AN: So did we go through a wormhole or something? Or is life just breezing right past everyone else as well? I could swear it was winter like...last week. What I'm really trying to say here, is sorry for taking...MONTHS to update. My only real excuse is that I love, love, love the show Supernatural, and after the fifth season of it, needed fic from that to survive lol. But this somehow, like it always does, came back to me. So here we are. Again. Hopefully it keeps moving. Lets hope right? I would like to thank everyone who keeps coming back to this, and reading it occasionally when I update. Every now and then, I go look at story stats and I'm amazed to keep getting reviews for this and it's a real kick in the ass to getting writing. So. Thanks :D Enough of the the tl;dr; here ya go! :)

If there was anything that Chris could find to be thankful for on this horrendous night, this was it. The state of the Golden Gate Bridge was less than stellar, with the main part of the bridge hanging into the bay. The tall beams that had connected the cables, however, remained and preserved Chris' most prized solitary spot. He was amazed that Wyatt had not sent his guards to await his brother's arrival, but he saw that as yet more proof that his brother was not completely lost.

He had cried only a bit when he had arrived, sharp quick sobs that had overtaken his body in such a way that he had almost been incapacitated with grief. He had stabilized himself though and had immediately begun going over every action from the day in his mind, trying to pinpoint his mistake and where he had gone wrong and began to come to conclusion that he had relaxed too much. His mother and his aunt's presence had thrown him off his usually over cautious game and now Parker was dead, along with so many others. He balled his hands into tight fists, anger at himself and his brother rising in his chest, making his heart beat rapidly in fury. How could he do this? After everyone else's death he was responsible for, Wyatt himself had killed their younger cousin in cold blood.

Parker had always been closer than their other cousins. He was just under 2 years younger than Chris, the first of Phoebe's three children, and her only boy. While Paige had had twins-a boy and girl-a year before, they were her only children at the time and closer to each other than Piper's two children, especially since Paige had opted to move out of the Manor and in with her husband, Henry. Phoebe, however, had stayed at the manor until Prue was born, giving Wyatt, Chris and Parker more time to bond. He had always assumed they would be the next Charmed ones, given their closeness and compatibility, and while they had all been close, Chris and Parker's bond seemed to grow as strong as Wyatt and Chris' had, the relationship becoming similar to a big brother one. In the end though, Wyatt looked out for them both. For Wyatt to kill Parker-probably in an attempt to attack one of Chris' primary weakness's, the young witch lighter surmised now-illustrated how desperate he was getting to end this conflict and attain his place as ruler of all things magical.

"Well," Chris said to himself, his mouth setting in a line. "I'm not going to let that happen."

"Let what happen?"

He stiffened at his father's voice and closed his eyes. Was there no sanctuary for him now? He sighed. "What are you doing here? What did you not understand when I said I can't?" He ground out. Leo moved closer, he could hear, but stopped behind him.

"That was three hours ago Chris. You've been up here forever. I'm good with giving you space, but you've made it clear I've given you too much. You can't continue to deal with this alone; you've gone too long doing that."

"Yeah? And who's fault is that?" He snapped, spinning as he rose to his feet. He glared at his father, who sighed, resignation on his face.

"I'm not doing this. I'm not letting you change the subject. Be mad at me, I'm okay with that." He walked over to his son, his face weary and tired. He grabbed onto his shoulders, grip tight. "Come on kid, let me help you."

"Help me?" He asked, raising his arms to knock his father's arms to the side. "No. No one can help me. Wyatt killed Parker. Himself. At least with Uncle Coop, and Uncle Henry and the girls...at least he had his minions do it. How could he kill Parker?" He asked, eyes wide. "How can he really be gone?"

It took Leo a moment, as he opened his mouth to respond then thought better of it, to realize the question was meant in two ways; not only for Parker's death, but for Wyatt's seemingly decided path into the dark being most irreversible as well. He was too far gone, it seemed. Chris had been harboring a hope that somehow they could save his brother from everything he had done, but the truth was, there was nothing they could do now.

Now, that was.

Chris shook his head, walking away from his father as he ran a hand through his hair. He crossed his arm, eyes closing as he changed the subject. He was going to start weeping again if he kept on this track, and that was just something he didn't want to do. He'd cried enough-more than he ever would've like to-in the past few days as it was. "How is everyone else? Prue, the twins? The sisters?"

"The sisters are dealing. Everyone else is grieving for their own loved ones. The twins seem to be keeping the family together as best they can and Prue..." Leo trailed off with a sigh. "Well, you know how Prue can be in these situations. She yelled at Phoebe. Told her it was her fault."

He was met with silence from his son, and after it carried for a few moments, he cleared his throat. "Do you blame them for this, Chris?" He asked softly, looking down now at his own hands. Again, Chris was silent. Leo crossed the distance between them slowly and walked in front of his son, facing him directly.

"I don't want to," He began softly, his head hung as he fiddled with his hands. "But, I mean...it's all connected right? Really, this whole mess is their fault. Parker..." He trailed off. "He's dead. He's dead because Wyatt's patience is waning. Because I got away again. Because of you being here, for saving me. And the only reason he had me to begin with was because of them..."

Leo looked at his son, whose head was bent in thought as he stared at his hands. "This isn't their fault anymore than it is of yours, Chris." He comforted softly, hesitantly resting a hand on his shoulder. He felt his son's muscles tense under his hand, and he was about to move it when Chris seemed to relax. He turned his head to his father's face, his eyes sad and shining with tears.

"I was supposed to watch out for him. For everyone here." He sighed, swallowing hard. "And still, people keep dying around me."

Leo studied his son for a moment, contemplating his next move. He knew that no words would be able to make him feel better. There was nothing he could really do for his son, and that made his heart break. But maybe...maybe he could help him understand that he wasn't alone. "Sit down, Chris." He urged softly, with an underlying authoritative firmness that Chris caught. He stared at his father for a moment, eyes wide, before sitting as he was told without objection. Leo, pleasantly surprised by the lack of complaint, eased himself down next to his son.

"I want to tell you about Gideon. Tell you the rest of the story."

Chris blanched. His father had avoided the topic so steadfastly earlier in the week that it unnerved him. "Why now? What's changed?"

"You should understand, I think, that you're not alone feeling the way you do. We all have those things that wear on us. Guilt."

"What do you have to be guilty of that could compare to this?" Chris muttered, head bent now.

He heard the question but bypassed it, understanding the doubt. But he continued. "It was years before enough information was compiled, and enough evidence obtained against Gideon to try him. After that, he was kept for years while the case against him was built and prepared to be presented in the presence of the Tribunal."

"The Tribunal?" He breathed. "That's...that's not the usual proceedings for just any trial."

Leo nodded. "Gideon was an elder. And a very powerful Wizard. He was intelligent, and his indiscretion was too large to be overlooked."

"The Tribunal is a locked court. You can't leave, or enter until every thing's over. You can't hear anyone outside of it." He felt odd, and floaty, his mother's voice from so long ago coming back to him softly. He almost didn't hear his father's affirmation.

"Yes."

"Your dad is busy today, so we can't bother him..."

"Were you apart of it? As an Elder, was that something you took part in, his trial?" Chris asked, slowly putting pieces together in his mind.

"As Wyatt's father, and as an Elder, I was there. One of us, your mother or I, needed to be there. As the Elder, we decided I would. Your mother had some more pressing matters to deal with."

"This is important, Christopher. And it's something you boys don't know about. He can't, and won't, be pulled away."

He fell silent. Chris was smart kid; he would let him come to it on his own. Leo rose, the memories of the trial and the time surrounding it coming back with a painful vivacity. He stood at the edge of the bridge, one hand on a beam as he leaned into the wind, closing his eyes.

"When? When was it?" Chris asked, rising to his feet as well.

"I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just very important that he goes to this...meeting."

"Chris..."

"Is that why? After all this time, is that why you wouldn't tell me? That's why you didn't answer me?"

Leo turned then, his eyes shiny as he blinked. "I couldn't hear you because I was in the Tribunal. Hours had passed by the time the guilty verdict was handed down, by the time he was sentenced. A lifetime in imprisonment, by the way. I thought it was well worth it for what he did to your brother." He swallowed, again hanging his head. "Not worth your mother though. If we would've had any idea the attack was imminent, there is no way I would've been in that room."

Chris' eyes welled with tears. "All these years..." He whispered, staring at his father in disbelief; his fists balled tightly at his side. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Tell any of us? I've been so...angry, with you."

"You had reason to be."

"But it's not your fault!" Chris exclaimed. Leo just stared back at him, a small sad smile on his face.

"And yet, I'll never forgive myself. Seems like we have something in common, hm?"

Chris' face darkened. "It's not the same."

"It's the exact same. Parker, your Uncle's, your cousin's...your mom. They weren't your fault. And yet, we can't help but feel like it is. Won't listen to anyone who says otherwise. Who's to say if I was there, if I could have stopped that...what if that would've kept Wyatt straight? What if this entire thing can be traced back to that one incident?"

"You can't think like that!" Chris insisted. "It's not just one person's fault, and even if it were, we can't concentrate and dwell on the past. It doesn't make us any stronger, and certainly doesn't help with what we have to..." His face had been determined and sharp, but his eyes narrowed as he saw his father's smile. He trailed off.

"Exactly." Leo replied softly. Chris glared at his father.

"I hate it when you do that. You always used to do that..."

Leo chuckled. "So did your mother. You are so very much like her, Chris." He stepped closer to his son. "We can stay here for as long as you need. But when we do go back, remember this talk. And focus on what we have to do. It's gonna be a trick to get them home safe so they can fix this."

Chris nodded, but said nothing. "You okay, kid?" Leo asked once more.

"Can we just...can we stay here just a little bit more?"

"Sure. We'll go back when you're ready. I'm staying with you though."

Chris nodded and sighed, turning his face out back toward the bay. A small smile played upon his lips as a breeze ruffled his messy brown hair. "I think I can deal with that."

P3 had grown quiet in the hours since Chris had left the club. After the bodies of the dead were identified and the families were notified, those who could orb were asked to help the families move the bodies in a discreet manor to where they needed to go, so the families could do as they needed with them. Phoebe, faced with an empty common room now, decided to start cleaning. She sighed. Singe marks and bloodstains marked where people once danced and drank and had good times, where semi-famous bands once played.

She moved to the kitchen and searched for a bucket and some cleaning supplies. Paige was helping with the families of those who were killed in the battle of the day, and Piper was...somewhere. Right now, Phoebe was just trying to find something to concentrate on and get her mind off the emotional toll this day had wrought.

"It's your fault!"

Her daughter's words rang through her head with such ferocity, it sprung tears to her eyes, but the sadness was nothing compared to the guilt. Because when it came down to it, she was so right. It was their fault. It was her fault. And not only was her future son dead because of it, so were so many others. She shook her head away, swallowing down the lump in her throat. She might as well make herself useful.

She made her way back out to the open area of the club and began to clean the ground where blood and other remnants of the battle now coated it. She didn't even realize she was crying until she looked up as footsteps approached, and the world seemed blurry.

Prue was in front of her looking down, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Hi."

"Hey." Phoebe uttered, wiping her face with her arm as she looked back down.

"...what are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning." Phoebe deadpanned. She wasn't trying to be short, or mean to the girl, but Prue had made it evident she wasn't such a fan of her mothers, so Phoebe decided for that the time being, she'd just stay out of her way.

She heard the girl sigh, and begin to walk away, and she felt a small semblance of hope wither within her. She supposed she hoped the girl would want to talk, and express her feelings. She guessed she was just surprised that she had had a daughter...had raised a daughter, that wasn't as open with her feelings as she was.

She was pleasantly surprised, however, when a few moments later, Prue knelt beside her with a sponge and dipped it in the bucket.

"...what are you doing?" She asked now, leaning back on her haunches. The girl kept her head down as she began scrubbing.

"I'm helping."

When she offered no other explanation, she nodded. "Ooookay then."

They cleaned in silence for a bit, moving from the bloodstains to the broken pieces of furniture and wall to the other things that had gotten displaced in the conflict. Phoebe could feel Prue looking at her though, instead of cleaning, as she finished up some things in a corner, so she turned back to her. "What, Prue?" She asked gently. The words came out sharp though, and the girls expression turned mournful. Phoebe cursed to herself. Why the hell would she talk to her daughter like that? Especially when the girl had been right. Prue shrugged.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier." The words came out stunted, and slow, and she stared at her hands the entire time. "I tend to fly off the handle sometimes, and say things...without filtering them. I shouldn't have been so hateful."

Phoebe sat back, rag in hand, eyes roving over the girl as she began to scrb the floor again. "It's okay. I'm sorry...I'm not what I should be." She finished weakly, falling back on her butt, her back hitting the wall. She sighed, and Prue looked up.

"You couldn't be who you should be to me, now, could you? Wouldn't make sense." She smiled softly with a shrug. "You always told us...that having kids, it changed you so much. That is was something you had always wanted and that..." She trailed off.

"That what?"

Prue's eyes found hers, and Phoebe softened to see them glistening. "That it made you less selfish. That...you stopped thinking about your life, and started thinking about ours. I think...I think that's the difference. My mom would've never done what you did, for personal gain purposes."

The hurt must have been evident on Prue's face, because she hurried to continue. "I don't mean that as an insult, Phoebe. You can't be the person my mom was, if you're not this person now. Believe me," She laughed. "All your shenanigans and mistakes help me out later. They're very good...do as I say, not as I do, examples."

While the previous comment still stung slightly, Phoebe felt herself smile. "So...I'm not a bad mom?"

At this, Prue paled, and her head shot up. "No!" She exclaimed, eyes swimming now. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard before blinking fast. "You were...you'll be, an awesome mom. That's why this is so hard."

"Well then. I'm sorry I can't be who you need."

"You're still my mom, Phoebe. A little younger, but...still her. You have some stuff to learn, but you're the same in that...I know you care deeply about all of us. That you cared about Parker," Her voice hitched. "Even if you didn't know him long."

Phoebe tossed the rag in the bucket. "We're going to stop this, Prue. And don't tell me I don't know that. Because I do. Because if it doesn't work, i'll go back again. And again. I'll tear apart the entire cosmos if I have to."

Prue chuckled. "I know. Your determination is something I'm pretty familiar with." Phoebe smiled. "Looks like we've gotten enough done. How long do you think Chris will be gone for?"

Prue sighed. "Long enough. He's the king of brooding that one." She tossed her rag in the bucket too, sitting back and drawing her knees to her chest. "I was thinking of cooking some dinner for everyone. Something easy and quick."

"I could help." Phoebe offered.

Prue smiled softly. "Uh...no offense, but your cooking skills don't exactly excel over the next few years." She replied with a grin.

"That's a shocker." Piper's voice came from behind them and they turned where they sat to see her standing behind them, arms crossed with a look of amusement on her face. "I can help, if you'd like."

"That'd be awesome, Piper." Prue pushed herself up off the cold concrete, dusting her legs off. She looked down at the past version of her mother and smiled softly, offering her hand. "Want to come with us? We can all get to know each other a bit better?"

Phoebe smiled back up at her and grasped her hand. Tears again shined in Prue's eyes at the feel of her mother's hand but she swallowed it down as Phoebe stood up with a nervous sigh. "I'd love to."

Chris and Leo returned shortly before the food was on the table. There weren't many people left at the P3 location; just the immediate family, and Bianca, who had managed to hang back and let the family drama unfold in front of her. When the father and son reappeared, she exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Chris, very much aware of all the eyes on him, ignored the gazes and moved toward her, intertwining his fingers in hers. She squeezed his hand and he lowered his head to her shoulder, letting his head rest in her neck, breathing her in.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, softly enough for only him to hear. He shook his head but kept silent; still, she knew, he meant that it was him who should be apologizing.

"Are you hungry, Chris?" Piper's voice came soft and hesitant, torn between not wanting to interrupt the moment, but needing to know he was okay.

He raised his head from his fiance's neck, and looked at his mother; her breath caught in her throat at his forlorn expression. He shook his head and swallowed. "I want to see him."

Leo opened his mouth to suggest that what Chris needed after this day was food, but clamped it shut at Piper's sharp look. Bianca squeezed his hand. "Come on. He's in a private chamber."

Along with many of the other mystically formed extensions of the club were rooms for storage-and for mourning. As the body counts rose, there wasn't enough time to put everyone to rest at once, so there were a few rooms constructed to hold the bodies of the dead so that they would be kept until they could be buried.

The room was cold that they entered, but it wasn't why Chris shivered. Bianca closed the door behind them, releasing her hold on his hand as he walked toward the prone body on the table, freshly washed and clothed. He swallowed hard. "He just looks like he's sleeping, doesn't he?" He whispered, reaching out to touch his cousin's face. At the cold, stiff reception, he jerked back as if burned, choking on a sob. He bent beside a half empty wash bucket and dry heaved into it, strings of bile and spit falling from his lips. He swiped them away with a growl.

"Chris..." Bianca walked to him and reached out but he shrugged her off.

"I'm okay...I'm...i'm okay." He reassured, straightening, holding his hands up. "It was just...I mean, believe me, I know he's gone its just..." His gaze fell again on him. "He just looks like he's sleeping."

She placed a comforting hand on his back and rubbed it in a comforting way, until his shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. "Tomorrow at dusk then?"

"I think everyone was waiting for you."

He cursed. "Tomorrow at dusk then." He repeated gravelly. "Can I have a few moments?"

"Yeah...of course babe. I'll spread the word?"

He nodded his approval, and she left without him turning to watch her leave. He eyes never left his cousin's face. Now alone, his eyes filled again.

"Oh Park." He breathed out, voice shaky. "I'm so sorry."

Dusk came too quickly. They awoke late the next morning, the emotional toll of the day before keeping everyone in bed until early afternoon. The sisters and younger cousins took up the task of wrapping Parker in linens for the cremation while a few small teams began to construct the funeral pyre on the shore of San Fransisco Bay, the skeletal remains of the city landmark looming behind them as a haunting reminder of what hung in the balance.

Chris needed no reminder. As late afternoon drew near, he forced himself to keep it together as they headed down as a family to the bayside. There weren't many; there had been too many lives lost the day before, individual families were having their own ceremonies much like this one. He laughed darkly; merciful Lord Wyatt, he mused inwardly. As least he let them have their funerals.

He lit the funeral pyre in the setting light, the twigs and branches catching alight with amber's and oranges that ignited the faces of the mourners as the sun dipped below the horizon. Chris felt a twist in his gut; Parker loved the sunsets on the bay.

He said it made him hopeful for the future.

He turned to the others, his family and some close friends. "This ends. Tomorrow." He faced his mother and his aunts, determination on his face. "We're gonna get you home, tomorrow, no matter what, and you are gonna keep this from happening. This ends tomorrow." He repeated, snuffing out the incendiary and throwing it on the pyre before turning and stalking off, aware of all eyes on him.

For the first time since they'd arrived, Piper didn't know which son she was more afraid for. The thought would haunt her forever.