was coming true I had to try to warn the both of you."
	"She wouldn't attack me, that doesn't make sense," Wyatt said. "When is this going to happen? How do we get her back?"
	"That would be the downside," Peter said. "All I do is draw the future. I don't know any details other than what you see."
	"But it does mean that she isn't dead, or we find a way to bring her back." He exchanged a glance with Chris. "That means we shouldn't freak anyone out and tell them Isabel's dead. Because she's coming back." There was a note of hope in his voice, or maybe it was desperation.
	"These have never not happened," Peter said. He thought back to the painting he did in Mexico. "No matter how weird."
	Chris wasn't sure if he believed that Peter could actually draw the future, but he was hopeful that they could get Isabel back. "Well... it certainly means something," he agreed. "When did you draw this?" he asked Peter.
	"Just now," Peter said.
	"Right when Isabel . . . disappeared," Wyatt murmured, refusing to use the word "died."
	"Wait a minute," Chris said. "Didn't Sam say something about the beach being involved in his vision?"
	"Right," Wyatt said slowly, remembering that part. He'd mostly forgotten about it in the more immediate worry about Isabel being taken, and then lost it in grief and anger. "Something about . . . Isabel on the beach. With Ronan. What the hell is going on?" He looked at Peter. "Don't tell anyone else about this, not until we figure it out. We'll get her back. I don't care how." Peter nodded in agreement and collected his journal. "Let me know if you need any help," he said before leaving the room.