AN: Goodness, i go away for an internet-free weekend and am just completely stunned at the stories waiting to be read this afternoon! I love this community! You all rock. Seriously. So, Life Sentence has taken a considerably darker turn than i had originally intended, so i hope you can stick with me. The more i sleep on this story, the tougher it comes out for our beloved poltergeist. Also, i want to make new art for this story, as is traditional now-- if anyone feels inspired to create something for Glow, i'll be delighted to post it. Hugs to everyone, and on with the show.

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Chapter 5: Uncle Dougie

Benji scowled all the way to Lydia's door. "I don't like that he's staying with you, Lydia. He looks really… unbalanced." She gave him a very skeptical look and then turned to the poltergeist-cum-human who was sauntering along beside her, his hands tucked in his pockets, and his elfin features carefully arranged in an expression of mocking innocence. She rolled her eyes, thinking that had he still been a poltergeist, he would be wearing a shiny halo. She turned her attention back to her angry boyfriend.

"Benj, he's an old friend. Really old," she added. "He's like my crazy uncle, or something." But Benji refused to be placated, and tried the whole walk home to talk Lydia into letting him stay over with her and the 'strange man.' At one point in the mostly one-sided conversation, he paused for breath.

"What is his name, anyway? You never said."

Lydia glanced at Beetlejuice, caught off guard, and feeling chivalrous, he waved his hand across Benji's face.

"I'm right here, dumbass." Lydia shot him a quelling glance, but he just beamed back at her. "An' they call me Douglas. But Lyds here always called me Uncle Dougie." He just couldn't resist ribbing her a little, and she shook her head, looking as if she was seriously reconsidering her offer of shelter.

"How old are you?" challenged Benji.

"Six hundred and thirty seven," Beetlejuice shot back, and then grunted, calculating. "Depending on which calendar you believe…" he added. Lydia covered her face in her hands.

By the time they reached Lydia's apartment, Beetlejuice was hoping there would be an altercation, because he really wanted to punch this kid's lights out. But Lydia unlocked the door and shoved him inside without ceremony, and then closed the door on him, staying out on the landing with Benji.

Normally he would have been curious, but since he had already heard this conversation eleventy-ten times, he took a private tour of the tiny one-bedroom flat instead. It didn't take long. A loveseat of purple crushed velvet was tucked into one corner, and a tiny efficiency kitchen in the other. A single door led off into the equally efficient bedroom, where a twin bed was squeezed in next to a desk and an impossibly full bookshelf, and a half size pocket door slid open to showcase a bathroom which consisted of a clawfoot tub, a toilet, and a cramped sink, all in different shades of avocado green. Swanky.

Beetlejuice walked the two steps back out into the living room and sank down on the couch to wait for Lydia, since he really needed to ridicule her about her choice of boyfriend. She could have anyone—why would she saddle herself with a whiny, overprotective brat? Her smiling face flashed before his eyes. He didn't quite comprehend himself how much… different she looked— no longer the girl-child, but womanly, though still not curvy. Of course, not at all his type... He realized that he didn't even know how old she was. She could be in her thirties, though he doubted she would still be in a tiny little apartment. No, his Lydia was much more capable than that. She must just be starting out.

The couch looked much more comfortable than it had just a moment before. He curled up with his knees up to his chest, and a bone-crushing weariness descended on him like a blanket made of lead. He was hungry, and thirsty, and kinda needed to take a piss, but that could wait just a moment. Just one… moment.

When Lydia came back inside, completely furious with Benji's paranoid coddling and ready to demand that Beetlejuice tell her everything, he was already asleep, snoring gently. Her former poltergeist looked immensely vulnerable curled up on her little couch, and the irony of it disarmed her. Her anger faded gradually away as she watched him there, reliving the events of the night in her mind. His voice calling her name… how many times had she dreamed it? How many times had she wished, during the past eight years of her life, that he would come back for her? When she needed a hero, it was him, always him, in her daydreams and nightdreams. How he would swoop down and do her bidding and fix all the bad people and then take her out for ice cream afterwards. But he had never responded to his name, even when she had dared to whisper it in the protecting dark. Of course, Barbara and Adam answered all of her questions—had they seen him, did they know where he had gone, where was Saturn, could they take her there—in the negative. Finally, when she sensed their growing concern that she was just a little too interested in the dangerous poltergeist, she stopped asking. But she hadn't forgotten.

And now, to see him like this was such a shock. Gone was everything that had fascinated her—his ability to alter reality, and to guide her thought the Netherworld. He couldn't turn into a snake now, or scare the teacher that had given her a bad grade on her English composition, as she had fantasized in her innocence. He was just a man. And a dusty, unwashed one at that. But still, she had taken him in. And Benji, whom she never let stay over at all, was all in a froth about it. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't get it across to him that she wasn't interested in 'Douglas' like that. And she wasn't.

She studied him carefully in this rare moment of calm, just to be certain. He was markedly older than she, with laugh lines around his eyes, though she knew that he was much much older than he would ever look. His hair was wild, and with the corners of his mouth turned slightly down and the dramatic sweep of his eyebrows, he looked a bit like a sulky, oversized pixie. Almost ivory pale, smooth skin… strong hands and arms crossed over his wiry body. She remembered his eyes, although after that first brilliant flash of green she had been afraid to look at him again. Afraid of... she roused herself from her reverie. Not even remotely attractive.

He shifted in his sleep, kicking against the arm of the couch. Lydia crossed into her bedroom and gathered a few blankets and a pillow from a box next to her bed. She made him a bed on the floor, and then reached up and shook him gently. His shoulder was lean and hard under his worn t-shirt. What sort of a man had he been, she wondered. He mumbled something about the sun being too bright.

"Come on, Uncle Doug. You're too big for that couch, so I made you a bed." She tried to lift him, and found him much heavier than she had estimated. Up close he smelled strongly of bourbon and sweat, with the tang of blood that concerned her, and underneath it all, a faint smoky, bitter smell that reminded her of a burned-out fire. She tugged again and he tumbled off onto the floor. Unprepared, she lost her balance and accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. Fast as lightening, his hands flew up to protect his face, and he curled onto his side, his knees sheltering his stomach.

"No. Nomore. No." His voice was pained, a harsh whisper. Shocked, Lydia straightened.

"I'm sorry!" Had she hurt him? She didn't think that she had, being neither strong nor heavy. She reached a slightly trembling hand to stroke his back gently. "Shh, it's okay. You're safe." He rocked against her knees, moaned something unintelligible, and slowly subsided from half-wakefulness to sleep. For a moment she continued to rub his back, and slid her fingers slowly across his shoulders. Through his shirt she could feel a strange, contoured texture; something that should not have been there. Intensely curious, she debated lifting his collar, just a little, to see. But then she remembered the strange fear in his voice, and thinking better of it, she lifted the blanket and tucked him in, and then rose to get ready for bed herself, her stomach twisted in knots. She would not sleep well tonight.

And she didn't. Groggy, her head full of troubled dreams, she woke to the late morning sunlight streaming in the window, and violent retching sounds emanating from the bathroom.