Chapter Text
It hadn't started very well.
Wednesday's day, that was.
Wednesday had come to the irritating, but apparently inevitable, conclusion that if she was going to continue to investigate the local spree of aggravated armed robberies, she needed some assistance to blend into the surroundings of Jericho.
Sheriff Galpin had already spotted her twice, and she'd only escaped being sent home in a squad car yesterday because of the existence of an idiot driving a BMW recklessly on the next block over.
Galpin had yelled to her, as he got into his own vehicle to go intercept, that he had Ms Weems on speed dial now and he wouldn't be afraid to call out the big guns to deal with Wednesday snooping next time.
Wednesday had smirked at the idea that Sheriff Galpin considered the Nevermore Principal to be "the big guns" all the way home on the bus, all the way through dinner, and right up until she witnessed Ms Weems bodily breaking up a particularly nasty fight between two teen vampires over tickets to a boy band concert.
It had been a tooth and claw affair, with hair being ripped out at the roots and everything. The vampires had come out looking dishevelled. Weems had come out looking immaculate.
After that, the thought that Galpin had the Principal on speed dial began to sink in a little more... and Wednesday found herself hastily deciding that perhaps a good disguise wouldn't go amiss on this particular investigation.
Ignoring Enid's pleas to let her do her hair and makeup, and the bright pink boxes of makeup her well-meaning roommate was valiantly brandishing in her face, Wednesday sought out the two people she trusted most to make her look less like herself: Bianca and Xavier. The first, because Bianca fitted nicely into Wednesday's definition of devious, and the second because Xavier's exorbitant wealth meant he had the kind of wardrobe collection that many teenagers would kill for.
In the end, Wednesday snuck out feeling entirely unlike herself. She wore an oversize white tee with the slogan for a festival she'd never been to, grey check boardshorts, black socks and matching high tops and a grey baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. She'd even gone as far as to borrow a tatty canvas backpack and a skateboard from Ajax, to give the thing it's full effect.
She regretted her bare legs and arms immediately - it wasn't warm and a brisk October breeze was blowing in - but had silently accepted back at the school that both Xavier and Ajax were so much taller than she was that she couldn't expect to look anything less than goofy in full-length pants borrowed from either of their wardrobes.
She'd also forgone her usual plaits and had let Bianca tussle her hair up with a sea salt spray and bung it into a loose ponytail under the hat - though her teeth had been clenched fiercely during the whole process.
Wednesday tried her best to ignore how her body was feeling about these strange abnormalities to her ensemble. She just needed to blend in. Despite all of her statements to the contrary in the past, today she needed not to be seen as Wednesday Addams - detective and resident trouble magnet - but as a non-descript teenager: only, she reminded herself in relief, for the sake of the investigation.
To achieve that, Wednesday told herself she would endure the smells of other people's laundry detergent and body spray and this uncomfortable hat and the fact that these clothes were clearly washed with so much fabric softener that Lurch and Father would have wept to see her in them.
It was ridiculously easy, if Wednesday was honest with herself, to get out of school these days. Particularly while Weems was on her afternoon off: it was a walk in the park. Wednesday didn't even need lock picks or a lookout. She had simply shinned down a hefty clump of ivy and been on her sweet way while everyone else was at lunch.
Wednesday was investigating three robberies which she, and probably Sheriff Galpin, believed to be linked. She had been rudely interrupted by the Sheriff's arrival and warning yesterday, but today would visit each of the remaining crime scenes in the hope of prompting one of her visions.
- - -
It was approaching dusk and Wednesday had had no luck at all.
At first, it had amused her that several shopkeepers who ought to recognise her had failed to do so - a fact she counted as a bonus while she snooped around their properties - but the longer she was out investigating, the less interesting these little distractions became. She was also hungry as heck and hadn't had the foresight to pack anything. She entered a greengrocer's and purchased an apple, intending to eat it on her way back to the bus stop.
As she raised the fruit to her lips, Wednesday finally did have a vision: one which made her drop the apple in shock.
Wednesday turned on her heel and ran full pelt towards the street in her vision; her heart and lungs screaming their protest at her for going from static to sprinting without a warm-up, yet she ignored them and the rest of her body as she vaulted walls, scrambled over chain-link fences and around dustbins, hurtling around town to reach her target. She fell on the concrete and tarmac several times in her sheer haste, but got up immediately and ran on.
She didn't know whether she'd made it in time; she didn't have a plan for what she should do when she got there, she only knew she might just be in time; and that was the only thought that was running through her head as she rushed straight out into the middle of the road in the path of oncoming traffic.
Wednesday felt like she was watching the world in slow motion: the blue eyes behind the wheel widen in fear and surprise, the brakes shriek, the vehicle swerves...
Apparently, today, Wednesday had just enough time.
... the car crashes into a clump of bushes instead.
Wednesday breathed out, realising that at some point in this debacle, she'd breathed in and forgotten to let it go.
Her vision was nothing more than the memory of a bad dream now. As she watches the scene, time begins to speed up to normal again.
- - -
Larissa Weems gets out of her car, shakily and going into shock but otherwise unharmed.
There are other people on the sidewalks; a man selling newspapers nearby has jumped up and is pointing to the oil slick in agitation.
Larissa, though dazed, begins to realise what she'd avoided; tries to work out what happened; begins to feel that the scene is missing something.
She looks around wildly for her rescuer, her heart hammering with horror that she might not have swerved in time. She sees nothing, sees no one in the road, save herself and the newspaperman.
She breathes out, tears of relief beginning to fall.
- - -
Wednesday, suspecting that Weems-On-Her-Afternoon-Off will still be Did-You-Have-Permission-To-Be-Out-Here-I-Thought-Not Weems, has made sure that she is gone by the time the Principal gathers her wits about her.
By the time Ms Weems has thought to call her insurers and a local garage to come to check her car, Wednesday is jogging lightly through the back alleys of Jericho.
Around the same time the elegant English Principal was talking to the local police about getting the road zoned off until it could be cleaned, Wednesday had discovered that the next bus wasn't for an hour and a half.
By the time Ms Weems had been given a courtesy car and watched her own being towed off for repair, Wednesday was trudging back to school along the main road contentedly, still with blood running down both knees and from the cuts on her elbows and her palms.
It was beginning to rain lightly and she was in a surprisingly good mood, all things considered, though she could tell her ankles were going to be bitten at the back from running in these sneakers.
Larissa, who was driving much more slowly and carefully back to school because of the shock and the difficulty of navigating this temporary vehicle, saw a little figure - unseasonably dressed for the weather with a skateboard tucked into their backpack and an exaggeratedly slouchy and clearly put-on walk - and clicks her tongue in understanding.
She quickly pulled ahead and got out, knowing the girl wouldn't recognise the vehicle, accidentally slamming the car door a lot harder than she meant to.
"I knew it! I knew I knew who it was!" Weems cried indignantly, before storming over and pulling a very surprised Addams into a long, spine-cracking, embrace against her midriff.
"You saved my life, Wednesday Addams. You're making quite a habit of that," she rambled, finally drawing back enough to look down at the astonished face currently being squashed into her coat. "Thank you, truly, deeply, thank you. But, Wednesday, honestly, don't you ever run out in front of a car like that again - you could have been killed," Weems gasps earnestly, now holding her at arms' length while she looks her over for injuries.
"I'm an Addams," Wednesday shrugged helplessly, thrown a bit because Ms Weems had hugged her and was now holding her arms very firmly.
Wednesday wasn't at all sure what to make of this weird, watery feeling she'd suddenly got in her eyes, nor the unfamiliar feeling she had in her chest from before that's suddenly rearing its head again.
"Yes, dear, I didn't say you weren't but- hold on, exactly whose wardrobe did you dress from today?" Weems asked, suddenly distracted as she felt the soft white t-shirt under her fingertips as she inspected Wednesday's bleeding elbows.
"Xavier's. And Bianca's. And Ajax's," Wednesday shrugged, knowing that this fact alone wouldn't get her or them into any trouble.
"If I ask you what you were disguising yourself for this time, Wednesday, will I like the answer?" asked Weems, turning one of Wednesday's concrete-rashed palms over in her hands delicately and then bending down to have a better look at Wednesday's skinned, bloody knees.
Wednesday treated her to a long hard stare but didn't shy away from the Principal's soft touch on her injured skin.
"Hmm, well, perhaps I won't ask," said Weems, looking up at Wednesday's poker-face knowingly. "Nor will I ask whether you had a pass to be in Jericho, because I suspect I might already know the answer. Come on, hop in, the least I can do is get you home dry and get these scrapes cleaned up," said Weems, motioning to the parked-up vehicle.
Wednesday looked surprised for a few moments but then followed the Principal to the car.
"I'm also beginning to suspect," Weems said, as she fastened her seatbelt, "that it might be safer, all round, if I were to put my number into your phone, Wednesday, and if you were to text or call to let me know when you're on your way out investigating."
"You mean I should tell you when I'm sneaking out," responded Wednesday sarcastically, looking at Weems with a quirked eyebrow.
"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," said Weems calmly. "I would far rather know where you were going and when than to be woken by Sheriff Galpin calling to tell me you're in hospital instead of your dormitory, or to be surprised by the sight of you running out in front of my damn car."
"And if you don't approve of where I'm going?" Wednesday asked sceptically.
"Wednesday, darling, I rarely approve of where any of my students are going when they sneak out. At least this way, I'll know where to come and find you when you're in trouble. I should add, if I do come to collect you, that I'm going to leave it up to your dormitory mother to decide whether you'll have repercussions - as I have no doubt she will suggest after your unexplained absence today. Though I'm exceedingly glad to be alive, Wednesday, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to not envying Ms Grant's task of trying to get you to be more truthful."
Wednesday smirked in self-satisfaction.
"Wednesday," Weems said, when there had been a few moments of silence, "about what happened - I really mean it: please, darling, don't run out in front of any more moving vehicles."
Wednesday blinked at the repeated term of endearment and turned her gaze to Principal Weems.
"I had a vision," Wednesday said carefully.
"Hmm-hmm?" Weems said gently, encouraging Wednesday to carry on.
"There was an idiot in a BMW yesterday. His oil was leaking all over the road when Galpin was chasing him. Your car... you... didn't survive... so I..."
"I know, darling, I know. You stopped the outcome of the vision. And because I'm still here and still alive to worry about you: I am going to keep doing it, irrespective of whether you want me to, sweetie."
Wednesday looked ahead at the road, feeling strangely tired and sore all of a sudden. She let out a sleepy huff and closed her eyes.
"Hmm, Wednesday? While we're having this little heart-to-heart, how much sleep have you let yourself have this week? Ballpark figure, from a possible ten hours a night, which is approximately the amount a developing teenager with as busy a schedule as yours needs?" Weems asked calmly, glancing at her once again stormy teen passenger.
Wednesday didn't answer.
"Your silence speaks volumes," murmured Weems, giving a little shake of her head.
"I was counting," responded Wednesday huffily.
"Darling, you shouldn't need to work that out. You need to be actively looking after your body. It's still developing, and you're going to be with it for the long haul."
"I'm no one's darling," muttered Wednesday.
"Oh, you are tired today," smiled Weems softly. "And, yes, you are, so don't you ever forget it."
"Ms Weems, I'm perfectly capable of ignoring the next vision I see of you in danger," deadpanned Wednesday.
Weems, seeing that they'd reached in impasse in the conversation, drew the car into the side of the road and applied on the handbrake; turning to look at the dishevelled teenager, who was in turn looking challengingly at her, in the passenger seat.
"Give me that silly thing, it doesn't suit you at all," sighed Weems, gently taking the baseball cap off Wednesday's head and chucking it onto the dashboard carelessly. "Just look at your hair," she added softly with gentle amusement, taking Wednesday's squirming, reluctant head in her hands so that she could smooth down the wild nest a little.
"Ms Weems!"
"Alright, alright, you can fix it yourself, I know. Now, are we going to argue the whole way back to school, or are you going to accept, at the very least, that you are still under my care and there might be some good in that?"
"And... why should I accept that?" asked Wednesday suspiciously.
"Well, to begin with, it's the truth," responded Weems easily. "And secondly, if you accept that a. you are under my care and b. I would be much happier - and therefore much less likely to interfere in your plans and schemes - if I knew where you were and why whenever you disappear, then I think that you can also accept that it's reasonable for me to expect you to text or call whenever you feel a plan coming on. I know you can often get yourself out of trouble, Wednesday, but you are my responsibility: so when you're setting out to do something dangerous, let someone know, please, and let the people who care for you take care of you, hmm?"
"I don't need taken care of," insisted Wednesday immediately.
"Yes, darling, you do. You might survive on your own, but surviving isn't the same as living, and you deserve to live a very full and interesting life, Wednesday," Weems said earnestly.
Wednesday stared at her from under her mussed-up fringe, frowning in confusion.
"Don't you agree?" Weems prompted pointedly.
Wednesday looked like she was going through several different arguments, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times and raising her hand a few times before lowering it to her seat again. Weems didn't rush her, she could see she hadn't reached her own conclusions yet.
Finally, Wednesday frowned and let out a very teenage, very unWednesday-like sigh of dramatic proportions and gave a long, laborious roll of her eyes while reluctantly digging into the pocket of Ajax's backpack and handing over her phone with a look of martyrdom.
"Fine," she muttered. "I'll agree to text you all the gory details when I'm going out. You can regret it later," Wednesday acquiesced sullenly.
"Thank you," said Weems, her lips twitching into a soft smile as she added her office number and her cell number to Wednesday's contacts, before handing back the device.
Wednesday, having reached the daily limit of her teenage acquiescence to an authority figure's wishes (which Weems' practised educator's eye graciously observed) was bundled up in the passenger seat with her arms folded huffily.
Weems, giving her difficult little upstart a small, unobserved smile of affection, released the handbrake and drove them towards Nevermore.