You're wasting your tongue with your lame excuses and lies.

A routine night takes a dangerous turn when Wednesday Addams pushes her independence too far, forcing Enid Sinclair into a situation she can’t ignore. What follows is a tense mix of stubbornness, consequences, and reluctant vulnerability as Wednesday is forced to confront her limits—and Enid refuses to let her face them alone.

As recovery replaces chaos, their dynamic begins to shift in quiet, unexpected ways. Enid’s usual warmth turns fiercely protective, while Wednesday, despite herself, allows a closeness she’s never tolerated before. Surrounded by friends who balance humor with concern, the two navigate the aftermath of something that could have gone much worse.

Notes:

dont ask me why all of my oneshots are lyric titles

also this took me 3 hours to edit and like 5 hours to write-

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Midnight was never truly silent.

It only pretended to be.

Wednesday Addams moved through the skeletal remains of the abandoned Briarwick Estate without hesitation, her footsteps swallowed whole by damp stone and decaying wood. The estate had once belonged to a minor occult collector, the kind who confused obsession with understanding and usually ended up buried under it.

Fitting.

Wednesday adjusted the strap of her satchel. Inside it: chalk sigils, a small blade, a vial of ash distilled from burned bone. Tools. Not comfort. Not sentiment.

She did not need sentiment.

She never had.

The mission was simple: locate the siphoned artifact, confirm its handler, extract without engagement if possible.

Simple meant controllable.

Controllable meant safe.

Safe meant unnecessary emotion.

She preferred unnecessary things to stay out of her way.

The wind slipped through broken windows above her like something breathing through cracked teeth. Dust drifted in slow spirals, illuminated by a fractured moonbeam cutting through the ceiling.

Something felt… misaligned.

Not wrong.

Wednesday did not believe in “wrong” as a concept without evidence.

But misaligned was acceptable.

A detail that did not belong.

She paused at the base of a staircase that leaned slightly to the left as though exhausted by its own existence.

No guards.

No wards.

No sound of movement.

Too clean.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Predictable,” she muttered.

And continued upward anyway.

The higher she climbed, the more the silence began to feel intentional.

Not absence.

Presence disguised as absence.

The hallway at the top of the stairs stretched longer than it should have. Doors lined it on both sides, all slightly ajar, all dark behind them. The air smelled faintly metallic, like old coins left in water too long.

The artifact should have been here.

It was not.

Wednesday stopped at the midpoint of the corridor.

Listened.

Nothing.

No rats.

No settling wood.

Not even wind.

That was incorrect.

Buildings did not remain this still unless something was actively suppressing movement.

Her hand shifted slightly toward her satchel.

Then stopped.

“No,” she decided quietly. “Premature escalation is inefficient.”

She moved forward again.

Each step felt measured. Controlled. Detached.

But the misalignment deepened.

The hallway felt longer the further she walked.

The doors began to look identical.

Her mind catalogued this instantly.

Spatial distortion.

Minor enchantment field.

Delay mechanism.

A trap designed not to kill immediately, but to disorient.

Wednesday’s lips tightened.

“Amateur.”

Still, she did not stop.

That was her mistake.

She reached the final door.

It was closed.

That was the first true deviation.

Everything else had been suggestion. This was decision.

Wednesday placed her hand on the handle.

Cold.

Wrong kind of cold.

Not temperature.

Intent.

She pushed.

The door opened without resistance.

Silence inside the room felt heavier than outside it.

Empty.

That was the second deviation.

No artifact.

No presence.

No—

The floor beneath her gave a soft, sickening sound.

Not wood.

Not stone.

Something between both, like compromise giving up.

Wednesday’s mind registered collapse before her body did.

She stepped back—

Too late.

The floor gave way completely.

There was no dramatic scream.

No panic.

Only calculation.

Angles.

Trajectory.

Landing points—

Then gravity took her.

She fell.

Air rushed past her face as the world tilted violently upward. Her coat snapped behind her like a torn flag. She twisted midair, trying to redirect momentum.

Then impact came early.

Too early.

Her left arm struck a jagged beam of collapsed structure first.

The sound was unmistakable.

Bone meeting force beyond tolerance.

A sharp, wet-crack echoed upward into the hollow space above her.

For half a second, her brain refused to process it.

Then pain arrived.

Not gradual.

Not negotiable.

Absolute.

Her body hit the lower floor seconds later, sliding across fractured stone and dust.

She did not scream.

But her breath left her in a controlled, forced exhale that bordered dangerously on sound.

Her arm lay wrong against the ground.

Wednesday stared at it.

Expression unchanged.

Only her eyes sharpened.

“…inconvenient,” she said softly.

Shock held pain at bay for approximately three seconds.

Then it stopped being merciful.

Pain surged upward through her arm like something alive and furious. It climbed into her shoulder, into her chest, into her jaw.

Her teeth clenched hard enough to ache.

She pushed herself up anyway.

Right hand first.

Then knee.

Her left arm refused.

It hung useless, betraying every command sent to it.

Wednesday inhaled slowly.

Recalibration.

Movement attempt two.

She rose halfway.

Then collapsed back down.

Stone scraped her palms.

Her breathing remained even.

On principle.

She tried again.

This time, the pain spiked so sharply her vision flickered at the edges.

A sound escaped her before she could stop it.

Not a cry.

A wince.

Small.

Humiliating.

She froze.

As if the sound itself had been a mistake that could be corrected through willpower alone.

“No,” she whispered.

But her body did not negotiate.

Her arm trembled once.

Then again.

And stopped responding altogether.

The silence changed.

Not externally.

Internally.

Wednesday became aware of something she had not accounted for.

Distance.

There was no one coming.

No backup extraction.

No contingency team.

Because there was no one assigned.

She had insisted on working alone.

She always did.

A decision made in logic.

Now revealed as something else.

Her hand moved slowly to her satchel.

Still intact.

Good.

But useless without assistance.

Her breath remained steady.

Her thoughts did not.

Then came the second realization.

Thing was not here.

Thing was not anywhere near this structure.

Thing was with Pugsley.

Safe.

Distant.

Unavailable.

The absence should have been irrelevant.

It was not.

Wednesday exhaled through her nose.

Controlled.

Measured.

Wrong.

She tried to stand again.

Failed.

Pain flared instantly, sharp enough to fracture her focus.

Her breath caught.

For a moment too long.

Something warm gathered at the edge of her eye.

She did not recognize it immediately.

Then she did.

She froze.

No.

Absolutely not.

Her jaw tightened violently.

This was not acceptable biological malfunction.

Her hand pressed harder into the ground.

“Stop,” she ordered herself.

The tear did not obey.

It slipped.

She reacted instantly—angry, precise, furious at the betrayal.

Her face tightened, not in sorrow, but in restraint so extreme it bordered on violence.

She did not cry.

She did not break.

She endured.

But something in her center shifted.

Not pain.

Not injury.

Isolation.

That was worse.

Because isolation implied permanence.

Her throat tightened slightly.

She hated that more than the fracture.

Minutes passed.

Or seconds.

Time was no longer reliable.

Wednesday sat against the broken structure, her arm useless at her side, her breathing controlled through sheer force of will.

She assessed again.

Mobility: compromised.

Escape: uncertain.

Pain: escalating.

Independence: failing.

That last one lingered longer than the others.

She closed her eyes briefly.

A rare pause.

When she opened them again, something had changed.

Not externally.

Internally.

Decision formed with the same precision as a blade sliding into place.

Survival was not optional.

Pride was.

She reached into her satchel.

Her fingers closed around the communication device.

She hesitated only once.

Then activated it.

The device flickered to life in her hand.

Dim light illuminated her face in fractured tones.

Static.

Then connection attempt.

Wednesday exhaled slowly.

Controlled.

Measured.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

The sound felt louder than the collapse had.

Ring.

She tightened her grip slightly.

Ring.

Her gaze lowered to her injured arm.

Ring.

Then—

Connection beginning.

A faint shift in the device.

Wednesday did not speak.

Not yet.

She waited.

Because she had already made the decision.

Now she only had to survive it.

And somewhere far away, the call continued to ring.

Unanswered.

Uncertain.

Alive.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Yoko’s apartment was never quiet.

That was the first thing people noticed.

The second was that Yoko did not care.

Music bled from a speaker too small for the volume it was being forced to carry, bass vibrating through mismatched furniture and cracked windows. The lighting was dim—purple and red pooling in corners like spilled ink that refused to dry.

It suited her.

It suited all of them, in different ways.

Enid Sinclair sat cross-legged on the edge of a worn couch, one sock slipping slightly down her ankle, a half-finished snack bowl balanced precariously in her lap. She looked almost offensively alive in the room full of controlled chaos—bright, soft, warm in a way that made everything around her feel sharper by comparison.

Yoko sat opposite her, legs kicked up on the arm of a chair, scrolling through something on her phone with bored precision.

Bianca was leaning against the wall near the window, arms crossed, watching the street below like it had personally offended her.

Divina was on the floor, sketching something that looked vaguely like a constellation map but could also have been a threat.

It was, in short, normal for them.

As normal as Nevermore ever got.

“Okay,” Yoko said without looking up, “I’m just saying, if the ghost in the east wing is real, it’s probably just a maintenance worker with commitment issues.”

Bianca didn’t turn. “Or it’s a haunting.”

“It’s always a haunting with you.”

“It’s Nevermore,” Bianca replied flatly. “Everything is a haunting.”

Enid snorted softly, shifting her bowl. “Honestly? I think I’d prefer a ghost. At least ghosts are consistent.”

Divina didn’t look up from her drawing. “Ghosts don’t bite.”

“That’s a werewolf stereotype,” Enid said automatically, then paused. “Okay, fair, some of us do bite.”

Yoko finally glanced over. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Enid opened her mouth, then closed it again, considering.

“Depends who.”

That earned a faint look from Bianca—something almost like amusement, but carefully buried.

The room settled into a brief lull after that, the kind that wasn’t actually silence but a rearrangement of noise.

Outside, rain tapped lightly against the window.

Inside, the music shifted tracks.

Enid leaned back slightly, letting her head rest against the couch. Her tail flicked once behind her—slow, absentminded.

She wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.

That was the problem.

Because when she wasn’t thinking about anything, her mind always drifted to the same place anyway.

Cold stone corridors.

Quiet footsteps.

Dark eyes that never really blinked when they should.

Wednesday.

Enid exhaled quietly through her nose and sat up a little straighter.

Nope.

Not doing that tonight.

Yoko noticed. Of course she did.

“You’re doing the thing,” Yoko said.

Enid frowned. “What thing?”

“The ‘I’m mentally somewhere else but pretending I’m not’ thing.”

“I don’t do that.”

Bianca finally looked over. “You absolutely do that.”

Divina nodded without looking up. “Statistically, you do it more than anyone in this room.”

Enid pointed at her. “That’s not even a real statistic.”

Divina shrugged. “It feels true.”

Enid huffed, leaning forward to grab her drink.

“I’m just… tired,” she said finally.

Yoko’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Tired how?”

Enid hesitated.

That was the thing.

There were different kinds of tired.

Physical.

Social.

Emotional.

And then there was the kind she didn’t like naming.

The kind that came from waiting.

“I don’t know,” she said lightly instead. “End of term stuff. Missions. Existential dread. Normal student things.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like three separate issues pretending to be one excuse.”

Enid threw a cushion at her.

Bianca caught it without looking.

That, unfortunately, made Enid smile.

For a moment, it was easy.

Normal.

Safe, even.

The word safe always felt temporary at Nevermore, but Enid liked pretending sometimes.

She shifted again, stretching her legs out across the couch.

“Do we have anything fun tonight?” she asked.

Yoko shrugged. “We were debating breaking into the old astronomy tower.”

Enid blinked. “That is not fun. That is a liability.”

Bianca nodded. “She’s right. It’s a liability and fun.”

Divina added, still drawing, “It has unstable flooring.”

Enid stared at all of them. “Why is that a selling point?”

“Because,” Yoko said, finally looking up properly, “unstable flooring means surprises.”

“That’s not how architecture works.”

“It is if you stop respecting architecture,” Bianca said.

Enid opened her mouth—

Then stopped.

Because her phone vibrated.

Once.

Then again.

A different kind of vibration than normal notifications.

Short.

Controlled.

Intentional.

Her expression changed before she even looked down.

Something subtle.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The room didn’t notice at first.

Yoko was still talking.

Bianca was still leaning.

Divina was still drawing.

Enid stared at the screen.

Unknown frequency signal.

Encrypted channel.

Her breath slowed slightly.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

That was enough to make Yoko pause mid-sentence.

“What?”

Enid didn’t answer immediately.

She unlocked the device.

The call was already active.

Her thumb hovered for half a second.

Then she answered.

“Hello?” she said casually, leaning back again as if nothing had changed.

Her tone was light.

Unbothered.

Almost bored.

Because she hadn’t registered the urgency yet.

Not really.

On the other end, there was static.

Then—

Nothing spoken.

Just presence.

Enid frowned slightly.

“Hello?” she repeated, a little slower this time. “If this is someone trying to sell me something, I literally don’t have money for emotional damage today—”

Yoko glanced over now.

Bianca straightened slightly.

Divina stopped drawing.

Enid still sounded relaxed.

Still casual.

But her eyes had shifted.

Focused now.

Listening harder.

Because something about the silence on the other end wasn’t right.

It wasn’t empty.

It was controlled.

Measured.

And then—

A faint sound came through.

Not words.

Breathing.

Enid’s posture changed almost imperceptibly.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

“Okay,” she said, voice still light, still teasing, but thinner now. “That’s either a prank call or the worst ghost situation I’ve ever heard of.”

She paused.

Listened again.

The breathing was uneven.

Not panicked.

Controlled.

Like someone refusing to sound panicked.

Enid blinked once.

Her tone shifted slightly.

Still casual.

But lower.

“Hello?” she said again, softer this time. “Wednesday? Is that you?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

The faintest response.

Not a word she could fully hear.

Just the shape of it.

And that was when Enid stopped smiling entirely.

________________________________________________________________________________________

The air in Yoko’s apartment changed before Enid even spoke again.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t visible.

It was subtle—like a room realizing it had been overheard.

Enid Sinclair stood slowly from the couch.

Not abruptly.

Not panicked.

Controlled.

That was what made it worse.

Yoko noticed first.

“…Enid?” she asked, voice shifting slightly.

Enid didn’t look at her.

“Yeah,” she said softly, still listening to the phone.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she processed the audio.

Breathing.

Static.

A faint distortion like movement under rubble.

And underneath it—

Something else.

A sound that didn’t belong in a normal call.

Enid swallowed once.

“Wednesday?” she tried again, quieter now. “Talk to me.”

A pause.

Long enough that her pulse started to change.

Then—

A faint crackle.

Not words.

But a sound of movement.

Pain movement.

Her stomach tightened immediately.

Bianca had fully turned now.

Divina stopped drawing entirely.

Yoko straightened, phone lowering slightly in her hand.

“What’s going on?” Bianca asked.

Enid held up one finger.

Not yet.

She needed one more second.

Just one.

Because she was still hoping this was wrong.

Still hoping it was a bad connection.

Still hoping it wasn’t what her instincts were already screaming it was.

Then she heard it.

A breath.

Controlled.

Forced.

Pain hidden under discipline so sharp it almost cut through the audio.

And then—

A sound she had never heard from her before.

Not words.

Not even close.

Just restraint breaking at the edges.

Enid went still.

Completely still.

Her ears sharpened instinctively.

Her wolf senses reacting before her mind fully caught up.

“No,” she whispered.

That wasn’t denial.

That was recognition.

Bianca took a step forward. “Enid—what is it?”

Enid didn’t answer.

Because she couldn’t.

The phone crackled again.

And this time, she heard it clearly.

A fracture in breath.

A pause too long between controlled inhalations.

Someone trying not to sound like they were failing.

Enid’s grip tightened.

“Wednesday,” she said sharply now. “Where are you?”

A pause.

Then—

A faint, barely audible exhale.

Not a response.

An acknowledgment.

Enid’s expression changed instantly.

Everything in her face sharpened.

The softness dropped.

The casual posture disappeared.

“Okay,” she said, voice suddenly precise. “Okay. That’s not funny. That’s not—”

Another sound came through.

A shift.

A small movement followed by a suppressed reaction.

Pain.

Real pain.

Enid’s throat tightened.

“Wednesday,” she said again, and now the tone had completely changed. “Talk to me.”

Static.

Then a voice.

Barely there.

Controlled to the point of breaking.

“Enid…”

Just her name.

Nothing more.

And that was worse than silence.

Enid closed her eyes for half a second.

When she opened them again, something had locked into place.

Focus.

Absolute.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

Not a question.

A fact.

Silence answered her.

That was enough.

Enid turned.

“Where is she?” Bianca asked immediately.

Enid didn’t hesitate anymore.

“She’s not okay.”

That alone shifted the room.

Yoko straightened fully now. “Define ‘not okay.’”

Enid already moved toward the door.

“Broken,” she said simply.

Divina blinked. “That escalated fast.”

“It didn’t escalate,” Enid snapped, already pulling on her jacket. “It happened before I picked up.”

Bianca stepped in front of her slightly. “Slow down. What did you hear?”

Enid looked at her.

For the first time, her expression wasn’t playful.

Wasn’t soft.

It was something sharper.

Older.

Something that looked like instinct.

“Breathing wrong,” she said. “Pain suppression. Silence between responses. And she said my name like she was trying not to pass out.”

That shut the room up.

Yoko lowered her phone fully now.

“…That’s Addams?” she asked quietly.

Enid was already moving again. “Yes.”

“And she’s hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Badly?”

Enid paused at the door.

Just for half a second.

Then:

“Yes.”

That was all she gave them.

Then she was gone.

The hallway outside felt too bright.

Too loud.

Too alive.

Enid didn’t slow down.

She moved fast—faster than she normally allowed herself to move in hallways like this. Her instincts were no longer just whispering.

They were screaming.

Her phone stayed pressed to her ear.

Still connected.

Still open.

Still carrying something fragile on the other end.

“Wednesday,” she said again, softer now. “Stay with me. Don’t go quiet on me.”

A faint sound came through.

Movement.

Stone scraping.

Then a low breath that sounded forced.

Enid’s pace increased.

“Okay,” she said quickly. “Okay, listen to me. I need you to answer yes or no. Can you do that?”

A pause.

Then—

A faint shift.

Agreement.

“Yes,” Enid said immediately. “Good. Good. That’s good.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

“Are you conscious?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

“Are you bleeding?”

A longer pause.

Then:

“…No.”

Enid exhaled sharply through her nose.

“That’s something,” she muttered.

Bianca’s voice came from behind her now—she had followed.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” Enid said.

“That’s not a location.”

“It is when I find it.”

Yoko caught up next. “Do you need backup?”

Enid didn’t slow down.

“Yes,” she said.

Then added immediately:

“But I’m going first.”

Bianca frowned. “That’s not how backup works.”

Enid finally stopped walking long enough to turn her head.

Her eyes were sharp.

Focused.

Not panicked.

Decided.

“It is tonight,” she said.

And then she kept moving.

The night outside was colder than expected.

Enid didn’t feel it.

Her senses were elsewhere.

On the call.

On the breathing.

On the gaps between sounds.

There was a shift again.

Something heavier.

Movement like someone trying to reposition their body and failing.

Then—

A faint sound.

Pain.

Controlled, but breaking.

Enid’s jaw tightened.

“Wednesday,” she said firmly. “Talk to me. Don’t go quiet.”

A pause.

Then:

“Still here.”

Three words.

Barely stable.

Enid closed her eyes briefly.

“Good,” she said. “Good. Keep doing that.”

She stepped off the curb.

“Where are you injured?”

Silence.

Long enough that Enid’s patience thinned.

“Wednesday.”

“…Arm.”

Enid stopped walking completely.

That changed everything.

“Left or right?”

A pause.

“Left.”

Enid inhaled slowly.

Broken arm. At minimum.

Possible fracture compound.

Possible dislocation.

Possible worse.

She forced her breathing to steady.

“Can you move it?”

A pause.

“…No.”

Enid nodded once.

Not physically.

Mentally.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, listen to me. Don’t move it. Don’t try.”

A faint sound came through again.

Something like agreement.

Enid looked up at the dark sky.

Then down at her phone.

“I’m coming to you,” she said.

Silence.

Then—

A faint exhale.

Not relief.

Not comfort.

Just acknowledgment.

And something underneath it that Enid didn’t like hearing.

Acceptance.

Enid’s grip tightened.

“Hey,” she said sharply. “Don’t do that.”

A pause.

“…Do what.”

“That tone.”

Silence again.

Enid softened slightly.

“Don’t decide anything without me there.”

A pause.

Then:

“…You’re not here.”

Enid froze.

Just for a second.

Then her voice dropped.

Lower.

Sharper.

“I am on my way.”

Another pause.

Then something changed.

A sound.

Subtle.

A shift in pressure.

Wednesday tried to move again.

Pain followed immediately.

Enid heard it.

Even through the call.

Her entire expression darkened.

“Stop moving,” she ordered.

A pause.

Then—

A faint breath.

“…Noted.”

Enid turned sharply down the street.

“Good,” she said. “Now stay alive long enough for me to yell at you.”

That got something.

Not a laugh.

Not even close.

But a pause that sounded like recognition.

Like familiarity.

Like trust held together by something neither of them talked about.

Then—

Static.

Longer than before.

Enid stopped again.

“Wednesday?”

No response.

“Wednesday.”

Still nothing.

Her grip tightened dangerously.

And then—

A faint reconnect.

A weaker signal.

Enid’s stomach dropped slightly.

“Okay,” she said quickly. “Okay, don’t you dare lose connection on me now.”

A pause.

Then—

A breath.

Barely audible.

Still there.

Still fighting.

Enid exhaled slowly.

“Good,” she whispered. “Good girl.”

She regretted saying it immediately.

But not enough to take it back.

Because she was already running again.

Somewhere far away, the signal flickered again.

And Enid kept moving toward it.

Fast.

Unstoppable.

Focused.

Because whatever was waiting on the other end of that call—

Wasn’t getting there before she did.

The signal didn’t lead Enid gently.

It dragged her.

Like a thread pulled too tight between two points in the dark, vibrating with every step she took closer to its source.

Enid Sinclair stopped thinking in straight lines after the first ten minutes.

After that, there was only movement.

Instinct.

And something colder underneath it—something that didn’t match her usual warmth.

Something sharper.

Predatory.

The city around Nevermore blurred past her in fragments: streetlights smeared with rain, empty roads stretching too wide, iron gates half-open where they shouldn’t have been.

The signal flickered again in her ear.

Still there.

Still alive.

Still—

“Wednesday,” Enid said into the phone, breath tight now. “Talk to me. Say something. Anything.”

Static answered her.

Then a faint sound.

Stone shifting.

A controlled inhale that didn’t quite succeed.

Enid’s grip tightened on the device.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, I’m close. I’m close, just—just stay there.”

She didn’t realize she was running until her lungs burned.

Didn’t realize her nails had partially extended until they scraped concrete when she pushed off a wall to turn faster.

Didn’t realize how loud her own heartbeat was until it started competing with the signal.

Then she saw it.

The structure.

Half-collapsed.

Old.

Wrong.

The Briarwick Estate wasn’t supposed to be on any official map of active assignments.

And yet there it was.

Swallowed by ivy and broken stone like something that had been waiting to be remembered.

Enid slowed.

Just slightly.

Because her instincts didn’t like it.

Not at all.

The air around the building felt… wrong in a different way than the phone call.

Heavier.

Like the space itself was bruised.

“Wednesday?” she called again, sharper now.

A pause.

Then—

A faint response.

“…here.”

That was enough.

Enid moved immediately.

She didn’t hesitate this time.

Didn’t think.

She crossed the threshold into the ruin.

Inside, the air changed.

Cold stone swallowed sound.

Dust clung to everything like old regret.

Enid moved carefully now, each step slower but more deliberate. Her eyes adjusted quickly—too quickly.

Wolf senses sharpening.

Tracking.

Listening.

“Wednesday,” she called again.

Nothing.

She stopped.

Then focused.

Breathing.

There.

A faint irregular rhythm somewhere below her.

Not steady.

Not stable.

Pain-staggered.

Enid followed it.

Down.

The floor sloped into broken descent—collapsed architecture forming an accidental staircase into darkness.

Her phone buzzed faintly.

Signal weaker.

“Hey,” Enid said immediately, voice tightening. “Don’t lose me now. I’m here. I’m literally here.”

A faint sound came through.

Something like acknowledgment.

Then silence again.

Enid’s throat tightened.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay, okay, okay.”

She dropped down the last broken ledge.

And saw her.

Wednesday was not unconscious.

That was the first relief.

And also the worst part.

Because she was still awake enough to be in pain.

Still awake enough to look like she had refused to stop being herself even while the world broke her.

Wednesday sat against fractured stone, her left arm hanging at an unnatural angle, coat torn, dust smeared across her face like pale ash.

Her expression didn’t change when she saw Enid.

But something in her eyes did.

A flicker.

Small.

Contained.

Relief, Enid realized immediately.

Which made her chest tighten painfully.

“Oh my god,” Enid said.

It came out before she could stop it.

She dropped to her knees immediately beside her.

“Okay—okay—don’t move, don’t move—what did you do?”

Wednesday blinked slowly.

“…Fell.”

Enid stared at her.

“Fell,” she repeated.

Wednesday’s tone remained annoyingly calm.

“Yes.”

Enid let out a short, incredulous breath.

“You fell?”

“Yes.”

“From where?”

“A floor.”

Enid stared harder.

“Wednesday.”

A pause.

“…Higher floor.”

Enid closed her eyes for half a second.

Then opened them again.

Focus.

Emergency focus.

No time for disbelief.

She leaned in closer.

“Okay,” she said quickly. “Okay, I need you to answer me properly now. How bad is it?”

Wednesday glanced at her arm.

“…Significant inconvenience.”

Enid almost choked.

“That is not an answer.”

“It is accurate.”

Enid grabbed her shoulders lightly—not shaking her, just grounding herself.

“Wednesday. Look at me.”

Wednesday did.

Enid softened slightly at the eye contact.

“Does it hurt?”

A pause.

“…Yes.”

Enid exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, good. That’s good. Pain response is good. That means nerves are intact.”

Wednesday’s expression didn’t change.

But her breathing was slightly uneven.

Enid noticed everything.

Every micro-shift.

Every forced control attempt.

Every time Wednesday’s jaw tightened just slightly too hard.

“Are you bleeding anywhere else?” Enid asked quickly.

“No.”

“Head injury?”

“No.”

“Ribs?”

A pause.

“…Uncertain.”

Enid’s stomach dropped slightly.

“Uncertain how?”

Wednesday shifted slightly and immediately regretted it.

Her breath caught—just for a fraction of a second.

Enid caught it.

Immediately reached out—but stopped herself from touching the arm.

“Don’t move it,” she said firmly.

“I was not intending to,” Wednesday replied.

Enid stared at her.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“You just did the thing where your voice goes one octave tighter when you’re in pain.”

Wednesday paused.

“…Noted.”

Enid let out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” she said again, softer now. “Okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

That sentence did something.

Small.

But real.

Wednesday’s shoulders loosened by a fraction.

Enid saw it and immediately felt worse about how bad things actually were.

“Okay,” Enid said quickly, pulling out her phone again. “We need backup. I’m calling Yoko.”

Wednesday’s eyes flicked slightly.

“…Unnecessary.”

Enid shot her a look.

“Excuse me?”

“I am still functional.”

Enid stared at her.

“You are one bad decision away from passing out in a haunted basement.”

Wednesday blinked once.

“…It is not haunted.”

Enid pointed at her immediately.

“That is not the point!”

She stood up slightly, pacing once in a tight circle.

“Okay—okay—okay—this is fine. This is fine. This is fixable. You are fixable. Probably. Mostly.”

Wednesday watched her.

“…You are panicking.”

Enid stopped.

Looked down at her.

“I am managing.”

“That is not accurate.”

“I swear to god, Wednesday—”

A faint sound from above interrupted them.

Enid froze immediately.

Head snapping up.

Listening.

Nothing followed.

But her instincts flared anyway.

She turned back quickly.

“We are not alone,” she said.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…Agreed.”

Enid immediately crouched again.

“Okay. New plan. I call Yoko. We get out. We don’t stay here long enough for whatever else is in here to finish whatever it started.”

Wednesday frowned slightly.

“That is not a coherent sentence.”

“Neither is your arm.”

That shut her up.

Enid quickly dialed.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

“Yeah?” Yoko answered.

Enid didn’t waste time.

“I need your car.”

Silence.

“…What?”

“I found her. She’s hurt. Like—bad hurt. And I need you here now.”

Another pause.

Then Yoko’s voice sharpened.

“Define ‘hurt.’”

Enid looked at Wednesday.

Wednesday looked back at her like this was mildly inconvenient.

Enid exhaled.

“Broken arm. Possible rib damage. She fell through a floor.”

“…She what?”

“I don’t have time to explain structural physics to you right now.”

Yoko cursed softly on the other end.

“I’m coming.”

“Bring Bianca if she’s there. Actually bring anyone with a functioning brain and a vehicle.”

“I’m coming alone.”

“Fine. Just hurry.”

Yoko paused.

“…Is she conscious?”

Enid looked down again.

Wednesday blinked slowly.

“…Unfortunately,” Enid said.

That earned her a faint glare.

Yoko didn’t respond immediately.

Then—

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Call ended.

Enid lowered the phone slowly.

Then exhaled.

Only then did she realize her hands were shaking slightly.

She clenched them.

Forced stillness.

Then looked back at Wednesday.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Help is coming.”

Wednesday nodded slightly.

“…Good.”

Enid frowned.

“You don’t get to just say ‘good’ like you’re not literally falling apart.”

“I am not falling apart.”

Enid raised an eyebrow.

Wednesday did not move her arm.

“…You are very committed to denial,” Enid said.

Wednesday closed her eyes briefly.

“…Efficiency.”

Enid huffed a quiet laugh despite everything.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Sure.”

Then her expression softened again.

She crouched beside her.

Lower this time.

Less distance.

“Hey,” she said gently.

Wednesday looked at her again.

Enid hesitated.

Then:

“You scared me.”

A pause.

“…That was not my intention.”

“I know,” Enid said quickly. “But you still did it.”

Silence.

Then—

A quieter response.

“…I am still here.”

Enid swallowed.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, you are.”

Outside, somewhere far above them, the estate groaned again.

Enid immediately tensed.

Wednesday noticed.

Enid didn’t move away this time.

Just stayed closer.

Waiting.

Protecting.

And for once, even Wednesday didn’t argue with it.

The ruin did not want them there.

That was the first thing Enid noticed after the call ended.

The second was that she didn’t care.

Enid Sinclair stayed crouched beside the fractured stone floor, her body angled protectively between the collapsed space and the only thing in it that still mattered.

Wednesday Addams sat exactly where she had been left—like movement itself was something she had decided to ration.

Her left arm remained wrong.

Still.

Useless.

But her eyes were open.

That, Enid decided, was both a blessing and a problem.

“You’re staring again,” Wednesday said flatly.

Enid blinked.

“I’m assessing.”

“That is staring with justification.”

Enid opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

Then exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Okay, first of all—rude.”

Wednesday did not respond.

That was her version of agreement.

Above them, the estate groaned.

Enid’s ears flicked immediately.

Her head snapped upward.

Wednesday noticed.

“…You are tracking sound.”

“I am always tracking sound,” Enid said quickly. “That’s kind of the point of having ears.”

Wednesday blinked slowly.

“…Debatable.”

Enid pointed at her.

“Not the time.”

Wednesday leaned her head back against the stone slightly.

That movement cost her something—Enid saw it immediately in the tightening of her jaw, the brief pause in her breathing.

But she didn’t comment on it.

Not yet.

Because there were more urgent things now.

Movement above them shifted again.

Closer.

Enid rose slightly, shifting into a half-crouch.

“Stay behind me,” she said.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…No.”

Enid turned her head sharply.

“You have a broken arm.”

“I have an inconvenience.”

“You have a fracture.”

“A temporary limitation.”

Enid stared at her.

Then pointed at her face.

“Wednesday. Behind. Me.”

A pause.

Then—

“…Unnecessary.”

Enid’s eye twitched.

“Do you want me to sedate you emotionally or physically right now because I can only pick one.”

Wednesday considered that.

“…Neither is optimal.”

“Good,” Enid said. “Then we agree I’m in charge of your survival right now.”

Silence.

Then, reluctantly:

“…Noted.”

Enid exhaled.

“Great. Progress.”

Above them, something shifted again.

This time louder.

Stone falling somewhere deeper in the structure.

Enid’s instincts tightened instantly.

Her body reacted before her thoughts did—shoulders angling forward slightly, weight shifting onto the balls of her feet.

Wolf instinct.

Protective.

Alert.

Ready.

She didn’t realize her claws had partially extended until they scraped lightly against stone when she adjusted her stance.

Wednesday noticed.

Of course she did.

“…You are escalating.”

“I am adapting.”

“That is escalation.”

“It is survival, Wednesday.”

A pause.

Then—

“…Statistically inefficient.”

Enid turned her head just slightly.

“Do you want to argue math or do you want to live through this?”

Wednesday did not respond.

Which was answer enough.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The sound of tires outside the estate broke through the tension like a blade.

Enid exhaled sharply.

“Finally.”

She didn’t move immediately.

Instead, she checked Wednesday first.

“Can you stand?”

A pause.

“…Yes.”

“That wasn’t a question of pride.”

“I am aware.”

“Then answer honestly.”

Wednesday stared at her for a long moment.

Then:

“…Uncertain.”

Enid nodded once.

“Good answer.”

She shifted closer.

“Okay. When I say move, you move slowly. Got it?”

“…Agreed.”

Enid reached out carefully—not touching the injured arm—but bracing near her shoulder.

“On three.”

A pause.

“One.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened slightly.

“Two.”

Enid adjusted her stance.

“Three.”

Wednesday moved.

It was controlled.

Precise.

And immediately wrong.

Her body compensated for the broken arm in ways that threw off balance, and for the first time since Enid had arrived, she saw it clearly:

Wednesday was not just injured.

She was compensating too well.

“Stop,” Enid said quickly, catching her before she fully destabilized. “Stop—okay—don’t force it.”

“I am fine.”

“You are literally folding sideways.”

“I am recalibrating.”

“You are falling.”

Wednesday paused.

Then, reluctantly:

“…Noted.”

Enid took a slow breath.

“Okay. New plan. I carry part of your weight. Don’t argue.”

“I was not going to argue.”

“You were absolutely going to argue.”

A pause.

“…Correct.”

Enid sighed.

“Yeah. I know you.”

The car lights cut through the broken entrance seconds later.

Headlights sliced across stone and dust, illuminating the ruin in harsh white fragments.

A vehicle skidded to a stop just outside the collapsed threshold.

Door opened immediately.

Yoko stepped out first.

No hesitation.

No questions.

Just immediate assessment.

Her eyes scanned the opening, then locked onto Enid and Wednesday below.

“…That looks worse than the call,” she said.

Enid didn’t look up.

“It is.”

Yoko moved forward quickly.

“Where’s the exit point?”

“There isn’t one,” Enid said. “We’re going up and out the way you came in.”

Yoko glanced down at Wednesday.

Then at her arm.

Then back at Enid.

“…She’s concussed?”

“No.”

“Adrenal shock?”

“No.”

“Stubborn?”

Enid paused.

“…Yes.”

Yoko nodded once.

“Okay. That tracks.”

The extraction was slow.

Careful.

Unsteady.

Wednesday refused to be carried.

Of course she did.

That became the first real obstacle.

“I can walk,” Wednesday insisted flatly.

“You cannot,” Enid said immediately.

“I am capable.”

“You are fractured.”

“It is contained.”

Enid stared at her.

“You are one inconvenience away from becoming a Victorian tragedy.”

“I am not fragile.”

Yoko, from behind them: “She’s fragile.”

Wednesday turned her head slightly.

“…Incorrect.”

Yoko shrugged.

“Prove it later.”

Enid shot Yoko a look.

“Not helping.”

“I’m not here to help,” Yoko said. “I’m here to get you both out before something else decides this place is a buffet.”

That shut down the argument.

Half-supported between Enid and Yoko, Wednesday moved.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Each step measured.

Each breath controlled.

Enid stayed close the entire time.

Too close, maybe.

But she didn’t move away.

Because every time Wednesday shifted wrong, Enid was there to stabilize her.

And every time Wednesday didn’t argue, Enid’s chest tightened slightly more.

At the exit, wind hit them hard.

Cold air.

Open space.

Night sky.

Enid exhaled sharply.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay, that’s good. That’s outside. That’s progress.”

Wednesday paused at the threshold.

“…Disliked interior.”

Yoko blinked.

“Was that a complaint?”

“Yes.”

Yoko looked at Enid.

Enid shrugged slightly.

“She’s evolving.”

Inside the car, everything changed again.

The enclosed space made reality feel sharper.

More contained.

Wednesday sat rigidly in the back seat.

Her left arm carefully supported, but still clearly painful.

Enid sat beside her immediately.

No hesitation.

Yoko started the engine.

“We’re heading back to Nevermore med wing,” she said.

“Good,” Enid replied immediately.

A pause.

Then she turned slightly toward Wednesday.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Wednesday looked at her.

Enid hesitated.

Then lowered her voice.

“You did good.”

Wednesday blinked.

“…I fell.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Silence.

Then:

“…Explain.”

Enid exhaled softly.

“You stayed conscious. You stayed coordinated. You didn’t panic.”

Wednesday considered that.

“…Panic is inefficient.”

Enid smiled slightly.

“Yeah,” she said. “Exactly.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter:

“I called you.”

Enid froze slightly.

Looked at her.

Wednesday didn’t look away.

“…That was not efficient either.”

Enid’s expression softened.

“No,” she said gently. “It wasn’t.”

Wednesday held her gaze.

“…But it was necessary.”

Enid swallowed.

Then nodded once.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It was.”

The car moved through the dark road.

Rain began lightly tapping the windows.

Enid stayed close.

Wednesday did not move away.

And for now, that was enough.

The Nevermore infirmary was too clean.

That was Wednesday Addams’s first thought the moment they crossed the threshold.

Too bright.

Too controlled.

Too full of people who believed healing required touch.

She disliked all three.

The overhead lights hummed faintly, casting sterile white across polished floors and neatly arranged instruments. The scent hit next—sharp antiseptic layered over something herbal and old, like magic trying to disguise itself as medicine.

It was offensive.

Wednesday’s posture stiffened almost immediately.

Enid noticed.

Of course she did.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just adjusted her grip slightly—subtle, careful, making sure Wednesday didn’t have to shift her injured arm even a fraction.

Yoko peeled away the moment they entered.

“I’ll get someone,” she said, already moving.

Enid nodded quickly. “Yeah. Fast.”

Yoko didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

She disappeared down the corridor.

And suddenly, it was just them.

Again.

Wednesday did not sit.

That was her second mistake.

She remained standing in the center of the room like she had simply chosen to occupy it rather than arrived there injured.

Her left arm was still carefully held, rigid in a way that suggested control rather than damage.

It fooled no one.

“Sit down,” Enid said softly.

“I am stable.”

“You are swaying.”

“I am not.”

Enid stepped closer.

“You are.”

Wednesday paused.

Considered.

Then, reluctantly, allowed herself to be guided toward one of the examination beds.

She sat.

Precisely.

Controlled.

As if the act itself required discipline.

Enid stayed close—too close, maybe—but she didn’t move away.

She couldn’t.

Not now.

Not after—

No.

She pushed that thought down immediately.

Not helpful.

Not now.

The nurse arrived within minutes.

Tall. Calm. Efficient.

Exactly the kind of person Wednesday disliked on sight.

“Miss Addams,” the nurse said, voice measured. “We’re going to take a look at that arm.”

“No.”

The refusal came instantly.

Flat.

Final.

The nurse blinked once.

“…I’m sorry?”

“No.”

Enid closed her eyes briefly.

“Wednesday—”

“I am functional.”

“You are not.”

“I am capable of recovery without intervention.”

The nurse stepped closer anyway.

“That may be, but—”

Wednesday’s gaze snapped to her.

Sharp.

Unyielding.

“Do not touch me.”

The room stilled.

Enid felt it.

That shift.

That line.

And she understood it immediately.

This wasn’t just stubbornness.

This was control.

And right now, control was the only thing Wednesday still had.

The nurse hesitated.

Professional instinct warring with patient resistance.

Enid stepped in quickly.

“Hey—hey—okay,” she said, voice softer now, stepping slightly between them. “Maybe just… give her a second?”

The nurse looked at her.

Then at Wednesday.

Then nodded once.

“Of course. But we do need to assess the injury.”

“I am aware,” Wednesday said.

Her tone hadn’t changed.

But her breathing had.

Just slightly.

Enid noticed.

Of course she did.

Time stretched.

Minutes passed slowly.

Then more.

Eventually, another staff member arrived.

Then another.

Questions were asked.

Mostly ignored.

Wednesday answered only what she deemed necessary.

Name.

Condition.

Minimal details.

Everything else was met with silence or redirection.

Enid stayed beside her the entire time.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t leave.

Even when Yoko returned briefly to confirm things were “under control” before heading out again to inform the others.

“I’ll tell them,” Yoko said quietly to Enid.

Enid nodded.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Yoko’s eyes flicked once to Wednesday.

Then back.

“She’ll be fine,” Yoko said.

It wasn’t reassurance.

It was expectation.

Then she left.

The examination took longer than Wednesday tolerated well.

Which meant it took even longer in reality.

Every attempt to move her arm resulted in visible tension—shoulders locking, jaw tightening, breath shortening just slightly before she forced it back into rhythm.

“Please relax,” the nurse said gently.

“I am relaxed.”

“You are not.”

“That is subjective.”

Enid bit back a laugh.

Wrong time.

Definitely wrong time.

But still.

At some point, someone tried to reposition her arm more directly.

That was when it happened.

Not a scream.

Never that.

But a sharp intake of breath that broke through her control for half a second too long.

Enid reacted immediately.

Her hand found Wednesday’s—fast, instinctive.

Not planned.

Not careful.

Just—

There.

Wednesday froze.

Completely.

Her gaze snapped to their hands.

Enid almost pulled away.

Almost.

But didn’t.

Instead, she tightened her grip slightly.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Hey. I’ve got you.”

Wednesday stared at her.

Something unreadable flickered behind her eyes.

Then—

She didn’t pull away.

That was enough.

Enid didn’t question it.

Didn’t acknowledge it.

Just stayed.

The hours dragged.

Two of them.

Slow.

Fractured.

Measured in small victories and quiet tension.

X-rays.

Assessment.

Discussion.

Conclusion.

“Fracture,” the nurse confirmed. “Clean break. You’re fortunate.”

Wednesday said nothing.

Enid squeezed her hand slightly.

“That’s good,” she said softly.

“…Acceptable,” Wednesday replied.

The cast came last.

Black.

Of course.

Enid almost smiled when she saw it.

“Very on brand,” she murmured.

Wednesday didn’t respond.

But her shoulders had dropped slightly.

Not relaxed.

Never relaxed.

But less rigid.

The process of setting the arm was the worst part.

Even with magic-assisted stabilization, even with careful handling—

It hurt.

Badly.

Wednesday endured it in silence.

Mostly.

But there were moments.

Small ones.

Where her grip on Enid’s hand tightened just a fraction too much.

Where her breath caught just slightly out of rhythm.

Where control slipped—

And Enid felt every single one of them.

She didn’t let go.

Not once.

Not even when her own hand started to ache.

Not even when her fingers went numb.

Because this—

This wasn’t for Wednesday.

Not entirely.

This was for her.

Because letting go meant acknowledging how close she had come to not having this moment at all.

And Enid wasn’t ready to process that yet.

When it was finally done, the room felt different.

Quieter.

Heavier.

Wednesday sat back against the bed, her arm now secured, immobilized, real in a way it hadn’t been before.

Enid was still holding her hand.

She realized it slowly.

Like surfacing from water.

“…You can let go,” Wednesday said.

Enid blinked.

Looked down.

Then back up.

“Oh.”

She didn’t.

Not immediately.

Instead, she adjusted her grip slightly.

Looser.

But still there.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “In a second.”

Wednesday didn’t argue.

Silence settled between them.

Not uncomfortable.

Just—

Present.

Enid exhaled slowly.

Then leaned back slightly, still sitting close.

“You’re okay,” she said.

It sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Wednesday tilted her head slightly.

“…Define ‘okay.’”

Enid huffed softly.

“Alive. Functional. Not currently falling through any more floors.”

“…Acceptable.”

Enid smiled faintly.

Then, after a pause:

“You scared me.”

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately.

Then—

“…That was not my intention.”

“I know.”

Silence again.

Then, quieter:

“But you still did.”

Wednesday looked at her.

Really looked this time.

And for once—

She didn’t deflect.

“…Noted.”

Outside, the infirmary continued its quiet rhythm.

Inside, something had shifted.

Not dramatically.

Not visibly.

But enough.

Enough that when Enid finally let go of her hand—

Wednesday didn’t pull away from where it had been.

________________________________________________________________________________________

The apartment was quiet when they returned.

Not the comfortable kind of quiet.

Not the kind that wrapped around you and let you rest.

This quiet was sharp.

Tense.

Waiting.

The door clicked shut behind them with a finality that felt heavier than it should have.

Enid didn’t move any further into the room at first.

She just stood there.

Back to the door.

Hands clenched at her sides.

Breathing uneven in a way she had been holding back the entire time they were in the infirmary.

Wednesday stepped inside more slowly.

Measured.

Controlled.

Her black cast stood out starkly against her pale skin, rigid and undeniable proof that something had gone wrong.

She didn’t look at Enid immediately.

Instead, she placed her bag down with careful precision.

Adjusted her posture.

Re-centered.

Like she could restore balance through habit alone.

“You are unusually quiet,” Wednesday said after a moment.

Her tone was neutral.

Observational.

Like she hadn’t just been carried out of a collapsing structure less than an hour ago.

Enid let out a short, sharp breath.

Not quite a laugh.

Not quite anything soft.

“Yeah,” she said.

Still not turning around.

“Wonder why.”

Wednesday tilted her head slightly.

“…Fatigue?”

Enid’s shoulders tensed.

Then she turned.

Slowly.

And that was when Wednesday realized—

This was not fatigue.

This was anger.

Real anger.

Not loud.

Not explosive.

But controlled in a way that made it far more dangerous.

“You promised,” Enid said.

Her voice was quiet.

Too quiet.

Wednesday paused.

“…Clarify.”

Enid laughed once.

Short.

Disbelieving.

“Clarify?” she repeated. “You want me to clarify?”

She took a step forward.

“You promised you wouldn’t go out alone again after last time.”

Wednesday’s expression didn’t change.

“…I did not explicitly—”

“Oh my god,” Enid cut her off.

Her voice cracked slightly.

Not from shouting.

From something underneath it.

“See? This. This is what I mean.”

Wednesday stilled.

Enid shook her head, pacing once across the room.

“You always do this,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “You twist it. You turn it into technicalities like that somehow makes it okay.”

“It is not a technicality,” Wednesday said evenly. “It is a matter of—”

“Of what?” Enid snapped, turning back to her. “Of you thinking you’re invincible?”

“I am not invincible.”

“Then why do you keep acting like it?!”

The words hit harder than anything before them.

Because they weren’t controlled.

They weren’t careful.

They were real.

Wednesday hesitated.

Just slightly.

Enid saw it immediately.

“You went out there alone,” Enid continued, her voice shaking now despite how steady she tried to keep it. “Again. You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t tell me. And then I get a call where you can barely breathe and you expect me to just—what? Be okay with that?”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

“I handled the situation.”

Enid stared at her.

“You fell through a floor.”

“It was structurally compromised.”

“That is not better!”

“It is an explanation.”

Enid let out a frustrated sound.

Then—

“You’re wasting your tongue with your lame excuses and lies, Wednesday.”

The words landed heavy.

Final.

The room went still.

Completely.

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately.

For once—

She didn’t have an answer.

Her gaze dropped slightly.

Not fully.

But enough.

Enough that Enid noticed.

And that made it worse.

Because now it wasn’t just anger.

It was something else.

Something quieter.

Something that hurt more.

“You scared me,” Enid said again, softer now.

Not shouting.

Not accusing.

Just—

Honest.

Wednesday’s fingers flexed slightly at her side.

Her cast remained still.

A constant reminder.

“I did not intend—”

“I know,” Enid said quickly. “I know you didn’t intend it. You never do. But that doesn’t change the fact that it keeps happening.”

Silence stretched between them.

Thick.

Uncomfortable.

Real.

Wednesday inhaled slowly.

Then exhaled.

Measured.

Controlled.

“…You are correct,” she said.

Enid blinked.

That wasn’t what she expected.

Wednesday hesitated again.

Then—

“I miscalculated.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Her voice dropped slightly.

Quieter.

“…I am sorry.”

The words felt unfamiliar in the air.

Like they didn’t belong.

Like they had been pulled out of her with effort.

Enid stared at her.

Because Wednesday didn’t apologize.

Not like that.

Not without deflection.

Not without precision.

This—

This was different.

And it hit harder than the argument.

Enid exhaled slowly.

Her shoulders dropped slightly.

Not fully.

But enough.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You did.”

A pause.

Then she stepped forward.

Closing the distance between them in two quick strides.

Wednesday didn’t move.

Didn’t brace.

Didn’t step back.

She just stood there—

And let it happen.

Enid reached up—

And then immediately shifted, careful of the cast, adjusting her angle instinctively.

Then she leaned in.

And kissed her.

Not on the lips.

Not slow.

Not hesitant.

Just—

Everywhere.

Her cheek.

Quick.

Then the other.

Her jaw.

Soft.

Her forehead.

Lingering just slightly longer.

Then the crown of her head.

Pressing there like she was grounding herself.

Like she needed to make sure Wednesday was real.

Still here.

Still solid.

Still—

Alive.

Wednesday froze.

Completely.

Her face scrunched slightly in confusion, in surprise, in something she didn’t quite know how to process.

Her mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile.

But not neutral either.

Enid pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Don’t do that again,” she said quietly.

It wasn’t a command.

It wasn’t even a demand.

It was a plea disguised as something firmer.

Wednesday blinked.

“…Noted.”

Enid huffed softly.

Then, without warning—

She bent slightly, careful, precise—

And lifted Wednesday.

Clean off the ground.

“Enid—”

Too late.

She spun her.

Just once.

Controlled.

Careful of the cast.

But enough.

Enough to break the tension.

Enough to force something real out of the moment.

Wednesday’s face tightened immediately.

Her shoulders stiffened.

Her mouth twitched again—

This time more noticeably.

Not discomfort exactly.

Not pain—

But something dangerously close to losing composure.

Enid set her down quickly.

“Okay, okay, sorry—too much,” she said, adjusting her grip before stepping back.

Wednesday blinked.

Reoriented.

Her expression smoothed out almost instantly.

But not completely.

“…That was unnecessary,” she said.

Enid grinned faintly.

“Yeah,” she said. “But you needed it.”

Wednesday didn’t respond.

But she didn’t disagree either.

The rest of the night settled into something quieter.

Less sharp.

Still fragile.

But softer around the edges.

Enid guided Wednesday toward the bedroom without making it obvious she was doing it.

Small adjustments.

Subtle movements.

Positioning herself just close enough to intervene if needed.

Wednesday noticed.

Of course she did.

She didn’t comment on it.

That was her version of allowing it.

The bedroom lights were dim.

Warmer.

Safer.

Enid moved first—pulling back the covers, adjusting pillows, creating space without asking.

Wednesday watched.

Then sat.

Carefully.

Enid hovered for half a second.

Then stepped closer.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

Wednesday paused.

Considered.

Then—

“…Yes.”

It was quiet.

But clear.

Enid nodded immediately.

“Okay.”

She helped her ease down, careful of the cast, adjusting angles so there was no pressure, no strain.

Precise.

Gentle.

Intentional.

Wednesday let her.

That was the biggest shift of all.

They settled.

Side by side.

Not touching at first.

Then—

Enid shifted slightly.

Close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Light.

Careful.

A question.

Wednesday didn’t move away.

Minutes passed.

Silence stretched.

But this time—

It wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t waiting.

It was… steady.

Enid exhaled softly.

Her voice barely above a whisper.

“You really scared me.”

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately.

Then—

“…I know.”

Enid closed her eyes.

“Good,” she murmured.

A pause.

Then she shifted slightly again—

More careful this time.

Positioning herself so Wednesday’s injured arm stayed supported, untouched, safe between them.

Protective without being obvious.

Wednesday noticed anyway.

She always did.

“…You are adjusting for my injury,” she said.

Enid huffed quietly.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“…Thank you.”

Enid stilled.

Then softened.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Anytime.”

Eventually, sleep came.

Slow.

Careful.

Like it didn’t want to disturb what had been built in the quiet.

Enid stayed aware longer.

Listening.

Tracking.

Making sure Wednesday’s breathing stayed even.

Making sure she didn’t shift wrong.

Making sure—

Everything was still okay.

Only when she was certain—

Certain enough—

Did she finally let herself rest.

And for once—

Wednesday didn’t fall asleep alone in her own mind.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Morning at Nevermore arrived quietly.

Not gently.

Never gently.

The light crept in through the curtains in thin, deliberate lines, cutting across the room like it had somewhere to be and no patience for hesitation.

Wednesday was awake before it fully settled.

Of course she was.

She always woke early—precision ingrained into habit—but today it wasn’t discipline that pulled her from sleep.

It was discomfort.

Dull.

Persistent.

Localized.

Her left arm.

The cast was heavier than she had expected.

Restrictive.

Uncooperative.

It forced her awareness back into her body in a way she found deeply irritating.

Wednesday stared at the ceiling.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Processing.

Pain: tolerable.

Mobility: compromised.

Independence: temporarily reduced.

Unacceptable.

She shifted slightly.

A mistake.

The movement tugged just enough to remind her that her body was no longer operating under her full command.

Her jaw tightened.

“…Inconvenient,” she murmured.

Beside her, Enid stirred.

Not fully awake.

Not yet.

But responsive.

Her breathing shifted first.

Then her fingers.

Then her entire posture adjusted slightly—subconsciously angling toward Wednesday like her body had already decided proximity was necessary.

Wednesday noticed.

She did not comment.

Instead, she attempted to sit up.

Carefully.

Measured.

Controlled.

She managed halfway before her balance faltered slightly.

Not enough to fall.

Enough to irritate.

Immediately.

A hand caught her.

Warm.

Quick.

Certain.

“Hey—hey—slow down,” Enid mumbled, still half-asleep.

Her voice was rough with sleep, softer than usual.

Wednesday paused.

“…I am stable.”

Enid blinked her eyes open.

Looked at her.

Then at the cast.

Then back at her.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “And I’m a morning person.”

Wednesday did not respond.

Instead, she adjusted her posture again—this time with Enid’s hand still lightly steadying her.

She did not pull away.

That, in itself, was notable.

Enid noticed that too.

Her expression softened slightly.

“You okay?” she asked, more awake now.

Wednesday considered.

“…Functional.”

Enid huffed quietly.

“Right. Of course you are.”

A pause.

Then Enid sat up fully.

Ran a hand through her hair.

Looked at Wednesday again—really looked this time.

Not assessing like before.

Not panicked.

Just… checking.

And something in her shoulders relaxed when she confirmed what she needed to see.

“You’re staying here,” Enid said.

Wednesday blinked.

“…I am already here.”

“I mean today,” Enid clarified. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“That is inefficient.”

“That is not up for debate.”

Wednesday tilted her head slightly.

“…You are asserting authority.”

“Yes.”

“…Based on?”

Enid raised an eyebrow.

“You. Being. Broken.”

“I am not broken.”

“You are literally in a cast.”

“It is temporary.”

Enid leaned closer.

“So is my patience.”

A pause.

Then—

Wednesday rolled her eyes.

Subtle.

Controlled.

But unmistakable.

And for just a fraction of a second—

Her lips curved upward.

Barely.

Small.

But real.

Enid saw it.

Immediately.

Her entire expression shifted.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Was that a smile?”

“It was not.”

“That was definitely a smile.”

“It was a muscular adjustment.”

Enid grinned.

“Sure it was.”

Wednesday turned her head away slightly.

But the corner of her mouth didn’t fully flatten.

Enid disappeared into the kitchen shortly after.

Wednesday listened to her move.

Cabinets opening.

Something clattering.

A muttered “okay that’s not supposed to do that.”

Then the smell.

Warm.

Faintly sweet.

Burning.

Wednesday frowned slightly.

“…Concerning.”

A few minutes later, Enid returned.

Carrying a tray.

Carefully.

Like she had done this before.

Like she had practiced.

Which, knowing her, she probably had not.

“Breakfast,” Enid announced.

Wednesday looked at the tray.

Then at Enid.

Then back at the tray.

“…Explain.”

“You’re a patient now,” Enid said. “Patients get breakfast in bed.”

“I did not consent to becoming a patient.”

“You didn’t consent to falling through a floor either, but here we are.”

Wednesday paused.

That was… difficult to argue with.

“…Noted.”

Enid set the tray down gently.

There was toast.

Slightly overdone.

Eggs.

Mostly intact.

And something that might have been fruit but had clearly been cut with enthusiasm rather than skill.

Wednesday stared at it.

“…You prepared this.”

“Yes.”

“…Why.”

Enid blinked.

“Because you need to eat?”

“I am capable of feeding myself.”

“Not easily,” Enid countered, nodding toward the cast.

Wednesday looked at her arm.

Then back at Enid.

“…I could adapt.”

“You could struggle,” Enid corrected. “Or you could let me help you.”

Silence.

Wednesday did not like the phrasing.

Let me help you.

It implied dependency.

It implied trust.

It implied—

“…Very well,” she said finally.

Enid softened immediately.

“Cool,” she said. “Great. Awesome.”

She picked up a piece of toast.

Paused.

Then held it out.

Wednesday stared at it.

Then at her.

“…You intend to feed me.”

“Yes.”

“…This is unnecessary.”

“You agreed.”

“I agreed to consumption, not assistance.”

Enid raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to renegotiate or do you want breakfast?”

A pause.

Then—

Wednesday leaned forward slightly.

Just enough.

And took a bite.

Controlled.

Precise.

Enid tried not to smile too much.

Failed slightly.

The morning passed slowly.

But not unpleasantly.

There was a strange rhythm to it.

Wednesday reading.

Enid hovering.

Adjusting.

Fixing things that didn’t need fixing.

Checking things that didn’t need checking.

But Wednesday didn’t stop her.

That was new.

By midday, Enid had made a decision.

A questionable one.

A very Enid one.

“You’re coming with me,” she said suddenly.

Wednesday didn’t look up from her book.

“…No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Wednesday turned a page.

“…Provide reasoning.”

“So everyone knows you’re alive.”

“That is unnecessary. I am aware of my own existence.”

“Yes, but we are not the only people who care.”

Wednesday paused.

“…Debatable.”

Enid leaned against the doorframe.

“I told Yoko I’d bring you.”

Wednesday looked up.

“…You volunteered me.”

“Yes.”

“…Without consent.”

“Yes.”

Wednesday considered that.

“…I disapprove.”

Enid smiled.

“Cool. Get your shoes.”

________________________________________________________________________________________

The walk to Yoko’s apartment was slow.

Careful.

Measured.

Enid stayed close.

Not hovering this time.

Just… present.

In case.

Always in case.

Wednesday noticed.

Again.

She said nothing.

The apartment door opened before they knocked.

Yoko stood there.

Took one look at Wednesday.

Then nodded.

yoko's apartment was already loud when the door opened.

Not chaotic.

Not yet.

But loud in that steady, familiar way—voices overlapping, cards slapping against the table, someone accusing someone else of cheating with absolutely no evidence.

It felt alive.

It always did.

Divina was mid-argument when the door swung open.

“I’m telling you, that was not a legal move—”

“It absolutely was,” Bianca Barclay cut in, not even looking up from her hand. “You just don’t like losing.”

“I don’t lose,” Divina shot back. “I am strategically disadvantaged by your questionable morals.”

Yoko snorted.

“That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called Bianca a cheat.”

Bianca flicked a card down onto the table.

“Uno.”

“Of course,” Divina muttered darkly.

That was when Enid pushed the door open fully.

“And we’re here,” Enid Sinclair announced, stepping inside.

The room shifted immediately.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

Three sets of eyes snapped toward the door.

Then landed on the person beside her.

Wednesday.

Silence lasted exactly half a second.

“…Alive,” Yoko said, leaning back in her chair.

Bianca’s gaze moved quickly—taking in the cast, the posture, the subtle stiffness.

“…Barely,” she added.

Wednesday stepped inside like nothing was wrong.

“…Exaggeration,” she replied flatly.

Divina leaned back slightly, squinting at her.

“You look like you lost a fight with a building.”

“I did not lose,” Wednesday said calmly. “The structure failed.”

Yoko raised an eyebrow.

“…You’re blaming architecture now?”

“It was structurally compromised.”

Enid shut the door behind them.

“Translation,” she said, dropping her bag by the wall, “she fell through a floor.”

There was a pause.

Then—

Divina let out a short laugh.

“Of course she did.”

Bianca shook her head slightly.

“That tracks.”

Yoko gestured lazily toward the table.

“Come sit before you collapse again.”

“I am not at risk of collapse.”

“You say that,” Yoko replied, “but statistically—”

“Do not,” Wednesday cut in.

Enid snorted softly.

The table was cluttered.

Cards spread everywhere.

Discard pile dangerously high.

Someone—probably Yoko—had knocked over a drink at some point, and a napkin sat crumpled nearby as evidence of a very half-hearted cleanup attempt.

Enid moved first.

Of course she did.

She stepped around the table, then paused.

Looked at Wednesday.

Looked at the chairs.

Then—

Made a decision.

“Here,” she said.

Wednesday didn’t question it.

Which, in itself, was suspicious.

Enid sat down first.

Then gently reached out.

“Come here.”

A pause.

A very brief one.

Then Wednesday stepped closer.

Carefully.

Measured.

And sat.

Not on a chair.

Not beside her.

In her lap.

The room went quiet again.

Not shocked.

Just—

Interested.

Yoko’s grin appeared immediately.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s new.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow.

“…Efficient use of space.”

Divina tilted her head.

“…Strategically advantageous.”

Wednesday ignored all of them.

Completely.

As if none of it had been acknowledged.

She adjusted slightly—careful of her cast, positioning it so it rested safely without pressure.

Enid adjusted with her.

Instinctively.

One arm loosely around her waist, the other resting nearby in case she needed to stabilize her.

It was… natural.

Too natural.

Yoko leaned forward slightly.

“So,” she said, tapping the table, “we’re just not addressing that?”

“We are not,” Wednesday replied.

Enid huffed softly.

“Can we not make it weird?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely going to make it weird,” Yoko said.

Divina nodded.

“Same.”

Bianca smirked faintly.

“I’m observing.”

Wednesday shifted slightly in Enid’s lap.

“…Irrelevant.”

Enid smiled faintly.

Just a little.

The game resumed.

Cards shuffled.

Thrown.

Accusations resumed almost immediately.

“Reverse,” Bianca said smoothly.

“You’ve played that three times already,” Divina accused.

“I have more.”

“That’s illegal.”

“That’s unlucky.”

Yoko dropped a card.

“Skip.”

Divina stared at her.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Correct.”

Enid laughed softly.

Then glanced down.

“You good?” she murmured.

Wednesday didn’t look at her.

“…Yes.”

Enid’s hand shifted slightly.

Resting more securely.

Just in case.

Wednesday didn’t move away.

“Okay, but seriously,” Yoko said after a moment, glancing up. “What actually happened last night?”

Enid groaned.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Bianca said.

“Absolutely,” Divina added.

Yoko leaned forward.

“I want the dramatic version.”

Enid hesitated.

Then—

“She went on a midnight mission alone,” she said.

“Again,” Yoko added.

“Again,” Enid confirmed. “Didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t tell me.”

Wednesday shifted slightly.

“…Irrelevant.”

Enid tightened her arm just a fraction.

“It is not irrelevant.”

Yoko watched the interaction closely.

Then leaned back again.

“Continue.”

Enid exhaled.

“She found something—or didn’t find something—and then the floor collapsed.”

Divina winced.

“…Classic.”

Bianca nodded slightly.

“Predictable outcome.”

Wednesday tilted her head.

“…I calculated structural integrity.”

Enid looked down at her.

“You miscalculated.”

“…Slightly.”

“You fell through a building.”

Yoko laughed.

“I love how calm she is about that.”

Enid groaned.

“You should’ve heard the call.”

The room shifted slightly at that.

Bianca’s expression sharpened.

“…How bad?”

Enid paused.

Her grip tightened slightly around Wednesday.

Then—

“She could barely talk,” she said quietly. “And she never sounds like that.”

Silence.

Even Wednesday didn’t interrupt.

Yoko’s expression softened just slightly.

“…You got there fast.”

“I ran,” Enid said.

Divina blinked.

“You ran ran?”

“Yes.”

“…Damn.”

Enid shrugged slightly.

“She needed me.”

That landed.

Heavier than expected.

Wednesday went still for a moment.

Then shifted slightly.

Not away.

Closer.

The game continued.

But the energy had changed.

Softer now.

Quieter between bursts of chaos.

More aware.

“Uno,” Bianca said again.

“You are a menace,” Divina replied.

Yoko slammed a card down.

“Draw four.”

Divina stared at her.

“You are the worst person I know.”

“Objectively incorrect,” Yoko said. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

Enid laughed.

Then looked down again.

“Want to play?” she asked softly.

Wednesday shook her head.

“…Observation is sufficient.”

“You just don’t want to lose.”

“I do not engage in activities where outcome is dependent on chance.”

Yoko pointed at her.

“She’s scared.”

“I am not.”

“She’s scared.”

Wednesday ignored her.

Entirely.

Did not even acknowledge the comment.

Yoko grinned wider.

“Oh, she’s pretending she didn’t hear me now.”

Wednesday remained perfectly still.

Silent.

Unbothered.

Unresponsive.

“Wow,” Yoko said. “That’s commitment.”

Enid huffed.

“Yoko.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Yoko blinked.

“Rude.”

“Go and lock lips with Divina or something.”

Divina immediately looked up.

“Hey—what?”

Yoko turned slowly.

“Oh?”

Divina held up a hand.

“No. No. I didn’t do anything. Why am I being dragged into this?”

Enid shrugged.

“Collateral damage.”

Bianca snorted.

“Acceptable losses.”

Divina pointed at all of them.

“I hate it here.”

Yoko leaned closer to her.

“Do you?”

Divina leaned back immediately.

“Nope. Don’t do that. Not part of the plan.”

Yoko smirked.

“Coward.”

“Alive,” Divina corrected.

The room dissolved into laughter.

Even Enid.

Even Bianca, slightly.

Wednesday—

Didn’t laugh.

But her shoulders loosened.

Just slightly.

And her mouth—

Twitched.

Again.

Time passed.

Cards shuffled.

Voices rose and fell.

And through it all—

Enid stayed exactly where she was.

One arm around Wednesday.

Careful.

Constant.

Unmoving.

And Wednesday stayed too.

Didn’t shift away.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t correct.

Just—

Sat there.

Like it was the most natural place in the world.

At some point, the game ended.

No one agreed on who won.

Which meant Bianca probably had.

Divina protested.

Yoko cheated.

And Enid didn’t care.

Because Wednesday was still there.

Still solid.

Still leaning back against her slightly.

Still—

Okay.

“See?” Enid murmured quietly.

Wednesday tilted her head slightly.

“…Clarify.”

“You’re alive.”

A pause.

Then—

“…Noted.”

Enid smiled.

And this time—

Wednesday didn’t pretend not to notice.

______________________________________________________________________________________

The night didn’t end all at once.

It never did.

Not in places like Yoko’s apartment.

Not with people like this.

It faded.

Gradually.

Like noise learning how to soften itself.

The game had ended a while ago.

Not officially.

There had been no winner declared—only a slow unraveling of interest, cards abandoned mid-stack, arguments dissolving into quieter conversations and then into nothing at all.

Now, the room looked lived-in.

Cards scattered across the table like evidence of something unfinished.

Half-empty glasses forgotten on every surface.

The lights dimmed lower than before, casting everything in warmer tones.

And on the screen—

Euphoria played.

Season three.

Too loud.

Too emotional.

Too much for most people.

Perfect for this kind of night.

Enid hadn’t really been watching it.

Not fully.

She tried.

She really did.

But her attention kept drifting.

Back.

Down.

To the weight resting against her.

Wednesday had fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago.

It hadn’t been dramatic.

No slow fade.

No warning.

One moment she had been watching—expression neutral, eyes focused in that intense way she always had.

The next—

Her head had tipped slightly.

Her body softened.

And she was gone.

Enid had felt it immediately.

That shift.

That loss of tension.

That quiet surrender Wednesday would never allow while awake.

She’d gone still the moment it happened.

Like moving might break something fragile.

Like breathing too loudly might wake her.

“Annndddd She’s out,” Divina murmured from the other side of the room.

Enid didn’t respond.

She didn’t need to.

Everyone could see it.

Wednesday was leaning against her.

Not carefully.

Not precisely.

Just—

Resting.

Her head tucked lightly against Enid’s shoulder, her body angled slightly toward her like gravity had decided where she belonged.

Her cast rested safely between them, supported by the way Enid had adjusted her posture the second she realized Wednesday was slipping.

Protective.

Automatic.

Unthinking.

“She fought that,” Bianca Barclay said quietly.

Enid huffed softly.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “She always does.”

Yoko glanced over from her spot near the armrest.

“…What’d you give her?”

“Pain meds,” Enid said.

Yoko raised an eyebrow.

“…And she agreed to that?”

Enid hesitated.

Then—

“I didn’t exactly give her a choice.”

Divina snorted softly.

“Bold.”

“She needed it,” Enid said quickly. “She was—”

She stopped herself.

Didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

They all knew.

On screen, the show continued.

Voices rising.

Music swelling.

Scenes shifting.

None of it quite matching the stillness in the room.

Enid adjusted slightly.

Careful.

Slow.

Her arm tightened just a fraction around Wednesday’s waist—not enough to wake her, just enough to make sure she stayed supported.

Wednesday didn’t stir.

Not even a little.

That was new.

That was the thing that kept catching Enid off guard.

Wednesday didn’t sleep like this.

Didn’t relax like this.

Didn’t let go like this.

Not around people.

Not even around her.

Not fully.

Not until now.

“She’s heavier than she looks,” Enid muttered quietly.

Yoko smirked.

“You’re just weak.”

“I am not weak,” Enid whispered back.

“Then stop complaining.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“You literally just—”

“Shh.”

Yoko raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright.”

The room settled again.

Soft.

Easy.

The kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything.

Enid let her head rest lightly against Wednesday’s.

Just for a second.

Then a little longer.

Her eyes drifted back to the screen.

Tried to focus.

Failed again.

Her mind kept replaying it.

The call.

The silence.

That one moment where Wednesday’s voice had almost—

No.

She stopped that thought immediately.

Not now.

Not here.

Instead, she looked down.

At the person in her lap.

At the slight rise and fall of her breathing.

At the way her face had softened completely in sleep—sharp edges gone, expression unguarded in a way that felt almost… private.

Like she wasn’t supposed to see it.

Like no one was.

Enid’s chest tightened slightly.

Not painfully.

Just—

Aware.

“She looks peaceful,” Divina said quietly.

Enid nodded.

“Yeah.”

Bianca crossed her arms slightly, watching them both.

“…That’s rare.”

“It is,” Enid agreed.

On screen, something dramatic happened.

Someone yelled.

Music spiked.

No one in the room reacted.

Time stretched.

Minutes passing slowly.

Comfortably.

At some point, Yoko stood.

Stretched.

“…I’m getting another drink,” she muttered.

Bianca nodded slightly.

Divina didn’t look up.

Enid stayed exactly where she was.

She didn’t want to move.

Didn’t trust herself to.

Didn’t trust that if she shifted too much, Wednesday wouldn’t wake up and pull away and—

No.

Stop.

Her hand moved slightly.

Carefully.

Resting just a little more securely against Wednesday’s side.

Not possessive.

Not tight.

Just—

There.

Wednesday shifted slightly in her sleep.

A small movement.

Barely anything.

But enough.

Her head adjusted.

Closer.

Enid froze.

Then softened.

Then smiled.

Just a little.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“She’s attached,” Yoko said quietly from the kitchen doorway.

Enid didn’t even look at her.

“Shut up.”

Yoko smirked.

“Noted.”

Bianca shook her head slightly.

“…You’re worse.”

Enid frowned.

“What?”

“You,” Bianca said. “You’re worse.”

Enid blinked.

“…Explain.”

Bianca gestured vaguely toward them.

“You’re the one holding her like she might disappear.”

Enid went still.

For just a second.

Then—

“She almost did.”

The room quieted.

Completely.

No one argued with that.

Enid swallowed.

Looked down again.

“…I just—”

She stopped.

Didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

Divina shifted slightly.

“…You don’t have to explain it.”

Enid nodded once.

Slow.

Grateful.

On screen, the episode continued toward its end.

Music softened.

Scenes slowed.

Credits approached.

Wednesday didn’t wake.

Not even a little.

“She’s going to have a headache when that wears off,” Yoko said.

“Yeah,” Enid murmured.

“She’ll blame you.”

“She already does.”

“That’s fair.”

A pause.

Then—

“You did good,” Yoko added.

Enid blinked.

Looked up slightly.

“…What?”

Yoko shrugged.

“You got to her. You got her out. You didn’t freak out enough to make it worse.”

Enid huffed softly.

“I freaked out a lot.”

“Yeah,” Yoko said. “But not where it counted.”

Enid looked down again.

At Wednesday.

“…She called me.”

Yoko nodded.

“Yeah.”

“She doesn’t do that.”

“No,” Yoko agreed. “She doesn’t.”

That settled somewhere deep.

Quiet.

Important.

The episode ended.

Credits rolled.

The screen dimmed slightly.

No one rushed to start the next one.

No one moved immediately.

They just stayed.

For a moment longer.

In that quiet.

In that stillness.

In that space where everything had already happened—and nothing else needed to.

Eventually, Enid shifted slightly.

Carefully.

Testing.

Wednesday stirred just a little—

Then settled again.

Still asleep.

Still trusting.

“…We should go,” Enid whispered.

Yoko nodded.

“Yeah.”

Bianca stood.

Divina stretched.

Enid didn’t move right away.

She just looked down one more time.

Taking it in.

Memorizing it.

The weight.

The warmth.

The quiet.

Then, gently—

“Hey,” she whispered.

No response.

She smiled faintly.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

She adjusted her grip.

Careful of the cast.

Careful of everything.

Then slowly, carefully—

She lifted her.

Wednesday shifted slightly in her arms.

Murmured something incoherent.

Then settled again.

Enid exhaled softly.

“…I’ve got you.”

And this time—

There was no argument.

No correction.

No resistance.

Just quiet.

And that was how it ended.

Not with chaos.

Not with falling.

Not with pain.

But with warmth.

With closeness.

With something fragile, unspoken, and real—

Held carefully between them.

Notes:

hope you all enjoyed! give me some suggestions for oneshots or possibly books in the comments pleaseee!!

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