Chapter 19Notes:
So here it is. The final chapter before the epilogue.
I'm asking you all to hold all confusion until the epilogue. Believe me when I say that I don't just create random subplots. Patience. ;)
Chapter Text
Wednesday is torn between feeling melancholy and triumphant; melancholy on Enid's behalf, because she lost the one person who might have been able to rescue her from her parents, and triumphant, because finally, Morticia Addams was wrong about something. Feelings are meant to be conflicting, as she's learned over the years, so perhaps she's not wrong for being so schadenfreude about it, even if the guilt starts to sink into her bones as the day passes and morning light fades dramatically into the raw pinkness of the evening.
She strides into the kitchen, where Lurch is hard at work preparing a lovely roadkill dinner in honor of the winter solstice approaching. He doesn't notice her immediately, his back turned away as he's skinning some kind of animal above the sink. Wednesday looks beyond the carnage, hoisting herself up onto the counter in her designated spot next to the stove where Lurch has clearly been busy.
"Good evening, Lurch," she politely greets as he finally acknowledges her lurking presence. She can't wait to deliver the news to him. She's been buzzing with relief for hours and needs to spread the word with someone who won't tell Enid. "My mother was wrong."
Lurch stirs the large stew pot. "Wrong?"
"Enid doesn't want to have children in fear of becoming her own mother, and I would rather sew my labia together than birth a child, so my mother's vision cannot possibly have been correct," Wednesday says. "She might have been daydreaming. It wouldn't be absurd for a mother to daydream of having grandchildren one day. I don't fault her for it. But she was wrong."
Her excitement might be a bit unreasonable and even more ludicrous than what she considers it to be, but Lurch doesn't make her feel that way. He gives her head a validated pat and passes her a knife to fidget with, returning to cooking after a moment of acknowledging her.
"Enid's brother is missing," Wednesday suddenly says, dragging her thumb over the silver point of the knife. "Well, perhaps he's not missing in an orthodox sense of the word, but Enid hasn't seen him in years and he's made no attempt at contacting her."
Lurch grunts in confusion. "Brother?"
"I was quite shocked, too," she replies with a shrug. "I want to feel angry that she failed to mention him before. I do understand why she didn't, though. So maybe my anger wouldn't be justified."
"Like Pugsley?" Lurch continues, still stumped by the fact that Enid has a brother. Wednesday can see the gears turning inside his head, in both the metaphorical and literal way. "Brother?"
"Her brother is older," she says. "He left their family home when he was old enough to do so, and unfortunately that meant having to leave Enid behind with their overbearing mother and emotionally absent father."
"Not dead?" Lurch asks as he grabs a pair of tongs and pokes a stiff rat with it.
"Not dead, as far as Enid knows," she replies, staring absentmindedly at her reflection in the silver blade. "There is a yearning part of me that wants me to seek him out and present him as a gift to Enid, even at the price of my sanity, but logically, I understand that she wants nothing to do with him and it would be morally altruistic for me to force his presence upon her when she would rather forget about it altogether. She's of the opinion that he is dead to the world and that is the way it needs to be."
Lurch doesn't respond, working busily with whatever dead things he's planning on adding to the stew, and Wednesday observes with a meticulous gaze. Some days she wishes she could be as nonchalant as him, but instead she's plagued with terrifying visions that trigger a cascade of black tears, the horror of being the only person on earth with the knowledge of something terrible, and the persistent desire to mend what cannot and should not be mended.
"Lurch?" she asks quietly. "I should leave this alone, shouldn't I?"
"Yes, Miss Addams," Lurch says, numbly. "Enid has you."
"But what if I could find him for her?" she asks. "What if I could reunite them?"
"Enid…would have told you…Miss Addams," Lurch grunts, thinking hard about his next words. Being a manmade monster, sometimes expressing himself can be difficult, and Wednesday has learned to be patient with him. "She does not want it."
"Partners often make bold statements and promises to one another, as declarations of love and devotion," Wednesday says to either her reflection or to Lurch, whichever is listening more intently. "If I would hang the moon and stars for Enid, what's stopping me from locating her brother for her? If I would lay down my life for her, why can't I reunite her with him?"
"She…does not want it," Lurch repeats.
Wednesday sticks the top of the knife into the fleshy part of her index finger until a drop of blood bubbles to the surface. She sucks it out of the wound and sets the knife down, contemplating and plotting, indecisively, about what she could do to bring forth Nicholas for Enid and present him to her like a birthday present.
It doesn't seem like a smart move, though. Enid's too emotional about the loss of Nicholas, and she's withdrawn herself from the conversation altogether, like slamming a door in Wednesday's face. Wednesday has to come to terms with the fact that her desire to be the hero in every chapter of Enid's story often clouds her judgement, and maybe, just maybe, she could afford to leave this one alone.
"I suppose you're right," she tells Lurch, who's moseying around the kitchen, probably only halfway listening to her. "If she would like to see her brother again, she knows where to find me. Until then, I'm choosing not to pry."
Saying those words is like a knife right to the gut, because all Wednesday ever does is pry until she lands in a sticky situation that she can't get unstuck from, but some day she will have to be emotionally mature about something, and maybe today isn't so bad of a place to start.
—
Following a healthy dinner that night, Wednesday makes the conscious effort to join Enid and Gomez outside in Morticia's garden. Typically she would watch them from a window, but the night sky is clear, studded with beautiful bright stars that stretch on for miles and miles. It's unreasonably cold out tonight, and an early snowfall is expected sometime in the next few days. Everything that's not been treated by magic in Morticia's garden has died and will be born anew in the spring, which Wednesday can positively say she's not looking forward to.
While Enid and Gomez are standing under the yellow light of the gazebo, somewhere off in the distance, Wednesday sits on an old swing hanging by two fraying ropes on a tree. The scent of her father's cigars is carried over to her by the night breeze, surrounding her like a warm blanket. She can hear Enid's giggling and her father's boisterous laughter that follows, and then there is an intermittent silence, likely trademarking another puff of the cigar before Enid giggles again.
Wednesday thoughtlessly swings herself back and forth, listening to Enid's laughter and her father's voice coaxing Enid into another cigar from his humidor, and judging by the click of a lighter, she accepts. The neighborhood stray cat, a very rotund tuxedo with yellow eyes, eventually comes along and brushes his furry tail against Wednesday's legs.
"Hello, Igor." She scoops him up off the ground and places all 15 pounds of his blubber into her lap. "Have you met Enid?" Igor positively purrs and nudges her hand with his head. "Enid is my partner. One day we will be officially engaged and to be wed."
Igor nips her palm with his fangs. She pats between his ears and leans down to press a kiss to his neck. He's a furnace in her lap, and some days, when it's particularly cold out, she will use him just to keep her legs warm in exchange for treats and mice.
"Perhaps you would like to come inside," she offers him. "We could officially make you an indoor cat. You can kill the dead mice and scratch up the furniture."
She's tried bringing him in once or twice before, and both times he ended up finding his way out of an open window, so she knows she's only wasting her breath on him, but it won't deter her from offering him a welcoming home the same way she offered Enid. Except, Enid accepted the invitation. Igor isn't that convinced.
"Enid would love you as a pet," Wednesday says. "I could offer you to her as a gift for the solstice."
Igor purrs again and stretches out on her lap. He closes his eyes into yellow slits of moonlight, snoozing against Wednesday's knee as she brushes her fingers through his silky fur.
She holds him for awhile, until a weight settles down next to her on the swing. She lifts her attention from sleeping Igor, finding Uncle Fester taking up the empty space to her left. He pats Igor's tail and sighs up at the sky. Wednesday's eyes follow and notice the waxing gibbous shimmering above.
"I love the dead smell of winter," Uncle Fester sighs whimsically. "It does something to me."
"This time of year is depressing," Wednesday notes. "That's why it's my favorite."
Uncle Fester chuckles, head tilted back so he can admire the sky like he's taking inventory of every star and planet. "Look at that moon. She's a beauty."
Wednesday's chest feels suddenly heavy. The moon definitely is large. Too large.
"The next full moon is approaching," she tells Uncle Fester, fingers nervously knotted in a clump of black fur. "I don't fully understand what that will mean for Enid's wolf. She's done research on it, under the guidance of Capri, but the intricacies that accompany being an alpha are too complex to bet on."
Uncle Fester nods, attempting to be supportive although there isn't much to say.
"Nervous?" he asks her, and she turns her head in his direction, her glare sharp. "I don't mean to tease you, kid. But you do look nervous."
"Is it wrong for me to be nervous about my partner shifting under the full moon without the certainty that she will come back to me?" she asks. "She could survive and return to me every full moon for years, until one day she doesn't return. She could be hunted down and killed in the blink of an eye, and I would have to simply live with it and attempt to move on without her. There are no promises or guarantees with this."
"I know you appreciate certainty and knowing what's to come—kinda comes with being a seer—but I'm confident that she'll always find her way home to you," Uncle Fester assures, patting her knee that's taken up by Igor. "That girl is crazy about you. And we're all crazy about her. Your dad can't stop talking about smart she is and how good she is at smoking cigars. And your mom—oh boy, your mom thinks she gave birth a third time. Enid is always underfoot and Morticia can't help but swoon over it."
The ice that's held Wednesday's heart for so long melts away at the thought of Enid standing under the watchful presence of Morticia, and how her father willingly shares his humidor with her when he's always hesitated to pass along a cigar to someone not of the Addams blood. The way her entire family has embraced her clumsy alpha werewolf is enough to soften out her jagged edges.
"But what if…one day I can't change her back?"
They sit in stifling silence for a moment, Igor purring away in his sleep. The vibration of his chest rumbling brings an eerie kind of comfort to Wednesday, whose throat tightens with a significant amount of pain that reminds her of a faraway memory. Somewhere in the distance, a wind chime sings in the breeze, twinkling like the stars overhead. She can still smell cigar smoke billowing across the garden, but it's beginning to dissipate, like a screen fading to black at the end of a cinematic drama.
"Are you afraid that one day you won't love her enough to be able to change her back?" Uncle Fester asks.
Wednesday immediately springs up, accidentally disturbing a contented Igor in her wake. She scoops him up to her chest and glares pointedly at her uncle with an offended stare that could kill.
"Absolutely not," she growls. "I could never fall out of love with her. That's preposterous. Even if my mother's silly vision was wildly incorrect, I have no doubts that my love for Enid would ever fade."
"Then what are you so worried about, kid?" he asks quietly, his voice providing her a bit of nuanced comfort. "Changing her back requires only one thing; your love and devotion to her. You're doubting yourself. I get it; the predators who seek her out are a concern, and you can't bet on anything that comes along with her alpha status, but there is absolutely one thing you can bet on, and that's the fact that you'll always love her enough to bring her back."
Oddly enough, those words pacify something inside of Wednesday. She drags her absentminded palm over Igor's fur, lulling him back into a blissful slumber in her lap, and blinks rapidly at the moon in hopes it will stop looking so blurry behind the film of tears collecting in the corners of her eyelids. She doesn't want to cry; not over this. She knows she's being irrational, and sometimes, learning to be emotionally mature requires some extent of intellectualizing her emotions.
"Thank you, Uncle Fester," she murmurs.
Surprised, Fester leans back against the old wood and sighs wistfully like he's about to go on another nostalgic tirade. Wednesday inwardly winces, mentally preparing herself for a long winded story, but Fester is quiet for awhile, admiring the silver dollar glittering above them.
"You don't have to thank me," he tells her, drawing her out of a thought that probably isn't very important. "It's what I do best."
Wednesday says, suddenly comfortable. While she's petting Igor and twisting his fur around her fingers, Uncle Fester is swinging them with his feet. The metal chain strains with their combined weight and squeaks quietly as they drift up and down, and Wednesday's eyes begin to shut, but then an elbow is being tapped into her side.
"What vision did your mom have?" Uncle Fester asks. "That woman has had too many visions to count."
A frustrated, annoyed sigh leaves Wednesday at the same time that Igor lifts his head. "Nothing. It's water under the bridge. Just know that, for once in her life, she was wrong and it's a glorious feeling."
Uncle Fester chuckles. "Whatever you say, kid."
From through the fog that accumulates around the garden, Enid emerges smelling of cigars and Gomez's cologne. She's hugging herself and rubbing the chill out of her skin with her palms, shivering violently. The bluish, frostbitten look on her face quickly vanishes upon noticing the lump of fur in Wednesday's lap.
"A cat!" she cries, rushing up to Wednesday and extending her arms for the feline taking up residency there. "We have a cat!"
"His name is Igor," Wednesday says. "He's a stray. He comes around every so often. He eats well."
"I see that," Enid giggles. "He's very…large."
Wednesday puts her hands over Igor's ears. "He's very sensitive about his weight. It's not his fault he's so round. I'm sure there are several houses feeding him. He can't accurately ration his servings. He's a cat."
"Can I hold him?" Enid quickly asks, doing a hopeful little bounce on her heels. "He seems to love you. I wanna squish him too."
Wednesday nods, watching Enid scoop Igor into her arms. He mewls quietly when her hand brushes against his saggy pouch, eventually settling down to nestle his head in the hollow of Enid's neck, the space where Wednesday likes to jam her nose when they're falling asleep. Enid strokes up and down his back with attentive fingers, resting her head against his.
"He's just so fat and fluffy," Enid gushes. "I love him!"
Igor mewls again, his tail flapping wildly. Enid takes the hint and gently lets him down on the ground, giving him one last pet. Wednesday expects him to bolt into the night, but to her surprise, he stays put at Enid's feet and sticks up his tail and curves it at the tip. He brushes along her legs, purring happily at her.
"Odd," Wednesday observes. "Usually he runs when he's had enough."
Enid clicks her tongue at him until he finally lifts his head. His yellow crescents widen at her.
"I wish I could stay out here and play with you, little guy, but I need to go back inside," she tells him before looking at Wednesday. "Your mom wanted me to help her with her flytraps in the conservatory."
"Sounds delightful," Wednesday deadpans.
Enid rolls her eyes at Wednesday's lackluster attitude, but she still leans down to press a kiss to her lips, which Wednesday, almost too excitedly, returns. When Enid pulls away, Wednesday admits that there is an achy hole in her chest that only grows larger when Enid walks away from her. The hole mends itself only by the sight of Igor strutting behind Enid and following her directly into the house, and this time, he doesn't emerge from any open windows.
"I suppose we have a cat now," Wednesday surmises.
"Thanks to Enid," Uncle Fester chuckles.
Wednesday leans back against the swing and lets herself drift in the wind, listening to the chimes and watching the clouds of an impending storm brew overhead. Lightning begins to crack across the once-clear sky, and Wednesday sighs, watching Enid and her mother feed the flytraps in the conservatory, with Igor bathing himself on a windowsill.
For the first time since the last full moon, Wednesday is finally certain that everything is and will be as it should be.
Chapter 20: EpilogueNotes:
We have reached the end, my darlings.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
January 2nd, 2032
Nothing ever happens in a small town located just 30 miles south of Nevermore Academy. There isn't much to do around these parts, and the community is sleepy even during the daytime, which was a deciding factor in moving here when Wednesday and Enid officially married a couple of years ago. All the lights are out by eight PM, the roads are always empty, and no one ever dares to bother the strange, macabre couple that lives in the small but spacious house at the dead end of a vacant lot.
Nothing ever happens, and Wednesday loves it, because it means she can focus on publishing her third novel without disruptions from the outside world, and Enid can blog her life away when she's not organizing and participating in events for her (benign and totally fun) werewolf camp that she established a few towns over.
Nothing ever happens, until something finally does happen, and of course it has to happen in the middle of the night when the rotary phone on Wednesday's nightstand rings and has her springing up in bed with her eyes bloodshot and her heart pounding out of her chest. She's disoriented at first, trying to untangle herself from the mess of sheets as she blearily reaches over and flicks on her bedside lamp. Enid stirs unpleasantly beside her, bringing her pillow closer to herself and curling her legs up to her chest. Wednesday sighs and tries to make sense of the time. It's half past eleven, and whoever is calling better have the world's greatest excuse for disturbing her precious sleep when she has a meeting with her editor in the morning.
"Someone had better be dead," she mumbles and swipes the phone off the hook and cautiously puts it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm looking for an…Enid Sinclair?" The person on the other end sounds unsure and hesitant. Maybe even a bit apologetic. "Is she available?"
"Enid Addams," Wednesday quietly corrects, glancing over at her sleeping wife. "It is incredibly late. This better be serious."
"I apologize. It's only 8:30 here in California and I've been attempting to reach her cellphone since yesterday, but no one ever picks up despite me leaving numerous voicemails, and I was able to track this number down as a secondary for emergencies," the woman stammers, the panic in her voice only straining as the time goes on. "Is she available?"
"She's sleeping," Wednesday grumbles. "I can take a message and relay it to her in the morning."
"It's an emergency," the woman says. "As I said, I've been trying to contact her since yesterday."
Holding in a tired sigh, Wednesday takes a moment to consider the repercussions of waking a tired werewolf. She would rather hang up on the mystery person and reprise her position in Enid's arms, but a tingling feeling in her toes warns her of something terrible that she can't quite put her finger on. Finally, she puts the phone back to her ear and closes her eyes.
"Allow me to wake her. One moment."
With the phone pressed into her shirt, Wednesday gently unravels the sheets from Enid's slumbering body. She shakes her shoulder until exhausted cerulean eyes are blinking up at her through the shadows decorating the bedroom.
"Someone is on the phone for you," Wednesday tells her. "They claim it's an emergency."
"Emergency?" Enid asks as she sits up, suddenly attentive. "What happened?"
"They won't tell me. They're asking to speak to you," Wednesday says as she passes the phone to Enid, the cord stretching to its absolute maximum. "If it's a scam, I will hunt them down and murder them."
Enid manages to chuckle at her wife's humor before putting the phone to her ear and, as politely as she can when being rudely awakened in the middle of the night for a phone call, greets the caller. Wednesday leans against the pillows, mildly curious but mostly miffed about the fact that she could still be asleep.
After a series of "mhm"s and a few gasps and moments of heavy silence, Enid tells the caller goodbye and absentmindedly hands the phone back to Wednesday. The dial tone hums from the earpiece. Wednesday hangs it back on the hook and looks over at Enid, who's sitting up in bed, her back stiffened like a scared cat's tail. She's staring ahead at an oil painting of her and Wednesday on their wedding day, although it's shrouded in shadows and the black of night, blinking vacantly.
"Enid?" Wednesday tentatively asks. "What's wrong?"
Enid inhales and exhales in an attempt to control her breathing. Wednesday recognizes this from the years Enid has spent in therapy to cope with the feelings of abandonment and the othering, as her therapist often calls it. It works for other things, too, like receiving bad news.
"Nicholas is dead," she says, voice distant. "I mean, he was dead to the world when he left me when I was a kid. But now…he's really, really dead."
Well, now Wednesday is awake.
"How did he perish?" she asks, and maybe it's too morbid and too soon, but she can't help herself.
"Killed by a drunk driver on New Year's Eve," Enid says with a shudder. "And his wife."
Wednesday purses her lips, unsure of what the right thing to say would be, and then— "Enid, I'm—"
Enid quickly cuts her off with a shake of her head. She blinks at Wednesday, and despite the minimal light glowing at their bedside, Wednesday can see the conflicting grief and passiveness etched into every pore and pupil.
"He left me something in his will," she tells Wednesday, taking another deep inhale. "I have to go to California and pick it up."
Curious, Wednesday tilts her head. "Why can't it be sent by mail? Surely you can provide our address and have it in a few days instead of making a trip across the country for something that's likely to be an old blanket."
Enid exhales and levels her gaze with Wednesday's.
"You can't mail a baby, Wednesday."
—
Within 48 hours, Wednesday and Enid have made a trip the entire way across the country and back again, except when Igor greets them at the front door this time, Enid is carrying a car seat in the most hideously pink pattern that Graco could come up with, and Wednesday is reluctantly holding an equally pink diaper bag with "LUZELENA" monogrammed in pale yellow embroidery on the flap.
Igor hisses when Enid sets the car seat on the coffee table for him to inspect, as he routinely does whenever new groceries are brought in. He's a senior cat now, and just like human seniors, he can get quite disgruntled when introduced to things outside of his comfort zone. Wednesday isn't a senior yet, but even staring at this eyesore of a car seat in her gothic living room has her in need of an antacid.
Wednesday idly stares at the baby, who's only been outside of her deceased mother's uterus for two weeks and hasn't yet developed the reflexes to unfurl herself. She's seven pounds of pink, wrinkly skin and a full head of the darkest hair Wednesday's ever seen on a baby so tiny. She's been in the newborn scrunch position ever since the social worker deposited her into Enid's arms back in California, and she's been awake for maybe two hours in the time it took to get from there to here. Fortunately, she spent the majority of the plane ride back to Vermont snoozing in her car seat, because Enid was too much in shock to properly hold her, and Wednesday would have rather thrown herself out of the emergency exit than pick her up.
"What do we do with it now?" Wednesday asks Enid, who's gnawing at her thumbnail, feeling royally screwed. "Do we just…leave it here?"
Enid blinks when Luzelena stirs unhappily and makes that squeaking noise that is usually followed by wailing for food or a new diaper. She braces herself for impact, closing her eyes. Wednesday doesn't move, fearing the baby will simply implode on her if she does. Luzelena squeaks a few more times before settling down, prompting Enid to exhale.
"We can only hope the crib shows up in the next couple hours, or she's gonna be sleeping in the laundry basket," Enid says.
"I voted for the dresser drawer," Wednesday replies. "She can't even stretch her own arms out. She won't be going anywhere."
Enid smiles. "I married a comedian."
"I'm serious."
Enid plants an appreciative, slow kiss to Wednesday's lips. Wednesday can't help but to melt into it, her hands expertly finding Enid's waist. It's the first time they've shared any intimacy since the midnight phone call a couple of nights ago, and for a moment there, Wednesday assumed that an unexpected newborn would put a snag in their marriage, but now, if she just pretends that it's still just the two of them—and Igor, who prowls at their feet—it still feels the way it did on their wedding night; slow, sweet, anticipatory.
It's real, until Luzelena decides that she's been stuck in her car seat for too long and begins to scream her little lungs out. The sound is absolutely unbearable and downright appalling. Igor dives under the nearest piece of furniture, and Enid and Wednesday separate with a string of saliva connecting their mouths until it stretches far enough to break.
"What do we do with it, Enid?" Wednesday asks again, this time a bit more panicked because her home—her beautiful sanctuary that she's spent three years creating alongside her wife—is now filled with the sound of a howling newborn child and her autism doesn't like it. "Enid?"
Suddenly Enid is throwing the diaper bag over her shoulder and picking up the car seat. She looks seriously at Wednesday, her jaw tight and her pupils dilated.
"Grab Igor and get in the car," she tells Wednesday. "We're going to your parents' house."
—
Another 48 hours pass, and now Enid and Wednesday are standing in the family room of the Addams family manor, soft music spinning on the phonograph. Wednesday's head is safe on Enid's shoulder while Enid sways them both back and forth. Igor naps on a couch somewhere behind them. Luzelena is swaddled in a 25-year-old baby blanket that Morticia fished out of the attic, laid comfortably in the Addams cradle that Gomez was forced to drag out of the basement, and for once, she's contented, having been lovingly bathed and given a bottle by Morticia, who's been all too eager to be of assistance, even if her daughter and daughter-in-law are treating her like a live-in nanny in her own home.
"This is nice," Enid breathes into Wednesday's hair. "It's finally quiet."
"I concur," Wednesday mumbles tiredly. "I can finally hear myself think."
"Same here," Enid replies as she drops a kiss to the exposed skin of Wednesday's shoulder. "I'll be honest. I don't really know what we're supposed to do now."
"Does anyone know what they're supposed to do?" Wednesday asks in earnest as she's being swayed in another circle around the coffee table. "I'm almost certain that, when my parents brought me home, they dropped me on the table and told me to fight to the death."
Enid snorts. "Yeah, well, we can't just drop her on the table. We already accidentally bumped her cradle and gave her whiplash."
"We wouldn't have bumped into it had my mother moved the thing into her bedroom like I asked," Wednesday mutters.
"She's helping us. Not raising her," Enid politely reminds as she intentionally dances Wednesday closer to the cradle so she can get a proper peek at her niece. "She's still sleeping."
"Good." Wednesday's eyes flutter closed. "I enjoy being able to hear my own thoughts."
They sway for the longest time, just the two of them, in complete marital bliss, without the interruption of a crying baby or a demanding cat nipping their ankles. When Wednesday next opens her eyes, she's nearby the Addams cradle again, and when she takes a look inside—because she's curious, that's all—Luzelena's dark, obsidian eyes are blinking up at her, but she's perfectly happy wrapped in Wednesday's old blanket and nursing away on her pacifier that Enid definitely has lost numerous times since acquiring her. They stare at one another for awhile, until Enid is moving Wednesday away from the cradle, and once Wednesday has lifted her head again, she notices the slender figure of her mother peering around the corner with the softest of smiles on her face.
And just then, Wednesday understands that her mother was never wrong.
Damn her.
Notes:
Thank you so much to all the readers who have supported this story. It likely didn't conclude the way you expected, which is what I wanted. I've never written anything like this for this fandom before and wanted to give it a try. At no point did I want you to know where it was going. I like the element of surprise.
I appreciate all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks. Your support is the reason I continue to write.
This was a wonderful way to end my year. I likely will not be posting anything before NYE, so have a happy New Year and may 2026 be filled with prosperity and fortune. 🖤
Notes:
I just…good lord, I'm in pain. I will say, the scariest part of this entire season was the body swap. I was tickled and in hysterical laughter the whole way through, but I NEVER want to see Wednesday wearing color EVER again. And that smile. So sweet yet so wicked! Absolute perfection. I'm so disturbed 10/10 will watch again when I'm drunk and in shambles and needing to cry laughing.
And the ENDING. Just flay me alive why don't you! BUT…Wednesday immediately abandoning her family and all of Tyler's bullshit to go find Enid? This is as close to a win as we can get right now.
I'm gonna go take some blood pressure medication now. Welcome back, my devils. 🖤