Chapter Text
A month at Nevermore had felt like an eternity, and not in a good way. In that brief span of time, Wednesday Addams had been haunted by visions of her ancestor – Goody Addams, accused the wrong people and nearly bled out to death beneath the hand of history reborn, Joseph Crackstone.
Xavier was not the monster. Dr. Kinbott was not Laurel Gates. The truth was crueller: Tyler, the boy who smiled too easily and seemed harmless, was the Hyde; Ms. Thornhill, the gentle and kind dorm mom and Botany Professor in disguise, was Laurel Gates and Crackstone, who was long dead and hated had somehow clawed his way back into the world on her blood.
He had stabbed her. Left her cold, hollow and undone. Torture she usually adored – but this agony, this fragile brush with mortality, had been different.
Goody Addams had saved her. Laurel was defeated and locked away as was Tyler. Crackstone had been killed for real this time and turned to ash. Yet, the victory brought no triumph to Wednesday Addams, only exhaustion.
Classes were cancelled due to this fiasco and Weems lay weak in the hospital as she recuperates. It was a close call that Thing had arrived just as he did and managed to get help to assist with the Nightshade poisoning. Nevermore’s halls echoed with silence and Wednesday – bruised, stitched, and strangely mortal was sent home.
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The Addams estate had welcomed her with shadows and stone; Lurch had driven three hours to pick her up from the school as Gomez had forbidden her to travel alone or take any form of public transport after what she had just endured these past couple of days.
The moment she slipped past the iconic Addams iron gates, the front door swung open. She was immediately engulfed by her family, she could sense her father’s arms, Pugsley’s annoyingly embarrassing clumsy enthusiasm and her mother’s silent breaking gaze.
Normally, Wednesday would have instantly recoiled from such affection by her family. This time however, she did not. For the first time in years, she had allowed it – she even had melted into their embrace.
“My little Viper,” Gomez whispered, clutching onto her as if she might vanish at any second. “I knew you would endure, nothing could ever conquer you.”
Morticia said nothing, she didn’t need to. Her dark eyes which were usually impenetrable, were swollen and red, betraying the night which she had wept. Even Pugsley’s boyish face was marked by sleepless shadows.
“I’m fine, Father,” Wednesday lied flatly. Her voice was steady, but her body trembled. Morticia’s eyes cut through her like glass.
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Wednesday excused herself early, using exhaustion as a way to escape. Gomez, ever the romantic, kissed Morticia’s hand in reverent devotion, but her mind was elsewhere. Her daughter’s stillness. Her acceptance of a hug. The pale crack in her façade. None of them were Wednesday-like traits at all. A mother’s instinct – sharper than prophecy had told her that Wednesday was unravelling. Outside her door, Morticia’s suspicions were true – she heard the muffled sobs, the shatter of glass and the grief was raw and unrestrained.
She immediately opened the door and Wednesday was curled into a ball, a small shadow against the vastness of her Queen-sized bed. The sound of her sobbing filled the room, raw, unfamiliar and unguarded.
“Wednesday, darling,” Morticia whispered as she sat down on her bed next to her. “What’s the matter?”
Her daughter looked up at her. Tears had streaked her usual pale face, her eyes were red and swollen, almost unrecognisable.
“Mother…everything hurts.” Wednesday managed to choke out in between her sobs, her voice cracking.
Morticia sat beside her and pulled her close. Wednesday resisted only for a heartbeat before collapsing into her arms.
“I almost died,” she rasped. “Twice.”
Morticia froze. Her breath caught and her heart clenched. Still, she forced calm into her voice despite that. “Tell me, my Thundercloud. I am here. Always.”
The confession spilled out: “Tyler was the Hyde. Ms. Thornhill was Laurel Gates and she poisoned Principal Weems with Nightshade. She resurrected Crackstone with my blood to break the blood lock. He thought I was Goody…and he stabbed me. For the first time in my life, I was so scared and all I could think of…was you and all the things left unsaid between us.” Wednesday admitted in between her sobs while being held and soothed by her mother. Her hands clutched onto Morticia’s sleeve like her life depended on it, as if at any moment she would be stripped away forever.
Morticia’s heart broke for her daughter after hearing her confession, especially since she was not there to protect her. After all, wasn’t that every mother’s purpose – to protect their children from any harm that dares cross paths with them? Her maternal heart bleed after knowing that she had almost lost Wednesday twice, she couldn’t even fathom what she would do if it had actually happened.
Morticia pressed her lips to her daughter’s temple, her composure fracturing. “Oh, my little viper. There is nothing left unsaid in the world that could ever diminish my love for you. You are my blood, my heart, my shadow and my soul.” She whispered, holding Wednesday close to her chest because she too had feared losing her. Wednesday clung tighter and for once, no sarcasm, no armour – only a daughter in need of her mother, and a mother who would burn the world to keep her daughter safe.
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The sobs quieted down eventually, leaving only trembling breaths. Exhausted, Wednesday buried her face in her mother’s chest and Morticia cradled her as if she were still the child who used to profusely refuse to sleep apart. She thought of years lost to silence, of cruel words that poisoned her daughter’s view of love and strained their relationship. No blade, no poison and no whisper of the world would ever dare take her child again, and that was a vow she intended to keep.
Outside, the house brooded in gothic majesty. Inside, the mother and daughter held onto each other dearly, defying even death. Wednesday had survived Crackstone’s blade, Laurel’s poison and the Hyde’s betrayal. Yet, what haunted her the most was not death itself, but the unbearable truth that she still needed her mother.
Gomez had went poking around for his wife few hours later, and when he quietly opened the bedroom door, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of both his girls cuddled up with each other sound asleep. They could definitely use the rest, especially since the whole family had barely even slept a wink since hearing about Wednesday’s incident. Perhaps, they could finally get some much deserved rest now. Or, is danger just waiting for the right moment to attack?