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radioactivepeasant · 1 year ago

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Free Day Friday: untitled Jak oneshot/ Daxter Snaps And It Doesn't Go Well

(This takes place right after Jak finally gets to return to Spargus in Jak 3, because I had some Feelings about the Dark Eco Oracle and its well-loved shrine having been either moved or destroyed in Haven. Also for reference: since the original Jak concept art was a cat/foxlike alien child, hence the ears being set so high on his head in TPL, I'm hereby deciding that their species can purr. Because I said so.)

This is Quite Long, so I'll probably crosspost to AO3 later.

TW: panic attack

Jak hadn't been surprised by the summons when he'd returned from Haven. He knew he was in for it. Damas had started trusting him with more and more responsibilities and then Jak had screwed it all up. Running off to Haven and then getting stuck there immediately after? Not a good look.

Honestly, Jak was just grateful he wasn't being "escorted" up by city guards.

Part of him wanted to go in fighting. That's all Damas cares about, right? a small, bitter corner of his heart muttered.

The rest of him was too afraid. He finally knew better than to look to anyone in Haven for affirmation or examples. Damas had been the closest he'd ever come to an authority figure he trusted. What if he lost that, too?

The second his and Daxter's heads were visible in the elevator shaft, Damas was already raising his voice. Perhaps he was simply projecting his voice to reach them, but Jak's stomach twisted into knots regardless, and his breathing became quick and shallow.

"Where have you been?" Damas demanded, rising from his throne. "It's been a month!"

The elevator locked, and Jak crept out onto the pathway like a skittish animal. He didn't meet Damas’s eyes. The confused anger and hurt he'd seen in them the last time flashed in his memory, and he winced. An oppressive silence fell for a few unnaturally long seconds, punctuated by the creak of the water wheel. Damas was waiting for an answer.

It's not our fault, Jak tried to reassure himself, Just another betrayal. We didn't do anything wrong.

When he didn't answer Damas, the king’s expression twisted between outrage and disbelief and-

And disappointment.

"Nothing? Really, Jak?" He took one step down from the dais, clenching his fist at his side. "Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"

Daxter took it upon himself to answer when Jak wouldn't -- or couldn't.

"Oh lay off!" he hissed, puffing himself up to look bigger, "Don't you have friends to kill in your gladiator ring?"

"Dax!" Jak gasped. Too late.

The words were already out and a black look fell across Damas’s face. His entire posture went rigid.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a frightful facsimile of calm.

"Daxter, don't," Jak pleaded, but it was far too late for that. When Daxter got this mad, he didn't even hear Jak.

"You heard me!"

Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder and stood on the first stepping stone as if blocking the way between them.

"You tried to make us kill one of our only real friends, and threw a tantrum when we wouldn't! And if you think I'd trust you with Jak's location after that, those spikes must be diggin' into your brain!"

Jak couldn't breathe.

Either Damas was going to cut them off, or Daxter was going to get hurt, and either way everything was going to crumble. He'd finally escaped Haven and there was going to be nothing to escape to.

His core pulsed, obeying signals he didn't even know his brain was sending. It tried to respond to the fight-or-flight instincts quickening his pulse and shortening his breath. In Haven, he would have gone Dark in response. But he'd used all the dark eco. There was nothing left. Nothing but adrenaline and panic.

A strange, almost echoing sensation pushed at the inside of his skull, and the room spun. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they'd been fused shut. He couldn't breathe!

"Jak!"

Between blurs of brown and green, Damas -- or an unfocused and staticy version of him -- approached rapidly.

As if from another room, Jak heard Daxter snarl, "Stay back! If you hurt him, I'll rip your spikes out!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!"

"You already did!"

It was too much. He couldn't- he couldn't focus. He couldn't find the light eco. Jak's knees gave, and it was a struggle to stay upright. Hands caught his upper arms, preventing him from collapsing entirely.

"Breathe, Jak!"

Damas sounded worried this time.

"You have to breathe!"

"Can't-!" Jak gasped, breath squeaking.

Then the world turned sideways and he was in the water. Or partly in the water.

His legs twitched with the shock of the new sensation, surprising him enough to suck in a deep breath. A compressing sensation against his chest and arms tightened in response.

"Focus on the water. Find your feet."

It took four tries to get his boots on the rocky bottom of the pool. His chest hurt, but he managed another deep breath.

"That's it. You can do this."

A small hand took his, pulling against the pressure around his shoulders, and pressed it against a narrow chest.

"L- like we practiced, bud-"

Oh. There's Daxter.

"Just breathe when I breathe, remember?"

Distantly, he heard Damas ask Daxter, "Has this happened before? In- in Spargus, I mean."

"Don't think about it, warrior," the other voice encouraged -- Damas? Is that Damas? But he's mad at us! -- "Just do as your friend does."

"If Jak wants to tell ya, he'll tell ya," Daxter said sourly. "You and I are not on speaking terms right now."

"...that is understandable."

One by one, his muscles relaxed. His breathing was much too fast, but it was easier to get full breaths at least.

When the ringing in Jak’s ears at last began to subside, he picked up a new sound. It was faint, barely audible at all, but he could just make out a nervous rumble. A laryngeal vibration he could feel through the back of his shirt. With conscious thought on standby mode, Jak's body responded to long-forgotten cues unbidden. His glottis rapidly dilated and constricted with his breathing, creating its own vibrations in a bid to self-soothe. It was how he'd learned not to cry out loud as a young child -- although blessedly, he would never remember that.

It wasn't the first time Damas had walked one of his people through a panic attack in the throne room, and it wouldn't be the last. But this one hurt.

"You're safe. There is no danger here. This is a safe place."

Shame raked its claws down his chest and Pain reached through the incision, grasping at organs and prying bones out of the way.

Jak didn't trust him.

And it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered- to Jak, to Daxter, to either-

A memory loomed damningly before his eyes. Mar had just started walking, and nearly toppled into the pools. Damas had yelled at him to get away from the edge, and the baby had burst into a loud, terrified wail.

"I'm- was it the shouting? I-"

"I'm sorry, it's okay, it's okay now- I know, I used the Big Voice, Daddy's sorry! You scared me, Bug!"

He hadn't gotten any better after losing Mar, had he? He still shouted when he was afraid. And look how that had turned out.

Damas tightened his hold on Jak and rested his chin on the crown of the boy's head. The apologies were bitter on his tongue, but necessary.

"I...I triggered this, didn't I? I'm sorry- gods, I'm sorry, Jak. I'm- you scared me. I couldn't find you! No one could!"

"You...thought we defected?" he asked through numbed lips.

The panic was slow to fade, still muddling Jak's mind. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was hearing.

"I thought the Marauders had taken you! Or you'd collapsed somewhere in the Wastes where we couldn't find you!" Damas answered. The dregs of that old fear still stained the edges of his voice. He shuddered.

He swallowed hard, interrupting the agitated purring for a moment. "I...did not handle the...situation as I should have. I damaged your trust. And I deserved worse than the silent treatment. I understand that. But to keep it from Sig, too?"

"You can't just run away like that! I- I understand why you didn't tell me-"

Painfully slowly, Jak drew his legs back out of the water and onto the rocks.

"They wouldn't let me," he mumbled. "They didn't let us leave."

Damas shot a concerned look at Daxter, who shrugged and looked away.

Shifting his grip to have one arm around the boy's waist, Damas heaved himself to his feet, taking Jak with him.

This promised to be a very unpleasant conversation, the least he could do was find them somewhere more comfortable to sit.

They were silent for a time, each processing the whirlwind of events. Jak was deeply, thoroughly, confused. No one had ever apologized like that before. Acknowledging his pain and the specific way their actions had caused it? It would be a cold day in hell before Samos ever did anything like that.

He didn't understand.

They'd defied Damas, then run from him. Daxter had just challenged him to his face.

Yet he spoke like a man anxiously awaiting the return of a prodigal son.

"Who wouldn't let you leave, Jak?" Damas asked him, far too gently.

Jak shut his eyes. "Haven."

"Haven?!" Damas sounded horrified. "What were you doing there?! Is that where you've been this whole time?"

Miserably, Jak nodded. "I was just- we were just scouting. Just- it wasn't supposed to be-"

He gritted his teeth.

"They locked down the air trains," he croaked. "And- and there's force fields blocking off the city exits. The only way they'd let us go was if I fought on the frontlines for three weeks first."

Fighting down his anger lest he trigger Jak's panic again, Damas forced himself to ask, "What made you go back to that city in the first place?"

A hostage. His boy- The boy had been a bloody hostage, and he'd had no idea! Damas felt something dark and dense fluttering between his ribs. If he found the person who ordered this, he would drown them in the sands.

Jak winced and passed several looks back and forth with Daxter.

"Ashelin...called me to the oasis," he said at last.

Damas stiffened beside him.

"She want- she wanted me to come back to Haven. After everything they did to me, she wanted me to come back."

He felt the hints of the anxiety returning, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

"Ashelin Praxis?" Damas demanded. He curled his lip. "I might have known. I hope you told her where to shove that offer."

Daxter scoffed. "Oh, he did. Even told her "I have new friends now", which was a little too generous considering what you said to my pal."

Jak gave the ottsel a weary look, and Daxter grudgingly subsided.

"I told her to leave. She- she wouldn't drop it. Said the friends we still had were going to die. That it was my responsibility because of-"

He flipped a hand in the air in frustration.

"I don't know! Dead people I share some common blood with!"

"Pal, I'm pretty sure that common blood stopped bein' responsible for that dump when Princess Scribbleface's darling pappy took over," Daxter grumbled.

"Common blood?!" Damas startled, but Jak had already moved on, hastily trying to explain himself.

"We didn't believe her -- I- I mean, why would we? But when I asked the Oracle in the temple-"

"How did you find the Oracle?!" Damas spluttered.

"The stupid thing called me," Jak growled. He leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. "Said the whole planet was in danger and my friends would die if I didn't find the catacombs."

He muffled a snarl in his palms.

"I hate them. I hate those rottin' things. They don't tell me when something is a trap. They only tell me what fits their agenda."

Jak could speak to Precursor Oracles.

Only monks were supposed to still be able to do that.

Monks, or Heirs of Mar taking the Trials.

"And...was it a trap?" Damas asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

A painful, wishful image of Jak in the Tomb of Mar wormed through Damas’s thoughts. If life had any semblance of fairness, or restitution, it would have been reality. It was not what he deserved, not after how many times he'd failed the people he cared about. But Jak deserved it. He'd been isolated enough.

Jak's face was like stone.

"All they cared about was getting me into Haven to find the catacombs before that nutcase Veger could. And all Haven cared about was keeping us there."

A deep, ominous creaking filled the room. Harsh shadows stretched and yawned as the terrible old statue beside the dais flickered, then lit up. A suffocating sense of dread filled Damas as he beheld the monolith. It wasn't a real Oracle. It was a shell, made to hold pieces of the water wheel. It wasn't made to have any kind of lights.

Daxter yelped and scurried up to Jak’s shoulder as the water wheel ground to a halt.

The silence was unnatural.

Jak's chest heaved, and Damas feared for a moment that he was going to panic again. But an answering light flickered in the boy's eyes. White, incandescent rage.

"What do you want now? You're not welcome here!" Jak snarled, standing up with a jerk.

"Angry one-"

It said in warning, a rolling, ancient voice that echoed off the stones and twisted in their eardrums.

Jak clenched his fists.

"No! I'm not afraid of you! You're no "holier" than Onin. You aren't even a Precursor!"

A sense of fury shook the room, and the water trembled.

Jak held his ground though his legs shook.

"You can't do anything to punish me," he challenged, angry tears glowing in his eyes. "The worst you can do is withhold information that would protect me, and you do that anyway! If- if you had power at all, you wouldn't have let Veger destroy Crius!"

Crius? Damas vaguely remembered that name. Hadn't he been one of the Bonekeeper's heralds? The memories were fuzzy at best. Father forbade Mother from speaking of the Bonekeeper when they married. Any communing with the patron of dark eco was done in secret, and as a child Damas had only caught her once.

"The dark shrine was all those people had!" the anger was slipping away from Jak now, replaced by something closer to grief. "He gave them hope! He gave- he gave me hope! And you couldn't save him. So what makes you think you can scare me now? Hu'mens are worse than you."

And the Oracle, miraculously, quieted. The waters stilled, and some of the dread receded. Jak fell back to the steps, having exhausted the last reserves of his emotions.

"Yeah! You tell him, Jak!" Daxter cheered, breaking the silence, "About time you put Sparky in his place!"

He ruffled Jak's hair -- the hair he could reach at least -- and leaned against his arm comfortingly.

"Next, we get Loghead!"

The Oracle remained lit, but speechless. All this time, had rebuking the heralds really been an option? Ever the pragmatist, Damas decided to follow Jak's example.

"As the boy said." His voice was quiet at first, but gained courage with each new word.

"This is not a place of seers and soothsayers. Respectfully: we do not require your guidance at this time."

"Heir of Mar-"

the Oracle began, almost wheedling.

Rage loosened his lips and he lost the last shred of reverence he'd held for the messenger.

Jak went rigid and Damas felt an anger of his own. How dare this entity try to leverage his bloodline when the Precursors had turned their backs on him!

"Hold your tongue! Unless you can comprehend the trouble you have caused, keep your counsel to yourself."

Resentfully, the Oracle's eyes flashed.

And with that, the lights were gone. The water wheel resumed its gloomy rhythm. The statue was hollow once more.

"So be it. You wish to hear no truth from me? Then you, Damas of the Wastes, shall hear no truth from me."

Something about the acquiescence -- or threat -- made Damas uneasy. Withholding information again, just as Jak had said. But he had the feeling it was hinting at something important. Taunting him.

Bloody seven hells.

He'd sooner cast the bones himself and call upon the Dark Lady directly as his mother once had than ever deal with that thing again.

"Little wonder you're always so on edge, dealing with that," he said; a poor attempt at a joke.

Jak dropped his face back into his hands.

"I'm so sick of them. Jak do this. Jak go there. Suffer for us, Jak! It's Fate!"

Damas scoffed. "Fate, eh? Wastelanders make their own fate. If this is who my monks consult, it's no surprise that they believe the world is coming to an end."

"They are pretty worried about the creatures in that space ship," Jak admitted reluctantly.

"Bah."

Damas waved it off.

"When the metalheads invaded our world, we survived with or without the Precursors they hunted. We will do the same if these creatures land."

He jostled Jak's shoulder -- shaking Daxter by proxy.

"Ey! No manhandling!"

Daxter slithered away down the steps and into the water. He glared up over the step like a little croc.

"You keep your emotionally constipated hands away from me!"

Damas let out a startled laugh, and Jak shook his head and grinned.

"I...guess you're right. Spargus is pretty tough."

"We are Wastelanders, boy," Damas declared, "We carved out a home in the places where nothing else survives. We'll carve out our fate the same way, with the same tools our ancestors used."

"...with eco," Jak said quietly, as if experiencing a revelation.

"Our minds think alike."

Damas’s wry grin faded.

"Jak...I'm...sorry. That I made you feel you couldn't contact me for help. If I had known you were being held in Haven against your will, I would have come for you."

The boy fixed him with a bewildered expression.

"You would have?" Jak asked, "You're serious. You. Leaving your people to come after me?"

The king met his stare evenly.

"Yes."

"After the- the thing, with the Arena-?"

Damas winced and looked away.

"I. I did not warn you, I was not permitted to. But the final trial of a Spargan is one they are supposed to lose."

Jak bristled. "What?!"

"It's a test of whether they can put loyalty to their city over the commands of a tyrant. Sig wasn't supposed to throw down his gun, he was supposed to goad you into a sparring match." Damas ran his hand over his shaved head. "I should have told him before he went in that it was you. I didn't know that you knew each other, but- maybe he wouldn't have panicked if he'd known it was a Final Trial. Maybe I wouldn't have panicked."

Jak stared at him in disbelief for several seconds. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he blurted out an accusation with no bite to it.

"What, did you forget I didn't grow up here?"

When he was met with chagrined silence, his eyes widened.

"Oh my gods you did. How?! You're the one that found me out there!"

Clearly embarrassed, Damas shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. There are days when it just...seems as though I have known you for much longer than seven months."

Jak took that statement, turned it over in his mind. The version of Damas in his head wasn't quite matching the one in front of him. Even before things had become strained between them, he hadn't had the context to understand the way Damas saw him. He still didn't- not completely.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, and gestured to the soaked trousers. "I um. I don't usually...not in front of people, I mean-"

He leaned back against the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. The linen stuck to his legs in sodden wrinkles and folds, nearly transparent against his calves. It would dry quickly once he stepped outside again -- and the evaporating water would serve to cool his skin nicely. But for now, it drew his mind to his panic attack.

"Don't apologize." Damas laced his fingers together loosely and leaned his elbows against his knees. "May...may I ask what it was that sparked that kind of fear?"

Jak met Daxter's eyes, down in the water. The ottsel winced. He knew he'd taken it too far. He was just so sick of people acting like Jak was a trained dog with no autonomy of his own. And sometimes his desire to protect Jak’s emotions didn't mesh completely with what Jak needed at the moment.

Jak broke their gaze and began to pick at a scar on his elbow.

"...thought I was going to have to choose sides. Between you and Dax."

"Why would supporting Daxter cause you to panic?" Damas pressed.

"Because," he muttered with a shrug.

He'd assumed without question that Jak would take Daxter's side. Jak didn't know whether to be amused or grateful or just tired.

"Because?"

"Because I- I wanted this to still be home." Jak made a vague gesture encompassing the room, and its occupants.

"This is your home," Damas insisted. He glanced to the empty Oracle with a thoughtful frown.

Something lingered in the corners of Jak's eyes. A concern he wasn't voicing. Did he still believe he could be so easily forsaken?

"If this is where the desert brought you, then this is where the desert meant you to thrive."

But then, he had been cast out of Haven on the flimsiest of pretenses. His faith in hu'menity was shaken. For a moment, Damas considered changing the subject. He could talk about the coming trials, give Jak something else to think about.

Or he could meet him on his level. Show him the same vulnerability he'd so unwillingly displayed.

The words stuck to his tongue, stabbed like needles into the roof of his mouth as he forced them through his teeth.

"I...had a son. Some years ago."

"Had". Was there ever such a horrible word?

"He was like you -- or, he would have been, when he was older."

Under his breath he added, "if he ever got the chance to get older."

Jak's brows knit together, then went slack. From tiny pinpricks in the centers of his eyes, horror flooded out to the rest of his face.

"You have a child?"

After a moment to collect himself, the king nodded.

His head dipped lower, nearly brushing the steeple of his fingertips.

"I did. He was taken from me, by some of the same people who seem to have orchestrated your own suffering."

"I pray that my son still lives but- he was so young. So small. So-"

Damas’s voice cracked.

"So very small."

Guilt played across Jak's face for a moment, then was swallowed up by a deep sadness that welled up from within. Haven was a city of devils. He wondered if Damas’s child had been taken during the time when Praxis was snatching children en masse in his search for Jak's childhood self.

Did that make it his fault that Damas was so bereaved?

"That's-"

That's not fair. It's an abomination. Hurting a kid should be enough to make the Precursors strike you dead on the spot. Errol should've died the first time he put me in the Chair-

Jak's thoughts spiraled out of control, and he had to fight to return his focus to the moment.

"That's terrible."

Inhaling sharply, Damas raised his head and straightened his spine. One warm, callused hand found its way to Jak’s shoulder and squeezed.

He felt his throat closing up, snapping his voice into grating pieces.

"The reason I tell you this is so that you will understand this: It would take more than a little teenaged defiance to make me turn my back on you."

"I lost my son, Jak," he croaked, "I cannot lose you, too."

The laryngeal vibration began again -- from Jak, this time. The nearly autonomous response was as much a subconscious desire to comfort Damas as it was self-soothing. Even so, his chest ached dully. How old, he wondered, had Damas’s son been when he was taken? He must have been so scared! Did he call out for his father? Did Damas call out for him?

"In...war," Damas said hesitantly, "Sacrifices are sometimes required of us. In my case, I had to stay and rebuild the part of the wall the attackers destroyed. To protect thousands from the storms and the Marauders. I knew that, but it still took days for Sig to convince me to send him to Haven in my place."

"Yeah," Jak muttered, "I know about sacrfices."

But Damas shook his head. "It's hardly a sacrifice if someone else chose it for you out of convenience. That's just betrayal."

Silence fell again, but there was no tension to it. A sense of introspection lingered between them, each consumed with his own thoughts. Even Daxter's anger had muted itself -- now overlayed with guilt, berating himself for jumping to fight Jak's battles without bothering to see what Jak himself wanted.

The moment of quiet ended with a crackling of the city radio from which Damas monitored all official channels.

"Oh not now," the man groaned with a most unkingly attitude. "Can I have a moment of peace?"

"No way," Jak scoffed, finding a glimmer of humor in the situation, "You jinxed it by letting us take a break. Now something crazy is going to happen."

Damas narrowed his eyes. "Boy, if you will that into reality-" he warned, with no real way to finish the threat.

The second he picked up the receiver, he knew it was going to be a headache.

"Sire! We've got three different Marauder patrols converging on the city gates! There's a fourth on the radar crossing the river now!"

Daxter pulled himself out of the water and cringed. "How many cars is that?"

"Twelve, at least," Jak gulped.

Damas did not take this information the way he normally would have. He seemed to be fuming as he stood up and stomped up the stairs to retrieve his staff. Jak could hear him muttering under his breath.

His voice rose to something more audible. "I'm not in the mood for this, Egil," he snapped, addressing the thane of the Marauders as if he were present.

"Not the time, Egil, this is not the time to test me! Just got my kid back, got threatened by a bloody Oracle-"

Jak decided, for the sake of being able to focus during a fight, to just pretend he hadn't heard Damas referring to him as his own kid. He could come back to that and freak out later. Right now, there was a fight to be had. He held an arm down for Daxter to use as a ramp, then stood.

"Where do you need me?" he asked.

Damas gave him a searching look. For an instant, his gaze flicked to the lifeless Oracle. That seemed to reinforce his resolve.

"With me," he said shortly. "We're taking the Dozer. You're on the turret gun."

The way Jak's -- and even Daxter's -- eyes lit up almost made up for the hassle Damas knew this skirmish was going to be. He cast one last look at the Oracle before shepherding them to the lift.

Keep your counsel, he thought, and I will keep mine. I don't need your permission to add a son to my House. What of that, eh? The Heir and your renegade Pawn allied against you!

"Hey, maybe I should drive," Jak suggested as the lift began to move."

"Hm." Damas pretended to consider it. "No."

"Why not?!"

"You can't reach the pedals yet."

He could have simply explained that he preferred to drive his favorite vehicle himself. But, the slightest bit giddy at the thought of open rebellion against fate, Damas instead bent slightly to offer a teasing grin.

"What?! Oh come on!"

The elevator sank out of sight, and the water wheel trembled. The statue vibrated and the pools bubbled and boiled with the helpless fury of a falconer whose birds had long since slipped the jesses to fly free. But the boy had not spoken falsley: it was not a Precursor, merely the echo of one's memory. In the face of hu'men defiance, it was helpless to retaliate in any meaningful way. Even withholding the truth of the Hero's identity had been robbed of its intended effect, considering the Fallen Heir and the Hero had gone ahead and reformed the broken bond between them anyway!

The Oracle could not comprehend their motives, nor could it ever hope to understand the complexities of the hu'men mind.

It could only watch and seethe.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #free day friday #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #headcanon that the final arena battle is a Kobayashi Maru and Jak pulled a Kirk #i named the Dark Oracle after one of the mythological Titans #sneaky reference to sparguscituangel canon where Mictecacíhuatl is the patron of dark eco #tw panic attack #daxter was fully ready to End Damas right there 😂#Jak's species can purr now because the concept art started out vaguely feline #eldritch abomination oracle time!#except instead of humans being unable to comprehend the lovecraftian monster #its the lovecraftian monster that is wholly incapable of understanding humans without succumbing to madness #long post #oneshot

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tortillamastersblog · 26 days ago

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Where Light Bends Wrong - Part 13 | Wednesday Addams

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Warnings: mentions of injury

Summary: You’ve kept your secret buried and your power quiet, until Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore and turned your whole world upside down.

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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I wake with a start, the sound of the monster’s roar and Eugene’s cry of pain echoing in my mind. I sit up groggily, and drag my hands down my face.

It’s been two days since Eugene was attacked. Two days since the Rave’N and Wednesday’s betrayal.

I’m not even sure I can call it that because I should have seen it coming, but I don’t know what else to call it.

I’m still burning with embarrassment and frustration for ever trusting her in the first place. It’s like I said before, she does what she wants and she doesn’t care who she hurts in the process.

I’m not even sure she knows what going to the dance with Tyler did to me…

I get out of bed and pad into my en suite, stripping out of my sweat soaked pajamas and stepping into the shower.

It’s almost seven, and the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. Despite what happened, today is a normal school day and I’m planning on going to classes like normal because on top of everything else, I can’t afford to fall behind on my school work too.

After talking to Weems and Sheriff Galpin in Weems’ office on Friday night, right after Eugene was taken to the hospital, she said I could take as much time off as I’d like, but I’m not taking any time off.

I can’t. I’m exhausted and drained to my core, but I can’t take time off because if I do, I’ll overthink everything that happened.

A rational part of me knows what happened to Eugene isn’t my fault, but I can’t help but still feel guilty that I didn’t get to him quicker.

I should have known he wouldn’t listen. I should have known he’d go out alone…

Weems and Thornhill came to check on me over the last two days, and reassured me Eugene was stable, but their reassurances did nothing to get me to leave my room.

I shut off the water after scrubbing myself clean. It feels like Eugene’s sticky blood is still all over my body but there’s nothing else I can do about it, so I get dressed back in my room after toweling off.

It feels wrong, putting on my school uniform and going to class as if nothing happened, but I have no other choice.

I finish getting dressed and make my bed before grabbing my bag and heading to breakfast.

If I wasn’t as hungry as I am, I’d skip it, but ever since Friday night I’m hungrier than ever.

“Y/N!” Enid waves me over to her table as soon as I make it to the Quad. I hesitate for a moment before joining her alongside Yoko and, to my surprise, Ajax.

“Hi guys,” I mumble, sliding my tablet onto the table and taking a seat. I feel all their worried eyes on me but ignore them in favor of shoveling cereal into my mouth.

“How are you?” Enid is the first one to break the silence, and I barely glance up to answer.

“Fine.”

I catch her sharing a concerned look with Yoko and Ajax before turning back to me. “You know what happened is not your fault, right?”

I pause with my spoon halfway up to my mouth and look at her. She’s chewing on her lower lip, anxious for my reaction.

I sigh and drop my eyes back down to my cereal. “I know. But I should have been there earlier. If I’d just–” “You couldn’t have known,” Ajax cuts me off softly. He shifts in his seat which is when I see that he’s actually holding Enid’s hand under the table.

Huh.

That’s new.

I don’t know how or when that happened, but a small part of me is glad that they finally figured out their feelings.

I shake my head, not wanting to talk about this anymore. Luckily, they get it and after a moment of silence, Yoko adjusts her sunglasses and leans forward on the table, saying, “So, have you heard what happened at the dance?”

I eat another spoonful of cereal and shake my head no even though I don’t really care.

“Lucas Walker and his friends hooked up a water tank filled with red paint to the sprinkler system and set it off,” she says with a cringe.

So that was what Wednesday and Thornhill were covered in… It doesn’t surprise me that it happened because Lucas and his friends have always had a certain disdain for us outcasts, but I didn’t think after destroying Xavier’s mural last year they’d do something like that again. But then again, Wednesday did beat them up at the Weathervane, so I guess that stirred up their hatred once more.

I get the revulsing suspicion that Tyler had something to do with it because he used to be friends with Lucas and he was at the dance, but then Yoko’s eyes flicker to Enid who shrinks in her seat.

I raise an eyebrow and look at her, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Lucas asked me to the ball,” she says quietly, “And I went with him…”

“Which gave him the chance to let his friends onto the premises,” I conclude, making her nod.

I sigh and offer her a sympathetic yet tight-lipped smile. “It wasn’t your fault. He’s an asshole. They all are.”

The irony of my words is not lost on me because as much as the paint disaster wasn’t Enid’s fault, Eugene getting hurt wasn’t mine, but I can’t bring myself to believe it.

Ajax and Yoko nod, and Ajax even kisses Enid’s cheek in consolation which makes the blonde’s cheeks turn a faint shade of pink.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

I squeeze her forearm and go back to eating, letting the ensuing conversation about the upcoming parents’ weekend wash over me until a familiar heartbeat across the Quad makes me look up.

Wednesday is standing right there in her black school uniform and signature braids. She’s holding a tray and looking right at me with an unprecedented look of uncertainty on her face.

The sight of her makes my heart flutter involuntarily, but when she takes a step forward, seemingly heading in our direction, I clench my jaw and get to my feet.

“Y/N–?” Ajax raises an eyebrow.

I grab my tray, my fingers curling tight around it, and avert my eyes from Wednesday. “Sorry guys,” I say, “I forgot something in my room. I gotta go before class starts.”

Enid and Yoko look like they’re about to protest, but I slip away before they get the chance. Of course I didn’t forget anything. I just don’t want to see Wednesday right now, much less talk to her.

She knocked on my door once yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t answer her. Whatever she has to say, she can save it. I don’t want to hear it. Thing even came tapping on my window, but I didn’t let him in, choosing to ignore him even though he’s technically done nothing wrong.

At the end of the day he’s still Wednesday’s family, and I know he’d try to get us to make up, which is something I’m just not willing to do right now.

She asked me for help and then bailed on me.

I also realized I keep giving, whether it’s helping her or saving her, while she just keeps on taking. She hasn’t even thanked me once for all I’ve done for her, much less apologized for what happened yesterday, so I’d rather stay away from her for the time being.

Weems has instated very strict curfews after what happened with Eugene, and she’s told me Wednesday is already on thin ice for blowing up Crackstone’s statue, so I know that, for time being, she won’t do anything reckless that will require any saving.

I pause for a moment before pushing open the door to Eugene’s hospital room. It’s Friday, exactly one week since he’s been attacked, and he’s still in a coma.

The sight of him on his bed, pale, intubated and covered in cuts and bruises makes my heart sink, and it takes another moment for me to get my feet moving again.

I enter the room and close the door behind me before grabbing a chair and pulling it next to his bed. The overwhelming smell of antiseptic makes my eyes sting, but I take a seat nonetheless and take his hand in mine, being mindful of the IV on the back of his hand.

He looks so small like this, even younger than he actually is, and I feel tears sting my eyes.

“You didn’t deserve this,” I whisper, squeezing his hand softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner…” He doesn’t move– of course he doesn’t– and I exhale shakily, listening to the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor next to his bed.

It’s weird being this close to him and not feeling any emotions radiating off him. Normally, he’s filled with this buzz of excitement, but now there’s just nothing…

I perk up when the image of my hands glowing on his stomach pops into my mind, and I try to channel my powers to heal him again, but nothing happens.

Frustration bubbles up inside me because I don’t know how I did it in the forest, I just did, and now it’s not working anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again, giving up and closing my eyes.

I sit with him for what feels like ages before a nurse comes in and tells me visiting hours are over.

I look out of the window and see that the sun is about to set, so I get up again, feeling a crick in my neck.

“I’ll be back,” I promise Eugene, squeezing his hand one last time before leaving and taking a cab back to school.

As soon as I walk through the gates, I get a text from Enid, asking me to come to her room. I pause for a second because I don't want to see Wednesday, but her heartbeat is off in the grounds of Nevermore, probably tending to Eugene's bees, so I text Enid back that I'll be right there.

I cut through the courtyard, the sun now gone, leaving behind a faint pink glow as the night settles in, and head into the school.

I make my way to Ophelia Hall, getting wary and curious glances from a couple students I pass on the way, before knocking on Enid’s and Wednesday’s door.

Ever since what happened in the forest, there has been a lot of talk about what really happened and how I somehow managed to get away unscathed while Eugene is now clinging to life in a hospital bed. I try to ignore them most of the time, but it’s difficult sometimes because people have started questioning my powers again. Before they just let me be, wondering what I am and what I can do, but never really questioning it. Now that has changed and under the premise of the book also being gone, I feel more exposed than ever.

Enid opens the door and I enter, my eyes immediately darting to Wednesday’s side of the room since I’ve not been in here since she moved in.

It’s exactly as Enid described it. While her side is all rainbows and butterflies with a bunch of stuffed animals, Wednesday’s side is dark, monochrome and kind of gothic. Her sheets are black and gray and her desk is empty except for her vintage typewriter. Her cello is perched on a stand in the corner next to her bed, right next to an old record player.

Enid snorts when she sees me taking it all in and jumps onto her bed. “Tasteful, isn’t it?”

I just shrug, knowing she’s being sarcastic and cross the room to take a seat. I swivel around to face her and raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain why she asked me to come up here, but she doesn’t say anything.

She just wrings her hands together, looking all guilty and when I hear the soft pitter-patter of Thing scuttling across the floor, I know why.

I sigh and get back to my feet. “Enid–”

She scrambles off the bed and steps in my way with her hands up and a pleading look. “No, wait. Thing just wants to talk to you.”

I cross my arms and watch the hand climb onto Enid's bed, approaching me tentatively.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to him,” I say, going to brush past her, but she grabs my upper arm and stops me. I raise an eyebrow at her, which makes her let go immediately again, but she still doesn’t step out of my way.

“Please, just hear him out. I can’t take it anymore. The whole school can tell you’re avoiding Wednesday like the plague and it’s getting out of hand.”

I scoff and tighten the grip I have on my upper arms, not so sure what she means by getting out of hand. I’m simply avoiding her. I do go out of my way to avoid her in the hallways sometimes, but I can’t imagine anyone actually caring. “I’m sorry, Enid, but this is none of your business, what happened between Wednesday and me–”

“Was a series of unfortunate events,” she cuts me off. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. I wasn’t aware she knew what went down between us, but Thing or even Wednesday herself must have told her. The former seems the more plausible of the two options, but at this point, I’m not sure what to believe anymore.

Wednesday is a mystery I’ve grown tired of understanding, despite my ears still heating up every time I catch a glimpse of her around school.

“Please, just sit,” Enid asks quietly, and despite myself, I do, sinking back down in her desk chair.

Thing scuttles over the bed and onto the table while Enid takes a seat on the edge of the bed with her hands clasped in her lap.

I keep my arms crossed and turn the chair so I can see both of them. Then… “Well?”

Thing takes a moment before getting right into it, signing, Wednesday went to the dance with Tyler because of me.

I frown. “Excuse me?”

He moves closer to the edge of the table and I dare a glance at Enid before focusing on him again.

I invited him on her behalf, he signs which makes me clench my jaw. I go to ask why he’d do that, but he goes on. He likes her and even though she doesn’t like him back, he’s the Sheriff’s son.

He likes her…

Of course he does. That’s why he’s been acting so weird recently. I’m surprised and bitter at the same time that I didn’t realize it until now.

They fought the morning of the Rave’N because Tyler got jealous of Wednesday going with Xavier.

“So?” I snap. “Why would I care if Tyler is jealous of Xavier? Also what does his being the Sheriff’s son have to do with anything?"

Thing turns to Enid for a split second, almost as if they’re sharing a look before he turns back to me, tapping, If Wednesday is in Tyler’s good graces, there’s a chance she’ll be in the Sheriff’s, too.

I scoff. “You really think that? Sheriff Galpin doesn’t like Wednesday, no matter whether or not she's on good terms with Tyler.”

He made that abundantly clear when Wednesday beat up Lucas Walker and his cronies.

Thing goes to tap something else, but I’ve had enough. I can’t believe he did that. Yes, I know now that Wednesday going to the dance with Tyler wasn’t exactly of her own volition, but she could have said no after all. She didn’t have to go with him. She could have blown him off, but she didn’t.

“You know what, this is stupid.” I get to my feet, making Enid panic and get up as well again.

“No, please, Y/N. You have to understand where Thing was coming from. He was trying to protect Wednesday and–”

The door opens, cutting her off and making me freeze at the sight of Wednesday. She’s still in her school uniform, but she doesn’t have her bag with her. She’s also holding a glass of honey, which confirms my earlier conclusion that she was at the bee shed.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice tight with hesitation. Her eyes flicker to me and I ball my hands into fists before looking away.

“Nothing,” I say, brushing past Enid.

Thing jumps off the desk behind me, probably to stop me, but I don’t slow down. I cross the room, feeling Wednesday’s eyes on me all the way until I’m in front of her.

I go to side-step her, but she actually shifts, blocking my way, her hand twitching as though she wants to reach for me. “Wait.”

She’s so close I get a whiff of the cold evening air still clinging to her and mingling with the smell of cedar wood and fresh linen. It makes my heart skip a beat, but I ignore it and look up to glare at her.

“What?”

She swallows thickly and her dark eyes dart between mine, but in the end she doesn’t say anything, so I push past her, hating how my fingers burn where they brush against her hand.

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Little bit of a filler chapter but oh well...

Tag list: @sunshinez4 @protozoario @automaticpatroltragedy @mamas-evil-hag @theallseer97 @hellenheaven @iwshemj2 @jizzuo308 @trashcannotbealive @gloriousvariant @brocoliisscared @1863rdorv-reader

#x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday series

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