This is it, folks! There is a very slim chance that it will have a brief epilogue, but I haven't decided yet if that idea should be its own separate ficlet or not. Thank you for the reviews, and be on the lookout for new stuff soon. I have two projects right now that I'm really excited about. The first is a series from the family's POV as they try to cope with Future!Chris's death while raising...uh, Present!Chris. The other is a Chris/Wyatt unchanged future fic that's already up to about 20K words and is probably only halfway written at this point. It's kind of taken over my brain lately. These are the two that I'm really actively working on right now, but there are lots of other fics in the pipe - including a possible Buffy crossover. Be afraid.

Again, thanks for the kind words. See you on the flip side!

PS. It's also just occurred to me that I never mentioned this before, but the story and chapter titles are all taken from Sarah McLachlan's "Witness," which is not only a lovely song in its own right, but Chris in a nutshell.

Bars and night clubs in San Francisco had a high turnover rate. One would open to much fanfare and thrive for a few months, dwindle to a respectable crowd, and then taper off and vanish within a year. Somehow, P3 defied the odds. Three years later, it was stronger than ever and drawing bigger crowds and more popular performers all the time. And yet, with only a handful of exceptions, it remained the one point of normalcy in the Charmed Ones' lives. Demons were wont to attack them at home, foolishly believing that they could successfully take them out on their own spiritual high ground, but they rarely bothered the club. Not that the sisters complained about that. Far from it. Despite the noise, P3 was the one place they could go and honestly relax without constantly checking over their shoulders for danger. Until a few days ago, Phoebe always assumed that was the reason Chris stayed there instead of at the Manor, too.

It had been all the sisters could do to convince Chris to at least stay at the Manor overnight after his close call with the striges, and even then he only relented because he seemed guilty about causing Piper so much stress. The next morning, barely before any of them woke, he took off. "I'll be around," he promised obliquely as he orbed out of the house and from there off the map. Phoebe suspected that he had "muted" her again, refusing to answer her calls like the passive-aggressive martyr his mother was as well.

So, since he didn't seem inclined to come to her, she went to him, or at least to where she hoped she would find him. Last known address: the back office of P3.

Ever since Chris had unofficially staked a claim on the room, none of them had felt right about invading his privacy and entering the office, regardless of actual ownership. If any of them were in the club and needed him – or, more rarely, the room itself – they always just knocked and asked him first for whatever they wanted. Given Chris's intensely private nature and his total refusal to share any part of himself with them, it seemed natural to give him as much personal freedom as possible, no matter how eager they were to learn more about him.

But there Phoebe was anyway, biting her lip as she opened the door and slipped into the office without first asking permission. Like she needed another reason for Chris to avoid her.

She flicked on the overhead light and took her first look around the room since Chris had more or less moved in, and at first glance she remained unimpressed. It still looked like she remembered, with band posters all over the walls and boxes of random sound equipment and bar supplies stacked haphazardly against the far wall. It didn't look especially homey, not like Chris spent any considerable time there, but there were still tell-tale signs of a young man's presence. A blanket was draped messily over the couch along with a couple pillows, one of which had fallen to the floor. A few shirts and pairs of pants were thrown in random places. Phoebe wondered where they had come from, if Chris had actually brought them back with him or if he'd otherwise "acquired" them. She decided she didn't want to know.

She walked over to the desk that looked just as messy as it had when Piper used it to go over receipts and inventory, but with several empty energy drink cans and paper coffee cups. If she didn't know better, she'd think a graduate student had taken up residence in the office. Unable to stem her curiosity, she cast an anxious glance at the door and then pulled out the center drawer under the center of the desk. Upon lifting up the fliers and posters on top, she found several maps and charts, some of them defaced with handwritten notes or yellow Post-Its stuck to them. One sticky note contained what appeared to be a terribly complicated math formula that Phoebe couldn't even begin to understand. It had evidently been of some use, though, as Chris had circled the solution and then out from it written simply, "Feb 2?" Wyatt's birthday. And, she realized after a moment, Chris's own conception date. Poor guy would never be able to get out from under Wyatt's shadow, it seemed.

She carefully put everything back in place and then pulled open one of the side drawers, interest caught by an unassuming spiral notebook with a faded red cover. The first several pages were blank, and she was about to put it back when she noticed the word "Gith" written in the outer margin of a page about a third of the way into the notebook. Curious, she sat down in the desk chair and opened the notebook the rest of the way, eyebrows raising to find an entire list of demons, all of them scratched out, all of them creatures Chris had sent them after. She flipped back to find pages upon pages of notes detailing everything there was to know about all of those demons: names, powers, strengths, weaknesses, known associates, possible connections to Wyatt. Now and then there was a marginal note or a Post-It drawing attention to some random fact or other and a reminder to "tell them to update" or "correct this," and Phoebe didn't know whether to be offended that Chris was critiquing the Book of Shadows or proud of him for creating one of his own.

"Ugh. Phoebe, stop it," she scolded herself quietly, shutting the notebook and replacing it exactly as she found it. She had no right to go through his personal things, even if she didn't mean anything by it and she only wanted to help. It wasn't quite the same as reading his diary, but it wasn't too far removed, either. That decided, she stood and looked around again, and then, feeling the need to keep her hands busy, picked up one of his shirts to shake the wrinkles out and then fold it properly. Then another. Then another. Someone had to mother the kid, and if he wouldn't let his own mother do it, so be it.

She'd made it to the fourth shirt when the door opened and Chris walked in, eyes flashing dangerously at the unexpected guest, fingers twitching in a dead giveaway that he was fighting the urge to use his powers. Now, at least, Phoebe understood a bit better why Chris was so tense and jumpy, why he reminded her so much of a wounded animal backed into a corner, always ready to fight first and ask questions later.

"Phoebe? What the hell are you doing?"

"Housekeeping," she told him by way of greeting, offering an overly bright grin. "I didn't bring any mints to put on your pillows, though, sorry."

The immediate fight response faded, but then flight kicked in, danger giving way to fear, and Phoebe didn't miss the way his eyes darted toward the desk as if making sure his secrets were safe. Her stomach twisted slightly in response.

"How dare you?" he blurted, and while Phoebe had expected him to be upset, she hadn't quite anticipated that level of anger as he stormed over to her and yanked his shirt out of her hands, only to toss it right back into the floor. "How dare you invade my privacy like this? What the hell gives you the right to come in here and go through my stuff like you know me?"

"No, how dare you, Chris?" Phoebe shot back, stubbornly jutting her chin forward. Chris wasn't the only petulant younger sibling in this family, she had news for him. "You show up out of nowhere, screw with people's lives, break up your parents, almost get us killed on a regular basis, almost get yourself killed just as often, lie to us constantly, run away from us when we start getting the slightest inkling about who you actually are . . . this is ridiculous. And yeah, maybe I don't know you, but I'd like to."

"Oh, so you break into other people's places and mess with their things?"

"I didn't break in, Chris. In case you forgot, I'm part owner of this place. And for God's sake, take a pill. I'm folding your clothes, not planting wire taps."

"I don't believe this." Chris scowled at his aunt, seething in a way that Phoebe had previously only seen directed at Leo. "Congratulations, Nancy Drew, you know my big secret. You figured it out. Way to go. But you still don't trust me. What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm not the bad guy here?"

"I do trust you, Chris. This has nothing to do with trust. I'm just worried about you. Is that so bad? We're family and I love you, I'm supposed to worry about you."

"Yeah, that's just it, isn't it? You're supposed to. We're not family, Phoebe," Chris practically spat, stunning Phoebe with the vehemence behind his words. "Not yet. And save it, okay? You think you love me because you're supposed to. Don't insult me."

"Whoa, back up a few miles there, buddy. I don't know where all this is coming from or why you're directing it at me, but I don't think I'm the one you should be taking all this out on."

"Get out."

Phoebe's chin lifted again. "No."

"Don't make me do this, Phoebe."

"Do what? Go on, Chris, tell me. Is that a threat?"

Somewhere behind her, bar glasses tucked carefully away in a box shattered. Phoebe quirked an eyebrow. She'd dealt with Prue enough to know how telekinetics, especially emotionally repressed ones, reacted to stress; her own empathic powers told her that all was not what it seemed, that Chris was lashing out at her because she was there, not necessarily because he felt it.

"Well? Is it?"

She felt the crackle of static electricity in the air, the same she had always felt when Prue was nearing her breaking point and everything in the room was about to go flying. More boxes rattled behind her.

"If you're about to go all Carrie on me, I feel like you should at least answer me first." When he continued to stand absolutely motionless before her, expression curiously blank, Phoebe took a brave step forward. "Talk to me, sweetie." She reached out to place her hands on his shoulders. "Please?"

She gasped, stumbling backwards at the force of another premonition. Between her empathy and Chris's usual reserved self faltering, she got a spectacularly vivid image of Chris looking much the same as he had in her earlier visions, this time in a public downtown area in front of a makeshift stage. A demon stood on either side of him, each holding one of his arms to keep him in place, even while he sagged between them. The same blond man as before stood on the stage with a young woman bound to a stake. He stroked her hair with a deceptively gentle touch before taking a step back and lifting his hand. Chris screamed, voice scraped raw from who knew how many previous hours of begging, but the man only smiled maliciously before calling for the girl's heart. There was a flash of black and blue orbs, and then suddenly the muscle rested in the man's palm, leaving behind a gaping hole in the girl's chest.

"This!" he cried, holding the heart up over his head, "is where treachery gets you in my domain."

The demons laughed and cheered, taunting the others unfortunate enough to also be tied to stakes lining the stage. The blond man threw the heart carelessly over his shoulder, smirking as the nearest demons scrambled for it like a homerun baseball. He nodded at a large, red-skinned creature at one end of the stage, who then promptly launched a series of fireballs at the feet of the prisoners to ignite the kindling around them. The blond man jumped down from the stage and walked toward Chris, hand still soaked in blood as he gripped the younger man's chin.

"You should join them," he half-whispered, his voice as deceivingly soft as his touch, and though there was unspeakable evil in him, there was also something loving in the way he spoke, in the slight stroke of his fingers across Chris's cheek. "But I don't have the heart. So to speak. Somehow, you found a way to beat the witch scanners. I'd say I was impressed, but you're really only making things harder on yourself and this hopeless bunch of losers who think you're the Second Coming. So obviously, my men need a new way to identify you," he explained as he slipped an athame from his belt. The hilt glowed red hot, illuminating the letter W carved into the end. "I don't tolerate witches, nor do I tolerate traitors. That's already two strikes against you."

Chris struggled against his captors, crying out as one of the demons kicked the back of his knee and sent him crashing to the ground. The blond man knelt before him, rolling back Chris's sleeve with a strange kind of care. He held the lit athame inches from Chris's skin, lips twisting cruelly.

"Let's not have a third."

Phoebe was thrown back into reality gasping for air and trembling violently, supported only by the edge of the couch and Chris's arm around her shoulders. As he helped her sit, she unexpectedly reached up and lifted his sleeve before he thought to stop her.

"Chris," she murmured, one hand going to her mouth as her other traced the scarred, seared flesh of her nephew's shoulder. He shrank back as though her touch itself had burned him, hastily pulling his sleeve back down into place.

"It was a long time ago," he tried to reason, but Phoebe shook her head.

"Not that long. A year? Two?"

Chris didn't seem inclined to answer, but when Phoebe refused to let him intimidate her into looking away, he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Three. Almost."

"Why didn't you tell us?" she asked, blinking back tears. Chris shook his head, pretending not to understand or just refusing to answer anyway. "Wyatt. He's the evil you came back to stop."

The fight or flight instinct kicked in again and flight won out, but Phoebe anticipated it, reached out to hold onto Chris's wrist and pull him back before he could orb. He rematerialized with a defeated sigh, finally dropping down next to Phoebe on the couch and studying his hands for a long while.

"I didn't want you guys to have to deal with that. I didn't want him to have to deal with it. If this actually works, if I can find a way to save him, I don't want him being treated like he's evil."

"We wouldn't . . ."

"Not on purpose. But if you knew what I know about him, about what he could have been, what he was . . . how could you stop that from changing how you act around him? And if this works, I-I want him to have a fresh start." Chris stumbled over his words, fingers clenching into fists and then relaxing over and over again until Phoebe reached over to rest her hand atop one of his.

"And if it doesn't?"

Chris looked up with dark, clouded eyes. "It has to."

Phoebe took a deep, faltering breath before speaking again. "In my premonition, the first one, I thought you were asking 'why.' You were saying his name. You still thought you could reach him, like there was still something good inside him." Chris nodded mutely, so Phoebe continued. "You didn't really come back to save him, did you?" Chris looked up in alarm at the implication.

"No! I mean, yeah, of course I did. What are you saying?" This time it was Phoebe's turn to remain accusingly silent, and Chris looked away, cheeks burning with shame and tears welling in his eyes, though he angrily blinked them away. "You know that ethics riddle, about being able to go back in time to kill Hitler as a baby?" he asked quietly, voice quivering. "I had the chance to do it. What was I supposed to do? I tried everything, Phoebe. I tried talking to him, begging him, even joining him for a while. I tried to bind his powers. I cast spells. I worked with demons, Elders before he got to them. I tried to vanquish him," he admitted at last, hands curling into fists and staying that way. "He stole the house so I couldn't access the Nexus or summon anyone. He stole the Book. He just kept killing and gaining more and more powers and I couldn't stop him. This was the only way I knew . . ."

"But if you'd come back to-to kill Wyatt," Phoebe stammered, barely able to get the words out even with all the terrible knowledge she had, "without explaining anything or who you were, we would have vanquished you." She hesitated, heart clenching again when Chris's jaw tightened but he otherwise remained impassive. "And you know it."

"I started to," he said in that non-answer way typical of so many of his conversations. "I was at the Manor one night researching with the Book. I went into the nursery and he was asleep. He didn't put his shield up. It was the first time I'd been able to get that close," Chris admitted with a hint of pride in his voice. "I cast a soundproofing spell I got out of the Book. I started to read . . . I figured the spell you wrote to vanquish the Source would be strong enough. I got through the first couple lines."

"Chris, stop, I don't wanna hear this," Phoebe pleaded, but Chris shook his head.

"I got through the first couple lines and he woke up. I expected him to throw his shield up and out me. But he just . . . laid there. Watching me. And I, I choked. I couldn't do it. My one chance and I blew it. I let everyone down again."

Phoebe tightened her hold on Chris's hand. "Honey, you didn't let anyone down. He's just a baby. He's your brother, for God's sake. You can't take on these kinds of burdens and expect not to break sometime, Chris, you just can't."

"But if this doesn't work," Chris interrupted, voice taking on an edge of panic as he jumped to his feet and spun around to face Phoebe, "if I don't stop whatever turned him evil, that's it. That was my one chance, and because I was too weak to do it, he's still gonna grow up and destroy everything. Everyone who died fighting with me and fighting for me, everyone who sacrificed everything to get me this far, it was all meaningless. They died for nothing."

"They died to get you to this point, Chris, so that you can save him. So that he can grow up to be good, so that those people don't have to die in the future." Phoebe followed along behind him, walking up to him and reaching up to cup his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "So that you can have the life you were supposed to have, with the family you were supposed to have. I have a pretty clear picture of the hell you went through to get here, sweetie, and trust me, you didn't do all that and get this far just to fail. I won't let you. Your family won't let you. Maybe we couldn't save you and Wyatt in the future, but we're sure as hell going to fight to save you now."

Phoebe was certain that Chris was going to run from his emotions yet again, but he still found ways to surprise her, this time by giving in and pulling her into a hug, clinging to her as though he had no other way to anchor himself to the rest of the world. At that point, under those circumstances, she was ashamed to realize that that might actually be true.

Not knowing what else to do, she returned the hug and held onto him as tightly as she could, politely ignoring the way his entire body trembled with pent-up nerves and the myriad emotions she could feel battering at her mind as he finally let go after months, years of repression.

"I love you," she whispered against his face after a long while, pressing a barely-there kiss to his cheek. "And not just because you think I have to. Not just because you're my nephew. But because I do know who you are, Chris. I don't need to know everything about you to know you. You are the strongest person I know. You're so much like Piper it's insane. You are kind and brave and smart, and no matter what you think, you are a good person. Everything you do, all the stupid mistakes, the risks, the wins and losses, all of it comes from a good place. And I promise, Chris, I swear to you, we won't let you go back to the same life you left. We do trust you, and now you just need to trust us, okay? I know that's not easy for you, and can you try?"

She felt him nod, and when he pulled away, obviously embarrassed by his uncharacteristic breakdown, he smiled softly at her.

"Yeah. I can do that."

"Paige is gonna be glad she missed another touching Walton family moment," Phoebe blurted out of nowhere, making them both laugh and providing enough of a distraction that she could swipe at her eyes and pretend she didn't notice Chris clearing his throat. "Hey, uh. I don't know about you, but impromptu therapy always makes me hungry. I think Piper's making stir fry tonight for dinner. You in?"

Chris hesitated, glancing around the office once more before looking back at Phoebe and nodding, the shy, boyish grin making another rare appearance. "Yeah, why not."

Phoebe returned the smile. "Then let's go home."

This time when Chris orbed out, he did so with Phoebe's hands firmly clasped in his own.