Author's Note: This story was written for the Newsies Pape Selling Competition. It was written based on the idea of "Your newsie becomes sick, you decide if they live or not." I used the prompt: Blue. The word count minus Author's Note is: 546

Despite a steady stream of doctors and nurses telling him to rest Racetrack found it impossible to sleep with the bright fluorescent lights constantly illuminating the room. He hated hospitals and this one was no different. Ever since he was five years old and had to spend the night at a hospital alone he swore to never relive the experience. The antiseptic smell and the uncomfortable beds were child's play compared to what Race really feared. Dying alone in a room with no one to care about him.

Race struggled to distract himself from his morbid thoughts and shook his head at the sad looking plate of food left half-eaten on the tray.

"That food is for patients, not visitors," Race commented as he glanced over toward the room's only other occupant. Spot Conlon's legs hung over the arm of the molded plastic visitor's chair and his sandy blond hair fell into his eyes as he read over a worn copy of Ulysses.

"I deserve something for putting up with your whining," Spot answered as he looked up with his signature smirk. "It was disgusting anyway. You might thank me for saving you from being poisoned."

Race tried to adjust the thin blue cotton blanket covering him. "What the hell are you still doin' here, anyway?"

"Nice way to talk to your only friend," Spot replied. He looked toward the door. "You seen that one nurse? She oughta be making her rounds soon."

Race huffed. "Jeezus, do you ever give it a rest? I'm dyin' here and you're thinking 'bout some nurse?"

"You'll live," Spot challenged with a grin. "I told you using some Groupon for sushi wasn't smart."

"Yeah, yeah," Race muttered. "That's the last time I go out with Jack. Where is he anyway?"

"Probably harassing some poor candy striper," Spot suggested.

Race smiled for the first time that day. "Jealous?"

"That he's off with some poor high school girl while I'm stuck babysitting you? A bit," Spot admitted mildly. He snapped the book shut and pulled a half-empty packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Race cleared his throat. "You can't smoke in here."

"Calm down, I'll open the window," Spot told him.

"It's a hospital for god sake. You're gonna kill someone."

Spot unfolded himself from the chair and stretched before heading for the door. Race felt a tiny twinge in his stomach as he considered the prospect of being left alone again. Despite his natural bad-temper, Race found Spot's presence comforting. As though his friend could ward off any fears that Race struggled to contain on his own.

"Wait," Race said with more panic in his voice than he intended. Spot hesitated a moment and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Race tried to cover his fear. "What's your book about?"

A wicked grin started at the corners of Spot's mouth and Race once again had the feeling that Spot could read his mind. There was a mocking tone in his voice when he finally answered, "A funeral."

"Christ," Race muttered, instantly sorry he even asked.

"Calm down," Spot said, trying to keep his composure. "You're not dying. You'll be outta here by tomorrow, maybe sooner."

Race clutched the blanket tightly in one hand as Spot moved to leave. "Spot?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Whatever."

Another Author Note: I intended this to be fairly neutral given that some people really like slash, others really don't like slash, etc. So you may take Spot and Race's relationship anyway you please but please don't be offended ;-) Does that make sense? I happen to like both kinds of stories so I tried to find a nice middle ground because like the dinosaur in Toy Story, I don't like confrontation ;-) Reviews are welcome and appreciated!