Author's note: Wow, do I have a life. I updated two days in a row! Of course, it's summer vacation and I have yet to find a job, so that explains my loyalty to this fic. I can't just leave it for dead.

Alright, chickies, enjoy chapter 5!

Ginger finally left, thank the Lord, and Beetlejuice realized he was still stuck with a teenaged girl with a bloody knee whose sense of fun had been reduced to sitting in her room reading Edgar Allen Poe all night.

Christ on a ham sandwich, Beetlejuice thought. This SUUUUUUUCKS.

He turned to look at Bo, who was staring intently at the ceiling.

"Hey," he growled. "Hey. Hey, kid!"

Her attention snapped towards him.

"Ever been dancing before?"

He had somehow turned her plain jeans and t-shirt into a gorgeous red slinky dress, complete with scarlet stilettos and a fur stole. Her long blonde hair was curled, and she felt moisture on her lips. When she pressed her hands to them, her fingers came away red.

She was all dolled up.

Beetlejuice didn't look too bad, either. He was in a swank red suit, and his hair seemed to stick out less than usual. Bo was slowly growing very, very fond of Beetlejuice. The feeling intrigued her, because she never felt much interest for boys her age. She had contemplated the idea that she might be lesbian—she had half-hoped she was, just so she would know she had normal feelings for other human beings—but after careful consideration, she concluded the girls her age didn't interest her either. No one caught her attention in that way. The other girls she knew squealed and went on and on about cute boys, but all Bo could ever do was look at them objectively.

Take Chris Acosta, for instance. Sure, he had a nice smile. Nice hair, too, especially the way it fell into his eyes, which were also…nice. She couldn't muster up an adjective more enthusiastic than that. He was just…nice.

The other girls thought she was nuts.

But no one made Bo feel the way she felt around Beetlejuice. Sure, he would be considered rather disgusting by most, but anyone could get used to a bad smell. Just ask a janitor. And she really didn't want to ask about the green moss on his face, or the rather unpleasant substance that seemed to be stuck in his teeth all the time.

But when she saw him, she felt warm inside. Like he was a pet of hers from long ago that she lost…and now she found him. Like he was someone she used to have a lot of fun with.

Bo stepped toward him, fingering her dress. "I'm guessing we're going swinging tonight?"

"You got it. That alright with you, babes?"

Bo continued to inch closer to Beetlejuice, and he felt that strange, uncomfortable feeling, like she was reading his every thought. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and for the first time, Beetlejuice saw a mischievous smile on her face—a kind of smile he'd been missing for a long, long time.

"Let's get this show on the road." Bo said, still grinning. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice!"

They arrived outside a scene from the 1940s. Every woman was wearing a dress similar to Bo's, and every man sported a fancy suit and a fedora. The only difference between them and regular people were that…well…they were all dead. Burnt to a crisp, to be more precise. Bo could spot women with singed hair and charred faces, and some of the men had painful looking burns all over their faces.

Bo could hear the muffled sound of brass coming from inside the building everyone was crowding around.

"What…happened here?" Bo asked BJ, looking around.

"Bombed dancing hall during World War II," Beetlejuice replied, looking surprisingly solemn. But his face changed into a smirk as he said, "Guess the music was really smokin'!"

A woman nearby heard and glared at BJ.

Bo assumed an apologetic look for the lady and then rolled her eyes at Beetlejuice. "So all the victims come here to dance?"

Beetlejuice walked more briskly up to the front. "Well, sure, babes. After all, they died doing it. Might as well keep on keeping on, if ya know what I mean."

Bo thought that over. "Then maybe," she said, "maybe you died pulling a prank. After all, that's what you seem to do so often. Or maybe you drowned in a lake. That would explain all the mess on your face."

Bo knew she was speaking about uncomfortable topics, but she couldn't help herself. As joking and ridiculous as Beetlejuice was, he was rather a fascinating enigma to her. And she had the distinct feeling that he might have told her the things she wanted to know about him… if he felt closer to her.

"Ooh, guess who's playing tonight?" Beetlejuice squealed, obviously eager to change the subject. "Shank Cringe-Atya!

Bo never felt so uninformed in her life. "Who?"

BJ slapped his forehead. "Shit, what do they teach you kids in school? Cringe-Atya is one of the most famous jazz voices in the Neitherworld! Haven't you ever heard of 'Gross at Heart'? Or 'Put Your Nightmares Away'?

All Bo could give him was another blank stare.

"I'll never understand you breathers…" Beetlejuice muttered as they walked into the dance hall.

As soon as Bo saw the singer, she suddenly understood how he got his name. He was holding a large and rather intimidating scythe, and he appeared to be shrinking back from the audience, as though he were afraid they would climb up on the stage and kill him….again.

Beetlejuice snickered at Bo's reaction and said, "Literal translation. You know I love it. So how's about we dance, babes?"

He was becoming warmer with her, she could tell. As they twirled and danced, Bo suddenly felt light-hearted, like this was how it was supposed to be.

It used to be like this, she thought. We used to be like this all the time. Of course. How could I have been so blind? The first time I saw him in the mirror today…that wasn't the first time.

She remembered him mumbling around her, trying to be cold. She remembered how hurriedly he shooed Ginger away from the room when Bo jokingly mentioned meeting the spider in a past life. And now, suddenly, when they were dancing, he was warming up to her…

She dances just like Lydia. Beetlejuice had to admit it. She danced exactly like the babes he once knew. Every step, every little twirl was exactly like the little goth chick.

I'm imagining it, he thought. I want it to be Lyds, so I'm imagining it. Dammit, Freud would be proud. Shit, he's probably in here right now…

And as he danced, he subconsciously held her tighter, was gentler when he caught her twirls, and even caressed her hair a bit.

But that was nothing compared to what happened when the last slow song played.

"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places," Shank sang. "That this heart of mine embraces all day through…"

BJ was holding Bo in a normal slow-dance pose, with one hand holding hers, the other resting on her waist, but as the song went on, he began to get closer.

"In that small café…"

Both arms were around her.

"The park across the way…"

She was resting on his shoulder.

"The children's carousel…"

And he didn't care anymore. He rested his cheek on the top of her head (though she was nearly as tall as him), and they stayed that way for a long time, even after the song had ended, even after most of the crowd had gone home.