Just because he was refusing to interact with her didn't mean he wasn't always keeping tabs on her movements, especially when a storm blew in over the small town. Most of his time the past few days was spent in a noncorporeal state but when the day started to drag on and he didn't see her little form moving towards the house he started to worry, his form solidifying.

Two cigarettes were burnt to ash in a straight line before he thought to listen in downstairs. Charles was on the phone droning on and on about some development plan or some shit. It sounded like Delia had some heavy-duty equipment going to work in her studio. Neither seemed to notice it was well past the time Lydia should have been home.

Betelgeuse leaned against the window, sucked down another cigarette, and assessed his options. He didn't want her angrier at him than she already was because he overstepped… but maybe he could cut the phone connection and use her voice to ask ole' Chuck to go pick her up. Could he spook Delia into realizing the girl wasn't home yet?

He was pacing. He made it about eight circuits before he felt it‒ the horrific sensation of his ribcage tearing open.

"Say it once," he wheezed. Someone was calling his name. If it was Juno, he was going to destroy the entire floor her offices presided. The pain hit again as his name was called once more. This time, he could feel fear the fear in their call.

"That's twice," he ground around his cigarette. As always, on the third he could hear the summoner's voice as it echoed through his mind. The passing thought It's Lydia swept through him before he was pulled through the aether, a victorious cackle left hanging in the stagnant attic air.

"Third time's the charm."

Betelgeuse found her with her veil ripped off and hair mussed, jacket gone from her uniform and all the buttons popped from her tidy white blouse, everything hanging out. Lydia didn't wear bras, so her breasts were exposed. She was crying and pushing and begging the shortish‒ but not shorter than her‒ scrawny man on top of her to please stop.

The next thing she knew, the car door on her side was yanked open, Mr. Howard was pulled off of her, and she could hear squelching, ripping, tearing sounds coming from just feet away. A splash of something warm and wet slapped her face. Coming back to herself, Lydia scrambled for the door to pull it shut and locked.

Betelgeuse was killing Mr. Howard. It took a long time.

Lydia didn't dare step foot outside to interfere, instead shakily pulling herself back together, methodically taking stock of all her belongings. The worst kind of screams were echoing outside the car. Occasionally, the hood or window would thud with what Lydia imagined were body parts torn off and casually tossed aside. A good chunk of her feared that Betelgeuse might blame her for this in some way and she sobbed harder at the very likely possibility, more than a little hysterical.

Fear kept her frozen on the middle seat, leaving all the doors locked shut even when the screaming ceased and she heard the shuffling of someone on the outside trying to open it back up.

The moment he solidified and took in what was happening in the car, the door was popped open and the piss ant pulled off his girl before a single thought could be spared on the consequences. He felt himself slide into the monstrous form he kept hidden away. There wasn't any reason to hide it here.

His claws went right through the mortal like butter, peeling off ribbons of flesh to make him beg for mercy then death. It was slow but rewarding work. He pulled him apart, bit by bit, dissecting the maggot down to the joints. When there was nothing left but slow to understand it was dead twitching pieces of muscle he spat down into the pile and moved for the car.

Trying to center himself, he leaned against the passenger side door. Already overstimulated by the summons, the smell of blood and Lydia's fear had him highlyly aroused, a hungry energy vibrating off of him. When he didn't think he would attack her, he tried the door. It was locked. Letting out a frustrated growl, he tried again on the other side. When it still didn't open, he knocked on the window. He could see her cowering in the front seat but she had slid to the other side away from him.

"Baby girl, open the door…" He had to clear his throat a few times before he could make it sound like real words. "Sweetheart, lemme in."

When all she did was try and get further away from him, he frowned and tried the door handle again, struggling with it before just forcing the lock click open in frustration. With a jerk, the door was open and he was leaning inside.

"Hey, baby, you okay? I‒ I know you ain't okay but‒ but did he hurt you?" He reached out with one bloody hand to touch her shoulder, his voice still a low growl. The smell of her fear hit him in the gut and knocked him to his knees.

"Lydia… please, honey, talk t'me."

"I think… I'm okay."

She wasn't bleeding. Her breaths were coming in and out quickly, probably too fast to be good for her. The metallic scent of blood in the air hit her. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she could smell the dead man all over this car, this car he had been alive and trying to rape her in only twenty minutes or so prior before she listened to him die a slow, horrible death.

She jerked to the side away from Betelgeuse again, this time to wrench open the door and lose stomach acid and water all over the ground. Three days now she hadn't eaten. By the time she was done, she was shivering and coughing, hanging over the seat, sweaty bangs plastered to her forehead.

Rain was hitting the side of her face, but it felt nice. As nice as anything could feel at the moment, that is. It was bright enough out that she had forced her eyes clenched shut through the entire ordeal but now they were stinging and watery in addition to her traumatized tears, her near-transluscent eyelids only able to shield so much.

"Can you take me home…?"

Where even were they? She didn't want to know but also she did so that she might never accidentally step foot there again.

"Without my parents seeing…? Please…?"

Watching her vomit, he wondered which part had caused her to do that. Was it the pissant in pieces or what he himself did to said pissant? The slop smelled more sour than it should have, which only made him worry after her more.

"Can you take me home…? Without my parents seeing…? Please…?"

Moving around the car to the side she was on, he noticed that he was still covered in blood and thicker things but this was one of those things he couldn't just make go away. When he got her back to the house, he would have to do it the mortal way. His hands were wiped clean on the grass before he went to her.

"O' course, sweets." His voice was hoarse but he wasn't lisping around fangs anymore. He opened his arms to her. "C'mere n' we'll go home."

With a clumsy shuffle and a weak cry, Lydia threw herself toward the sound of his voice, trusting that he would catch her. He didn't disappoint. He was also disgusting. A thick, bloody layer of Mr. Howard coated him, and once they popped back into existence in her candlelit bedroom, she scurried from his arms and toward the bathroom to dry heave some more, intermittently pausing to pull another item of blood-stained clothing off.

First went her jacket, then boots and socks and skirt, until all she had on were a pair of panties and her ruined blouse.

"He was going to rape me," she stated simply once she had the breath to, sensing Betelgeuse's presence behind her. Her brain hadn't quite caught up with her body yet. Adrenalin coursed through her system, leaving her feeling as if she could run a marathon‒ if only she could see the track.

"He was my teacher. People are going to look for him. People knew he was driving me home. They're going to want to talk to me."

Tears still streamed down in a constant flow but her tone was devoid of emotion.

He was right behind her making sure she made it safely to the toilet. His jacket and boots were ditched while she vomited again. He hovered over near, not sure if he could touch her or not.

"He was going to rape me."

"I know, sweets, I know… but he can't now. I made sure…" he could feel rage pooling in his gut again and leaned back against the counter. "He ain't gonna hurt no one ever again."

She was crying and he was helpless to stop it. Moving as close as he dared, he sighed as she rambled on about how the pissant was a teacher and people would want to talk to her.

"Babes, don't worry so much. He dropped you off here."

With a snap of his fingers, the front door downstairs slammed and Lydia's voice called out, 'Dad, Delia, I'm home!' followed by the sound of feet on the stairs before her bedroom door opened and shut. Kneeling down next to her, he hesitantly rested a hand on her back.

"See? There wasn't 'nough o' him left for 'em to even calculate a time o' death, Lyds."

The sound of a doppelganger heading up the stairs gave her a start, Lydia turning a deer-in-the-headlights expression toward her bedroom door as if she truly expected another her to come barrelling through‒ but it was all an illusion. An effective one at that. There went a good chunk of the source of her anxiety… all except for the way she wanted to curl up into a ball on the ground and die.

Her knees buckled. Using the counter as a balancing bar, she made baby steps over toward the toilet before collapsing down on the seat, weak and shaken. Reedy arms wrapped tight around herself. She felt so ugly and disgusting and didn't want to leave too much of herself open to Betelgeuse's perusal, leaving the blood and vomit soiled blouse on even though the smell of it made her gag.

His touch made her quake but not in revulsion. She hated being seen in such a weak, wounded state. It was not lost on her that he was right. Their fight a couple of days ago when he worried after her, he had reason to. Her face crumpled further in shame and she curled tighter into herself, hiding.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you…"

Sighing, he cupped her chin and tugged up so he was looking into her face, then moved some of her mussed hair out of the way to search her expression further. He was extremely grateful, not for the first time, that she couldn't see him. He couldn't see himself in the mirror but he could feel the blood and thicker things clinging to his hair and face. His shirt was plastered to his chest with the red stuff. She looked the worse for wear just from him carrying her the short time to get her home and safe.

"Don't think on it, sweets."

The shower kicked on next to them and steam started to fill the room.

"Let's get ya outta that shirt n' cleaned up. You'll feel better."

After peeling out of his shirt and slacks, he turned back to look at his girl still huddled in her soiled shirt, unmoving. Another sympathetic sigh and he was moving to help her strip out of it.

"Please, babes, let's get this off o' you. I just want ya ta lose the shirt, I ain't askin' fer nothin' else..."

Robotic in her motions, her shirt and panties both came off, most of the work done by the poltergeist. His skin brushed hers in the process and she was relieved to find it no longer as thighly coated with Mr. Howard with the loss of his clothing. Betelgeuse was right. A shower was a good idea. Tiny hands gripped his forearm as she let him usher her into the stall. She knew where it was but felt weak. He wanted to be helpful, and he was hurting too. More than he let on.

Once there, she plastered both hands flat against the tiled wall where the shower head stuck out, relaxed her body weight, and simply let herself exist for a moment in the scalding stream, thoughts quiet. It only lasted for an instant before the memory of hot breath in her ear mixed with the sound of ripping human flesh made an intrusion, causing her to flinch at nothing.

"He said… he said that no one would believe me… and he was right."

It went unspoken that Betelgeuse was the exception to this rule.

"I haven't felt that helpless since‒ since‒"

She broke off, releasing a shuddering sob into the steam.

After helping her into the shower stall, he stepped in too. The rain had done a good job of cleaning what little mess that stuck to her but her hair had a few clumped spots of blood from when he held her.

Betelgeuse watched her try and pull herself together, could practically feel her gathering the energy to right herself. Moving up closer behind her, his cool nude body pressed along her back and pulled her to his chest. She was talking and crying even though she was pretending she wasn't. Very gently, he made sure to clean every last bit of flesh and gore and blood from her person.

"Yer safe now. Told ya I won't let nothin' happen." Turning her to face him, he cupped her cheek. "He can't do anything else to you or anyone. He's dead as ya get n' gonna spend eternity as slop."

Peppering soft kisses to her forehead, he hugged her back in close to his chest.

They stayed in the stream for a long while. Lydia didn't move to wash her own her or scrub herself, so he took it upon himself to do it for her with small, gentle motions. He had her dried and dressed in a long nightgown, more opaque than the last one he put her in‒ she could tell by the feel of the fabric that it was simple lightweight cotton.

"Did you miss me?"

She uttered into his neck when he had her coddled in the center of the bed, pulled beneath blankets, and caged in his arms so that no other boogeymen could try and claim her.

"When you were gone all that time? I missed you so much."

"O' course I missed ya." More soft kisses were pressed into her hair. "Couldn't think o' nothin' else but gettin' back t'ya."

Shutting his eyes, he listened to her heartbeat for a moment, cherishing that she let him back into her bed so quickly after listening to him rip another man apart. He was sure he would be hearing from Juno again because of this. Fuck, this was the kind of shit that got him put on house arrest to begin with. They weren't going to let it stand. Juno would lock him away far, far from Lydia…

… Unless…

"Hey, babes. Marry me?"

Her brows furrowed cutely. She wasn't sure she understood him properly.

"What?"

At first, she thought maybe he was teasing and it landed poorly, letting loose a nervous awkward sort of giggle at the weird joke and disturbing timing. But he didn't laugh. His jaw and neck muscles didn't move at all. None of him did. He was serious. Lydia was suddenly just as still as he.

"But… I can't marry you. I‒ I'm only sixteen, Beej. What‒ I don't understand. Why do you want to get married? Can we actually do that?"

He was dead! Did dead people and living people go around marrying one another often and no one ever told her? This was entirely too much information for her frazzled mind, threatening already sparking internal wires to short circuit.

His eyes remained shut but he could feel the confusion coming off her in waves, her pulse spiking while she tried very hard to stay small and still.

"Sure we can. Who cares that yer sixteen? I'm dead, age ain't really an issue, babes." He pulled her closer, blunted claws dragging through her hair. "No one would be able t'call me away from you ever again."

No one would be calling him away tonight either. With access to fresh human blood, he had taken the opportunity while she was distracted to carve a few crimson wards into the wooden frame of her bed. Now, the Deetz house was a sanctuary from name-summonings. He was not going to have her waking up to an empty bed ever again.

"Yer already wearin' my ring."

It was unkind of him to ask something like this of her so soon after such an ordeal but Lydia didn't recognize that.

"I don't know," she bit her lip, holding him tighter. The prospect of him leaving her any time soon was unacceptable. She didn't want to let him go again, not so soon after getting him back.

"Let me think about it."

What would married life with him even really look like? Would they stay there with her parents and sleep together in the same bed every night? Though, it did look as though things were turning in that direction anyway.

"Yer already wearin' my ring."

"It won't come off," she complained without any shade of annoyance, demonstrating how the band was rigid around her finger. It didn't cut into the skin, just sitting comfortably around her ring finger, the serpent happy with where it lived.

"See? Did you do that?"

"Take yer time, babe." He sniffed and settled against her a little more, relaxing into the bed. "If I do get summoned again, ain't sure I'll be back. Broke a pretty big law today. The powers that be don't like it when ya go 'round murderin' breathers. Want ya t'know that if ya wake up n' I'm gone, I didn't go quietly."

He slipped a hand up under the hem of her nighty, fingers stroking along her thigh in soft soothing circles.

"Did you do that?"

"Nope‒" the 'p' popped. He cracked an eye open to watch her trying and failing to remove his ring. He honestly‒ consciously‒ had not manipulated anything to make the ring do that but if it wasn't coming off, then all for the better. Though the marks of his touch were all gone, she still had his signia on her.

Pulling her closer, he pressed his nude form against hers, the thin cotton of her sleeping gown the only barrier between them.

Bulky, naked arms tightened around her and she shivered, not from the cold. Was it sick of her to desire this kind of closeness so soon after an attack like she experienced? Something was definitely wrong with her. Many somethings.

Allowing herself the freedom to explore the way he was, pale digits went soft along his shoulders then flattened down his biceps to smooth down contours of muscle and flab. Plush lips parted, petal-soft against the wiry hair on his bare chest, breath hot as a furnace. He was hard against her belly, had been for several minutes now, but every ridge and bump of his girth was clear pressed flush into her nighty, coarse palms firm but gentle on her thighs.

"Please," she began, barely audible, ashamed of herself for wanting, "keep touching me… just… just be soft… okay?"

"As you wish, babes," he spoke low and throaty, not quite a growl, "Love it when ya ask so sweet."

Kneading her thighs, he pulled her in tight to his front as he rolled onto his back, leading her to straddle his lap. He leaned up, at the same time pulling her down into a kiss by has fingers tangled in her hair, his tongue requesting access to her mouth and hips rolling up slow and steady.

Lydia knew this probably wasn't healthy but didn't really care. It felt too good. She could control this, wanted this. Betelgeuse's touch helped to erase that of the other dead man's, replace bad memories with good ones. Her thighs melted open with his massage, cotton riding up with his groping hands until it pooled in the small of her back and her nether regions were sliding sleek and slick along his.

She whimpered against his lips, shuddering, thighs squeezing tight around his hips to give her purchase to rock into the wave of pleasure. Her fingers hand moved to his face, carefully recounting the details there she had forgotten since he disappeared on her.

Holding her in place by her hips, he rolled up against her, his grip leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on her skin. With a soft grunt and a nip to her lips, he made the nighty disappear, then moved down to pull one of her pale peaks into his mouth, his tongue playing over her nipple. His hips moved quicker and harder. Leaning back into the pillows, he gazed up at her in the candlelight, eyes glowing a soft yellow.

"Yer so fuckin' beautiful, Lyds," his hand moved up to catch her breast, massaging, the finger and thumb plucking at her nipple.

It was easy to lose herself in this passionate embrace, use him to drive away the memory of another's hands on her. Glowing eyes beckoned to her through the shadows and she drifted close through vigilant rocking until their tongues were knotted again, hips sliding fluidly all the while, harder and faster until‒

"Ah!"

His mouth swallowed the rest of her choked pleasure sounds, her tiny body going limp and breathless over him with the shock of her peak. He wasn't done yet. Eager to get him off but unable to keep sliding like that and stimulating her pulsating clit, she pushed up and reached between them. Once she found what she was looking for, she squeezed hard, compensating for that her fingers couldn't match his circumference.

When she went limp across his chest, he smiled into the darkness and started to let his hands wander along her back‒ that is until she moved, grabbed him, and squeezed. He hissed out a gasping breath, attention snapping down to watch her tiny hand moving smoothly against his length. His eyes snapped shut as she passed her thumb over the sensitive head, bucking his hips into her hand pulling her down into a bruising kiss, breath and body shuddering with every stroke.

It made Lydia feel powerful to affect him this way, as if she had a terrible beast on a leash, loyal to her. Didn't she, though? She was running on leftover adrenaline and nerves. Once she had gotten what she wanted from him, she would likely fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, but that was worlds away from now.

"I was so scared," she whispered in his ear while he gasped and bucked against her, comforted to know that he was hers and he cared about her, if only for the moment. This man wanted to marry her‒ God, that still hadn't sunk in yet.

"I almost didn't think you would come… but you came."

"I was so scared."

She didn't smell scared now. No, she smelled like lust, and he did that. He had chased away the fear and put that fire in her. Her hot little touches made him come undone faster than anyone else ever had.

"I almost didn't think you would come… but you came."

"Course I did," he was panting out breaths he didn't need, his answer coming out shaky and intense, "I'll always come when ya call."

His hand was tangled in her hair again, dragging her down into a hungry kiss while his hips ground into her hand violently once more. He came with a growl against her lips, his release smearing them both.

He was sated. Lydia felt useful and beautiful and wanted. With a contented sigh, completely spent and uncaring of the cool release splattered across her belly and chest, she rolled off of him and to the side, letting all of her limbs flop out on the expansive surface of her bed. That was nice.

What a rush. Reality was beginning to seep in but she was too tired to indulge natural panic and paranoia in that she had been complicit in a murder. He cleaned her up before she could think to ask but the nightgown didn't make a comeback. They were going to sleep naked together then. Lydia couldn't find the wherewithal to dissect further if this was a bad idea.

"You can walk with me to school tomorrow… I would like it if you walked me to school tomorrow."

The distinction between those two statements was clear and important.

Pulling her in to spoon against his front, he curled around her warmth and humanity like the last fire at the end of a vacant world. His nose rubbed against the skin just behind her ear.

"I'd love nothin' more." His voice was heavy with coming sleep, her regular breaths and steady heartbeat soothing his soul in ways nothing had since he died.

"Ya' want me to stick around all day too?" Time would have to be set aside to deal with her blood-smeared clothes and the mess they left in the bathroom. Those were things that could wait until later. Right now, he was warm and comfortable, and she was here and safe.

He didn't completely fall asleep as he felt her drift off. The pull from Juno he knew would be coming sooner or later. Not that she would be able to summon him while he was in this house. She had to be livid. He had broken a major law, an unforgivable offense. He would do it again as many times as was needed if it meant his faery queen would never look like that ever again.

He would ask for some of Lydia's blood in the morning so he could make sure that as long as he stayed close, he could be bound to her. More bindings on his soul, more tension on an already wound tight leash… that didn't sit comfortably with him but at least he was the one choosing to be bound this time. If he could convince her to marry him, it would wipe all the other bindings away. She would be his bond, his jailer, his haunt.

Honestly, that sounded just about like heaven to him.