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Enid knew she wasn’t herself when she was brought back.
Her skin felt wrong, a tight foreign suit suffocating her slowly, itchy and bare. Her hair, now long past her shoulders, no longer filled with colorful highlights and brownish in a few areas. Her nails plain and sprouted with claws at odd times, jumpy and ready to scratch and fight against an intruder. Her teeth too small, regardless of the sharpness of her canines, cutting her tongue and cheek at times. She’d lost quite a lot of weight during her time in the woods, where food was scarce and she’d never felt too comfortable hunting an innocent animal – though she was forced to at times in great hunger – her ribs were visible and her arms thinner. Her voice hoarse and unused to speaking in anything but growls, whimpers, and barks.
She would finch much more frequently than she did before, always on guard with the lingering fear she’d be attacked when her back was turned. She horded her meals like they would be snatched away from her at any second. She hated storms and rain with a passion now, thinking back to the cold and wet nights under the trees, her fur soaked and alone, so so alone.
When she came back, she was much much filthier, dirty and scratched, hungry and tired. Wednesday helped her bathe, washed her long hair with surprisingly gentle fingers, washed her body, disinfected and bandaged her wounds. They were for the most part silent, with only a few exchanges. Enid hadn’t felt in such ease in a long time, hadn’t felt this safe enough to close her eyes.
Wednesday brought her clothes afterwards – her clothes, the ones she wore before she ran into the forest. They were odd against her skin, so used to having fur, her own clothes felt so strange and foreign.
Looking in the mirror for the first time, Enid saw the reflection of a girl she could hardly recognize. A pale girl, with bags under her eyes, and a tired, lost gaze. Her smile forced and unnatural to her lips and muscles.
Part of her wanted to cry, yet even that felt too much for her to do.
So, she stares at the girl who stares at her back.
Three months.
That was how long she’d been a wolf.
Three fucking months.
Three months of her life missed and could never get back.
Three months being hunted down by other werewolves, by her own family. Disowned and discarded like trash on the street. A lone wolf, except this time, she could wolf out, but she wolfed out wrong.
Wednesday brought her to the Addams mansion instead. Her parents greeting both of them with open arms and smiles. Her own heart warmed at the display and showed her own small and weak smile. She was given a room, a shelter, and all her stuff from Nevermore. And yet, she couldn’t escape the heaviness in her mind, staring at her clothes, her makeup, her shoes, and posters, and plushies, and she still didn’t feel like herself.
They felt like they belonged to someone else, someone happier and comfortable in her own skin, someone free and not plagued by darkness. Someone who wasn’t her.
She tries, by the moon she tries, but it doesn't feel right. Her clothes feel weird, the makeup powder feel weird, and her phone feels large and heavy against her palm. Even texting or calling her friends – those who hadn’t turned their backs on her, and worried for her – feel like a chore.
She was tired all the time.
Some days she didn’t feel like getting out of bed, wanting to rot in it forever.
Some days she couldn’t stand the loud noisy world that hurt her ears.
Some days eating took too much energy.
Some days she cries from how much everything feels.
From feeling like a failure of a wolf, from not being grateful enough she was saved and being cared for, from being too different, from being too much, feeling too much. She was afraid of wolfing out, terrific of turning into a permanent beast that killed everything in its path. She cries into the pillow.
And even some days, that feels too much too.
But Wednesday is there. Wednesday stays. She stays with her when she can’t get up, reading silently by her side. Brings her food when moving feels too tiring. Doesn’t judge her once, doesn’t push too much, only suggests and eases her into trying. Her stare softer, patient. She’s there, present. When Enid can’t sleep, she lets her sleep in her bed, her head against Wednesday’s chest as its calm beating nuzzles her to sleep. She lets Enid sit in her room as she types or plays her cello, both sounds she missed so dearly and put her at ease to hear.
Slowly, she asks her about her book, the characters, the plot. Small questions at first, then transforming to longer conversations when Wednesday’s writing time is over. She reads her manuscripts, talking and discussing with her. Sometimes, they’d talk about other topics, memories from Wednesday’s childhood of tormenting her brother or the games they played, the lessons taught from Uncle Fester or Grandmama, Enid even shares her own, the shenanigans her brothers pulled, her first meeting with Yoko or first day at Nevermore, her first plushie. They just talk, without pressure, just them. Sometimes, they don’t talk at all, but bask in each other’s presence.
The rest of the family helped too.
Enid found herself walking to Morticia’s greenhouse, filled with carnivorous plants. She was greeted warmly by her, watched her feed the large plants with large chunks of meat, water and maintain their leaves and stems and soil, speaking so softly to them as if they were her own children. Enid slowly began to ask her about them, her face lighting up as she explained each of her questions, educating her on the growth and biology of her carnivorous beauties. Little by little, she shows Enid how to properly take care of them, tells her their names and species, lets Enid throw meat to the large Venus trap named Cleopatra. Enid’s smile didn’t feel forced during her time, rather as easy as when hanging out with Wednesday.
They knit sometime later. When Enid told her she used to do it a lot. They knit together in silence, but it feels so good. They talk sometimes too, about their projects, the material, their first knitting item, and sometimes they make tea beforehand, together as well. Enid never feels like Morticia is ever talking down to her, rather respects and gently guides her if she’s feeling unsure. Nurturing and encouraging Enid. And for once she felt the love of a mother. Gentle and soft, always including her and listing to what she said.
Sometime later, she found herself hanging out with Gomez and his trains. When she showed an interest in knowing, he delightfully explained all of the mechanics and engines used, how the tracks were meant to be positioned, and how the controls worked. It was honestly adorable seeing how excited he got and his passion leaking through his talks. She watches and even helps him built them, while wearing headphones to lessen the sounds and not hurt her ears, and laughs as the trains race and Gomez commentates the routes. She never had so much fun. Like his wife, Gomez treated her like his own child, asking for her opinion for stuff, listening to her suggestions, and includes her in.
Next, she hangs out with Pugsley more. He shows her his set of explosives, talking so excitedly about his projects, and demonstrating some of them. Though Enid could occasionally feel overwhelmed or nervous over being near a bomb, she tries to ask and understand them when he explains, and he does try to not go overboard – for Wednesday would have his head if he singed one hair on Enid’s head. They also talk, he opens up about his insecurities over not having any friends – besides a little from Eugene. Enid sympathizes with him, having gone through a similar situation, she lets him know he has a friend in her. His face lighting up as soon as she said it, coming in for a hug, she slightly flinched at the abruptness but returned it anyway.
She knows and feels Wednesday being near during some of these moments, looking back at the seer, who appears stoic as always but Enid can see the small, curved sides of her lips at Enid getting along with her family.
Slowly and surely, she begins to feel like herself again.
Little by little, she picks up her makeup, choosing a random K-pop song, and just tries them up out. It doesn’t feel weird anymore, almost like traversing a familiar path, but with renewed excitement. With short laughs, she starts small, powder and foundation, then some light lipstick, a little eyeshadow, maybe eyeliner. Something different each day.
Slowly, she asks Thing for manicure – to which the hand delightfully agrees.
Slowly, they begin to talk more, gossip more, and Enid begins to laugh properly now, and her smiles don’t feel forced. It’s nice, comforting, she starts to feel like her skin finally fits her, her nail didn’t itch, her clothes fit comfortably and she begins to recognize the girl standing in the mirror.
Wolfing out again was a struggle. She was still scared of the possibility of a permanent transformation. Scared of the large alpha growling in her chest or looming in the back of her mind, patiently waiting. It helps when Wednesday is there with her. The seer never fears her, looks at her as Enid, even in wolf form, and sometimes, Enid thinks she sees Wednesday’s eyes light up when she stands tall as a wolf. A magnificent beast, she’d say.
Enid tries not to blush hearing it.
However, even then with all the progress, there are bad days.
Bad days where everything feels too much again, where her nerves skyrocket, where her smiles feel forced, where the thought of her turning fills her with dread. Bad days where she lashes out, so tired, irritated, and angry. She growls and yells stuff she doesn’t mean, accusations she would never make normally, and angry hurtful comments. Many times, Wednesday takes the brunt of it, doesn’t argue back, lets her yell at her and gives her space when needed.
Enid always came out of them, feeling absolutely horrible, ugly tears spilling from her eyes as she sobs, remembering the awful things she said to her, and terrified that she may have pushed the only person who stuck by her side through it all, her pack.
Wednesday was always there though. Waiting patiently, letting Enid come to her, never angry or disappointed when Enid has those bad days. The Addamses are never disappointed either, patient and caring as she struggles, offering their endless support. Morticia never rejects Enid’s presence in her garden or knitting. Gomez always invites her to work on his trains if she wants to, Pugsley always lets her play with him, is always happy when she joins too, and Thing is always happy to have a manicure with her. When she’s all wolfed out, Kitty – the family’s lion – hangs out with her, playing tug of war, running around the property, and play fighting. He’s there in human form too, laying near the couch as both she and Wednesday sit on it, existing together, sometimes talking, sometimes holding each other. It helps. It makes the days feel a bit easier.
She’s slowly starting to feel better than she did after those three months.
It still hurts to think about her family sometimes, tossing her aside like trash, but she’s glad to have the Addamses and Wednesday by her side. She feels safe.
Today, she’s lying on Wednesday’s chest, listening to seer’s calm heartbeat when she says, “Wednesday…”
“Yes, Enid?” She asks softly.
“Thank you…for everything, it…means a lot,”
Wednesday hums. “I gave you my word I would bring you back. I am your pack after all,”
Enid smiles as she snuggles her head further into Wednesday’s chest. “You care about me,”
A short pause, before she replies, “I do,”