"And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you can know." Simon and Garfunkel

"What happened?"

Frank stared at Chet, his voice growing louder without him even realizing it. Chet had met up with him after his last class and said, quickly, that Joe had been in a fight.

"Well, it wasn't really a fight." Chet explained, his own voice growing quiet even as Frank's got louder. "More like a…jumping, or something. Brent and his friends ganged up on him after 9th bell, and hurt him pretty bad."

"Where?" Frank needed all the details, because he was beginning to feel a slimy, dark think grow in his stomach.

"His knee, I think. Me and Biff carried him out. He couldn't walk, Frank." Chet sounded sad, and tired. "Biff took him home."

Frank shook his head. "Where was the fight?" Because he remembered something, a lurching in his stomach during that bell. He remembered turning to see a scuffle right behind him.

"In the five hundred corridor, in front of Joe's locker." Chet shook his head, his voice coming out uncharacteristically bitter. "They're such cowards, ganging up on him when they know he's been hurt. Brent was strangling him. Joe had nearly passed out by the time Biff and I got there."

"Got where?" Cathy asked, putting her hand on Frank's shoulder. Frank shrugged it off, his worst suspicions confirmed.

"I was there." He turned to Cathy, looking at her incredulously. "We were there. We saw that fight."

"What?" Chet asked, voice rising in pitch. "You were there and you didn't help Joe? What's wrong with you?" His emotions, loose and wild since Joe's attack, bubbled, hot and angry, and he lashed out at the person who should be protecting Joe at all costs. Who had failed his duty.

Frank glared at Cathy. "You said it wasn't Joe. I asked you if it was him and you said it wasn't, that it was Jack Finkle." Frank accused, naming a Sophomore who was so similar in coloring and build as Joe that the two laughingly dressed up as each other on Halloween. "You told me." Frank's voice cracked and he turned away from her, back to Chet.

"Chet, you know that if I'd thought it was Joe I would have helped him. Hell, I should have helped Jack…" He trailed off, trying to remember why he didn't jump into the fray, and again turned to his girlfriend, bemused. "You pulled me away from there. You said you felt dizzy and had to sit down."

Cathy narrowed her eyes and flushed deeply. "I did feel dizzy. And I thought it was Jack, Frank." Her voice turned pleading. "You have to believe me, I don't want anything to happen to Joe."

Frank stared at her for another second, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay." He turned hard again. "But he could have been really hurt because you gave me the wrong information."

Cathy's cheeks got even redder. "Anyone could have mixed those two up."

Not anyone. Frank thought. He could tell his brother from anyone in the world, and he knew that Biff and Chet and Tony and even Callie could have. But Cathy had only lived in Bayport for a few weeks. She had to be cut some slack.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Frank said, tersely, "Joe's okay?"

"Yeah." Chet nodded slowly. "He's had worse. But he was in a lot of pain and, Frank." Chet lowered his voice so that Cathy, who was trailing behind contritely, couldn't hear. "He saw you walk away from him. He's more hurt by that then anything."

"Oh, God." Frank paled, trying to imagine what Joe felt when he saw Frank turn his back on him while he was being beaten up. "Is there any way he'll forgive me?" He asked Chet, quietly.

"Let's see him. Then you will apologize. A lot." Chet shook his head again, and Frank knew that his friend was disappointed in him, could tell by his expression. It was the first time something Frank had done had really and truly let Joe down, had resulted in him getting hurt.

A hand touched his arm and closed on it, making the tense muscles there relax. "It'll be okay, Frank. Joe's a fighter." Cathy's voice was soft, scared. But it was all Frank needed to relax a little bit, to begin breathing again. He had to figure out what to say to Joe.

Biff's car was parked outside the Hardy's house. Frank flew out of the van, shouldering the door open. Biff was sitting on the couch, his arm draped over Joe's shoulder. "He's sleeping." Biff said, his voice a whisper, afraid of waking the finally slumbering boy. He had spent the first forty minutes trying to figure out the extent of the damage and had surmised that Joe had only sustained a flesh wound, but a painful one. Now he was acting as a pillow, though whether Joe had passed out from the medicine or sheer exhaustion, Biff didn't know.

Frank held a hand out, letting it hover over Joe's head, smoothing damp blond hair back. "God, Joe." He murmured, taking his hand away. "I'm so sorry."

"What happened?" Biff asked, trying not to shift his position. Joe twitched in his sleep, one of his hands reaching for his leg.

"He was there. Saw Joe pinned against the locker and he just walked away." It was obvious that Chet was still mad at him, and the normally peaceful boy looked ready to lunge at his best friend. Everyone was on edge where Joe was involved. He just had that kind of personality that made you want to save him, even if he didn't want or need your help.

Biff turned at Chet's words, "You what?" He hissed, gripping Joe tighter. Though Joe had told him just that, he didn't believe, didn't want to believe, that Frank could have just walked away. "Why?"

"I didn't know, Biff, believe me. You know how much I love Joe." Frank kneeled next to Joe, watching him sleep. "I wouldn't have left if Cathy…" But he wasn't going to blame this on his girlfriend. It was his fault. All his fault.

It was his fault Joe was hurt in the first place. They had been on a job, searching a house or a suspect. They had found a room with pictures of the murders…Frank was using his camera phone to get the evidence while Joe kept look out. "Frank," Joe had whispered. "They're here. We need to leave."

"One second." Frank had replied, snapping more photos. Why, he thought, would you keep picture trophies of your murders? "Don't worry."

Joe had hovered by the door, shifting his weight. Neither boy, as a rule, carried weapons, but Joe took out his switchblade, meager help as it would be against a gun. "Frank…" he'd moaned, and just as the older boy turned, ready to run for it, the door had flown open.

They had called for backup as soon as they found the room, since the men, who were supposed to be just petty thieves, had turned out to be so much more. Mr. Hardy had lamented, after the fact, that it was his fault, as he was the one who let the boys take the case. He'd thought it was less dangerous than it had turned out to be.

But it was all Frank's fault that his younger brother had been shot, that his leg had been ruined. Because when the door burst open, Frank had been standing in full view while Joe had managed to get behind the door. The weapon was pointed at him, before Joe tackled the guy, his form perfect. The gun had gone off somewhere in the scuffle, and Joe had yelled out, the scream tearing at every part of Frank's heart, before going deathly still.

The men had run, of course, thinking that Joe was dead. They were caught by the police, who were storming up the stairs at the sound of Joe's scream. Frank had turned Joe over, a sigh of relief coming out as soon as he saw Joe's chest rise, even as inside him he knew what he would carry with him for the rest of his life, his guilt, his burden to bear. He had ruined his brother's life.

Everything that stemmed from Joe's wound had been his fault, from the repeated surgeries to his brother's limp to his mugging. But this one took the cake.

Joe blinked his eyes open, smiling painfully when he saw Frank, before frowning slightly, gritting his teeth in pain. Frank reached for him, but Biff pulled Joe away, just out of his reach, glaring at Frank.

"Oh, Joe. I'm sorry." Chet and Cathy stood on the other side of the couch. Chet was still red with rage, while Cathy had no expression at all. Frank assumed that she was just trying to take all this in. She hadn't seen nearly as many fights as the others had.

"Frank…you weren't…you didn't see?" Joe's eyes drifted shut repeatedly, and he yanked them open again, fighting the drug-induced urge to sleep. He needed an answer.

Swallowing hard, Frank touched Joe's chest. "Yeah, I did, bro. I'm so, so sorry."

Joe looked away from him, blinking back tears of pain and betrayal. He'd been crying a lot more since the accident, and hated himself for it. "Why?"

Frank shook his head, refusing to drag Cathy into this. "I'm sorry." He said again, because there was really no excuse.

"It was my fault, Joe." And when Frank looked up at Cathy, he could have sworn he saw a flash of pleasure on her face as she admitted her part in Joe's injuries. But then the look was gone, and she looked apologetic again.

"Oh." Joe murmured, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, Joe." Frank whispered, feeling more terrible than he had in a long time.

"No. It's okay." Joe yawned, his shirt coming up to expose a concave stomach….defined ribs. He glanced up at Biff, then at Frank. "Can I switch pillows?"

Frank smiled tightly as Biff stood up and Frank took his place. He was glad Joe had forgiven him, but he felt even worse, if possible, because Joe hadn't yelled, gotten angry or emotional like the old Joe would have. With one look at Biff and Chet, he knew that they hadn't forgiven him. And from the way they were looking at Cathy, they had put her in the doghouse, too.

Biff was staring intently at Joe, though whether it was because of his worry for his friend or his refusal to look at Frank, the older boy couldn't tell. "I'm out of here. Chet, come with me?" And Frank didn't need an explanation for their whereabouts. Though both were genial, gentle fellows, they weren't above roughing someone up if the other party had started a war.

With his hand on the doorknob, Biff turned around. "Frank, give him something to eat, okay? He weighs, like, nothing." Frank nodded. He had noticed that, too. It was impossible not to notice.

The boys left, and Frank settled back into the couch, his arm wrapped protectively over his dozing brother. "You should leave, Cathy." He said, trying to convince himself that it was because Joe would be asleep for a while, not that he was angry at her for her part in Joe's injuries.

"I really am sorry, Frank. I didn't mean to." She leaned over the couch and kissed Frank lightly on the lips. Then she moved her head down to Joe and whispered something, smiling.

Joe stiffened slightly, but didn't wake up when a girl whispered, her voice crackling like fire, "I told you so."

Review? Pretty Please?