He'd been swimming for days; hearing voices, some in the room, some echoing from the ruined caverns of his grief-tortured mind. Images flashed before him—Iola, Vanessa, his Aunt, his parents, his brother; a lot of his brother, who he searched the room for. He couldn't remember waking up in the hospital and not having Frank nearby, either in the room or right outside it, ensuring that his younger brother was recovering.

There; he was perched beside the bed, slumped and looking slightly weary. But something about this perfectly natural scene struck Joe as very, very wrong. He surveyed the sterile room then down at his arms, struck by how white and old everything was, then he thought how appropriate this felt to the cold inside him. He could melt away in this room, melt into it like snow, bury himself in the madness and freeze, halting his rampant, guilt-ridden thoughts.

He looked back to his brother; although Frank's shirt matched the cold white of the room, he was stood out as the only thing of color.

"Frank," Joe wheezed, stunned by how weak he felt and confused as to why seeing his brother made him both nervous and happier than he could remember being in ages.

Frank smiled slightly. "Looks like you made it. Good thing too, because I didn't feel like chasing your soul all over the netherworld."

"What?" Joe struggled to remember what was gong on, where he was and why he was there. He shifted and was instantly racked with fierce pain from his wrists. He glanced down and found his arms wrapped and tied tightly in gauze, unyielding. Fear skipped his heart. "Frank, what's going on?"

The older Hardy sighed and rubbed his eyes. Joe wondered when the last time he slept was. "Think for a minute. You'll remember."

Joe shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on how he'd hurt his arms, and suddenly was slapped and dizzy with a rush of memories; sprinting through blackened corridors, following the cries, the blood pouring, pooling, soaking through Frank's white shirt, the stiff cold of his older brother's body in his arms his eyes glazed over, the screams that had torn his throat raw, the march through the cemetery that had left Joe buried although it was Frank's body they gave back to the earth, the drugs and drinking and smoke and screams, wrecking his brother's room in sobbing screaming guilt induced rage, the mourning that tore sobs from his throat, finding Frank's pocket-knife on his once immaculately neat desk and flicking open the blade, still so sharp, waiting for him—

—and the darkness.

Swimming.

When Joe opened his eyes they were deep with tears. "Frank…aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"I am dead. And you came pretty God-damn close."

"But…" Joe's shattered, drowning brain fought to make sense of this. "You're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"Frank, you're confusing me!" Joe felt suddenly terrified. "Am I crazy?"

"You've always been crazy. Now you're just being stupid too," Frank snapped, staring at his brother's wrapped arms. "What in hell would posses you to do something like that?"

Joe's heart sank to the floor and he shivered violently. He remembered the rest now too; he remembered cutting away at his skin, spelling the name out, inflicting physical pain that could never match the agony he went through every day missing and mourning his brother.

"Did you really want to carry my name around for the rest of your life?" Frank's voice was gentler now as he gestured to his brother's left wrist, wrapped to the elbow with thick, taped gauze.

"I just…" Joe faltered, suddenly shy, "I missed you…"

"Well hell, I missed you too, but you don't see me trying to destroy my immortal soul the way you almost did." Frank sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, which didn't creak or sink in as if Frank were weightless.

Wait, he is; he's dead. And I'm hallucinating him. Nice going Hardy, you've doubly screwed yourself over this time; you're suicidal and psychotic.

"Are you real?" Joe whispered.

"As real as a ghost can get."

"Can everyone see you?"

"If they could I wouldn't be dead, would I?"

"You're confusing me!"

"Keep your voice down! If you start talking to yourself they'll lock you up for good."

"But I'm not talking to myself…am I? Damn it, Frank, why can't you just tell me what's going on? Why are you always so damn complicated?"

His brother grinned maddeningly. "Is this how you talk to your big brother? I come all the way from the other side to clean up your mess and you start screaming at me in the first five minutes I'm here."

"Just tell me what's going on," Joe pleaded. "No riddles or questions. Just tell me. Please Frank?"

The older Hardy nodded slowly. "What exactly do you want to know?"

Joe drew a deep breath and tried to think. "Who can see you?"

"You."

"Where did you come from?"

"Heaven, the netherworld, the other realm…whatever you want to call it."

"Why are you here?"

"To help you."

"But…you died nearly two months ago. Why now?"

"Well, it might have something to do with the fact you tried to kill yourself."

"But…I mean not everyone who does…how come…"

"Why do you get to be haunted and others don't?"

Joe nodded.

"Well, not everyone keeps contact with this side. Most don't. But I kept popping back to check on things. Plus you have to have an incredibly strong tie with the suffering person, one that both carry after departure." He smiled gently at his younger brother. "And, well, you and I were connected."

Joe swallowed, hard, hit by both happiness and grief at once. Frank patted his arm.

"Don't be sad, little brother. I'm gonna hang around for awhile, to get you back on your feet. You won't see me all the time or anything, and I can't always show up when you call, because you need to heal. Besides, you can't be talking to thin air or they'll lock you up for good."

Joe was struck with panic and reached for his brother, drawing back when his arms protested the sudden movement. "I don't want you to leave."

"Well, I've got to. I can't stick around forever. We weren't together all the time when I was alive, and it won't be any different now." Frank glanced at the clock, then the door. "I have to go."

"No!"

"Don't worry. I'll be back soon. Remember that I'm always with you, even if you can't see or hear me." He smiled warmly. "Always."

"Frank…"

But he was gone.