"Feel better?" Frank asked as he and his brother stepped back into Joe's pitch-black dorm room. Joe nodded, suddenly drowsy as he slumped across his bed and curled in Frank's jacket.
"Aren't you going to take your coat off?"
"It's your coat."
"Well?"
Joe just sighed and turned on his back.
"I feel safer in it."
Frank lit a cigarette and scrutinized his brother.
"You don't sleep."
Joe sighed again and pulled his pillow over his face.
"Leave me alone, Frank. You just made me shove food down my throat. Be happy with that."
"Great. So you ate again. Once. Now you've got to sleep again, and talk, and study…"
"Why are you doing this to me!" Joe wailed, sitting up fast. "Frank, please. Why can't you be like you were before? Why are you forcing me into this?"
"Into what? All I'm getting you to do is everyday things you should be doing."
"You're pushing too hard."
"If I didn't you wouldn't do anything. You'd lie here and not sleep and not eat and feel sorry for yourself…"
"Feel sorry for myself!" Joe shouted, his patience suddenly gone. "Godamnit Frank, all I've thought of these past few months has been you. Everything bad that I've been feeling comes from you, but not this evil sarcastic little demon who pops up to criticizes me every two seconds…" Joe's voice caught in his throat as the tears suddenly clawed there way up from his eyes and cascaded down his face. The younger Hardy sank back across the bed, burying his face in his pillow.
God I want to die I want this to be over this pain this loneliness this guilt and grief I want my brother's patience and courage and strength hell I want my brother…
As if sensing his thoughts, Frank's gentle, airy grip rested on his shoulder.
"You should cry," he murmured, "it'll get the hurt out better than anything else."
"I'm sorry," Joe whispered, "don't go away, don't leave me…why do I have to be so Godamned stubborn Frank? Why can't I have your patience?"
"You could. Just remember to try. That's all you need."
Joe turned his face to the wall, wiping tears on the smoke-scented pillowcase. Frank's cigarettes barely smelled, but his own had long tainted his clothes and sheets.
"I didn't deserve you," the younger Hardy muttered.
"What?"
"As a brother. I didn't deserve you as my brother."
"Why the hell would you think that?"
"You were smart, and loyal, and patient and caring and all I ever did was run around and get both of us in over our heads. Damnit Frank, why'd you hang out with me at all?"
He rolled over to face his brother, surprised by the look of shock on his face.
"Did you think that while I was alive?" Frank almost whispered.
"Sometimes."
"Where'd you get a stupid idea like that?"
"I don't know Frank, maybe because I am the stupid one…"
"You are not! You did great in school, when you concentrated, but you were the athlete…"
"You mean the dumb jock."
"No. You were more well rounded than me. You were very physical—"
"You mean short tempered."
"I mean passionate and emotional. You felt things deeper than I ever did. You always pointed out motives I'd never have thought of, because things were more black and white for me. You understood that things were gray."
Joe curled up again; his defensive position. Frank recognized it and laid a hand on his brother's arm.
"Joe we were a team. We were partners. We were friends. But above all that, we were brothers. We worked well because we balanced each other perfectly. I'd never have left my computer and books if it weren't for you. You never would have looked at them. Together, with our different approaches combined with our loyalty to one another, we were the perfect team."
He sighed then, and looked away, but the word hung between them: were.
"I used to think we were unbeatable," Joe said so softly Frank almost didn't hear him. "But we weren't, were we."
He turned and stared at his brother, his eyes so full of pain that Frank's confidence wavered, and for a brief moment he wondered if he really had the power to save his younger brother from the violence and depression he'd thrown himself into.
"I don't know what to do, without you, Frank. I get so scared sometimes and you're not there anymore to help me through it and I don't know what to do."
"I'm here now," the older Hardy murmured, squeezing his brother's hand. "I came back to show you how to move on. To pull you back from all that craziness. I know it may seem harsh, but that's all I'm trying to do Joe. You need to do everything you'd normally do, only without me."
"I don't want to do anything without you."
"Well, you have to." Frank too a deep breath. "I'm dead, Joe…"
"Don't say it Frank…"
"It's true, buddy. I'm dead. I can't be with you forever. I'm only here for a little while, to get you to realize that your life can and will go on without me. I know it's hard. Think how hard it is for me; you lost one person. I lost everyone. And deep down you know that, and you feel guilty, and so you've convinced yourself that if I can't eat or sleep or talk to anyone then you shouldn't have those luxuries either. But I'm okay, Joe. And you will be too. Hurting yourself won't bring me back, and if anything it hurts me. I feel guilty for dying, and I couldn't help that."
Joe was sobbing again. Frank leaned closer and smiled, knowing however scared and lost Joe felt his big brother's confidence would calm him down.
"You're going to be okay."
"I…"
"You're going to be okay," Frank repeated, gesturing to the covers. "Pull those up. You shouldn't be cold."
Joe slowly obeyed, burying himself beneath the blankets, still wrapped in his brother's jacket.
"Go to sleep now."
"I can't…"
"You won't dream. Don't be afraid. I'm here. And I promise tomorrow you'll feel better."
"Will you be here when I wake up?"
Frank squeezed his exhausted brother's shoulder.
"Remember," he murmured, "I'm always with you."
