Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come on… think…!” My breath came out as shallow gasps.

The fabrics clinging to me were heavy with the weight of my sweat, and ruffled after having been taken off and put on over and over as she couldn’t figure out which one felt hotter. The door was picked open, but it was barred with a perfectly sized chair on the other side. The windows were too high up with no way to stack or climb up, she’d already tried ramming something heavy into the door, the door hinges, and even the bare wall. Now, after half an hour of steadily hacking away at the wood around the hinges with scissors tied to a stapler, my options were finally exhausted, and so was I.

Thirsty and sore, I flopped over and splayed out on the ground in the hopes that the tiles would sap away some heat from my body. Desperately, I tried to run through all the possibilities to escape in my head, frantically flipping the pages in my abnormally good memory. But the dizziness was making it hard to even form coherent thoughts anymore.

“I’ll really…die this time…huh?” I croaked weakly.

I was always a cursed child. With my investigation, I found out my mother was struck by lightning through the window and killed at childbirth, and I’d even killed my dad by accident when he tried to grab me in a drunken stupor; all I did was hit the bastard’s head with a beer bottle and he snapped his fucking neck falling over on the goddamn couch arm of all things.

That moment seemed to be a kickstarter for the snowball fuckfest that was the rest of my life. Somehow, I’d managed to wade through it all with a careful ratio of grit and preparation until now, but it looked like neither of those could help me out now.

Maybe the power of friendship would have worked better. If I had any real friends in the first place.

Two different emotions warred with each other in my spinning head, begging me to choose one. Yes; somehow, my emotions had become a choose your own adventure book. I could decide that “it is what it is,” and accept my fate. Or, I could say “fuck that” and decide that I deserved better.

Not like it’ll change anything anyways. Fuck it.

Without much hesitation, I chose the “fuck that” option. Because despite everything life had thrown at me, even my lowest points when helplessness became my natural state, I had always refused to give up and lower my standards with every fiber of my being. If I was going out, I was going to curse the world to my last breath, even if it only served to make me suffer.

“Don’t… deserve this…don’t wanna die…” even with weakened breath, my voice wobbled at the admission, and I felt something in my chest constrict in some combination of fear, pain, and that rare squishy feeling that lumped in my throat.

It’s why I’d made sure to keep every good fortune cookie, every lucky penny, or even lucky pokémon cards, and lock them all up tight in a pencil box I never let leave my side. When I got older, I even crafted or used my meager savings to buy luck charms of every major world religion, and then finally took to witchcraft to learn how to cleanse negative energy, and make my own sigils and spells for protection. For the most part, they worked, or so I liked to think.

Something wet rolled down my cheek, surprising me twofold. For one, I didn’t think I had enough water left to do so, and two, I had thought I was too broken to feel enough emotion to actually cry. It made sense though, I supposed; without the locked-in focus of trying to break out, the fear was wiggling its way to the front of my brain again, especially since I was alone now and didn’t have to wrangle control of myself to avoid showing weakness.

I guess I can kind of understand Buddhists now. If you’re gonna die or suffer no matter what, accepting it and letting go of “worldly desires” would be a lot more peaceful than trying to cling to them like I am now.

Because regardless of all the good things I tried to assert that I deserved, and all of the bad things I declared were undeservedly thrust upon me, here I was. Locked away in one of the campus’s old classrooms by some bullies who fancied me an easy target. And they were right, but no use dwelling on that.

It would’ve just been a meaner-than-usual prank if my luck didn’t like to turn shitty situations into shittier ones. The old air conditioning malfunctioned when it had only done so twice before in the whole school year, and the sun outside poured in with a ripe hundred and fifteen degree heat wave, according to the thermometer. So now I was being baked and suffocated in the poorly insulated, humid building facing the setting sun on the west. Being on the outskirts of the school, no building’s shade could save her either. The heat felt like an omnipresent, overwhelming force that I couldn’t escape, closing in from all sides and boiling me alive.

“D-damnit…”

My head felt light, and my vision lagged behind as I moved my head. My skin felt oddly cold, and I had goosebumps despite the temperature. I could feel my own weak, rapid pulse beating in my neck and stomach. When I tried to raise an arm, only for it to flop back down uselessly, I finally accepted that there was nothing left I could do to get out of this. With that realization, I’d expected to panic, given how hard I’d tried to stay alive for so long, even preparing for all manner of good luck charms, sigils, and contingency kits for accidents and emergencies; contingencies that were useless when the bullies took her stuffed backpack away to throw it in the dumpster outside.

Should’ve learned to sow deeper pockets on my pants… It’s my fault, really…

But now, as I was left here to overheat and die alone, forgotten, and abandoned, I couldn’t help but feel relieved that it was all finally over. Without much thinking, I reached down to my favorite bracelet and took it off, holding the protective pentacle up to my lips and kissing it like I’d seen exorcists do with rosaries in movies. I’d tried to wear symbols for as many religions as I could think of when I was younger, but I had a hard time seriously putting faith in any entity but myself. The only thing I kept the benefit of the doubt with was general witchcraftery and spiritualism, which was broader and gave me a lot more options. Plus, some of it even aligned with the things I occasionally remembered from my strangely realistic dreams.

Closing my eyes, I concluded that if I was going to die here, I was going to cast aside all my remaining doubt and accept myself into the unseen world. To allow myself to fully channel the ebb and flow of the cosmos, and to the cycle of life and death.

…One last…spell… I thought, not wasting breath on speech.

Using the stapler-scizzors combo, hot to touch from being held in my hand, I sliced open my palm. Then I cursed and made a bigger slice when it didn’t bleed enough. Feeling sick from seeing the blood leaking out, I tossed the bloody instrument and slowly, carefully stood up, biting my lip and pausing every time my vision narrowed dangerously. Instinctively, I knew that if I passed out now, I wouldn’t wake up again.

Then, kneeling on all fours, I slowly smeared the blood in a circle around me, trying not to drip sweat onto the lines and pivoting around on my knees like a human compass to make it as even as possible. Each movement made me feel like I needed to throw up, and I had to stop and stop the dry heaving multiple times. When I finally completed it, I crawled out to get access to the center.

The sigil I drew in the circle was from the weirdest interesting item I found in my father’s inheritance; an old weathered “book of shadows,” basically a witch’s magic diary-slash-encyclopedia, with the owner’s name scratched away.

The crap in that book so conceptually horrifying that imagining myself doing even half of it made me shiver with disgust. This one spell/ritual was the only exception, in fact, with the only backfire potential being the risk of mentally disabling yourself in the next life.

The final touch of this ritual was a strange nordic rune and kanji look-alike with brushstroke and order being particularly important. It took over ten minutes to complete the complex structure, using my full focus to not leave any mistakes or accidents, which was especially hard to do when my utensil was a big leaking cut on my hand and my only method of “erasing” was to use my sweat soaked clothes to suck up the blood. When it was done at last, I carefully lowered my back onto the middle of the array, my head facing the east, and drew one last sigil on my forehead before mouthing the incantation.

Bestow upon me

This life’s last second chance

Memento vitae doth says the will to live

Memento mori doth says the will to have lived

As was, as is, as will to come

So mote it be

And finally, as the dizziness overwhelmed me, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine a beautiful rain shower washing over my body with my last thoughts in this life. Maybe it was my wishful thinking, or a hallucination, but the last thing my dying senses registered was a loud clap of thunder.

Chapter Text

“A child full of woe, born on the thirteenth… Wednesday Friday Addams, that must be her name!” 

Thunder clapped suddenly, and I gasped as I came to full awareness with a bright flash that seared into my sensitive retinas. 

“Ooooooh yes! More!” A woman moaned so sensually that it nearly made her blush, and the smell of ozone and burning flesh filled the air. A deep voice, seemingly belonging to the one holding her, moaned with delight in response, and my only coherent thought was the desire that I wanted to be anywhere but here.     

“Struck by lightning indoors simultaneously with the pain of childbirth…! Oh how I sorrow for not being the proper sex to experience such delights!”       

Lightning? Childbirth? And what the- what the fuck is wrong with this guy and his wife!? My head was swimming with sensory overload, trying to recall what got me into this situation, and what exactly this situation even is.      

“It’s a sign, dear! Oh and I just knew our daughters would be an unlucky one!” The woman said between hot breaths.       

“Do you think she’s like me!?” A third voice joined in, higher pitched and raspier than the one holding her.       

“I don’t feel electricity while holding her, but we shall certainly test the little one when we get home, brother!”        

The woman interrupted with two words, “Little ones.” The one holding me gasped and handed me over to the third voice whose arms and chest felt staticy like rubbing a balloon, when I paid attention to it. He was making little whimpering noises of delight and fear as he held me carefully like a doll. Ugh, my body was all gooey and gross and cold, what the hell!?       

“Twins!? Where? Are you still giving birth- doctors, come back!”

“There isn’t a second body, querida, only a second mind; I saw it when the lightning struck.” 

The man holding me looked down at her in awe, from what little she could make out with my shitty eyes. “Two for one, what a horrible deal! What do we call the second one?”

“I’ve already named them both, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. Give a warm welcome to Wednesday and Friday Addams!”

The memories finally slotted into place, and I realized what was happening. My reincarnation ritual had worked, and now I was born into a body already housing another consciousness, to a family of nutjobs. Well, fuck. 

*

After a handful of months falling in and out of sleep later, and I was certain of a few things. For one, this family is way richer, way crazier than I’e thought! There were three more members living in the house -which I was still unsure if it was a gothic mansion or not- and one of them is disembodied hand! An animate disembodied hand named Thing, of all things. Connecting the dots on that one for the first time when I blindly touched the fleshy severed wrist had freaked me the fuck out.

The second member took a little longer for me to notice because he was so silent, and vision was spotty for awhile. Lurch was a tall man judging from the height he’d raised her up when she was picked up by him. He was silent as a grave and she was always caught off guard when she realized he was in the room, but that only happened when someone called for him specifically, and he didn’t talk to us at all. 

The third, however, was someone I’d been meeting the most. “Grandmama” was by our side more often than not, an old hag who looked like she walked straight out of a random cabin in the wilderness. She was also a bit too enthusiastic about our health, if you asked me.

Yes, our health, because Morticia -our mother- wasn’t kidding about the whole two minds bit. There was a whole ‘nother baby in this body! Sadly, they don’t seem reincarnated like me though.

“It’s okay little sis, remembering everything isn’t as great as it’s made up to be anyways.”

“?”

Wednesday was a quiet baby when she didn’t need to eat or change diapers, but I could feel that she had more emotion under the surface than she let on. She loved it when Grandmama read her stories, or when our father Gomez and uncle Fester played catch with our body over the boiling cauldron. And when she got irritated, she would immediately let it be known via swiping at the family with her nails. 

But if I were to say, her most noticeable trait is her horrible, no-good, inexplicable death wish. If I zoned out for even a little bit -which happened a lot with our muddled baby brain- I would suddenly notice we were crawling headfirst into a lion’s mouth, climbing up to the top shelf of the pantry and covered in leeches from a spilled jar, or three feet away from the edge of the diving board into the pool. 

I’d never really understood the phrase curiosity killed the cat before, and now I wish I didn’t know.

I’d like to say I contributed to our survival, but honestly, it was the exact opposite. Wednesday seemed to have the inverse of my bad luck curse. Whenever something truly bad was going to happen to her, some stroke of “bad luck” would happen to the thing that was about to kill us. Uncle Fester stepped on the lion’s tail, a bottle of some kind of pesticides spilled over our body to kill the leeches, and a bald eagle landed in the pool to act as our floatation device after it was shot by Lurch for dinner.

Me, on the other hand… this family freaked me out, and the house was full of dangerous secrets, so I tried to huddle our body up in our crib as much as possible. But instead of finding trouble, trouble always found me. 

In just one example, a condor tried to fly in through our window and snatch us away, and I had to throw my body and tip the crib over on its side, to draw attention from Morticia who fended the bird away with a thorny potted plant. Then, when she tried to put that same plant on the windowsill to defend from further attacks, it tipped over and fell onto the floor, where I had to crawl away from its slithering form and duck under a swiveling floor plank hidden under the rug. Then that ceiling broke and I was forced to spray the highly lethal herbicides I had gone through the effort of stashing away down there.

Glad my habit of stashing useful stuff everywhere came in handy, but this incident probably wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me getting overly stressed with my sister’s escapades.

So, yeah, from then on I never took control unless it looked like Wednesday found something useful or when we were in too much danger to trust my sister’s supernatural luck. By that, I mostly meant when it looked like something exceptionally painful was about to happen. Luck or no, we could still get hurt, and did so very often. It was to the point where we probably would have died of an accumulation of multiple small things by now if it weren’t for this body’s crazy constitution. 

If I were being honest, this was actually the deciding factor in limiting my “body time”. The pain wasn’t completely numbed when I wasn’t in charge, but it was at least distanced from me, as if it wasn’t my pain. I’d always hated pain, and this family seemed to welcome it with open arms, so it was often mentally taxing even to just be present in our body a decent amount of the time.

At least it was entertaining, I supposed. A small part of my overheated mind that hadn’t been occupied with the fear of death had been worried about being reduced to a stinky crying potted plant for a few years with nothing to do, but as it stood, I was too consumed by stress and anxiety to have the luxury of being bored. Every waking moment was spent trying to wrack my brain about how to record proof of child neglect or find evidence of the many crimes the family bragged about both ambiguously and openly. 

If I could only find some sort of proof that the Adamms were horribly suited to raising children before this body turns ten, there was a significant chance I could be adopted as an adorable little girl to a nice family. But once I get past a certain point, even being a cute girl won’t get me past a couple’s unwillingness to adopt an old kid with baggage. I knew from experience.

And so, whenever I felt the surroundings safe enough, I wiggled and babbled like there was no tomorrow. The sooner I could move and talk, the faster I could find a way out of this hell family for me and Wednesday both.

Chapter Text

“Go away.”

The one to say the first words was, surprisingly, Wednesday. Maybe it was because she had the most time in our body over the last year or so?

“Voilà! Finally, you’ve unveiled your beautiful voice! I was worried our dear twins would never make a sound, but I should have known to trust my innate motherly instincts to bring it out of you.”

But while I was surprised, Morticia was absolutely ecstatic.

“And those same instincts tell me that it is time to dispose of my enemies when I can. Unless they’re pretending, but that doesn’t apply here!”

The woman reached up to a hanging noose and rang an absurdly loud bell. Immediately, a huge shadow loomed over us, and a dictionary plopped down in front of us on the table. It scared the shit out of me, but Wednesday just squinted, annoyed.

“Thankyou Lurch! You can go now.” She shooed the walking corpse away and looked back at us, and with a flourish, she flipped over the book to the first pages. “And what better way to start than with the most horrible and sacred testament to human language straight out of the tower of Babel; le dictionnaire. Let’s start with the ‘A’s. An aardvark is a large burrowing nocturnal mammal (Orycteropus afer) of sub-Saharan Africa—”

“Go away.”

Um, Morticia, I’m not exactly an expert but I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works.

Sadly, neither me nor Wednesday had the power to stop her, and the next ten minutes were spent reading the dictionary closer than bible study until our savior arrived in the form of a disembodied hand.

“Snap!- Snap!-”

“Hm, what is it, Thing? I’m trying to teach… Wednesday, yes?” she squinted at us.

My sister rolled her eyes, and Morticia tilted her chin up smugly. If you guessed Wednesday, you’d be right ninety percent of the time anyways, though.

Thing propped up on his wrist and made a handful -ha- of gestures toward the book and us. He then crawled over and pressed his finger to one of the words, Abacus. Then he pointed to an abacus in the toy box across the room.

“Oh, you’re so right, Thing! No one can learn just cooped up in a room of thick, dry, and dusty books with no worldly experience. Practicality is what we need!”

She immediately snapped the book closed and tossed it into the fireplace, which erupted in a plume of flame upon impact that Wednesday watched with great interest. Weren’t you the one who just called it a sacred book earlier…?

Like a whirlwind, she twirled and placed us on the floor and swept out of the room, long dress fluttering behind her. “Keep her occupied while I prepare our twins’ curriculum, Thing!”

And just like that, we were alone with the strange creature. No, was it a full person at one point? Or were they born just a hand? Did they need to eat anything?

Before I knew it, I had taken control, reaching out to grab Thing in my own stubby little hands. He let me pick him up, reaching forward to poke me in the nose. My lips twitched unknowingly, but now wasn’t play time. I put him down and looked around. I pointed at the table and mimed with my hand, crawling on the floor like Thing and jumping up from my fingers.

He paused, somehow giving me the impression of surprise, before giving me a thumbs up. He then crawled abc, then “sprinted” forward before jumping up all the way to the top. I was fascinated, clapping and smiling in my only way to show appreciation.

The sheer finger strength to do that must be insane; he could probably pop us like a grape if he wanted to. Good to know.

I then gestured for him to come hop down, and proped up my arm on the floor in an arm wrestling position. He quickly scampered over until he was right in front of me. Watching a hand bigger than my head gallop straight at me was more than a little terrifying, but I endured.

Propping himself on his wrist, he stuck out a finger for me to grab onto. It wasn’t exactly the best posture, but he probably had more strength in that finger than my arm combined. His pinky and two fingers extended, then lowered one by one in a countdown. Three…two…one…

I pulled with all my newborn might. Which is to say, not much. Still, he pretended to struggle anyways, wobbling under my strength before easing toward the other direction like a struggling underdog. Just when I thought he’d win, he relaxed his strength and I flipped him on his side, smooshing his finger to the ground.

I smiled and did a little jig.

Round two. Thing put me on the reverse side this time, making me win at first then turning it around at the last second.

Round three, for all the marbles. I counted down with him this time, mimicking his fingers with my other hand. Thee, two, one!

Immediately, I lifted him into the air and let out a laugh of smug victory, waving him around by the finger. And, as I predicted from years of playing with kids of other families, there’s no pettier feeling than wanting to knock a smug younger kid down a peg.

Somehow applying force in mid-air, Thing brought our hand down to the floor, and our body tipped over with a slightly audible thud. The hand immediately propped back up, poking us in concern, but calmed down when he saw my smile. I knew it!

I immediately sat up and picked the hand up again, waving my hand under his wrist and holding him up so I could get a better look. It was just flesh, but I knew there was something more to it. I flipped through the memories in my eyes of all of Thing’s strange movements.

Putting him down, I mimed crawling my right hand on the ground like before, and held out my left hand with a finger out for “one”. Then I stopped, and waved my whole right arm around, miming pushing and pulling a billow to the stove fire, turning the car’s steering wheel, or arm wrestling; all the strange actions I’d seen him do. This time, I held out two fingers on my left hand for “two”.

This time the surprise was visible, Thing’s fingers spreading outward stiffly before gathering in a fist again to give an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Huaaa!” I threw my arms up in the air with a wordless cheer!

“?”

I didn’t know if it would work, but I tried explaining it to Wednesday as best I could through memories and impressions. Thing sometimes acted strangely, as if he had some sort of telekinesis on his body rather than just moving his hand muscles. But when I pictured human arm movements and related them to him, I realized it was as if Thing were being propped up by an invisible person rather than crawling around on the ground. Today, I confirmed it.

“!”

Somehow, it worked, and an elated feeling lined with subtle awe and praise was directed toward me. I smiled sheepishly, not used to having anyone looking up at me like this.

This wasn’t the only thing -ha- left to try though. I was about to grab Thing again when two much more feminine hands grabbed my hips and hoisted me up.

“Friday! It’s so wonderful to see your terrifying smile!” Dread settled in my chest and the sweet words. I tried to shift behind Wednesday, but she didn’t want to deal with whatever learning curriculum mom had in store either.

Chapter Text

Thing made a series of gestures that reminded me of sign language, pointing at me. “Oh, she found you out, did she? Looks like both of my daughters are cunning little geniuses! Come now, mother has so much to teach you!”

—Looks like I need to teach you a lesson

I quickly let go of the memory before it could take hold, letting it pass through me and leave naturally. Still carrying me, she stepped out into the hall with swift yet elegant steps. Being held by her felt sometimes like I was gliding along rather than being carried, even as she moved down the stairs. How she didn’t trip with the dress trailing at her feet was beyond me.

“Since that dull book proved no-good, I’ve decided to teach you vis a vis with my beautiful voice while you sing along! It gives you a chance to voice the words while seeing them with your own eyes! Isn’t it brilliant?”

She’d taken me to the living room on the first floor, where Lurch was playing a soft sombre tune. Clearing her throat, she walked over to the large man and knocked on his head with an almost hollow thunk. The song immediately switched to a bright and jumpy song that sounded almost like an old-timey circus with the organ pipes’ billowing.

To my ears though, my intuition from years of bad luck screaming in harmony with it to create a funeral’s death march.

“A is for Apocalypse when the world comes to an end~” she brought our faces to a painting on the wall depicting a ruined city.

“B is for the blood that helps skin and sinnew mend~” she sliced her hand without hesitation and brought it in front of our eyes, frowning when I flinched away.

A firm hand snatched me away, my heart jumping in my chest as a throaty voice rang out “And C is cooking, when you want a hearty meal!”

With bulging eyes, he picked up a scorpion and crunched on it before holding another out to me. Thinking quickly, I snatched its tail before it could sting me, but the pinchers latched on anyway. 

Ow, fuck!

And here the misfortune begins. At least now, I won’t be able to forget the alphabet for the rest of my life.

“D is for deadly nightshade, and its poisonous appeal!”

I kicked out of Fester’s hands to dodge as grandmama, who had brought him the scorpions snacks, knocked it over in her attempt to dance.

“E is for embers, that flicker off a fire~” I ducked away from burning soot that fell from a flaming torch on the wall. 

“And F is for the fireplace where the embers crackle in a choir~” I tripped on a bump in the rug and fell face first in front of the burning logs, rolling away to the side as a large chip burst out with a trail of sparks right where I’d been.

Gomez walked down the stairs as Lurch trailed into a bridge, smiling with a questioning gaze. “Tish, my my, what is all this?” She walked over with rhythmic steps, placed me down and explained while holding my hands for the dance, “Why I’m teaching our daughters the alphabet of course. Especially Friday here, who was so eager that she showed up for the first time in days!”

“Really, now? Then I better make sure I don’t fall behind!”

“Come on, please Wednesday? This will hurt for both of us.”

“…no.”

But I already knew the answer. As active as Wednesday could be, she was always drained by commotions and parties. She was retreating into our mind as deep as she could go without falling asleep.

Gomez reached down, and Morticia passed my hands to him as he opened his mouth to let out a deep baritone note.

“Geeeniuus is the word for brilliant minds like you.” He spun and lifted me up to see a pig’s brain cooked on the table. “And hatred is the emotion when you see a sky so blue.”

He held me out the window tilting me to face the sunny skies. A shadow passed overhead, and I quickly grabbed the fanned leaf from a tree next to me, and pulled it to shield my body from the splatter of bird poop. Some got on my fingers, so I wiped it on Gomez’s hand as he pulled me back inside, running over to the kitchen.

“Ice is the frozen water used to preserve the prey we slay, while jail is the cage that locks the damned away,” I grabbed the ice pack he showed me from the freezer and smacked it into the beak of the leftover-disposal pet vulture when it tried to nip at me.

Grandmama them snatched me away and sat me on the kitchen counter, right next to her cutting board, “And if you want a healthy breakfast, you have to eat your greens. A good trio to start with, is kale, el-em-n, and peas!” 

““““kale, El-em-N, and peas!, 

Kale, el-em-n, and Peas!,

If you want a healthy breakfast, it’s Kale, El-em-n, and Peas!””””

Gomez, Morticia, and Fester joined her to form a quartet as she diced the veggies and fruit to pieces. I shielded my eyes from a stray squirt of lemon juice and tried to hop down and run away.

“Queue your curiosity, we’ll quickly quell all of your questions.” Gomez grabbed my hand and tossed knives with the other.

“Until the both of you are ready to read, repeat, and remember!” Fester caught my other hand so I couldn’t pry away and juggled the knives with his brother, me caught in between.

“Es-pecially see to it that you sing it from the soul!” Grandmama dumped in the ingredients and waved a spoon, conducting Thing who stirred the cauldron.

“We‘ll teach you the Addam’s Alphabet till you become exceptional and wise, and when you sing along you’ll roll your eyes and say,” Morticia tossed meat to her carnivorous pitcher plant and clapped as it bubbled with guttural noises in tune.

““““That, 

Was,

Ea—syyyyyy!!!””””

While the music rang out it’s final melody, the bubbling plant popped and a chunk of meat flew into the cauldron. Thing, avoiding the projectile, knocked over the whole thing, pouring the soup onto the floor in a wave. I jumped up, tugging the arms of the brothers to stay afloat, but they lost balance as they tried to adjust to the weight with the slippery floor. All three of us landed on our backs, and the knives curved up in the air. No time to dodge, I reached out with my leg and pulled out the drawer above my head, and tightly shut my eyes.

Thump-thump-thump~!

As if on beat with Lurch as he wrapped up the song, three wooden slices rang out in my ears. Pressing against the floor as if hoping to phase through it, I slowly opened my eyelids… and saw a knife penetrating the floorboard of the drawer, dangling an inch above my forehead.

The last thing I felt before passing out in relief was a giddy excitement from Wednesday.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t do it, it was my husband!”

“Silence, witch! Our ears have had enough of the whispers of your devil’s tongue. If the goes to heaven, you will be proven innocent! If you survive, you shall be executed!”

“Noooo!”

Thunk. The guillotine fell on the damned’s neck, severing her head from her body! Grabbing her hair, the priest lifted the head up out of the basket.

“We pray for your sins… wait… did you guys see what I saw?”

“It twitched!”

“Her eyes. They’re blinking!”

The priest quickly backed away, but the head hung in the air even without support! A whispering voice floated past, riding on the wind.

“Revenge… I’ll curse you all…!”

Screams erupted, but the deed was done. The crowd’s voices shrank into dry croaks as their skin flayed apart, the angry mob decaying rapidly and burning to ashes. “Witch! The witch’s curse!” “God save us!” “Noo I don’t want to dieeee!”

…This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I suggested we play together, but it’s certainly entertaining.

I held the magnifying glass to set fire to the pile of ants swarming the candy we dropped, following Wednesday’s hand who flew “Marie Antoinette’s” detached head over the swarm. 

I much preferred this to playing with spiders under the bed, but it was still a bit…

-Well this is nice, but about we try something else? Playing so cruelly can hurt our development.

-You think drawing lines is fun.

-Nuh uh, Tron is great! Creating all the maps and portals and power ups, and zooming and circling around to cut off each other’s paths, nothing’s more fun when you have nothing else to do! You may have gotten bored of it, but I’m sure there are plenty of other kids who can see my genius!

“I’m going back to playing with Marie.”

“Fine! Fine. How about we look- I mean hunt for leprechauns instead?”

“Hunting leprechauns…?”

I nodded mentally, a bit embarrassed at getting so worked up over my invented game getting trash talked. Was I getting more childish? Brushing the thought aside, I pointed with my hand to a yellow powder on the dirt. 

“See those trails? That’s leprechaun gold dust; it makes you sneeze. If we follow it to cracks in the soil, and jab it with something iron, we can kill the leprechauns in their homes.”

It was a game I used to play every spring, especially toward Saint Patrick’s day. I had stomped on the cracks in the sidewalk to try and wake them up instead, but I needed to word things like this to get Wednesday to pay attention.

Predictably, she perked up, and immediately brought out two fire pokers from the outdoor stove, one for each of us.

I was still wary about taking control of the body, but I’d come up with precautions after too many times being caught up in family hijinks without my good luck charms. By wearing a bracelet with good luck charms on the left wrist and only taking control of that seemed to keep the bad luck in check to a certain extent. When combined with the Addam’s Luck™ from Wednesday, it made for a relatively safe technique.

Together we charged into the extensive backyard, weaving around elaborate tombstones to stab at the various cracks in the ground. 

“Gimme your gold!”

“Oh my, it tis a giant child coming to kill us!” “Noo, don’t steal me buried treasure!” I laughed and mimed their tiny voices.

“Isn’t that a pirate?”

“Leprechauns can be all sorts of people!”

“I see.”

We -I- laughed and played along, stabbing the irons into the ground until a shadow loomed over us.

“Heya kids! What are you poking around for? That’s not how you raise the dead.” Fester’s throaty voice rasped behind us.

Wednesday looked up, “We’re hunting leprechauns by following their dust trails.”

His bald eyebrows furrowed, “Who taught you to find leprechauns like that? You have to get to the land at the end of the rainbow to find them.”

I blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, your father and I came back from a party with them once, and we couldn’t get the green out for months! You’re just kicking up pine pollen, whoever told you that was either stupid or a weirdo.”

…Blood flowed to our face, and I looked down, trembling. I could feel the teasing and schadenfreude radiating off of Wenesday in our head.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He bent down to feel our forehead with his clammy hands. 

Taking full control, I wound up and kicked his shin before bolting away!

“No, you’re weird! Baldy!”

And then I tripped and face planted into a big pile of pollen. I tried to scramble up and run again but—

“—achoo!”

I sneezed so hard that I could feel it in my lungs, and my eyes watered so much that running would be useless in this state.

“Ugh…!”

I didn’t want to touch my eyes and make it worse, but I knew if I blindly stepped forward or leaned on something I would surely fall over, break something, or hurt myself. All I could do was carefully wipe my nose with a non dusty part of my sleeve, sniffling and crying.

“Crybaby.” Wednesday smirked mentally.

“It’s just the allergies!” I explained calmly.

“Sure it is…”

“Ah, Friday! I haven’t seen you in a while! You packed a good heft behind that kick.” Fester’s voice interrupted my next retort and pressed a soft handkerchief to my face.

“Thankyou… ‘m sorry for kicking you.” I mumbled nasally as he wiped my nose.

“Heh heh, that’s how I can tell you two apart. Wednesday isn’t as cute and nice as you.”

I felt a twinge of annoyance and bregruding acceptance from the girl in question at that comment, so I just ignored it.

Sigh, I might as well stick around since I’m already out. Wednesday didn’t seem inclined to front while feeling snotty and teary anyways. 

Taking a deep breath -through my mouth- I visualized trails of watery light running through my body, balled it up in my chest, and expanded it around me in a spherical shield. It was a magic technique thingy I read about and trained to protect me from “negative energies”, which I hoped included my bad luck. It probably didn’t do much but help me feel better in reality, but my common sense has long since fallen apart so who knows at this point.

“So, leprechauns are really real? It’s not a joke or something you tell kids for fun?”

I asked for the lack of any other topic.

“Of course they are! Why wouldn’t they be?” He laughed incredulously and grabbed my hand, walking me over to a dock by the nearby swamp. Shaking off his boots and socks, he hung his foul feet and wiggled his yellowed toes above the murky water. I couldn’t decide if his feet or the swamp smelled worse.

“Hm… then what isn’t real?” I asked, letting loose our braids and dangling our feet off the ledge. I figured it would be easier than listing every magical thing ever. I could feel Wednesday tuning in with anticipation too, as we were properly learning about the supernatural side of the world for the first time other than occasional tidbits.

“God, probably!” He shrugged. “There’s solid evidence that some “pagan” gods and other deities are or were real at one point though, so no one can be sure. I’d love to live to see the apocalypse of Revelation myself if it does happen, but I’m torn between hoping for that, nuclear apocalypse, global warming, or Ragnarok. Oh, all the options! Isn’t it so unfair that we can’t have them all?!” His voice grew rapid and forceful as he grew more excited by the second.

“I was wondering about another thing, actually,” I quickly interrupted before pausing, thinking how to properly word it. “Why… do other people look at us strangely? Why are they so different from us?”

Fester’s fervent eyes softened, as he looked down at me, and ruffled my hair. It was much more fluffy when not pulled taut.

“Friday, Wednesday, let me put it this way. There have always been two types of people in this world, across every civilization throughout all of time.” He recounted solemnly. “People who fit in with the majority… and those who don’t. The normal and the abnormal.” 

He held out his left hand for normal, and his right hand for abnormal.

“But there’s also a third “type” that floats outside; something that defies humanity’s categorization. That is, the paranormal.” His eyes crackled with an electric glow, as he stared us down with a near-manic grin. “Toward the beginning of humanity, the paranormal was everywhere, and everyone collectively walked alongside the mystical in their daily life.” His left and right hand glowed with power.

There was a bubbling sound, and a trio of dead fish floated up to the surface of the water, twitching and smashing. 

“But over time, humans learned more about the world around them. The overwhelming momentum of the majority sought to do away with the unknowable, growing to fear and suppress it to gain a sense of control.” The electricity in both hands died down to crackling sparks. 

A frog family hopped out of the water, croaking up a storm.

“And over time the abnormal people, already stigmatized and clouded with mystery, became the only refuge for the strange and unusual that used to be a part of everyday life. And simultaneously the abnormal, rejected by the majority, embraced the paranormal out of a sense of shared comradery.” The electricity in the left hand finally faded to a barely visible glow, and the sparks of the right hand lit up with a pale crackling blue like a live wire.

What must have been an entire school of fish emerged from the muddy wetland, increasing the foul stench to the point where I had to wrinkle my nose even after all my “training”. I followed Fester’s legs down with my eyes, his single big toe dipping gentle into the water, crackling away.

Rolling my eyes, I swatted Fester’s shoulder and immediately pulled my hand back from the sharp static shock. Resigning myself to floating hair, I looked out at the swamp to take it all in. There were a lot of details missing, but the core of it made sense. It left me in awe to think humanity had such a rich unsung history with mysticism and supernatural phenomena.

“…That’s really dumb. If the normals really wanted to make sense of the world they would have just researched the supernatural.” Wednesday spoke before I could.

Fester barked out a series of long, wheezing laughs, “You’re right! It’s super dumb, isn’t it!? Though, I don’t know if that research would have gotten very far. Consistency and the paranormal don’t get along very well, you’ll find!”

The sparks faded from his body, and he tried to reach out and ruffle our now frazzled hair, but Wednesday slapped his hand away and tried finger combing it into her favorite scalp-pulling braids again.

Chapter Text

The food in this house always looked terrifying or disgusting, but it wasn’t so bad. My go-to if I was ever in control was the bugs, they were always crunchy or squishy but didn’t taste too different from other meats. I didn’t like almost anything slimy textured though, no matter what the taste. Wednesday was different, playing with and eating almost anything that moved on the plate, which I tried not to pay attention to. She also had a bigger sweet tooth than me, and our collective favorite treat was bugs trapped in “amber” caramel that grandmama always had a bowl of somehow.

One thing that helped take my mind off of the squiggling thing in our bowl was our escape plan that had ground to a halt. As soon as I was old enough that the adults were convinced they could take their eyes off us for a few seconds, I searched both Morticia and Gomez’s bags. But just as I’d feared, neither of them had a flip phone that I could use to record anything on, let alone the fancier touch screens that some of my classmates were showing off in class that I expected of a rich family like this.

I suppose I can sort of understand no phones, but not even a computer? Other than the big one in Gomez’s study I guess.

I’d even memorized the unlocking sequence for Morticia’s trapped purse, with nothing to show for it! If I was going to get us both out of here, I needed to somehow get our parents to neglect or endanger us in public. Maybe I could use the neighbors? They had filed complaints more than I could count, especially with Gomez’s recent golfing hobby, so they should jump on the chance. 

I’d already tried getting a building safety inspector over here, but somehow this crazy family technically had all the proper permits and followed the safety precautions. From the sound of the inspector’s sighs, they knew it too. But how does one get a permit for a maybe-sentient bear rug??

“I’m having a baby.”

And that’s not to mention- wait, what?

As I was lamenting the zero progress made in the last three years, Morticia casually dropped a nuclear bomb on the dining table.

The room paused, then immediately whipped into a complete fury, running and kissing and shouting happening everywhere at once. Wednesday rolled her eyes and calmly walked outside to the car. Everyone packed in not a moment later, and it was off to the hospital we went, driving well above the speed limit and swerving between cars at the behest of Thing, who had won the rock paper scissors match with Lurch to drive the family. Wednesday shoved me into the control seat and mentally plugged her ears. 

“You deal with it.”

“Hey wait, what if I get knocked into a surgery room by accident or something?”

“You can handle it.”

You little- I stopped the thought before it could leak out, but the sentiment still carried through. She didn’t so much as mentally blink. Sighing, I tugged out our headache-inducing braids and let our hair loose, massaging our scalp. I have no idea how she manages that hair style. If I knew it would stick I would’ve prevented grandmama from playing with our hair with all my might.

I have a switch knife, lockpicks, and mini first aid kits in my pockets, and extra clothes in my bag if I ever need them, it’ll be fine.

There wasn’t much to do about it, so I just breathed out and focused, keeping my head on a swivel and munching on a backup bag of protein-dense dried crickets to make up for the interrupted breakfast. 

I wonder if our younger sibling will be okay. Wednesday might have the same crazy luck as the rest of her family, but maybe he’ll be more like me instead?

And even if not, there’s no way this is a healthy environment to live in. Great, now I have to get two little siblings out of this hellhole. Bursting into the hospital, Gomez carried his wife in a dramatic princess carry, sprinting into the operating room a staff guided him too.

“Quera mia, do you feel it? Is it just as agonizingas it once was?”

“Ohhh it’s one of the most horrible pains a human can feel. It aches inside of me, as if a little parasite is eating me from the inside out while my muscles convulse in terror~.

“Ooohhh, Tish!” he moaned.

“Sir, please don’t smoke in the hospital!” A nearby doctor desperately tried to speak from between them.

I pressed my hands against my ears, openly scowling. I had gained a resistance to their flirting long ago, but I did not need to hear all the graphic details. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gomez climbed on top of the woman right here and now, but miraculously, they refrained from tearing eachothers’ clothes off.

Breathe in, breathe out. This is my personal little bubble, and all the other energies can bounce right off.

We all settled into the hospital room and I blocked out Morticia and Gomez’s feverish whispers and turned my back to them, keeping an eye on the surroundings instead. The regular nurses and doctors looked understandably confused and more than a little shocked at our Addam’s Antics™, one woman in particular squealing and jumping as Thing crawled over her foot, and another man constantly looked over his shoulder to keep an eye on Lurch as he loomed over everyone from the corned expressionlessly. To be honest, those types of faces were wonderfully vindicating after dealing with the family for so long myself.

After a series of overly sensual moans, the chaos unfolded when everyone realized the baby wasn’t coming out the usual way. I stiffened as a doctor ran past me with a sharp knife, prepared to dodge out of the way, but he just passed me by peacefully. 

Muahaha! The power of my bubble knows no bounds! Never doubted it for a second!

Grinning, I puffed out my chest, reinforcing the bubble with a layer of iron bars. So satisfied I was, I didn’t notice the moans growing louder rapidly or the screams of astonishment from behind me.

A wet fleshy pop made me flinch, breaking my concentration, and I yelped courageously as I spun around to face the threat! The next moment was pure instinct; upon seeing an ugly bloody baby rocketing straight toward my face with devilish laughter, I lunged back and snapped my leg out with as much force as I could muster, punting the heavy sack of flesh all the way up to the ceiling lamp.

A squealing laugh pierced my ears, and the demon baby swung on light before launching at the nurse holding mom’s other hand, who screamed in terror a split second before the lamp smashed against the ceiling. There was a fall, and a loud crash.

Darkness fell, the operating room only occasionally illuminated by the flickering dying breaths of the fluorescent light. Fester’s ecstatic laughter filled the room with a twisted, ominous energy. 

“THE LITTLE MONSTER’S A FEISTY ONE ISN’T HE!?!? AHAHAHAAHHAA!!!!!”

I tried to breathe and form my bubble again, but someone stepped on my foot. I looked up to glare at the perpetrator, but between one flicker and the next, the baby latched onto the man’s face and violently ripped off his abundant mustache before guzzling it down. The doctor cried in agony reeling backwards, and I quickly stepped out of the way before he toppled straight on top of me.

The light vanished again, but this time Gomez interrupted his brother’s cackling, “Fester! Now’s not the time to watch the youngest play by himself. Have at you; the first one to catch him is the first one to teach him how to use TNT!”

There was a whoosh and another loud thump.Now on the floor, Fester’s eyes lit up with a brilliant blue glow, casting deep shadows over his ghastly grin, “Ohhhhh no you don’t! When I get my blinders on, you’re done for!!!” 

Something bumped my shoulder and nearly sent me to the ground as well, and when I reached out to stabilize myself I accidentally gripped the hospital blanket, draping the cloth soaked in mom’s blood all over me. 

Ewwww, gross!!! I ripped it off me and wiped our hands on our dress, but the damage was done.

Looking up, the light flashed to reveal that what hit me was the last unharmed nurse who tried to make a break for the door. He might have made it too if he hadn’t stumbled over me, but as if the sight of fleeing prey triggered its predator instincts, the demon baby launched forward and grabbed the back of his head, the momentum carrying to smash the man’s nose into the glass and knock him out.

Gomez didn’t let go of the scant window of sight, lunging toward the baby with an outstretched hand, but he was stopped by a hand grabbing his ankle. “Ahaha, Fester—!?” but Fester’s glowing eyes weren’t visible. Only I saw it from my point of view; it was Thing who grabbed him, then flung himself at the baby just before the light flickered and died again.

There was a gleeful, high pitched squeal and the sound of scuffle before the lights flicked on again for a brief second. This time, somehow, Thing had been flung up to the door’s window, sliding down and leaving a trail of a bloody handprint on the glass.

“Thing! You sly dog!” While Gomez was distracted, Fester’s eyes swiveled around the room, acting like twisted flashlights before landing on the bloody blanket right next to me. The ugly baby sat there, suckling on the red soaked fabric with blissful closed eyes.

“GOCHA!” The stocky man crackling with electricity charged straight at me, and suddenly my stomach dropped. The dark room reeked of pot, smoke, and alcohol. The trash covering the stained carpet was partially illuminated by the glow of the television, the occasional needle glinting in the heaps. Blood stuck my bangs to my head, but through the hair and my spinning vision I saw the stocky man with a beer belly lung forward, large hands outstretched and reaching for my neck. Calling up strength I didn’t knew I had, I grabbed the bottle at my side, lurched up from the floor, and threw at -

“Thunk!”  The baby’s head collided with Fester’s before my hand slipped on its slimy foot, sending the bloody flesh bag spinning into the air. The man stomped on the floor, coming to a sliding halt inches away from me before turning around and diving the other direction. Gomez leaped forward from the opposite direction, holding Thing in his hand for extra reach in a masterful display of the power of coalitions.

Then the baby grabbed the ceiling light again, and all three parties crashed together with an audible crack, followed by a bright discharge of electricity before collapsing in a twitching heap.

And then there was silence. The world slowed down, and all I could hear was the rapid thumping in my chest as I struggled to calm myself. But as if Pandora’s box were suddenly opened, I was helpless to the flashbacks and memories dancing behind my eyes with nothing to distract me. No five things to see other than the disorienting flickering light, and all I could hear was squawking, groaning, and my own pulse. I tried feeling my dress, but I flinched back when my fingers came away wet and sticky.

Shit. He was just a stereotypical drunk dad, I don’t have to be scared of him! Am I really still hung up on this, even in my new life? Fuck it, try something else. Breathe, just breathe. In for five, hold for six, out for seven.

But my nostrils were swarmed with metallic blood and the burningly sterile hospital smell. 

Nothing is happening. You’re safe. You’re okay. Get it the fuck together, and get in the extra dress, you weirdo!

I gasped, hugging my arms as a strong shudder ran up my spine. I tried to fumble for my bag, but my shaking, slippery hands couldn’t grip the straps.

—I’ll give you something to cry over!—

Impact. A pull of my hair. Beep of a pulse monitor. Thin white sheets. The rough asphalt of the school playground. Pouring disgusting beer into my throat. The itch of my wrist cast. Laughter. 

Thoughts and memories and sensations blurred together, and I could actively feel myself losing track of reality. With a last exertion of will, I pushed myself back, plunging deep into our subconscious and visualizing my favorite protective bubble around me; shutting my mind into a steel vault to keep all of the overflowing emotions away from my younger sister just as my grip on reality slipped away.

Chapter Text

Wednesday blinked, curling her hand open and closed in surprise at suddenly being thrust back into their body.

"What happened?"

She tried to ask Friday, but there was nothing but silence. She could barely even feel her weight, tucked away so far in the "back". It wasn't like she'd never been alone before; sometimes one of them would sleep while the other was active. It also wasn't the first time Friday shoved her to the front after experiencing a misfortune. But this felt different.

The light flickered back on, casting a dark silhouette on our new younger brother as his bloody hand slipped, and he dangled off the lamp with just a few fingers. Walking forward calmly, I stepped on the pile of my twitching and laughing family members. and held my arms up just. The baby casually fell into my waiting arms, giggling hideously.

There was a loud clapping from behind, and I turned to see mother, bloodied yet graceful as ever, giving a round of applause. "Congratulations, Wednesday! It looks like the honor of teaching the child to use explosives falls to you."

That sparked another bout of hysterical laughter from Fester, which I quickly put a stop to by stomping on his hand as I walked down. Noisy.

I just wanted a shower. Being covered in blood was refreshing, but only if I was in the mood for it. Friday would rather get rained on, but that just felt cold to me.

The extra dress turned out to actually be useful for once with this issue, but it was still sticking to my skin in many places.

The drive back home was much more chaotic than the drive out, as dad wanted mom to feel the pain of her raw wound jostling about for longer. Thing took the wheel when they started to make out, swerving as he tried to pass by as close to as many pedestrians as possible. It was fun, but somewhat annoying when I was trying to rebraid my hair and get it to stop tickling my face.

Mom named our new younger brother Pugsley. He was an overly excitable little thing, needing to be locked in the reinforced trunk even when he fell asleep. Even now we could feel the occasional bumps when he kicked or rolled over. I wasn't particularly enthused with that energetic inclination, but his durability that Friday so wonderfully tested did seem promising for testing the torture devices in the play room. My sister hated using them on ourselves while she was awake, so it could be a unique opportunity.

But it was hard to focus on anything else when I had an unanswered question right in front of me. 

Friday being the emotional one was nothing new, and she had countless moments of panic or anxiety in the past, but I hadn't seen her fail to calm herself down like this before. Even now, I could feel a strange tension in our muscles if I focused on it, so I didn't think she put herself to sleep.

When we returned to our gloomy abode, I quickly walked up to our stalwart butler before he could leave and do butler things. “Lurch. You saw everything. What happened to my sister?”

Looking down at me, he blinked and groaned, “Kruuhh”

“I know she was overwhelmed. Was there anything different from usual?”

Slowly, elegantly, he placed a hand on his chin. “…Grugh.” 

“Yes, she usually does need a rest after a bout of bad luck, but this is different. She’s not asleep, but I can’t talk to her.” I frowned. If Lurch, the most observant member of the family, didn’t know, then who could?

“Raaghg, ung.” He pointed his long arms toward mom, who was being twirled around by dad up and down the stairs to the door.

“Ah, you’re right. She has that ability. Thank you Lurch.” 

Wasting no time, I ran up and caught mom before she could be swept away to the bedroom by dad and asked straight to the point, "Mother. What happened to Friday?"

She looked at me with a soft gaze. "Oh dear, did she faint again?"

Dad knelt down and grabbed my left hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry Friday, I was so excited and focused on Tish that I didn't pay enough attention to notice the switch."

I shook my head, "She's still awake, but I can't hear her. I don't know if she hears me either.”

Mom's expression shifted to concern, and she placed her hand on my head, closing her eyes. "Let me see if I can find her." 

After a moment of silence, her head threw up, her eyes rolling back on themselves while dad hugged her waist for support. The world fell away, the two of us seemingly becoming the center of the universe as something between us clicked into place.

Then the moment was over, and she looked into my eyes, a hint of pride and concern warring with themselves in her gaze.

"She's surrounded her mind with a protective circle! That's why you can't communicate."

Dad looked at us with a gaze of pure adoration, waving his cigar with a dramatic florish "Like mother, like daughter," He sighed lovingly. "She may have her troubles, but it looks like she's inherited your monstrous talent!"

"But why would she do that?" My brows furrowed, unsatisfied with one half of the mystery solved.

Mom pulled me into a tight hug, and I pressed into it. "I didn't want to break her privacy, but I could feel a lot of anxiety leaking out from her little bubble. My best guess is that she's just overwhelmed and wants alone time, or, judging by the two way nature of the barrier, she wants to keep her feelings to herself until she gets together. Possibly both.”

Dad kissed our head and worked his way at finishing my halfway done right braid.

“It's a sign of talent that she pulled her off, but when she comes back I recommend you warn her against overusing it. She can stand to rely on us a bit more."

I didn't need to look to know he had a complicated gaze. We'd all realized by now that Friday almost never took control when dad was around, and when she did it was only with the family all together. I tried forcing her once after she kept brushing it off, before realizing I couldn't bring her out no matter how hard I tried. By how confused she acted when I questioned her, it was likely subconscious.

"Well, there's not much to do now..." She trailed off, before looking at me with a considering face. "But maybe you could try doing things that usually relaxes Friday while I rest? It might help calm her down even if she isn't all there. I'll get grandmama to cook her favorites tonight."

Things that Friday likes? Hm, yes, that could work. "Okay. Have fun." I walked away as dad swept her up in his arms.

My first thought was to go to Grandmama, who had been furiously mixing potions for newborn health and childbirth recovery ever since the sudden announcement.

"Weednesdayy! Congratulations on winning the bet!" She crooned.

I glanced at the crystal ball held in a human skull stand on the counter and nodded at her.

"Give me a candy."

She just laughed and threw one at me. I quickly popped it into my mouth, then spat it out into my hand. "The caramel, not the real amber ones."

She raised an eyebrow, watching me step up the stool to wash the candy and put it in my pocket. "Friday?" She questioned, fishing out another candy and tossing it onto the counter next to me this time.

I shook my head, "Wednesday. I'm trying to bait her out to demand answers." She cackled, "Oh, kids," before returning to her cauldron to poke a stray eyeball back in as it floated to the surface.

I put the correct candy into my mouth this time, pursing my lips only slightly at the inferior texture. This one had a cricket too, one of her favorite bugs to eat.

Now what? I could try playing one of the games she made up, but it would be a bit strange to do by myself. There's no rain to soak in. I'm not sure if reading the books she'd like would even transmit to her properly... aha!

I wanted to smack myself for not coming up with it sooner, but wasn't this the perfect chance?

Not wasting any time, I walked to a corner and pushed on the wall. Seamless gaps in the wall revealed themselves, and the entire corner swiveled like a revolving door. In the small space between walls, a sturdy noose dangled from the ceiling. Normally I'd stick my neck in it, but I didn't want to spend time untangling if I failed the trick, so I just grabbed the end and pulled tightly.

The noose rapidly pulled my neck upward into the darkness, and just as I felt I'd reached the right elevation, I let go, I swung and let go. The residual momentum landed me perfectly on the second floor platform, invisible in the lightless space. If one held on to the end, they would run into a painful ceiling of nails, I knew from experience.

Then, I swiftly ran out and entered our room, diving for the loose carpet and revealing the trapped floorboards underneath.

…If she complains about me entering her secret room, then I’ll just say I did it to help her, and she can’t get mad!

It was difficult to keep secrets when sharing the same brain, but not impossible. When Friday asked if she could set up a secret hideout in the space under our room, I didn’t think much of it, letting her go there whenever I was unconscious and avoiding it when I was in charge. 

But when I agreed to it, I didn’t realize just how infuriating it was to know a secret was literally hiding under my feet every day. Still, I endured patiently until the right time to strike, when she had no option to complain! Or as a future revenge plot, but luckily it didn’t come to that. Yet.

A smile wormed its way to my lips despite myself as I ran my hand over the inset handle. 

“If you want me to look at your secret room, don’t say anything.”

Silence.

Don’t mind if I do.  I swung the floorboard upward, quickly diving under. Rummaging around, I flipped up the light… and blinked in disappointment.

There wasn’t much to it at all other than a huge collection of blankets, pillows, and drawings covering the walls. 

The drawings themselves were wonderfully macabre, the vast majority featuring a cute voodoo doll girl as she got herself maimed through various misfortunes. 

One of them beheld a massive bird picking her up in the air and snapping at her button eyes, while another had her walking a tightrope in a circus while clowns threw knives at her. On and on they went, a portion of them so bizarre they bordered on comedy. But my attention was drawn to one massive drawing at the far end of the room, drawn on poster paper. 

Unlike all the others, this one beheld a rare bittersweet ending. It displayed the doll girl smiling with relieved eyes as she sprawled out in the ground in the rain, having broken through a flaming door with a fireman’s axe. 

That one’s definitely important somehow. Why did she deviate from the norm, and why is it displayed with such prominence?

Intrigued, I investigated further into every inch of the room, but there was nothing else but paper and art supplies. Not even secrets on the backside of the massive drawing or any of the normal ones.

Disappointed, I found myself flopping down on the pile of cushions and blankets in the center of the room. Blinking in confusion, I tried thrusting away the pillow that somehow made its way to my arms only to freeze at noticing the resistance in my limbs. 

“Friday!”

I quickly called out, but she remained just as unresponsive as before. Wiggling my fingers, I realized my sister hadn’t actually taken control of the body. She was just influencing my actions unconsciously somehow.

Given that and the fact that fabrics are piled up in here, could it be that sister actually really likes soft things? We literally shared a brain, but I’d never realized… After a moment’s debate, I sighed and resigned myself to my uncomfortably squishy fate, closing my eyes.

Chapter Text

Don’t you see what they did to us?

Sights, sounds and smells blurred together. Words and yells blurred into an unintelligible mess. I needed to run. I needed to hide. Pages of a massive tome flipped its pages, the moon shining light on the blood red curses filling every inch of paper.

Leave that last chain of yours behind in the other world and don’t look back. Save yourself. Kill them!

Pain, blood, laughter. Soft fabric curled under my fingers. I hugged the gentle pressure of a cushion in my arms.

Why can’t you see, I’m doing this for you! 

Don’t forget the creakiest spots on the floor, remember to smile more, cling to the most useful people and don’t let go. A light blanket draped over my shoulders, shielding me from the world.

Why won’t you…

At first I dismissed it as another immersive dream in my labyrinth of memories, trying to make myself remember that it wasn’t real. But it was consistent. I kept coming back to the strange softness, often for me to wonder if this was actual reality. Then the sensation of my breath came back. Then my small body.

Then the sight registered, showing familiar drawings and fabrics. Then the background noise of Morticia moaning in the distance faded in, along with the musty papery smell of the room.

Blinking, I curled and uncurled my small fingers. 

“Are you back yet?”

Then a familiar voice whispered in my mind, and everything snapped into place.

“Wednesday?”

“Good. You’re back.”

Groggy and mentally exhausted, I didn’t even bother with mental words and just squeezed the pillow tightly, strongly imagining it as my sister. Transmitting my love and relief to her in a wordless mental hug.

“Ugh, cut it out.” She squirmed mentally, but I could tell she was both parts happy and annoyed at the attention. 

“Cute. Ah-” I tried to cover the slip up, but I realized my error too late. 

“I said get off.” She mentally shoved me away, radiating disgust.

“Fine, fine.” Yawning, I let go of the Wednesday pillow and stretched. Even if our body was still mostly limber, it was relieving mentally.

Then I came face to face with a familiar drawing, and all that relief vanished in a blink.

“…”

“Ah, I forgot to mention. Mom told me to do things you like to wake you up. I know you told me not to come here, but l-”

“Used the opportunity as an excuse to look at my secrets without giving me the right to complain.”

“?” Wednesday’s wordless astonishment was so vivid I could easily imagine her expression.

Actually, this was important, so we might as well talk face to face. Closing my eyes, I retreated into our blank mindscape, the furniture sparse gradually filling it out and making it resemble our room.

Wednesday sat on our bed, staring at our box of spiders and pointedly not looking at me. 

“Sis, I know you, and we share the same brain. You’ve been curious about my secret room for a long time. That was…” I paused, hesitating. 

“What.” She demanded, looking up directly into my eyes. 

The small flash of annoyance was just enough to push past my doubts, “That was why I thought I could trust you, because you were holding back for my sake.”

A wave of tangled emotions rippled out from my sister. Guilt, confusion, and irritation warred within her. “Well, I am an Addams.” She tried reasoning.

I opened my mouth, then fell silent, genuinely unsure how to respond to that. No matter how hard I tried, I could never truly understand how this family thought after all. Still, even so…

“But you’re also my sister.” 

That drew a rare visible wince from Wednesday, and I could literally feel the fight leave her. 

Slowly, I approached. She emitted tension as I got near, but relaxed when I plopped on the bed next to her. She still wouldn’t look at me, but I didn’t want to just lecture her one sidedly; I knew more than anyone that it did little to convince a kid.

“The character you saw is what I think of my other half.”

Her eyes turned toward me in shock. Honestly, I couldn’t see how the neighbor’s kids called her the cold one of us. Even if I could be more expressive and easier to understand, my sister’s feelings were far more rich than mine.

“Because I was born with so much bad luck, I sometimes wondered if someone was orchestrating all these things for their own amusement. Like cursing me from afar with a voodoo doll.” I laughed, then continued, “So, whenever something happens to me, and I manage to overcome it somehow, it makes me feel better to imagine what my voodoo doll went through instead. It makes me feel like I defied fate, like some kind of protagonist from a story.”

Wednesday furrowed her brows thoughtfully at me, pausing for a moment before asking, “I remember some of the events from the drawings now that you mention it. But what happened for you to make the big painting? 

Having anticipated the question, I managed to answer without worry, “We were getting soaked in a sudden freezing rain as a baby when Thing got picked up by a bird, but I managed to get us out it by remembering when dad did the opening password ritual to great uncle Phlem’s tomb. We almost died because I had difficulty forming the words in my mouth, so I remembered it especially well. In the drawing, the doll stayed in the rain and went delirious, imagining that she was cooling off instead of freezing to death.”

In reality, I was planning to burn that drawing as soon as it was completed, but Wednesday saw the unfinished version before I could.

“I see… you really did have your perfect memory since birth.”

You’ve been taking care of me for that long. The unsaid feelings were something like that.

I nodded. “I can’t get complacent with just that though. With all the threats to our well being happening at such a constant rate, there’s bound to be an accident that we can’t do anything about one day. If we just keep reacting, we’ll definitely lose. We need to be proactive.”

A twisted excitement glinted in Wednesday’s eyes, “Dealing with our enemies before they can even begin to threaten us.”

I nodded proudly, “That’s right. And the way I identify the future obstacles is by looking at patterns from past dangers. Drawing Dolly also helps me keep track of that, because no matter how good my memory is, I can’t instantly recall or process the information.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.” Wednesday gave me a considering look.

“That’s right! And! With my studying, I’ve realized three general principles of my luck,” I held up a finger, “For one, the Principle of Opportunity. If something can go wrong, it will go wrong.”

The space around us shifted, and the window next to our bed appeared. When I opened it, countless projectiles, animals, or even rain, poured onto us. Frowning, Wednesday shut the window with a mental nudge.

“With this I realized that when we leave the window open, all sorts of projectiles or creatures can rush in and get us, so I always made sure to close it once ever since we were able to.” 

She raised an eyebrow at me, fish flopping on her head.

“…And maybe I wanted to get you back a little but anyways-,”

I held up a second finger, “The second rule counted more when we were younger, but it will get more important depending on the circumstances; it is the Principle of the Unknown. If I ever entered a room with traps or a lot of potential hazards, it was almost inevitable that I ended up triggering them, so I used your explorative nature to scout out the house beforehand.” 

This time I just raised a hand, showing a mini image of my doll character leaning against a wall and falling through. Her hand got trapped in a foot noose when she flailed, and it pulled her up into a ceiling of spikes that impaled her body.

“That one wasn’t even a trap.” Wednesday snorted, recalling the memory.

“Sh-shut up! It’s the same principle!” I quickly held up a third finger, “Anyways! finally, the most consistent I’ve found; the Principle of Balance. If I’m ever too confident, something bad is very likely to happen to bring me crashing down. But conversely, if I’m panicking, I don’t think straight and it’s easy for me to lose control and have an accident. The best state of mind to have is an even mix; never let myself feel safe, but don’t be too paranoid either.”

This time, I just gestured at myself. Wednesday blinked as the realization clicked into place, “Ah, so that’s why it’s harder for me to read you.”

I smiled and nodded, tentatively allowing my pride to come to the surface in the safety of our minds. “Mhm, I have shifts every here and there, but ny general emotional state remains the same low boil most of the time.” Honestly, I didn’t need to control myself nearly as much as in my previous life since I could hide behind Wednesday, but the habit stuck regardless. Besides, who knows what could happen if I tempt fate? Especially since actual magic has been slapping me in the face every day in my new life. Back then, I just thought they were good principals to stick to even if the universe wasn’t literally against me.

“Obviously, you don’t have to try as hard as me to keep to the principles, but they’re still important and you should keep them in mind. You don’t have bad luck forcing you to adhere to my made up rules, but we do share the same body.” I let the small flare of jealousy flit through my mind like watching a car pass by on the road. I didn’t expect to still feel it even though I prepared these words beforehand, but apparently thinking them out loud hit different.

“I’m only telling you because this incident made me realize that not telling you anything at all will backfire. That’s what happened that one time when I tried convincing you to actively look for secret passages, now that I’m looking back.” I continued.

She tilted her head, “I don’t remember that.”

“Of course no. You were only, what was it, ten months old? I think you wanted to do it because it felt sneaky, so it felt like I was taking that away by making it something you had to do.”

I conjured up the memory, our little baby hand pointing at a room we hadn’t crawled into before. A wave of disgruntlement rippled through our head and we plopped down right on the ground, not moving until Morticia walked by and picked us up.

“Still don’t remember.”

“You can’t keep distracting me from the main issue forever, Wednesday.” I dropped the memory and narrowed my eyes at her.

She rolled her eyes, “What do you want.”

“Hm…Nothing specific for now, but you’ll owe me one. And we’re getting you a secret room too; so if you rummage through mine, I’ll rummage through yours.”

“Fine, but nothing unreasonable.”

In the blink of an eye, she was gone, running to the front as if fleeing from the confrontation.

I waited for a few moments, confirming that she wasn’t coming back. Then I sighed, wrapping myself in a weaker version of the bubble from before and finally relaxing.

I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I’m glad, but at the same time it happened at such an exhausting moment.

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew Wednesday’s curiosity better than anyone. By letting her discover my secret room, I gained a valuable favor and a chance to plant a small seed in her mind.

Assess the most common threats, and prepare countermeasures. From there, it was an easy leap to recognizing that our family members themselves posed the greatest threat to our livelihoods both actively and by accident… But I knew better than anyone how hard it was to acknowledge that your loved ones are the people who hurt you the most. 

Eight years until we reach middle school age. It will be a long, frustrating, and delicate process. There’ll probably be many setbacks, too.

Memories flitted by on the mental road, and I temporarily tuned into our body’s senses to clear up the traffic.  

But Wednesday’s smarter than I ever was; in fact, I’m pretty sure she’s matured faster than any normal baby in history. If anyone can do it, it’s her. In the meantime, all I can do is get everything prepared for the time she realizes the truth. 

Mentally closing my eyes, I prepared to sleep off the last of my mental exhaustion until… Ah, fuck. Now there’s Pugsley to worry about too.

Chapter Text

“Ah, Wednesday!” A gentle hand patted our head, the low trilling voice of Morticia ringing behind us. “How did it go with Friday? Is she still shielding?”

“She’s fine.” My sister replied simply.

My attention peeled away from our dinner, which was for some reason catered to my taste even though it was supposed to be “Wednesday Food Day”. I wondered what happened when I had retreated deep into our mind. How did my sister react? Did she worry about me?

“Ah, so you succeeded in your endeavor! You take care of your sister very well.” Gomez complimented. “Could you tell us what brought her out? Or is it a secret?”

Wednesday smirked with schadenfreude, but I quickly clapped my hand around her mouth. Squinting her eyes, she grabbed the wrist and tried to pull it off, but I remained steadfast.

“Now now, girls. Don’t fight. Friday, you can keep your secrets-”

Wednesday pinched the back of my -our?- hand hard, and I flinched in surprise. Pulling me off with the opportunity, she quickly shouted, “Friday loves soft thiiiinggssss!”

I froze, embarrassment bubbling up in my stomach. Wednesday, however, did not grow up hearing the word mercy. “She squirmed into the blankets unconsciously, and hugged a cushion, and rubbed her face against it.” I tried reaching for her face again, but she just leaned back and held my hand at an angle with no leverage. “I bet she even likes stuffed anim-”

“No you don’t!”

I pinched Wednesday’s hand in retaliation hard, and fought for control of our tongue, cutting off her words. Then, a twisted excitement sparked in her, and she reached to pinch my arm again. I grabbed her hand, but she reacted quickly and bit my wrist.

With a mental heave, I pushed my way to the controls for our head in one fell swoop, “Hey! No biting, that’s cheating!”

She shoved me back, “All is fair in love and war.”

Morticia watched us bicker like we were young and tortured inpatients at an insane asylum- that is, with a loving motherly gaze.

Just as Wednesday was about to reach for the fork, she spoke up, “Now girls, I love fighting at the dinner table, but you two, there’s nothing wrong or embarrassing with liking soft things. Besides, you love your Marie Antoinette don’t you, Wednesday?” She grumbled and turned her eyes away, but nodded.

I easily let it go and went back to eating, controlling the left hand to scoop and letting Wednesday bite since we shared senses anyways. I wasn’t actually that embarrassed about liking that stuff in the first place, though maybe a bit worried that it might be considered “weird” by the Addams’ standards. But it was the principle of the thing! I couldn’t just let Wednesday win so easily.

Morticia continued, “Friday, you should also save some energy. I’m still basking in the agony of childbirth so I can’t teach you myself, but Grandmama would love to educate you further on the occult arts since you’ve already shown your talent for it.”

That made me pause again, the cooked spider impaled by my fork halting in midair and making my sister miss her bite. She glowered at me, and I quickly moved again, settling back into our usual rhythm.

The occult, huh?

I played around with it in my previous life, partially believing that something was going on due to the physical sensations it gave me feeling somewhat real, and sometimes things would align with weird coincidences. But now that magic is very obviously tangible… I could do all kinds of stuff, couldn’t I?

An electric excitement spread through my arm, and my feeding arm grew more lively and animated. It wasn’t enough for Wednesday to scold me, but it was apparently noticeable, as the corner of our mouth twitched and she sent me a ping of bemusement suggesting we speed up our eating.

I didn’t care, shamelessly working together with shared intuition to scarf down the dinner and run to Grandmama, who was reading a large book while a fancy cauldron bubbled away.

“Grandmama, can you teach me magic!” I wasted no time, jumping straight into it. Wednesday mentally poked my side with teasing mirth, but freely stepped back and let me take the wheel.

The old crone burst into her trademark cackling, looking every bit the classical witch-like character. My excitement only grew seeing such a reliable figure, but I quickly stamped it down, eyeing the potion ingredients, tools, and simmering cauldron with a wary eye. Taking a deep breath, I visualized my protective bubble around my person to shield me from all the bad luck. I would not let my enthusiasm get between me and magic!

“Oh? I didn’t notice till I was lookin’ for it, but aren’t you already doing magic well enough on your own?” She looked at me with an appraising eye, waving a hand around the general radius of my bubble.

I blinked in surprise, “Wait, you can feel that?”

“Just about. Shielding is a bit weak as a technique, but anything’s noticable if you know how to look. Heck, it’s noticeable even if you don’t. Even “common folk” do or sense magic unconsciously in their everyday lives. It’s everywhere and affects everyone whether they know it or not.”

“Right, right!” I nodded enthusiastically.

“-And that’s exactly what makes it so damn easy to snatch the cash outta their purses! They don’ know jack shit, so if you sack a curse on sum walkin’ money bag and lift it for a “discount” they get all teary eyed lookin at’cha like you’re the new Jesus Christ!!”

She cackled hysterically, slapping my shoulder with her gnarled hands while looking at me with the universal “isn’t that hilarious?” expression, so I laughed along with her with a twitching eye.

Even the real ones are shady scammers!? Seriously!?

“So, how does magic actually work then?”

“HAHA! That’s what everyone and their grandmas want to know, dear Friday. It’s magic! Some people like to pretend there are rules, and handful of them even work more than half the time, but really everyone just either does what they can do without thinking about it, or we throw shit around and hope it works really hard.”

“...Huh.”

You know, out of all the answers I was expecting, I wasn’t expecting that. Wednesday grumbled from the vague explanation.

“Kuhuhu-hahaHAA! “So what the hell am I supposed to do now then?” is written all over your face! Well tell you what kid; I can show you some crap that seems to work for some people, and we can go from there. I’m warning ya now, witchcraft can be a real drag for dirty greenies like you, so you can give up at any time and go play with the torture devices instead and I won’t blame you, capishe?”

It felt like my excitement had been dumped in a bucket of water. I knew it would take a lot of effort, but I figured if it would be like schoolwork at worst. Working away at something with no real rules, groping in the dark for searching anything that works with consistency…

Isn’t that basically the same as what I was doing in my previous life?

But, even still, I raised my head, determination shining in my eyes. The last spell I had cast back then -the one from that book of shadows I happened to find- was effective beyond my wildest dreams, despite requiring only a rare circumstance of dying without killing yourself, while holding both an unwavering will to live and the capacity for drawing the circle. Now I suspected that the book might not be as mundane as I thought, but even before that, the bubble technique and various charms or occasional spells seemed to help me out a lot throughout my short life.

If I could figure out even a few things that worked for me, especially if they were even more fantastical than the stuff I tried, then it would be well worth it.

“I’ll do my best!” I clenched my fist and shouted.

Before I knew it, my cheeks were trapped by wrinkly fingers and mushed like puddy. “Dawwww look at you!!!”

“Nuu- shtowwwp-!” I whined, tying vainly to pull away

“How could I have gained such a cute little junior apprentice, kehehehe! You’ll be mixing potions of youth to give these old bones immortality in no time~ Oh, I can already just imagine your first demon summoning! Just you wait-”

And on and on she went, leaving me no choice but to listen to her rambling with my cheeks getting stretched into playdough while schadenfreude radiated from Wednesday, who was watching the entire thing with mental popcorn at her side.

Chapter Text

“Stahhhp! I wanna play with the other Wednesday!”

Pugsly waved his stubby arms, slamming the table loud enough to make my ears give up hurt. The cool robot kit I asked for for Christmas flew everywhere, and the rover I’d roped him into building rolled just enough for one wheel to tip over the end. I tried to dive and catch it, but it only ended up falling head over heels on top of our puny back instead, the bumpy pointy robot parts digging into our spine.

I didn’t know if the tears budded up in my eyes were from the stress or the pain, but I blinked them away regardless. Passing cars on a road; just let it pass through. Maintain the bubble. This wasn’t going well, but I couldn’t afford to give up so easily.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try it your way. Go get the Boom Box.” I waved him off, buying time to let the pain die down before we got started.

“Really? Yay!” His expression shifted in an instant, and he bounded off to the closet.

I giggled despite the situation. Pugsley didn’t seem to mature as quickly as Wednesday, acting more like a normal one year old than she ever did, but he grew in other ways. Mainly, the kid was a huge fucking nerd.

Explosives, machines, constructing anything and everything dangerous seemed to light a spark in the little mad scientist. Blowing himself up was his most enjoyable pastime, though maybe tied with blowing up other things. Wednesday had to make good on her right to teach the kid how to use his first grenade on his first birthday before he figured out how to do it himself.

Wednesday was skeptical of being acquainted with such an energetic kid, but they quickly took a liking to each other through the shared love of torturing each other. I tried to endure it while giving gentle nudges toward other options, or retreating deep into our mind at the bad parts… but I just couldn’t take it anymore! I was tired of feeling nauseous every time I heard the word “playtime,” and worse, I could tell that as time went on, both of my siblings were starting to view me as an obstacle toward playtime with each other. Something needed to change, and fast. 

“So you’re really not switching?” Wednesday asked. 

Usually I would give up whenever my luck started getting the better of me, but not today. “I told you I wouldn’t. Getting along with Pugsley is more important, and I’d been getting too complacent lately anyways. I should have been able to predict the robot falling over.”

Wednesday raised a mental eyebrow, “But you’re not getting along at all.”

I laughed again at the painful callout, “Which is why I have to try even harder. I can’t just give up on our younger brother.”

I picked up the robot and placed it on the thick metal table again, looking for anything broken. I didn’t have Pugsey’s natural talent, but I did have my memory. Holding an instructions book in my head for all the various pieces was easy enough.

Unfortunately, however…

* Bang! *

A large metal box slammed onto the table, charred completely black with indented letters with the label, Boom Box . The item was Pugsley’s favorite of all his Christmas and birthday gifts. And I had no idea how to use the crap inside it.

“I don’t know how to use these, so I can only be your assistant. Is that okay?”

“Sure! I’ll show you the ropes! First, let’s build a grenade canon on top of the rover!” He excitedly flipped the numbers in the combination lock, unlatched the top, and threw it open.

“Wouldn’t that block the solar panels? If we’re making this thing to kill martians then we need to make it self sufficient to run on its own.” I ad-libbed, gradually shifting back into the Playtime Mindset that I have to use to bridge the gap in understanding between me and my siblings.

“You’re right! So we should build it in front, and give it extra wheels to offset the balance!” He rocked back and forth.

“That would create more friction and use more energy. Couldn’t we just make the wheels bigger and build the canon below?” I asked.

He burst into laughter, “Have you ever seen a tank that has a gun below itself? No way, that’s silly!”

I leaned onto the table, exaggeratedly resting my chin on my fist like the Thinker, visualizing various placements.

“It still feels weird imagining it sticking out in front with its own pair of wheels. How about battleship style, canons on the sides?”

“The canons are too big and strong, they’ll knock the whole thing over.”

“Then what if… we make it so that both canons always fire on both sides, offsetting the recoil!” I smiled, finally coming up with a suitably Pugsley-themed idea.

“Yesssss!!! Let’s do that let’s do that let’s do that!!” The child jumped up on the table, practically vibrating with excitement.

The next hours were long, dirty, and dangerous. I couldn’t count the number of times a tool slipped and nearly hit me, only dodged due to my constant awareness. I think my bubble of protection and the bracelet on our left wrist helped me toward the beginning, but it didn’t last forever. It had been two years and a month since I had ever fronted for this long, if my photographic memory also included perfect time measurement; back then there was a huge party with the extended family, and Wednesday did not want to deal with that.

Everything was going well until the first test run. My personal idea of a test run was one where there would be a test dummy set up, and we’d wait at a distance behind a barricade until Pugsley gave the signal, and we’d fire at the target. Then we’d take notes, unpower the robot and carefully walk back to collect it for modification.

Pugley’s idea of a test run was a little bit different from mine.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

“Wha-!?”

There was a loud bang , and I jumped away from the gun I’d been inspecting. It wasn’t enough, and the projectile cracked against my chest and bounced up into the air. The other grenade bounced against the wall, ricocheting across the room at rapid speeds before knocking against my leg—

A roar of sound, two bursts of shockwaves, and a world of flames consumed me. I couldn’t even scream, the excruciating pain engulfing my body and mind so entirely that I couldn’t tell where “I” began and the pain ended.

The immediate pain faded quickly, like a bandaid quickly ripped off, but my entire being felt like a raw exposed nerve, aching and stinging. My skin felt like a crispy fried chicken, and my bones were still buzzing with the shock.

Laughter was the first non-pain sense to register in my mind. Childish laughter with a hint of mischief.

I somehow opened my eyes, one of them having a close up view of the floor and the other watching Pugsley as he doubled over, pointing and laughing at me.

— Holy shit, she ate it

— Did she kill her dad before he could teach her to tie her shoe laces?

— Pff! Oh my god, you can’t just say that!

I breathed in, and out, acknowledging the memories and letting them go. Then I realized I could, in fact, breathe. It did hurt, but only at the level of a dry or sore throat. 

I suppose that seals the deal, I at least have the same durability as Wednesday. If not, we’d be dead.

Slowly, painfully, I placed a hand under me and pushed upward to sit upright. Fuck, it hurts. I wanted nothing more than to go sleep in bed, take a hot bath, or just burst into tears right here and now. I consider myself to have a high pain tolerance, but I hated pain just as much as anyone else. I wasn’t a weirdo like the Addams. Even just a badly scraped knee made me want to sit down and give up on doing anything for the day.

But even if every movement felt raw and painful as skin brushed against my clothes, I still stood up and laughed.

“Ha! That was a good one. What- cough - do you think went wrong?” My voice was small and strained, but he didn’t mind, immediately launching into a list of improvements they could do to make the robot capable of handling explosives with reactive plating to explode on impact as well as grenades, and switching between the two at a press of a button.

I smiled and nodded along, curling up into a ball on the table with my head on my knees.

“…Friday. You’re not having fun. Stop.”

“What are you talking about? I make you do things you don’t like too. It’s fine, having fun with Pugsley is more important.”

“You’re on the verge of passing out.”

“Ah you can feel that? Sorry hold on a sec”

I quickly wrapped my mind around another bubble, reminding me of a performance I’ve seen where someone made a small bubble bounce around within a huge one. Hehee, boing boing, soapy soapy

I could feel Wednesday trying to pull me back and take control, but I dug in my mental heels.

Pugsley and I got to work after I wiped the soot from my fingers and face. I couldn’t move very much for a while, but it got better as I went on. The pain faded away too as I paid close attention to the boy’s excited ramblings. 

I didn’t have a real passion in mechanics, but I had a fun quirk of being able to find nearly anything interesting if I put my mind to it. It was pretty fascinating learning things that would put me on an FBI watchlist after all. And plus, the knowledge could come in handy in more situations than I could count, so it was basically giving more tools to tackle future problems.

After a while I noticed that I wasn’t just imagining the pain going away. It literally disappeared while I was distracted. I had wondered if that was a physical Adam quirk or a mental one I wouldn’t inherit, but it seems I got lucky. 

I let my mental bubble pop as the sensation eased down, then flinched in surprise at the spike of annoyance and concern radiating from my little sister. 

“Do whatever you want. But if you dare cut me off again, I’ll cut you.”

“R-right, sorry about that.”

I smiled sheepishly while I put out the fires from leaked chemicals with the nearby fire extinguisher for the third time. At this point, the white foam was covering more surface area than black soot. 

I turned to Pugley, “Hey, if we’re almost finished, what do you think about testing the range and destructive capabilities in the shooting range instead?”

“Nah, that’s boring. FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

Flinching back, I shoved the rover away from me-

Shock. Heat. Pain.

As I bounced against the wall of the lab and collapsed in a heap like a puppet with its strings cut, I couldn’t help but let out a groaning, self deprecating laugh when I saw pieces of the rover we’d painstakingly built embedded into our body.

Pugsley, meanwhile, looked out at the mess with a face that was more at peace than I’d ever seen him with, casually picking loose screws out from his charred skin. “That… was so beautiful . I’m sorry for calling you the worse Wednesday. Together, let’s make awesome bad-as explosions every day from now on, new henchman!”

I tilted my creaking head up off the floor to force my muscles into a beaming smile. “Yeah. Me too. Now let’s get some more parts. We should rebuild the rover a little sturdier this time.” 

Chapter Text

I thought Lurch would be a horrible driver when I first drove with him. His reaction times couldn’t exactly be described as quick, and sometimes it wasn’t even obvious he had anything going on up there at all. However, just like he was inhumanely quick to be at the Addam’s neck and call, he was also inhumanely precise driver.

Always exactly one car’s length behind the one in front of him, moving at even spaces between the paint lines, coming to a stop at the exact right distance for stop signs and red lights, always using the signal. 

It just so happened that whenever he had more than a car’s worth of distance between him and anything else, he hit the jet engine button, thrusting the car forward with an explosive lurch forward at rapid speeds and slamming the brakes immediately once something blocked him. Being driven by him felt like a roller coaster turned neck snapper, fun and painful in equal measure.

When we pulled up on the school, a not so small number of people stopped to stare as the gothically decorated, rocket-powered car came to a screeching halt on the curb side. 

“Grahhhh…”

“Thank you, Lurch!” I said before Wednesday hopped out of the seat.

The two of us were in opposite moods, to say the least. Wednesday wanted nothing more than to run away or burn the brightly colored building to the ground, overwhelmed by the noisy snot-nosed kids swarming around us. I, on the other hand, felt like a starving man addicted to fast food about to get his fix of mcdonalds; it was shit, but it was familiar shit with plenty of calories.

I had seen plenty of normal people before, don’t get me wrong. But with the exception of maybe the neighbors, I didn’t have any lasting relationship with any of them. The most interaction I’ve had with a normie since my second life was the time I’d tried secretly calling various types of inspectors over to the house in an attempt to subtly build up evidence for an abuse or neglect case. But none of them ever went through, whether it was that we actually did have all the permits, forged or not, or the inspector turned out to be some scheming asshole that got his comeuppance, or the inspector was an Addams themselves or a relative. Sometimes all at once!

That said, I was extremely ready to have a normal boring interaction with people who wouldn’t endanger me and my sister with bodily harm at the drop of a hat in the name of “fun”. 

Well, there will be bullies, but at least they’re more straightforward to deal with.

“Hey, you, you’re the one with the cool car, right? Do those rocket jets really work?” a girl with brunette hair and a yellow dress bounced up to us with a glimmer in her eyes.

“Of course they do.” Wednesday replied, confused.

“No way, she’s just acting cool. If cars could really do that, my dad woulda bought one a long time ago.” A snobbish boy with combed blond hair crossed his arms at us.

“Well, it kind of hurts your neck, so he probably wouldn’t want it even if he could get it. You could only properly use the jets on a long drive in the countryside.” I quickly chimed in before Wednesday could insult the boy’s entire family lineage.

He “hmm’d” with a considering look before shrugging. “Yeah, and at that point you might as well use a private plane. The names’ Harold Pomfrey, you?”

He reached out a hand, and I shook it, inwardly cringing from the casual display of wealth. “Wednesday Addams.”

“Why are you pretending to be me?”

“Oh! Sorry. I kinda just thought that was how we were going to do things and didn’t think to ask you. We can talk about it later.”

The brunette girl, who was suddenly sticking close to my side like a close friend, spoke up while I was distracted. “I’m Wendy. And yeah, but a rocket car is wayyyy cooler though. You see planes every day, but I haven't seen one rocket car until now!” 

I just defused the situation damnit, why must you do this to me!?

Sure enough, the boy’s frown returned, and his chin tilted up, “That’s not true. A plane can fly and flip around in the air!”

“Both of you have good points. I need to find my class though, so I’ll see you later.” I quickly interrupted and ran away, leaving the kids behind.

Scanning the room numbers, I followed them down the corridor and up the stairs to room 333. 

“Really? Only half evil?” Wednesday whined.

I laughed out loud at the fitting description, then startled at realizing I was still in control. 

“Ah right, who do we want to be our public face? You’re usually in control, so I just assumed  it would be you.”

“What public face? You can do all the school stuff, since you seem to actually want to be here.”

“Even with my luck?”

“You can deal with it.”

Smiling wryly at the words that were starting to become a catchphrase, I stopped standing in the middle of the doorway and walked toward the bathroom for a longer talk. “We need to choose one of us to be either our public identity. From there, the second one of us can pretend to be the other in public, or we can just pretend our switches are mood swings and refrain from acting like we’re two people.”

“That sounds like a pain. Just say you’re Friday and I’m Wednesday.” she rolled her eyes mentally.

I paused, having not expected the resistance. Furrowing my brow, I carefully chose my words, “People’s reactions to us having two personalities in one body are annoying. I don’t want to deal with it, and I figured you didn’t either, so it made sense to just pretend to be you since you’re fronting most of the time anyways.” I crossed my fingers, hoping to get through to her. 

“Who cares. You’re my sister, I’m not hiding you. You matter more than all of those weirdos combined.”

My breath hitched suddenly, and I placed a hand on my mouth. I… didn’t expect that to hit so hard. My arguments fell away, melting under the sudden warmth dancing in my chest. If it was anxiety or pain, I could have let it pass through me as usual and continued what I was doing, but I didn’t know how to handle this fuzzy feeling.

“...Yeah. You’re right. You matter more than anyone in the world to me too. We’ll go with your idea.”

The bullying and ostracization was inevitable at this point, but… somehow I couldn’t bring myself to care anymore. Besides; anyone who thinks they can cross an Addams is due for a very rude awakening.

“Good. Now come on, we’ll be late” With a proud mental pat on the head that made me duck our real head in embarrassment, she pushed me onward. 

Looking under the door, no one was standing in front of my stall to bump into, so I pushed it open and left. I also washed our hands in case anyone saw and used it as an excuse to call us gross.

When we walked out, we saw a line in front of the classroom door and a bushy bob of hair that shook behind her whenever she turned her head, tied back with a white ribbon.

“Has anyone here seen someone named Wednesday? Or, um Friday? I think there might have been a misprint-”

“We’re here!” I called out, walking up to her.

Her eyes brightened as she saw me, “Ah, there you are! Now when you said we, does that mean your sister is here somewhere?” She scanned the line, as if recounting.

“Here.” Wednesday answered, in a decidedly more monotone voice.

“Um, what?” She looked down at us, confused.

“We’re twins with a unique medical condition, mom and dad said we were the bestest unique twins in the world!” I beamed, showing off our natural cuteness.

“He never said that.” Wednesday butted in, returning to a normal posture while mentally staring at me as if I’d grown an extra head. Though, she might actually be excited in that case, being an Addams.

“Yeah he did! He said we were the best daughters ever!” I hmphed, crossing my arms exaggeratedly.

“I’m playing it up to show off our differences, since we’re committing anyway. It’ll make it less easy for people to doubt us annoyingly.”

“Just act normally, I’m nothing like you.”

“First impressions are important.”

The kids were already whispering at the sight of our little performance while the teacher fretted, probably trying to figure out whether she should tell us off for playing a prank or if it was a legitimate medical condition she could get in trouble for doubting.

“R-right. Um, well get in line in alphabetical order then, please. Class is about to start.”

Thank goodness. The medical excuse and our strange wording in the attendance list must have given enough credibility to at least make her avoid taking a side for now. It’s not perfect, but if she decided to scold us, she might have kept it up for who knows how long out of a sense of commitment to her decision.

But now, we had another issue. Our feet paused in front of the line, eyeing two different spots.  W for Wednesday, or F for Friday? Our gaze landed on two kids, coincidentally the ones we’d met walking through the entrance. If we chose W, we’d stand next to Wendy, And if we chose F, we’d stand next to that smug kid Harold.

Wendy, obviously.

But as we made our first step, a whiny voice rang out, “Hang on, you’re lying! You said your name was Wednesday when we met, and now you’re going toward the end of the line!”

The blonde boy pointed at us, frowning. Goddamnit.

“That was Wednesday. Now, I’m Friday.” I lied, exaggeratedly slumping my shoulders and looking at him like an idiot.

“You can’t just be two people in one body!”

“Sure can! It runs in the family, like my aunts Flora and Fauna Amor, they’re Sayameze twins with two heads, and they’re really cool! They maintain preserved land and zoos with all sorts of awesome animals around the world, passed down for generations!” I argued, brightening up as if I was talking about a loved mentor figure even though I’d only seen them once at a funeral.

But it gave extra credit to our medical claim, for the teacher at least, and this boy put a lot of emphasis on family judging by the crest on his tiny suit, the introduction of his last name, and the wealth bracket of the school in general. He shouldn’t insult family so easily, if I’m reading him right.

“Wow, sister. I’ve never seen this side of you.” Wednesday remarked with awe, intuiting my train of thought from its subtle impressions. I sent a ping of embarrassment and pride in response. 

Actually, I’ve been doing this ever since I was reborn with her, but there’s no need for her to know that.

“Whatever. If you say you’re Friday now, get over here then. There’s no “G” in our class.”

Barely holding in a wince, I glanced back at Wendy, who was looking at us with disappointment. If it were my old life, I would have accepted to get on a potential enemy’s good side, but…

I put on a sheepish look and leaned in to whisper at him. “To be honest, Wednesday is pretty nervous and irritating going to school. I’d be okay, but I don’t want her to miss out on the chance to make friends before everyone settles into their own groups. Maybe we can change spots every other day?”

“I am not nervous.” Wednesday snapped, returning to her expressionless face, but I just grinned eagerly at the expected response. Fervent denial is taken for a confession after all, especially in the eyes of kids.

Sure enough, the boy laughed and waved me away, “Go right ahead then. Take care of your sister.”

Smiling, I waved and walked over to Wendy, who had been watching us with wide eyes the entire time.

“You’re saying, you’re really two people in there!?” she grabbed our shoulders, squinting into our eyes as if she could somehow spot our duo of souls swirling around in there.

“Get away.” Wednesday immediately shoved her face back, glaring, but that only seemed to  make her more excited.

Ms Fritz, watching all of this as she waited for the last student, looked like she couldn’t quite decide if she was having a fever dream or not.

Chapter Text

“Can you read each other's minds?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t understand my sister as well as she understood me, but she said I was capable of doing better if I trained it. I didn’t care whether or not I could interpret her every train of thought though.

“Can you control different body parts at the same time?”

“Yes.”

Friday took control of our left arm and formed an ‘ok’ sign while I poked at the trembling gruel in our lunch box. Wendy “ ooh’d” and poked the arm, knowing my sister wouldn’t take offense to it like I would. I had half a mind to bite her again anyways.

“Do you always feel everything the other person feels?”

“No.” Not necessarily always, but most of the time, yes.

“Do you sleep at the same time? Can one of you sleepwalk in the others’ body?”

“No-”

“-Actually, I did manage it a few times as a kid, but it felt really exhausting and weird. I’m not sure if I can replicate it easily” My sister interrupted me mentally.

“Can’t you just answer her in my stead if you know so much then?” I asked, my mental voice lined with exhaustion.

“I was only half lying to get away from that Harold kid. You need friends just as much as I do, and I think I’m better at being friendly so you have to make the most of the first days when everyone’s getting to know each other.”

“Annoying.”

She wasn’t wrong. After Wednesday bit Wendy for being too touchy-feely, pulled the heads off the barbies during playtime, and attempted to make the book more interesting when it was her turn to read out loud, most of the kids had started to keep a distance from her. Some even called us a “crazy head” behind our back, the individuals of whom I marked for later revenge. Being the bite victim herself, Wendy strangely had no such aversions, refraining from clinging to her physically anymore but still sticking to her side like glue regardless.

“...Wednesday?”

“What.” I looked up from my food, irritated.

“You just stopped answering all of a sudden.” 

“I was talking with my sister.” I rolled my eyes and stabbed firmly into the center of the gruel, piercing the wriggling mass straight through and bringing it to my mouth to crunch on its viscera.

“…You’re so cool!!!”

I winced at the high pitched squeal, and nearly fell over as I was tackled into a hug by the hyperactive child.

“Why is the only one who approaches me someone like this…!?” I whined, pushing her away with my hands since my mouth was full and unable to bite.

“Because only people as persistent as her would approach you in the first place,” Friday laughed, and my frown deepened at the irritating logic.

“It’s not my fault the school is full of freaky weirdos. You’re the strange one for tolerating them!” I tried to retort, but for some reason, it only doubled my sister’s amusement and added some kind of extra spice to her usual nebulous whirlpool of emotions.

“Yeah, most people would snap pretty quick if they had to be surrounded by kooks every day huh?”

“Well I’m glad you understand, then.” I drawled, mentally squinting at her as I noticed an odd tone to her words. But alas, I was too distracted by the wild animal assaulting me to truly dissect it. 

Grabbing the girl’s wrist, I twisted it and tipped her off the bench, where the girl belly flopped with an “oof.”

 Of course, she popped right back up again like a persistent weed, “Sorry about that, I got too excited again. But what was that food? Was it alive? My brother ate a worm once-”

The shrill ring of the bell thankfully saved me from her hideously bright smile, and the rest of the day was basic math, followed by another book and finally nap time, where we were wrangled to sleep until our guardians arrived to pick us up.

I didn’t even care about the girl laying down next to me, closing my eyes to regain as much of my drained energy as I could. Somewhere in the middle of my dreams, I woke up in the car being jostled by Lurch’s impeccable driving. The lull of the screeching brakes and honking horns had me rocked to sleep again quickly though, leaning into Friday’s mental hug with no energy to even be embarrassed about it. 

By the time I awoke fully, I was tucked in my bed, Marie Antoinette in my arms. A part of me wanted to just hold up in my room and hope to sleep permanently, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. I was to be going to school regularly now, and as such, I needed the help of the most social and energetic person I know to help me “get along” with everyone like Friday suggests.

Rising up with a straight back, I unfolded my arms and threw the covers off of me. Standing up on the bed, I reached up to a noose above my head and pulled hard. The great symbol bash that Friday hated so much echoed through the entire house, sending a tremble up through my feet.

“Uuuu?” A guttural groan sounded from behind and a shadow loomed over me. I quickly looked over my back to see the man’s tall handsome visage standing right there, as punctual as ever.

“Lurch. I need your help urgently.”

“Aaagh.”

“Yes, it’s about school. You’re an introvert like me; how do you deal with everyone without making them hate you?” Honestly, I didn’t care much, but Friday seemed to think it was important.

Lurch slowly raised an eyebrow, looking into the distance with a thoughtful gaze.

“Guurrh.”

“Really? You’re nervous too? You always look so confident.” I tilted my head.

“Rahgg.”

“Fake it until you make it? I’m not sure if I can do it. It’s so hard to pretend I like any of them when they’re so…strange,” I said, slightly despondent.

Friday chimed in, “Lurch isn’t wrong. If you pretend hard enough, you can even convince yourself of your own lies to an extent. I think it’s worth a try.”

“Grahhhgh.” With a freak of his joints, he pointed at my face, then turned his wrist to point toward himself.

“Practice on you, really? Thank you, Lurch.” He had always been the most reliable of the family. Combined with his quiet complexion, I often found myself going to him whenever I had a problem or just needed a break from the world.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to my torture dollhouse and handed him Marie Antoinette. “This isn’t Marie anymore- it’s a Barbie. And this isn’t a normal dollhouse; the rack is a spa , the saw blade room is a haircut , and the fingernail puller is a nail salon for manicures. Got that?” I listed off the rooms I remembered from the “dream house” in class.

He gave a shallow nod, and slowly lowered himself down, folding his long gangly limbs in an elegant sitting position that made me feel silly for making him play with dolls. Still, he was going out of his way, so I had to honor his commitment. I picked one of my victim dolls to use.

“Hello, Viscera- ah, um, Vanessa. Would you like to… paint our nails?” My nose scrunched, and I quickly added under my breath, “with blood.”

Lurch pretended not to notice, nodding and tip-tapping Marie over toward the nail pulled. “Gurgh?”

“What color? Uh, we only have red, so…” I moved my doll’s hand, pretending to paint it over Marie’s hand.

“Now, how is your date with…Kevin?…Let’s go walk in the park and, picnic, and, sunbathe…? Ugh, I can’t do this.” I dropped the doll and tipped over backwards, flopping onto my back.

“Yeah, it’s pretty boring.”

“If by that you mean agonizing .” I corrected.

She just laughed and continued, “I think you’re going about it wrong anyway. The trick isn’t to try and force yourself to do exactly what they do. You have to find a way to play in the middle ground.”

“A middle ground…” I muttered out loud.

What could be a middle ground where me and those weirdos could get along? And why should I try anyways? They’re the ones who are crazy.

“It’s important to learn how to deal with people who are different from you. Especially if they’re people you don’t like.” Friday explained softly.

“But why?” I complained reasonably and thoughtfully.

“You can’t avoid them forever. Sometimes, you simply have no choice but to interact cordially with people you truly hate, so you might as well prepare now on easy mode.”

“If it gets to that point, I’d rather just kill them.”

“Well…maybe. But you aren’t always able to.” Friday’s voice lowered, sounding hesitant.

Still, I nodded. I knew I couldn’t solve my problems with a single method. Diplomacy could be a valuable skill, if only to lower the enemy's guard.

“Okay, let me try and find a middle ground instead. Lurch, how would you enjoy a dart match?”

“Gurghk.”

“Really? Then-“

“Some adults might like it, but they wouldn’t allow kids to do it.” Friday jumped in.

“…” Lurch slowly lowered his head, embarrassed.

“…Friday, you already know how to do all this stuff, don’t you.” I asked, clenching my fists.

“Of course. This is about helping you, not me.” She replied aloud, confused.

“So, you just watched while I fumbled about with all those freaks with no idea what to do. Even though you could have taken care of it easily.” I glowered.

“…Well, I-” That was all she could make out before I chomped down hard on our left hand.

“Ow!?!!” She tried to retreat into our mind, but I held her in place, wrestling that left arm to the floor so it couldn’t escape.

As we tumbled, our backs bumped the dollhouse, and we crushed one of my victim dolls. Seeing the destroyed figure, I hissed in fury and was about to dislocate a finger before Lurch grabbed us by the wrists and dangled us up off the ground.

“Hey, what are you doing? Put us down!” I swung back and forth, trying to kick him.

“Nn.”

But the butler just groaned and carried us along, walking through the door and up the stairs. I had a sinking feeling as we moved closer to our parents’ bedroom. 

“Ha-ha, ha-ha- ha ! You’re in troubleee!” Pugsley wandered by and came to the same conclusion seeing us dangling as if our wrists were chained to the ceiling. 

I glowered at him, gritting my teeth. “Just you wait!”

But I could do nothing now. Even as we passed him, he leaned well away from my kicking range.

“This is all your fault.” I accused my sister.

Friday was oddly quiet, though I could feel her nebula of emotions growing tenser than usual. 

Moans and grunts could be heard through the door, but Lurch wasted no time in headbutting it with a loud slam, due to the lack of hands.

The sounds stopped, and a moment later, the door opened and a head peaked out of the gap. “Ah, Lurch, my man. I’m in the middle of copulating with my sweet moonlight, do you need any?”

Dad’s gaze landed on the sight of us, dangling from our wrists.

“Ah, did something happen with the twins?” He frowned.

“Gur. Keraggh.” Lurch nodded.

“A spat, you say? Give us one moment then, Thankyou for bringing this to our attention, Lurch!”

The door closed, and a moment later, fully opened to show mom and dad standing side by side, well dressed in clean full clothing.

“You can drop them now, old pal. We’ll have a proper talk, parent to child.” He smiled, puffing a cigar.

Lurch dropped us, and I sulked as I walked into the familiar brown, black, and crimson bedroom scattered with various types of restraints and chains. I thought they’d just been having sex on the huge king bed a moment before, the sheets were completely clean. Mother and father sat side by side on the end of it, the former expressionless while the latter looked at me curiously.

This is so not fair.

Chapter Text

“Gergag. Kurr ruhh.”

I let out a puff of smoke, holding my wife with my other arm while pondering the situation as Lurch described it. It seemed Wednesday didn’t have a good first day of school, and Friday could have helped, but didn’t, leaving her feeling betrayed. 

Normally in these situations, his mother would separate him and fester to interrogate both sides separately. But that was impossible in this situation. This was also Wednesday and Friday’s first real fight, more emotionally charged than any of their little petty squabbles in the past. 

Ah, well. When exploring uncharted waters, there’s no choice but to lead with your gut, just as old man Belly Bloat used to say!

I glanced at Tish’s beautiful eyes as dark as the abyss, communicating soul to soul and asking for permission to take the lead. When she nodded gracefully, I had the urge to “take the lead” in an entirely different way, but I barely managed to resist, only kissing her cheek three times before letting go of her supple body and kneeling down in front of our beautiful daughters.

“Wednesday, it sounds like you’ve had a really rough first day.”

She crossed her arms, still looking at the ground. “I was fine.”

“Now, Wednesday. There’s no shame I’m not fitting in perfectly. The Addams traditionally have their own long history of clashing with the rest of society. Just look at uncle Fester and I. We had to have our graduation in detention!”

“Oh? What did you do to the teacher?” Moricia asked, amusement and curiosity lacing her voice.

“Nothing, and we had solid alabis to prove it so we were let out of the cells by the next day.” I explained with a wry smile.

My beautiful wife looked at me with that wicked, predatory gaze that sent shivers down my spine, and I had to exercise my iron will to not sweep her off her feet.

“…So, I don’t need to get along with them?” Wednesday tentatively spoke, relaxing a tad.

“You should never force yourself to be who you’re not. If people can’t see the good in you, that’s on them.” I said decisively, tilting her face up so she could see the serious look in her eyes.

I could see the tension leave her shoulders at my words, and a small smirk tugged on the corner of her lips. And then, they frowned again.

“…But, you have to get along with others somehow… I should have helped more, but, I don’t think, I was… wrong… in principle.” This time, her voice was quiet, and hesitant.

“Don’t pretend. I felt you enjoy watching me suffer!” Her voice switched again, and her face returned to Wednesday’s near expressionlessness.

“It wasn’t- it wasn’t like that!” She protested desperately, switching again.

Ah, it wouldn’t be that easy of course. 

“Girls, stop. Friday?” I asked, and she nodded stiffly. My heart raced at being so face to face with the daughter I rarely talked so closely with, but I tried not to show it, choosing my words more carefully than before.

“You wanted to help your sister, didn’t you? You wanted her to have friends, and not be alone.” Another stiff nod, though she seemed a bit confused.

“That’s wonderful, and it shows you care about her a lot, even if you enjoyed watching her struggle a bit. My brother was the same when he was showing me ho to pick up girls”

“He had great talent, but it served to make him a terrible teacher,” Tish chimed in, lightening the mood.

Friday smiled at the joke for a brief moment, and my heart sank deeper than the murkiest swamp on our land at the sight, suffusing me with an unimaginable joy at the simple sight. As expected of Tish's daughter, the girl had me wrapped around her pinky finger.

“Yes, it’s very nice that you want her to have friends. But.” She froze, the smile fading. It pained me, but I couldn’t leave this unaddressed either, so I just caressed her cheek with my thumb and continued, “You shouldn’t force her to be with people who don’t like her true character either. If anyone were to be friends with Wednesday, it should be someone who likes her for who she is, and not a facade. The same goes for you, too.”

“Well, yes, but…” She hesitated, glancing back and forth between my face and the floor. “But, what if you’re forced to, one day…?” The words came out quietly, and I almost had to lean in to hear them.

“Well, that’s simple, my dear little Friday.” I smiled slyly, “If you can’t avoid your enemies, nor force them into submission, the only choice is to defeat them completely. And, if need be, to do so in a way such that they never get back up again.” I imparted onto our young cub the Addams Family Wisdom passed down for generations, fighting spirit and Addams pride lining my every word.

Her expression twisted, and her mouth opened again, remaining that way for a long time, words forming soundlessly on her lips. I took another breath of my cigar, trying to give her time to speak, but just as I did, she stopped and lowered her head so I couldn’t see her face. 

“…Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry-” “No, you’re not. You just want to be let off nicely.” Friday tried to apologize, but Wednesday cut her off mercilessly. 

The girl snapped her head up, covering her mouth with eyes wide in shock. “…I, no. That’s not…!”

“Friday, it’s okay. Breathe. We’re not mad at you.” Tish was kneeling at her side in an instant, holding her close while I softly pulled her hands off her mouth.

The girl closed her eyes for a moment, breathing silently. Moments later, she reopened them with a renewed gaze of calm. “Yeah, sorry. I do think you’re right, but I also think what I said has merit.” She explained, trying to hide the quiver in her voice as she tried to backpedal.

Relieved but cautious at her calmer state, I gently questioned, “Friday, by your own words, does this mean you’re making friends with people who don’t like you?”

She froze again for a brief moment, before shaking her head no, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to-” “That’s also a lie.” Wednesday interrupted again, but more concernedly than accusatory.

“Friday buddied up to an annoying blonde boy even though she clearly thinks he’s insufferable.” She held up one finger on her right hand.

“I just didn’t want trouble-“

“And she does the same exact thing whenever we play with the neighbors, pretending she’s different from us,” A second finger.

“I do not do that!” Friday protested angrily, a flash of fear in her eyes. 

Tish and I exchanged glances, unsure whether to stop Wednesday or not. This was clearly pushing Friday too far, but at the same time, we had no idea about this tendency of our daughter ran so deep.

“And she doesn’t even like playing with Pu-”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumbass!!!” Friday exploded, screeching in an expression of pure outrage that caught all of us off guard.

“Friday-” Tish tried to tighten her hold, 

“Take a deep-” I tried to de-escalate.

“I’m just telling the-” Wednesday tried to talk, but her sister moved quickly, grabbing and biting deeply into her right wrist, hard enough to draw blood.

“Friday, please, calm yourself!” I panickedly shouted, pulling the wrist away from her mouth. She froze stiff.

With shocked eyes, she looked at my face, at the bloodied wrist I was holding, and back to me again.

“…Ah” 

Her hand trembled in my grasp.

“I’m, s-sorry.” She whispered.

Her legs gave out, going limp in our arms as Morticia and I supported her. 

““Friday!?””

But the one who answered wasn’t Friday, but little Wednesday, glowering with a hint of concern. “Ugh, she ran away again.”

“She’s hidden herself in her bubble, like when we got back from the hospital?” Tish clarified, and my heart aching at one of our most important talks in a long while going wrong like this.

“Then, what did you do last time to get her out of that state?” Tish grabbed her hands, and rubbed the backs of them with her thumbs and gazed worriedly at the bite mark. 

Wednesday looked conflicted, but eventually spoke, “Soft and squishy things. Lots of them.”

“Then we ought to seek out the softest and most huggable items in this house for our Friday!” I declared valiantly, but Wednesday shook her head. “She already has a lot of them gathered in her secret room. But it’s a secret. I’ll go there, don’t follow us.”

“I see. Yes, you best do that then.” Tish answered before I could, putting a hand on my shoulder to silence my protests.

She turned around and Lurch opened the door for her as she walked out of the bedroom. He then followed her out, closing the door behind himself.

“…Drat.” I grabbed my love’s hand, my other arm holding her waist for comfort.

“Language, dear.” She chided me, leaning into my embrace and patting my cheek.

“Sorry, Tish. I really thought I could handle it. What did I say wrong?” I frowned wistfully at the door.

She gracefully turned my chin towards her, igniting a fire in my chest. “It was both of our faults. And you said nothing wrong, it was only our failure to notice our child’s struggles that made her suffer so much.” 

Unconsciously, I took that hand and kissed the back of it. Then her wrist, then up her supple arm, to that beautiful shoulder-

“Dear, Gomez. Now’s not the time.” She chided me, but didn’t pull away as I kissed her cheek.

“You’re right, Tish. I’ve dismissed Friday’s attitude as a personality quirk before, but it’s clear that I’ve been neglecting her issues. I’m a failure of a father,” I bemoaned.

“Gomez, you know that’s not true. No parent can be perfect. Just be glad we’ve caught whatever this is early on before she grew up.” She reasoned, pulling me up to sit on the bed.

I sighed, lamenting as I pulled the lovely woman close to my chest, “You’re too kind, Tish. But we both know she doesn’t like being around me. There has to be something I’m not seeing.” I wondered.

“Whatever it is, we’re not getting it out of her until we can get her to stop hiding so much,” Tish speculated.

“That may not be so far away as we think. I’d never seen Friday snap like that before, and while I don’t like seeing her so outraged, it’s also true that that might have been the most honest I had ever seen her act in front of us.” I couldn’t tell whether to be glad for the honesty or disappointed in myself for not noticing how much she’d been holding back either.

Tish hummed in thought, “Maybe Friday feels like she’s been living in Wednesday’s shadow this whole time, not able to come out freely due to her strange curse?”

I nodded, a look of realization brightening my face, “Why, you’re exactly right! It’s so obvious looking at it now, that must have made little Friday feel like she was secondary to Wednesday, eventually blooming unnoticed into this attitude of treating herself and her own needs as secondary to others! As expected of your brilliant feminine intuition!”

I leaned down, smattering the woman’s neck with kisses. She laughed, leaning her chin up and squirming under the ticklish pecks, “Oh, Gomez, tu charmant~”

A hand snaked it’s way to my tie, teasing it loose with her slim dexterous fingers in a way that brought out beastly urges from deep within.

“We can’t put too much pressure on her. All we can do is pay extra attention to her from now on and bolster her confidence.” I quickly concluded, burning through my last ounces of restraint.

“For now, however, my attention is solely for you, Cara mia~”

My hand made its way to the back of her dress, with a deep animalistic growl, she pounced.

Chapter Text

Old heavy pages flutter in the wind.

Soft fabric tickled my nose, and I adjusted to push my cheek against it instead. 

Bloodstains and entrails weave into complex sigils, and ominous chants reverberated through my skull. Putrid flesh pierced my nostrils as someone laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

My head tilted upwards, so I pushed a smaller pillow under my head.

Fluff, fluff, mmm cushy.

“...Are you feeling better?”

I blinked, my mind finally warming up enough to remember the last hour or so. Shame rushed in like a bucket of cold water, and I quickly sat up, looking at the faint line around our right wrist. I gently rubbed it with my thumb, feeling like a soggy piece of trash that smelled like shit and stuck to people’s shoes.

“I bit you.” I stated.

“You did.” she confirmed.

Those two simple words sent a lance of pain straight through my chest, and I gripped it through our shirt.

“...Why do you feel so bad? We bite or pinch each other all the time.” 

“It’s different. You felt it too, didn’t you? This time, I actually wanted to hurt you.” I scowled, disgusted at myself.

“I’ve done that plenty of times too though, including just a couple of hours ago.” She countered, still confused.

Yeah, well people wanting to hurt me isn’t exactly new. I barely blocked the intrusive thought from being “voiced” out loud, instead responding, “But I don’t want to hurt you. I love you.”

“Sigh, you’re being all sappy again.” Our slender arms wrapped around a pillow and squeezed it tight, surprising me.

Warmth surrounded my mind with a mental hug, and my breath hitched.

“I love you too, idiot.” She chewed on the words like bitter -or maybe sweet?- medicine, but they were as genuine as mine.

Even though she was just stating the obvious, my eyes still teared up involuntarily, and I vainly tried to hide them in the pillow. We just stayed there for a moment, basking in the silence until the elephant in the room insistently prodded us with its big fat trunk.

“...Sister, you think too little of yourself.” Wednesday stated.

“I set aside parts of my desires every now and then to function in life, just like anyone else. You’re the same when letting me eat things I like every now and then, or waiting for me to retreat into our mind when playing a game I don’t like.” 

“It’s more than that and you know it.” 

I tried to skirt around it, but Wednesday was having none of that. Biting my lip, I partially shielded my mind while wracking my thoughts, trying to find some way out of this. Just then, my eyes landed on the pictures on the walls, reminding me of the room we were in.

“Then… how about I use up that favor from before?” I muttered out loud.

“Really? I was starting to think it was the one thing your memory forgot.” She said shamelessly, but she didn't feel disappointed either.

“You’d like that.” I laughed, “But yeah. For my favor, I want you to help me get Pugsly to play along with my ideas more, like you said.”

She was surprised, “You don’t want to use it to make me act friendly with the kids at school?” 

“Of course, I’d love for you to try that, but I don’t think I should push you one sidedly anymore. Let’s work together to get along with them, as a team!… If you want to.” I shrugged casually, while letting my subtle anticipation and hope line my words.

“…Fine. Don’t leave me hanging as shark bait if you don’t want me to dangle your hand over mom’s piranha tank.” She grumbled.

“It’s still technically our hand, but sure,” I responded, amused, and stood up from the blankets to open the trapdoor.

Crawling out, I stretched and yawned, pausing as our stomach let out a loud growl. Glancing sheepishly out the window, I saw the sun hanging low in the sky.

“Ah, darn, it’s dinner time.” Memories of tense meals flitted behind my eyes and pressed down on my shoulders. Quiet clinking of utensils, no eye contact, a silent ticking bomb ringing in my ears each second. The worst times were when there was no explosion at all, just unending tension as I slinked away and shut myself in my room.

Ugh. Cars on a road, don’t fight it…

Maybe because of my episode earlier, or because of the fact that I’d yelled at them just a few hours ago, but the memories were harder to let go of than usual. 

Wordlessly, I wrapped myself in a partial shield and let my sister take over so she could walk down instead. 

Grandmama told me to try out different visualizations to see if they stuck, which I hadn’t realized I had already done with the “plated steel” image earlier. This was the most useful one I came up with recently; the sphere around my mind being more of a fisher net filtering out certain thoughts or emotions rather than sealing me off completely. It was best used for my dastardly schemes to secure a safe and happy life for me and my sister, but it was also helpful for keeping my dumb emotions away from her like this.

Wednesday boldly walked down stairs and plopped herself up on her usual spot next to Pugsley. Well, she wasn’t the one who passed out in the middle of a lecture, so it made sense.

The atmosphere was… not as bad as I’d thought. There was a trace of awkwardness, a little skirting around the topic, but it didn’t feel like Gomez or Morticia were going to either explode or subtly jab at me every chance they get. Rather, it seemed they just wanted to finish eating first. 

The meal was catered to both of our tastes too, interestingly. Over time, my sister and I noticed that if one of us had a bad day, the food would be catered to them regardless of whose food day it was. But probably since we’d both had a bad day, there were portions for both of us.

Wracking my brain, I figured the fact that they were making the food I like meant either they were trying to make me feel guilty, softening me up for a big blow, or using it as a temptation to say that I was shameless for choosing my food over my sisters’. Or I wasn’t in trouble, but I found that very unlikely.

Just in case, I asked Wednesday to eat hers first, to which she shrugged and went back to chasing the bugs in her box. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t seem intent on that either, “Wednesday, you should eat your sister’s food too.” Morticia commented.

Wednesday rolled her eyes “Friday said to eat mine first.”

Uh oh. Those seemed to be the wrong words, as a strange glance seemed to pass between the woman and her husband.

“Well, that’s actually something we wanted to talk about…” Gomez began. “Could we speak to Friday, please?”

Well, fuck. Here it goes.

Wednesday shamelessly kicked me to the wolves, and I froze for a moment. Deciding this would likely take long, I reached our hand up to undo our headache-inducing braids and let our hair loose.

Pugsley snickered, glancing at me with schadenfreude. His expression overlapped with countless foster kids and students in my mind, and I glanced away.

“We’re sorry, Friday.”

“Huh?” I let out a stupid sound, looking up at Gomez.

Pugsley slumped in disappointment, and uncle Fester audibly groaned and threw his bowl of deadly rosary peas behind him. Where did he even get that?

“Your mother and I noticed you were more withdrawn from Wednesday, but we didn’t realize how much you’d felt pushed aside for her sake.” He said, eyes filled with heartbreak and regret.

I strengthened my shield, letting hints of disbelief through but keeping my genuine suspicion to myself.

“I just stay in the back because of my luck,” I chose a carefully neutral response.

Morticia chimed in, “That’s exactly what we mean. We all thought you were lucky to be born with such an exciting curse, but we never considered what it would be like to actually deal with the effects everyday.”

Fester nodded sagely “It’s fun to live with a pack of wolves for a year or two, but when the novelty wears off you get bored of monotonous routine.”

But I didn’t even register his words, my mind repeating the previous sentence over and over. “It was good luck… to have a bad luck curse…?” I muttered.

Pugsley, sitting nearby, heard me and looked at me like an idiot, “Well duh. I couldn’t have so many different catastrophic failures in my robots if I tried!”

“I thought you liked it since you didn’t ask me to ward it off.” Grandmama chimed in from all the way in the kitchen.

Rage. Pure rage not the likes of which I’ve felt since my first life.

Clenching my fist, I reached to slam the mental shutters down on my mental bubble. But before I did, I realized that half of that rage was actually coming from Wednesday…?

“She clearly didn’t like it. She always asks me to do things for her because she’s scared of being in our own body. Even when we have her favorite food, I’m the one who eats it.” My sister spoke sharply.

Morticia looked thoughtful at the revelation, while Gomez winced, seeming ashamed of himself.

“She doesn’t always switch herself, like the time she fell face first into a pile of pollen in front of me! So she probably liked it at least a little bit.” Fester chimed in cheerfully.

“That’s only whenever I don’t want to deal with the situation either, so she stays in the body for me.” Wednesday rolled her eyes.

“So, the only times she took full control of the body were when neither of you wanted to be in control.” Morticia concluded with a look of painful realization.

“Or if I needed to like now, or when I wanted to play with Pugsley,” I added, shooting a small smile to our younger brother.

“Even then, she doesn’t- ack!” I bit our tongue before Wednesday could tell Pugsley I didn’t like playing with him. 

“I’m grateful, but there was a more tactful way to do that part.” I explained, apologizing mentally.

“-doesn’t like getting hurt.” I finished my sister’s sentence, emulating her voice.

“Well, that settles it. We need to make up for this great lapse in our judgement post-haste!” I flinched as Gomez suddenly stood up on the table, a raised fist in the air.

Calming our rapid heartbeat, I asked, “What do you mean?”

“What we mean,” Morticia picked up her kitchen knife with a flourish, and I tensed, “Is that next week, every day is a Friday!”  and tossed it at the calendar on the wall, where it slid in with a dull thud on the Friday of next week. The six days before that had “Friday” written all over them.

Ah, so it’s the love bombing stage then. I suppose I could use this. 

Chapter Text

It was… more difficult than I thought to come up with things I wanted to do, even just on a surface level. 

“Another three pointer!” 

“Ugh, she’s crazy!”

“We should just team against her at this point.”

“Just stop them from passing the ball to her.”

“But then the rest of them just swarm the hoop”

I ignored the commotion, wracking my brain. My focus would have to be on Pugsley, I’d already decided, but the question is how to not make him too frustrated. I have to slowly get him accustomed to nonviolent activities, I can’t just ban him from it outright or he’ll throw a fit.

Kids are impressionable, I know first hand. If I just convince him that these various activities are cool and a bit rebellious or edgy, he’ll just lean into them harder even if Morticia and Gomez try to pull him away. I just need to also play into what he actually likes. Like Wednesday here.

“Scramble like flies, helpless mortals! Bask in the knowledge of your helplessness in the face of the inevitable hoop god!” Wednesday pontificated expressionlessly.

“We’re sorry, hoop god!”

“Spare us, spare us!”

“The hoop god knows no mercy, for to hoop is in the nature of her being as a natural disaster upon the mortal realm!”

Her cruelty is an issue, but shifting it into basic competitiveness just makes her a normal, if overly dramatic, child. There was some resistance at first, but framing is key, after all. Asserting superiority over the foolish masses using her carefully trained coordination vai martial arts, fencing, and other physical sports, was much more fun than hanging out playing ball with the kids.

The bell rang, and we all filed back into the classroom. Since it was a Friday School Day, like we’d agreed on, I took control and moved to Harold, shooting Wendy an apologetic look. 

He opened his stupid mouth, “I’m glad your sister’s gotten a hold of herself.”

You fucking idiot.

“I’m- Wednesday’s just learned to play with her food properly.” I cut off Wednesday’s words and smiled, pretending to make a joke to Harold and conveying my sincerity to Wednesday at the same time.

Harold laughed, and Wednesday simmered with rage, only barely placated by my reframing.

“She can hear everything I do, by the way. Please be careful.” I laughed awkwardly, and he made an “oops” expression and zipped his lips.

“He better be, because if he crosses a line, I’ll personally help you deface that oh so precious precious family crest of his.” I placated inwardly.

“I still don’t know why we put up with him.” My sister seethed.

The actual learning part of class passed by monotonously, and I used the downtime reciting multiplication to brainstorm more.

Pugsley likes getting hurt, and working with machines. I’d tried to get him to do regular robotics with me before, but it was too boring. What’s something that can curb his masochism and play to his love for mechanics? 

Ah! Maybe I can get him to make those overly challenging video games like battletoads! But, I need to look around to find out which new games are the most frustrating. Then I have to buy them…

My eyes drifted to the rich kid who wouldn’t leave me alone. He was looking at his iPhone “discreetly” in the corner when everyone else got up to play. Scheming carefully, I rubbed the charm bracelet on our left wrist for extra luck. 

The recent scare with Gomez and Morticia was a good reminder. I had known I’d been getting complacent recently for awhile, grown too used to hiding behind Wednesday to avoid my luck, but I hadn’t truly felt the urgency until now. With two little siblings to look after, I needed to get my head back on the game.

Digging into our pockets, I took out an ordinary coin and flipped it repeatedly. Tails, tails, tails, tails, tails… come on…. heads! 

“Okay, that's all the bad luck out of the way. Friday, I’d like to cash in that favor now” I voiced mentally. While I didn’t want to rely on her, I also wouldn’t throw out a first aid kit just because it was too reliable.

“Hm? What is it” She perked up from her dormant, “tuned out” state and focused her attention on me.

“I would like to take over our body so I can make use of your luck for a scheme of mine. I’ll think what to say and do, and you do your best to do that for me.” I explained.

“Hm, I can vaguely feel what you’re planning. Sure.” Without fanfare, I took a mental step back, and Wednesday moved forward to take my place.

Leaning to the side, Wednesday opened our mouth and said, in her best impression of my voice, “Hey Harold, my brother likes a good challenge or games that make him rage. What kind of video games do you think he’d like?”

He quickly perked up, though he looked confused, “Why would he like games that make him angry?”

“Because he loves a good challenge. He gets hurt all the time because he always plays dangerous hobbies.” She explained, following my intentions.

He shrugged and went back to his phone, “Well if he’s that bad, you might want to get that Dark Souls game that my brother never lets me play. If he likes dying over and over, that is.”

Our smile dropped when he looked away, and falling silent as I contemplated my next words.

“…That sounds annoying,” I directed her to ask, leadingly.

“Oh, you have no idea, he’s such an asshole” he mouthed the last word, laughing.

She leaned in, trying to follow our muscle memory to form my mischievous grin the way I wanted it, “Really?”

And that was all it took. Faced with a friendly listener, he went on and on about how his brother always lorded over him, taking up all the attention from their father as the future head of the family, maintaining a Perfect Son act all the time that ground on his nerves. After egging him on with a few “that sounds rough”s or “No way”s, we finally pulled him onto the topic I wanted.

“You should get him back some time; it’s not like your dad does anything. Your brother puts you through all that and he doesn’t even let you play the video games you want? Jeez.”

“Yeah…” He paused. “Actually, didn’t you say you wanted games for your brother?”

“Yeah. We’d need a console and screen too though because my family is full of old money, but not sure if I can afford one with just my allowance.” She slumped our shoulders on my cue.

“I can just lend you one of our old screens, and I have my own credit card for the console.” He perked up with a smug grin, and I inwardly threw my hands up in the air before catching myself.

Don’t feel too safe, calm down, me. “Wow, really!? But, wouldn’t your dad see if you buy something on the credit card?” I instructed her to ask, carefully.

He blinked. “Ah, yeah, I’ll just lend you my console too since I use the computer mostly anyways.”

“That’d be awesome! We’ll convince mom and dad to buy our own after they see how much we like it.”  

Finally, we shook hands with a sneaky smile, and went back to our own things.

“…Friday. How did you know that would work?” Wednesday finally burst out, looking at me with a mental gaze of awe. She didn’t like newer technology, finding it dull and gross, but the great feat of manipulation alone was impressive.

“I made him think it was his idea.” I replied simply, feeling a not so small amount of pride. There was more to it, but most of it was instinctual and hard to explain. “This is also part of the reason I didn’t want to make an immediate enemy out of Harold. Part of it was because it would be annoying to have him narrating us, but it’s also a lot easier to make use of people if you don’t go around burning bridges left and right.”

“We can use our enemies, instead of getting rid of them right away…” Wednesday repeated.

“Exactly. Besides, getting rid of your enemies doesn’t always solve the problem. Sometimes, when you remove them, a slew of new ones will pop right up out of your blind spot and catch you off guard…”

“Like pests.” Wednesday concluded.

I nodded sagely and walked over to the other side of the room to play dolls with the girls, who were wary, but relaxed once they realized I played nicer than my sister.

“You weren’t so bad yourself either, I have to say. I doubt anyone except our family would be able to realize you weren’t me.”

“Well, I happen to have a lot of first hand source material.” She replied dryly, but I could feel that she appreciated the compliment.

From that point on until we were picked up from school, I felt the way Friday looked at me had shifted, just a tad.

Chapter Text

Banging a gong, I danced around in a circle around a pit of crackling golden flame, shaking my wrists and feet with rattling beads. Fester howled to the moon, and the family wolf pack answered the call in the distance. Thick herbal scents filled my nostrils as grandmama kept spraying me with some kinds of potions. 

As a bird poop dropped on my shoulder for the third time, I’d had enough, slumping down for the ground and throwing off the stuffy crown of flowers on my head.

“Grandma…ma… I don’t think this… is working.” 

“Bored…” Wednesday complained at our already short time after school being taken up with rituals that didn’t even work, and even facilitated a small localized earthquake in one case. It didn’t help that it was a Monday, of all days.

“Oh come on, not even this? What kinda nasty curse did you get settled with!? If my curses could only be half this effective…” she trailed off, lowering her hand carrying the smoking potion bottle, already almost spent after an hour of dancing.

“Isn’t there anything else…?” I kept my voice carefully neutral, but the woman seemed to sense my disappointment anyways.

“Sorry, kid, those were all the rituals and potions I could think of. The shoddy charms on your wrist and your basic shielding seem to work just fine though, so there must be some things that do you good. Let’s see here if I’ve got some good stuff in the stash…”

She plopped on the ground beside me and pulled her moss bag over to us, seemingly anticipating this. “Fester! Quit your yappin, it didn’t work!” She yelled.

“What didn’t work?” He paused, tilting his head in confusion.

Grandmama just rolled her eyes and waved him off, and he went back to howling at the moon. Both of us were too tired to bother going through the song and dance, having used the entire first day of Friday Week trying to find a way to, if only temporarily, block my curse so I could roam freely for the entirety of it.

“Alright, how’s this for ya?” She pulled out a bracelet of carved white translucent beads.

“A transparent white, fine grained imperial jade bracelet dating back about 2000 years ago to a nameless emperor only known for his fiercely loyal consort. It was given to her to shield her from all evils and misfortunes, even eternally in death… but as I say, eternity only lasts until your grave traps wear out!” 

Cackling madly, she shoved it onto my left wrist-

Crack-!

The beads burst apart, one of them smacking Grandmama in the teeth and dislodging her dentures until she fixed them with a frustrated “hmph!”

“So you wanna be like that, eh? Well, two can play at that game!”

I stared, mildly horrified at the broken beads scattered in the dirt. “Um, how much was that worth-?” 

She pulled my head forward and I flinched, but she just hung a necklace on my head. Looking down, an intricately carved hand with an eye in the center dangled at my chest.

“A hamsa hand, the only one in the set of spiritual symbols crafted by an ancient monk using a branch from one of the descendents of the original Bodhi Tree before it was burned-” 

Steam wafted off of it. Consumed, she turned it to the backside, and hissed when it burned her fingers. I quickly threw the necklace off of my and stamped the small fire out, but there was already a black circle around the back. 

“Must have been a stray ember from the fire when you closed your eyes.” Wednesday observed.

“Dangnabnit! I was saving that for a sacrifice!”

Furiously, she shoved the remains back in her bag and wrinkled her nose when she saw the next item inside. “This one is a one-of-a-kind piece was carved out from the True Cross that hung-”

“Um! I don’t think it’s working, it’s fine!” I quickly place my hands over hers.

Please don’t blacklist me from all spiritual beliefs around the globe when I’ve already cheated death with black magic thank you very much!!! I joked mentally, trying not to think about how much shit I was in for for breaking all of Grandmama’s things and embarrassing her.

Grandmama sighed, “You’re right, it’s just wasteful at this point.” She shuffled closer to me and I braced myself as she… Pulled me in for a hug? “I’m sorry, Friday. It’s just frustrating that somehow your dingy techniques from those normie gurus worked and my magic didn’t do jack shit. What kind of witch am I if I can’t even help my own grandchild, eh?”

I froze at her words, wrapped in the soft, though somewhat bony, embrace. Despite the ambient crackle of the fire, the chirping of crickets, and the wolf howls in the distance… This moment felt somehow quiet.

…

An uncomfortable feeling churned in my stomach. Something dangerous. Admittedly I’d never seen her get mad for something like this before, but there must be some kind of twist, or the shoe just hasn’t dropped yet.

“Maybe, you, couldn’t do it for me… but… I don’t think, you’re a bad…” My mouth opened on its own, murmuring the words so quiet I could barely hear my own voice, then trailing off with the sentence as my sudden impulsiveness died a swift and decisive death.

“What’s the other half of the sentence? You trailed off.” Grandmama whispered, and I just remembered her hearing’s the best in the family.

“Um! Nothing!” I quickly backtracked. “I was wondering by the way, what do you think is happening with me exactly? You should have some ideas.” I slipped away from the hug.

She looked at me with pondering eyes, muttering some things under her breath. “Well, it looks like it’s something fundamental in you that cannot be blocked in most circumstances. It just bulldozes over anything that tries.”

Her eyes glanced at my bracelet, “But maybe your magic is just so shoddy the curse doesn’t consider it an obstacle, so it just flows around it.”

That… made sense, actually. Looking back at the books in my head, my bubble technique was never meant for anything so tangible as a literal bad luck curse. Or maybe it wasn’t even a curse at all; maybe I was just born like this for some god forsaken reason.

While I was thinking, Wednesday shoved me out of the driver's seat and asked, “You said before that Friday had a shield around her. How do I do that?”

Grandmama smirked, “Ahh, so you have an interest in dark arts too, do you? Well shielding is about as basic as basic goes. Imagine a force field around you as you go about your day. Could be anything; stone, fire, a layer of poisonous fog. You could even hug it tight to your skin. If ya think about it real hard and push your energy into it, it’ll protect ya from different things depending on how you visualize it.”

“I just think of it as a bubble most of the time.” I added my two scents.

Wednesday tilted her head, in thought, then closed her eyes, “Like this?”

For a moment, I didn’t feel anything. Then, the air around us thickened, warm static crackling against our skin with an unseen, as a startlingly vivid image of bloodstained, white hot steel spikes thrust out of our body in our minds’ eye, a heavy medieval armor dropping onto our shoulders and sealing us up like a reverse Iron Maiden.

“Oh, Lucifer! Wednesday, you-”

—CRACK!

I heaved us backward on instinct, and a heavy stone sword fell from the tombstone we sat under, embedding itself in the ground right below us.

“…It appears Grandmama’s theory was correct.” Wednesday observed, casually dropping the mental armor and stepping back to let me take over again.

“As usual.” The old crone shrugged with a smug smile strikingly resembling the expression that Wednesday tended to give me in the confines of our mind.

“So, I can’t do anything?” I asked, not hiding my disappointment.

“When we don’t even know why you’re like this in the first place? Probably not. Though I’d say it’s just your personal Addams’ quirk.” She shrugged.

That caught my attention, “What Addams’ quirk?” I asked.

Grandmama looked at me as if I had asked what breathing is. “Your talent; your own special little trick to show off at family gatherings,” She explained.

“I thought our trick was having a single body together, like Flora and Fauna.” Wednesday asked.

The old witch laughed and patted our head, “That’s what I thought too, but now I have a feeling you two are a little more special than that.”

“Wait, but why does all of our family have “talents”? Is it genetic?” I quickly brought us back on topic

“I dunno.” She answered very helpfully.

I let out a groan, and she laughed, continuing to pet our hair. “The rest of em’ say Wednesday’s the curious one. But after watching you absorb that dusty pile of books I never got around to, I have a feeling you’ve got the knowledge bug just as much as her, kehehehe!”

I blushed somewhat awkwardly. The praise reminded me of my previous life; I didn’t actually fully process most of the books I’d read, I just memorized the pages for later. It felt weird to be praised for something I was born with, even if I didn’t work nearly as hard as other kids.

It might be time to start scouring those old magic tomes in my mind more seriously, though. I didn’t know how to solve my problem, but I did have a lead. If I could figure out the secret behind the Addams family’s “talents”, I’d be one step closer to getting rid of my own.

Chapter Text

The package was supposed to be hidden in our front yard on Tuesday while we were at school, to give Harold an alibi. Apparently he had a rivalry with the older brother too. 

That morning, I had told Pugsley I wanted to play something secret before leaving for school to build up his anticipation. It seemed to work, judging by his loud whining that I had to quickly shush before anyone heard him.

The day was a Wednesday School Day, but we were quickly realizing it was futile to make such a large distinction, so it mostly meant we hung out with Wendy instead of Harold. She had run out of most of the questions she wanted to ask, but she still clung to us as much as ever. 

She was also a bit strange in the head; I’m not exactly arrogant, but I’d think that most normal people would prefer to hang out with me over my sister, right? Sometimes I even see her get actually scared, and a space out a bit before snapping back to it. Something about my antisocial sister seemed to pull her in like a north and south magnet.

I couldn’t focus on their antics, though, too busy running scenarios and preparing lines in my head with a partial shield filtering the thoughts from Wednesday. I even had to stop myself from fiddling with our charm bracelet every five seconds.

If Pugsley runs to tattle on us…

If Pugsley gets bored…

If Pugsley plays too much and makes Morticia and Gomez suspicious…

Worries and plans swirled through my head like a whirlwind at school, leaving me with only just enough mental capacity to stop Wednesday from running over other kids with the tricycles. But as we finally drove back home, all those buzzing thoughts faded away to the coolheaded anticipation I always felt in high stakes situations.

There was no room for hesitation. Operation Plug-in Pugsley to Videogames was a go!

When the car slammed to a halt in the house driveway, I had a small moment of panic at the package that had been dropped haphazardly at the other end of the self-opening and closing gate that often startled visitors. Apparently, the cousin that went behind their family’s back was a coward. Shocking.

Thinking fast, I made a fib to Lurch.

“Oh, it’s for me. It’s an embarrassing gift from my friend, but I don’t want to return it. Can you just bring it up to my room without mom and dad seeing it?” 

I honestly wasn’t sure how smart or dumb the living corpse was, but either way, I’d somehow managed to convince him, and he stepped into the shade of a tree and disappeared with my contraband like a professional smuggler. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. 

My sister took control for me, and we quickly ran up the stairs to Pugsley’s room. Sadly, my luck wasn’t totally nullified with my sister; Kitty, our pet goddamn lion, of course decided that it was a good time to walk down the stairs at the exact same time, its massive muscle-packed body blocking our way. I was too anxious to wait for the apex predator, so I just pulled myself up to the railing, told Wednesday to feed it one of our pieces of backup jerky, and let it pass by us before dropping down to run up again.

Pugsley’s door was across the hall from mine, with a door with a large Railroad Crossing sign Fester had stolen from nearby and caution tape wrapped around it. Maybe he would enjoy a demolition derby? Thoughts for another time. We quickly pounded on the door.

We cleared our throat, and put on the sneaky excited voice the other kids had when they snuck a Gameboy  into school, “Pugsley, Pugsley! I skeeved something cool off my dumb classmate!” 

“Coming, Wednesday!” 

I groaned, “Damnit. He saw through it.” 

“I told you he would.” Wednesday shrugged mentally.

Quickly weighing the pros and cons, I decided to take back the drivers’ seat. It wouldn’t have the full impact I wanted if it wasn’t me. I had been wanting to stop relying on my sister anyways.

Stamping, quick steps sounded beyond the door before it opened inward, the chubby boy hanging off the door handle with his feet dangling in the air. I tilted my head. “You used to think I was just a moody Wednesday, but now you can tell us apart so easily.” I commented, reaching up to untie our hair braids.

He crossed his arms, “Yeah, well you would have knocked way differently, so you’re just too obvious! And that wasn’t my fault, you barely ever showed up back then!”

That made me pause. I hadn’t even noticed, but that’s right; I had been taking control a lot more recently. Whatever, not the time.

“Anyways! I got something, but you can’t tell mom and dad, okay?” I whispered.

Pugsley’s eyes gleamed, and he quickly nodded. We ran over to my room and locked the door behind us. I’d had to get Lurch to bring the box up to my room, but I just called it a gift from a friend.

The boxes were covered with a blanket for my last minute attempt at showmanship, but it was still just laying there in the middle of the room. I sat next to it and motioned for my brother to sit next to me. 

“For the next week, we have unlimited access to modern technology that mom and dad never let us get our hands on…” I trailed off mischevously, grabbing the blanket. Pugsley ate it all up, practically vibrating in his seat.

“Improved rapidly after World War Two, playing a crucial role in disseminating war propaganda to thousands of millions of people…”

He rocked back and forth rapidly, a manic grin akin to uncle Fester’s breaking out on his face.

“Voilá!” I swiped the blanket off the boxes, unveiling the boxes for a PlayStation three and a large television.

Our brother visibly slumped, so I quickly moved onto my next selling point, leaning in,

“And I got something a little extra, too? Remember how the neighbor miss Karen complained about video games making kids more violent?” Pugsley nodded reluctantly. “Well, I got that kid to get me the grittiest, bloodiest one out there! It’s called Dark Souls!” 

That caught his attention, and I showed him the game case. Seeing his expression shift to one of surprise and interest at the gritty cover art, I quickly reeled him in like an expert fisherman.

“You play as a cursed undead who escapes from an Undead Asylum, exploring and killing your way through a dying era.” I explained with all the dark enthusiasm I could muster, mimicking our family members as best I could.

And that sold it. Using the excuse that my room didn’t have enough plugs, we quickly moved the boxes and set up the tech in Pugsley’s room and slotted in the disc.

“Ah, I forgot to mention, but this is one of the hardest games out there, but you haven’t even played one before. You’re probably gonna die over and over again. Do you think you can handle it?” I probed him as he fiddled with the controller, getting used to maneuvering it.

And just as I thought, a fire lit in his eyes. As Wednesday’s younger brother, he seemed to inherit her competitiveness just as much. 

We took turns, swapping controllers each time we died and making fun of each others’ deaths. I wasn’t actually in much a better situation than him, having only gotten a gameboy from one of my foster parents as a welcome present that got stolen eventually, and played a GameCube a handful of times in a separate family’s house until the other kids kicked me off of it.

As with all things technology though, the boy had a natural intuition that had him quickly catching up. 

“Why did you roll into the attack!?”

“Well I didn't see you doing any better!” 

“You’re already good at video games!”

“And I haven’t even played this one and I could get him to half health with my eyes closed! That just means you’re a baby!” I smugly declared.

Suddenly a fat hand took up my vision. “Heyheyhey, that’s cheating!”

“You said you could beat em half dead with your eyes closed!? Well he’s half health now!”

“You little brat!” I laughed

“Language!”

I died, of course. But that was just the beginning. Despite neither of us being able to beat the first boss regularly, we made increasingly absurd dares to one up each other. “You couldn’t even last 20 seconds without rolls,” “You couldn’t take a quarter of his health without getting hit” or even “We won’t land ten hits with one hand on the controller for each of us.”

By the time an hour had gone by, neither of us had even gotten him down to the last tenth of his health, but we were both laughing and insulting each other with smiles on our faces. And for a moment, I startled, touching my face and realizing I was wearing a pure, joyful grin for the first time in years.

As I looked at Pugsley while he struggled to play with only half the screen visible, an old longing rose to the surface. It was partly fulfilled by Wednesday, but maybe because it only appeared now that I was with someone physically here that I could see and touch… 

Before I gave up, this was the type of relationship I’d always hoped for with my foster siblings, with every new home I was sent to. 

“Hm? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I mentally shook the feeling off and continued, not willing to ruin the atmosphere. Besides, as it stood now, it was only temporary. I needed to thoroughly ingrain in Pugsley’s head that there was more to fun than torturing each other.

When he whined and almost threw a tantrum at having to put the game down for dinner, I knew I’d made considerable progress. Pugsly scarfed down his food in one sitting at the table and immediately ran back upstairs to play in his room, which was especially impressive as the food tried its best to crawl out of his mouth.

Gomez and Morticia were puzzled at his eagerness, and I tried hard not to bask in the small victory, eating at a normal pace to not give anything away. Most of my bad luck manifested itself in the game while I was playing it, leading to a lot of laughs from my brother, but I still couldn’t let my guard down. Besides, I couldn’t be complacent just because one thing was going well. 

Tentatively, I chewed on my thankfully dead mealworms and called out to Wednesday.

“What did you think of the game?”

“It’s okay. It looks pretty, but I’d rather do things in real life.” She stated decisively.

I winced a bit, but I’d been expecting it considering she zoned out for most of our playtime. 

“Well, you know, I hear you could kill all the NPCs—”

“Friday. I’m glad you’re having fun with our brother. But that won’t work on me.”

For a moment, it felt like my breath stopped working, but I let out a slow exhale to calm myself down.

“Fine, fine.” I answered casually and went back to eating.

A part of me wanted to ask what exactly she thought wouldn’t “work” on her, but if I kept fishing, it might delve into the classic “how did you know?” “You just told me.” Scenario. 

But even as I strengthened my mental bubble, I couldn’t help but worry. Did she know I was using this kind of technique on her at school? If not, then what did she know? But if she does know, why does she go along with it anyways? Is my scheme actually working, or is she just playing with me? 

For better or worse, I didn’t have time to spin myself in circles with anxiety. Gomez seemed to reach the end of his huddle up with Morticia and Fester, and judging by their extremely unsubtle glances, it was about me.

Leaning away from their circle of whispers, he cleared his throat, “So, Friday, we were thinking about what to do for your big week, and we came up with a brilliant idea!”

I looked up from my food, listening. “You should have at least one day with each of the family!” He spread his arms with a showman’s smile, and I tilted my head, considering. 

Seeing that I didn’t immediately reject it, he continued, “Grandmama had monday, Pugsley has tuesday by the looks of things, and Wednesday can have her namesake tomorrow. Then it can be Lurch, Thing, Fester, and Morticia and I, in that order!” 

“…Doesn’t that make eight days?” I asked confusedly.

“Aha, but you see, that’s all the better” The man snapped, a wry grin in his face “It just goes to show you that we all love you eight days a week!” 

“Oh, Gomez, you always have such a way with words…!” Morticia swooned, looking at him with a dark gaze of excitement and affection in equal measure.

“Oh, Tish, your siren voice topples nations with a single syllable…!”

I sat my fork down while the two tried to devour each other with their eyes, mentally weighing the costs and benefits. I wanted to use most of this time getting Pugsley and Wednesday to entertain more normal hobbies, but hadn’t I already partially succeeded? There isn’t too much that requires my active intervention now…

Besides, know your enemy and all. It’s honestly criminal how little I actually understand about the Addams considering they’re easily the greatest threat to Wednesday and I.

Rolling it over in my mind, I eventually nodded.

“Magnifique! It was a brilliant idea, Gomez.” Morticia placed a gentle hand on her husband’s face.

His eyes closed in a wide, blissful smile, “Oh, cara mia, you know how I love it when you pat my cheek…!” The man grabbed her hand in a gentle embrace, getting out of his chair to kiss her hand, making his way up her arm…

And I went back to eating, steadfastly ignoring the playful giggles and loud moans breaking out at the table.

Chapter Text

“What do you want to do?” Wednesday asked me out loud the first thing in the morning.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out for the past two days…”

It was easier with Pugsley because that was mostly about trying to influence him. But I was already making good progress with Wednesday at school, so today I had to stop procrastinating and figure out some things I would actually want to do. Even whenever my bio dad had his “good days” he mostly just did whatever he thought kids my age liked, things he vaguely remembered me commenting positively on, or things we both enjoyed. 

The only thing I could think of as similar to this situation was when some of my foster parents wanted to “get to know me” after bringing me in. What did I do in those situations? Right, I asked for gifts that would be easy to hide and bring me value for a long time even after I left their house, to make the most of the brief period of generosity, wether real or fake. I didn’t think that would apply in this situation.

“I can’t think of anything I want. We can just do things normally.”

I was mostly concerned trying to figure out the most efficient way to find what makes the other Addams tick anyways, so this can be a free day.

Wednesday frowned. “No.”

I paused. “What? What do you mean, no?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes at me in the mirror and shoved the toothbrush in her mouth. I mentally winced at the bleach paste stinging our gums, but sitting in the backseat of our mind helped ignore the sensation.

She spoke mentally, “What you just said is the whole point of Friday Week. If you don’t even know what you like, then you’ve been spending far too much time in the back. If you cannot think of anything, we will just have to find out. Together.”

That… I wasn’t sure what to feel about that. I knew this wasn’t just a matter of being too reserved. I’d lived a whole other life before now and I still didn’t know what I enjoyed beyond vague notions of things I liked and things I didn’t, so I figured I was just a more practical type of person.

I tried to explain that, however, facing the weight of my sister’s surprisingly forceful intent, I somehow found myself unable to refute.

“Then… what should I do?”

“I can’t just tell you what to do. Come on already, if you can’t think of anything you like, just think of something you thought looked fun but never done before.”

I laughed, and couldn’t help but joke, “In that case, I’d always wanted to try running away from home.” 

Then I winced mentally, filled with immediate regret. My mind raced, trying to figure out how to backpedal or brush it off, when I was interrupted by Wednesday.

“Okay.”

What. “What?”

She didn’t skip a beat, “I said okay. If you want to run away from home today, let’s run away from home.”

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, reeling from the emotional whiplash. Right, running away from home for a while probably isn’t that big a deal for a weirdo family like this. From the little bits of “Addams sense” I’d managed to understand, it might even just be on the level of a mischievous prank.

A part of me felt disheartened by that fact; it wouldn’t feel as nice if it was allowed after all. But this wasn’t a matter of enjoyment, I quickly reminded myself. 

I couldn’t convince Wednesday to run away with me at the moment, much less Pugsley, and even if I could it would be much better to be seperated officially by child services. But this was good practice for if our hands were ever forced.

“So, you’re saying we can really run away today?”

“Whatever you want.”

The final confirmation banished all thoughts of hesitation. Immediately I pushed Wednesday to finish brushing before Lurch came to get us for breakfast. I thanked whatever god lived in the sky that Wednesday liked to wake up with the sunrise and quickly took control of our body to dash around the room. 

I pulled a large suitcase out of my bag and a pamphlet for the local station where Fester stole Pugsley’s train crossing sign. One was leaving at eight AM, which was just the time that we would normally leave for school. 

We would have to train hop. I’d read about it, and used a family computer to look up the details in my previous life, but this would be my first try. If we got past that hurdle, we’d then need to learn how to live as a homeless child without getting trafficked or brought into a station. 

I had once researched various free venues or places we could blend in to sneak free food out of vain hope, but even if I had been reborn in the same general area, which I wasn’t, a lot of those places required being an adult who looked like they belonged. Pretending to be someone’s kid could only get you so far.

Our best bet was to hide during the day, break into places like local libraries at night, and raid the grocery store’s dump which contained surprising amounts of moderately unsightly or barely expired food. Robbing and shoplifting were also dangerous but likely necessary options. Breaking into a local school’s locker room or a gym for showering was also necessary. We could also refill our water there.

All this could be planned when I get to a library where I can find a good map of the various towns the train went to. It was on the way, but I only had two hours to get to the train. 

That meant I needed to spend only ten minutes packing to catch the bus, thirty minutes of bus ride to get to the library, thirty minutes researching, and twenty minutes to get to the train station by catching a different bus. That would take an hour and thirty minutes, with half an hour to account for unexpected slow downs we would inevitably face and sneaking up to the rails for the train hop. 

With no time to be specific, and not wanting to risk walking around in the house, I rummaged through my hidden stashes in the room to stuff extras in my handbag for easy access. Most necessities were already in the suitcase; preservable food and water, clothes, toiletries, medicine, tent, cash money, lights, knives, and a sleeping bag. So from my stashes, the only things that would help were an extra flashlight, some snacks, a lighter, a can of mace, a mini first aid kit, an extra flip multitool (also with a knife), a wilderness survival guide I hadn’t got around to scanning, a mask and hat, and two lock pick sets (in case I lose one specific part).

It made me paranoid that I was ready so fast, but that just meant I prepared well. 

Then, as I was about to move to the next step, I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye, and paused.

Before I could overthink it and waste more time, I snatched Marie Antoinette off our bedside table and moved on. I unlatched opened the second trapdoor in my room, a bottom opening one under our bed, and sent the luggage down the slide first before jumping after it. 

“Quick, take control so we don’t land weirdly.”

“Um, right.” Wednesday, thought unusually bewildered, complied and folded our arms over our chest like in a corpse position, Marie held in our hands like a wilted rose.

Our ride was smooth and interrupted, and my sister slowed our descent so we wouldn’t land awkwardly on our bag. 

Now in the backyard, there wasn’t anything stopping us from walking around the side of the mansion and leaving without walking through the front door. It was a bit annoying rolling the bag in the dirt and grass, but no real obstacles, and we were walking down hill to get to the bus stop so there wasn’t much difficulty in pulling the heavy suitcase. 

“…So that’s what that suitcase was for.” Wednesday mumbled.

“Yep! You always need to be aware of your escape routes in any situation, or, even better, prepare them in advance!” I recited my carefully learned wisdom.

“I see.” She responded thoughtfully

She needed to learn this too, after all. What would happen if there was an emergency and I got incapacitated again because of my dumb emotions? Maybe my sister’s Addam’s luck and strange constitution would help her out, but I would never bet on chance for safety.

Though, it is a bit hypocritical, I am also forced to rely on that luck right now. This run away plan was only ever designed as a desperate last resort or a method to temporarily escape the house in the case of a momentary increase in family tension. There are too many points of failure, and multiple ambiguous or moving parts. Only by using Wednesday’s luck as a shield could this ever possibly work. My own bad luck would have the plan up in flames at the first link in the chain.

So, I had her take control as we took a seat at the first bus stop, while my mind raced through various scenarios.

We had our breakfast of a frog leg, dried lizard jerky, and some lucky roadkill we found on the way -I tuned out during that last bit- and enjoyed the silent morning as two happy introverts. Wednesday used the time to meditate like Gomez showed her from his zen yoga class, and I used the rising sun’s rays to cleanse my negative energies and calm my nerves like Grandmama taught me.

Small moments like this made me thankful that my headmate sister turned out to be a fellow introvert.

About five minutes passed before a few adults trickled into the stop and I snapped out of it, taking control of our face to wear a small smile just in case they questioned the presence of a lone kid with a suitcase at a bus stop. Acting casually helped dispel most doubts.

Sure enough, a middle aged lady hesitantly looked down at me, asking, “Where are your parents, kid?”

Wednesday wanted to snap “none of your business,” but I took control and cheerfully replied, “At home!”

She had an unsure expression, but eventually looked away at my “excited innocent girl” tone.

“She left you alone so easily, and you didn’t even bite her. Good job.” Wednesday praised me.

“Thank you!” I smiled inside, much more genuinely. “Biting might work on kids, but when you tried biting the teacher, you just got a lecture, remember?” I explained.

“Hm. That’s true.” She acquiesced.

The bus arrived, and I decided to lock in on one of my plans. Before the doors opened, I asked the middle aged lady to put my change in the pay dispenser because “I don’t know if I can reach”. Seeing the bus driver’s eyes dart between me and the lady, he probably figured we were related, and didn’t ask much. I’d been prepared to spin up a few different stories, but thankfully we weren’t needed.

“See, Wednesday? The key with stealth is to always act like you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing. But to do that, most of the time you need props, like a suit and tie, a clipboard, or a high-viz vest. Our options are limited as children, but sometimes if you’re clever enough, and can tolerate the extra risk, you can use other people as props.”

“But you did it so naturally.” Wednesday sulked, unusually insecure. “I didn’t even think about the driver being suspicious even after the lady already talked to us, and you solved it before it even became a problem. I don’t know if I could ever learn to be as manipulative as you.” 

I had to hold back a laugh at the compliment that would normally be an insult as I took my seat. “It’s just in your nature to be more blunt and bulldoze any obstacle in your way. I don’t have the same confidence as you do. We can both learn from each other to make up for what we lack.”

And that simple fact made me feel a wave of joy, at a level that was unimaginable for my previous life. The world was dangerous, and the hardships and obstacles innumerous. But this time, I didn’t have to brave through it all alone. And I never would have to ever again.

Embarrassed at my sudden outburst of affection, she mentally averted her eyes and pushed my face away, and I giggled, hugging her close anyways. Her mental avatar groaned and squirmed, before eventually resigning herself to fate, rolling her eyes while I pinned her arms against me. She couldn’t hide that begrudging enjoyment under that annoyance though, no matter how hard she tried to act tough.

We spent the bus ride in silent excitement at our rebellious adventure before getting off at our stop near the library through the middle doors. 

I briefly weighed the ideas of carrying the luggage into the building with us, or leaving it outside, but getting it stolen would be the worse outcome so I told Wednesday to pull it along even if it looked weird. 

As we moved to the computers, I quickly pulled up google maps to check the layout of the options we had to stop at on the train brochure, and do some brief research on opinions of the town or city cultures, weather, demographic, safety rates, and police presence.

“I don’t know too much beyond this point, Wednesday, but we’re looking for places that have a lot of facilities we need relatively close together. A safer place is also preferable, and one with less police presence. I don’t know the exact correlation of wealth, police, and crime rate, so it’s better to look at each option as a case by case basis instead of assuming and cutting corners, especially since we’re not short on time. 

“We’re only going for one day. We should just plan to break in somewhere fun. The police won’t kill us if we’re caught.”

I paused, partially veiling my thoughts and choosing my words carefully, “That’s not the authentic experience of running away. We’re trying to be sneaky and self-sufficient, living life on the run like wanted outlaws.”

I emphasized the feelings of rebellion and tension of hiding from the authorities. With only brief hesitation, Wednesday agreed it did sound fun that way.

Meanwhile, I had the decision down to two places. Forever Oak Town, a community of about six hundred people two and a half hours away, and Greg Creek, an area just one away. The former was on the edge of being rural, and had less police presence but the facilities we needed were more spread out, and we might not gain as much experience as we could from this stint. The latter was a much denser city, but police stations were closer, and they’re more likely to shoo away homeless people. Risk and rewards, the classic dilemma. But in this case, the answer was obvious.

“Well, you aren’t entirely wrong. When you aren’t planning on doing something for a long time, and there is little to no consequence of backlash, you can afford to let yourself loose and go for the big bucks.” I hovered my mouse over Greg Creek. “What do you think? It’ll be tough, but I want to bet we’re even tougher.”

A viscous smile made its way to Wednesday’s face. “They’ll never catch a hair on our heads.”

“And when the family is searching for us, we’ll sneak right back in through the window by the next day” 

Buzzing with excitement, Wednesday practically leapt off the chair and skipped her way out the door. I made sure not to point out the librarian smiling at her cute figure in the corner of our eyes.

We got on the bus without much incident, and I spent the entire ride half scanning for threats and half lost in thought, running over game plans while my sister fantasized about all the stores we’d rob and places we’d break into.

“So. Usually the way we’d do this is camp around the train yard for a few days and wait for a good opportunity with a slow moving train going in our direction and with no bulls -cops- patrolling. But we have a limited time, so we’re doing this the hard way.”

I mentally held up my fingers. “First, we’ll look for a restroom I can stash our bag in. Then, we’ll shoplift a notebook and ask the receptionist to give us a tour of the train station pretending we’re taking notes for a class project on our way to school. We’ll use that opportunity to note all the security systems and patrols. We’ll then retrieve our bag and wait for-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but can’t we just buy a ticket at the self service keyosk?” Wednesday asked.

I held up my finger to explain everything that was wrong with that… and paused. It would still take dodging some questions… but… Ah damnit, that would work way better wouldn’t it?

“…Sister, if you really want to hop a train, you could just say so.” Wednesday smirked in amusement.

“N- that’s not it! There was a perfectly logical reason that we had to…! Ugh, shut uuup!” I stamped my feet mentally.

“I didn’t say anything.” Wednesday countered in an extremely innocent tone. Where did she learn that from!?

“You- you! I can feel it! It really was a logical reason!” I protested.

My sister just grinned and walked toward the keyosk I tried to very eloquently explain my rationale why it was absolutely necessary to hop a train while running away from home.

Chapter Text

“Did you just say that you bested me in a croquet match?” A haughty voice laughed dangerously.

“U-uhm, no! Your highness, I mean, no, but, yes, but—” A small, uncertain voice with an “innocent British girl” accent trailed off.

“So she did say it! Now, king, remind me again the most basic rule of croquet.” The powerful voice drawled.

“Ah-ah! Yes, that’s erm, rule 42- The Queen always wins!” The king’s sniveling voice read out.

“Wha- but that’s not far at all!” The girl complained.

“Fair, you say?” The Queen’s voice dropped dangerously. “I say it is not fair that you seek to change the rules just to win a game of croquet. And that to question the Queen’s rules after humiliating her so… is treason! GUARRDDDSS!”

Cards with spears dove in rank and file, completely surrounding the small girl. 

“U-uhm, I’m sorr-” The girl panickedly groveled.

“OFF WITH HER HEAD!” The Queen commanded.

“Noooooooooooo-!” The girl screamed as her head was chopped clean off with an axe.

However, it was not the girl’s head that rolled down to the floor. No, instead it was the Cheshire Cat! And he stared down on the preceding with a chilling grin.

“Your time is up, miss Queen of Hearts. The Joker has been played, and you have fallen for its ruse. Your rigged system means nothing now in the force of the insurrectionists gathered from those fed up with your casual cruelty and abuse of power. Your days are limited, and soon, it will be your head which will fall from your shoulders!” 

The Queens face turned red as a tomato, veins nearly bursting out of her forehead. “ALL OF YOU! SKIN THAT STUPID CAT!!!”

The following battle was legendary. Guerilla warfare tactics were unpredictable thanks to the Mad Hatter’s gang, the caterpillar created perfect smoke signals to communicate, and the Match Hare made sure everything was timed down to the dot. Wonderland’s uprising was legendary as it was swift. And soon enough, just as promised, the Queen’s head was the very next to hit the chopping block. 

“…You know, I have to wonder. Out of all the items you brought, Marie Antoinette is the only one that wasn’t practical. Why’d you bring her?”

I paused and furrowed my brows, thinking deeply. 

“….I don’t know,” I admitted. “It just felt weird to leave without her?” 

Wednesday accepted the reasoning without much thought, but I couldn’t help but linger on the question. Because my sister was right, normally I’d never bother bringing things that weren’t useful, running away means you have no room for such impracticalities. But no matter how much I thought, there was just no solid reason for why I couldn’t leave the doll behind.

The train pulled into the city without much fanfare, and I put it out of my mind. If nothing changed, the Addams should be discovering our absence right about now.

Pulling up the satellite map of the town in my head, I pinpointed three candidates for places to set up camp. Secluded green spaces were our ally, as I wouldn’t trust sleeping near any homeless encampments with desperate people we don’t know. 

There was an underpass of a highway closer toward the center of the facilities we’d want to “explore”, but it would be easier to be seen. Then there was an abandoned area near the train tracks where a bunch of industrial buildings were but it was a bit of a walk. And then there was skipping the tent and breaking into the public library to stay the night. 

“I’d normally say we go all in on the risk for a one time thing, but we probably won’t be stopping by the tent a lot in the first place, so there’s not much benefit in risking getting caught on the highway. We also need somewhere to hide our suitcase, so I wouldn’t rely on the library. The abandoned industrial buildings are our best bet, and close by anyways so we can quickly set up our stuff and go wild.” I reasoned.

Holding up my mental fingers, I listed off our objectives.

“We don’t have much time, so I want to treat it like we have no backup food. Lunch we can get out of the grocer dumpsters in the area, and for dinner we can try shoplifting convenience store food. We also want to get experience sneaking into the gym or breaking into a school gymnasium to use their showers, and after that, washing our clothes at a laundromat. Beyond this, we should pick two or three buildings to try breaking into. The library at night can count as one, and a school gymnasium could count as two, both of them fulfilling our primary goals at the same time too. For the extra, I’m thinking of saving a difficult risky one for last, like maybe robbing a car, or—”

“If you say so.” Wednesday shrugged and walked along the street, circling around to the railroad using my mental image.

I frowned mentally. I could tell my sister didn’t feel hurt, but… she didn’t feel right either.

“Is… there anything you’d like to do, too?” I tentatively asked.

“Stop that!” Wednesday snapped abruptly, a surge of frustration overtaking her. 

“Stop what?” I asked, floundering at the unexpected turn.

“This is your day, and you’re still trying to just follow along with what I want, just like always. Can’t you do anything yourself?” She complained.

“Well what do you want me to do then!” I threw up my hands mentally.

“You’re doing it again!” Wednesday glowered at me. 

Frustration built in me too at this point. “I’m just asking because you felt weird when I talked about what I wanted to do, so you obviously disagree with something!”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s because it’s not what you want to do, idiot.”

I paused. “…What are you talking about? I always wanted to do this.”

She grumbled, gathering her words. “I can tell you do enjoy part of this. But, it’s not like that train hopping thing from before. The plan you just mentioned isn’t for fun. It’s to gain experience, and to polish your skills in case you need them later, isn’t it?”

I was rendered speechless at the surprisingly accurate read of my intentions. Sure, I’d neglected the bubble a bit with the excitement of the trip, but was I really so relaxed to be read so accurately, to the point where she pointed out something I didn’t realize it myself?

“…I know you’ve been using the bubble a lot lately. I didn’t say anything because I’d use it for privacy if I could too. But I don’t need to read your thoughts to know you, Friday.” Wednesday explained, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest.

How did I not notice? No, it’s because I never expected anyone to pay so close attention to me unless they wanted to hurt me. 

“I… just don’t know what else to do”

Wednesday nodded. “I know. But even if you had ulterior motives, you did find something you wanted; running away. How about you try it again? What’s something you always wanted to do, but didn’t? We have free access to a whole city and no adult supervision. Let’s make the most of it.”

Something I wanted to do… 

I spent half of the full forty minutes walking to the nearest abandoned building rummaging through my memories. Back, back, and back, all the way to the time before I killed my dad; when I wasn’t resigned to my bad hand on life, and when I still had the luxury to feel jealousy toward the other kids.

The other half was spent in intense indecision, shame, and embarrassment, trying to see if there was literally anything else. But eventually, I had to admit defeat. 

“Well, there was one thing…”

***

“Damnit damnit damnitttt! Piece of junk won’t give me a goddamn lineee!” 

It wasn’t anything new so I tried fitting other, less suitable pieces into the empty row like the L or T, but it was useless. The top row filled up to the death line, and a big old Game Over filled the screen.

I groaned loudly, slumping in defeat.

“…Are you sure you’re enjoying this?” Wednesday asked skeptically.

Our face burned at the momentary loss of control, and I turned my gaze away. It didn’t do anything because the other person was talking in my brain, but I blamed the habit on her.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s only in places like these that I can fully confront my luck face to face, in the form of the merciless RNG gods!”

“RN-what?” She looked at me like an alien.

“Nevermind.” I just laughed and scanned the surroundings.

Excitement thrummed through our veins, my gaze dancing around at the flashing lights, the vibrant colored carpet hiding spills and dirt, and the big bulky machines forming rows. 

Don’t get too worked up. Keep your head on a swivel. If you’re kicked out like last time it won’t be so bad, but I’d rather have at least a couple of hours here to myself.

In the last hours of the morning, we mostly spent it exploring and climbing up abandoned buildings, and shouting greetings to any potential ghosts through the echoing concrete and metal chambers. 

However, unconsciously, I relaxed my guard a bit too much after exploring the soulless buildings where no one could see us; after we scrounged a local grocery store dump like a pair(?) of raccoons for lunch, a security guard spotted us behind the building. So we had to spend an hour or so evading police after lightly pepper spraying the security guard.

I was a bit worried about the repercussions, but I loudly called him a pervert, so hopefully it’ll go on record that I mistook him for a pedo.

Anyways, after all that, schools finally let their imprisoned horde of preteens loose onto the streets, so I could safely blend in with the swarm and enter the arcade. Sticky smells, loud 8 bit music and sound effects, and wild children’s laughter and jeering assaulted our senses while Wednesday did her best to tune it all out.

I like the atmosphere, but I don’t want sis to suffer. Should I just leave? But she might be even more mad…

“Hey, loser, get out of the way. I can already feel your suck energy rubbing off on me.”

A kid with glasses, brown hair, and acne pockmarking his nose shoved me to the side and dug in his pocket for tokens. A chubby boy quickly huddled up to his side and looked at the screen giggling. “Nah, no way, she didn’t even get past level three!? If you have the high score, I bet she has the worst!”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, jeez. I was just looking for another game.” I walked away, about to wander the halls of neon again, but I stopped in my tracks when the voice of the first boy rang up from behind.

“Who cares, girls suck at games so it’ll be the same for all of them.” 

I paused as a pool of animosity bubbled up in our chest. “…Can I kill them?” Wednesday growled. 

I just laughed incredulously and shook my head, “They’re not worth it.”

I moved to walk away again when the chubby kid chimed in, “That’s not just being a girl; I saw her at other games, and she’s horrible at everything! At that point she should just give up and stop taking up space for the actual food players.”

… 

Just let it flow through you. A car passing by on the road-

“Friday.” Wednesday interrupted, voice severe and dangerous. Our hands shook, and I quickly grabbed the right with my left.

“Let. Me. Go.” 

Fuck. I could calm myself down, but both of us? My grip on our body was loosening by the second, but I couldn’t let my sister do something we would both regret.

And the worst part was, I felt the same. I wanted to kick the older bows between their legs and steal all their precious tickets and tokens. But A. I didn’t want to get kicked out, and  B. I didn’t want Wednesday to go too far before I could stop her.

I needed an outlet. This boiling kettle was going to blow, one way or another, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But if I could just redirect it…

“It won’t prove anything.” I quickly spoke. “We have to beat them at their own game.”

There was something to be said about conforming to their framing and beating them within it rather than shifting the frame entirely, but there was no time and I doubted the boys would stick around to debate me for an hour about self worth, skill, and gender.

“Explain.” Wednesday demanded, barely restraining herself for just a moment 

“You have crazy good reflexes and amazing luck, but have never played a video game. I’d say I have pretty decent skill in this game, but I have the worst luck.”

“So, you think we could beat their precious High Score if we work together?”

Clenching my fists, I nodded. “Normally, I’d say giving a newbie directions on every single move and getting them a high score is absurd. But we don’t need to communicate with words, now do we?”

“Indeed. It just might work.”

“Quickly, then, here’s how it works.” I brought all my memories of the game to the forefront of my mind, opening up to my sister as much as possible to ensure the fastest connection between my instructions and her movements.

“You probably get the basics of dropping the blocks in a line and rotating them to clear our a row. Then, as you clear more and more lines, the “level” increases and the pieces speed up their descent, until level 20 where they reach maximum speed.”

I pulled up a memory in my head of what I was trying and failing to do by the end. “What you want is to clear as many pieces in a row as you can; the more rows cleared at once, the higher the score. The best case scenario is a “Tetris” where you clear 4 lines at once by inserting a “l” piece in the corner while everything else is already filled.”

I then switched to a memory of a few other crucial techniques. “You’ll also want to hard drop -immediately plopping a piece on the ground- or soft drop, -speeding up the descent- as much as possible, as these give bigger scores. Now, for the advanced stuff, T-spinning can get you out of tricky situations. As for the likelihood of each block…”

Even though I would be “pulling the strings,” I took the time to explain the game to Wednesday as much as possible. Just in case it cleared any possible mental blocks, of course. 

“…Friday, I know you want to show off, but I really have no interest in this at all.” She sighed.

Heat rushed to my face, “N-no! That’s not- I’m just—” 

“Let’s go let’s go let’s goooo!”

“He’s doing it again! He’s a mad lad! OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!” He clapped his hands to hus

My protests were interrupted by loud cheers from the boys we were plotting against, which also drew looks from the kids around us. Some of them even paused to congratulate the glasses boy, or voice their respect at the new best score.

The kid lasted twelve seconds on level 20. On the gameboy, I remember my highest time was seven seconds after starting right from the last level.

So, I calmly walked over to the machine, looking at the score with bored indifference. “That’s it?” I asked, absentmindedly flipping a token in my left hand.

Faced with my bored reaction as opposed to the looks of awe he seemed used to, I wondered if he would get mad, or act high and mighty. He seemed to choose the latter, tilting his chin up and looking down on me, who was a full three heads shorter than him.

“Ha! Says the little girl who couldn’t get past level three! Go play with your barbies.” A couple of girls narrowed their eyes this way subtly.

I shrugged, speaking slowly and confidently. “Eh. I was bored, so, I was just messing around.”

“Oh reaaally? Prove it then, loser!” The chubby boy smirked.

“Hm… I think I will.” I smirked when I saw the token finally land on heads, and stopped stalling and inserted it into the machine.

Whispers and giggles broke out at the sudden drama from the four or five kids who bothered to keep watching, but I paid no mind to them.

Clicking level one, I opened my mind.

The russian theme played a pleasant staccato in our ears as Wednesday twitched our hands at my every thought.

It was awkward at first. Having never touched a controller before, Wednesday didn’t have the natural intuition to react to my thoughts immediately. And she would often get confused and jumbled up with so many thoughts and sensory details crowding her mind. 

“Wooow, what a master.” I heard glasses boy drawl.

“Yeah, hidden karate-tetris sensei of the century here.” The fat one snickered.

Neither of us paid them any attention, all our focus layered in on the screen and controllers by necessity. Whether it was due to her naturally high hand-eye coordination or the muscle memory in our limbs, she was quick to catch up.

It’s still a bit strange, but it’s possible. It’s definitely possible! I didn’t have the leeway to savor the feeling, but the disbelieving grumbles from the nerd duo as our skill quickly ratcheted up to pulling easy triple clears sounded like music to my ears.

The first time we pulled a combo clear of four lines in a row, a cheer rose from a voice we didn’t recognize.

When we pulled our first tetris, the fat kid unwittingly muttered “what the hell?” low enough that we could barely hear over the cacophony of the arcade.

Level five, ten, twelve, they flew by in a flash as Wednesday and I fell into a rhythm, my sister using her crazy constitution to hard or soft drop pieces sometimes before I could even fully form my thoughts.

We slowed down in the middle. I had only ever played the first few levels or the last level, so it was awkward adjusting to the intermediate speeds on top of the fact that I suddenly realized I could go for more risky plays now that our luck was higher than I’d ever experienced.

But while I was struggling to adapt, Wednesday surprised me by picking up the slack, making placements of her own due to lacking my biases. 

When she hit a double T-spin to snake perfectly into the side of an awkward gap I’d left in my floundering -something I had never done successfully and never even taught her- I actually almost dropped my jaw at her overwhelming precision before quickly snapping back into focus. Judging by the loud whoop behind me, the spectators loved it too.

Comparing our score with what the glasses boy had at level nineteen, the same level as us, we were doing well but not enough. We needed to take a risk to catch up before level twenty.

“We… We have no choice, we need to stack it for a three column combo!”

“Got it.”

And so we built the wall. Higher and higher. Our heart pounded in our chest, nerves overtaking me with every inch closer to the deathline. I’d never gone for this, as the sheer luck involved with getting the right pieces at the right time for the combo chaining and T-spins would never once be in my favor. As if confirming my fears, we got the final piece just one row too soon, and my stomach churned as Wednesday made a split second decision to add it to our stack instead of giving up. 

Thirteen out of eighteen rows. Running out of space, and with the difficulty increasing the descent speed to dangerous levels, we made single or double clears to buy time, but it would only take a few wrong moves…

I was already resigned, considering how to salvage the situation when suddenly, “That’s…!” 

Wednesday processed it before I did, rotating and slamming the pieces down in succession one after another, ratcheting our score up to a few thousand above glasses kid and sending us over the edge to level twenty.

Elation flooded my veins, and loud cheering from the few girls who’d wandered over before I realized, and hollers and jeers from the boys.

And then I realized Wednesday was still playing, too focused to realize. I smirked at the sight of her so immersed in a game. “We did it! We beat him!” I informed her.

“So? We’re not stopping until we crush him.”

“Well, it’s the level cap. They fall too fast from here, so you can’t…”

But she wasn’t dying. And that’s when I realized, Wednesday had been mashing the directions a bit strangely the whole time. I didn’t correct her because we were too focused, but didn’t the pieces also moved left and right a bit faster than before.

The others realized quickly too. “Wait a minute.” “She’s not dying?” “What’s she doing with the controls?”

Rather than picking and holding a direction, Wednesday was mashing it over and over again. And shockingly, this made the lag between the movements just short enough that the pieces could actually touch the walls!

“How are you doing that…?”

“Doing what?”

“The movement!”

“It’s faster this way. Now focus.” The simple answer shook me out of my stun, and I quickly locked back in.

The game was dizzyingly fast. Split second decisions were the norm, and muscle memory became king in the unexplored world of level twenty. 

One line after the other. T-spins were non-existent. Tetrises a fleeting fantasy. All fancy techniques gave way to unga bunga tactics as we no longer fought for a higher combo, but simply for survival under the unreasonable speed.

Even Wednesday, with all her talent, was floundering as our irregular stacks built higher and higher. 

“Holy shit just one more line, stack on the right side and pray to Addams luck for the right piece!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the witch!?” She snapped, but quickly carried it out.

Block after block grew closer to the death line as the crowd waited in bated breath. After more than two decades since the original game’s release, would they really be the first to witness someone actually breaking past the infamous “death screen”? 

“T, block, T…L!!! Go for it!!!”

The final piece rocketed to the side and cleared the final row, eliciting a cheer loud enough to make Wednesday wince, and our stack piled up to a swift death on level 21.

Even the boys from before were in awe, excitedly patting our back, and I had to stop Wednesday before she punched them in the face. 

It took a long time for the mini crowd to calm down, especially as new kids were drawn in by the comotion and continued the cheering when they realized what just happened.

“Oh, quickly, hidden sensei! The high score!” The fat boy urged us.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” Glasses kid half heartedly grumbled.

“Yeah, well you got beaten by a girl, so-”

“Friday.” I interrupted.

They looked at me confused. “You got beaten by Wednesday Friday Addams, not a girl.”

Embarrassed at my cheesy line, I quickly turned back to the screen. Wednesday was completely checked out at the commotion it turned out to be, so I took the liberty of typing WFA as our initials.

“Excuse me, did you say you were Wednesday Friday Addams?” And then someone put a hand on my shoulder.

Stiffening, I slowly looked up at the arcade security guard who’d walked over at the commotion. 

“Um…no?” I laughed nervously.

Chapter Text

Gomez stood on his head, bringing his knees down in a bicycle kick pattern as Thing helpfully fed him spoonfuls of hemlock salad. A light breakfast and a light stretching was all he needed to kick the youthful stiffness and kinks back into his body and get ready for the day.

“Dear, you really should eat with the kids in the morning.” Morticia, my love and my everything, scolded me lightly.

I raised an eyebrow, then nodded with what little range of motion I had. “By jove, you’re right. Pugsley, Wednesday and Friday, come over here with your food; I’ll show you what the Zen Yoga Society taught me! Thing, prepare to work overtime!”

The handy fellow gave a thumbs up as Pugsley shouted “Coming!” and ran over with his thumbing steps. I was about to instruct him when he suddenly kicked up into the correct pose in one neat motion… and then fell over backwards.

“Hahaha! Attaboy! Your eagerness is to be applauded, but you also have to know not when to go full throttle. You need to kick up with juuust enough force to land right in your center of gravity.” I explained while I waited and listened for our eldest’s soft steps, but by the time my lovely son made a successful headstand I realized they weren’t coming.

“Oh, twins, you don’t have to do the stretches with me if you don’t want to, but your mother’s right, we should eat together.” I tried persuading them, but Fester snorted.

“Those little brats? They ran away from home hours ago.”

““What!?””

Tipped off balance, I fell into a smooth roll and stood up on my feet with the momentum. “Why would little Friday and Wednesday want to run away?” I asked, head still wonderfully pounding from the change in pressures and thoroughly waking me up.

“And right after we declared it was Friday week?” Morticia added, setting her papers on her chair’s arm rest.

My brother huffed. “That’s exactly why they did it! It’s the day they get to spend just for themselves, Friday and Wednesday. They know they can get away with anything today, which is exactly why I was against this whole idea.”

“Fester, come on now, we put it to a majority vote.” Morticia gently scolded him.

He rolled his eyes “This is all because you’re spoiling that Friday too much, I tell you!” He jutted his finger at me.

“Spoiling her? Nonsense, we haven’t been giving her enough attention if anything.” She frowned.

Fester shook his head rapidly “No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong. You’re tip-toeing around her! Letting her only eat dead things without catching her own food, giving her books about wimpy crap like that Hairy Pauper, or letting her go to that public school… If it were me, I’d-”

“We don’t get to control our children’s interests, and we don’t do spankings.” The woman declared, finality clear in her beautiful commanding voice.

“Wait, I don’t get it, how did you know sis and sis ran away?” Pugsley interrupted the argument before it could rehash for the nth time, speaking between being fed spoonfuls of lizard-eye cereal by Thing.

“I’m a light sleeper. I heard her sliding down the escape chute in the walls. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, thinking she just wanted to play in the necropolis, but clearly your softie softness has rubbed off on me.” Fester huffed.

“Is that why you thrash around in bed so loud I can hear you upstairs?” The boy asked.

“Exactly! Whenever I close my eyes, I can’t help but reminisce of the simpler times, back before dad bit the bucket.” He sighed fondly, “I told him to keep away from old Bessie’s chowder, she didn’t take too kindly to sharing. He would have fixed up Friday’s issues real quick. If we ever did or said anything he didn’t like, wack! And even if we didn’t say anything? Wack! He was fair like that.”

“You always did have to respect the man, even if you didn’t like him,” I let a wry smile curl on my face as I looked back on the fond times. “Ironic that you complain about spoiling, when you got to have fun with him every day in that hopeless mold-spotted apartment while I was stuck with mother in the sunny coastside estate.” I added with only a hint of jealousy.

He shrugged, “What can I say? Luck’s always been on my side.”

“Well, in any case, we shan’t delay any further. Lurch!” I grabbed a noose from the ceiling and yanked hard, and a beautiful tinkling cymbal shook the house. “Graghh?” The quick footed butler asked to be of service from behind, looming his shadow to politely shield me from the light. “We need to team up and find little Wednesday and Friday if they’re in the house real quick, you search extra hard too. You always did have the sharpest senses of all of us.”

The handsome man stepped back into the shadows, and thus began the hunt. Morticia and Grandmama checked all the spaces between walls, while Pugsley and Thing checked under the floorboards, and Fester and Lurch combed through every room in the house. Meanwhile, I alone searched and scanned every last inch of the tombs Fester suggested she could be playing in.

No luck. The time for school to start came and went with neither hide nor hair of the terrible twins.

“Well, I’ll be damned. The first time I ran away was at eight years old. She beat me to it!” I exclaimed with awe.

“Dear. Do you think we should do it?” Morticia placed a delicate hand on my shoulder, and I nodded safely.

“Indeed. A wee six year old, lost and confused in the wild jungle of society filled with who knows how many vagrants, gangsters, and deviants,” I sighed, frowning grimly.

“Just imagine all the people she could hurt out there!” Morticia’s grip tightened on my shoulder.

“Indeed, we’ll have to do it. We need to file a missing person’s report!”

…

An ear-piercing ringing pierced my ears, and I groaned, smelling trouble a mile away. I resisted the urge to ignore it lest I get sacked, and picked up the phone with the feeling of signing away my mortal soul.

“Sgt. Haley here, what can—” Sure enough, he couldn’t get a greeting in before noise exploded from the speaker.

Somehow, the familiar voice beyond the phone managed to shriek at him with a voice even more grating than the actual ringtone, spouting all manner of insult after threat after accusation.

“Ma'am please, that’s the seventh time your kid’s run from home, and we just brought him back from the last time. It might be my job to find em’, but it’s your job to keep him there!” He complained, then winced in immediate regret.

The shouting predictably ratcheted up a whole five notches, and I held the phone far away from my ear until it died back down. Each muffled word of hurled abuse ticking away seemed to make my eyelids grow heavier, and my foot tapped away with caffeine jitters. What little supply energy I had left was quickly sapping away, and my patience fading with it; by the time ten whole seconds had gone by, I just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ma’am I’m not suggesting you keep him locked in a broom closet! I’m just suggesting that it might be good for you to consider that there may be factors other than myself -someone with no involvement at all- that makes your son want to run away! Say, perhaps, something to do with you, his mother!?”

She gasped, and I quickly pounced on the opportunity, “I’ll get him back, so how about you use the time to yourself to fix that horrible personality of yours. Good? Great!”

I slammed the phone down before the lady could get another word in, and quickly updated the kid’s file before leaning back with a sigh. And of course, I didn’t get even half a second to close my eyes before that abominable ringing jolted me back.

Growling, I swiped the phone up and spoke before she could go off on another rant. “No, Mrs. Tunnel, I will put out a dragnet but we will not be using any helicopters!”

‘You won’t? Well you can borrow ours, but my name is Mrs. Addams, not Mrs. Tunnel.’ A soft, unfamiliar voice rang out from the speaker.

I winced for a second time, “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Addams, that was my mistake.” I said, quickly backpedaling as I slumped back in my chair. “I’m Sgt. Haley, and we’re Missing Persons.” I introduced myself.

‘Oh, well it sounds like you shouldn’t be giving that information away to every stranger you see if you want to stay missing. But I’m afraid I might have the wrong number, I was actually looking to see if you’d find a missing person for me.’ She said apologetically.

I sighed. “Lady, this is no time for jokes. Now tell me who’s missing and give me your address, please.”

‘Oh! My mistake. My name is Mrs. Addams and I want you to find my little girls, Wednesday or Friday.’

I rubbed my forehead. “Look, I'll find her Tuesday if I can, but don't give me no deadlines, will you please?”

‘Oh no, Wednesday and Friday are their names.’ She clarified.

I huffed, “Oh, and I suppose you're gonna tell me her middle name is Thursday, huh?”

‘No, Friday isn’t her middle name, it’s her sister’s name.’ She said, with complete seriousness.

I laughed despite myself. “Oh, so you only want one or the other now?” I relaxed my posture, finally deciding to play along with the elaborate prank call before reporting the lady. I could use the break.

‘Well I just didn’t think it would be possible to separate one from the other. But if you can, you should make sure to ask them for permission first.’

“Well that’s sweet to have such inseparable sisters isn’t it?” I drawled, trying to figure out where this was going.

‘I would hope so, as they are quite stuck together, sharing the same body and all.’

I blinked. For some reason, it was starting to sound a bit too specific to be a prank call.

“…Could you perhaps send us a photo? Uh, for the missing posters, of course!”

Chapter Text

The office was new, but familiar enough to put me on edge. Sgt. Hadley, the officer in front of me, looked the very definition of an overworked government employee. He exhaled more mint than breath, smoothed out his shirt 12 times in the last 60 seconds, and large bruises for his soulless eyes. Sadly, I certainly wasn’t helping keep his blood pressure down.

“It’s just a name, kid, come on, you can go back to playing games when all this is over. Which one is on your birth certificate, Friday or Wednesday?” he smiled thinly, trying every bit to remain patient with what looks like 12 cups of caffeine trying to replace his serotonin.

I just stared at him. Truthfully, even we ourselves didn’t know what was written down, or if we even had one collective birth certificate or two separate ones. But neither of us cared to enlighten him of that fact.

Finally, he let out a massive sigh and waved us off, “You know what, I don't care anymore. Just go sit outside and wait like a good girl while we bring your family in,”

“Girls. And we are not good.” Wednesday bit out before I could stop her, and marched right out, slamming the door.

Outside was a row of chairs, but the only other kid sitting on it was an older teen boy, crossing his arms and staring at the opposite corner listlessly. A familiar sight. We popped down next to him and fiddled with Marie Antoinette, but it wasn’t long before the boredom set in, along with annoyance of the constantly ringing telephones.

I looked up at the boy, then made a double take, immediately slamming down my mental shutters as a shock of emotion rippled through my being. He wasn’t just a familiar sight. He was a familiar person.

I rapidly flipped through my memories and compared the sight with the eleven year old in my mind. Freckles spattered on his cheeks, dark skin, and even the tiny scar on his nose bridge. It was unmistakable… I knew this boy from my past life. 

The realization struck me like an existential punch to the gut, and for a long moment I simply stared blankly, all coherent thoughts blasted out of my head with a pressure washer. 

And then I forcefully snapped myself out of it, loosening up my bubble just enough to regain the feeling of being properly present in our own body.

“…I’m gonna talk to him.” I told Wednesday.

“Go for it. I’m gonna tune out to “sleep” this stupid headache away.” She agreed and retreated into our mindscape. We had both overloaded ourselves with our latest stunt, but she couldn’t handle the fatigue as well as I could since she rarely ever felt mentally or physically taxed for long.

I pursed my lips, disappointed that I couldn’t use her luck for something so important, but it was probably for the best anyways. I didn’t want to let my recognition slip to her by accident after all.

I turned my gaze away in case he caught me staring out of the corner of his eyes, and furrowed my brows in thought. I honestly never expected my past life to overlap with this one, so I never made any plans for what to do if it ever did. Thinking a bit deeper, that was most definitely wishful thinking on my part. I’d known for a long while now that Jericho is only a long drive away from where I was reborn, but after a full week of anxiety, I forcefully convinced myself it was far enough to safely ignore and “forgot” about it until now.

Still… if it had to be anyone, I was glad it was him that I met for the second time. Maybe that was Wednesday’s luck pulling the strings for me.

We weren’t exactly what you could call friends, he and I; I wasn’t exactly a socialite unless I needed to be, and when I was, I never had a purpose to talk to him. But we had always had a sense of kinship with each other, even if only because we had a tendency to be left as the last kids lumped together in group projects for necessity. 

Gradually, I formed a strategy in my mind to open him up. Following the principle of reciprocal mimicry, I crossed my arms and looked at the ground, assuming his posture “… Adults suck.” 

His eyes flicked in my direction, “…Not as much as cops.” He eventually said.

I twitched my lips, “I pepper sprayed one of them before I got here.”

He snorted this time, loosening his arms a bit. “Damn, dude got owned by an elementary schooler with a Barbie, huh?”

His voice had deepened with puberty, and his language seemed rougher too. Still, in my eyes, he could only ever sound like a nerdy kid trying to act tough.

“That’s right!” I smiled, looking up at him directly. “Not a Barbie though,” I corrected, twisting and snapping off Marie’s head, making sure he could see the blood-painted neck.

“Wow, that’s one hard-core doll you got there. Perfect for one hard-core little miss.” He grinned appreciatively.

“That’s right, no one messes with me without facing the consequences. People tend to underestimate me as a little girl who can’t throw a punch, but I have my ways to take revenge one way or another. If I don’t want them to, they won’t even know it was me.” I tilted my chin up.

He raised a brow, “Well, as terrifying as that is, what’s the point if they’re not scared of you?” He leaned down conspiratorily, "You know what you really have to do? You’ve got to show 'em who’s boss and make sure they won’t mess with you ever again.”

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Could someone really change so much in six years, even with puberty? It wasn’t impossible I supposed, but going from pipsqueak to this…

I covered up my surprise and smiled sadly. “You’re not wrong. A lot of times, you just have to kick them where it hurts to show them that you’re not a pushover. It works surprisingly well, and not only that, it’s extremely satisfying.” My eyes brightened at the recollection of one of my rare happier memories, then dimmed again at my next words. “The only issue is, the school never sees it that way. If you defend yourself, you’re a part of the problem in their eyes.”

He frowned grimly at that, but still nodded. There is a moment of silence as we both steered in our thoughts, in our own little world, separated from the hustle and bustle of the office.

“…It’s not just school.” he finally spoke.

I looked at him again, and he took a breath, “It’s everyone. Cops, social workers, “parents”! They take one look at you, one look at your grades, one look at your stupid file, and they already decide who you are before you can even speak a word!” His voice hitched.

“Hey, kid, is there a problem here?” We jolted at the sudden voice and looked up. An officer had walked over at the noise, hand hovering over the baton at his waist.

“No. We’re just talking while waiting for our parents.” I dismissed her calmly, and she just shrugged and walked away again.

“…They won’t even let me see that stupid file…” He trailed off listlessly.

I was speechless. I never imagined he would get sent to the Foster system. His grandparents who picked him up from school were better than most parents, from what I’d seen.

“…If I can ask, how did you enter the system?”

He smiled ruefully, “Ain’t that the kicker? I was always in it, apparently. I lived with my grandma and grandpa my whole life. I even had a worker, but, somehow I never fully put the pieces together cuz that was just normal." 

Then, his expressions dropped, and he turned to stare blankly at the corner he’d been looking at the whole time before I got here. “Well one day, I got in the car with my worker, y’now, she would pick me up sometimes. But today, there was a big trashbag in the backseat. I thought it was weird, but we just got fast food like usual so I brushed it off… until she told me we weren’t going home.”

…What. Seriously? That’s the whole story!? I blinked dazedly. I’d spent half of my life fighting tooth and nail to escape shitty foster homes, and he just…?

“You know before that, you actually remind me of this one kid I knew was in the system. Her dad died, then she jumped around four or five homes in six years, and all of 'em turned out to be grade-A assholes.” I startled at the topic, snapping back to focus and leaning forward listening closely to every word. 

“I didn’t believe the shitty rumors some people were spouting, but I always did think it was really absurd that she ended up in so many shitty homes.”

He left mirthlessly, “And, well, I never had it as bad as her. But after all the shit I’ve seen and heard from other kids in the system? It seems a whole lot less unlikely now.”

He dragged his chair forward, and tilted his head back, gazing at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his back. “Y’now, I wish I had talked to her more. She drew creepy drawings, had some weird superstitions, and could be pretty unapproachable at times… but looking back, it makes a lot of sense why she was like that.” He frowned thoughtfully, “I’d like to think I was one of the few people who she ever showed a bit of her real self, but, I guess there’s no way to know what she really thought of me now.” 

For the first time in the conversation, his “tough guy” voice completely dropped. The image in my head and the boy I saw in front of me overlapped, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like I caught a glimpse of the quiet and earnest preteen I knew so well hidden under all those layers of defenses.

“……What, happened, to her?” I desperately tried to hold my voice together. 

I must have not been even remotely successful, because he turned to look at me and immediately winced at whatever expression I was wearing on my face.

“Ah, I probably shouldn’t be telling all this to six year old, huh?” he scratched his head awkwardly and sat back up in his chair, a familiar habit. “It’s just easier to tell strangers this kind of shit, and you’re kind of weird for a kid, so I guess I got carried away.”

“…Please. Please, tell me.” I whispered shakily, all semblance of plans or manipulation completely discarded as I use every inch of my willpower to maintain the barriers façade of composure.

Why, why, why do I want to know so badly? I already know what happens. I know how the story ends better than anyone else in the world. It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. Nothing can be undone, and I could even tentatively say that it turned out for the better in some ways. Just what is it that I want him to tell me so badly that I’m nearly falling apart?

The boy opened his mouth, oblivious to the questions and emotions dancing in my heart.

“It really isn’t a very nice story. But, all you have to take away from it is this…” He placed a hand on my shoulder, and he leaned down, looking me right in the eyes.

“She’s how I learned that even if you have the cleverest schemes, or the most thought out future, or the best survival skills… none of that will help you if you can’t get back up to fight another day. ” and then he smiled. “Sometimes, the best plan really is just a well overdue knuckle sandwich.”

I nodded blankly, my thoughts in complete disarray. The conversation fizzled out and we both settled into weight silently. For the first time in a long while, I couldn’t even begin to figure out what I was feeling or why. Eventually, I gave up altogether trying to interpret that fucked up emotional soup and just focused on my breath, fiddling with my bracelet of assorted charms to calm down.

I barely registered the moment when Gomez and Morticia showed up, the former trying to suppress a proud grin, and the latter looking at us like a little kid caught with a hand in a leech jar.

“Wednesday. Friday.”

I ducked my head, “I’m sor-”

“An arcade? Really?”

I blinked. Suddenly, Wednesday roused from her dormancy and wrestled control, “There were two sniveling idiots trying to sate their inferiority complex by peddling their supposedly unique and “boy only” skills. They were asking to be destroyed.” She recited confidently.

Morticia narrowed her eyes and held my sister’s gaze for a long moment. Then she smiled, “Well it sounds like you had fun. Good.”

“And you made it all the way to another town in less than a day! That’s good mileage for a secret day trip.” Gomez patted our shoulder.

“Did you train hop?” Pugsley asked with stars in his eyes.

Wednesday shook our head, “Not enough time to plan it. We’ll ask uncle Fester to try with all of us together next time.”

“I call dibs on the train crossing sign!”

“Ahem.” A rough voice interrupted our musings, and we turned our attention to the very unamused Sgt. Haley, blankly staring at our casual discussion of crime in the center of a police building. Ah, here it begins.

“I hope I don’t have to remind you that, uh, train hopping is illegal and dangerous… and illegal?” He drawled. “I could easily put you to court for child-”

Gomez brightened up, “Ah! You must be that missing person Morticia told us about! What better way to understand the minds of runways than to be one yourself? I truly admire your genius! That’s like asking Fester to run a bank!” He excitedly shook the officers’ hand.

“Missing- I’m not- what?” Sgt Haley’s whole body shook with his arm, too tired to return the force.

Morticia placed a hand on his shoulder, “I must ask, what on earth is the brand of baking powder you’re using to achieve such a pallor yet oily skin tone? And the light application tar around your eyes- I’d never thought of such a unique material! You sounded stressed on the phone, but you keep yourself so well groomed!”

“What, baking? Oh, well, thankyou?” He dazedly replied, completely unable to keep up.

And there’s the diversion through misunderstandings.

“But, but uh, that’s not the point! Morticia and Gomez Addams, indulging and encouraging risky behavior for your children is a serious offence! Why, just look at her mental state, she won’t even tell me what name is on her birth certificate!”

“Wednesday Friday Addams, what else?” Morticia tilted her head.

He paused, and blinked. “Wednesday and Friday.. was Wednesday Friday, this whole time?” He muttered, holding his hand up to his eyes and waving slightly, suddenly looking lost and uncertain.

And there’s the self gaslighting and questioning sanity. 

“Are you alright old chap? It seems you’re mixing something up.” Gomez asked concernedly.

“A mixup…” he repeated wearily.

Morticia nodded. “Yes, our daughte—”

“WHERE ARE YOU YOU UNGREATFUL BRAT? DO YOU WANNA GIVE ME A HEARTATRACK!” A gaudily dressed lady barged past the two, stomping up to her foster son who had been staring at the unfolding situation with bewilderment.

And there’s the big distraction.

“Oh for fucks, I don’t have time for this, just go, please. I need to deal with this.”

And thus, the Addams luck thwarted logic and fate itself yet again. I could practically predict these little games beat for beat by now.

“Oh, my. Yes, it looks like you’ll need help that poor boy go missing now. You’re a busy man and we won’t keep you.” Morticia recoiled from the bombardment of noise and color.

“The world goes round because of overqualified souls dedicated to a cause like you, my good man!” Gomez postulated with a flourish.

“Wha-?” Seeing that he was free, the woman immediately turned and laid into the poor undeserving soul.

Taking the opportunity, I slipped toward the boy I once knew, one last time.

“Hey. Look at me for a second.” I grabbed his hand.

His stony gaze regained it’s focus, and turned toward my eyes.

“That girl in your story. You said you didn’t know what she thought of you. But, it sounds to me like you knew a lot about her. From what you said, she was always on the defensive and hiding her thoughts to protect herself, right? So, if she lets you close enough to understand that side of her… I think it’s reasonable to say she felt safer with you than with most of the others around her.”

I pulled my hands away, leaving behind a coin balled up in his fist. 

“I hope you reunite with your grandparents when you turn 18. And make sure to check out your file as soon as it’s available, sometimes they shred it before you’re even allowed to check it out.”

I turned around and moved to walk away, before pausing. I then twisted and waved behind me, looking at him once more with the combined weight of all the complex emotions in my chest. “The best of luck for you, Carmen.”

“Huh? Wai-” But his foster mother’s attention turned to him once again, leaving no chance to pursue.

We fled the building like a funeral march, loading up into Lurch’s car on the sidewalk. Only, there was a bit of a complication.

“Wow, would you look at that, we have a companion in the red zone!” Gomez trilled.

“How joyous that we find a like minded soul. They even parked right behind us despite the warning on our bumper. Must want us to get rid of that eye bleeding white and gold on their car.”

“You’re exactly right! Come, Lurch, give them a good burn to complete their makeover.” He handed a cigar to me, and I wrinkled my nose and handed it to Pugsley. He leaned over the back sear and reached out his hand-

And I grabbed the back of his shirt in a vice grip, my premonition confirmed when he nearly tumbled out of the car when Lurch slammed on the gas and ignited the thrusters on full blast.

We peeled out on the street, leaving a newly black wallpaper for the car behind us, and I forcefully pulled Pugsley back down to our seat and buckled him in. He was still holding the cigar, lit from the jetflame.

Then he moved to take a puff, and I quickly snatched it out of his hands, tossing it to the front where Gomez caught it without looking and took a puff. “Thanks, kiddo!”

I finally sat back in my seat, heart hammering with adrenaline, ready to finally relax when Wednesday spoke up internally.

“How did you get that guy’s name?”

I paused for a moment, but then I simply shrugged and replied, “I just talked to him while you weren’t there, and it came up.”

She hummed, but dropped it, sinking back into our mind to rest again.

Chapter Text

I rested my chin on my hands, laying on my stomach in the harpsichord and watching Lurch play with surprising swiftness. He had an organ piano downstairs that he played for occasions, but the harpsichord was played by plucking and didn’t have the capacity to strike the strings hard or softly, so Lurch liked playing this on his own time in the music room.

He didn’t have the control to push the keys with exact force, after all, so it was the perfect instrument for him.

The melody was a lilting waltz that felt like it was guiding my meandering thoughts with its halting rhythm. Unconsciously, I kicked my legs up and swung them back and forth.

“…I’d wondered how they would react, you know?”

Lurch grunted.

I slumped down, head in my arms while my eyes traced the huge hands of the bonafide Frankenstein's monster.

“A part of me thought they wouldn’t care at all, that this type of thing was normal. But they really did worry, huh.”

My words trailed off into the comfortable silence, only marked by the consistent harmony of plucked strings. I didn’t know why I was talking about this, really. The more the enemy knows my true emotions or intentions, the more they can use it against me. And yet, the words slipped out nonetheless, coaxed by the staccato chords of the old-timey instrument.

“They weren’t even mad either. Except for Fester, maybe. Dad was even proud of us, even if he tried to hide it from Mor- er, mom.” That was dangerous; they both start with M, so I almost called her the same way I do in my head. 

Thankfully Wednesday had already been lulled to a sleep-like state, but I really shouldn’t let my guard down so easily like that.

I fell back into silence again as I tried to wrangle myself together. I used to have vivid daydreams of what my various guardians’ reactions would be if I did various things, and running away was one of them. Mostly, I’d imagine they would never even notice I’m gone, or they’d make me wish I’d never come back and I go through some kind of hellish punishment or lecture. Why I tortured myself that way, I’ll never know.

But I wasn’t thinking about that when I ran away this time. I didn’t have the time to, sure but there was also an anticipation inside me that I hadn’t consciously noticed. I somehow knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t go over too badly if I was a bit “rebellious” with this family. A part of that was likely because it was “Friday Week,” sure… but it would be more accurate to say I was getting complacent.

I sighed. I wasn’t so egotistical to think manipulative tactics wouldn’t work on me, but I still felt like an idiot who should have known better whenever the rug was inevitably pulled under me. Especially the first few foster homes after dad accidentally offed himself.

And I could feel it, now. They hadn’t even gone through with the proper love bombing yet and I already felt safe enough to make such a risky move? Maybe it was okay back then, but I have a little sister and brother to take care of now. I have to be more careful, for their sake if nothing else.

“Gurrg” A grunt from Lurch interrupted my mini thought spiral.

“They care about me?” I had to hold back a laugh. 

I learned not to believe in Santa Claus a long time ago. Everyone wants something from everyone else, and the only reason society functions is because cooperating and playing chicken with each other is more beneficial than killing each other over the slightest conflicts of interests. Even me, I know I’m just one sidedly using Wednesday as a glorified emotional support doll. 

But I didn’t say that, instead going for a half truth, “If they cared about anyone, it was probably Wednesday. What worry they had for me was probably concern that I was forcing Wednesday to rebel or something.” 

And then I winced. Even that much was far too honest. What was wrong with me—

“Gragg. Gurk. Kurr.” He looked up from the keys to lock eyes with me.

My self-recrimination stalled. “They’ve been worried about me? How long?”

“Raaak.”

“…Since we started talking? You’re exaggerating.” A strange knot tightened in my chest.

He shook his head and ducked down to continue playing, leaving me swimming with thoughts.

It could be a blatant lie. Or more likely, a twist of the truth. Maybe they’ve been talking about how much of a pain in the ass I am behind my back.

But, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to discount the idea. I’ve seen and remembered all the unfamiliar looks or glances they’ve given me. The way they go out of their way to catour things to me even when I don’t ask. Or when I’ve gone too long in the backseat, and they ask how I’m doing or what I think about something.

And for some reason, when I thought about these tidbits, and the broader pattern that seemed to emerge with their actions… I felt an inexplicable, sourceless surge of fear spreading through my bones to the tips of my fingers and toes.

Quickly I closed my eyes, trying not to show it as I let the sensation wash through me like a river of muck flushing out from my veins. Don’t fight it. Let it pass.

But it wasn’t passing. It just kept flowing, and flowing, gaining even more momentum as my thoughts danced ever closer toward dangerous territory. Desperately, I reached out with my senses, feeling the smooth wood of the piano, the softness of my dress… and the calm, consistent melody thrumming from the harpsichord plucked strings underneath me.

Stealthily, I took deep breaths through my nose, letting out all the stress on the exhale as I let the music cleanse me of negative energies like Grandmama taught me to, basking in the sound as it washed over my body.

Ten seconds passed by, and then thirty, as the tension ever so gradually faded from my limbs, and the thumping of my heart slowed to a steady rhythm.

“…Hey, Lurch. You have a mother, so I imagine you were a child, once. Did you always want to be a butler?”

His hands paused. “Ung.” And continued.

“You were in a band?” My eyebrows shot to my head at that incongruous image.

For a moment, I thought I even saw a smile twitch at one of the corners of his lips, like a wayward muscle spasm.

“That’s pretty amazing. How’d you get to be our butler then?”

“Grag.”

“Ah, yeah, money…” I trailed off hesitating over my next question. “Then… if you could go back to that, would you?”

He just shrugged, and I frowned at the non-response. “What makes you different from other types of servants that are often dehumanized and exploited while keeping to the narrative of “they’re just like family to us” or “they’re happy servants” ignoring the fact that they might have their own families and dreams?”

Shockingly, he actually raised an eyebrow at me. 

“Gruaag.” 

The wind died from my sails, and my face heated up. Right, he literally was an Addams. They gave him this job as a family favor; he can see his more immediate relatives at any time, and he likes it here. In that sense, Lurch was less like a butler and more like my old uncle who stayed at grandpa’s house to take care of him and make sure he wouldn’t get lonely.

Damnit… for some reason, I was disappointed. What is wrong with my emotions today? I lamented, but really, I knew what was wrong. When I was in my previous life, other than drawing, my only true escape for my emotions had been music. My dingy iPod was my lifeline, having been given one by one of my foster guardians during the lovebomb initiation before I realized how dangerous hope was. 

For some reason, even afterward, I couldn’t bring myself to scrap the thing so I just reasoned that I’d scammed them out of it instead to make me feel better.

And now, it was messing with my head and making me slip up. Too dangerous. I was about to leave to avoid further damage when Lurch stopped playing and spoke, 

“Kurrgaggg.”

I froze, and looked back. “Me?” I asked, tilting my head.

The giant nodded and stood up from the seat, extending to his full height and stepping out to make room for me. When I hesitated still, he gestured at the keys with another grunt.

Slowly, somewhat fearfully, I sat down at the harpsichord. Then I lifted my hands and gently placed them on the keys… but I froze.

I could feel Lurch’s eyes boring into the back of my head, and anxiety laced my mind at Gomez, Morticia, or the others walking in on me doing something so… squishy.

“Gurg” Without a word from me, Lurch promised he would keep our parents away and left the music room.

And then there I was here. In the music room with just me and the instruments, during one of the rare few moments where I was truly alone with my thoughts and didn’t have to keep a tight hold on my own feelings, words, or actions.

It was surreal. In the emptiness of the large soundproof room, I was suddenly struck by a feeling of subconsciousness that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel since Wednesday was a baby. In the absence of having to focus on anything else, I was suddenly hyper aware of every small movement of my fingers, every breath, and every shift in my seat.

Awkwardly, as if afraid it might night me, I placed a finger on the “C” key and gently pressed down- and almost jumped when the sharp pluck struck my ears. Embarrassed, I stood up and walked over to the grand piano instead. It was what Wednesday and I had been taught, and it had a much wider range of sounds. 

Flipping over the wood key-cover thingy, I sat down again, and wrung my hands. Wednesday might wake up any minute. My luck could come into play and do… something, I don’t know. My mind raced with justifications to return to my more familiar, comforting mindset, but after a moment of hesitation, I blocked them out.

I- I don’t care. I don't care, I… just, let me have this, while it’s here, okay?

And with that flimsy prayer, I didn’t give the thoughts any more room to convince me, and place my hands upon the keys.

I started with something light. Some melodies from a few songs from handheld games I’d played, correcting myself when the note sounded different from the original. Pokemon, Zelda, and even the Tetris theme. Then I moved on to movies, and then tv shows, my downloaded albums, and then even the singers on the radio that made car rides with my guardians a little less miserable for me. All things I didn’t want to play around Wednesday or the family during practice in case they sounded weird compared to the usual classical pieces.

And then, when I was warmed up… I started improvising. Twinkling extensions of melodies, chords where they weren’t there before. Additions of leitmotifs from other media layered onto others like some Frankenstein's monster clustered together of all the music I ever cherished and escaped to in my previous life. High energy choruses, strong rhythmic beats to sway along to, and trailing adventurous chords. 

It barely flowed together enough to be considered a single piece. Just a total outpouring of all the perfect memories forever stored in my mind. I remembered the circumstances I listened to them in. I remembered the feelings I had tied to specific songs and what I was going through when it was my favorite to listen to. I remember the quiet tension I tried so hard to shake off. I remembered being under the covers, listening through my headphones when I couldn’t close my eyes.

The music that carried me through all the hardships so that I could come out the other side stronger for it. The voices that carried me to weather through all my setbacks to become the girl who would never give up no matter how many times it took. The songs that became a refuge for all the softness the world was determined to choke out of me; my whimsy, my pain, my excitement, and even my despair. 

A drop of water hit my hand. Then another, and another—

And then Wednesday started shifting in her sleep. 

Quickly, I took my hands off the keyboard and clamped the bubble around my mind like an iron shutter, gently soaking up the tears with my shirt without rubbing, and massaging around my eyes and the bridge of my nose with my fingertips. Thankfully, I didn’t do it too long so my eyes were only barely noticably puffy.

“Wakey wakey, sleepy head. Was the music too loud for you?” I gave her a mental hug.

“Ugh…Shove off… I felt some emotions from you, what happened?” As it was more of a “dormancy” than sleep, she didn’t have much drowsiness.

I gestured at the piano. “I was just getting really into the music. Haven’t touched it on my own before. Wanna play together a bit?”

“No. I’m tired from both our short-lived odyssey yesterday and dealing with Wendy today. Let’s go to sleep.”

“Yeah, you were seriously focused on that game-“

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

And we continued to bicker as we pushed the doors open and left the music room behind. Spotting a shadow in the corner, I whispered a soft “thankyou, Lurch,” before moving on to retire for the day.

Chapter Text

Elsie wished she had any other name, sometimes. If she had, she wouldn’t have had to line up behind the crazy girl every other day when we lined up in front of class. Yes, every other day, because the weirdo had an imaginary friend in her body named Wednesday and stood in that part of the line sometimes. Well, actually, she and her friends couldn’t decide on whether Wednesday was the imaginary friend she dumped all of her creepiness onto, or if Friday was just Wednesday when she was pretending to be normal. 

Either way, that bitch had some serious mental issues and should go see a therapist before she starts chugging down coffee like it’s antidepressants.

Being directly in front of her in line, she tried to face the girl sideways whenever possible because it made her skin crawl to turn her back -what if she snapped and became a psycho murderer?-, but if she faced too forward, Friday would take the chance to talk to her. Ugh! There was just no winning! Why couldn’t mama just put her in a different class!?

“Hey Harold! Sorry I forgot to mention yesterday, but my brother and I really enjoyed the gift you mailed us while I was sick.”

“Are you sure you’re already okay to go back to school? If you had a fever…”

“Yeah, it was just a bad breakfast.”

I slumped my shoulders at only having one day of peace. I wish you stayed sick for the entire school year, please.

In some ways, the normal one gave me the creeps even more than the crazy one. It was something about those dark eyes, and something just slightly off about her expression or voice. Something fake but put together well enough to take the edge off the other personality and even get along with some of the class, though it was mostly just Harold’s friends.

Like some kind of psycho killer blending in with everyone.

Chills ran up my arms, and I hugged them subtly. She reminded me of a kid in a horror movie my brother sneakily showed me on Halloween once. I never thought those types of kids would exist in real life, but now I have to worry about her snapping and planning my murder every day, but every time I try to tell the teacher or my mom, they just tell me to stop watching horror movies! It’s infuriating!

At least my friends understand. And most of the other kids seem to agree too.

“When I was sick, my parents told me the story of a janitor who used to work here. He had only one of his hands, so kids would make fun of him, calling him Captain Hook, or asking him to lend a hand.”

“Oh? Does he still work here?”

“Nope. Some kids spilled juice on the ground for him to clean up, but he was really old. So he slipped and died!”

“That’s horrible!”

My nose wrinkled at the creepy story. Just goes to show, even this version of her isn’t normal.

“But that’s not all.” Her voice lowered.

“Hm? What is it?”

Morbidly curious, I tilted my head slightly toward the girl despite myself.

“My mom said that he’d lost his hand at work, and, due to the agony of being made fun of for so long, it still haunts the school to this day!” 

“No way!”

Irritated, I whipped around and snapped, “There’s no way that’s true! You’re creepy enough with your fake personality, you don’t need to make up fake scary stories too!”

“Elsie Grosenbacher!” I winced, and slowly my head. 

Ms Fritz was standing right behind me, crossing her arms with a frown on her face. “We do not call others creepy, no matter how different they are from us. Apologize to -erm- Wednesday and Friday.”

I frowned, “But Ms Fritzzz-”

“No buts!”

I whined, slumping my shoulders, and turned around to look at the girl. She looked just as surprised as me, and somehow that made me even more angry, but I just grit my teeth and opened my mouth, “I’m sorry…that you’re a creepy lying liar” I muttered the last half just loud enough that she could hear.

“What was tha-”

“It’s okay, Elsie! I’m still sorry about the doll incident too.” Friday interrupted, smiling at me. But I only felt a chill at that expression, the subtle way she looked at me that told me this wasn’t over.

The commotion passed, and Ms Fritz moved on to herd everyone into the classroom.

But just as the teacher took her eyes off them, Friday leaned forward toward me. I tried to lean back, but I didn’t want to bump into the person behind me either. “G-go away…!” 

I tilted my head away from her face, but she got even closer and whispered into my ear, “The ghost doesn’t like kids who call people weird and creepy.”

“That’s, nonesene-” I stammered when a finger suddenly brushed against my ankle. 

A spike of fear jolted through my body, and I jumped up with a squeak, snapping my head down to find the culprit. But there was nothing there. 

While my heart was trying to beat out of my chest, Friday giggled and stepped back into line. “Elsie, are you alright? What happened?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out, and I just flapped it like a dumb fish. I had no proof, and no way to explain how Friday could have even done that.

“… Nothing. I’m fine.”

Soon enough they all sat down and took out their pencil boxes out of their desks. Class passed by as usual, but it was hard to focus when I kept glancing behind me at the creepy girl every few seconds. Because of course, she had to sit behind me, of all people.

She’s planning something, right? Or maybe she just wanted to scare me that one time and has already forgotten about me. I prayed it was the latter.

The wariness just made me even more annoyed whenever Friday was called on, and she gave a perfect answer in that chipper, teacher’s pet tone of hers; it was even more energetic than usual today. It was always either that or casual monotone, and both of them grated on my nerves. If there’s one thing more annoying than an asshole, it’s a competent asshole, as dad once said.

Mom forced me to recite multiplication flash cards on the car ride home even though it was ahead of the curriculum, and I had to read two of my third grade level training books before bed every day before bed. But then the weirdo of the class casually overtakes me in every possible way?  

I couldn’t stand it.

Frustrated, I subtly reached into my desk for my notecards. I knew the answer to the problem on the board! I just needed a little reminder to get there. And if it meant one upping that crazy head…

I rummaged around, but I couldn’t find it. Just when I got frustrated, a hand reached up on my desk and placed the notes down.

I quickly swiped it off the table and whispered, “Thankyo…”

Then my eyes widened, and my throat tightened, unable to finish the sentence. My breath froze in my chest, and a chill ran down my spine.

Ms Fritz’s words fell to a muffled white noise as my head slowly tilted downward. Slowly, I leaned down, scooching backwards slowly and methodically, until I was eye-level with the compartment under my desk.

And there was nothing there. 

My shoulders sagged, with relief and I sat up to scooch back in-

A hand grabbed my shoulder and I squealed, jumping and turning in my seat. Friday sat there, looking surprised with her hand outstretched. The background noise fell quiet, and I realized everyone was now staring at me.

“Is something wrong, Elsie?” Ms Fritz walked over, concerned.

“F-Friday—”

“I just wanted to see her notes, but I surprised her by accident. Sorry Ms Fritz!” She pointed at the index cards in my hand.

Immediately, the teacher’s concerned expression was wiped away. “Friday, that’s nice, but Elsie, this is a game to earn stars. You’re supposed to know them from memory, not notes. Could you please hand those over? I’ll give them back at the end.”

Speechless, I handed the cards to the teacher with a pit in my stomach.

I tried to analyze Friday's expression, in a vain hope to find any hint of smugness or spite, but all it was met with was a confused tilt of the head.

Was I just going crazy from worrying about her too much? Was it my own guilty conscience for cheating? Or, or maybe….

Crazy girl…a hand ghost…Is this school seriously haunted!?!?

***

Pure ecstasy.

For the first time in a while, I had to fight to hold on my laughter as we watched Elsie, the girl who was most actively against us, slowly question her sanity.

This definitely wasn’t the first time I’d gotten back at a bully, but it never got old. Though in my past life, I was much more subtle about it.

“We should do this more often.” Wednesday snickered openly within the confines of our mind.

“No, we’re already implicated enough in this case, Thing and Elsie’s own overactive imagination is the only level of separation giving us the benefit of the doubt. We need to lay low for a while, or they’ll wise up, get angry and retaliate against us.” I gently dissuaded her.

We left school with a pep in our step, glancing through the corner of our eye at how Elsie abandoned all pretense and sprinted toward her mom’s car. 

“You did a good job, Thing.” Was the first thing I said as I stepped into the car.

He crawled out of our dress where he’d been clinging to my shin, excitedly wriggling in a way that gave the impression of laughter.

Lurch put on the thrusters, and I let myself burst into laughter alongside him.

“Wednesday, what was your favorite? I was worried that Thing wouldn’t hide in time with the desk trick, but then he pulled off that dollhouse! He’s a bonafide ninja.” I complimented him.

“He really is the best at stealth.” Wednesday nodded. “The toy box was the best though.”

He waved us off sheepishly.

“Oh, don’t be so modest. You just went wild and accomplished more than we’d ever hoped. Did you see her face when you grabbed the Barbie she was reaching for?”

He slapped the seat, and I giggled, “Yeah, I was half worried, worried she’d faint right then and there.”

We trailed off into a happy silence, jerking forward and back with the rhythmic firing of the rocket jets.

“Hey Thing, did you ever go to school?” The thought suddenly came to me.

He gave a thumbs down and brushed the question aside.

“I suppose that makes sense. But how did you get an education?”

He made a series of rapid gestures, and my brow furrowed trying to interpret it. “Home… you were homeschooled?”

A thumbs up.

“Well that was obvious. Most Addams are homeschooled. You even had to ask mom and dad to even get sent here.” Wednesday was confused why I even asked.

“I was just wondering if he’d be a little hand in a classroom of full-bodied kids, it was a weird image!” I tried to brush it off. For me, regular school was the norm, so I just hadn’t thought of it, but I obviously couldn’t explain that.

“I see. You know, what do you even do for work, Thing?” I held up my fingers. “Dad runs businesses into the ground and loses money with stocks, but lucks his way into fortune anyways. Mom mostly stays at home but she does some psychic business on the side. I’m pretty sure Fester is a full time criminal, and grandmama scams people when she’s bored. Then Lurch is employed by us… But I’ve never seen what you do, and I’d remember if I did.”

“You’re right. I’d never noticed.”

Thing dragged a finger along the seat, suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh… there’s nothing wrong with being unemployed. It’s hard for some types of people to find a job, and I imagine it's even hard with your communication issues.” I patted the back of the hand.

He slumped, dejected.

“…Is that why you were so quick to help me even though I’d be using you like a prank prop? Or even why you’re so helpful in general. It’s because you want to feel useful?”

Thing froze in surprise. Following a sudden impulse of sympathy, I held the hand with my own.

“Thing, you should never depend on gratefulness to feel self confident. You’re not just some kind of servant with no purpose but doing things for others. You’re your own person, Thing, just like Lurch is more than just our butler. And if you ever want to do anything for yourself, you are always welcome to say so.”

Trembling, the hand gave me a tight squeeze. Smiling, I sat back and let myself rock with the whiplash.

I’m really glad I learned to stop sucking up to others rather early on. Everything really just became so much easier when I gave up chasing affection or belonging.

The trembling gradually slowed to a halt, and he let me go. He looked more relaxed than before, and I smiled, marveling a bit at the sheer range of body language Thing could express with just a hand.

My empty words were probably just pointless assurances that won’t go anywhere, but I said it more out of selfishness anyways. I always wanted someone else to say them to me, before I realized I had to give that permission to myself.

Chapter Text

A beautiful rain shower; https://imgur.com/a/7NoL4ap link if image isn’t working

Theories:

The new headmaster worked for the siren cult leader, which is why he is adept at using sirens to get what he wants. He is pushing for more funding for the school because he wants to embezzlement to the cult leader.

Wednesday’s grandmother is working with the asylum to study powers, given that she is very interested in cultivating Wednesday’s talent and probably instigated the conflict between Morticia and her sister in order to push them to outdo each other. When Ophelia couldn’t take it and cracked, she sent her away to the asylum perhaps to “make sure she’s at least useful for something.” Her business is also the same method that they use to make outcasts disappear, and maybe she’s so successful because she’s contributing to the trafficking and they’re paying her to do it; it could be that this other graveyard was just a smaller one that was less consequential, and thus not as important to hide thoroughly. 

The asylum could be in the league with the siren cult, with the leader perhaps funding it in order to eventually transfer siren powers into himself so that he doesn’t need to rely on manipulating other sirens, which as we saw, can backfire.

Tyler’s only other meaningful attachments other than his hatred of Wednesday are his mother and his hatred of Enid. The hatred of Enid is an obvious throughline, especially with his earlier threat to kill her, to make him the one who kills her and have it be Wednesday’s fault. 

The zombie scientist and the living head who is now the science teacher might have a connection to each other, and, being a living head, it would be very ironic if his brains were eaten. Because he is studying immortality, I see a reasonable future where Enid dies and comes back as a zombie somehow, leading to the line “I’m dead because of you” not being that she’s in the soul realm, but that she literally died and resurrected. 

The new headmaster worked for the siren cult leader, which is why he is adept at using sirens to get what he wants. He is pushing for more funding for the school because he wants to embezzlement to the cult leader.

Wednesday’s grandmother is working with the asylum to study powers, given that she is very interested in cultivating Wednesday’s talent and probably instigated the conflict between Morticia and her sister in order to push them to outdo each other. When Ophelia couldn’t take it and cracked, she sent her away to the asylum perhaps to “make sure she’s at least useful for something.” Her business is also the same method that they use to make outcasts disappear, and maybe she’s so successful because she’s contributing to the trafficking and they’re paying her to do it; it could be that this other graveyard was just a smaller one that was less consequential, and thus not as important to hide thoroughly. 

The asylum could be in the league with the siren cult, with the leader perhaps funding it in order to eventually transfer siren powers into himself so that he doesn’t need to rely on manipulating other sirens, which as we saw, can backfire.

Tyler’s only other meaningful attachments other than his hatred of Wednesday are his mother and his hatred of Enid. The hatred of Enid is an obvious throughline, especially with his earlier threat to kill her, to make him the one who kills her and have it be Wednesday’s fault. 

The zombie scientist and the living head who is now the science teacher might have a connection to each other, and, being a living head, it would be very ironic if his brains were eaten. Because he is studying immortality, I see a reasonable future where Enid dies and comes back as a zombie somehow, leading to the line “I’m dead because of you” not being that she’s in the soul realm, but that she literally died and resurrected. 

Chapter Text

A drop of water hit my hand. Then another, and another as the music mixed and morphed into something else, something original and uniquely my own, pouring all my suppressed emotion into the keys—

And then Wednesday started “shifting in her sleep”. 

Quickly, I took my hands off the keyboard and clamped the bubble around my mind like an iron shutter, gently soaking up the tears with my shirt without rubbing, and massaging around my eyes and the bridge of my nose with my fingertips. Thankfully, I didn’t do it too long so my eyes were only barely noticeably puffy.

“Wakey wakey, sleepy head. Was the music too loud for you?” I gave her a mental hug.

“Ugh…Shove off… I felt some weird emotions from you, what happened?” As it was more of a “dormancy” than sleep, she didn’t have much drowsiness.

I gestured at the piano. “I was just getting really into the music, haven’t touched it on my own before. Wanna play together a bit?”

“…” There was a strange pause.

“What? Still tired?” I tilted my head, a subtle pull of dread weighing down my stomach.

“Who is Carmen, and how did you really know his name?” 

I could have said anything. I had certainly gotten enough practice thinking on the fly, deflecting, reframing, or outright lying. But wether it was my lingering emotions, all the stress, or maybe even because it was Wednesday who was asking… I hesitated.

“So you were lying to me.” An immediate upwelling of anger boiled up in our chest, lined with a surprising amount of… hurt? 

“No! No, I just…” I struggled to gather my words. What was wrong with me!? I should be better than this!

“If you had simply met him while we were younger and I couldn’t remember, you would have told me so. And he didn’t seem to recognize you, yet you appeared to have a great emotional connection to him.”

Our hands shook under the weight of our whirlwind of emotions, spinning around and reacting to each other until it became an illegible Gordian knot in our head.

“Why are you acting like this? It’s just a dumb name.” I reasoned mentally.

“If that’s all it was, then why are you still so obviously affected by your encounter with him?” 

I moved to answer, but Wednesday surrounded me with a cage of rusted iron brambles, all but dragging us down into our mindscape together. I gasped mentally as we closed our eyes, physical reality fading into the background until our senses were completely replaced with mental impositions formed from massive collections of memory, instinct, and inferences.

The stench of copper and burnt flesh singed my nostrils, and an unwelcoming chill pervaded the air, the dampness seeming to seep into my very skin. A chill raced down my spine as I recognized the horrible instruments scattered throughout the sunless chamber, but when I moved to back away, my wrists tugged on rough thick ropes and I realized I was sitting in a familiar chair.

“Recognize it? I’m sure you do with that memory of yours. The very same chair that Pugsley used to get back at me on one of his rare lucky wins.” Wednesday’s voice echoed behind me, and indeed, Pugsley was standing right in front of us with a bottle of chlorine and vinegar with the particular grin of a kid who had their older sibling in a video game despite button smashing the whole time.

My sister circled around the chair and placed a hand on Pugsley’s shoulder, smirking at me. “Even then he was foolish enough to use gas and damage himself, turning this round into a tie. I’ll have to tell him later that I reclaimed this humiliating memory and molded it into a dreadful weapon, finally making it my win in the end.”

My throat burned, and I coughed and writhed as tears streamed down my eyes. And yet, as vivid as it was, I could still see the patchwork seams marking the stitching whole scene together. A whisper of Pugsley’s laughter out of sync, the scene taking place in the Playroom even though this specific instance was in the attic, the missing aftertaste of banana slug bread in our throat.

I grit my teeth, strengthening my mental cage to leak as little emotion as possible. “You really want to cross mental blades again just because I want to keep a little something to myself? Well, two can play it that way.”

I mentally pushed as quickly as possible and the scene burst apart, rapidly rearranging into our familiar classroom as I called upon a very particular memory.

“Okay kids, sing along with me now!” Mrs. Fritz clapped her hands to the beat of the cartoon on the screen, soon joined by the crowd of children sitting around her in a circle. Wednesday near the back, dead eyes somehow magnitudes more soulless than usual. ““AA, B-Be, Cee, Dea, EEY, EF, GEe-!””

The exact pitch and cadence of the cartoon, the teacher, and every single squeaky hyperactive elementary schooler echoed off the walls of the cramped classroom and pierced my sisters’ ears with sharp, unforgiving vividness.

“Oh, would you stop going back to this specific memory for once!?” My sister shouted with the most emotion I’ve heard in her voice in two months and six days. 

“You wouldn’t remember it, but it’s karma.” I huffed a laugh at her suffering as I settled my mental position near the teacher and waited, but I didn’t let my guard down. 

From this point, she had many options, but with this particular memory she has never engaged directly; she’s only ever tried to either destroy and try to take over this area of our landscape like I had just done, or try to cut through it and escape. The former took more mental energy, akin to challenging me to a mental arm wrestle, while the latter let her slip away easily but she would be ceding this skirmish to me without an immediate counterattack.

Wednesday shot to her feet and conjured a fencing sword. I quickly reinforced the wall and floors around her with intent, but my eyes widened as instead she tossed the blade straight at my face with the speed of Gomez’s perfect throw.

Shit, she was attacking directly! I panickedly moved to deflect the attack and between one blink and the next I swung my left hand upwards and Pugsley’s bloody newborn body was impaled by the blade, successfully knocking it off course.

Both of us took a moment to pause, looking at the butt-naked child pinned to the wall, giggling madly and gushing blood from its neck wound directly onto the now quiet Mrs Fritz and some of the front row students. Bleeding down over the screen, the cartoon animal also tinged crimson red in the projection.

“Really? That was the first thing you thought of?” I could just feel the undisguised judgment and mirth radiating off of her.

My face heated up immediately, “Sh-shut up! I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to think about it!” 

“Your mind raced to come up with the perfect tool to defend yourself from a sword, and you thought Pugsley’s newborn body was your best option.” She stated bluntly.

“You-! W-well, it worked, so ha!” I pointed at her triumphantly.

“He is rather resilient.” She shrugged. “Regretfully, while the toughness stayed, he seems to not be growing into his looks.”

I looked skeptically at the gooey wrinkled flesh bag, “All babies look like that. Anyways, do you wanna keep going?”

“I’m too tired. I spied on you instead of sleeping a lot.” Wednesday sat down and I let the memory fade away to a neutral area of the mind; our musty bedroom. “I figured it out, so can’t you just tell me?”

I laughed and sat on the bed with her, “If you figured it out, you wouldn’t have interrogated me.”

“Sister.” She said seriously.

I remained silent, thinking for a moment. Part of why I had gotten scared of that sword attack was that I could feel an actual, sizable mental weight behind it. If it had hit me, it was going to hurt me. Not out of a real intent to cause me harm; it was more as a projection of the frustration she was feeling in an attempt to get me to feel the same way, but hurt was still hurt. I knew that well.

Still, it had to be said that Wednesday felt like she had to do that for a reason. And I was far from blameless. I had lied to my sister, the person who literally shares our head and body, openly. But…still, I…

I took a deep breath and open my mouth, but every time I tried to say something and turn to face her, my mind went completely blank. I huffed, and tried again. And again. And again.

Frustration and helplessness pooled in my chest. I pictured the mental bubble around my mind and kicked the steel shutters hard, but they wouldn’t budge. In fact, every hurried attempt to smash or tear them open, well aware of the impatient gaze on me only led them to regenerate thicker and more solid than before. 

Suddenly, a new and unwelcome panic seized my heart. I couldn’t understand, something like this had never happened before. I was just earlier lamenting how I couldn’t stop opening my mouth, but now it felt like I couldn’t speak at all.

Finally, after taking a break from one of the attempts, I realized that outside in the real world I was starting to shake from the effort.

This… isn’t working. But, I can’t give her nothing, either. 

Hesitantly, I gave up hope at giving even a partial answer, and opened my mouth one more time. “I… I….I don’t, want to tell you.” 

She looked at me for a long moment, but my gaze fixed itself firmly on the floor, letting my loose hair partially block my view of her.

A finger hooked around my bangs and I tensed unconsciously, but it only tucked the hair over my shoulder. I glanced at her through the corner of my eyes, and, though it was the same dead eyed stare as usual, the intensity had lessened considerably. 

“Acceptable.” 

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, can we go eat dinner now? We’re both hungry.”

A pause for another moment, then she nodded and stood up “You should say you don’t want me to know from the beginning next time instead of hiding like a coward. Let’s go.”

I smiled wryly and let myself tune back into reality, sliding into the back seat while Wednesday took the wheel. “Thank you for the music, Lurch.” She nodded to the lumbering figure stalking in the shadows.

As much as you don’t know about me, there’s some things I’ll never understand about you, sister.

Chapter Text

A library of memories sprawled out before my eyes, warm yet dim lamps lit halos of light through impossible fog, and musty paper smell suffused through my imaginary lungs. You couldn’t get any more cliche than a library mind palace, but if it works, it works. Even if it more took on the structure of a dayless labyrinth shifting to match my needs rather than organized rows within a beautiful architecture.

My hands trailed along the textured spines as I walked by, my hand lamp lighting up the titles. Maybe it was inconvenient, but it instilled in me the same comforting feeling of sneaking through my belongings at night. 

It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for, as all the books were in alphabetical order. It would be nice if all of my memories could be arranged so simply, but as it was, this only worked for actual written text or nameable things in general. Practical, emotional, or even chronological; there was no one system that could sufficiently categorize and organize the sheer quantity of memory stuffed into my skull. 

But for this specific case, it was enough. I pulled out the last tome I needed, an actual book called Mischievous Magick for Machiavellians; one of the many lended to me by Grandmama. I turned away just as the shelf began to blur, its size and shape and placement in space flickering through multiple states like a particle in superposition.

To the left, the entire hallway looked just the same as that bookshelf, twisting and folding in on itself until I could see foreign shapes and lights through the fog. Distantly, I could hear whispers of emotion and torture devices and voices of annoying teachers and little brothers blending together to make up my sister’s dream. 

To my right, I focused and step forward through the mist until a new light shone in the distance. Not orange and even the spaced with the other lamps, but bright green. A few more pieces forward and it came into view; an exit sign over a normal door, somehow only exaggerating this place’s eerie atmosphere. 

With only a small pause of hesitation, I placed my hand on the door knob and twisted-

And I opened our eyes.

Sleep followed me like a cloud of cotton behind our eyes, and when I experimentally curled my fingers into a fist one by one the movements were heavy and unresponsive. Slowly but confidently, I puppeteered our body into a sitting position, the movements seeming to lag behind my commands if only just half a second. Every one of our senses or functioning, but they were behind a pane of thick, opaque glass. On a scale of wakefulness to sleep, I would describe this state as just a few steps away from sleep paralysis.

Slowly, deliberately, I moved one leg in front of the other to get to the center of the room. Sitting down carefully, I lifted the rug and opened the trapped door to get to my “secret hideout”. 

The materials are already prepared. Carefully sifting through my sleep addled mind, l flipped through my memorized book until I found the correct page. Addams Antics; curses and charms for a most cursedly charming family. 

The most prominent items on the floor were a teacup, a rusty kettle, and a small handful of Hebane. Next to it was a cloud in a bottle, frogs breath, and a handful of eyes of newt. The latter wasn’t the usual euphemism for seeds like it usually was either, but actual eyes of newts fermenting in a jar.

Almost clumsily, yet methodically, I dropped each item into the kettle one by one. I first used a funnel upside down to properly siphon the cloud and frog’s breath, then heating the mixture up by cracking the eyes of newt into the kettle once the gas began sinking instead of rising. Then, finally, I crushed the dried henbane in my warm magic-infused hands, closing my eyes and focusing on the feeling of love and protectiveness I felt towards my sister while rubbing them together and dropping pieces of cracked leaves into the pot. Letting the magic-infused leaves bask in the steam and taint it with corroding poison. 

And then I waited, groggily counting the minutes down and trying not to nod off. Thankfully, my double edged talent for a memory came with the side effect of having a good sense of time, and I picked up the boiling kettle just as fog began to bubble up and out of the spout.

With a level anticipation I didn't expect, I quickly snatched the handle and poured a generous serving into the teacup. Thick opaque fog trickled into the cracked ceramic, the top layer frothing over the edge and into the saucer itself. And there it was! Morticia’s famous henbane tea- frothing style, the one she only makes for special guests and occasions!

Excitement shocked a small flash of alertness through our sleep-hazed mind and I wasted no time picking up the saucer and lifting the cup to my lips. I expected it to taste like nothing, or perhaps something like the cigarette I was forced to smoke once, so I was surprised by the mist and a tangible weight to it. It wasn't like drinking liquid, but not entirely gas either, the bitter acrid taste invading my senses and making me spit it out in surprise, coughing and hacking as quietly as I could at the unexpected sensation.

It brought back unpleasant memories of sneaking a taste of beer in the middle of the night hoping it would help me sleep. 

And then I noticed the wisps of steam curling around my lens, just barely visible with my night vision, and the bitterness was swept away by unbridled joy.

“I did it! I actually did it, oh my god I did magic!!!” After so many attempts, I finally found an Addam’s-brand magic that I could actually do. 

Grandmama had suggested that I try some of the family’s magic first since it was the easiest to do, and maybe I should've figured that it would be different for me and tried something else earlier but my stubbornness always reared its head at the strangest of times. And finally, it worked! After going through countless attempts, I at last found a potion where even just my love for my sister was enough of a “familial bond” to actually power it. 

I shook my fist in the air with silent glee- then froze, realizing I no longer felt so half-awake anymore.

“…Is that Mom's special henbane tea that she won’t let us try until we’re older?” Wednesday asked, wide awake.

“…Uh. No?”

Suddenly, that memory of sneaking alcohol seemed more accurate to the situation than she’d like it to be.

“Well don’t just hog it all to yourself, let me try!” And before I could say anything, my sister, who I’d always somewhat thought was more the mama’s girl between us, downed a large gulp of the sizzling tea like throwing back a shot.

Immediately, a large puff of smokey mist curled around our body and pooled at our feet, wisping and crawling away to all four corners of my “secret” hideout until the floor was all but completely hidden in the cloud of white.

Wednesday let out a startled laugh, trailing our right hand through the haze and watching it curl between our fingers even as the limb itself continued to pour out thickets of mist. “We’re smoking! We’re smoking, just like mom!” She smiled, even when our nose began to burn as we breathed in the poisonous gas.

Faced with that innocent glee, I couldn't help but laugh too. “Quick, turn on the lamp so we can see it properly!”

And that night, we stayed up for an entire hour making shadow puppets in the acrid mist, uncaring as the smell seeped into our clothes and floorboards. When we woke up next, we were somewhat passed out on the stairs with a pitchfork and no memory that we had gone the whole night “practicing our stealth hunting” by stalking Kitty around the house. Uncle Fester found the whole thing hilarious, Gomez was trying not to smile while explaining what happened to Pugsley, and Grandmama wouldn’t stop singing her praises that I’d developed my first magical brew even while Morticia scolded us and took away playtime with our dynamite caps.

Chapter Text

“Alright, alright, whaddya want kid? But I’ll have you know, if I hear one word about ponies or poké-pals I’m outta here!”

“He doesn’t have to go that far.” Wednesday frowned internally.

Fester looked down at me with a gaze of poorly disguised reluctance. A shared sentiment. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do for this day either. Nothing that we would both genuinely enjoy, at least. So, following Occam’s razor, I gave up.

Shrugging, I said “Nothing.” Seeing his bewildered look, I added, “I know you’ve been getting more annoyed with me lately, so I don’t want to force you. We can just do our own things and say we had fun together.”

“Oh. Well, uh…” That seemed to give him pause.

Seeing his awkwardness, I waved him off, “Didn’t you want extra time on the nail bed lately? This is a perfect extra time for that.”

Then I turned and walked away, calling over my back “I’m gonna go draw, so you can say we drew pictures together if you want.”

And then a large clammy hand gripped my shoulder. It took all my willpower to stop from flinching. I looked over my shoulder, only to be surprised by the uncharacteristically soft gaze in those beady eyes of his.

“Must have a real talent for poker huh? Then I’ll just cut the crap. Your puniness may annoy me, but that never meant I didn’t want to be around you, Friday.” He said frankly.

Memories flashed behind my eyes, and in Fester’s place stood the countless adults who’d said just about the same thing to me.

“…You don’t have to play that game with me. Some people just don’t get along, and that’s okay. It’s nothing to hide or feel bad about.” I deescalated, trying extra hard to not make it sound like I was judging him or having a problem with him.

But the thing is about people, you can never fully predict them no matter how hard you try. And the amount of times I’ve interacted directly with Fester could be counted on two of Uncle Phalanges’ hands. Well, that wasn’t exactly saying much but you get the idea.

The man huffed and rubbed his face with his hand, “…I have somethin to show you. C’mere.”

Without another word, he walked out of our room and down the stairs. I followed him reluctantly as we turned into the main hallway of the floor below, where he jiggled the stiff knob and shoved the squeaky door open into… his bedroom.

Dust caked every surface, even revealing footprints on the floor, and a massive Tesla lay propped up on the nightstand of the huge saggy bed I remembered seeing a couple of times. Reaching under the bed, Fester dragged out a huge trunk, popped the latches open, and flipped up the lid in one swift motion. The resulting dust cloud would have blown straight into my face if I hadn’t turned away preemptively. Still, it got in my hair, so we’d have to wash it all out after this.

“Don’t be shy now, sit down, scooch in!” He waved me over, and I sat down next to him, resigned.

“Alright, alright. So what did you want to…” my words trailed off as I got an up close view of the items in the chest.

Trinkets, papers, baby teeth, adult teeth… they were little heirlooms from who knows when. But the most prominent were the photos, scattered everywhere along the floors and walls of the case. Some black and white, some colored, and some even framed. Hundreds of them.

Fester’s pale sweaty hand rummaged through the pile for a few seconds in silence while my eyes flitted across the ridiculously huge pile of memories.

“…Ah, here it is. Look here!” He held up one little picture in front of my eyes. In it, Fester was wearing a smaller version of his trademark robe, standing in front of an equally macabre pair of parents, all frowning or staring into the camera with an eerie gaze. But on the opposite side of Fester stood a teenager with a bright winning smile, in a neat flannel shirt and clean comb over. He technically looked similar to how he did today, but… brighter. More normal. The glint of insanity in his eyes was almost nonexistent, and he felt like a standup teenageer.

“That was dad?” Wednesday couldn’t control her shock, accidentally shoving her way to the front to ask the question. And honestly, I felt the same way.

Fester nodded sagely. “That’s me and your dad alright. Posing at a famous hazardous waste site with our parents on vacation before everything fell apart.” He smiled. “Now, he doesn’t like talkin about it, but as you can see, he was always a bit of a black sheep in the family.” He sighed, wistful yet exasperated.

“How so?” I asked after Wednesday let herself fall back into our subconscious.

“A tale as old as time.” He recounted, “Gomez always felt outshone by me, as the younger one of us. Anything he could do, I could do it better- his words, not mine.” His gaze looked regretful as he stared at the younger visage of his brother.

“And maybe because of that, when he got older, he got into a real hell of a rebellious phase. Went to public school just like you, and started getting straight A’s, running for student president, and even valedictorian.” He shivered visibly at that last one.

“Now, it’s not the worst thing in the world, don’t get me wrong. Every kid goes through phases every now and then. But there’s a fine line where a phase starts to become a problem.” He rasped seriously, looking at me as if waiting for a response.

I quickly nodded.

Fester bit his lip, looking pained. “It all took a turn for the worst when he started making friends with the wrong crowds, and mom and dad were fighting too much to notice how bad it was getting.” He pulled out another picture, this burnt with small pockmarks, displaying one of Gomez and some of his old friends at a sleepover party wearing pajamas. “I think it’s cuz he felt like he got more validation from them than from his own home.” 

He paused, clenching the photo in his hand. “…And I only made things worse. I was the older brother, but I just stood by and watched for a whole year, thinking he’d get over it eventually.”

Sparks crackled between his fingertips in the weighty silence, zapping the photo’s edges  and making it clear where the burn marks came from. Gently, I reached out my hand and covered the back of his, flinching but not moving away as a powerful shock jolted up my arm and made our body hairs stand on end.

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, my emotions too mixed up and confusing. But for some reason, a small part of me couldn’t just watch and do nothing as Fester stewed in his past regrets.

“…One day, I’d had enough. He said he wanted to stay at a “friend’s” house over the summer, and I snapped at him like I’d never snapped before! I took him, shoved em’ in my car, and drove off to the muggiest swamp I could find before plunging the heap of metal into the bottom of a lake.”

He picked up a new picture, this time a freeze frame of Gomez shouting obscenities at the handheld camera with all his fancy clothes drenched and muddy. Wednesday snickered at it in our head, and even I quirked my lips in schadenfreud at the sight.

Fester smiled wryly. “Oh, he hated me for that first week. Complaining about all the bugs, his skin complexion, the mugginess.” He laughed, “But the second week… I started to catch him dipping his toes into the algae when he thought I wasn’t lookin’. Catching fish by hand when he didn’t need to, and even catching bugs in his mouth.”

His smile became more somber now. “By week three, he came clean. Said of course he still liked everything creepy and crawly. But he couldn’t like it at school anymore because it was “embarrassing,” “gross,” or “edgy” to all his new friends.”

He frowned deeply, and this time he had to drop the picture before he completely scorched it with his sparks of static. “And then he cried on my shoulder, lamenting that he felt like he could never truly be himself wherever he went. At home, he’d just be a lesser version of me. At school, an outcast.”

The silence grew deeper than it had before, but also lighter, as both Wednesday and I turned the story around in our heads. 

I  was in a different situation to the one Gomez was in, to say the least. But I could understand pretty easily how Fester had conflated my troubles with his brother’s. And, in that vein, I could understand why the man felt so restless seeing that I was being “coddled”.

I couldn’t be fully honest. But, if he’s going out of his way to come to an understanding with me, then…

“I admit, my feelings toward Wednesday aren’t dissimilar between you and dad. But Fester, I’m not the way I am because I want to make friends or feel like I belong. I honestly don’t even really care about anyone except for Wednesday at school.” I admitted.

Fester frowned, “Then what’re ya holding yourself back for? Don’t think I don’t see you letting your sister take the spotlight, well beyond just avoiding that “bad” luck streak of yours.”

I blinked in surprise at the observation. I quickly looked away, fiddling with my hair, trying to feign simple embarrassment while I tried to come up with a proper excuse.

I couldn’t help my flinch this time when the clammy, staticky hand touched my shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Friday. You can tell me anything, and it won’t be half as embarrassing as the dirt I’ve got on Gomez”

Alarm bells immediately blared in my head, and I blurted out, “I just got used to it. Makes me anxious to be fronting too often now.” 

Too honest. Shit!

“You really feel that way?” Wednesday asked concernedly.

He laughed, “Well it’s simple then, isn’t it? You just have to stretch your legs more often! Though, this Friday Week thing is actually a pretty good start, in that case.” He mumbled the last sentence begrudgingly.

Well, damnit. Now they’re gonna force me out more deliberately. At least they don’t know half the reason I get anxious is because I don’t want to interact with any of the family, but still.

Fester ruffled my hair with his hand and stood up. “If that’s really all it is, I’m glad. I was starting to get worried you were Normafying, honestly.”

“Don’t touch our hair!” Wednesday snapped, but I quickly took back control, fixating on that last sentence, “What do you mean, normafying?”

He shuddered and waved me off, “Oh, nothing, forget I said anything! It’s nothing, really.”

Wednesday squinted our eyes, her mystery senses activated in full force. “Is it a gross disease?”

He shook his head frantically, “Oh, no! Quite the opposite really, you’d hate it. Don’t even look it up if you don’t want to lose your lunch, honestly! Forget I ever spoke of it!”

“Grandmama would tell us.”

“Ohhh, she no she wouldn’t, just you see!” 

My sister opened our mouth to press further, but I quickly shushed her. We could look for the answer ourselves, but if our family didn’t want us to find out, they would quickly restrict access to the library or take out all the relevant books. We had to be sneaky.

“…Fine. Have it your way.” Wednesday crossed her arms, and Fester laughed nervously.

My sister and he walked to dinner together in a somewhat awkward silence, but my mind was churning rapidly. If that “disease” was what I thought it was, it could be very useful in the future.

Chapter Text

If every day was Halloween in the Addam’s household, then what was Halloween? This precise question was a source of the most conflict you would ever see among the family every year. One day, the house would be dressed up like a wealthy high middle class Family. Then overnight, the decorations would be replaced with deliberately placed dust, bloodstains, and grotesque body horror knickknacks that sprang to life and chased pugsley down the halls.

”Cara mia, we can tangle ourselves in cobwebs every day of the year,” Gomez pleaded, pressing his lips to the back of Morticia’s hand. “Don't enjoy the days you get to wrap a new pattern of web around my heart…then watch as I struggle more fiercely and ferociously than ever before, testing my new bonds, until you tighten your strings and revel in the spike of helplessness and desperation in my gaze?”

Morticia's eyes sparkled, but she maintained her ethereal composure as always, “Oh Gomez, you know I do. But the new web isn't the true source of excitement, no. The excitement is the ferocity, the gradual buildup until finally one day you get to do away with all pretense and unleash your inner beastial urges, scaring even yourself with the level of power and wild energy that was deep inside you all along.“

Gomez let out a fierce growl kissing his way up the woman's arm to her pale neck where she sighed lewdly. It was all we could do to shove the last few bites into our mouth despite our sudden lack of appetite and quickly vacate the table as those sighs turned into loud moans. Gradually intensifying over the course of October, Gomez and Morticia’s flirt fighting grew to the point where even the ever-unphased Wednesday had to avert her eyes.

It wasn’t just the adults fighting either; the holiday season was also one of the few times I consistently argued with my sister out loud.

“How is that scary? You just look like cousin Moroseful.” She raised an eyebrow at the mental image of my costume.

“And you’d just look like the neighbor across the street with that dress you're thinking of!” I shot back without even thinking.

“That's the point. We would look strange and offputting.”

“Not to them we won't.” Not to me went unsaid.

“Which won't matter if we go to the Family gathering instead.”

Groaning at the repetitive argument, my eyes landed on Pugsley, who froze in the doorway of our playroom and was trying vainly to escape unnoticed, “Well, scaring a bunch of normie kids sounds a lot more fun than sitting at a kids table all night, doesn't it, little brother?”

“Um-” He stuttered.

“I think Pugsley would agree that Grandmama wouldn't like us participating in a christianized, overly commercialized bastardization of a Samhain.” Wednesday retorted.

“Well I-”

“Mom forced us to go to the party last time-!” I glowered

“You're leaving out the fact that before that we-” she rolled our eyes.

“So you don't care that I took the blame for that time you-”

By the time our argument finally wrapped back around to our younger brother, the doorway was empty, the coward having slipped away while we were distracted. We both narrowed our eyes at that, for once on the same page.

I always wanted to take advantage of all the creepy shit we have to dress up spookily and trick-or-treat, but my sister wanted to dress up as a “terrifying” well-dressed giggling school girl and visit our family members. Pugsley on the other hand didn't have a preference one way or another for what to do on Halloween, and as such every year we unanimously and one sidedly decided that he was our tiebreaker every November, and no, he did not get a say in that.

Not all of the family members turned to petty bickering at this time of year, however.

Grandmama never failed to claim the necropolis in the backyard to herself during the witching hours so she can have a Samhain tea party to catch up with her (long dead) school friends. Thing either pretended to be a decoration with Lurch to jumpscare some kids, or snuck into candy bowls by himself to burst out and grab the hands that reached into them (and give extra candy when he thinks we're not looking). And last but not least, Fester had his own tradition of breaking into houses during the season and seeing how many dollars worth of indoor Halloween decorations he can before they spot him (when he starts laughing) or notice something’s missing (when he gets greedy).

“Honestly, it’s a little insulting, the nut job who built this thing clearly have no idea what real insane asylum grab looks like.” Fester complained as he dragged in his newest and biggest haul.

I barely paid him a glance as he walked by, more focused on petting Kitty and feeding her roadkill. But I blinked and made one of the fastest double-takes of my life.

“Isn't that the crazy strong murderer with a mask fetish from the news? The one who escaped just a week ago!?” My voice squeaked in alarm, my tolerance for Addam’s shenanigans wavering for the first time in almost a year.

Fester frowned thoughtfully, and in the quiet, a faint raspy breath echoed out from inside the tall man’s worn-out rubber mask. “Huh, would you look at that; so it is! Sorry pal, but look at it this way, you've really perfected that silent killer look.”

Then he paused thoughtfully, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “Say, now that you mention it, I have a beautiful cousin, one hell of a woman, who sits on a rocking chair outside and stares at the passerbies so blankly we get a few of them who call an ambulance every year thinking she's in shock! And you're probably the type to be really dreadful under that mask aren’t you-ACKGH!?”

The killer lunged for Fester’s throat, maintaining a vice grip around his windpipe with unnatural strength even as he convulsed under the visible discharge of electricity. Cursing loudly, I jolted back, scrambling to get away.

And then Kitty pounced. Sadly it wasn't enough to capture or kill the suspected undead serial killer, but from that day on the guard lion had a new favorite chew toy. It would've felt like karmic justice if looking at the torn up mask didn't fill me with the ominous dread I learned to recognize from hundreds of other bad luck omens.

After a bit of research the last few days leading up to Halloween, my sister and I agreed on our holiday activities for the first time; after all, what better day was it to go serial killer hunting on?

“Come on, we have plans to make if we’re gonna Home Alone this mouth breather!” I grinned menacingly as I laid out a giant map of the house’s floorplans on our floor.

“What are you even talking about?” Wednesday asked confusedly, but I just sighed and brushed her off.

Chapter Text

Morticia combed her brush neatly through our long flowing hair in front of a massive vanity mirror with a blood red border. It was a strange sensation, to be honest. 

I’d seen this sort of scene before in movies and TV shows, but I always thought it was just a fictional trope popularized by Rapunzel or something. I’d lived most of my life motherless, and after that, I never really got close enough with my foster mothers to even consider the idea.

My rating for experiencing it for the first time felt…well, it didn’t feel too bad, I suppose. Kind of sleepy actually.

“I’m so glad to have this opportunity. I can’t remember the last time we had some one on one girl talk like this, Friday.”

Because we never did. I made sure of it. I didn’t say that though, instead humming affirmatively.

She passed the fine toothed comb through our ebony waterfall of hair in an effortless way that made me think I’d been doing it wrong for my whole life, gently untangling all the knots almost as if they were never there in the first place. The subtle tug on my scalp, gentler than the tight pull of Wednesday’s braids, was calming in a way I couldn’t describe. 

“I know you like to undo your braids when you’re fronting, but is there anything else you’d like to try? Or even clothes you want to wear?” Morticia asked, now running our locks through her fingers.

I hummed in consideration, “Like what?” Honestly, except for when I needed it, I’d never really done anything with my looks except cut my hair to reasonable lengths and wear jackets and jeans in my past life. It was just too much effort for anything else.

“Well I’m glad you asked! Let’s see here, we have this lovely spider hair band to keep your hair out of your face.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out that hair thing I’d only ever seen in cartoons before. 

How did that even work? Morticia quickly demonstrated by fixing it on her head, simple as that. It clamped down and stopped the hair from falling forward.

As I took my eyes off the band and looked at my face and head as a whole, I unconsciously took in a breath at the sight.

It was… cute. I- no, we were cute.

The little spider in the corner, and the way the glossy black band framed my face. It conjured emotions in me that I didn’t even know how to describe.

“Not horrible. For you, I mean.” Wednesday commented.

I barely listened to her as I absentmindedly tilted my head to the side, trying to view our face from every angle as if examining some sort of alien being.

“…What else do you have?” I quietly asked.

Morticia’s face visibly lit up in the mirror, and her hands moved like a whirlwind, opening and closing drawers faster than I could process.

“How about a bun like this?” She twisted my hair up into a similar hairstyle to miss Firkins and stuck a clip in it. I quickly shook my head at the resemblance.

“A single braid with a ribbon?” Her hands rapidly undid the bun and twisted three strands together into a coiling tail. The ribbon was super cute, but the braid was a no. Hair free was a must.

“Ah, that’s right. Hmmm, you know what? Let’s try some dresses, come on!” I yelped as she quickly picked us up in a princess carry and rushed off to her walk-in closet. Black dresses and -ew- lingerie hugged two rows of creepy mannequins with Morticia’s size and body shape near the wall in various poses.

“Alright everyone, go on, we need the Wednesdays and Fridays,” she clapped her hands, and I flinched when the mannequins all stiffly stood up and walked off into an opening in the wall near the far end of the room. Awkwardly walking into the room  from the other side to replace them was a whole new row of child-sized mannequins. When the last Morticia-mannequin was gone, the smaller mannequins all stopped and posed simultaneously in various Friday or Wednesday themed poses.

“Arms up, Friday.” Too shocked to even protest, and with Wednesday staring in undisguised glee, I slowly raised my hands.

Our dress was ripped off in seconds, quickly replaced by the one on the mannequin directly in front of us, who was posing with a knife in an overhead grip.

I was then spun around to look at myself in the full length mirror at the far wall of the closet, and I drew in breath at the sight. The new dress was lengthier, more reminiscent of Morticia’s as it dangled at my ankles with a long pleated skirt. 

It made us look neat and composed, like a cute, if a bit dark, schoolgirl. And then I realized that was supposed to be mewho looked like that and I suddenly didn’t know what to think.

“Boring.” Wednesday gave her verdict.

“It’s alright-” and no sooner did the words leave my mouth was the dress pulled up off of me again, and I had to quickly raise my arms.

“We’re not looking for alright, dear! We’re looking for something that speaks to you!” Morticia chided gently, and snapped her fingers so the next mannequin stepped up.

And so it went as I tried on one monochrome dress after another. It made sense seeing as how we were somehow literallyallergic to color to the point of needing medication, but it was a bit funny how this was both the most and least diverse wardrobe I had ever seen in either life. Maybe that’s why, when I spotted a splotch of white standing behind the others with arms crossed over its chest -in what I eerily recognized as my natural standing position- the drew my eye immediately.

Morticia call it over before I even consciously realized I was staring at it. 

In no time at all, I was standing at the mirror again, this time wearing a spaghetti strapped dress with white trim flowers embroidered along one side of the hips. It made us look cute as it dangled off our shoulders and fell down to our thighs. I hesitantly pinched the fabric and turned my head this way and that, but Morticia urged me to spin around and pose like the mannequins. “Don’t be shy, flaunt your natural stylish charm!”

I’d never really posed before, not for the mirror, and not even for pictures. But somehow, I wanted to try. My left hand held up a piece sign, and I placed the other on my hip, pushing up my chest like a… superhero? 

“I know you haven’t done this before, but I didn’t think you’d be this awkward.” Wednesday commented, not to deride, but a simple statement. Somehow, that just made it worse.

My face burned, and I turned my head, dropping the hand. This was stupid, what did my looks even matter anyways. Other than luring a certain idiot foster father into a trap, being pretty never did me any good. I could wear the same things as Wednesday just fine. 

“…Friday, dear.” I involuntarily stiffened as Morticia’s voice called out right behind me in a weird tone. I hadn’t seen her because I looked away from the mirror. Her hand touched my shoulder, and my throat tightened as world started spinning dizzily, and that hand blurred and became one on my throat, one on my waist—

Slender arms pulled me into a soft hug, and the memories ground to a halt.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Morticia’s soft voice sounded from above me, as she rested her chin on my head.

“Are you okay, sister?” Wednesday asked worriedly.

A part of me wanted to chide myself for panicking over a memory that honestly wasn’t even that bad, and having such a stupid brain for actually feeling reassured by Morticia… but the other part couldn’t stop replaying mom’s words over and over again on loop.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Wednesday. Thank you.” I responded

Mom’s arms released me, and I quickly punched down the disappointment left in their wake. “Here, you’ll want to arch your back like this, for almost any pose. It’s a good rule of thumb.”

She pressed a hand on my back, adjusting me into a posture that felt and looked instantly more feminine somehow. My eyes widened, and she then adjusted my arms and legs as if I were one of the mannequins, making me look like a regal woman with a flare for pizzas as she spread out her arms. 

“…I look good.” I muttered with shock. The familiarity with the movements made me suddenly remember that I actually was kind of good with this attractiveness. It’s just that, after that, I had never wanted to act or look like this ever again, because it had bad memories associated with it. And over time, I gradually got used to just not caring about my appearance.

“Wonderful!” Morticia clapped her hands and finally added the first dress to the “keep” pile.

After that, mom had me try on a handful of other dresses, the mannequins in our shape marching in and out of the room at a rapid pace, but I wasn’t exactly in the most focused mindset. To be quite frank, I was starting to get mentally exhausted with all these damn emotions this week, and very much looking forward to taking a nice long nap in our mind after tomorrow.

But to do that, I first had to find a decent set of clothes I actually genuinely liked. I doubted I’d be able to fool mom in this state by just picking random things, and whatever it was, I’d probably be wearing them pretty often so I'll thank myself later.

So I tried my best to tune back in, my gaze passing over the long line of mannequins  before finally landing on something that caught my eye. In the swathes of black, a single pure white dress stood out like a sliver of snow in the darkness of night.

Mom immediately followed my gaze and winced, “Ah, that was a gift from an old neighbor. I didn’t want to return it even if she did have questionable taste-”

“I like that one. I want to try it.” I quickly interrupted. Normally I’d be way to self conscious about being “normal” to the family, but at this point I just wanted to eat dinner and go to bed.

“Really…? Hm, well it is rather terrifying in its own way. And most of the dresses you chose had some white in them now that I look at it; maybe it’s your favorite shade.” she snapped her fingers as she mused to herself, and the mannequin skipped up to the center of the closet, somehow feeling less cold than the others.

Mom slid the dress over my shoulders, and I spun around, getting a good look at it from all angles. 

My breath was immediately taken away. It was a simple dress, really. Puffy shoulders, with the torso-bits ending at the ribs and becoming the frilly skirt part from the stomach down. Contrasting with my pure black hair, it made me look particularly eye-catching, the dress seeming to glow in comparison to the darker palate of the rest of the house.

“Really? You actually like this stuff?” Wednesday read my feelings with surprise, though I could tell she put effort to keep any mocking out of her voice.

“I look like the moon.” I reasoned aloud, not even trying to hide for once as I spoke to both mom and my sister.

The woman walked up behind me, and placed her hands on my shoulders, smiling down at me in the mirror. “Well, it’s certainly a unique taste. But you’ve always been unique, haven’t you?” She noted wryly, though not without that now familiar warm tone in her voice I was starting to recognize.

And she was right. It was unique. An outfit that was more than just a random assortment of clothes hanging on the chair. A dress that made me feel like something more than the mask I’d been wearing my whole life. A look that, even more than the others, said I was my own person and not just a tag along to Wednesday.

“Because your sister was always taking the spotlight, and she always picked out what to wear, I never even questioned whether you had the same taste in looks. I just assumed you both liked it and made more of the same outfits to give you over the years.” Mom whispered behind me in a soft voice, wrapping her arms around us yet again as we locked eyes in the mirror. 

“…I never questioned that either.” Wednesday admitted with a rare tone of regret in her mental voice. A lump formed in my throat from the quiet confession.

The woman continued in a sorrowful voice, “Even when you had your clear differences, like letting your hair down, and liking different food, I never realized how many things you were simply ambivalent to, or that you only tolerated because you were never fully present for long anyways.” She planted a kiss on the back of our head, “From now on, we’re going to pay more attention to you, and find out all the things you differ on from your sister.

My head was buzzing, and something tingly and warm spreading through my body down to my fingertips. The lump in my throat was growing painful, and I found myself blinking to force back tears while a strange feeling built up in my chest. Something squishy and fragile that had been growing in little flashes and bursts the whole week. 

It felt wrong, and honestly terrifying. Like I wasn’t allowed to be this happy over something so stupid, and that I was just going to be fooled all over again. 

But, letting myself lean back against my mom… for a moment, I pretended not to notice the smile twitch its way onto my face.

Chapter Text

A loud bang rang echoed through the room, and my head jerked to the side violently, the grip on the gun loosening with the shock and letting it fall to the table with a loud clatter. “Gah! So close.” Gomez lamented, and took a puff of his cigar.

Not really. I thought to myself, using the delayed blooming of white-hot pain along my temple to ignore the urge to wrinkle my nose.

“You truly are amazing, Friday! I don’t even think Fester’s won against me for so many rounds of Liar’s Roulette in a row!”

“Thanks,” I said quietly, before closing my eyes and let out an even breath through my nose. It was one of my least hated pains; unlike burns, the gunshot’s pain faded rather quickly, with only a dull ache of my bruised temporal muscles to show for it after five seconds. Opening my eyes, I picked the modified revolver back up and popped out the chambers, took out the “rubber” bullet casings, and placed it and the gun itself on a tray to the side of the table where Lurch loomed over. 

At this range, even that thin outer coating shouldn’t have saved me from death, and yet Uncle Fester and Pugsley still insist on calling it Baby’s Dice if they’re not shooting themselves with regular bullets. And then Gomez calls that Baby’s Dice because they’re not shooting themselves in the head… ugh, boys.

Unhurriedly, Lurch turned around, loading the gun again. I looked down at our table, pretending to play with my wood-carved cup of dice to avoid Gomez’s gaze. The table was one of those weird small ones that stood on three legs, too big to be a nightstand but too small to be a dining table except for maybe two people having tea. 

Morticia would normally be knitting in her favorite arm chair nearby, but today she and the others were not so subtly trying to give us privacy to have quality “father-daughter time” and not give me any excuse or way to weasel myself into avoiding Gomez. Which was dumb; it’s not like I avoid him any more than any of the others, and I’m not sure how they got that particular idea into their heads.

One thing I think they didn’t realize, was with everyone else avoiding the room, it felt particularly awkward and empty. The Addams’ dark rustic living room was frankly massive, likely a bit less than half of the entire first floor even counting all the unplotted space for secret passages and other gimmicks or mechanisms stuffed into the walls. The only thing keeping me from feeling completely exposed were all the quirky nicknacks scattered around. Just listing what I could see in my line of sight, there were shrunken heads dangling from wall hooks, the stupid bear rug, an immortalized plaque of a swordfish’s head stabbing through uncle Putrid’s leg, an indigenous wooden animal totem, Kitty’s favorite Lurch-shaped scratch post (that she often mixed put with the real thing), a wall collection of rusty bloodstained multicultural weapons, a taxidermy jackalope that I’m still not sure is real or not… 

Lurch placed the loaded gun on the table with a load thunk, bringing my thoughts back to the present. “Round thirteen- like your birthday! Maybe some of that misfortune will finally turn my way.” 

“Maybe.” I shrugged, hiding a small smile despite myself. He seemed to notice, and puzzlingly, his own smile seemed to widen in return despite my sass. 

Simultaneously, we picked up our cups and held a hand over the lid, shaking them with a rattle of the dice before slamming them down, cup covering the results. Then, after tilting the cup so only we could see the numbers on the die, we each eyed the revolver in the middle.

I smiled sheepishly and gave him the go ahead, privately realizing the pain was affecting me more than I thought if I was zoning out like this. Giving a fake scoff at the seemingly “losers first” mentality, he nonetheless reached out and twirled the gun like a twisted game of spin the bottle. It spun with little noise on the well-lacquered round table until the barrel finally stopped while pointing at me. 

Recalling my dice, I had 3 threes, 1 two, 1 four, 1 five. 

“12 sixes between us.” I called a standard opening move, then shifted the barrel to point at Gomez.

“I’d feel more assured that that was a lie if I did not have six sixes myself. A coincidence, but even your luck isn’t normally strong enough for twelve of a kind. 11 sixes.”

I raised a brow at his strategy of making such a big claim at the start. Ignoring my rising pulse, I thought carefully, carefully not letting my eyes linger on the dark interior of the gun barrel. In terms of winning, I was urgently at an advantage because I had no sixes; if we kept going to lower numbers of sixes, it’s very likely he’ll eventually call me a Liar incorrectly and make Lurch swap one of the blanks for a live round, then we’d restart. But unbeknownst to Gomez I did not want to shoot myself; I was trying to lose so he would have to do the deed himself. 

I had mixed feelings about this game. On one hand, I hated pain, and the suspense of the game beforehand was surprisingly heavy. On the other hand, this was one of the few luck based games that I ever consistently “won” in, inflating my pride. On the other, other hand, sometimes I’d pay on purpose because a situation like this was perfect for bleeding out a lot of excess bad luck in a short period of time…this wasn’t one of those times. 

“11 sixes,” I claimed indifferently and flipped the gun. My “lose” condition was getting Lurch to swap out all or nearly all live bullets and then call Gomez a liar so he shoots himself. But he knew this too; if I kept falsely claiming him to be a liar and adding live bullets, Gomez would chide me for “going easy on him”. And if I kept doing that, Gomez might realize I actually don’t like pain like the rest of the family, marking me as even more of a black sheep than I already was, making me an easy scapegoat for ostracization.

”11 fives, I was lying through my teeth.” He called cheerfully.

I hesitated, but called “10 fives” since my single five didn’t change my strategy. Lower and lower we went, until… “8 threes” Gomez claimed.

My grip tightened slightly on the cup, Liar on the tip of my tongue. It would be the safer option. Correct would see him shoot himself, removing a blank -because with my luck it would never be live- or incorrect, a live in the gun would be swapped for a blank. But if I called “7 threes”, when Gomez eventually saw my 3 threes, he might find out I was taking a move with little “gain” at this moment; himself having 4 threes was unlikely, but not overly so with my “good luck” in this game. Or wait, but then wouldn’t that be a “good move” because if Gomez calls me a liar next, I’d shoot myself? No wait, he would be incorrect then, so it’d be a bad move…?

Fuck it’s hard to think with my head throbbing. I’d already “won” twelve rounds in a row at this point; my nerves were fraying, and even this resilient body was starting to bruise.

“7 threes” I blurted before I could worry myself into the ground, hastily turning the gunpoint away from me. 

Unable to help it, my posture tensed as Gomez looked at me with a piercing gaze, obviously noting the nervousness I could no longer suppress. My pulse thumped in my neck, and I felt a bead of sweat slide down my back and hoped it wouldn’t make the white dress stick to me uncomfortably later.

“Liar!” My breath stuttered, but my hand moved automatically and we lifted our cups at once.

My 3 threes, and his 3 threes. I was a Liar. 

Resigned, I held my breath and quickly brought the gun to my head, not letting myself think about it. Closing my eyes, I…

I…couldn’t…

“Hm? Friday, are you bored after so many rounds? I know you tend to back out after just a few rounds, I just got too caught in the excitement to remember for a moment. We can find a more relaxing game to wind down while Lurch cleans up, what do you say?.” Gomez.

I tried not to look too relieved as I nodded and placed the gun and dice on the tray, ducking down to look around in the small cabinet/nightstand next to us to find something else to play. If I lingered there a bit to hide my face and calm down, no one would know. Even Friday wasn’t paying attention, clouding with the others to give Gomez and I alone time.

Not the cheater’s chessboard or cards, too much brainpower, but maybe a game of spear-pool? Lining up the balls in a row to spear through as many as you can with one thrust was difficult but satisfying and painless, making it one of the few Addams-brand games I wholeheartedly enjoyed. In the meantime, I needed to figure out a good excuse to get Harold to accept money so he could buy a new game console and replace the games he lent us instead of taking them back. I've been too distracted to properly plan ahead lately…

I was interrupted from my thoughts with an awkward throat clearing from Gomez.

“Well, actually, Friday…” He spoke hesitantly, “Can we sit on the couch together for a bit?” 

I wanted to do no such thing, but I couldn’t just give a blanket refusal either. Unable to think of a suitable excuse, I reluctantly forced my shaky legs to walk over to the sofa and sat down where he gestured for me to. And then he sat right next to me. I’d been expecting it, but I still frowned as the stench wafted over me, and tried my best not to make contact without seeming too rude.

“…You don’t want to be close to me, do you?” He spoke sadly, and my stomach twisted at being found out so easily. I’d been far too honest over the course of this week; I was going soft. My words and actions seemed to take minds of their own as my vigilance weakened with every day that went by. I only realized it recently, but I was too arrogant; I’d thought I was above the sorts of temptations that came from love bombing, that I’d known better than to let myself be manipulated. But now they know and they see me because I’m too relaxed and I’ll have the rug pulled under me when I least expect it-

“Friday, I’m sorry.” What.

“What?” I blinked, my racing thoughts stuttering over themselves.

No, no, don’t get your stupid hopes up. It’ll be an ‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ or they’ll go on a guilt trip to make me feel bad, or they’ll list all their excuses—

“This whole week was a plan I suggested to give you more attention. But really, the one who’d been neglecting you was me. I’d always known there were two of you in that wonderful mind of yours, but because I’d only ever seen Wednesday for most of your life, I started to see you as an addition. An add-on to your sister.” He spoke in a grave voice, expression wracked with regret. “However unconsciously that may have been, that wasn’t right of me, and I’m deeply sorry for hurting you.”

…

I looked up at him in shock. I opened my mouth, trying to respond. And then I closed it. It was obviously some sort of trick. Words were one thing, but actions were another. Gomez was probably going to try and get me to do something for him, after this. Or maybe he was trying to soften the blow for something later. But in all of my two lives, I’d never received an apology like this. What was I supposed to say? How could I act through a script that I’d never seen or played out before?

A wave of mental laughter hit me, and I mentally refocused on my sister. She tried and failed to cover up her reaction, “Sorry. The intense confusion you’re giving off is… amusing. You are rarely taken so off guard.”  

“You don’t have to say anything.” Gomez continued when he saw I wasn’t responding. “In fact, you don’t have to forgive me either. What matters is actions, not words, after all. From now on, Friday week or no, I will work tirelessly to think of and include you more in my consideration.”

He grabbed my hand in a firm, yet gentle grip. “And, if you find it in your heart to tell me what I’m doing wrong and how to make it right, why, I’d shoot the stars out of the sky for you, my dear Friday.”

If it was possible, my eyes widened even further. Forget the script, I’d never even imagined someone committing this hard to a ruse. Not even so much as a “please forgive me,” or a “I can’t be perfect,” or “please be patient.” 

But even so, Gomez was pointing out the flaw with his own reasoning. Words didn’t matter, the only possible true apology, if it existed, was a change in behavior. And in this case, I knew for a fact that such a change would never happen.

“…Well, it’s not like you’re going to quit smoking…” I muttered, looking away.

He paused. “Smoking? Is that why you don’t like to be around me?” 

I winced at being seen through yet again, but remained silent. I had seen first hand how addicting tobacco, alcohol, and other substances could be. 

“Well why didn’t you say so? As much as I crave the emptiness and anxiety they give me, I don’t love it more than I love you, Friday.”

I- what? “That, it’s not that easy!” I shouted without realizing.

“Why not? From now on, I’m a non-smoker, mark my words!”

My mouth gave a convincing interpretation of a fish. “But isn’t it addicting? And the withdrawal is awful, and it’s a habit, and it relaxes you, and,” why was I arguing about this?

“Well I’m always under withdrawal, that’s the whole reason anyone ever smokes in the first place!” He laughed, “Now, I will miss the burning ache in my lungs, and the jitter in my fingers, but I can always find something new to burn me from the inside without making you uncomfortable. You, Pugsley, and Wednesday are your mother and I’s number one priorities, and don’t you ever forget that.”

Something tightened in my chest, and the world flickered through time and space. 

A fist grabbing my hair, ‘You’ve been nothing but a curse since the moment you were born,”

Crocodile tears, ‘I’ll be ruined if this gets out, and what about the little ones? Where will they go?’ 

Fake smiles, ‘You don’t want the little ones to go hungry, do you?’

Incredulous voices, ‘Would you stop antagonizing your brother?’

A lifeless gaze that looked through me, ‘Listen kid, you know it, I know it, and we both know we know it. You’re only here cuz I want that government money, so shut up and keep out of trouble.’

A mental ping of worry and concern, “Friday, snap out of it. What’s wrong?”

I took in a sharp breath and reinforced the mental bubble surrounding my thoughts, making it the strongest I’d ever created while still being conscious. In doing so, my senses became more muddled, as if I was controlling our body from afar. Ah, I’d thought retreating deep into the unconscious and bubbling myself were two different things, but I guess they aren’t so separate after all. I observed passively.

“…Sorry. I just didn’t think it would be so easy.” I explained to them both.

Dad furrowed his brow, “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, surprising both him and myself. “I thought addictions were supposed to be unshakable habits, but I suppose it’s different for us Addams.” I answered with a half truth.

“I don’t know half of what goes on in the minds of other folks. I was smoking with this one man on my quest to catch a picture of a Sasquatch, and he told me it “helps him focus,” and “clears his stress.”” He shivered, “I was so terrified I almost quit right then and there until I did my own research about it.” 

“Ew, why would anyone smoke if they believed all that stuff?” Wednesday mentally wrinkled her nose.

I smiled wryly, exasperated with being surprised at the Addams’ perspective even after all these years. Right. It’s just a unique case due to this family’s quirks. That’s probably the only reason dad can even consider giving it up so easily. That makes a lot more sense.

…Then, in that case, maybe I can ask one more thing?

“…So,” I tried to speak, but, my voice cut out midway through.

“So?” He asked softly, encouraging me.

What, what was happening? I’d never had my voice do this before! “…Would…” I forced the word out of my throat, but it was almost entirely silent, such that dad had to lean down to even hear it.

My heart raced, and a strange energy flooded my limbs. I started fidgeting with my fingers, and suddenly, I couldn’t even look dad in the eye, merely staring down at the cushions.

“You can do this, sister. You’re strong” Wednesday placed a hand on my back.

“I don’t understand. Why am I like this? I just need to f- freaking say it!” I whined in my mind.

“It’s simple, really; you’re not used to speaking your mind. It’s all a matter of practice.”

“You’re enjoying this because I left you to talk to the other kids last week, aren’t you?”

“Only a little.” She smirked.

I nearly snorted at the honesty. I tried mouthing the words again using that brief distraction… and then huffed in frustration, planting my face in my hands with a weak groan.

A large hand covered mine, and gently pried the fingers off of my mouth, “It’s alright Friday, I’m not going anywhere. I’m all ears, and whatever you want to tell me, you can just tell me.” 

Reality stuttered yet again, and suddenly I was cowering under the impatient eyes of my first father until he got tired of waiting and turned the TV volume back up.

And then I blinked, and I was back home, looking up at the soft gaze of my new father. 

…I shouldn’t. I know what happens when I get comfortable. It could all just be another elaborate scheme again to pull me in and then slowly chip away at my boundaries, my self esteem, and my sense of self. 

But even so… I slowly ducked my head down, leaned forward, and closed my eyes. My head and body collided with dad’s torso with a dull thunk.

A large pair of arms wrapped around me and squeezed tight. It still smelled like rancid ash, but, somehow, I had a strange confidence that it would only be temporary. I don’t know if it was seconds, a minute, or even multiple minutes…but eventually, I opened my mouth to finally ask in a weak, straining voice, 

“The- the house. Can we clean… the smoke…?” 

“Ma jeune fille, say the word, and I’d carve out Mount Everest to be your personal vacation home!” My dad declared.

Wednesday and him were merciful enough to not point out the small wet stain on his shirt when I finally pulled back.

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Busy with quarter finals and projects, no chap this week sorry. Hope you all had a good thanksgiving break if you’re American! My aunt’s gumbo is so good, and I have a ton of extra cookies from my other aunt! 

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Still finals time, and I need to save my hands for studying, though I’m pretty sure I passed the toughest one I had to really grind for (satisfying tho, a very fun bio class looking at animal skulls that I could see Wednesday taking lol). Thankyou for reading so far, I hope you all have a good winter break! 

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Recovering from minor surgery so no chap this week and accidentally missed update last week. Plus gives my hands time to recover from finals! I hope you’re all having a nice winter break!

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Merry Christmas/happy holidays everyone! This thing with my hands is really annoying so I'm going to use the rest of my winter break to rest them before I have to do school stuff again. I'm also tempted to put this on hiatus until they feel better because I know waiting for nothing each week probably isn't very fun for you all, but I also fear if I stop the weekly updates that I won't pick this up again. I'm right on the cusp of writing the ending arc for part one too in my backlog, so it feels like stalling out right before the end. I have a few options of how to continue this, so I want your opinions:

I could continue going as I am now with weekly updates posting a chapter or not.

I can announce a hiatus until my hands fully recover

I can announce a hiatus, and post my backlog

And I can announce a hiatus, post my backlog, and provide an outline of what I have planned for this finale and the loose plans I have for part two in nevermore, which you can read or not depending on if you think I will come back eventually.

Chapter Text

“Thanks again for letting us stay at your house today-”

“-Come on let’s go let’s go let’s goooo!” Wendy all but dragged us out of the car by the arm, and ran up to the door.

Of course, this speed meant nothing, as the parents had yet to unlock it yet. While the hyperactive girl shouted at her parents to stop being slow pokes, I glanced around at the house’s exterior.

A wide sprawling, neatly trimmed lawn with no weeds in sight. Bushes of flowers and shaped hedges surrounded the immediate walls. The large white-painted walls with sleek frames to the windows and pillars, and the porch had red, new looking bricks and potted plants strewn about that gave off a warm feeling.

I had almost forgotten that Wendy was a rich kid like us, until now.

“Are the fumes really that bad that you don’t want to spend another day in them? This place looks dreadful.” Wednesday grumbled.

“Sorry, sister.” I lied.

The husband and wife finally arrived, having completely ignored their daughter’s cries for them to hurry up. The tall, clean shaven man looked down at his daughter with exasperation, “Wendy, we do not go dragging friends by the arm,” he half heartedly complained.

“And do try to act as a proper lady for once, would you? I thought you’ve been getting better. You’ll never get a man by acting so tomboyish.” The woman was short with a dense bob cut, added, fixing Wendy with a stern look. 

“Ah, yes. Sorry Wednesday.” She composed herself briefly, and I was briefly stunned as she nearly looked like a whole different person. “Now can you open the door please!” And then the moment was gone.

That was apparently good enough, as they casually turned the keys and opened up the door. Casually ignoring what her father just said, Wendy grabbed our arm again and pulled us through the halls, ignoring the weak protests of her parents.

“Ugh, I hate them so much.”

“Me too, Fri, me too.” I nodded sagely.

Soon though, we were dragged up the grand staircase, down the hall, and through the pink painted door that denoted Wendy’s room. 

The room was… somehow both exactly what I thought it was, and surprising at the same time. It was almost stereotypically girly, with pink carpet and purple walls, Barbie’s on shelves, a dollhouse in the corner, and numerous plushies surrounding the pink bed, a radio player on the desk, and a half open closet space full of clothes. Merchandise from various bands were strewn around as well.

For a moment I was confused why Wendy, the girl who obviously loves creepy shit, would have a room like this. However, on a closer inspection, I noticed some things that stood out a bit from the rest. A huge Nightmare Before Christmas poster, dolls from Monster High, a large Coraline figurine… All things that were a bit toward the macabre side, but nothing that actually screamed “horror fan”.

While I was observing, Wendy dropped down to her belly and crawled under her bed. Scorching backwards, she popped up to her knees triumphantly holding a collection of books, “Ta-da! You brought your own scary stories, right?”

“I still think they’re just normal stories.” Wednesday responded dryly and opened up our handbag, which had a handful of volumes tucked away in them. It genuinely pained me to remove some of the emergency or utility items from the bag, but my sister would be the main fronter for the day at least. And honestly, with our level of healing there wasn’t as much use for that big first aid pack as there used to be in my past life.

Wendy all but squealed at the sight and quickly walked over to the radio. Wednesday tilted her head, “What are you doing?”

She paused and looked back, “Oh! It’s a fun little trick of mine. If I put on music, the servants won’t hear secret things and tattle on me when I’m, um, playing.” That last part was mumbled to herself almost too quietly for us to hear.

She pressed play before we could ask, and a cheesy Kidz Bop song began. Wednesday immediately furrowed her brow and covered her ears. “Is this really necessary?” She all but growled.

“…Yes.” She looked at us with a somewhat pained expression. “But! Come here, I can make it better.” That expression was immediately replaced with her signature wide smile, and she grabbed our hand and went to pull us along.

Wednesday had half a mind to rip her hand away, less tolerant than me, but she was far more eager to reduce the auditorial torture by any means neccesary.

We all stepped into the large closet, and Wendy quickly slid the door shut behind us, leaving the music muffled and marginally quieter. The pitch darkness was then broken with the sound of a chain being pulled, and a dim yellow light flashed up above us. 

That didn’t mean much when most of our view was obstructed by hanging clothes, but then our hand was grabbed again, and we were pulled along to the far corner, pushing through the fabrics. There, Wendy unceremoniously pulled down a large swathe of clothes to make a pile on the floor, and simultaneously illuminating this small gap of empty space. Grabbing two unused pillows from a shelf tucked in the corner, she handed one to us, and one for herself to lay against the wall.

“Aaaaand, ta-da!! Welcome to Wendy’s Wonderland!” She made a flourish with her hands, gesturing at the moody, quiet space she’d created for herself.

“I really am the only one without a secret space to myself.” Wednesday mumbled regretfully.

Now that it was revealed to the light, I could see a few signs of this space being well used. The lack of dust, a sketchbook and a handful of drawings stuffed between the shelf and the wall, and a hello kitty vampire plushy that Wendy took out to hug from the pile of socks in the top drawer.   

“Okay, okay! I checked out them all, and these babies were the bonafide scariest in the whole library! Ready to scare your socks off?” She opened her book with a sinister grin.

“We grabbed ours at random, but we won’t lose. Prepare to be traumatized.” Wednesday narrowed her eyes.

“You think it’ll be that easy, huh? I’m not afraid of you! Just watch!” Wendy declared confidently.

…

“Eeeek! Noooo! I don’t wanna go in my holeeeee!” Wendy hugged us tight as she cried out, tears streaming from her wide blue doe eyes.

Wednesday struggled to push her face away. “Quit whining, there is no hole!…sadly.”

She sniffled and rubbed her snot on her sleeve. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Well now what? You obviously don’t like my stories, you burst into tears after a single one.”

Surprising both of us, Wendy shook her head, a splitting grin pulling onto her face. “No way! That was awesome, do you have more like that?” Her voice was deeper now, with a subtle edge of slyness that said she was up to no good.

“I do. But I don’t understand, you were clearly terrified out of your mind.”

Wendy nodded rapidly, “Yeah! She was! I told the silly girl to let me take over but she was simply too excited to have a playdate with you two, even though I handle horror much better.”

We blinked. “She?” Wednesday voiced the obvious question.

Wendy barked out a laugh and gave a cheeky solute, “That reaction wasn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be, but your eye at least twitched a little. Yes, my name is Vlad, resident vampire and Wendy’s best friend!” Her tone was deeper, much like the voice we’d briefly caught a glimpse of at the door.

What?

Wednesday looked her over with a considering gaze, “So, you’re like us then? Pleased to meet you, Vlad.” She reached out a hand to shake, which he(?) eagerly reciprocated.

“Likewise! I’ve been looking forward to today for a long time. I have better self control, so I help make us look more respectable to mother and father dearest while Wendy gets to run wild at school.” Then her gaze turned to the side, her words becoming a degree more somber. “But because of that divide, I don’t exactly interact much with anyone my age, and when I do, they just think I’m a calmer Wendy.”

You know, I’d figured Wendy would have a bit of a screw lose, but I’d never imagined this. Though, maybe an imaginary friend was normal at this age. But is it right to really be encouraging this?

I moved to say something, then paused, quickly realizing that aside from my reincarnation which would be kept a secret to my grave, I had no good argument as to why I was any more real than Vlad.

As my mind spun trying to make sense of it all and come up with the proper course of action, the world didn’t wait for me, and the two began to talk in earnest.

“Why keep yourself hidden?” Wednesday furrowed her brow.

“Well, the last time I insisted on being my own person, our parents told us they’d call the therapist again. We hated the meds they gave us the first few times for ADHD so we figured nothing good would come of being “treated” for something like this either.” Vlad shrugged.

“That’s…” My sister tried and failed to find words.

Ah, yeah, I could relate to that. Whatever Wendy had, if she did have anything, the treatment for it probably would be very unlikely to actually help-

“Friday, is this what you meant?” My sister interrupted my musing, and I only just noticed how much anger was boiling up in her.

“Huh, sorry, what was that?” 

“You said that pretending to just be me would save us issues. Was this what you meant by that?” Wednesday snapped irritatedly.

I blinked at the surprisingly intense emotions, but quickly nodded, “Yes, it is. We were lucky to be born into a supportive household.” It felt a bit awkward to admit that, but I held less resistance to the idea than I thought I would.

After a long beat of silence, our right hand suddenly darted forward, grabbing Vlad’s with a firm grip. He startled, but Wednesday placed our other hand on his shoulder, “Next time, we’re going to play with you at school.” She commanded.

Vlad’s composure seemed to slip for the first time, showing a rare look of vulnerability we hadn’t seen on either his or Wendy’s face. “Wednesday, you’re a really good friend. But if it got to our parents—”

“—Then you’ll have just been caught “playing vampire” with me and Friday. Well even make up vampire personas for us so it looks even more convincing.”

Vlad stared down at the hello kitty plushie in their arms, silent for a long time. “…Do you really think it could work?” He asked quietly.

Wednesday nodded confidently, “It will. Friday’s good at smooth-talking, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I prefer to call it “not biting everyone who you don’t like.”” I joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

It seemed successful, as he snorted and looked up at us again. “Wendy, no, we always admired you, you know. Friday too, but especially you, Wednesday. Always so confident and self assured, you really don’t care about what anyone thinks.”

“Why should I care about idiots who don’t even try to understand what they don’t know?” She shrugged.

Vlad let out a full on chuckle this time, covering his mouth with his hand, “Oh yes, You’re exactly right.” His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back in his seat. I didn’t even notice he was tense until after he’d let it go.

His eyes glanced down at our pile of books “Well now, I don’t get much time, so how about it? Do you have stories as cool as that previous one? If you get me to scream, I’ll give you five dollars.”

Wednesday's eyes flared up at the clear provocation, and she picked up a carefully selected book, “Famous last words.”

Chapter Text

Something I didn’t anticipate with our trip to Wendy’s house was the food. By, god, the food. When the servants lifted up those silver platters to reveal regular foods like spaghetti, garlic bread, and actual fucking lobster!

The last time I’d had regular food was when Wednesday scared the shit out of some kids with a beetle she grabbed out of the air, and I stole a part of their lunch. When my sis wrinkled her nose, I took control faster than she could ask and dove into the meal with a wild fervor, only barely having the patience to migrate it all into the closet and place the plates on the floor with clothes over the carpet.

I almost teared up when my teeth sank into the soft and buttered garlic bread. For the first time since I’d been reincarnated, I was having a meal of real food. And it was good, brilliant, even! But after the first nostalgic bites it was also, uh… well when you idolize something, you tend to build it up in your head and inevitably get disappointed when it doesn’t blow you away. I would know.

So as I chowed down on the probably 4-star rated food, I couldn’t help but smile wryly, as I realized that growing up with weird shit to eat had totally messed up my tastebuds. Somewhere along the road, I had actually started liking all that stuff. 

“I don’t know what you expected.” Wednesday commented amusedly, ignorant to my deeper thoughts.

Vlad cleared their throat, and I looked up at him. “Glad to see you can eat the food. I was worried considering what I’ve seen of your school lunches.”

I shrugged, “It’s not amazing but not bad either.”

He blinked, “Ah, Friday! That makes sense, you do like normal stuff more than your sister. Nice to meet you by the way.”

I smirked and undid our braids with one hand while I ate with the other, “I barely said anything.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t have to. Your voice is different from Wednesdays, more expressive.” He commented.

I nodded, “Yeah, well not many other than the family notice the switch unless I exaggerate myself or lay my hair down.” I took a sip of the sweet glass of fresh lemonade, “Your voice is different too. More fancy schmancy, and… boyish, I suppose.”

It goes way beyond the level of what I think an imaginary friend would be like. You even act much differently. But just how does it all work? Is it that multiple personality disorder thing? But doesn’t that require, like, a ton of trauma, and you also aren’t supposed to have memory between personalities, right?

He smirked, “Yes, that’s why I can act like a good little girl in front of the adults better than Wednesday can. She can hardly sit still for two seconds. Do you know the thing where some kids lean back in their chairs too far and fall down? She did that in the middle of church!”

“Hey! That only ended up happening because you’re too edgy for church! You even hissed at a cross, and I had to pretend I was laughing!” Their voice switched back to Wendy’s bombastic voice.

Our lips twitched into a smirk without my volition, and Wednesday spoke, “Friday tried to sneak and grab Grandmama’s cross once, and it cracked immediately.”

My eyes widened, “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone that was me!”

She just smirked. Oh, this was war.

“Wednesday doesn’t actually have anything against pink, she just allergic and pretends it's a choice.” I hmph’d, raising our chin in the air.

That was the tipping point, as the entire meal devolved into an outright war. Alliances were forged and broken, betrayals and backstabs melding together in an unending loop of suffering. Nothing was sacred, and trust was merely another weapon to wield like tooth and claw in this jungle, where survival of the fittest ruled like god.

By the time they had finished their meal, they were all exhausted and battered, no soul left unscarred by the sheer scale of the conflict. Having been through more loss than they could process and no longer seeing the point in such senseless violence, a weary truce was called on all fronts of the battlefield.

The four slumped together, back against the pillows. They knew it would be time for Wednesday and Friday to be picked up soon, so they didn’t have time for scary stories. But there was just enough that it felt awkward just waiting for Lurch to arrive.

“…Hey Wednesday, Friday?” Wendy asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Hm? Yeah?” I hummed at her.

“…How do you know you’re not just an imaginary friend?” She asked, nailing the question that had been on my mind all day.

It was Wednesday who answered for me, “Because we aren’t.”

Wendy laughed. “Well, yeah. But, I don’t want Vlad to not be real, and he wants to be real too. But when I said that, mom just said I should just grow up and stop playing make believe.” She tilted her head at us. “That’s why I can only talk to Vlad here, because I lied and said I forgot about him.”

I tentatively opened my mouth, “Does it matter? You’re eight years old, if you want to believe in an imaginary friend you can. I mean, there’s nothing really even wrong with an adult having one, but it’s even weirder that they’re trying to force you to stop when you’re still in elementary school.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, “I get the feeling that Wednesday was the original, right?” Vlad asked.

“Hm… Yeah, probably.” I nodded tentatively, I was basically an add-on after all. 

“You think so? I didn't know either one of us was the original.” Wednesday furrowed her brows, surprised.

“Ah, well, the first thing I remember, you were already there. And mom named me second.” I reasoned belatedly.

“Huh. I thought you were the older one…” Wednesday trail off, reframing her view of me.

Vlad cleared his throat when he noticed we were done, but didn't meet our gaze when returned to look at him. “Anyways then, Friday… you don't have to answer but I just wanted to ask… do you think we’re real?” 

They might as well have slapped me with a brick. I went dead silent, not sure how to even begin answering that question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just, you’re in a similar situation as me, so I was wondering what you thought about the topic.” He explained, then shook his head. “But it sounds like you existed a lot earlier than me. We’re probably way different.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s okay, I… I’m real, yes. I know I’m certainly much different from Wednesday. And if you think you’re real, and you want to be real, then that means you are real, I think.” I smiled uncertainly. “You can’t want something if you don't exist, right?”

My mind thought back to the ritual, unbidden. As much as I avoided thinking about it, I could never forget blood red letters on those pages. My last resort was never a possession ritual…

It’s funny, really. It was like that one time Fester accidentally tossed his knife backwards, yet it somehow bounced off of lurch and wound up hitting a bullseye anyways. 

Vlad nodded slowly. “Yeah, that does make sense, I think. And I do want to be. Real, I mean.”

We smiled at each other and leaned back against the cushions again, Lost in each other's thoughts and basking in the comfortable silence.

“Are you okay, Friday?” Wednesday asked. 

“Hm? Of course.” I blinked back to reality, and quickly checked my mental bubble. It was thankfully still intact. She was just concerned because I went silent.

After sometime, Vlad sat up again, “Well, for what it's worth, I think you're real too. Come on now, your butler should be here any minute now.”

I eagerly took the topic change, grabbing their hand to stand back up. Still, my mind couldn’t help but churn in thought as we walked down the hall and descended the grand staircase, the silence leaving me with nothing to distract myself. It seemed usually straightforward Wednesday was caught in a similar contemplative daze. 

The servants informed us of Lurch’s arrival midway through our journey, and we quickly sped up, Wednesday taking control and all but sprinting out the door to escape the “oppressive” household.

Still, just before we hopped in the car, she turned around and waved at the duo watching from afar, “See you two at school,” she mouthed. We had no idea if they got the message or not, but nonetheless they saw us off with fervent wavering and a pure smile.

“…We’re going to our house next.” She declared mentally.

“Right there with you, sister.” I nodded readily.

Chapter Text

Inhale, exhale. The scent of old wood, dusty cobwebs, and a subtle hint of ozone swirled in my lungs. Not even a hint of acrid tobacco.

The walls and carpets were replaced, the furniture scrubbed with acid, and many more small adjustments that I only noticed with my perfect memory. Heck, even the totem pole, the armor sets, and the taxidermy shark eating uncle Carnage’s leg seemed to have a new polish to them. At last, I could finally breathe peacefully in my own home. 

So of course, we had to leave for a funeral the day after, leaving me no time to take it in. As far as my bad luck was concerned, that wasn’t the worst outcome.

I had honestly forgotten about the whole thing, but apparently one of mom’s old friends had kicked the bucket. This was something to be very happy about, according to the Addams. Yeah, in some ways I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand my family. But I can get used to it, I suppose.

We took the day off of school to drive out all the way to the other side of the state. The house was filled to the brim, bustling with people and creatures of all shapes and sizes. Like the Addams, this house too was built on a graveyard, though not as ornate or sculpture-filled as ours was. 

It was a relatively quaint three-story house built with gothic-looking stonework and decorated with an array of gargoyles, and the outer gate and brick walls were painted with what I could tentatively recognize as shades of haint blue. An interesting choice, given most people associated with the Addams tended to welcome hauntings of all sorts. 

The trees in the front yard created a shaded walkway, with stained glass bottles and jars hanging on ropes from their branches, twinkling in what sunlight managed to penetrate the canopy. As soon as we approached, the large and intricately carved door opened by itself much like our own fence gate, surprising me. How did spirits manage to get in despite the fence?

But I was quickly distracted from the question as we were hit with a wall of noise previously muffled by the thick doors. 

“You handle this.” Wednesday promptly bailed on me, and I rolled my eyes with a smirk.

The whole of the ground floor was packed with friends and family as they chatted near the snack table or admiring artworks strewn about. More than one person I could see were just wandering around to close their eyes and hold up their hands up to various plants, crystals and sculptures littered throughout the room. The most striking features of the room were the large crystal chandelier seemingly made of which bottles, and the large aquarium embedded in the far walls in between the stairs.

Only about a fifth of the people I could see I could immediately identify as Addams with their various mutations or outright impossible physiologies, well another chunk I could recognize because they were throwing axes at a target on a wall, gambling with a nail puller at the large table, or gathering around and admiring a “cute” duo of pet rattlesnakes giving their owner love bites. Most of the rest all wore black robes or dresses, clad in varying quantities of necklaces, beads, and other rustic-looking jewelry.

And then there was a nudist with tattoos and piercings that people were just casually walking along with everyone else.

Overall, the usual Addams aesthetic for gatherings.

“Oh, I just love the Thrope’s taste for funerals.” Mom cooed at the sight.

“Even if they are a bit alternative about it, you just can’t outdo them in atmosphere.” Dad agreed, hand automatically reaching for his breast pocket but snapping out of it when he found smokes absent. 

He really has gotten rid of them all, hasn’t he?I absentmindedly noted as I took in the myriad of sights.

Uncle Fester was the first to shake out of his reverie, “Ohhhhh I really hope the fish in that aquarium have gone through breeding season! They’re the best in the business, but if I eat too many, I’d have to sail out to a remote island in the pacific to get more!” He gesticulated wildly, waffling between excitement and anxiety.

Mom smirked and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Now, now, Fester. We have to greet the hosts first.”

However, this consideration appeared to be unwarranted, as a familiar woman dressed with a purple boa and a black dress and combo pencil skirt walked up to us with a bright smile. Her hand was placed on the shoulder of a blonde boy around our age, who wore a comparatively simpler black suit that looked vaguely victorian in style. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, with a general aura of sulking about him. Wednesday felt an immediate kinship.

“Morticiaaaa! So good to see youuuu!” The woman raised her arms and gave mom a quick squeeze. “Oh, and your children! Is this little monster Pugsley? And Wednesday and Friday, I haven’t seen you two since you were in diapers!”

“I know, you were the nutty woman who called me a doomed child and worried that I would bring ruin to the family when mom wasn’t looking.” I smirked, finally getting a chance for revenge against the mystery woman from my past.

She froze for just a second, before grinning again “A-ha! You’re such a prankster, you were an infant! You couldn’t remember one face from the other.”

“Oh, on the contrary, my little Friday has quite a remarkable gift for memory.” Morticia narrowed her eyes.

Quickly taking the distraction, I took the boy’s hand and broke off from our families, wading through the crowd together. He startled at the sudden action, but didn’t let go as I pulled him away.

“Hey, do you know a good quiet spot?” I asked as I pulled us toward a wall temporarily.

“Stop that! What did you pull me for?” He quickly took back his hand, scowling.

I raised an eyebrow at him and gestured at the bustling crowd, “What, so you actually want to be around all this?”

He opened his mouth to argue… and sighed. “We can head to my room until mom nags at me to mingle with the guests again, come on.”

I smirked and quickly followed the boy as he led us through a hallway and up a red carpeted spiral staircase. As we passed by the second floor, someone giggled right behind my ear, making me jump and whip around, but nothing was behind me. 

“That’s just auntie Drusilla, she likes pulling that trick” The boy explained without so much as slowing down.

Rubbing my neck, I continued following him down a long corridor. The doors were interspersed with occasional small tables holding vases, jars, and meaningful looking arrangements of rocks and shells. It was starting to get awkward as we just kept walking quietly, but I couldn’t think of much to say.

“…So, that was your mom?” I tentatively asked.

He just kept walking, not so much as acknowledging the question. 

“Okay, I won’t ask. What’s your name, then—”

“Friday, wait! Something feels wrong.”Wednesday warned with a hint of excitement in her voice.

I halted in my tracks, but the boy stopped with me perfectly in sync. A pit opened in my stomach at the unnatural timing, and I reached for our bag with our right hand—

But something grabbed it instead.

I flinched bodily, smacking the identical boy who’d suddenly appeared at my side in the face with a backhand slap. 

“I’m the real one, stop!” He quickly blurted out, halting my raised fist. He sighed, “Dangit, I had a feeling they’d pull this stunt. I just thought they’d do it at the corner like usual, but they decided to do it smack dab in the hallway instead.”

Unable to suppress a full body shiver, I asked, “So was that Aunt Drussila back for seconds?”

He shook his head in exasperation, “That was probably just my maternal great great grandma, she was always one of the stronger ones in the family. Come on now, my room is right over here.”

This time, we walked side by side down the corridor. I only now noticed the discrepancy, but unlike last time, the door at the far end of hall actually seemed to be getting closer.

There, at the far end of the east hall, the boy’s door was covered in what looked like fingerpainted stars, sigils I partially recognized as giving good luck and protection, and a large crescent moon.

Opening the door revealed a large spacey room, the far wall almost entirely taken up with a large window with red curtains pulled to the sides. The north wall was covered with tarped canvases, and one unpainted piece stood on a stand in the middle of the room. Only a rare few finished pieces hung on the walls as decoration.

“Well, here we are. Unless my aunt decides to show off my paintings we should probably have peace and quiet for a little while.” The blonde took a seat on the stool in front of the painting and pulled up a knee, starting at it intensely.

My sister and I let out a collective breath of relief. Wednesday didn’t actually mind parties too much, but she had to warm up before letting loose. I was just anxious around people no matter what.

Wednesday nudged me over in the front seat, so I let her take over. She left the boy be and walked over to the paintings in the corner and pulled up the dusty tarps to get a good look at them. 

Most of them depicted random objects under various lightings or landscapes, but the occasional odd one out showed much more interesting scenes. A cut and bleeding thumb, a cat run over by a car, an opened Christmas present… and a woman who slipped on a banana peel and fell down the stairs, painted over by a big sloppy red “X”. But the most interesting part was that almost all of them were moving, even if it was just a small shimmering of light in some of them.

“Why does that one have an “X” on it?” Wednesday disagreed with my sentiment, much more focused on the odd one out of the bunch.

“H-hey! Don’t look at those!” The boy stood up with a glint of fear in his eyes. Wednesday considered ignoring him for a moment, but, figuring I’d memorized the paintings already, she dropped the tarp.

“You’re pretty good at art,” I said, Wednesday readily passing me the steering wheel to ease his tension. There wasn’t time to get in the mindset of parroting me.

He stared at us for a moment, then glanced away, looking at the ground. “I just wish I was better at painting happy things.” He mumbled.

I tilted my head, “What do you mean?”

He fidgeted for a quiet moment. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer the question, he hesitantly spoke, “I keep having recurring dreams, but I suck at remembering them. So I try to paint what I saw right away when I wake up, but almost all of them are horrible.”

“Ah, nightmares? Yeah, those really suck.” I frowned at the memories, and shook my head to clear them. “But then, why do you want to paint them?” 

He hesitated again, his eyes flickering from me to the collection of paintings on the wall. This time however, he didn’t seem keen on answering, so I gracefully took the hint.

“Then, what’s this you’re working on?” I asked, walking up to look over his shoulder.

I saw him frown through the corner of our eyes, “I don’t know yet. I’ve only managed to get a few pieces of this dream so far over the past weeks. And it’s driving me crazy because it feels really reallyimportant this time!” He huffed and resumed his attempt at burning a hole through the canvas. 

I frowned thoughtfully and looked at the painting to try and discern any meaning from it, but all I could make out was a vague silhouette engulfed by flames.

“…You don’t seem to be enjoying this.” I commented.

He just looked away silently again.

I hummed thoughtfully. “Then, how about I finish it for you? Then you can move on to painting something you actually like” I offered.

He looked up, surprised. He opened his mouth in protest… then shut it a moment later, gazing at the painting with apprehension.

After a long silence, he let out a loud sigh, “Ugh, you know what? Yeah, go for it, why not.”

He pulled a tray closer and stepped off the stool, ceding the artists’ throne to me. I gratefully accepted the transfer of power, and started mixing the primary colors to get the palate I would need.

Picking up one of the larger brushes, I began. It didn’t take long to settle into the familiar rhythm of painting from what my sister I’d learned with mom. Mix, dip the brush into the cup and rub it on the sides, dry the brush, then take a dab of the color you want to go to town. Mix, dip, dry, paint, then skip the first step if you already have the color you need.

Dip, dry, paint. Dip dry paint. Mix, dip, dry, and paint.

Background thoughts fell away, leaving only me, my brush, and the canvas. Until finally, it was done. I closed my eyes and breathed out, then stepped off the chair to get a better look of it all.

The silhouette writhing in the flames was none other than my favorite doll, blackening at the edges and fraying apart.

“There you go. Now, the only thing that’s burning is a simple doll.” I smiled at the blonde boy, who was looking at the painting with an unreadable expression.

“…You’re pretty good at painting too.” He finally said.

I laughed at the anticlimactic statement, “So, what’s your name? We asked the ghost version of you, but he wasn’t very talkative.”

For the first time since we’d seen him, the boy smirked and looked up. “Xavier Thrope. Maybe know someone’s name before you follow them into a haunted house though.”

The corner of our lips twitched, “Friday Addams. And the one snooping around just a moment ago was Wednesday.” I introduced ourselves.

He looked at us confused for a moment, then shook his head. “Well, it was really nice meeting you and all, but my mom’s going to start yelling for me to stop hiding in my room any minute now. I should probably get going.”

“Well, you don’t have to.” I drawled while my mind flitted about, eventually landing on the perfect excuse, “It makes perfect sense to be hiding away if we’re playing hide and seek, after all.” I smiled.

Chapter Text

“Wednesday, Friday, we’re starting dears!” Mom’s voice echoed from the stairs.

“Ah. Coming!” I paused my scan of the bathroom and turned around to leave, easily passing through the space that was occupied by the mangled figure grinning twistedly behind us in the mirror.

I hesitated in the hallway, then shouted, “Xavier, they’re starting!!!”

No matter what supernatural liminal space he hid, Xavier had assured us he would be able to hear loud sounds by pressing an ear to the pipes in the walls. Except maybe the endless hallway since that was probably an illusion.

Wednesday was even more thrilled to play hide and seek in a haunted house than I was, despite her disappointment at there being no punishments for finding the hider. She navigated hidden passages as if she had memorized building blueprints, found a secret thirteenth room by walking backwards up the stairs and turning left at a corner that didn’t exist, and even kicked a moving suit of armor’s knee out and dismantled it while it was actively flailing to hide inside. Even so, we were matched step for step by Xavier, who knew the house and its hiding spots much better than Wednesday and I. 

Outside in the backyard necropolis, whose grandeur was only inferior to our own, it was clear to see who among the crowd was an Addams or not. The extended family was chatting quietly or buzzing with such excitement that you would think they had decided to wear black to an art gathering, providing a sharp contrast with the silent and somber family of the deceased. 

Before, I would have been surprised that the latter hadn’t kicked the former out, but I had come to realize that anyone closely acquainted with the Addams were long used to their eccentricities by natural selection. 

“Mom said this funeral would be a special treat for us. I’m not seeing anything special.” Wednesday frowned internally.

I smirked, “Don’t be so restless, it hasn’t even started yet.”

I swept my eyes across the menagerie of relatives, then frowned as I realized my family wasn’t among them.

“Wednesday! Friday! Over here, darlings!” A dainty hand waved over the crowd.

She was at the front? I confusedly made my way through the crowd, dodging and ducking the occasional fireball, eyeball, or perpetual waterfall of eye-goop from nearby relatives.

A sharp squeak sounded out when I accidentally stepped on someone’s hair, and a flushed-looking woman looked down and started to berate me before she was interrupted by the high-pitched, nasally voice of the person she was talking to, telling her to stand down.

“Sorry I stepped on you, Cousin Itt. I know you take great lengths to keep your hair glossy, it’s just that the crowd is hard to navigate. We’re trying to get to our mom” I apologized, despite not fully understanding the words. I hadn’t gotten used to their exotic accent, yet.

Itt “humphed” and a turned around, gesturing for me to get on. Confused, I placed my arms on the rough area their shoulders should be. “What are you-”

Cousin Itt let out a high pitched shriek that pierced my ears, and all of his hair trembled with a hidden energy. And then, it grew, shoving us up over the crowd in one swift movement and smothering absolutely everyone below, including his lady conversation partner. I gasped and quickly hooked my legs around Itt’s waist as writhing strands of thick hair propelled us forward. The hapless crowd couldn’t plead, and couldn’t hide, the tight mass of bodies preventing any escape; they could only push their way to move a few more inches and delay the inevitable, or surrender and be completely subsumed, kicking and screaming into the heavy mass of well-oiled keratin. 

And then it was over. We reached the front of the proceedings, and Itt shrieked back down, dropping us off.

“Why, cousin Itt, you’re such a gentleman. Thank you for escorting our eldests’.” Mom inclined her head.

Cousin Itt nodded and left, finding his way back to the lady he was flirting with in his usual size, made easier by the wide breadth the crowd now gave him.

I looked around, slightly out of breath. “Where’s everyone else?”

The woman pointed an elegant finger at a set of seats a few rows back from the front, and they waved cheerfully or gave encouraging thumbs up. Except for Fester, who was too busy trying to strangle a colorful exotic fish flopping in his hands. He could have just shocked it, but judging by his feverish grin, that would be against the point.

“They’re going to watch us complete the binding ritual.” She smiled serenely.

I blinked, “”Us?”” we blurted out at the same time, our strangled and tounge-tied only legible as we both made to speak the same thing.

Our mother’s eyes widened in amusement, giggling softly as I grimaced at the awkward sensation. “We’re helping you do a ritual?” I asked, more carefully this time.

“Indeed. It's okay that you don't know it, just watch my steps and be my little assistant while I explain it to you. Now, come!”

She held out her hand and, with the matching excitement from my sister and I building off of each other, we quickly grasped it and practically dragged our mother towards the coffin. The funeral proper sounded out behind us, the readings and eulogies fading to a calming background noise as mom drew the magic circle around the coffin, asking us to handover specific items at times or help with measurements. An uncomfortable feeling pooled in my gut, finding the scenario eerily familiar to the ritual at the end of my past life.

“Is this for defense when we summon the dead’s spirit, just in case they aren't friendly? But protection circles are supposed to go around ourselves, right?” I blurted out, using my curiosity to overpower my unease and make it easier to hide.

Our mom hummed as she carefully arranged small jars around the circle, their contents different but all bearing similar craftsmanship to the ones we had seen dangling from the trees in the front yard, “You don't always use a powerful production circle, some spirits find that rude or overly distrusting; I find that it's hard to make friends with strangers of the more… sensitive temperament, if you are pointing a knife at them.” 

She paused and shook her head, “But that's not what this is anyways- do you remember what sets Thorpe’s funerals apart from others?” 

Wednesday for our brow, but I quickly shifted through my recollections of the Thrope family and gasped softly at the revelation, “We are helping them make their haunted house!” 

Mom's smile brightened, and she stopped working for a moment to pat our cheek, “That's right! Very good deduction, dearies!” 

We looked at the magic circle in a new light at that. For me, a touch of uncertainty began to encroach on the edges of my excitement, but Wednesday was positively ecstatic.

“We're summoning a ghost…!” She whispered, an eerie grin stretching a touch too wide across her face.

“Close. We are drawing out and binding a ghost.” Mom's eyes flashed with anticipation, her expression subdued yet still bearing an uncanny family resemblance to her daughter’s. 

My sister’s and my own curiosities blended together, to the point where we couldn't quite figure out who spoke next, “What's the difference?”

Our mother’s hands slowed, and she seemed to ponder her words. “All spirits of the dead who still roam the realm of the living are bound to something, for better or worse. Even wandering spirits like the Korean Pretas, the hungry ghosts, are bound to this world via their own sins. A spirit can even be bound to multiple things, their metaphysical state unbound by time and space to an extent, but I'm getting off track already-” she laughed bashfully.

She gestured at us to handover the bundle of Asphodels before continuing. “What I was trying to say is that a spirit’s corpse is typically the source of their greatest lingering attachment to the world, followed by their burial site or place of death- which by the way, is why I love hospitals so much.”

Lingering attachment… I shook the thought away.

“Wait, this person's Spirit is already attached to her corpse?” I asked, trying to keep my focus on the technical aspect. 

She nodded, “Yes, it is, though it is admittedly weak; you might even see it yourself if you look carefully enough.” 

I squinted at the thick and sturdy, but otherwise plain looking coffin, concentrating as hard as I could to find that strange prickly feeling I could sometimes feel when in the presence of magic or occult workings. After 30 seconds of staring at nothing like an idiot, I huffed and averted my gaze in embarrassment. “I can't see anything. But if she's already there, then why do we need to find her?”

“Calling and then binding.” Mom stressed for emphasis, then asked for the Grimm’s heart, to which we handed her a small bloodstained wooden chest.

“First, we need to invite my old friend’s spirit here and, if she wants to, coax her into using her psychic abilities to maintain awareness. Then we will cremate her body and spread the ashes in a circle around this entire manor as the Thropes have done for generations, mixing it with a special blend so her haunting won't interfere with the others’.”

We nodded along when suddenly there was a dull thumping noise, just barely audible over the woman sobbing at the podium. We swiveled our heads around, but found nothing. 

“Hm? What's wrong?” Mom tilted her head. 

“Uh, nothing I think. So, this ritual makes it so that she's only attached to her ashes and not a bunch of other things too?” It was probably just my imagination; my good memory didn't prevent me from reacting at things that didn't exist, I knew firsthand.

Mom similarly brushed it off quickly, “To an extent, yes. However, if she's strong enough, her presence could likely still be invoked just about anywhere even if she doesn't directly manifest.”

We furrowed our brows, and she quickly answered our unspoken question, “That’s different from being attached, yes. For example, you'll be hard pressed to summon a yokai here to the Americas, but if you play your cards right it wouldn't be unreasonable to attract their attention and presence.”

We stood there silently for a moment, rolling the information over in our minds. It was still hard to grasp, yet it did make an intuitive sort of sense.

Mom clapped, “Well, maybe that’s a bit advanced for you, but you’ll have all the time in the world to learn more. For now, we're all done with the preparations!”

I blinked, looking at the ritual circle. Indeed, it looked like everything was in place. In the background the woman we had seen him before, apparently Xavier's aunt, was reaching a crescendo with her speech.

“The dead may live with our memories, but for a Thrope, should we choose, we don't need something so fragile as mortal mind to ground us to this earth.” She gestured grandly as she spoke, her words lined with a condensation so subtle it might've just been her pessimism making it up.

“Now, as with all our ancestors, I extend an invitation to you, Delilah Thorpe. Should you wish to watch over your family for generations to come, and should you have not yet crossed over to the land beyond, we become you with open arms to come and stay with us!”

Again, that subtle thumping rang out, and looking back at my memories I was sure I wasn't imagining it. But before I could call attention to it, the speech suddenly stopped, and everyone's attention simultaneously snapped to the coffin, and therefore us. My breath stuttered, but Mom didn't bat an eye, completely indifferent to the weight of what must've been more than one hundred expectant gazes. 

She looked down at us with a sly smile, holding out a box of matches, and whispered, “Will you do the honors, darlings?”

I hesitated, but Wednesday snatched the box out of her hands, a chilling grin on her face as we firmly separated for the first time today. She all but skipped to the pile of sticks in the center of the circle, only barely remembering not to step on any lines or knock over any of the carefully placed items in the formation.

Striking a match against the box and a well practiced motion, she forced herself to pause and go slower so I could get a better memory to look back on this together later. And it was a good thing too, for just at that moment—

Thump thump thump!

A series of rapid knocks thunked hollowly against the coffin door. Wednesday froze. Then she beamed and shot up to her feet, gripping the edge to pry the door open.

Mummers broke out in the crowd, and mom called out softly yet reproachfully, “Wednesday. Friday. What on Earth are you-?”

“You heard that too, didn't you? She's come back from the dead!” Wednesday shattered excitedly in our mind.

“Holy sh- She really did, didn't she? She doesn't even need to come back as a ghost. Do you think she's stronger then the others? Has this ever happened before!? We don't know what she was like! What if she's a vengeful spirit? Maybe we should let mom open the coffin?” I rambled, scrambling to take control of our body and get the fuck away from the literal zombie. 

“Don't be a coward! She won't hurt her family, and we can't leave the circle anyways.”

“We aren’t her family and we are literally standing in the circle you stupi- you-!” I tried to come up with a rebuttal but a nagging doubt snagged my mind. Maybe the woman was just like me. I'd be a hypocrite to be scared of a little haunting. In fact, in away, my own case was arguably far worse…

Seizing my hesitation, Wednesday looked around the coffin until a small round button caught her eye, and she quickly pushed it. The door launched open and I quickly seize control to dive out of the way, knocking over ritual ingredients as I scrambled toward the edge of the circle—

“Stop! I'm in here! Don't light me up!” A familiar voice shouted behind us, and I quickly looked over our shoulder.

Xavier tumbled out of the coffin, collapsing onto the floor before picking himself up with shaking hands. The murmuring turned to shocked silence, as the implications of what nearly happened ran through everyone's heads.

“…I think you won hide and seek…” I muttered shakily, almost without thinking.

He looked at us like we had grown an extra head, then laughed, looking surprised at his own reaction. 

Then everything devolved to chaos.

Chapter Text

All was well in the Addams family. So well in fact, that I was starting to worry. Scratch that, I’d been worrying for weeks now at this point. 

I didn't even notice it when I started, but looking back through my memories, I realized I’d even started thinking of the Addams as my actual family in my head ever since the end of “Friday week”. It bothered me so much that on one of my restless nights, where Wednesday had already sank away deep into the mind to sleep, I was desperate enough to try something I normally used all my efforts to avoid. 

For just a small fraction of a moment, I remembered. Not any specific fact or a moment in time I wanted to look back on. I remembered what it was like. I remembered what it was like to the young and angry but smart enough to realize I needed to hide that anger like the knife I always kept in my shoe. 

I remembered what it was like to face the impossible and fail, not knowing what you expected in the first place. I remembered what it was like to “succeed” and get hurt even worse than failure.

I remembered what it was like realizing that it didn't matter whether you succeeded or failed, because either one of them always wound up with the same results in the end… and then snapping out of it, because the thought of not trying was somehow even worse than anything else that had ever happened or been done to you. 

I remembered, and then I realized; despite nearly dying more times than I could count on both hands, I had felt safer in the Addam’s family than I had ever had in any of my previous homes. Even when comparing it to my mental state from a few months earlier when I was still actively plotting to run away, it was almost like I was a completely different person.

I now felt more relaxed around them than she had ever felt with any foster home before. It wasn't without its issues; she could do with less murder, casual endangerment, and the occasional playful torture from Pugsley. But all those things didn't scare her like they had when she was initially born into this new life.

It probably wasn’t gaslighting or love bombing either, though I knew no one was immune to such things, much less me. But the Addams didn’t gradually revert back to “innocuous” statements, harder eyes, and subtle pushes back to your proper place. Maybe they were just some of the ones with more patience than others, but looking back, they had never even really done anything like that in the first place. They had always been their full authentic selves, for better or worse. They weren’t even really neglectful, even if they did encourage more violent hobbies and activities, considering the strange resilience across the family tree that I have yet to puzzle out.

They were just… weird. Allegedly(definitely) criminal and with more than a few screws loose, but they cared in a way I had very little experience with. It probably didn't help that my limited care for others made it difficult to be morally upset at some of the family’s more dubious antics -usually with Fester- even when I probably should.

They prepared the food I liked. They didn’t scold me for wearing white even though it didn’t fit the family color scheme. They encouraged my interest in magic and consoled me when my lack of talent showed. They didn’t judge me, put me down, or demand obedience. I had never gotten anything nearly as nice as this in my life. 

It was terrifying.

Even my bad luck had been sluggish as of late, giving me the distinct horror of a desperate hunter tying up a deer that will be their first good meal in weeks only to hear a rustle in the nearby bushes, realizing two things as time seemed to slow to a crawl; the forest noises they’d gotten used to had gone completely still, and they’d just used up the last of their ammo. 

That’s why when Harold wasn’t at his seat in school one day and the intercom switched on with a foreboding crackle, the only thing I felt was a wave of overwhelming relief that the shoe had finally dropped.

-“Wednesday Addams please come up to the principal's office.”-

“That idiot ratted us out didn’t he.” Wednesday groaned, figuring it out just a few moments later than me.

”That’s right. We’ve forgotten to follow through on our plan to give the TV back to him, and he finally cracked under the pressure of his cousin and used us as a scapegoat.” Friday nodded, standing up from their seat.

Unhurriedly, I gathered my things and walked out the door, ignoring the calls of “ooooh” from the class and the vindictive smile on Elsie and her cohorts.

“…How are you so calm? Did you have a plan for this?” Wednesday asked, mildly anxious.

“Nope.” I answered honestly, without even flinching.

There was a moment of silence. “Then, what do we do now?”

“Our scheme fell through because we weren’t diligent enough, and now we have to improvise or weather the consequences.” I explained almost flippantly, trying my best not to sound condescending.

““Our”” scheme!?” She cried in anger and disbelief.

”Okay, it was mostly my scheme, I’m sorry.” I quickly conceded.

”But…But how did this happen in the first place!? You said you forgot, but you remember everything!” She accused, angrily.

“I’m not thinking of everything that ever happened every second of the day. You know that. I’ve been distracted with everything that’s happened recently.” I responded calmly.

“You mean you were too busy being spoiled by everyone because you needed “extra care” like always.” Wednesday corrected.

I frowned subtly, “I’m not spoiled.”

Wednesday scoffed, “Fester had it right. They treat you like a princess and you don’t even notice because of how sorry you are for yourself.”

For an instant I saw red, and then I instantly crushed it into a little ball and locked it in a cage, knowing I would regret it later but having no other way to suppress it to hideable levels so quickly. I could feel my sister’s intent. She was just angry that I was too calm and wanted me to feel the same way as her, so she was stabbing me right where it hurts to provoke a reaction out of a combination of her own hurt, jealousy, and spite. Nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. Getting angry back rarely made anything better.

But my non reaction only made my sister angrier. “I never even cared about those stupid video games, and I never wanted to cozy up to that stupid jerk Harol just because he’s the “popular kid”! I just went along it’s it because you were actually doing something fun and sneaky for once. Pugsley doesn’t even really like playing them either, he just feels bad because you were never as good at pretending you like blowing yourself up as you think you were.”

My breath froze in her chest. Wednesday was just lashing out, I knew that. But it was a lot harder to stuff down my reaction when I could literally feel the conviction in her sister’s words. Trying to hurt me as she may, Wednesday wasn’t lying; she had to, because she knew I could tell if she was.

Before I could recover Wednesday quickly shoved a memory to the forefront of my mind, and I reeled back. It was a moment of Playtime with her brother, where after the first few times I had learned to always sink deep into the unconscious and wait until it was over if I didn't want those moments stuck in my head.

“H-Honestly, -bleugh- I’m glad you have two voices in your heuk-head. I wouldn’t be able to do any of this stuff if I only had Friday to -urpf- play with.” Pugsley choked out, foam dribbling from his mouth while he struggled against the leather straps of the chair. “I’d ju-uust be maimed by fake video -gurk- game stuff and doin borr-gh!-ing baby science and worrying about how big my explosions are so-Ogh she doesn' have to pretend she dusn’t hate playin w-egh me.”

“Silence, victim. I already know you’d be nothing without me.” Wednesday drawled with barely detectable fondness, before shoving a well-used funnel back down his throat—

—And then I snapped back to reality without fanfare. 

…

I said nothing, and I thought nothing. For a long moment I just stood there in silence, staring at the far end of the hallway. Then, slowly, I flexed my fingers. After a few seconds, I looked down at my hands and idly compared the sensation to when Wednesday controls the body, what they felt like in the Before, and idly wondered what other people's hands felt when they moved them or used them to touch things. 

“…So there, see. You went and got us into trouble for nothing.” Wednesday concluded dismissively, but I knew her enough to see she was using the indifference to mask her hesitation. But not regret.

I took my time processing her words, blinking the sight of a gagging pugsley away and letting out a silent sigh of breath.

“…So I did.” I nodded, and continued walking with the same casual pace as before. My feelings remained tightly locked up in the recesses of my mind, but it didn’t make much difference when I’m not feeling much of anything. Tired, maybe, if even that.

I opened the door to the office and was unsurprised to see Harold sitting in one of the easily movable chairs with abstract patterned, dull colored cushions that were fraying at the seams. The dean sat in her heavier and sturdier looking chair, backlit by a window showing the inspiring scene of the chain link fence that surrounded the school. Her desk had an out-of-place picture of her smiling with her daughter and little else, and the beige walls were covered in paintings from the art class whose life seemed sucked out of them from the atmosphere. 

She processed this all consciously, but she couldn't find it in her to care. The failed scheme didn't even really matter anymore, not really. It wasn’t even the cause of Wednesday’s outburst, just the catalyst. This tension between me and my sister had been building for a long while, and both of us had ignored it for too long. 

“Wednesday. Come sit, close the door behind you.” Dean Campbell was a sharp stocky woman with a deep-set frown on her face, and hard eyes that could kill a man without even blinking. She likely almost did when dad tried wingmaning for uncle Fester to her at the beginning of the year.

Friday walked up to sit on the chair, ignoring the twinge of instinct that told her to make herself small and afraid, instead leaning into old memories of being called up knowing for sure she hadn't done anything. It was unpleasant and definitely overkill just to make her body language walk the line between uncertain and guilty/anticipatory. And she wouldn't have done it if Wednesday hadn’t made a good point; this battle wasn't just for herself anymore.

”Um, miss principle?” I asked, sounding small and contrite.

She raised a brow silently in expectation. “I'm actually, um, Friday this time. Sorry.” Correcting her could blow up, but it might be worth it since my reputation was better than my sisters. Still, I kept my head down to try to mitigate the risk, taking the queue from Harold and assuming the dean was the type to take eye contact as defiance rather than respect. The brat looked like he was trying to righteously hold his head up, but the Dean cowed even him, who wasn’t in trouble. 

Pretending to fiddle with my funeral appropriate black dress in the awkward silence, I thought about how unlucky it was that it was Wednesday’s turn to pick. I wondered if that coincidence used up some of my bad luck and I should be happy, or if it was a prelude to an upcoming tapestry of tragedy and I should be terrified. 

“Playing the good one today? Convenient." She didn’t blink.

Not having to pretend, I glanced up and spoke defensively, “Wednesday’s good too, everyone just think’s she’s weird and picks on her and blames her for a bunch of things, except for Wendy who’s also bullied sometimes. Miss principle.” She tacked on at the end. Even if eye contact was disrespectful, it was sometimes necessary if I needed to convince someone of my honesty.

I sounded calm but on the inside I was cursing. If the dean was already targeting me with a guilty before proven innocent attitude, it wouldn't matter how much I justify myself. It's kinda like the news; when the politicians or scientists start to explain themselves, they're losing. However, the dean’s doubt rested on the premise that Wednesday is bad. If I can change the narrative to that of a bully victim and a protective sister though, I can completely do away with her assumption of guilt or at least call it into question. And it should be more effective by using Wendy, the bubbly girl who most of the staff seem to like for her (or Vlad’s?) teacher pet attitude, as a voucher

The dean simply stared at them, not saying anything for a moment. “Do you know why you are here, Friday?” She finally said, ignoring the previous issue entirely. Probably to not admit she might have been wrong.

Friday shook her head, getting a shock of surprise from Wednesday. “You really haven't given up. I thought you said we just had to “weather the consequences."" 

”I said we have to weather the consequences, or improvise. And I’m not one to back down without a fight.” I explained.

The dean arched her brow, “So, you have no idea about Harold’s claim that you stole his television and game console?”

I decided in that instant that an argument of borrowing versus stealing was as good as admitted guilt in the situation.

Friday blinked. “Wait, what?” She looked at Harold with a perfectly remembered expression of disbelief and indignation. “You…are you seriously trying to get me arrested for burglary because I hang out with Wendy more than you!?” I said, making a call back to my bully victim / outcast narrative.

Harold’s face turned red, “You tricked me! You said you just wanted to play a few games and promised to give it back and never did!” 

“Children.” The dean spoke, and we both stilled and looked down again.

She eyed us both for a few seconds, before turning back to me. “You are not being accused of breaking into Harold’s house and stealing his television. If you had, this conversation would be held with an officer at the police station and not here with me.” Hopefully she took note of the fact that if I was guilty, I would already know exactly what I was being accused of. 

She leaned forward just enough to loom over me, continuing, “Which is why, miss Addams, I think it would be in your best interest to tell the truth here rather than having it come out in an interrogation room. So tell me. Am I to believe that if I call your parents, they will not tell me of any recent televisions added to your room, Friday?”

I looked at her with relief and nodded my head, “Yes, go ahead, please check.” Resisting the urge to add an extra explanation like “I never even played video games before,” or anything else that would open further inquiry. Despite the intimidation tactics, Friday knew she and her sister were currently “winning” this exchange, so no need to rock the boat. 

Besides, as angry as Harold was right now, he did think that this was originally his idea, and he was mad but didn’t completely hate us; it was highly unlikely that he’d beg his family to press charges for a dumb thing like this. This scenario was basically a rich kid’s version of lending pokemon cards to a friend and not getting it back as soon as they’d like. Even if the parents bothered to throw money onto the case, the Addams’ had their own weight in and experience with the court. So there was no benefit to being honest in this situation even if we are found to be lying later.

Harold wasn’t completely dumb however, and added, “Make sure they search the house. She said her parents wouldn’t allow any modern technology like TVs or games. If that was even true.” That last line tacked on was unnecessary and invited doubt, as if Harold was trying to leave room for multiple possibilities in his story by being vague. Good.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t directly deny it; mom or dad could easily confirm it and if I lied about that, what else could I be lying about? The Dean didn’t bother responding either, picking up a card phone and dialing the home number that she probably looked up beforehand. It picked up after only a few short rings. 

‘Thank you, Thing. This is Morticia Addams speaking.’ In the silence of the office, Friday could just barely hear her mom’s voice through the receiver and piece together most of what she can't make out using intuition.

“Hello Morticia. This is principle Campbell, and I’m calling to varify something in regards to your daughter.” The woman spoke, her cordial tone giving both Harold and I whiplash.

‘Oh dear, which one?’ 

The dean sighed silently, looking at me before answering, “Friday today, apparently.”

‘Did she get in trouble? Oh, I’m sorry miss Campbell. She’s always been a bit of an oddball in the family, but she has the darkest heart we’ve ever seen, really.’ Mom implored.

I tried not to clench my fists in my dress, the words far too familiar to what I’d heard before time and time again… and yet, she didn’t blame me. Didn’t say “we’ve been trying to help her but she’s really a stubborn kid” or anything like that. I gripped onto that thought like a lifeline.

The dean meanwhile looked momentarily puzzled, her confident demeanor faltering for a brief moment before quickly slipping back on, “She might be. Are you aware of any new television sets or game consoles that have been shipped to your house in the past month?”

‘Oh, not that I know of, no. We don’t have anything like that in our house.’

“Could your daughter have hidden it somewhere in her room, or a perhaps a garage?” The dean pressed.

‘Very unlikely. We just cleaned out the whole house a week ago and we made sure to scrub every nook and cranny and secret passageway to get out a bad smell.’ Mom replied, and my heart soared. 

Yes!!! I had hoped that that part would be mentioned! It would have maybe been fine if I mentioned it to the principal and then she verified it with mom, but it looked so much better if mom volunteered that information herself; otherwise it might look like I’d planned for this, even if I actually didn’t this time. During that whole debacle, Pugsley and I had simply hid the whole set in one of the empty tombs for the cleaning so it wasn’t anywhere in the house at that time, with no intention of using it as an alibi like she was now.

“Wow, you really did it!” Wednesday was awed.

“Nonononono! Don’t think we’ve won yet, don’t think we’ve won yet, don’t think we’ve won yet!” I chanted, almost to myself, resisting the urge to cross my fingers to ward off the thought-jinx from my sister. 

“I see. Thank you for your time, miss Addams, that will be all. Your daughter is not in trouble.” 

‘Oh of course! I’m glad, our family is typically old-fashioned but Friday really fought to go to a proper school like yours. We’re all worried about her struggling to fit in, even with Wednesday there to protect her. Thankyou for taking care of my daughters.’ 

I fought hard to resist the urge to shoot up from my chair and cheer, instead of thinking as loud as it could, “Holy shit, fuck yes! Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Mom for the win oh my god!!!?” 

Wednesday laughed with me, slightly confused why I'm so excited but caught up in my energy.

Still, I tried not to let it go to my head and I made my expression shy instead, focusing on the small sliver of embarrassment in my mind from mom's worry and trying to keep it from drowning in the wave of elation. The bully victim narrative is complete, although with a bit of a twist at the end, but that might even make it feel even more real and complex. Well, it is technically true in the first place so that probably helps; it's just the dean’s perception of us as perfect victims that was the lie. The narrative definitely won't work further into the school years as my sister and I inevitably get into more trouble, but predicting exactly what will happen after that is near impossible, so that's just a problem for future me. 

Hearing mom's words, the Dean’s eyes seemed to soften slightly, if it was possible. “I take care of all my students. Goodbye now, miss Addams.”

‘Goodbye! Have a good day!’

The dean placed the phone down with a click, and in the silence, Ms. Campbell's quiet pressure returned as if it had never left in the first place. Only now, her gaze was firmly fixed on Harold, who looked pale and indignant at this turn of events.

“She- she probably trashed it!”

”You may go now, Friday.” The dean didn’t blink.

I didn’t need to be told twice, barely refraining from bolting out of the room and slamming the door shut behind me. 

Seeing the empty hallway, l waited just long enough to round the corner before collapsing against the beige popcorn wall painted with a rainbow of students’ handprints, groaning in relief. I was not going to class any sooner than I needed to; Harold would need to pass through the rainbow hall too and I’d hear his footsteps echoing before he sees me, so it's not like I could get in trouble arriving there after him when I left the dean’s office before him. 

“Thank fuck.” I muttered, still paranoid of eavesdroppers even though I’d said nothing incriminating.

“… I got mad at you because I thought you’d given up.” Wednesday explained.

“Well, I didn’t.” I shrugged, sending a wordless emotion that I accepted her sort-of-apology.

“…That was pretty cool. I couldn't get everything, but I was able to feel out the broad strokes of your thought process and put some of it together myself

.” She shifted uncomfortably in a way I couldn't describe with words.

I smiled. ”Thanks. It really wasn’t too complicated in the grand scheme of things though, that was just me overthinking all of the little stuff.” 

“No, it was complicated. You didn't have a grand plan, but each thing you said gradually nudged the dean in the direction you wanted, and you made all those choices in the heat of the moment.” Her sister insisted. “The little things add up.”

My smile faltered, remembering the argument that we were both trying to sweep under the rug using the adrenaline of the confrontation, “Yes, they do.”

It felt like I should say something. Reach out an olive branch and try to unpack all that baggage that bubbled to the surface. God knew Wednesday was too stubborn to do it first.

Not liking being blown up, not liking torture, not like in danger, trying to get Pugsley hooked on video games as a destructive outlet, going to regular school, trying to celebrate a regular holiday together, “befriending” Harold… Each of these things created small points of friction between my siblings and I. 

On one hand I had done a good chunk of all that stuff deliberately thinking it akin to gradual exposure therapy, but there was a fine line between manipulation, exposure therapy, and being an annoyance. I ended up drifting into the last category, and hurt my siblings. On the other hand, another good chunk of it was that I did genuinely want to find ways to get along with my siblings in the ways I could. If Pugsley didn't like playing video games or building things with me, then I honestly had no idea what else to do.

“Do you know if it's possible to give someone exposure therapy to torture?” I wondered absentmindedly.

“Do you want to try?” Wednesday asked with far too much excitement.

“Wha- no! That's not what I meant, I was just wondering if people can get used to things they hate in general but then, like, I wondered if trying to do that would technically be torture. Or Stockholm syndrome?” I rambled, confusing myself.

“Hmm.” 

“I can hear your scheming from here!! Exposure therapy doesn't work against consent!!!” I exclaimed, mildly panicking.

“Stockholm syndrome then.” Wednesday nodded decisively.

“No and that's final!” 

“Everything is unchangeable until it isn't~” Wednesday smirked, I finally realize she was teasing, hiding her intent behind partially true emotion like I usually do. 

“Ugh, you're the worst!” I was equally proud and scared of the revelation, and decided after a moment to convey both of those feelings honestly.

“Thank you.” She preened in a way I found hard to imagine her doing physically.

We smiled and fell into a comfortable silence, then, as the two of us mutually agreed to pretend that Wednesday’s previous outburst never happened. It was probably just the rest of bad luck anyways, and now that that was over with, they were in the clear. That shiver up Friday’s spine was probably just the usual paranoia that what she was finally starting to recognize.

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Hello everyone, still on hiatus. Exerted myself a little bit and had a bit of a setback but it's not too bad, just annoying and frustrating. To help with the wait, I have a few recommendations for similar stories in various ways in case one of them fits your tastes; two as one princess, reincarnated into two bodies, Triiffic-Soul: Can I Be In Control?, Fates Parralel, I became a ghost in a horror game, Seol Object Story. There are probably more but those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head. I admittedly did not look for very long but I couldn't find any Addams family fanfiction like this one, other than the discontinued one that inspired meant to write this. Let me know if you guys have any recommendations too  

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Sorry this is crazy late, been dumped with a crazy amount of schoolwork. Doin Better overall, tho I have a slight cold now eugh.