Work Text:
It was a cough that woke her, one that was harsh and rough and wet, though having been woken through similar means with increasing frequency over the course of the past few nights, Enid could hardly say she was surprised.
It was sort of noise that reverberated off the inside of her head and grated against her ear drums, the sort of sound that made her chest ache with a sympathy she wouldn’t dare admit she felt out loud due to fears for her own wellbeing. It was the sort of coughing that rung of illness as clearly as church bells tolling through a perfect summer dawn, and was followed by the sort of wheezing that should never come from the lungs of a 16 year old girl when it subsided.
“You realise you sound like a 60 year old chain smoker with an 8 pack a day habit.”
The wheezing cut off for a beat, Wednesday’s breath catching in surprise that she was awake, perhaps, despite the commotion taking place across the room, or irritation at her comment, before a raspy, frustrated sort of sigh filled its void. A cough followed as the rush of air aggravated something along the path of her increasingly irritated airways.
It didn’t develop into another bout, at least.
“Go to sleep, Enid.”
After three days of coughing Wednesday’s voice was a brittle croak, a raspy memory of what it had been before with little of the strength it usually carried. It did nothing for her case, even if her irritation still rung through as clear as day. Enid rolled her eyes through the dark even though she knew it was a futile endeavour. The thought still counted.
“Yeah, so I was asleep. But something keeps waking me up. I’d ask you to die quietly, but I’m kind of worried you will.”
She could almost feel Wednesday glaring at her through the dark even though her own eyes were still focused on the cracks in the wooden cladding overhead.
“There’s no need to be so dramatic over a minor irritation of the bronchi.”
“Is that Wednesday for ‘chest infection’?”
“It’s Wednesday for shut up and go to sleep, Enid.”
Enid rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow to grin across the room. Her werewolf eyes helped just a fraction with cutting through the darkness, but Wednesday was still little more than a wheezy, apparently feisty ball of sickness uncharacteristically huddled beneath her monochrome bedspread.
“Oof, you’re crabby when you’re ill.”
“I will be considerably crabbier tomorrow if I am subjected to the horrifically whiney ramifications of you obtaining insufficient sleep. We have botany in five hours, Enid, and you will need to rise at least an hour prior to class in order to complete your usual morning routine, so go to sleep!”
Enid somehow doubted Wednesday would be fit for school in the morning however much sleep either of them got, but she flopped back onto her pillow with an exaggerated sigh all the same.
“Fine! Just try not to die quietly before morning, I guess!”
***
The moon was playing behind strings of stratus clouds outside the spiderweb window, rainbow colours in pastel shades dancing bright and dim on the cladding overhead as they passed. Enid watched them as they played, waiting for the return of a sleep she didn’t think was coming back no matter how hard she tried, and not just because of the unhealthy sounding coughs erupting with increasing frequency from the monochrome mound across the room. The wheezy, rapid breathing that interspaced it, while quieter at least, still wasn’t altogether equivalent to a peaceful sort of lullaby, but she didn’t think Wednesday would appreciate it if she told her that.
Even her own head was aching after a few nights of disrupted sleep, so the crabbiness on the other side of the room from the girl who was actually sick even if she had for days resolutely denied that fact was hardly a surprise.
Exhaustion hung in heavy bags beneath her eyes. Her voice sounded like she’d taken up gargling glass as a new and unusual extracurricular. Though she’d refused both a trip to the infirmary and her offered painkillers, Enid was certain her ribs were taking a battering too if the way she instinctively braced them when she coughed was anything to go by.
And Enid had to say, that cough was starting to sound like something in a-whole-nother ballpark to a “minor irritation of the bronchi” the longer the night went on.
She grimaced as another forced its way free, watching through the dark as the girl in the bed across from hers hacked long and forceful into the silky blackness of her pillow but said nothing as she wasn’t altogether sure she was currently awake.
She needed the sleep.
She needed the rest.
She needed to breathe.
Enid sat up as the coughing continued, frowning at the wheezy, strained gasps of inhales dragged in in ineffective hitches in between unsubsiding hacks.
She listened as she coughed, and wheezed, and coughed, and coughed, and…
The wood of the floorboards was chilled beneath her feet as she stood, the air icy against her skin as she crossed the now metaphorical line down the centre of the room.
Wednesday’s eyes were closed behind eyelids bruised by illness and nights consisting of too much coughing and too little sleep, scrunched tight with pain as her lungs tried to expel whatever sickness had taken up residence inside. Each cough was wet and rough, each raw inhale came with a rattling sort of inefficiency.
“Hey, Wends, can you sit up? I think it might help.”
A cough and an inhale, rattling and wet and entirely insufficient. Her hand shook a shoulder already wracking from the force of her coughs.
“Wednesday, please, I think you need to sit up.”
Dark eyes met hers this time, bleary with exhaustion, tight with pain. Comprehension trickled in even as she coughed, understanding settling in her too bright eyes, and then she was struggling to get a hand to the mattress, pushing weakly against the hard foam covering the internal springs.
Fire burnt under Enid’s skin as she helped Wednesday sit, sliding an arm under her shuddering shoulders and assisting her upwards as she hacked. Her efforts were sloppy and weak. Enid found herself settling on the bed behind her once she was up, using her body to keep her from sliding back to the mattress under the dizziness of her failed inhales.
“Jesus, you could have said you had a raging fever, you know.”
A cough came as a reply, another rattling sort of inhale followed, but being upright seemed to be helping as it sounded a little less like a strangled gasp and a little more effective that the one that had come before. It took Enid a beat to realise her hand had taken up position on Wednesday’s upper arm, gently rubbing up and down over the sweat-damp silk of her pyjamas in the vein hope that such a motion could bring a girl who tended to avoid contact like the plague a modicum of comfort.
“Is that helping? Being up?”
A nod, weak but characteristically resistant. A breath that came shaky and raw but finally a little calmer. Enid’s anxiety settled down a notch.
“Good. That’s good. Just so you know, after that display you are now one hundo going to infirmary tomorrow whether you like it or not. I’m not above carrying you kicking and screaming. Or kicking and coughing, perhaps, seeing as I’m almost certain screaming is entirely beyond your lung capacity right now.”
Wednesday rolled her head enough to shoot a glare her way. She looked as though she’d be protesting that suggestion if she had the oxygen to spare. Her breaths were still short and wheezy though, her chest heaving with the effort. Her narrowed eyes were wet from the force of the coughing that had left her in such a state, but she seemed either yet to have noticed, or yet to have the energy to wipe away the tears.
“There’s no point glaring at me, you’re the one who decided to go swimming in a lake in February and nearly drown for your troubles.”
She took the glass of water from Wednesday’s bedside table, passed it along when the offer was accepted. It shook in her hands, the liquid sloshing in waves against the rim, but she managed a few sips without spilling too much of it down her silk pyjamas.
“I refute the suggestion that I was anywhere close to succumbing to drowning, Enid,” she finally rasped, the sentence broken into three by brittle, wheezed inhales. “And cold weather doesn’t increase the likelihood of illness, despite the beliefs of a large percentage of the population.”
The protest, as short as it was, left her winded in a way that did nothing for her defence.
“True, but inhaling a few lungfulls of grotty lake water probably doesn’t do you any good either.”
“It’s nothing I can’t cope with.”
“The fact you’re hacking up a lung every 30 seconds and trying to boil yourself alive with fever kind of says otherwise.”
Wednesday scoffed. Enid tried not to worry as it triggered another fit of painful sounding coughs, taking back the water before it sloshed over any more of the monochrome bedspread and then rubbing her arm until her breathing had come as close as she thought it would get to settled.
“Are you always this impossible when you’re ill.”
The quirk of Wednesday’s lip was just about visible given the awkward angle.
“After the plague of 2012, Mother precleared herself fortunate the efficacy of my immune system greatly exceeds the usual expectations.”
“That sound just about as I expected. Wait, you don’t actually mean you had the plague, do you?”
A nod.
“Like the one from the 1600s? Spread by the rats?”
“The pustules were fascinating. It was a shame mother forbade me from dissecting them.”
Enid cringed at the image, trying not to gag.
“That is seriously ew, Wends. And you were what, like, seven when this was happening?”
“Six. The mathematics are facile, Enid.”
“It’s like three in the morning, that is not a time for math. Also, honestly, I was more preoccupied with the bit about you trying to cut open your own boils, you heathen. Also, like, where do you even find the bubonic plague these days?! Don’t tell me you have a time machine in your house? Or some sort of portal to the 1600s?”
A brittle laugh rattled out into the room, wheezed amusement, surprised and wonderfully genuine, but then the air caught somewhere along the path of Wednesday’s much abused airways and the coughing was back.
The good mood faltered in a heartbeat. Enid’s accelerated in her chest a few throbs later as this time, despite being upright, the coughing slipped into a fit Wednesday couldn’t seem to stop.
Enid could feel each and every hack pressed together as they were, could see the tension in the tendons in her neck as she battled to draw in air her irritated lungs refused to hold. Each spasm came harsh and rough and relentless, the haggard inhales between them short and wet and much too shallow to be of any real use. Her strength abandoned her as the fit progressed, her weight sinking to a limp slump of inferno held up against Enid’s chest.
“Wends, try to inhale, please,” she said, rubbing on Wednesday’s arm for the lack of anything better to do. In the dim rainbow filtering through their shared window, she could swear Wednesday’s lips were taking on an entirely unhealthy sort of hue. “I know it’s hard, but you need to breathe.”
It was useless advice, she knew, no help at all when Wednesday’s diaphragm fought only for itself, but she realised as the coughing wracked the slighter form still held against her that aside from muttering comforts and holding her up and running a soothing hand over her arm she had curled around her ribs, there was little Enid could do to help her.
The complete and utter panic of that realisation was just starting to hit when finally, finally a breath slightly deeper than the rest made it into Wednesday’s rattling lungs.
Enid’s own breath caught in hope, escaped in a shuddering sigh as the cough that followed came just a fraction less forceful than its predecessor. The next inhale was more productive than the last, and then what felt like eons after the fit had started, an exhale came as a breath rather than a cough. It was raspy and panted. The inhale that followed was still a sound of near desperation, but at least so much better than the alternative.
“That’s it, just breathe, okay, in, and out, that’s it,” she said, trying to sound encouraging even when her own heart was still hammering in her throat. Relief crashed like a tsunami when the black hair shifted and a wet and worn but very Wednesday glare finally found her through the dark.
“Okay, unwarranted advice. I’ll stop.”
An exhale that could have been a huff. The dark eyes drifted closed. Wednesday’s head dropped limply back, a solid weight on Enid’s shoulder. Her chest shuddered with each rapid breath against Enid’s own as her body desperately tied to replenish the oxygen the coughing had refused.
Vulnerable was not a word Enid would use to describe Wednesday Addams. It was almost certainly not word anyone else would use to describe her, either, even at her worst, but now, slumped against her chest out of necessity, a boneless weight of fever and exhaustion still bracing her ribs and struggling to breathe, she could think of no closer definition of the word. Her hand continued its path over sweat-soaked silk, rubbing up and down as Wednesday’s breaths slowly settled back into something short and shallow but at least more productive than before.
“Mention this to anyone and you will be personally responsible for the slow and painful death of each and every one of the stuffies piled upon your bed.”
The words came wheezed in between panted breaths, the sentence fragmented out of necessity alone. Her voice was as ruined as if she’d been gargling gravel for hours, the sort of rasp that made Enid’s hurt alongside it in sympathy.
At least the blue had now faded from her lips.
Enid pursed her own. She could still feel her heart throbbing in her throat.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“A deal?”
“It’s where two people agree to something, usually beneficial to both sides.”
A frustrated huff of breath, wet and raspy and very Wednesday in its execution.
"I know what a deal is, Enid.”
“Good. Just checking your fever hasn’t friend your brain. Right, so. I promise I will never mention a word of this to anyone, if you agree to either see the school nurse tomorrow or at the very least call your mom first thing and ask her to send some sort of witchy healing thing.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“Nu-huh. That was scary. Your lips were blue, Wends. Like, sign 101 of not enough oxygen. Also, your breathing rattles, I can hear whatever infection it is that has taken up residency in there from here.”
A stubborn silence met her.
“I can text Yoko the goss, if you’d rather the alternative. Send her a selfie of us, even.” In truth, Enid’s phone was across the room, still counting down the dwindling hours until her school day alarm, and she wouldn’t be that cruel even if it wasn’t, but she was hoping for both of their sakes that Wednesday had yet to notice that. She held out for a beat, half expecting Wednesday to brush off at the threat, to resist her support and move away, to insist that she was fine now her breathing was back at least a little more under her control, but then she sighed instead.
Enid held her breath, but the cough it triggered was brittle and short, a mere aftershock of what had come before. She made no effort to sit under her own steam, and Enid supposed that in itself was way too telling.
“Your cruelty will not be forgotten.”
“That’s fine as long as you stay alive to remember it. Infirmary, then? 8 am sharp?”
Wednesday glared, irritation burning in the single fever-bright eye Enid could see from the angle, but the effect was diminished by the fact she was still slumped as a warm weight of sickness limp against Enid’s chest. Enid’s hand resumed its path over the dark silk of her pyjamas.
“Perfect, it’s a date! Do you think you can go back to sleep until then? We still have a few hours of night left.” The answer came in the form of a head rolling wearily over the bony crest of her clavicle. “Why not?”
“You’re correct in that being upright has its advantages.”
“You’re not coughing so much. Was it keeping you awake?”
Wednesday grimaced.
“That, and retrospectively, it kind of felt like I was drowning laying down.”
Enid felt herself pale.
“You do realise how bad that it right?” she exclaimed, her voice rising half an octave.
Wednesday smirked wearily, a cocked brow flicked her way. Enid couldn’t help but sigh.
“Hang on, do you think you can sit for a sec?”
“Not an invalid, Enid.”
“No, you’re just an idiot, is all.”
She was aware of Wednesday’s heavy eyes watching her from her slumped form has she crossed back to her bed, taking the duvet and bringing it over in a heap. She shoved it up against the headboard in a mound, snatching Wednesday’s giant zip-up from where it had been discarded on the floor and covering the pink with it because adding hives to Wednesday’s misery would hardly be kind right now.
“There, lean back.”
Stubbornness kept Wednesday upright. A questioning look came Enid’s way.
“This is your duvet.”
“I’ve covered the pink, you’re safe.”
“That’s not-” The cough that interrupted was wet and rough but blessedly stand-alone “-not what I meant.”
It took Enid a beat to understand what Wednesday was implying.
“Yeah, but I’ve got other blankets. And like, honestly, Wends, you not drowning on whatever crap is in your lungs before morning is much more important.”
Wednesday grimaced in protest but her words were stolen by a cough.
Enid raised a brow.
“There’s space for both of us. If you’d like.”
And Enid stopped. Her head tilted at the offer.
“You wouldn’t mind?” she asked, uncertain, tentative despite the warm acceleration of her heart. “I know you like your space.”
Wednesday shook her head, the motion weary over shoulders uncharacteristically curled, but her expression looked sincere.
“Yay, it’s like a sleepover!”
The moonlight flashed in Wednesday’s dark eyes as they rolled her way.
Her movements were shaky as she shuffled over in the bed, weaker than she ever thought she’d see, but Enid knew better than to offer help. Fierce independence to the point of machoism was her default, but at least she was no longer protesting being propped upright while she slept. Enid supposed there was a limit for the suffering even Wednesday Addams wanted to endure.
“We already share a room. I’m stuck in sleepover hell perpetually.”
Enid poked a careful elbow into her side as she settled down beside her, sorting the monochrome duvet so that it covered them both.
“You don’t mean that. You love my company.”
“It’s a special kind of torture.”
“But one you like.” She dragged the sentence out, teasing. Wednesday’s expression remained impressively deadpan.
“That I can neither confirm nor deny.”
She forced a longsuffering kind of sigh.
“Wends! I can’t believe you’d-”
Coughing interrupted her, rough and bruising. She trailed off with a grimace in favour of helping Wednesday curl a little more around her ribs, feeding a hand behind her back again and holding her upright while she hacked. Her eyes were wet again when the fit subsided into weary, wheezy panting, but at least it hadn’t lasted long enough to phase from unpleasant into dangerous again.
“See, I’d say that was karma if I really wish you weren’t coughing like in the first place,” she sighed, running a comforting hand over Wednesday’s silk-covered forearm as she waited for her breathing to settle.
A huff broke through the wheezing. Wednesday let her head droop back, exhaustion bringing it to rest hot and heavy on Enid’s shoulder. The rattling was loud against her ear, wet with sickness and entirely unhealthy. The fever was boiling her from proximity already, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Infirmary, definitely. But sleep first. You look like you need it.”
Wednesday grumbled something into her shoulder. Her chest spasmed once and then settled.
“You know, I can’t tell if that was “thank you” or something considerably less polite, but I’m going to take it as the former and say you’re welcome.”
A telltale glare found her through the dark, one eye, heavy lidded and fluttering valiantly in what had to be a losing battle. Enid chuckled softly, then gave her arm a squeeze.
“Sleep. I’ll stay here, make sure you don’t drown on your crappy lungs, okay?”
A wet sigh came, but no protest followed. The words that came instead were breathy and muffled with sleep, but this time Enid knew what had been said. It was soft and unexpected, the sort of thing she expected would be denied come morning, of blamed on fever or oxygen deprivation at the very least even if they both knew such a protest would be as much a lie as Wednesday’s minor irritation of the bronchi. She sighed, pulling the fever heat a little closer until a dark head rested comfortably against her shoulder.
“You’re welcome, Wends,” she said, holding her tight as sleep evened out her breathing just a fraction more. “Anytime.”
***
“Yersinia pestis,” Wednesday said by way of greeting when Enid made her way over to her infirmary bay late on Tuesday afternoon. There was a book resting on her blanketed knees as she sat propped up in bed, a remarkable improvement considering only the day before she’d been a burning weakness struggling for breath against Enid’s worried chest. Her eyes were bright with something so much healthier than fever as she watched Enid discard her satchel with a thud.
“You look like you’re feeling better.”
Wednesday hummed in the affirmative. The outfall of her coughing had left her voice a raspy ruin, but at least now there was strength behind it when there hadn’t been before.
“The results of my lung culture came back.”
Enid nodded, pulling the chair beside Wednesday’s bed a little closer and flopping down into the plastic.
“I figured that’s what you said. Should I recognise it?”
Pale lips twisted briefly before she shook her head.
“Probably not. I somehow doubt bacteria more abundant in the 1300s would have made it into your independent study.”
“Seriously?”
“Deadly. In both senses of the word, as a matter of fact. Luckily, they were able to identify suitable antibiotics before further spread of the infection could occur. As intriguing as a case of 1300s sepsis would be to study, even I would prefer to observe such illness from an outside point of view.”
“Um, yeah, good call. Trust you to nearly die of something that’s been extinct for over 700 years though.”
“No extinct, just considerably rarer. And to say I nearly died would be a considerable exaggeration. It was a mere-”
“Mild irritation of the bronchi or whatever it was you said.”
Wednesday’s lip twitched beneath the tubing still snaked beneath her nose.
“Indeed.”
Enid collapsed her head into her hands.
“You’re impossible,” she said, but she was her impossible at least, she supposed.