Fenton Hardy drove slowly as his sharp eyes scanned for any signs of his missing son.

“Where are you Frankie?” he whispered, “Come on son, don’t do this to me too, son.  I can’t lose you both….I can’t.”

And then he almost slammed on his brakes as he saw a man standing outside his small house having a smoke. But it wasn’t what he was doing that startled the detective.  It was the one glimpse of the man’s face as it was briefly illuminated when he stuck the match….It was the face Fenton Hardy had been looking for.

Miles Nightingale.

* * *

Frank frowned.  He had no idea how to get the shackle off Joe.  He kept one hand on his trembling brother as he screwed up his face and contemplated the bed frame.  Maybe he could get the frame apart somehow, and get his brother loose that way.

But that would require tools, and except for the bat he saw leaning against the far side of the wall, he saw nothing else that he could use.

“Joey…” he whispered, having decided that he had no choice, he was going to have to leave him to go get help; but then the sound of shouting and a loud commotion from upstairs, interrupted him.

“NO!”  Joe screamed and flung himself at Frank but the older boy gently disentangled himself as he whispered, “Shhh Joey! It’s okay…. Shhh.”

Grabbing the bat, Frank hid around the corner. No matter what, no one was going to hurt his brother anymore.

Joe shrunk back against the wall as far as he could, his good eye wide with terror and his thumb once again planted firmly in his mouth. He was shaking so badly, Frank could see it from where he had hidden.

Frank tried to make his brother feel better; “Don't worry Joey. I know how to use this thing."

His younger brother didn’t say anything as he continued to watch in terror, his mind ringing with Mile’s threat….I’ll see how thick your skull really is…

Frank whispered across to him, "Remember how dad taught us how to hit a ball?"

“Yeah...but," Joe said in a small shaky voice that Frank had to strain to hear over the commotion above them, "but he...that….him..." Frank nodded, knowing who he meant, and then he shivered as Joe finished, "he...w-was gonna hit me with it! He said so!"

Holding the bat even more securely, the little boy’s eyes darkened and he vowed, “No one is going to hit you, Joey…no one!”

Joe was shocked. He had never heard so much venom in his big brother’s voice, and then when he saw the look on Frank’s face, he knew it was true and he felt protected.

Frank would protect him.

* * *

Fenton Hardy knocked on the front door of the house. He had waited for Con Riley and another officer, Todd Higgens, to back him up, and they stood just out of sight.

The door was opened by Miles, and it took him one second to recognize that the man who was at the door was the father of the child locked beneath them…but one second was all it took.

All hell broke loose.

* * *

As it grew quiet above them, Joe started to whimper, and Frank whispered loudly, “Don’t worry Joey….Dad will find us!  He’s a hero and that’s what hero’s do.” And he added, thinking with sympathy about Joe’s stomach, “And he’s gonna buy you a burger from Johnny’s so your tummy will stop hurting…”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost as they heard the sound of the door at the top of the stairs being opened and then the light was switched on.

Frank tightened his grip on the bat and took careful aim as he saw a pair of long legs come down the stairs. 

And he swung.

* * *

The bat was caught in a pair of strong hands…familiar hands…and then he saw his father looking at him in disbelief.

“Fr-Frank?”  Fenton stammered before his oldest was grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the stairs.

“Come on Dad!  I found Joey and he’s hungry!  They ain’t fed him nothing at all!”

Fenton pulled Frank towards him and gave him a tight hug.  “Thank God….I thought I lost you too.” Releasing the dark haired boy, he quickly turned around and got his first look at the son he had lost.

And he was appalled.

“Oh sweet God,” he whispered as he quickly moved to the side of the bed and reached out to touch his child. 

Joe drew away but then Frank was there, encouraging him, “It’s okay Joey….It’s Daddy.  I told you he would come!  It’s Daddy!  You’re safe now.”

Joe turned his one good eye on his older brother for a moment and then he turned back to the man kneeling in front of him and whispered tentatively, “D-Daddy?”

“Yes Joey,” Fenton said softly to his traumatized child, “It’s Daddy and I’m here to take you home.”

And then the little boy flew into his arms and as he was engulfed by the stronger ones, Joe sobbed brokenheartedly – he was finally safe.

They were both safe.  He and Frank.

Their Daddy was here.

* * *

“Fenton? Is everything all right down there?”  Fenton heard Ezra Collig’s voice on the stairs, and realized that his friend must have just arrived.  He had been just sitting on that dirty bed in that dark basement for about 10 minutes now, holding his broken child. 

His heart ached when he saw how badly beaten his son was, and as much as he knew they needed to take Joe to the hospital, he couldn’t let him go yet.  Frank was sitting beside him, with one small hand protectively on his brother’s back, and the detective was floored.

How in the world had his 6-½ year old son managed to do what he, the police and even the FBI had barely managed to do? 

Frank had found Joe. 

There was no way Fenton could ever explain the feelings that he had when he caught the bat and realized who it was who had swung at him.  And then to see his other son, their baby, chained to a bed, and beaten…the investigator swallowed back the raw rage in his throat at the people who had done this.

They would be punished.

Both Miles and Darla Nightingale would be punished.

Already, Fenton could hear the voices of the two FBI agents in the kitchen above, but as he watched the look on Ezra’s face change from relief to horror as he got closer to the bed, Fenton knew that whatever time they got would never be enough.

What they had inflicted on his younger child would haunt Joe for the rest of his life, in some way.  You could not be treated like this and not be scarred. 

Fenton just prayed that he and his family had the strength to help Joe past this and hopefully put him in a place where, while he would never forget, he was not constantly reminded of it either.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Ezra said, and Fenton could hear the raw emotion in his voice but he shook his head.

“No Ezra, please. I’ll take him in my car.  But I need to get this damn shackle off his leg first!”  Fenton spat out the last part, infuriated that his son had been chained like an animal.

Chief Collig knelt down and examined the padlock on the chain, and then straightening up he said to Fenton, “I’ll be right back,” and he took the stairs two at a time.

Fenton heard his voice and then the man’s.  He couldn’t hear what Collig said, but a few minutes later he hurried back down the stairs with a blanket…and the padlock key.

“Thank you,” Fenton said huskily as he wrapped the blanket around the child, and then lifted him up in his arms as soon as he heard the lock pop off.

Ezra didn’t say anything, but when he turned away, Fenton was sure the grizzled Chief of Police had brushed a tear away from his face.

“Let’s get them out of here,” Ezra said hoarsely, and then patted Frank on the back as the small boy followed his father and brother up the basement stairs. “Good job Frankie…good job.”

The 6-½ year old’s chest swelled with pride.

Just as they hit the top step, Frank said, “Hey Daddy, can we get Joey a hamburger…I kind of promised him one?"

Fenton smiled down at him and said, "We need to get Joey checked out at the hospital first, and then if the doctors say its okay...sure, whatever he wants!"

* * *

The scene in the kitchen had changed drastically since Fenton had run through it to get to the basement.  In addition to Miles, Darla, Con Riley, Officer Higgens, and Chief Collig, the two FBI agents had arrived, and as Fenton stepped into the kitchen, Sam Radley came from the other door. 

A crowd of onlookers had already gathered outside the house, drawn in by the police cars and flashing lights. 

Their eyes met briefly and Sam nodded.  His eyebrows rose in shock when he saw Frank, but then he saw the small boy wrapped safely in his father’s arms and crossed to them quickly.

“Hey Joey,” he said warmly, his eyes hardening when he took in the bruised and swollen face. He could only imagine what other horrors the blanket was hiding. “How ya doing?”

Joe nestled in closer to his father but managed a small smile as he looked up at his father’s closest friend.  “Hi S-Sam.”  He didn’t say anything else but just plugged the thumb back in his mouth. 

Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat and then gently squeezed Fenton’s shoulder.  “Take him to the hospital. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thanks Sam,” Fenton said, and went to move towards the front door, but Miles’ voice stopped him.

“Stubborn little shit...I don't know why you'd would want him back when you've got your own little copy right there anyway,” Miles pointed to Frank, and Fenton felt the barely controlled rage he was holding in coming to the surface quickly, fuelled by the shudder that went through Joe’s body at the sound of that man’s voice. 

But before anyone could say anything, Miles finished, enjoying the look of horror on everyone’s faces, “Mind you, a couple of hours with my bat, and I’d have had him calling the Pope Mom.”

In one fluid motion, Fenton had passed Joe to Sam and rounded on Miles, knocking him flat on his ass and out cold with one powerhouse punch.  Then, taking his shaking son back from his best friend, he strode out the front door, with a very impressed and proud Frank following closely behind.

When the little boy got to the doorway he turned and glared at Darla, his dark eyes smoldering in his young face. “No one hurts my brother….No one.”   And then he turned away and caught up to his father.

Sam and Con Riley flanked them, keeping the onlookers and reporters, who had shown up sniffing out a major story, as far away as possible.

“Get in the front seat,” Fenton told Frank, wanting to keep an eye on his sons as he drove.  Frank obediently sat in the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt on. And then his father gently sat Joe down next to Frank and unbuckled the seat belt so it would go around both boys. He knew it wasn’t the safest way for them to travel, but right now he would have it no other way.

Then he slid into the driver’s seat, started the car and raced to the hospital.

* * *

Darla started screaming, “That’s assault! He hit my husband!”

The two FBI agents exchanged glances, hardly believing the gall of this woman, but it was Ezra who answered her coldly when Con and Sam stepped back into the house, “Lady the only thing I saw was a father taking his son home.”

As the other enforcement agents nodded in agreement, Sam shook his head at the woman.  He was still in shock about what she and Miles had been capable of – as if Fulton McBride hadn’t been bad enough…

“You know lady, if I were you I’d watch your back.  Even in prison there's a code of conduct, and the one thing that isn't tolerated is the killing of children. Prisoners have ways of making lives hell…and it won’t matter to them that Joey is Fenton Hardy’s kid….To them it will just be a five-year old little boy. A baby, really. And he might have easily been their own child….Yeah I actually pity you for a second…but then I think about what you did to the beautiful little boy…and to all those other children, and I don’t pity you at all.”

Turning from her in disgust, he started to walk away when she called out, “Can we make a deal?  I’ll tell everything…everything!  State’s Evidence…isn’t that what it’s called?”

Sam stiffened, but it was Special Agent Podeszwa who answered, “Only from not having to see the executioner's needle, Mrs. Nightingale….”