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When Enid ran up to her and pulled Wednesday into her arms, her instinct was to push away and make distance between herself and the bright pink jacket that Enid wore. The bright pink jacket that had in the past caused Wednesday to break out in rashes after making contact with it.
But seeing the crestfallen look in Enid’s eyes, as well as the odd gnawing ache that formed in her own chest, her second instinct was to allow the girl to ‘fill her hug quota’. The metaphorical fist that had seized Wednesday's lungs began to ease off when she relaxed into the hug. She didn't regret tucking her face against the crook of Enid’s neck, regardless of the itch blossoming under her skin. Her hands fisted in the bright pink fabric, likely turning a similar color themselves.
Their hug lasted for far too long and yet ended way too soon for Wednesday’s liking.
They stumbled back into the school, keeping each other upright. Wednesday would never admit it, but her head was only upright on her shoulders due to sheer force of will and only the solidness of Enid beside her kept her moving. Her own injuries, she didn't care for all that much. Enid’s, on the other hand, were her main concern. She was bleeding, crying, and covered in dirt.
The medical office would be overflowing with patients. Wednesday had had enough experience with dissecting and reconstructing cadavers to have a general sense on how to do the same for someone living. She knew how best to make someone hurt. It would stand to reason that she could achieve the opposite.
Their dorm’s bathroom was the first stop. Washing her own hands was its own pleasant sort of torture as the sensation of running water both soothed and aggravated the rashes. Wednesday hardly felt herself move, functioning on autopilot as she tended to Enid’s injuries.
Disinfect the wounds, apply pressure, cover and wrap.
Thing assisted in retrieving each item from Wednesday's personal medical kit before she could ask for it. Admittedly, Wednesday wasn't sure if she’d even be able to ask for anything verbally. The place she found herself in, mentally, was not one conducive to people-ing. Her only focus was the task at hand, and the task was to help Enid.
She only noticed Enid was trying to get her attention when the other girl grabbed her wrist and stopped her from moving. Wednesday fixed Enid with an intense stare, looking between her face and the butterfly stitch in her hand. The words wouldn't come, but they were clear, even unspoken.
Enid’s lips were moving. She was speaking. Wednesday couldn't quite hear her. There was a loud buzzing sound in her ears, drowning out everything. ‘Spaced out’, her parents would call it. A pity. Wednesday liked the sound of Enid’s voice.
Enid’s other hand reached forward, brushing loose strands of hair out of Wednesday’s face. Anyone else, and their fingers would have been bitten off. But Enid… Enid could get away with anything. Wednesday’s eyelids fluttered. There was no instinct to flinch, just a level of comfort and relaxation she’d never felt before.
Her shoulders slumped, a millimeter lower than before. Enough to send a bolt of pain through her left shoulder. A familiar sensation, one that could be left to fester for a handful of hours to a couple of days before becoming much of an issue. She didn't mind the feeling. It was invigorating in its own way.
“Wednesday?”
Enid sounded as though she was speaking through water. Only due to the familiarity Wednesday had with her was she able to understand that her name had been called. Wednesday’s eyes met Enid’s once more, a layer of detached fogginess shedding away. She still didn't feel that speech would work. In lieu of a response, she simply inclined her head slightly.
“You're hurt.”
Not in the same way Enid or most people felt hurt. She shrugged halfheartedly, jostling her injured shoulder without care. Wednesday knew the limits of her body. She’d pushed herself to them and beyond more times than she could count. A minor flesh wound wouldn't slow her down as long as the arrowhead embedded in her shoulder didn’t suddenly fall out and allow her to bleed freely.
Wednesday attempted to communicate this to Enid by continuing her tending of Enid’s wounds. Enid’s grip only got firmer, halting her in her tracks. She’d be lying if she didn't say the display of physical strength was attractive. Something had happened tonight that had changed Enid. A transformation, one could say. The former Enid would’ve backed down under the force of Wednesday's gaze, but this Enid held her eyes firmly.
“You–! Stop. Listen!”
Wednesday’s eyes flicked between the bandage, the wound, then met Enid’s gaze once more, hoping that she would finish speaking quickly. She needed to get back to patching up Enid’s injuries.
“You could've died! You faced the Hyde and if I hadn't… What if I couldn’t save you?”
“But you did.”
The words come easily if for nothing but to soothe Enid’s anxiety. It came as a surprise to the both of them. Wednesday had expected words to fail her until the next morning at least. Enid seemed more taken aback by Wednesday's gentle tonality.
“Enid, you did save me. It is thanks to you that I was uninjured by the Hyde.”
Wednesday carefully did not mention the bruising she was sure she sustained from being slammed into the tree. Her ribs, her back, and her neck would all expose her lies later on, if they hadn't already.
“I couldn't save you from Crackstone.”
Wednesday flinched minutely, one hand moving towards the tear in the front of her uniform where she’d been stabbed before Goody healed her. Flakes of dried blood still stuck to her skin, the fabric having been soaked in it. It had been a deep wound. When the knife had been inside her, she’d been able to feel it move with the pulsing of her organs.
But Enid didn't know about that. She didn't know any of it because she hadn't called for Enid earlier, and she ran off as soon as Enid took the threat of the Hyde away. Because Wednesday was too afraid to look at her. To be seen by her and rejected for everything she was. She trusted that Enid would be capable of handling the Hyde. There hadn't been a fraction of doubt in Wednesday's heart once she saw the beautiful beast Enid became. There hadn't been doubt even before Enid had transformed.
“The others were there in the Quad,” Wednesday said, intentionally skipping over the part where Crackstone killed her. “They helped where they could. Xavier attempted to shoot Crackstone with an arrow, but the pilgrim simply reversed it back towards him. I happened to be in the way.” She gestured to her left shoulder with an unbothered expression. “Bianca helped distract him long enough for me to defeat him. And Eugene handled Laurel Gates. Then I kicked her in the face.”
Enid seemed highly bothered by at least one part of what she said and reached forward as if to touch Wednesday's shoulder, her fingers pausing an inch away from the open wound.
“Is that the shaft– Willa! The arrowhead’s still in there? I grabbed your arms! Wends, I’m so sorry!”
Wednesday tilted her head slightly in an attempt to soothe Enid’s worries. “Seeing as I couldn't fight him with it sticking out of my shoulder, I made do by snapping the shaft and leaving the rest. Taking it out would’ve meant bleeding out.”
Which, speaking of, Enid looked like her heart was about to bleed out of her chest with the way her face scrunched up in empathetic pain.
“I will live, Enid,” Wednesday tried to assure her. “Addams’ are far more resilient than the average Normie. I will tend to myself after I tend to you.”
Enid released her arm, allowing Wednesday to continue her routine. She stuck butterfly stitches on Enid’s face, methodically pulling the two edges of split skin together. Wednesday continued on with patching Enid up as she spoke.
“I don't recommend a shower, a wipe down with a damp towel will have to suffice. If you wish to sleep on my bed to avoid dirtying your own, you may. I can lay on the floor tonight.”
“Willa.”
Enid’s hand caught hers.
Wednesday jerked out of her touch, the rashes on her palms flaring with the sudden stimulation of physical contact. She tensed her jaw at the hurt that was sure to show on Enid’s face. The motion reminded her that the lower right side of her face was similarly inflamed. Wednesday flexed her hands with a grimace, displaying them to Enid.
“I’m allergic to color.”
Enid’s expression shifted through a range of emotions before settling on what looked like disappointment.
“You didn't tell me.”
Enid’s hands clenched into fists on her knees, seeming to tremble with effort to keep still. Wednesday reached out, hoping to calm her down with touch. Enid only recoiled in an ironic mirror of how Wednesday herself had pulled away just seconds before.
“My mother mentioned it during my first meeting with you–”
“You didn't tell me I was hurting you. I thought your mom was making some kind of joke!” Enid’s voice rose shrilly. “How many times have I caused you to break out like this?”
“It is not an issue, Enid,” Wednesday said firmly. “You are not an issue to me. Despite my best attempts to build a resistance to this particular allergy, it's one of the ailments I cannot seem to rid myself of.”
“An allergic reaction to colour being an ailment to you is basically the same as me being an ailment to you.”
“Enid.”
Wednesday tried once again to soothe her with physical touch. A gentle brush of the back of her hand on Enid’s knee. Enid’s eyes locked on hers. Wednesday held her gaze. She shifted slightly closer to Enid, about to resume treating the wounds on her face. Enid stopped her short with a hand that reached out to trace her jawline. A shiver ran down Wednesday’s spine, more pleasant than she’d ever experienced before. She turned her head with Enid’s touch, exposing the rashes down the side of her neck.
“Your face.”
Enid’s voice was barely above a whisper. She met her eyes again, a slight furrow between her brows.
“I thought that was just bruising from the Hyde. Doesn't it hurt to move? Will it affect your breathing?”
Wednesday moved Enid’s hand away, pressing on to apply the last butterfly stitch.
“No. Like I’d said, Addams’ are far more resilient than the average Normie. And if anything does happen, I have my inhaler and an epipen in my bag.”
The furrow between Enid’s brows deepened into a frown. Her mouth opened, surely to make some form of protest, but Wednesday cut her off.
“You should wipe down now. You may have the bathroom for privacy. I will clean myself up in our room.”
With that, Wednesday swiftly stood and exited the bathroom, ducking into her own closet for a moment of respite. Thing skittered after her, taking guard by the door of the room. Wednesday sank to her knees, taking slow, deliberate breaths to analyse how badly the allergic reaction affected her. Raspy, but not hindered. Itchy, but not painful. She could survive the night, albeit uncomfortably, without needing any medications.
Footsteps approached her closet, gentle and unintrusive.
“Weds? I’ve got a towel and a basin for you. I’ll leave it here, okay?”
Wednesday wanted to call out to Enid, to ask her to stay if only for a moment longer. Even just the thought of her presence on the other side of the door made her breaths come easier. The basin was placed on the ground. Enid’s footsteps sounded again. She was leaving. Wednesday reached out into the dark, for Enid, for Thing. Her lungs seized up, a wave of lightheadedness sending her crashing towards the floor. Only her instinct to roll her unfortunately injured shoulder under her saved her from a bloody nose.
The air rushed out of her. It wouldn't come flooding back in like normal. Wednesday’s mind raced, miles away from her body. It was like having a vision. She could picture herself struggling to breathe while hearing the distant sounds of Enid and Thing moving around her. Her head pounded in time with her heart– too slowly, even for an Addams. The painful contractions of muscle in her chest was the only sensation she could focus on.
Th-thump.
Th-thump.
Th-thump.
Hands on her uninjured shoulder. Being roughly shaken.
Th-thump.
Th-thump.
A strained inhale of breath. The tapping of Thing’s fingers against the floor.
Th-thump.
Stinging pain fading into a dull throb in her thigh.
Th-thump.
Immediate relief. Relaxation in her jaw muscles, her shoulders, her ribcage.
Th-thump.
Exhaling. Inhaling. Laying on her side. How did she get there?
Th-thump.
Prying her eyelids apart. Staring out into the darkness of her closet. The darkness staring back.
Th-thump.
Except it wasn't just darkness. Enid sat in front of her, uncharacteristically wearing a dark grey and black striped sweater. One of Wednesday’s, she realised slowly. Enid’s fingers circled her wrist, her grip tightening when Wednesday finally met her eyes.
“Weds.”
It was as though her heart turned to stone at Enid’s voice.
“Please don't push me away.”
Wednesday blinked slowly, pulling herself back from falling over the mental brink. Everything felt sluggish. How had her reaction escalated so quickly? From barely symptomatic to entirely incapacitated, all due to the thought of asking Enid to stay. Or due to the thought of Enid leaving?
All over again, her airways felt like closing. With her free hand, the one not trapped in place by Enid, she signed for her inhaler. Once she took the puffs, her heart rate would increase, and the temporary solution of leaving the arrowhead in her shoulder would no longer be viable. Increased heart rate, increased blood pressure, increased rate of bleeding out. Enid would have to help her. Enid–
Her inhaler was pressed into her open palm and guided to her lips by Enid. Wednesday couldn't take the medication laying down, something Enid seemed to realise during her moment of hesitation. Enid lifted her into a sitting position, leaning Wednesday’s upper body against her own. Her chest rumbled behind Wednesday, the sound of Enid’s voice making it to her ears, but the words not processing in her brain. The back of her hand was tapped by Enid’s, reminding her once again to use her medication.
Wednesday puffed her inhaler once, sucking in the medicated air greedily. It took effect within seconds. Breathing came easier. Enid wasn't leaving. She puffed the inhaler a second time, then tucked her head against Enid’s collarbone, listening to the steady beat of her heart. Their roles were now reversed– Enid, the levelheaded functional one and Wednesday, the helpless soul in need of support. It was hard not to be lulled into following the rhythm of Enid’s breathing, although it was much faster than her preferred pace. The synchronisation brought a feeling of comfort. Peace.
Perhaps if the circumstances were different, Wednesday could fall asleep like this. Maybe they didn't have to be different. Maybe she could fall asleep in Enid’s arms.
“Better?”
Wednesday nodded against Enid’s shoulder, utterly relaxed in her embrace. The even pulses of Enid’s heart nagged at a half-forgotten thought in her brain.
Heart.
Her own heartbeat was faster than Enid’s. It shouldn't be. It should be significantly slower than an average resting heart rate. Addams’ hearts were strong. Related to love. Pumps. Blood pressure.
Blood.
There was blood. Either the sensation of it or the actual liquid itself gathering in the sleeve of her shirt. From her shoulder. Just a dribble of it. Her hand twitched with the impulse to wipe it away. She couldn’t connect her thoughts properly. Any sense of clarity she had was dimmed by the medication she’d taken. Or maybe the adrenaline crash.
Crash.
Crashing. There was a thought she’d had before the inhaler. Blood in her sleeve. Her shoulder. The arrow.
Wednesday’s eyes flew open as she jerked away from Enid. There was little strength or energy left in her body to follow through her movement.
Enid caught her easily, voice raising in concern. Wednesday’s breath hitched yet again. She needed her voice to work now, not fail to function at the least convenient of times. Her hands moved, fumbling through an approximation of sign.
Out. Pressure. Wrap.
Thing would question the imperfection of it later. She would snap back that wasting the energy to make her signs perfect in the moment was not worthwhile when Enid was the only other witness. Enid had said something once, ‘your imperfections are beautiful’ or something to that effect.
Wednesday vaguely processed being propped up against the wall, Enid muttering to herself– to Thing?– under her breath as she rustled through a first aid kit. Thing hadn't done anything to make her feel off, but her skin crawled at the mere thought of him touching her. It’d been different ever since he healed from the knife in his palm. Wednesday tapped the floor for Thing’s attention and roughly fingerspelt her request.
DONT TOUCH. ONLY ENID. PLEASE.
Thing’s response came quickly. ‘She’ll take care of you’.
Admittedly, Wednesday was hardly conscious throughout the process. She only returned to awareness each time Enid’s fingers circled her wrist to take her pulse, and in the moments after she pulled away.
After a handful of these pulse checks, Wednesday gripped onto Enid before she could pull away fully. Her shoulder was properly wrapped now. Blood no longer pooled in her sleeve. She no longer had a sleeve. Her right arm was bare. The decision to cut away her clothing must have been made by Thing. Her parents wouldn't be too fussed about acquiring a new uniform for her.
Dirt and dried blood itched incessantly on the surface of her skin. Ants crawled around inside her flesh. Her hands clawed at the clothes trapping the sensations against her skin. Enid’s hands on her soothed, they didn’t burn like others’ who had tried to help her in the past. Her grip was much too light. Barely there. As if she thought Wednesday was a fragile object that would shatter under too much force.
Wednesday tried to tighten her hold, but Enid pulled away. Some form of animalistic noise escaped Wednesday. Enid’s voice filled her ears. Firm, calming, but too far away. Her hands came back quickly, soothing Wednesday before she could complain again.
Enid spoke, tone clear and calm, but the words were lost on Wednesday. The feeling of the remains of her uniform on her skin, the dried blood, dirt, sweat, everything was too much. She clenched her free hand just enough to pierce the skin of her palm with her fingernails. Just enough for a strike of clarity to cut through the heavy fog inhibiting her movement and thoughts.
“Enid.”
Her voice rasped out of her. Enid's attention snapped to her, the force of her gaze almost too much. Gentle but intense. Wednesday wondered if Enid could read the jumbled thoughts in her mind through the connection of their eyes. She probably couldn’t. How could she know the depth of her feelings and their meaning at just a glance?
“Clothes,” Wednesday said at last. “Off.”
She was aware of how it could come across, saw the thought flit through Enid’s mind before she grasped what Wednesday meant. Enid nodded seriously, helping Wednesday wrangle her unresponsive limbs out of the constraints of her school uniform.
There is something to be said about trust and how much of it is placed in the hands of someone when one allows themself to stop paying attention to their surroundings.
Wednesday had never been inattentive or anything but alert. She had never been given permission to, whether by others or by herself. To have Enid take control of the situation– her medication, her wounds, the changing of her outer clothes– is something Wednesday from the past would have scoffed at the thought of. Yet Wednesday now found true comfort in relaxing with only Enid and Thing to witness her ‘weakness’.
The terrifying truth, Wednesday began to realise, was that this feeling of being taken care of was something she could get used to or even come to expect. Expecting a feeling such as this– an overwhelming sense of peace– is not something a lone Addams experiences.
Admitting to the alternative option would be to concede defeat to her parents. Specifically to her parents’ belief that every Addams will fall in love, and that when they do, they fall hard. So, Wednesday won’t admit to anything. She would deny to her dying breath– her second dying breath?– that any feelings she may have for Enid are anything but platonic. Because they are. Platonic.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the girl in question calling her name.
“Wednesday?”
“Yes, Enid?”
“I said, would you like to go to bed now?”
“With you? Happily.”
In another world, Wednesday would have picked a better phrasing.
In another world, Wednesday may have meant it in a not-so-platonic way.
Unfortunately for Wednesday in this world, she chose a worse combination of words to clarify her meaning with.
“I would like to sleep with you.”
“What?” Enid asked, voice going shrill.
“Just sleep. With you. No other activity. Than sleeping. Just that.”
Enid stared her down with an unimpressed gaze. Wednesday’s breath caught again, not unlike how it had before the epipen and her inhaler.
“If you wanted to cuddle you just had to ask.”
Wednesday locked her jaw and nodded.
“I would like that.”
Enid smiled indulgently, wrapping her arms around Wednesday and lifting her up. Wednesday tried to ignore how her body fit perfectly against Enid’s as she was carried toward her bed.
As Enid laid her down, Wednesday’s body tensed in refusal to lose Enid. Her fists clenched desperately in the back of Enid’s sweater.
“Weds?”
“Don't go.” Wednesday’s voice quivered.
Her voice never quivered. Not normally. Not until faced with the possibility of Enid leaving.
“I’m still here. I’m just getting you comfortable.”
Enid slowly untangled herself from Wednesday’s limbs, subjecting herself to Wednesday's insistence upon hand holding as Enid fussed over arranging Wednesday's form comfortably, unsatisfied with her preferred ‘mummy in a tomb’ position.
Eons of waiting later, Enid finally curled up on the bed next to Wednesday’s uninjured side. Her arms wrapped around Wednesday’s, and she placed her leg tentatively atop hers.
“My wolf needs you close. She wants to make sure you're safe,” she explained hesitantly.
“There is no need to speak of yourself in the third person, mio lupa. I… also require your proximity to ensure your safety.”
Enid smiled up at her with her piercing blue eyes, disarming her usually impenetrable guard.
“Sweet dreams, Wednesday.”
“Most repulsive nightmares, Enid.”