AN: Originally, this was supposed to just be a piece of A Level coursework, but given that it's over twice as long as the maximum word limit, I decided to just upload it here as a piece of fanfiction. Essentially, it's following on from the end of 'The Catcher in the Rye', where it seemed hinted that Holden was at a mental institution. Neither 'The Catcher in the Rye' nor 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn' belong to me in any way, and are the property of J. D. Salinger and Mark Twain respectively. I really hope you enjoy reading this, and please review to tell me what you thought!

I've been stuck in this hellhole they call an institution for six goddam months now, and I swear, I'm losing my goddam mind. There's barely any room to breath past all of the "How do you feel today, honey?"s and the "Have you been taking your pills today, Holden?"s, all with those goddam phony smiles like they actually care or something. It's driving me nuts in here- hell; even old Stradlater would be welcome company! Not that he's ever gonna know that. No doubt it'd just inflate his big old ego, and let me tell you, his head's big enough already without crazy old damn Holden giving him compliments. Bastard probably wouldn't even say thank you. Just smile that arrogant, dumbass smile like he already knew just how damn amazing he was, and I was just stating the obvious.

I don't like thinking about people I used to know that much. Since coming here, I haven't felt like thinking about much at all. Damn place is sucking the life out of me, one goddam pill at a time. You know the worst part? All those doctors here all actually act like they're helping me; like they're doing me some big goddam favour keeping me locked up here in a cell (They call it my living space, but I call that damn phony rubbish.). Even now, I'm just laying here looking up at the damn ceiling, trying to get some decent sleep before they come back here and try and drag me off to group therapy. Honestly. If there's one thing in this world I really can't stand, it's group therapy. Forget the movies, I'll go and see all the damn Lunts' movies there are if it means I don't have to waste anymore of my time trying to explain to a bunch of strangers why I ended up here officially diagnosed as crazy.

What have I even done for some phony doctors to decide I've lost my mind? Left Pencey Prep after they decided to expel me? Had the goddam time of my life in New York? Decided to go out on my own and actually make something of my crumby life? I swear, the sooner I get out of this goddam place, the sooner I can actually have a normal life again. All I need to do is escape this hellhole.

But goddam it, all I've ever wanted to do in my crumby life is escape, and look what I've gotten for it…

…

I've only closed my eyes for a minute or two, but something funny must be in those pills, 'cause I'm not in my room anymore. Instead there's a whole goddam river in front of me, and when I look around, I'm outside in the open somewhere I've never seen before. It's a little peculiar, all things considered, but I feel pretty damn happy here compared to that institution, so I'm not complaining. I look around a little more- maybe even smiling a little, although I can't be sure- but then I see these two kids on a raft up ahead and goddam it all, maybe I am going a little loopy, 'cause I've read a book like this before, something DB recommended before he went off to prostitute himself over in Hollywood. Something about a kid with a fruity sounding name- I only remember because DB didn't think it was very funny when I said that sounded like flitty, and he swore there was no way in hell Huckleberry Finn was a flit. Whatever. I read that book, and there always was something weird about that kid.

The raft's coming towards me now, and when I can see the two kids properly, I'm half wondering if this is just some goddam dream, because I'm not Holden Caulfield if those two aren't Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, and they're giving me these massive smiles like they're really pleased to see me. What sort of confuses me, though, is that I can tell right off that neither of them are phonies like everybody else I've ever met, except for Allie, and maybe it's weird that a fictional character reminds me so much of my little brother, but it's truer than anything else I've ever thought. I don't say anything as the raft comes up close and stops in front of me and one of the kids stands up with this big, beaming grin and says:

"Hey there, Holden. I'm Huck Finn, and this here is Tom Sawyer. We heard you needed to leave some place; we came as quick as we could." If I thought this was strange before, I'm confused as hell now, and I just squint for a good coupla minutes, trying to work out if this is all some goddam trick or if miracles really do exist. Since Allie died, I've sort of not believed in miracles, but then the kid- Huck- sort of tugs on my sleeve, like he wants me to get on the raft, and I blink a little funny and try to speak.

"How'd you know I wanted to get out?" Damn, I ask some stupid questions sometimes, and this is one of them for sure. I should probably ask Huck what the hell is going on, but the kid behind him, Tom Sawyer, just gives me this look, like maybe I shouldn't be wasting their time asking questions and just get on the goddam raft already. He doesn't remind me so much of Allie, not like Huck does. No, this Sawyer kid is more like a mini Stradlater. Jesus. Allie and Stradlater- that's one combination I sure as hell don't need right now. I look at Huck again, wondering if maybe he's not going to answer me, but then he smiles again before he speaks in a bright, cheery voice like the whole goddam world is amazing, and nothing could ever be wrong with it. I gotta admit, I'm glad about that, in a weird way.

"Well, we could hear you all the way down the river, the widow Douglas said we was crazy for hearing voices, but I knew someone needed my help, so I had to come. And Tom… well, he just came 'cause he loves a good adventure, 'specially after we got Jim out, and there ain't no getting rid of him." I sort of surprise myself by laughing a little at that; I can't help it when this kid is so much like Allie. Maybe Huck can tell he reminds me of someone, because now his smile looks a little smaller, a little sadder, and it makes me depressed as hell to know he's starting to feel all sorry for me. I don't say anything though- I don't want to hurt this kid- and then after a quiet moment he just gives me this strange look, and asks me something I really wasn't expecting.

"What do you want to be when you're older, Holden?" The question throws me off, since it's so unexpected and all, but I just get over myself and answer as well as I can.

"I want to help kids. You know, before they grow up and realize what a damn mess this world is. I had a dream once, you see, that I was sort of watching these kids in a rye field, and I was catching them before they could hurt themselves. That's what I want to be. A catcher in the rye."

I sure as hell hope Huck doesn't think I'm nuts for this. The last time I told someone that, they locked me up in a mental ward and put me on enough pills to kill a horse. I watch Huck for a minute, hoping he's not gonna look at me funny and maybe tell me I'm crazy, but he doesn't. He doesn't do anything, just looks at me real serious, before he says, quietly,

"Don't you ever wish maybe one day soon someone'd try and catch you?"

I sort of can't respond to that for a minute or two, I'm so confused and all. Why would anyone want to try and catch me? I'm a damn mess, after all; completely screwed up in the head. Huck seems completely serious, though, looking at me in that weird, totally sad as hell way, and for a minute it doesn't even matter that he's just a kid, 'cause he's looking at me like maybe he understands me more than I'll ever understand myself, and it's killing him to know how trapped I feel in this damn world. That thought makes my eyes sting a bit, and that confuses me for sure, 'cause I can hardly even remember the last time I cried. I sort of stopped all that crying nonsense after Allie died. Like, what use is crying? It's not gonna change anything; not gonna make my life any better.

But Huck's watching me, silent and dead serious, and suddenly crying doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore.

"Huck, we're running out of time." I'm sort of startled by that for a minute; I'd forgotten Tom Sawyer was here, too. Never thought I'd hear myself say that, but I've already kind of gotten used to just how goddamn crazy this whole situation is. I look at Tom and he's getting all impatient, but I'm still unsure. Once they go, what am I gonna do? Do I just go back to the institution, for the rest of my goddam life? Damn it, I'd rather die than go back to that hellhole.

I think maybe Huck can see that in my eyes; that needy, shameless desperation to just get away now, 'cause not even a minute later he steps back onto the raft, leaving me at the side of the river, before he holds out his hand to me, and says,

"You could come with us."

And those words, those five tiny goddam words, are terrifying and exciting and amazing all at once, and I hardly even dare to think that this is just some crazy dream, 'cause if it is I'll die right on the spot; I need this so bad. I start to step towards the raft, but then something makes me stop for a minute and I wonder: what if this is a dream? What'll happen to me if I step on the raft? Will the real me die or something; is that the only way I'll really be free?

Huck's still holding his hand out to me.

And I take it.