Wenclair oneshots

some things hurt worse than dying

Been listening to Snow Angel (the album) on loop for an unhealthy amount of time

ANYWAYS

Summary: After defeating Crackstone and returning to their room, Wednesday realizes that she can't braid her hair because of her injured shoulder. Luckily, Enid is there and more than willing to help her

Wednesday's shoulder was killing her. The pain alone wasn't bothering her as much as it would most others – though it was excruciating – but the placement of the injury was just so inconvenient. She hated it, hated the way it impacted her entire life and stopped even the smallest of movements. She just wanted to do everything she usually did without blacking out or ripping out her stitches.

She had only been back in the dorm for around half an hour and she was already getting frustrated. She hadn't even tried writing yet but already found herself greatly impacted. Showering – sadly, she had to use much hotter water than the nearly freezing she preferred to get the dried blood out of her hair – had been surprisingly easy once she stopped using her left arm and figured out how to keep the water and soap away from the still bleeding wound but everything after that took far longer than it should have and left Wednesday frustrated and tired and just wishing for her shoulder to heal already so she could go on with her life.

The worst revelation came soon after the twenty-minute-fight just to put on some clean clothes. It hurt, but after a few long moments she felt mostly fine again, at least well enough to move. She debated finishing up in the bathroom but decided against it since she now needed a lot more time and space for nearly everything she did. Besides, it was only Enid and Thing who would see her with her hair down and, unlike everyone else at this school, she trusted them. So, she slowly walked back into their room.

Enid was already ready for bed and sitting at her desk, using a small mirror to inspect the bandages that covered almost half of her face. She looked sad but maybe she was just tired. Wednesday certainly was. But she couldn't sleep yet, not until her hair was back in its braids. It had already been out for far too long and she was starting to get uncomfortable.

That discomfort switched to a burning pain as soon as she lifted her arms to start braiding, long before her hands even reached her unfortunately unbraided hair. The pain was unimaginable, until it faded into a strange fuzzy sensation. Then, everything went dark.

When she woke up much later, she was placed comfortably on her bed and a colourful blob swam through her blurry vision. She could feel her pulse in her shoulder but at least the area around it seemed dry so the stitches most likely hadn't torn. That was good, she wasn't sure if she would have been able to fix them herself. What wasn't good was the acidic bile covering her tongue. Had she actually vomited? Her face felt clean enough but that didn't have to mean anything.

She should have enjoyed all of this. She didn't. Couldn't. It was embarrassing. And it hurt. Enough to bring tears to her eyes and blur her sight even more. As if she hadn't humiliated herself enough already by fainting. Maybe there had been poison on that arrow and that was why she reacted so strongly to it. Of course, she would have noticed that and she was immune to most toxins anyway, but it was a more comforting thought than the cruel truth: She had fainted because she was seriously injured and exhausted and desperately needed to rest.

Despite all of this, Wednesday considered trying to braid her hair again but quickly dismissed that idea when a stinging pain shot out from her shoulder and across her body after just moving her arm slightly. It was pathetic and it hurt enough that she decided not to try again, not even for something as important as getting her hair back to how it was supposed to be. Few things would be worth this kind of torture and this wouldn't work even if she was willing to risk it.