Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

9 years old.

“Your shoe’s untied”

Wednesday looked up, glaring, "I know." A blonde girl wearing too many colors looked down at her. She held back a scoff. Gross.

“Are you gonna tie it?” she asked. Wednesday scowled and looked down at her shoes. The playground was too loud and this girl was too colorful and Xavier kept pulling her braids and her shoe was untied and—

She pulled her knees to her chest, “No. Go away.”

The girl did not go away. Instead, she sat down in front of her and nudged her shoe

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t”

“My mom says that’s not a good reason.”

Wednesday jerked her head up, “I don’t care about your mom.”

The girl giggled. Wednesday didn’t think there was anything worth giggling about. Ever.

“Me neither. She’s mean.”

Wednesday’s eyebrow twitched, and her stomach flipped at the admission. This girl was weird. And annoying. An offensively neon pink shoe nudged her own. Again.

“Stop touching me.”

“Okay,” she shrugged her shoulders and pulled her shoe away, sitting crisscross applesauce in front of her. “I’m Enid. I really like your braids. I don’t know how to braid. I tried to braid my brother’s hair, but he said…”

Wednesday stopped listening. She needed to learn how to braid, too. Her mother could only do them for so long, and Xavier kept messing them up. Wednesday tucked her chin into her arms, glancing at Enid. She was still talking, her fingers absently drawing shapes in the dirt. She needed to fix her glare; it was clearly insufficient. Enid wasn’t spooked, and it didn’t work on Xavier, either.

Wednesday didn’t realize Enid had stopped talking, but the next time she looked up Enid’s eyebrows were pulled together and her endless chatter had ceased. She looked… different. It was unsettling. Wednesday hugged her knees closer.

Enid tilted her head and tested her luck, “Are you okay?”

The question was unexpected, and her stomach flipped again. She was fine. Obviously. She opened her mouth to say something like, ‘you look like unicorn throw up’ or ‘I’ll strangle you with my shoelace,’ but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Wednesday mumbled a sullen, “I don’t know.”

She screwed her eyes shut and let her forehead rest against her arms. Her mouth had betrayed her. How humiliating. She needed Enid to leave.

There was rustling in front of her, and Wednesday dared to hope she got her wish. Enid would leave and she would never see her again. Tonight, she could drown this encounter in Pugsley’s screams, and it would slip her mind. Unfortunately, and predictably, Enid did not leave. Her shoelace tightened.

When Wednesday lifted her head, Enid’s tongue was out, and her brows were furrowed in concentration. Her fingers fumbled with the laces like a newborn deer taking its first steps. She was not very good at tying shoes. Wednesday told her this.

“Yeah, well,” Enid’s lips quirked up at the edges, and she peeked through her bangs, “you’re smiling a little.

Wednesday had never frowned faster, “I am not.”

“You so were.”

“I was not.”

Enid giggled, “Okay, whatever.” She abandoned her attempt and stood up. “What’s your name?”

The question hung in the air as Wednesday detangled the poorly tied shoelace. Her outfit was atrocious, she could barely tie a shoe at nine years old, and she was incapable of being quiet. Wednesday did not want to tell Enid her name.

“…Wednesday.”

Enid was persistent. She found her at recess no matter where Wednesday hid. She tried every hiding place she could think of: the dugout, under the slide, behind the cottonwood, but there was nowhere she could go that Enid Sinclair would not find her.

Eventually, Wednesday stopped hiding. She suspected Enid thought they were playing a game, and that wouldn't do. Wednesday didn't play games unless they involved explosives.

Sometimes Enid was quiet when they sat together, but only when she brought her nail polish. Most of the time Enid pestered her with stories from class or lunch. Wednesday never said much in return.

She had come to expect the whirlwind of color and the enthusiastic, “Howdy, Wednesday!" that came with it. Why she preferred ‘howdy’ was a mystery. They lived in Vermont, not Texas, and Enid was not a cowboy. She knew this for a fact.

3 weeks ago.

“Howdy, Wednesday!”

“Enid.”

“You’ll never guess what happened with Bian—”

“I have a question” Wednesday asked abruptly. Enid quieted. She needed to be quick; otherwise, Enid would start talking and never stop. This would not do. She had an investigation to conduct.

“Do you ride horses?”

Enid looked confused, tilting her head as she often did, “Once, when I went to Georgia.”

Does not consistently ride horses. Check. This was going to be an easy investigation. “Do you own a 10-gallon hat?”

“A what?”

“A cowboy hat,” she clarified. Enid’s head tilted further. She looked like a dog.

“A pink one!” Predictable. She asked her follow up question.

“Do you wear it while you work?”

“Work like… in class? No?” She straightened her head, a smile forming on her lips, “Not that I mind ‘cause you like, never talk, but what’s with the questions?”

Wednesday debated answering. Giving too much away could impede her investigation, so she went with something simple, “I’m investigating you.”

Enid tilted her head again. She was going to get stuck like that. She remained silent and Wednesday continued, “Do you live on a farm?”

Enid laughed. Loudly. Her nose crinkled, and her eyes seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sun, "No, Wednesday," she raised a hand to her mouth to stop her giggles, “What kind of investigation is this?”

“A proper one. Last question.” Enid straightened up and tamped down her smile, trying to look serious, “Do you own cattle?”

Serious Enid disappeared. She never stayed for long. Normal Enid gave toothy smile, “No, I don’t have cows.”

Wednesday hummed, “You’re not a cowboy.”

“You’re so random," she giggled. "Do I look like a cowboy?”

Wednesday regarded her carefully. Enid’s hair was long but not braided. She had on a neon yellow Nike shirt and teal shorts. Cowboys had better style. And probably matched their socks.

“No, but there’s more to an investigation than what meets the eye.” She responded. Enid had a lot to learn about investigations.

They sat in silence for some time, Wednesday reading while Enid drew shapes in the dirt. She had begun a new chapter when Enid spoke, quietly, “I like when you ask me stuff, even if it’s just an investigation.”

Enid avoided her stare after that, watching the dirt with rapt attention. Her stomach flipped. That happened a lot around Enid. She didn’t know why. Suddenly, the silence wasn't silence anymore, and Wednesday had the distinct feeling that she had done something wrong.

The silence-not-silence dragged on, but Enid didn't leave. Wednesday took that as a positive sign. Usually, Wednesday didn’t care if people left. People were annoying. Enid was annoying, too, but… Less annoying. Tolerable. She didn’t want Enid to leave.

“...Do you want to be a cowboy?”

Enid smiled.

Now.

Today, there was no 'howdy.'

Enid came to Wednesday when recess was almost over, and she looked different. A chunk of hair was cut off and her eyes were red. She wasn't smiling, either. Wednesday set her book aside. She didn't know what to say, but Enid liked when she asked questions.

"Did you cut your hair?"

Not a good question. Enid's eyes got shiny and she wrapped her arms around her middle. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and she started to sob.

Wednesday's eyes widened. The world slowed, and her hands got clammy. Her stomach felt like it was being strangled. After a few moments of Enid stifling sobs, Wednesday hastily nudged their shoes together, "Enid."

Watery eyes looked up at her. By now, Wednesday had met a few Enid's. Serious Enid, Normal Enid, Confused Enid, but not this one. She felt useless. She hastily took a black handkerchief from the pocket of her shorts and held it out, "Here."

Enid stared at the handkerchief. Then at Wednesday, "What is that?"

Wednesday gave her an incredulous look, "A handkerchief."

"A what?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself. Wipe your tears."

Enid took the fabric, running her fingers over the maroon W.A. in the corner before wiping her eyes. The sobs had stopped, so Wednesday knew she had done something correct.

"Aren't these like, for old people?"

"Obviously not." Wednesday fought an eyeroll, "I have one."

"Totally for old people, then."

Wednesday ignored the comment. Enid had stopped crying, but she still wasn't smiling. Or talking. She didn't have her nail polish today, either, so she had no reason to be silent. Wednesday should be overjoyed, but her stomach was still gasping for air. They sat across from each other, staring.

"Do you ever blink?"

Wednesday blinked, "What."

"I think I've seen you blink like, four times."

"I blink twelve times per minute. Eight while reading." 

Enid giggled and her nose crinkled, "Must've missed it." She was smiling now, fiddling with the handkerchief. Wednesday’s mother gave it to her for her eighth birthday, but Enid would get more use out of it than her.

"You can keep the handkerchief." she decided.

"So I can be old like you?" Enid teased, but she clutched the fabric tighter

"...Thank you, Wednesday."

Wednesday's throat felt tight. The bell rang out in the distance, but neither of them moved. After a moment, Wednesday stood.

"You're welcome."

Chapter Text

Today, Enid skipped towards Wednesday, a noticeable improvement from the last time they spoke. Her hair was much shorter, too, and she had something blocky in her hand. She wanted to say something about the former, but the last time hair was mentioned, Enid started crying. Hair talk was off limits.

“Howdy, Wednesday!”

“Hello, Enid.”

“I have something for you!” Enid said, bouncing lightly on her feet. Wednesday arched an eyebrow. Enid had more energy than usual.

“Something.”

“A gift, silly!”

Wednesday’s stare hardened, “I’m not silly.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re super tough, whatever. Close your eyes!”

Wednesday did not want to close her eyes, but like most things pertaining to Enid, she rebelled against herself. An object was dropped on her book, “Open!”

“…Enid.”

“Ya?”

“What is currently assaulting my eyes.”

“A Rubik’s cube!” She collapsed beside her, kicking up dust, “Do you like it?”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Oh!” Enid grabbed it off the book. “It’s a puzzle, I think.”

Puzzles were mundane, but Wednesday held her tongue. She was slowly figuring out what to say and what to keep to herself around the other girl. She watched carefully as Enid continued with her demonstration.

“But yeah, I’ve like, never solved one, they’re super hard.” She handed Wednesday the cube and became shy, fiddling with her Velcro shoes.

In lieu of her silence, Wednesday tried the cube. She had just completed the blue side when Enid found her voice, “Do you, uh, like it?”

Wednesday quickly glanced up, “Yes.”

Enid seemed relieved but still ripped her Velcro on and off. The noise was grating, but she attempted to drown out the noise. Eventually, it became too much.

“Is this your new recess activity?” Wednesday asked, her hands still solving the cube, “Messing with your Velcro?”

Enid blushed, “No, uh. I just… I wanted- I don’t know.” She let out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh, “You gave me your old lady napkin.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, she failed to understand how that was relevant.

“A handkerchief.”

“Yeah, that.” Enid was looking at her now and held her hands firmly in her lap. Her eyes were so, so, blue.

Wednesday was always taken aback when Enid made proper eye contact, which was rare. Typically, her eyes roamed the playground or skirted across Wednesday’s face like a rabbit being chased, never staying in one place too long, but never quite leaving. Times like this, however, Wednesday could appreciate what would probably be her third favorite color.

If anyone asked, Wednesday had no favorite colors. That was juvenile. Wednesday was nine, not four. But she always had a soft spot for navy. Enid’s eyes weren’t navy, but they were still blue, which was nice. Some days, Wednesday thought she could see yellow around her irises. It was fascinating.

“You’re my best friend.”

Wednesday tensed immediately, snapping back to the present. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she fought the urge to cover face. The world around her blurred into a revolting blob of color. She was going to get motion sickness, or… throw up. Yeah, she was going to throw up.

She was Enid’s… best friend? Best?! Wednesday was not anyone’s friend, and now, suddenly, she was Enid’s best?

Wednesday didn’t realize she closed her eyes until they opened. Sound returned, she wasn’t sure when it left, and Enid was still staring at her. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. There was no telling how long she lost control of herself, but she tried not to dwell. She slowly released her white-knuckled grip on the cube.

“…Ok.”

“Ok?”

“I… accept.”

Enid giggled. She was always giggling.

“You accept what?”

“Your…” Wednesday felt her brows furrow. What did she accept? Her… friendship? Her admission? If she was Enid’s best friend, was Enid her best friend? What did friends even do?

She absentmindedly tapped the finished side of the cube. Enid wasn’t saying anything, just staring. Wednesday felt like the rabbit now, her gaze darting between Velcro and blonde hair and blue eyes. She supposed that made Enid a wolf.

Enid appeared oblivious to her inner turmoil. She was, however, making a face Wednesday had never seen before. She was smiling, but her lips were turned down, not up. Wednesday had only seen that in a frown. Her eye twitched. Leave it to Enid Sinclair to turn a frown into a smile.

“Your friendship. I… accept.”

Enid squealed, “Oh. Em. Gee!”

She whipped out two bottles of polish from her pocket, “Now that we’re besties you like, have to let me paint your nails! I even bought black for you!”

“Enid.” Wednesday grimaced.

“Ya?”

“You’re yelling.”

Enid gave a coy smile and scooted closer, attempting to whisper, “I bought black for you!”

Wednesday huffed in return, that was not a whisper.

“You’re not painting my nails.”

“But Wednesday,” Enid whined, “This color is called ‘Lincoln Park After Dark’, which is like, so you.”

“Do you know what Lincoln Park is, Enid?”

A sheepish smiled curled on her lips, “Uh… no?”

“It’s a park in Chicago. It’s beautiful.”

Enid quickly forgot about painting nails and peppered Wednesday with questions about her trip to Chicago.

Truly, Wednesday thought she would feel much worse about having a friend. She assumed there would be a sense of dread, or disgust, or even loathing. Instead, she left school that day with her left pinkie painted black.

Enid did, too.

Wednesday’s head snapped backward. Pain shot through her scalp, and her hands shot to her braid. She yanked it from her attackers hold.

“Do you want to lose a hand, Thorpe?” Wednesday hissed, turning on her heel.

A slimy grin crawled up his face, “I’m just messing around, Wednesday.” He flashed his teeth, “Take a joke.”

Wednesday scowled. She needed to start bringing her knife to school, threats and glares would not suffice. As she turned to walk to her usual spot during recess, she felt Xavier grab her braid again.

“Freak.”

Before she could launch her elbow into his gut, his hand vanished, and she heard a thud behind her.

“What did you just call her?”

Xavier was on the ground. Enid stood over him, chest heaving. Her eyes blazed, feral. Wednesday didn’t think the girl capable of such intensity.

“What the-,” Xavier scrambled to his feet, “Who are you?!”

"Irrelevant," she growled, "What did you call her.”

“A freak,” He spit, shoving a finger to her chest, “And you’re a psyc—”

Enid’s fist flew. A sickening crunch came from his face, and Xavier grabbed his nose, crying out. Wednesday heard a whistle blow, and commotion behind her, but all she could focus on was Enid.

Her hair was disheveled, shrouding her face as anger consumed her. She stared at Xavier writhing in the dirt and shook with adrenaline, her hand still curled in a fist.

“Wednesday,” she breathed, coming back to herself, “Are you o—”

“Enid Sinclair!” A woman Wednesday had never seen before strode up, hands on her hips. Two other teachers crouched by Xavier, helping him to his feet. “Did you just hit that boy?”

Her voice was shrill and unwelcome. The playground was eerily silent, and Wednesday knew if she turned all eyes would be on the scene in front of her.

Enid’s jaw locked, “Yes.”

She didn’t look away from Wednesday.