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Wednesday could smell the fear on Tiny Timothy as soon as she opened the door for Aunt Janet. The boy shifted on his feet, bit his lip, and seemed entirely fascinated with the floorboards. It wasn't even the fun kind of fear, the thrill and scream and squirmy kind- it was much deeper, much worse.
The last time she saw Tiny Timothy, it was the boy's first Séance. He had a ravenous curiosity in his eyes, fidgeting with excitement and babbling questions until Pugsley stuffed his throat full of gravel to shut him up, if only for a minute.
Tiny Timothy did a fascinating mix of choking, coughing, and giggling that was much more engaging then the billionth question about what counts as a ghost, and the video that she caught was almost worth the high pitched annoyance of Tiny Timothy, healed, blood on his lips and dirt between his cheek, hiccuping like a dying bird.
(Wednesday was pretty sure Tiny Timothy hadn't realized he didn't need to breath before, but at least he knew now.)
The morning after, Wednesday had woken to a more welcome high pitched sound; her brother's bone-chilling scream that always brought a smile to her face. Timothy had reportedly woke him up by stuffing glass in Pugsley's eyes. She didn't know him long, but that was the Tiny Timothy she was familiar with. He was a nuisance, annoying in the way all kid were, devious and curious and intelligent and playful and an absolute terror to be around in every sense of the word.
The Tiny Timothy on their doorstep, humming to himself and wrapped in grief thicker then congealed blood, was none of that.
Wednesday made eye contact, of the rare silent variety, with her siblings, and just knew that they'd have Tiny Timothy in working order by the end of the visit.
--
Tim and his cousins were swimming in the bog, arguing over what to do with the nest of leeches they had stumbled upon. Or, well, that Pugsley had rolled into while playing in the muddy marshes.
"We should play a game." Tim suggested, picking one off of his cousin experimentally. It writhed around like a baby snake between his fingers, but it's texture was significantly more slimey and had him giggling. He was trying so hard to relax, now that he was around Family. He didn't want to worry any of them.
"We should play Dissection." Wednesday proposed, plucking one of the parasites up herself. She held most of it in one fist, squeezing the front of it with her other thumb and index finger to force it's strange jaw open. It doesn't seem to work, and she scowls.
"You always wanna play Dissection!" Pugsley whined. "It's not even a game!"
"Timothy added a point system." Wednesday pointed out. She squeezed a bit harder, and Tim heard a strange squish that he couldn't help but be a bit curious about, but she didn't seem any more satisfied with the result. Her fingers were too big to just pry it open. Even his were, and she was a lot bigger then him.
"It's barely a game, then." Pugsley rolled his eyes. "We should play Bon Apatite!"
"That's hardly any more of a game then Dissection is." She bit back, but didn't outright shoot the idea down. Tim frowned.
"I don't wanna play Bon Apatite. Leeches look....bad to eat." He scrunched his nose up, imagining eating something so squishy and slimy and soft and ew no gross.
"That's two against one." Wednesday almost smiled.
Tim nodded, grinning a little at the pinch of the the leech's many small teeth- a bit like falling on shards of glass, but more localized, and with a pulsing suction that made him shiver. His first leech slithered a bit more up his wrist leaving his hands mostly-vacant again. He grabbed a third one and mimicked Wednesday's grip, curiosity suitably peaked. Just looking at it's front, there was a pink hole with a triangle of teeth flattened out. He squeezed it's front, and the parasite struggled, but didn't open it's jaw. Tim hummed, looking at the mouth again, and nodded as he felt another pulse of suction from his chest.
"The suction is essential to their jaw function." He theorized, Pugsley's groaning now going ignored. "It needs to be sucking on something, so it can, like....suck it's own teeth up to the skin." He furrowed his brow, entirely unsure if he was explaining it well.
Wednesday nodded, eyeing him with a strange glint in her eye. She didn't blink for several minutes, just staring at him. He resoutly refused to hear the disgusting slurping noises Pugsley was making that could only mean one thing.
"Hm." Wednesday hummed, finally blinking and looking back at the leeches. "That is plausible, Timothy. To the porch?" She propositioned. He nodded, gathering a few more leeches just in case and following her. He loved Pugsley, but he would quite literally rather swallow his own tongue then try to eat one of these little pesks.
--
"Timothy!" Pugsley crowed, waving the muddy boy down. He looked up from where he was digging up worms with and waved back, little squirming pink flesh between his teeth. "C'mere, I need your help with something!"
Tiny Timothy looked at Pubert and tilted his head. Pubert giggled and ate a poisonous beetle, having not a care in the world. Tiny Timothy looked back at Pugsley and nodded, standing up to walk over. There were bite marks from leeches yesterday littering his skin, uncovered and sure to be infected. Maybe the infection would rot a finger or two off, but probably not. Tiny Timothy and Aunt Janet never stayed long enough for anything fun.
He trotted to a stop in front him, and Pugsley grabbed the swollen hand immediately, dragging him through the house and up to the attic. Tiny Timothy followed along pliantly up until Pugsley opened the window, and he tried to squirm away.
Surprised by the sudden fight Pugsley stumbled, half-falling out of the open window as Tiny Timothy squirms out of his arms. He windmills his arms a bit, not wanting to walk all the way back up, but ultimately falls out of the window, wind screaming surprisingly loud in his ears. Half-thought revenge plots spill out of his head along with bits of his skull, and his last thought is that he'd have to have Wednesday bleach his scalp later. Getting dirt in your bones itched terribly.
("The Humpty Dumpty approach, huh? Classy."
"Hey! You can't bl-")
"That is so unfair!" He hissed- or, at least, probably hissed, because his hearing was annoyingly shot for the moment. He gathered the scattered cranium bits and hastily shoving them back in place, expected-dirt and all. He had never had his sister's patience for regrowing parts when he could help it. He rolled in some dusty dirt to get the sticky wet blood out of his hair.
He turned back to the manor, mood souring as he realizes that he'll have to get all the way back up. At least he didn't have a toddler to drag around this time. He rolled his neck, savoring the click click click of overextended vertebrae, and scampered up the almost-rotting wood expertly. It creaked grumpily under his feet, slippery mold making him loose his footing a few times, but he'd dealt with far more hostile treatment, and paid no attention to the falling window's attempt on his life as he rolls wrathfully back into the attic, plots and plans of revenge surging through him. He scanned the attic slowly, looking for the slight figure of his cousin. It takes a moment to spot the little bugger, and then-
"There you are!" He nearly growled, stalking forward. "What the heck was that about?" He demanded, lifting the kid up by his hair. Tiny Timothy didn't struggle this time- he was crying, apparently, and hadn't stopped with the rough handling. Honestly he didn't even seem to notice, not even when Pugsley gave him a good jerk around. Pugsley scowled and dropped him, squatting to be at eye-level. "Hey. Seriously, What's wrong?" He pressed. It finally knocked Tiny Timothy out of his own brain, eyes clearing as he stared at Pugsley's still-healing head and muttered something. "What was that?" He had to ask, only probably because his brain was still reconnecting to his ear. Sometimes Tiny Timothy was just quiet.
"They didn't get up!" Tiny Timothy yelled, tears continuing to fall. "The- The Grayson's, they fell, and, and I thought it was part, you know, part of their thing! But they died! And just stayed dead! And, and Dad said they couldn't stop even if they wanted to, they were gone for- forever? All of it? Even though it was just a fall! And now Dick doesn't have his family! His family is gone!" Tiny Timothy screeched, starting to hyperventilate again. Maybe he'd choke on all that crying-snot in his throat while he was at it.
"Ah." Pugsley sucked in sharply between his teeth. "You saw your first death out of the family. Oh, that sucks, kiddo. Especially if you liked them."
"I did!" He whined, burying his face in his hands. Pugsley pushed his hands aside and pulled him in for a firm hug, face pressed to Pugsley's shirt. "They were- they were nice to me. Dick gave me a hug, and now he's alone."
"Well, we can fix that, at least. Do you want to keep him?" Pugsley offered, a little eager to change the subject. There wasn't much he could do about the concept of people dying and staying dead. Honestly, he still forgot it sometimes.
Tiny Timothy thought about it for a long minute, before shaking his head. "No. Not- Not right now. I saw a nice man with him, when he left. Maybe they're family. But....Can I still ask, if he's still alone in a few months?"
"Of course, kiddo. That's what Family's for." Pugsley patted his back firmly, then stood with the kid in his arms and walked over to the window. "You know what else family is for...?"
Tiny Timothy froze, holding harder to him. "No. Please Pugs, please don't, I- What if I don't- please-"
"Helping their stupid little cousins." Pugsley claimed, grip starting to loosen. "C'mon, Tiny Timothy. You'll be fine. I'm sorry you saw these 'Grayson' folk die, but you aren't a Grayson. You're an Addams. You will be fine."
"But- but what I'm not? What if I fall and I- I don't get back up?" He gasped, grip tightening as Pugsley stepped onto the ledge and dangled them both out of the window, hooking one hand around the inside of the window-pane and only loosely supporting Tiny Timothy with the other. The smaller boy whimpered, and Pugsley laughed.
"Then you're afraid. Isn't that enthralling, Tiny Timothy? You know you'll be okay, but you're afraid to fall anyway. Don't you trust me?" He asked. He got a slow nod in response, the boy careful not to jostle himself too much as he clung on desperately. "Then trust that that fear- it's precious. Embrace it while you can. You can feel it, right? The root of that fear- it's anger that people you liked will never be alive again. All fear is anger. But....Besides the fear. What do you feel right now?"
His cousin is quiet for a long time. The wind blows noisily around them. The house groans under them- Mother must be done with dinner. A scream echoes from the bog.
"...Curious." Tiny Timothy finally identifies, breath slowing down. "I'm- I have to know that I'm still....me. Safe? It's....I have to know, but I'm scared to find out! I don't want to!" Tiny Timothy sniffed.
"But you have to." Pugsley sighed, letting go of Tiny Timothy completely. His arms were too weak to stay locked around Pugsley's shoulders much longer. He'd be clinging on by just his legs. "You have to, Tiny Timothy. So let go."
Another silence, but not quite as long.
"...Okay." Tiny Timothy finally nods, pulling back enough to look up at Pugsley. He was still crying and trembling, but he was smiling too. "Okay. You...You promise I'll be alive?"
"Do you want me too?" Pusgley challenged, returning the smile. "Isn't it more exciting if I don't?"
Timothy lets go, and he laughs all the way down to the concrete. His blood mixes with Pugsley's newly dried blood- and then with his fresh blood, after he falls out after Tiny Timothy.
("-they died, but I am sorry you're all hung up over- Oh, you too. Again? Why?"
"Miss, I would literally rather DIE then go down those stairs."
"Evidently. Now, off with you both.")