Imagine Race Singing You to Sleep

                                    

                                          
Racetrack Higgins didn't know what he was going to do. (Y/n) was sick, really sick. High fever, coughing, the works. Jack was sitting with you right then. He was one of the few who could afford not to sell for a day or two.
Race, on the other hand, didn't have the option of not selling anymore. He had skipped selling to be by your side for as long as he could, but you just weren't getting better. He was forced to sell (or starve), and he worried about you every minute he was away. He liked you. The crush had been growing for quite some time, but he had never told you how he felt, had always put it off, had always thought there would be another time to do it, but now he was starting to regret not telling you. You looked worse by the day. The doctor was doing all he could, but...
Arriving at the Lodging House as soon as he got done selling, Race rushes up the stairs. Almost silently, he enters the sick room where Jack is sketching at your bedside. Jack looks up as Race enters. 
"How is she?" Race asks, standing beside Jack's chair. He hates to see you like this. Chapped lips, pale face, pain creasing your forehead. Thankfully, it looks like you're sleeping decently at the moment.
"Eh," Jack whispers. "Was tossin' and turnin' all morning. Got her to eat and drink a little bit, but not hardly enough. Says she's freezing, but she's burning up. Doesn't know what's going on most of the time. She just fell asleep not even an hour ago."
Race nodded, taking in the news. It was much the same as it had been for the past few days. "And the doc?"
"He's coming tonight," Jack replied. "You know, if she don't start getting better real fast, we can't keep this up much longer. We don't have enough money –" 
"Then we'll find a way," Race interrupted decisively.
Jack slowly nodded, getting up and letting Race have his chair. Race sat and took off his cap, running his hands through his hair. What was he going to do?
Shortly after Jack left, you startled awake. Shivering, you wildly clutched at the blankets. You tried to sit up, but a cool hand pushed you gently back down. "You're alright." It's Race. Race, who you had secretly loved for so long. "I'm here. Everything's alright."
You calm a little. You can't focus on anything, and you are so cold. And everything hurts. But Race is here. That's all you know.
Hours pass slowly. You toss and turn, Race all the while trying to comfort and take care of you. Talking is no longer calming you as much as it should. He decides that he has to try to think of something else. 
He starts to stroke your face with his cool hands. The words of an old lullaby come slowly into his mind. Race does not usually sing, but you were special, and he was sure you wouldn't remember what he was about to do because of your fever. Softly he began to sing. 
"Sleep, my child, for the red bee hums. The silent twilight falls." The words rush back to him out of his childhood memories. The distant memory of his mother becomes clearer for just a moment as he continues singing. He can almost feel her presence. The memory is comforting to him, and the words of the song seem to be comforting you as well.
You stopped thrashing about, lying still, letting the words of the song wash over you. Your breathing slows, and then you are asleep. He keeps singing long after he knows you're asleep. He is aware of the fragile beauty of the moment. Finally, he stops.
The memory of his mother begins to fade once more, but the intense love he feels in his heart remains. You are still here. You're not gone. Even though you might not remember, he could still tell you –
"I love you," he whispers.
You squeeze his hand, but perhaps it is just you twitching in your sleep. Still, he could have sworn a shadow of a smile crossed your face. You definitely look more at peace than you have in a long time.
Deep within him, Race knows that everything will be alright.