Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams has had her fair share of near-death experiences; each one deserving of its own replay in her brain. Which is why it baffles her that her latest vision has brought her to, of all experiences, the night of the Harvest Festival in Jericho when she was almost strangled to death by a telekinetic force. It’s not like there’s anything particularly special about it. Sure, the moment marks her first encounter with a creature that managed to occupy her mind during her stay at Nevermore—
Well, alright. To be completely honest with herself, he has been occupying her mind for the last few months; during her stay at Nevermore, during her forced vacation at the Addams Manor, during multiple sessions in the torture chamber with Pugsley, during a poison tasting soiree with her extended family.
But she’s digressed.
Her vision has brought her here, to the night of the Harvest Festival in Jericho. Wednesday notices that her psychic ability has improved, and her vision appears to her now like a motion picture, instead of in bits and pieces. So, she watches everything happening again as if it has been projected into a white sheet during a late-night picnic inside a crypt: Her floating several feet above the ground, her being smashed into a tall tree behind her, Rowan spewing nonsense— And then there he is.
And Wednesday thinks that maybe, maybe this is why her vision has taken her here. Because she needs to see the way his claws tear Rowan apart. “It is delicious," he told her once. Perhaps he was right.
What occurs afterward is just how Wednesday remembers it; he roars wildly before hurrying into the dark. And it isn’t until Wednesday finds herself running alongside him that she realizes that this is not about her at all.
This vision, it’s about him.
Wednesday follows him through the woods. His gigantic frame causes him to bump easily into sharp twigs and rough bark. And yet, he shows no sign of slowing down until the lake comes into view. At that, not only does he start staggering, but he also diminishes in size, until the monster is no more and a human resurfaces. Still, as he stumbles his way toward the edge of the water, he suddenly gets down on all fours, mirroring the animal that he was.
A bystander, Wednesday is the sole witness to it all; the blood and blisters on his skin, the retch he vomits, the sobs stuck in his throat. And it just hits her— She may have seen his transformation into the monster, but this is her front-row introduction to what becomes of the boy underneath the gray hide.
Then it just slips out of her mouth.
“Tyler.”
As if on cue, Tyler stops. He stops retching, stops sobbing. And there’s a second where Wednesday asks herself, Isn’t this a vision? when he suddenly stops looking at the ground, lifts up his head, and turns to her.
Wednesday jerks awake.
Despite her wide-eyed gaze, the first thing her post-vision body is able to perceive is a male voice from somewhere near her. “My little nightmare has woken up!”
She subsequently wishes she hasn’t at all.
It doesn’t take long for Wednesday to fully recover, and when she does, she discovers that she’s currently sitting inside a moving vehicle. And not just any vehicle, but her family’s hearse. Her parents are seated in front of her, staring inquisitively at her. She swears she’s been in this scene before.
“Have I somehow traveled back in time?” Wednesday inquires. “Or is this the underworld and the gods have punished me to relive this moment from months ago for eternity?”
“Time is linear.” Another voice arises from behind her. Pugsley is, once again, sitting in the passenger seat beside Lurch. He keeps his eyes on the road as he continues, “Time moves from the past to the future in one straight line. It consists of a series of events with a beginning and an end. At least that’s what I always tell myself whenever you put me on the rack.”
“You had a vision, Darling,” Her mother cuts in before Wednesday can react. “You collapsed on the driveway of our home.”
That would explain the dull pain on the back of her head.
“When we saw you lying lifelessly there, your mother and I thought, ‘Why, there is no better time than now!’ So, we told Lurch to whisk you off to the car, and now we’re on our way back to Nevermore,” her father concludes.
“You have kidnapped me,” Wednesday says, then. “When I have explicitly informed you that I no longer have an interest in anything that the academy and the town have to offer.”
“You have your werewolf roommate—”
“Who has been constantly subjecting me to noise pollution with the text messages she’s been sending to Thing.” At this, the backpack that rests next to her thigh trembles on its own.
Ignoring the slight disturbance, Morticia leans forward in her seat. When she speaks again, her tone is lower, as if it has been weighed down by secrets. “I want you to think about the alternative, Wednesday. I want you to think about what you did these last few months at home. Then I want you to think about Nevermore and yes, Jericho. When you threatened that poor mayor, I’d never seen you so half-alive. I hate to sound optimistic, but perhaps you’ll find a new mystery that will give you another reason to stay there.”
If it’s her mother's intention to sound inspirational, well, she has succeeded. Because Wednesday is indeed inspired—to strike a deal, that is.
“And if I won’t? If I find something more mysterious, dark and morbid at home, you will let me leave?”
The ends of Morticia’s lips curl upward, as faintly as her answer. “Of course.”
And Wednesday thinks, “Oh, Mother. What have you done to yourself?”
Enid blames it on her werewolf sense. Wednesday diagnoses her with empathy disorder. Bianca calls it “Being a good friend.”
Either way, it’s Enid who notices first, and later confronts Wednesday about it.
“Do you really think we won’t notice? That you’ve been avoiding Weathervane like a plague?" Enid asks. "You know, if it reminds you so much of—"
“Enid, I can assure you, whatever it is you’re insinuating, that is entirely untrue,” Wednesday says. “I have simply found a more traditional way than a daily quad to increase my focus on my writing.”
“Yeah, about that.”
“Acupuncture is perfectly safe once you know what your body constitution is.”
“I mean, it’s one thing to read or hear about it. But to actually see you sticking needles to yourself with my own eyes—” Enid squirms, and adds, “If I could, I’d sneak in a coffee maker to our room.”
Enid couldn’t, for an obvious reason. Following an incident involving a werewolf boy and a pot of coffee he stole from the teachers’ lounge in the early 1800s, Nevermore has officially banned caffeine from the school premises. Turns out, werewolf adolescents with caffeine inside their systems can only bring chaos.
So far, learning about the origin of the Caffeine Prohibition Policy is the only mystery Wednesday has uncovered since she arrived at Nevermore. Her stalker has proven to be a bore after Thing found out he could just block their number.
Regarding her new-found aversion to Weathervane, there is no mystery in that. Enid was wrong, by the way; Wednesday has stopped visiting the café not because it reminds her of Tyler. She has stopped visiting Weathervane because it smells like him.
Much like her werewolf schoolmates who do not need an alert-inducing substance to boost their energy, Wednesday doesn’t need any more stimulants to be reminded of him.
Tyler is there in his white suit when she opens the door to her room. Tyler is in front of the gates of Nevermore, with the engine of his car still running. Tyler is waiting for her by the crypt with a black dahlia. Tyler is chained inside Xavier’s shack. Tyler is there in the cave—
At the end of the day, it’s Eugene who catches her in the act.
Wednesday wakes up from yet another vision to the sight of Eugene’s worried face hovering above her. She shakes her head and remembers that she’s in the woods, right at the mouth of the cave or what’s left of it. It’s winter in Vermont, so her fall has been cushioned by a pile of snow. Her limbs aren’t hurting for once, but Wednesday can feel the snow seeping into the back of her uniform, making her shiver with delight.
Eugene helps her up, mumbling about foraging for oyster mushrooms when he spotted her. "What were you doing here?" he asks her.
It’s fascinating the way the human brain creates mental connections. Here she is, standing with Eugene, alive and well. But all she can think about is the last time she found him in the woods; bloodied, scarred, nearly departed.
That, too, has Tyler’s name all over it.
“I was trying to find a place to hibernate,” she lies.
Eugene squints at her from behind his spectacles. "Aren't you too late for that? You can nap in the Hummers' shed, if you want to. It’s definitely more comfortable there. Even if the cave hadn’t blown up, it wouldn’t have been an ideal hibernation spot. We did find tons of deer skulls in it. And not to mention, the monster’s claw.”
Wednesday’s eyes go round at that. “It seems that I have mistakenly thought that you’d be too traumatic to discuss the monster.”
“Wednesday,” he says. “Did you know that bees don’t hibernate in winter? They’re still pretty much active while bears and snakes find shelter in their caves or whatever.”
“Your point?”
“All I’m saying is, us Hummers, we’re like bees. We survive in the harshest conditions. Of course, bees also die quite easily, so maybe this metaphor isn’t working after all. But the point is, I’m okay. I’m tougher than you think.”
I’m tougher than you think .
Eugene continues, “So, what were you really doing?”
Wednesday breathes in the chilly air around her, filling up her lungs with the much-needed biting cold, before letting it all out. Her words soon follow.
"I had a vision when I touched the remnants of the cave earlier. It was of the past. Of Hyde, the monster. Tyler." She pauses here to swallow. "He was unconscious at first, and when he came to, he was confused. He didn't know where he was. He tried to leave, but he’d been shackled by Miss Thornhill. She was there with him. She had a syringe in one hand that she would use to inject chemicals into his veins and unlock his Hyde. And he was begging her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh my god, Wednesday!” Eugene cuts her off. He puts his palms over his mouth, and his voice is muffled when he resumes, "He must have been so scared!"
“He must have been; he had tears in his eyes.” Wednesday looks at Eugene, then. “And so do you.”
Eugene drops his hands and takes a step toward her, causing Wednesday to instinctively slide one foot backward. “Look, I know you and him were kind of a thing, I guess, because you guys went to the dance together and all. And I don’t really know what went on between you two, but what happened to him is not fair. Sure, Miss Thornhill is in prison right now but they also lock him up, and that’s not right. You have to help him!”
And then, it just clicks. The realization crashes onto her in almost the same manner as her visions; as unforeseen as an earthquake.
Since her first day back in Nevermore, Wednesday has always been on the lookout for a new mystery; a reason to stay, as her mother says. But maybe she doesn’t need a new one; there’s always been a mystery lurking beneath, anyway.
She needs to see Tyler.
Sometime later in the future, when all is said and done, Eugene will tell Wednesday what he really feels about his accidental role as a criminal mastermind. “You know, when I suggested that you help Tyler out, I was thinking more of starting an online petition. Maybe something like writing a letter to the Senate. Or trend #FreeTyler on Twitter. But I guess it’s my fault for not going into detail. I should have expected you to immediately think of doing crime.”
In her defense, Wednesday doesn’t know she’s going to commit a crime. Her initial plan is to break into Willowhill Psychiatric Hospital, threaten Tyler until he gives her the information she needs, then hit the road. That’s barely a crime. Wednesday knows this to be true because her Uncle Fester breaks into and out of psychiatric hospitals many times.
So, it’s only appropriate that she asks for Uncle Fester's help. Fortunately for her, he already has substantial intelligence in the hospital; he even describes himself as a "big fan." Formerly known as Burlington County Prison, the building was vacated in the 1960s when a newer jail was built next to it. Today, the building houses the psychiatric hospital dedicated to outcasts.
What interests Uncle Fester, though, is not the hospital’s 19th-century architecture. He’s more intrigued by the reports of paranormal activity, particularly the tales surrounding a tall male ghost in the basement.
Wednesday understands her uncle’s obsession. After all, she has also been motivated to start this mission by a certain tall male.
Knocking the guards off with chloroform and disabling the security cameras shouldn’t be a handful for both Wednesday and Uncle Fester. But to know where Tyler is kept, she needs a literal hand.
Thing is lounging on Wednesday’s bed when she returns to her room after class. He waves at her, letting her know that he has just got back from snooping around the hospital.
"Did you find him?" Wednesday asks, throwing her backpack carelessly to the floor. She sits on the bed beside Thing and watches his fingers move. She repeats after him, "A single-occupant cell at the end of the hall of the violent creature wing in the— Of course, it's in the basement."
Thing starts to fiddle with his fingers, then. And when he finishes, Wednesday hums in agreement. “You’re right, the only difference is he’s not a phantom.” And although her voice becomes quieter all of a sudden, Thing can still hear her as she murmurs, more to herself than to anyone else, “I do think he’s haunting me sometimes.”
Thing knows better than to ask her to elaborate.
When she finally materializes in front of Tyler, she half wishes he would jump in surprise. You know, for old times’ sake. But she soon realizes that that’s impossible. While he has exchanged his straitjacket for plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, he’s been constrained in a restraint chair. Under normal circumstances, Wednesday would relish the torturesome element of said chair. But seeing that he’s been hooked up to an IV that seems to make him drowsy—in addition to being patched with vital sensors attached to the two hospital-issued monitors behind him—the restraint chair looks too exaggerated for her taste. Even Thing, who has perched himself on her right shoulder, shakes disapprovingly.
“I wasn’t aware that it’s hallucination hour,” Tyler mutters by way of greeting.
“I can assure you that my menacing presence is not a product of hallucinations.”
“Then how did you get past that ?” he asks, jerking his chin weakly at the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass behind her.
“You remember my Uncle Fester. He has his ways.”
Tyler's eyes flicker at her outfit. "And this ?”
“He advises me to disguise myself as a guard. Just in case.”
He scoffs. “I know you only agreed because the uniform is all-black.”
That would be accurate, but Wednesday is not going to admit that to his face. “You sound delirious,” she says instead. “What do they give you?”
“I don’t know, but it’s making me, like, high twenty-four-seven,” he chuckles dryly. “They say it’s to keep the monster dormant while they probe. They say it’s like a truth serum or whatever.”
“Probe?”
"I have doctors and researchers coming in here every few hours. Experimenters. Shrinks. Honestly, Wednesday. I think I should specialize in killing psychologists from now on.”
“Tyler—”
"Makes you wonder why they bother at all," he adds, turning his head to his left. Wednesday follows the direction of his gaze and finds a metal desk and bench, both bolted to the floor. Wednesday scans the rest of the interior, taking note of the porcelain toilet and sink in the back of the room, while a prison-worthy bed and a small bookshelf lie on Tyler's right-hand side. Except for the shelf, which contains textbooks for high schoolers, the other pieces of furniture and fixtures look empty, untouched, barely used. As if they’re placed there as a disguise; the façade built up to give the illusion of a humane outcast captivity.
The repugnance of it all makes her wince.
His slurred speech pulls her out of her thoughts. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here or are you going to keep asking me questions? It’s kind of turning into a Hannibal-and-Clarice situation here.”
Wednesday takes a breath. “As a matter of fact, I’m here to ask a question.”
Here it goes, the reason why she’s here. The same old brand-new mystery that has pinned her to Nevermore and Jericho. Was it all a lie?
“Yes,” Tyler answers, unprompted.
What?
“What?”
“Yes, you may kill me now.”
“You think I’m here to kill you?” Wednesday replies, stepping one step closer to him. “Now? When you’re all strapped up and drugged up?”
“Are you sure you’re not? This might be your last chance to do it.”
“What does that even mean?”
"I heard them talking." His voice is muddled as if he’s underwater. “They’re going to send me away soon, to Romania. Apparently, there’s a big lab over there. For more probing, I assume.”
Wednesday cocks her head. “That’s absurd. You’re a beast, not a lab rat.”
“Preaching to the choir, my friend.”
"How long is it going to take? What kind of study are they doing there? What is the name of the lead researcher? Have they ever published a paper on Hydes? Are they aware of Nathaniel Faulkner's diary? Are they aware that he was killed by a Hyde in the middle of his research?"
At this, Tyler closes his eyes. Wednesday glances at one of the monitors and notices that his heart rate has slowed down. “Tyler!” she calls out, and it sounds too hasty in her ears.
“I’m tired, Wednesday.” It comes out as a sigh, so soft that Wednesday has to take another step to hear him better. “I can’t even stand it here. What if it doesn’t work? What if it does? What are they going to do to me after it’s over? Are they going to discard me? Drive a stake through my heart? Wait, that’s for vampires.”
Despite all his talk about being tired, he laughs. It’s brief and wry, but it’s there nonetheless. Now that is absurd. And she’s not just referring to his incongruous laugh, but also the way it makes her burn with anger. The way it propels her toward him, making her grab the neckline of his T-shirt. Her sudden movement forces him to open his eyes in shock.
“No, you don’t get to do this. Listen to me. Tyler, listen to me!” Wednesday exclaims. “Only I get to pierce your heart.”
She waits, unblinking. Tyler's jaw drops a little as he tries to stare at her, but she puts her face so close to his that looking at her makes him dizzy. And he thinks it must be the lack of oxygen to his brain that causes him to swallow—and finally nod. When she speaks again, though, he is so sure that he’s lost it because there’s no way he’s hearing her right.
“Now let’s get you out of here.”
“What?” Tyler blurts out. Thing claws at Wednesday’s shoulder. Wednesday responds by ripping Tyler's IV out before undoing the straps around his ankles, waist and arms.
“Come on,” she says, then. “Tyler, come on, get up.”
“Wednesday,” he exhales. “I can’t.”
She snakes her hands around his arms and tries to haul him up as if he's as pint-sized as she is and she's not ten-inch shorter than him. She lets out a frustrated grunt when she realizes he hasn’t even moved a muscle, but Tyler thinks he can detect a hint of exasperation when she turns to Thing afterward.
“Thing, I can’t carry him.”
Thing simply points at Tyler.
Wednesday widens her eyes and focuses on Tyler once more. “You’re right,” she says after a short while. When Thing holds his palm out hurriedly, she continues, “I know you were joking, but it’s too late.”
Thing begins to dig his nails into Wednesday’s shoulder as a warning. She ignores him and leans forward to put her lips next to Tyler’s ear instead. There’s a beat when the least rational part of her starts taunting her. Remember when he did the same thing to you after mocking you for losing? She ignores that too, and whispers.
“Hyde, if you’re in there, help me get him out of here. Please.”
Then everything goes quiet.
So quiet, that when she eventually hears a beeping noise, she mistakes it for a ringing in her own ears. It isn’t until Wednesday straightens her back and notices a red light in her peripheral vision, that she utters an “Oh.”
She’s forgotten to take out the sensors on Tyler’s chest.
The monitors behind him display the readings of his heart rate, blood pressure, temperature and whatnot, and they go off the charts all of a sudden.
And then comes the alarm.
Wednesday figures the monitors must be connected to the central alarm system one way or another, and the sudden abnormal levels of Tyler’s vital signs must have triggered it.
“Well, that could wake up the whole neighborhood, even the chloroformed ones,” Wednesday comments, before the déjà vu hits.
Tyler’s— No, the Hyde’s gradually bulging eyes, ashening skin tone, growing canines, extending bones, expanding size, lengthening claws; she’s watching all of these unfolding in front of her again. The alarm is still blaring, but it’s no match to the Hyde’s growl when the transformation is finally completed.
She wasn’t afraid of him back then, and she certainly isn’t now. In fact, the sentiment she has in her now is more akin to what she felt when she first met him in the woods, the night he saved her from Rowan. Just like then, she finds herself in awe of him.
It takes a pinch from Thing to drag her out of the daze that she’s in. Thing makes a number of frantic gestures to tell her to take cover, and she ducks out of the way just in time for the Hyde to destroy the bulletproof glass with a single swipe of his fist.
Then all that is left to do is to follow the trail of destruction that he has left. While Wednesday much prefers to lead the way, currently she’s more than satisfied to tail after him. She applauds her decision to go along with Uncle Fester's plan and wear the guard uniform because the people who are now scattered all over the place pay no attention to her at all, even though there’s an obvious severed hand on her shoulder.
Wednesday surveys the mayhem in front of her. The Hyde sends an array of guards and their weapons flying with just a flick of his fingers and Wednesday can feel her lips twitching upward, just a tiny bit. She walks on a path forged by shattered glasses that crunch beneath her boots; her very own yellow brick road. Ahead of her is her lion, tin man and scarecrow, all rolled into one monster; her monster (Thing is the Toto in this scenario, but don’t tell him that).
One second, she follows him from behind as he reaches the lobby leading to the front doors; the next second, she hears what seems to be an explosion from the rear part of the building. Never the one to shy away from pandemonium, Wednesday pivots toward the general direction of the earsplitting noise that consequently triggers the fire alarm. She stands motionless in the middle of the lobby, as the remaining guards dash toward the back of the building, seemingly forgetting about the monster that has initiated the whole thing. Wednesday will read about what happens in tomorrow's newspaper, under the headline that reads, "25 Outcasts Escape in a Large-Scale Mental Facility Breakout in Burlington".
When she whirls around, the Hyde is no longer in her line of sight. Wednesday rushes toward the exit and stops at the walkway to search for any sign of him when Tyler calls her name from behind the shrubs next to the front doors. She joins him there and crouches next to him. "Smart. If backup comes, they could spot the Hyde from a helicopter,” she says.
“What’s next?” Tyler asks.
"I told Uncle Fester to prepare a getaway car, just in case,” she answers, and looks at him. Somehow between the falling bricks and fire alarm, she just realizes that he’s not wearing anything anymore. He, luckily, had the wit to cover parts of himself with a piece of fabric. Wednesday recognizes it as one of the welcome banners bearing the logo of the hospital that she’s spotted on the lawn. But there’s only so much that the banner can conceal and Wednesday finds herself wondering how much longer it takes for Uncle Fester to arrive.
As if she has summoned it with her mind, a four-wheeler comes in their direction. Knowing who’s behind the wheel, the fact that the car is a flaming red convertible hardly astonishes her. It runs over every object that gets in its way before finally screeching to a halt near the front doors.
“That’s our ride,” Wednesday notifies Tyler abruptly. She runs to sit on the passenger seat next to Uncle Fester, while Tyler practically leaps to the backseat. "Drive!" she instructs, and Uncle Fester is quick to comply.
Wednesday checks the side mirror and heaves a sigh of relief when she doesn’t see anyone following them, which is amazing considering the car they're in. “Uncle Fester, did you really have to choose this one?”
“Oh, come on, Wednesday. The three of us on a road trip in a red convertible car? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?” When Wednesday shows no sign of reacting, he continues, “You’re such a Cameron.”
Tyler chimes in, “I understand that reference, Sir.”
“And just for that, you can take one of my spare clothes,” Uncle Fester says, signaling toward the duffel bag on the floor behind the passenger seat. As Tyler busies covering himself, Uncle Fester tilts his head toward Wednesday. “Where to?”
Wednesday is resolute when she answers, “Home.”
The trip takes seven hours. It’s around four in the morning when the car crashes through the front gate of the Addams Manor and almost drives itself into the mouth of the giant Venus flytrap in the garden. Thankfully, Uncle Fester remembers to step on the brake.
Wednesday steps out of the car with Thing, maneuvering her way around the carnivorous plant’s sharp teeth and tentacles to stand on the driveway. She remains still as Tyler jumps out from the back of the car, wearing one of Uncle Fester's long black overcoats. On him, though, the hem falls way above his knees, and Wednesday can see his exposed legs as he saunters toward her.
“I’m so glad you don’t know how to laugh,” he tells Wednesday when he’s close enough.
“I did tell you it’s my spare clothes!" Uncle Fester cackles, putting the car into reverse and disappearing into the early morning.
The echo of the engine hasn’t even dissipated when the front door burst open, revealing Wednesday's father in a night robe. "Who goes there?" Gomez yells as he brandishes a saber.
Behind him, her mother, who has somehow changed into her evening gown, emerges. Upon spotting Wednesday, she gasps, “Gomez, it’s your oldest spawn.” She pauses here, and furrows her brows. “But who do you have with you, Child?”
At that, Wednesday squares her shoulders and looks straight at Morticia. “Mother,” she says. “I have brought something mysterious, dark and morbid home.”