Recovery, chapter five
summary: Ian dies of cancer. Anthony goes to the will reading.
warnings: slight drug use mentions, sadness, general gayness
rated: pg-13
He was in his basement, a dank and miserable place. The walls and floors were concrete, and the ceiling was a mess of pipes and wires. He was standing near a hanging light bulb, the only light in the room, examining a pipe. He remembered that this pipe had leaked some time ago, and it cost a hefty amount of money from a plumber to fix it.
"Creepy down here." A familiar voice said behind him, and he turned to see a sorely missed smile.
"Ian." Anthony replied, confused. He took a step forward, not feeling panic or fear or relief, only that confusion. "You're alive?"
"Of course I'm alive! Man, I can't believe you fell for it." The smile slipped from his face, and he voiced the words in a soft tone, as if worried, or disappointed.
"What do you mean? Was this all a dream?" Anthony hesitated.
"A prank. A practical joke. We didn't think you'd believe it, or get so upset over it." Ian took a step closer to him, but was still distant.
"A prank?" Anthony echoed the phrase, not sure if he believed it.
"Yeah, Ant, that's all it was. Why do you think the coffin was closed at my funeral? Nothing was in there. I'm alive." He assured him, but Anthony wasn't certain. Confusion still clouded his head when he looked at his friend, but he did look the same. Light tan, slight blush, brown hair, brilliant blue eyes that he secretly envied. Ian Hecox appeared to be standing in front of him.
"The cancer, the hospital, your mom, that was all a lie?" Anthony asked, incredulous yet hopeful.
"All of it. Everyone was in on it, even Kalel." Ian answered quietly.
"The note." Anthony stated, his tone begging for an explanation. "That letter you wrote me. You said...was it true?"
"What do you think?" Ian questioned back, lifting an eyebrow.
"Say it. Ian, say it. What you wrote, then I can tell." Anthony demanded nervously.
"Do you really want me to say it? The words on that paper? D'you think that if I say it out loud, you'll be able to tell if it's the truth or not?" Ian smirked, and Anthony felt a twist in the bottom of his stomach.
"I know you. I know when you're lying." Anthony retorted, stronger now.
"We both know that's not true." Ian spat quickly, then drew back. His body became less tense, and he smiled a little. "But I suppose if you want me to, I will. Anthony, I'm-"
Anthony woke up with a gasp, eyes snapping open. It was daytime, and the room was already warm and sunny. He sat up quickly, tangled in his sheets, covered in the light sweat that came to him every Summer night. Kalel walked into the room, already dressed, and looked him over in slight concern, but decided not to question him.
"Sweetheart? You need to shower and go to Ian's will reading." She reminded him as she went to the closet, rustling the hangers in search of an article of clothing.
"Ian's what? I was there when he made it." Anthony began to recall the day, then forced himself not to think of it, too haunted by the memories.
"I know, but you need to go anyway. It was important to him, wasn't it?" She pulled out a dress and examined it.
"What makes you say that?" He questions as he stands, stretching.
"He knew he was dying, he made a will. It's his last direct impact on the Earth, he must've known that." She said to him as she left the room, dress in hand.
Anthony sighed, then stood and stretched, his day already ruined. He went to take his shower, wondering what his nightmare meant. In the basement, with Ian, alive but different. Almost taunting. A part of him almost wished it was real, that what Ian did really was just a prank gone too far. But no. He was dead, truly dead, and Anthony was still alone.
***
The will reading was held in the same office Anthony had sat in back in March, when Ian asked him to witness it. He remembered how worried he was that day, how upset he was at the very notion of Ian dying. Ian knew, he knew then, that he was dying, and he couldn't even tell Anthony, he had to lie, and that tore Anthony apart, that his friend could lie like that.
He shook Ian from his thoughts, a difficult task seeing the situation he was in, and looked around the small, professional office. Cheryl sat on his right, and further over sat a tall black man that Anthony didn't recognize. In the desk in front of them, scanning the will, was Ian's lawyer when he was alive, Fahad Chowdhury.
"Well, we are gathered here today to read the last will and testament of Mr. Ian Hecox. Let us note the time, 11:00 am, and the date, July thirteenth. Are we all ready to proceed?" Mr. Chowdhury looked at them all, and when they nodded, he continued. "Very well, I'll begin.
"Final will and testament of Ian Hecox, written Saturday, the tenth of March, 2012, witnessed by Anthony Padilla. I, Ian Hecox of 701 Oakwood Avenue, Sacramento, California, declare this to be my last will and testament."
He read the will aloud, calm with an even, professional tone, but Anthony could barely listen. He'd helped Ian write the damn thing, he didn't want it recited to him. Only the basic details came through the wall Anthony built between himself and the words; Smosh going to him, Ian's mother getting the house and some money, and some to the local church (at this point, Anthony discovered the man was a Deacon named Tim Franklin). When the will reading was finished, all parties said goodbye to the lawyer, leaving the dim, cool office to the heat of the outside world. It was there, in the parking lot, that they spoke to each other for the first time that day.
"Thank you for coming, Anthony. I'm sure it would've meant a lot to him." Cheryl said, teary eyed. She'd been nearly permanently so ever since the eighth, when he died, a thought that instantly tormented Anthony, hating seeing her so upset.
"It's no problem, Cheryl. How are you?" He was genuinely concerned.
"I'm fine." She replied, although they all knew it was a lie. "I just need to go home and rest. My daughter's staying with me a few days."
"Good, I'm glad someone's there for you. Call me if you need anything." He insisted as she began to walk to her car.
"Thank you, sweetie, I will." She gave a small smile and turned to Deacon Franklin. "Oh, and I won't forget about the service tomorrow."
"I'll see you there." He said, the first words Anthony had heard from him, and his voice was deep and oddly relaxing. "My church is having a memorial service for Ian. He was very kind to us, and gave us a lot of donations that we're all very grateful for."
"That's cool." Anthony nodded, but shuffled, thoughts clouding his head. "He...I never knew he was religious."
Religion was a rare discussion between them, only mentioned one time he could recall, back in junior year. They were smoking in Anthony's room (they only did so occasionally, for recreation) and Anthony had asked him if he believed in God. He'd never forget the answer. I don't know, Ian had said. Maybe there's God, or gods, or a force. Maybe there's nothing. But whatever's out there, I just hope it's good to us. Anthony thought of those words at least once a week, not in attempt to remember, but because he thought Ian's hopes had come true. He thought they would be okay. But one's dead and another's stuck, something which told the young man that God, or whatever was out there, wasn't good to them at all.
"He never mentioned if he was. He only came in to donate. That's not very common with us." He smiled a little, and Anthony could tell he was fond of Ian, respectful. God, how many secrets did Ian have?
"The memorial service is tomorrow at noon. Will you come?" Franklin asked him respectfully.
"Erm..." Anthony shuffled with discomfort once more. "I'm not the religious type."
"It's not just for Baptists, Mr. Padilla." He assured him. "It's in honor of Ian."
"Yeah, thanks, I'll think about it." He nodded, and they separated.
***
His unhappiness hung over him like a cloud, trapped in his car with him then following him into his home. Kalel greeted him, and he ignored her, going to the computer (that Charlie's cage now sat next to) to view his source of distraction, the tribute video for Ian that they posted earlier in the day. Some other member of the Smosh team had made it, seeing as Anthony had just lost his best friend, and a part of him dreaded viewing it. Every reminder of his friend tore at him, slowly stinging at the very fiber of his being.
The video was a lot of old clips and many new ones. The music in the background was sad and slow, a tune that Anthony recognized, but couldn't name. The first few seconds made him nostalgic, seeing the old bowl haircut and cheap camera. Moments from their Pokemon video, the battleship video, the model airplane video, and their other old classics flashed on the screen, containing a younger, smiling Ian. It went in order, slowly showing him age. The first Lunchtime With Smosh. The Food Battle where he lacked his signature haircut. An image of him laughing with Anthony, another of him chatting with his mom. The beautiful years of youth.
Then the video changed, in a way that terrified Anthony more than anything he'd ever experienced, and ever would. Because it was a video of Ian growing up, of him being stronger, healthier, then suddenly, more pale, thin. The moments of him smiling and laughing showed him grow more and more thin, his hair becoming dull, the sparkle fading from his eyes. The cancer taking over his body. The video ended with a 'Rest In Peace, Ian Hecox: 30 November, 1987, to 8 July, 2012' with a slow fade to black on an image of he and Anthony smiling.
What terrified him wasn't all seeing him that way, cold and breaking. No, what really terrified him was the fact that he didn't notice. That he looked at his friend every week, for months, and all he thought was 'low blood pressure.' That he believed the awful lie Ian told him.
He paused the video on one of the final seconds, staring at Ian's face frozen in a half smile. When he dreamed of Ian that morning, he didn't look like this, like a dead man. He looked how Ian always looked, or how he thought he always looked. It occurred to Anthony that maybe he was so used to Ian always being okay that he couldn't notice when something was extremely wrong. I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. That was what Ian's letter said. Could he be dealing with the same?
A sudden rush of anger rose over him, hatred coursing through his veins. Ian knew he was dying, and didn't tell him, and then he left that letter, that burden. He should've told him that he had cancer the second he found out, should've prepared him for this. He didn't get to say goodbye, didn't warn the fans, didn't apologize to Mel or their mom. Ian betrayed him, abandoned him, and played with his heart, and Anthony hated him for it. He loathed him for the lies he told, the truths he kept to himself and the ones he confessed when he was inches from death. This was not a true friend.
He heard footsteps as Kalel walked in behind him, then stopped upon seeing him staring at Ian's frozen face, shaking with what she thought to be despair, not anger.
"Babe..." She began, taking a few steps forward. "It's okay. He loved you."
"That's the problem." He muttered, shutting off the computer. "A problem he couldn't admit to until he was fucking dead."
Kalel looked nervous, hesitating before replying. "He was only human-"
"Was he? Was what he did human to you?" He turned his chair around, staring at her, his voice growing louder. "He got cancer, kept it a secret, then left me his mess to deal with when he was gone! And he had to write me that sick letter just to fuck with my head!"
"Honey, that's not why he-"
"How the fuck would you know, Kristen?" He stood as he yelled, and she took a step back, alarmed. "You didn't know him!"
"Well clearly neither did you!" She shouted in reply, then immediately looked as though she regretted it. She took a few steps back, and he stared at her, breathing heavily.
"I guess you're right about that." He said finally, and walked past her, slamming the door to their bedroom. He remained there for hours, curled under his sheets, the heat of the day no longer an issue to him. When the sun was starting to get low in the sky, Kalel opened the door cautiously.
"Coming for dinner?" He heard her ask quietly, but he didn't move.
After a moment, she slowly retreated back to the dining room, and an ounce of guilt set into his skin. He stood, stretched, and joined her wordlessly for pasta. They didn't speak, only eating their little meal in a tense silence, then washing the dishes together the same way. When the clean up was done, he turned and stared at her, and when she sighed, he motioned to her.
Anthony pulled her into a hug, not as tight as the usual ones, but she hugged him far tighter than she normally did.
"Let's just go to bed, okay?" She murmured into his ear, pity in her voice, and Anthony had to push down the anger that it brought.
"Sure." He replied, letting go of her, but she stayed close to him a moment longer.
"D'you want to..." She pulled back and lifted an eyebrow, and Anthony knew what she was suggesting, but he shook his head.
"I'm tired." He answered the unfinished question, and as she led him back to their room, he had to admit that was true. But he couldn't tell if he was tired of her, tired of being sad, or just tired of living without Ian. One thing was certain; he knew one could die of exhaustion, and he could feel it looming over him as he shut his eyes to sleep.
warnings: slight drug use mentions, sadness, general gayness
rated: pg-13
He was in his basement, a dank and miserable place. The walls and floors were concrete, and the ceiling was a mess of pipes and wires. He was standing near a hanging light bulb, the only light in the room, examining a pipe. He remembered that this pipe had leaked some time ago, and it cost a hefty amount of money from a plumber to fix it.
"Creepy down here." A familiar voice said behind him, and he turned to see a sorely missed smile.
"Ian." Anthony replied, confused. He took a step forward, not feeling panic or fear or relief, only that confusion. "You're alive?"
"Of course I'm alive! Man, I can't believe you fell for it." The smile slipped from his face, and he voiced the words in a soft tone, as if worried, or disappointed.
"What do you mean? Was this all a dream?" Anthony hesitated.
"A prank. A practical joke. We didn't think you'd believe it, or get so upset over it." Ian took a step closer to him, but was still distant.
"A prank?" Anthony echoed the phrase, not sure if he believed it.
"Yeah, Ant, that's all it was. Why do you think the coffin was closed at my funeral? Nothing was in there. I'm alive." He assured him, but Anthony wasn't certain. Confusion still clouded his head when he looked at his friend, but he did look the same. Light tan, slight blush, brown hair, brilliant blue eyes that he secretly envied. Ian Hecox appeared to be standing in front of him.
"The cancer, the hospital, your mom, that was all a lie?" Anthony asked, incredulous yet hopeful.
"All of it. Everyone was in on it, even Kalel." Ian answered quietly.
"The note." Anthony stated, his tone begging for an explanation. "That letter you wrote me. You said...was it true?"
"What do you think?" Ian questioned back, lifting an eyebrow.
"Say it. Ian, say it. What you wrote, then I can tell." Anthony demanded nervously.
"Do you really want me to say it? The words on that paper? D'you think that if I say it out loud, you'll be able to tell if it's the truth or not?" Ian smirked, and Anthony felt a twist in the bottom of his stomach.
"I know you. I know when you're lying." Anthony retorted, stronger now.
"We both know that's not true." Ian spat quickly, then drew back. His body became less tense, and he smiled a little. "But I suppose if you want me to, I will. Anthony, I'm-"
Anthony woke up with a gasp, eyes snapping open. It was daytime, and the room was already warm and sunny. He sat up quickly, tangled in his sheets, covered in the light sweat that came to him every Summer night. Kalel walked into the room, already dressed, and looked him over in slight concern, but decided not to question him.
"Sweetheart? You need to shower and go to Ian's will reading." She reminded him as she went to the closet, rustling the hangers in search of an article of clothing.
"Ian's what? I was there when he made it." Anthony began to recall the day, then forced himself not to think of it, too haunted by the memories.
"I know, but you need to go anyway. It was important to him, wasn't it?" She pulled out a dress and examined it.
"What makes you say that?" He questions as he stands, stretching.
"He knew he was dying, he made a will. It's his last direct impact on the Earth, he must've known that." She said to him as she left the room, dress in hand.
Anthony sighed, then stood and stretched, his day already ruined. He went to take his shower, wondering what his nightmare meant. In the basement, with Ian, alive but different. Almost taunting. A part of him almost wished it was real, that what Ian did really was just a prank gone too far. But no. He was dead, truly dead, and Anthony was still alone.
***
The will reading was held in the same office Anthony had sat in back in March, when Ian asked him to witness it. He remembered how worried he was that day, how upset he was at the very notion of Ian dying. Ian knew, he knew then, that he was dying, and he couldn't even tell Anthony, he had to lie, and that tore Anthony apart, that his friend could lie like that.
He shook Ian from his thoughts, a difficult task seeing the situation he was in, and looked around the small, professional office. Cheryl sat on his right, and further over sat a tall black man that Anthony didn't recognize. In the desk in front of them, scanning the will, was Ian's lawyer when he was alive, Fahad Chowdhury.
"Well, we are gathered here today to read the last will and testament of Mr. Ian Hecox. Let us note the time, 11:00 am, and the date, July thirteenth. Are we all ready to proceed?" Mr. Chowdhury looked at them all, and when they nodded, he continued. "Very well, I'll begin.
"Final will and testament of Ian Hecox, written Saturday, the tenth of March, 2012, witnessed by Anthony Padilla. I, Ian Hecox of 701 Oakwood Avenue, Sacramento, California, declare this to be my last will and testament."
He read the will aloud, calm with an even, professional tone, but Anthony could barely listen. He'd helped Ian write the damn thing, he didn't want it recited to him. Only the basic details came through the wall Anthony built between himself and the words; Smosh going to him, Ian's mother getting the house and some money, and some to the local church (at this point, Anthony discovered the man was a Deacon named Tim Franklin). When the will reading was finished, all parties said goodbye to the lawyer, leaving the dim, cool office to the heat of the outside world. It was there, in the parking lot, that they spoke to each other for the first time that day.
"Thank you for coming, Anthony. I'm sure it would've meant a lot to him." Cheryl said, teary eyed. She'd been nearly permanently so ever since the eighth, when he died, a thought that instantly tormented Anthony, hating seeing her so upset.
"It's no problem, Cheryl. How are you?" He was genuinely concerned.
"I'm fine." She replied, although they all knew it was a lie. "I just need to go home and rest. My daughter's staying with me a few days."
"Good, I'm glad someone's there for you. Call me if you need anything." He insisted as she began to walk to her car.
"Thank you, sweetie, I will." She gave a small smile and turned to Deacon Franklin. "Oh, and I won't forget about the service tomorrow."
"I'll see you there." He said, the first words Anthony had heard from him, and his voice was deep and oddly relaxing. "My church is having a memorial service for Ian. He was very kind to us, and gave us a lot of donations that we're all very grateful for."
"That's cool." Anthony nodded, but shuffled, thoughts clouding his head. "He...I never knew he was religious."
Religion was a rare discussion between them, only mentioned one time he could recall, back in junior year. They were smoking in Anthony's room (they only did so occasionally, for recreation) and Anthony had asked him if he believed in God. He'd never forget the answer. I don't know, Ian had said. Maybe there's God, or gods, or a force. Maybe there's nothing. But whatever's out there, I just hope it's good to us. Anthony thought of those words at least once a week, not in attempt to remember, but because he thought Ian's hopes had come true. He thought they would be okay. But one's dead and another's stuck, something which told the young man that God, or whatever was out there, wasn't good to them at all.
"He never mentioned if he was. He only came in to donate. That's not very common with us." He smiled a little, and Anthony could tell he was fond of Ian, respectful. God, how many secrets did Ian have?
"The memorial service is tomorrow at noon. Will you come?" Franklin asked him respectfully.
"Erm..." Anthony shuffled with discomfort once more. "I'm not the religious type."
"It's not just for Baptists, Mr. Padilla." He assured him. "It's in honor of Ian."
"Yeah, thanks, I'll think about it." He nodded, and they separated.
***
His unhappiness hung over him like a cloud, trapped in his car with him then following him into his home. Kalel greeted him, and he ignored her, going to the computer (that Charlie's cage now sat next to) to view his source of distraction, the tribute video for Ian that they posted earlier in the day. Some other member of the Smosh team had made it, seeing as Anthony had just lost his best friend, and a part of him dreaded viewing it. Every reminder of his friend tore at him, slowly stinging at the very fiber of his being.
The video was a lot of old clips and many new ones. The music in the background was sad and slow, a tune that Anthony recognized, but couldn't name. The first few seconds made him nostalgic, seeing the old bowl haircut and cheap camera. Moments from their Pokemon video, the battleship video, the model airplane video, and their other old classics flashed on the screen, containing a younger, smiling Ian. It went in order, slowly showing him age. The first Lunchtime With Smosh. The Food Battle where he lacked his signature haircut. An image of him laughing with Anthony, another of him chatting with his mom. The beautiful years of youth.
Then the video changed, in a way that terrified Anthony more than anything he'd ever experienced, and ever would. Because it was a video of Ian growing up, of him being stronger, healthier, then suddenly, more pale, thin. The moments of him smiling and laughing showed him grow more and more thin, his hair becoming dull, the sparkle fading from his eyes. The cancer taking over his body. The video ended with a 'Rest In Peace, Ian Hecox: 30 November, 1987, to 8 July, 2012' with a slow fade to black on an image of he and Anthony smiling.
What terrified him wasn't all seeing him that way, cold and breaking. No, what really terrified him was the fact that he didn't notice. That he looked at his friend every week, for months, and all he thought was 'low blood pressure.' That he believed the awful lie Ian told him.
He paused the video on one of the final seconds, staring at Ian's face frozen in a half smile. When he dreamed of Ian that morning, he didn't look like this, like a dead man. He looked how Ian always looked, or how he thought he always looked. It occurred to Anthony that maybe he was so used to Ian always being okay that he couldn't notice when something was extremely wrong. I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. That was what Ian's letter said. Could he be dealing with the same?
A sudden rush of anger rose over him, hatred coursing through his veins. Ian knew he was dying, and didn't tell him, and then he left that letter, that burden. He should've told him that he had cancer the second he found out, should've prepared him for this. He didn't get to say goodbye, didn't warn the fans, didn't apologize to Mel or their mom. Ian betrayed him, abandoned him, and played with his heart, and Anthony hated him for it. He loathed him for the lies he told, the truths he kept to himself and the ones he confessed when he was inches from death. This was not a true friend.
He heard footsteps as Kalel walked in behind him, then stopped upon seeing him staring at Ian's frozen face, shaking with what she thought to be despair, not anger.
"Babe..." She began, taking a few steps forward. "It's okay. He loved you."
"That's the problem." He muttered, shutting off the computer. "A problem he couldn't admit to until he was fucking dead."
Kalel looked nervous, hesitating before replying. "He was only human-"
"Was he? Was what he did human to you?" He turned his chair around, staring at her, his voice growing louder. "He got cancer, kept it a secret, then left me his mess to deal with when he was gone! And he had to write me that sick letter just to fuck with my head!"
"Honey, that's not why he-"
"How the fuck would you know, Kristen?" He stood as he yelled, and she took a step back, alarmed. "You didn't know him!"
"Well clearly neither did you!" She shouted in reply, then immediately looked as though she regretted it. She took a few steps back, and he stared at her, breathing heavily.
"I guess you're right about that." He said finally, and walked past her, slamming the door to their bedroom. He remained there for hours, curled under his sheets, the heat of the day no longer an issue to him. When the sun was starting to get low in the sky, Kalel opened the door cautiously.
"Coming for dinner?" He heard her ask quietly, but he didn't move.
After a moment, she slowly retreated back to the dining room, and an ounce of guilt set into his skin. He stood, stretched, and joined her wordlessly for pasta. They didn't speak, only eating their little meal in a tense silence, then washing the dishes together the same way. When the clean up was done, he turned and stared at her, and when she sighed, he motioned to her.
Anthony pulled her into a hug, not as tight as the usual ones, but she hugged him far tighter than she normally did.
"Let's just go to bed, okay?" She murmured into his ear, pity in her voice, and Anthony had to push down the anger that it brought.
"Sure." He replied, letting go of her, but she stayed close to him a moment longer.
"D'you want to..." She pulled back and lifted an eyebrow, and Anthony knew what she was suggesting, but he shook his head.
"I'm tired." He answered the unfinished question, and as she led him back to their room, he had to admit that was true. But he couldn't tell if he was tired of her, tired of being sad, or just tired of living without Ian. One thing was certain; he knew one could die of exhaustion, and he could feel it looming over him as he shut his eyes to sleep.