Ordinary, chapter 3
summary: Ian is diagnosed with terminal cancer.
rating: pg-13 for some language.
warning: sadness.
this should've really been said at chapter one, but I started writing this fic on January 21. Any video Smosh released after January 18th is not present or canon in this fiction. thatzstupid.com and el smosh are also nonexistent. Any new video made by the characters in this fanfic is, in real life, nonexistent. Finally, in this fanfic, Anthony is already living with Kalel.
Ordinary, chapter three
"Hey, guys, welcome to Lunchtime with Smosh!" Anthony had arrived a few minutes ago, and they were now in the living room, filming. Ian, so far, had been completely normal. He wasn't as panicky and upset as he'd been yesterday, and he realized he was good at hiding his feelings. He could act like nothing was wrong, even on his death bed.
"Sooo," Anthony swung the camera around to him. "What're we gonna eat today?"
Ian made a funny face. "Chinese food?"
"Chinese food." Anthony repeated with a funny face and a voice to match.
"Chinese food."
"Chinese food."
"Chneese fud."
"Mrrneernenern."
"Gmergnnmrn."
Anthony laughed his signature laugh, and Ian chuckled. They grabbed coats and went to the garage, with Anthony driving.
"Oh my God, what is this!?" Ian looked down in shock. "We're wearing jackets?"
"What? What the fuck?" Anthony backed out of the driveway and stared at their jackets. "Oh fuck, look!"
Ian swung the camera around wildly. "What is this? What is this!?"
"It's...IT'S WINTER!" they both screamed.
"Damn son, look at this hardcore California winter!" Anthony said, smiling.
"Ah, man, so cold."
"Snow everywhere."
"Snow literally everywhere. Like, we shouldn't even be driving, in such-"
"Such slippery conditions." They were joking, of course. It was cold that day, for California, about 50 degrees.
"Oh, hey," said Ian in realization, "ya know what's a really good thing to do?"
"Sex." Anthony responded quickly.
"Sex! The way you move make me wanna"
"Sex, question is, are we gonna-"
"SEX. FACE DOWN, ASS UP, THAT'S THE WAY I SHAKE MY BUTT!" They both laughed so hard, they thought they would crash the car. Some part of Ian wanted it to, so he could just die, in some accident that was a flash of pain, then darkness. But he knew he would rather suffer all the pain in the world if it meant a few more months on Earth.
"What I was going to say," Ian took a deep breath, just overcoming his laughter, "is that it's good to actually order the food."
"Oh shit." Anthony laughed. "Yeah. Got a menu in here?"
"Yeah." Ian opened up the glove compartment and fished around for the menu. "What are you in the mood for?"
"I think some nice Chow Mien." Anthony took his phone from his pocket and gave it to Ian so he could order.
"I was going to get that." Ian faked seriousness for a moment. "You bitch."
Anthony went with it. "Don't copy my shit, bitch."
"You copied me, bitch."
"Shit."
"Bitch."
"Tits."
"Lint."
"Sprint."
"Mint."
"Tint."
"...Agent."
"...Rupert Grint." They laughed again.
"Okay, fine, you win." Ian said, defeated, and called the Chinese place. They drove, laughing the whole time, but Ian couldn't help but think of this cold day, in the last winter he would ever see.
***
"And now that our food has completely disappeared-"
"Magic." Anthony noted from his usual seat.
"Wwwwhhhat would you rate it?" Ian zoomed in on Anthony's face.
"I'd rate it...four out of five Harry Potter stars."
"Lovely." Ian said, and when Anthony gave him a confused look, he continued.
"See you next Thursday! Bye!...bitch." he turned the flip camera off and stretched a bit, trying to ignore the sharp pain just beginning in his stomach.
"Okay," Anthony stood. "I have to do some final editing on tomorrow’s video, so you can either help me with that or start editing this."
"Whatever you want, man," Ian said, also standing. "What is it, two?" he checked the time on his phone.
"Why, got a hot date?" Anthony made the creepiest face he could manage. Ian rolled his eyes overdramatically.
"Nah, gotta get my flu shot at four." He said, walking towards the computer.
"Okay, sure." Anthony winced at the thought of a needle and followed him. Ian smiled as he turned the computer on. It was an excuse he thought of that morning. He actually needed to meet Doctor Marrow. Luckily for Ian, the next hour and a half was totally normal, with boring editing and texting Mel. There was no confession, no telling the truth about his illness, just normal conversation, joking and talking about general things.
At twenty to four, he left for his "flu shot." He thought he was fine, until he got into his car. After only a minute of driving, he was softly crying. It was so much easier when Anthony was around. He could forget what was wrong with him, if only for a moment. But here, alone in his car, radio off once again, all he could do was stare at the houses he passed. Didn't these people realize how lucky they were? With warm homes and smiling children. None of them knew when they were going to die, none of them had a sick countdown on their heads. So greedy, Ian thought as he passed them, so greedy, how we don't appreciate what we have.
In the parking lot, he wiped his tears, and went inside the hospital, checking in and heading to Doctor Marrow's office. He hated hospitals, but who didn't?
Sitting in the metal chair, he remembered being there just yesterday, sitting in that same seat, being told he had six months to live. He shivered.
"Mr. Hecox." Doctor Marrow came in, shaking his hand. Pity was etched on to his face. Ian nodded, and the doctor sat behind his desk, looking uneasy.
"You'll want pain medication," he started out quickly, not beating about the bush, "and a sleep aid. The...pain from your illness will keep you up at night. I'd also like to recommend a therapist. Should- should this, erm, overwhelm you, he can get a psychiatrist to give you something for depression."
Ian nodded slowly. "I, um, yeah, I think getting a therapist would be a good idea." He knew it was, too, after all, he was dying.
"Alright. Here's a prescription for Demerol, I think at this stage it would be best to skip the Advil. Take one tablet when needed, but wait three to four hours before taking another. If you're in severe pain, or you've got heavy bleeding, ask for a ride to the hospital or call 911. I doubt this would happen until you're farther in."
Ian took the prescription and nodded, throat dry. He was almost in shock, the events occurring so insane and unbelievable that he almost thought it was all a nightmare.
"Doctor Rosenthal is a great therapist," Marrow continued. "One of the finest I know. Here's his card, wait-" he looked through a drawer and presented Ian with a business card. "I'll have him call you, if you call this you only get the office, not him personally. Expect a call tomorrow morning."
"Okay." Ian's voice shook. He took the card and cleared his throat.
"So, let me talk to you about this. It's all very simple from here." He settled in his seat. "Today is January 19th. You have, well, six months or less." He looked down. The look of pity had not left his face since Ian came in. "If you like, I could get you a nutritionist, but I think this'll be easy to grasp. Don't eat too unhealthy, cut down drinking, if you smoke, quit, if you're on anything else, quit, keep to fruits and veggies, and stay hydrated. Eight cups of water a day, that's what's most important."
Ian nodded. He was slightly annoyed that he would be pissing every two seconds, but he'd rather decrease his pain than be a stubborn prick.
"Exercise regularly, but if it hurts too much, just slow down. Don't do anything to aggressive- Hell, I'd even recommend yoga."
Ian nodded, and in his head decided to adjust his weight lifting schedule to accommodate yoga. It might be girly, but it would be safer than dying from lifting a weight or something.
"Don't stress too much, the last thing we want for you is an ulcer. Get it? The most important things, drink water, don't stress. Call me if you have any questions."
Ian nodded once again, shook his hand, and left. While he was usually extremely loud, he just couldn't joke around with Marrow. The man looked like he was at Ian's funeral, for fuck's sake. As he walked to the car, he was grateful he chose not to tell anyone. The pity looks were brutal. Thank God, he thought, I'll never see those.
rating: pg-13 for some language.
warning: sadness.
this should've really been said at chapter one, but I started writing this fic on January 21. Any video Smosh released after January 18th is not present or canon in this fiction. thatzstupid.com and el smosh are also nonexistent. Any new video made by the characters in this fanfic is, in real life, nonexistent. Finally, in this fanfic, Anthony is already living with Kalel.
Ordinary, chapter three
"Hey, guys, welcome to Lunchtime with Smosh!" Anthony had arrived a few minutes ago, and they were now in the living room, filming. Ian, so far, had been completely normal. He wasn't as panicky and upset as he'd been yesterday, and he realized he was good at hiding his feelings. He could act like nothing was wrong, even on his death bed.
"Sooo," Anthony swung the camera around to him. "What're we gonna eat today?"
Ian made a funny face. "Chinese food?"
"Chinese food." Anthony repeated with a funny face and a voice to match.
"Chinese food."
"Chinese food."
"Chneese fud."
"Mrrneernenern."
"Gmergnnmrn."
Anthony laughed his signature laugh, and Ian chuckled. They grabbed coats and went to the garage, with Anthony driving.
"Oh my God, what is this!?" Ian looked down in shock. "We're wearing jackets?"
"What? What the fuck?" Anthony backed out of the driveway and stared at their jackets. "Oh fuck, look!"
Ian swung the camera around wildly. "What is this? What is this!?"
"It's...IT'S WINTER!" they both screamed.
"Damn son, look at this hardcore California winter!" Anthony said, smiling.
"Ah, man, so cold."
"Snow everywhere."
"Snow literally everywhere. Like, we shouldn't even be driving, in such-"
"Such slippery conditions." They were joking, of course. It was cold that day, for California, about 50 degrees.
"Oh, hey," said Ian in realization, "ya know what's a really good thing to do?"
"Sex." Anthony responded quickly.
"Sex! The way you move make me wanna"
"Sex, question is, are we gonna-"
"SEX. FACE DOWN, ASS UP, THAT'S THE WAY I SHAKE MY BUTT!" They both laughed so hard, they thought they would crash the car. Some part of Ian wanted it to, so he could just die, in some accident that was a flash of pain, then darkness. But he knew he would rather suffer all the pain in the world if it meant a few more months on Earth.
"What I was going to say," Ian took a deep breath, just overcoming his laughter, "is that it's good to actually order the food."
"Oh shit." Anthony laughed. "Yeah. Got a menu in here?"
"Yeah." Ian opened up the glove compartment and fished around for the menu. "What are you in the mood for?"
"I think some nice Chow Mien." Anthony took his phone from his pocket and gave it to Ian so he could order.
"I was going to get that." Ian faked seriousness for a moment. "You bitch."
Anthony went with it. "Don't copy my shit, bitch."
"You copied me, bitch."
"Shit."
"Bitch."
"Tits."
"Lint."
"Sprint."
"Mint."
"Tint."
"...Agent."
"...Rupert Grint." They laughed again.
"Okay, fine, you win." Ian said, defeated, and called the Chinese place. They drove, laughing the whole time, but Ian couldn't help but think of this cold day, in the last winter he would ever see.
***
"And now that our food has completely disappeared-"
"Magic." Anthony noted from his usual seat.
"Wwwwhhhat would you rate it?" Ian zoomed in on Anthony's face.
"I'd rate it...four out of five Harry Potter stars."
"Lovely." Ian said, and when Anthony gave him a confused look, he continued.
"See you next Thursday! Bye!...bitch." he turned the flip camera off and stretched a bit, trying to ignore the sharp pain just beginning in his stomach.
"Okay," Anthony stood. "I have to do some final editing on tomorrow’s video, so you can either help me with that or start editing this."
"Whatever you want, man," Ian said, also standing. "What is it, two?" he checked the time on his phone.
"Why, got a hot date?" Anthony made the creepiest face he could manage. Ian rolled his eyes overdramatically.
"Nah, gotta get my flu shot at four." He said, walking towards the computer.
"Okay, sure." Anthony winced at the thought of a needle and followed him. Ian smiled as he turned the computer on. It was an excuse he thought of that morning. He actually needed to meet Doctor Marrow. Luckily for Ian, the next hour and a half was totally normal, with boring editing and texting Mel. There was no confession, no telling the truth about his illness, just normal conversation, joking and talking about general things.
At twenty to four, he left for his "flu shot." He thought he was fine, until he got into his car. After only a minute of driving, he was softly crying. It was so much easier when Anthony was around. He could forget what was wrong with him, if only for a moment. But here, alone in his car, radio off once again, all he could do was stare at the houses he passed. Didn't these people realize how lucky they were? With warm homes and smiling children. None of them knew when they were going to die, none of them had a sick countdown on their heads. So greedy, Ian thought as he passed them, so greedy, how we don't appreciate what we have.
In the parking lot, he wiped his tears, and went inside the hospital, checking in and heading to Doctor Marrow's office. He hated hospitals, but who didn't?
Sitting in the metal chair, he remembered being there just yesterday, sitting in that same seat, being told he had six months to live. He shivered.
"Mr. Hecox." Doctor Marrow came in, shaking his hand. Pity was etched on to his face. Ian nodded, and the doctor sat behind his desk, looking uneasy.
"You'll want pain medication," he started out quickly, not beating about the bush, "and a sleep aid. The...pain from your illness will keep you up at night. I'd also like to recommend a therapist. Should- should this, erm, overwhelm you, he can get a psychiatrist to give you something for depression."
Ian nodded slowly. "I, um, yeah, I think getting a therapist would be a good idea." He knew it was, too, after all, he was dying.
"Alright. Here's a prescription for Demerol, I think at this stage it would be best to skip the Advil. Take one tablet when needed, but wait three to four hours before taking another. If you're in severe pain, or you've got heavy bleeding, ask for a ride to the hospital or call 911. I doubt this would happen until you're farther in."
Ian took the prescription and nodded, throat dry. He was almost in shock, the events occurring so insane and unbelievable that he almost thought it was all a nightmare.
"Doctor Rosenthal is a great therapist," Marrow continued. "One of the finest I know. Here's his card, wait-" he looked through a drawer and presented Ian with a business card. "I'll have him call you, if you call this you only get the office, not him personally. Expect a call tomorrow morning."
"Okay." Ian's voice shook. He took the card and cleared his throat.
"So, let me talk to you about this. It's all very simple from here." He settled in his seat. "Today is January 19th. You have, well, six months or less." He looked down. The look of pity had not left his face since Ian came in. "If you like, I could get you a nutritionist, but I think this'll be easy to grasp. Don't eat too unhealthy, cut down drinking, if you smoke, quit, if you're on anything else, quit, keep to fruits and veggies, and stay hydrated. Eight cups of water a day, that's what's most important."
Ian nodded. He was slightly annoyed that he would be pissing every two seconds, but he'd rather decrease his pain than be a stubborn prick.
"Exercise regularly, but if it hurts too much, just slow down. Don't do anything to aggressive- Hell, I'd even recommend yoga."
Ian nodded, and in his head decided to adjust his weight lifting schedule to accommodate yoga. It might be girly, but it would be safer than dying from lifting a weight or something.
"Don't stress too much, the last thing we want for you is an ulcer. Get it? The most important things, drink water, don't stress. Call me if you have any questions."
Ian nodded once again, shook his hand, and left. While he was usually extremely loud, he just couldn't joke around with Marrow. The man looked like he was at Ian's funeral, for fuck's sake. As he walked to the car, he was grateful he chose not to tell anyone. The pity looks were brutal. Thank God, he thought, I'll never see those.