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.

Hey, an update! I'm sorry if this chapter isn't quite up to snuff, but I've been incredibly stressed out. I still have that darn PCAT to take (so I'm gonna disappear for another week) but I took a study break this weekend and just wrote. Thanks for all your reviews and encouraging words! Obviously, I don't own the Hardys, or I'd be rich and wouldn't be putting myself through this stupid test.

"Kill them both."

"Got it," Bruce answered quietly, hanging up the phone. He turned to his two silent victims, bound to the chairs and unable to move. The man glared at him with intense anger while the woman – Hardy's wife – simply stared at him with fire and pity in her eyes.

Bruce didn't waste his time feeling sorry or guilty. He had killed plenty of people in his time. It wasn't a task that he took great amounts of pleasure in, but he felt nothing for them either. It was a job, and it had to be done. Bruce had been with Paulson longer than any of the other scores of henchmen who waited for their boss in Atlanta. He knew the way Paulson worked better than anyone. Follow orders, ask no questions, know the job, and never screw up. Paulson would either take care of you for life or take care of you for good.

"Time's up," Bruce said simply as he pulled the gun out of his waistband. There was no need for theatrics. This was a homicide, after all. A look of shock grew on the faces of both victims. Assuming they were afraid because they were about to die, it never even crossed Bruce's mind that they might be shocked not by the gun in his hand, but by the dark shadow that was suddenly standing behind him.

"Police," a voice dripping with disdain and anger sneered from right next to him. "Drop the gun. You're under arrest, you son of a bitch."

Taken completely by surprise, Bruce spun around just in time to meet the well-aimed fist of John Stalans.

Stalans smiled, overwhelmingly pleased at the sight of Bruce dropping like a stone to the ground, the gun forgotten as he cradled his broken nose with both hands. There was no fight in the big man, he had been too completely taken off guard.

"Surprise," Stalans hissed fiendishly, yanking Bruce's hands behind him as roughly as he could and tightening the cuffs around them as tight as they would go. "Scum like you sure go down easy. Get up!" Dragging Bruce to his feet, Stalans flung him down to sit in a third kitchen chair, using another pair of cuffs to link the criminal's hands to a bar of the chair.

When Bruce was secured to Stalans's satisfaction, the police chief stepped over to free Laura and Sam.

"Atlanta chief of police, John Stalans," he identified himself. "Anyone else in the house?"

"Thank you so much," Laura gasped as the tape finally came free from her hands. "No, there's no one else. Have you found my son? Or my husband? What's going on?"

"How the hell should I know?" Stalans asked in annoyance, irritated that Paulson wasn't there. He ripped the tape off of Sam so he could stand as well. "I just now found your house. I'll know where the others are as soon as this scumbag tells me."

Sam frowned at the lack of professionalism, but didn't take it personally. Their rescuer had the air of a man on a mission. Laura also frowned with displeasure at his apparent lack of concern for her family, but she also held her tongue, reluctantly recognizing the futility of losing her temper.

"I suggest you two go find somewhere else to be for a while," Stalans continued, eyeing Bruce menacingly. For his part, Bruce glared back defiantly, knowing Paulson's wrath would be much worse than Stalans's.

"No, we'll stay and hear this," Laura told him firmly.

Stalans didn't find much joy in intimidating women, but he needed her out. He had questioned Bruce before… the man was tough. There was a possibility that whatever he had to do to get the information might not be entirely legal and he didn't need a witness for it.

"Get out and let me work," he snapped, stepping forward and glaring down at Laura.

"I'm staying!" Laura snapped back, also stepping forward. Despite the height difference of nearly a foot, she glared just as fiercely at the Atlanta police chief. "I want to know where my son is!"

"Laura," Sam whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Laura, we should let him do what he has to." Sam wasn't intimidated in the slightest by Stalans – having been Fenton's partner for so many years – but he understood why the chief wanted to be alone. Sam was a private investigator, after all. He had been in this situation far too many times where time was of the essence and information couldn't always be gotten legally. He wanted to know where Paulson, Fenton, and Frank were just as badly, but they would only slow Stalans down and he knew it.

"No, Sam!" Laura swatted his hand away. "I want-"

"Laura, we can go get Joe."

Sam had said the magic words. Backing away instantly, Laura nodded grudgingly at Stalans, waving him on as she followed Sam out the door.

"Did you actually take him to the police station, then?" she asked as they walked out the front door.

"There wasn't time," Sam admitted. "I had to leave him in the car and tell him to stay down."

Laura stopped in her tracks at the front porch steps. She stared incredulously at Sam. "You… left him in the car?"

"What was I supposed to do, Laura?" Sam scowled, misinterpreting her look. "I had to come in to get you, or Fenton would've-"

"No, no," Laura amended. "I'm not angry, Sam… I do appreciate you coming after me. It's just… you didn't really believe Joe would stay there, did you?"

"It's alright, he promised he would," Sam reassured her, heading towards the driveway. Laura didn't move. "What's the matter?" Sam asked, turning around.

"Sam," Laura said, shaking her head sadly. "This is why you don't have any children."

Sam stared back at her until the implications of what she was saying dawned on him. The blood drained from his face and he rushed to the car where he knew he had left Joe not that long before. The seat was empty. Joe was gone.

"So, it's just us now," Stalans said with a smile. Bruce didn't answer. He wouldn't talk.

"I'm only going to ask once. Where is Paulson?" Stalans asked in a voice that matched even the mob boss's in ruthlessness.

"I ain't tellin' you nothin'," Bruce retorted, glaring at the police chief. He wouldn't betray his boss. Nothing the chief said or did could make him.

Two seconds later, Bruce changed his mind. He gasped as the cold, unrelenting metal of a gun found its way directly between his legs. From his position on the chair with his hands cuffed behind him, he could barely move even if sheer horror hadn't frozen him in place.

"Fine, I'll ask one more time," Stalans snarled as he pressed the gun in harder against its target. "Where is he?"

"You won't do it," Bruce finally managed to choke out, deciding to hold his ground and call Stalans's bluff. It was a mistake... Stalans wasn't bluffing. The chief's eyes narrowed and he shoved the gun in even harder, causing Bruce to groan in discomfort.

"I won't?" Stalans asked quietly, only inches away from Bruce's face. "Look me in the eye, you scumbag, and tell me that you really believe I won't do it."

There was no need. Bruce already knew.

"He's at the old train station."

"What the hell?" Collig muttered to himself as they approached the Hardy residence. Once he had realized what was going on – confirmed by the federal agents' positive ID of the two men in the video footage – he had headed out immediately. Now, from the amount of cars in the driveway, it looked like he had missed an invitation to a party.

"Laura!" he yelled, catching sight of her and Sam as they emerged from one of the cars that they had apparently been examining. He watched as Laura's face sagged in relief at seeing him and she rushed over.

"Ezra!" she gasped. "Thank God! Where's Fenton? Did he come with you? Did you find Frank? No one will tell me what's going on!"

"Slow down," Collig said, taking her hand and patting it soothingly. "I'm sorry, we still don't know where Fenton or Frank are. What about you? Are you alright?"

"We're fine," Sam answered for her as Laura bit her lip to keep from crying at the news that her entire family was still missing. "John Stalans is inside with one of the men right now-"

As he spoke, Stalans came rushing out of the house. Ignoring the entire contingency of local and federal officers completely, he jumped into his car and sped out down the road before anyone could stop him.

"Now where does he think he's going?" Agent Bishop wondered aloud. Collig rolled his eyes heavenward.

"I'd say he's after your dangerous criminal," he pointed out, heading in towards the house. "And I'd also say that whoever he had in here is the one who told him. I'm going to find out, and then we're all going after him."

Meanwhile, the standoff at the train station was going nowhere. Joe had the gun pulled on Paulson, but they both knew he would never be able to use it. Never in his life had Joe been in such a horrible situation.

"I mean it," Joe said, his voice trembling as he tried to appear to be the one in control. "Just… just don't move."

Paulson smiled at the young boy with a mixture of amusement and disdain. What a little upstart this child was!

"Put it down, boy," Paulson sneered hoarsely. "You don't have what it takes to use that." To prove his point, he set his own gun down on the table beside him. Spreading his arms wide, he tilted his body so that Joe had the largest possible range. "Go ahead," he taunted. "Go ahead, shoot me then."

Joe's bottom lip quivered slightly as he stared back at the bad guy, unsure of what to do. Seeing his hesitation only provided more entertainment for Paulson.

"Like I thought," he said softly. "You can't do it."

"No," a deadly soft voice agreed. "No, he can't."

Paulson turned around in response to the voice. To his surprise, the other Hardy brat had apparently just made the return journey to reality. Since his father had already untied him, he stood right up and walked over to Joe. Paulson made no move to stop him. What did he care where the boy was standing when he killed him?

"Frank?" Joe asked wide-eyed, his face splitting into a huge grin despite the horrible seriousness of the situation. His brother was back! He wanted to grab Frank up in a hug, but was held back by the fact that Paulson was still there in easy reach of his own gun, and also from some unidentifiable difference in Frank. Joe was overwhelmed with relief – ecstatic, unbridled relief – but… something was still wrong.

Taking the gun from Joe, Frank held it in his own hands, eyeing it in quiet contemplation. As soon as he picked it up, blood from his hands spilled over the barrel and hilt of the weapon. It would remain there forever. He watched the blood slowly drip from his hands onto the gun, and from the gun to the floor. He looked at the blood that had stained Joe. He looked at the blood droplets on the floor that left a trail behind him wherever he went. He was so tired of the blood… it was time to end this. Slowly, deliberately, Frank brought the gun up to point unwaveringly at the criminal's head.

"Frank?" Joey whispered, tugging his brother's sleeve. "What are you doing?" The initial thankfulness at finding his brother awake evaporated quickly. This was scary. The boy next to him looked like Frank, for sure, but Joe was starting to fear his brother was gone forever. "Frank, don't!"

Frank stared at Paulson with wide-open eyes, though it almost seemed as though he were still gone. One voice in the back of his head urged him to stop this before he went too far, but the other voice told him to look at his father, apparently dead on the ground, and at his brother, terrified out of his wits. There was no one else to save them. No one else was coming. Joey needed help. He, Frank, would help.

He shouldn't kill the man though! He had already done that before! It was wrong… this man, whoever he was, wasn't worth it! No more blood. He wasn't worth it.

But Joe was worth it. His father was worth it. This man had hurt his family, and Frank simply didn't care about himself anymore. Let the blood come… he would protect them.

"Joe can't do it," Frank repeated, sounding dangerously detached. "But I can." An eerie smile grew on his face. "I already have."

It was in that moment that Paulson caught sight of the look in the young Hardy's eyes.

It was in that moment that he wondered if this was how all his own victims had felt, watching their own death staring them in the face.

It was in that moment that Frank made up his mind.

And it was in that moment – as the thirteen year old boy laughed hollowly and pulled the trigger – that Paulson realized that he had made a very horrible mistake.

TBC

Muwahaha, you thought everything was going to be ok... and I'm so evil, leaving you here for another week or two, but what can I say. Again, sorry this chapter might not be as good, but I really am losing my mind here. I'll still try and review everyone else's stories though. Thanks, everyone!