"He's stable," the Emergency Room doctor announced to the three very pale Hardys. "The attack was very mild; you're fortunate you caught it in time. I'd like to keep him overnight, for observation purposes, but I can release first thing tomorrow."

Laura leaned her head on her hand and sighed heavily; Frank thought he saw a tear on her face, but she had seemed remarkably calm throughout the past few hours, so he wasn't sure.

"Thank you," Fenton said, "can we see him?"

"One at a time. It's important to keep him calm, and to set up several follow-up appointments with a cardiologist. You can do that upstairs if you'd like."

Frank saw an opportunity. "Look, Mom, Dad, why don't you go set up the appointments and go home, get some rest, and I'll spend the night here."

The Hardy parents looked to their son.

"No," Fenton said slowly, "Frank, I think one of us should be here. In case they need something else."

"Like what? You've already filled out the insurance forms, and they said they'd release him first thing. C'mon, the two of you look like—" his mother gave him a look, "…you need sleep?"

Laura smiled. Weak, wobbly, but a smile nonetheless. "Nice save."

Fenton shook his head. "You could use some yourself, son."

"I won't be able to, Dad, you know that."

Laura and Fenton exchanged a glance. Fenton frowned; Laura shrugged.

"We're going to see him first," she finally said. "And if anything happens, good or bad, you call understand?"

Frank smiled. As close as both boys were to their father, their mother was ever their ally; unlike Fenton, she seemed to truly understand her sons' bond. More than understand; she encouraged it.

So Frank paced the waiting room and checked his watched obsessively as his parents took turns going in to see the younger Hardy, then promised Laura again that he'd call if there was any change—"Including a good one Franklin Hardy!"—before entering his brother's well-lit but plain looking room and opting to stand instead of rest in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Joe was lying on his back, eyes on the heart monitor showing the steady line of a healthy beat.

"How you doing?" Frank asked softly when Joe didn't look at him. "Trying to sleep?"

Joe shook his head. "No. Not tonight."

"Why not?"

The younger Hardy shrugged, but Frank saw the look on his face, saw the residue of tears on his cheeks.

He's terrified. He's afraid he'll shut his eyes and have a heart attack in his sleep. Oh God, when will this end? He doesn't deserve it. Please, I'll do anything if you just let him get back to normal. No more fear. No more of this sadness. Please.

Please.

"Want me to sit with you?"

Joe just nodded. Frank perched on the edge of the bed, taking in the dark circles under his brother's eyes, the look of absolute exhaustion and utter defeat.

He's got to be worse than I am right now, and I'm ready to drop.

Please…

Frank moved a stray strand of hair off his brother's forehead, feeling how fragile he was, how ready to break.

Be strong. Fight for me.

"It's all right Joe. You can cry if you need to."

Joe shook his head, but Frank saw the tears sparkle his eyes anyway.

Please, God, I'm so tired of crying, so tired of seeing him cry. Please no more of this. We can't take anymore of this…

"You remember in the hospital? When you held me that night?"

Frank nodded.

"Do you think you could do that again?"

Frank nodded again, moving carefully onto the bed and sliding his arms around his brother's frame, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt Joe's bones not quite as sharp as they'd been in the hospital.

Joe's gained weight. He's eating, and he's not throwing up. He's trying to get better. We are going to get through this. Just think Hardy—this time next year it'll be a memory. All of this will be a terrible, terrible memory. But Joe will be stronger because of it.

Frank glanced down at his brother, the cheekbones not quite as tight, his skin not quite as yellow. Joe's eyes were shut tight, and Frank could feel him trembling, trying to hold in his tears, hold in the fear.

Please give me strength. Don't let this claim him. Give me the right words. Tell me how I can help him.

Well, Frank sighed, what would I want if I was him? That's easy: a distraction. Joe and I could both use one, could both use a little laughter. I don't even remember the last time we laughed.

"Hey Joe," he murmured, "what was the name of that creepy clown doll you had as a kid?"

Joe opened his eyes, startled, then frowned in thought.

"Charlie? No…chuckie…chingles…Chingle Checkers!"

"That's right. I hated that thing."

"Hey, I forgot about him! And your fear of clowns. You remember when you had those clown dreams? You came into my room for weeks, mumbling about how they were coming through your bedroom window."

"It was your fault. You left that creepy thing in my room one night, and I woke up and turned over and there it was. I've never screamed so much in my life."

Joe chuckled; Frank could barely believe it, but it was there. Not loud, not strong; but there.

We're going to get through this, he thought, drawing Joe closer and going on.

"It's morning," Joe said, surprised as birds began chirping outside his window. "Damn, we stayed up all night!"

"Thought you didn't want to sleep."

"I didn't, but you might have."

"Nah. I'd rather talk to you."

"Well, you did do that."

Joe shut his eyes and sighed.

"I really appreciate this, Frank," he murmured.

"I know. But hey, you'd do the same thing for me."

Joe drew a shaky breath. "I'll pay you back, someday. I will, I promise."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've already paid me back. You're getting well. That's all I want."

Joe rested his head against his elder brother's chest and closed his eyes, then murmured, "You're the best brother anyone could have."

Frank smiled down at his brother's slightly reddening face, then closed his own eyes.

"You too, kiddo," he said gently, "you'll know that one day."

Joe didn't answer. He was asleep.