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If you asked Tyler what the hell his life had come to, he’d probably grimace and shake his head. In all honesty, he didn’t even know himself. Was he feeling dejected? Probably. On edge? Definitely. Happy? Definitely not. Hopeful? Maybe just a little. Other emotions peek through from time to time – strong ones, conflicting ones, utterly confusing ones. Never knowing entirely what to do with them as he spends his time in a new room, a new city, a new life.
He stares at the bare wooden desk next to his new bed for a bit. He hadn’t known what to expect when Isadora told him about some kind of hyde commune; he just knew he had nothing more to lose.
For some reason he hadn’t anticipated getting his own room, pretty much convinced a hyde pack would’ve meant roommates. A sense of community to the extent of privacy being a luxury. Clearly he’d been wrong. She had told him that he could decorate his new room in any way he wanted, that it wasn’t a prison, and that she wanted him to have a safe space.
He still didn’t know how to feel about it all, about her. She seemed well-intentioned enough, but he can’t help but keep his walls up and his senses on high alert. It wouldn’t be the first time he misplaced his trust in an older woman offering to help him.
His new room was quite small, nothing to write home about but also not lacking any necessities. A bed, a few shelves, a dresser, a desk with a sturdy wooden chair and a small desk lamp that could double as a night light. There was also a window to remind him of the outside world, sunlight illuminating the empty laminated walls, save for a simple analogue clock.
The first time he entered the room, slightly shaking, he quickly noted the lack of any kind of shackles or chains and let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He felt Isadora eyeing his reaction, silently. He remembers not looking back at her, feeling too vulnerable to dissect whatever expression must’ve been showing on her face.
He found out later that, similar to lupin cages, there was a secluded room on the other side of the building where the hydes could lock themselves up if they needed to or if they chose to. He tried his best to avoid the place.
He moves to sit at his desk, picking at the wooden surface with his fingernails. Tyler’s been here a few weeks now, and he’s tired. It feels bittersweet, but he reminds himself that being tired is probably better than actively dying.
He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t bothered to decorate his room, the desk being his biggest reminder of it. A far cry from the desk in his old room, that one had been a reflection of his life back then, the closest to normal he can remember. A typical teenage desk accompanied by school supplies, unassuming homework, a rubik's cube, snacks close to his monitor, cans of Red Bull, medals and his trusty baseball bat nearby. He almost laughs self-deprecatingly; he can’t believe he used to be a jock. It feels weird to remember that these things ever mattered to him at all.
He briefly remembers stickers too; he used to like sticking them anywhere. On his dresser, on his doorframe, on the walls. The aesthetic novelty would always wear off rather quickly, but he liked the feeling of finding new sheets and picking out his favourite stickers; he had a soft spot for the glittery ones. He liked being in full control of where to stick them and knowing they wouldn’t budge after.
He suddenly considers asking Isadora to buy him some sticker sheets, a feeling bubbling in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a while. Just for the feeling to crash back down when he recognises the faint sound of the clock ticking on the wall. The reminder of time passing makes the idea feel childish. He's not that kid anymore; he's not even sure if he ever truly was.
The commune didn’t feel like a home; maybe that's why he couldn't bring himself to treat it like one, or maybe the emptiness of it all was just a side effect of Tyler not knowing who he was.
Noticing the time, he quickly stands up, uncomfortable with his own wallowing, and moves to grab the drumsticks neatly tucked away in one of the shelves to his left.
Isadora had explained her theory that music could be a way for hydes to navigate their emotions more appropriately. This not only meant sessions of her playing piano for them, but also encouraging everyone to pick up an instrument and play together to bond from time to time. Tyler snorted at the idea at the time; it sounded ridiculous to him, but he eventually conceded that it couldn’t hurt to try.
It wasn’t like Tyler was entirely new to creative outlets. If there’s one thing he actually remembers enjoying about his job at the weathervane, it was the moments he could practice decorating the cakes and try to make his latte art work. He pointedly ignores who used to inspire him, though.
But still, music? Music was new to him. Unfamiliar.
In the end Tyler had taken to the drums, not because he was good at it – not at all; objectively, he sounded terrible. But he liked how he could put his whole body into it, and as a true poster child for anger issues, the feeling of hitting the drums with all his pent-up anger and frustration without immediately succumbing to a transformation was a welcome change of pace.
The bonding part was more challenging. When he met the other hydes, some around his age, some much older, he found it hard to connect. Not sure if he’d find his place within a pack of strangers who had already been forming their bond before he came along.
He’s been trying, though, and considering he hasn’t been plagued with hallucinations of his father, or his mother for that matter, in a while, he’d say that counts for something. He definitely does not feel in full control of himself however, a feeling so foreign he sometimes wonders whether he’d even recognise it if he ever got the chance to feel it.
He snaps out of his thoughts when there’s a knock on his door, followed by a muffled voice, “Hey, are you ready yet? Everyone’s waiting to start.” The voice belongs to Manou, a girl a few years older than him and the only person he’d potentially consider a friend.
He quickly opens the door and shoots her a silent nod; she smiles at him through the blonde curls that almost hide her face and gestures for him to follow. Manou is kind to everyone but not to an overbearing degree. Assertive, but she never pries; she reads people well. Tyler respects that about her. In many ways she tends to be the glue that holds the entire group together, which is probably necessary considering the sheer amount of trauma they all juggle together.
When they enter the music room, she immediately cuddles up to a girl with pin-straight brown hair, who looks up at her in awe and gives her a quick peck before turning her attention to Isadora Capri. Tyler tries not to linger on the sting he suddenly feels in his chest watching the gesture and moves to his spot behind the drums, sticks clenched in his fist. Spending the rest of the session avoiding the thought of her in favour of channelling his feelings onto the instrument.
Tyler wakes up the next morning feeling exhausted and sore, taking a mental note to take it easier on the drums next time. He spends the day going through the motions and somehow ends up behind his desk again, this time with a notebook in front of him and a pen in his hand. He looks down at the words scrawled on the page, brows furrowed.
‘Tyler Galpin’
‘Tyler Night’
‘Tyler Galpin-Night’
He doesn’t even bother pushing down the frustration he feels at the names meant to clue him in on his identity. They all feel wrong. He doesn’t know which legacy is worse, the one representing a negligent and angry father? the one representing a master failing to be a mother? or the one representing a life and family he never really got to have? He angrily crosses every last name out.
Perhaps it's better to just be ‘Tyler’ for now.
Aside from music, Isadora encourages everyone to get together and talk about their issues regularly. It’s tedious, and Tyler dislikes how much it reminds him of his sessions with Dr Kinbott, for better and worse. He can tell it helps everyone bond; he even divulges his own trauma from time to time, but there are simply lines he doesn’t feel he can cross.
There’s a danger in reflecting on his life too much. On the people he hurt, Kinbott being one of them. He doesn’t know what he regrets and what he doesn’t, why he enjoyed the things he knows he did, or what kind of person that makes him. It helps that Manou is there to steer the conversation away when the weight of his past, whether forced on him or not, threatens to crush him.
Then there’s also the issue of a certain raven-haired girl in pigtails. He hasn’t told anyone about her, though he has a feeling Capri knows more than she lets on. She pops up in his mind regularly, emotions all over the place when it happens.
A part of Tyler yearns for him to unpack it all; another, self-preserving part of him refuses to let himself bother. It doesn’t help that everything in his life is somehow connected to her, an invisible string tethering him to her that he can’t seem to cut no matter how much he feels like he should.
He briefly wonders what she must be up to right now before he forces himself to snap out of it again, roughly pushing his head into his pillow and screaming into it.
Not unpacking it works, until it doesn’t.
Tyler finds himself outside for once, feeling the sunlight peek through the leaves of the tree he’s leaning against, faintly illuminating parts of his face. It reminds him of that night in Crackstone’s crypt, the lights he painstakingly put up reflecting softly on her face, her freckles in full view as he couldn’t stop himself from drawing closer to her, an exhilarating feeling burning all over his body.
She was warning him for all the right reasons, and yet they both leaned in; they both felt it. Tyler starts to smile at the memory until his brain sharply reminds him why he had brought her there in the first place. His hands reach for the grass and dirt beneath him, digging into it in an attempt to ground himself.
Tyler is confused about many things in his life, but his lingering feelings for her probably take the cake. Tyler knows he hated her at some point, but in the aftermath he struggles to discern how much of that was real and how much of that was brainwashed into him and his hyde.
He frowns again, digging his hands deeper. She had saved him, even though she had every reason not to, even though he was convinced merciless hate would be the only emotion she’d ever send his way again, even though he was ready to die. The moment repeats in his head over and over again. He wonders if he’ll ever understand Wednesday Addams.
He feels his hands cramping and pulls them up again; he stares at the mess he made of them and can’t help but sigh before he pushes himself up. While Tyler washes his hands, all the feelings he associates with her rummage through his mind again: hate, fear, contempt, concern and even love. As he watches the last specks of dirt wash down the drain, reminiscent of that night by the skull tree, a sudden moment of clarity hits him.
All he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want her dead. Not at all.
A few weeks later Tyler finds himself staring at his desk again. A sticker sheet in his hand this time. He carefully peels one off and sticks it on the upper left corner of the desk. He traces the flower shape with his fingers, making sure there are no air bubbles left before he pulls back and just lets himself look at the image of the black dahlia.
When he walks out of the building to take a breather, he stops dead in his tracks. Questioning whether he’s hallucinating again at the sight of familiar pigtails making their way towards him.
She stops in front of him with a considered distance, her usual stoicism present, though there’s a look in her eyes he doesn’t quite recognise. Tyler glances at Thing beside her, and he tries not to get hung up on the fact that he’s technically his uncle.
He can’t bring himself to say anything when he looks back at her, so she breaks the silence.
“I need help rescuing Enid. Is Capri here?”
Tyler nods slightly but doesn’t move further, unable to break his stare. Wednesday raises her brow at him, but there’s no bite behind it, unlike the one she pointed at him at Willow Hill.
“She’s inside.” He pauses. “But are you sure you can handle a pack of hydes?” He tries not to smile at the way her eyes widen slightly before she recomposes herself.
“I’ll take my chances.” She responds calmly, and Tyler can’t help but break into a smile for real this time. He turns to walk back inside, closing the door behind them as she follows him in.