Well, I ain't got nothing against the Finn household, 'cept the old Widow don't like it when I come past the child's curfew, which is apparently even before eight in the evenin'. I think going to bed that early is down right dimwitted; that's the exact time that the adventure begins in the world, and I ain't letting none of my friends pass up that chance. Besides, it don't hurt nobody to be a bit lively once in a blue moon, and if we're tired we have all day to lie down and get some shut-eye (if the grown-ups don't pester at us for Bible-reading or some of that mumbo-jumbo).
I'm sneaking to Huck's tonight no matter what the curfew is. I don't care if Aunt Polly objects to it; We've been doing this every other night since I could memorize and we always ended up having a plain old good time. We'd play robbers and cowboys, and once in a while we'd just watch the sky till the last star showed up, and sometimes one of the other boys would sit with us and we'd talk till the sun broke through the 'rizon's barrier and we forget to go home before breakfast time, since we were too busy telling ghost stories and just laughing in the presence of the moon's shine. We usually get yelled at for being gone the night, but we'd be smiling all the while, and be punished even for that. All I knowed was that we had fun. That don't seem like such a crime to me.
I decide to take the back way; Huck's room is closer to the back anyway, and the Widow won't see me as easily, so I tip-toe up the hill where it is, and when I get close enough I begin to crawl on all fours so the lights through the windows won't glow on and bust me. The grass is mighty plush and dampened from the dew starting to show, so I'm careful not to slip.
Finally, I was close enough to the window, and I settled on my knees right below. I took in a deep breath to prepare to whistle out our signal when a sudden shriek from inside the house caused me to jump on my heels and fall straight on my backside. Honest injun my heart nearly burst from my chest from that noise, and thinking quick I scrambled to my feet to hide in the shadows behind the bushes. I sure did wonder where it came from and hoped with all my being it wasn't Huck who screamed me deaf. All I knew was that it came from the inside. I flinched again when I hear some glass break from the same place, and even if I never get frightened (I'm near called fearless, you see), knowing my best friend might be getting murdered from where the noises came from gave me the willies.
"Don't you got anything else to do, Pap Finn?! Can't you see we don't want you here?!"
My ears perked up. That voice sure belonged to the Widow, no doubt.
"He's my son, 'n he don' need no special clothes or nuthin' to keep him survivin' and better than his family! Y'all should be embarrassed o' yerselves! It's a disgrace, I tells you! No child should ever even be thinkin' of bein' better than me!"
I could tell without effort that voice belonged to Huck's ol' drunkard of a father; Pap Finn.
"Your breath smells of whiskey and you're harmin' that poor child every night you come on by! It went over the top this time, and I've had just about enough of it! You're gonna get him killed and all you'll ever care about is your damn drinkin' habits or how you'll get his money next! You stay away from Huckleberry Finn, you damn tippler!"
"You got no right to limit where I see my family 'n I swear I'ma gonna take him away from you on o' these days! I swears it! He'll learn to stay away from this kind o' life where he'll only rank higher than he deserves to-"
"What do you know about Huckleberry?! You know no gosh damn thing that he ever did! You don't care about him at all, do you?!..."
I tuned myself out of the quarrel. I never really liked hearing these sorts of things, there was no good thing that ever came out of it, and 'twas none of my business. For some reason it made me feel down right awful to hear it.
Suddenly I hear something else from in the dark, the sound somethin' like a whimper. It came from outside the house this time, and so I listened as cautious as I could, and I heard something like a hiccup short after. Furrowing my brow, I sat up more straight and looked around with my eyes adjusted to the night, crawling to the muffled sounds by following with my senses. Climbing onto the veranda, I noticed a dark outline huddled to the wall, and it was shaking mighty forceful too. Coming closer to it, I realized it was a boy, Huck, with his arms wrapped tight around his knees and his face buried right between, and so I got so anxious I stood to my feet and walked right in front of him, kneeling more to his level so I could take a closer look. Huckleberry, he must of heard the pat of my bare feet on the wood of the veranda, and he took away his face from his legs to give me the most heart-wrenching stare he coulda ever give. His face was drenched in salty tears, his nose runnin' and his lips quivering straight down to show his teeth, and his freckles were lost with the red in his face, the bright orange curls of his clingin' onto his cheeks due to the wetness of it and without his hat to keep it all away.
"Gosh damn… is that you, Huckleberry Finn…?" I says, my hands placed on my own knees as I leaned forward to hear him. He sniffled and whimpered miserably in response, and I bit my lower lip with worry as he hid his face in his knees again. I went to pat his head for comfort but before I did, I jerked it right back, my heart a'poundin' a hundred times in my chest at the sight of the gash on his skull. I took a breather before I whispered to him harsh again, only this time I couldn't seem to find the intake of air I needed to talk. "H…Huck, what in the world… what in the name of…" I paused a moment before continuing. "Huck, you're bleedin' real bad on the top of your head!"
He looked up at me again, and my heart let off another painful wrench, the butterflies in my stomach begun to fly around. He was weepin' so crushed like, tears showed no sign of stopping as they streamed out his puffed up eyes, and I had to look away from him in fear that I'd start crying too. I heard him let out a small howl, and he hiccupped again, I could tell he was trying to stop in front of me and it was almost too upsetting to listen to. Swallowing hard, I fingered a piece of my sleeve before ripping it off and turning back to him to press down lightly on the wound atop his head with it. He gasped a little at first, but then he just howled again before I felt a weak force pulling me toward him; I knew without checking that he had gripped onto the waist of my shirt; and for him to openly show me he wanted my help, that he was wantin' for me to stay there just meant that something real scary must've happened 'cause I knowed he'd never shed a tear in front of the other boys in the sake of his pride.
While he had his face buried to my left breast, I inspected the rest of him and found rips 'n tears all over his own shirt and skin, scrapes and cuts, all sorts of bruises; so much that it made me nauseous. Moving as least as I could I ripped some more of my sleeve to tend to the gashes on his back. I knew it stung him; he would move this way and that but I kept him firm in place so I could stop the bleedin', and he cooperated when I took a look at the dark blue fingerprints on his chin 'n neck. My throat got so tight seein' it all, I wasn't able to talk the whole while or my voice would crack. The least I could do for Huck was be strong.
The howlin' and weepin' calmed down considerable, but he still wouldn't let go of the waist of my shirt, not that I minded much. Deep in my being I felt that what he musta went through was bad enough for him to deserve this moment to be nothin' more but a squallin' child. His hair was dried strange with blood, but all that mattered was that it all stopped. I took the opportunity to talk while things were calmer again and pulled away enough to let him stay on my shirt but for me to see his face.
"Huckleberry…" I addressed him with his full first name, I'm not sure why. When I saw the blue around his pupils and knew he was listening, I kept going. "Tell me why you're all beat up. What happened to you?" It was easy to tell it hit him that I just nursed him and he got all embarrassed, the freckles in his face disappeared in red again before he looked to the hands clinging to the material of my shirt. I resisted an urge to chuckle from his amusin' reaction 'n pushed his chin up with my right hand so he would answer me straight on. When his lip begun to quiver again, though, I let him look right back down, scared I'd make him bawl some more. He mumbled something for the first time I seen him that night, but I didn't hear it so I asked him what he said, and he mumbled just the same. I told him to speak up, only this time he won't speak at all. I nearly went to panic, I was so scared I upset him again, and then I got mad at myself for being such a worrywart, but then Huck, he spoke clear to me:
"Pap… he beat me."
'Again', I was close to hissing out, but I decided not to 'cause this time was different than those times; this time Huck sobbed, and it weren't just a few bruises on his skin but wounds that were filled with much blood needed caring for. My fist began to clench till my fingernails nearly pierced through my palms, I was so angered. It made sense, now, what the Widow was yellin' from inside. Pap Finn had nearly killed his own son on a drunken rage. It took all my being not to storm into that house and let him have a piece of me; I'd never been so frustrated. I confused myself a bit, why I was becoming so outraged, but I ignored it and cooled my senses down when I registered that Huck was calling my name for attention again, so I answered with an apology and gave it to him. And so he says:
"I don't want to go back in there, I don't want to see him anymore, he's gonna kill me, Tom, he's gonna kill me… I'm scared for my life, and I know I sound like such a baby but that's the truth, Tom, and I can't take these beatin's no more, not if they're like that. I don't think I can deal with another as bad as this one, I'll snap right in half, in more ways than one. I don't see why I gotta be ripped to pieces when I ain't done nothin' accordin' to the Widow but everythin' accordin' to my Pap, 'n I just don't know what's right. Dang, I don't even want to call him my Pap no more, or I'll be sick to my stomach!" I felt his grip on me tighten and could tell he was close to tears again, it hurt so bad to listen to it. "I'm scared, Tom, I'm scared! I admit it, I'm scared!—"
His panic attack was cut short when I pulled him sharply into my chest again to embrace him, my eyes closed tight to keep from tearing myself, 'cause I had no idea… none of how I could help my friend from this monster, and I felt so hopeless, I just needed to save him from this, I wish I knew how, and I just can't do this, I'm not good enough, I don't feel well right now and I just don't know what to do. So at that moment, all I knew was I could comfort him as best I could, and I lightly pet his head as he whimpered some more while I told him it was okay to be scared, I won't tell anyone he cried, I'm sorry, and that I'll do anything in my power to keep him safe as his best friend. This made him start up again until he shook.
"He'll hurt me…"
"I won't let him."
"What if he comes for me—"
"I'll make sure he doesn't get through me first."
"What if you—"
"I won't. Dear Lord, Huckleberry Finn, I will not."
In all my life I've never felt such pain, such pity for this boy and I can't stop this feeling of anger boiling in my veins as I remember who'd done this to him, who'd scared him so bad. I damn myself for not being here sooner. I've never been so determined to keep a person safe, and if there is a God let him know that I never want him or myself to feel this terror-stricken again, that I just want him to be okay. Let what I say to him be the truth, don't twist them to lies, because for some reason the trust I've been given by him is something I never want to let slip away. I swear, on my life, Huckleberry, that as long as I live I will never let him hurt you again.
I silently vowed this to myself and never left his side the whole of the night, even after there was quiet inside the house now and the Widow would come a'lookin' for him soon. I just kept pettin' his head until his eyes dropped closed and his breathin' was slow 'n steady again, and even after that, I let him be while I stayed awake and kept lookout. No one's gettin' near this boy, not with me here with him. I promise to you, Huck Finn, that I will never let that change.
Author's Notes: This is something new I was willing to try out! I absolutely adore Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, so I wanted to write about the two by themselves. I apologize if their personalities are off a bit. However, the bond they share in the books Twain wrote is there, and I just felt like writing about it. The idea here was that Pap Finn is indeed abusive (especially in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn) and that I'm sure Huck hasn't always been the kind to just brush it off; I think everyone has to let things out, and this was how I imagined it. I'm extremely happy with the result; Twain's style of writing is one that is very fun to work with, not to mention easy! Thank you very much for reading, that much I appreciate alone. If you have any tips for me or just want to say what you thought of it, please do so and review!!~
-Rai