Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Wolfish Hearing
The walls of the great room had grown too narrow to contain the upheaval inside Wednesday’s mind. She had pulled on a heavy black hoodie and snatched a grey blanket from her bed before easing open the massive circular window. Stepping out onto Nevermore’s ancient stone balcony, she clicked it shut with silent precision, hoping not to disturb Enid, who was sleeping peacefully – perhaps for the first time in weeks. Wednesday perched on the balustrade and, wrapping herself in the wool, leaned her back against the stone gargoyle that stood sentinel over that wing of the school.
She took a long breath, relishing the frigid air as it seeped into her lungs, cracked her lips, and bit deep into her bones. It was a clear night; the moon had risen hours ago, irritatingly bright and nearing its full terminal phase. Observing it with a sullen gaze, Wednesday’s thoughts drifted back to the night just passed: the body-swap with Enid.
Within the blonde’s skin, she had shifted into a werewolf. It was a sensation she never thought she would experience; there were no lycanthropes in her lineage. While one part of her - the primal part - felt a flicker of curiosity, intrigued by a supernatural ordeal so unexpected, agonizing, and savage, her rational mind could not stop dwelling on Enid’s strength. She was far more resilient than Wednesday had ever imagined.
Broken bones were painful; battling an Hyde and its family of psychopaths even more so. The young Addams usually welcomed pain, immersing herself in it with a certain grim enthusiasm. But Enid…
Enid was the most radiant, relentlessly optimistic creature Wednesday had ever encountered. She was a maelstrom of colors and emotions, potent enough to daze an entire school. Every month, under the gaze of the full moon, she embraced the beast within, enduring pain and solitude as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet, inhabiting her skin for a single day and night, Wednesday had nearly been crushed by the weight of it all.
She took no pleasure in finding the silver lining; usually, such optimism induced nausea. But two significant – and undeniably positive – revelations had emerged from the wreckage of that day: they finally understood one another. Enid had not flinched when revealing what she believed to be her darkest secret. Instead, she had looked at Wednesday in the eyes and declared that it was Wednesday's very vulnerability that she loved the most. As for Wednesday… she had apologized for underestimating the girl’s resilience, confessing she had barely managed to restrain that power for one night, and vowed that Enid would never again face the burden of an Alpha wolf alone.
But above all else: Enid would not die because of her.
"The premonition of Enid’s imminent death is no more" Weems had told her.
Even though she had deftly concealed it from her spirit guide, Wednesday had finally begun to breathe again. Although the shadow of death now loomed over an Addams, Enid was no longer in its crosshairs. After weeks of keeping the truth shrouded in silence, enduring her roommate’s growing resentment and the sting of being perceived as cold or exclusionary, the burden was lifted.
Too many nights had seen Wednesday hunched over ancient grimoires of spells and rituals, desperately trying to reclaim her lost abilities. Too much pain had been found in the daily reflection of Enid’s wounded, disillusioned expression. Keeping the secret had forced Wednesday to weave a web of lies, causing Enid to doubt their friendship and the bond that tethered them. Then there was Agnes, whose presence had fed the irrational, sickly notion that Wednesday sought a replacement for her. As if such a thing were humanly possible.
Whenever she closed her eyes to sleep, the vision would recur: Enid’s headstone and her spectral voice screaming that her death was Wednesday’s fault.
Normally, Wednesday savored pain, whether physical or psychological. But this realization had brought a suffering for which she was utterly unprepared: the frantic, maddening fear of losing someone vital and being the one responsible for it. It was a suffocating pressure in her chest - unhealthy, incurable, and entirely devoid of pleasure.
Is this what it feels like to care about something?
She had never paused to ask herself that question before that night. To her, love had always been presented in the nauseating, vexatious forms displayed by her parents, who missed no opportunity to seek physical contact – often grotesque in its intensity – even in the presence of their children. Their mutual devotion was so caricatured it had stripped those gestures of any meaning. They shared an urgency of touch that the young Addams had never been able to fathom; a wave of revulsion would wash over her every time her father’s stout hands gripped his beloved’s waist as if she were his only lifeline.
As she gazed at the Iago Tower looming amidst the castle walls, the creak of the glass pane jolted her from her thoughts. Turning toward the sound, she saw Enid, swathed in a pink blanket, peering out from the window, her expression drowsy yet observant.
“Enid” Wednesday whispered, her voice steady “I hope I did not wake you”
Enid shook her head and offered a faint smile, stepping out toward her.
“I saw your bed was empty and feared you’d fled in pursuit of the Galpins without warning me” she said “I’m glad you’re still here”
Wednesday studied her: the technicolor hair slightly disheveled, those wide blue eyes. She wondered how Enid managed to articulate her feelings with such effortless simplicity. There were a thousand things Wednesday wished to say; instead, she only asked:
“Are you not cold?”
“A little…” The blonde shrugged, joining her on the balcony “Nothing unbearable, though. But you…”
“What about me?”
“Are you afraid?” Wednesday could read the trepidation in Enid’s question without the slightest effort. The study of body language had always fascinated her, and the girl standing before her was, in most instances, an emotionally open book.
“I don’t do fear” Wednesday replied, her tone harsher than she had intended.
“Are you worried, then?” Enid pressed, wringing her hands as she watched her roommate. It was evident she dreaded the reaction. Panic flickered in her eyes when Wednesday’s stoic mask finally fractured under her gaze.
“I am angry, Enid!” she growled, the words escaping her control. She saw the flash of fear in Enid’s eyes, saw her own startled reflection in those blue irises. It was rare for instinct to seize the reins of her tongue.
“Angry?” the wolf repeated “At me?”
For a fleeting second, Wednesday felt a pang of ache at the realization that Enid’s first instinct was to assume she was the source of that rage. She forced herself to swallow the sensation like a poisoned draught.
“At myself!” she clarified, as if it were self-evident, a torrent of uncharacteristic words spilling forth “It was I who caused the blackout that liberated Tyler and Isaac. I freed his mother with my own hands. I placed you and Agnes in peril – again. And now they are all at large, because of me!”
“There’s no point in looking back at all that, Wednesday. It’s already happened” Enid seemed to find her breath again “Let’s just focus on how we face whatever comes next together, okay?”
It was evident she was terrified by the circumstances they found themselves in. And who wouldn't be? Wednesday, of course. But only because she had learned that terror was a parasite that fed on rational thought – the very thing that could mean the difference between life and death. Yet, Enid was reassuring her in the only way that truly resonated: by speaking her own language. Her expression had softened; those blue eyes watched her, poised for a word, a gesture, or even the most imperceptible movement. She seemed ready to embrace whatever Wednesday chose to offer.
Wednesday remained still, knees drawn to her chest, the dark wool draped over her shoulders. Her obsidian gaze traced her roommate’s silhouette, and she realized, with a jarring sense of relief, that she was transfixed by the rhythmic rise and fall of Enid’s chest. It was a visceral reminder: she was alive. Wednesday drank in that innate light shimmering in the girl's eyes, the warmth radiating from her body, and a personality so vast it seemed to saturate the entire room despite being contained in such a small frame. She spoke nothing of her nightmares, nor of her insomnia – though given the hour and the setting, the latter was painfully self-evident. Wednesday wasn't even certain what compelled her to preserve her roommate with such ferocity, even when it exacted a toll of pain. She had always considered herself selfish, a creature of solitary concern, but since setting foot in Nevermore, that certainty had begun to crumble.
“We should go inside” she finally said. Enid merely nodded, turning back, followed by the dark-haired girl who descended from her makeshift perch. They crossed the threshold in silence. As Wednesday secured the window, she turned back to the room only to find herself inches away from the other.
Enid had stopped directly behind her. Their height difference forced Wednesday to tilt her head back slightly to meet her gaze, but she didn’t understand. Not immediately. She didn't comprehend why Enid looked at her with such trepidation, nor if she was restraining herself from some word or action. Enid was not one for restraint, and the anomaly left Wednesday uncharacteristically confused.
“I wanted to thank you, Weds” she breathed after a few seconds.
“For trapping you in my body and jeopardizing your life once again?” Wednesday asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. Her tone was usually a monotone void, yet in that moment, it fractured. Enid offered a ghost of a smile, a sight that caused a catastrophic collapse in the permafrost surrounding Wednesday’s heart.
“For not telling me about your vision” Enid explained. Wednesday went still, not daring to move a muscle. “I’ve only known about it for a few hours and I was terrified... you knew all along and you spared me. You carried that burden alone and took every one of my accusations without flinching”
“Thing knew” Wednesday replied, trivializing the matter “I commanded him to remain silent”
“I know you have a... different relationship with death, that you stay rational even when things get grim” the blonde continued “But you took every hit just to protect me. No one has ever done that for me. So... thank you”
The thought of you dying because of me devastated me like nothing else ever has, and I see your headstone every time I close my eyes.
Wednesday thought it, and at the mere shadow of the thought, her heart began to hammer with an intrusive, frantic speed. She was unaccustomed to feeling her blood surge beneath her skin with such velocity; she loathed the physical betrayal. She masked it well, or so she believed.
“You are welcome” Her crimson lips curved ever so slightly – the closest thing to a smile one could expect from an Addams. She stepped past the girl and sat on her bed. Enid did the same on the opposite side of the room.
“Goodnight” Enid said, disappearing beneath her technicolor duvet.
“Goodnight, Enid” Wednesday replied, curling onto the edge of the bed furthest from her roommate, her back turned. She inhaled deeply, attempting to throttle that unnaturally accelerated pulse, but the more she fought it, the faster it seemed to race. It had begun the moment she stood face-to-face with Enid. Her words had only exacerbated the condition. And now, shrouded in the solitude of her blankets, the images of Enid’s headstone returned with relentless persistence. She didn't even close her eyes; she knew the flashbacks would only sharpen in the dark.
What she did not know – and had no true chance to experience while in Enid’s body – was that werewolves possess exquisitely keen senses. To Enid’s ears, the frantic thudding of Wednesday’s heart was as loud as a funeral drum. Enid listened for a long moment. Wednesday was so consumed by the effort to calm her pulse and banish her visions that she didn’t notice the rustle of sheets or the light footsteps approaching. She flinched as a hand settled gently on her right shoulder. From behind, she felt Enid curl against her, suddenly pulling her into an embrace.
Wednesday’s body recoiled in a reflexive lock, her heart hammering with such violence it stole the very air from her lungs. She was poised to pull away, to re-establish the familiar barricade of her solitude, when Enid’s trembling whisper reached her ear, mere millimeters away.
“Don’t push me away” she pleaded “Please.”
The request was so saturated with desperation that Wednesday didn’t just remain; guided by an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed, she pressed back against her, molding her frame to Enid’s incandescent warmth. Enid’s hand slid down, finding Wednesday’s, and for a reason Wednesday couldn't yet fathom, she guided those fingers to rest directly over her frantic heart.
It was a surrender she had never anticipated making. For years, she had viewed her body as a mere vessel for her intellect – a cold instrument of investigation – but in the circle of Enid’s arms, it became a traitorous map of nerves and heat. She could feel the friction of their clothes, the subtle static of Enid’s sweater, and the way their different temperatures bled into one another until she could no longer tell where her own shadow ended and Enid’s light began.
For a moment, the universe narrowed to that single point: a rhythmic, deafening drumming that filled the silence, tickling the werewolf’s keen ears. Wednesday’s skin smelled like rain; her hand was cold, a stark contrast to a chest that seemed to radiate a heat of its own.
“Do as I do” the wolf said softly, her position unwavering “Breathe in deep”
As Wednesday began to inhale, Enid counted aloud: “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Now hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Five." She felt Wednesday’s chest, taut and filled with air, pressed against her palm. “Breath out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Again...”
They repeated that excercise four times. Enid counted, Wednesday breathed. Slowly, the heart beneath the dark fabric decelerated to a sustainable rhythm. Enid must have felt it too, for she ceased her counting. Yet they remained locked together: Wednesday’s spine aligned perfectly with Enid’s curled form. Enid’s face was buried in Wednesday’s raven hair, while the latter still held the blonde’s hand firmly against her chest.
There was a strange, alchemical silence between them. It was as if the air in the room had thickened, woven together by the secrets they had shared and the trauma they had survived. Wednesday found herself cataloging every minute sensation: the way Enid’s heartbeat seemed to echo her own, a dual percussion that drove away the haunting silence of the Ophelia Hall. She realized then that this was not the suffocating love her parents practiced; it was a tethering of two frayed souls, a sanctuary built of bone and breath.
Now that her heart had granted her a truce – though it still beat with a defiant, noisy thud – Wednesday began to perceive the contours of this unusual situation. They had only hugged once before, the night Tyler was captured. On the night of her first shift, Enid had gambled her life to save Wednesday’s.
Wednesday remembered the sheer relief of seeing her alive – half-naked and draped in a bloodied pink jacket – and how, when Enid had lunged for that hug, her first impulse had been to retreat. But then, she had held her with a ferocity she had never shown another living soul. For the first time in her existence, she had understood what drove her parents to perpetually seek the anchor of another’s touch. Remembering how Enid had always greeted her with open arms, offering a contact Wednesday had systematically declined, she felt a sudden, sharp pang of foolishness.
In this moment, held by her friend in a way that felt both new and unnaturally right, it was as if every cell in her body were migrating toward those points of contact: her hand, her chest, her back. She could focus only on where they met - spots that seemed to sear against her cold skin. She had spent her life eluding the human touch, never envying the desperate craving she saw in others, her parents most of all.
Now, by some cruel trick of fate, she wanted only to sink into that sensation, to let herself be slowly devoured by the emotions she usually suppressed. She felt the furnace-heat of Enid’s body and the steady ghost of her breath against the nape of her neck. She smelled the fruity scent of shampoo that saturated the air, a scent that would have been loathsome on anyone else. But with Enid, it was different. Even the heavy, muffled silence felt natural. Pleasurable, even.
She contemplated the sheer illogic of it all. A girl who preferred the scent of formaldehyde and old parchment was now finding solace in the aroma of synthetic peaches. It was a riddle she didn't care to solve, a rare moment where her analytical mind conceded defeat to the raw, visceral reality of another person's presence.
She was startled when that silence was broken by a whisper.
“I could hear it from across the room” Enid said, so softly that only the deafening quiet made it audible.
“What?” Wednesday was surprised to hear her own voice so fractured.
“Your heart” Enid replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world “I’ve never heard it beat like that”
Enid was a wolf, after all.
How was she supposed to respond? Wednesday didn't know, but she didn't have to wonder for long.
“Usually, it helps me sleep” the blonde continued, the words spilling out like a sudden flood “I listen to that dark, steady rhythm, so different from everyone else’s. I count the beats until I drift off”
That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.
The thought hit Wednesday with such force she was glad she hadn't spoken it.
“I am sorry” she said instead.
“Don’t apologize” Enid’s voice was suddenly pleading again “It was beautiful… this is beautiful”
No one had ever used the word beautiful to describe a contact with her. Her history of non-violent touch was reduced to two moments that had rewritten her life: the kiss with Tyler – her first real kiss – which had unmasked his betrayal and left her loathing her own weakness; and the embrace with Enid the night she saved her. In that moment, she had realized that with Enid, everything was different. She had never said it. She likely never would.
But now, despite her earlier denials, she felt the cold grip of fear. Fear of which family member would die because of her; fear that Enid was still in the crosshairs of fate; fear that the Galpins would dismantle everything she had fought to protect. Wednesday hated herself in that moment. She hated the burn in her eyes and the blurring of her vision. She hated that she had never allowed herself to be vulnerable, not even to herself. She tried to shove the useless tears back, but she failed. A single, merciless tear fell and struck the pillow with a sound that felt like a gunshot in her own ears.
Enid took alarm at the sound, fearing she had overstepped.
“No…” she whispered “I’m sorry, Wed… if I said something wrong, I-”
She was cut off by Wednesday, who, for the first time in her life, spoke with a broken voice.
“Enid”
“Yes?”
“Hold me tighter”
Though stunned by the request, Enid squeezed her with all her might, and felt Wednesday do the same. She inhaled the scent of Wednesday’s cold skin and held her so long her muscles began to ache, but she didn't dare to let go. Wednesday’s heart broke into a wild gallop for the second time that night. She said nothing. She didn't even try to quell it. Instead, she let herself feel not only her own frustrating, incomprehensible rhythm, but a second pulse - Enid’s - thudding just as fast against her back. Wednesday closed her eyes and focused on that sound, forgetting her own chaotic heart.
She fell asleep like that, without even realizing it, lulled by Enid’s heart beating in unison with her own.