Wenclair oneshots

Peace

Summary:
Wednesday has always had a plethora of sensory issues. When she's sick, they all heighten, leaving her miserable. Nothing can make them go away, of course. But Enid is certainly a help with it.

Wednesday wasn't quite sure how to describe what the word "slippery" meant to her. Words were either solid ideas, or they were sensory-based. Slippery was one of the most sensory based words in her vocabulary.

When something was unpleasant in the way it felt, it was slippery. Because of the slippery disgust sliding through her in waves as a result. Morticia occasionally told stories about it with a fond expression, recounting the many times she had asked,

"How is a shirt slippery, darling?"

"How are your shoes slippery?"

"Of course you're slippery, Wednesday, you're wet." It hadn't been the water. It had been the towel, scratching against her skin, sending slippery snakes of dread up her spine. It was mostly easier now that she wasn't a helpless toddler. She had a somewhat desirable level of autonomy in her life, though her parents still meddled and the faculty at Nevermore still expected her to follow most of the rules.

After the fight with Tyler and Crackstone and Laurel, the first thing she had done once she was alone was shower. She'd frantically scrubbed the blood and muck off of her body, only relaxing when she was finally clean.

Her hair had been the hardest part. Getting her head wet wasn't a pleasant experience. But she had pushed through, gritting her teeth while she tilted her head towards the ice cold water. And that slippery, repulsing feeling overtook her body, causing her to tremble.

But she had stood there and scrubbed through her hair until she could run her fingers through it without being caught by a clump of blood or mud.

Human touch was strange. Most of the time, she saw little need for it. Sometimes it was downright repulsive. She tolerated her father's physical affection, because she knew it was his way of showing his overwhelming and unconditional love. Her mother had taken a more respectable approach to touching her that limited the direct contact, which Wednesday greatly appreciated.

She could enjoy touch. A simple fistbump or high-five with Thing went a long way. She had terrible (fond) memories of wrestling with Pugsley as a child. And that night, when Tyler was finally taken into custody...

Hugging Enid had felt good. Especially after everything had happened.

Things were fine. She was back at Nevermore again, back in the room that had slowly started to feel like home, with the girl who had slowly started to feel like home. Thing had been cleared by the new principal to stay with them. And, best of all, there had been a sharp rise in robberies around the area. While she wasn't entirely certain that Fester wasn't involved, it was still interesting to dig into. The fencing team was doing excellent, and she had time almost everyday to help Eugene with the bees and decompress.

Nothing had felt slippery in a while. Until, of course, it did.

She grabbed her bag from her chair one evening, pausing to let Thing scramble up to her shoulder. Enid turned around in her seat from where she was doing homework at her desk. She was already in light pink pajamas, part of her hair pulled up,

"It's pretty late. Are you going out to see Eugene?"

"Yes," Wednesday said, "I wanted to finish my assignments before I went. I'll try not to wake you once I am back."