"Special delivery."
Joe looked up, startled, as Frank appeared in the doorway, a suitcase in one hand, a nurse beside him.
"You have half-an hour, then it's dinner time Joe," she said firmly. "It is not optional." She spun on her heel and made her way back down the hall.
"She's happy," Frank muttered, turning to his younger brother. "Can I come in?" he asked, a little shyer than usual. Joe nodded, struggling to remain aloof; he was still angry, but all he wanted to do was leap up, throw his arms around his older brother, and beg to be taken home. But the younger Hardy had never groveled to anyone before and wasn't about to start with his elder brother.
Frank set the suitcase down on the floor at the end of the bed and took a seat on the vacant twin opposite his brother. Joe noticed that the elder Hardy had shadows under his eyes and his hair was unruly—not Frank's usual organized appearance.
"How're you doing?" Frank asked gently, worry darkening his brow, paling his complexion.
"I don't belong here," Joe said slowly. "And I don't want to be here. I want, need, out. Now."
"We can discuss it tonight," the elder boy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, reminding Joe of their father. "We have a family therapy session at seven."
"No one told me." Joe drew his thin legs up and crossed them beneath himself. "But then again, no one consults me about anything anymore."
The remark was meant to sting, and both brothers knew it; an uncustomary silence fell between them, until Frank looked at his younger brother, his expression suddenly sad.
"Joe…I know you're mad. And I guess you have a right to be. From your point of view, I went behind your back to tell a lie to your coach, I ratted you out to Mom and Dad, I called an ambulance when you didn't need it, and I supported our parents in signing you in. Is that accurate?"
Joe simply glared at his older brother.
"So that's accurate. Let me tell you my side: I saw you losing weight too fast and in an unhealthy way. I saw your entire personality change almost overnight—you began lying to me, to your friends, and to Mom and Dad. You became withdrawn and began taking diet pills, skipping meals, and isolating. You became irritable. You collapsed from over-exercising, you had no sense of what you looked like, and where you used to be upbeat and energetic and enthusiastic your pessimistic, withdrawn, and…sad. Depressed, kiddo. I acted out of concern for you, brother, nothing else. No malice or resentment was involved. I care about you Joe, so much, more than anyone else. You know that, right?"
The younger Hardy bit his lip and looked away, feeling himself blush, feeling the steel grip he had on his own self-hatred waver a little. His brother cared about him. He'd known it before he said it, but the little demon voice that always accompanied him had been firm that it was a lie, had hidden it under its constant ticker-tape of negative comments on Joe, his appearance, his personality, and above all, his very self, who he was and what he meant to others.
But Frank had disproved that, had, in an uncustomary fashion, shown his softer side, let Joe in on his fears and anxieties, and countered every point Joe could have made out of anger.
Realizing his brother was anxiously awaiting a response, the younger Hardy nodded slowly.
"I know," he murmured. "I know that, Frank. I just—"
The room swayed for Joe, turned sideways and slid toward the floor; seconds later, his brother's arms broke his fall off the edge of the bed, steadied him against his brother's sturdy chest, sat him up slowly and pressed him close as the room kept moving.
"It's okay, I've got you, you're okay," the elder Hardy murmured, his arms warm and strong, fighting off the constant cold of Joe's frail body, the periods of dizziness that left him disoriented. Joe reached up and wrapped his arms around his brother's torso, grateful for the closeness.
"Oh, Joe…what did you eat today? Anything?" Frank asked, his voice betraying the strength of his body by trembling ever so slightly.
"Dinner…" the younger Hardy murmured, "I'll have dinner, Frank, I will…promise…"
His older brother's hand smoothed his hair, moving along his scalp and pushing the blonde locks off the pale forehead.
"I can't believe you anymore," Frank finally said, his voice almost a whisper, far more gentle than Joe thought words that hurt that badly should be.