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Chapter Text

The first day of classes at Nevermore buzzed with anxious students hurrying through the halls, desperate to reach their first lessons on time. Where one might expect Eugene Ottinger and Pugsley Addams to already be seated and ready to begin the year, the two were instead drifting as quietly as possible toward their classroom.

Wedged between them was a lanky, gaunt-looking teen, awkwardly smuggled along the corridor toward their destination. When they finally reached the room, Pugsley turned to Eugene, and to the strange boy in their company.

“Okay, if anyone asks, you’re a transfer student from Switzerland.” Pugsley blurted out the excuse, waving his hands vaguely in front of the strange boy.

Eugene blinked, his face twisting into confusion. “Why Switzerland?” He asked, squinting at Pugsley.

Pugsley quickly defended his choice, explaining that his father had once been an exchange student there. Eugene argued against the idea with increasing persistence, but in the end he gave in.

Neither boy asked the teen caught between them for his opinion, even though the story was about him. He didn’t complain- or speak at all- throughout their small squabble. Instead, he simply raised his left hand to push back his windswept curls.

Pugsley smiled at Eugene and the strange boy. “Are you both ready?” he asked, pressing his hand against the door and starting to push it open.

Eugene nodded, while the boy only stared at Pugsley—who, taking the silence as agreement, shoved the door wide. He motioned for the lanky teen to duck behind him as much as possible.

Inside, Dr. Orloff was already lecturing about the class syllabus, but his voice faltered as he noticed the interruption. The head in the jar swiveled on its wheels to glare directly at the three late arrivals, precisely five minutes behind schedule.

“I trust you have a good reason for being late, Mr. Addams? Mr. Ottinger?” the professor asked flatly, failing to notice the third student hiding behind Pugsley.

Eugene gave a short, awkward laugh and glanced at Pugsley, hoping for an excuse.
“We got lost!” Pugsley blurted, earning a heavy sigh from Eugene, a sigh dripping with disappointed resignation.

Behind them, the hidden teen leaned toward Eugene. “This isn’t going to work,” he whispered, making the swarmer’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Pugsley hurried the small group to their seats, urging the strange boy to sit as close to the cluster of plants by the desks as possible. Dr. Orloff only sighed at Pugsley’s excuse before droning on with his dull lecture.

Once seated, Eugene leaned toward the boy. “Why not?” he finally asked in a low voice. Pugsley kept his eyes on the professor, though most of his attention lingered on the hushed exchange beside him.

“He taught me when I was alive,” the strange teen replied flatly.

Eugene blinked, the color draining from his face in shock. He let out a shaky sigh before turning back toward the professor. “Just… we’ll worry about that later,” he muttered, sounding unconvinced of his own words.

At the front, the professor began taking attendance, calling names down the list. Pugsley leaned toward the strange boy with a grin. “At least you’ll never be marked absent, right, Slurp?” he whispered cheerfully.

The boy’s face tightened with visible discomfort, but he stayed silent. Pugsley let out a small laugh before answering when Dr. Orloff called his name.

It wasn’t until the professor began wheeling through the rows, carefully scanning the attendance sheet as it passed from student to student, that his gaze landed on the unfamiliar boy.

Dr. Orloff’s eyes widened in recognition. The boy quickly turned his head away, trying to shield his face from view.
“Isaac? Isaac Night?” the professor stammered, dumbfounded.

Pugsley and Eugene both paled, their eyes snapping toward the professor. Pugsley quickly leaned into his line of sight, blocking Isaac from view, while Eugene buried his face in his hands.
“No! No! This is our, uh… exchange student from Switzerland. Wait, or was it Sweden?” Pugsley stammered, scrambling for a cover story.

Isaac hunched inward, his face burning hot with embarrassment. It was a strange sensation for the undead boy, as he had never truly felt embarrassment when he was alive. And now, trapped in this farce of a plan he had never agreed to, the humiliation pressed heavier than the grave.

“Switzerland,” Eugene supplied from behind his hands.

“Right! Yeah! He, uh… isn’t comfortable speaking. At least that’s what he… uh, told me and Eugene on the way here. Something about his accent being too thick, I’m pretty sure.” Pugsley flailed his hands as he spoke, while students around them turned to stare at the increasingly absurd excuse.

“I’m so sorry,” Eugene muttered, sneaking a glance at Isaac. The boy refused to look back, keeping his gaze fixed on the plant beside him. Hemlock, he noted idly. The plant that killed Socrates.

Dr. Orloff’s expression curdled with fatigue at Pugsley’s nonsense. “The three of you will remain after class,” he intoned. He offered no further explanation as his wheels screeched, turning him back toward the front of the room.

Eugene slowly raised his head, while Pugsley’s normally pale face flushed crimson under the weight of his own flimsy excuses. Isaac kept his gaze locked on the hemlock beside him. Every part of a hemlock is poisonous. Neurotoxins, if I recall, he mused silently.

The lecture droned on, broken only by Orloff assigning homework and the inevitable chorus of groans that followed. At last, the mourning bell tolled, signaling the end of class. The trio in the back shot to their feet, eager to escape, only to find their path barred by Orloff, who rolled into place with unnerving speed.

Pugsley tried to soften the professor’s glare with a dumb smile, while Eugene sagged under the weight of it. Isaac, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes locked forward.

The professor waited until the last student had slipped out before speaking.
“How?” Dr. Orloff’s voice cut the silence, followed by a heavy pause. “How are you alive after disappearing over thirty years ago, after being presumed dead, my dear boy?”

His gaze fixed squarely on Isaac, who could only turn his head slowly toward Pugsley, as though hoping the Addams might conjure another flimsy excuse.

“I, uhm… raised him from the dead?” Pugsley shrugged, sparks of electricity crackling at his fingertips as if to underline the confession.

Eugene huffed. “Yeah, and then chained him up in the hummer’s shed- my shed- to hide him.”

Pugsley blinked at Eugene, then darted a glance at Dr. Orloff before spinning fully to face his roommate. “Look, at least he regenerated so quickly! Otherwise he’d still be chained up.” He grinned and gestured at Isaac as though the boy weren’t standing right there to hear it all.

Isaac exhaled softly and shifted his gaze to another plant in the room. Nightshade, he noted. Also called belladonna, a charming name for such a deadly thing.

“You had him chained up and didn’t think to tell an adult?” Dr. Orloff cut in, his stare drilling into the two boys. “You raised a boy from the dead and didn’t think to tell anyone?”

Eugene and Pugsley both snapped their heads toward the professor.
“I wanted to tell, but Pugsley convinced me not to!” Eugene protested.

“Well, duh! If you told anyone, he would’ve been taken away!” Pugsley shot back, and the two fell into another squabble.

Isaac, unmoved, kept his eyes on the plants scattered around the room. After a long silence, he murmured, almost to himself, “You wanted to keep me as a pet, Addams.”

Dr. Orloff wheeled closer to Isaac. “What was that, Isaac?” he asked. His tone was unexpectedly gentle, almost caring. Using the boy’s first name was unusual, especially this early in the year.

“Addams wanted to keep me as a pet,” Isaac repeated. His gaze stayed fixed on the nightshade.

Pugsley stammered helplessly. This time Eugene rushed in to defend him, but Orloff had grown tired of their excuses. He spun his wheels sharply to face them.
“We will be going to Principal Dort. Immediately.”

Chapter Text

The walk to the principal’s office was suffocatingly awkward. The only sound was the squeak of Dr. Orloff’s wheels echoing through the hall as he led the group of teens onward.

The gap between classes was wider than usual, a mercy for students still settling into the first day. Even so, the extra space only gave more room for others to stop, stare, and whisper. Trouble on day one was sure to spread across the campus before lunch.

Eugene trailed with his head bowed, his uniform neat, unremarkable to anyone watching. Pugsley, by contrast, strode with his chin high, grinning and waving at passing outcasts. His uniform carried its usual touch of rebellion: trousers swapped for shorts, his knees marked by socks pulled high to disappear under his shorts.

The two alone would have drawn little more than eye-rolls, expected troublemakers on parade. What made the scene impossible to ignore was Isaac.

His uniform was unmistakably altered. The blazer was cut short and fastened tight across his chest, a crooked cravat spilling down from his collar like an echo of Nevermore’s older uniforms. A heavy belt cinched his waist, the line of it dissolving into trousers so finely pleated that it swayed like a skirt when he walked. The clothes looked like they might have been stolen from Enid Sinclair’s closet, only reworked to fit Isaac’s towering height. He moved with measured, deliberate steps, Pugsley’s borrowed boots thudding against the floor with each stride.

Pugsley tried to lighten the silence with small talk, nudging Eugene and laughing weakly about their situation. He clammed up, though, the moment he spotted Wednesday and Enid. The werewolf leaned toward the older Addams sibling, whispering speculation about what could have happened. At once, Pugsley ducked his head and his face flushed, mirroring Eugene’s posture.

Isaac, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed forward. He let the whispers wash over him, more interested in the subtle changes in Nevermore’s halls. Paintings and portraits had shifted since he last remembered them. Stained glass murals had been stripped away, replaced with ordinary windows. Even the rugs were gone, leaving the floors bare beneath their feet.

When the group reached the grand doors to Principal Dort’s office, Dr. Orloff swiveled on his wheels to give them a pointed look. Eugene stepped forward quickly and knocked, his head still bowed.

The group sat in uneasy silence, broken only by the steady ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway. Isaac tilted his head toward the sound, his clockwork heart subtly shifting its rhythm to match. It was a resonance only he could hear.

At last, the grand doors to the principal’s office creaked open. Principal Dort appeared, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his usual charismatic smile returned. 

“Dr. Orloff! What a surprise. I trust you’ve brought these students to me so we can celebrate a good deed?” He chuckled, glancing down at the old professor.

Isaac’s lip curled at the sound of the principal’s voice. Like nails on a chalkboard, he thought bitterly.

Orloff wasted no time wheeling into the office, forcing Dort to step back and make way for the group. “On the contrary, Dort, it seems these two are already stirring up trouble,” the professor announced.

Eugene groaned softly but didn’t argue. He slumped into one of the oversized chairs Dort favored, trying to sink as far into it as he could.

“At least no one’s tried any murders yet!” Pugsley chirped, dropping into the second chair with a grin.

Dort circled behind them and leaned against his desk, arms crossed. His smile stayed fixed, the kind, open expression of a man who wanted to look unshaken.

Isaac lingered a moment before following. His gaze swept the office, noting what had changed since he last remembered it. Where there had once been a low chair, more a footrest than a seat, there was now a small table. A small potted plant sat atop it.

A black dahlia, he observed automatically. He lowered himself onto the floor before it, shoulders stiff. 

“Would any of you care to explain to our good principal why I’ve brought you here today?” Orloff asked, wheeling to a stop beside Dort.

Eugene’s eyes flicked toward Isaac, then darted quickly to Pugsley. Isaac sat rigid, his gaze fixed forward, one hand gripping his left knee until the knuckles whitened.

Pugsley laughed, a nervous tic, before blurting, “It’s a funny story, really! See, Ajax told all the guys in Caliban Hall about this student who made his own heart ‘n junk, then blew up and got buried under the Skull Tree by the graveyard.”

As he spoke, his hands flitted around, occasionally brushing his face in another nervous habit he’d inherited from his father. “This was all last week, when we were still settling in before classes. So I went out to the tree and, uh… accidentally shocked it. And boom! Out pops Slurp- Isaac, I mean.”

He gestured enthusiastically at Isaac, grinning as though proud of the discovery. Isaac only stiffened further, his clockwork heart ticking in sync with the faltering rhythm of Pugsley’s words.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I just led him to the Hummer’s shed. Eugene helped me get him in there, and I chained him up! Mom and Dad always keep extra binds around, y’know?” Pugsley chirped brightly, oblivious to the way Eugene buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t wanna tell anyone because Wednesday would’ve just studied it- him,” he quickly corrected himself, “and if I told Mom or Dad, they would’ve taken him away. They’ve never let me to raise a pet before, so I thought if I took care of him well enough, they’d let me keep him!”

Pugsley beamed up at Dort and Orloff, seemingly unaware of how grotesque the story sounded spilling out of his mouth.

Orloff’s face tightened into an open grimace, while Dort quickly raised a hand to cover his own mouth. He turned slowly toward Eugene, his cheer slipping into something carefully measured. “Is this all true?” he asked softly, doing his best to mask the horror creeping into his voice.

Eugene only nodded, refusing to lift his head. Pugsley, however, pressed on.

“I just didn’t expect him to regenerate so fast! I don’t know how zombies usually work, but he reformed really quickly. Maybe all that honey sped it up…” He hummed thoughtfully, then shook his head.

“But it wasn’t long before he looked just like a normal student! I didn’t wanna keep him in the shed, and Eugene didn’t like the collar, so we snuck him into Caliban Hall to bathe him.”

Pugsley wiggled his fingers in a cartoonish “sneaking” gesture as he spoke. “Then I asked Thing to steal some clothes from Enid. I figured she must’ve modified a uniform that would work for him.” He gave a casual shrug.

“Eugene helped me tailor it so it would actually fit, and I’m just lucky we have the same shoe size. Otherwise, I might’ve had to steal from Ajax.” He grinned, clearly about to keep going—

—but Principal Dort lifted a hand to cut him off. “Thank you, Pugsley. That’s more than enough.” Dort’s voice was still gentle, still cheerful, though the edges of strain were beginning to show.

Isaac kept his eyes fixed on the floor, silently counting the fibers in the rug beneath him. It had been here when he was a student decades ago, though he had never bothered to stare at it for minutes on end until now.

Dort sighed and leaned toward Orloff. “I’ll need some context on who exactly has been brought back,” he murmured. The professor wasted no time supplying the needed information to Principal Dort.

The principal crossed to a tall filing cabinet at the back of the office. His fingers drifted along the labels until he stopped at a drawer marked 1980–1990. He flipped briskly through the folders until he pulled out the one he wanted.

“Ah, here he is. Isaac Evander Night. Quite the name.” Dort chuckled softly before returning to lean against his desk, folder open in his hands. “Now,” he said, peering over his glasses at Eugene and Pugsley, “I’m wondering—what was the plan?”

“Well, since we couldn’t keep him locked up in the shed or in our dorm, I figured we’d just bring him along to classes!” Pugsley hummed, grinning at Isaac and Eugene.

Eugene finally lifted his head, stealing a glance between the two. “…I only went along with Pugsley’s idea because I kinda owe Wednesday for helping me last year,” he admitted quietly. Pugsley’s smile faltered, hurt flickering across his face before he turned away.

Isaac’s hand clenched harder around his knee, his grip almost painful. It’s like I’m the child keeping the parents together, he thought with a dry, inward laugh. Being back under the tree would be simpler.

Dort glanced back down at Isaac’s file, deliberately skimming past the tension simmering between the boys. “Well now, you certainly picked the right student to bring back. A spotless record, no disciplinary issues, glowing notes from your professors…”

He hummed, then lifted his eyes to Isaac. “It would be dishonorable to toss you out after all these years.” Dort snapped the folder shut.

“But I do want to hear from you.” His tone softened. “We’ve been speaking about you as though you weren’t even in the room, like you were some sort of pet.”

The principal lowered himself carefully to one knee until his gaze met Isaac’s, his forced smile steady but his eyes searching.

Isaac’s nose wrinkled. As if I want to talk to someone who sounds like a used car salesman, he thought bitterly. He held Dort’s gaze, testing whether silence alone might make the principal retreat.

The quiet stretched, seconds dragging like hours, until Isaac finally exhaled and turned his face away.

“Not like I had any reason to argue with Pugsley and Eugene,” he said at last. His voice was soft, dry, and rough from disuse. “I’ve been dead for what… thirty years?”

Isaac offered nothing more after his rhetorical question, his gaze sinking back to the rug. Dort hesitated, then straightened with a forced brightness.

“Well. In that case, I see no reason not to reinstate Isaac’s status as a student,” Principal Dort chirped, clapping his hands together.

Dr. Orloff pivoted to face him, his expression tightening. “And what of Eugene and Pugsley? One committed necromancy and the other enabled it. Surely that warrants some form of discipline.” His tone carried more concern for the breach of magical law than any desire to see the boys punished.

Dort considered the question. “Well, Eugene has explained his position as nothing more than a hesitant accomplice. I see no reason to punish that. In fact, I find his willingness to help, despite the circumstances, admirable!”

He shifted his gaze toward Pugsley. “As for Pugsley… I’ll have a discussion with Mr. and Mrs. Addams. They can decide what should be done.” Dort finished with a practiced smile in Orloff’s direction.

The professor looked as though he might argue, but chose instead to redirect. “And what of Isaac? Who will serve as his legal guardian in order to enroll him?”

Dort paused, eyes flicking back to Isaac’s transcript. “We could always call the former sheriff. After all, Françoise did marry the good sheriff.” He spoke idly, almost as a musing, but Isaac’s head snapped up at once at the mention of his sister. The urge to speak clawed at the back of his throat.

“Of course,” Dort continued, “there’s no guarantee he’d answer the school’s calls…” His eyes slid back to Isaac. “We could also arrange for the school to hold temporary custody until our sheriffs reach a decision.”

He turned to Orloff, his smile fading into hesitation as though hoping for direction in this strange matter.

Orloff gave no answer, only fixing Principal Dort with a steady look. Dort sighed, setting the file back onto his desk.

“I’ll call the sheriffs before the end of the day. Until this is sorted out…” His gaze shifted to Pugsley and Eugene. “I entrust Isaac Night to your care. Take him to your classes, introduce him to your peers. He is a Nevermore outcast through and through, and he will be treated as such.”

Eugene sputtered, on the verge of protest, while Pugsley let out a quiet cheer.

Isaac rose stiffly to his feet. “Are we dismissed?” he asked. His voice was polite, low, and tight with restraint.

Principal Dort nodded. “The three of you should get to your music class. I’d wager you’re already ten minutes late,” he said with his usual cheer.

Eugene shot to his feet and hurried for the door. Pugsley, by contrast, took his time. He smoothed down his uniform jacket, then turned to loop an arm around Isaac’s shoulders. He had to stretch to reach, but wasted no time steering Isaac toward the hall.

Isaac’s mind seethed. The audacity of mentioning his sister with no explanation, only to hand him back into the care of two foolish boys, set his blood boiling. His clockwork heart hammered, ticking double-time, the sound soft yet loud enough to echo in tandem with the grandfather clock outside.

Chapter Text

Isaac let himself be pulled along to their next class, Pugsley chattering in his ear about introducing him to family while Eugene lengthened his stride to keep a step ahead.

When they reached the heavy doors of the music hall, Isaac froze. Faint threads of conversation slipped through the wood, his clockwork heart unwillingly adjusting its tiny ticks to fall in rhythm with the unseen cadence.

Pugsley tugged him back to motion, and together they caught up with Eugene as the swarmer pushed open the door.

Inside, the room was crowded sat students from every year, even some who normally wouldn’t be caught dead in a music class. At the back, Enid sat surrounded by her pack; a few seats ahead, Wednesday sat apart, her posture sharp and still. The chatter cut off as the three boys hovered at the threshold, every eye turning toward them. 

Eugene gave a quick nod to the class and hurried toward an empty seat. Pugsley, ever the optimist, hooked an arm through Isaac’s elbow and steered him straight to the open space beside Wednesday.

At the front, Ms. Capri, who had been letting the students settle while she adjusted the seating chart, looked up at the late arrivals.

“Principal Dort called ahead to let me know you’d be late. Don’t worry, I’ve already got you on the chart,” she said with calm warmth, a small smile curving her lips. Isaac felt the rhythm in his chest shift again, the frantic ticking of moments before slowing into step with the measured cadence of her voice.

The room’s chatter gradually swelled back to life. Eugene leaned in eagerly, striking up a conversation with a few other Caliban boys. Wednesday’s gaze stayed forward as she spoke. “And who have you dragged into the vapid maws of Nevermore, Pugsley?”

Isaac lowered his eyes to his lap, his left hand lying limp across the stub of his right. Pugsley only grinned. “How’d you know about that already? I mean, I know you saw us going to Principal Dort, but—”

“Word travels quickly when nothing else of note happens,” Wednesday cut in, silencing his ramble with ease. Her gaze shifted sidelong between Pugsley and Isaac. “Though I would like confirmation that you didn’t raise a zombie without me. I would have hated to miss it.”

Pugsley let out a quick laugh. “I’ll make sure to invite you to the next one I raise! But this is Isaac. Principal Dort trusted me and Eugene to take care of him.” His grin only widened, undeterred by the way nearby students stiffened at overhearing the words raise and zombie.

Wednesday turned fully to study Isaac, then faced forward again. “You’ll have to pick a more decayed one next time. This one looks like something out of Mother’s boorish romance novels.” Her tone was flat, her delivery cutting, but there was no real insult behind it.

Isaac exhaled through his nose. She sounds like a miniature Morticia, just less romantic. He lifted his gaze to the board where Ms. Capri had begun writing the day’s topic in a careful hand. An icebreaker, easy and simple for the first day.

She turned to the class, clapping three times to draw their attention. “We’ll start simple, an icebreaker to get to know the people we’ll be sharing this space with. I’d like each of you to state your name, if you’re comfortable, share what kind of outcast you are, and then describe yourself in three notes.”

A few students tilted their heads at the odd request, while others simply waited in silence. “I’ll begin. I’m Isadora Capri, I’m a werewolf, and for my three notes…” Capri crossed the room to the grand piano, her steps unhurried. She pressed a simple chord, the sound soft and classical, something that might be overlooked in a larger piece.

She let the notes fade before turning back to the group. “Interpret it however you like. You don’t have to play or hum anything, only choose what comes to mind first.” Her gaze swept over the rows of teens before she smiled and gestured toward the student closest to the front. “We’ll start with you.”

Going around the class was torture for Isaac. He couldn’t quite explain why. The answers were what he expected: students humming snatches of melody, some wandering to instruments to pluck out a few notes, others giving sarcastic replies about sharps and flats.

He decided it was because of where he sat, close to the back, waiting. An old anxiety from his first days at Nevermore crawled back into his chest. He stopped paying attention halfway through. After all, he already knew which people were worth knowing, and which would never want to speak to him.

It wasn’t until the eyes of the room turned toward him that he realized it was his turn. God, this is pedantic, he thought sourly, rising to his feet. His gaze locked on the metronome perched at the front of the room.

“Isaac Night. DaVinci.” His eyes flicked to the stump of his right arm. He couldn’t even levitate a scrap of paper without his dominant hand.

“For three notes to describe me… here.” His voice was flat as he stepped to Capri’s desk. He adjusted the metronome and let it tick.

His mechanical heart shifted instantly to match the beat, ticking in perfect time. He stilled the device before it could strike a fourth note, but the rhythm in his chest carried on, echoing in the silence.

Before anyone could comment, Isaac turned on his heel and dropped back into his seat beside Pugsley. A beat of silence hung in the air before Ms. Capri, with practiced calm, shifted her gaze to the next student and gave a small nod.

A cheerful voice, which was Enid no doubt, broke the stillness with a bright introduction, but Isaac barely registered it. The sound blurred into background noise as he fixed his eyes on the floor and wished the class would end.

As the introductions petered out, Ms. Capri moved on to lay out the day’s first lesson. Isaac barely listened. Music was always Francois’ thing, he thought, a flicker of bitterness and grief tightening behind his eyes.

The class crawled forward at a snail’s pace, broken only when the bell finally rang. Students rose in a rush, streaming out toward their dorms or the quad. Lunch time.

Isaac wanted nothing more than to vanish, to lose himself in Iago Tower, if it still stood, but he stayed rooted in place. He knew Pugsley would drag him out, trailing along behind Wednesday as twin shadows.

Chapter Text

Following Wednesday’s lead, Pugsley and Isaac wound their way across campus until they stopped at Ophelia Hall. Wednesday paused at the dormitory door and turned on her heel to face them.

“This is where we part.” Her voice was flat, final.

“Aw, c’mon!” Pugsley whined, though only half in earnest. “Whatever you’re doing can’t be so important you have to shut everyone out.”

Wednesday’s brow arched. “On the contrary. What I am doing is extremely important. I cannot afford unnecessary distractions.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Isaac, unblinking, before returning to her brother.

Pugsley huffed, his shoulders sagging. Wednesday allowed herself the rarest quirk of a smile before speaking again. “You’ll be my eyes on the wider teenage herd, dear brother. Observe. Report. Pay attention to anything that might be… interesting.”

Pugsley perked up, grinning. “I was gonna do that anyway.” He snapped her a mock salute, his grin widening. “But now it’s official!”

Without waiting for her response, he latched onto Isaac’s arm and tugged. “We’ll be in the quad if you need us, Wednesday!” he chirped, already half-dragging the undead boy back down the path. Isaac stumbled a step, the metronome in his chest ticking faster in faint irritation.

Yes, just keep dragging me around like a toy, Isaac thought bitterly, though he made no move to resist.

The quad was a hive of noise, each social clique buzzing in its own corner. At one of the tables sat Eugene, surrounded by a handful of Caliban boys with Ajax among them. Pugsley wasted no time hauling Isaac over. They arrived just as a joke landed, the table erupting in laughter.

Eugene’s laugh cut through the din, a high, buzzing sound that made Isaac’s lips twitch before he caught himself. He sounds like a bee when he laughs, Isaac realized, startled by the softness of the thought. He hadn’t meant to notice.

Most of the Caliban boys only gave Isaac and Pugsley a quick glance before returning to their conversation. Pugsley plopped Isaac into a seat directly across from Eugene, who immediately stiffened.

“I’ll be right back. Gonna grab food for us,” Pugsley chirped before bounding off, leaving the two in silence. Eugene and Isaac stared at each other, the moments stretching uncomfortably. Eugene glanced away now and then, but Isaac never blinked.

Ajax, finally noticing the tension, cleared his throat. “So… you’re gonna be in Caliban Hall, right?” He shifted to face Isaac more fully, trying to sound casual.

Isaac turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the gorgon. “I assume so.” His voice was flat, offering nothing more.

Ajax hummed softly. “Well, I’m the RA of Caliban. So if you have any trouble with anyone, or adjusting, you can come straight to me.” He offered Isaac a polite smile.

Isaac’s lips twitched, but only into something closer to a grimace. “You must be so proud to be the RA.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. His gaze dropped briefly to the table. “I used to be the RA of Caliban myself. I’m sure I’ll adjust just fine.”

A few boys at the table let out low whistles. Ajax blinked, then quickly turned his head. “Ooookay…” he muttered before steering the conversation elsewhere.

Eugene’s wide-eyed stare stayed fixed on Isaac. It took Isaac a full minute to notice, and when he did, his face warmed. He turned sharply away, refusing to meet the swarmer’s gaze.

Eugene opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Pugsley reappeared and plopped a tray down in front of Isaac. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I grabbed you a bit of everything,” he announced proudly, sliding into the seat beside Eugene.

The tray was overflowing: fish dishes clearly meant for sirens, thick steaks and bloody cuts for wolves and vampires, tender veal that must have been for gorgons. Scattered among them were the more mundane options- salad, soup, bread. To anyone else it might have looked like a feast. To Isaac, the sight and mingled smells turned his stomach.

Pugsley launched straight into talk of classes and homework, Eugene gradually easing back into the conversation. Isaac watched them carefully for a moment, before turning his gaze back down to his tray.

He picked up the fork, his left hand trembling. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the utensil, staring down at it. I should’ve learned to use my left hand when I was alive. Isaac managed to pick at a few dishes before settling on the meat. He stabbed a piece with effort, but before he could bring it to his mouth the fork slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the tray.

“Damn it,” he muttered, louder than intended. A few boys at the table turned their heads, curiosity flickering, until Ajax leaned toward him.

“Need a hand?” the gorgon whispered, flicking his own hand dismissively at the others until they turned back to their conversation.

Pugsley grinned from across the table. “I’m sure he’s got it. Right, Isaac?” 

Isaac’s face burned, his clockwork heart ticking unevenly under the weight of their eyes. He blinked once, then fixed his gaze on Pugsley, frustration and humiliation buried beneath a mask of indifference.

“I’m not hungry.” His voice was quiet, clipped. He pushed the tray away with a steady hand.

It was a blatant lie. Now that the meat was close, the smell curled into his nose and stirred his stomach into a low growl. He ignored it, turning his face away and propping his chin against his hand as if bored.

Ajax raised his brows, glancing between Eugene and Pugsley. Pugsley only shrugged and dug back into his own plate, while Eugene let out a quiet sigh, watching Isaac with something closer to pity.

The rest of lunch slipped by without much incident. At one point Pugsley nudged Isaac to try eating again, only to be met with a glare sharp enough to silence him. He held up his hands in mock surrender, muttering that Isaac’s glare could easily rival Wednesday’s.

Isaac exhaled through his nose, the sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. When the bell finally rang, he pushed back from the table. All he wanted was for the day to end faster, instead of dragging along at a snail’s pace.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day blurred together. Isaac drifted through his classes, barely listening, his attempts at writing with his left hand devolving into jagged chicken scratch. Every crooked line only fed his irritation. Pugsley noticed, of course, and asked over and over if he was alright until Isaac’s silence was answer enough.

When he was finally introduced to the dorm he’d be in, Isaac almost felt relief. Ironically, it was the same room he’d lived in the first time he was alive. He’d half-hoped, being such a late arrival, that he might have it to himself. That hope crumbled when he realized he’d be sharing with Pugsley and Eugene.

Eugene had been clear about his displeasure, muttering warnings not to touch his belongings or his bugs. Pugsley, on the other hand, nearly vibrated with glee, pointing out every detail of the room like it was a grand tour and insisting Isaac could take any bed he wanted. He’s going to give me a headache, Isaac thought bitterly as Pugsley was finally called away to meet with his parents.

That left only him and Eugene. The swarmer had already changed into casual clothes and kept his head low. “Yeah, uh… some of the Caliban guys are heading into town. I’ll be back later tonight.” His words were rushed, soft. He scooted past Isaac quickly, only to pop back in a moment later to snatch up his bag before vanishing for good.

The room was silent. Isaac stood in the dark, the space both achingly familiar and strangely foreign. He lingered for a moment longer before moving to the desk. Might as well try to work on my handwriting, he thought, the idea half a sigh.

He left the room bathed in shadow. His eyes adjusted easily, the dark as natural to him as daylight. He spread out the handful of assignments he’d already been saddled with, along with the thin spiral notebook a professor had pressed into his hand earlier.

Isaac held the pencil in his left hand, the grip awkward and shaky. Every adjustment made his fingers ache. He forced himself through it, starting with his name. Isaac Evander Night. Over and over he scrawled it across the notebook’s page. The letters bled into one another, an uneven mess that looked more like scratches than handwriting.

His frustration mounted with every line. Finally, he dropped the pencil, dragging in a deep breath that left him with a sound caught between a sigh and a growl. After a moment, he picked the pencil back up. His grip was clumsy, childlike, but he forced himself to write his name as neatly as he could manage.

The graphite cut deep into the page. Too deep. The pencil snapped in his hand with a sharp crack.

That was the last straw. Rage flared, hot and bitter, and before he could stop himself Isaac had clamped the notebook between his teeth, savaging the top half like an animal trying to punish it for his failure.

A soft knock made Isaac freeze. The door creaked open, spilling harsh light from the hall into the room. He blinked against it, eyes struggling to adjust after hours in darkness. Ajax stepped inside and stopped short. Isaac sat at the desk, notebook clamped between his teeth like a dog with a chew toy.

“I was just about to invite you to dinner,” the gorgon said, blinking at the sight. “But it seems like you’ve already started. How’s the notebook taste?” The words were light, teasing, but they landed like a spark in the silence.

Isaac let the notebook fall from his mouth, the ruined thing smacking flatly onto the floor. He met Ajax’s gaze, shoulders stiff, then smoothed his expression into something resembling calm.

“It tastes,” he said evenly, “like disappointment.” The bite in his voice didn’t quite land. The words came out too tired, too worn down, to really sting.

Ajax barked out a laugh and flicked the lights on. “C’mon, join us for dinner, will ya? You’ve got to be starving, you didn’t touch anything at lunch.”

Isaac blinked against the sudden brightness, squinting as his eyes adjusted. Ajax was dressed down now, his uniform traded for casual clothes, the only trace of Nevermore left being the purple beanie pulled snugly over his snakes. Isaac sat stiff at the desk, unwilling to move.

“It’s all finger food. No forks, if that helps?” Ajax added gently, leaning against the doorway.

It was clear the gorgon wasn’t going to leave him to stew in the dark. Isaac exhaled, slow and sharp, before pushing himself up from the chair. His movements were measured, reluctant, but he followed Ajax out of the room. Isaac walked beside Ajax with a stiff, measured gait, noting absently that he stood an inch or two taller than the relaxed gorgon.

The Caliban mess hall was alive with chaos when they stepped in. Movie cases littered the tables, boys bickering loudly over what to watch. Eugene was in the middle of it, his hands waving as he passionately argued for A Bug’s Life against someone championing A Nightmare on Elm Street.

Isaac froze in the doorway, eyes sweeping the room as if he were searching for an exit. Ajax gave his shoulder a light pat. “You… know what pizza is, right? Or did you die before it got popular?” His voice was playful, teasing without bite.

Isaac shot him a flat look, then crossed the room to perch on a chair set slightly apart from the others, careful to place distance between himself and the noise.

Eugene glanced toward Isaac, his expression flickering before he turned back to his argument. Ajax dropped into a seat at the main table, grabbed a paper plate, and looked back over at Isaac.

“Pepperoni or cheese?” he asked over the noise.

Isaac blinked at him. “Uh… cheese?” The word came out soft, almost lost in the din, but Ajax nodded and slid a plate toward him with a generous slice of cheese pizza.

Isaac stared at it, the grease shining under the overhead lights. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk even trying it. With careful movements he set the plate on his lap, lifting the slice hesitantly.

Ajax, unfazed by the chaos, cut off the movie debate by shoving A Nightmare on Elm Street into the player. The pro–Bug’s Life crowd groaned in defeat, their protests drowned out by the gorgon’s triumphant grin.

Isaac approached the pizza like it was a challenge, nibbling at the edge of the slice with exaggerated caution. The cheese clung stubbornly, stretching a good few inches before finally snapping free into his mouth. Ajax let out a quiet laugh at the spectacle, shaking his head in amusement.

Isaac turned his gaze toward the screen. I remember when this first came out, he thought absently, though the occasional jump scare still made him twitch in his seat. Around him, the rest of the boys had long since lost interest in the film, their attention swallowed by overlapping arguments and half-shouted jokes. It was hard to tell if anyone was watching at all.

Isaac picked at the slice until nausea twisted in his stomach, then leaned forward and slid the plate back onto the table. More than half remained untouched. He drew his knees up into the chair, curling inward, putting as much space as possible between himself and the noise.

“Psst, dead boy.”

A wiry teen had turned on the couch, dragging Isaac into the conversation whether he liked it or not. “First person you ever had a crush on. Go.” 

There was no context, no setup, just the blunt demand. Isaac blinked, startled by the absurdity of it.

“Mary Shelley. Author of Frankenstein.” The words slipped out flat and quick, almost automatic. The table went quiet for a beat. A few boys stared.

“I, uh… meant celebrity,” the wiry teen muttered, giving Isaac a baffled little smile.

“Oh.” Isaac’s voice was flat, buying himself a second. “Does David Bowie count?” He tilted his head, his thoughts drifting. Francois always said I should listen to his music. I don’t think I ever did.

A few boys chuckled, satisfied enough to fold him back into the noise of their conversation. Ajax grinned at Isaac before turning to join them fully. Eugene’s gaze lingered. His expression carried something Isaac couldn’t stand to name, pity, maybe, or recognition. It sat wrong in Isaac’s gut, heavy and sharp. He hated it.

Isaac snapped his gaze back to the screen, refusing to meet Eugene’s eyes again. His brows drew together, his attention locking just in time to see Freddy Krueger claw his way through a man’s stomach.

Isaac’s own lurched. For a moment, he was sure he might vomit.

The night dragged on in a blur of movies and half-distracted conversations. Isaac sat stiff and silent, a shadow at the edge of the chaos, until the mess hall slowly emptied. One by one the boys slipped off to bed, leaving only three shapes in the flickering light of the TV. Isaac, Ajax, and Eugene.

Ajax sighed and clicked off the TV, the room falling into sudden silence. “Why don’t you two head back to your dorm? I’ll clean up here.” He offered them both a bright, easy smile.

Isaac didn’t bother with a reply. He rose stiffly, his movements clipped, and slipped out of the room as fast as he could. Eugene stayed a moment longer, hovering with a handful of movie cases. “At least he joined us?” he said, his voice caught between a question and an excuse.

Ajax chuckled softly and bent to gather empty plates. “It’s a start.”

Chapter Text

The next few days slipped past in a haze. Principal Dort had pulled Isaac aside to hand him his official schedule and update him on the search for a legal guardian. I wish I’d died after I turned eighteen, Isaac thought as the man’s voice scraped in his ears.

“You’re now the ward of Nevermore Academy, Isaac! Which technically means you’re my adoptive ward,” Dort said, his chipper tone pounding against the growing headache in Isaac’s skull.

Isaac let the words wash over him. It was easier to focus on the schedule in his hands than the bizarre reality of being “adopted” by a school.

At least the classes were familiar. He shared most of them with Pugsley or Eugene, which meant he mostly trailed after them like a stray dog. The campus itself had shifted since his time alive: the old science wing was now a hall of electives, rooms rearranged and renamed. It was easier to follow the two boys than try to re-map the whole thing himself.

He sometimes caught glimpses of Wednesday lurking through the halls, a small ginger girl shadowing her like a second, quieter reflection. It didn’t surprise him. Everything he knew about the Addams family suggested it would have been stranger if she wasn’t snooping.

Life in Caliban Hall, meanwhile, was its own adjustment. The boys had taken to him like flies to sugar, crowding around with curiosity and questions. Most of them had started calling him some variation of “dead boy.” He didn’t mind. There was something almost endearing about the morbid nickname.

At least they aren’t having me do their homework, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching at the idea.

Pugsley had glued himself to Isaac’s side in recent days, a fact Isaac found increasingly grating. Now was no exception: the spark had draped his head onto Isaac’s shoulder while Isaac tried to scrawl with his awkward left hand. Every time Pugsley shifted to laugh or gesture at Eugene and Ajax, Isaac was forced to move with him.

The urge to growl at him, or worse, snap, gnawed at the back of Isaac’s mind. He swallowed it down. Too animalistic, too low.

Around them, the quad buzzed with energy. Enid and her pack tore through the space with laughter, their jokes echoing off the stone. The noise cut short when Principal Dort climbed up onto the base of the werewolf statue at the quad’s entrance.

He clapped sharply, following it with a piercing whistle that cut the chatter clean. The quad fell still, dozens of eyes swinging toward him.

“Hello, Nevermore!” Principal Dort’s voice rang out, bright and booming across the quad. A few students clapped or whooped, but most simply stared up at him, waiting. Unbothered, he pressed on with his trademark grin.

“I’m excited to invite you all to our first tradition of the year: the Founder’s Pyre Ceremony!”

Murmurs stirred across the crowd. Some students looked intrigued, others skeptical.

“It’s been quite a few years since we’ve hosted one,” Dort continued, rocking on his heels with enthusiasm. “But I have no doubt we can make it every bit as energetic as it was decades ago.”

His gaze flicked to Isaac, and his eyes practically gleamed. “And we’re especially lucky this year. Someone among us remembers those old pyres like they were yesterday.” Dort winked openly at Isaac before rolling right back into his speech.

Dozens of faces turned to look at the undead boy. Isaac felt the stares land heavy, colder than the fall breeze cutting through the quad. Isaac ducked his head, burying himself in the shaky lines of his notebook. His face burned hot, and his hand trembled over the page.

Pugsley gave his shoulders an eager shake. “That’s awesome, man! Already weaseling your way into the hearts of authority. Ah, it’s enough to make me jealous.”

Isaac groaned softly, the sound slipping out before he could catch it. He wanted to bite back at Pugsley’s words but swallowed the urge. Across the table, Eugene and Ajax exchanged a glance. Eugene leaned forward, laying a tentative hand on Isaac’s shoulder in quiet reassurance.

Dort wrapped up his speech with a flourish, drawing cheers and claps from the quad. “Attendance is mandatory! Let’s start this year the right way.”

As the quad erupted back into chatter, Dort’s gaze drifted until it landed on the familiar black-clad figure at the edge of the crowd. Wednesday stood still, sharp-eyed and silent, having arrived just in time to catch his last words. Isaac could hear the principal’s tone brighten as he strode toward her, coaxing her into a walk-and-talk.

Isaac hunched deeper over his notebook, willing himself invisible. He caught fragments of their exchange—something about a “surprise” for her and the students who had endured last year. Wednesday gave no reply. Enid bounded up beside her, tugging her away into new conversation. Dort lingered, watching them go, his smile fixed in place.

Then he turned, eyes sweeping back to the table.

“May I borrow you, Isaac?” Dort asked, voice gentle but leaving no room for refusal.

Pugsley slid off Isaac with a grin and a thumbs-up. Isaac wanted to refuse, to mumble something about a nonexistent lunch, but the words stuck in his throat. Slowly, he rose and followed Dort, letting the principal steer him into the quieter hall that led toward his office.

“You need to help me plan the pyre, Isaac,” Dort said once they were alone, his voice gentler now, coaxing. “You were there when it was at its height. Not just the pyre, but the school itself.” Isaac narrowed his eyes, studying him.

“I know you were never the social one,” Dort continued, smiling as if confiding a secret. “That was always more Gomez’s gift, wasn’t it?” At the name, Isaac’s clockwork heart skipped, then stuttered into a faster tick. Pain pressed hot in his chest, grief threatening to spill over.

“But I believe you can win the student body over. Make them excited. For the pyre, for the traditions I plan to restore this year.”

Dort’s hand settled lightly on Isaac’s shoulder. “And why would I?” Isaac asked, his voice sharp as a glare tightened across his face.

“Because,” Dort said smoothly, “I could very easily turn you over to the state. What I’m doing for you now is charity. And if I decide my charity has run dry, you’ll never know what happened to your sister. Or her family.”

The words landed like a blade slipped between ribs, spoken so calmly, so gently, they could have been mistaken for comfort. Isaac’s breath caught. He flicked his gaze down the hall, searching for anyone else, any witness. The corridor was empty.

“Okay,” he muttered, the word flat and hollow. He repeated it, softer the second time, as if saying it twice might make it sound like agreement instead of surrender.

Dort’s hands clapped firmly onto Isaac’s shoulders, the sound loud in the empty hall. “Perfect! Then you can start by telling me everything you remember about the pyre, every detail, every spark, from the last time you saw it.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. With that same brisk cheer, he steered Isaac forward, guiding him down the corridor as if they were simply old friends chatting about pleasant memories. Isaac let himself be pulled along, his steps stiff, his mind a storm. Every tick of his heart echoed louder.

Chapter Text

By the time the conversation wound down, Isaac found himself in Dort’s office, hunched over a scrap of paper. His left hand shook as he scratched out what he remembered of the pyre’s layout. The lines were messy, jagged, almost illegible, but he slid it across the desk all the same. A knock at the door cut through the silence.

“Enter,” Dort called, already smiling as the door opened. A slender girl stepped inside, her uniform immaculate, her posture measured.

“Ah, right on time! Isaac, I’m sure you’ve heard of Miss Bianca Barclay?” Dort’s tone was all cheer as he ushered her closer.

Isaac blinked, his mouth flattening into a tight line. “I can’t say I’m familiar,” he muttered, offering a polite but taut smile.

Bianca extended her hand with graceful ease. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Isaac. I’ve heard… a lot of speculation about you.”

Her smile matched his, just as tight, controlled, both of them measuring the other in that brief handshake. Dort turned with an easy pivot, launching into an explanation for Bianca. How Isaac was already contributing to the pyre’s design and how vital he would be for the year’s traditions.

“I’ll be more than delighted to announce Isaac as our Student Coordinator,” Dort beamed, savoring the words. Isaac’s glare cut across the desk like a blade, but Dort didn’t flinch.

“After all,” the principal continued smoothly, “who better than someone who lived the glory days of Nevermore firsthand?”

Bianca’s eyes flicked to Isaac, her smile polite but edged with pity.

“And Isaac,” Dort added, gesturing toward the wall where a massive, hand-drawn donation counter stood, numbers climbing in neat rows, “you’ll want to get familiar with Bianca’s work. She’s our student ambassador. See all those generous donations already? Every last one gathered thanks to her.” Isaac hummed softly, giving the faintest nod.

“I’m just happy to give back to a school that’s given so much to me, and to everyone else here,” Bianca said with practiced ease, her smile smooth and sure.

Isaac’s eyes flicked toward her, his own expression tight. Surprise twisted with something more bitter, though he held his tongue. Dort’s laugh cracked the air, sharp and delighted. “Excellent! I trust you two will become fast friends.” His grin widened as he turned to Isaac. “You can go now.”

The words were framed like an invitation, but the command beneath them was unmistakable. Isaac rose stiffly, nodding once in Bianca’s direction before slipping out of the office, his steps rigid with the weight of the exchange.

The hallway was already crowded when Isaac left Dort’s office. His eyes flicked down the stairwell and caught Ajax waiting at the bottom. How long had he been standing there? Isaac didn’t linger long enough to find out. He turned away quickly, his steady stride breaking into something closer to a retreat.

By the time he reached his dorm, he forced the door open to find Pugsley and Eugene mid-debate, sizing up each other’s outfits like rivals before a duel. For two boys who barely seem like friends, Isaac thought, they’re rather close.

Pugsley looked up instantly, grinning wide. “How was your talk with Dort? You missed all our classes.” Without waiting, he bounded forward, tugging Isaac into the room.

“Yeah, me and Pugsley got saddled with bringing you all the work you missed,” Eugene added, his voice half-grumble but softened with a faint smile.

Isaac dropped onto Pugsley’s bed, unbothered about taking the space. For a moment he debated honesty, staring at Pugsley’s eager grin. Guilt twisted, sharp and unwelcome.

“It was fine,” he said instead. “The pyre will be fun.” The lie slid out with ease.

Pugsley whooped, bouncing on his heels. “I’m excited for Mom and Dad to see it! Hey- they were in the same year as you, right?”

Isaac nodded stiffly.

“Then why do you think he asked you for help instead of them? They’re living in the Rotwood Cottage, it’s not like he couldn’t ask.”

Isaac froze, turning the words over before forcing a shrug. “Maybe he wanted someone without nostalgia.” His tone was faint, almost hollow.

Pugsley hummed, apparently satisfied. Eugene, though, gave Isaac a long look before turning back to adjust one of his terrariums, hiding the questions that lingered on his face.

Isaac bent forward, fingers working at the knots of the heavy boots he still borrowed from Pugsley. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Eugene whispering something to Pugsley. The spark gave a quick nod and slipped out of the room without a word.

Isaac frowned, a question forming on his lips, but Eugene spoke first.

“I told him to go ask Enid and her pack if we could hang out later,” Eugene explained, settling down beside him. He glanced sideways, his voice quieter. “You seem… quiet. Quieter than normal, I mean. You okay?”

Isaac’s gaze lifted to meet his. The clockwork tick of his heart still twisted with grief, but with Eugene it was dulled, softened. “I’m… okay. Yeah. Fine.”

The words were clipped, and even as he said them, anger bubbled back to the surface. He yanked the boots free and shoved them aside, the motion sharp enough to betray his mood.

“I’m supposed to believe you while you shove the boots around like they’re burning you?” Eugene murmured. The words came out strangely poetic, a cadence that tugged at something old and familiar in Isaac’s memory. “Seriously. What’s wrong?”

Isaac leveled a stare at him, the kind meant to shut questions down. “I’m. Fine.” Each word was a stone dropped between them. “Dort just asked me a lot of questions, so I’m tired.” The lie hissed through his teeth, his tone edged with anger.

Eugene raised both hands, palms out in surrender. “Okay. Okay, I believe you.” He paused, a wry little note slipping into his voice. “Even though I know you don’t sleep.”

Isaac’s glare lingered long enough for Eugene to push himself up, hands raised in mock defense. “Geez. Pugsley was right- you’ve got a glare just like Wednesday’s.”

As if on cue, Pugsley burst back into the room, grinning wide. “Enid said sure! Isaac, you should come with. Ajax probably has some clothes that’ll fit you if you don’t wanna wear your uniform.” He bounced on his heels, brimming with energy.

Isaac sighed, stooping to pick up the boots.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Eugene added carefully.

I’d like nothing more than to not come with, Isaac thought, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Instead he lifted his head and offered an easy smile. “No, I think it’d be fun.”

The lie slid smooth as glass off his tongue, like so many others. But when Pugsley’s face lit up at the answer, joy spilling from him without hesitation, something twisted sharp in Isaac’s gut. For once, he wondered if his talent for lying was really a skill at all.

Chapter Text

Trying on clothes from Ajax’s wardrobe was… an ordeal. The gorgon threw beanies, layered jackets, and streetwear at him with a stylist’s enthusiasm, while Isaac stood stiffly, enduring the process like a mannequin with teeth. Everything felt foreign on his skin, costumes for a life he’d never lived.

Eventually, Pugsley and Eugene settled the matter for him: no beanie, a plain band shirt hidden beneath two layered jackets, baggy jeans cinched with a belt, and the heavy boots borrowed from Pugsley. Isaac glanced at the mirror and saw only a stranger, ridiculous and overstuffed.

Pugsley, however, beamed, shaking his shoulders with infectious energy. “You look great!” he rambled, his voice bubbling with pride.

Eugene and Ajax exchanged a quieter conversation in the corner, words too soft for Isaac to catch. When the trio finally prepared to leave, Ajax lingered at the door, his smile polite but pained.

“Have fun with Enid and her pack,” he said, almost wistful. Isaac could only guess it was the strain between him and Enid, something he’d already been unlucky enough to witness more than once.

The walk to Ophelia Hall was short, the path between dorms cutting clean across campus. Eugene and Pugsley filled the space with chatter, dissecting the supposed effects of electricity on insect personalities. Isaac tuned them out, his thoughts elsewhere.

Even from outside, the noise from Enid’s dorm spilled through the door. Laughter, shouts, overlapping conversations. Isaac knew the chaos of packs; he’d been unlucky enough to endure them before. His shoulders tensed as Pugsley rapped out a knock, the rhythm heavy and deliberate. Like a death march, Isaac thought, a wry flicker of affection slipping through the unease.

The door opened, but not to Enid. A taller boy stood there instead, staring at the trio in surprise. Isaac recognized him after a beat. Bruno. Eugene gave a quick wave, and Pugsley wasted no time squeezing past the werewolf into the crowded room. Bruno stepped aside, allowing Eugene to follow.

“Oh- okay, well, welcome in,” Bruno said, his smooth voice oddly at odds with the chaotic noise behind him.

Isaac lingered at the threshold, staring in. His body resisted crossing, something in him unwilling to enter the whirlwind. Bruno shrugged and drifted back to his conversation, leaving the door hanging wide open.

Isaac lingered in the doorway, stiff and uncertain, until Enid spotted him. She let out an exaggerated squeal before bounding over, arms wrapping around him in a hug that nearly knocked him off balance. “Oh!! Isaac! I’m so excited you came.”

Before he could protest, she pulled the much taller boy into the chaos of the room, her words tumbling over each other. “We’re giving each other pedicures, want one?” Her grin flashed sharp with fangs.

Pugsley and Eugene groaned in unison, though they were quickly pulled into conversation with Bruno and a few of the other pack boys.

Isaac glanced around and noticed with faint surprise that many of the werewolves already sported fresh polish on their claws. He exhaled through his nose, resigned, and gave Enid a curt nod. She squealed happily and produced an entire rainbow of nail polish bottles.

A couple of girls were already hunched over another hand, chatting as they painted. Isaac barely looked. Until his brain registered the familiar disembodied fingers drumming idly on the armrest.

That’s my hand.

The thought slammed through Isaac, rage flaring hot. He jerked his arm back from Enid, cutting off the careful brush strokes she’d been painting across his nails. His finger shot toward the disembodied limb.

“That’s my hand!” he snarled, surging to his feet.

The hand bolted, its fingers skittering across the floor with unnerving speed. Isaac lunged after it, the chase almost cartoonish in its absurdity. Undead boy against animated limb, both moving faster than they had any right to.

Eugene yelped as the hand darted past him, nearly tripping over his own chair to get out of the way. Isaac barreled after it, his expression murderous.

Pugsley laughed at first, assuming it was just one of Isaac’s rare attempts at a joke. Until he caught the frenzied look in his friend’s eyes. His grin faltered, realization dawning that Isaac wasn’t playing. 

“Pugsley! He’s gonna hurt Thing!” Enid cried, scrambling to save her bed sheets from spilled polish as Isaac tore across the room.

Pugsley blinked, panic flashing in his eyes. Normally, he’d look to Wednesday for help, but she wasn’t here. He was the Addams on duty, and the one who had dragged Isaac back into the world in the first place. Responsibility weighed heavy, even through the chaos.

Isaac lunged, murder written in his eyes, fingers curved almost into claws. Thing scurried desperately, just beyond his reach. Pugsley thrust out his hands. Bolts of electricity cracked through the air, striking Isaac squarely.

The undead boy jolted violently, an unnatural yelp ripping out of him. His heart lurched, ticking faster and faster before crashing back into its normal rhythm.

He turned toward Pugsley, shoulders trembling from the aftershock. His eyes burned wide, still rimmed with rage. That was until he saw the look on Pugsley’s face. Concern and fear twisted together in the spark’s expression, a fragile mix Isaac hadn’t expected.

The anger drained away, leaving only the strange, hollow twitch of his heart. He wanted the look on Pugsley’s face to vanish, but it clung to him like a brand.

“Slurp-” Pugsley caught himself, then tried again, his voice steadier. “Isaac. Stop.”

He half-expected the command to bounce off uselessly. Instead, to his own visible shock, Isaac sank back onto the floor, shoulders rigid, eyes still burning. Thing scuttled quickly to Enid’s side, tucking close to her blankets but peeking out as if to check if the coast was clear. The rest of the pack sat frozen, wide-eyed, the air thick with silence.

“You will not try to attack Thing again,” Pugsley said firmly, his voice carrying more weight than it should have. Isaac gave no reply, only leveled him with a glare. It wasn’t real anger, more a mask, something to fill the void where words should go.

The tension held for one more breath before the dorm door creaked open. Wednesday slipped inside, her presence cool and unhurried. The small redheaded girl trailed after her like a shadow.

“Did I miss all the fun?” Wednesday asked, her voice dry, a faint edge of humor flattening her words.

Chapter Text

“So… let me reiterate.” Wednesday’s voice was calm, clipped, as she paced the dorm with her hands folded neatly behind her back. Thing perched on her shoulder, his fingers tapping idly. Behind them, Enid cheerfully ushered her pack out, promising to meet again another day.

“You’re invited to spend time with a group of excitable teenagers,” Wednesday said, her gaze swinging to Isaac, “and the very first thing you do is attempt to maim a member of my family.”

Isaac met her stare without flinching. “It’s my hand.” His tone was flat, as though the statement should have been enough to end the discussion.

Thing drummed a sharp rhythm against Wednesday’s shoulder. She tilted her head, listening.

“How were any of us to know?” she translated coolly. “Thing himself didn’t even know.”

“And stop calling Thing an it!” Enid snapped, clutching the hand protectively against her chest. “He’s a very dear friend of mine. Don’t be rude.”

She set him on her lap, fixing the smudged polish with a surprising delicacy, pausing whenever Thing tapped or signed something only she seemed quick enough to catch.

Isaac let out an exasperated sigh, the sound halfway to a growl. “Your friend is my right hand!” His voice rose, sharp with indignation. “The conduit for my power! My dominant hand!”

He stood abruptly, the motion stiff and jerky, eyes burning as though he could make Enid hand Thing back through sheer force of will.

“Isaac, calm down.” Eugene’s voice was soft, almost pleading, as he reached out and rested a hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

The weight of Eugene’s hand steadied him for the briefest second. His heart ticked unevenly, gears straining in his chest. But the reprieve was short-lived. The pause broke like glass, and rage rushed back sharper than before.

“Calm down? Calm down?” His voice cracked, guttural and edged with something almost feral. He turned on Eugene, even though the swarmer wasn’t the true target of his fury.

“I’ve been paraded around all week, humiliated at every turn as a DaVinci without any real powers. I’m hardly even an outcast at all, except for the part where I crave raw meat like some rabid dog!”

Eugene’s shoulders hunched as Isaac pressed closer, his words tumbling faster, angrier.

“My grades are a disaster because no one can read my handwriting. I can’t eat because I can’t even hold a fork without shaking. I can’t live because I can’t use my left hand like my right.”

He raised the stump of his right arm between them, a dark and jagged punctuation to his fury. His voice cracked raw, filling the dorm.

“And the solution to my problem was right here. My right hand was right here. And it’s been playing dress-up with a bunch of teenagers like some macabre doll!”

Isaac’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, his chest ticking unevenly with every pulse of his clockwork heart. He still loomed over Eugene, the swarmer frozen beneath his glare, shoulders wound tight like a bug caught in a jar.

Wednesday’s brow lifted the faintest fraction, the only sign she’d been listening at all. Enid flinched at the crack of Isaac’s voice, pulling Thing closer to her chest as though shielding him, her hands shaking as she painted over his chipped polish.

For a beat, no one moved. Then Pugsley did. His shock came sudden and sharp, a crackle of lightning lancing across Isaac’s chest. The zombie yelped, staggering back, the smell of scorched fabric curling in the air.

Pugsley stepped forward, his face unusually serious. “Don’t get in his face. He didn’t do anything to you.”

The air held the aftertaste of ozone, the silence thick. Isaac’s rage still burned in his eyes, but now it warred with something else. Shame, maybe, or the hollow ache of being reined back by the one person who refused to fear him.

Eugene’s sigh slipped out in relief, his body sagging as though someone had cut his strings. Isaac opened his mouth, another bitter retort perched on his tongue, but froze when he caught Pugsley’s expression.

Gone was the easy grin, the spark’s eyes sharp and his eyebrow arched in eerie imitation of Wednesday. The unspoken command was clear. Isaac snapped his mouth shut, stiffly lowering himself into a chair when Pugsley motioned.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint tick of Isaac’s chest. Then Pugsley let out a long breath, his shoulders sinking. He glanced toward his sister. “Should we get Mom and Dad? They might know how to help.”

Eugene quietly drifted to sit beside Enid, his words soft as he tried to distract her and Thing with idle chatter. She nodded along, her smile tentative, while Thing tapped a short response against her wrist.

Wednesday regarded Isaac in silence, her arms folding neatly across her chest. At last, her lips curved, not a smile, but something colder. “No. I’d rather keep him to ourselves a while longer. Their shock at the pyre will be… delightful.” Her gaze narrowed, pinning Isaac in place.

“And besides,” she added, voice silk over steel, “I have more questions for our dear undead friend.”

Wednesday snapped her fingers, sharp as a gavel strike. The small ginger girl who had slipped out during the chaos reappeared, clutching a manila folder. She handed it over with a quick smile before vanishing again, her presence evaporating like smoke.

A vanisher… Isaac thought, his gaze trailing the space she’d disappeared into. There were no vanishers at Nevermore in my time. The realization hooked into him, strange and unsettling. He’d only read stories about vanishers, a million questions tunneled into his head.

His wandering thoughts shattered when Wednesday thrust the folder into his lap. The file smelled faintly of disinfectant and dust. He cracked it open, eyes catching on the bold type across the first page: Tyler Galpin. It was a medical report.

Wednesday’s voice was as flat and sharp as a scalpel. “I paid Willow Hill a visit to see an… old friend.” She leaned forward, watching his every twitch of expression as he scanned the paper.

Isaac’s clockwork heart ticked harder, uneven.

“What do you know of Hydes?”

Chapter Text

Isaac sat frozen, her question digging beneath his skin like a scalpel. For a beat he didn’t answer, the silence stretching, then his jaw tightened and his glare met hers.

“What will you do for me if I answer?” His voice was low, measured, every word weighed like a bargain.

Wednesday didn’t flinch. Her gaze, black and unyielding, held his with the quiet violence of a knife balanced on a fingertip.

Across the room, the tension slid off the younger Addams like water. Pugsley shuffled over to sit beside Enid, watching with wide, wary eyes. The werewolf, undeterred, was busy painting Eugene’s nails a garish teal while the swarmer mumbled soft protests that didn’t stop her hand.

Thing scuttled to perch on Pugsley’s shoulder, tapping furiously into his collarbone.

“No,” Pugsley whispered back, quick and defensive. “I didn’t know you came from him, how was I supposed to know?” More frantic taps followed, the tiny conversation buzzing between them like Morse code in the corner.

But in the center of the room, none of it mattered. Isaac and Wednesday hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. Two statues carved from spite and stubbornness, locked in a silent war over who would yield first.

“What you want, I can’t give you.” The seer’s words finally broke the silence. Isaac refused to blink, even as Wednesday did. A rare concession for her.

“Then help me get something that’ll make up for your family keeping my hand.” Isaac’s voice was low, almost a growl, his eye fixed on her with something murderous in its steadiness.

Wednesday’s expression shifted, softening into a facsimile of ease. “You’re an inventor. I can secure you blueprints and materials for a new hand. All you’d have to do is build it.”

Isaac’s huff was sharp, bitter. He broke their locked gaze just long enough to breathe, then snapped it back. “You’ll help me make it. I’m not going to hand you what you want, only to be left with more work from someone I don’t like.”

A faint hum left her, almost approval. “You drive a hard bargain. I admire the insult tucked inside it. Deal.”

Wednesday extended her hand. Isaac gave it a measured glance, raising his left to meet it. The bed-bound trio shifted, watching the exchange with tight shoulders, ready to intervene if the pact dissolved into violence.

Isaac stopped just short of her palm. For a heartbeat, the room was heavy with silence. Then his mouth curled into a grin — wide, sharp, mischievous. He dragged his tongue across his hand in one quick motion and slapped it against Wednesday’s before she could recoil.

The wet smack echoed. Enid gasped, Eugene winced, and Pugsley barked out a laugh. Wednesday, however, only narrowed her eyes, withdrawing her hand with glacial calm as if already plotting her revenge.

“Francoise. My sister was a Hyde.” The words came flat, heavy, as if saying her name alone dragged up something he wasn’t ready to share. “I tried to… cure her.”

Wednesday’s eyebrow rose, her silence an unblinking demand to continue.

Isaac leaned back, jaw tightening. “We were close as kids. Too close, maybe. She’d break things. Rage at shadows. I was always the one to pull her back, to calm her before anyone else noticed. Before our parents realized what she was.”

“They thought she’d be a DaVinci like me. We were twins, it made sense. But no.” His voice thinned, brittle with grief and bitterness. “The first time she transformed, she attacked our father. I calmed her down… but after that, our mother sent us to Nevermore. Said it was the only place we could cope.”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “She got sick. Really sick, after I started spending more time with Gomez. I thought the Hyde was tearing her apart. So I tried to remove it. Cut it out like a disease. I couldn’t just sit there and watch it consume her.”

His hand clenched against his knee. “But I failed. I died. And she had to keep living with it.”

Wednesday’s stare didn’t falter. Isaac exhaled, as if her silence demanded more.

“Other than my life story, what I know is Hydes always favor someone. A single person.” His voice dipped. “For Francois, that was me, at least as far as I know. The Hyde itself… it can be a separate person, but stripped down. Base. Animalistic. All teeth and rage.”

He waved his left hand, dismissive. “I had notes. Pages of them. Fran let me study her Hyde as long as I promised it wouldn’t hurt anyone. No idea where they ended up.”

“Could you recreate them? Or at least describe them in detail?” Wednesday pressed, suddenly leaning close enough that Isaac could feel her gaze cut into him. “I may have an idea where they ended up.”

Isaac stiffened at her nearness, blinking once before replying. “They were in a leather journal. A gift from Gomez. I filled it with notes… sketches, too. Some of the things I was working on.”

Wednesday hummed, leaning back with an air of satisfaction. “Good. That will make my work easier.” She let the pause hang just long enough before her eyes narrowed again. “But before I honor my side of the deal… you’re going to apologize.”

Isaac squinted, suspicion pulling at his expression. “For what?”

Wednesday didn’t miss a beat. “For cutting short Enid’s… loud hangout with her pack. Consider it a social experiment in humility.”

Isaac’s face flushed.

“And for trying to attack Thing,” Wednesday added, delighting in the way his cheeks turned an even darker shade.

He exhaled through his teeth and stood, shoulders stiff, refusing to look at anyone at first. “Sorry,” he muttered flatly.

A sharp kick to the back of his leg made him stumble just enough to glare at Wednesday. She arched an eyebrow.

Isaac groaned, finally meeting Enid’s eyes. “I’m sorry for ruining your hangout.” His gaze shifted, landing on the disembodied hand perched on Pugsley’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry for… trying to attack you.”

Isaac felt Wednesday’s stare drilling into him. His jaw worked before he finally turned to Eugene, an apology not demanded for the swarmer but the urge to cropped up in his mind. “And… I’m sorry for yelling at you.” The words came quieter, softer, carrying the edge of shame he hadn’t let slip before.

Enid gave a little laugh, more like a sigh dressed up as forgiveness. “Good enough.”

Thing tapped briskly against Pugsley’s shoulder, who translated with a grin. “He says you’re on thin ice… but thanks for apologizing.”

Eugene studied Isaac for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally sighed. “Just don’t do it again.”

Something in the simplicity of that answer untied a knot in Isaac’s chest. For the first time that evening, his shoulders loosened, the tension ebbing away.

Wednesday exhaled, the sound sharp as a period on the moment. “Good. You’ll have your materials after the pyre. Pugsley, Eugene- keep a keen eye on this one.”

Pugsley lit up, springing to his feet with a grin as Thing scurried off his shoulder. He gave his sister a mock salute, the picture of cheerful obedience. Eugene rose slower, far less enthusiastic, offering only a curt nod.

Without missing a beat, Pugsley hooked his arm through Isaac’s and tugged him toward the door, chattering like nothing had happened. Isaac allowed it stiffly, the weight of the room still pressing on his shoulders. Eugene trailed behind, quieter, watchful.

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the pyre passed like a migraine without medicine. Isaac was drowning in expectations: his new role as Student Coordinator demanded he make himself available to everyone, his professors expected him to keep up with work that once came easily but now slipped like sand through his fingers, and Dort never missed a chance to remind him, always with that grating cheer, that his grades had to stay “respectable.”

So he faked it. Sloppy assignments, half-understood lectures, his knowledge stretched thin but made to look intact. The effort left him raw, stretched too tight.

Yet there was one reprieve. Wednesday had held her end of their bargain with unnerving speed, producing parts and blueprints like she had raided some private archive. And in the evenings, she and Pugsley joined him in the building process. Wednesday trimming pieces down with surgeon-like precision, Pugsley wielding the torch like he’d been born with it in his hands.

Those hours became Isaac’s sanctuary. Free of Dort’s expectations, free of the eyes of classmates, he could spill out everything he knew about invention and creation without fear of judgment. It felt less like work and more like meditation.

Sometimes Isaac caught himself wondering if Bianca carried the same weight he did. She never looked rattled, never cracked, but surely she hadn’t agreed to her role willingly. He clung to that thought with a kind of morbid hope, that someone else was trapped in a similar predicament. Then he’d force himself to push it away. Speculating too much about someone so composed only made him feel more exposed.

The day of the pyre was stress incarnate. His unfinished hand sat waiting in his dorm, and all Isaac could think about was finishing it. Instead, he was stuck in Dort’s office, enduring another endless sermon about morale and optics.

When Dort finally gestured for him and Bianca to rise, Isaac realized too late he hadn’t heard a word of the question aimed at him. He stammered uselessly, only to fall silent when Dort reached over and fussed with his collar like a doting father.

The principal turned expectantly to Bianca.

“The goal is to boost student morale and school spirit,” she replied without hesitation, her voice smooth, her face unreadable. “And, of course, to secure the Addams family’s favor for future donations.”

Isaac flushed, the ease of her answer underlining his own frayed nerves.

“Atta girl,” Dort said with that infuriatingly bright smile, ushering them both out of his office and into the hallway. “I already have most of our DaVinci students- save for you, of course, Isaac- working on the giant crow for the pyre. That means I’ll need the two of you to focus on the decorations and entertainment before my speech.”

Bianca inclined her head with a flawless little smile, her eyes already scanning the lawn where students scurried like ants, stringing banners and stacking wood. Isaac kept his gaze fixed on the ground, shoulders curling inward as if he could make himself vanish.

As they walked, Dort’s voice bubbled on, almost too bright for the weight of his words. “I have a meeting with our professors, so I trust the two of you to divide the work evenly.” He beamed at them, two students who couldn’t have been more different if they tried.

Bianca offered a wordless nod, perfectly composed. Isaac stayed silent, jaw tight.

“Wonderful!” Dort clapped his hands together, then reached over and ruffled Isaac’s hair in a gesture meant to look paternal but only left Isaac seething. With that, the principal spun off down a side hall at his usual brisk clip, leaving the two in his wake.

That left the undead and the siren alone in the hall. They’d only ever spoken in clipped, professional exchanges, their worlds brushing without overlap.

“You want the stage?” Bianca asked as they made their way toward the grounds Dort had reserved for the pyre.

Isaac gave her a sidelong look. “It’ll probably take me ten times longer than it would you.”

Her lips curved into a practiced, pleasant smile. “Well, unless you’ve suddenly developed a knack for catering…”

A weary sigh escaped him, though it carried the ghost of a smile. “Fine. I’ll try to handle the stage.”

Isaac had been right. By the time he’d managed barely a quarter of the stage, mostly dragging it into place and scraping it clean, Bianca had already vanished and returned. Her side of things had clearly been handled. Food was sorted, decorations mysteriously underway. And now she was back, with Ajax trailing at her side.

“Figured I’d bring some help. What have you managed?” Bianca’s voice was sweet, almost pointedly pleasant.

Isaac glanced up from the podium he’d wrestled into position. “Oh- just… cleaning. Housekeeping, mostly.” The words came in gasps, the pause long enough for the weight of his effort to finally crash over him.

Bianca’s eyes flicked over the stage, mentally noting anything left to be done. Ajax, though, set a steady hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Dude. Take a breather, you look about ready to drop dead.”

He guided him down to the steps, and Isaac resisted for a moment before yielding. His chest rattled, the ticking of his heart uneven and loud enough for nearby students to notice. Ajax shot Bianca a worried look. She, ever composed, politely ignored the sound as if it wasn’t there at all.

Bianca stepped down from the stage, her gaze level on him. “Well, only about half of it’s been cleaned, and none of the decorations are in place.”

Isaac let out a sharp huff, glaring up at her. “Try scrubbing an entire stage with one hand. See how far you get.”

The words came harsher than he intended, but he didn’t take them back. For a moment, Bianca’s polished expression flickered, something pinched and uncertain breaking through.

“I didn’t mean offense,” she said quickly, smoothing her voice back to its usual calm. “That’s why I brought Ajax. We’re here to help.”

Isaac didn’t answer, and the glare on his face didn’t ease. He pushed himself back to his feet, wordlessly burying himself in the half-cleaned stage. Ajax tried to step in, only to be brushed aside with a sharp wave of Isaac’s hand.

“I… uh, guess we’ll handle the decorations then?” Ajax asked, his voice uncertain. Isaac gave him nothing in return.

Bianca let out a quiet sigh, the kind that carried more judgment than weariness. “I didn’t sign up to deal with another self-important outcast,” she muttered. The words weren’t meant to reach him, but they did.

His chest tightened. His grip on the mop grew harsher, strokes thudding across the wood. She didn’t mean it. I provoked it. She didn’t mean it. I provoked it. The mantra looped uselessly, feeding the tension instead of easing it. She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her. He tried to add, as though logic might put out the fire.

It didn’t.

The stage work limped along, every task turning into an opportunity for attack. Bianca told Ajax to hang a banner across the front rail; Isaac immediately cut in and told him to shift it left. Bianca instructed him to set lanterns by the steps; Isaac snapped that they’d block the performers. Ajax’s patience wore thinner with each back-and-forth, stuck between two voices that both demanded authority.

Eventually, it came to a head. Bianca’s instructions grew sharper, Isaac’s interruptions harsher, until the whole stage felt thick with their clashing tones.

“It looks too cluttered over there,” Isaac hissed, his jaw tight.

Bianca pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “You’re treating this like it’s a set of blueprints. It isn’t. Sometimes it has to look cluttered to look alive. Trust the process.”

Isaac’s hands curled, knuckles blanching. A low sound caught in his throat, almost a growl. “Sure. Sure. The process is just fucking stupid, that’s all.”

Ajax glanced between them, caught like prey in a predator’s gaze. He moved to hang the decoration anyway, desperate to break the deadlock.

“Ajax, don’t you dare.” Isaac’s eyes snapped to him, sharp as blades.

“Hate to say it, but yes- hold off.” Bianca’s tone was measured, her composure untouched even as Isaac seethed. The difference between them only made the tension heavier, hanging over the half-finished stage.

The stalemate held, Isaac throwing flimsy, bitter arguments while Bianca countered with that same infuriating calm. Ajax wilted between them, his shoulders curling in, torn between stepping in and vanishing altogether.

And then Dort appeared, striding across the field with Wednesday in tow. His voice carried, bright and polished. “Ah, there they are- my two favorite people! The true masterminds behind this pyre.”

Isaac froze, heart ticking unevenly. Bianca straightened her posture with ease, like she’d been waiting for the spotlight.

“I don’t have long to chat, but how are things looking?” Dort chuckled, planting a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. It was a heavy, staged kind of touch, the kind that read as fatherly from the outside but landed on Isaac like a shackle.

His chest tightened. The weight of Bianca’s composure, Ajax’s worry, and Dort’s false warmth pressed into him all at once. His jaw locked, but he didn’t shrug the hand off. Not yet.

Bianca’s lips parted, the beginnings of a measured report ready on her tongue, but Isaac’s voice cracked out first.
“Oh, everything’s going great!”

The words were sharp, stretched too thin. A grin pulled across his face like it had been carved there, all teeth. Too many teeth for a DaVinci, far too sharp.

He turned his head toward Dort, tilting it just a fraction too far. “But we’re stuck on how to go forward. Tell us what you think?” His tone had the brightness of glass about to shatter.

Dort, oblivious to Isaac’s strain, puffed up at the chance to weigh in. “Of course!” He clapped his hands, striding to the half-decorated stage with a theatrical air. “The banner, for one- Ajax, put it there.”

His gesture fell exactly where Bianca had originally said. Isaac’s jaw twitched. He bristled but said nothing, biting down so hard on his own tongue he could taste the iron pooling in his mouth.

Dort finally finished his additions. He turned, patting Ajax and Bianca on their shoulders, just before he gave Isaac a quick hug then pulling Wednesday away into the rest of their conversation. Isaac felt his head swim at the touch, his ticking heart rate increasing.

The echo of Dort’s footsteps faded eventually, but Isaac’s pulse did not. It roared in his chest, mechanical ticks clattering against his ribs until they sounded louder than the voices in the field. His smile sagged, finally unable to hold its own weight. The iron taste of his bitten tongue still lingered.

Bianca gently clasped her hands together, watching him carefully. “Perhaps,” she said with deliberate calm, “we should take a small break. We have more than enough time to finish.”

Ajax hopped down from the stage, dusting his palms and giving a half-nervous glance between the two.

But Isaac didn’t move. The silence stretched, save for the relentless, uneven metronome of his chest. Tick, tick, tick. Each one louder than the last, as though the heart inside him wanted to claw its way out.

Just as Bianca opened her mouth again, Isaac moved. At first it was a stiff stride, manageable enough for Bianca and Ajax to keep pace if they tried. But then it broke, stumbled, and became something closer to a sprint.

The stage and decorations blurred behind him. Halls stretched too long and turned too sharp. The world was a smear of purple banners and stone walls as his body fled before his mind could catch up.

Unlucky that classes weren’t in session for the pyre. If they had been, he might have had the thin hope of anonymity- just another figure in the current of students. Instead, the few scattered eyes that caught him saw a tall, stiff boy bolting past, his chest ticking like a pocket watch flung down a staircase.

He didn’t know where he was going. Only that he couldn’t stay. Staying meant shouting words he’d regret. Staying meant teeth in someone’s throat. So he ran, boots hammering the stone, heart ticking out of time.

The school thinned behind him. Archery targets stood at the edge of the grounds, their peppered faces watching him go. And then he found himself at the Hummer’s shed, as if his body had remembered the way his head couldn’t.

Voices hummed somewhere nearby, faint and muffled, archery club at practice, maybe. But two sharper tones carried from the shed itself. Familiar. Distinct.

The sound cracked something in him. Not a snap, not the satisfying burst of rage, but a crumble. Like rotted wood giving way under pressure. All the fire bled out in an instant, leaving him heavy, sagging with exhaustion.

His shoulders sank. His jaw unclenched slowly. He couldn’t have said if Bianca or Ajax had followed. He couldn’t even summon the care to turn and check.

Eventually, Isaac’s boots dragged across the dirt, each step louder than he wanted it to be. The ticking in his chest was a drum, impossible to ignore. Of course they heard him. Of course they noticed him.

Inside, Eugene and Pugsley froze mid-task, hands still clutching planks and nails. They’d been patching the jagged hole in the wall, one Isaac had torn through as Slurp. But the work was forgotten the instant he stepped into the doorway.

Eugene’s gaze flicked to him first, sharp and steady. Not pitying, not knowing, just… concerned. Simple. Bare. Isaac didn’t know what to do with it. The look twisted something in his gut worse than rage ever could.

Pugsley was up quickly from the ground, his mouth had already opened. Clear confusion and worry had lined up behind his teeth, but Isaac’s hand shot up before the words could fall.

“Don’t say anything. Don’t ask anything. Just… work like I’m not here.”

The words cracked sharper than he intended, but they did their job. Pugsley froze, nodding with the kind of obedience Isaac didn’t deserve. He stepped back, hammer clutched loosely, and turned back to the wall. His movements were slower now, hesitant, as though he couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at the boy in the doorway.

Eugene squinted, brows knitting, but didn’t press either. Nails clicked in his hand, the sound oddly too loud in the heavy silence.

And Isaac just stood there. Frozen in the half-light, back pressed against the door that had already swung shut. His chest ticked loud enough to feel like it rattled the wood. He’d told them to ignore him, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that for the first time all day, he didn’t feel the pull of isolation.

The steady rhythm of hammer and nails dwindled, one strike at a time, until the work slowed to almost nothing. Isaac found his feet moving without asking his permission, each step dragging him closer until he ended up beside Pugsley. He had meant to settle by Eugene, to fold into the quieter boy’s calm, but instinct carried him the other way.

He lowered himself to the floor, shoulder brushing Pugsley’s, and leaned. Not much—just enough to feel a flicker of weight shared.

The spark inhaled sharply, a quip already perched on his tongue. But before it could escape, Eugene caught his eye and gave the smallest shake of his head. A silent don’t.

So Pugsley bit it back, pressing his lips together and letting the silence settle again.

Isaac didn’t say thank you. He didn’t even look at them. But for the first time that day, the noise in his chest softened, his heart ticking to a calmer, quieter beat.

Pugsley and Eugene’s chatter drifted around the shed, light and broken in places, but enough to keep the air from going stale. Isaac had drawn his knees up to his chest, his frame folding inward until it felt like he could make himself vanish if he just curled tightly enough. The press of Pugsley’s shoulder against his was the only thing keeping him tethered.

After a while, Eugene tilted his head, studying him from behind his glasses. “Wanna… talk about it?” His voice was careful, quiet, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt at any sudden move.

Isaac opened his mouth. The words sat there, raw and heavy, waiting. He wanted to spill them. Wanted to explain everything until it made sense, if only to himself. But nothing came. The weight stayed locked in his chest. He let out a long sigh instead and shook his head once.

Eugene didn’t push. He only glanced at Pugsley, who shrugged with a helpless little smile. So they eased back into safer ground, the two trading notes about beetles and hornets, Pugsley’s voice bubbling with curiosity while Eugene rattled off facts with the ease of practice.

The conversation skimmed over Isaac like background noise, but it was grounding all the same. The steady drone of Eugene’s voice, the warmth of Pugsley’s shoulder, the faint scrape of tools left behind on the floor. It wasn’t peace, not really. But it was close enough to let him breathe.

Chapter Text

Isaac knew he couldn’t stay curled there forever, but the illusion broke hard when the shed door rattled and swung open. Ajax stumbled in, chest heaving like he’d sprinted half the grounds.

“Dude-” he started, then bent, hands braced on his knees as he caught his breath. “Me and Bianca have been looking everywhere for you, Isaac.”

His beanie was knocked sideways, a couple of restless snakes wriggling near his temple, eager to slip free. His usual mellow tone was replaced with something sharp-edged, frustration coloring every word.

Isaac only lifted his head enough to look at him, still pressed heavily against Pugsley’s shoulder. He didn’t bother to move, the weight in his body too stubborn. Across the shed, Eugene had already risen, busying himself with checking his hibernating bees like Ajax’s arrival hadn’t shaken the fragile stillness of the room.

Ajax fixed Isaac with a look, waiting for something, an excuse, a grunt, anything. The gorgon tugged his beanie straight, snakes twitching faintly under the knit as he leaned further into the shed.

Isaac just stared back, motionless, eyes unblinking. Whether it was defiance or emptiness, it was impossible to tell.

Ajax groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’d love to leave you here sulking, trust me. But Bianca’s refusing to hang another damn lantern without you.” His words came out sharp, edged with breathless irritation.

He mimicked Bianca’s voice with a mocking lilt, “Something about you adding a different perspective she needs, even though all you’ve done today is argue with her about whether the lanterns go on the stairs or beside them.”

Ajax’s frustration hung heavy in the cramped shed, bouncing off the silence Isaac still refused to break.

Eugene glanced between the two, then flicked his gaze at Pugsley. The spark had gone stiff, shoulders bunched like he wanted to fold in on himself. He kept his eyes anywhere but Ajax.

“Ajax, sit down.” Eugene’s voice cut through, steadier than usual. He motioned toward the spare cot shoved in the corner.

Ajax gave him a look, but either exhaustion or indifference won out. He slumped down onto the mattress, elbows on his knees, head buried into his hands with a groan.

That left the shed quieter — tense, but quieter. Eugene straightened, crossing his arms in a way that was painfully familiar. His chin tilted up just so, his mouth pressed thin. For a moment, he could’ve been Wednesday’s smaller, bug-obsessed understudy.

“Tell me and Pugsley what happened,” he said. Not a question. A command.

Isaac blinked at him, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh, bite, or collapse.

The silence thickened. Eugene’s posture wilted under the collective stares, his arms losing some of their stiff Wednesday-ness. Ajax peeked sideways, uninterested in moving but keeping the room in his periphery. Pugsley was seconds away from breaking into laughter.

Isaac, though, was all stillness. He peeled himself off Pugsley’s shoulder, rising slowly, mechanical, like a clockwork toy winding itself up to walk straight out the door. Pugsley opened his mouth, ready to soothe him back down with some half-joke or gentle nudge. But Eugene beat him to it.

The swarmer darted forward and, with a grip far steadier than Isaac would have ever expected, caught the collar of his jacket. With one sharp tug, Eugene yanked him back down and planted him on the cot beside Ajax.

Isaac blinked at him, wide-eyed, more from the audacity than the actual strength.

Eugene crossed his arms again, face flushed but stubborn. “Sit. Talk.”

Isaac fixed Eugene with a glare, his face twisting in shock and disgust at the audacity of being hauled around like a child. He felt Ajax quietly scoot an inch away, as if distance might dull the sharp edges bristling off him.

For a moment he thought about keeping his silence, just staring until the whole shed caved in on itself. But the weight of three sets of eyes pressed harder than he expected.

A long, weary sigh slipped out of him. His gaze dropped, shoulders curling.
“Dort made me Student Coordinator.” The words dragged like stones. “I guess I’m just… stressed by it.”

Not the whole truth. But not a lie either.

The shed stayed quiet, the air heavy. Pugsley’s foot tapped against the floor. Eugene crossed his arms tighter, his face unreadable. Ajax simply leaned back, waiting to see if Isaac would say more.

Isaac gave a small shrug, refusing to add more.

Pugsley hummed, trying to keep it light. “I guess that explains kinda how you’ve been acting.”

Ajax leaned forward, arms braced over his knees. “Yeah, with all the, like… customer service crap you’ve been doing.” He huffed, half a laugh in his tone. “Which by the way? Isn’t working. People don’t actually like you more. You’re just been randomly acting nice enough so no one calls you out.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bother refuting it.

Eugene scoffed, cutting in sharper than both of them. “That’s not all.” He waved a hand, words fumbling. “If it was just stress, you wouldn’t be… I don’t know, like this.” His voice dropped, unable to pin down the right word. “It’s something else.”

Isaac felt the familiar rage coil up his throat like smoke. He braced for it to burn, to consume, but it sputtered instead — a strange, almost insulting mercy.

“And how do you know that? Hm?” His voice came out flat, more tired than sharp. “What gives you an idea like that?”

He forced a glare, but the weight of it didn’t land the way it should have. All the heat was muffled by the fact that it was Eugene standing there. It was Eugene who he was angry at. He only ever felt this simmering, strangled anger with Francois. With Gomez. And he hated how it settled now, heavy and unfamiliar, because of Eugene. He didn’t know what to do with it.

“I… I don’t know, just a feeling I guess.” Eugene’s false authority wavered, the bite bleeding out of his tone. He looked like he wanted to push again, to pry Isaac open, but the words died before they could form.

Pugsley patted his roommate’s shoulder gently, as if to absorb the silence.

Isaac scoffed, standing. “Well. Figure a reason out.” The words hissed, but they lacked venom, leaving him sounding almost hollow. He strode to the door without looking back.

Ajax startled, then scrambled up to follow, shooting Eugene and Pugsley a brief, uncertain glance before disappearing after Isaac. “Let’s finish decorating,” Isaac muttered to the gorgon, his tone flat as stone. “Get it over with.”

Chapter Text

Finishing the decorations went as smoothly as oil on fire. Bianca placed a lantern by the stage steps, Isaac shifted it to the rail. Isaac tore down a banner he thought was gaudy, Bianca rehung it with a serene smile. The cycle repeated until Ajax looked like he’d been wrung out.

By the time the last ribbon was tied, the gorgon groaned and rubbed at his temples. “I’m gonna go take a nap before the pyre,” he muttered, shuffling off like a man twice his age.

That left Isaac and Bianca in the hollow silence of the field.

Isaac’s clockwork heart ticked too loudly in the quiet, each beat like an accusation. He shifted his weight, hand twitching, itching for something to fix, dismantle, or argue with. Bianca, in contrast, stood with her arms folded, perfectly still, her poise unshaken.

The silence stretched, taut as string.

“You’re impossible to work with.” Bianca’s arms folded neatly across her chest as she started walking, her voice even but unyielding.

Isaac scoffed, the sound sharp but empty, his feet trailing after her before he even realized he was following. He didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

Bianca flicked him a sideways glance, one brow lifting. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I can be difficult to work with too.” Her tone softened, but only slightly, as if she was conceding a chess piece she’d planned to sacrifice anyway.

She let the pause linger before continuing, voice cool again. “But what I don’t like is you snapping at me as if I won’t push back. You’re not the only one with teeth.”

Isaac didn’t respond for several minutes, the silence stretching thin between them. Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t ask to work with you. Or to do anything Dort’s shoving on me.” His voice came out rougher than he meant.

Bianca stopped dead in her tracks and pivoted, fixing him with a stare sharp enough to cut. “Neither did I. But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me, or Ajax, like we’re here for you to chew on just because you’re miserable.”

Isaac blinked, caught off guard, his mouth working before it clicked shut again. The surprise in his expression was almost childlike, as if no one had dared call him out so plainly in decades.

Bianca’s gaze didn’t waver. “You can hate this. You can hate him, hate me, hate all of it. But you don’t get to treat people like shit because of it.” Her words landed with a cold, deliberate finality.

She turned and started down the hall, her stride crisp and certain, clearly heading for Dort’s office. Isaac lingered where he stood, caught in the split-second debate between pushing back or swallowing her words whole.

At the top of the staircase, Bianca paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “You coming? Or should I tell Dort you’ve run off again?”

Isaac blinked, the jab landing harder than she probably intended. He nodded once, stiff and reluctant, then lengthened his steps until he fell in step beside her.

“I don’t hate you.” Isaac muttered at last, the words slipping out like he wasn’t sure they even belonged in the air.

Bianca turned her head just enough to look at him, her expression unreadable. After a beat, she gave a soft nod, acknowledging, and let the silence linger.

She stepped forward and rapped lightly on the doors to Dort’s office.

“Come in!” Dort’s sing-song voice rang out.

Isaac pushed the doors open, his hand heavy on the handle. Inside, Dort was shuffling through a stack of files, carefully placing a leather-bound journal on top before looking up. His smile spread wide and practiced, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Bianca and Isaac slipped into place with the familiarity of actors hitting their marks. Bianca stood poised by the small center table, her posture tall and unbothered, while Isaac sank into one of the gaudy, overstuffed chairs like he was being swallowed whole.

Dort clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and theatrical. “I’m assuming everything is set for the pyre?” His voice was smooth, expectant.

Isaac gave a curt nod, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

Bianca tilted her head, her words measured. “Everything is in place for the ceremony to run smoothly. The DaVinci students finished the burning bird as well.”

Dort let out a delighted cheer, beaming like he had personally raised the bird from twigs himself.

“Perfect, perfect,” Dort purred, as if the word itself might bend the air to his will. He reached across the desk and plucked up a leather-bound journal, along with a neat stack of files. “I have a few gifts for you both, a small gesture of my appreciation.”

He sorted the papers with theatrical precision, then circled around the desk to where Isaac slouched in the gaudy chair. “First, Isaac.”

Dort lowered the journal into Isaac’s lap with surprising gentleness. “Your family didn’t claim all of your belongings when you… went missing. I managed to find this in Nevermore’s archives. One of your work journals, I believe.”

Isaac stared down at the book, its weight almost unbearable. He couldn’t tell if it was the journal he’d confessed to Wednesday, or just another indistinguishable volume from a life he barely remembered. His heart ticked unevenly in his chest.

“And these,” Dort continued breezily, setting the files on top, “are about your sister. Plus one about you, though that’s more of a gift for me.” His smile widened as Isaac’s brow furrowed, the words hitting like cold water.

“Open them later,” Dort said, already waving a hand as though dismissing the weight of his own words. “I won’t keep you both too long.”

Then Dort turned to Bianca, his smile never faltering. She stiffened under the weight of it but managed a polite nod. To Isaac, it looked as though Dort hadn’t handed her anything at all. No file, no trinket. Which meant whatever she received wasn’t the kind of gift that could sit in her hands.

Isaac’s jaw tightened. He made a quiet note to ask her later, if they ever reached the point of being something close to friends.

Dort breezed back behind his desk, clapping his hands once more. “Well! I look forward to seeing you both at the pyre. Do try to get some rest, won’t you?”

The silent command to leave was clear, and both obeyed it without question. Isaac clutched the journal and files tight against his chest, while Bianca’s carefully practiced composure cracked only slightly. Her shoulder dipped, just enough to betray the weight she carried.

Isaac studied her in that moment. He could have walked away, vanished into the hall like he always wanted to. But something about just leaving her felt wrong. Maybe it was his form of guilt or remorse. He didn’t dwell on it too long.

“I’m… going to my dorm,” he said finally, voice rougher than he meant. “I think Wednesday might be there. You two are friends, right?”

Her face softened, just enough for the barest trace of a smile. Isaac decided it meant he hadn’t been entirely wrong in calling them friends. For a moment they simply stood in the quiet hall, the weight of Dort’s office still pressing on their shoulders, before Bianca gave a small nod.

“Might as well try to catch her before the pyre,” she hummed, voice light with that poised calm she carried so well. Then, with the faintest curl at the corner of her mouth: “Though I have to ask, is this your idea of charm? Quarreling with me for hours, then inviting me to your room?”

Isaac blinked, caught off guard by how casually she needled him. A sharp laugh broke out of him, quick and rough. He smiled and glanced at her properly “Guess that makes me a bit of a cad, huh?”

Bianca chuckled softly in return, light and airy. They didn’t speak further, but the silence that stretched between them was softer than it had been all day.

Chapter Text

The dorm door rattled with noise before Isaac even touched the handle, sparks popping like a summer storm, voices raised in half-laughter, half-yells.

“I should probably warn you,” he muttered to Bianca, his voice dry. “I share the room with Pugsley and Eugene.”

A crackle of electricity was followed by a muffled yelp. Then laughter. Something thudded against the wall hard enough to make the wood frame of the door buzz.

Bianca only lifted a brow, giving a regal little nod, as if to say: after you.

Isaac opened the door.

Inside looked less like a dorm room and more like the aftermath of a mad scientist’s experiment gone wrong. One of Eugene’s terrariums was tipped precariously on its side while a swarm of agitated beetles crawled across a desk. Pugsley stood in the middle of the chaos, grinning ear to ear, hair frizzed from his own static. A scorch mark decorated the carpet like a badge of honor.

“Welcome home,” Pugsley chirped, as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary.

Before Isaac could even register who else was in the dorm, his gaze locked on the finished prosthetic hand perched on the desk. The thing was polished, sleek, and positioned in the most deliberate of poses; middle finger raised squarely toward the door.

Beetles crawled lazily over the gleaming metal, slipping into seams and gears like they belonged there. Isaac darted forward with surprising speed, practically shoving Pugsley aside as he scooped the hand up.

“Careful-! Careful,” he hissed, brushing the insects away with his thumb. His voice dropped softer, almost reverent. “The mechanisms in this could fry all of your little brains out.”

He wasn’t sure if he actually cared about the beetles, or if they simply felt like an extension of Eugene, another fragile piece of someone Isaac hadn’t meant to start clinging to.

Bianca stayed by the door, her arms folded, content to watch the chaos from a safe distance. Wednesday was perched cross-legged on one of the beds, her black eyes skimming a note in Agnes’s neat handwriting. Enid lounged beside her, thumbs flying over her phone, bright smile flickering at whatever lit up her screen.

Pugsley and Eugene looked worse for wear. Sparks still curled lazily off Pugsley’s fingertips, faint wisps of smoke rising from his palms. Moths drifted around Eugene like nervous satellites, their wings brushing against his curls as if trying to soothe him.

“You interrupted their sparring session,” Wednesday said, not looking up from her letter. Her voice was flat as a blade, the kind that cuts without force. “I trust it was for important reasons.”

Isaac blinked, glancing helplessly at Bianca before gesturing her deeper into the room. “Uhm… we finished decorating the pyre. I brought some files from Dort.” He set the prosthetic hand aside and scooped the papers from where beetles had crawled over them.

Bianca slipped across the room and seated herself beside Wednesday and Enid, the safer corner by far. “He spent the entire day arguing with me,” she announced smoothly, “ran off in the middle of our break, then came back only to argue some more.”

Isaac stiffened at her words, jaw tight, but said nothing. Bianca let the pause stretch before adding with a faint smile, “On the plus side, he invited me to his room. Not many guys are that confident, so I’ll give him that.”

Wednesday’s eyes flicked sideways, sharp as a knife. Enid clapped a hand to her mouth in exaggerated scandal before aiming her grin squarely at Isaac. “Must mean he likes you!” she sang out.

Pugsley and Eugene rolled their eyes at Enid’s jab, already setting about undoing the chaos of their spar. Eugene coaxed his bugs back into their terrariums with gentle waves, lids clicking shut one by one, while Pugsley restored the room’s scattered decorations with the ease of long practice.

Isaac’s face flushed, heat crawling up his neck as the silence stretched. He latched onto the first safe subject he could find, eyes cutting toward the desk.

“I see you finished the hand,” he said carefully, his voice steadier than he felt. His gaze flicked to Wednesday, searching her face as though her reaction mattered more than the prosthetic gleaming in the lamplight.

Wednesday nodded once, crisp and dismissive. “It was simple after your countless rants about prosthetics.” She folded her note, smoothing it across her lap. Only then did she glance at him, eyes glinting. “But finished doesn’t mean functional. How exactly do you intend to use it?”

The question hung heavy. The hand gleamed on the desk, its design clearly more mechanical than prosthetic, all gears and cunning pivots. Isaac’s gaze flicked between the stump of his right arm and the construct.

“I assume you’re at least familiar with the working theories of nerve surgery,” he said flatly.

Wednesday’s brow lifted a fraction. Enid blanched. Bianca’s smile faltered. And Eugene… Eugene’s face twisted into the look one reserves for someone speaking calmly about madness.

Pugsley clapped, bounding into Isaac’s line of sight with a grin. “Oh of course she does! She practiced on our Uncle Fester whenever he visited us as kids.”

Wednesday allowed the rare curl of a smile. “I’m the reason he no longer suffers back pain. Instead he has the occasional blackout spell.”

Isaac’s grin sharpened, the gleam in his eye almost too bright. “Good. Then you can assist me in attaching the new hand to my arm.”

The words landed like a stone in water. Pugsley’s smile only widened, oblivious. Wednesday tilted her head, as if weighing whether he was joking or actually inviting her to slice open his arm. Bianca shifted uncomfortably on the bed, while Enid audibly swallowed. Eugene muttered in disbelief, the words lost.

“I wouldn’t be asking for your help for free. I’d like to know if you found that journal I told you about,” Isaac said, finally settling into the desk chair.

As Pugsley resumed tidying the room, prodding Eugene to do the same, Wednesday shook her head. “Unfortunately, I did not. The man I believed had it was murdered just before I visited him.”

Isaac tilted his head, his mind slipping fully into clinical detachment. “His eyes were plucked out by crows,” Wednesday added, deliberately ignoring Enid’s gag and Bianca’s disturbed stare.

Isaac gave a soft laugh. “A murder of crows.” He reached for the leather journal Dort had returned to him. “Who was it?”

Wednesday blinked, weighing whether to tell him. “Donovan Galpin. I believe Francois married him and was the mother of his son.”

Her words were clinical, which Isaac appreciated, but he still froze for the briefest moment. His hand trembled before he forced it steady and opened the journal.

Isaac let out a long sigh as he glanced at the first page. A note from Gomez—perfect. “Well, maybe it’s just as well you didn’t waste time chasing it through a dead man.”

He shifted, handing the journal to Wednesday, who snatched it up greedily and began reading. From his angle, he caught sketches of old inventions, his mechanical heart from adjustments he had to have Gomez help with, and drawings of Francois. Heat rushed to his face at the thought of everything in the journal now laid bare.

“I don’t have much else to offer,” he admitted, “except what I can remember about Hydes. That is if you’ll help me attach the hand.”

Enid leaned over Wednesday’s shoulder as Wednesday looked back at Isaac. “I would’ve helped regardless, if only to see whether the hand amounted to anything at all.”

Bianca glanced down at the journal as well. “Why are you trying to dig into Hydes?”

“Special research for a class project.” It was an obvious lie, but no one dared to challenge Wednesday on it.

“I’m assuming it involves someone named Tyler Galpin.” Isaac huffed, putting together that Tyler was the son Wednesday had mentioned before. The glare she shot him burned like fire, but she didn’t argue.

Enid and Bianca both launched into separate interrogations, while Eugene visibly tensed with discomfort. He drifted over to the desk and lifted the beetle terrarium, anything for a distraction.

Isaac considered opening the files on his sister but ultimately slid them aside. He kept the one about himself separate, the one Dort had called more of a gift to himself than to Isaac.

He pulled out a notebook and began sketching, his hand unsteady as he mapped out how he wanted Wednesday to attach the hand. Around him, questions flew and answers trickled in, the noise folding into a steady background hum that made it easier to focus.

Chapter Text

Preparations for the pyre came sooner than Isaac would have liked. The gentle bickering that had once filled the room had given way to softer conversation. His plans were long finished, the nearly illegible notes now in Wednesday’s hands.

Pugsley and Eugene had already left, insisting they’d go on ahead to the pyre. That left Isaac with Enid, Wednesday, and Bianca.

“We should start getting ready,” Isaac muttered, standing to adjust his uniform in the small mirror.

Enid blinked, finally registering the outfit. Her eyes narrowed with a glint. “...Is that my uniform?”

Isaac shrugged. “Pugsley said he had Thing steal it.” He mumbled it as though that explained everything. Enid gasped, then burst into laughter, making no move to demand it back.

“I can’t believe it fits you! You’re at least a foot taller than me.” Enid circled him, tugging and adjusting bits of the uniform herself. Isaac’s face heated with embarrassment.

Bianca had already stood, leaning casually against the desk, clearly ready to go. Wednesday rose more slowly and moved toward the door. “Well. Have fun at your demanding school event.” Her voice was flat as she reached for the handle and pulled it open.

Isaac and Bianca exchanged a glance before Isaac darted forward, blocking Wednesday’s path.

“You’re not going to the pyre?” Bianca asked, stepping in closer to her.

Enid startled at how quickly Isaac had moved. Wednesday tried to slip past him, but each time she shifted, the taller teen mirrored her and cut her off. For a moment, they looked like siblings themselves,reenacting the kind of stubborn back-and-forth Wednesday usually shared with Pugsley.

“I find it a pedantic waste of my rather valuable time,” she replied coolly, backing a step away from Isaac.

“Wednesday, you have to go.” Isaac’s tone left no room for argument. He took her in, noting she was already in uniform. He could easily scoop her up and carry her, but he also knew that would probably earn him another premature burial.

Bianca sighed as Enid let out a whine, a plea already forming on her lips. Wednesday didn’t wait to hear it. She lunged forward, tackling Isaac and driving him straight into the hallway.

The two tumbled, Isaac straining to stay upright against the full force of an Addams determined to take him down. He clamped onto her arms, but in the struggle he stumbled just far enough to lose his footing at the stairway leading out of Caliban Hall.

He cursed inwardly—of course his dorm had to be this close to the exit—as he and Wednesday went crashing down the steps in a resounding thud.

Enid and Bianca peered down the stairwell, Enid far more alarmed than Bianca. Isaac lay sprawled at the bottom, Wednesday draped over him like a dead weight.

Isaac blinked as he slowly sat up, Wednesday still draped over him. He squinted at Bianca and Enid as they made their way down the stairs.

“Well, I guess either way you’re both coming to the pyre to make sure neither of you have a concussion,” Bianca hummed.

Wednesday was quick to sit up. “But I would have enjoyed the vacation a coma might have given me.”

Enid reached down to help her up, but Wednesday brushed her off and rose far too quickly for someone who had just tumbled down a flight of stairs.

Isaac pushed himself upright, wobbling slightly as he did. He leveled a glare at Wednesday—answered by one of hers, mischievous rather than angry.

From the outside, Enid and Bianca could only watch the unspoken conversation flicker between them.

At last, Isaac groaned. “Okay fine.”

Wednesday allowed the faintest smile. Enid and Bianca exchanged confused looks as she said, “Then I’ll come to the pyre. I’ll consider that my payment.”

As Isaac and Wednesday started toward the field, Enid sputtered and hurried to catch up. Bianca crossed her arms and followed at a measured pace.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Bianca asked, referring to the silent exchange.

Isaac tilted his head. “I was just convincing her to come to the pyre. She needed something in return.”

Enid squinted. “What? What are you getting?” She glanced at Wednesday.

Isaac and Wednesday shared a look, then turned their eyes on both girls. As if rehearsed, they answered in unison.

“Just a session in the electric chair.”

Enid and Bianca stared, flabbergasted, as Isaac and Wednesday strode off toward the pyre without another word.

Chapter Text

Bianca had split from the group, explaining she needed to meet with the Pitch Slaps Club for their performance at the pyre. As they reached the grounds, Enid tugged Wednesday away, the colorful girl dragging her dark counterpart along.

Isaac lingered at the edge of the field, taking in the scene. The sun sagged low, casting everything in a glow he couldn’t decide was ominous or cheerful. Waves of students milled about, voices carrying in bursts of laughter and chatter. At the refreshment tables Bianca had arranged, food was already being scavenged with meats and drinks vanishing fastest.

He drew in a deep breath and forced on his performative, pleasant smile. Threading through the crowd, he paused here and there for conversation, offering help where he thought it would be expected, smiling and nodding at whatever information was tossed his way. Playing the part of what he thought was the perfect student coordinator.

And it was already exhausting him.

Isaac jumped slightly when Dort appeared beside him in the middle of a loose conversation with a cluster of vampires. He hadn’t been paying much attention- something about abnormally long lifespans- but once Dort draped an arm over his shoulder, he couldn’t focus at all.

“Apologies, everyone, but I need to steal Isaac for a bit.” The principal smiled as the group folded back into their own chatter. Dort steered Isaac away with practiced ease.

“I must say, Isaac, you’re doing fantastic! You’ve got that natural charisma I always hoped my ward would have.” Dort chuckled, ignoring the grimace Isaac couldn’t quite hide.

“Did you open that file I gave you?” The question landed heavy, and Isaac let out a sigh.

“The… ones on Francois? No, I haven’t. Honestly, it’s… intimidating, not knowing what I’ll find beyond the fragments I still remember of her.” His voice dropped to a near whisper as he stared at the ground, letting Dort steer him through the crowd.

Dort clicked his tongue. “I mean the one about you! It’s rather important, you know.” He stopped, turning Isaac to face him with both hands on his shoulders.

Isaac frowned, head tilting. “No. I didn’t think it was as important as you’re saying.” A scoff threaded through his tone.

Dort smiled faintly. “Well then, it’s lucky the one I gave you was a copy. I had a feeling I’d need to show you myself, even if I gave you the option to read it alone.” Looping an arm around Isaac’s shoulders again, he pulled a stapled packet from the inner pocket of his blazer.

Trapped in the strange half-hug, Isaac could only watch as Dort unfolded the papers and held them in front of his face. “Normally these things take ages to process, but I pulled a few strings.”

Isaac’s eyes skimmed the page Dort flipped to, a certificate of adoption. Dread pooled in his stomach as he read on.

Finally, he looked at the principal. “You… you’ve adopted me? Legally?”

Dort beamed at Isaac. “Well, your only living and sane relative was found dead, may he rest in peace.” He paused for effect. “The only other option was a boy just a year older than you, and he’s criminally insane. So he was out of the pool.”

“And you couldn’t have stayed a ward of the school forever. That would’ve been revoked by next semester, and you’d have been turned over to the state. I couldn’t let that happen. You’re a walking piece of Nevermore’s history.”

He clapped his hands together, then continued with a flourish. “So I went ahead and adopted you, legally! Now you’re Isaac Dort. Or, well, you can stay Isaac Night if you prefer, of course.”

“Oh, but we could always go into hyphens! Isaac Dort-Night or Night-Dort. Two last names is like two Christmases…” Dort’s voice droned on, fading into static in Isaac’s mind. He wanted to scream, to shove the charlatan away. He wanted to tear into the man, bite and hit. Anything to get the measure of his disgust across

“…I mean, really, the Nights never had much of a reputation anyway, with the whole… Well, you know.”

Isaac tuned back in, blinking before fixing Dort with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said, forcing the words out as he pulled the principal into a hug. His skin crawled while Dort embraced him with unearned warmth. Over Dort’s shoulder, Isaac caught Bianca in her letter jacket. She was staring at him, her face drawn tight with concern. He could only answer her with a red-hot glare.

Dort finally pulled back, ruffling Isaac’s hair as if he were a child. “Well, I have just one more thing before I turn you loose and start my speech, son.”

Isaac’s smile tightened, the urge to cringe tamped down with effort.

Dort steered Isaac through the crowd again, guiding him toward a very familiar family. At first, Isaac only saw Pugsley and Wednesday, speaking quietly with their parents. Then it clicked. His heart lurched in his chest.

Morticia and Gomez.

A towering man loomed just behind them, Thing scurrying up to perch on his shoulder.

Dort cleared his throat, drawing the Addamses’ attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Addams, this is the boy I was telling you about the other day! Though I’m sure you’re familiar.” He smiled warmly, patting Isaac’s shoulder with practiced fondness.

Morticia’s graceful composure faltered, the faintest slip of shock crossing her face as her hand drifted to her heart. Gomez, by contrast, reacted with vivid energy. His eyes lit up, and he plucked the cigar from his mouth. Good to see he still has that habit, Isaac thought.

“Isaac, I’m sure you’re familiar with Mr. and Mrs. Addams. They were the first people I told about adopting you. Truthfully, I even asked them for advice.” Dort chuckled, smiling toward the doting pair. Morticia returned the sound with the faintest curve of her lips.

Wednesday and Pugsley watched intently as Gomez stepped forward, slow and deliberate, to study Isaac. The undead boy tensed, instinctively leaning away from his now much older, once-best friend. For a long moment, the older man simply regarded him.

“How are you here, old friend?” Gomez asked simply, extending a hand to rest on Isaac’s shoulder.

“That’s a terrific question for Pugsley. He’s the one who kickstarted my heart.” Isaac smiled, watching Pugsley’s face flush crimson.

Gomez chuckled and, with characteristic warmth, pulled Isaac into an almost crushing hug.

Isaac was the first to pull back. He extended a hand toward Gomez, his expression carefully measured. “It’s nice to meet you again. I hope this time ends with less blood.” His words carried a faint edge of bitterness, but Gomez only slipped the cigar back between his teeth and clasped Isaac’s hand firmly in return.

It only took a heartbeat for Isaac to realize his mistake. Gomez’s grin stretched wider as his grip tightened around Isaac’s hand.

Then they were spinning, Gomez whirling him faster and faster, the rhythm set to some invisible metronome only an Addams could hear. Isaac’s stomach lurched as his mind scrambled to keep pace with a long-forgotten dance Gomez had once tried to teach him.

The name eluded him while they turned to face one another and clapped their left hands together. Isaac fumbled through the steps, muddling claps into snaps, tripping over the back-and-forth. And then there it was. The memory struck as Gomez and Isaac squared up again.

The Mamushka.

The older Addams ended the test with a sudden headbutt, sharp but playful. Isaac reeled back, dazed, while Gomez laughed like nothing at all had changed.

Isaac shook his head and looked at Gomez, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Pugsley’s eyes had lit up during the brief dance, while Wednesday and Morticia watched with what could only be described as elegant indifference. Dort gave an awkward little laugh.

“What… what was that?” he asked, almost nervously.

Isaac rubbed his forehead where Gomez’s skull had collided with his. “Mamushka. It’s an Addams family tradition for siblings.” His tone was clinical, detached.

Gomez barked a sharp laugh. “I had to test that Isaac still remembered! I spent weeks trying to teach him that dance, and he barely made it past the flip!” The older man’s deep belly laugh rolled out, rich and unrestrained.

Isaac answered Gomez’s booming laugh with a gentler one of his own. “I’m… glad you hold no grudges,” he said softly.

Gomez only patted his shoulder. “Water under the bridge, old friend!” His smile widened as he glanced toward Morticia, who returned it with serene grace. Relief washed over Isaac, tension uncoiling from his shoulders that he hadn’t even known he was holding.

Dort broke the moment with a tense smile, clapping his hands together. “Well, it’s about time for me to start the whole shebang! Sit tight.”

By the time the sun had fully set, Dort took the stage. He handed the mic off to Professor Capri before slipping behind the set pieces he’d had Bianca and Isaac arrange earlier that day.

“Good evening, Nevermore.” Her smooth voice rolled over the speakers. “Good evening and, welcome to the Founder’s Pyre. Tonight we’ll begin by singing the Nevermore alma mater.”

Isaac cringed, moving closer to the Addamses as the family approached the stage. Gomez looked positively delighted, trading a knowing glance with Morticia.

Enid and Eugene arrived with the crowd, falling in step behind Pugsley and Wednesday. Isaac followed as well, until he found himself uncomfortably shoulder-to-shoulder with the towering man who shadowed the Addams family.

As the Alma Mater rang out, students and teachers alike raising their voices, Isaac glanced up at the towering man beside him. There was something undead about him, though not in the same way Isaac himself was. Not a zombie, he thought, unsettled.

His speculation was cut short when Thing snapped his fingers at him.

“What?” Isaac murmured, quiet enough that no one nearby paid attention.

“We should talk later. You said I was your hand. I have questions.” Thing signed, spelling out each word more than using full gestures.

Isaac gave a small nod. He looked toward the stage, then back at the disembodied hand. “Come by my dorm tomorrow. Around noon.”

Thing adjusted, then raised a tiny thumbs-up.

As the Alma Mater came to a close, an ‘80s track suddenly blared over the speakers. Isaac recognized it faintly, though he couldn’t place the name. He didn’t have time to dwell as Dort bounded onto the stage, snatching the mic from the podium Isaac had spent at least half an hour carefully setting up.

“Hello, fellow Outcasts! And welcome back to Nevermore!” Dort boomed cheerfully, winking toward Isaac and the Addams parents.

Students whooped. Teachers clapped. Isaac felt the beginnings of a migraine pressing at his temples.

“I’m your principal, Barry Dort…” he paused, clearly expecting applause.

Isaac tensed but obliged, the awkward sound of him and Thing clapping together echoing faintly. Dort’s smile flickered, measured and self-satisfied, before he carried on.

“...and tonight, we celebrate a new era.”

That drew the applause he wanted, but Dort barreled ahead before it faded. “Now, I know change can be scary, but you don’t have to be afraid. You know why?”

He paused just long enough. A few school-spirited students seemed to hold their breath.

“Because we are Outcast strong!”

The crowd erupted into cheers again. Isaac rolled his eyes, he finally understood how Dort had sweet-talked his way into the principal’s chair. The man had a talent for saying the right things to provoke reaction. Thing, unbothered, kept happily clapping their lone pair of hands together.

As Dort soaked in the applause, the music behind him carried the lyric: “you can’t start a fire without a spark.” Isaac couldn’t help but feel the irony.

Dort raised a hand, simmering the crowd down. “All right, all right. From now on, I am abolishing the Nightshades and every secret society.”

Confused murmurs rippled instantly through the crowd, some students speaking the question aloud. Isaac’s eyes flicked toward Morticia and Gomez, but they appeared enraptured, giving no sign of displeasure.

“The protection of our school falls upon all of us,” Dort declared. “Therefore, we are all Nightshades.”

He waited for the applause that didn’t come. Only when he motioned for it did the crowd respond, the cheer stilted and uncertain. From his place in the throng, Isaac caught Bianca forcing herself into a tense round of applause, while Thing froze against his hand.

“Now, in the words of that great American Outcast, Bruce Springsteen…” Dort struck a pose, one hand tucked carefully out of sight.

Isaac tilted his head. He wasn’t entirely sure the musician in question was an Outcast.

“You can’t start a fire-” Dort raised his hand, flames licking across his fingertips, “-without a spark!”

A fireball leapt from his palm and slammed into the giant raven effigy that had been set up earlier in the day. Isaac tracked the arc of flame until it hit, the effigy erupting in a blaze. Dort casually blew the last flickers from his hand, grinning at the crowd.

Applause and cheers erupted from the crowd. The DaVinci students who had assembled the bird lifted their hands, and the raven lurched to life, wings spreading wide as fire roared through its frame.

It soared above the students, cinders raining down as the sharp scent of smoke carried over the field. The fiery raven swooped low, skimming just above the crowd. Most students ducked instinctively, but Isaac stood still, unflinching. A few glowing flecks landed in his hair. Thing scurried up onto his head to pat them out.

The raven banked high into the night sky before bursting apart in a fiery explosion. Students erupted in claps and cheers, while Morticia and Gomez turned to one another with eyes full of adoration. Wednesday alone withheld her applause, her silence pointed, her refusal a direct counter to Pugsley’s enthusiastic cheering.

The base of the pyre burned steadily as Dort’s gaze swept the crowd. His eyes found Wednesday.

“There she is! Our student of honor, Wednesday Addams!”

Cheers and applause rippled through the field as Wednesday slowly turned her head, her expression unreadable.

“None of us would be here today without your bravery,” Dort went on, his voice thick with staged sincerity. Enid sniffled softly at her side.

“Wednesday, would you help me unveil something very special?”

Isaac’s eyes flicked toward her. She hadn’t moved an inch.

“I had this commissioned to commemorate how you and your ragtag group of Nevermore buddies saved our school!” Dort’s words dripped with enthusiasm, each syllable making Isaac’s stomach twist. He felt nausea rise in his throat.

Dort strode to the curtain draped over the memorial he’d installed himself. As applause swelled, he yanked it free with a flourish.

It was… a painting, that’s for certain. 

Wednesday stood at its center, sword raised high above her head, smiling broadly. Behind her were Bianca, Enid, and Eugene, posed like loyal companions. Nevermore rose in the background, its towers rendered in sweeping strokes of purple, gold, and black.

Isaac’s stomach turned. The image unsettled him most not because of its grandeur, but because of Wednesday’s smile, bright, triumphant, unnatural. He glanced at the real Wednesday, whose expression remained perfectly unreadable.

Applause roared as Dort stepped away from the portrait, fixing his gaze on Wednesday. “Could you give us a few words of inspiration to launch us into this new era?” he asked, his voice buoyed by a chant of her name rising from the crowd.

Wednesday froze for a moment longer. Then, after a glance at Enid, she stepped onto the stage. She approached the painting and stared at it, her eyes locked on the bright, cheerful version of herself rendered in oil. Isaac couldn’t imagine how much the sight must have disgusted her.

Morticia and Gomez shared a knowing glance. Isaac shifted forward to stand beside them, angling for a clearer view. Thing perched atop his head, watching intently.

Wednesday turned slowly to face the crowd, stepping forward to stand beside Dort. Without sparing him a glance, she plucked the microphone from his hand.

“Tonight…”

She paused for the briefest beat. Isaac could have sworn he heard hesitation before her voice smoothed into something steady. Her usually lidded eyes were wide, almost manic, as she went on.

“…is our banquet of discontent.”

Her expression slipped back to its natural, flat composure. From his place in the crowd, Isaac tilted his head. Thing, perched above, mirrored the motion with a flick of his wrist.

“And we shall gladly feast on those who would subdue us.”

The crowd roared. Morticia and Gomez leaned closer, smiling as they drank in their daughter’s words.

“Our fight is just beginning. And I’m ripping the bandage off the scab of civility.”

A few students audibly gagged at the metaphor. Isaac caught the sound as Wednesday pressed on, her voice steady.

“And we will not cease until our enemies have been vanquished!”

She raised her fist in the air, the action not from passion, Isaac could tell, but performance. The students didn’t notice. They cheered wildly, carried along by the sheer cadence of her words.

Isaac saw it clearly. Wednesday had a talent for setting a crowd ablaze, just like Dort himself did.

Wednesday glared down at the crowd. “And by enemies, I mean any imbecile stupid enough to cheer on some shallow, rabble-rousing diatribe like that.”

The cheers died at once. Murmurs rippled through the students, shock settling over the field. Isaac’s eyes flicked to Enid and Eugene, both of their smiles had vanished.

Onstage, Dort’s face twisted with confusion.

Morticia and Gomez leaned back, taking in their daughter’s words with the sort of calm absorption that suggested this was exactly what they’d expected.

Isaac, however, leaned in, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You thought I was your hero? I’m not. I always play dirty, and I never fight fair.” Wednesday scanned the crowd as she spoke; Isaac couldn’t help but remember her tackle from earlier.

“The only side I’m on is my own, and the only place I’ll lead you is off a cliff.” She turned slowly, fixing Dort with a flat glare. “So do not put me on a pedestal, because I will burn it down.” Her words were low and dangerous as she let the mic fall from her hand.

Wednesday seized one of the lit torches beside the painting.

Isaac cursed under his breath. He knew he should never have let Bianca use those, but he couldn’t deny the part of him that wanted to see what Wednesday would do.

She turned the flame toward the canvas. The oil caught instantly, fire racing across the surface. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the painted Wednesday’s smile was swallowed in flame. Isaac stole a glance at Enid and Eugene. Enid looked horrified, frozen in place, while Eugene clapped a hand over his mouth.

Wednesday turned back to the audience, the torch still in her grip. Faces across the field showed disbelief, students, teachers, even Dort himself staring in shock. Only Morticia and Gomez stood without surprise. From them radiated the calm certainty of parents who had expected nothing less.

Wednesday raised the torch once more before letting it fall from her hands. Without another word, she strode calmly off the stage. Enid hurried after her, voice sharp as she grilled the solemn girl about what she’d just done.

Isaac’s mouth twisted into a wide, almost cruel smile as he watched the painting burn.

Onstage, Dort muttered a curse under his breath as he stepped down, his show unraveling in front of him.

Bianca bowed her head, the motion easy to read as sadness to anyone else. But Isaac caught the truth in the small smile tugging at her lips, the faint laugh threatening to break through. She might have been shocked, but Isaac hoped she had expected this all along.

The Addamses turned and began to leave the field at their own unhurried pace. Isaac moved to follow, his smile still fixed in place, until Dort’s hands clamped down on his shoulders, steering him off in another direction. Thing bounded from Isaac’s head, scurrying after the family.

Only then did Isaac’s smile falter, just slightly. Still, he forced his eyes to remain locked on the burning painting, until he physically couldn’t any longer as Dort pushed him away somewhere else.

Chapter Text

The walk back from the pyre left Isaac realizing he was far more drained than he’d thought. Dort had shepherded him into his office, where he now leaned casually against the desk. Beside him sat a tray of salmon, untouched and already losing its sheen.

“That was a disaster,” Dort said softly, a phrase he’d already repeated so many times since they arrived that Isaac no longer bothered trying to steer his “father” away from it.

Isaac sat silently as Dort turned toward the donation counter. “I had hoped that would earn me the Addamses’ favor. For a potential donation, you see.” He tapped his fingers against his mouth, then turned back to Isaac, an idea flickering to life behind his glasses.

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but Dort’s face lit up. “That’s it!” He snapped his fingers and dropped to one knee beside him. “Gomez likes you! You could be my way into that side of the family at least.”

Dort clasped Isaac’s hand in his own with a smile.

Isaac recoiled, shaking his head. “I don’t think… that’ll work.” His voice dropped to a mutter. The sour taste in his mouth told him exactly how much he despised the thought of deceiving Gomez again.

“Isaac, my boy.” Dort raised a hand to cup Isaac’s face, the warmth of his palm uncomfortably pressing in. “I need you to secure a donation from Gomez’s side of the family. I’ll send Bianca after Morticia tomorrow.”

Isaac’s eyes snapped back to him, a protest ready on his tongue.

Dort’s smile didn’t waver. “It would be a shame if I suddenly had second thoughts about adopting you. I imagine the state would struggle to find a caring foster home before you aged out.”

Isaac stared as Dort finally withdrew his hand.

“…Okay,” he murmured, unable to find another way to resist the demand that he chase Gomez for money.

Dort’s face lit up. “You know, you remind me so much of myself when I was younger. The same spark of ambition, the same hunger to be the best.” He hummed, sauntering back to lean against his desk. “I want to fan that spark into a raging fire, Isaac. All you have to do is… do as I say. You’ll understand why, in time.”

The charlatan principal plucked a piece of the cold salmon from its tray and popped it into his mouth, ending the speech with an oily finality that left no room for protest.

“You should get some rest,” Dort added brightly. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow, planning our next event!”

He smiled wide. Isaac didn’t answer. He only rose to his feet and nearly bolted from the office, the taste of bile sharp in his throat.

Isaac had intended to head for his dorm and rest, just as Dort had urged. Instead, his feet carried him into the woods beyond Nevermore’s campus. He had never been a woodsy type when he was alive the first time, but something inside him now demanded the hunt.

His mind drifted as his body moved on autopilot. He barely registered the small rabbit he tore into, nor the quick, furtive meals that followed. It was for the best, if he had thought too long about it, he might have been sick. He was still unaccustomed to this new… diet.

By the time Isaac trudged back toward his dorm, morning had already broken. Pale rays of sunlight trickled through the school’s halls, painting the stone in soft gold. He considered himself lucky, despite the blood streaking his skin and the feathers tangled in his hair, as he walked with a limp sparrow clenched between his teeth.

Had he not been human, the sight might almost have been called cute.

The morning sounds drifted from Caliban Hall. Boys mulling about, doors slamming, voices rising in sleepy chatter. He caught Eugene and Ajax’s voices, arguing lightly about what to grab for breakfast.

Isaac pushed open the door to his shared room.

Pugsley was still asleep, a faint crease of worry etched into his brow. Isaac sighed through his nose and bent to unlace his shoes. They were tied too tight, but after some struggle he managed to kick them off.

He knelt beside the bed. The sparrow slipped from his mouth and came to rest lightly on Pugsley’s chest.

The small weight on his chest made Pugsley stir. Isaac had thought him a heavy sleeper, but apparently not. Pugsley blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before glancing over. A small, drowsy smile spread across his face.

“Oh. Good morning, Isaac. I was worried about you, when’d you get back last night?” he asked, his tone casual, untouched by the sight of blood streaked across Isaac’s face and chest.

“I had to clear my mind. Brought you something.” Isaac’s voice was flat as his eyes flicked to the sparrow’s limp body.

Pugsley looked down. His breath caught faintly as he registered the bird for what it was. Then he sat up, adjusting to cradle it carefully in his hands.

“Aw, thank you, Isaac!” His voice rang with genuine joy, unbothered and utterly sincere. Leaning over, Pugsley pressed a quick kiss to Isaac’s forehead, heedless of the grime and blood.

“Pugsley, we’re about ready for breakfast.” Eugene walked into the room without hesitation, the door still hanging wide open. “Are you getting up soon, or-?”

He stopped dead. His eyes locked on Isaac.

Blood and dirt smeared the floor where Isaac knelt, his palms staining Pugsley’s bedspread with a vivid handprint. A thin line of blood slipped from his chin and dripped onto the floorboards. Eugene stared, frozen, not even noticing the small bird Pugsley clutched proudly to his chest.

“Oh my god,” he choked. “Are you okay?!”

Isaac blinked at Eugene, giving a stiff nod. “Had to clear my head,” he offered, as though that explained everything.

Eugene sputtered, his voice rising. “And did you get attacked by something along the way?!” His panic carried into the hall, drawing curious looks from the other boys peeking out of their rooms. Heavy footsteps thudded closer, clearly Ajax, no doubt rushing over to see who was hurt.

Isaac rose slowly to his feet. “No. Would you stop asking if I said it was my monthlies?”

Eugene flushed crimson, hands flying in frantic protest. “No?! That wouldn’t help!”

Ajax appeared behind Eugene, his face falling the instant he saw Isaac. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened, only for Pugsley to spring up from the bed.

“Look at what he brought me!”

The boy lifted the sparrow proudly, presenting it to Eugene and Ajax like a trophy. Eugene recoiled instinctively, while Ajax just stared.

“Animals only do that when they see you as part of their family,” Pugsley said with delight. “Isn’t this great!?”

Ajax managed a small nod, masking the disgust tightening his features. “Eugene, how about you help Pugsley… find a place for the gift. I’ll help Isaac get cleaned up.”

Eugene opened his mouth to protest, but his eyes flicked back to Isaac. He swallowed hard, shut his mouth, and turned toward the room instead. Ajax wasted no time. He stepped in, gripped Isaac firmly by the sleeve, and pulled him out with him.

Ajax cleared the bathroom with a wave, shooing out the last of the boys before nudging Isaac inside. He settled him onto the bench by the sinks.

“Sit here,” Ajax said softly. “I’ll… grab you some clothes.” He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his voice dropping. “When I ask what happened, I’m expecting you to be honest with me.”

Then he closed the door behind him with a muted clink.

Isaac blinked. It was as though he’d snapped fully back into himself at last. That wasn’t to say he’d forgotten, he remembered every second of what he’d done, and the memory clung heavy in his mind.

His gaze fell to his hand. Sticky blood slicked his skin, dark against the pale knuckles. A wave of nausea tugged at his gut, sharp and insistent at the sight.

Isaac glanced away, mentally kicking himself. He should have been fine with the sight of blood, he was a zombie, after all. He should have been used to the smell too. But he wasn’t.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the tub, letting his head droop.

Ajax returned quickly, setting the clean clothes on the sink. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet, fixing Isaac with a steady look.

“Do you… need help? Cleaning up, I mean.”

Isaac gave a small shake of his head. He wanted to bristle at the offer, but couldn’t. Ajax meant well, and he knew it. The gorgon let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Good. Good.” Ajax’s tone softened. “Then… what happened?” He wanted to push, to make clear how bad Isaac looked, but with how easily the other boy could flare into anger, he held back.

Isaac sighed, voice dropping low. “Needed to clear my head. Went hunting. Haven’t eaten in a few days, so… I ate.”

Ajax nodded, not expecting Isaac to offer much more. “Did something happen? After the pyre, I saw Dort take you off.” He leaned forward on his knees, gaze steady. He wanted to help, that much was obvious, but Isaac had no idea how to explain.

Oh yeah, everything’s fine. Dort’s just threatening to hand me over to the state unless I squeeze my old best friend for donations. The bitter laugh stayed in Isaac’s head. No one would believe that anyway.

“Just… he needed to talk about my guardianship status.” Isaac forced the words out instead. “He… adopted me. He’s my… father now, I guess.” His voice fell quieter as he fumbled at the buttons of his blazer.

Ajax let out a low whistle. “That’s… wow. That’s a lot.” He shifted closer, reaching to untie Isaac’s cravat when he struggled. “If you ever need to talk, you can with me. I might not fully understand, but I’ll listen.”

Isaac gave a small nod. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll… get cleaned up. Thank you.”

Ajax lingered a moment, watching Isaac fumble at the buttons beneath his blazer. He didn’t want to press the issue, not when Isaac’s pride was already fraying.

“Just give a shout if you need help,” he said softly before slipping out and closing the door behind him.

Isaac let out a long sigh, his body sagging once Ajax was gone. He wrestled with his shirt until he managed to tug it open, holding the collar in his teeth to keep it still. The once-pristine white was stained deep red from his hand and mouth.

His gaze dropped to his chest, to the open cavity where the steady ticking of his clockwork heart glinted through. The sight pulled another sigh from him.

He padded to the door and cracked it open, peering down the hall. “Ajax?” His voice was low, almost uncertain.

The gorgon glanced back from Isaac’s room, Eugene beside him. Both turned at the sound.

“Could you get me some cling film?” Isaac asked. The words came softer than he meant them, fragile in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. Eugene blinked in confusion, but Ajax only nodded before heading toward the dorm’s common area.

Eugene looked like he wanted to ask, but when Ajax returned with a roll of cling film from the dorm kitchen, the gorgon silenced him with a look. Isaac muttered a quiet thank-you and slipped back into the room.

“I… might need more help,” he admitted through the door.

To his surprise, Ajax didn’t hesitate. He opened it and stepped inside.

Isaac let out a small huff, frustrated by the admission. “I need this wrapped around my chest. To cover my heart.” He motioned to the open cavity, where the clockwork inside glinted faintly in the light.

Ajax froze for only a beat, surprise flickering across his face, before he nodded. He began wrapping Isaac’s chest with careful hands, mindful not to pull too tight.

“I… I thought the legend was exaggerated,” he murmured. “The one about you.”

Isaac only gave a low hum in reply. When the layers were enough to keep water out, he waved Ajax off. That was plenty.

“Thank you,” Isaac said flatly, cutting off any attempt Ajax might have made to ask about his past. The gorgon only nodded before slipping out of the bathroom.

Isaac stayed at the sink for a moment, bracing his hands on the porcelain. Heat rose in his face. The feeling was not from the blood still clinging to him, but from the humiliation of having to ask for help with something so simple, something he used to manage on his own.

He bowed his head and exhaled a long, tired breath before finishing the job of stripping down to bathe.

Chapter Text

The morning crawled by. The bath was supposed to leave Isaac feeling clean, instead, he only felt like a soggy piece of bread by the end of it. Scouring the shelves for the right shampoo hadn’t helped either. He eventually resorted to stealing Eugene’s, so now his hair smelled faintly of honey.

He’d been invited to breakfast, but declined with a flat “already ate.” So instead, he filled the hours preparing to track down Wednesday for the hand attachment and scrubbing the dorm clean. Apparently, he and Pugsley were the only ones who knew how to get blood out of fabric.

He didn’t mind the work. His uniform needed washing anyway, and the sharp, medicinal scent of hydrogen peroxide filled the air. Strangely enough, it was almost comforting.

The clothes Ajax had lent him were scratchy, and definitely not the gorgon’s style. A sweater paired with corduroy pants was about the last thing Isaac expected to find in his closet, but he didn’t complain as he laced up his boots.

His bag sat packed and ready, everything Wednesday would need, including the metallic hand. All that remained was figuring out when, and where, he’d actually catch her.

His gaze lingered on the files on his desk. One was Dort’s adoption papers, the others were about Francois. Trepidation coiled in his stomach at the thought of opening them. After a long pause, he scooped them up and tucked them into the bag.

If nothing else, he told himself, I’ll have some reading material.

Just as Isaac bent to pick up his bag, a soft tapping sounded at the door. He opened it and looked down to find Thing sitting patiently on the floor.

Right. Their talk. He’d almost forgotten.

“Oh. Hello, Thing. Come in.” Isaac stepped aside to let the hand scuttle in.

A part of him still bristled at the idea, the limb was his, after all. But he knew if he tried to reattach it to himself, he’d have to contend with the wrath of both Addams children. That was a battle he wasn’t eager to pick.

He had to admit, even if grudgingly, that the limb was strangely pleasant company, almost as if it carried a piece of his own personality. Thing scuttled inside, scrambling up onto the desk until he sat level with Isaac.

“What’s with the bag?” The hand signed quickly, so fast Isaac nearly missed it, before gesturing toward the heavy sack on the floor.

Isaac sank into the chair, making what he could only assume was “eye contact” with the hand. “I was going to have Wednesday attach my new hand today. Do you know where she is?”

“She’s still asleep. In Rotwood Cottage with Morticia.” Isaac nodded, glad all over again that he’d learned sign language as a kid.

“Would you mind walking with me? We can talk on the way,” he offered, picking up his bag. He extended a hand, and Thing crawled onto it without hesitation.

Isaac gave a soft sigh as the hand climbed up to its favorite perch on his head. He figured it chose that spot not just for comfort, but because it gave him cover, a vantage point where it could vanish into his hair and watch unseen.

As they made their way down toward the cottage, Isaac felt the light taps against his head. He quickly recognized the rhythm, Morse code. A skill he owed to Gomez, who had drilled the language into him during their first year as roommates.

The conversation came easily, if a little strange: tap by tap, question by answer. Thing wanted to know how he had been separated from Isaac. Isaac could only guess. He still had both hands when he died, after all.

Next came questions about Gomez and Morticia. To that, Isaac was more open. He admitted, without hesitation, that his bond with Gomez had always been deep. Something he compared to his relationship with Francois.

Then came the simpler questions, mundane ones, all about Isaac himself. What kind of Outcast he was. His family. What he liked to do. Isaac could only assume Thing was trying to find common ground with his former host.

He answered as honestly as he could. He was a DaVinci, though he wasn’t sure if Thing had any access to that power now that the hand was running around as his own being. His parents had always been distant, leaving him and Francois to rely on each other. They were twins. He liked to invent, though when he wasn’t tinkering, he liked to draw. Creation in all its forms. Then Isaac turned the questions back on him.

Thing, of course, was a disembodied, uncertain whether he could ever touch DaVinci powers making clear he never tried to. The Addamses were his family, every single one of them, he’d watched both children grow from infancy. He liked to read, surprisingly enough, but his true indulgence was being pampered. To Isaac’s faint amusement, he even admitted to having an extensive collection of hand lotions.

The walk to the cottage was short, thanks entirely to the easy back-and-forth between Isaac and Thing. He rapped gently on the door, “listening” as the hand tapped out another story about life with the Addams family.

Just as Thing finished, the hulking man from the night before answered. Isaac now knew him as Lurch, thanks to Thing’s earlier commentary. Isaac gave a tense nod, glancing up at the towering butler. Lurch let out a slow, heavy sigh before stepping aside to clear the way.

Isaac hesitated, unsure whether the man was actually allowing him inside, or simply granting passage because Thing sat perched on his head.

Thing wasted no time, he leapt from Isaac’s head and scurried straight into the sitting room.

From the doorway, Isaac caught the sound of voices: Morticia’s smooth but pointed tone and Wednesday’s sharper reply. It wasn’t casual conversation, the cadence carried the edge of an argument.

“Oh, don’t be upset with him. He was worried sick,” Morticia said bluntly as Isaac stepped into view.

He paused at the threshold, taking in the scene. Wednesday sat rigid, black tear streaks cutting stark lines down her pale cheeks. Thing perched on the armrest beside her, pressing a folded handkerchief into her hand with quiet insistence.

Wednesday was the first to notice him. “It seems we’ll have to cut this conversation short,” she said flatly, ignoring the silent look of protest from her mother.

Morticia turned then, her gaze softening as it landed on Isaac. “Oh, Isaac.” Her voice carried both warmth and quiet command. “I’m sure we could continue our discussion with you here. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Isaac shook his head quickly. Where he had once seen a classmate, he now saw the presence of a matriarch, someone who radiated authority without raising her voice.

“No, ma’am,” he said, the words quiet but respectful.

Wednesday shot him a glare. “Let’s find out why he’s here first, Mother.” Her voice carried a near hiss, the command beneath it clear: step forward.

Isaac obeyed, setting the bag down beside her. “I… figured you could probably attach my hand today. Since we don’t have classes.”

Wednesday’s brow arched, but she stayed silent as she began removing the contents of the bag. Her touch was almost reverent when she set the metal hand on the table before her.

Morticia’s eyes lit up at the sight. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to see how your skills have advanced, Wednesday. We could talk, and I could observe your work.”

The girl flicked a look at her mother before turning to Thing. “Fetch my tools. The good ones. I’ll need a little deflated joy if I’m going to be trapped listening to her.”

Morticia almost seemed to glow, taking Wednesday’s barbed remark as though it were a compliment.

With a sharp gesture, Wednesday motioned for Isaac to sit. He obeyed, lowering himself to the floor beside her. Better to stay agreeable with the girl about to cut into his arm.

Without preamble, she yanked his right arm into her lap.

“Oh, do you think you’ll need numbing, Isaac?” Morticia asked lightly, her voice lilting as she snapped her fingers to summon Lurch.

Before Isaac could respond, Lurch appeared with a glass of something Morticia described only as a family recipe, meant for occasions like this. Thing returned as well, dragging a sizable kit that Wednesday snatched up the moment it was within reach.

Isaac kept himself distracted, pulling the files on Francois from his bag. He sipped at the strange concoction, grimacing as he read.

Time blurred. The low rhythm of Morticia and Wednesday’s argument faded into background noise as the girl worked. The first cuts stung sharply, just as Isaac expected. Then, slowly, the pain dulled, numbness spreading through his body. He could only assume it was the drink doing its work.

Gratitude mixed with unease in his gut. He was glad for the relief, but unsettled by the thought of what exactly had gone into the cup. He reminded himself that he didn’t have to ask, despite his curiosity.

Isaac kept his eyes fixed on the papers, unwilling to look up and see what Wednesday was doing.

Francois had graduated, though her grades had plummeted after his death. A few disciplinary notes dotted the record, but nothing surprising. The second file was different, records Isaac could only assume Dort had pulled strings to obtain.

Marriage and medical reports blended together. She had married and had a son, that much Isaac already knew, but the rest felt heavier. Postpartum depression. The words should have been news to him, but instead he found himself almost expecting it.

What did jar him was the diagnosis of bipolar disorder. He could only guess it had been a misinterpretation of her Hyde, or perhaps a convenient cover.

The final pages hit like stone: a death certificate, then a notice of cremation. A bitter taste rose in his throat. He couldn’t tell whether it came from the silent weight of that unspoken ending… or from Morticia’s numbing concoction still burning in his stomach.

He wondered.

Wondered if Francois had kept in touch with their parents. He wondered what her husband had been like, if the man would have accepted him, or even have liked him. And then there was her son. Tyler. Dort had said the boy was a year older than him. That meant seventeen. Just seventeen.

The thought snagged him.

Seventeen. And him, obviously sixteen. The shock of it settled in, heavy and bitter. If he had lived, he would have been in his forties by now, edging closer to fifty. Instead, he was frozen, a teenager, staring at a life that had moved on without him.

Nausea churned hot in his throat, sharp enough to burn.

“Wednesday,” Isaac said suddenly, his voice slipping under the weight of his thoughts. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” she replied flatly, ignoring Morticia’s quiet stream of advice as she worked.

Isaac swallowed hard. The nausea must have shown more plainly on his face than he realized, because Thing vanished mid-scurrying. He returned a moment later with Lurch in tow, the butler setting down a small trash can beside Isaac without a word.

If Morticia or Wednesday noticed, neither of them acknowledged it.

Isaac felt the weight of it press down on him. Thirty years. He had been dead for thirty years, and never once had he let himself stop to truly think about it.

He’d been running around with boys barely younger than him living as though they were his peers. He’d been playing student coordinator for a man who didn’t care about him at all, a man who only saw value in Isaac as a relic that could line his pockets. Dort had even gone so far as to adopt him, not out of kindness, but as a business investment.

And Isaac had gone along with it. Playing student again when, by all rights, he should have been well into his forties, staring down fifty.

One of the people responsible for that lost life on the couch, calm as ever, while her daughter cut into his arm with precise, clinical hands.

And yet, he couldn’t summon anger for her. Nor for Gomez.

He swallowed hard, breath catching as he stared at the floor. He needed to do something, anything. Sitting there, numb both in body and mind, would drive him mad.

“Wednesday. Tell me about Tyler.” The words tumbled out too quickly, edged with more panic than he meant. It should have been a question, but it came out as a command.

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to him. Whatever she thought of his tone, she didn’t challenge it. She simply obliged.

“He tried to kill me. And my… friends. Last year.” Her voice was flat, clinical. “Though I believe he did so under manipulation by his ‘favored person’, as your journal put it.”

The sound of stitching carried between them as she continued. “He’s… charming enough, for a murderous psychopath. Which is precisely how I prefer my romances.”

“You dated?” Isaac blurted, cutting her off before she could elaborate.

“Briefly.” Wednesday didn’t flinch at the interruption. “Truthfully, I don’t view him in that regard anymore. I don’t believe I ever did. He was simply there, and what is a year without the convenience of an easy romantic pursuit?”

Her words were long-winded, almost uncharacteristically so. Isaac only nodded along, not trusting himself to press.

“I dislike- no, that’s too gentle. I hate him.” Wednesday pulled the stitching tight, hard enough that Isaac felt the faint tug even through the numbing haze. “But that hatred is exactly what draws me to understanding him.”

Isaac nodded again, forcing down the urge to protest her logic. “And… what of his favored person?”

“Marilyn Thornhill. Laurel Gates.” Wednesday’s hum was cool, almost clinical.

The name sparked Isaac’s memory. The Gates family. Hateful people. It didn’t surprise him that one of them would twist an outcast into a weapon for their own ends.

“She positioned herself as his mother,” Wednesday continued, “and used him as a pawn. Her ultimate goal was to resurrect Joseph Crackstone and wipe out Outcast kind entirely.”

The sound of cutting thread punctuated her words.

“I assume she saw Tyler as nothing more than a tool to that end. An easy vessel to collect what she needed, body parts for her sacrifice.”

“And what of them both now?” Isaac asked, hearing the faint rustle of bandages. She was nearly finished. Record time, considering he’d half expected this surgery to last the entire day.

“I don’t know, or care, where Thornhill is,” Wednesday said evenly. “Tyler, however, is in Willow Hill for psychiatric treatment.” There was a faint purr of satisfaction in her tone.

“You went to see him, right? I mean you had to, how else would you have his medical file?” Isaac finally glanced at her on the couch.

She was carefully wrapping the place where the metal hand now sat, fully attached. Morticia gave a soft gasp at what Isaac had said, clearly unaware of her daughter’s exploits.

Wednesday stilled, her eyes locking on him.

“How is he? Is… is he being treated fairly?” Isaac pressed, desperation creeping into his voice. “I don’t know how I’d feel if he was being mistreated.”

“He’s withdrawn. Refuses to cooperate. Tried to transform and attack me.” Wednesday resumed her work with clinical calm. “They keep him restrained with an electric collar to prevent it.”

Isaac’s stomach turned.

“Perhaps if they didn’t cling to incorrect assumptions about Hydes, they would treat him more fairly,” Wednesday murmured, her voice detached. 

“He’s also in solitary confinement. Monitored twenty-four hours a day.” She adjusted a sling over his shoulder as though she’d prepared it in advance, offering no explanation.

Isaac opened his mouth, searching for words. He wanted to protest, wanted to say he’d march to Willow Hill and tell the doctors they were wrong, that their methods were barbaric. 

But the words caught in his throat. How could he fight for Tyler’s treatment when he didn’t even know the kid? When he hadn’t even been successful in curing Francois? What made him think he could help anyone at all?

Morticia caught the way Isaac seemed to collapse inward. “Darling, don’t burden yourself with that,” she said gently, her hand alighting on his shoulder. Her fingers twitched, an unconscious flinch, as though she expected him to break or lash out.

“Right now, you should focus on yourself. And on making use of that new hand. Wednesday told me after the pyre, that you had her and Pugsley helping you build it.”

Isaac knew she was deflecting, trying to steer him away from darker thoughts. And a part of him was grateful. But the image lingered, stubborn and hot. His sister’s son, wasting away behind an electric collar, locked in a box. It set something off inside him, a flush of anger that pulsed like fire in his veins.

It wasn’t the cold, familiar anger that had carried him before. This was different. Protective. Familial. An instinct older than the years he had missed, and one he didn’t know how to carry anymore.

Wednesday rose quickly, folding the instruments and scraps of material back into her kit with precise movements.

“It’s a bit late for lunch, but how about you stay for dinner?” Morticia offered warmly. “I’m making sure Pugsley and Wednesday join us.” Her smile glowed, though Wednesday turned on her with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Isaac blinked, then nodded. “Okay.” The word slipped out before he had time to think, the same way it always seemed to with Dort. The pattern unsettled him. Too often he let himself get pulled along, even when the intent came from kindness rather than manipulation.

He tried to shove those thoughts down, leaning back against the couch as if he could press them out of existence. He told himself to look forward to the meal, to let the promise of company soothe him. But the dread in his stomach coiled tighter instead.

Thing scuttled up and patted his knee with gentle precision, a tiny show of solidarity. Isaac let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, gratitude flickering through the gloom like a candle flame.

Morticia rose with her usual elegance, smoothing the fall of her dress as though every movement were rehearsed. She turned to her daughter, a small gesture bidding Wednesday to walk with her. The girl, despite any protests, followed her mother out.

Isaac felt an odd relief at being left behind. Thing lingered, curling against his knee like a cat settling in for comfort. The small, steady weight grounded him.

He tilted his head back against the couch, exhaling slowly. For once, he let his body sink into the cushions and his mind loosen its grip. The pull of sleep caught him in its undertow, and he slipped into a brief, uneasy nap.

Chapter Text

Sleep swallowed him whole, dreamless and heavy. When his eyes blinked open again, he wasn’t on the parlor floor anymore. He was in a bedroom.

Thing rested on his chest, fingers curled as if he were napping too. Isaac couldn’t decide if the sight was unsettling or endearing. It teetered somewhere in between, like so much of his strange second life.

The room itself was rich and extravagant, every detail polished into elegance. He didn’t need to be told whose it was; it could only belong to Gomez and Morticia. That realization should have reassured him, but instead it left his stomach knotted. Safety and intimidation shared the same space here, and he wasn’t sure which weighed heavier.

Isaac pushed himself upright, noticing the sling was gone. Someone must have removed it while he slept, probably for comfort, or safety. He barely had time to think before instinct drove him to brace against the mattress with his new hand, even though he had been using his left fully for a while now.

Pain shot up his arm like fire. The sound that escaped him was strangled and rough, enough to jolt Thing awake. The hand scurried off his chest as Isaac collapsed back onto the bed, curling around the wounded limb.

He clutched his hand to his chest, every muscle in him tight. His vision blurred as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to ebb. Through the haze, he caught the faint skitter of Thing patting and tugging at him, desperate to help in the only way it knew how.

Isaac waved Thing off weakly, forcing himself upright again just as the door creaked open.

“Hermanito, are you alright?” Gomez’s voice carried in, thick with concern, his face shadowed by worry. Isaac must have been loud enough to draw him.

Isaac let out a long breath, meeting the older man’s eyes. “Just… used the wrong hand trying to get up.” His tone was flat, but beneath it lay the ache of embarrassment, the weight of being caught struggling in a way he’d hoped to avoid.

Gomez pressed a hand to his heart as he strode into the room, sweeping in with his usual energy. Without waiting for protest, he clasped Isaac by the arm and hauled him upright.

“Well, you woke up just in time. Dinner is waiting!” Gomez declared, giving the boy a hearty pat on the back.

Thing scuttled to his side, producing the sling with a kind of quiet triumph. Isaac slipped his arm into it, grateful for the support. The gratitude cut deeper than he expected, but a twinge of sadness prickled at him. It was far too easy to lean on a disembodied hand for comfort, easier than it ever was to trust most of the students around him.

He didn’t have time to untangle the feeling, the strange comfort and guilt of it, before Thing leapt neatly onto his shoulder. Gomez led the way down the hall, the smell of something rich and spiced guiding them toward the small dining room.

Isaac didn’t know what to expect, but he wasn’t surprised to find Morticia, Pugsley, and Wednesday already seated. The scene looked like a painting, elegant and unnervingly composed.

He hesitated only a second before slipping into the chair between the Addams siblings. Pugsley gave him an encouraging grin while Wednesday merely regarded him, cool and unreadable. Gomez settled at the head of the table, all warmth and flourish, and the family tableau felt complete.

Isaac caught the faint clatter of Lurch in the kitchen, heavy steps moving with deliberate care as he readied dinner. Morticia’s calm voice broke through the sound, smooth as silk but edged with intent.

“Bianca came to visit me today.”

The words struck like a blade dipped in honey. Isaac froze, every trace of warmth draining from his veins. Thing’s tiny movements on his shoulders became background static, he couldn’t focus on anything else.

“She wanted me to know that Principal Dort hopes we all feel… completely welcomed at Nevermore.” Morticia’s tone didn’t change, but the pause that followed was far too measured. “She also mentioned that Dort is very interested in speaking with Mama.”

Isaac’s stomach dropped. The idea of Dort trying to charm Grandmama Frump was horrifying in a way even monsters couldn’t compete with.

Isaac had only ever heard stories about the woman, mostly from Gomez, who spoke of her with a kind of reverent fear. He knew enough to understand that Morticia’s mother was not someone to trifle with. When Morticia confided about her, it was rarely out of fondness, and only when Gomez, Francois, or Larissa weren’t available to lend her steadier company.

The image Isaac held of the matriarch was chilling. He couldn’t imagine Dort wanting to speak with her for any reason beyond money and that made the idea even worse.

Gomez gave a low, thoughtful hum just as Lurch entered, carrying the evening’s meal. The smell hit first, thick and oddly pleasant, but the sight of it was harder to stomach. Whatever it was gleamed wetly under the candlelight, stringy and slick as Lurch served each of them generous portions.

Isaac watched his plate land before him, still faintly steaming, and wondered, not for the first time, whether the Addamses’ taste in food was a test of courage or character.

Wednesday leaned toward him, her voice a low whisper. “Start with the eyes.”

Isaac froze, staring down at his plate, trying to determine where its eyes might actually be. The longer he looked, the less sure he became that he wanted to find out.

Morticia continued as though her daughter hadn’t spoken. “I told her that Dort would have about as much luck reaching out to Mama as I would, and I have no intention of trying any time soon.” She took a slow, elegant sip of her drink, her tone perfectly serene.

Across the table, Gomez reached for her hand, the gesture small but filled with unspoken warmth.

Isaac swallowed. He knew he was about to step onto dangerous ground, where one wrong word might turn dinner from merely unnerving to catastrophic.

“I mean… surely you’ve thought about reaching out to her,” Isaac said, his voice unsteady as he poked at his plate. He dared to glance up.

Gomez and Morticia both regarded him with mild surprise that was soft, polite, but edged with something unreadable. Across the table, Pugsley hunched slightly, ducking his head and focusing on his food as if that might keep him invisible. Wednesday’s gaze, by contrast, was sharp enough to cut.

Isaac pressed on before his nerves could stop him. “Think of it less as doing what Dort wants and more as… reaching out for your family. It might be nice. I mean, how often do Pugsley or Wednesday get to see their, uh… Grandmama?”

The word hung in the air like a spark over kindling. The silence stretched too long, pressing against Isaac’s nerves until he felt compelled to fill it.

“The same goes for your parents too, Gomez. Not just… yours, Morticia.” His fork wobbled slightly in his grip. “It might be nice to have a family get-together. And if you wanted, I could- well, Dort would probably be happy to host it here at Nevermore.”

He swallowed hard, the words tumbling faster as his confidence slipped. “I mean… I’d like to be able to contact my parents again. Even with how they treated me and Fran.”

His voice thinned out at the end, almost lost to the low hum of candlelight and clinking silver. He couldn’t tell whether he’d spoken out of genuine longing or just a desperate need to appeal to the family before him, to their closeness, their easy way of belonging.

Across the table, the quiet felt deliberate. Not dismissive, but observant. The kind of silence that measured a person rather than ignored them.

“It certainly is a dreadful idea,” Gomez declared, a delighted smile spreading across his face. The kind of smile only someone who adored dreadful things could manage.

“It would be horrible for the children to endure, wouldn’t it, dear?” Morticia murmured, placing both her hands over his.

Isaac looked up, startled that his suggestion had landed at all. Wednesday’s glare sharpened, and Pugsley responded by sipping his drink far too loudly, as if that might cover the awkward tension.

Gomez, however, was already in motion. “Old boy!” he called toward the doorway. “Lurch, fetch the family contact book! We’ll be writing letters and making calls until the crack of dawn!”

Morticia practically glowed under her husband’s enthusiasm, though she turned to Isaac with a softer expression. “I can’t promise Mama will even consider coming,” she said, “but you’ve certainly inspired Gomez to reach out to his family. That means you as well, Isaac. You'll be meeting everyone.”

Isaac gave a short, awkward laugh. “Only if you’re all right with Dort being there.”

The table went still. Pugsley looked up, confused. Morticia’s serene composure faltered for just a moment.

“He adopted me,” Isaac said quietly. “I’m… technically his son.” He stabbed his fork into the plate in front of him. Something in it squealed.

The simple words froze the entire table.

Pugsley turned toward him first, his expression caught between shock and delight. Morticia went utterly still, her composure flawless, her serenity unbroken. Gomez sank back into his chair, the light of excitement dimming as his mind shifted to calculation.

Only Wednesday’s reaction carried motion. Her glare softened; her brows twitched upward in something that almost resembled pity. Her head tilted slightly, studying him like a specimen she hadn’t expected to find interesting.

Then the silence shattered. Pugsley slapped his hands onto the table, the silver rattling with the force of it. “That’s what Eugene was trying to figure out! That must be it!”

He leaned back, one hand covering his face as a sharp laugh burst out of him, loud and unrestrained, the only sound in the stunned dining room.

Thing froze at the sound, then twitched violently as Pugsley’s outburst echoed through the dining room. Isaac flinched too, his hand instinctively moving to cover the small creature, like soothing a startled pet.

He shot Pugsley a look, half questioning, half pleading for context, but stayed silent.

“Eugene was going on about this all last night before the pyre!” Pugsley explained with manic enthusiasm, gesturing wildly toward Isaac. “He was trying to figure out what was stressing you out so much you were arguing with Bianca, of all people! Oh, he’s gonna be so jealous I found out before he did!”

Isaac blinked at him, confusion giving way to disbelief. A small huff of laughter escaped him despite himself. “Glad I could help,” he muttered, ignoring the razor-edged stare Wednesday was burning into the side of his face.

Chapter Text

Dinner crawled by at a glacial pace. Gomez had thrown himself back into cheer, clearly trying to keep the atmosphere light, or at least distract his children from the tension hanging in the air.

Morticia ate mostly in silence, graceful and unreadable. Wednesday did the same, though Isaac could feel her eyes on him every few minutes, sharp enough to make his fork tremble mid-bite.

Pugsley, blissfully oblivious to the mood, peppered him with questions. “So what’s it like having Dort as your dad?” he asked for the third time. Isaac answered each one with shorter, thinner replies, his voice barely above a mumble.

Thing drummed absentmindedly on his shoulder now and then, a strange rhythm that Isaac found oddly grounding. At one point, he could’ve sworn he heard Wednesday mutter, “Traitor,” under her breath. The hand’s fingers froze mid-tap before curling into what unmistakably felt like a glare. Isaac decided it was best not to question how a hand could manage that.

As Lurch began clearing the plates, Isaac wanted nothing more than to slip away unnoticed. But Gomez’s bright voice caught him mid-step.

“How about you have Dort come down here tomorrow?” Gomez beamed, oblivious to Isaac’s inward wince. “We can play a round of golf! I’d like to meet the man who dares call himself your father, beyond just my children’s principal.”

Isaac didn’t trust his voice, so he simply nodded, stiff as a statue, and started toward the door.

“Oh, Isaac,” Morticia called after him, her tone smooth but deliberate. “Do tell Dort I am… considering calling Mama. Be sure he knows you and Bianca helped me reach that decision.” She smiled faintly. “And Wednesday and Pugsley will walk you to your dorm. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you in the dark.”

Isaac swallowed hard, nodding again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Please,” she said, her smile deepening, “just Morticia is fine, dear.”

His face flushed at the correction, but before he could respond, Wednesday and Pugsley were already flanking him, steering him out of the dining room and into the waiting dark.

The three started down the path, the night pressing close around them. Thing leapt neatly from Isaac’s shoulder to Wednesday’s, his fingers curling into the dark fabric of her uniform.

Wednesday stopped short and caught Isaac by the shoulder. “Pugsley, go ahead,” she said, tone flat as ever.

“What? Why?” Pugsley whined, glancing back at her with eyes that had probably worked on everyone else in the family at least once.

“You should spread your wings,” Wednesday replied coolly. “Walking alone in the dark is the cornerstone of one’s development.” She paused, her gaze sliding toward Isaac before he could even protest. “Isaac is still a fledgling. He’ll need my protection. You, however, can handle yourself.”

Pugsley let out a dramatic sigh but didn’t argue further. As he trudged ahead, Isaac couldn’t help wondering which unnerved him more: the darkness of the woods, or the fact that Wednesday Addams had just claimed responsibility for his safety.

Before Isaac could gather a coherent thought, Wednesday seized his shoulders and turned him to face her. “What’s going on with Dort?” It wasn’t a question, it was a command.

Isaac blinked, confusion flickering behind his eyes. “He- I said already. He adopted me, nothing more.”

Wednesday’s stare didn’t waver. “I’m not an idiot, Isaac. Something else is happening. Between you being forced into duties meant for someone far more sociable, and Bianca suddenly visiting my mother out of nowhere…” Her tone sharpened like a scalpel. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Isaac’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He couldn’t decide whether to admire her deduction or resent it. “Look,” he said finally, “all I know is that Dort’s trying to get donations for the school. He sees Gomez and Morticia as prime candidates. Which, unfortunately, means your grandmother too.”

The lie came easily, practiced even. And if Wednesday caught it, she gave no sign.

“Do you even feel any familial bond with him?” Wednesday asked suddenly. Isaac could almost hear the gears turning behind her eyes, methodical and sharp.

“I… no. No, I don’t,” he admitted. “Honestly, him adopting me was more out of pity and convenience for him, than anything for me.” His tone bled disdain, and Wednesday’s faint hum in response carried something close to satisfaction.

She stepped back, crossing her arms as if she’d confirmed a hypothesis. “Would you like to annoy him? Or perhaps anger him?”

Isaac tilted his head, uncertain where she was steering him, as she resumed walking.

“I noticed at the pyre,” she continued, “he seemed rather uncomfortable with you and Father being so brazenly affectionate. I must admit, the display was nauseating, but Dort looked offended by it.”

Isaac quickened his pace to keep up with her. “Are you suggesting I keep being affectionate with Gomez?”

“No. God, no, I’d sooner retch,” Wednesday replied dryly, not slowing her stride. “But I have a theory.”

She moved with such purpose that Isaac had to half-jog to stay beside her. “If Dort was so offended by your display with my father, then I suspect he’ll be even more unsettled if you start reconnecting with your actual family.”

Isaac frowned. “And what exactly are you getting at?”

Wednesday turned her head just enough for him to catch the faintest glint in her eye. “How would you like to accompany me on a return visit to Tyler?”

Chapter Text

Wednesday and Isaac had finalized their plan. Isaac would go through with the golf game tomorrow, if Dort agreed, and Wednesday would secure a ride to Willow Hill under the guise of a school project.

They parted ways at Caliban Hall. True to her word, Wednesday walked him all the way to his dorm, a silent sentinel in the moonlight before vanishing into the dark.

Isaac expected emptiness when he opened the door, the room wrapped in sleep and quiet. Instead, a soft creak met him. The lamplight was still on.

Eugene sat in his desk chair, spinning just enough to meet Isaac’s gaze head-on. His expression wasn’t his usual nervous cheer. His eyes were wide, alert, and unblinking.

“Pugsley told me,” Eugene said flatly, gesturing toward the spark sitting cross-legged on Isaac’s bed.

Isaac stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The soft click sounded too final.

“When were you gonna tell anyone else?” Eugene continued, his voice steadier than his expression. “Or did you just wanna tell the Addams?”

Heat crawled up Isaac’s neck. He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I actually told Ajax first,” he said quietly. “I wanted to tell Bianca before anyone else.”

Eugene just stared at him, silent long enough for the air to grow heavy. Pugsley tried, and failed, not to laugh, covering his grin with a hand.

“I guess I can’t be mad,” Eugene said finally, his tone sharp but tired. “But you’ve been so stressed and fake polite it’s painful to watch.” He pushed away from the desk and stood. “Were you gonna tell us? At all?”

Isaac looked up, guilt flickering across his face before he shook his head.

Eugene groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re just a taller, undead version of Wednesday, Jesus Christ.”

Isaac didn’t answer, his silence heavy enough to make the room feel smaller. Eugene stepped closer, voice gentler now.

“I’m not mad. I’m not,” he said, and meant it. “I’m just… really concerned. And worried. You’re my friend, or at least, I’d like to think so.”

He looked up at Isaac, searching his face. The boy’s eyes usually seemed flat and dark, pupils almost invisible. But now, under the lamplight, Eugene could see them clearly: large and gleaming red, like an animal caught in the glow of a flashlight.

Eugene didn’t comment, though his brows pinched slightly. The strange color in Isaac’s eyes only deepened his worry.

“I’m not required to tell you things,” Isaac said suddenly, the words sharper than he meant them to be. He blinked and turned away, retreating behind that wall of practiced detachment.

“You’re not,” Eugene agreed, exhaling through his nose. “But you could. You have the option. And I’d like it if you took that option more often.” His tone wasn’t scolding, just weary.

He sat down on his bed, rubbing at his eyes. Across the room, Pugsley rose from Isaac’s bed and wandered toward his own, visibly restless. Isaac could tell he wanted to step in, to fix things somehow, but he clearly didn’t know how.

Isaac didn’t respond. He slipped off his arm sling, movements stiff and deliberate, before lying down on his bed. “Good night,” he said flatly, too controlled and distant.

Distance felt safer than the warmth offered to him. Eugene’s concern, Pugsley’s quiet attempts at comfort. He wanted to accept them, and he leaned on them often enough that their presence steadied him. But it was the same kind of care Gomez and Morticia showed him, and he didn’t know how to hold that kind of love without needing to give something in return.

Eugene sighed softly before settling fully into his own bed. A few moments later, the lights clicked off, and Pugsley crawled under his blankets.

The room fell into restless silence. Isaac lay awake the entire night, eyes tracing faint shapes in the dark until morning crept through the blinds. When the first strip of sunlight touched the floorboards, he took it as his cue to rise, before either of the boys could try to talk to him again.

Isaac dressed quickly, cursing under his breath each time he forgot and used his right hand. Pain flared up his arm when he pulled on his sleeves, sharper still when he bent to tie his shoes. He bore it anyway. Better to learn through pain than waste months nursing a useless limb.

Once dressed, he slipped quietly out of Caliban Hall and into the pale morning light. The air was cool and thin; the walk helped him focus. He made his way toward Dort’s office, certain the principal would already be there.

He didn’t get far. Turning a corner too quickly, Isaac collided with someone coming the other way. He stumbled back, mumbling a quick apology, only for the words to die on his tongue when he looked up.

Ms. Capri stood before him, composed as ever, her eyes already fixed on him like a hawk’s.

“I didn’t realize you were such an early riser, Mr. Night,” Ms. Capri said smoothly. Her tone was warm, but there was something precise in it, like she was cataloguing his behavior as she spoke. “Where are you headed so early? Classes don’t begin for another two hours.”

Isaac sputtered, caught off guard. “I could ask the same of you, Ms. Capri!” he deflected, forcing a polite smile. It felt brittle even to him, and the werewolf’s tilted head told him she wasn’t fooled. 

“…I’m going to Principal Dort’s office,” he admitted after a beat, struggling to actually lie to the teacher. “Is he there?”

“I believe he is,” Ms. Capri said, a small smile curving her lips. “I’m heading there myself after I grab a coffee. Would you like to walk with me? We’re both going that way, after all.”

Isaac wanted to refuse. Every instinct told him to make an excuse and leave her behind, but the words wouldn’t come.
He cursed himself inwardly for being such a teacher’s pet.

“Might as well,” he muttered instead, forcing an easy tone as he fell into step beside her.

The walk was quiet, broken only when they stopped for Ms. Capri to buy her coffee. Neither spoke after that. The silence sat comfortably between them, or at least, Isaac hoped it did.

When they reached the grand office doors, Isaac stepped forward to knock. The sound that followed was hollow, metallic. He grimaced, realizing too late he’d used his new hand. He prayed Capri hadn’t noticed the faint tremor that followed.

The door swung open a moment later. Principal Dort stood there, every bit the picture of composure with a sharp suit, polished shoes, and smile already rehearsed. His eyes flicked to Capri first, his tone polite and smooth. Then he saw Isaac.

The transformation was immediate. Dort’s grin widened theatrically as he threw his arms around the taller teen’s shoulders.

“Isaac, my boy! Bright and early as always!”

Isaac’s grimace was plain when Dort couldn’t see his face. He knew Capri had noticed, though she was gracious enough not to comment. When Dort finally released him, Isaac straightened his uniform jacket, schooling his features into neutrality.
“Morning,” he muttered, careful and restrained.

Dort turned back to Capri with a grin that practically gleamed. “Ms. Capri, you’re the first teacher I get to tell that Isaac here is officially my son now!” His voice was bright, bordering on showmanship.

Capri’s brows lifted, but her smile was smooth. “Oh? Congratulations,” she said easily, her tone polite but measured. “I had no idea you were interested in parenthood, Principal Dort.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Isaac, sharp, assessing. Isaac shrank a little under her gaze as Dort puffed up beside him. Like a peacock, Isaac thought, watching his supposed guardian bask in the attention.

“I’ve always wanted a protégé of my own,” Dort declared, hands spreading theatrically. “I’d begun to fear I’d never find one, but then Isaac fell right into my lap, metaphorically! What kind of monster would I be if I gave custody to someone who might not treat such a brilliant mind properly?”

Capri’s eyes widened just slightly, though her expression stayed composed. “I see,” she murmured. “Anyway, I wanted to run an event idea by you. It’s based on Outreach Day, but split into smaller, focused programs. Something that could actually benefit our students more meaningfully.”

Dort was momentarily silenced before recovering with a too-bright smile. “Oh, of course! The old Outreach Day was more like Outdated Day. I’d be delighted to see any plans you have. Just go on in and drop them on my desk.”

Capri tilted her head, unimpressed. “I wanted to talk to you about it. Since Outreach Day isn’t until after winter break, I thought this could be more of an early brainstorming session.” Her tone was even, but sharp enough to cut through Dort’s pretense. 

Isaac stood quietly, wishing, futilely, that she’d somehow managed to become his legal guardian instead of Dort. The principal hummed, nodding slowly. “Well, I do need to speak with Isaac first,” he said, that practiced warmth creeping back into his voice. “Surely this could wait?”

Capri didn’t answer at first. Instead, she looked to Isaac, silently leaving the decision with him. Isaac blinked hard, clearing his throat. “I’m sure whatever we need to talk about, Ms. Capri can be here for. I, uh, need to run off for breakfast immediately after, anyway.” His smile wavered, the nervous edge impossible to hide.

Dort’s smile thinned, but he inclined his head. “Of course.” He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand over his mustache before continuing. “I was reading in the archives that Nevermore used to go on yearly camping trips. They stopped about a year after your… disappearance. I was hoping you could write or sketch out whatever you remember from those days, maybe even recall which campgrounds the school partnered with.”

Isaac nodded slowly, but before he could speak, Dort pressed on.

“And I came across another gem, apparently, Halloween used to be one of Nevermore’s most celebrated times! A full festival, hosted right in Jericho as a fundraiser. It was discontinued when the late Principal Weems took charge, she believed it fed into Outcast stereotypes.” Dort gave a theatrical shrug. “But I wholeheartedly disagree. So I’d love to hear any memories you have of those traditions, too.”

Dort didn’t wait for him to respond. “I’ll even sweeten the pot, you can earn some extra credit for those writings and drawings! I noticed your grades slipping, and I figured I’d help you get a little boost.” He chuckled, the sound polished and hollow. “And I’m not suggesting it just because you’re my son.”

Isaac let out a slow, weary sigh. “I’d be happy to help,” he started carefully, “but I actually wanted to ask you something.”

That got Dort’s attention. The principal leaned in, eyes bright with interest.

“Not… not as my principal,” Isaac continued, forcing the words out, “but as my- my dad.”

Dort practically glowed at the word.

“Gomez wanted me to invite you to golf with him later today,” Isaac said quickly. “I figured it’d be nice. He, uh, knew me when he was a student here, so it might… be good to have him close.”

Isaac carefully ignored the way Dort’s smile tightened.  “Oh, Isaac, I’d love to!” Dort said with exaggerated cheer. “Is he expecting us at a specific time?”

Isaac shook his head.

“Perfect!” Dort clapped his hands once, the sound too loud in the quiet hall. “Then I’ll see you later today.”

Isaac nodded quickly, stepping back as Dort turned toward Ms. Capri, who was doing a poor job of hiding her discomfort at the whole exchange. Isaac managed a small, awkward smile in her direction before making his escape down the hall.