What starts out as a Spring Break spent helping their father solve a case soon turns into a dangerous confrontation with one of the biggest organized crime syndicates in Atlanta. Along the way, one of the Hardy boys will have to deal with a pain that no young boy should ever have to deal with... a pain that will either turn him into a man or destroy him forever.

A/N: In this story, Frank is 13, Joe is 12. I accept all reviews that offer comments or criticism, but I find flaming to be completely unnecessary. Don't forget, folks… this is fiction. If you don't like it, ignore me quietly.

Thanks reviewers and readers! Sorry, this chapter is a little slower, but everyone wanted Frank to get to a doctor. So here he is! I don't own them though.


Joe sat at the edge of Frank's bed, trying not to cry as he watched his brother turn fitfully in his sleep. Frank had always been so… alive. Seeing him like this… Joe could barely stand it.

Few people truly understood the bond that the two brothers had. Most simply saw them as Frank being the 'older brother' and Joe the 'younger one', but their age was only a technicality. Joe had read somewhere once that twins often had a shared connection that allowed them to be much closer than ordinary siblings, to where they could practically read each others minds.

Joe remembered showing the article to Frank. They had both agreed right away – they weren't an 'older' brother and a 'younger' brother. They were actually twins. Laura had patiently explained to them that they couldn't be twins if they were born a year apart, but Frank had stubbornly maintained that he didn't remember there ever being a year without Joe. Laura had only smiled and said he would just have to trust her on that. After doing a bit of detective work (finding their birth certificates), and discovering that Frank really and truly was a year older, they had decided they would be twins anyway.

In a way, Joe wished they really were just a normal set of brothers, but they weren't. They were a team, they were partners. "Partners in crime", Fenton called them affectionately. Joe could have lived without an older brother. He could not live without his twin.


"Thank you, Dr. Richardson. Yes, we'll be there. Ok, bye." Fenton hung up the phone and turned to Laura, who was cooking breakfast in a desperate attempt to continue normally.

"Alright, hon. I got them an appointment for 10:00, ok? Dr. Richardson is one of the best… I'm sure he can help."

Laura nodded, keeping her long hair in front of her face so her husband wouldn't see the tears. Neither of them had gotten much sleep that night after Frank had brought to their attention just how much help he needed. From the sound of a pair of crutches thunking quietly down the hall, she was pretty sure that Joe hadn't slept much either.

"That's good. Why don't you go wake the boys… their eggs are almost done."

Fenton left and Laura hastily wiped the tears off her face. She had to be strong for her boys… all of them.

Bypassing Joe's room, Fenton went instead right to Frank's room. As he had suspected, both of his sons were curled up on Frank's bed. He hesitated, knowing that this was the most peace they were going to get. If he could have his way, they would sleep until everything was better again, but it wasn't his choice.

"Frank," he called softly, trying not to startle them too much. "Joe. Come on boys, it's time to get up."

For a minute, it seemed like they were transported back in time, back to before. Both Frank and Joe stirred and muttered something about wanting five more minutes, and Fenton almost laughed. Almost.

Any thought of laughter was driven out of his head when they all sat down at the table, however. Joey would only poke at his food, pushing it around his plate while he sat slumped over, miserably casting sidelong glances at his brother.

Frank wasn't even pretending to eat. Instead he sat in the chair, holding his hands carefully before him so as not to touch anything. The bandages that his father had put on his hands after the episode the night before were not enough to hold back the blood that seeped through and dripped down his hands. He didn't want blood getting on his mother's clean dishes.

"Boys," Laura started, not looking directly at them – she might lose her fortitude if she did. "We're going to see a man today. He wants to talk to you two. He'll be able to help… he's a doctor."

Frank did look up at this, but it wasn't at his parents, but somewhere in the area of Joe's shoulder. A doctor? That meant a shrink. He didn't want a shrink… they were for nutcases. Did his parents think he was a nutcase now because he had killed somebody? Did they think he needed to be fixed before he tried to kill someone else? Frank stared hard at Joe's shoulder and decided maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe he did need fixing.


It was a silent trip to the psychiatrist's office. Frank was too busy keeping his hands off of his father's car and Joe was hoping that the doctor wouldn't be like the men who worked at the hospital. He and Frank had been to the hospital a couple times before, though only once as patients, and he didn't much care for the tall men in the white coats and masks. They used big words and usually brought bad news.

He needn't have worried though – the man who met them in the waiting room was nothing like the doctors Joe had ever met before. He was short and round with thick glasses and a kind smile. He didn't wear a white coat, although he did have a bright yellow bow tie that Joe snickered at as the doctor spoke to his parents.

"I'd like to take them one at a time," Dr. Richardson explained. He surveyed the two boys quickly and expertly before nodding at the younger blonde. "And I'd like to start with Joseph, if he doesn't mind."

"Go ahead, honey," Laura said with a smile, patting him on the back. "We'll be right out here, ok?"

"Frank, do you mind waiting until I'm done with your brother?"

Frank shrugged, shaking his head, and sat down on one of the waiting room chairs. He sank down into it, wiping at the bandages on his hands and ignoring the world while the doctor led Joe into his office.

"Can I call you Joey?" Dr. Richardson asked, smiling gently down at the young boy. Joe nodded, feeling somewhat shy. The doctor gestured to the seat across the table and pulled out a checkerboard.

"Do you know how to play checkers?" he asked, setting up the pieces. Again, Joe nodded, this time with a small smile on his young face. His grandfather had taught him and Frank both how to play, just before he died. Joe hadn't played in ages.

"I like checkers," Joe said quietly, watching as the doctor finished setting up the board and gestured for Joe to move first. "Me and Frank play sometimes."

"Frank's a good brother, isn't he?" Richardson chuckled. "You two must be really close."

Joe nodded, thankful that the game in front of him gave him an excuse not to meet the doctor's eyes. They sat in silence for a few minutes, focusing on the checker pieces, before Dr. Richardson started again.

"Do you want to talk about what happened to you and Frank, Joey?"

Joe felt tears come to his eyes and he hastily wiped them away. Did he want to talk? Yes, he wanted to talk. Joe jumped one of the doctor's checkers and began talking. And once he'd started, he didn't stop.


"Hello, Frank," Dr. Richardson said with a friendly smile. Frank didn't say anything, but stared down at his feet.

"Do you want to play checkers? Joey told me that the two of you play sometimes." Again, there was no answer.

"Frank, would you like to talk about what happened?"

This time there was a response, for what it was worth. Keeping his eyes down, Frank shook his head. Did he want to talk? No, he didn't want to talk. He wanted to wash his hands. He wanted the doctor to fix him. He wanted to take back what had happened and return Steinway to life, but he couldn't. No one could.

"Do you want to talk about Joe?"

Did he want to talk about Joe? No, he didn't want to talk about Joe. Frank shook his head.

"Do you want to talk about helping your father on his cases?"

No, he didn't. He didn't want to talk at all! Why couldn't this man understand that? He didn't want to talk to his parents and he didn't want to talk to his brother and he certainly didn't want to talk to this stranger, this man he had never met, this shrink who was going to fix him because he was a nutcase. Frank shook his head.

"Your family is worried about you, you know."

Yes, he knew. They worried that he was a nutcase.

"Joey's worried about you."

Well, he should be. Frank had let him down. Frank had let him down... and then the tears were there, but Frank would never let them fall. He nodded.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about that?"

Frank nodded again. The doctor sighed. Until the young boy was ready to talk to him, there was very little he could do. They spent the rest of the session in semi-silence; Dr. Richardson set up the checkers board and talked about his days growing up, while Frank sat still without speaking. He couldn't play without getting blood on the doctor's checker pieces. The psychiatrist had not gotten to where he was for nothing, though... his easy-going manner and light conversation set Frank at ease enough that by the time they were finished, Frank would at least look up when he nodded or shook his head, and even managed something close to a smile once. Just once.


"Mr. and Mrs. Hardy?"

Fenton and Laura jumped to their feet as Dr. Richardson emerged from his office with Frank in tow. Frank walked right by them and went to go sit down next to Joey in the waiting room, still not talking.

"How are they?" Fenton asked quietly.

"Joseph was quite open to talking," Dr. Richardson said with a smile. "I think he's going to be just fine… many children in similar positions would take much longer to heal, but since he's so ready and willing to talk about it, I believe he should get through this admirably."

"Thank heavens," Laura sighed, squeezing Fenton's hand.

"I'll still want to see him regularly for a while," the doctor added. "Just to be sure that his progress stays on track. Frank, on the other hand…" Dr. Richardson trailed off.

"What about Frank?" Fenton demanded, fearing the worst.

Dr. Richardson hesitated before he continued. "He hasn't said anything. I can only make speculations based on what you've already told me. I would say that Frank is feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt over that man's death… guilt can be expressed in many different ways, some more harmful than others. For Frank, the guilt has taken the form of blood that he believes is still on his hands."

Fenton closed his eyes, feeling a surge of anger and guilt that this had happened to his son. If only he had done a better job protecting them… the guilt that he felt was so strong, Fenton was almost surprised that he wasn't seeing ghostly, dripping blood as well.

"I'd advise you to bring both of them back tomorrow," Dr. Richardson continued. "In fact, I think for boys so young, daily sessions would be best, as opposed to weekly." Again, the doctor hesitated. "And I think perhaps we should try having them both in at the same time at least once. At least a small part of the conflict has to do with each other. It'll have to be dealt with before Frank can start healing."


"Come on Bruce, let's just pop the kids and the old man and get home," the taller of the men said, staring around him in contempt. "I hate New York."

The other man, Bruce, wasn't listening, but talking in a low voice to Paulson on his cell phone. He listened carefully, nodding his approval at the instructions, before hanging up the phone and turning to his partner.

"It ain't that simple, Derek," he muttered, keeping his voice down. "The boss wants to make sure that they ain't talked to anyone else about what they seen. Hardy had all kinds of time to call everyone in the New York police department… we gotta make sure we tie up all the loose ends."

Derek heaved a sigh. He really did hate New York. "Fine, what's the plan?"

"First," Bruce answered, looking thoughtful. "First we're just gonna do a bit of surveillin'… make sure they ain't talkin' to the cops. If they are, we'll have to find out who, an' how much they've said. If they ain't… we'll take care of 'em right away an' head home."

"Sounds good to me," Derek said, smiling wolfishly. "Let's go hunt some Hardys."


TBC