Chapter Text
In one evening, Wednesday Addams has been hit by a shovel, impaled by a knife, and shot by an arrow. Not bad for a single night. Her Uncle Fester still holds the record for the most injuries in twenty-four hours, but he'll be happy to hear that his niece is slowly gaining on him. The prospect of beating his personal best almost brings a smile to her face.
Almost.
"Are you okay?" Wednesday's so wrapped up in Enid's embrace that she doesn't realize she's grimacing--the hug is tender and intense to the point that it takes her mind off her aching wounds. Until Ajax poses a question to her, that is--his concerned words cut through the relief she finds in Enid's arms, paving a path for her pain to recapture her attention. She can't let on that she's hurting, though--not when this is all her fault. So, in keeping with her stoic reputation, Wednesday straightens her spine and stiffens her lip before responding in her trademark monotone:
"Never better." With that out of the way, she allows herself to melt back into Enid--
"Nice try, Addams."
--only for Bianca to interrupt the moment of bliss. Before Wednesday can head the siren off at the pass, Xavier gives her away:
"Yeah--Crackstone got you in the shoulder good."
"He what?" Enid's voice breaks as she pulls back, leaving her roommate feeling cold and empty. Normally, Wednesday enjoys both of those sensations, but now, she finds herself longing to be warm and full. How odd--Laurel must have hit her in the head harder than she thought. Either that, or she's delirious from the bleeding, a possibility that Enid is quick to point out:
"Wednesday." Enid's gasp is dizzy with horror as her eyes land on her hand--it's wet from where she rested it against black fabric, glistening redder than the blood moon overhead. "I...you...doctor, we need a doctor--"
"--for Enid, not for me," Wednesday finishes, struggling not to stumble as the werewolf begins to go limp. Her friend always has been rather squeamish--with all this gore and viscera, she never stood a chance. In fact, she's having trouble standing at all. "Easy, lobita," Wednesday murmurs when Enid falters in her grasp, tightening her hold even though it pains her to do so. The nickname slips from her lips without a second thought, pushed off her tongue by a combination of worry and care. "I've--ah--got you."
"Don't be a martyr, Addams," Xavier rolls his eyes as he reaches towards her. "Here, just let go and I’ll--"
"Separate me from Enid and I will separate your head from your body.” Wednesday's threat comes out in a low, protective growl, one that rumbles like an explosive clap of thunder. She means for the warning to strike fear in the hearts of those who would defy her. Instead, what she gets is a sigh from their resident siren:
"Okay, Princess of Darkness," Bianca relents with a heavy exhale. "You can hang onto your emotional support puppy. Ajax--"
"Way ahead of you." It's clumsy and awkward, moving Wednesday and Enid while they're tangled up in each other. Their fellow students manage, though--they have to if they value their lives. Wednesday's gaze is inescapable, keeping an unblinking watch on her knight in shining armor. Her right hand is just as steadfast--it doesn't let go of Enid's left for a second:
Not when they stagger through the gates of Nevermore Academy on shaky legs, bruised and beaten and bloody, but standing nonetheless.
Not when the pair of them are bundled into an ambulance, holding each other steady as the paramedics disinfect their injuries.
And not when they're ushered into a hospital, where the nurses make a beeline for Wednesday's lacerated arm.
"You are going to treat Enid first," she practically snarls before they can lay hands on her. Wednesday stares down the women in white until they comply, turning their pointy syringes and sharp needles on her wide-eyed roommate.
"Wends." Enid is pallid to begin with, but she grows impossibly more pale at the prospect of being poked and prodded. Just minutes ago, this girl was taking her claws to a murderous creature--now, she looks terrified by something less than half her size. Enid bites her lip and wrings her hands from her spot on the exam table--it's clear she's crying out for some form of comfort, and Wednesday answers the call. In her own way, of course:
"I was supposed to do some brainstorming for the sequel to my novel tonight," Wednesday begins in a bid to sway Enid's attention. "Unfortunately, I didn't get very far before I was...interrupted. It's a pity," she continues as a man in an ivory coat inches closer to Enid's cuts. "I was looking forward to creating a companion for Viper's next adventure."
"Doesn't Viper work alone?" Enid asks, straining to ignore the sharp objects that are rapidly approaching her cheeks.
"She's...come to the realization that some other people aren't so bad." The tips of Wednesday's fingers brush against Enid's as she speaks, betraying the true meaning of her softly murmured words. "The question is, what sort of partner would suit her?"
"Ooo, can I help you figure it out? It'll be just like making a new character in The Sims!" Wednesday doesn't know what that is, but she nods, earning a delighted squeal from the other girl. "Okay, let me think," Enid starts, closing her eyes so she can concentrate. Her focus on the task is so intense that she doesn't feel the prick of a sedative. "How about another seer? Someone who knows what she's going through, but isn't afraid to call her out."
"Hmm." Wednesday sees a flash of Xavier's face as the first stitches go in, but she quickly dismisses the mental image with a shake of her head. "No--she needs a complement, not a copy."
"A normie, then?" Enid suggests as her left cheek is dotted with knots. "Someone whose only magical ability is getting her to try new things."
"Hmm." Tyler fills Wednesday's vision as Enid's skin is tugged and pulled, and she wastes no time in blinking away his smug little smirk. "No again--that's too far in the other direction."
"Well, that's two strikes for me," Enid chuckles as the last of her gashes are sewn together. "Do you have any ideas, Detective Addams?" The nickname is playful, but it still sends a thrill up Wednesday's spine, crackling electrically as she grasps for a response:
"I...well...she could do with someone who pushes her out of her comfort zone." Wednesday curses internally as she trips over her words, no doubt a side effect of Crackstone throwing her around. It's the only reason someone as articulate as her would stutter. "They should also be okay with a little danger--and getting their hands dirty." The doctors are snipping pieces of thread now, but all Wednesday sees are a wolf's nails and teeth, bared protectively in her defense. Her cheeks heat up as she remembers the deadly dance they did to keep her safe--the air conditioning in this place must be busted. "And she--they--have to be loyal. Viper's been burned before," Wednesday elaborates, bristling under the fresh sting of Tyler's unexpected betrayal.
"Sounds like she's looking for a golden retriever." In that moment, the fluorescent lights hit Enid just right, and Wednesday realizes her friend isn't too far off. Her flaxen locks are framed by a neon halo, one that stirs up a strange feeling in the latter's chest. It's like dandelion fluff riding on the wind, tickling Wednesday's tiny black heart with delicate fuzz.
"They're done patching you up," she points out, coughing in an effort to clear away the unfamiliar sensation. It doesn't help when Enid opens her eyes--they sparkle and shine, threatening to drown her roommate in gratitude.
"Thanks for the distraction," she grins over the tapping of fingers in the distance. "Want me to return the favor?" Enid goes on when the physicians turn to her friend. Normally, Wednesday would snap that she doesn't need reassurance. But in a testament to how much today has shaken her up, she nods, allowing Enid to gently twine their fingers together. They stay that way the whole time she's being helped, silently taking solace in each other's presence. Wednesday's certain she could do a better job of sewing herself up, but she bites her tongue in favor of enjoying her roommate's company. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Enid asks as the sound of nails on tile gets closer.
"No." Wednesday technically isn't lying--Goody did heal the wounds Laurel gave her. Only the marks remain, angry and red across her wrists and abdomen. But Wednesday refuses to trouble her friend with them--not after she placed her roommate in harm's way. Especially not after Enid had to save her from said peril. Luckily, a diversion arrives right in the nick of time:
"Thing!" Enid practically squeals when her bestie appears, clambering onto her lap so he can assess the damage. "Be honest--how bad is it?"
It's not bad, he signs in reply, imbuing his every gesture with the utmost sincerity.
"You don't have to say that just because we're friends," Enid insists, even as her voice wobbles with insecurity. "I can take it."
Look, Thing continues before any tears can fall, pointing to Enid's reflection in the metal bedrails. We're twinning.
"Oh my gosh," she gushes when she sees the resemblance. "We are twinsies! Wait, Wednesday matches us, too--we can't leave her out." Part of the girl in question doesn't want to be lumped into...whatever this is. But another, growing piece of her dark soul doesn't mind in the slightest. She supposes a family can be a psychic, a wolf, and a disembodied hand. Oh, and a beekeeping seer: "What would the triplet version of twinsies be?"
"I don't know the answer to that." The three of them turn around to find Eugene standing in the doorway, holding a hastily-drawn homemade card in his hands. The cartoon bee on the front coaxes a coo from Enid's throat, and it's at that moment that Wednesday's heart coincidentally skips a beat. Huh--she'll have to get that checked out. Not today, though, because Eugene says this next: "What I do know is that our police escort back to the school isn't going to wait forever."
"Are you sure Sheriff Galpin isn't here to take us in?" Wednesday asks, fighting the urge to retch at the pun on the folded paper. Hope you feel bee-tter soon--how nauseating.
"Yeah," Enid quietly begins as Thing and Wednesday help her to her feet. "He's probably not happy with me after what happened tonight. Heck, I bet no one is--wolf me was probably really scary." Wednesday's about to say that she's quite fond of scary things, but Eugene beats her to the punch:
"Are you kidding? You're a hero--both of you are! Here, I'll show you."
The girls don't realize he's right until they're back in their room. The space has been hurriedly festooned with confetti and streamers, and the rainbow they create makes Wednesday nauseous. A cake sitting next to her typewriter has a similar effect--the message on top is written in black icing, but it's causing her to feel green around the gills:
"Thanks for saving our lives," Wednesday deadpans as she reads Ajax's chicken scratch. "You rock."
"Aw," Enid smiles as she scoops up a fingerful of frosting. Her roommate's not sure why this display of appreciation is rubbing her the wrong way. All Wednesday knows is that her skin is crawling in the face of this awful stoner joke. Perhaps she's allergic to puns as well as color. Wednesday’s making a mental note to phone the Addams Family witch doctor when Enid calls out to her: "Hey, Wends?"
"Yes?" Wednesday's sore muscles tense as she waits for a reply, ready to jump however high her friend asks her to. She's prepared to cross oceans and move mountains, but Enid's request is a simple one:
"I don't want to be by myself tonight." Wednesday's brows crinkle in confusion, because how could she be alone when they share a room? She doesn't understand until she sees Enid glancing between their beds--the distance that separates them seems cavernous all of a sudden. Thing moves to bridge the gap first, nudging a sparse cot towards one covered in plushies.
"Then you won't be," Wednesday promises over the scrapes of the legs of her bed. Before long, there's a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the room, bathed in the moonlight streaming through their spiderwebbed window. Usually, Wednesday goes out of her way to avoid all things fluffy and soft, but here she is, letting her roommate drape her with a fuzzy quilt. Come to think of it, lots of things she hates are more tolerable when they involve Enid. How odd. Maybe she ought to look into the correlation between the two--
"Oh my god."
--but first, Wednesday has to throw Enid off her scent. It's too late, though--the werewolf's gaze is as sharp and searching as a spotlight, landing on the skin that's exposed when her shirt rides up. Wednesday scrambles to cover her stomach and hands, like that'll make Enid forget she saw them. No such luck:
"You said you weren't hurt anywhere else." As she ghosts her fingers over the spot where Crackstone twisted the knife, Enid's tone isn't accusatory. Rather, it's a mix of guilt and distress, one that tugs at heartstrings Wednesday didn't know she had. "Wends, this is...how are you even alive right now?"
"Spite, mostly. They aren't painful," Wednesday goes on when her attempt at humor falls flat. "I have my four-hundred-year-old ancestor to thank for that."
"Four-hundred-year-old ancestor? What happened in that crypt?" Enid cradles Wednesday's wrists in her palms, as if doing so will erase the burns from the manacles.
"Laurel strung me up to the ceiling and watched Crackstone stick me with a dagger." Wednesday's response is unemotional and matter-of-fact, but it still causes tears to spring to the corners of Enid's eyes.
"I'm sorry," she sniffs, scooting closer to her friend without realizing she's moving. "I should've gotten there sooner."
"Why are you apologizing?" Wednesday's features crease in bewilderment as water runs down Enid's cheeks. Her hands have committed unspeakable bloodshed and unimaginable atrocities, but they're careful and kind as they thumb away the drops on her roommate's face. "Your timing was perfect--if you hadn't shown up when you did, I would've been done for."
"But if I had just been faster, or gone straight there, or done something differently, then maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt at all."
"Enid, I'm normally a big fan of gratuitous violence, but there's really no need to beat yourself up like this. My tolerance for torture is impressively high, if I do say so myself." Wednesday coats her words in consolation, but they only serve to stoke Enid's righteous anger:
"Well maybe you being in pain hurts me too. Maybe I don't like seeing you suffer. Maybe I'd rather take a thousand hits than let one land on you."
"I can't imagine why," Wednesday remarks, and she means it. "I've disregarded your feelings, and put down your passions, and gambled with your well-being. I deserve--"
"Nope." Enid cuts her off with no hesitation, folding her fingers around her friend's until they form a heart. "Nuh-uh. Don't you dare finish that sentence."
"Or what? Is this kitty going to show me what her claws can do? I've been awful to you, Enid," Wednesday murmurs shamefully. "Why wouldn't you want me to be as miserable as I made you?" She's not sure what she expects in response, but it's not for Enid to answer her question with a question:
"Remember when you told me that I've left an inedible--"
"--indelible--"
"--mark on you? Well, you've left one on me, too."
"That isn't necessarily a good thing," Wednesday points out, but Enid disagrees:
"In this case, it is."
"How? Name one positive thing I've done for you." Wednesday's confident in the gauntlet she's thrown down, but to her surprise, Enid rises to the challenge:
"You inspired me to stop apologizing for being who I am," she readily supplies. "And you promised to avenge me if Ajax broke my heart," Enid continues before her roommate can protest. "And you wore the snood I made you, even though it wasn't your style. I can keep going," she offers, but Wednesday shakes her head.
"You'll recall I only asked you to name one thing."
"Yeah, well, your tendency to break the rules has rubbed off on me. What I'm trying to say," Enid goes on as Wednesday's face reddens, "is that you make me feel brave. And safe. And important. I know running headfirst into danger is kind of your thing, and I'm not asking you to stop, but can you at least try to be more careful? Or take me with you when you're putting your life on the line? Because you're important to me--whether you think you should be or not."
"Only if you promise to do the same," Wednesday counters, struggling to swallow a yawn as she burrows into the crook of Enid's neck. She's generally opposed to such intimate contact, but her frame is battered and weary, and this hollow is cozy and snug. "It's...unpleasant, thinking I might have lost you in that fight."
"Aw, Wends," Enid grins as she returns the sleepy cuddles in kind. "You do care."
"I do not," Wednesday drowsily grouses into her friend's shoulder. "I simply happen to be a creature of habit and routine. If you're going to force yourself into my life, the least you can do is stay in it."
"Yes, I had to twist your arm so hard." Enid calls her bluff immediately, pressing her warm forehead against Wednesday's cold one. "Methinks the raven doth protest too much."
"Perhaps, but I do prefer that nickname to Wends." The girl in question is about to close her eyes, but they fly open in the face of Enid's next words:
"Speaking of nicknames, you called me something earlier--lobita, I think? What does it mean?"
"It's Spanish," Wednesday replies, her cheeks burning as she waits for her roommate to drop the issue. Much to her dismay, she doesn't:
"I figured that," Enid laughs with a playful roll of her eyes. "But what does it mean?" Before Wednesday can make another attempt at deflection, Thing betrays her in a flurry of treasonous fingers:
It means "little wolf," he explains, pointedly ignoring the murderous look Wednesday is throwing his way. She'll have to re-negotiate the terms of his loyalty oath, especially in light of how Enid reacts:
"That. Is. So. Cute!"
"A slip of the tongue is what it was." Wednesday tries to remain blasé as her friend gushes and squeals, but Enid sees right through her facade:
"You are mellowing out! Oh, this is so exciting," she enthuses with a mile-wide smile. "We'll be braiding each other's hair and painting each other's nails before you know it."
"Take the win, Enid." Wednesday's directive is clipped and stern, but the corners of her mouth quirk up as she imagines what Enid describes. The idea of surrendering herself to someone else's hands used to be unthinkable. Now, as the last bits of near-death adrenaline bleed from her body, the notion of relaxing under a touch she trusts...well, it's not unwelcome. Wednesday has a reputation to maintain, though, so she brings the conversation to a close: "It's getting late--sweet dreams, Sinclair."
"Okay, okay," Enid relents before she turns out the light. "Awful nightmares, Addams."
With that, the room goes silent and still--except for Wednesday. Her heart thumps loudly in her chest as a grin splits her face, because finally, Enid is speaking her language. That's the only reason for her quickening pulse and pleased expression.
Or, Wednesday thinks as Enid's slumbering form snuggles closer, perhaps there's another explanation. She can research this further in the morning, though. For now, she's content to be smothered by Enid's dozy hospitality.
(So content, in fact, that she doesn't notice Thing capturing the moment with a polaroid--judging by the girls' untroubled snores, he thinks they'll appreciate it later).