The first thing he thinks when he hears about it is: Finally, justice. And then he wonders what kind of brother he is.
"Alex is in trouble," his dad sighs a few unnoticed seconds after he hangs up the phone.
"What else is new?" Justin snorts. He tries to stop himself from imagining terrible things.
His mother doesn't have to hide her worry. "What kind of trouble?"
"She's been arrested."
Justin actually starts to choke on the apple he's chewing. Arrested? He never thought he would have to bail her out of jail. He knows he's said otherwise, but he has always thought his sister smart enough to know where the line was.
His parents stop talking when Justin is halfway to the door with his wallet in hand. "Justin," his mother halts him, her voice as puzzled as he is. "Where are you going?"
"To bail Alex out." Obviously. Was there something better to do?
"But, mijo, we're her parents." They're staring at him kind of like they do when Max does something incomprehensible.
Justin stares at them in the same way before it hits him that they mean to get Alex out of jail. It's like he's been hit over the head because he hurts and it feels wrong and it pisses him off. Saving Alex is his job. That's what he does. It's in the job description for Alex's Big Brother. Where were they when she nearly lost her powers, or when she almost destroyed their family, or whenever she made a mess of it? Not there. But he was. He was always there. Being there for her is all he knows how to do.
x
In the end, Theresa stays home with Max while Jerry and Justin go for Alex. The cab ride to the precinct is expensive, but Justin knows that Alex will pay for every last cent in the next few months. It's eleven o'clock at night and the building itself is packed. While asking for Alex Russo, they're standing uncomfortably close to more criminals than can be found on the average New York block. Jerry does the talking, and Justin does the staring.
There's a woman at a desk some ways away. Her hair is black and styled, she's slouched into a position of indifference, and she's filing her nails despite the restrictions of the handcuffs on her wrists. He tries not to make the comparisons in his mind. The woman glances up, stares back at him with big brown eyes for just a few seconds, and then this lazy, mischievous grin creeps onto her face and she gives a tiny, unapologetic shrug.
Justin jerks his gaze away, feeling like he just woke up from a nightmare only to find himself in another, and he follows Jerry.
x
When they see her, she looks small and lost and kind of like she's half-drowned except she isn't wet. When she sees them, she smiles a little and it seems like a bad time for a smile but it's not meant to be anything but a reflexive thank-God-you're-here kind of smile.
Jerry sorts everything out, flustered and embarrassed, and Justin and Alex watch him, standing side-by-side, silently. They don't look at each other. Not even on the way home. Jerry has plenty to say though. Justin doesn't think he stops to breathe for thirty minutes.
The cab halts in front of their shop, and Jerry slams his way into the building without looking back at his kids. Avoiding her fate, Alex lingers at the door, and Justin waits patiently.
"I don't need you," she mutters as he holds the door open for her.
x
It's late and Justin is studying. It's a Friday night but he doesn't know what else to do with himself. He's reading about Heisenberg's uncertainty principle when she lets herself into his room.
Justin doesn't bother to yell at her for not knocking. That ritual seems to belong to some other life.
"Why'd you go with dad to—to pick me up?" she whispers. It doesn't sound like a whisper. It's low and intense and it fills the room like the moonlight and she may as well have shouted.
"I—" he says. Then thinks. "It's what I do."
She stares at him. Her brown eyes look black in this light and they're deep and meaningful and he's falling, falling, falling… "Okay." She blinks and nods and is gone.
The word thanks kind of lingers in the air like her perfume or a dream from three nights ago or a thought that is never quite conceived.