I do not own Ratched.

I do not own Huck. But I miss him and it's summer for me so I brought him back.

Huck Finnigan: Dreams and Nightmares; The Best Life Lived

And On and On

". . . happened?"

The big guy shrugs and Huck instantly dislikes him.

"The other boys, well, they don't like a half-breed injun with them. Don't help he don't talk."

Huck clenches his jaw.

"And this is allowed?"

The orderly from San Jose Home For Boys shrugs and Huck has to fight the urge to punch him in the face.

Ring his bell, as Mrs. Kee would say.

"Boys'll be boys. I'm sure you've been in your fair share of scrapes. Judgin' by your face."

Huck feels himself trying to flush, tries to calm it down.

"How will you deter this behavior in the future then?"

Another shrug. Huck is beginning to see red.

"Well, he's gonna have to learn to fit in then. Just like everyone else."

"He's not like the rest of them, he's suffers from particular medical maladies and he can't change the color of his skin-"

"Mr. Finnigan, we ain't a fancy facility like you got here. We're a boys home. And at a boys home, you gotta learn to grow some tough skin. And pull your weight. Coddlin' these boys ain't gonna do them no favors out in there in the real world."

"Providing decent care isn't coddling-"

"Mr. Finnigan, he doesn't have to return here. You called us to take him last month, remember?"

And Huck almost huffs in derision.

"I didn't call you. Director Bucket called you."

And the man . . .

"So that's who you need to hash this out with, Mr. Finnigan. Not me. I'm just doin' my job."

Not very well, if you ask me.

. . . lays down the final foot.

Damn.

"You did what?"

Now it is Betsy Bucket who is aghast.

Betsy and not Huck.

"I . . . took him home. I-"

"Have you lost your damn mind, Huck?! You could be charge with child kidnapping! Child imprisonment! What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking he was lost and needed help."

"Do you really trust him in your home-"

"I didn't have any other place to take him-"

"What if something had happened?"

"Peter has never shown any proclivity for-"

"What about Grace? Your pregnant wife? Do you actually trust her safety, the safety of your unborn child with him?!"

"Of course not!" Huck suddenly finds himself shouting in frustration. "Why else would I call those bastards at the boys home?!"

And all the fight suddenly goes out of him.

Huck folds up, collapses slowly into the chair beneath him.

"They're abusing him there, Director Bucket. Neglecting him, at the very least. Letting the other boys gang up on him. 'Cause he can't talk. 'Cause he's an Indian."

His voice is hardly a whisper.

Everything that's happened, everything he's tried to do.

Has actually done.

Everything's just getting worse.

"He doesn't deserve this. He deserves . . ."

Help.

A loving family.

A decent life.

". . . better."

The silence sits with Huck as he feels Betsy Bucket staring down at the top of his dejected head.

He's yelled at his superior again.

He's sitting, hunched, slouched, not even showing the manners of looking a person in the eye.

All because . . .

"Please don't send him away again, Director Bucket. Please."

. . . of one lost indian boy.

The silence sits with him again and it's crushing.

I can't.

You can't.

Please.

And then Supreme Leader Director Betsy Bucket does the absolutely unthinkable.

She kneels, hunches, squats down to his level.

Red tipped fingernailed hands on his knees.

"I have to, Huck."

Her voice is quiet, calm.

"He doesn't belong here."

But it speaks doom.

"We both know that."

And reason.

And Huck feels the last of his dwindling hope fade out of him.

And then Betsy Bucket speaks again.

"But maybe we can find a better place for him to go."

Huck raises his head, looks into her eyes.

"Alright?"

And sees what he swears . . .

"Alright."

. . . might be a smigeon of mercy.

"Now get up, Huck. It wouldn't do for anyone to see us like this. Don't need rumors flyin' that you're diddling my pooter now that your wife is expecting."

Jesus Christ, woman.

But it may just be a trick of the light.

". . . back, I see."

Huck draws a deep breath.

"Temporarily."

If he can manage that idiot from the boys home.

"Unfortunate."

Betsy Bucket, Supreme Leader or almost human being.

"I've always said crazy doesn't stay sane for long."

He can manage . . .

"He's not crazy. He's just different."

. . . Charlotte Wells.

"Different. Crazy. It's all in the eye of the beholder, young man."

Or whomever . . .

"Of course, I still say a lobotomy wouldn't hurt."

. . . she may be presenting . . .

"I'll take that into consideration, thank you."

. . . at any given . . .

"Is that sarcasm, young man? Are you mocking me?"

"No, of course not."

. . . moment.

"I'm just taking your words into consideration."

Because it's all he really feels . . .

"That's all."

. . . he can do anymore.

"Well, that's fine then."

For them.

"'Bout time I got some damn respect around here."

And for himself.

"How are you, Huck?"

"I'm alright, Grace."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I suppose."

"Would you like to swing with Misty and me after supper?"

"Yeah, yes. That'd be real swell. Thank you."

And that's the end of this particular mini storyline arc.

Everybody hug Huck please.

More to come, with a shift in focus.

And have a nice day. :)