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For someone extremely comfortable with the idea of death, Wednesday didn’t take almost dying very well.
Well, that was dramatic. A knife to the gut and an arrow to the shoulder wasn’t enough to kill an Addams, not if it wasn’t by their soulmate. She doubts Enid would do that to her. She hopes.
This doesn’t stop Wednesday from experiencing, as much as she hates to admit it, phantom pains. A horrid thing. Sure, she liked pain and suffering, but only when it was on her own terms. Crackstone stabbing her was, unfortunately, not a pleasant kind of pain. So she ignores the throbbing sensation in her side.
She would never admit it to Enid how much pain she was in.
“You’ve stopped typing,” Enid points out.
Which is why she ignores her girlfriend when she suddenly stops typing. Her fingers had frozen over the keys of her typewriter, refusing to move despite her efforts. The phantom pain of her hand being slit open causing the digits to stiffen.
“Are you okay?” Enid asks. “Writer's block?” She glances to Wednesday’s shaking hand as the fingers twitched, nearly pressing a wrong key.
“I don’t get writer’s block,” Wednesday snaps. Normally her voice would stay monotone, but the pain made her feel irritable.
Enid frowns. “You don’t need to be like that.”
Wednesday mutters an apology.
Enid’s frown only grows deeper. Wednesday rarely apologized.
“What’s wrong?”
Wednesday sighs, another rarity for her.
“An Addams may be immortal, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t feel pain. That night… with Crackstone and Tyler… I may have been injured. It appears I am experiencing phantom pain. Strange, considering pain and death don’t bother me.”
Wednesday is content to end the conversation there, feeling she had explained herself, but of course Enid wouldn’t let her drop it that easily.
“What happened?” It’s not really a question. Enid wasn’t going to let her leave without answering.
Wednesday’s mouth goes dry. A slightly twitch of her eyelid is the only indication of her discomfort. Enid picks up on it, of course.
She hums. “Well, for starters, Laurel knocked me out with a shovel,” she holds up a finger, listing her injuries like a grocery list, “she sliced my palm open, and then Crackstone stabbed me, twisted the knife even, and then shot me in the shoulder with an arrow.” She turns back to her typewriter, not even aware she had turned to face Enid as she spoke. She didn’t want to continue the conversation. She speaks one last time anyway. “Not to mention Tyler slamming me into a tree stump.”
“What?”
Wednesday does not flinch at the firm hand that is placed on her shoulder, the one that hadn’t been shot, she notes duly. Enid forces her to face her again. Wednesday averts her gaze.
“You’re confused because your body is reacting like a normal human’s should to pain?” Enid growls. “Of course you would still feel that! That’s normal!”
“Not for an Addams,” Wednesday shoots back, darting her eyes up to glare into Enid’s own.
“Fuck what’s normal for an Addams!” Enid shouts, shaking Wednesday by the shoulders roughly. Her gaze softens a moment later, noticing Wednesday flinch and try to pull back at the twinge in her left shoulder.
She sighs, loosening her grip on the other’s shoulders. Enid gently rubs her left shoulder. Wednesday shivers at the touch, and immediately hates herself for it.
“You’re still a human, immortal seer or not. You’re going to react like this to traumatic experiences.” Enid lowers herself so she can look into Wednesday’s eyes at a more even level.
Wednesday scoffs and grimaces. “An Addams doesn’t get traumatized.”
Enid growls again, erasing the look on Wednesday’s face.
Enid sighs, and releases Wednesday, who very nearly tries to follow her, missing her touch.
She’s stopped as Enid pulls her into a hug.
“What are you doing, you insufferable…” she starts.
Enid shushes her. “It’s okay to not be okay, you know?”
“I’m fine.” Wednesday snaps
“The fact that you’re clutching onto me for dear life says otherwise,” Enid shoots back
Wednesday blinks. She hadn’t even realized she had indeed latched onto the werewolf, her fingers curled into the other’s night shirt.
“I…”
“It’s okay, Wednesday. You’re okay.”
Enid’s voice is so soft, so warm and comforting, that Wednesday feels a piece of her heart break. A warmth builds behind her eyes and she blinks, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.
“I know that. Crackstone is dead and Laurel and Tyler are in custody. I’m not injured,” Wednesday tries. She attempts to shove Enid away as she quickly becomes overwhelmed at the touch.
“Just because you know that doesn’t mean that you aren’t still going to be scared. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to cry. And it’s okay to need help,” Enid continues. She allows Wednesday to pull away, but not far.
And Wednesday breaks. Tears stream down her face as she chokes on a sob. She dived forward and buries her face in Enid’s chest, trying to hide the tears, but Enid knew, Enid always knew what Wednesday was feeling, what she needed.
And right now, Enid knew Wednesday need time, she needed a hug, and she needed to be told that, yes, her feelings are valid.
And as much as Wednesday hates showing emotion, Enid made her feel safe enough to let her guard down, even if only slightly.
So she cries, curling into Enid, who gently picks her up, mindful not to jostle her side or shoulder, and brings her over to the shorter girl’s bed. She sits down and begins carding her fingers through the other’s hair.
Wednesday melts at the touch, burrowing deeper into Enid, almost in an attempt to disappear, even if only for a moment. She hates how she felt so weak. She couldn’t stand so much touch at once, it made her feel like she was on fire.
But it was a little better with Enid. So she doesn’t pull away again. And Enid doesn’t leave, even as the sun begins to set.
Instead, she lays them both down and curls herself around Wednesday.
“I’m here to protect you. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”
Nothing could hurt her anyway, at least not fatally, Wednesday wants to point out. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply lays there and nods weakly.
She trusts Enid with her heart, and Enid cradles it so, so gently, like she was holding glass. Wednesday has never felt so grateful.