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Part 1 of insomniac!tommy
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2021-06-07
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sand

Summary:

When Tommy was 15, he was diagnosed with insomnia. Ever since then, he has been dependent on prescription medication to fall asleep. But when he's packing to spend the night at Wilbur's house, he decides to leave it at home.

Or, Tommy doesn't take his insomnia medication and can't fall asleep when spending the night at Wilbur's house.

(Clonidine is a medication used for a variety of things such as high blood pressure, anxiety, and insomnia. In this fic, Tommy takes it for his insomnia.)

Notes:

For my beloved Con. I want to thank you not only for coming up with this idea and allowing me to develop it further with you but also for being such a great friend. You're amazing and loved<3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Tommy pushed away his reflection as he slid the mirror open, revealing the small medicine cabinet behind it. There was one yellow prescription bottle on the middle shelf of the cabinet, shoved between a variety of acne creams and a tin of floss.

THOMAS SIMONS
[ADDRESS]
CLONIDINE 0.1MG TABLETS
TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH EVERY DAY AT BEDTIME

Prescription Use Only.
May Make You Drowsy Or Dizzy. Check With Doctor Before Drinking Alcohol. Use Care When Operating A Vehicle, Vessel, Or Other Machines.
Keep Out Of The Reach Of Small Children.

It hadn’t always been a prescription bottle, no. For a good 10 to 12 years, Tommy had tried an assortment of over-the-counter drugs like Melatonin and Unisom to make him drowsy at bedtime. They had worked for a while; they had worked for as long as Tommy and his parents had been convinced that he was just a hyperactive kid and nothing more. When he had turned 15 with no sign of the sleeping issues going away any time soon, the teen’s parents finally decided to take him to the doctor. He had gone in empty-handed and walked out with an insomnia diagnosis and a prescription slip.

Tommy turned the bottle over in his hand, reading the other side of the label.

Sedative And Antihypertensive Drug.

He wasn’t ashamed of it necessarily, after all, it was something that was completely out of his control. His mother compared his sleep to sand—because of his insomnia, his sleep was like dry sand, impossible to grasp and hold because it would just slip through his fingers. His medication, a small white tablet he took before bed every night, wet the sand and made it easier for Tommy to grip. Clonidine made sleep attainable for the teen when it usually wouldn’t be.

But it was different, wasn’t it? Showing up to a sleepover with a yellow prescription bottle compared to showing up with a white over-the-counter bottle.

Tommy could picture it now: pulling out the pill bottle while getting ready for bed, the look on Wilbur’s face, the questions that would follow.

It was different and different in a bad way.

Well, what if...what if he just didn’t take it? What if Tommy didn’t take the pill bottle with him? What if he left it here while he went and spent the night at Wilbur’s? What then?

Part of him, the logical part of him, knew that it most likely wouldn’t end well. Another part of him felt like he had something to hide, and in turn, something to prove.

How could something so small, so inconspicuous, have such an iron grip on his life? That stupid bottle with the stupid pills inside kept him restrained, tethered to his own bed in his own home like a dog on a leash. He was 17 now; he shouldn’t need some drug to help him fall asleep.

Tommy’s fist tightened around the bottle and resolve settled in his bones. He shoved it back into the cabinet, hastily sliding the mirror closed behind it with a resounding click.

*****

Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, retainers, acne cream...where was his medication?

Tommy put all the contents back into his overnight bag and started again.

Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, retainers, acne cream...no medication.

Tommy took his overnight bag and flipped it upside down over the sink, shaking it aggressively.

A mint wrapper, a torn-off tag, dust bunnies...no medication.

Well, what if...what if he just didn’t take it? What if Tommy didn’t take the pill bottle with him? What if he left it here while he went and spent the night at Wilbur’s? What then?

Tommy’s fist tightened around the bottle and resolve settled in his bones. He shoved it back into the cabinet, hastily sliding the mirror closed behind it with a resounding click.

No medication. No medication.

Tommy dropped his overnight bag on the counter and tried not to throw up from the force of the regret that slammed into him.

Oh, fuck.

“Okay, okay,” Tommy whispered to himself as he cleaned up the mess he had made, shoving everything back into his bag and zipping it closed. “Don’t panic. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

Was he, though? Was he, really? He had insomnia for crying out loud! He took that medication for a reason—

“It’s fine,” Tommy cut off his own anxious thoughts. “You don’t need it. You can go one night without it.”

Can he, though? Can he, really? He depended on that medication to make him tired! Without it, he’d never be able to fall asleep—

“I—”

A knock on the bathroom startled the teen out of his stupor. “Tommy?” Came Wilbur’s concerned voice. “You okay in there?”

Tommy froze, whatever words he was going to say to his reflection dying in his throat. Instead, he let out a stuttering breath and moved to open the door. There, on the other side, stood Wilbur, looking a bit rumpled with his messy sleep attire and flustered face. His hazy brown eyes searched the blond’s face before he cocked an eyebrow in expectation.

“I’m fine,” Tommy squeaked. There was no reason to be afraid of Wilbur at that moment—he knew that the older man was just worried—but still, he cowered before him, hiding his secret behind his back like a loaf of bread he’d stolen off the streets.

Wilbur continued to stare at him for a moment longer, something in his gaze telling Tommy that he didn’t quite believe him. Tommy waited with bated breath for the brunette to call him out on it, but he never did.

“Well,” Wilbur said gruffly, reaching up to card a hand through his hair. “I’m, um, going to go to bed if that’s alright. You can stay up as long as you like and, uh, my door is always open if you need anything, okay?”

Something pulled at Tommy’s chest. It felt as if Wilbur had reached a hand into Tommy’s torso and was carving out his insides, digging up every worry and fear that the teen had tried so hard to bury. It left him feeling empty and exposed, a book torn open with words bleeding off the page.

“Seriously,” Wilbur said when Tommy remained silent. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up. I don’t mind—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Tommy snapped, wincing when it came out more aggressive than he had intended. He tried to lighten the mood with one of his usual bits. “I’m a big man, Wilbur, I’m fine.”

Wilbur raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, then,” he said. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight. I love you.”

Tommy nodded, all the muscles in his jaw tensing. “Goodnight. Love you too, Wil.”

At that, Wilbur smiled as if he’d won some sort of prize. He reached out and ruffled the teen’s curls affectionately before turning and making his way towards his bedroom down the hall.

Tommy watched him the whole time, knowing that when Wilbur disappeared inside his bedroom, it would be just him. Him, the bed, and the heaps of dry sand that would no doubt soon be piling around him.

*****

The sand had quickly covered the floor, pooling in the corners of the room where it seeped from the walls. In no time at all, it started to tower instead of spread, flooding the dresser and swallowing the desk. It rose around the bed where Tommy lay until he was a boy stranded at sea.

Tommy rolled over with a sigh, reaching a hand out and grappling for his phone which he had left on the nightstand. His fingers grazed cool glass and he snatched the device, unplugging it and bringing it up to his face so that he could check the time.

The numbers 3:16 stared back at him, taunting him. How long had it been? When had he gone to bed? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that it felt like both an eternity and no time at all had passed while he’d been lying there.

Suppressing a groan, Tommy tossed his phone away from him, listening to it thump against the mattress as it landed somewhere near the foot of the bed.

If he had been at home, this would have been his breaking point. If Tommy had been at home, he would have succumbed to another sleepless night and gotten out of bed, maybe going downstairs and watching tv or powering on his PC to play some Minecraft. If Tommy had been at home, he definitely wouldn’t have panicked, not like he was starting to now.

It felt like the dry sand that had been surrounding him had suddenly turned to quicksand. Not only was he trapped, but now he was drowning.

Tommy swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor with a barely suppressed shiver. As quickly and as quietly as he could, the teen padded across the room, finding the door and pushing it open just enough for his skinny frame to slip through. He stepped out into the hallway, looking both ways as if he were about to cross the road before darting into the bathroom across the way.

Shutting the door behind him hastily, Tommy leaned against it heavily and took a moment to just breathe. It was chasing him, he knew. A change in scenery did nothing to stop the flow of sand that followed him everywhere he went once the sun went down. It didn’t matter if he was in his own bedroom or laying on a stranger’s couch because the sand would still somehow find its way between his fingers and toes and teeth.

Tommy turned and braced himself on the sink similar to how he had done in his own bathroom just that morning.

Why can’t I just sleep? He thought to himself bitterly, glancing up at himself in the mirror. Why is it so easy for everyone else but so hard for me?

Tommy stared at his reflection long enough that he thought he saw it change. Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe he was finally starting to go insane, but the blond swore that one moment his reflection had been fueled by anger, and the next it was wilting with misery. The fire behind his eyes went out, his clenched jaw went slack, and his entire body crumbled under the weight of his own exhaustion and his frustration at always being exhausted.

He’d had something to prove and he’d only succeeded in proving himself wrong.

Tommy couldn’t do anything to stop the gut-wrenching sob that bubbled up his throat and past his lips. The sound echoed off the walls and slipped under the cracks of the door, no doubt making its way through the entirety of the house, like echolocation. He hunched over, bracing himself on the sink as he heaved. He bit his bottom lip to try and stifle the obnoxious cries that wouldn’t stop now that he’d started, but the damage was already done.

Through his broken hiccups and gasps, Tommy heard the telltale sound of feet padding across the hardwood floors of the hallway.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit. Tommy released his lip from between his teeth when his tongue twinged with the taste of something metallic. He scrubbed a shaking hand across his face in an attempt to wipe away any evidence of his breakdown but he only succeeded in making it worse. Staring up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror—at his bloodshot and puffy eyes, runny nose, bitten lips—he accepted that there was no hiding this in time.

Wilbur didn’t knock before pushing open the door. He stood in the doorway, slightly hunched over with the weight of his own exhaustion. His sleep clothes—an old and baggy Rolling Stones t-shirt and green striped pajama bottoms—hung off his frame in folds of his fabric. He raised a hand and combed it through his atrocious bedhead, just making his stingy curls stick up even more. His chocolate brown eyes were caked with sleep, the purple and blue bags under them standing out like fresh bruises.

Somewhere, buried beneath his own layers of exhaustion and frustration, Tommy felt a lick of guilt. He’d obviously woken Wilbur up from what could be assumed was a deep sleep. He felt bad about it, looking at the state in which the man was in, but he also couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as well. After all, now Wilbur knew how Tommy currently felt.

They stared at each other for a moment, silently facing off, before Wilbur finally heaved a sigh. He didn’t ask any questions, much to Tommy’s surprise, before reaching a hand out and gesturing for the teen to come closer. Tommy did so without looking Wilbur in the eyes. He didn’t want to face what would no doubt be waiting there for him—a mixture of annoyance, disappointment, and pity.

Tommy’s too exhausted from both a lack of sleep and his own embarrassment to fight back when Wilbur wraps his slender fingers around his wrist and tugs him forward. He allows the older man to lead him out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

They stop outside the last door on the left side of the hallway. Tommy faintly recognizes it as Wilbur’s bedroom from before when they had said goodnight nearly four hours ago. Tommy had never seen the inside of Wilbur’s bedroom before, at least, not in person. Taking that step over the threshold felt like taking a step further into Wilbur’s personal life. Sure, he knew what the room generally looked like, with Wilbur’s queen-sized bed clearly in the background of every call and his guitar collection proudly displayed on the wall, but now he knew what the room smelled like, what the room felt like.

It smelled like old books with worn pages and salt from the sea. It felt like home.

The entity of the room wrapped around Tommy like a blanket as Wilbur led him further inside. They navigated around heaps of clothes and shoes, miscellaneous papers, and musical equipment on their way to what could be perceived as Wilbur’s bed.

For someone who was more asleep than awake, Wilbur flopped down onto his mattress rather gracefully, pulling Tommy down with him. The older, taller man, hit the mattress with a small oof before shuffling his way over to the right side of the bed. He turned and faced the left side where Tommy was forced to lay and wasted no time before wrapping his arms around him. Tommy was tense against his chest, every muscle poised and ready to fire, which was the exact opposite effect that Wilbur had been hoping for.

In all honesty, Wilbur didn’t know what the issue was. He’d been aware that something had been bothering the teen before, back when they had said goodnight, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe if he hadn’t been so cautious as to not upset him more, he would have pressed the issue, but alas, it was too late now. At this point in the situation, Wilbur’s job was to calm Tommy down and comfort him.

“Shh,” the older man crooned, voice raspy with lingering sleep. He shifted slightly so that Tommy was more tucked into him rather than just lying against him. He settled his chin on top of the teen’s head, his lips moving gently where they were pressed against his golden curls. “Go to sleep.”

Of course, it was easier said than done. Tommy was hyper-aware of everything, from his own body to the unfamiliarity of the room.

But the teen was also hyper-aware of the feeling of another body beside his. He was lying on his side facing outward toward the room, with Wilbur pressed against his backside. They weren’t spooning per se, but the brunette was definitely cuddling him.

The blond’s skin prickled with the sudden and intimate contact, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was almost grounding. Wilbur was a warm and solid presence, something that Tommy’s anxious mind really appreciated. He focused on every even breath and steady heartbeat, unconsciously allowing his own body to mimic it until he calmed down enough to let his eyes flutter closed.

It was unrealistic, stupid even, to think that laying with Wilbur could have the same effect on him as his prescribed medication, but Tommy couldn’t deny the pull of exhaustion on his limbs and the fog clouding his brain as he snuggled into the brunette’s chest. Wilbur was not a drug, not by a long shot, but he made sleep easier for Tommy to grasp that night.

Notes:

Con's Tumblr: emo_and_confused

My Tumblr: bellfort3

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