A/N: This is the last chapter. I thank you all for sticking with this story the whole time. You guys are awesome!

The recess from the court is tearing me apart. Mitchie and I are alone in the bathroom, her leaning against the wall and me sitting on the sink. We haven't spoken since we got in here, and I think she's waiting for me to make the first move. This new development rips my soul into little bits and sprinkles them over the bathroom floor in such a way that I can't tell the difference between them and the tiles. I have stopped crying now because it doesn't seem like something I should be crying over, more like something I should be thinking over. I mean, he's Justin. He's an asshat who abandoned me as a small child to fend for myself. Which made me the Alex Russo I am today- definitely an accomplishment I am proud of. And then he's been trying to help us all these years. But I don't know why he needed to be an overachiever to bring our family back together all in one piece. So, I ask the resident people-person: Mitchie.

"To give you something to bond over," she immediately snaps out with. "I've been thinking on it, since he said it. I think he was trying to bring your family together by giving you something to be proud of, so everyone could say, 'Look at those Russos. They have a great son, and they're all a family.' Granted, a bit misguided, but he was trying. More than your parents ever did."

I hop down from the counter, tripping into her waiting arms. "I know... Maybe this will be over soon, and I'll get to talk to him. I'll make it better."

"That's my girl."

The moment we get back to the courtroom, the defense requests another day. They want to fiddle with the evidence some more, fix the damage that Justin's testimony had done. And to be honest, I feel just numb enough not to wonder what will happen to him now. They probably can prove somehow that Timothy held him back from attacking Damien, though I don't know if our side can prove that Rosslyn convinced Damien to use the gun. Judge Montoya grants them the delay, she herself still clearly shocked by what my brother said. I let my emotions swirl through my blood, let them ride upon each and every nerve as though it were a delightful ride. This makes me feel no better and no worse as we all begin an exhausted car ride back to Tom's house.

Even though it's dinnertime, no one wants to eat. Pasta is cooked and set out in dishes for myself and Mitchie, but neither of us bother touching it. Mitchie sits with her hands folded neatly on her lap as I pick at the spaghetti with my fork. Margaret and Tom leave us at the table, telling us to cook whatever we feel like. I know that they're going to sit on the old swing in Tom's backyard, talk some shit out, and I don't want to be there when that happens. But I don't want to be here, either.

Antsy, I drop my fork to the table with a clang and push the chair out with too much force.

Mitchie, ever the good girlfriend, stares at me with concerned eyes. "What's wrong, Alex?"

"Nothing," I grumble. "I just want to go for a walk. Come with me." The last sentence is more of me begging and less of an angry tone than the other, so much more heart put into it.

Without saying anything the two of us set out down the little road through Tom's secluded suburban neighborhood. No words are exchanged for the first ten minutes or so of the walk as I just tried to come down from the high I received from this whole trial. Not like an amazingly awesome high, but more of a high where the world swirls around me and I can't quite tell which way's up and which way's down. I can walk just fine, but once again I hardly know what's going on in my life. So much has been feeling like that recently, entire chunks of my life that I see as though I were watching a film and not like I was there. Justin's testimony is throwing me through an endless loop, a succession of complications that I can't explain. Bits and pieces of my body take sides of varying degree over the issue and I don't know which ones are right. Torn and detached, I feel like dying.

"Why is it always easier to hate than to love?" I ask it aloud, hoping Mitchie will have a brilliant, mind-blowing explanation.

She doesn't. She has on of those cryptic ones she whips out all the time. "Love takes effort; it's much harder to find something to love about someone than to find a singular trait you dislike, which is enough to hate someone. People just are that way."

"But what about when it changes? Like, you hate someone, and then they give you a reason to love them."

"When hate is real, it can be way too strong to overcome sometimes. Other times, love is stronger. It's too hard to tell which cases will end up which way," Mitchie tells me, my face still way too moody for its own good.

"You believe it, though," I whisper quietly. "You believe that everything's going to be alright, no matter what."

Mitchie shrugs at me as though her thought-system is totally normal, something I shouldn't even need to question. "And?"

"How do you do that? How do you always know? Do you, like, pray for miracles or something? Do you still believe in God after all this time?" I would find it difficult to buy into this idea, but then again I find it hard to buy into the idea that she could possibly have faith in anything.

"When things got that bad, there was never another option," Mitchie mutters like she's embarrassed to admit that weakness out loud. "If I didn't have faith that somehow things would get better, I wouldn't be standing here today." And neither would I, probably. What a scary idea, how thoughts can change lives so much. "I don't have faith in anything in particular, I don't believe in the Christian God or any of the other ones Margaret told us about."

"Then what do you believe in? Like, who gives you this massive amount of faith?"

Befuddled, Mitchie turns to face me. "You know, I really don't have a clue. But whatever it is, it gets me through." I nod, not being able to concoct a better explanation for that. I only hoped that her faith could see me through this trial.

The trial starts up fresh the next morning and I put on a strong front. I don't feel strong. Pointless testimonies from Todd, Rosslyn, Damien and all of them take up hours and I just sit on my butt, listening. It's fairly clear from the mumblings and the shoddy evidence presented by the defense that we're going to win on all counts, except for possibly Justin. The defense shows up with a photo taken just after they raided the camp showing large bruises on his arms that a forensic scientist tells us are consistent with the type of bruising Justin would have sustained from being forcibly held the way he was. I can't find it in myself to care. There's just something about this- I need confirmation of his new found personality, I need to see what I saw when we were kids come back into his eyes. I need to know that he's Justin again.

Agonizing hours tick by as I watch the people testify on the stand, trying to save themselves. They shouldn't even bother. The verdict was decided when we got into the courthouse this morning. Mitchie occasionally whispers comments in my ear, but I find it hard to concentrate on anyone who isn't Justin. He's so afraid of going to jail or wherever it is they send kids, the fear plain on his face. At least he isn't trying to hide anymore. The surprise of the trial comes when Rosslyn admits to giving Damien the gun.

Mark's been dancing around the question for a while now, but Rosslyn doesn't give him anything. This is his last ditch attempt. "So did you give Damien the gun?"

As though shocked he would ever doubt this, Rosslyn recoils. "Of course I did!" Her shock radiates throughout the courtroom, and I know that even in her darkest hour she is still putting on an act to impress us all. If I didn't fucking hate her so much, I would feel bad for her. "And I will not hesitate to admit it, no matter what the consequences! This is God's work, and I will continue to do to! I will not lie in the eyes of the Lord!" Her fiery little words inflame me, almost triggering another one of my anger fits. Mitchie's there to save me again with another kiss on my neck. The way my body responds to hers is so calming it would be freaky if I didn't absolutely love it so much.

Immediately, the stoic woman on the defense's team bolts up. "My client has entered a plea bargain!"

Rosslyn turns to the woman with a face. "A what?"

"Accepted," Judge Montoya says in the background. And there goes the end of the trial. The one question mark has been answered, and we all know how the rest of the trial will go. Mark faces us to give a brief two thumbs up before looking at the judge.

"Your Honor, the prosecution would like to rest its case." No one is really surprised at this, though they probably should be since this is a really short trial by Tom's standards.

Stunned, Judge Montoya replies, "OK... If you would both make your closing statements..."

The closing statements aren't even worth mentioning: Henry recounts the key evidence from the trial while the woman on the defense makes a final effort, mostly to get Justin off as he pretty much handed everyone else their sentences on a silver platter and Rosslyn entered a plea bargain. So the jury leaves to deliberate, and I still feel nothing. I can't understand why I'm so nonchalant about this; it all feels so surreal. I'm thinking that I'll snap out of this zombie phase the moment I see Justin outside of this stuffy room, and we get the chance to mend our relationship. Maybe then I'll become human again.

"You OK, Alex?" Mitchie asks. I can tell by the darkness under her eyes that the stress is getting to her, that's she so worried about the outcome of this trial and her parents' later. But there is still that strange little light shining in her eyes that I don't think will ever go out.

"Yeah. I feel kind of numb, actually. You?"

"I'm scared," she admits as though it's a big secret.

I kiss her behind the ear and smile cornily at her. "Have a little faith." She hits me playfully on the arm and then we return to silence. There is nothing more to discuss because at this moment nothing else matters but the outcome of this trial. My brain should be racing right now, but it's not. Yesterday's high still dominates my thought process and nothing registers with me, save for the blatant tears on Justin's face.

And not more than a half an hour later, the jurors return. The lead juror stands to read the comments and sentences of the jury as everyone stares at her as though their lives depend upon it. "The jury finds Damien Rutgers, Rosslyn Grey, Todd Hastings, and Timothy Jameson guilty on all counts. The jury also finds Justin Russo to be cleared of all charges and proclaimed innocent." I should be filled with intense jubilation as the entire courtroom erupts into shouts and Judge Montoya's pleas for order are lost in the circus. But all I can feel is the warmth of Mitchie hugging me tightly, crying, "It's over, it's over."

"Yeah. Let's go." I am filled with a sudden urge to locate Justin and play for him the reel of emotions I've been having since this thing started. We don't have to go far as he's leaning against the side of the room below a window. "Justin..." I'm unsure of what to say as the worlds comes back to me, filling me up with its love and hate and joy and fear and sadness and anger and forgiveness.

"Lucky me, huh? I'm free." He doesn't sound happy. "Here to pound on me for killing our brother? Because I deserve it."

The shared, yet morbid, connection we obtain over Max's death is enough to push me into his waiting arms. "We both do, or maybe we both don't. But believe me- I know where you went." It's very strange to bond with your brother over suicide attempts, but I'll take what I can get right now. "Are you here, Justin, the boy I used to know?"

He's a thrown off-guard by the question as I am; I can tell by the shift in his body but his words come out instantly. "Yes. I'm here. I'm family. Because Mom and Dad aren't any more. It's you and me... Alex." The use of my preferred name is enough for us both to burst into tears and cling to each other desperately. I realize that though I've hugged Justin on multiple occasions for family events and propriety's sake, this is the first time I've held onto him as though he is my brother.

"Family... family's not blood, Justin," I ramble. My high has come down so quickly and I don't know what to do with all the excess emotion save for dressing it up as some pretty words. "I mean, that's part of it, but that's not the important part. It's... a feeling somewhere inside, that there's safety. That when you're here, you're home."

He releases me at this just so he can stare me straight in the eyes, and it's in his eyes that I see my brother again. "I know."

Mitchie takes this as the appropriate time to kiss me on the cheek and engulf me in a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Alex. I love you."

"I love you, too." Tears are pouring down my cheeks, but I don't care. None of us do anymore.

As we let go, I can see that Justin senses the deeper nature of our relationship. Confused and out of his element, he somehow finds it in himself to simply shrug and say, "I don't understand it, but I can accept it."

It is in that moment that all of my worries and doubts about Mitchie's parents, our adoption, Justin's life, my and Justin's relationship, and every other unsolved question in my tumultuous life suddenly doesn't matter. I feel the faith that has kept Mitchie going all these years, I get the sense that everything will be alright. So I guess I do have a little faith after all- because what is faith, really, but the belief in hope.