A/N: I started writing this and was halfway through before I realized it was in third person. I know it doesn't match up with the rest of the story, but I don't think I can make it first. Sorry.
"And anytime you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders." The Beatles.
Frank woke early the next morning with the sudden wish to see John. He knew that Dave's funeral was early today and would be followed by ten or fifteen others. He slowly lifted himself out of bed, detangling himself from Joe. He put on a suit, the same suit he had worn to so many trials and hearings. He was doing all this as quietly as he could, not wishing to wake his brother.
"Frank?" Joe's groggy voice sounded just as Frank was opening the door. He turned to Joe, now sitting completely straight, a grimace on his face as his insides protested at the sudden movement.
Frank made a split-second decision. "Get dressed, Joe, we're leaving early." Glancing out the window, Frank hoped it wasn't too early. A grey pallor still held the world in silence, storm clouds blocking out any chance of seeing the rising sun.
Joe immediately complied, getting out of bed gingerly so as not to jostle his still – sore chest. He glanced at Frank, a yawn showing how tired he still was. "Thanks, Frank."
Frank just nodded. He knew Joe was talking about last night. After the chess-talk (which would probably go down in history as one of the first times both brothers were absolutely serious with each other) Joe had climbed into bed with Frank, the two teenagers barely fitting. Neither cared. Frank would never tell, but he had needed Joe last night just as much as Joe had needed him.
He was starting to get nightmares.
Crazy, improbable dreams in which he couldn't find Joe. He was always in the school, gunshots in the distance, looking through every classroom window and seeing -- everyone. His mother and father. Biff. Chet. Phil. Tony. John. But he could never find Joe.
Until the end. Until he was about to wake up. Then he got a glimpse of his brother, lying exactly how Frank had found him, only he was dead. Obviously. Absolutely. Utterly dead.
Because Frank hadn't gotten to him in time.
Jerking back to the present, Frank left his barely-lightened room. He carefully went down the stairs, wincing every time he made a sound. It was six o' clock. Too early for any sane person to be up. Glancing out the big window in the front of his house, Frank knew it would be a cold day. Rain would fall later. It would be miserable.
It was perfect.
He jumped as Joe touched him on the shoulder. He turned around. At any other time, Joe would be laughing, excited that he could sneak up on Frank. Now Joe was just staring out the window Frank had been looking out of. Frank could see that Joe was shaking, his body trembling slightly even as he stood perfectly still.
Looking closer, Frank realized that the suit Joe was wearing had been worn to another funeral already this year. Iola's. The last funeral they had gone to had been Joe's girlfriend.
Without thinking, Frank enveloped Joe in a hug. "You ready for this, Little Buddy?"
Joe nodded, the movement felt against Frank's shoulder. He breathed in and pushed away from Frank. "Can I drive?" he asked, changing the subject noticeably.
Frank tried to smile, though he didn't quite make it. "Yeah, you can drive."
They left a note for their parents, explaining where they were going and telling them that they had taken their father's smaller car. They knew that they would understand.
"Where are we going?" Joe asked, looking across at Frank as he pulled out of the driveway. Making a split-second decision, Frank said, "The church."
Almost every Catholic in Bayport belonged to St. Vincent De Paul Church in the center of town. Frank took a gamble and bet that John would be there, because that's where he would be if Joe ever died.
The church was almost completely empty when they arrived. The ceremony wasn't until ten o' clock. They were three hours early.
Walking in the doors of the church, Frank immediately felt calm as he hadn't felt in days. The church was centuries old, one of the first built in the US. It was huge and beautiful, with stained-glass windows that depicted the Old Testament. At the front of the church was a huge circular window of Jesus, sitting on a tall mountain with children around him. A beautiful picture.
Standing in front of it, looking straight up, was John.
Frank approached the boy slowly, turning this way and that. He had been to this church so many times when working on cases. Every time Joe had been kidnapped, he had come to the church to light a candle. He had always believed that the reason Joe had been found so many times, defeating all odds, was because of that.
Now, he stood next to John, looking up at the window. He didn't talk, knowing that John had to speak first.
He did, in a voice cracking from no use and emotion. "I kicked everyone else out. All my friends…they tried. They couldn't understand."
Frank nodded. He remembered trying and failing to understand what his own brother was going through in the days after Iola's death. "Do you want us to leave?" Joe came forward and stood on the other side of John, not looking at the window but at a statue of St. Jude standing to the side. In the church, statues of many of the saints circled the walls, their unseeing eyes watching the exchange.
Finally, John looked over at Frank, his face wet, eyes red. "No. Stay." His voice cracked as he tried to get out one more word. "Please."
Frank could only nod, feeling a lump in his throat grow. John looked so…lost. Again, the parallels between John and Dave and Frank and Joe were obvious. Dave, like Joe, was a Junior, while Frank and John were Seniors. Dave and Joe had both been shot, while John and Frank had escaped unscathed.
The only difference was Dave was dead. Joe wasn't.
Dave shouldn't be dead. It was a pointless way to die. Dave had been brilliant -- he had won every scholar award in the school. He had been talented. And kind.
Frank pulled John into a hug like he had done to Joe. He felt the smaller boy shake against him and knew he was crying. He felt himself crying, too.
He and John had only really known each other for three days. They were friends for life, bound by impossible circumstances and shared knowledge. They had both lost their brother for a day. Frank had been lucky enough to get his back.
They broke apart after a minute of standing there. Frank immediately, almost subconsciously looked for Joe. He was standing under the statue of St. Jude. When he saw Frank looking at him, he came to stand by his brother.
John looked at Joe, his eyes traveling up and down the boy. He smiled. Frank wouldn't have been able to do that. "Feeling better, Joe?"
Joe nodded, his eyes not meeting John's. Frank knew that Joe still wasn't better. He had lost football, maybe for the rest of his life. He had damaged his lungs to the point where running every morning as he liked to do was out of the question, at least for now.
John continued to look at him. "Do you remember anything from…you know?"
Joe shook his head, this time not looking at either boy. Frank was secretly glad Joe could remember nothing of the events that happened that morning. It would kill his happy-go-lucky brother. Joe, whether he admitted it or not, believed the best in every person he saw.
The church door opened again. Again, it was too early for anybody to be there for the service. Frank watched as Carrie Garner walked in. John waited for her helplessly until she stood in front of him, daring him to send her away.
"Carrie…please…" John turned his head, unwilling to let his girlfriend see the tears in his eyes. Carrie put a hand on John's cheek, turning his face back around so they faced each other. Carrie's own face was still bandaged.
Quietly, she said, "Let me stay, John. You already sent me away enough times." She laughed quietly, a laugh containing no mirth. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily."
She ran her fingers through John's hair in a gesture so intimate Frank felt as if he was intruding on something private. "There's one thing your forgetting, babe." Carrie said, leaning her forehead against John's.
"I loved him, too."
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