Chapter Text
Wednesday lifted her axe. Dry leaves crunched beneath her boots, and she held her breath as she made her way through the darkened forest. A crack was heard, and she stopped short, her small figure allowing her to soundlessly slip behind the thicket of a nearby bush. The creaking continued. A monstrous grunt was heard, followed by thick rivulets of exhaled condensation.
Wednesday lifted her axe again and quietly and deliberately waited with bated breath. The creature emerged, illuminated by nothing but moonlight that crept through the fog, its great limbs thumping onto the cold hard ground below with each mounting step. Then, as she prepared to strike, it collapsed. Unblinking, she waited. A groan emerged once more, only this time it was strained, pained almost. Furrowing her brows, she faltered for a moment. Taking a step forward, she took in the sight. Instead of a beast, in its place huddled on the ground was Tyler.
Her eyes grew wide, and she lay down the axe. Angry marks marred his arms and back as he faced away from her. Creeping forward, she noted a large gash across his forearm, and his skin was paler than usual, almost luminescent in the moonlight. His lips, the color of sea glass, contrasted with the dark grooves that dug into the skin below his eyes.
Reaching forward, her hand trembled slightly as it came to rest on his shoulder. He was freezing, even by her standards. His arm shot up to wrap around her wrist, and she gasped momentarily. His eyes fluttered, and his grip waned as he fell back unconscious. Before he did, she thought she heard him whisper her name.
Releasing the clasp on the robe, she draped her cloak over his naked form. The fog collecting on the ground shrouded him, and yet she averted her eyes as she covered him.
He was too heavy to drag or carry, and so she settled for tending to his wound. Tearing some fabric from her skirt, she wrapped the piece around his bleeding forearm. The fabric soaked through almost immediately.
In the distance, she heard shouting. Must be the sheriff, she thought.
There had been coordinated attempts by both the sheriff and some of her Nevermore classmates to find and subdue the Hyde. Part of her knew she should call out, but seeing him in this state gave her pause. He had always had an air of vulnerability, and now here he was, at her mercy. And for all her want, she could not find it in her to deal the final blow.
In the dark distance, torches began to appear. Setting her jaw, she shook Tyler’s unconscious form. “Tyler!”, she hissed. He just moaned low in response, eyes refusing to open. Whatever had gashed him had its effect. The blood was dousing her coat, and he looked paler yet.
Grabbing his face, she dealt him a heavy slap. His eyes flew open in panic before furrowing with a mixture of confusion and what looked like trepidation.
“Wednesday?”, he asked, blood tinting his chapped blueish lips. Searching his eyes for a moment, she declared: “We have to go.” She held out her hand. “Now,” she insisted, and after a beat he relented.
She hoisted him up and let him put some of his weight on her. The screams of the officers grew nearer. Tyler could scarcely walk, but she rushed him on nonetheless. Nearing a cemetery, she had an idea.
“The crypt. Quick,” Wednesday insisted, and they hobbled closer. He leaned against the wall as she pushed the door open. Once inside, he all but collapsed on the floor. He grunted uncomfortably as he slid down onto the cold ground. Rushing over, she placed a hand over his mouth. Before he had a chance to protest, they heard the voices outside. Wednesday gave him a stern look, and he simply gave up resisting. She motioned for him to be quiet as they listened.
After a while, the noises dissipated. Wednesday let out a sigh of relief, turning her gaze back to Tyler.
“What happened?”, he asked, face contorted in pain.
“You almost died,” Wednesday muttered matter-of-factly, avoiding his gaze.
“And you?”, he asked. “You’re hurt,” he said softly.
Looking down at herself, she finally took note of her own disheveled appearance. Her skin was marred crimson, fingers almost blackened by it.
“Not my blood,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. Clearing her throat, she took hold of his arm.
“I have to fix this before you bleed out, ok?” She motioned to his arm.
He just nodded in return, clearly too worn out to question her motives or put up a fight.
Tyler leaned his head back onto the stone wall and closed his eyes.
“Stay awake,” she warned.
He snickered. “I thought you wanted me dead,” a hint of sadness bleeding into the end of his sentence.
“Not yet,” she whispered back.
Taking out her pocket knife, she cut strips of her skirt and shirt that weren’t covered in his blood and began to dress his wound. The bleeding had slowed somewhat, but he appeared to have lost plenty. He hissed as she tightened each tourniquet.
“Last one,” she promised, tightening the last one.
“Thank you,” he muttered, taking her by surprise. She just nodded in return.
“I have to check the …rest of you,” she stated, with as monotone a voice as the situation warranted.
“I’m fine,” he grunted, his other arm wrapping the cloak tighter around him.
Rolling her eyes at him, she tugged at the fabric. He looked up at her through his lashes, looking so different from the murderous psychopath she was used to.
“I have to make sure you’re not bleeding from anywhere else.”
“I’m not,” he insisted.
Without thinking, she took his hand. It was coarse, dirty, and cold.
Why did it then burn her?, she thought, feeling a rush of something coursing through her.
Pulling his hand away, their eye contact remained unbroken as she pulled down the cloak to reveal his chest. When she finally looked, she saw it was covered in small cuts and bruises of varying degrees of purple and black. Surprisingly, beneath the dried blood and painful-looking discolorations, he was unscathed.
As her eyes roamed his form, she felt his gaze follow hers, his breath coming in ragged puffs. She let him wrap the cloak around himself, as he visibly shivered.
“Are you cold?”, she asked, as though it wasn’t painfully obvious. Instead of answering, he just looked away and closed his eyes.
Huffing in annoyance, Wednesday looked around the crypt, eyes settling on the ornamental dusty old curtains at the other end of the room. Walking over, she yanked it down, shook off the cobwebs, and draped it on the ground.
He observed her from afar, and when she nodded to it, he knew better than to protest. He tried to put weight on his arm but faltered and winced at the exertion. She linked her arm beneath his and helped him move, wrapping part of the curtain over him.
“Thank you,” he said, voice low.
She inched near the opening to the crypt again and listened for sounds. She could not hear anything, and looking back at Tyler, saw the rise and fall of his sleeping form beneath the velvet curtain.
“Tyler?”, she whispered. When he didn’t respond, she resolutely pushed the door open and stepped outside. The cold air bit at her skin, and it was delightful.
Part of her wondered what she was doing, and the other half was determined to let him not die.