Recovery, chapter three
summary: Ian dies of terminal cancer. Anthony reads his final letter.
warnings: sadness, mentions of suicide, and foul language
rating: pg-13
A/N1: Remember that this story has been running since Ian was diagnosed, January 18th, so nothing that happened this year was canon. In this fic, Smosh is a lot smaller, because they didn't create El Smosh, Smosh Games, or Shut Up! Cartoons. I'm not saying that's something I'd prefer or anything, I'm just saying that they weren't able to do all they did in the past year because Ian lost his motivation, and Anthony was given a lot of his work to do after he fainted, so there wasn't much progress going on.
A/N2: Anthony says something in this chapter that was one of the first spiteful, awful things he'll be saying. Over time, it'll become clear to him that he made a mistake thinking what he did, but I want it to be clear what he said was just really wrong. So when you see the line "he stopped being Ian Hecox and started being a lie," please understand that Ian didn't stop being who he was when he deceived his friend and kept secrets about his impending death. I want to make this really clear to you guys right now because I feel Ian's death can be compared to a suicide/self-harm victim in many ways, and I think you guys need to be completely aware that if you know someone who self-harms/committed, they didn't become a different person, they didn't become a lie or a sin, your view of them just changed, and they're the same, and don't deserve blame or pressure for their actions, only care. Thanks for reading.
He woke up Wednesday morning just as he did the past two days; filled with doubts, worries, and prayers that the mess he was now living in wasn't real. That it was all a horrific nightmare, and that he would wake up soon, with his best friend Ian still alive. But the awful reality of it all was still there. They were all trapped in the real world, the real world where Ian was dead and everyone was miserable.
After waking up, he shuffled over to his computer, turning it on while rubbing his tired eyes. He wanted to check on the fans, see how they were doing, but it was a very small part of him that wanted this. He didn't want to see them breaking down, didn't want to know how the rest of the world was dealing with it.
They were all mourning, all across the internet. 'Rest In Peace Ian' had graced every Tweet on his feed, every post on their Wall, every photoset on their Dashboard. They were all heartbroken.
But that wasn't the only thing he saw. Everywhere he looked, with that mourning, came pity. Mounds of it, tons. All directed at him. It irked him, and he knew it shouldn't have, but it did. His mood, because of this, grew sour, and he, in annoyance, let out a huff of frustration before looking to the right of him.
He saw a folded up piece of paper on the desk next to his computer, one that he normally would dismiss as unimportant, but he knew what this note was. It was Ian's final letter, stuffed into his pocket, then nearly tossed into the laundry, then spared by Kalel casually tossing it onto the desk without caring to read it, not knowing what it truly was. It was the last time Ian addressed him before his death.
Curiosity took control. He reached over, hand shaking, and picked up the letter. Slowly, he unfolded it, fearfully wondering what Ian could have possibly said to him with the knowledge that he would soon be dead.
Anthony-
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm leaving you. You'll never know how sorry I am. I don't want to go. I don't want it to end.
I never told you because I was scared. I didn't want things to change. I didn't want you to pity me, I didn't want everything to be weird, I didn't want our relationship to be ruined.
But then I waited awhile, then it was too long. And I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you from the pain. I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want to die miserable because of what I said or did to you. But I feel like shit, and I bet I would feel like shit whether you were with me right now or not. I should have told you. I should have warned you, I should have been a better friend.
I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. In high school, God, I had such a crush on you, Ant, but I wasn't sure about anything, and then you were embarrassed, and then Frankie yelled at us- I decided to just force myself to like girls, to let you be happy. I just want you to be happy. But I can't protect you from everything, like I tried to with this cancer. It hurt to tell my mom, but it doesn't matter, because she deserved to know, like you deserved to know. You've been too good a friend not to know.
Please, don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Be grateful for everything you have, because I wasn't, and now I have nothing.
Take care of Charlie for me.
I love you. And I'm so sorry.
- Ian.
When he first learned Ian was gone, he wasn't aware that he was breaking down, wasn't aware of his sobbing, until a few minutes after it started. But at this time, he was cruelly aware, and he hated himself and the world for every second of it. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his nose was starting to drip, and his hands were shaking more than they ever had during late night editing sessions with far too much caffeine running through him. And he hated his sobbing, and he hated Ian for writing the letter and Marrow for giving it to him, and his mother for making him cry when she did and Kalel for not finding a way to fix it all, and he hated cancer for even existing and life for being so thoughtlessly awful, so evil, hideous, confusing, complicated and long, so insufferably long, with no end to this freakish pain in sight.
And all this bitter anger shook through him, rattled him and drove him momentarily insane, and then gave way to a flood of defeat and tears, and he sat sobbing. He was unsure of what to think, or to feel, and he couldn't handle the situation at all.
Kalel found him, just as she did the first time he broke like this, in the very same room. She saw him holding the note, sobbing, and after a failed moment of attempting to console him, took it gingerly from his hands, read it quickly, then, of all things, dropped it and rushed from the room.
Anthony was still sobbing when she returned a few minutes later, wiping his face in attempt to dry his many tears.
"Charlie." Was the only word he could croak out, and Kalel quickly nodded.
"I called his mom, she has him." She said, and Anthony stared at the ground, shaking but no longer crying. A minute of painful silence passed.
"Ian. He was in love with me." Anthony said quietly, voice cracking on the last word. "Why didn't he tell me?" Incredulous sadness and anger reverberated through his question, and Kalel took a step forward.
"You're not gay, Anthony. He wanted you to be happy." He heard weakness in her voice, but she was strong enough not to cry then.
"If he asked me." And tears returned to his eyes. "If he asked me, I would have. I would have..."
"I don't believe you." She responded firmly, and he went quiet. He didn't know if he believed him, either. He didn't know what he could believe about anything.
His phone rang, and he reached for it, picking up for the unfamiliar number without thinking.
"Hello, is this Anthony Padilla?" A man asked.
"Yeah, who's this?" Anthony wiped his nose, surprised the man pronounced his name right.
"My name's David Thompson, I'm a representative of Youtube. I'd like to give my condolences on behalf of the company regarding your loss." His tone was business-like, and Anthony didn't want to trust him.
"Thank you." He said flatly, feeling as though there was more to the call than just pity.
"Now, we here at Youtube love both of you guys and your work with us, and that's what we need to discuss today. Your work, that is." He'd went to school and learned how to really talk to people, Anthony could tell by his words and voice. Make it seem like they have a more personal bond with the company as a subconscious propaganda.
"What about it?"
"Well, Mr. Padilla, we were wondering what you know about the future of Smosh. Will the company continue with you, or if you plan to leave your position, or if it keeps going at all, really. That sort of thing."
"I'm not stopping Smosh." Anthony said, a bit curtly. "And I'm not abandoning it, either. That's not what Ian wanted."
But he wasn't even certain of that statement. Ian left the business to him in that will, months ago, but did he want it to keep going? He didn't mention Smosh in his final letter, just a crush and a pet, so what did he want now?
"Okay, Mr. Padilla, that's absolutely fine. Something else we need to discuss, then, is Ian's channel. Now, usually when someone with a Youtube account passes away, there's a process so that someone else can assume control over the channel. However, in this situation, we really don't need to confirm with a death certificate and all the paper work, seeing as you two have been with us for years. Am I correct in assuming that you have full access to Ian's channel?"
"Yes." Anthony rubbed his head, feeling a headache approaching.
"Well, then, if you'd like to keep the channel, just changing the email address to your own and editing the profile will work just fine. But we have to ask, would you like us to remove the channel for you?"
"Remove the channel?" Anthony questions, sitting up straighter.
"It would remove the profile, all of the videos, and anyone subscribed would be unsubscribed." David explained, and Anthony felt lost in a hazy world.
"No." He said weakly, shaking his head.
"Mr. Padilla, while the passing of your friend is truly upsetting and unfortunate, we here at Youtube do recommend deleting the channel. We are aware that all videos posted are also available on the Smosh.com page, and inactive channels do clutter up our website and are eventually deleted."
"Wait." Anthony squeezed his eyes shut. "Just wait. Don't delete it yet, just don't. Please."
"Very well, Mr. Padilla. If you switch the email, the account is yours, just remember that inactive channels are deleted over time. I apologize for your loss once again, and ask you to have a good day." Business-like tone, as it was the entirety of the call.
Anthony hung up without a goodbye, staring at the ground. Kalel looked at him a moment, her face unreadable, before speaking.
"We should do something." She suggested, her tone falsely chipper. "Get our minds off it all. I have to get some stuff for a cosplay project, how about we go shopping and get some lunch?"
"I don't really want to. You should just go alone, okay?" Anthony muttered his answer, eyes still on the ground.
She stood for a moment, silently, then, understanding, turned and left him to be alone with his thoughts. He thought about Ian's letter, thought about what it meant. Don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Well that definitely took killing himself off the table. He had to admit it was on there; he had no idea how to live without Ian, he'd been doing it so long.
But don't stop going was about all he said. Did he want Smosh to stop? Maybe going just meant living, surviving, maybe it didn't mean keep the company going. Or maybe it did, maybe he wanted Anthony to keep Smosh alive. That would be the obvious answer wouldn't it, he did create the channel with Anthony, after all.
But maybe he knew the company wouldn't be the same without him. Anthony already could tell it wouldn't be, as the company was he and Ian's brain child. So much would change, enough to make it seem like it might not be worth it to keep the channel going.
And then, of course, there was what he was avoiding thinking of, what he could feel eating at his insides. The crush. 'I was in love,' he said. Ian was in love with him. In high school, yes, and maybe after that, maybe until the day he died. The letter was a bit vague on that. But it was past tense, wasn't it, so maybe that meant that in the end, he was out of love. Though, looking at the letter, it was mostly past tense, as if Ian already considered himself dead.
He wondered when his friend died. Not the time and date he knew, Sunday, July eighth 2012, 9:03 am, but the real time. The exact moment he stopped being Ian Hecox and started being a lie, started being someone who hid from him and felt so much guilt and so much shame. Maybe it was when he got cancer, or maybe when he got his crush. And for a moment, a hatred flooded his veins so thickly that it scared him, properly scared him, and he had to tuck his thoughts away to think of later. Kalel returned for a rather silent lunch, filled with awkward pauses and tense feelings. He couldn't imagine what she was thinking of, but he figured it couldn't have been very good. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting numbly in front of the television, seeing the images in front of him but not absorbing them. He existed in a blur, and had no real words or perception. This continued very late into the night, which, unknown to him, was very poor indeed. For anyone who'd been in that position before knew that no good could come from thoughtless mourning.
warnings: sadness, mentions of suicide, and foul language
rating: pg-13
A/N1: Remember that this story has been running since Ian was diagnosed, January 18th, so nothing that happened this year was canon. In this fic, Smosh is a lot smaller, because they didn't create El Smosh, Smosh Games, or Shut Up! Cartoons. I'm not saying that's something I'd prefer or anything, I'm just saying that they weren't able to do all they did in the past year because Ian lost his motivation, and Anthony was given a lot of his work to do after he fainted, so there wasn't much progress going on.
A/N2: Anthony says something in this chapter that was one of the first spiteful, awful things he'll be saying. Over time, it'll become clear to him that he made a mistake thinking what he did, but I want it to be clear what he said was just really wrong. So when you see the line "he stopped being Ian Hecox and started being a lie," please understand that Ian didn't stop being who he was when he deceived his friend and kept secrets about his impending death. I want to make this really clear to you guys right now because I feel Ian's death can be compared to a suicide/self-harm victim in many ways, and I think you guys need to be completely aware that if you know someone who self-harms/committed, they didn't become a different person, they didn't become a lie or a sin, your view of them just changed, and they're the same, and don't deserve blame or pressure for their actions, only care. Thanks for reading.
He woke up Wednesday morning just as he did the past two days; filled with doubts, worries, and prayers that the mess he was now living in wasn't real. That it was all a horrific nightmare, and that he would wake up soon, with his best friend Ian still alive. But the awful reality of it all was still there. They were all trapped in the real world, the real world where Ian was dead and everyone was miserable.
After waking up, he shuffled over to his computer, turning it on while rubbing his tired eyes. He wanted to check on the fans, see how they were doing, but it was a very small part of him that wanted this. He didn't want to see them breaking down, didn't want to know how the rest of the world was dealing with it.
They were all mourning, all across the internet. 'Rest In Peace Ian' had graced every Tweet on his feed, every post on their Wall, every photoset on their Dashboard. They were all heartbroken.
But that wasn't the only thing he saw. Everywhere he looked, with that mourning, came pity. Mounds of it, tons. All directed at him. It irked him, and he knew it shouldn't have, but it did. His mood, because of this, grew sour, and he, in annoyance, let out a huff of frustration before looking to the right of him.
He saw a folded up piece of paper on the desk next to his computer, one that he normally would dismiss as unimportant, but he knew what this note was. It was Ian's final letter, stuffed into his pocket, then nearly tossed into the laundry, then spared by Kalel casually tossing it onto the desk without caring to read it, not knowing what it truly was. It was the last time Ian addressed him before his death.
Curiosity took control. He reached over, hand shaking, and picked up the letter. Slowly, he unfolded it, fearfully wondering what Ian could have possibly said to him with the knowledge that he would soon be dead.
Anthony-
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm leaving you. You'll never know how sorry I am. I don't want to go. I don't want it to end.
I never told you because I was scared. I didn't want things to change. I didn't want you to pity me, I didn't want everything to be weird, I didn't want our relationship to be ruined.
But then I waited awhile, then it was too long. And I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you from the pain. I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want to die miserable because of what I said or did to you. But I feel like shit, and I bet I would feel like shit whether you were with me right now or not. I should have told you. I should have warned you, I should have been a better friend.
I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. In high school, God, I had such a crush on you, Ant, but I wasn't sure about anything, and then you were embarrassed, and then Frankie yelled at us- I decided to just force myself to like girls, to let you be happy. I just want you to be happy. But I can't protect you from everything, like I tried to with this cancer. It hurt to tell my mom, but it doesn't matter, because she deserved to know, like you deserved to know. You've been too good a friend not to know.
Please, don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Be grateful for everything you have, because I wasn't, and now I have nothing.
Take care of Charlie for me.
I love you. And I'm so sorry.
- Ian.
When he first learned Ian was gone, he wasn't aware that he was breaking down, wasn't aware of his sobbing, until a few minutes after it started. But at this time, he was cruelly aware, and he hated himself and the world for every second of it. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his nose was starting to drip, and his hands were shaking more than they ever had during late night editing sessions with far too much caffeine running through him. And he hated his sobbing, and he hated Ian for writing the letter and Marrow for giving it to him, and his mother for making him cry when she did and Kalel for not finding a way to fix it all, and he hated cancer for even existing and life for being so thoughtlessly awful, so evil, hideous, confusing, complicated and long, so insufferably long, with no end to this freakish pain in sight.
And all this bitter anger shook through him, rattled him and drove him momentarily insane, and then gave way to a flood of defeat and tears, and he sat sobbing. He was unsure of what to think, or to feel, and he couldn't handle the situation at all.
Kalel found him, just as she did the first time he broke like this, in the very same room. She saw him holding the note, sobbing, and after a failed moment of attempting to console him, took it gingerly from his hands, read it quickly, then, of all things, dropped it and rushed from the room.
Anthony was still sobbing when she returned a few minutes later, wiping his face in attempt to dry his many tears.
"Charlie." Was the only word he could croak out, and Kalel quickly nodded.
"I called his mom, she has him." She said, and Anthony stared at the ground, shaking but no longer crying. A minute of painful silence passed.
"Ian. He was in love with me." Anthony said quietly, voice cracking on the last word. "Why didn't he tell me?" Incredulous sadness and anger reverberated through his question, and Kalel took a step forward.
"You're not gay, Anthony. He wanted you to be happy." He heard weakness in her voice, but she was strong enough not to cry then.
"If he asked me." And tears returned to his eyes. "If he asked me, I would have. I would have..."
"I don't believe you." She responded firmly, and he went quiet. He didn't know if he believed him, either. He didn't know what he could believe about anything.
His phone rang, and he reached for it, picking up for the unfamiliar number without thinking.
"Hello, is this Anthony Padilla?" A man asked.
"Yeah, who's this?" Anthony wiped his nose, surprised the man pronounced his name right.
"My name's David Thompson, I'm a representative of Youtube. I'd like to give my condolences on behalf of the company regarding your loss." His tone was business-like, and Anthony didn't want to trust him.
"Thank you." He said flatly, feeling as though there was more to the call than just pity.
"Now, we here at Youtube love both of you guys and your work with us, and that's what we need to discuss today. Your work, that is." He'd went to school and learned how to really talk to people, Anthony could tell by his words and voice. Make it seem like they have a more personal bond with the company as a subconscious propaganda.
"What about it?"
"Well, Mr. Padilla, we were wondering what you know about the future of Smosh. Will the company continue with you, or if you plan to leave your position, or if it keeps going at all, really. That sort of thing."
"I'm not stopping Smosh." Anthony said, a bit curtly. "And I'm not abandoning it, either. That's not what Ian wanted."
But he wasn't even certain of that statement. Ian left the business to him in that will, months ago, but did he want it to keep going? He didn't mention Smosh in his final letter, just a crush and a pet, so what did he want now?
"Okay, Mr. Padilla, that's absolutely fine. Something else we need to discuss, then, is Ian's channel. Now, usually when someone with a Youtube account passes away, there's a process so that someone else can assume control over the channel. However, in this situation, we really don't need to confirm with a death certificate and all the paper work, seeing as you two have been with us for years. Am I correct in assuming that you have full access to Ian's channel?"
"Yes." Anthony rubbed his head, feeling a headache approaching.
"Well, then, if you'd like to keep the channel, just changing the email address to your own and editing the profile will work just fine. But we have to ask, would you like us to remove the channel for you?"
"Remove the channel?" Anthony questions, sitting up straighter.
"It would remove the profile, all of the videos, and anyone subscribed would be unsubscribed." David explained, and Anthony felt lost in a hazy world.
"No." He said weakly, shaking his head.
"Mr. Padilla, while the passing of your friend is truly upsetting and unfortunate, we here at Youtube do recommend deleting the channel. We are aware that all videos posted are also available on the Smosh.com page, and inactive channels do clutter up our website and are eventually deleted."
"Wait." Anthony squeezed his eyes shut. "Just wait. Don't delete it yet, just don't. Please."
"Very well, Mr. Padilla. If you switch the email, the account is yours, just remember that inactive channels are deleted over time. I apologize for your loss once again, and ask you to have a good day." Business-like tone, as it was the entirety of the call.
Anthony hung up without a goodbye, staring at the ground. Kalel looked at him a moment, her face unreadable, before speaking.
"We should do something." She suggested, her tone falsely chipper. "Get our minds off it all. I have to get some stuff for a cosplay project, how about we go shopping and get some lunch?"
"I don't really want to. You should just go alone, okay?" Anthony muttered his answer, eyes still on the ground.
She stood for a moment, silently, then, understanding, turned and left him to be alone with his thoughts. He thought about Ian's letter, thought about what it meant. Don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Well that definitely took killing himself off the table. He had to admit it was on there; he had no idea how to live without Ian, he'd been doing it so long.
But don't stop going was about all he said. Did he want Smosh to stop? Maybe going just meant living, surviving, maybe it didn't mean keep the company going. Or maybe it did, maybe he wanted Anthony to keep Smosh alive. That would be the obvious answer wouldn't it, he did create the channel with Anthony, after all.
But maybe he knew the company wouldn't be the same without him. Anthony already could tell it wouldn't be, as the company was he and Ian's brain child. So much would change, enough to make it seem like it might not be worth it to keep the channel going.
And then, of course, there was what he was avoiding thinking of, what he could feel eating at his insides. The crush. 'I was in love,' he said. Ian was in love with him. In high school, yes, and maybe after that, maybe until the day he died. The letter was a bit vague on that. But it was past tense, wasn't it, so maybe that meant that in the end, he was out of love. Though, looking at the letter, it was mostly past tense, as if Ian already considered himself dead.
He wondered when his friend died. Not the time and date he knew, Sunday, July eighth 2012, 9:03 am, but the real time. The exact moment he stopped being Ian Hecox and started being a lie, started being someone who hid from him and felt so much guilt and so much shame. Maybe it was when he got cancer, or maybe when he got his crush. And for a moment, a hatred flooded his veins so thickly that it scared him, properly scared him, and he had to tuck his thoughts away to think of later. Kalel returned for a rather silent lunch, filled with awkward pauses and tense feelings. He couldn't imagine what she was thinking of, but he figured it couldn't have been very good. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting numbly in front of the television, seeing the images in front of him but not absorbing them. He existed in a blur, and had no real words or perception. This continued very late into the night, which, unknown to him, was very poor indeed. For anyone who'd been in that position before knew that no good could come from thoughtless mourning.