Wenclair oneshots

I wasn't afraid before I met you

Summary:
There are nightmares so horrific not even Wednesday Addams can appreciate them

It's that vision again.

The one with Goody, and Joseph Crackstone, the latter towering up behind his army of brainless pilgrim minions like some monster from a children's story, and Wednesday whips her head around looking for her helpful but secretive ancestor.

"Wednesday Addams!"
Crackstone's voice is as much of a bad omen as Wednesday remembers it, and she spins around to look at him, feeling such terror that the world around her seems to slow down.

This is wrong. It's all wrong. No one ever sees her in her visions, except for Goody.

This leads to her reaching the heart-stopping conclusion that this is not a vision.

Crackstone's pilgrim minions have started closing in around her.
"You have been judged by God and sentenced to death for your dark workings, you soulless witch!" Crackstone yells.
"Wait-!" Wednesday cries just as the other pilgrims start grabbing her, pushing and shoving her between them while cackling and chanting darkly:
"Witch!"
"Burn her!"
"Spawn of Satan!"

One last push and she falls to her knees, lifting her gaze to find Crackstone towering over her, smiling evilly.
"Your time of judgment has come, vile creature!" he tells her.
"Go to Hell", she responds, spitting a shower of saliva at his face.
"No, but you will", he says, pulling out a dagger and plunging it into her stomach.

Twisting it. Just like last time.

She falls over onto her side, completely helpless as the world turns over sideways as she falls, completely paralyzed by the pain. Her ears ring and the world spin and go in and out of focus, and it's like she can feel her life leaving her little by little.

"WEDNESDAY!"
Her scream cuts through the fuzziness of Wednesday's mind, and she hopes she imagines it, because she shouldn't be here. She can't be here, not with Crackstone and the others, she can't-
"WEDNESDAY!" Enid screams again, and this time Wednesday manages to focus enough to see her.

She is running for her, grabbed and held back by two pilgrims. Wednesday tries to yell for her, but she only coughs up a cascade of dark blood and her entire body burns. She tries again, her whole body filling up with an unbelievable terror as Crackstone comes up behind Enid, the werewolf not aware of him as he holds up the large silver knife, as if to show Wednesday what he is going to do. Wednesday can only splutter and flail weakly on the ground, gurgling on her own blood uselessly and grabbing at the handle of the blade still impaled deep in her stomach with weak fingers.

Crackstone pierces Enid's body with the silver blade, and the werewolf doesn't even make a noise as she drops to the ground. She makes no noise, but Wednesday can very much see the agony in her face. She would happily live the pain she is experiencing herself for eternity if she could take that agony and the injury away.

Wednesday is screaming.

She doesn't know how she found the strength to do so with her injuries, but she is sitting up and screaming, heart hammering and chest aching with panic with every breath-

"Wednesday!"
Enid's voice is right at her ear, and the touch of a hand against her shoulder startles her, makes her cry out and flinch.
"Sorry- Wednesday- Wednesday, breath. You're okay", Enid tells her.
Enid. Enid, who is here, here and okay and alive. Wednesday grabs at her, running her hands up and down her arms and sides, stunned and breathless with relief alone.

Enid touches her cheek, wipes away her tears, which is what makes Wednesday realize she is crying.
"Ssssshhh, it was a dream, my raven. Just a dream", the werewolf whispers, keeping her hand on her cheek, Wednesday leaning into the touch.
"You're alive", Wednesday whispers, voice unsteady, mind still partly left in the nightmare.
Enid nods.
"Yes, I am. I am and I am right here", she says.

Though still crying and trembling, Wednesday begins to calm down, her mind returning to the here and now. Their dorm, the round window, almost symbolically divided between their preferred color schemes.

Enid shifts around to sit beside her, stroking her hair and toying with her braids. Wednesday sniffs, loudly and pathetically, wiping away her own tears.
"You died", she manages to get out, voice rough.
Enid's movements stills as she listens.
"Crackstone killed you", Wednesday continues, finally breaking down completely.

Enid wastes no time scooping her up in her arms, Wednesday crying into her sleep shirt. Enid doesn't say much, but she doesn't need to, the tenderness with which she holds her girlfriend and rocks the two of them back and forth is enough. Enough to make Wednesday feel safe, enough to make her feel like she can cry all her fear out without getting judged or shamed for it.

Finally, when she has no tears or energy left, she lifts her head from Enid's chest, peering up at her girlfriend through her tears.
"It's gonna take more than some 200 year old pilgrim to get past this kitty", Enid says, extracting her colorful claws and showing them off, playfully and seriously all at once.
Wednesday considers telling her she will have nothing to put up against a silver dagger, but before she has a chance to decide if she should say it Enid kisses her, so very gently, and she forgets she was going to say anything at all, wrapping her arms around the werewolf and pulling her as close as she can.

They sit like that for a moment, until Wednesday lifts her head from Enid's shoulder, instead pressing their foreheads together, Enid stroking her cheek with her thumb.
"I love you, I am not going anywhere, and if someone were to end my ass I would expect you to come dig me up and do some Frankenstein science so I could be with you again", Enid says, speaking softly and slowly.
"I love you too", Wednesday says, kissing her.

Enid guides her to lay back down, slowly and gently, laying down next to her herself and pulling the black haired into her arms. Wednesday wastes no time curling up against her love, head on her chest, Enid's arms wrapped around her.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, Wednesday to wonderful dreams of spiders and guillotines.