Wenclair One-Shots

That Damned Bag

Summary:

Wednesday did not panic. She didn't. Never.
So when she saw Enid's awful red bag laying on her bed after she had been rather harsh towards the blonde that morning, she didn't freak out. So why the thought of Yoko taking Enid away from her again was making her want to punch something repeatedly?

Or, Wednesday sees Enid's bag, thinks she's changing rooms again, and tries to make her stay with her by being weirdly kind. Enid doesn't understand what's happening, and Thing is conspicuously finding the entire situation really funny.

———————————————————-

New year, new life, or whatever Enid had said on the first day back at school as she unpacked her bags with the cheerfulness that always followed her every move. Wednesday hadn't truly understood what she had meant, so she had simply said nothing. Truth be told, Wednesday hadn't found it in herself to criticize Enid's jolly comment because she was just glad to have things back to the way they used to be, before the Hyde almost got them both killed.

Enid carried the scars of that night on her face even months afterwards, a constant reminder that made Wednesday's stomach turn with uneasiness. But the blonde loved it, she had said after she noticed Wednesday staring. People dig scars, she had said. Wednesday ought to understand that; she loved scars, knowing how painful it had been to gain them, the grossness that came with the stories... she loved scars— but she didn't like Enid's scars, because she knew exactly how she had gained them, and how much they had hurt her. And for some unknown reason, she didn't like knowing Enid had suffered the way she did.

She didn't like how she hated pain when it involved the blonde. She hated being confused, and Enid always made her confused, so that had to mean she hated Enid.

Are you okay?

Wednesday looked away from the empty piece of paper in front of her to see Thing, looking at her from her desk.

"Why do you care?" She said, stretching out her hands. She had been standing still, fingers froze over the keys of her typewriter, too lost in thought to be able to focus on her novel. Wednesday scoffed. She was never lost in thought. She was just brilliant, and having too much to think about was normal among geniuses. She, however, would never be lost in thought because of Enid Sinclair.

You're not writing, tapped Thing. Wednesday held back the need to slap the hand away from her precious desk.

"I'm merely thinking of the best way to dispose of a very talkative hand," Wednesday said. "You won't know how, would you?"

Your threats don't work with me, Thing tapped.

Wednesday looked away from Thing, instead looking at her typewriter. She was getting too behind on her scheduled times, which she didn't like. She would have to stay up a few nights to catch up.

Before she could regain her wits and actually began writing, the door was flung open and Wednesday almost jumped at the sudden sound. Instead, she calmly looked away from her desk and turned in her chair, eyes finding Enid's face almost immediately.

"Hey," Enid said, and Wednesday raised her eyebrows slightly at the tone. She sounded weird. She was probably cold; the weather was starting to pick up. Even if she was a werewolf, the cold air could still affect her. Maybe. She should do more research on werewolves and their internal body heat.

"Hello," Wednesday said, silently putting her hands on her lap. Was something wrong with Enid?

"I'm going to hang out with Yoko," Enid said, looking through her closet. She threw something behind her back and kept looking until she found whatever it was she had been looking for; a sweater. So she was cold. Wednesday almost smiled at her own intuition, but all happiness left her body at the look on Enid's face. "Don't wait for me."