Chapter Text
That night Wednesday couldn’t sleep.
Most nights she had trouble sleeping lately but this night was particularly bad.
Her headache reached intense levels and she ducked into the bathroom with the light off, sitting on the toilet lid burying her face in her hands, wondering what she could do to help Enid once she found her.
The papers on Alphas that Dr. Wilks shared made it clear that it was possible for an Alpha stuck in their werewolf form to turn human again, but didn’t say how. Nothing she could find so far said how they did it.
The stats she learned were not promising. Alphas tended to fit into one of two categories. One category was that they successfully avoided wolfing out on the first full moon after they developed their Alpha characteristics, which tended to manifest within the first year after wolfing out, and while they were considered lone wolves without mates, they became powerful leaders and respected by not just their pack, but other packs as well.
The other was the category Enid was in. The ones who were unsuccessful.
Turning human again, as it turned out, was rare.
They had two things working against them. The first was the fact that most were hunted down and killed before they had a chance and the second was the time limit of the full moon. With each full moon taking more and more of their humanity, the more time that passed the harder it was to turn back.
Of the two that were discussed in the case studies in the paper, Subject A managed to become human again before the first full moon after getting stuck, and Subject B had gone through two full moons before turning back. While they were both lone wolves who never found mates and ostracized from most of their community, Subject A recovered fairly quickly and did not have any long-term side effects but it took Subject B some time and intensive therapy to adjust to human life again.
The paper Dr. Wilks sent did mention a Subject C, who lasted three months before turning human, but they had become feral and were never the same. They were nothing more than a footnote in the paper.
Wednesday kept trying to picture Enid in such a scenario, and it fueled her need to save her as soon as possible.
Anything other than Enid coming out of this just fine was unacceptable.
But fine or feral, Wednesday was not going to let her be a lone wolf. Enid called her her pack, and it was an honor she intended to keep, no matter what.
Uncle Fester told her she needed to get rest if she was to keep a clear head and find Enid before the next full moon, but with Marcel looking for Enid and the time limit, trying to settle for the night was next to impossible.
Wednesday wasn’t normally a worrier, never one to be up all night stressing over things. It was strange that she would start now.
Thing was going to let them know if Marcel took off in the night to continue his hunt, so she should’ve been able to relax until then, if that was to happen, but Wednesday couldn’t do it.
She tried. She really did. But with the pounding headache and occasional flare-up of pain in her still-recovering body she couldn’t get comfortable, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Enid and when she closed her eyes she could only picture Enid as she was that night, her warm eyes staring into hers, her expression soft despite her wolf-form before she ran off.
It made Wednesday sick to her stomach knowing that it was her fault.
Her mother said her vision didn’t come true after all, but in a way, it did. Enid didn’t die, but a piece of her was lost because of her. And Wednesday felt like something within her died as well. She couldn’t quite explain it, but she felt like until Enid was found safe and human again, she could never be whole.
It must’ve been from Rosaline Rotwood’s curse on us.
She and Enid had both been changed that day. Not only did they understand each other more than they ever did before, but also in other ways Wednesday was only beginning to understand.
Like how Marcel apparently could smell that she had wolfed out despite not actually being a werewolf. That was a weird one.
I’m not letting him get near you, Enid, she thought.
Feeling like she was going to pass out from exhaustion, Wednesday carefully stood up and felt along the wall for the bathroom door and stepped into the motel room. Uncle Fester was fast asleep and she crept past his bed to hers and was about to climb in and attempt to get some sleep when she noticed a shadow pass the window in the gap of the blackout curtains.
Wednesday glanced at Fester and back at the window and quietly unlocked the deadbolt and chain lock and stepped out into the cold November evening.
She looked in the direction the shadow was moving, but nothing was there.
Ignoring the way her vision blurred around the edges from her migraine she scanned the lot. The parking lot in front of the motel sat along the main road and only had their truck and Marcel’s and beyond where the two pale streetlights could reach it was as though the whole world had been swallowed by darkness.
She glanced to the room on the end where Marcel was staying, looking for any sign of Thing and sensed a slight sound coming from behind their camper on their truck, prompting her to investigate.
As she neared the truck she could see the passenger door was wide open. She reached for the knife she kept strapped to the small of her back when she slept and pulled it from its sheath as she approached the shuffling sound.
The sound stopped, and so did she.
Whoever it was, they were also anticipating her next move as she anticipated theirs. But if it was Marcel or another werewolf, they had an advantage of being able to see in the dark. She herself had that strange experience while in Enid’s body, both as a human and a wolf. It wasn’t as clear when human, but it was enough to make out more details than usual.
But she had trained from a young age how to navigate in the dark, how to trust her other senses. She didn’t have to see them to know they were there, and from the lightness to their steps, she didn’t think it was Marcel. Maybe Sylvie or a different wolf. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she learned that everyone in town was part of the same werewolf pack.
Whoever it was, they suddenly ran into the darkness.
She gave chase, keeping her footsteps light as she ran.
A shot rang out, followed by an immediate burning in her side.
Stumbling to her knees from shock, Wednesday pressed her hand against the wound, it was bleeding heavily but she was pretty sure that it merely grazed her – a little deep but she would be fine.
Maintaining pressure on the bleeding she listened as her assailant rushed her. Clutching her knife, she braced herself, waiting. Just as they got close she rolled away and sliced him with her knife. “Merde!” he cursed, and she could see his silhouette against the light from the motel as he landed on all fours.
“<<You little bitch, you stabbed me!>>” he exclaimed, just as another one approached from behind.
Wednesday reacted quickly, listening to his movements and swept her leg under him. He stumbled but maintained his balance as a third rushed from the other side. With her exhaustion and new injury her reflexes were too slow to dodge his attack and a boot connected with her shoulder from behind with enough force to pop the joint from the socket.
The intense pain that shot through her body sent stars to flash behind her eyes and she went limp, the side of her head connecting with the cold pavement.
She must’ve blacked out for a moment, because for a split second she wasn’t outside a tiny motel in Machard, Quebec being attacked by a pack of werewolves, but in the grave under the skull tree, staring up at Enid. Enid knelt over her, staring at her in shock, fully human, mouthing her name. Wednesday mouthed Enid’s name, echoing her shock. She reached for her and Enid reached back, but before their hands could touch, Enid flickered between human and wolf, moments before Wednesday was yanked back into her current predicament in a flash of pain.
She knew at least a few seconds had passed since the dream? vision? because she was no longer on the cold ground, but being held upright, leaning into someone, a burly arm around her chest, breath hot on her neck.
“Tell me, petite fille, what is your business here, really?”
The thick accent and voice was unmistakably Marcel’s.
“Just some lost travelers,” she said, focusing on keeping the pain from reflecting in her voice. “What about you?”
“Bullshit,” he shook her. She felt something sharp dig into her arms. “You reek of the Alpha’s scent. You think you can have any right to track it? You think you can get to it first? This is my territory, the bounty is mine.”
“I’m warning you, stay away from her or I will…”
“Her?” he exclaimed, as Wednesday inwardly scolded herself for revealing even that much, a rookie mistake. He laughed under his breath, “Ah, I see. That is why I can smell it – her. You know her, don’t you?”
Wednesday tensed.
“You know her quite well,” he chuckled sniffing her hair. “Is she your friend? Your lover, perhaps?”
She pursed her lips, trying to push away the pain in her side and shoulder so she could gather enough strength to hurt him.
He leaned in close, “I am going to wear her hide like a trophy.”
“And I will hunt you down and mount your head on my wall if you so much as touch her,” she warned, her voice low.
“<<This little thing isn’t hunting the Alpha, she knows her. They are close,>>” he said to the others. “And what do you intend to do if you found her?” he asked, whispering in her ear, “Keep her as a pet? She will eventually tear your throat out. Those who are like her, they will go wild and feral and will kill without thought. Or perhaps you’re foolish enough to think you could save her? Make her human again?”
“Keep it up and you won’t live long enough to find out,” she said in a calm, even voice.
He laughed, “My, my petite fille, you certainly have, how you say… delusions of grandeur.”
“Just you wait,” she said with a smirk.
“<<I have to give this little thing credit,>>” he said to the others, “<<she’s tougher than she looks.>>”
“<<What is the plan, Marcel?>>” one of the other asked.
“<<Kill her and her father,>>” he said, “<<we will take their belongings to the woods and burn them and dump the remains in the lake before it freezes over.>>”
Wednesday heard a click and felt the cold barrel of the gun against her forehead.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!>>” he said, “<<Not so fast…>>” The gun was no longer pressed against her head. “My buddy here wants to shoot you dead,” he lied, “but I told him to spare you if you told me one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“What are you?” he asked. “You are a strange one. You give off the unmistakable scent of a werewolf who recently turned, and yet, I know you’re not one of our kind. How could this possibly be? What are you?”
Wednesday noticed across the street the door to their motel room opening and Fester stepping out. “I’d sooner you put me out of my misery than let you know my secrets.”
“But I must know.”
“Get used to disappointment,” she deadpanned, mustering the strength to make her move, but the agony in her shoulder and blood loss combined with the ever-persistent migraine was making her lightheaded. She only had one chance to make her escape.
Fester was scanning the darkness, he clearly knew something was wrong. It was becoming a cumbersome habit of hers to get into trouble, so it would’ve come to no surprise to him. At this point, he was probably expecting it. She just needed to signal to him where she was and then get away from them just long enough for him to strike.
“Tell me, or I will see to it you die a slow painful death,” he warned.
“Promise?”
“What are you?”
“I’m someone who is disappointed that a pack of werewolves would resort to using guns. Aren’t you supposed to be stronger, faster more powerful than you look, even in human form? Pathetic.”
He spun her around so she was facing him and struck her across the face, his claws leaving a mark across her cheek. She grinned at the taste of blood in her mouth and spit in his face, using her new position to her advantage as she struck him in the groin with her knee and when he released his grip let herself collapse to the ground and shuffle back, “Now!” she yelled, “Two feet, three o’clock!”
Blue lightning crackled to life, illuminating the dark as she scrambled further away and light fired from Fester’s hand from across the road, striking the ground at the three werewolves’ feet, knocking them down as he rushed towards them, keeping a current of electricity to illuminate between his fingers, acting as a light.
As the werewolves struggled to get back up, Wednesday tucked her injured arm between two of the buttons on her pajamas and grabbed Fester’s hand, letting him help her up. He took on some of her weight as the pair hurried to their truck.
Behind them another shot rang out and they both ducked.
With a manic laugh Fester fired another current of electricity their way, knocking two of them off their feet.
“<<Run along little thing, run along and lead me to the Alpha, you are doing me a favor!>>” Marcel called out. She glanced behind her as he pursued them walking into the light where she could see he was holding one of Enid’s sweaters at his side, visibly coated in Wednesday’s blood.
“<<Let’s slash their tires!>>” one of the werewolves exclaimed.
“<<No, let them go. I changed my mind. She’s going to help me and not even realize.>>” he hid the sweater behind his back but it was too late. She had already seen it, “Run and I will kill you both!” he warned. “The Alpha is mine!”
Wednesday pretended to ignore him as Fester helped her into the passenger seat. She sat heavily, fighting to stay awake as she looked around the dark parking lot.
“Where’s Thing?” she asked. She had sent him to spy on Marcel, so, where was he?
“He let me know you were in trouble,” Fester said. He closed the door for her and hurried to the driver’s side and threw a black duffel into the back seat. “There he is!” he said as Thing scurried inside.
“Wait… Enid’s laptop,” she said as Fester slammed the door closed and roared the engine to life, “and Aunt Ophelia’s…”
“Already on it,” he said gesturing to the duffel in the back seat, “I have Enid’s phone too. Life on the lam 101, always keep your bags packed for a quick getaway. They were already packed up and ready to go, remember?”
Wednesday frowned, ignoring the shooting pain in her head as she realized she didn’t remember at all. How could she have forgotten that little detail? She helped him pack before calling it a night.
“So, what do you say we blow this popsicle stand and get the hell out of dodge?”
“They know we’re looking for Enid,” she said.
Thing snapped and signed, It’s going to be hard for them to follow us when I cut his fuel line.
Wednesday smirked, “Good job, Thing.” Her voice quivered as she spoke. The pain was catching up to her as the adrenaline began to fade.
“Are you okay?” Fester asked.
“Yeah, but Thing, I’m going to need your help,” she said, “my shoulder’s dislocated.” She glanced out the window as the werewolves rushed towards them, “I’ll need you to help put it back.”
As Fester pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, Marcel stood on the side of the road smirking under the headlights, a hint of pink and red from Enid’s sweater and her blood peeking from his pocket.
He had Enid’s scent. And her own.
Tracking them and hunting Enid was going to be a lot easier now that he had something of theirs to refer to.
“Run him over, Uncle Fester,” she mumbled, her voice was sounding faint and slurred.
He swerved as he passed, but Marcel was quick, jumping into the trees. The sudden jarring motion of the truck ignited the agony in her body, she hissed in pain followed by an involuntary moan. “Wednesday?”
“I’m fine,” she sounded strained as she let go of the gunshot wound where she was had resumed applying pressure to grasp her injured shoulder, “Thing? I need your assistance. Now.”
He reached to take her blood-stained hand but paused.
What’s with the blood? He asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” she muttered, resting her aching forehead on the cool window, “just fix my damned shoulder.”
She was a little harsher than intended, but the whole thing put her in a bad mood.
“Maybe I should pull over,” Fester said.
“Keep driving,” she ordered, “we need to take advantage of our head start.”
“Fair enough,” he shrugged, “but there’s not much room and the road’s bumpy…”
“We’ll make do,” she grunted as Thing crawled up her injured arm to assess the damage. “I’m fine.”
She braced herself as Thing took her bloody hand and yanked and twisted her arm to pop it back in place. Wednesday breathed heavily through her nose to ride through the pain and when it was over she slumped forward, breathless and lightheaded. “Thank you,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. She could hear Fester saying something but it was muffled and like he was far away and not right next to her.
The truck hit a bump in the road, she groaned as her grip on consciousness was slipping away from her.
Thing tapped her cheek. Wednesday fluttered her eyes open and he asked again about the blood.
“Oh?” she slurred, “It’s nothing, I’m pretty sure the bullet only grazed me.”
“What?!” Fester exclaimed, slamming on the brakes.
The sudden stop jarred her aching body. Wednesday hissed in pain. “Keep going Uncle Fester…we need to…head start…” her voice was faint and slurred and drifted away as her eyes slid closed and the world around her faded into nothingness.
--
Enid couldn’t shake the feeling that Wednesday was in trouble.
She was on the hunt for something to eat when for a split second she thought she saw her, clear as day. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her, but it felt real. She was in the grave under the skull tree, as she was that fateful night, but she was wearing her pajamas and it looked like she was hurt.
“Wednesday?” she had said soundlessly, surprised to see that she wasn’t in her wolf body.
Wednesday appeared just as shocked and mouthed her name.
They reached for each other but then she was gone, Enid was back in the forest, her small pale hand was now a giant white paw, and her would-be dinner had escaped, the rabbit rushing into the bushes.
It was just as well.
She was starving, but she was never into rabbit anyway.
Enid let out a whine, carved a “W” into a nearby tree and darted off into the thick foliage.
Whatever it was that happened, it must’ve been her imagination. A dream, maybe?
Come find me, she begged, looking up at the moon, blurry under the thin layer of clouds. The moon gave her comfort. Werewolves were controlled by the moon, but the first time she wolfed out and the last time she wolfed out it wasn’t because of the moon, it was because of Wednesday.
Wednesday was her moon.
She didn’t know why she suddenly got a clear glimpse of her. But the sight of her gnawed at the pit of her empty stomach and as she ran she couldn’t let go of the anxiety that she was in danger. She had no doubt that Wednesday was hunting her, and if anyone was going to figure out how to turn her back, it was Wednesday. But if something happened to her on the way, Enid didn’t know what she would do.
She let out an angry growl.
If something happened to Wednesday, she would gladly find who was responsible and make them pay. She would tear out their throats!
Enid didn’t like where her thoughts were heading. She couldn’t let herself think like that. She needed to keep her wolf-side in check or it would hurt her chances of ever turning back.
Please find me, Wednesday, she silently begged looking up at the moon again, and please…please be okay, please be safe…please…I need you.