Chapter Text
I've always dreamed of looking death in the face.
But in my final moments, all I hear is my mother's words ringing in my ears.
Maybe I have made everything worse. Much worse.
- Wednesday 2x04, If These Woes Could Talk
***
Wednesday opened her eyes, quickly realizing that she was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. Her arms were crossed over her chest, just the way she loved, mimicking a perfect pale little corpse. The weight of them on her chest provided a slight comfort. Enid was still sleeping soundly by her side.
She didn't remember the dream this time. There were too many variations of it by now, her mind not even knowing which one to throw at the dark psychic at this point.
She experienced similar night terrors after her first year in Nevermore. The guilt that she was wrong about so much for so long, trusted the wrong people, causing so many unnecessary deaths. If she was just smarter, quicker…
Weems would be still alive. It was Wednesday's fault that she had been in the greenhouse in the first place.
Kinbott would be alive. She had been an unworthy opponent and a below average therapist. But she didn't deserve to die just because Wednesday messed up. Just because she wasn't good enough to find the truth. The seer still remembered the vision of her death vividly. She would normally find comfort in the gore, but when it was her fault, and the victim was blameless… it ate at her.
She dreamed of Eugene, bloody and dying on the forest ground, calling for Wednesday’s name, asking her why she wouldn’t save her. Why she would not come with him. And for what? For a dance, with Tyler? She hated herself for it. If Eugene survived in her dreams, she dreamed of him in the hospital. His mothers yelling at her, like they should have done, instead of trying to comfort her. Like it wasn’t all her fault.
So Wednesday had swiftly thrown herself into another murder, determined to catch the killer this time, not bothering to keep her powers in check. On the contrary, the pain and anguish it caused her to overexert her psychic ability gave her a grim satisfaction. She deserved to suffer for it. Catching the scalper had proved to be an adequate distraction from her previous failure. The nightmares subsided and the images faded, but only because another threat had arisen the moment she returned to Nevermore for her second semester.
The vision of Enid’s death. She would die, because of Wednesday. The weight of it almost broke her, sending her spiraling, shattering her to tiny black pieces as she felt Enid’s dead fingers around her neck in every nightmare, and she threw herself into the investigation of Lois, of Willow Hill, anything to prevent it from happening. Tried to keep Enid away. Failed.
In the end, she messed up again. Made everything worse. She had tried to save a woman’s life at Willow Hill, only for her to be revealed as Tyler’s mother, another Hyde. Isaac escaped as well, because Wednesday had been careless when freeing her uncle. How many people did they kill because Wednesday let them escape the institution? She read the police reports, but they were inconsistent and she actually lost count. Willow Hill staff, civilians, a veterinarian. Agnes’s favorite teacher. They all died because of her. Because she was the reason they escaped, as Enid’s voice reminded her in her head, echoing loudly.
Then Enid almost died, Pugsley was taken, and so was Thing, for a little bit. Wednesday was too weak to defeat them alone. And worst of all, Enid was gone. She turned on a full moon to save Wednesday’s life. Again. And she could’ve been gone forever.
That fact alone had been enough to bring back the nightmares, even more vivid and strong than before, the weight and the consequences of it all adding to it, so Wednesday had barely slept while she hunted down Enid. It didn’t help. Her mind simply decided then, to torment her with the same images in her waking life. Flashbacks.
Kinbott would probably call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But Kinbott was dead and buried in pieces, because of Wednesday’s failures. So it didn’t matter.
When she’d finally found Enid, the light returned to her life. She was not afraid of the dark, welcomed it really, but she found that for the first time in her life, she needed that light to survive. Bringing Enid back was not a question. It was the only thing that mattered. And so she did.
Wednesday managed to hunt her down and turn her back into her human form. And Enid had been so grateful, so happy. Wednesday didn’t deserve it. She could see that Enid was haunted by what happened to her during those weeks as a wolf.
Wednesday had invited her to spend the rest of the break with her. She didn’t know why. She craved the connection, the closeness. When Enid had confessed her feelings to her she couldn’t believe this wonderful beautiful creature would ever choose her.
After everything she’d done. All the hurt she caused everybody around her. Her peers. Her friends. Her parents. She didn’t understand it, didn’t get why Enid would ever let herself love her like that. But she had accepted it, because the thought of the bubbly, wonderful, dangerous werewolf as her paramour had made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years. Since before Nero. Happiness.
And it came at a horrible time. Because she never felt more undeserving of it.
Their classmates have been overjoyed at Enid’s return, and not at all surprised at the new development of their relationship. Yoko was dancing with joy, Divina raised a glass and Bianca just smiled at Wednesday with a whisper of “Finally”.
Enid seemed happy too. But Wednesday knew she suspected something. That she knew Wednesday wasn't herself. The night terrors and flashbacks never held back, not even when Enid was present, or sleeping next to her, and unfortunately, the wolf wasn't that heavy of a sleeper. She told Wednesday that she can talk to her, that she would help. Wednesday refused every time.
She subconsciously started taking up the habit of making self-deprecating statements, like dismissing her own scars made by Crackstone as a sign of weakness, or admitting to the guilt that consumed her. Enid had clocked it almost immediately, looking at her worriedly every time. Wednesday tried to frame them as jokes, but after some time she forced herself to stop. Blaming herself out loud had felt good. But she didn’t want to worry Enid. So she just did it in her head instead.
Weems wouldn’t be a spirit if it wasn't for her.
Addams only in name. Not worthy of it.
Even Pugsley would’ve figured it out sooner.
Made it all worse. All of it.
This had been her last train of thought before falling asleep last night, which was probably part of the reason for her current predicament. Waking up sweaty and panting from a nightmare she can’t even remember. She vaguely recalls Tyler’s face, screaming at her. Then Laurel Gates.
Thankfully, Enid was still sleeping soundly next to her, so she had the chance to sneak off to the bathroom and try to calm down. She started the shower and stood under the freezing cold water. It wasn’t cold enough to hurt her, because her body was used to cold temperatures. Even more so than vampires. Yoko had been very impressed when she found out.
Visions of Enid’s wolf form came into her mind, exhausted and suffering from an injury one of her hunters had given her. Her own family turned against her.
It’s all her fault.
She banged her fist forcefully into the wall of the shower, and the sharp pain in her knuckles gave her mind a moment of respite. A distraction from her thoughts. A well deserved punishment.
A sudden thought came into her mind suddenly. She dismissed it at first, feeling shame creep up on her at the motion. But then… she considered it again. The shame faded. Yes. This was a good solution.
Her fault.
She creeped out into their shared dorm room again. opening a drawer and taking out one of her favorite daggers. It would do nicely. She sneaked back into the bathroom, Enid still satisfyingly asleep.
She discarded her pyjama top without a second thought and sat down in the shower. Half naked in the middle of the night, sitting on the cold and still wet shower floor with a knife trembling in her hand. Her ancestors were probably rolling in their graves.
Ashamed.
The first cut on her wrist was small, but she still felt a sting of relief at the sensation. Her mind focused on the task at hand, drowning out the images plaguing her. She positioned the knife a bit further up her arm, because what if her shirt sleeve lifted, and then someone would see…
The blade was now at the middle of her lower arm. More fat and flesh to cover her veins than on the wrist, but there’s no way anybody would notice it there. Her next cut was deeper and longer. She savioured the feeling, going in deep and slow, taking her time. She hissed softly, gritting her teeth. The relief in her chest grew.
Maybe this was what she had been seeking for so long? Retribution. Discipline. Infliction of pain on her skin. Maybe. She went in again. The blood was dripping softly down the shower drain, the sound of it a music to her ears, echoing in the duct. Now this was something an Addams would surely do. Some light torture. Maybe she wasn’t a lost cause after all. Her next cut was just as deep as the previous one.
She sighed. Any remnants of the dream were gone, her overwhelming guilt quieting a bit at the well deserved punishment.
Then someone banged on the door, and Wednesday almost jumped out of her skin.
“Wednesday? Are you in there? Are you okay?”
Shit.