"It's not over yet!" a voice shouted from behind them. Zeke, Hank, Head, and the Hardys spun around to see Roger with a gun aimed at them. Some of the police officers immediately drew their own weapons and trained it on the youth.

"Put the gun down, son!" one of them yelled.

"I thought they were all disarmed?!" another screamed.

"I thought so too," Fenton mumbled, carefully stepping in front of his sons and pushing Hank, Head, and Zeke behind him as well.

"What are you doing, Roger?" Frank asked, stepping out from behind Fenton.

"You know him?" Joe whispered. Frank didn't reply, keeping his eyes on the gun.

"Frederick's kid," Fenton answered for him.

"You mean, Council?" Joe asked. "Well, like father like son…" He snorted.

"This wasn't how things were supposed to happen!" Roger screamed in rage, the gun wavering in his hand as he pulled the hammer back. The police took steps toward him. "Don't come any closer or I will shoot!"

"Roger, calm down," Fenton coaxed but that seemed to only agitate the youth.

"The whole point of this is so that my dad won't go to jail," Roger yelled. "You ruined everything!" Before anyone could move there was a loud gun blast. A split second after the discharge, Frank let out a shout and was whirled about by the impact of the bullet.

"Frank!" Joe breathed and ran to his brother's side. The police immediately ran over to a dumbfounded Roger, confiscated the gun and cuffed him.

"I—I wasn't going to actually shoot anyone!" Roger stammered, staring at the blood oozing down Frank's shirt as they dragged him into a police van separate from the other Trumps. "It all just happened so fast! I swear, I didn't mean it!"

"Oh my God, Frank," Joe gasped. He got to his knees and placed Frank's head comfortably on his lap. The bullet had burrowed itself into Frank's chest. "Dad! Someone call an ambulance!" Joe felt the world around him slowing as he watched his brother's struggles for breath.

"Joe, I can't breathe," Frank gasped. Joe applied pressure to where the bullet had entered Frank's body. "My lung, I think…" The older Hardy wheezed.

"It's okay," Joe coaxed. "They're getting help. You'll be fine. You know I have to do this."

"Pressure," Frank nodded and gulped, wincing.

"I didn't think it'd come down to this," Joe wailed, gritting his teeth angrily.

"So this is what it's like to get shot," Frank tried to smile. Fenton Hardy came running over with two paramedics.

"Sir, excuse me, but you have to let go now. We'll take it from here," one of the paramedics told Joe, who nodded and stood up, stepping away from Frank. He watched as they lifted his injured brother onto a stretcher and rolled him away.

"C'mon, we can ride with him in the ambulance," Fenton said, as coolly as he could. Joe looked at him strangely.

"Dad," Joe asked. "How could you be so calm? Frank's seriously hurt!"

"I'm not being insensitive, Joe," Fenton said. "Just think, would Frank want the both of us in hysterics? For his sake, we should stay calm and hope." Joe could see his father's eyes were wet and he headed outside to the ambulance without argument.

Dr. Arnold took off his glasses and beckoned for Fenton and Joe Hardy.

"He's sleeping peacefully now," he said. Through the blinds, Joe and his father could see Frank lying in bed, apparently in a deep sleep, but his face had a waxen pallor.

"He should awaken in a day or two. The bullet went pretty deep and it will affect a lot of his movement, even in his shoulder. We were lucky he didn't lose too much blood. It was a complex operation. His arm is fine though. We were lucky he's healthy and fit. No worries, with a boy like him, he'll pull through."

"So, when can we see him?" Joe asked anxiously. The doctor nodded understandingly.

"You can see him now but he won't respond to anything just yet," the doctor explained. Joe and Fenton walked into the rather spacious hospital room, walking carefully despite the doctor's heed.

"Dad," Joe said. "I don't know what to feel right now. All I know is I need him to be alright again."

"Me too, Joe," Fenton replied, watching quietly as the covers of Frank's bed moved up and down as he slept. "He will be. When he does, everything will go back to normal."

"I hope so," Joe said. "Mom and Aunt Gertrude are flying here now right?"

Fenton nodded. "They'll be here by tomorrow."

"I shouldn't have left him—"

"Joe, this isn't the time and place," Fenton interrupted. "There was nothing you could've done to prevent this."

"Dad," Joe argued. "I can't—Denial is... If I hadn't been roughing up the Trumps at school as one of the Keepers, maybe Frank wouldn't have to get pulled into this!"

"No," Fenton insisted. "He was only using your brother to get to me. It was his only way to make sure I don't stay on his tail."

"I messed up, dad," Joe sobbed, walking over to his brother's side and leaning on the bed for support. "Big time. I just hope he gets better soon. We got into a big fight last night before I left for the theater downtown. He was wondering why I letting my grades down so much and why I was getting into so much trouble. You know, he's been covering up for me for so long without really knowing anything about what I'm doing. I just couldn't tell him!"

"Why not?" Fenton asked. "He's your brother. Of all people, you should know to trust him."

"He wouldn't understand what I was doing," Joe replied, shaking his head.

"You never even gave him that chance," Fenton said quietly, placing a hand on Joe's shoulder.