Chapter Text

ACT I

PROLOGUE

Don't Know What's Inside Of Me

Red and blue lights made the Seer's instincts kick in. Before Thing knows it, he's already being left behind. He always gets angry at being abandoned in these panic situations, but he understands the reasoning behind Wednesday's thinking. Being a disembodied hand, he could easily hide under the leaves; that doesn't mean he doesn't feel hurt by it, he still has feelings. 

That's why Thing likes it when Enid's with them, because Enid would always carry him whenever they were in danger and needed to flee from the scene, since Enid is fast as fuck when she’s panicking. If her werewolf instincts tingles in time, she scoops and bolts before anyone can stop her. She’ll even carry Wednesday, even if the raven put up a fight at first. But honestly, who could blame Wednesday for protesting when she's hauled off like a sack of potatoes?

But Enid isn't here this time. And Wednesday regrets not waking her up. 

She knows Enid loves joining her on her midnight escapades, but the wolf looked so peacefully asleep, curled up like a puppy, that Wednesday couldn’t bring herself to wake her. She had given her shoulder a single, tentative poke, but at the first dreamy, smiling murmur, she gave up.

Thing scurries forward, his fingers galloping like a child's hand mimicking a tiny horse running over surfaces. With a swift push from his calloused fingertips, he launches himself and latches onto Wednesday’s loose pants chain. He clambers up the girl's flailing back, and once he's sitting on her shoulder, he has to grab onto the collar of her shirt.

Wednesday is trespassing. Again. It's one of her favorite hobbies, even if it's not for one of her investigations. She has a strict routine, so she only does it on Fridays and Saturdays. Never in the light of day.

There's something different about the way Wednesday runs, something about her movement feels off. Thing notices—he always does—because he keeps bouncing on her shoulder. She’s limping and whimpering. It's barely audible, and it's clear that Wednesday is struggling to keep it in check. But Thing, standing right next to her face, can catch every sound. Running doesn’t usually leave Wednesday aching like this.

Although it may not seem like it, Wednesday works out daily at a healthy pace. Always going out for a run when everyone is asleep so no one sees her, usually at midnight; it helps her fall asleep faster, and she feels more comfortable when wild animals watch her run than when real people do. But lately, she hasn’t been keeping up with it as much as she used to. 

Just as Thing is about to pull Wednesday's ear to demand an explanation, she falls face first onto the ground. Thing rolls across the wet dirt, leaves sticking to his skin. His senses are dazed by the jolt for a few seconds before he shakes off the leaves. As he stands back up on his five fingers, he slowly turns around in confusion and squints into the darkness, searching for Wednesday. A soft rustling sound guides him in the right direction. 

There, a few meters away, he can see a flat silhouette shadow on the ground. He scurries toward it, his fingers twitching with restless urgency that almost makes him stumble. Wednesday hasn't moved a muscle by the time he reaches her, and Thing just hopes she hasn't fainted or is having a vision. The danger had been over for a while. So why did the possibility of another vision linger in his mind?

But then, Thing feels his soul return to his disembodied hand as he nudges Wednesday and she responds with a grumble, one clearly sulking from frustration, which makes Thing sigh in relief. 

“Give me. One. Minute.” 

Wednesday didn't even lift her face from the dirt when she said that. She doesn't mind the tingling sensation creeping deep into her nostrils, because there is nothing like snorting up an ant, especially a bullet ant. Perhaps that would ease the sting of making a fool of herself in front of everyone and feeling like a total loser lately. 

Mud crams beneath her nails and presses against her hyponychium as she pushes herself up, groaning softly. This wasn't the fault of a rock or a branch in the path; she knows whose fault it is.

Looking down, she frowns at her own leg. Specifically, her right leg.

“Stupid. Knee. Don't fail me now!” She punctuates each word with a frustrated punch to her knee. It doesn’t hurt. It never does. 

The pain shouldn't bother her, but now it does. Out of vexation, that is.

This has been the third time this week that her own body has put her in situations she thought she would never face. First it was down the bus steps on a trip to Jericho, then on the staircase of Ophelia Hall. 

And it's not that it hurts excessively; it's that at the slightest twinge, Wednesday freezes even the smallest nerve in her body. She feels too much, so much that anyone would think it was over dramatized, and it's something she still struggles to hide. It's as if her five senses were heightened, which, to her faint chagrin, has been very useful in her investigations. It was both a curse and a tool.

Wednesday thinks that if she doesn't communicate her discomfort, or even think about it, it will go away, like a modest warning pulse in the lump of her wisdom tooth, warning that it would soon erupt.

Speaking of wisdom teeth, she promised Enid she'd go with her to the lycanthrope dentist to have them removed in a few weeks. Enid is in the process of getting X-rays and a 3D dental CT scan.

Thing stands in front of her face to get her attention and starts signing once he gets it. “I insist you see a doctor if it bothers you this much. Maybe they can help you get some answers.”

Wednesday doesn't look at him, too busy glaring at her own leg, it's trembling from the stress it had to go through, but she can make out in her peripheral vision what Thing said.

Thing was right, of course; Wednesday knew he was right, but there was no way she'd go to a damn doctor. 

She scoffs, as if the idea itself is ridiculous. A doctor. Like hell. She barely made it through the Nevermore nurses putting a Band-Aid on her forehead without biting off one of their fingers. Going to the doctor would require her to have to tell someone about her little 'problem'. Wednesday doesn't like asking for help. Besides, it's only her knee failing every now and then. 

She can deal with pain. She can deal with her own body.

“I'm fine,” she says between gritted teeth. 

Thing taps insistently against the dirt, fingers forming irritated gestures. “Oh, really? Then why do you keep falling down like a Victorian maiden’s at the sight of blood?” Thing taps its fingers impatiently, waiting for an answer, then signs again as soon as he notices Wednesday looking down, her eyes searching for a lie among the leaves. “Lying doesn’t make you any less injured, you know.”

Thing's insistence makes Wednesday close her eyes. She imagines all the ways she could get Thing to shut up, one of which would be to tie his fingers with concertina wire, but since she doesn't have any handy and she's in the woods, she could look for euphorbia milii, but then again, it would be extremely rare to find it outdoors in a state as humid as Vermont. Wednesday can only dream. Her only option is to strangle Thing with her bare fists. The vein in her temple throbs as she refrains from doing so.

Thing taps the ground, waiting for a response. Wednesday sighs, parts her lips—then hesitates. She won’t admit that bending her leg hurts every time. She hates looking weak. So she says nothing. Thing probably knows anyway.

Wednesday sits back on her heels, ruffling a leaf from her bangs, and glares at him. Thing shrinks under Wednesday's scrutiny, as he often does. “I don’t need a doctor, Thing, and you know how much I hate going to the hospital. I’m fine. I will be fine. It's probably just a small sprain, and besides, I have a perfectly good werewolf who knows a thing or two about first aid at home. She can just patch me up.”

“She’ll tell you the same thing,” Thing argues mutely, his finger pointing at her with sharp, deliberate precision, the motion punctuating each word as if driving the point home. His index finger trembles with insistence and impatience. Mostly impatience.

“Which I won't listen to.” Another lie. “I know what I'm doing, and this is not important. It can wait.”

She stands back up, testing her leg out. It holds her weight, but that doesn't reassure her. She starts walking. But that's all she can do. Walk. She could run, but she decides not to. 

Thing watches her as she limps to the nearest tree, leaning heavily against it. She’s still refusing to admit that she might need medical attention. The taps of his fingers are cautious as he approaches, and Wednesday forces herself to be gentler with him because she knows he's just looking out for her.

“But what if it can't wait?” 

What if it can't wait? That's a question that frequently haunts Wednesday's mind, not just with this. She often feels like she's running out of time.

Ignorance and negligence often led to death. Even the brightest mind can fall into the illusion of being immune to illness. Maybe this isn't something Wednesday can let fade into the passing days.

“Like I said, it's probably just a sprain.”

Thing clenches his fist so tightly it's shaking. Wednesday rolls her eyes and interrupts before Thing can remind her how bullheaded she is.

“Not right now, Thing,” she said with a tense sigh. “We'll think about this tomorrow.” 

It's clear she doesn't even want to think about it, but at least Wednesday seems to consider Thing's proposition.

Looking back, Wednesday realizes she's lost the security guards. Flashlights flicker far in the woods. She's safe, for now. Knowing she's no longer being chased, Wednesday limps into the woods with Thing hot on her heels.

“You need to stop relying on Enid to heal your wounds. You're just stressing her out more and more with your reckless tricks,” Thing signs as he walks backwards in front of her. "No wonder her blonde hair leans toward white."

“Maybe so. But what's the harm in letting her play doctor for a while? She's always bugging me to let her be the one who cares for me,” Wednesday says in her own lighthearted tone. 

She wants to tease Thing, and it works, as he slaps her good ankle, his fingers twitching madly as he scolds her, but she doesn't pay attention to what he's saying. 

Getting into Thing's nerves must be another of Wednesday's favorite hobbies. She would do it more right now, but she has to get to Nevermore. It'll take her at least thirty minutes to get back to the Nevermore fence on her own. 

Just when she needs Enid to carry her. Such bad timing.

♤♡

There's no worse feeling than having your Docs dirty or scratched. But in Wednesday's case, she's had them for three years, never caring where she stepped, so they're worn down. Not unlike her leather messenger bag, scratched and worn from being squeezed into tight spaces. All of her accessories have seen better days, Wednesday has a habit of squeezing herself into places best left unexplored.

She nearly slipped twice while stealthily making her way through Nevermore’s halls, thanks to the mud caking her expensive Jadons.

Now, as she stares at the pillar she usually sneaks up and down at night, a wave of nausea tightens in her throat. She doesn’t want to risk getting injured, but she also can’t afford to be caught by security or a teacher. After enough run-ins with the law and academy rules last semester, expulsion is the last thing she needs. She can't leave Enid alone in this zoo.

For a full minute, Wednesday stared at the pillar, weighing her options. But she knew one thing: nothing ventured, nothing gained. She had to stay at this academy, and climbing that pillar was her only chance at doing so without getting caught. If she wanted to earn her place, she couldn't afford to hesitate.

She would ask Thing for a hand, but Thing only has one. Hardly useful at all.

Here goes nothing.

Just as Wednesday is about to place the muddy sole of her boot on the base, a certain siren interrupts her, preventing anything worse from happening.

“Out after curfew again, Addams? You're lucky we're friends.”

Wednesday slowly glances over her shoulder, her glare steady. Of course it had to be Bianca, but at least it wasn't Yoko. She puts her foot down and turns around as she says, “Even if we weren't friends, as you claim we are, I still would've gotten away with it.”

“You're still cautious around me, I see.”

Wednesday clenches and unclenches her fists at her sides in a fidgety manner, something she does when she's uncomfortable. 

“I'm not exactly sure I want you to be my friend, Barclay.”

And with all honesty, who could blame Wednesday? 

Bianca had at least three streaks: the time she called her a "psychopath" in their first fencing match; when she mocked her for talking to plants; when she suggested that she could just sing ‘loco’. It was the same stuff her old bullies did to Wednesday. Because for typical people, different meant weird —even among outcasts— when Wednesday was simply misunderstood. Misinterpreted.

But these past few months Bianca has shown that Wednesday can let down her walls with her.

Bianca raises her hands in surrender. “Alright, I get it. I know I've said some insensitive things in the past, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm not bad, Wednesday. I'm on your side, remember?”

“Hardly believable.”

Bianca scoffs and drops her hands. “Always the same with you, you're never easy to convince. I wonder how Enid does it.”

Wednesday's mind works like a baby's grip. Once she sets her mind on something, she doesn't let go. The macabre, spiders, the Bermuda Triangle, and the list goes on. And now bees, because of Eugene. 

Spending time in the Hummers' shed had her researching everything about bees in a single day. And she found herself loving it because they're organized, they have a routine, and the process for harvesting honey is always the same. 

It's fascinating to Wednesday, as it is to Eugene; they share that. And it might not be the only thing they share besides a special interest. Eugene has something that Wednesday has noticed she has too, but can't quite put her finger on it. Still, she doesn't have to struggle with being stubborn around him, even when Eugene tries to encourage her to be more open-minded.

That's different with Enid, though. Wednesday strives to be flexible on her own.

“I wonder that too,” Wednesday says and Bianca huffs in amusement.

Then, Bianca casually asks, "How have you been, by the way?"

That makes Wednesday narrow her eyes suspiciously, because Bianca never asked her how she was. It weirds her out.

“Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Do you ask.”

Bianca raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“Because I'm concerned?”

“Really? You never ask how I am. Why now?”

“I'm trying to be your friend here, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Oh, I did notice. Or do you think I'm that clueless?” Wednesday says in a flat voice. “What I don't understand is why.”

“There doesn't have to be a reason behind it. I just want to.”

Bianca lets Wednesday process this, seeing the goth's confused frown. Obviously, Wednesday isn't used to this kind of treatment from her, and she's thrown off guard. Bianca is trying to be patient with her, a difficult task indeed.

“I’m… I’ve been doing well,” Wednesday hesitates in her response, carefully choosing her word choices to try to sound casual as well. “How have you been?” 

The question feels awkward coming out of her lips, but that's how social interaction works, right? Awkward at first.

Bianca smiles, but there's a tug at her lips that says she's glad to see Wednesday trying. 

“I'm fine. Thanks for asking,” she says, then her smile starts to fade to concern again. “You know, you don't have to tell me you're okay just to answer that question. A lot of people do that just to say something.” Wednesday's grimace widens as Bianca continues speaking. “And I know you have your doubts about me and that we're just starting our friendship, but you can count on me, even if—”

Wednesday abruptly raises her palm, cutting her off. “Okay, I get the point. Spare me the cringe.” Bianca chuckles at Wednesday's reaction. “What makes you think I'm not well?”

Bianca hums as she pretends to think about her reasons.

“Well, for starters, I thought you looked thinner than you already are, which I later confirmed when Enid pointed it out to me. But then she also pointed out that you're a picky eater...” Bianca says the last thing hesitantly, as if wanting Wednesday to confirm it.

Very rarely does anything surprise Wednesday, the way her eyes widen indicates this is one of those times. 

She knows Enid pays attention to small details, but she didn't know she did it to this extent. As far as Wednesday knows, she's never given Enid a verbal indication that she doesn't like certain foods.

Wednesday's lips almost curl into a smile before she stops herself. She can't afford to feel giddy right now in front of Bianca.

Instead, she gives a slight nod to confirm Bianca's question, but doesn't bother to elaborate.

“She did?”

“She picks up on it, Wednesday. We all do. Don’t think your little quirks slip past us.”

We. 

Only now does Wednesday realize how closely Enid notices her struggles—the ones she never had to voice, because Enid always sees them. It feels almost unnatural that anyone besides her or her own family would pay such close attention. That's when she realizes that Bianca cares about her too.

“Anyway, we’ll continue this some other time. It's getting late, so take this.” 

Bianca pulls out a curfew pass. It has Wednesday's full name on it, but no profile picture for obvious reasons.

“You really think I’m the right person to hand this to, considering my past?” Wednesday questions in a deadpan tone.

“It's not like you can pull off any of your tricks with that leg,” Bianca quips, waving the pass.

Wednesday grumbles and takes the curfew pass, examining it briefly before making eye contact with Bianca again. “Why are you giving me this, really?”

Bianca clasps her hands behind her back and begins to sway in a half-twist. It's the dynamic pose she always strikes when she’s teasing Wednesday.

“I’ve caught on to your night owl habits,” Bianca observes, her tone casual but smug. Wednesday just wants to slap that smug grin off her face, even more now that she knows her little secret. “Not surprising, really. You're as predictable as always.”

If anything, Wednesday shows no reaction to that information. Her tone remains flat as she replies, “So you've been stalking me. But what can you expect from someone who used to date Xavier Thorpe?”

Checkmate. 

Bianca smirked.

Wednesday smirked back.

This was the kind of wit-enhancing banter Wednesday enjoys. Wednesday knows Bianca isn’t the stalking type, and Bianca knows that Wednesday knows, but she still plays along with the joke.

At least Bianca’s teasing wasn't like Yoko's. 

Yoko just takes it to another level, R-rated to be specific. It's excruciating. But at the end of the day, she can't beat Wednesday's NC-17. Nobody can.

“Good night, Wednesday. Try not to get into trouble, or I'll have to snatch that pass away from you.”

Wednesday simply nods, and that's enough to say goodbye to Bianca, who offers a small, knowing smile before turning on her heels and walking away. Her friends have learned to read Wednesday's nonverbal language, and they know that even if Wednesday doesn't say goodbye or hello to them, she means it with her eyes. 

It's not that Wednesday is rude, she's just awkward sometimes. And brutally honest and blunt. 

When Bianca disappears from sight, Wednesday examines the badge. She's not a fan of having a profile picture hanging on her chest, so she'll leave it as is. Blank. Besides, it's already signed. The worst thing they could think is that she snuck into the council office to get that signature, but everyone knows how difficult it is to get Bianca's signature.

Honestly, if Wednesday had known sooner that there was a pass for being out past curfew, she would have asked her mother, who's also on the school council, to intervene. Although with Morticia's signature, it'd be pretty remarkable that she had pulled some strings. Bianca's signature makes it hard to believe.

This small, thoughtful gift almost makes Wednesday smirk as she slips the lanyard over her head. Larissa Weems would have gone bonkers if she saw Wednesday with that pass hanging around her neck.

Actually, Wednesday can already feel Weems' spirit running rampant around her.

♤♡

The halls of Nevermore are always busy even if it's late at night, especially by vampires, some of whom have extracurricular activities at night, since they can't do them during the day for obvious reasons, but they have to wear a special badge that says they have a club.

She's so focused on not putting too much weight on her leg while limping slightly, that she doesn’t realize that a certain someone has been following her.

"What happened, Addams? Did a werewolf take a bite out of you?” 

That infuriating voice. There's only one person who would say that with an innuendo. The fanged grin flashed in the periphery of Wednesday's vision.

“Don’t start.”

But Yoko ignores the threat in Wednesday's voice.

“Should I be worried about the pup's next heat?”

“That’s enough, Tanaka,” Wednesday snapped, her voice echoing through the hallway. She doesn't usually snap so quickly, but Yoko always manages to get on her nerves. And her face had turned red, and not out of anger. Wednesday is pale, so it's noticeable when she blushes.

The vampire chuckles and then grins widely, exposing her fangs. “Oh, this is golden!” 

Yoko gasped with her hand pressed against her mouth, almost jumping in place as she noticed Wednesday's skin tinged slightly pink. Something about her reaction seems genuine, as if she's accidentally found a diamond among the obsidian that made up Wednesday's unbreakable personality. 

“Don’t tell me you actually like her? If you do, I could give you a little push. I'm pretty sure you've already won her over.”

Typical Yoko. Always the busybody. No wonder Wednesday avoids her like the plague. 

But Yoko always seems oblivious when Wednesday slams the door in her face, so maybe she doesn't tease Wednesday with malicious intent. Maybe it's a matter of perspective. Maybe Wednesday sees the teasing as genuinely mockery. And maybe, if Wednesday communicated with Yoko instead of cutting her off, they'd both realize it was all a misunderstanding, but the right moment never seemed to arrive.

When will it be the moment?

Wednesday doesn’t dignify Yoko’s accusations with a response. Her silence answers for her. It had been a while since Wednesday found Enid attractive, but she'd never admitted it out loud (and probably never would). But does Wednesday like Enid?

... Well, who knows? Not even Wednesday knows. Maybe her subconscious does, but conscious Wednesday never pauses to wonder if she likes someone.

That was until Yoko's question. Which, for some reason, made the veins in her heart pump with anxiety. Was it uncertainty? Wednesday wonders. Whatever it is, it frustrated her because Yoko apparently noticed something in her before she noticed herself.

“I’m not going to lower myself to indulge in this nonsense,” she grumbles as she forces the key in and turns it roughly, which makes Yoko huff in amusement upon noticing. “Keep running that piehole and I’ll yank those fangs out one by one. Now mind your own business, will you?” Wednesday leaves that last threat before pushing the door shut in Yoko's face. The last thing she saw was Yoko's oblivious look. Again.

After that insufferable interaction, Wednesday sighs in the comfort of her dorm and takes in her dark surroundings, only dimly illuminated by moonlight.

Their dorm has changed quite a bit in the last year.

There's a large curtain hanging from the ceiling separating the room, sometimes closed, sometimes open—mostly open. It was a mutual agreement reached a couple of months ago. At first, Enid was sad about it, but she understood Wednesday's needs. Enid also needs privacy sometimes.

In the center is a round black and pink rug in a swirly design, woven by Enid, a project that took months to complete. On top of it is a wooden coffee table-chest Wednesday brought from home, quite functional; it stores DVDs and board games, among other things Wednesday and Enid use when hanging out in their dorm. And on each side are a pink and a black beanbag. The black one has a thin, checker pattern blanket neatly folded on top. 

Wednesday prefers checks over stripes, and it shows in her outfits—checks for public outfits, stripes for bed. 

No wonder Enid tried to give her the checkerboard Vans backpack, which Wednesday accepted so as not to hurt her feelings, but didn't use it. It's not her style to carry a backpack like that. She prefers her satchel, more elegant and with just enough space. At least, the right amount she needs.

Wednesday's footsteps are as quiet as a cat's as she heads to the right side of the dorm. She flicks on her desk lamp and pulls out one of the top drawers, stuffing the curfew pass in there. Then she goes to hang her satchel on the same hook as always on her coat rack.

When she sits down on her bed, Thing is already helping her untie one of her boots while she unties the other. It wasn't always like this, Wednesday has recently learned to accept help from others, even if it's with something as small as this. 

“Thank you, Thing.”

Thing gives a thumbs up before dragging the boots into the walk-in closet and leaving them under the clothes hanging on its rod. Shortly after, he emerges from the darkness dragging one of Wednesday's matching pajamas. Thing turns around before Wednesday can command him to.

Silk is one of Wednesday's favorite fabrics. It's cool and so soft that she could spend hours rubbing it without getting tired. No wonder she'd fall asleep like a baby in these pajamas.

After putting on the heavenly pajamas, she crawls under the sheets. Her muscles ache, and her mind won’t settle. Too many questions and realizations. Too many pieces still in motion. But sleep comes anyway. And with it, silence—at least for now.

Thing is no longer there, probably already lying down somewhere in the dorm. He doesn't really have a designated sleeping place; he sometimes sleeps here or in Pugsley and Eugene's dorm room. 

It's a little complicated for him to be there for both Addams, but he manages it.