I don't own the Hardys.

"Those Elric brothers, they only live for each other." Fullmetal Alchemist

Frank

Chet and Tony only left after they got kicked out. I refused, and so did John. If he hadn't, I would have refused for him. Poor guy couldn't drive anywhere like this.

So Chet and Tony were out to find their parents and explain they weren't dead. They'd probably get no sleep tonight, like me. I couldn't go to sleep even if Joe hadn't been in the hospital. Everything just seemed…scary.

It's odd, but today I've wondered about life a lot more than I ever have. Probably because so many lives are gone and ruined. Like Carrie, who could have been a model if she hadn't thought they were shallow losers, and Dave, who could have invented a cure for cancer, and that teacher, who had probably tried to stop the shooting in the first place, and…

And everyone else. I rubbed my temples, thinking of how different everything was going to be. For a minute, I tried to see beyond me and Joe and our little corner of the world. Everyone says teenagers think the world revolves around them, and I'll agree. I haven't thought of anyone else but me and my friends all day.

But for second, I tried. I tried to imagine what could have happened to make someone kill…I think it was thirty-something people last time the news was on. And the kid must have hurt so many others. Even if he didn't hit them, they were hurt like John, who hadn't been shot. He hadn't been hurt at all, and yet he was hurt the most.

That's where my thoughts ended, when I came full circle back to my corner of the universe. I looked over at John, who was holding Carrie's hand. She'd woken up for about ten minutes, long enough to see John and have him kiss her. Then she'd passed out again.

For a moment, while I stared at John, I felt closer to him then I had ever felt to anyone. He had gone through everything I had and more and yet he was still sane. And we had shared something on this nightmare-ish day. There are some things you can't go through together without feeling something for that person, and having your school shot up is one of those things.

I tightened my grip on Joe's hand. Somehow, it didn't seem real to me that he was in the hospital bed and I wasn't. How did I get out totally unhurt? Luck, probably. It was all luck.

I checked my watch, a little surprised to see that it was almost eleven at night. Time didn't seem to matter anymore.

The door opened but I didn't even look up. There had been doctors and nurses coming in and out all day, to check temperature or something on either Joe or Carrie. Then I heard the scream.

I turned around just in time to see mom gripping the doorknob. Her scream had woken John up out of his half-doze and he managed to reach her before she collapsed.

I rushed to my mom's side, wondering vaguely why she was here. I hadn't called her -- I had completely forgotten, once again, that there was a world outside the hospital. "It's okay mom, he'll be fine."

She was crying. I hated to see my mom cry. I hugged her, knowing that it would do little to make her feel better. She hugged me back in the same way I've been doing to Joe all day. As if she wanted to make sure I was really there. "What about you, Frank?"

"I'm not hurt." I couldn't say I was fine -- I was as far away from fine as I would ever be. But my mom didn't need to know that now, so I told her what she needed to hear.

"And Joe?"

Desperately, I tried to think of what Joe would say in my spot. "Well, he won't be playing football any time soon." It was a feeble attempt but it did draw a strangled laugh out of my mother.

I guided her to the chair that I'd been sitting in. She just stared at Joe, not moving, not saying anything, just looking at him. Watching his chest rise and fall, courtesy of a big machine.

"It looks worse than it is." I offered, knowing, if she was like me, she was freaking out at the sight of all the machines around Joe. And she was like me, so she was freaking out.

She looked at me, obviously trying to think about anything but Joe, though I noticed her fingers intertwine with his limp ones. She looked over my shoulder at John, who was looking at us curiously. "How is everyone? Chet? Callie? Tony?"

I waved her questions away. "They're fine. Chet and Tony and Biff got out before they got hit. Callie wasn't in school today."

Still casting around for a topic that didn't include Joe and his health, she smiled shakily at John. "Hello. I'm Mrs. Hardy."

He inclined his head slightly. "John Growe." He gestured to Carrie, still asleep in the bed. "Carrie Garner, my girlfriend."

"John's been here with me all day." I supplied. Mom nodded absently, her hand still stroking Joe's. Finally, like she couldn't take it anymore, she asked, "How bad are they?"

"Are what?"

"The injuries." She looked like she might cry again, which made me want to cry again. John was already crying -- he's been crying quietly ever since we'd been given the news of his brother.

"Oh." I tried to remember them all. "He was shot --" I realized that was the wrong word as mom started crying for real. I continued as gently as I could. "In the stomach. It hit a kidney and his lung. His kidney's shot and his lung had collapsed, though they repaired that in surgery. The tube is just a precaution."

I sat down next to mom, watching her watch Joe, watching as the tears trailed paths down her cheeks. I hate it when she cries. I hate it when I can't do anything to help.

I can't help Joe, I can't help my mother, I can't help John or Carrie or that teacher or any of the other people who had been hurt. I was useless.

And I was crying.

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