I do not own Ratched.

I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

Charlotte Wells


He has gone to see her.

Charlotte Wells.

The paranoid schizophrenic Negro woman who shot him with the intent to kill.

Yet only wounded.

Now strapped to a wheelchair and seemingly . . .

"Hello, Ms. Wells. How are you feeling today?"

. . . medicated heftily.

The orderly with her, Bill, Huck thinks his name is, decides to answer for her.

"She's been in and out. Sometimes thinks she's a violinist for the New York Symphony."

Huck takes this with evenness.

Redirects himself to the woman who tried to kill him.

And takes a step forward.

"Ms. Wells?"

And tries again.

"How are you feeling?"

And her liquid doe eyes migrate vaguely up toward him.

"Huck? Is that you?"

He nods, one hand down by his side. The other just below his sternum, arm still in the sling he needs for support.

"Yes, ma'am."

She peers at him, looking so lost and alone, strapped into that wheelchair.

"They say I hurt you, Huck. Is that true?"

Timid, almost little girl voice.

And he decides he must respect her by telling the truth.

"Yes, ma'am. You, uh, you shot me. In the shoulder."

And her face crunches in genuine remorse.

"Oh, Huck, I'm so sorry. I'm so very, very sorry."

Her tears are real and sincere in her eyes and wetting her ebony cheeks.

Her arms are strapped down, she cannot reach her own face.

Huck watches her carefully. Sees her restraints, the lack of weaponry anywhere on her person.

So lost and helpless.

And kneels down before her.

"Well, you weren't exactly feeling like yourself, Ms. Wells. I'm sure if you were, you wouldn't have done it."

She shakes her head and speaks, voice tiny, almost inaudible.

"No, no, never."

Huck takes out his hankerchief from his pocket.

Gently wipes her tears away with his free left hand.

And speaks in his most reassuring, calming voice.

"I guess that's something we'll have to work on then, won't we?"

Her mouth curls, the beginnings of a tentative smile, nod.

And then it fractures, cracks, snaps in an instant.

And becomes hard, drawn.

Arrogant and superior in every single way.

"Don't you dare patronize me, you ridiculous, half-faced, freak of a pitiful boy!"

She is Dr. Hanover now, her illness' twisted, perverted version of him.

Mouth a sneering slash, teeth gritted.

Eyes slitted and cruel.

"I am your superior, your better, your esteemed elder, and I WILL BE TREATED AS SUCH!"

Huck digs down deep into his instantly twisted guts.

Forces himself not to recoil.

Stomach churning with the flashback, of the moments before the bullet tore its way into the flesh and muscle of his right shoulder.

Instead, sets his deformed half-face into a calm slate of affect.

Does rise to his feet easily, casually, perhaps a subtle step back.

As Bill steps forward, addresses the unruly patient.

"Now look here, Ms. Wells-"

And Huck intercedes.

"No. Wait."

The orderly stops, hands an inch from his charge's hunched, rigid shoulders.

And Huck studies the near snarling Charlotte Wells.

He is head nurse. He is in charge.

This is his decision.

To punish.

With ruthlessness and self-righteous vengeance.

Or treat.

With dignity and compassion.

And sensibility.

He works his jaw for the briefest of moments

Flexs his wounded shoulder just enough to feel the persistent ache.

And speaks.

"Keep her restrained for her own safety. And the others."

The orderly is listening.

"Keep her in plenty of sunlight and wide open spaces, as much as she likes."

It is a strange sensation, the feeling of being in charge.

"Remove her from the other patients if she begins terrorizing them. But stay with her. Talk with her if she seems partial to socializing."

One that contrasts starkly with a clarity that he doesn't actually know what he's doing.

"No punishment. No unnecessary physical contact. And take Nurse Miller with you. She has a very soothing nature."

But he's determined to learn.

"Come to me if she becomes uncontrollable."

And to be the best . . .

"I'll go talk to Nurse Bucket about her medication."

. . . head nurse he can be . . .

"Yes, sir."

. . . for the staff and patients . . .

"Thank you. I'll be checking in on you later, Ms. Wells."

. . . of St. Lucia.

"Don't you address me so casually, foolish boy! I -"

Whether all of them appreciate it or not.


Thanks to DinahRay for reviewing the last chapter!

Thanks to kaflick and Conbird for adding your support to this story! I believe I previously omitted you and I apologize.