Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My Dearest Enid Sinclair,

For the first time in years, I didn’t dread my steps coming back to the confinement of education. Mostly, I found it a familiar crime scene, where I could identify places of buried bodies. But some parts of me discovered that I became impatient to return because I could not deny the…thrill of standing face to face with you in the comforting contrast of our room. In solitude, shared between us, your chattering is the music.

So, I found it disappointing when I entered our shared chamber to find disruptive echoes—not from your odd choice of music, but more so about the company you choose to bring. This was supposed to be our reunion, or greetings after so long not being in contact. The growing feeling of uneasiness and seething anger that soon dissipated with your, too much too high, cheerful greeting for me. Vibrant emotion was my enemy, but I found that I  tolerated craved it from you.

Your hair was different than the last time I saw you. Still, you exhibit more radiance than I’ve ever remembered. The beauty that I was not able to voice out. The darkness in my mind would prevent me from recalling all the lights that came with your presence. A blinding force—yet I couldn’t look away, I refused to look away from you. Soon, I will let you know with the voice that couldn’t be mustered for now.

You gave me a present, a hideous choice of clothing, choices that were endearing if it was on you, not so if it should be in contact with my skin. Nonetheless, I felt your joy, so I ought to return it with the memento of my exhilarating journey, a doll that reminded me of you, not of similarity, but of the vibrance and softness of your hair. You took it and put it with your other horrendous color-bombed of fluffs. I felt the pleasure of leaving yet another mark of my existence closer to you, even in your slumber.

You urged me to retell ways I spent my time during the times off. Hence, I recalled my pleasing tiptoe dance with a serial killer. I left most details out of my anecdotes, knowing that you would not be conscious of hearing the end of my story if I filled you in perfectly. I tolerated imperfection for you, and I found that was one of the ways I could keep a smile on your face—the only perfect paint for it.

When it was your turn, you felt the need to pour extensive amounts of words in sentences without any dividers, but still, I listened. As I always do for you. Even when your range of lexicon was not registered in any official English dictionary, and it certainly would not enter mine. You shared bits of the calm in your hometown, and cautiously left out several parts that pained you. I could feel that I clutched my grip a few times because of it, putting the agenda of finding and eliminating the existence that torments you in my mental note.

You see, I welcomed pain like I welcomed despair—with a tight embrace of comfort. I loathed joy and colors, but I only wanted them for you. Pain and despair would be mine, and you would only be cradled in the hands of lights and the warmth of clear skies.

Our first morning back, you groggily greeted me softly, still in the clutch of sleepiness, letting me be the sole subject of your first visions to the world again. I waited for you to be ready for the day, and you waited for me to walk along with you to get the nutrients for the body. I parted ways, knowing that you had a different destination, the pack, and I saw a light of dejection in your eyes. I felt the satisfaction growing in my heart, I still won a special place in your mind.

You have occupied my mind throughout the time out of school, therefore I felt that you should be the victim of the torturous haunt of myself even after we met within this confining perimeter.

For two years, I vigorously poured parts of my darkened soul through my typewriter—through Viper. Parts that I would not easily share with any other inconsolable souls, but you. I let you read it, I could sense doubts in your voice, not because of the content or your ignorance of ancient spelling, but because of my decision not to compromise with the publisher. I knew it was out of concern. I hoped it was out of concern.

A few days being back, I knew you eyed another boy than the Stoner. I found it frustrating that you would involve yourself with some male species not worthy of your time, not worthy of my thoughts. His existence still impeded my mind. For reasons that I knew could only be out to the world if I dissected my own chest, and for reasons that I would not disclose even in my own mind.

Therefore, I was satisfied when I heard you call my name; your voice dripped with worry. I had your undivided attention for my stuns, under the fire and close handshake with death—my supposed long-lost friend.

You spat your frustration at my nature that night. I tried to give it a little care. I knew you were happy finding your place within the swamps of our school acquaintances, no longer being an outcast among the Outcasts. I understood it, but I also stood my ground. I refused to be put on a pedestal. One day, I hoped you would embrace the idea and understand it like I tried for you.

You chased after me in an attempt to have a civil conversation or to convey your irritation. I didn’t know which, as you grabbed my shoulder, forgetting how sensitive I was with physical touch, as much as I craved it from you.

I saw lights, not from you, rushing into my eyes. Then I saw dark. A vision appeared.

I loved having a vision. Knowing that I, a seer, would be guaranteed to know gruesome life truths. Sometimes, also the future despair of the world. But not this one.

You died. In my vision, you died. What’s left was your revengeful soul, cursing me. Accusing me of being the integral factor of your impending death. Death was supposed to be my friend, but it also quickly became my foe from then on.

I called your name as I inhaled my first conscious breath. Rush of urgency in my tone. I could feel the black tears in my eyes. But I knew some of my actual tears were mixed in. I did not do tears, Enid. But like other things I usually did not do, I did it for you.

Enid, you were in the face of death, and I would not stand down and let it. If death were to claim lives, it would be mine. As I tried, try, to grasp you out of its grip.

You would not know of its knocking on our doors as I guard your sight, your hearing, your touch, your feeling, from its presence. You would be left in the dark, in the deafening silence of this truth. I uttered my regrets for this in silence.

I found this necessary. I hoped you would find it in you to excuse this.

Always yours,

Wednesday Addams.

***

Wednesday exhaled. She felt her breath hitch as she poured the ink of her quill onto the parchment paper. Thing silently watched her from the bed. She could not evenly breathe, and she hoped that Enid, who fell deep into her slumber in the bed behind, would not realize this.

When Wednesday saw the ink dried up, she carefully folded the letter, put it in an envelope, stamped it closed, and dropped the letter in the drawer.

Enid would never find this as long as Wednesday breathed and was alive. Wednesday signed to Thing, who saw it and felt dejected.

Only give this to Enid if I die trying.

Chapter Text

Dear Enid Sinclair,

The vision of your name in the old graveyard haunted me. No matter how much I pretended to maintain a clear mind, I could feel the memory of the vision clouding my judgment. I would usually welcome haunting experiences. You knew that graveyard digging was my preferred pastime activity, after all. However, when the grave is yours, it was not, is not, one I looked forward to so much. The thoughts of digging the soil, clawing the rocks and pebbles out of the way, only to find your body, not anymore warm, not anymore alive, not anymore graced with a smile, tortured me so. I felt the grip of my hand shaking, but not with anticipation. But with gnawing fear. This feeling consumed me thoroughly. 

It was always a jarring experience, all of these contradictions that grew inside me since I met you. If I were to live centuries ago, the word ‘torture’ might as well have been invented by me. As I, who lived in the dreadful modern world, would think about it fondly, sometimes it twitched the corner of my mouth, itching to smile. But sometimes, when it came to you, my favorite instantly became something I loathed.

My mom told me to hold the power of my vision. To embrace it. To let go. But how can I let this vision go, this power go, when I knew you would always be in arm’s reach of death? How could I, with my now limited power, stand still and let fate play out, taking you to the place I imagined daily, but not with you in it? How could I?

My mom tried to comfort me, telling me that you were okay and that you were already back in our shared room. But my heart could not be still. It beat harder, faster than it had ever been in my life. I didn’t like how it made me feel alive. I didn’t like how it told me that this was the reality, that I was, still am, living in constant fear. Every inch of my mind despised it.

The first time I had felt too alive was also because of you. You dragged me on top of your bed, where your folded computer was ready, with a film that you declared was life-changing, it may haunt the Addams in their sleep . I knew instantly it was just an excuse to bait me into having the ‘movie nights’ you had planned since the first day we met. I let myself be baited, like always, with your antics. Your solitary single bed was not too spacious to be occupied by the two of us. I knew you always respected my boundary, but with conditions such as that time, you could not help but accidentally touch my skin. If I were not in control, my body would shiver at that touch; thankfully, my body obeyed my command. But my breath hitched for a bit, and my heart rate increased slightly. I felt alive. I was supposed to loathe the feeling, but maybe anything that involved you would always fall under a long list of exceptions.

When I went back to our room, you were already asleep. There was a streak of tears on your face. With little power that I had at that time, I held myself back from sweeping it out of your face. I knew I wanted to take all the pain you had that night. But I was defeated. For all the power I had, the confidence I possessed, none could be harnessed to protect you from your own emotion.

I was your dark cloud, you agreed easily. But I wanted to be more. To be the moon to your sun. To give you the power to live without a care. To set you free in your gorgeous wolf. While basking in your warmth at the same time. Your wolf, who stood in all of your glory, towered over me and was even on par with Hyde’s size. It was a great honor to be blessed with the opportunity to gaze at your gorgeous form, with endearing tints of colors—your hair color—on its fur. That night, my heart might explode with pride. You were, still are, strong. If I were the moon, I might offer you my strength. Being the moon might offer me one more chance to witness your glory.

Unfortunately, I was only a flesh that moved, a mere being that radiated the cold. I could not reach out my arm to you. The touch would only hurt both of us.

When your phone pinged, I knew that the murderer had reached you from your face. I was boiling with rage. How could I, the one who has carefully planned to squish their blood dry in my hand, be so reckless and let them reach you? And how could you, the one who needed to be safe, be so hard-headed and refuse the protection our room offered? I wanted to berate you, but knew it would be unfair to you. It would be unfair to us. This was not your fault or burden. It was mine, and I would carry out any possible plans I could think of to bear all that burden.

So I set off to meet the Hyde. He would know things that I didn’t know. That was another mistake of mine. The pathetic, good-for-nothing being dared to utter your name. To breathe out the beautiful consonants and vowels of your name from his dirty mouth. He dared to threaten my and your life. One day, one day when this was all over, I would be the one to let him rot. To destroy every inch of his body so even the soil would not be tainted by his flesh. I left, knowing his existence would offer nothing for our benefit.

I drifted to our room, our home . Only to find Thing trapped in the magnificent room you’ve built for him. If not for the situation at hand, I would take your hand and cradle it in mine. To stroke the palms of your hand, the hand that had given not only me, but also my family warmth. The hand I could not touch right now.

But you were gone.

Please forgive me for letting death stand so close to you. Forgive me for reaching you too late, for allowing the tips of silver daggers to almost graze your eyes. Forgive me for not solving the disgustingly easy riddles faster. Forgive me, forgive me for letting you feel the fear for your life.

I saw you kissed the boy, I almost used one of the blades to rip him--

I nearly drew my own blade to slash my amateur stalker into two, but she, apparently, had some use to offer for us. More than the Hyde could give us. So I excused her behavior this once. Just once. But if I felt even a slight hint of her threatening your life, it would be her name on the grave, and I would be the one who personally carved it.

***

“Wednesday?” Wednesday halted the movement of her quill. Enid had called her softly, half awake. Wednesday shifted her head slightly to see Enid.

“Why are you still awake?” Enid asked.

Wednesday let herself bask in the view of Enid Sinclair. In her comfortable set of pajamas, with a burst of colors that could only stab Wednesday’s eyesight normally—if not on Enid. Her arm supported her body. Wednesday knew she wanted to leave the bed and walked to her. However, Enid would not have done it without getting an affirmative from Wednesday; she was always so respectful of her boundaries.

“Why are you still awake?” Wednesday asked her back instead.

“I can hear you writing. Something on your mind?” Enid replied. After the shenanigans they had been through lately, Wednesday knew what she wanted to ask. Tell me the things you have kept hidden. Let me in and help you.

“I will turn in shortly.” She said. “Go back to sleep.”

Wednesday could see hesitation in Enid’s face, but Enid finally decided to nod and turn over. Wednesday continued the dance of her quill on top of the paper.

***

Just like my previous letter, I would be selfish, even more so than usual. Forgive me for keeping you in the dark. Familiarize yourself with this darkness that I offer for this darkness that would prevent death’s eyes from falling on you.

Accept this darkness of mine for a little longer, for it will give you warmth—the warmth that I hopefully have gathered from every inch of my body and presented to you.

Yours,

Wednesday Addams

***

Wednesday sighed. Thing was still fatefully waiting for her on the bed. They could hear the sound of even breathing from Enid’s side of the room. Like the previous letter, Wednesday carefully folded it into the envelope and sealed it before putting it inside the drawer.

Wednesday spared a glance at Enid before staring at Thing. In a barely heard whisper, she uttered.

“She will live.”

She was unsure whether it was to comfort Thing or herself.

Chapter Text

Thing scrambled on top of Wednesday’s desk—who now fell into slumber after many nights of no sleep. The desk was uncharacteristically messy, crumpled papers were scattered, and several papers were ripped out. Thing opened the papers one by one. It was scribbled with words—Wednesday’s words. Some of them are messy, and some of them are written in a rush. None was finished. Thing knew Wednesday was shaking while writing them. One of them read:

Dear Enid,

The fear has engulfed me.

Then a hurried scribbled, hint of frustration dripping from the paper. The sentence stopped there.

Another one read:

Enid,

Sleep without a care, live in the careful embrace of life

Then scribbled. Another,

My Enid Sinclair,

Do not walk into the death’s trap

Another,

I would trade the life I have for you so

And another,

Enid,

Stay. Stay within my sight. Stay with the people you love, smile, if not for me, then for

Streaks.

When Thing had finished reading all the crumpled papers, he decided to smooth out the wrinkles and fold them one by one, taking his time. It was not like Wednesday would be awake anytime soon, given how exhausted she was.

Then, Thing took the stash of papers to his chamber. A small room Enid had carefully built for him.

He wanted more to stroke Wednesday’s head in her sleep, but decided against it. Another part of him wanted to gently pat Enid’s cheek, but that, too, would be too much for him.

So he did one thing he could do for now. He carefully put the folded papers under his bed. He knew, with how much fear he could sense from Wednesday, that the possibility of him losing Enid, who had now become one of his family, was too close—too real. His physique was shaking. If he had eyes, this might be similar to him shedding tears.

He lay down. While drifting to his sleep, he wishes for the same thing that Wednesday wrote in one of the papers.

My dear,

I wish to dream of a future with you beside me.

Chapter Text

Enid was a busybody. Between her schoolwork, her extracurriculars, and her time with friends, she religiously filled out the calendar on her phone before starting the week.

She meticulously marked her calendar by colors, by activities, and by the different groups of friends; she even invited people’s emails in the schedule, when relevant. Her friends always stared at her like she was losing her mind whenever they received the invitation a minute after they agreed on a certain schedule.

Enid was a busybody, and an organized one.

Wednesday saw her organizing her schedule one time, and Enid received an approval nod from her. Enid remembered how ecstatic she felt that time.

Although her calendar might be spectacularly organized, the same couldn’t be said for her notes app. Messy might as well be a compliment for the state of her notes. The notes were scattered. It reflected the swirling thoughts of her mind. Like the rest of her body, her mind was never still, and so were her notes. Thoughts were hopping from one thing to another with ever-changing priorities. She put her to-do list, burst of ideas, script draft for her vlog, and at last, her journaling attempt in one document, never chronological, never with the right note title.

Someday, Enid will try to organize the app. Someday.

Today, she felt particularly bored. Wednesday was nowhere to be found. Again. Thing, unfortunately, was not in their shared room, he was most likely gone with Wednesday. So, she revisited her notes (without any intention of organizing them).

The top note read:

to do list:

- check the crochet club's budget

- file the permit documents for the pack's activity

- DO BOTANICAL SCIENCE AND WEREWOLF REPRODUCTION HOMEWORKS 🖕🖕🖕🖕

- ask wednesday abt her stalker wtf was that

- new nail polish for thing!

 

PACK GATHERING THIS WEEKEND MARK CALENDAR LATER

 

what is up with wednesday she hasnt been around.

 

bruno ask me to sit with him, im flattered

new song recommendation should listen!

- https://open.spotify.com/track/0icGgAiUx5b0amQLycmGUr?si=0210604871f3458f

- wednesday played this once https://open.spotify.com/track/3iBfze0P2wwMZxSbvi2Mr7?si=6c2940a909494efb

The first note was a mess. The second note was not any better, but it was actually her (sort of) failed attempt at journaling.

wednesdays been acting weird. the therapist told me it's good to journal, so here goes. gosh, it’s kinda hard ngl. rlly different from making a gossip vlog script. is it always this hard? cant imagine how the people on real therapy feel, idk is that appropriate to say omg im losing track

okay so wednesday

she’s been rlly weird lately, weirder than her im-gonna -do-a-seances weird but like, avoidant weird. i thought we’re getting closer? but probably not?

idk. maybe ill just wait until she’s ready

im kinda lonely tho

Enid felt a pang in her heart. She remembered this moment well. It was right after she witnessed Wednesday fall when Enid accidentally touched her shoulder. That night, Wednesday suddenly froze up, her body stiff, she fell, then, to Enid’s nightmare, she violently shook like in a seizure, eyes white and wide open. Enid remembered how Wednesday let out short breaths, as if someone had choked her. And the black tears…Enid was petrified. It was a relief that Morticia, Wednesday’s mom, was nearby to save her daughter and comfort a distraught Enid.

After the incident, Wednesday always ran off somewhere—somewhere Enid was not invited, places where she probably met her other friends, whoever that was. (It was apparently an insufferable 13-year-old with terrible bangs and a more terrible sense of humor.)

The third note was another to-do list, for things that she had completed but forgot to delete, right below it was another journal entry.

bruno's been following me lately. well not rlly following, more like hes been with me even when we're not with the pack. idk. hes nice. hes not ajax. hes new. and i dont want to be alone so thats good

still kinda feel like something’s missing tho. i know what or WHO actually. brunos with me, ajax's pestering me. but wednesday is rarely present

shes been a big part of my life apparently

idk

idk this feeling

im sad, thats for sure

maybe im lonely. can someone be lonely even if she's with people all the time????

apparently the answer is yes

omg class starting bye!!

HOT GOSS YOKO'S SEEN GOING TO THE WOODS WITH---

Enid stopped reading at that, as the rest was just a draft for her new vlog—one that she was not enthusiastic about recording. Not because the gossip was boring—on the contrary, it was probably one of the biggest scopes this semester. No, she knew because when she recorded it, Wednesday was, again, not in the same room with her, giving her an annoyed glare, but not without menace. Wednesday, who never made any attempt to stop her.

Wednesday really tried to tolerate her. Sometimes, Enid felt that Wednesday even looked at her fondly when Enid was doing anything that she wanted to do. Wednesday, who would only sigh and resume her tasks while Enid rambled for the vlog.

Enid continued to read the note below, the fourth one.

i kissed bruno, bruno kissed me. in my room. but wednesday entered the room when we we were in the middle of making out. i think i saw something in her expression. rage for sure, maybe bcs i brought a boy into our room. but also? sadness? longing? is my mind playinh tricks rn??

OH ALSO THE PSYCHO'S HERE I HATE HER SMMMM FRRRRR

And then another note,

wednesday's plotting something for the camp. shes so adamant on winning. but im sure its not bcs shes in full school spirits or anything. not after her shenanigans during the bonfire.

what is it wednesday

what are u looking for

why am i not in the loop

why cant u confide in me

why are u not there when we sing the red moon song

why

why do you trust the psycho more

why do you talk to her more

why cant u sit with me

does our friendship mean nothing to you. do i mean anything to you? im begging you just please. talk. listen to my rambling. criticize my latest gossip vlog. look at my colorful plushies with disgust. look at the pandas that i kept for you. look at me like i matter. look at me.

Enid closed the app. The therapist lied to her. Journaling her thoughts and reading them back didn’t make her feel better. It made her feel worse. Because Enid was no longer in the stage of trying to understand her emotions. No, she understood it completely. She said it out loud, even if only to herself. She sometimes also whispered it softly.

She whispered it when she took a break in between classes, sitting by herself, a moment of silence and peace. Or when she saw Wednesday writing in their room, thinking Enid was already asleep. Or when she decided to not cross the room to engulf Wednesday with a hug, one that she probably needed—probably not from Enid.

She understood her emotions. She voiced out her feelings.

But no one was around to listen.

With her phone gripped tightly, Enid sank her head to her knees, hugging herself. She wished that someone would hug her, that Wednesday would hug her.

But Enid was alone.

Maybe she would find her answers soon. Soon. From Wednesday. For now, she would wait.