Young and in Love - Wenclair

Can the killer in me, tame the fire in you?

set during episode 8, except they don't hug because Wednesday has a mental breakdown instead.
-

"So your hands are covered in blood? I don't care. Touch me."

Wednesday  didn't beg. She did not grovel, or plead. Enid was shaken from the sudden shift in the shorter girl, but didn't hesitate. Reached out with claws still bared, coated crimson from Tyler's chest, cupping Wednesday's cheeks.

Wednesday had fallen to her knees once she was past the tree line. A disheveled heap of the facade she only carried in debris now. She was sobbing. Broken. The toll of everything that's accumulated from the semester serving one final twist of the blade in her composure,  cracking her until she indefinitely crumbles. She tried to pretend she wouldn't. That she was immune, a human without feeling.

But as she was— feeling. Human.

She wasn't the turbulent whirlwind Enid had come to know. Stoic on the outside and reeling within her torrent of thoughts. She  had been spun, wrung, and was forced to bear the burden she kept comfortably hidden away, on her sleeve— and this? This was probably the first breakdown she ever had. Heavy emotions she was ill-equipped to deal with.

But as much Addams as she was, and as much as she tried to hide the face she was flesh and blood, by remaining unblinking and shying from touch— she still felt. She felt enough for Tyler to kiss him, felt enough to cry when Thing was being resuscitated by Fester. Feels enough to escape death by the skin of her teeth, and succumb to the relief of Enid- alive, bruised and bloody.

Enid didn't hesitate to run toward her at the first sight of shadows breaking the tree line.

"You're okay," Enid murmurs, dropping to her knees to cradle the girl's cheeks that are covered in sweat and mud and only breaking for the path of tears that fall steadily. "I've got you." She insists, eyes sharp and pleading as if maybe they can cut through the pain Wednesday's carrying, and lessen the weight.

Xavier murmurs to the group that had gathered around, shepherding them back to the school with Eugene flanking them. And it's quiet- deadly still in the clearing that nearly killed them both. Changed everything-like a gas pedal stuck, hurling relentlessly on burning tires until the brick building stopped the car in a squeal of metal and bindings. 

And she wants to smile- bright and sunny enough to flush out the remaining dregs of water that seem to be filling Wednesday'a lungs but it would be harrowed. So she steeples her face into something softer, open and soft for eyes that can't focus on one particular feature. As if she was trying to assure her own mind that Enid was alive, by piecing every part of her together.

And that's okay.

They're in plain sight- but it's just them, held by the darkness and kissed by the moonlight. Wednesday can't breathe- her lungs won't expand fast enough for the oxygen, because the cuts feel like they'd been laced with chemicals that are burning her from the outside in. She can't open her mouth, and she can't talk and it's a first. Afraid if she speaks, she won't know where to start or where to stop. So she just cries, quietly, her breaths coming in staccato's and inflections that stop for hiccups that seem to be twisting her throat.

Enid wishes- god, she fucking wishes, she could open up her chest and give Wednesday her own oxygen supply.  Give her the heart of hers that wasn't as wounded as Wednesday's.

Because Enid broke often. She broke when she was pushed too far to the edge, and she'd cry and scream and run until she could put herself back together again, and move from the edge. Hell- she had to climb the cliff she'd been huddled down a few times too many, too. But Wednesday had never done that.