Chapter Text
The day began as most days did at Nevermore, with a sky so grey it seemed almost crafted specifically for Wednesday. The air was damp with the promise of rain, and students shuffled to classes with sleepy eyes. Wednesday, of course, walked with her usual measured pace, boots hitting the gravel rhythmically. Enid bounced alongside her, outfit reflecting a toddler’s dream, if the unicorn on her shirt was anything to go by. She was chattering about something Wednesday was only half listening to.
The girl had an aura sunshine and sweetness (in the literal sense, there were days when she looked like the werewolf version of a lollipop)—two things Wednesday often claimed to loathe, though her real opinion was reflected in Enid’s continued presence.
It was fencing practice day, one of the few sanctioned activities Wednesday genuinely tolerated. She relished the discipline, the precision, the dance and the promise of injury. She had planned to spar Bianca today, an opponent worthy of her time, although she hated admitting it.
But fate, it seemed, had a crueler plan.
The accident happened fast. One moment, 5 minutes into the spar, Wednesday lunged forward with her rapier, her stance textbook perfect, eyes sharp and focused (her mother would’ve been so proud). The next, her footing betrayed her. Or rather, the universe did. The training floor had collected a thin sheen of water from the leaky roof overhead. Something she hadn’t calculated for, unlike the rest of her movements.
Her boot slipped, sending her off balance. She felt time slow a bit as her annoyance rose. Of course her loss would be due to something as trivial as coicidence rather than a measure of her skill.
Bianca instinctively pulled her blade back, but the damage was already done. Wednesday landed on her left arm. Hard. The human instinct to try and catch herself something even she couldn’t keep at bay, even at the awkward angle.
A sickening crack echoed through the room, followed by a silence so thick it seemed the entire class forgot how to breathe.
Wednesday didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch beyond a tightening of her jaw, though her eye twitched and her lips pressed into a thin line.
Enid was the first to move. She was at Wednesday’s side in seconds, dropping to her knees, her normally bright expression clouded with panic.
“Wednes—oh my gosh, your arm...”
“It’s broken,” Wednesday said flatly, as if diagnosing herself with mild inconvenience. “How… pedestrian.”
Enid reached out, then hesitated, afraid of making it worse. Her claws threatened to extend from sheer adrenaline, but she forced them back, hands trembling.
“You need to go to the infirmary right now.”
“I need to finish the bout,” Wednesday countered, attempting to rise. She moved her arm as she stood up, balancing herself. The movement made her inhale sharply, her face betraying just the faintest wince (which for Wednesday was just the smallest twist of her mouth).
Bianca, arms crossed, snickered. “Addams, even you can’t fence with a broken arm. Besides, it takes the fun out of winning if you’re… crippled.”
Enid shot Bianca a glare sharp enough to slice through steel, then hooked her arm around Wednesday’s non-broken one. “Come on. You’re not going alone.”
Knowing it was futile, Wednesday didn’t argue. Instead, she shot Enid a mild glare.
As Enid guided her slowly out of the practice hall, Wednesday’s silence spoke volumes. Normally, she would have made a snide comment. Something about not being a child. She’d have brushed off any help, snarled at any attempt at pity, ripped her arm out of Enid’s. But she didn’t. She just stared ahead and let Enid lead her down the hall.
The infirmary at Nevermore was far too cheerful for Wednesday’s liking. White walls, colorful medical posters, curtains in muted shades of lavender, even the smell of antiseptic couldn’t change her mind.
She loathed it.
Enid, on the other hand, looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown. She paced in a tight circle while the nurse bustled around, preparing bandages and muttering about splints. Glancing at Wednesday like she was broken.
Wednesday loathed the look on Enid’s face even more.
Every time Wednesday shifted on the cot, Enid flinched.
“You should’ve let me carry you,” Enid said, arms crossed tight, claws threatening to peek through. “You nearly collapsed on the way here.”
“I did not nearly collapse.” Wednesday’s voice was steady, though her lips were drained of color. “You’re clearly hallucinating.”
“You almost walked into a wall Wednesday!” Enid burst out. “You’re—you're hurt! Like, really hurt.”
The nurse cleared her throat with theatrical irritation. “If you two could save your lovers’ quarrel for later, I’d like to actually set this bone.”
Enid went scarlet. “W-we’re not—”
Wednesday cut her off. “Proceed. The sooner this ordeal is finished, the sooner I can return to my writing.”
The nurse eyed the two carefully, raising her eyebrow before averting her eye and allowing the slightest smile to grace her lips.
“Hold her steady,” the nurse instructed, glancing towards Enid.
Enid froze. “What?”
The nurse guided Wednesday’s arm into position. It was a grotesque angle, swollen and discolored, the bone clearly misaligned beneath the skin. Enid turned away for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut, before forcing herself to look again.
“She trusts you,” the nurse said simply. “Now keep her still.”
Wednesday gave Enid a look that was both a challenge and an order. So, with her heartbeat rushing in her ears, Enid moved closer, hands sliding carefully around Wednesday’s shoulders. She could feel Wednesday’s shoulder bones beneath the fabric of her uniform, the tautness of her muscles, the faint tremor she was trying so hard to hide.
Then came the snap. A quick, brutal jerk of bone back into place.
Wednesday blinked. She fought down the hiss of pain that was rising and instead dug her nails into the edge of the bed. Enid’s arms tightened reflexively, holding her upright, grounding her.
When it was over, the nurse began wrapping the arm in a firm splint. “You’ll need to rest it for a few weeks. No fencing, no cello, no—well, most things, really.”
Wednesday’s glare could have incinerated a weaker woman. “You are condemning me to a fate worse than death.”
Enid’s hands lingered on her shoulders longer than necessary, as if afraid she might still collapse. She softened her voice, so low the nurse wouldn’t hear: “I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”
For once, Wednesday didn’t reply with sarcasm. She just looked at Enid, eyes flickering with something (fear?) for a millisecond before hardening.
“Do not coddle me.”
She stood, arm all wrapped and ready, looking uncomfortable and—dare Enid say it—vulnerable.
The rain had begun in earnest by the time they left the infirmary. Droplets tapped against the tall windows of Nevermore, a steady percussion that seemed to follow them down the corridors.
Wednesday walked at her usual unhurried pace, though her jaw was clenched harder than usual. Enid matched her stride, hovering just a fraction too close, hands twitching as if she might dart forward at any moment to catch her.
“You do not have to escort me,” Wednesday said, eyes fixed ahead. “I am not an invalid.”
Enid snorted, though her worry softened the sound. “You literally have a broken arm, Wednesday. And you almost toppled over when the nurse set it. I’m not leaving you alone until I know you’re safe.”
“I do not know why you insist on exaggerating everything you say.”
A beat passed, both of them walking in silence and then:
“Besides, safety is an illusion created by weak minds. All it takes is a small blood clot in the heart and you’re dead. I can name countless other ways—”
“NO, thank you!” Enid cut her off, brushing her pink-streaked hair behind her ear with wide eyes, “not everyone likes being reminded of their mortality, Wednesday!”
“Then they are simply in denial.”
They passed a group of students who whispered as they walked by. Enid heard a few chuckles about the Addams girl finally getting knocked down a peg. She bristled, her claws itching to make an appearance, but one glance at Wednesday’s impassive face stopped her. Wednesday didn’t need defenders—yet Enid couldn’t help wanting to bare her teeth at anyone who dared to laugh.
By the time they reached Ophelia Hall, the storm outside had grown heavier. The windows rattled with wind, and the common room smelled faintly of wet stone and old wood. Wednesday let out a controlled breath as she sank into her desk chair, her splinted arm held stiffly in her lap.
Enid hovered again. “Do you want me to get you tea? A blanket? Extra pillows?”
“No.”
“Soup? Chocolate? A hot water bottle?”
“No.”
“Do you—”
“No.”
Enid threw her hands up, pacing the room. “Then what can I do?”
Wednesday turned to her at last, her dark eyes sharp, unreadable. “You can leave.”
Enid’s eyes fell, hurt flashing across them. “No, but I’ll be quiet so you can pretend I’m not here.” She settled onto her own bed, stealing glances at Wednesday.
Silence stretched between them—comfortable for Wednesday, unbearable for Enid.
At last, she broke it. “You really scared me, you know.”
Wednesday looked at her, expression softer than she intended. “I assure you I did not intend to slip and create this… unfortunate situation.”
“I know,” Enid said quickly. “Just… I didn’t like seeing you hurt. That’s all.”
For a long moment, Wednesday studied her—the way her golden hair caught the lamplight, the way her worry seemed to fill the entire room. And though she said nothing, she did not object when Enid picked up her blanket, carried it across the room, and gently placed it at the end of Wednesday’s bed.
The pink stood out against the monochrome bedding, and looking at it frankly hurt her eyes. Wednesday stayed silent.
Night fell heavy and wet over Nevermore, the rain drumming a relentless rhythm against the glass panes of Ophelia Hall. Enid had gone quiet after her earlier fussing, curled up on her own bed with her knees pulled to her chest, earbuds half-in but no music playing. Her eyes kept sliding back to Wednesday, who sat at her desk, posture sharp even in fatigue, a candle flickering by her journal.
Wednesday was writing one-handed, the scrawl slightly less precise than usual, seeing as she was writing with her non-dominant hand, though still unnervingly neat. She did not complain, nor sigh, nor make any sound of frustration—but Enid could see the stiffness in her shoulders, the faint twitch of pain at the corner of her mouth each time she shifted.
It was past eleven when Wednesday finally shut her journal, stacking it neatly with her fountain pen aligned at a perfect right angle. She rose with care, as though testing the limits of her body, and Enid immediately sat up straighter.
“Going to bed?” Enid asked softly.
“Yes.” Wednesday crossed the room with measured steps, opening her wardrobe. “It is Tuesday. Tonight was scheduled for a shower.”
Enid blinked. “You… plan your showers?”
She’d noticed, of course, that Wednesday always showered on the same day, same time. But she figured it was more of a happy coincidence. She should’ve known better. Nothing was ever an accident with Wednesday. Except—well… the broken arm.
“Of course. Hygiene should be methodical, not indulgent.” She glanced over her shoulder, dark eyes narrowing. “But now that my arm is incapacitated, certain… practicalities are compromised.”
Enid hopped off her bed with a smile before she could think better of it. “So you need help?”
“… No.”
But Wednesday hesitated. That was unusual enough to make Enid’s chest tighten. The silence stretched.
Finally, she gave a curt nod. “I require assistance with my braids.”
For a second, Enid thought she heard her wrong. Her mouth fell open a bit. “Your—your braids? Like, your hair?”
“Yes,” Wednesday said flatly. “Unless you expect me to braid them with one hand. Even with Thing’s help, the result would be sloppy at most.”
Enid swallowed her squeal and moved closer. Wednesday sat stiffly at the edge of her bed, back straight, as if awaiting a tribunal. Her injured arm rested on her lap, leaving her free hand useless for anything beyond token gestures.
Enid climbed onto the bed behind her, kneeling carefully. She’d imagined touching Wednesday’s hair before—idly, in those silly daydreams she never admitted to—but she’d never expected it to actually happen.
The braids were tight, each strand woven with military precision. Enid’s fingers hovered.
“What are you doing?”
Enid snapped out of the trance she’d been in, staring Wednesday’s braid like it was a snake ready to strike.
“Ehm… helping?” she mumbled.
Wednesday hummed, seeming to think it over. Technically, she could take them out with one hand herself, but this might be a good opportunity to judge whether Enid was gentle enough to rebrand them, so she gave a single, curt nod.
“Okay, proceed.”
Enid moved faster this time, beginning to work on the black ribbons tying them together.
“You braid it yourself every time?” she asked softly.
“Yes.” Wednesday’s voice was low, even.
“Your mom never braided them for you?” Enid asked, voice quiet as she undid the braid like she was disarming a bomb.
Wednesday gave a low hum in response. “When I was a child. I was 6 when I decided I wanted no one else to touch my hair.”
Enid’s hands stilled for a moment. Wednesday trusted her enough to be the first person in literal years. “Really?”
“Really.”
The word carried a weight Enid didn’t quite know what to do with. Carefully, reverently, she went back to work, easing the plaits loose until the dark curtain of Wednesday’s hair spilled free across her shoulders. It was heavier than she expected, silk-smooth under her fingers. She swallowed hard.
Seeing Wednesday with her braids undone made her breath catch in her throat. She raven haired girl was refusing to meet her eyes, the vulnerability of the moment hitting them both.
“Weds… you look beautiful.”
Wednesday, for once, didn’t have a response to that. Instead, they sat in silence until Wednesday stood with quiet finality. “Stay awake. I will return shortly.”
Enid nodded dumbly, still clutching the ribbons like sacred artifacts as Wednesday disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence. Enid sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the door, trying to steady the wild flutter in her chest.
When Wednesday emerged, steam curling behind her, her hair was damp and gleaming, her black nightdress stark against her pale skin. She moved with the same unyielding grace as always, though her splinted arm made her motions slower, more careful.
“Assist me again,” she said simply, sitting down next to Enid, on Enid’s bed this time. “The braids must be redone before sleep, otherwise my hair is overcome with dreadful frizz.”
Enid scrambled to obey, sliding in place next to her. This entire day was turning into a rollercoaster of surprises. If you’d told her yesterday Wednesday would be on her side of the room, sitting on her bed, she’d have laughed in your face.
Nevertheless, she combed her fingers through Wednesday’s hair first, gently working through tangles. It felt like a transgression and a privilege all at once.
Wednesday sat perfectly still, though her shoulders relaxed by degrees, as if concluding she did not mind the touch.
Enid carefully made the middle part, moving any and every hair that was out of place. She knew how her roommate was when it came to her hair. After she had three equal parts per side, she began to weave them together, her hands shaking.
“Sorry if it’s not as good as yours,” she whispered.
Wednesday’s voice cut through the hush. “Do not apologize. You are… inconveniencing yourself to aid me.”
Enid laughed softly, half in relief, half in affection.
“I’m happy to help, Weds. It’s not an inconvenience.”
She tightened the braids, mirroring Wednesday’s style as best she could, tying the ribbons with a shaky flourish at the end. When she was finished, she sat back, cheeks flushed.
“There,” she murmured. “All done.”
Wednesday turned, fixing her with a gaze so intense Enid forgot how to breathe. Enid handed her her mirror and Wednesday spent a long time observing her braids in full while Enid held her breath.
Then, a nod.
“Acceptable.” A pause. “Perhaps even… properly executed.”
For Wednesday Addams, it was high praise. Enid couldn’t have fought off the smile that broke onto her face if she tried (which for the record, she didn’t).
Wednesday stood and they climbed into their separate beds, the silence thick with unspoken things. But as Enid curled beneath her blanket, staring at the ceiling, she caught the faintest sound from the other side of the room, a whisper.
“Thank you.”
And though Enid wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t imagined it, she smiled into the dark, her heart pounding in a rhythm that matched the rain.