Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams was really starting to get annoyed.
Her parents had decided to send her to the same school they had attended, years prior, all because she had supposedly 'seriously maimed' an innocent teenager. When in reality, Wednesday had done the world a favor. After all, who would mourn that immature boy losing his chance to reproduce? Certainly not her.
Honestly, she didn't see how this expulsion had pushed her parents over the edge. She had always known that the threat of attending Nevermore was there, but she never really thought they would test their luck as much as to actually enroll her. Why this time, after all the schools she had been expelled from? And what was even the point? Hadn't she proved herself competent enough to escape from any place she was kept at? No matter if its a jail, mental institution, or school, she would escape. Eventually her parents would have to admit defeat once she was gone, and she knew that it wouldn't take long.
The day outside was dreadful, with thunder rolling as rain hammered against the grimy window of her bedroom. Even the storm offered no comfort. Wednesday's dark eyes flitted over the dim room before settling on the large black trunk, packed and ready for Lurch to carry downstairs in the morning. Usually the familiar dread tightening in her chest would be welcome, but this time she just wanted the nightmare to be over. She was briefly considering asking Pugsley to bury her alive so she may try to escape, as some light fun, when a white flash encompassed the room and reached her.
Wednesday blinked and forced her eyes open. When she looked around, she found herself somewhere else. The room was large, with dark wood-paneled walls and floor, mostly covered by faded Persian rugs. Dust lingered in the stale air. Eight mismatched armchairs formed a semicircle around the center, where a large TV screen sat, visible from every seat.
Wednesday rarely lost her words, but this caught her off guard. A dark brow lifted under her fringe just as another flash lit the room. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.
A boy appeared, tall and broad-shouldered, with thick honey-brown hair. He wore a brown corduroy jacket over a flannel shirt and jeans. He looked ordinary, though semi-attractive, and his wide green eyes scanned the room nervously.
“Uh...” he blinked, lips parting. “Hi.”
Wednesday ignored him, staring at the TV. She walked around the room, dragging her finger along the sides of the chairs. Dusty.
The boy shifted awkwardly, hands shoved in pockets, glancing between her and the room. “I’m Tyler,” he spoke again.
“Wednesday,” she replied flatly, still not looking.
Before he could say more, another flash brought in a girl. Blonde hair in a wavy bob framed her face, pastel pink and blue strands peeking out. She wore a bright pink sweater and white floral jeans. Wednesday fought the urge to look for her machete.
“Oh my God!” the girl gasped, claws extending from her multicolored nails, blue eyes wide. “Where are we?”
A werewolf, then.
“Join the club,” Tyler said, and she spun to him. “I’m Tyler.”
“Yeah, I-I know who you are,” she said, brows furrowed and a look of confusion overtaking her face. “I’m Enid.”
Wednesday turned away, uninterested. If Tyler was a distraction, Enid was an annoyance.
“That’s Wednesday,” Tyler said after a moments hesitation.
Enid studied Wednesday with concern. “Is she always that pale?”
Her insipid attempt at whispering was getting on Wednesday's nerves.
“I wouldn’t kno—”
“Yes,” Wednesday interrupted shortly, continuing to search the room.
Silence fell. Another flash introduced a boy with light brown hair beneath a blue hoodie. Tall and slim, with paint splattered on his face, his green eyes locked on Enid in surprise.
"Xavier!" Enid gasped, running over to him in relief.
“Enid?” he called out in suprise. He scanned the room, pausing when he saw Wednesday. “Have we met?”
She gave him a once-over, and felt a indeterminate sense of familiarity in the back of her mind. Where had she seen him before?
“You do seem... vaguely familiar,” Wednesday said evenly, narrowing her eyes.
“Wednesday Addams?” he asked, eyes lighting up, a slight grin stretching across his face.
“Yes,” she confirmed coolly, expression unreadable. His smile broadened.
Tyler cut in. “Do you know each other?”
The boy’s expression darkened. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, glancing from Tyler to Wednesday.
“The real question is why we’re all here,” Wednesday said, turning back to the screen. “This thing probably holds the answers.”
Another flash revealed her parents locked in a dramatic embrace. Morticia’s long black hair flowed down her back as her pale, pointed fingers cupped Gomez’s cheeks. Both dressed formally, Gomez in a pinstripe suit, Morticia in a floor-length black gown. They were in a fairly intimate position, and looked like seals fighting over a grape. Wednesday grimaced and controlled the juvenile urge to roll her eyes.
“Enough,” she said sharply, glaring at them. They slowly separated and looked around.
“Oh, what a dreary place,” Morticia said with a faint smile. “Reminds me of home.”
Gomez grinned. “I almost expect Lurch to bring afternoon tea.”
“My little viper,” Gomez added proudly. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Morticia smiled at Wednesday. “But if you think slipping us hallucinogens will stop us from sending you to Nevermore, think again.”
“This isn’t my doing,” Wednesday said flatly.
Enid jumped in. “You’re going to Nevermore? I go there! Maybe we’ll be roommates!”
Wednesday gave her a hard look.
“I apologize,” Morticia said, sparing Enid a glance. “She’s still adjusting to the idea of attending.”
A flash brought in a middle-aged man in a sheriff’s uniform. He stumbled before righting himself and grabbing his gun. He scanned the room, before locking eyes on Tyler.
“Ty?” he said, stepping forward and gripping his son’s shoulder.
“Dad?” Tyler looked surprised.
“Where are we?” the sheriff asked.
“That’s the question,” Wednesday said, studying him. Tyler and his father seemed ordinary, not like the others. Why were they here?
“Sheriff Galpin,” Morticia said, surprised.
The sheriff’s expression darkened. He glared at Gomez and Morticia. “You’ve got some nerve.”
Thunder cracked, startling Enid, who flashed her claws again. Wednesday barely noticed. A fluttering paper appeared on the coffee table. Wednesday picked it up and unfolded it. The edges were singed and it smelled faintly of smoke. The letter was written in slanted cursive, colored dark red ink.
“Dearest friends,” Wednesday read flatly. “You have been gathered for a specific purpose, which you will discover yourselves in due time. I have collected recordings of future events, mostly through the eyes of... Wednesday Addams." she paused slightly at that, but continued, unperturbed, "These recordings are meant to help change the future and prevent unnecessary deaths and trauma. Be open-minded. Remember, the events haven’t happened yet and can still yet be altered. You will return to your homes once you complete watching the recordings, with no time passed in the meantime. Best of luck...”
She folded the letter and looked around.
“No signature,” she said.
The room went silent as everyone absorbed the message.
“Impossible,” Galpin scoffed.
“Unlikely,” Morticia corrected, intrigued. “How fascinating. Your first stalker, Wednesday.”
“Recordings from my perspective?” Wednesday said, unimpressed. “Not sure if I should feel sorry for you or myself.”
“Sounds like the future’s a mess,” Tyler said, frowning. “I dunno, I guess I'm curious.”
Galpin grabbed Tyler’s shoulder again. “Stay away from things when any Addams are involved. Nothing good comes of it.”
How interesting. He seems to hold a grudge against Wednesday's family.
“That does seem rather counterintuitive, considering we’re stuck here together,” Wednesday said, monotone.
“I think it sounds interesting,” Enid suggested, smiling brightly. “The sooner we do, the sooner we’re done.”
“I’m in, I guess,” Xavier said, sitting down.
Tyler shrugged off his father’s grip and took a seat. Gomez and Morticia took theirs, holding hands.
Wednesday settled into a black leather wingback in the corner of the room, folding her hands in her lap.
“Come on, Dad,” Tyler urged Galpin.
Reluctantly, Galpin sat in the last chair. The TV flickered on.
Wednesday suppressed a familiar homicidal urge. This day was shaping up to be horrible. And not in the good way.
Surprising, right? Wednesday normally loves torture.