A/N: This is it you guys! The Liam showdown! Are you ready for some Callie badassery? Sorry I posted this a little later today, I didn't get to finish the scene yesterday and it took me a while to write it today! I hope it's up to your guys standards! Thanks for all the reviews, as always, and the anon reviewers! You're also appreciated even though I can't respond directly to you! Please keep reviewing and let me know how this episode was! I'm a little iffy about it but I don't wanna leave you hanging! Thanks as always :)

Episode 26

"Hey."

Brandon looks up from where he's cutting open a box with an exacto knife, mentally cursing himself for leaving such a hassle for himself. The short ride to his dad's house from his mom's was smooth enough to keep everything in place, but being the paranoid guy he is, he decided to thickly tape the boxes shut, providing a frustrating and avoidable waste of time. It could be the day's events that have him more riled up, but he really just wants to chuck the box against the wall.

He tries to compose himself for Jesus, who stands awkwardly in the doorway, seeming to struggle against the weight of his keyboard. Brandon's tone is clearly questioning his presence as he greets him in return, so he explains, "Your dad let me in."

"Ah," Brandon nods, a tad glum, and continues to slice through the multiple layers of packing tape. Without looking up again, he tells him, "You can set that down on the bed."

The bed. Jesus takes note of this and decides that since Brandon doesn't seem entirely happy to be here, or claim this room as his own, he should tread lightly. A comment about his father might be touchy, but he thinks pointing out something positive may breed more positivity. "Your dad looks good."

"Better," he corrects his brother while lifting open the box flaps, revealing about a dozen trophies and medals. He hopes this situation isn't permanent, but for the time being, he's going to need to surround himself with all the pleasant reminders he can. "He looks better, but not good."

Jesus shifts his weight back and forth, unsure if he should invite himself in, seeing as Brandon is not in the best mood. "Really? 'Cause to me he looks pretty health-"

"Why'd you bring my keyboard?" he asks, clearly tired of the subject, as he lines a couple shelves on the adjacent wall with the trophies. When he hears how he sounds and realizes that he's not exactly out of the woods for being such a petty dick to his brother, he adds a little nicer, "I mean, you didn't have to bring it, but thanks."

"Why didn't you bring it?" he asks in return, eyes still following his brother who refuses to look at him again as he moves about the room, digging through boxes for the stuff he decides he still wants out and the stuff he wonders why he brought in the first place, and placing them around randomly. "You're like the piano master, and you don't bring your piano with you."

He merely shrugs, chucking his bedding unintentionally on top of the keyboard, raising dust from even it's deepest crevices. He hasn't played it in a while and now it's obvious, but Jesus makes no further comment on it until he says, "I'm just tired of it. I need a break."

Jesus indulges him no longer, blurting very matter-of-factly, "Is this about Callie?"

Now he looks at him. Only it's with daggers for eyes.

But before Brandon can deny anything, Jesus has his hands up, almost as if for a truce, though when he beats his brother to speak first it's on the same subject. "Okay, dude, I saw you guys, alright? I didn't come just to bring your keyboard, I came to give you some advice."

"Saw us?" he repeats, not as if to say that there's no way he could've seen them together, but that there's multiple times they could've been seen together, and that he should elaborate, but something else has hit a nerve and he has to add, "And why would I take advice from my younger brother?"

"Because you're stupid," he says definitely, not to initiate some brotherly banter but to be real, "and you owe it to me to hear me out."

"Fine," Brandon's hands slap against his sides as he lets them hang there, slowing his nervous roll for a minute, "What are you talking about? Where did you see us?"

"Outside, before you left. I didn't mean to be nosy but I came downstairs to see if you needed any help and you two were necking. I'd really rather not have seen it, to be honest-"

"Look, if you're just going to tell me that we can't be together either, then I've heard it all before." he cuts him off, crossing his arms over his plaid button-up. "And if you're not, then get to the point."

"You're my brother," he reminds him, seeming to head down some strange sentimental path, to which Brandon raises an eyebrow, but Jesus goes on, "and if you found yourself in some situation where you had to choose between one person that'll love you and multiple people that'll love you, then I'd tell you to choose the second option, because, well, obviously-"

"Wait," he stops him, eager to clarify, "let me get this straight, you're saying we shouldn't be together?"

"No-"

"You should leave now before it gets dark."

"Brandon, wait," Jesus almost pleads, finally stepping into the room and blocking his brother from pushing past him out the door. "I'm not telling you what to do, I'm trying to say that I don't think Callie really knows the pros and cons of each choice, let alone that she has the choice at all, and it's kind of your job to make her aware of it."

"Why do you think I'm here right now, Jesus?" he snaps, unable to help the shout in his voice, "I moved out so that Callie could stay in the house! What else can I do to help her realize what she wants? Just being in that house with you guys, without me there, might be enough to sway her decision. And that scares me, obviously, but I'm not going to do anything about it. She doesn't want to see me right now and I'm going to respect that."

"Will you?"

It wasn't accusatory, really, though a bit inquisitive, but Brandon takes one big breath, exhales quietly, and cools down. "It'll be easier said than done but she's already got some new guy, anyway. Our kiss...just sealed the deal, I guess."

"Your kiss?"

Jesus flips around, takes one look between Brandon and his dad, and picks his skateboard up off the floor. "Yeah, I better be going now. See you."

"With Callie, right?" his dad goes on, though he doesn't seem to be particularly angry, and takes a seat on the foot of his bed. Brandon decides to go about his room again, avoiding eye contact, anyway. "That's what got you sent to this...prison, right?"

Brandon meets his eyes, which twinkle with amusement, but he can hear the truth in his words. "Dad, I have the right to be mad at you, and I have the right to not want to be here. Don't turn this on me."

"I'm still your father, Brandon," his tone takes a total a u-turn, seeing as Brandon simply wants to get down to business instead of brushing off their past differences, which would be the more practical thing to do in their current living arrangement. "And I have the right to punish you, especially when you talk to me as if I'm your son, not the other way around. What happened with Callie is a serious thing, I know you're a teenager but-"

"Just punish me then, yell at me, ground me, whatever," he interjects, starting to hang his shirts in the closet. "But don't start talking about Callie, I really can't hear another word about this whole thing."

"No, Brandon, this is a fresh start for us. We finally have the chance and the time to sit down and really work out our differences-"

"No, Dad," he mimics, completely aware of how disrespectful he's being, though it's nothing compared to the disrespect his father showed him when he tipped that bottle back until he knew no more, "you have the chance to hold me hostage while you spill lies about how you're doing better now, about how you're not drinking anymore."

His mouth opens but Brandon is on a roll now, a boulder down the hill fast. "First thing I did when I stepped into this house was check your cabinets, all of them, and what do I find? Alcohol, big surprise there."

"I haven't been drinking, Brandon! Those are old-"

"Likely story."

"Keeping them here helps with my self control, with my will power!"

"You can say what you want!" he bites out, silencing his father with the sharp edge of his voice, "You can say what you want but I'm not going to believe any of it. I just don't trust you anymore."

Words that a father never wants to hear. Words that nobody really ever wants to hear, but for a father, it's worse. Trust is born between a mother and child the moment they're birthed, and when they're old enough to know that this woman spent almost a year possibly in pain to give them life, they know that if she's willing to go through harm to save them from harm, she's willing to save them from harm, period. The bond is set in stone, it's written in books, it's visible on television. It's real life.

But for a father, it's different. Trust isn't born, it's earned. And if it's lost, it may be forever.

And this doesn't feel like reality anymore. "But, Brandon, you can trust me."

"You say that as if it's my choice to trust you or not," he says surprisingly quiet, and stops hanging his shirts for a minute to turn and look his father earnestly in the eyes. "If it was, I would trust you. I'd love to. But I can't. Everything about you...about what you say...it just screams false. Wrong."

Sticks and stones are nothing compared to this.

He stabs a hanger into another shirt while a knife stabs into his father's heart. "I don't like feeling like I can't count on you. I'd give anything to have my dad back...the one that was funny, and not just when he needed forgiveness, but when he just wanted to see me smile, when he wanted to give me something without anything in return...happiness."

"Brandon..."

"Now you just take." he says brusquely, finishing up the last of his shirts and kicking the empty box into the closet. When he turns back to his dad, he looks like he's expecting him to say more, but he can't see the blade that's just been driven deeper into his chest cavity. Brandon doesn't say anything else, so his dad finally stands, body suddenly aching, and says so undoubtedly that you'd think he'd seen it in the stars, "I'm going to get your trust back, Brandon. Just be open enough to let me prove it."

He heads for the door, and when he's just about through the threshold, he murmurs, "Oh, and whether or not you decide to respect this, you're grounded."

Brandon's pretty sure they both know the answer to this one.

"Hey, can I borrow a pencil?"

Mariana groans playfully and retrieves a pencil from the case on her desk, scolding, "Yesterday it was a piece of paper, today it's a pencil. What'll it be tomorrow? My desk?" Elijah takes the pencil from her with a grin but can see her gearing up for more, so he says nothing. "Really, though," she fixes him with a more serious look, "You need to come prepared. The teachers here really take it seriously."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Mariana, you need to lighten up a little bit. Have fun."

She looks away, her face falling. If only it were that easy...if only she had someone left to lighten up with, to have fun with. She tries her hardest, she does, but somehow she's ended up with a dead best friend, a brother that may as well be with the way he's shut her out, and a complicated relationship between her foster sister and her step brother that'll end the whole family as she knows it. They're already hanging on by a loose thread as it is, one more mishap will be the scissors to their family sweater.

"I wish I could." It slips out, and she immediately regrets her wandering mind. Why can't she just pretend she's a regular teenager, one that goes to parties, gets drunk on the weekend? She barely knows this kid, after all, and as much as she'd love someone to talk to, all she has left is a reputation and trashing her own family would be the end of that, too.

"You can." he chirps, blissfully unaware, and she faces him again. "I'm throwing a party this weekend at my house while my parents go back to our old town to get the last few things. I thought it'd be a good way to get to know everyone here, you know?"

She's obviously wary. "I don't know..."

"Come on!" he pleads, eyeing the teacher, who doesn't seem to mind the two of them talking, or the whole class, while they're supposed to be working. "You were one of my first friends, you'll be the guest of honor."

Then he's flashing her that brilliant smile that she can't resist. Deep down somewhere, she's still a teenager. A teenage girl, for that matter. "I guess...I mean..." she lowers her eyebrows when he starts to celebrate, perhaps a bit prematurely, "it's going to take some convincing for my moms. I'll have to lie."

He shrugs. "Then lie. Live a little."

"I'll try." she agrees, a mixture of hope and uncertainty washing over her eyes. How can she live when Lexi is dead? When everything around her is dying...when her old life, her strangely perfect old life, is dead? "But-"

"No buts," he demands, waving her own pencil in her face. "And make sure you invite all your friends."

That was the kicker.

"Party. My house. Saturday."

Callie springs up, not expecting the company, and nearly knocks over her open water bottle, catching it before it soaks the remainder of her lunch. Elijah doesn't even flinch, just looks amused as she leans away from the boy, who took it upon himself to sit as close as possible to her, despite the other three benches around the square lunch table. "Excuse me?"

Elijah chuckles. "I think I pretty much summed it up."

She shakes her head, as if to shake off her look of astonishment, before confessing, "Yeah, I know, but," she pauses and watches as he unwraps his own lunch, unfazed by the whole situation and his boorishness, and goes on, "Why are you inviting me?"

He shrugs, taking a bite of sandwich. "Because you showed me to my class."

"That doesn't mean-"

He swallows. "That's we're friends?"

She knows he's expecting her to deny this statement, but she doesn't. "Yeah, kinda."

He washes her chary and the rest of his sandwich down with water. "I thought we had a mutual agreement."

Callie can tell that he's not entirely serious, but she can barely fight the urge to push him off the bench. When she agreed to showing him around, it was more of a pity thing than a dependency thing, and if it were the latter, it was a one time thing. She sure as hell doesn't need another guy, especially not now. Even if she wanted it to work out, it wouldn't, because that's not how it goes. Not for her. "No, thanks."

His eyebrows furrow. "No thanks about being my friend or no thanks about the party?"

"Both." she replies easily, not missing a beat. "It's nothing personal." Yes it is. "I'm just happier alone, whether or not you choose to believe that, and parties aren't my thing. I can't really afford to be a part of that scene, anyway."

She hopes the vague implication will send him away, but he either doesn't notice it or chooses to ignore it, and continues to pester her. "Your sister Mariana is going, aren't you guys friends? Don't you guys do those sisterly things together?"

Callie stands and grabs her tray, not really feeling it necessary to give this guy any more of her time. Why should she care if he thinks she's rude? If he tells everyone that she's a bitch, a prude? She doesn't have the luxury of a first impression anymore, not when her dirty laundry is strewn across the school and everyone's favorite gossip will forever be how she ran away with 'that guy' Wyatt.

Wyatt. She almost has to laugh. She'd choose his sell-out ass over this guy any day.

"Wait, Callie," Elijah stands with her, as if to follow, "don't go, please come-"

She really should just stalk off now, but she can't help telling him off, for if she doesn't, he might never quit it. She flips around and grinds out quietly, "Don't you get it? Do you not hear what everyone says about me? I just got out of juvy and I'm on probation. I don't get to be young and stupid like all of you, so leave me alone. Everybody else does."

She doesn't wait for a reply, or his reaction, if he ever has any, and storms off, not sure where she is to go now.

Though it's not like she's ever had it any different.

She's with that guy again, the new kid. He came over and sat down right next to her like it was nothing, probably didn't even find it cute when she nearly knocked over her water bottle, clearly flustered. Or maybe he did. Either way, he doesn't like it.

And he knows he shouldn't feel this way about someone who could quite possibly become his sister in the future. And while he's not ever going to like seeing her with someone else, he needs to put in more effort.

But he can't tear his eyes away. She said she was just helping him out, but how long is it going to take him to memorize his schedule? He shouldn't hate the idea of her having friends- she needs friends- but this guy can't be one of them. Everything about him reeks of tool, of player.

In which case, wouldn't it be his duty to do something about this?

She stands and turns to leave, but he copies her and shouts something at her, looking pathetic. She turns back, looking cross, and appears to chew him out. What did he say to make her angry? He should do something-

Talya walks in front of him, temporarily blocking his view of the lunch table, though she's completely unaware of his presence. He does a double-take, back in forth between Callie and Talya, but the former is already taking off again, away from the guy. It's not his business now.

He can't stand feeling like this. Guilty, almost. What was it about Callie that made everything she said so real to him, so much more important than if he thought it himself? He cheated on Talya, and in the end, she had good reason to be on the defense. She went about it wrong, but he's not innocent. If Callie's going to make new relationships, he's going to need to fix old ones. Make peace.

"Talya, wait up."

He never thought he'd say that again.

She turns around, appearing perplexed, in her own right. Like she's just stepped into some alternate dimension.

He drifts forward while she waits there, sack lunch in hand, silent, sure that the second she opens her mouth, he'll be outta here. He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets. "Can we talk?"

He's about halfway home when it happens.

Had Brandon not left the house with a dead ipod battery this morning, he wouldn't be hearing the familiar truck roar as it pulls up behind him, giving him a chance to stop, spin around, and hold his ground before it's knocked out from underneath him. The sight of him makes him sick, not because he fears for what might happen to him, but because of what he's done to Callie, what he may have already done, what he may be going to do.

Liam barely has the car in park before he's flying out the door, storming towards Brandon, growling, "Where's your little liar girlfriend?"

He finds comfort in knowing that he hasn't already found Callie, but that won't stop him from trying. Maintaining composure as best he can, he says very calmly, not even flinching as he draws nearer, "Stay away from Callie, okay? We won't do anything, call anyone-"

Which is a load of B.S, and Liam knows it. "Where's that bitch?" he demands, snatching the collar of his shirt in his fist. "She nearly got me sent to prison for nothing, that bitch wanted it."

"Yeah, I bet that's why she took you to court, huh?" Brandon says through gritted teeth, seething with anger at this comment. His backpack slips off his shoulder and he wraps his fingers around one of Liam's wrists, simply trying to tear out of his grip, but Liam takes this as a cue to start quarreling and one of his fists reels back and hits Brandon square in the jaw, releasing him while sending him backwards.

He's on the grass now, trying to scramble to his feet while not looking too fazed by the shot, but his jaw is pounding and his stomach is suddenly nauseous. He can't make it to his feet again and he sits back, one arm holding his body up behind him and the other pressed to the injured bone. Liam looms above. "Go ahead and call the cops. I'll be at your house long before they do."

Liam charges back into his truck, which coughs and sputters pollution as he zooms off, and Brandon, left with only the notion that Liam is prepared and fearless to be arrested, and therefore will stop at nothing to hurt Callie, finds the strength that pulls him to his feet, and takes off sprinting home, dialing 911.

"Hey, so, I saw you at lunch today..."

Callie, without looking up from her mess of a math problem, replies absently, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Mariana says suggestively, notebook for her own homework in her lap, though the page remains blank, as long as she watches Callie doing her own work, "with Elijah...I didn't know you knew him?"

Callie sneers, setting down her work to set Mariana straight, who is clearly only asking because she's taken an interest in the kid. "I don't, and I don't plan on knowing him. I helped him around on his first day and now he thinks we're friends." She watches as her face seems to light up a bit, and even goes on further to say, for Mariana's benefit, "And the only reason I agreed in the first place was because I'm trying to stay away from your brother."

She cocks her head, feigning incertitude to get some elaboration out of Callie. "Jesus?"

"What? No," she shakes her head, focusing her attention back on her homework. She's so close to finding the solution. If only she was as good at life as she was at math. "Brandon, obviously."

Mariana's face falls again. "It's because of me, isn't it? Because of what I said?"

Without looking up again, Callie reassures, though she sounds tired and a little unconvincing as she does, "No, Mariana, you're...fine."

"Then..." Mariana can't help but continue on, though everything about Callie's body language tells her she wants to drop the subject. "Then why? Is it because you changed your mind? About being a part of the family?"

When she looks up again, she doesn't look so much opposed to her suggestion than she does dumbstruck. She can't say more, not because she doesn't actually have the answer to this, but because as she flounders at a loss of words, something is going on downstairs. They both perk up as the door slams.

They exchange concerned looks, Mariana offering, "My mom had a bad day, maybe?"

But suddenly Jude is screaming for Mariana, bloodcurdling and panicked and both girls fly off their beds, brains moving faster than their bodies as they reach the stairs, both nearly slipping as they try to reach Jude in time for whatever danger he's in.

But his face pales at the sight of his sister. "Callie, no," he whispers when she's halfway down the stairs, but it's too late, Liam has already seen her, and she's already seen him. Her heart picks up, but she refuses to give in to this fear. Not this time.

"I've been looking for you." Liam tells her, ignoring the other two kids in the room, but Callie has made every decision with her brother's safety in mind, and now she has Mariana to think about, and she's not letting all of her work go to waste, so she says, very unusually calm, "Jude, go to your room."

Liam adds, void of all emotion except contempt, "Aw, Jude, don't leave."

Jude is already obeying orders when Liam reaches out for his arm, but Callie slides in suddenly, grabbing Jude by the shoulders and demanding quietly and quickly, "Go to your room and don't come out, call 911-" Liam grabs her by the back of the neck, yanking her back before she can even push Jude on his way. He can't just walk away now while his sister is attacked before his own eyes, but Mariana grabs his arm at the bottom of the stairs and pushes him up, shouting, "Go!"

When he's out of sight, and his door can be heard slamming shut, Mariana runs up to where Liam is holding Callie at arms length, his hand still wrapped around the back of her neck, and punches him in the cheek. This is enough to release Callie but it does more damage to Mariana than it does to him, who gasps and clutches her already pounding hand. "Run!" Callie cries, but she hasn't even stepped into the living room when Liam snags the back of her shirt, pulling her back into the foyer.

Mariana looks back at her, demanding that she leaves too and call her mom, but she runs back at them. Liam, growing tired of having to fend off two when all he really wants to do is get Callie alone, lets go of Callie's shirt to grab a handful of Mariana's hair and chucks her out of the way. She squeals as she crashes into a wall, knocking over the barrel of umbrellas by the door. While nothing inside Mariana is broken, something inside Callie snaps.

She sideswipes his grasp, snatching the lamp off the side table, yanking its power chord from the wall, eyes lit with wrath, ears red hot. It's only a few seconds, really, that she raises her arm and attempts to bring it down on his head, but he throws it out of her hands onto the floor below the stairs, light bulb shattering shrilly. She only has time for one sharp breath before he has her against the staircase rail, both hands squeezing her tiny forearms until she can literally feel the blood struggling to travel underneath his grip. "You lied. You tried to send me to jail."

"But I didn't." she challenges, voice wavering slightly, though she's trying her best to not crack. "I didn't then, but you're going now. The police are coming. You screwed yourself over, asshole."

He's fuming, nearly huffing as he grabs her by the throat, pulling her off the rail. Her eyes widen, the terror finally setting in as she realizes he could very well strangle her to death right now. If he came, knowing he'd be arrested, he probably came without constraints, without limits. She pushes at his chest with her weakened arms, feeling the fight slowly leaving her body. She just doesn't have the energy anymore, for anything.

But Jude is upstairs, and if she's not down here to stop Liam, he's next. She can't give up.

Then there's Mariana against the wall- she glances at the wall where Mariana was crumpled up, but she's no longer there. Seconds later, Mariana hits him over the head with an umbrella, screaming like a madwoman. He has to let go of Callie, but he's not deterred enough to stop. Instead, he grabs ahold of her neck and rams her into the mirror above the side table, the glass cracking and cascading in a million pieces to the floor where Mariana can't help but fall.

Callie shrieks- she thinks it's her name, but she's not sure- and charges at Liam, rearmed with a glass vase, slamming it into the side of his head with such force she nearly slips with him. It, too, shatters, only this time it's around his unconscious form, and the chunks are large enough to kick out of the way without injuring oneself. Still panting, she snatches Mariana's umbrella off the floor and comes to stand above him, aware that he's unmoving, but feels so much fury...so much hot blood pumping through her veins that she has to bring that umbrella up and send it down on his stomach, over and over and over again.

A few times, something cracks inside of him. Probably a couple of ribs, but it's not enough. She can break every bone in his body and it will never make up for all the pain he has caused her and the ones she loves. "Don't-" Crack. "you dare-" Crack. "hurt-" Crack. "my family!"

Blood gushes from the bash on the side of his head but she still doesn't stop. Mariana struggles to her feet, quietly commanding her to stop. "He's out, Callie. You don't have to-"

She's on her feet just in time to dash to Callie as she bends down to pick up a rather large shard of glass, eyes glossed with intention, a frightening look indeed. Mariana plucks the glass from her hands and throws it to the side, arms engulfing Callie just as she begins to bawl, her upper body slumping over as if she has no backbone.

Or that she's used it enough for one day.

The door flies open again and both girls jump, but it's Brandon, looking completely disheveled, surveying the scene worriedly, worst fears quelled when he finds both of them safe, though the sight of Liam on the floor, and the state of their house, still leaves much to fret about. He's frozen in the doorway. "Oh my God."

Multiple sirens blare down the street just as the wound in Callie's hand starts to weep.

The day starts out the same. Mariana wants to know how she knows Elijah and they chat almost mindlessly about such petty things, before it starts downstairs again. But this is where it changes: when Callie makes it downstairs, Jude is already folded over on the floor, motionless. Mariana, who should've ran down with her, is in another corner, unresponsive. Liam moves out-of-this-worldly, blood-stained fingers curling around her neck once more. Only this time, she doesn't break free.

Before it goes black, she sees the whole family before her, already dead.

She doesn't remember shooting up in her bed, she just wakes up and she's already upright, and tears are already dripping off her chin, and two sets of motherly arms are snug around her, promising her that she's okay, that she's safe, that Liam is in jail where he should be.

But foreboding this nightmare was.