"Do you want me to come?" She asks him, noticing his hesitation to get out of the car. "Because I'll come." Her eyes are wide, almost teary but there is a hint of determination. It's a statement, she knows what they're asking of him, but she wants … no, needs him to know that she's here and they're family and they're in this together.

"Nah," he protests but his voice is quiet, and his movements are still slow, but she can't blame him, she didn't want to go in there either. Out of everything they've done these past few weeks; the fights, the cemetery, Mrs Crain, having a gun held to their heads on the side of the road and everything in between – it's this, right here, that makes her heart pound the most. "It'll only take a second."

And before she can protest, he is out the door, strolling up the front door of a house that is supposed to feel like his home. He spares a glance back at her and she tries to offer him a bright smile – something that will tell him that everything will be fine, that he can do this. She thinks, or rather knows, it fails.

She waits patiently for a while, making sure to keep the engine on just in case they need a quick getaway like they have so many times before. Her heart beats a little faster with each passing minute and it's not long before she's beginning to wonder why he hasn't come out yet. There could only be one reason, she knows that really.

It's in her instincts to get out of the car, regardless of how stupid a decision it may be. But he's her best friend … her family and isn't that the reason they are in this position in the first place. Everything they've done this entire summer has been for the family they have found, and she know that if this was her, he wouldn't hesitate to run inside this house no matter what.

Her hands are hesitant when she reaches the door and her ears pick up on the sound of bodies hitting tables, glass shattering upon the fall. She just hopes it's not the body she thinks it is. "Fuck," she mutters under her breath as she beings to panic, moving away from the door and scanning around the area in search of something to use as a weapon. If she had time to think, she would scoff – she's not quite sure what damage a skinny sixteen-year-old girl can do.

There's a crowbar lying in the middle of the grass and it takes her just two seconds to run down the few steps and grab the thing. She mutters a few more 'fucks' under her breath as she makes her way back up to the door and pushes it open with a deep sigh.

She feels like she is going to throw up the very second, she steps through the door, the sight before her brings a bile of sickness up into her throat.

Luke stands over his son, his fists dripping with blood, as he shouts obscenities down at him. He's curled up into a ball below him, trying to protect himself from blow after blow.

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" His voice is low as he bends down so he's closer to his son's face, she thinks the calmness in the way he speaks makes everything so much scarier. Like this is so normal, like he is unbothered about his bleeding son before him.

He does not notice her presence, too focused on throwing punches and wrestling around with his own child. Her palms are sweaty as she starts to approach, finding it hard to get a real grip on the crowbar and raise it behind her head – ready to strike. She moves fast, ignoring the way the old wooden floorboards creek underneath her feet, and before she knows it, she's stood directly behind him and bringing down the crowbar harshly against his head.

He flops down half onto the floor and the other half onto JJ, who looks up at her startled but so so relieved. Jumping up, he moves to stand next to her – glancing between his friend and his father. He notes the way her chest heaves, the way the crowbar slips from her fingers and the fear stricken across her face. It's easy to ignore the pain that resides all over his body and the blood that drips from his face when he registers just how terrified she is.

She thinks he's dead – she thinks she's killed him.

Her body doesn't even flinch as she watches JJ lean down onto his knees and nervously places two fingers against his father's throat. "Still breathing," he whispers up to her, shakily getting back up to his feet. She's relieved, he can tell by the way she throws her head up into the air and takes a deep sigh.

He's not so sure he is.

Their breathing is heavy as their feet stay firmly planted in place, his hand unconsciously reaches for hers. She immediately responds, clutching onto his fingers with her own as her eyes wander to his. They stand like that for a moment, eyes and hands locked with one another's. "We should leave," he tells her as she nods rigorously, "like right now." He stresses when both fail to make any movement.

They're almost at the door when she remembers the reason why they even came here in the first place, the keys to the boat. She spins around, her face colliding with his chest, he brings his hand to rest on her shoulders to steady her and if the situation were any different, he would be making some joke about going to his bedroom. He'd been close to her so many times, but this didn't feel the same – he doesn't know why, he can only blame their heightened feelings. "The keys." She stresses, her eyes pleading with his.

He groans, "shit." JJ's hands drop from her shoulders to come up to rub at his forehead, "don't move." He tells her before he is running down the hall and into his bedroom, in search of the very thing she had told him to get rid of ever since he took it from that damn hotel room. The gun.

The room was messy, clothes thrown all over the place and beer bottles scattered around. He had not been in here since he'd last thrown around his belongings as he packed his backpack to leave. He had left the gun, it only seemed to cause him problems with the rest of the group and he'd thought he'd hidden it well.

Maybe too well, he thinks as he groans aloud after throwing t-shirt after t-shirt around and still not being able to locate the gun.

He tugs on drawers and when he gets to the last one, it's there. "Ah ha!" Involuntarily comes from his mouth as he smirks to himself, his small win is shortly lived when he hears the sound of shattering glass followed by Kiera's scream.

His feet almost trip over themselves as he rounds the corner of his bedroom and runs down the hall, stopping in his tracks when he reaches the scene of the crime.

His father's hands are wrapped around her neck, angry growls tumbling out of his mouth as he suffocates her. He could see the veins pop from his hands and arms as he tightens his grip, her breathing becoming more erratic and even shorter.

"Get the hell off of her!" He bellows, from his stand at the doorway. Luke's grip falters just a bit when he turns around to be met with JJ pointing a gun towards him. His shock doesn't last long though before he's glancing between the teens and then chuckling in Kiera's face.

JJ's hands are unsteady as he continues to point the gun straight at his father, but then he moves. He turns them around so now Kiera was placed in front of him, his forearm gripped around her neck and his other hand at pressing down hard at the top of her forehead. "What you gonna' do?" He says between laughter, "shoot me?"

His hands begin to shake more watching Kiera struggle against his father, attempting and failing to get out of his harsh grip. Luke smirks between them, as if this was some sort of joke.

He wants to let go of the trigger; he had dreamed about letting go of the trigger.

Dreamed about watching the bullet shoot through the man's chest, the blood draining from his body as his face begins to pale and he took his last breath. But once he's woken up, he was left feeling guilty and dirty. He wanted so badly for the pain and the fighting and the punches to stop … he just never had the strength to do anything about it.

"I'll do it." He spits out, the fear causing his body to heat up and beads of sweat begin to form against his head.

And he means it, this time he does.

Just one problem, the girl his father had a hold of. He could miss, so easily. Although he had been practicing, his aim still needed work. He watches as she nods, well, what looks like a nod as his father held her head stiffly in place. She's telling him to do it, but he can't, his own tears begin to fall hard and fast.

His father's laughter rings through his ears, taunting him. He can see him shouting, theirs anger written across his face, but JJ can't hear him. It's as if the entire room has gone silent.

All he can focus on is the horror on Kiera's face, the taunting movement of his dad's mouth, the shake of his hands as they grip the gun and the beads of sweat that run down his face.

Every crazy thing that had happened to them, all of the shit they had gone through for John B and even when he was faced with the possibility of being tried as an adult, nothing scared him more than his father.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be, he knew that. Your father is supposed to be someone you find comfort in, someone who makes you feel safe and loved. He had never had that luxury, and when he thinks about all the punches, the harsh words and the utter paralyzing fear he felt when he came home – the anger boils inside of him.

He blinks fast, trying to clear his eyes of the tears that rested just above his eyelashes.

"You're a weak little boy," he comes to his senses to listen to his father spit out insult after insult, "a coward, no wonder your mother left – " BANG!

The bullet shoots out and then the gun falls to the floor, it hits him straight in the chest, just inches away from Kiera's arm. He drops to the ground, a hard fall as his head hits against the corner of the coffee table that was decked out in empty beer bottles – half of them fall to the floor with his father.

She jumps back the second his body goes limp around her, falling back until her back rests against the wall for support. JJ watches his father's body for a moment, and he's not sure how he feels when he notices the lack of rise and fall from his chest. But he doesn't get long to think about it when his eyes once again meet hers and his emotion gets the better of him because their rushing towards one another, their arms reaching out to grip one another, tightly.

He holds her against his chest, her body convulsing with sobs as his hand reaches up to stroke her hair soothingly. He cannot tear his eyes away from the limp body, half of him expects it to get up and start attacking him. But then her sobs cease, and she pulls away from him slightly so she can look up at him; her entire face is wet, and her red-rimmed eyes are sad – for what, he does not know.

He clutches onto her a little tighter, bringing her in close once again. He didn't want to acknowledge what was going on with words just yet, his heart was beating so fast and his mind was racing, he had no idea what he was thinking or what he could say to make this better.

They remain wrapped around each other for who knows how long, what they did know was that in this time, it was comforting. The only thing that stopped her from freaking out was the way his hand brushed against her hair and his warm chest raised and fell against her head. He feels the same way about her; the way her small hands gripped his t-shirt, and her head nuzzled deeper and deeper into him … it was the only sense of familiarity he had at this moment.

Surrounded by his own house, he felt completely out of place.

"We need to go." He states, his hand still moving softly against her hair. "We need to get out of here," he repeats for good measure, watching the lifeless body across the room.

She nods, "OK."

He misses the warmth of her body against his, the very moment she lets go.

"Wait," she says again, and he ponders telling her to shut up, because nothing good came out of her telling him to wait the last time. "What are we going to do?" She asks him seriously, her hands flailing around to gesture at his father and then the gun.

He nervously looks between the two, his face panicked.

What will happen if he leaves now?

The police were bound to stop by when his father's friends and co-workers reported he wasn't turning up to work or answering calls. He'd be the first person they'd call in to question, and he knows with his luck that no matter how well he lied to the police or how well he got rid of the gun – it would always end up coming back to him.

He thinks he could jump on that boat with John B, the pair of them sailing off to the Bahamas. But that didn't mean things wouldn't catch up with him there.

And Kie … she wouldn't come. She had parents who cared for her, a nice house in Figure Eight and great college prospects. Plus, she would not leave Pope. Neither could he –

"We could make it look like a freak accident." She blurts out, breaking him from his thoughts. He'd been so wrapped up in mentally fighting with himself that he hadn't noticed she had been doing the exact same thing.

To her, they were in this together. They went in here together and they would leave together because they were family.

"What?"

"Erm – I – I – I mean," she stutters, her fear once again getting the better of her. "We could set it up, make it look like he was playing around with the gun when he accidentally shot himself in the chest – "

"Is that, like, possible?" He interrupts, asking her fairly calmly despite everything.

She nods, "I think so, it's been done before and – and he has alcohol in his system … it's plausible if we get your fingerprints off the gun and his … on it."

He's a little surprised that she was the one to think this up. Sure, she was smart, but she wasn't the 'cover-up-a-murder' smart. She was Kiera – save the earth, boss them around, heart of gold Kiara.

He wants to tell her to leave, tell her that he can take care of it and let her go to Pope so they can wait for John B – he'll join them later, if he can. But he doesn't get the chance before she's grabbing a dirty dish towel from the adjoining kitchen and using it to pick up the discarded gun. "Any chance you know how to wash something of fingerprints?"

"You should go." He avoids the question, his face and tone serious as she places the gun onto the messy dining table.

She frowns before she protests, "no!"

"You don't have to be involved in this," he tells her, grabbing her arm and jerking her away from the gun and the evidence. "I did this, I shot the gun … he's my father so I should do this – "

She pushes herself out of his grip, looking at him like he was crazy. "We're in this together," she tells him with a finger pointed to his chest, as if she's scolding him from trying to protect her. Maybe she is. "I won't leave you behind, after everything …" she trails off and her finger lowers as she shakes her head, "I won't."

So, they carry on. Removing the fingerprints with a damp cloth and placing his father in a position that will make this whole thing plausible. They aren't exactly criminal masterminds, the whole time they find themselves stumbling around and fumbling with whatever they touch. They are completely silent as they work together, awkwardly glancing at one another every so often. Once their done, he reaches over to his father's body and snatches the key to the boat from around his neck.

"Will they not notice that the boat is missing?" She asks as they walk out of the door, this almost feels like an out of body experience to her. Like she was watching herself flee from the scene of the crime.

"Nah," his voice is nonchalant, like nothing just happened. "He told everyone it sunk years ago so he could claim the insurance." Kiera scoffs before she flings the drivers door open and clambers in, glancing at JJ when he does the same.

"Hey," he rests his hand across her wrist to get her attention. "Let's not tell anyone about this … with everything that's going on with John B and how Pope's been acting lately – "

"It might be better to just not burden him with this, too." She steals the words straight out of him mouth and he finds himself sighing in relief.

"We'll deal with this together." She adds at the end, smiling at him softly sadly.

"Together."