Chapter Text
Sometime after high school and into his sister's tertiary studies, he changed again - and this time, it was little more permanent.
Wednesday & Morticia fluctuated between a mutually respectful closeness and distance at what 'daysie termed their mother's overbearing love for her offspring.
In time, it led to a distance that had yet to be reclaimed, and it affected the boys, too.
Pugs' became more of a homebody than ever - though high school had made him worldly enough to enjoy the varied hobbies to be picked up around their county, and at one point, even dabbled in love with a mortician - much to their mothers good humour.
His brother tried to nurse his broken-hearted parents from the yawning gap growing ever wider with 'day's absence.
And him?
Just like grandmama had predicted the first time, when his uncle's disappearance/reappearance and turbulent relationship with the family came to be, his trajectory took a kooky turn even for an Addams.
"He could become... an orthodontist! He could become... the President!"
Pubert Boruta Addams ended up a black Ops soldier, serving his country, protecting people, and his proficiency garnered him both a reputation and nickname in quiet military circles: "Morticulus".
He hadnt spoken or seen his family in years - a byproduct of many things.
...But then Claudia gets sick.
And Stiles is still so young and so unknowing of the world and all it holds - too young for Nevermore too, by the way.
He's at a loss when the doctors say there is nothing to be done...some of the normie crutches grabbing a hold of him as he descends into the bottle trying to find some answer at the bottom of the Jack.
He does not.
Its as he wakes in a puddle of his own putrid vomit, not knowing when last he saw his son or cared enough to care for his boy properly as he used to - even without Clauds prompting, that the real wake up happens - hungover as he is.
A hand slowly creeps over his shoulder and slaps him in such indignation.
And for a moment the world shifts in colour - black & white, and then back to the too bright and colourful world he's used to.
Enough of a shift that he remembers who the hell he is and who on this plane of existence he belongs to.
He is an Addams...and those that marry into the family can reap the lesser known rewards of this lineage.
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His son is safe for the time being, having a sleepover with his best friend for a few days while he sorts this out.
He wants his little Mischief to be able to say goodbye, but Claudia's condition had deteriorated so much that the boy wouldnt even be speaking to his mother now.
So he takes the decision away from him, and is willing to shoulder the burden of his child's hate for as long as needed.
Exiting his car, he stops in front of the closed gates.
Breathing for a moment.
Remembering for a time.
The Addams Manor looms at the hilltop, its inky black visage a stately shadow against the twinkling midnight blue backdrop.
Knowing no one is home right now, except probably Lurch, he barely touches the gate before it swings open.
Hand decides to stretch his fingers and uses the open driver side door to make for the house while Pubert gets back in and drives not up towards the house, but off to the side where Addams family members of old all slumber or have their plots secured.
Delicately cradling Claudia's body, he makes for one of the corners he'd always loved exploring - near both the murky pond and the artefacts archive where he'd spend hours learning weaponry and history from his excited father.
Gently placing Clauds down on the freshly-rained on ground, he grabs the shovel in the garden shed, and in a clear spot where sunshine often used to make its way through the hedges, ancient trees, and the archive's roof shadow, Pubert starts to dig.
Digging.
Digging.
10ft ought to do it.
When Claudia lies at the bottom, he kisses her sheet-wrapped forehead, and climbs back up again agilely.
Midnight full moon perfectly shines down by the time he's done packing the earth back and returning the shovel.
"Perfect night to be burying a friend, I say.", Pugsley exclaims suddenly next to his brother.
Living normie for so long may have muted some things, but Pubert never lost his true bite & spirit (definitely Gomez's influence).
In a quick succession of moves, his brother lies at his feet, grinning in a kind of elation he had truly missed; and he is suddenly so sorry to have spent so much time away and not talking to anyone from the family.
"Perfect night to be burying even la familia", Pubert utters back, grabbing his brother, who had always been the softest & sweetest of them all, up and into his arms for a hug.
"I have missed you", Pubert utters so quietly - voice breaking a bit as the months past overwhelm him, and the hope presently cracks him open.
Pugsley hugs back, squeezing his little brother a little harder.
As they eventually break apart, Pugsley gestures with his head: "And they are?"
"My wife... your sister in law...the-- The uh, mother of your nephew."
"Sick?"
"Yeah. They barely gave her a year left."
"10 feet?"
"It seemed the safe bet"
"A decade wait is gonna be long. Would go better with family around - for you and for your son."
With a small smile, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills turns to his brother again.
"Yeah...yeah, I think it would."
As they walk away from the Addams graveyard, a tentacle plops out of the pond, grabbing for Pubert's ankle.
"Agnessa! Oh girlie, I have missed you! What h...", he chatters on - much like his son does.
Backs to the site where Claudia now lies, Pugsley and Pubert miss the ghostly visage of their family's patron.
The scythe glimmers in the quiet, twinkling night.
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In the grave, Claudia Olga Stilinski rests.
An Addams by marriage - no name-change needed.
The magic begins its work.
Remaking a body is easy, though slow.
09 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds...
Chapter Text
-- In San Francisco --
Wednesday rises for the day, with Joel already holding her tar black coffee and robe ready at her bedside.
"There is mischief afoot somewhere."
"The children have already vacated the house, La Llorona mine."
"Not them - something to do with another Addams branch. I will call Pugsley."
She sips her coffee, dons the robe, and prepares for her day - being sure to atleast endow her husband's allotted affection with a caress of his arm, a brush of her cheek to his, and the barest kiss before leaving for work.
While she would have preferred to be at the other side of her career work, the puzzles and literature presented to her during her studies proved too tempting to even her strong will - it helping that her mentor stated her to be the most competent forensic anthropologist to arise in decades since her own mastery of the field.
Not that she'd admit it to the mundanes, but being an Addams also gave her a significant leg up.
Bones spoke to her like nothing else.
Putting her bag down at her office desk, she switches her computer on and dials Pugsley's number rhote.
Sipping the coffee Joel had also added to a flask, she waits for her oaf of a soft brother.
Now, Wednesday Glicker-Addams (sacrifices, on Joel's part, had to be made successively for that little bit of ground secession) is not one born to an excess of gestures and reactions. However, when a honey-haired and doe-eyed woman begins appearing in the chair opposite her desk, and she also hears a voice she doesn't know but whose essence she'd never forget, tar black coffee spews out of sheer surprise (not fright. Never fright.)
Good thing her furnishings are in keeping with her wardrobe.
The woman fading in and out, giggles across from Wednesday, and on her phone, the man wryly says:
"Has my wife, by chance, popped by yet 'daysie? Mum's rather put out she wasn't the first Addams woman she went to."
With an economy of motion, Wednesday puts her flask cup down, frowning, and with exasperated venom, utters one word:
"Pubert."