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1
Flu
Enid's chest raises in a steady three-beated thump, her aching body hitting the mattress each time miserably. A long groan manages its way out of her throat, half swollen and sore to the cruel world beyond.
"Enid, as much as I delight in the soothing music of human suffering, it has been non stop for an hour and I am finding it frustrating." Wednesday says, barely startling Enid.
Enid chuckles humourlessly, lolling her head out of its heap of blankets to glare at Wednesday sitting up in her own bed, a frown in her eyebrow at the late hour.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is my pain disturbing your precious sleep?" She asks sarcastically, a cough cutting into her voice.
"Yes," Wednesday says non-plussed, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and standing. "Now, will you kindly stop?" She asks, hands latched behind her back and staring pointedly like one might a particularly annoying child.
Enid blows a raspberry. "No."
Wednesday raises an eyebrow. "And pray tell, why not?"
Enid blinks. She ambles onto her forearms, thankful they hold her despite their fatigue. "You're serious?"
"I do not joke, Enid, please do not say such horrible nonsense."
"Wends, I'm sick." Enid says coolly, smiling despite herself at the obvious confusion marring moonlight features.
Wednesday was always so pretty in the gaze of the moon. Her two favourite ladies.
"Sick?" Wednesday tilts her head. "Is it boils? Plague? Famine?"
Enid furrows her eyebrows, thoroughly snapped out of her admiring. "What?—"
"—Shingles? Diphtheria? Malaria? If it's leprosy, we do have a family cure if you don't particularly care for your left foot —"
"—The flu, Wends, just a flu!"
Wednesday settles at that. "Oh. The influenza. Yes, that is common among the weaker immunity."
Enid narrows her eyes. "Gee, thanks. And I'll have you know, it's a werewolf flu. Not human. So much cooler." She doesn't bother letting Wednesday know how it's practically the same thing when not capable of wolfing-out, and collapses down again, curling into a ball as a round of violent shivers begin, hoping against hope she has satisfied the knowledge-hungry girl and she can suffer in peace.
No such dice.
Wednesday doesn't move away. In fact, with ears clogged from congestion and senses dull, Enid is only aware that the goth teen had moved across the tape barrier when she feels something hard prodding into her spine, and turns with one eye forced open to face the blunt tip of Wednesday's fencing sabre. She feels herself calming in the Raven's proximity, inhaling deeply and greedily committing it to memory as she snuggles deeper into her bedding.
So maybe the nesting instinct is still possible without ever having wolfed out.
Wednesday stares unblinkingly down at the werewolf, who rumbles with a purr in the proximity of the ornery girl.
"Why do you keep..." Wednesday motions with the sabre like she is horrified by the nervous response of Enid kicking at the blankets. "Doing that?"
Enid eyes the neat press of Wednesday's sheets that never actually look slept in and her mess of one's, tangled and twisted in her wolf's attempt at building a nest that doesn't quite suit her without Wednesday's scent.
"Hot, I guess. Cant really get comfortable." Without you. "When sick." Enid replies.
Wednesday hums, stepping back and using the handle of the sabre to balance her weight, free hand on her hip and one foot stacked atop the other. Her head is tilted, braids slightly mused and Enid realizes this is the first time she's seen Wednesday when she wasn't perfectly done up. Wednesday was the last to bed, and first up. Always.
Her heart takes a running leap, fingers lengthening into claws with a need to touch, to hold, to claim.
A whimper escapes her, unbidden and embarrassing.
"What do you need." Wednesday asks with a frown.
Enid stares at her, dumbfounded and fever-minded. "...need?"
"Yes Enid, for your ailment. My family has cures for near all things— the government has tried to kill and failed in the pursuit of stopping our inventions— but it seems I have failed you."
Enid cracks a smile at the idea that Wednesday finds herself personally accountable for not finding a cure to something that's been around since the dawning of time, simply because it was making her sick.
She's always known she's felt something for Wednesday— ever since she laid eyes on her, she knew that the gothic girl who looked at her like she snuck onto earth was her mate. Everything she was, everything she has ever been belonged to Wednesday.
But to tell her that... she couldn't. Because the entire time Enid's been thinking of being with Wednesday, Wednesday's been thinking about killing her, or maiming her, or solving worldly mysteries.
A rejected mate bond was... painful. Worse when you were sick, and the only thing that would help was having your mate close. But she wouldn't press Wednesday to want her— wouldn't tell her about a bond that made her feel forced in any way. If Wednesday were to choose her, it were to be on her own terms.
For now, she bites her tongue until it bleeds. But even still, the cold realization settles in her stomach that Wednesday only cared because Enid was keeping her up like a heavy brick. A whine forms high in her throat that she has to physically shake away, instead focusing on those jet black eyes that seem to be plotting the medical advancement of the decade on their dorm room wall.
"I'm okay, Wends. Just need some sleep 'sall." She says softly, trying to keep the heartbreak from her words.
Wednesdays eyebrows furrow, gaze snapping back to her instantly. "You're sure? There must be something I can do."
Enid smiles at her mate's worry, reaching out to twine Wednesday's pinky with her own. "Nope. Nothin' you or your magic powers can help me with tonight. Just crack the window a little? It's stuffy in here."
Wednesday's eyes fall to their pinkies, giving an experimental squeeze. Her eyes widen like she hadn't expected the squeeze back, but the little tilt to her lips tell Enid it's not totally unwelcome, either. She braces herself like she wants to say something more. Enid braces herself for the very real chance she will start to beg for Wednesday to stay if she does.
In the end, Wednesday offers a curt nod before twisting on her heel and moving for her side. She cracks open their split window as she goes, and quietly slips back into her wrinkle free bed.
Enid releases a breath that tastes a lot like ink and ash, and digs her claws into the mattress until she's trapped within thick foam and sharp springs and cannot go sleep-snatching her roommate, and eventually finds sleep in between the wracking cough and ache for something more.
When Enid wakes up, it's well into the afternoon and she thinks she may have acended into heaven. She gleams this when she lifts her head to blink groggily into the
the sweltering heat that only the midday sun can bring, and the fact Wednesday is no where in sight which the sun also tends to cause. But there is black—
She peers down at herself, and the long black blanket that's covering her, thick with Wednesday's smell fills her with a soporific calm, and then tantalizing fear.
Her heart stammers, wondering when her treacherous wolf body had stolen it. She flushes in embarassment, raising a hand from her side to press into her face that's warm but significantly less feverish then the night before thanks to the blanket. "God... please don't have seen.." she groans.
Enid lets out a long sigh after a moment, peeling her blankets off one by one to free her burning body from its bundle. She groans when she feels the air hit her sweat-soaked clothes, dropping her head back into the huge tangle of hair and sweaty pillowcase she might just burn once her flu has passed. She pulls Wednesday's blanket closer and around her shoulders, and sighs contently, nuzzling the warm fabric and hoping it swallows her whole.
She knows she shouldn't do this— that it only hurts the more she lets herself feel but she can't stop herself. She's absolutely consumed with everything Wednesday Addams, and will happily die on that hill anytime.
She more importantly knows she should shower, or at the very least wash her face and calls upon the power of Poe to get her there without collapsing, humming brokenly as she manoeuvres herself like a fragile puzzle to the floor. She yawns, rubbing at her eyes and trying to stave off the rest of her illness.
When she can stand the light, she wonders if she hit her head at some point because how did she not hear nor notice the giant gift basket in the middle of the room?
It rivals the window in diameter.
Gingerly, she wobbles over to it, peering through the black and grey gift paper for a card. Sure enough, an evelope with the Addams wax crest of a crow is spotted among the folds, and she carefully pulls it up and straightens herself.
She lengthens a claw, sighing at the strenuous action and makes quick work of unsealing the letter without doing any damage to the beautiful paper or the seal, and unfolds the typewriter paper she knows by smell alone.
Enid,
I am severely ashamed and thoroughly embarrassed to admit I have not atudied your species well enough. Those are two emotions I wish to never experience again, so I am off studying Lycan illnesses and any applicable catergory if you need me.
I am aware you said I cannot do anything for you, but i along with the help of Thing created something called a 'care package'. I hope it has everything in it that I cannot provide. From what I know of Werewolf Flu, you must nest and stay ventilated so do not worry about the window.
PS: you were shivering and whimpering in the night. I thought my blanket might relieve you of your chills. Feel free to keep it.
Sincerely,
Wednesday F. Addams.
Enid tucks the note to her chest, praying her heart had been made blank just for Wednesday to fill with whatever thought she had. Giddy, she turns her attention to the ostentatious bucket and begins tearing at the paper like Christmas came early.
The basket was flush with Flu essentials.
Halls (the raspberry honey flavour, though she never told Wednesday her hatred of any other) tissues, electrolyte rich drinks, cough medicine, freeze dried chicken heads, the foot of a rabbit... she inhaled sharply, fingers finding something plush.
Begrudgingly having to use both hands and release the grip on the letter, she reaches into the basket to free a stack of neatly folded clothes, Wednesday's scent especially strong.
"Oh my god!" She murmurs, fingers reverently running over the clothing bundled in her hands. "She gave me her clothes!"
She doesn't try and hide the excited yelp, as she begins jumping up and down. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god—"
There's a thump from below, and she barely flinches as the girl downstairs shouts, "Shut up, Sinclair!"
Enid rolls her eyes, skipping over to her bed to arrange her nest properly.
This was so nice. Did she want to kiss Wednesday senseless? Yes. But this, the gifting, the learning, the gentleness, this was good too. Her mate was taking care of her. She would take care of her mate too, even if they'd never be more than friends.
2
Allergies
Wednesday Addams wants to kill herself. Not actually— clinical depression owed her family for the next three generations, but she could reap the sentiment, for her body was betraying her.
The unflappable, ailment-free, Wednesday Addams— nefarious and ornery— was having an allergy atack.
Hives. Red, splotchy, raised and angry cover nearly every inch of pale, unbreakable skin. Not once did she even have so much as a hangnail, and yet now she scratches at the surface hard enough for tiny little crescents of midnight oil to dot her flesh in a show of weak humanity. It was sickening.
It itches unbearably so, to the point where Wednesday mildly considers taking a sawed off shotgun to the ankle just to relieve the hideous feeling that is beginning to cluster there.
She glares at her reflection in the mirror of the bathroom through a nearly swollen shut eye, scanning the exposed skin of her body that the mirror shows, the simple motion of moving her eyes making them itch relentlessly. She feels a bit squeamish at the random patterns formed in white wheels, the surrounding flesh pinking and hot. It would be far better to have those tiny crescents turn to open wounds, bloody and globule and real than this puffy, childish disgrace. The worst of it is on her sternum, skipping down to her thighs and stretching to the bottoms of her feet that feel thick and tight to add pressure to.
Oh, to be dealt the cruel blow of contact dermatitis simply because she used Enid's shampoo was a crux. On one hand, she now was faced with an allergy attack for the foreseeable future, but at least she was swamped in the strawberry and rose-y smell that was her roommate. It wasn't as overbearing as she had originally presumed the obnoxious blonde to have cloying about— it was less of a smell and more like a sensation in her nose, in her head, something too light to smell as much as to be felt. It was like the scent of jasmine on the breeze in spring, barely there and yet enough to flavor the day.
(A fact she will die for before is repeated.)
Her no tears shampoo had run out, and she hadn't the time to head into Jericho between fencing and her hyperfixation on her writing to replenish it. Hair such as hers needed diligent washing, it was completely understandable to borrow from the only person she could stand.
Oh god, her poor writing. Antihistamines slowed the nervous system, meaning she'd be as good at writing as Ajax was at social interaction by the time her writing hour rolled around.
Wednesday groans low in her throat, pushing away from the sink to shift her weight. Her eye twitches, a grimace cracking like webs along porcelain skin at the tingle spreading like a broken yolk over her tender skin. The hives are spreading due to the warmth from the electric heater by her feet, and she's helpless as a whimper escapes her.
Nearly immediately comes the sound of scuttling just outside the door, and a loud thud that could either be a body or a prized piece of electronic.
It would be far more appreciated if it had been Xavier crashing his new 2007 Rav 4 into the dorm with the engine running so the poisonous carbon would begin to choke her from the inside out. But more likely was the insipid dog playing fetch.
Here be danger, Fido.
There's a creaking outside the door where the floorboards hadn't been installed properly, and then a rapid tap of knuckles. "Willa? Are you okay in there?"
Wednesday rolls her eyes at the frantic urgency in the blonde's voice, forcing a breath out of her scratchy nose.
"Yes, I'm fine Enid."
There's a quick draw against the wooden paneling like a blade on oak, and a muttered curse that probably meant Enid had added another wound to their dorm.
There's more creaking outside, and Wednesday waits for the inevitable continuation as she tilts her head back with her tongue depressed to check for any closing airways or hives in her mouth.
"A-are you sure? Cause I have the whole," she can picture the flailing of hands during the pause, "Wolf hearing stuff and you made a noise that sounded like you were in distress and I can smell blood, so..."
Satisfied that there's nothing of dire emergency in her mouth aside the full set of molars and sharpened incisors the Addams' have for ripping apart flesh, Wednesday moves for the door and twists the knob open quickly. The gust of air that filters in is mildly soothing.
Enid nearly goes falling flat on her face, only stopping herself by grabbing onto the door frame and deftly avoiding a head on collision. She opens her mouth to speak, but her jaw stays stuck to the floor as she takes in the swollen and pinked version of her goth room mate. "Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?" She shouts, rushing forward with hands outstretched but never meeting skin.
Wednesday blinks her one eye that works, nodded tersely. "Contact dermatitis."
Enid blinks, her eyebrows scrunching as she tries to place the two words in her memory bank. Her eyes drift, stopping and widening at the sight of Wednesday in her boned bra and loose pants.
Wednesday grunts when she senses the warning tingle on her knuckles, eye twitching as she brings them up to face value and surveys the red slinking across.
"I require an antihistamine medication and calamine lotion. Fetch it please."
Enid coughs, but covers it with a sly smile. "I resent the dog joke but I'll let it slide cause you have a booboo."
She maneouvers herself behind the raven who's too busy watching the blood rush to the surface of her skin to care about the fingers very pointedly pushing her forward using her belt to avoid causing a breakout on her back. "Sit. Or lay, if you think you'd be comfortable and try and distract yourself."
Wednesday allows herself to be sat at the edge of the bed, her face contorted into a permanent grimace at the pressure of her inflamed skin against her pants. "I can't type. And I do not have the current patience that my light reading of War and Peace requires."
Pretty blue eyes blink, but this time there's no audible rumbling of cognitive gears when Enid just shrugs to the world at large like she didn't find this a worthy fight to be had. "Do you want some music?"
Wednesday groans exasperated, a noise unfamiliar to the werewolf who eeps and jumps back like she'd been personally attacked. "Your music would send me into anaphylaxis." She justifies.
Enid, with a hand to her chest tuts. "Rude, but okay. And I wasn't going to put on my music..." she fishes her phone out of her light wash jeans, tapping away at the screen and humming a tune Wednesday doesn't care to berate. Oddly, the sounds her insufferable roommate is making are not entirely intolerable.
Neither is the intense violin solo that pours into the dorm from the infernal circle Enid has taken to calling Alexa that Wednesday cannot seem to waterboard to death, not for a lack of trying, and the raven finds herself even more perplexed by it.
"Is this..." she blinks, and she bites her cheek to stop from rubbing at it like a fat-fisted toddler. "Franz Gordon?"
Enid's skin pinkens, her head dipping down to be halo'd by cotton candy and wheatgrass. "Uh, yeah, I guess? I mean I heard you listening to him before." She snaps her head up, but her feet move restlessly against the floor, each with its turn to stub. "And I asked Thing once what it was 'cause I know my music is annoying to you sometimes more than others and wanted to be prepared, so I made a playlist."
She spins her phone around for Wednesday to see, the squared image of a black cat stares back at her above a list of names she's sure Enid could not spell.
She stubs the left foot now. Wednesday looks from the phone to the blushing werewolf to the toe of her old Vans that are likely to scuff the hardwood of her side. But she doesn't quite find the rebuttal on her tongue as it slowly begins to swell. She doesn't find she has anything negative to say at all, in fact.
The gesture was... thoughtful, in a school of the mindless.
"Enid."
There's a nervous little hmm in response.
"The medicine, before my throat closes and I axphixiate and die."
Enid snaps her fingers, eyes wide, "Oh right! Of course! Gosh—" slaps herself in the head and sharply turns on her heel, "Duh.. I'll be back in a jiff! Thing!"
The little hand pops out from his den beneath the bed skirt and Enid smiles fondly down at him, "Make sure she doesn't scratch at herself."
He offers a two finger salute, diving beneath the bed and scampering out half a second later with a spray bottle that had some ominous green liquid inside that even Wednesday's eyes widened at, shrinking back in fear just to wince as she presses into a hive.
"Be back in 10!" And then she's off, the door slamming on its hinges and nothing but the soothing piano instrumentals and the certain promise of skin poisoning if she gives in to human temptation to keep her company.
Her throat tightens, almost like her body relishes in the suffering it causes her after years of forgetting to eat and pushing herself to sleep only the necessary 3 hours it required for basic functioning.
Wednesday sighs, long and heavy. But she smells like Enid, so if that would be her last breath she would die a happy woman.
God, she wanted to scrap the day from her memory with a potato peeler.
Two things occur to Wednesday then.
One, she had forgotten to re-braid her hair that hangs loose and dripping around her shoulders like some sort of sea creafure.
The next is her roommate's forewarned enhanced senses.
It's too late to do a thing about either, as Enid comes bounding back in moments later and takes a long deep inhale that she holds in her lungs, eyelids fluttering shut for just a moment before ochre replace soft blue.
Wednesday feels colour, perhaps a nice smoke grey tint her cheeks and tilts her head to the ceiling as to conceal it.
She points at Wednesday, excitedly bounding on her heels.
"You smell like me. And you're so pretty—"
For the second time, the unflappable Wednesday Addams feel bowled over as a surge of something anxious and static floods her system. She doesn't know why— why Enid's insistent gaze is so much brighter then usual, or why her smile is causing bats to flurry in her chest cavity but she has the horrible feeling of opening it and fishing out her life-pumping organ to present as a mating gift to the blonde.
She certainly knows, she can not focus on this right now.
All at once, she bursts forward in an impressive feat of speed and back to the safety of her side, ripping apart the box and tearing into the packet of Claritin. She swallows the white tablet, sighing in relief that the large puppy had the foresight to not purchase the pink Benadryl. Perhaps she was smarter than her doe-eyed act made her seem.
She carefully pours some calamine lotion into the palm of her hand, applying a generous layer to the bothersome welts on her ankle to start.
When she finishes five minutes later, Enid still stands with those wide ochre eyes fixed on her.
Wednesday tightens the bottle cap, much calmer as the medicine begins to work its sedative magic. "You alright?" She asks needlessly. She was an expert in the Lycan's emotional wellfare, but the question seemed to fall heedlessly from her lips.
Enid shakes her head rapidly, a brilliant flush to her cheeks. "Nope! I mean— yes; yep, I'm all good! Just uh..." she stammers, tripping over her own feet as she backtracks for the dorm door. "Need to go visit Yoko!"
The corner of Wednesday's lip downturns. "Yoko isn't here—"
"—bye Willa!"
The door thuds. Wednesday's heart, too, rattles against her chest. She feels hot all over, and for once she's unable to blame the allergies. No allergies could burn her under such doting attention. Nothing could heal her quite the way Enid's presence did.
Wednesday sniffs, trying in vain to shift into a more comfortable position and finds her eyes drifting across the dorm to the eyesore of a side. Having crossed over the few weeks prior had given her horrible allergies that she had been able to deal with in silence.
She finds another thing cracking across her face when she lands upon her blanket, tucked in among the fray like a protective layer. She starts when she realizes it's a smile.
The unflappable, ailment-free, Wednesday Addams— nefarious and ornery— didnt want to cause the blonde any further stress after being sick.
What's wrong with her?
She's not sure whether her mind has been twisted somehow, if the colour dyed in the shampoo had sunken into her skull and began to eat away at her brain, because she finds that the appreciative glance Enid had given her earlier was the cause for the warming of her skin, and not the flush of histamines.
The last time they touched had been when Enid had linked their pinkies, and it made Wednesday's gums ache the longer she was deprived.
She wanted to laugh, or to scream, or to yes— kill herself because she had become so horribly touch starved. Perhaps she had always been. Perhaps she had only started being when she met Enid.
A lot had charged since she met Enid.
She had changed since she met Enid.
Finally, as if it had all been too much, Wednesday collapsed back on her bed, moaning and covered her face with a pillow.
Without a doubt Enid would be beloved and taken in as one of her family’s own once they caught wind of her. Morticia would have all their ancestors portraits be repainted to be smiling down upon her. God, the horrors never seem to cease.
3
Broken Bone
"I am going to perform an amputation. Thing! Bonesaw!"
"No, Thing!" Enid shouts, barreling into the room out of breath, pointing accusatorially at the disembodied creature and sweating. "No Bonesaw! Or Skinsaw or any saw for that matter!"
Thing taps frantically against the ground. Enid braces her hands on her knees, keeling over with an empathic groan. "Yes of course the Saw franchise is fine, we love Jigsaw and I'm totes making you him for Halloween!"
She says cheerily, springing up like she hadn't just barreled across town and back before Wednesday realized she was alone and technically free, like an insufferable cat.
How Wednesday, usually so deft in her every movement and rife with elegance had broken a bone was mostly the fault of faulty forge design. Where the metal should have been strong enough to withstand the constant pressure Wednesday's hammering had applied, simply had not been.
Wednesday will swear up and down it had nothing to do with the malevolent spirit haunting the forge, and all to do with their smithing teachers complete lack of respect for the ghost and it's simple demand of a goat's head for sacrificial rite.
Thing merrily trots off now that the babysitter has arrived, leaving the werewolf to her persisting horror; a broken-dominant hand Wednesday, who sits with her left arm propped upon several pillows and scowls from her position in the middle of the bed with all the fury of a small cat.
Enid kind of wants to laugh at the cute absurdity of it all, but manages to restrain herself.
Wednesday wants to wring everyone's throat in close vicinity, but that would require both hands.
"I'm going to perform an amputation. Perhaps I can have my hand join Thing in creaturehood." Wednesday says, crossing her feet in defiance.
"Aww, but then how would you ever be able to murder me?" Enid coos, tugging the hoodie Wednesday had gifted her when she had been sick off, tossing it onto her bed where it seldom remained before dropping down onto the bed.
Wednesday had stolen one of Enid's monochrome squishmallows as justice. Enid pretends she doesn't notice her perfume bottle slowly emptying, while the squishmallow mysteriously remains smelling like her.
Her mate was a thief. It made her heart swell.
"You'd be surprised the skill one adapts in dire times." The goth huffs, rolling her head back until it bangs loudly against the wooden headboard. "The boredom will kill me before I am free of this torture."
Enid had about 15 minutes of time to collect supplies before Wednesday had arrived back to their dorm from the hospital, which had been just enough time for the threats of self harm to begin. Thankfully, her werewolf speed gave her the upper hand in acquiring all Wednesday would need to survive the next 8 weeks.
She belly rolls and flails to grab the plastic bag abandoned on the floor, biting off the pleasant purr building in her throat when Wednesday's good hand lands on her ankle and grips in support. She lingers, just to feel, half spilling off the bed before vaulting back onto her knees and dumping the contents of the bag onto the comforter behind the pillow mountain, obstructing Wednesdays line of sight.
Wednesday clicks her tongue reprovingly, but Enid sifts through the contents undeterred. "Okay, so the cast is gonna get super itchy so I got you this bendy ruler to get all the best places." She says, finally settling on an adequate object to present to the raven.
Wednesday quirks an eyebrow, stretching to grab the proffered item. "Cant I just use a knife?" She asks, inspecting the fit of the plastic between the plaster and her flesh.
"Sure if you like infections! I also got you this cute little light-thingy that clips onto your book so you don't have to deal with the lights, and a new charger for your phone since you keep losing it in case you wanna jot down any ideas— Oh I also got you this pumpkin candle in this ceramic bat thingy cause it's almost fall and it's so cute and this bag thingy that you slip over the cast so it doesn't get wet, and of course some of your favourite snacks.... And this one you might not like—"
"—kill me, please."
"—but it's a personal fave. And absolutely a necessity."
With a grin that promises bloodshed, Enid lifts her hands from behind the colossal pillowy mountain to reveal the many markers spread like cards between her claws, bright and horrifying to the felled raven, who shifts the weight to her elbow to push herself higher up and away.
"You're not drawing on my cast."
"But—"
"—do you not remember my allergy attack? I do."
Enid grins slyly, "How could I forget how pretty you looked that day?"
Wednesday's eyes widen comically, and Enid barrels on before the goth can try and distract her. "Plus— the colour won't even touch you! It'll be on the cast!" sensing her tactics aren't working, Enid does the unthinkable.
That damned pout.
Wednesday snarls.
"Per l'amor di Dio— fine! But nothing... Enid-y."
"Aww, you're doing the thingy thing now too!"
Grinning triumphantly, Enid flops down onto Wednesday's bed, landing on her stomach and jostling the pillows. The goth shoots her a warning glare. "What would be a satisfactory murder for the almighty macabre Wednesday Addams, if not death by adoration?"
"You really wish to know?" She asks, dipping her chin and looking up at the blonde from beneath her eyelashes.
Enid swallows heavily, nodding as she uncaps a purple marker to begin drawing, pulling the cast taut like skin for no reason other than to steady her hand.
"Though I wish it to be fantastic: something harrowing and tragic, I wish to be peaceful in my last moments. I wish to see the faces of those I love, and feel secure that while I have perished; shall means they live on."
Enid's gaze flickers from the skull she's working on to fix warmly, ochre and heavy like it had been so many weeks ago, a balm to Wednesday's every wound. Something flickers there— not quite shock, but more. Always more.
"That's... you're incredibly sweet, you know that?"
Wednesday feels her body warm at the praise, spoken so easily like the words are made just for her to hear. Her eyes follow the pen strokes of the particularly gruesome artwork. "Well aren't you just full of surprises, Sinclair."
She notices the smile toying on her face, soft and proud. Wednesday bites at her lip, realizing Enid had successfully distracted her from her downward spiral by willingly walking into the dragons den and then setting up camp within its maw.
No one ever got close enough without fear of a tooth snagging.
Enid giggles softly, shifting her weight to fit more comfortably along the column of pillows and wraps a hand around Wednesday's bicep, bracing.
The static felt up her arm made Wednesday hum. Enid was set on her task, even lowly singing and didn't notice her gaze as Wednesday took in every inch of her face. This was so... nice. The closeness. The doting. The constant flow of thoughtfulness.
Did she still feel absolutely riddled with confusion? Yes. But this, the mundane care, the talking, the feeling, it was all so much better than she had ever thought she would get to feel. Especially after breaking arguably her most important bone. How had Enid known to calm her? Even Wednesday wouldn't have known that colour.... Colour on a cast. Colour in her space. Colour in her face and in her chest.
That thing— static and anxiety whirls through her again like sparkling water.
The something too strong to be felt and too powerful to name clings to every broken piece of her soul, tacking them together in the same pretty pink that Enid's hair is coloured, that her face matches so often.
"We take care of each other a lot, you know." Wednesday murmurs, watching with breath held in her lungs to not disturb the vital semi-circle being doodled on her arm.
Enid glances up, felt tip leaving tiny, careless and uneven dots that Wednesday does not hate (because they look like the freckles abridging Enid's jaw). "We do. We even take care of each other when we're actively dying." She clicks the green marker into its cap, fishing around the mess of them for the crimson. She puts it between her teeth and tugs, humming as she puts the felt to plaster.
"So then, are you going to ask me out on a date?"
If she hadn't been so focused on Enid's lips to see them move she would have thought she had heard things. She gaped, her mouth hanging open in a very unladylike manner.
She had thought this before, but suddenly it felt so much truer. The girl that she had thought she was in the beginning, the stupid insolent creature constantly making a mess was just not who Enid was. She was always in the way, but not in such a bad sense.
The smirk that came to her lips was joyous, if not a little playfully cocky. She leaned in close.
Wednesday cleared her throat, grabbing for the marker in Enid's hand. Enid frowns in confusion but it's only for a second as Wednesday lofts her broken wrist, carefully catching Enid's chin with the back of her fingers and beckoning her closer. She liked the softness of her skin, she thought, the warmth. It made her want to stretch her body over Enid's and steal all of it. Her confusion melts into gleefulness, her purr from earlier steady in her chest as Wednesday uses her right hand to draw shaky lines stretching across the werewolf's lips in a red joker smile.
"I want to kiss you but I don't want to make you sick again," Enid croons, her face flushing prettily at the admission.
Wednesday stares back at her unblinkingly for a moment, searching. But she's grown tired of trying to find, and instead decides to feel.
She tosses the marker aside, uncaring about the fact her clothes and bed were rapidly staining. "I still have Claritin." She murmurs, eyelids fluttering as Enid repositions herself so an arm traps either side of the raven's body.
Enid hums, squinting as she hovers over Wednesday before trailing her lips over the smooth skin of her cheek. Wednesday sees constellations painted behind her eyelids. "Like that?" she asks, lips still pressed to Wednesday's cheek as she talks, every syllable sending a shiver down Wednesday's spine. Wednesday shakes her head slowly, eyes still closed.
Enid moves her mouth to press at the warm of Wednesday's forehead, "How about there?" Wednesday shakes her head again, tilting her chin up. Enid shifts down and Wednesday can feel her warm breathe against her lips. Delights in the flurry of bags in her chest. "Would this be okay?"Enid asks, lips nearly brushing Wednesday's as she breathes the words.
Standing on the precipice, feeling and wanting, Wednesday threads her good hand in honey coloured hair, finally bridging the tentative distance.
Their lips touch and Enid's mouth is surprisingly soft against hers, mouth closed as she nudges against the bow of Wednesday's top lip. Enid tastes sweet, like mulled wine and sugarcane, and Wednesday moves her hand to press right above Enid's heart, to feel the thrum of Enid's pulse against her palm.
Real. Hers.
Enid let out a small mouse speak of a sound, her hand having found Wednesday's cast.
God, so soft, so breakable.
And then..
Enid is throwing herself off of Wednesday following the telltale sound of cracking plastic.
"Did you just—"
"—I'm sorry I didn't mean to!"
"—You pierced my cast with your claws!"
Enid looks horrified. Wednesday thinks she might be in love, looking down at the cotton and plaster that covered her broken bone like dust.
"Wait here! I'm gonna go get the nurse!" Enid shouts, darting out of the room in a flurry of fangs and claws.
Yes, Enid would make an exceptional addition to the Addams family, Wednesday thinks to herself as she eyes the lump where smooth bone should be. Enid would surely help tear the ancestral portraits into lovely little ribbons.