Chapter Text
Enid didn’t even fall that hard.
That was the worst part.
It was just a rough collision during the school-wide outdoor sparring exercise, a shove too sharp, a misstep, Enid’s ankle twisting as she hit the ground. She hissed in pain and grabbed her leg.
It should have been fine.
But Wednesday saw it.
And the time itself seemed to pause.
She was across the field in seconds, boots pounding the grass like war drums. Students stepped back purely on instinct. Her expression was carved from marble cold, lethal, promising ruin.
Enid was sitting up, wincing but already trying to laugh it off. “Ow… okay, that was… not graceful.”
Wednesday knelt beside her, hands hovering just above Enid’s ankle but never touching as if she was afraid her own fingers would hurt her.
“Who did this?” she asked.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
Deadly.
Enid blinked. “Weds it was an accident, I’m fine.”
“Who,” Wednesday repeated, voice flat and vicious, “was responsible?”
Enid sighed. “It was Jordan. But really, he didn’t mean it.”
Wednesday rose in a slow, terrible motion that made every muscle in the boy’s body seize with panic. Jordan froze mid-step, still holding the foam training weapon, suddenly regretting all of his choices since birth.
Wednesday stalked toward him with the silent grace of a razor sliding across a throat.
“Uhhh… Wednesday?” he squeaked. “It was like... barely a hit?”
“You injured her.”
“It was an accident!”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed to obsidian slits. “So is manslaughter.”
Jordan paled.
“Wednesday!” Enid tried again. “I swear, I’m fine.”
Wednesday looked back at her.
Just one glance.
And Enid swore she could feel Wednesday’s entire murderous aura flicker… but not disappear.
Enid held up her hands. “It’s just a twisted ankle. Not permanent damage. No need to bury anyone alive.”
Wednesday paused and considered that. “I could simply traumatize him. That seems proportionate.”
Jordan whimpered.
Enid struggled to stand, and Wednesday was there instantly, offering her arm, in a way that was clearly meant to be subtle, but was instead desperately protective. Enid leaned on her and smiled softly.
“See? I’m okay.”
Wednesday looked down at the ankle again, jaw tight, a protective storm swirling behind her eyes. “You are injured.”
“A little.”
“I don’t tolerate even ‘a little.’”
Jordan let out a nervous breath of relief, thinking the danger was passing.
It wasn’t.
Wednesday shot him a last, venomous glare, the kind that promised spiritual suffering.
“If you touch her again,” Wednesday said in a voice soft enough to freeze bones, “I won’t need a sparring field to break you. I will simply… let my imagination roam.”
Jordan dropped his weapon and fled.
Enid sighed, leaning her head against Wednesday’s shoulder. “You’re terrifying.”
Wednesday finally looked at her, really looked and the edge softened just a bit.
“He hurt you,” she said quietly. “That is unacceptable.”
“I’m okay,” Enid repeated.
Wednesday took Enid’s hand, grounding herself on the warmth there. “You always say that.”
Enid laughed under her breath. “Because it’s always true.”
“Not to me,” Wednesday said. “Not when it involves you in pain.”
Enid’s heart thumped. “Wednesday… it was a small accident.”
“Any harm to you,” Wednesday murmured, guiding Enid so she wouldn’t put weight on the ankle, “is a threat to my peace. And I do not tolerate threats.”
Her tone was severe, but Enid could hear the undercurrent fear, affection, devotion that Wednesday would never name.
Enid squeezed her hand gently.
“Then stay with me while I get this checked,” she said.
Wednesday nodded once.
“As if I would allow anyone else to touch you right now.”
They walked together toward the infirmary, Wednesday’s arm firm around Enid’s waist, her glare thrown back at anyone who dared look too long, her silent promise clear:
Hurt Enid Sinclair again, and your days would be numbered.
Enid couldn’t stop smiling.
It wasn’t her usual bright, bubbly grin, it was softer, dazed almost, like she’d just been handed something precious she’d wanted for years without realizing it.
And Wednesday was staring at her like she had sprouted a second head.
“You’re concussed,” Wednesday declared flatly. “That must be it. The fall clearly rattled your brain.”
Enid laughed, breathy and warm, clutching Wednesday’s sleeve. “Weds… I twisted my ankle, not my skull.”
“Your expression suggests neurological damage,” Wednesday insisted, eyes narrowing. “Nobody smiles like that after nearly being maimed by a clumsy half-wit.”
Enid leaned more of her weight into her, still glowing from the inside out. “I’m smiling because of you.”
Wednesday blinked. Slowly. Suspiciously. “Explain.”
Enid drew in a shaky breath, the words bubbling up faster than she could contain them. “You were… incredible back there. All protective and fierce and ready to end someone if they touched me again.” She bit her lip. “You acted like a pack guardian.”
Wednesday stiffened. “I do not subscribe to werewolf hierarchy.”
“You just did,” Enid teased, brushing her fingers along the edge of Wednesday’s sleeve. “You acted like an omega protecting her alpha.”
Wednesday stopped walking.
The world stilled with her.
Her voice dipped quieter. “You consider yourself my alpha?”
Enid swallowed, cheeks warm. “I consider myself yours.” She looked down at her bandaged ankle, then back at Wednesday with that same trembling smile. “And you proved today you’re mine.”
Wednesday’s breath hitched barely, but enough that Enid heard it.
“You are emotional due to injury,” Wednesday muttered, but the words lacked their usual bite. “Delirious. Possibly feverish.”
Enid grinned wider. “I’m just… happy, Wednesday. Happy in a way I didn’t think I’d ever be.” Her voice softened, fragile and honest. “I always thought I’d end up alone. Too much, too loud, too… me.”
Wednesday’s expression shifted like a shadow easing off a lantern, a tiny reveal of something rare and unguarded.
“You are not alone,” Wednesday said. “And you will not be as long as I exist.”
Enid inhaled sharply.
Wednesday continued, voice low, as if speaking something sacred. “I do not protect anyone. I do not chase. I do not… fear for others.” Her eyes fixed on Enid’s face. “But I do for you.”
Enid’s throat tightened. “That’s why I’m smiling,” she whispered. “I have you.”
Wednesday looked away, as if direct eye contact might give something dangerous away, but she tightened her grip around Enid’s waist, small, possessive, unspoken.
“You’re ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered.
“And you love me,” Enid whispered back.
Wednesday didn’t answer.
But the way she held Enid…
That was answer enough.