Canaries In The Mines

Chapter Seven

A/N: Long time no see. Yeah, I'm still writing this. Just uh, for reference, I started this fic a looooong time ago, plotting everything out at the beginning. I always assumed Alex would end up the family wizard, but for creativity's sake, I wanted to write a story where it was Max. Obviously that didn't happen irl, but I'm still applying it to this fic, so please don't message me saying my meta is wrong. Trust me, I know.

-Justin-

Justin kind of hated Miley.

Sure, she was nice. She was sweet. All Southern Hospitality with a little bit of feisty thrown in. And he vaguely remembered meeting her once before, or- well, that whole Tipton cruise was hazy, but man, it was kind of cool that he'd met Hannah Montana. He'd lived with famous people for about six months now, but none of them were nearly so pretty.

He also hadn't hidden any of their albums under his mattress during his formative teenage years.

But the problem with Miley was that she seemed to have a mission. And that was to hook up with Oliver in every single room in the apartment.

It was sickening.

Voyeurism was all very well and good on paper and in porn, but not so much when it involved friends that held zero sexual appeal to Justin. He'd taken to hiding out in Oliver's room because it was almost guaranteed to be the one place that Oliver and Miley wouldn't be, having already conquered every viable surface days ago. Today, Justin had already managed to bump into the lovebirds in the bathroom, the kitchen, and in a brief glimpse on the fire escape.

Apparently their love could not be contained merely to the apartment anymore.

Justin was currently settled on Oliver's futon, viciously punching buttons on an Xbox controller. His brain was half occupied with alien killing and half wondering if he'd ever be able to eat in the kitchen again after witnessing Miley's shapely thighs wrapped around Oliver's hips while they attempted to eat each other's faces off.

Tripp was kicking his ass.

And proclaiming it loudly to the blank walls.

"I'm pounding you so hard, Russo, your mom must be feeling it in the womb."

"Dude, mom jokes are not cool."

"Your face isn't cool," Tripp mocked, executing a perfect shot on some poor, guileless alien whose head exploded like a ripe melon.

The door creaked open, and both of them froze, hoping they weren't about to see anything that involved nudity.

They both breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out to be Kendall.

"Where's Joe?" Kendall asked, plopping down besides Tripp on the futon.

Tripp replied, "I think Nick dragged him to some big PR event in Times Square. Or ESPN Sports Center. He gets equally excited about both."

Kendall made a face and said, "Freak. ESPN Sports Center is so much better than dealing with the sharks."

"ESPN Sports Center is lame," Justin said, chucking a chip at Kendall's face.

"Right, because you'd rather go to the Museum of Natural History," Kendall grumbled under his breath.

"There is nothing wrong with learning the history of the Earth."

"The place smells like dead things. It is a carcass museum," Kendall declared.

"Knock knock." All three of them froze at the sound of Oliver's voice. His head popped into his room, hair mussed, mouth the color of fruit punch. "You guys are hording the snacks. It is not healthy behavior."

Tripp hugged a bag of Doritos against his chest and said something mean. Kendall snorted into his drink.

Justin was infinitely more diplomatic.

"Look, nothing against your girlfriend, but doesn't she have a job to do? Somewhere that is not here?"

Oliver stared at him. And then he said, "See, when you talk now all I hear is the sound of the bitter and alone."

"He can't be reasoned with," Justin told Tripp.

"I know. Take your infectious happiness elsewhere. Go on, you. Shoo."

"You know this is my room? I'll be coming back eventually," Oliver warned. He grinned a bit ominously, grabbing a bag of chips and retreating to the living room.

"I'm jealous of him." Tripp groaned, and after a second he seemed to realize he'd said so out loud.

"Yeah, me too," Kendall agreed in a rush, Justin joining in with an accordant, "Yep."

"Want to take out our aggression on three dimensional zombies?" Tripp held up a game still wrapped in shiny plastic and continued, "They say the dripping blood almost looks real."

"I'm in."

Justin for sure hated the subway.

He grew up in New York City, but something about being underground made him uncomfortable, like one day he'd walk up the platform stairs and see the entire city collapsed on top of him. And then there was the smell; piss and engine grease, all hot and curling up in his nostrils.

In high school, he used to use magic to avoid taking the subway whenever he could. Now he had no choice. Justin sank into an empty plastic chair and sighed.

Magic.

It wasn't something he thought about often.

Mostly because it wasn't something he had, anymore.

It still lived dormant in his veins, an itch he could never quite scratch. He missed it more than he cared to admit. The way the other guys felt about music? That was how he'd felt about his powers, once.

For the longest time, the idea of having them ripped free was the most terrifying thing he could think of, until it actually happened, and Justin learned that there was so much more to be scared of. Like a pretty girl with dark doe eyes and caustic wit and a smile that lit up his insides brighter than any spell could.

His dad had called, again. Skipping out on dinner last Friday had earned Justin an hour of yelling that made him feel exactly like a kid again. He wondered if all parents had that mortifying effect on their children, or if it was just his. Justin had a second invite to dine with the Russo's now, and it wasn't optional. He hummed a funeral dirge on the path back to his family's apartment, dragging his feet right up until he was at the front door.

Justin wasn't ready for this, and he knew it, but it wasn't really like he had a choice. Avoiding home was getting older than old, and he was running out of excuses.

He knocked once, then twice, and then remembered that he had a key, somewhere. Justin dug around in the depths of his jeans pockets, shifting receipts and his Metro card, an empty gum wrapper and the hard curve of a guitar pick that Tripp told him to hold and promptly forgot about.

No key.

Justin shifted from foot to foot and wondered if he should knock again, but he was spared the indignity in favor of the awkward. The door swung open.

"Hey. Um. Come in," Max stepped back, looking shy and out of place in the doorway of their apartment. He'd been weirdly vulnerable ever since they accidentally turned him into a little girl, childishness seeping back into his posture even as he began to look more and more like a man. Which is to say, his body language didn't necessarily mean anything.

It still made Justin feel guilty and uncomfortable, like maybe his skin was on wrong. He hoped desperately that he hadn't done this to his little brother, marginalizing him somehow by forcing him blindly between a rock and a hard place.

"How're you doing, Max?" Justin shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, for lack of anything better to do with them.

"You'd probably know if you came by every once in a while," Max returned.

A defensive reply leapt to Justin's tongue, ready to explain it all away.

Then he spotted Alex.

She was curled up on the couch, knees tucked under her body, a fashion magazine propped in her hands, and suddenly he was right back in high school again. Even across the room, Justin could taste her perfume on his tongue.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Max called, obviously done waiting for a response.

Alex's head snapped up. She blinked. "You're here."

There was no sudden rush of affection on her face. There was nothing, except for that slight hint of surprise, and Justin didn't even know what he expected.

"Where else would I be?"

"According to Max?" Alex snapped the magazine shut, eyelashes sooty in the pale afternoon sunlight, every angle of her face as familiar as the back of Justin's hand. "Not here."

"I've been busy."

"So I've heard." She didn't exactly sound impressed.

"It doesn't mean I'd miss, uh, this," Justin told her lamely, unsure what this is other than one huge familial guilt trip.

"Oh, sure. Sorry, I didn't think you'd be able to get your head out of your ass long enough to-"

Max swept in and saved the day. "Could you guys try to get along for five seconds? Please?"

"Max," Alex said, sounding stunned.

He used to stay out of their arguments. Not anymore, apparently.

Max turned on Justin and said, "She's right though. If you didn't want to come to dinner, Justin, you shouldn't have. God knows you've been ignoring me every time I asked. We don't need you around."

Justin stared. He vaguely remembered Joe saying something about Max showing up at the house last week, but-

"Max, it's not your fault."

"Not my fault that my brother and sister never want to come home? Right. Yeah. I believe that."

Alex cut in softly, "Max, no," reaching out for him. Max whirled on her, anger breaking over his face.

"Then what? What other reason is there?"

Justin forced himself to look at Alex, and she seemed genuinely speechless. He sure as hell was. He'd known acting like he didn't have a family for all this time was wrong, but he'd only thought about it in the abstract. Hurting someone, anyone, Max, had definitely not been a part of the plan.

"Look. You're our little brother. We love you," Justin told him, and that was one thing he was absolutely sure of. No matter how fucked his head was, or how he felt about Alex right now, he'd always, always love them both, unconditionally.

Alex laced her arm a little uncertainly around Max's waist. "Hey, why don't we…let's have dinner. You can sit next to me."

Justin stared, realizing that she was still learning kindness, after all this time. It was almost sweet, watching her fumble for the right things to say and do when it came to Max. And it was almost bittersweet, how neither she nor Justin could quite bring themselves to say I'm sorry.

Dinner was awkward, punctuated with sentences like, "Tell Justin to pass the salt," and their dad returning, "Tell him yourself."

Their mom shook her head across the table, the lines on her face deeper than Justin remembered. "Don't get involved, Jerry."

Justin wasn't sure if any actual family bonding went on, too focused on the stony set to Max's mouth and the way Alex's knee accidentally brushed his beneath the table. This was a very, very special kind of hell.

Finally, somewhere over the strawberry shortcake their mom whipped up for dessert, Max asked, "What's it like living with all those musicians when you can't play an instrument?"

It was the first question he'd aimed directly at Justin since their actual entrée left the stove, and everyone at the table pantomimed their surprise.

Their mom's eyes widened marginally.

Their dad dropped his glass of water.

Alex's hand slipped, fork screeching along the rim of her plate.

"I will have you know I am so musically inclined," Justin said, his outrage on autopilot, but a warmth creeping beneath his ribcage. "I am a skilled flautist."

Max snorted, "Yeah. Have you told your house full of rockstars that?"

"Not yet."

"I wouldn't. Trust me on this one." Max returned to his strawberries, stuffing his mouth with the speed and utter lack of grace that only a teenage boy can really master.

Tentatively, Alex said, "You know, you're not all that bad on the drums. It wouldn't be so embarrassing if you told them that."

Justin smiled at her, albeit, a little weakly.

Alex positively beamed in reply.

But he probably should have known things couldn't be fixed just like that.

She cornered him after all the dishes were freshly washed, fire in her eyes. Justin's fingers twitched for a wand, but in his hands it wouldn't be anything more than a stick of wood, and there was no real magic spell that would make that look on Alex's face okay anyway.

Teeth gritted, jaw set, Alex announced, "Max forgives things too easily."

"Probably," Justin agreed, because it was true. Their baby brother had no idea how to hold a real grudge.

"Why are you even still here?" Alex demanded, paying no mind to how loud or shrill she was getting. Their parents were already in bed, growing lazy boring in their old age, while Max had checked out for homework. The bright, familiar expanse of their open plan kitchen-living room was a barren battleground. "Not ready to head back to your bachelor pad? Uh oh." Alex's lips turned up slyly. "Trouble in paradise?"

Justin flapped a hand in the air noncommittally. "Nothing like that."

"Then why aren't you scampering off to your hidey hole?"

Justin shrugged. "Oliver got a new girlfriend. They're hooking up like it's going out of style. I'm not eager to be mistaken for a futon."

A muscle jumped in Alex's jaw. She was gearing up for a fight. Justin braced himself.

"Can I ask you something?"

He kicked back against the couch, exhaling hard. "You're going to anyway."

"Yeah, sure, fine. What did I do to you that's so horrible that you don't want to be around me anymore?" Alex crossed her arms. "That's what this is, right, Justin? Everyone else is getting punished because you're avoiding me."

His mouth dropped open.

Justin wanted to tell her not to be ridiculous, because she'd been gone, in Tunisia or Uzbekistan or Ukraine, always somewhere newer and exciting and further away than before. Her absence didn't excuse his, but the accusation ended up slipping out anyway, "Who's really avoiding who?"

"Pardon?"

"You're the one jetting off to the opposite end of the world." He sounded sulkier than he wanted to.

"For work!" She shook her head, curls bouncing over her shoulders, dark eyes flashing. "At least I have a real excuse. What do you even do all day other than interrupt your friends' love lives?"

"The usual. Play video games. Plot world domination." The joke was weak, but Justin was torn. He hated conflict, but that was where he and Alex seemed to thrive. Just to piss her off, he tacked on, "I'm learning to knit."

"Really? I didn't know that. Maybe because you never call."

Ouch. True. True, but hurtful. Justin retorted, "We talk when I can."

"That's the problem," Alex exploded. A younger version of her would have stomped her foot. His grown up baby sister didn't go that far, her only outward concessions to fury the volume of her voice and the balling of her fists. "You always used to be there for me, no matter what. Now you're there when you can be. Why do you hate me so much?"

Justin's stomach was a hollow pit, it's only occupant a cold lump of self-loathing. The only person he hated right then was himself.

"Alex, you're being ridiculous, I don't-" He ducked as a book nearly hit him full on in the face. Her aim had gotten way better. "If you're going to be like this, I'm leaving."

"No! Stop walking away from me!" She shouted the words, only realizing how loud they'd gotten as her voiced echoed back off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. Alex bit her lip, gathering calm around her. In a more subdued tone, she said, "We used to be so close. I don't get what I did wrong."

Which basically stopped Justin in his tracks, because Alex wasn't the kind of girl who ever admitted she could do anything wrong.

And she didn't this time, besides.

"Don't say that. You didn't- you haven't. It's not your fault." He took her hand, even though it hurt. Everything he'd ever learned about right and wrong evaporated in the face of his sister's self-doubt. Instinct took over.

He'd only ever wanted to protect Alex. Not to break her. He wasn't that monstrous.

She asked, "Then why do you keep avoiding me?" Her eyes were peppered through with gold flecks, this close. Justin had forgotten that.

Alex prompted, "What can I do to fix it?"

Her lips were shiny, glossed over hard candy, pleading with him.

"Tell me," she commanded, and what was he supposed to do? What he could he possibly say to make her understand?

"Justin, please-"

He couldn't take it. He just wasn't this strong. Justin pulled Alex stumbling towards him, crushing their mouths together.

She didn't pull away, but she didn't kiss back, either. As seconds ticked by, one, two, Justin gently put his hands on his little sister's shoulders and pushed her back, only slightly. And then he said, "I'm sorry. I just can't be around you."

He imagined she didn't really want to be around him, either, or wouldn't, once she was able to stop looking at him in wide-eyed shock. He tried to maneuver around her, towards the door. This was probably the last family dinner he'd be attending for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to yell out a goodbye for his parents or Max.

They were used to his flakiness. They'd forgive him, eventually.

Justin made it about halfway to the door before he heard, "Justin, wait," and Alex was holding his arm.

He tried to shake her grip, but all that ended up doing was force her to stumble forward, right into his chest. She peered up at him with her big brown eyes, and to his massive surprise, she didn't look all that horrified. The expression Alex wore was different. Curious. Interested.

Justin stared down at her, horror growing in his chest, because this wasn't- he'd sworn he wouldn't let this happen. He was her big brother. He had to protect her.

Even from himself.

But her big, dark eyes were locked with his, and Justin felt the hum of his pulse kick up to a roar in his ears. She was standing on her tiptoes, and he was leaning down and this time, her lips moved against his.

"Justin," Alex breathed against his mouth, and he yanked back.

"No. No. Absolutely not. No," Justin babbled, gaze fixed determinedly on their sofa, because Alex was not on their sofa, and if his eyes fell back on her he would not be able to figure out what he'd done with all his common sense. It had to be around here somewhere.

"Justin, stop." Alex's fingers were still curled against his elbow, her red-painted nails gouging into his skins. "Don't freak out."

"Too late," he retorted, hyperventilating. "This is not what you want. You should definitely not do that again."

Alex scowled. Justin could hear it in her voice when she snapped, "You don't get to make my choices for me. You don't get to tell me what I want."

"I'm your big brother," Justin yelped back, and hey, that was exactly the problem. The sofa was not all that enthralling, but he couldn't face whatever was on her face. Could. Not. "Trust me, Alex, I know what's best for you, and this is definitely not it."

Alex apparently didn't find their furniture all that enchanting either. She tugged his chin down until he had to meet her stare or squeeze his eyes shut to avoid it. She was magnetic; the former option won out.

Steadily, she told him, "I get to decide that."

"This is fucked up," Justin moaned, because it was the constant mantra that kept him awake at night; it was nice to finally say it out loud. He loved Alex too much to let her suffer the way he had for all these years. Even if she thought she knew better, she didn't. She couldn't.

Leaning in so close that Justin could taste her breath, Alex instructed, "Kiss me."

"Alex-"

"Kiss me."

"But-"

"Are you going to kiss me, or not?"

"Not," Justin opted, choking on how much he wanted to do the opposite and agree. "Don't you get how wrong this is?"

Alex rocked back on her heels. She said, "I know that I love you. I know that I've spent the past few years miserable, without you. And I know that we're happiest when we're together. How can that really be wrong, Justin?"

Justin didn't actually have an answer for that.

Alex's fingers against his jaw turned soft, pliant, caressing. She begged, "Kiss me again, then tell me we can't make this work."

His dad always told him not to say no to a lady's request. Justin bent down, brushing his mouth against hers. It was soft, and it was sweet, and whether it was wrong or right, in that moment he knew one thing for certain.

Alex in his arms was better than magic.

A/N: Next chapter is Kendall, and will hopefully not take a year? BTR angst is basically my homebase, so, uh, yeah, should be soonish. Thanks to everyone who continues to read/review this crazy whirligig of fun (crack) here.