Coma ~ A Sprace Story

Coma

This is my first story on Wattpad, so that's on me if something doesn't work quite right. I can't blame Wattpad for any grammatical/spelling errors that are possible to occur, though. I hope this is relatively historically accurate, but if someone finds something way out of place please tell me. Like I said, these characters do not belong to me. They are Disney's. I promise there is a happy ending to this story. Enjoy! :)

Race is in a coma.

Now he's in the hospital.

He only got here by being knocked unconscious from a great blow to the head from a fight, defending a younger newsie. All the newsies, from Manhattan and Brooklyn, helped chip in money of various amounts to pay for the medical care. It was Denton and Medda who ended up contributing the most, aside from Spot and Jack.

Race has been unconscious for over 24 hours now. In all the time that Race has been in the hospital, Spot has never left his side. Spot is sitting next to Race's bed, stroking his hand, wishing he had told him sooner how much he cares for him.

What if it's too late?  Spot worries. What if I never get to tell him how much he means to me?

The doctors promised that they would do their best to wake Race up, that they won't give up hope too quickly. They said they will give him 7 to 10 days to wake up. If he doesn't, there's nothing they can do. Spot can only imagine that they would give someone with higher power all the time in the world. Apparently, a 15-year-old newsie isn't worth much more than a week.

Jack and the rest left hours ago. They stayed with Race for some time, but they knew they had things to do. Spot left his most trusted newsies in Brooklyn to temporarily run the place. He knows he can't leave Race, he doesn't want to risk Race waking up without him.

"Oh, Race," Spot says. "I know you can't hear me. I don't know if this is a better or worse time to confess stuff to you, but I think talking will help me, and maybe you, too. The doctors say talking to people can help them out of comas, but I don't know for sure. Can't hurt, though. We need you back." He pauses.

"I need you back," he adds quietly.

Silence. 

Like the silence that's been going on since it happened. Well, miracles of waking people from comas can't happen that  fast.

"It's so odd, seeing you, but not hearing you," Spot continues. His voice cracks from emotion. No. He has to stay strong. He's the king of Brooklyn. He can't let down his guard. He blinks back the beginning of tears. "You always was a talker. Making jokes, shouting bets, speaking kindly to kids younger than us. No matter what, you were always saying something, and if not, you're moving--and most of the times ya do both at once! Seein' you be so still is so...strange. And they wouldn't let you keep the cigar you had in your pocket! Who thought they would ever see Racetrack Higgins, not moving, not talking, not carrying a cigar?"

He strokes Race's face with his other hand. When Race was first moved to the hospital, his eyebrows were knotted in pain, but as time went on, the muscles unclenched and relaxed. Now only a little of Race's eyebrows were knotted, so it looked like he was beginning to question something, but hadn't had the time to do so yet.

All the movement Race makes comes from the slow rising and falling of his chest, all the sound he makes is when he breathes. Other than that, he is still and silent.

"I still remember the day we first met quite vividly," Spot tells him. "It was around the time I became the king of Brooklyn, a few yea's ago. We were younger and more naïve, that's for sure. I remember watching you go into Sheepshead, and watch you go in with plenty of newspapers, then come back out with some money. I noticed it was never a lot, but you gotta admit, Race, you weren't always the best at making bets. Finally, after a week or two after I would watch you, that's when I finally confronted you. I asked you, 'Whaddaya doin' in Brooklyn, 'Hattan?' and you just smirked and said, 'Sellin' papes an' makin' money an' placin' bets.' And I replied with, 'youse makin' money before or after you bet on horses?' That brought down your guard. But you still managed to answer honestly, with a little of sass that will never leave you. You said 'money stays better before betting. One of these days I'm gonna make a bet that's gonna make a bunch, and all those rich folk'll be sorry they ever messed with me.' We talked some more. We agreed that since you weren't from Brooklyn, you should only sell at Sheepshead, but only at Sheepshead, and after you finished betting, you'd head out. You managed to keep that promise. Honestly, I thought you would find a way to get out of it, just like you could swindle anyone you bet against."

If Race registers anything Spot just said, he doesn't show it.

"After you left, I realized I forgot to ask for your name. It took a month and a dime for you to tell me."

Spot doesn't care that his words are only filling empty air. He keeps talking. He can't stop now.

"We've done so many things, Race! Remember when we soaked those scabs together, after they was beatin' up those young newsies, last summer? You singed one of their elbows with your cigar. Nothin' too bad, but he acted as if he was dying. Those little newsies were so happy, Race! They had genuine smiles on their faces. They called you a hero. I said you did a pretty good job, even though you was from Manhattan. You shrugged and said, "Mm, not really; I was aimin' for the eye.'"

Spot chuckles. "Those were some good times, Race. It was a simpler world back then. That was before we became really good friends, though, so I guess all times have their up's and down's." 

He stops talking for a moment and just stares affectionately at Race. "Remember that time, I don't know how long ago, a couple of months ago, I think, when we convinced Jack that 'e was on fire, so he jumped off the docks? I bet you half a dolla' he wouldn' believe you, but he did. I was glad to lose that bet. Seein' you 'accidentally' poke Jack with an unlit cigar sayin', 'dear me, what have we here? Oh shoot, Jack! There's a fire on your back!' and watching Jack jump into the water faster than when he runs away from Snyder, it was priceless."

Spot can't stand seeing Race go so long without being responsive. It's just...surreal. Spot's hand stroking Race's cheek has gone still and slowly falls limp by the side of Race's head. He frowns for a moment.

"I should be relivin' these moments with ya, Race, with you bein' able to make a two-way conversation. Instead of tellin' 'em all to you when you'se asleep."

Then a small grin escapes him. "Well, either way, it'd be a one-way conversation, now that I think about it. With you, no one can get a word in edgewise."

The door opens. Spot turns around. It's Jack.

"Hey, Spot," Jack greets him quietly.

"Hey, Jack," Spot returns in the same tone, without emotion.

"How is he?"

"Whatsit look like?"

"Fair point." Jack walks over to the bed. He puts a hand beside Race's limp one. "It's gonna be okay Race, ya hear? I know you will wake up." Then he turns to Spot. He has a pained expression. "I'm sorry Spot, but you can't stay."

Spot's blood runs cold. "What? No." He turns away. "You can't take me away from Race."

"I'm sorry, Spot..."

"No." He didn't yell. He could. He should. But he's too tired. So instead, he voices words strongly, harshly, unmoving. "Don't take me away from Race."

Jack sighs helplessly when he sees the pleading desparateness in Spot's eyes. "Ya need sleep, Spot. And food. I won't ask you to sell papes tomorrow. But the sun's gone down and ya can't stay here all night."

Night? Without any windows, Spot can't tell what time it is. He didn't realize he spent that much time here.

"Please?"

Spot swallows. He is exhausted. "Fine. I get sleep, food, then I'm coming right back here. Deal?"

"Deal," Jack agrees. He spits in his hand and holds it out for Spot to shake. Spot takes it halfheartedly.

"I love you," Spot whispers in Race's ear before Jack pulls him out of the chair and walks him out the door, away from Race. He makes a silent promise to return right away, as soon as he can, the next day.

Not that Race is aware of any of this happening at all.

And there we go! First chapter complete! Originally I was going to have it be all one page, but then I revamped the original story and broke it up. As soon as I figure out how to upload more chapters and I type it all up here, the story will continue. Until then.

Please. No slurs, profanites, or hate in the comment section.

Best,

~Your Beloved Author (who FINALLY verified their email account on Wattpad to write and publish this story)