Chapter Text
Wednesday hated all things colorful and loud. From birth she had only tolerated black and its shades, occasionally throwing in something white for colorless contrast. The only other color she could stand was red, specifically the shade of crimson that was freshly spilt blood. She adored it almost as much as she loved black.
She found herself even more in love with the color as it soaked into pretty blonde hair and dripped down soft, rosy cheeks. Nothing warmed her cold, dead heart like someone she cared for wearing the blood of her enemies. And it appears Enid had wormed her way onto the list of the very few people Wednesday cared for.
After the initial shock from the fight had worn off, and Enid and Wednesday has returned to their dorm, the two went their separate ways to shower. Wednesday, as usual, took their attached bathroom as Enid made her way down the hall to the additional floor bathrooms. She felt bad for having made Enid go to the far showers, but she was still lightheaded from blood loss and wasn’t sure if she could have made it all the way there.
In the shower, she watched as pink tendrils slithered down her body and into the drain. When the water ran clear, she began scrubbing. It was methodical, making sure to scrub extra anywhere the Hyde had touched her. Her fingers came up to linger at her lips and she shuttered. Before coming to Nevermore, she very rarely had regrets. Since arriving, however, she seemed to be having quite a few.
It wasn’t till she was drying off did she realize she still had a gaping wound from the arrow in her shoulder. Luckily, only the head had gone in, leaving an inch and a half crater in her otherwise blank skin. She forgoed putting on her shirt, simply shrugging on a bralette and her pants before walking out of the bathroom to address her wounds. It wasn’t the first time she’d have to stitch herself up.
To her surprise, however, Enid had already returned. Wednesday had to say she was disappointed that all the blood had been washed away, but glad that her roommate looked to be in a much better condition. When she walked further into the room, Enid looked up, puffy eyes suggesting she had cried in the shower. She quickly wiped her eyes and stood when she saw Wednesday, rushing over.
“Wednesday, your shoulder. You need to go to the nurse, like right now.”
She almost wanted to laugh at the idea of not being capable of fixing her own wounds, but the sheer concern Enid displayed stopped her.
“I’ve stitched up many injuries far worse than this, I’ll be fine. It would be helpful if you could get my first aid kit from under my bed, though.”
As expected, the she-wolf instantly clamored toward the other side of the room, dropping to her knees to pull out the velvet medical bag hidden below. She quickly brought it over, ushering Wednesday to sit on her bed.
“At least let me stitch you up. You look exhausted and I have experience stitching my brothers up.”
Wednesday had never let another person stitch her up, but her exhaustion was starting to set in and her body could only handle so much. She gave a hesitant nod and Enid scrambled to begin.
She was shocked at the speed and delicacy Enid was displaying as she effortlessly threaded the curved suture needle and ran an alcohol wipe across her skin. When Wednesday flinched, an uncontrollable motion, Enid whispered a hurried apology before warning her that she was going to start. Used to this, Wednesday sat stock still, slumped slightly forward as Enid stitched away. Before realizing it, she had leaned further and further, until her forehead rested against Enid’s shoulder.
She made an aborted motion to sit up but Enid just shushed her and gently rubbed the back of her head to dissuade her from moving.
“Just relax, I’m almost done.”
And Enid hadn’t lied. Just minutes later Wednesday was sutured shut and had a bandage applied almost as good as her own handiwork. Still suffering from vertigo, Enid helped her lay down and pulled the sheets over her, even arranging her arms the way Wednesday liked them and whispered ‘goodnight’ before retreating back to her own side of the room. Wednesday didn’t have a chance to respond, or even think of a response, before her brain succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep.