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Chapter Text

“Why does it have to be so cold?” Enid whines, curling further into the dark burgundy color of her winter jacket.

“Your body temperature runs nearly ten degrees higher than ours,” Agnes grouches back. “If anyone should be complaining, it’s Wednesday and me.”

“I enjoy the bitter cold,” Wednesday says stoically. “It reminds me the chill of a morgue.”

“This is even colder than the morgue usually is,” Agnes points out knowingly — Wednesday has taken her to the morgue plenty of times the past couple of weeks to be familiar with the room temperature of the building. 

Enid makes a disgusted noise at them both. “I don’t want to know.” She perks up just a moment later, however, brushing off the disturbing news of her packmates regularly venturing to morgues. She steps forward away from them and then spins around to face them, clapping her hands together with a grin. “I hate the cold, but you know what’s so fun about winter?”

Wednesday gives Enid her usual blank, I’m-dead-inside look while Agnes blinks at her with wide eyes.

Enid, clearly, is not dismayed by their silence as she beams. “Snow!”

Agnes wrinkles her nose. “The snow is an obstacle,” she says petulantly. “It gives away my invisibility if someone sees my footprints.” She glares down at the snow under her boots and kicks at it, sending some flying. Morbidly, she wishes snow had a face so she could stomp on it. 

“Maybe it’ll teach you to cut back a little on your creepy stalker tendencies,” Enid says, though she’s obviously aware that not a single person believes that. She continues on before Agnes could say anything, “Besides, the snow is fun! You can build snowmen—”

“Acquire hypothermia,” Wednesday interrupts. “Or perhaps fourth-degree frostbite.”

Agnes looks at her, intrigued by the idea.

“Or you can go ice skating,” Enid says. “Drink hot chocolate.”

“We could buy hot chocolate from the store any time of the year,” Agnes argues.

“That— it’s not the same!” Enid snaps back, clearly getting a bit frustrated with the lack of interest from either of her packmates about her love for winter. “Drinking hot chocolate in the winter is different than any other season!”

Wednesday’s brows furrow a little. “I fail to see why.”

“It’s like a tradition,” Enid explains. “Like watching Christmas movies! Wait! The three of us have got to watch some before winter break!”

Wednesday makes a face to show that she did not think they should. Agnes brightens a little at the idea, however. She’s watched plenty of Christmas movies before, though she had always done so by herself. “Can we watch Home Alone?” she asks.

“Not watching Home Alone would be criminal,” Enid says seriously. She leans in closer, a smile on her face. “You know what else snow is fun for?” Agnes tilts her head, curious. “Snowball fights!”

Agnes flickers to invisible once Enid begins rambling about snowball fights and Wednesday interjects that any snowball fight equivalent she’s been a part of was when she was a child and her and Pugsley would throw sharp pieces of ice at each other’s eyes to try to blind one another, which is mildly entertaining.

Not as entertaining as shoving snow down Enid’s shirt while she wasn’t paying attention.

“Shit!” Enid shouts, jumping forward and trying to get the snow off her, doing an awkward hop-skip sort of dance from the cold feeling. She whirls around, teeth bared. “Agnes, you pint sized little pest!” 

Agnes takes off but Enid’s eyes sharpen and track her footprints. Agnes lets out a small yell as Enid full on tackles her to the ground, flicking to visible. Snow flies everywhere and Agnes  scrambles around, shoving Enid away as the cold burns through her clothes. She’s lost her beanie somewhere and snow is melting in her shoes. 

Enid snickers at her disgruntled look, but the amusement is wiped away when Agnes flings snow right in her face.

“Agnes!” 

Agnes bolts behind a tree as a snowball is lugged at her back, missing. Agnes peeks around and sticks her tongue out at a pissed off Enid. “Too slow, mutt,” she taunts, just barely ducking in time when another snowball pelts past her face. She turns invisible and runs out from behind the tree, scooping up some snow as she goes, lunging out of the way when Enid tracks her and throws another.

Agnes hides behind the next tree and slings the snowball at Enid, who dodges, but yelps when another flies from Agnes’ hands and hits her in the nose, which seems to trigger an actual war.

Snowballs fly. Enid’s voice shouts loudly, snarling whenever Agnes mocks her, who flickers in and out of visibility here and there. They’re gaining attention running around fighting from students who are still lingering around outside despite the chill, but Agnes can’t find it in herself to care. Not when she’s actually having fun, launching blistering cold snow at a werewolf.

Unfortunately, it come to a standstill when Agnes dodges a particularly wild snowball that flies past her and hits Wednesday, who had been watching them, half annoyed, half disgusted. 

Agnes looks back over at Enid’s dawning horror across from her to realize that Enid has just made a very, very big mistake. Wednesday ever so slowly glances down at her coat and reaches up, brushing the snow off it in one sweep of her hand. Agnes watches in fascination as Wednesday reaches for something in her jacket just as Enid swoops in, scooping Agnes up like she’s a sack of potatoes, opposing sides of snowball war gone from her mind.

“It was a mistake, Wends, I’m sorry!” Enid yelps, Agnes tossed over her shoulder.

She bolts away just as a knife goes soaring past their heads.

__

After giving Wednesday a day to cool off from her rage at being hit with a snowball, Agnes finds herself back in Enid and Wednesday’s dorm, as per usual.

What is not usual, however, is the contraption in the middle of the room.

“Initiating Test One,” Wednesday says, scribbling on her notebook. Sharp eyes dart towards Agnes and she gives the barest of nods.

Agnes grins and lets go of the rope just as the door opens and Enid steps inside. The blade of the guillotine falls down and slices the head off, sending it rolling to the werewolf’s sneakered feet. Enid lets out a shriek and jumps backwards, nearly dropping the bags in her hands, eyes bulging in terror.

“Oh no, oh no, not again,” Enid exclaims, slamming the door closed behind her. Agnes perks up and turns towards Wednesday, tilting her head in question. Had she…missed a beheading Enid has witnessed to before? How incredibly unfortunate. Wednesday gives her a look that clearly said she’d explain later. “Wednesday, we’ve talked about this!”

“Enid, calm yourself before your blood pressure rises too much and you trigger a heart attack,” Wednesday says blandly. “It is not a human head.”

Enid lowers her hands from where she’d covered her face, bags rustling. She glances down and nudges her sneakers against the head in front of her, audibly letting out a sigh when she finds that it’s a mannequin. A startlingly real looking mannequin but a mannequin nonetheless.

“Oh thank god,” she whispers.

“It has human hair,” Agnes says, delighted.

Enid side eyes a blonde doll in her plushie collection. “Was it taken from an old murder case?”

“No,” Wednesday answers bluntly.

Agnes watches as Enid makes a face, halfway relieved and then intensely disturbed afterwards. “Then how…” She observes the mannequin head before grimacing, stepping around it. “I change my mind. I’ve learned it’s better not to ask questions sometimes.” She walks to her desk and plops the bags down, turning towards them with a wide grin. “Look what I brought us!”

Agnes walks over, looking over Enid’s shoulder as she digs through the bags, taking out boxes of food and cups and what seemed like snacks. Without looking up, Enid shoves a cup into Agnes’ hand. She glances down at it and sniffs it before taking a drink. “Hot chocolate?”

“I told you we’ve got to drink it when it’s winter,” Enid says, giving her a smile. “And since winter break starts tomorrow, I thought we could do it now, before the holidays.” Enid’s smile drops a little. “Plus, we should have a movie night tonight. We won’t see each other for two weeks.”

Agnes clutches at her cup tighter, gaze darting towards her boots. She’s tried to distract herself for nearly a week now with building the guillotine with Wednesday after classes, along with having fun at pranking Bruno — not that he knew it was her, of course — but the idea of leaving Nevermore for winter break for two weeks never truly left her mind. It’s not as bad as summer breaks where she has to spend months on end practically invisible in her own house. She’ll just have to be invisible for two weeks — nothing she hasn’t done before.

But, before, she hadn’t felt the warmth of having friends. Of having Wednesday and Enid. Of being a Pack, as Enid likes to call it. 

She has a sense that this break will be lonelier than the others had been and her senses were rarely wrong about things like these.

“And we can watch Home Alone!” Enid continues and Agnes can see the way she’s trying to elevate the mood that had turned somber. She walks over and nudges a cup onto Wednesday’s hand, who stares down at it like one would a bomb — or, in Wednesday’s case, a glittery puppy. Enid pays no mind to Wednesday’s quiet disgruntlement as she beams. “You’re watching the movie with us, right, Wends?”

Wednesday’s eyes snap up in an instant, a scowl on her face. “No.”

“But we won’t see each other for two weeks,” Enid whines, pressing her hands together with a pout. 

Wednesday, clearly, is not phased. “I have better things to do than to waste a night away being forced to watch something that will make me want to scoop my eyeballs out with my own fingers.”

Agnes watches as Wednesday turns back towards their first build of their guillotine. Despite the dismissal, Enid still looks like she’s gearing up to pull out the big guns.

“I’ll go with you to that graveyard you’ve mentioned wanting to go to,” Enid bargains.

Wednesday’s head tilts the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. “The one outside of Jericho?” she asks, monotone as always.

Enid smiles, like she’s already won something. “Yup!”

Wednesday stares down at the guillotine for a long, long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Enid cheers, but she doesn’t lunge for a hug like she normally would have — she must have picked up the low, murderous vibes emitting from Wednesday, who seems disgusted with herself for giving up an argument so quickly at the prospect of graveyard visiting (and, more than likely, vandalism).

Agnes hides a mischievous smile behind her cup, not daring to give Wednesday any reason to turn her ire towards her instead of her girlfriend.

“I even got,” Enid bounds forward toward the bags, ripping them open and presenting the large metal container, shaking it, “caramel popcorn! Mixed with other ones like white cheddar and regular.”

Agnes’ eyes are immediately drawn towards the container. 

Enid’s grin turns downright smug. “See? I figured you would like the caramel ones. Considering your sweet tooth and all.”

Agnes stiffens, ripping her gaze away from the container to stare at Enid. When had she learned that? There’s a part of her that’s wary — a strange feeling of cautiousness that comes with knowing that someone has been watching her.

The larger part, however, hums in her chest, content at the notion of being seen.

Such an unfamiliar feeling. Not a bad one, persay. Just odd.

“The caramel ones are mine,” Agnes says quickly, hiding the brief moment of vulnerability under pettiness.

It works as Enid hugs the container closer to her, eyes narrowing. “You’re sharing.”

“No. I don’t like sharing.”

“Too bad, pipsqueak. You can’t have them all—” Enid’s eyes catch something behind Agnes, who turns to see what she’s looking at. Wednesday has set her hot chocolate on her desk, the lid off, and is currently pouring something into it. “Babe, what are you doing?” Enid asks cautiously, dropping her argument for a moment.

“Adding arsenic,” Wednesday says casually, like one would the weather. “If I am to indulge in this…concoction of sugar, then it will be mixed with something more deadly.”

Agnes looks up quickly, holding up her finger. “May I—”

“No,” Enid and Wednesday say at the same time.

Agnes makes a face at them, hand dropping. She eyes the bottle of poison in Wednesday’s hand. She’ll definitely be stealing some of it later to try whenever they’re both out of the dorm.

“If you wish to partake in arsenic, then we shall acquire your own,” Wednesday follows up.

“Wednesday!” Enid protests.

Agnes smiles and clasps her hands together the best she could with the hot chocolate in her grip, eyes bright. All plans of theft have vanished at the idea of having her own supply. “Wonderful. Where do we get it?”

“I can send a letter to have some more shipped here,” Wednesday answers.

“Wednesday!” Enid repeats, aghast. “You can’t just—” Seemingly sensing she won’t be wining that argument with Wednesday, who hadn’t even given her a single glance, Enid turns her sights on Agnes, pointing a finger at her. “No. Poison. None.”

Agnes simply blinks at her. 

There will definitely be poison in her near future.

“I’m still not sharing,” Agnes says instead of mentioning the poison she’ll definitely be receiving hopefully soon. 

“I was the one who bought the popcorn, you are sharing—”

__

Agnes does relent and share the caramel popcorn with Enid, though she does take the time to flick a piece at her face that bounces off her nose. Enid had not been happy with that, but one murder threat from Wednesday settled them both down to watch Home Alone.

Just as Agnes predicted to herself, Wednesday was not the biggest fan of the Christmas movie. However, Agnes did catch her eyes glinting with blatant malice whenever violence occurred on the screen — particularly the scene when Marv stepped on the nail going up the stairs.

How wonderful. That was always Agnes’ favorite scene as well.

__

Early morning the next day, Agnes found herself standing by the gates, her dad, Henry’s, car further up. The suitcase she’s taking back home is already loaded in and Henry is currently in the driver’s seat, already on his phone, a seething expression on his face as he talks to whoever is on the other side. His face hasn’t turned that typical shade of angry red it usually is when he’s on the line with her mom, Naomi, so it’s definitely not her. Probably one of his coworkers, then. He likes to complain about them enough that it’s possible.

However, Agnes isn’t concerned about that. Instead, she’s preoccupied by a frantic werewolf and a glowering Addams in front of her.

“Do you have everything?” Enid frets for what seems like the billionth time in the past hour. 

“Yes,” Agnes answers, yet again.

“Are you sure?”

“Enid,” Agnes groans, face twisting in annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry,” Enid apologies, but she doesn’t sound particularly sorry. “It’s just— two weeks, you know?”

“I’m bringing a suitcase back with me—”

“Two whole weeks,” Enid repeats over her, a whimper in her voice. Her lip trembles and she looks to near tears, like Agnes is leaving forever instead of them simply being separated for winter break and will be back. 

“Well, that is how long winter break is,” Agnes says sarcastically.

Enid makes a noise and reaches out, absently tugging Agnes’ beanie further down over her ears. “Remember to call me. At least, like, four times a day.”

Agnes narrows her eyes. “Once every two days.”

“Two times a day.”

“One time a day.”

“Fine,” Enid relents moodily. Wednesday watches on with vague disgust towards their affections. Enid’s irritation drops and she looks at Agnes, all soft eyed and worried — such a contrast to how they first met when Enid wanted to claw Agnes’ throat out. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Quietly, and to herself, not really. A part of Agnes wanted to cling to her and never let go, but she’s thirteen and not a child anymore. It’s more than likely a side effect of whatever a Pack bond entails — perhaps, she will look more into them when she comes back to Nevermore after the break.

“You worry too much. It’s your Achilles’ Heel. And annoying,” Agnes says instead.

Enid rolls her eyes a little, her earlier worry disappearing in response to Agnes’ usual dig. Just like Agnes hypothesized. 

Wednesday steps forward, straight to the point. “Do you have your knife?”

“Yes,” Agnes says. 

“Your hidden second one, also?”

“Yes.”

“The bottle of nightshade?”

Enid’s eyes bulge in shock while Agnes doesn’t even blink, simply nodding her head, “Yes.”

“Remember where to stab someone if they attack you?”

“Eyes and the arteries in their neck and thigh.”

“What did I tell you before?”

“It is better to be called cautious than to be ignorant and fail to see an attack coming,” Agnes states.

Wednesday stares at her for a long moment, studying. Then, she gives a sharp nod. Dark eyes settle on what Agnes assumes is her dad behind her. “And the most important thing?” she asks slowly. Agnes’ brows furrow in confusion. At her silence, Wednesday turns her attention back to her and Agnes feels seen. Too much. Like Wednesday can see straight through her. “You are not a mistake.”

Agnes’ fingers curl at her sides. “I know,” she says, even though she usually doesn’t. 

But, recently, with Wednesday and Enid? She doesn’t feel like one when she’s with them. Not even close. A nuisance and a pest, as Enid likes to call her sometimes, but never a mistake. Never like someone else’s wrong decision.

“Agnes, come on!” Henry shouts, window now rolled down — he must’ve finished with his call and realized his daughter wasn’t in the car yet.

Agnes breaks eye contact with Wednesday, looking away. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

She’s almost to the car door when Enid’s voice shouts, “Wait!” and a weight collides into her. Agnes takes in a sharp breath as Enid’s arms wrap around her, holding her close. “I’ll miss you,” Enid whispers.

Agnes slowly buries her face into her shoulder. She’s never been missed before.

What another strange, but welcomed feeling — being missed.

__

The house is cold when Agnes steps into it. Almost like nobody lived in it. The only sound is the rolling of the wheels of her suitcase against the floor and her dad’s retreating footsteps down the hallway and disappearing into his office room. Agnes glances down at her shoes and then looks back up, walking down the end of the hallway until she got to her room, slowly opening the door.

The walls are painted a blank white, decorated with posters of bands she’s outgrown years ago but never replaced, unable to make a decision on how she wanted the room to look like. The curtains are still that pink color one of her old friends used to like and Agnes had been desperate to impress her — not that it had ended well anyways. 

She doesn’t bother unpacking, simply letting the suitcase fall to the ground with a loud thud. Agnes follows its lead and drops onto her bed, sprawling out on it. She fumbles around after a moment of unbearable silence and grabs her phone, giggling under her breath at her and Enid’s conversation earlier until Enid had said she was bordering her plane and wouldn’t be able to answer, which was about forty minutes ago. 

She would text Wednesday, but Wednesday doesn’t believe in phones so now she doesn’t have anyone to talk to.

Agnes takes out her earbuds and untangles the wire before slipping them into her ears. She goes to Spotify and presses play on her playlist. A Paramore song instantly begins and Agnes smothers a smile, remembering the time when Enid had asked if she liked them, only to lie and say she didn’t — it had been too amusing to pass up when Enid had bristled and bared her teeth like an angry puppy dog when Agnes called them mediocre. 

She closes her eyes and lets her mind drift off, imagining she was somewhere else. 

And if that somewhere else contained a psychic and a werewolf? Well, that was nobody’s business but her own. 

__

Her days are spent hunkered in her room, curled up on her bed and fighting back the chill of the AC thrumming through the building. If Agnes isn’t there, then she’s wandering the house after her dad is gone, or she’s invisible when he is here. She can usually tell the difference because, when he is at home, she could hear him on the phone from his office. When he’s not, it’s silent and colder and seemingly darker despite the sunlight through the windows.

She likes the latter despite it all. It’s easier that way.

“You look like her,” her dad had told her one time and one time only.

Agnes had already known that. She may have her dad’s red hair, but her face structure was all her mom’s. The rare times she sees her mom, she’d spent a long time studying Naomi’s face, taking in their similarities. They look so much alike, she could pass off as her twin if she had stepped back in time when her mother was thirteen.

Her dad hates her for it. He’s never said it out loud, but Agnes knows.

He hates how much Agnes reminds him of the woman who ruined his life. Agnes was a mistake, something that tied Naomi and Henry together when they wanted anything but. Agnes thinks things were good between her parents once upon a time, but neither had wanted a kid at that time, but ended up with her anyways. They were freshly married too soon and things unraveled between stress of maintaining jobs and raising a child. 

The arguments had already started once Agnes was at the age to remember and hadn’t stopped until she was nine years old and her parents divorced and went their separate ways. Her dad got main custody rights over her since he had a more stable income and housing while her mom at the time was living in a shoddy apartment bouncing around jobs. Henry didn’t want her, that much was obvious. He wasn’t there, didn’t kiss her scrapes when she fell, didn’t make her food, didn’t sign her field trip papers. 

Agnes grew up and by the time she was ten she’d learned how to live on her own in their shared house. Through a lot of trial and error, she learned how to make herself food, how to smear neosporin on her scraped up knees, how to forge her dad’s signiture for anything that needed parental permission.

And then, she was sent to Nevermore where she spent days trying to make friends and failing until the next year when she fixed her sights on Wednesday.

These past few months, she’s gained more of a family with Wednesday and Enid than she’s ever had with the people who were supposed to be.

Wednesday could be cruel, yes. She could be calculatively vicious; could string a man up from his intestines without blinking if called for. She was dark and she was cold and she was bluntly mean, but Wednesday was also caring. Never nice, no, but she cared despite Wednesday denying it. Agnes had seen what Wednesday was willing to do for the people she called her own and there was never something Wednesday wouldn’t do for those she called family, even if she did insist she abhorred them (which Agnes knew wasn’t true).

Enid was hotheaded and emotional and never afraid to let others know it. She could be mean and jealous and possessive over what she considered hers. But she was also gentle and kind and warm. She worried a lot — particularly over Wednesday and Agnes when they disappeared to cause a ruckus somewhere in their united boredom (though Wednesday would call it “investigative outings” instead). Enid, despite her bristling and grumbling whenever Agnes purposefully got on her nerves, fell into something strangely close to maternal without even realizing it that often spooked Agnes.

They were her family now. They were her home. Not this cold house or her distant father or the four walls of the bedroom she’s outgrown a long time ago. 

She misses them in a way that it hurts. Like a gaping hole in her chest has formed from their absence that she cannot cauterize or sew shut. 

Agnes can’t help but wonder if they actually miss her, too.

__

Agnes pokes at one of the now cold chicken nuggets she had made herself. A week into break and the only thing she’s looked forward to are the facetime calls she has with Enid at night after Enid’s family has gone to sleep. She wishes Wednesday could have joined them, even if she would have spent most of the call glaring ominously into the camera with perpetual disdain, but it would’ve been better than nothing at all. Her phone is the only thing that’s kept her entertained besides the walks she takes through the woods near her house where nobody would ever find her unless she wanted them to. It was cold during them and the air was so freezing it hurt her lungs, but it was better than the silent house. 

She eventually heaves a sigh and forces herself to eat another chicken nugget, knowing better than the waste food. Nevermore has spoiled her in that regard and so has Wednesday, who carries around snacks and water she shoves into Agnes’ hands even before Agnes herself realizes she hasn’t ate anything, having been off to do her daily stalking to keep the boredom at bay.

The front door suddenly opens and Agnes’ eyes automatically dart towards the clock on the stove. He’s home early, she realizes with a small jolt. 

When her ability prickles under her skin, she lets it wash over her, vanishing her from sight completely right as Henry rounds the corner. He’s already scowling and yanks open the refridgerator, grabbing a water from it. He then moves to the cabinets and grabs some tylenol before marching off. He doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the usual; doesn’t give a second glance at the cold, half eaten chicken nuggets at the table. 

Agnes sits still for a moment before appearing again, staring down the hallway. Either her dad was already nursing a headache, or he was expecting to. Neither were good. They both meant he’d spend the rest of the day shouting louder than usual into the phone over whatever he thought wasn’t going right.

Agnes grimaces and hurriedly eats the rest of the chicken nuggets before taking her plate to the sink. She washes it quickly and towels it dry before putting it back where it had been — like she had never been there to begin with.

She shoves her feet into her boots by the front door, not bothering to lace them before she steps outside. She heads away from the road that winds into the town and splits off into the woods, disappearing through the treeline. The snow crunches under her boots and the chill is sharp, but Agnes simply shoves her hands into her hoodie pockets, tipping her head back when birds chirp above her in the snow covered branches.

Any other person would’ve hesitated venturing into the woods, but Agnes has been exploring the area for nearly three years by herself. She walks the homemade path through the brush and steps out into a small clearing. The creek would usually make soothing noise, but it’s frozen over and Agnes walks forward, toeing her boot against the ice to watch it crack under the pressure. 

Nearly fifteen minutes later, her phone rings and startles Agnes from where she had begun to make mini snowmen around her on the bank of the frozen creek. Red bitten fingers slip into her pocket and she takes her phone out, Wolfie displayed on the screen.

“Enid?” Agnes asks upon accepting the facetime request, confused. They were supposed to only talk at night when Enid knew nobody would be listening in — Agnes didn’t really understand it, but she went along with it anyways. Sometimes, family stuff was too much to prod into.

“Agnes, hey, bad time?” Enid’s smiling, but it’s not…it’s not a real one. 

Agnes narrows her eyes. “No.” She shuffles and moves her knees close to her chest instead of under her when they began to get numb. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

“Your face is doing a thing,” Agnes points out.

Enid makes a face. “My face doesn’t do a thing.”

“It does.”

“Does not.”

“You’re doing it right now,” Agnes argues. She continues before Enid could say something, “What’s wrong?”

Enid is quiet. Which isn’t good. Enid is never quiet. In fact, Agnes hadn’t thought it was possible. 

“I just wanted to see you,” Enid says after a long moment. Agnes clutches the phone tighter between her cold fingers. Her voice grows heavier with something, “I miss you, kid.”

Agnes blinks, a bit startled. She glances away. “I miss you, too.” Once she’s certain she won’t start doing something ridiculous like crying over a few words, she turns back. “Only a week left, right?”

“Right,” Enid agrees, solemn. She’s clearly debating over something and Agnes stays quiet, knowing that, sometimes, the best thing to do when you want someone to spill their guts, is to just let them talk. “I don’t think I belong here,” she eventually states, like she’s thought this over and over again. Like it’s been eating her from the inside out and leaving her hollow and pained. “I think I’ve known that for awhile. I guess, after our bond, it just…solidifies that.”

“Do you hate the bond?” Agnes asks, dropping her chin to her snow melted jeans. It’s cold to the touch, but she doesn’t move. 

“No, never,” Enid denies and Agnes feels something in her chest loosen. “I could never hate it. You and Wednesday? You’re it for me. You’re my family. I just…I guess…” She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut. “I guess I couldn’t help but hope things here would have gotten better, too. Selfish, huh?”

“That’s not selfish,” Agnes murmurs. “Wanting your real family to want you isn’t selfish.”

“You’re my real family.”

“I meant, your biological one,” Agnes says, rolling her eyes. “Wanting them to want you isn’t bad. They should have wanted you.”

“…You’re weirdly wise when you want to be for your age,” Enid says at last.

Agnes makes a face. “I’m going to hang up on you.”

“I’m kidding! Kidding!” Enid laughs and Agnes feels relief at the familiar sound — such a contrast than the despondent tone from the beginning of the call. “But seriously, you’re like twelve, why are you dishing out advice that good?”

“Goodbye, Enid,” Agnes stresses out.

“Wait!” Agnes pauses, eyes narrowing as her thumb hovers over the end call button. Enid seems to have clocked that something was strange on Agnes’ side. “Where are you?”

“In the woods.”

“Why?”

“None of your business, wolf.”

“It’s like ten degrees outside!” Enid worries and Agnes’ screen gets closer to Enid’s face like Enid has brought her phone right to her eye to observe Agnes surroundings. “And where is your coat?”

“I have a coat on.”

“That is a thin cotton hoodie!” Enid snaps. “Where is your winter coat?”

“I don’t have one,” Agnes admits casually.

“What?!” Agnes grimaces and holds her phone away from her. “Oh, that is the first thing we’re doing when we get back, missy. Wait until Wednesday hears about this!”

“I’m building up my tolerance for the blistering affects of winter,” Agnes argues and then eyes the red of her fingers. Not very well, but she is trying.

“Absolutely not,” Enid says, shaking her head. “Go back inside where it’s warm before you catch hypothermia.”

“No.”

“Agnes.”

They glare at each other before Agnes huffs and stands up, kicking her half made snowmen into frustration. “Fine.”

“And I’ll be staying on the phone until you get back inside.”

“Ugh, what are you? My mom?”

“Close enough to one. Now, get moving before I book a flight and come there to drag you inside myself, pup.”

__

How could things get to this level?

She was going back to Nevermore tomorrow. She was going to see Wednesday and Enid again. She was going to get roped into shopping for a proper winter coat and was already working on multiple arguments to get the two of them to agree to going to get hot chocolate for a treat (and, but them, she meant Wednesday). 

Everything was starting to look up. So, how’d it get to this?

Agnes stares up at her dad towering above her. She can taste the blood slowly pooling on her lower lip and the right side of her face is already burning hot, her jaw painful. 

She should have known better than to break the silence and make her presence known, but she was hungry. They had ran out of food she could make for herself since Henry hadn’t been out to the grocery store and she doesn’t have any money to buy anything herself. She had known he was in another foul mood by the clench of his jaw and the furrow of his brow, but she hadn’t ate all day or most of yesterday and it was starting to hurt.

He had never hit her. Never. So, why…

Why now?

Her dad stares back at her before he blinks and guilt sets in. Agnes sees it plain as day, the way he takes a step backwards. He reaches out for her, like he could sooth the pain he had caused. “Agnes, I—”

Agnes flinches backwards and, like always, lets herself disappear.

She stays invisible, even after reaching her room and locking the door. She pulls on the hoodie she had stole from Enid and curls up, letting the sleeves cover her hands. She tucks her nose into the collar of it.

It barely still smells of that candy like scent of Enid’s perfume, but it’s still there.

Agnes squeezes her eyes shut, but she doesn’t sleep and she does not answer Enid’s call that night.

The hours could not have gone any slower as she waits for morning to come so she could leave.

__

The drive back is spent in awkward silence that not even the radio tunes could drown out. Agnes stays in the back seat, curled up in the corner and the hood of Enid’s hoodie pulled up to hide away, hair falling around her face to conceal the dark bruise fading in on her cheek that she covered most with concealer.

She doesn’t move from her stiff position until the car pulls up to the gates of Nevermore. They’re earlier than most, only a few students walking around the quad. 

Agnes robotically grabs her suitcase and pops the door of the car open.

“Agnes?” She pauses as her dad speaks up, hesitant. “Just…you won’t say anything right? It was an accident and people…people might overreact. It could mess up our lives more than they are already.”

A lump forms in her throat. “I won’t,” she promises anyways and quickly gets out of the car, shutting the door.

She doesn’t stop at her dorm or even look around. Her feet carry her forward and she only knows where she’s going until she’s stopped outside a familiar door. Agnes doesn’t bother to knock as she pushes the door open, not expecting anyone there.

To her surprise, Wednesday turns swiftly at her entrance, in the middle of unpacking her typewriter. Agnes freezes, hand clutching the handle of her suitcase and is barely aware that it’s shaking.

Wednesday’s eyes trail from her hand to her face. “Agnes?”

At the sound of her voice, something inside her breaks and Agnes chokes back a sob. She lets go of the suitcase handle and pays no mind to the way it thumps loudly to the floor as she clutches at her own arms, squeezing like she could hug herself.

She didn’t even hear Wednesday approach until, suddenly, cold hands are pressing under her chin, tilting her head up. Agnes keeps her eyes closed despite the tears running down her face. A thumb prods against the bruise on her face and she winces. 

“Who did this to you?” Wednesday demands and her voice is the darkest she’s ever heard it before.

Agnes shakes her head silently and lets herself be herded forward after a moment. Wednesday guides her away from near the closed doorway before Agnes’ legs hit the back of a mattress and she sits down, curling in on herself. A weight settles beside her and Agnes suddenly wishes she could have a hug — a real one, not the one she’s trying to give by herself.

Enid would give her a hug.

She wants Enid.

After a moment, something soft presses against the back of her hands. Agnes blinks her eyes open tearfully and looks down to find Wednesday pushing one of Enid’s stuffed animals into her lap. It’s one of the teddy bears she has. A soft blue one. 

“I’m sorry, mi pequeña,” Wednesday says, solemn. “Enid is not here right now. But I will assist you with whatever it is that you need at the moment.”

Agnes lets go of her arms to clutch at the teddy bear. “It hurts,” she whispers hoarsely. Wednesday’s face darkens, like she believes she’s talking about the bruise on her face. Agnes brings a shaky hand to her chest, pressing it over her heart. “Here. It hurts here.” A strange, small keening sound comes from her throat and her eyes blur with fresh tears. “Why does it hurt, Wednesday? Why’d he do it?”

Agnes bows her head and curls around the teddy bear the best she can before Wednesday sits down beside her again. Hands snag at the hoodie she’s wearing and guide her to side until Agnes’ face is smushed against the soft fabric of the sweatshirt covering Wednesday’s shoulder.

“I wish I could take the pain away,” Wednesday states, matter of fact. “But I can not. I will, however, prevent any more pain that tries to bestow upon you. I will end the lives of anyone who tries to harm you again.”

Agnes takes in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She can smell the scent of something sharp and woodsy that’s distinctively Wednesday and she reaches up with the hand not tucking the teddy bear to her chest to curl he fingers into the fabric of Wednsday’s sweater, clutching it lightly. She knows Wednesday could get out of her hold no matter what she did, but she hopes she wouldn’t. Not right now.

She feels drowsy the longer she sits there as her tears begin to dry and become tacky on her face. She hadn’t slept the night before and she’s starting to feel it. She slumps further against Wednesday. It’s not like Enid’s hugs where they’re overly warm like a toaster oven, but it’s still just as comfortable.

Agnes is barely aware enough when she’s shifted down where her cheek presses against a black pillow. She blinks her eyes open briefly to meet Wednesday’s gaze before Wednesday reaches out, brushing red hair from her face.

“Sleep, pequeña,” Wednesday demands. “We will discuss this later.”

Agnes lets out a quiet sigh and brings the stuffed animal closer, candy scented perfume coming off it. She’s lulled to sleep as a finger trails from her temple into her hair rhythmically. 

Right before she falls asleep completely, she realizes something: this is the safest she’s ever felt before. Not with her mom and her new family, and certainly not wiht her dad. Here. Here, she is safe, with Wednesday by her side and a promise that she’d never let anything happen to her again. Not while she’s there.

And Agnes believes her. She falls asleep and she knows that she is safe. 

Chapter Text

Enid has been moping ever since Agnes’ father drove off that morning, which had been a whole two hours ago.

Wednesday’s eyes slide away from where she’s packing her typewriter up securely towards the other side of the dorm room where Enid is slowly stuffing clothes into her suitcase, last minute as always, a firm pout on her face. She seems like she’s on the verge of collapsing into a pathetic crying heap or claw her own skin off in violent misery.

Wednesday glances away, her jaw tightening. Seeing Enid so affected is…troubling. She hasn’t seen her this upset since that night when Agnes had fell through their window bleeding from the gash on her calf. It probably did not help that Agnes seemed so miserable climbing into her father’s car earlier, despondent for the hellion menace who usually grinned at Enid’s rage.

Perhaps, she should have followed through with the half hearted plan that had formed in her mind the week before when the Nevermore staff had reminded everyone of the existence of winter break. Even last night, the other two passed out halfway through their last movie, Wednesday had pondered and whirled the idea in her head again and again whether or not she should simply kidnap the two and bring them with her.

It had been tempting. Far, far too tempting. It would have been easy, too, considering the both of them had been right beside her, already unconscious. All she would have had to do was inject them with neutralizers and drag them both out of Nevermore and into an awaiting vehicle that Lurch would drive — or, if he could not arrive fast enough, she could hot wire a car to take. She could have taken them back to the Addams Manor for the next two weeks, even introduce them to a few of the poltergeists residing in the haunted rooms. 

In fact, Wednesday is positive that Agnes would have been delighted. Both by being kidnapped and being able to meet a couple of gruesome ghosts. She’s not entirely sure what Enid would think, but Enid has opened up to her plenty of times about her own family and would more than likely have been more relieved to be away from them and with her actual Pack than those fools she’s unfortunately blood related to.  

But, considering Enid’s family would be in an uproar if Wednesday kidnapped Enid (less about Enid’s safety and more about making their Pack look bad to lose a member — and she uses this term loosely as Enid is not theirs anymore — so easily), and Wednesday wasn’t sure how Agnes’ parents would react, she did not follow through. Plus, she knew Nevermore might truly shut down for good if two kidnappings happened so soon again after the latest disaster and, while Wednesday does not care if the school does so or not, Enid and Agnes both seem sentimental of the place. 

So, now, Agnes is two hours away so far and Enid is sulking on the other side of the room, her messages to the hellion going unanswered. Wednesday had assured her that Agnes would not pass up a moment to badger her the most she could, so she is more than likely asleep considering the two only had a couple of hours of sleep from their “movie night”, as Enid calls it. However, Enid seems beside herself, worried and mopey and huffy.

Enid’s phone lights up briefly, Wednesday able to make out the contact name of “pipsqueak stalker” with a line of those…emojis as Enid had told her they were called. 

“Agnes has messaged you back,” Wednesday says, breaking the silence.

Enid perks up significantly from where she’s standing, zipping up her last suitcase. “She did? What’d she say?”

Wednesday grimaces and taps the screen of the cellular, soul-sucking device to read the message in the grey box at the bottom. “She answered…that is not a word.” 

Perhaps, Wednesday will have to force Agnes to study the dictionary when they all get back.

“What’s it spelled like?” Enid asks suspiciously.

“S-Y-B-A-U,” Wednesday spells out.

“What?!” Enid shouts, shoving her bag aside and lunging forward, snatching the phone off the table. She unlocks it and goes to the message, letting out an offended gasp. “That little shit!”

“From your reaction, I am assuming it is not something you would like to hear?” Wednesday asks, the tiniest bit curious.

“No,” Enid growls out, eyes flashing an amber-gold. Wednesday watches this, intrigued. Perhaps, she will steal Enid’s phone soon to research what the acronym means. “Wends, when Agnes gets back, don’t give her any ice cream.”

What a strange demand. “Why?”

“Because she’s grounded,” Enid says angrily. She taps furiously at her phone. “That’s right! Grounded. She’s grounded!” Enid’s phone lights up again and Enid lets out another gasp. “I swear to god, that tiny little wannabe Joe Goldberg isn’t getting ice cream for months!”

Wednesday observes the animated movements of Enid as she resumes text-battling Agnes over the phone. While odd and confusing, it is significantly better than Enid’s sulking, at least.

__

“I’m going to miss you so much, Wends,” Enid whines, back to mopey. 

Wednesday would not admit it, but she is also beginning to feel…unusually down. The prospect of being separated from Enid for two torturous weeks does not sound appealing. They had spent the half hour after their bags were packed — and after Wednesday had made Enid double check she had everything she would need, which seemed like a good idea — perched on Wednesday’s bed making out, for lack of better terminology. 

Still, face to face with such an honest, unhesitatingly statement from Enid has Wednesday caught off guard.

“I am certain that you will haunt my thoughts while we are separated,” Wednesday settles on after a moment.

Enid’s frown curls up into something soft and syrupy sweet. It makes Wednesday glance away from the overly affectionate expression on her face, goosebumps erupting on the back of her neck at the sight. Her black, cold heart speeds up in her chest from its usually dead rhythm. 

How disturbing.

“I knew you’d miss me,” Enid says, like this means a great deal. She leans forward, closer towards Wednesday. Any other person would’ve had a knife pointed towards their jugular for the breach of personal space, but Wednesday finds herself not minding, just like she has not cared when Enid has hovered closer than normal for the past few months since they started officially courting each other. “I’ll see you in two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“When we get back, the two of us and Agnes should do something together. Maybe another movie night?” Enid winks. “Don’t worry, you can pick this time.”

Wednesday ponders this idea. Last night’s “movie night” was not…horrible. The movie was something she will not be indulging a second time, though the traps the child had placed along the house were particularly interesting to watch be triggered, but Wednesday finds she did not hate spending the night sat up on the bed with Enid while Agnes curled up between them contentedly. 

“I suppose,” Wednesday reluctantly relents. The notion itself seems bearable, especially since she would be the one picking the next film.

“Good. I look forward to it.” Enid reaches out and brushes her hand against the back of Wednesday’s before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to her cold cheek. Another heart palpitation occurs and Wednesday pushes back the strong urge to press her palm above her chest where her heart beats underneath. Enid heaves out a sigh and glances at the Addams’ modified Pontiac. “I guess I should let you go.”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t want to, though,” Enid admits suddenly, something else in her voice now. 

Wednesday tips her head slightly to the side, observing her. “Will you be alright?”

Enid’s face flickers with something fast and, if Wednesday hadn’t been closely watching it like she was, she would’ve missed the apprehension. “Think so,” she says at last, a smile lifting back on her lips and she shrugs causally. “I’ve dealt with them for the past seventeen years, I think I can handle them for two weeks. Besides, I’m sure whatever my mom has to say isn’t anything that I haven’t heard before.”

Her jaw flexes at the thought. Wednesday has offered many times to take care of Enid’s family once and for all, but Enid had given her a heavy look before chastising her. Enid was not one for violence despite the terrible temper she does not manage to control at times. 

Another kiss is pressed against Wednseday’s cheek. “Calm down, Wends,” Enid murmurs. “I can hear the murderous thoughts you’re having right now, babe.”

Wednesday grunts slightly but does not deny this. It was true, after all. She would willingly and quite eagerly put her favorite silver dagger to good use if she did not know it would cause Enid great distress and make her angry with her.

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” Enid says, clearly having come to the conclusion that they could not postpone the inevitable any longer.

Wednesday dips her head slightly. “Undeniably. Not even the universe could keep me from you and, if it ever dared to try, then I shall tear it apart with my bare hands.”

Enid makes a strange noise, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m supposed to be letting you go, but you’re making it really hard right now with the romantic talk, babe.”

“I shall see you in two weeks,” Wednesday says and reaches out, brushing her fingers against Enid’s hand before withdrawing. 

Enid opens her eyes. “Two weeks,” she repeats.

“Two weeks,” Wednesday promises.

She turns and strides away, knowing if she did not, they would never leave. The hair on the back of her neck sticks up, burning hot under the steady gaze of Enid’s stare watching her go. Wednesday slides into the Pontiac, Lurch shutting the door behind her before he lumbers around and gets into the driver’s seat. The vehicle starts up with a roar and a putter before starting off away from Nevermore’s gates.

Her annoying brother grins at her from his seat across from her. “That took a long time for you to say goodbye, sis. You’re acting like our father at even the thought of stepping one foot away from our mother.”

Indignation flares sharp and brutal through her chest at the comparison. Wednesday glowers coldly at him, eyes dark with murderous promise. “I believe we have some catching up to do, Pugsley,” she states ominously. “When we get home, you will have a two minute head start for a game of hide and seek.”

Instead of being afraid, Pugsley simply grins at her. “Use the hatchets this time.”

__

Wednesday trudges up calmly towards the Manor gates, dirt smeared on her cheek and mud under her nails and packed up well past her wrists. Despite the disarray of her appearance, satisfaction burns bright within her. Not even the sight of her parents standing there waiting for her could diminish the high of a good hunt despite the mediocre of a fight her brother put up.

“Darling, did you have fun?” Morticia asks, reaching out and tracing the imaginary line of Wednesday’s jaw, inches away from actual contact.

“I believe I have set a new record, Mother,” Wednesday informs. She had tracked, apprehended, and buried Pugsley the fastest she ever has, though that more than likely had more to do with needing to put her brother in his place after the disturbing and frankly disgusting comparison he made in the car between her and their father’s behavior than the actual hunt itself. Still, a new record was still a new record, regardless of her intentions or where her true motivation had surged from.

“Oh, how wonderful, my stormcloud,” Gomez cheers, clapping his hands together. His grin is blinding with joy and parental pride. He leans in close and kisses Morticia’s cheek before hoisting the shovel already in his hand over his shoulder. “I will go retrieve our dear Pugsley from his newest coffin.”

It will more than likely take a bit longer. Wednesday had spitefully buried him a little further into the ground than usual. She hopes the lesson sticks with him to never mention such scandalous accusations ever again.

Morticia sighs happily, watching her husband wander off, a whistling tune in the air as he practically skips past the gates. She turns back to Wednesday and offers a gentle smile. “I am so glad my two eldest children have come back. It has been so dreadfully quiet without the screams of fear or the sound of a crossbow firing.” She gives a wistful sigh, hands folding daintily in front of her.

“Pubert is still here to accompany you,” Wednesday says.

“Indeed. He is is beginning to take fencing lessons with your father,” Morticia answers.

Wednesday tilts her head, intrigued. Pubert was still small and uncoordinated and lacked the motor skills required for a fully functioning human being — like Pugsley often still was despite his age.

“Go up and rest, darling,” Morticia says, guiding Wednesday towards the door with a sweep of her hand. “You look much more corpse like than usual.”

Wednesday gives a small grunt, but concedes, walking into the Manor. She is feeling the side effects of tiredness. She had not slept the day before and, though she knows her body can operate without the recommended eight hours of sleep, it is not particularly pleasant to do so. 

She trudges of the stairs, the chill of the Manor a comforting presence. She runs her fingertips along the wall, feeling the energy of it revererbate back at her. She drops her hand and enters her room, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her. 

Her luggage has already been dropped off in it by Lurch and she steps forward, picking up the case containing her typewriter and walking to her desk, placing it down with care and unpacking it. She does not rest until everything is unpacked and placed exactly where they belong. 

Wednesday perches on her bed and glances around her room. It’s filled with various trinkets she’s collected over the years — famous serial killer’s weapons she’s apprehended, a metal welded sculpture of a Black Dahlia she made when she was seven, her bookshelves filled neatly by alphabetical order. All of the things that make it her sanctuary in the Manor. 

And yet. 

She looks over it all and her fingers twitch in her lap. 

It is…quiet. 

It is never quiet in her dorm back at Nevermore. Whether it is Enid rummaging around, or her soft snores while she took a nap, or the background music of the Kpop bands playing lightly from her side of the room on the days that Wednesday finds she does not mind. There is no Agnes sprawled on Enid’s bed, or the two of them bickering with each other, or Agnes shuffling around and organizing new information she found on her newest subject of interest from the school. 

There is nothing but the faintest ticking up the clock hung up on her wall to show the passing minutes and hours and the little creaking rumbles of the Manor’s foundations. 

Wednesday’s fingers squeeze into her palms.

Solitude and quiet have always been her friends in her life. 

So, why now, do they make her feel so unnerved?

__

“Nessy!”

Wednesday grunts as a small weight slams into her legs, nearly knocking her over. Big dark eyes stare up at her from where the little creature has attached itself to her. “Pubert,” she greets blandly. “What have I told you about calling me that?”

Pubert ignores her — that was the difference between her brothers: Pugsley would pout and apologize when he was younger, but Pubert seemed to simply not care that he was close to being a subject of her ire. It is…impressive, his audacity at times. Unfortunately.

“Papa’s been teaching me how to fence!” Pubert says, climbing up her legs until she has no choice but to support him. She scowls at the mess of a child in her arms. “You know what that means?”

Wednesday raises a silent eyebrow.

Pubert grins, cheeks pudgy with childish youth despite the mustache already grown above his upper lip. “Soon Mama will let me play with you and Pugsley.”

Wednesday tilts her head. Mother had been…adamant that they were more careful with Pubert. Wednesday and Pugsley were much older than him and, while their parents encouraged their more violent hobbies, they were strangely gentle with Pubert. 

The youngest child syndrome, Wednesday had pointed out to Pugsley. Still, they had relented to their parents’ wishes and chose hobbies that were had mortality threatening activities. Like taxidermy and building contraptions that wouldn’t blow up in your face at the slightest of mistakes.

“We shall see,” Wednesday says, not wanting to make promises she cannot keep. She was all for defying her mother and her whims, but there were even lines she knew not to cross.

Pubert beams. “I made a new sculpture while you were gone. Wanna see?”

Wednesday nods and Pubert hops down, tugging on her pants leg until she kept up with him as he leads her down the hallway towards his room. He shoves his door open and makes a beeline for his shelf, grabbing a sculpture from it and walking over, placing it in Wednesday’s hands.

Wednesday raises it up to eyeline to observe it. Metal crinkled into slopping patterns, spiking out around a fierce face full of sharp teeth. Two clawed paws are in the air, clearly imitating the animal leaping through the air towards its prey. 

Wednesday glances away from it. “You’ve been watching Kitty catch her prey often.”

Only sharp and continuous observation could allow someone to create such an accurate scene from their pet’s hunting activities.

Pubert nods enthusiastically. “I watched her for a whole month before attempting the sculpture. I didn’t miss a single hunt.”

Wednesday gives the sculpture another appreciative look over. “I admire the resilience. You have done…well.”

Pubert grins at her. Wednesday blinks and, for a moment, Agnes’ face is staring back at her, wide eyed and bright.

She shakes it off, goosebumps prickling her arms under the black of her sleeves. 

She does not know why the child is haunting her thoughts all of a sudden, but she cannot help but feel uneasy.

__

That night, they have a feast to celebrate having the family back together for the first time in months ever since they separated after the defeat of Isaac and Francoise. It is delicious, as it always is, and she tucks in mannerly.

Of course, she should have known she could have not even a moment’s of peace.

“So, is it true that you’ve adopted Red?” Pugsley asks, simply curious.

Wednesday looks up and slowly places down her fork. She already knows who exactly he is referring to. “You have a nickname assigned for her?” she asks. There is something brewing in her stomach that she does not like. Something unpleasant. 

Pugsley shrugs. “Yeah.”

“So you have…interacted with Agnes?”

“We hang out sometimes,” Pugsley answers nonchalantly. Wednesday’s eye twitches. Agnes hangs out with her idiot brother? Since when? “We’re friends.” When had that happened? How could she have missed that? Agnes spends nearly all of her time with either Wednesday or Enid, always following them around and never giving them a moment by themselves. When did she have the time to befriend Pugsley?

“I…see,” Wednesday says tersely. She picks her fork back up and stabs at the steamed vegetables on her plate. It reminds her of the times that she and Enid have to coerce Agnes to eat healthier…or to eat at all since the child forgets a lot of time of they are not there to remind her.

…Was there someone with Agnes now to remind her to eat? To stay hydrated?

Wednesday’s grip tightens on her fork handle. 

“So, have you?” Pugsley’s voice comes again.

“Have I what?”

“Adopted Red?” Pugsley asks.

Wednesday’s knuckles pop faintly from the grip on her fork. “No,” she says. “Enid’s biology has formed a Pack bond between the three of us and it seems to have bound us together. We have not…‘adopted’ her.”

“A werewolf bond, how exciting,” Gomez says enthusiastically. “Not many werewolves ever form a true bond with those without werewolf genes.”

“I am aware,” Wednesday answers. “That is why I am activiely participating with this bond.”

She ignores Morticia’s stare burning into the side of her face. 

“Well, I think it’s good that you’ve adopted her,” Pugsley says, clearly ignoring how Wednesday had specifically told him that they were not adopting Agnes. They were Pack bonded. There was no adoption going on. “She’s sad a lot, but she’s never sad when she’s with you and Enid.”

That stops Wednesday from her half thought up plans of committing arson at the dinner table. She looks up, a faint frown curving her lips. She has seen Agnes upset before, of course, but to hear that she seems to be sad enough of the times that Pugsley has picked up on it is…concerning. 

“What are you talking about?” Wednesday prods.

Pugsley shrugs and shifts uncomfortably, like he’s figured out he should’ve never said anything at all. “Dunno. She just gets sad sometimes when she’s not out doing pranks or stalking someone.”

Wednesday grimaces slightly, feeling more disturbed than she ought to be at the notion. She will have to keep a closer eye on Agnes. She will always have to relay this information with Enid so that she could also keep watch on the child. 

She will, however, find out what is causing Agnes such distress. One way or another.

__

It has been nearly a week since winter break had started and Wednesday has been back at the Manor. 

She feels like she is losing her mind. It is not as fun as she had believed the notion would be.

She’s spent her days hunting Pugsley and making sculptures with Pubert. She had tried to bury a cat that was unfortunate enough to wander onto their property, but she had imagined Enid’s puppy dog eyes at animal cruelty and how Agnes had once stopped during a trip they had took to Jericho to pet a stray cat, cooing over it.

So, Wednesday had let the cat free. It was the first time she’s ever done so and it had set her teeth on edge. 

She had went hatchet throwing with Pugsley in the backyard and then had to quit early because she had began to get distracted by wondering whether or not Agnes would enjoy the activity as well. Afterwards, Pugsley had offered to build bombs with Wednesday and then offhandedly mentioned and he and Agnes had built one together that caused Wednesday to blow up one of the back rooms they used to build explosives in.

Even during the sculpting time dedicated towards Pubert for bonding time was not immune to whatever insanity has invaded her mind. She kept seeing Agnes’ face whenever Pubert would look at it that made her feel sick to her stomach.

There was something wrong with her and, so, Wednesday cooped herself up in her room. 

But even there she could not have a moment’s of rest from the thoughts. 

The guillotine she had made when she was nine sat in the corner of her room and it made her remember the one still back in the dorm that she and Agnes had constructed together. It had gotten to the point that Wednesday almost tossed it out her window to break to pieces before Thing had convinced her otherwise.

So it still sits there. Taunting her. About what she does not truly know, but it makes her bristle and ill feeling.

Agnes continues to haunt her thoughts. Wednesday is certain that, if Agnes is eating, then she is most certainly not eating healthy back at her house. She wonders if Agnes has enough water bottles stocked in the refrigerator, or if she even has food to eat. Her poor excuse of a sperm donor seems like the one to sooner forget he has a daughter than to be a proper parent.

Wednesday makes a guttural sound of rage and drops her head, ripping her hands away from her typewriter. She scrubs at her eyes angrily, tense and annoyed.

She cannot stop thinking about the child and she does not know why. She also cannot stop thinking of Enid, which makes more sense than the child since Enid was her paramour, her One and Only, her Curse. It is natural for Enid to consume her every waking thought. 

But Agnes? 

Why was Agnes haunting her so?

Tapping catches her attention and Wednesday drops her hands and lifts her head up enough to settle a glare at Thing on her desk. “What?”

What’s wrong with you? Thing asks.

Wednesday looks away. She debates whether or not to relay her troubles to him, but she fears if she keeps this to herself, she truly will go mad. “My thoughts seem not to be my own,” she answers. “I do not know how, but I am starting to believe that Agnes has placed a curse upon me as I cannot seem to stop thinking of her randomly. And Enid. A bold move on her part, I must admit. But a foolish one all the same. I will have to have a talk with her once I return back to Nevermore.”

She did not put a curse on you, Thing says.

Wednesdya huffs and leans back in her chair stiffly. “Then what ailment has been bestowed upon me?”

Because you miss them, Thing signs. Simple and certain.

“Preposterous,” Wednesday says immediately. “I only agreed to let the werewolf bond fester for scientific observation. What better way to conduct an experiment, but to be part of one of the subjects?”

Thing makes a doubtful motion that has Wednesday’s teeth gritting together. 

To even consider the horrifying idea of Wednesday being juvenile enough to crave another’s presence is preposterous. Enid, as much as Wednesday dreads to admit out loud, is truly the only exception.

But Agnes? Her thirteen year old stalker turned acquaintance? The child is like a parasite that refuses to leave, even when kicked down. Like a masochistic pup who can not tell — or does not care — when the hand she wants to be fed from is more than likely to reach out and curl their fingers around her neck until she is in her already dug grave.

Yes, she can admit she has grown to…expect Agnes’ presence in her life by now. And she does care for her wellbeing, just as she cares for Enid’s wellbeing also. 

But to care for one is not the same as missing someone. Wednesday is human enough to admit she cares for them, would kill for them, but to truly miss someone is…strange. She has not missed someone before. Not her parents, not her brothers, not any other member of her family. 

Yes, she cares about them, but she does not miss when they are absent. She does not crave their presence like one drowning would crave air. 

She has never felt this way. Not until now. 

Wednesday glances over at the guillotine sitting in the corner of her room and swallows thickly.

Has she truly grown an emotional attachment strong enough to make her miss someone?

It is a weirdly…terrifying idea.

__

“What ails you, my dark stormcloud?” Gomez asks, blocking another strike from Wednesday. 

Wednesday does not answer for a moment as she shifts her stance, readying herself when he attacks, batting his foil away. “I am not sure,” she admits. 

They have been fencing for nearly an hour now after Gomez was sent up to retrieve her and drag her out of her solitude. Apparently, her family believed she had spent too long by herself in her dark bedroom brooding and set out to fix her problems.

“Explain it to me. Let your father help you,” Gomez says.

Wednesday lets out a breath and lowers the foil, watching as her father does the same, giving her his full attention. “I am in a bit of a…predicament,” she says slowly. “I cannot stop thinking of someone. Or, two people, I suppose, though one is expected. It is random and I keep seeing this person in question whenever I am participating in my hobbies, though specifically when I am sculpting or showing Pubert how to sharpen a knife.”

Gomez runs a hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Is this person the Red that Pugsley mentioned during dinner a while ago?”

Wednesday stiffens but nods. “Yes.”

“And you say she seems to appear in your thoughts more so around Pubert?”

“Yes.”

Gomez hums. “When you think of Pubert, what do you think about? What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

“Small,” Wednesday answers immediately. The child barely comes up to her knees. “Weak. Fragile. Uncoordinated. He is like a small baby deer just born, stumbling around like the faintest of wind could knock him over.”

“You feel protective of him? Would battle even the wind if you had to if it hurt him?”

“…I suppose,” Wednesday says, though she most certainly would. If someone or something other than her hurt her brothers, she would seek retribution. If a tree grazed Pubert’s elbow, she would grab her best axe and cut it down within a heartbeat.

“What do you think of your Red?” Gomez asks.

“Small,” Wednesday says again. Yes, the child was almost Wednesday’s height, just a couple inches shorter, but Agnes had this…smallness to her sometimes. Like you could poke her arm gently and she would crumble to pieces. 

“What would you do if someone hurt her?”

Wednesday’s face darkens. She thinks of when she had found Agnes’ bag by the fence the night that group had ambushed Agnes and dragged her away into the woods. Wednesday had never felt so angry before, having immediately tracked them down and dealt with them accordingly.

“I would make them bleed,” Wednesday states. “Whatever pain they put her through, I would deal ten times worse on them.”

“You are just as protective of your Red as you are with Pubert,” Gomez says, though that doesn’t seem right. Pubert and Agnes were not the same. Though, Wednesday could not tell why exactly. “You see her as family.”

Wednesday pauses at that.

“Thing says I miss her,” Wednesday says after a long moment, voice quiet.

Gomez looks at her fondly. “That is most certain, mija. Your Red seems to have made a mark on your black heart and, if it is troubling you to this extent, then it seems like that you will bear that mark for forever.”

Wednesday glances down at the foil still in her hands. “I…see.”

She has a lot of things to think about, it seems.

__

“I believe it only needs one last swing to bring it down,” Gomez says, head tipped back to look up at the massive tree in front of him. Lugged over his shoulder is an axe he’s been using to cut it down with. 

Wednesday stuffs her gloved hands into her jacket pockets, chin burrowed into the snood Enid had remade her last year after losing the first one. Tomorrow, her and her family is celebrating Christmas and, three days afterwards, she’ll be returning to Nevermore. It’s been a few days since she and her father fenced and she has given much thought to her predictament. 

She cares for Enid and Agnes. That much is true and something she was already aware of. However, it seems that she has grown an extreme emotional attachment to them, one her father believes she will not be able to ever fight off. 

It is something she, quietly, admits to herself is true.

Since last year, Enid had left a hole in her very soul that could not be filled except for Enid’s presence. It is undeniable — Enid is her beloved Curse, The One; Wednesday will not find another, nor does she ever want to. She had believed Enid would be the only one to ever leave such a mark.

But Agnes seems to be dead set in proving her wrong. 

The child had latched onto Wednesday like a parasite and refused to leave. Wednesday had watched her stumble over herself trying to please Wednesday, to do everything she says without question, to try to mimic her mannerisms, her actions, her dialogue. She tried to become Wednesday.

But then she grew. 

Wednesday had watched Agnes turn from trying to be just like her into her own person. Not overnight and not all at once, even though the Gala was a large step in the right direction. She watched her transform into something distinctly Agnes that Wednesday had felt…proud of the little parasite.

But, even afterwards, Agnes continued to follow after Wednesday. Though, it wasn’t just her. Wednesday had watched Agnes start to follow around Enid. She wasn’t copying them, wasn’t tripping over herself to please them, but she stuck around because she wanted to.

And Wednesday had let — hadn’t minded. Enid soaked up Agnes’ attention like a sponge, careful confusion turned into slow enthusiasm until Enid was seeking Agnes out, too. It wasn’t just friendship that had brewed between them. It was something more. Agnes looked up to Enid and seemed to take it upon herself to take care of Agnes like a mother wolf would a pup — making sure she slept, that she was okay, asking about her grades, her schooling, if anyone was bothering her, whether she needed help, making sure she ate and stay hydrated.

Wednesday was not the first to figure out what was happening, though she was the first to make Enid admit what was going on. 

A Pack bond had formed and Enid’s wolf had imprinted on Agnes as the Pack pup.

It was intense, it seemed sudden, but Wednesday was intrigued by the biology behind it and the Pack bond. 

She did not mind it as she had gotten used to Agnes’ presence in her life already since starting back at Nevermore for her second year there.

Wednesday does not know when intrigue turned into participation, but, looking back, she had not only gotten used to Agnes’ presence, but also began to look forward to it. She had been silently eager to build a guillotine with her, to teach her self defense, to do a ritual together. 

Agnes is not just a friend and not someone Wednesday sees as a younger sibling. It is stronger than that. 

Something inside Wednesday has began to see Agnes as her own. Her own child to teach and help guide through the dark of the world around them.

Her daughter. 

“—give the final swing, mijo!” her father’s voice rings out, disrupting her.

Wednesday blinks back to the present to watch Pubert swing the axe. It is a comical sight as the axe is bigger than he is, but he swings it with enough enthusiasm that it thunks against the tree trunk and sends it slowly descending with a sharp crack. 

Pubert turns and, suddenly, Agnes’ face replaces his, cheeks puffed out with baby fat still stubbornly clinging to them, red from the cold but she’s grinning like none of that matters anyways. She stares at Wednesday, eyes bright with a glint like she’s making sure Wednesday had witnessed her cutting down the tree with the swing of the axe clutched between soft blue gloves. 

Wednesday feels her breath hitch the slightest bit, something warm and unfamiliar in her chest. Almost like those rare moments when Pugsley surprises her and surpasses her expectations of him, only stronger. 

“Good job, baby!” Enid’s voice says beside her, muffled and distant. 

Agnes beams. “Thanks, M—”

Wednesday blinks once more and her youngest brother is in front of her again, Gomez swooping him up onto his shoulder, shouting cheerfully while Morticia claps her hands together from the side, a proud smile on her face. 

“Looks like he’s growing up,” Pugsley says beside her with a grin.

Wednesday brings a hand up and clutches at the necklace her mother gave her around her neck. “Hm.”

__

Wednesday glances down at the sleeping child beside her. That furious rage that demanded retribution against the pain inflicted on her child roars through her veins, thunderous and overwhelming. She does not act on it, though. Not yet. Not while her child needs her right now, even while she sleeps.

Agnes remains curled up, cheek smushed against Wednesday’s pillow. She clearly has not slept for at least a night, evident from the dark circles under her eyes, standing out against the pale of her skin. Even though she is asleep, her child has reached out for her, fingers curled into the fabric of her pants leg, holding on tightly like she’s afraid Wednesday will leave her.

But Wednesday will not leave, not even when the rage fills her entire being with the urge to hunt down the one responsible. She’s been angry before, but never this angry — not even when those bullies had hurt Agnes before. This feels different his time. Stronger. 

She feels like she would burn the world down if it meant revenge against Agnes’ poor excuse of a father.

No. Not her father. A father does not lay a hand against their child like this. They do not hurt their daughters. They do not bruise their faces and make them cry like the world was ending for them.

Wednesday feels a lump form in her throat at the thought.

Here is the thing about Agnes DeMille, as Wednesday has realized now: when she breaks, she does so silently. The tears had fell off the child’s face, quiet like they weren’t there to begin with. The sobs that Wednesday had seen swell up were swallowed down thickly like mucus, the faintest miserable sniffling sound having been the only thing giving it away.

Agnes DeMille is not like Enid when she is upset. When Enid is sad, she makes it known — she wears her tears without fear of them being known. When she cries, it is loud and obnoxious and it can catch about anyone’s attention. When Enid is upset, she wants people to know it.

When Agnes cries, it is a quiet, breaking thing made of shallow breath and pitiful smothering of sobs that would make one’s chest hurt. And it does hurt, Wednesday knows, because Agnes had grimaced and choked on her misery, but continued to do it like letting another know she is hurt would be worse than swallowing down her pain and trying to store it back inside.

When Agnes breaks, she is not like Enid, she is like Wednesday. 

And Wednesday does not know why that fact makes a lump form in her throat.

A kindred spirit and, yet, Wednesday hates that realization for once.

Wednesday reaches out and brushes a hand over her child’s hair gently. A contradiction — she was not gentle or treated things delicately. Or, at least, she hadn’t ever thought she would until now. 

“Nobody will ever lay a harmful hand on you again,” Wednesday says quietly in the dorm room. She pets Agnes’ hair again and watches as her daughter makes a small noise and tries to lean into it subconsciously. 

She will wait until Enid gets back so that she could watch over their child. She knows Enid would protect Agnes from anything or anyone seeking harm against her. While Enid does that, Wednesday will leave, but only briefly.

She will be going hunting. She will find Agnes’ father and he will be dealt with. Severely.

He has hurt Wednesday’s child and now he will pay for it with blood.

He will regret ever laying a hand on her daughter.