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Chapter Text

The Appalachian Mountains are among the most ancient beings on Earth, older than bones and the rings of Saturn, and home to fictitious cryptids used to lure in tourists that only conceal the real wights that are too clever to be caught or catalogued. If it weren't for the promise that pushed her through countless sleepless nights, towns built on secrets and lies, and uncharted wilderness, Wednesday would've reveled in traveling through such a sensational place.

It'd been over a year since Enid's worst fear came true: permanently morphed into a beast and doomed to live a life of solitude on the run from other wolves intent on self-policing their population. In that time, Wednesday had coursed Canadian blizzards, watched as the conifer leaves dried up and died, only to be buried under blankets of pillowy snow, which then melted into streams to give birth to azaleas sprouting from the earth and newborn fauna.

Her quest brought her down to the Smokey's, the pine trees slowly transitioning to deciduous forests as she traveled south, all in search of a rabid wolf leaving behind deer carcasses in its wake, the only indication of the beast being the friend she once knew the pale gray and white fur with fading prismatic stripes caught in wildlife cameras; and posted on Facebook cryptic groups claiming she was irrefutable evidence of the Jersey Devil existing.

Wednesday met the Jersey Devil once at a family reunion, and to have Enid compared to that repugnant prick made Wednesday want to remind those blogging fools why they should never post so much personal information online that gives away their location—the internet is a wild wasteland full of strange people, after all.

But, Wednesday didn't have time for distractions. Not when she had a promise to fulfill, one that she would make good on come hell or high water—preferably both.

"Ohh, a cemetery!" Uncle Fester exclaimed while pointing to his left, which Wednesday barely heard sitting in the sidecar from the deafening wind roaring in her ears, then he grinned ear-to-ear, "Almost smells like home."

Nose kept in a book on Lycanthrope Biology, she reluctantly glimpsed aside, where gravestones dotted a glade, surrounded by a thick barrier of trees with branches that reached for the dead. If they weren't in a rush, she might've considered stopping to store up on graveyard dirt.

"Eyes on the road." Wednesday muttered, leafing through the textbook's coarse pages, holding down the edges with her arms to keep them from flapping in the wind.

"You know I can't drive without distractions!" Uncle Fester snickered, then faced the road, "We're almost there, anyways."

Wednesday forwarded her gaze, where the one lane road ahead was lined with deadening forestry, the leaves mustard, burnt orange and carmine, barely clinging to dried out branches. A sun bleached billboard peeked over the tree tops, written in bold black letters;

JESUS WILL RISE AGAIN

Wednesday rolled her eyes. One of her great aunts was resurrected from the dead once, but of course a woman's achievements will always be overshadowed by a man.

As the cruiser tore down the road, dirt dusting in their wake, a sign in the distance gradually grew in size until it revealed their location: Eatonton, Georgia.

Wednesday stiffened. They were almost to their destination. Almost to Enid.

They'd been dead in the water with lack of leads since they'd reached the end of Appalachia, left only with scraps of information from drunken squallers convinced a stray dog was the Wolfman and mutilated deer. When in doubt, always follow the trail of blood; that was her philosophy.

But, another key element Wednesday clung to as the closest thing to gospel was her gut. And that exactly is what'd led her here.

Lake Sinclair.

Call it a hunch, but if she knew her friend and roommate as well as she'd hoped, Enid always chased after familiarity, finding comfort in what she knew. A wild wolf stumbling upon something with her name on it had to trigger something in her, no matter how far gone Enid might've become.

Hopefully. Maybe Wednesday was simply desperate. What other choices did she have? She had to find Enid, no matter what. She promised to hunt her down. Enid was only in this state in the first place because Wednesday got sloppy and waltzed into a trap.

The trees receded to a clearing, unveiling a town. It seemed to be ye old average historic town, one where the brick buildings stacked along the sidewalks like someone had attempted to gentrify the old west, replacing saloons with artisan wine tastings and boutiques, attempting to put on a mask of quaint small town charm to distract from the fact that in these very buildings people once debated what rights human beings are permitted to have depending on the color of their skin.

"I know a great spot for us to chat up the locals," Uncle Fester elbowed her as they halted at a stoplight, which she sent a glare up at him to, "Find out the latest rumors, murders and all that good stuff."

"What are you waiting for, then?" Wednesday seethed, her eyes burning holes through him, "Step on it."

"On it, boss!" Uncle Fester saluted, revving the engine before peeling out despite the stoplight still being red, zig zagging to avoid crossing traffic.

"This is the place to pick up intel?" Wednesday deadpanned, picking her book off the table, the leather cover sticking to the thick layer of residue that's seemed to cover the table's entire surface. Even the sunlight flooding through the wall of windows next to them revealed crusted food bits and coffee rings all over the table.

"Yep!" Uncle Fester beamed, drumming hands on the table before throwing out his arms to show off the shabby diner, "Welcome to the House de la Waffle, home to all the local innings and happenings, a glimpse into the native culture. And, you can even watch them cook your food."

Glare unflinching, Wednesday straightened her spine like a viper preparing to strike—the chipped red pleather booth behind her gritty against her back—dipped her head and spat, "If you're wasting valuable time, then I'll be compensating by cutting your time on this earth short."

"Don't I know it!" Uncle Fester chuckled with that irksome giggle-snort of his, grabbing a fistful of pink Sweet'N Low packets, "This place is legit. In towns like this, everybody knows everything about everyone, and this is the best place to get that juicy small town gossip."

Brow twitching, Wednesday plopped the book back onto the table and cracked it open to her bookmarked page: the Effects of Wolfsbane. Which at this point, she'd read over a hundred times, but remained convinced there was some answer hidden between the lines she'd missed.

"You know," Uncle Fester started cautiously—some of the prior enthusiasm washed away—while thrashing the pink packet, paying her a reluctant glance, "There's never been any proof of Wolfsbane bringing back a fully fledged Alpha."

"So, I'll be the first." Wednesday replied indifferently, tracing the page with her calloused fingertips.

"I don't doubt that, that Wolfsbane oil you made'll probably be our best bet, but, I still think we need to make precautions for the worst case scenario." Uncle Fester advised, clasping hands together over the table with a sigh, "We both know the longer a werewolf stays in wolf form, the more they start to be more wolf than person, and it's already been a year–"

"It will work." Wednesday snapped and leered at him. There's wasn't a second option. It had to work.

Over the last year, she's witnessed as the wolf left a trail of torn up dumpsters and campsites, sometimes even garages were broken into with a strangely large, well-mannered wolf caught on camera raiding fridges; all up until the so kind Enid who gave every single one of her stuffed animals a name began to leave trails of blood, carnage and carcasses in snow.

Enid must be getting desperate, persistently hunted by other werewolves and pushed deeper and deeper into the woods, further away from humanity and what she knew of it.

Wednesday had to find her before she lost herself. She had to save her before there was nothing left to save.

A waitress stepped up to the table and tossed menus onto it. Before the waitress can part her ruby lips to ask them anything, Wednesday whipped a wildlife cam photograph from the bag sitting in the plastic booth seat next to her and extended it towards her—careful not to allow it to catch against any table residue—to interrogate, "Have you seen this wolf?"

"Wednesday," Uncle Fester sang, pointing a finger up, "We're taking up this pretty lady's table, we should at least order something first."

He winked at the waitress, and she rolled her eyes with a smirk and subtle wink back at him, then spoke in a raspy smoker's voice, "What can I get y'all to drink?"

Though Wednesday refused to desist the death threats she sent to him with her dark eyes alone, she spewed through gritted teeth, "Coffee. Black."

"And you, hon?" The waitress cooed, batting her glittery eyelashes at him and swinging bleach blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Just a water. I'm trying to cut out sugar." Uncle Fester snickered, ripping open a Sweet'N Low packet and pouring it into his mouth, then mumbled through sugar crystals, "This stuff's got zero calories! It's amazing!"

The waitress gasped, hand in a pearl clutch, then narrowed her eyes at him flirtatiously. Glancing at Wednesday, she took once last look at the photograph, then tapped the table to add, "I'll ask around about the wolf."

"Thanks, sweet cheeks!" Uncle Fester cheered with a grin, then whisked his hand, "Go ahead and bring me handfuls of every meat you got." He winked at her, "I like things salty and sweet."

Blushing, the waitress staggered back, then bit her lip before sauntering off, looking longingly over her shoulder as she did.

"What are you doing?" Wednesday hissed, leaning towards him, "We don't have time to waste on your senseless philandering."

Uncle Fester exhaled and held up his hands, his bald head shining like a beacon, "Look, I wanna find your werewolf wife as much as you do, but you gotta know how to play the crowd here to get info."

"She's not my wife." Wednesday corrected, crossing arms and glancing away. However, she couldn't help but notice the way her cold, cadaverous heart jolted to life at the thought—something she would take to the grave.

"Sure, you've only spent over the last year traveling the entire Appalachian Mountains trying to find her," Uncle Fester chuckled, sporting a cheeky grin, "Gotta say, your Gomez is showing."

"I'm nothing like my father." Wednesday insisted, then her gaze fell, and she spoke softly, "I simply have a promise to uphold. Nothing more."

"There's nothing more powerful in this world than an Addamses' promise." Uncle Fester sighed, then as the waitress set down their coffee and water, he smiled at her, "Thanks, toots!"

The waitress fluffed up her hair and smiled back at him. Ripping open more pink packets to pour into his water, he eyed Wednesday and asked, "You gonna order something?"

Wednesday decided to let her silence answer for her, leafing the page of her book, and took a sip of coffee—which was stale and harsh, she'd eaten mud pies that were better tasting than this.

Uncle Fester grinned at the waitress and waved a hand, which she took as her cue to depart down the row towards the clattering, bustling kitchen, where bacon sizzled in the air and waffle batter dripped down the metal racks.

"You should probably eat something, kiddo. You can't just live off coffee and spite," Uncle Fester advised, sprinkling salt and pepper into the water glass, "You're getting to be all skin-and-bones, which you know isn't optimal for combat, especially with wolves that can snap a grown man in half like a toothpick."

"Size doesn't matter when you have skill." Wednesday intoned without lifting her head.

"Still wouldn't hurt to pack on a few pounds, makes you harder to throw," Uncle Fester suggested, patting his round stomach, "Nobody's been able to throw me in years! This body's primed for combat."

Wednesday clenched her jaw as her glare hardened. It was impossible to concentrate with his senseless babbling. Her head shot up, and her hollow, maddened eyes bore into him as she seethed, "Enid's killings have been progressively getting more and more brutal, showing that she's killing not just for food, but for pleasure. She's aggressive, lashing out. The latest pig carcass we found had been disemboweled and torn apart. Every second we waste, Enid slips away from humanity and succumbs to the instincts of a wolf, becoming a rabid, bloodthirsty monster that we may not even be able to save her from. I don't have the luxury of wasting time. I have to find her."

Uncle Fester frowned, gave her a sympathetic smile, and set a hand on the middle of the table to express, "We'll find her, Wednesday. In the meantime, you won't be in any shape to hunt if you keep up like this. You're getting sick."

Wednesday cast her gaze aside. She certainly felt sick, but it wasn't an ailment incited by whatever her uncle was suggesting. It was a fever of the soul, an agonizing ache that kept her awake through endless nights, an affliction in her bones that kept her forever searching, longing; trapped in a perpetual inflammation of the senses and mind, walking the line between madness and anguish.

She couldn't stand the thought of Enid alone, shivering out in the snow and storms and moonless nights alone, so wound up with fear that sleep would never come to her. The same girl who couldn't sleep without a stuffed animal, always had a night light on so she wouldn't have to be in the dark, who would rather befriend her wretched, gloomy roommate than bear to be alone in her dorm. The same roommate who got her into this situation in the first place.

This was all Wednesday's fault.

"Finding Enid is the only thing I care about." Wednesday replied coldly, her throat taut, despising the knot of emotions that tangled up her stomach as she spoke her name. Emotions were supposed to be locked away in a box somewhere deep within, slowly eating her away like acid, but Enid Sinclair had managed to sink her rainbow-painted nails into the stronghold and tore it wide open.

"Trust me, I know. You've always been an obsessive one," Uncle Fester snickered, then sighed and lifted a finger, "I know I'm the cool, fun uncle, and I don't like to play this card, but your parents left you with me, meaning I am, somehow, miraculously, the responsible adult in charge here–"

"A responsible adult wouldn't drive us into a ditch on numerous occasions from operating the vehicle under the influence." Wednesday scolded, straightening her posture and folding arms over her chest with a judgmental squinch.

"You know I can't drive without my road beers!" Uncle Fester gawked gruffly using those bulging pop-eyes of his.

"Here's a plate of bacon, ham, sausage, and turkey deli meat," The waitress butted in while sliding a white plate in front of him with a charming smile, "Just for you."

"Oh, oh, oh!" Uncle Fester cheered, rubbing his hands together with small sparks zapping through the friction in his palms, "Thanks a million!"

"Also, I asked around about the wolf," The waitress started, turning to Wednesday, whose breath caught in her throat as met her gaze with anticipation burning in her eyes, "We don't really get a lot of wolves around here, but one of the guys from out-of-town camping by the lake says—sure enough—there's been a wolf breaking into coolers and dumpsters. A real big one like the one from the picture you showed me. Says it went and ate all his leftover ribeyes last night."

"That's her." Wednesday blurted, her eyes going wide and heart skipping a beat, rifling through her bag to retrieve a map, which she sprawled over the table and stared up at the waitress imploringly, "Where?"

The waitress removed the pen cap with her nicotine-stained teeth and circled a spot on the map, then added, "It's at this campground here, should be just straight up the road from here."

As Wednesday jerked the map to plan her route, Uncle Fester spoke the words too foreign for his neice to ever voice, "Thanks a ton, you really are a sweet thing!"

The waitress winked at him, then sashayed off and away to another table.

Throwing the book and map into her backpack, Wednesday muttered, "She's breaking into dumpsters again. She's remembering."

"It's a solid sign, for sure." Uncle Fester nodded, cramming handfuls of sliced ham into his mouth.

"I'm going to scope the area now. I need to search for tracks before it gets dark." Wednesday announced, slipping arms into the backpack straps and flying up to her feet.

"But I just got my food!" Uncle Fester protested while smacking, glancing longingly at the sizzling bacon on his plate.

"Stay here. I'll investigate on my own for now. It's not too far." Wednesday insisted, and though standing still, her eyes were already glaring at the door, half way down the road.

"Sounds good to me! Besides, I've got something I've been wanting to try out here," Uncle Fester replied, laying his head on his palm as he dreamily gazed at the waitress pouring coffee at another table, who gave him a sultry smile and wave. Shaking his head, he faced his neice, "Plus, you ever get in a fight in one of these places? They're wild! And, everyone here's got a gun on them! It's a real party."

Wednesday stopped listening to him after the first sentence, impatiently grinding her teeth as she scratched at the backpack straps.

"You wanna take the cruiser?" Uncle Fester asked while holding up the keys.

"I'll find a ride." Wednesday answered, deciding this was the correct time to dismiss herself, so she sharply pivoted towards the door and started marching.

"Don't start any of the fun stuff till I get there!" Uncle Fester hollered after her, but they both knew all too well that likely wasn't happening.

Wednesday stormed across the diner chairs and rammed through the doors into the parking lot, and though the air was crisp with autumn, the late-afternoon Sun still beat down with all its merciless vigor, reflecting off the pavement and blinding her.

She made her way over to the cruiser, where she slung her crossbow over her shoulder and snatched her sheathed silver saber—an Addams heirloom belonging to one of her distant cousins who'd attempted to poach werewolves only to, ironically and fittingly enough, be mauled to death by werewolves—then positioned herself along the road to raise up a hitchhiker's thumb.

An unfortunate soul in a beat up Ford Ranger with its windows rolled down sputtered to a stop, brakes squealing like a dying cat, and a man wearing a cap and overalls waved her inside.

Wednesday nodded, yanked the door open and sat on a car seat covered in cigarette burns.

"Where you going to, little miss?" The man inquired, a cigarette pinched in the corner of his mouth.

"Take me to as close to the campgrounds up here as possible." Wednesday instructed with a point forward, posture straight as an arrow, clutching the jeweled basket hilt of the saber in her lap.

"Yes, ma'am." The man agreed with a dip of his hat, then the engine roared as he pressed on the gas, and the car lurched forward down the road. Taking the cigarette out to flick the ash off i the window, he glimpsed at her and advised, "You know, a little thing like you should be careful hitchhiking around here. There's some real weirdos out there."

Wednesday side-eyed him with a glint in her gaze, ashen bags dragging down her bloodless face, and as she unsheathed a sliver of her sword's blade, warned, "You just picked one up."

Chapter Text

Hunting was one of Wednesday's favorite pass times. There was nothing quite like the feeling of following a trail, the silence of stalking prey, the rush of a chase, it'd been an avid hobby of hers since girlhood. She'd been taught martial arts since she could stand, given her first crossbow at five—with Pugsley a frequent target practice partner—and soon after, blades and rifles. She'd hunted anacondas in the Amazon, polar bears from the Russian Artic, and once even harpooned a kraken.

And, Wednesday had found, she is fairly skilled at hunting werewolves.

Werewolves are clumsy, collosal creatures, they always leave a path in the wake of their rampage: broken tree branches, scratched up bark, not to mention the shedding. Alphas trigger something in them; they feel threatened, and like a territorial dog, will target the Alphas and hunt them down; they can even turn when it's not the full moon around one.

There's little knowledge on Alphas, as they're often slaughtered by other packs of werewolves before any research can be conducted.

Enid will not be one of those statistics.

Wednesday found she is also adept at slaying werewolves. After while, she began to forget that they were partly a person. They were only threats to Enid, that's all that mattered; all she could allow to matter.

Autumn—while watching the foliage decay to bring forth death and winter to the land was a seasonal delight—was a less than ideal season to hunt. The forest floor, dotted with colors of fall, was piled up with landmines, twigs and dried out leaves crunching with every step, always giving out her location no matter how softly she stalked.

Wednesday stuck to streams, concealing her footsteps with river stones and rushing water, crossbow drawn and ready with a silver-tipped bolt. She'd been following a lead from one of the campers who'd supposedly seen a rather large wolf linger in this patch of the woods—however, since the campsite was littered with Bud Light cans, she took this source with a grain of salt.

So far there'd been no tracks, no blood, no trails.

Wednesday had followed paths with less leads before, so this was nothing new. The woods were a vast, endless place, capable of hiding even the most sour secrets.

The evening Sun dimmed to a vermillion bulging bead on the horizon that seeped through the canopy of gnarled oak branches, casting twisted shadows along the moist earth, the sky fading to darkened shades of blush and gold. There wasn't much time before nightfall.

Wednesday had to find Enid before she's pursued by other wolves and pushed from this area as well, leading back to this endless chase of theirs. No matter what, Wednesday will hunt her down, even if she has to follow her to the ends of the earth.

If what she hunts down has any trace of Enid left.

Wednesday scowled. That wasn't a possibility she could permit.

Enid's unworldly kindness was an entity most precious to Wednesday, something she would die to protect. In a realm where all she could see was the vile and wickedness that plagued humanity, Enid's compassion was a dazzling light in the dark, one that despite the dreary waking world Wednesday navigated, she found herself always gravitated towards like she were stranded out at sea seeking out the guidance of the North Star. Enid's benevolence was even extended to someone as depraved as Wednesday, a choice that lead to her unmerited misfortune.

The idea of Enid's radiant heart blackened by suffering she should've never had to face was enough to make Wednesday go mad. She was Enid's pack, she was supposed to prevent this from happening, to protect her innocence as if she were safeguarding a royal jewel.

The wolf was quite possibly the only person to ever accept Wednesday as she is, with all her cruelty and single mindedness and arrogance, and care for her without trying to change her, and not just some projected image they retained in their head. She was the first friend Wednesday ever had.

Wednesday picked up the pace, leaping along the slippery stones, boots squelching in clay and mud. Insect chirred around, in harmony with the croaking frogs and birds singing their saddened goodbyes to the day.

By the time the dusky blue gloaming stretched over the sky, Wednesday's throat was beginning to close up with wrath; a rage pointed towards her own incompetence.

A faint outline of the full moon peeked through the tree canopy, surrounded by pale, twinkling stars. A full moon meant Enid would be at unbridled strength—and least amount of humanity. An Alpha at full vigor was a formidable beast, the strongest of their kind, likely capable of taking down a fully-fledged Hyde without breaking a sweat.

Wednesday will save Enid, or die trying.

A bellowing howl tore through the cold wind, nipping at her. It wasn't Enid's howl, it was far too baritone. Another wolf was here, hunting for her.

While she now had an active threat added to the equation, over time she'd learned to use this to her favor: track down one wolf, and it's superior senses will lead her to Enid.

The howl seemed to come from her left, towards the lake. Without hesitation, she pursued on foot, leaving the safety of a stream into the endless woods.

The forest was full of new growth, the hickories and sycamores spaced apart with thin trunks in an identical pattern that persisted in every which way, shadows creeping closer and closer by the minute. Mushrooms were the most useful form of direction, often clustered around deceased trees whose crooked branches still had stories to tell.

Being an Alpha, taking on a single werewolf would be child's play to Enid. Wednesday's stumbled upon the corpses before left in the wake of tussles that shook the mountains like an earthquake. She would always arrive to the scene of the crime long after Enid had proved to be a formidable foe and fled. When in the forest, werewolf fights were the most advantages method of tracking, they could be heard for miles. She has to find Enid before she slips from her fingers once again.

Thankfully, Wednesday is well equipped for a confrontation: not only her silver saber and crossbow, but a syringe of Wolfsbane sits inside a pocket within her thick black canvas trenchcoat, which will offer her some armor against a wolf's talons or teeth, even if not much; her plaid trousers and turtleneck are made of wool, also adding some protection; but at the end of the day, when caught in a corner, a werewolf would have no issues swatting her like a flea.

It was exhilarating.

However, most of her fascination with coming face to face with the powerful creature's maws was dulled by the monstrous beast inside her: the way her heart bashed against her ribs, a sore throb amassing within. It was the same ache she'd suffered when Eugene had ignored orders and was disemboweled by a Hyde, or when Pugsley was kidnapped by Isaac Night; all the instances resulting in her sprinting through the woods, despairingly groping the darkened trees, willing herself to run faster under fear that what is most precious to her will be stolen.

Ahead of her, two moons mirroring one another emerged as the trees sparsed, where the ground gave way to inky water, stretching out far beyond the treeline.

Something snarled in the thicket next to her. Wednesday ducked behind a fern, concealing her breath and crouching still as a statue.

A hoarse, growling pant and thudding plods tremble the forest floor, creating wakes at the lake shoreline, rippling the starry night sky reflected off it. Glowing yellow eyes pivot side to side from the shadows, towering into the treetops.

Wednesday dipped lower. Thankfully, she'd learned to carry pouches of strong smelling herbs to conceal her scent from werewolves' deathly acute noses.

The wolf grumbled and dragged its feet into the trees, disappearing behind bushes where nightfall had filled the gaps with dark matter. Wednesday followed the path of snapping branches, where an old schoolhouse-sized chapel lurked along the lake, covered in black spots from the shingles and white paint peeling, vines of wisteria branching all over to conquer the building and bring it to ruin.

Enid tended to take shelter in abandoned buildings when possible. Wednesday would find her fur in corners gathered in clumps of dried blood from where she slept. Sometimes, Wednesday would kneel there, wringing the fur, coercing Wheems to give her a vision. Rarely did she ever, and the ones she did receive were often only haunting vignettes of Enid's suffering, reminders of what Wednesday had inflicted upon her.

Clenching a fist, Wednesday shot up to her feet, stalking along the sludgy dirt shore after the werewolf's quaking stomps, gripping the crossbow with finger at the trigger.

She didn't get there fast enough. The wolf snaked through the shadows and barged against the steepled entrance, ripping open the wooden chapel doors so viciously a black cross hanging above flew off.

She broke into a sprint, swatting at the underbrush until she arrived at a short staircase over concrete block foundation, leading up to bashed in doors splintered at the hinges. Growling inside rumbled the dilapidated walls, spewing from two separate throats; one bearing such an unparalleled resilience it can belong to no one else than Enid. For several seconds, she certain her heart came to a standstill.

Wednesday dashed up the steps and into the chapel; where within bone white wooden walls, down an aisle of dark oak pews, right before the raised altar and under the moonlight pouring in from the caved in rotted roof dangling like Spanish moss, standing on two tree-trunk sized legs with shoulders that nearly touched the vaulted ceiling, was flaxen furred wolf who shined silver, bared fangs gleaming and dripping with blood, snapping at the dark brown wolf prowling on the platform over her, a hoary glow seeping through the arched stained glass image of Mother Mary on the apse.

For a moment, Wednesday turned to stone. All the hours, weeks and months spent leading up to this moment weighed on her all at once; all the guilt, desperation and woe, all burdensome emotions of humanity that in anyone else's presence could be imprisoned and never reach her untouchable heart, except for one.

"Enid," Wednesday whispered, eyes wide as the amber Hunter Moon up above, then as the dark brown wolf barked and dove after End's neck with long, hairy claws, she shouted, "Enid!"

Her voice was swallowed by both the wolves' roaring growls and snapping jaws as the reddish wolf closed arms around Enid's throat and revolved around her, vicious maws on a course for her gorge.

The following movements were so instinctive Wednesday didn't even have to think about it: she raised the crossbow to her eye and aimed for the werewolf's heart, then fired. The bolt whizzed as it flew and plunged into the dark brown wolf's shoulder, where muscle rippled and contracted as it howled in pain, too barricaded by thew to fully reach the target. She let go of the crossbow, slinging it around onto her back, and unsheathed the saber from her belt.

Seizing the opening, Enid rose up and snapped at the wolf, clamping her jaws down on the opponent's hide and using her claws to heave it over her shoulder; where she pressed down on its chest to pin it to the planked floors and raised her enormous paw up, claws glinting in the moonlight, then swiped at the wolf's head with a guttural howl.

A harrowing crack reverberated around her. Blood misted onto the molting walls and glistened in cobwebs clinging to corners; and rained down from Enid's claws in mass heaps as she slowly unraveled to a stand, glacial eyes piercing through the shadows aimed right at her, where below her the deathly still wolf's neck had been fractured, exposing blanched crooked bone, lifeless with its jaw hung open in horror. She'd snapped its neck in half with a single slash.

The winning werewolf loomed before the pulpit of the altar, heaving hoarse breaths with shaking shoulders, her beaming eyes wild and frantic, darting around the chapel yet always finding their way back to Wednesday, where they lingered a bit longer, transfixed but confused.

"Enid," Wednesday exhaled, staggering forward for a moment before catching herself as Enid lurched back with a snarl, recoiling into herself with talons flexed at Wednesday, who immediately stilled. She studied the wolf's movements: the way Enid's hindquarters trembled as she limped back, her face twisting into a pained grimace, wounds and blood matting her fur all over. She was badly injured. There's nothing more sanguinary than a wounded, cornered animal with nowhere else to go but through.

Still, Wednesday tentatively crept down the aisle, slowly raising up a hand up towards the wolf, shafts of silver light streaming through the shattered windows on the sides of her.

Enid's fuzzy snout wrinkled but she continued to cower, fear twinkling in her eyes as opposed to the bloodthirsty, carnivorous gleam from prior.

Speaking her feelings wasn't Wednesday's strong suit—mostly because she couldn't be bothered to toy with the idea—but, in this moment, her heart is throbbing like an artery had burst, emotions burning through her as if they were were fire, and she's utterly lost for words.

Wednesday decided Enid was worth trying anyways, and urged with a trembling voice, "Don't make me chase you anymore."

She immediately cleared her throat and straightened her spine. Growing so low and rhythmically it almost sounded like purring, Enid crouched closer to the platform stairs with crinkled ears; long, bulky arms flexed at her sides with claws scratching at the curling floorboards; her once painted, prismatic nails are now chipped, worn and faded; her raised fur filthy, the colorful streaks ghosts of her former self.

Wednesday stepped into the spotlight casted onto the space before the altar by the silver maiden in the sky pouring through the collapsing roof, sword drooping loosely at her side catching the light and beaming with a celestial glow.

The wolf's eyes flared with fear. Snarling, she lashed her claws at Wednesday, slashing her arm open and sending her flying towards the side of the chapel, where her back slammed against the wall and she ragdolled to the ground.

Laying on her side, Wednesday coughed, clouds of kicked up dirt sticking to her throat. She pushed herself halfway up on one arm, groping the chipped wall with her other, her head reeling with an acute ache. The shredded fabric over her upper left arm clung to her skin, drenched with a thick, warm liquid oozing from the gaping gashes.

Through her misty vision, a silvery wolf stalked towards her on all fours, canines bitterly bared with bloodstained teeth. The floorboards creaked and moaned with every step under the werewolf's weight, and a low gurgling growl tore up Enid's throat, spewing drool at the floor.

Wednesday inhaled, a pungent iron smell whafting up her nostrils, and swung out her legs in front of her. The wolf leapt to her feet, nostrils waxing and waning, her eyes possessing nearly a prey-like, desperate disposition, then she seized Wednesday's throat and hoisted her up, her back scoured against the wall until her feet no longer touched the ground.

Impregnable claws shove her neck further into the wall, the damp wood giving way, driving her deeper despite Wednesday plucking at the wolf's paw, unable to even so much as scratch Enid's armor-like hide.

She's the most beautiful thing Wednesday has ever seen. An arm's length away below, Enid's razor-sharp canines snarled and nipped, blood dripping down her saber teeth and smeared around her maws, moonlight illuminating her blonde fur with a glowing ring around her; her coarse breath reeked of death as she panted in Wednesday's face, and her beaming blue eyes screwed up in feral rage. There's no doubt that Enid could rip her apart at any moment.

So enthralled, at first Wednesday almost didn't notice the blood trickling down her throat from talons stabbing into her flesh, the way her face cramped and pulsed as she tried to inhale—though only sounded like a pitiful dry heave—and how her lungs wrenched her chest; so ensnared by Enid's ethereal magnificence she forgot that the wolf wasn't just figuratively taking her breath away, but throttling the life out of her. And yet, she's exhilarated at the thought of such a formidable beast being her demise, crushed by the hulking hands Wednesday treasured the most.

Perhaps she really is turning into her father.

The repulsive thought of a fate worse than death is enough to yank her head from the clouds and back into logic: she cannot die here, she promised to save Enid, she will not allow her friend to remain in this grisly form. She reached out a hand, but her arm didn't extend past the wolf's molars, meaning she couldn't plunge the syringe of Wolfsbane in the proper spot on the neck vein.

Grunting, Wednesday latched onto the wolf's wrist—though her hand only managed to cup around half of it—to try and hoist herself up to relieve the pressure, fiercely scrutinizing the beast before her.

Countless stories scarred the wolf's skin: thorns and sandburrs cling to her feet, pads well worn and calloused; bite marks and scratches tearing up her broad shoulders, torso and neck, all in varying stages of healing, some even keloid scars where patches of hair are missing; black streaks on her chest that resemble burn marks that'd scorched her fur to a tar, a result of being injured by a silver weapon.

Wednesday softened. Even people were hunting Enid down. Werewolf hunters were all but extinct and outlawed as far as she'd been made aware, but of course there could be plenty who hid in the dark and were itching at the opportunity to try and take down an Alpha.

Peering at the blade hanging at her side, Wednesday grimaced, held Enid's gaze unflinchingly, then raised up the sword to fling it aside, ensuring the gesture would be grand enough to convey her message.

The wolf's ears perked up, but her eyes tapered suspiciously with the distrust of a scorned animal; she inched closer and wrung Wednesday's neck, snarling with crimson slobber thinning into strips around her chomping incisors.

Wednesday let out a choked groan, grappling at the steadily squeezing hand, her neck searing and crackling in pain. With her head burning like it were on fire, her natural instincts start to kick in: she stiffly thrashed, tried to hoist herself up in a desperate attempt for even a sip of air, her vision blurring and stinging with tears.

The crossbow. Enid must still see her as a threat. If she were to attack Enid, it could send her into a frenzy, and who knows how much further it would distance her from humanity.

Wednesday fumbled with the belt around her shoulder, undoing the buckle and letting to fall down to the floorboards.

Vying for air, Wednesday kicked at the wall, her chest constricting. By the way a pin-prick buzz is devouring her from the head down, she's certain she's entering the final stages of oxygen deprivation before she loses consciousness. Enid may certainly take her life this way, if she doesn't snap her neck in half first.

A pearly glow blossomed from the moon behind the wolf, waxing over her vision until it basked Enid, illuminating her in a spectral sheen. Wednesday wondered if this was "the light" people say they see when they've narrowly thwarted dead. Perhaps she'll finally find out if there's actually a god or not, a question that'd piqued her interest since childhood—though she'd attempted to use Pugsley to find out, he was abysmal at that game.

While not religious herself, Wednesday had never been so driven to worship prior to this moment. The deity before her is a goddess of war with the strength to crack open mountains, a beast of divine nature with unquenchable bloodthirst and the penetrating claws and teeth to carry it out, a celestial being whose beauty outshined the moon and brightest of stars. Though this wolf was wild, the friend and the gentle strength she once possessed gone awry, a part of Wednesday cannot help but wallow in her newfound ravening glamour.

Even as her sight faded to stars, she outstretched her arms until they found their way to Enid's mane, where the fur was twice as thick as anywhere else, and entangled her fingers into tufts of the wolf's cheek fur, clinging to the silky strands for as long as possible, to which the wolf jolted and jerked back, but hesitated, allowing Wednesday brush her fingers through the fur all the way up until they cupped around Enid's muzzle, smearing the caked blood.

Irises rolled to the back of her head to expose veiny whites, she threw her head back against the wall, a bulging throb in her sockets made her assume that a blood vessel was about to blow up—and her morbid curiosity couldn't help but wonder if her eyes would pop out of her skull, or if her head would explode like a berry squeezed until it burst—but she fixed her gaze on Enid's beaming blue eyes, which pierced through the swamping blur like crystals, wild and wide and bewildered.

As proven by the words of a fool, to die for her really is such bliss. Death by a man-eating monster who Wednesday worshipped above anything. She couldn't ask for a more poetic demise.

Squinching, she tenderly stroked the wolf's fur with her thumbs, tears spewing from her scarlet eyes streaming down her spasming, bruising face. Perhaps she is doomed to become her father after all.

The tension throttling her throat twitched, then palliated slowly like a receding tide. Wednesday gasped and pulled herself up by Enid's arm, coughing up more than she took in, when the hand hoisting her up eased her down until her feet touched ground again. Then, as the support vanished, Wednesday crumbled to her knees, doubling over, kneading her throat while wheezing and hacking, her breathing abrasive like she'd swallowed rusty nails, a sore ache burning her throat.

The floorboards creaked beneath her hands. Lolling against the wall, she peered around the shadowed space, the chapel dim and hazy in her swimming sight, only to sharpen on a silvery wolf who was prowling backwards, head cowering to her forepaws with ears folded back against her head.

Wednesday peeled away from the wall and toppled onto her arms, each draw of air labored and raspy, then clambered up to her feet, swaying side to side from the heaviness in her head spinning the world before she steadied herself on the wall, then forwarded her teary gaze to the wolf. They stared at one another for several heartbeats.

"I suppose lunacy has yet to make a manslaughterer out of you," Wednesday croaked, wincing as swallowed, "As disappointed as I am, barbarism doesn't suit you."

Wednesday took a step towards her, only for the wolf to shuffle back and bare her bloodstained fangs, which gorgeously gleamed with a sanguine glow in the moonlight.

"Enid," Wednesday said softly, her brows creasing as she outstretched a hand, "I'm here to save you."

Perplexity flickered in the wolf's flitting eyes, where beneath the layers of feral fear, there was a hint of hope, the signature sparkle Enid always held in her gaze despite every adversity that challenged her, the unrivaled strength to remain optimistic no matter what the world threw at her.

Wednesday stiffened. Enid's inside there, she must. The eyes never lie. She shambled nearer, steps as weightless as a ghost, her palm held up towards the wolf's crinkled muzzle.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Wednesday urged in a low, steady voice, now a yard away from knife-like teeth that could maul her to unidentifiable pieces in a matter of seconds.

The wolf growled, but softer now, more conflicted. Her head huddled into her shoulders and tailed tucked between her legs, as though the beast were attempting to become smaller and yet still managed to be titanic in size compared to the rest of the chapel, again solidifying her as the deity of worship within these walls.

Wednesday glided to her, stonefaced with intensity, arm straight as a board as she reached for the wolf's upper arm, who quailed back towards the platform altar with a snarl, ducking away but remained withdrawn and jaw gaped for attack like a viper about to strike.

Furrowing her brows, she stepped closer, daring to stretch out her hand to the wolf's collar, watching as the pelt ruffled and torqued, her chest snow white and downy blended into patches of blonde and ginger fur coating her back that were bordered by gray streaks. Dipping her head, Wednesday's hand made contact, embedding into Enid's fur, gritty with dirt and grime.

Enid stared wildly at her, hairs bristled, then with a throaty grumble, nipped at Wednesday's wrist. Dauntless, she ripped her hand back, then surged forward to snake arms underneath the wolf's maws to cup around her tufty cheeks, whiskers brushing up against her wrists.

"Enid." Wednesday sibilated, leveling her eyes with the wolf's, who remained in stunned shock like a rabbit flipped onto its back; even her growling ceased, and the tension folding back her muzzle and face smoothed out slightly. "Listen to me. I have something that may help you, but you have to trust me. I'm going to turn you back."

Enid's eyes softened, unfocusing, then fixed on Wednesday, a notable shift in her irises as if she were given glasses and viewing her in a new light. Taut muscles relented beneath Wednesday's palm, twitching in protest of the relief, and the wolf eased her haunches towards the ground, grimacing with pain.

Wednesday released a breath that'd been held in for hours, taking a step closer to thread her fingers tighter into Enid's pelt, then retrieved a syringe full of a lilac liquid, now face to face with her as she spoke, "I'm going to inject you with something. It may hurt. No matter what, I'm not going anywhere."

Enid nervously shied away, shifting weight between her forepaws. Petting the wolf's collar fur, Wednesday pressed her forehead between the wolf's eyes, then firmed her stance and voice, "I won't let anything happen to you."

The wolf bowed and closed her eyes, resting her muzzle on Wednesday's shoulder with a deep, guttural exhale that vibrated against her skin, one that sounded like it was years in the making.

With the focus of a surgeon, Wednesday straightened up and plunged the needle tip into the wolf's neck artery, who jolted with a yelp like electricity had zapped her, but Wednesday enclosed arms tighter around her neck, ensuring all the syringe's contents are transferred.

Howling, the wolf writhed and whined in Wednesday's death-like clutches, one she refused to release even as teeth rammed against the side of her skull and the wolf's body bucked and thrashed, ripping her off her feet. Enid's pulse pounded against Wednesday's arm, steadily amplifying until it sounded like a beating drum.

Claws carved up Wednesday's back and her face tightened with a grunt, but she bolstered her hold of the wolf, cringing at Enid's human-like whimpers. If this didn't work, then Wednesday hurt her for nothing.

Screaming bloody murder, the beast in her clutches began to convulse, bones contorting and pulling inwards beneath her rippling hide, fur withdrawing to reveal pallid skin with bulging, pulsating veins that glowed purple. The wolf's muzzle caved in, flattening against her face until it completely smoothed out into a pair of Enid's human nose and lips, both of which were perky and plump, just how Wednesday remembered them, even though her features were pulled taut in her throes with her gasping and yelping that progressively heightened in pitch, sounding more and more girl than beast.

Wednesday latched on tighter, and the claws scratching at her spine alleviated into sharp pricks as her paws morphed into hands, then the pain lessened into the unexciting scraping of standard nails. Hairs sprouted from the wolf's head and brushed up against Wednesday's ear.

The exposed spine before her spasmed as it shrunk, arching against milky, hairless skin with every wail she heaved. Bones returned to places that matched human anatomy. Shivering, Enid slumped against her, gripping onto her with tremoring hands and panting laboriously.

Wednesday, unable to bear not examining the results of her experiment any longer, withdrew from the embrace—keeping her hands firmly on Enid's shoulders—to behold the girl before her, who was illumed in lily-white luster, possessing the ethereal grace of an angel.

Though Enid's oceanic eyes held the same wild, sporadic spark as the wolf, blonde tresses cascaded down past her armpits in waves, matted and entangled with leaves and sticks and uncharacteristically absent of color; smeared gashes and blush scars marred her bare skin, coating her with blood and dirt; her lower lip quivering with small, fearful cries bleeding out of her.

"Wednesday…?" Enid slowly rasped with a gravelly voice, struggling to speak, the function foreign to her; wide eyes watching her with the same perturbed temperament of a cornered animal, awaiting whatever Wednesday's next move would be; whether it be help or harm, and her body remained at the ready in expectancy of either but especially the latter; the one she was most accustomed to as of late.

Without words, Wednesday cupped a hand over Enid's cheek, thumb stroking the lines of keloid scars inflicted by the Hyde's claws from that night with Crackstone that now felt like a lifetime ago. Enid flinched, her eyes trembling and unsure, but Wednesday surged forward and clamped an arm against the wolf's shoulders to yank her into an embrace, burying her face into her neck.

"I told you I'd have no problem hunting you down." Wednesday affirmed into her skin, squeezing her eyes shut.

Enid's solid as stone posture melted into Wednesday's arms, and her whole body shook in her grasp as she threw arms around Wednesday, starting with sniffling that soon morphed into unruly bawls pealing in Wednesday's ear.

Wednesday hugged her tighter, willing herself to become a rock that Enid could squeeze without mercy and bury all her woes into, all the torment and hell she'd endured over the last year could be unleashed onto her skin, confessed in these collapsing chapel walls.

Realizing Enid was exposed, Wednesday slid off her trenchcoat and draped it over the wolf's shuddering back, who held onto Wednesday even tighter at the temporary absence and drove further into her chest, digging nails into her back.

Keeping an arm securely locked onto Enid's shoulders as the wolf curled into her lap, Wednesday retrieved the phone from her pocket—a compromise she'd made only for Enid's sake—and called her uncle, who answered after two rings.

"Uncle Fester—" Wednesday's voice broke, a thick lump lodging in her throat, and she sniffled the vomiting emotions back hard, demanding they comply to her need to stabilize, but the fears and desperation and sleepless nights seized her, breaking down her sound structure.

"What is it, Wednesday?" Uncle Fester replied, uncharacteristically gentle and attentive. He hadn't used this tone since Thing was brought to him maimed and on death's door, and similarly, Wednesday's tear duct hadn't been used properly since that dreadful day as well.

Wednesday sniveled, though tears continued to gather in her eyes and fog up her vision. The wolf wept in her arms, a stream undammed and unleashing flood waters with no signs of stopping. Burrowing her chin into Enid's collar, Wednesday's eyes hardened, and she announced the very words she'd yearned to utter for over a year and yet, her voice faltered at speaking them, "I found her."