The Snow Gardens

by That Girl Six

Three weeks after Chris's death, the family is in pieces trying to find their way back to one another in all the wrong ways. As each deal with their grief, the future, past, and present all come into question while they try to save their broken family.

7. Don't Confess

Chapter Seven
Don't Confess This Thing That Breaks My Heart

I.

"Horrifying" didn't seem to be a good enough word to describe what was going on. At least, that's what Leo thought. "Strange", "terrible", and "unreal" didn't seem to fit how he was feeling either. Then again, words weren't really coming to him in a timely manner. They didn't make a whole lot of sense when they did manage to come through the thickness either. Words hurt too much, and yet, he couldn't stop thinking of them. Words were all that were keeping his mind together at the moment. If nothing else, though, he knew he had to be faring a lot better than his sons.

At the door end of the attic, he stood helplessly with his wife and her sisters, unable to figure out what in the world he should do. He wanted more than anything to go back to his sons and be of whatever comfort he could be, especially to Christopher, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to intrude. He couldn't see Christopher's face, but he could see in his son's frozen form that he wouldn't do any good over there anyway. He could feel it; no hug was going to fix this, no platitude or gesture of kindness. All he could do was wait Christopher out and hope for the best.

He knew without looking at them that the sisters were watching the scene on the other side of the room with a certain interest, but it wasn't the same for them. He didn't have to be an empath to know that they were all worried for Christopher, but that was as far as it went. None of them wanted take their eyes off the other end of the attic, but they still needed to move along to "more important things": Phoebe was in trouble; Wyatt's fate was still in the balance. They had no way of knowing that what they had just witnessed was equally as important to them as any of the other million things that were always urgent for this family.

Piper was trying to be respectful but business-like at the same time, asking for his attention and an explanation in mortuary whispers. Even as she asked him again — Leo? What is this? — Paige was the one who seemed to understand that whatever they had just seen wasn't over yet and that her big sister needed to just shut up. While she started to tell Piper just that, Phoebe was growing more excitable, understanding all too well that things were more than likely going to get ugly. The way things were going with her own situation, she didn't know if she would have the time to explain that before she was out of the picture again. She didn't get to stop her sisters, though, before her other greatest fear of the moment shuffled itself right in the middle of the doorway.

"Is it safe to come in?" Victor unwittingly interrupted the girls. Bearing the two boys in his arms once again, he asked on about the other grandchild he knew to be in the room. "Did you find out what that noise was? Is Christopher okay?"

"Daddy, no," Phoebe rasped, whipping around. She immediately started pushing her father and nephews out the door, terrified of what would happen if the adult version of Wyatt were to see the infant version of his brother. After all, if Christopher weren't around to grow up, that would certainly solve a lot of Wyatt's problems in the future. He'd sent an assassin after the first Chris, but she'd failed. Why wouldn't he try to take his brother out all by himself this time? Looking over her shoulder at the two men on the other end of the attic, she gathered her father in her arms and started shoving as she whispered, "Take the boys and get out of here. Somewhere. Anywhere. You just have to go."

Unable to take his wide, worried eyes off his grandson, Victor shook his head adamantly. Soft but dangerous, he demanded, "Not until you tell me what's wrong with Christopher. Who's that guy?"

"Please, Dad, you have to get the boys out of here," Phoebe urged, her voice struggling to maintain a whisper.

Scared, and a little upset that Phoebe seemed to be in on what appeared to Piper to be a badly kept secret from everyone but her, the eldest sister demanded, "Hold on. No one is going anywhere until someone tells me what's going on here. Since Leo isn't saying anything, and you seem to know at least something, Phoebe, what do you know?"

"Maybe it's a good idea if he goes," Paige suggested softly, her eyes flicking between Leo and Phoebe. "If Leo isn't telling us what's going on over there, he probably has a good reason. In the meantime, we need to figure out how to reverse Phoebe's spell before she knocks herself out again or worse. Besides, Wyatt is still freaking out whenever he's around grownup Christopher for more than ten minutes. I'm not sure what just went on over there, but I think we need to keep the boys out of here until we can figure out what to do. Christopher looks like he wants to be alone right now anyway. He can take care of himself. He'll explain when . . . "

On the other end of the attic, Wyatt Halliwell was confused, so confused. Hearing what sounded like his mother and her sisters bickering wasn't helping much to settle his mind or his stomach, either. He was trying so hard to remember exactly what had happened before his sister brought him here so that he could see her face without seeing the blood that was matted in her hair, but he couldn't get a lock on any of it. It was all so sickeningly muddled, like he hadn't really lived everything he was suddenly remembering over the last few years. The last thing he remembered was . . . God, he wanted to be sick. He tried to focus on what was going on around him, but that wasn't working either. He knew where he was and how he had come to be there; that wasn't the problem. Everything else was.

Wyatt struggled to try to place what was going on, but it was too much of a puzzle that was missing too many pieces to make a picture. He wasn't all that sure of it, but he knew something was horribly wrong with his life. He knew some things, feelings and impressions mostly, some vivid memories that he wished he could shut away. There were times when he could almost remember good things, like if he heard the right song or smelled the right scent, it would all come rushing back to him. But then, as quickly as his mind would lock on the answer, it would be gone in a puff of smoke, almost like it had never been a part of him at all. Suddenly he wouldn't remember why he was trying to think of anything in the first place.

He remembered the guilt, too. He didn't know explicitly what he was guilty of, but he knew it was his fault. He knew it centered around his little brother, the brother he knew would otherwise do anything for. There was this something about him, though, that he felt so guilty. It was all his fault.

Still the hurt of it was clouded in comparison. The shadow, the dark . . . He couldn't truly define it. But this, none of that compared with the cloud he was under now. He knew that his heart was breaking, seeing his baby sister vanish into thin air. Next to him, his baby brother was obviously falling to pieces. He knew he was a part of it, but he wasn't even sure how he knew. It was right there, and yet so hard to reach. Why couldn't he focus?

He could feel the eyes around the attic watching him and Christopher. He had no idea how much they knew about what was going on, or if they would tell him even if they did. To be honest, he was a little afraid to ask, which was a feeling he wasn't in the least bit familiar with. He knew how to be afraid. He was afraid every day, but this . . . He'd never felt like this before.

God, if only he knew what was going on!

Next to his brother, Christopher's ears finally shut out the squabbling going on between his mother and aunts. Their hushed voices, the bird outside the window, the sounds of everything around him had a weird underwater quality to them, like he wasn't really hearing them at all. It just became too hard to listen. It literally hurt his ears to the point that he thought they would start bleeding out. He hadn't moved yet, not that he could. It had been nearly two minutes since his sister's body had disappeared yet he hadn't even blinked. He was still on hands and knees, his head hanging low between his arms, chin almost to his chest. Even the muscles of his arms and thighs refused to twitch in pained protest to the position. It was almost as if he had somehow turned to stone.

Christopher oddly thought that to be able to do that would be rather fitting at the moment. Just turn to stone. It would be easier than anything else that he could do. He'd heard once upon a time that Paige had been turned to stone by the Titans before they were destroyed. He almost opened his mouth to ask her if it had helped, but he couldn't really form the question. Questions were too hard. Talking was too hard. The memories trying to invade his brain were too hard. Stone was a lot easier. If he were a betting man, he would lay all of his money down on the odds that he would never move again. It wasn't like he had anyone waiting for him at home anymore. What difference could it make now?

Five minutes. Damn. That was all he'd ever asked for before, and it had always worked. Somehow, though, he didn't think five minutes was going to do it this time. How long would it take the sisters to de-stone him if he could make it happen? Would that be long enough?

Like his son, Leo hadn't really blinked, either, even with Piper tugging on his arm for answers. It was taking everything he had not to walk over and put his arm around Christopher's shoulders to take the hurt away. In the back of his mind, he felt he needed to check on Wyatt as well, but then the image of the boy snapping the bolt in his own sister's shoulder came back to him, sickening him even further. Wyatt's pain, if he even knew the meaning of the word anymore, would have to wait. So would everyone else. Leo shut out the noise of his wife and her sisters bickering and even the softly growing cries of his infant son. Everything locked on that small space no longer occupied and the two boys guarding it. He watched, waiting for Christopher to move or speak, to give him any idea what he wanted his father to do. Christopher didn't move, though. Leo wasn't even sure if the kid was forcing himself to breathe. When he finally chose to speak, his son still didn't move so that his quiet words sank directly into the floor where his sister should have been. While the sisters went on and Victor joined them, only Leo could hear his boy's heart breaking into the bloody floor.

Then, just as the not-so quiet discussion at the door was growing to its loudest, a strange chord of silence interrupted the noise. Leo wasn't sure who created it, Christopher with his choked sob (a relieving sign to Leo that Christopher wasn't going to remain frozen like that forever) or Phoebe with her blurted plea with everyone to just shut up for a moment and listen to her. There was no doubt, though, as to who broke the ensuing silence, making everyone jump out of their skin.

While everyone else had been distracted by Phoebe's reaction to Victor's entrance, Leo had been the only one watching to see the change in his son. He was the only one ready for what came next, maybe even including Christopher. Even the night that he'd learned that Chris was his son (the first time) and they had come to blows, Chris hadn't looked like that. His boy was radiating such feral heat that Leo knew it was only a matter of seconds before the obviously grieving boy would explode. The crazy part of it was, after everything Leo had seen in the future, he could actually feel himself take an emotionally permissive step back. Christopher had earned the right to whatever he said next, and his father was in no mood to get in his way.

"Why are you crying?"

Everything Christopher had been thinking, all of the memories that had been flashing through his head, spikes of joy and pain came to an abrupt end when a sniffle near his ear caught his attention. He was almost positive that it should have come from himself, or maybe Leo, possibly. He didn't know for sure. He was that detached at the moment. But then, just as strong and lost, another sniffle brought his eyes from where his sister was no longer lying in pain to where their older brother was staring over at him looking rather boyish and helpless. Christopher couldn't remember ever seeing a look like that on Wyatt's adult face. His big brother, who for all intents and purposes had always exercised some degree of evil behavior, was actually crying. The jackass had put the entire magical world in chaos and was responsible for the deaths of countless, faceless creatures of all walks of life, magical and non-magical. Innocents and demons alike had suffered at his hands. And he had the nerve now to sit there and cry? He actually thought he had even the slightest right to cry? Hell no. Hell no! He gave up that right a long, long time ago.

"You don't get to cry."

Before Christopher even realized what he'd done, his balled fist connected with his brother's cheekbone, knocking Wyatt down onto his back. Suddenly without the support of his brother's chest to lunge at, Christopher, too, collapsed onto the floor. He quickly rolled himself up onto his knees as he had done his entire life. It wasn't something he even had to think about; it was merely self-preservation nature to him. The rest of it, though . . . Man, the rest of it he hadn't done in years. Wyatt had never let him get close enough to do it. Christopher didn't know exactly what he was doing, and he certainly had no idea what his brother was going to do to him for his brazenness, but he really didn't care at the moment. He was too lost to care. His sister was lost, leaving him alone with no one but Wyatt now. If he was going to be stuck with that jackass as his only living relative for the rest of his sure-to-be-limited days, he was going to have his say before those days ran out.

Grabbing on to the collar of his brother's bloodstained shirt, Christopher held Wyatt steady as his fist reared back. Fire burned in his muscles as it connected with the stone hardness of his brother's cheek again. Another strike sent Wyatt's shocked blue eyes shut in anticipation of a fourth punch. Christopher was all too happy to oblige him. After the expected fourth punch, Christopher used the bundled shirt in his other fist to haul his brother's reddening face up close to his so that Wyatt would maybe even feel the burning hatred churning in him as the words escaped him. "Are you happy now? You did this! She never wanted anything but to help you, and you did this to her! You did this to all of us!"

While Christopher stopped for a brief second to suck in another hot breath, his grandfather took a small step forward, handing off the smaller versions of his grandchildren to their mother and aunt Paige as he went. Ignoring the hand that Phoebe put on his elbow in warning, he made his way half way across the attic. "Christopher? Honey?"

Leo's hand shot out automatically to stop Victor as he tried to pass the one last person between himself and his grandchild. In case that wasn't enough of a hint, the Elder threw all the power he could get behind his voice and said, "You don't want any part of this. Trust me."

Knowing now that Piper was right, that Leo knew a lot more than he was saying, Victor turned questioningly to his son-in-law. After the talk that the three of them had had alone in the early morning, he knew he could trust Leo to always have Christopher's best interests at heart, even if it didn't always seem like it. But still, this seemed a little extreme. He glanced over to Christopher then back to Leo again. "Christopher wouldn't want us involved?"

Darkly, Leo affirmed, "He really wouldn't."

Seeing the confidence Leo had in his answer, Victor pulled back as well. He looked back at Christopher, who was rearing his fist back for what was by now a sixth or seventh knuckle-busting punch. Victor himself had lost count. Christopher didn't look like he cared all that much about the count anyway. Seeing such anger in his grandson so hurt him that he had to turn away. Instead he focused on the infant Christopher and wished that it would all be over soon. It had to stop soon, right?

Christopher didn't know how much longer Wyatt was going to let him keep this up. It wasn't like his brother to take one punch, let alone however many they were on by now. Not that Christopher cared about the why at the moment. He didn't know what he was thinking. He didn't know what he was saying. All he knew was that, for once, he had control, and that was enough. He vaguely heard his grandfather, felt all eyes upon him. He pulled Wyatt up close again and gave his brother another swift punch to turn his head toward those eyes. With his free hand he scrunched Wyatt's hair into his fist and held his brother's head in their direction, growling, "You did it to her just like you did it to all of them. Look at them, standing there with their entire lives ahead of them. At least, they would have had lives ahead of them if it hadn't been for you. You ruined them. You ruined all of us!"

At his younger brother's second volley of accusations, something changed in Wyatt. He knew then what he needed to do. If Christopher wanted him to be evil, he'd give him evil. It wasn't like he had a clue what he should be thinking at the moment anyway. If he kept Christopher talking long enough, maybe some of the pieces would fall into place. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to let the darkness take over. With that determination, his eyes flashed from sadly compliant and understanding to viciously angry in an instant. As much as he knew he deserved whatever Christopher had to throw at him, he wasn't just going to take it, either. No longer would Christopher be allowed to throw him around like a doll. Stiffening his entire body, Wyatt reached his hand up to his brother's neck and squeezed hard enough to make Christopher hesitate for just a pinch of a second. The brothers looked into one another's eyes and both saw the same thing: they had been waiting a long time for this.

Wyatt flashed Christopher a quick, dangerous smile before it morphed into a devilish sneer. With one hand braced on the floor behind him, he tightened his suffocating grip on Christopher's throat until he had the strength to shove his smaller brother off him. Even without his powers from the Charmed line, Wyatt was still physically stronger than Christopher, who easily flew off his brother ten feet away. As Christopher climbed out from under a now-shattered table, Wyatt rose to his full, intimidating height. Menacingly, he raised his head, cricking his neck along the way, to reveal a much more familiar visage of cool darkness.

"I did this," Wyatt fumed, swiping blood from under his nose. He stormed over to where Christopher was slowly getting up to meet him. All too happy to help the process along, Wyatt grabbed a handful of Christopher's hair and heaved his brother to his feet. Inwardly wincing at Christopher's hiss of pain, he silently pleaded, God Chris, forgive me for this. Outwardly, he pulled them eye to eye and seethed, "You two are the ones who betrayed me, remember?"

Furious with his brother's indignation, Christopher didn't even attempt to figure out if it was possible to break Wyatt's grip. He just swung his fist around wildly, catching a lucky shot. The punch cut up squarely under Wyatt's jaw hard enough to loose the stunned man's fist. A second swing released Christopher altogether, giving him room to catch Wyatt about the waist and rush him backward into the podium, smashing it back into its splintered state from a week before. The momentum sent Christopher tumbling over Wyatt into the window seat. Both brothers scrambled with cat-like reflexes back onto their feet, poised to charge one another again.

So focused were the two of them on each other and their long-anticipated confrontation that they didn't stop for even a heartbeat when Phoebe, being the only person to understand what was going on besides Leo, called out to them both. "Wyatt! Chris! Stop it before you really hurt each other!"

They didn't hear it, but Leo stepped forward and pulled Phoebe back to the group, despite her indignant grunts of protests. "The same goes for you. Let them go," he told her, watching over his shoulder as Christopher took another well-placed swing. "They need to do this."

They didn't hear Phoebe angrily accuse Leo, "You're willing to let your sons just kill each other? Have you lost your mind?"

Nor did they hear Paige quietly ask her sister, "His huh?" Nor did they hear their mother ask at the same time, "That's Wyatt?"

What Christopher did hear made the sickness rise in his throat. He tackled Wyatt, even as his brother laughed at his sickness in a posed maniacal, psychological victory.

"Don't even bring the rest of them into this. It was your pal Charlie, and Victor and Sam and the two of you. You all betrayed me. She just wasn't smart enough to keep herself from getting caught in the crossfire." Wyatt laughed deliciously, even as a blow landed near his eye. "Be mad at me all you want, but at least be honest about it. She betrayed you, too. She was no saint. She wasn't perfect. She didn't wait for you; she went ahead without you and tried to bind my powers. When that didn't do it for her, she tried to kill me. She just got herself killed instead."

Positively livid, Christopher just started swinging. "Fuck you!"

Wyatt continued to laugh, as if the blows attacking (and just as frequently missing) his body were merely whispered tickles on his cheeks. In reality, it hurt like hell, but he couldn't let Christopher know that, not yet. Besides, the punches hurt a lot less than his words. It made him sick that his mind could even go to a place like that about her, about anyone. God, what had happened to him? He definitely deserved those punches. He didn't even reach up to block them. He didn't think he could defend himself, not for this. He just let Christopher hit him, knowing that the kid was going to tire out sooner or later. In the darkness at the back of his mind, he knew he was stronger than Christopher ever could be anyway. He could take a punch a lot better than Christopher ever could. He could take a lot of things Christopher never could, not that he ever really had to. Thanks to the last few years, people were too afraid of him to try. As if to prove it, the anger in Wyatt took over. He grabbed his brother's wrists and pulled them down hard so that they were practically nose to nose. Laughing and still hating himself as he did it, Wyatt threw his forehead into Christopher's but refused to let go of the kid's wrists so that he couldn't in any way pull away. With Christopher temporarily stunned, Wyatt made up a story based on what he could remember and told his brother, "Hate me all you want, Christopher, you know I'm right. I gave her one inch of sympathy, one inch, and she used it against me. You think I don't know that she was trying to lure me out into the open? Those Darklighters weren't there by accident. She warned them. She planned this three months ago when you left. The two of you were always plotting against me. I'll admit, it was amusing for a while. I mean, really, Christopher; did you honestly think I didn't know all about your little plan the day of Victor's funeral? Please. Just how gullible do you think I am? I knew what you were going to do long before I sent my people to the house."

Christopher barely heard anything Wyatt was rambling on about. All he could hear was the laughing making his blood pound furiously in his ears. He could feel it in his hands. They felt huge to him. The more he struggled to get free so that he could resume his attack, the harder it was. Still, with another well-placed hit to his gut, Wyatt let him go. Whether it was on purpose or not, Christopher took advantage of it and rained his fists back onto his brother's chest. The harder he tried to make contact with any part of Wyatt's body, the bigger his hands felt. He was starting to feel clumsy. Everything was collapsing in on him. It was all so close. It wasn't until he made one last connection with his brother's jaw that he could think enough to form words again. Even then, all he could manage was a savage sob.

"I hate you."

A final surge of fury went through Christopher from head to toe, sending his heel smashing right into Wyatt's right knee. As Wyatt stumbled backward in a howl of pain, Christopher drew himself back to his full height and slowly backed away, heaving his breaths and trying to keep from throwing up at the same time.

Choking back obvious pain, Wyatt wryly chuckled through scattered breath. "Feel better?"

Christopher snarled, "Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Do — you — feel — better," asked Wyatt slowly, punching each word like he was talking to a deaf man. He massaged his hands on his knee, panting. He never took his eyes off Christopher as his little brother stared at him in absolute confusion and disgust. It was becoming all that much easier to feign the anger as they went on. He was hurting something awful. But if it worked, well . . .Concentrating on the anger through the ringing in his ears, Wyatt hissed, "I mean, that's what you needed, right? You need me to say that stuff so that you can feel better about trying this. Because it doesn't work if I'm not evil anymore, right? It doesn't work for you to beat the hell out of someone who doesn't deserve it." A grin broke out on Wyatt's face, his eyes bright with something that almost looked like nostalgia. He chuckled wryly, "You always — heh — you always had a little too much of Dad in you to throw a punch unless you had to."

Just as winded but knowing fully well that he could go another ten rounds if necessary, Christopher spat blood out of the corner of his mouth before asking, "So, what? This is just some act? I'm supposed to think that one tiny little spell has reformed you, that you are no longer responsible for every single thing you've ever done? That I'm supposed to just forgive you?"

Wyatt looked pointedly at the space where their sister had lain and said, "She seemed to think so." Thinking back on the last few minutes that the three of them had had together, he added, "And for a minute there, so did you."

Spitting again, Christopher snapped, "Yeah, well, she was a lot better person than I am."

"Really," Wyatt asked. He knew he had to get as much anger out of Christopher as he possibly could. The only way he was going to get to talk to his brother, not the guy who had all of this anger built up, was to get rid of that anger. He needed to talk to Christopher, his Chris. So Wyatt went on, trying to say the most vile thing he could manage to stomach saying, no matter how many punches he was going to have to take for it. He could deal with the physical pain, no problem. It was the other part, the part of what Christopher was going to say when this was over, that he didn't know if he could handle. Still, he had to try. Spitting his insult, he said, "Is that why you've gone to all this trouble? Because she was a better person? If that's what you thought about her, little brother, you didn't know her as well as you think you did."

"What are you talking about?"

Wyatt dug deep, not caring if he got hit again. Hell, he knew he deserved it and a lot more. If he and Christopher were going to talk, really talk, his kid brother was going to have to exhaust himself of all of this first anyway. Just because they hadn't been friends in years didn't mean he didn't still know his little brother. The easiest way to get his brother angry was to pick on the people he loved. For demons to do it was one thing, but he wouldn't stand still long if anyone else even thought about trying. Picking up where he'd left off, Wyatt bit back, picking on the person that would hurt Christopher the most. "Don't you get it? She set this up. She set it all up. The Darklighters knew exactly when to come to the manor. They knew we would be there because she had told them. It wasn't like I had her chained to a wall. I'm not that cruel. She could come and go within the compound as she pleased. She's a cute girl. She probably made a few friends, whether they worked for me or not. There were plenty of them who would probably take a girl like her up on whatever she offered them."

Christopher didn't even want to think about what his brother was insinuating, not at all, mind game or not. Instead, he very calmly walked up to his brother, who stood up to meet him with raised fists. Before Wyatt knew what was coming, Christopher's foot connected with his brother's other knee, filling the attic with a howl of pain loud enough to make the girls across the room flinch in sympathetic pain and the babies to cry.

Finally thinking it was time to put this exercise in brotherly brutality to an end, Leo walked over and took his younger son by the elbow and pulled him back. Softly enough so that only Christopher could hear, the angel said, "Catch your breath. I'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

"Dad . . . " Christopher started but didn't know how to finish. He wanted to cry; he wanted to scream. He wanted to tear his brother's hair out. He wanted to pick up that damned sword and rip it right through his brother's gut so that Wyatt could feel even the slightest semblance of the pain he was feeling at the moment, if Wyatt could actually feel anything at all. He wanted his father to tell him not that his brother wasn't going anywhere, but that it was all going to work out. He wanted to hear that it was okay, that his daddy was going to make it all okay. He wanted his sister back. He wanted his grandfather and cousins back. He wanted them all back. Rolling his eyes to keep them from tearing up, he bit back a moan. "Dad."

"Just take a minute, okay?" Leo led a fairly pliable Christopher further away from his brother over to the window seat and stood his boy against the wall. "We'll sort this out. We will."

Sadly, Christopher muttered mostly to himself, "There is no 'we' anymore. I'm it. I'm the last one."

With a ferocity that Leo rarely used, the angel promised his son, "We are going to fix this. I will not — "

"She wouldn't do that," Christopher interrupted, still talking to himself.

"What?"

"She would never have done what he said," Christopher said a little more assertively, actually looking at his father for the first time since being pulled away from his brother. "I don't want you to ever think that she is capable of what he's insinuating. I don't know why he would say that. She would never . . . She isn't that kind of girl. He knows she isn't that kind of girl. I don't know why he would say that, I — "

"I know, Chris," Leo soothed. "I could tell."

Christopher again rolled his eyes to keep the tears at bay as he sniffed, "She always means to do the right thing. She just isn't very good at it."

Leo's hand came up to Christopher's face and wiped a tear away, a tear that was no doubt for his fallen sister. With a smile, he said, "Judging from what just happened, I think she was very good at it. She got them here, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but not exactly in one piece."

"She got Wyatt to you with her dying breath, Christopher. She got him to you so that the two of you could save him. That isn't exactly easy magic. You kids, you all treat this time travel like it should be the easiest thing in the world. You have no idea. That really took some magic."

Half laughing, Christopher lovingly disagreed. "Not so much. She's a total klutz. Seriously." He swiped the back of his sleeve over his eyes, gulping back what tears were left. He looked down at the floor for a second, regaining his composure. He couldn't cry, damn it. He hadn't exactly cried, but he'd still let too much get to him today. He couldn't do it. It would scare them all so much more if he let them think he couldn't handle these things. It was time to put the game face back on, whether he meant it or not. With that, the deep set determination that shadowed his every move returned to both his body and his voice. Back in work mode, he started pacing back and forth in front of the window, talking the problem out as he went. Softly and logically, he told his father, "She probably didn't even know what she did. She was probably just randomly trying anything that came to mind. It's not like there was a specific spell in The Book that we could find or anything. Believe me, we looked. We never could find an existing magical explanation for what was happening to him, but it was just . . . It was a feeling. We all felt it. Anyway, I think she knew that she was never going to get Wyatt out of his compound again before the baby was born. The Darklighters showing up was probably just a coincidence. She wouldn't have set anything up, but she would know to take advantage of it. I do know her, no matter what he says. She didn't plan this. It was totally a fluke that she got it right. God, she is so crazy sometimes."

"Did Wyatt catch what it was that she said," Leo asked, seeing that Christopher wanted to work, nothing else. There would be time to make sure his son was okay later. "If it worked then, it would work now, right? Whatever happened, we could save him and put all of this behind us."

Christopher looked over his shoulder at his brother, who was still bent over trying to catch his breath. Feeling a twinge of self-vindication, Christopher looked away again, safe to talk. In a low whisper, he said, "All he said was that she was rhyming then it all went black for him. I don't think even he knows exactly what she did. I don't think he knows anything else. He wasn't mad like this before, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. Now, I'm not so sure. I don't think he knows. He tried to heal her, but he couldn't. He thinks she switched their powers, but that wouldn't explain him not being able to heal her."

"So that was why it was just a skin fight?"

"Oh, no," Christopher shook his head. "It would have been anyway. Even if all of it is a lie, if he still had them, he lost his powers as soon as he came back, same as me. It's the same rule for us as it is for the sisters. Only one version of our selves can have our powers from the family line in the past. The kids were here first; they get the powers. The only reason I can still orb — and I'm guessing he can, too — is because that power is from your side of the family tree, not theirs."

Sighing a breath of relief he didn't even know he was holding, Leo asked, "So he isn't dangerous."

Feeling a little spiteful and not really caring if anyone knew it, Christopher looked right at his brother and said, "I wouldn't say that." Loud enough so that the sisters could hear, he ordered, "Paige, do me a favor and keep your crystals handy."

Without even thinking about it, Paige immediately called the wooden box that stored her crystals for a magical cage to her and held it close at the ready. Hefting the box in her hands, her head jerked in surprise as she realized that her nephew had said anything to her. She looked between the boy she now knew to be Wyatt and her sisters, unsure. "Wait, is that really necessary?"

At the same time, both Phoebe and Christopher said definitively, "Yes."

Ignoring his aunt, who he figured didn't know any better, Wyatt glared at his brother. "Nice, Christopher. Really nice."

"Do you really expect him to react any differently," Phoebe asked, defending both her and Christopher's decision. It didn't bother her in the least to keep Wyatt at bay until they were sure he was safe to be let loose. "We all know what you're capable of."

"Was capable of," he corrected her, starting to pace in time with his brother, even with the pain in his legs.

"'Was'? Really," Phoebe challenged from her perch on the sofa arm. "So that gaping chest wound we saw a minute ago wasn't from Excalibur? It just happened to come with you, like you just happened to have it in your hand because you carry it around the way you'd carry so much loose change?"

Even in his confusion, Wyatt was together enough to know that he'd have to accept comments like that from Christopher. He wasn't entirely sure how or why, but he knew he'd earned it. But Phoebe, at this point in time . . . He hadn't done a damned thing to her. Angry, he hobbled closer to the rest of the family. "Really? And what do you think you know? Not that I owe you any explanations in the first place, but you don't have the faintest clue what our lives have been, Phoebe. It's not like you've been there for us, ever. Not now, not then. So really, I'd love to hear this: what do you think you know?"

The determined set Christopher had had to him downstairs still fresh in her mind, Paige took up for him with an equally dangerous step toward her nephew. "We know enough."

Surprised at the venom in his aunt's voice, Wyatt turned back to his brother, who was now leaning against the wall watching the scene with an almost amused expression. "God, Christopher, what did you tell them?"

"Only what they needed to know," Christopher said plainly. "Truth be told, they don't really have the slightest hint of what you've done."

"Of course, you were the innocent victim in all of it, weren't you?"

"I never claimed to be an innocent, but I didn't murder people either."

Phoebe saw Wyatt open his mouth to answer his brother, but just as she had known it would happen sooner or later, the memory of the other Chris pulled her away from her family before she could hear his retort or warn them that she was being hijacked once again.

Normally, it was something familiar about a scene that had triggered the invasion of her nephew's mind into hers, but for some reason, this time she was nowhere near the attic with the others. She had no idea where she was, but she knew that Chris knew exactly where he was going as he had orbed out of the attic and into a dank, dripping room of stone of some sort. She could taste the blood in his mouth as he'd bit into the inside of his cheek to keep from being sick.

In his head, Chris had been shakily telling himself, "Don't look down. Don't look down. Not yet, not until you're done. He's got time. Just don't look down."

Apparently that had been all the convincing he'd needed for the moment because Phoebe had no idea what it was that he had been trying not to look down at. Instead, she was drawn, as Chris was, to a swirling portal that opened in the middle of the sewer. She felt a hatred rise inside her nephew, one that she never would have imagined existed in him. She knew he hadn't even felt that hatred for Wyatt, no matter what he'd done. How he could hate a portal, she didn't know. Phoebe then felt her breath catch as she saw what Chris had been expecting. She had to admit, her feelings were a little on the dark side as well as the woman stepped out of the swirl and stopped suddenly, obviously not expecting Chris to be there.

"I don't think so Leysa, not this time," he warned her. Warned her from what, Phoebe didn't know, but she knew Chris did. She supposed that was all that mattered at that point.

"What are you doing here," the woman asked.

Phoebe felt Chris fight with himself not to reveal his true intentions. She knew he had a lot of things that he would love to say to the woman, but he also knew that he absolutely could not let his emotions take over or he was never going to do what he intended. He fought to keep his voice casual as he said, "My plans have changed unfortunately. The witches, they found Leo sooner than I would have liked."

"That's not my problem. We kept our end of the deal."

Again, Chris wanted to say something snide. He wanted to scream at the woman in front of him that he knew all about her intentions and deals. and that none of them were what they were supposed to be. Instead, he only went on calmly. "I know, and I'm forever grateful. But I can't risk them finding out what I'm up to. I'm truly sorry."

Part of Phoebe wanted to cheer Chris on for what he did next. If she had that kind of power (which she had no idea until now that he had), she probably would have enjoyed using it on a few demons herself. The other part of her, though, was a bit terrified to see her nephew exhibit such power. She wasn't sure if it was a telekinetic thing or a mental thing, but somehow, he crushed the woman's heart as it beat in her chest with a mere twist of a fist.

Inwardly, Chris was disgusted with himself for what he was doing. Phoebe could feel him trying to hold the bile back as he watched her fall to the ground. He almost let himself stop, telling himself that he would find another way, but in the end, he wasn't been able to make himself forget that all of the lives he was saving by taking one. She had been an innocent at the time, but it wouldn't have been long in his lifetime before she had turned. Phoebe could hear him telling himself over and over that he was doing the right thing, even as he whispered an apology to her. "Forgive me," he said.

Forgive us all, Phoebe thought in the back of her head. She wasn't sure why, but somehow, the thought felt right to her. Whether she meant it for Chris or someone else, she didn't know. But she meant it.

She watched as Chris bent down and yanked the pendant off the woman's chest. There was a certain calm that came over him as he stood up, his mind turning back to the thing they had tried so hard not to look at when they'd arrived in the sewer. As Phoebe saw the fallen police officer, she cringed. The guy didn't look to her like he had much longer. Chris, however, didn't waste any time in retrieving the man's radio and calling in for assistance. When the voice on the other end of the radio responded, she felt Chris breathe a sigh of relief.

"You're going to be okay, now," Phoebe heard Chris whisper to the cop. She knew that he wanted to give him more reassurance than that, but he held back. She heard him thinking, though. I should know, I've had dinner at your house countless times. The son your wife is pregnant with right now was my best friend until one of my brother's goons got overenthusiastic. He missed growing up with you. Maybe now he'll get a chance, so please be more careful from now on. She felt his lungs catch for just a second as he pushed the thought down, not even allowing himself to see his friend's father's face. The acidic gurgling in the back of their throats anchored him in the moment, letting him move on before he could forget where he was and why he was there. And miles to go before I sleep . . .

Instead, Chris orbed out of the tunnel to what Phoebe immediately recognized as Valhalla as she somehow knew he had promised. She had always had a twitchy feeling that he had been there quite often, but now it was confirmed for her in the familiar feeling he had on landing. She knew that he knew exactly where to go, how to find his way around the island paradise. He expertly maneuvered himself through the paths until he stood at the top of a waterfall.

Suddenly, Phoebe felt an intense pain that she had in no way expected. Chris bent over, hands on his knees to steady himself. He let out what was for Phoebe a terrifying scream. She felt him suck in his breath as he fell heavily back against a tree and slumped down to the ground. God, it hurt. It physically hurt. He hadn't been allowing himself to think, but she could feel his hurt. His father had finally been avenged, but the compartment where he'd stored all of that hate for the man's murderer hadn't emptied like it was supposed to. Leysa was dead, but so was Leo. Somehow, now it all only hurt more.

Phoebe's heart broke then for her nephew. Once she had known who Chris was, she had understood the logistical reason for the kid calling his parents by their first names instead of their titles. It wasn't like they had known who he was, and in the end, he was right to think that they never would have believed him if he had told them immediately who he was. But there was something else there, too, that she now knew. It was pain. Ugly, horrible pain. He had seen both of his parents murdered. She knew without having seen it that he had seen both of their murderers brought down. But now she felt the childlike horror that she wished she could have been around to warn him about: revenge still can't make the hurt go away. Every kid has to learn the hard way that one day that their parents will eventually die, that one day they aren't going to come back. She just wished she could have told him that so that maybe they both could be breathing at the moment.

Lost in his pain, Chris didn't hear Freya come up behind them. Softly, with more compassion than Chris knew she would normally allow herself to show, she said, "You look like you just lost your best friend."

Sniffling then coughing to hide the tears, Chris thought, "No, just my dad." He waited a slight beat then solemnly told the Valkyrie, "It's done."

"I know," Freya said. "I felt her go. My house is pure again. You have your revenge."

"I do."

"Yet you are not pleased?"

"You're going to analyze me now? Shouldn't I lie down on a couch if you're going to do this?"

Freya looked on him in understanding, surprising Chris. "I have seen wars beyond your imagining, Chris. I was there on Utah Beach. I was there at Gettysburg. I was there when Alexander started and ended his campaign across the globe and when Napoleon failed at Waterloo and on and on. And I look awfully damn good for a gal my age, don't I?" Chris laughed in spite of himself, his aching shoulder muscles relaxing enough to help him breathe again. When she saw the tension leave him, she smiled at him. "I've seen so much, Chris, not just death. I've seen what wars can do. I've seen what happens to a man's eyes when he's had enough even when he knows he has to go on longer. I've seen the defeat that comes over a man."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, go on a little longer, Christopher Halliwell. I wouldn't have agreed to help you if I didn't think that you could accomplish what you've set out to do." Phoebe watched with interest as the Valkyrie goddess produced two pendants from a small pocket in her belt and handed them over to her nephew. She squeezed his hand tight over the orbs. "Hold on a little longer."

Chris nodded gratefully at her, his breath finally returning to normal. Phoebe felt his mind compartmentalize again, the heaviest of emotions buried under years of self-training and necessity. Needing to change the subject, he then quietly asked, "Is he okay? Myst said he's being . . . difficult."

"He is, but that's part of the fun of keeping him here." A delicious smile played across the goddess's face without really telling them anything that Chris hadn't already guessed anyway. "It's a pity that the Elders got to him before I could. I would have liked to have had him around a lot longer than just a few weeks. He's been fun . . . for my warriors, of course. But he is safe, I promise. After everything you have shown me about the future, distracting your father for a few months is the least I can do."

Chris pulled a face at the tone of her voice. "Just don't do anything that would make my mother not take him back, okay?" He gave Freya a half-cocked grin that then had quickly turned into a tight smile of bashful gratitude. "I should go. Thanks for everything."

"Be careful, Chris," the Valkyrie goddess cautioned. "This is over now. Don't let the anger consume you any longer than it has to for you to accomplish your mission. Anything more than that, and what would you be fighting for?"

"You sure know a lot for a girl who doesn't get out much," Chris countered. When she made a face at him, he nodded. "I know you mean well. Thank you." He held the pendants up to his chest, clutching them close. "Be expecting them. Make sure they get out safely."

"Your family will always be safe in my hands. Now go, before the sisters start to miss you."

Phoebe could hardly believe it. Everything that they had been through to get Leo back, Chris had been in on in so many different ways that she couldn't even count. How could they not have seen that? She had felt that something had been up with him, but she had never imagined any of this. Unable to feel the pressure in her nephew's head any longer, she tried to force herself out of his memory. As they floated away in a cloud of orbs, she found that she didn't have to try too hard to get away. Whatever it was that she was supposed to learn from this memory must have been accomplished because the spell let her go without a fight at all.

When Phoebe was able to pull herself together enough to notice what was going on around her, her nephews were back to yelling at each other across the attic, looking worse for wear and far too tired to go back to killing each other. Still, she couldn't help but notice that Wyatt looked a great deal more bloodied than his smaller brother. She immediately knew, though, that she couldn't have missed that much because Wyatt was saying, "You think I don't know why you're here in the first place? It was never about 'saving' me, not for you. Maybe it was for her and for Sam — I bet you didn't think I knew he was in on all of this, too, did you? — but it never was about me for you. It was all about everyone else. You had this chip on your shoulder about being the kid that everyone in the family ignored unless they needed you. You hated it that, even when I was clearly turning to the Dark Side or whatever the hell you want to call it, you still couldn't get anyone to listen to you because it was always about me."

"Only because you never thought about anyone but yourself," Christopher childishly countered, pushing himself off the wall again. He started pacing again, never taking his eyes off his brother. Unable to control his words, he beat out in time with his steps, "You were so wrapped up in how hard things were for you that you couldn't see what was going on around us. You couldn't see that the world was falling apart ,and you were falling right with it. But fine, it was all my fault. I made you evil. I made you unable to tell right from wrong. I made it so that you had to kill for pleasure and systematically take this family out one by one. I told you to gut your sixteen-year-old cousin like he was something you brought home from a hunting trip. I told you that it would be okay for you to let your goons drown your aunt for the fun of it because she might possibly have some sort of knowledge about nothing at all! Go ahead, keep going. Blame me for something else you did. Were you able to pick out one pair of black socks from all the others by yourself this morning? And you managed to brush your own teeth and make your bed without me there to tell you to do it? Wow, you've become such a big boy!"

Before Wyatt and Christopher could charge each other again, Paige orbed the box of crystals into their path. As the box floated in between them, the boys each skidded their pacing to a stop. Darkly, she warned them, "You both know what I can do with these when I want to. Don't think I won't. Both of you, knock it off, right now."

Phoebe was happy to realize that her distraction had gone unnoticed by her family as they all had remained focused on the two men from the future, even if things were starting to collapse again. Seeing the tension briefly calm between them again, Victor crossed the room, this time unhindered, to take his place at Christopher's side. The boys were put into their playpen, which Paige promptly took up guard in front of, the box of crystals back in her hands, still open and at the ready. Piper was the only one who hadn't really done or said anything. Leo looked worriedly on her, leaned close to Christopher to whisper something to him, then left his son's side to stand with his wife. He hesitated for a brief second, unsure if he was doing the right thing for her, then went ahead and grabbed her hand anyway. He was grateful when she didn't try to pull away from him, squeezing her hand to let her know that she could squeeze as hard as she needed to.

Piper didn't squeeze his hand, even though she was sure that was what he was trying to tell her. She didn't want comfort right now. She wanted answers. Comfort, just like the sadness she knew she should be feeling, could come later, when both — all — of her boys were safe. Instead she let the other thing she was feeling, anger, take over as she softly whispered to Leo, "This isn't real. This just . . . It can't be real."

Apparently Piper hadn't been quite quiet enough. Wyatt glanced at his little brother, at the spot on the floor where Lucy had been, then turned to face only his parents. It took him a moment to be able to actually look at them without seeing their bodies the way he had last seen them. When he was finally able to look at them, it took everything he had not to look back down. Everything he had been saying had been for Christopher's benefit and, quite frankly, he had forgotten that the others were there hearing everything he was spewing at his kid brother. God, he must have sounded like a monster to them. Still, they were his parents. He had to be able to talk to them. If anyone was going to be able to help him get through to Christopher, it was them. After taking a deep breath, he took two cautious steps toward them, jamming his fists into his pockets. As if he could get some kind of understanding out of them that he knew he didn't deserve, Wyatt said sadly, "I'm afraid this is as real as it gets, Mom."

Piper flinched at the word "Mom". She was used to hearing it from Chris and Christopher, but then, she'd had plenty of time to get used to it between the two of them. To have this virtual stranger calling her by a familiar, though, this stranger who she only knew to be a danger to her family, was more than she could handle. Shakily, she told him, "I think that's close enough."

"Mom . . . " He knew it was probably a lot for her to see him after all she had probably heard, but still . . . She was his mother. When he saw her react again, he changed his tone and look, not even trying to play the Son card anymore, not until they had sorted some things out, anyway. "Look, Piper, I know you've been hearing a lot about me from Christopher — "

"You think?"

"And what just happened probably hasn't been much of an indicator otherwise," he said, waving that part of it off. He didn't want to think about how he'd managed to get there in the first place, not right now. Things were dark enough as they were. Instead, he went back to what he'd been trying to say before, hoping to keep his parents' attention on other things. "I know that what you've heard has probably scared you. I can't change that. I don't like that you know any of it. I wish I didn't know any of it."

Leo looked on his son, surprised that he didn't feel the terror that he thought he'd be feeling when he came up against his child for the second time. Maybe it was just because he hadn't spent any real time with Wyatt as an adult like he had with Christopher, but for the most part, this man in front of him wasn't his son. He didn't feel that love for him the way he had for Chris and now Christopher. Instead, all he felt was something very un-Elderlike. At least, he wasn't allowing himself to admit to anything else. That would hurt too much. Those feelings crept into his voice as he asked incredulously, "You think you wish you didn't know the things you've done? Do you have any idea how it broke your mother's heart the day she learned what you've become?"

Without thinking about what he was saying at first, Wyatt retorted meanly, "Don't you mean, if I had a mother? Maybe if she hadn't traipsed off and gotten herself slaughtered, I would know what she thought about it. Instead, I just had to find a way to keep things like that from happening to anyone else in my life."

"You're going to blame us for what you've become? That's rich."

"You honestly have the gall to think that you're blameless in all this," Wyatt asked, his eyes wide with surprise. "Do you have any idea what — Christopher must have told you at least something about what our lives were like. You have to know what we went through. He's my brother. It was my responsibility to do whatever it took to protect him. You taught me that from Day One. You were all always on about me protecting especially Christopher. It was always about taking care of Christopher. And I did. Taking care of Christopher is my life. The more demons we manage to pick off from the bottom of the pack, the more powerful the ones are who are left at the top. To fight them takes power, more power than genetics could give me, even in this family. You left us. All of you left us. I had to do something to protect him, to protect all of them. If anything happened to him again, it would be my fault. You didn't leave me any choices."

Piper stared at her son with sadness, nearly choking on the words as she reminded him, "You always have a choice."

"And my choice was to keep my little brother alive, whatever the cost to myself," the young man retorted with all the confidence in the world. He didn't know too much about anything at the moment, but he knew in his heart that this was right. He would have died a thousand deaths to keep his brother safe, no questions asked. "Agree with my methods or not, I did what I had to."

"You really think that was what you were doing when one of your goons shot a Darklighter bolt into Lucy's shoulder," asked Leo. "Is that what you call 'protection'?"

"It started out that way, yes," said Wyatt. "My people acted on their own on that one."

Forgetting for the moment that Piper had no idea who or what they were talking about, Leo went on, stunned with his son's sudden callousness considering he was telling them all about how he was anything but. He stepped in front of his wife, closing a little bit of the gap between himself and Wyatt. "You told me you would kill her if I didn't bring Christopher back to you."

"I don't owe you any explanations why. All you need to know is that I needed him back. I took a chance since you had no way of knowing that I wouldn't hurt her. I didn't touch a hair on her head after you left," Wyatt growled defensively. "I could never hurt her. Go ahead, ask her."

As soon as he said it, Wyatt realized what he'd said. He violently flinched, his eyes flashing wide and mouth hung open like a little boy's would if he were suddenly caught in a lie. After a moment, he slowly closed his jaws until Leo probably could have heard them fiercely grinding into each other. The man's face turned a sickly green as he took a few steps back away from his father, his eyes slowly closing to shut out the reality that no, Leo couldn't ask Lucy anything. None of them could.

"Oh, God . . . "

Leo watched carefully as his son's face fell. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he could feel his boy like he could Christopher, and he really didn't like what he was feeling. Confusion and fear were all that were there. This anger that he was seeing on Wyatt's face and hearing in his voice weren't there at all. There was plenty of terror and agony, but no anger, no hatred. Was it possible? Was it all an act? After everything that he had seen and heard, he had no way of knowing what was real. Based on what had been happening, Christopher couldn't tell either. If Christopher couldn't tell, how could any of them?

Wyatt's eyes caught his father's watching him. Immediately realizing that he was caught, he straightened up and then, just as he'd always done, Wyatt put his own feelings aside. It was what he did. It was what he'd always been told to do. He couldn't remember who had told him so, but he knew that was what he was supposed to do. He turned the helplessness he was feeling back on his parents, not caring if they deserved his anger or not. The only person's feelings he cared about at the moment were Christopher's. The rest could be fixed and explained away later. Roughly, he said, "You know, I get why Christopher blames me for everything that happened. You died on us, you didn't leave him with anyone else to blame but me. But it was you. You are the reason we're here right now, like this. You weren't there for us. You weren't there to protect me. You were my parents. It doesn't matter what some prophecy called me. You were supposed to take care of me! What did you think was going to happen to me when you were gone? Was I supposed to just figure out how to do it on my own? Well, then, you got your wish. Because I did do it all alone! So before you start complaining about the results, maybe you should look at yourselves."

Christopher's voice was remarkably calm as he ordered his brother, "Leave them alone."

No one was more surprised than Wyatt at the command. He turned around slowly to find that his brother had once again crossed the distance between them. He couldn't believe the anger he saw in his kid brother's eyes. He forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be egging Christopher on and instead asked honestly, "What?"

"If you want to yell at someone, you yell at me. They don't know anything about this. This is about you and me."

"The hell it is," Wyatt started. "They left us, Chris. Or don't you remember? Think about it." For the first time since his arrival, he was actually mad at something that he could remember actually being mad at. The words started tumbling out before he could stop them, not thinking about the fact that his parents were right there hearing it all. He was too angry to care. He could feel everything coming back to him like it had every day, the absolute fury and anguish that controlled his every thought. He reached up and grabbed Christopher by the shoulders, trying to force his brother to remember things the way he remembered them. His voice was thick as he said, "Think about that night he died. We were little kids. I was eight years old, and I already had demons chasing me down day and night. Eight years old. Yet I was supposed to protect you and all of the others? What were we supposed to do? Don't you remember how he screamed when none of us could get the arrows out? And then the night that — "

"Stop it."

"What's the matter? Truth hurts?"

"Leave it alone, Wyatt. I mean it."

"No," Wyatt snapped back. "You know, you seem to have an awfully selective memory when it comes to our family history. They were all angels and never did anything wrong. They didn't contribute in any way to the disaster that we became. That's what we are, Christopher, not just me. We. You and me, we are both walking wrecks because of what they — "

Before Wyatt could finish that thought, Christopher did the only thing that he could think of to shut his brother up. He swung back and clocked him hard on the jaw. He hated that he was resorting to a violent reaction again, but at the moment, that was all he could think of. It seemed to be the only language that Wyatt understood anymore. Besides, it was easier than listening to what his brother was saying. Anything was easier than listening to Wyatt. The truth was, part of Christopher believed him, and that was the last thing he wanted to believe right now.

Automatically, Wyatt swung back, unable to control his reaction. It wasn't until his fist connected with Christopher's eye that he felt the pang of what he was doing. Silently, he begged to be able to take it all back, even though the voice in the back of his head laughed at him.

"All right, all right already! Good grief!" Victor shouted, stomping over to the two of them before either of them could get in a second shot. He forcefully grabbed each of them by the shoulders, still mindful of whatever injuries they might have incurred in their knockdown-dragout. With his left arm he pushed Wyatt back away from Christopher, with his right he pulled Christopher behind his shoulder. "That's it," he warned them both. To Wyatt he ordered, "You in that corner." To Christopher he said, "And you in that corner. Now. Until the two of you can sit in this room together quietly, without yelling, and without throwing punches, you are not to speak to each other, do you hear me? I mean it."

Wyatt stared at his grandfather like he'd just fallen and hit his head on something very hard. What were they, five? "You're kidding, right?"

Victor looked his grandson dead in the eye. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"He's right," Christopher said sullenly between heavy breaths. "Just . . . I'm done, okay? Just go away for a while."

Piper watched the scene with interest because, to her surprise, Wyatt relented as soon as Christopher asked him to. He didn't look entirely happy about it, but he went and hid himself in the farthest corner of the attic. She had known for a while now that her father exerted at least a modicum of control over her youngest, but she had no idea how much power Christopher really had over Wyatt. To tell the truth, she didn't think Wyatt knew how much control Christopher had over him, either. But there it was.

Victor pulled Christopher's chin up so that they could look one another in the eye, but Christopher tried his hardest to keep his head bowed as his grandfather wiped some blood from his lip. "You okay?"

"I . . . " Christopher started but couldn't finish. He just shook his head and walked away so that he could be alone in the corner again while Victor helplessly watched his beloved grandson slip away.

In the deathly quiet that ensued, not a one of the Halliwell family seemed to know what to do. They all just stood there, helplessly bewildered and lost. None of them had really had any time to process exactly what was going on around them. Wyatt was there, from the future. It didn't seem so strange that Christopher was there, not after having at least a version of him there for the last two years of their lives. But to have Wyatt there, it seemed so . . . unnatural? Not possible? Just plain freaking weird?

It was eventually Paige who broke the silence, her brain too tired to figure anything out. "What do we do now?"

Gently, Leo suggested, "I think . . . Piper, I think you should go sit with Wyatt."

"What?!"

"He's calming down," Leo suggested hopefully. "And he's still our son. He's hurt, and he's angry, and he needs us just as much as Christopher does right now. I saw him when Lucy died. He was just as devastated as Christopher was. I can't explain it, but I have seen a change in him since he got here. The things he's saying, they don't make sense with what he. . . I think he's more likely just very lost and angry. Give him a break. I really think it's okay for you to talk to him. I'll join you in a few minutes. I'll check on Christopher first and then I'll be over. The things he said to us — I really think he could use a talk with you right now. I've been dead to him a lot longer than you have. He needs you, not me."

Piper eyed her husband suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

Leo chuckled as he cited mantra. "Future consequences."

Her hair puffed up as Piper let out an angry breath. "I swear to God, if I ever hear those words again, I am going to shove them down someone's throat." Still, she relented and asked, "Any advice?"

"Whatever else has happened — and we don't know exactly what that is from his point of view — he is still ours, and he still needs his mother. Talk to him. If you can get him to do the talking, all the better."

"Yeah, that's easy for you to say," Piper grumbled as she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "You're getting to deal with the neurotic one, not the psychotic one. Next time, I get to deal with Chris."

"Deal," Leo smiled down at her. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

With that, the parents went their separate ways. Phoebe, Paige, and Victor waited and watched as the two of them carefully approached their charges. Once they saw that both of the boys were allowing their respective parent to approach, they took off into their own worlds as well. Victor went back to the younger boys while Paige and Phoebe went off to do whatever it was that they did in a family crisis. He had long given up trying to figure out what exactly it was that they did. As long as they did it well, he didn't care. He just wanted his daughter and his grandsons to be safe again.

Across the room, Leo crouched down in front of Christopher, putting them nose to nose. When his boy didn't react to him, Leo reached his hand out and pulled Christopher's chin up. There was such a broken look on the boy's face that Leo let himself fall back to sit on the floor. He grabbed Christopher about the shoulders and pulled his son into his lap, cradling the boy's head. He started rocking back and forth, stroking his son's hair. Softly he whispered, "I'm so sorry. If I could bring her back for you, I would. I would bring all of them back."

"It should have been me," Christopher wept. "She didn't deserve this. This was my plan, my idea. I'm the one who went against him, not her. She was just along for the ride. I . . . It should have been me."

"Don't you say that! It shouldn't have been any of you," Leo argued softly. "Not you, not her, not Sam, not Charlie, not any of you. Christopher, this isn't your fault. Do you hear me? You didn't do this to her."

Christopher didn't argue back. He had no intention of agreeing with his father, but he just didn't have it in him to argue at the moment. His heart hurt too much.

He could see Wyatt huddled over in the opposite corner, their mother standing over him, trying to make him take the ice pack that Paige had conjured for him until their father could go over and heal him. It seemed absurd to him. He was being consoled by his dead father (putting aside the technicality that his old man had always been dead), and his evil brother was being comforted by their dead mother. It seemed ridiculous and almost comical at the same time. The Halliwell family's prize fighters were in opposite corners being tended by their managers, waiting for the bell to ring in the next round.

In the center of the room, he could see the younger versions of themselves, guarded by their grandfather, playing in the playpen. They looked so happy together, oblivious to the terror going on around them. They looked like they might actually have been brothers and friends in some long ago possible future. They had no idea that they would one day be here again just like this, loving and hating one another until their blood ran cold.

Lucky them. Ignorance really was bliss.

Christopher turned his head away and buried it in his father's thigh. He clutched tightly to his father's waist, giving in to the grief of everyone and everything around him. Sobbing, he asked, "How did we become this? How did we grow up from them to this?"

"It isn't over yet, Christopher," Leo offered hopefully, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as he was his son. "We still have a chance. We have a lot of chances. We're going to change this so that none of this happens again. You're still with us. You didn't die at Gideon's hand this time. We will fight this. She won't die like that. She's going to see her baby come into this world, and that baby will grow up to have babies of his own."

"We can't stop him," Christopher moaned, not really caring if his brother heard him or not. He just couldn't care anymore. It was only a matter of time before Wyatt ended him the way he'd done the rest of the family anyway.

"Yes, we can," Leo said strongly. It was time to buck the kid up, get him back up off the floor to remember how he had come here in the first place. He'd been strong enough to do this before. Leo wasn't about to let the kid forget that now. He helped Christopher to sit back up and smiled at him his best Whitelighter Confidence smile. "You know we can."

Still dejected, Christopher threw his head back against the wall and asked darkly, "You actually still believe that?"

"Yes, honey, I do, and so do you."

Laughing bitterly, Christopher asked, "Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?"

"Because you and I both know that you've had enough training from Charlie that if you really believed Wyatt irredeemably evil, you could have killed him just now. Am I right?"

"Maybe," Christopher admitted, however unwillingly. "Or maybe it just means that I'm too weak to do what needs to be done."

"I think I'll go with Option A, and I think that if you think about it, you will, too."

"Maybe . . . "

Leo hauled himself to his feet, stretched his hands down to his son, and pulled the boy up next to him. He gestured to the windowseat and steered the bloodied boy to sit down. Seeing that Christopher was finally breathing normally again, he knew that it was time. The adrenaline was wasted, the exhaustion was going to kick in. He waited for Christopher to settle himself in then let his hands do their magical glowy healy thing while the boy leaned his head back against the cool glass behind him. When he was done, Leo grinned down into Christopher's tired eyes. "Do me a favor? Take a little break? Take ten minutes. Don't worry about Wyatt or Phoebe or any of this. Just take ten minutes for yourself to relax. I hate to put it this way, but our problems will still be here in ten minutes, even with your help. You're going to be of a lot more help to your brother and your aunt if you just clear your head. Can you do that for me?"

Finally realizing that he was probably too tired to think anyway, Christopher nodded without saying anything. He didn't have to. He just reached up and held on to the hand that gripped his shoulder, everything he needed to say in the one gesture. After a moment, he released his father's hand and closed his eyes, granting Leo permission to stop worrying about this particular son for those ten minutes. How they were going to be after that ten minutes was up, he didn't know, but they would cross that bridge when they got there. For now, he just wanted to actually take the doctor's advice. It was time to rest.

II.

Hiding out in the only quiet space not yet occupied in the attic, Phoebe was intently watching everything that was going on between the brothers and their parents. She couldn't help it — part of her was completely fascinated.

In the weeks that she had been living with Chris's memories in her head, she had come to a whole new understanding of him and the life he had led before he came to them. She had seen happiness with him, she'd seen tragedy with him. She had known his fears and heartache like she had never imagined. She hadn't been able to tell the others that the empath blocking potion was in no way helpful at all. She was constantly feeling everything he had felt now, even if he wasn't focusing on a specific memory. She knew now. It was no wonder he had been the way he was. Living with the things she could feel him living with was suffocating, to say the very least.

She wondered how he would feel right now if he could see what had been happening here in the attic. Certainly he would be disappointed if he knew that he hadn't saved his brother like he had wished so desperately to do. But now that Wyatt was here, seemingly afraid of what he had become, would Chris have been able to help? Would he have been able to even look Wyatt in the eye? Could he have listened?

Phoebe was lost in her wonderings when a tired-looking Paige flopped down next to her. Her younger sister still managed to force a wry smile onto her face as she leaned her head on Phoebe's shoulder. When Paige didn't say anything, she asked, "You okay?"

"I could use a drink about now, but yeah, I'll be okay."

"That's twice in one day that you've had a thought like that. Is it that bad," Phoebe asked.

"I'm not sure," admitted Paige. "It's all a little much to take in, you know? I mean, you and Leo have had a certain advantage on the rest of us. You at least knew what Wyatt looked like in the future. To see him there, the sword and blood and the . . . Poor Piper."

"It was still pleasantly abstract until he showed up," Phoebe agreed, even though 'Wyatt; the concept, had shown up for them at different times. "We didn't have a visual of what he was going to be like. He could just be a story we heard that was never going to come true. But now . . . "

"But now," Paige sighed. "So who do you think the girl was? Do you think she's the one that Christopher was telling us about earlier?"

"She doesn't exist in any of our other Chris's memories. What she was to the Chris we have here now, I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't think we want to know. I mean, I'm sure we can assume that she was since he said that there were only the three of them left, but . . . I saw the look on Leo's face. It's killing him that he knows who she is and that she died like that. I don't think we want to know any more than that."

"Do you think — ?"

"I think that if Christopher wants us to know, he'll tell us."

Paige almost laughed. She settled instead for a raised eyebrow in Phoebe's general direction. She was too tired to do anything else. "That's an interesting change in attitude coming from you."

"Yeah, well, having Chris stuck in my head has made it pretty obvious to me that the whole 'Future Consequences' thing was for a good cause. I don't like knowing what I know. I wish I didn't know any of it, even if it has helped me understand his motives a lot better. He was a great kid, and I'm really proud of him for what he managed to survive to get here, but I would rather not have to know. When this is over and our nephews are safe, I don't want to have to remember any of this. It's too much."

The younger sister took her head off Phoebe's shoulder long enough to wrap the same arm around her sister's shoulders. She then let her head drop back onto her sister's shoulder in comfort. Softly, seriously, she asked, "Pheebs, are you sure you're doing okay with this? What can I do?"

"As much as I love him, I will be one happy camper when we get my little nephew out of my head for good. He's going to make me just as jumpy as he is here pretty soon."

Reassuringly, Paige offered, "There has to be an answer here somewhere, right? We just need to find a new place to start looking. Where that is, I don't know, but it has to be around here somewhere."

"Yeah . . . "

Before Paige could really get herself excited enough to give her sister a pep talk, a shadow loomed over their position on the floor. From above, Leo offered a small, "Hey."

"Hey," both girls said back.

Leo nodded down to the youngest sister, seemingly all business. "Paige, can you do me a favor and go down to the bathroom? That ice you orbed up for us isn't going to be enough. I healed Christopher the best that I could, but I think he's resisting. I have the feeling Wyatt is going to do the same. They both want the pain, believe it or not. I think it's making them feel better. But I'm not going to let either of them get by with it entirely. I need any of the First Aid supplies we have."

Wryly, Paige nodded. "This place is looking a little too Fight Club, isn't it?"

"Thanks," Leo said, leaving it at that.

"How's Christopher," Phoebe asked once Paige had hauled herself up off the floor and out toward the door.

"As good as can be expected, I think," Leo shrugged. "He's got a lot to deal with at the moment. I just wanted to check on you, see how you're dealing with the physical part. I need to fix something right now, and it doesn't look like either of my very stubborn children are going to let it be them."

"So you came to your even more stubborn sister-in-law? You know that they got that from me, right?"

Leo chuckled softly, the closest he could remember coming to a laugh in quite a few days. "If you really need to believe that right now, sure."

Phoebe looked beyond Leo's legs at the defeated-looking boy sitting in the window seat. "He's not looking so hot right now."

"Neither are you." Leo got down on the floor in front of his sister-in-law, looking Phoebe's face over with sadness. He definitely didn't want to know what Chris had done to get that. Trying to remind himself that Chris hadn't had that pain in a long time and that it was Phoebe who was in it now, he pulled his attention in on her. "That shiner looks nasty; how does it feel?"

"Not too bad, actually," Phoebe lied with a wry smirk. "I'm barely noticing it now, as long as I don't laugh or talk or cough or think too hard. I think that if I can keep Chris from deciding to remember any more violence, I'll make it through this thing just fine."

The angel looked like he didn't really want the answer to his question when he asked, "It's been pretty bad?"

"There have been moments," Phoebe said softly. "But I've learned a lot about him, too, as weird as that sounds."

"I guess I should find that comforting."

"You should." Phoebe stopped for a moment, trying to figure out something that she now knew she needed to tell Leo, before the moment could slip away from her. "There is something that I think you should know, actually. I . . . I know you figured out that he . . . er, Chris . . . Chris knew that you figured out that he was the one who trapped you in Valhalla."

"I wasn't one hundred percent positive, but yeah."

"You need to know that he did it to protect you. He never meant for it to hurt you or Piper. He needed the Valkyries' help when he first got here. It was the only way he could see to get himself closer to us. And he had his other reasons why it had to be the Valkyries."

Leo eyed his sister-in-law suspiciously. He knew then that she had a secret that she was dying to tell because she just didn't know how to keep them, but she was obviously having a hard time getting it out. "And you aren't sure how to tell me?"

Phoebe sucked in a deep breath and held it in her cheeks for a moment, trying to find the right words. She let it out in a big puff, frustrated and sad. She took his hand, squeezing it hard. He needed to hear this, she knew. He needed it a lot more than she did. She started slowly, struggling with saying it all out loud. "Leo, you need to know about . . . The Valkyrie that you thought he murdered . . . In Chris's time, she left the fold and used her warrior training to hire herself out as a magical assassin. She was one of Wyatt's top go-to killers. She — Chris chose her for a reason."

"Then he did kill her," Leo stated more than asked, disappointment tingeing his words.

"He killed the woman who murdered his father in order to save him." When she saw the surprise on his face, she soothingly added, "He saved you this time because he couldn't the last time." When he still didn't seem to comprehend what she was trying to say, Phoebe squeezed his hand hard enough to make him look up from the floor to meet her eyes. "He didn't hate you. He was just trying to be able to look at you without seeing what had happened to you. You were murdered right in front of him. Leo, he held you when you died. I could feel what he was feeling when it was happening. Even when Prue died, I didn't feel like he was feeling at that moment. How he managed to find enough strength to . . . He loved you so much."

Phoebe could hear the lump in the back of Leo's throat as he protested, "But he told me that he hated me. He told me that I was never there for him."

"He was angry," she argued. "The world you were living in before he came to us was complete chaos. You were so wrapped up in trying to keep him safe that you didn't hear him when he tried to tell you about Wyatt. You didn't hear him until it was too late. No one knew about Wyatt but him. The thing is, after he told you on the bridge that you didn't make time for him, he was mad at himself for telling you that. He said it to hurt you because he didn't know what else to do. That's all. All he could think about was how angry he was at you for dying. I don't think any of us understood just how angry he was about what had happened to him. He was left so alone, Leo, seeing each of us die off one by one. His mind was so brutalized, but he kept it together enough to get here. As difficult a time we as gave him, it was still good for him to be here. He understood that it wasn't your fault, especially after the two of you worked things out. He understood a lot. It was the difference between seeing things as a kid and seeing them as an adult. At least, that's what he thought."

Leo chewed on the information, trying to remember that Phoebe was trying to do him a favor, not make him feel worse. "She killed me?"

"She did." Phoebe chuckled in spite of herself. "Kind of funny don't you think, considering how hard you were trying to prove that Chris was evil and had murdered her for no reason? Okay, maybe it's not that funny, but you know, ironic . . . "

"How old was he?"

"Not quite nineteen. It took another two years for him to get things together enough for him to come here." Sighing, Phoebe tried to steer the subject back to the Valkyries as a few things were finally coming together in her own mind as well. "He made some sort of deal with Freya. She knew that he was going to kill Leysa. She willingly handed over the other two pendants we needed to get there to rescue you. He knew all along that he was going to have to help us get there. He thought he was going to have to lead us in eventually. Nothing went as planned, though, especially after Paige used Wyatt to find you. But something must have gone right because of this thing that Christopher was telling us about this morning, this snow garden thing. There must be something good that came out of your time there that we don't know about yet, something that that Chris didn't know about but this one does. I mean, look at him. This one at least made it to twenty-five. That's a two years that he got through that our other Chris didn't. That has to be something, right?"

In the back of his mind, Leo was still fixating on the idea that his son had killed for him. God, how he had hoped that nothing like that would ever happen. Still, he supposed that it wouldn't ever come to pass now. The Chris sitting in the window sill was proof of that. He'd said that he had lost his father when he was just six. Maybe, in some weird way, things had been able to work out to spare Chris from having to make that kind of choice again. His choices now were hard enough.

"What are you thinking," Phoebe asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Just that . . . well, it doesn't matter," Leo shrugged her off. "We need to fix this mess and get on with our lives so that my kids aren't making deals of any kind." With that, he slapped his hands on his thighs and hauled himself back up. He held his hands down to Phoebe and pulled her up. "C'mon. Break's over. Let's get back to work before anything else decides to go wrong today."

"I'll get back to The Book," she said. "You should check on Piper and the boys."

Leo nodded. "I'll need to take a look at that cut when Paige gets back up here, too."

"No problem, Doctor Dad, once you fix up your kids. Wyatt's looking a little worse for wear. I never would have imagined Christopher could throw a punch like that."

Almost amused, Leo admitted, "I don't think he knew he could either."

III.

In their respective corner, Piper was cautiously attending Wyatt, letting her father and husband alternately take care of Christopher. She knew Leo had been right to send her in Wyatt's direction, however angry she was with her eldest. Ever since their little discussion in the kitchen last night, Christopher seemed to be a little wary of talking too seriously with her. She didn't think this was really the time to try to test her son's boundaries any further. He would let her help him when he was ready. Wyatt, surprisingly enough, seemed to be much more eager to spend a little time with their mother. Maybe it was because she didn't have any experience with him yet or that she had fewer mistakes with him than she did Chris. She could work with that, regardless of his present good or evil leanings, if it worked in their favor.

When his mother touched the ice pack to the swelling under his right eye, the eldest Halliwell son hissed in pain. He brought his hand up to grab the bag, but found his hand instead on top of hers. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if closing them would keep the idea of his mother being alive from becoming a mere fantasy. Softly, he said, "I've missed you so much."

Piper didn't mean to, but she immediately pulled her hand away from under his, her determination faltering for a split second too long. She saw his eyes fly open in surprised hurt. Instantly, she felt awful for pulling away from him. "Sorry. I . . . "

"Not exactly the motherly instinct I remember you having, but I guess I understand," he said apologetically.

"Do you?"

Wyatt leaned his head back into the corner of the sofa, eyes closed. He brought his knees up to his chest, effectively blocking Piper from reaching any of his injuries any more. He threw his forearms over his knees, letting his hands flop hopelessly in front of him. It looked like it physically hurt him to admit it, but he said, "Christopher looks at me like that a lot."

Suspiciously, she asked, "Should he?"

Wyatt looked up at her question, startled by the directness of it, even though he knew he shouldn't be. "I don't know. Probably. I'm going to guess that whatever he's told you is probably good enough reason for you as well. I don't . . . He looks like that a lot."

"What do you mean, you don't know? How could you not know?"

"I mean, I don't know. Things are kind of fuzzy right now."

"Fuzzy how?"

"I don't remember a whole lot. I remember you didn't always answer a question with a question," Wyatt said, trying to relax her frustrated features with a joke. When she didn't appear even slightly amused, he closed his eyes again. Colorlessly, he told her, "I remember things happening, but nothing is very clear except for this afternoon. I remember feelings, and I remember being scared all the time, but it's — I also remember control and power and not being able to fix anything, no matter what I did. I don't know how to explain it."

Piper was so torn. She knew that her son needed her and had no problem with deciding to help him. There was a sort of mental block, though. Part of her hated that she was feeling anything for this boy, this monster, who had terrorized her other son and God knows who else, but she couldn't help it. He was still hers, no matter what he did. He looked so worn that she just couldn't put those feelings aside enough to not care. If nothing else, she had an obligation to him to find a way to help him so that they might be able to save him from ever having to go through this again. Get him to talk, Leo had said. So get him to talk she would. Gently, she urged, "Try."

Wyatt flinched and immediately changed the subject. "How's Christopher?"

"He's with your dad."

"That's not what I asked."

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man," Piper snapped. She was only going to be so patient with him, even if she was feeling a little more motherly toward him than she wanted to. She was his mother. She had a right to ask whatever she wanted in this circumstance. "You can see him when he's ready to see you. For now, I need you to start filling in the gaps here. What are you doing here?"

"Christopher is here. The spell brought us to Christopher."

"The girl who came with you, did you . . . Did you have anything to do with her dying like that?"

Wyatt opened his eyes, so tired, and looked his mother dead in the eye. "No, I didn't. She was attacked. I know you don't have a lot of reason to believe me. You don't know me. All you know is what you've heard from Christopher. Truth is, you probably know more about me than I do right now. But even in the middle of all of this, I do know that I wouldn't have hurt her. I would never have hurt her."

Piper shook her head, her concern stretching into suspicion. "Yeah, see, I wish I could believe that. But, unless I'm mistaken, she is the same girl that your father and brother were telling me about this morning. They said you took her with you when Christopher tried to escape from you. It was her blood that was all over his hands and shirt when he came here."

His voice very small, Wyatt said regretfully, "She wasn't supposed to be hurt. I don't know how to make you believe me, and I know I keep saying it over and over, but, neither of them was supposed to be hurt. I would never hurt them, Piper. You have to believe that I would never hurt either of them."

The ice pack that Piper had been holding flew up into the air, tossed up in frustration. She caught it with a heavy snap of her wrist. "All evidence to the contrary," she said emphatically.

The bruising young man wiped some blood from near his eye and held up his fingers to show his mother the rusty smear. "I think I took most of the damage, thank you very much."

Glancing into the mirror where she could see her other son reflected, she had to admit that the elder boy had sustained a great deal more injury than the younger. When she looked back at Wyatt, he was staring at the redness that would no doubt be a very angry bruise in a few hours on his knuckles. He looked like he was angry at his fists for being at all. Surprised that she was thinking it, she didn't realize until she'd said it that Piper said, "You let him hit you."

"He needed it," Wyatt said simply. "He needed it, and I deserved it."

Piper didn't get around to saying anything in response to that. Paige coughed to announce her presence. Wyatt wouldn't even look at her as he let his head sink into the space between his arms. Piper looked up at her sister, not exactly annoyed but feeling a moment slip away that she knew she wasn't going to get back.

Paige shrugged her apology as she bent over and whispered in Piper's ear, "Leo said to tell you that he'll fix Wyatt up whenever you want, but that if you're getting anything out of him to take your time."

"Yeah, thanks," Piper said softly, reaching up to take the bandages and hydrogen peroxide from her sister. "I think maybe I have it covered for now."

"Wyatt?" Paige asked for his attention. He barely lifted his head to look at her. She tried to smile at him, still not sure how to look at him. "Leo wanted me to tell you that if you start to have trouble breathing that you need to tell him right away."

"Why would he have trouble breathing?"

"Christopher told Leo that he thought maybe he'd heard a few ribs crack when they were, shall we say, creatively negotiating their situation. Christopher was worried about him."

Yeah, that sounds like Chris, Wyatt thought. Only Christopher could care about what was happening in this corner of the room when he was probably hurting something awful himself. His voice small, Wyatt asked, "Could you maybe tell him that I'm okay? Tell him nothing's broken. He doesn't need to worry about me."

Paige gave her nephew an odd look. Their initial meeting hadn't gone so well, but somehow, she still felt something for him. Maybe it was because he at least cared enough to ease his brother's mind with what she could tell was a blatant lie, but something clicked for her. Suddenly she understood how it was that either Chris could still care about his brother, no matter what he had done. She had to admit, it wasn't all that easy to see Wyatt as something so evil that he wasn't still theirs, not when he looked at his brother like that. Sympathetically, she told him, "I will."

"How is he," Piper asked.

"He is," Paige said simply. Not wanting to intrude any longer (or to get trapped in a conversation that she didn't exactly want to have at the moment), she jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the potions table. "I really should get back to work on Phoebe's thing. If you need me . . ."

Wyatt watched his aunt walk away, feeling a little more comfortable with her this time. He saw her go quietly over to Christopher and say something to him. He couldn't bring himself to look directly at his brother, but he could feel Christopher looking at him as Paige walked away. He could always feel it when Chris was watching him. It had always been that way, ever since they were kids. He didn't know how, but somehow Wyatt knew that that connection between them was one of the things that had kept him anchored in the world. Part of him had always known that, whatever it was that was going on with himself, Christopher was going to keep him from falling too far. Chris had always been good at that.

He then watched Paige walk over toward Phoebe, put a hand on her shoulder and whisper something to her, then head over to the potions table as promised. He took his first real look at Phoebe. It was probably hardest to look at her, but for the moment, he couldn't really remember why. He knew he had done something to her, but when his mind got too close to remembering, it quickly disappeared. He knew he should feel guilty about it, though, really guilty.

Focusing on that, he asked his mother, "Phoebe has a problem?"

"We're working on it," Piper said. "But right now, I think you and I have other things to work on. You never answered my question. What's going on with you?"

"Piper, I really don't — "

" — want to talk about it with me? Tough. You have a lot of explaining to do, not just to me."

Wyatt almost smiled, but couldn't quite get there from the pain in his face. "No one has talked to me like that in a long time."

"Well, maybe someone should have and then we wouldn't be in this mess."

Before he realized what he was doing, Wyatt snapped, "Maybe you and Dad should have lived, and you could have been around to talk to me however you wanted."

Piper pulled back a little, feeling a more than just a little defensive. Angrily, she retorted, "So we're going to go back to this? It's our fault you've gone off the deep end because we died? I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but I'm pretty much willing to bet that it wasn't my decision to leave you, and I know it wasn't your father's either. I would never have left you on purpose, never So you can stop blaming me any time now, and we can get down to the real problem here because I highly doubt that my dying, no matter when it happens, is going to make your mind any less capable of processing what's going on around you in Technicolor. My death didn't make things fuzzy. Your father's death didn't make you suddenly incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. So, darling boy, I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop blaming us for everything and start talking."

Feeling a little on the defensive end himself, Wyatt looked his dead mother straight in the eye and told her, "Well, it's pretty easy to blame you because you're the last thing that I really remember."

"What are you talking about?"

"If I try to think about it, most of my life is barely even impressions, but if I want a clear memory, there are two that I can't get rid of, no matter how hard I try. I can't tell you a whole lot about anything right now, but I can say without a doubt that the last thing that I remember clearly about my life, the first thing I hear when I wake up in the morning is you screaming as you were completely eviscerated by a demon because I had to make a choice between saving you and saving Christopher. He was smaller and wasn't as comfortable with his powers as you were. He was my little brother, my responsibility. I could only choose one of you, and he needed me more. But you weren't being careful. You were so busy watching us instead of taking care of yourself like you should have been that you didn't even see him shimmer in behind you. You didn't have time to tell us that you loved us or goodbye or anything. You left us. You left me alone to hear that scream every minute of my life. And that is pretty much the only thing I have heard for the last seven years. Everything else became a blur. I remember always thinking that I had to protect them, that the family needed me. I remember being scared that I couldn't do it. I remember being terrified all the time that I was going to make that one mistake that would cost them everything. I remember feeling completely out of control, that it was my need to protect them that controlled everything because otherwise I had no control at all. It was just deep and dark and nothing."

Trying to hide the tears that wanted so badly to fall, Piper set her face in stone toward her son. If she couldn't have comfort right now, maybe her boys shouldn't either, not if it got them through this. She needed facts right now. She needed to help them find out what had happened to them, and she needed to do it now. Business-like, she pushed, "How out of control?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm wondering, is it possible that you were wrong before? I know what you just told Christopher, but do you think that maybe you really haven't been as in control as you think you've been?"

Wyatt looked up at his mother, dark curiosity in his eyes. If she was right . . .

They weren't afforded the time to keep working on Piper's thoughts, though, as Phoebe's voice called for his attention. They both looked over at her, her voice drawing everyone in the family to her.

"I really love what you've done with the place, big brother," she said into the middle of the room, not really focusing on anything that anyone else could see. "What do you think Mom would say about your choice of velvet rope? I would have gone with the blue myself, but the red, that's classy."

"Oh, good grief," Paige grumbled. "Phoebe, snap out of it!"

As if that command was actually enough, Phoebe shook her head and looked over toward Paige's voice. "Sorry, what?"

"He — You were doing it again," Paige explained.

"Nope, not that time," Phoebe shrugged. "Sorry. I was just . . . I was thinking about something. I take it I was thinking out loud?"

"Don't do that," Paige snapped.

Wyatt watched his aunts intently, more out of a need for a reference point than anything else, but whatever it was that they were talking about didn't ring any bells for him. Deciding that the best policy here, until he knew better, was to go ahead and ask, he put his thoughts about Christopher aside — but not far away — long enough to ask. What was the worst she could do? Say no? Granted, people didn't tell him 'no' all that often these days, but still — "Something going on I should know about?"

Piper regarded her son carefully, trying to figure out just exactly who she was dealing with here, her son or their nightmare? Unwilling to truly accept the latter, she changed the subject back to him, needing to know what had happened to him. "It's nothing we can't handle. I'm more worried about you and your brother. What happens with the two of you now? Can I trust you to play nice?"

"That's up to him."

"Why?"

"Because Christopher is an adult, and as much as I would like to, he's proven on more than one occasion that I can't make him do anything. Whatever happens next, it has to be his move."

Piper watched as Wyatt carefully avoided her gaze. Whether that was because he was hiding something or because he needed to be looking at anyone but his mother, she couldn't tell. Softly, she said, "You seem to be awfully forgiving of him considering some of the things the two of you were saying to each other only a few minutes ago."

"He makes me mad as hell sometimes, but I could never really hurt him. If anything ever happened to him . . . Well, we'll deal with it. He's my brother. There's nothing more important than that, not to the magical world, not to me."

The mother shook her head, trying to collect her focus. "You see, you say that and I want to believe you. I want so badly to believe you. I want to believe that everything that has happened isn't your fault and that you really had the best intentions for your brother. I want to believe that what happened over there was entirely an act. I really want to believe that."

"But . . . " Wyatt urged.

"But I don't know you. The only experience I have with you is watching you fight with Christopher, saying whatever you could to hurt him. And then, when you took a break from pummeling him, you said whatever you could to hurt me and your father. If you were in my shoes, what would you think?"

"Probably the same," Wyatt admitted. "But how often in your life have you been wrong about someone and learned to see things from another side? Forget what happened after the Seer tricked him for a second and think about it — wouldn't Cole still be a part of this family, welcomed, even though he was a demon, because he proved otherwise to you? You took Victor back, even after he virtually abandoned all of you. Can't you at least try to hear me the way you heard them?"

"I'll make you a deal. Until you prove otherwise, I'm going to go with Christopher's version of events, and considering your scattered memory, you probably should, too. But I'll give you this next statement to be completely honest. The next thing you tell me, I will believe — or at least, you have the opportunity to make me believe you."

Wyatt didn't hesitate in the least. Looking Piper directly in the eye, he said, "Everything I do is for Christopher, for his safety. If anything ever happened to him, it would be my fault. I will never take that chance again. Never."

"Wait a minute. You did it again. You said 'again'. When we first talked, you said that 'if anything happened to Christopher again, it would be my fault'. What did you mean, 'again'?"

"I did?"

Excited to possibly be on the road to getting somewhere, Piper pushed, "Think about it. There has to be something. Did something happen to Christopher that you remember, before this 'darkness'?"

"I remember a lot of things. That's the thing. The things that I can remember right now without having to try too hard is the bad stuff, stuff that happened to you or him or one of the others. To keep those things from happening is what kept me going. That fear and that need, they were all I had. That pain is all I've known now for so long, I don't think I can remember anything more than that."

"I think maybe you know more than . . . Well, not that you know it, but you know it, you know?"

"I take it you're subscribing to Christopher's theory that I was somehow under the thrall of some demon or spell or something?"

Piper almost wanted to laugh. "I believe the proper term he uses is that you were 'bodyjacked'." A little more seriously, she asked, "I take it you don't believe him?" When the man didn't offer her an answer, she went on. "I guess my question to you then is, if you were in control of yourself, how do you explain these lapses in memory? This darkness you don't know how to describe, how do you start to explain that?"

Wyatt opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of water, as if the explanation was a bubble that could just come out. The longer he was silent, the more contorted his face became until he couldn't stand it any longer. A muffled curse was all Piper heard from him as he dropped his head between his arms.

Softly, Piper told him, "Think about it. I mean really think about it. I bet you know more than you think you do, otherwise you wouldn't be assigning blame here. Maybe it is your fault, maybe it isn't. You owe it to yourself and to your brother to find out, don't you think?"

Wyatt effectively shut down then, letting himself get lost in his thoughts. What if his mother was right? What if he really hadn't been in control? What if all of his worrying, all of the constant thought that if anything happened it would be his fault hadn't just come from him? If he let his worry control him, what else had he let control him? Was Christopher really right? Had he somehow been lost to them? Had he really left his baby brother alone in the world?

Oh, god.

He looked over to where Christopher was sitting in the windowseat, looking so lost and alone. Had he really put that look in his kid brother's eyes? He didn't look like Chris. He looked like a stranger, a beloved brother who had gone off to war, only to come home someone that could never be changed back to who he had been. How much had Christopher seen to get that look in his eyes? How much of it was his fault?

All of it is your fault, the same old familiar voice said in Wyatt's head, the one that he had never been able to shake in his lifetime. You did this to Christopher, nobody else. You.

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

You did it again. You always do it. No matter what you say, you're going to do it again. I did this to him because of you

IV.

No one had really been paying attention to Christopher for a while. Even Victor had left his grandson to be in his own little world for a few minutes since the boy hadn't been all that responsive to his grandfather's comforting efforts anyway. Christopher had been all too happy to blend into the background for a while. He was finally starting to feel the bruises that hadn't quite appeared from under his skin yet. His bones were tired, so tired. He wanted to give in to the tired for a few minutes, but he was too tired to make the effort.

Christopher's eyes fixed on the pool of blood that he and Wyatt had trampled through, making him sick. It was her blood. It was all over the floor now in booted and bare footprints. He knew the blood was on his hands, too, now buried under his brother's blood, but he couldn't bring himself to look at them. That was too close.

He looked away, trying to find anything else to focus on. He needed something that couldn't hurt. The problem was, everywhere he looked, he found something that hurt as bad. He could hear his brother trying to justify his actions as "protection" and cringed. In his head, he knew that it had started that way. In the last few years, Wyatt saying so had become a parody of what it was like when they had first argued about the direction Wyatt had been taking. In those days, Christopher had known that his brother really had been doing everything for him and the others. He had known and still knew that Wyatt really had cared. There was something in his brother's voice as he was talking to their parents that clicked in Christopher's head, telling him that maybe, just maybe, this really was Wyatt and that he really was safe again. It was tearing Christopher apart, not knowing if he could actually trust what he was hearing, not when he wanted to hear it so badly. He knew that if his grandfather and sister could hear it, they would be just as wary. But they couldn't be there to hear it, never again. His grandfather sitting at his side was killing him. It had been only a few days ago that he'd been sitting at his grandfather's bedside, watching him gasp his last breaths, still struggling to tell Christopher how he needed to keep fighting and not to forget that he wasn't going to be doing it all alone. He couldn't look at his father all that easily either. The man had been gone from his life for so, so long. When he'd found Leo in the attic last week, he hadn't known exactly what to do or say. So many times in his life he had wanted nothing more than for his father to be there to hold him. He'd wanted to erase that image in his head of the arrows in his dying father's back so that he could remember only the good things. It was the same for him to look at his mother or his aunts. Maybe it was just the nature of time and death, but they had been the most radiant, beautiful women in his world. To look at them here, so young and unaware of what lie ahead for them, it hurt. There was no safety for him. There wasn't anywhere in this room that he could look without it bringing something into his mind that destroyed any sense of peace he could scrounge for.

In his head, he knew he sounded like a whiner. He knew it. It's not like death wasn't a part of life. Of course it is. Just because the Halliwell family lived in extraordinary circumstances didn't exclude them from having to deal with the everyday facts of life. Victor's death was a perfect example of that. In the end, it wasn't their lifestyle that had killed him. It was plain old nature. Heart troubles. He should be grateful for that. Victor got to go free of the dangers of being a part of this family. So what was he doing sitting there moping like it was something more?

Christopher was angry, more angry than he could remember having been in a long time. The last few years, he hadn't been angry. Part of him had been afraid to let himself get angry. Anger is what led Wyatt to become what he was. In a way, he wondered if that had made things easier for Wyatt. He felt things too much. He got to feel. Christopher hadn't allowed himself to feel for so long.

But if this was how it felt to feel again, maybe he was better off without it. If life had to hurt this much, what was the point?

He saw it, then, that damned sword lying there where he had tossed it aside. It was so . . . he didn't know. It was both beautiful and ugly all at once. In the old days, it had saved the family. These days, it had ended the family. There really hadn't ever been any in between since Wyatt had come to possess it. In some ways, it was just like Wyatt — beautiful and ugly all at once. Christopher hated it.

Furious now, Christopher channeled his anger into the energy he didn't have to get up off the floor. Suddenly renewed, he stormed over to the sword unnoticed by all but his grandfather. He thought he heard Victor call to him from far away, but he was too locked on what he knew he needed to do that he didn't really comprehend his grandfather's call. As if there was nothing else in the room but Excalibur, Christopher marched over to it. He bent over and picked it up, looking at it as if were glowing at him. He could feel a sense of power in it, even though that power was in no way meant for him. He hated that it was meant for Wyatt. That wasn't right, though, either. He didn't hate that his brother was meant to be powerful or wield such power. That had never really bothered him. He knew he was powerful in his own right. Truth be told, they were equally matched in that department, although differently. And he'd never really hated Wyatt for his power. He hated how Wyatt used that power, but he didn't hate that he'd had power. He hated the power itself. He hated this goddamned sword. He hated it.

Hated it.

Hate it.

Hate.

He hated that fucking sword.

The fury kept right on building in him until his entire body felt hot. His ears burned, his hands twitched. He was grateful he didn't have anything on his feet. It was too damned hot. Somehow, he knew that it wasn't entirely because he was angry, either. It was the sword. It was channeling his anger. Stupid sword. It had no idea that he could use that to his advantage.

Christopher let Excalibur slip from his grip for just a second, catching it again as it fell. He bounced it again, hefting the weight and hating how it felt in his hand. He let it swing in what would otherwise have been a graceful arc if it weren't for the anger in it. He swung it again and again, hearing it sing at him as it cut through the air. Then, his anger at its height, he grasped the tip of the blade in his free hand and, with a feral scream, brought the flat of the blade smashing down on his thigh. He wanted more than anything to break the damned thing and have this all be over. But wanting wasn't having. Wanting only gave him a pain that he was sure was going to leave a nasty bruise surrounding what he was sure was a pretty deep gash in his thigh in the morning. Still, he knew it needed to be done. They needed to be rid of that sword. So again he brought it down on his damaged thigh, only to be disappointed again.

His frustration mounting, Christopher took the sword to the already wrecked podium. That didn't do anything either. He chipped away furiously at the potions table, not caring that little potion vials were exploding around the sword but not effecting it at all. He hacked and hacked, willing the sword to at least chip a little. Instead, it only laughed at him as he swung it through the air with repeated strokes, the singing sound now taunting instead of beautiful. The more he swung it, the more it teased him. Hot tears left streaks on his bloodied cheeks that he didn't give himself time to notice.

He didn't notice his father and grandfather shouting his name either. Why he should, he didn't know. He didn't even know that he'd been wailing in pain since the first swing of the damned thing anyway.

Wyatt watched his brother futilely battling against something that he couldn't in any way fight, knowing that what Christopher really wanted to kill he couldn't. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew. At least, he thought he knew. It was in every swing; it was in the pain of his little brother's screams. He knew Christopher was killing him with every stroke of the blade. There was no other explanation. And maybe it . . . maybe it would be better for them all if he would let Christopher have his way. He didn't exactly want to die, but if he couldn't be 'saved', maybe it would be better for them all. There was enough clarity in his mind to know that he was the reason his brother was in so much pain. If he gave Christopher the right chance . . .

Slowly, Wyatt walked over to Christopher, intent on taking that sword away from his smaller, slowly weakening brother. If he got the weapon away from him, great; if he were somehow wounded in the process, great. If that could manage to be a mortal wound, all the better. Christopher may be the smaller of the two of them, but he was also faster and could get a punch in under the radar (as he'd so eloquently proved earlier). Maybe it was a death wish, but Wyatt couldn't help it. Christopher was his responsibility. The others, they weren't really theirs anymore. They weren't a part of things like they seemed to think they were. This was between him and Christopher.

As if he were talking to a spooked horse, Wyatt asked in his calmest, softest voice, "Chris? Hey, little brother, can you hear me?"

Christopher didn't hear his brother. Instead, he hacked away at the remnants of the podium again, grunting with the strain he was starting to feel in his arms. He could feel hot tears burning at his cheeks, but they only made him madder. What the hell was he doing crying? He should have gotten over that years ago. He didn't have anything left to cry over. Angry that he couldn't even control his goddamn tear ducts, he swung the sword even harder.

Unable to listen to his brother's angry sobs any longer, Wyatt ducked in behind the kid and grabbed him about the waist. He threw his own weight back, thinking it would pull Christopher down with him, but Christopher had been on a particularly strong downswing and pulled them both forward. The next thing he knew, an elbow caught Wyatt in the nose, sending him reeling backward.

"Fine," he grumbled through the hands that clutched his nose. "Have it your way." Wyatt stalked across the attic floor, angry again. When he was a safe distance away, he pulled his hands away and glared at Christopher, hoping to catch his brother's attention from afar. "Damn it, Christopher. Would you just knock it off? Stop acting like a spoiled little brat and talk to me."

Another scream spewed from Christopher's gut, throwing his head back in fury. His knuckles burned white as he squeezed the hilt of Excalibur. He swung himself around in a half circle, his arms pointing straight out and holding the sword in a strong, double handed grip. He finished off the circle, arcing the sword up over his head as he went until he'd completed his furious turn, slamming the tip of the blade down into the scarred wooden floor in front of him. Still unsatisfied, he brought the sword back up and, without even thinking of where it was going, just let it go. The weapon flew hard and fast, but light as a dart until it embedded itself into the wall, just to the left of Wyatt's ear.

Christopher looked at his brother, who was staring back at him with completely shocked eyes. It was a miracle that Excalibur had missed at all. Wyatt could feel the steel cold against the back of his ear. That's when Christopher realized that it wasn't shock that he was seeing in his brother's eyes. It was reality. It was the realization that he could have died then without Christopher giving his death a second thought. It was what he now knew Christopher had seen in his eyes oh so many times over the last few years. It was reckless and thoughtless. It was how he'd survived. It was the last look he'd ever wanted to see in his baby brother's eyes.

Terrified at what he'd almost done, Christopher slowly backed away from everyone, not wanting to be touched. It wasn't until he ran out of room that he was able to stop himself. Even then, he was too stunned to want anyone near him. He slid down the wall, curling himself into as small a ball as he could manage.

Worried, Wyatt started to charge forward, calling out to his brother. At the same time, Piper broke away toward her son as well.

"Yeah, not a good idea," Piper snapped at her eldest child, even as she tried to remind herself that she was talking to a man who was no longer the Enemy. It broke her heart to glare at the man as she held her hand out at him, keeping him at bay. She knew she didn't mean what she was going to say, but if it kept her kids apart at the moment, she was willing to say just about anything. "You ju- . . . you just stay away from him. You're the reason he's hurt in the first place."

"No, Mom, I'm sorry, but you are," Wyatt retorted defensively. Seeing her hands locked in her defensive position, he flinched. He nodded toward her hands and grumbled, "But kill me, by all means. I'm sure that will fix our problems right up."

"Young man, I don't want to hear you talking to your mother that way," Victor interrupted oddly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he laughed at himself. He looked around the room and chuckled at the expressions on the faces of all of the others, particularly Wyatt. The boy actually looked apologetically at him. Without a word, Wyatt nodded his apology at his grandfather. Happy to accept the apology if it would calm a few tempers in the room, Victor smiled and nodded back. "Good boy."

Wyatt looked to his father, to the surprise of them both, hoping for some backup. "This is between me and my brother."

"Your brother or your enemy?"

"My brother. And only my brother."

Leo wasn't sure why, but he knew that he could believe his son this time. Whatever else was going on in the kid's head, he seemed to be genuinely concerned for his brother. If that could bring him a little closer to the Wyatt that they wanted to see instead of the one he had seen in the future, then . . . He waved his son forward with a permission step back. "Go ahead."

Piper looked at her husband with total disbelief. "You really think that's a good idea right now? You saw Christopher just now. They're going to kill each other, right here, right now. They are seriously going to kill each other. You realize that, don't you?"

"Let him go," Leo told her soothingly. "They'll be okay."

Wyatt walked cautiously over to his brother, careful to keep his pace. He knew that if he went too fast, it would only spook Christopher anyway. When he was a few feet away, Wyatt dropped to his knees and ignored the fire in them to crawl over the rest of the way, slowly reaching his hand out to touch Christopher's knee. As much as he could, Christopher pulled him body even further into himself. Gently, Wyatt kept going. "Chris, honey, it's okay."

"Don't touch me."

"I just . . . I need to see if you're hurt."

"God, Wyatt, don't touch me. Please."

"Christopher, I need to be sure you're okay."

"Okay? There is no okay. I almost killed you, Wyatt. How can you . . .? How did we end up like this? It wasn't supposed to be like this," Christopher whispered stonily, his head hopelessly hung between his shoulders. His voice, soft but strong, didn't even shake, just like the rest of him. Only his inability to put his thoughts into words immediately betrayed any hesitation in his eerie stillness. "It was not supposed to be like this. That was the whole point. We knew that things couldn't have been meant to be so hard, not like this. We both said it. We both believed it. It couldn't — it can't be meant to be like this, not this. Not for her. Not for any of us."

Everyone watched Christopher, wanting to do something, but Wyatt was the first to move. He didn't care if it meant that he was going to be hit again or not. He had deserved all of that and more. He knew that. If he had been stronger . . . But he wasn't, and he couldn't change that. Not yet.

He didn't say anything. Somehow he knew that he shouldn't. He'd said enough. Instead, he sat down on the floor facing his younger brother, cross-legged and patient. He rested his elbows on his knees and just watched his brother's sobs until Christopher's entire body was wracked with them. Still Wyatt didn't say anything or touch him or do any of the things that brothers were supposed to do. He hadn't earned that right, and he knew it. All he could do was wait, just like everyone else in the room. At least he could be the first one there, like it used to be, when they had been friends.

His wait wasn't as long as he thought it would be, though. Then again, part of him was expecting that he would be waiting forever for Christopher to ever want to talk to him again. But it didn't take anywhere near that long as Christopher's overbright and bloodshot eyes looked up, not to his parents, but to his big brother for an answer to the one question that they had all asked themselves far too many times.

"Why does everything in this family have to be like this," Christopher whispered, sounding all of five years old and angry beyond all tantrum. "Why? Why do we have to keep going through all of this, day after day, year after year? Why are we supposed to keep doing this, risking our own lives for complete strangers and the rest of the world when all it ever brings us is pain and suffering? Why do we have to watch everyone around us die? Who decided that we had to be the ones with this goddamned family legacy? I don't want it. I don't want it anymore. I don't want any of it."

Wyatt didn't know what to say. It wasn't like he hadn't asked himself those same questions so many countless times and had yet to come up with an answer that would satisfy. He was pretty sure that there wasn't an answer anymore. For the first time in a long time that he could remember, he just wanted to be honest about it. He'd spent so much time believing that if he just had enough power, they wouldn't have to ask those questions anymore. But now . . . "I don't know, Christopher. I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything. You're just another part of it that I don't understand. You can't have answers for something like that. We thought we could save you. We thought that it would all make sense again if we could just get you back. I used to think we could beat it. I used to think that there was a reason that we were here, that we hadn't lost our purpose to spend our lives protecting the innocent instead of battling our own selves. But then you left us all alone and we didn't have a clue what . . . God, I don't know what the hell I'm saying. Why I — why did you have to pick that fucking thing up? If you had left it alone, if you had never tried to use it . . . "

"What? Excalibur? You think that's what — "

Christopher swore again under his breath, cursing the sword to the depths of wherever it had really come from. "It didn't make you evil or anything, but it didn't help, either. Whatever it was that took you away from us, Excalibur was just as much a part of it. It used you until you were ready to use it. If you had just left it alone, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't have been taken away. You wouldn't have left us."

"I never left you," Wyatt said quietly. He still didn't understand it all himself, but somehow he knew that, even when he wasn't really there, he was still there. He hadn't been gone completely. He was so tired. He knew he'd still been fighting it every step of the way, whatever it was. He was the reason that Lucy had come to live with him instead of being left to die. He was the reason Christopher was still alive to find a way, any way to save him. How he was going to explain it without it sounding like some cockamamie excuse, he had no idea, but he'd find a way. But for now, what mattered was that Christopher know it. He could deal with everyone else later. Again, needing and pleading with all his heart that Christopher would hear him and believe him, Wyatt said forcefully, "Christopher, look at me."

As he'd done so automatically for so long, Christopher obeyed his big brother, even though he wasn't sure why. His eyes, so lost, met his brother's in search of an answer.

"I didn't leave you."

"I wish I could be sure of that," Christopher said mournfully. "I really do."

"Why can't you?"

"Because if you didn't leave, you were always there, and that means that you really did all those things, not something else. It means that all of this was for nothing."

Wyatt tried to find a way around his brother's logic, but he wasn't sure that there was one. He wanted so badly for this to be a black and white issue, that it was true that he was either evil or he wasn't. He knew that he hadn't been evil. He could never have turned on his family legacy that way; he could never have turned on his brother that way. But of all the things he could remember . . . There had to be an explanation in there somewhere. There had to be. And they would find it, together, no matter what, just like their father had said. "Listen to me. I don't know what is happening here, and I don't think I ever will really understand, but, I'm here, aren't I? I couldn't have been that far away if I can be here now, right?"

"But all those people, Wyatt, I mean — all the demons and the violence and the 'protection' on the house and the demons in the house for our 'protection' and all of it . . ."

Wyatt felt that darkness in him again, that darkness that told him that he had wanted things just as badly as whatever it was that had control over him, if indeed something had had control over him. He didn't like what it wanted to say, but somehow he could feel that it was right, too. God, he was so confused about it all. The only thing that he wasn't confused about was that everything he had done had been for Christopher and the others. There was never any doubt in that. Helpless to feel any different, he asked pleadingly, "Do you get what I did for you? Do you? Grandpa couldn't protect you, not like I could. I had to. Because every night that I went to sleep, I heard the demons in my dreams. I heard them every waking minute of every day. This was the day, this was the day that I wouldn't be smart enough, this was the day that I wouldn't be fast enough, this was the day that I wouldn't be powerful enough to keep you alive. This was the day that they were going to win. Do you have any idea how terrified I have been every minute since Dad died? It was up to me, just me. Do you understand that I never would have been able to live with myself if anything had happened to you?"

"You happened to us, Wyatt! You were the thing we were most afraid of!"

Devastated to hear those words, and even more destroyed because he somehow knew that they were true, Wyatt begged, "Please don't say that."

"Would I be here if that wasn't the truth?" When Wyatt didn't (or couldn't) say anything to that, Christopher stared at his hands, trying to think of anything to fill the silence. He hated silence. It usually meant that something was going wrong. As soon as he started to talk, he wished he would have found something else to talk about, but it was too late, so he said it anyway. "Don't be mad at us. Well, be mad at me, but not her. She never would have betrayed you," he said slowly, honestly. "Don't be mad at her. The Darklighters, they probably just followed you when you left to take her back to the house. She wouldn't have set you up like that, though. They would, but she wouldn't. If you think on it long enough, you and I both know it's not like you haven't given everyone around you at least one excuse to want you dead at one time or another."

"Stop. I don't want to fight anymore," Wyatt said in tired warning. He knew Christopher wasn't trying to pick a fight anymore, but the words stung all the same.

Christopher shrugged. "Who's fighting? I'm not fighting. You're fighting."

"No, I'm just being honest."

"Honest for a normal person or honest for you?"

Wyatt rolled his eyes at his brother, not realizing that it was a perfectly rational question from Christopher's point of view. "Stop it, Chris. Just . . . Okay? I don't want to get into this. I don't want to think about her or anything else. I need . . . She was a part of me, too, you know. You don't get to claim sole grieving rights here. I need to process this as much as you do."

Really not wanting to talk about that anymore, Christopher quickly changed the focus of their discussion. Kicking in the logical, strategist portion of his mind again, he said, "We have a lot to process." He stopped for a second, bracing himself. "Wyatt, I need to know. What can you tell me about what happened? Step by step, I need you to go over every single second of it. I can't help you if I don't know what she did. What do you remember?"

"I already told you, it's all black. I don't really remember much at all."

"C'mon, man, there has to be something. It's not like you can just block something like that out."

"I told you, we went to the house to find a spell for her because she was worried about the baby. We both were." Wyatt's words suddenly became more clipped and agitated as he went on trying to focus on any part of this that made sense to him. He tried so hard to remember and only got more angry as the details flew away from him. He talked as fast as he could, thinking out loud. "She was inside. We had a fight and then . . . I don't know. I think that's when the Darklighters showed up. I didn't recognize any of them. I know that at one point she was in the door and chanting. It hurt. I've never felt pain like that before. It . . . But at the same time, I felt so free. It was like there had been something pressing in on my chest so that I couldn't breathe, like I hadn't breathed in years, but I suddenly could again. I don't know what else to tell you. She was convinced that she had saved me, whatever that means. I mean, I don't . . ." There was a cold dread that came over Wyatt as he finally put into words the question that had been haunting him since he'd talked to his mother. Small and afraid of what he was going to get in return, he asked, "Was I really that gone?"

Christopher sat quietly listening until his brother was done. He wasn't sure why it was different to hear it this time than the last, but this time he knew he believed it. Whatever it was that had gone wrong with Wyatt, Lucy had believed that it was over. This time, Christopher was starting to believe it, too. He had watched his brother's eyes the entire time he was talking. This time, there was something there. This time, it really was real.

Softly, he told his brother, "We're going to fix this, Wyatt. Dad's right. We're going to get you back, and when we do, I'm not letting you leave us ever again. You hear me?"

Wyatt doubted that things could be solved between them so easily, but he didn't want to argue the point with Christopher any longer. He knew that for the moment, they were almost okay, but it wasn't going to stay that way. He'd done too much, taken all of the trust out of his brother's eyes. But for now, he would say whatever it took to make his brother happy. Careful to keep the doubt out of his voice, he said, "Yeah, I hear you."

They sat in silence for a moment, letting it all soak in. The further it sunk in, though, the closer Christopher was to laughing. A quick chuckle escaped his throat before he could stop it. He actually smiled at Wyatt as he asked, "Is this real? Are we really sitting here having a civilized conversation?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Huh. I didn't think you remembered how."

Seeing that, at least for the moment, her sons looked like they were going to stop beating each other into a bloody mess, Piper grabbed Leo by the arm and marched over to them. Standing side by side, she crossed her arms over her chest, falling into the Angry Mom mode that she had used not so long ago on their other Chris. These weren't the same kids, but she was still their mother, regardless, and, by god, she was going to remind them of that. "Are you done?"

The two men looked at each other, nodded a silent cease fire, then looked up at their mother. Since Christopher had been the instigator, for the most part, he spoke up for them both. "It's done."

"Good," said Piper. "Then you can start to clean up this mess — without the help of any spells you may have picked up from your aunt."

Leo tried not to smirk as he saw both of his sons cringe. Apparently they knew their mother's moods very well. She was not to be messed with at the moment. Still, Wyatt was going to need a quick reprieve. "Christopher, why don't you get started over by the potions table? Wyatt, I want you on the couch so I can look you over first. I'm still worried about that lung. The two of you got in the ring before I had a chance to heal you from what happened before you got here."

"That's okay," Wyatt said ruefully. "We kind of had a few things that needed discussing first."

"Well, they're done now, so get over there."

Their assignments handed out, the brothers set off to work. A kind of anxious quiet set upon the attic, each person lost in their own thoughts. Phoebe struggled to keep her mind on solving her problem instead of being the problem. Paige flipped through each page of The Book, silently wishing for a reference index to help her along. Piper and Victor doted on the two little Halliwells, passing looks from the smaller versions to the adults, both trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

Almost an hour later, Christopher sluggishly dropped himself into the window seat, avoiding that last real job that could be done in the clean up. He couldn't look at the blood yet. He knew if he asked, Paige could take care of that part for him. He figured his mother would allow that one exception to her rule. His father would make her understand without telling her too much. Granted, if she had been paying enough attention to what Wyatt had said, she had probably figured things out by now. With any luck, though, she had been too distracted to really know what was being said. He really hoped she was. The rest would be a little too much to take.

Christopher pulled his knees up to meet his chin, enclosing himself in his little cocoon, even though it hurt to do so. For a brief moment, he bitterly thought that he wasn't going to give Wyatt the satisfaction of knowing that his brother's muscles and bones were screaming in agony with the slightest twitch of movement. He knew he was going to have to make enough concessions over the next however long the two of them had to be trapped in the house together, but that didn't mean that he was going to give Wyatt any more than was required. No way in hell. Too much had happened, and he wasn't entirely sure he could trust his brother yet anyway. Not yet. And then, realizing what he was thinking, Christopher wanted to kick himself. He had always worked with the theory that Wyatt didn't really know what was happening to him. To be spiteful now when it was seemingly over . . . Well, spite was easy. It was the being responsible and forgiving part that was hard. Sometimes he really hated being a grownup.

He leaned his head against the cool colored glass in the window, letting it suck out the anger clouding his eyes. He had almost completely shut out the world when he felt a slight stir in the cushion on the windowseat. Part of him just knew who it was, but he didn't want to be wrong, so he just let his eyes stay shut. Whoever sat with him gave him the luxury of staying in his safe little corner of the room. There was no contact or words or anything. There was just a warm body there for whenever he was ready to acknowledge it.

Across the room, Leo watched quietly as Wyatt crossed over to sit with his brother. He nudged Piper's side to catch her attention and directed her eyes over to where their two boys were sitting quietly together. Neither parent said anything, but they didn't have to. They smiled uneasily at one another, but their eyes both shone with hope. Maybe this time, maybe it will all work out. That somewhat hopeful idea tucked into their hearts, they both turned back to the trunk full of scraps of paper that they had saved over the years, looking for anything that might resemble a spell capable of helping Phoebe.

Realizing that the room was suddenly too quiet, Paige called from where she was hovering near the relatively cleaned up potions tables over to Phoebe, who was near the boys, flipping through The Book. "Anything?"

Phoebe merely shook her head, and even that wasn't very convincing. She hadn't just found nothing. Nothing would be more than she had found, if she could find anything at all. She was starting to think that to even look was a waste of time.

"How can there not be anything," Paige asked, frustrated to no end.

"I don't know, Paige," Phoebe snapped. "But maybe, just like all of the times you've screwed up and done a spell for your own Personal Gain — say, oh, last night — there isn't a spell to fix the backfire, and we have to find some other way of dealing with it."

Paige's head pulled back, feeling the bite in her sister's words. She felt herself wince with the anger and truth of what Phoebe said. After all, she had put herself and her sisters into a few not so pleasant situations from using spells incorrectly or for the wrong reason. But then again, they all had. Taking it out on her wasn't exactly fair. She was only trying to help.

As if she could read her sister's mind, Phoebe closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose to clear her head. Softly, she apologized, "I'm sorry. I know it isn't your fault. I just wish I could find a way to end this . . . these nightmares."

Still hurt but finding it more important to be reassuring at the moment, Paige nodded her acceptance of the apology. "We'll find something. I don't know where, but we'll find it."

The only people in the room who were having an even remotely normal day were the trio now spread out in the middle of the room. Victor sat comfortably in a chair, watching his grandsons sleeping in their playpen. As soon as their grownup counterparts had raised their white flags, he had slyly and conveniently placed the playpen in the middle of the room so that, should the other two start duking it out again, they might have to take into consideration that they most definitely were not the only ones in the room. If that happened, maybe they would keep their pummeling of one another to a minimum. He was just a few feet shy of shoving the tiny versions of the boys into the arms of the adult versions of themselves and telling them to set a proper example for themselves. Granted, he understood why they were fighting. After everything Christopher had told him, both this Chris and the other, Victor knew why it would be so easy for him to fight with his big brother. Still, they were making a big enough mess of things. It was time to just stop and deal with things. It was the only way they were ever going to get back home again.

Still, it was an ugly situation for them all. Forget the Future Boys for the moment; there was enough havoc to go around with all of them. He had heard the whole story about Paige's breakdown and the fun he'd missed there. Things were obviously disintegrating on Phoebe's end. Victor was also worried for Piper and Leo, though, maybe even more than for anyone else. The others, their problems were mystical and ultimately would have a magical solution. But Piper and Leo, their problem was the hardest of them, the problem of marriage. So much had been put upon them, especially now with the death of their son, that if they managed to work this through, he would consider it a miracle. Sometimes love wasn't and couldn't be enough. If anyone would know that, it was Victor.

Under his grandfather's watchful, protective gaze, Little Wyatt stirred in his sleep, pulling his thumb from his mouth and making a pained noise, as if the toddler was having a nightmare. Growing up in that household, Victor wasn't the least bit surprised. He remembered his girls doing much the same thing, even at such a young age. He felt badly when the boy's bright blue eyes opened with a whimper. He quickly scampered up into a standing position, his tiny hands clinging tightly to the padded bar at the top of the mesh cage he shared with his brother. Eyes wide, he looked around, first at his grandfather and then at all of the adults in the room until he found the one he wanted.

"Wyatt," Victor asked softly, reaching to take his grandson into his arms.

The toddler didn't see or hear his grandfather. He had found what he was looking for. Tearfully, he said, "'Ot 'ris!"

In the window seat, sparkling orbs surrounded Christopher and started to float away before he even realized what was going on. Then, just as quickly as he felt himself being pulled away from the attic, he felt a hand reaching out and pulling him back to the ground. When he was solid again, Christopher's anger at the baby version of his brother's repeated antics of orbing him around were quickly put aside when he saw the eyes looking wide back at him. Wyatt still had not let go of his arm after pulling him back down. They both looked down at his arm, neither of them knowing why Wyatt's arm had snatched out to catch him in the first place. Slowly, they both looked over to where the toddler in the playpen was looking back at them with huge eyes.

Everyone quickly turned their attention on the two boys in the playpen. The sisters each looked wildly around for any sign of what it was that triggered Wyatt to attack Christopher this time. They were kind of surprised, though, to hear Phoebe actually go so far as to call out in question, "Hello?" Piper walked over to her smaller sons and made to reach for them, too.

"Oo 'any," the toddler cried and again tried to orb his older younger brother away. As he did, his protective bubble went up around him, shielding him and his brother on either side from even the arms of his suddenly very concerned mother and grandfather.

Victor asked worriedly, "Wyatt?"

The toddler looked strangely at his mother and grandfather and lowered his shield, but quickly turned his eyes back in the direction of the other Chris and Wyatt, who stared back at him just as confused.

Christopher tried not to appear as unnerved as he felt, but this thing of Little Wyatt's was starting to get a little ridiculous. "Mom? Seriously, what's going on with him? Why does he keep trying to get rid of me?" Then, absurdly, he turned to his older brother next to him and asked again, "Why do you keep trying to get rid of me?"

"It was twenty-five years ago and I was two years old, Christopher," Wyatt snapped. "What do you want from me?"

He didn't get what was sure to be a sarcastic answer as the collective attention of everyone in the room was drawn back to Phoebe, who had torn herself from behind the magically repaired podium and was dashing toward the toddler in his playpen. She stopped about half way there and looked around wildly, apparently seeing something that the rest of them couldn't.

"Pheebs," Paige asked, seeing her sister oddly stopped for no reason. "What's wrong?"

Softly the middle sister said to the smaller of the Wyatts, "Okay, it's time to get you out of here."

Confused, Paige and Piper exchanged a look. Piper was the one to put their concerns to words, but Paige was right there with her. "Who are you talking to? Get who out of — WHOA!"

Certainly not of her own volition, Phoebe was suddenly cast across the room, away from Wyatt and into the corner of the room. Oddly, Paige suddenly noticed that a chair was smashed into bits that she hadn't noticed. She wondered how long it had been that way, but realized as quickly as the thought had come that it didn't matter. She knew why it was broken. As Phoebe struggled to stand up from the remains, Paige hollered at them all to make sure they knew what was going on, too.

"She's doing it again," she yelled and raced to meet Phoebe, who was starting to run across the room. She easily caught her sister about the waist and was for a split second relieved that they had caught her in time this time. Phoebe hung limply in her arms, like she was just trying to catch her breath and would be fine any second now. But when her sister didn't give her some indication that she was back amongst them, Paige quietly but urgently asked, "Phoebe?"

"Dad," Phoebe choked.

"Yeah, honey," Victor said reassuringly. "Right here."

"Dad," Phoebe said again, weaker, and slid out of Paige's arms to the floor.

The dead weight of Phoebe falling was too much for Paige to handle. She dropped to her knees with her sister and pulled her hands out from under her. She moved to help Phoebe turn over when she caught sight of the stain on her hand and immediately jumped back. "Oh, god," she whispered.

"Orb her back down to the shower," suggested Christopher, not really ready to see the replay of what should have been his death over again.

Leo, seeing the blood on Paige's hand, sighed, "I don't think that's going to do it this time."

"Wyatt . . . " Phoebe groaned. "Wyatt."

Wyatt hopped off the window seat to go to his aunt, oblivious to what was going on. When Christopher pulled him back by the wrist, he turned quickly on his brother. "What?"

"She doesn't mean you. Just let them work."

Even though he knew it wasn't going to work, Leo fell to his knees at Phoebe's side and let his hands do their magical glowy thing. In the back of his mind, he could hear Gideon's voice, telling him that it was all for the greater good and all of that bullshit that the bastard had spewed at him over and over in those last hours. He was almost sure that if he looked up, he would still see Gideon standing there, holding his son and whisking him away while his other boy lay dying in his arms. The cruelty of déjà vu reached a new low as Phoebe cried under his hands, stuttering the same words Chris had told him. He did his best to ignore her as he called for her father.

"Victor, I'm going to need some help here."

As Leo and Victor carried Phoebe to the sofa, Christopher stepped forward a moment to watch them. Unable to really let his mind process emotionally what was going on — Phoebe can't die, damn it, not today — he wanted to watch her movements. He needed to help them find a game plan because letting Phoebe work through it obviously wasn't working. The Book wasn't helping. Something had to happen, and it needed to happen soon. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he could hold everything in with his arms. Just in case, one of his hands came up to his mouth so that he could chew on his thumb nail to keep him from saying anything he shouldn't say quite yet. There was no way that that was going to work, but he had to do something. He'd had one meltdown today. That was one enough.

Recognizing Christopher's battle planning stance, even if he had usually been on the defensive end of it, Wyatt looked at his brother. He knew that something big was going on; that much was obvious. But what Christopher was thinking about was a little beyond him. Confused, he asked, "What's — "

Christopher immediately cut him off, brushing his hand down through the air before bringing it back up to his jaw in worry. There really was no way out of this. Phoebe was slipping further and further away from them, lost in what had happened to this other version of himself, and if anything, he was probably only making it worse for her like he had with Paige. He bowed his head, the palm of hand covering his mouth to hold in the frustrated sigh that was threatening to come out. How many more deaths was he supposed to be able to take today, anyway? How much more damage was he going to do?

"Christopher?"

"Just . . . Just be quiet."

"What do we do now," Victor asked at the same time as Christopher pulled Wyatt back to the window to explain without really explaining what was going on. He held Phoebe's hand to his cheek, needing to feel that his baby was still warm. His girls were having too many close calls lately. He'd be damned if this was going to be another one, not after they had just lost Chris the way they had. "We can do something, right? Tell me we don't just sit here and wait for her to die."

"We don't," said Piper, sounding a little less than confident in her answer. Leo gave her a nod of encouragement, handing over the control reigns to her. He had done his part with sorting their sons out, now it was her turn to sort her sister out. He would be there in a guiding capacity now, as he should be, but she needed to take back her control. She didn't know how he did it. She couldn't remember how he had always done it, but there it was, that look that told her how he saw her. Married or not, he still knew how to get the best work out of her. Her confidence at least sort of regained, she boldly repeated, "We don't. We get through this like we get through everything else."

"Yeah . . . " Paige said sinkingly. "And how are we going to do that exactly? It's not like The Book is doing much talking here."

"Maybe it doesn't have to," said Leo thoughtfully.

Happy to hear her husband kick into Whitelighter mode, however annoying it could be sometimes, Piper smiled hopefully up at him. "Explain."

"The spell that Phoebe cast on herself didn't come from The Book. When she wrote it, she wanted to hear from Chris. She wanted to keep his memory alive for us. So what if the only way for the spell to end is for her to hear whatever it is that his memory is trying to tell her? It wouldn't be the first time that a spell one of you girls has cast has required a little creative solution."

Her hopes slightly dashed, Piper shook her head and grimaced. "Yeah, see, that sounds a little iffy to me. I think it's too late for that. Look what his memory is doing to her right now. How is that supposed to help her?"

Before the angel could answer his wife, the entire room was bathed in a gorgeous white light. The remaining sisters joined each other side by side, ready to take on whatever was going to happen to them next. Neither of them noticed that they had carefully placed themselves in front of their downed sister, guarding her carefully in her inability to help them. Christopher and Wyatt both leapt from their positions at the window, forgetting that neither of them had the power to do anything. Victor shielded his daughter's body, carefully covering her head with both hands. The toddler in his playpen was the only one who didn't seem to be frightened. Little Wyatt simply stepped closer to his baby brother and raised his shield, then stared into the light with wonderment.

As the light died down, in the center of it stood a terrified looking Wyatt, although he didn't look much like himself. His hair was cut almost military short. He was much skinnier and smaller than his counterpart. He hadn't developed any real physical stature at all. He couldn't have been more than, by Christopher and Wyatt's estimation, fifteen years old. But most importantly, he looked terrified.

"What the hell," asked Wyatt, looking at himself standing in the middle of the room.

They all stared, uncomprehending, while at the same time, the Wyatt in the middle of the room let his arms fall to his sides then raised his hands up to his face, staring at them in horror. He turned all around the room, looking for something. He seemed to find it, somewhere in the corner. Wyatt dashed to the corner, falling to his knees.

"Look at me. Are you okay?" His hands were running all up and down, as if checking for something that the rest of them couldn't see.. "Are you sure? If you're hurt, you've got to tell me." After a moment, he seemed to relax. He fell back off his knees and sat down, looking exhausted. "I'm fine . . . I just . . . God, Chris, what's happening to me?"

A little bewildered at having yet another Wyatt pop up in front of them, Piper looked at her two grown sons. "What is this?"

"Don't look at us," Christopher said, just as confused. "I have no idea what he's talking about." He looked at his brother, who shook his head at him, also not having a clue. "I think that's something we need to ask him."

Not quite getting what Christopher was trying to tell them, Leo started to move forward to ask this younger Wyatt what he was doing there when the teenager disappeared from their sight as quickly as he had appeared. His hand clutching onto thin air, Leo gaped, "How — ?"

"Not him," Christopher corrected himself. He directed everyone's attention back to the fallen Halliwell, gesturing emphatically at her. "Him."

Getting what it was that her nephew meant, Paige looked to Christopher to try to keep his thoughts running before they found a dead end. "Okay, but how? We can't even talk to Phoebe right now, let alone him."

"Maybe . . ." Christopher started but stuttered out again.

"Maybe . . . " Paige pushed, urging his thought process along.

Still feeling like he was intruding and that his help wasn't wanted, Wyatt took a step away from Christopher as he looked down at his feet. He knew what his brother was probably thinking, but he didn't know if Christopher would want his help. That didn't mean that it wasn't needed, though. So quietly, he said, "I'm not exactly sure what's going on here since no one will tell me . . ." He added emphatically toward Christopher before actually offering up his suggestion. "But maybe you aren't supposed to actually ask. Maybe you're just supposed to listen."

As if to tell Wyatt that he was right, a swirl of golden orbs spiraled into the center of the attic without warning. No one missed what should have been a barely audible gasp from Piper as a sadly smiling Prue stepped out from the glow to sit cross-legged in the middle of the circular carpet.

Victor moved to leave Phoebe's side for a moment, stepping closer to his missing daughter. "Prue? Honey, is that really . . .?"

"Hi, Sweetie," the ghostly woman said.

Sadly, Piper shook her head. "I don't think so, Dad. I think that's — "

"I know, Chris, I know. I would let you see him if I could. I would let you see all of them if I could. But you know the rules. At least you still get to see me, right? And Grams is listening in if you need her. Okay?" Prue sat quietly listening, oblivious, as Piper walked around in a slow circle, watching this ghost of the ghost of her sister listening for something that the rest of them couldn't hear. When she had heard whatever it was, Prue spoke again, soft and understanding. "Don't be too mad at him. He was only doing what he thought was best for you. He had no idea that things were the way they are. He wanted so badly to protect you, to keep you safe. I've known your father for a long, long time, Honey. Whatever else you may think about him, he loved you with all his heart. I know you don't want anyone to defend him right now. He abandoned you in the worst way when you need him most, but one day you'll understand that he would give anything to change that. Just don't stay too mad at him for too long, okay?"

Again she appeared to wait anxiously for a response as her sister waited just as nervously, trying to suss out what was actually going on. Piper was left without much of a clue when Prue smiled and said, "I will, but I don't have to. Your mom, she knows how much you miss her. She knows you love her. She doesn't blame you, if that's what you're thinking. She knows what you have to do. You didn't make this situation, Chris. We all know that. One day, when this is all over and you are all safe again . . . Because I know . . . I may be dead, but I am still your aunt, young man. If I say I know that something is going to turn out all right then I know it's going to turn out all right. I don't have to tell you how I know. I just do." She waited for a moment, getting some kind of response, then smiled. "That's better. So . . . Your mom wanted you to know that you have our blessing with this. It's risky, but we're behind you. There is a spell in The Book that we think can help. Grams marked it for you as soon as we realized what was happening."

Growing impatient, Victor asked, "What is she talking about?"

"Be quiet and maybe we'll find out," snapped Paige, struggling to fit the missing half of the conversation into place. She realized that she was probably snapping at the wrong person, so she quickly apologized over her shoulder. She shrugged and whispered, "Sorry."

"It's okay," he whispered back. "I . . . " Before he could finish his thought, Prue stood up. He didn't know why, but he could feel somehow that however she was in front of them, his daughter was going to be disappearing from them very soon. He wanted so badly to talk to her, but he knew that this was different. She wasn't really there like Penny and Patty had been there in front of him before. This wasn't real. It was . . .something else. Still, he couldn't let the opportunity pass. He looked at this image of his daughter and whispered to her, "I love you, baby."

Piper had to hold back an errant tear as her sister's ghost smiled out into the attic. The tear fell when Prue said softly, "Now go save your brother. We love you, and we'll see you when you get back."

With that, the vision or whatever it was of Prue disintegrated into a swirl of golden orbs and floated away into oblivion. She was almost immediately replaced with a very angry looking Wyatt. As an energy ball formed in his hand, everyone in the family backed away from him without even thinking about it. Only the real Wyatt stood his ground, but only because he was standing in front of Christopher to shield him from the energy ball. It didn't quite register with him that he was seeing himself holding the weapon until he heard his own voice echoing off the attic walls.

"Have you lost your mind," the new Wyatt growled furiously. They all followed his eyes up to something up at the ceiling but didn't see anything. He continued to spit venomously, "I — don't — need — you."

Wyatt again stared at this other version of himself, terrified at what he was seeing. He spared a glance at Christopher, who was looking curiously at this dark version of his brother. Christopher visibly flinched at the words, as if he was hearing them from his real brother. Seeing Christopher pale, Wyatt looked back at himself, angry at this guy for making his brother upset. "What is this?"

"You," Christopher said simply. What they were seeing may not be something from his life, but he had been through so many similar situations with his brother, heard that voice so many times that he didn't see any way to lie around it. That voice was all there was.

As Wyatt's heart sank into his stomach at his brother's brutal honesty, the other Wyatt arched his back and screamed in some sort of pain. Another figure appeared behind him, her arm sticking out of his back. Immediately everyone but Victor recognized her. Only Christopher said anything, though, now definitely confused himself. "Bianca?"

"Whatever you're going to do, do it fast. I can't hold him for long," she was saying to someone in the corner, below where Wyatt had been looking. She stood there for a moment, visibly struggling to keep hold of this other Wyatt, until she viciously lost the battle. They saw her fly across the room. It took a moment for any of their eyes to catch up to where she had landed, but when they found her, a jagged fragment of a bookcase protruded grotesquely from her middle. At the same time, they saw Wyatt fly up toward the ceiling himself, the chandelier sending sparks out from beneath his back.

His resolve broken, Christopher started to head toward his fallen brother without thinking about it. It was only when he tried to push past his real brother that he realized that he was chasing a ghost. Their eyes met, both of them seeing a new terror in reflected in the other's eyes.

Truly horrified, Wyatt whispered to his brother, "Is that what we're heading to?"

"Haven't we been here before," the Bianca ghost asked. She half smiled after a moment and whimpered, "Maybe. You can finish what we started. Hurry. Take the spell so he can't send anyone else. Go."

Both brothers watched in horror as the other Wyatt shakily rose to his feet and started flinging energy balls left and right, howling in fury. Thinking back to the last time he'd seen Wyatt in the attic and seeing Charlie dead and Lucy bolted into the wall, Christopher bleakly sighed and answered his brother's question. "We're already there."

A moment later, the entire family was stunned as clones of Piper, Paige, Phoebe, and Leo popped up in the middle of the attic. The surprised looks on the real family's faces mirrored the expressions on the faces of the second family.

The pop-up Paige was the first to ask, "Oh my god, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Nice spell," the real Paige mumbled, realizing what the exact moment they were seeing was and echoing the answer she had received to her question a year ago. "Oh, my god. When he said she wasn't going to cause trouble, I . . . I called him 'Mopey' for weeks after that." Absurdly, she asked her sisters, "Why didn't any of you stop me?"

As the clones of the family disappeared from the attic, it was Piper who shook herself out of the spell that Chris's memory seemed to be casting now on all of them. To herself and to her missing son, she asked, "I don't understand. What is he doing? Chris, what are you doing? What are you trying to tell us?"

Thoughtfully, Leo suggested, "If these are the memories that Phoebe has been seeing all along, maybe this is his way of letting us see them now, too."

"I don't think so," Paige said, thinking out loud. "If I may, I don't think he, in particular, is trying to tell us anything. I think what we're seeing is his life flashing before his eyes after he . . . after you got him downstairs, Leo, before I got there and when Sheridan was . . . " Unable to finish the sentence, Paige just stopped and tried to collect herself before going on. "I think it's Phoebe who is making us see what he was seeing. I think . . . I think she's still avoiding him, trying to make us do the work instead of her. She isn't letting the spell work. I think she needs to be the one listening to him, not us. When she does, we'll stop seeing all of this."

As another vision, so to speak, of Chris's memories manifested in the middle of the attic, the family did their best to tune it out and get back to business. Paige orbed The Book over to herself and sat at the table. Hopefully, she suggested, "There's a spell somewhere in here that we used that time to help us hear our inner moppets. Maybe I can modify it so that Phoebe can hear her inner Chris?"

Hearing that and finally fed up with the lack of explanations he was getting, Wyatt pulled his brother into the corner. "What in the hell is going on here? Why do they keep saying they need to talk to you but look at Phoebe?"

Christopher studied his older brother for a moment, still not entirely ready to trust the honest look in the man's eyes. Wyatt had been able to fake it before, to make them believe that he was still one of them. If they made the wrong move right now and trusted him, it could be Game Over long before they were able to help Phoebe out of this mess and to really save Wyatt from ever becoming what he had become. Of course, he'd also been able to put on that mask in the other direction, the one he reserved for demons that made him seem evil beyond belief even when he wasn't. But this time, he didn't know and had no way to be absolutely sure. Still, there just seemed to be something different in the look. It was almost as if Wyatt was scared of something. That was a look that Christopher didn't ever want to see on his brother's face. It just wasn't supposed to be there at all.

Sensing what his brother was thinking, Wyatt tried to look like he understood as he said, "Seriously, Christopher, I . . . I . . . What's going on? Why don't I know about any of this?"

"We're changing the timeline just by being here," Christopher suggested softly. "I don't think this happened to them the last time. I never heard about any of this either. Like I told them, I thought Phoebe was acting weird because I was here."

"Why would she act weird?"

"You know about this," said Christopher suspiciously. "When I left with Dad, you told us that you knew."

"About what? I don't — " Wyatt looked over at his ailing aunt and shook his head violently. "I definitely don't know anything about that."

"You said that you got some information from Phoebe about this time, about an Elder, Gideon."

Wyatt shrugged. "That? Yeah, he kidnapped me the day you were born. I know that Dad killed him. Beyond that, I don't know much of anything. Everything I got from her was about how their Whitelighter had warned them about this threat that they thought was against me and how they thought they'd had the right guy, but it turned out to be this Gideon guy all along. He'd been helping them. Dad took the betrayal pretty hard, and that was why we never had any contact with the Elders or Whitelighters or anything until Charlie came along. That was all. There really wasn't anything significant in that. Did I tell you I remembered that?"

Sadly, Christopher stared off into the space just above Phoebe's shoulder, unable to really look at her or anyone else in the family at the moment. He could see the weight of the last three weeks written on all of their faces, in their own individual ways. His voice barely a whisper, he said, "That's not all."

"What are you talking about?"

Before Christopher could explain anything further, Leo turned away from Phoebe toward him. Phoebe's screaming was obviously getting to him. He blinked away a few tears before his eyes caught sight of a green-looking Christopher. His fatherly instincts took over, crossing the distance between them as quickly as if he had orbed. The angel's breath was short, almost quivering, when he faked a smile at the younger of his grown sons. "You two should get out of here for this," he offered.

"Dad, I can handle it this time," Christopher said bravely.

"I know you can, but I don't want you to see it anyway." With a nod toward Wyatt, he said, "And I don't want him seeing it either."

"Leo . . . " Wyatt started to interrupt, but was quickly cut off again.

"He doesn't know what happened, right," asked Leo of Christopher.

"Apparently I wasn't the only one who you kept out of the loop," Christopher said with half a smile. "He doesn't know anything."

"If he's forgotten it all, then I want to keep it that way," Leo said, looking back at the toddler version of his son for a second. "One of them knowing is bad enough."

For his brother's own good, Christopher agreed. "Works for me."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here. What are you two talking about?"

"If I wanted you to know, Wyatt, I would have told you. Now please, both of you, get out of here. Get some air, anything. Take the boys with you. I don't want any of you from any timeline seeing this." Leo clapped his hand on Christopher's shoulder, man to man. "I need you to do this for me."

Christopher nodded, understanding. He knew it wasn't about him at all. It was about his dad. Watching this other version of him die over and over had to be killing him. It was only making it worse having Christopher there to see it, the fresh horror of it there, like the pain of pulling a Band-Aid off, only to replace it with a new one until that one needs to come off too. Without another word, he directed his older brother to the smaller version of his older brother. "You won't let me pick you up, for whatever reason. So you grab your- . . . Little You and I'll get Little Me over there. It's been almost four hours. They could both probably stand something to eat."

"Since when do you know anything about babies," Wyatt said, trying to lighten the mood that he didn't understand. As soon as he said it, though, his face paled again. He looked at Christopher, who was looking sick again.

Still, the younger brother kept his voice calm, even if a little sad, when he said, "The Elders weren't going to let Charlie stay with us permanently, like They did to Mom and Dad, so I was going to have a big job ahead. We'd been reading a lot of books. She was practically trying to memorize the damned things. She was really excited." Christopher shook his head, as if shaking her out of his memory would make it all go away. It definitely served to end the conversation. With a determined step, he marched over to where he and his brother were starting to get a little antsy in the playpen. He gave Little Wyatt a wary eye before reaching down to pick up his younger self. "It's okay, Wyatt. I'm not going to hurt him. We're all going to go downstairs and get something to eat. How about some macaroni and cheese? I can make you some macaroni and cheese if you want."

The four boys quietly made their exit, being careful to leave the attic door open so that they could get back up there if they were needed. The others had to fight to ignore Phoebe's cries as the boys disappeared while they drew closer to the moment when Paige and Leo knew Chris was going to be lost to them again. She could tell that, for Phoebe and Chris, Sheridan had arrived in the room with them and she was about to be forced away from him once again. It was all she could do to keep from screaming herself.

Leo caught sight of her paling face and quickly pulled her to the side. "Do you need to get out of here?"

Adamantly, she shook her head. "No. No way. This needs to end. I'm not leaving him again."

"You didn't leave him before and you wouldn't be now."

Paige shrugged. "Hey, you guys are the ones who wanted me to have to deal with this. I put it off long enough. It's time to deal." As a second thought, she added, "But stay close, okay?"

"You and me, we're in this together," Leo said reassuringly.

"I knew we liked keeping you around for a reason."

Leo had to bite his tongue to keep from saying, Remind my wife of that, would you? Instead, he draped a protective arm around Paige's shoulders and watched his wife as she started to pace back and forth at their sister's side. It wasn't long before the angel knew his services were about to be spread out again.

As Phoebe screamed in Chris's pain, Piper wrapped her arms around herself to keep from screaming in frustration. She knew what she was seeing, knew that while she had been in labor, her baby boy had been alone on her bed, waiting for her sister to show up so that he wouldn't have to die alone. Judging from Phoebe's voice, he had been so scared and she hadn't been there. Finally she turned away, unable to look any longer.

"How much longer is this going to go on?"

Paige took Leo's arm away from her shoulders and gently shoved him in her sister's direction. "Go see what you can do. I'll keep looking. Sheridan is with them now. We don't have much time before you get back to us."

"Good luck," Leo said gratefully and went to his wife's side, pulling her as far away from her sister as possible for a few minutes.

The distance couldn't erase the screams, but it would at least keep things in perspective. Chris wasn't in there. He couldn't be. It was only Phoebe. By standing a little further back, it was a lot easier to see that they weren't in the bedroom, that they were in the attic, and that it wasn't Chris they were watching over. They weren't watching a boy die on his twenty-third birthday; they were watching a beloved witch and sister die on a random day like any other. They couldn't save Chris. They needed to stop trying to do so.

For the next twenty minutes, Leo sat with his wife, holding her as she flipped angrily through the pages and pages of paper in the trunk. Neither of them said much of anything, avoiding anything that could resemble conversation. They needed to say so much, but this really wasn't the time. They needed to save everyone else before they could even think about saving themselves. Piper suddenly really hated Prue for leaving the Big Sister job up to her. Being the big sister, the responsible one who took care of everyone else first, really, really sucked.

It was just as Piper was about ready to slam the lid of the trunk shut in frustration that Paige called for Leo, sounding upset. "Leo, it's time. You're here."

Leo nodded and got up to go be with Phoebe in a last ditch effort to try to heal her one more time. Piper followed, even though Leo gestured to her to stay behind. "You don't want to see this," he told her.

"No, I don't, but I need to."

As they reached Phoebe's side, she mumbled softly, "Hey," as if she were actually talking to the people around her.

Victor, hoping beyond hope that his little girl was finally coming out of her spell, greeted her back. "Hey, baby."

Leo dropped down by Phoebe's side, his hands glowing. He did his best to avoid looking at her or at the blood on her shirt as his hands passed over her, defeated in his efforts as he had been that day and in every dream he'd had since.

"You either," Phoebe breathed, obviously more afraid than the words Chris had intended them to be only a few weeks ago. With that, she stopped, just as Chris had done. It was all that any of them could do to hope that she wouldn't disappear from their very eyesight the way he had as well.

"No . . . " Piper choked, unable to find any other word to say. She wanted to scream, but her voice wasn't there. Not again. She couldn't do this again, not for many, many years to come. She'd be damned if she was going to go through this again three years after Prue left them. It was too soon. It was too much. She just . . . No. Absolutely not. No.

"No . . . " Paige also said, a beat later. Her voice wasn't nearly as upset as her eldest sister's though. It was thoughtful, cautious. She knew, somehow, that this was different. It was like how she could tell when the electricity was out. She never noticed the sounds it makes throughout the house, even when nothing is on, until it was gone. She watched Phoebe, unable to let her mind click with the idea that she was seeing her nephew die, again, in her sister's body. She knew when she heard the words that it was over, that he was supposed to be disappearing into the nothingness of wherever it was that he now was. But somehow, it wasn't over. It didn't stop like it was supposed to. Without realizing that she was talking out loud, she said thoughtfully, "She didn't stop."

Sniffling, Victor was the first to come back enough to ask, "What do you mean?"

"Look at her. She didn't stop breathing because she didn't die," Paige said. "Her chest didn't fall. The air is still in there."

"I don't understand," Piper said.

"She's somehow . . . I don't know — frozen. She isn't dead. She stopped before Chris let out his last breath. They aren't gone yet."

Still confused, Victor asked, "How do you know?"

Paige looked over at Leo, who was still trying his best to contain whatever it was that he was feeling. They shared a brief look that said pretty much the same thing. They were getting tired of reliving this day after day. "I . . . We were there."

"That still doesn't explain — "

"Well, I don't know, all right? I don't know! So maybe someone else can figure it out because we're running out of answers."

"Maybe not," said Christopher, suddenly appearing in the doorway, his younger self cradled gently in his arms. He swept quickly through the room, beaming excitedly. When he was about half of the way through, he hollered over his shoulder, "Wyatt, hurry up!"

A swarm of orbs appeared at the younger man's side, looking frazzled even as the hurried man stepped out of them. "A little warning would be nice, Sibyl," he grumbled at his brother.

"Whatever," Christopher groaned before returning his attention to the adults. "We were talking and — I'm not sure, but I think —- yeah, it might work. If we — "

"Full sentences, Christopher," Piper urged.

Christopher sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a huff, trying to settle himself down. He couldn't help it. He was so close now, he could almost taste it. If he was right, they were going to save Wyatt and quite possibly Phoebe, too. If he was right, this could all almost be over. Barely able to contain himself, Christopher turned to his father and brother, both of whom he was pretty sure would have the answer.

With a mischievous glint to his eye, Christopher asked them, "Okay, how do I find Clyde?"

---

If you had half as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it, then I had twice as much fun writing it as you had reading it. Heh. Thanks for reading.