Chapter 4Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Enid is done suffocating Wednesday with steam and ready to get out of the shower, Wednesday gives her enough dignity and turns around to face the same dent in the same wall that now looks very head-shaped. She runs through a myriad of possibilities as to how it happened; an argument that turned physical between a couple, a drunk person taking a tumble, a sex worker suffering an awful fate after declining to perform an act. Whatever it was, it likely wasn't at all innocent, because this world is godawful and so are the people in it.
Wednesday is careful not to touch the dent, in case it will trigger a vision of someone having their head bashed in, and turns around when Enid finally announces that she's clothed and ready to be seen again. Enid is wearing one of Wednesday's oversized, plain black t-shirts and pajama shorts that are just a little too short on Enid, but Enid isn't going anywhere but to sleep tonight, and Wednesday couldn't care any less if she happens to see a buttcheek. A buttcheek is the least of her worries right now.
"I see why you cut the tags off your clothes," Enid comments in a yawn, toweling off her shaggy wet hair. "At first I thought it was a little weird, but it really feels a lot better not having it scratching me."
"I have autism, Enid," Wednesday mumbles, grabbing her pocketknife and stuffing it back where it was. "Once Uncle Fester returns, I'll request a toothbrush from the service desk. Before then, you need to eat something. Werewolves need calories to sustain their strength. You could eat an elephant and not gain weight, only muscle."
Enid's big eyes widen as she dramatically gasps. "I love elephants! I'd never eat one!"
"Hyperbole, Enid," Wednesday sighs, half annoyed because she's ready to pass out, half internally delighted that Enid is slowly coming back to herself—back to her. "I sent him out for red meat. I would have told him to simply hit a squirrel on the way out, but I don't think you appreciated my family's roadkill cuisine when we swapped bodies."
Scrunching up her face, Enid shakes her head, trying to dispel the memory of that evening from her brain. Wednesday doesn't take offense to it. Either she's too tired to care what Enid thinks of her and her family's interesting behaviors, or she's too tired to argue about it. Either way, she moves on from the conversation.
"You're going to eat, even if you think you might vomit, and then I'm going to put you to bed, because you look like a corpse," she says to Enid, partially demanding. "And not the corpses that I like."
Enid raises an overtired yet concerned eyebrow. "You…have certain corpses that you like?"
"Now is not the time to judge," Wednesday immediately says. "What I am trying to say, is that I don't enjoy the idea of you dead. If it were anyone else—bar my family—I wouldn't bat an eye. It might even pique my interest. But the idea of you in a morgue, cold as ice, stiff as a board, autopsied by foreign hands, and painted in the worst funeral home makeup known to man is terrifying. So you are going to eat your late dinner or whatever Uncle Fester can find in this hellhole so late in the night, and then I am going to put you to bed, because you look nothing short of deceased."
"God, Wednesday," Enid chuckles, albeit a bit disturbed by the imagery. "Just tell me you love me."
Wednesday's breath hitches. The blood is rushing through her brain and she can hear the drum of her heartbeat in her ears. At least she knows she's still alive, even if Enid's passive comment makes her feel quite the opposite.
"I'm going to visit the office and ask for a complementary toothbrush," Wednesday says, already opening the bathroom door to let the steam out. "I'll be back in one minute. Don't make any noise."
Enid audibly whimpers, tugging at Wednesday's sleeve. "No! You said you would wait for Uncle Fester to come back!" Her eyes are so, so blue when Wednesday next looks at them. "I know werewolf breath is gnarly, but please don't leave me by myself. This place is scary. I'm pretty sure there was some violence here."
Enid's breath isn't all that funky, even for being without hygiene products for nearly a week, but Wednesday needs an escape from her big blue eyes and perfectly soft lips, and she can only do that if Enid would simply let her go.
"Enid, please," Wednesday gently says, yet she doesn't pull her arm from Enid's grip. "I'll be just down the hallway."
"No," Enid's voice shakes but her expression is serious. She remains steadfast in her desire, clinging onto Wednesday like a lifeline. "Don't leave me. I've been without you for days, and I didn't think you'd come back for me."
An unsettling feeling sinks into Wednesday's stomach. She places an uncertain hand over Enid's, feeling the quiver of her fingers. Enid's skin is warm from the shower and the pink is back in her cheeks. She seems far more normal now, more like the Enid that Wednesday recalls meeting for the first time last year, except there is so much exhaustion bleeding out of every blink and half-attempted smile.
"I gave you my word, remember?" Wednesday tries to supply. "I told you that I would have no problem hunting you down, and I did. I make good on my promises, Enid."
"Don't leave," Enid continues to beg with purpose. "I know your job is considered done now that you found me and I'm human again, but I'm not ready for you to leave me yet."
Only because Wednesday can't bear the sight of Enid crying, and she definitely can't stand to hear the whining, she nods silently at Enid, whose shoulders slump a little. Wednesday takes that to mean that she feels safer now.
"Will you croak if you drink tap water?" Wednesday segues into another topic, hoping the knot will uncoil itself inside her stomach. "I understand that you drink minerals were you come from."
Enid snorts a laugh. "Wednesday, I just spent five days drinking out of puddles and random ponds like a dog. It's only one step above a toilet. I'll live."
Wednesday grabs one of the disposable cups sitting at the edge of the sink and fills it with cold tap water. She offers it to Enid, who chugs it like it's the last thing she'll ever do, and waits for her to hand the cup back, which she does once she's had her fill, water droplets collecting on her chin and her shirt like a messy toddler.
"Perhaps a sippy cup would suffice," Wednesday says, setting the cup aside for later. "You really are half-dog."
Enid licks the excess off her lips. Her eyes seem more tired now, as blue as they are. The skin around them is pink and swollen, like she's only just woken up and trying to acclimate to the light. Her eyelids blink heavily as the drunk feeling of sleep overcomes her.
"'M tired," she yawns. "Sleep now?"
"No. You need to eat," Wednesday insists. "Let's get you settled down while we wait for Uncle Fester to come back. You can rest your body, but I don't want you to sleep on an empty stomach."
They exit the bathroom, Wednesday turning off the light behind Enid, and return to the main room. They didn't notice that it's starting to rain again, but it's a calm, gentle sweep of thunder rather than a booming storm. If they weren't in such a sketchy area and Enid weren't so afraid of serial killers, Wednesday would attempt to open the window for some fresh air.
Enid perches at the edge of the bed. The pillows are inviting, even with the risk of bedbugs, but she refrains from laying down, because Wednesday is staring at her with insistence and warning.
"Has anyone ever told you that you worry about me just as much as your mom worries about you?" Enid asks Wednesday, who is fishing clothes out of her suitcase for herself. "The resemblance is uncanny."
Wednesday drops the pajama pants she was holding, twirling around with an offended glare. "Take that back. Right now."
"She's a nice lady, Wednesday!" Enid tiredly exclaims. "It was a compliment!"
"Take it back," Wednesday continues to demand, familiar rage bubbling up inside her. "I'm nothing like her."
"Actually, you are," Enid argues, crossing her arms. "You're fussing over me just like she did to you—me—when your body had an allergic reaction to color. And yeah, she was reasonably pissed when she realized that we swapped bodies, but for a split second, when she was worrying about not-you having a reaction, I felt the real love of a mother. She's a nice woman, and my favorite part of you is the little piece of her I see whenever you go soft."
Mortified, Wednesday looks at Enid like she's grown a second head. She slams her suitcase shut and continues to glare, but only childishly.
"There isn't a soft piece of me," she retorts. "I've not a soft bone in my body. I am callous, rude, and infinitely selfish. I will do whatever needs to be done and use leverage against everyone I know if it means reaping the benefits of their skills."
Enid gives her a look of disbelief. "But you would also spend four days and four nights scouring the wilderness for me, and you did. You didn't have to, but you did."
"Because I gave you my word."
"And you also didn't have to give me your word." Enid's bloodshot eyes soften. "You didn't have to do any of this for me. You could have let the pack kill me to cleanse their territory, but you gave me your word, and you didn't stop until you found me. You don't want to admit it, Wednesday, but you do have a soft bone somewhere in your body. Maybe it's soft only for me, or maybe it was always there, but it exists, and I'm sorry that you don't want to be perceived that way, but it's the truth."
"Are you done giving me your spiel?" Wednesday grumbles. Enid nods. "I gave you my word because, for some twisted, incomprehensible reason, I…I would do anything to prevent you from being hunted down and slaughtered. In fact, I couldn't bear the thought of it. When I think about it, it makes my stomach twist into knots that can't be undone."
Enid's expression smooths out, and she smiles. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"Don't flatter yourself," Wednesday huffs.
"I'm not flattering myself," Enid replies. "You flattered me because you are a nice person. You might be hard on the outside, but you're really just a marshmallow on the inside. Hard shell with a gooey center."
Wednesday feels her face warm a few degrees. She scowls petulantly at Enid, crossing her arms in that stubborn Addams way.
"Don't you ever describe me as such," she snarls. "I'm nothing of the sort. More than that, I'm nothing like my mother."
"She's still a nice lady, Wednesday. She has amazing mommy energy."
Before Wednesday's short-circuiting brain can comprehend any of that statement, there is a short series of knocks on the door. She huffs, resigned to letting Enid win this argument, and stands on her tiptoes to get a look out of the peephole. Uncle Fester is there, waving maniacally in the rain, with a brown paper bag in his hand. She lets him in and immediately locks the door.
"There was a diner down the road," Fester says as he sets the bag on the little table next to the TV. "You might get food poisoning, but a little vomit never hurt anyone."
Enid cautiously eyes the paper bag. Fester takes out a styrofoam takeout container and disposable silverware. He grins at Enid, popping open the lid to show her a cooked sliver of steak and mashed potatoes and green beans.
"I asked them to put a little extra blood in it," he tells her. "For the nutrients."
"Eat, Enid," Wednesday demands. "I'm going to the office to ask for a toothbrush. Afterwards, I'm going to take a shower and slip into something more comfortable."
"Don't leave!" Enid blurts out at the same time her claws come out. She quickly retracts them, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "It's not safe."
"I'm just going down the breezeway to the office," she assures Enid. "I won't be long."
"Don't go." Enid is more serious now, her eyes sparkling. "Stay here."
Wednesday knows, judging merely by the defiant and determined glow in Enid's sleepy baby blues, that it's not a request, but a demand, and for once, she obeys.
"Uncle Fester," Wednesday addresses with ease, now resigned to her miserable fate, "could you request a toothbrush from the woman in the office?"
"Sure, but that lady was checking me out," Uncle Fester says. "Kept giving me the lovey eyes."
"I think she was more so trying to determine whether or not she saw you on a wanted poster," Wednesday corrects. "I'll stay with Enid and make sure she eats."
Uncle Fester salutes her and disappears into the night rain again, leaving Wednesday standing in the middle of the room like a fool and Enid hungrily salivating over the steak that looks more than just well-done.
"Eat," Wednesday urges her, pointing to the chair tucked into the table. "That's as good as it's going to get."
Happily obliging, Enid plops down in the hard chair and tries to get comfortable. She cuts into the steak like a wild animal, almost snapping the plastic knife in her hand, while Wednesday grabs the remote and turns on the television.
The room fills with gentle static as a blue glow splashes over the wall and drowns Wednesday in artificial light. She quickly flicks past the news channels, just in case there is something she doesn't want to see right now, and settles on the only cartoon channel the motel's service pays for. The pictures blips in and out at times, and there is a weird green line buzzing in the middle, but it'll have to do.
"Oh, Scooby Doo," Enid says with her mouth full. "I loved that show when I was little."
"Funny you would love a cartoon about a dog and his companions going on mystery-solving witch hunts," Wednesday says as she grabs herself some pajamas. "I'm going to shower and get changed."
Surprisingly, Enid doesn't object or latch herself onto Wednesday in a desperate plea to keep her within her eyesight. She's too busy watching the television and inhaling her first real meal in so many days to notice Wednesday slipping past her with her clothes tucked under her arm and her toothbrush and charcoal toothpaste in hand.
The bathroom still smells of Enid, with the familiar addition of Wednesday's soap and detergent. It's warm but welcoming. She turns the shower on and stares vaguely at the dent in the wall while the water comes down to a tolerable temperature, and then she strips herself of her clothes and undoes her messy braids. Her hair feels almost as oily as Enid's was, and she decides that she's going to have to wash it with the cheap complimentary shampoo sitting next to her bar of soap.
Once the water is more like ice, she steps into the bathtub and it physically strains under her weight. Still, she doesn't worry about it caving in, too focused on the outdated tiles of the shower wall as she's massaging plastic shampoo into her hair. She doesn't mind the fact that whatever microplastics and chemicals that make up the shampoo are going to dry her hair out, or the fact that she might catch some kind of skin disease from touching this tub. All she thinks about as she's washing up and cleansing her skin of the night's escapades is Enid.
The fear of losing Enid is palpable. She's certain that Uncle Fester can feel just how worried she is at all hours of the day. They spent four days and four nights together, both wound like clocks going in opposite directions, and while he tried relentlessly to pull some kind of confession from Wednesday, she wouldn't budge, remaining steadfast in her conviction that she was only doing this because she gave Enid her word; not because she wanted to.
She knows she's lying to herself, but as long as Enid is safe, Wednesday is content with being a liar. She's never been an honest person, and she'll admit to that, so it's unfair of anyone to assume that she'll be truthful. Even her forced therapy sessions couldn't force the truth out of her. If being emotionally tortured couldn't draw the honesty out of her, nothing will.
She spends ten miserable minutes scrubbing the guilt off her skin and turns off the water once she remembers that she left Enid alone. Uncle Fester should be back by now, but he and Enid haven't exactly had enough time to bond, and Wednesday doesn't want to put either in an awkward position.
After brushing her teeth, braiding her wet hair, and toweling off, she puts on her pajamas and kicks her dirty clothes into the pile that Enid was wearing, deciding that the laundry is a tomorrow problem. She mulls over the day's stressors until she's back in the main room, where Enid is still alone and now sitting on the bed in front of the TV. There is a plain white toothbrush wrapped in plastic on the table where she was once eating. The takeout container is in the small trash can, and it seems the meal was finished in its entirety. Wednesday has to sigh with relief.
"Oh, good," Enid says, standing up and grabbing the toothbrush. "Can I borrow your toothpaste?"
"To borrow implies that you are going to return it," Wednesday says. "You may use it."
"Yeah, yeah, literary genius," Enid giggles, waving her off. "Oh, your uncle went to his room for the night. Said he's gonna let us sleep in."
"I don't sleep in," Wednesday says. "I'll be sleeping on the floor tonight. You can have the bed. You need it."
Enid pouts at her. "We can share. There's room for us both. I promise I won't bite."
"I'm not so sure that it's the best idea."
"Why not?" The smile on Enid's face quickly fades. "We literally swapped bodies. We can't get any closer than that. It's not weird to share a bed. Best friends do that all the time without being weird about it. There's enough room for us both to not touch each other."
That sorely reminds Wednesday that they are best friends. And for whatever peculiar reason, she yearns to be far more than that. It's clear, though, that Enid views their relationship as purely platonic, that when she lays eyes on Wednesday, she sees a best friend or a roommate. But beyond that, there is nothing between them, so maybe it would be fine to share the bed, just for tonight, and then tomorrow, when everything is right again, they can both move on from this.
"Fine," she blatantly agrees. "I will prepare it while you brush your teeth."
While Enid is in the scary bathroom, Wednesday tugs down the old floral comforter to reveal stiff, white bedsheets, and then fluffs up the pillows on the side closest to the bathroom and punches down the others on the opposite side so the pillows are flatter than a pancake, mumbling to herself as she's making up the bed to Enid's particular liking.
"I will take the side closest to the door," she tells Enid, who's re-emerging from the bathroom. "Precautionary measures."
"So if a murderer breaks in, they'll get you first?" Enid asks, halfway amused by the logic. "You know I'm a big, scary wolf, right? And I'd attack anyone who tries to hurt you."
Wednesday pauses to think, eyes shifting to the locked door and drawn curtains. She looks back to Enid, who's slyly smiling.
"I'm going to do everything possible to avoid you shifting again," she says to Enid. "Your luck must have been incredible for you to have been able to change back when all odds were meant to be against you. You're out of the woods—both literally and figuratively— for now, and I'm trying to keep it that way."
"Wednesday, there is absolutely nothing you can do to prevent my fate," Enid states with conviction. "If I wolf out again and can't change back…well, that's just how it is. I know I'm lucky that I'm speaking to you with words and not in howls, but next full moon, I might not be so lucky."
Wednesday really, really does not want to think about the next full moon, but the predictability of the moon cycle means that, at the very least, she has a couple of weeks to figure something out before all hell breaks loose again. Whatever happened to Enid a week ago is ingrained inside of her inner werewolf now, and she's going to be resigned to a monthly, miserable fate worse than a bad period.
"We will discuss it later, after you've had some sleep," Wednesday eventually tells her, patting the fluffed pillows. "Time for bed."
"You're such a mom," Enid mumbles as she trudges around the bed to what's considered to be her side.
Wednesday scowls. "I heard that, Sinclair."
"I know, Addams."
For a moment, Wednesday finds comfort in the banter. It's reminiscent of their first semester together at Nevermore, before Crackstone, before Laurel, before Tyler, before the full moon. They didn't have anything to worry about except not clawing each other's face off during a verbal dispute over something trivial like whose side was whose and where the imaginary line was drawn and why Enid thought she could leave her pastels on Wednesday's side of the room.
It feels, dare she say, nostalgic.
Pushing aside the dreadful feeling, Wednesday turns out the light, slips under the covers, and lays stiffly on her edge of the bed while Enid gets in on the other side and curls up on her side like an obedient puppy.
The TV glows blue and the static hums quietly between them. They don't say anything to each other for the longest time, choosing instead to rest in silence, because for the moment, everything feels absolute. Enid's heavy eyes are fixated on the fuzzy screen and Wednesday's are zeroed in on a weird stain on the ceiling.
The comforter is itchy and makes Wednesday's skin buzz with the contrite discomfort of being alive. It's scratchy and brings her back to the present as she finally blinks at the stain, the gravity of the situation weighing her down. She turns her head to the left and steals a glance at Enid, whose eyelids are blinking slowly at the image of Scooby and Shaggy comically running from a ghoul. Enid's bright smile has diluted into a soft frown of discontent as her teeth slowly gnaw away at the skin at the tip of her thumb, focused on the television but not entirely all there.
Wednesday says nothing, offers no comfort or resolve, and turns her head again to gaze blankly at the stain above her. She listens to the rhythmic up-down-up-down of Enid's stable and human breathing, taking in the feeling of the mattress slightly dipping any time Enid shifts her position to, maybe, get more comfortable in an otherwise uncomfortable situation.
They're two inches apart, shoulders only barely grazing one another, but Wednesday feels alone. And she knows, pitifully, that she's only being selfish and it's not fair to compare her woe to that of Enid's, but she decides that it's fine as long as she doesn't vocalize her agony to anyone.
For the first time in her life, Wednesday feels alone in the company of someone she cares about, and it doesn't feel good.
Notes:
Thoughts? Concerns? Predictions?
Wednesday has the spirit, but she's a little wayward.
Chapter 5Notes:
DISCLAIMER: I marked this as complete, because for now, it does feel complete, but I am an indecisive person, therefore, you could see another chapter whenever. BUT for now, don't hold your breath. You can read this entire thing if you've been waiting for it to be completed. As of now, it's done.
I love you all. 🖤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The episode of Scooby Doo finishes before either of them realize that the end credits are rolling. Enid is still staring at the television screen, her tired face bathed in the blue light that casts a gentle glow over the room. Wednesday lays rigidly next to her, staring up at the ceiling stain that seems to have grown larger in the time they've been laying here.
Enid's breathing is still up-and-down but too rapid to let Wednesday think that she's fallen asleep. Wednesday doesn't want to look over at her again, afraid of seeming too desperate or overbearing. It's easier to pretend that neither of them truly exist here, to pretend that they aren't sharing the same bed and it doesn't feel nearly as awkward as either of them thought it would.
Wednesday thinks, for the first time, that she might genuinely feel comfortable. She's only known a strangely welcoming sense of discomfort and disgust her entire life, and now that she finds herself able to lay here next to Enid without feeling as if she's going to vomit her heart up, she is comfortable without the feeling of pure anguish that often accompanies it. It's simple, and it's definitely strange, but she thinks she can live with it if neither of them say anything or remind themselves of each other's presence for the rest of the night.
A bony shoulder brushes up against Wednesday's arm and makes her stop breathing for a split second. She can hear the Scooby Doo theme song gently humming and see the fuzzy blue hue acting as a makeshift nightlight, but she's been completely disassociated and existing in her own head for awhile, and the nudge of Enid's body up against her own brings her back to the present with a quiet gasp.
"Sorry," Enid whispers roughly when she notices the unintentionally pained expression on Wednesday's face. "Just trying to get comfy. There's a spring poking me in the back."
Mouth dry, Wednesday asks, "Would you like to switch sides?"
"It's okay," Enid sleepily mumbles, snuggling into the pillows as much as the pilling fabric will allow her to. "I've felt worse this week. The spring is way better."
Guilt settles in Wednesday's chest. Somehow, some way, this is all her fault. If she hadn't been so irresponsible with everything and abused her powers, and if she had just left well enough alone, Enid might not have had to wolf out for her a second time and get stuck in a werewolf body that was doomed to be hunted down and preyed upon.
And perhaps she's a little selfish for thinking such things, but it's fine as long as she doesn't vocalize it to Enid. She's warned Enid, on many occasions, that she's innately a selfish creature and will always prioritize her own agenda over everything else, so it isn't as though Enid couldn't have seen this coming, but the remorse continues to linger in Wednesday's heart, festering like an untreated wound.
Enid's warm nose nudging Wednesday's shoulder brings Wednesday back to the present. She turns her head a bit to find that Enid is drowsy but awake, her exhausted eyes slowly blinking at the screen and her nose buried in the black fabric of Wednesday's pajama top, and more than that, she has a piece of Wednesday's shirt between her teeth—not exactly biting but also not exactly acting typical.
"Are you sniffing me?" Wednesday asks, but her tone is soft rather than accusatory or harsh. She raises a half-amused, half-disturbed eyebrow. "And using me as a chew toy?"
Under the blue light, Enid's cheeks turn pink as she withdraws from Wednesday. She looks mortified by her own actions, going so far as to scoot gently away from Wednesday.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes, looking incredibly innocent despite the fact that she was just slobbering on Wednesday's clothes. "I didn't mean to. Sniffing is a werewolf habit. We're like dogs, ya know? We sniff people to remember their scent."
"And the chewing?" Wednesday inquires.
"Also a werewolf thing," Enid replies with a wince. "I did some research on alphas, before the full moon, so I knew what could happen to me. It did say that alpha teeth are a little more prominent and larger than a regular werewolf's, and once an alpha shifts for the first time, they'll wanna chew things to help the pain of the big teeth trying to make room, even if they're lucky enough to be human again."
Wednesday gives a dry chuckle, her cheeks dimpling a little. "So you're teething?"
Enid weakly smiles. "I guess, yeah."
"And I'm your teether of choice?" Wednesday asks rhetorically. "I'm honored that you think I am chewable, Enid."
"Don't say it like that, you goofball," Enid tiredly giggles. "All werewolf jaws have to make room for our werewolf teeth to come in, but mine hurt a little more because I'm an alpha. Chewing things helps the pain a little. When I was in the woods, I gnawed a twig until it splintered and I choked on it."
Wednesday doesn't know whether to find that humorous or concerning. After all, Enid is sometimes naturally clumsy, except for when she's dancing or doing gymnastics, and it's unsurprising to Wednesday that she would choke on a twig, but now she's even more grateful that they've been reunited. At least now, she can keep a proper eye on Enid and hopefully draw her away from harm.
She'll keep Enid safe if it's the last thing she'll ever do.
"Why're you staring at me?" Enid asks in a quiet murmur.
Suddenly coming back to the present, Wednesday tilts her chin down and finds Enid's eyes zeroed in on her face. Wednesday might be guilty of staring at Enid, but Enid is just as guilty of staring at Wednesday, so it apparently evens out.
"I'm not staring," Wednesday denies despite understanding how much of a lie that is. "You are staring at me."
"Maybe we're staring at each other," Enid playfully argues. "It's hard to win against someone who never blinks, though."
Very calculated, Wednesday slowly blinks once. Enid snorts with laughter, the smile not quite meeting her eyes.
"You just have to get the last word in every time, don't you?" Enid asks, nudging Wednesday's knee with her own under the covers. "You're so stubborn."
"So I've been told." Wednesday stifles a yawn. "You must be exhausted from everything, Enid. You should try to get some sleep. As much as I could reasonably attempt to sleep in, I know it's not going to happen, and I don't want to wake you up when you've barely had any real rest."
Enid shrugs a limp shoulder. "It's hard to fall asleep. I didn't get much sleep in the woods. I was always worried that a pack of wolves were gonna find me and kill me. Eventually I found a good hiding spot, and I slept for maybe a few hours, but my hearing is way more sensitive now, and I kept waking up every time I heard a tiny noise." She yawns and rubs her left eye. "I guess…I don't know, it just feels weird to be in a bed and not have to worry about anything getting me. Except maybe an axe murderer. But I think I can take down an axe murderer. I can't take down a wolf who's sniffed me out for being an alpha."
"You took down a hyde," Wednesday points out. "No matter how tough Tyler acts or how deplorable he may seem, I think he is somewhat traumatized by his encounters with you." A sliver of a smirk pulls at her lips. "Good."
"Ugh, saying his name is like calling upon Beetlejuice," Enid says with a wince. "Don't say it again, or else he might appear. I don't have the energy to claw his face off right now. Maybe tomorrow."
The amusement slides off Wednesday's face and is quickly replaced by that of guilt. Enid doesn't look fearful at the mention of Tyler, but she clearly doesn't want to entertain the idea of him, either, and it's all Wednesday's fault that Enid had to fight him in the first place. If she had just left well enough alone, none of this would have happened, and they could both move on with their lives, but she didn't leave well enough alone, because nothing is ever good enough for Wednesday Addams—except for, maybe, Enid Sinclair herself.
"I'm…I'm…" Wednesday swallows her saliva.
Enid furrows her eyebrows. "Having a stroke?"
"No," Wednesday immediately says, even though she feels like she's chewing gravel. "What I meant to say is…I'm…I'm sorry."
Enid's expression quickly softens even more, if that's even possible for someone as forgiving as her. She shifts herself a little more, tucking one arm under her neck and keeping the other one laid in the space that bridges the gap between her and Wednesday, who has now turned her head to look back up at the ceiling stain.
"Why are you sorry?" Enid gently questions. "What for?"
Wednesday doesn't say anything. Her jaw is quivering and her eyes are hot, like they feel on the rare occasions that she falls ill, or the time she thought she was going to lose Thing to Laurel's vendetta against her family.
She's going to cry, and that's funny, because crying is just wasted energy, and hardly anything in this world is worth crying for. Dying, perhaps, but not crying.
Crying doesn't do anything but make her seem vulnerable to predators. It's the weakest human response of them all, a defect in the human design worse than the useless creation of the appendix that is always at risk of rupturing at any given moment, the most worthless waste of hydration in the body. It doesn't solve anything or offer any apologies. Tears are for the people who resign themselves to helplessness, for people who fall to their knees at every inconvenience and accept that they can't do anything to fend for themselves. They aren't for a doer like Wednesday Addams. They are for quitters.
"Wednesday?" Enid's voice is a soft croon attempting to reel her back to her. "You still with me?"
Although Wednesday is a doer and not a quitter, she has to suck up the tears and blink at the stain a few times before she can turn her head again. Enid is watching her with concern, big blue eyes sleepy but alert when they notice the plight on Wednesday's face.
"Yes," Wednesday sorely replies. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You spaced out," Enid softly says. "What are you thinking about? And why are you sorry? You literally just saved my life. If anything, I should be thanking you. And I do thank you for it. But I'm still wondering why you're sorry. You hardly ever apologize for anything. Mostly because you're hardheaded and don't wanna admit that you did something wrong, but also sometimes because you are actually right."
Wednesday exhales a bated breath. She doesn't want to talk about this tonight, or preferably, ever again, but Enid is staring at her with insistence, and like all the other times, Wednesday all but feels herself caving into the precious sparkle of her baby blues.
"Enid, never mind it," she eventually says. "You are exhausted and need your rest. You haven't properly slept in almost a week. And you know how cranky I can be when I haven't had my full eight hours, or my six hours with supplemental caffeine, and I don't think this place offers any sort of complimentary breakfast or coffee. It's best for us both to go to sleep and revisit this in the morning when I will have had more time to think with full use of my brain capacity."
"I know you, Wednesday," Enid replies with conviction. "You and I both know you're gonna pretend to forget all about it and move on, because that's what you do. You're obviously really upset over something, and I just wanna know why."
Wednesday closes her eyes, and just as quickly as the darkness overcomes her, a fingertip is lifting up her eyelid. She jolts back a little and rapidly blinks away the dots clouding her vision.
"Enid, why would you poke me in the eye?" she gripes. "I have perfect vision and you're going to ruin it by scratching my corneas."
"Because you're not gonna shut down on me now, Addams," Enid says, but this time the uttering of Wednesday's last name doesn't yield humor; it yields seriousness and demand. "Just tell me why you're sorry, and then we can go to sleep and move on."
"Must we discuss this right now?" Wednesday huffs. "It's awfully late to have a crisis."
The revered look in Enid's eyes is palpable as she props herself up on an elbow.
"Who said we're in a crisis?" she asks Wednesday. "I literally had to eat roadkill and rodents to survive because werewolves don't have thumbs to open Cheeto bags, so let's not be dramatic about having a crisis just because you're trying to show me a little emotion and can't fathom the fact that you might be feeling a little regret for something you probably did a long time ago and I've already forgiven you for."
Well, if Wednesday didn't feel selfish before, she definitely feels selfish now.
"It's nothing, Enid," Wednesday insists. "Lay back down and go to sleep before you exert yourself."
"Nope," she stubbornly replies. "Tell me what you're sorry for."
Deciding that nothing is worth having an argument over, Wednesday sighs. Just like a quitter, she accepts her fate.
"I'm sorry…for everything," she begins, earning a raised eyebrow. She's almost too exhausted to elaborate, but the words start to spill from her betraying lips. "The first day Uncle Fester and I began searching for you, I told him that the butterfly effect is real, that you would suffer the consequences of my recklessness no matter what I did to prevent your alpha status from catching up to you. If I hadn't been so foolish and concerned with my own agenda, you would have never been dragged into such a tangled web of lies and deceit. You could have simply remained ignorant to the situation."
"Wednesday," Enid says softly, facial muscles smoothing out into a much more merciful expression. "None of this is your fault, especially not me being an alpha."
"But I'm the reason you had to wolf out at a very vulnerable time," Wednesday grieves, her heartbeat beginning to quicken. "You wouldn't have had to if I hadn't been buried alive. And still, I wonder why you did."
"Well, you getting buried alive wasn't exactly your fault, and I did what I did because I couldn't let you die," Enid mournfully replies. "Agnes warned me, before I let myself wolf out. She told me I wouldn't be able to change back, and I knew as much, but I also knew that you were going to die if I didn't wolf out and dig you out of the grave, so I forced myself to do what I had to do. I would do anything for you, Wednesday. Anything. Live or die. And I did. A part of me died that night, but now that I'm here, human again, I also feel more alive, like I've just found a missing piece of myself."
Enid's words seem absolute. An unfamiliar pain blooms in Wednesday's chest, a pain she's felt remnants of but never in its entirety. The way Enid is gazing so lovingly at her is a confession in and of itself, but she can't help but to have some doubts.
"Where did you learn to speak so poetically?" Wednesday asks facetiously.
Grinning sleepily at her, Enid giggles. "Reading your manuscripts."
Wednesday frowns but is too tired to be angry. "Those were private."
"Were," Enid emphasizes. "I guess your little fan fiction you wrote about Viper, who is totally you, rescuing the character who is essentially a parody of me was really more of a how-to guide than fiction."
Wednesday's face feels like the surface of the sun. She could explode right now and disintegrate into ash and be okay with it.
"Enid—"
"You know, I was kinda offended at first, because I thought you viewed me as weak and in need of a savior," Enid rambles. "But then I realized, you need me as much as I need you. And I wasn't hurt by it anymore. Because now I know that you and I work so well because we have the same level of trust and care for each other, even if our versions of that look different."
"I didn't mean to offend you with my fiction," is all Wednesday can say, because she thinks she might be dying.
"I know you didn't. I forgive you," Enid readily reassures. "For everything. Even the stuff you did that was out of line last year. I've already forgiven you for it all. We can both move on now. I'm not mad at you. You saved my fucking life, Wednesday. I could never be mad at you."
The glow television flickers over them, drowning the room in blue. Wednesday can hear the prickly static humming between them as she contemplates what to do next, because for whatever reason, falling asleep or running out of the motel and into the night are not plausible options right now.
"You told me that I'm your pack," Wednesday says, earning a confused look. "I understand that it was meant figuratively. But I'm trying to wrap my head around the implication behind it. The autism…sometimes it doesn't allow me to think beyond the surface level literal aspect, especially when I've already drained my brain power. I've given all my brain power and literacy skills over the past few days. I'm surprised I'm still speaking coherent English."
Enid sharply inhales. "I know what I said, and yeah, it's figurative because you aren't a werewolf, but…" She hesitates, eyes flicking over to the screen. She lets the image of Scooby humanly guffawing comfort her before looking back at a perplexed Wednesday. "It's true that you are my pack. I did a lot of digging and research about alphas, before the full moon, just in case Capri didn't tell me everything or was making it way worse than it actually was. I came to the conclusion that, yeah, it really was as bad as she said it could be, but I also read something super important, and it kind of gave me a little hope. I mean, not that I really had a choice once I made the decision to wolf out, but yeah…you know."
Wednesday nods at her, silently urging her to proceed. Enid winces, and Wednesday takes note of the tremble in her shoulders but doesn't point it out.
"An alpha returning to human form is close to impossible and super rare," Enid says, voice shaking. "It's only possible to turn back into human form if someone who reciprocates the love the alpha has for that person finds them and provides physical contact. I turned back when you touched my head."
Wednesday's big eyes impossibly widen at that.
"But—"
"You changed me back, Wednesday," Enid declares. "You touched my head and changed me back. I felt it, too. And that means that you love me, because the complexities of being an alpha are never wrong. They're innate and buried within us. We're born with them. They lay dormant for a long time, and when they finally manifest, it's intense and painful. But they're never wrong."
"To reciprocate means that the feeling is mutual," Wednesday finally whispers, a deep pain taking residency in her chest.
"Yeah," Enid quietly chuckles. "It means that I love you, too, Wednesday."
Wednesday's heart is beating wildly out of her chest. She can hear the blood rushing in her ears and thinks it might actually be gushing out of them but doesn't make an effort to properly confirm it.
Enid leans down and in, pressing her warm lips to Wednesday's cold ones. It catches Wednesday off guard for a moment, her hands curled defensively against her chest, but she quickly relaxes into the warmth of Enid's body, reciprocating the kiss with a tenderness that she didn't realize she had in her, and allows one hand to reflexively cradle Enid's cheek.
She's floating, or maybe she's actually just asleep and having a wicked dream. Maybe she'll wake up next to Enid, not having kissed her or held her, or maybe she was in a terrible accident on the 236 and death brought her here to suffer with her yearning for an eternity, never to be properly fulfilled.
But Enid is warm and soft in her hands, and her lips are very real, and when Wednesday leans in for more, she's provided with all the love in the world and then some, so this has to be real.
It's real. She's kissing Enid Sinclair, and Enid Sinclair is kissing her back.
Enid is the first to pull away from the kiss, which causes Wednesday to huff at the sudden loss of contact, but then Enid is planting gentle kisses around random places on Wednesday's face—first her cheeks, then her forehead, then her nose, and back down to her lips, where they linger for a second.
They withdraw again, this time on mutual terms, and Enid laughs at the bug-eyed look on Wednesday's face and disheveled hair that frames her face like a black, beautiful halo.
"You look like you just got electrocuted," Enid says.
"Well…perhaps that's how I feel," Wednesday replies breathlessly, wondering if that's her own spit or Enid's spit collected at the corners of her mouth. She licks it up and swallows it anyway. "How did you know?"
"As I said," Enid coolly says as she lays her head on the pillow. "The complexities of being an alpha are never wrong. What happened to me was super rare, but it doesn't mean that it's wrong. I love you, Wednesday, and you don't have to say it back, but I know that you love me in return. That's just the way this alpha thing works. You can't help it, I can't help it, no one can help it. It's part of both of us now."
Wednesday swallows, staring down at Enid, wordlessly admiring the pink in her cheeks that matches the dye in her hair. It's like staring at a beautiful angel, if Wednesday believed in that sort of thing, or analyzing a piece of art. She could sit here for hours, under the glow of the television, watching Enid and taking in every minute detail of her gorgeous character.
Finally, the words effortlessly tumble from her swollen lips.
"I love you, too, Enid."
Sleepily reaching up, Enid grabs Wednesday by the shirt and brings her back down to lay next to her. She presses a kiss to Wednesday's forehead and then the top of her head, wrapping a protective arm around her and drawing her into her chest for an embrace. Wednesday readily obliges, laying her head against the steady drumbeat of Enid's strong heart, her eyes fluttering closed as she breathes in the familiar scent of safety and warmth.
They're both beyond exhausted, both inside and out, physically and mentally. There is certainly more they have to say to each other, and even far more to accurately discuss regarding the future of their relationship—whatever that looks like for them now, anyway—but that all can wait for sunrise, once they've both had some decent sleep in each other's blissful company.
For now, Wednesday is content to be held in Enid's arms, listening to her heartbeat, and Enid is reveling the fact that she's human once again and now able to dutifully tend to Wednesday's scorned, black heart the way she's, according to the myriad of books on alpha anatomy she read, always been made to do. They fit just right together, in a tangled web of limbs and hair and soft breaths that are quickly becoming snores as sleep overcomes them.
Being held by Enid is a nightmare come true for Wednesday. It's everything she's ever fantasized of, since the moment they hugged under the blood moon. She's not dreaming or in hell; she's here, with Enid, safely cocooned in a loving embrace, and for once, she's not displaced or outcasted or hunted down by a monster out for a taste of her blood. She's exactly where she is meant to be, even if she's vulnerable to the element of surprise if anything were to happen between now and morning.
They hold each other for awhile longer, Enid lovingly stroking Wednesday's hair and Wednesday inhaling Enid's woodsy yet homey scent, and just as the Scooby Doo episode fades to black, Wednesday falls asleep in the sanctity of Enid's arms, and Enid quickly follows her.
Notes:
I do have one more plot in mind (bar my one WIP) for something else, but it's kinda silly and strays from what I'm used to, but if I don't write it, y'all won't get fed any time soon because the creative well has run dry.
So…how do we feel about invisible Agnes eavesdropping on Wednesday and Enid (who are not together) having a very marital argument and she appears and starts wailing at them because she "doesn't want them to get a divorce," and it really makes them go "HUH"?
They're like her moms and she has trauma from her actual parents' divorce 😞 Agnes is the adopted child they didn't realize they needed
Chapter 6Notes:
Oops I did it again.
I took a brief hiatus because my brain simply could not, and I don't know when you'll see something else from me, but for now, eat up while you can. 🖤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Wednesday jolts awake and immediately forgets what she had been dreaming about.
Her brain feels foggy, like she's coming down with the plague, and she's swaddled in a blanket of heat. If she didn't know any better, she would think she's finally made it to hell to overthrow the devil for his spot, but then she props herself up on an elbow and looks down to find Enid drooling away on her pillow. Her gaze softens tenfold, expression relaxing at the subtle twitch in Enid's nose as she snores in a fashion that would be considered unladylike.
The unfamiliar feeling of a hand on Wednesday's waist scares her out of her wits once the fogginess in her brain starts ebbing away. In the pit of the darkness, her eyes frantically travel every which way, until they settle upon Enid's left hand lazily grasping onto her hip. It's not seductive or provocative; rather protective and reassuring. Reassuring Wednesday that Enid is alive and human and hers.
Reality comes crashing down upon Wednesday's shoulders just then. She rolls over and looks at the digital bedside clock, squinting to properly read the numbers that match the color of the motel sign outside. It's a little past four, and she believes as much when she notices how dark the room is, the only light to be seen that of the television glowing with the Pink Panther cartoon.
Scooby Doo must have ended awhile ago, and now the network has moved onto something much more obscure to fill in the time slots between night and morning, when normal people should be sleeping, but Wednesday is far from normal, and so she stares at the ugly pink thing for awhile, until her eyes burn from the strain, and then she turns back over to Enid, whose upper lip is curled up in a growling motion.
A guttural sound leaves Enid's throat just as she swipes at the air. Her hand comes back down to Wednesday's hip and secures it right there, drawing Wednesday towards her. Enid's body immediately curls around Wednesday's, her chin resting atop Wednesday's head like a crown. Her left leg swings around Wednesday's waist, locking her in place, and suddenly Wednesday's face is nestled between the abstract outline of Enid's breasts, and instead of being absolutely mortified that she's a girl being smothered by another girl's bosom, Wednesday readily leans into the touch.
Enid's chest heaves up and down as she breathes, and Wednesday goes with it. She thinks she should feel absolutely humiliated by the way she willingly condones the contact of another person, because historically, that's not worked in her favor, but she also thinks that she could get used to the idea of being held by Enid like this.
Prior to this—whatever this is—Wednesday was always perturbed by the thought of succumbing to the ridiculous idea of romance. After all, her only exposure to romantic love, until recent years, was that of her parents' saccharine romance that was and is still comprised of sweet, stolen kisses in every corner of their home, slow dances under the moonlight, gentle yet territorial touches. Wednesday was always disgusted by it, wondering how someone could enjoy the fleeting feeling of another person's hands around their waist or the lips of another brushing their cheek, but now, she's beginning to understand how easy it is to lean into it.
It might be inappropriate of her, but Wednesday thinks back to Tyler, and she inwardly winces with both disgust and anger. With him, she never felt the way she does now. She hypothesizes that it might have something to do with the fact that he's out for her blood, but there is also the factor that he's a boy. Boys don't smell the way Enid does. Boys don't look the way Enid does. Boys don't smile the way Enid does. Boys aren't Enid.
Suddenly, she's drawn out of her inner monologue by Enid shifting above her. She feels the firm yet pliable flesh of a human nose sniffing the crown of her head, from the back of her skull to the front of her fringe, like a dog would to its owner when they come home.
"Enid," she quietly says, not moving in case Enid is starting to transform again. The idea is a bit exciting, and Wednesday wriggles. "Are you awake?"
"You smell nice," Enid sleepily mutters. "Like, your natural scent. Not the soap."
"My natural scent?" Wednesday parrots in a query, her voice muffled by Enid's chest. Admittedly, the idea that Enid can smell her piques her interest. "You can decipher my natural scent?"
"Mhm," Enid contentedly purrs, burying her nose deeper in Wednesday's hairline. "Skin has a scent, but everyone smells differently. You smell like ink and dead flowers and sandalwood. Sometimes you smell like rain."
Enid can't see it, but Wednesday blinks owlishly. She's never been one to be paranoid about the way she smells, because she takes extra care in hygiene, but for someone to be able to properly dissect her natural scent, it seems so bizarre. It's so bizarre, she could even consider it romantic.
"Why are you awake?" Wednesday asks, trying to steer herself away from the hormonal edge. "You should be resting."
"I could feel you awake," Enid replies. "It woke me up."
"You felt me awake?" Wednesday asks quizzically.
"I can feel everything you do," Enid says with certainty. "It's another werewolf thing. I could just sense that you were awake, and I woke up, too."
Wednesday isn't one for empty apologies, so she doesn't tell Enid she's sorry for waking her up, but she does think that the complexities of being an alpha are more of a burden than anything else. It has to be tiresome to constantly lean into the hormones and the instincts that often accompany strong werewolves like Enid.
"Go back to sleep, Enid," Wednesday says. "It's only four. We have plenty of time to sleep before the sun rises."
Enid's leg winds tighter around both of Wednesday's, pulling her deep into her chest as her palm flattens between Wednesday's shoulders. Wednesday's nose fills with the scent of her own detergent from her shirt that Enid is borrowing, but now the scent is mixed with less of her and more of Enid. She tilts her chin up to take a breath, pressing the tip of her nose to the base of Enid's throat that vibrates when Enid sighs in relief.
"You're letting me hold you," Enid says suddenly, the words a gentle hum in Wednesday's ear. "You aren't, like, stabbing me for touching you."
"Why would I do that?" Wednesday inquires. "You seem to have forgotten what we just did."
She feels Enid insecurely shrug.
"I didn't think you would be okay with it," Enid says. Her hands work up and down Wednesday's back. "It's just…I know you. You don't like to be touched, and I totally respect that, but part of me is thinking that you're forcing yourself to be okay with this because you feel bad for me after what I went through. Maybe I'm just a really insecure person because my mom always gets in my head and picks apart all my flaws, but I keep thinking that you see me as some sad, orphaned dog that deserves your charity."
Wiggling out of Enid's grasp, Wednesday sits up on her knees and flicks on the bedside lamp. The glow of the television is drowned out by that of the lightbulb that splashes a warm, vintage kind of amber over the room. She's able to look properly at Enid now, taking in her sleepy, squinting eyes and her messy hair that seems to have dried in tiny waves around her head. She takes a second to admire her natural beauty in this state, eyes raking over her with fondness.
Before Wednesday can say anything, Enid is already blurting out nonsensical words.
"You're mad at me," Enid says.
"I am not," Wednesday assures. "But since we're offloading unnecessary emotion, I am going to tell you what I think."
"It's way too early to get into an argument," Enid groans, flopping back into the pillows. "Can it wait until the morning? I haven't gotten my beauty sleep yet."
"We are not going to argue," Wednesday says, glancing at the clock. "And if we are being technical, it is morning."
Enid groans again, tossing an arm over her eyes as she blocks out the light burning into her skin. Wednesday eyes her with expectancy; first looking at the way Enid's eyes sleepily flutter, then at the way Enid swallows back another tired groan of protest, and finally, the way her abdomen rises and falls with awake breaths. Enid's arm slips from her eyes, and she sits up more against the pillows.
"Begin your lecture," Enid tells Wednesday, waving a hand at Wednesday. "I'm listening."
"I'm not going to lecture you," Wednesday says. She admires the yellow halo that glows around Enid's head of blonde hair and leaves Wednesday starstruck, and then she clears her throat, dispelling the thought. "You are not a charity case. And even if you were, when do I ever participate in charity work?"
Enid snorts. "True."
"You are feeling insecure because of what your mother has told you throughout your entire life," Wednesday continues, trying to stay on topic despite the overwhelming hatred that bubbles up inside her when she thinks about Esther Sinclair. "As much as I'd love to have her pelt spread out on my bedroom floor as a rug to stomp on, I understand that she is your mother and I cannot murder her for implanting such vile ideations in your head, so I won't harp on it."
"Thanks for that."
"However, I don't view you as a charity case or a dog to be rescued," Wednesday says. "I gave you my word, Enid. I told you that I had no problem hunting you down, and I didn't. I always make good on my promises. I didn't do it out of obligation or pity. I did it because, in the same way you couldn't let me die under the skull tree, I couldn't let you be hunted down by other werewolves. If anyone is going to have the privilege of hunting you down, it's me."
Enid flashes a sleepy smile at Wednesday. "You're amazing, Wednesday Addams."
"I don't feed off of compliments," Wednesday says, settling down next to Enid. "I could say that your hearing is quite impressive. You could hear my heart beating from six feet under. So Agnes said, anyway."
Tossing her leg over Wednesday's waist again and dropping her head onto her shoulder, Enid snuggles into her unwavering partner. She lets her eyes close with minimal effort, sighing in relief when she hears the familiar pattering of Wednesday's heartbeat fill her ears. It's a gentle swish-swish that feels like a warm blanket on a cold day or ice on a contusion.
"It's true. I could hear it loud and clear, but it was weak," Enid replies. She pauses to lift her head, giving Wednesday a peculiar look. "Where is Agnes? She ditched her dad when he stopped for gas so she could let me out of my cage and dig you up."
Wednesday's body visibly sags like there's a weight sitting on her shoulders. She welcomes Enid to lean further into her, tentatively wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Before Uncle Fester picked me up from Nevermore, Agnes visited me in my—our dorm," Wednesday replies. "She brought me a photo of you, in full werewolf form, that was caught on a trail camera. That was the last I saw of Agnes before her father returned for her after he realized that she'd escaped him the first time. I didn't formally meet him, but I did see him giving her quite the earful about vanishing on him again. She glared at him the entire time he spoke to her and made furious eye contact when she told him that she did not ask to be born. I can only imagine that she learned that behavior by stalking me for so long."
"Again," Enid chuckles. "It must be hard having a kid who can just—wait, what photo?"
"It's in my suitcase," Wednesday says honestly, because there's no sense in pretending that she cared so little about it to throw it into the wind. "I must admit, you are a frightening creature."
"I wanna see it," Enid yawns wide, eyelids trying to keep themselves open. "Show me."
"It's awfully late, Enid," Wednesday says, trying to be sympathetic. "You can see it tomorrow, after you've had enough rest."
"If we're being technical, it's actually early, and it is already tomorrow," Enid smugly quips at her. She tilts her head to properly look at Wednesday, who's staring back with her big brown eyes. "Right?"
"You are insufferable," Wednesday mutters as she untangles herself from Enid. "Too smart for your own good."
Enid watches Wednesday leave the bed, eyeing her every move as Wednesday unzips the side pocket of her suitcase and fishes out a slip of paper. Wednesday returns to bed, crawling back to Enid's side and thrusting the paper into her hands, and Enid is all too happy to see her own werewolf snarling at the camera, eyes aglow with both fear and hunger.
"Wish I could show this to my mom," she says to no one in particular, dragging a thumb over her printed snout. "Who's the pathetic werewolf now?"
Wednesday inwardly winces but doesn't allow herself to reveal any kind of real emotion to Enid. She keeps the anger and resentment at bay, buried underneath the absolute love and adoration she has for Enid.
"I'm surprised your parents aren't in an uproar about you running into the moonlight and allowing your alpha status to consume you," Wednesday comments. "Capri told me, before Nevermore closed for the semester, that she informed your parents about the incident, and although she didn't divulge into the gritty details, I'm under the impression that your mother wasn't too happy with you. Your father, on the other hand, seemed to be concerned for your safety."
Looking up at Wednesday, Enid's eyes soften. She lets the picture fall into her lap.
"Capri actually told you?" she asks in disbelief, raising an eyebrow.
Wednesday pauses, staring blankly at the television. Pink Panther has ended, and now an episode of The Flintstones is playing. She admires the simplicity of the stone age for a moment before daring to look back at Enid, whose expression has become demanding.
"She didn't tell me so much as I sent Agnes on one last quest to eavesdrop on Capri before her father picked her up," Wednesday says evenly. "She was happy to assist."
"Wednesday!" Enid exclaims. She wants to scold her, but she can't help the grin stretching across her face. "You can't use Agnes for your dirty crimes all the time."
"She loves it," Wednesday defends. "It wasn't as if Capri was being conspicuous, either. Agnes hardly had to do much. She found Capri on the phone with your mother. It was on speaker, allowing the entirety of the staff to hear the bellowing of your mother on the other end. If there was a real need for privacy, Capri is awful at it."
Enid sighs, resting her head on Wednesday's shoulder. "What did my mom say?"
"She verbally maimed Capri for allowing this to happen, and then she proceeded to call me a slew of colorful insults," Wednesday says. "According to Agnes, she wasn't very creative in her swearing."
Wednesday feels Enid's muscles tense. She puts a placating palm on Enid's knee, holding her steady. It's too soon for Enid to wolf out again, and Wednesday will do what it takes to prevent it from happening, even if a little physical contact is in order. She will have to adjust to this. This is her life now. Her entire job is to keep Enid alive and healthy and human.
"My family is going to abandon me," Enid candidly whispers. "They know about alphas. I'm not the first in my bloodline. I did a lot of research on my family tree while I was caged up. My great grandmother on my dad's side was an alpha. She was a late bloomer and had one kid, my dad's mom, a few years before she accidentally shifted on a full moon. She couldn't change back. No one loved her enough to find her and change her back, even the dad to her kid, even though he left when she was pregnant. The family abandoned her and basically saw her as trash after that. She made it two weeks before she was hunted down and killed. Alphas are meant to be alone. Just because I'm alive, doesn't mean they'll accept me if I go back home."
"I wouldn't say that you are alone," Wednesday implies purposely. "Your mother was always wrong about you. You might have been a late bloomer, but you are far stronger than she could ever be. She places her worth on the strength of her pack and the amount of children she can breed for the bloodline, but you are nothing like her. You are not defined by only your alpha status or the fact that the person to have changed you back is more human than anything else. You have always prided yourself in your truth, just as you told me when we first met, and I expect you to live up to that."
Enid's eyes are visibly wet. Her cheeks are a baby pink and her chin wobbles. Wednesday's initial instinct is to move away to avoid being cried on, but suddenly her arms are winding around Enid and bringing her to her chest. She puts a steady hand on the back of Enid's head, the other nestled at the small of her back, cradling her to her body the same way Enid did for her on the night of the blood moon.
The night is still around them, save for the sound of Enid pouring her heart out into Wednesday's chest. She sniffles and cries for the longest time, but Wednesday's arms never leave her. Wednesday dutifully holds her, servicing Enid in the way she needs, awkwardly raking her fingers through the messy blonde hair and dragging her fingernails along her scalp until she feels Enid go slack against her.
"Enid?" Wednesday murmurs tiredly, brushing away the hairs that obstruct her view of Enid's face. "Have you fallen asleep?"
"No," Enid mumbles, pulling away from Wednesday. She wipes her face with the back of her hand. "Sorry for crying on you."
"Don't apologize to me," Wednesday softly scolds. "I may not understand what friends do, but I unfortunately understand what partners do, and oftentimes, that entails cradling the other in times of distress."
Enid giggles sleepily, wiping the last of her tears as they trickle out of her eyes. She gives the photo one last look before putting it on the bedside table and returning her attention to Wednesday. Wednesday notes the concern in Enid's face, wondering what she's thinking in that pretty head of hers, and then Enid gives her a diluted smile.
"What am I gonna do now?"
The question is a punch to Wednesday's gut, because truthfully, she doesn't have a real answer to that. Wednesday's plan was to take this adventure one step at a time and deal with the hurdles as they presented themselves, but now that the hard part is over, she's hit a bump in the road. Perhaps it's just so late that her cognitive ability isn't properly functioning, but the question has stumped her.
Still, Enid is expecting some kind of answer, even if it's merely consolation to get them both through the rest of the night, and Wednesday has learned that she's best at providing, so she does just that.
"Enid, you and I are going to figure this out together," Wednesday assures. "Your family in California may reject you, but my family does not reject the partner of an Addams. I know that I often gripe about how disgusting my parents' affection can be, and it's mostly true and not subject to any exaggerations, but an Addams loves fully and irrevocably, no matter the circumstances or consequences. We do not deny anyone who steps foot into our home. Grandmama may be a special case of complications and manipulation, but my parents are more than just fond of you."
Enid's eyes twinkle. Wednesday can only hope it's a pleasured shine and not another layer of tears ready to burst.
"They are?" Enid quietly asks.
"Of course," Wednesday earnestly says. "My mother was gentle with you when you were in my body. She's hardly gentle with just anyone."
"She's a nice lady," Enid reiterates.
"She knows what it's like to have an overbearing mother who has a chip on her shoulder," Wednesday blandly corrects, leaning against the headboard. "It could be a bonding activity for you both."
Enid giggles and presses a kiss to the corner of Wednesday's mouth. Wednesday, in turn, shifts so she's facing Enid a little more, and willingly leans into a proper, full kiss.
When they pull away, Wednesday moves a piece of hair from Enid's face and tucks it gently behind her ear. Enid blushes the slightest bit, happy to be in the presence of Wednesday, who doesn't seem to be fighting her romantic urges.
"I love you," Enid easily says.
"The feeling is incredibly mutual, Enid," Wednesday replies. "Tomorrow, we will go home and reevaluate the situation from there, but for now, you and I will sleep. You need your rest."
Leaving little room for argument, Wednesday turns off the light and reprises her role on her side of the bed. Enid quickly follows her, laying her head on the pillow but inching towards Wednesday with one arm outstretched at her. Wednesday obliges, allowing Enid to wrap her arms around her in a safe cocoon.
"Home," Enid contentedly hums against Wednesday's head as she breathes in her scent. "I can't wait to go home with you, Wednesday."
Wednesday doesn't verbally respond, but the soft sigh she gives as her body relaxes into Enid's is perfectly succinct.
Notes:
Would you like to see this story expand? I do have ideas, but only if they're desired. You all are my greatest motivation.