Chapter Text
Wednesday blinks. It's jarring, waking up in her old body. She doesn't feel like she's settled into it yet. Her ears are ringing, senses muted, mind fuzzy.
It takes her a moment to get her bearings.
Her parents are singing. They stare into each other's eyes adoringly as they serenade one another before going in for a long kiss.
Wednesday's lip curls in disgust.
After finishing up with their shameless display, Wednesday's mother redirects her attention.
"Darling, how long do you intend on giving us the cold shoulder?"
Wednesday tries to remember what she said last time. She'd been angry at them, hadn't she? She'd been angry about a lot of things, before.
She isn't sure of what to say this time around, so she doesn't say anything. They can assume that she's still giving them the silent treatment - it'll give her a chance to get her head on straight.
"Don't be that way, my little viper. You will love Nevermore. Won't she, Tish?" Gomez says, squeezing his wife's hand.
"Of course she will," Mortician croons in response, "It's the perfect school for you, dear."
Wednesday doesn't dignify that with a response.
"Nevermore is a wonderful place, Wednesday," Morticia continues, "A place full of magic. Your father and I met there."
She keeps her gaze on the window.
"Maybe you could even make some friends."
Wednesday pauses. Thinks of Eugene's lifeless body in her arms. Of Enid's pale marble grave. Of the school burning, burning, burning to the ground.
"I don't think anyone would survive me," she says honestly.
They don't bother her for awhile after that.
…
Principal Weems is just as irritating as Wednesday remembers, with her patronizing smile and positive disposition.
(She decidedly ignores the memory of the last time she saw Larissa Weems. How the woman's mouth began to foam, facing turned blue from the lack of oxygen circulating through her body as the poison paralyzed her muscles.)
Wednesday doesn't engage much in the conversation, instead choosing to sit in her chair quietly. She half listens to the adults exchange pleasantries, allowing her mind to drift elsewhere. She'll be meeting Enid soon. Wednesday doesn't know how she feels about that.
"Larissa, what about Wednesday's… therapy sessions," Morticia inquires, "The court ordered them."
Wednesday starts to listen, now, cursing to herself. She'd forgotten all about having to go through those infernal sessions once more, too fixated on her end goal. Dr. Kinbott was trying enough the first time around.
She can try to escape, yes, but that won't work forever.
"We have a relationship with a therapist in Jericho. Wednesday can see her twice a week."
Wednesday's father shoots her what is supposed to be a reassuring smile. It isn't effective.
"Did you hear that, my little storm cloud? You're in good hands," he says.
Yeah, Wednesday thinks as she glares a hole into Weems' desk, she doubts that.
…
She can feel her parents' eyes on her as they traverse through the school's halls. They're clearly concerned about her silence - they've been giving her looks ever since they spoke in the hearse.
Wednesday can't bring herself to care.
She traverses the school's hallways in a haze, only just barely remembering to let Weems take lead - there's no reason for Wednesday to know her way around, after all.
It's so strange being back here. The atmosphere seems lighter than before. Granted, they'd all been mourning when she left.
Time is moving oddly. It feels like seconds, rather than the likely ten minutes, have passed between leaving the office and arriving at the dorm. Weems opens the door, and -
Wednesday's eye latch onto Enid immediately. She's sitting at her desk and turns as the door opens. Wednesday drinks in the sight of her - her hair: an abominable pastel color, her eyes: blue like the sky. She's wearing pink eyeshadow and sparkly lipgloss.
Enid bounds up, a brilliant smile on her face.
"Howdy, Roomie!" she says. Her expression quickly turns to one of concern, "Are you okay? You look a little… pale…"
Wednesday is tongue-tied.
"Wednesday always looks half-dead," Gomez responds for her.
It's when Enid steps in for a hug that Wednesday realizes she isn't ready for this. She should flinch away, it's what everyone around her would expect of her to do. It's what she did before. But Enid's body is so soft and warm and alive (she's alive she's alive she's alive) that Wednesday just. Lets her do it.
A traitorous feeling emerges.
Wednesday wants to hug back, to grab Enid's wrist and feel her pulse beat steadily underneath her skin, to remind herself somehow that this is real, that Enid is here and alive and not going anywhere anytime soon. It's an overwhelming, desperate emotion.
But it's out of character enough for to accept the hug to begin with, so she doesn't. She stays limp in the taller girl's arms, body rigid, hands digging into the sides of her skirt.
Enid smells like bubblegum-scented body spray. Wednesday hates it. Wednesday doesn't want her to let go.
The moment is over far too soon. Wednesday is riddled with the desire to pull Enid back into her arms when she steps away. She wants to bury her face in Enid's shoulder and breathe in that disgusting bubblegum scent once more.
"Too much?" Enid asks nervously.
When Wednesday says nothing, her mother steps in.
"You have to forgive Wednesday. She is allergic to physical contact. And color," Morticia says, shooting her daughter an odd look.
Enid looks concerned again. She opens her mouth to respond, but is interrupted.
"Enid, please accompany Wednesday to the registrar's office to pick up her uniform and schedule while we discuss how to make Wednesday's time here as enjoyable as possible. You can give her a tour along the way."
Principal Weems then directs her attention to Wednesday, "We special-ordered you a uniform! You're going to love it. On you go!"
Enid smiles another one of her (terrible, burning) sunshine smiles, grabs Wednesday's hand, and pulls her out of the room.
She finds that, strangely, she doesn't mind the warm hand in her grasp.