Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams first suspected she was dying on a Tuesday. This irritated her. Tuesday was an unremarkable day on which to die. There had been no thunderstorms. No ravens striking windows. No ancestral enemy finally succeeding where generations before them had failed. Even the weather had been offensively mild. Wednesday had always imagined her death would possess a certain theatricality. Instead, she dropped her cello bow. She stared at it. The bow lay innocently across the floorboards. Thing froze atop her desk. Wednesday flexed her right hand. Nothing appeared wrong with it. Five fingers. Appropriate pallor. No tremor. She bent to retrieve the bow.
A sudden wave of dizziness forced her hand against the edge of her music stand. Thing immediately scuttled towards her.
"I'm fine."
He signed something considerably less optimistic.
"I haven't eaten since yesterday. Evidently my body has decided to become melodramatic about it."
Thing pointed towards the untouched plate on her desk.
"I'll eat later."
He pointed more aggressively.
"Your maternal instincts are becoming disturbing."
Thing flipped her off. Wednesday returned to her cello. She lasted twelve minutes. Then the door opened.
"Wednesday?"
Enid's voice. Her fingers slipped from the strings. Wednesday went very still. Thing did too. Neither moved as Enid came bounding into their room, cheeks pink from the cold, blonde hair escaping from beneath a violently striped knitted hat. The colour and noise had returned to their half of Ophelia Hall only recently. For most of the six months since Enid had surrendered her humanity to drag Wednesday from a grave, the other side of the room had stood offensively empty while Wednesday made good on her vow to find her.
Enid had called Wednesday her pack before vanishing into the wilderness, trapped in the body of an Alpha. Now she was human again, newly returned to Nevermore, and already treating their restored room as though absence had never touched it.
"I have news."
"Your species has finally embraced extinction?"
"No."
"Pity."
Enid dropped herself onto Wednesday's bed. Wednesday's jaw tightened. Enid had always possessed a baffling disregard for territorial boundaries.
"So. You remember Luca?"
"No."
"You absolutely remember Luca."
"I assure you I don't."
"Tall? Cute? Vampire? Dark hair?"
"That describes approximately thirty percent of this institution."
"He was at Yoko's birthday?"
Wednesday stared. Enid sighed.
"He spilled his drink on your dress."
"Ah. Him."
"See?"
"I remember contemplating his murder. The rest was irrelevant."
"Well..."
Something in Enid's expression changed. A tiny, involuntary smile. Wednesday knew before she said it. Her heart gave one violent beat. Then another. Then pain spread beneath her sternum.
"He asked me out."
Thing slowly turned towards Wednesday. Wednesday ignored him. Enid was smiling. Not the enormous smile she gave when excited. This one was smaller. Almost embarrassed. Wednesday despised it immediately.
"And?"
"And..." Enid drew the word out, watching her. "I said yes."
The room became strangely distant. Wednesday looked at the cello beneath her hands. Four strings. Bridge. Fingerboard. Bow. She catalogued them methodically.
"I see."
"That's it?"
"What response were you expecting?"
"I don't know. Something."
"You've provided information. I've acknowledged receiving it."
Enid rolled her eyes.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
"I mean, Bruno and I are finally okay again. Like actually okay. We talked everything through, and I think I'm ready to..."
Wednesday couldn't hear the rest. Not properly. There was a ringing in her ears. Her fingers had gone cold. Thing was watching her. She could feel his stare from across the room. Wednesday set the cello aside before she could drop the bow again. Enid stopped.
"Are you okay?"
"Perfectly."
"You look..."
Enid frowned. Wednesday waited. She had become accustomed to people informing her she looked pale. Usually she considered it complimentary.
"Paler than usual."
There it was.
"I'm touched by your concern."
"No, seriously."
Enid stood. Wednesday's pulse accelerated. One step. Then another. Enid reached for her forehead. Wednesday caught her wrist. The reaction was instantaneous. Too fast. Too hard. Enid blinked. Wednesday stared at the hand in hers. Warm. Alive. Her thumb rested directly over Enid's pulse. Wednesday could feel it. Once. Twice. Three times. Her own heart answered. Wednesday released her.
"I don't have a fever."
"Okay."
Enid rubbed her wrist. Wednesday's stomach twisted.
"I didn't hurt you."
"No. You just..."
Enid's expression softened. Wednesday hated that more.
"You've been weird since we got back."
"I've always been weird. You've historically considered it one of my better qualities."
"Different weird."
"How eloquent."
"I'm serious, Wednesday."
"So am I."
Enid studied her for another moment. Wednesday stared back. Eventually Enid surrendered. She always did.
"Fine. But if you pass out and crack your skull open, I'm not cleaning your brains off the floor."
"Then I suggest you allow Thing to handle it. He has more experience with biological matter."
Thing signed furiously from the desk. Enid laughed. Wednesday felt it again. That awful constriction. She watched Enid collect her bag.
"I'll see you later?"
"Presumably."
Enid reached the door. Then turned.
"Oh, and Wednesday?"
Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
"I'm glad you're okay."
The door closed.
Silence.
Wednesday stared at it. Thing waited.
"Don't."
He signed. Wednesday turned towards him.
"I said don't."
Thing signed again. You know. Wednesday's expression changed. Barely.
"I know nothing."
LIAR.
"I've tolerated your recent insubordination because of the trauma we collectively endured. Do not mistake mercy for weakness."
Thing jumped from the desk. He landed beside the cello. Then pointed at her hand. Wednesday looked down. It was shaking. Only slightly. But it was shaking. She curled it into a fist. Thing signed one word.
CURSE.
Wednesday stopped breathing. For three seconds. Then four.
"No."
Thing repeated it.
CURSE.
"No."
He pointed towards the door. Wednesday stood. The movement was too fast. Black crowded the edges of her vision. She caught herself against the chair. Thing rushed forward. Wednesday shoved herself upright.
"No."
He signed furiously. The fatigue. The dizziness. Her appetite. Her weakening grip. The headaches. The increasingly erratic visions. Wednesday's face remained perfectly still. Inside her skull, however, something ancient had begun screaming.
"No."
Thing slowed. Wednesday had heard stories about the Addams curse before she'd been old enough to understand what love was. Every Addams child did. It wasn't treated as a warning. It was a promise. One day, if fortune favoured you, your heart would choose. Not several times. Not temporarily. Once. One person. Morticia described it as recognition. Gomez described it considerably less coherently. Wednesday had spent most of her childhood watching her father worship her mother with the enthusiasm of a religious zealot discovering his god took corporeal form. It was revolting. He kissed her arms. He kissed her hands.
He stared at her across dinner tables as though the rest of the family had ceased to exist. He once told Wednesday, with complete sincerity, that if Morticia asked him to remove his still-beating heart and present it to her on a silver platter, his only concern would be selecting the appropriate garnish. Wednesday had been eight. She'd respected the imagery. Not the sentiment. And she'd never worried about the curse. Because Wednesday was not her mother. She had built herself around that certainty. She would never be Morticia. She would never want Morticia's life. Her romance. Her marriage. Her consuming devotion to another person.
Therefore, Wednesday had concluded, the curse would find no purchase in her. She had failed to account for Gomez. Thing touched her boot. Wednesday looked down.
"No."
A question. How long?
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Thing marched towards her journal. Wednesday moved faster. She slammed her palm over it.
"Don't."
Thing stared at her. Wednesday stared back. Then Thing slowly pointed towards the framed photograph on her desk. Wednesday didn't need to look. She knew which one. Enid had given it to her before leaving for the summer. It showed both of them outside Nevermore. Enid smiling. Wednesday not. Wednesday had kept it because throwing it away would have resulted in questions. Obviously. Thing tapped the frame. Once. Wednesday's throat tightened.
"No."
He tapped it again.
"Stop."
Again. Wednesday grabbed the frame. For one wild moment, Thing seemed to think she might smash it. Wednesday considered it. Instead, she placed it face-down. Thing signed. Tell her.
"No."
WEDNESDAY.
"No."
YOU HAVE TO.
"I have to do nothing."
Thing launched into frantic signing. Wednesday watched without interruption. He reminded her of every story she'd ever been told. Great-Aunt Calpurnia, who refused to confess her heart's selection and gradually lost the ability to walk. Cousin Vincenzo, whose beloved married another man before he could speak and who wasted away over thirteen exquisite months. Her great-great-grandmother Ophelia, who attempted to circumvent the curse through poison, only to discover that even death refused to claim her quickly. Wednesday knew the stories. She'd enjoyed them. They were considerably less entertaining now.
"Enough."
Thing stopped. Wednesday's voice was quiet.
"If the curse has chosen Enid, telling her would accomplish nothing."
Thing immediately objected.
"It would place an obligation upon her."
Another gesture.
"Yes. It would."
Thing shook himself violently. Wednesday stepped closer.
"Imagine it from her perspective. Someone informs you that unless you return their affection, they'll die."
Thing hesitated. Wednesday continued.
"Even if she felt nothing, she would stay."
Thing went still.
"She's loyal. Irrationally so."
Wednesday looked towards the door.
"She would convince herself she loved me."
Her voice remained perfectly flat.
"She would sacrifice whatever future she might otherwise have because my continued existence depended upon it."
Thing signed slowly. You don't know she doesn't. Wednesday's jaw tightened.
"She's dating."
Thing threw his fingers into the air.
"Precisely."
He pointed furiously at Wednesday. She understood. Ask her.
"No."
WHY?
Wednesday looked at the face-down photograph. Because there were some possibilities even she was afraid to dissect. Instead she said, "The curse is mine. Enid shouldn't be punished for it."
Thing stared at her. Then his fingers moved. Slowly. You would rather die.
Wednesday didn't answer immediately. Outside, someone laughed. Enid's laugh followed. Wednesday recognised it instantly. Of course she did. She could identify Enid's footsteps in a crowded corridor. Her shampoo lingered in rooms after she'd left. Wednesday knew which days Enid called her mother because she became quieter afterwards. She knew Enid chewed the inside of her cheek when anxious and bounced twice on the balls of her feet before transforming.
She knew Enid hated thunderstorms despite insisting she didn't. She knew Enid preferred strawberry lip gloss. She knew Enid's favourite blanket. Her coffee order. Her birthday. The exact pitch of her scream. The rhythm of her heartbeat. Wednesday closed her eyes. Her father had once said something to her. She'd been six. Morticia had been ill. Nothing serious. Wednesday remembered Gomez sitting beside her bed all night anyway. She'd asked why. He'd looked genuinely confused by the question.
"Cara mia is where my heart lives. Where else would I be?"
At six, Wednesday had considered this anatomically impossible. At sixteen, she finally understood. Her eyes opened. Thing was still waiting.
"You misunderstand the situation."
A pause.
"I don't want to die."
Her gaze returned to the door.
"I simply find the alternative unacceptable."
Thing's fingers curled. Wednesday turned away.
"If her happiness requires my absence, then my absence is what she'll have."
Thing stared at her. And suddenly, horribly, Wednesday sounded exactly like Gomez Addams. Not his theatrical declarations. Not his exuberance. The thing underneath them. The devotion. The certainty. The terrifying simplicity of placing one person's existence above your own. Wednesday sat at her cello again. Her fingers still trembled. She positioned the bow. Thing remained beside her.
"Don't tell my parents."
He immediately protested.
"Especially my father."
Thing made an incredulous gesture.
"Because he'll understand."
That silenced him. Wednesday lifted the bow.
"And I have no desire to see what understanding looks like on his face."
She began to play. The first note wavered. Wednesday stopped. Her hand wouldn't cooperate. She tried again. The bow slipped. Wednesday stared at it. Thing slowly climbed onto the edge of the cello. Neither of them moved. From somewhere outside came another burst of laughter. Enid again. Wednesday listened. Her expression softened by such a microscopic degree that nobody except Thing would ever have noticed. Then she picked up the bow.
"Again."
Because Enid Sinclair was alive. Enid Sinclair was laughing. Enid Sinclair was dating and gossiping and wearing offensively colourful clothes and rebuilding the life Wednesday had almost watched her lose. Wednesday had already torn apart fate once to keep it that way. She had dragged Enid back from a death she'd seen before it happened. She had been buried alive for interfering. She had nearly exchanged one Addams life for a Sinclair one. Given the opportunity, she would do it again. That was the moment Wednesday finally understood the curse. Not when her heart raced. Not when jealousy hollowed out her stomach. Not when her hands began to weaken. The curse wasn't I love you.
It was much simpler. You before me. Always. Wednesday Addams had spent sixteen years ensuring she would never become her mother. She had succeeded spectacularly.
Unfortunately, nobody had warned her about becoming her father.