Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams had always liked the dead.
Bodies didn't lie to you. They presented all their secrets without question, no tricks, no confusion. There was no bargaining required with a corpse, no give and take, no tiptoeing around irrational emotional responses the likes of which she normally had such trouble navigating. When you examined a body the only thing that would prevent it from divulging the information required was a failure to be meticulous and thorough, and these were never normally an issue for the seer.
Wednesday was no stranger to cadavers; she'd often played 'Wake the Dead' with her family growing up, had been at any number of open caskets for Adammses and Frumps who had passed (and some who had not), and had even assisted her Uncle Fester hide a body or two. These encounters were always for entertainment or practical purposes though and it wasn't till her time at Nevermore that Wednesday had time to properly investigate a body, to figure out the whys and hows of someone's death. She'd found that she had quite the affinity for it and despite the circumstances regularly being dire when such an investigation was required, she found a great deal of satisfaction in filling up a murder board, investigating clues, examining leads and cutting open deceased witnesses.
Although none of her early investigation work was 'officially' recognised by the police force, by the time Wednesday left Nevermore Academy she'd helped them solve the murders of no fewer than 50 people, stopped a crazed Hyde, a psycho teacher out for revenge, a crazed revived part-mechanical man slash brain eating zombie, a serial killer with an impressive taste in dolls, she'd tracked an alpha…
Even with the occasional failure, enough cases had ended in success to make some waves. Her name was mentioned in unofficial reports, Wednesday Addams being credited as a 'civilian investigator' or mentioned in local news articles as being 'instrumental' enough times that when she was looking to continue this line of work, opportunities were never particularly difficult to find. She'd started working as a Private Investigator, helping parents find missing kids, ensuring outcasts could receive justice where the normie police wouldn't help and she'd even done a couple of jobs for Clarice Chambers, the new principal at Nevermore.
Eventually through word of mouth within the police force, she'd been mentioned as someone who might help with the 'weird' cases the normie police force sometimes struggled with. She'd only been doing the PI gig for a few months when she started receiving calls from police departments. At first, she was contacted by sheriffs local to Jericho - people who personally knew of her exploits. Given the high population of outcasts in the direct surroundings of Nevermore, either teachers, former students or the families of the former groups, it was something of a hotspot for outcast criminality. The cases weren't solved by Wednesday alone, but she'd undoubtedly assisted greatly in their quick resolution. And this time - unlike her days at Nevermore where her help had been forced upon the authorities, often with threats of violence were it not accepted - she'd been officially called in to help. This meant records, payments, official reports with her name attached to every one. No longer was she just a civilian helping out, she was now an official part of the investigations.
Eventually she started getting contacts from other jurisdictions, other agencies, state police - and then word reached even further up the chain. After her first time helping the FBI her Uncle Fester had some… choice words for her, but was soon persuaded that Wednesday would never betray blood for something as simple as a pay check. As long as Fester compensated her fairly, she could point the FBI in the wrong direction for any cases where one of his aliases might be implicated.
The level of assistance she could give had expanded a great deal as she learned to master her psychic powers. Though she had a far greater grasp of them these days, it wasn't like she could just walk onto a murder scene, touch a spot of blood and instantly know who the murderer was. Wednesdays seer powers allowed her to see possible future events, she didn't have visions involving events which had already occurred. But if there was enough emotional overspill in an area - anger, violence, terror - Wednesday could usually get a sense of what had gone on, who had been involved, and where to start looking. It was never conclusive and in the beginning was quite unreliable, but by the time she'd been helping the police for a couple of years she had a far better handle on things. Normie law enforcement would never use her insights as evidence, but they provided sufficient direction that investigators could use them to get a search warrant or bring someone in for questioning. By the time she'd correctly directed detectives on a dozen or so cases they stopped asking if she was sure every single time she told them something, a small fact that made her life far less irritating.
She had received the call about a new case late on a Tuesday evening. The cadence and speaking style of the caller stirred something in the back of her mind, but she'd dealt with so many members of law enforcement she put it down to an acquired familiarity with 'police officer gruffness'. They'd said the scene was miles deep in a forest and would be "something right up her street", but she had to get to the scene "as soon as she could". They'd refused to elaborate further, except to say there were multiple victims, the official story was "animal attack" and that she should "know what that means". Of course she did. "Animal attack" was the explanation police used when victims were dismembered, eaten or suffered other such gruesome deaths. Her contact was right, this did sound intriguing. Wednesday advised she would attend and hung up the call. She checked the time; it was already late evening and there was no chance of getting there today. The crime scene was several states away, so she booked a red-eye flight and packed a case.
Her initial meeting was at a car park several miles from the scene, the closest she could seem to drive to the location. The deputy guarding the perimeter directed her to a command tent containing the sheriff in charge. Wednesday walked through a small village of white tents - what the the deputy had called a 'makeshift crime lab'. These were normally used for remote scenes to gather and analyse initial evidence. It was a 'crime lab' in the same way a two-man tent was a 'luxury hotel', but in the absence of other options they usually proved functional enough for initial collation.
The command tent sat off to the side, separated from the larger lab tents. As she entered, the sheriff in charge swung his feet off his desk and sat up. It looked like he might have been napping behind his sunglasses. His lapel badge introduced him as "Sheriff Rogers", and his appearance announced him as a man rapidly approaching a much-needed retirement.
Wednesday inclined her head minutely. "Good morning, sheriff. I am here to provide assistance as requested on the murders you are investigating. Here are my credentials." Wednesday presented him with her laminated ID which simply identified her as "W. Addams, Special Investigator" and had police and FBI ID numbers for verification. The sheriff stood and removed his sunglasses to take the ID from her, giving her a full once over as he did so. Given that he was a taller gentleman this gave Wednesday the feeling of him both literally and figuratively looking down on her. He yawned, sitting back down and looking at her through bloodshot eyes. It was clear he'd spent most of the night on this scene. He tapped a few keys on his laptop, likely confirming her identity, and raised an eyebrow when he read whatever was in her file.
"Well Ms Addams, I'm not sure why you're on my crime scene. I sure as shit didn't ask for you to be here. But given what I'm seeing here, I guess arguing with you would be kinda pointless." He handed her back the ID card.
Wednesday knew what the file likely said. Small town police teams tended to be very insular, wanting to control every aspect of their own investigations and not allow outside help. More than one sheriff had to be TOLD to give her access to their case files, against their wishes and under protest. Apparently now it just said as much on her file. Hopefully this would mean fewer idiotic fights with idiotic people in her future.
Rogers gestured to the map on the crime board at the end of the room, which showed a few X marks, one of which was larger - clearly the crime scene. "The scene itself is a bit of a hike from here. There are no good drivable trails to that part of the forest, and the tree density means airlifting can't get you much closer than this car park, so I hope you brought your walking shoes. I can have a couple of deputies escort you if you'd like?"
Wednesday looked down at her own attire. Was this man dense, blind or just exhausted? She was wearing good, sturdy boots, a practical hiking outfit, an all weather jacket and a backpack rather than a purse. Her makeup was minimal, though that wasn't unusual for her, and her braided hair was pulled up into a tight, functional bun. Although she was in her signature monochrome colour scheme it should be obvious to even minimally observant eyes that she was kitted out for exactly the activity the sheriff was currently describing. Rather than point out his disturbing lack of critical thinking, as she would have done back in her high school days, Wednesday chose the path of least annoyance for all involved.
"That won't be necessary, Sheriff Rogers." Wednesday removed her phone from her pocket. Once she had abhorred the necessity of such technology; now she had to admit it had practical use - not least because so much of her work was done in the field. "If you could provide me the co-ordinates to the crime scene, I will navigate there myself. That will allow me to fully investigate the route to and from the scene, as well as the scene itself."
The sheriff regarded her for a moment, before tutting loudly. "Mah boys already scoured the woods around the site. There's nothing to see out there." He seemed insulted that this little girl could dare suggest his deputies might have missed something. Wednesday had faced this before, many times. Officers would look at the short, lean, early twenties brunette and wonder where exactly she got the nerve to think she knew better than them. Even now after doing this work for nearly 6 years, it never stopped disappointing her. Surprisingly this attitude only got worse when she invariably did know better than them.
Despite his protests he held out his hand to take her phone, and Wednesday reluctantly handed it over. After fumbling with the device for several moments, he managed to punch in the requested data, tossing the phone back to her carelessly.
"I don't know what it is you expect to find," he complained, not letting the matter rest. "The murder scene is confined to the campsite. We've found nothing of any real interest outside of that area."
Wednesday examined the co-ordinates he'd entered, checking the distance she'd need to walk. As the crow flies it was around 3 miles, but Wednesday was only a raven in the psychic sense and lacked their ability to fly, so she'd need to walk whatever weaving path led there. She estimated that it should take somewhere around 90 minutes, depending on the speed she could manage and the number of stops she had to make to examine overlooked evidence and rookie police botches.
"The murderer had to travel to, and then from the campsite. The deputy I spoke to last night advised your current suspect list consists of local wildlife, but we both know that's nonsense. It stands to reason that when whatever did this left the site, they would have left a trail. If I can find the route taken, it might tell me something." This seemed a simple enough deduction to Wednesday, but the raised eyebrow on the sheriff confirmed her suspicion that he hadn't even considered this.
He stood again, pacing behind his desk. "We figured they'd just used the path to leave. We found no evidence to the contrary." The sheriff looked at some notes on the laptop screen on his makeshift desk. "The deputies say outside the immediate area there are no bushes disturbed, no branches snapped. How else would they have left?" His condescending tone further cemented the fact in Wednesday's mind that she would get no help from him. He'd made his mind up about her the second she entered the tent.
"I would imagine," Wednesday began coldly, "that your deputies only examined the flora at ground level? A creature which caused the death and dismemberment of multiple campers may be capable of leaping dozens of meters into the air, and travelling a considerable distance airborne. The disturbances could be upwards, in the higher branches of the trees themselves."
The sheriff regarded her again, a hint of confusion crossing his face for a moment.
He leaned over and tapped on his laptop again for a moment, then looked up. "We… didn't think of that."
Wednesday fixed him with a withering glare. "Clearly. This is why I was called."
Wednesday adjusted the straps on her backpack, pulling it on tightly, then turned on her heel and started marching out of the tent. The discussion was over as far as she was concerned. She'd received every bit of help she was going to get from the sheriff, and it amounted to him confirming that he and his deputies were bumbling through the crime scene and overlooking evidence.
"Let your deputies know I'm on my way."
Wednesday had to admit that the sheriff hadn't lied about his deputies scouring the trail, though the quality of the work was rather more questionable. She'd found a dozen or so evidence markers dotted along its length, flagging everything from a discarded soda can to a stain of what appeared at first glance to be blood (but was actually just a mud/clay mix churned up by an animal). She had found nothing obvious they had missed at ground level for her first 40 minutes of walk, but she'd flicked her eyes upwards often, looking at more than the obvious. She had spotted several snapped branches at heights that could indicate a parabolic arc of flight of some large creature. Given what she suspected about the condition of the bodies, Wednesday had guessed this might be another Hyde attack. Since Capri's little band of miscreants had all flown the coop several of them had surfaced, either going rogue with new masters or striking out on their own as their sanity fled them. Why her former music teacher had thought she could help these creatures was beyond Wednesday: the seer was never cruel without purpose, but sometimes the cruel thing was letting a wounded creature live in pain, prolonging its suffering.
She followed the arc of the broken branches and found an impact site just off the side of the path. From a ground level assessment it wasn't obvious, just some moss and sticks crushed underfoot and a small indent; she could see how it would have been missed without the addition of the 'flight' path. She pulled out her camera - though her phone had a camera built in, Wednesday still liked film to get the full detail of some shots - and took some stills. The impact site, a piece of bark missing from the tree where a talon or claw had caught it on impact, an easy 9 feet up the branch, and just below that, a streak of blood.
Wednesday shrugged off her backpack and retrieved her climbing gear and swabs. Sure, she could call ahead, have someone bring a ladder, but why waste everyone's time? She removed a length of rope, a set of attachable spurs and a harness with anchor points, and 2 minutes later was up the tree, taking more pictures and a sample of the blood. She bagged up the swab and moved to descend the tree. She'd have to mark it with the spray paint so the police could collect their own sample later - they were always so precious about chains of custody - but as she reached the ground a branch snapped on the trail behind her, announcing she was not alone.
She was still attached to the tree by the tightly knotted harness, and while the knots were quick release it would still take her a second or two to become untangled. Whoever this was could not have picked a WORSE time to sneak up on her. She quickly untied one end of the rope, her hand slipping into her jacket and reaching the handle of her nearest knife before the barrel of a gun prodded her in the small of her back.
"You're fast, Addams, but you're not that fast. Don't even think about it."
Wednesday knew the voice instantly; it was the person who had called her the previous evening, same gravelly tone as before. Wednesday was no closer to identifying them, and the adrenaline coursing through her was making nailing down the familiarity tricky. However, they knew who she was, and they hadn't actually fired yet, so she didn't think starting a fight was her best play here. She slowly withdrew her hand from her jacket and held it up to show them it was empty. Still, she was Wednesday Addams, so her other hand twitched near the hilt of her backup piece, ready to drop, roll and throw if it became necessary. She did have to admit that her assailant had been right in their assessment of the situation though: even she couldn't outmanoeuvre a bullet at point blank range. If it came down to it, she was dead. So… time to talk.
"If your intention when calling me here was to get me into these woods and murder me, I must congratulate you on a job well done." Despite the situation, Wednesday projected calmness. Her voice was as monotone as her outfit; you'd be excused for thinking the item prodded into her back at that moment was a banana.
"What…? Oh, right…." The gun was withdrawn, and Wednesday heard it being re-holstered. "No, I just… I couldn't see who you were at first. And then when I got closer and did recognise you… well, at that point, knowing you I figured it was keep the gun drawn or end up with a knife at my jugular. And I quite like my jugular, thanks."
During the course of this little speech their voice had shifted timbres a number of times, slipping into and out of the gravelly deep tones it was now obvious they were trying to use to sound like someone else.
Wednesday thought through the situation. They hadn't wanted her to know who they were. So, someone she was familiar with. But they had genuinely wanted her out here. They'd called her in without the sheriff's permission, so someone without a problem bucking authority. By the voice, a girl, someone in law enforcement who knew her well enough to get her here, but who knew she wouldn't come if they directly asked her… Ah.
"So, why did you call me here, Tanaka? Need me to help you with your homework again?"
Wednesday turned, quirking an eyebrow at the vampire. Yoko Tanaka, former Nevermore classmate and sometime ally of Wednesday, stood a little way off, dressed in an FBI windbreaker, holster evident underneath along with an ID badge on her belt. She stood a little taller than Wednesday, and even though it had been nearly a decade since they first met at Nevermore, Yoko looked exactly the same. Damn her near immortality. Wednesday certainly didn't look bad for 25 but Yoko barely looked a day older than 18, despite her actually being… older.
Yoko's friends had always assumed that her age, as far as 'years since date of birth' at least, was similar to their own. They hadn't rushed to clarify this though, mostly because it made them uncomfortable to think of their friend possibly being middle aged by their definition. Yoko herself had always been slightly cagey about telling them the exact year of her birth, which led Wednesday to suspect she was at least somewhat older than her presented appearance, but she'd never cared enough to find out for sure.
Yoko had gone into law enforcement straight out of Nevermore, one of the first outcasts to be accepted into the force. Some of the vampires at Nevermore stayed there for decades, learning as many subjects as they could, but Yoko had been a woman on a mission, doing one set of classes and graduating. She had excelled at the academy, acing every test, especially the physical ones which were designed to test human bodies. She'd graduated, and as soon as she got into the field had started making a name for herself, getting promoted quickly.
Wednesday had only learned all this because of her father, who had business dealings with Kenichi Tanaka, Yoko's father. The last thing Wednesday had heard was Yoko had been tapped to join a special Outcast task force at the FBI. Wednesday had been contacted about the same task force but had declined to interview for the posting. Working with the FBI was fine but working for them was another matter entirely. Wednesday was too fond of her freedom, of the ability to refuse cases which didn't interest her, and of not having to answer to anyone on a day-to-day basis to actually want to formally join any flavour of law enforcement.
Yoko stared over the top of her trademark black shades, giving Wednesday a once over. "Hey Addams. Long time. And… you never helped me with my homework. That was always…" She stopped herself, a hint of sadness creeping into her expression, before she recovered and changed the subject. "How have you been? Still fuckin' weird?"
Wednesday's face twitched, a small tic of no consequence on most people. Yoko knew better. She'd struck a nerve.
"You can say her name, Yoko. I'm not some sentimental idiot who's going to break down in floods of tears just because you said the word 'Enid'."
"So that's a yes on the fuckin' weird part then." Yoko didn't miss the use of her actual name, the softness of Wednesday's normally strong and deadpan voice. She didn't want to push further but knew that avoiding the subject now would be the wrong move.
"Look, let's not pretend this is some happy reunion of former besties. If not for Enid, I doubt we'd ever have spoken at Nevermore. I doubt you'd have spoken to much of anyone. We all miss her, Wednesday. You aren't alone in that." She looked down for a moment, took a steadying breath in, then continued. "Anyway… you didn't answer my question. How have you been?"
Wednesday considered deflecting. Six scathing replies flicked through her thoughts, each of which would have shut the vampire down instantly. Had it been anyone else she would already have done so. But Yoko… Yoko had been important to Enid. And that meant she was important to her. So she bit back her natural reply, and tried being genuine.
"I am consistently working, satisfied with my living situation, and… coping with life. I am fine. How are you?"
Yoko quirked a brow. "Are you asking to be polite or do you actually want to know?"
"I don't do polite, Tanaka. You should know that by now. Or is it now your turn to avoid answering pleasantries?"
"And she's back." Yoko smirked, putting up her hand for a high five she knew would never arrive. "I'm grand, Addams, as I'm sure your father has informed you. I know he still meets up with my old man every other week to discuss how to turn their large piles of money into larger piles of money. I swear, what is it about outcast men that makes them so obsessed with the accumulation of gold?"
Yoko finally took in the harness Wednesday was wearing and looked up at the tree where she'd just been gathering evidence. She saw the gash, the blood, and quickly came to the same conclusion as Wednesday had.
"It fled this way. Followed the trail back to the road then used that to escape. Smart find." She tipped her shades briefly, a subtle "well-done" motion, and Wednesday bristled. She wasn't some dog who needed pets for doing a good job. "Oh for fucks…. take the W, Addams. Learn to accept a compliment. This is a good find. I was going to look myself, but I wanted to see the scene as soon as I got here. But then the sheriff radioed you were here and I figured I'd come find you."
It was Wednesday's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yet when you saw me in a tree collecting evidence, the person you yourself had called to attend the scene, you 'couldn't tell who I was', had to draw a gun on me and carried on using that ridiculous voice?"
Yoko laughed, "Hey, let me have my fun. Getting the drop on you was never easy. I saw a chance, I took it. Sue me." She gestured further down the trail. "Let's get going. They're going to start clearing the site soon."
Wednesday turned and started off down the trail, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You would think if I was requested to assist in the investigation, at least I could be allowed to investigate the scene as it exists. My powers work best when the scene is fresh, unmolested by amateurs."
The vamp shrugged in apology, turning to follow her. "Yes, well, if the team knew you were coming they might have held off. Look, I barely have enough sway here to get access to the scene myself." Wednesday shot her a curious look, surely her FBI badge just opened every door where outcasts were concerned? Seemingly police force politics were not that simple. "I told them I had to get some samples for the crime lab and waved my FBI credentials around a bit. That got me here. And I knew if you just showed up they'd probably just let you on the scene. That's why I didn't tell them you were coming. These country boys don't like Feds, they really don't like private investigators, and technically I have zero jurisdiction over this case. I only called you because of the scene."
Yoko quickly picked up the pace, Wednesday having to do a half walk half jog to keep up. Damn her supernatural speed. "I have some alerts set up in our databases, they monitor reports being fed into law enforcement reporting systems that meet certain criteria. And if something seems 'outcasty' enough I get some pretty free reign to investigate. This one… yeah, it set off everything."
The last part of the journey was completed quickly. Wednesday had stopped looking for the trail left by the assailant a while ago, concentrating on her breathing and attempting to keep up with the vamp's accelerated speed. As they neared the end of the path, the first thing to hit Wednesday was the smell. The air reeked of copper and iron, thick and cloying. This was no animal attack with a couple of victims, that much was obvious without even seeing the scene. It reeked like an abattoir.
They rounded the last corner, and Wednesday stopped short, her breath hitching in her chest.
"I… didn't want to just tell you on the phone. I knew you'd want to see." Yoko continued walking, slower now, moving towards one of the crime scene techs to talk to them and leaving the seer to enter the scene alone. She knew Wednesday would need a moment to absorb this.
In front of Wednesday were what looked like easily a dozen bodies. They had been moved from wherever they originally lay, now resting in the middle of a clearing on white sheets. She looked around, taking in the destruction all around them. Whole trees had been ripped from the ground, boulders with blood stains lay strewn around, some embedded into the turf. The area clearly used to be just more forest, but the level of destruction wrought had cleared an area roughly one hundred metres across. Blood and gore coated every surface Wednesday could see, which went a long way toward explaining the smell. It had been a massacre.
The bodies were in various states of dismemberment. Some were missing arms, legs, a couple had their heads resting beside them, detached. Some had large gashes down them, organs and viscera spilling out to the ground beneath them. The cause of death for all of them was readily apparent, none were intact or seemed to have suffered a "clean" death. Given the amount of blood, Wednesday would be unsurprised if there were more victims whose bodies were simply too traumatised to neatly reassemble.
It wasn't the state of the bodies or the level of carnage that was most shocking though. A couple of the bodies were human, indicating they had died after shifting back. A few of the severed limbs were also returned to human form, resting next to larger, furrier bodies they'd once been attached to. But the vast majority of the remaining dead were fully shifted werewolves.
Wednesday had seen this sort of death and utter, brutal devastation only once before.
The night she'd lost Enid.