I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
(To) Face Dreams
June and July pass in the blink of an eye.
Huck Finnigan goes to work.
". . . Dannon. I was hoping you'd stay feeling better."
"Dead people can't feel better, Mr. Finnigan. They're dead."
"You're not dead, Mrs. Dannon. You're very much alive."
"You're sweet to say so, Mr. Finnigan."
He goes home to his room above the garage.
". . . handrail, Huck."
"I'll fix it right after work, Mrs. Graham."
He spends time with his sweetheart.
"Happy birthday, Grace."
"Oh Huck, what a beautiful rose. Thank you."
And just in general, . . .
". . . horse, Chief?"
". . ."
"Chief?"
". . ."
"Chief?"
". . ."
"Peter, can you hear me?"
. . . just tries to do the best he can . . .
". . . times I think the world isn't really turning anymore, William Holden. That we're just standing still waiting for everything to start back up."
"And how do you feel about that, Mrs. Kee?"
"I worry about all you young people falling off and getting yourselves hurt."
And now August is upon them.
Huck Finnigan is to be married in less than a month.
". . . honeymoon. You know, if you like."
"Sure. That sounds swell."
And the nightmares have started again.
"Walter, oh god, uh, it's alright, hold on."
In earnest.
Bloody fields of dying men, screaming and crying for their mothers, for their Gods.
For anyone and anything that will give them the sweet relief from the agony and terror they die in.
"Walter, hold on. I'm going to get you out of here."
Holding his buddy, Walter Rick, in his arms.
"Momma? Momma?!"
Walter, with his brains leaking out of his head.
"I can't see . . . I can't hear . . ."
Dying on the battlefield with hundreds of others.
"Hang on, Walter, I . . ."
And Huck, covered in mud and filth.
"I . . . I . . ."
And Walter's blood.
"I'm not going to leave you."
The one time it wasn't his.
"Momma-"
And he would have wished it had been.
"I promise."
And Walter fading away, head sagging down, body seeming to deflate.
And Huck . . .
"Wh-"
. . . realizing that there is another . . .
"I can't do this anymore, Harold."
. . . on the battlefield.
"Ruthie? What are you doing here?"
One who is not supposed to be there.
"I'm sorry. I just can't."
Was not there.
"Everything is different."
Has never been there.
"And I can't stay here in this field with you forever."
And Huck, Walter hanging from his arms, . . .
"Wait, Ruthie, . . ."
But it's not Ruthie, it's Grace.
Grace.
Strawberry blond waves.
Blue-green-green-blue eyes.
Wedding dress. Veil.
Full length from neck to ankle and wrist.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
"I'm sorry, Huck . . ."
And Huck's face, Huck's face . . .
". . . but I can't carry the burden of you anymore."
. . . is melting off his skull.
"Grace . . ."
And her bouquet is made of shattered arms and legs and bloody dogtags dripping down her dress.
"No . . ."
And his face, his face hurts.
". . . I love you . . ."
But not as much . . .
"Please don't leave me."
. . . as the pain in his heart.
And his face, the good part of his face, is melting off.
Pieces of him falling off himself.
And he awakens with a jerk-
Grace-
. . . out of his dream.
He blinks into the blackness.
A dream, it was just a dream.
Heart pounding, body thick and oddly heavy.
But it's alright.
I'm awake now.
I just have to get up.
But he isn't.
And he can't.
He's stuck, he's still stuck.
He's stuck in a hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his face and his arm.
Dead flesh dead. The rest of him screaming.
Oh no.
Oh please God no-
"I told you crazy don't stay sane for long, boy."
And why the hell Charlotte Wells is standing over him . . .
"Now hold still so I can shoot you again. I'm aiming . . ."
. . . with a ribcage cello . . .
". . . for the head."
. . . he'll never . . .
"Please - no -"
. . . know.
And then she pulls . . .
Grace-
. . . the trigger.
It's a frequent haunting.
The demons of the not very distant past.
The fields of death, the crushing despair.
The glaringly clear psychology behind the arrival and departure of first Ruthie, then Grace.
The details change. The specifics.
But the effect it has on the man himself . . .
"Hello, Huck!"
"Hello, Grace."
. . . even as the sun . . .
"Are you alright?'
. . . hangs high at its zenith . . .
"Yes. Thank you."
. . . are increasingly undeniable.
"If you don't mind my saying so, you look worn."
And he is not surprised that she has noticed, that she cares.
"I, uh, I haven't been sleeping well."
That is who Grace Miller is.
"Bad dreams?"
That is part of the reason why he loves her so.
"Yes."
For the grace she shows to him, to all others.
"You know what I think?"
The kitten in her lap, now a fuller size cat, purrs rhythmically, unperturbed by Huck Finnigan's emotional turmoil.
Grace strokes the silky fur, porch swing creaking softly.
"What do you think?"
Huck wishes he was that cat.
The peace it feels, the contentment.
Obvious and clear in every fiber of its being.
"I think it's because you sleep alone."
And he raises his eyes to her.
She's smiling, of course, gentle and soft.
"And you have no one to hold on to you when the dreams come. No one to ground you."
He doesn't know what to say, he thinks she must be .
And Grace . . .
"Come on, Huck."
. . . carefully shifts the pussycat off her lap.
"Come with me."
And takes Huck Finnigan's hand.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
And leads him away.
He awakes in a haze, doesn't quite know where he is.
Only that he's warm and comfortable.
And that there were no inescapable dreams, no horrors of the past.
There is only him.
Grace-
And her.
They are laying together, Huck and Grace.
Sun warm upon their faces.
All arms and legs wrapped up together.
But it's not as one would think.
She had taken him . . .
"Are you sure this is okay?"
"Yes, Huck. You can trust me."
. . . to the back lawn.
Beyond the kitchen steps.
Beyond the laundry line.
Two trees grow close together.
Close enough and strong enough to string . . .
"What about your parents?"
"They trust me too."
. . . a hammock.
Her directing him down, him holding carefully as she eases on herself.
A delicate balance between them.
Them and an unstable world.
But they balance each other.
And it all settles down.
Pillows for a sunny day in place, someone's abandoned book on the grass below.
Determined to not appear unseemly, Huck self-consciously tilting his body away from hers, arms folded around his middle.
And Grace, smile knowing and considerate . . .
"It's alright, Huck. I promise."
. . . leaning into him.
Ankles crossed, dress smoothed appropriately down.
One hand on her middle and one hand . . .
"Just close your eyes."
. . . on his forearm.
"And rest."
And rest he had.
The sun has closed, he doesn't know when it is.
But Grace is there, shifting and making some whisper of a sound in her throat . . .
Grace-
. . . as Huck turns his head toward hers.
I love you-
And finds . . .
You're alright too, Misty.
. . . the cat . . .
But you're not coming on my honeymoon.
. . . has returned.
Check out the precious story pic, not exact, but quite close. ;)
Thanks to DinahRay, LittleBabyFox, and IHeartSPN for so graciously reviewing previously!
Yes, we are getting down to the wedding, almost there!
But first, men, ugh . . .
