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Chapter Text

Beetlejuice stared at Lydia. His big, watery eyes filled with a horror that the teen had never seen in his expression in the short time she’d known him. Those golden eyes were typically bright with glee or pleading with desperation and, in the last five minutes, had served as windows into the soul of what she could only describe as a demonic entity, cruel and nasty.

But not a true form of cruelty, Lydia realised. For if he were truly cruel in nature, he wouldn’t be staring at her now with a horrified realisation of what he’d just done. Beetlejuice had acted not out of malice, but in the same way a wounded animal would when hurt, lashing out at anything it perceived as a threat.

She had hurt him, unintentionally. And he’d reacted in kind.

“I…” His gravelly voice was small, barely audible. The demon’s hair changed before Lydia’s eyes, switching from its angry red to that deep, eggplant purple she recognised from the night she first met him. “I did all this… for nothing?!”

He swept his arms around the living room where they’d spent so much of their time together having fun. The walls were still covered in his iconic stripes. A faint chalk outline remained by the stairs, where he’d drawn a doorway to the Netherworld. The same doorway she’d almost escaped through, before he’d slammed it shut in her face. She really shouldn’t have announced her plan like she was calling out an attack in Pokémon, but she’d wanted to get one last dig in after he’d tricked her. After he’d almost sent the Maitlands through, never to be seen again.

The ghost couple stood pressed against the wall close by, held there by the coils of a black and white striped snake which had slivered out of the woodwork. Her dad was in the same position in the dining area, alongside Delia. Lydia still wasn’t fond of her life coach, who had inexplicitly turned into Charles’s latest attempt to erase the memory of Emily Deetz. But the woman didn’t deserve this.

Delia’s phony guru was long gone, fleeing in terror while Beetlejuice was distracted by Lydia’s attempt to leap into the Netherworld.

Beetlejuice bit his fist while his other arm wrapped around his middle. He took in deep breaths, which was weird enough on its own. The demon didn’t need to breathe. His eyes darted in every direction, unable to focus, filling with terror. “I did… we were still friends and I… oh god… no, no, no, no… I ruined…”

He appeared to be on the verge of a panic attack. Lydia remained where she was, trying not to feel sorry for him. Trying to prevent her sympathy from driving her forwards to hug him. She understood why he’d done this; understood his loneliness and the desperation that came with it.

But that didn’t excuse his actions. He’d almost exorcised Barbara, tried to murder everyone else and tricked her into agreeing to marry him. All because she’d gone upstairs for five minutes and he had misunderstood what she said to him. That did not warrant this extreme reaction.

The demon’s gaze finally managed to focus back on her. He surged forwards, arms outstretched towards her. “Lydia, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

Lydia flinched back, avoiding his cold hands. Forcing back the memory of how comforting they’d been in the three days they spent together. She kept her face hard as she met his gaze head on. “But you did mean to hurt me. You wanted me to hurt! Because, what, you thought I wasn’t your friend anymore?! Do you honestly think all is forgiven because you tried to murder everyone over a misunderstanding?!”

Beetlejuice took a hesitant step back. “But… I didn’t mean…”

“Do you really think murder and lies and trickery is the right response to a rejection? Because it’s not!” Lydia continued. Her eyes stung with tears. She wanted so badly to forgive him, but she couldn’t. Not after what he did. “Do you honestly expect me to be your friend again after everything you just did? Why would anyone want to be your friend if all you do is try and murder everyone? It’s no wonder you’re alone! It’s no wonder no one loves you!”

She knew she’d said the very worst thing imaginable when Beetlejuice’s entire face crumped with devastation. The wail that pass his lips ripped through her heart like a mass of daggers, messy and uncoordinated. His trembling fingers dug into his purple hair, which had darkened to the point of almost being as black as the night sky. He sunk into a fetal position, head buried between his knees.

He continued to shrink, and it took Lydia longer than it should have for her to realise that he was physically shrinking. His body became smaller and his clothes along with him, as if he were shapeshifting into someone else entirely.

Lydia barely noticed the others start to move again as Beetlejuice released his hold on them. Adam and Barbara were first, stumbling away from the wall as the snake coils retreated into nothing. She didn’t see her dad move, but she felt his hands clutch her shoulders, prepared to pull her to safety at the first sign of trouble. Delia came up beside them. All around them the stripes melted away from the walls, like something out of an abstract artsy movie, until the house’s interior returned to normal.

No one said a word as Beetlejuice grew smaller and smaller.

It finally stopped when he fell onto his backside with a yelp. Only his voice was higher pitched, lacking the gravelly tone that Lydia was used to. It sounded almost younger…

Her eyes widened when she realised why.

Instead of her best friend’s bearded mid-thirties face, a chubby-cheeked little boy stared back at her. He looked to be around three years old, with a cute little nose and even messier hair. But the boy was undeniably Beetlejuice; his hair remained that familiar deep purple and he still wore his striped suit, tie and all, which had shrunken with him.

The demon’s eyes widened in a way Lydia recognised, from whenever a child would go into a brief moment of shock immediately following a fall. This only lasted a few seconds before Beetlejuice’s face crumpled again and he burst into wailing, childish tears.

Lydia immediately covered her ears, as did everyone else. A child’s cry could be loud, but this was eardrum-shattering. The lights flickered and the windows rattled. The whole house trembled as if it was experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake. The teen felt her body try to drag her down to the floor. Her eyes screwed shut.

She sensed someone surge past her. And then, a few moments later, Beetlejuice’s cries quietened. He continued to whimper and sob, but not at a level that could potentially cause deafness.

Opening her eyes, Lydia was met with the sight of Barbara cradling the young Beetlejuice in her arms, gently shushing him. She held him tightly against her, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his back while the other stroked his hair. Beetlejuice gripped her tight with balled fists, his face buried into her shoulder.

Stillness settled around the house.

At everyone’s questioning looks, Barbara shrugged a little. “Mom instincts kicked in.”

One corner of Lydia’s mouth tugged up a little in response. She honestly had no idea why Barbara worried so much about becoming a parent. The ghost woman was a walking maternal instinct.

Still. It was a little weird seeing her comfort the very demon responsible for her almost exorcism. But then Lydia supposed that if anyone was incapable of holding a grudge, it was Barbara Maitland.

Adam edged towards them, stepping cautiously with his hands raised. “Barbara, remember what he is. Remember what he did.”

“I know, but…” His wife’s expression morphed into a helpless sympathy. Her body had reacted without a thought to who he was, like she was physically incapable of doing anything other than offer comfort to this crying boy regardless of what he’d done. “He’s a child.”

The tension in Adam’s shoulders seemed to ease. He stepped closer, halting before them, his gaze never leaving the child he knew wasn’t helpless but looked the part in every way. His expression softened.

Lydia found herself softening the longer her gaze lingered on the child Beetlejuice had turned into. It was one thing to be mad at a grown-ass demon who’d tried to murder her loved ones. But in the face of a small, helpless-looking child, crying because he didn’t want to be alone, she felt her anger fade. Not entirely, but enough to put it away for now so they could deal with this new problem.

“What happened?” she asked, voicing what everyone else was no doubt thinking.

Delia shifted a few steps, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. “I think he’s regressed. Age regression is a psychological phenomenon where thoughts, emotions and behaviours temporarily revert to an earlier stage of development. It mostly happens with children, but it’s been known to happen with adults, too. And it’s usually something that happens mentally, not… uh, physically.”

She gestured to the now three-year-old Beetlejuice.

“She’s right,” said Barbara. The ghost woman began to gently bounce him up and down, further soothing the toddler in her arms. “It’s often a coping mechanism when faced with a stressful situation caused by anxiety. Their mind desires comfort and safety so it returns to a previous stage in development as a way of self-soothing. I took a child psychology course back in college which covered this. They said it happens unconsciously a lot of the time but can happen consciously, too.”

“So he may have done this purposely,” said Charles. Lydia felt him grip her shoulders a little tighter. “He could be doing this to manipulate us. To avoid facing the consequences of his actions.”

Lydia tensed, watching Beetlejuice cautiously. It would be like him to manipulate them like this. But then he’d looked surprised in that moment before he burst into tears. Like he’d shocked himself with the regression.

Barbara shook her head. “Even conscious regressions aren’t fully conscious. I suppose it’s more like a trauma response which has manifested over time in reaction to stressful or dangerous situations. It wouldn’t be a manipulative tactic, but rather a survival mechanism that helps him to process complex feelings or a traumatic situation.”

Beetlejuice shifted his face, still red and wet with tears. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and began sucking it.

Lydia watched him, her uncertainty at war with the gradually growing sympathy she’d managed to ignore before. What Barbara said added up; Beetlejuice couldn’t face the reality of being alone again, especially knowing that his actions were the reason for it. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to mentally escape.

But he couldn’t stay like this forever. “How does he change back?”

“I think you’re supposed to let it happen in their own time,” said Barbara. “Or seek professional help.”

“Which won’t work, since he’s a demon,” said Lydia, turning to Delia.

She shook her head. “I’m only a life coach, not a therapist. My training taught me to recognise symptoms for mental health disorders, but only so I can recommend therapy to patients.”

“Oh, really?” Lydia crossed her arms and levelled a glare at the woman. “So what’s your excuse for not realising how fucking depressed I am?”

Delia took a startled step back. “I…”

“Lydia, this is not the time nor place.” Her dad removed his hands from her shoulders. The teen spun to face him, her eyes narrowed at the way he pinched the bridge of his nose. Acting like she was the problem, one that needed fixing, like a broken doll.

Her fists clenched. She’d been so close to getting her mom back. So close to reuniting with the only person who ever understood her. Instead she remained trapped inside a house that wasn’t home, with a father who didn’t see her, didn’t listen, didn’t say anything – and had hired a life coach who couldn’t even recognise the signs of depression. The same life coach he’d slapped a ring on in what had to be the biggest downgrade of the twenty-first century.

It hurt, that even after everything that had happened – after she’d summoned a demon, after that demon had almost murdered them – her dad still didn’t get it.

“Oh, so when will it be the right time? The right place?” Lydia demanded. When her father didn’t respond, she added, “When I’m dead in a ditch somewhere? Because that’s where things are heading right now!”

“Lydia, enough!” her dad snapped. “Stop being so overdramatic!”

His words unleashed a wave of hurt, strong enough to physically knock her back. She stumbled backwards a few steps, her vision blurring with tears. Her brain tore her in two, half of it wanting to drag her back up to the roof so she could jump from it, the other half demanding that she throw her fists at her father’s chest.

How dare he.

“Overdramatic?” she barely whispered, almost choking on the absurdity. The audacity. “My mom is dead. My whole world is gone. You’re destroying her legacy brick by brick, scorching the earth so there’s not even a single trace of her left… and you’re saying I’m being over-fucking-dramatic for missing her?!”

“Lydia-”

“Do you have any idea how lonely and miserable I’ve been?!” she suddenly screamed. “Of course you don’t! Because you’re skipping happily along in your great new life with some random tramp you pulled off the street, all,” She switched to a sing-song voice, “La-de-da-de-da, I’ll keep moving forwards like the heartless robot I am! Oh no, my wife’s dead! Time to replace her! Oh no, my daughter’s not a perfect little angel who smiles all the time, I guess I’ve gotta fix her!”

“I said that’s enough, Lydia!” her dad practically roared, his voice hoarse with an anger she’d rarely heard from him. The teen flinched back, which seemed to extract some of the fuel for his fire. But the vein in his forehead continued to pop. “I know things have been difficult-”

“No, you really fucking don’t,” Lydia snapped, interrupting. “If you did, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Hell, in this house! If you did, you would’ve sent me to therapy instead of hiring the worst life coach in the universe who wouldn’t know a suicidal red flag if it slapped her in the face!”

Charles edged in front of Delia, like he was shielding her from the words themselves. “This is what I’m talking about, Lydia! This obsession with death has gone too far! It’s inappropriate and-”

“Let me guess, overdramatic? She’s not being overdramatic!” Suddenly Adam was right by her side, looking angrier than Lydia had ever seen him. “I apologise if I am overstepping, sir, but what is the matter with you?! Is she really so invisible that you can’t even see what’s right there in front of you?”

Beetlejuice’s distressed whines grew louder. They’d been growing louder since the shouting match had started. Barbara shushed him, before directing at everyone, “Please keep your voices down, you’re scaring him.”

“Sorry, Barbara,” said Adam, before he returned his attention to Charles. Instead of raising his voice he angrily whispered, practically hissing like one of those cute little noodle-like snakes with the big eyes. “Your daughter is suicidally depressed! And it’s not because she’s being overdramatic or because she’s trying to be cool or because she’s being a whiny attention-seeking teenager or whatever horrible cliché you’ve read about! If you’d even bothered to check on her that night she found out about your new relationship, you would know that she almost threw herself off the roof!”

Lydia flinched. She hadn’t meant to tell the Maitlands about that. But they’d wanted to know what she was doing on the roof so late at night and they’d been so understanding and they’d listened and they’d cared in a way her father hadn’t, so the whole thing had come pouring out.

Her dad went still. His eyes grew as wide as saucers and his skin paled until it almost rivalled Beetlejuice’s. It allowed the dark rings under his eyes to stand out and Lydia wondered how much sleep her dad had lost since Beetlejuice kicked him out of the house. She wondered how many grey hairs had sprouted in the three days since she’d last seen him.

“…What?”

She’d never heard his voice sound so small. So broken. And when he turned his head, his glassy eyes overflowed with more sorrow than she’d seen in the last six months since her mom died. Those same eyes pled with her, begging for Adam’s words to not be true.

“It’s true,” she told him, knowing that he had to hear the harsh, horrible truth if that was what it took to get him to finally listen. To finally see her. “And I almost did it. I had a note and everything. I… I would’ve jumped had it not been for Beetlejuice. I mean, he only stopped me because he wanted me to summon him, but…”

“Oh god…” Her dad ran a distressed hand through his hair. His gaze flickered between the two ghosts and the demon-turned-toddler before it surveyed the room around him. As if he was finally noticing the carnage around him. “What have I done? We should never have moved. We should never have come here. I thought if we had a fresh start, away from New York, then…”

A flash of pain leaked through the sorrow and his breath hitched with it. He tried to smother the crack in his stoic mask but Lydia saw it; recognised that pain from the day her mom died. And she began to suspect that maybe her dad wasn’t as stoic and heartless as she believed. That maybe he was hiding a deeper pain, one he smothered with false smiles and questionable life choices. “Dad?”

“We need to leave.” He hurriedly nodded. “I’ve put you in danger by coming here. We can go back… No, no. We can start over somewhere else. Away from all these ghosts and demons and this weirdness.”

He grabbed her hand before she could protest and dragged her towards the door.

Lydia barely had the chance to argue or even try to fight back. Suddenly she was yanked from his grasp by an invisible force and pulled along the floor.

Charles tried to reach for her. “Lydia!”

She almost collided with Barbara, but the ghost wasn’t the one who’d pulled her back.

Beetlejuice’s tiny hand held hers in a vice grip, far stronger than any human toddler. His big golden eyes, still wet and red-rimmed, stared pleadingly into hers. “Lydia stay!”

His first words since he’d regressed, filled with a familiar desperate edge to his tone, even with how different his voice sounded. The demon toddler trembled with what Lydia realised was fear, as if the thought of her not being there was scarier than any monster under the bed or bogeyman in the closet.

“Sweetie,” said Barbara in a soft, maternal voice, “you can’t keep her here if she doesn’t want to-”

“No, no, no!” he screamed. “Lydia stay! Lydia stay!”

Lydia found herself squeezing his hand back in reassurance. Though she hadn’t been around young children that often, she knew the difference between a temper tantrum and genuine terror.

She sensed her dad approach behind her. “Lydia, we need to go-”

“So you can keep running?” Lydia shot at him, her words flowing as she made the connections in her brain. “You don’t want a fresh start, you’re running from your grief. Running from memories of Mom. And here you are again, running from your problems. Well, I’m not. I’m staying.”

Her hand squeezed Beetlejuice’s again. She was still angry at him. But it was crystal clear that he was broken and needed help. Lydia knew that if her mom were here, she would help this lost little demon.

And what better way to keep her mother’s memory alive than to do the same? 

Chapter Text

Barbara poured the Lucky Charms into a bowl. She sniffed the open carton of milk and scrunched up her nose at the foul smell emanating from it. “The milk’s gone bad.”

“Give it to him anyway,” said Lydia from the kitchen island. “He’ll probably prefer it that way. He doesn’t even need to eat, remember?”

The ghost woman glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze drifted from Lydia to the he in question. Beetlejuice spun himself around on the bar stool, blowing raspberries. If not for his hair, which had returned to its usual green, anyone would think he were a perfectly normal three-year-old and not a millennia-old demon who up until ten minutes ago had been adult-sized.

She had to keep reminding herself what he was. A demon; a dangerously unstable individual who had subjected her to the worst pain of her life, all in the name of forcing Lydia to marry him. Barbara clenched the milk carton a little tighter as she poured. She wanted to box the demon’s ears for that alone; for forcing a young girl into an inappropriate and uncomfortable situation, regardless of his insistence that it was only a “green card” thing.

A gag involuntarily escaped her at the rancid smell of the lumpy milk. Perhaps Beetlejuice had a point about not breathing. She held her breath as she fetched a spoon from the draw before turning with it and the bowl of cereal.

Beetlejuice stopped spinning and his little eyes lit up, adorable and childlike, at the food placed in front of him. Barbara was having a hard time correlating this little boy who had clung to her, frightened and alone, with the adult demon who had groped and harassed her and Adam. Not that she’d expected a toddler to act like that, but if anyone were to ask her to imagine what Beetlejuice would be like at three years old, she would’ve pictured a misbehaving terror who destroyed everything he touched.

Barbara handed him the spoon. He stared at the utensil – before biting it in half.

“Beetlejuice!” the ghost woman exclaimed. She stared in open-mouthed shock, momentarily rendered speechless, as he messily and loudly chewed the metal. When she found her voice again, she said, “That’s not what spoons are for, young man!”

The little demon blew another raspberry, poking his long tongue out at her. Then he dunked his head into the cereal bowl, lapping it up like a dog.

This… was more like how she expected Beetlejuice to behave.

Lydia giggled. “Like I said, he doesn’t need to eat. But when he does? He eats anything. Anything. On the first day, he ate Delia’s crystals like they were candy.”

Charles and Delia, who’d been having a quiet discussion in the far corner of the kitchen, snapped their heads around at this admission. The woman let out a horrified gasp. “My crystals?! He ate my crystals?!”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” Lydia’s face darkened and she crossed her arms. She didn’t turn to acknowledge her father and future stepmother. “We trashed your room. I’m not sorry.”

Her father ran a tired hand down his face, evidently torn between reprimanding his daughter and letting it lie in the face of the overwhelming reality that ghosts and demons were real and he was surrounded by them.

Barbara eyed him with uncertainty. Her thoughts about Charles Deetz were… mixed. On the one hand she could see he was the sort of man who had been taught from a young age, no doubt by his own father, that men who showed their emotions were weak and so he had to hide them away. He couldn’t help it if this had been drilled into him. Here was a man who meant well, was trying his best and still clearly cared for his family. After all, when his daughter had turned to charge into the Netherworld, he’d charged right after her without hesitation.

But on the other hand, his actions had almost led to Lydia throwing herself off a roof in despair. Had left the teen with no other options than to turn to a murderous demon for help. His inability to openly grieve his dead wife and his attempts to move on with his life the only way he knew how meant that he lacked the emotional intelligence to realise that his daughter wasn’t doing the same; that he’d left her behind.

And Barbara refused to even think about the fact that he’d invited his ethically questionable friend around to dinner, and then hadn’t kicked said ethically questionable friend out when he made a very inappropriate comment about his underage daughter. She couldn’t think about it, or else she might start yelling and throwing things. At least Beetlejuice had made it clear he only wanted a green-card marriage.

Charles’s gaze lingered on the back of Lydia’s head, full of guilty despair. Maybe things will change, now that he knew just how suicidally depressed his daughter was.

Adam returned with a skip in his step and a screwdriver in hand. “It’s still there! I knew it’d be a good investment!”

“You sure did, honey!” Barbara said, beaming. She pinched his cheek and kissed it.

“Knew what would be a good investment?” Lydia asked.

“A few years back, the Fraziers down the street were having a yard sale,” Adam explained, “and they were selling their son’s old race car bed for half the price it would normally be. We weren’t ready for kids back then, but I thought if I bought it, then it’ll save us money in the future. I gave it a new paint job and then stored it in the attic. We could set it up in the spare room. It’ll be good to get some use out of it.”

Charles hesitantly cleared his throat, his gaze flickering between the two ghosts and the little demon. “Are we really going to keep that… thing?”

“Yes,” Barbara said in a firm voice, feeling a protective fire ignite within her which she could only assume was her inner Mama Bear. “Because regardless of what he did, right now he’s a child who needs people to take care of him and we’re all he has.”

“And what happens when he changes back?” Charles demanded, managing to keep his voice calm and even, despite the desperation behind his words. He stepped towards Lydia like he wanted to throw himself between her and the demon. “We should contain the problem now, while he’s weaker.”

“Then do it,” said Adam. The swell of pride that Barbara had felt the first time her husband stood up to this man increased. “Throw him to a sandworm. Toss him into the Netherworld. If you think you can do that to a child, do it.”

“Dad?” Lydia gripped her barstool, ready to leap in the way should her father actually take the words into consideration.

Beetlejuice, oblivious to the argument happening around him, finally came up for air and let out an adorable little burp. His tongue, far longer than a human’s, circled the circumference of his face, wiping away the milk and cereal stuck to his cheeks.

The childlike action reminded Barbara of the moment he’d burst into tears and her instincts had driven her to scoop him up before her brain could even process the action. Of course Charles had concerns and they were reasonable ones. She had concerns, too. But how could any of them in good conscience just… leave him to fend for himself?

Especially given the circumstances. Barbara couldn’t forget the point she’d voiced before, that age regressions were typically trauma responses. And she couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of trauma this demon had suffered through in the past for him to regress as drastically as this. Like her husband said, Beetlejuice needed some serious therapy. But with no dead therapists available, they would have to be enough.

And maybe a small, selfish part of her wanted a child to care for. Even if that child was Beetlejuice. Even if that child was a demon who could grow up and try to murder them again. (But then he’d sounded truly devastated by his actions right before he turned…)

Like she and Adam suspected, Charles’s resolve faltered when his gaze settled on the little demon. Beetlejuice, finally seeming to realise that he was the centre of attention, settled his confused gaze on Charles and strained his neck to look up at the much taller man. The little boy cocked his head curiously to the side like an inquisitive dog… and then pulled a silly face, tongue out, eyes bulging. “Bleugh!”

Charles turned away, massaging his temples and cursing under his breath. Of course he couldn’t go through with his intentions. “Lord pray for us.”

“Everything will be fine, dear,” said Delia, laying a comforting hand on the man’s arm and rubbing. Lydia turned away from the affectionate display with a groan. “Let’s just take things one day at a time. Now, if he doesn’t need to eat, that makes things easier.”

“He still enjoys eating,” said Lydia. “He spent the whole of yesterday morning searching every inch of the house for spiders. Creepy crawlies are his favourite. Oh, and he doesn’t need to pee, or anything.”

“Oh, thank god,” Adam muttered. Barbara shared the sentiment. She couldn’t even imagine trying to potty train Beetlejuice.

“What about other bodily functions?” Delia asked. “I don’t want to be rude, but he, uh, could use a bath.”

The second the word left her lips, Beetlejuice hurriedly shook his head. “No! No bath!”

Keeping her voice calm, Barbara said, “Sweetie, your hygiene is important.” She’d read somewhere that explaining the reasonings behind rules often helped when it came to misbehaving toddlers. Granted, Beetlejuice was dead so didn’t really need to worry about his hygiene…

“Yeah, little dude,” said Lydia, ruffling his hair. “You smell terrible. You need a bath.”

Beetlejuice blew a raspberry at her before he suddenly leapt onto the worktop like a cat. No effort, no struggle. He stood upright and stomped his foot, temper tantrum mode fully engaged. His hair turned that burning, terrifying red from before. Whining, he declared, “No bath! Baths bad! I hate baths!”

The empty bowl shot off the side like a bullet and smashed into the wall. Barbara flinched and allowed Adam to gentle pull her against him. She shared a concerned look with her husband. They’d had apprehensions about parenthood before, but this was on another level. How could they convince a toddler with god-like powers to do anything?

Delia screeched and Charles yanked her back. He went to grab Lydia too, but the teen wriggled out of his grasp as she slid off the barstool. She narrowed her gaze at the demon. “You don’t scare me.”

Beetlejuice hissed aggressively, baring a pair of little fangs that would be adorable under different circumstances.

Lydia crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You wanna be a brat? Fine. I don’t have to deal with this. Enjoy your smelly, lonely afterlife.”

Then she turned on her heel and headed for the side door.

It only took a moment for the young demon to realise what was happening. He screamed in heartbreaking panic, his hair switching from red to white on a dime. He physically launched himself from the kitchen island, sailing through the air towards Lydia. Barbara audibly gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

The little demon landed on Lydia’s back. He clung to her like a stubborn bedraggled koala, his whole body trembling, his face buried in the back of her neck. “NO, DON’T LEAVE! LYDIA STAY! LYDIA STAY!”

He burst into tears, his broken sobs like knives that took turns driving themselves right through Barbara’s heart. She’d read once in a childcare book that there was a difference between tears of a temper tantrum and tears of genuine fear. These tears fit into the latter category, but were also so much more.

This level of clinginess and severe separation anxiety were yet more pieces of a puzzle that was getting clearer the longer they interacted with the small demon. Barbara wasn’t yet sure what had happened to Beetlejuice to make him the way he was, but she suspected emotional trauma was involved and it had happened when he was young.

Lydia attempted to shift the demon into her arms. He clung to her too tightly, refusing to move, even to move into her embrace. As if he was too terrified of her vanishing during what would only be a brief moment of no contact. Lydia sighed. “If you want me to stay, then you need to do as you’re told. That includes taking a bath.”

Beetlejuice flinched a little but didn’t otherwise respond.

Barbara felt something in her harden. No. That wasn’t how they were handling this.

The ghost woman stepped towards them, shaking her head. “Lydia, sweetheart, no. You can’t threaten a toddler into good behaviour. Even if you mean well, he’ll grow to fear you and that’s not a healthy relationship. We need to use positive reinforcement, like praise and rewards for good behaviour.”

She attempted to gently pry the toddler off the teen. He screwed his eyes shut and clung tighter, shaking his head. “No! Lydia stay!”

Lydia visibly connected the dots as her eyes darted between Barbara and the demon clinging to her back. She seemed to realise her threat had done nothing but worsen Beetlejuice’s symptoms. She sighed again. “How are we supposed to reward him if he can give himself anything he wants with his powers?”

“Rewards don’t have to be objects,” said Barbara. She gently stroked the demon’s hair, slowly coaxing him to open his golden, red-rimmed eyes. “Hey there, little man. No one’s leaving you, OK?”

He didn’t appear convinced. Sad and resigned, Beetlejuice mumbled, “Always leave.”

So he’d been abandoned at some point, probably in early childhood. No wonder he was so clingy and needy, even as an adult. And it would definitely explain why he flipped out so badly at the mere perceived possibility of Lydia abandoning him. It in no way excused his actions, but knowing the reasoning behind them would certainly help.

Her hands itched, torn between bundling this boy into her arms so she could protect him forever and strangling the sorry excuses of parents who had probably abandoned him and left him with these issues. Pushing both urges down for now, she said, “It’ll be bedtime soon. How does a story sound before bed?”

The young demon blinked at her, bleary-eyed. And Barbara wondered if anyone had ever read him a bedtime story before. The notion of doing something he’d never done before – something he’d probably sought but never received – had him nodding enthusiastically.

Barbara nodded back, smiling. “I thought you’d like that. Well, if you want someone to read you a story, then you’ll have to do something for us first. We want you to be a good boy and take a bath. Can you be a good boy for us, Lawrence?”

“Lawrence?” Charles questioned.

“That’s his first name,” said Adam.

Beetlejuice frowned, eyebrows knotting together. “I can be good?”

Holy moly, had anyone ever given him even the slightest bit of praise? The urge to hug him grew, along with the desire to horrifically maim his undoubtedly terrible parents. “Of course you can be good, sweetie. So why don’t you show us just how good you can be?”

He presented her with an adorable little resolve face and nodded. “I’ll be the best boy ever! But baths are dumb.” The little demon deflated a little, screwing his face in disgust.

Barbara chuckled and attempted to remove him from Lydia’s back. He gasped and flinched away, continuing to cling to the teen. “Sweetie, you need to let go.”

Before Beetlejuice could protest again, Lydia reached her arms around and hooked them under the demon’s legs. “Why don’t I give you a piggyback ride upstairs?” she suggested. “But you’ll have to get down to have a bath.”

His little hands tightened around the fistfuls of her dress. “Don’t wanna.”

Lydia’s face softened. “Beej, I’m sorry I tried to leave. And… I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear before. I was never going to leave you. We’re pals. BFFFFs Forever.” She brought one arm up and extended her pinkie finger. “I won’t leave. Pinkie promise.”

Beetlejuice only hesitated a moment before one hand let go so he could link his own pinkie with hers. Their fingers squeezed each other tight, creating a sacred bond with all the importance of a legally binding contract.

And only then did the demon’s hair return to its usual green. He straightened up, kicked his feet into the teen’s side and yelled, “Onwards, horsie! Giddy-up!”

“Neigh!” Lydia made several horse noises, fully embracing the big sister roll she’d inexplicitly found herself in. She cantered out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

Barbara didn’t follow right away. She returned her gaze to the other adults and said, “I haven’t forgotten what he did. I’m not going to forget pain like that anytime soon.”

Adam rested a hand on her shoulder. “Barbara…”

She covered his hand with her own, squeezing it, reassuring him that she was still with him. Both for his benefit and her own. “But I won’t turn my back on a traumatised child who needs help. If no one wants to help me, that’s fine, but kindly stay out of my way and keep your opinions to yourselves. Do I make myself clear?”

Her hard gaze settled on Charles. The man visible gulped, then nodded. 

Chapter Text

“I’m going to put the tools away.”

Charles glanced up from his position on the floor, where he had been massaging his temples for what was realistically around five or ten minutes but felt much longer. The ghost man (Adam? Mr. Maitland? Charles would have to ask by which he preferred to be called) steadily rose to his feet, toolbox in hand. Charles still didn’t know what to make of the house’s former resident, but he couldn’t deny the slight admiration towards him, for standing up to him for Lydia’s sake.

The ghost beamed down at the newly assembled bright red race car bed, taking evident pride in his work. It was a team effort, building the bed in what was possibly record time while Delia and the ghost’s wife (Barbara? Mrs. Maitland? If they were going to be living under the same roof then that would usually call for informalities, but he didn’t want to presume) gave that… thing a bath. Charles tiredly ran a hand down his face. He knew he should refer to the demon by name, but he was having a hard time separating this helpless-looking child from the monster that had terrorised them only an hour ago.

He glanced down at the bed’s faded instructions still clutched in his hand. Making the child’s bed had helped somewhat, since the last time he’d done so had been when Lydia was younger and the task had elicited a parental sense of duty from him which he couldn’t quash no matter how hard he tried. But that didn’t change the reality that his overwhelmed mind was still coming to grips with; that ghosts and demons were real, that two ghosts haunted their new house, that the entire household were now expected to parent the demon that had attempted to murder them.

Lydia finished plumping up the pillow at the head of the bed and turned to the ghost. “After you’ve done that, maybe you should check on Barbara and Delia. I can hear a lot of splashing and shrieking.”

“Will do.” The ghost man strode through the door, leaving the father and daughter alone.

Forcing Charles to confront what he’d been trying very hard not to think about.

As overwhelming as this whole matter was, nothing could distract him from the repeating mental image that kept intruding on his mind: of Lydia’s broken body lying in the grass for him to find. A constant reminder of how close he’d come to failing her. Failing as a father.

Failing Emily’s only living memory.

Charles dropped the instructions and pressed his hands into his face. His eyes burned with a need to sob, a need he instinctively fought against. But hadn’t that been the cause of all of this? Lydia had called him a heartless robot, thinking he didn’t feel anything when in truth he did feel, he felt so much that every day was an effort to get out of bed, to place one foot in front of the other, to not collapse to his knees and weep for the rest of eternity because his best friend, his whole world, was gone…

He sucked in a breath. How could he have been so foolish? So blind? Of course he knew how fragile Lydia was, that she needed more time. That was why he hadn’t told her about his relationship with Delia. He’d assumed that if he kept moving forwards and built a new life for them, she would settle and move forwards with him. He’d assumed that hiring Delia would help her to open up; would coax her out of her depression and allow her to smile again.

How could he have missed her loneliness? Her pain? Lord above, he’d called her overdramatic. He’d assumed she was going through one of those stereotypical goth phases he’d always been warned about by those unbearable parents who called themselves Moral Guardians. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she was struggling? That her obsession with death was because she was suicidal?

There was that mental image again, of her small body twisted and broken in the grass. This wouldn’t have happened if they’d stayed in New York, in the house she loved. Why had he thought moving was a good idea?

You don’t want a fresh start, you’re running from your grief. Running from memories of Mom. Lydia’s words echoed through his mind, and by the lord, she was right. Charles could point a finger at his gated community plans all he wanted, but the truth of the matter was, he upended their lives because he couldn’t stand to be in that house any longer. The home he and Emily had shared. The home that was filled with so many painful memories.

“You were right,” he said before he realised he’d even vocalised that thought. His voice broke through the room’s awkward silence. Charles didn’t look at his daughter, but he sensed her stop making the bed. “I was running. I couldn’t be there anymore. Not without her in it. Her smell was gone and I thought I was going to suffocate…”

Lydia remained silent for a moment. Until… “Is that why you never want to talk about her? Why you can’t even say her name?”

He choked on a sob, then nodded. “It hurts too much. She was my world too, Lydia. I’m not some heartless robot. I just… I want to be strong, for you.”

“But that’s not strength, Dad.” He finally found the courage to look her in the eye and was taken aback by the kaleidoscope of emotions painted across her face. Sorrow, sympathy, anger… “I thought you were trying to erase her. You got rid of almost everything she owned and refused to talk about her, or even let me talk about her. And then you tried to replace her with the first woman you met.”

“Delia’s not…” he began, then trailed off. He was sure he loved Delia, a lot. But perhaps Lydia had a point when it came to the proposal. All he’d thought about was needing a wife, Lydia needing a mother, about them being a perfect family…

“It was like I was losing Mom all over again,” Lydia continued. She settled on the bed and curled in on herself, hugging her knees against her chest. Looking so much younger than she actually was; like a young child instead of a teenager. “And you couldn’t see that. You couldn’t see me. You left me behind and I was all alone.”

And in that loneliness, she’d turned to a demon. Charles heaved a sigh. “I’m truly sorry that I made you think that. But I tried to include you-”

“In your model family?” The teen scoffed. “That wasn’t me, that was some imaginary Lydia who’s smiley and happy all the time and acts like a perfect little angel. You tried to turn me into something I’m not to fit your backwards ideal of what a happy family is supposed to be. I wasn’t your daughter, I was a set piece.”

The moment she voiced this, Charles realised she was not only right, but it was also the last thing he wanted. He’d spent so much time researching gated communities, bringing up images of that 1960s white-picket-fenced American dream. Had he subconsciously taken that ideal to heart? That his family needed to fit this ideal in order to be happy? Had he tried to change himself to fit that persona? Or was there more to it?

“You’re so much like your mother,” he said, voicing his thoughts as they came, making the realisation in real time. “It hurt, looking at you sometimes. Watching you act like she would. And sometimes that worries me, too. Your mother’s childhood was lonely and even in adulthood she didn’t have as many friends as she would’ve liked. Most people found her to be too… strange and unusual. Your mother…” He breathed in, then out. And finally, he said her name, “Emily. She refused to change herself and she was almost outcast for that. I don’t want the same for you. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’d rather be myself and an outcast, than change myself because people can’t handle shit that’s outside the norm,” Lydia proclaimed. Exactly like Emily would have. “That’s what Mom would want. You know what else she would want? For you to never, ever invite Maxie Dean around for dinner again.”

Well. He should’ve known that topic would come up eventually. “Lydia, I needed-”

“Money? Funding? I don’t care.” She crossed her arms, nailing him with a hard look that morphed her into the spitting image of Emily, besides the hair. “I know you guys argued about him. I know she never wanted him coming around. It didn’t take you long to disrespect her wishes once she was gone.”

“I know, and I was wrong,” he admitted. He would never be too proud to admit to a mistake. In truth, he’d always understood why Emily hated that man and he’d respected her wishes, but he couldn’t just stop talking to Maxie. The man was an important client. He’d invited the tycoon for dinner for investment purposes, reasoning that if he kept an eye on Lydia at all times…

He should have kicked Maxie out the second he made that comment about her. And for the first time since it happened, he found that he was glad that Beetlejuice had ruined the dinner.

Lydia sniffed, and Charles wanted to kick himself because he’d only just noticed she was crying. He really was terrible at this. A terrible example of a father. “She was my whole world, Dad. And she left us. The only home I had is gone and I want her back. That’s why I almost jumped. That’s why I tried to go to the Netherworld.”

He hadn’t given her a choice. He’d made her feel alone, invisible; like death and reuniting with her mother was her only option.

And that revelation hurt all the more because… “Your mother knew this was going to happen. I mean, not the parts with the dead people. I don’t think anyone could have predicted that.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom did,” said Lydia with a little smile.

Charles chuckled a little. Emily would have loved all of this. “A few nights before she… Emily took my hand and she said I know you want to fix this, but we just have to hold onto each other and live through it. I thought she was talking about us,” He gestured to himself and his raised hand, the representation of Emily, “but I think, she was talking about us.” He gestured to himself and Lydia.

He was supposed to hold onto Lydia and help her through her grief. And let Lydia do the same for him. And he’d failed.

Not anymore.

Lydia met his gaze. The anger she’d held onto, and rightfully so, had faded. Only the sorrow remained, along with a wariness he knew he deserved because he’d already failed her and she was scared he would fail her again. But there was also a grim and reluctant resolve; a realisation that she was never going to see her mother again. At least, not until she died – which to Charles’s great relief, she seemed to visibly decide was going to happen a long way off into the future.

“I don’t wanna forget her,” she whispered weakly past her tears. “I’m scared I’m gonna forget her. Can you promise me that… we can still talk about her?”

Charles nodded. He’d once promised her that Emily would be fine, the day she first went into hospital. He hadn’t been able to keep that promise. But this one… this promise he could keep. “Anytime you want.”

His daughter launched herself off the bed and tackled him with a hug. Charles realised he hadn’t hugged Lydia since the funeral, so pulled her tightly against him. He knew they would never be as close as she had been with Emily, but that didn’t change the unquestionable truth that he loved her dearly. And it would never falter, no matter what.

“I still wanna stay,” Lydia said, pulling her head back while still clinging to him. “I kinda like it here. Just… no more gated communities, OK?”

“They’re overrated,” Charles agreed. “And those ghosts seem like… good role models. But what about the demon?”

Lydia pulled back completely, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m still mad at him for what he did. But I also feel bad for him. He’s the loneliest guy I’ve ever met. Remember what Mama said? Sometimes bad people aren’t bad at all, just broken souls who need help putting themselves back together. Mom would’ve helped him, so that’s what I’ll do. Right now he’s just a kid, and he needs us.”

Perhaps it was too much to hope for, that he could convince Lydia to leave now that they’d talked things out. And while he knew she was right in saying this was exactly what Emily would do, which had him beaming with pride that Lydia wanted to do the same, he still couldn’t force down the paternal worry about what would happen after.

What could this demon be capable of once he returned to his adult size? How could Charles protect his child from an all-powerful, reality-warping demon who could turn them into mincemeat with a click of his fingers?

The bedroom door slammed open. Charles pulled Lydia back against him, ready to defend her.

And hurriedly averted his gaze when the giggling three-year-old burst into the room with all the force of an F5 tornado… and completely naked.

“Oh my god, that’s forever in my brain now,” a horrified Lydia complained. A quick glance confirmed that she was covering her eyes with her hand.

Barbara raced into the room next, an open towel extended in front of her as she attempted to corral and catch the little terror. Hot on her heels was her husband with another towel, trying to do the same, increasing their chances that at least one of them could catch him. Charles watched with a little smile, thinking this must have been what he and Emily looked like when Lydia used to make a break for it.

Delia came in last, holding a yellow rubber duck. As if that was somehow the key to getting the little demon to behave himself. “Listen to Daisy Duck! She says that all good little boys have to brush their teeth!”

Something warm in Charles’s chest squeezed down on his heart in a way he welcomed with open arms. There was no question about it. He loved this woman.

Adam managed to scoop Beetlejuice into the towel as the little demon bounced on his new bed. “Gotcha, you little rascal!”

The ghost swung the three-year-old around, carefree, unconcerned, natural paternal instincts overriding his understandable mistrust of the adult variant. He dug his fingers into the demon’s side, tickling him up and down. Beetlejuice kicked his legs and wriggled to try and escape, something that should be easy with his level of power, suggesting that he was enjoying himself too much to truly get himself free. His laughter was like an embrace from a joyful song.

Charles found himself softening. Could this creature really be all bad, if he was capable of making such a wonderful sound?

Barbara joined her husband in drying the demon off. “Does anyone had a shirt he can sleep in? He doesn’t have any pyjamas and I don’t want to put him back into those awful clothes. They need about ten washes before they’d be even remotely clean.”

“Beej usually just uses magic to change outfits,” said Lydia. Having already removed her hand from her eyes, she crossed over to the bed and ruffled the demon’s hair. “Hey, little dude. If you want one of us to read you a bedtime story, you gotta put on some pyjamas. Can you use your awesome magic to do that?”

Beetlejuice blinked up at her for a moment, contemplating her words. Then his little green eyebrows knotted, like he was concentrating.

The two ghosts pulled their towels away, revealing a fresh pair of black and white striped pyjamas now clothed around the three-year-old. He spread his arms out with a big grin. “Ta-da! Now Lydia read story!”

“Adam and I can do it, if you want to get some sleep,” Barbara told the teen. Watching his daughter interact with the two ghosts had Charles thinking that it wasn’t only the little demon bringing out the parental instincts in them.

“No, it’s cool,” said Lydia with a shrug. “I have the best story in mind.”

She crossed over to an unpacked box left over from the move and pulled out a familiar worn book: Winnie the Witch. Charles wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised by his daughter’s choice. It was her favourite growing up.

Beetlejuice’s face lit up like Christmas had come early. He snatched the book from Lydia once she was close enough before he rapidly buried himself half-under the covers. He hugged the book close to his chest like it was his whole reason for living. “Story time!”

Charles waited until Lydia was settled beside the demon before he followed the others out of the room, sparing the little boy one last glance as he pulled the bedroom door shut. Unquestionably this was the first time anyone had read Beetlejuice a bedtime story. That revelation increased Charles’s sympathy towards the demon – and increased his desire to track down the little demon’s bad excuse of a father and drive his fist into the creature’s face.

Only when they were alone in their bedroom – trashed like Lydia had admitted to, though Charles found that he couldn’t care less – did Charles sit beside Delia and bring up what had been weighing on his mind. “I’m sorry if I sprung my proposal on you too soon. I’m sorry if I pressured you into saying yes. I love you, but I was thinking too practically about Lydia, about the future-”

“I said yes because I love you, Charles,” she assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to a long engagement.”

He agreed by sweetly and softly returning her kiss, this one to her lips. A long engagement sounded wonderful. 

Chapter Text

“Again, again!”

Lydia pressed the book firmly closed. “Three times is the limit, Little Bug. We only have to say your name three times. It’s the same with story time. Come on, time for bed.”

Beetlejuice crossed his arms with an overdramatic huff. Why didn’t it surprise her that he was a total drama queen even as a three-year-old? “But I’m not sleepy!” he complained. The yawn that followed didn’t help his case.

“Good boys need their beauty sleep,” Lydia said, setting the book on the nightstand Adam had brought down from the attic. She pointed to the soccer-shaped lamp, another attic find which had Lydia wondering just how much stuff the Maitlands were hoarding up there. “Do you want me to keep the lamp on?”

“I’m not scared of the dark, Lydia!” the little demon proclaimed matter-of-factly, his golden eyes flashing.

“Of course not. Silly me,” she said, voice even, making a notable effort to keep her heartrate down. Silently debating whether she should try to forget when she’d last seen those golden eyes flash or if she needed to keep reminding herself for her own safety (and that of her family) that there was a dangerous demon locked in this three-year-old’s body.

She wondered not for the first time how much of Beetlejuice was still in there. He still remembered who she was; remembered everyone else. He still had access to his powers, which was worrying considering how destructive a regular three-year-old could be. (Lydia could attest to that. She couldn’t really remember being that age but she’d definitely seen the home videos of the absolute carnage she’d carved out.)

And his heart-wrenching, desperate loneliness remained. Only instead of a murderous rage, it manifested as a trauma-driven panic response; an intense need to have someone with him at all times. The heart which she’d hardened when he turned on her softened inch by inch whenever he looked at her with those big, terrified eyes, so childlike and helpless. Given that Lydia herself had suffered from a bad case of separation anxiety in her younger years – when even the very notion of being apart from her mom for five minutes sent her into a full-blown panic attack – seeing Beetlejuice go through the same only increased her sympathy towards him.

But this meant she had to handle the next step very carefully.

The teen slipped off the bed and knelt next to her age regressed friend. “I should’ve remembered you’re not afraid of the dark. You’re a brave boy.”

“Very brave.” The little demon held his chin up high.

Lydia chuckled. “Well, now I need you to be very, very brave. I need to go and sleep in my own bed, and you need to stay here and sleep in yours.”

As she predicted, Beetlejuice’s eyes widened. He grabbed her hand, latching on like she was his only tie to existence itself. His hair turned white. “No, Lydia stay!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lydia assured him, rubbing her thumb soothingly against his little hand. “My bedroom is right next door to yours. That’s where I’m going to be all night, and I can even come and get you in the morning if you want.”

She tried to detangled herself from his grip, but he only clutched her tighter. Eyes screwed shut, hurriedly shaking his head. Every inch of him bled with that same desperation that had led him to tricking her in the first place under the misguided belief that he had no other options. “Lydia stay!”

Lydia heaved a sigh. She could do what her mom used to and stay until he fell asleep. He already held her hand captive in a vice grip. She didn’t want to tempt him into more desperate measures, like say, locking the door and trapping her in his bedroom forever. He was definitely capable of it. She nodded. “OK.”

Beetlejuice rested his head on the pillow, his hand still holding hers. Lydia switched off the lamp before taking a seat on the bed. She began to hum a mix of Harry Belafonte’s slower songs, just like her mom used to at bedtime when she was very young. The little demon sucked the thumb of his free hand while he stared at his other hand holding hers. Like she could vanish if he looked away for even a second.

The teen’s own free hand reached out to stroke his hair. The soothing motions gradually turned his hair back to green and helped his eyes slide closed. His breathing, though unnecessary, evened out.

He looked even more helpless and harmless like this. Lydia continued stroking his hair, concluding that her friend really did make an adorable toddler, while also wondering what sort of monsters could mistreat a kid this cute. Beetlejuice had already mentioned having a horrid mother who sounded neglectful at best and downright abusive at worst. And the evidence for this was piling up, from his severe separation anxiety all the way up to this serious age regression being a potential trauma response.

It was hard to stay mad at her friend when all she could see was this small child crying in desperation for his dad not to leave him and his dad leaving anyway. Or even worse, him cowering in fear from his drunk, alcoholic mother. Both images made her want to hug him as fiercely as her mom used to after her panic attacks.

His grip on her hand loosened and his arm went slack. His breathing stopped, allowing him to be seen as the walking corpse that he was, which wasn’t nearly as cool when the corpse in question looked like a child. Having seen him asleep before, Lydia knew that this lack of movement meant he was now metaphorically dead to the world as well as literally. He was physically incapable of remaining this still when awake.

Lydia gradually eased her hand away from his, careful not to startle him awake. She paused once she was free, waiting for a reaction. When she received none, she slowly rose to her feet and paused again. The little demon still didn’t stir. Keeping her gaze on him, the teen backed towards the bedroom door, one arm extended behind her so she didn’t bump into anything. That hand found the doorknob, which she lightly gripped before she gently tugged the door open only enough for her to slip over the threshold. She was aware of the old house’s creaky doors and didn’t want to open it any wider than she had to.

She didn’t realise she was holding her breath until she stood in the hallway and the door was closed.

Her footfalls remained light as she crept back to her own room, mindful of the equally creaky floorboards. She spared a glance at the master bedroom but kept walking, not wanting to disturb her dad – or worse, interrupt any alone time he could be having with Delia. The teen shuddered at the thought.

In truth, she was still both weirded out and hurt that her dad could move on so fast with another woman when her mom hadn’t even been dead a year. But knowing that her dad was still grieving too, that she’d been wrong to accuse him of feeling nothing, put a little perspective on the whole thing. Maybe Delia was helping him feel happy again. Or maybe this was just a rebound and she needed to step back and let him figure things out on his own. Her mom always used to say that Charles Deetz was never any good with all that emotional crap.

Her mom.

Lydia made it into her room and quietly shut the door. An invisible hand constructed around her heart, like it always did whenever her thoughts strayed back to her dead mom. Which was most of the time, if not all the time. She leaned against the door and stared blankly into the dark bedroom, full of unpacked boxes and scattered mementos that reminded the teen that her mom was gone.

The urge to find a way to get her back had faded after the conversation with her dad. Actually talking about Emily Deetz instead of acting like she never existed would undoubtedly make living without her easier. Lydia was tempted to ask the Maitlands to read through the handbook cover-to-cover in case they missed something and there was a way to bring ghosts back from the Netherworld, but…

She had a niggling suspicion it was too much to hope for.

Heaving a sigh, Lydia stepped further into the room and began preparing herself for bed. She changed out of her black dress and into one of her mom’s old Halloween t-shirts which she’d made a habit of sleeping in, even after her mom’s scent had long since faded away. The one she pulled over her head was grey, with two bedsheet ghosts on either side of some white text that read I fully intend to haunt people when I die. I have a list.

Hands bunching around the hems of the shirt, Lydia smiled sadly. Her mom would’ve made an awesome ghost.

After creeping into the bathroom to brush her teeth and then back again, the teen settled into bed. Exhaustion from the past three days caught up with her the second her head hit the pillow. She’d been crashing out on the couch downstairs at 2am every night after hours upon hours of hanging with Beetlejuice. It was about time she finally caught up on some much-needed rest.

Her eyes slid closed.

A panicked scream jolted her back up again.

She barely had time for her brain to register that she’d actually been asleep for an hour judging by the alarm clock by her bed, instead of the few minutes it felt like. Suddenly something small and loud appeared out of thin air, landing on her bed in a bundle of limbs that flailed around in a wild panic.

Lydia flinched away, fists raised, until she realised it was… “Beetlejuice?”

The white-haired three-year-old didn’t even glance her way to confirm it was her. He just launched himself in her direction, barrelling into her chest, his arms – way more than two – latching onto her like a stubborn little tick.

“You left me!” he wailed, burying his face against her, instantly soaking her t-shirt with his tears. Sounding so hurt and betrayed but also terrified.

And Lydia would be annoyed if she didn’t know for a fact that she’d done this many times in her childhood, racing to find her mom in the middle of the night after waking up alone in her room. She wrapped her arms around the little demon and stroked his back, rocking him from side-to-side. “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep. I’m here now.”

His whole body trembled, fists gripping her shirt.

Two figures suddenly appeared in her room. Lydia jumped and wondered why she hadn’t heard any footsteps or even the door opening until she saw it was Adam and Barbara. Beetlejuice flinched away from the sudden intrusion, startled in a way he hadn’t been when he was adult-sized. Her tried to bury himself deeper into Lydia’s embrace.

“What happened?” Adam asked.

“Is he OK?” Barbara asked before Lydia had a chance to respond to the first question.

And she didn’t get the opportunity to respond to that question either before approaching footsteps barely warned her of the arrival of her dad and Delia, who burst into the room immediately after. Once again, Beetlejuice startled at the intrusion and Lydia barely heard the new arrivals ask almost the exact same two questions. She focused her attention on calming Beetlejuice down.

A hard task, considering the state of panic he’d dissolved into. “You left me! Why did you leave me? Did I do something bad? Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” said Lydia, and realised that was true. Despite what he’d done, she didn’t hate him. “And I didn’t leave you. This is where I sleep. I told you I’d be right next door. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Adam and Barbara came to sit beside them, the latter stroking the little demon’s hair. “Oh sweetie, no one’s leaving you,” she said. “So long as you’re in this house, you won’t be alone. Even if you think you are. Even if you can’t see anyone.”

Beetlejuice shook his head in denial. “Big Bug always alone. Always scared. Always hurt. Always empty. Even in dreams.”

Lydia frowned. Big Bug? Was he talking about himself? His adult self?

“Did you have a nightmare, little guy?” Adam asked.

The demon hesitated before nodding, still refusing to show his face. Strands of purple leaked into his hair. “Was all alone. Then woke up. And I was alone again.”

Shit. If he’d had a nightmare about being alone and then woke up to an empty bedroom… “I’m sorry, Beej,” Lydia said again.

He sniffed, wiping his snot on her mom’s shirt. She didn’t mind. That thing had seen way worse. “Bug dumb. Not brave. Bug bad.”

“You’re not bad,” Barbara assured him. “And you’re not silly. Everyone gets nightmares. Being scared isn’t something to feel bad about.”

Lydia glanced up at movement out the corner of her eye. Delia re-entered the room. The teen hadn’t even realised she’d left. The woman held out a handful of crystals of various colours and said, “We can put these in his room. They’re all supposed to help children in different ways. Amber to keep him calm, blue lace agate to soothe him, celestite to help him sleep, and jet to protect him from nightmares.”

“Didn’t Beej eat all of your crystals?” Lydia asked.

“I had some spare,” she said.

The teen eyed them warily. She still thought crystals were bullshit, but she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to give them a try. And it wasn’t like Beetlejuice could choke on them if he decided they’d make a tasty snack.

“Lydia,” her dad spoke up, “do you want one of us to carry him back to his room?”

“No!” the little demon protested, pushing himself deeper against her. Still struggling to overcome his fear, his anxiety, and the overwhelming sadness. “Lydia stay!”

“He can sleep in here,” Lydia said. “Just for tonight.”

Her dad looked like he might argue for a moment, until his gaze drifted down to settle on Beetlejuice. He lost his resolve and nodded. Lydia wondered if the little demon reminded him of how she’d been in her younger years, when she’d desperately begged her parents to let her sleep between them. Every time, her dad had always insisted that night would be the last. And yet every time after he caved to what her mom called her Bambi Eyes.

“We’ll figure something out in the morning,” Barbara agreed. She leaned down to gently kiss the top of the demon’s head. The soft touch banished away his almost violent trembling and quietened his sobbing. He absorbed his extra arms back into his body.

Delia placed the crystals on the windowsill before she and Charles left the room. Adam and Barbara followed shortly after, once Lydia reassured them that she could handle this. Not like she had any other choice. Beetlejuice refused to leave her side.

Lydia laid back down with the little demon in her arms and continued to stroke his back, the silence of the room highlighting every shuddering breath that her age regressed friend took. Time moved at a crawl and Lydia could do nothing but watch the minutes pass by on her alarm clock. Beetlejuice didn’t try to talk, which was worrisome in and of itself. That demon never shut up.

Eventually, when it was gone midnight, Beetlejuice went still and silent like he had before. Lydia continued to hold him as she settled into her pillow, finally able to focus on her own rest.

She’d barely closed her eyes when Beetlejuice started to shift in his sleep. His movements became more violent as he let out several noises of distress. Lydia was forced to let go and back up so he didn’t hurt her by accident.

“Mommy…” the demon wept. His arms reached out. “Mommy, don’t leave me here! Please! I’ll be good, I promise! Mommy, no! NO!”

Well, fuck. His mom was definitely a bitch. Lydia carefully avoided his flailing arms and shook his shoulder. “Beej, wake up!”

He startled awake. His panicked eyes darted around the room until they found her, at which they filled with heartbreaking relief before he tackled her again. “You stayed!”

“Of course I stayed, this is my room,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere. Even if you can’t see me, that doesn’t mean I’ve left you.”

His body went rigid. He curled in on himself as he maintained contact with her. “Lydia left Big Bug. Big Bug did a bad thing, but Big Bug scared.”

Lydia went still and glanced down at him. Were they really gonna talk about this while he was little? Not that she didn’t know what he was trying to explain. She ran upstairs because she was desperate to get her mom back, he misunderstood what she told him and thought she was ditching him, so responded with attempted murder and a ploy to get her to marry him so the union would bring him back to life. Because somehow he thought being alive meant that he wouldn’t be alone anymore?

“Why did Big Bug want to marry me?” she asked, talking slowly. “Was it because he wanted to be alive?”

Beetlejuice gave a little shrug. He didn’t look at her. “I don’t know. Didn’t want you to leave him. Married people stay together.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell this innocent three-year-old that marriage wasn’t a guarantee of that. Had that been what he meant by it being a green card thing? The sort of marriage that best friends did for the financial benefits? Thinking it would keep her from leaving him? It was admittedly a little easier to take, as opposed to him merely using her for his own ends.

“Well, I’m not leaving you now,” she assured him, ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna try and go to sleep again?”

The little demon flinched. “No.”

Lydia’s gaze drifted to the end of her bed. Keeping Beetlejuice in one arm, she managed to stretch her other arm and grab one of her soft toys: a black bat with cartoonish eyes and flappy wings, which she showed to him. “What about if I gave you a friend who can help you sleep?”

Beetlejuice eyed the soft toy before he hesitantly took it. “What’s his name?”

“Vlad. Duh.” Lydia ruffled his hair again.

He stared at it for the longest time. Like he didn’t know what to do with it. Then, very slowly, Beetlejuice carefully hugged the toy close to his chest. Instinctively seeking comfort. And if all of that meant he’d never had a soft toy to cuddle before, Lydia vowed to enter a blood pact with the rest of the family; a vow to hunt down the mother he’d been so afraid of in his dream.

“Still don’t wanna sleep,” Beetlejuice admitted, eyes big and frightened. “Please don’t take him away from me.”

“I won’t,” said Lydia. Yeah, his mom needed to die, like, yesterday. Or double die, if she was already dead. “He’s yours now.”

His eyes somehow got bigger. He really put her Bambi Eyes to shame. “Really?” he whispered, disbelieving.

She smiled. “Really. Anything for my little brother.”

Lydia once asked her parents for a little sibling and they’d tried their damn hardest to give her one, hindered by fertility issues. She was their miracle baby, her mom used to say. They’d been looking into adoption before her mom got sick.

Thinking of Beetlejuice as her little brother felt a bit weird, since regardless of how he looked he was a millennia-old demon. And he’d spent the last three days acting as her fun-loving big brother.

Her smile widened. Until Beetlejuice got big again, she was going to enjoy being a big sister. It would give her practise for when her dad and Delia eventually had kids of their own. That thought didn’t fill her with the seething anger that it had a few days ago.

Beetlejuice beamed, his hair turning green. “I always wanted a sibling!”

She playfully pulled him back against her and gave him a noogie. “Me too, little dude!”

The demon giggled before he wriggled out of her grasp. He jumped up and down on the bed, his new toy tucked under his arm. “Let’s build a pillow fort!”

“Hell yeah!” Lydia laughed. Yeah. She was really going to love being a big sister. 

Chapter Text

Another thump shook the ceiling and Adam cast an anxious glance at it for longer than was probably necessary. The old plaster already had enough cracks, they didn’t need anymore to add to the house’s growing list of repairs.

Though he supposed that now they were… uh, dead, he and Barbara had all the time in the world for it. They could continuously repair this house forever if they wanted to.

“One of us should probably check on them,” said Barbara. “We haven’t seen either of them since breakfast.”

She stood by the fireplace, dusting off photo frames they’d dug out of the attic, all of which she set down onto the mantlepiece. That morning’s formal introductions with their new housemates had led to friendly discussions about sharing the house as a single family unit, from which came an agreement about belongings and interior design. Namely, that Charles’s sense of interior fashion was terrible and he should let literally anyone else take charge of that.

Adam winced a little. He hadn’t meant to sound so blunt about it, but… well, it was true.

Other than that, things seemed to have settled. Charles and Delia were lovely people, now that the former had loosened up and the latter no longer parroted the frankly bogus advice of that so-called guru of hers. And without the shadow of her mother’s death hanging over her head and dragging her down into a dark hole of depression, Lydia appeared happier in herself. The only issue that remained was…

“I’ll go when I’m done with this. It’s almost finished,” said Adam, gesturing to the broken chair he was in the process of repairing. Neither Lydia nor… him had owned up to it, but obviously one of them was responsible during their three-day reign of terror.

“My handsome handyman,” said Barbara with a smile. “Tell them it’s nearly lunchtime.”

She returned to her dusting, humming to herself. Swaying her hips, her golden hair swishing gently from side-to-side. The same hair Adam had run his hands through the previous night as he held her close, so close, knowing he’d almost lost her. Fearing that it could happen again.

And hate was still a strong word, but in that singular moment, he’d hated Beetlejuice. Hated the demon for hurting his wife and for no other reason than a means to an end; to trick that poor girl into an awful, horrible situation. It wasn’t even personal. And what was more, he’d done it over a misunderstanding. All of it could have been avoided if he’d stopped to think for even a second. Any sort of pain was bad, but needless suffering was by far the worst kind.

So yes. He’d hated Beetlejuice… right until the demon shrunk down to a three-year-old and burst into tears, smothering Adam’s hatred with a blanket of paternal instincts.

Because how could anyone hate this sad, lonely little boy? Who more than anything, needed a safe and loving environment? Whose childlike actions had been present in the adult version? Beetlejuice had acted like a child would when they were hurt, by angrily lashing out at others and then crying in guilty despair when they realised how badly they’d hurt the people around them. And that revelation snuffed out any remaining hate, replacing it instead with nonjudgemental pity.

Adam still had reservations towards the demon. All the adults did. He was far too murder happy and lacked any sort of concept of boundaries. But Beetlejuice had already shown signs of remorse even before he regressed, and so long as that continued…

He set the chair upright and gave it a nudge. It remained standing, tall and firm. His job done, Adam got to his feet and set down his tools. He placed a lingering kiss to Barbara’s cheek before heading upstairs.

Halting outside Lydia’s bedroom, Adam made sure to knock before entering. “Hey, you two. Can I come in?”

“Sure, Adam!” Lydia called out.

Instead of opening the door, Adam phased through it. He really shouldn’t have been surprised by what he found on the other side, and yet all he could do was stand and stare at the carnage he’d inadvertently found himself in the middle of.

A massive pillow fort, compiled of far more pillows than Lydia owned, stood precariously slanted on and around the teen’s bed. Little paint pots lay scattered across the floor of the room’s furthest corner, spilling paint of all colours across the old and worn carpet. That same paint spread across every inch of bare wall in the form of childish scrawls, some attempts at actual art, and random brushstrokes. Adam had no idea if they’d even used the right kind of paint and he worried over the potential damage done to the walls (and the carpet), but at the same time he couldn’t find it within him to be truly annoyed. The splashes of colour were a clear sign of how much fun the pair had.

Speaking of the two rascals, they sat in the middle of a massive bird’s nest made of actual twigs. Adam had no idea where it had come from, though he suspected it to be a product of Beetlejuice’s powers. Lydia held a bowl of what Adam realised were worms in one hand while she used the other to feed Beetlejuice said worms. Could Beetlejuice have conjured those up, too?

Perhaps it was best he didn’t ask.

“Hey, Adam,” Lydia greeted. “We’re roleplaying. Wanna join?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” he said. “You’re pretending to be birds?”

“I’m the baby!” Beetlejuice proclaimed, beaming, hair bright green.

“Dead Mom and I used to roleplay as birds all the time,” said Lydia. “One time she even spat chewed up food in my mouth!”

It took Adam’s brain a solid five seconds to fully process the words he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, did you say she spat in your mouth?”

“Yeah.” Lydia gestured to the nest. “We were birds.”

And mama birds fed their chicks food straight out of their mouths. “Oh yeah, that makes sense,” he said, nodding.

“Spit in my mouth! Spit in my mouth!” Beetlejuice begged, bouncing up and down. He leaned closer to Lydia and opened his mouth wide.

Lydia giggled and instead dropped another worm down his throat. “Maybe another time. I don’t like eating worms as much as you do, Little Bug.”

“Speaking of eating and, uh, food,” said Adam, “Barbara said it’s lunchtime soon.”

“Cool. We’ll be down in a minute.” Lydia didn’t even turn her head. She held out another worm to Beetlejuice and giggled when he slurped the worm into his mouth the same way people ate spaghetti.

Adam supposed this was a good thing, that the pair were getting along again.

A little part of his brain reminded him that this demon had literally tried to marry her less than twenty-four hours ago and should they really be letting them hang out together after that? But then Lydia wouldn’t be right next to the demon if she felt uncomfortable and Beetlejuice was three years old. He couldn’t be that dangerous like this, could he?

The ghost found himself reevaluating those words ten minutes later when Beetlejuice literally bounced down the stairs as if he were a rubber ball, laughing all the way. He then proceeded to top that by bouncing off the walls.

“Did you give him sugar?” Adam called over the smashes and crashes as the demon knocked over and broke anything that wasn’t fixed down in some way.

“No!” Lydia shook her head, remaining on the staircase where she was relatively safe. “This is just how he is!”

Adam conceded her point. Beetlejuice was a hyperactive menace even as an adult. As a three-year-old? Gosh, the ghost couldn’t even imagine what sort of carnage he could unleash on them unless they reigned him in.

The little demon slid across the mantlepiece, knocking all of the pictures onto the floor, several of which smashed. Barbara, who had appeared from the kitchen to see what the fuss was about, gasped.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Adam clenched his fists as he strode towards where the demon now jumped up and down on the couch. His wife had put in a lot of effort to make the living room look nice and this little terror was undoing all of her hard work. “I’m putting my foot down, young man!”

“I’m putting my foot down, young man!” Beetlejuice mocked, mimicking his voice. He leapt off the couch and landed on the wooden floor in front of Adam. The floorboard beneath him slanted downwards like a seesaw.

Adam didn’t realise he stood on the other end of the floorboard until he was sent soaring into the air. He crashed into the chandelier and instinctively clung to it as it swung back and forth. Beetlejuice’s laughter echoed around the room.

The ghost glanced down at the toddler. The terror. The menace. Holy smokes, why did they all assume he was harmless because he was in the body of a child? Adam had witnessed little kids destroy entire anthills because they thought it was fun. Kids were too young to fully understand consequences and morals and Beetlejuice’s morals were already shaky at best, non-existent at worst.

“Lawrence Beetlejuice-” Barbara cut herself off when she realised she didn’t know his surname, so just grunted irritably. A flashing danger signal, because Barbara never grunted, not unless she was really, really mad. “There is no jumping around the house, no launching Adam into the ceiling, and this mess,” She gestured to everything he’d broken during his rampage, “is unacceptable! Rule number one in this house is everyone must clean up after themselves. There’ll be no more games until you clean up this mess, young man.”

“No!” Beetlejuice stomped his foot, just as irritable, if not more so. He leapt back onto the couch and leaned against the headrest. “Lydia, come play!”

Lydia crossed her arms and turned away. She didn’t reply. She didn’t say anything. Adam recalled reading in a parenting book that sometimes the best way to handle attention-seeking behaviour was to ignore it. Beetlejuice’s face fell and he started screaming, hitting the couch with his fists, trying to make as much noise as possible. And yet, Lydia still refused to acknowledge him.

“That’s what happens when you break the rules,” said Barbara. “No one wants to be your friend anymore.”

Beetlejuice screamed as loud as he had the day before and everyone hurriedly covered their ears. Adam couldn’t tell if it was a tantrum scream or one of despair. Either way, it led to the little demon’s hair turning red and his claws coming out, which he used to tear up the couch’s headrest. Before Barbara could hurry over to stop him, Beetlejuice pointed his hands at Lydia and yanked them back.

The teen suddenly flew over the banister and soared through the air until she landed with a yelp on the couch next to him.

Adam clenched his fists. Now he was really mad.

He leapt down from the chandelier, landing in front of the couch with his hands on his hips. “That’s it! Timeout!”

Having practised his telekinesis, Adam felt confident in his abilities so had no problem picking up the little demon. Beetlejuice kicked and screamed as Adam floated him over to one of the dining room chairs. The same chair he’d spent all morning fixing.

In vain, as it turned out. Beetlejuice smashed it to pieces the second he sat down on it, screaming and protesting all the while. He telekinetically pushed Adam back and the ghost found himself pinned into the armchair. The demon then did the same to Barbara, forcing her to sit in another one of the dining room chairs.

“You timeout!” Beetlejuice proclaimed. He jumped back onto the couch next to Lydia, happily giggling away like he hadn’t thrown them all around like ragdolls. “Come on, Lydia! Let’s play Floor is Lava!”

And just like that, the floor was lava. Literally.

The temperature of the room shot up to unbearable levels. Furniture began to sink into the floor. Lydia screamed. Barbara screamed. Adam almost cursed. He tried to remind himself that he and Barbara were ghosts and the lava couldn’t hurt them, but that didn’t stop the instinctive panic it caused, the desire to get away, because this lava was real and while it couldn’t hurt them, it was definitely going to hurt Lydia and Beetlejuice didn’t even realise-

“And I told Margo that she only needed to hold the moonstone, not shove it up her- Oh my god!” Delia shrieked the second she walked through the front door and saw what was happening in the living room.

Adam turned his head in time to see Charles hurry in behind her. His whole face reddened and a large vein protruded from his forehead. “What in God’s name is going on in here?!”

Beetlejuice stopped jumping and turned, narrowing his gaze at the new arrivals. But he didn’t get the chance to do anything to them. Lydia grabbed his wrist, sweating, panting for breath, and screamed, “Beetlejuice, you’re hurting me!”

The demon’s eyes widened in horror. His hair instantly turned white. In a blink the lava was gone with no damage to the furniture, as if it was never there. The invisible force that pinned Adam to the armchair vanished, allow him to stand up. The same happened to Barbara and she hurried over to check on Lydia. “Where are you hurt?”

“It felt like I was burning,” said Lydia, wiping the sweat off her brow. “I’m fine now.”

Charles stormed forwards. An imposing figure at over six foot, he towered over everyone else. Pairing that height with the anger of a maelstrom, he was a force to be reckoned with. And despite all the power he held, Beetlejuice instantly cowered before him, his now fearful eyes wide and wet.

“What is the matter with you?!” the man practically roared with all the rage of a father who had seen their child in harm’s way far too many times.

Beetlejuice violently flinched, pressing himself into the headrest. He shrunk into a fetal position, rocking back and forth, every inch of him trembling. He dug his fingers into his hair and shook his head. And his actions hit Adam all over again that this wasn’t a monster but a child, one who threw dangerous tantrums but a child nonetheless. Whose behavioural issues were almost certainly a result of trauma and abuse. Who didn’t understand that his actions had consequences, that he could hurt someone without meaning to. Who still had so much to learn about empathy and emotions because clearly no one else had taught him this.

“Lawrence!” Charles snapped, looming, evidently too caught up in his anger to realise the little demon’s obvious discomfort. Adam glanced between the pair, concerned. “Listen to me when I’m talking-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Beetlejuice begged, pleaded, his voice shaking with terror, his motor mouth rambling as his eyes screwed firmly shut. Hiding his tears. “I won’t do it again! Don’t hit me, please! I’ll be good, I promise! Please don’t send me away! Don’t send me back to Saturn!”

Adam froze. Saturn.

Charles frowned. “Saturn? What has a planet got to do with-”

The ghost moved before he even realised he was doing so. He forced his way between the man and the demon and wrapped his arms around the little boy. Beetlejuice flinched like he expected to be hit (like he was used to being hit), his whole body tensing. At least until he realised Adam was hugging him and not hurting him, after which his little fists desperately clasped his shirt, seeking comfort and protection. He buried his face into the worn fabric, leaving little wet stains behind.

“Barbara was right,” Adam told the demon softly, calm and patient, hoping to distract him with a lesson. So he could stop thinking about what had hurt him in the past. “Breaking the rules doesn’t make you many friends. Nor does breaking their stuff and ignoring what they’re asking you to do. And you can’t go around doing what you want, because you could hurt someone you love by accident. Or you could hurt their feelings. Remember that you’re dead, and breathers are a lot more breakable than you. Now, what do you say to Barbara and Lydia?”

Looking anywhere except everyone around him, a subdued Beetlejuice wiped the tears from his face. “Sorry.”

“That’s good,” said Adam, encouraging. “Do you remember what Barbara said was rule number one?”

Beetlejuice didn’t click his fingers nor wave his hands, nor did he give any other indication that he was using his powers. But in the space of a single moment, every mess that he’d made was cleaned up and everything that he’d broken was fixed.

“Very good.” Barbara edged closer and brushed strands of the demon’s hair aside.

“Adam,” Charles spoke up, notably calmer than before. Regardless of this, Beetlejuice still flinched when he heard the man’s voice. “He almost hurt Lydia, again.”

“He didn’t mean to, Dad,” Lydia spoke up. “Like I said before, he’d just a kid. He doesn’t understand. I was the same when I was his age.”

“But you didn’t have these dangerous powers,” Charles pointed out. He waved his hands around, almost helplessly. Delia came up beside him, taking one of those hands and squeezing, grounding, reassuring.

And while Charles had a point, that didn’t mean Beetlejuice deserved to be abandoned. For them to give up and leave him, like everyone else had done before them. Because then he would always be broken; always a product of an abusive childhood, suffering and alone for eternity.

Adam felt vindicated in his earlier assessment that the demon needed some serious therapy. But mostly his insides twisted with a need to give this child a healthy and stable environment, and with a proportionate amount of rage directed at the monsters who had damaged this child so thoroughly, leaving a broken creature in their wake who responded to perceived abandonment with threats of murder because he simply didn’t know nor understand how else to function.

“He’s suffered enough from people who leave,” said Adam, certain and sure. “Now he needs people who stay. Who can help him.”

Lydia shifted forwards and stroked the little demon’s hair. Adam felt the boy relax in his arms, his best friend’s gentle touch enough to calm him down. “Did he really get banished all the way to Saturn?”

“Not the planet,” said Adam. “There’s a place in the Netherworld that’s also called Saturn. It’s covered in sand dunes and filled with these horrifying creatures called sandworms. I read about them in the handbook last night. They eat any ghosts who try to leave their house.”

“I know what a sandworm is. Beej showed me.” She frowned. “Wait, did someone send him there?”

“Oh my god.” Barbara clasped her hands over her mouth. Horrified, disbelieving. “Did… did his parents send him there if he misbehaved? That’s like… sending your kid to the middle of the Sahara! But with monsters!”

Charles, white-faced and shellshocked, lowered himself onto the coffee table.  

Needing to know for certain, Adam gave Beetlejuice’s shoulder a little tap. “Hey, little guy. Is that what happened. Did your parents send you there?”

“Mommy did,” Beetlejuice mumbled. “When Bug bad. Bug always bad. Don’t know why.”

Adam had a nasty suspicion that misbehaviour probably had nothing to do with it. And even if it did, sending your child into a literally death trap just for misbehaving… “How old were you?”

He gave a little shrug. “This size?”

Everyone shared a horrified look.

“So,” Lydia said, “all in favour of tracking down his mom and eviscerating her?”

They all raised their hands. 

Chapter Text

Delia scrolled through the many, many forum thread responses on her phone. There were so many spells to choose from, like making a “worry doll” that was supposed to help an anxious child sleep, or hanging a special dreamcatcher to banish a child’s nightmares. And then there were the many different healing rituals that helped a child recover from trauma and abuse.

The woman slapped her phone down in frustration and massaged her temples. She didn’t think she was a witch, or a wiccan, or whatever else they liked to call themselves. But this made her a little more certain that she wasn’t, regardless of having similar spiritual beliefs. Because if she was one, shouldn’t she know, instinctively, which spell would help?

She shifted her gaze to the subdued purple-haired little boy knelt in front of the coffee table. Sheets of paper covered the surface and colouring pens of various colours lay scattered. His movements sluggish, Beetlejuice dragged a red pen across the paper, like he wasn’t fully invested in the drawing.

He’d been like this since the lava incident the day before. Quiet, withdrawn. Having no interest in playing, not even with Lydia. Never smiling or showing any kind of positive emotion. Refusing to eat anything, even insects, his favourite. Rarely talking, except to complain about headaches or stomach aches. Struggling to focus when someone spoke to him and unable to pay much attention to his surroundings.

Even when it was bedtime, he hadn’t complained when Adam and Barbara suggested that he sleep in the attic with them instead of with Lydia, since the teen hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a few days. The little demon may have even been perfectly willing to sleep in his own bed, but the two worried ghosts had wanted to keep an eye on him.

And a good thing too, given the amount of times he woke up in the night from terrible nightmares. Screaming about being hit, being left, being abandoned…

So many signs of trauma and abuse. And Delia couldn’t do a single thing about them. She hated feeling helpless. She wasn’t trained for this. What was the point of taking the training to spot the signs when she couldn’t even help him?

Heck, she couldn’t even spot the signs of bad mental health properly! Lydia had been so depressed that she’d almost…

Delia took a moment to breathe. She assured herself that the worst hadn’t happened; that Lydia was still alive and well. But ‘what if’ scenarios couldn’t help but intrude, as if the personification of her anxiety had taken over her brain to show her a home movie titled What If She Had Jumped.

Charles would be so devastated. So broken. Letting out all of the feelings he’d tried to hide, even from her. But then he would turn on her, scream and her, because life-coaching was supposed to be her job and what was she good for if she couldn’t fix this one person? She should have put all of her time and effort into turning Lydia into a happy and productive member of society but instead she’d split her time between that and seducing the man who had hired her, except she hadn’t been seducing him at all, feelings had developed all on their own and she couldn’t help that, she’d only been trying to make him happy by giving him what he wanted and she fell to her knees, begging Charles to stay, please stay, she was a failure again and so alone-

“Delia?”

The woman screeched, hand over her heart, snapping back to reality.

She was still sat on the couch in the living room. Beetlejuice hadn’t moved and inch, still half-invested in his drawings.

Lydia stood at the end of the couch by the armrest. She wore another one of her black dresses. Comfortable, at ease.

And there was another thing to feel guilty about; trying to change this unique girl into something she wasn’t. Worse, that “something she wasn’t” was a mindless automation of a woman who conformed to patriarchal standards; a set piece in a man’s life. Delia wanted to scream. Charles had been turning this girl into a set piece of his life and she’d been helping him.

God, she was an insecure mess. Had she even told him her real age yet? She couldn’t even remember-

“Hey, are you alright?”

Delia shook her head, trying to banish away her jumbled bad thoughts. Those she could save for later, when she had more time to think about what it meant to embrace her true authentic self, no matter how many wrinkles made up that self.

And then, if Charles didn’t reject her for being older than she initially told him, she would be having words with him about how “traditional values” and “a model family” were thinly-veiled sexist terms…

“I’m fine,” she said before Lydia could ask again. “I’m having a lot of thinky-thoughts.”

The teen raised an eyebrow as she took a seat on the couch. “Thinky-thoughts?”

Delia nodded, and before Lydia could say anything more, the woman blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry, Lydia. I really wanted to help you and I thought I was. I was following everything Otho taught me and it all lined up with what your father wanted me to do, but looking back on it now it was so obvious how depressed you were and what you really needed was a therapist or at least a grief counsellor, but I think I was so distracted by your father and our new relationship that I didn’t notice, and I really wanted to do what he asked of me because I love him and I want to make him happy, but I also wanted to help you too and that should’ve come first-”

“Hey, Delia!” Lydia poked her shoulder. “You’re rambling.”

She took another moment to breathe, to get a grip on her thoughts and emotions. “I really am sorry. And I want to make things right. But I don’t know how. I know you hate me and you don’t want me around, but I can’t just leave your father.”

“I know,” said Lydia. She avoided eye-contact, picking at a hangnail on her thumb. “And I don’t hate you. Hate’s too strong a word.”

“Oh.” Delia brightened a little. That was… a start, she supposed.

“I don’t know what to think,” Lydia admitted. “I still miss my mom a lot and it feels weird seeing my dad with this other woman who’s not her. But… this isn’t about me. I know he’s not great with his emotions and if you make him happy and you’re helping him, then… then I can’t argue with that. I can’t get in the way. I want him to be happy, and… my mom would want that, too. I mean, this is gonna take a while to get used to and you and I didn’t get off to a good start, so just… give me time, OK?”

“Sucks yes!” Delia hurriedly nodded, trying not to get too excited. “I can definitely give you time. As much time as you need! That actually works out, because your father and I decided that we’re gonna have a long engagement. All things considered, we figured it was for the best.”

Lydia nodded. “If that’s what you guys wanna do. In the meantime…” Her gaze drifted to Beetlejuice, who hadn’t even glanced up once to acknowledge his supposed best pal.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” Delia said with a helpless shrug. “Barbara and I have been talking about it but neither of us are qualified to help him. And we can’t get a qualified therapist to help him because how are we supposed to explain that this little boy is not only dead, but a demon? I know therapists aren’t supposed to judge, but they probably have limits.”

Looking equally helpless but trying not to show it, Lydia slid onto the floor next to Beetlejuice. “Watcha drawing there, champ?”

Beetlejuice flinched and curled in on himself, avoiding eye-contact with her. A stark contrast from before, when he could barely be apart from her. Delia didn’t think he was afraid of Lydia, but rather, he was afraid of hurting her. After the incident with the lava and considering the way he’d tricked her when he was adult-sized, this sudden behaviour made far too much sense.

“Hey, it’s OK. I’m just asking a question,” said Lydia, voice soft and reassuring.

Since the little demon had shifted out of the way, the drawings were now visible to Lydia. His head still blocked them from Delia’s view. But she knew something was horribly wrong when Lydia went still, her blue eyes widening. Then the teen took out her phone and she hurriedly typed out a message, something they’d all agreed to do to avoid yelling and startling the young demon. Delia caught a glimpse of what she wrote before she sent it to Charles. Get down here. Bring the Maitlands.

Glancing over Beetlejuice’s shoulder, Delia understood the urgency.

Three cartoonish drawings filled up the paper. Extremely detailed, Delia expected that level of skill from a child far older, but then she reasoned that Beetlejuice was still technically and adult, just trapped in the body of a three-year-old. Perhaps this was his older self leaking through.

In the middle was the largest drawing, depicting a hideous lady with grey beehive hair and pointed glasses perched on her nose. She wore a red business suit dress and heels, and her skin was pale like Beetlejuice’s. Her golden eyes matched the little demon’s, too. But the most startling detail were the flames that burned out her mouth and a hole in her neck. Pointed fangs protruded from her wide-open mouth.

Delia gasped. Was this Beetlejuice’s mother?

The second picture, in the top left corner of the paper, also depicted the woman. She sat slumped in an armchair, holding a bottle of alcohol in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Smoke hovered around her head. Her feet were up – but instead of a footstool, they rested on Beetlejuice. The demon was on his hands and knees, hair purple. His mother used him as a footstool?

And the third picture, tucked into the top right corner, showed Beetlejuice wearing his iconic stripes… No. Delia squinted. Some kind of two-headed striped snake was wrapped around him, mouths wide open like it was about to eat him. And next to him stood his mother, who appeared to be pointing and laughing.

Staring in open-mouthed shock, Delia barely heard the arrival of the others. Lydia gestured to the middle picture and said, “We’ve found the culprit.”

Barbara knelt down on Beetlejuice’s other side. She didn’t try to touch him. All she did was point at the picture and carefully ask, “Can you tell me who this is, sweetie? Is this your mom?”

After a moment of hesitation, Beetlejuice nodded.

The ghost pointed to the other pictures. “And what’s happening here? Take your time, sweetie. You don’t have to answer right away.”

Beetlejuice stared at his lap, hands clutched together. It appeared as though he would remain quiet, like he had for the past twenty-four hours. But then, his voice barely a whisper, he started talking. “Mommy would play games with me after work,” he said. He pointed to the picture in the top left. “That game’s called Footstool. I pretended to be her footstool. I had to stay very still. If I moved she kicked me here.”

He tapped his face.

Adam and Barbara shared concerned looks. Lydia cursed under her breath. Charles paced like a caged tiger, fists clenched, wanting to hit something. Delia found his protective attitude extremely attractive, but now was not the time nor place to think about unfreezing her eggs.

Her hand shaking, Barbara pointed to the remaining drawing. “And what about this one?”

“That’s not a game,” said Beetlejuice. “If I asked Mommy too many questions, she made me stand in a corner. But if I moved too much she’d bring in a baby sandworm and let it curl around me. She said if I moved, it would eat me.”

Charles stopped pacing. Pin-dropping silence settled over the room.

“Holy smokes, no wonder he reacted so badly to the timeout yesterday,” Adam muttered.

Delia’s hands covered her mouth. Charles had voiced a concern the night before; that they could be using the little demon’s obviously abusive childhood as an excuse for his terrible actions. Essentially sweeping everything he did before under the rug because they felt bad for him. But this… Delia couldn’t imagine anyone growing up into a well-adjusted individual if this was what they’d been subjected to every day.

“We need to talk about this,” said Barbara, rising to her feet, hand on her forehead. “Lydia, can you take him somewhere else and keep him distracted?”

“It’s a lovely day,” Delia observed. “Why don’t you take him outside?”

The little demon’s head shot up, his hair turning green. In a flash he launched himself over the couch, charging towards the front door. “Outside! Outside!”

Lydia, Adam and Barbara all yelled at once, saying essentially the same thing: “NO, DON’T GO OUTSIDE!”

Before Delia could ask why, Beetlejuice threw the front door open – revealing the head of what had to be a sandworm on the other side. Its mouth opened wide and a second head appeared from inside the first, roaring louder than a jet engine.

Beetlejuice screamed. Delia screamed and leapt to her feet. Everyone charged forwards.

But it was Charles who got there first, scooping the little demon into his arms before slamming the door shut. He leant against the door, panting heavily, clutching Beetlejuice close to his chest. The now white-haired demon trembled, his eyes wide with shock. And then, despite his previous fear of the man holding him, Beetlejuice latched onto his shirt and sobbed. Charles’s expression softened as he stared down at the little demon, before he gently stroked his back.

“That was wicked fast, Dad,” said Lydia, looking genuinely impressed.

Charles gave a little shrug as he carried Beetlejuice back over to the living room. “You gave me plenty of practise, Lydia. Learning that human infants have the self-preservation instincts of a cantaloupe tends to vastly improve a parent’s reflexes.”

Another reason to start unfreezing some eggs. But that was the last thing on Delia’s mind in the face of what had just occurred.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “I totally forgot about that! He… he’s just like a normally little boy, and I… forgot he was dead.”

“I guess it’s easy to forget,” said Lydia. She reached out and ruffled the little demon’s hair. Beetlejuice didn’t flinch like he had before, but his hair remained white. “He’s so full of life.”

Barbara stepped forwards. Mouth open, about to comment further. But then something over Charles’s shoulder caught her attention and her eyes widened like saucers. Adam came up beside her, eyes equally as wide as he stared at the same spot. A haunting green light filled the room. Beetlejuice went tense in Charles’s arms.

The Maitlands began to plod towards the source of the green light, almost hypnotic in their movements. “Netherworld…”

“No!” Lydia slapped their faces and pushed them backwards, which seemed to snap them out of it. “Who the hell opened a door to the Netherworld?!”

Charles turned while Delia glanced past him and saw it, too. A doorway to the Netherworld, looking just like it had before. It was even in the same spot by the stairs. A shadowy figure appeared on the other side, stepping through the door-

“NO!” Beetlejuice screamed. He scrambled and flailed in Charles’s arms, desperately trying to get away.

Delia didn’t blame him. The person who had stepped through the door had the same beehive hairdo. The same red suit dress. The same hole in her neck, from which smoke drifted out of.

It was her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, you failed to report to the Netherworld as you were instructed to do in the handbook! Did you even read the damn handbook?!” The woman’s shrill voice grated on Delia’s ears. She stared at a clipboard in her clawed hands. “Let’s start over! My name is Juno Shoggoth, and I will be your case worker-”

She cut herself off when she glanced up briefly and proceeded to do a double-take, her golden eyes catching sight of Beetlejuice. Her genuine surprise was immediately overtaken by a hideous snarl as she tossed her clipboard aside. “Beetlejuice! Oh, I should’ve known you were behind this! And you’ve shrunk again! What’s the matter with you, you goddamn screw-up?! Why can’t you act your damn age?! God, you’re pathetic!”

Beetlejuice burst into tears and buried himself deeper into Charles’s chest, trying desperately to get as far away from his mother as possible.

“Hey!” Barbara surged forwards and placed herself in between Beetlejuice and his mother, Adam close behind her. “You leave that little boy alone!”

“Yeah!” Adam crossed his arms. “You beat him and broke him and now we’re trying to pick up the pieces! We don’t want you as our case worker and we’re staying right here!”

The demon, Juno, laughed. “Is that so? You don’t have a choice! All ghosts must report to the Netherworld, no exceptions! You’re both coming with me! And I’ll be taking my son, too! If that curse didn’t teach him a lesson, then I’ll have to find out what will!”

Charles clutched the little demon tighter. “He’s not going anywhere with you!”

Delia hurried to her fiancé’s side, arms up, ready to throw hands. “Yeah, you back off, you… mean lady from Hell!”

She internally winced. That had sounded so much more badass in her head.

Lydia stepped in front of all of them, staring Juno down. “Beetlejuice is ours. We’re his family. If you want him, you’re gonna have to go through us!”

Juno cackled. “And what are you gonna do, you stupid pathetic breather?”

Suddenly Beetlejuice leapt out of Charles’s arms. His teeth grew longer and more pointed and his nails were replaced with claws. He landed on all fours and snarled like an animal. “She’s not a stupid breather, she’s my sister! Stay away from my sister!”

The demoness let out another cackle. “Oh, how adorable. Fine. You wish to be together?” She removed her glasses and began to grow bigger, the redness of her suit spreading across her body. Her voice became deeper, more distorted. “Then you will die together!”

She threw up her arms, unleashing a telekinetic shockwave. Lydia flew backwards into Adam and Barbara, sending all three of them crashing to the floor. Charles stumbled and tripped over the back of the couch.

Somehow, Delia managed to stay upright. She didn’t even think, just surged forwards and grabbed Beetlejuice before his mother could. Her gaze darted this way and that, looking for an escape or a way to fight back or something. She contemplated the front door before remembering that Beetlejuice wouldn’t be able to escape with her-

Oh. Oh.

Delia sprinted over to the door. Standing beside it, she yelled, “Hey! You’re so fat, when you stand on the scales, they say To Be Continued!”

Juno roared and stormed towards them. And Beetlejuice, smart little guy, caught onto the plan immediately. When his mother got close enough, he clapped his hands.

The door burst open and the sandworm stuck its head inside, roaring. Delia spun around and pulled Beetlejuice close against her, shielding him with her body. She remained that way until the door slammed closed again.

When she turned back around, there was no sign of the sandworm. And all that remained of Juno was a single leg with a bone protruding from the top. Everyone stared at the leg in stunned silence.

Until Beetlejuice wriggled out of Delia’s grasp, his hair bright green. “FREEDOM! MY CURSE IS BROKEN!”

He flung the front door open and everyone surged forwards to stop him… but there was no sandworm on the other side. Just bright sunshine.

Beetlejuice raced outside, laughing. 

Chapter Text

Although he hadn’t slept in it yet, Beetlejuice loved his race car bed.

He would rather it be green instead of red, because green was his favourite colour. Green was awesome and good while red was horrible and bad. But he didn’t want to upset anyone by changing it. The family gave him this bed and let him stay even after he was bad. He couldn’t give them any reason to send him away.

Beetlejuice made race car noises with his mouth, which was a lot more fun than magically making the car make the noises by itself. He clutched the steering wheel and made a hard left, following the track. The car turned and Beetlejuice let out a happy, “Whee!” as he let himself lean with the movements.

Lydia did the same, giggling beside him. It was her idea to turn the bedroom into a videogame… sim-u-la-tion? Was that the word she used? It meant they were surrounded by giant screens which Beetlejuice had made appear by thinking really hard. He had wanted to turn his room into an actual racetrack, but Lydia had said that could be dangerous (and not the fun kind of dangerous but the scary kind), so Beetlejuice had gone along with her idea without complaint.

He didn’t want to hurt her. Not again. She was his BFFFF Forever and he didn’t want to lose her. If he lost her then he would be alone and no one would ever love him.

“Vlad fell over again” Lydia said.

Beetlejuice quickly glanced to his right. His stuffed toy bat had fallen forwards face first. Not wanting to take either of his hands off the steering wheel, the little demon grew a third arm and used it to set Vlad upright again on the mattress. He gave the bat an encouraging pat on the head. Vlad was a silly bat. Not the smartest but very brave, too brave to have nightmares.

“Do you want me to hold him?” asked Lydia. “So he doesn’t keep falling over?”

“If you hold him, he’ll try and suck your blood,” said Beetlejuice.

She giggled again. He liked her giggles. They sounded like bells and made his insides feel warm. “Vlad wouldn’t bite me. He was mine first.”

Lowering his voice, Beetlejuice leaned closer to her and whispered, “He told me he sucked your blood when you slept.”

Lydia gasped and held a hand to her forehead. “Betrayal! How could you, Vlad?”

Beetlejuice wiggled the fingers of his third hand and thought really hard about what he wanted to happen.

“Hey!” Vlad screeched in a high-pitched voice. The toy placed its wings on his hips. “I told you that in confidence!”

“She deserves to know the truth!” Beetlejuice told him. “Drinking people’s blood is rude!”

“But she’s so tasty!” Vlad suddenly took to the air with a flap of his wings and launched himself at Lydia’s face. Lydia managed to catch him before he did, he hands struggling to keep him away. She fell backwards against the mattress, screaming with laughter.

Beetlejuice magically paused the game before turning and yanking Vlad away. He gave the toy bat a little slap. “You leave my sister alone! Or I’ll force-feed you garlic bread!”

“No! Anything but that!” Vlad wriggled in his grasp. “I’ll be good, I swear!”

“That’s better.” Beetlejuice flicked the toy’s nose and it went limp, lifeless.

As he set Vlad back down beside him, Lydia ruffled his hair. “We should do that with all my other toys. See what secrets they’re hiding.”

The little demon nodded, beaming up at her. “We can do that now!” He clapped his hands and magicked away the screens, returning the room to normal.

“We can do it later, since it’s almost dinnertime,” said Lydia. “But before we go down, I’ve been wanting to ask if you’re doing OK, Little Bug? Since the, uh, thing with your, uh, Mom.”

Beetlejuice frowned. It had been a week since his mom got eaten by a sandworm and things were awesome now. He still got bad dreams, but not as many as before, and Lydia, Adam and Babs were helping him with those. Everyone was helping him and wanted to play with him, even Chuck and Delia. They all loved Little Bug. He should’ve been Little Bug from the start.

Big Bug was bad. Big Bug hurt people.

It felt weird and confusing, because Big Bug was still inside him. His memories, his thoughts. He had a lot of bad grown-up words to say about his mom. But mostly Big Bug stayed at the back of his mind curled up in a ball. Hiding, but always watching.

He didn’t want to come back out and maybe that was a good thing. No one liked Big Bug, not even Lydia.

“Of course I’m OK!” Beetlejuice told Lydia, forgetting about Big Bug and all the bad stuff he did. He pointed at his head. “I’ve been green all week! No reds, or purples, or whites! My dumb mommy got eaten by a sandworm, which is good ‘cause she was mean! And now I have a new family! You’re the best sister ever!”

The demon tackled and hugged her tight. Lydia hugged him back, making his tummy feel all warm and gooey. “And you’re the best brother. Just don’t be scared to tell us if you’re feeling purple or white or red, OK?”

“OK.” Beetlejuice nodded. “Is Babs making dinner yet?”

Lydia pulled back, smiling. “Let’s go see.”

Beetlejuice picked up Vlad and then together, he and Lydia made their way downstairs. Babs was just starting to get out the mixing bowl and all the ingredients as they entered the kitchen. She smiled down at him in a way that made him stand a little taller and want to be the best-behaved boy in the world.

As was now their routine, Babs pulled up a chair next to the worktop. Beetlejuice climbed onto it and there he knelt, watching the ghost as she prepared dinner. He held Vlad up to the mixing bowl so the bat could see what was happening. And the demon asked lots of questions, which Babs seemed happy to answer.

Every now and again, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Lydia was still there. At first she sat at the kitchen island on her phone, but then everyone else arrived – Adam and Chuck and Delia – and she talked to them about something he couldn’t hear. She kept looking his way and pointing.

Were they talking about him? Had he done something wrong?

“Do you want to have a go at mixing, sweetie?” Babs asked him.

Usually Beetlejuice loved to mix. But instead he clutched Vlad against his chest and shook his head.

Babs set down her spoon and stroked his hair. “Sweetie…”

“Have I been bad?” Beetlejuice immediately asked. “I can be good again, I promise! I can fix it!”

“No, no, no.” Babs gently picked him up and set him down on the floor. She then crouched down in front of him, still holding him. Smiling at him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just worried about you.”

Beetlejuice frowned. “Is there something wrong with me?”

She didn’t answer. She still smiled, but he sensed her changing. Something about her felt purple. He glanced at the others and they felt purple, too. And they looked at him like… like he was the purple one.

But he wasn’t purple. He was green! Green, green, green!

“Sweetie,” Babs said, “you’re still little. And you’re not supposed to be little.”

He stepped away from her, shaking his head. Now he was turning purple, he could feel it. “But… I like being little. I’m Little Bug! Little Bug is better!”

“Everyone wishes they can be young forever,” said Delia. She touched her face. “But in time, we all must grow and spread our wings. Like butterflies. We can’t stay in our cocoons. If we did, we’ll just be… mindless goo.”

Lydia stepped forwards and knelt beside Babs. “It’s OK, Beej. Your mom’s gone. She can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. You can be big again.”

Big again. They wanted him to be Big Bug again. But Big Bug was bad and mean and he hurt everyone. Why did they want him to grow up into someone bad?

Did they… not want him to stay?

“NO!” He shook his head and backed away. He still felt purple but he also felt white, too. They wanted to get rid of him. They hated him because Big Bug hurt them. “Don’t get rid of me! I can be good, I promise! Don’t make me leave! Please, please, please!”

His vision went blurry. His eyes leaked.

Babs and Lydia and everyone else hurried forwards and hugged him. They hugged him so tight in a pile of love and he hoped that meant that he could stay. He closed his eyes and made a wish, hoping it came true. That they would let him stay forever and ever.

“We’re not sending you away!” said Adam. “Why would you think that?”

“You want Big Bug,” Beetlejuice sobbed. “Big Bug was bad. Big Bug hurt everyone. Big Bug a monster. Big Bug was alone and no one loved him. You all like Little Bug but you all hate Big Bug! If I’m Big Bug again you’ll make me go away!”

No one said anything.

Then Lydia pressed a kiss to his head. “We forgive you, Beetlejuice. You said you were sorry and we accept that apology. We’re not making you go away. Because you’re not alone. You have people in this house who love you. So if you’re ready to change back, stop worrying and do it. But if you’re not ready, then that’s fine, too. We just want you to be OK. You’re not alone.”

Beetlejuice trembled. They wanted him to stay. They forgave him. They loved him.

Could he believe them?

---

Sleep didn’t normally come easy to Beetlejuice. But that night it played hide and seek, refusing to be found.

The little demon huddled under the covers between Adam and Babs. He still couldn’t bring himself to sleep in his own bed. Because while dark rooms didn’t scare him, empty rooms did.

Being told that they weren’t going to leave him nor make him leave should have made this fear go away. It didn’t. Not until he believed them.

Beetlejuice kept his eyes shut and stopped breathing. He didn’t want Adam and Babs to worry, even though he liked it when they worried because it meant that they cared about him. He wished they could have been his parents instead of the horrible ones he got.

He laid there, hoping sleep would finally find him.

Then Babs started talking. “I hate this. We’re going to lose him.”

“No we’re not,” said Adam. “He’ll still be here, just bigger.”

“I know, it’s just…” She sniffed. Was she crying? “We’ll be losing this. He’s our baby. We finally get to be parents and…”

“Oh honey…” Adam made some soothing noises. “We’ll still have Lydia. And remember what Charles and Delia said yesterday? She wants to unfreeze some of her eggs after they get married so they can try for a kid. And Beetlejuice isn’t exactly the most, uh, mature person in the world. I’m sure we’ll still be parenting him.”

Babs made a noise of agreement. Then she sighed. “I know this is what’s best for him. I feel guilty for even thinking any this. I’m just… gonna miss him like this.”

They eventually settled down. Fell asleep. But sleep continued to hide from the demon. Maybe he had to go looking for it himself?

Beetlejuice opened his eyes and sat upright. He glanced between the two ghosts. Maybe they were telling the truth when they said they wouldn’t get rid of him when he was big again. But obviously they preferred him now.

He closed his eyes and let himself teleport to Lydia’s bedroom. If sleep was hiding anywhere, it would be with her.

Lydia was fast asleep in her bed. Beetlejuice padded over to her and tugged on her t-shirt. “Lydia?”

She stirred. Blinked. Squinted in the dark until she saw him. “Beej? Are you OK?”

The little demon clutched Vlad against his chest and stared at his feet. “Can I sleep in here with you?”

“Sure.” She didn’t even question why. Just opened up the covers and moved across the bed, giving him space.

Beetlejuice clambered into her bed and snuggled under the covers. This felt better. Safer. Already his eyes were drooping. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you, Bug,” she said, smiling warmly.

But before they both went to sleep, he had to ask. “Who do you like better? Big Bug or Little Bug?”

“You’re both the same to me,” she said, still smiling. “No matter what size you are. I don’t care if you’re my big brother or my little brother. You’re still my brother, Beej. And I love you.”

Feeling greener than freshly-watered grass, Beetlejuice scrambled across the bed and attacked Lydia with a hug. “I love you too, Lydia.”

He fell asleep like that. Loved and not alone.

---

Something felt… different, when he stirred.

Beetlejuice didn’t know what it was until Delia walked into the room, saying over her shoulder, “He’s probably with Lydia. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere else… Oh.”

She stared at him in surprise. He sat up to ask what was wrong – but he didn’t need to ask. He quickly realised he was taller. Vlad felt smaller in his arms, Lydia felt smaller lying next to him, the bed felt smaller…

He held his hand up and it was bigger, he brought his hand up to his face and there was his beard, he was big again, he was big-

“No!” He rolled out of the bed and scrambled across the floor, trying to get away from Lydia, from Delia, from everyone before he hurt someone…

“Beej?” Lydia startled awake and glanced his way. She blinked. “Oh. You’re big again.”

He hurriedly shook his head. “No… I’ve gotta change back…”

But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t go back. He stayed big.

Suddenly Lydia was there, kneeling in front of him and then she was hugging him. Beetlejuice froze beneath her touch, too scared to do anything in case he hurt her. Even when she rubbed his back in soothing motions like they’d all been doing with him before, when he was little. “Hey, it’s OK. This is good. This means you’re doing better now. This means you know you’re safe. And you are safe, Beej. This is your home and we’re your family. It’s like I said. Big or small, we love you.”

She didn’t let go. Didn’t tell him he was bad or unlovable or that he deserved to be alone. Maybe… this was real. He could believe it.

Delia came over and joined the hug. Then Adam and Babs arrived and did the same. Chuck was last through the door and simply stared. Beetlejuice stared back, hoping the man didn’t reject him but understanding if he did. And then the man sighed before he, too, joined their group hug.

And finally, finally… Beetlejuice let himself believe. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had a family. He had a home.

“Can I keep the race car bed?” he asked.

Everyone chuckled.

“Of course you can, sweetie,” said Babs.

“It’s a little small for you now, though,” said Adam.

Beetlejuice shrugged. “That’s OK. I can make it bigger.”