Ordinary, chapter 4
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer.
warnings: sadness and mild language.
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: this is just fanfiction. I own nothing.
Ordinary, chapter four
When Ian was little, after his dad left, he saw his mom change. On the outside, she acted just as caring and loving as ever, not even her eyes betraying her, but she picked up a nervous habit. She cleaned. Whenever she was stressed, she cleaned, and she did an awful lot of cleaning when Ian's dad walked out. And when he saw her doing all that cleaning, and when she was that stressed over one guy, he promised himself he would never leave her, never cause that much pain.
He was thinking of that promise on Friday morning, as he was cleaning his room. He had picked up the habit from his mom years ago, and now he couldn't help but rearrange his closet before Ant and the guys came over to film. That is, until he had to vomit. Now he was kneeled over the toilet, trying and failing to keep down water and bile. Tears filled his eyes as he became aware that this would continue until his death, a mere six months into the future.
Before he could start violently cursing, he hurled into the toilet again, and felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out to examine the unfamiliar number, then figured it was the psychiatrist Marrow had mentioned yesterday.
"Hello?" his voice sounded hoarse, and he made a mental note not to answer the phone if Anthony called at a time like this.
"Hey! Is this Ian Hecox?" The man sounded friendly, and actually pronounced his name right.
"Yeah." Ian felt nauseous and tightened his grip on the rim of the toilet, silently begging he wouldn't vomit again.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Rosenthal. John Marrow called about you, and requested we set something up. I'd like to say sorry about your condition, even though you probably don't want to hear my pity."
Ian sighed, still dizzy. "It's fine."
"Hey, Ian, I can tell you're feeling pretty sick right now, so I think we should just set up an appointment and talk then. Are you available Monday?"
"Yeah." Ian groaned.
"Good! Is three o'clock fine with you?"
"Just fine." Ian had his eyes closed. He was less dizzy, but his head ached, and the foul taste of bile remained in his mouth.
"Okay, then, m'boy, I'll see you at three! My office's address is on that card Doctor Marrow gave you, so you should know where I am. I hope you feel better and have a good weekend."
"You too, sir." Ian mumbled to the obviously older man. He hung up the phone and slid onto the cool tile, drenched with sweat and shaking. He was still for several minutes, taking deep, calming breaths. Finally, he stood slowly, clumsily removing his clothes before stumbling into the shower. He wanted to look normal, so when he had to film, no one would get suspicious.
The weekend passed, and to everyone else, it seemed normal. They all filmed as usual, with Ian being his usual self, and all assumed Ian spent the rest of the weekend with other friends, or sleeping, or whatever it was Ian did when the crew wasn't around. In reality, Ian filled a prescription for Demerol at the local pharmacy, and then spent two days cleaning. He dusted and vacuumed his entire house, and took some clothes out of his closet and dressers to donate.
When that wasn't happening, he was either ill or sleeping. The pain had decreased phenomenally since he started taking medicine, but he still was vomiting frequently.
Monday came, and Ian got ready to meet the therapist. He had to be there at three, and home by five, so he could film Mailtime with Smosh with Anthony. He told Anthony he was helping his other friend move, not bearing the thought of telling him the truth.
As he drove to the therapist, Ian prepped himself. He didn't want to be a sobbing mess in front of the guy, but he was aware he was dying, and knew this wouldn't be the happiest of meetings. When he arrived, he sat in an empty waiting room until a blonde assistant called his name. He was ready to meet an elder man, Rosenthal had called him "m'boy" yesterday, but he wasn't prepared for what he was about to see.
Opening the door of the man's office, he walked in to see a man sitting in one of two large chairs near thick, closed curtains on the left side of the room, assuming he was Doctor Rosenthal.
"Ian, dear boy!" The man said loudly, standing up, and Ian hid a laugh as he moved to shake the man's hand. He looked like a Santa who'd shaved his beard and donned a sweater vest instead of a red suit.
"Doctor Rosenthal." Ian said, as the man shook his hand roughly, a huge smile on his face.
"Please, please," the doctor said, motioning for the two of them to sit down, "call me Kris."
Kringle? Ian thought in his head, then quickly suppressed a giggle. "Yes, sir- Kris."
"Okay, then," said Kris, and he slowly sat down, "Let's not talk about anything extreme just yet. Let's talk about you. How old are you, boy, what do you do for a living?"
Ian made himself comfortable in the large plush chair he had next to Kris'. "Uh, I'm twenty four right now, and I make money off my Youtube videos."
Kris leaned forward, actually interested. "Youtube, eh? That website with the little kid who bites his brother?"
"Yeah, his name was Charlie."
"Oh, oh I see, but it's for acting too, right?"
"Yeah." Despite how ridiculous working on Youtube might sound, Ian was proud to say he was an actor. He made decent money and he got it from doing what he loved.
"And how's your family? Life at home?" Kris peered down at him through his spectacles.
"It's, it's good. I um, I live alone, my sister's over in Pennsylvania, and my mom lives about a half hour away." He thought for a moment of Adrian, and felt a sad pang of nostalgia.
"Ah, that's good. Good relationship with your mom?"
"Oh, yeah," Ian answered immediately. He knew guys who hated their moms, and he considered himself lucky to be so close to her. "She comes over a lot, she's in a lot of our videos." Kris studied him for a moment, and Ian felt apprehension.
"And what about your father? Do you see him?" Ian looked down, then shook his head. He rarely talked about his dad.
"Dad ran off when we were little. I never saw him again. I don't remember him, but mom says he was a pretty average guy." he twisted his hands nervously, which he could feel Kris noting.
"And, because you're such a good kid, you protected your mom, and you've loved her a lot since then. She never remarried, so you're still protecting her now." Kris adjusted his glasses a bit, then looked at Ian for conformation. Ian's mouth was opened slightly.
"How did you know she never remarried?" Ian asked, nervously.
"I hope you don't take offense to this, because it's really nothing to be offended by, but I noticed your pupils dilated when I called you 'my boy.' You never had an older man give you any approval in life, so you enjoyed the fatherly feeling, but you've never felt abused by an older man, because you would've gotten annoyed when I called you that."
Ian stared and nodded. Kris shifted in his seat and gave him a polite smile. He was intelligent, but at the same time one of the warmest men Ian had ever met.
"I think we've had enough for today, Ian." Kris stood, and Ian followed suit. "I say we do this every Monday, for an hour, okay?" He gave Ian a hard pat on the shoulder, and Ian smiled and nervously agreed. "Splendid, boy! I'll have the secretary, her name's Ruby, give you some paperwork, and I'll see you next Monday, lad!" He showed Ian to the door, and Ian filled out the paperwork he needed to before heading home.
***
"Welcome to another Ian is Bored, we're gonna open up some mail for you guys today!" Anthony was back, and they were preparing to empty two bins and some large packages on to the ground and open some fan mail. "Ah, let's do this!" Anthony screamed like a wrestler as he dumped the mail.
"Ugh, yeah, dump that mail." Ian joked around. Anthony laughed and sat down, reaching for a letter.
Ian acted like everything was normal, but of course it was all a painful, but necessary, lie. While he tore open mail, he thought of his therapy session. He thought he would be going to therapy to come to terms with his death, not his life. Sure, he knew it was flawed, he hadn't had the perfect life, but it was great all the same. Maybe it was just part of the process? Either way, he wasn't sure if he wanted to go back. Kris was a great guy, but he felt like a loon. He sighed and kept opening mail.
"Dude, look at this, Japanese Pokemon cards! Oh my God, this looks-"
"Holy shit, that's a penis." Ian interrupted Anthony.
"That Pokemon looks just like a penis."
"Seriously, I'm not even sure if we can show that, dude, let's censor that."
"Yeah, no, I agree, I'm just thinking of some little kid playing with this-"
"Penis, I choose you!" They both fell over laughing. The rest of the evening followed in the same way, and while Anthony made the situation unknowingly easier for Ian, Ian couldn't stop thinking of therapy. Was he ready for it? Or, was he ready to risk not going, with unknown consequences?
warnings: sadness and mild language.
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: this is just fanfiction. I own nothing.
Ordinary, chapter four
When Ian was little, after his dad left, he saw his mom change. On the outside, she acted just as caring and loving as ever, not even her eyes betraying her, but she picked up a nervous habit. She cleaned. Whenever she was stressed, she cleaned, and she did an awful lot of cleaning when Ian's dad walked out. And when he saw her doing all that cleaning, and when she was that stressed over one guy, he promised himself he would never leave her, never cause that much pain.
He was thinking of that promise on Friday morning, as he was cleaning his room. He had picked up the habit from his mom years ago, and now he couldn't help but rearrange his closet before Ant and the guys came over to film. That is, until he had to vomit. Now he was kneeled over the toilet, trying and failing to keep down water and bile. Tears filled his eyes as he became aware that this would continue until his death, a mere six months into the future.
Before he could start violently cursing, he hurled into the toilet again, and felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out to examine the unfamiliar number, then figured it was the psychiatrist Marrow had mentioned yesterday.
"Hello?" his voice sounded hoarse, and he made a mental note not to answer the phone if Anthony called at a time like this.
"Hey! Is this Ian Hecox?" The man sounded friendly, and actually pronounced his name right.
"Yeah." Ian felt nauseous and tightened his grip on the rim of the toilet, silently begging he wouldn't vomit again.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Rosenthal. John Marrow called about you, and requested we set something up. I'd like to say sorry about your condition, even though you probably don't want to hear my pity."
Ian sighed, still dizzy. "It's fine."
"Hey, Ian, I can tell you're feeling pretty sick right now, so I think we should just set up an appointment and talk then. Are you available Monday?"
"Yeah." Ian groaned.
"Good! Is three o'clock fine with you?"
"Just fine." Ian had his eyes closed. He was less dizzy, but his head ached, and the foul taste of bile remained in his mouth.
"Okay, then, m'boy, I'll see you at three! My office's address is on that card Doctor Marrow gave you, so you should know where I am. I hope you feel better and have a good weekend."
"You too, sir." Ian mumbled to the obviously older man. He hung up the phone and slid onto the cool tile, drenched with sweat and shaking. He was still for several minutes, taking deep, calming breaths. Finally, he stood slowly, clumsily removing his clothes before stumbling into the shower. He wanted to look normal, so when he had to film, no one would get suspicious.
The weekend passed, and to everyone else, it seemed normal. They all filmed as usual, with Ian being his usual self, and all assumed Ian spent the rest of the weekend with other friends, or sleeping, or whatever it was Ian did when the crew wasn't around. In reality, Ian filled a prescription for Demerol at the local pharmacy, and then spent two days cleaning. He dusted and vacuumed his entire house, and took some clothes out of his closet and dressers to donate.
When that wasn't happening, he was either ill or sleeping. The pain had decreased phenomenally since he started taking medicine, but he still was vomiting frequently.
Monday came, and Ian got ready to meet the therapist. He had to be there at three, and home by five, so he could film Mailtime with Smosh with Anthony. He told Anthony he was helping his other friend move, not bearing the thought of telling him the truth.
As he drove to the therapist, Ian prepped himself. He didn't want to be a sobbing mess in front of the guy, but he was aware he was dying, and knew this wouldn't be the happiest of meetings. When he arrived, he sat in an empty waiting room until a blonde assistant called his name. He was ready to meet an elder man, Rosenthal had called him "m'boy" yesterday, but he wasn't prepared for what he was about to see.
Opening the door of the man's office, he walked in to see a man sitting in one of two large chairs near thick, closed curtains on the left side of the room, assuming he was Doctor Rosenthal.
"Ian, dear boy!" The man said loudly, standing up, and Ian hid a laugh as he moved to shake the man's hand. He looked like a Santa who'd shaved his beard and donned a sweater vest instead of a red suit.
"Doctor Rosenthal." Ian said, as the man shook his hand roughly, a huge smile on his face.
"Please, please," the doctor said, motioning for the two of them to sit down, "call me Kris."
Kringle? Ian thought in his head, then quickly suppressed a giggle. "Yes, sir- Kris."
"Okay, then," said Kris, and he slowly sat down, "Let's not talk about anything extreme just yet. Let's talk about you. How old are you, boy, what do you do for a living?"
Ian made himself comfortable in the large plush chair he had next to Kris'. "Uh, I'm twenty four right now, and I make money off my Youtube videos."
Kris leaned forward, actually interested. "Youtube, eh? That website with the little kid who bites his brother?"
"Yeah, his name was Charlie."
"Oh, oh I see, but it's for acting too, right?"
"Yeah." Despite how ridiculous working on Youtube might sound, Ian was proud to say he was an actor. He made decent money and he got it from doing what he loved.
"And how's your family? Life at home?" Kris peered down at him through his spectacles.
"It's, it's good. I um, I live alone, my sister's over in Pennsylvania, and my mom lives about a half hour away." He thought for a moment of Adrian, and felt a sad pang of nostalgia.
"Ah, that's good. Good relationship with your mom?"
"Oh, yeah," Ian answered immediately. He knew guys who hated their moms, and he considered himself lucky to be so close to her. "She comes over a lot, she's in a lot of our videos." Kris studied him for a moment, and Ian felt apprehension.
"And what about your father? Do you see him?" Ian looked down, then shook his head. He rarely talked about his dad.
"Dad ran off when we were little. I never saw him again. I don't remember him, but mom says he was a pretty average guy." he twisted his hands nervously, which he could feel Kris noting.
"And, because you're such a good kid, you protected your mom, and you've loved her a lot since then. She never remarried, so you're still protecting her now." Kris adjusted his glasses a bit, then looked at Ian for conformation. Ian's mouth was opened slightly.
"How did you know she never remarried?" Ian asked, nervously.
"I hope you don't take offense to this, because it's really nothing to be offended by, but I noticed your pupils dilated when I called you 'my boy.' You never had an older man give you any approval in life, so you enjoyed the fatherly feeling, but you've never felt abused by an older man, because you would've gotten annoyed when I called you that."
Ian stared and nodded. Kris shifted in his seat and gave him a polite smile. He was intelligent, but at the same time one of the warmest men Ian had ever met.
"I think we've had enough for today, Ian." Kris stood, and Ian followed suit. "I say we do this every Monday, for an hour, okay?" He gave Ian a hard pat on the shoulder, and Ian smiled and nervously agreed. "Splendid, boy! I'll have the secretary, her name's Ruby, give you some paperwork, and I'll see you next Monday, lad!" He showed Ian to the door, and Ian filled out the paperwork he needed to before heading home.
***
"Welcome to another Ian is Bored, we're gonna open up some mail for you guys today!" Anthony was back, and they were preparing to empty two bins and some large packages on to the ground and open some fan mail. "Ah, let's do this!" Anthony screamed like a wrestler as he dumped the mail.
"Ugh, yeah, dump that mail." Ian joked around. Anthony laughed and sat down, reaching for a letter.
Ian acted like everything was normal, but of course it was all a painful, but necessary, lie. While he tore open mail, he thought of his therapy session. He thought he would be going to therapy to come to terms with his death, not his life. Sure, he knew it was flawed, he hadn't had the perfect life, but it was great all the same. Maybe it was just part of the process? Either way, he wasn't sure if he wanted to go back. Kris was a great guy, but he felt like a loon. He sighed and kept opening mail.
"Dude, look at this, Japanese Pokemon cards! Oh my God, this looks-"
"Holy shit, that's a penis." Ian interrupted Anthony.
"That Pokemon looks just like a penis."
"Seriously, I'm not even sure if we can show that, dude, let's censor that."
"Yeah, no, I agree, I'm just thinking of some little kid playing with this-"
"Penis, I choose you!" They both fell over laughing. The rest of the evening followed in the same way, and while Anthony made the situation unknowingly easier for Ian, Ian couldn't stop thinking of therapy. Was he ready for it? Or, was he ready to risk not going, with unknown consequences?