Like that, the trio ended up in Jericho, standing under harsh lights and surrounded by racks of Raven-ready clothes.
Enid was in her element.
She darted between hangers with barely contained excitement, emerging every few minutes in a new dress—spinning once, striking a pose, waiting for judgment.
Ethan leaned back against a display, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up every single time. "That one's great."
Pause.
"So is that one."
Another pause.
"Honestly? All of them work."
Enid beamed, disappearing back into the fitting room again.
Wednesday, meanwhile, stood perfectly still near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. The colors assaulted her from every direction—pastels, sequins, glitter, fabrics that shimmered aggressively under the lights.
She looked like she was enduring a hostile environment.
"I can feel my skin peeling just by standing here," Wednesday said flatly.
Ethan glanced at her. "That's probably the joy."
"It's synthetic," she replied. "And deeply offensive."
Enid popped out again, grinning. "Okay, but what about this one?"
Wednesday looked at the dress for half a second. "It's loud."
"It doesn't make noise," Enid said.
"It does to me."
She turned slightly, as if shielding herself from another rack of neon fabric.
"Wednesday, why do you hate colors?" Enid asked, genuinely curious.
"I'm allergic to color," Wednesday replied without hesitation.
"How allergic?" Enid asked.
Wednesday glanced at a rack of aggressively bright dresses, then back at Enid. "Prolonged exposure causes my skin to peel."
Enid didn't seem to believe her, but Ethan was sure Wednesday really did have that allergy. He had seen it himself in season 2, when Enid and Wednesday swapped bodies—Wednesday's skin had turned red the moment she wore colorful clothes.
He glanced down at Thing, who had perched himself atop a clothing stand, fingers flexing idly.
"Thing," Ethan said, "follow me."
Thing immediately leapt down and climbed onto Ethan's shoulder, settling there like it belonged.
Ethan looked back at the two girls. "You continue shopping. I'll be back in five minutes."
Before either of them could ask where he was going—or why—he turned and stepped out of the shop, Thing riding along.
As they stepped outside the store, the door closing behind them, Ethan glanced down at Thing.
"Hey, Thing," he asked quietly, "do you want Wednesday to actually enjoy Raven?"
Thing paused, fingers hovering. Then he signed yes—followed immediately by another sharp set of gestures: she won't agree. Social events and Wednesday Addams were fundamentally incompatible.
Ethan nodded, unsurprised. He already knew that if they asked Wednesday to buy a dress, she'd reject the idea outright. If they tried to force her, she'd dismantle the plan—and possibly them—out of spite.
"I know," Ethan said. "That's why it has to be a surprise, so are you in?"
Thing hesitated for a second, then gave a firm nod.
They stopped in front of Uriah's Heap, the antique shop tucked between modern storefronts like it had been forgotten on purpose.
Behind the glass display hung a single frilly black dress—simple, severe, and unmistakably striking.
Ethan studied it for a moment.
"So," he asked, "do you think Wednesday would like this dress?"
He was already certain she would. It was the same dress Wednesday had worn to Raven—the one Thing had stolen from here in the first place. Dark, elegant, and mercifully free of color.
Thing leaned closer to the window, examined it, then nodded. His fingers moved decisively, signing that she would definitely like it.
Ethan smiled. "Good."
He reached for the door. "Then let's go get it."
The bell chimed softly as he stepped inside.
The shop owner was almost vibrating with enthusiasm as soon as Ethan showed interest. Uriah's Heap thrived on rarity, and the moment the owner realized the dress had a buyer, the sales pitch became reverent—its age, its stitching, its history all recited like a ritual.
The price was steep. Antique. "One of a kind."
Ethan didn't blink. To him, it was insignificant.
As the owner carefully folded the dress and wrapped it in layers of tissue, Thing wandered off, his attention caught by a glass case near the counter. Inside sat an antique manicure kit with dark shades, the small bottles arranged neatly.
Ethan noticed immediately.
"You like it?" he asked.
Thing tapped the glass once, then signed
enthusiastically. The colors. The precision. The tiny brushes. It was perfect. He even mimed painting a nail with exaggerated care.
Ethan smiled. "Yeah, that tracks."
He turned back to the owner. "We'll take that too."
The owner didn't even question it, already reaching for the case. "Excellent choice. That set's very popular with… discerning customers."
Thing watched closely as the polish was wrapped, fingers flexing with approval.
Dress secured.
Thing hopped back onto Ethan's shoulder, fingers signing a hesitant question—Can I really have it?
Ethan glanced at him and smiled. "Of course. We're practically family."
Thing froze.
Family? His fingers moved again, sharp and curious.
Ethan shrugged lightly. "Well, if I marry Wednesday, wouldn't that make us family?"
Thing stared at him for a long second.
Then—slowly—he relaxed.
Relief crossed his expressive little hand in a way that needed no translation. Someone who could handle Wednesday. Someone who didn't flinch, didn't cower, didn't try to soften her edges.
Thing patted Ethan's shoulder once, approving.
Ethan chuckled. "Yeah. I figured you'd get it."
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 78, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
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