"Alabama, Arkansas,
I do love my Ma and Pa,
Not that way that I do love you."

— Home
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

The years were harsh to Charles Deetz. Following his daughter's abduction— he couldn't bear thinking of the event as anything else— alcoholism got its hooks into him. He had always had an unhealthy love for the bottle, but the old adage was true. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. The loss of his daughter was too painful for someone as weak-willed as Chuck to cope without a crutch. He quickly disintegrated.

Delia managed to tough it out for five more years before packing up and moving in with her sister in New York, happy to get out the shticks and leave that chapter of her life behind. The final straw for her was Charles spending their anniversary slumped over a creaky barstool in Winter River's only pub, having completely forgotten the occasion. When he came home stumbling at three o'clock in the morning, he found all of Delia's things gone, as well as a stack of divorce papers on his desk, every line already filled out and ready to be filed, just waiting for his signature.

He gave her the divorce without a fight, letting her take all she wanted. She deserved it, putting up with his bullshit as long as she had. Not long after losing his wife, he lost his job as well, unable to meet the required deadlines or show up to meetings without the stench of liquor on his breath.

He never could bring himself to leave the house on the hill, far too attached to the ghost of his daughter's memory. His wealthy family came to the rescue in his time of need; paying bills, providing financial stability, and giving him premature access to his inheritance, most of which had already been pilfered by Delia in the divorce. Like a true skeevy businessman, he was quick to take advantage. It didn't take long at all for him to blow through the already depleted funds. After that was gone, he was on his own.

The house was repossessed. All of his belongings as well as the scraps that Lydia left behind were carted out to the curb, where Charles Deetz sobbed brokenly over them until the garbage man came to take them away. Now, he truly had nothing. No daughter, no wife, no job, no home, no family.

With time, he grew a reputation. Clothed in reeking rags, he spent his days wandering Winter River, begging for spare change and going on drunken rants whenever he managed to save up enough for a bottle. He told his story to anyone who would listen; that a monster took everything from him. A striped vagabond, a boogeyman who snuck into his home like a thief in the night and stole everything that he held dear.

Unfortunately, no one was interested in listening to the town drunk's nonsensical ramblings. Nights were spent sleeping in the cemetery among the tombstones, the last place his daughter was known to be alive and well.

This is where Charles Deetz died, nestled uncomfortably between Barbara and Adam Maitlands' matching headstones, an empty bottle of cheap whiskey in his dirty mitts and a folded up photo of a garden spider tucked into his grimy jacket's pocket.

When the phone on his desk rang, he'd been wary. The only person who'd call him would be Juno, old-fashioned as she was. It made it even more of a surprise when Carmen was on the other end. "Carmen? What's happenin'?"

"OH! Mijo, you'll never believe it... guess who came into the waiting room drunk and rambling about your wife. He's asking for you too!" Betel immediately went on the defensive, scowling at his desk. "Who the hell would be askin' about my wife? Everyone knows better."

"Well, not everyone. Go on. Guess."

Just then, she was interrupted by a familiar voice. He was shouting, and clearly off his ass drunk, but it was him.

"WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER!? I know y'bastards got her! And B'tlejuzz. Where is THAT asshole?" Charles Deetz. Shit. He glanced over his shoulder at his office door. Lydia was asleep in their bedroom, hopefully dreaming peacefully. He shook his head.

"I'll be right there, Carmen."

He hung up and scribbled down a note to leave beside the bed with a red rose.

Running an errand. Love you. Home soon.

With that settled he popped himself into the waiting room, staring at the disgusting mess that was left of his father-in-law. "Dad. Good t'see ya. Heard ya were lookin' for me."

In the Neitherworld, when one died drunk, they stayed drunk. At least for a little while, until they were ready to sober up. Some people never got that far. Charles wasn't anywhere near the proper headspace. All he was cognizant of was that he was dead— finally— and could continue the arduous search for his long lost daughter. The cruel ghost hadn't allowed him to keep a single picture of her. He'd nearly forgotten what she looked like.

But he was here now and he could find her. Do the job he was always meant to do and make sure she was safe. At any cost. If only the stupid cow behind this counter would give him a second of her attention. The bimbo yapped on casually on her phone, not even giving him the courtesy of a response. Charles was far too belligerent to take in what she was saying and to whom.

"Lydia! Deetz!" He repeated, slurring but still somehow chewing the syllables. "D-E-E-T-Z. Jus' type it into your lil' machine and lemme see my daughter!"

The secretary hung up her phone, sighed, put up a little handwritten sign, then walked away, refusing the drunkard even a moment's consideration. Smoke break. Be back whenever.

There was a little cutesy kiss mark on it that sent Charles into a rage, banging both fists on the unbreakable, dingy glass pane.

"Come back! Come back!"

Dad. Good t'see ya. Heard ya were lookin' for me.

The sound of that voice cracked across his ears like a whip, drawing him away from the glass effectively.

"You," he hissed, sneering, eyes wide and bloodshot, wild with contempt. Fearless, he stumbled forward, grabbing hold of the detestable ghoul's striped lapels to give him a good shake. "Bring me to Lydia! Is she okay? What have you done to her? I want to see my daughter now!"

Betelgeuse was completely unphased, simply rolling his eyes at the way his father in law tried to intimidate him into seeing Lydia. That sure as hell wasn't going to work.

"Let's not do this here, Chuck." He turned to the window where Carmen has returned to snoop. "Thanks, Carmen. I'll handle him." In a blink they were standing in a sparse bedroom in the basement of the house he shared with Lydia. The guest room was yet another locked door that his wife hadn't managed to explore.

He shoved Chuck onto the bed and flopped into the armchair that sat across from it. "So. First of all, congrats on finally kickin' it. Second, Lyds is great. Happy, healthy. Got a job. She's a fashion designer. Makes beautiful stuff."

He fixed him with a stern look. "And she's pregnant. Due in a few months. Which means you better get yer shit together if ya wanna meet yer granddaughter. What the fuck happened to ya, Chuck? I mean I knew ya were a drunk, but this? Ya think Lyds would wanna see ya like this? Pathetic."

Everything the hated ghoul had to say about his daughter dug a proverbial knife deeper into his chest. Happy? Healthy? Fashion designer?! Pregnant?!

In any of his miserable years waiting hopelessly for her to return, Charles had never seriously entertained the possibility that Lydia might be well cared for by the ghoul. He remembered the meeting, the conversation they had all those years back in his study in which the poltergeist demanded information about the monster who attacked his daughter when she was too young to understand what was happening to her. Sometimes he thought he'd imagined the entire scene to comfort himself, but the album… the album was gone. It was real. That happened.

I knew ya were a drunk, but this? Ya think Lyds would wanna see ya like this?

His fierce, determined expression crumpled into something else as he looked down at himself with a blurry vision, taking stock of his appearance. He was a bum. The last time Lydia saw him, he was… well, he wasn't exactly sober, but he wasn't what he was now. He was cleanly shaven and wore one of his nice, tailored suits, barely any gray in his hair. The clothes he wore now were ill-fitted and grungy. A scruffy gray beard took up most of his sagging face, matching the unkempt length of whitish blondish hair on his head, greasy and hanging down past his ears.

"She's still… alive…?"

His head hurt, and trying to make sense of all this wasn't doing anything to help. Why was he still drunk? Would he be like this forever?

"Lydia can't… can't have babies…"

Surely, there was some sort of misunderstanding here. What witchcraft was this? Where was he even? The room was plain, barely furnished. Just a modest bed, a nightstand, a lamp, and a wardrobe. No real color or personality, like he imagined a dorm in a convent might look.

"M'still… still drunk," he informed as if his foul son-in-law wasn't already aware, rubbing furiously at his eyes as though it might banish his intoxication. "Don' wannabe… where am I? Can't— can't think… Just wanna see my baby…"

Lydia can't... can't have babies.

"Oh, so ya knew about that. Thanks for the heads up. She was real broken up about it. Never seen her like that... but I fixed it for her. I always fix it for her. Anything she wants she gets. Ya should be happy for her."

He lit a cigarette and offered one to his father in law. "Yer in our house. Though Lyds won't know yer here. And she won't til ya sober up all the way. I'm not about to stress her out and hurt her or the baby seein' ya like this."

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, staring at the man who'd reared his perfect, saintly wife. He didn't see the resemblance. Not for a minute. "If you wanna play Grandpa Chuck, yer gonna apologize. Understand? For all the bullshit she had to go through. I'm not lettin' ya anywhere near her til yer ready to do that."

He shook his head, thinking over all the damages he'd tried to fix in their time together. The scarring on her womb still worried him. The birth was going to be a struggle for her... it would be even if she were whole. She was so tiny...

His eyes snapped back to the bum sitting at the edge of the bed. He waved a hand and the man was dressed in a pair of cotton pajamas, not unlike the ones someone might receive at a rehab facility.

"Bathroom is through that door. When I leave, the one goin to the house will disappear. Just ask for food out loud, it'll appear. Don't bother askin' for booze. Won't come." He stood and gave the man a hard look.

"I'll be back, Chuck. And I'll wanna see progress. Lyds'll probably be excited to hear yer down here. When I tell her. If I tell her."

Charles was still stuck on the baby, showing a drastically delayed reaction when his tatted hobo rags disappeared to be replaced with plain prisoner's pajamas. It was the nicest thing he'd worn in years. Could it be? Was he going to be a grandpa? Was she as happy as the villain said? Betelgeuse hadn't lied to him yet.

Beyond words, he began to shake, tears streaming unbidden down his aged, colorless cheek. Betelgeuse scoffed at this and disappeared with a pop. He would comfort his crying wife, sure, but the old man was on his own. With the poltergeist's disappearance, Charles allowed himself to dissolve completely, crumpling onto the thin mattress and releasing choked, bittersweet sobs into the room. After a while, the corners of his mouth lifted, and it became impossible to discern if he was weeping or laughing, though it was likely a combination of both.

Once the waterworks subsided into weak hiccups, he found it in himself to try for some food despite his lack of appetite. Maybe it would help make the fuzziness go away.

"B… Big Mac…"

As if he'd walked into a McDonald's and purchased it himself, a perfectly wrapped Big Mac appeared on the nightstand, melty cheese and all. It was the best he had ever had. Sucking crumbs and grease from his fingers, he made to stumble toward the bathroom, exploring. There was a mirror above the sink… but no reflection. He stayed there for a long while, patting the looking glass where his reflection should have been and assessing the purplish hue of his hands. It was surreal.

The smallish bathroom— just a shower stall, toilet, and sink— was fully stocked with all the proper toiletries; toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and shaving cream and a sturdy razor that looked like it would cut through the scruff on his face without issue. Triggering the nozzle until a fat dollop of foam formed in his hand, Charles started in on shaving himself, eager to right himself for his daughter and her impending baby. She wouldn't even recognize him like this…

Lydia was a wreck. Bug was due for arrival in roughly two months, guests for the baby shower were going to start showing up any minute, and her no-good rotten husband was nowhere to be found, leaving her to prepare on her own. She was finally going to be meeting the much talked about Jacques, "the monster across the street and his girlfriend"— whatever that meant, but Lydia was sure they were lovely people. Juno and the pretty secretary she once met briefly had also been sent invitations.

The heavily pregnant Lydia had been up since the crack of dawn, preparing hors d'oeuvres and hanging decorations. She insisted on gender-neutral colors despite his determination that they were having a girl. Just in case. Black, green, and purple streamers and balloons lined the halls, providing a festive atmosphere. Currently, Lydia was balancing at the top of a ladder in the foyer, attempting to string up a banner for welcoming their guests. She managed to get the other side pinned up with some difficulty, but she was running on fumes at this point. She didn't want to party. She wanted to nap.

"Damnit, Betelgeuse," she cursed, stretching up awkwardly with her extremely full, perfectly round belly to pin the other side of the banner. Just then, the timer on the oven went off, startling her and upsetting her balance. The ladder shuddered, then tipped, and in the blink of an eye, she was crashing toward the ground.

As Betelgeuse appeared upstairs, he was just in time to see his very pregnant wife go tumbling off the ladder. He had her in his arms in an instant, eyes wide.

"The hell are you doin'!? Jesus, Lydia I told ya I'd be right back! I coulda done all this with a snap." As if demonstrating, he snapped and the rest of the decorating was done. He lowered her carefully and pressed his lips to her temple. "Christ, ya scared me."

He brought his hand down on her ass firmly. "Don't do that shit! I leave for fifteen minutes to work on yer gifts and ya try to get yerself and Buggy offed."

Frazzled and shaken from the fall, Lydia clung to his side as he gently lowered her back to her feet.

"I wasn't trying to do anything other than make sure everything looks nice and that we have food for our guests!" She snapped, jerkily straightening out her hair and outfit, mussed from the fall.

"Fifteen minutes my ass! Where were you!?"

What planet was he living on? She was furious. How dare he up and disappear on her in the middle of the night right before the baby shower they'd been planning for months.

"You've been gone all day! People are going to start showing up any minute now and nothing's ready!"

Apparently, she was conveniently willing to ignore the perfectly dressed halls, bedecked with more beautiful decorations, courtesy of his juice, than she could have possibly put up on her own.

"I still need to make cupcakes, and mix the punch, and there's a sink full of dishes in there that haven't been washed and— and— the pigs in a blanket!"

Without further preamble, she turned her back on him in a flurry of royal purple fabric and ebony hair, waddling just as quickly as she could toward the kitchen to attempt saving the mini weenies before they could be burnt to a crisp.

He had the good sense to act thoroughly scolded, padding into the kitchen after her. "I'm sorry, baby... can I help? Summon the cupcakes or something?"

He slid in behind her, rubbing a hand over her stomach. "I was looking for one last gift and lost track of time on the mortal plane. I'm sorry, kitten. Really..."

He wasn't about to tell her the truth. He trusted Juno and Carmen to keep their mouths shut, but the fact that he was hiding her father from her in the basement was at the front of his mind.

"Come on. Before the guests show up..."

He led her carefully to the nursery, which had been completely redone. There was a twisting tree painted on one corner, the branches trailing over the walls on either side and up onto the ceiling.

The cherrywood furniture was finished. A crib, rocking chair, dresser, and changing table all matched in curling carved surfaces that mimicked the boughs of the creepy tree. A stuffed bat sat on the rocking chair, a fanged smile on its face.

Lydia had been a very good girl for him and hadn't trespassed into the forbidden nursery since the day she walked in on him doing his woodwork. It would be more fun to be surprised. Mood swinging rapidly in the opposite direction, Lydia kept her eyes shut in anticipation as he led her through the door, a gentle palm on her lower back.

"Oh… Beej…"

It was perfect. Absolutely stunning. Suddenly weak in the knees, she crumpled against him, too full of emotion to contain the tears.

"Gonna…" she hiccupped, wiping dampness from the corner of her eyes. "Gonna mess up my makeup."

She had been on forced maternity leave since about halfway through the second trimester, and without anywhere to go she hadn't bothered making herself up in any capacity. It was Ginger's idea. Apparently, she wasn't too fond of the way Lydia's gaze would sometimes stay plastered on her, staring at her like she looked like a good snack. She couldn't help it, really. Bug certainly had Daddy's appetite.

"I need to sit down…"

He guided her to the beautifully crafted rocking chair and she fell into it heavily, but gracefully, a heavy sigh parting her lips.

"It's so beautiful, baby," she breathed, eyes closing in exhaustion while she cuddled the little stuffed bat close. "I don't think I can do anymore. I've been up and moving all day."

He watched her fiddle around the nursery with a bright smile. He'd worked hard in here to make it match the rest of the house at the same time that it was unique for the baby. Something still felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The nursery was nearly as large as their bedroom, one corner dedicated entirely to toys they were too small to play with. "Oh! Check this out. Don't get up."

He lifted the lid of a wicker basket near the changing table and a current of air seemed to flow into it. "It's a link to Saturn. Too small for anything to come through and just big enough to drop diapers in!"

He continued in this vein, showing her everything he could think to in the room. Every corner was something he'd thought up and put in behind her back.

He turned to her as she leaned back in the chair, chuckling and dropping to his knees in front of her. "Aw, babes... you just relax, okay? I'll take care of it. Want me to zap you n' the chair down to the party? That way ya don't gotta move." He pressed a kiss to the top of her round stomach, now more pronounced than ever before. "Almost done."

"Please," Lydia acquiesced to the offer, petting over his hair as he loved on her, making sure to set the stuffed bat off to the side so it wouldn't transport with her. In an instant, they were magicked down to the cheerfully morbidly decorated living room. The couches had been arranged accordingly, and Betelgeuse placed her right at the edge near the burning fireplace, completing the circle and putting her in the coziest, most attention-grabbing position. She was the star of this show. The formal dining table was moved in and pushed up against the wall, one end designated for finger foods, the other empty for receiving presents.

Ginger and Jacques arrived first, the spider promptly bursting into messy, blubbering tears at the sight of her very pregnant assistant.

"You're just so… so… beautiful!" She sobbed over the pouting Lydia, who felt more like a beached whale than an idol of beauty and femininity.

"Oui oui, cherri," the skeleton agreed with his arachnid escort, brushing a bony, gentlemanly kiss across her knuckles that made Betelgeuse pull a face, though he appeared to understand and accept that there was nothing nefarious behind it. "You are... How you say? Glowing! Eet eez so wonderful to be meeting you! I did not believe Ginger when she told me Bee-attle-joos married une clean, polite, bootiful living girl, but here you are! With ze bun in ze oven! Mademoiselle, you must tell me. What eez Bee-attle-joos doing to win your heart?"

"He makes me laugh," she answered simply, sparing a warm glance her husband's way. Beelzebub chose then to break the softness of the moment, tearing through the living room to steal Jacque's leg and take off with it to parts unknown.

Betelgeuse hated having people in his house. If he had it his way, he and Lydia would never see anyone outside their immediate family ever again. But she'd insisted, so here he was. Hosting a baby shower.

He snorted as Beelzebub took off with Jacques' leg, making the skeleton fall to pieces in their hallway with a sputter. The look he received from all parties sent him grumbling after the dog.

When all was said and done, the only guest he actually wanted to talk to was Carmen, and the two of them stood off to one side to gossip. Once in awhile, he'd come over to kiss Lydia and rub a hand gently over her stomach.

The living room was packed full, Ginger and the Monster Across the Street's girlfriend flanking her sides to braid strange flowers into her hair. Everyone was so nice and welcoming, lathing her in compliments and giving Betelgeuse shit where shit was due.

Jacques brought a bottle of high-end wine from his fancy restaurant, meant for Lydia to partake in once the bundle of joy had been ripped from her body. Ginger brought nearly her entire infant fashion line, despite Lydia's multiple insistences that she could make clothes for the baby on her own. The Monster Across the Street and his girlfriend brought a gift basket filled with all sorts of essentials; diapers, baby powder, and binkies. That it was western themed raised an eyebrow or two, but Lydia was polite and didn't say anything cross. Betelgeuse had no problems being an ass and telling them they "already had all that shit", which earned a dirty look from his wife.

It was Carmen and Juno who came bearing the most useful gifts. The caseworker brought a box of fine cigars and a bottle of Jameson for her protégé, which Betel wasted no time in digging into. Carmen was the only one of any of them who thought to bring a breast pump, something that foolishly hadn't crossed Lydia's mind on the list of things she needed.

It was kind of her, and Lydia appreciated it… but she didn't appreciate at all the way the skinny dead woman was monopolizing all of her husband's time. It didn't help that he didn't seem to mind at all. He was smiling. Laughing. What was so great about her?!

"… Betel, that darn-tootin' dog…" she heard the Monster Across the Street mutter under his breath to Jacques. "… got a fine piece right here n' just can't help himself, can he?"

Lydia was going to be sick.

"Excuse me," she muttered, moving from her pregnancy perch abruptly and waving off Ginger and the Monstress when they made to follow, toddling quickly out of the room before they could see her cry.

She was being silly. There wasn't anything going on. But why did her heart hurt so fucking much? It must have been hormones. Barbara would know what to do.

Betelgeuse just barely caught the sight of his wife fleeing the room, her long dark hair flowing out after her. He frowned and turned to the Monster Next Door. "The hell did my wife go?"

The monster shook his head. "Where d'ya think? Ya got a beautiful, pregnant wife an' yer over in the corner chattin' up a beauty queen!"

Betelgeuse cursed. "I'll be back. Eat the food." He hurried to look for Lydia, checking their bedroom and the workshop before finding her curled on the floor of the nursery.

"Baby... what's goin' on?" Oh god. Crying. She was crying. He sat beside her and pulled her head into his lap, running his fingers through her hair. "Lyds... talk to me. Ya know Carmen's just my friend, don't ya? We were just catchin' up..."

"I'm not jealous of her," Lydia croaked back unconvincingly in a thick, choking voice as her husband pulled her head into his lap. How was it he always knew what she was thinking, but she never seemed to have an accurate read on him? It wasn't fair.

"It's nothing. Just pregnancy hormones. There's just… so many people here."

She loved her new family, her new friends… but. But. Some people just couldn't be replaced.

"I'm so fat. I look like a hippo. I wish everyone would stop coddling me and calling me pretty. It's such bullshit. They don't even know me. I want— I want—"

Shuddering, she sobbed out her impossible, unreasonable desire into his thigh, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders once the long-awaited confession finally burst forth.

"I want my Mommy. I want Barbara. She should be here."

His heart broke as she cried in his hold, his lovely, happy wife had been reduced to this far too many times for his liking. There always seemed to be another woman involved. Gears slowly clicked into place in his head.

I want my Mommy. I want Barbara.

He frowned. Well, he certainly couldn't get her real mother for her. The Maitlands, though. They were like parents to her, right? He could do that. He could fix this. "You're right, kitten. Babs should be here. And so should Adam." He carefully lifted her and settled her in their bedroom at the edge of the bed. "Rest. I'll be right back. I'm sure Ginge'll be up to check on you."

When Lydia had first arrived, he'd taken the time to track down where the Maitlands were living. Off in one corner of New Yuck, right along with the other drowning victims. They shared a tiny apartment provided by the Big Wigs for dealing with... well. Him.

He appeared at the front door and braced himself for an attack as he knocked firmly.