Summary:
While in the sidecar with Uncle Fester, on her way to rescue Enid from her inevitable fate, Wednesday reflects on what she did right, what she did wrong, and where she goes from here.
Fortunately, she knows where she goes from here, and that is directly to Enid, but it's not without a bit of pining and guilt.
Notes:
I beg of you not to read this at all until you have seen every last second of season 2. It'll gut you if not. I was very fortunate to get to watch part two in its entirety the second it was released at two in the morning, and yes, I know I'm quick, but I'm just in shambles, okay?
See end notes for some unsolicited thoughts on what I just witnessed.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Chapter 1Chapter Text
Riding next to Uncle Fester isn't anything new to Wednesday. She's been his sidekick her entire life, from the time she was forced by law to ride in a car seat—which, of course, was strapped into the passenger seat and forward-facing so she could enjoy the scenery of her beloved uncle committing a crime between sips of poisoned infant formula in her bottle—up until now, at age seventeen, wedged between the seat of his sidecar and her singular suitcase that is packed to the brim with things she might need to locate Enid and, if she does find her, tame her into something she can adequately live with.
With Nevermore being never more, as Agnes would put it, Wednesday has a lot of time on her hands, and what better way to spend that time than taking the scenic route up North of the Canadian border to find Enid, or whatever she looks like in her alpha form, anyway? Her parents and Pugsley, happily waving at from the car window, have escaped back to New Jersey, and while Wednesday is going to sorely miss torturing her brother at home, she feels as though the Addams family has had their fill of that for one year or so.
The ride thus far has been heart-pounding, between having intermittent visions—none of which so far have been of Enid or her large, hairy wolf—and Uncle Fester purposely playing chicken every chance he can get. Fester is gleefully laughing as the wind whips past him, and the pages of Aunt Ophelia's book are flying and testing Wednesday's immaculate reading pace. Every now and again, a large gust will cause the pages to flap open to that of the crooked, melancholy drawing that often haunts Wednesday's nightmares, and Wednesday can't help but to stare at it with a subtle disgust that often nauseates her.
"A wave of nostalgia just hit me!" Fester exclaims as they're coming up on a large, winding curve. "This reminds me of that time I babysat you for the first time and we went on our first escapade together!"
Wednesday holds onto whatever she can find, not having proper restraints. Not that she would utilize them, of course. But she would appreciate not being launched out of a sidecar while on a very important mission.
"Do retell the story for the millionth time," Wednesday tells him after he's rounded the curve and is steering straight again. She lets go of her suitcase and fixes her shirt. "I enjoy the details. We have time."
Fester cackles like a madman. "It was Valentine's Day, 2007. The first Valentine's Day your parents shared as parents to a demanding, vengeful little baby who had a look that could kill. Your mother had been cooped up with you since the day you were born, and she was getting a little antsy being trapped in that house with nothing more to do than to feed and clothe and torture you."
Wednesday raises an eyebrow. "Don't you mean nurture?"
Chuckling, Fester takes his eyes off the open road for a split second to give Wednesday a telling look. He grins at her, and it feels like a welcoming dirt nap.
"Torture," he repeats. "But for babies. Completely harmless. It was her way of introducing you to the horrors of the world before you were a conscious human being with thoughts and the ability to actually murder someone."
"And then?" Wednesday prompts.
Fester sighs wistfully, taking in the Vermont air. They haven't been driving for long, so Wednesday is sure that they've not quite made it to any bordering states or to Canada itself.
"Your parents…well, they hadn't had any intimacy since before you were spawned from your mother's body, and I knew the postpartum psychosis was starting to drive her mad, so I offered to take you for a little joyride since I just so happened to be fleeing from the FBI for a stunt I'd pulled during the Christmas holiday and needed a place to crash," he says, sighing again, as if trying to inhale the memory. "Your father wasn't the biggest fan of the idea, and neither was your mother; after all, you were their only spare parts if either were to get sick and kick the bucket. But after some convincing and promising that I'd make up your bottles—four ounces of Similac, a teaspoon of arsenic for flavor, and a dash of bourbon to take the teething edge off—just right, they agreed."
Wednesday is half-listening, mind drifting to Enid and her beautiful fur, nodding along to Fester's trip down memory pain.
"Your mother gave me a laundry list of things to do in case you were to choke or turn blue on me, but she was so exhausted and in need of a little…affection, she happily put your baby seat in the front seat of the car and left me with the instruction to bring you back alive that evening," Fester explains, making yet another turn. Wednesday holds onto the suitcase again. "She gave me one diaper. One! And boy, that bourbon went right through you, and I ended up changing you into one of my old shirts at a rest stop in Jersey City while the attendant was pumping gas. He complimented me on your full head of hair. I thought it was obvious that you weren't of my loins." He taps his head. "If you were, your hairline would be receding by now."
Wednesday has heard this story more times than she can count on all her fingers and toes combined, and every time Fester reiterates it, a new detail is either added or embellished for the sake of dramatics or to settle something within her. Sometimes she'll crack a smile at the fact that she had a high tolerance for poison as an infant, or the fact that she made a mess of her car seat at the most inconvenient time, but now, when she's thinking of Enid and where she could be hiding, alone and cold, her stomach feels like it's all in knots, and nothing about the story is humorous.
"What's on your mind, kid?" Fester asks her, the grin on his face still prominent but less cheerful. He almost seems…disheartened. "You aren't smiling or laughing manically."
"I only laughed when I had been trapped in Enid's body, and that was not on my own will," she mutters, rubbing her hand over a page in the journal. "User error."
She sighs, deep in concentration but not on anything in the present. Her mind is faraway, somewhere up North, where the snow falls all year round and a beautiful, perfect wolf that she is honored to call her best friend is probably taking shelter without anyone to keep her company. No family, no friends, no pack.
Enid has nothing. While Wednesday sits here, in the presence of her uncle, having just passed the rest of her family up in their family car, Enid has absolutely nothing to her name. Even in human form, Enid often didn't carry any money or necessities unless her cellphone and lip balm counted as such. In the very small likelihood that she reverts to human form, she will be empty-handed, cold, and isolated from humanity, just as Miss Capri warned her she would.
"How was that body swap?" Fester inquires in earnest. "I figured that wouldn't have been the best way to start our conversation earlier, but I gotta know."
Wednesday inhales. "It was…interesting, to say the least." She pauses and closes her eyes, trying to recall the way Enid smelled. "What most wouldn't think about when considering the side effects of a body swap is the fact that you have to become the person you've swapped with. You have to…see it all." Her breath hitches again, and she glares at the journal in her hands. "People oftentimes say that sexual intercourse is the closest you could ever get to another person. False. I'd say that my brain being stuck in Enid's body and having to see her in all her glory when I changed clothes is the closest I could ever get to a person."
Fester nods in understanding, even if he doesn't quite understand. That's what he's always done; be the unwanted, undesired comfort his niece has sometimes needed but would never admit to needing.
"You're a really loyal kid, Wednesday," Fester compliments. "Not many would go this far for a friend. Especially not at your age. Most would just ride off into the sunset on their high horse and consider it not their problem."
"Enid isn't a problem," Wednesday insists, her signature frown pulling at her lips. "I gave her my word, Uncle Fester. I have to do this for her. No matter how far, how cold, how warm, how rainy, how tiresome; I have to make it to her in time before something unthinkable happens to her and there is no going back for her."
Turning another corner that isn't protected or supported by a guardrail, Fester plays chicken with their lives and purposely steers towards the edge. Wednesday's heart jumps into her throat and she yanks the handle closest to her, urging them in the right direction on the road.
"Quit it," she demands. "You can murder us both after I've found Enid safe and alive." She goes quiet as the dread sinks in. "And if I can coax her back into human form."
"Not to be the party pooper in our party of two, but what if Capri was right and Enid is stuck like that forever?" Fester asks.
It's an abysmal thought, but Wednesday has already considered the probability of alpha Enid being trapped in her werewolf body until her ultimate demise. It makes her violently ill to think about. She leans out of the sidecar with every intention of vomiting and waits until her stomach settles before sitting back up.
"She'll be hunted down and killed," Wednesday pointedly declares and swallows the bile. Her bottom lip wobbles and she bites down on it to keep the tears at bay. She didn't cry when Pugsley was almost murdered, and she isn't going to start now. "She'll be a lone wolf. It's her destiny as an alpha to be alone."
Fester nods sympathetically. "I'm sorry, kid. I know she's your best friend."
"I'm not going to let anything happen to her," Wednesday insists with absolute conviction in her voice. "I have to get to her and try to reverse whatever damage I did to her by causing her to wolf out to save me. Twice. This is my fault, and I need to remedy it before she's hunted down and slaughtered like a worthless piece of roadkill on my dinner plate."
Uncle Fester is silent. Wednesday stews with the thought of never seeing Enid's bright blue eyes or soft cheekbones again. She thinks she'll never see that smile or hear her perfect laughter echo through the walls of their dorm that is no longer theirs. When she left Nevermore, their room was empty and devoid of all signs of Enid. There were splashes of color adorning the walls in the form of abandoned paintings and posters, but they had been muted the day Enid wolfed out into alpha form and ran off into the light of the full moon.
And for the first time since the night Fester revived Thing, Wednesday allows a tear, as lone as Enid, to slip down her cheek. It's clear instead of black when she hastily wipes it on her sleeve and sucks up the rest of whatever is threatening to downpour on her face.
"The vision was right," she tells Fester. "Enid will die and it'll be my fault." She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, feeling the wind envelope her hot cheeks. "Just because I don't pull the trigger doesn't mean I don't have my hand on the gun. The butterfly effect. It's real, and Enid is going to suffer the consequences of my recklessness."
Fester steers them left, on a narrow road hidden under thickets of trees older than the dinosaurs, and throws a glance at Wednesday, who is staring out into the grayish sky that hides a burnt orange sunset behind the clouds willing to burst like Wednesday's eyes.
"You seem to care about her a lot, and it's reminiscent of my days as a boy growing up alongside your father," Fester exhales. "It's a bond that you can't break."
Wednesday's throat tightens. It could be an allergy attack or the fact that she, in fact, does not view Enid as her sibling the way Uncle Fester views Gomez. She really hopes it's an allergy attack, even if she doesn't have time for the repercussions of that right now.
"Enid told me something that's been jammed into my underdeveloped frontal lobe like a rusty knife for days," Wednesday tells Fester, who nods and urges her to proceed. "She told me…she told me that I am her pack. And, initially, I didn't think too much of it, because there was too much disaster crumbling at my feet, but now…"
"It's starting to sink in," Fester surmises when Wednesday's entire body goes stiff. "You wouldn't be doing all this for her if you didn't feel the same way. You might not be a werewolf, but her claiming you as her pack is sort of like an unofficial initiation into werewolf-hood."
For the first time in her life, Wednesday feels an overwhelming sense of passion wash over her. She keeps her eyes on the road ahead, thinking she sees flickers of Enid's wolf between the trees as they rush by her, and she is suddenly overcome with dread at the idea that her mind is playing tricks on her and she's merely seeing the ghost of her. She sees Enid in the trees, in the sky, in the water of the lake carved between beautiful mountains that also remind her of Enid.
This is cruel and unusual punishment, but she thinks she deserves as much.
"Goody warned me that I'm destined to be alone," Wednesday tells Fester, blinking away the hot, prickly sensation in her eyes. "Miss Capri warned Enid that she is destined to be alone." She clutches her shirt, because she needs the comfort of holding onto something if she can't hold Enid. "I might be okay being alone until I'm nothing but ash, but I can't let Enid be alone to be hunted and ultimately killed. I'd do anything, Uncle Fester."
"Anything?" Fester parrots with a raised eyebrow.
"Anything," Wednesday laments as her eyes darken like the night blanketing them overhead. "I'd kill for her. I'd die for her."
There is silence, save for the engine roaring beneath them. Wednesday glowers at a particularly clear part of the sky.
"I'd even live for her."
Uncle Fester chuckles and ramps up speed, coming around another bend in the stretch of road leading from Vermont to wherever Enid might be taking shelter.
"Let's go find your girl, kid," he says.
And just then, Wednesday's agonizingly mortified frown is replaced with a confident and committed smirk as night falls over the beautiful mountains of Vermont.
When the sun goes down and the moon comes up, Wednesday gazes up at the large silver dollar in the sky and wonders if Enid is looking at it, too. If she's quiet enough, she can hear Enid howling away, calling for Wednesday to find her and bring her home.
"I'll be there soon, Enid," Wednesday says in a murmur low enough to elude Uncle Fester's terrible hearing. "I promise."
Chapter 2Notes:
Was I intending to add anything more to this? Not at all. Did I write this chapter with every intention of it becoming a separate work? Yes. But it fit decently with what I've already written here, and the plot sort of streamlined itself.
And don't worry; it doesn't end right here, either.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It takes four days and four nights of traversing through the northern wilderness that borders the fine line between Canada and northern Vermont, spending the night snoozing at makeshift rest stops scattered along the edge of the highway, before Wednesday and Uncle Fester stumble upon a lone alpha werewolf whimpering in both hunger and exhaustion.
When they first spot Enid, she's still, as expected, in her full werewolf form, slumped over like a lame horse, taking shelter in a thicket of forest off the road of the 236, which is far too close to US Customs for Fester's liking. Wednesday catches sight of her first and tells Fester to make a sharp U-turn, all traffic be damned. Fortunately, the vast majority of Vermont itself is rather remote and nothing but stretches of open road for miles the closer one gets to the Canadian border, especially so far from a major city, and not many people are exactly booking it to the border via this road; a lone werewolf traveling without a pack, maybe, but not humans looking to take a vacation or escape the government.
"Pull over," Wednesday demands Uncle Fester, Ophelia's journal already taking a backseat in favor of having her hands free to grasp onto Enid at the first chance she can get. "She's hiding, but she wants us to see her."
Once the sidecar is haphazardly parked on the side of the road, Wednesday immediately tumbles out with her arms outstretched like she's bracing herself for impact. She's unfamiliar with alpha werewolf anatomy, and she wasn't exactly well prepared for something like this to happen to Enid, so her expectations are low and she's decided that bracing herself for anything, even if she has her doubts that Enid would ever harm her, is more ideal than being torn apart by a feral, terrified werewolf who now may or may not have some sort of complex when it comes to Wednesday.
Enid is cowering between the trees, tucked safely away from anyone else's eyesight. To a regular motorist zipping by at 60 miles an hour, she might've looked like a bear or some kind of coyote, but Wednesday's keen eyes are very well versed in Enid Sinclair, and it doesn't take much for her to recognize that the large lump of dark fur is that of Enid's pelt.
"Enid," she breathlessly greets the werewolf, who is abnormally large but still as kind in the face as Enid always was with Wednesday when they were back at Nevermore, before Wednesday went and uprooted too many secrets and deceit than she could adequately handle without causing mayhem at Enid's expense. "Enid, I know it's you. Don't cower from me."
The fur alone is a dead giveaway. It's matted in some places, likely because of the isolated thunderstorms and the fact that a werewolf is incapable of properly grooming themselves without being able to shift back into human form. That, Wednesday does know, only because Enid used to complain to no end about having to take a monthly flea bath to avoid bringing home an infestation to Wednesday after every full moon. It was so considerate of her, but Wednesday wouldn't have minded the fleas. She's seen worse.
If the fur weren't enough, the eyes are even more of a giveaway. They're so blue and soft, just like human Enid's, only larger and more developed. And when they settle upon Wednesday's subtly trembling form, they soften even more, and Enid whimpers quietly and snuffles the ground at Wednesday's feet like an obedient dog would when their owner comes home after a long day.
"You don't have to be afraid," Wednesday pathetically reassures. It feels selfish, really, because she might need that reassurance more than Enid does. "Uncle Fester and I have been driving in circles for four days and nights trying to find you."
Enid can only whimper in response. Wednesday takes in a deep breath as Fester approaches nearer. Enid's ears immediately perk up at the sound of the leaves crunching beneath his feet, and she gives a low growl.
"Easy, Enid," Wednesday tries to soothe. "He won't hurt you. We have been looking everywhere for you. I could even swear that we've driven down this road once before. We seemed to have boomeranged."
Enid's muscles flex as she visibly relaxes when Fester gives that silly smile that often soothed Wednesday whenever she was restless as a baby. Her snout is pulsating, taking in every last bit of Wednesday's earthy scent, trying to accurately memorize it in case she needs it later.
"But the predictability of boomerangs is what makes them absolutely certain," Wednesday continues. "They always come back."
Fester nudges Wednesday's shoulder and leans in to whisper in her ear. "What now? I gotta be honest here, kid. I didn't think we'd get this far."
The sound Enid makes is the equivalent to human Enid's offended scoff. Wednesday glares at Fester.
"She heard that," Wednesday tells him. "Werewolves have immaculate hearing, and I can only imagine that hers is even further advanced because f her status. She could hear my heart beating from six feet under. She probably heard that damned thing puttering around the bend miles ago and the sound and the smell of me drew her out, and she waited."
Fester shrugs. "It's an honest question."
Truth be told, Wednesday feels screwed this time. She thought she was screwed when she was violently tossed into a shallow grave and left to suffocate under six feet of dirt, or when she woke up trapped in Enid's body that she has now familiarized herself with, but now she can see that was mere child's play.
"Enid," Wednesday says, hoping the tremor in her voice can't be sniffed out by Enid's hearing. "I need to get you out of here before something terribly permanent happens, but I have to admit, I've hit a wall. I dozed off in werewolf anatomy last semester."
Enid bows her head sadly. Wednesday feels as though she's just been gutted from the inside out. She looks at Enid with a tint of guilt in her eyes, admiring how the sunset shines gold on Enid's slick fur, mottled by the shadows of blooming leaves sprouting from the trees.
An abrupt desire rushes over Wednesday. She can't help herself or fend off the innate need any longer. She reaches out a careful, tentative hand and settles it upon the space between Enid's pretty werewolf ears, giving her warm head a comforting caress with her thumb.
The reaction is both almost immediate and extremely intense. Enid howls loudly enough to send Wednesday stumbling back a few feet, and her bones start cracking in a familiar way that Wednesday has seen far too many times to be ignorant about. The physique of Enid's large wolf gradually withers away, bones snapping and snout desperately snuffling the dirt, limbs twitching, teeth snarling, and Wednesday screws her eyes shut in case this just might be the very end of it all. Hearing it is traumatic enough; she doesn't need to see it.
When the snapping finally comes to a sudden end and the forest is quiet save for the sound of a hooting owl calling upon nightfall, Wednesday opens one eye, and then the other shortly after. She isn't so sure that she's alive, because her heart stopped beating for a split second, and then, when she sees a very human, naked Enid shaking like a leaf in the fetal position, it's kickstarted once again, and she lets out an exasperated breath that she had been clinging onto.
"Enid," she says, dropping to her knees beside the trembling girl. She quickly looks up at Fester, who's averted his gaze in favor of just about anything else. "Uncle Fester. Fetch my coat out of my suitcase. But keep your eyes shut."
He wastes no time in making himself scarce while Wednesday tends to Enid. Wednesday's hands are trembling as they ghost over the pale flesh that's been decorated with goosebumps.
Goosebumps are good, Wednesday thinks to herself over the pounding in her head, Goosebumps are human. Enid is human.
Enid whimpers in agony, keeping her knees tucked all the way up to her chest to hide the vulnerable pieces of herself, even if Wednesday has seen it all by now.
"About…" Enid inhales sharply, wincing in pain as her throat tries to adjust to being human again. "About time. I saw you pass by once, but I was hiding. I was hoping you'd see me the second time."
Guilt washes over Wednesday. She looks down at shaking Enid, one hand gently laid upon a bare, cold shoulder. Enid's skin is colder than Wednesday's, which is alarming for Wednesday. Up until now, Enid has always been warmer than anyone else Wednesday's ever met, because that's just one of the many hallmarks of being born a werewolf, late bloomer or not. Now, her skin feels like glass and ice all at once. Touching it feels strange, but Wednesday can't stop.
"Boomerangs always come back," Wednesday reminds as Fester approaches with her black coat in his hands. As requested, his eyes are screwed shut. He blindly thrusts the coat into Wednesday's hands and scampers away. "We might have gotten lost and made an accidental U-turn on the 236 about an hour ago. Uncle Fester is trying to avoid Customs at the border and has been dragging me in circles for days. This was a happy accident."
Enid half-coughs, half-laughs, but it's weak and tired. Wednesday drapes her coat over her, trying to keep all of her covered, but that's difficult with what little fabric she has to work with. She'll get some real clothes onto Enid later, but for now, keeping her exposed skin protected from the elements—and predators—is most important while her mind is reeling with the probability of what she might be forced to do next.
"Why didn't you howl for me when you noticed we passed you by?" Wednesday asks as she carefully brushes away messy, oily blonde hair from Enid's face. Her fingers are shaking, and she tries to stiffen them up. "Your howl is strong. I would have heard it."
Enid's expression is sorrowful and her eyes are wet. "Yeah, and so would the werewolves that I know are trying to hunt me down. Can't…" She winces again. "Can't be too loud. They're out there and they will find me."
"They won't find you now," Wednesday assures, and again, it feels selfish, because she needs that reassurance to make it out of here with what little sanity she has left. "But we need to get out of here before nightfall."
Weakly mumbling to herself, Enid makes an excruciating effort to sit up, pulling Wednesday's coat tight around her shoulders. She buries her bloodied nose in the black fabric, taking in an indulgent whiff of Wednesday. She stays there for a moment, filling her lungs with that inky, cold scent that reminds her of being home with her.
Finally, Wednesday gets a good look at her; nose dripping blood from the strain of shifting so forcefully too often, eyes wet with sad tears, hair greasy and askew and the dye faded out, lips dried out and peeling flakes of skin, cheeks hollowed out and sunken in, ears bright pink from the cold. She looks too much like a corpse for her liking.
"This is going to be a challenge with only a motorbike," Wednesday thinks aloud, glancing back to the side of the road where Fester is doing his best not to make a spectacle or accidentally flag down a concerned citizen who might be looking to have the worst day of their life. "Enid. I'm going to put my clothes on you, and you're going to ride in the sidecar. I'll hang onto Uncle Fester's back and hope I don't get launched off in the wind and splatter like roadkill."
Enid says nothing, only groans in both agony and from the cold chill that sweeps over her as the night blankets them. Wednesday can't imagine that Enid cares much about anything besides getting into something warm and more appropriate, and maybe something to properly gnaw on, as Wednesday realizes that Enid likely hasn't had anything to sustain her massive calorie deficit since transforming so many days ago.
Upon Wednesday's frantic demand thrown over her shoulder as she protectively hovers over Enid, Fester brings a set of clothing from Wednesday's suitcase, keeping his eyes closed. Enid is alike a fragile doll that Wednesday is trying to dress up without breaking, and it's a challenge, even for her skilled hands, to get the sweater over her head and the pants up her legs. Enid is pliable like warm putty, allowing Wednesday to manipulate her limbs to do whatever she needs to do to get them both where they need to be, and finally, she's wearing real clothing for the first time in who knows how many days, now safely cocooned in Wednesday's scent.
"No undergarments," Wednesday comments, pulling Enid to sit up but keeping a supportive palm hovering over the small of her back. "It felt inappropriate."
Enid takes a big breath in and exhales in a soft chuckle of disbelief. Her smile is weak but still so bright despite the exhaustion that pulls at her cheeks.
"We literally swapped bodies and you're worried about sharing undies," she giggles, albeit groggily. "I was legitimately inside you at one point. I've seen your undies."
Wednesday takes on an aghast expression. She doesn't know whether to be offended by the comment or relieved that Enid is still a little jokester even in her most catastrophic moments. She decides that she hasn't lost enough of Enid to be upset at all, and so she gently lifts Enid's chin with her index finger and gives her the kindest look she can muster.
"Enid, I would do, and am doing, absolutely anything to keep you from rotting away," she begins, voice quiet. "But don't ever phrase it that way ever again."
Nodding, Enid attempts to give a real smile of gratitude and hopefulness that has been rekindled now that Wednesday is here. "Home now?"
Wednesday swallows and looks up at the bruised blue sky, wondering what the hell to do now and where the hell they go from here.
And yet, the last thing Enid needs right now is the gravity of the situation pinning her down to an earth that Wednesday took part in scorching, so Wednesday looks her in her bloodshot blue eyes and lovingly caresses the dirt off her face with a gentle yet attentive thumb.
"Something like that."
Notes:
I don't know what happened in the four days between this chapter and last chapter, but I'm not gonna work out the technicalities unless I retroactively have an epiphany. That's the beauty of fan*fiction*.
I love you all. 🖤
Chapter 3Notes:
As if I need another WIP. But here we are. It's become a WIP. I updated the tags, removed the spoiler warning now that it's been a week since the release, and have let this consume me.
Could be one more chapter, could be a hundred more. Who knows?
—Sincerely, Sierra
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Exhaustion finally starts to sink in when Uncle Fester's motorbike putters into the parking lot of an old motel nestled in a tiny, unassuming town in the middle of nowhere Vermont. The neon red sign is aglow and buzzing quietly as the bulbs hang onto whatever little life they have left, the asphalt is slick with midnight rain, and the lot is vacant save for an old truck parked at the very front of the motel's office and a small Toyota at the opposite end.
Fester comes to a stop and takes up two entire parking spaces. He looks over at Enid, who's slumped over in the sidecar. At first, when Wednesday and Uncle Fester wrangled her in, she wasn't very compliant, but once the tiredness seeped into her bones, she let them manipulate her limbs to fit in the sidecar with Wednesday's suitcase, which she briefly used as a pillow, in her lap. Now, she's a bit more alert, a look of relief washing over her as she squints up at the flickering motel sign.
"I thought seeing Weems's ghost for the first time was hell," Wednesday comments from behind Fester as he kills the engine. She finally lets go of him, delighted to no longer be physically attached to someone for once, and glares at the shoddy paint job on the side of the building. "I see I was mistaken."
Taking in a deep inhale of the rain, Fester smiles wistfully. "Nostalgia. It's everywhere!"
"How is a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere nostalgic to you?" Wednesday asks, slipping off the motorbike. She pauses a moment, face contorted into a grimace. "Don't answer that."
Fester chuckles to himself and gets off the motorbike, removing his gloves. Enid makes no effort to move from her seat, still staring blankly at the sign. The red hue pulsates in her irises, turning them the color of a contusion, which piques Wednesday's disturbed interest.
"Enid, do you need assistance getting out?" Wednesday asks her, hoping the sound of her voice will draw Enid out of whatever trance she's in. Of course, it doesn't do much good. "Uncle Fester. If you don't mind."
"Of course, kid," Fester happily obliges, coming around the motorbike to help Wednesday with maneuvering a noncompliant werewolf out of the sidecar.
Wednesday removes her suitcase from Enid's lap and sets it on the damp ground as Uncle Fester stands behind Enid and sticks his hands under her arms. With him at her back and Wednesday at her side, they're able to coax Enid into standing up in the sidecar, albeit on shaky legs, and Fester uses whatever strength he has left to quickly lift her up and out.
"Up you go," he sillily says as he lowers Enid onto the pavement. It fondly reminds Wednesday of when he would lift her into the tree in their backyard so she could hide from her mother when she just needed the extra quiet to soothe her racing mind. "Barefoot, but I think that's the least of our worries."
Enid looks down at her bare feet. They're covered in healing wounds and itchy scabs, but the feeling of the wet concrete under them is like a cold balm against her scorching human skin. For the moment, she couldn't be any more grateful for the gravel between her toes.
"Can you walk?" Wednesday asks Enid, not entirely expecting a verbal response. She doesn't think she can carry Enid if she's back in her own body, and her faith in Uncle Fester's upper body strength is minimal. "Rhetorical question."
"I think so," Enid manages to say anyway, voice tight and throat burning. "Feels nice, actually."
Sighing, Wednesday picks up the suitcase and awkwardly shuffles towards Enid. She doesn't know whether to offer a supportive arm or to let Enid guide herself. Really, she didn't ever think that they would get so far. She and Fester have traveled over half a week to get to Enid, and now that they have her and can go no further without collapsing from lack of sleep, she feels dumb.
Maybe she should have had a speech prepared, or at least some soothing words to give Enid, but the ride has been torturous and all Wednesday wants to do is pass out somewhere—anywhere. Even a comfortable bed with a feather pillow and warm blanket would suffice.
"I'll go in and get two rooms," Uncle Fester tells Wednesday. "Be back in a jiffy."
Wednesday raises an eyebrow. "You're going to leave two young girls out here, in the middle of the night, with one barefoot?"
Uncle Fester shrugs a shoulder. "You fought off a hyde and dumped piranhas into a school pool." He glances over at the motel's office window. Inside, there's a little old lady doing a crossword puzzle behind the desk. "Besides, I don't want that lady to call the cops if she sees a grown man in the company of two little girls in the middle of the night. The feds can accuse me of a lot of things, but solicitation of a minor is not one of them."
"Who're you calling a little girl?" Enid mumbles, eyelids heavy. "I'm a big, scary wolf."
Pulling a pocketknife from her boot, Wednesday looks at Fester. "Go. We'll stay here, and if anyone asks, we're selling cocaine and won't take no for an answer."
Fester smiles wholeheartedly as Wednesday moves closer to Enid. Enid sways on her heels and forces her eyelids open when she feels the eerie, schadenfreude presence of Wednesday drawing near her.
"That's my girl," Fester compliments as he turns away and walks towards the office.
Under the buzz of the motel sign, Wednesday leans up against a brick wall, utterly exhausted and beaten down by the week's activities and efforts. Next to her, Enid trembles like a wet cat, rubbing warmth back into her skin over Wednesday's coat that feels too small for her.
Wednesday doesn't know what to say to make any of this better. She's never been good with comforting people, especially not after something so monumentally traumatic. The silence between them is deafening but comfortable, even with the bile rising in Wednesday's throat when she thinks about all the awful things that could have happened to Enid if she hadn't found her.
They haven't had a meaningful conversation since their reunification. Wednesday doesn't know if Enid is ready to hold a conversation just yet, because she looks like she's on the cusp of sleep, and honestly, she could do without more talking tonight. Her job is not quite done, and she's not going to push herself off the edge when Enid needs all the support she can get.
By the time Wednesday thinks of something of relevancy to say to Enid, Uncle Fester is returning, this time with two old-fashioned room keys dangling from his fingers. He twirls them around his index and deposits one—a rusted key attached to a red keychain with a gold "6" stamped in the center—into Wednesday's palm.
"I'll be in room seven," he tells her. "Give you two a little privacy for…girl things."
Wednesday is so tired, she almost misses the implication, but she quickly regains consciousness and glares up at Uncle Fester in the bloody hue of the parking lot.
"What are you trying to imply?" she hisses quietly.
Fester puts his hands up in surrender. "Nothing. I'm just saying that you two might need some privacy. I don't have anything in common with two teenaged girls. It's best that we separate for the night and regroup in the morning."
Admittedly, it might be easier for Wednesday to be alone with Enid, without having to worry about her uncle teasing her for exhibiting some kind of caring, doting traits. More than that, it'll keep the motel attendant at bay and won't raise any suspicions.
"She needs to eat," she tells him. "I can hear her stomach growling."
"Say no more," he says, already heading back to the motorbike. "You get settled in your room and lock the door. I'll knock in Morse code when I get back."
"You don't know what she likes to eat," Wednesday huffs indignantly. "Steak. Red meat. She needs protein to satiate her hunger. It can be raw or cooked. I don't expect much from a sleepy town like this, especially so late at night, but I need to feed her, and while I'm more than willing to let her gnaw my arm off if that's what it takes to sustain her extreme caloric needs, I don't think we need to be so dramatic just yet."
Fester's eyes sparkle. "You'd lose a limb for her." He sighs, still smiling. "The first sign of an Addams falling in love is the declaration of losing an appendage for their love interest. Reminds me so fondly of your parents."
"Save me the trip down memory pain," Wednesday scolds. "She needs to eat, soon. I'm sure even a place this gritty has cups and running water. I'll get some fluids into her while you putter around this hellhole in search of food."
Chuckling, Fester gets onto the motorbike. The engine coming alive startles Enid, who quickly looks up and around at the empty parking lot. Her claws have come out at the sudden noise and her eyes are big with fear, prompting Wednesday to give her uncle a scolding glare.
"Be back soon," he promises Wednesday. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
With a cheeky smile, he rides off into the quiet night, leaving Wednesday's head throbbing and Enid wondering where she even is or what's going to happen next. Fortunately, Wednesday is able to answer only one of those questions.
"We're going to stay here for the night," she tells Enid as she jams her key into the lock. It gets stuck halfway around but eventually complies with some force. "Tomorrow, we'll work out the technicalities and decide where we go from here."
The door opens with a protesting groan. The room is as Wednesday expected; tidy but very obviously not up to a hospital standard. The shag carpet hasn't been changed since 1978, the television is older than Wednesday and Enid combined, and the bedding looks like it was purchased from the Manson family. A faint stench of cigarette smoke and past sex lingers under the mask of bleach and Lysol.
Above all the horrific decor and the smell of nefarious activity, Wednesday notices that there is only one bed sitting in the center of the room. It's large enough for both her and Enid to fit comfortably, but Wednesday can't help but to curse her uncle in her mind for doing this to her.
"Sit, Enid," Wednesday says as she drops her suitcase into the chair wedged in the corner of the room. "I know it doesn't compare to a San Francisco suite, but this is what we're working with tonight."
Enid drags herself over to the bed and plops down at the edge, the springs squealing with effort. She's definitely seen and experienced better, but she's so exhausted and weak that she'd accept a bed of nails if offered to her.
"I know you're hungry. Werewolves need calories, in human form or not," Wednesday says as she fishes a few coins out of her pants pocket. "Uncle Fester is going to get you something to fill you up. I saw a vending machine at the end of the breezeway. Your blood sugar is likely low, too. What sugary, diabetes-in-a-can drink would you like?"
Enid mumbles something incoherent, head tilted down. Her shoulders are trembling inside Wednesday's coat, so Wednesday locates the old thermostat on the wall and twists the dial as far as it will go, and the heat kicks on with a dissatisfied hum.
"I didn't hear you, Enid," Wednesday tells her as she takes a cautious seat next to Enid but far away enough to allow her some space. "What would you like?"
Enid quickly twists around and looks Wednesday properly in the face. She reaches out and grabs Wednesday's sweater, tangling her fingers in the black fabric. Wednesday's breath hitches at the sudden contact, but she doesn't make an effort to pull away or tell Enid that she doesn't appreciate the silent demand to stay.
"Don't go anywhere," Enid almost begs, her tired eyes wet. "Please. Just stay here with me."
"But you need—"
"What I need is you and your company," Enid laments. She grasps onto Wednesday even tighter, like a scared child would cling to their mother. "Don't go."
Wednesday doesn't know how to react to that sentiment. She's never been needed before; not beyond for her psychic abilities and nose for all things murder. No one has ever needed her comfort or company or presence. Until now, most people would've rather gone without her.
"You ran away," Wednesday says, because there isn't much else to say. "When you dug me out of my grave. I only got a brief look at your wolf before you ran off. I sent Agnes after you, and she told me where you were headed. I have to admit that I didn't think I'd find you."
Enid shrugs a lame shoulder. "I didn't have much of a choice. I let myself wolf out, even when I knew it was dangerous, and I kinda just accepted the fact that I was gonna be stuck like that until the other wolves hunted me down and killed me for being a lone alpha. I'm a threat to their packs and the bloodline. Killing the lone alphas is a way of cleansing the bloodline."
Wednesday tilts her head. "You were meant to be stuck in your werewolf form." She pauses when Enid solemnly nods. "How were you able to transform back into human form if all lone alphas are meant to permanently shift until they're hunted down and slaughtered like cattle?"
"Capri said it was likely that I would be stuck as a werewolf if I shifted during the full moon," Enid corrects, even if the thought of Miss Capri brings on a headache. "Not that is was certain. I guess I'm just a lucky girl, huh?"
Feeling herself relax a bit, Wednesday exhales. Enid has been lucky so far, but everyone's streak of luck has to run out at some point, and Wednesday wonders where the luck will fall short.
"Why did you run?" Wednesday asks. "I could have helped you if you'd stayed."
"You couldn't, actually," Enid says with utter defeat. "I'm destined to be alone. I'm destined to run away. Capri said so."
"And Goody warned me that I'm destined to be alone," Wednesday reminds. "And while that might ring true, I do recall you mentioning that I am your pack."
Enid perks up a little, a little more color splashing over her cheeks. Her eyes are so much bluer now that life is beginning to bloom into them. Wednesday can't stop staring at them. In fact, she stares for so long that Enid takes notice of it and nudges her back to reality.
"You are my pack, in like, an emotional or figurative sense," Enid quietly says. "But my wolf; she's destined to be alone. I can't change that, Wednesday. It's not fair."
Privately, Wednesday thought that reminding Enid of the sentiment she provided her with would settle the nerves and bury the lone alpha hatchet, but she can see now that she was so very wrong about that. Enid looks to be as concerned and frightened as ever before, if not more now that the reality of it has began to sink in and the tension had started to bleed away.
"If your destiny was to be stuck in wolf form until your inevitable demise, how were you able to change back when I touched you?" Wednesday inquires with a tilt of her head as the blue in Enid's eyes darkens. "I understand that the intricacies of being an alpha are…difficult to understand, to say the least, and that there are no absolutes when it comes to being one. But I'm still perplexed."
Enid shrugs Wednesday's coat off her body, letting it pool around her waist. The room is closing in and so is Wednesday, who keeps her eyes focused on Enid's face, never taking them off her in case she might miss something important.
"Like you said," Enid plainly says. "No absolutes."
Guilt is not something that Wednesday is often plagued with, but for the first time in her life, she thinks that Enid would be better off without the burden of her mistakes and the guilt-by-association relationship they have with one another. Enid always takes the fall for whatever Wednesday decides to do, and now, she's going to pay the ultimate price that can't be refunded.
She tries, desperately, to move past it. Right now, she needs to focus on getting Enid into a more stable environment, and she can't do that if she's harping on the past and mulling over what she should have done.
"Uncle Fester will be back soon," Wednesday says as she stands up and crosses the room to her suitcase, popping it open. "You have been in the woods for awhile. Maybe a shower is in order. I packed my soap and hairbrush. You can use them. I draw the line at my toothbrush, though. I can ask the woman in the office if she has a complementary."
Enid snorts and genuinely smiles. "Are you implying that I stink?"
Wednesday looks at her, clutching a plain bar of goats milk soap. "If the fur fits, Enid."
The mere thought of showering is tiresome, but Enid decides that she won't be able to sleep with forest grime in all her crevasses and filth caked under her chipped fingernails, so she readily accepts Wednesday's offer of soap, her expensive family heirloom hairbrush, and a new set of clothes, and she moves to the old but functional bathroom and stops just before the door.
"What if someone is behind the curtain?" she asks Wednesday. "This place is super creepy."
Typically, Wednesday would brush off the insecurities and childish fear, but Enid has been through too much for Wednesday to outright ignore a cry for help, so she opens the bathroom door and flicks on a buzzing yellow overhead light. The bathroom is small but serviceable, equipped with a small sink, a toilet that could use a little more bleach, and a tub the color of infectious mucus, complete with the most hideous plastic shower curtain straight out of an '80s Sears catalogue, which is fortunately pulled to one side to reveal the hallmark of an old motel; a ring of scum and people filth around the drain.
"It's empty," Wednesday tells Enid, backing out of the bathroom. "I'll keep watch from out here. You don't have to worry about anyone breaking in." She pulls out her pocketknife again and flicks it open. "An Addams is always prepared."
Enid hugs Wednesday's clothes to her chest, precariously peeking over her shoulder and untrustingly eyeing the paint peeling off the wall where there might have been some violence occurring before them. Wednesday sighs a bit but catches herself before she can offend Enid.
"If you are insistent on being afraid of a shady motel bathroom, I will sit in here with you while you shower," Wednesday offers Enid, who visibly relaxes. "But let's not make it weird."
"You love weird," Enid softly giggles. "But I get it. No being naked in front of each other, no asking you to shower with me. Even if I've seen your undies before."
Wednesday's exhausted eyebrows furrow and her lips turn a hue of blue. That only makes Enid giggle harder.
"One more mention of you seeing my undergarments, and the deal is off," she warns.
Enid immediately stops laughing, attempting to be serious, and then she smiles again. "Okay. But can I just say one thing?"
Wednesday crosses her arms. "What?"
"The little white bow on your undies is really cute."
Pointing to a random place in the bathroom, Wednesday glares at Enid. "Get in there before I change my mind about being kind to you."
Enid smiles the entire time she's limping into the not-so-scary bathroom, because the threat is empty, and she knows as much when Wednesday follows behind her. Wednesday turns her back and stares at the dent in the wall until she hears the shower turn on and Enid's—her—clothes hit the floor in a subtle thump. She turns around once the shower curtain is pulled closed, and makes herself at home on the toilet seat, tossing her knife onto the edge of the sink.
While the smell of Wednesday's mild soap fills the room, Wednesday listens to Enid's intermittent sniffling and the water hitting the bottom of the bathtub. Enid is notorious for long showers, even when she hasn't been traversing the wilderness for almost a week, so Wednesday finds a way to preoccupy herself that isn't driving herself mad thinking about her whataboutisms.
She doesn't want to be perverted, and she has boundaries in place that she has no intention of crossing, but she picks up the shirt that Enid was just wearing and takes a deep inhale of the earthy scent. It lacks fruity perfume and the sweet, artificial smell of body wash, and there are undertones of Wednesday's soap and detergent, but it smells of Enid, and for Wednesday, it's the equivalent of being home.
For the better part of a week, Wednesday has driven herself insane looking for Enid, and now that they are reunited once again, it almost doesn't feel real. This feels like a pleasant dream that she's going to wake up from still in the sidecar, or a very long, intense vision of what's to come. Or maybe she's dead and she's trapped in purgatory, where this day will repeat on an infinite loop.
She elects to not think about that for right now, and instead takes one more self-fulfilling inhale of Enid before dropping the garment to the floor. Enid spends another ten minutes in the shower, steaming up the room and practically choking Wednesday to death, but she's alive, and Wednesday will gladly die here if it means that Enid will get to live on without her.
Notes:
I appreciate all of you who have left kudos and so many overwhelmingly positive comments. 🖤