Work Text:
Wednesday was reticent to link the two things together.
She downright refused. Had combed through every single student of Nevermore within the last hundred years to rule out generational play, had sorted through archives of residents and even when faced with a blearly but clear photo Thing had taken of Enid, ambled up alongside a tree, of her snapping the latest photo from a mirage of unnamed numbers- she still denied it.
She was steadfast in her refusal. Had continued living as though she hadn’t been handed the smoking gun in her investigation. Had shrugged off Enid’s concern for the sentient’s hand refusal to be near, because even if Wednesday was refusing to believe it, Thing knew.
And oh, how the joint of his ring finger that would have presumably led to his heart ached at learning one of his two favourite humans could do such a thing.
But it’s too much. It’s too clear. Every red thread leading back to the blonde werewolf who slept happily in her bed while Wednesday lay awake at night, tormented, was wrapping itself tight as a coil around her neck and she loathed to be suffocated in such a way. Terrified the stalker would outright hurt her roommate, nonplussed at a potential harm to her own well being.
There were photos of Enid evidently in them, but Thing had pointed out every bit of it leading to a security footage screenshot (should Enid be so smart) or, likely, a tripod.
After weeks agonizing, staring at the photo of Enid taking a picture of her and Xavier on a stroll in the woods, did she finally snap.
“Why would you do this.” She asks, her face carefully devoid of emotion with just her voice cracking, uncertain and almost hurt.
Enid doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t question what Wednesday means. She whines, pitifully, curling in on herself even as she advances to their invisible barrier. It irked Wednesday how that boundary was to be respected, when everything else was nonexistent to the werewolf.
“Why.”
Wednesday says again, barely concealing the anger that twisted her insides, incensed at how little she could gain from nearly two years of living alongside her room mate.
Enid has tears in her eyes, on her cheeks, staining the sleeves of her sweater as she wipes at them over and over again.
“Because I couldn’t have what I wanted and that- it drives a person crazy.” She says, all but baying
Enid hovered at their invisible line, hands clasped in front of her, as she fidgeted back and forth, watching as Wednesday lifted herself from her chair, scraping it back in a way that made the wolf’s ears tweak from the loudness to stop right in front of her.
She felt sub-psychotic. “What is it you wanted, Enid.” And she says it calm as ever, though her teeth are clenched in a way that she feels a jolt in her jaw- a warning of injury.
But she hadn’t been very good at warnings lately.
Which was inconceivable. How couldn’t she be? She had always been apt to her surroundings.but she had let heself be caught off guard. Or perhaps it had been infatuation, or morbid curiosity, or some undiagnosable disease that was a parasite eating at her brain-
She was reeling. She wanted to both throw up and drag her nails against the wall until her fingertips were raw and bloodied marks were left, deep grooves that reflected the ones she felt in her body.
These grooves were horrid. They didn’t bleed. It would help to bleed. Because it would heal. That is how wounds worked- and despite widespread belief, she was human and still did feel physical pain and knew how the body worked.
She was simply stronger than the pain.
And if a wound did not bleeed- there was no relief. There was no surefire way to know her body may be expelling the toxin that had entered her. There was no visible knit of flesh, or the itch of healing she could choose to pick at until it scarred should she be interested enough in the cause.
There was nothing, except deep, hard, grooves. Deeper then scar tissue, and disfiguring enough she had to be missing a chunk of her body.
And she was stronger than the pain. But this?
She had heard several times emotional pain was more debilitating than physical. But this was beyond living up to expectations. This was a type of suffering she had never been acquainted with, and did not know how to cope with.
That is how Wednesday worked. The pain she experienced that she did not react to was practiced. Electrocution? She had done it a dozen times. Waterboarding? She had done that a hundred times and had simply learned to hold her breath.
This? Betrayal? It was inorganic. It was not a palpable pain. Not one she could see. And that was worse.
Worse than being stabbed and resurrected. Because she could see the sword. She could see her ancestor before she had plunged inside of her.
This? There was no entry point. No wound to balm.
This was Enid.
“I…” Enid starts, her eyes wide and filled with tears and something far deeper. An emotion Wednesday could not dechiper. Something her power could not have forewarned. “I want you, Wednesday.”
Manic. Obssesion. Love.
Wednesday doesn’t blink. She will let her eyes ache, be dry like a socket after a tooth extraction, before she takes her eyes off the girl in front of her.
She was worried she may miss something, like looking away from a car wreck.
“You want me?” She finally manages to say, swallowing thickly.
“I- of course I want you. I’ve wanted you since we met. God, Wednesday,” the werewolf flaps her arms like props: knowing she’s doing it but helpless to stop it, “Since the day we met I’ve been addicted to you. Drawn and just… I need you and it’s so much, all the time. Every moment my body, like, aches? Like it feels like a sore muscle being pressed.”
“So you’ve stalked me. Tormented me.”
“You torment me!” Enid says, her eyes widening even further as she quickly amends, “Not that what I did was right.. it’s not, and I’m… I’m so, so sorry Wednesday. I just… I didn’t know what to do- it’s in my head, the ache? It makes me sick.”
“I sicken you?”
“No! God- you don’t get it- I want you so horribly that I can’t function. I- I can’t breathe without you. Like, if you’re gone too long my chest is too heavy. If you’re not with me I- I want to scream until it calls you back.”
Wednesday cants her head, just barely, but she feels quite like a dog that tilts its head to hear better, in an effort to understand the unfamiliar language spoken.
“Do you… wish to harm me?”
“Harm?” Enid actually looks like she’s about to faint. Her knees buckle until she’s awkwardly bouncing on the spot, her body swaying without rhyme before she can speak, though it’s breathy and forced. “God no- I want to protect you. And I know you don’t need it- I know you’re strong and it’s… it’s a need, Wednesday. To hold you, to kiss you, to just… I want to consume you like you do me. Be all you think about, all you care about.”
Wednesday finally blinks. “Oh.”
Enid looks close to tears, her knees now shaking. “Oh?” She repeats on a hiccup of a sob.
“You…” Wednesday tilts her head back slightly, just enough to release the pressure of her tense muscles. She wants to cough, but there’s nothing to cough up. Perhaps her sense? “You are afflicted.”
“…well, yes.”
“Like my mother my father. You become violent with the need.”
She can practically hear Enid swallow. Hears the shifting of shoes on creaky floorboards, can sense nail picking without even looking. She knows Enid, as a bitter a thought as it feels at the moment.
“I never thought I would be my father in this scenario.” Wednesday huffs, finally tilting her head forward to glower at Enid who whimpers beneath the intensity of her stare. “I have long loathed becoming my father. Simpering little man, he is. Are you telling me I simper, Enid?”
The blonde blinks several times, standing to her full height and offering a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t.. know?”
Wednesday groans. It’s an unfamiliar noise, to which they both flinch. Enid from the unfamiliarity, Wednesday from the realization. “I suppose I do. I check in on you.. remind you of dates you may be late for, ensure you’ve eaten, curl into myself when you’re gone…”
Wednesday is pacing.
Enid is staring in horror at the sight, wanting to reach out and far too scared to.
“My mother’s love is sick. Obsessed. All consuming and maddening, possesive and prolific. My father is a sad little man, begging at her feet and yearning.. by god, the yearning is terrible. He would consume her whole if he could.”
Wednesday grimaces, her face forming into a scowl at the bitter words on her tongue. “You want me because you are afflicted with my mother’s disease. And yet I am my father.”
“I… what do you mean? He’s very… affectionate.” Enid says, cringing at the words.
“Yes. But he wasn’t the persuer, no. My mother was. He was so aloof in his love, assuming it had already been known, so he hadn’t courted her until she had forced the facts to him. I wish the higher beings would strike me down: aloof as a writer and a raven. How absolutely vile.”
Enid doesn’t respond for a while. Watches Wednesday pace back and forth, murmuring to herself in a mix of French, Italian and Spanish. It looks almost like a song and dance how Wednesday performs it; all graceful steps and regal dialect.
Eventually, she steps forward, toeing the border of their line. “You.. are you saying you.. love me?”
Her voice is soft, barely audible aside the squeak on the last syllable, and in her polluted mind, Wednesday stops and turns. Blinks. “I have professed such, yes.”
Enid scoffs, “you absolutely haven’t!”
“As I’ve said, I do not care for anyone which is something Xavier has iterated to me, but with you I care enough to remind you of your lateness. I ensure the window is closed as you sleep so you do not rise before your alarm as you are restless at night. I hugged you.” Wednesday emphasizes with a simple huff.
Enid’s eyebrows raise. “Well that’s not quite a profession… but..”
Wednesday clenches her teeth. “He bares some teeth and tears some skin. But, the dog you really got to dread Is the one that howls inside your head It's him whose howling drives men mad And a mind to its undoing…”
Enid narrows her eyes, “Did you just quote a Broadway musical at me? Right now?”
Wednesday comes to toe the line too, her eyebrow quirking briefly, head canting to the left in a sign of recognition. “I did. Your effect on me has been disastrous.”
Enid finally smiles- and Wednesday wants to sigh in relief, or perhaps collapse all together under such a heavy day- but she doesn’t.
“Should we alert the king?” Enid hums, eyes twinkling in the low light.
Wednesday had gotten adept at learning this modern world’s lingo, so for once she wasn’t wholly unprepared for whatever horrors escaped Enid’s face.
“This is wigging you out, isn’t it?” Enid says, her lips worrying into a frown.
“Hm? Ah, yes, the proverbial elephant. Well I wouldn’t have ever considered my stalker to be someone so close to me…” it’s spoken slowly, like Enid is an idiot and now she’s waiting for a climatic laughter.
Enid rolls her eyes, before averting them all together. “Well, I guess I should go now…” and slowly makes for the door.
“Wait.” And it’s on a desperate note, the voice of a younger, more vulnerable version of herself seeping through her words, like squash being released into water. She thought she had had this part of her surgically removed?
Wednesday huffs.
"You want me to stay here?" Enid asks, confused.
This time, Wednesday inclines her head just slightly.
Leaning on the post of her bed, Wednesday folds her arms across her chest, attempting to look perfectly relaxed, even though she doesn't feel it.
"You shouldn’t," Wednesday answers, slowly making her way to the door where Enid stands, touching everything she passes as though she needs to keep a tangible hold on something to stay here.
Enid waits for Wednesday to look back at her, worrying her bottom lip, but she doesn't seem to want to. Her eyes are fixed firmly on the floor. After a moment, Wednesday admits, “But I want you to.”
Wednesday lifted her gaze once she was stood in front of Enid, taking in her features, eyes intently tracking the soft manner with which Enid bit her lip. The raven slowly brought her hand up, dislodging Enid’s bottom lip from the prison of her upper teeth, carefully soothing the battered skin with her thumb. She felt a shiver from the girl beneath her touch.
This girl had caused her so much strife over the months. Had even somehow manipulated the pigmentation in a strand of her hair to turn white. This girl was possibly evil, and clearly mentally deranged.
Wednesday hums contently. Yes, this would be her girl.