tom holland + peter parker

losing grip pt ii - T.H.

request: can you do a part 2 to the one where y/n gets diagnosed with a brain tumor & tom stays with her and tries his best to help her through the side effects of chemo (like hair loss, fatigue, insomnia)?

got multiple requests for this so here we go ! (part one is in my other book)

wc | 1.4kpairing | tom holland x readeras mentioned above, there are (somewhat) in-depth mentions of vomiting, fatigue, hair loss, chemotherapy, and general diseases. this is your trigger warning

p.s. didn't proofread so beware

—

"So... she's decided already?"

Tom sighs, running a hand through his hair while nodding at his brother's question. "Yeah... I let her decide on her own."

"That's good of you."

"It's all I can do," he deadpans. "I'm so... useless."

"Tom, you're here. You're supporting her. That's the greatest gift in the world."

Tom doesn't waver. "Well it doesn't feel like a gift."

The conversation doesn't go on for much longer. Tom excuses himself and you wake from your afternoon nap, having felt drained from your fourth chemo session already. You're a lot weaker now, a lot more tired and even more upset — at yourself, the world, and sometimes even Tom. It's not your fault, though. It never was.

"How're you feeling, baby?"

"Tired," you rub your eyes awake. "Hungry."

"Do you feel like eating?"

You shrug, shoulders sagging while you glance at your fiddling fingers. Tom wills himself not to cry, sighing unsteadily while he places himself next to you on the mattress.

"We're gonna get through this, y'know." His arm wraps around your shoulder, bringing you into his embrace. You're already losing weight and it's only been a month. He pushes through, though, because you're pushing too. "We're gonna make it and- and you're gonna be okay."

You nod, wiping away a few fallen tears. "Yeah."

You spend the rest of the night watching a few of your favorite movies and eating what you can. You laugh, wholeheartedly and genuinely, for the first time in awhile, and it makes Tom's heart warm from the comfort and familiarity of it all. Peace is present throughout the house as the two of you settle down to sleep. Tom feels at home, with you in his arms, for the first time in a long time.

Peace doesn't last long, however. You're awake in the middle of the night, rushing out from under the covers and into the bathroom just in time to let the bile come up and out. It's another side effect, another symptom, another fucking issue to deal with in this sea of madness. Tom's by your side in a matter of seconds, rubbing your back and holding your hair while assuring you it'll be okay. He's speaking in a hushed tone, doing his best not to overwhelm you. And though you want to cry, you decide that you don't have the mental capacity to do anything but allow everything to happen. It's the least you can do.

After drinking some water and brushing your teeth, you settle back under the covers, each of you taking your previous positions. It's not the same, though, because you both know how this night is going to go.

You're blinking up at the bare ceiling, tracing the edges of the wall, finding the crevices where the wall meets the ceiling. It's unbearable, counting for sheep or the stars to bore you to sleep. You don't want to risk drinking milk or something cliche, and you certainly don't want to trouble Tom when he deserves a night's rest after taking care of you. It's like his career, now, instead of his usual place in front of the camera. You want to feel guilty, but you're too tired to protest anything. You're so drained and constantly hungry, yet you're never able to keep anything down. It's a trick by god, you're convinced. It's so fucked that it feels unreal.

You exhale, almost too loudly, and Tom mirrors your actions. You both know you're awake.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

Tom sighs, frowning even in the dark. "Because you're not asleep."

"We've been over this," You don't bother turning towards him, continuing to stare up at the ceiling in dissatisfaction. "I'm not gonna get much sleep. You know this; you need to get used to sleeping without me."

"I can't get used to that," He reaches out to you but you shoot up, shoving the covers off of you while your feet dangle off the edge of the bed. You're back-faced to Tom and he sighs again. A hand rubs at your forehead while the other rubs your eyes, trying to fight off the will to cry.

"Y/N..." He scoots over to you, leaning up with his elbow while his nimble fingers run up your forearm all the way to your shoulder. "Talk to me, baby."

You let out a wet breath, an obvious sign that you're crying. Tom feels his heart break and suddenly he's reverted to over a month ago, when he'd first lost his grip on you in the fighting sea of heartbreak.

"I'm... a liability, Tom. If I don't make it, you're gonna have to get used to doing everything without me. I just want to prepare you fo-"

"No," he cuts you off with a click of his tongue. "We're not talking about that. You're gonna make it, Y/N. I'm not losing you."

"But what if you do?!" You look at him with such despair in your eyes that Tom can't help but let a tear fall.

"Then I go with you."

You laugh dryly, humorlessly. "You and I both know that's not happening. You need to live past me."

"You're not going to die."

"You don't know that!" You don't mean to raise your voice, but it slips out because you're just so goddamn frustrated. You can't help but blame yourself — you wanted to be that steady thing in Tom's life, but you don't know if you can be that now.

"Y/N/N..." He pulls himself up, sitting next to you on the mattress, covers abandoned. His hair is an arranged mess, voice deep and fresh from sleep. You can see his silhouette, his most defined features through the light of the moon. He drags an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He's pulling you close because he doesn't want to let go; he doesn't want to lose you.

"You're going to make it. And," he sucks in a breath, biting his lip while he tries not to cry. "And we're gonna get our happy ending. We're gonna grow old together," another sniffle, "and be an old married couple that plays bingo and enjoys trivia nights." He pulls you impossible closer until you're forced to rearrange onto his lap. He leans his forehead on the skin beside your shoulder and neck, sniffling and sucking in a sob. "I don't know what made you think otherwise, but you're the strongest person I know. You're-" he hiccups, "You're gonna fucking make it. We're gonna make it through this."

"I pulled out my hair the other day," You whisper finally, breaking your silence with the beginning of your explanation. "They said it- it'd be a possibility but I didn't think it'd happen so soon and it did and it-" you inhale shakily. "It made me feel like I'm already dying."

Tom inhales sharply, caught off guard, and you let a tear fall down your cheek and into his mop of curls that lay below your chin, leaning on your body.

"It made me feel like I'm already... leaving you."

He remains quiet for a few beats, eyebrows furrowing while he thinks of what to say next. He doesn't want to face the possibility of losing you. Especially not when the treatment process has just progressed — he hopes you get better results. He hopes for the best because he knows you deserve the best. He doesn't want to wait for the day where you don't get what you deserve, because he's afraid he might lose you then.

"I'm not leaving you. Not through this, not through any sickness or disease. I'm here to stay. I'm yours."

Your arms wrap around him in a haste to bring him closer. He picks his head up, holding your face in both his palms while you nuzzle further into his hand. He's so gentle, looking into your eyes as if you could slip from his grip right in this very moment. It shakes you to your core.

Your bottom lip trembles while his thumb traces over it calmly, lovingly. He's memorizing the details of your face with his touch. He's regripping his hold on you.

"Yours," You repeat in a whisper, the cold of the night stopping just for two lovers. "I'm yours."