[Sharky... is not exactly equipped to handle this situation. What he does know comes from, uhhh... a handful of Al-Anon brochures, daytime doctor shows, one half-assed bout of mandated therapy and a couple of Nick's old parenting books. (The last of which being in what a library would call "what did you do to it" condition.)

None of that shit had anything about what to do for a dude dealing with severe emotional and physical trauma from a stint in the care of a psychotic cannibal cultist. Not even about one of those things, TBH. Also, the party liquor may or may not have had a negative impact on his memory recall.

But, like. The alternative would be to leave Pratt to his own devices, to probably get worse and worse and turn into like, Jacob Seed's doppelganger. Which is basically what happened to Rook. And that is not fucking allowed to happen again, no matter how much of a dick Pratt might be or how fucked up he might get.]

Yeah, man. Makes sense. Shit was fucked back home, and T-B-H it's gonna be fucked here sometime sooner or later. But there ain't any Peggies or any John, Jacob or Joseph Seeds to be found. No Faith, either, and no Bliss, either! [Except for that one time with the ice cream...] So at least you got that goin' for you. Get you cleaned up, get you some sleep, mayyyyybe in a deck chair in the sun??? [Ehhhh, ehhh??] You'll start feelin' better. For sure. [Definitely. Positively.]