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The rain was beating down like a steady drum interrupted by the cymbal clashes of thunder and lightning. She could feel her uniform jacket soaking up the large drops. It weighed down on her shaking shoulders and soaked through her skin, cold encasing her bones. The mud on her skin looked more red than brown as it washed away with the run of water. The sky that peaked through the crown of trees above her showed a dark grey, cloud filled sky.
She knew even before she stood up where she was, she’s been here before. She’s been here every night actually. She roots her hands in the mud as she pushes herself up. Crackstone’s Crypt stands in front of her. The stone walls that may seem insignificant to anyone else are engraved behind her eyelids. She sees him every time she blinks.
Wednesday knows what she has to do. She knows this won’t end until she does it. She tried to wait it out eight nightmares ago, waiting for the sun to rise and the rain to stop. The night never ended. It ends faster if she braves reliving that night, she must be brave.
It’s dark when she steps in. The air is damp and the smoke from the blown out candles still lingers in the air. She’s only take three steps in and she already feels like she can’t breath.
She’s gotten to the back of the crypt now. The coffin is still there and something in her stomach twists and jumps, telling her to run. She tried that one too, three nightmares ago. He chased her down in that one, staff plunging into her shoulder where the arrow would have pierced her, only on the other side.
Somehow the candles are lit again. She knows it’s about to begin. The broken chains sit on the floor by her feet and when she looks up Laurel and Crackstone are there, turning to look at her.
“Goody Addams…” Crackstones voice is rough, vocal cords rusted over time. He raises his staff and Wednesday’s body freezes up. Lungs constricting, gasping for air as her eyes are forced to meet his. She’s done this before. She can do it again.
“You haunt me still. You will suffer the same fate you bequeathed me.” The knife pierced her stomach. Smooth and easy, like butter. She feels herself gasp with pain and her eyes dull. She can’t control her reaction anymore, only relive it. She’s tried to brave the knife, run from the staff, trip Laurel, do anything. She can’t.
“Now burn in the eternal flames of hell.” His face is inches away from hers now. His undead breathe spreading across her face as he croaks out at her. She‘s come to know the pain that’s coming next far too well. The knife twists and she tries to grasp it, she can’t stop it though.
“Where you belong.” He sounds proud of himself when he says it, no remorse in him as he backs away towards the door of the crypt. She’s stumbling back against a pillar and writhing in pain. This is it.
“Sweet dreams, Wednesday.” If Wednesday were to die here, she would die with a new forest fire of anger burning in her heart. She doesn’t die here. She knows she doesn’t.
Now she waits, letting the pain wash over her. Her eyes don’t flicker in and out of consciousness like they did when it really happened. Goody isn’t there either. Goody isn’t there to save her. She’s forgotten that she’s dreaming and the rest of her energy goes into hyperventilating. She’s going to die here without Goody. She must be screaming for her, Goody’s name echoing off the walls, but Wednesday doesn’t feel in control of her own voice.
Black spots are taking over her vision and she’s still screaming, she doesn’t even know how. She’s dizzy despite laying on the cold floor, damp with her blood. She doesn’t make an effort to hold down her wound anymore. She’s going to die.
She was never scared of death, if anything she welcomed death with open arms. She looked forward to the day she died, hoping she would fall to something, or somebody, who deserved to be her end. But she did not plan on dying to a rotting pilgrim and his murderous fangirl. She doesn’t relive her life as she goes. No memories of her family, her friends, her accomplishments pass by her eyes. Nothing.
She feels every second of her death. She feels the knife in her stomach, wound beating with pain. She feels the blood drip, drip, drip out of her. She feels arms wrapped around her shoulders, and hears a voice getting closer to her. Wait. That doesn’t normally happen.
When her vision goes black she reopens them, trying to push up out of her coffin pose but being slightly pulled down by weight on her shoulders. It’s dark and she can’t breath and she’s stuck and she just died and-
“Wednesday…” A voice sharper than the consistent hum of salty ocean waves cuts through her thoughts. A hand moves up to her cheek and slowly swipes up and down. Spreading and drying whatever is wet on her cheeks and- wet? Oh. She’s crying. Wednesday is crying. Wait. Wednesday shouldn’t be crying.
Now she uses all of her strength to sit up in the bed, arm falling off of her shoulders. Her throat feels hoarse and she’s trying to wipe off the tears with her hoodie sleeve. Her breathing hasn’t slowed down and if it wasn’t dark in the room she would’ve noticed that the tears in her eyes still clouded her vision.
Something shifts in the bed beside her and the opposite arm is wrapped around her back, leaning her closer to the warm body beside her. The person's left hand is on her thigh, rubbing slow circles into it. They’re whispering but Wednesday can’t understand it, feeling too far away, as if she was still dreaming. She can faintly smell salt water and coconut body wash from beside her.
Salt water and coconut. Salt water and coconut. She’s sitting in bed, crying her eyes out after a nightmare, being comforted by Bianca Barclay of all people.
Wednesday almost wishes she died in that crypt.
“Get your fins off me, Barclay.”
“Okay for starters, they’re hands and you know that, but you had a bad dream so I’ll let it slide.” She’s still a little cocky when she speaks to Wednesday, but she does feel genuinely bad for her, so she tries to tone it down.
“I don’t have bad dreams. A nightmare is my favorite thing to have.”
“..Second off you were screaming ‘Goody’ like it was a lifeline. Which you’ve been doing almost every night since..” Biance doesn’t say since what, they both know since what.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bianca. Maybe all the salt water has gone to your head and is making you hallucinate.”
“Wends.. You can’t lie to me about this. It’s obviously bothering you and I want to help. And I know you won’t talk to a therapist, or your family, or Enid or basically anyone else about it, so tell me. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could torture me forever. And not even in a fun way.”
“You saved everyone’s lives Wends-”
“Stop calling me that.”
“No. And I’m not going to torture you. It wouldn’t benefit me, and I think having me by your side constantly is enough torture for you.”
“That’s the first correct thing you’ve said all night.”
“Hey! Play nice, I’m being nice so you have to too.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Mhm, yeah you do. So, you gonna tell me or what? ‘Cause I’m not leaving your bed till we have to get up for breakfast, and that gives me plenty of time to bother you about it.” Wednesday hesitates. She sits there in the dark staring away from where she knows Bianca’s face is, which would be inches from the side of her face. She sighs.
“Okay. Fine. But if you tell anyone, I’ll peel back your scales until you’re just a piece of meat.”
“I can’t even be scared because you’re like 5’1” but I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” She finds Wednesday’s pinky and pinky promises her, even though Wednesday didn’t ask her to.
They sit in silence again. Bianca waiting patiently, and Wednesday planning what she wants to say. She’s always been specific with her word choice, anyone can tell by the pointed and direct insults she dishes out. But this is something out of Wednesday’s usual range. This is something she avoids taking the time out of her day to think about because she used to be able to avoid it, but now she can’t.”
“I was the one who caused Crackstone to be resurrected. And I put Enid in danger. And you. And Xavier. And everyone. If I wasn’t here it wouldn’t have happened. It was prophesied and I still ignored it. It’s all my fault.” She says it without emotion. It’s not what she meant to say, but she can’t swallow it back now.
“Okay… no. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is.”
“Okay, tell me how then.” Wednesday wasn’t expecting to have to prove it. She thought it was obvious that she was so low that it must be her fault.
“Laurel used my blood to resurrect Crackstone, because Goody was my ancestor and Goody killed him.”
“Goody..?”
“Goody Addams. She was here and Crackstone tried to burn her alive for being a witch. She was the one who passed down the psychic powers through my family.”
“Okay… So Laurel used your blood to resurrect Crackstone?”
“Yes.”
“And you think it’s your fault for being related to Goody and not Laurel’s for being a fucking lunatic?”
“Well. Yes.”
“That’s crazy, Addams.”
“It’s the domino effect.”
“And you weren’t the first domino, Wends. Crackstone and Goody were. And don’t forget, you stopped Crackstone. You stopped the rest of the dominoes from falling and stopped us from all being killed.” Wednesday had been proven wrong, something she wasn’t used to. She sat there for a while, thinking.
“So, now that I have the Addams family lore, what’s with all these nightmares, baby?”
“Never call me that.”
“I can’t just keep calling you Addams, that’s so not girlfriend-like of me. And you’re avoiding the question.”
“Everytime I fall asleep, I dream I’m back at Crackstones crypt. And I can’t escape him, I just have to keep reliving it.” She’s less confident, like she can see the dream playing while she’s awake. Bianca, ever so tuned to Wednesday, pulls her in closer and guides her face to look at her. Wednesday can see her blue eyes glow faintly in the moonlight.
“You’re okay. I’m right here. Keep going, Wends.”
“Well. I. I walk in and I can’t breathe. And then the candles are lit again and Crackstone is there. And then he’s stabbing me again and croaking at me condemning me to hell and. It’s so scary, B. And Goody isn’t there to heal me and I can feel myself dying. It won’t stop.” She knows it’s unlike her, to break like this. But she can’t help it, Bianca has such a comforting aura just begging for Wednesday to break down.
Bianca nods, knowing Wednesday is done without her saying it. She leans them both back onto the bed, holding Wednesday as close as possible.
“Oh… That’s. Wends. I’m so sorry.” She’s shaking her head as she wipes Wednesday’s tears once again. It upsets her to have to watch Wednesday go through this, after everything before that.
Wednesday keeps crying, quietly, aside from a few coughs. She hates that she’s doing this, but she just can’t stop.
Bianca unties her braids, softly carding through her hair. She doesn’t like to take her braids about, but Bianca knows having her hair played with calms her.
Wednesday slowly stops crying. She reduces herself to occasional sniffles and coughs. When she can she tucks her face into Bianca’s neck, enjoying the comfort that comes with crying.
“I know it’s scary. And I know I can’t really help beyond that. But I’ll always be here. I’ll be here after every nightmare to call your bullshit and hold you until this goes away. Even if this never goes away. I’ll be here. You’re so brave, Wednesday. Let me pick up the pieces from everything that’s happened. Can I do that?” Wednesday nods. She didn’t know she wanted this until now. She was tired of being scared and being hunted. But Bianca was offering to help, and the old Wednesday would never accept, but the new Wednesday has been waiting for this moment.
They lay in a comfortable silence for a while. Bianca works on keeping Wednesday calm and Wednesday works on keeping herself calm.
“Hey.. How about we try going back to sleep? You must be exhausted.” Wednesday shakes her head but she can’t deny it when she falls asleep almost ten minutes later. Bianca watches her eyes flutter and knows she’ll probably wake back up screaming again soon.
“I’ll always protect you. I love you so much.” She whispers to a sleeping Wednesday. Bianca wouldn’t say ‘I love you’ to her officially for a long time. But she’ll show it. Holding Wednesday after every nightmare and protecting her from whatever she deems necessary. And Wednesday’s nightmares wouldn’t go away for a long time. But she’ll keep trying. She’ll talk to Bianca about them and maybe eventually someone else. And they’ll get better, with time, as always.