Soft Touch

Light was beginning to appear in the sky by the time Enid and Wednesday had started to return to Nevermore Academy together, the sun ever so slightly peeking out from between the clouds.

The walk back to their room is completely silent, nothing except the silent 'clack' of Wednesday's shoes against the hard stone floor of the corridor.

Enid's palm was sweating, not because she was nervous, but because of the ice cold hand that had been intertwined in her own for longer than she could remember.

Wednesday's mother had said something about her child always looking half-dead, but she also felt it. Enid had been able to feel the icy temperature of Wednesday's body when they hugged, which was probably nothing short of an actual deceased person.

Enid shakes with every step she takes, her body on the brink of completely giving out. Her knees almost buckle beneath her as they reach the staircase, but thankfully, Wednesday manages to stop her from falling and help her stand back upright.

Wednesday knew she was hurt, she could feel the awful stinging in her shoulder growing the more she used her arm, but right now, she needed to get Enid back to the dorm, and cleaned up.

Enid stands completely still (aside from her relentless shaking) outside the door as Wednesday opens it and leads her inside.

The two still don't speak as Enid takes a seat on the edge of Wednesday's bed, and though curious, Enid doesn't express it, instead gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut as an especially unbearable wave of pain washes over her body.

Wednesday stands and walks away, and for a moment Enid thinks she is going to leave her there alone, maybe call the nurses to come aid her, but she returns a moment later, a first aid kid clutched in her hands.

She kneels before Enid on the floor, opening the red box and glancing at the utensils inside. None of which seem good enough for Enid's wounds, but it was better than nothing.

"Where did he get you?" Wednesday asks, her tone distasteful.

She sorts through the varieties of band aids, gauze dressings, tourniquets, and large alcohol wipes.

"I don't know," Enid replies, her throat hoarse from both disuse.. And Tyler.

Wednesday glances up at the werewolf, silent as she scans Enid's body for any visible bleeding or open wounds. She finds a few, and immediately gets to work, not even bothering to touch the band aids, and instead using only the gauze dressing and alcohol wipes.

"They have so many of these, they could at least stock them with the actual necessities," Wednesday says to herself, though she had a habit of never lowering her voice, Enid heard it clear as day, too.

Wednesday dabs one of the smaller of Enid's wounds with a fresh alcohol wipe, her touch incredibly gentle. Odd, for someone who speaks so much about death and murder.

Enid watches Wednesday's hands as she works, her eyes eventually drifting over to her other arm, which was hanging limply by Wednesday's side.

"Did something happen?" Enid asks after a moment, an eyebrow quirked. "Why aren't you using your arm?" She quickly adds, turning her gaze to Wednesday's face instead. Maybe she could glare at her to get some kind of answer out of her.

"I was used as a sacrifice, stabbed, almost killed multiple times, shot with an arrow, and held at gunpoint. No, nothing happened," Wednesday says emotionlessly, her expression the same as always.

Enid remains still for a moment, her brain taking its time in processing the information she had been given (it had been easier to get an answer out of Wednesday than she originally thought). "You.. Where?" She asks, her eyebrows furrowed worriedly.