you can occupy my every sigh

Chapter Six

Wednesday and Tyler walked into the festival hand in hand, trying their best not to look like they'd made out in the woods. The festival was loud, garish, and tacky; all things Wednesday despised. Fair music blared from speakers haphazardly mounted to standing poles, scrambling her brain and making it almost impossible to have a coherent thought. The hair on the back of her head raised as she recognized why the music was so eerie and grating; it was the same music she'd heard in the dream. She turned to Tyler, about to tell him in case that dream had ended up being prophetic, but his eyes were fixated on his father.

The sheriff was looking around, compulsively checking his watch and tapping his foot. He wiped his forehead, his eyes darting around and again as he continued to look for a hint or sign of the two of them. Tyler pulled her toward his father by the hand, and she stumbled slightly before straightening and walking with him. It seemed Tyler wanted to get the ensuing conversation over as quickly as possible.

The sheriff looked up, his face going slack.

"Tyler?" His voice was soft; disbelieving. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Tyler fiddled with his hands, ashamed. Wednesday stroked her fingers over the back of Tyler's hand; there was nothing for him to feel guilty about. Wednesday knew how much Tyler valued staying in control (a trait they shared), and to be reminded of his lack of it in such a frightening way had both unsettled and humiliated him. Tyler gazed down at her, and she tried to give him a reassuring look. Tyler sighed, turning to face his dad. His free hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously.

"Hey, Dad." Tyler was purposefully keeping his voice quiet andeven, so as to preemptively assuage the sheriff's fear that he wasn't completely back in control. The sheriff blinked, reaching a hand out and jumping in shock when it made contact with Tyler's shoulder. Tyler stayed still, but his body was tense, and Wednesday could tell the tension came from aversion to his touch. Not wanting others to touch you was a feeling Wednesday was quite familiar with, although it made her unhappy that Tyler had to experience it. Wednesday knew how stressful it could be to be constantly touched by others simply for the fact they felt entitled to touching her. That entitlement was particularly strong in relatives.

"You're really here." His dad's voice was quiet, awed. "I'm glad you're alright, son." Wednesday believed his words, but not in the way they were intended. She believed that his dad was glad Tyler hadn't gone on a rampage, and to him, that was the same as being glad Tyler was alright. If he'd paid any closer attention, as a father should, he'd sense how upset Tyler was at the loss of control. But he didn't. Tyler had been a replacement for the sheriff's anger at his mother since she passed, and now that he'd broken the cycle his mother had fallen into, the sheriff wanted to reinsert himself as a father to Tyler. Not on Wednesday's watch.

"Thanks, dad." Tyler was thanking him, but his voice was detached. Wednesday watched him out of the corner of his eye; clearly, the earlier rant was something he'd been wanting to say to his father for a while. She wasn't used to seeing him so apathetic; out of the two of them, Tyler felt more by a mile. She watched Tyler's jaw twitch as he purposefully schooled his face into a blank expression. The look was familiar; it reminded her of when she was young, right after Nero died, trying to make her face completely blank. Wednesday hadn't wanted anyone to know how much the death of her pet hurt her. Tyler didn't want his father to know how much his sudden interest in his health hurt him.

"About what you said earlier-"

"I was serious. I'm not coming home, dad. We can set up a day for me to pick up my stuff, or you can throw it out, I don't care." Tyler's voice was even, but Wednesday could sense the undercurrent of pain. As Tyler had said earlier, the sheriff was still his dad, despite how strained their relationship was. A part of him would always want a come-to-Jesus moment, where his father suddenly realized all his mistakes and apologized for them in a meaningful way. Both he and Wednesday knew that moment would never come.