Chapter Text
It was a rainy night at the Adams estate. Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the towering gothic spires of the manor. Rain struck stone and iron with sharp percussion, wind howling through twisted gargoyles perched along the roofline.
In the center of the courtyard stood a twenty-six year old Wednesday Addams. Her black coat flowed behind her like a living shadow. Her braids were longer now, framing a face sharpened by time but still porcelain pale. Her expression was unreadable, as always — with that look of calculated precision that makes the bravest of people falter in their step. Across from her stood her twenty-four year old brother Pugsley Addams, towering over his sister in height, face still the same, yet slender from puberty. He was a matured version of himself. Pugsley grinned, electricity crawling eagerly between his fingers like a living thing begging to be released. Even as time moved forward, he still loved to bug his sister. Now here she is, outside, in the pouring rain…sparring.
“You’re still overthinking it,” he taunted. “I prefer precision over recklessness,” Wednesday replied coolly. “You prefer electrocution without strategy.” He laughed. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered. Static snapped louder, as Wednesday and Pugsley circled each other slowly across the slick stone courtyard.
Inside the manor, four-year-old Taylor Sinclair-Addams watched through the tall arched window. His golden hair fell messily across his forehead. Bright blue eyes — unmistakably Enid’s — shimmered with excitement. His pale skin and solemn resting expression, however, belonged entirely to Wednesday. Alongside the light freckles that ghosted just around his nose and cheekbones. With Enid’s bright and bubbly attitude, and Wednesday’s precision and calculation, Taylor was a child who is very mischievous. Often getting in trouble in school for outsmarting the teachers and making his peers laugh.
Taylor loved watching Mommy and Uncle Pugsley train. It looked like dancing. Deadly dancing. Watching them, dressed in his favorite Werewolf pajamas with his favorite teddy bear, Santiago was Taylor’s favorite pastime. Momma would have his head for this, as his bedtime was an hour ago. But it was a risk he was willing to take.
Outside, Pugsley lunged. A brilliant arc of white-blue lightning shot toward Wednesday. She dodged. Her eyes darkened as she let off the faintestest of smirks and lunged at Pugsley full force. His eyes widened with surprise, as his sister stood chest to chest with him. He attempted to push her back, but Wednesday was one step ahead. Swivelling around Pugsley's right side, she was now behind his back where she went to grab his arms to pin him in place. As Wednesday grabbed Pugsley’s wrists, her head lurched back, as she was pulled into a vision. This vision was stronger than any one she had ever had.
Psychic force rippled outward. When electricity met telekinesis, the air did not explode. It warped. Reality bent inward. And in that fractured instant — Wednesday saw something. Not the courtyard. Not the storm. She saw stone towers. Dark hallways. A dorm room divided in black and neon. A typewriter .Blond hair. Blue eyes. Laughter. Nevermore. The vision struck her like a blade. Her breath caught.
Taylor watched this altercation, unknowing of his mothers psychic powers. He bolted outside, screaming the whole way there “Mommy!” he cried. “MOMMY” as he ran as fast as his little feet would carry him. When he made it to the court yard, he immediately ran to his mother, whose head was still snapped back, vision still in full effect. His small hand wrapped around her coat just as the psychic vision intensified. Contact. Bloodline. Power. Memory. The courtyard screamed. The tear ripped open. Wind roared inward violently as time itself thinned like paper. Pugsley stumbled back. Wednesday’s vision sharpened— She saw herself at seventeen. Typing. Cold. Unaware. The tear widened. Taylor’s blue eyes widened too. He hardly had time to run as he was swallowed into the tear. “HELP ME” he screamed. Pugsley was quick to react, as he attempted to reach Taylor and pull him away from the portal that was swallowing him, but he was too slow. The storm swallowed him whole. And then—Silence. The courtyard returned. Lightning faded. Rain softened. Taylor was gone.
The silence after Taylor vanished felt unnatural. Not quiet. Wrong. Rain still fell across the courtyard, but the sound came muffled now, distant, as though the world itself had been pushed underwater. The tear in reality had sealed with a violent snap, leaving behind only crackling traces of silver energy dancing through the air like dying nerves. Wednesday Addams did not move. Her body remained frozen exactly where the vision had released her — shoulders rigid, black coat dripping rainwater onto the stone beneath her boots. Only her eyes shifted. Slowly. Calculating. Searching. Empty courtyard. No Taylor. No trace of him. Pugsley’s breathing became ragged first. “...Wednesday.” No response. “Wednesday.” Still nothing. For the first time in years, genuine panic crept into Pugsley’s voice. “WHERE IS HE?” The question shattered the stillness. Wednesday blinked once. Then suddenly she moved. She crossed the courtyard in seconds, kneeling where the portal had opened. Pale fingers pressed against the soaked stone as psychic energy pulsed faintly beneath her skin. Her black eyes narrowed. Residual temporal distortion. Ancient. Violent. Impossible. Her heartbeat quickened despite herself. Taylor had not died. That much she knew. If he were dead, she would have felt it. This was worse. “He’s alive,” Wednesday said quietly. Pugsley immediately stepped forward. “Then where the hell is he?!” Wednesday’s jaw tightened. Images from the vision still slashed through her mind in fragments. The dorm room. The typewriter. Enid’s laughter. Nevermore. A realization began forming slowly in the darkest corners of her mind. “No…” she whispered. Pugsley stared at her. “What?” Wednesday rose to her feet with terrifying stillness.“The portal wasn’t random.” Lightning cracked overhead again. “It anchored itself to me.” Pugsley’s expression shifted. “You think your vision caused this?” “My visions do not manipulate time,” Wednesday replied sharply. “Then what did?” Wednesday looked toward the storm. Toward Nevermore. Toward the past.
And for the first time in years…An expression similar to fear touched her face. Very faintly, Wednesday spoke, “He’s there.” Pugsley frowned. “Where?” Wednesday finally turned toward him fully. “In the past.”
Twenty minutes later, the Addams manor had descended into absolute chaos. Thunder rumbled through the halls while every member of the Addams family occupied the grand drawing room. Morticia stood near the fireplace in flowing black silk, hands clasped tightly enough to betray the panic beneath her elegance. Gomez paced rapidly nearby, sword still attached to his belt despite there being absolutely no logical reason for it. Thing signed frantically from atop the piano. Grandmama sat in an armchair in the corner, churning herbs, Lurch stood motionless in the corner like an undertaker awaiting instructions from death itself. And Enid— Enid looked like she was seconds away from ripping reality apart herself.
“What do you mean he’s in the PAST?!” Her voice cracked violently through the room. Bright claws extended unconsciously from trembling fingers. Her eyes glowed gold. The colorful warmth she carried so naturally had collapsed into raw terror. Wednesday stood directly across from her. Still. Controlled. Trying very hard not to fracture. “The psychic rupture attached itself to a memory point,” Wednesday explained. “A significant one.” So you’re saying our son got sucked into your memory??” Enid demanded. “Enid,” Gomez warned softly. “No!” Enid snapped, turning toward him. “No, I’m sorry, but somebody better explain to me how my four-year-old just disappeared into a nightmare time tornado!” Her breathing became uneven. “He was supposed to be sleeping…”The last word broke. Wednesday’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. That tiny movement — the slight drop in her eyes — was enough for Pugsley to look away uncomfortably. Because Wednesday Addams blamed herself. Entirely. Enid noticed. And somehow, that made everything worse. “My baby…” Enid whispered weakly, clutching Taylor’s tiny dinosaur sweater against her chest like if she held it tightly enough, he might still be inside it. Her shoulders shook violently. “What are we gonna do…?” Wednesday stood motionless near the window, black eyes hollow and distant. Silent. “What are we gonna do, Wednesday?!” Enid cried, voice breaking apart into something raw and animalistic. The room trembled slightly as her werewolf side surged through her grief. Tears streamed down her face faster now, hopeless and terrified. “He’s out there somewhere,” Enid choked out. “He’s scared, Wednesday. He’s only four years old…” Wednesday’s jaw tightened hard enough to hurt. She knew. God, she knew. Every second without Taylor felt unbearable. The silence of the house alone was enough to drive her insane. No tiny footsteps running through the halls. No little voice asking impossible questions at midnight. No warm weight curling against her side during storms. Just emptiness.
And it was killing both of them. “Do you have any idea what it felt like watching him disappear?” Enid sobbed. “I couldn’t reach him… I couldn’t protect him…” Wednesday finally spoke. “Yes.” One word. Quiet. Destroying. The room fell silent because everyone heard the truth inside it. Nothing in Wednesday’s life had ever hurt this badly. Not even close. Enid’s breathing hitched. Pain flickered across her face as guilt slowly replaced the panic. Because she knew Wednesday. Knew how fiercely she loved Taylor despite never expressing it like other people did. Wednesday wasn’t soft love. She was catastrophic love. The kind that consumed everything in its path. Wednesday would rip apart heaven, hell, and every realm in between before willingly abandoning her son.
“He’s four, Wednesday…” Enid whispered brokenly. “He’s just a baby.” Something inside Wednesday cracked. Memories flooded her all at once. Tiny hands tugging on her braids. Taylor sneaking into her writing room at midnight because “the thunder sounded lonely.” The way he curled against Wednesday’s side during storms despite insisting he was “protecting her.” His laugh. Enid’s smile in miniature form. Wednesday’s eyes staring back at her every morning. For one horrifying second, Wednesday imagined never seeing those eyes again. The thought hollowed her out completely. She swallowed carefully, forcing the grief back down before it destroyed her from the inside out. “We will retrieve him.” There was no force in existence that would keep Wednesday Addams from her child. If she had to tear apart time itself with her bare hands, she would. Grandmama suddenly lifted her head from the bowl of smoking herbs in her lap. “There may be a way.” Everyone turned toward her. Grandmama’s expression darkened. “But you’re not going to like it.”
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Nevermore Academy. Nine years earlier. Taylor hit the ground hard. Wet grass crushed beneath him as icy rain hammered his tiny body. The world spun violently around him. His ears rang so loudly he couldn’t hear himself crying at first. Then pain hit. Sharp. Terrifying. “MOMMY!” The storm above Nevermore roared. Taylor pushed himself upward with trembling little hands, soaked completely in seconds. His werewolf pajamas clung to him while Santiago the teddy bear lay abandoned nearby in the mud. Huge gothic towers loomed overhead. Dark windows. Stone gargoyles. A school. Taylor’s chest heaved rapidly. He didn’t understand. One second he’d been holding onto Wednesday’s coat— The next—Gone. “Momma…?” No answer. Only thunder. Taylor’s lip trembled. Then he heard voices. Teenagers. Laughter. Footsteps approaching through the rain. Taylor immediately scrambled behind a large stone statue, tiny body shaking violently. A group of Nevermore students crossed the courtyard carrying umbrellas and books, completely unaware that a small child from the future was hyperventilating nearby. Taylor pressed both hands over his mouth to stop himself from crying loudly. Momma always said panic made predators stronger. But he was scared. Really scared. Lightning flashed. And suddenly— A familiar figure crossed the courtyard. Black umbrella. Black coat. Two braids. Expression emptier than the grave itself. Seventeen-year-old Wednesday Addams. Taylor’s blue eyes widened instantly. “...Mommy?” Young Wednesday paused. Slowly, she turned her head. Her dark eyes scanned the courtyard carefully. Taylor forgot to hide. And for one impossible moment— Mother and son stared directly at each other across time. Young Wednesday frowned slightly. Because standing in the rain near the statue… Was a tiny child wearing colorful werewolf pajamas. A child with blue eyes. Freckles. Golden hair. And Wednesday’s face