Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She looked at her.

 

Enid.

 

Enid, in her human form.

It happened the moment Wednesday spotted her figure in the cold moonlight, between the trees.

 

At once, a bolt went through the silver wolf’s body. The transformation began within seconds — bones cracking, muffled screams echoing through the woods.

 

And then, there she was. Barely standing.

 

Enid.
Her Enid.

 

"Wednesday," she whispered, look hazy and out of breath. "I thought I smelled you. I—I thought I heard your voice-"

Those were her last words before collapsing on her side onto the soft soil of the cold forest, naked and vulnerable.

 

Wednesday wasted no time. She grabbed her coat and rushed to the still form. She expected a reaction — anything.

 

Instead, Enid lay still. Eyes closed. Body heavy and unmoving.

 

She kept looking at her the whole time later on, as Uncle Fester was treating her wounds.

Severe wounds.

 

Mortal wounds.

 

Wednesday was no stranger to death.

 

She read about it often in her favorite gothic poems and novels. She had even died herself — albeit briefly. She’d brushed up against death more than once.

 

She entertained the idea of a poetic death — perhaps a little premature, perhaps a little unexpected, but always dramatic.

 

But the idea of combining death with Enid’s mortality — that was something else entirely.

 

She had found her, at last. Hurt. Badly.

Bite marks everywhere. Open wounds that had festered.

All those weeks in the frozen forests of Canada, all alone against predators and unseen threats.

 

'And I am to blame', was the only thing Wednesday could think, the whole time they carried Enid to safety.

 

They’d found shelter in a small cabin in the woods — thankfully stocked with an emergency kit, which complemented the one Uncle Fester had thoughtfully packed.

 

"Hey, kid," after what felt like eternity, Uncle Fester addressed her, his voice gruff. Grave.

"She’s clearly been through a lot. She needs rest. I cleaned and stitched her wounds, but we have to wait. Her vitals are unstable. Her pulse… a little weak."

"I have her lying on her stomach — most of the damage is on her back and shoulders."

 

He gestured toward Thing.

"We... we’re going to camp just outside. Light a fire. Keep watch for any beasts. Don’t fret — I always carry my shotgun, just in case things get out of control. But you stay. She needs..."

He gave her a look — a look Wednesday couldn’t decipher, despite her best efforts and analytical skills.

"...a friend. She really needs her friend."

With that, he walked away, signaling toward Thing.

"Come, old friend. I could certainly use some company out there."

 

Wednesday said nothing. She didn’t even look at her uncle.

She just sat there, on the wooden chair by the bed — the fire crackling in the background, the only other sounds being Enid’s short, unsteady breaths and the soft wind outside.

 

The raven was not proud of many things. But the one thing she was definitely proud of was her façade.

She had kept it intact ever since she was a toddler — ever since her pet scorpion had died. She had vowed back then that, no matter the situation, she would never allow a “crack” to take hold of her.

She had it all under control.
Her inner system.
Her turmoil.
The chaos she had meticulously dismantled — little by little, piece by piece — during her seventeen adequately miserable years of existence on Earth.

 

That’s why, the moment the first sob escaped her lips, it felt like throwing up.

Like spitting out something vile — something that had been threatening to tear her from within — crawling its way agonizingly up her throat, only to be released into the open, cruel world.

She prayed to whatever godly entity was out there for this to be the end — this moment of pathetic weakness, this unforgiving, juvenile tantrum — to be over.

Alas, her premonition was far from the truth.

The sobs kept coming, like waves crashing against a rocky shore, threatening to tear it apart.

She kept sobbing — voice faltering, eyes clenched in agony — until she covered her face with both hands, in a futile attempt to keep herself together.

She couldn’t breathe from the spasms and the tears, her diaphragm convulsing violently, hot streaks of salt running down her cheeks.

She was helpless — surrendered to the internal turmoil that threatened to rip her insides apart with every new sob that rose helplessly, like a noose tightening in her throat.

 

And then…

“Wednesday.”

 

She looked up, startled. She must be hallucinating — she was certain of it. Her visions, those damned outworld things, were playing a dirty trick on her. Again.

But then, she wiped her eyes to take a better look.

 

Enid.

Still lying on her stomach, just like all this time — only now her eyes were open. Those soft blue eyes were looking right at her — tired, but conscious. And not only that.

 

She was smiling.
A beautiful, innocent, loving smile.
The most breathtaking smile Wednesday had ever seen in all her short, vile life.

 

“E-Enid…” she choked, her throat still tight from the sobbing, from all the tears and salt that had gathered there.

“Y-yeah, that’s me, alright,” Enid replied, trying — and failing — to sound like her usual, nonchalant self.

“W-who kn-knew I’d be the one to—” she stopped to catch her breath, “to make Wednesday Addams lose her legendary composure. I sh-should b-be honored. They’ll give me a plaque or something at Nevermore.”

 

Wednesday leaned forward, taking the wolf’s hand gently in her own, looking around in a desperate attempt to find something — anything — she could offer.

Enid, reading her perfectly, helped solve the riddle.

“W-water. Water would be really cool right now, Weds.”

 

Wednesday reached for a bottle and a cup, feeling as though this were the most important task she had ever been entrusted with.

Enid took a sip, raising her head slightly — too weak to do more than that.

“Enid, I—”

 

Wednesday Addams had always been good with words.
She was articulate. Composed. She used language like a precise instrument, always bending it to her will, her own unique rhythm.

And yet, right now, right here — words failed her.

She couldn’t speak her mind, not through the storm of emotions she had no name for.

 

“Enid, I— I—”

Enid smiled again — a smile so pure Wednesday felt utterly undeserving of it.

“It’s alright… I know. I know,” she said gently.

 

That was all it took.

 

Wednesday's breath caught in her throat. She kneeled beside the bed, pressing her forehead and clenched fists into the sheets, tears running hot once again.

“Please. Please, Enid — I… I need you. This is my fault. All of it. Please don’t leave me. I cannot — I will not — go on without you.”

She felt Enid’s palm touch her cheek.

The wolf gently urged her to lift her head.

 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m an Alpha, remember?
We take care of our pack. We protect them.
Always.”

 

Wednesday took her hand in hers and kissed her palm, holding the chapped skin against her lips a little longer, taking in Enid’s scent.
Suddenly, she felt an urge — to lean forward, to kiss Enid wherever she could reach: her cheek, her forehead, her shoulders.
She wanted to worship her, to show her what she meant to her — to her apparently deranged mind.
She didn’t know how else to justify these sudden cravings for physical intimacy.

She felt helpless. And confused.

Enid, being a creature of empathy — always — sensed her uneasiness.

 

“Hey… enough of that. Come here. It’s cold, I can feel it. The bed’s big enough.”

Wednesday shook her head, pulling back.

“No, no — you need rest, and space, and comfort. You should go back to sleep. I’ll call Uncle Fester to come and check—”

“Weds.”

 

Again, that smile.
The most beautiful piece of art she had ever seen.
Capable of starting wars, of burning cities.
And yet, also capable of expressing the purest of sentiments.

 

Love.

 

Wednesday felt unworthy. She was a mortal in front of something otherworldly.

Enid pressed on.

“Just… come here. Lie with me. You need to rest too. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.
Please.
I need you.”

 

Wednesday was too weak to resist. She knew it in her bones — she’d say yes, no matter what.
She got up, walked around the bed, and lay on her side, facing Enid.

The wolf — still on her stomach, facing the other way — reached blindly for Wednesday’s arm, took it, and gently draped it over her bandaged back, holding her palm in hers.

Wednesday could feel the wolf’s soft breath on her knuckles.

“There,” Enid whispered, “so much better.”

 

Without realizing it, Wednesday scooted closer, her nose now brushing against Enid’s tousled, long hair.

“Enid, I’m trying to say that— I…”

‘Weak,’ her inner voice snapped. ‘Weak and pathetic.’

 

Wednesday gulped, her eyes prickling with tears.
She ignored the voice.

“I love you.”

 

The moment the words left her mouth, she held her breath.

Immediately, she felt Enid’s grip tighten around her hand.

“There it is,” Enid said softly. “Took you long enough.
I told you already, though — I know.”

There was a playfulness in her tone, despite their altogether tragic state.

Wednesday felt exhaustion pulling her under.
Before she drifted off, the last thing she heard was the soft voice of the person who meant the most to her in the whole world.

 

“Me too.”

 

It was the next morning when Uncle Fester stepped into the cabin, stretching and wincing from a nasty cramp he’d gotten after spending the whole night stuffed inside a too-small sleeping bag.
Thing was perched on his shoulder, equally sleep-deprived and anxious.

But what Fester saw was more than just a welcome sight.

 

His niece, fast asleep next to the werewolf girl, curled up under the woolen blankets, one arm wrapped protectively around her.
Enid seemed much better — breathing steady and strong, her face no longer contorted in pain.

 

Fester looked at Thing on his shoulder and smiled, deeply satisfied.

“Well, buddy… looks like the little raven’s found her nest once and for all.
We should call Gomez and tell him to prepare the guest room back at the manor.

These two aren’t going anywhere separately in the near future.”

Chapter Text

A month later…

 

"Honestly, Mother, I fail to see the point of attending yet another one of your shallow, mundane, obnoxiously pretentious, alcohol-induced soirées. I have no interest—neither in the social aspect, nor the scientific. None of the attendees qualify as suitable specimens for my ongoing research in human anatomy."

Morticia sighed patiently, long accustomed to her daughter’s pompous antics.

"It is not a ‘party’, Wednesday. It’s a fundraising gala. And quite an important one, may I add, since all proceeds will go toward the renovation and general upkeep of Nevermore. As we speak, the students are without dorms, without a proper campus, without labs. The new semester is about to begin."

"Even so, what does this have to do with—"

"You are the eldest heiress to the Addams legacy—our fortune and our history. More than that, you are one of the school’s most notable students, having saved it twice, if memory serves. I need you there. A symbol of unity, of strength. Many influential people will be in attendance—and no, you are not allowed to dissect any of them. Otherwise, no cello practice for three months."

Wednesday rolled her eyes — the strongest visible sign of her disdain toward the current turn of events.

"Fine, Mother. I shall bend to your will, as your brutally cold extortion leaves no room for negotiation. But I must return home early. Enid—"

"Enid is fine, dear. Lurch has taken her to her weekly doctor’s appointment so the medical professionals can evaluate her progress. She’s off the heavy antibiotics and getting stronger by the day. I'm certain that, despite your… admirable infatuation, she’s more than capable of surviving a few hours without you."

Wednesday winced internally at her mother’s words.

“It is not an infatuation, Mother. Enid saved my life — for the second time — again by sacrificing herself. I am morally obliged to ensure, at the very least, her stable recovery and overall well-being. I believe that, were you in my place, you would have done exactly the same.”

Morticia hummed knowingly at the response.

“Of course I would, dear daughter… albeit with less fervor.
In any case, time is of the essence. You should start getting ready — your dress is upstairs, waiting in your room. Lurch will pick us up at 7:00 p.m.”

 

With that, Morticia turned and exited the vast dining hall, leaving Wednesday alone with her thoughts.

 

Wednesday cracked her knuckles — a small, unconscious ritual, as if trying to exorcise the tension from her bones.

 

Infatuation…

 

She hated her mother for seeing right through her — for being so much like her.

Too much, sometimes.

 

Whatever these feelings were… ever since the incident, Wednesday had tried — diligently — to revert to her old, distant self.
Enid, of course, had stayed at the manor. Wednesday made certain she had everything she needed — from medication and physical comfort to distractions during moments of pain, as her wounds continued to heal.

 

But that, however, was where her involvement stopped.

 

She wasn’t even sure she’d managed to look Enid in the eye since that night in the cabin.
She was ashamed.

Ashamed of her emotional collapse. Ashamed of her neediness — in the moment her most important person in the world had been balancing on the edge of death.
Ashamed of those three little words that had carelessly escaped her lips at the peak of her weakness and desperation.

They hadn’t spoken in the four weeks since Enid arrived at the manor.

Not properly.

Not about it.

 

Every time Enid seemed ready to take a step forward — to address what had happened between them — Wednesday would retreat.

She'd deflect.
She'd offer her coldest, most detached version of herself in return. She would find a neutral subject to talk about, ask Enid a question about her physical state—anything to avoid engaging in a conversation that made her feel exposed, stripped of the hardened layers she carefully built around herself.

 

Enid was not stupid, of course. She understood perfectly but wouldn’t press either. She was content with having the raven girl sit beside her on the bed while a silly movie played quietly on the TV, watching her play the cello, or having Wednesday granting her the rare privilege of reading the first draft of her latest literary attempt.

 

It was her eyes, Wednesday thought bitterly—the smile in those soft blue eyes, full of affection and gratitude—that kept her own gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor, the black marble suddenly seeming inexplicably intriguing.

'Coward', Wednesday chastised herself as she headed upstairs to take a shower and prepare for the gala.
All the while, her deepest wish was to disappear into the black woods surrounding the manor and never return.

 

It was adequately elegant—that was something even Wednesday could admit, feeling a grudging gratitude for her mother’s impeccable taste.

 

The theme, of course, was gothic dark academia, black tie.

Red velvet tablecloths, crystal chandeliers casting a low light from above. Beyond the tables and the dance floor stretched a fully stocked buffet of finger foods, while a bar offered every type of drink and cocktail imaginable.

Wednesday had managed to bargain with her parents for half a glass of red wine, in exchange for remaining two hours at the venue. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she desperately needed a few sips to calm her nerves, as she found herself surrounded by idiotic morons who had come only to lick their parents’ impossibly expensive shoes—the sycophants.

The seer was clad in a black lace dress that hugged her slender frame with quiet elegance. The gown featured a daring open back, contrasting with its long, delicate sleeves that added a touch of modesty to the otherwise bold silhouette. Her lips were painted in a shade so dark it teetered on the edge between deep burgundy and black. Her raven hair was pulled back neatly, with soft, loose bangs framing her pale face, while her signature braided pigtails curled just so at the sides, giving her that unmistakable blend of gothic charm.

 

As she sipped her wine in peace, sitting at her table, she suddenly sensed a plop on the chair right next to her.

“Hey, you’re Wednesday Addams, right? I knew I recognized you!”

Wednesday turned to see a dark-haired boy, his slender frame surrounded by an aura of self-satisfied assurance, already invading her personal space without a hint of awareness.

“My parents know your parents. My father’s basically collaborated with your father on every tombstone factory built in the last decade.”

Wednesday ignored him, her eyes fixed forward.

“You don’t say,” she hummed. “What a thrilling turn of events.”

“Yeah, I know, right? It’s cool!” He was completely oblivious to the sarcasm.
“You know, I’m a Pyro myself. I was in the crowd at Nevermore when I saw what you did to that douchebag, Dort. The old man didn’t even know how to handle his powers. If I were him…”

 

Wednesday sighed. Just what she needed right now—a spoiled brat bragging relentlessly in a futile attempt to prove his fragile masculinity.

In the background, the music shifted to something softer; an older tune, infused with the rhythm of a Brazilian bossa nova.
She spotted couples heading to the dance floor, clearly preparing for a slow dance.

 

As the clueless imbecile babbled on beside her, every sentence accompanied by an immature chuckle, Wednesday seriously considered faking a mild illness just to get out of there as soon as possible.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

That voice.

 

She knew that voice.

 

She would recognize it anywhere.

 

The only voice capable of soothing her, making every problem retreat back into its cave, creating a bubble of safety and comfort.

 

Wednesday practically shot her head up.

 

Enid.

 

She looked absolutely breathtaking. Her hair fell freely above her shoulders, short bangs gently framing her eyes. Her makeup was simple yet striking, emphasizing eyes that held both vulnerability and quiet strength. A long, faint scar traced just beside her right eyebrow—a lingering mark from the time she had been trapped in her wolf form, a silent testament to the battles she had endured. She wore a beautiful white dress; the fabric flowed gracefully around her, elegant without being flashy. On her feet, low-heeled shoes—practical and considerate of her ongoing recovery.

 

Wednesday didn’t know what to say. She was openly staring, thinking this might all be a dream.

 

“I was wondering,” Enid continued, a playful smirk curling her lips, “if I could interrupt your, nonetheless important, conversation to ask for a dance?” She offered Wednesday her hand.

Wednesday looked at her, hypnotized.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered, gulping. “Of course, you may.”

 

Turning toward the boy, whose name she couldn’t even recall now, she spoke with sober tone, dismissing him.
“Thank you for those unbearable twenty minutes. Have fun, and try not to kill anyone with your inexplicably dull personality.”

 

With that, she followed Enid to the dance floor as the first lyrics of the song echoed through the room.

 

‘Kindness in your eyes
I guess
You heard me cry
You smiled at me like Jesus to a child…’

 

She let Enid lead, placing her own hand on the wolf’s shoulder—careful not to apply too much pressure. Sensing her anxiety, Enid held her closer. Wednesday caught the scent of her sweet perfume—rose, vanilla, and something woody. It was intoxicating. She wanted to rest her head on Enid’s neck but kept her composure.

“I’m fine, Wednesday. Don’t be afraid; I won’t break or anything,” Enid said softly, sensing her thoughts.

Wednesday looked at her, trying to understand.

“What are you doing here, Enid? You should be at the manor, resting. The doctors—”

“Actually, the doctors are happy with my progress. Soon, I’ll be able to do everything like before—running, exercising, lifting heavy things. No more stitches and no more medication.”

“And why are you here?” Wednesday pressed, ever the detective, piecing the puzzle together.

“Because,” Enid began, her grip tightening affectionately as they danced in perfect sync, “apparently the only way to catch you alone is in a room full of people.”

 

Wednesday gave her a puzzled look.

 

“I know what you’re doing, Wednesday. Ever since we returned, you’ve been avoiding me. Hell, you won’t even look at me properly.”

Wednesday looked away, embarrassed. “I… just wanted to make sure your recovery would be as smooth as—”

“My recovery has been perfectly fine, and you’ve provided me with more than I could have asked for. Gee, even I didn’t know there were this many episodes of ‘Love Island’ I hadn’t watched!” Enid teased, clearly lightening the mood.

“Well, I simply sent a few rather persuasive letters to the network holding the rights, and they provided me with the full DVD collection. It wasn’t anything, really.”

 

Wednesday conveniently omitted the grave threats and graphic content inside those letters. Even Thing had scolded her, warning against traumatizing random employees.

 

“Wednesday, look at me, please, you’re doing it again.” Enid finally made her lift her eyes to meet hers—deep and sincere.

Then she spoke again:

“I don’t regret a single thing I’ve done with you, or for you. I cannot imagine my life without you, much like I know you cannot go on without me, as you confessed that night. I heard you. I heard you cry and beg. And it’s okay. You think I consider you less strong just because you let yourself go, just this once? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

 

Wednesday leaned closer, resting her head on Enid’s neck. Suddenly, all she wanted was Enid’s embrace—to feel her strong form, the soft curls of her silver hair, to smell her scent and make a cocoon out of it.

 

‘Loveless and cold
With your last breath you saved my soul
You smiled at me like Jesus to a child’

 

“Enid… I… was scared. Terrified. Not only of losing you but… of how it made me feel.
It scares me. The way I feel for you. The intensity. The raw emotions that engulf me, how it renders me incapable of… not caring. Because this is what I know. Not caring. But with you, it’s impossible. I— I—”

This time, she didn’t whisper.

She looked her straight in the eye as she spoke the words.

“I love you.
I love every single thing about you. I cannot be without you. You are my pack as well — now and forever. When I’m with you, the world goes quiet.
You bring me light when all I’ve ever known is the all-encompassing dark.
You keep me sane, even when I feel like I’ll finally collapse, surrendering to the chaos inside me — allowing my darkest tendencies to take over and annihilate my mind and soul.

I can’t look at you — not because I don’t want to — but because when I do, I see everything I love the most, and everything I’m most afraid of losing.

You are my everything.
For as long as I breathe.”

 

Enid fixed her gaze on Wednesday, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

 

‘You will always be my love
Well, I've been loved so I know just what love is…’

The song finally came to an end, forcing Wednesday back into reality.

 

She took a sharp breath — her heart pounding in her ears relentlessly. Suddenly, it was all too much.

 

Too loud.
Too real.
Too intimate.

 

“I— excuse me. I…”

With that, she abruptly pulled away from Enid and headed straight for the nearest balcony.

 

The cold night air hit her instantly, grounding her, giving her something real to cling to — a distraction from the storm inside her chest.

She took a deep breath, her gaze settling on the dark horizon.

She stayed there, frozen.

 

Then—footsteps. Soft, steady.
She turned.

Enid stood just a few steps away, her eyes full of understanding and unwavering tenderness.

 

Wednesday didn’t move.

 

Enid took a step. Then another.
Closer. Closer.

Until the seer could feel her breath against her lips.

 

“I will never push you to a place that makes you uncomfortable,” Enid whispered.
“I’ll never ask for more than what you can give.
I love you, Wednesday—and I will love you forever, no matter how hard you try to push me away.
I’ll simply be here. Waiting.
Even if it’s just for a dance... if that’s all I’m allowed to have.”

 

Wednesday had always been one step ahead.

Always planning. Always calculating.

But now?

 

She couldn’t think.
She didn’t want to.

 

Her hand grasped Enid by the collar, and their lips met in a kiss that was messy as much as it was real.
Every defense collapsed. Every thought fled.
All that remained was Enid.

The kiss deepened naturally.
Enid's hands slid around her waist, pulling her close—so close Wednesday could feel her heartbeat against her chest.
Wednesday let out a soft, involuntary sound as their lips parted briefly, only for Enid to tease at her lower lip, her tongue gently asking for entrance.

It was perfect.

 

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, foreheads resting against each other, Enid let out a breathy, blissful laugh—one Wednesday already knew would inspire her next cello solo.

 

“Well… what do you know,” Enid whispered with a teasing grin.
“And the world is still standing.”

Wednesday smiled. A real, genuine smile.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.

She wrapped Enid in a fierce embrace—saying everything she couldn't with words.

 

Later that night, as the whole family returned to the manor—Enid nestled beside them, Morticia casting a knowing, warm glance in their direction—the two girls slipped away without a word.

 

Wednesday’s room waited, a silent witness to a love that would, at last, come to its full fruition.