Part 2.
Later into dinner, after the first course had been cleared and everyone had relaxed slightly, Gomez leaned forward with renewed enthusiasm.
"So!" he announced, loud enough to silence the table. "Esther and I were discussing earlier—"
"Oh no," both girls said in unison.
"—about the potential for grandchildren! And we realized we should coordinate our expectations!"
Gabriel, who had been taking a sip of water, choked slightly.
"Gomez," Morticia warned.
"What? It's a reasonable discussion! These three are clearly serious about each other, and planning ahead is prudent!"
"We're SEVENTEEN," Wednesday said flatly.
"Which gives us plenty of time to plan!" Gomez countered cheerfully. "Now, Esther and I were thinking—assuming things work out, of course—we'd want at least four grandchildren. A nice, even number. Enough for proper family gatherings but not so many as to be overwhelming."
"I was thinking three," Esther interjected. "More manageable."
"Three is uneven," Gomez protested. "Four is balanced!"
"Five is actually the optimal pack number," Murray added thoughtfully, apparently deciding to embrace the chaos. "Provides good group dynamics."
"FIVE?" Enid squeaked.
"Well, you have five brothers, sweetheart. We know how to handle it."
"This is not happening," Wednesday muttered, her face unusually pink. "This conversation is not actually occurring."
"Oh, it's occurring," one of Enid's brothers said gleefully. "And it's amazing. Please continue, Dad."
"Now," Gomez continued, pulling out what appeared to be an actual napkin with notes on it, "we need to consider genetics. The children would likely inherit the werewolf gene, which means they'd need proper pack integration and Addams cultural education."
"Dual heritage ceremonies," Esther agreed, apparently fully committed now. "One with the pack, one with the Addams family traditions."
"Do the Addams have specific naming conventions?" Murray asked seriously.
"Oh yes!" Gomez's eyes lit up. "We favor names that suggest darkness, mortality, or existential dread! Wednesday, Pugsley, Morticia—all excellent examples!"
"The Sinclair pack prefers nature-based names," Murray said. "Like Enid—it means 'soul' or 'life.' Her brothers are Hunter, Chase, and Connor."
"We could combine traditions," Mort said thoughtfully. "Nature-based names with darker connotations. Raven, perhaps. Or Storm. Thorn. Nightshade."
"Nightshade Sinclair-Addams-Beoulve," Gomez tested the name. "Magnificent!"
"That's a lot of last names," Esther noted.
"We'll figure out the hyphenation," Gomez waved this away. "The important thing is the spirit!"
Gabriel had his head in his hands. "This is surreal."
"This is HORRIFYING," Wednesday corrected.
"I think it's kind of sweet," Enid said weakly. "In a deeply mortifying, completely premature, slightly insane kind of way."
"But wait," Connor, Enid's brother, leaned forward with mock seriousness. "If there are going to be four—or five—grandchildren, we need to discuss custody arrangements. Holidays. Who gets them for which full moons."
"Excellent point!" Gomez exclaimed. "We should create a schedule! Morticia, do you have your planner?"
"I'm not enabling this," Morticia said, but she was smiling slightly.
"What about education?" Esther asked. "Would they attend Nevermore like their parents? Or would we look into other options?"
"Nevermore has an excellent track record," Morticia said. "And the Gothic architecture would be formative for their aesthetic development."
"Plus the pack dynamics program is strong," Murray added. "Good for young werewolves."
"I'M GOING TO DIE," Enid announced to the table. "I'm going to die of embarrassment right here. You'll all have to plan my funeral instead of hypothetical weddings and theoretical grandchildren."
"Don't be dramatic, dear," Esther said. "We're just planning ahead."
"You're planning DECADES ahead! For children that don't exist! From a relationship that's only a few months old!"
"Proper planning prevents poor performance," Esther quoted.
"That doesn't even apply here!"
"I think," Gabriel said, his voice strained but attempting dignity, "that we should perhaps table this discussion for... approximately ten years."
"Ten years?" Gomez looked disappointed. "But that's so long!"
"We're TEENAGERS," Wednesday repeated, her voice rising slightly in a way that suggested she was reaching the absolute limit of her tolerance. "We cannot plan for hypothetical offspring when we haven't even graduated secondary education!"
"But you've thought about it," Morticia said shrewdly. "Haven't you, Wednesday?"
Silence.
"Haven't you?" Morticia pressed.
Wednesday's jaw was tight. "I may have... run some preliminary probability calculations. Purely theoretical. For academic purposes."
"SHE HAS SPREADSHEETS," Pugsley announced cheerfully. "I saw them. They're color-coded."
"PUGSLEY!"
"What? You do. They're very thorough. You've even calculated the probability of inherited psychic abilities versus werewolf traits."
The entire table turned to stare at Wednesday.
"It was. Purely. Academic," she gritted out.
Enid was trying very hard not to laugh. "You made spreadsheets about our hypothetical children?"
"I make spreadsheets about everything. It's called being organized."
"It's called caring," Gomez said, delighted. "You care about the future! About family! About legacy! This is wonderful!"
"I'm leaving," Wednesday announced, standing up.
"No you're not," Enid said, gently pulling her back down. "Because then they win. We face this together. Remember?"
Wednesday sat back down, radiating fury. "I hate all of you."
"No you don't," everyone chorused.
Despite herself, despite her mortification, despite everything—Wednesday's lips twitched slightly. Almost a smile.
"This family is insufferable," she muttered.
"Families," Gabriel corrected softly. "Plural."
"Even worse."
But she didn't let go of either Enid's or Gabriel's hand.
---
The conversation eventually moved on to less inflammatory topics, though Gomez did manage to sneak in one more comment about "wouldn't it be lovely to have a spring wedding? Or maybe autumn? Very gothic!" before Morticia physically covered his mouth with her hand.
The rest of dinner passed in relative peace—or what passed for peace when two dramatically different families were attempting to merge social circles over institutional food.
By the end of the evening, both sets of parents had exchanged contact information. Plans were made for future dinners. Murray and Gomez discovered a shared interest in fencing. Morticia and Esther found common ground in their mutual appreciation for strategic planning and their children's stubborn independence.
And Gabriel—isolated, damaged, abandoned Gabriel—found himself surrounded by more family than he'd ever had in his life.
It was overwhelming.
It was terrifying.
It was absolutely perfect.
---
## Part Seven: The End of the Evening
(Continuing from where we left off...)
Outside the Dining Hall - 9:00 PM
Both families were finally preparing to leave—the Addamses to their hotel (Morticia had insisted on the most Gothic establishment in town), the Sinclairs to their room at the surprisingly charming bed and breakfast.
The evening air was cool, autumn-crisp, carrying the scent of dead leaves and approaching winter.
Esther approached Gabriel one last time. Her expression was softer now, less predatory, more maternal.
"I meant what I said about those letters."
"I'll write them, Mrs. Sinclair. On time. First of every month."
"Good." She paused, then added more quietly, "And... take care of her. My daughter. She acts tough, puts on this cheerful, confident front, but she's sensitive underneath. She bruises easily, even if she doesn't show it."
"I know. I will."
"And let her take care of you too. She needs to feel useful. Needed. It's how she shows love."
"I already do. I couldn't manage without her."
Esther studied him with a mother's eye—seeing past the control, past the careful manners, to the lonely boy underneath. "You might actually be good for her. Both of you might be good for her."
"I hope so."
"Don't hope. Be certain. Wolves don't do uncertainty. We commit or we don't."
"Then I'm certain. I commit."
"Good answer." She nodded once, sharp and decisive. Then, surprisingly, she pulled him into a brief hug. It was awkward—he clearly wasn't used to casual physical affection—but genuine. "Welcome to the pack, Gabriel. Provisionally."
When she pulled back, her eyes were suspiciously bright.
Then she was gone, herding her family toward their vehicle with organizational efficiency.
---
Morticia approached next, Gomez beside her, practically vibrating with delight.
"Mr. Beoulve," she said formally, every syllable perfectly enunciated.
"Mrs. Addams."
"I want you to understand something." Her dark eyes were intense, unblinking. "Wednesday is precious to us. Even if she'd flay me alive for using such a pedestrian sentiment. She's difficult, particular, often deliberately unpleasant. For her to find two people she genuinely cares about is unprecedented in her personal history."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Morticia stepped closer, her voice dropping to something more intimate and infinitely more dangerous. "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 involve far more creativity and permanence than conventional consequences. We have extensive experience making people disappear. Figuratively and literally."
"I wouldn't expect anything less, ma'am."
"Good." Then, surprisingly, Morticia smiled—a genuine expression of warmth that transformed her face. "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. How you survived tonight's dinner without running screaming. That's... acceptable."
Gomez couldn't contain himself any longer. He stepped forward and pulled Gabriel into an enthusiastic embrace. "Welcome to the family, my boy! Well, families, plural! This is magnificently complicated! Like a Gothic romance novel crossed with modern psychological drama!"
"Gomez, you're overwhelming him."
"Am I overwhelming you?" Gomez asked, pulling back.
"A little, sir."
"Excellent! Honesty! I knew I liked you!" He clapped Gabriel on both shoulders. "You take care of our Wednesday, yes? And let her take care of you? She needs projects, you see. Needs to feel intellectually stimulated. You're an excellent project."
"I'll do my best, sir."
"And you'll write? Keep us informed? I want detailed updates about the research! And the relationship dynamics! It's all so fascinating from a sociological perspective!"
"Of course, sir."
Morticia gently extracted her husband. "Come, darling. Let the boy breathe."
"But—"
"Now, Gomez."
As they left, Gomez called back, "We expect great things from you, Gabriel! Don't disappoint us! But if you do, disappoint us spectacularly! It's more interesting that way!"
Then they were gone, Gomez still talking enthusiastically, Morticia guiding him with patient affection.
---
Finally Alone
Gabriel, Wednesday, and Enid stood in the now-empty area outside the dining hall, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, and slightly shell-shocked.
"That was..." Enid started.
"Intense," Wednesday finished.
"Absolutely terrifying," Gabriel added.
They looked at each other.
Then, simultaneously, started laughing.
It was the kind of laughter that came from surviving something absurd and stressful and somehow coming out the other side not just intact but improved. The kind of laughter that released tension and created bonds and acknowledged shared trauma.
"Your mother interrogated me like I was a suspect in a murder investigation," Gabriel said to Enid, wiping his eyes. "She had notes. Actual notes. With questions prepared in advance."
"Your father threatened me with 'creative and permanent consequences,'" he said to Wednesday. "And your mother implied she knows how to make bodies disappear. Should I be concerned?"
"Probably," Wednesday said seriously. "She wasn't lying."
"They liked you," both girls said in unison.
Gabriel stared at them. "That was them LIKING me? That level of psychological warfare was APPROVAL?"
"Obviously," Wednesday said matter-of-factly. "If they didn't like you, you'd already be dead. Or at minimum, facing restraining orders and parental edicts forbidding all contact."
"My mom only does the full interrogation for people she's considering keeping," Enid added. "Everyone else gets a polite rejection and a door in the face. You got the deluxe evaluation package."
"I feel so honored."
"You should. Most people fail."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the night settling around them like a blanket.
Then Gabriel said quietly, "Thank you."
"For what?" Enid asked.
"For not letting me face that alone. For being there. For..." He struggled for words, his usual control cracking slightly. "For having families that care enough to interrogate me. That care enough to threaten me. That care enough to show up."
His voice roughed on the last words.
Wednesday squeezed his hand. "That's what families do. Apparently. Show up. Care. Threaten potential romantic partners with creative violence."
"Even chosen families?" Gabriel asked quietly, vulnerability written in every line of his face.
"Especially those," Enid said, pulling them both into a hug.
Gabriel stood rigid for a moment—too many years of isolation, too many habits of self-sufficiency—then slowly, carefully, relaxed into it. Let himself be held. Let himself be surrounded.
Let himself, for just a moment, believe he deserved it.
And there, outside Nevermore's dining hall under a crescent moon with a full one coming in two weeks, three people who shouldn't have worked stood together.
Different.
Complicated.
Unconventional.
But absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably real.
---
## Epilogue: The Letters
One Month Later
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair,
As requested, here is my monthly update:
The full moon last week went smoothly. Wednesday's research into meditative techniques and graduated silver exposure therapy continues to show measurable progress. The duration of complete loss of control decreased by approximately four minutes compared to last month. Small progress, but consistent. Wednesday assures me consistency indicates a genuine therapeutic effect rather than random variation.
Enid continues to provide support during transformations. Her presence has a measurable calming effect on my pre-transformation anxiety levels, and post-transformation recovery time has decreased by approximately 30% since she began participating. She's also been working with me on controlled exposure to werewolf social situations, helping me feel less isolated from others of my kind.
Academically, we're all maintaining our grades. Enid received an A on her Botanical Sciences project about carnivorous plants and their cultivation (she was quite proud and mentioned you'd want to know). Wednesday received perfect marks on her Forensic Entomology presentation, which surprised no one. I received a B+ on my Supernatural Ethics essay, which Wednesday insists is "adequate but improvable."
Regarding our relationship: Enid is happy. She's thriving. She's more confident than when I first met her, more comfortable asserting her needs, more willing to embrace her strengths. Whether that's because of me or despite me remains unclear, but I'd like to think I contribute positively to her continued growth.
The arrangement continues to function well. We've established regular check-ins to discuss feelings and concerns (Enid's suggestion), maintain individual time with each person as well as group time (Wednesday's suggestion), and have clear boundaries about privacy and personal space (my suggestion). Communication remains our primary tool for navigating complexity.
Thank you for your conditional acceptance and for dinner. It meant more than I can adequately express.
Respectfully,
Gabriel Beoulve
P.S. - Enid asked me to mention that she's been teaching Wednesday how to braid hair. Wednesday claims this is "unnecessary and frivolous," but she sits still for it every Sunday evening, so interpret that as you will.
---
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Addams,
Monthly update as informally requested (Mrs. Addams said "keep us informed or else," which I'm interpreting as a standing request for correspondence):
Wednesday's research continues with characteristic thoroughness and intensity. She's discovered a historical case study from 1847 involving a werewolf in Scotland who achieved partial conscious control through a combination of silver microdosing and specific meditation techniques. We're currently testing a modified version of the treatment protocol. Results are preliminary but encouraging. Wednesday has also reached out to three contemporary experts in supernatural medicine for consultation, demonstrating excellent networking skills.
Wednesday is thriving at Nevermore. She's joined two new clubs (the Occult Studies Society and Advanced Forensics), expanded her investigative activities to include three cold cases, and has been grudgingly socializing more (though she'd never admit it). She claims this is purely for intellectual stimulation and professional networking, but I suspect she's also enjoying the social aspect, though she'd probably poison me for suggesting it.
Our arrangement continues to function effectively. Wednesday's analytical approach balances well with Enid's emotional support, creating a dynamic where I benefit from both perspectives. It remains complicated but worthwhile. Wednesday insists on regular "relationship audits" where we analyze our interactions and optimize for efficiency, which is exactly as romantic as it sounds, but somehow works for us.
Also, please thank Pugsley for his advice about dealing with aggressive students using psychological warfare rather than physical violence. It was unexpectedly helpful and prevented what might have been a significant disciplinary incident.
Sincerely,
Gabriel Beoulve
P.S. - Wednesday says to tell you she's "fine, stop worrying, your concern is unnecessary and vaguely insulting." I'm translating this to mean she misses you but would never say so directly. She also mentioned that the arsenic plant you sent is "thriving beautifully" and she's been using it for experiments. I have chosen not to ask what kind of experiments.
---
Three Weeks Later
Both sets of parents received their letters.
Esther read hers at the kitchen table, Murray reading over her shoulder.
"He's detailed," she admitted grudgingly.
"He's thorough," Murray agreed. "And honest. He's not trying to hide anything or make things sound better than they are."
"Enid's teaching Wednesday to braid hair."
"That's very Enid."
"Wednesday is letting her."
"That's surprisingly Wednesday."
They looked at each other.
"They're good for each other," Esther said quietly.
"All three of them are," Murray agreed.
Esther sighed, folding the letter carefully. "I still think it's weird."
"It is weird."
"But Enid's happy."
"She is."
"And safe."
"And safe."
Another pause.
"I suppose we can live with weird if it comes with happy and safe," Esther said finally.
Murray smiled and kissed her temple. "That's very evolved of you."
"Don't push it."
---
Morticia read hers in her reading room, Gomez hovering excitedly.
"He writes well," she observed. "Proper grammar, clear structure, appropriate tone. Wednesday's influence, perhaps."
"Or he's naturally well-educated!" Gomez said enthusiastically. "Read the part about the research again!"
Morticia indulged him, reading aloud about the Scottish werewolf case study.
"Fascinating!" Gomez exclaimed. "Our daughter is curing lycanthropy!"
"Treating, not curing. And it's experimental. Don't get ahead of yourself, darling."
"But it's progress! And she's doing it! Our brilliant, beautiful, morbid Wednesday!"
Morticia smiled, a genuine expression of maternal pride. "Yes. She is."
She set the letter aside carefully. "He's good for her, I think. Both of them are. They challenge her. Support her. Give her reasons to engage with the world beyond her own interests."
"And he's polite!" Gomez added. "Very polite! Even when threatened with creative violence!"
"That does demonstrate character."
"So we approve? Officially?"
"Conditionally," Morticia said. "We approve conditionally. Pending continued evaluation and provided no one gets hurt."
"That's very reasonable of you, cara mia."
"I have my moments."
---
And so it was decided.
Both sets of parents reluctantly, conditionally, but genuinely admitted that maybe—just maybe—their daughters had chosen well.
Even if the situation was unconventional.
Even if the boy was dangerous.
Even if the arrangement defied traditional relationship norms and made explaining things at family gatherings complicated.
Because at the end of the day, their daughters were happy.
Safe.
Loved.
Growing.
Thriving.
And really, what more could parents ask for?
(Besides monthly letters. Those were non-negotiable. And detailed. Very detailed.)
(Gabriel was beginning to understand why Wednesday wrote hers so tersely.)
---
Final Scene - Two Months Later
Wednesday, Enid, and Gabriel sat in the quad under their usual oak tree, the same spot where the parents had first converged months ago.
Gabriel was reading. Wednesday was working on her research notes. Enid was adding colorful annotations to her biology homework while humming something aggressively cheerful.
"I got another letter from your mother," Gabriel said without looking up from his book.
"Which mother?" both girls asked simultaneously.
"Both, actually. They arrived the same day. I think they coordinated."
Wednesday's pen paused. "Coordinated?"
"Mrs. Sinclair's letter thanked me for my 'continued transparency and dedication to open communication.' Your mother's letter complimented my 'admirably morbid attention to detail' and asked if I'd considered a career in forensic pathology."
"They're bonding," Enid said, delighted. "Our moms are bonding! Over you!"
"That's deeply concerning," Wednesday said.
"Why?"
"Because united parents are significantly more dangerous than divided parents. They'll start comparing notes. Sharing strategies. Coordinating surveillance."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is a bad thing. Organizational efficiency in parental units leads to decreased autonomy for their offspring."
Gabriel finally looked up. "Your mother also mentioned that she and Mrs. Sinclair have been... talking. Regularly. About 'the situation.'"
Both girls stared at him.
"Define 'regularly,'" Wednesday said slowly.
"Weekly phone calls, apparently. Sometimes twice weekly."
"Oh my god," Enid breathed. "They're becoming friends."
"That's not possible," Wednesday said flatly. "My mother doesn't have friends. She has associates, conspirators, and people she tolerates. She doesn't do friendship."
"She sent Mrs. Sinclair a cutting from her arsenic plant," Gabriel said. "As a 'gesture of maternal solidarity.'"
Silence.
"We've created a monster," Wednesday said. "Two monsters. A monster alliance."
"I think it's sweet!" Enid protested. "They're supporting each other through the difficult process of accepting their daughters' unconventional relationship!"
"They're forming a tactical parenting unit. There's nothing sweet about it."
Gabriel's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his eyebrows rose. "Your father just texted me."
"Which father?"
"Both. Same group text." He showed them the screen.
Gomez: Gabriel, my boy! Question about the Scottish werewolf research! Can you send me Wednesday's notes?
Murray: Also, we're organizing a family dinner next month. All six parents, three of you. Mandatory attendance. Esther's already planning the menu.
Gomez: It'll be magnificent! A grand gathering! We can discuss the research! And the relationship dynamics! And everything!
Murray: What he said, but with less exclamation points.
Gomez: Impossible! Exclamation points are essential for proper enthusiasm!
Wednesday slowly lowered her head to her research notes. "They're texting. Our fathers are texting. Each other."
"In a group chat," Gabriel added helpfully.
"A GROUP CHAT."
"With you," Enid added, peering at the phone. "They added Gabriel to the dad group chat. That's so cute!"
"That's so invasive," Wednesday countered. "That's surveillance disguised as inclusion."
"Or," Gabriel said carefully, "it's them trying. In their own weird way."
Wednesday lifted her head to glare at him. "Don't be reasonable about this. I'm trying to be appropriately paranoid."
"You can be paranoid later. Right now, your father wants your research notes."
"Tell him no."
"I already sent them."
"GABRIEL."
"What? He asked nicely. And he is funding part of your research through the 'generous family contribution' he made to Nevermore's library."
Wednesday opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it."
"Noted."
Enid was grinning at her phone. "My mom just sent me a picture of her and your mom, Wednesday. They're at some kind of botanical garden looking at poisonous plants. They're smiling. Both of them."
She showed them the photo: Esther and Morticia standing in front of an elaborate display of deadly nightshade, both looking genuinely pleased. Morticia's smile was small but real. Esther's was broader, more open, but equally genuine.
"This is the worst thing that's ever happened," Wednesday said flatly.
"This is the BEST thing that's ever happened," Enid countered. "Our families are getting along! They're supporting us! They're becoming a super-family!"
"Please never use the term 'super-family' again."
"Super-family!" Enid repeated, deliberately cheerful. "It's like the Avengers but with more parental oversight and way better dinners!"
"I despise you."
"No you don't."
Gabriel was trying very hard not to smile and failing completely.
Wednesday noticed. "You're enjoying this."
"A little."
"Traitor."
"I've never had parents who cared enough to embarrass me," he said quietly. "Or four parents who text me about research and dinner plans. Or parents who form unlikely friendships because they both care about the same people. So yes. I'm enjoying this. Sorry if that ruins your dramatically cynical worldview."
Wednesday studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, in a tone that was probably supposed to be grudging but came out softer: "Fine. You may continue enjoying it. Quietly. Without excessive sentimentality."
"Thank you for your permission."
"You're welcome."
Enid threw her arms around both of them, pulling them into a group hug with her characteristic enthusiasm and complete disregard for personal space. "We have the weirdest, most complicated, most wonderful family situation ever. And I love it."
Wednesday tolerated the hug for exactly five seconds before saying, "Release me."
"No."
"Enid."
"You love this. Admit it."
"I will do no such thing."
"Gabriel, back me up. She loves this."
"She definitely loves this," Gabriel agreed.
"I'm surrounded by traitors and optimists," Wednesday said, but she didn't pull away. "This is my personal hell."
"Your personal hell includes people who love you and parents who care enough to meddle," Enid pointed out. "That's not hell. That's family."
Wednesday was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly they almost missed it: "I suppose there are worse fates."
"Was that sentimentality?" Gabriel asked, mock-shocked. "From Wednesday Addams?"
"It was pragmatic observation. Don't read into it."
"Too late. I'm reading. Enid's reading. We're both reading extensively."
"I hate you both."
"No you don't," they said in unison.
And Wednesday, who prided herself on never lying, couldn't actually contradict them.
---
Meanwhile, In a Group Chat
Parents United: A Support Group
Esther: The dinner is confirmed for November 15th. I'm making pot roast and my famous seven-layer cake.
Morticia: Excellent. I'll bring the wine. The poisonous-looking but perfectly safe wine. Gomez gets enthusiastic when there's dramatic presentation.
Murray: Should we be concerned that we're coordinating this much?
Gomez: NEVER! This is wonderful! We're forming bonds! Creating connections! Becoming a SUPER-FAMILY!
Esther: Did Enid teach you that term?
Gomez: Yes! Isn't it magnificent?
Morticia: It's certainly... enthusiastic.
Murray: I think what my wife means is that we should probably maintain some boundaries. Let the kids have their space.
Esther: Of course. But monitored space. Supervised space. Space with monthly progress reports.
Morticia: And regular family gatherings.
Gomez: And research updates! Don't forget the research updates! Wednesday's work is FASCINATING!
Murray: We're not going to be those parents who can't let go, right?
...
...
...
Esther: Right?
Morticia: Of course not. We're perfectly reasonable.
Gomez: Extremely reasonable! The most reasonable! Reasonableness is our middle name!
Murray: ...I don't believe any of you.
Esther: Smart man. That's why I married you.
Morticia: Gomez, stop adding heart emojis to everything.
Gomez: NEVER! ❤️❤️❤️
---
One Week Later - Late Night
Gabriel woke to his phone buzzing insistently. He checked the time: 2:37 AM.
The full moon was in three days. His sleep was already disrupted, dreams fragmenting into pre-transformation anxiety.
The phone buzzed again. A text.
From Gomez.
Had a thought about the meditation techniques! What if you tried visualizing a calm place BEFORE the transformation instead of during? Might establish better neural pathways! Thoughts?
Gabriel stared at the message for a long moment.
Then typed back: That's actually not a bad idea. I'll mention it to Wednesday.
Excellent! Go back to sleep, my boy! Need your rest! The full moon approaches! ❤️
Gabriel smiled despite himself, set the phone down, and tried to sleep.
He failed, but not because of anxiety.
Because he was thinking about Gomez's suggestion.
About how strange it was to have someone care enough to text at 2 AM with ideas.
About how Wednesday's research actually worked better with outside input.
About how Esther had started sending him care packages with wolfsbane tea and hand-warmers for post-transformation recovery.
About how Murray had offered to help him build a better containment space, something more humane, less prison-like.
About how Morticia had sent him a book on medieval torture methods with a note that said "For reference - let me know if your parents ever need a reminder about proper behavior."
About how all of them—in their own strange, sometimes overbearing, occasionally invasive ways—had decided he was worth caring about.
Worth checking on.
Worth keeping.
Worth including.
His phone buzzed again.
Morticia: Ignore my husband. He gets excited and forgets about time zones and sleep schedules. But he's not wrong about the visualization technique. Wednesday might find it interesting.
Then, a moment later: Also, you're doing well. In case no one's told you recently. You're handling this complicated situation with grace and maturity. We're proud of you.
Gabriel stared at that message for a very long time.
We're proud of you.
Not his actual parents, who'd never said those words.
But these parents. Adopted parents. Chosen parents.
Parents who showed up.
He didn't realize he was crying until a tear hit the phone screen.
He wiped it away quickly, took a shaky breath, and typed: Thank you. That means more than you know.
Morticia: Get some sleep. The full moon will be difficult enough without exhaustion compounding things. Wednesday and Enid need you functional.
Yes, ma'am.
And Gabriel? You're not alone. Remember that.
I will.
He set the phone down, pulled the blankets up, and for the first time in years, went back to sleep feeling something other than dread for the approaching full moon.
He went back to sleep feeling held.
Supported.
Part of something larger than himself.
Part of a family.
Several families, actually.
A complicated, unconventional, sometimes overwhelming, occasionally invasive, undeniably weird super-family.
And somehow, that was exactly what he needed.
---
THE END
(But really just the beginning.)
(Because families—especially complicated, chosen, super-families—don't end.)
(They just keep growing. And texting. And coordinating dinner parties.)
(Gabriel was going to need a bigger calendar.)
(And possibly a secretary to manage all the parental correspondence.)
(Wednesday suggested hiring Thing.)
(Thing declined. He had enough to deal with.)
(But he did give Gabriel a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.)
(Which, coming from Thing, was practically a declaration of brotherhood.)
(Gabriel was collecting family members faster than he knew what to do with.)
(It was terrifying.)
(It was overwhelming.)
(It was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably perfect.)