Chris's heart stopped beating.

"No . . ." he whispered. Why now? Why when he just found out who he was? That's why Chris was so set on saving Wyatt; it's because he's his brother. He should have realized it. Only family would make sacrifices and endure hostility and hatred. Everything made so much sense now, why everything in the Manor, from the sights to the smells, was familiar. Because he had grown up there.

Chris could feel himself fading away, ceasing to exist. He stared into the eyes of his brother, and wondered how someone could do that to their own flesh and blood.

"I'm sorry," Wyatt whispered to him, and Chris believed him. There was true pain and regret etched all over his face.

Chris bit his lip angrily, his fists clenching and unclenching. The guy had killed his own mother! What kind of a . . . monster does that? Finally, losing his last shred of self control, he screamed, launching himself at his brother, only to find that he passed right through him.

Confused, Chris looked at his hands. They were transparent and fading fast. He looked up into Wyatt's eyes, his brother's eyes, and wondered why the hell was he dying for that monster. Why he suffered for him. Chris just couldn't wrap his mind around it, especially now that he was fading away, slowly.

Leo, Phoebe, and Paige orbed in just in time to see Chris completely fade away, a sad, mournful glaze in his eyes. Leo's eyes. His family had no idea what was going on, and was therefore unable to do anything but watch their whitelighter disappear.

So the brothers watched each other in silence until only one stood squatting on the cave floor.

A few beats later Chris found himself solid, but the cave around him was darker than usual, and possessed a depressing blue tint. He frowned when he noticed that he couldn't see Wyatt or the rest of the Halliwells.

Suddenly, he paled. Is he stuck here? Chris didn't technically die . . . he ceased to exist. Was that so unique that he's doomed to stay in this depressing place forever?

"You never stop being neurotic, do you?"

Chris turned around sharply at the familiar, amused voice. Piper smiled sadly at her youngest son, feeling guilty and regretful knowing how she and the rest of his family had treated him in the past. Now, there was no way to go back and change things, especially if both of them are dead.

Sighing and rubbing her still pregnant stomach, Piper was glad that Chris hadn't arrived in the ghostly plane until later. That way, he didn't see Piper freaking out and getting over the denial that he was her son. Actually, she still wasn't quite sure if she has fully accepted that fact yet.

"No!" he denied, glaring at Piper in annoyance. They were dead; how the hell could she possibly be so sarcastic and cheerful?

"You're probably wondering where we are." Piper stated plainly.

Chris nodded slowly.

"The ghostly plane, where you were conceived," Piper explained lightly, smiling at the way Chris scrunched up his nose in disgust.

"Ugh, too much information," he muttered.

Piper smiled, and moved closer to her son. She slowly raised her hand out hesitantly, and placed her warm palm on Chris's cheek. He stared at her, surprised at this show of affection. All that he could remember getting from her was distrust and hate.

Closing his eyes, Chris knew he'd never felt Piper touch him this tenderly . . . at least, not in this time. He recognized the feeling of comfort and safety from the future he didn't remember. Vague emotions began to shape into images, and another fragment was discovered.

"Wyatt! Wait for me!" Ten-year-old Chris called, huffing and puffing after pretty much sprinting the last couple of blocks to their home.

Wyatt stopped abruptly, causing Chris to collide into him, toppling both brothers over.

"Chris!" Wyatt yelped, turning around and glaring heatedly at his younger brother. "Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, Wy," Chris apologized sheepishly. "But it's your fault."

His brother opened his mouth incredulously. "My fault? How's it my fault?"

"Because you wouldn't let us orb!" Chris explained, sticking his tongue out at the blonde twelve-year-old.

Wyatt scoffed. "Well, don't blame me, blame Mom. You know she wants us to use as little magic as possible."

"Yeah . . ." Chris whined, "But if we're too late for cookies, then it'll be cold and it won't taste good anymore."

His big brother rolled his eyes. "Is that all you think about, Chris? The cookies will taste fine, and if they are cold, there's that little modern invention called the microwave."

Chris smirked suddenly, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Then why were you running home as fast as you could?"

At this remark, Wyatt's smug look faded, and his confidence faltered for a moment. He stuttered, "I, um, well, damn."

The younger Halliwell's eyes widened scandalously, and he pointed at Wyatt accusingly. "You swore, Wy, you swore! You're too young to swear! I'm telling Mom!"

Wyatt scowled, annoyed at his younger brother's immaturity. "I'm twelve, Chris. I'm almost old enough to watch PG-13 movies. I'd think I was old enough to swear."

Chris's scowl mirrored Wyatt's as they sat there and glowered at each other, and somehow silently started a staring contest. Chris's eyes were staring to feel dry and in need of some good blinking, but he refused to let his brother win. Finally, Chris caught a flicker from Wyatt's bright blue eyes, and Chris pumped his fist up in the air, celebrating his victory.

"Ha-ha! I win!" he cheered, doing a little victory dance on the paved sidewalk.

Wyatt stared at him, mortified, and cast a nervous glance at the surrounding area. He reached up and yanked Chris's shirt, forcing him to stop dancing. "Stop it, Chris! You're embarrassing me!"

Chris pouted. "You're no fun anymore, Wyatt." He mumbled, sticking his hands in his jeans' pocket.

Sighing, Wyatt got up, his mouth set in a hard line, making him look extremely peeved. "Shut up, midget. See you at home."

"Hey, Wy, wait –" Chris called, but Wyatt was already walking up the steps of the Halliwell Manor. He slumped slightly, confused at Wyatt's moody behavior.

It's got to be the puberty. Chris mused, I am so not looking forward to that!

He scrambled quickly to follow his brother up the stairs. Unfortunately he wasn't paying attention and tripped over his unlaced shoelaces, causing Chris to fall hard and scratch his face and hurt his knee badly, even ripping through the tough denim fabric of his jeans.

Chris winced in pain as salty tears of pain blurred his vision. He sniffed and wiped the tears away with his sleeve.

The door opened behind him to reveal his mother, still wearing her apron and carrying the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies around her, who called, "Chris?"

"Here, Mom," Chris answered from his spot on the floor, wrinkling his nose at the blood staining through the denim.

"Wyatt said you were coming . . . what'd you do to your new jeans?" Mom asked, leaning down next to him to get a better look. She quickly examined her son to see if he was hurt anywhere else. Grabbing his chin, she gently turned his face around and saw the scratch on his face. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

Chris blushed. "I was trying to catch up to Wyatt and I tripped . . ."

". . . and ruined your new jeans," Mom finished dryly.

"Do ya have to keep rubbing that in?" Chris grumbled. After all, it's not like he meant to rip his jeans. He actually liked that pair.

Mom made a "humph" sound with her throat and raised an eyebrow, giving Chris "the look". Chris squirmed under her menacing gaze and muttered his apology.

Smirking now that she got her desired result, Mom helped Chris get up on his feet. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Chris winced in pain as he limped into the foyer of the Manor, deeply inhaling the pleasant scent of double chocolate chip cookies. "Can I have a cookie first?"

"No, not until we clean the wound and you change pants."

Chris pouted and whined, "But by then the cookies will be cold! Can't Dad just heal it?" He stiffened as soon as the words popped out of his mouth. Chris scowled; he didn't know why he'd just said that. It's not like his Dad would come anyway if he called.

Mom pursed her lips, knowing how Chris felt about his father, and said, "No, because we can't rely on magic for everything. You've got to build up your immune system. Besides, it'll only take a minute."

While her son sat down on the sofa, propping his feet up onto the wooden table, Mom grabbed the First-Aid Kit and opened it, taking out a cotton swab and alcohol. Chris rolled up his pants to reveal a bloody knee. Using tissues, Piper dabbed at his knee. When most of the blood had been cleared away, she used the cotton swab, causing Chris to hiss in pain in reaction to the stinging alcohol.

"OW! Mom, that hurt!"

"Oh, quit your complaining," Mom told him, continuing to swab his knee. Chris's face was screwed up in a mixture of annoyance and pain, but he didn't complain.

Finally, once Mom finished swabbing his knee and placed a Band-Aid on the wound, Chris leapt up suddenly, startling his mother, and made a quick dash upstairs.

"Where are you going mister?" Mom asked, calling loudly after him, but Chris was already gone. However, no more than a minute later, Chris came leaping down the stairs with a fresh pair of shorts on.

"Cookie time!" he announced happily.

But Mom grabbed his arm tightly. "Let's have a look at your cheek too."

"Moooooommm . . ." Chris whined. Those cookies were smelling better and better with each passing minute. To make things worse, Wyatt was now standing in the doorway, cookie in hand, slowly munching on the chocolaty delight, mocking Chris.

"Who's immature now?" Chris grumbled to himself.

His mother's expression softened considerably, and she pinched Chris's cheek affectionally. "I just want to make sure you didn't ruin that handsome face."

"MOM!" Chris yelled in embarrassment, blushing furiously when he saw his brother snickering from the doorway.

Wyatt's laugh was not missed by Mom, who decided to include her eldest son in the fun. "And I really think I should restrict your cookie diet, Wyatt . . . how will you get a girlfriend with a big gut?"

Now it was Wyatt's turn to blush and Chris's turn to laugh.

"I think I'll take my chances, Mom," Wyatt shot back good naturedly, making a show of taking another bite into the fattening cookie.

Laughing, Piper led Chris into the kitchen and handed him the roundest, most chocolaty cookie she could find.

"Ruin another good pair of pants and no cookies for you for a month," Piper threatened, but the amused, loving smile she showered on Chris as she handed him the cookie didn't help in Chris taking her threat seriously.

"Don't worry, Mom, don't worry," Chris reassured her before happily munching into the cookie.

Chris smiled at the memory, a smile that faded slightly when he found himself away from the sunny, happy memory and back in the cold, depressing reality.

Piper's smile was sad and regretful as she said simply, "We don't have much time."

"But . . . we're dead. Isn't that time already gone?"

His mother shook her head. "No, not until the Angel of Death comes to take us away. Before he, or she, comes . . . we're stuck in limbo, which is actually a good thing, now that I think about it."

Chris's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "And how is that a good thing?"

"Because we have some time to figure some way to resurrect ourselves to warn the girls and Leo about Wyatt. That and I'd like to be able to give birth to mini-you instead of losing both at the same time."

Suddenly Chris had a mental image of himself being born and crinkled his nose in revulsion. He groaned. God, being dead must be making him insane or something. How could he even think of something like that at a time like this?

"Will spells work here?" he asked, turning to his –he was going to say it –mother.

Piper frowned. "I'm not sure," she shrugged, "but it's worth a try."

Chris looked around their empty surroundings wistfully, "If only we had some paper and a pen . . ."

Just as he said it, orbs floated around his hands, materializing into a pad of yellow paper and a pen. "Whoa," he said. "I didn't know my powers worked in the ghostly plane. Come to think of it, is that even one of my powers?"

Piper's frowned deepened, her eyes becoming worried. "Our witch powers don't work here. That's why I wasn't sure if the spell would work. As for whether or not that's one of your powers . . . you tell me."

But Chris just shrugged it off. "Hey, if it works, let's just go with it."

"You're right," Piper admitted, but she still looked concerned.

They quickly discussed rhyming words and how to call upon certain powers to help them out of this mess. Piper did most of the spell writing, having more memory of her experiences with spells, but Chris did add some input on rhymes and such.

Piper examined their handiwork carefully, then sighed. "The third line sounds like a Yoda moment, but I don't think the spell's going to be affected by that."

Suddenly, a swirling black vortex appeared behind them, and a solemn looking man dressed in black appeared. "It is time."

"Quick, Chris, read it with me!" Piper urged, putting the piece of paper between them. So together they read quickly:

Combined power of the Halliwell line

Bring us back to where the world's not fine

Help our family, continue the legacy we must

Before one of our own makes the world rust

White lights swirled around Chris, but not Piper. "Mom!" he called out, panicking, before he reappeared back in the real world.

"Piper?" Chris called again, searching for any sign of his mother. Hopefully the lights not taking her were just a delayed reaction, and it was going to deliver her any second now.

"How did you come back?" An astonished voice asked him from behind him. Chris turned around to face his monster of a brother, who was smirking, amused. "It looks like little Chris's picking up some new tricks."

Chris's fists clenched, barely able to hold on to his emotions. This so-called man killed his own mother, a mother who for some reason wasn't carried here with the spell. Piper was really gone. That warm, joking mother Chris saw in that memory . . . was gone.

"You evil bastard!" Chris spat in hatred, advancing towards him.

Wyatt put his hands up in mock surrender. "Now, now, Chris, remember that little thing you were always getting on my case about? Don't swear little brother."

Chris blinked in surprise. Was it just a coincidence that Wyatt just happened to refer to the flashback Chris had received?

"You're disgusting," Chris informed him, "You're sick, twisted and –"

"Ouch! That stings Chris, why do you have to be that way? After all, I'm not the one betraying my brother . . . you are. You and your fiancé. Oh, yes, I know about your engagement. Congratulations, by the way."

Chris frowned, confused. What engagement? Chris had a fiancé? "What lies are you telling me now?"

Wyatt laughed loudly, his lips curling in amusement. "Wow, your fiancé won't be very happy to hear that you've forgotten her already. After all . . ." Wyatt winked at him, eyes glittering maliciously, "she did get staked by a table leg while trying to save you."

The younger Halliwell had no words to spare now. God, he thought knowing his true identity would be enlightening and helpful. Instead, it just brought so much misery, knowing he was related to this sick monster, his mom was dead, still pregnant with him, which was weird enough, and now, his fiancé had been murdered. Chris really did not have a happy life, did he?

But just as he was thinking those depressing thoughts, the aroma of cookies and the image of Mom's smiling face came back to him. No, there were good times. They were just rare recently.

"No . . ." he whispered, his head spinning, unable to cope with this wash of information.

"Yes, Chris," Wyatt said softly, "You're a Halliwell. And by blood and by legacy, a fate forced upon us by those damned Elders all up on high, safe in their Haven, you are destined to fight all your life, watch those you love the most die, and do it all for nothing. All of the pain, all the death, and we get nothing. The Elders don't appreciate us; hell, they were dead set against me and you being born! But the way I see it, there is no good and evil, no right and wrong.

"You see, Halliwells have usually died young because we feel the need to fight evil because of the legacy our foremothers told us about, a legacy the Elders told Melinda Warren about. But we believed them because they held power, which made them inclined to think themselves as wise. If I possessed the power, everyone will listen to me, and I can change our legacy, our fate. We will no longer have to fight for our lives every single day. We, finally, after generations of Halliwells, will get the appreciation and recognition we deserve."

Chris glared at the tall blonde, sickened to the core at the smug casualness his voice and expression carried, not caring that moments before he had just snapped the neck of his own mother.

Seeing that Wyatt was monologuing now, Chris found this as the perfect opportunity to get revenge. Subtlety picking up a sharp rock on the floor, Chris began to slowly advance towards Wyatt. But once he lunged, about to thrust the rock into his heart, Wyatt intercepted him with a flash of metal. Before Chris knew it, he was hit with the flat of a sword, causing the world to spin.

"This is Excalibur, by the way," Wyatt explained, as if he was benefiting Chris by doing so.

Chris dropped the rock and clutched his head painfully, waiting for the disorientation to stop.

"Wow, you really have forgotten her, haven't you, Chris?" Wyatt laughed, mocking him. He advanced towards Chris, the point of the sword pointed between his brother's eyes. "I honestly thought she had trained you better than this."

"She?" Chris asked warily, curiosity getting the best out of him. There was still so much he didn't know about himself. Not that it would matter if Wyatt killed him.

Wyatt groaned in frustration. "What do you mean 'She'? Your fiancé, Chris! Haven't you been listening at all to what I've been saying?"

Not really, Chris thought, deciding it wouldn't be wise to say that out loud.

"You know, it really makes me wonder if I should have healed her or something instead of letting her bleed to death. I mean, at the very least I could have killed her in a more satisfying way. I just shook her off and she went flying! You got to admit; that's not a very thrilling kill."

"Wait . . . you killed my . . . fiancé?" Chris asked slowly, rage building up within him.

Wyatt smiled. "Yes."

Chris screamed, infuriated about the death of this woman he didn't remember, and saw Piper's neck twisting horribly, recalled the snap sound her neck had made when it was broken. He screamed, and lunged towards the tip of Excalibur.

He didn't fully understand what he was doing. His body seemed to be acting on its own, digging deep in years of experience Chris's mind didn't remember. Using a maneuver he didn't remember learning, Chris grabbed Excalibur out of Wyatt's grasp, using two fingers to grab the flat of the blade and yank it upwards. The ancient sword of lore went flying out of Wyatt's unsuspecting and surprised hand, falling down with a clank on the ground.

Screaming his anger, his pain, Chris leapt on top of Wyatt and began punching him, hard. He enjoyed seeing this emotionless man finally getting a taste of his own medicine. Chris knew brothers were supposed to have some kind of a connection, some kind of unconditional love –but Chris couldn't feel that right now. All he knew was that he was dealing out justice to a monster.

Chris's knuckles were beginning to bleed, but he didn't care. He was lost in the sea of his emotions, numb to everything. Finally, he called Excalibur to him and rammed the sword into Wyatt's cold heart, never taking his green eyes off of Wyatt's blue eyes. Chris watched in satisfaction as Wyatt's eyes slowly dulled and became lifeless.

His hands began to shake. Chris dropped Excalibur to the floor and stared at his hands, stained with Wyatt's blood. What had he become? He was as bad as Wyatt now. But then, Chris didn't really feel sorry, did he? Chris couldn't feel anything; as far as he knew, he had no connection to this man, no past, save that one brief memory. Wyatt wasn't his brother because he couldn't remember growing up with him.

Still shaking from what he had just done, Chris watched numbly as his bloody hands slowly began to become transparent. Right before he completely disappeared, Chris closed his eyes and wondered wistfully why it'd taken him so long to fade away.

Chris opened his eyes to see not the ghostly plane, but Enola's inquisitive brown eyes studying him closely. He caught his breath, and his eyes widened. "You're dead."

The Shaman raised an eyebrow. "Is that what the vision made you see?"

"Wh –what?"

"You were in your vision quest the entire time, Chris. Did you not realize that?"

Chris was utterly confused now. It had felt so real. But then he realized that there were some inaccuracies that he didn't notice at first, flaws in the design of the vision quest. For one thing, where was Phoebe, Paige, and Leo after he was resurrected? And why had the pen and paper magically appear to him in the ghostly plane? Other than that, all of it was so painstakingly realistic that Chris was still reeling from the horror of seeing Piper die. "I thought I had failed. I woke up and found you . . . dead. Then this guy, who ended up not being that guy, but a different guy, he showed up and kidnapped Piper. He orbed me down to him and I found out . . . who I am. Then he . . . he killed Piper . . . which sent me to the ghostly plane with her, and we said a spell that was supposed to resurrect us but for some reason only resurrected me. This guy, he told me some stuff about my life and then pissed me off . . . and I killed him."

Enola was silent for a moment. Chris would be supremely impressed with her if she managed to understand the incoherent rant Chris had just done.

"It's a very vivid and . . . interesting vision quest," she muttered, almost to herself.

"Yeah. It felt so real, everything was so real. Are you sure this isn't another part of the vision quest, this conversation we're having?" Chris demanded. This vision quest thing was, quite possibly, giving him an even bigger headache than the whole ride of confusion and explanations about him coming from the future, being a whitelighter and dead when in reality he lied and is really half whitelighter, and now being a Halliwell, and the baby Piper's pregnant with.

Chris grimaced. Never mind. The vision quest was only an annoyance in comparison with the confusion with his identity.

Enola pondered his question carefully. "I suppose the vision quests are as real as you need them to be."

Chris frowned. "But why was my vision quest like that? I mean, it told me the identity of the guy who wasn't who I thought he was and who I am but still . . . there's got to be something else I'm not getting. What else could this vision quest be telling me?"

As he was wondering this, images flashed before his eyes of himself stabbing Wyatt in the chest, and himself staring at his shaking hands, covered in his brother's blood.

Enola looked at him knowingly, almost as if she could read his mind and see the images Chris was repeating to himself. Slowly, with conviction, she suggested, "Perhaps it is a warning of the future.

"A foreshadow of what is to come."


Did that twist surprise anyone? I hope so, because if the suspense was set up and the result falls flat on a predictable ending . . . that'd be bad writing on my part. Congrats to Pearl-Magicgirl for guessing correct about the plot twist!