Chapter Text
Wednesday Friday Addams wasn’t a good person; she’ll admit to that – and she was fine with it. She kept to herself, took care of herself, and didn’t rely on anyone aside from her own family. In fact, ever since she was six, she hadn’t relied on them, either. It was as if one day she woke up and noticed how affectionate her brother was and deduced that there was no room for her to do the same.
Slowly, over time, she was able to push herself away from everyone to make her own way – make herself stop showing need, because there was no room for her to. Father was cursed to be hopelessly devoted to Mother, taking care of her every need. Brother was what Wednesday would call “needy” and what an outsider would call a “mama’s boy.” Wednesday used to be a complete “Daddy’s girl,” and when he wasn’t available she was always “mommy’s precious toadstool,” but when she gained consciousness at age 6 things changed. That was when her beloved Nero was murdered, which she knew was because of her dependence on him for emotional stability. After that, she noticed every little sign that the world intended for her to be alone. Pugsley got the affectionate gene (likely from their father) which left Wednesday lacking, and her subtle ways of showing love went less noticed than his. Pugsley would ask for care and love, something that made his sister feel guilty just thinking about, and he would receive it. Wednesday’s less-obvious pleas weren’t always noticed, but she didn’t blame that on her parents. No, they were just out of room – they hadn’t planned on the two-for-one-baby deal, after all, and Wednesday knew it was for the best. She really didn’t want Mother and Father to be run over and crushed by a bicycle unless it was her doing it.
As she grew older her ploys for attention grew less and less, often resulting in Mother or Father or Grandmama giving her shoulder a squeeze and saying how independent and mature she was.
(Wednesday had never noticed the sad look in her parents’ eyes when they said it, never noticed the way they would reach out with silent affection just as subtly as she had presented her want for it.)
And so it went– Pugsley was the child deserving of attention, and Wednesday was the child able to handle the responsibilities of adulthood. It made her feel proud of herself that she was able to reach milestones before her brother – building her own guillotine at age six, climbing onto the roof for a shock during thunderstorms at seven, digging her own grave by eight – and made her feel even better to know she was protecting her family from Nero’s fate. She paid penance for her very existence by being so mature and independent that it kept her family away from the danger of her love.
It was a silly sentiment, one that an average person would realize quickly was based on false pretenses. But Wednesday was no average person; she was determined and stubborn and too smart to see the obvious. The universe (or God or Satan or whoever) had made it clear to her what her place was – even apart from her being the unplanned bonus baby. Touch overwhelmed her most of the time, too many people around her made her feel sick, and the sounds of her father kissing her mother’s arms made her squirm involuntarily even before she recognized her fate. It was as if her body had been created in a way to make her curse more bearable – what easier way to avoid love than to involuntarily recoil at the typical displays of it? And so, over time, even when her pride periodically faltered to be replaced briefly with a deep-rooted longing, she became more and more convinced of her childhood notions. Her love was poison that other people didn’t deserve, and their love was a kindness she didn’t deserve. She was the good, mature, independent one. She was the protector. She was strength and pride and self-reliance. She was an Addams, after all, and she couldn’t let her ancestors see how weak she was underneath. No, instead she would keep to herself, never caring nor searching for affection, and keep everyone safe. And for ten years, she was able to do just that.
Tyler was the Hyde. Of course he was, really – because Wednesday had made the horrific, nauseating, disgraceful mistake of trusting someone. It was simply the punishment she deserved for being so naive and stupid, so greedy for human affection even though she knew she was a black hole of infinite tragedy.
Wednesday Addams did not love. It was foolish of her to think, even for a second, that she had the capacity to feel such things. She had been swindled into relating to the general teenage population, a blanket thrown over her head and potion ( a quad over ice?) shoved down her throat to induce the feeling of infatuation. With the way things were going, the sensation she must have mistaken for love was more likely to be from a caffeine overdose, or lack of sleep, or some reaction to the cafeteria food she wasn’t used to.
(It definitely wasn’t that Tyler laughed with and not at her, or that he treated her like a real person instead of a sideshow, or that he didn’t run away when she simply acted like herself. And it couldn’t have been that, even though he truly misread her expressionless temperament to be a crush, he was growing on her. And it just wasn’t possible that his persistence, however annoying, had ended in a wonderful display of dedication inside of a crypt with a horrifically pink movie and a police raid.)
Kissing him had been disgusting. His lips were soft and gentle, tasting just a little bit like coca-cola, and his hands traced her face as if she were the most delicate flower. It was horrendous and made her feel as if she were going to vomit rainbows and sparkles all over his freshly mopped floor.
(It didn’t matter that his lips also tasted like the rich, enticing essence of blood. Or that his hands shook just a little, like he was afraid of her. Or that he treated her like a fascinating yet relatable specimen, maybe a biology class frog, and that made her weak in the knees. That was also horrendous, but in the most delicious way in the world. The way that made her stomach do flips and her face feel hot and her heart race as if she would go into cardiac arrest. It was wonderful.)
Wednesday had trusted this blonde-haired idiot, had been nearly convinced she was feeling something other than rage, had let him almost convince her that her touch wasn’t a poison to keep people safe from. He had made her – no. No, she had been stupid and weak and greedy enough that she gave into his feeble attempts at connection and had let herself think she was worthy of attention and care, had let herself be the tiniest bit vulnerable and embrace her father’s way of viewing a partner through rose-colored glasses. And what had it done?
It had killed Larissa Weems. It had gotten Xavier arrested for no reason. It had gotten her almost killed, more than once, and it had gotten the quad burned to bits. It had forced Enid to Wolf Out and nearly be killed.
She had forced Enid to Wolf Out and nearly be killed. She had done it, because if it wasn’t for her blatant disregard for her own life and wellbeing and her obsession with solving the unsolvable case, Enid wouldn’t have risked her life to save her. In fact, if she had been strong enough to keep Enid away, strong enough to deny herself her weak desires to have the blonde as a friend, a good enough person to push her away and keep her safe, Enid would have never even known Wednesday was in danger. If Wednesday had been strong enough to stay rooted in reality and recognize that her ridiculous longing for affection was idiotic and did nothing but cause others pain, Enid would have never been put in any danger, period.
And so, Wednesday allowing herself love had done nothing but damage – and, while she herself deserved and could handle damage, she would rather die a quick and painless death than cause those she tolerated ( cared about) suffering and remorse (unless they asked for it directly). Love was just unfitting for Wednesday Addams, and she didn’t plan on trying it again in this lifetime. Maybe from the beyond the grave; she could have a sort of Crimson Peak romance – with much more blood and much less incest. But, for now, Wednesday was not going to let herself be fooled by the disgusting display known as romance. It had been a massive oversight of her true self to let it ever happen in the first place.
It had been exactly six hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds since the students were counted outside the Nevermore gates. Five hours, twenty-six minutes, and eight seconds since nursing took count of the injured and provided medical attention, calling two ambulances for help with more serious injuries. Four hours, fifty-nine minutes, and thirty-seven seconds since they had been divided into their dorms with their dorm parents with Ophelia students assigned to the only unaffiliated teacher – Coach Vlad – to takeover for the bee-filled Marilyn Thornhill, and those whose dorms had fire damage set up in the cafeteria and fencing hall, with blankets and pillows and the entire lunch staff and nursing team watching over them. The chaperones took them up to their rooms (or classrooms, as case may be) and made sure every single student was in bed with the agreement of “showers then lights out”. That meant that it had only been two hours, forty-six minutes, and fifty-two seconds, give or take, since Wednesday had been able to finally fall asleep.
It wasn’t as hard to do as she had expected – considering that, within the past two to three hours, she had been stabbed, shot, smacked with a shovel and held in a magical chokehold after a fair amount of smoke inhalation, that is. Her head pounded still, and, though Goody had magically healed her life-threatening injuries, the healing had only gone so deep to leave the bleeding stopped and deeper tissue untreated. I.E., Goody basically just provided the young Addams with magical stitches and sent her on her way. It was the best she could manage, Wednesday pondered, but it was pretty lousy. Grandmama could even handle some sturdy sutures in a pinch and she wasn’t even dead yet.
Along with the pain, Enid (kind hearted, gentle, nausea-inducing Enid), who was sporting a large amount of damage herself, didn’t seem to like the idea of getting a good night’s rest either. Whether it was just the adrenaline talking or a brand new appearance of pure sadism, Wednesday didn’t know. All she did know was that, once checked into their room by Coach Vlad, it took an hour to go to bed.
Almost immediately, Enid had begged Wednesday to help her get into the shower – her wounds, while they were definitely healing quickly due to her wolfish heritage, were still quite painful and debilitating. This made Enid unsteady and, quite frankly, scared that she might accidentally drown herself in an inch of water (which Wednesday had lovingly reminded her was possible the second she mentioned bathing). Remaining as stoic as ever and feeling indebted to the werewolf for her life saving acts, Wednesday obliged and helped Enid into the shared Ophelia Hall bathroom down the corridor. The cold tiled room was empty, the motion sensor lights only coming on once the pair passed by the first sink, and Wednesday breathed a tiny sigh of relief – her social battery was so low; if someone else had been in here, she might have bitten their head off.
Literally.
The taller girl used Wednesday’s arm and shoulder for support to walk as they made their way towards the stalls, reaching the largest shower and starting to remove her blood-soaked jacket without shame.
It was quite probable that Werewolves had different privacy expectations than other species; they definitely had different eating rituals so it made sense that Enid might not care as much if another person saw her naked body. Either way, Wednesday was not expecting the blonde to be stark naked under her coat, and so she turned her back to her immediately the second she saw belly button. She was doing it out of courtesy, of course, not that she cared either way. She definitely was not blushing like a mad man nor was that blush a result of embarrassment for the fact that she had quite possibly and however briefly seen her roommate’s bare chest.
Enid continued to use Wednesday’s shoulder as a crutch as she stripped and climbed into the shower, talking a mile a minute and absolutely gushing with nervous energy. Once in the shower she requested Wednesday stay, please, pretty pretty please, so that she didn’t fall asleep and drown to death.
Wednesday obliged, stealthily working on her own wounds as she sat on the edge of the counter and listened to Enid singing some monstrosity of a “Taylor Swift” song. Wednesday had not told the other about the extensiveness of her injuries, and she especially would not mention how Enid had been leaning on the shoulder that had an arrow sticking out of it just a few hours prior. (Not that she cared if it made Enid feel guilty; it would simply be a hassle to deal with the groveling apologies afterwards, that’s all.)
Instead, she snapped and signed for Thing to enter the room and retrieve wrappings, then started gently cleaning and bandaging her wounds.
Eventually, after about forty minutes, Enid stepped out of the shower without warning (to which Wednesday covered both her own eyes and Thing’s….self with her hands) and got dressed using Wednesday as support, and the two hobbled back into their bedroom and climbed into their respective beds.
“Willaaaaaa,” Enid whined after a minute of silence. The girl in question sighed. Would she ever get some sleep? The ache gnawing at the back of her head was growing by the second, and her body was sore all over. Her response was short and crisp.
“What.”
“Willa, why come your ancestor’s name was Goody?”
Wednesday barely stifled a sigh. Why was this important? Why would she know?
“I don’t know, Sinclair. I am not the name police, nor am I my ancestor’s keeper. I assume it was simply her mother’s preference.”
Enid was silent, then took a breath, then stopped again.
“B..But… I mean, I’m totally not trying to be offensive, ‘cause maybe this is a Latina thing and I’m just white, or its a human thing and I’m full-blooded wolf pup, but like…I read the Crucible in sixth grade. We all did at Nevermore, actually.” Another pause. Wednesday didn’t know where she was going with this, and would really like for her to speed it up. Sleep was clawing at the back of her eyes, and as much as she enjoyed the sensation, all fun must come to an end.
“Yes, I recall that it depicts the trials in Salem, but I admit I don’t remember as much as I should. Mother used to read it to us at bedtime when Pugsley and I were four, but we grew out of it fairly quickly. Get to the point, Enid, before I begin to rot from boredom.”
“Well – wait, when you and your brother were four? Meaning, you were both four? Meaning – oh my GOD, Wednesday, you’re a twin?!” Enid’s voice was way too loud and excited for it to be four in the morning. Hell, it was way too loud and excited for ANY time of the day.
“Yes, and?” She grumbled with yet another sigh. “Although your assumption is premature as I never said we were not simply born nine months apart. But no, I was not that lucky – we shared my mother’s womb for the same thirty-five grueling weeks.”
Enid gasped audibly. “Oh-em-gee, who was born first?? I bet you’re the oldest!”
Wednesday closed her eyes again and sighed loudly. She was exhausted. Everything hurt, her not-open-but-still-raw wounds pulsating with agony.
She had to admit, she was beginning to enjoy the experience, and talking to Enid helped her to pry herself awake to fully appreciate the torture. It was miserable, and so she obliged.
“As much as I wish to say that’s true, I can only tell a lie when the stakes are much higher than this. Pugsley and I clawed our way out of our Mother’s vagina at precisely the same time. They were disappointed that we weren’t conjoined, but Pugsley was born with a vestigial tail and I had a full set of teeth. Thankfully, those caused the doctor to faint anyways, making it quite the standard-issue Addams birth. My brother’s massive head and my abnormally sharp toenails caused mother to hemorrhage greatly, much to the pride of herself and Father.”
“...Gross!! Seeing Pugsley at Parents’ weekend I was so sure he was the baby!” Wednesday could practically hear Enid’s grin from across the room. It was nauseating. “His face was so cute and squishy and he’s nearly as short as you are! He looked about thirteen, not sixteen.”
“No, he was simply born with the curse of being a cherub. We think the gene runs in my mother’s family, at least twenty-two generations back. Once every other generation, an Addams is born looking like a bubbly, bouncy bundle of joy, and they bear the curse of looking like an angel baby for life. It’s horrific.” The raven paused, thinking about her relationship with her brother. “When we were young, everyone was sure he was older, but I started menstruating long before his hypothalamus decided to start secreting hormones. I was eight, he was fourteen. It made a terrible difference.”
Enid was silent. Wednesday felt her eyes trying to slip down, but unlike before she didn’t mind the idea of being kept awake against her will, trying with all of her might to stay coherent to enjoy this torture just a little while longer. As if the blonde could read her thoughts (could werewolves do that? Wednesday would have to read up on it), Enid abruptly broke the silence.
“Well…” She started, “I think twins are so super neat, and.. Oh! I remember what I was gonna ask you, about Goody’s name.”
Wednesday waited.
“Uhm… why is it Goody? Because in The Crucible that was a title, like… Missus. or something. It’d be like naming your kid Missus.”
“Enid, my mother’s name is Morticia. I have an uncle Fester. My legal and illegal name is Wednesday Friday Addams. Calling a child ‘Missus’ would not be too far-fetched.”
Enid was silent yet again, and Wednesday began to succumb to the sweet, temporary death of sleep. The pull of her eyelids was heavy, finally satisfied with the pre-sleep suffering she had enjoyed. And then Enid spoke again.
“Well….goodnight Wednesday.”
“Goodnight Enid. I will most likely kill you in the morning as a thank you for keeping me awake after the horrifically exhausting night we’ve had.”
“Oh… thanks….” Enid’s voice was soft and scared when she said it, punctuated with a sniff and breath. She wouldn’t have noticed if Enid hadn’t let out a tiny, miniscule sob, and that set Wednesday’s nerves on end – and not in the fun way. Had she said something wrong? She threatened Enid all the time, but it was in the same way she tortured Pugsley – a way to show appreciation and the bond between them.
Even though there was no bond between Enid and Wednesday. At all. Definitely. Because trusting someone would certainly end once more in the entire school burning down, a putrid pilgrim who wears his sins on the outside, and a fatal stab wound to the stomach.
(And Enid most definitely did not make Wednesday feel safe and tortured and all together miserable in the best way, and she certainly didn’t make Wednesday’s stomach feel like spiders were crawling around in it when she entered a room. Because the only other person to do that, even if it was just the tiniest bit for maybe two days, turned out to be an unjust, lying serial killer because when Wednesday loved, people died.)
She was drifting off into unconsciousness, arms folded neatly over her chest and Thing turning in his usual pre-lay-down circles atop them. And then Enid spoke again.
“....Willa?”
Wednesday wanted to stay silent – really, truly she did. She wasn’t going to give in and give a response. But a few seconds passed and she heard Enid whimper.
“Yes?”
“Wednesday… I’m…” The blonde’s breath hitched, and Wednesday put all of her effort into her heart NOT clenching at the sound. “I’m so fucking scared right now.”
And with that Enid was sobbing, and Wednesday knew it was all her fault, and while an Addams generally relished in the torment of those they tolerated (loved), it was never without consent.
Enid had not consented to this pain. Wednesday denied that the twisting, wrenching feeling in her gut was related to anything other than her still-tender stab wound – particularly unrelated to guilt.
Either way, this was how Wednesday woke up on the ground with light dappling her face, an insanely sore back, and werewolf drool on her forehead.