Chapter Text
Wednesday had always been a fair deal stranger than all those she unwillingly told were her peers.
That was normal, that was expected. After all, she was an Addams, and if an Addams was anything, they were strange.
Of course, Wednesday didn’t think she was the strange one, not at all. Sure, she recognized in herself an abnormal interest in the macabre, and a strange fascination with pain and how people reacted to it.
But those were interests, fascinations. Everyone had those. It would be borderline absurd for a person to have literally zero interest in anything that didn’t contribute to their day to day existence.
No, people thought she was strange because of how she acted. Because of how she talked. Because of how she regarded the world with the thinnest veneer of acceptance over an eclipsing chasm of disdain.
And it was for those very same reasons that Wednesday believed she was the only person in the world that could be considered ‘normal’. Or if she were being less reductive, sane.
After all what sane person sees a boy in a pinstriped shirt minding his own business, and then proceeds to gather up a gaggle of hooligans to torment him by tying him up, shoving him in a locker and stuffing an apple into his mouth like a stuffed pig?
This was the very question she asked herself as she opened her locker door to find young Pugsley Addams tumbling out and flopping onto the floor like the world's least graceful carp.
Bending down to start on the tedium of untying him, she began to interrogate him in short order. “I want names.”
“I don’t know who they were, honest.” His response muddied slightly as he came down from his cries of fear just moments earlier. “It happened so fast.”
“Pugsley. This display is beneath you, pull yourself together at once.” Her tone neutral and flat, hearing another sniffle from her brother. “Now.”
The moment her hands touched his, electricity felt as if it had shot straight through her arms and into her brain. Her head arced upward immediately, eyes rolling back to show nought but the whites as images began flashing through her mind.
She’d experienced a vision twice before now, but those had been much farther apart from each other. It had been only two weeks since the last, compared to the three month separation prior.
Troubling.
As the images flashed through, she diverted her attention back toward them, cataloging whatever the vision had deigned to reveal to her.
Bodies, several people working together.
Red and white jackets, colours of the numerous Nancy Reagan sports teams.
A face, the ringleader of both this pack and the school ‘Jocks’ as a whole. Dalton.
And finally, the door to the locker, the sound of it slamming shut bringing Wednesday back to reality.
Her head dropped back down, her gaze now roughly perpendicular to the floor. She took several deep breaths, the come down from such a surge of power through her taking time to adjust to.
“Wednesday… what happened? A-are you alright?” Pugsley’s voice brought her attention down to him, clearing her head of the last vestiges of fog. She looked him dead in the eyes.
“Stay here. Leave this to me.”
Pugsley held her stare, looking back up at her in uncharacteristic silence, before quietly uttering. “Wednesday, is something up with your eyes?”
She immediately dragged her gaze away from her brother, pointing them down the hallway, her face contorted just barely in expression of the anger that now had two points of origin. How could she have forgotten about her eyes?
Her visions were not new, and now that all three had shown nothing but negative glimpses into the past, she knew now that the emerging pattern signified that she was a ‘Raven’. A seer who only receives visions of the future or past if what they see is negative, be it death, destruction or general misfortune.
And Ravens, like all outcasts, showed physical signs that identified what powers they had been born with. Unlike some other outcasts whose features showed at birth, psychics like Wednesday looked human up to a point, as once their powers began to emerge, their physical bodies began to change in turn. And for Wednesday, having these signs begin to emerge after but the third vision total was not a good sign.
Standing abruptly, her head still pointed down the hallway, she addressed her brother once more, her voice lined with an edge that spoke of finality. “I will handle matters. Go back to class Pugsley.”
Wednesday began walking down towards the science classroom, a hidden project of hers should do nicely for what she had in mind.
“Wait Wednesday, what are you doing?” She heard her brother call after her, she did nothing to imply she heard him.
Getting closer to the room, she turned slightly to spy her reflection in a classroom window. And barely, just barely, in the outermost edges of her iris’s, she saw colour shift from its normal brown, to a bright and distinct orange.
Not a good sign indeed.
——————
Wednesday does not care for the concept of ‘Hindsight’.
When she decides to commit to an action, she means to consider every perceivable avenue of consequence and more often than not, she will commit to it regardless.
This includes the possibility of expulsion from Nancy Reagan High School and the eighth relocation in her exceptionally violent academic history.
It did not, unfortunately, include the possibility of sitting across from her parents for four straight hours, listening to them sing love songs the entire way and watching them try (and fail) to keep their hands off each other.
Just this once, Wednesday almost believes that in hindsight, perhaps her actions were possibly not worth the consequences.
Almost.
However, something of much greater concern is what exactly they have been in the hearse for the last four hours for.
And that something has a name. Nevermore. The place where Gomez and Morticia met, the place they regale with endless tales of their endless adventures.
The one place Wednesday had not wanted to go.
It was all part of her mothers plan, you see. She had taken Wednesday's demeanor, her insistence on the inconvenience of feeling, on the uselessness of emotion in pursuit of more fruitful ends, as simple teenage rebellion to her daughter's ‘true nature’.
More directly, Morticia had managed to spy a glimpse of her daughter’s eyes, and spied the slightly orange outer edges of her iris, but combined with distance and the fact it had been seen in the reflection of a slightly tinted pane of glass, she had made the admittedly reasonable assumption that the colour was not orange, but in fact the deep red signifying a ‘Dove’ psychic. The psychic inclination that Morticia possessed.
It was the only explanation for how Morticia had begun trying to supplant the word ‘dove’ into her vernacular as often as possible, and why she had decided to send Wednesday into the very same school where she had learnt what her powers entailed.
Doves and Ravens you see, were two sides of a coin. Where Ravens saw only the negative, Doves saw only the positive. It was the source of her mothers ‘sunny’ disposition, though like all Addams it was accentuated with a prominent interest in the macabre, with Morticia favouring the macabre essence that she found in her greenhouse. Mostly in her prized Cleopatra, though she swears she doesn’t play favourites.
And she thought Wednesday was a dove, and her lifelong existence despising all things bright, sunny and positive was her own personal rebellion at what she thought was fate's attempts to force her into a mold.
To her credit, Wednesday was capable of admitting that the core of her actions was not to hurt her, or to displease her. She did legitimately view her decision to send Wednesday to the very place where she herself had learnt how to navigate her visions was one that was to the benefit of Wednesday, especially given her belief they shared such an inclination in their powers.
But Wednesday also saw what had clouded her more altruistic intentions. Why she was so overjoyed to send her to Nevermore, why she was secretly in elation at the belief that Wednesday was a dove.
She was trying to trap Wednesday in a box, and that box was shaped distinctly like Morticia.
A box with dovelike red iris’d eyes and white feathers sprouting from her arms. Instead of the orange irises and black feathers Wednesday knew was in her future.
And as she watched her parents continue their endless doomed fight to contain themselves around each other, that combined with her ruminations caused her to finally break, scoffing indignantly as she turned to stare out the side window.
Her parents caused the break in her stoicism, stopping at once to regard their daughter.
“My little stormcloud, no need to fret. I just know you’re going to love Nevermore.” Gomez spoke, leaning forward to show his attention now gravitated toward his daughter, his voice dripping with affection for his old haunt. “It’s where your mother and I found each other.”
“And where we fell in love.” Morticia finished for him.
Wednesday turned back to face them. “I know. You have regaled the family with that story more times than I feel obliged to count.”
“Just give it time my dear Wednesday. I have no doubt that Nevermore will speak to you just as it did to us.”
Wednesday refused to dignify that last statement with a response, huffing a small breath from her nose before pointing her gaze elsewhere, watching the forests go by as they sped closer and closer to her latest penitentiary.
——————
“Eight different schools in five years. I daresay you might have a record on your hands Miss Addams.”
Larissa Weems was an anomaly.
Odd to say in a school of outcasts, the ‘anomalies’ of society, but she was even more so.
Every outcast showed some outward sign of what they were. Which either meant that the principal of a school for outcasts was a normie, or she was something Wednesday had no classification for, and thus nothing she could look for to discern what on earth she was.
It was… disconcerting, to say the least.
“They have yet to succeed in building one that could hold me.” She deadpanned, her internal curiosity unreadable from her exterior.
Larissa’s smile only broadened. “Well, we at Nevermore pride ourselves on being the exception.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’m not so sure about that. For one, Wednesday is certainly a Unique name.” She leaned forward on one arm. “I’m guessing it's the day you were born?”
“Actually I was born on Friday the thirteenth.”
“Wednesday’s name comes from my favourite nursery rhyme.” Morticia chimed in. “ ‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe’.”
Weems leaned back in her chair. “Ah, I see. Certainly a convention befitting a woman of your unique perspective Morticia.”
“Did your mother ever tell you we were roommates at Nevermore?”
“And you survived with your sanity intact? Few others can claim as such.” Wednesday acknowledged this with a rare widening of her eyes, impressed in spite of her usual indifference.
“Yes well, I bring this up because I have taken the liberty of assigning you to our old dorm.” Weems straightened her posture to regard both Wednesday and Morticia. “Ophelia hall.”
Wednesday turned to face her mother. “Remind me. Ophelia is the one who kills herself after being driven mad by her family, correct?”
Morticia said nothing, preening at her daughter’s knowledge of such macabre subjects.
Gomez chose to speak up now, sensing that one important topic had yet to be addressed. “There is the matter of Wednesday’s therapy. Court-ordered, you see.”
“Ah yes, thank you for reminding me. You’re in luck Wednesday, the school has a relationship with a therapist in Jericho. She can meet twice a week, her name is Doctor Valerie Kinbott. I trust you’ll be in great hands.”
“Ah fantastic. See my little stormcloud, Nevermore will have you thriving in no time.”
“We’ll see if she survives the first session.” Wednesday retorted, her attention returned to the principal.
“Yes well, in any case if that’s all that needs doing, I think it's time for us to go meet your roommate.” Wednesday noted that this particular smile of the principals was particularly false. Almost as if there was something nefarious she had planned.
Following the woman as she took them through the winding halls of Nevermore, having to drag her parents along several times as they stopped to gawk and reminisce about their own time there, eventually they came upon the stairs that led up to the various rooms of Ophelia hall.
As they ascended the stairs, Wednesday gazed from side to side as she passed by small groups of students watching her and her family with blatant curiosity and thinly veiled judgement. It made no difference to her really, the same could have been observed at Nancy Reagan and any of the other normie schools she had been forced to attend for the past five years.
Finally coming upon the door to her room, a room that she would doubtlessly find a way to escape from soon, Weems opened up the door to reveal…
Colour. So much colour
The central spiderwebbing window had been bastardized and covered in coloured sheets of plastic, bathing the entire space in multicoloured light. And on one side, an utter riot of pastel colours and beautified stuffed animals covered the floors, walls and bed. And finally, sitting at the desk looking expectantly at the door and the new arrivals within, was a girl. Tips of her hair dyed blue and pink on each side, the rest of it a bright blonde colour. Even from a distance, the multi-coloured nails adorning her hands stood out.
Most especially however, were the extra outcast traits the girl showed. A large fluffy tail swept slowly across the floor, while one of the two large doglike ears on the top of her head twitched at the sound of the new arrivals. The signs were clear, this girl was a Werewolf.
The absolute riot of colour in both the room and on the person in front of her had managed to surprise Wednesday into an obscenely rare state of stunned speechlessness as the girl bounded her way over to stand in front of her and her family. Taking a breath as she stopped, she finally spoke. “Howdy Roomie!”
“Wednesday Addams, meet Enid Sinclair.” Weems introduced them, her voice all too pleased with herself.
“Are you okay? You look a little… pale.” Wednesday was still unable to say anything, grateful to her father for eventually stepping in.
“Wednesday always looks half dead.”
To her credit the girl took it in stride “Oh… okay then.”. But almost immediately torpedoed that goodwill by trying to lean in for a hug. “Welcome to Ophelia hall!”
Wednesday took a step away from this girl- Enid. She noticed the movement and retreated herself, bringing her arms back close to her body. “Not a hugger, got it.” Despite the rejection, her ears never drooped, and her tail continued its content swishing from side to side.
“Apologies.” Morticia began. “Our dear Wednesday is allergic to colour.”
“Oh really? What happens to you?” Enid asked, leaning forward slightly in curiosity.
Wednesday, finally feeling her mouth begin to obey her demands, spoke up for the first time since entering the room. “My skin breaks out into hives and the flesh peels off my bones.”
That seemed to finally put her on the back foot, ears flattening somewhat and tail curling around one of her legs. “oh.”
“Which is why we have specially ordered your uniform to accommodate your unique needs.” Weems spoke, turning towards Enid to regard her. “Enid, could you perhaps escort Wednesday down to the registrar’s office to pick up her uniform while I finalize some matters with her parents, and along the way give her a tour of the grounds as well?”
Enid perked back up. “Yep!” She said, popping the ‘p’ as she did, before walking between the Addamses and waving back at Wednesday to follow along. Wednesday for her part acquiesced with less reluctance than she would have liked, motivated by a desire to not be surrounded by three grown adults reminiscing about high school together.
Following Enid back down the stairs, Enid began her rehearsed introductory explanation of the school and its history. “Nevermore was founded in 1791, built to educate people like us. Outcast, freaks and monsters, fill in your favourite marginalized group here.”
“You can save the sanitized sales pitch. I don’t intend to stay for long.”
“Oh. Why’s that?” Enid asked, her head tilting to the side and one ear drooping in kind.
“This was all my parents' idea. They’ve been waiting for a reason to send me here, and they finally got one.” Wednesday looked off to the side, finding a framed photo of the old Nevermore fencing team, her mother front and centre. “It’s all a part of their thinly veiled and effectively transparent plan.”
Enid's head tilted the other way, the ears on her head changing position in kind once again. “What plan?”
Wednesday questioned why she should reveal such information to an as of yet complete stranger, but Enid's curiosity didn’t read as false or malicious. She was genuinely intrigued, so Wednesday found herself continuing. “To turn me into a version of themselves, to follow in their footsteps whether I want to or not.”
Enid’s head returned to its straightened position, her curiosity sated for now as she returned to movement. “Well in that case perhaps you could clear something up. Rumours have been flying everywhere that you killed a kid at your old school and your parents pulled strings to get you off.”
“Actually it was two kids but whose counting.” Wednesday allowed a hidden smirk as she caught the girl paling somewhat before returning to her senses.
They came out of a short hallway to face a large open green space in the middle of the grounds. “Welcome to the Quad.
Glancing around the space, Wednesday couldn’t help but notice the fact that there were 5 distinct sides to the space, rather than the four the name implied. “If I’m not mistaken, a shape with five sides is called a ‘Pentagon’.”
Enid rolled her eyes, that line of questioning having become an old joke since before she had even enrolled. “The whole snarky goth girl thing might’ve worked in normie high school, but here we’ve got a bit thicker skin. Let me give you a rundown of Nevermore’s social scene.”
“I have no desire to acknowledge or participate in these tribal adolescent cliches.”
“Then use it to fill your obviously bottomless pit of disdain.” Enid retorted, Wednesday's snark and rebuttals flowing off of her like water off a ducks back. “Nevermore boasts many varieties of outcasts here. But the four main cliques are ‘Fangs, Furs, Stoners and Scales’.” Enid pointed off to a set of benches in the quad, populated by folks with heavily pointed ears and jet black eyes. “Those are the Fangs, AKA vampires. Some of them have literally, been here for decades.” As Enid moved to continue on, she sent a wave over to one on the periphery, hiding her eyes with a pair of deep red sunglasses.
“Over here, this bunch of knuckleheads are the ‘Furs’, or more accurately, Werewolves. Like me!” Enid beamed at Wednesday, though it did not go unnoticed to the goth that while Enid ecstatically made it known she was one of the furs, the rest of them at the table seemed to look in every direction except at Enid specifically. Curious. Enid continued like nothing was the matter. “Full moons get pretty loud around here, it’s probably worth it to invest in some nice noise cancelling headphones.”
Walking across more of the outer edge of the quad, the two girls came upon the sight of several people staying especially close to the central fountain. Wednesday had already guessed as much what they were. “I’m assuming that ‘Scales’ are Sirens?”
“You’re catching on quick. And one of them, Bianca Barclay, is the ‘Queen Bee’ of Nevermore. She’s the closest thing we’ve got to royalty here.” Enid turned to face Wednesday more directly, the smirk planted on her face much more devious than before. “Although her crown’s been slipping lately.” She pointed across the quad at a boy painting a mural of a raven on a wall. “She used to date our resident ‘tortured artist’ Xavier Thorpe. But they broke up earlier this year. Reason unknown.”
“Fascinating.” Wednesday replied, voice flat and dead of any actual interest.
“I know right? My blog is like, the number one source of Nevermore gossip.”
Suddenly, the two soon-to-be roommates were approached by an interloper, the angle of his approach concealing Wednesday behind Enid’s taller frame, her ears perking up taller than before and her tail stiffening behind her. “Yo Enid, you’re not gonna believe the dirt I heard about your new roommate. She eats human flesh, totally chowed down on that kid she murdered. You better watch your back.”
Enid only blinked up at him, before stepping to the side to reveal said roommate to be standing right behind her. “I actually filet the bodies of my victims and feed them to my menagerie of pets.” Wednesday allowed herself a slight victorious smirk as he paled slightly, before a long forked tongue slipped out in what she assumed to be a nervous reaction. Observing slightly more directly, she spied a small snake poking out of his beanie, and scales on the backs of his hands. A gorgon.
“Woah, you’re in black and white. Like a living instagram filter.”
Enid shook her head in exasperation, moving forward to lightly push at the gorgon until he moved off of his own accord. “Ignore him, Gorgons spend too much time getting stoned.” Enid returned to facing her, from the front this time after getting the gorgon to leave. “He’s cute but clueless. It’s a small school and there wasn’t much online to find about you so… Oh, which reminds me, you should really get on Insta, Snapchat and Tiktok. Stay off twitter because that place is a bit much even for me.”
“I find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation.”
Before Wednesday took her leave however, Enid made an interesting counter-point. “Yeah but, I didn’t become the prime time gossip queen by scouring newspapers. You never know what you might find on there.”
Wednesday said nothing, but as she walked off to the registrar's office, she allowed a private consideration that a socialite such as Enid might have a point.