Tom Holland Imagines

Aching Hearts (Racing Hearts pt. 2)

By popular demand I present to you part two. I promise a part three (but you'll have to wait a month)

Tom-centric again, with the plot driven by info from his latest GQ interview. I know roughly nothing about cognitive dreaming or sleep paralysis, but...imagination *Draco-Malfoy-pretending-to-be-a-dementor style finger wiggling*

Trigger warnings: ALCOHOL AND DRUG USE/ABUSE, doctors overprescribing pain medication, PTSD, people being triggered by things, death/dying, postpartum depression, depression, suicidal thoughts, graphic description of injury, anxiety and panic attacks, anger management problems, angst as usual, swearing as usual, mention of past pregnancy complications, mention of a past car crash, vomit (is that a trigger warning? I'll put it here just in case). 

THIS ONE IS ALSO A FUCKIN' DOOZY, OK? PLEASE SKIP IF YOU NEED/WANT TO. PART THREE WILL BE SIGNIFICANTLY HAPPIER. 

Tom slept that first night. A proper sleep. Perhaps he was too exhausted and his brain had given up on keeping himself up. But by the second night, his brain had had enough. And by enough, I mean it was ready to fuck up Tom once again. 

The day had not been all that great. Little Eila wasn't faring well, her fragile heart weak. The doctors didn't think she'd make it.

"But the surgery went well!" Tom cried. "The doctors put her heart back in her body and it was fine! She made it through the night!" 

"She was born earlier than she should have, darling. And with this...this...heart disease...we knew it wouldn't be easy, Tom."

"I can't...I can't! It's not fair!"

"She's dying, Tom. We knew it could happen. We knew."

"NO!" Tom shouted. "I won't allow it. I won't!"

"It's not up to you, Tom. You can't save her. She's..." dying. You'd barely had time to take a breath after she'd been born. You had spent so long waiting for your little sunshine to be born, and now that she was here. Now that she was breathing, and now that she was going...oh god, it hurt. It hurt so so much, god. God, it hurt so damn much. 

Nothing could hurt so damn much, it wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It couldn't be. 

But it was, it was happening, it was happening right now, and oh god. How was it that something so small could hurt so bad. How was it that someone so sweet could go so fast. 

"It's time to say goodbye, Tom. She's gone, Tom. Tom...Tom. I know, I know. It's time to say goodbye."

"She can't breathe on her own anymore. Her lungs are barely working, her heart is weak...She's...oh god oh god oh god..." and oh god you couldn't breathe. It hurt oh, god, it hurt. 

The next hour was spent sitting in front of the little warrior's incubator. The heartrate monitor next to her was silent, but the numbers were going down. And at 6:17 on the evening of December 5th, 2022, Eila Nicola Holland was gone. She'd made it an entire 18 hours. 

That night, dinner was quiet. And when Tom fell asleep, part of him hoped maybe he'd fall asleep forever. 

He'd had hundreds of dreams like this. The ramifications of getting a girl pregnant. Holding that little bundle of joy in his arms. The press finding out. The public hating him. For a long time it terrified him. Telling his parents. It was his worst nightmare. And then Tom met you, and God, that nightmare turned into a dream, just a little. The idea of having kids with you was...it set Tom's heart racing. And then it did happen. And Tom was excited, god it was the best thing that had happened to him, and just as quickly, it was a nightmare once more.