Aleksander stepped into the Addams Family mansion, his eyes drawn to the peculiar details around him—the portraits that watched too closely, the candlelight that seemed to linger in shadow. He wandered a few steps ahead, curiosity evident, as his mother and Morticia, with Gomez and Lurch in tow, prepared to follow.
Without warning, an axe cut through the air toward him, its spin whistling in the silence. Aleksander didn't flinch. He raised a hand, palm outward, and golden dust sparkled into existence. It spread over the weapon in a swift shimmer—consuming the steel in an instant. Where the axe should have cleaved, a flock of ravens burst free, wings beating, scattering into the air like living shadows.
At the stairwell above, Wednesday lowered her arm, expression unmoved yet faintly sharpened by interest. She'd been the one to throw it.
Her head tilted. "Most people dodge. You redecorate."
Aleksander looked up at her, calm, almost amused. "Dodging is predictable. I prefer alternatives."
For the first time, a flicker of intrigue crossed Wednesday's otherwise impassive face.
Aleksander's eyes drifted across her room—the cello propped in its usual spot, the antique typewriter resting with a sheet half-filled in stark black ink. To him, the room was a museum of Wednesday's obsessions. To her, it was a fortress. On her shelves where
books by several famous authors, such as Nicholas Machiavelli, Edgar Allan Poe, or Agatha Christie.
She didn't speak at first, but her gaze followed him relentlessly, dissecting, observing, as though he were a puzzle or a corpse waiting to be identified.
Aleksander smirked faintly. "You don't have to play detective with me. You could just ask."
Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "I find people more honest when they don't know they're confessing."
Aleksander had his reasons. He already knew Wednesday Addams was refreshingly blunt—if she despised someone, she'd say it without hesitation. And if she liked them, she wouldn't waste words at all. Her actions would make it unmistakably clear.
He turned, meeting her stare. "Fair enough. But in case you're wondering, I can hear your thoughts."
Wednesday stilled, expression unreadable, though her grip tightened on the arm of her chair.
Aleksander raised his hands in mock surrender, reading the sharp edge behind her silence. "I don't go rummaging around in people's minds. Most of the time I hear flashes—when people overthink, or when their emotions spike. It leaks."
Wednesday leaned back slightly, her voice flat but edged. "So you're an accidental eavesdropper of the mind. Comforting."
Aleksander caught the skepticism in her look. "If it makes you feel any better, I could teach you how to shield yourself. It's possible to block me—or anyone—from getting in."
That finally stirred something in her. Intrigue flickered behind her dark gaze. "You're offering to help someone build walls against you. Admirably self-defeating."
Aleksander shrugged, almost amused. "Or practical. Honesty works better when you know it's not being stolen."
Wednesday tilted her head, considering him like a specimen under glass. "What is this method?"
Aleksander's tone shifted, more deliberate. "It's a form of magical defense. A discipline that shields the mind from intrusion and keeps thoughts from bleeding out. It sharpens memory, too. Organizes it. Some even reach a point where it's like having a photographic recall."
Wednesday's gaze lingered on him, calculating. Then, finally, the faintest curve pulled at her lips—half amusement, half challenge. "Teaching me to lock my mind away. You may regret that."
Aleksander smirked faintly. Despite Wednesday's monotone cadence and razor-edged replies, he could tell she wasn't dismissing him. In fact, she was letting the conversation continue—a rare privilege in itself. For Wednesday Addams, that was the closest thing to intrigue.
At the doorway, both mothers lingered silently, watching. Cassandra observed with quiet relief. Morticia, however, was genuinely surprised. It wasn't often she saw her Raven grant anyone more than a passing glare.
Wednesday's dark eyes remained fixed on Aleksander, measuring him like a blade in her hand. To Morticia, the simple fact that her daughter hadn't dismissed him already was proof enough: Wednesday found him interesting.
Gomez, standing just a few steps away, leaned closer to the two women. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. "It seems you two were worrying far too much."
There was pride in his tone, but even he couldn't hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes. Of all people, he knew his daughter best—Wednesday didn't bend easily, nor offer attention freely. Yet here she was, not only tolerating Aleksander's presence, but engaging with him.
For Gomez Addams, that was nothing short of extraordinary.
From that day on, Aleksander became a frequent presence at the Addams household. His visits grew natural, almost expected—an anomaly given Wednesday's usual resistance to company.
He found unlikely camaraderie within the family. Pugsley welcomed him into his chaotic experiments, delighted to finally have an extra pair of hands for explosions and traps. Uncle Fester took to him with unsettling enthusiasm, introducing him to odd gadgets and dubious hobbies that only deepened Aleksander's reputation as someone comfortable with the bizarre. Even Grandmama approved, sharing her peculiar remedies and occult wisdom as though he had always been part of the clan.