Ordinary, chapter 31
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, Ian visits Deacon Franklin.
warnings: sadness and foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty one
Ian woke up early, ill as usual, then wandered aimlessly through his home. He tried not to think of the place without him, but it was not hard to; he had cleaned the house thoroughly, threw away much of his belongings, and packed away almost everything that wasn't necessary, hoping to make things easier for his mother when she had to sell the house following his death. But one room, the one he'd strictly avoided, was not yet packed, and today he would find himself in it, unsure.
The prop room, the room where he and Anthony kept all of their wigs, hair nets, costumes, make up, dummies, and everything else relating to Smosh. He had found himself uneasy when planning on emptying the room, not wanting Anthony to ask why their things were gone, but also not wanting to remove any precious memories.
When he did find himself in the room, Ian packed most of the props away, but ended up not throwing anything in the trash, the memories held there too beautiful, and too great a reminder of what he was losing, what he hadn't cherished enough.
Snorlax foot, he smiled. He had taken it out of the garage when he was cleaning it back in June, and put the whole costume in its proper place.
The blonde wig Anthony wore pretending to be his nonexistent sister, Antoinette. That was one of Ian's favorite videos.
The suit Anthony used while acting Pee-Wee Herman. Ian always thought he looked good in that lipstick, even though he'd never say it out loud. He didn't prefer Anthony in make up or anything, despite the fun they had filming the Makeup for Men video, he just thought it was nice, once in a while.
He folded some of the clothes and put them into the room's storage containers, and hung the rest in the wardrobe. He neatly put away the makeup, nail polish, and glitter, some of which belonged to Kalel, and some even to Mel. Thinking of her was odd; he was upset he had to let her go, but at the same time hopeful she would have a better life without him, and his fatal disease.
He selected props they rarely used, or no longer needed, and packed them in a large box, knowing they would do well as entertainment for others. Things kids could dress up in, like feather boas, or things they could play with, like a Pokeball. If he or Anthony would never use some of the props, the least he could do was give them to someone who would benefit from the smiles they'd cause.
With everything neat and organized, Ian left the room, to put his donations to the church in his car, the spoils of his cleaning. While in the garage, he wrestled his bicycle into the back seat as well, weakening him, but for a good cause.
He returned to the living room to fetch his keys, but stopped, staring around that room and the kitchen. The place was cleaner than it had been so long ago, barren, even. He had removed what he felt was unnecessary until he felt it would cause suspicion, and as a result, the normal items that plagued the average household were absent. No more books and magazines, no stray coupons, CDs, games, anything extra. In the other rooms he had the necessities, and things that he could not bear to part with, and nothing else. It was lonesome and depressing, but he prayed Anthony would not notice. He just wanted to make things easier, to lighten the load for his family.
Ian found his keys on the counter, and drove in silence to the church. His head hurt and stomach cramped, but they always did that now. He was crumbling apart.
When he arrived at the church, he found it empty, having taken so long in the morning to organize the prop room, that the usual horde of old women was absent.
He selected one of the several heavy black bags full of donations from his back seat, and walked it into the church, stressed under its weight. The building seemingly deserted, he shrugged and set the bag on the pew, and figured he would bring in the rest of the donations, for the deacon to find later.
It took several trips from his car to bring the multitude of objects into the church. After several minutes, Ian had successfully carried in boxes and bags containing the props, some costumes, board games, the game boy color, his old X-box (Anthony already had one, so he wouldn't use Ian's following his death), and anything that he felt was deserving of charity, and unnecessary to his life.
Exhausted, Ian returned to his car for the final item, his bike from the backseat. He returned, wheeling the bike into the church, to find the deacon standing in front of the pews, amongst the donations.
It had been a long time since he'd seen a look like that on someone's face. Deacon Franklin was surprised, happily surprised, and the joy shone through him, making him visibly brighter. His eyes had widened and were darting around, taking in the bags and boxes full of donations. His mouth was open, his smile wide. His hands were out in front of him, as if he wanted to hold all of the items, to make sure no one would take them away from his church and his patrons.
Ian moved the bike to the middle of the room, put down the kick-stand, and felt a warmth in him, looking to the deacon.
The deacon saw the bike and made a small noise, a hidden cry of joy. Wordlessly, he rushed to the bike and touched its handles, examined its tires, fiddled with the chain. He stood after a moment, and raised his hands in front of his mouth, spinning around to view the donations once again. Hands on his head, expression full of disbelief, he turned, and rested his eyes on Ian.
"Ian." He stopped to take a breath, almost laughing with happiness. "Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything you've given. You have- you have no idea how much help this has been to us."
Ian smiled, feeling an odd sense of self-pride build inside him, one he had not felt in a long time. He said nothing, and was still for a moment, taking in the sight of this happy man. It brought pride to him, and peace, and contentedness.
"Really, Ian." Deacon Franklin looked down at the bike, and then up at Ian's face, tears of appreciation shining in his eyes. "Thank you. All of the clothes and toys you've given have helped the kids here so much. And this-this bike-" a tear dropped down his cheek, but the joy that caused it distracted the deacon too much for caring. "We can keep this bike at the church, or at the Y, and all the kids can take turns on it, it's nice and sturdy. We can get them all to exercise, get some air in their lungs! You've given us so much, Ian, all of the clothes and games, it's wonderful!"
He was bouncing, full of happiness. He looked ready to fly away at any moment, and it was this that encouraged Ian's smile to grow wider, and his next words.
"Speaking of those games, Deacon, I donated a bunch awhile back that you decided to give to the Y. They already have an X-box, don't they?"
"Yes." The deacon nodded, trying to control himself. "We saved up and bought it last year, for all of the kids to play with."
"Well, they're getting another one." Ian said, cheeks hurting from his smile, and laughed at the deacon's reaction. Deacon Franklin looked shocked and surprised all over again, and let out a booming laugh, hands on his head once again. He reached forward and crushed Ian in a hug, and Ian could feel him quivering.
"Ian." The deacon struggled to speak after he released the young man, now barely able to breathe. He was weak now, and the wind had been knocked out of him by the force of the hug, but his smile remained, and he shared the deacon's joy.
"Please, understand how important your actions have been. In the past few years, the amount of donations we've gotten has decreased, and the amount of needy people increased. Because of all you've given us, unfortunate families in need have more clothing, more entertainment, and more to look forward to. I'd like to thank you, for myself, for my patrons, and for my church. You have virtues and compassion that I wish could be seen in more."
Ian smiled, blushing but proud. "Thank you so much, Deacon. I know it's been hard, but now, more than ever, we all need each other."
They shook hands, and the deacon, with the excitement of a child on Christmas, started to open the nearest bag. Ian, smile remaining, gave the deacon a respectful nod, which, in his distraction, he did not see, and walked out quietly, taking a last look at the tall ceiling, white walls, and heavy doors.
***
The house was silent as the sun set that night, late because of the season. Ian had the windows open, enjoying the summer's heat, but not his activity. He stood in the computer room, weak and tired, but with one last job for the day.
He held in his hands a small stack of papers, which he had gathered from his bedroom, the desk in the office, and whatever miscellaneous places he had left them. On the desk before him sat a small safe, one he and Anthony had decided to buy to ensure the safety of several papers and documents. He opened it, having memorized the five digit code along with Anthony. Inside lay a copy of the deed to the house, a filming permit, and his passport.
Ian looked down to the objects in his hands and sighed, stacking them atop the papers in the safe. A copy of his birth certificate and his will, some paperwork from Smosh that he felt too valuable to store at random, a few important security pins, and a nice old watch. He had kept it because it was a family heirloom, but he knew that back at the church, one bag held a nice gold chain and a silver bracelet, one formerly belonging to his father, the other to his sister.
Most important papers he had found in his home had been discovered when he cleaned his desk at the end of February, which, to him, happened years ago.
Those papers had remained in the desk, but the ones he felt needed added security were placed into the safe. Ian was certain that Anthony would find them at some point, but of every other detail he was unsure. Would Anthony think to look in the safe, or would his mother have to ask him for the code? Would Anthony even visit the house after his death? Would he even care about the items in the safe, items Ian made sure to keep safe just for his family?
Ian sighed and shook his head, then slowly lowered himself onto the chair beside him, legs shaking slightly. Ignoring his weakness, he recalled his visit to the church in the morning. He had given nearly everything to the church; what remained was only a few props, miscellaneous objects he felt Anthony would notice the disappearance of, and just enough clothing for the remaining time in his life. It wasn't long now, either, already the twenty fourth of June, when Marrow said early July at the latest.
Ian sighed once more and looked out the window at the horizon. The sun was gone now, the sky a mix of blue and fading red. He had written a will, cleaned his home, donated his things. He was fully prepared to die now, and he could. He could die at that moment, in his chair. He could die the next day, filming. He could slip away while sleeping, or suffer for hours. And the saddest thing was that he had accepted it. He accepted it as a weak, elderly man would, and for this reason, he felt very old.
But goodness came in every situation. With his death, he donated, and with his donations, people were helped. Unfortunate people, like himself, but different. Everyone suffered from different tortures, but through those differences came similarity. Community. Strength. All there, in that church. Ian wasn't religious, but he held great respect for the place and its members. Weak, sick, and stressed, Ian stared out the window, at a world he would soon not be a part of, and actually felt a moment of joy, at the knowledge of all he had done to help.
warnings: sadness and foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter thirty one
Ian woke up early, ill as usual, then wandered aimlessly through his home. He tried not to think of the place without him, but it was not hard to; he had cleaned the house thoroughly, threw away much of his belongings, and packed away almost everything that wasn't necessary, hoping to make things easier for his mother when she had to sell the house following his death. But one room, the one he'd strictly avoided, was not yet packed, and today he would find himself in it, unsure.
The prop room, the room where he and Anthony kept all of their wigs, hair nets, costumes, make up, dummies, and everything else relating to Smosh. He had found himself uneasy when planning on emptying the room, not wanting Anthony to ask why their things were gone, but also not wanting to remove any precious memories.
When he did find himself in the room, Ian packed most of the props away, but ended up not throwing anything in the trash, the memories held there too beautiful, and too great a reminder of what he was losing, what he hadn't cherished enough.
Snorlax foot, he smiled. He had taken it out of the garage when he was cleaning it back in June, and put the whole costume in its proper place.
The blonde wig Anthony wore pretending to be his nonexistent sister, Antoinette. That was one of Ian's favorite videos.
The suit Anthony used while acting Pee-Wee Herman. Ian always thought he looked good in that lipstick, even though he'd never say it out loud. He didn't prefer Anthony in make up or anything, despite the fun they had filming the Makeup for Men video, he just thought it was nice, once in a while.
He folded some of the clothes and put them into the room's storage containers, and hung the rest in the wardrobe. He neatly put away the makeup, nail polish, and glitter, some of which belonged to Kalel, and some even to Mel. Thinking of her was odd; he was upset he had to let her go, but at the same time hopeful she would have a better life without him, and his fatal disease.
He selected props they rarely used, or no longer needed, and packed them in a large box, knowing they would do well as entertainment for others. Things kids could dress up in, like feather boas, or things they could play with, like a Pokeball. If he or Anthony would never use some of the props, the least he could do was give them to someone who would benefit from the smiles they'd cause.
With everything neat and organized, Ian left the room, to put his donations to the church in his car, the spoils of his cleaning. While in the garage, he wrestled his bicycle into the back seat as well, weakening him, but for a good cause.
He returned to the living room to fetch his keys, but stopped, staring around that room and the kitchen. The place was cleaner than it had been so long ago, barren, even. He had removed what he felt was unnecessary until he felt it would cause suspicion, and as a result, the normal items that plagued the average household were absent. No more books and magazines, no stray coupons, CDs, games, anything extra. In the other rooms he had the necessities, and things that he could not bear to part with, and nothing else. It was lonesome and depressing, but he prayed Anthony would not notice. He just wanted to make things easier, to lighten the load for his family.
Ian found his keys on the counter, and drove in silence to the church. His head hurt and stomach cramped, but they always did that now. He was crumbling apart.
When he arrived at the church, he found it empty, having taken so long in the morning to organize the prop room, that the usual horde of old women was absent.
He selected one of the several heavy black bags full of donations from his back seat, and walked it into the church, stressed under its weight. The building seemingly deserted, he shrugged and set the bag on the pew, and figured he would bring in the rest of the donations, for the deacon to find later.
It took several trips from his car to bring the multitude of objects into the church. After several minutes, Ian had successfully carried in boxes and bags containing the props, some costumes, board games, the game boy color, his old X-box (Anthony already had one, so he wouldn't use Ian's following his death), and anything that he felt was deserving of charity, and unnecessary to his life.
Exhausted, Ian returned to his car for the final item, his bike from the backseat. He returned, wheeling the bike into the church, to find the deacon standing in front of the pews, amongst the donations.
It had been a long time since he'd seen a look like that on someone's face. Deacon Franklin was surprised, happily surprised, and the joy shone through him, making him visibly brighter. His eyes had widened and were darting around, taking in the bags and boxes full of donations. His mouth was open, his smile wide. His hands were out in front of him, as if he wanted to hold all of the items, to make sure no one would take them away from his church and his patrons.
Ian moved the bike to the middle of the room, put down the kick-stand, and felt a warmth in him, looking to the deacon.
The deacon saw the bike and made a small noise, a hidden cry of joy. Wordlessly, he rushed to the bike and touched its handles, examined its tires, fiddled with the chain. He stood after a moment, and raised his hands in front of his mouth, spinning around to view the donations once again. Hands on his head, expression full of disbelief, he turned, and rested his eyes on Ian.
"Ian." He stopped to take a breath, almost laughing with happiness. "Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything you've given. You have- you have no idea how much help this has been to us."
Ian smiled, feeling an odd sense of self-pride build inside him, one he had not felt in a long time. He said nothing, and was still for a moment, taking in the sight of this happy man. It brought pride to him, and peace, and contentedness.
"Really, Ian." Deacon Franklin looked down at the bike, and then up at Ian's face, tears of appreciation shining in his eyes. "Thank you. All of the clothes and toys you've given have helped the kids here so much. And this-this bike-" a tear dropped down his cheek, but the joy that caused it distracted the deacon too much for caring. "We can keep this bike at the church, or at the Y, and all the kids can take turns on it, it's nice and sturdy. We can get them all to exercise, get some air in their lungs! You've given us so much, Ian, all of the clothes and games, it's wonderful!"
He was bouncing, full of happiness. He looked ready to fly away at any moment, and it was this that encouraged Ian's smile to grow wider, and his next words.
"Speaking of those games, Deacon, I donated a bunch awhile back that you decided to give to the Y. They already have an X-box, don't they?"
"Yes." The deacon nodded, trying to control himself. "We saved up and bought it last year, for all of the kids to play with."
"Well, they're getting another one." Ian said, cheeks hurting from his smile, and laughed at the deacon's reaction. Deacon Franklin looked shocked and surprised all over again, and let out a booming laugh, hands on his head once again. He reached forward and crushed Ian in a hug, and Ian could feel him quivering.
"Ian." The deacon struggled to speak after he released the young man, now barely able to breathe. He was weak now, and the wind had been knocked out of him by the force of the hug, but his smile remained, and he shared the deacon's joy.
"Please, understand how important your actions have been. In the past few years, the amount of donations we've gotten has decreased, and the amount of needy people increased. Because of all you've given us, unfortunate families in need have more clothing, more entertainment, and more to look forward to. I'd like to thank you, for myself, for my patrons, and for my church. You have virtues and compassion that I wish could be seen in more."
Ian smiled, blushing but proud. "Thank you so much, Deacon. I know it's been hard, but now, more than ever, we all need each other."
They shook hands, and the deacon, with the excitement of a child on Christmas, started to open the nearest bag. Ian, smile remaining, gave the deacon a respectful nod, which, in his distraction, he did not see, and walked out quietly, taking a last look at the tall ceiling, white walls, and heavy doors.
***
The house was silent as the sun set that night, late because of the season. Ian had the windows open, enjoying the summer's heat, but not his activity. He stood in the computer room, weak and tired, but with one last job for the day.
He held in his hands a small stack of papers, which he had gathered from his bedroom, the desk in the office, and whatever miscellaneous places he had left them. On the desk before him sat a small safe, one he and Anthony had decided to buy to ensure the safety of several papers and documents. He opened it, having memorized the five digit code along with Anthony. Inside lay a copy of the deed to the house, a filming permit, and his passport.
Ian looked down to the objects in his hands and sighed, stacking them atop the papers in the safe. A copy of his birth certificate and his will, some paperwork from Smosh that he felt too valuable to store at random, a few important security pins, and a nice old watch. He had kept it because it was a family heirloom, but he knew that back at the church, one bag held a nice gold chain and a silver bracelet, one formerly belonging to his father, the other to his sister.
Most important papers he had found in his home had been discovered when he cleaned his desk at the end of February, which, to him, happened years ago.
Those papers had remained in the desk, but the ones he felt needed added security were placed into the safe. Ian was certain that Anthony would find them at some point, but of every other detail he was unsure. Would Anthony think to look in the safe, or would his mother have to ask him for the code? Would Anthony even visit the house after his death? Would he even care about the items in the safe, items Ian made sure to keep safe just for his family?
Ian sighed and shook his head, then slowly lowered himself onto the chair beside him, legs shaking slightly. Ignoring his weakness, he recalled his visit to the church in the morning. He had given nearly everything to the church; what remained was only a few props, miscellaneous objects he felt Anthony would notice the disappearance of, and just enough clothing for the remaining time in his life. It wasn't long now, either, already the twenty fourth of June, when Marrow said early July at the latest.
Ian sighed once more and looked out the window at the horizon. The sun was gone now, the sky a mix of blue and fading red. He had written a will, cleaned his home, donated his things. He was fully prepared to die now, and he could. He could die at that moment, in his chair. He could die the next day, filming. He could slip away while sleeping, or suffer for hours. And the saddest thing was that he had accepted it. He accepted it as a weak, elderly man would, and for this reason, he felt very old.
But goodness came in every situation. With his death, he donated, and with his donations, people were helped. Unfortunate people, like himself, but different. Everyone suffered from different tortures, but through those differences came similarity. Community. Strength. All there, in that church. Ian wasn't religious, but he held great respect for the place and its members. Weak, sick, and stressed, Ian stared out the window, at a world he would soon not be a part of, and actually felt a moment of joy, at the knowledge of all he had done to help.