Wednesday's eyes narrow as she looks at the stain on the usually remarkably white turtleneck, Enid standing and staring down at herself in something akin to shock.
Because yes, shock is what one would apparently feel when injured. One without lick of sense, as most everyone seemed to be in contrast to the Addams'.
Wednesday twitches an eyebrows, a scowl on her lips,
"Is that blood?"
Enid looks up, her neck snapping audibly and flinches from the force.
"No?"
"That's not a question you're supposed to answer with another question."
Wednesday snorts- something bemused- as Enid grows once more transfixed with her own mortality.
She moves quietly to her closet and fingers the hangers, all black makes it quite a challenge and a bit disorienting to find one particular thing from the other. It's an enjoyable task.
She finds the dress she wore to the spring dance, her lip furling at memories of Tyler eyeing her like she was... something to consume.
Apparently, she was. She has the scar from where his claws- unkept and dirty- dug into her skin.
"If you're going to die on me," she throws the dress at Enid, who stumbles to catch it, "at least do it while looking good."
Enid growls, low and deep and it's oddly attractive, but that was not the focus:
Wednesday moves to her bed, stretching out with a sort of purr, and pulls out a pad and pen from her nightstand, clicking it open on her outstretched thigh. "Would you like carnations or orchids at your funeral?"
She looks expectantly at the blonde, who's face is blanching from blood loss, but still,
Enid, exasperated and tense enough as it is, thinks she might finally snap and murder Wednesday. Wednesday thinks that would be a fabulous event, and decided to prod the metaphorical bear with her not so metaphorical stick.
Because for some reason, she keeps a metal fire prodder by her bed, so she can poke the blonde comfortably from her spot of rest. And she does, poking near the red stain that causes Enid to wince, a sharp breath through her teeth her response.
Wednesday takes that as conversational.
"I personally would enjoy hydrangea's at mine. We grow some at home. As black as the night sky."
Enid scowls, rubbing around the tender wound like the skin around a mosquito bite for relief. "Fascinating, I'll let your parents know when I find you dead someday soon."
Wednesday looks up through her lashes, eyes lighting up in the way they always did when death was involved. "Is that a promise?"
"I didn't say I would kill you. I just think a lot of people hate you."
A gasp, Wednesday grips at her chest. "You wound me, wolfie."
"My heart bleeds for you."
Wednesday puts her book down- a weird half sketch of herself in a coffin leaving Enid a little disturbed. Half at the speed in which she crafted it, and half for its morbidity. "Come on." She sighs, rolling her shoulders. "Take your shirt off."
Enid's pale skin flushes from her hairline to her collarbones, and she takes an unnecessary step back. Precaution, because that prodding stick was sharp.
"What?"
Wednesday rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. "It's nothing I haven't seen."
Enid relaxes an inch. "What, skin or a probably fatal injury?"
Teeth sharp, smiling. "Yes. Now get on with it, I have better things to do then watch you slowly decompose."
"I don't know what's sweeter, that you care about my injury or that you don't want to see me dead."
Wednesday bristles at the accusation- her? Caring? She picks up the prodder, sharp points directly in line with Enid's eyes. A threat.
Though she knows the threat holds no weight, it doesn't stop her heart from bottoming out and she quickly goes to remove the sweater- hissing at the applied pressure of balled up fabric on her open wound.
Wednesday's eyes widen when the expanse of Enid's abdomen is revealed, dropping the prodder to kneel in front of Enid, oblivious to the red hot blush covering more and more exposed skin.
"Wow. This is beautiful." Her fingers delicately stroke the outcroppings of the gash almost muscle level deep, and it's such a weird thing that she's so fascinated by the extensive injury but also her touch is so soft and featherlight and the goosebumps have a mind of their own.
Trying to avoid reacting to the touch, Enid moves away. "Okay firstly, you're weird."
"Thank you."
"And second; please help me?"
Wednesday looks up, still kneeling and blinks. It's a rare show of humanity, and Enid feels a little dizzy- from blood loss or the vulnerability of it all, she couldn't tell, but Wednesday thankfully stands and gives one curt nod before disappearing back into her closet that seemingly carried all she held near and dear.
"Uh, the first aid kits in the bathroom."
"Just sit."
Enid complies, sitting awkwardly on her own bed to avoid tensing her abdominals or folding the skin, and waits as Wednesday rummages through her closet, random articles of clothing soaring out every few moments.
And.. a cannon ball?
20 pounds of weight soaring and denting the drywall closer to Enid's side of the tape then her own.
Right- so now it was her problem to fix.
A few minutes later, Wednesday returns with a black utility box.
"Are you harvesting my organs?" She tries for a joke, but whimpers when her own laugh forces the muscles to contract.
"I thought you'd never ask." Wednesday muses, dragging a chair in front of Enid to sit on, popping the box open on her lap.
"But no," she continues, pulling out what looked to be hospital grade materials. "I never go anywhere without my utility kit.
My father, always the more nurturing of the family, bought it for me last Christmas. Said I should learn to fix the wounds I inflict on Pugsley. Perhaps in a bid to make me feel empathy, however futile that may be. Moreover,"
She liberally pours alcohol into the wound, and Enid feels her fangs extract as she arches away from the liquid seeping like hot rocks into her body. "Jesus fuck!"
Wednesday twitches a brow. "No, Jesus was a virgin." She motions lazily to the box, forehead pinched in annoyance at the disturbance to her story.
"It has helped me understand the medical industry as a whole. I've done surgeries," she pulls out some cutting needles- thankfully clean with no rust, unlike most of Wednesday's choice of sharp objects, and thread. "Stopped internal bleeding with just my hands. And so on, so this,"
She sets her instruments aside, and tugs on some gloves with a definitive snap. "Is child's play."
Enid nods, because the pain is so bad she think she might bite her tongue if she tries to speak. Wednesday looks up from the grotesque wound, the smile on her lips falling at Enid's obvious distraught.
"Just... take deep breaths. In for four, out for four, even. I'm going to do nonbraided stitches because this wound has great risk of infection. It will hurt, I cannot lie, but you're strong. You'll be fine."
Enid nods again, screwing her eyes shut as soon as the needle and thread are picked up.
She'd always been a bit of a hypochondriac when it comes to literally anything, and whenever she'd get her blood taken she could physically feel it coming out.
Her pack would tease her relentlessly for her weakness- and her first transformation into her werewolf form was more mentally painful than physical.
A hand is placed on her knee, warm and soft, and her eyes open to meet a gaze so tender she briefly mused it belonged to a stranger. Wednesday rubbed her thumb gently against the exposed skin of her ripped jeans.
"Just focus on me. I've got you, and I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell me what happened."
Enid relaxes her incredibly tense body, looking away from the suturing and to the ceiling. "I- I was out for a walk and-"
She feels the needle pierce her skin, and takes a deep breath when Wednesday murmurs the instruction to, continuing. "And some guy- a hunter- came up from behind and slashed me. The blade wasn't silver, thank god, but it still hurt like a bitch. Guess he was young and not very experienced."
The suturing stops. She feels Wednesday still, and looks down in confusion.
Wednesday's jaw is working quick, her eyebrow twitching incessantly. Enid sits up a bit, flinching at the pain tearing through her abdomen.
"What's wrong?"
"Did you see his face?"
Enid frowns, ruminating on it, "No, heard someone yell the name Jared thought and he took off running. I would've- I just couldn't bring myself to transform. It hurt too much."
Wednesday is still tensing up, her hands turned to fists and eyes inverting like something was possessing her. Enid reaches out, wrapping around a smaller hand, squeezing.
Wednesday looks up, blinks.
"It's okay, Willa. I'm okay."
"You're not," she hisses, eyes boring into hers but for once the pure disgust isn't directed at her. "You're laying here with an open wound. I will murder him and his entire bloodline."
Enid smiles, heart warming at what was Wednesday's production of humanity. "You're sweet, but you're also my surgeon right now, and I kinda need you to be that for me alone."
Wednesday takes a breath, nodding, and returns to the suturing.
Enid practices the tempered breathing, thinks of dark brown hair and wide eyes and freckles that looked like stars in the sky.
When the sutures are done, and the area is disinfected, Wednesday speaks again.
"Thing, return to me with something of his."
Enid chuckles, and thankfully it doesn't feel like a thousand sharp knives running through her at once, tilting her head down to regard the other girl. "One of his things?"
Wednesday shrugs, putting her instruments away into the box. "I like prizes from my victims."
Enid checks Wednesdays handiwork- it's incredibly thorough.
"Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge."
It's out before she can think- and clamps her jaw shut, refusing to meet the steely gaze boring into her forehead.
"Can I pick?"
She thinks she might die then and there, with Wednesday's hand returning on her own volition to stroking mindless patters against her knee, offering her a genuine smile with so much devotion in near black eyes.
"Y-yes." Enid breathes, watching as Wednesday seems to think it over.
"I think it would be more romantic to kiss me then send me to my awaited doom, don't you agree?"
Enid rolls her eyes, thankful she didn't ruin something (or have the prodder in her now sutured stomach). She exhales, her body tired and coming down from an adrenaline high.
She reaches down and places her hand on Wednesday's, smiling. "Anything you want, Willa."