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WD - Chapter 162: Post-Battle II
🕑 Added 2024-11-27 16:17:05 +0000 UTC2:15 a.m.
Luke opened his eyes with difficulty. He felt a bit dizzy and it took him a few seconds before he could finally focus his vision.
'Where am I?' he thought, confused, touching his head and looking around. The room was dark, the only dim light coming from the silvery moonlight streaming through the window.
He was lying on one of those typical infirmary beds, and after observing the room a bit more, he remembered—this was the Nevermore infirmary. He noticed a calendar on the wall marking the date: August 17.
Two days had passed since the lunar eclipse.
'Two days unconscious... that's a long time,' Luke thought.
However, what caught his attention the most was the delicate figure sitting to his right, her eyes closed, breathing at a steady rhythm.
It was Wednesday, who had fallen asleep sitting upright. Her pale hands rested gracefully in her lap, as if even in her dreams she refused to lose her composure.
It was a truly perfect and stylish way to sleep. Her back was perfectly straight, and her head was tilted just enough for a strand of her dark hair to fall across her cheek.
Luke wondered how it was possible for someone to sleep so perfectly, so full of style and elegance. If it were him, he’d likely be sprawled across the chair, head hanging off the backrest, legs awkwardly stretched out, probably snoring with his mouth wide open.
But she was different.
'Perfection,' thought Luke, half-dazed as he stared at her.
He sighed and scratched his head. Why was he thinking about this after just regaining consciousness after nearly dying?
His memories of the battle were already fresh. He came close to dying. If he hadn’t obtained true precognition, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid Dolores’ strike—and that would have been his real end.
Luke noticed that much of his body was wrapped in bandages. He quickly gave his legs a light pat and sighed in relief upon feeling both of them.
'What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,' thought Luke, nodding, satisfied with the great fight against Crackstone and Dolores. The best battle in his record.
The only downside was losing the demonic book, but there was nothing to be done about it now—he couldn’t change the past. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at Dolores’ servant, who had fled with the book.
Maybe if he’d seen them take it, he could use his own memory, extract it, and present it as evidence to the Outcast police.
Luke realized he could already stand, feeling a surprising amount of energy coursing through him. He had expected it would take him longer to be back at 100%, but that wasn’t the case. Blessed be his Outcast body.
He looked at Wednesday again and noticed how her head was starting to tilt forward and back, sinking deeper into sleep. It was strange to see her like that, especially since it wasn’t typical of her to fall asleep sitting up.
Everything pointed to her having watched over him since he had lost consciousness two days ago, and that thought stirred a mix of guilt and tenderness in his chest.
Carefully, he raised his hand and used his telekinesis. Wednesday floated gently into the air, as though carried by a soft breeze. Luke made sure not to disrupt the delicate rhythm of her breathing as he guided her toward the bed. He shifted over to the side and carefully settled her next to him.
As if the warmth and comfort of the bed instinctively called to her, Wednesday relaxed even further. Her rigid posture gave way, and her delicate frame unconsciously sought the nearest source of warmth: Luke.
She slowly nestled against his arm, resting her head on his shoulder and gently tangling a hand in the fabric of his shirt. Luke froze, nervous at Wednesday’s sudden involuntary gesture.
Minutes passed. Luke didn’t move. He stayed awake, trying to keep as still as possible to let Wednesday sleep peacefully. He stared out the window, his thoughts wandering to various topics, occasionally glancing at Wednesday’s face, simply because he felt like it.
Sometime past three in the morning, Wednesday’s eyes slowly opened. The first thing she saw was Luke’s chest, and she was startled by the unexpected view.
When had she lain down on the bed next to him? She knew she wasn’t a sleepwalker, which only meant one thing. Quickly, she propped herself up slightly and looked at Luke, who had his eyes open.
Their gazes met, and silence fell between them.
“You’re awake,” said Wednesday, breaking the quiet.
“Yeah. The same could be said for you,” replied Luke, and the room went silent again. The two stared at each other without looking away.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” asked Wednesday.
“Mm... Your boyfriend was unconscious for two days. Why not smile and happily hug me like a normal girlfriend?” said Luke with a smile.
Wednesday wanted to roll her eyes but restrained herself, keeping her expression unchanged. She couldn’t believe Luke was already starting with his jokes.
“The demonic book was stolen by the Spellmans. You blame me?” asked Wednesday, clutching the bedsheet tightly.
“What?” said Luke, caught off guard by the question.
"I forced you to help me revive Crackstone. I managed to eliminate an enemy of my family, but on the other hand, the Spellmans grew stronger, even though we killed Dolores. You didn’t want to revive Crackstone," Wednesday explained.
"You didn’t force me to do anything. I chose to help you because I wanted to. It’s true that I didn’t want to revive Crackstone because I thought the book was better left locked away there, but that wasn’t completely safe either. They could’ve kidnapped any Addams to try and steal the book," said Luke.
"But—"
"It doesn’t matter, Wednesday. We both made the mistake of thinking there wouldn’t be one of those bastards keeping an eye on the crypt," Luke interrupted, taking Wednesday’s hand. She nodded slightly.
"I think the best thing would be to tell your parents about the demonic book and the Spellmans," Luke added.
"Yes, I’ve thought about it too. It’s time to tell them," Wednesday agreed. Her uncle Fester had killed Dolores, making the feud inevitable, especially knowing that the Spellmans had two of the six main demonic books in their possession.
Her father and the rest needed to be aware of this and prepare accordingly.
The room fell silent again until Wednesday spoke. "Why?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Luke asked, confused by her sudden question.
"During the battle against Dolores, I told you to rest and let me handle the rest, but you tricked me. Why did you put yourself in such danger? Didn’t you trust that I could kill Dolores?" Wednesday asked, her tone carrying a hint of distress—unusual for her.
She thought they were a team with great synergy and trust, but it seemed Luke didn’t feel the same.
"I trust you. I just wouldn’t let you face danger alone," Luke replied instantly, his tone sincere.
That had been his primary motivation during the fight: to kill Dolores and protect Wednesday. He wouldn’t allow any unforeseen event to happen in the end.
It was true that Dolores was a Spellman, but his drive for revenge had diminished ever since he learned the truth about his parents. However, that didn’t mean his hatred for the Spellmans had disappeared entirely.
The fight against them was inevitable, but now his main motivation was something else. That motivation was to live his life peacefully with Wednesday, and to achieve that, he needed to eliminate those bastards and protect her.
He also wanted to protect the few people who mattered to him, like Natasha, Thing (who he had recently added to the list), and his only two friends: Xavier and Ajax.
As for the other Addams family members, his relationship with them wasn’t deep enough yet to consider them part of his closest circle.
"Would you go this far for someone you’ve known for less than a year?" Wednesday asked.
'Why so many questions?' Luke thought, sighing internally.
"I am an orphan. I have few people I care about, and the ones I do have I cling to and want to protect," Luke said, speaking the first thing that came to his mind.
Luke didn’t realize it, but what he had just said resonated deeply within Wednesday.
She stared at him in silence, her dark eyes evaluating him intently. She didn’t respond immediately, but something inside her chest felt strange. It was a sensation she usually ignored or suppressed, but this time, she allowed it to flow—a warmth mixed with admiration.
"Besides, you’re not the best person to bring that up. I remember how you used yourself as a human shield. If it hadn’t been for your Uncle Fester, you would’ve been hurt—or worse, died," Luke added with frustration, clenching his fists tightly.
At that moment, there would have been no way to stop Wednesday, who had appeared in front of him through shadow travel.
Wednesday remembered that moment vividly. Her intention had been to protect Luke, even if it meant using her own body as a shield.
“I suppose I want to protect you too, since you’re one of the few people I care about,” Wednesday said softly.
Wednesday had a large family on both her mother’s and father’s sides. However, she would only lay down her life for her immediate family—her father, her mother, her uncle, her brother, Thing, Lurch, and her grandmother Eudora. A while ago, she had added Luke to that list.
As for the rest of her relatives, she wouldn’t give her life for them so easily. Her bond with them wasn’t deep enough to warrant such a sacrifice.
“Could you repeat that? I didn’t hear you clearly,” Luke said, leaning closer to Wednesday. He had heard her perfectly but wanted to hear it again.
“I know you heard me... but I’ll say it again. I want to protect you, and you’re one of the few people I care about the most,” Wednesday repeated, her expression unblemished as always.
Saying this had been incredibly difficult for her; she never voiced such feelings. In fact, this might have been the first time she had ever done so. Repeating it wasn’t easy either, but she had done it because of what Luke had said earlier.
Luke swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in his throat. He had Natasha, Thing, Xavier, and Ajax, but with them, it had never reached this level. He had never told them what they truly meant to him, and he had never heard anything similar from them. Their relationships were implicit, built on actions rather than words.
For the first time, he felt something reciprocal. It wasn’t just him protecting, caring for, or clinging to someone. Someone wanted to protect him too.
“Mm, thanks…” Luke said softly.
“By the way, how did you get me into your bed?” Wednesday asked, abruptly changing the topic. Enough emotional talk.
“With telekinesis. What else?” Luke replied as if it were obvious.
“You suffered an PLPE. That’s why you were unconscious for two days. Do you even know what that means?” Wednesday asked, narrowing her eyes.
Luke looked at her in confusion. “PLPE? Is that some kind of rare disease or something?”
Wednesday sighed, as if explaining something basic to a child. “Post-Limit Psychic Exhaustion. Basically, you drained all your psychic energy and kept using your powers even though you had nothing left in the tank. It’s like… think of your powers as your muscles. When you train, you reach failure, extreme fatigue. If you rest, you recover and get stronger. But if you keep training nonstop, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, you tear yourself apart. Your muscles literally break down. The same thing happens with your psychic energy.”
Luke frowned, processing her words. “So it’s like… a breakdown? But in my head.”
Wednesday nodded, her expression serious. “Exactly. The more you use your powers when you’re at your limit, the worse it gets. And we’re not talking about a simple strain—we’re talking unconsciousness, a coma, or worse. Luckily, this time it was just two days. But the nurse and Professor Fitts said you could’ve been out for a month or longer.”
“A month?” Luke thought, shocked.
“It was that or die. Look, I’m fine after two days, better than ever, actually,” Luke said, making several objects from a distant table levitate.
Wednesday watched with a mix of surprise and annoyance as the objects floated through the air, spinning in a controlled pattern that demonstrated Luke’s precision.
“Do you really think that's a good idea? You should be resting, not showing off,” Wednesday scolded him.
Luke stacked the objects, balancing them perfectly. “I’m fine. I know my body,” he said with a faint smile.
“You were unconscious for two days. That’s not an achievement; it’s a warning. Your body shut down to stop you from completely destroying it,” Wednesday said, glaring at him.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” Luke said, shrugging.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated. “That’s what idiots say right before something kills them.”
“I’m not nagging you for fun, Luke. The battles ahead will be harder, and if you keep pushing yourself to the limit, your body won’t hold up. Recovering quickly doesn’t mean you’re invincible. It means your body is resilient, but every time you push it like this, you’re playing with fire. And eventually, you’re going to get burned,” Wednesday said seriously.
“Fine, I get it. I won’t put my life on the line unless it’s 100% necessary,” Luke replied.
“You better not. Because if you end up paralyzed and I have to push your wheelchair, I’ll kill you to end your suffering,” Wednesday said, and Luke pulled a strange expression.
Was that her way of showing love and concern?
At that moment, Luke’s stomach growled.
“I’m hungry,” Luke said, placing a hand on his abdomen.
Wednesday glanced at the container of food Veronica had left earlier and decided to make use of it.
“Did you make this?” Luke asked, seeing Wednesday sit back down on the bed with a container that, when opened, released a delicious smell.
“No. Veronica made it. She visited you the days you were unconscious, for about forty-five minutes. You also have a couple of letters, I suppose from your friends,” Wednesday replied without lying.
“Mm, I’ll thank her later and read the letters,” Luke said, more interested in filling his stomach.
