Chapter Text
It begins, as always with an innocent enough touch. With the news of Nevermore closing early thanks to their respective beatdowns of a Hyde and immortal pilgrim, the pair have been slowly, slowly packing their things away in between their regular routine. Little bursts of reality intruding on their private bubble of typewriters and music, prompting them to reluctantly pack.
Somehow, their things have become entangled up in one another since returning to their dorm after Crackstone and the Hyde. Wednesday can hazily remember the panic herself and Enid had scrambled around in to find something, anything to stem their respective wounds enough to safely go comatose for a day before reappearing and blames it on that.
(She knows this entanglement happened far, far earlier but that’s an issue for another day and a braver her.)
It’s in one of these rude moments of reality where they are both packing, clothes being folded and shuffled into cases on their respective beds that it begins. Wednesday wordlessly holds out a rather offensive pink jumper of Enid’s that seems to have become entangled with one of her own shirts, clutched between finger and thumb as if further contact may burn her. End hums her thanks wordlessly in return, taking the clothing without looking up in that weird way they’ve became hyper-aware of each other in recent weeks.
The back of Enid’s hand brushes Wednesday’s as they part, barely half a second of skin-to-skin contact – but that was enough for Wednesday’s head to snap backwards sharply and her knees to go limp beneath her.
Wednesday supposes, with the Crackstone nonsense solved, that her psychic abilities have less…focus to be directed through. And with it being an ability based on disgusting emotion, it also stands to reason that her psychic abilities latch onto the next most important thing to Wednesday in lieu of sharper direction.
Wednesday does not the appreciate the image of Enid pulling that offensive jumper on over her head, getting it caught up in gangly arms and stray claws she’s not quite regained complete control over just yet since transforming. She really does not appreciate the image of Enid yelping as her foot catches on the end of her bed, sending her splaying backwards to smash her head off the floor and still. Wednesday sees herself emerge from their shared bathroom to a jumper-covered Enid, a small pool of blood gathering below her head and-
‘Wednesday!’
She always hated this part. The few seconds of complete disorientation, not knowing where she is or who she is, separating her own self from future possibilities. It’s like she’s tangled up in another’s timeline, her threads weaving in with another’s with such intimacy she wants to tear her own skin off.
‘C’mon Willa, you good?’ Someone’s got Wednesday in a ferally strong hold, hands gripping her upright.
Wednesday blinks and her vision is all blonde hair, blue eyes and that stupid fucking jumper. Enid has caught her before she hit the floor and it occurs to Wednesday just how lethally fast and strong her roommate actually was. Her heart skips a beat for a moment and oh, yes, she needs to breathe doesn’t she?
‘Splendid. Nothing like a sudden onset of whiplash to sharpen the mind.’ She says after a sharp intake of breath. It helps her find her feet and Wednesday has the horrendous urge to hug Enid as the girl’s strong grip turns into a ginger hand on the shoulder that helps her stay steady.
God those visions fucked her up.
‘Kindly give me that jumper Enid.’ She says instead. She has to resist the urge to rub her sore neck from how sharply it had snapped back.
‘W-what?’ And yes, Wednesday would probably feel as incredulous as Enid sounded if she hadn’t seen what she just had, given the jumpers offensive colour scheme.
‘Your jumper is going to attempt to murder you.’ Wednesday casts the offending garment a cursory look, frowning as if this explained everything. ‘I’d rather enjoy murdering it first.’
Enid picked the jumper up from where she had dropped it, pinched between finger and thumb gingerly in a mirror of how Wednesday had previously held it. She sniffs it cautiously. Wednesday is reminded of a wary dog, sniffing a stick.
‘And you…saw my jumper kill me? In your vision?’ Wednesday nodded, could feel her jaw tighten. When she cast her gaze across the wooden, an after-image of pooled blood and a pink jumper made her want to put her fist through a wall.
‘You get tangled up in it.’ Wednesday says, finds herself snatching the clothing from Enid’s hand. ‘Trip on the bed. Hit your head. Goodnight Vienna.’ Enid winces at the sharp stamp of Wednesday’s boot to illustrate the sound that accompanied her fall.
‘Not a very dignified way to go – on brand, if you ask my mom though.’ And then a hand, catching Wednesday’s arm before she can fully turn away. ‘What are you doing?’
Wednesday frowned, as if the answer was obvious.
‘Getting rid of this murderous garment? Preferably in a fiery inferno, though I’m a versatile talent.’
‘But I like that jumper!’ Enid’s whine reminds Wednesday of a dog keen for a treat. ‘Besides, now you’ve told me how it was going to kill me, it won’t, right?’
It’s a valid point. Enid knew to not trip over the bed, knew to be careful of claws catching in fibres. It stands to reason it was perfectly safe to put the piece of clothing on. But there’s the image of a dead trucker in Wednesday’s head, the image of Weems lying unmoving on the ground superimposed over Enid’s corpse in her vision and alright, maybe all this Hyde business had left it’s mark somewhere on her.
‘No idea actually. I’ve never been particularly inclined to tell others of their imminent demise.’ Wednesday pauses and she knows they’re both thinking of her running after Eugene into the woods. ‘Even when I have, they don’t generally come with much warning to act on.’
‘We can call this a science experiment then!’ Fast hands snatch the jumper back out of Wednesday’s hands before she can react, nimble feet dancing out of Wednesday’s own hands trying to grab it back instinctively. ‘It’d be handy to know, wouldn’t it? If your visions are set in stone or just, like, possibilities of a future?’
Wednesday blinked.
‘It’s a jumper, Enid.’ The werewolf snorts at just how monotone Wednesday’s reply is. ‘I think it’s a little limited in its available options regarding your murder.’
‘Tell that to your visions. If you’re so sure it’s safe, why would you want to take such a comfy jumper away from me?’ Enid’s reasoning of keeping an ill-intentioned jumper because it was comfy has Wednesday wondering how this girl drop-kicked Tyler six ways from Sunday.
Juvenile mutt had her in a corner with such reasoning though. It would be helpful to know if her visions could be used for something other than finding corpses in advance. Wednesday acquiesced her defeat with a rare sigh.
‘Alright. Fine. Just…stay away from the bed.’ Enid grinned as she complied, already pulling the god-forsaken thing over her head.
For her part, Wednesday stepped towards Enid, hands coming up to hold the bottom of the jumper and help pull it over Enid’s head gently. The things oversized though and at some point, her head gets stuck, hands caught in the sleeves at a comical angle, just as Wednesday had seen. Enid’s voice is a muffled sound as she says something incomprehensible behind the material.
With no bed to trip up on, fate seemed to encourage Enid’s foot forward as she huffed in annoyance under the jumper. Only there was no bed for her to stumble on – just Wednesday’s foot, tangling up with Enid’s misplaced step causing the two girls to stumble around each other, swaying for balance as they barely stayed upright.
There’s a metaphor somewhere in there and Wednesday can’t help but think the universe is laughing at her as her hands move down to Enid’s waist to still her with a touch.
‘Clumsy mutt,’ she muttered with no heat. ‘Stop struggling and stay still.’
Hands came up to pull sleeves down, revealing pink tipped claws on one hand and then the other. And then, flushed cheeks and parted lips reveal themselves as Wednesday pulls the jumper down the rest of the way to free Enid’s head.
‘Would you look at that.’ There’s a curious breathless element to Enid’s voice as she speaks and Wednesday burns to know what has caused this. ‘It really was trying to kill me.’
She burns far less to investigate why her own voice is raspy as she replies. ‘I’m not sure you can blame the jumper for that acrobatic and graceful display.’
As Enid huffs her laughter out, Wednesday realises just how close they are together; she can feel Enid’s body heat bleeding through the jumper, warming her own cooler skin. This close, she can feel that huff of laughter washing over her face, a warm breeze on a summers day – she can begin to count the kaleidoscope of blues that make up ocean eyes and –
- And that is enough of that silly indulgence. Wednesday forcefully drags her hands from that warm waist, steps back to rebuild that respectable distance and her iron walls back up. Her hands feel colder than she is used to as she holds them behind her back.
‘In conclusion,’ Wednesday says because if she doesn’t speak, she might implode from the spiders crawling down her spine uncomfortably. ‘You should have let me burn the jumper. Knowledge of my visions doesn’t guarantee an avoidance of their ultimate outcome, it seems.’
It takes Enid a few seconds to reply, hands playing at the edges of sleeves that are just a touch too big for her. Her gaze rakes over Wednesday, up and down like she can see through meat and bone, right down to her wicked, cold soul. Spiders dance ever faster in her gut and Wednesday finds herself turning away to save herself from such intense scrutiny without quite knowing why.
‘I don’t know. You caught me pretty well.’ Enid’s voice is far softer, quieter than her previous bubbly tone and there’s something…raw in her tone that scrapes through Wednesday’s ears, slithers through her head and throat and nests itself somewhere near her heart. She turns her head enough that she can see something of a smirk sliding onto Enid’s lips as she holds a hand against the back of her head. ‘Brains still firmly inside my skull.’
‘You wouldn’t know the difference between them being painted across the floor or being contained within your head.’ There’s a fascinating spiderweb that’s been spun in a corner on Wednesday’s side of the room. It might burn away with how intently she is looking at it to avoid gentle eyes. If Wednesday’s voice is equally quiet, a whisper akin to silk sheets gliding across bare skin, she will say it is because she is attempting to achieve such a feat. ‘I’ll always catch you, when I can.’
She turns her head back to her bed and focuses back on folding her clothes and packing them away when she feels that familiar warmth seeping into her shoulder. They’re past the point of Wednesday flinching when touched although she can’t stop herself from going stiff like a board just yet, but Enid’s hand gently squeezing Wednesday’s shoulder conveys a novel of emotion she’s not altogether certain how to read through just yet.
She knows Enid is fighting the urge to wrap her up in one of her ridiculously tight bear hugs. Wednesday appreciates the restraint in respect of her own comfort and boundaries and this-this is absolutely the only reason she inclines her head just slightly towards the wolf in acknowledgement. Gives that warm hand the slightest squeeze back, Wednesday’s fingers clumsy and reluctant in how they wrap around Enid’s hands briefly.
She is well versed in English, French, Italian, Spanish but this is not a language Wednesday is well versed in navigating.
‘If you ever need the help, I’ll catch you too. You know that right?’ That same softness. That rawness. Respecting Wednesday’s boundaries but always, always pushing the edge of them. Enid had become an expert at toeing this careful line where others simply didn’t care enough to try.
Wednesday nods, stiffly as if rigor mortis has set in. Only one person had cared enough to run after her, soaked in moonlight and blood. Only one had put her life on the line with a bulging eyed monster staring them both down. Enid acted first and spoke later and devils help her, Wednesday had grown fond of her for it.
That warm hand eases off Wednesday’s shoulder and Enid retreats to her own side of the room to continue packing.
Maybe this is why Wednesday doesn’t question the vision she had endured, then. It stood to reason that immediate danger to those around her would capture her more morbid interests, subconscious or not. It had been a freak thing, something wholly unimportant in the grand scheme of things – how dangerous could a jumper be after all, really?
This certainly wouldn’t be a regular occurrence. There was no larger mystery to solve, no morbid murders to view that would appeal to Wednesday’s macabre tastes. Her subconscious had no reason to deliver unto her more visions of Enid in ridiculous accidents – she had no interest in seeing the girl hurt, after all.
Yes. She could return home, secure in the knowledge she would not face such visions again.
A grey pyjama shirt of Enid’s that had got mixed up in Wednesday’s pile finds it self held gently in her hands. Wednesday hesitates for a moment before folding it up and placing it in her own pile.
Just in case, she reasons to herself.
Just in case.