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Ravens are peculiar creatures - ebony black, with beady little eyes. They are born to circle, swoop and dive their way through the world, hovering from a better advantage point. Ragged, grim and menacing - avoided by most. They are vultures that like to pick at their prey, pluck off feathers one by one, soaking their razor-sharp beaks with small splatters of blood. They like to play with their food. They are a little too vindictive, too remorseless for most. But in the realm of seers - ravens were known to be powerful and gifted, albeit macabre. They are old and wise, plagued with shadowy visions that were often dark, but dangerously vivid. Wednesday’s visions came to her without warning, and they were difficult to control. Although the gift of foresight was a powerful one, her snippets mainly remained within the confines of swift flashes and blurred moving shapes. Nothing concrete, nothing to easily make sense of. Until she found her eyes rolling to the back of her head, face bathed in red light, staring up into the eyes of a killer. A killer that used to be a friend. Scrambling away into the night, Wednesday bitterly recalled the words that her ghostly ancestor Goody once uttered in the form of a warning.
“The path of the raven is a solitary one. You end up alone, unable to trust others - only seeing the darkness within them.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“It should.”
At the time, it didn’t seem so scary. But now - the crypt was cold and Wednesday was alone. Chained and bloodied - hung up like an animal at the slaughter house. Her head throbbed, wrists limp from where they were attached to the ceiling, locked in shackles. Her vision blurred, lips dry, face pale and slicked with sweat. She felt like she could just throw up. She certainly wasn’t feeling so wise anymore.
Heavy boots echoed throughout the space, sounding closer with each step. In her fearful haze, her ears strained to listen, eyes blinking slowly, vision slowly clearing. She was met with light-coloured eyes and a soft, worn jacket that she could still feel between her fingertips. The smell of bitter coffee and sugared creamer. Tyler. Her body sagged with relief, boots scraping helplessly against the rough gravel. She was too short to find her footing, and the pressure against her wrists was unbearable. But he was there, and she wasn’t alone anymore. He was so close, so familiar. The only thing that she could recognise amongst the flickering candles and stone-walls, jars filled with liquid and floating objects that she was too exhausted to make out. But then, a sharp sting caressed her temple, her recent head wound still tender and sore, swollen and bleeding - fresh. And all-too soon, Wednesday came to the steadying realisation that he didn’t feel like safety anymore.
He was there, watching her. Observing her like a trophy on the highest part of his shelf. She underestimated him. Not even realising that she had ruled him out, set him apart until it was too late. Wednesday always thought that she could rely on her razor-sharp sight. But it wasn’t until the rose-coloured glasses shattered on the floor that night at the Weathervane, that she even knew she was wearing any. Those droopy hazel eyes, glistening with amusement and fondness, that expression on his face, half-patient, half-desperate - it was a mask. An act worthy of an applause. She might have liked to play with knifes, but he got off on playing with her heart.
“Tyler”, she spat, biting at the inside of her cheek.
His paper-thin silhouette sauntered towards her, not stopping until the toes of his boots were lined up against her own. He looked her up and down, almost taunting her about how her dangling feet barely even grazed the floor. She was helpless, and they both knew it. A hand reached towards her, heading straight for her temple. Wednesday waited for him to press his thumb into her broken flesh, for him to smear her hot blood over his fingers, sucking them into his mouth to get a taste. She waited for him to dig his fingers into her skin cruelly, eliciting a hiss of pain. But the biting sting didn’t arrive. Instead, he looked at her like he wanted to take his time. His face twisting into something weaker, half-broken, half-torn. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. His fingers gently brushed a few strands of hair away from the dried blood collecting at her temple, and he kept a lock between his thumb and forefinger. His touch was delicate, kind even. After a minute of touching her hair and looking at her injury, he hesitated and dropped his hand like he thought better of touching her. In a split second, he had turned from her and left her reeling, head starting to throb again.
“Laurel will be back any minute.”
His voice sounded far away, like he had been taken from her a long time ago. Maybe she never even had him in the first place. He looked like a ghost of who he once was, and it made her wonder if he was ever even really that person. He must have been a mirage - an outline of what somebody else made him be. The sickeningly sweet smiles, low, patient voice - had that all been pulled by somebody else’s strings? Was any part of him real? She wasn’t sure what would be worst - knowing that it was all a carefully thought out distraction by Laurel, or knowing that it was all him.
“Tyler.” Wednesday kept her voice low, purposeful. “Let me go.”
He still didn’t care to look at her, but a quiet laugh escaped him. “Do you really think it will be that easy?”
Wednesday observed him from where she was suspended, trying to work out an angle, to pinpoint a weakness. There were so many to choose from. She could go for his obedience - his eager eyes and slobbering tongue, drooling and rolling over on command. She could laugh at him in return, remind him that he didn’t even own his own mind, that his thoughts and feelings would never be his own. Or she could aim lower and go for his soft underbelly - asking what his mother would think if she could see him now. She could play dirty and twist the knife, drawing him back to the reason he was so easily taken advantage of in the first place. But a cursed part of herself was still somehow reluctant to hurt him. She hated it. She couldn’t look at him and not think of who they once were - and everything that they could have been. So she told herself that the tightness in her chest was hatred and nothing more. And instead, she decided to go for his pride. The crass smirk, disgusting arrogance.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
Tyler turned to look her right in the eye. “Smart enough to fool you.”
After a while, Wednesday swallowed and found her voice. It was strained, but there nonetheless. “Is that what you did? Fool me?”
She supposed that he did, after all. It was a childish game of cat and mouse, the two of them running circles around each other - playing tag in the schoolyard. He would be there until she got close, and then just when her fingers reached out to brush against him, he would disappear into smoke. Wednesday would grunt in frustration and spin around, and there he would be - again. Standing there, smiling and beckoning her closer. And just as she reached for him again - nothing but smoke. Eventually, he wouldn’t respawn in a new place and Wednesday would be left with nothing but the taste of gravel on her tongue. She could feel that gravel underneath her feet now, a cruel reminder that she had played his sick games - and she had ended up losing.
“Tell me”, he goaded, tilting his head from where he was crouched on the floor, placing down a freshly-lit candle. “How high up was I on your suspect list?”
Neither of them needed the words to be said aloud. The answer hung in the air, thick and black like tar. She hadn’t even stopped to consider him for a moment. Her list of suspects was long and well thought-out. But no, she went willingly to Tyler with her clues and theories, letting him comment and brainstorm with her. He wasn’t at the very bottom of her list - he wasn’t even on it at all. It was humiliating, and he turned away from her once more, like her silence was satisfying enough. His lack of attention was worse, and Wednesday scrambled to hit a nerve.
“She sure likes to put her hands on you.”
Tyler’s movements paused, and she could tell that he was considering her words. He finally dropped what he was doing and made his way back over to her, raising his eyebrows. “What makes you think something like that?”
She could tell it was getting underneath his skin, that she knew something she shouldn’t have. Something that had clearly been kept behind closed doors before tonight.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He arched his eyebrows even higher. “You’re awfully smug for a sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice of what?”
The tilt of his head was downright cruel. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“You talk a big game for a someone who’s under someone else’s thumb.”
He didn’t reply.
“Do you ever get bored of her ordering you around?” She kept going, searching his face for any sign of him wavering. A smirk grew on her face, because maybe she liked playing with fire. “Or is that something you’re into?”
Tyler turned away sharply, not wanting to look at her. He was angry. But mostly, he was afraid that if she saw his face, she would see what sat there - plain as day. She knew exactly how to rile him up. He was too raw, too transparent like this. He didn’t want her to see. Clenching his fists, he tried to keep his focus on the stone wall in front of him. But all he could see was something more twisted, more fucked-up. This time, he was the one chained up - and there was someone else looming over him. Thick red hair, oily skin, needle-point glasses. The first time it happened, he blacked out thirty minutes in. When he woke up, naked and bleeding, slick with sweat, shackles cutting into his wrists - he looked up and saw the woman stroking his cheek. He thought that she was saving him. And then he remembered. With Wednesday chained up in front of him, he couldn’t bear to look at her. It was like holding up a mirror to his worst memories, and his hands twitched with the longing to let her loose.
When she spoke again, he could tell it mattered to her. “Did you ever think about telling me?”
Feelings are complicated. Tyler didn’t know what he was feeling most of the time, and he could hardly begin to talk about them. He tried to read poetry and he tried to listen to music, hoping that they would help him understand. But the poets didn’t have all of the answers and the musicians were more concerned with the melody. When he looked at Wednesday, he couldn’t be quite sure what he was feeling. He had grown fond of her, that was for sure. And there was a nagging feeling - a tug right between his ribs that twisted and pulled when things fell quiet between them. A long time ago, he wondered if he should warn her about what was around the corner. Just a vague, half-hearted clue that could help her gain the upper hand. He wasn’t sure why he wanted that. In the simplest terms - she was a thorn in his side. And he could squirm and twist all he wanted - but she would remain stuck there. He would breathe in, and feel her. He could fall asleep, and she would jolt him awake, pulling underneath his skin - throbbing. With every conversation, every smile, every dance - the nagging feeling grew stronger. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything. Sometimes he would get close, the words almost spilling right out - but then his mouth would clamp shut. Too many close-calls.
“Every single time we were together.”
It was admitted reluctantly, but he couldn’t take it back now. And then he noticed the way she was looking at him, with something close to pity. Everything started to feel wrong.
“Tyler”, she said his name, but it was more of a plea. “You don’t want to do any of this. And you know it. You don’t want to be this.”
He laughed bitterly. “Tell me then, Wednesday. Tell me what you think I should do.”
His voice was dark, full of pain. But those eyes - they were almost shining with regret, pulling her in closer, begging for her to give him the answers. Maybe if she played her cards just right and said something that filled the empty cavity in his ribcage - just maybe, he could find the strength to let her go. Watch her run deep into the woods, knowing that she would be safe.
Wednesday parted her lips, desperate —
And then the heavy door creaked opened, and she knew that her last hope at getting out, had been snatched away.
Laurel Gates sauntered her way into the room, hips swaying slightly, Cheshire Cat grin on her face. She was carrying the last couple jars with stolen body parts, grotesque and shrivelled. In the right-hand sided jar, was a floating human heart. How fitting. She placed them down, carelessly and in a swift movement, cupped Tyler’s cheeks. It took everything in him not to flinch away. He wasn’t sure what it was - it certainly wasn’t the first time she had touched him so unashamedly. But Wednesday was there, seeing it, and he was reminded of her pointing out that very fact not even five minutes prior. That it wasn’t the first time. The first time, it had certainly felt wrong. Her hands all over his forearms, creeping up to his shoulders and chest - still caked in dirt and blood. Her whispering praise in his ear and comforting his shaking, terrified form. Since then, it hadn’t felt so wrong. It almost became familiar, maybe even feeling right - in a rather fucked-up way. But after seeing the clear pity on Wednesday’s face, it had never felt so wrong. Wrong now, as the older woman ran a thumb under his cheekbone and then patted his cheek affectionately, like he was a pet.
“What did I tell you about playing with your food?”
She smiled coyly and patted his cheek once more, before finally moving away.
Wednesday swallowed down her disgust, bile fresh in her mouth. It had made her uncomfortable enough to watch Laurel caress what she thought was Tyler’s face, putting her hands all over him. But it hadn’t felt so bad, because ultimately, it wasn’t really Tyler. But now, it was him in the flesh and he was the one feeling her touch, feeling her slimy hands - and Wednesday was angry. She wanted to spit in Laurel’s face and press the heel of her boot against her pale throat.
“Has he been an attentive host?”
“Oh, yes”, Wednesday tried to remain nonchalant, “…you’ve trained him well.”
“I have, haven’t I?” Laurel snarked in reply, “…he really was most helpful. Who knew all it took for Wednesday Addams to let her guard down, was a pretty teenage boy?”
She gritted her teeth, pushing back. “Does he know that he’s nothing more than a pet to you?”
“And he’s more to you?”
It was silent for a minute, none of them saying a word.
“Oh, Wednesday”, Laurel chimed in, voice a touch shy of sympathetic, “…you don’t really think he cared about you, do you? I thought you were smarter than that.”
“He’s not on your side.”
“Is that so?”
“He’s not on your side, and that scares you. Because deep down, I think you know it.”
The woman’s face shifted, glee dissipating into more of a quiet anger. Wednesday knew that she had hit the nail on the head. And maybe deep down, she had neglected to consider that she was one of Tyler’s weaknesses herself. Laurel clearly knew it, and it scared her. Her head turned back towards Tyler, who had been watching them quietly and shuffling on his feet, uncertain - and she spoke her next command slow and clear, eyes twinkling with the promise of revenge.
“Tyler, honey. - shut her up for me.”
His head snapped to Wednesday, blinking rapidly.
“Leave her alive”, she corrected herself cooly, clasping her hands together in front of her, “…but just barely."
The words echoed inside of his head and Tyler’s blood ran cold. For a split second, he felt violently sick. Like he could just double over and curl in on himself, clutching his stomach and vomiting all over the cold stone of the crypt. But her voice was loud in his ear and he couldn’t shake it off. His feet started moving before he could catch up with them, and he was approaching Wednesday - fast. She tried to school her expression, but he could recognise that look anywhere. He saw it that night in the woods behind the Harvest Festival, when she saw his grotesque, monstrous form for the first time - before even knowing it was him. It was the same look on her face as she watched him brutally murder her classmate, slashing along the bottom of his ribs, spilling his guts on the forest floor. He was still in his human form, something that was more familiar to her - but it didn’t stop her from looking at him like a stranger. He had never seen her look so unsure of herself, so almost-afraid.
His hands grabbed at the lapel of her onyx blazer, roughly yanking her to him. Her boots scraped against the ground desperately, her chin tilted upwards in resistance - still trying to appear calm and collected, despite the obvious panic in her eyes. It should have been delicious. It should have sent shivers down his spine, the best kind of thrill - after all, he had felt it before. But with Wednesday, it was almost painful to look into her eyes. And yet, he couldn’t look away. Everything around him went very quiet, except his own heart beat in his head - earsplitting and relentless. Her big, dark eyes were wide and they wouldn’t look away from his either. It wasn’t until she looked down, that he realised that his hands were violently shaking. His hold on her growing weak.
“Fuck”, he gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut.
All he could see was them. The two of them, sitting in that damn cafe, sitting in his beat-up red car, sitting down quietly in a fire-lit room at the Rave’N dance. The two of them swapping information, dancing around each other, Wednesday sitting in the same booth - drinking his coffee. After learning his shift schedule, she seemed to hang around for longer on the days that he closed, bringing her schoolwork or reading. After a few weeks, Tyler let himself wonder if that meant anything. And then she stood in front of him and said Xavier’s name, and he wanted to punch himself in the face for sounding so jealous. He crawled home, tail tucked between his legs - feeling pathetic. But later when he arrived smiling beside her, admiring her pretty black dress, Laurel had come up to greet them. She waited until Wednesday walked away to praise him - and that’s when Tyler really felt pathetic. For a moment, he had let himself forget that this was all a con, and that Wednesday was just a mark. He had a habit of forgetting whenever he was around her, and now - here they were.
“Tyler”, his master snapped at him, growing impatient at his hesitancy, “…I don’t know what you’re standing around for. That was an order. And you will obey.”
Her voice was shrill, ringing between his ears. His instincts should have been screaming at him, their fucked-up bond taking over and making him float away from his body. But even the Hyde within Tyler seemed to fidget anxiously, not quite knowing what to do. His beast was at odds with his instincts and the complicated attachment that they seemingly both felt for the girl. He tried to tighten his hold on Wednesday’s lapel and shake her fragile body, hoping to scare her enough to get a kick out of it. He used to get off on this shit. But Wednesday stayed looking at him, lips parted, breath coming out in little pants against his face. After a while, she became blurry. Tyler’s eyes were quickly filling with tears, his face scrunching up - utterly torn.
I don’t want to do this, he admitted fearfully to himself.
How could he? Whilst the foundation may have been built on a series of lies and falsehoods, whatever he had with Wednesday was the most real thing he knew. He may have been lying to her face, but his heart had never strayed. It remained stuck firm in place now.
“TYLER!”
It was practically a scream, and something within him ripped free. The shift was inhumane - all breaking bones and stretched limbs, torn clothing and elongated claws. A painful howl-like scream broke free from his throat, his back extending and curling upwards as his spine shifted. His eyes growing out of his head, bulging and bloodshot. His claws sharp, deadly. He was too far gone now, the Hyde fully taking over and looming over Wednesday’s small frame. But she didn’t look afraid. He had a feeling that she knew before he knew it himself. She held firm while he snarled, dropped her from his hold and turned towards the red-headed woman. Laurel had been afraid when she first stood in front of his other form, a creature that was leagues taller and stronger than she was. But she knew that she could break him, that she could gain control. But no more. She stumbled away from him somewhat timidly, and the Hyde’s laughter echoed inside his head. He let it take over, claws reaching for her figure with ease. They slashed through her middle, tearing her guts open and splattering blood across the floor. He snarled and slobbered in her face, swallowing the sweet sound of her horrified screams. Her pain was truly delicious. And he didn’t stop until the light died from her eyes, and until she was a bloody, unidentifiable mess on the crypt floor.
Once it was all over, Wednesday watched him shift back. Shivering, covered in blood and bare all over. His eyes were glassy, unshed tears still threatening to spill. He didn’t seem bothered with covering himself, cautiously moving forward to unlock her shackles with trembling fingers. She practically collapsed from the relieved pressure, her legs weak and numb, and Tyler coiled his arms around her waist to steady her. She didn’t take her eyes off his for a single second. He was rather frantic, hands darting over her to check that she was okay, tenderly rubbing at the sore marks on her wrists.
“Wednesday, I’m…”, he stammered pathetically, too afraid to even attempt to apologise, “…I-I don’t want to hurt you.”
She was quiet for a moment, simply staring up at his face, letting his arms keep her stable. Her body was weak and sore, her head now a dull throb, blood beginning to dry and crack. He looked more unsteady than she was - all glistening lips, teary eyes and sweaty forehead. She reached a hand up and he flinched for a moment, like she might be looking to hit him. He wouldn’t blame her. But she simply slowed down her touch, tenderly brushing his curls away from where they were stuck to his forehead. Her touch was kind, and he almost let out a whimper.
Her smile was wicked, her face split open - all teeth and dimples.
“Welcome to the winning team.”
Wednesday trailed her fingers further down his face, testing to see if she was making him uncomfortable. When he simply let his eyes flutter shut contently, she rubbed at the hot, sticky blood on his cheeks and stared down at his lips. And with that, she kissed him.
Tyler almost backed away at first, confused and dazed - unsure if he was dreaming. He had expected her cutting words and maybe even to meet the sharp end of the knife stuffed in her sock - a knife he hadn’t made the effort to remove. Perhaps a part of him had been hoping that she might break free on her own, and he would have plausible deniability. That way, it wouldn’t be his fault. Now, she was kissing him - slotting her lips over his gently, treating him as if he were made of glass. She wanted to be careful with him. And in the longest time, Tyler couldn’t remember feeling so safe. He tightened his arms around her waist, bringing one bloodied hand up to cradle her cheek. She didn’t seem to mind. Her tongue made its way into his mouth and he groaned, tilting her jaw up slightly so that he could have a better angle to bite at her lips. He nipped, sucking, drawing gasp after gasp from her. He had wanted this since the first moment she marched up to him and kissed him, ruining whatever loyalty remained in a singular moment. This time, it was even better. More desperate, more aggressive. Wednesday gave it back just as good, tugging on his curls and smearing the blood across his cheeks in an oddly erotic display. The blood of their defeated enemy - joining them together.
After reluctantly pulling away to gain oxygen, the pair loathed to part. Tyler held on tight, keeping his sweaty, bloodied forehead against hers. He was terrified that she would realise that she was in the hold of a monster, and that she would remember that he was supposed to be the enemy. He was trembling with the fear that he might not ever get her forgiveness, that she would look up at him and see what he really was. Someone that betrayed her trust and dropped her heart on the cold, stone floor. But all he wanted was her, and maybe he had for a while. He felt it when he lay awake those past few nights, replaying the feeling of her lips against his, the feeling of her soft cheek underneath his thumb. She was so fragile, so delicate - like a china doll. And in those quiet, dark moments in his bedroom - he wondered if when the world fell apart, if they could stay in place. His eyes fluttered against her cheekbones, nose brushing her own as they caught their breath. Wednesday looked up at him, still smiling - but it was softer. Melting across her face, warm and sweet.
And Tyler knew that they would be okay.