Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wednesday swung the axe.
She paused for a moment. Tyler looked at her desperately, right into her eyes.

"Kill me," he pleaded.

She knew he meant it. He was serious. He wanted to die. He wanted to taste the sweet taste of death through her — through her, Wednesday Addams. His former girlfriend. His one true love.

Wednesday looked at him. She couldn’t do it. Tyler squeezed his eyes, ready to die. In this moment, everything flashed before Wednesday’s eyes — everything. Their first meeting, how innocent he had looked behind the counter at the Weathervane. How different he was. How he looked at her, how he spoke to her, how he responded to her in a way no one ever had before. How he flirted with her, in that playful way of his. How he called her that same evening, how he smiled, how his eyes radiated such a deep, pure connection like she had never seen before. His smile warmed her dark, cold heart every single time a little more.

She remembered the Harvest Festival — how he grabbed her arm and pulled her along. How he caught her when she had a vision. He had simply touched her — no one ever touched Wednesday Addams just like that — yet for him, that closeness had been natural. All their moments came rushing back, all those touches, their dance, their date in Crackstone’s crypt, the kiss — every glance, every smile, every gesture, every touch. All of it, and so much more.

That day in Willow Hill, when she saw him again — she felt it — he thought she had come for him. He flirted with her, and she felt his emotions. They were real.

Until that day, Wednesday had believed he had only been manipulated by Thornhill, used to keep her close. Her feelings had been real — but his couldn’t be. She had felt not only betrayed, but truly foolish — for falling for a monster, for allowing herself to feel at all. She had pushed those thoughts away, buried them deep. But that day in Willow Hill, she saw it, she felt it — it had all been real. So real.

And suddenly, it was too much. How could this monster truly love her, after he had almost killed her? Yet had he really meant to strike that day in the woods? Would he truly have gone through with it — killed her there? Or had it just been an impulsive act, one he could never have carried out? A question she asked herself over and over again.

But what she did know — Tyler’s feelings had been real. Steadfast. He had truly loved her.

Still, she needed proof. She needed absolute confirmation. She became colder, more distant than ever before. She provoked him — and indeed, it hit him hard. She could see how much it hurt. His anger, his unrestrained rage, the fury burning inside him. He threatened Enid because he knew it would hurt her. And in that moment, she knew — he loved her.

Wednesday had meant it when she told him she wanted to be his master. She had been sincere. She had opened herself to him. It had been the only way they could truly be together. And she saw it in his eyes — he had wanted it too. He would have allowed it.

Tyler knew, in that very moment, that he had been right — she, Wednesday Addams, was the only one who saw the monster inside him and still could truly love it. The only one who wasn’t afraid of his true self. That thought haunted him day after day, chained like a wild animal in that glass cell at Willow Hill, abandoned and betrayed by everyone he had ever trusted.

“But you do know there's only one way we can truly be together.”
Those words echoed inside him. He had wanted it. He had wanted her. He would have let her. Finally. But then everything changed.

Tyler had thought he had lost her forever when Isaac buried her alive. The sheer panic in his eyes when he saw her end. But he couldn’t do anything. He was under Isaac’s control.
And yet, Wednesday came back from the dead once again. How many times had she already cheated death? Like a cockroach. His cockroach.

The pain was unbearable. He didn’t want to lose the Hyde — it was what made him whole. Made him who he was. Made him Tyler. How could Mom and Isaac have done this to him?

And then she stood there. Like an angel of death, ready to take him — to release him.

"Kill me," he had begged her.

He didn’t want to live without his power, didn’t want to endure this pain any longer. His family had betrayed him, just like Thornhill. He would have killed them if he had had the chance — one way or another. He knew he would die, one way or another. Either go insane driving himself to death, or die by her hand — his personal angel of death. That was the ending he had chosen — death through her.

Ready to face his end, he closed his eyes, pain twisting his face, turning his head away. He didn’t want to see it. He couldn’t. He was afraid. Tyler was still just a boy somewhere deep down. Barely nineteen — full of fear, pain, and dread.

But why was he still alive? Why was he still breathing? Why had the pain suddenly stopped?

He opened his eyes. He felt it before he saw it.

Wednesday couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not with him. She had had the chance — as a werewolf in Enid’s body, she could have torn him to pieces — yet she hadn’t been able to make it quick. Something completely unlike Wednesday Addams. She was known for making things quick. But not with him.

She swung the axe downward and cut through his arm restraint.
An act of impulsive mercy?

"Why?" Tyler asked, visibly confused. Why had you spared me? Why had you freed me? Helped me? Me — after everything that happened?

"Because you were right," she began, in the same vulnerable tone she had used in the old church. When she had revealed her feelings to him. When she had wanted to take him. When she had wanted to be with him.
"Come with me," she finished the sentence. She looked into his eyes one last time, deeply, before disappearing to save Pugsley.

Tyler was overcome with rage — the betrayal by his mom, by Isaac. What could he have had, if his mother hadn’t appeared at that very moment — the moment Wednesday had wanted to become his master.

The rage shaped him into the Hyde in mere seconds. He had never transformed so fast. It took only a single breath.

Time to end it. Isaac had to die. Once and for all.
And his mom would be next.

Chapter Text

When the tower exploded, Tyler immediately ran back to her.
By the time he reached the top, he was still a Hyde. But it was already too late. Isaac had her in his grasp and was just about to break her neck.

"One more step and I break her neck!" Isaac shouted at Tyler.

He had no choice but to watch. Slowly, he transformed back.

"Thing, we know you're still in there," Morticia said, her voice filled with love.

"Come back to us, Thing. We love you," Gomez added softly. "We're your family."

"This was never part of your family," Isaac replied coldly. "It's a part of me."

And then everything happened so fast. Tyler saw how Morticia maneuver the axe toward Wednesday. How Wednesday caught it and hurled it straight at Isaac. That was what he had always admired about her - she never hesitated. Unless it was about him. Then she did, every single time. And that drove him insane - in the best possible way.

"You missed!" Isaac screamed, and Wednesday gasped for air.

In this moment, Issac lost his power. Thing was back. He fought.

"Come on, Thing," she said.

And then it happened. Thing killed Isaac in an epic battle. Isaac’s own hand fought him, killed him, and tore itself off its master.

While Thing staggered back to the Addams Family, exhausted, Wednesday glanced toward Tyler. She took half a step forward before stopping.

"They’ll be here soon," Tyler said, out of breath.

The cops. Of course. Wednesday heard them outside. Everyone did.

"Go," Morticia said softly, like an angel. "You must hurry."

And so they left - Tyler first, Wednesday behind him - descending the tower one after another, keeping a cautious distance between them. What exactly was there between them? Could they trust each other? Or were they simply using one another?

They slipped into the darkness of the night, running through the forest. Tyler stopped by a tree, leaning forward as if the air itself was strangling him. Wednesday, who had been walking ahead, stopped and turned.

"We have to keep going," she ordered sharply.

Tyler was breathing heavily.

"Can you walk a little further?" she asked, genuine concern flickering in her eyes.

He looked at her, nodded, pushed himself away from the tree, and kept going. They made their way through the undergrowth, the full moon casting pale light over the path ahead.

They reached the beehouse. Wednesday opened the door and stepped inside.

"No one will look for us here for now."

"What is this place?" Tyler asked, glancing around.

"Eugene’s Hive," said Wednesday.

That Eugene and Pugsley had once kept Isaac here, chained like a pet, she didn’t mention. She grabbed the first aid kit.

Tyler took a deep breath. The pain in his back began to truly sink in. He sank to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut. She had bitten him. Sunk her teeth deep into his flesh. What kind of mother would do that to her own child? He was bleeding - wounded - not only on his back. Now that he could finally breathe, now that it was all over, the pain hit him like a tsunami.

Still, he stayed strong, tried not to show it. Even though he knew it was useless. Wednesday noticed everything - every shift, every tremor, every twitch.

That was something Tyler had never understood. For someone who seemed so cold and emotionless, she felt others with unnerving precision - like the string of a violin. Or a cello.

"Let me help you," she said - her voice just a shade too soft, but her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

Tyler’s eyes snapped open. He looked at her like a wounded predator, alert, ready to fight for his life even in pain.

Ever since she had cut his restraints, they had kept their distance. Safety. Neither of them dared to get too close. Caution. She looked at him. Now.
He held her gaze - but not like the monster ready to kill at any second, rather like the clumsy boy behind the counter at the Weathervane.

Wednesday knelt down. His stare stayed guarded. He couldn’t trust her - not after everything that had happened.

She reached out, fully aware he could transform in a heartbeat to end it once and for all. But would he really do it? There was only one way to find out.

"Let me see," she said softly, her voice almost tender, as she gently touched his shoulder. Tyler didn’t stop her.

Her fingers traced the skin beside the bite marks. Dirt, blood, and darkness blurred her view. She opened the kit, poured disinfectant on a cloth, and began to clean the wound. Then she sat down close behind him. They hadn’t been this near to each other in a long time. The closeness made her mask slip - just for a heartbeat.

The touch burned into her fingertips. Her skin tingled. Her heart stuttered once. Her breath hitched.

Enough for Tyler to notice. He could smell it. Smell her.
But what was it? Fear? No - not Wednesday Addams. She didn’t know fear.
Then what? Caution? Maybe. But unlikely.

And then he heard it again - that faster, shallower breathing. He could hear the blood rushing in her veins, it ran quicker now. For her, it must have felt like a thousand ants crawling under her skin. He knew that feeling. And then it hit him hard. Like a slap in the face.

Her scent had changed. Skin and blood were still there, but layered now with something sweet, electric - like the air before a thunderstorm. The tension between them grew thick enough to cut with a knife.
Pheromones. He could almost taste them.
Nervousness. He could smell it.
Wednesday Addams had let her mask fall - just for one moment - and he had felt every single second of it.

Wednesday didn’t understand why she was so nervous. She could feel it, but not explain it. Was it the events at the Iago Tower? She had freed Tyler not knowing what would come next. Pugsley, her mother, and she had almost died. She had been buried alive. Her best friend was now an Alpha. Thing was nearly lost. The tower had exploded. The run through the woods - even she wasn’t immune to all of it.

She needed a moment to breathe. The closeness to Tyler was too much. But he was in pain, his wounds had to be cleaned. She couldn’t afford a pause. Her mind had to stay sharp. Her heart had to stay cold.

She steadied herself. Shook the feelings off like they didn’t exist.

"That has to be stitched," she said focused.

Tyler swallowed. He couldn’t take much more pain - but he had to. The fleeting moment when he had thought about turning around, pulling her close and kissing her, was gone. How sweet it had been - her nervousness, so primal. The wild creature inside him had liked it. Craved it.

Wednesday stitched the bite wounds with cold precision.

"Thank you," Tyler said, leaning back against the wooden wall.

Wednesday took another cloth, soaked it in disinfectant, and reached toward his face. But his reflexes were faster — he caught her wrist. She swallowed. There it was again, that tension between them that neither could deny. He released her, lowered his hand, let her continue.

She cleaned the scratches on his face, leaning in closer, close enough to see him clearly in the dim light. She felt his breath against her skin - so warm, so human, so alive. She froze.

"Wednesday," Tyler whispered, lost in the moment.

She pulled back slightly, lowered her head just a fraction, and looked at him. He could see entire worlds in her eyes. His hand reached for hers. Her heartbeat quickened. He noticed.

Tyler placed his hand on her cheek. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch - but her eyes spoke volumes. He brushed her skin softly. His heart raced - in sync with hers. He wanted her. He needed her. He loved her.

Being this close to her was indescribable. She awakened everything in him — every emotion, every desire, all at once. It drove him crazy. She drove him crazy. That was what she did. That was who she was. His Wednesday - the one he had missed so painfully.

Wednesday looked into his eyes, pressing her face into his touch like a black little kitten seeking warmth. His touch was gentle, cautious - three fingers brushing her skin, three warm points she wanted more of. Her cold skin drank his warmth like a sponge absorbing water. He noticed. She didn’t care. For that moment, nothing else mattered.

Exhaustion washed over her. Yes, she was tired - deeply so. Her body had been in fight mode for too long. But now, after everything that had happened - the explosion that had injured her, the run through the forest, the bruises on her neck - she needed rest. She needed some sleep.

Enid. Her best friend was imprisoned by her own wolf. She had to find her. She’d promised. But where should she even begin?

She closed her eyes and let her head sink. Tyler held her - just as he used to, and as he had always wanted to, even when he couldn’t. She rested her head softly against his chest, soaking up the warmth she so desperately needed. He held her close, so close - tightly - as he too closed his eyes, and together they welcomed the embrace of darkness.

Chapter Text

Wednesday had to find Enid. That was her main goal. Her highest priority. Agnes had given her a picture — Enid was heading north. She would soon be in Canada.

Would she ever find her again? And who would return by her side — her friend, or the wolf that had taken control of her?

Agnes’s ability was indispensable to her. She wanted to find Enid just as much as Wednesday did. Agnes had proven herself very useful over the past few months, and ever she had stopped imitating her, Wednesday actually liked her.

"Shall we leave right away?" Agnes asked.

"I still have something to take care of," Wednesday answered seriously. "We’ll meet in Canada."

Agnes handed her a smartphone. "So we can stay in touch. I’ll call as soon as I reach the border."

Wednesday took it reluctantly. She knew it was necessary.

"Thing will go with you," Wednesday said, looking at Thing. He tapped his fingers in agreement and crawled up Agnes’s arm.

"We’ll meet in Campbell. It’s about thirty minutes from the border. There’s a reservation there. If we find her, it’ll be there."

Agnes nodded. "I hope we’re not too late." She swallowed. "What if she doesn’t recognize us anymore?"

"Then we’ll decide what to do next," Wednesday answered, her voice steady but determined. "Now go. We can’t lose time."

Wednesday had asked herself that same question. Would Enid still recognize her — or was it already too late? Would she find a way to bring her back? Would Enid ever take her human form again?

Inside, Wednesday didn’t feel good. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t acted so recklessly, if she hadn’t run blindly into the forest to save Pugsley, she might have realized the connection between Thing and Isaac. Then she wouldn’t have been buried alive. Then Enid wouldn’t have had to transform to save her.

Would she ever again have to endure that crazy laugh? Would her ears ever bleed again from those ridiculous pop songs? Would she stand once again in that room at Nevermore where a unicorn had thrown up, surrounded by an army of plush toys? She hoped so. Because despite everything, Enid had become her best friend. A part of her life she didn’t want to lose anymore. Maybe her mother had been right after all — she had found friends at Nevermore.

When Tyler woke up, Wednesday was gone. All he found was a note.

Coming soon

But what was soon?
When was soon?
When had she written it?
When had she even left?
And how long had he slept?

Did all of this really happen? Or had it just been a nightmare? No — judging by the pain, it hadn’t been a nightmare. It had all really happened. It was real. Real and terrifying. His mom was dead. Once again, he had lost his master. Was he doomed?

Moments later, the door opened.

"You’re awake," Wednesday observed flatly. "Can you drive?" she asked immediately after.

Tyler blinked at her. "Yeah, I think so," he said, uncertain what she wanted.

"Good." She tossed him a look. "Here. Put this on. We have to go." Then she turned and walked out of the beehouse.

When Tyler stepped outside, she was already disappearing into the distance. He hurried after her, pulling on his jacket as he ran.

"Wednesday," he said.

She stopped briefly, turned, and looked at him — impatient, cold, composed. "We have no time to lose," she said, tossing him the car keys before turning away again.

"Wednesday, wait a second! Where are you even going?" Tyler felt once again like a pawn in a game.

"Canada," she replied, sharp as ever.

"That’s a three-hour drive!" He grabbed her arm, holding her back. "What do you want in Canada?"

"Enid," she said simply. Her tone never changed. "She’s an Alpha now. We have to find her. I promised."

"An Alpha?" Tyler asked, confused, releasing her arm.

"When a young Alpha transforms under a full moon, they stay that way," she explained quietly. "She’s trapped in her werewolf form because of me. Because she saved me. I promised I’d find her."

Her eyes spoke entire worlds again. Tyler wanted to ask, Why should I help you? — but he couldn’t. He had just been reminded of his own vulnerability, reminded that he was more human than monster. Wednesday had reminded him of that the moment she freed him. Enid deserved that chance too.

Tyler knew how she must feel. Alone. Afraid. Isolated.

He nodded.

Wednesday’s eyes shaped a silent thank you her lips didn’t form. Tyler understood it. They’d spoken that way before — whole conversations without words.

He got into the car, sat behind the wheel, and closed the door.

Suddenly, everything felt like a year ago — before she had discovered who he really was. What he really was.

Back then, they had worked together to solve a mystery. Now, they were doing the same again — only this time, they weren’t searching for the monster he’d been hiding. They were searching for Enid.

The more Tyler thought about it, the more he realized — maybe Wednesday had never wanted anything else. Maybe she just wanted to solve things with him.

If he had acted differently in Willow Hill — if he hadn’t been so hurt — if he had helped her instead — would everything have been different? Would she have come back? Would they have found their way to each other again? Probably.

The fact that she was talking to him again, treating him as before, didn’t surprise him. He was grateful. He had no one left. Thornhill — dead. His father — dead. His mom — dead. Isaac — thank God — dead.

She was all he had left, despite everything he had done to her.

For a whole year, they had hunted each other. But had they really? Or had they simply been playing a twisted game?

Either way, he enjoyed it. Whether they hunted or worked together — as long as she was there. That was all that mattered. Now, he had nothing left to lose.

"How are we supposed to cross the border without passports?" he asked after a while.

"You’ll transform into a Hyde and kill everyone," Wednesday said tonelessly. But the corners of her mouth twitched.

Tyler blinked — then understood. Wednesday Addams had just made a joke. He wasn’t used to that. But he liked it. She surprised him, again and again.

He started laughing.

Wednesday smirked. "We’ll leave the car before the border and go through the woods."

Then a phone rang.

"Since when do you have a phone?" Tyler asked, surprised.

"Desperate times." Wednesday searched a moment before she was able to answer.

Then another voice came through — Agnes. "We just arrived in Campbell."

"See what you can find out. I’ll be there in a couple of hours," Wednesday said, then hung up.

"Agnes?" Tyler asked.

"Her abilities are indispensable," Wednesday replied, almost defensively.

"Well, she won’t be too thrilled to see me," he muttered.

"Since when do you care about that?" she asked, tilting her head. "You could tear her apart in seconds."

"Don’t worry,-" he said, sounding again like that uncertain boy behind the Weathervane counter, "I don’t plan to."

Wednesday liked that side of him. It made him human. Vulnerable. Not that she’d ever admit it. But that was the Tyler she had once fallen for — the Tyler who didn’t cross the street to avoid her. The Tyler who gave her the police report of her father. The Tyler who used 98% dark chocolate preferred to her color palette. The Tyler who gave her a black rose and planned a romantic date in Crackstone's crypt.

"Who says I’m worried?" she replied, eyes glinting with challenge.

Tyler smirked. And there she was. His cheeky Wednesday — the one who loved to provoke him. How glad he was that she was back. That he had her back.

Still, he wondered how she could act as if nothing had happened — as if the past year hadn’t existed. As if he hadn’t tried to kill her over and over again.

But had he really? Had he impaled her with his claws, like he did with Thornhill? Even though he’d had the chance — more than once?

No. He hadn’t.
He only wanted her to feel what he had felt.
The same pain.
The same fall.
The same emptiness.

So he threw her out the window.
He wanted her body to feel the exact same pain his soul felt. The same dark and unbearable pain.

Wednesday spent the drive reading Aunt Ophelia’s diary. Her mother had given it to her before she left. Was her mother’s gift an act of trust? Or silent desperation? Or both? Or neither? That question haunted her ever since.

The diary was full of scribbles, drawings of black tears and despair. As she flipped through it, something pulled her right away backward —

She saw her.
Aunt Ophelia.
She wasn’t dead.
She was alive.

"Aunt Ophelia," she whispered, in disbelief, as she snapped back to reality.

Tyler looked at her immediately.

"Aunt Ophelia, she lives," Wednesday said, still staring at him.

"Who is Aunt Ophelia?" he asked.

"Mother’s sister," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Her visions were back. Finally.
Weems had been right — her power came from her connection to her family. And now that the bond between her and her mother wasn’t so broken anymore, her sight had returned. How she hated that Weems had been right. How grateful she was to have her visions back.

But what about Aunt Ophelia?
Where was she?
Who was she?
And what did it all mean?

For now, it didn’t matter.
She could see again.
And that meant she could find Enid.

Everything else could wait.
Aunt Ophelia was a mystery for another time.

Chapter Text

They had been walking through the forest for hours.
Despite the warmth of the season, the air was cold. Damp, cool, refreshing — it filled Wednesday’s lungs like medicine and fog all at once. The ground was soft with moss, the trees rose like thick, finger-shaped bones from the earth, ready to swallow everything and everyone whole.

Above them, the sky hung gray and heavy with clouds. But it didn’t rain. At least - not yet. The canopy swallowed most of the light, though enough filtered through to remind them that it was still day.

Tyler trudged a little apart from her, boots sinking into the moss. Now and then he glanced her way, wondering how it was possible that they were working together again — solving a case. Finding Enid. Just yesterday they had tried to kill each other, now they walked side by side.

After a while they stopped. He looked at her — and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dark traces around her throat. Even though Wednesday wore them like jewelry, something in him hurt. Lost in the moment, he reached out carefully.

“Do they hurt?” Tyler asked softly. He meant it, she could see it in his eyes.

Gently, his fingers brushed the bruises on her neck. Isaac had done a thorough job — every finger-mark clear, violet-blue, cruelly human. Tyler hated seeing her like this.

Those greedy hands had almost killed her. No one had the right to touch her. No one — except him. Anger rose in him, slow and hot. She was his. Only his. He would never again allow anyone to lay a hand on her — except him.

She looked back at him with those dark eyes that said more than words ever could. In them reflected the same questions that had been torturing him for hours.

What did it all mean? Why were they here — together? Why had she freed him? Why had she run away with him? Was he just a pawn in her plan, meant only to help her save Enid because he was the only one strong enough to fight a werewolf? Or was there more behind it?

Why had she stitched his wounds? Why had she fallen asleep in his arms? And why did she act as if the last year had never happened?

Tyler tilted his head back, his eyes speaking volumes. Wednesday answered with the same wordless language — the one they had always shared.

And there it was again - that tension. Thick enough to cut with a knife.

Tyler stepped closer, half a breath. His fingers still rested gently at her throat. He looked down into her black, soulless eyes — eyes that held more soul than she would ever admit.

She met his gaze without flinching. Wednesday Addams never looked away first. She had learned early that looking straight into someone’s eyes showed power — control. But with Tyler it had never worked that way. He always looked back, straight into the abyss.

They were equals — he, strength, she, mind. Together, they were the perfect team. The perfect pair. The perfect couple.

He stepped closer again. The distance between them vanished. He was right in front of her now. She didn’t move. She let him.

Did she only want to prove she wasn’t afraid of him? No. There was more. Attraction. Passion. Desire.

A shiver ran through him. Tyler wanted her. He wanted her with every fiber of his body. He loved her. He loved everything about her.

Her darkness didn’t scare him — it pulled him closer. His monster and her darkness danced together in the moonlight. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Two black-hearted souls, finally together.

They were here. Together. Only one breath apart. And he could feel it — she could drop her mask only with him. He saw a world of feelings in her eyes, feelings she tried so hard to bury. To suppress. But she couldn’t. The pull between them was too strong.

Wednesday wanted to close that last inch. His warm fingers on her cold skin. His claws against her throat. Everything fit. He was everything and nothing all at once — light and darkness, sun and shadow, man and monster, friend and foe.

She closed the final space between them. Her lips brushed his — almost —

Then the sound cracked through the air. A snap. A howl.
Close. Too close. It pulled her back to reality.

“Enid,” she said quickly. “She’s here.”

Tyler froze, caught in her web. The trance broke with her words, they pulled him back to her world.

Wednesday ran. She ran toward the howl, not knowing exactly where it came from. She ran, sprinted — and the sound stopped.

“Enid!” she shouted, desperate and hopeful, all at once. “Enid!” … “Enid!”

“She’s gone,” Tyler said, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was meant as comfort — to show her she wasn’t alone, even if she would never admit her disappointment.

Something pink glimmered on the forest floor. Anyone else would have missed it. But not her. Not Wednesday Addams. Her eyes were sharp. There was nothing she didn’t see.

She bent down. A few strands of Enid’s fur lay there. She reached for them — and the moment her fingers touched them, the world tore away.

Tyler caught her — as always. Held her close, strong and gentle. Always there to hold her.

Wednesday saw Enid running through the woods. Scared. Alone. Sad. It lasted only seconds — then she woke up in Tyler’s arms again.

“What did you see?” he asked.

“Enid,” she began. “She’s still herself. We have to find her before the wolf takes over completely.”

“Then let’s find her.” Tyler helped her up and smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said, brushing dirt from her clothes and pulling a phone from her backpack. “How do I call someone with this thing?” she asked, half disgusted, half ice.

“Wait — I’ll do it,” he said, taking the phone. A few taps, and the line rang. He handed it back.

“Wednesday —” Agnes began, surprised, but Wednesday cut her off.

“Enid. She’s here.”

“Send me your location,” Agnes said in her sugary-sweet tone.

Wednesday hung up and handed the phone back to Tyler. Her cold eyes said everything. He could read her like a book. Technology bored her — and she hated needing help with something so simple.

“Done,” Tyler said, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Thank you.” Wednesday looked at him with a mix of gratitude, arrogance, and a faint trace of awe — as if he’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

“Glad to help,” he replied, squinting slightly. “Want me to show you how it works?” he asked carefully.

“No. Thank you,” Wednesday snapped, one brow lifting. Then she turned away. “We need to keep moving,” she said, a shade softer.

They walked on, following the direction of the howl. Tyler kept sending their location to Agnes. Hours passed. As the sun sank behind the trees, Wednesday tried to summon another vision — and failed.

“Maybe we should take a short break and wait for Agnes,” Tyler said finally.

She knew he was right. But she couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when Enid was so close. Somewhere out there, in this forest, not far from her.

Her colorful friend — the one who had always been there for her, who pushed her out of her comfort zone, who saved her, who never gave up on her. Now it was Wednesday’s turn. Her turn to be there for Enid. How could she stop? How could she rest? Impossible.

“Wednesday, wait!” Tyler caught her arm, pulling her slightly toward him. He needed a break. His wounds burned. The stitches on his back were probably open again. But how could he tell her, when she was so consumed by her mission?

Then he saw something behind her. He felt it. They weren’t alone.

Wednesday noticed the shift in his eyes — the focus past her shoulder. She turned. He released her arm.

And suddenly Agnes appeared — out of nowhere.

His Hyde side always sensed her presence, she could never hide from him.

Agnes stared, wide-eyed, then looked at Wednesday in shock.

“What is he doing here?” she demanded.

“Hi,” Tyler said almost shyly, raising a hand in a small wave.
There was nothing left of the monster that had once locked her away. He stepped closer, standing beside Wednesday.

“Wednesday, he tried to kill you!” Agnes protested.

“No reason to be jealous,” Wednesday replied coolly, arching a brow. “We know to have fun.”

Tyler smirked. Of course she said that. Of course she defended their connection with sarcasm and arrogance. That was so her. So his.

“You can trust me,” Tyler said, turning to Agnes. Thing crawled out of her backpack.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Agnes shot back at Tyler. “You tried to kill us.”

“Enough,” Wednesday cut in. “Agnes, what did you find?”

“Not much more than you. She was caught on a trail camera — not far from here. Some rangers are already searching for her.”

Agnes handed her the photo.

Wednesday closed her eyes, holding it tight between her hands. A spark shot through her — like touching a live wire.
She followed the sensation, pressing her eyes shut tighter, tilting her head slightly to the right.

Electricity burned through her body. And then she saw it. Enid. A cave. A shelter near a hill. Crows crying. The moon. A tree trunk split into three branches.

Wednesday opened her eyes.

“I know where she is,” she said.

Chapter Text

The forest swallowed them whole.
Night had settled deep between the mountains — the kind of night that devoured light. They were far from everything, somewhere between Vermont and the Canadian border, where the woods stretched endlessly, and the only sound was the whisper of wind through branches. The air was sharp, cool, damp. The kind of cold that bit through clothes and stayed in the bones.

Tyler liked the cold night air. He wasn’t afraid of the darkness — it greeted him like an old friend.
A friend you could always hide with.
A friend who took you as you were, no questions asked.

Since his mom’s death, when he was still a child, he had often gone out into the woods at night to grieve while his father drank. The Sheriff drowned himself in work and whiskey, trying to forget a pain too heavy to bear.

Tyler had needed him then. But his father could hardly look at him — too great was the resemblance to the woman he’d lost. Tyler had her eyes, her curls, her smile. Too much for a broken man to see every day. So Tyler wandered into the woods at night, searching for something he could never find. He roamed like someone who had lost himself.

Sometimes he discovered ruins — an old meeting house from the pilgrim days, forgotten caves, abandoned shelters. He saw Nevermore students roaming through the trees, heard wolves howl at the full moon, and even caught a few vampires biting in the shadows.

Later, when his father began taking him hunting, he thought things might finally get better. He wouldn’t be alone anymore. And for a while, it almost felt that way. But as the years passed, the bottles piled up. His father started drinking even at the department. The hunting trips stopped. The rare father-son moments shrank to the few minutes it took to drag his drunk father into bed. How many nights had he driven home barely conscious? How many times had he screamed at Tyler, or simply passed out in that old armchair?

Each year, Tyler felt more abandoned. More alone. More hollow. He started blaming others for his pain. He wanted someone to pay for the misery in his chest. So he joined in when his so-called friends picked on the outcasts. It hadn’t even been his idea — it was Lucas’s. But he went along with it. With them, he didn’t feel so alone. Not until the day he stood before the judge.

His father was furious. He forbade him from seeing his friends again, told him to “grow up,” to “be a man.” He sent him to work at the Weathervane after school — said it would keep him too busy for stupidity. “A real man works,” his father always said. “Time to earn your own money.”

And then Laurel appeared.
Her smile was warm, her eyes bright, her touch grounding.
When she started talking about his mother, he felt connected again — to her, to the child he once was, to his father before the bottle. Laurel gave him all that and so much more. She told him his mother had been an outcast. A Hyde. He couldn’t believe it. Why had his father hidden that from him? Or… did he even know? Tyler confronted him — it ended in shouting and a slap across the face before he was sent to his room.

But Laurel wasn’t like that — or so he thought.
Until the day he woke up in chains in a cave.
That was the first time he felt truly betrayed by her.

But Laurel knew how to handle him. She knew what to whisper. And through the bond with his Hyde, the anger faded. He obeyed. His dark side was grateful — grateful that she had set it free. “Mommy loves you, sweetie,” she always said, stroking his hair. She treated him like a son. And for Tyler, she became the only family he had left.

Then one day, a few weeks later, she told him his purpose - his destiny - had come. A girl named Wednesday Addams would soon arrive at Nevermore. He was to protect her — until it was time to sacrifice her.

Laurel told him about the terrible things the Addams family had done, how the outcasts were responsible for his mother’s death, how together they would make them all pay. They would reclaim Crackstone’s land. They would fulfill the prophecy. They would have revenge.

Tyler was addicted to her words.
They were all he had left.
His only link to his mother.
His only link to anyone.

And then she appeared — wrapped in black, cloaked in arrogance. He didn’t know she was the girl meant for sacrifice. He just… liked her. That strange, sharp girl with the clever mouth, who spoke fluent Italian, fixed the coffee machine, and planned to run away. She drew him in. He could feel her darkness. Her woe. The same way he felt his own. She saw the world as he did — something to be endured. And suddenly, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Her words fascinated him.

“I wanted to decapitate my dolls more efficiently.”

They should have scared him. But they didn’t. He was captivated. And he was confused by hoe he felt. He needed to know her name. He flirted. He smiled. She looked at him — decided he was worth knowing. “Wednesday,” she said. That was her name.

Wednesday Addams. His destiny. The girl through whom Laurel and he would have their revenge. But maybe, he thought, maybe they didn’t have to sacrifice her. Maybe he could have both.

From the first moment, the monster inside him was drawn to her. Her manner. Her look. Her darkness. Her pain. She wore it on the outside — he’d learned to hide it on the inside. He liked her. And with every passing day, he liked her more.

He was meant to protect her — and that was exactly what he wanted to do. They grew closer. Slowly. Carefully. He fell in love with her. There was so much more between them than Laurel’s orders. Wednesday planted a seed of hope in his dark, broken heart. And with every conversation, with every stolen moment, the seed grew — into something light. Something alive. Something he thought he’d never feel again.

She was darkness incarnate — the girl who threw piranhas into a swimming pool, who didn’t run from monsters but toward them, obsessed with finding what others feared. She didn’t flinch at his true nature. And that — that was what brought him back to life.

Tyler knew he couldn’t sacrifice her. He knew it the moment blood began to rain during the Rave’n. He saw the others panic, saw their horror — and instinctively looked to her. She wasn’t horrified - instead, she smiled. He couldn’t help but smile back. She didn’t notice — her black heart too busy reveling in the chaos. And in that moment, he knew. She was it. She was the one. The girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She was like him. She would love him despite everything. He just knew it.

Days later, after the Rave’n, after Eugene’s attack - something he’d never wanted. He didn’t want to kill a child. Eugene was just a kid, with braces and bugs hunting and caves and dreams. He couldn’t do it. But Laurel had control. He fought. He resisted. But the monster obeyed her. Still — that night, in the forest — he stopped himself. He didn’t kill him. He couldn’t. He couldn't kill an innocent little child. With braces. This was cruel. More than cruel. This was hell. How could Laurel do this to him. How could she ordered an innocent child's death?
Wednesday’s voice reached through the monster. Through her, he was strong enough to resist. Strong enough to defy Laurel.

Days later, he found the courage to tell Laurel the truth — what he felt for Wednesday. She would understand. She loved him, didn’t she? Or had that all been a lie? He had to confront her. Surely there was another way — a way that didn’t end with Wednesday’s death. She would understand. She loved him. She would want him to be happy. Wouldn’t she?

But Laurel laughed. She laughed at him — laughed at his feelings as if they were a bad joke. She didn’t stop laughing. Tyler didn’t understand why. She loved him. Didn’t she?

“Mommy loves you, sweetie,” she always said.

Shouldn’t she be happy that he’d found someone who made him feel alive?
No. Laurel found it hilarious.

“Your feelings aren’t real, sweetie,” she said, dripping with mockery. “You’ll do what Mommy says.”

But Tyler stood his ground for the first time.

“I won’t let you sacrifice Wednesday,” he said.

Laurel stared at him — disbelief twisting into rage.

“You’ll do as I say,” she snapped.
She had no fear. She was his master.

“No,” Tyler said. “I’ll protect her from you.”

Laurel stepped closer, hands on his face, voice dripping with poison.

“I know, baby. You think you’re in love with her. But you’re not. I’m your Mommy. Make me proud, baby. I freed you — remember?”

Tears welled in his eyes.
The monster stirred, craving her words.
The battle inside him raged.
Laurel held him close.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.”

Her hand stroked his hair.
And the pull — the sweet, horrible pull — became too strong. He stopped fighting. He gave in. And his monster embraced Mommy.

Laurel had needed him as a distraction — to keep Wednesday busy while she worked. Tyler prepared the picnic in Crackstone’s crypt, thinking a movie would last long enough. He hadn’t expected to fall completely under her spell. He confessed his feelings. Maybe she felt the same. He was sure she did. He could smell it — her sudden uncertainty whenever he got too close, whenever he touched her, whenever their eyes locked. He could feel it in her breath. He could feel it in her pulse.

He wanted her. He leaned closer. His lips brushed hers — just for a heartbeat. He could taste her. And then they were interrupted. His father stood there. For once, sober. In uniform. Of course he was.

But the real surprise came the next night, when she showed up at the Weathervane. And kissed him. The moment she smiled at him was the happiest of his life. God, she was beautiful when she smiled. He’d seen her smile before — but never at him.
And then she ran. He had never seen her run like that. Never seen panic in her eyes before. What happend? What had she seen? But she was gone. Vanished into the night.

He was ecstatic when she asked to meet in the woods. He went to her — ready to kiss her again. But she had already unmasked him. And the betrayal cut deeper than any wound. She tortured him. And he couldn’t understand how. He’d been so sure she felt the same. How could he have been so wrong? How could she do this to him? They were the same. Two black hearts in a cruel world... but... they were the same…

Laurel had been right. She was all he had left. And she fed his anger — his hurt, his pain, his woe — until he almost killed Wednesday that night. He would have. He knew it now. He would have done it, and regretted it forever.

Laurel was the reason he lost Wednesday.
Laurel was the reason he became a monster.
Laurel was the one who used him.
Laurel was the one who betrayed him.
Laurel was the reason he’d ended up in a cell at Willow Hill.

The cool forest air brushed through his hair. The moss beneath him smelled of earth and rain. The scent of a werewolf lingered close. He wasn’t in Willow Hill anymore. He was in the woods. Tyler hadn’t been there in months. He was on the run — because of her. Because of Laurel.

"Mommy loves you, sweetie," she had always said.

Even in Willow Hill, she called him her baby. He wasn’t her baby. She had used him.

“Mommy loves you, sweetie.”
Laurel’s voice echoed in his mind.
No. You don’t. You make me sick.
“I know, baby,” she whispered again.
No. You know nothing. You used me. You betrayed me. Because of you I’m trapped here.
“Tyler, sweetie, you’re free.”
Leave me alone, he screamed inside his head, looking around.

He was free.
He wasn’t in Willow Hill anymore.
So why did everything blur?
Why did the world twist and spin?
He was free. He had been on the run for months.
No. That couldn’t be.
He was free. He was—

“Tyler, honey… make Mommy happy.”

“SHUUUUUT UUUUUP!” he screamed.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He clutched his head, fell to his knees, and roared in pain. His eyes turned blood-red. Widened. His breath quickened. He started to transform.

And the forest, silent witness to all his ghosts, held its breath.

Chapter Text

The night screamed. Tyler’s roar tore through the forest like thunder splitting the sky. Wednesday and Agnes froze for half a heartbeat before they spun around. Everything happened so fast it was hard to tell where one breath ended and the next began. Agnes gasped — and disappeared into invisibility. Wednesday saw him, and her heart stopped.

“Tyler!” she said more to herself and ran to him, stumbling through the underbrush until she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands found his face instinctively. He was pale, soaked with sweat, trembling. His breath came in broken gasps. He was transforming.

It was just like that day in Willow Hill — the moment she’d left him. But this time she didn’t run. She ran to him. This time, she was doing it right. In the distance, a howl rolled through the trees — Enid. But she had to wait. Wednesday knew what mattered now. He mattered. At least for this second, he was her priority.

The cold night wind brushed her face, the damp earth pressed through her clothes into her knees. Somewhere far away, a crow fell silent. Leaves whispered overhead. Branches cracked like knuckles in the darkness. The air smelled of wet moss, pine, and fear.

She lifted his head, holding him steady, staring into his eyes. She knew instantly what was happening — she’d seen it before, heard of it from Capri. Male Hydes weren’t strong enough. Losing their master drove them mad. Of course. He had killed Thornhill. Then hurt Isaac. Then killed his mother. How many masters could a Hyde lose before he lost himself? This time it was happening faster. It made sense. That was the variable she hadn’t accounted for — that he’d killed his master again. And now he was paying the price.

“Calm down, or the Hyde will take over,” she said, her hands cupping his face. Her eyes locked on his. He was fighting — half here, half gone.

“Breathe,” she ordered, her voice both sharp and soft. “Breathe, Tyler.” She watched every muscle in his jaw tighten as he struggled against the pull of the monster. Her gaze anchored him, held him in place, kept him human. “Breathe,” she repeated, and this time there was warmth in her tone — just a flicker, but real.

Tyler looked at her, and in that look she recognized him. He recognized her. She was there. She wasn’t leaving. She was holding him. Everything he could have wished for. Everything he had ever dreamed of. Lying in her hands. Losing himself in her beautiful eyes. Seeing an eternity of possibilities in them. A life together. Forever. But the voices in his head were too loud. Seconds stretched into eternity. He stared at her for one last breath — and then it broke. The Hyde hit like an explosion. His body convulsed, bones snapped, skin stretched, and the sound that followed wasn’t human. The transformation threw Wednesday backward. She hit the ground hard, her breath leaving her in a gasp as the Hyde rose before her.

Agnes appeared beside her, dropped to one knee, a trembling hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “Wednesday — are you alright?” she whispered, eyes wide as the creature loomed above them, its breath steaming in the cold. Then, without warning, he turned and bolted into the forest, disappearing into the black between the trees.

“Tyler! Stay here! Tyler—” Wednesday’s voice tore after him, but he was already gone, his roar fading into the distance.

How could she have missed this? She — Wednesday Addams — who noticed everything. Every equation solved before it was written. Every threat measured before it moved. But this time, she hadn’t seen it coming. Enid’s howls echoed again in the distance. Of course — she’d been too focused on finding her friend, too intent on keeping her promise. And she’d overlooked the one thing she shouldn’t have: Tyler. The boy who was slowly, surely, losing his mind.

Out here, she was powerless. How was she supposed to help him now? How could she keep him from destroying himself?

Agnes’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp as frost. “Wandering the woods with a murderous Hyde — probably not your best idea.”

“Not helpful.” Wednesday’s glare could have turned her to stone.

Agnes dropped her eyes. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, softer now.

Before Wednesday could answer, another howl ripped through the forest — closer this time, trembling with fear and pain.

“What do we do now?” Agnes whispered, her voice shaking. Thing tapped frantically against her shoulder.

“We have to find Enid,” Wednesday began, “and Tyler. We can’t leave him out here alone.”

“Do you want us all to die?” Agnes hissed.

“If he wanted us dead, he would’ve killed us already,” Wednesday snapped back. “He’s confused. We have to follow him.”

“What about Enid? I can hear her,” Agnes said, scanning the dark. “She’s close.”

Wednesday’s mind worked like a blade. “We’ll split up. I’ll go after Enid. You follow Tyler.”

“You can’t be serious,” Agnes said, her disbelief clear in her wide eyes.

“I’m always serious,” Wednesday replied coldly.

A new sound tore through the night — a deep, guttural roar to their right. Tyler. To the left, a howl. Enid. “Go,” Wednesday ordered. “Now.”

They ran. Wednesday toward the howling, Agnes toward the roaring.

The ground was slick with moss, the air heavy with fog and electricity. The forest seemed to breathe — alive, ancient, and watching. Wednesday’s boots sank into the soft mud as roots clawed at her feet. She stumbled, caught herself, and then her boot snagged on a gnarled root. She fell hard, and the instant her body hit the ground, her head snapped back.

A vision struck like lightning.

She was in a dungeon. The air smelled of rust and blood. The words 'WEDNESDAY MUST DIE' were scrawled across the wall written in blood. A tall woman with long blonde hair stood before it, her back straight. Grandmama entered the room, the heavy door creaking behind her. “Ophelia,” she said gently, almost pleading. Ophelia turned — and laughed. The sound was hollow and cruel.

The laughter followed her back into the real world. Wednesday gasped awake, lying flat on the forest floor. Something warm and wet dripped onto her face. It wasn’t rain. She wiped it away — it was thick, warm, alive. Drool.

She looked up.

Enid towered above her, her golden fur glowing faintly in the moonlight. Her massive chest heaved with every breath, silver vapor escaped her jaws in hot clouds. Saliva glistened along her teeth as she growled low, eyes locked on Wednesday. She looked like something out of an old fairytale — part guardian, part nightmare, magnificent and terrifying all at once.

“Enid—” Wednesday whispered, disbelief softening her sharp voice. “—I found you.” Or better said, Enid found her.

The wolf’s growl deepened, vibrating through the ground. But Wednesday didn’t move. She reached out her hand slowly, her pale fingers trembling only slightly. The moment stretched. Enid’s breath brushed against her wrist — hot, wild, alive.

Then the growl broke. The wolf blinked, and Wednesday saw it — recognition flickering behind those shining eyes. Enid leaned forward, pressing her head into Wednesday’s palm. The coarse fur was warm beneath her hand. Wednesday threw her arms around her neck, burying her face into the wolf’s fur. Enid wrapped her forelegs around her in return, pulling her close, a low rumble in her chest that sounded almost like a sob. Tears shimmered in her glowing eyes.

“Finally,” Wednesday whispered, her own eyes burning. It had only been two days, but after everything that had happened, it felt like years.

“Enid, can you hear me?” she asked, pulling back slightly. The wolf blinked, something like a nod. “Agnes is here too—”

A roar split the forest again, deep and distant. Wednesday’s head snapped toward the sound. “Tyler,” she breathed.

Enid’s lips curled back, a snarl rising in her throat.

“We need to find him-" she said quickly. "Agnes is with him."

They ran — side by side, girl and wolf, through the dripping dark and breathless cold. The forest opened before them like a secret finally revealed. Branches tore at Wednesdays clothes, shadows scattered in their wake. The moon chased them through the trees, painting them in silver and fear.

Wednesday had found Enid. But how would she bring her back to herself? And what about Tyler — lost, wounded, half-mad? Would they find him before something terrible happened?

And the vision — Aunt Ophelia, imprisoned and laughing. Why did she want Wednesday dead? Why was Grandmama with her?

The night offered no answers. Only wind. Only darkness. Only the echo of their running feet fading into the endless woods.

Chapter Text

The first shot tore through the forest like a scream swallowed by mist, followed by another, then another, until even the silence trembled in its echo. Wednesday froze mid-step, her breath white in the cold air, her mind already tracing direction, distance, danger. It came from where Tyler and Agnes had gone. Fear rose in her. For a heartbeat she stood there, the world holding its breath with her, and then Enid flinched. The wolf inside her reacted first — ears flattened, a strangled sound caught in her throat — and before the girl could think, she was gone, golden fur dissolving into the dark.

“Enid!” Wednesday’s voice cut through the fog, sharper than she meant it to be. No answer. Only the rain, the wind, the hollow rhythm of her own heartbeat. For a moment she thought of turning toward the gunfire, but instinct — or maybe something softer, something she hated to name — pulled her the other way. Enid needed her. Always had. And so she ran.

The forest swallowed her whole. Wet branches brushed her cheeks, roots tangled around her boots, the scent of pine and cold earth thick in her lungs. Every sound felt too close — the whisper of leaves, the rush of her own pulse, the echo of a name she kept shouting into nothing. Then, at last, she saw her — a shimmer of gold beneath a fallen trunk, curled into herself, trembling like a creature that no longer trusted its own skin.

Wednesday slowed, her boots sinking into the moss. She knelt beside her, the wolf’s eyes wide and wild, the breath fast and shallow. “You can’t just run away every time the world gets loud,” she said, voice low, measured. “It’s inefficient. And reckless.” Enid whimpered, the sound small, heartbreakingly human. Wednesday hesitated, then reached out, her fingertips brushed damp fur, warmer than expected. “You’re not a monster,” she murmured, softer this time. “Just… temporarily inconvenient.”

The wolf’s chest rose and fell, slower now, the trembling easing. She pressed her head against Wednesday’s hand, and for a moment the world exhaled. Rain dripped from the branches above, moonlight scattered across their shoulders, the air smelled of wet soil and breath and something like peace.

It didn’t last. Enid’s body tensed, her nose lifting toward the wind. A flicker of instinct — prey, near. She moved before Wednesday could stop her, a blur of motion through the trees. The struggle was over in seconds, the night swallowing every sound except the ragged breath of the wolf and the stillness of the hare at her feet. Wednesday stopped a few steps away, watching the red stain spread through white fur, watching Enid’s eyes glaze with confusion and guilt.

Wednesday watched the wolf breathe — the rise and fall, the raw pulse beneath the fur. Once, Enid had told her she was cold. Maybe she had been. Maybe she still was. But something in her chest ached now, sharp and unfamiliar, melting slowly like frost in the sun. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The air between them carried enough weight. Enid’s eyes lifted — wild, unfocused — and for a fleeting moment, Wednesday thought she saw the girl behind them. The laughter, the color, the light she used to bring into every shadowed corner of her world.
The forest stilled, the rain paused midair, and Wednesday let herself believe — just for a heartbeat — that the girl she loved was still somewhere inside, beneath the gold and the hunger, waiting to return.

Wednesday blinked the rain from her lashes, her breath a faint ghost in the cold. “Can we move on now?” she said at last — her voice low, clipped, but not unkind.
Enid turned her head, eyes calmer now, more human than before. She gave a small nod, the wolf’s strength still coiled beneath the surface, but the girl — her girl — was back.

They started walking toward the sound of the gunfire, faint now, maybe miles away. The forest stretched endless around them, shadows tangled like thoughts too old to untangle. Each step left a dark print in the soaked earth, each breath a cloud that disappeared before it could matter.

Wednesday walked in silence. It suited her. Yet in that silence, memory began to creep in — slow, uninvited, and warm in ways that made her uneasy.

She remembered Enid’s laughter echoing through the dorm, the smell of nail polish and too-sweet perfume, the ridiculous playlists of bubblegum pop that had filled every corner of their shared room. She remembered late nights, Enid talking until her voice grew soft and tired, Wednesday pretending to read while listening to every word. She remembered the Poe Cup — the chaos, the screaming, the triumph. Enid’s arms around her, glitter in her hair, and that infuriating warmth that had felt like sunlight finding its way through cracks in stone.

“You don’t have to like it,” Enid had said once, legs dangling from her bed, smiling like she knew everything. “Just… let people care about you sometimes.”
“People are unpredictable. And messy,” Wednesday had answered, her voice sharp but her gaze lingering on the colorful bracelets around Enid’s wrist.
“So are you,” Enid had said simply.
Wednesday hadn’t had an answer for that.

Now, trudging through the rain and the dark, she almost smiled — the smallest, quietest curve at the corner of her mouth. She wouldn’t admit it, not even to herself, but Enid had been right. About everything that mattered.

The wolf padded beside her, silent except for the wet rustle of paws in mud. Every so often, Enid would glance up at her, like checking if Wednesday was still there — if she was real, if this moment was.

When their eyes met, there was no need for words. Wednesday had always believed language was overrated anyway.

They reached the clearing just as the rain began to fade — not quite stopping, but softening into mist. The forest had gone still again, as if holding its breath.

The ground was torn, the earth clawed open in wide, violent arcs. Mud and moss churned together into something dark and ugly. Wednesday stopped where the prints deepened — half-human, half-monster — and crouched. Her gloved fingers brushed over the ground, tracing the faint edges of chaos.

Beside her, Enid sniffed the air, ears twitching. Her paws sank into the mud, and for a second Wednesday thought she saw the wolf hesitate, as if afraid of what it might find.

Wednesday slowed her pace, her eyes scanning the ground, her mind already stitching fragments together. Torn earth. Broken branches. The faint memory of violence clinging to every surface. A shape half-buried in the mud caught her attention. She crouched, her fingers closing around it, pulling it free — the phone.

It was cracked, drenched, and lifeless.
She turned it in her hands, watching the rain slide over the glass, as if sheer will could bring it back. But the black screen stared back at her, unblinking. Cold. Empty.
Her jaw tightened. Then, with one sharp, deliberate motion, she let it fall. The sound of shattering glass seemed almost too loud for a place this quiet.

“Useless,” she muttered under her breath — not angry, not sad, just certain.

A few steps away lay the rest. Shreds of fabric, tangled in mud. The forest had begun to swallow them already. But one thing had resisted — the jacket. Still mostly whole, clinging to the branch of a fallen tree, rain dripping from its sleeve.

Wednesday reached for it, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric. She held it up to the light, her expression unreadable — though something behind her eyes flickered, just for a second.

Behind her, Enid moved closer. Too close.
The scent hit her before anything else. Tyler.

It was faint, washed thin by rain, but still there — enough to awaken something deep inside her. The muscles under her golden fur tensed, her chest rising sharply. Then the sound came — low, guttural, the kind that seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. Her lips peeled back, revealing teeth that gleamed white in the dim light.

She circled once. Twice. The growl deepened with every step, until even the air seemed to tremble with it. Her claws sank into the wet soil, tail stiff, shoulders raised — the wolf was no longer just beneath her skin. It was here.

Wednesday turned slowly, the jacket still hanging from her hand.

“Enid.” Her voice was steady, even, but edged with warning — that soft steel she used when emotion threatened to interfere.

Enid didn’t stop. She snapped at the air, once — a flash of instinct, quick and violent. The sound made the trees seem to shrink back.
The scent drove her mad. Tyler’s scent. The Hyde. The monster that had once worn a boy’s face and nearly destroyed everything she loved.

The rain gathered again, whispering against the leaves, and for a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Wednesday didn’t move. She knew that edge — the fine line between reason and instinct, between the girl and the creature inside her. She could see it in Enid’s trembling shoulders, in the wild glint of her eyes. A war fought entirely in silence.

Then, slowly — painfully — Enid stepped back. The growl faltered, broke apart, and turned into a shaky, uneven breath. Her ears flattened. Her tail dropped low.

Wednesday didn’t speak. She just stood there, the rain collecting on her coat, her eyes locked on Enid’s face. She could still see it — the battle flickering behind those golden eyes, the fight to stay herself.

“He’s not here,” she said at last. Her tone was clipped, restrained — but softer than before.

Enid whimpered. A small, fragile sound. Too human for a wolf. Too animal for a girl.

Wednesday turned her gaze back to the clearing. She read it like others might read a page — the drag marks, the crushed grass, the faint traces of direction. The forest was whispering again. And she listened.

Brushing the mud from her hands, she took a few slow steps forward, eyes following the subtle pattern in the ground. “This way,” she said simply.

Enid hesitated, glancing one last time at the torn remains — then lowered her head and followed. The mist thickened until it hid them completely, leaving behind the place where Tyler had last been himself — a lonely patch of earth that still seemed to breathe his name.

Wednesday walked ahead, her eyes sharp, mind already dissecting the scene around them. Broken branches, deep impressions in the mud — heavy, uneven. Not a wolf. Not quite human. Her pulse quickened, though her face stayed unreadable.

Enid followed close behind, her steps quieter than before. She watched Wednesday with that same mix of trust and unease — the girl she loved and the girl she feared might vanish into her own thoughts.

“When I was trapped inside your body,” Wednesday began suddenly, her voice low, her words cutting through the fog like a blade, “I couldn’t stop it.”

Enid tilted her head slightly, as if she recognized the tone more than the words.

“The transformation,” Wednesday continued, eyes never leaving the ground. “It consumed everything. I could feel it — wild, chaotic, endless. But you… you controlled it. I saw it.”

She crouched, touching the soil with her fingers, tracing faint prints half-washed away by the rain. “What I’m trying to say, Enid,” she went on, voice softer now, “is that you’re stronger than you think. I know you’re still in there. And I know you’ll find your way back.”

Enid’s breath came slow and heavy. The girl inside her seemed to flicker for a moment — a glimmer behind the golden eyes, something that almost looked like understanding.

Then Wednesday froze. In the mud, half-filled with rainwater, was the unmistakable shape of a clawed footprint. Large. Deformed. Hyde.

Her heart skipped once, but her expression didn’t change. She pointed toward it. “We need to go this way.”

Enid moved closer, nose twitching as she caught the scent. Her body tensed, a growl rumbling low in her chest. She stepped forward, lips curling.

Wednesday stood firm. “Stop it, Enid,” she said quietly but firmly. “He’s not your enemy.”

Enid’s ears flicked back. The growl faltered, though her gaze stayed locked on the mark in the mud. Wednesday reached out, her hand hovering just above the thick fur at Enid’s neck — not touching, but close enough that Enid could feel the calm pulse of her intent.

“He’s here to find you,” Wednesday said softly. “Not to hurt you.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The forest seemed to listen. Then Enid exhaled — a low, trembling sound — and the tension in her shoulders eased.

They walked again. Slowly. The world had narrowed to rain, mist, and the sound of their steps. Wednesday’s mind turned every detail over and over — the tracks, the angles, the direction of broken twigs. She knew this trail was recent.

Then — voices.
Distant, but human.
She stopped instantly, raising a hand. Enid froze beside her, muscles tense.

The voices came again, clearer this time, carried on the wind. Male. Rough. Alert.

“…the prints lead this way,” one said. “Too big for a regular wolf.”
Another voice answered, lower, wary. “That roar earlier? That wasn’t no damn wolf, Clyde.”
A third, clipped and sharp: “Keep your eyes open. And your rifles ready.”
Metal clicked. Footsteps crunched.

Wednesday’s eyes darted to the left — a small ridge, an eroded slope where the earth dipped into shadow. “Come,” she whispered.

They moved silently, slipping beneath the overhang just as a beam of flashlight swept through the trees. Wednesday crouched low, Enid pressed close beside her, her breath hot and quick against the stone.

The men passed slowly, boots sinking into the mud.
“Got enough ammo?”
“Yeah, but I’m telling you — that thing we heard wasn’t just a wolf.”
“Whatever it is,” the first muttered, “we’ll find it.”

Their voices faded. The forest swallowed them again.

Only then did Wednesday move, the tension in her spine releasing like a spring. She looked at Enid — her fur bristling, her eyes still wide from the nearness of danger.

“They’re close,” Wednesday murmured. “Too close.”
She adjusted the strap of Tyler’s jacket over her shoulder. “We’ll have to take a different path.”

Enid gave a small, quiet sound — half growl, half sigh — and nodded.

Together they slipped back into the mist, two shadows against a thousand, vanishing deeper into the woods that seemed to shift and breathe around them.

The rain had stopped, but the world still dripped — branches, leaves, even the air itself. Wednesday walked ahead, boots sinking into soft earth, her eyes tracing the faint impressions that cut through the mud. Hyde tracks. Fresh ones.

Enid padded beside her, silent except for the quiet rhythm of her paws. Every so often she stopped, nose brushing the ground, then looked up and huffed softly, a signal. Wednesday followed, her mind mapping every mark, every broken twig.

“There,” she murmured, pointing to a claw mark on a rock. “He passed through here not long ago. His stride’s heavier — slower. He’s weakening.”

Enid tilted her head, letting out a low sound that might have been concern. Or guilt. Or both.

Wednesday kept walking. “He’s not the same as before,” she said. “The Hyde doesn’t define him any more than the moon defines you. It only pulls. You decide what answers.”

Her voice was calm, but her thoughts weren’t. She could still see him — the way his body had shaken, the fear in his eyes before he changed. That moment where she almost believed he’d stay.

She stopped, crouching again to examine another print — deeper, clearer. “He’s close,” she whispered. “Hours, maybe less.”

Enid lowered her head beside her, breath steaming in the chill.

Wednesday’s gaze drifted over the forest floor, then back to the wolf. “You know,” she said quietly, “I used to think strength was silence. Control. Never needing anyone.”
Her voice was barely more than the rustle of wet leaves.
“Maybe I was wrong.”

She straightened, brushing dirt from her hands. “Tyler lost control because he was alone. So did I. You didn’t.”

Enid gave a small sound — a whine that trembled at the edges.

Wednesday’s expression softened. “You fought it, Enid. The wolf. The hunger. Even when I couldn’t.” Her hand brushed through the damp air, close to the wolf’s fur but never touching. “I saw you choose mercy over instinct. Do you realize how rare that is?”

Enid looked up at her with those human eyes behind the beast. The look that said she understood — maybe not the words, but the meaning.

They walked again. Another track. A smear of mud. A broken branch. Wednesday’s focus snapped back to the hunt. “Two sets now,” she said. “Smaller footprints beside his. Agnes. She’s still with him.”

Enid’s ears flicked forward. A faint growl built in her throat, protective, alert.

“Good,” Wednesday murmured. “Then he’s not alone.”

The forest stretched ahead, endless shades of green and gray. The light had gone thin and silver, filtering through the mist like breath.

For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Wednesday’s voice came again, quieter. “When this is over,” she said, almost to herself, “I’ll have to thank Agnes. She kept him alive long enough for us to find them.”

The words felt strange in her mouth. Gratitude. Unfamiliar. But not unwelcome.

She glanced sideways at Enid. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m capable of appreciation. It just… happens rarely.”

Enid huffed — the sound that, in another life, would’ve been a laugh.

They followed the trail deeper into the woods, the mist swallowing their outlines again. And somewhere ahead, beyond the fog and the fallen branches, something shifted — a shadow, a breath, a heartbeat that didn’t belong to either of them.

Wednesday stopped. “Stay close,” she whispered.

The wolf’s golden eyes glowed faintly in the gray as they moved forward together, one step, then another — hunter and heart, side by side in the waiting dark.

Chapter Text

When Tyler opened his eyes again, the world was blurred and breathing. Rain whispered above him, threading through black branches that looked more like veins than trees. The air was heavy, soaked in the smell of earth, rot, and something metallic that lingered on his tongue. His body ached in ways that didn’t belong to a human body. The kind of ache that came after breaking yourself apart and forcing it back together.

He tried to move, but the ground clung to him — mud thick as blood, cold and wet, seeping into his skin. His own pulse sounded too loud in his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his heart or something crawling under it.

Then came warmth. A hand on his arm — light, hesitant, alive.

He turned his head, vision swimming until a shape formed beside him. Red hair. Pale skin. Eyes too big for a night like this.

It wasn't Wednesday - it was .. Agnes?

For a second, the recognition didn’t land. His brain refused to connect faces to names. The world around him flickered like a bad signal — trees bending wrong, air humming, colors bleeding into each other.

Agnes gasped when he blinked at her, pulling her hand back so fast she almost fell.

He swallowed, throat raw and burning. “Where’s Wednesday?” It sounded broken, like the word itself had splinters.

Agnes shifted on her knees, her voice small, the way you speak to something wild. “We had to split up,” she said. “She went after Enid. I went after you.” Her lips twitched nervously. “Which, by the way, was not easy.”

Her words came out bright, too alive for a place this cold. He wanted to answer, to say something sharp and cruel enough to keep her away — but his body betrayed him. He tried to sit up. The world tilted sideways, trees spinning like carousel shadows. His stomach lurched, his vision burst white, and he collapsed back into the mud.

The pain was a living thing. It crawled up his spine, bit into his skull, clawed through his ribs until breathing felt like punishment.

“Hey—hey, don’t move,” Agnes whispered, her small hands hovering helplessly. “You look like hell.”

He laughed, and it came out wrong — a jagged noise, like metal scraping against itself.

“Why are you even here?” The words hit harder than he wanted. But they still felt too small for the storm inside him.

And then the voices came back.

Laurel, soft and syrupy. “Mommy's perfect boy.”
His father, slurring over broken promises. “You’ll never be anything.”
His mother, brittle and distant. “Stop it, Tyler. Please.”

They layered over one another, louder and louder, until they filled his skull. He pressed his palms to his ears — too hard — nails digging into skin. It didn’t stop. Nothing stopped.
The scream tore out of him before he even realized he’d opened his mouth. It was raw and human and wrong, echoing through the trees until the forest itself recoiled.

When the sound died, the world went still again.
No wind. No rain. Just the echo inside his bones.

And Agnes was gone.
For a heartbeat he thought she’d left. That he’d finally driven her away.

But then the air shimmered — like heat off asphalt — and she was there again, blinking into existence a few feet away, holding a battered water bottle in both hands.

“Here,” she said softly. “Drink. You look like you’ve been through a blender.”

He stared at her, half-dazed, half-offended, then snatched the bottle and drank. The water was cold and metallic, slicing down his throat, awakening something feverish. It didn’t help. His tongue brushed his teeth. Metallic. Blood. Always blood.

“You tore apart a deer,” she said after a pause, her voice light but cautious. “Guess you were hungry.”

He froze. The world tilted again. Flashes of red — hooves, eyes, muscle. Nothing solid. Just ghosts. The taste in his mouth turned sour. He forced himself to swallow it down.

Agnes leaned closer, squinting at the deep bite marks running along his back. “That looks bad. You’re still bleeding.”

“Don’t,” he rasped when she reached for him. His fingers caught her wrist — too hard.

She didn’t flinch. Just wided her eyes.
“You know,” she said, “for someone who nearly tore the forest apart, you’re surprisingly bad at putting yourself back together.”

He wanted to hate her for that. But the truth hit first — he was too tired to fight. He let go.

She unscrewed the cap and poured water over his wounds. The sting was sharp, clean, real. The blood ran dark into the soil, disappearing as if the forest was swallowing his sins one by one.

He closed his eyes, breathing through the heat. His head swam again — flashes of the asylum, Wednesday’s voice, the mirror of the Hyde’s face staring back. And then nothing but the whisper of rain.

Agnes’ voice cut through softly.
“There. It’s not great, but it’s better than bleeding out.”

“Thanks.” He blinked, not trusting his voice, and somehow the word slipped out anyway.

Agnes blinked. Then smiled — a quick, crooked thing that looked out of place on her small, dirt-streaked face.

“You’re welcome. Now come on, before I have to add ‘babysitter for unstable Hydes’ to my résumé.”

He wanted to argue, but there was nothing left to argue with. Every part of him hurt, even the parts that weren’t real anymore.

Agnes stood, brushing off her knees, words tumbling faster now — filling the silence before it could swallow them both.
She talked about the direction they’d come from, how she’d lost him halfway through the forest, how she’d doubled back three times before finding him here — half naked, blood-covered, half dead.

Her voice buzzed around him like a mosquito he couldn’t quite bring himself to swat away. Annoying. And somehow… comforting. Not waking up alone anymore felt strange. Strange, but good. Like remembering what warmth was. Like being part of something real.
A pack of outcasts, stitched together by accident.

For once, no one wanted to use him.
Not for their plans. Not for his power.
Just… wanted him to stay alive.
It was almost enough to make him believe he could.

He didn’t want her help. But somewhere deep down, where the anger hadn’t reached yet, he was grateful she hadn’t left. The thought alone scared him more than the voices ever could.

The forest smelled of rain and old blood. They’d been walking for what felt like forever, shoes sinking into mud that sucked at every step. Fog coiled around the trees like smoke. Agnes walked ahead — or more like bounced ahead — red hair catching every stray bit of light that dared exist in this gray mess.

“I followed your trail for hours,” she said. “You’re a terrible hider, by the way. The whole forest looks like a murder scene. You really went for the dramatic exit.”

Tyler didn’t answer. He didn’t have to — she’d fill the silence anyway.

Agnes stepped over a fallen branch, boots squelching in the mud. “You know, for someone who can literally sniff fear, you’re not great at covering tracks. It’s like you wanted me to find you.”

He almost smirked. Almost. “Trust me. I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome anyway,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Next time, try not collapsing in the middle of nowhere."

She said it like a joke, but he could hear the tremor underneath — that thin thread of worry she’d rather choke on than admit. He watched her walk ahead, chin high, red hair swinging with misplaced confidence.

The forest swallowed her sound, yet she somehow filled the air anyway.

The fog had grown thicker. The trees leaned in closer, black ribs curving overhead. Each step sank deeper into the mud until it felt like the ground itself wanted to pull him under. His legs trembled with the effort, his lungs burned, his skin was cold and clammy. When he glanced down at his hands, they looked colorless — the veins darker than the rest of him, a map of everything that had gone wrong.

“I mean, I was practically tripping over your footprints. Blood, broken branches, a shredded deer corpse. Not exactly subtle. You might as well have left a trail of breadcrumbs. Oh wait — you did. Kind of. Red ones.”

Thing raised its fingers in agreement from her shoulder.

Tyler frowned. “You know that hand belonged to my uncle, right?”

Agnes tilted her head, her voice lilting with mock innocence. “Yeah? And?”

“It’s disgusting.”

Thing immediately flipped him off.

Agnes snorted. “He disagrees. Honestly, I like him better than you.”

Tyler didn’t reply. His head felt heavier by the second, the world pulsing at the edges like it couldn’t hold still. He could hear the voices again — faint this time, almost kind. His mother humming, Laurel’s breathy whisper: Tyler sweetie. He blinked them away, hard enough to make the world tilt.

Somewhere through the noise, a scent hit him — sharp, clean, wild. Enid.

It sliced through the fog like a memory of sunlight, impossible and real at once. He stopped walking.

“She was here,” he said, voice low. “Enid.”

Thing made a quick tapping sound on Agnes shoulder, impatient.

“Relax,” Agnes muttered, remembering the gunshots hours ago. She turned back to Tyler, lowering her voice. “You think she’s okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. The question hung in the air, heavy as the mist. Finally: “If she’s alive, she’s fighting.”

Agnes nodded once, almost solemn. “Guess that makes two of you.”

They walked again, slower now, the forest closing in until it felt like breathing through wet cloth. Tyler’s steps grew heavier. His shirt clung to him, soaked through with rain and blood. His heartbeat was too fast, but not strong — the rhythm of something trying to keep going out of habit, not will.

Agnes must have noticed, because her voice softened — just slightly. “You’re getting pale.”

He huffed a laugh, quiet and bitter. “I’ve always been pale.”

“No,” she said. “This is more… dead-boy aesthetic than usual. Like, you’re about two steps away from passing out and ruining my rescue.”

He wanted to tell her she hadn’t rescued him, that he didn’t need it — but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, his gaze flicked to the shimmer of air around her hand as she pushed a branch aside. For a split second, her fingers blurred, half-visible, then gone again. Like light forgot what to do with her.

“How does it feel?” he asked suddenly.

She glanced back. “What?”

“Being invisible.”

Agnes slowed, her smirk faltering just a little. “Depends. You mean on purpose or all the time?”

He didn’t answer, and maybe that was enough.

She sighed, pushing her hair from her face. “It’s weird. Everyone thinks it’s some cool ability. But you know what it’s really like? Standing in a room full of people and realizing they only see through you. And one day, you start to wonder if they’re right — if you were ever really there at all.”

She kicked a rock into the fog, voice lower now. “When I vanish, at least I get to choose it. That’s more than I used to have.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The forest seemed to listen.

Then Tyler said quietly, “I see you.”

Agnes turned just enough for him to catch the flicker in her eyes — surprise, quickly replaced by her usual smirk. “Well, obviously. I’m right here.” But her voice trembled. Just once.

They kept walking, their shadows stretching long across the mud, two broken outlines trying to stay upright. Somewhere ahead, the air shifted — the faint crunch of leaves, distant but deliberate. Tyler froze, instinct snapping awake. Agnes felt it too. Her hand went still, Thing tense on her shoulder.

“Tell me that was you,” she whispered.

“It wasn’t,” he said.

And the forest, for the first time that night, held its breath.

Chapter Text

The sound came first — a crack of branches, sharp and deliberate, somewhere beyond the fog. The mist began to thin, curling back like smoke retreating from a flame. A scent drifted through the cold air — faint, familiar, impossible to mistake. Death, rain, and something softer. Something that once felt like home.

And then he saw her.

A figure emerging from the gray, black wrapped around her like a secret the night refused to give up. The darkness clung to her, kissed her edges, and made her seem less like a girl and more like the echo of one — something stitched together by shadows and willpower alone.

The world stilled, trembling at the edge of silence, as if even the air remembered her name.
Wednesday stood there — black against black — a figure carved from shadow and starlight. The fog bent around her, the night seemed to move aside, and for a moment Tyler wondered if he was still alive, or if death had simply chosen the most beautiful form it could find to take him.

And then she smiled. Not the kind that belonged to joy, or even to peace — but the kind that escaped before she could stop it. It was small, fragile, trembling at the corners of her mouth like a secret the night wasn’t meant to see.
She tried to bury it, tried to hold on to that perfect stillness she wore like armor — but it slipped through anyway, soft and human and heartbreakingly real.

That single, unwilling smile undid him. It was the smallest act of rebellion against everything she was, and yet it felt like sunlight breaking through the cracks of his ruin. His chest ached with it. The world fell away. And for a heartbeat, there was nothing but her — this dark, impossible girl who smiled like she didn’t know she was saving him.

Every part of him came alive at once. His skin prickled, tiny sparks crawling beneath the surface like fireflies trapped under glass. A thousand invisible threads pulled tight beneath his skin, drawing him toward her, dragging breath from his lungs until her name was all that was left. Wednesday.

His heartbeat stumbled and rose again, uneven and too fast, like a wild thing remembering freedom.
The sight of her — pale skin kissed by rain, eyes darker than the space between worlds — rewrote the air around him. He swore he could taste her on his tongue: the faint trace of smoke and silver, that strange sweetness of her skin — a scent that lingered somewhere between decay and devotion. That pale, perfect glow — the kind only death could leave behind — made her look untouchable, holy in the most sacrilegious way imaginable.

She was his pulse, his ruin, his absolution. The storm that broke him open and the calm that followed after. He tried not to need anyone, and yet one glance from her undid every wall he’d ever built. There was power in her stillness — the kind that didn’t demand attention, but commanded it simply by existing.

The rain caught in her lashes, turned to diamonds before sliding down her cheek. The curve of her mouth — always somewhere between cruelty and mercy — softened, just barely, and the smallest flicker of something human crossed her face. It wasn’t a huge smile, not really. But for him, it might as well have been sunlight.

His chest tightened. The ache wasn’t pain anymore, it was worship disguised as breath. He wanted to reach for her, to touch that impossible stillness, to convince himself she was real and not just the echo of something he’d destroyed. When she moved toward him, slow and sure, it was like watching gravity remember its purpose.

And then she was close enough for him to feel her — the cold of her breath, the electric hum between them that had never really faded. She looked up at him, eyes sharp and endless, and he forgot the meaning of distance. Every nerve in his body screamed and sighed at once.

When she wrapped her arms around his neck, the world collapsed into that single point of contact. His hands hovered for a moment, trembling, before they found her back. The fabric beneath his fingers was cold and wet, but beneath that — it was love. Life. Her. He closed his eyes. The voices fell silent. The pain quieted. Everything that had been chaos suddenly made sense.

She smelled like rain and gunpowder, like grave dirt and moonlight — like every forbidden thing he’d ever wanted to touch. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Tyler Galpin didn’t feel cursed. He felt human.

And then the sound came.

Low.
Distant.
Alive.

A growl that didn’t belong to the forest, didn’t belong to anything human. It slithered between the trees, a vibration that seemed to crawl under his skin before his mind even registered it. The kind of sound that made the air itself flinch.

Wednesday’s head turned — slow, sharp, deliberate — just as the fog began to shift. The mist curled back, peeled away from the trees like breath from a dying thing. Somewhere in the dark, something moved.

At first, there was nothing to see. Only the faintest shimmer of gold between the shadows. Then — teeth. White. Glinting. A flash of movement where no light should reach.
And beneath it, the steady rhythm of breath — deep, heavy, predatory — sending clouds of white steam spiraling into the cold.

The growl deepened. The forest responded in kind, its silence stretching too thin. Every leaf seemed to hold still, every droplet of rain paused midair.

Then she stepped into the clearing.

Enid.

Her form tore through the fog like a blade through silk — half light, half nightmare. Golden fur glistened in the rain, each strand catching what little light remained, turning her into something otherworldly. Her muscles rippled beneath it, fluid and terrifying. Her eyes — molten gold, wild, ancient — locked on him. And Tyler knew, before he even breathed her name, that the girl he’d known was buried deep inside, clawing to get out.

The wolf moved forward, slow at first, each step deliberate, calculated — the gait of a creature who owned the darkness it walked through. The air thickened with her scent — wild, metallic, sharp. Her claws carved trenches into the mud. Her lips peeled back, exposing teeth too white, too clean, too final.

He could feel her heartbeat in the ground.
Could feel it answering his.

In front of him, Wednesday shifted — no hesitation, no sound. Just motion. She turned to Enid, her small frame cutting through the wall of fog like a blade. Rain slid from her hair, from the black fabric clinging to her shoulders. Her posture was rigid, her chin lifted just enough to be defiance. No weapon. No words. Just Wednesday — a silhouette of stillness standing between man and monster.

But Enid didn’t stop. The sound she made was lower now, almost mournful — fury dressed as grief. Her body tensed, her back arched, her claws flexed. And then she lunged.

The world blurred. A rush of motion, wind and rain and muscle. Wednesday’s body hit the mud with a wet thud, the breath ripped from her lungs as Enid’s weight collided with Tyler’s. He fell backward — the ground cold, the air gone — and all he saw were those eyes. Burning. Searching. Empty.

Her breath came in hot bursts against his face, the scent of blood and earth flooding his senses. Her claws pressed into his shoulders, not quite breaking skin but close enough to feel the promise of it. She growled again — not a warning. A sentence.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice sliced through the storm like a knife through silk — sharp, commanding, alive with fear she would never show.

The wolf hesitated, just barely. Her chest heaved. Her claws trembled.

Rain dripped from her muzzle, landing on his skin — warm despite the cold. The air between them burned with something old and cruel: instinct, love, guilt, hunger — all tangled into one impossible pulse.

And in that second, Tyler realized — this wasn’t just Enid the wolf. It was her cage. The same prison he’d known too well. And just like him, she was screaming behind her own eyes, begging to be heard.

“I know,” he said quietly. His voice shook, but the words were steady, heavy with truth.
“I know how it feels.”

The wolf froze. Ears twitched.

“It made you into something you never wanted to be. Didn’t it?” His breath hitched. “It took what was good in you and turned it into fear. Into hunger. Into something you can’t control.”

The wolf shuddered.

He took another breath, his tone softening, almost a plea.
“I know, Enid. Because I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to scream inside your own head and have no one hear it.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “To beg for it to stop. To beg to be you again.”

She blinked — slow, hesitant — and for a moment, her growl broke into a sound that wasn’t entirely animal.

“You’re not the monster here,” he said. “You’re just… the one left behind to carry it.” His chest tightened, his pulse a fragile rhythm beneath the storm. “You think you’re alone in this — but you’re not. You never were.”

The words trembled in the air, low and unguarded, echoing off the wet bark around them. Agnes stood motionless behind him, even the rain seemed quieter now.

“No one deserves to be a prisoner in their own skin,” he whispered. “Not you. Not me. Not anyone.”

For a heartbeat, Enid’s eyes flickered gold to blue — one flash of the girl beneath the wolf. She took a single step back, her claws dragging deep lines into the mud. The sound was almost like a sob.

And Tyler knew she’d heard him — not the words, but the truth buried inside them. That fragile understanding that monsters weren’t born. They were made.

For a long moment, no one moved. Only the rain. Soft now. Falling in slow, delicate threads that turned the clearing into a painting half-washed away.

Enid’s chest rose and fell, the glow fading from her eyes, her breath slowing until it sounded almost human again. Then, with a soft, uncertain noise — somewhere between a sigh and a whimper — she stepped back.

Tyler stayed where he was, the echo of his words vibrating faintly in his chest. He didn’t dare breathe too loudly, afraid it would break whatever fragile spell was holding the wolf still.

Enid turned her head. Her gaze drifted past him — to Agnes. Something in the little redhead’s posture softened immediately.

“Hey, there you are,” Agnes whispered, her voice catching somewhere between relief and wonder. She didn’t flinch when the massive creature moved toward her. Enid took slow, cautious steps, lowering herself until her snout brushed against Agnes’ arm. A small, broken rumble rose from her chest — not a growl this time, but something closer to… a purr.

Agnes laughed under her breath, a sound so bright it didn’t belong in this dark place. “You’re okay,” she murmured, reaching out with small hands that disappeared into golden fur. “You scared the life out of us, you know that?”

Thing crawled down from her shoulder, balancing on Enid’s head, its fingers tracing slow, gentle circles behind her ear.
The wolf closed her eyes and leaned into it, her whole body trembling with exhaustion and something that might’ve been peace.

For the first time, the night didn’t feel dangerous. Just heavy. Sad. Like the world was remembering how to breathe again.

Wednesday stepped forward. Slowly. Her boots sank into the mud with a quiet squelch, her dress dragging through puddles. She didn’t speak. Her face — pale, sharp, unreadable — was turned toward Tyler.

He looked up at her. The rain had soaked his hair to his skin, his lips were pale, and his eyes — dark and hollow — were filled with something new: disbelief. He hadn’t expected her to look at him like that.

She stopped in front of him, silent. Her eyes searched his face as though trying to piece together the impossible — the boy who once fought monsters now saving one.

Her hand reached out, almost hesitant, and for a moment, he thought she might actually touch his face. But she didn’t. Instead, she extended her hand down to him — simple, direct.

He took it.

She pulled him to his feet. No words. Just the rain, the sound of breathing, the soft whimper of a wolf somewhere behind them.

For Wednesday Addams, silence was often sharper than speech. But in that moment, it was something else entirely — reverence. Confusion. A rare, fragile awe she would never name aloud.

Her eyes, dark and wide, lingered on him longer than they should have. There was something almost frightened in them. Not of him. Of what she’d just seen him become.

Behind them, Enid had settled beside Agnes, her massive frame pressing against her leg. Agnes stood still, absently running her fingers through the wolf’s fur, a faint frown flickering across her face.

“So,” she began, breaking the quiet. “How exactly are we supposed to get her home like this? It’s not like she fits in the back seat of a car.”

Wednesday turned to her, that familiar edge of calm calculation sliding back into place.
“We’re not taking her home,” she said simply.

Agnes blinked. “We’re… not?”

“No,” Wednesday continued, her tone matter-of-fact, though her voice was still low, almost reverent. “We’re taking her to Nevermore.”

Agnes stared. “Wednesday, it’s summer break. The school’s closed.”

“Exactly.” A smirk ghosted across Wednesday’s lips — small, controlled, dangerous. “No one will think to look for us there.”

She turned slightly, her gaze sliding toward Tyler.
“And it serves two purposes,” she said, her tone sharpening again. “We can figure out how to bring Enid back… and we can help Tyler.”

Tyler met her eyes, rain dripping from his lashes. There was no defiance this time. Just exhaustion. And a strange, quiet trust he didn’t quite understand.

Wednesday’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly. “I still have all of Thornhill’s research,” she said softly, as if letting him in on a secret, with a glint of mischief in her eyes as one brow arched. Her voice was calm, but beneath it — the faintest thrill of something else. Hope.

Tyler tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest words he didn’t dare speak. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. Wednesday met it with a small nod, the curve of her mouth forming that secret, knowing smile only she could wear. For a heartbeat, the world fell silent around them. They spoke a language no one else would ever understand.