"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA," yelled Don as soon as he recognized Oswald. "Hold your damn fire, man! EVERYBODY, HOLD YOUR FIRE!" He pushed past the agent who had shocked Kittner down a couple of steps and placed himself at the end of the officer's shotgun. He hoped to hell the guy didn't have an itchy finger. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Oswald's shirt, jerking him back up to kitchen-level. "What the hell are you doing? How did you get in the basement? You're supposed to be at the house with Joe!"

Oswald cowered in Don's grasp and looked pleadingly at him. "Yeah. About that, dude. He's kind-of down in the basement too."

The agent had lowered the shotgun and Don took a step backwards, dragging Oswald with him and groaning. "Please don't tell me you brought a 15-year-old kid to a live crime scene."

Oswald reddened. The way Don said that, it suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea. "I may have screwed up," he admitted, miserable. He looked over Don's shoulder at Megan, hoping for a friendlier face. "But we got Frank, man! He's down there too, and he's hurt. I think he needs some help…."

Don roughly pushed Oswald to the side and used one hand to stop the officer who was had been about to start down the stairs. "Hold up, hold up. We don't know that it's secure, idiot!" He glared again at Oswald. "What about the other guy? Jason?"

Oswald looked at his feet, suddenly frightened that Don might throw him in jail and leave him there to rot. When he spoke, his voice was tiny. "I think…I may have planted a shovel in his face. He ain't movin', much."

"Holy shit," Don breathed. He motioned to the agent teetering at the top of the stairs to continue down. "Watch your back," he instructed. "Megan," he shouted over his shoulder, "David! We need some back-up over here!" Much as he wanted to go down himself, Don stayed in the kitchen with Oswald, moving him even farther away. "We have ambulances on site," he hissed, still sounding angry. "I can have EMTs down there in less than 30 seconds as soon as I get the all-clear."

Oswald was growing even more nervous left alone in the kitchen with an angry Don Eppes, and it was starting to affect his stomach. "Oh, man," he almost-whispered. "I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking."

Don finally let go of Oswald's shirt and let him bounce backwards a few inches into the wall. The federal agent crossed his arms over his chest so that he wouldn't be tempted to shoot the little John Wayne wannabe. He drowned and arched an eyebrow. "No shit," he finally agreed. Then, almost against his will, Don grinned. "Damn, Oswald. You planted a shovel in his face?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

With Frank, Alan and Charlie still being examined nearly an hour after their arrival at the hospital, Oswald ended up dragging Joe to the cafeteria in an effort to distract him. Kittner was anything but hungry, himself – in truth, he still felt as if he might throw up. He insisted that Joe get at least a sandwich, however, even if he was sticking with ginger ale. By the time the two had reached a table, the smell of food had done its job. Oswald nearly forced Joe into a chair, mumbling something about the bathroom, taking off in an odd, stumbling speed-walk.

An elderly woman at the table nearest them made a noise of sympathy. "Poor thing. Who are you boys here for?"

Joe dragged his eyes from Oswald's quickly-disappearing back and looked over at her, startled. "What? Huh?"

She smiled reassuringly, and spoke in a confidential tone. "I'm here for my grandson. About your age, I think – always liked racing dirt bikes, of all things." She shook her head sorrowfully. "He took a bad spill."

Joe smiled faintly, finding himself drawn to the older woman. "He'll be okay, I hope. My brother used to be really into dirt biking, and he crashed all the time." His smile faded and his voice grew sad. "That's not why he's here now, though."

Suddenly, the woman's eyes widened. "I know who you are," she said excitedly in recognition. "I've seen your picture, with your father. I remember showing it to my grandson – the two of you were on the sidelines at a dirt bike competition, watching your brother, it said. You're Fenton Hardy's child, aren't you?" she asked. She smiled happily, nodding. "Yes, I'm sure you are. It was several years ago, and you've grown up a lot, but I'm sure it was you!"

Joe nodded dully, looking at the ground. He hated it when people mentioned his father, and he found himself liking the woman less. People were too impressed by bought-and-paid-for publicity. They always thought Fenton was a saint or something.

The grandmother didn't take note of his discomfort, and rattled on. "Oh, I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news upstairs in the waiting room. Fenton Hardy, arrested. Murder, kidnapping, God knows what else – I couldn't hear it all, I was so shocked. Here I always thought he was this saint, helping the entire nation. I can't even begin to imagine what your family must be going through!" Her face clouded. "Oh, dear. And your brother hurt, too. Your poor mother!"

Joe spied Don entering the cafeteria and he catapulted from his seat. "Don!" he cried, not caring how quiet the rest of the people in the room were. "Don!"

In a few brief strides Don was with him at the table, looking around suspiciously. "Where the hell did Kittner get to this time? I knew I shouldn't trust him to bring you down here."

Joe actually fisted a hand in Don's shirt and tugged. "How's Frank? Have you talked to my Mom? How's Charlie, and Uncle Alan? Oswald's sick."

Don gently removed the young Hardy and settled him in the chair again, sitting opposite him. "Calm down, kid. One question at a time, okay? What do you mean, 'Oswald's sick'?"

Joe shook his head impatiently. "I think. He took off for the bathroom pretty fast. What about Frank?"

Don sighed and glanced at the woman at the nearby table, who was gathering her purse and keys. "You take care, now," she smiled to Joe. "I'll be praying for your family. My grandson should be out of surgery now…." Without waiting for an answer, her hand fluttered in a wave and she was off.

Don looked back at Joe. "Okay." He was all-business now, wanting to get back to Charlie. "Frank will be fine. He has a slight concussion, bruised ribs. He's dehydrated. He's understandably an emotional wreck, right now – I can take you up to his room, when he's settled – I think that will help you both. Your Mom should be here soon, she's on her way."

Joe wanted to bolt for Frank right away, but he honestly was concerned for everyone else. "What about Charlie and Uncle Alan?"

Don hedged. "Dad's made out of rubber, or something. He took a header down two staircases and all he has are a few cuts and bruises. Because of his age, the doctor wants to keep him overnight and run a few tests, but when I left he hadn't won the argument, yet." Joe's eyes clouded with worry at what Don was not saying. Finally, the agent got around to his own brother.

"Charlie…Charlie's a mess. Broken arm; several bruised ribs and one cracked one; Grade 3 concussion…thank God the bullet wound to his shoulder is a graze. It could have been a lot worse."

Joe lowered his eyes. "He'll be okay," he said in a small voice. "They'll be okay." Don didn't answer and Joe went on. "That lady said it's on the news. She recognized me."

Don groaned and ran his hand through his hair. Great. Better tell the kid before he saw it on television. "Damn vultures," he grumbled. "Listen. Jason…Jason killed himself in lock-up. Megan just called me 10 minutes ago, but you know those vultures will have it soon."

Joe's face hardened. Both he and Frank knew how evil Jason could be. Jason had "watched" him a few times after Frank had been kidnapped, and he didn't like him one bit. It disturbed him a little when he was was glad to hear about the man's death, and he purposefully changed the subject. "Maybe we should check on Oswald, and then you can take me to Frank."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Joe leaned his head against his mother's shoulder and watched Frank sleep. He gripped her hand tightly and felt the pressure of her head resting on his, and tried to concentrate on what was good.

It was good that Frank would physically recover.

It was good that Joe and his mother would be there to help him recover emotionally.

Joe would not think about his father, or Jason, or Jeff, or even Aunt Gertrude. It was very difficult not to think about Aunt Gertrude, for he had never even suspected that she was part of his father's organization. She had confessed, faced with the mess her brother created, and still Joe could not believe it.

But he had to stop thinking about all of that.

He had to watch Frank breathe.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As predicted, the doctor lost the fight with Alan.

Don sat next to him watching Charlie sleep and consoled himself that at least Alan was in the hospital, even if it wasn't as a patient. He was close to help, if something happened.

"He should be awake soon." Alan's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "The sedative they gave him when they set his arm should wear off any time."

Don nodded. "That's good, I guess. As long as he doesn't wake up in too much pain." He inhaled deeply and confessed to his father as if he were a priest. "I wish I'd listened to him at the start of this case. Geez, Dad, if you hadn't have taken in Frank, Charlie and I would still be fighting! I said there was no way in hell that one man could manage a string of over 50,000 people. I guess I was wrong." He sighed. "Now we just get to tie up loose ends for five months."

Alan made a stab at humor. "That's 10,000 people a month, Donnie. Fairly impressive solve ratio."

Unfortunately the focus on numbers only served to depress them both further. "Why can't I be a better brother?", he whined. "If Charlie were any other consultant, with his credentials, I never would have…."

Alan interrupted him. "Don, stop now. Just stop. We can 'what-if' ourselves until the end of time on this one. What if I had been wiser in my choice of friend? What if Margaret and I had been more alert back when Jessica disappeared? What if all Charlie went through back then haunts him forever? Why wasn't I a better father?"

Don stiffened in his chair. "Now who's being ridiculous? Neither Charlie nor I have ever felt that way about you – or Mom, either! As for Fenton – that's on Fenton. Maybe it was money. Maybe it was power. Maybe it was fame – or all of the above." He lifted his head in determination. "Charlie survived what happened to him and Jessica, and he will survive this. You and I? We'll make sure of it."

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Major thanks to FraidyCat for the beta Sorry to say I'm closing this book at twenty chapters. Sequel's in the works, though..