Summary: Wednesday has never cared about belonging somewhere. She does her own thing unapologetically. Yet, you're over there, and she's over here. It's the first time she's ever felt out of place.

Warnings: Jealous!Wednesday. Wednesday generally being Bad At Feelings™️. Enid enjoying it too much. Thing, the betrayer. Wednesday hating on Xavier, as per usual.

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There are very few things that make Wednesday Addams uncomfortable. She will certainly never let anyone know her full list, but there's no hiding this one. Wednesday isn't even sure what's making her uncomfortable.

It's not the fact that she's at a party held in the Siren's common room. A part of her regrets letting Enid drag her to this, especially since the blonde left her almost immediately when she spotted her stoner boyfriend. But another part of her is thrilled by being here-because of you.

It's slightly difficult to see you across. This party is not like the Rave'N Dance, chaperoned by adults and modest dancing.

No.

The lack of adults watching makes this a party of hormonal teenagers cramped in one space with dark lighting. The obligatory distance between people as they dance disappears, bodies grinding up on each other as the music plays so loud, Wednesday can feel the bass on her skin.

So, it's a little hard to see you across the room.

Wednesday clenches her jaw, her mind betraying her as she unwillingly wonders if she's uncomfortable watching the sea of bodies-her peers-grinding up on each other or if it's because you're on the other side of the room, nowhere near her as you lean against the wall with a red solo cup in hand and talking to Bianca.

Even though you're not following the masses in dancing, you look so mellow as you rest against the wall. You look like you belong.

It's too far, Wednesday distantly thinks.

You're over there, and she's over here.

And for someone like Wednesday, who has never singularly cared about belonging anywhere, she feels-out of place.

"Wednesday!"

Arms wrap around her before she can move out of the way. It's disheartening she's so distracted, so clumsy, that Enid can ambush her.

"Enid," Wednesday grouses, her brows furrowing as she tenses up but allows it in the end.

"Sorry," Enid pulls back, looking only slightly sheepish. "It's just all so exciting! Why aren't you joining in on the fun?"

Wednesday's eyes peer past Enid's shoulder to the mass of bodies. She can smell the sweat and practically feel the grime. "That's torture," Her eyes move back to Enid's smiling face. "And not the kind I like."

Enid doesn't say anything; her eyes move to the side where the punch bowl is, and her boyfriend is getting her a drink of Yoko's specialty virgin mix. His gaze finds her, and she waves at him as he gives her a warm smile.

"I think," Enid starts to say as her boyfriend returns to his task. "There's something else you could do you might find fun."

Enid is staring in the same direction as Wednesday, but she doesn't acknowledge it. In the same line of vision, Xavier is sitting on the couch by his lonesome, looking broody as usual.

"Keeping Xavier company isn't my idea of fun either," Wednesday dispassionately replies.

"Not that!" Enid exasperatedly replies. "Go talk to Maleficent."

"I see you're struggling to find a new moniker."

"It's better than Xavier's," Enid mutters. "Besides, it's not like we're limited on tries. You've yet to come up with anything at all."

Wednesday doesn't reply to the comment. It's not necessarily true, but everything she's thought could be possible is strangely too...intimate. If she did inherit her father's nicknaming skills, she cursed him for it. Of course, that skill would be limited to coming up with pet names.

"Anyway, stop stalling," Enid chastises. "Go save her from Bianca."

"What makes you think she needs saving?" Wednesday's eyes travel to your form again. You look perfectly content with whatever drivel Bianca is subjecting you to.

Wednesday tries to keep her irritation in check. Bianca has been much more bearable since they saved the school, but the feeling of self-pity and rage plague her whenever she loses to Bianca still.

Bianca looks over, smirking at Wednesday before she turns back to you.

Wednesday is being plagued right now.

Then, you're looking at her. Your eyes look darker than usual in the oscillating lights. But still, as always, you smile sincerely but unintrusively at her. You give her a short wave before you turn back to Bianca.

Something abnormal flares inside Wednesday's stomach. Is she sick? Were her eyes being subjected to too many colors, and this was the reaction?

"Enid," Wednesday calls her friend's name with no inflection in her tone despite how uncomfortable she feels. "I'm unwell and not in the pleasant way. I'm going back to our room."

"Oh no!" Enid immediately frowns, concerned for her friend, as she turns to face Wednesday fully. "What's wrong? Are you catching a cold?"

"My intestines feel like they're being wrung and twisted," Wednesday reveals and then thoughtfully says, "It's not as enjoyable as I thought it 'd be."

"Why would you enjoy-never mind," Enid sighs. "Was it something you ate or drank?"

"I eat the same thing as I do everyday," Wednesday shakes her head.

Enid hums as she trails Wednesday's line of sight. Her eyes haven't left your form once.

"Did it come on suddenly?"

"Yes."

"Is it still there?"

"Yes."

"Is it better or worse?"

"Getting worse."

Enid gently places her hands on Wednesday, being sure to move slowly, as Wednesday was still averse to having people touch her. Now, Wednesday was forced to look at her.

"How about now?"

Wednesday doesn't answer right away. Her eyes gaze down in thought before she looks back at Enid. "Interesting, Enid. It's subsiding. Where did you learn this?"

Enid merely grins as she turns Wednesday back to her previous position. You were laughing at something Bianca was saying, and the way your head tilted back exposed the smoothness of your neck. If she strains her ears, Wednesday could probably even hear that melodic sound.

"How about now?"

"Enid," Wednesday glares, the unpleasant feeling coming back immediately.

"Ah, well," Enid releases her hands and places them behind her back. "Well, from my expert opinion, you're not physically unwell. You have something called the butterflies!" Enid squeals.

"Butterflies?" Wednesday repeats with a frown.

"You know," Enid grins. "The feeling you get in your stomach when you're nervous or excited."

"One, I'm never nervous," Wednesday raises her brow. "Two, the only time I'm excited is when I'm winning, and others are suffering." Wednesday's eyes scan the room. "And the only one suffering here is Xavier and even that is merely amusing but not exciting."

"Ah, well," Enid smirks. "I guess you can add Faerie Berry to the list of things that excite you then."

"That's even worse than Maleficent," Wednesday vacantly replies.

"Ugh, shut up!" Enid scrunches her nose. "Just...just go talk to her!"

But Wednesday refuses. She already feels out of place, and you're distracting her to the point where she can't recognize the roar of her surroundings.

Besides, the gruesome butterflies Enid so kindly (smugly) described to her was bound to worsen in your proximity.

"I'm going back to the room," Wednesday declares with finality. She doesn't wait for Enid to try to convince her otherwise, turning on her heels and briskly walking away.

The silence in her room loosens the tension in her shoulders, and she lets out a tiny puff of air. Wednesday changes her clothes, contemplating another night of playing the cello.

"Thing?" Wednesday calls out. It'd be useful if he could turn the sheets for her. But only silence answers her back. "Thing, you better not be hiding in Enid's silk sheets again. You know it scares her if it's unexpected and I won't save you this time if she tries to throw you out the window."

Wednesday takes a deep breath when she realizes that Thing isn't in the room with her. Thing has been leaving and returning to the room at odd hours lately, and while she's usually uninterested in what Thing is up to, she's learned that he's generally up to mischief that Wednesday ends up paying for.

Turning back on her heel, she leaves her room quietly and begins looking down the halls.

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"I'm going to rip your nails out when I find you, Thing," Wednesday pledges with quiet rage. She's searched nearly everywhere and has yet to find any inkling of where he might be. She just finished checking the nurse's office because Thing sometimes came in here to steal lotion.

Just as Wednesday's about to go back to her room and see if Thing has already returned, something catches her eye at the corner. She carefully peers out the window and sees you stepping outside. You carefully look behind you, running your hand through your hair delicately before you walk off toward the forest.

Strange, Wednesday thought. She got a text from Enid that the party was still going on just minutes ago, and her roommate might not return for the night. Were you stepping out to get fresh air? Or were you meeting with someone?

It doesn't take Wednesday long to decide to follow after you. Her morbid sense of curiosity has won over, and quite frankly, following someone while at Nevermore has never failed to bring her something interesting.

Wednesday takes her time; her footsteps light as she has to be careful when following you. Faeries have a keen sixth sense as you stop multiple times and turn around with a tilt of your head. She reminds herself that she'll need to tell you that you need to listen to your instincts better.

Eventually, you stop in front of a tree. It's as nondescript as it gets, blending in with other trees and the background. But you walk around it clockwise 2 times, then counterclockwise once before knocking on the truck 3 times before walking around the trunk clockwise. Wednesday expects to see you as you turn, but you don't.

Wednesday's eyes gleam with interest as she steps out from the shadow and repeats exactly what you did. The scenery changes as she walks around the trunk clockwise the final time. For a moment, Wednesday thinks she's having a vision, except it doesn't jolt and incapacitate her like she's touching livewire.

The space before her has transformed into something Wednesday can't quite describe. The air outside had been cool with the night taking over, but despite how it's nighttime here as well, the air mimics the afternoon air of autumn. The fireflies are the only things that keep the place from total darkness other than the moon.

That's all the time Wednesday has to take in her surroundings because something else captures her eyes, and she's powerless to tear them away.

You were sitting on the ground near a clear pond, and while the usual sight of you does ensnare Wednesday-this was different.

Obsidian wings hung from your back, initially held up as they fluttered before they dropped into a relaxed stance, the ends resting on the grass.

And resting between your shoulder blades was-

Wednesday narrows her eyes.

Thing.

The way Thing jolted when he saw her jerked you into turning your head around. Shock was the first emotion to cross your face before you frowned, your wings tensing as they curled themselves around you protectively.

You have never frowned at her before, and the sight of it curdles wretchedly in Wednesday's stomach.

"What is this place?" Wednesday asks, her curiosity winning over guilt.

"It's like a studio..." you answer slowly. "Principal Weems let me have a private area created by fae magic. You can only pass through the veil by a sequence of actions."

Wednesday nods, and then it's silent again.

"I didn't mean to intrude," Wednesday finds herself saying, her face remaining blank to not betray how she feels.

"Did you follow me?" You ask warily.

Wednesday swallows. "I was-looking for Thing."

You look at the hand on your shoulder as if you're having some kind of silent conversation.

"Well," Wednesday jerkily says. "Now that I see Thing is fine, I'll go. I won't speak about this matter."

Just as Wednesday turns to leave, she hears your quick, but soft voice.

"No, it's okay. You can stay...if you want."

Wednesday turns back and feels a weird relief to see your wings have unfurled themselves from you back into their relaxed manner. You nod your head to take a seat next to you. It takes only a few strides to meet you, but as she sits down, Wednesday feels-out of place. Like she's intruding on you and Thing.

Thing-that betrayer.

Has he been sneaking out every night to see you? He very well knew that you were the object of her-curiosity.

And he's been completely signless about you.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just not..." you sigh. "I get weird about people seeing my wings."

"Why?" Wednesday deadpans as she stares out into the pond. "They're a sight to behold. No shame in that."

You give her a small smile but shake your head. "What do you know about faeries?"

"Very little, considering there are few books about your kind, and Weems seems unwilling to share anything except for the fact you don't have anything like a siren's song."

"Why do you think I have something like a siren's song?" You ask with a raise of your brow.

Wednesday doesn't answer.

You don't seem offended by her lack of answer, merely chuckling as you pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. "The reason faeries are so recluse is because many of us have been hunted down for our wings."

Wednesday turns her head to look at you, but you don't meet her eyes. "Do your wings have magical properties?"

You nod. It's quiet for a moment, and you seem hesitant by how your brows furrow before they relax. "If you can cut out both of a faerie's wings, it can be used in a ritual to grant you one wish."

Wednesday raises a brow, skeptical. "Any wish?"

You nod. "You'd be surprised how many of my kind have been slain for their wings used for depravity and then slain again to reverse the depravity done."

But Wednesday's face remains impassive since the idea that people are wretched and depraved doesn't surprise her.

"And what happens to the faeries that have their wings taken?"

"They typically die," you deadpan. "Faeries can't survive without their wings."

Silence falls over them again but only for a brief moment.

"Why did you tell me?" Wednesday asks, her eyes watching your face to catch any movement that would expose the truth. This was too important to reveal and left you vulnerable if Wednesday was interested in your wings.

You turn to her, eyes trailing Wednesday's face in the same studious manner. It's strange how you can do something that is meant to be intrusive yet do it so unintrusively.

"I think," you say slowly, licking your lips to wet them, "you have no desire for your wishes to be granted in such a manner. It wouldn't be satisfying for you."

You look away, staring at the pond while Wednesday is left with the words to settle over her.

"You are correct," Wednesday nods. "I have no need for your wings. Anything I want, I can achieve by my own means."

There's a small upward quirk of your lips, and Wednesday's stomach is being wrung and twisted again. She shuts out Enid's accursed words.

"Why are you out here with Thing?" Wednesday's eyes trail to Thing in an accusatory manner.

You sit up straighter, turning your head to look at Thing on your shoulder. He taps his index finger on you impatiently, and you laugh lightly. Pulling out a small container and opening it, revealing some kind of salve inside, Thing applies a decent amount on his finger and crawls carefully over to your back.

You adjust, moving to sit so that your wings face Wednesday, and she can see what Thing is doing.

"Thing helps me apply medicine daily." Your wings flutter slightly as Thing uses his middle finger to push away some of your feathers, and Wednesday catches what the medicine is for.

There's a deep, angry gash underneath your feathers. They don't necessarily look fresh, but Wednesday can tell they're slow to heal. The cut is long, disappearing under your feathers from view. It was clear you were earthbound and would be until the cut healed.

Thing applies the medicine gently and slowly, and Wednesday watches as your wings tense and quiver-in pain, Wednesday assumes.

"I met Thing about two weeks ago in the infirmary late at night," you reveal. "Previously, I would have to see the nurse every day to have this done. They make special provisions for me at night so as to not draw attention."

Then, you were chuckling. "But I caught Thing trying to steal some of the special lotion the nurse keeps locked in the cabinets."

The five-finger discount, Wednesday drawls in her mind.

"I was a little surprised about a sentient hand walking around, but he's quite sweet and it's better than having the nurse pitying looks."

Wednesday thinks you would've shrugged but refrained to avoid jostling Thing as he worked his way down and then to your other wing.

"Thing is happy to help for some dew drops-which is like magical faerie lotion. Very hydrating and makes your skin glowy."

"Thing is very vain," Wednesday dryly notes, and you laugh, despite a tiny jerk in your wings as Thing gets to a particularly tender area.

"What happened to your wings?" Wednesday asks, unabashed about it, as she's never been afraid of the hard things. If you don't answer, you simply don't, and Wednesday won't take offense.

Thing finishes applying the medicine, dropping back onto the ground as you turn to face Wednesday. She watches as you wave your hand over a patch of grass, its moisture forming into visible drops of dew before they glow faintly and drop onto Thing.

His skin does look shinier and glassy, Wednesday reluctantly admits. At the very least, she understands why Thing was keeping quiet about you. He seems to be rallying for his forgiveness as he scuddles to Wednesday to rest on her shoulder, bumping his knuckles against her jaw gently.

Wednesday, though, isn't in a forgiving mood. Especially when you look up at her with a melancholy smile.

"While it's true I'm weird about people seeing my wings because they're hunted down, it's also because I'm not fond of them either," you tell her. "Night faeries are extremely rare. They're different from the way they look to the powers they hold, and many of my kind believe they're wretched beings-destined to bring calamity."

Your wings expand as far as they can without inducing pain, and Wednesday doesn't understand how there can be something so bewitching as your magnificent wings.

But you clearly don't see them that way.

"Black wings are the mark of a night faerie."