Here's the wackiest and crackiest scene I made AI produce.
# Parent's Weekend: A Comedy of Terrors
## Part One: The Arrivals
Friday Afternoon - Nevermore Academy Gates
The Addams family hearse glided through the wrought-iron gates like a shadow given form. Its black exterior absorbed the autumn light, chrome fixtures polished to a mirror shine that reflected the Gothic spires of Nevermore with perfect clarity.
Morticia emerged first, unfolding from the vehicle with liquid grace. Her black dress seemed less worn than grown, flowing around her like smoke made fabric. Each movement was precise, deliberate, the walk of a woman who'd never hurried a day in her life and never needed to.
Gomez bounded out behind her, already animated, gesticulating at the architecture with the enthusiasm of a man reuniting with an old lover. "Cara mia! Look at those gargoyles! That stonework! The delicious decay in the east wing's foundation!"
"Indeed, mon cher," Morticia purred, her dark eyes sweeping the grounds with approval. "One can practically taste the history. And the arsenic in the groundwater."
Pugsley trudged after them, shoulders hunched, already looking for the nearest hiding spot. Thing scuttled along independently, pausing occasionally to make rude gestures at passing ravens.
"Ah, Nevermore!" Gomez declared, spreading his arms wide. "Just as magnificently dreary as I remember! The very air tastes of mystery and suppressed teenage angst!"
"The perfect environment for Wednesday," Morticia agreed, adjusting her already-perfect hair. "I do hope she's been thriving in such deliciously dark surroundings. Though I suspect if she weren't, we'd have heard about it. Probably from the authorities."
"Or the morgue," Gomez added cheerfully.
"Or both."
What they didn't know was that their daughter's thriving had taken a very specific—and very complicated—form.
A form that was about to collide with them in approximately ten minutes.
---
Ten Minutes Later
The Sinclair family minivan pulled up with considerably less dramatic flair—bright blue, slightly dusty from the drive, covered in an archaeological layer of bumper stickers documenting Enid's entire academic career. "My Child is an Honor Student at Nevermore Academy" competed for space with "Proud Pack Parent" and "Wolves Do It Better."
Esther Sinclair emerged like a general surveying a battlefield. She was all sharp angles and sharper eyes, the kind of woman who could organize a charity bake sale and a hostile corporate takeover with the same level of ruthless efficiency. Her pantsuit was aggressively professional. Her heels were weapons disguised as footwear.
Murray Sinclair followed, a study in contrasts—softer edges, gentler presence, but with the solid, immovable quality of bedrock. He was the dad who coached Little League and remembered everyone's birthdays, who gave the best advice and never raised his voice because he never needed to.
Three of Enid's brothers tumbled out after them like a litter of overgrown puppies, all shoulders and grins and the casual physical confidence of people who knew they could win most fights without trying.
But today, Murray Sinclair's kind eyes held something new: a dangerous glint that could have etched glass.
"Where is she?" Esther demanded, already scanning the grounds with tactical precision.
"Probably with her roommate," Murray said quietly, pulling out his phone to check for messages. "And possibly with... him."
The word 'him' carried enough weight to crack concrete.
They shared a look that contained entire conversations, the kind of married-for-decades communication that needed no words.
We need to talk to this boy.
Agreed.
No one hurts our daughter.
Absolutely not.
I'm thinking somewhere between stern conversation and FBI interrogation.
I'm thinking just past that.
One of the brothers cracked his knuckles experimentally. "Want me to—"
"No," both parents said in unison.
"But—"
"*No.*"
The brother subsided, disappointed.
---
Meanwhile, in the Headmistress's Office
Principal Weems was watching both arrivals through her window, a glass of wine already in hand despite it being barely past noon.
"It's going to be a long weekend," she muttered to herself, taking a substantial sip.
Her assistant knocked tentatively. "Principal Weems? The Addams family is requesting a campus tour, and the Sinclairs are asking about their daughter's current location, and there are already three separate noise complaints about—"
"Let me guess," Weems interrupted. "The Dimitrescu parents are arguing about something?"
"They're debating the proper pronunciation of 'croissant' in the parking lot. It's gotten heated."
Weems finished her wine. "It's one o'clock on a Friday afternoon."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Parents' Weekend has barely started."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm going to need another bottle, aren't I?"
"I took the liberty of placing three in your office refrigerator."
"You're getting a raise."
---
## Part Two: The Discovery
The Quad - 20 Minutes Later
Wednesday was conducting what she termed a "historical architecture tour" but what was actually a catalog of every mysterious death, unexplained disappearance, and architectural hazard on campus.
"This is where Edgar Dalton fell to his death in 1983," she intoned, pointing to a third-floor window with something approaching reverence. "Officially ruled an accident. Unofficially, his girlfriend was spotted cleaning blood off her shoes the next day. They never found enough evidence to prosecute. Tragic."
"Wonderful!" Gomez exclaimed, snapping a photo. "The craftsmanship on that window frame is exquisite!"
"And structurally unsound," Wednesday added with satisfaction. "It could give way at any moment."
Morticia smiled indulgently at her daughter, noting the subtle ways Wednesday had changed—the slight softening at the edges, the infinitesimal increase in animation when she spoke. Someone had been influencing her daughter. Multiple someones, if Morticia's maternal instincts were correct.
And Morticia's instincts were always correct.
Meanwhile, thirty feet away, Enid was conducting her own tour—decidedly more cheerful but no less intense.
"And this is where the Fall Fest happens! I helped with decorations last year—well, Wednesday says I 'perpetrated decorations' but she's dramatic—and this is where the Poe Cup teams meet, and oh! That's the cafeteria, they have taco Tuesday but honestly Wednesday and I usually—"
"Enid," Esther interrupted with the patience of someone who'd been listening to run-on sentences for seventeen years. "Breathe."
"Sorry!" Enid inhaled dramatically. "I'm just excited! You're finally here and I can show you everything and—"
"And you can introduce us to this boy you've been mentioning," Esther said, her tone suggesting this was not a request.
Enid's enthusiasm faltered. "About that—"
"Enid Sinclair." Esther's voice dropped into what her children privately called the Alpha Register. "We've been patient. We've been understanding. We've listened to you talk about this Gabriel person for weeks. Now we'd like to meet him."
"Of course! Absolutely! I just—" Enid spotted something over her mother's shoulder and her eyes went wide. "Oh no."
"'Oh no' what?"
"We might be meeting him sooner than I planned."
---
And then both groups turned a corner and saw:
Gabriel.
He sat alone on a stone bench beneath an ancient oak, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, earbuds in, reading what appeared to be a leather-bound text with careful precision. His posture was impeccable—back straight, shoulders squared, the bearing of someone who'd been taught that how you sat said as much as what you said.
Even sitting still, even apparently relaxed, there was something about him that drew the eye. A coiled quality. Potential energy waiting for direction.
Morticia noticed it immediately. Esther noticed it immediately.
And neither liked it.
"Oh!" Enid said with forced brightness, already moving to intercept. "Mom, Dad, there's someone I want you to—"
"Wednesday," Morticia interrupted, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Is that the young man you've been spending time with?"
Wednesday's expression didn't change, but her shoulders tensed infinitesimally. "Yes."
"Interesting," Morticia purred, her voice dropping into that register she usually reserved for analyzing particularly fascinating specimens of poisonous flora. "Very... intense energy he has. Contained, but intense. Like a bomb that's chosen not to explode. Yet."
Gomez was already moving toward Gabriel with his characteristic enthusiasm, mustache practically vibrating with paternal interest. "Young man! Gomez Addams! Father of the incomparable Wednesday! I understand you've been keeping company with my darling daughter—"
"MOM, DAD, WAIT—" Enid was frantically trying to intercept, waving her arms like an air traffic controller preventing a crash. "This isn't a good time, we should maybe get coffee first, establish some ground rules—"
But Esther was already moving with the focused intensity of a wolf who'd spotted prey. "That's the Beoulve heir," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. "Enid Sinclair, is that the boy you've been—"
Both families converged on Gabriel simultaneously.
Gabriel, whose enhanced senses had picked up the approaching storm approximately thirty seconds ago, had already pocketed his earbuds and dog-eared his page. He stood as they approached, his movement fluid and controlled, the book tucked under one arm.
His posture shifted automatically into something more formal—the heir of an old family recognizing important social interaction. Shoulders back. Chin level. Hands visible and non-threatening. Every inch the polite, well-bred young man.
The sunglasses came off, revealing amber eyes that moved between both groups with careful assessment.
"Mr. and Mrs. Addams," he said with a precise nod, his voice calm and measured. Then, turning, "Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. It's a pleasure to—"
"You're dating my daughter," Gomez said. It wasn't a question. His usual enthusiasm had been replaced with something more focused. More paternal. More dangerous.
"And MY daughter," Esther added sharply, stepping forward. "My daughter. Enid. The sweet one."
Silence fell like a guillotine blade.
Gabriel's expression remained carefully neutral, but Wednesday could see the subtle signs of stress—the slight tension in his shoulders, the infinitesimal tightening around his eyes, the way his breathing had gone shallow and controlled.
Oh no, both girls thought simultaneously, in stereo.
---
The Realization
Morticia's eyes narrowed with predatory interest, her head tilting slightly as she studied Gabriel with the focused attention of an apex predator. "How fascinating. You're courting both girls?"
"It's complicated—" Gabriel started, but Esther cut him off.
"I'll say it's complicated," she interrupted, her voice rising. "My daughter is dating the heir to one of the most dangerous werewolf bloodlines in existence, and you're ALSO dating another girl? At the same time? As in, currently, simultaneously?"
"To be fair," Wednesday interjected, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who'd faced down considerably more threatening things than parents, "Enid and I are both participating willingly in this arrangement. With full knowledge and explicit consent."
"Wednesday Cara Addams," Morticia's voice was sharp enough to perform surgery. "You will explain. Now. In complete sentences."
One of Enid's brothers leaned toward another and whispered, "Is this real? Is this actually happening?"
"Shut up and watch," the other whispered back. "This is better than TV."
Murray Sinclair, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. His voice was soft but carried weight—the kind of quiet that made people stop talking and listen. "I think we all need to have a conversation. Don't you, Mr. Beoulve?"
The way he said it—gentle, reasonable, but with an undercurrent of absolute steel—made every survival instinct Gabriel possessed scream danger.
This was worse than facing down aggressive vampires. This was worse than full moon transformations. This was worse than anything the Academy had thrown at him.
Because these were people who loved Wednesday and Enid, and love made people terrifying.
"Of course, sir," Gabriel said carefully, his voice steady despite his racing heart.
"Excellent." Esther's smile was all teeth and no warmth. "I believe we should find somewhere... private. Somewhere we can have a proper conversation. About expectations. And consequences."
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
"The conference room in the administrative building should be available," Morticia suggested, her voice pleasant in the way that poisoned honey was pleasant. "It has excellent acoustics. No one will hear us."
"Perfect," Esther agreed.
Gomez clapped his hands together. "A proper family interrogation! How delightfully traditional!"
"Gomez," Morticia warned.
"What? It is!"
Gabriel stood very still, clearly calculating his options and finding them all terrible. "Shall we go now?"
"Oh yes," Esther said. "Let's."
---
## Part Three: The Interrogation Setup
A Private Conference Room - 30 Minutes Later
Through a combination of Morticia's intimidating presence (she'd simply walked into the administrative building and commandeered the space), Esther's organizational tyranny (she'd produced a schedule and room requirements from her purse), and both families' complete unwillingness to take no for an answer, they'd secured the largest conference room on campus.
The room was windowless, which felt appropriate. There was a long table, several chairs, and absolutely no escape routes.
Gabriel sat in a chair that felt remarkably like an interrogation seat. Because that's exactly what it was. Someone—probably Esther—had positioned it for maximum psychological discomfort: centered in the room, facing everyone, with bright overhead lighting that made him feel like he was in a police procedural.
On one side of the room: Morticia and Gomez Addams. Morticia lounged in her chair like a queen on a throne, all elegant danger and dark beauty. She'd crossed her legs and steepled her fingers, a posture that suggested she was simultaneously relaxed and ready to strike. Gomez sat beside her, practically vibrating with paternal intensity, his enthusiasm now channeled into something more focused and infinitely more dangerous.
On the other side: Esther and Murray Sinclair. Esther looked like she was preparing for war, her briefcase open beside her with what appeared to be actual notes. Murray looked quiet, supportive, and absolutely terrifying in his calm—the eye of a hurricane, still and peaceful while destruction waited at the edges.
Enid's brothers had been stationed outside the door. "To keep guard," Esther had said. "To make sure we're not interrupted."
Translation: to make sure Gabriel didn't run.
At the back of the room, forcibly seated in chairs that had been turned to face forward, forbidden from intervening: Wednesday and Enid.
"This is ridiculous," Wednesday muttered, her voice low and furious. "We're not children. This is infantilizing."
"This is a NIGHTMARE," Enid whispered back, her usual cheerfulness completely absent. "My mom looks like she's going to dissect him. With her eyes. And maybe also literally."
"My father looks like he's going to enthusiastically experiment with medieval torture techniques."
"Your dad looks EXCITED about this."
"He is. He loves family drama. The more complicated and gothic, the better. Last month he spent three hours describing his favorite interrogation scenes from film noir."
"That's not comforting, Wednesday."
"It wasn't meant to be."
At the front of the room, the two sets of parents were conducting a whispered argument about procedure.
"We arrived first," Gomez insisted, leaning toward Esther. "That gives us priority questioning rights. It's traditional."
"Our daughter is the vulnerable one here," Esther countered, her voice sharp. "She's a late bloomer. She was bullied for years. She's emotionally sensitive and trusting. She needs more protection."
"Wednesday has never been emotionally vulnerable in her life and you know it. She's probably been analyzing this relationship with spreadsheets and threat assessments—"
"EXCUSE ME—"
"Ladies, gentlemen," Murray's quiet voice cut through the rising argument like a knife through butter. "Perhaps we should question him together? We're all here for the same reason."
Everyone turned to look at him.
Murray's expression was pleasant, reasonable, and somehow more threatening than all of them combined. He had the look of a man who rarely got angry but, when he did, the world should take notice.
"After all," he continued softly, his voice carrying a weight that belied its volume, "we all want to ensure this young man understands the... significance... of his relationship with our daughters. The responsibility. The expectations. And the consequences of failing to meet them."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Gabriel, sitting alone in his chair, resisted the urge to check if his breath had become visible.
"An excellent suggestion," Morticia purred, her smile sharp as a razor. "Unified front. How delightfully intimidating. Like a pack hunting together. How appropriate."
"Then we're agreed," Esther said, pulling out an actual notepad and pen. "Joint interrogation. We take turns. No one hogs the questioning. And we don't stop until we're satisfied."
"Or until he breaks," Gomez added cheerfully.
"Gomez!"
"What? I'm just being honest!"
Gabriel, who had been sitting in increasingly tense silence, finally spoke. His voice was steady, controlled, giving away nothing. "With respect, I feel I should mention that my parents are not in attendance this weekend. They... don't do parent events. Or most events. Or most parenting, if we're being honest."
The room went very quiet.
"How convenient for them," Esther said coldly. "And how unfortunate for you. I'm sure they're delightful people."
"They're not," Gabriel said bluntly. "But they're my parents."
"Indeed," Morticia added, her voice dripping with something that might have been sympathy if she were capable of such pedestrian emotions. "It means you'll have to face us without parental backup. You have my condolences. We can be quite... intense... when our children's wellbeing is concerned."
"I've noticed," Gabriel said dryly.
At the back of the room, Enid grabbed Wednesday's hand so hard her knuckles went white. "We have to stop this."
"How? They've literally blocked the door. Your brothers are outside. We're trapped."
"I don't know! You're the smart one! You always have a plan!"
"This is a psychological warfare situation," Wednesday said, her voice clinical despite the obvious tension. "I'm observing data. Studying tactics. This is actually quite fascinating from an anthropological perspective—"
"WEDNESDAY."
"What? It's true. I've never seen my mother in full interrogation mode. She's usually more subtle. This is remarkably direct for her."
"This is not the time for FASCINATION—"
"Ladies," Gomez called back to them, not turning around. "Please. The adults are talking. You'll have your chance to contribute later."
Both girls fell silent.
But their expressions promised revenge. Elaborate, creative revenge.
The kind of revenge that would be discussed in hushed whispers for years.
---
## Part Four: The Interrogation Begins
Round One: Basic Information
Gomez leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with intense interest. "So, Mr. Beoulve. Tell us about yourself. Family history, lineage, bloodline, that sort of thing. We Addamses appreciate a good family tree. Preferably one with some twisted branches and dark roots."
Gabriel's posture was rigidly formal, every muscle controlled. "The Beoulve family is one of the oldest werewolf bloodlines. We trace our ancestry back to the early medieval period, with documented records dating to—"
"Yes, yes, very impressive," Esther interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Ancient family, powerful magic, blah blah blah. What we want to know is why the heir to such a 'distinguished' family has a reputation for putting students in the hospital."
Gabriel's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "That was a misunderstanding of the situation—"
"Was it?" Murray's quiet voice cut through. He hadn't moved, hadn't changed expression, but suddenly his presence filled the room. "Because we heard it was three vampire students. Hospitalized. Seriously injured. One of them still has scars."
"They were bullying another student. A freshman who couldn't defend himself."
"And you thought violence was appropriate? The best solution?"
"I thought protecting someone weaker was appropriate. The violence was simply the means to that end."
Morticia's eyebrow raised with interest. "Protective instincts. Interesting. Strong protective instincts often indicate pack bonding behavior. And do you feel protective of our daughters, Mr. Beoulve?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No qualification.
"Even though one of them is Wednesday Addams," Gomez asked, leaning back with a slight smile, "who could probably eviscerate you with words alone and has been known to defend herself with alarming efficiency?"
"Especially because of that."
Despite herself, Morticia's lips curved slightly. "Clever answer. But is it honest?"
"Wednesday doesn't need protection from external threats," Gabriel said carefully. "She's more than capable of handling herself. But everyone needs someone who has their back. Someone who stands with them, not in front of them. That's what I try to be."
Silence.
"That's actually quite insightful," Murray said quietly. "Did someone teach you that, or did you figure it out yourself?"
"Figured it out. Usually the hard way."
---
Round Two: The Relationship
Esther set down her pen and fixed Gabriel with a stare that could have melted steel. "Let's address the elephant in the room. You're dating both our daughters. Simultaneously. Romantically. Explain."
Gabriel took a careful breath, clearly choosing his words with precision. "It wasn't planned. It wasn't something any of us were looking for. It developed organically over several months. Both Wednesday and Enid are fully aware of the situation. Both are comfortable with the arrangement. Both chose this."
"'Comfortable with it,'" Esther repeated flatly, her voice dripping with skepticism. "My daughter—my sweet, optimistic, emotionally open daughter—is sharing her boyfriend and she's 'comfortable with it?'"
"I didn't ask to be shared," Gabriel said carefully. "If anything, the situation is reversed. They chose this arrangement. Together. I was... consulted... but the decision was ultimately theirs."
"Because you're so irresistible?" Esther's voice dripped sarcasm thick enough to bottle. "So special that two girls just decided to split you down the middle?"
"Because they're best friends who refuse to make each other choose," Gabriel said quietly, his voice carrying more emotion than he'd shown so far. "And because they're both extraordinary people who somehow decided I was worth the complexity. I don't understand it either, Mrs. Sinclair. But I'm not going to question it."
Silence fell.
Gomez cleared his throat. "That's actually quite romantic. In a polygamous, modern, very complicated sort of way. Like a gothic Victorian novel but with better communication."
"Gomez," Morticia warned, her voice sharp.
"What? It is! It's very—"
"Not. Helping."
Murray leaned forward, his calm demeanor somehow making the gesture more threatening. "Mr. Beoulve, my daughter is a gentle soul. She sees the best in people. She's trusting, optimistic, and kind to a fault. If you hurt her—if you take advantage of that kindness—"
"I won't."
"You can't promise that. No one can."
"No," Gabriel agreed, meeting Murray's eyes steadily. "But I can promise to try my absolute hardest not to. And if I do hurt her—when I inevitably do, because no one's perfect—it will destroy me more than anything you could do to me."
Murray studied him for a long moment. "You love her."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Gabriel said simply.
"And Wednesday?" Morticia asked, her dark eyes intense and unblinking.
"Yes."
"Both of them?"
"Both of them."
"Equally?"
Gabriel paused, clearly thinking. "Differently. But equally important. Wednesday challenges me intellectually, keeps me sharp, refuses to let me wallow in self-pity. Enid reminds me I'm human, that I can be soft, that being vulnerable isn't the same as being weak. I need both of them. For different reasons. But I need both."
Gomez stood up abruptly, his enthusiasm breaking through his paternal sternness. "This is magnificent! A grand romance! Star-crossed lovers navigating uncharted emotional territory! It's like Romeo and Juliet but with better communication and no one dies!"
"Gomez, sit down," Morticia said, her voice carrying unmistakable command. "We're not done."
"But cara mia, it's so beautifully complicated—"
"**Sit.**"
Gomez sat immediately, properly chastised.
---
NEW SECTION: The Marriage Talk
Esther and Morticia exchanged a glance—one of those loaded looks that communicated volumes.
"Since we're discussing the future," Esther began, her voice taking on a deceptively casual tone that made Gabriel's survival instincts scream, "let's talk about long-term expectations."
"Long-term?" Gabriel repeated carefully.
"Hypothetically speaking, of course," Morticia added, examining her nails with studied indifference. "Should this... arrangement... continue beyond your time at Nevermore, what would that look like?"
Gomez perked up immediately. "Oh! Are we discussing marriage? How delightful! Though I suppose it would be marriages, plural, wouldn't it? Does the traditional ceremony adapt for such situations? The logistics alone are fascinating!"
"Gomez," both Morticia and Esther said simultaneously.
He subsided, but his eyes remained bright with interest.
Murray cleared his throat. "What my wife is asking, in her own way, is whether you've considered what this means beyond high school romance. Because our daughters deserve commitment. Stability. A future."
Gabriel sat very still, clearly understanding he was navigating a minefield. "With respect, we're seventeen. We haven't discussed marriage."
"But you've thought about it," Morticia pressed, her voice silk over steel. "Haven't you?"
A long pause.
"Yes," Gabriel admitted quietly.
Esther leaned forward. "And?"
"And it's... complicated. Legally, socially, within supernatural community customs. Werewolf packs traditionally recognize monogamous pairings. The Addams family has its own... unique traditions. I don't know how it would work. But—" He stopped himself.
"But?" Murray prompted gently.
Gabriel's carefully maintained facade cracked slightly. "But I'd figure it out. If they wanted it. If they'd have me. I'd find a way to make it work, legal complications and social conventions be damned."
The room went very quiet.
"That's actually quite romantic," Gomez whispered to Morticia. "Did you hear that? 'Damn the conventions!' Very passionate!"
"I heard it, darling," Morticia murmured back, though her expression had softened microscopically.
Esther wasn't done. "And children? Hypothetically?"
"MOTHER!" Enid's voice carried from the back of the room, strangled with mortification.
"We're being thorough," Esther said without turning around. "Mr. Beoulve?"
Gabriel's face had gone slightly red—the first crack in his composure. "I... that's... we haven't..."
"How many grandchildren should we expect?" Gomez asked cheerfully, completely oblivious to Gabriel's discomfort. "I'm hoping for at least three! Maybe four! A nice round number for family gatherings!"
"We'd need sufficient space," Morticia mused, as if genuinely considering logistics. "The Addams estate could certainly accommodate. Though I suppose they'd spend time with the Sinclair pack as well."
"Obviously," Esther agreed. "Balanced time with both families. Important for pack bonding and Addams cultural education."
"Do you think they'd inherit Wednesday's analytical brilliance or Enid's emotional intelligence?" Gomez continued, fully committed to this hypothetical future. "Or both? Imagine—children with Wednesday's investigative skills and Enid's social graces! They'd be unstoppable!"
"They'd probably inherit the werewolf gene," Murray added, his quiet voice cutting through the enthusiasm. "Which means full moons. Transformations. The same challenges Gabriel faces."
The temperature in the room shifted.
"Unless," Morticia said slowly, "Wednesday's research succeeds. In which case, perhaps those children wouldn't suffer the same way. Perhaps they'd have options their father never had."
Gabriel was staring at them all like they'd lost their minds. Which, to be fair, they might have.
"You're discussing theoretical grandchildren," he said finally, his voice careful. "Children that may never exist. From relationships that might not last. Based on a situation that's already unconventional beyond—"
"We're parents," Esther interrupted. "Planning for unlikely scenarios is what we do. It's in the job description. Right next to 'embarrass your children at every opportunity' and 'meet their significant others with suspicion and tactical questioning.'"
"We're also establishing expectations," Morticia added. "If you're courting both our daughters—if they've chosen you—then you're not just dating them. You're potentially joining two families. Becoming part of two legacies. That comes with responsibilities."
"And traditions," Gomez chimed in. "Don't forget traditions! The Addams have excellent traditions! Some involving swords! Most involving property rights and creative estate planning!"
"The Sinclair pack has its own customs," Murray said. "Pack integration ceremonies. Territory rights. The claiming ritual."
"The WHAT?" This came from both girls in the back, speaking in unison.
"Nothing you need to worry about yet," Esther said firmly. "We're speaking hypothetically."
"You're speaking INSANELY," Wednesday countered, standing up despite earlier instructions to stay seated. "This is absurd. We're teenagers. This conversation is premature by at least five to seven years."
"We're being proactive," Morticia replied calmly. "It's called planning ahead, Wednesday. Something you usually excel at. I'm surprised you haven't run your own probability analyses."
The slight flush on Wednesday's face suggested she absolutely had run probability analyses.
Multiple analyses.
With charts.
"This is my personal nightmare," Wednesday muttered, sitting back down.
"No," Enid corrected, also standing. "This is BOTH of our personal nightmares. Combined. Our parents are planning our hypothetical wedding—weddings?—and discussing theoretical grandchildren while Gabriel sits there looking like he's being tortured."
"I am being tortured," Gabriel confirmed. "This is definitely torture."
"Effective torture," Morticia acknowledged with something approaching pride. "If we're going to interrogate, we interrogate thoroughly."
"I want to go on record," Gabriel said, his voice strained but steady, "as saying that I have no specific timeline for marriage, no detailed plans for children, and no idea how to navigate the legal and social complexities of this situation. But I also want to be clear that I'm not running. I'm not scared of commitment or responsibility or complicated family dynamics."
He paused, meeting each parent's eyes in turn.
"I'm scared of disappointing them," he continued quietly, gesturing to Wednesday and Enid. "Of not being worthy of what they're offering. Of failing to live up to the faith they've placed in me. But I'm not scared of building a future with them, however complicated that future might be. Even if it means figuring out things that have no precedent. Even if it means creating new traditions instead of following old ones."
Another pause.
"So if you're asking whether I'm serious about them—about this—the answer is yes. If you're asking whether I've considered the long-term implications, the answer is yes. And if you're asking whether I'm committed to making this work despite every obstacle, despite everyone who thinks it's impossible, despite the fact that I don't have all the answers yet—the answer is absolutely yes."
The silence that followed was profound.
Gomez was practically vibrating with emotion. "Tish, I think he just proposed. To both of them. Without actually proposing. It was the most romantically evasive marriage-non-declaration I've ever witnessed."
"I noticed," Morticia said, her voice carrying unmistakable approval.
Esther was studying Gabriel with new intensity. "That was... actually quite good. Surprisingly mature. Unexpectedly self-aware."
"Thank you?" Gabriel said uncertainly.
"Don't thank her yet," Murray warned. "You haven't survived the full moon discussion."
---
Round Three: The Full Moon
Esther's expression had been hardening throughout the conversation. Now it turned to stone. "We've heard rumors," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "About your... transformations. About what you become."
Gabriel went very still, every muscle in his body tensing.
"We've heard," she continued, each word precise and cutting, "that even your own family is afraid of you. That you're different from other werewolves. That your transformations are violent and uncontrollable. That you're dangerous."
"I am dangerous," Gabriel said flatly, no inflection, just fact. "During the full moon, I have no control. I transform completely and operate on pure predatory instinct. I have no human consciousness, no rational thought, no recognition of friend or foe. That's why I'm restrained."
"Restrained?" Murray's voice was sharp with concern. "How?"
Gabriel hesitated. Then, clearly deciding honesty was the only option: "Chains. Heavy chains reinforced with silver inlay. Attached to a containment room with six-inch steel-reinforced walls. Wolfsbane injections as emergency backup if the chains fail. Which they sometimes do."
The silence was deafening.
"You're CHAINED?" Esther's voice rose. "Like an animal?"
"Like a danger to others," Gabriel corrected, his voice still flat. "Because that's what I become. An animal. A predator. Something that would kill anyone it encountered without hesitation or remorse. So yes. I'm chained."
"And our daughters know about this?" Morticia asked, her voice carefully controlled.
"They've witnessed it. Multiple times."
"They've WHAT?"
At the back of the room, Wednesday and Enid had gone very pale.
"We didn't tell you," Wednesday said, her voice cutting through the shock, "because we knew you'd react exactly like this. With panic instead of reason."
"Of course we're reacting like this!" Esther stood, her chair scraping back. "You've been watching this boy transform into something so dangerous he has to be chained like a rabid dog, and you didn't think to MENTION it?"
"It's under control—" Enid started, but her mother cut her off.
"It's clearly NOT under control if he needs to be RESTRAINED with SILVER and WOLFSBANE!"
"Mrs. Sinclair," Gabriel's voice cut through, steady and calm despite the chaos. "Your daughter and Wednesday have been helping me. Wednesday is researching alternatives to the current restraint system. Enid provides emotional support and monitors my vital signs. They're both completely safe during the process. They observe from a secured room with reinforced glass. They've never been in danger."
"How noble," Esther said coldly, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "They get to watch you suffer once a month. They get front-row seats to your torture. What a healthy, functional relationship dynamic."
"It's not like that—"
"Then what IS it like?"
Gabriel looked directly at her, and for the first time, his carefully controlled facade cracked. His voice came out raw, honest, completely vulnerable.
"It's me being less alone than I've been in years. It's them choosing to stay when everyone else runs. When everyone else looks at me with fear or pity or disgust. It's the first time since I was thirteen years old that I've had hope that maybe, someday, this curse won't control my entire life."
He paused, swallowed hard.
"They save me," he said quietly. "Every full moon. Every day. They save me from becoming the monster everyone thinks I already am. They look at my worst nightmare and choose to witness it instead of running. They make me believe I might be more than what I become three nights a month."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Gomez had tears in his eyes. "Cara mia," he whispered to Morticia. "That's the most tragic thing I've ever heard. And I once watched a documentary about extinct species."
"I know, darling," Morticia murmured back, her own expression uncharacteristically soft.
Murray's jaw was tight. "And your family? Your parents? They're aware of this situation and they've done... what, exactly? Sent chains?"
"And money," Gabriel said flatly. "Generous amounts of money. To keep me comfortable in my containment. To ensure I have everything I need to stay... managed."
"But they don't visit," Esther said, her anger shifting targets. "They don't help. They don't participate in finding solutions."
"No."
"They've abandoned you to suffer alone."
"Yes."
"That's unacceptable," Murray said quietly, and there was something dangerous in his voice. Something that made even Gabriel pause. "Pack doesn't abandon pack. Family doesn't abandon family. What they've done—what they're doing—is a betrayal of the most fundamental bonds."
"It's their choice," Gabriel said carefully.
"It's the wrong choice," Murray countered. "And it's cruel. And if I ever meet them, they'll be having a very unpleasant conversation about pack law and parental responsibility."
Esther was pacing again, her heels clicking sharply. "How long?" she demanded. "How long have you been doing this alone?"
"Four years. Since I was thirteen and the transformations started becoming... problematic."
"Thirteen," Morticia repeated, her voice cold with fury. "You've been enduring this since you were thirteen years old. A child. Alone."
"I'm not alone anymore," Gabriel said quietly, glancing back at Wednesday and Enid.
"No," Morticia agreed, following his gaze. "You're not. Because my daughter is brilliant and stubborn and refuses to accept 'impossible' as an answer. And because Enid has more courage and compassion than anyone I've ever met. They've adopted you, whether you realize it or not. You're theirs now."
"And that means," Esther added, her voice still sharp but the anger redirected, "you're ours too. Provisionally. On probation. But ours."
Gabriel stared at them, clearly not comprehending.
"She means," Murray said gently, "that you're not going through this alone anymore. You have them—" he gestured to Wednesday and Enid, "—and you have us. Whether you like it or not."
"I..." Gabriel's voice caught. "I don't understand."
"It's quite simple," Morticia said, as if explaining something obvious. "Wednesday has claimed you. In her own way. And Enid has done the same. Which means both families have a vested interest in your wellbeing, your safety, and your success. You're part of our circles now."
"But I'm—"
"A werewolf with a difficult curse and absent parents?" Gomez finished. "So? We're Addamses. We excel at the macabre, the unusual, and the delightfully complicated. You fit right in!"
"And werewolves are pack animals," Esther added. "Which means you need pack. You need family. You need people who show up. We show up, Mr. Beoulve. It's what we do."
Gabriel looked around the room—at these four parents who had every reason to reject him, to forbid their daughters from seeing him, to cut ties completely. But instead, they were...
Adopting him.
Including him.
Claiming him as one of their own.
The emotion that hit him was so sudden and overwhelming he almost couldn't breathe. Years of isolation, of managing alone, of being the family embarrassment that no one wanted to deal with—and these people, these relative strangers, were offering what his own parents never had.
Belonging.
"I don't know what to say," he managed, his voice rough.
"Say you'll let us help," Murray said simply. "Say you'll stop carrying this alone. Say you'll trust us the way our daughters trust you."
"I—" Gabriel stopped, tried again. "Yes. I will. Thank you."
"Good," Esther said briskly, as if settling a business matter. "Then we need to discuss the current restraint system. Because what you've described sounds medieval and barbaric, and we're going to find something better."
"Wednesday is already researching—"
"And she'll have help now," Morticia interrupted. "The Addams family has extensive archives on supernatural afflictions. Some dating back centuries. I'll have them shipped here."
"The Sinclair pack has its own historical records," Murray added. "Including several documented cases of werewolves who achieved partial control through various methods. I'll reach out to our pack elders."
"We'll coordinate with Wednesday's research," Esther said, already making notes. "Provide resources, consultation, historical precedent. Between the Addams archives, the Sinclair pack knowledge, and Wednesday's analytical brilliance, we should be able to develop something more humane than chains and wolfsbane."
Gabriel was staring at them with something approaching wonder. "You're... you're going to help?"
"Of course we are," Gomez said, as if this were obvious. "You're family now! Well, potentially family. Future family. Provisional family. The point is, we take care of our own!"
"Even me?"
"Especially you," Morticia said firmly. "You're courting both our daughters, which makes you doubly our responsibility. And Addamses take their responsibilities very seriously."
"As do Sinclairs," Murray added. "You're pack now, Gabriel. Even if it's not official yet. Even if it's conditional. You're ours."
At the back of the room, Enid had started crying. Happy tears, streaming down her face as she clutched Wednesday's hand.
Wednesday's expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes were suspiciously bright. "This is acceptable," she said, her voice not quite steady. "Your response is... adequate."
"You're crying, aren't you?" Enid whispered.
"I am not."
"You are. Your eyes are wet."
"It's dusty in here."
"There's no dust. You're having feelings."
"I'm having allergies."
"To emotions."
"Precisely."
Despite everything, Gabriel almost laughed. Because this—this chaos, this overwhelming acceptance, this bizarre combination of interrogation and adoption—was the most family he'd felt in four years.
And it was terrifying and wonderful and completely unexpected.
---
## Part Five: The Turning Point
Morticia was studying Gabriel with new intensity, her head tilted slightly, her dark eyes seeing everything.
"This vulnerability," she said slowly, each word measured. "This honesty. You're not performing for us, are you? This isn't a calculated appeal to our emotions. This is genuine."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And you're truly allowing Wednesday to research solutions? To help you? Even though it means exposing your weakness?"
"She's brilliant," Gabriel said simply. "Possibly the most brilliant person I've ever met. If anyone can find a better way, a more humane solution, it's her. I'd be a fool not to accept her help. And whatever else I am, I try not to be a fool."
"Flattery is a cheap trick, Mr. Beoulve."
"It's not flattery if it's objectively true. Wednesday's research is thorough, her methodology is sound, and she's already identified three potential therapeutic approaches that no one else has considered. She's extraordinary."
Morticia smiled. Actually smiled—a small, genuine expression of amusement. "I'm beginning to understand my daughter's interest. You're damaged but self-aware. Dangerous but controlled. In need of help but not helpless. It's very... Addams of you."
Gomez was practically bouncing in his seat. "Cara mia! He loves them! This is a genuine gothic romance! Look at how he talks about them!"
"Gomez—"
"No, no, listen! He's not making excuses or justifications. He's being honest about his flaws. That's very mature! Very grown-up! I like him!"
"It's still a CONCERNING SITUATION," Esther interjected, but her voice had lost some of its edge. "My daughter is involved with someone who literally has to be chained up once a month. Someone whose own family won't even visit. Someone who's admittedly dangerous."
"Your daughter," Gabriel said carefully, turning to face her fully, "is the bravest person I've ever met. She looks at my worst nightmare and chooses to stay. She offers comfort when I deserve condemnation. She believes in me when I have every reason not to believe in myself. She sees something in me that I can't see."
He paused, then continued more softly.
"And with respect, Mrs. Sinclair, Enid doesn't need your permission to make her own choices anymore. She's not a child. She's not your little girl who needs protecting from the world. She's extraordinary. She's strong. She's capable. And she's chosen this. Chosen me. Chosen us. I understand that's difficult for you. But she's made her choice."
"Us," Murray repeated quietly, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "Meaning you and Wednesday."
"Yes."
"And you expect us to be comfortable with this arrangement? To smile and nod and pretend this is all perfectly normal?"
"No," Gabriel said honestly. "I expect you to be concerned. Protective. Angry, even. I'd be worried if you weren't. But I hope you'll trust your daughters' judgment. They're both smart enough and strong enough to make their own choices. Even choices you don't understand."
Esther was quiet for a long moment, studying him. Then she asked, very softly, "Do you love my daughter?"
"Yes."
"And you'll protect her? Even from yourself if necessary?"
"Especially from myself. That's why the restraints exist. That's why I accept the chains and the containment and the wolfsbane. Because I won't risk hurting her. Ever."
"And if you fail? If something goes wrong?"
"Then I'll accept whatever consequences come. Whatever punishment you deem appropriate. Whatever the pack demands. Because she's worth more than my pride or my comfort or my life."
Murray stood slowly, crossed to Gabriel, and extended his hand. "You mean that."
"Every word, sir."
They shook, and Murray's grip was firm, testing, assessing. Then he pulled Gabriel into a brief, back-pounding hug that nearly knocked the wind out of him.
"Welcome to the pack," Murray said quietly. "Provisional membership. We'll be watching. But welcome."
Gabriel, who'd been prepared for rejection, for demands to stay away, for threats and ultimatums—Gabriel, who'd never expected acceptance—could only nod.
---
The Back of the Room
Wednesday and Enid were still holding hands, gripping so tightly their fingers had gone numb.
"Did your dad just... hug him?" Wednesday asked, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
"Pack acceptance," Enid whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's official. Provisional, but official. Gabriel's pack now."
"Your mother's taking notes again."
"She's probably planning the integration ceremony. And the territory agreements. And the visiting schedule. And knowing her, she's already mentally rearranging holidays to accommodate three families instead of two."
"My mother is smiling," Wednesday observed. "Genuinely smiling. Not her 'I'm about to commit murder' smile or her 'this plant is poisonous' smile. An actual pleased smile."
"Is that bad?"
"I don't know. I've never seen it before in this context. I'm... unsettled."
"But in a good way?"
Wednesday considered. "Perhaps. Yes. In a good way."
Enid squeezed her hand. "They like him."
"Against all odds and common sense, yes. They appear to."
"Are you okay with that?"
"Am I okay with our parents adopting my boyfriend—our boyfriend—and discussing theoretical grandchildren and planning integration ceremonies?" Wednesday's voice was dry. "I'm having complex feelings about it. Which is unusual for me. I typically have simple feelings. Like 'I want to dissect this' or 'this displeases me' or 'this is adequately acceptable.'"
"Complex feelings are good," Enid said gently. "It means you care."
"I've always cared. I simply didn't want to admit to caring because caring is vulnerable and vulnerability is—"
"Human?"
"Inconvenient."
"Same thing."
"Not at all the same thing."
Despite the words, Wednesday's voice was soft. And her hand never loosened its grip on Enid's.
---
Back to the Interrogation
Morticia approached next, Gomez trailing behind her like an excited puppy.
"Mr. Beoulve," she said formally, her voice carrying that cultured, precise diction that made everything sound either profound or threatening or both.
"Mrs. Addams."
"I want you to know that I don't give my approval lightly. Wednesday is... precious to us. Even if she'd skin me alive for saying so in such pedestrian terms."
From the back of the room: "I would."
Morticia ignored her. "My daughter has never been easy. She's difficult, particular, often unpleasant. She judges people harshly and finds most of humanity disappointing. For her to find not one but two people she genuinely cares about is... unprecedented."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Morticia's eyes were dark and intense, boring into him. "Because if you hurt her—if you betray her trust or take advantage of her affection or make her regret being vulnerable—there will be consequences. Addams consequences. Which are far more creative and permanent than normal consequences."
"I wouldn't expect anything less, ma'am."
"Good." Then, surprisingly, Morticia's expression softened microscopically. "However, I believe you genuinely care for her. And for Enid. I see it in how you speak about them. How you're willing to expose your vulnerabilities to defend them. That's... acceptable. Unusual, unconventional, and liable to end in spectacular drama, but acceptable."
Gomez could no longer contain himself. He bounded forward and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder with alarming enthusiasm. "Welcome to the family, my boy! Well, families, plural! This is so delightfully complicated! Like a Jane Austen novel crossed with a horror film! I love it!"
"Gomez," Morticia warned, but there was affection in her voice.
"What? It is! It's romantic! It's dramatic! It's exactly the sort of thing I would have done at his age if you hadn't stolen my heart completely and irrevocably!"
"I didn't steal it. You gave it to me. Repeatedly. At inappropriate times."
"Because you're irresistible, cara mia!"
"Focus, darling."
Gomez turned back to Gabriel, his enthusiasm dimmed but not extinguished. "You take care of our Wednesday, yes? And let her take care of you? Because she needs to feel useful, you know. Needs a project. You're a very good project."
"I'll do my best, sir."
"And you'll write to us? Keep us informed? I want to hear all about this research Wednesday's doing. And the transformations. And the relationship dynamics. It's all so fascinating!"
"Gomez, you're overwhelming him."
"Am I?" Gomez looked at Gabriel. "Am I overwhelming you?"
"A little, sir."
"Wonderful! That means you're being honest! I like him, Tish. Can we keep him?"
"He's not a pet, darling."
"No, but he could be family! Eventually! If things work out! Which they will because this is clearly destiny!"
Morticia sighed the sigh of a woman who'd been dealing with her husband's enthusiasm for decades. "Yes, dear. Clearly destiny. Now can we let the boy breathe?"
"Of course!" Gomez stepped back, beaming.
Two parents down. One to go.
---
Esther was the last holdout.
She stood apart from everyone, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She'd been quiet during the last few exchanges, watching, assessing, processing.
Finally, she spoke. "I don't like this."
"I know," Gabriel said.
"I think it's dangerous and complicated and bound to end badly. Statistics on polyamorous relationships among teenagers are not encouraging."
"I'm aware."
"You're too young to know what you want. All of you. Your brains aren't even fully developed yet."
"Also true."
"And yet you're standing there, making promises you can't possibly keep, expecting us to just accept this bizarre arrangement."
"I'm not expecting anything, Mrs. Sinclair. I'm just being honest about what exists."
Esther studied him for a long moment. Then she looked at her daughter—really looked at her. Saw her standing tall, confident, certain. Saw her holding Wednesday's hand again, the two of them united, strong together.
Saw that her little girl had grown up when she wasn't looking.
"Enid," she said finally.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Are you happy?"
"Yes."
"Is he good to you?"
"Very."
"Does he respect your boundaries?"
"Always."
"Does Wednesday?"
"Of course."
"And you're all... communicating? Talking about feelings and expectations and all that therapy stuff I made you learn?"
Enid smiled. "All that therapy stuff. Yes. We're probably over-communicating at this point."
"There's no such thing as over-communicating," Esther said automatically, the therapist-mother in her unable to resist. Then she sighed. "Alright."
"Alright?" Enid's eyes went wide.
"I don't like it. But you're an adult, or close enough. And you've made your choice. So... alright."
"Really?"
"Don't make me change my mind."
Enid squealed and launched herself at her mother, who caught her with the practice of someone who'd been doing it for seventeen years.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you—"
"But," Esther said firmly, pulling back and pointing at Gabriel, "you're going to follow some rules."
Gabriel straightened. "Of course."
"First: You're going to come to dinner with us. Tonight. All three of you. And you're going to sit through an entire meal with my family, and you're going to be respectful and polite, and you're going to answer every question we ask."
"Understood."
"Second: You're going to write us letters. Monthly. Updating us on your progress with Wednesday's research. On your transformations. On your relationship with our daughter. We don't have to like this situation, but we're going to monitor it."
"Monthly letters. I can do that."
"Third: If Enid ever—EVER—comes to us and says she's unhappy or uncomfortable or wants out, you will respect that immediately. No arguments, no attempts to change her mind, no guilt trips. You will let her go. Understood?"
"Completely."
"And fourth—" Esther's voice dropped into something more serious, "—you will never, ever let her watch you transform without proper safety protocols. I don't care how much research Wednesday has done or how safe you think it is. My daughter doesn't get hurt because you lost control. Are we clear?"
"Crystal clear, ma'am."
Esther studied him a moment longer, then nodded once. Sharp. Decisive.
"Fine. Then you have my... not approval. My acceptance. Conditional acceptance. Probationary acceptance."
Murray smiled and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "It's how she monitors pack members. You're basically being adopted. Congratulations."
"I—" Gabriel looked genuinely shocked, like he'd prepared for rejection and had no script for acceptance. "Thank you?"
"Don't thank me yet," Esther said, but her voice had softened. "You haven't survived dinner."
"Your mother's dinners are legendary," one of Enid's brothers called through the door, clearly having been eavesdropping. "Bring your A-game, wolf boy!"
"Quiet, you!" Esther called back. Then, to Gabriel: "Six o'clock. Don't be late."
"I won't, ma'am."
---
## Part Six: The Dinner
Nevermore's Formal Dining Hall - That Evening
They'd pushed two tables together to accommodate both families plus the trio, creating an elaborate arrangement that looked like a meeting between two very different royal houses.
The Addams family occupied one side—Morticia, Gomez, Pugsley, and Thing (who had been given his own place setting, much to the dining hall staff's confusion). They'd somehow made the already gothic dining hall look more gothic, their black clothing and dark presence creating a void that absorbed light.
The Sinclair family occupied the other side—Esther, Murray, and three of Enid's brothers (the others had mercifully stayed home). They brought energy and noise and the kind of casual physical affection that made the Addamses look positively restrained.
In the middle, like diplomats at a peace summit: Gabriel, Wednesday, and Enid.
The seating arrangement was strategic: Gabriel in the center, flanked by Wednesday on one side and Enid on the other. A united front. Mutual support. Also, Enid had quietly pointed out, it meant Gabriel couldn't run without trampling one of them.
"So," Gomez said cheerfully, serving himself something that might have been meat or might have been something that used to eat meat. "Tell us about your family, Gabriel! We've heard so much about the Beoulve line. Ancient, powerful, mysterious! All the best qualities!"
"And notably absent this weekend," Morticia added pointedly, delicately cutting something on her plate with surgical precision.
Gabriel set down his fork carefully, buying time. "My family... values privacy. They prefer to remain out of the public eye."
"You mean they're embarrassed," Esther said bluntly, no artifice, just fact.
"Mother!" Enid hissed.
"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking."
"No, she's right," Gabriel said quietly, his voice carefully controlled. "They are embarrassed. Of me. Of what I become. Of the fact that their heir is defective. They send the restraints and the wolfsbane and generous financial support and hope I stay contained and don't cause any scandals that might damage the family reputation."
The table went very quiet.
Even Enid's brothers, who'd been good-naturedly arguing about sports, stopped talking.
"That's awful," Pugsley said through a mouthful of food, his voice matter-of-fact. It was the first thing he'd said all evening. "Family should support each other. Even when they're weird. Especially when they're weird."
"Pugsley's right," Gomez said, his usual enthusiasm dimmed with something more serious. "Family should support each other. Stand together against the world! Face the darkness as a united force! That's what the Addams do. We may be strange, but we're strange together."
"That's what the Sinclairs do too," Murray added quietly, his gentle voice carrying weight. "Pack means family. Family means you don't face things alone. You share the burden. You protect each other."
Gabriel looked around the table at these two families—so radically different in almost every way, yet both so completely, unconditionally present for their children—and felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Want. Recognition. Grief for something he'd never had.
"I wouldn't know," he admitted, his voice rougher than he intended. "That sounds nice."
Wednesday's hand found his under the table. Squeezed once. Firm. Present.
Enid's hand found his other hand. Squeezed twice. Gentle. Reassuring.
"Well," Morticia said, her voice carrying surprising warmth—or what passed for warmth in the Addams emotional register, "perhaps it's time you learned. Family isn't just blood, after all. It's who chooses to stand with you in the darkness."
"And who makes you feel less alone," Murray added.
"And who annoys you but you love them anyway," one of Enid's brothers contributed.
"And who helps you hide bodies," Wednesday added helpfully.
"Wednesday," Morticia said, but she was smiling.
"What? I'm being supportive."
---
This Part 1. Even Webnovel can't take the full scene