My heart is divided between the Hardy Boys and the Winchester's so you know I had to bring my favorite brothers together - and for anyone who had never read the Hardy Boys or haven't read the newer version... these ain't your granny's boys!
Special Notes:This is my attempt at a Hardy Boys/Supernatural Crossover. Iti s a very short - three chapter story - Let me know what you think. Phoenix
Seventeen-year old Joe Hardy opened his eyes and groaned. 'Great,' he thought, wincing as even the act of thinking hurt; intensifying the hammering going on inside his head. 'This is really getting old.'
The last thing the blond-haired teen remembered was staking out a warehouse downtown. Someone had obviously gotten the drop on him and – he looked around and sighed – stashed him somewhere out of the way. Probably to try and force his father, private investigator Fenton Hardy, off the case.
'Far out of the way,' the young sleuth decided after listening carefully for a few minutes but hearing nothing except the sound of wind whistling around the outside of the house. Slight creaking and groaning made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 'Probably an abandoned house at that.' He settled on working his wrists against the painful rope that bound them in an attempt to free himself.
His hands being tied behind his back kept him from pulling the dirty rag out of his mouth. Although putrid enough to make the boy gag, it was effective in muffling his yells for help.
'Come on bro,' he thought desperately, hating how vulnerable being trussed and held like this made him, 'hurry up and find me.'
Joe hadn't been working alone; his older brother, eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy, had been watching the opposite end of the building and he knew that as soon as the older boy realized he was missing, Frank would be looking for him.
He just hoped it would be in time. Severely disadvantaged by being held in a dark closet and not having seen or even heard his captors, the young detective had no idea what to expect and he could only wait. And if there was anything the irrepressible teen wasn't, patient was it.
Active and quick acting by nature, bondage of any type was particularly hard on him.
But after about ten minutes, and with his wrists now raw and bloodied, Joe was forced to do just that. Wait.
Leaning against the side of the closet, the teen sighed and closed his eyes. His head still hurt but at least he wasn't feeling sick so he figured he'd gotten off pretty lucky this time – no concussion.
'It really sucks,' the boy thought bitterly, 'when you've had enough head injuries to self-diagnose!' It was a standing joke amongst his family and friends that Joe had a trouble magnet. If there was going to be any trouble within a mile of him, he'd somehow end up involved. 'Good thing I have Frank around,' the boy thought wearily, 'to haul my fat out of the fire… again…'
The thought that Frank might not be there one day to do so never crossed Joe's mind. Frank would never let anything happen to his brother, and so the seventeen-year-old waited; confident in the certainty that the older boy would be here soon.
Three hours later though, Joe's faith was starting to waver, slightly.
The sound of movement in the room outside the closet startled the teen out of his light doze, and his heart pounded hard in his chest. Was it Frank, moments away from the rescue? The kidnappers back to finish the job? Or worse?
Eyes wide, his breath held, Joe heard a soft hand on the doorknob. It turned slowly and then the door was swung open and a flashlight beam lit up his face, forcing the boy to squint and turn away.
"Oh man – sorry!" a young man's voice immediately apologized, moving the light off Joe's face. "Are you okay?"
Joe blinked and looked up into the face of the man, surprised to see the tall, lean form crouching down towards him was really a boy no older than himself, with dark hair that seemed just a bit too long, and the most expressive hazel eyes he had ever seen. He smiled at Joe, his handsome young face lit up by a dimple on each cheek. The smile was easygoing and friendly; any apprehension Joe might have felt towards the stranger faded away.
Naturally intuitive when it came to people, Joe had a good feeling about this one.
Nodding, he waited while the other boy tugged on the gag, wincing in sympathy as Joe stretched his jaw and made a 'yuck' face. "Thanks," he finally gasped.
"You're welcome," his rescuer said and then paused, a quizzical look crossing his face, "ah…what are you doing here?" He reached out and grabbed Joe's arm, helping him to his feet.
"Not much really," Joe managed, "just hanging out, you know, waiting to be found." He paused and added, "I'm Joe Hardy, by the way."
The other boy looked at him oddly and repeated, "Waiting to be found? Were you playing some sort of game or something?"
"Uh…something like a game," the blond boy answered vaguely.
"A game?" Joe heard the disapproval in the stranger's voice as he turned around in a silent request to the dark-haired teen to release his hands. The other boy started to work the knots. "Do you always play hide and seek with your hands tied like this—" he paused when Joe flinched as his wrists burned with their release. "Sorry."
"S'okay," Joe tough-guyed as he gingerly rubbed his raw wrists, "and no. Only when the person who hides me does so without my consent. By the way – you never told me your name."
"Oh I'm sorry—" Before the boy could say anything else, another person entered the room. More stocky in build, with a piercing green gaze, the sandy-haired man was older than this boy and did not look happy. The young detective figured him to be in his early twenties. Twenty or maybe twenty-one at most.
"God damnit, Sam," the man said, "When I tell you—" his voice trailed off as he noticed the blond-haired boy for the first time. "Uh – who's your date, bro?"
Sam, as it seemed his name was, turned and flashed a brilliant white smile at Joe. He said casually, "This is Joe. Joe, meet my brother Dean. Try and ignore his personality. I do."
"Ha. Ha. Funny, man, " Dean groused obviously not pleased to find someone else in the house. "What's he doing here?"
Joe's eyes widened as he saw the sawed-off shotgun the man was holding.
"Not much," Sam answered as he held up the rope he'd just taken off Joe, "hanging out in a closet."
Dean's eyes widened in surprise as he appraised the young stranger. "Well, this complicates things."
"Do you guys mind explaining who you are, what you're doing here and why—" Joe's gaze locked on Dean's gun, "why are you carrying a gun?"
Sam grinned at his brother. "Yeah Dean – do you mind explaining that?"
"Why are you being such a bitch?" the older man groused, and then paused and cocked his head to the side, listening for a moment. "Stay right here – I'll be back." As silently as he came, he left, leaving Sam to field Joe's question.
The brown-haired boy offered a sheepish grin; he really sucked at making up alibis – that was Dean's job.
"Well—" Whatever pathetic attempt he was about to make was lost when they heard a loud curse from down the hall followed by the sound of a shotgun going off.
"DEAN!" Sam yelled, taking off in the direction of the commotion.
"Hey!" Joe called after him, having no idea what was going on. Then he just shrugged and took off, following the taller boy through the darkened hallways of the abandoned old house. He was right after all. These guys had stashed him somewhere out of the way.
Somewhere very much out of the way.
Twenty-year old Dean Winchester cursed under his breath as he ducked, narrowly avoiding a hard-cover copy of Lord of the Rings that the poltergeist had flung at him.
"You missed!" he yelled, bringing up the sawed-off shotgun, loaded with rock salt, and firing at the small glowing orb that hung in the air in front of him.
The orb disappeared and he slapped his leg in frustration, unable to tell if he'd actually gotten it and that was why it was gone, or whether or not it had just disappeared. Most likely to go back after his brother – paranormal magnet extraordinaire.
As if on cue, he heard Sam yelling his name and then the younger boy burst into the small library, the blond teenager right behind him. "Are you deaf?" Dean asked his brother, "Or do you just have a special Dean-filter? I thought I told you to stay there!"
"I thought you might need backup," Sam defended, for the moment ignoring the odd look Joe was giving them.
"Did you see where it went?" Dean asked, already moving back towards the hallway. He glanced at the blond stranger and then nodded to his brother. "Get the kid out of here."
"The kid has a name," Joe spoke up, wondering what the heck was going on.
"Nice," Dean grunted, "And if I thought it mattered, I might even bother to remember it." Without another word, he headed back out into the hallway.
Sam shrugged apologetically. "Ignore him. He gets a bit tense on a hunt."
"A hunt?" Joe said slowly, following Sam in the opposite direction than Dean had gone. He assumed they were heading towards the front door. "What exactly is he hunting?"
The dark-haired boy flashed a smile and then offered, "Cockroaches?"
"Cockroaches?" the young Hardy repeated skeptically, "with a shotgun?"
"Sure...and this." Sam held up a small .45 and the other teen jumped back involuntarily not having noticed the weapon previously.
"Would you be offended if I told you I didn't believe you?" Joe asked as the front door came in sight.
"Nope," Sam said pleasantly.
Joe stopped and frowned at his rescuer. "Can I ask you something else, then?"
"You're pretty inquisitive," the other boy noticed and then asked suspiciously, "you're not an undercover cop or something, are you?"
Joe laughed, "No. I'm only seventeen. My brother and I help my dad out sometimes….He's a detective, though."
Sam seemed to consider that for a few moments and then shrugged, "That's cool. What'd you want to know?"
"How old are you?" The kid looked about his age, and Joe was just curious.
"Sixteen," Sam said, shoving the gun into the waist band of his pants and pulling his sweatshirt down over it. He opened the door. "Well, here you go, Joe. Try to stay out of haunted houses in the future – they aren't exactly the best places to play hide and seek," he winked, and was turning to leave when a man's voice and an ominous click froze the boys.
"Nobody make any sudden moves."
Sam slowly turned around and saw two big, beefy men, both holding handguns. He cast a worried glance at Joe. "Let me guess. Your playmates?"
Joe winced, feeling bad. The last thing he had wanted was to get this kid involved. But now… "Yeah. Sorry," he managed, as one of the men gestured for them to come forward. Remembering that Sam was armed, Joe kept a close eye on his new friend, concerned that the kid might try something that would get him killed. But the dark-haired boy didn't do anything except what he was told.