Beetlejuice, Lydia, the neitherworld… They don't belong to me. I just love them so much I want to take them in both arms, rip open my chest cavity, and stuff them inside forever, right next to my heart. Of course, if they were mine, just look what I'd do to them… But that being said, please don't sue me, okay?

'Ravens Land,' is by Voltaire, I don't own that either.

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Okay. You knew it was coming. Sorry I didn't update yesterday, like I planned to. Sorry again, for... Well. You knew it was coming. Quick note, something I already mentioned to one of my reviewers...

I gotta admit, as jealous as I am of Lyds for growing up with Beej, and despite the fact that I feel sorry for her losing him as much as she has, I'm also a little sorry for the way she's strung together. (Not that I wrote her that way, but that she is) Bright and happy, despite all that comes, yes... But kind of just drifting along on life's coattails. Making the best of things, but not really trying to change them. B's the best thing that happened in her life, and that's pretty much why he's the first thing she's willing to fight for... Personally, that's as much a reason as any that this story has to be written this way, I think.

And yet...

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The rain pounded down outside in heavy sheets, the sound of thunder ripping the air in such a way that lightning promised to be close. It was an odd sort of music, and yet other than this, the girl's room was silent. She lay so still, the blanket tucked around her like it was supposed to keep her safe, her black hair tumbling over her face like a mourning veil. Her soft pink lips, utterly soundless.

He was just checking, mind. He'd been gone for almost two days, and like some kind of itch, it'd gotten under his skin to make sure she was all right. Which of course pissed him off, not that he wasn't already in a pretty foul mood to begin with, stemming from his lack of progress.

The fact was, most of the people who could, conceivably, be responsible for the attack against him, were now dead. Those that weren't, were only still alive because they were very hard to get to. And so he seemed to have come to an impasse. And for a moment, just a moment, he found himself seeking comfort in the company of a breather, currently sleeping. When she couldn't see that he'd missed her.

Beetlejuice sat lounged in an oversized red chair, unable to escape the fact that it smelled remarkably like himself. As if he'd spent a lot of time this way. His eyes narrowed, his fingertips playing with the crusty stuff on his throat, his lips settled into a little frown. Shadows draped everything. And yet he had no trouble making out the picture he held in his hand.

It was actually only one of several he'd discovered earlier that day, tucked into various places around his house, his office, other places he frequented. This one was of her when she was younger. Just a kid, really. Grin wide, eyes filled with excitement… Holding up a cat that was undeniably from the neitherworld, and looked as if it had seen much better days. Like it was cute or something. His handwriting, once again, scrawled across the back, offering this or that tidbit.

They were memories, captured moments described by his own hand, and the fact was, that he'd only spent the first few hours of his absence doing any sort of 'questioning.' The rest of the time, he'd been hunting down these photos, bizarrely obsessed with what had been stolen from him. It was like looking at flashes from someone else's afterlife… Only it wasn't someone else's. It was his.

The words across the back of this picture were simple, straight forward.Lyds finds the weirdest fucking things 'adorable.' One of these days, she's gonna use that word for me. But there's no way I'm keeping the fucking cat, and she knows it. Adorable. There was a word that should never be used in the same sentence with his name.

"Lydia?" The voice was quiet, sort of hesitant, and cut through his brooding with a serrated edge, making his mouth contort in fury. He was on his feet, ready to face off whoever had dared to interrupt him, paying no mind to the fact that it might be her family. He was ready to kill… He really didn't care who. If the girl loved him, she'd deal with it.

Brief inspection revealed no immediate culprit, but then, even as she spotted him, and tried to duck away, he saw the female ghost in her mirror. Her mirror, where only he should rightly be. He crossed the distance in two strides, reached through the glass before she could retreat, and pulled her hard against the frame. Even he couldn't pull her through though, so it was most likely, uncomfortable.

"Give me one reason not to crush you, bug!" He snarled, deliberately keeping his voice low, so as not to wake the girl. The spider trembling in his grasp, her lips moving, but no sound coming out. "You better have a fucking good reason for being in my girl's mirror!"

"Y- you told me to look in on her, when you're not around, Mr. Beetle-" He shook her once, hard, cutting her off. Even though Lydia was the only one with power over his name anymore, old habits died hard. He didn't like people saying it. "Mister, sir!" She went on, more franticly. "Make sure she didn't get in trouble!"

Beetlejuice considered her, slowly. It was entirely possible that she was telling the truth. If she was going to spend time with anyone else, he'd probably want to hand pick them, and make sure as hell they were terrified of him, first and foremost. Keep them in their place.

"Have you gotten you're memories back, mister?" She pressed on, more quietly, eyes wide and worried. "I mean, you calling Lydia your girl again, and everything… She's all right? You ain't hurt her?"

Before he could answer, there was a slight stirring behind him, and Lydia rose from her sheets, half asleep, to see the poltergeist standing not far from the foot of her bed. "B?" She murmured tiredly, her voice sounding rather like a small child's that hadn't gotten enough rest. "What're you doing here?"

"Just having a little conversation with the bug, here." He growled, releasing the spider slowly, so Lydia could see her. "Seems to think she's got a right to be here, or something."

Lydia rose from her bed, clad in a swaying swath of dark gray, and approached the two of them unsteadily. When she saw the spider in the mirror, she smiled, just a little. Her face did not light up, he noticed, like when she saw him. Satisfied by that, he waited to see what would happen next.

"Honey, I was trying to tell him!" The female ghost hurried on, looking at Lydia like some kind of saving grace. "See, after you and me were looking at silk, I ran into him, and he made me promise to look in on you when he wasn't there. Make sure you weren't lonely, or nothing!"

A small frown touched the girl's lips, followed almost immediately by a smile. "B doesn't like to share, Ginger. But it doesn't surprise me, he'd want a way to keep on eye on me, even when he wasn't around. I wondered why you showed up in my mirror, after the trouble he caused before…" She rubbed her hand across her eyes, seemed briefly to forget what she was talking about, then look at Beetlejuice again in surprise, like she'd forgotten he was there. "B? Is everything okay?"

At this point, they were both interrupted by a heavy French accent, drifting from the other side of the mirror. "Gin-ger? Who ees it vou are talking to?" A rather gaunt man appeared behind her, considering the mirror with an odd look. "Some-vun in zee living vorld? Vhy vould-?"

"Jacques!" The spider, Ginger, looked positively giddy with nerves, and darted away from the mirror, seeking support from her skeletal friend. "You know, you just reminded me, I got this shoo fly pie in the oven, and I'm pretty sure I smell it burning… See you later, Lydia!"

Before the skeleton could rebut, the mirror was empty again, leaving Beetlejuice a bit bemused, and wondering if he'd grieve killing her, if he ever got his memories back.

Lydia though, chose this moment to drape into his arms, absolute warmth and yielding softness against him, clad only in the light material that was quickly teasing at his fingers, making him abruptly forget the other ghost. She looked up at him adoringly, eyes lidded by heavy lashes, and tucked her cheek against his coat with a murmur. "It was sweet of you, B. Even if you don't remember it."

"Guess that's the kind of guy I was." He muttered, not displeased by her praise. "Sounds like bullshit to me, but what the hell do I know?" Lydia laughed, and it surprised him, only because he didn't think he'd ever heard her laugh before. At least not in memory.

But she pulled away from him in the same breath, ran her fingers through her hair carelessly, and tipped her face up, as if to greet an invisible sun's warmth. She looked like she must have been having very pleasant dreams, and there wasn't much that was going to pull her from the glow of them very easily. He wondered, not quite idly, if they'd been about him…

She turned her gaze back to him, a question there that she didn't offer aloud. Instead all she said was, "I'm still sleepy… Will you stay with me?"

Beetlejuice gave a little smirk, figuring she'd have to be half asleep to ask something like that. "Afraid not, babes." He drawled, tugging a strand of her loose black hair, "Still got a few things to sort out, and… Well, you're just a little too tempting, know what I mean?" He took a step back, and adjusted his sleeves. "I'll be in touch, babes…" And he was gone before she could protest.

Babes… It did suit her, didn't it?

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She hadn't been able to get back to sleep after Beetlejuice left, no matter how tired she claimed to be. That didn't explain though, what she was doing here. Pacing slowly along the length of the block, the rest of the world still caught in the grip of night. Her feet soaked from walking through puddles. Looking up from time to time, towards the stone building, still glowing with light.

Her parents had never been what she'd call religious, and since her own discovery of what the afterlife held, she'd pretty much given up on any ideas of god, and been fine with it. Let her put her faith in something she could see, touch. Why give some invisible all seeing eye control over her life, when she had so little herself?

And so again, that brought the question of what she was doing, pacing the streets before the church, torn over the idea of whether or not to seek comfort within. If there was a god, would he care either way about her prayers for a killer? Much less the prayers of someone who didn't really believe?

The simple fact was, she was used to relying on someone bigger, stronger than her. Someone to look out for her. It wasn't god, but… The person she was used to relying on, wasn't really there right then. She wanted something to believe in, and for the first time in a long time, didn't really know where to look.

And so that was the reason she was here, when any sane person would still be sleeping… But she didn't go in. How could she? If there was a god, he wouldn't listen to her. He listened to saints and good people. She was neither. Not really.

Lydia bit her lip, turning her face up to the twisting of the storm clouds overhead, and considered the meager light of the struggling moon. This wasn't her place, and she knew it. She didn't believe in heaven, or even hell. She'd seen too deeply into death for it to hold that kind of mystery. And for the first time in her life, she wondered if that was actually something regret. A sort of, loss of innocence.

"Maybe there is a heaven waiting out there for other people," She whispered to herself, finally turning on her heel, and leaving the still building behind, "But not for me." She expected to feel crushed by this realization, but instead she felt oddly freed. Her forever wasn't some big unsolvable thing. It wasn't really that different from life. There was no punishment, no reward… Only making the best of things.

And Beetlejuice. Thinking this, she turned not back towards home, but towards the church's cemetery. Death was the only constant she knew. The smell of the it, the way it hung in the air… If there was a god for her, it was the god of death.

Wonderfully morbid, Lydia, she mused to herself, with an ironic twist of her lips. Shall we try for another gothic stereotype while we're at it? Maybe set up a bat-shaped altar on a tombstone, and pray to the heralds of darkness? It actually made her feel better, reflecting on the humor of things.

But then she was among the low stones, fifty years old, a hundred, and a sense of solemnity settled over her. Her fingers traced the granite of a statue that had long since fell into neglect, an angel now apparently weeping tears of greenish mold, moss covering up her lips, her head still bowed in prayer. Chunks of her wings broken away, fallen in ruin at her bent knees.

"I should have brought my camera." Lydia noted to herself, admiring the oddly poetic headstone. She wanted a picture of it…

The cemetery was actually filled with an impressive array of such examples, decrying the futility of holding onto life. Names worn away by time, headstones cracked, and never repaired. Mounds of dead flowers, left to lay and decompose with those they'd been brought to honor. It was somehow very comforting, being surrounded by the dead, as she'd spent so much of her life.

Of course, these were just bodies, not really the dead themselves… But she was gripped with the sudden need, if not to take pictures, then at least to draw. Unfortunately, she didn't have any paper… But there had to be some somewhere. Maybe in the church? Maybe in the grave-keeper's shed? She ran her tongue over her teeth, and wondered where she should check first.

In the end, she really didn't want to look in the church, so she wandered the cemetery grounds under she found a dilapidated building, surely for holding tools from a time when digging the graves had been done by hand. There was no lock, but the door's hinges were rusted tight, and it was only with some force, and a peppering of red dust, that she managed to get it open. Even then, just enough to squeeze inside…

It was a little surprising to find the small room cast in a low light, when she expected it to be pitch black. A small lantern, no more than six inches high, sat on a time scarred table, lending its flickering flame to her surroundings. It puzzled her only briefly though, before she realized suddenly that someone must use this shed after all, and if she didn't hurry, they were going to find her where she didn't belong.

The squat building was filled with boxes and old tools, along with stack after stack of yellowed newspapers, and crumbling magazines. It was more by chance than effort that she found the slender notebook, in little better repair than the rest of it, its pages water stained and torn, but for her purpose more than serviceable. An old charcoal pencil, resting on the table next to it, more than served. Like, they were waiting for her.

Back from the stuffy confines of the shed, into sweeter air, and for a moment, a chill of unease ran down her spine. She was glad to leave it behind, if not entirely certain why. Either way, she ran her fingers up the opposite arm, smoothing goosebumps, notepad and pencil gripped firmly in her other hand, and reflected briefly on whether or not this counted as stealing.

It was a simple thing, to find her way back to the angelic statue, but then of course, she discovered the true problem in trying to draw in a cemetery at night… It was simply far too dark.

Lydia couldn't help it, she laughed aloud at her own short-sightedness, and then gamely set to drawing anyway, even though she could barely see the lines on the paper. She did consider saving the pages, simply because they were so aged, and anything drawn on them would only be heightened in its sense of, well, gothicness, but at the moment, it was all she had, and she planned to use it.

Once she set to her given task, she found herself slipping into a sense of calmness, soothed by the comfort of the darkness, and a familiar pastime to occupy her mind. The quiet of the graveyard was interrupted only briefly by the sound of early crickets, and the occasional low fluting of night birds, as well as the constant, cool whisper of the wind. It was a good place to clear her mind. She should have started coming here years ago.

But of course, she'd had better places to be. In her sketch, which became marginally more visible as her eyes adjusted to the dark again, the cemetery and its stone took on a somewhat distorted feel, as if here, where the dead left their former selves behind, was some sort of lingering border between her world and the neitherworld. Straight lines became crooked, shadows took on more menacing forms, and the light, when it cast, seemed otherworldly.

A low hum fell from her smiling lips, some neitherworld tune she couldn't remember maybe, or a living world song that she'd somehow deemed just as good. She thought it was called, 'Ravens Land.' She couldn't remember who it was by, but she'd always liked the concept. Ravens land, upon her hair, clouds adrift on, her skin… a smile that tugs, upon my soul, whispers gently, in my ear…

She must have hummed it through three times, most of the words escaping her after the first, before a small sound in the darkness told her that something else was there with her. The tune died on her lips, her body suddenly still as she listened for the sound to be repeated. She wanted to ask if it was him, her Beetlejuice, but the words caught in her throat, and she just stayed there, very still, on her knees in the dirt. The hair on the back of her neck tingling.

Slow, muffled sounds of footsteps, moving through the cemetery. Despite herself she winced, certain she wasn't supposed to be there, and wondering if it was too late to make some sort of escape. Holding her breath, she rose without a sound, and focused on moving as silently as possible through the field of ancient stone.

Something caught her foot, and she sprawled, biting her lip on the cry of fear and surprise that threatened to rise in her throat. She hit, dark, and blood seeped into her mouth, even as she lifted her gaze, to find herself almost nose to face with a tombstone. That could have been nasty… Just a step further…

It smells like him. A rush of memories made her head briefly dizzy, as she reflected that she'd once compared the way Beetlejuice smelled, to a timeless, standing stone. And it did. It smelled like him. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring that smell. Drowning in a young lifetime of memories.

But that was a mistake. She suddenly became aware of the footsteps again, closer this time, and rolled to her back, to look behind her, before pushing herself to her feet. Her legs felt weak now, her hands trembling. She was scared. Not scared of being caught where she shouldn't be, but honest to god scared. Why would someone else be out here this late? Why was she out here this late?

Abandoning all efforts at quiet, she hit the ground running, weaving among the granite monuments, the night as a whole suddenly far too quiet. It felt like a bad dream… Her own footsteps, drowning out those following her. Running from the thing in the darkness she couldn't see.

It was only a matter of time before she fell again, this time sprawling forward far less luckily, and clipping her arm, hard, on a stone cherub. She couldn't stop the sound of pain that burst from her lips, or the tears that pricked at her eyes, further blinding her in the already dark night. Covered in dirt, tasting blood, and scared out of her mind…

"You shouldn't be here." The words were, soft. But wrong. She turned on her knees to see the shape looking over her, baleful eyes watching her from not ten feet away. He came no closer, not yet, but something about his face seemed angry. "This is my place, you shouldn't be here."

"I- I'm sorry." She murmured, feeling foolish, vulnerable, and above all else, still scared. "I'll go, I just…" She shook her head. Just what? She brushed her hair back, leaving mud caked among the strands, and did her level best just not to look at him, getting to her feet. "I need to go home anyway…"

No sooner had she turned her back on him, than he caught her by the shoulder, hard, and threw her forward. Again she fell against a headstone, this time hitting the side of her skull, instantly filling her head with pain and sounds that shouldn't be there. Left dizzy by the blow, confused, she tried to get to her feet again, not yet realizing the danger she was in.

"This place is mine!" The stranger roared now, grabbing her by her hair, and throwing her again. This time her vision was flooded by hints of white and red, and she suddenly realized just exactly what was going to happen if she didn't get away… He was going to kill her. She didn't understand why, she didn't know who he was, but if she didn't get away, she was going to die.

So this time she stumbled, rather than falling, keeping her feet with a strength she didn't know she had, and did her best to run. It was useless though, her sense of direction could barely tell up from down, and she hadn't taken three steps before she fell again. This time she felt a powerful jolt as her arm hit the ground, and a resounding crack shot through her skull…

Thoughts of escape gave way to mind numbing pain, and she lay there, stunned. Unable to comprehend what she suddenly knew she couldn't deny. And he grabbed her again, flinging her over, and…

"Beetlejuice." It was a whisper, and it shouldn't have made him pause the way he did, looking at her without comprehension. She coughed, tasting blood, blinked to clear her vision, and said it again. "Beetlejuice." And again he just stared, before his face slowly grew dark, as if she were mocking him. He was ready to hurt her again, but it was too late. She'd already said it a third time. "Beetlejuice…"

"What the hell…?" Snapped a familiar voice, in the brief seconds before the poltergeist saw the position she was in. A truly mad snarl ripped from his lips then, and he grabbed her attacker from behind, managing to cup the top of his skull securely enough to wrench him off by it, and flinging her attacker, as she'd been flung before he arrived.

The ghost was on him again before he could get up, picking him up without effort, and bashing him, hard, against an obelisk of black marble. Again, again, again, he smashed her attacker against the stone, until the cries of pain stopped, trailing into whimpers and murmurs, and again, again, until every bone in the guy's body had to be broken. Then he threw him to the ground, and with a grunt, lifted a headstone that read loving mother and wife, and smashed it down on the stranger's head, with a sickening sound.

Lydia didn't really see much of it, still reeling from her own injuries, but she heard every sound, and it was only when she knew that her attacker was well and truly dead, that she relaxed. But as it turned out, Beetlejuice wasn't done yet.

With a stabbing hand, he reached into the new corpse, twisting his grasp, and pulled the man's ghost free of his body, before it had the chance to journey to the neitherworld on its own. And he proceeded to methodically, violently, batter him into pieces again, until there was nothing left to hurt her, in this life or the next…

And then he turned to Lydia, who was by now, recovered enough to only have eyes for him. He growled, still not appeased, and stalked towards her like a predator, stopping a short distance away to take in her appearance. "I don't suppose you're willing to heal me?" She whispered, managing a small smile.

An answering, slight more wry, smile twisted across his own lips. "What? I don't get so much as a thank you, babes?" Then, more pointedly, "Hell, I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

Lydia wasn't really sure how to answer this, and after a moment, turned her gaze to her assailant's two corpses, before looking back to Beetlejuice again. "Thank you?" She murmured, before falling suddenly into giggles, pretty deeply in shock by this point.

"Glad you still got your sense of humor, babes." Beetlejuice murmured, reaching down to take her by the arm, the broken one, and lifting her to her feet, the limb no longer injured once he'd touched it. Likewise, the throbbing pain in her head vanished… Even the sharp sting where she'd bitten through her lip. She was fine now. Sort of.

But Beetlejuice still didn't look happy, a somewhat possessive, frustrated set to his mouth. "I leave you alone, you're gonna end up getting yourself killed, ain't you?" He muttered, looking at her like there was actually something else he was saying. "So maybe I should just take care of that little business now, so no one else can do it when I'm not around."

Lydia's giggles died in her throat, as she suddenly knew what he meant. She stared at him, wide eyed, her short life flashing across her mind. Most of it of him. "You ready, kid?" He murmured, suddenly giving her the impression that, unlike the ghost he'd been before, he was not nearly as willing to give her the choice.

Slowly she turned her head, looking around the graveyard. Looking up to the sky. The sun hadn't even risen yet… A wave of sadness swept over her, at the thought that she'd never see the living world sun again. But fear? No, there was no fear… and really, no hesitation, as she sighed, and nodded.

She didn't look back at him, only aware of his hand upon her arm, and a sudden, cold flare across her skin, that made her grit her teeth. It couldn't have been painless, that sort of thing didn't happen. Her mind spun, thoughts of her parents, of school, of people she barely knew, flooding every inch of it. Thoughts of the life she could never get back, if she didn't stop him now. And the gradual realization, that she couldn't if she wanted to.

Beetlejuice pulled her into his arms, her hot blood spilling unchecked over his suit, considering as the sadness in her face was replaced with a sense of resignation. Watching as, seconds after he'd made the little cut, the quickest way he could think to kill her, her face was already far paler, and her eyes turned up to his. As her hand sought her chest, in some pain maybe, from a heart that suddenly didn't have enough blood. Her lips parting, to say something…

No sound emerged. It was over so fast. Too late to regret it now, too late to go back, and bring her back to life. Too late to do anything but heal the small cut, no more than an inch in length, before her final breath fell. She was still perfect.

With a far gentler hand than he'd used before, he reached into her cooling form, and firmly caught a handful of spirit stuff, not quite converted to the form she would hold now, for the rest of eternity. He drew her forth. Like her living body, her ghost body too was still, quiet. But not quite solid. It would take a while for the transition to be complete. He lifted her into his arms, and stood, a little battle going on in his chest, over what he couldn't change now.

But he stood there anyway, looking down at the broken shell that had held the only girl to ever love him, never mind that her true self now rested in his arms, and had the sudden, undeniable realization, that he would come to regret what he'd just done. Too late to go back, he wondered if he'd pay for the rest of his afterlife, for putting out this girl's flame.

Making a small sound of derision, trying to deny what he didn't know for sure he ever would feel anyway, he looked down at the sleeping goth ghost in his arms, and considered her. She was perfect. In death, just like life. "You ready, babes?" He asked her unresponsive form, tucking her more securely against his chest. "Time to go home."

This world had never been good enough for her, anyway…

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