Chapter 1: One Time is an Accident
Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams was 6 years old the first time her mother took her on a job. The air was crisp as they faded quietly into being, a biting wind causing the younger girl to shiver as her feet touched down on the frost-covered grass of an unknown forest. Morticia casually unbuttoned her flowing black cloak and settled it over her daughter's shoulders without a word. She had long since learned that Wednesday refused any verbal offers of assistance, but would often accept direct action without complaint, as long as it went unmentioned. Indeed, a clenched jaw and slight nod were all the acknowledgement Wednesday gave to her new oversized accessory -- from her, this was practically a song of gratitude. Morticia hid a smile behind a delicately gloved hand and glanced around.
"Welcome to San Francisco, darling," she murmured in keeping with the soft silence pervading the woods. "It seems we've been called in the midst of an unexpected cold snap, what a dreadful surprise."
Wednesday took in her surroundings with wide eyes, cataloguing every detail. Trees the color of week-old blood and taller than she could have imagined stood silent sentinel as tufts of icy grass sparkled in the light of a full moon. The scene had an air of eerie melancholy, and Wednesday shivered again despite the warmth of her new coat.
"Technically, we are just outside of San Francisco," Wednesday corrected, attempting to mask her excitement as condescension. "The Muir Woods National Monument, if I am not mistaken."
"You rarely are, my little venus fly trap. Nothing gets past you." Morticia took a deep breath and held it for an unnaturally long moment. On the exhale, she opened her senses to the forest, searching. "Have you been able to find the one we're here to help yet?"
Mirroring her mother's movements, Wednesday let her mind extend past the confines of her skull, searching. At first, she found nothing but chilled silence, until... there. About 300 yards northeast of where they stood, a clearing with a single towering redwood in the center. She took off at a determined pace, Morticia following closely behind her. As the forest opened up slightly, Wednesday's gaze settled on the small hourglass that hovered level with her eyes. The sand within had almost completely fallen into the bottom chamber. And beneath the hourglass, knees pulled tight to her chest and eyes screwed shut, was a girl.
Shoulder-length blonde hair held back haphazardly by bedazzled barrettes. Bright pink bunny slippers, now spattered with dew and mud. A matching unicorn pajama set, silky and not nearly thick enough for the freezing weather. And the brightest blue eyes Wednesday had ever seen, blinking open in confusion. Wednesday's heart stopped.
Morticia's heart broke.
A lifetime of helping souls move on to the next plane, and the young ones never got easier. The girl crouching in front of them on the forest floor couldn't have been older than Wednesday, and the thought left a hollow ache in Morticia's chest. She knelt on the cold ground, pointedly avoiding looking at the hourglass, and tried to summon a comforting smile.
"Hello, ma chére. My name is Morticia. What's yours?"
The cowering child's face split instantly into a beaming smile, despite her chattering teeth.
"Howdy, miss! I'm Enid! I used to have a different name but I d-didn't like that one so much, so Mom said if I was good and did g-good at school, I could pick a new one. She doesn't always remember to use it b-but that's okay, because she let me get a brand new stuffed animal as a sorry. You're very p-pretty. What are you d-doing out here at night? Are you a werewolf too? How c-come you haven't transformed? Is there something wrong with you?"
Morticia felt her smile grow more sincere as the girl peppered her with questions.
"Thank you, Enid. You've picked a beautiful name for yourself. I'm not a werewolf, no. I'm out here with my daughter to help with some business for an... old friend." At this, she stepped to the side, gesturing towards Wednesday, who had not moved since first laying eyes on Enid. Enid waved excitedly at the sight of someone her age. Their eyes met, and Enid giggled. Wednesday only managed a sharp intake of breath.
"Hi, I'm Enid," the sitting girl repeated.
"Wednesday," came the stiff reply.
"Enid," Morticia started carefully, "what are you doing out here all alone? Is your family nearby?"
A particularly strong gust of wind shook the clearing. Enid shivered and hunkered down into herself once more.
"Well, the rest of m-my family came out here to transform, and I g-got scared all alone in our cabin, so I followed them out here, b-but their wolf forms are too fast for me to keep up with, and now I c-can't remember how to get back home, so I figured I'd wait for one of them to come look for me."
As she spoke, sand continued to slip through the hourglass, and Morticia glanced at it anxiously. It wasn't right for this poor girl's body to be left alone out here for who knows how long. She couldn't do anything about the timer, but she could at least make sure the child's parents found her in a timely manner. She shuddered, thinking about how it would feel to come upon Wednesday like that, cold and lifeless (at least, more so than she already was).
"Alright, well, why don't I have a look around, see if I can't find someone to come and get you. Wednesday will keep you company while I'm gone, won't you, spider bite?"
Another stiff nod. The older psychic drifted back towards her daughter and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
"I'm going to try to locate Enid's parents and point them in the right direction. I should be back well before the timer runs out, but if not, you know what to do. You've been practicing with Lurch for ages, I know you'll do magnificently. Is that alright with you darling?"
"Yes, mother." Wednesday snapped out of her momentary trance, breaking eye contact with Enid for the first time to stare solemnly into Morticia's face. She saw the melancholy look there-- one of many vibrant expressions that seemed to come so naturally to those around her. Years spent mimicking them in the mirror alone had yielded no results, and at this point she had simply stopped trying. Still, she understood the gravity in her mother's tone. She watched reverently as Morticia unsheathed her soul blade and handed it over. In Wednesday's hands, it shifted from its typical epee form into a short, simple dagger. She pocketed it and moved over towards Enid, watching the last traces of Morticia's regal gown trail off into darkness.
The clearing was quiet for all of thirty seconds.
"I like your b-braids." Enid started. "And Wednesday is a funny name. D-did you pick it yourself, too?"
Wednesday turned to her companion, attempting to fully digest the sight in front of her. It felt like her brain was on fire. Bright colors, prismatic shapes that caught the moonlight and threw it back at unexpected angles, and even a distinct smell (sickly sweet--maybe bubblegum?) that cut through the cool night air like napalm. She was pretty sure she hated it. She couldn't look away.
"I braided my hair myself," she finally answered, "but I did not choose my name. I am named after a line from one of my mother's favorite poems: 'Wednesday's child is full of woe.'"
"You d-don't look like you have a lot of woah," Enid chattered. "If you don't like your name, you c-can always pick a different one like I did."
"That is true," Wednesday furrowed her brow seriously. "I feel as though I have gotten used to this name, and I am not fond of change. Still, if I had gotten to choose my name from the start, I would have chosen something far more significant and intimidating. For example, I named my pet scorpion after Nero, the Roman emperor who is said to have fiddled while Rome burned around him. As I am someone who appreciates history, cruelty, the fall of empires, and string instruments, you can see how the selection is particularly meaningful." After this last sentence, her mouth slammed shut and her eyes widened in horror. Wednesday was completely unused to talking this much, especially to a stranger, captivating though she might be. She was specifically concerned that Enid had so easily gotten her to divulge such personal information about herself as her favorite Roman emperor and her affinity for the string section. This situation was veering rapidly out of her control.
Somehow, Enid seemed to sense the discomfort coming from her direction, and happily took over the conversation.
"That's so cool that you have a p-pet! I keep asking my m-mom for a goldfish, but she says I'm not responsible enough for one. Plus, she says being a family of werewolves is like having s-seven pets already. Although technically I haven't transformed yet, so it's more like six pets. But I'm gonna turn s-soon, I know it. My older brothers all turned right after their 8th b-birthdays, so that's only like a year and a little bit more left to go. Mom says I shouldn't get my hopes up because apparently my brothers are 'exceptionally g-gifted' and since I'm so s-small she thinks it will probably take a year or two longer but I just know I'm gonna be the biggest, strongest wolf out of all of them. Then I'll never get left behind on p-pack runs, and they'll finally let me play with them!"
Wednesday squinted at Enid, picturing the tiny, excitable girl as a massive snarling wolf. As her eyes drifted upwards, they locked without meaning to on the soul timer above them. There was barely any sand left in the upper chamber. She looked around, hoping to see her mother appearing back from through the trees, but the forest was empty except for the two of them under the towering redwood in the center of the clearing.
A thin, pale finger ran across the length of the soul dagger in her pocket, coming away bloodless. Wednesday looked hesitantly between the hourglass and its owner.
"And you're... excited for this?" she wondered aloud. "Growing up, transforming, running with your pack?"
By this point, Enid was looking considerably worse for wear. Her voice had faded to a hoarse whisper, and she was shaking so hard it was difficult to understand her at all. Her fingers and lips were a startling (though fetching) shade of blue, but she still smiled up at Wednesday like they were long-time friends curled up beside a camp fire.
"Of c-course I am," Enid mumbled. "There's s-so much I c-can't wait to d-do! B-being the youngest is hard, b-but everything is g-gonna keep getting b-better and better, I j-just know it." Her eyes drifted closed again, and she tucked her chin to her chest, muttering to herself. "I j-just know it."
Wednesday considered this.
She looked at the hourglass.
She looked at Enid.
She looked at the empty woods.
And she made a decision.
~~~
When Enid's eyes fluttered open again, the first thing she noticed was that she wasn't cold anymore. The second thing she noticed was the pressure of someone's arms around her, and the third thing she noticed was the scent, like ink and old paper and the kind of plants that Dad told her not to touch. As her head cleared, she registered that the arms wrapped around her belonged to her new friend Wednesday, and that the two of them were settled comfortably against a tree trunk and covered by a large, extremely warm coat. She shifted a bit, finding that she could feel her fingers and toes again, although they were a little wet from the morning dew. The movement disturbed Wednesday, who quickly retracted her arms and placed them flat against her own sides.
"I see that you are awake again," she stated awkwardly. "I apologize for the intrusion of your personal space. It was necessary to re-initiate appropriate levels of blood-flow to your extremities."
Enid giggled.
"No worries, I love hugs! Since you gave me one, can I give you a hug back?"
Wednesday hesitated for a moment, before tightening her jaw and giving a determined nod.
"You may, but I must request that you be as firm and forceful as possible. I detest light touches. They are akin to slow, prickly torture--and not the good kind."
"Okay!" Enid cheered, throwing her arms around the other girl. She felt Wednesday tense slightly, and then relax into the hold. After a few solid moments of snuggling, she glanced up and saw the nice lady from before wander back into the clearing.
"Wednesday," Morticia called, still facing back into the woods, "I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to locate the girl's parents. I've no idea why they strayed so far from their cabin knowing their daughter was there alone. Still, I believe they should be heading back in this direction soon. How did your very first collection... go..."
The sight before her stopped Morticia dead in her tracks. Her daughter, who normally eschewed any form of physical contact, was wrapped tightly in the arms of the girl in question. A girl who was, despite what Morticia knew should have occurred, very much alive and breathing. And above them both, almost impossible to see from this far away, was an hourglass... with a filled upper chamber. She strode quickly over to the two girls, mind wheeling.
"Daughter dearest, I think it's time we took our leave. Why don't you say goodbye to your new friend before we go home?"
Wednesday yawned and slowly extricated herself from Enid. "She is not my friend," she mumbled indignantly, a slight flush overtaking her cheeks as she turned to address her companion. "I must go, Enid. It was... fascinating to meet you."
"Aww, it was so fun to meet you, too!" Enid stood up and eagerly handed Wednesday the coat that had been wrapped around them. "Will I see you again?"
"Probably not," said Wednesday. "I'm not sure my eyes could survive the brightness of your clothing a second time."
"What? These are my favorite pajamas! The unicorns are so cute! And anyway, if that's your only problem, we can definitely hang out again once I'm a werewolf because then I won't even be wearing clothes!"
Wednesday grimaced, but for some reason, did not feel compelled to contradict Enid's unlikely statement. "Perhaps. Goodbye, Enid."
"Goodbye! Say hi to Nero for me!"
The last thing Wednesday and Morticia saw before they blinked away was the first few rays of morning sun spotlighting a waving Enid and a tall, red-haired man in a worn robe hurrying anxiously towards her from the edge of the forest.
As they materialized back within the haunted hominess of the Addams' manor, Morticia took a deep breath and tried to decide how to broach the subject delicately.
"Now, I know this was your first time out on a real job, but... did you have some sort of trouble using the blade? You know you could have simply waited for me to return to assist you, a little time in between death and the departure of a soul is certainly not the end of the world."
"I am perfectly capable of using a soul blade, mother." Wednesday bristled at the implication of failure. "However, I decided that it didn't make sense for Enid to die yet. She has many things to look forward to that require additional time. So I simply turned her soul timer over to reset it."
"Oh, Wednesday," Morticia sighed. Her worst fears had been confirmed. Her heart ached for the gallant, yet misguided action her daughter had committed, but she knew she could not allow it to happen again. "It was very noble of you to wish for more time for Enid, but that is not up to us, and turning over a soul timer can be very, very dangerous. You must promise not to do it to any other timers you come across, do you understand?"
Confused, but gravely focused, Wednesday nodded. "I promise."
~~~
Not three weeks later, standing over the mangled body of her beloved Nero, Wednesday reconsidered that promise. She stared blankly at the tiny hourglass above the twitching scorpion, hand reaching towards it almost without thinking. But just as she felt the cool glass within her grasp, her mind conjured the image of her mother's face, urgent and terrified. She found she could not do it. Instead, she slipped her newly crafted soul blade, a highly ornamented butterfly knife, from its holster at her hip and deftly cut the base of Nero's soul where it rose out of his unmoving body. Wednesday watched the soul dissipate delicately into the great beyond. Then she sheathed her blade, dried her tears, and went to ask her mother how soon she could go on her first solo job.
Chapter 2: Fool Me Twice, Shame On Me
Chapter Text
By the age of 10, Wednesday had cemented her place as one of Death's favorites. It wasn't the type of thing that would ever be announced outright, but He made it known in little ways. She always got the best assignments: the bloodiest battles, the grisliest murders, the most poetically tragic passings-- the sort of things that would make Pugsley whimper pitifully and bury his useless face in Mother's side. The boy was already 8 years old and still being accompanied by one of their parents on every outing... pathetic. While he wasted time "feeling bad" for the deaths he came across, Wednesday was already moving on to her second job of the day. The first had been a particularly brutal assassination of a corrupt local politician in an obscure German province. She very nearly grinned, remembering the way the scent of blood mingled beautifully with the sizzling bratwurst being sold just outside the darkened alleyway. Thank goodness she had brushed up on her Deustch.
As her feet touched down on a bed of decaying leaves, Wednesday was instantly struck with the notion that she had been here before. Something about the way the air smelled scratched at her brain in a distracting, but not necessarily unpleasant way. She quickly scanned her surroundings and found her eyes travelling up, up, and up... that was it! She could recall only one place where she'd seen trees that towered as tall as these: Muir Woods National Monument. Wednesday paused briefly as a memory slipped, unbidden, through a crack in her mental walls. A cold night, a bright girl, and a mistake. Wednesday Addams was not one to make mistakes, and the recollection echoed painfully for more reasons than one. Half a thought darted through her mind - perhaps, she might see - but it was already gone, fleeing before the onslaught of rationality and duty.
Wednesday beat her unruly train of thought into submission and focused on the task at hand. She centered her mind, second nature to her at this point, and let it guide her in the direction of her dying charge. Here on the west coast it was late evening, pushing towards night. A full harvest moon grinned like a fool in the sky. The sight sent an unaccountable shiver down her spine, and she grit her teeth against the intruding associations that fought for her attention. She was successful.
Until she saw the hourglass.
It hung above a strange mound of dirt, identical to any other and yet unmistakable, as each one inevitably was, tied to its individual soul. Wednesday's pace faltered, and her approach slowed. She closed her eyes, willing the scene before her to mold itself into something less... wrong. The universe, taking a page from Wednesday's book, did not obey.
"This can't be right," she muttered to the empty air. "She said she was-- and it hasn't been-- the length of time shouldn't have changed, unless..."
Without her consent, Wednesday's feet had brought her to the edge of the dirt pile, face to face with the soul timer, and what stopped her mental calculations was the realization that it was not, in fact, identical to any other timer she had seen before. The shape and color were the same, but along the glassy walls ran a spiderweb of tiny hairline cracks, nearly invisible to those not as attuned to detail as Wednesday. She had to admit, this was something she had never seen before. There was no denying it was the very same hourglass belonging to-- she couldn't bring herself to say the name, aloud or otherwise. But still, there was something dreadfully wrong with it, and she had a terrible inkling why.
Heedless of Wednesday's internal catastrophizing, time marched forever onwards, and with it the grains of sand fell one after the other to the bottom of the glass. She was snapped out of her reverie by a piercing howl echoing through the woods, not nearly far enough from where she was. World-shattering discoveries could wait. Now was the time for action.
In a second, Wednesday had her soul blade in hand, plunging towards the dirt even as it transformed into a wicked spade. Though she prided herself on maintaining peak physical condition, the ten year old was soon heaving with exertion. The mound had initially come up to just above her chin, and was wide enough to fit her AND Pugsley with room to spare. She threw herself at the task with single-minded focus, an unnatural flush overtaking her features as she worked without acknowledging trivial things like her own physical limits and wellbeing. All the while, sand continued to pour through the cracked hourglass above.
Once she had cleared the dirt down to ground level, it became clear the hole it was covering descended even farther down into the earth. Normally, she would be impressed by such thorough grave digging, but now she only growled in frustration, returning to her digging with reignited fervor. From time to time, more howls resounded from the woods around her, but she paid them no mind. There was only dirt, and the body beneath it.
It was only when she started to hear the muffled sounds of struggle below her that she paused to consider. She knew she had almost no time, but her mind worked at dizzying speed, unravelling the puzzle before her.
As much as it hurt to admit, that was Enid's hourglass hanging above her head. And it was Enid's still-kicking body under those last few feet of dirt. Wednesday had started digging on instinct, but if that timer's sand distribution was accurate... it was Enid's time. Again.
Enid was supposed to suffocate, here, thirty-six inches away from fresh air. She was supposed to die. And Wednesday was supposed to let her.
And so she was presented with a choice. Wednesday could sit back, do her job, and let this girl--who had already been given more time than originally planned--pass away in the cold embrace of the earth.
Or, she could turn the hourglass over again, and keep digging.
Wednesday raged at herself silently. It should have been an incredibly easy choice. Who was this girl to her, anyway? A stranger, someone she was meant to cross paths with fleetingly, two ships passing in the night. The ships did not stop, they did not turn back, and they certainly did not lie awake at night remembering the other ship's smile, or the impossible safety they felt wrapped tightly in the other ship's arms.
She shook her head, dispelling the confusing metaphor from her thoughts. None of it mattered, anyway. Just as clearly as Enid's bright blue eyes, Wednesday remembered the fear on her mother's face when she'd learned what Wednesday had done. Her mother, who despite her numerous flaws, was far and away the bravest person in Wednesday's family, and probably the world. She remembered the words whispered urgently that night: "You must promise not to do it to any other timers you come across."
As a rule, Wednesday kept her promises, and she did not like to lie. Falsehoods were the tools of cowards and dullards, and it was ever so much more interesting to deceive someone by saying exactly what you meant.
"Any other timers you come across."
Wednesday thought about the way Enid had smelled. Bubblegum. Disgusting.
"Any OTHER timers."
In the end, it WAS an incredibly easy choice.
~~~
Enid couldn't tell if she was imagining the scraping sounds coming from above her, or if that was a delirious side effect of asphyxiation. She'd struggled for a while, screaming at her brothers until her mouth was too full of dirt to keep screaming, but it felt like days had passed, and she was just so, so tired. In a last ditch effort, she furrowed her brow, focusing every remaining ounce of energy into a single thought: TRANSFORM.
If she could just transform, she could dig her way out of here no problem. She was due for it anyway, even a few years late, and what better time to turn than when your life is literally in danger? Enid squeezed her eyes shut, reached deep inside for her inner wolf, and...
hacked up lung-fuls of dirt as her upper body burst out of the ground into the cool night air! At first, she was ecstatic, eagerly looking down at her earth-rending paws... which were actually just her hands, with maybe a little tiny sharpening of the nails. Confused and disappointed, she looked up and locked eyes with the last person she was expecting to see.
"Wednesday?"
"Hello, Enid," came the terse reply. "The next time you play ghost in the graveyard, I suggest you take the concept less literally."
Unable to contain herself, Enid launched forward, clinging to the girl in front of her as though her life depended on it.
"Ohmigod, Wednesday, thank GOD you found me, I actually thought I was gonna die down there, and my brothers would have gotten in SO much trouble, and wait, how are you even here? I can't believe it, I honestly thought that maybe I had dreamed up meeting you because you were so pretty and nice to me I had no idea where you went or how to find you again, but you're here and you're real and you're you! Oh, shoot, I forgot to ask if I could hug you, I'm so sorry!"
Wednesday blinked slowly as she processed this onslaught, waiting to respond until Enid had released her and was rocking nervously back and forth on the scattered earth.
"You remembered to use commensurate force, so the transgression is forgiven. You mentioned your brothers would face repercussions for your demise. Was this their doing? If so, I can help you return the favor."
"Oh gosh, no, it's totally not like that," Enid said hurriedly. "They just get rowdy when they're in wolf form and decided to bury me as a prank, only sometimes they forget the difference between wolf strength and human strength, and maybe they thought I was gonna turn finally or something, and didn't realize I wouldn't be able to dig myself out. Completely understandable accident. We don't need to kill my brothers. Even though sometimes I totally wish they were dead. But like, as a joke! Haha. Wednesday, please don't kill my brothers."
"Pity. I've always wanted a wolf-pelt rug, and Bruno could use a friend."
"Okay, I honestly can't tell if you're kidding or not, and it's kind of hilarious. You're really funny, Wednesday. Who's Bruno? Your boyfriend?"
Wednesday gagged. "Absolutely not. Bruno is our talking polar bear rug. Why would I want my boyfriend to be friends with a rug? And why would anyone ever have a boyfriend in the first place?"
"See, you ARE funny!" Enid giggled. "And what girl WOULDN'T want to have a boyfriend? I mean, it's just what girls do. They have boyfriends! And I'm trying really hard to be just like, a normal girl, so obviously I want a boyfriend! Only my mom says I'm too young to date, and my dad says I can't date until I'm married. Ugh, dad jokes. The worst, am I right?"
"I'm not sure I can relate. My father tends to prefer a sort of... gallows humor. Besides, being a normal girl is useless and banal. I might even go so far as to say I... I admire your abnormality. You are adequate as you are."
"Oh. Thanks. That's- that means a lot."
The two girls lapsed into a brief silence, eyes locked like it would be a death sentence to look away. But then, of course, Enid started to laugh, starting with a little snort and billowing into a full-blown cackle. The sound was mesmerizing--Wednesday knew several fully grown witches that would kill for the pitch and volume Enid was reaching. But as was often the case navigating conversations with others, she felt somewhat at a loss. The mood had clearly shifted, suddenly and without her permission, and she couldn't tell whether she was the laugh's intended target or a companion to the hilarity. Wednesday bristled.
"What."
"Oh, nothing, nothing, it's just... you have dirt like, ALL over your face, and in your hair, and you just looked so serious. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. I'm not laughing at you, I swear."
"I see. Well, no matter how extreme my own state of disarray is, I can assure you it pales in comparison to your own appearance. After all, I am not the one who chose to take short nap six feet under."
"Oh my god, shut UP!" Enid shoved Wednesday playfully and rose to stand, making a futile attempt to brush the dirt from her clothes. "Just you wait, I'm literally gonna transform any day now, and then you'll be sorry you ever made fun of--" Her joking threat was cut short when she looked up and realized she was talking to the air; there was nobody else in the clearing but her. Once again, like a dream, Wednesday had disappeared.
~~~
"Father, when did we become Death's assistants?"
Wednesday's blade rang sharply against the steel of her father's, her voice completely nonchalant despite the intensity of their battle.
"An excellent question, my little storm cloud." Gomez replied, significantly more out of breath than his daughter. "I suppose it is less accurate to say we are His assistants. In fact, we are family!"
Wednesday absorbed this new fact with customary indifference and ducked into a tight forward roll to avoid Gomez's incoming strike.
"I see. That still does not explain why He cannot take care of His own business, being as powerful a force in this world as He is."
"Be careful there, Wednesday. You wouldn't want to be accused of disrespecting your elders, now, would you?" Gomez danced from foot to foot with a surprising amount of grace, dodging and parrying like a man possessed. (He wasn't, though-- that would have been cheating)
"Of course not," Wednesday responded tonelessly. "I am simply curious why Death needs our help."
"Now THAT is a story for the ages!" Gomez proclaimed. "After all, Death was--or is, I suppose--an Addams. And like all Addamses, even the mighty Death fell victim to that most powerful magic: The Addams Family Curse." His blade whipped past Wednesday's cheek, millimeters from her ear, before she groaned and flipped backwards to reset.
"Really? The curse again? Why does every story you tell involve the curse? Is there truly no Addams strong enough to resist it?"
"We have yet to see one, espina mia. So, as I was saying, despite his vast power, Death realized one day that He had, like many before and after Him, fallen hopelessly and desperately in love. As luck would have it, His beloved returned His affections, and the two were united in the most dazzlingly macabre ceremony this world has ever seen. Legend says it was truly horrifying to behold." Gomez wiped a tear from his eye, narrowly avoiding impaling himself with his offhand dagger in the process.
"Yes, yes, He displayed His weakness to everyone around Him like a complete fool. Get on with it, Father."
"Ah, the fire of youth. How it darkens my heart to see you rage against destiny, Wednesday. Let's see, where was I... yes, the two were married. And after many happy years together, Death and His paramour decided the only thing that could make their love more complete would be to start a family together. Unfortunately, that posed some complications, as Death's partner was mortal, and of course, mortality is incompatible with the full force of Death's essence. Their children could neither be completely mortal, nor completely immortal, and there existed no way to bridge this gap. The two were devastated. For decades, Death locked Himself away in the most ancient annals of recorded history, searching for some way to solve this problem. Eventually, he came upon a certain ritual that alluded to a fusing of mortal and immortal souls in the creation of another being. But like all powerful magic, this ritual came at a price. And so, in an act of ultimate devotion, Death sacrificed part of His power, giving it to His children so that they might live to walk the line between life and death. And although He was greatly weakened by this act, it is said that He never once lived to regret it. And so, as His great-great-great-great-something grandchildren, we are honored to use that power He shared with us to assist him in His duties however He may need us."
Gomez placed his hand wistfully over his heart, lost in the romance of his in story, and Wednesday seized upon the opportunity.
"So that is why we can see soul timers and wield soul blades while others cannot. Understood. Thank you father, for the explanation..." She lunged forward and pressed her blade right underneath the heel of his hand, drawing a pinprick of blood. "... and the victory."
With that, she sheathed her sword and disappeared up the stairs to her room, pausing only for a second to regard Bruno with a cocked head and an inscrutable gaze. Then she was gone.
Chapter 3: Third Time's The Charm
Chapter Text
For her 13th birthday, Wednesday asked for three things: a vintage silk typewriter ribbon (her current one was almost dry), a new iron maiden (Pugsley had outgrown the old one), and a comprehensive book on the physiology of werewolves. As usual, her parents were more than happy to oblige, and Uncle Fester even went the extra mile to excavate a medical tome that was supposedly sacred to werewolf kind and had been interred with the local clan's greatest leaders to prevent normies from potentially using it against them. She passed a perfectly silent and solo morning installing the typewriter ribbon and arranging the iron maiden amongst the rest of her devices to maintain the feng shui of her torture chamber. Part of her was anxious to test her latest acquisition on Pugsley, but a larger part of her relished in the ancient, decrepit state it had arrived in, and hesitated to tarnish that with modern blood.
The rest of the day was spent deep between the pages of her new book. Wednesday's ability to shut out the world around her and focus on a subject she found interesting was unparalleled; her record was eighteen days straight of complete and total stillness when she discovered a particularly engaging radio series detailing unsolved murder cases in 16th century Venice. Now, her pupils clicked back and forth with the precision and speed of an abacus, taking in page after page of werewolf strengths, weaknesses, and possible afflictions.
It was only when Lurch knocked on her door for the third time that Wednesday was pulled out of her trance. She blinked for the first time in hours, but called out without moving her eyes from the page.
"What is it?"
"Urrrg," came the immediate response.
"Must I? It is my birthday after all, I would think I would be exempt from such tedious chores."
"Rraggh. Ug."
"Damn your silver tongue, Lurch. Fine. Tell them I'll be down as soon as I finish this section on wolfsbane."
When Wednesday finally descended to the main floor and entered the dining room, she found her entire family waiting there with barely contained exuberance.
"Terrible Birthday, Wednesday!" Gomez, Pugsley, and Fester shouted in unison as they each hurled their weapon of choice in her direction. She casually dodged Fester's snake, caught and pocketed her father's dagger, and returned Pugsley's grenade to him in time for it to blow up in his face. Morticia and Grandmama shook their heads at this.
"Gomez, darling, she's 13 years old now. Don't you think such attacks are beneath her?" Morticia cooed.
"Too right," Grandmama agreed, "a girl her age deserves a missile launcher and a generational hex at the very least."
Wednesday waved off her father's apologetic simpering, taking her seat at the table.
"I could do without the theatrics, father. I don't wish to be sick before I eat, and I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible."
"Of course, mi tempestad! I cannot imagine the torment you feel being temporarily parted from your ominous workings in this way. We are forever grateful that you would grace us with your presence for this meal, that we may celebrate your triumphant entrance into the next year of your dark and thunderous life!" Gomez smacked the table in emphasis, nearly launching his fork into Pugsley's eye. Wednesday frowned at his poor aim.
"And Grandmama made your favorite! With extra arsenic!" Her brother was already loading his plate messily.
"Thank you, Grandmama," Wednesday said. "Perhaps it is not such a burden to dine with you all briefly. And I do appreciate your gifts. Uncle Fester, your book has been especially-"
She broke off as the Addams dining hall faded quickly out of focus before her, soon replaced by an empty and unfamiliar darkened room.
"... enlightening. Hmm. Death usually has more tact than to interrupt a family gathering. What could possibly be so urgent?"
As her eyes adjusted to the light, Wednesday began to pick out the nightmarish details of this new location. Posters of unremarkably bland teenage boys or any manner of baby animal adorned the walls, interspersed with signs bearing foreboding messages like "Girl Power!" and "Live, Laugh Love <3". Clothing was scattered across the floor in hazardous clusters, and no surface was free of at least one pillow or plush stuffed creature. She felt the first signs of a migraine stirring at her temples, and as her vision sharpened even further she realized its source: all four walls were painted a shade of neon pink that should frankly be classified as a war crime. At least chemical warfare left a nice tingling sensation on her skin. This felt like a sunburn. In fact, the room as a whole felt like a personal assault to her sanity. The only symbols Wednesday actually managed to recognize were a carving of a howling wolf sitting atop the dresser and a small blue, pink, and white flag on the bedside table. The rest was nonsense.
Suddenly, her investigation was interrupted by a pitiful groan. What she had mistaken for a discarded pile of blankets on the bed started to move, and she realized that her initial assessment had been incorrect. The room was not empty.
"Hello?" A weak voice came from the bundle on the bed. Hoarse and pitiful as it was, Wednesday recognized that voice immediately.
"Enid."
"Wednesday? Wha... How are you in my room right now?"
"That is not important. You are ill. You must tell me what has caused this." Wednesday's eyes found the hourglass that she had missed in the dim lighting. It looked worse than it had three years ago; the cracks were now plainly visible. Unfortunately, the small proportion of sand left in the top chamber was far too familiar.
"Am I dreaming right now? Are you an angel? Am I gonna die?"
At this, Wednesday's gaze snapped back to the girl on the bed. She spoke without thinking.
"You are not going to die, Enid. I swear it. But you need to tell me what has happened. How long have you been feeling poorly? Do you know what has made you ill?"
"I'm not sure," Enid admitted. "It's been maybe a day? I thought it was just a stomach ache, so I went to lie down, but then I got really cold, and also really hot at the same time, and now everything sort of feels tingly, but like, in a bad way. Maybe it's the flu?"
Wednesday gently pulled the blankets away from her face and pressed a hand to her forehead.
"You're burning up. And a werewolf immune system should have no problem handling a common virus."
"Oh." Enid's eyes were already glassy, but now they started to fill with tears. "Then it's probably my fault. I- I still haven't shifted. I'm not a real wolf. I'm broken. I guess my shitty immune system is just one more reason I'm a f-failure." Her voice broke as she started to cry, but her wracking sobs were quickly overcome by a violent coughing fit.
Unpracticed in methods of comfort, Wednesday settled for placing a firm hand on Enid's shoulder. She turned the shaking girl so that their eyes met, furrowing her brow with conviction.
"You are not broken. You are not a failure. And this is no flu. It has clearly taken an immeasurable amount of strength for your body to fight against that which seeks to harm it, and yet you are still here. Tell me, do you remember anything strange about the last meal you ate?"
Enid copied Wednesday's expression, grimacing.
"Um, maybe? It was lunch yesterday, we had steak tartare but I don't actually like it all that much so mom made me a salad instead. I guess that was weird, usually she just makes me eat the steak anyway. I mean, I don't like salad, either, I still need SOME meat, but I didn't want to say anything when she was already going out of her way to do something different for me. And I guess the salad was kind of bitter, but I sort of thought that might be like, just the way healthy food tastes sort of bad sometimes. Oh god, thinking about eating is making me want to throw up again."
Wednesday's eyes widened, and she grabbed Enid's face with careful hands, pressing a finger gently onto trembling lips.
"Can you feel this?"
"Uh... N-no?" Enid squeaked, face becoming impossibly redder. Wednesday had never seen a fever worsen this quickly. Distracted, she didn't hear Enid's muttered follow up: "I really wish I could, though."
"Numbness around the mouth and tongue, tingling and burning sensations, intense fever and nausea. These are signs of wolfsbane poisoning." Wednesday shook her head, unable to believe her luck.
"Oh shit." All encroaching color drained entirely from Enid's face. "I really am gonna die, then."
"I already told you that you wouldn't, and I don't break my promises." Wednesday was calmly but determinedly pulling vials out of the pockets of her black jeans. "I will admit that werewolves are a sort of... special interest of mine. I've recently come upon a book detailing, amongst other things, this exact ailment. I confess, I had hoped to try my hand at synthesizing the antidote under less pressing circumstances later tonight, but I have always found that a certain amount of pressure tends to elevate my already superior performance. Perhaps this birthday won't be a complete waste of time after all. Where do you keep your Erlenmeyer flasks?"
"My what? What are you talking about? Wait, did you say it was your birthday?" Unable to keep up with Wednesday's hurried movements, Enid let her head fall back onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was simple. It didn't touch her lips or say words that were hard to understand but usually ended up being really sweet when she took the time to figure them out. She liked the ceiling.
"Nevermind that. I suppose this chalice belonging to the 'Butterfly Besties' will have to do." Wednesday pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her hands in order to handle the toxically bright receptacle and started measuring ingredients into it.
"That's-- that cup's from like seven year ago," Enid protested sheepishly. "I'm not like, still a fan. I just could never bring myself to throw it out because Charli Caterpillar's face is too adorable to put in the trash."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wednesday replied. "Drink this." She pushed the plastic cup into Enid's shaking hands, staring expectantly. Enid downed it in one go, wrinkling her nose at the taste.
"Jesus, that's awful. What's in that?"
"If you hadn't already been poisoned, I would lecture you about determining the contents of something handed to you by a stranger BEFORE you drink it."
All of a sudden, Enid felt the worst of her aches start to subside, and she was overcome with an intense and all-consuming fatigue.
"That's not fair," she managed to get out as she fought against the onset of sleep. "You're not a stranger, you're my friend. A friend who I don't know anything about and who keeps appearing and disappearing at random moments, sure, but you're still... one of my best..." She lost the battle altogether and drifted off before she could finish her sentence. The last thing Enid saw before going unconscious was Wednesday's hands doing some strange dance in the air above her head. Then, everything dissolved into a deep, comfortable blackness.
~~~
Wednesday returned to a now-empty dining room. She could hear the sounds of her parents dancing a raucous tango in the living room, the telltale blasts of Pugsley and Fester somewhere out in the garden, and the clanks and groans that accompanied Lurch and Grandmama cleaning up in the kitchen. Her place at the table now contained a covered dish of leftovers, as well as a dark chocolate flan that wobbled with every explosion from the backyard. The dessert, so dark it was nearly black, had been decorated with a suspiciously red sauce to read: "Dreadful Birthday, Wednesday!." It struck her then that she had just defied Death's plans for a third time, without even thinking. And yet, she could not find it in herself to regret her actions. Instead, as she gathered her food and stalked upstairs to add some important empirical annotations to the section on wolfsbane she'd been reading, Wednesday was overcome with an extremely rare and utterly confounding sensation: peace.
~~~
When Enid finally clawed her way back to consciousness, she looked around hopefully, and was disappointed but not surprised to find her mysterious friend had once again vanished without a trace. At the very least, whatever Wednesday had done definitely worked--Enid felt better than she had in ages. She yawned, blinking the last of the sleep out of her eyes, and plodded downstairs to find something to eat.
Murray and Esther were seated at the kitchen table, arguing fervently under their breath. Not wanting to interrupt, Enid stepped back out of the doorframe, but she wasn't above a little bit of eavesdropping.
"I'm worried about her," Murray was saying. "She looked awful when she went up to her room yesterday, and she never sleeps this late. I don't care if she never wolfs out--what if she never wakes up?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Esther replied haughtily. "The doctor assured me he had calculated the correct dosage using a generous factor of safety, and that it wasn't lethal in these amounts. Medical types are always overly cautious, I added an extra teaspoon and she didn't even taste it. We're only doing what's best for our daughter. The threat to her immune system will bring out her inner wolf, and we can finally be a normal family. Don't you want that for her? For us?"
Her mom had... poisoned her? Enid couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her brain was still addled by the fever, that must be it, and she was completely making things up. Ha! Classic Enid. Imagination always running wild. She just needed a cool glass of water and some food in her belly and everything would be fine.
Murray coughed uncomfortably. "I'm going to go check on her again." His chair scraped harshly across the kitchen floor as he stood up, and Enid used the noise to cover the sound of her backing up to the bottom of the stairs. Affecting an air of sleepy confusion, she entered the kitchen fully.
"Hi mom, hi dad! I think my stomach's starting to feel better. Do we have anything in the fridge?"
Murray's face visibly relaxed and he let out a relieved chuckle. "Sure thing, sweetpea, let me whip you up some scrambled eggs."
"We're so glad you're feeling better, Eenie," Esther started. "So sorry you missed another full moon. Unless... did anything... happen last night?"
"I had a weird dream that I got cast in a reboot of the Butterfly Besties, but they wanted to age everyone up and make the themes super dark and stuff."
"Oh. I see." Esther pushed her chair back, no longer interested in the conversation. "Well, don't take to long eating breakfast. Your brothers picked up your chores from last night and this morning, so I told them you could help out with theirs for the rest of the week. It's only fair. And I think one of them tore up your new sneakers after shifting, so you'll have to wear your old pair until I have a chance to go to the mall."
"Okay, sounds good." Enid's voice was barely above a whisper. Her father slid a plate of eggs onto the table in front of her.
"Order up! Murray's Famous Scramble for my favorite daughter!"
Enid smiled meekly, but as she looked at the food in front of her, she found she wasn't very hungry anymore.
Chapter 4: Asking For Trouble
Notes:
Content Warning: depictions of violence, life threatening injury, and intense first-aid procedures.
Chapter Text
Fifteen year old Wednesday was angry. Angry at her mother for trying to mold her into a perfect little mini-me, angry at her father for always taking her mother's side, angry at Pugsley for his wretched inability to look after himself, angry at the publishers who kept rejecting her Viper drafts. On rare occasions she even found that she was angry at herself, though exactly why that was eluded her, leaving her with an unsettling combination of guilt, indignance, and frustration. Another spitefully sunny summer afternoon made the mistake of meeting her glare head on through the arched windows of her room, and she refused to look away until a lonely white cloud momentarily passed in front of the sun. Wednesday put on a heavy overcoat as an act of protest. After a fashion, her brooding marathon was interrupted by the skittering of fingertips on floorboards.
"Thing," she intoned, "to what do I owe the displeasure?"
The appendage signed quickly at her. Wednesday shook her head.
"I haven't the time for Grandmama's witchery right now. I have a long list of editors that deserve extremely personalized thank you notes for their recent comments on my novel." She inclined her head towards several stacks of paper, screaming with red-inked comments, that looked entirely untouched. Thing pointed this out diplomatically.
"No, I am not silently stewing in my own fury. But even if I were, that's a perfectly respectable thing for an Addams to do."
As much as it was possible for him to do so, Thing regarded her with skepticism. The room was still for a moment in a fierce battle of wills until, bored and agitated, Wednesday accepted an uncharacteristic defeat.
"Fine. Tell the hag I will come find her after I finish distributing the recluses amongst the envelopes."
This seemed to satisfy the dutiful hand, who rushed off into the depths of the manner with her message. Wednesday tugged at her braids, unable to put to words just what was vexing her. Sighing, she turned towards the terrarium, figuring she could do at least one productive thing today. She eased the tank open and went to grab some postage from her desk, but never quite made it back to the spider cage.
One moment she was crouched down in front of a drawer in her room, and the next she was crouched in the rafters of a wooden structure that hadn't seen anything close to maintenance in at least fifty years. Shouts from below immediately caught her ear, and she whipped her head towards the sounds of conflict. There were two figures wrestling on the cabin's dirt-packed floor, though they were hard to make out at first within the cloud of dust being kicked up by the scuffle. Wednesday tucked the envelopes away in her pocket and watched, intrigued. Suddenly, the figure on top was flung backwards at the wall with impressive force, and the two combatants took the chance to rise to their feet once more, breathing hard. Now Wednesday could see them clearly. One was an unfamiliar man with dull, stringy hair that smelled strongly of sweat and the body spray that was failing to cover it.
The other, impossibly, inevitably, was Enid.
She was not faring well.
Her body was littered with bruises and gashes, some that looked to have been days old and some that were clearly earned in the last few minutes. She was favoring her left leg significantly, and one of her arms hung limp and useless at her side. This made Wednesday furious. Even for someone pre-disposed to negativity, her emotions were usually fairly muted things, and the intensity of this anger took her by surprise. It made her wrath towards her family look like a butter knife in the face of a guillotine.
Enid's opponent spit a tooth onto the bloody, dirty floor and seemed to ready himself for another charge. Upon closer inspection, Wednesday could see that he was holding two glinting silver knives. Enid was weaponless. It was this, in tandem with the look of desperation in Enid's eyes, that made it exceedingly clear what was going to happen next.
Wednesday was going to kill this man.
She reached into her boot and felt her fingers curl around her latest favorite blade, a small bowie knife she had forged herself under Uncle Fester's gleeful supervision. It was out of her grip in an instant, sailing through the air like a falcon locked in on a field mouse. Wednesday had been doing this since before she could walk; she was made for this, and she knew that her aim was true. She waited for the comforting "thunk" of steel hitting flesh with grim satisfaction.
It did not come.
In the space of a heartbeat, the man that had been standing confidently was laid out flat on his back. The knife sailed harmlessly past the place where the back of his head had been just milliseconds before and thudded into the wall, sticking there. Wednesday's eyes widened in awe as she registered what had caused her to miss for the first time in her life: Enid, moving in a blur, had tackled the man and was kneeling on his chest. Her nails had extended into three-inch-long claws, and these claws were sunk deep into his heart.
For a moment, the world held its breath, and everything seemed like it was frozen. Then Enid blinked, taking stock of her current position. As soon as she realized what she had done, she screamed, yanking her hand away from her opponent and stumbling backwards until she was pressed against the far wall. She turned, taking in the knife that was still quivering in the wood, and looked back down at her hands. The claws were retreating back into her fingertips, and as they disappeared, the blood that had coated them was shaken off and splattered lightly across Enid's face. The girl went white as a sheet and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
~~~
Enid awoke with a painful start, body knowing she was in danger but mind not yet aware enough to identify where it was coming from. She kept her eyes closed at first, letting her other senses clue her in to her surroundings. She smelled dirt, and sweat, and blood. Not all of it hers. Oh god, please don't faint again. Deep breaths. Keep gathering information. She heard shuffling from across the room, and her eyes shot open as she remembered where she was and what had just happened. Fuck, did she not fully kill the guy? Stupid claws, so fucking worthless without the full transformation. Enid scrambled to her feet, pitching forward slightly as her right knee gave out, and grit her teeth. She felt the adrenaline start to fill her system again as she prepared for another attack, but as the room finally fuzzed into focus in front of her, she saw that the source of movement was not, in fact, her opponent getting up for round four. No, it was a girl, hunched over the unmoving body and holding a knife. Wait, not just any girl. Wednesday! It was Wednesday!
Collapsing back to the ground in a relieved but pitiful heap, Enid let herself fully catch her breath for what felt like the first time that month. Wednesday was here. She was safe. She watched the black-clad figure slash at the air for a little before speaking up.
"I don't know what mysterious force determines when you show up where you do, but could you ask them to send you a little earlier next time?"
Wednesday stilled.
"You were victorious, were you not?" She didn't turn to face Enid just yet, opting instead to watch the man's hourglass, with its empty upper chamber, fade out of existence with the last vestiges of his cowardly soul. "And as far as suggestion boxes go, I imagine this one is a little beyond your ken."
"Okay, now I definitely think you're some kind of angel."
"I suppose that could be an apt descriptor, in that I am terrifying to behold and incomprehensible to men." Wednesday held up her end of the sarcastic banter, but her focus was elsewhere, trying to somehow project her thoughts out into the universe, to bend it to her frantic will. Please let this be the only death planned for tonight. Please let this be the only hourglass that runs out.
"I'm guessing this is your knife?" Enid yanked the bowie from the sideboards and held it out, handle-first.
"Why don't you hold on to it?" Wednesday suggested. "So you don't get caught unprepared like that again."
Enid laughed at that, a harsh thing that turned almost immediately into a hacking cough. "Not sure I'll have much of a chance to use it."
Unable to avoid it any longer, Wednesday finally turned around, taking in the full scope of Enid's condition with eyes fit for a surgeon. To put it delicately, it was... bad. Various superficial injuries dotted her skin like a Pollock canvas, but these were not of immediate concern. Her arm was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and it seemed she could no longer put any sort of weight on her right leg. Such injuries were slightly more worrying, but they could be dealt with in time. What really stopped Wednesday's slow-beating heart was the slash that started on Enid's left cheek, continued down her neck, and ended in a gaping wound at her shoulder. A wound that, in the last five minutes, had continued to bleed fiercely without signs of letting up. Wednesday inhaled sharply, and the smell of iron centered her mind, making her think of home. Enid was not dead yet. She still had time. There, above her head: her hourglass, certainly worse for wear. She could actually see grains of sand falling through the cracks on the sides, but some remained--almost entirely in the bottom chamber. Moving like clockwork, Wednesday reached out and flipped it, and once again the top of the hourglass was full... more or less.
"Nonsense," she stated, responding to the morbid sentiment that had long since been swallowed by the room's dusty silence. "Bowie knives are immensely practical and can be used in any number of situations. Besides, what kind of angel would I be if I let you bleed out in this decrepit cabin?"
"The really pretty kind," Enid mumbled, approaching incoherence. Any traces of adrenaline in her system had vanished, and were quickly replaced with the lovely combination of pain and bone-deep exhaustion. Wednesday found herself momentarily speechless, which she attributed to her inability to keep up with the ever-changing conversational gymnastics of the girl in front of her, and decided to focus instead on taking charge of the situation.
"Please give me your cellular device. I'm calling emergency services."
Enid handed over the phone, but shook her head as Wednesday dialed.
"This place is like, way far out in the woods," she said sadly. "It'll take them forever to get here, and I don't think I have that much blood left in me."
Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Obviously. I'm giving them our location so they can retrieve you and transport you to a hospital after I have performed appropriate medical intervention. I can't exactly carry you there myself."
"Of course you know first aid. Nerd." Enid coughed again, somewhat ruining the effect of her teasing.
"I am literally saving your life. Just tell me where we are."
"Right, sorry. Umm, I don't know the exact address, but it's called Camp Half-Moon."
The name scratched at the back of Wednesday's mind, begging to be recalled, but before she could look into it further she was on the line with the dispatcher. After a terse and effective exchange, she set the phone down and got to her feet. As she brushed the dirt from her legs, Enid's hand shot out and gripped her wrist with surprising strength.
"Don't leave me," she begged, looking far more alert than before.
"I'm not leaving you, fool." Wednesday peeled the fingers from her arm firmly, but her tone was soft. "I'm finding a first-aid kit."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
A quick search yielded promising results: just outside the cabin door, a red box marked with a cross sat as though in wait. Wednesday glanced around, but didn't see any other structures nearby. What kind of camp was this? Putting the thought to the back of her mind, she dragged the medical kit inside, opened it, and pulled on a pair of fresh latex gloves.
"The worst of your injuries is this gouge in your shoulder which is bleeding profusely," she narrated as she began pulling out strips of gauze with one hand, putting pressure on the wound with the other. "Because it's not on one of your limbs, we cannot use a tourniquet, and as I don't have an official one on me I likely would have gone this route anyway. Using a make-shift tourniquet is ill advised and can lead to additional harm without stopping the flow of bleeding in the first place. In any case, the best course of action is to pack the wound. Simply bandaging it would cover and hide the bleeding, but does not stop the source -- it just soaks it up as it comes out. Instead, I will have to push the gauze as deeply into the cut as I can and then bind it tightly, effectively maintaining satisfactory levels of direct pressure to staunch the blood flow. This will be uncomfortable, but I'm sure you're in enough discomfort from other things to hopefully distract from it."
Wednesday directed Enid to lie down, folding her coat into a pillow, and cleaned the wound thoroughly before following her own instructions. She found that explaining her process helped her settle calmly into the routine of it all. Her calculated movements did not stop until Enid's shoulder was wrapped in several layers of gauze, secured with a safety pin. Enid had zoned out around the whole "bleeding profusely" part, but managed to focus in when she saw her friend sit back to examine the binding.
"Where'd you learn to do stuff like that?" she asked sleepily.
"My father. He has taught me a number of valuable skills, the vast majority of which correspond to causing bodily harm and reversing it in as many ways as possible."
"Wow, is your dad a teacher? He sounds super cool."
"Though he has many hobbies, including instructing my brother and I in the deadly arts, my father actually makes his living as a lawyer." As she said this, the itch in her brain from before came back with a vengeance. "Now that I'm thinking of it, I'm almost certain I've heard of this Camp Half-Moon before... I believe he is suing them on behalf of a number of untransformed werewolf clients who were falsely led to believe the organization's methods could help them achieve their full wolf forms." She blinked, letting the implications of that sink in. "Enid, please tell me what I witnessed here was NOT an example of the camp's standard methods."
"I mean, it usually doesn't get THIS bad." Enid shrunk into herself, eyes taking on a far-away look. "The underlying theory is that when your wolf senses your life is in danger, it will instinctually come out to protect you. But I've been coming here for years, and the smaller stuff wasn't working, and my mom was so mad, and they kept saying that maybe my wolf was a coward and they needed to put me in a situation where it was real, like actually life-or-death, and well... I guess now I know what this isolated, empty cabin is for. I'm sorry you had to see this."
Every word was like a dagger directly to Wednesday's soul. Her hatred for the people in Enid's life swelled like a tempest. She could not understand how anyone could look at this girl and say that she was not enough. This warrior who had fought for her life again and again, who had survived deathly perils even without her wolf form to protect her, who had stayed awake through grievous injuries and still thought to GIVE comfort rather than receive it. Enid was... something. Wednesday frowned, her ever loyal and disciplined words failing her in this moment.
"You are very capable," Wednesday decided on. "Anybody who cannot realize that is incompetent and worthless."
For the first time in her life, Enid did not know how to respond. She watched in muted awe as Wednesday came to sit next to her, two backs against the wall and two heartbeats only now slowing their frantic pace. For a long time, it was quiet. Enid felt herself begin to drift off again, but she fought against it, needing to keep Wednesday in her line of sight to know she was not alone. As if sensing this, Wednesday carefully reached out and grabbed Enid's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly. Only then did Enid allow herself to give in to sleep.
~~~
The sound of sirens, dogs barking, and people shouting in the distance pulled Enid back to consciousness again. She blinked drowsily, opening her eyes to find that her savior was still there, holding her hand and staring at her intently. Even as Wednesday was caught blatantly watching her sleep, the solemn girl did not look away in embarrassment. That made Enid flush, although not much blood managed to make it up to her cheeks, as it was currently needed elsewhere. All at once, Enid was struck with a terrifying thought.
"Oh my god, Wednesday. I literally killed that guy. Are they going to arrest me? Oh god, I what if I wolf out for the first time in jail and they don't know what to do with me and I get in even more trouble and--"
"Enid. Breathe." Wednesday let go of Enid's hand and grabbed her shoulders gently. "This was self defense. You will not be in trouble. In fact, I have a feeling your bravery here is going to expose the true depth of evil that rots this place from its poisoned roots. My father should have a very easy case going forward."
"You really think this will do some good?"
"I know it."
Enid's eyes filled with tears, and she reached out and pulled Wednesday into a tight hug.
"I don't understand why you keep showing up to save me," she whispered.
Wednesday held on just as tight. "You deserve to live, Enid." The words barely made it out before she was gone.
The door to the cabin burst open and a voice called out, "she's in here!" All hell broke loose as EMTs flooded in and people began shouting orders to one another, but Enid couldn't hear it over the words that were already echoing in her ears.
Chapter 5: I've Been Dying to See You
Notes:
Content Warning: Parental abuse, attempted suicide.
Chapter Text
Wednesday never believed in the idea of a Sweet 16. She maintained from a young age that, like any birthday, the day she turned sixteen should be as grim and harrowing as possible. Unfortunately, she was all but receiving her wish.
Since disappearing from Enid's side several months ago, she had set every neuron to the task of finding the girl, but to no avail. A harsh interrogation of her father about any updates in his case revealed that while he had received an anonymous testimony coupled with police reports that helped him close the camp for good, the new victim's family had specifically requested that their personal information be kept a secret. Not even Gomez knew their names or addresses. Wednesday consulted ancient tomes, interrogated spirits, and even subjected herself to the use of those personal computing machines that tainted the back section of the public library, but with just a first name and national forest to go off of, she had no way of tracking Enid down. Every day that passed seemed to pile atop her back like a dark monument to her failure -- her least favorite kind of dark monument.
If that wasn't bad enough, it had dawned on her a few days ago that Death was punishing her. She hadn't noticed at first, too consumed in her fervid quest to locate her... acquaintance, but she hadn't been sent on a single job since that fateful night. This would have been a boon, giving her even more time to search, had she not been running into dead end after dead end. Instead, purposeless and thwarted at every turn, Wednesday had taken to wandering the manor grounds in a rage. The other Addamses took care to stay out of her way, unless they felt in the mood for a violent end. Uncle Fester sought her out several times.
Finally, unable to gain more information on Enid, she decided to dissect the process by which her powers worked, in the hopes that she might be able to bend them to her will. The first step of this plan was to gather relevant information. As such, that evening found Wednesday found drowning in one of the enormous armchairs that haunted Grandmama's sanctum as the old woman tottered around the cauldron in the center.
"Grandmama, tell me--"
"Here, child. Drink this," the crone interrupted sternly, pushing an upturned skull into Wednesday's hands. Had anyone else tried that, they would have found themselves bubbling away in the mysterious brackish potion sloshing against the sides of the pot. Instead, Wednesday huffed in annoyance, nostrils flaring as she took the slimy beverage and began sipping at it petulantly. Damn it, but Grandmama did make an excellent tejate.
"Now, give me your troubles."
"I want to know more about our powers. The hourglasses--have you ever heard of someone adding more sand to one?"
"Soul sand is a tricky thing," Grandmama began. "I confess that I do not know where it comes from. Perhaps Death makes it, or perhaps He has a repository somewhere beyond space and time. Perhaps it is a finite resource that will one day run out. If you could get your hands on some, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to add it to an hourglass, but I know not where you'd find it. Regular sand, as I'm sure you know, would do nothing. There are very few things that can interact with the incarnations of the soul."
Wednesday frowned. "What about the teleportation? What makes it possible for us to appear and disappear at the right place and time?"
"Something in your soul blade is tied intrinsically to every person you've helped move on beyond death. Somehow, that knife in your hand knows the truth of every soul it will pierce. You are called to them by that connection when their life is coming to a close, and when the tie breaks, you return to your own life."
"Is there a way to call upon that connection before their life is in danger?"
"Not that I'm aware of." Grandmama squinted pointedly at Wednesday. "What exactly is it that you're trying to do, young lady? Is this about that girl you're looking for?"
"Of course not!" Wednesday's face darkened by one sixty-fourth of a shade of red, and she hid behind her drinking skull until she had gained her composure once more. "I am simply curious about how to best use our family's abilities to my advantage. One more question, and then I will leave you to your witchery. If, say, you looked at your own soul timer, and saw that it had nearly run out, what would you do?"
The old hag was quiet for a moment, thinking through her response. Finally, she answered, in a gentle but confident tone. "I have never looked at my soul timer, and I never will. I would not wish to lock myself into a prison of anticipation, seeing everything only in how it might relate to the exact minute of my death. We Addamses have more sand than most, true, but I prefer to spend every moment as though it could be my last. Makes it all the more electrifying. Cliché, perhaps, but some things are said often for a reason."
"I see. Thank you for your time, Grandmama."
"I'm not finished yet!" A withered hand pushed Wednesday back down into the seat she was rising from. "I know the real question you want to ask. Your mother told me what you did, that first night she brought you along. I can see it still haunts you. I told Morticia to tell you the full truth, but she worried it might upset you. Tch. You have always been so strong. You should know what consequences your actions might bring.
"I would not turn over my own hourglass, just as I would not turn over another's. Each time you do, you risk shattering it completely. And a soul with no timer, a husk wandering the Earth with no end point, no final deadline to lend meaning to their feelings or actions... I have seen what happens to souls like that. It is not a risk worth taking."
Bile rose painfully in Wednesday's throat, and she swallowed it down with the last of her drink. For several moments, she found she could not move.
"Alright then, off you go," Grandmama cackled, shooing her granddaughter out of the chair and up the stairs. "And close the door on your way out, this recipe tends to get smoky!"
Wednesday left the sanctum and did not stop walking until she had reached her room. Normally, she would stay up as late as possible the night before her birthday, as sleep only made the dreaded day come faster. And yet, despite her racing thoughts, she could think of nothing to do now but wrap herself in the straightjacket of her covers and close her eyes to the outside world. She told herself it would just be for a few minutes, to give her mind a chance to sort out all of this new information. Her mind took this opportunity to shut her body down completely, falling into a deep but fitful sleep.
~~~
It took a great deal of effort to rouse Wednesday before she was ready to wake; Pugsley always said that she slept like the dead. Wednesday disagreed--around the Addams manor, corpses wandered the halls in the middle of the night far more often than she did. But Wednesday was definitely awake, based on the feeling of a brisk wind flinging her braids from side to side and the sensation of her stomach rising up into her chest. Her eyes flew open. Wednesday was awake, and she was falling.
The night was dark, and it took her a moment to gain her bearings, but as she snapped her body into the most rotationally stable position and levelled out, she saw several things that were cause for great alarm.
Firstly, she saw the top of a cliff moving rapidly away, already out of reach. Secondly, she saw the beach, relatively distant for now but approaching at an uncomfortable rate. And thirdly, she saw another body falling next to her, and that body belonged to Enid.
Enid's eyes were closed, but her mouth was open in a brutal scream. Wednesday called out, but the wind stole the noise instantly. Thinking back to sky-diving with Thing and Fester, she oriented her limbs just so to bring her closer to Enid, close enough that she could grab the werewolf's arms. Enid's eyes opened, looking at Wednesday in shock, and then she dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter.
"You're here! You're really here! I'm not crazy!"
Wednesday looked at Enid like she was crazy.
"Enid, what the fuck is going on?" Wednesday had to pull their faces together and scream directly into Enid's ear to be heard. She felt drops of water land on her cheek and hair--Enid's tears, flying upwards due to their increased air resistance. Enid's laugh turned watery and weak, then stopped altogether.
"Oh, god. Oh my god, Wednesday, I'm so sorry. I really fucked up this time. I'm sorry. I just couldn't take it anymore." The tears started to come faster. Wednesday watched in surprise as her hands somehow knew what to do, holding Enid's face between them and brushing the tears away as quickly as they fell.
"No, you don't need to apologize. Everything will be alright. Just tell me what happened." The desperation in Wednesday's voice sounded foreign even to her.
"I tried to write to you," Enid said instead. "There were envelopes with your address in the pocket of the coat you left behind. I wear that coat all the time, even when it's not cold enough for a coat. I wrote you every week for like, four months. But you never wrote back."
"I didn't get any letters!" Wednesday had never prayed harder for her words and tone to land correctly. She needed Enid to know she was telling the truth.
"Shh, I know. I know. Just-- let me finish." Enid closed her eyes again. "It was so awful after you left. It's not your fault. But I had to sit there and pretend like I had somehow wrapped my shoulder myself, because nobody would have believed me if I told them that it was all fine because the coolest person in the entire world kept saving my life and then vanishing, and then they were asking me so many questions, and god, I just wanted to sleep. I was so tired, Wednesday. And when we finally got home my mom exploded at me, saying I wasn't her daughter, I wasn't a wolf, I couldn't even shift to save my life, and I just lost it. I... I almost killed her, Wednesday. It took all of my brothers to hold me back."
Wednesday felt a hint of satisfaction picturing Enid putting her mother in her place, but stayed quiet and continued to listen.
"After that things were... I don't know. She was too scared of me to really come after me again, but she wouldn't talk to me, and she told everyone else not to talk to me, either. I was just this- this ghost in my own house. And with all my injuries they said that I should probably rest at home instead of going back to school, and I was so cut off from everyone. Hah! You know, I even started having these, like, fake conversations with you in my room? Anything to feel like I was talking to another person. And I thought, you know, this is awful. This is as bad as it gets. I thought about... about ending it. But then I thought about you, how many times you'd saved me, and I couldn't let that go to waste. So I decided, if I can just deal with it for two more years, I'll be out. I'd pack my things and work odd jobs until I had enough to fly across the country, and I'd show up at your door, even though you hadn't responded to any of my letters, and everything would be okay, somehow.
"But then I was looking into scholarship programs, and I needed to find, my, my birth certificate and name change paperwork and shit, and I was going through my mom's drawers and I found them. I found the letters, the ones I wrote to you, all stuffed in the bottom of the drawer with a letter from your dad asking if I wanted to take part in the case and she never even TOLD ME ABOUT IT and she NEVER SENT THE LETTERS and she LIED. It wasn't enough to make my life miserable with her. She had to cut off any SINGLE FUCKING CHANCE I HAD AT BEING HAPPY.
"And I couldn't... I couldn't do it anymore. I had to leave. So I went to check my bank account and it-- it was empty. Every penny transferred out. I think I threw the computer on the floor. That's when she found me. I asked her, I asked her why she couldn't just let me go. And she told me that I was an embarrassment, a defect that they couldn't risk someone tracing back to the family. So for the big pack hunt coming up, um... she told me I was gonna be the prey."
Fury surged through Wednesday at this, but still she held her tongue.
"They locked me in my room after that. When they finally let me out for the hunt, I knew there was no way in hell I was letting one of them find me and kill me, even if my useless fucking wolf still won't fucking come out. So I'd done some research, looking for, um... high-up spots, and as soon as I hit the ground I booked it to the beach cliffs. I never ran so fast in my life. A couple times it felt like, almost like I was gonna transform, but... nothing. And it wouldn't have even mattered at that point. So I made it to the cliffs and I could hear the howls in the distance getting closer and I... I..." Enid trailed off, unable to say it aloud. She choked out another sob before continuing weakly.
"Part of me thought that, you know, if I was about to die, then maybe... maybe I'd get to see you one last time. And that that would be worth it. I know, it sounds insane, and it's kind of fucked up even if it is true, and don't even know if it is. But if the chance was there, even for just a millisecond, I guess, I felt like it was worth it."
It was only then, staring into Enid's blotchy face and listening to her ragged breathing, that it occurred to Wednesday that the two of them should have hit the ground a long time ago. She glanced around in wonder; the wind had died down completely, and the cliff face crawled past them at a snail's pace. For some reason, whatever magic brought her to this moment had seen fit to grant them the time they needed. Wednesday decided that for once, she wouldn't question it.
"Enid," she started, "I exhausted every resource and avenue available to me trying to get to you. You must know I would not have rested until I found you. You are my dearest friend, and I ache for each and every injustice that has been done to you in the time we have not been together. It cannot be put into words, the agony I feel at such heinous crimes committed against one so completely and utterly undeserving of them. Enid, you are the bravest person I have ever met, and against all odds, the kindest as well. It does not matter whether or not you can transform, you have shown more ferocity and strength than any werewolf I've known. Please, Enid. If nothing else, I need you to understand this: you are magnificent. But even if you had none of the winsome traits you possess, the fact would stand that you are important. Your life is important. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you know that for as long as it lasts." Later on, Wednesday would comb over this emotional outbursts, appalled to find that everything she had said was completely earnest. For now, she let herself speak without thinking.
Enid wiped at her own cheeks as tears that had subsided during her story started to spill over once more. She shook her head in disbelief.
"You don't know what it means to me to hear that, Wednesday. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. But I gotta be honest. I really don't know how you're gonna get us out of this one." Enid laughed wetly, taking in their precarious positioning. "You need to go, now. Do whatever thing you do that makes you disappear. There's not much time left. I won't let you die because of me. Thank you, for saving my life, for digging me out, for fixing me up, for everything. But please. Go."
Wednesday paused as an idea began to form. "In actuality, most of those actions have mainly been for your comfort. Preventing your death is rather simple: there is a device that dictates how much time you have left. In the past, when your time has been about to run out, I have... reset it, so to speak. I imagine if I do so now, the forces of the universe will halt your demise accordingly."
"That's sweet, really." Enid smiled sadly. "But you've done so much for me already. It's okay. I got to experience so many things thanks to you. If my time is up, I'm ready." A sharp beep accompanied this sentiment, and Enid glanced down at her watch; it was midnight.
"Look at that," she whispered. "It's the 13th. Happy Birthday, Wednesday. You know, that's been marked in my calendar since that night you saved me when we were thirteen. I always hoped I'd get to celebrate with you in person. I'm glad I finally got the chance." She tugged Wednesday closer until there was no more space between them--just two girls holding each other tightly, hovering in mid-air and daring physics to interrupt this moment of peace.
Somebody took the dare. Time began to speed up again, and Wednesday's eyes widened in concern. It was all too much. She felt as though she could see Enid's life passing before her eyes, and it was so unfair, and there was so much joy the girl had left to experience, and everything was spinning out of control. She looked up at the hourglass just inches above their heads. It was a wreck, sand actively spilling out the sides as well as down to the bottom. She thought about Grandmama's warning. She thought about the promises she had made, to her mother, to Enid, to herself. She tried to think about living in a world without Enid in it. She found herself unable to do so.
Enid might have been ready, but Wednesday wasn't. Her hand shot out and grabbed the soul timer just before they crashed into the rocky surf. She flipped it over.
Everything stopped.
And the hourglass shattered.
Chapter Text
Wednesday woke up with her neck at an odd angle, a feeling like rigor mortis settling over stiff muscles. One by one, she concentrated on each body part just as Uncle Fester had taught her, a meditative trance taking over her mind as she willed her body back into its typical tensely coiled state. Ready for anything that the day might spring on her, she sighed in pleasant discomfort. It wasn't often that she woke up sore, given her penchant for sleeping straight-backed on her bed like an embalmed corpse. What could be the difference this time? Ah, an obvious variation to her usual routine: she was not in her bed at all, but an ornate armchair pushed up next to her headboard. Had she fallen asleep reading about advanced taxidermy practices again? No, there was no book at her side, and she wouldn't have been able to focus on reading anything with that racket coming from the bed. What on earth could be the cause of that incessant cascade of growls and whimpers? Had Pugsley gone and gotten himself bitten by a werewolf?
A werewolf...
Enid!
The last 24 hours returned to Wednesday in bits in pieces. She remembered keeping a fierce hold on Enid as they somehow blinked back into the foyer of the Addams' manor together. Like so many inanimate objects carried with her to and from jobs in the past, Enid's lifeless stupor was likely the only reason Wednesday had managed to bring them both back from the west coast, but she couldn't find it in herself to be grateful for the unnatural state that had overtaken her treasured companion. Part of her believed that it was her own sheer determination that refused to let Enid be wrested from her arms once again.
After that, she remembered the voices--her own, high and pleading in a way that made the house shudder to its very foundations. Her mother's, her grandmother's, weaving together in a dizzying chant of brimstone and ice before coalescing into a preservation spell, a crude and freeze-dried thing that held Enid's mind and body in stasis. Grandmama had promised it would last "as long as it needed to," but the way Enid trembled and groaned, it seemed constantly on the verge of failure. She remembered keeping a watchful eye on Lurch as he carried Enid up the stairs like the most precious of headless roses, and the procession of family members shuffling her up to her room behind him. She remembered the way the never-ending blackness of her pillows and blankets and sheets only brought out the stark white pallor of Enid's face. She remembered somebody crying. She pretended it hadn't been her.
As Wednesday blinked the grit and sleep out of her eyes, those traitorous tears threatened to fall once again, but she held them back. Apart from being completely unbefitting of her temperament, crying would blur her eyesight, and she could not be allowed to look away from the damage she had caused for even a second. She did not deserve that luxury. Not until she had made it right.
There was a soft knocking sound, and Pugsley peered in through the open doorway, carrying a plate of food. When Wednesday failed to acknowledge him, he took a careful step over the threshold of the room. He held the dish out in front of him like a shield, but nothing moved, except the unidentifiable slop that had been sitting on the plate. It slid off onto the floor, becoming even more unidentifiable and slop-like. Pugsley was taken aback. Not a single blade flung through the air at his face, nor a single trap door opening beneath him to reveal a pit of vipers below? Wednesday's room, completely un-trapped? The situation was worse than he thought.
"You slept through most of the day, but I brought you dinner," he offered awkwardly, pointing to the mess on the floor. Wednesday barely shrugged.
"I'm not hungry. You take my portion."
Pugsley was more than happy to oblige, shoveling handfuls of the greasy mistake into his mouth as quickly as possible. Once he had more or less swiffered the hardwood, he got up to leave, but paused in thought.
"What're you gonna do?"
"I... I do not know, Pugsley. I have failed her. I am afraid I do not know where to go from here."
This was more vulnerable than Wednesday had ever been with him, including the time she let him slice her open with a fishing harpoon. He scrambled for some way to help, not wanting to let the moment slip by.
"Well I'm an expert at failing, sis. I fail all the time. Like that time I tried to send Kitty into space in a rocket made of firecrackers. Or that time I wanted to go fishing on the Lincoln Memorial reflecting pool during our trip to DC, but they called in the bomb squad because they thought I was trying to do a political assassination. Or that time I tried to do a political assassination but forgot my bomb. But Mom and Dad are always there to pick me back up again, so things are never really that bad!"
"And what if you didn't have your parents there to pick you back up? What if the very people who were meant to love and protect you above all else abandoned you? What then? She didn't have ANYONE, Pugsley. She was ALONE." Even with her limited facial expressions, Pugsley could tell his sister was in deep anguish, and he rushed to reassure her.
"Well, if I didn't have Mom and Dad, I would still have you. And she had you, too. She wasn't alone. If she was, she wouldn't be here now. Wednesday, I don't know what happened to her, or why you brought her here, but as long as she's got you on her side, I wouldn't count her out just yet. You're the smartest, most persistent, craziest person I know. If I only had one person rooting for me in the whole universe, I'd want it to be you."
Wednesday's nails cut into her palms as she clenched her fists, fighting off a disgusting bout of emotion for the second time in far too short a period.
"I suppose I am known to bet on losing dogs every now and then. Brother, for once in your life, you are correct. Her story will not end, not while I am still here to place the pen in her hand. Forget dinner. Fetch me some salt, sheep's blood, and candles. I have a séance to conduct."
~~~
BOOM! The walls quaked, the windows shook in their frames, and the lights flared dangerously as a hulking shadow emerged from portal Wednesday had drawn in front of her. The figure loomed over her, and when it spoke, its voice sounded like the screams of ten thousand dying men mixed with the most haunting string melody she had ever heard.
"WHOOOO DARES TO DISTURB MY SL--ah! Wednesday Addams. I was wondering when you were going to pay Me a visit."
"Death," Wednesday greeted sharply. "I have a bone to pick with you."
"Oh, that's a GOOD one!" the skeletal spirit wheezed, slapping His knee in a manner that sounded strangely like a xylophone. "A BONE to pick! HA!"
"Please take this seriously. I am not above threats of violence to incorporeal beings."
"My apologies, cousin. It's just usually I only ever get gallows humor. It's nice to hear a pun once in a while. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I need another soul timer."
"Oh, right, to replace the one you destroyed?" Death's gaze bore into Wednesday's with the heat of the fires of Hell, but she refused to be cowed.
"The circumstances surrounding this request do not matter. There is a girl who does not have a soul timer, and she deserves to have one. That's all there is to it."
"Yes, I do believe you're correct, little Addams. That girl deserves a chance to live more than almost anyone I've met."
Wednesday started to argue, but stopped herself when she realized Death had actually agreed with her. She had not expected it to be this easy.
"Excellent. Then please provide her with a new timer as soon as possible. It was a travesty speaking with You." She blew out the candles and grabbed her dust pan, ready to sweep up the salt, but found her hand could no longer move.
"Not so fast, Wednesday. I said that Enid deserved a soul timer. But I did not say I could give her one."
"And why is that?"
"The truth is, I don't have any. In all the universe, I'm afraid there are only exactly enough timers for each single life that ever has existed and ever will. Sort of a 'one per person' type of phenomenon. And, well, Enid's already gotten hers."
"So take one away from someone else!" Wednesday was starting to get frustrated. "Surely there are those whose lives are less than worthless, whose presence would not be missed. Trading their soul for Enid's would be a favor to the world."
"Careful now," Death cautioned. "Putting a value on a person's soul, swapping one life for another--that's dangerous talk. People might get the wrong idea, start thinking you want to try your hand at playing God."
"And why shouldn't I? I am logical, just, and capable of prioritizing what is right over petty things like 'instinct' and 'emotions.' After all, You do it. So it must not be too hard."
"ENOUGH. YOU MAKE A MOCKERY OF MY STATION, BUT YOU WOULD NOT LAST ONE DAY WIELDING THE POWERS AND RESPONSIBILITIES I HAVE CARRIED FOR MILLENIA." The candles roared to life around Him, and Wednesday had the sense to sit back, remembering exactly who it was she was dealing with. Still, she refused to give up.
"I apologize for my disrespect. But I do not understand why You refuse to use those powers to correct an obvious indignity. Enid's parents are monsters who deserve nothing but the worst tortures of Tartarus for an eternity of eternities. Please, let her live a life free from their corrupting influence."
"I wish I could, My child. Truly, I do. But I fear you misunderstand. I do not control the soul timers. I obey them. I guide them where they need to go, but I could not wrest one away from an unwilling soul even if I wanted to."
"What about a willing soul?"
Death considered this for a moment. "Now that... is an interesting prospect," he mused quietly. "I suppose you are referring to yourself?"
"Indeed. I would lay down my life a thousand times if it meant she could live even a second longer. I would be honored to give my soul timer to her."
"You know, I'm not sure anybody's ever tried that. Let me check something..." Death reached a bony hand towards the air above Wednesday's head an fiddled with something for a moment before pulling back and shaking His head. "I'm afraid it won't work. Your name is etched into the cap of the hourglass, and it will only disappear once your timer runs out, at which point I'm afraid it would be useless to her. It's the same type of connection as the one your soul blade has to those you guide on to the next plane. There's simply no breaking it."
"Then I would need an unmarked hourglass to transfer my soul sand into. Do You have any of those?"
"I'm afraid not. Like I said, one per person. If I had access to the materials, I'd make one, but I never even had a soul timer of My own."
"I see. Then our conversation is at an end." Wednesday prepared to clean up the séance once more, feeling completely hollow, but again found herself held in place.
"Not quite! Just one more question for you. Tell me, Wednesday. Have you ever blown glass? Do you know what it's made of?"
Wednesday's eyes shot up to Death's face, finding a smug and mischievous grin playing across His features. Her heart sped up as she nodded slowly.
"I have. I think... I think I understand. Thank You."
"Any time, kid. It's always nice to check in on the family."
Wednesday fidgeted with her braids, debating whether or not to broach the subject, but ultimately curiosity got the best of her. "Before I go, I have to ask: Why did You allow me to defy Your will so many times? You could have told me to stop at any point. Why let it come to this?"
"Can I let you in on a secret?" Death's smile widened. "Enid's name was never written on your blade. I wasn't sending you to her as a soul courier. You could never have been the one to help her move on. In fact, if I'm looking at this right, her name actually ends up on a blade that's coming a while from now, one belonging to your great-great-great--"
"Thank You, You may stop now!" Wednesday cut Him off hurriedly. "My Grandmama advised me recently to live in the present, so I'd like to know as little of my future as possible."
"Sorry, I forget not everyone can see in both directions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. Good luck!"
"Thank You. And thank You for allowing me to save her all those times."
"Pshh, don't thank Me, I did that for Myself. You think I was trying to get in the way of an Addams family curse? Even I know not to mess with those things. I don't know which one of our ancestors got on Love's bad side... (or maybe Their good side?)... but you could not pay Me to go up against something They set up."
"Wait, what?"
"Okay good talk byeeeeeeee!"
All at once, the candles snuffed themselves out, the blood evaporated, and the salt was picked up by a mysterious wind and blown out the open window. Death had vanished without a trace. Wednesday wondered if this was how Enid felt every time she disappeared.
Speaking of the sleeping girl, her eyes wandered back to the bed, where Enid continued to toss and turn. Wednesday walked over to her side and gripped her hand tightly.
"Don't worry, Enid. I know how to fix this. And I want you to know, even if I'm not here, that you belong. My family is your family. They will cherish you like I did. If you wish, you can stay with them. If not, go out into the world and show everyone how exceptional you truly are. I have no doubt others will be falling over themselves to be around you. But no matter what, you will always have a home here. Thank you for everything. Goodbye."
~~~
The flames of the family forge flickered and danced, casting haunting shadows along the walls. Wednesday placed the quickly cooling hourglass shape onto the work table and pulled off her Kevlar gloves. Once the glass had cooled enough to touch it, she fit the bottom rim into a perfectly circular metal cap. Both materials gleamed with a strangely ethereal reflective sheen. She heaved a sigh of relief. It had been hours, and her bangs were plastered to her forehead with sweat, but she was finally finished. Before her sat two timers; one still mostly full, the other completely empty.
Grandmama hadn't been kidding when she said that Addams' soul timers were larger than most. Wednesday's 16 years were represented by the barest dusting of sand on the bottom of her hourglass, and even after removing enough from the top to melt into glass, there was still a significant pile in the upper chamber. She nodded confidently to herself. Good. Enid deserved all the time in the world.
Well, this was it then. Out of habit, Wednesday reached to run her finger along the edge of her soul blade, but her hand came up empty. That, too, had been melted down and reshaped into matching endcaps. Never again would she sever the soul from a dying body and usher it into the next life. The blade was clean, absolved of all connections past and present. Perhaps the metal had never borne Enid's name in the past, but it would soon. She picked up her own timer and unscrewed the top for a second time. A moment of silence. A deep breath. And then she began to pour.
There was something surreal about watching those grains slip through the air, each one so miniscule and weightless on its own, but travelling like an avalanche as a whole, the constant and unstoppable flow of time. As she tipped her timer further, approaching horizontality, she actually felt hairline fractures begin to creep their way up the glass, but it didn't matter. She'd only be overturning this hourglass once.
The sand fell slowly at first, then picked up speed. Wednesday watched in reverent silence as she gave her life for Enid's, one grain at a time.
"Excuse me, just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Wednesday froze in shock and confusion, eyes darting to the doorway of the forge. There, still wrapped in an onyx blanket and looking as though she just woken from a decade of sleep, was Enid. She had an unnaturally sallow and sickly look about her, and when she moved, her shadow was delayed by almost half a second. Something was definitely wrong with her.
She was beautiful.
The thought hit Wednesday like a truck, coiling its way around her ribs and pulling tight enough that she struggled to breathe, exactly how she liked it. It felt so obvious, then, her father's winks and nudges, her mother's knowing smile, even Death's comments at the end of their séance. And truly, who was Wednesday to stand in the way of something this powerful, this ancient. A small part of her argued that it was childish, and impossible--they had only really met five times, often for less than an hour, they barely knew each other. But there was something there, in the way Enid had looked at her that first night all those years ago. Like she saw the real Wednesday, and somehow, didn't feel the need to look away.
Enid did not look at her as though she was a blight that needed to be purged, or a stain that must be ignored, or even a puzzle that wanted to be solved. Enid looked at her like she was a person. A friend. And she didn't need to be anything else. She didn't need to contort herself into boxes or mask her discomfort. It would have been too late to do so even if she wanted to. But she didn't want to. Amazing.
For years, Wednesday had fought viciously against the imprisoning grip of human connection. She boldly claimed that to be known was to be caged, and she could not abide by anything other than pure freedom. And of course, lurking just beneath those defiant surface thoughts lay the insidious conviction that there existed not a single person in this world who would find her worth knowing. It was only too easy to ward off curious glances that, if given the opportunity, would certainly twist into hatred and disgust when faced with the truth of her.
Even amongst her own family, she found that their love seemed to come with the crushing weight of expectations that she could not understand. Each failure to meet the standard of behavior that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else was a log to the flame of humiliation. The square peg in a world of round holes. The weed within the flowers. The problem. Wednesday Addams simply did not fit anywhere. Except, perhaps, in the comforting arms of the girl in front of her. The girl who was smiling widely, but who was eyeing her hourglass with a kind of manic anger. Hm. That was probably not good.
"Wednesday Friday Addams, if you don't turn that hourglass right side up this instant we are going to have big problems."
Almost by instinct, Wednesday moved to obey, only stopping when she finally remembered who she was and what she was doing.
"Enid, remain calm. I am doing this for you."
"Like hell you are." By now, Enid had abandoned her blanket and was marching across the forge to grab Wednesday's hands in hers. "You went through all this effort just to make sure you wouldn't have to live a life without me in it. And now you're gonna turn around and make me live one without you? Surely you wouldn't be that selfish."
"I... I am selfish." A single tear cut a clean path through the ash and soot on Wednesday's cheeks, just barely beating out the ones threatening to spill from Enid's eyes. "I'm selfish, and cruel, and obsessive, and I... I am not a good person, Enid. I am a disease, a mistake. I cannot let you chain yourself to me out of misguided gratitude, knowing what you are, knowing what I am. Please. Let me set you free."
"Never," Enid promised fiercely. "You'll never be rid of me, no matter what you do. This is your fault, you know. You gave me a second chance. A million second chances. You helped me realize that who I am, what I want... that matters. And what I want is you here, with me. So if I see you put even a millimeter more than exactly half of that sand into this hourglass, you're gonna learn what it really means to be a mistake."
"I don't understand. If I am not needed to extend your life, what use could you possibly have for me?"
"Wednesday, I literally jumped off a cliff just to see you one more time! It's not about you saving my life, it's never been. I want to be around you because you make me feel like I'm enough. Everyone else in my life looks at me and wishes I was somebody else. You see me for who I am, and you're okay with that. When you're with me, I feel safe. Not because I need you to protect me, but because I know I'm stronger next to you. Please, don't take that feeling away from me."
Wednesday looked on in subdued awe as Enid guided her hands back down to the table and eased them away from the hourglasses. Using an empty crucible, Enid carefully measured out sand into both timers until she was satisfied the two were completely equal. Then, for the final time, she placed both of them upright. Picking up the endcap labelled 'Wednesday Addams,' she sealed off the timer on the right, then turned to look for the final piece. Wednesday pulled the metallic disc out of her pocket, embarrassed.
"I am afraid I still do not know your last name."
Enid scowled, then brightened as an idea came to her. "You know, I never really felt like it suited me anyway. And besides, I, uh... I heard what you said when I was still in the stasis spell. That I would always have a home here, with you and your family. And it doesn't have to like, mean anything big, and obviously only if you're okay with it, but I guess I was wondering if I could maybe..."
"You should put Enid Addams," Wednesday agreed, suppressing a smile. "After all, it seems you've already inherited the family gift of being able to see these soul timers. That alone should be enough to make it official."
Enid squealed in delight and grabbed the chisel Wednesday was offering, writing her name on the cap with a flourish and screwing it on tightly. As soon as the metal made contact with the glass, a shudder ran through her, and the sickly air about her was dispelled like a coat on a warm summer day. She giggled.
"Gosh, that feels so much better. For a second there, I wasn't sure if we were going to get to finish that before the static overtook my brain completely!"
"The what?"
"Don't worry about it!! Let's go tell your family it all worked out okay!"
~~~
Absolute chaos greeted the two girls as they made their way back into the manor proper. Gomez and Pugsley had pulled any and every holiday decoration they could find out of the attic, and lines of papel picado swung jauntily above a menorah with all nine candles ablaze. Uncle Fester threw handful after handful of a mixture of confetti and razor blades over their heads, and Morticia watched them all with a hand over her heart. As soon as Wednesday and Enid emerged from the hallway, Grandmama was shuffling over as fast as her arthritic legs could carry her.
"Congratulations!" she cackled. "It's always such a memorable occasion when an Addams thwarts Death for the first time. I'm so happy to see the curse is alive and well in you. And with a powerful werewolf, too. Excellent choice, cuervita." At this, Enid's smile dimmed for the first time since she'd woken up.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, ma'am, but I'm really not much of a werewolf. I can't transform."
"Bah. What does that have to do with anything? I didn't say you were a shape-shifter. No, you are a werewolf--a person whose soul has a deep connection to a lupine spirit. What are they teaching the youth these days? It does not matter how that spirit manifests in you. I can see the connection from here, and it is a strong one."
"Do you really mean that?" Enid asked hopefully.
"Of course I mean it, mija. I never lie. Except the times I do."
Enid beamed at this, excitement causing her to squeeze Wednesday's hand in a death grip. Wednesday felt more at peace than ever.
"What did I tell you, Enid? You are special, and this is obvious to anyone who is not a doddering simpleton. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you might like for my family and I to pay a visit to a certain werewolf pack in San Francisco? We never did get Bruno a friend."
"You know what? I don't think that will be necessary." Enid hummed to herself, coming to the definitive end of an internal argument. "The only request I have regarding my parents is that I never have to speak or think about them ever again."
"It will be as you wish," Wednesday confirmed, shooting Uncle Fester a knowing look behind Enid's back. The bald man giggled with mischievous glee. Oblivious, Enid pulled Wednesday by the hand, close enough to whisper in her ear.
"What if I wish to go take a nap in your room?" Enid asked hopefully. "Your parents are super nice and all, but I'm exhausted. I feel awful, and I probably look like Death." Wednesday nodded sagely and led her towards the stairs.
"You certainly do not. Believe me, I've met Him. He doesn't hold a candle to you."
~~~
And one day--many, many years in the future--two hourglasses ran out together at exactly the right time.
Notes:
Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, etc.! It has truly made my week to see the response to this story every Sunday. I'm so glad I worked up the courage to actually post this.
A bit about how this work came to be, for those who may be interested:
The initial plot for this story actually came to me in a dream, as cliché as that sounds. I remember waking up and thinking, "Wow, that would make a really great fan-fiction. Oh well, too bad I won't ever get around to writing it." But for some reason I just kept adding details to it every time I was lying in bed trying to sleep, until eventually I had such a clear outline I felt like I had no choice but to put it into actual words. This last chapter was really the only one that I didn't have planned out completely, and I ended up rewriting it a couple times before I was happy with it. Without getting too specific, I'll say that some of the darker themes of the story are at least somewhat familiar to me, so I wanted to make sure they were treated with care but still represented in a truthful way. I hope I managed to do so!
I had a really fun time ironing out the lore of this universe, trying to make it align with Addams family canon while still putting enough original spin on it to make it mine. I also did a LOT of research trying to make any facts or character portrayals as accurate as possible, at least to a certain extent. (I'm not sure it's ever been stated verbatim but as the categorical opposite to the suburban WASP families who hate each other, I am a firm proponent of the Addams being jewish!!) Enid being trans is also something that is super important to me, and I will literally never shut up about werewolves/shapeshifting being the perfect metaphor for queerness/transness in particular because of the way we are made to feel monstrous in our own bodies and taught to fear any changes... but I digress. As a non-binary person, I think a lot about how spectrums are often perceived as black and white options, so Enid being able to accept her identity as a werewolf without ever fully 'wolfing out' was something I wanted to include as well.
If you have any questions, thoughts, or feedback I would love to hear from you! Again, thank you for making it all the way through to the end of this journey with me. May we all keep telling silly little stories with our silly little characters forever and ever.
Love,
BLT
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