Author's Note: I was planning on making this a One shot, but it was too long, so it's a few chapters long. Oh, and someone is naughty and says "dang it". I needed something strong for that moment.

Joe threw himself onto the couch with a moan. He was slowly losing the fight with depression, and nothing seemed to help. Nothing except for-

"Maybe a new clue will turn up soon."

His thoughts turned to Frank, his big brother, his best friend, his grounding wire. A case two years before, went bad, and Frank was kidnapped.

The crooks had turned the dock into a smuggling operation. And it was bigger than anyone thought.

"Hurry Frank! They'll get away!"

"Slow down Joe! Dad told us to watch, not act. Besides, they don't know that we're here."

But 16 year old Joe refused to slow down, and instead plowed after the men, right into their waiting net.

"Well well well, who do we have here? A little sneak? Where's that brother of yours?"

"Right here!"

The man turned around to face the boy, only to get a face full of ocean water. As he wiped at his eyes, Frank lured the men away, hurling the bucket at them.

"Joe run! Go get Dad!"

Two of the men ran after Joe, but he was too far ahead. Twenty minutes later, Fenton and the police were at the dock. Most of the smugglers were arrested.

Joe looked around, getting concerned. "Where's Frank?"

He wasn't at the dock, or on the boats. He had disappeared without a trace.

Joe buried his face in the pillow. 'And it's all my fault! Frank died because of me! We never ever found his-' Joe's thoughts broke off with a sob. Different situations ran through his head. Each one old and painful.

Situations where they drowned him. Situations where he was shot. Situations where they took him miles out and then threw him over board. Even with those thoughts, Joe's mind always settled on Frank as a prisoner somewhere, alive.

The phone rang, breaking him out of his thoughts. Grudgingly getting up, he crossed the room and answered it. "Hardy residence. Joe Hardy speaking."

A rough, masculine voice answered him. "I have your brother."

Joe's breath caught in his throat. "What!?"

"Maple and Elm's corner. 10 o'clock. Be there. Alone."

The line went dead.

Joe stared at the phone, anguish rising up in him.

'This is a trap. But, what if it's not? Frank would suffer longer, if not for the rest of his life!'

At dinner, Joe barely touched his food.

Laura sighed, before placing her hand on his. He jumped.

"You okay Joey?"

"Yeah Mom, I'm fine."

Gertrude guffawed, but said nothing.

Fenton put down his fork and leaned back in his chair. "You're thinking about Frank again." It was a statement, not a question.

Joe nodded. "I was. Then-"

"Then what?" Fenton prodded.

"Then a man called and said that he had Frank. He set up a meeting place for tonight. And I'm going." He added the last part in a whisper.

Fenton nodded. "Where is it?"

"The corner of Elm and Maple. But he told me to come alone."

"And you will. With backup."

Joe leaned against the lamp post on the corner. He glanced down the road at Fenton's car, just visible in the darkness. Joe checked his watch. 9:59 P.M.

'Man! This guy is cutting it close!'

A pair of headlights came into view, and headed towards Joe's corner, passing Fenton on the way. The headlights belonged to a nice looking, older red truck. The truck was driven by a man, at least Joe thought it was a man. With a baseball cap on his head, sunglasses over his eyes and a scarf over his nose and mouth (bandit style), it was impossible to tell if it was a him.

The truck stopped. The man leaned over and opened the passenger door.

"Get in."

Joe took a deep breath, then climbed in.

Fenton watched from his car, ready to spring into action if he was needed. When Joe got into the truck his heart flew into his throat.

"No."

With a sudden jerk, the truck took off down the road. Fenton promptly followed, but the driver knew how to lose tails. After a short chase, Fenton looked around, and found that he was alone. The truck was gone.

'Maybe they're alone.'

Fenton grabbed out his cell phone and called Joe. It rang three times. Then Joe answered.

"Hey Dad."

"Joe, are you alright?"

"Alright? I'm better than alright! I'm fantastic!"

"What'd he drug you with?"

Joe broke out laughing. Fenton heard the phone drop. The next person to speak to him wasn't Joe.

"Is this Fenton Hardy?"

"Yes it is. Who is this? What do you want? And what have you done to my son?"

The rough voice spoke again. "Who am I? Someone you never thought you'd ever see again. What do I want? To come home. What did I do to Joe? I gave him the best 'drug' I could have. Sheer joy."

Fenton thought for a moment. "Who are you?"

"Frank Hardy."

Frank leaned back against his truck, looking Bayport over. The afternoon sun made it shine like a gem in his tired eyes.

"It hasn't changed much."

He rubbed his arm, feeling the scar that ran from his neck to his elbow. Over twenty scars could be found on him, and he could name off when he got each one. An he could feel each one with every move he made.

His strength, stamina, and endurance had increased drastically over the last two years. Working hard at a loading dock could do that to anyone. His voice was now rough, as were his hands and manners. But deep down, he hadn't changed.

He was still Frank.

He climbed into his 'stolen' truck. Payed for by two years hard work.

"I did earn it. At New York's $10.44 minimum wage, at 12 hour days, 365 days, times two is $91,414.40. Yeah, I earned it."

He drove into town, thinking up a plan. Seeing a pay phone, he parked the truck. Checking everywhere, he found a dime. Stepping into the phone booth, he felt almost giddy.

"I'm almost home!"

He placed the coin in the slot and dialed his home phone number. The phone rang, sending chills down his spine. Suddenly, his smile faded.

"What if they're mad at me? Or they don't like who I am now!"

When Joe answered, Frank nearly froze. "Hardy residence. Joe Hardy speaking."

"Why'd it have to be Joe!?" Building up courage, he said the one thing he knew always brought Joe running. "I have your brother."

"What!?"

Frank flinched at his brother's voice. He could hear the pain. "Maple and Elm's corner. 10 o'clock. Be there. Alone." Frank hung up, before Joe could hear him crying. Crying from the pain in his heart and his throat.

Climbing back in his truck, he wiped away his tears. With six hours to wait, Frank drove around town, checking to see who was still around and which of his favorite places were still around.

9:58 P.M.

"Dang it! I'm gonna be late!"

Frank drove quickly toward the corner, where he knew Joe was waiting. He was about to take the turn onto Elm, when he froze, the 'what ifs' coming back full force.

Quickly throwing on his baseball cap, sunglasses, and bandanna, he headed around the corner, feeling safe, hidden.

He glanced around for any 'witnesses'.

"The last thing I need is to get arrested for kidnapping." Frank smiled at that. "Yeah, I'm going to kidnap my brother."

Looking around again, he saw Fenton's car.

"I need a moment with Joe alone. I have to know how he feels about me!"

He pulled up to the corner and his breath hitched in his throat. "He's grown so much! He'll be graduating soon."

Opening the door for his brother, he said, "Get in."

Joe climbed in, looking like he was heading to a funeral.

"He probably thinks he's about to die."

Looking back once, a thought crossed Frank's mind..

"I could lose him easily. That'll give me all the time I need."

Stepping on the gas, Frank took off down the road.

"So, you're Joe Hardy? I thought you'd be shorter."

"I've grown since the last time Frank saw me," Joe snapped.

"You have no idea!"

"Now where is he!?"

"Do you miss him?" Frank didn't take his eyes off the road, weaving in and out of alleys and back roads.

"Of course I do! What do I have to do to get him back!?"

Ignoring the questions, Frank continued, "So, you don't care how much he's changed, as long as he's home?"

Joe thought about that a second. "I don't want him hurt. But I know he's changed, and I'm ready for it."

"What if he did bad things?"

"I don't care."

"Like, say, what if he killed a man?"

"It was in self defense."

"What if he got a girl pregnant?"

"Then I'd tell him to marry her and take care of baby."

"What if he's insane?"

"I'll take care of Frank for the rest of my life if that's what he needs! Now no more stalling! Where is my brother!?"

Frank smiled. Taking a deep breath, he asked one last question. "What if he was beat up and rough, and not the boy you remember?"

Joe glared at him. "Why would you care?"

Frank pulled the truck into a back road and turned it off. Sitting in the dark, they saw Fenton speed by.

Frank turned the car back on, but kept it in park. Reaching up, he removed his hat, glasses, and bandanna.

Frank looked his brother square in the face, and replied, "I care, because I needed to know how you felt before I'm could show you who I am."

Joe gaped, then threw his arms around his brother. "Oh Frank! I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too Joey. And I'm so sorry."

Joe jolted back. "What!? What are you sorry for? It's my fault!"

Before Frank could answer, Joe's phone rang. Fumbling with his pocket a moment, Joe managed to get the phone out and open.

"Hey Dad." Joe said beaming. A moment later, he added, "Alright? I'm better than alright! I'm fantastic!" A moment later, Joe burst out laughing, sending the phone tumbling to the floor.

Frank picked it up. "Should I answer it?" Pushing his doubts away, he said, "Is this Fenton Hardy?"

"Yes it is. Who is this? What do you want? And what have you done to my son?"

The answer was easy. "Who am I? Someone you never thought you'd ever see again. What do I want? To go home. What have I done to Joe? I gave him the best 'drug' I could have. Sheer joy."

A silence followed. "Who are you?"

Steeling his courage, Frank said his name. "Frank Hardy."

Joe could barely keep still for the ride home. Fenton followed them, disbelief filled his voice.

"Joe, listen. He might be lying. Does he even look like Frank?"

"Yes he does! It's Frank Dad! It has to be!"

Seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere, Fenton dropped the subject. "Okay, as long as you're sure. I just don't like the way he ran." Before Joe could argue, Fenton added, "But I'm sure he had a reason."

When they pulled into the garage, Frank leaned back in his seat. He wiped his eyes, trying to keep them open. "Don't fall asleep Frank! Not yet!"

He climbed out, watching Joe fly up the stairs, into the house. As he entered the Kitchen, he heard Joe yelling "It's him! It's him! It's really him!"

Frank tried to enter the Living Room, but he ended up falling against the counter. He heard Fenton walk in, but couldn't even turn his head to see him.

"Frank are you alright?"

Frank felt his Dad's arms encircle his chest. His eyes fluttered open. He managed to say, "Hey Dad", before he dropped unconscious in his Dad's arms.

Joe was practically jumping up and down, trying to get Laura and Gertrude to hurry down the stairs.

"How could you two have been sleeping when we had a clue about Frank?"

"Because some people need sleep. Unlike you detectives," Gertrude snapped.

Joe took the last ten steps in one jump, then froze in his tracks. Fenton was just laying Frank on the couch.

Joe's face paled, and his voice cracked as he asked, "What happened!?"

"He collapsed. I think he was running on adrenaline."

Joe looked his brother over. It was the first chance he had to really checking him from head to toe. His dark brown hair was matted and dirty, hanging down in his face. Dark bags were under his eyes, one nearly hidden by a still healing bruise. There were at least three individual scars on his face, two from knives and one from a burn. His clothes were old, and falling apart. And there weren't even shoes on his feet.

"He looks aweful," Joe said, pushing the brown hair out of his brother's face.

"And he's very light. He needs good food and rest. And we'd better take him to the hospital tomorrow," Fenton added.

Gertrude sighed, tying her robe a little tighter. "Well, looks like we're not going to get any more sleep tonight." Grumbling to herself, she went into the Kitchen.

Laura stroked her eldest son's face. "Oh, my poor boy."

Frank jolted awake, shying away from her touch. He looked around frantic, pushing everyone away, moaning. Something in him seemed to break, and he threw himself back on the couch and cried.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he woke up in his Mom's arms. Joe and Fenton had joined in, holding him in a long over due embrace.

"Feeling better?" Laura asked.

"Much, thank you," Frank said, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, I thought *cough*-"

"Shhhh," Laura said, rocking him. "Don't talk. Not yet."

"He can rest after he has some food in his stomach."

Frank looked up at his Aunt, and nodded. They helped him up, but no sooner had he taken a step, that his knees buckled. Not giving him a second chance, Fenton scooped him up and carried him to the Kitchen.

Gertrude had made some instant oatmeal, had eggs on the stove, and store bought broth in the microwave.

"It's the best I can do on such short notice."

Frank's mouth water at the sight. "It's perfect."

Gertrude turned around in time to see him eating with his hands.

"Frank! Have you ever heard of a spoon!?"

He ignored her, until the oatmeal was gone. After his third bowl, seventh egg, and fourth cup of broth, he finally stopped eating.

"I think you just broke my record," Joe said, slightly shocked at Frank's behavior. His mouth literally fell open when Frank started licking his fingers off.

That was too much for Laura. She grabbed a rag, wet it in the sink, and cleaned off Frank's hands. Along with the food, came layers of dirt and grime, revealing thin scars on his hands.

"That boy needs a shower!" Gertrude mused.

Frank bowed his head in embarrassment.

"What happened to him? He was so lively in the truck." Joe thought. "I know, but he's falling asleep on his feet. We can clean him up tomorrow. Before we take him to the doctor."

Gertrude nodded, but said nothing.

Frank insisted on walking, even though the could barely keep himself up. Joe and Fenton supported him all the way to the guest room.

Frank was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. It was a dark, short, dreamless night. For him at least.