Chapter Text
Wednesday looked for Enid but didn't find her in their shared room or in any other place on campus she's known to frequent.
Eventually she comes to the conclusion that she wouldn't know what to say even if she had found her.
Rather than unpack the emotions she's feeling about the situation with her curse, Wednesday decides she'll to busy herself with the other pressing issue that this dreadful weekend has left her with.
She feels a twinge of inadequacy when she locates her mother almost immediately. Wednesday doesn't know all of what being a werewolf's mate entails, but she knows she must not be a good one if she couldn't find Enid this quickly.
She tries to force those thoughts down. Enid must want space. Unfortunately, space is the last thing Wednesday needs.
Having her curse be unreciprocated would've been painful enough. She would've been filled with anguish and grief from the moment of the rejection until the premature end of her life.
However, she didn't get rejected. Having confirmation that the feeling was mutual unleashed her affliction fully. It took every ounce of restraint within her to not embrace Enid the moment that word left her mouth.
Even now, her heart burns from the distance between them.
Wednesday shakes her head in an attempt to stop her train of thought. She needs to respect what Enid wants.
She steps off the staircase into the nightshade library, the soft thud of her boots on the wood making her presence known. “Hello, mother.”
Morticia turns and meets her daughter's gaze with misty eyes. “Wednesday. I knew you would show up here eventually. The riddle was child's play to you, wasn't it?” Morticia manages a small smile out of pride, despite the situation.
Wednesday feels slightly awkward at the adoration, but pushes through the conversation with her usual sarcastic monotone. “If having the password written on the entrance to a secret room can even be called a riddle.”
Silence hangs for several seconds as both wonder how to address the painful circumstances of their current meeting.
Wednesday proves herself better at keeping quiet despite the uncomfortable atmosphere, and the silence is broken by Morticia. “I believe you came here to ask a question, my little scorpion. Go ahead.”
“Father didn't kill Garrett Gates.” Wednesday says it as a statement, because she has no doubt.
“No, he didn't. We're feeling very similar pain right now, my little raven.” Morticia smiles sadly. “But that wasn't a question. There's something else, isn't there?”
Wednesday's foundation of cold indifference is shaken for a moment, her eyes widen before she blinks and her hands clench almost imperceptibly at her sides. Small details that would go unnoticed if she wasn't an Addams in the presence of another.
She takes a steadying breath and tries to keep her voice it's usual monotone, but emotion manages to just break through enough for the pain she's feeling to be obvious. “What do I do now?”
“You needn't ask me that. You are in a unique place, as an Addams. You have a curse of the heart. What is your heart telling you to do?” Morticia responds.
“I wouldn't have asked if it was so simple, mother.” Wednesday's usual iciness is back in her voice, though she's still genuinely trying to get an answer.
“It is that simple, darling. If the curse isn't speaking to you now it is because there's nothing to be done at the moment. And yet you still feel the pain of distance in your heart, don't you? It's a wonderful curse. It's a terrible curse.” Morticia ghosts her hand over Wednesday's shoulder, a gesture of comfort that's become the middle ground between doting mother and touch adverse daughter.
Wednesday allows herself another moment of vulnerability, not stepping out of her mother's reach immediately like usual, and asking one more question. “What will it feel like? When the curse… ‘speaks’ to me?”
“I can only speak for myself. However, at your age, it compelled me strongly enough to face a man who was half wild. Foaming at the mouth, almost inhuman. I fought and killed that man because he posed a threat to my beloved. As horrible a situation as it was, I don't regret what I did. I regret that I was put in the position to have to make such a terrible choice, but I'll never regret choosing his life over Garrett's.”
The description gives Wednesday pause. “Foaming at the mouth?”
Morticia's face is serious, but the fear of the moment she's recalling breaks the stoniness. “I've never seen someone so full of rage, I have no doubt that he would've killed your father had I not killed him.”
“Maybe it wasn't rage.” Morticia looks at Wednesday, intrigued.
“Foaming at the mouth, dilated pupils, mental confusion. What are those all textbook symptoms of?” Finally, a distraction from all the emotions Wednesday's feeling. Even if she's wrong, at least it's a fun hypothesis to test.
Realization dawns on Morticia's face. “But how can that be?”
Wednesday allows herself a satisfied smirk. “Only one way to find out.”
Wednesday knew she'd end up in jail eventually. Unfortunately, she's denied the joy of a quiet, solitary cell.
Her parents’ reunion is predictably affectionate. Her annoyance is overshadowed by satisfaction though, because her hypothesis was just proven correct.
“I've seen jackals with more self control.” Wednesday's comment is less venomous than usual but serves its purpose nonetheless.
Her parents pause their activities long enough for her to share her discovery. “Neither of you are strong enough to serve hard time. Thanks to me you won't have to.” Wednesday says, making no attempt to conceal the prideful air about her voice.
She produces a small handkerchief from her pocket and unfolds it to reveal a severed human finger. “Garrett died of nightshade poisoning. The blue tint and remarkable preservation of soft tissue confirms it.”
Morticia takes the finger and examines it closely, verifying the signs of poison. “That means that Garrett was dying…” Her sentence tapers off as she feels an ancient weight lift from her shoulders.
“Before you stabbed him.” Wednesday finishes for her.
“You look even more ravishing as an innocent woman.” Gomez and Morticia promptly shift their focus from the finger back to each other.
“Would you two stop for five minutes and focus?” Wednesday snaps, annoyance finally winning out.
She attempts to take the finger back from Morticia, but the moment she makes contact with it her body goes stiff and her head snaps upwards as she's thrown into a vision.
She sees Garrett, the vile of poison, and Nevermore in flashes. She learns of his true plan, to kill every outcast in the school. The vision makes sense, it fills in the gaps of the story she knows so far.
She feels the door start to close, she's seen everything she needs to see here. Just as she starts to be pulled back towards her body, she feels herself come to an abrupt stop. as if something has forcefully blocked that door from closing.
More images flash into her view, seemingly of the future. She feels a deep pain in her chest, as if her very soul screams at her to pay attention.
She sees the woods.
She sees blood pooling on a wooden floor.
She sees Crackstone's crypt.
She sees blood pooling on the floor of a room that has papers strewn around it.
She sees a fire.
She sees blood staining the floor of a ransacked Nevermore dorm room.
Her dorm room.
“Did you have a vision? What did you see?” She sees her mother's face, looking nothing short of thrilled at the revelation that she's grown into her powers as a seer.
She's back in a prison cell, and relieved to be there. She takes no time to think about the second part of what she saw. Not right now. She'll find a way to prevent whatever horrors are going to befall her when she's not trapped in a cramped cell.
The mission was a success. The mayor agreed to their terms and they're free once more. After unleashing multiple decades worth of harsh words at him, Morticia walks out of the ornate building with a much lighter conscience and a spirit of victory.
Wednesday, on the other hand, now has nothing else to distract her from the heartache and fear she's been trying to silence within the back of her mind.
Wednesday realizes that she's been standing in silence for too long, and she doesn't wish to let anyone else worry about her fate except herself.
“You were very impressive in there.” Wednesday says finally, allowing a small amount of vulnerability.
Morticia smiles, but it's cut short by a sting of pain from earlier. “When did you start having visions?” She tries to ask evenly, but hurt is obvious in her voice.
“A few months ago. Before I left for Nevermore.” Wednesday tells the truth, but the resigned sadness on her mother's face makes her wish she hadn't.
“I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could tell me.” Morticia says, before letting silence hang for several moments as she allows Wednesday to decide whether she's ready to discuss the matter.
Wednesday does have questions she needs answers to, but instead of asking them, she surprises both herself and Morticia.
“I don't hate you.” Those are very affectionate words coming from Wednesday, and Morticia knows it.
“I know, darling. I know that it's your first instinct to try and push away the ones you care for most. I want you to know that you couldn't possibly push me far enough away that I won't be waiting with open arms for you to come back. Parenthood is a curse wonderful enough to rival the Addams curse, as It seems to cause madness no matter what.” Morticia ends the heartfelt speech with a joking tone, as she senses Wednesday's discomfort with so much sentimentality.
Wednesday nods somewhat awkwardly. She doesn't know how to respond and trusts that Morticia understands that well enough to not take offense to her lack of reply.
They stand in silence for several more moments before Wednesday asks the question that's been weighing on her. “Sometimes when I touch someone or something I get a violent glimpse from the past or future. I don't know how to control it.”
“Our psychic abilities are like many other aspects of life, they are a coin with two sides. My visions tend to be more positive in nature, the drawback of that privilege is that they are somewhat unreliable. The margin of error may be slim, but I can never be one hundred percent certain. That makes me a dove.” The implication of Morticia's words makes Wednesday pause.
She had been taking comfort in the fact that what she saw could be prevented. Obviously, Wednesday isn't a dove. If her powers aren't unreliable... Is her death imminent?
Wednesday quickly resigns herself to the possibility of premature death. It isn't exactly something Addams are known to shy away from, after all. Being mauled to death by a giant monster is one of the more interesting ways to go, at least.
That is, until another thought goes through Wednesday's mind. Her curse. Once bound by it, one can't live while their partner dies. Enid returned her feelings. Enid is bound by the curse. If Wednesday perishes she'll be leaving Enid to die as well.
Her blood runs cold. She needs to get confirmation on whether her assumption about her powers is correct. “What would that make me?"
Morticia smiles, clueless to the internal panic Wednesday is facing. “You are a raven. Your visions are more potent, more powerful. With the proper training, they can be completely flawless. The flipside to your ability is that it craves the tragic. You can see disasters coming, some you may prevent, some you may not, some which have already happened. Only you can determine whether that's a gift or a curse.”
Wednesday's thoughts race, trying to choose which of her many questions to ask, only to have them all rejected before she can even open her mouth. “I wish that I could help you with this, my dear. However, we're not trained by the living. Someone from our bloodline reaches out from beyond to guide us when we're ready.”
This will be much more difficult, but at the very least Wednesday knows who she'll have to contact, all she needs to figure out is how. “Goody has. I've seen her, but how do I initiate direct contact? How do I get answers to my questions?”
Morticia's face turns serious. “Be careful, Wednesday. Goody was a powerful witch, but her thirst for vengeance was too great. Not even she could save herself. As for contact, I'm afraid it's not exactly your choice. You may try a séance, but it's up to her to accept. Sadly, I doubt that she'll be inclined to.”
“Why not?” Wednesday says, frustration lacing her voice. She remembers her failed séance, which she blamed on her own inexperience, wondering if it was simply Goody ignoring her instead.
“The afterlife leaves no room for impatience, dearest. Their goal is to train, not tell. Like any good mentor, the spirits take any opportunity to test us. They show us just a hint of something, a warning of the challenge ahead, then watch how well we're able to prepare.”
A warning. Wednesday has no doubt that was the purpose of what she saw in the jail cell. Something she can prevent if she's up to the challenge. Good. But she has been given frustratingly little information to work with.
It can be inferred, based on recent happenings, that it's likely the monster which killed Rowen. It's apparently going to try to attack her in her own room. Foolish, as that's where the majority of her weapons are kept. Wednesday realizes that this all but confirms her theory that this is the work of a hyde and its master, as there's no way a monster that large would be able to pass Nevermore security unless it appeared human at the time of entering.
A second flash of realization dawns on her. Only Nevermore students and faculty are allowed in the building, Meaning at least one of the killers is someone living inside the school.
The doors to town hall open and Gomez steps out, the sheriff following him begrudgingly.
Wednesday is snapped out of her racing thoughts, opting to push the plans of her defense and counter attack to the back of her mind for now.
“Thank you, mother. Your answers have proven useful.” Wednesday says, carefully flat and monotone. To Morticia, it's as good as shouting.
She's used to her daughter's unusual way of showing affection. She's become a master at translating the short sentences that actually harbor thousands of unsaid words.
She hopes desperately that Enid and Wednesday will learn to speak each other's languages…
If for no other reason than the fact that her visions force her to see them accidentally flirt with each other without even realizing, and it's a horrendously frustrating experience.
“I think you should say something.” Divina whispers, looking across the room at Enid, face down and motionless Yoko's bed.
Yoko doesn't take her eyes off the movie playing on her laptop. “Nope. I'm done. I've been trying to talk her through it for a day and half, including all of last night. It's not my problem if she's gonna act like a kicked puppy for the rest of her life.”
Divina attempts to whisper again, despite Yoko's reply being full volume. “Still, the scene in the courtyard looked painful. Maybe we should-”
“Can you guys not talk about me like I'm not right here!” Enid remains face down on the bed, her voice muffled.
“Are you here? Because you haven't said anything for like four hours, Wolfie. I assumed you’d actually gone catatonic from the massive amount of cringe that- Ow!” Yoko's remark is cut short by her own pillow being thrown at her face.
“I already know that I've ruined things forever, I don't need you to tell me that!” Without a pillow to bury her face in, Enid's plea reverberates off the walls, sounding much louder than she intended.
“Woah, girl, I'm sorry but you need to take it down a few notches. Emotionally and literally. And, for the thousandth time, you'll never know whether or not you ruined things if you don't go back to your room and speak to her.” Yoko says, exasperated.
“How am I supposed to look her in the eyes after that?” Enid whines
“You said the same thing when you accidentally called Mrs. Alvarez ‘mom’ and you survived that.” Divina attempts to reassure.
“It would be less humiliating if I had accidentally called Wednesday mom! You guys don't understand how serious werewolf mates are. I basically said, out loud, in front of the entire school and everyone's parents, that Wednesday and are bonded for life, and that we intend to start our own pack!”
Yoko sucks a breath through her teeth “Alright, I'm not gonna lie, that's pretty embarrassing. But, think about it this way; If any other person in this school had said that to Wednesday, she would've been the one that got arrested for murder yesterday. You're still alive, that's got to be a good sign, right?”
Enid doesn't look convinced. She barely looks alive. The night of anxiety and no sleep seems to have finally caught up with her. “Look, wolfie, she might not be down for the entire ‘soul bonded’ thing, but she obviously cares about you. So at the very least, it's fine for you to go back to your room and get a good night's sleep on a mattress that wasn't literally built for the living dead.”
Enid takes a shaky breath. “I guess. I am super tired and we have to go to classes tomorrow.” She stands and stretches before trudging to the door.
Yoko stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, don't worry about it too much, okay? She forgave you for basically making out with her in front of Bianca, this is nothing.”
Enid appreciates the bit of lighthearted teasing and she can tell it comes from a place of genuine care. She giggles tiredly and falls into her friend's arms for a moment before leaving to face Wednesday for the first time since their awkward encounter.
She's surprised when she doesn't see Thornhill in the hall. It's past curfew, usually it's her job as dorm mom to make sure nobody is sneaking around at night.
Enid thinks for a moment that her luck might've turned, getting away with breaking curfew without getting in trouble.
She approaches her door and reaches for the handle before stopping herself short. Two people are having a hushed and tense conversation. A crash and several thuds echo out soon after. She can just barely make out the last sentence but she's sure that she's heard that voice before.
“It has to be there. I saw her reading it while I was working.”
Wait... Is that the normie from the coffee shop?
Why the hell would he be here?
Enid's blood boils with the realization. Wednesday must've invited him. She invited that stupid normie to their room after Enid practically served her heart to Wednesday in front of everyone she knows!
That voice from deep inside Enid's chest suddenly feels stronger than ever, removing every trace of the exhaustion she was feeling just moments earlier.
She feels a growl rise in her throat and her claws unsheathe themselves against her better judgment.
She wrenches the door open, damaging the hinge in the process with a strength that's new to her. “Wednesday! Why would you-”
Enid stops short when what she sees looks more like a burglary than a date night. Their room is completely trashed and standing in the center of the wreckage isn't Tyler Galpin or Wednesday.
Instead, Enid finds herself face to face with Professor Thornhill, phone in one hand and a small leather bound book in the other
“Why are you…?” She can't decide which aspect of the scene to question first. Why would she trash a room of the dormitory that she's paid to keep in order? Why would she be on call to a random barista while she's doing it? And why would someone who already has blanket authority to search dorms be doing so in the dead of night while nobody else was around?
Whichever question she would've decided on is forgotten when Thornhill taps quickly on her phone before pocketing it and stalking towards her with a look of malice on her face that Enid's never seen her wear until now.
Enid prepares to be scolded, if not for being out past curfew, for whatever dubious item of Wednesday's Thornhill seems to have found. Instead, she finds herself pinned to the open door by a hand around her throat.
It's well past dark by the time Wednesday finally gets back to Nevermore, after the paperwork and NDAs were signed and celebratory family dinner was eaten.
She bid them goodbye at the gates and began the long trek through the darkened grounds. Now, with no one else's problems but her own to think about.
Somehow, she finds brainstorming about the monster a much more palatable option than ruminating on how much she's already failed at being a mate. Something which she didn't even know she was until yesterday. Something she still doesn't entirely know the meaning of.
Unfortunately, her mind is far more inclined towards the latter. Is it similar to her curse? Wednesday had been perfectly content to allow herself the torment and premature demise of the unrequited Addams curse, but she shudders at the thought that she might have almost damned Enid to the same fate with her silence.
Is Enid's situation worse? Wednesday hadn't thought to ask her mother when effects of the curse set in for someone not born into the family, what if Enid is experiencing twice the pain she is right now?
Wednesday's racing thoughts come to an abrupt end and she almost drops to her knees as white hot terror suddenly shoots throughout her entire body, feeling as if her heart has been grabbed in someone's tightly clenched fist.
Shockwaves of the feeling crash over her, leaving only one word to echo in her head: Run.