Wenclair Oneshots

Comforting a corpse

What if Goody never saved Wednesday?

She failed.

It's a startling realization, Wednesday ponders as she sits slumped against the wall. All of her attempts at getting up have resulted in her accidentally digging the knife deeper and sliding on her blood.

She coughs weakly. Life is slowly ebbing away from her. Goody is nowhere to be seen.

There's no possible way to get out of this situation alive.

Wednesday leans her head back against the wall and swallows.

No. No, this can't be it. She has to try one more time.

And as she pushes weakly against the ground with one hand—the other stays holding onto the knife splitting her torso open—tears trickle down her cheeks. Her weak legs spasm.

She can't do it.

Wednesday collapses with a guttural moan.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Perhaps Albert Einstein had a point when he said that.

Trying to stand up when she's weak from blood loss only to fail each time. Why, that sounds like insanity. Not the good kind where paranoia descends on you and drives you mad. No, this is tiring.

That doesn't make her any less stubborn, however.

As she prepares to stand, a roar outside stops her in her tracks. She recognizes that roar. Loud and deep, rattling her bones.

Then another roar, but this one is more of a snarl.

Wednesday closes her eyes and waits for whatever the Hyde is fighting to pass.

The darkness consumes her. She's swallowed into a vacant black, and she can't help but lean into the cold.

She's cold.

Probably from the blood loss.

She's shaking, she realizes faintly. Trembling.

She coughs, feeble on the freezing floor.

"Wednesday, come onWake up!"

Twitching, Wednesday cracks her eyes open. Slitted eyes see Enid, bloody and scarred, kneeling by her side. She's dressed in only her oversized pink coat, but even that is stained with red hues.

Enid shakes Wednesday again, and the latter groans as the knife shifts within her.

"Sh-Shit, that doesn't look good."

Wednesday gives Enid the hardest glare she can, but it apparently doesn't work if Enid works closer to tears. Curse her for caring about this werewolf.

Reaching up, Wednesday brushes her knuckles over the scratches etched into perfect skin. Enid flinches initially before relaxing. She sits still as Wednesday examines her face.

"You" Wednesday cuts herself off to grunt. "You're injured."

Enid's eyebrows raise and her jaw drops. She laughs, incredulous, and pushes Wednesday's hand from her face.

"Are you serious? You're dying!" Enid shouts.

Wednesday has no rebuttal. Enid's right; she's dying.

Enid suddenly lifts Wednesday's arm to wrap it over her shoulders. "We're gonna get you help, ok? On the count of three. One."

"Enid."

"Two. Brace your knees, c'mon."

"I can't—"

"Three!"

Enid lifts Wednesday with ease, standing her on her numb feet. Blood slides down her skirt and taps rhythmically against the ground.

Wednesday slumps in Enid's hold. The werewolf is holding her up all on her own since the seer lost all feeling in her feet.

"One step at a time," Enid says. Her voice is high-pitched and frantic, as if she could sense life steadily leaving Wednesday. "I got you. One step at a time, yeah?"

Sweat drips down her temple. Wednesday violently shakes as she tries to step, but her body betrays her. She collapses against Enid and digs the knife deeper. She cries out.

Enid hurriedly sits her back down in the large puddle of blood. She's crying now, trying to hold back most of her grief.

Wednesday's eyes drift shut.

"No, no, no! St-Stay awake—I'll go get someone! Help! Help—!"

"Enid" Wednesday grabs Enid's wrist. Although the grip was weak and Enid could've easily broken out of it, she obediently knelt back at the dying girl's side. "You have to kill Crackstone."

Enid shakes her head. "No, I can't! You have to get up!"

Wednesday cracks a rare smile. She's too out of it to stop herself, and Enid wails at the smile.

"Someone can help you! I-I wolfed out, I'll be quick!"

She coughs. Blood and spit paints her lips.

"Don't" Fear finally bleeds into Wednesday's voice. "I don't w-want to die alone."

Enid squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head. Then she nods.

"Ok," she whispers.

At last, Wednesday relaxes into the cold. The firm press of Enid's palm squeezes around her limp hand.

"He's goin' to the schoolto kill the outcastsYou need to kill him," Wednesday mutters so softly that Enid had to lean in.

"I promise. Pinky promise."

"I trust" Wednesday's voice begins to fade, "no one else"

Enid chokes when Wednesday goes silent. She's still alive, just barely, but her shallow breathing lightens. She's slipping away. Her body wracks with a small tremor.

Pressing her lips to ashen skin, Enid sobs as warm skin slowly cools to the temperature of the crypt.

She doesn't know how long she laid there as Wednesdays body stiffened, but she had a promise to keep.

Enid lovingly brushes her black bangs away from her face only for them to flick back to normal.