Chapter Text
Death has always been a tantalizing little thing. Wednesday has a penchant to all things pertaining to death. Something about its existence, how it can take many forms, is simply so fascinating. One day, Wednesday had prayed on a quiet night, death will come to me. Death will embrace me. When the day comes, she’ll be fulfilled.
That’s what she tells herself, at least.
“Where’s Enid?”
The words fall off her tongue in one, quick motion. Everyone surrounding her shares that same, dreadful look in their glances. Wednesday’s eyes rake over the sea of students before her, unable to find the sunshine under all the midnight.
“Where is she?” Wednesday asks again, voice thick with something she’d rather live a grueling, immortal life over than saying it aloud. Still, no one says a word. Her jaw ticks, all the pent-up exhaustion and fury about to spill until something taps her ankle once, twice—she looks down to see Thing trembling. So much, even, that it almost scares her. She kneels down to the appendage, leaning closer, like how a child might when they throw a coin in a wishing well. “Thing, you were with Enid, weren’t you? Where is she?”
Thing trembles more, sliding two fingers in turn.
“What do you mean she ran away?”
Thing swipes his nonexistent claws at her, then collapses to the dirt as if playing dead, then he stands on his fingers, shrugging with his thumb and little finger.
Wednesday pretends her voice doesn’t waver when she says, “You’re not making sense. Did she run away or did Tyler kill her?”
Thing goes berserk. He jumps and claws the dirt and suddenly halts all kinds of movement, going to Wednesday’s hand that’s resting on her skirt, weakly tugging her finger.
And Wednesday immediately understands.
“I’ll find her,” Wednesday reassures him. She stumbles as she stands, twitching at the pain on her shoulder. Compared to the unknown, this arrow wound was nothing. Not in the face of not knowing where Enid is or if she’s even alive, not ever. “Werewolves, follow any trace of Enid you can smell.”
Wednesday treads hurriedly towards the forest, and she knows the werewolves comply when she hears leaves crunching behind her.
The search is long and difficult. All of the werewolves smell Enid’s scent, they go to Wednesday, always telling her something along the lines of, “She was here,” or “I lost her scent,” or “I can’t find her.”
Dignity be damned—Wednesday’s vision is blurry with unshed tears. A weight is in her chest, an anchor deep in the ocean. The pounding beneath her ribs is louder than usual. Her muscles grow taut as if going through rigor mortis.
Wednesday might as well be dead, and not in the way she had prayed for.
“Wednesday,” another werewolf utters softly, placing a tentative hand on Wednesday’s uninjured shoulder. “It’s going to rain soon and the sun’s about to rise. We should rest.”
Wednesday shoves the hand away. “Keep looking for her,” she says, even though she knows better.
Eventually, it does rain. Hard. The sun is up but the skies are still gray. It takes Eugene to finally convince her to go to her dorm and, just, rest. She leaves the forest with an aching heart that rings in her ears.
———
Other than playing the cello, writing is one of the only things that helps Wednesday release the few emotions she feels. Despite being a silent one, she always has something to say—or, rather, write.
Tonight, her fingers refuse to move. She needs the noisy clicking of the typewriter’s keys to be a momentary distraction to the chaos in her head.
Wednesday takes a deep breath and lets her hands do the thinking.
———
This isn’t the death that I wanted.
———
The funeral happens a week later.
Yes, the funeral. Wednesday wasn’t even informed about it. This is the first funeral she isn’t looking forward to. She’s been prone to these useless, emotional outbursts these days. She doesn’t actually burst; she can still reign it in, but she’s always a thread away from snapping.
“It’s Enid’s funeral today,” Bianca had told her, an atrocious display of pity painted all over her face. “You coming?”
Of course, Wednesday’s only acknowledgement to that was shoving past her.
It’s infuriating. Enid’s corpse hadn’t been discovered or anything. That’s basically the code of conduct—no body, no funeral. Alive until proven dead.
But Wednesday comes to the funeral, wearing the snood Enid had given her.
Wednesday stares at her reflection in the puddle of water below her feet. For the first time, she loathes having all her clothes be so fitting for funerals. She wished she didn’t have any. Maybe then, she’d have an excuse not to come. Thing is, she went on her own accord, as absurd as it sounds. Part of her wishes Enid would show up.
Wednesday looks up, squinting at the blinding light of the sun. Today, out of all days, is the day the sun shines brightest. There’s even a rainbow over all their heads. Enid’s mom, Esther, hasn’t shed a single tear and has instead been muttering about how much of a hassle this all is, how Enid was a big disappointment.
Wednesday really wishes Enid would show up, too, just so she won’t kill this woman.
What’s equally maddening is how every Nevermore student seems to accept all of this so easily. They’re all here, acting as if Enid’s really dead. Acting as if there's no chance she's alive, when Wednesday knows she’s just somewhere out there, for, for whatever reason, but she knows Enid is alive and breathing and not—
A presence behind Wednesday makes her throw a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes meet another’s that resemble the ocean, one she had seen just hours prior.
“Just because we’re all here doesn’t mean we think Enid’s dead,” the corners of Bianca’s lips curl downwards. “We gotta comply with the Sheriff, Wednesday.”
Wednesday nearly gets a whiplash when she jerks her head at her. “What?”
“Didn’t he tell you first? This is all just an act we have to put up.”
Wednesday glances at Yoko who unexpectedly speaks up with an oddly authentic eulogy. Yoko says her speech in a voice thick with tears, and even behind those dark glasses Wednesday can see the grief in her eyes.
“An act, huh.” Wednesday scowls.
She hears Bianca make a disappointed sound with her tongue. “We’re still allowed to grieve openly, Wednesday—unlike you.”
Bianca leaves her side, and when the dirt hits the coffin, Wednesday chooses to stay.
———
Bianca’s words echo in Wednesday’s mind like how the pop music Enid plays on loop gets stuck in her head for weeks for some incomprehensible reason.
It does stop replaying in her head, however, when she visits the Sheriff.
Sheriff Galpin flips the newspaper, taking a loud sip of his coffee from behind it.
“I know you know I’m here, so stop pretending.”
“I’m busy, Addams.”
Wednesday shudders. Oh, if Galpin isn’t the Sheriff, she’d have throttled him already. “What did you tell Bianca and the other students to make them go along with whatever you’re up to?”
Sheriff Galpin relents fast. Wednesday quirks a brow at how he drops the newspaper and puts down the coffee. He sighs, leaning forward, opening his mouth. Wednesday girds herself.
“Tyler isn’t locked up.”
Wednesday’s eyes widen. “What—”
“Do you know what happens when you find out your own son is behind all the murders in the town you’re supposed to protect, Addams? You become conflicted. You start doing shit you know you’ll regret. But you do it anyway, because that’s the best decision at the moment?”
“You and your family issues aren’t my problem,” Wednesday deadpans, crossing her arms. “What did you do to make the funeral happen?”
The Sheriff ignores her. “You should know out of all people when to make the rational decision and when not to. You should know, too, that there’s always exceptions.”
“Get to the point, Sheriff.”
And then, what happens next is unaccounted for—Sheriff Galpin lets out an uncharacteristic laugh, getting on his feet and putting on his hat before he rounds the table to face Wednesday. Even with his taller height, Wednesday’s never seen him look so small. He looks down at her, eyebrows pinched and eyes soft. He looks almost—almost apologetic. “You wouldn’t wanna know.”
Wednesday dips her head suspiciously.
Sheriff Galpin glances downward, and Wednesday follows his gaze. He’s looking at the newspaper he had just been reading. It’s facing them, and Wednesday hadn’t noticed the headline, but the words written renders her absolutely speechless.
NEVERMORE WEREWOLF RESPONSIBLE FOR JERICHO KILLINGS
“You’re painting Enid as the hyde?”
“Jericho was on the brink of collapsing with the mayor dead and with all the falsely accused murders. And fine, Jericho needs Nevermore, and while framing one of the students—”
“One of my friends,” Wednesday emphatically adds.
“—is probably not an ideal way to keep this godforsaken allegiance, but it’s what’s holding both Nevermore and Jericho together.”
“You mean blaming all the killings on Enid, the innocent and missing werewolf, is saving you and your barbaric son?”
“Yes!” The Sheriff declares. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out the longest sigh Wednesday has ever witnessed. “It doesn’t look like it, but Nevermore needs Jericho too. How do you think that school’s existence is even allowed in the first place? We allow it. If the people— normies, in your dictionary—find out that a fellow normie is actually the one responsible for all the murders that happened, they’re all going to leave this place in a fucking jiffy. There’s nothing more terrifying than finding out the monster in your life is one dressed as a human. If Tyler was proven and disclosed as the hyde, no sane normie would want to stay here. There’ll be no more Jericho, no more Nevermore, and both of us wouldn't have a place to stay.”
“This plan of yours is only going to make Jericho’s allegiance with Nevermore all the more precarious,” Wednesday offers her two scents.
Sheriff Galpin shrugs. “Better than nothing.”
“I presume Nevermore students are banned from visiting Jericho.”
“Yeah, but the transactions will keep going.”
“Jericho won’t collapse, but you’re restricting the ones providing most, if not all, of its funds, from going here?”
“Yeah, and it’s also why you shouldn’t be here.”
Wednesday bites her tongue to restrain any sort of insult, but it’s a vain attempt. “I’ll tell everyone the truth, and I’ll still have a place to stay—my family’s home.”
“How would you even begin convincing any of the citizens that the Sheriff’s son is the actual murderer?”
Not for the first time, Wednesday is speechless. She shamelessly stares at the gun encased in the holster on the Sheriff’s belt. Sheriff Galpin does a peculiar, resigned movement with his arms, muttering, “There’s a reason why I didn’t tell you about this,” about to get the newspaper still spread across the table until Wednesday snatches it, shooting him a glare before making her leave.
———
Wednesday doesn’t immediately read the newspaper. Even when she’s stepped out of the precinct she can’t bring herself to read the whole thing. She knows everything she’ll read will make her experience a kind of wrath she’d never experienced before, and she isn’t prepared for that.
But curiosity is a pesky little creature that never fails to trap Wednesday.
And so she takes a quick peek at the body of text on the paper, and she must’ve done something unforgivable in her past life because the world won’t give her a break, because the first few sentences she sees are:
Tyler Galpin, Sheriff Galpin’s son, is presumed dead after encountering the hyde Enid Sinclair, a supposed werewolf student from Nevermore. Tyler Galpin’s body is nowhere to be found. The hyde appearance of Enid Sinclair hasn’t been exposed to the public. According to the Sheriff, there were no witnesses when the brutal murder happened, but Enid Sinclair was locked up and confessed to killing Tyler Galpin before dying shortly after for an unknown reason.
If it’s humanly possible, Wednesday’s certain her teeth are about to shatter from how hard she’s grinding them.
Wednesday turns on her heel, going to the only place— person —that’ll give her the answers she needs.
Only if that person is willing to, she thinks.
———
It’s a wild but plausible assumption that Wednesday made along the way, but she didn’t think she’d be right.
Wednesday stares past the window, peering inside the Sheriff’s house. Yes, she’s practically in Sheriff Galpin’s house. Yes, she may or may not be on the overlapping roof, staring at the very much alive Tyler-presumed-dead-Galpin whose shirtless, naked back full of scars facing Wednesday, seeming a little too peaceful for her liking.
Wednesday hates it.
She hates it more when, without so much as a glance, Tyler says, “You don’t have to hide.”
The window isn’t even open. Wednesday exhales, reluctantly opening the window and stepping inside. Definitely the worst thing to do, a not so wise decision, but does it really matter when this almighty bearer, the only person who could know where Enid is, is right before her?
“Hello, Tyler.” Wednesday bitterly greets.
“Hello, Wednesday.” Tyler happily greets.
Wednesday’s thinly veiled glare falls from Tyler’s face to the teacup he’s stirring. He’s here, in his home, half-naked and free, a smirk plastered on his face, while Enid is somewhere out there, probably naked and shivering, probably lost in the woods.
Wednesday really, really hates it.
“So,” Tyler crosses the room to plop down on the same chair he had sat on when Wednesday tended to his wounds. “What brings you here?”
And Wednesday can’t believe she ever liked this guy. She isn’t in the mood to dwell about that, not that she’d ever, which is why she goes straight to the point. “Where’s Enid?”
Tyler’s smirk widens. “I ate her,”
Wednesday bunches up the fabric of her skirt in her fist. Rein it in. “Where. Is. Enid.”
“I’m telling you, I ate her. And oh,”—he moans, and that deeply disturbs Wednesday, a huge rarity—”she was delicious.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?”
Wednesday eyes his scars. “In the state Enid put you in, I can.”
“With that kind of attitude, you’ll never know where Enid is,” Tyler tuts.
At that, Wednesday’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Checkmate. “So she isn’t dead?”
“You know, you're cute whenever you’re talking about your girlfriend,” Tyler chuckles. Wednesday shivers at the near fondness in his voice. He traces a particularly long gash across his face, eyes slitting at his own movement. “I gotta admit, she was strong. Very strong. You know how the saying goes—I may have lost the battle, but I didn’t lose the war. Sure, she beat me until I was weak enough that I transformed back to my human form, but she was equally as exhausted. I remember seeing her transform back to her human form, too. I saw her limp away before I passed out—”
In a blink of an eye, Wednesday is before Tyler and is pressing a dagger against his throat. “Just tell me where she is.”
“Woah,” Tyler reacts rather boredly, hands aloft in mock surrender. “Geez, at least let me finish talking.”
Wednesday tightens her grip around the dagger, but she pulls it back.
“So yeah, I saw her limp away, but that’s it. Don’t know where she went, don’t care. All I know is that with how many wounds I gave her, with that much blood loss…she’s bound to be dead once you find her— if you find her.”
Wednesday bites her lip, lifting her chin up while staring down at Tyler.
He only laughs. “You aren’t very good at being intimidating.”
A knock disrupts them. “Tyler?” Sheriff Galpin’s muffled voice says from behind the door. “Who the hell are you talking to?”
“Just myself, Dad,” Tyler says while staring at Wednesday, unblinking. “Give me a moment.”
“...Fine. Come down once you’re done, uh, talking to yourself. I bought some food.”
Then a period of silence follows with Tyler and Wednesday just staring at each other.
“I’m lucky, don’t you think?” Tyler crushes the silence. “To have my dad find out I’m a cruel monster, but still be loved by him so much that he’s framed a Nevermore student as the murderer, even under the already rocky relationship Nevermore and Jericho have.”
And there’s nothing more that ticks Wednesday off than that, because he’s right. Because Enid, the sweetest, kindest, most insufferable person she’s ever met could be starving right now, could be going through a death Wednesday should’ve received instead of her. Because Enid has a mother that even Wednesday covertly admits is worse than her own mother. Because Tyler is an actual monster undeserving of this life, and yet, somehow, he’s here, alive and breathing. Wednesday is with him and they’re both alive and if there was a book that taught how to give your own life to another, she’d try—no, she would relentlessly search for it and exchange her life with Enid’s. Because it’s all her fault that no one even knows where Enid is.
It’s her fault that she actually left Enid when she had the choice to stay.
It’s her fault.
It’s my fault.
Tyler tilts his head, another smirk stretching across his face. “Going through the typical guilt and self-loathing, are we?”
Wednesday loses this battle the moment she goes out the window and slams it shut.
———
Sleep is something Wednesday actively avoids. Unfortunately, she believes the normie saying that sleep is for the weak.
Except, oddly enough, she has been sleeping since Enid was missing. Today is no exception. But today, she finds herself staring at the ceiling longer than usual, sometimes staring at Enid’s furniture and stuffed toys she had to fight the other teachers not to take away right before Enid’s ‘funeral’, sometimes tossing and turning to avoid sleeping because she, for once, doesn’t want to have nightmares, the only thing she enjoyed when it comes to sleep.
Nightmares are not fun when it’s about Enid, and it’ll never be.
Eventually, Thing acknowledges this weird phenomenon happening to Wednesday and bravely confronts her about it. He softly taps her cheek, sliding a finger down her skin.
“No, I am not crying.”
He lightly slaps Wednesday. Wednesday stares at him, and she knows he instantly regrets what he did with how he backs away.
“Don’t accuse me of something that ridiculous ever again,” she says as she turns to the opposite direction of him, which is the direction facing Enid’s bed. Ugh. Why does Thing have to be on the other side?
Wednesday squeezes her eyes closed. Her lips form into a thin line when she feels Thing crawling over her head, slapping her once again.
Wednesday cracks her eyes open. “Are we really doing this right now?”
Thing jumps.
“I’m sleepy.”
Thing slaps her. Again.
“I’ll pierce you down on the table with a knife if you do that one more time.”
Now Thing flinches, shaking, and regret creeps into Wednesday's throat like a spider and covers her in cobwebs.
“I’m sorry,” Wednesday sits up and carries Thing on her palm. “You know I don’t mean that.”
Thing nods, patting her palm, caressing her wrist. It reminds her of a friend’s gentle touch.
It reminds her of Enid.
And damn it, Wednesday collapses like a broken dam. She lets herself tremble, lets a tear roll down her face, lets her face twist in a painful vulnerability. She looks up at the ceiling in an attempt to keep her tears from falling.
“This is ridiculous,” she chokes on her own tears, taking a deep intake of breath. “I’m going to kill Enid once I find her.”
Thing embraces her hand reassuringly, soon letting go and pointing at Enid’s bed.
Wednesday frowns. “I am capable of doing countless deranged things but sleep on Enid’s bed.”
She says that, but not even a minute later she’s on her feet, walking to Enid’s bed and laying down on it. Wednesday is stiff, humiliated by her own action, but it doesn’t take long for her to get comfortable. She buries her head in Enid’s pillow. Faintly, she smells that horrific shampoo Enid always uses. Her scent is so horrible, so disgustingly, inexplicably pink. One sniff and Enid’s fluffy, bob hair comes to mind; her infuriatingly supple skin Wednesday wants to touch; her rainbow-vomit nails that are enchantingly sharp; her blue eyes that contain the entire sky in them; her blinding smile that can compete with the sun.
Everything is Enid, Enid, Enid that it feels too real, too good to be true. And so Wednesday knows she must be dreaming right now—but she isn’t. It’s impossible. Only the nightmares are real. The only dream in her life is in human form with the name of Enid Sinclair. No thought or pillow is powerful enough to make Wednesday imagine she’s here, because she knows well that she isn’t.
Enid’s smell reaches Wednesday’s slumber, because all nightmares vanish. A dream happens. Enid comes back from the fight, filthy and bloody, against Tyler. She rushes to Wednesday and suffocates her in a tight embrace she never thought she'd reciprocate.
Wednesday prays that this is the kind of death she’ll never wake up from.