“No.”

“Frank.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“How about because you just blew chunks all over their favorite shawl?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“What’s that—? Joe. You have a concussion that’s messing you – and me – over, big time. You have eight stitches in the side of your skull AND, didn’t I just say? You threw up all over some nice old ladies’ living room—”

“All the more reason—” Joe tried to butt in but Frank continued on. He paced the small area in front of Joe as he spoke.

“—You’re shaking like a leaf and look about ready to pass out…again! I’m taking you home and tethering your ass to the couch – within reach of a barf bag and a cell phone. Then I’m going to pick Mom and Dad up at the airport, try to explain to them how come I brained their precious baby, come home – probably on foot, if I’m lucky – put my feet up, maybe even have a cup of hot chocolate and stare at the Christmas tree lights for an hour or so while Mom watches ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ for the nineteenth year in a row and fusses over you, then I’m going to call Callie, try not to slash my own wrists as she’ll spend at least another hour going into great detail describing what she got me for Christmas without actually telling me what it is, before calling it a night and pretending that this has not been my worst Christmas Eve ever!!”

Joe stared at his brother in amazement. “Geez, Frank, do you even breathe when you talk?”

Frank stopped his pacing and glared at his little brother. “Oh, bite me!” he snarked, and then immediately swiveled around and waggled a finger at Hank. “And not a word from you!”

Hank’s mouth shut with a click but the amused smirk on his face said it all.

Joe looked around the small room for help but his best allies, Gladys and Myrtle, were still out of the room. The elderly woman along with Hank, had quickly and efficiently cleaned up after Joe had been sick, leaving Frank to take care of his brother. Hank had helped them bundle up the red shawl and take it out of the room and he had only just returned in time to hear the tail end of Frank’s rant.

“Frank,” Joe refused to give up. This mattered too much to him. “Please – you don’t understand!”

“Joe,” a weary sigh escaped his older brother as Frank sank down to sit on the edge of the coffee table across from Joe. “I do understand, okay? I do. The ladies are very nice and they helped you and I get that you feel like you owe them something – hell I know I do – but not this time, Joe…. Not right now. We have to leave. We have to get you home. Tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow is Christmas Day, Frank,” the eighteen year old persisted, “tomorrow will be too late!”

“Joe—”

“No, Frank,” Joe started to push himself up. “If you won’t help them, then I will.” He almost made it to his feet before the room spun and his knees buckled. Frank caught him, Joe’s face resting against the crook of his neck as he steadied him.

“Whoa, Joe,” Frank murmured. “Easy. Just take it easy…”

Joe shook his head feebly; he breathed in the warm, familiar scent of his brother and felt the tension bleed out of his body. “Frank.” He sounded pathetic. And tired. “Please…”

“Joe...” the name was sighed against his ear and then Frank gently lowered him back down to the couch. He heard his brother mutter something under his breath and knew that he had ‘won’, or rather that Gladys and Myrtle had won; not that he ever had any doubt. His brother bristled and prickled, growled and bayed but underneath all the pomp and practicality was a soft heart and a strong sense of duty. “Fine.” Of course Frank would help the women get down their Christmas decorations, “but you’re going to keep your ass on that couch and try to get some rest. Got it?” It just had to be under his terms.

The blond teen smiled – that he could do. “Got it.”

“Awwww!!!” Hank shrilled startling both brothers. They’d forgotten he was there, “you two are just too sweet! Someone inject me with insulin, please! Before I go into a diabetic coma! No, seriously, the only thing missing was a forehead stroke. C’mon, Frank… For me? Just one little stroke?”

If looks could kill....

Joe couldn’t resist. He loved ‘poking’ Frank with the Hank stick. “So tell me, big brother, where exactly did you say you picked up this little accessory?”

…

Myrtle and Gladys watched with bright eyes and clasped hands as Frank and Hank got the ladder and then worked quickly to pull down all the Christmas boxes from their attic – Hank wasn’t allowed on the ladder, though – while Joe dozed on the couch, this time covered in a blue shawl with a terry cloth towel close by.

“Oh Myrtle,” Gladys cooed, “Can you believe this? Aren’t they absolutely wonderful! Such good boys!”

The older woman just nodded, her own words unable to get past the lump in her throat. When they’d first seen Joe passed out on the sidewalk, she’d had reservations about stopping to help him, but now – now she realized that there truly were unseen blessings bestowed upon those who showed compassion to a stranger…. Who would have thought that *The Good Samaritans would have been so quickly rewarded?

Frank started to pass down the small delicate pieces of the hand carved manager Myrtle’s dear departed father had made for the girls when they were young, and she stifled a sob as tears warmed her cheek. She’d been so sure she’d never see that manager again in her lifetime…

Gladys squeezed her hand and she squeezed back.

“Yes,” she finally managed to choke out, “we have truly been blessed…”

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

It had taken longer than Frank had been expecting but finally the last of the Christmas stuff was out of the attic. He was sweating, tired and his jaw was throbbing painfully but when he saw the looks on those two old women’s faces, it didn’t matter anymore. The unabashed appreciation and childlike excitement as they started to open the boxes warmed him and he couldn’t help the goofy smile that softened his face. And even if that didn’t, the absolute oddness of a half naked Hank ooh’ing and ahh’ing along with them, would have.

God, what a weird day.

Glancing down at his watch, he realized he only had a half hour now to get to the airport and that was not enough time to drop either Joe or Hank off before his parents’ flight arrived.

Crap.

Making quick work of the ladder, Frank jogged into the living room and gently roused his sleeping brother. “C’mon, kiddo,” he prompted. “We’ve got to get a move on!”

Joe groaned as he blinked open his eyes and slowly shoved himself up. The older Hardy was pleased to see his brother make the effort although he knew his concussed sibling wasn’t going to be walking on his own steam.

“C’mon, Hank,” he stooped down to pull one of Joe’s arms across his broad shoulders. “Time to go.” He had just enough room in the van for one concussed brother, one gay bartender, two jet-lagged parents and a couple of heavy suitcases – oh yeah. This was going to be a very interesting ride home…

“Actually, Frank,” Hank didn’t move from where he was standing next to Gladys helping the woman untangle lights. “If these lovely ladies don’t mind, I’d kinda like to hang around here a bit and help them put this stuff up…” He shrugged, strangely self-conscious, and scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t really have anywhere else I need to be…”

Gladys shared a brief look with her sister and then smiled widely. “Oh, Hank! That would be so wonderful of you. Of course we’d love to have your help but only if you promise to stay for supper – Myrt makes a mean ham!”

“Ooh, ham!” the bartender actually clapped his hands in excitement. “Well honey my rump and call me ‘Porky’, I’m all over that!”

Myrtle laughed at her sister’s bewildered look. “I think that’s ‘Hank’ for ‘okay’.”

Frank laughed and shook his head. It really was a shame he and Joe had to be leaving. But if he didn’t get them to the airport on time, it wouldn’t be Hank’s rump getting roasted! So hefting his semi-coherent brother to his feet, Frank said their good-byes and made for the door.

*The Good Samaritan is a parable from the Christian Bible about a man who offers aid to his enemy after his enemy’s own countrymen had left him lying injured on the road.