Who I am…

Chapter 6

By: teal-lover

Summary: How Chris learned the cunning and duplicitous behavior we saw for over a year. Alternates between the past, unchanged future, and the changed future.

AN: Background in previous story is that something terrible happened to Chris and changed the way he saw things and learned to survive. This is the prequel/sequel to "Do You Really Want to Know", but can stand alone. Spoilers for all of season 6.

Rating: PG-13, which may change later on in chapters depending on where my mind takes me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed or any of the characters or get any money from writing this fiction.

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When the three were finished, Christopher looked rather pale as he tried to digest the new information on his former life. "So I was him?" he asked hesitantly.

Phoebe gave him a sad smile and rubbed his back gently. "Looks that way."

"Then these dreams? They're his, right. Not mine?" At the slight nod from everyone, he continued his questioning, "Does Dad know?"

"Yes."

He blew out a deep breath. "Wow. Wyatt's going to freak out when he hears this."

Piper quickly covered his hands with hers as she began to panic, "No, Honey. Wyatt can't know."

"Why not? We talk about everything."

"Sweetie, I don't think it's a good idea to tell him about the other Chris. Because then we'd have to tell him why he came back to the past. And I really don't think you would want to upset him if he were to find out that in another timeline, he was the worst evil of all—do you?"

"I hadn't thought about it like that. No, I guess not. But how am I going to get rid of these dreams?"

Phoebe sighed in relief that he didn't argue their point, and she felt encouraged by his quiet acceptance. "Well, we're kind of still working on a way to fix that. He was the first one to ever travel back in time and stay here, so this is all just as new to us as it is to you."

He nodded and seemed to understand what his Aunt was saying. And he felt much more secure knowing that he wasn't somehow going crazy, that these dreams—or nightmares—were real. "So this book was his?"

"Yes. I made it for him."

"Why did you give it to him? Me?"

"Why don't we continue to call the other Chris, Him—just to keep the two of you separated in all of our minds. But it's important that you don't forget that he's apart of you. And to answer your question—I gave it to him to help work through some of the issues that were causing the same nightmares that you have been having. He didn't want to talk to anyone, so I thought that writing them down—identifying the issues would go a long way toward helping him sort through them. You see, in all of my psychology training, I learned that in order to fix a problem, you need to understand where that problem is coming from. And to do that, I think you need to understand him a little better. But you're the only one who can do that."

He furrowed his brow curiously, "How?"

"You can read the journal that he wrote. It's magically protected to only reveal the words written in it to him. That's how we knew that he must be a part of you."

Chris shook his head confidently and crinkled his nose, "Well that may be, but I don't care what the problem is, I'd never write in a diary."

Phoebe laughed softly, "It's a journal, Chris. And that's the exact same thing that he said when I handed it to him. As soon as I had finished conjuring it and casting the spell, I called him to the attic while your mother and Paige were out shopping with Wyatt…"

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2004…

"CHRIS!" Phoebe shouted as she looked up toward the ceiling, expecting her nephew to come running.

Orbing in tensely, he spun around prepared for a fight and scanned the room for danger. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong," she answered sweetly. "I just wanted to give you something."

He sighed loudly in obvious annoyance as he ran his fingers through his newly trimmed hair. Counting to ten to even out his voice before he responded, he couldn't help the irritation that seeped through despite his best efforts. "And you had to yell my name like you were under attack or something?" She shrugged and feigned innocence while she gave him her best puppy-dog stare. "That doesn't work on me, Phoebe. I used to use it on you all the time and had mastered that look by the time I was four."

"Ok, fine. I'm sorry, ok? But I knew you said you were busy today and you wouldn't come otherwise."

He flailed his arms in utter astonishment. "That's because I was busy Phoebe! I had a lead—"

She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to yawn at the familiar mantra. "…on who turns Wyatt, yes I know."

"NO! You don't know. You don't seem to get it that just because I happen to be your nephew, and you found out a few things about me—nothing has changed! I'm still your whitelighter and I have a job to do! And you don't seem to realize that every time you call me for something stupid or to socialize, you're interfering with that job!"

"And I don't think you seem to realize that you're not alone in this, Chris. Not anymore."

He turned away and answered sadly, "I'll always be alone in this."

"But you don't have to be."

"No, Phoebe. We're not doing that again. We're not going to sit around watching my memories again so that I can talk through them. I don't need your black couch, all right? I already told you after Mom and Aunt Paige left that I needed to focus on saving Wyatt. I can't afford to get all messed up rehashing any of that crap that I can't change for myself. The best I can hope for is that I will somehow manage to save Wyatt and therefore save mini-me."

"Chris—"

"No, Phoebe. I am not going to talk about it anymore." He threw his hand up and turned to walk away, ready to end the conversation, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Just listen to me, Chris. I already know you won't talk to me about it anymore, you've made that abundantly clear. That's why I wanted to give you this." She pushed the brown, leather-bound book into his hands gently. "I understand that you're trying to save the future, but that doesn't make you any less important."

"I'm over it, ok, Phoebes?"

"If you were over it, you wouldn't still be having nightmares." She knew she hit the nail on the head when he looked away from her, pursing his jaw in that stubborn set that was clearly a reflection of his mother. She pressed him again, "You think I can't hear you down in the guest room? Tossing and turning five out of seven nights a week? And the other two you just don't sleep? Chris, talking it out can help. It's therapeutic and that's a scientifically proven fact. But since I know you won't talk to a person, this is probably the next best thing."

He turned the book over in his hands several times and asked, "What is this supposed to be?"

"It's a journal. For your thoughts. To write down everything that has been bothering you. Talk to it as if it were a person."

He crinkled his nose and raised an eyebrow, "Well I don't care what the problem is, I'd never write in a diary."

"It's a journal Chris. Big difference."

"Sure it is. Look, thanks for the offer, but there's no way I'm putting anything down on paper. Anybody could find it. I can't take that chance."

Phoebe danced around him proudly at her handiwork before coming to a gleeful halt. He seemed to accept her idea, and for that, she was ecstatically grateful. "You know how resourceful I am. No, actually, they can't. It's magically protected against anyone but the owner of the book—the first person to write in it. No one else will ever be able to read its contents. Which is why I didn't write a dedication in to you. But I do want one in there—just so you can look back and remember how thoughtful your dear old Aunt Phoebe was…" she said grinning slyly.

He laughed as she led him over to the table and began dictating her dedication to him.

"Ok. Let's test it out. I'm gonna' write something in here, and I want you to prove to me that you can't read it."

She threw her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side as she asked him smugly, "And how would I do that since I can't read it now that the book belongs to you?"

His only response was a raised an eyebrow and a suspicious smirk while he flipped to a page in the middle of the book and began writing. Finally, he pushed it toward her. "It's pretty funny, isn't it? Paige's hair was green for a week."

She grinned widely at the mental picture and tried to see anything that may have shown on the ivory pages, suddenly very interested in the prospective story and nearly forgetting that it was her spell preventing her from seeing it's contents.

Chris leaned back in his chair and watched her reaction carefully, trying to spot some sign that she knew what was written on that page.

"Ok, I give up. I can't see—spill it, Mr.! You have to tell me how she ended up with green hair so I can rub it in."

He took the book back, satisfied that she was completely unaware of its contents—otherwise, she wouldn't be smiling. He had written about one of the worst nights of his life, something he was positive would have made her blanch if she had read it. Phoebe was terrible at keeping secrets, and her facial expressions always told even when her mouth didn't. "I'll tell you later."

She pleaded anxiously, "Oh come on! That can't be future consequences…"

He grinned and held up the book and began to orb, "Thanks for the book, Phoebe."

"No wait—shoot!" The empath stomped her foot petulantly as she stared at the spot he had just been sitting in.

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Chris wanted a quiet place where he wouldn't be disturbed. Since his father was still avoiding him to give him a little space, he naturally thought of the bridge. He leaned back on one of the beams and pulled out his pen, doodling a bit before finally deciding to pen the words that jumbled through his mind…

I don't know why Phoebe wants me to write in this thing. But she seems to think it will help me, somehow. She claims that this book is somehow going to be therapeutic or something. At least I'll have a place to put all of my spells and potions that they haven't invented yet :)

I doubt I'll even use this stupid thing.

Phoebe's always trying too hard. I know she tried so hard to help with this, and I do appreciate it, but—I really didn't want to have to think about all of this anymore. I just wanted to get the job done and then whatever happens after that, happens. I mean, I have a job to do here, and they have to be done in a specific order and I don't have time for anything else.

Save Wyatt.

Save The Future.

Save My Family.

save me?

I wish I had someone to talk to here, but I'm alone in a room full of people. Mom and Aunt Paige are gone, now. No, not Piper and Paige. My mom. My real mom, the one that raised me. And Aunt Paige, who helped raise me. They left a few days ago to go back to their time, and wherever else spirits go, and now I'll never see them again. It's just me and the others. And I don't really belong here. Not with them. Not with anyone.

I guess this stupid book will be my only companion here in the past. Wow, that's sad. I was popular in junior high, and now I only have 1 friend—that can't even talk. Funny thing is, I was an outcast everywhere else because I wasn't Wyatt. But you don't care about petty stuff like that. I can talk to you, right? That's all that matters. It's not like you'll ever tell. Unless, Phoebe put some kind of talking spell on you—nah. Chill out Chris, you're paranoid again. Ok then. Maybe I should start from the beginning? No, no. I've relived that enough for one week. Maybe later. I'll start with—afterward. When I became, well—who I am...

TBC…

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. My apologies that it's taking me so long on this one, but I had to rewrite it all from scratch due to a nasty computer virus that wiped my hd.

So I hope you guys are still out there. If so, thanks for being patient.

Next chapter is mostly the original unchanged future.