Joe cried out as the recoil knocked him back against the wall. The gun fell to the floor and he stared at it in shock. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Cold washed over him and he started to shake.

“Dad!” Frank shouted.

Horrified, Joe looked up.

He’d shot someone –

His father.

And then Nestor grabbed him.

…

Fenton felt the bullet’s burn as it skimmed the side of his deltoid. Pain flared, hot, white; bloody.

Around him Frank shouted as Nestor shoved against the injury, his face a savage snarl as he ground his fingers into the detective’s shoulder driving the man to his knees.

And then Nestor was gone and as Fenton shoved himself back to his feet using the wall for support, he froze. The madman had Joe.

…

Pain burned through Joe’s wrist as he was hauled to his feet. Nestor wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled his body back against him.

Panicked he struggled against the man. “Stop it,” Nestor growled, he squeezed his arm and breathing became impossible. Terrified, the little boy sought out his brother.

…

Frank had never been so terrified in his life. His heart pounded as he glanced between his injured father and his traumatized little brother unsure what to do for either of them, and still in disbelief that Joe had shot their father. He knew it wasn’t on purpose but…. still… his little brother had fired a gun. A real, actual live gun.

Cool.

‘No’, he shook his head and mentally scolded himself. ‘Not cool. Not cool at all.’ And then Joe got an even more freaked out look on his face and started to claw at the arm wrapped around his throat. Frank tried to concentrate on what the man was saying but his whole focus was on his brother’s increasingly bug-like look. Sudden comprehension shot his innocence. Nestor was killing Joe. Right in front of him.

“No!” Frank shouted and lunged at the man but his father managed to snag his arm and yank him back.

…

“Frank,” Fenton warned, his eyes never leaving Watersmith. “Stay here.” He pushed his protesting son behind him and growled, “Let Joey go.”

“Jason,” Nestor corrected smugly, the arm wrapped around the child’s throat going from a choke-hold to a mocking hug, “is going to go… with me.”

Joe gasped, his wide blue eyes bright with fear.

“Over my dead body,” the detective vowed, his eyes locking hard onto the terrified ones. Hang on, Joey… just hang on… Warm blood slid down his arm. Two police officers moved silently outside the doorway, the madman oblivious.

Yes!

Fenton felt his heart pound; he just had to get Joe away from Nestor.

“Why the hell do you even care?” Watersmith demanded angrily. “The ungrateful little brat just shot you.” Fenton’s anger grew with each word, smoldering dangerously as he watched Joe pale. “You don’t need him. I do. My wife does… You take your good boy, have your perfect life and let me have this screw up -” He started to back towards the doorway.

Fenton waited; his body tense and ready. The gun in his shoulder holster loaded and ready. C’mon. C’mon. Just a little more…

“He’s been mine for two years now,” Nestor continued to taunt. The detective clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Watersmith was almost at the door now. “And he -”

A flash movement outside the door –

Nestor half-turned –

The gun was in Fenton’s hand -

“Hey, Asshole!” he shouted. Waited for half a heart beat. Fenton wanted to see the look in Nestor’s eyes just before he killed him.

Fenton fired.

…

Joe screamed as Nestor jerked back with the impact of the bullet and then dropped. He turned to look at his tormentor and was grabbed –

By his father.

…

Fenton grabbed the traumatized child and pulled him to his chest, sinking down to his knees as pain lanced through his arm. “Shhh…” he whispered, holding the shaking boy, refusing to let him look at the body as police milled around and somewhere down the hall, he heard his wife’s voice, “It’s okay, Joey, it’s okay… you’re okay… Daddy’s got you… shhh…” Without turning, Fenton opened an arm and Frank snaked in next to him, his own body shaking almost as badly as his brother’s.

“It’s okay, boys, every things okay now…”

…

Frank sniffled, his own smaller arms joining Fenton’s in wrapping around his brother. He listened to his father and added his own quieter murmuring. Anything to help calm Joey down, and maybe even himself…

He needed so badly to believe his father because this had scared him too much; he now understood his little brother’s almost paralyzing fear of Nestor and it helped cement Frank’s determination that no one was ever going to hurt Joey again. Not as long as he was around.

And then Laura was there too and Frank finally let himself relax. They were okay. They were all okay.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Laura refused to let her little boys go. As the police milled around and the coroner was called, she ushered her children into the large master bedroom and fussed over them, quickly wrapping Joe’s injured wrist in a cold compress and barking out a request for a paramedic.

She cooed over Frank’s bruises and placed a soft kiss on the top of Joe’s head as he burrowed next to her and continued to sob softly.

Fenton stood in the doorway, a handkerchief pressed against his arm.

“Are you okay?” Laura asked as she checked Joe’s swollen arm. “Are the paramedics here yet?”

The sound of an approaching siren answered her even as Fenton shook his head; his dark eyes fixed on the children. “Soon.” He sighed tiredly and crossed the room.

Joe flinched and pressed in even more closely to her and Laura’s heart ached for him knowing her baby blamed himself for shooting his own father.

“Hey,” Fenton dropped down in front of Joe. Laura noticed how Frank stiffened and wrapped an arm around his slim shoulders giving him a quick squeeze; understanding his desire to protect the younger child. But he didn’t need to worry about what his father was going to say as Laura already knew Fenton didn’t blame Joe. Just the opposite. He was very proud of the little boy. “Joey? Son?”

The little boy still refused to look at him. Fenton sighed and glanced up at Laura. She gave him an encouraging nod.

“Joey, you know I’m not angry with you right?” Fenton tried again, “You know I’m pretty dang proud of you actually. You did what you had to do to protect yourself.”

Laura knew Joey was listening even if the child wouldn’t look at his father.

“Now I’m not crazy that you used a gun – I would have preferred if you were never in that situation to begin with… but I am proud that you know that your life is important enough for you to defend yourself…” He looked at Frank. “That goes for the both of you. You boys are the most important things your mother and I have and we love you…” He glanced back at Joe, “And I can’t really blame you for having sucky aim, now can I?” Was that a glimmer of blue he saw? “Not when I haven’t even taught you how to shoot yet,” yes it was – Joe lifted his head to look at Fenton and the man gave him an encouraging smile and whispered. “I love you, son.”

And then Joe was throwing himself at his father, wrapping his small arms about Fenton; his heartfelt mantra of I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry lost in the hiccups of his breath and Fenton closed his eyes. He let the handkerchief drop as he carefully disentangled himself from the desperate grip. Carefully he folded the child into him, dropped his cheek to rest on the little boy’s head and waited for the paramedics to find them.

The child finally relaxed against him, his breath hot against Fenton’s chest and the detective finally felt that he’d gotten his little lost boy, back.

Epilogue to follow…

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.