Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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just because
the past is painful
doesn't mean
the future will be.

---

Wednesday's body was actually crying out for sleep, but her mind just couldn't rest. So much had happened that night. She had been buried alive, Pugsley had almost died.

She had granted Tyler mercy instead of killing him. Even though he had begged her to. She would never forget that look in his eyes. That helpless, desperate plea. The knowledge that at this moment only death would bring salvation. If only so that her brother wouldn't die.

Wednesday thought she could still feel the weight of the axe in her hands. She had raised the weapon, ready to fulfill Tyler's final request—and hadn't been able to.

It was at that moment that she finally realized she didn't hate him. She probably never really had. And what's more, she had already subconsciously forgiven him. Because ultimately, he had been taken advantage of again. Manipulated again. This time by his own mother and uncle.

And no matter how often she had denied it, she still had feelings for him.

The typewriter's keys were the only source of sound. A tireless clacking that broke the all-too-heavy silence. The sound calmed her troubled thoughts as the page filled more and more with words. With thoughts she didn't dare speak. With things she might never say. Things that weighed too heavily.

Wednesday paused when she heard a noise. A scratching sound, like claws scraping on stone. It came from outside, from the balcony.

Slowly, she rose from her chair and walked toward the window. Her fingers gently pressed against the glass, opening it. She climbed out. The night was cold and moonless, completely overcast.

She quickly looked around.

And froze when she saw Tyler lying on the floor. Curled up in the corner, almost completely hidden in shadow.

Wednesday approached cautiously.

“Tyler?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, so gentle that it surprised even her. But the boy before her—disturbed, frightened, hurt—posed no threat whatsoever. And at that moment, she didn't have the strength to treat him with cruelty or apathy. She had already done that in Willow Hill, and it hadn't felt nearly as satisfying as she had expected. Instead, it had left her feeling completely empty and lost, as if her verbal attacks had hurt her as much as they had hurt him. But now ... he needed help, and—as much as Wednesday hated to admit it to herself—she wasn't able to deny it to him.

Despite everything he had done.

Because of everything that had happened to him.

Was it because her treacherous black heart still felt something for him?

Maybe.

Was it because deep down she knew how often this boy had been denied help and she refused to continue that streak?

Yes.

Tyler jerked his head toward her, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. He instinctively tried to crawl further back, away from her. The reaction stabbed Wednesday, yet was so terribly understandable that it almost hurt more.

She crouched down before him, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I won't hurt you," she assured him quietly.

"But I could hurt you, I ..." his voice trembled, broke. He revealed his hands, which he had been pressed to his chest. The fingers were long-jointed, the skin grayish. And where his fingernails had been, there were bony claws. They weren't as long as in his Hyde form, but they were still deadly.

When Wednesday looked back into Tyler's face, tears welled up in his eyes. "I don't know what to do anymore, Wednesday," he whispered. "I'm losing my mind, my control."

The black-haired girl swallowed. He looked so helpless. So desperate. There was nothing left of the calm, the warm smile, the sparkle in his eyes. He was no longer self-confident; mocking, cold, and provocative, as full of anger as she had experienced him in Willow Hill and at the beginning of that night. All that remained was the frightened boy who didn't know what was happening to him. Who saw no way out. Who had been betrayed and used by so many people that he no longer knew who he could trust. Who had been hurt so many times. Even in Willow Hill, no one had helped him.

"Come in," she said, glancing briefly at the gathering clouds. "It's going to rain soon."

Tyler straightened up from his lying position and got to his knees. His breathing was heavy, sweat glistened on his forehead. That alone seemed to have taken all his strength.

He recoiled briefly as Wednesday stood up, stepped beside him, and grabbed his upper arm, pulling him upright. Tyler staggered, barely able to stand. Nevertheless, they somehow made it through the window into the room.

Wednesday led Tyler to the bed and lowered him onto it. His shoulders slumped as some of the tension eased from his body.

Only now did she notice how shockingly pale he was. Dark circles lay under his eyes, and pain and suffering seemed to have etched themselves into his features. The dark green hoodie jacket and the shirt underneath were dirty, as were his jeans. Bruises, scrapes, and scratches covered Tyler's face from the fight with his mother.

Wednesday plopped down on the bed, a few centimeters away from him, and looked at him. He sat hunched over on the edge, completely exhausted.

"Where is Enid?" Tyler asked, nodding toward the empty side of the room.

"She transformed into an Alpha and disappeared. I'll go looking for her in four days with Uncle Fester and Things help," she said quietly. Wednesday didn't know why she was telling him this. It was none of his business. But Tyler was no longer a threat, and maybe now they could finally have the conversation that was long overdue. And honesty was essential for this.

Wednesday glanced briefly at Enid's side of the room, and a brief pang shot through her heart as she thought of her. She hoped so much that she would find her friend. Enid had saved her life so many times, and she had promised her she would. Wednesday wasn't about to break her word.

"I hope you find her," he said quietly.

"I assume you climbed onto the balcony. Why did you come here?" asked the black-haired girl, returning to the subject of him and his sudden appearance. A mean part of her secretly wondered why he had to bother her with his presence now. She had enough on her plate, so why was he putting her in a situation where she was forced to take care of him? It was the part of Wednesday that was still hurt. That couldn't forget what had happened last year. What he had done to her.

Wednesday pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She could reproach Tyler later. Right now, he obviously needed her help, and she needed answers.

It took a few seconds before Tyler replied. As if he had to collect himself. As if he had to find the right words first.

"I didn't know where else to go," he said quietly. "I don't have any family anymore. And even if I did ..." he shook his head sadly. "With my uncle and my mother ..." Tyler paused. "It's almost ironic that I wish I had my father back. Even though he got drunk far too often, ignored and neglected me, was never there for me ... at least he only hit me when he wasn't sane."

"That never justifies it," Wednesday retorted sharply, his words simultaneously making her sick. By all the circles of hell, why had he been punished with such a family?

"I know," Tyler murmured. "But Francoise and Isaac ... they only wanted me as an accomplice in their plan. She chained me up ..." he paused again. "And beat me when I talked back to her. I don't even know exactly how she became my master ... only that it was harder for me to stand up to her."

"She hypnotized you," Wednesday said. She hadn't been able to make sense of what she had seen in the vision at Rotwood's grave, but now that she thought about it, it was the only possibility that made sense. Francoise had made Tyler mimic her facial expressions until he had transformed. And one of the ways to become the master of a Hyde had been hypnosis. Tyler had once again been stripped of his autonomy, and even though it had saved his life ... Wednesday shuddered at the thought that Francoise had betrayed her son. Of course, she had wanted to save him—and in the same breath, she hadn't cared what Tyler wanted. He had been a tool again, used by his own mother. By the person whose supposed death had traumatized him. Only to realize the hard way that she wasn't who he thought she was.

His shoulders shook as he looked away. He stared at his hands, which were still claws. "I don't know if the Hyde is a curse," he said quietly after a few minutes. "It was a curse when Laurel ordered me to kill innocent people, when she set me on Eugene and then on you. But after I killed her ... I felt free. There was no longer that chain that had bound me to her, held me under her will. I had to obey her every command, had little freedom of choice ... With the strength of the Hyde, free of her chains ... I could at least partially fight back. But now ..." Tyler paused. "I feel myself slowly losing control of it ..."

A clap of thunder broke the growing silence and a few seconds later raindrops pattered against the window.

Wednesday couldn't deny that Tyler's words shook her. Not just the violence against him ... but also his description of what it was like to be under Laurel's control. He'd never had a choice. And she'd spent the last few months demonizing him, blaming him for things he wasn't responsible for ... How wrong had she been? She had already found the indisputable evidence in Laurel's notes. It had been perfectly clear from the start—it had even been in Faulkner's book. She should have looked more closely. Should have understand.

"Why did you begged me to kill you?" Wednesday asked at one point, even though she feared the answer. That Tyler had a death wish ... after what he had just told her and with what she already knew about the bond between Hyde and master ... it was only too realistic. Understandable.

And yet, the thought of losing him to death took her breath away.

Tyler swallowed, avoiding her gaze. "I didn't want Pugsley to die. Not for something I didn't even want. And even if it had been my mother ... it wasn't right. And somehow ... I don't know how to live without the Hyde anymore. What happened before ..." He blinked rapidly, looking at her this time. Looked her straight in the eyes. "I wanted you dead. Until I saw you die. But at that point ... I couldn't stand up to Isaac and Francoise, I couldn't run away. But when he buried you alive ... I felt the presence of the invisible girl, and I knew she would come for help."

"Her name is Agnes," Wednesday said, his words echoing in her mind. That he didn't want her dead ... she had seen it in his eyes. The deep regret, the guilt, and the remorse. The silent, dark pain in his irises. It had been undeniable. As difficult as it often was for Wednesday to interpret emotions in facial expressions, gestures, and body language, in that moment it had been all too obvious.

And when Tyler had held her while his uncle sewed Thing onto his stump ... he'd grabbed her throat, but not squeezed. Just held her, telling her with a look not to fight back. Wednesday hadn't, even though it would have been so easy to break free from his grasp. But in that moment—even if subconsciously—she'd trusted Tyler.

"She’s pretty brave," Tyler said approvingly.

"Probably braver than is good for her," she replied.

His lips lifted in a brief smile. "I know someone like that."

Wednesday shook her head, trying not to be thrown off by his words and the smile—which she only now realized how much she had missed.

"I'm sorry, Tyler," she said quietly, breaking eye contact briefly. "I'm sorry I didn't realize last year that you couldn't help what Gates ordered you to do. I'm sorry I only went to Willow Hill to get information from you, when in fact I filled out the paperwork weeks before. I'm sorry for what I said to you, because it was a lie. It was horrible seeing you there. It was horrible what they did to you ..." Wednesday suppressed a shudder as she thought back to how Tyler's features had contorted in pain when he'd been electrocuted. How he'd collapsed. Completely helpless. Completely at their mercy.

"My words were anything but kind," Tyler replied quietly. "And I'm sorry, too. Despite my threats to both Enid and you ..." he sighed as his shoulders slumped in surrender. His gaze drifted away, to the other half of the room, which was far too colorful and far too empty. "I never meant to hurt her. I just wanted your attention. And I thought ... since you can't forgive me anyway, since despite all the information in Faulkner's book, you still believed I was nothing more than a murderer ... I thought I might as well try to live up to it."

Tyler shook his head briefly, keeping his gaze on the ground. "I mean, I can't really blame you, after all, I confessed to the murders at the police station ... I said I enjoyed them ..." A tremor ran through his body.

"To be honest, I only acted that way to scare you. Hoping it would make you finally leave Jericho and avoid your death. I should have known it wouldn't work."

Wednesday paused briefly to collect her thoughts. Everything Tyler had just revealed to her ... The entire conversation. It felt surreal. And she desperately wished they'd been able to have it much sooner. Maybe back in Willow Hill. How much could have been prevented if they'd been honest with each other ... If they'd admitted their mistakes. If she'd been able to put aside her pride and hurt feelings to understand that the boy in front of her had never really had a choice.

"It worked," she said quietly. "I was actually afraid of you at that moment," she confessed. "It was disturbing to see how much you changed from one moment to the next. As if you were suddenly a completely different person. As if it were exactly as Stevenson described it in his novella, that Jekyll and Hyde are, in a way, two completely different personalities."

"It was kind of like that back then, too," Tyler murmured absentmindedly, staring at his clawed hands again. "It felt like there was someone else in my mind. And that sometimes he took control, and not just when I transformed. At first, I had blackouts whenever I transformed and killed. Later, it also happened in that form, mostly during therapy sessions with Kinbott. After a while, I became more and more aware of it, I began to remember. But in the last few months, that other personality—if it was one at all—has completely disappeared. Maybe because of the drugs they gave me in Willow Hill. And at the station ... it was actually the other one who was in control, even though I was consciously aware of everything. And he was still in control in the crypt, and in the forest."

Wednesday reached out, gently grasping Tyler's fingers. She took his hand, gently lifting it to her face. His skin was unnaturally cold. It was strange. She had always found his body heat pleasant, and she suspected it wasn't a good sign when it was clearly another symptom of his desolate state. Wednesday remembered Capri's words about male Hydes without a master ... psychosis, paranoia, rapid physical decline. He was running out of time.

Tyler died. And she didn't like it at all.

She carefully ran her fingertips over the grayish skin, from the back of his hand over the unnaturally long phalanges to the claws.

Wednesday watched in amazement as his hand slowly began to deform. She heard Tyler gasp in surprise, but ignored it. She kept her gaze fixed on his fingers, whose claws shrank back into tips and nails.

"How is that possible?" Tyler asked quietly. Wednesday looked at him now and shrugged. "I don't know. But ..." A thought occurred to her.

"I know how to save you." Her voice trembled as she spoke the words. As she considered again what she had actually planned from the beginning. "If you want ..." she hesitated briefly. Wednesday was still holding his hands and felt his pulse quicken. He already suspected what kind of suggestion she was about to make.

"I can become your new master. And I swear I won't hurt you. Never." Wednesday swallowed. "You've been through enough, Tyler, and you deserve a master who respects you. Who understands you. Who doesn't do anything you wouldn't want. Who doesn't abuse her power. And I swear I will be that way. I swear I won't hurt you again, verbally or physically."

Tyler's jaw clenched. "I know I need a master so I don't die. And if I could choose ..."

"You can," Wednesday interrupted. "I would never do it against your will. I wouldn't force myself on you."

"... then it would always be you, Wednesday," Tyler finished. "You were the first person who didn't use me. The first person who truly cared about me. Who didn't just see me as a use."

"That's why you asked that question back then," she murmured, her thoughts automatically returning to the past. When Tyler had been disappointed and hurt because she went to the Rave'N with Xavier. In retrospect, Wednesday understood his reaction; after all, Tyler had noticed that she didn't really like the artist. That she then went to the Rave'N with him of all people ... of course it had hurt Tyler if he had obviously had hopes. After all, they had already been friends at that point. But ultimately, there was probably more to it than that. The fear of being taken advantage of again. And now ... Wednesday couldn't deny that she was glad she had been there with Tyler. "When you asked if you were just a pawn in my game. You never were."

A gentle smile crossed Tyler's lips. "Thank you," he whispered. "But please ... as much as I trust you ... if there ever comes a way for me to survive without a master ... please let me go."

Wednesday nodded immediately. "Always."

The moment dragged on, with neither daring to break eye contact. Only a rumble of thunder and the flash of lightning tore the two teenagers out of their trance.

Wednesday jumped up as if stung by a tarantula and ran to her desk. She ripped open the bottom drawer and pulled out the filled syringe she'd kept there. Of course, she hadn't had the heart to destroy it. Not after putting so much work into mixing the tincture, despite her mother's insistence. Now she was very glad she hadn't given in.

Tyler was standing in the middle of the room when she turned to him.

"I hope the substance is enough," he said, nodding toward the syringe. "Laurel tortured me in the cave, but I don't know if she did it just because she enjoyed causing me pain, or if it also helped my Hyde take shape. Isaac said that Francoise's Hyde appeared when her father beat her for meeting with a normie boy."

"It has to be enough," Wednesday said firmly. The calmness in his voice was disturbing as he spoke of Laurel torturing him. And it almost made her wince. How much pain could you inflict on another person before they completely broke? That Tyler had survived all of that ... but maybe he hadn't survived it. Maybe he was just a shell inside, broken by all the violence and abuse he had suffered. Wednesday dared to doubt whether anything remained of the boy she had known. After all, Tyler had worn a mask the entire time. He had played the role of the carefree, friendly boy next door to protect himself. To hide how badly he had been hurt. Now, in hindsight, Wednesday wondered how she could have missed all of this. Why she was only noticing it now. Now, when it was almost too late.

"Because I'm not going to use violence against you. I already did that last year, and in retrospect, it was the stupidest idea I could have had."

"I can hardly disagree." A sad smile crossed his lips, while his hands trembled briefly as he remembered.

"I have to transform for that, right?" he asked.

Wednesday nodded. "Does it actually hurt?" She looked at him curiously. It had hurt incredibly when she transformed into a werewolf.

"All my bones break and shift at once. My skin rips open, and it feels like every inch is on fire. Claws erupt from my fingers like knife blades, and my entire body deforms. The pain is extreme, but it only lasts a few seconds. Even though it feels like hours each time."

The apathy frightened Wednesday again. It was as if he were reading from a book and not talking about the torment he had to endure with each transformation.

"When I was a werewolf ... the transformation was intense. I'd never felt pain like that before, and I usually enjoy it. But this kind of pain ... it felt like I had no control at all," Wednesday recounted her own experience.

"How did you and Enid end up swapping bodies?" Tyler asked. He remembered pushing Enid away when Wednesday started to transform. Even though at the time he still believed it was Wednesday. It was only when the werewolf kicked the cell door off its hinges and approached him that the jet-black fur was enough of a clue for him to realize it wasn't Enid.

"It was the prank of a ghost that nearly cost us both our lives. And it was both mind-opening and extremely unpleasant. But I don't regret the experience, even though I'd hate to repeat it," Wednesday replied. "I might tell you more about it, but first we should get this over with." She held up the syringe. At Tyler's nod, she continued, "I'm going outside for a minute, then you can transform."

After one last reassuring look into his eyes, Wednesday left the room and closed the door.

It took only two minutes before she heard Tyler's pained groans and the sound of bones breaking. Then there was a growl, and Wednesday opened the door again and stepped through. Tyler's clothes lay in a pile in front of her desk. The Hyde stood in the middle of the room, slightly hunched over. Completely motionless, he blinked at her with his huge eyes.

"Tyler?"

At his affirmative nod, Wednesday slowly approached, the syringe firmly in her right hand. When she was directly in front of him, she tilted her head back to maintain eye contact. She raised her left arm, reaching her fingers toward his face. Tyler bent closer until her hand touched his leathery, blue-gray skin. She gently stroked his cheek. "I won't hurt you," she assured him again, and the Hyde made a noise that was almost like a purr.

Wednesday released the touch and focused her gaze on the syringe. She gently guided the needle to his arm, keeping her hand completely still.

"Everything's fine," she whispered soothingly, noticing the tremors running through the massive figure. After what Gates had done to him, this was bound to stir up a very unpleasant memory in Tyler. And, at worst, the instinct to flee. "It'll be over in a minute, Tyler," she murmured. Wednesday tightened her grip on the syringe and stabbed the needle into his upper arm. She pressed the plunger and watched, mesmerized, as the fluid seeped through his skin into his bloodstream.

She gently stroked Tyler's shoulder and noticed the bite wound with horror. Of course, the fight with another Hyde hadn't left him unscathed. Not with claws and teeth. She'd take care of that right away.

Wednesday looked up at him again. He was still trembling slightly. She stepped back slowly, watching, fascinated, as the expression in Hyde's eyes changed. He looked at her gently, full of reverence, before lowering his head even further to bow to her.

"Don't," she said quickly, and the word alone made him stop abruptly. He blinked at her in confusion. His quick reaction sent a shiver down her spine as she realized that she did, in fact, have complete control over his body. It was cruel. No one should have that much power over anyone else, and she vowed never to abuse it. "This act of submission is unnecessary, Tyler," Wednesday clarified. "You are not my slave. Even though I am your master and have control over you, we are equals. We are partners, allies, friends ..."

His head was level with hers, and Wednesday couldn't resist the temptation. She stepped closer to him again, until their faces were only inches apart. Then she overcame that too and pressed her lips to his closed mouth.

"And more ..." Wednesday murmured as she stepped back again.

The Hyde raised his clawed hand. Carefully, and with a gentleness she would never have expected from the giant creature, he stroked her head with his knuckles. It felt strangely gentle. Strangely intimate. Had anyone ever come so close to a Hyde before? In this way?

Tyler withdrew his hand as he began to transform again. Wednesday quickly turned her back to him before she heard the rustling of clothing.

"You can turn around again," she heard him say shortly afterward, and Wednesday thought she could already hear the smile in his words. And when she turned to him, she saw it on his lips, too. As broad and radiant as it had been before. A smile that was nevertheless overshadowed by sadness and leaden exhaustion. It could not hide the horror and fear, the pain that had dug itself into his body. The fatigue was still visible on his face. The strain of the last days, weeks, and months.

"It worked," he said. "I feel the mental connection to you. But it's not restrictive and binding like Laurel's was. Or my mother's. It feels more like ... an anchor. A rope that leads me to safety."

"That's how it should be," Wednesday said. She stepped closer until she was standing directly in front of Tyler. "And I meant my words. We are equals. We are partners, allies, friends ..." she hesitated briefly. "And more, if you want it too. If you can forgive me for my betrayal, my arrogance, my pride, and my selfishness. I shouldn't have tortured you. And I certainly shouldn't have abandoned you in Willow Hill."

"I've long since forgiven you," Tyler replied gently. "And I'd love to help you find Enid."

"I'm your master, Tyler. That means we'll stay together for now anyway."

The boy grinned. "I have absolutely no objection to that."

"But first,” her voice softened, "I'll take care of your injuries."

She walked past Tyler to her desk and pulled a wooden box from one of the drawers. She placed it on the table next to the typewriter and opened it, taking out swabs, alcohol, bandages, and a needle and thread.

When Wednesday turned back around, Tyler was sitting on her bed. Suddenly, there was no trace of calmness in his features. His posture was tense, his shoulders hunched. For a few long seconds, he just sat there staring into space before he managed to slowly put his fingers on the zipper of his jacket. Again, Tyler paused, seemingly frozen. He didn't move. There was an expression in his eyes that sent a shiver down Wednesday's spine as she watched him silently. She didn't dare speak to him or move. Quiet panic mixed with fear lay in his gaze. And something even deeper than that, but difficult to pinpoint.

It took several long minutes before he finally managed to take off his jacket and shirt with slow, uncertain movements. His fingers trembled violently, his breathing had quickened rapidly. The fact that he consistently avoided her gaze ... These were all signs of enormous stress.

Wednesday hardly dared to think about what the reason for it was. Only after a few seconds did the tension ease a tiny bit from his posture. With his shoulders hunched, he finally crouched rigidly on the bed, barely moving. Tyler's gaze went through her and into the void, as if he didn't notice her at all. He had his arms wrapped around his upper body, his fingernails dug into his skin as if it would give him support. Tension and discomfort seemed to seep from every pore, like the blood flowing over his pale skin. Wednesday shuddered as she watched him. Completely slumped, completely motionless. Tyler's eyes were open, but he seemed to be somewhere else. Trapped in a situation that triggered nothing but fear in him. A terrible suspicion came to her.

Laurel's notes had revealed in part how she had unlocked his Hyde. There had been no mention of torture. And watching Tyler's behavior, it seemed that this woman had crossed another line that should never be crossed. It explained the trembling that had seized his body. The distant look in his eyes. Why he always wore so many layers of clothing, even though it wasn't that cold outside. Why taking off his jacket and shirt had stressed him so much that he had barely been able to do it. The realization shook her so much that Wednesday had to collect herself for a moment. Her breath caught and a wave of nausea washed over her, which she could only control with difficulty.

She stepped over to him, put the equipment down next to her, and sank down onto the edge. "I'll hurry," she promised quietly.

She stepped over to him, placed the equipment beside her, and sank down onto the edge. Tyler turned his back to her, and her jaw clenched as she saw the bloody, oozing wounds. The burns from the electronics when he'd crashed into the machines. And the pale, barely visible scars that ran across his skin like mountain streams. The scar on his shoulder where his father had shot him. Some older gunshot wounds had already begun to heal, which he had most likely sustained during his escape from Willow Hill. Tyler had visibly lost weight since she had seen him in the psychiatry, and Wednesday was disturbed by how prominently his vertebrae, shoulder blades, and ribs protruded beneath his skin.

She began to work quietly, cleaning and stitching the injuries before bandaging them. It took a long time, even though she hurried and was skilled at it thanks to her hobby of dismembering corpses and sewing them back together. But these wounds were brutal, and it was Tyler who didn't move or make a sound. Wednesday assumed that his pain tolerance was now so high that he could hardly feel it anymore.

When Wednesday was finished, Tyler turned back to her as he hastily pulled his shirt over his head.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Wednesday raised her hand and gently placed it against his face. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. Tyler involuntarily leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

"I'll never let you down again," she murmured before placing her lips on his. He kissed back so gently that she shuddered briefly, realizing how much she'd missed it. How similar it felt to that night at the Weathervane. And yet, everything had changed since then.

But this time – despite tonight and because of the last two hours – for the better.

Chapter Text

-----

and if I asked you
to name all the things
that you love
how long would it take for you
to name yourself?

---

The school lay completely silent, as if nothing had happened that night. Two people had died. A bond had been forged, with threads of honesty and trust, of compassion, connection, respect, and love. But some demons were hard to banish. Even when you thought they were banished, they resurfaced, like revenants from their graves. Unwilling to let go.

Silver moonlight flowed into the room, plunging the surroundings into shadowy darkness.

Wednesday blinked and sat up. She wasn't sure why she'd woken up. Normally, she had a deep, death-like sleep, from which she didn't easily awaken unless she was in immediate danger. Pugsley had tried to murder her in her sleep often enough, only to find that while her sleep was deep, she seemed to anticipate his attacks every time. But now, there was no apparent danger.

Wednesday froze as she realized what was different.

Tyler was gone.

She couldn't help the worry that rose within her like a fire with a generous helping of fuel poured on it. She quickly got out of bed and changed her clothes before grabbing a flashlight and running out of the room.

There was a tug, gentle and steady. A thread that guided her in a certain direction. It was as if it were firmly anchored in her core, as if it were a part of her soul. The connection between master and Hyde. Wednesday shuddered as she realized that this gave her the ability to track Tyler down anywhere. If she had control over his body, if she could always find him, no matter where he was ... it was both fascinating and terrifying. And in the same moment, she realized that Tyler had never been safe in the past two years. Not from Laurel Gates, not from his mother. She quickly put the thought aside. There would be time to consider the limits of this connection later.

As Wednesday ran across campus, following the road to Jericho, her mind cleared with each step. The fatigue fell from her limbs, and she shed it like a second skin, focusing solely on her goal of getting to Tyler.

The thought of him ... it hurt. She suspected that through their mental connection, she'd notice if he were physically injured, but that hardly made it any better. Tyler had been through so much in the last few weeks, and especially last night ... The boy had already been traumatized, depressed, and mentally unstable when she'd first met him—though, to her shame, she'd realized it far too late. The last few months had probably only worsened his condition.

What had happened a few hours ago ... of course, it had changed something. A lot, in fact. They had forgiven each other, and she had become his master. She had tended to his injuries and, in doing so, had gained a chance glimpse into even deeper, invisible wounds.

They had kissed.

And yet ... despite the consistently positive development, nothing could undo what had happened. It couldn't make up for the pain. The years of trauma and abuse Tyler had experienced. Nothing could. He had to learn to deal with it, he had to heal. Wednesday was under no illusion that this would probably be the hardest thing of all.

But she wouldn't let him down. Not again. Never again. She had sworn that to him and to herself, and when Wednesday Addams swore something, not even death could stop her from fulfilling it.

By the time she reached the Galpins' property, she was completely out of breath. Her pony was drooping, sweating, and Wednesday had to pause for a moment to calm her racing heart.

She moved the beam of light from the entrance of the bunker to the house, then stepped onto the porch. Tyler had probably retreated to his room rather than to the shelter with the chains on the walls. Chains like the ones in the cave. And in Willow Hill. Wednesday glanced back at the doghouse and silently wondered what had become of Elvis. Then she turned her attention back to the building. The beam of light swept over the graffiti, the boarded-up windows, the blue paint peeling from the walls like skin peeling from bones. Wednesday could hardly imagine what it must have done to Tyler to see his home in this condition. The garden was overgrown, the house neglected. It looked more like a ruin.

She walked through the front door, which was only ajar.

As with the times before, the interior was so deserted and empty, so eerily quiet, as if ghosts lived here. Memories of times when the house had been alive. Wednesday knew they had existed. A family that was happy. Smiling faces that had not yet lost their color. From which all joy had been replaced by bitterness and grief. But the photographs that bore witness to this were faded and crumpled, like the people who had been in them, who had been broken by the subsequent loss and secrets. Faded shadows of a time that would never return, populating this house as if they wanted to claim it for themselves. As if trying to breathe a last shred of life into the lifelessness. Even if it was only built on the past. Faded photographs and memories – that was all that would remain.

The black-haired girl walked down the hallway and hesitated to go up the stairs. During her two visits, she had deliberately avoided looking around. She had avoided going into Tyler's room. Out of respect for his privacy and because she had been afraid of learning too much about him. Because it would have been like looking into his soul, into his innermost being. In a way. To visit the place where he had probably felt safest ... it would have been crossing a line. And she had been afraid of being confronted with the fragments of a lost existence. The remnants of a boy who was now a monster. Because then she would have had to acknowledge that behind the monster was a human being.

Wednesday turned off the flashlight, put it in her coat pocket, and climbed the stairs in the dark. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light.

If Tyler was actually here, he might have already noticed her. Probably by her footsteps, her scent.

When Wednesday stood in front of his door, she paused for a moment. It was slightly ajar, and she gently pressed her fingers against the white-painted wood. The door swung open without making a sound. Wednesday quickly looked around the room to get an overview. A well-read and annotated edition of “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” lay on the shelf of the cabinet right next to the door, behind it were some old-looking works of Sherlock Holmes stories and other books. “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea” and “The Sea Wolf” immediately caught her eye. Several Batman comics lay on his desk, along with pens and pieces of paper scattered around, next to a PC that had seen better days. Otherwise, the room was tidy. Apart from the dust, it didn't look as if no one had lived here for over half a year. Sailing ships were depicted on the wallpaper behind his desk, which adorned only one side of the room. And above the bed was a framed photo of a bird of prey. What a sad irony, since the ships and the bird were symbols of freedom. Something that, biologically speaking, was most difficult for Tyler to achieve and what he longed for most.

Wednesday focused her attention on the trembling figure lying on the bed. She cautiously approached and knelt beside the bed. Tyler was fully clothed on the bedspread, having only taken off his shoes. He had curled up into a ball, similar to how she had found him on her balcony. His body was shaking as if he were electrified, but she wasn't sure if he was awake. Yet there were feelings that weren't her own. They echoed within her, pale and blurred. Barely perceptible. But still there. Fear. Helplessness. Panic.

"Tyler," her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it still seemed far too loud in the silence. As if they might awaken something that shouldn't be awakened.

The shaking continued, but otherwise the boy didn't move. He didn't make a sound. Tyler was lying with his back to her, so Wednesday couldn't see his face.

She took off her shoes and placed her coat on the floor beside her before sitting down in front of the nightstand with her legs bent.

If he was awake, he didn't want to or couldn't talk at the moment, and if he was asleep, he hadn't noticed her presence yet. Whichever was true, Wednesday wouldn't leave his side.

--

It was impossible to tell how many hours had passed. Outside the window, leaden, pitch-black darkness still reigned.

At some point Tyler stirred and woke up.

"Wednesday?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. Uncertain. He sat up, blinking sleepily. The trembling in his body had subsided, but his fingers trembled all the more violently.

"What are you doing here?"

"You disappeared," she said simply, careful to keep any emotion that might indicate concern out of her facial expression, tone, and words. She felt his scrutinizing gaze, but if he had noticed the feelings hidden beneath indifference, he didn't respond. Ever since they had met, Tyler had possessed the annoying ability to read her. Wednesday greatly appreciated that he did not use it against her, then or now, by confronting her with it.

The black-haired girl now examined Tyler in turn. She noticed the sickly pallor of his skin, which still hadn't disappeared. The half-open, tired eyes. The trembling. The slumped shoulders. It would probably be quite a while before he no longer looked as if he had just risen from the grave.

Ultimately, his physical condition probably just reflected his inner state. Which was worrying. But also hardly surprising.

Wednesday sighed briefly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes before looking up at Tyler. He was leaning against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest, his shoulders tense, and the hood still covering his hair.

"Can I sit next to you?" she asked.

Tyler blinked in surprise. Uncertainty smoldered in his eyes, whether because of the question or because he was asked at all, Wednesday couldn't tell. Then he nodded.

She rose from her position and dropped onto the bed a few centimeters away from him.

For long minutes they just stared straight ahead, in silence. When Wednesday looked at Tyler after a while, she noticed the tears on his cheeks. There were no sounds. No sobs. Only the tears, silent witnesses to his grief. That someone could break so silently ... it disturbed Wednesday. She sat right next to him, but if she hadn't looked at him, she would never have noticed he was crying. Shuddering, she wondered how many times it had happened before. How many times Tyler had broken inside without anyone noticing. How many times the sheriff had sat in the living room drinking while his son completely collapsed.

And Wednesday ... didn't know how to deal with it. She'd always been disgusted when other people had emotional outbursts of any kind in her presence. Especially when they were negative. Because she'd never known how to react. Because she didn't know how to comfort someone, what to say, how to behave. Most of the time, she fled from the situation or ignored it.

But now ... Even if she weren't aware of Tyler's feelings—self-loathing, helplessness, grief, fear—everything in her resisted leaving him alone. He'd been left alone with this too often. But it wasn't just that, she realized. She wanted to be there for him.

Still, Wednesday didn't know how to deal with seeing him so vulnerable. Tyler had kept his pain hidden for so long, hiding it behind a broad smile and exaggerated kindness, behind mockery, indifference, and coldness. To see that pain now so openly, so visible ... Tyler sat next to her, stripped off every mask he'd ever worn. Showing himself openly and vulnerable to her. And Wednesday could see everything he'd hidden from her. His pain. His sensations and feelings. The visible and invisible injuries. And she didn't know what to do.

But it probably wasn't entirely his choice to show himself so vulnerable. Rather, it was a necessity. Because he no longer had the strength to conceal his feelings and his pain. Because he no longer had the energy to be strong. Everything lay before her, bare and visible. As if his soul had opened so she could glimpse into his innermost being. As if every shell was gone, and his self exposed down to his pale bones.

She preferred Tyler's provocations, his arrogance, his coldness. She could handle that. Even his disgusting kindness was better. But now ... he was so incredibly hurt, and he showed it to her, whether willingly or not. She saw the wreck that Donovan, Laurel Gates, and Francoise had made of him. The empty shell that carried so much unimaginable pain. The monster that was a human being. And was destroyed by being a monster.

Very gently and carefully, Wednesday placed her hand on his trembling fingers, which he had wrapped around his knees. His skin was still excruciatingly cold.

"I'm here," she murmured softly. "I'm here. I see your pain." I feel it as if it were my own.

After his pain had been overlooked so many times ... perhaps this was exactly what Tyler needed, because after a while, he calmed down. No more tears came. He hastily wiped the moisture from his cheeks, and it was as if he were putting the pieces of himself back together, bit by bit.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, barely audibly. Wednesday wouldn't have understood the words if they hadn't been sitting so close together.

"What are you sorry about?" she asked.

Tyler shrugged. "Everything. That I threatened you and Enid, that I pushed you out the window, that I let Isaac kidnap Pugsley and bury you alive ..."

"If I understood you correctly a few hours ago, you had no choice," Wednesday countered. "At least when it came to Pugsley's kidnapping and my premature burial." She'd read Laurel's notes. Even if Tyler hadn't told her he had no autonomy when he had a master, even if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes when she'd stopped him from bowing down to her ... There was no doubt he wasn't to blame. She'd just realized it far too late.

"I should have fought harder, though. I should have defied them ..." He sighed, briefly running his hand across his forehead.

"And that I pushed you out the window ..." he shuddered. "I almost killed you with that."

"But it wasn't your intention, was it?" Wednesday said. "If you really wanted to kill me, you would have disemboweled me right there."

Tyler looked at her, doubt reflected in his eyes. He nervously wrung his hands. She sensed his uncertainty, felt the sensation resonate within her. Dull and stabbing, like a needle relentlessly piercing her skin.

"What was going through your mind at that moment?"

"I don't really know," Tyler said quietly. He paused for a moment, thinking. "I killed Laurel minutes ago. She came into my cell and freed me. Then she wanted me to kill you, at least that's what I assume, since she talked about you being in the building and how I should take you out. Then I transformed and chased her down the halls before killing her. After that …" his eyes darted around uncertainly as he searched for the right words.

"There was so much rage inside me. So much anger. I couldn't think straight. When I change form, it's like my emotions are much more intense, especially the negative ones. They're harder to control, to regulate. Sometimes I feel like I'm consumed by it, like it's eating me up …" He shook his head briefly, as if he needed to get rid of the thought before continuing. "I was running down the corridor and then suddenly you were standing there. And then ..."

Tyler's fingers had started shaking again. "Then I threw you out the window. But there was no real reason. There was just the rage that completely consumed me. The sudden aimlessness because I killed Laurel and had no clear orders. Maybe ..." he paused briefly. "Maybe her words earlier had some significance after all, influenced me somehow, because she was talking about taking you out. It wasn't a direct order, but ..." Tyler shrugged.

"Ultimately, it doesn't change the fact that I almost killed you with it."

"I would hate for you to continue to blame yourself for this," Wednesday said, careful not to give him a direct order. "I found being in a coma exceptionally pleasant. Ultimately, your attempts to murder me, whether by your own will or at the direction of your masters, were all beyond pathetic. You tried so many times, had so many opportunities, and always failed."

"Because I never wanted to kill you," Tyler replied quietly. "I said it, I believed it ... but ultimately, I always shied away from actually hurting you. Except maybe for that one time when I pinned you against the tree stump just before Enid attacked me."

"You were under Laurel's control," Wednesday said unperturbed. "Besides, it was Hyde, not you."

"Does it really make a difference?"

Her answer came promptly. "Yes. Even though it probably doesn't feel like it."

She felt the guilt seeping through the connection to her. Dark. Paralyzing. Tyler looked at her, and in his eyes lay all the shame he could barely put into words. The remorse that had now grown so great it seemed to crush him. Even though he could hardly be held truly responsible for it, because it had been out of his control. Literally.

But it didn't change his feelings. It didn't change the fact that he felt responsible and guilty. Carrying this burden around for over two years ... with the murders. With the experiences of being manipulated, groomed, tortured, and abused in more ways than one, without being able to tell anyone about it. Without being able to free himself from the burden. Lied to and neglected by his father. Being a weapon for someone else, without free will, without the ability to make decisions, without freedom, without a way out ... Wednesday could hardly imagine what it was like to be in Tyler's shoes. Feeling his emotions gave her a tiny glimpse of it. And that alone was more than she thought she could bear in the long run. Even now, she felt the pressure of guilt on her chest, which seemed to choke her. And behind it was so much self-hatred ... so much hopelessness.

But suddenly ... the feelings disappeared. As if a candle had been blown out. Instead, Wednesday felt only an icy coldness that ate through her mind and froze everything: thoughts, sensations, memories, and feelings.

She looked at Tyler. His eyes seemed dull and empty, as if a layer of ice covered them, obscuring the view into his soul. Even though many thought it was just a silly saying, Wednesday knew that the eyes were indeed the gateway to the soul. They could express an incredible amount. But now, there was nothing there. Tyler's expression had also changed, seemed harder. It was like a mask he placed over his face, hiding what no one should see.

"How do you do that?" Wednesday asked. His gaze flew to her. "How do you get so cold?" She didn't really know what to make of it. It seemed unnatural, looked wrong. But most of all, it was frightening.

Tyler shrugged briefly. "I once read a book where the main character learned to shut out feelings and thoughts. At some point, he even managed to shed all humanity and empathy, as if it were a second skin. To avoid getting hurt. To be able to endure. And somehow …" Tyler hesitated briefly, "I started doing it too. In the beginning … Sometimes the Hyde took over when something happened that I couldn't bear. In some cases, I had a blackout during this time and the memories came later, but sometimes I was aware of it. But it was more like looking through a veil. I could hardly perceive anything, I was more of a spectator. When the Hyde was no longer there … I began to learn to separate my perception from myself and become cold, in order to be able to endure unpleasant or cruel situations. Or to cope with the feelings."

"How does it feel?" Wednesday asked quietly.

"Like everything freezes. My mind and perception are covered in ice until I become numb and insensitive." Tyler swallowed hard. "It was the only way I could survive without breaking. Without being completely destroyed by it. Especially when mum was my master. All the murders of innocents, Isaac eating those people's brains, and especially the indifference with which the two of them spoke about it. And then, of course, Pugsley's kidnapping ..."

"And now? Everything's frozen, right? I don't sense your feelings anymore."

"You can sense my feelings?" Tyler's mask cracked, and she saw the surprise. And something else that was deeper, harder to grasp. Vulnerability.

"Can't you?"

He shook his head. "I could once, with Laurel. That's why ... that's why the Hyde was so angry and hateful. Because she was the one, and because the feelings she harbored toward you and the Nevermore became the Hyde's feelings as well. He shielded me from them in a way, I think, or at least I never felt them that strongly."

"That's interesting," Wednesday said. "Perhaps …" she considered, pausing for a moment. "Perhaps it's because Gates became your master by force, and especially against your will. Were you also able to sense Francoise's feelings?"

Tyler shook his head. "I was probably too cold for that. I froze my feelings and thoughts almost the entire time so that Francoise and Isaac wouldn't notice from my body language or facial expressions that I didn't approve of their actions, especially the murders. I was against their plans, especially when your brother came into play. But I couldn't do anything because I was under Francoise's control. I could only become cold, so as not to let it get to me. So as not to do anything that might arouse their suspicions."

"I think sometimes what you don't do says more about you than what you do. Especially when you don't have free will. Because what you didn't do became an act of silent rebellion, of defiance against those who controlled you. You didn't kill Eugene, and you didn't betray Agnes. And in doing so, you saved two lives."

"But wasn't it cowardly? Shouldn't I have fought harder?" Tyler's expression gradually cleared, and doubts began to surface.

"It wasn't cowardly if it was the only thing you could have done. And I'm sure you fought."

His shoulders slumped, as if Wednesday had lifted an invisible weight from him with those words. Perhaps it was recognition that he had fought. Perhaps relief that she was finally trying to understand him and his motives. That someone was even bothering to try. How lonely and abandoned Tyler must have felt all this time, because everyone only saw the monster in him that had killed people. Because no one had thought to question it and take a closer look. Because usually, not everything was as it seemed at first glance.

A thought occurred to Wednesday. "Perhaps I can sense your feelings so I can understand you better. So I can understand what you're going through. So I can help you better. And ultimately ... our connection isn't forced because you consented. You gave your consent for me to become your master. Perhaps it has something to do with that."

"We’ll probably never know," Tyler replied.

"It's kind of creepy," she said. "When you freeze your mind, it's like you're wearing a mask. It's like a year ago, when you pretended to be completely unremarkable. Just a harmless boy who helped me with my investigation, only to sabotage it in the same breath." Wednesday couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. Wasn't able to hide her anger. She couldn't even put her finger on where this rage was coming from. This pain of betrayal, rising up inside her anew as she lay in his arms again, while she realized it had been him all along. The boy who had unwittingly stolen her black heart. The one person she'd never suspected. Her words about trusting him, their kiss that had triggered the best feelings. And those feelings, in turn, had triggered the vision that made the construct of trust and friendship and quiet affection crumble like a house of cards. It had only made the betrayal all the more cruel. More difficult to bear. Because it was Tyler, of all people, who had been able to deceive her, and in doing so, he had not only hurt her feelings, but above all, her pride. "There were only a few moments when I was able to see through your mask, and I still don't understand how I could have allowed myself to be deceived and manipulated by you."

The words were too sharp. They felt like shards cutting open her mouth until iron-laden, sticky blood ran down her throat and she had to be careful not to choke on them. But now they were out. And Wednesday wasn't able—or willing—to take them back. Because she could no longer hide how much what Tyler had done to her had hurt her. Whether intentionally or not, Wednesday didn't care at that moment. Perhaps she was doing him an injustice again. Stabbing him in his scarred back once more, as she had done before when she kidnapped and tortured him. But it made no difference. It didn't change the pain, the feeling of betrayal that had bored dark and hungry into her mind, poisoning every thought of him with rage and hatred. It didn't change the fact that she had lain awake nights, going over every single encounter and interaction in her head, desperately trying to figure out if he was just faking it all. If anything was real at all. If the only person who had ever accepted her for who she was, who had truly understood her, had only done it to hurt her even more.

"Wednesday ..." The name escaped his lips in a quiet plea. Then, all of a sudden, Tyler seemed unable to continue speaking. As if, after this accusation, he no longer had the strength to defend himself again, and again, and again. Instead, he sank his teeth into his lower lip. He bit down so hard that blood appeared. He closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped, the tension falling from his limbs like dead leaves from branches. In that moment, he looked more tired than ever. Tyler blinked too quickly before looking back at her. And there was something in his gaze that made Wednesday's stomach churn. Understanding.

He was still able to understand why she threw that at him. It hurt. Of course it hurt. But he understood. And Wednesday didn't know how to deal with it. Tyler was so hurt, and she had expected him to lash out. That he would react angrily or mockingly, or become that terribly cold again. Instead, there was a warmth in his eyes that almost made it worse. "I never manipulated you, deceived you, or lied to you," he countered calmly. "I just couldn't tell you everything."

Wednesday paused briefly. They could leave it at that. And yet... the pain and, above all, the uncertainty had been fermenting in her mind for months. She needed answers; she couldn't be satisfied with this. Not now. Even if it hurt him.

But she was also hurt.

"So it wasn't manipulation when you told me that after the incident at the Gates mansion, I owed you a meeting so that Gates would have time to go into my room, wreck everything, take Faulkner's book, and stab Ting? So it wasn't deception that you injured yourself at the Gates mansion to distract from yourself?"

To her surprise, Tyler remained outwardly completely calm. Only from the clenched jaw and the pain in his eyes did she see that her words had hurt him. But then the green of his eyes returned to a state of pure ice, and his expression and body language became completely blank. He stopped battering his lips. The blood ran down his chin, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand as if it meant nothing. As if it weren't an expression of the stress he was under. As if it didn't bother him at all. As if it didn't hurt. And probably, it didn't. Because her words cut sharper than claws, teeth, or blades ever could.

"You manipulated me too, Wednesday, when you called me and agreed to meet with me just so I could drive you and Enid to the Gates mansion. At the very least, you lured me to the Nevermore under false pretenses. You could have just asked, and I would have come along. So I felt you owed me something, and if you really didn't want to come, you wouldn't have, right?"

Wednesday didn't let on what his words triggered in her. His words, so terribly close to what Enid had thrown at her that night. And once again, she had to admit to herself that Tyler was right. That Enid had been right back then. She had manipulated her two friends to get what she wanted. She hadn't really given them a choice about whether to support her in her plan, because ultimately, neither Tyler nor Enid would have considered leaving Wednesday alone.

"Who knows if we would have found anything at the mansion if I'd told you beforehand what I was planning," she said quietly. Once again, Wednesday was unable to back down. And she hated herself for it. "So, in retrospect, it only made sense."

Tyler's shoulders slumped. "Maybe," he admitted. "It still wasn't nice being manipulated by you. And as for the self-harm ... Hyde took control as soon as we parted. I didn't come to until a few minutes later, just a few seconds before you and Enid arrived. And he also sent Gates a message, telling her we were there. At least I found the message later."

A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes in exhaustion, leaning his head against the wall. Wednesday could almost physically feel the pressure on Tyler's shoulders. Even the ice couldn't hide it anymore. The ice that was slowly melting again, revealing the expression of a broken boy. She looked away, not sure how to respond. Ultimately, there was nothing she could say. She had spent the last few months yearning for explanations, yearning to know what lies Tyler had told her to gain her trust. To make her fall in love with him. That none of it was a lie ... it was harder to bear than she had thought.

Wednesday let her gaze wander again around his room, where shadows and spiders had made their home. She looked at the comic and the book lying on his bedside table: "The Strange Case of Harleen and Harley" and "The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter." Apparently, Tyler had also read adaptations of Stevenson's work, desperately hoping to find answers.

"I didn't invite you on the date so Gates would have time to look for the book," he said after a few minutes, during which the silence had settled around them like a thick, impenetrable web. His words tore through the cobweb-thin threads from which it had been woven. "You showed it to me just minutes ago. I really wanted to meet with you. I told Gates about the book and that I was meeting with you when she asked me for a report on how your investigation was progressing, but I had no idea she would use that time to break into your room. I thought she wouldn't even dare to do that, because Enid was still there. And I never wanted her to stab Thing. She never let me in on all her plans; she only gave me instructions. I had no idea what she was up to."

Tyler's words and explanations made sense, and it unexpectedly cut her heart. Of course, he couldn't have known that Enid had moved in with Yoko after the incident at the Gates mansion. And yet ... she still wasn't able to let it go completely. It had cost her too many sleepless nights for that. The betrayal had been too painful. "So if she asked how my investigation was going, she was setting you up to become friends with me, right?" Wednesday countered. Her words were no longer sharp, no longer cutting open her mouth. Instead, they were brittle and fleeting, containing all the weariness it had cost Wednesday to think about it.

"She only realized she needed you to resurrect Crackstone after she stole Goody's book from Pilgrim World," Tyler began. His voice had weakened, too. As if each word cost additional strength, draining it relentlessly from his body. "Only then did she order me to keep an eye on you, partly because you'd started investigating the monster attacks. But all of that happened only after we'd already met, and after I killed Rowan so he wouldn't kill you. And she never ordered me to pretend I had feelings for you. What good would it have done if you'd never survived in her plan?" The last words were just a whisper. They revealed the pain that just that thought must have caused Tyler.

Slowly, the realization sank in. And she couldn't deny her relief. But she couldn't show it either.

Again she looked at him, again her gaze was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

He was no longer the boy she had met. No longer the one who worked at the Weathervane after school, who smiled at her dark humor and macabre sayings and wasn't intimidated by her sharp comments. Who always helped her without expecting anything in return. Who always had a smile on his lips, one that always seemed a little too wide, too cheerful, too fake, and that never quite reached his eyes. Whose mask sometimes crumbled, revealing the anger behind it. And something destructive lying beneath it. A despair and helplessness, a loneliness so terrible it could hardly be put into words and that had eaten its way deep into his being. Because ultimately, Tyler had been on his own the whole time. Without help. Without support.

Now Tyler sat next to her, his cheeks sunken, his skin pale, and his body cold. He looked more lost than ever. And yet ... right now, he wasn't.

"Thank you," Wednesday whispered, breaking the silence. "Thank you for telling me that." Her words didn't seem enough. There was so much more she wanted to express. Her relief at now knowing the truth. Her shame for having doubted his feelings for her. Her happiness that Tyler had actually chosen her, her darkness. Just as she had chosen him and his darkness. But Wednesday had never been good at understanding or expressing her own feelings. And she was failing at it now.

But Tyler looked at her, and in his gaze revealed everything she couldn't say. Because he understood. Of course he understood. He always had.

Wednesday moved a little closer to him, searching his gaze to silently reassure herself that it was okay—before leaning her head against his shoulder. Tyler tensed for a tiny moment. Then he exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath for far too long. She closed her eyes, unconsciously searching for his fingers. Gently and carefully, they wrapped around hers.

And finally finally, Wednesday had no unsolved mysteries in her head, no unanswered questions. As quick-tempered and impulsive as Tyler sometimes was, he was now calm and sensitive.

And it meant everything to her to no longer feel the pain or self-hatred seeping through their connection. And no more ice. There was only peaceful calm. And a warmth that stood in stark contrast to the coldness of his skin.

Chapter Text

-----

maybe I lied
when I said
I was okay

---

The morning dawned gray and foggy, while the golden rays of the sun struggled in vain to make their way through the cloud cover.

Tyler woke up before Wednesday. He was curled up as usual, while she lay beside him in her corpse-like position, her arms crossed over the chest. He didn't move for several long minutes.

The silence became a weight that pressed down on him and reminded him that he still had a body. Although there should really be nothing left. Nothing but an empty shell. Nothing but a mind filled with ice, until his consciousness was so completely frozen that there were no more feelings. No sensations. Only numbness and cold. No guilt, no shame, no remorse, no self-hatred. No fear, no anxiety, no grief. No anger that was too destructive. No rage that could turn into something more violent. No tears. No regrets. No memories of unbearable situations that would drag him back into the abyss.

The boy got up silently, leaving Wednesday to sleep while he grabbed fresh clothes from his closet and then hurried into the bathroom to shower. At least the electricity, gas, and water hadn't been turned off yet.

Tyler avoided looking in the mirror as he undressed. At least he tried to. Once again, he hated himself for finding it so difficult. And for not being able to do it this time. His fingers were shaking too much. And even though he froze his perception the entire time, he could feel the moisture of tears on his cheeks.

Why on earth? Why did it bother him so much that he couldn't even wash himself anymore? Why was there even a body left ...?

He wanted to disappear. He didn't want to feel the pain anymore, which had dug deep into his muscles and lingered for days after each transformation. Yet ... he wasn't supposed to feel any pain. The ice was supposed to be strong enough to make it impossible to feel. His consciousness was supposed to be frozen enough to undress, get into the shower, and scrub the blood, dirt, and sweat of the past few days and weeks from his skin.

He just had to finally manage to peel himself out of his clothes. Had to turn the water up so hot that it reddened his skin. Had to scrub until her touch faded. Until there was no more skin that she had touched.

And yet ... Tyler lay curled up on the cold bathroom tiles, shivering, his body refusing to go away. He was so pathetic. So weak. It had been several months since it happened, and yet ... and yet every time it hit him so hard, it completely threw him. So bad that he was no longer able to do anything.

Why was it so unbearable?

How had he managed to survive the last two years?

Tyler answered the question himself as he involuntarily remembered the countless situations.

The Hyde who had so often taken control when it came to personal hygiene. How he woke up every night screaming from nightmares. How the smell of blood and flowers made him so sick that sometimes he could barely keep from vomiting. How he flinched every time someone asked for a double cappuccino with vanilla syrup. How his smile faltered when he stood in front of her, while his body panicked and he forced himself not to show it. When he wanted to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth. How his school performance got worse and worse because he suffered from stress, lack of sleep, and panic attacks, and his father yelled at him for it and called him a disappointment. How his fingers trembled when anger took over and he let it. Because anger was better than fear. Better than helplessness. Better than anxiety. Better than panic, which attacked him like a predator and which he could never let show. Better than pain, which strained his muscles and yet was recognized by no one. And at the same time, he hated himself for it. He hated himself because Hyde enjoyed killing. Because that played right into her hands. That made him complicit. His consciousness, which he had to freeze so deeply in Willow Hill that he could no longer hear the clanking of the chains or feel the shackles on his wrists. To be able to ignore that he was half-naked and felt so terribly exposed again that it was almost worse than the electric shocks and the shackles. That the fear that it could happen again was a permanent source of stress, despite the ice.

"Tyler?"

Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant, and penetrated only slowly through the tangled fog of his thoughts.

Wednesday knelt beside him. She raised her hand to his face, but didn't touch him. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Why did she ask? Why didn't she simply demand that he tell her? It would be easier. For her. And maybe for him too. Because he couldn't speak. Couldn't answer. There was too much ice that wouldn't melt. Too much panic that would overcome him if he dared to take off his mask.

Laurel had always been demanding. Had given orders. Had requested and claimed and wanted.

And Wednesday ... she of all people asked. She of all people paused each time to make sure he agreed. Even though she had warned him to always put her needs first. Why wasn't she doing it now? Why was she being so gentle with him when he didn't deserve it? Of all people, he deserved it the least. Because he was a monster. He deserved to be treated like one. And yet he took every spark of warmth, every scrap of affection and kindness that she gave him. And he hated himself for it in the same breath. Because he didn't deserve it. Because it would never be ... for him. He wasn't worth it. Never had been worth it.

The monster, the Hyde ... he had always been inside him, in his genes, in his bones. The darkness had always been there, and now it was devouring him, claiming him for itself. And somehow ... the people around him had always sensed it. That was why his father had treated him the way he had. That was why his life had turned into such a nightmare. Why every love given to him, every form of affection shown to him, was accompanied by pain. With verbal, physical and psychological violence. Because ultimately ... he apparently deserved nothing less.

Because who could love a monster?

"Tyler ...?" Her voice was soft, like the wind blowing through leafy branches. And there was an undertone he'd never heard from her before: desperation.

"Please, Tyler. I want to help you. But I don't know how ..."

Wednesday's voice broke.

And that was worse than Laurel's torture or her touches. That was worse than his mother's blow and her betrayal. Because Wednesday ... Wednesday was always determined, never hesitated. And above all, she never let her feelings show. That her voice broke ... it meant it didn't leave her cold. It meant that she was so shaken by his condition that she dropped her mask of indifference and showed herself vulnerable. It meant a waning determination, a helplessness in the face of a situation that neither of them should have found themselves in. Not at this age. Never. Because it was too hard. It was too cruel. It was unbearable.

Tyler still couldn't answer. His throat felt like it was closed. Like the countless times he'd tried to tell his father what Thornhill was planning and to tell Wednesday that he was the monster she was so desperately searching for. And always the words had stuck in his throat because her orders had been so unmistakably clear that he hadn't found a way around them.

Don't reveal your true nature to anyone, don't tell anyone who I am. Don't sabotage my plans, and don't tell anyone what I'm up to.

Words that had so much power. Too much power. Words that controlled him, that led him by strings, as if she were a puppeteer and he were nothing more than a marionette, helplessly at the mercy of whatever she had in mind for him.

And Wednesday didn't use that power.

"You wanted to wash, didn't you?"

Tyler could barely manage more than a nod. There was no sneer in her voice. No hidden undertone that mocked his inability to do even the simplest things. Even though he froze his mind. Even though there should be nothing left. No thoughts, no memories, no perception. And yet all of it was there, lurking beneath the surface and breaking through the ice. He shouldn't have a body anymore. He didn't want a body anymore. And yet he still felt it. His eternal prison from which he couldn't break free.

"Should I help you with that?"

Wednesday's voice was still gentle. Unbiased. Understanding. Warm. So different from how anyone else had spoken to him before. Part of him distrusted it. Part of him wasn't sure if it wasn't another trap. If this security was ... real. And the other part of him took everything she gave him like a starving man given a loaf of bread. And yet there was the fear of choking on the crumbs.

He nodded.

Wednesday began gently peeling him out of his countless layers of clothing. She asked him if she could do it. She told him where she would touch him and then did so with such care and gentleness that he sometimes barely felt her touch.

Tyler froze so hard that everything went cold. And yet he felt her soft fingers. He heard her voice and responded, albeit wordlessly.

It took a long time.

And then he lay there on the tiles, naked except for his underwear. The bandages around his torso were stiff with dried blood. He was still unable to speak or get up to take a shower.

He was only vaguely aware of Wednesday opening the cupboards to find a washcloth. How she held it under the faucet before kneeling beside him again.

Tyler slowly sat up, every single muscle protesting painfully. His body felt completely sore and battered. Like one big open wound.

Wednesday's touch was still calm and gentle as she helped him. The cloth was lukewarm. And yet he had to close his eyes. Silent tears welled up under his eyelids and ran down his cheeks. Again? Or still? He couldn't tell. His body trembled. His teeth dug into his lower lip again. The iron-rich smell of his own blood made him nauseous, yet Tyler couldn't stop mistreating his lip. If he couldn't stand it, even though his mind knew it was Wednesday ... Even though he sensed he was not in danger ... If the ice didn't help ... Then all he had left was pain. Because his body remembered.

He wanted to huddle. He wanted to disappear. He no longer wanted to have a body.

"I'm done."

Only Wednesday's voice tore him from his stupor. Blinking, he opened his eyes, hesitantly daring to meet her gaze.

In the onyxes, he found nothing but understanding. An awareness of a situation, of a past that was far too terrible to put into words now. And Tyler ... wanted to escape. He'd been able to suppress it all along, but now ... now the shame came.

"I'm sorry." The words were just a whisper. A gasp of breath between barely open lips.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Wednesday replied gently. "It's not your fault, mi monstruo ."

Perhaps this nickname was meant to disturb him. The possessiveness it implied. Mi monstruo . My monster. But the two words fell so softly from her lips, as if it were a prayer. And ultimately ... it was just the truth.

He was her monster.

Even when Laurel Gates still had control over him, and then his mother... even then, he was already completely devoted to Wednesday. This girl who breathed darkness and embodied everything he longed for. Individuality. Determination. Freedom. The strength to stand by who she was and what she stood for. Not hiding or pretending to be something else to fit in with what society deemed appropriate.
Maybe that's why he was fascinated by her from the very beginning, felt attracted to her. Because she was everything he wanted to be. To be able to be.

Wednesday rinsed the rag before reaching for the first-aid kit she'd found in one of the cabinets and already placed on the floor. She opened the lid and grabbed fresh bandages.

Meanwhile, Tyler had managed to at least put his pants and socks back on before turning his back on her.

Her fingers were feather-light on his skin as she removed the old bandages and carefully cleaned the injuries with a second rag.

"The wounds look a little better and fortunately haven't become infected," Wednesday said before applying the fresh bandages. Then she closed the suitcase again.

Tyler grabbed the rest of his clothes. He pulled on his undershirt first. Then his T-shirt and long-sleeved top, before pulling on his flannel shirt. The layers of fabric were the only armor he had left. The only barrier between skin on skin. This was why he had hated the Weathervane work clothes, yet hadn't been able to do anything about it.

And when the shirt rested on his shoulders, his fingers finally stopped shaking.

As Tyler looked at Wednesday, his lips lifted in a sad, brief smile.

“You just did more for me than anyone before you.”

For a moment he saw the horror in her eyes before her gaze became as stoic as ever.

"It won't be the last time," she replied. There was a warmth in her voice that Tyler wanted to drown in.

Chapter Text

-----

"You handled it so well."

No. I didn't. I went insane,
lost spark, bled in silence,
shattered in private, and
wore a smile that lied better
than any mask could.

---

"You're freezing again," Wednesday remarked.

She could no longer deny to herself that she was worried about Tyler. Not after what had happened an hour earlier. It had been incredibly disturbing to see Tyler in that state. He had been injured yesterday, too. And helpless. But not to the extent that he was incapacitated. That what Laurel had done to him had had such an impact, especially psychologically … it was horrific. And the fact that Tyler hadn't received any help so far was many times more worrying.

He had had to live with it for the past two years. Had to survive.

The ice …

It seemed like a solution. But Wednesday was under no illusions that it probably came at a price. Because ultimately, everything had a price. That was true of magic just as much as it was of influencing one's own mind.

"Does it hurt?"

They sat on the floor of his room, Wednesday cross-legged with her back straight, while Tyler leaned against the wall, his knees drawn up close to his chest. A protective posture he seemed to adopt instinctively every time. Again, she noticed how exhausted he looked. He desperately needed to regain his strength. Dark circles lay under his tired eyes, and his fingers had begun to tremble again. There was only coldness seeping through the connection, though it wasn't as icy as before.

"No," Tyler replied. "Sometimes I just don’t know … how to stop."

Of course … Something like that could quickly become a kind of addiction, a way to avoid confronting one's own feelings. To block out reality, in a way, when it became too difficult to deal with. To push away the traumatic memories that would otherwise repeatedly drag him into the abyss. And which, despite the ice, did just that, as Wednesday had seen earlier.

"But it weakens me."

He avoided her gaze, staring out the window. Tyler's breathing was even, yet she noticed his restlessness.

"Physical or mental?" Wednesday asked.

Tyler didn't answer right away, as if he were lost in thought. Or as if the words could barely penetrate the ice. Earlier ... He had barely reacted, seemed paralyzed. Hadn't been able to speak. And now ... he seemed lost again. As if he were withdrawing from reality and the present once more. As if his body were just a vessel, while his mind was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere where no one could harm him.

Wednesday wasn't sure if he was dissociating. Perhaps the ice was a form of dissociation itself, but she didn't know enough about that area of psychology to say for sure.

"Both, I guess," he finally said. "I get tired more quickly. And at some point, I get a headache."

"So it does cause pain," Wednesday remarked matter-of-factly. Tyler endured physical pain in order to cope with the inner pain. Having her assumption confirmed by him once again triggered a storm of emotions within her. Concern. Restlessness. Compassion. Impatience because she couldn’t help him directly. It wasn’t external injuries that were weighing him down, nor was it a physical illness that could be specifically treated ... His soul had been so badly damaged that death last night had become the only salvation. And probably not just at that moment. Whether he still wanted to die ... Wednesday strongly suspected so. Even though the external circumstances had improved, his desire to commit suicide was ultimately only a logical consequence of everything that had happened to him. And it did not leave her cold.

Secretly, Wednesday Weems had to agree. She couldn't just pack her feelings into a box and ignore them. Not now, anyway. And even before that ... Somehow, Tyler had not only managed to bypass her walls of indifference and emotional coldness from the start, but also to regularly trigger emotional chaos within her. A tremor that ran through her body. But maybe it was just the fact that he triggered more emotions in her than she was prepared to feel. Because that also meant she had to deal with them.

Ultimately, Tyler had often been the indicator that had led her to question herself, even if he probably wasn't aware of it.

"It's nothing," Tyler demurred.

"Nothing compared to what?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

He flinched. Panic instantly swept through the connection like a tsunami, mirrored in Tyler's face. He squirmed, unable to respond. Once again, he seemed so terribly vulnerable. Seeing him so sensitive ... How long had he had to hide behind masks and coldness to keep from breaking? And now Tyler was revealing his vulnerability. An open wound that had gone untreated for far too long.

"I think your pain tolerance is higher than it should be," Wednesday said, lowering her voice again. She voiced the thought that had already crossed her mind the night before, as she stitched his injuries. After everything he had been through … after the torture and the countless transformations … it was hardly surprising.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger … This saying was pure mockery. Because you didn't get stronger. You went through hell. You suffered. You survived, while a part of you died at the same time.

Once again, Wednesday saw his injured body in her mind's eye, the scars shimmering silver on his skin, stretching across his back like a spider's web. There had been far too many of them. Marks pressed into his skin. Certificates and stamps of violence that had been too cruel. Violence that had not only injured the body, but above all the soul and the mind. And in that moment, Wednesday had seen a terrifying image, as if her mind had dragged her into a vision without asking. Knife blades cutting deep into muscle and flesh. Blood streaming down the skin. Open wounds that resembled gorges. The fact that Tyler had not died from blood loss or developed sepsis could almost be called a miracle, if one believed in miracles. Which Wednesday did not.

And earlier … She had seen the pinpoint scars in the creases of his elbows. Caused by needles that had pumped substances into his system. Drugs administered against his will and by force. By Gates. And certainly by the doctors at Willow Hill as well. How terrified he must have been in that cave … And ultimately … Even though Wednesday hadn't seen Tyler's medical records, she could easily imagine that the months in the psychiatric hospital had only worsened his condition.

She resolved to go back there to retrieve his file. Otherwise, it might fall into the hands of people who could do far more damage with it.

Tyler finally looked at her.

And Wednesday once again gazed into the eyes of a boy who had seen too much. There was an expression in the green that reminded her of soldiers who had been confronted with the worst horrors in the world during war. There was a quiet despair in his gaze, a silent cry for help. A void so deep and all-consuming that it showed Tyler was close to giving up. Or maybe he had already reached that point. His eyes were like shards of ice. Fragments that had broken, revealing the horror that lay beyond.

Once again she thought of last night. Of the look in his eyes when he had begged her to kill him ... The mere thought of it overwhelmed her, tore her heart apart.

Her chest tightened as Wednesday finally worked up the courage to ask him a question she didn't actually want an answer to.

"Do you want to die?"

The words hung over them, and it felt as if the air was thinning. The moment was incredibly fragile. And the seconds when Tyler didn't reply were the worst Wednesday had ever experienced. The silence became a pressure pressing against her chest.

"I'd be lying if I said no," he finally replied. Tyler had looked away again, his fingers cramping slightly.

And something in Wednesday finally broke.

These words cut so deep … Deeper than any blade ever could. They caused a pain that was almost unbearable.

Nevertheless, her expression remained impassive as she failed to give voice to this pain.

"It was the first thing she ordered me to do," Tyler's breaking voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Not to kill myself. Not to do anything to myself that would indicate I wasn't okay." He laughed hollowly. "Not that Dad would have noticed if I had hurt myself."

The boy shook his head, lowering his gaze to his hands. "It's so strange ... I want to die. But somehow ... I don't."

"You don't want to go on living," Wednesday replied. "With the trauma, the pain, the fear, the loneliness."

"It's not just that, Wednesday..." Tyler met her gaze. Tears began to well up in his eyes and stream down his cheeks. His voice trembled. "What right do I have to live? The murders were beyond my control, and yet the blood of innocent people is on my fingers. I did it ... And ... and how ..." He swallowed, looking away. "How am I supposed to go on living when I can't sleep anymore ... when I can't afford to make a single mistake because every outburst of anger could lead to disaster ...?" His voice trailed off as he looked down in shame. "When I can't even manage to wash myself ...?"

The words were barely more than a whisper.

Wednesday leaned forward, meeting his gaze. "Tyler," she said, her voice firm. "What happened in the bathroom was a traumatic reaction to what she did to you. It's perfectly logical that your body reacted that way."

"But the ice … It should have stopped it. I shouldn't have … I shouldn't have been so pathetic, so weak … I …" Tyler almost choked on his words as a sob escaped his throat. His fingers clenched into fists in a helpless gesture.

"It's not pathetic," Wednesday said calmly, forcing herself to suppress all emotion. Even though seeing him like this was tearing her apart inside. But one of them … one of them had to keep their composure. And Tyler, for obvious reasons, was incapable of doing so.

Then she smelled the blood.

"Tyler …"

Wednesday's eyes widened in horror when she saw the red oozing between his fingers. His fingers, which had lengthened again, had transformed into claws that now dug into his skin.

She stretched out her hands, but didn't dare to touch him.

Tyler didn't look at her. He just stared at the floor as the connection went cold again and his expression froze. He had completely withdrawn, seemed no longer truly present.

"Tyler …" Wednesday's voice trembled, "can you open your hands?"

As she had suspected, he didn't react. The girl fought back the fear that began to grip her. There were only tears. More and more tears. His body trembled uncontrollably as he curled up. Tyler's breathing was too fast, too frantic. And slowly … the ice melted, replaced by panic. Panic that bored into his mind and seeped through the connection like corrosive poison.

Wednesday had to focus her thoughts so as not to be overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feelings.

"Could you please open your hands?" she asked again. The temptation was strong to tell him to. That had already happened in the bathroom. And yet … No command passed her lips. Even if it might make the situation easier for both of them, she would never use the power she had over Tyler. Not even if it would help him. Because ultimately … No amount of help could justify taking away his freedom of choice. If he couldn't comply with her request right now, she would find other ways to help him.

"I'm ... I'm sorry," he whispered. And again: "I'm sorry, I ... I didn't mean to ..."

Finally, he opened his hands. The claws had driven holes into his palms.

"Hush, hush," Wednesday murmured. "Everything is fine ... You don't have to apologize for anything." Her breath caught briefly as she looked at the wounds.

"May I look at the injuries?" she asked. Tyler nodded. His gaze was still fixed on the ground, not looking at her. The panic was still there, but it was fading. Like fog gradually clearing.

Wednesday carefully took his right hand in her fingers and examined the injuries. They weren't very deep, but looked extremely painful.

"I'm going to ..." she paused briefly to collect herself. "I'm going to go to the bathroom and get some bandages and disinfectant to treat the wounds, okay?"

Tyler nodded again. It was probably just too difficult for him to find the right words. Just like it was for her.

The whole situation … Even though it wasn't nearly as disturbing as last night or an hour ago … It was awful. And as long as it involved him … It would always be awful. It would never leave her unmoved.

Wednesday got up and retrieved the emergency kit from the bathroom once more. When she re-entered Tyler's room, he hadn't moved an inch. He was still sitting on the floor, staring into space, his hands open at his sides.

The dark-haired girl knelt beside him and began disinfecting the injuries. Tyler didn't flinch at the burning sensation caused by the liquid. Wednesday cleaned the wounds with a cold washcloth, as she had done with the wounds on his back earlier, before carefully wrapping bandages around his palms. Tyler barely moved during the entire procedure. He still seemed to be out of it.

Most likely, Wednesday realized that bringing up potentially traumatic topics again would be counterproductive. Somehow, she had to make sure he didn't think about them anymore. At least not right now.

She'd never been the type of person to care for others. Even though she'd done it from time to time. But this, with Tyler … This was different. This was something that scared her. Something that overwhelmed her. And at the same time, she knew she wouldn't let anyone near him. That she'd rather take it upon herself to support him than leave it to someone else who could potentially make things worse. Someone who didn't know Tyler the way she did. Even if Wednesday wasn't sure she knew Tyler.

Just as she was thinking about how she could distract him, she realized that she didn't know what his hobbies were. He read a lot, which was pretty obvious given the number of books he owned. He was interested in nautical topics, adventure novels, and detective stories. He made pretty good coffee. (She would never admit that the quads he always made her were the best she had ever tasted.) But other than that … It frightened her how little she actually knew about him. Wednesday regretted that she had been too ignorant last year to actually notice that Tyler needed help. She should have noticed. Should have noticed the cracks in his mask, should have paid more attention to the feelings that had so often shone through. The fear, the despair, the loneliness. But she had only focused on his anger.

"What do you like to do?" Wednesday asked.

Tyler jerked his head up in surprise, finally meeting her gaze. The tears that had been streaming down his cheeks were gone. And yet … his shoulders still trembled. The green was still tinged.

He frowned in confusion.

"What?"

"What do you like to do?" she asked again, forcing herself not to let impatience creep into her voice. She hated repeating herself. "In your free time," she specified.

"I …" Tyler seemed uncertain. "I like to bake and cook," he said quietly. "At first, it was a necessity because Dad …" he paused as Wednesday finished his sentence in her mind. … didn't take care of me.

Somewhere deep down, she could understand that the sheriff had probably been overwhelmed. He'd lost his wife, grieved for her, and had a boy he suspected might turn into a monster. And yet, that didn't justify how he'd treated Tyler. It didn't justify neglecting him, ignoring him, abusing him. It didn't justify Tyler apparently having to take care of his own meals and everything else. It didn't justify Donovan withholding information from him.

If Tyler had known he was an outcast, that he carried the Hyde gene, and what had happened to his mother … Laurel Gates could never have used that knowledge against him, could never have manipulated and groomed him. Couldn't have lured him into the cave, chained him up there, and tortured him for who knows how long until his Hyde took shape. She couldn't have made Tyler a tool in her revenge plans, couldn't have robbed him of all freedom and agency, leaving him without free will. In a way, though, Donovan wasn't solely to blame. Larissa Weems could have prevented it from coming to this. She had been friends with Francoise; she knew about her Hyde … If she had ensured Tyler got to Nevermore and explained his nature to him … So much could have been prevented, and the boy could have been spared that ordeal.

"And later … I came to enjoy it. It helped me calm down and not have to think about things I didn't want to think about," Tyler said, interrupting Wednesday's thoughts. "It allowed me to block out everything else."

"Then we'll do it now, if you want," Wednesday said as she stood up.

"What, now?" Tyler blinked quickly. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I don't think there are any ingredients left in the house," he pointed out. "And what do you even want to make?"

Wednesday approached his desk and unerringly pulled a sheet of paper from under a pad. She had noticed it earlier. "This," she said, holding the paper in front of his nose. Tyler's eyes widened slightly as he looked at the drawing. It was actually more of a sketch, applied to the paper with rough but precise strokes. It depicted a cake with the Grim Reaper standing on it. And the lines were definitely not Xavier's.

"I didn't get around to eating it last year," Wednesday said. "And while we're making the cake, you can tell me why you didn't mention that you designed it too."

With these words, she stepped past him and out of the room, smiling slightly as she heard Tyler's footsteps following her.

Chapter Text

-----

Flowers and Bones

We all wish for a love
that sees the skeleton in our closet
but does not fear them.
Instead they wreath them
with flowers that remind us,
so much of
what is living has grown
from something that died.

- Nikita Gill

---

The kitchen was only sparsely illuminated by incoming light. It was dim and gloomy, and the room seemed more deserted than ever. Dust danced in the few columns of sunlight that struggled past the boards and through the grimy glass. The stove, sink, and countertop emerged gray from the darkness.

Tyler followed Wednesday into the kitchen and paused briefly. His gaze flickered from the sink to the wall cabinets and the stove. The knife block was still in the same place. Magnets still clung to the refrigerator, holding old photos as if the moments captured on paper still held meaning. The clock on the wall had stopped, and the calendar hanging beneath it showed the month his father had died.

Time had stood still in this room, just like the clock. Just like everywhere else in the house. And yet … here it felt worse. More real. As if everything that had once mattered had truly faded away.

The kitchen was usually the warmest place in the house. Even centuries ago, it was the place where the family gathered. People sat by the warm hearth fire and told each other stories.

But in this house ...

The more Tyler had tried over the past few years to bring something vibrant and comforting to this space, the more noticeable the coldness had become. A coldness that didn't stem from a lack of warmth, but from a lack of companionship. From a lack of laughter, a lack of conversation, a lack of presence.

It had always been him standing in the kitchen. Making sandwiches after school and his shift at the Weathervane to get at least a little something in his stomach. Who spent two hours on the weekend making a hot meal that his father would let go cold. Who baked several trays of cookies in December so that at least the smell of cinnamon and baking would give him the feeling that Christmas was coming. Who went shopping every week because Donovan hardly cared whether there was any food in the house.

Despite the fact that the place, which should have been the most vibrant, had never been since his mother's disappearance and had only intensified Tyler's feelings of loneliness, it was still the room where he had felt most comfortable. Surrounded by warmth, by the smell of spices and dough ... He had sometimes almost succumbed to the illusion that his life wasn't a complete mess.

Since Wednesday hadn't touched the light switch by the door, he decided against it. The shadows lurking in the corners, lending the room an eerie air, felt familiar anyway, and the thought of banishing them seemed wrong. But ultimately ... The darkness wasn't something either of them feared. Quite the opposite. Here, they felt more welcome than anywhere else. The whole room felt more inviting to Tyler. Perhaps because he wasn't alone this time.

He stepped past Wednesday and opened one of the drawers to take out two rags. He handed one to Wednesday before Tyler opened the cabinet under the sink and took out cleaning supplies.

"We need to clean up here first," he said, without looking the girl in the eye. His voice was too quiet.

The trembling in his fingers was still a constant reminder that all was not well. That this was ... just a respite. A brief moment of peace before the panic, the memories, and his fear would drag him back into the abyss. As much as he appreciated Wednesday's attempt to distract him by baking a cake, to give him this short break, Tyler knew all too well that it would only be fleeting. Maybe three hours without having to think about the nightmares, the guilt, the self-loathing, and the monster beneath his skin. And even though he knew it wouldn't last long ... these were the moments that kept Tyler going. That gave him hope.

Even before Gates had reached out and caught him in her web of lies and manipulation, his time in the kitchen was the only time he could breathe freely after a long day at school, the often upsetting sessions with Kinbott, the conflicts with his father, and the stress at the Weathervane.

Wednesday and Tyler silently scrubbed away the dust of the past few weeks. Judging by the dirt, the sheriff had also let the interior of the house fall into disrepair over the course of the past six months. Not that Donovan had ever been the type to care much about maintaining things. For the most part, that task had fallen to Tyler out of necessity. Even though it had definitely had its advantages, as it had made him more independent (not that it had done him any good after Gates had unlocked his Hyde), he had sometimes felt that the responsibility weighing on his shoulders was too great. He had always known that it shouldn't be entirely his job to take care of the food and the house. His father should have helped him fix his bike tire or repair the faucet. And yet ... Tyler had had to teach himself everything because the sheriff was too busy with his work to find time for his son. And that had quickly robbed him of any illusion that he could rely on his father.

After they finished cleaning, Tyler rinsed the rags and put the cleaning supplies away. Then he opened the bottom drawer and took out the notebook where he'd written down his own recipes. The spot where he'd written down the recipe for Wednesday's birthday cake was still marked with the slip of paper bearing Enid's phone number. Tyler flipped to the page and placed the open book on the counter as he headed over to the refrigerator. A sigh escaped his lips when he saw the beer bottles inside. No milk, no eggs, no butter ... Of course, the food would have spoiled by now, but the fact that he couldn't see any sign of that ... What had his father eaten? He probably didn't want to know.

"We need to go shopping," Tyler said, turning to Wednesday. She was bent over his notebook, flipping through the pages.

"Wrong," she replied, raising her head. "I'm going shopping. You're still wanted, and after what happened last night, it's likely that the Nevermore compound isn't the only place teeming with Sheriff Santiago's people."

Since Tyler couldn't argue with Wednesday's point, he just nodded. It was probably for the best. He wasn't really in the mood to be around people right now anyway. "I'll make you a list."

He grabbed a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper lying around from the dining table and quickly jotted down the ingredients they needed for the cake.

"I'll get some money," Tyler said before handing Wednesday the piece of paper and disappearing back upstairs. In his room, he knelt beside his bed and pulled out the small tin box underneath. He quickly unlocked the old combination lock. As he opened the lid, Tyler realized that the nearly two hundred dollars inside were all he had left. What he'd earned from his part-time job at the Weathervane hadn't been much, and most of it had gone toward food and gas for his car. Even so, Tyler had always managed to put a little aside, to have at least some seed money if he ever managed to get out of Jericho.

He snapped the lid shut and went back downstairs with the box. Wednesday had turned to his recipe book again, studying with keen interest the tiny drawings he'd scribbled in the margins. He often drew things he'd seen in the woods: a squirrel, some nuts, pine cones, a woodpecker—things that caught his eye as he disappeared among the trees. Over the past year, Tyler had often wished the forest would simply swallow him up, absorb him, welcome him—the monster that didn't belong in civilization, that was a creature meant to wander beneath the tall trees, far from humans. And yet ... Tyler hadn't managed to escape. Not from Laurel Gates, not from his father, not from the monster inside him.

He set the box down next to Wednesday and opened it. "This is all I have left," he said. And in the same breath ... Tyler felt ashamed. Even though there was absolutely no reason to. He knew Wednesday's family was rich. That he had nothing left was as logical as it was irrelevant. Still, there was the shame. Perhaps because he realized how little he had left. How little he had ever had compared to her.

Wednesday glanced at the crumpled dollar bills in the box before looking at Tyler. Her right eyebrow twitched slightly as she studied him. Just as he began to feel uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, she spoke: "What are you ashamed of?"

He flinched. Were his feelings so obvious? Then Tyler remembered that she could sense his emotions. "I ..." he hesitated, looking away. "I just realized ... how little I have left."

"Didn't your father leave you the house?" the dark-haired girl asked. Tyler shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "After he died, no notary came by to give me his will. He probably didn't even have one. I'm not even sure I would have accepted the inheritance, after all, I'm responsible for his death and ..."

"Who said that?" Wednesday interrupted. Tyler jerked his head up at the sharp tone, meeting her gaze. An angry fire burned in the black onyx. It should have frightened him. That rage ... He had seen it far too often in the eyes of others. In his father's. In Laurel's eyes. His mother ...

But this time ... Tyler instinctively sensed that this anger wasn't directed at him.

"The ... the doctors at Willow Hill said so," the reply was barely a whisper. The words ... too quiet, too hesitant. He kept his eyes closed a moment too long as he thought back. The ice in his mind that he couldn't let melt, lest he shatter completely. The headaches made so bad by the ice that he felt they would split his skull. The electric shocks that sent raw pain coursing through his body, preventing him from transforming. The nightmares from which he awoke every night, sometimes screaming, sometimes crying, but always drenched in sweat and filled with terror. The doctors and therapists who didn't even try to appear as if they wanted to help him. Who had always only looked for more ways to control him. With drugs that left him completely numb, so he was no longer aware of what was happening around him. They hadn't given him any food, to see how long he could last. They had left him standing against the wall for days, until he hung unconscious in his restraints. He could no longer say how many times they had taken his blood. How many times they had given him medication without telling him what it was.

It had been a nightmare. One he'd quickly grown accustomed to. One he'd tried to downplay, telling himself that the doctors couldn't possibly surpass the cruelty Laurel had inflicted on him. Even so, it had broken him. Bit by bit, further and further, until he wasn't sure if there was anything left of him at all. With a mind as cold as hell itself, with a body he'd allowed to become an empty, seemingly insensitive shell to endure the pain ... So often he'd longed for death. It would have been better than being a test object. Just another object for other people's interests, people who no longer even bothered to disguise their immoral intentions behind kindness, as Laurel had.

And when Wednesday had arrived, he had hoped she would save him. That his prayers to higher powers, in which he didn't believe, had been answered despite everything. But the moment she stepped through the door of his cell, he had been too cold to find the right words. And so, only scorn and provocations and empty threats had come from his mouth. All to elicit a reaction after she told him she wasn't there for him. But only because she believed he was capable of killing his own father. And the doctors had later done nothing more than confirm Wednesday's words. Had said that he was the reason the sheriff had been murdered.

"They said that he was killed because of me, that it's my fault ... That I have my own father's death on my conscience ..." Tyler's shoulders shook.

Until now, he'd barely had a chance to think about his father's death, let alone grieve for him. Even though the sheriff had made many unforgivable mistakes, Tyler had loved him nonetheless. And he was ashamed that he only realized it now. Now that it was too late to tell him. He'd harbored a grudge against his father all these years, and now ... he'd never be able to ask for forgiveness for not having been a better son. For rebelling so often. For not seeing through Laurel's intentions. For not being able to stop her from using his Hyde to kill innocent people.

"I will never be able to ask him for forgiveness for not having been a good son," he murmured, choked with emotion. "I shouldn't have let her manipulate me, I should have prevented her from unlocking my Hyde ... I ..."

"Tyler," Wednesday interrupted gently. "There was nothing you could have done to stop her. And that's okay. Donovan should have been a better father to you. It was his job to take care of you, to make you food, and to help you with your homework. She only managed to get to you because your father neglected you. And if he had told you about your mother, she would never have had the opportunity to manipulate you. It should have been Donovan's job to tell you that you were an outcast and that you carried the Hyde gene. You should have gone to Nevermore, not a normie school."

Tyler knew Wednesday was right. She was stating the facts. And yet ... the guilt wouldn't go away. It would probably always be a part of him.

Once again, he could hardly hold back the tears that suddenly welled up. And once again ... he let them flow. He no longer had the strength to hide them. And... there was no need to keep his pain invisible. Wednesday hadn't made fun of him, hadn't mocked him for crying or said his emotional outbursts were pathetic. Instead, since last night, she had done nothing but be there for him with her quiet presence.

But this time ...

Before Tyler really realized what was happening, Wednesday had approached him and wrapped her arms around him.

And Tyler ... let himself fall.

He pressed his face to her neck, no longer trying to suppress his sobs. He cautiously returned her embrace, his fingers lightly gripping her wool sweater. Her right hand was buried in the matted curls at the back of his head, while her other hand traced soothing circles on his back.

And Tyler ... had never again felt truly accepted. Completely. His darkness, his Hyde, his entire being ... Wednesday accepted him as he was. There were no ulterior motives. No hidden agendas.

"You didn't kill your father," Wednesday said quietly at one point. "He was investigating Willow Hill because he’d uncovered the experiments that killed your mother. He wanted to prevent the same thing from happening to you, without knowing she was still alive. The sheriff was killed because he found out too much. That's the only reason he became a target of the avian."

Tyler pulled away from Wednesday to look into her eyes. "Avian?"

"It was Judi," she said. "Her father, Stonehearst, used to work as a teacher at Nevermore before he started experimenting on misfits at Willow Hill with the L.O.I.S. program, stealing their powers. That's how he managed to give his daughter abilities that allow her to control crows," Wednesday reported, before also telling him about her vision of Enid's death and her own research.

"Isaac killed her," Tyler said when Wednesday ended. "That's probably why I didn't notice Agnes hiding in the trunk. Judi's body was right next to it, and the smell of decomposition probably masked Agnes's."

"That would make sense," the dark-haired girl confirmed. She turned to the box and took out a handful of bills, slipping them into her trouser pocket. "I'm going shopping now," she said. Then she paused and looked at him. The expression in her eyes was worried. "Or ... do you still need me, mi monstruo?" Her voice was unusually quiet.

"No, go ahead," Tyler quickly shook his head, wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. "But thanks ... for asking."

"It's only ... logical."

His lips lifted into a faint smile that faded too quickly. It would probably be quite some time before Wednesday could show that she cared about other people. But that wasn't so bad anyway. Because it didn't matter that she hid her concern as long as her thoughtful actions and gentle deeds remained the same. And just the fact that she was there for him, that she asked questions and treated him with such incredible care ... was more than he deserved. And he would be eternally grateful to her for it.

"Nevertheless ..." Tyler bowed his head in a respectful gesture. He looked at the floor. "I will be eternally indebted to you, mi maestra," he said. "You saved me. In more ways than one. Even though I will never be able to prove myself worthy of your grace."

"I hope ..." Wednesday gently touched his chin to draw his gaze to her eyes. He saw the uncertainty etched into the onyx. "I hope you can realize someday that you are worth saving."

Her fingertips gently traced the scars that split his face. The touch was barely perceptible, yet it held everything that remained unspoken.

And when Wednesday's lips touched his, Tyler finally felt loved again after an eternity.

Chapter Text

-----

What others declare a monster,
she sees a soul that needs love twice.

- J. E. Brooken

---

The small grocery store in the center of Jericho was empty at that time, except for the cashier. Wednesday had hardly encountered anyone on her way there either.

The town seemed deserted. Completely lifeless and empty. Not that she'd been to Jericho in the past few months and could therefore judge whether it was more lively at other times. The coffee cart in the Nevermore schoolyard had given her a good excuse not to have to go back to the Weathervane. She wouldn't have been able to. Not with the memories of the last time she'd been in the café. Not when Tyler wasn't behind the counter, a smile on his lips that only reached his eyes when he saw her.

Wednesday grabbed one of the baskets by the entrance and walked through the aisles lined with shelves. The ceiling lights seemed to be on their last legs, flickering and giving the place an unsettling, eerie atmosphere. Like in a horror movie. The only things missing were intestines in pickle jars and a serial killer. Although the latter was sitting in an abandoned house with boarded-up windows.

No, Wednesday corrected herself mentally. Tyler wasn't a serial killer. The word might fit him strictly by definition, but he hadn't done it willingly. If he'd had free will, he never would have done it, and that set him apart from the people commonly referred to as serial killers.

The sudden chill that thickened in the air, too icy to have come from the air conditioning, snapped her out of her thoughts. It was a sign that someone from the afterlife was with her, and Wednesday knew of only one ghost who had been at her side repeatedly over the past few weeks, pestering her with her unsolicited opinions. If she was honest with herself, she had already been wondering when her spirit guide would show up again. Especially since Weems had been strictly against her becoming Tyler's new master. But she had probably just been waiting for a moment when he wasn't with her.

“So you actually did it,” the tall woman said immediately. Wednesday could feel her gaze on her, but didn't look. Instead, she calmly opened the refrigerated display case, took out two bottles of milk, and placed them in her basket.

“You have actually bound this monster to you,” Weems continued, her voice sharp as glass.

The words shouldn't hurt so much. And yet they did. The accusation was harsh, cutting. Weems made it sound as if what Wednesday had done last night was the worst thing imaginable.

Perhaps that was it. In a way.

Wednesday had complete control over Tyler's body and could perceive his feelings as if they were her own. Despite her assurances that they were equals, despite her promise to be there for him and never force him to do anything he didn't want to do, she was above him. Physically, he was superior to her, yet at the same time he was powerless against her if Wednesday decided to rob him of his free will. And there was a danger that she would break her promise to him. Wednesday had been made aware of this by the two situations in which she had come so frighteningly close to giving him orders. Commands he would have been powerless to resist. And Wednesday knew herself too well in this regard to be sure that she wouldn't eventually give orders instead of asking questions. This power was too tempting, and she had never been good at resisting the temptation of control. And this connection gave her ultimate control over another human being.

She was his master. He was her monster. They were bound together.

There was a power imbalance between them that persisted despite all verbal assurances and promises.

But it had been the only way to save Tyler's life. Constantly reminding herself of this fact, Wednesday tried to ease her conscience, knowing full well that they had to find a way to break the connection as quickly as possible without costing Tyler his life. Even if he probably didn't care whether it sealed his fate.

But maybe not.

He had come to her last night, climbing the wall in his badly injured state to reach her balcony. He had sought her company because he had nowhere else to go. Perhaps, then, his instinct for self-preservation hadn't been as severely compromised as previously thought. He was undoubtedly suicidal, but still seemed capable of accepting help when offered. He wasn't resisting it, he wasn't closing himself off to solutions. It seemed as if Tyler had been hoping for rescue all along, even though he believed he deserved neither help nor life. But that, ultimately, was proof enough that he wasn't completely lost. Tyler could accept help, he could hope things would get better ... And there was no better foundation for healing, even if the road ahead would be long and arduous.

But ... it was a start.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought you capable of such self-destructiveness,” Weems sneered, pulling Wednesday from her thoughts. “You must realize that the Galpin boy will turn against you eventually,” she warned again. “Making him emotionally dependent on you won’t be enough.”

Wednesday gritted her teeth at this accusation. This woman would drive her to distraction, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than for her to finally disappear back into the afterlife.

Was Tyler dependent on her? Maybe. But if so, she hadn't contributed to it at all. Tyler had repeatedly sought her company last year, had helped her with her investigations ...

Ultimately, she was also the only person who didn't treat him like dirt or take advantage of him, the only one he truly trusted. His only friend. No wonder he'd been attracted to her.

No wonder she felt attracted to him if he was the only one who accepted her as she was.

That Weems claimed that Wednesday was now acting purely out of calculation when she kissed him, when she was there for him, in order to prevent him from being hostile towards her in the long run ...

It was like a punch in the gut.

Weems' words jolted her out of her thoughts: "He's even turned on his own mother now. And it's a huge responsibility to look after a mentally unstable and therefore all the more dangerous Hyde. He's a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment."

“The bomb analogy was the last thing you said about my feelings,” Wednesday reminded her tonelessly, careful not to reveal any of her own emotions or thoughts. This conversation had begun less than five minutes ago, and already she felt the urge to consign Weems to the deepest recesses of hell. “You seem to be running out of comparisons.”

The fact that the principal accused her of it and made it sound as if she were in danger because of the Master-Hyde bond …

Wednesday's left hand clenched into a fist. Once again, she couldn't help wondering how Weems had come up with such a ludicrous idea when it had always been Tyler who needed help. Who needed rescuing. Who was in distress.

Of course, he had hurt her emotionally and physically, but none of it had really been his fault. Laurel's orders had prevented him from telling her that he was Hyde, which had inevitably amounted to a betrayal on his part that he had never intended. And the injuries were negligible in light of her survival. The fact that he hadn't killed her, even though he himself had believed he wanted her dead, said more about him than the injuries he had inflicted on her while he wasn't even really in control of his body. And Tyler suffered from it much more than she did, which had become all too clear through his feelings of guilt and self-hatred. Wednesday wished she could take some of that burden off him.

“He hasn’t given me that impression so far,” she replied, unmoved by the words of the former principal.

Claws digging into skin until blood oozed between his fingers. A distant gaze, clouded by ice. Broken words and dozens of apologies that were barely audible as they came from his bitten lips. Trembling hands. A quivering body that curled up into a ball, ducking away and making itself small so as not to offer any target for attack. Endless tears that finally found their way out after months of iron-clad emotional coldness. The manifestation of pain that had been hidden for far too long. Because no one had looked. Because no one had wanted to look.

"But I will gladly inform you should that change."

"This is no joke," Weems snarled.

Wednesday placed two pieces of butter in the basket before meeting the gaze of the older woman.

Her expression was devoid of emotion, and her voice colder than the grave in which she had lain the previous night: “Tyler is above all else: deeply traumatized. And it’s truly ironic that you, of all people, should speak of responsibility when you weren’t even capable of fulfilling it. You had a responsibility to those under your protection, and you failed.”

The accusation was razor-sharp and precise. Words could hurt just as much as a bare blade, and Wednesday's attack was spot on.

Weems's expression faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. Her lips formed a thin line. “Tyler Galpin is not a student at Nevermore,” she replied harshly.

But her voice trembled.

Wednesday found it difficult to read between the lines and interpret emotions in facial expressions and gestures, but she had learned to recognize changes in behavior. Therefore, she usually kept her gaze fixed on the person she was speaking to. And now, the tremor in Weems' voice was the change she had hoped for. Because it proved that she cared.

Nevertheless, she said it out loud: "And that is exactly the problem."

She could picture it so clearly: Tyler in his Nevermore uniform, with a single room in one of the dormitories, so he could have a place to retreat to on his own. He could have embraced who he was. An outcast. A Hyde. His ignorance of his mother's fate would not have been his undoing. He would not have lived in a house populated by ghosts and old memories, with a father who was too silent, drank too much, and hit too hard.

The dark-haired girl reached for a packaged, sliced loaf of bread. They needed at least some supplies for the next few days, because Wednesday had no intention of going back to Nevermore. Apart from the police officers, the teaching staff, and a few students, the risk of running into her parents or Pugsley was far too high.

"He is too dangerous!"

Wednesday snorted. "I assume you've been watching us from the other side last night and for the past few hours," she replied. "At the moment, Tyler poses no threat whatsoever, and if he does, it's more to himself than to me."

How easily the razor-sharp claws could burrow into his ribcage ... Tyler's physical strength far exceeded that of a normal human, and it would be all too easy for him to break his own ribs and rip his heart out.

It almost had a morbid beauty about it, something romantic.

If he were to give it to her as a gift.

If he weren't doing it to take his own life ...

She flung the 98% chocolate ganache into the basket more forcefully than necessary before turning back to Weems.

“Tyler has long since reached the point where he …”

She gasped for breath. Wednesday's throat tightened as images automatically flashed before her mind's eye. Images more horrifying than any vision she'd had in the past year.

Tyler, lying in a pool of his own blood, his forearms completely shredded ... How he hanging in a noose with his neck broken ... A bullet hole in his temple ... Poison between his lips ...

There were so many terrifying ways to kill himself. Even just a few days ago, when they had been sworn enemies ... even then she couldn't have borne to see his cold corpse. And certainly not now.

The cold, which became more noticeable as Weems approached her, pulled her from her thoughts.

Wednesday took a deep breath before continuing. “Tyler ...” she paused again, closing her eyes briefly. “The limit of cruelty and violence he can endure has long since been reached and exceeded,” she said quietly after a few seconds, before raising her eyelids again and looking into Weems’ eyes.

His father, Laurel Gates, the incarceration at Willow Hill, his mother … far too much violence. Far too much abuse. Donovan's ignorance, neglect, and mistreatment alone had been too much and had laid the foundation for everything else. Wednesday could only imagine how often Tyler had felt like a burden because the sheriff couldn't even acknowledge his existence.

"And you think you can save him?" Weems sneered. Her gaze was cold, boring mercilessly into hers. "You'll lose your life trying," she prophesied, unmoved.

Wednesday shook her head. "No," she said. "Because unlike Laurel or Francoise, Tyler is important to me." More important than I wanted to admit to myself. More important than I could comprehend.

Even as she spoke the words, Wednesday realized she had made a mistake. She saw it in the way Weems' lips curled into a triumphant grin.

"I am very glad that you are finally able to admit it to yourself," she said.

Wednesday blinked, confused. She had expected mockery, not the gentle smile that now spread across the white-haired woman's face. Weems had tricked her. Provoked her until Wednesday spoke up. A nasty retort immediately welled up on the tip of her tongue, one that would retract, downplay, and ridicule her previous statement, but she held back. It would be pointless. She had already betrayed herself, and any denial would only drag through the mud what she and Tyler shared.

“You’re right,” Weems said, her voice quiet. The dark-haired girl couldn’t quite decipher the look in her eyes. “I’ve been watching you both. And I’ve seen how you’ve overcome your own reservations to be there for him, to support him. That alone is incredibly valuable, considering his situation. You’re helping him.”

Wednesday nodded. "I know." Again, the words Tyler had said to her this morning came back to her.

You just did more for me than anyone before you.

What that statement implied, what it revealed ... It had confirmed Wednesday's worst fears. Tyler had never received the help and attention he needed. He had been left to his own devices, abandoned, all these years. Just a burden to his father, a weapon to Gates, a handler for his mother and uncle. Even she had initially sought contact with him only as a means to an end. Because he knew his way around Jericho, because he had a car, because he had access to internal police information through his father, and because he had proven himself a competent investigative partner.

But even back then ... Wednesday couldn't deny that something about Tyler had fascinated her from the start. Maybe she had somehow sensed that there was a darkness hidden within him, well concealed behind a broad smile and inconspicuous behavior. A darkness that sometimes flashed like a shadow you notice out of the corner of your eye. A darkness that was so similar to her own.

Perhaps it was simply the fact that he was incorruptible. That he stood up to her. That he wasn't intimidated and found her morbidity endearing, not something that made her a freak. That he was so different from his peers in that respect.

“I know I can’t save him,” Wednesday said. “But I can show him that he’s worth saving, and then he’ll save himself. Then he can heal.”

That was the hope she desperately clung to.

“Wednesday ...”

When she looked into Weems' eyes, she noticed the worried expression in her gaze. "Tyler needs professional psychological help. He needs to go to a safe place where he can recover from his injuries and trauma. What you two are planning to do, looking for Enid ... As much as I understand that you want to find your best friend ... I don't think it's a good idea for Tyler to accompany you."

Wednesday's shoulders slumped. She could understand Weems' concerns all too well. The last few hours, in particular, had shown just how worrying Tyler's condition was. He was still very far from being healthy.

“I agree with you,” Wednesday said. “But I think it would be even worse if he were separated from me now. Besides, it’s questionable whether there are therapists, psychologists, and doctors willing to treat Tyler without depriving him of all his human rights.”

In Willow Hill, they had treated him anything but gently. Electric shocks to prevent him from transforming. A windowless, bare cell. Chains on the walls that ended in shackles around his wrists. No shirt. Wednesday shuddered as she thought about how exposed and vulnerable Tyler must have felt all that time. How exposed and vulnerable he had been.

"Wednesday."

The dark-haired girl looked back at Weems. A slight smile played on her lips. "I admire your determination, your assertiveness. Sometimes I think …" she sighed. "In hindsight … there are many things I regret. And not keeping an eye on that boy is probably one of the things I wish I could undo. Francoise and I were best friends in school, and I should have … I should have stood up for her. And I should have kept an eye on Tyler, after all, I knew what he could become."

“You would have,” Wednesday confirmed. “Even though it’s unfortunately far too late, it’s good that you now think differently about it. The Hydes may be dangerous, but it’s even more dangerous to exclude and ostracize them.”

Weems just nodded.

Wednesday continued walking through the corridors, gathering the remaining ingredients and food, while the deceased principal followed her like a shadow.

--

A quarter of an hour later, when she stepped onto the street with two bags over her shoulders, she hesitated for only a few seconds before heading towards the bookshop on the opposite side.

"What do you want here?" asked Weems as the girl opened the door of the store.

Wednesday glanced quickly sideways at Weems before lowering her voice to a whisper so the man behind the counter wouldn't hear her. "You said Tyler needs professional help," she replied, heading towards the medical textbook section. The selection wasn't as extensive as she'd hoped. "I can't arrange for him to get treatment, but I can at least learn about it. Of course, it's no substitute for therapy or psychological treatment, but it's better than nothing, given the circumstances."

“Here’s one,” Weems said, pointing to a book that was so far back it was almost invisible among the others. Wednesday pulled it out. “Strategies for Coping with Trauma” was the title. She took it.

As Wednesday left the shop and made her way back to the Galpin house, she could hardly deny her inner restlessness to herself.

Nearly an hour had passed since she had left Tyler alone, and she was afraid of what she might find when she returned.

Chapter Text

-----

both beautiful and terrible

you are a thing
both beautiful
and terrible,
and you deserve
someone
who treats you
like the moon
and can love
the dark side
of your soul too

- Nikita Gill

---

Wednesday silently opened the front door with her lock picks and listened for any sounds. It was completely silent.

Too silent?

She noticed her pulse quickening as she stared at the closed kitchen door.

There was no smell of iron in the air. And if there was, it was so faint that she couldn't smell it.

Tyler might have left again. Perhaps he'd realized how damaging the power imbalance had become between them and fled. Or he'd hurt himself again. Or he'd killed himself. Wednesday ruled out all three possibilities. She would have sensed if he'd harmed himself or if he was dead, and she knew instinctively that he was in this house.

But for some reason ... that didn't make it any easier to open the kitchen door and face him.

Slowly, she realized how much the events of the last few hours were weighing on her, tugging at her. Especially mentally, because she could sense Tyler's feelings. Because the constant stress and worry about him were exhausting her. Because it was so difficult to deal with all the trauma and to be reminded again and again of how many mistakes she had made with regard to Tyler.

She should have been much more attentive. She should have at least once brought herself to ask him how he was doing, instead of always focusing only on herself and her goals. Tyler had broken down more and more before her eyes last year, and there had been so many signs. From the hopelessness in his eyes and voice when he said he wished he could escape Jericho with her. The fatigue that had become more and more etched into his features over time. How gaunt and pale he had looked over the weeks and months, just enough that it wasn't immediately noticeable. The panic that had flashed in his eyes for a tiny moment when they had encountered Thornhill at the Rave’N. The loneliness she had sometimes noticed. How, purely instinctively, he always stepped in front of her whenever his father confronted her, as if he wanted to shield her from the man he knew all too well was capable of. The resignation in his voice whenever he spoke of his father. His stooped posture, as if a heavy burden rested on his narrow shoulders.

And she hadn't noticed it, she had simply overlooked it.

Wednesday knew she probably couldn't have changed anything. That she wouldn't have noticed. Tyler was too good an actor for that. He'd hidden his pain too well. Ultimately, all the clues had just been clues. Things that, at the time, had other explanations. Verbal arguments with his father, stress at school and at Weathervane ... Only when she found out he was Hyde, and only when she realized how far Laurel Gates had gone, did she find an answer to it all. The fragments that the clues represented had come together to form a picture, and everything had made sense.

And ultimately… he had always been happy in her presence, therefore she had not been able to notice what was really going on inside him.

Tyler wouldn't want her to blame herself for it. Nevertheless, Wednesday did. Maybe she couldn't help herself.

It was incredibly exhausting to be confronted with the horror. With the fragments of a soul that had endured far too much. She had always found it difficult to approach other people and be there for them. And of course, the leaden exhaustion in her bones wouldn't stop her from staying by his side. At that moment, Wednesday allowed herself only a few seconds to catch her breath.

The girl took off her coat and shoes before carrying the bags of food into the kitchen to put most of it in the refrigerator. She left the rest in the bags for the time being.

Her gaze flickered to the slumped figure, who didn't seem to have noticed her arrival at all.

Tyler sat on the floor in front of the television. The switched-on device bathed his face in a bluish light, making his skin appear even paler and sicker than it already was.

Wednesday cautiously approached him and knelt beside him. She looked at him anxiously. His eyes were red, so he had been crying again. And when she turned her head toward the television, she knew why.

Video footage flickered across the screen. There was no sound, and the resolution was grainy. From the latter, she deduced that it was quite old. She'd seen enough pictures of Tyler as a child to recognize him in the footage. It was confirmed when younger versions of Francoise and Donovan appeared on screen. They seemed like a family. They were a family. The pain hadn't yet caught up with them, and Wednesday couldn't help wondering if those had been the only good years of Tyler's life. Probably.

Back then there was no father who was hardly there for him, no mother who had disappeared without a trace and been declared dead.

“I can barely remember that time,” Tyler said quietly at one point. “It’s as if it was never real, as if it never existed.”

"It existed, Tyler."

She briefly scanned the room. No open cupboards or boxes, nothing was out of order. Apparently, he hadn't actively searched for the recordings. More likely, Tyler had simply turned on the television.

"And your father ... He watched these recordings before he died."

Tyler nodded absently, his gaze fixed on the screen the entire time. She could feel his grief seeping through the bond. The melancholy. The longing for a time long gone. In that moment, as he watched the recordings, filled with sorrow, proving that there had been a time when everything had been alright, his features softened more than ever. As if a shadow had been lifted from him, if only for a few moments. He mourned the life he could have had. The life he deserved. In comparison, what had become of this family was all the more tragic.

Time passed as Wednesday and Tyler sat silently side by side watching the recordings. For a moment, she saw Weems' tall figure out of the corner of her eye. She was also looking at the screen, her posture tense. Then their eyes met, and Wednesday could see a silent apology in the woman's eyes. A plea for forgiveness that she now had to repair the damage that Weems was not responsible for, but could have prevented or at least mitigated.

Wednesday nodded, accepting the apology as wordlessly as she had received it.

All the adults had looked away or deliberately brought about the nightmare that had befallen Tyler. But Wednesday ... she would try to mend the cracks in his soul. She would be by his side and stay there.

As his master, albeit not forever.

But above all, as a friend.

"I am going to die."

The words were barely more than a whisper and abruptly pulled Wednesday from her thoughts.

A shiver ran down her spine. "We all will, Tyler. Death is the only thing that's inevitable," she replied harshly, holding back the tremor in her voice. Trying to ignore the nausea she felt. Was this it? Was this the moment he told her he saw no future for himself? That only death offered release?

“That’s not what I meant, Wednesday,” he replied quietly. “Mum told me that every transformation brings me closer to death. She only lived as long as she did because they gave her drugs at Willow Hill to suppress her Hyde.” Tyler swallowed, still not looking at her. “I’m going to die in a few years whether I have a master or not,” he murmured. “It’s probably only fair.”

Wednesday wanted to deny his last words, but decided against it. That was a discussion for another time. Right now, she had to come to terms with what he had just revealed to her. It shook her to her core. Had it all been for nothing? Were all the Hydes doomed, or was it just Tyler? The very Hyde she had given her heart to ...

"How many times have you transformed?" Wednesday asked, quickly going through all the facts she had. Francoise had been in her early forties, and Tyler was sixteen now. Probably. Since her birthday was October 13th, she had turned seventeen a month ago, but Wednesday didn't know if he was older or younger than her.

“I don’t know exactly,” he replied. “In the beginning ... I think I transformed more often. But I often wasn’t consciously aware of it because he still had his own personality back then. Sort of, at least.”

"Last year, Hyde killed six people. Plus the attack on Eugene, your transformation at the Blood Moon, in the church, and the fight yesterday, and your shapeshifting in Willow Hill when your father visited and when you escaped. That's a total of twelve transformations."

“There are at least fifteen,” Tyler replied. “I killed that one guy who was after me. Then the first time I transformed in the cave. And I also changed skins when Laurel visited me in Willow Hill.”

"She did what??" Wednesday couldn't hide the horror in her voice. How stupid were these doctors to allow Tyler to be confronted by the person who had done all this to him? Dr. Fairburn had probably ordered it. Even if she hadn't known about the sexual assaults ... The fact that Gates had manipulated and groomed him should be obvious from the mere knowledge of how to unlock a Hyde. No one voluntarily allowed themselves to be injected with chemicals or hypnotized. Everything else could be deduced from considering how much trauma was necessary and that no Hyde who had a master possessed free will. And the marks of violence on Tyler's back were proof enough of the torture.

"She was suddenly standing there, on the other side of the bars," Tyler's voice was barely audible. Trembled. He nervously tugged at the bandages. His shoulders shook with tension.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Wednesday said hastily. “I can imagine how disturbing it must have been.”

Tyler, half-naked and chained, stood facing his abuser and tormentor, the person against whom he had been powerless for over a year. To whom he had been completely at her mercy, in every imaginable way. The mere thought of it made her nauseous.

How could Fairburn have expected Tyler not to transform in such a situation?

She had let Laurel visit him without asking Tyler's permission, without even preparing him mentally or emotionally for it. Why all this? Given how he had been treated at Willow Hill, it was unthinkable to get him to work on himself. How could he, when they locked him up like an animal in a cage and inflicted pain on him?

Only the ice, flowing coldly through the connection, brought Wednesday back to the present. She looked at Tyler. He had frozen his mind again, probably to avoid being overwhelmed by the memories and the panic.

“So you’ve transformed at least fifteen times,” Wednesday said. “Probably more often. But ultimately, that doesn’t tell us how much longer you’ll live. For that, we’d need more information about other Hydes. And the only two I know of are Olga Malacova, a concert pianist Uncle Fester met while he was in the Zurich mental asylum, and Alfie Penn, an artist who murdered his master and was killed by a SWAT team shortly afterward. He was the boyfriend of my music teacher, Isadora Capri,” Wednesday explained. “Both Malacova and Penn were adults, but we don’t know how old they were when their Hyde gene was activated. Your mother was probably about the same age as you, but she wasn’t ordered to kill people in her Hyde form, so we can assume she transformed far less often. But with you ...” Wednesday sighed, lowering her gaze. Everything pointed to Tyler not having much time left. "You were only fifteen, and you transformed over a dozen times."

“This doesn’t look good for me,” he said, putting into words what she was unable to accept.

Why did she have to lose him? Why did fate keep tearing them apart? Tyler had already been forced to act against her twice because both people who controlled him wanted her or her family dead. Even though it was Isaac who had sought revenge, Francoise hadn't stopped her brother. Probably because she blamed Gomez and Morticia for Isaac's death.

And now ... now she was his master, had entered into a connection with him to prevent his death. Only to learn that it was all for nothing. That Tyler didn't have enough time left to truly live anyway. Probably not even to recover from the trauma, to truly heal.

How unbearably cruel ...

“This isn’t fair,” she said tonelessly, unable to put her feelings into words. Tyler had suffered so much, his entire life. She had wasted too much time hating and demonizing him. They had wasted too much time hurting each other physically, verbally, and emotionally. And just now, when things seemed to be slowly looking up, when all was far from well and there was still much work ahead, but the silver lining of hope was visible on the horizon ... And it was all to be for nothing. Perhaps not entirely, because Wednesday was certain that with Tyler’s help she would find Enid, and they could spend the rest of his remaining time together ... But still, the end of their journey together came far too soon, much sooner than anyone had expected.

And her faint hope of spending the rest of her life with Tyler collapsed before her eyes.

She would have to bury him.

"Wednesday ...?"

Only the panic in Tyler's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked at him, saw the shock reflected in his eyes. The ice had long since vanished from his mind; instead, she perceived disbelief and helplessness through their connection.

And only then did Wednesday feel the tears on her cheeks.

She raised her hand and ran it over her face. Stared emotionlessly at the silvery wetness on her fingertips.

She exhaled shakily, met Tyler's gaze again, and revealed what she had never wanted to say aloud.

"I can't lose you ..."

Wednesday wanted to take back what she'd said instantly. Wanted to disappear. Wanted to become invisible. She felt more vulnerable than ever before. Precarious. Tyler would only have to say a few precise words, and she would shatter. He wouldn't even have to speak, just laugh. Just turn away from her, disgusted by her weakness. By the tears on her cheeks.

He did nothing of the sort.

Instead … there was a comforting warmth that flowed through the connection like a rushing torrent. A warmth that enveloped her like a blanket. In which she mentally retreated.

Tyler didn't seek her company, didn't touch her, didn't speak to her, didn't even look directly at her. And yet, at the same time, he gave her a sense of security she hadn't known existed.

They sat side by side for endless minutes, and this time it was Wednesday who cried. And with every passing second, the shame and self-loathing she felt because of her weakness faded away. On the contrary ... she even understood a little bit why Tyler had cried so often in the last few hours. In a way ... the tears were healing. They didn't change anything, and yet she felt as if they allowed her to let go a little. As if the tears washed away what would otherwise have kept her preoccupied. As if this expression of grief for the future she couldn't share with Tyler, for the suffering that had befallen him and would remain unavenged, for his injuries that would never have time to heal completely because he had too little time ... as if it would help her accept this truth. At least a little bit. At least in this moment.

Wednesday vowed to find a solution. First they would save Enid, and then she would save Tyler. She couldn't let it end like this. Not after everything that had happened.

"I'm here."

Tyler's voice was quiet, barely audible. But the reassurance was ... warm. Infinitely comforting. And at the same time full of melancholy, because one day he wouldn't be there anymore. Because it wasn't forever.

But now, in this moment ... it was enough. Enough that Wednesday closed the distance to him and fled into his arms. Enough that she buried her face in the crook of his neck and pressed herself against him as if he were the only thing that still existed. Enough that she breathed in his scent and vowed never to forget him. Enough that she listened to his rapid heartbeat and desperately wished to fall asleep and wake up to that sound.

Whether she admitted it to herself or not, she had fallen in love with Tyler Galpin. No, not just that, she reluctantly realized, she loved him. Completely. The man and the monster. Both sides of him, because both sides belonged to him and because he wouldn't be whole without the other.

Wednesday had never hated this world more than at that moment. This world that had broken him, this world that would take him from her. Not now. Not soon. But someday, and far too soon.

Tyler was completely still as he held her. His arms were securely around her torso, his hands resting motionless on her back. He didn't move, didn't speak. He was simply there, like a rock in the surf, a shadow that never left. And Wednesday had never felt more safe and secure than in his arms. She could feel the cold of his skin even through the layers of their clothing, and although the lack of body heat worried Wednesday, the familiar icy sensation was incredibly comforting.

Eventually her tears stopped, but she didn't break free from him. She couldn't.

Wednesday closed her eyes and saw the future she had always wanted. With him by her side. Until now ... she had hardly given a thought to the coming years and decades. Not to what her life would be like after graduating from school, what she wanted to achieve, apart from finishing and publishing her novel. But now ...

"I want a future with you," her words were barely more than a whisper, quiet. Tyler didn't reply, didn't move.

A shiver ran through her body, and in that moment Wednesday was grateful that he couldn't perceive her feelings. Otherwise, he would sense her insecurity. The fear of having made herself too vulnerable.

Why didn't he react? Didn't he feel the same way? Had what he felt for her last year ultimately been just a brief phase of infatuation that had finally vanished after she tortured him? Perhaps Tyler hadn't even interpreted her words the way she meant them ...

Wednesday mustered all her courage and spoke the words she never thought she would say.

"I love you."

His body instantly tensed up.

"You don't know what you're saying," Tyler murmured quietly. "I'm a monster, a murderer, a wreck. Nobody anyone can love. Nobody who deserves to be loved."

“Do you really think I say something like that lightly, Tyler?” Wednesday replied calmly. After all ... of course he believed that he was not worthy of love. How could he believe otherwise when, instead of unconditional love, he had experienced nothing but violence? And his Hyde had so often been the justification for it, even if Tyler hadn’t known it at first, of course. Wednesday was sure his parents had loved him in their own way, but neither Francoise nor Donovan had been able to show it. Hadn’t been able to act like responsible parents toward him, though Wednesday blamed Francoise less than the sheriff for that. His mother had been held captive for over a decade while experiments were performed on her; naturally, she’d been too traumatized afterward to act properly toward her son.

"I understand you can't believe me, and I don't expect you to reciprocate. I just want you to know. You've touched my heart in a way that I still don't know if it will kill me. You are my best possible downfall."

Wednesday felt Tyler bury his face in the back of her neck. Felt the slight tremor that ran through his body. He didn't respond to her words, seemingly unable to speak at that moment.

Then she felt it through the connection. So much love and affection that it made her shudder.

Xavier had had an unrealistic idea of her, based on the girl he had met years ago. Enid often reproached her for her fascination with all things macabre and found it difficult to cope with her dark tendencies. Her mother hadn't even realized that Enid and she had swapped bodies. It had reinforced Wednesday's belief that she was unlovable. That there was no one who could truly accept and understand her. That even in her own family, she was too different. Too dark. Until she met Tyler, and he proved her wrong, only for her to wonder, after his betrayal, if any of it had ever been real. Actually ... last night, his explanations had convinced her that he had never pretended anything. Especially not when it came to his feelings for her. The affection he felt for her.

But that ... that was nothing compared to the love she felt now.

Wednesday crossed boundaries, was ruthless and arrogant, always knew better, and was incapable of backing down, even when she was fighting a losing battle. He had seen and felt her worst sides more than once.

And despite everything ... he loved her.

Chapter Text

-----

"Does it hurt?"
"I will survive."
"Not what I asked."

---

Tyler didn't know how much time had passed before they stood in the kitchen, preparing the cake batter in comfortable silence. His movements were intuitive, while Wednesday had memorized the recipe so precisely that they didn't get in each other's way. They coordinated almost automatically, and it seemed as if it had always been this way.

He used to hate the silence. It reminded him of being alone in the house when his father stayed late at the police station again, using work as an excuse to avoid him. Tyler's thoughts seemed to grow louder the quieter it became around him. Now, however, he could appreciate the silence more. His senses had become increasingly acute since the Hyde's unlocking, and his sense of smell and hearing, in particular, had become so heightened that they sometimes overwhelmed him. He sometimes used the ice to reduce his perception.

But now ... the silence felt soothing. Like a promise of peace. Of a stillness that would finally let him breathe.

Wednesday spread the batter evenly in the baking pan before opening the preheated oven to slide it in. While she set the timer, Tyler began putting away the ingredients and cleaning the work surface.

"The medication they gave you in Willow Hill ... Are you addicted to it?" Wednesday eventually broke the silence as she straightened up and turned to him.

Tyler shook his head. “I don’t think so. They didn’t give me a high or anything like that. It wasn’t a pain reliever either. It just made me numb, unable to feel my body, and barely aware of what was happening around me. They never told me what they were even giving me,” he said as he walked to the sink and rinsed the rag. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought back on it. Sometimes he had tried to fight back, which had only resulted in them giving him electric shocks until he lay trembling and motionless on the floor, barely conscious.

Tyler felt Wednesday's calm and focused gaze on him as she studied him, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "The injuries from the ... torture," she briefly looked away, her hands clenching into fists. "Were they treated?"

He shook his head again. "My regeneration when it comes to wounds seems to be... higher than that of a normal human person. But maybe that only applies to life-threatening injuries. Otherwise, I would have died." Perhaps it would have been better, he thought to himself, but he didn't voice the thought.

"Do the current injuries hurt?" she asked. "They were pretty bad, after all ..." And if Wednesday said so, it must be true. He himself found it difficult to assess the severity of the injuries, and not just because of his high pain tolerance. Tyler had been injured so often in the last two years that it hardly made a difference anymore. Especially since he couldn't even bring himself to look at them to evaluate the damage to his body.

“No. Maybe a little, but nothing I won’t survive,” he said quietly, not daring to look at Wednesday. Tyler leaned against the work surface, crossed his arms protectively over his chest, and looked down.

She would remind him that it wasn't meaningless. She would insist that while the level of pain he had already endured was significantly greater than the current pain, it didn't make the present pain invisible. No less real. No less terrible.

From a purely rational perspective ... Tyler knew she was right. And yet, relativizing the pain had been the only strategy he'd used to endure it at all. By convincing himself that this pain was meaningless because it was less severe. Because it didn't make him faint, because he could still move, because he didn't believe he was going to die at any moment.

Tyler felt her gaze on him.

"You've had to survive enough already," she said, expressing what he had expected.

“You’re forgetting one crucial thing, Wednesday,” he replied calmly, still avoiding eye contact. “If she hadn’t forbidden it, I’d be six feet under by now.”

"Then why aren't you doing it now?"

Tyler finally looked up and stared at her in disbelief.

“What?!”

“There’s no order stopping you from committing suicide anymore, is there?” Wednesday replied as if it were perfectly obvious. There was no tremor in her voice. Her tongue didn’t stumble over the words. No pause, no hesitation. No blinking. Her face was devoid of any emotion, and if Wednesday hadn't been lying in his arms crying an hour earlier, he would have taken her words as an open challenge. As encouragement to take his own life. As indication that she wanted him dead.

Tyler suspected that she was more interested in finding out what was stopping him now, since he had already confirmed to her that he was suicidal.

“You said it yourself, Wednesday,” his voice was barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to live anymore. Not like this, anyway. And yet ...” he sighed. Ran his hand through his greasy hair. He desperately needed to wash it, even though Tyler hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it. But right now ... it didn’t matter.

“You give me hope,” he admitted quietly, as he was overcome by the vague feeling that he had made himself even more vulnerable than he already was. But ... he wanted to talk about it. Right now, he especially felt like he actually could talk about it. And Wednesday deserved the truth anyway.

“You already did this last year. When you were investigating the monster attacks, you weren’t even the least bit intimidated or frightened ... it made me hope that if you found out I was the Hyde, you might accept me. You had Faulkner’s book, which said that a Hyde under the control of a master has no free will. Even though I ...” Tyler trailed off, shaking his head. “I was such an idiot and so presumptuous ... how could I hope, let alone expect, that you would see the Hyde as anything other than what he is? That you could see me as someone other than who I am? A threat, a murderer, a monster ...” His voice grew more intense with each word, his hands trembling again. He was so angry. At himself. How could he have expected her to save him? She wasn’t responsible for him. He didn’t even deserve it ...

Wednesday took a step closer to him. “It wasn’t presumptuous. It was simply the last glimmer of hope you had in a hopeless situation. It was a cry for help. Besides, you’re right ... I should have noticed, I would have noticed, if your betrayal hadn’t cut me so deep. If I had acted logically and rationally, I would have seen through it. I would have remembered Faulkner’s words, recalled that even Uncle Fester believed the real threat came from those who unleash a Hyde and make him their slave,” she said. “Even though I was absolutely convinced at the time that Kinbott was your master ... I acted too hastily. And above all, I let myself be guided by emotions, more precisely by hatred. By anger. By all-consuming vindictiveness. The moment I realized you were the Hyde, you broke my heart, and the only thing I could think about was revenge ...” A soft sigh escaped her lips. “And even six months later ... I didn’t realize you couldn’t be held responsible for any of it until I read in black and white in Laurel’s notes that she had taken away your free will.”

Tyler didn't dare move, could only stare at the girl in front of him. Her words were everything he had ever dreamed of hearing. And yet ... it couldn't be true. He bore the responsibility for his actions; it had been his claws ... His hands were soaked in blood, and he was guilty ... There was not the slightest doubt about it. Not for him. He deserved no forgiveness. No redemption. No acquittal.

And at the same time, Tyler knew that Wednesday was right.

Her commands, which had bound him like chains. Her words, which gagged him. Her will, which sat like a creature on his neck and rested on his shoulders like an invisible burden, impossible to ignore, impossible to circumvent. All of this had been real and had prevented him from letting her taste her own destructive medicine during his first transformation. Had prevented him from killing her immediately and preventing further suffering.

The contradictory nature of his own thoughts, perceptions, and feelings tore him apart inside.

Tyler rubbed the bridge of his nose. He hated this inner conflict so much. This spiral of thoughts he couldn't escape, caught between guilt and the knowledge that he hadn't had free will ...

But it didn't undo his actions. It didn't lessen the horror. It didn't bring the dead back to life. Even his unintentional betrayal ... he had wounded Wednesday so deeply that her feelings had triumphed over her analytical mind. That she had allowed herself to be guided by emotions she so often tried to keep out of it to prevent rash actions and impulsiveness.

The boy straightened his shoulders and glanced briefly at Wednesday. The dark-haired girl was still standing beside him, looking at him as if she could now perceive not only his feelings but also his thoughts. He didn't deserve to have Wednesday looking at him now with that soft expression in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what he was struggling with.

“I even had ...” he began, trying to change the subject, “the naive hope that if you kissed me, it would break my curse.” Tyler made a vague hand gesture, “true love and all that ...”

At that very moment, he regretted his words. His cheeks flushed with shame. What must she think of him now? He used to watch "Beauty and the Beast" a lot; he'd loved the film. His mother had always watched it with him and read him other fairy tales at night. Tyler strongly suspected that Wednesday had grown up with different stories, that she probably even loathed Disney's romanticized and, in retrospect, sometimes problematic animated films. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," with its dark atmosphere, would probably appeal to her the most.

Tyler blinked in surprise when Wednesday smiled. It was just a twitch of the right corner of her mouth. It lasted less than a second.

And yet ... she had smiled. There was no mockery. No spiteful words. Only that smile and a wistful, regretful look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand. That I closed my eyes to the truth for so long,” she said again. “Even your father understood it sooner than I did.”

"My father?"

Wednesday nodded. “I met him in the woods shortly after Bradbury’s murder. He said that Laurel had turned you into a monster and that you bore no guilt for the crimes, and I replied ...” She paused briefly, keeping her eyes closed a moment too long. As if she needed to brace herself. As if, looking back, she was so ashamed of it that she hardly dared to speak. “I replied that you had always been a monster ...”

Her shoulders slumped slightly and she relaxed her rigid posture as she met his gaze. "I'd been so angry. I'd cursed you to avoid admitting that, for some reason, I did care about your fate, that you still mattered to me. To avoid confronting the fact that I'd made so many mistakes regarding you ..."

“Wednesday ...” His voice was gentle. “If you don’t blame me for the murders, then please ... stop blaming yourself for things you had no control over. You couldn’t have known what I was going through because I did everything I could to hide how badly I was hurting. As much as I hoped, it was foolish to think you would have acted any differently once you knew I was Hyde. Your feelings toward me were completely understandable and all too human. Your anger, your hatred, your desire for revenge ... That you felt betrayed ... I betrayed you, regardless of whether it was my intention or not. The result remains the same. The pain I caused you remains the same. If you had acted differently, if you wouldn’t have kidnapped and tortured me ...” Tyler shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Well, then you wouldn't be Wednesday Addams."

"It was still unnecessary. I can hardly imagine how re-traumatizing the situation must have been for you … Just the fear in your eyes … that fear was real. So raw and desperate … And I simply ignored it ..." The tormented expression in her eyes shattered the onyx. It revealed the pain that lay in the deep blackness, pain she usually concealed so skillfully.

Wednesday looked at him. "But thank you ..." she murmured. "For understanding. For not judging me." She sighed. "It probably only speaks to the complexity of our situation that our actions, whether understandable or unintentional, have led to pain that, despite everything, remains all too real. And that all of this ... can exist simultaneously. Our feelings about it, the pain, and the circumstances that led to it, or rather, significantly influenced it."

Tyler nodded silently. Suddenly ... he felt years older. Tiredly, he ran a hand over his face, blinking too quickly. Keeping his eyelids closed for a moment too long.

This conversation had been incredibly important ... probably the best he'd had in a long time. That Wednesday had been so understanding ... as little as he could comprehend on an emotional level, how she was able to forgive him and be so gentle with him ... He was grateful for that.

So incredibly grateful.

Chapter Text

-----

You were a child.
You should never have had to fight
the way you did.

I know you had to be strong.
But you deserved to be soft.

---

Dim light filtered into the kitchen, for despite the sun already being at its zenith, the thick cloud cover allowed hardly any light to penetrate. The atmosphere felt gloomy, yet simultaneously... comforting. Safe. Safe enough that the dark-haired girl dared to voice the realization that had come to her that very morning.

“We have to ...” Wednesday hesitated, glancing at Tyler. He looked at her, his fingers nervously tracing the fabric of the bandages. Perhaps he sensed what she was going to say. Or perhaps he perceived her own uncertainty so acutely that it rubbed off on him.

Sometimes it was almost uncanny how much Tyler noticed. How much he registered that so often remained hidden from other people. And that it seemed so easy for him with her, while most didn't even notice her feelings. Or believe she had feelings. Tyler had always managed to see right through her, but instead of feeling exposed, Wednesday, for some reason, had felt above all ... understood.

And once again, she noticed other things that she had come to appreciate so much about him. The calmness he radiated. The fact that Tyler had always supported her, even in dangerous endeavors, instead of trying to talk her out of them. That he could both remain silent and listen with such ease that the black-haired girl sometimes noticed with unease how much he gave. It manifested itself in the fact that he always remained in the background, that he rarely spoke about himself on his own initiative. As if he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible, to take up as little space as possible. It might seem inconspicuous. Nothing you noticed right away. But Tyler ... he gave so much of himself and took so little in return ... probably it had even gotten worse by now. Because he believed he didn't deserve it. Because he believed that his actions as Hyde robbed him of any right to a dignified life.

But it was the way he looked at her most of all. Wednesday had noticed it a year ago at the Rave’N, when he'd told her how beautiful she looked ... and the expression in his eyes had been the same one he'd always had looking at her. The same one he was looking at her with now. And just like back then, that look made her pulse race.

She broke eye contact for a moment and regained her composure. It was unacceptable how much she allowed him to throw her off balance.

“We need to sever the mental connection between us as quickly as possible,” she finally continued. “While perceiving your feelings helps me understand you better ... I have far too much power over you. I am your master, and this power imbalance between us would be extremely damaging in the long run.”

"And what do you want to do?"

The question was completely neutral. So was his voice. But there was something there ... An echo, brief but poignant, quickly swallowed by ice.

Wednesday looked up and glanced at Tyler again. He couldn't quite hide the look in his eyes, and it made her heart clench. There was so much vulnerability there. And an indescribable fear of being abandoned again. And then ... his expression went blank once more, and the ice in his mind hardened his features.

“I won’t abandon you, I swear,” she stated immediately. “And it won’t happen anytime soon anyway, because first we need to find a way for you to survive without a master. But ...” A sigh escaped her lips. Wednesday realized she needed to reveal more to explain herself. Because she wanted him to understand.

“I can’t control my visions. They appear without warning, are unreliable, and force me into a state of complete vulnerability. That’s why I want to control everything else in my life, and that I am your master ...” she paused briefly to collect herself. “I didn’t consider this aspect yesterday and during my first attempt because my only concern was saving your life, but now ... the control I have over you is too great.”

The dark-haired girl hesitated again. Why hadn't she realized it the first time? After all, Weems had even confronted her about it, had said that she wanted to control everything else. But ... she had dismissed it. Repressed it. Hadn't been willing to deal with it in that moment.

"And I've come to realize that despite my promises, I can't guarantee that I won't abuse this power at some point. Even if it were for your protection ... any order is unforgivable if it takes away your free will."

“I know what you mean,” Tyler said. “And ... even though this feels so much safer and better with you than with Laurel or my mother ...” he shrugged. “Even if I weren’t the one who would suffer in case of doubt ... I don’t want to burden you. You already do so much for me ...”

“Because I want to,” Wednesday replied emphatically. Of course, the thought had crossed his mind that it was his fault. And it was no more surprising than the pain it caused her. “And you’re not a burden. Not to me.” It would take as long as it took for Tyler to realize that fact. But she would remind him of it for as long and as often as necessary.

“Even though I can’t deny it ...” she faltered again. Hesitated to continue. Hesitated to reveal weakness. But they had to be honest with each other; only then could any of this work. And Tyler had never used her weaknesses against her. Maybe that was why she had always felt so ... safe with him.

"The last few hours have been very exhausting," Wednesday continued. "It takes a lot of mental and emotional toll on me to be able to offer you the support you need. But that doesn't mean you're a burden or that you're in any way ... too much. It's just harder for me than for others to be empathetic."

"So far, you're doing pretty well," Tyler said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a gentle smile that vanished too quickly. "But if it gets to be too much for you ... you don't have to stay with me all the time. I've managed on my own for the past few years, so it won't make any difference if it continues like this. Even though I don't understand why ... the fact that you love me is enough."

“But wasn’t that the mistake?” Wednesday replied cautiously. “Your parents loved you too, and you knew it. But they couldn’t show it. And that’s why you can’t believe I love you now. Because knowing alone isn’t always enough. Because words must be followed by actions.”

“I was never quite sure if they loved me,” Tyler objected quietly. “I thought my dad hated me because I reminded him of mum. Until ...” he paused, “until Isaac said that their father’s abuse led to her Hyde’s awakening, I thought it was my fault ... Because ... because of her medical records. Because it said that her postpartum depression caused her Hyde to manifest and ... and she only had the depression because she gave birth to me ... And that dad blames me for her condition and her death ...”

“Even if postpartum depression caused her condition ... it's not your fault. After all, you didn't ask to be born,” Wednesday replied objectively.

The ice melted for a few moments, and Wednesday sensed Tyler's unease, felt how agitated he was. His hands had clenched into fists, and now he was biting his lower lip again. He blinked too quickly. And then the ice returned, numbing his expression and silencing the emotions.

It was fascinating to observe the change. And in a way that's hard to describe, simultaneously ... disturbing.

“They loved you,” Wednesday affirmed. “Donovan started investigating Willow Hill because he was afraid you would also be selected for the LOIS program. And even though it wasn’t right, your mother didn’t want the Hyde to be your death sentence. She wanted you to have the life she had always dreamed of and was willing to sacrifice herself for it.”

Tyler's shoulders slumped as he walked to the table and sank into one of the chairs. "I know," he said tonelessly. "And I don't blame them for it. Least of all mum. It was just ... cruel that she betrayed me. I understand why she did it, but ... it doesn't lessen the pain. The wound it left."

“And that’s okay,” Wednesday replied gently. She slumped into the chair next to him, but turned it so she could see Tyler. He was sitting hunched over, his forearms on his knees, his head bowed.

They fell silent, and the silence became heavy and comforting at the same time. It stretched on, holding all the words that remained unspoken.

The ice was melting slowly but steadily, and Wednesday sensed the weariness of the person opposite her. It was dark and oppressive, seeming to pull his body towards the ground, like a weight hanging from his feet—leaden and heavy as bone.

"I can feel your exhaustion," she said, pulling him from his thoughts. "Do you want to lie down?"

Tyler nodded weakly without looking at her. Nevertheless, she saw the veil over the green of his eyes. The ice that still hung there and would probably never disappear from his gaze. It kept receding. At first, she had only noticed it when he froze more intensely, but now... Wednesday realized that he never managed to let it melt completely. He froze constantly and continuously, even if the level at which he did so varied from situation to situation. How cruel that Tyler would probably never be able to do without it. That he would always need it to endure.

And even if he was not in immediate danger, the memories were the ghosts and demons that would haunt him forever, making the freezing of his consciousness a survival strategy.

“But ...” he hesitated. “I can’t. The nightmares ... I’ve always tried to stay awake as long as possible,” Tyler confessed. “I was afraid of going to sleep, and even when my body gave me clear signals that it needed rest, I put it off as long as possible every time.”

"How?" Wednesday asked. She knew about potions. Sometimes her mother brewed tonics that kept sleep at bay for a while, allowing one to work longer. But Morticia had always impressed upon her and Pugsley that they could never replace real sleep, even if it felt like it. The energy the potion gave was merely a weak imitation of the real energy that came only from regular meals and sleep. Even so, Wednesday had secretly taken the potion a few times to help her write longer when she was in a creative flow.

He shrugged. "Mostly caffeine. And energy drinks. I'd watch movies and TV shows to keep me awake, or listen to way too loud music through my headphones," Tyler sighed. "Often I could only keep that up for three days at most before I collapsed."

"And what was it like in Willow Hill?" Wednesday inquired.

“I often used pain stimuli, but that rarely worked. I constantly had nightmares. And panic attacks ...” Tyler hesitated briefly before continuing, as if considering whether to reveal it. “The worst part was that I always woke up alone, in complete darkness. That no one ever checked on me, even though they must have heard my screams.”

Even though it hurt her to hear it, Wednesday was relieved that Tyler had continued talking. Apparently, he trusted her enough now to express things that made him vulnerable. But it was important that he said it. That he understood he was safe with her. That she would never judge him for it.

Wednesday frowned and tilted her head slightly. "You were able to sleep last night. Without nightmares, as far as I can tell," she said.

He nodded. "Only... only when you were with me," Tyler said. "Probably ... it was because of you. Because of your presence. I felt safe again for the first time in years. I don't know if that's also because of the Master-Hyde bond or ... just because of you."

The dark-haired girl acknowledged his words with a slight twitch of her lips. "So, if I were next to you, you could sleep?" she asked to make sure.

“Probably,” he confirmed. “But ...” Tyler hesitated, “I don’t want you to sacrifice your time for me.”

“Who said I was sacrificing my time for you?” she simply replied. “I need to sort some things out anyway.”

Wednesday stood up, already on her way out of the kitchen, before Tyler stopped her.

"We should check on the cake," he said, already approaching the oven. "We don't want it to burn."

Addams stepped beside him and also looked through the glass. The dough had risen and become noticeably darker. Otherwise, she couldn't see any changes. "Is it done?" she asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed. Wednesday opened the oven door and a wave of hot air rushed towards her, while Tyler grabbed two oven mitts and took the cake out of the heat. He carefully placed it on the counter.

"He needs to cool down first anyway," he said.

--

Five minutes later, Tyler was curled up on the bedspread, clutching a ridiculously large stuffed animal shaped like a dark gray octopus, which he'd pulled from his closet. Wednesday had been tempted to make fun of it. She refrained. If he needed the octopus to feel safer in that moment, she'd be the last person to mock him. At least, not after everything she'd learned in the last few hours.

Furthermore, octopuses were more impressive animals than unicorns.

Wednesday sat down next to him on the bed with her knees drawn up, leaning against the headboard. Only when she heard even breathing a few minutes later did the tension ease somewhat.