Silence fell on the Hardy dinner table the moment Joe took his seat. Frank sat beside him, a hand ghosting over his brother's shoulder, reluctant to break the moment of mutual fear and, maybe, an understanding.
"Honey," Mrs. Hardy said, her voice slightly strained, "eat tonight."
Joe nodded, weakly, shocking everyone around the table.
"I'll try," the younger Hardy murmured, looking to his elder brother. Frank nodded and patted Joe's back reassuringly.
Gertrude was on her feet in a moment, filling a plate with grilled chicken, peas and carrots, and fruit salad. Joe thanked her when she set it down and picked up his fork, then looked the rest of the table.
"Could all of you please not stare at me?" he mumbled.
Fenton, Gertrude, and Laura, lowered their eyes, muttered apologies, and began busying themselves with their own plates. Only Frank remained still, watching his brother's every move, the trajectory of the fork toward the carrots, the hesitation above each orange bit, moving toward the peas, stopping, going on to the chicken, halting altogether and finding its way back to the table.
"I can't," Joe whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "I can't. It's too much."
"Then cut it Joe, and just eat a little," Frank said gently, all eyes back on the two brothers. "I'll put some of it on my plate if you want. It's really not much at all, kiddo."
But the younger Hardy shook his head and slowly began to swing his legs to the side of the chair, indicating he was ready to flee to the shelter of his room with nothing in him.
"Joe, you told me you were scared…"
"Well, food scares me more."
"Joseph, this is ludicrous!" Gertrude snapped, "It's not enough that you're hurting yourself, you have to ruin your entire family! Not a care to anyone but yourself, that's what…"
"I know!" Joe shouted, leaping up from the table. "I'm terrible, and you all should know that by now, because I sure do, and you all will just…just…" Joe swayed; Frank leapt to his feet and caught him.
"Son…" Fenton soothed, "sit down and relax…"
Joe put a hand to his head and drew a deep, shaky breath as the elder Hardy eased him down to his chair.
"You have to eat," Frank murmured. "Joe, we'll do it together, but you're weak, and dizzy, and you need to get something in you."
Joe shook his head again, and something crystallized for Frank: born out of love or desperation he was never sure, but suddenly he knew what to do.
"Then I won't eat either." He said, quietly but with a steely resolve.
All eyes turned from Joe to Frank, but the elder Hardy kept his gaze on the startled blue orbs locked on his own brown ones.
"Frank…" Laura gasped.
"No, this makes sense. Since what Joe is doing is fine, since he's not sick and doesn't need help and is in fact more healthy than he was before, than I can do that to. So," he said, his eyes still locked on his paling brother, "when you eat I'll eat, and I'll eat what you eat, and when you don't, I don't. How's that sound?"
Joe, white, didn't respond, only stared in growing horror at his elder brother.
"You can't do that," he finally whispered.
"I'll only be doing what you're doing, and you've made it clear that that's okay."
"For me it's okay, but—"
"If it's okay for you it's okay for me. That's how we work, right brother? You and me together, taking our risks, living our lives. You jump I jump and all that sentimental shit. So you eat, I eat, you don't, I don't, you live, I live, you die..." Frank paused, ensuring that he had his stunned brother riveted, then continued, quiet but firm. "I die too."