"And the boy loved the tree very much. And the tree was happy." Shel Silverstein

It was five o' clock when Joe arrived next to the couch where Frank had been comfortably seated, reading.

"Let's do something."

Frank looked up, arching an eyebrow, amused and confused. The Joe that stood before him wore a purple, fur-lined hat over his bald head that completely clashed with a green overcoat, necessary for northern winters. The Joe that stood before him was fidgeting, tapping his fingers against his sides and tapping his foot impatiently. This Joe looked excited, rather than anxious, and he had (or was it a trick of the light?) a glint in his eyes.

Overall, if it weren't for the hair (or lack thereof) Frank would have thought that he'd been transported back four months, or that the events had never happened.

But, as a certain author, whose name currently escaped him, once wrote, "Never look a gift horse in the mouth." (Or never sniff a gift fish, which rhymes better but is less well-known.) So Frank immediately got up to search for his overcoat.

Joe was positively jumping up and down, looking like a child at a carnival, and Frank had to stare. Hours ago, they'd left the trial, both exhausted from watching the tragedy be re-hashed in front of them. Joe had been withdrawn, quiet, and jumpy, which wasn't unusual for him. He had spent the last hours working on the van, mechanical work that he still loved to do. There was nothing wrong with the van, but Frank suspected that the repetitiveness of the actions calmed his brother.

"So…what's up?" He was trying, trying to act as if this was normal. As if Joe pounced on him everyday to get up and move. The old Joe was never happy just sitting down. He had to be competing at something, or playing with something, or (the best of all) finding something.

Joe looked at him, and Frank saw that he was wrong. The glint in his brother's eyes was unmistakable, and his energy was unmatched, but there were remnants of the past months hanging on him. His eyes were shaded, tired and worn, with a haunted edge that came from seeing too much tragedy and not knowing, for once, how to stop it. This Joe was slightly thinner, a bit wiser, and an ocean sadder.

Unable to stop himself, Frank affectionately rubbed Joe's bald head. "It's supposed to be good luck, bro." He explained, laughing. Joe smiled lopsidedly, reaching up to fix his hat, and Frank felt his breath catch in his throat.

Because Joe was looking at him. Like he used to. Like Frank went out and personally ordered the sun into the sky every morning. For years, Frank used to resent the fact that Joe idolized him. It was only in the months after That Day, when Joe realized that Frank was human like the rest of them, that Joe didn't look at him with those eyes. It was only now, that he had it back, that Frank realized how much he missed his brother looking up to him.

He liked being able to do everything. He liked being able to get out of sticky situations with a hundred different criminals. He liked being able to save his brother.

Joe stole the keys from his hand and ran out the door into the garage, making Frank follow him interestedly. By the time he got into the large cement room, Joe was already in the car, an insanely happy smile plastered on his face.

Frank got into the passenger seat, a little wary now. It was Friday night. Before, when Joe had been in a mood like this, they were liable to go anywhere if they had enough time. "So…where are we going?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in a way that made Frank laugh, the younger Hardy said, playfully, "You never do like surprises, do you bro?"

Rolling his eyes, Frank leaned back in the seat and watched Joe, using half his mind to deduce where they were going, the other half to marvel over his brother's sudden change.

First: The destination. Frank had very little information for this. He ticked off the little he did know in his head. They weren't going to the airport, and they didn't have luggage, so it couldn't be all that far. In the back seat of the van were the backpacks the two often took when they were expecting to stay overnight. It was February 1st.

Smiling, Frank tucked the "problem" away, deciding to let Joe pretend he'd surprised him, though he seemed to be in a state where no matter how Frank reacted he'd be bouncing off the walls.

It was like watching a little kid who had eaten far too much candy. Joe did not only sit and talk. He laughed. He told jokes. He seemed in awe as they watched the sun slowly float into the horizon. And Frank was amazed.

"Frank?" Joe was literally bouncing up and down in the seat, keeping time to the music on the radio.

"Yeah, Joe?"

"What's the name of that movie where the guy and the girl meet, like, twenty years ago, and then they get to be friends, but they don't actually go out for years and years and years?"

You couldn't get more random than that if you tried. "Don't know, kiddo."

Joe shrugged, then his eyes almost burst out of his head as he gasped in surprise. "Dude, I love this song!" He turned the knob, already singing along. "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world."

Pretending to cover his ears, Frank found the nearest thing and his Joe with it. The thin spiral notebook did little to dampen Joe's spirits. "She took the midnight train going an-ee-where."

Halfway through the next phrase, Joe cut off, looking perplexed, then burst out, explosively, "When Harry Met Sally!" Then he started singing, his voice so off key Frank had to open the window; anything this bad had to be exposed to the world.

Three hours, several Journey CDs and almost a case of Coke later, the brothers pulled into an over-crowded motel parking lot in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Joe was positively swelling with pride. "This," he said solemnly, stepping out of the car, "Is where it's happening."

He looked at Frank, and in that instant, Frank understood. This was a…gift. Joe hadn't completely gone "back to normal" and Frank doubted he ever would. He was fully expecting his brother to wake up that very night with nightmares. But this proved that all hope wasn't completely lost.

Smiling, Frank lunged at Joe, holding him so his chest wouldn't touch the ground as they toppled onto the grass. They wrestled back and forth for a second, and Frank was surprised and pleased to find that Joe could almost beat him. In the end, though, Joe was stuck with Frank sitting on his legs. The purple hat Joe had arrived with was somewhere in the bushes.

Frank grinned, rubbing Joe's head as he would have in order to mess up his brother's hair. "Love you, little buddy." He said.

And Joe laughed.

I couldn't deal with any more sorrow without even a glint of hope at the end of the tunnel. Is Joe completely cured? Absolutely not. But personal experience states that sometimes depression sometimes makes people a little…crazy. This is a true story. I once actually ended up in Punxsutawney, PA. That was a weird night.

Anyway, loose ends will be tied up soon.

As always, please review.