I do not own Ratched.

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

Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale

Real Live People


"Take care, Mrs. Dannon. Safe travels now."

"Thank you, Mr. Finnigan. Thank you. I can never repay what you have done for me, caring for me and keeping your patience and kindness. I will always keep you in my thoughts and prayers."

Huck Finnigan smiles, a real smile.

A smile of gratitude and relief himself.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Dannon. We're just glad you're feeling better."

And she appears to be.

The depressed, apathetic, wispy pallor is gone from her face.

She looks young. Hopeful.

Alive.

And she is.

She always has been.

It was just a pity . . .

"Pardon me, what did you just say?"

"Mrs. Dannon got up this morning and said she was feeling better, Huck. She said her bad dream was over and she wanted to go home."

"Wh- H- Really?"

"Yes."

. . . she didn't know it all along.

"What?"

"That's what she said, Director Bucket."

"The lady that said she couldn't possibly be alive because she had no organs, no bones. No muscles, no flesh? That woman?"

"Yes."

"What the hell-"

"Yes. It's . . . abrupt."

"You're not kidding."

Huck hopes she continues on, lives life as she wishes to.

Lives.

As a person.

Not a ghost of a person.

But a real live person.

"Mrs. Dannon, may I walk you to your car?"

"Yes, Nurse Miller. Thank you. You're always so kind. Oh, doesn't the sun feel so warm today?"

"Yes, Mrs. Dannon, yes it does."


"Where's that dead girl, Mr. Finnigan?"

"She got better. She went home, Ms. Wells."

The mentally ill imposter of one vanished and deceased . . .

"That's Dr. Richard Hanover to you, son."

. . . chuckles knowingly.

"And don't bother turning her room over to anyone else just yet."

And Huck raises his one good eyebrow.

"Why is that?"

And Charlotte Wells, in all her complete psychosis, turns toward him.

"She'll be back."

Then dismissively to the window out which the outside world sometimes seems so far away.

"Mark my words."

And the irony of her next and final statement . . .

"Crazy never stays sane for long."

. . . is not lost on St. Lucia's Head Nurse Finnigan.


"I do miss that dead girl, William Holden."

"She wasn't dead, Mrs. Kee. She just thought she was. And it's Huck, remember?"

"Of course it is. You know, I'm awful glad she wasn't dead. She was too young and pretty to be dead."

"I agree, Mrs. Kee. Would you . . . would you like to talk about it some more with me?"

"Oh, I don't want to bother anyone with my feelings, William Holden. But thank you kindly."

Hmmm . . .


He broaches the topic with . . .

". . . once or twice a week to start. Just to see how it goes."

. . . Supreme Leader Director Betsy Bucket.

"Oh, I don't know how good I am at all that touchy-feely stuff, Huck."

Who seems to have more than a little reservation about the whole thing.

"Um, we wouldn't be touching the patients, Director Bucket. Just talking to them."

And she seems to muse over this for the briefest of moments.

Huck feels she wants to dismiss the entire idea.

"What would be talked about in these . . . sessions?"

But he feels like he's on to something.

"Uhh, you know, whatever is on their minds that day. Just see if they can make a connection between them. Make them feel part of a group, less isolated."

So he presses . . .

"You don't think they'll, I don't know, feed off each other's crazy?"

. . . determinedly onward.

"I don't know. But it's worth a try. And we can always adapt it, change it. To suit their needs."

The older, discomfited woman studies the smooth, gleaming desktop for a moment.

Studies the wall.

Studies him.

"Well, you really seem to have a hold on this idea. Plus, you seem to, you know, care. Why don't you just do it?"

He's surprised, he doesn't really know about being in charge of-

"I suppose you'd want extra pay for it too."

Uhhh . . .

"That'd . . . be fine."

And she nods, seemingly resigned to more of the hospital's money floating away.

For the good of the patients.

"All right."

But then sets him sternly . . .

"But not more than two dollars a week."

. . . in his rightful place.

Wow-

"I'm not made of money, you know."

And Huck Finnigan just manages to stifle his grin.

"Of course, Director Bucket. Thank you."

And hurries off quick . . .

Wow. Two dollars. I hadn't even thought of that.

. . . while he's . . .

I can't wait to tell Grace.

. . . still ahead of the game.

Grace.

Hmmm . . .


". . . morning, everyone. Thank you all for coming today. Nurse Miller and I wanted to see if anyone would like to sit with us today and talk. About your thoughts. About your feelings. About anything you, uh, might want to talk about."


I would talk to Huck. I would talk to Huck all day.

Ahem.

Anyway, thanks to DinahRay for so graciously reviewing! :D