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When Tyler learned that his then-again-girlfriend believed in Santa Claus, he couldn’t help but laugh. At her dead stare, his laugh tapered off into an unconvincing cough as he tried to save his ass and her feelings. After all, it had only been a few months into their revived relationship—after another murder attempt or three—and he had not wanted to be exiled from the Addams estate.
It had been his first Christmas since being incarcerated at Willow Hill and the year prior to that had been as sad as the several before. His dad had chosen to work another double while leaving only an envelope of cash and a half full pot of coffee that Tyler didn’t even drink.
He worked at the Weathervane—he was going to drink the free coffee he was owed there.
Now, his father was dead, his mother and his uncle were also dead again and the short stint he spent in the even more bumfuck of nowhere was something he still desperately tried to scrub from his mind.
He was from Jericho! All there was were woods, Pilgrim World, and the school rich outcasts sent their snotty brats and it was still more interesting than the stretch of wild the hyde colony decided to set up a convent in.
Reconnecting with Wednesday Addams was something he only ever had nightmares of while high off of the natural remedies the colony used to tame their inner beast. Turns out you could brainwash your hyde into thinking you were bonded to a metaphorical master, who would’ve thought.
Now if leaving the convent was as easy as it was entering, Tyler would’ve given the experience a three out of five stars. As they had tried to give him matching brand tattoos and were decidedly Not Pleased™ when he decided uh, no, it was a solid two out of ten.
Wednesday bursting in again was grudgingly appreciated.
Wednesday letting him bust in her at all was something he appreciated everyday.
So yeah, he had missed, what, a total of three Christmases since his last and Tyler was not giving his girlfriend any reason to send him back to the sad little studio apartment he still rented alone and under a false alias.
No, he wasn’t whining but you would think hitting the legal age to go forth into the world unhindered by the law and overbearing parental influences would’ve been something I-am-not-my-mother-Wednesday would’ve been itching to do. Alas, much to Tyler’s well concealed yet continuous disappointment, no amount of hints or blunt invitations would make her budge on maintaining her address at 1313 Cemetery Lane.
Whatever, she stayed with him practically five days out of the week and the other two saw him wrapped around her in her much too firm childhood bed. So what if it stung to see her rejection letters still being addressed to the Addams estate. He did have to admit that the boxes she mailed her retaliatory mousetraps in were a bit too big to drop into his apartment’s shared mail slot.
Anyways, Tyler chose the path that wouldn’t leave him Wednesday-less again for the holidays and committed to teasing her in the morning when he needed to avoid Grandmama’s Christmas Morning Porridge. He knew how to pick his battles and he much rather spend three hours walking the estate grounds pretending to be sufficiently repentant rather than spend the rest of their holiday being treated by her mother. Lovely woman she was, prolonged exposure to her ensured that he spilled something that would have Wednesday ignoring him for a fortnight.
So Tyler kept his mouth shut, allowed himself a smirk—a seductive one, definitely not a mocking one!—and went to help her father pretend Lurch wasn’t doing all the work.
“So Santa… You really did go the whole nine yards.”
“Why of course!” Gomez had boomed as Lurch moved the tinsel several inches left. “Hmm, to the right good man, it’s looking a little too even.”
“So both Wednesday and Pugsley—”
“Oh my children adore dear ‘ole Nick. Why, they used to stay up all Christmas Eve with their Uncle Fester to try and shoot him! The memories of their little faces scrunched up in disappointment when they fell asleep just before Santa threw their gifts down the chimney warms my heart every time I think of it.”
Again, Tyler appreciated how good of a father Gomez was to his girlfriend. Tyler hadn’t been allowed to believe in Santa since his mom had “died” the first time. Losing her and then having his father tell him, “Grow up, Santa Claus isn’t real,” made that Christmas the worst one—even the one he spent being zapped to the tune of Jingle Bells was better.
“And you still put out cookies and—”
“Why of course we put out cookies,” he winked, inching a hand to the platter of spider-chip cookies. He had already eaten three and apparently that was his designated limit for the night as his wife sashayed by to pluck the tray out of his reach. He threw her a wink and playfully nipped the air in her direction before wrapping an arm around Tyler in what would have been a bruising squeeze had Tyler been just a normie. “Santa works hard my dear boy and though he may not eat any of it, it’s the thought that counts. It’s a good tradition to keep with the family and if you two decide to have any children of your own, well, you’ll understand.”
Tyler sputtered then—quickly looking around to make sure that his torture-prone girlfriend didn't overhear something that would lead to him being strapped to another chair.
After all, it was much too early in their relationship for her to allow the words children to be a nascent thought in his head. She had made that quite clear while holding the same ax she used to free him to his balls.
Though Tyler had been a bit too in awe that she kept the same ax to be properly terrified at the time and she had been wearing this slinky number she had used to—
Tyler shifted away from Gomez discretely and resolutely thought of Laurel. He did not need getting turned on during his first Addams Christmas Eve to be the story retold at every Christmas thereforth.
They finished quickly, and Tyler was relieved that he managed to keep his mouth shut without any slip ups all night. He deserved a reward and perhaps Wednesday thought so too because she had ridden him on her creaky four post bed with all her childhood dolls watching with their heads perched in their laps that night. He was a little wary about it being her parent’s home (not that it had stopped them any of the other hundred times) but figured that Gomez—or Lurch!—would be too busy staging the presents downstairs to interrupt.
Tyler had been so sated the night—and morning!—before that he forgot the teasing he had planned the previous day. He ate Grandmama’s Christmas Morning Porridge with a grin and survived it with Wednesday slipping him an antacid and when it came time for presents, he found that his smile wouldn’t budge.
Each one of the Addams were opening their “From: Santa Claus” presents.
Morticia looked pleased with the engraved set of shears she unwrapped and Pugsley was fiddling with what looked like a suitcase. Tyler could hear the crackle of electricity and gears snapping into place and Tyler idly prayed that it was a safe cracking kit and not the bomb he was starting to suspect the scent of C4 was coming from.
Wednesday was rifling through a set of delicately packaged ingredients whose scent screamed do not touch, do not ingest at him so loudly that his hyde recoiled deep into his psyche and Thing was fiddling with the hidden compartments of a set of ornate rings.
Their Santa gifts were a far cry from the skateboard his father had said was from Saint Nick as he shared a conspiratorial wink with his pallid mother but he supposed that with the Addams fortune and eccentricities that was to be expected. Tyler definitely was not thinking about how to procure the same quality of the presents for their future non-existent children and he definitely did not jump when his girlfriend turned baleful eyes on him like she had heard his very incriminating thoughts.
“Where is your gift from Santa Claus?” she accused instead and Tyler felt himself pale for another reason.
The situation could be solved by just admitting that at nineteen, having been tortured, enslaved, and imprisoned, he didn’t believe in God let alone Santa Claus. Wednesday wouldn’t judge nor would her family but Christmas was supposed to be a happy occasion. The reminder that he went through so much and had no remaining family outside his hated uncle’s beloved right hand was not something he wanted to be coddled over again. And, though Tyler told himself that he had planned to tease her childish beliefs earlier in the day, he knew deep down that he was never gonna say a word. The short, shocked laugh aside, there was something oddly endearing about his straight-faced girlfriend lighting up as she talked about her Santa presents.
He didn’t want her to clam up, thorns bared once again when she was sharing something so dear to her.
So the words tumbled out. “Oh, uh, my presents must’ve been delivered to the, uh, apartment—you know, since I live there.”
Wednesday's expression cleared. “That is why we never spend Christmas at Grandmama Frump’s. Santa only delivers Addams gifts to Addams’ homes. It’s why Uncle Fester makes sure to linger around one of the estates. It makes it easier for Santa to figure out which one to drop his present at.”
Tyler nodded in relief.
“We’ll stop by your apartment to pick up your presents. Santa gifts should be opened with family.”
Even with Wednesday’s inclusion of him in her family bringing warmth to his chest, Tyler could only keep his smile on long enough for Wednesday to turn back and continue unwrapping the rest of her presents. The moment he was sure she wouldn’t glance back, he turned panicked eyes towards her father’s direction but Gomez had only smiled jovially at him. The man’s attention was mostly occupied by the demonic looking finger trap he was flirting with Morticia to try with him.
Finding no help with the cause of his distress, Tyler couldn’t even really enjoy opening his own presents. He was overwhelmed at the kindness and Addams-ness of some of them, of course, but in the back of his head, he was scrambling through plans to return back to his apartment. Alone. He saw the quality of the wrapping of the Santa gifts and he thought that perhaps Gomez wrapped them himself. The ones labeled from both his and his wife were clearly of better skill. He could probably throw something in a box and haphazardly wrap it similarly enough that she wouldn’t notice…or lie and suggest that he probably had a different elf assigned to him. Yeah, actually, that would make more sense since he definitely was not adept at foraging signatures and that “Santa Claus” looked particularly loopy.
So Tyler begged off after lunch, convincing Wednesday to stay put by tuckering her out with four orgasms in the span of thirty-six minutes (a new personal record!), and carefully drove the speed limit back to his apartment. He did not need to waste time sitting through the ticketing process of irked traffic cops working the holiday. After all, even volunteering to take up the shifts to avoid Tyler did not make his dad any less of an ass to anyone he could on Christmas Day.
The moment he was able to throw his car in park, he nearly jumped up the stairwell three steps at a time before pivoting back down. A short and judgy trip to the only open drug store later, he was back in his house frantically wrapping one of the sweaters he had bought but chose not to pack for his stay at the Addams this holiday season. It was nice, still had the tag until he snipped it with a partially transformed canine, and most importantly, was not something Wednesday had seen him buy.
It was only by luck and misfortune that he was able to tear his house in two for another proper “Santa gift” because he had nearly forgotten the Frankenstein book he had planned to gift Wednesday until he remembered: 1) Laurel had gifted her a copy and 2) Wednesday had three editions of increasing value of that same story. The book at least didn’t have the same cover as the one Laurel had given but the association was enough to put Tyler off of gifting it to his girlfriend.
Shit, it would have to do.
An hour and a ticket later, he was back by his girlfriend’s side as her family watched him peel the wrapping paper from his Santa gifts. They all clapped politely, clearly a little put out by the sweater though Wednesday approved of the book (maybe he should’ve gifted it to her anyway?) but he skirted by the holidays with his girlfriend still believing in Santa Claus and his future(?) in laws approving of him joining them for the foreseeable future.
That was three years ago.
After sneakily confirming the second year that Gomez was clearly only willing to continue the bit for the inhabitants of his own home, Tyler made sure to up his game for his own Santa gifts. He didn’t want to be boring but the one year he actually splurged and convinced himself that he deserved the game console he had been eyeing for several months, Wednesday had looked so aghast and was half way to sending a strongly worded (and cursed!) letter to the North Pole that he made a mental note to not wrap any electronics as a Santa gift. He stuck to nicer book editions and the occasional hunting gear which were clearly more acceptable to his girlfriend’s sensibilities.
It wasn’t until his girlfriend proposed to him that he had an inkling that he might be in trouble with his deception.
The whole “Santa only delivers Addams gifts to Addams’ homes” kept him up that year. In between planning for their wedding—which he was completely surprised how invested and militant Wednesday was with the whole process—he tried to get hints on how the future Santa affairs would go from his soon-to-be father-in-law.
Alas, one thing he learned about Gomez was that he liked to skirt around answers unless cornered directly and even then, he tended to look towards his wife for some kind of telepathic signal. Tyler supposes he should’ve asked his soon-to-be mother-in-law but she frightened him and the idea of speaking to her about their now shared deception felt like properly colluding with her. He did not want to give his soon-to-be wife a reason to make him her very-late-fiance.
So Tyler kept silent, bought his Santa gifts and labeled a few of the gifts he had collected over the last few months for Wednesday as “From: Santa Claus” with script he painstakingly learned to imitate over the last few months. He tucked them away in the place he told her he kept his gifts, knowing that it would appease her curiosity.
The logistics of his first Christmas with them living together stressed him out greatly but it was overpowered by the immense joy he felt daily as she walked their new home in one of his shirts. He’d keep up her parents' deception for the rest of their lives—or at least until Pugsley stumbled onto the truth and blabbed. By then, he hoped that she would miss him too much to murder or at least, not be so mad that she would deny him a spot by her future grave. He would haunt the shit out of her subsequent spouses but the promise that he would be her first gave him some bit of comfort.
He did not expect to accidentally murder someone that Christmas.
To be fair, it really was an accident this time. And in self-defense(?). How else was he supposed to react to a fireplace being magicked into their living room and a man suddenly appearing in their home.
He had been startled awake from his post-nut daze when he had only been downstairs to retrieve a glass of water for his still very naked and very satiated wife. The claw through his chest was very much deserved!
Now Tyler was spiraling.
Not because he killed a man—he’d done that nearly several dozen times by this point (he was a serial killer after all, retired, not practicing, lapsed, but a serial killer by definition all the same)—but because he killed someone in their new house. They had not even lived here a month! They had just moved in after being gifted the property by his in-laws upon their return from their long honeymoon.
Damn, the blood was going to be a bitch to get out between the wood panels and Tyler was not looking forward to cleaning the couch he and Wednesday had spent three weeks arguing about. They both hadn’t actually cared about which couch they got but they both enjoyed the low stakes arguments that led to high energy fucking and Wednesday was particularly petty in her defeat that time. The expression of the saleswoman when Wednesday had threatened to set the couch on fire with him still sat on it was something that still made him grin.
There was no time for reminiscing though. The trophy that they had fucked on only seven times was ruined by the blood of some dude in a Santa suit and—
“Tyler?”
…crap. “It’s not what it looks like,” he held out his hands, palms open like his wife was an officer of the law. She’d resent the comparison. She’d never put herself through the drudgery of bureaucracy.
Casually, she stated, “It looks like you killed someone…again.”
“...yes? I mean, yes. By accident this time. It was totally not premeditated and ah, fuck, New Jersey doesn’t have a stand-your-ground law does it?”
“No,” she said slowly, “New Jersey is a duty-to-retreat state. Tyler…did you kill Santa Claus?”
“What?! No! I didn’t kill Santa!” Tyler looked down at the body still pooling the rest of its blood. “It’s—just—some dude? In a Santa suit?”
Said dude seemed to deflate, leaving only blood and the suit.
“...what the fuck?” He looked up at his wife to ask if she saw that too but there was a feverish light in her eyes, as if a deep-seated dream had come true.
The beatific smile that crossed his wife’s normally stoic face frightened him in ways that he did not want to examine—not when they still had a body to find in their house.
But perhaps Wednesday didn’t get the memo or was already three steps ahead of him unlike the first time they met. She stepped into the shrinking puddle of blood and reached out for the suit.
It flinched.
The suit flinched.
Wednesday looked highly displeased by this, the disturbing smile settling back into her usual dry scowl. “...unfortunate.” She looked at him again, eyes darting up and down the same body she had used earlier that night. Tyler felt more like a piece of meat this time around then when she had demanded that he “Stay still and let me ride you like a good little hyde. You’re gonna let me cum on your cock until I feel gracious enough to let you finish.”
He was wondering if it would be a good idea to throw on some clothes or to take off the pants he had slung on his hips to transform when she commanded, “Put on the suit Tyler.”
Again, Tyler’s brain stuttered, “...what?”
Wednesday rolled her eyes—cute but not helpful at this moment—and pointed, “The suit. Put it on.”
Tyler looked at Wednesday and then back down to the vividly red suit.
Now, it wasn’t like he never wore blood soaked clothes or even a dead man’s clothes. Needs must and all, but he had perfectly serviceable shirts upstairs, hell, his wife was wearing one of his perfectly serviceable if not a bit rumpled shirts now. There really was no point for him to put on the freakishly red jacket and pants set that seemed to be leeching the blood from the floor. Tyler really did not like that it was repairing itself of the damage his claws did to it.
He put the suit on anyway.
Maybe it was because he was still a sucker for Wednesday’s expectant dead stare (spoilt, the word he was looking for was spoilt) or maybe it was because he was an idiot, but he pulled on the loose coat and pants and tried not to jump when it began to shrink on his frame. The answer was probably both but Tyler didn’t think he cared when he looked up and caught Wednesday’s ravenous gaze.
Huh. Daddy kink aside, he really wouldn’t have thought that she had the hots for a Santa suit. He should probably remind her to take her allergy medicine.
Her eyes never left his as his wife practically floated across their living room. She stopped by the cookie platter and took a bite before holding a spider-less one to his lips. Tyler ate it in one bite to keep the comparisons between Morticia and his wife buried deep where Wednesday couldn’t suss it out and barely registered her grabbing something from their armchair.
She grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together before pulling him into a heated kiss.
He was so ensnared that he didn’t even notice as she backed him up into the fireplace that shouldn’t exist.
He did notice though when their hands yanked up and his very existence was squeezed through what might be their very old, very in need of a cleaning, ventilation pipe.
Feeling his sock-less feet sink into snow reminded him unpleasantly of his last year still attending Jericho High. The confusion and the disorientation was not helping and the only reason why he wasn’t transforming was his wife still had her lips pressed to his.
It was only when she pulled away that Tyler opened his eyes and saw that they were on their roof.
And that they were not alone.
On their roof, somehow unnoticed by both their neighbors and his hyde senses, was a sleigh.
Tyler’s eyes boggled. Never mind the missing body or the physics of the fireplace they did not own, there was a sleigh on their roof with reindeer shuffling back and forth in wait.
The words “...what the fuck?” were repeated again but his wife paid no mind to his increasing sense of bewilderment.
Instead, she let go of their shared grasp and practically pranced, skipped with a childlike exuberance he didn't think she ever held before, towards the pack of reindeer.
The reindeer brayed and collectively gnashed their teeth at her in a parody of a hiss. One of them, the one he could see tagged as “Comet”, reared back and would've made him a widower if it weren't for the harness and Tyler's quick reflexes. The beasts stopped, stared woefully at Tyler before returning to their previous positions.
There was a smug air that his wife exuded as she watched the reindeer fall back in line before she wriggled out of his protective grasp and back onto their snowy roof. “Come, while the night is still young, we have places to be.”
“Places? Wednesday, wait, what is going on?” But Wednesday wasn't listening or she was ignoring him as she was wont to do when she set her mind on something. She glided towards the sleigh, avoiding and returning another unfriendly snap of teeth at one of the reindeer who did not appreciate her approach. She slid into the sleigh like it was the one thing she had been meant to do and took the reigns confidently. Tyler scrambled in behind her, shuffling close to make sure if this really was what he was starting to suspect it was, that the sudden change in altitude wouldn't dislodge his petite wife.
She snapped the reins once, twice, and then glared menacingly when the reindeer failed to move. Tyler was not looking forward to having to bury that many beasts Christmas morning so he pulled his wife onto his lap and tried not to think about how insane this all was.
They were in a sleigh and he was wearing a dead man's Santa costume and his wife was only clad in a pair of socks and his shirt. He wasn't even sure she had slipped on any underwear and the night was beginning to let down another soft dusting of snow. Tyler untied the red coat, hoped that her allergy medicine would last a few hours longer and tucked her in close before tying the expanding fabric shut around the both of them. Awkward, but it would work. And then, wrapping his hands around her own, he snapped the reins once and they were off.
Now, Tyler had been subject to a lot of weird shit in his life. Growing up near Nevermore and learning that his bloodline gave him a propensity for violence and being ordered around and then dating and eventually marrying Wednesday Addams, he had accepted that his life would never be typical. Gladly even because there was no timeline he could fathom ever being happier than he was with her. Sure, he could’ve used less torture and coercion from a creepy woman thrice his age and losing his father and mother in the span of one year still fucked him up to think about, but he wouldn’t give the future he was building with Wednesday up for anything.
But he could honestly say with growing certainty, that there was nothing that could prepare him for this night.
Yeah, it was totally reasonable that on Christmas Eve, they fly a pack of reindeer seemingly to a near endless amount of houses. No, it wasn’t strange to float down people’s chimneys or be squeezed into their non-existent fireplaces. That they were pulling toys and other gifts from the seemingly endless velvet bag made complete sense instead of, you know, making him think that this was just a very vivid technicolor nightmare.
It was only that Wednesday had heard him mutter “I have to be dreaming” one too many times in the beginning of their route and now took to pinching him right underneath his armpit every so many houses that made him concede to this not being a terrible dream. Hyde healing he may have, but Wednesday was well versed on just how to bring Tyler to the brink of pleasure and pain and she enjoyed using that knowledge for evil.
The things he did for love.
He may have not been able to threaten the reindeer into letting his wife drive the sleigh that night but the coat had stopped trying to slink off her shoulders after he had stabbed it through a few more times and Wednesday had managed to strike fear into the also sentient sack by simply smiling at the quivering lump of fabric. It probably could sense her proclivity for arson because when it came to latch itself around their wrists, it hesitated and shakily wrapped itself around Wednesday’s first. Maybe it did not tie itself as firmly around her wrist as it did Tyler’s but he supposed that was fine as her grip was strong enough on its own and he still had his other arm wrapped securely around her stomach anyway as the sack floated reluctantly to whichever unprotected entrance it deemed fit for them to intrude.
Soon enough, they were done. Somehow time had passed in a way that felt both infinite yet short. There was no possible reason for them to have been able to go through that many houses while the moon still shone high in the night but sure enough, the stretch of sky between houses grew further and further until the lights of civilization seemed to putter out. The reindeer were still flying them on some predestined course and of course, his wife continued to exude an odd aura of victory.
What game she won, he didn't want to know.
Eventually, they reached the North Pole. He could only assume that was where they were as there was nothing but an endless stretch of snow and ice and this whole night was shaping up to be cobbled together from Christmas stories he had heard or read growing up.
The reindeer banked and pulled into a large crater. Tyler looked around, seeing nothing but high ice walls before feeling something shift beneath them. He tightened his grasp on Wednesday, ready to leap out, but the reindeer closest to them seemed to bray at him to stay still.
Even with how the night had gone so far, Tyler couldn’t really say that he expected to be dropped into what seemed like an underground city deep underneath the ice.
There were no adults in sight and there were children everywhere. Some were barely scratching four feet tall hauling carts and cleaning the streets of what looked like a town square far larger than what Jericho boasted of having.
They all smiled at their descending forms with fathomless cheer like it was their default setting and it sent Tyler’s nerves on fire. He could hear snippets of conversations all around them as endless pairs of eyes landed on him with barely contained excitement.
But then the voices lowered to whispers.
“Is that a woman?”
“She’s wearing the coat!”
“But he’s wearing the pants—”
“Which one do you think is the new Santa?”
“Oh, look at the rings, they’re married, we won’t have to worry about the Mrs. Clause!”
“Ugh, that’s so sexist, he could be the Mr. Claus…wait—”
It was a tide of grade-school whispering about the two of them and Tyler was suddenly very aware of how bare the two of them were. Wednesday more so than him, and Tyler found himself closing her coat tighter and scrambling for the sash that had become discarded when Wednesday refused to share the cloak with him any longer.
He had barely tied the knot and pulled the collar high around her neck when the sea of children suddenly parted for a taller, surly looking teen. He eyed them with barely concealed distaste like he was coming to a conclusion that he didn’t care much to think about.
“So, which one of you put on the suit first?”
“Does it matter who did?” Wednesday’s voice cut in.
“Yes, the Santa Clause is very clear, the one who puts on the suit and enters the sleigh becomes the new Santa. Ergo, there are two of you, both wearing pieces of the suit. Who wore the suit and entered the sleigh first?”
Wednesday lied, “I did.”
Tyler didn't interject, curious to what goal she had in mind, but there was a near riotous stampede of hooves behind them. The reindeer who were being groomed by several of the children were whinnying desperately.
The teen glanced over to the reindeer before confirming unimpressed, “You did?”
Wednesday was not deterred. “Yes, I entered the sleigh first.”
The teen shook his head, “Suit, then sleigh. That's the order.”
“A bit arbitrary."
He rolled his eyes in a gesture very reminiscent of Tyler's own days as a disenfranchised teenager. “Look, I don't make the rules, I just work here. The Santa Clause has been very clear the past several hundred years. I'm assuming you two are married and aren’t just hooking up?” the teen asked, eyeing the black rings on Wednesday’s left hand.
“Yeah, we're married—”
“Good,” he cut Tyler off. “So Santa,” he pointed at Tyler, “and Mrs. Claus,” he pointed at Wednesday. “That clears a few things up. And you look like you're not freaking out too much over the, you know, murder of the last Santa. Judy here will show you to your new quarters and legal will help you two with setting your affairs in order. Brian over there can give you a run down of how things are done here and—”
“Wait! What? Hold on, there’s got to be—”
“Tyler,” Wednesday grasped his arm firmly. Tyler shut up, but he also pleaded with his eyes that she wasn't going to go along with this. He found no such mercy. Instead, he watched as his wife did something she never did before.
She thanked him.
There was no strain in the words nor was her form stiff like the phrase was pulled out painfully with emotional pliers. His wife had never said “thank you” so easily, not sincerely nor as a courtesy before. There was a pause after her words, an expectation that was punctuated by his wife indiscreetly looking at the teen’s torso.
…was she looking for a name-tag?
“Bernard.”
“Thank you, Bernard,” his wife repeated and then smiled in a way that sent the already ringing bells in Tyler's head screaming. “My husband and I will take you up on that.”
And maybe it was as clear to these children as it was to him that this was not a natural interaction to be held with his wife because instead of being soothed by Wednesday's unnaturally gracious smile, Bernard eyed her with a growing expression of unease. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn't.”
“Pardon?”
“Say my name.”
The teen along with the whispering crowd of children stared at her.
Wednesday's smile grew sweet.
“Wednesday. Wednesday Galpin.” He had never heard her say her new legal name with such relish. “And this is my husband, Tyler Galpin.” She laughed then and it sent a low chill through the cavern. “Or I guess it's now Wednesday Claus. Hm, I think I'll miss your name Tyler but I guess Santa won't be so bad.”
Bernard looked at her strangely, a shrewd glint falling upon his eyes as he said slowly, “Santa is a title. We don't expect you to stop calling your husband by his name.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Yeah…would you like some hot chocolate while you change into…a full set of clothes?” Bernard asked.
It was a quick and odd change of subject. One that Tyler noticed and he had no doubt Wednesday did as well. But, like a cat playing with prey, she simpered, “That would be acceptable.”
The boy nodded, shoulders now intentionally lax. “Judy, show them to the Santa suites. And tell Curtis to send a code black to the council. We’ll have to set up introductions for our new Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Preferably before it’s time for Father Time to visit for New Year’s.”
A young girl appeared from behind him and curtsied. “If you would follow me this way,” she directed, parting the sea of onlookers like butter.
The entirety of the square was gawking, murmuring to one another as they were led through the crowded streets. A few of the children seemed like they were going to follow but the other children around them held them back.
The few hissed “Don't”s and “Not yet”s did not fill Tyler with any sense of comfort along with the even quieter “Code black?” his hyde hearing caught circulating further back behind them. That the low chattering only resumed in full volume once the ornate doors of the building shut behind them did not inspire much confidence that they were not being led to a gilded prison.
The child, Judy, strode through the halls with quick and efficient steps, turning so sharply several times that if their strides were not near twice of hers, they would have been lost long ago. He trusted his hyde nose to find an exit though and he knew his wife’s near eidetic memory would remember the path they took even if the girl thought to confuse them by doubling back.
Not that Tyler thought that was what the girl was doing. She had the air of someone unruffled. Matronly almost despite looking like she should still be learning her times tables. Tyler could smell no fear nor intention of deceit from her yet something told him to be on his guard.
Wednesday on the other hand seemed to have no such compulsion.
His wife was following the path easily but he could see from behind her that she was taking in the bright golden accents of the decor and the clearly Christmas themed greenery with her strange calculated delight rather than watching their guide.
The doors of their destination were tall and heavy, almost palatial in their stature and design. The young girl did not even need to knock as the doors swung slowly open on their own to reveal an elegant room. Now, Tyler had grown used to extravagance in his years with the Addams. Though her parent’s estate leaned more on the tastefully morbid, the few times he followed Wednesday to the Frump mansion schooled him in how painfully poor his upbringing was in comparison. He made a point to be as provincial as he could when visiting just to see her less adored grandmama suffer his and Gomez’s presence.
The room wasn’t to Hester Frumps’s self-aggrandizing standards but it was close.
The walls were richly wallpapered and the pillars were wrapped in golden garlands. There were impossible statues artfully placed across the room tastefully and in the middle of the room was an elevated platform with an almost ridiculously large bed. It felt like it should be welcoming but it didn't. The little nutcrackers and the small figurines strewn about felt like they were watching them in a way more unsettling than the portraits of long dead but not long gone Addams in Wednesday's ancestral halls.
Tyler got the distinct feeling like this room was not made for them to stay. It felt more like a trap.
Whether that mattered to Wednesday was another issue. His combative wife would probably take it as an invitation. In fact, she practically flounced into the room with nary a cautious thought, immediately sitting on the bright red bed set as if it wouldn’t give her hives.
He turned to Judy who was smiling warmly at the two of them, the expression had not budged from her face since she began narrating her tour of the place. “Do you guys have anything… not so colorful?”
“Pardon?”
“My wife's allergic to most dyes,” he lied. “Undyed white or shades of black and grey are usually the safest bet for her skin.”
She looked surprised for a moment before a thoughtful expression made its way onto her young face. “Of course, let me ask our tailors if they have anything on hand right now. I'll be right back,” she said graciously before leaving them to themselves.
The moment the door shut behind her, Tyler slumped in exhaustion. “Why are there so many children here?” he muttered.
“Elves.”
“What?”
“They're elves Tyler. Most of them are probably much more than thrice our ages combined.”
Tyler stared and Wednesday didn't blink—not that blinking indicated lying for his deadpan wife.
“...so less Lord of the Rings and more Rudolph and friends. That makes complete sense.” Tyler grumbled sarcastically.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Rudolph isn’t real.”
“Not the point, Wednesday.”
“I don’t know why you sound so stressed.”
“I don’t know. It could be that it’s Christmas Day and instead of being tucked in bed at home, we’re at the North Pole sitting on a bed that you can’t even sleep on without wanting to rip off your skin!”
“Don’t be overdramatic. I’ve my medicine on me,” she said, plucking a familiar container from somewhere on her body, “and it’s not that bad at all. Why, this is possibly shaping up to be the best Christmas I've ever had.”
And she was serious. His wife had taken the initiative and grabbed his clenched hand to pull him down beside her, unwinding his fist so she could lace their fingers together. It was oddly affectionate for her to do outside the safety of their room and Tyler didn't know what to even say as she leaned her braided head against his tense shoulder.
“Thank you Tyler. This is one of the only things I've ever wanted and I never thought…Why, for the longest time I thought I was resigned to this dream dying but you—you've done the impossible.”
By killing Santa Claus? he didn't say incredulously, not wanting to ruin his wife's sincere mood despite it not soothing him at all.
Wednesday had never spoken of this dream of becoming Santa at all. He knew of her drive to become a published author. They had several of her manuscripts bound at home and a few editions of the first two books that she finally managed to get through the whole process without the editors sending letters from their lawyers. But she never spoke of a childhood dream of dawning a red coat and breaking into people's houses to gift them things…well at least anything that wasn't a sharp lesson in revenge.
He loved his wife but she was the furthest person from altruistic.
Why—
He remembered his father-in-law’s words then.
“—they used to stay up all Christmas Eve with their Uncle Fester to try and shoot him! The memories of their little faces scrunched up in disappointment when they fell asleep just before Santa threw their gifts down the chimney warms my heart every time I think of it.”
He looked at her blissfully happy face. An expression she didn't even have the day they knotted their souls in front of hundreds of bygone Addams.
Somehow, he did not think it would go well with the hundreds of child-sized elves that his wife may or may not have attempted to kill Santa Claus before.
There was a knock on the door, and Judy's voice rang out from behind it.
They were decent so the door opened on its own. Judy stepped in followed by several other elves. One of the elves was holding a black set of what looked like pajamas while another was holding a set in white. The other two elves' arms were stacked with white bedding and immediately went to work stripping the bed as soon as Tyler and Wednesday stood up.
The two of them were led to opposite sides of the suite, where they each apparently had their own dressing quarters. It didn't take them long to change and by the time they were finished, the bed was devoid of color.
“The tailors will begin work on your wardrobe, not much of the previous Mrs. Claus's clothing can be passed down to you with your allergy. Though, I am curious to whether or not anything of the same make as the Santa coat can be used for your outfits seeing as you seem to tolerate the dye.”
Wednesday shook her head. “I’m on some allergy medication right now. If I can procure more, you won't need to go too much out of your way. Red is traditional after all.” Wednesday entreated, “Perhaps a deeper maroon, like dried blood would be best.”
The elf who had helped Tyler turned wide eyes at a calm Judy.
Her smile never dropping, “Perhaps. I'll ask the tailors and the seamstresses what they can do. Hot chocolate?” She lifted the golden tray that had been brought in with her. The mugs were ornate, and piled high with whip cream and chocolate flakes. It smelt sweet even from where Tyler stood. His wife was not even going to entertain drinking that.
“Thank you,” Wednesday said, taking one of the mugs into her cold hands. Tyler quickly followed suit and cheered awkwardly as the elves watched them sit back down.
They didn’t drink and the elves didn’t move. Finally, Wednesday took a small sip. She drank it straight with no shudder and Tyler took a loud gulp of his own to draw attention from her.
“It’s been a long night. We’d like to retire.”
Judy nodded, and put the tray down on a nearby table. “Good night Santa. Mrs. Claus,” she curtsied and followed the elves shuffling their way out.
“...so damn weird,” Tyler muttered when the door was finally shut for good. He took another deep gulp of the hot chocolate, finishing the dregs with an exhausted sigh.
Wednesday’s was still near full. She obviously wasn’t going to finish it.
“So…Santa Claus,” Tyler started but then yawned.
Tyler saw Wednesday glancing over him as he placed down his mug and dropped back onto the mattress with a thump. The bed was a bit too soft than what he had grown used to but Tyler couldn’t find it in him to care.
What a night. Tyler thought the night’s events were probably finally hitting him. After all, he didn’t know exactly how long he’d been up, but crossing the world was not something one did in several normal hours. Tyler thought to ask his wife if she knew of what magic that made that particular mind fuck work but his lips wouldn’t move and his eyes lost the battle to sleep.
Tyler woke to a boom in the distance and his wife decidedly missing from his arms.
He groaned.
He loved his in-laws, he really did, but he could do without them trying to murder one another so early in the morning. Especially when it cut into the few mornings his wife would allow him to keep her in bed past seven. Christmas should clearly be one of those mornings as a gift to him and Tyler—
Tyler wasn’t in his wife’s childhood bed.
Nor was he in his own bed.
The bed was too soft and their own bedding was black, not white.
The last few hours of the previous night trickled back into his brain. The suit. The sleigh. The fucking North Pole.
Tyler leapt from the bed and stumbled immediately, his limbs feeling oddly sluggish.
Was he drugged? Did they drug the hot chocolate?!
“Fucking Judy,” he cursed and powered on. He was still in the pajamas he had slipped on last night and he tried to transform but found that he couldn’t call upon his hyde.
If the elves were fucking like those damn ones from Krampus, Tyler was going to have words with his wife. Especially if she was still alive. She better be alive.
Tyler stormed out of the room, sniffing loudly as he tried to pick out the perfume of grave dirt and spider lilies that his wife favored but the halls of the damn place were overwhelmingly sweet with peppermint and cinnamon. It reminded him nauseously of the winter season as a barista.
Tyler pressed forward anyway, clinging onto the walls for support as he turned corner after corner, relying instead on his ears to lead him. He heard the clank of machinery and could make out some voices in the distance. Another boom rang closer and Tyler flung himself through the swinging doors leading to the sound.
Inside was a large workshop. From where he stood, he could see elves manning several large machines, looking very much like a technicolor vision of industrial child labor. Several conveyor belts snaked their way around the floor with a number of elves efficiently putting together pieces of toys. There were a few workstations as well with quite a few of the elves sitting there stitching dolls or carving wood.
All of them were quiet, at odds with the brightly lit workshop with the cheery decor of an overenthusiastic Christmas enthusiast. All of them were working with their heads bent, a tense low murmur the only amount of speech constant as they diligently went about their work.
It felt less like Santa’s workshop and more like the factory floor under a particularly terrible shift manager.
A prickle of unease crawled up his neck and Tyler slowly glanced up.
From the balcony above, his wife smiled down at the floor with the bearing of a benevolent dictator.
“Tyler, you’re awake.” Wednesday gave him a sidelong glance, attention still mostly on the working elves as he finally made his way up the winding stairs.
“You should have woken me.”
“Nonsense, the night root added to the hot chocolate should have been enough to keep you asleep for three days. I’m surprised you managed to wake up in half a day.”
“You didn’t think to tell me the drink was laced?!”
Wednesday gave him an unimpressed look, “Do I need to tell you each time not to drink something given to you by someone we’ve just met an hour before?”
No. “Not the point Wednesday. Did the sip you take do anything to you at all?”
“Of course not. Grandmama’s sleep remedies use a finer tincture of night’s root than what they’d be willing to procure here. After all, the elves are bound to an oath of no harm when it comes to the living.”
“...what?”
“The elves Tyler. They are a few centuries removed from the fae but where the fae are bound to the Underground, elves have bound themselves to the North Pole. This place still lies on the mortal plane however, so the elves have tied their magic to the treaties of Yule and Claus.”
“...the what?” he repeated, voice higher.
Exasperated, Wednesday finally turned completely from the floor. “Honestly Tyler. I’ll have Uncle Fester send us the Histories of the North Pole and The Council of Reveries. Father or Cousin Itt would probably jump to answer any questions about any rulings and developments affecting the Outcast world in any letter you send them.” She scrunched her nose then, “Or you could text them.”
“Sorry, we don’t have cell service up here.”
They turned to see Bernard striding up the stairs.
“Is there a problem?” Tyler asked, eyeing the brightly colored guns of the elves that followed him.
“Yes. You,” he pointed at Wednesday, “are an Addams. And Addamses have been banned from the North Pole since the Treaty of 1623.”
“Correction: no one with the surname of ‘Addams’ may trespass the boundaries of the North Pole,” Wednesday interjected smoothly and then finished with a sharp smile, “And as of October 13th of this year, I am a Galpin now.”
“That’s not the spirit of the law! No Addamses may hold the title Santa Claus. It was agreed that by creating the Addams List, no Addams would bring any unwarranted harm to the current Santa. You’ve broken the treaty! You’ve killed Santa Claus!”
Wednesday rolled her eyes at that. “Oh please, like each new Santa isn’t chosen contingent on the previous one expiring in unimaginative ways. Besides, it's a bit hypocritical don’t you think. It was no secret when we landed just how the previous Santa met his untimely end.”
“Yes, but it’s usually an accident.”
“You referred to it as a murder.”
“As a joke! We don’t actually expect our new Santa to have killed the old Santa in cold blood!”
“Then be comforted by the fact that your new Santa,” she mocked as she pushed Tyler forward, “didn’t mean to kill the previous Claus. It was all an accident.”
“Yes, an accident. Like how Pyro Addams set the 34th Santa on fire or how Knick Knack Addams skinned the 37th for his winter collection or how Matthew Addams hired Medici mercenaries to string up the 42nd Santa! The 42nd Santa hadn’t even had three years before your ancestor had him strewn across Italy.”
Wednesday sniffed, “We do not claim Matias Addams. His weak stomach at getting his own hands dirty had him removed from the genealogy book years before his attempt.”
“Not. The. Point. The point is that you, Missy, are an Addams! Therefore, your husband is also an Addams! The Santa Clause Addams Addendum specifically prohibits any Addams until the end of time may hold the title Santa Claus. The North Pole agreed to create the Addams List in supplement to your family’s eternal spots on the Naughty List. We gift you guys highly inadvisable presents, often illegal in nearly every single country and several realms, and you keep from both the North Pole and from murdering our Santa Clauses. Don’t think we don’t know that you and your accursed Uncle Fester have not been keeping to the agreement. Whatt and Whomm Addams were this close,” he pinched his fingers together, “to skewering Santa Claus with the damn crossbow we gifted them last year—which, rude!—and then your husband had to go and eviscerate poor Tom on his tenth anniversary! It’s no laughing matter!” His face was red as he glared at a Wednesday who was covering her mouth with amusement.
“You’ve just made my argument,” she laughed lowly. “ The Addams Addendum states no Addams may intentionally or unintentionally kill Santa Claus. That Tyler was able to introduce the previous Santa Claus’s guts to the floor clearly shows that the Addams Addendum doesn’t affect him. After all, the Addendum is but a perversion of the Addams curse. No Addams may intentionally or unintentionally kill Santa Claus and claim his suit. Like Pugsley, any attempt at drowning, stabbing, or beheading will fail and the Santa Clauses will be imbued with a sixth sense in how to avoid an Addams ending.” She smiled triumphantly, “Tyler is the new Santa Claus, so you would best get used to the new management Bernard. As the new Mrs. Claus, I have many ideas of what to bring to the children of the world and we only have three hundred sixty-four days until next Christmas Eve to execute them. You may be under oath not to harm any living thing, but no such compulsion influences me.”
And Tyler could probably understand why his wife and their family were forever engraved onto the Naughty List if his wife’s suddenly unearthed penchant for monologues was any indication.
“Wednesday, maybe we should calm down and talk—”
“Talk about what Tyler? Their inadequacies? Their incompetence? I’ve dreamt of this since I was a young girl. Uncle Fester and I used to plan nearly all year long to capture Santa Claus and force a ransom. It was not until I had found a copy of the Santa Clause hidden away at Great-Uncle Ebenezer’s villa that I understood that the odds had always been stacked against us Addams. I am just playing by their rules now and they are just infuriated that I’ve best them.”
“But you haven’t!” a voice cut in and both Wednesday and Tyler turned to see a small elf shove past the taller militant crowd. He was out of breath, cheeks splotchy with sweat, and in his hand was a clenched scroll. He held it out triumphantly, challenging his currently megalomaniac wife to take it.
She did, grabbing it none too gently and unrolling it with the air of a disgruntled cat. Tyler watched as she skimmed through the text, face growing blanker and blanker until she finally said, “I want my lawyer.”
“I’m sorry my little storm cloud. The terms, they are binding,” Gomez said sadly.
Beside him with his own copy, Itt trilled disappointedly as well.
Both Fester and his late wife Debbie deflated and Margaret and her bundle of children were the only ones normie enough to brave pressing close to his infuriated wife. Even Whatt, Wherre, and Whomm’s little chirps weren’t enough to soothe the inferno brewing in his wife.
With their thirty-seventh anniversary interrupted by the Easter Bunny coming to spirit them away from the chateau in Romania, Morticia wasn’t any more pacifying than a red cloak in front of the bull that was his wife.
“Oh darling, I know how this has always been a life long dream of yours. Even before you wished to become a writer, you dreamed of delivering the children of the world proper Addams bombs. Opening their eyes to the beauty and cruelty of life. To have it tugged away from you when you were so close, how pitiless were the ancestors in their capitulation to our great foes.”
“Mother. Cease your insincere platitudes.”
“I’m just saying darling, you grew a bit too bold in your triumph. You should have lied in wait like a snake.”
Wednesday’s hackles rose. “Mother—”
“I just don’t understand,” Gomez lamented, taking the offered finger of spirits from an equally morose Thing. Thing offered one to his nephew, but Tyler shook his head. It was still too weird to be drinking with his uncle’s hand no matter how many years had passed and he needed to watch to make sure Morticia didn’t goad Wednesday into murdering the other mythical figures.
Tyler thought Santa Claus was bad enough. Knowing that the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny weren’t just a capitalistic fairy tale was something he really wished he still didn’t know.
“I’ve read the treaty perhaps a hundred times since Wednesday brought it home. We poured over every line, every possible loophole that we could possibly find. Mi pequeña breathed that treaty. Oh, how my heart hurts for how disappointed she must be.” He shook his head before raising the cup towards Father Time, “You must understand the hurt I feel as a father. What can you do when your own hours and minutes look at you with such hope and yet you cannot provide any meaningful solutions.”
The old man chuckled even as the Tooth Fairy next to him flashed a glowing yet shaky grin. “All you can say is that you tried. Who would have predicted that the Ebenezer copy she held was not the updated treaty? Even the North Pole’s version of the Addendum matched that copy.”
Itt slumped in his armchair, somehow holding both his tumbler and Whomm, and trilled.
“I know old man. Who would’ve thought that Calpurnia would have agreed to signing such a thing. To hobble all future Addamses’ dreams this way.” Gomez shook his head and took a disappointed sip, “It must have been under duress. Not our Calpurnia.”
“Yes, well, on our part, we do believe she agreed to the terms in good faith,” Father Time wheezed. “The Amendment was actually what created the Addams List and not just a hold on the conflict between the Addams and the Council. And in return for the additional agreement that not only named Addams, but those within six generations of the Addams name also may not hold the titles Santa Claus or Mrs. Claus. All very tidy.”
Itt grumbled and Gomez agreed, “Too tidy.”
“Almost feels like sabotage doesn’t it Debbie?” Fester asked suspiciously and the Easter Bunny squeaked.
“Yes, well, in the spirit of good faith and for your help this last Christmas Eve, we’ll hold onto our bargain and maintain our mutually beneficial relationship. We’ll continue gifting all Addams children gifts worthy of an Addams and you will remind your kin of the terms we’ve set. There is no reason for us to lose anymore Santa Clauses after all. It’s not like they grow on trees!” The Easter Bunny nervously laughed.
Wednesday gave him a tight smile. “Quite.”
And feeling like she was still contemplating murdering the rest of this so-called Council of Legendary Figures, Tyler went and wrapped her close. Willing every bit of comfort he could into her tightly wound body. He felt satisfaction when she finally turned from the figures of her ire, pressing herself into his chest and allowing him to hug her close.
From above her head, Tyler mouthed “Go” at the disappointing myths and rocked back to distract her from what was not a noiseless disappearance.
When she felt better and finally extracted herself from Tyler’s grip, Wednesday turned to her family. “Father, how soon can we get the paperwork to change my surname back to Addams. Six generations. How ridiculous! Even from the grave, your father finds ways to disappoint.”
Ouch but fair. Tyler never shied away from a reason to trash his dad, deceased or otherwise.
Sheepishly, Tyler added, “And me too, if it isn’t an issue.”
After all, he was not leaving any chance that he might get looped into becoming something as embarrassing as Cupid or the Easter Bunny.
—and so, Wednesday Friday Galpin became Wednesday Friday Addams again and Tyler Isaac Galpin became Tyler Thing Addams all because Father Time managed to seduce Calpurnia Addams into signing the Addams Amendment in time to prevent the prophesized Great Disaster. Never again will Christmas be subjected to the horrors of Jack Skellington and his Addams ilk. As for Easter…well the Pugsley and Interrogative Rot was an issue to solve for the future.