Chapter Text
Disinfectant, bandages…was that really it?
That was all Mrs. Greenwood had ever used whenever he or Colin would take the occasional spill off their bicycles during their summer holidays. Those were the days, weren’t they? When all he had to worry about was the occasional hot day and the possibility of not getting into the little band Colin was in.
He hadn’t really known Thom then, only that he was pretty good at music and had quite a voice on him. Jonny would watch him during their band practices when he was allowed to join and was always transfixed by how effortlessly music seemed to flow through him. All he had wanted was to be able to make music with him…but unfortunately he’d been terribly shy and had been frankly terrified of Thom, regardless of the fact that everyone knew he was just about tiny enough to be overpowered by a primary school student, bless his soul.
He smiled fondly at that as he grabbed the bandages and shut the bathroom light off. Thom always was small but intimidating to the point where no one in the band ever had the nerve to put him in his place when he got out of line. It was absurd, Jonny thought. But then that was Thom. Adorable one moment and then suddenly a little terror…and then suddenly a panicky mess over fictitious aliens. Yeah, someone really needed to sort him out before he ended up in an asylum somewhere. Or worse the rest of the band ended up there first.
Jonny was just turning the corner of the hallway when he suddenly heard a scream coming from Thom’s room. He felt his heart sink and his legs morph into a sprint before he’d even had time to think about it.
“Thom!”
He bounded into the room so fast it took him a moment to process what it was he was seeing. Thom, bloody leg and all, had somehow ended up on the floor and was clearly in the middle of a panic attack. He was crying between heaving breaths that made him sound near to hyperventilating and his face had gone ashen.
Jonny crouched beside him cautiously, not wanting to upset him further. “Thom, Thom what happened? Are you okay?”
But Thom didn’t seem to realize he was being spoken to. He just stared at the wall, his eyes locked onto something only he was seeing.
Jonny waved a hand in front of him. “Thom, what’s wrong? Say something.”
Thom did not. Jonny felt himself grow truly, deeply worried. He reached a hand up and touched Thom’s shoulder, trying to bring him back around. But Thom still didn’t react. His lip trembled and his eyes stayed fixed on the wall. Jonny nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation–this could not surely be happening–before laying his other hand on Thom’s rapidly rising and falling chest. It felt so little and fragile under his long hand that he had to stifle the urge to pull Thom against him and hold him until he calmed down again.
That was what he needed, wasn’t it? To be calmed down…yeah but what would calm him down? Jonny wracked his brain and immediately thought back to the bottle of diazepam Thom had been prescribed for panic attacks on the last tour. A doctor had given them to him after examining him during an especially intense panic attack that had occurred after a show in Munich. It was evident to all of them that the doctor had felt truly sorry for him and so gave him one of the small tablets with the promise that it would make him feel better. It had indeed made him feel better, as only half an hour later he’d passed out on the dressing room sofa looking totally dead to the world. It was because of this he rarely liked to take them since they ‘made him sleepy and put him out of his head.’ Jonny currently thought that was exactly what he needed, though, whether he particularly liked it or not.
“Hang on just a minute, Thom,” he said gently, swaying a bit as he got up to search for them. He knew that on tour Thom typically stored them on his dressing table, so he looked there first and was rather pleased with himself when the first thing he found upon opening the top drawer was the small orange bottle he sought. He shook a tablet into his palm and then poured Thom a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table.
Kneeling back down next to him, he set the glass on the floor and laid a hand on Thom’s back. “Hey, Thom Thom. I’ve got something to help you. Do you think you can take it for me?” He held out the pill and watched as Thom stared blankly after it. Then, to Jonny’s amazement, he reached for it and downed it without the water before resuming his staring match with the wall. Jonny could only guess something in his subconscious realized that it really would help and mentally thanked the heavens for it.
*********
Half an hour later, Jonny watched as Thom’s eyelids began to flutter and his little head began to sway. Even under the circumstances Jonny had to fight back a fond smile. Thom really was adorable when he stopped pretending he wasn’t.
“Come on, love. Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”
Thom closed his eyes, his head falling against Jonny’s shoulder as he bent to help him up. He was nearly dead weight in Jonny’s arms as he carried him back to bed and Jonny noticed concernedly that he was also unnaturally warm. He laid him flat on the bed, being careful to make sure his head landed gently against the pillow, and then laid a hand on his forehead. Fever.
“Aw, Thom,” Jonny sighed. This was really the last thing he needed, the poor sod.
At that moment, Thom blinked his glassy, mismatched eyes up at Jonny and winced in what looked like a combination of pain and confusion.
“Jonny, what…?” he moaned, his voice a hoarse whisper as he tried weakly to lift himself up.
Jonny smiled sweetly down at him and ran a hand through his hair to soothe him back down. “Shh, Thom, you’re alright. Just relax.”
“No, but…but…”
Jonny knew he had to keep him as calm as possible, so he allowed his hand to explore the array of his soft hair a little more as Thom tossed his head side to side fitfully…right until Jonny found a particularly sensitive spot behind his ear. At that, Thom let out a soft moan, his eyes falling shut and his head sinking deeply back into the pillow.
“There, that’s it, Thom Thom. Just sleep.”
But Thom still wasn’t having it.
“No…but Jonny…” he slurred, dragging his bright eyes back open to penetrate Jonny’s.
Jonny found himself alarmed by the fear in them and pressed his fingers again to the back of his head to try and get him to sink into sleep, but it was no use. He sighed. “What is it, Thom? What’s bothering you?”
“I just…I just want to make sure…are you okay?”
Jonny blinked, stunned. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I…I saw it,” Thom slurred, his eyes falling shut again. “I saw it take you and I couldn’t stop it…”
Jonny frowned sympathetically. “Aw, no Thom, it didn’t take me. I’m right here, see?” he laid a cool hand against Thom’s warm cheek. Thom sighed in relief and leaned into his touch, his eyes rolling back in his head. Then he looked up at him one last time and muttered, “Ahh…that’s good…” before finally falling asleep, Jonny’s hand still pressed gently to his cheek.
Jonny watched him concernedly to make sure he was deeply under before going to pick up the bandages and disinfectant from the floor where he’d dropped them earlier, though all he really wanted to do was stay with Thom and keep him resting. But Thom’s leg really did need to be treated before the fever got any worse. The only thing that confused Jonny was how the infection had taken hold so quickly. A few hours was surely not enough time for Thom to develop a fever of all things.
He tried to ignore the worry gnawing at his chest and unrolled the bandages. He looked back at Thom and felt guilty about the prospect of disturbing him as soon as he’d fallen asleep but knew he had no other choice.
He unscrewed the cap of the disinfectant and applied a generous amount onto a cotton ball, and as quietly as possible sat on the bed and bent down to get better access to Thom’s leg. He noticed the gash was still bleeding and the skin around it had turned a strange purple colour. He frowned nervously. “I’m going to be gentle with you, Thom. I promise,” he said softly and then pressed the disinfectant against it.
Thom immediately let out a pained moan and involuntarily arched his back against the sensation. His eyes, however, remained closed.
Jonny pulled away and pressed a hand to his shoulder, gently holding him down, his other hand finding its way to his hair again. “Shh, shh. You’re alright, Thom. You’re alright. I’m sorry. Just try to relax for me, yeah? I’ll be done in a second.”
Thom unconsciously did as he was told, his body relaxing under Jonny’s hands. “There, that’s it. Good lad.”
Once Thom’s head fell back against the pillow, Jonny applied the disinfectant again, making sure this time to keep his other hand occupied with running through Thom’s hair to soothe him through the pain. It worked, as Thom didn’t offer to move again other than the occasional wince in his sleep.
Finding it clean enough, Jonny removed his hand from Thom’s head and went to unroll the bandages. Thom, though, wasn’t having the loss of contact and began whining under his breath, his head turning to the side in search of comfort.
“Really?” Jonny smirked, rolling his eyes. “You are absolutely pathetic, you know that?” He ran another hand through his hair, stopping at his cheek to caress just under his eye with his thumb before going back to the bandages. This time, Thom stayed put and did not fight him. Jonny momentarily wondered how the little git could be so bossy and demanding even while unconscious and vowed to ask him about it someday when he wasn’t hurt or running a fever or completely out of his head.
He unrolled enough bandages and wrapped them around Thom’s leg, successfully concealing the strangely-coloured wound. He found it slightly amusing that he’d far overshot how much bandage he thought he would need, seeing as Thom was much smaller and thinner than he appeared when he was in control and wasn’t afraid to let everyone know it. He laughed silently. My how the tables had turned.
Feeling pleased with himself, Jonny was just about to get Thom more comfortable when he remembered the fever. Yeah he probably needed to deal with that.
*********
He came back from the bathroom with a damp cloth and was relieved to see that Thom hadn’t moved. He perched himself on the edge of the bed and couldn’t help but gaze at Thom’s features for a moment. It had been a long time since he'd been able to actually look him in the face without immediately losing his nerve and having to look away. He noticed how thin and angular his face had become, his mismatched eyelids creating a gentle accent to the sharpness of his cheekbones, as if to imply that though he was tough and stubborn (too stubborn for his own good half the time) he was still very sensitive beneath it all.
He looked down at Thom’s hands then and smiled. They were so small and birdlike compared to his own. How he managed to play guitar and piano as well as he did had always been a mystery to Jonny. It was almost unfair, he thought as he covered Thom’s hand with his own. They were so very little, but so very instrumental in the world of sound he created. It was frankly paradoxical and frankly amazing all at once.
Then his eyes fell to Thom’s slowly rising and falling chest…and suddenly he had the inexplicable urge to put his hands on it and rub away all of the anxiety and pain and sadness he knew Thom felt there. He wanted to feel Thom’s heart flutter beneath his touch, to know that he was okay and that he was real and breathing and right there with him.
“Oh, Thom,” he sighed, lifting the cool cloth he’d nearly forgotten about to Thom’s damp forehead. “I wish you didn’t always have to hurt so much.”
He ran the cloth down from Thom’s forehead to his cheek and then back up again. The motion was almost hypnotizing, especially with the way Thom’s eyes darted beneath his eyelids and his mouth intermittently opened and closed to let a soft moan of pleasure escape every now and then. Jonny couldn’t stop–all he wanted was for Thom to feel good. And if that meant bathing away his fever for hours on end he would do it. For him.
He thought back to the time Thom had gotten ill during a recording session and refused to let anyone know about it, or at least he’d tried. He’d had a raging fever then as well, and, rather than becoming subdued or sleepy like a normal person might have, he’d instead entered into some strange sort of mania.
“Come on Phil, can’t you play any faster?” he’d groaned, pulling at his bleach blonde hair in frustration.
Phil had just managed to look bemused. “Thom, the song is literally about getting shot at. I don’t think we really need to go any faster.”
“But…but…ahh…you’re all killing me…” he trailed off and then suddenly spotted Colin and his face turned strangely sunny–just like that. No buffer at all. Just suddenly happy.
“Coz, is that a new haircut? It looks great, y’know. Maybe a bit old-fashioned…oh that reminds me I’m gonna change that one line in The Bends…I think ‘I wish it was the 60s would be better,’ don’t you think? Yeah, I think so, too. How could I have been so stupid before?”
And he’d carried around the studio all day bouncing from one thing to the next. One moment he’d been on the guitar and then the piano, and then he’d started complaining about the rhythm track and then the vocals. He had been so utterly out of it that it had confused even their producer at the time, John Leckie–a man who had, by all practical purposes, seen it all. Eventually he’d ended up cornering Jonny with a look so forlorn it would have been funny if Jonny himself hadn’t also been worried about Thom.
“Um, Jonny,” he’d hesitated. “Is Thom…is he…is he alright?”
Jonny honestly hadn’t known and told him so. It unfortunately hadn’t made him seem less concerned, though.
“I’ll um, I’ll go talk to him,” he’d offered.
“Thank you, Jonny.”
And so Jonny had. Or sort of.
By the time he’d gotten to the other side of the glass, Thom had gone off on a rant, throwing sheets of music and lyrics everywhere and threatening to quit the band right then and there if someone didn’t…if someone didn’t…
And then he’d trailed off…
Jonny had hesitated, and then taken a step toward him. “Thom?”
He’d gone suddenly very pale, his eyes shimmering with what had appeared to be mania but was really more like exhaustion upon closer inspection.
“Jonny?” he’d said weakly.
And then he’d gone completely limp and pitched toward the younger man.
Jonny had caught him easily, and as soon as he’d had him in his arms he’d realized what had been the matter with him. He’d been burning with fever, his skin so hot it was burning his skin through his t-shirt.
They’d all lost it then, bending down to try and rouse him and calling his name. Leckie especially had lost it and ran into the studio insisting they should call an ambulance. But of course Thom had still had the wherewithal (albeit through semiconscious slurs and groans of pain) to be stubborn and forbid any further fuss to be made over him.
Jonny had tried to help the best he could, and after Ed had coaxed some water into Thom and bathed his fever enough to where he’d made it at least halfway back to them, Jonny had carried him out to his car, laying him gently along the backseat. He’d said he’d take him home and the others had all nodded worriedly, Leckie muttering something about “the poor sod, if I’d known he was so ill I wouldn’t have pushed him so hard earlier.”
“He needs to rest,” Colin had said, throwing a blanket over Thom as he’d shut the door and gave him a look so full of concern Thom would have slapped it clean off his face if only he’d been well enough to. “Take care of him, Jon.”
And Jonny had nodded and soon he’d pulled up to Thom’s house and half dragged, half carried him inside and he’d laid him down on his bed as Thom alternated between fighting him off weakly and completely bending to Jonny’s prodding. Jonny’s main job that April night had been to bathe away Thom’s fever.
Just like he was doing now.
“Poor sod,” he muttered, satisfied as Thom leaned into his touch. “I’m going to make you feel better. I promise.”