Chapter Text
Barbara wiped her forehead. The thickness in the air had broken her trance of tending to her potted plants. She looked up and to her left, towards the tallest window in the attic. In front of it sat Adam, hunched over the desk, so obsessed with whatever science book he was pouring himself into that he hadn’t noticed the change in the air. As though it happened in the blink of an eye, the weather went from a warm, sunny, springtime Saturday to a dark sky that was rapidly filling with clouds. She smirked and shook her head at Adam’s oblivion and dedication to his “research,” and stood up, walking towards the window to shut it. At the noise of the window reuniting with its frame, Adam jumped, looking at her, both surprised and almost offended that she had closed the window on such a glorious day. His attention then focused on the sight outside the window. He cocked his head, wondering where all his natural light had gone.
“You should turn on a lamp. You’ll hurt your eyes.” she said, giving him a loving smile.
“Not like I can damage my eyes anyway. I don’t actually have eyeballs, really.” Adam replied, returning her smile as he flicked on the desk lamp, only to make it easier to read the physics textbook Lydia found in an unlocked locker at school. Adam and Barbara didn’t condone Lydia stealing someone’s unguarded possessions, but he was eager to pick up a new interest and he let it slide, just this once.
"I’m going to go shower.” Barbara said as she turned around. The thickness of the air clung to her. Apparently, according to Delia’s “research,” paranormal activity increased during storms due to extra ions in the air or whatever. This household’s doing a whole lot of “research,” Barbara thought to herself as she turned and walked towards her array of potted plants. Hobbies were a lot more fun when they weren’t being used to mask her insecurities. She paused, taking in the fruit of her labor, no pun intended. Not much of a pun, though, considering she was only growing vegetables and herbs: peppers, tomatoes, peas, carrots, cucumbers, basil, oregano, rosemary, and mint, for Charles’ mojitos. She was eager to transfer these to the ground and start a garden with Delia and Lydia, as a bit of a “girls only” project, just the three of them. Barbara recalled her grandfather’s advice of waiting to plant outdoors until the weekend after Mother’s Day, which was only about two weeks away, as that was usually when the last overnight frost was done for the summer. She sighed, pondering her sweet granddaddy, wondering if he went to the Netherworld and was waiting there for her. She sometimes wondered if staying in the living world after the whole messy affair with you-know-who had been a mistake, but her mind quickly returned to thoughts of Lydia, and she knew she had made the right choice. Besides, she planned on living to be as old as her granddaddy was, so it’s not like she was shortchanging anyone by hanging out in the living world for a few more decades.
Although she could transport herself down to the bathroom, she decided to take the stairs, wishing to cling to whatever remains of being alive she could still take hold of. At the bottom of the stairs, she wiped her forehead again, unsure whether it was the humidity or the “extra ions” that were making her clothing stick to her. Barbara only felt this way when a storm was coming, but otherwise, she and Adam weren’t as affected by weather as the rest of the household. Sure, they would feel warm or cold, but not enough to sweat or shiver. Considering they didn’t have the bodily systems to create physical reactions to temperature, Barb was wondering if Delia’s “research” about ions actually had some weight to it. Once in the bathroom, Barbara peeled off her shorts, T-shirt, bra, and underwear and willed them away. She didn’t need to do laundry since she didn’t really have a body that could get “dirty” per se, and she didn’t really wear actual, physical “clothes,” more just visual manifestations of clothing. She didn’t want to walk around naked, after all, especially with Beetlejuice’s ability to pop up any time. She wasn’t even sure if she really needed to shower, but considering how Beetlejuice smelled when they first met, she thought it was best. Once Lydia had convinced the Maitland-Deetz household to allow him to start coming around regularly, Delia made him swear that he would start bathing and brushing his teeth habitually, and his almost-impressive array of nasty smells began to fade. He actually even began to smell…good? Barbara was unsure about any differences in the “bodily” constraints and necessities of ghosts versus demons, and whether she would begin to smell as bad herself, but she didn’t want to make her living counterparts find out. Besides, she loved how the warm, steamy environment of the shower felt on her skin.
As she stepped towards the shower, the open toilet caught her eye. As members of the “other side,” she, Adam, and Beetlejuice didn’t need to eat for sustenance or survival, but they could still take part in mealtimes for enjoyment. Her food seemed to disappear into nothingness as soon as it passed her throat, leaving her feeling neither hungry nor full, which was an annoyance she learned to live with. Where the food went, however, she wasn’t sure. And because they lacked a digestive system, they never really had to think about the toilet. This is why Adam began studying physics, as a way to try and explain the strange phenomena they frequently found themselves in the center of. The law of the conservation of matter states that matter cannot be created or destroyed, only recycled, she recalled Adam regurgitating from the physics textbook, so then where does our food go? Do we have a different process of digestion? Are we now capable of utilizing all parts of a food item for energy, therefore not creating any waste? Barbara knew that living-world physics couldn’t explain and account for the oddities of their everyday life, but there was no harm in Adam becoming a high school-level physics expert. She almost laughed thinking about Adam’s frustration in Beetlejuice’s refusal, or downright lack of knowledge, in answering his ongoing assault of questions. Shaking her head, she brought the toilet lid down over the bowl. She stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The shock of the cold burst as it faded into warm made her feel alive, and it was something she did every night. Maybe it was an unhealthy coping mechanism, as the near-freezing temperature almost hurt her in a strange way, and she committed to that “hurt” every night.
She craved it.
Barbara observed the array of bath products on the rack hanging under the shower head. She felt as though the dead members of the household only needed a bar of soap and two-in-one shampoo, since anti-wrinkle creams and damage-erasing conditioner couldn’t change the state of the appearance they died in. Never developing wrinkles or gray hair, a small pro of dying young, Barbara supposed. But, Delia insisted, through her many trips to Bath and Body Works, that each member of the household, both dead and alive, had their own array of products. Barbara smiled as she grabbed her “Pretty as a Peach” body wash next to Adam’s “Perfect Peony” bottle, both a part of the “new summer collection” that Delia had brought home for them. Hell, even Beetlejuice managed to score a “Cucumber Melon” wash for himself. Delia and Charles’ kindness—whether they were doing it for Lydia, out of pity for the Maitland’s, or because they genuinely cared—was something Barbara and Adam always tried to repay. Some nights, she’d cook, and Adam would clean afterwards. These were activities they enjoyed regardless, but it felt like a nice way to “pay back” the Deetz’s. That was one of the reasons Barbara wanted to start the garden, so that Charles and Delia didn’t have to spend more money on produce to feed five, sometimes six, mouths instead of just three.
As Barbara began to lather up the loofa, she surveyed her “body.” Her legs and underarms were covered in brown hair. Less of a peach fuzz and more like a small prickle, Barbara coincidentally planned on shaving night she died, but, for obvious reasons, her plans to do so were replaced by much bigger inconveniences. She shrugged, reminding herself that it’s just body hair. As the loofa moved down her abdomen, she examined the mound between her legs, covered in the same dark prickle of body hair. Ever since the couple died, intimacy was, interesting, to say the least, as they worked to try and figure out the ins and outs—no pun intended—of their spiritual sex life. It was fun, though, as she felt like they were back in college, discovering new things about each other’s bodies, new ways to pleasure each other, new ways to be pleasured. More nights than Barbara would like to admit, she and Adam were tangled face-to-face as Adam thrusted inside of her, exchanging small chuckles, exploring the novelty and absurdity of it all as his small kisses dappled her neck and shoulder. Except they didn’t have to worry about each other’s hot breath, or sweat, or their weight making the bedframe creak. Maybe this is why Beetlejuice never shut the fuck up about engaging in undead sex, because, in some ways, it was almost better than sex while alive. She had also stopped menstruating, obviously, since she didn’t have a uterus, and that fact was a hard blow to accept once she settled into her newly-dead lifestyle. Although she and Adam were literally in the middle of a conversation about not being ready for a child when they died, she still found herself shedding tears when she was alone with her spiritual body. She had Lydia, of course, who she would gladly face an exorcism for any day of the week, but still, Barbara yearned for the sensation of life inside her, to push it into the world in the ultimate self-sacrificing demonstration of pain, and to hold a small, soft being that depended solely on her and her husband to stay alive. To watch it grow, to wish for the days where it was so itty-bitty, but to also wish for the excitement of the days ahead. She sometimes felt an inkling of these feelings when Lydia would fall asleep on the couch while watching some late night TV. Barbara especially delighted in these nights where they were alone, either because no one was interested or because they were all asleep, and Lydia had fallen asleep in Barbara’s arms, her head resting on Barb’s shoulder. Barbara would cover the both of them, and fall into the warmth of slumber, feeling Lydia’s rhythmic breathing against her. Lydia was an early riser, even by adult standards, and Barbara would often wake and find herself alone, but with the blanket thoughtfully draped and tucked around her. Plus, Lydia was always ready to greet her with a smile when Barbara would sleepily venture out to find her.
As though she was summoned by Barbara’s innermost thoughts, there was a knock on the door. “Barbara?” followed by some muffled gibberish.
“What honey? Open the door, sweetie, I can’t hear you with the water.” Barbara replied. The door creaked.
"Is it okay if I come and sit in here while you shower?” Lydia asked, almost sheepishly, even though this was a common practice for the both of them to chit-chat in private. Barbara realized she hadn’t seen Lydia all day, as she didn’t have breakfast or lunch, and she stayed in the attic, committed to tidying up and working on her plants, with a mid-afternoon romp in the sheets when Adam decided to take a break from his studying. That’s another reason why the arrangement with the Deetz’s worked so well—everyone had their own piece of the house to occupy. The Maitland’s had the attic, Charles and Delia had their bedroom and respective offices, Lydia had her room, and everyone shared the main floor and basement, although the latter was an area she and Adam avoided, especially since Barbara was convinced there were still remnants of their blood stains in the concrete floor, although every member of the household assured her that there was no evidence of their untimely deaths. Beetlejuice, though, found a lot of pleasure in camping out in the basement and wailing her and Adam’s names over and over, until they couldn’t ignore it any longer and someone went down to yell at him, which was the exact reaction he wanted. Lydia, however, enjoyed that area of the home, whether it was the air of death in that room, the dark seclusion, or the almost-too-soft, old couch. Barbara would sometimes brave the basement if it meant extra private quality time with Lydia.
“Sure thing, sweet pea.” Barbara nearly cooed, almost feeling neglectful of Lydia. In addition to coming up on the one year anniversary of her own death in a few weeks, the household also just recognized the one year anniversary of Emily’s death last month, plus Mother’s Day was upon them. Lydia seemed to take Emily’s death-iversary as expected: barely eating, barely socializing, and multiple outbursts directed at every member of the household, even Beetlejuice. Barbara felt a heaviness in her chest as she remembered the first outburst directed at her when she decided to check on Lydia, who shut herself in her room after school one day. What do you expect, Barb? My mom fucking died only a year ago, I had to move, I wanted to kill myself and ended up accidentally running into fucking Lawrence, and you know how that fucking went. I almost exorcised you, and I want everything to be like before mom died. Barb was ashamed to admit she ran up to the attic to cry after Lydia said those things. She was hurt. Hurt for Lydia, hurt that Lydia still blamed herself for the near-exorcism, and hurt that Lydia wanted things back to before her mom died, before she died, before they began their beautifully weird life together. Maybe this was what it was like to be a mother. Not-so-glamorous moments where your kid fucks you up and you have no idea what to do because the parenting books never prepared you for this kind of shit. Not that Barbara read any parenting books, anyway. And not that Barbara could consider herself Lydia’s mother. Or could she? She risked her “life” for Lydia, she was there for the good times and the bad, she was there when Lydia needed advice or homework help, for a shoulder to cry on or for someone to just shoot the shit with. Isn’t that what motherhood is all about? Wearing this multitude of different hats day in and day out? Barbara wondered exactly how Mother’s Day would be handled in the household. Is Delia considered a mother? She is legally married to Charles and she is Lydia’s stepmother, and she’s there for Lydia. She shows curiosity in Lydia’s hobbies and interests, she always asks questions, and although she isn’t the brightest bulb to ask for homework help, she does enjoy taking Lydia to Target quite often, which is something Barbara can’t do. Would they both be celebrated? Just Delia? Neither? Would Lydia want to sweep this holiday under the rug to save herself from more emotional pain? How would they handle Father’s Day? How should she and Adam handle the one year anniversary of their death? Should they do something to honor it? Ignore it?
“Barbara?” Lydia called, snapping Barb back into reality, “Are you there or did you get washed down the drain?”
Barbara silently chuckled to herself and shook her head, “Sorry hun. Just thinking about something. What did you say?”
“What did you guys do today?” Lydia inquired.
“Well,” Barbara started as she worked the soap out of her loofa under the stream of water. “What did you do today?” She could feel Lydia roll her eyes on the other side of the curtain.
“Well, I read in my room. Watched some TV. Worked on a project…” As Lydia rattled off the exploits of her day at home, Barbara remembered how difficult it was to be this age. Barbara remembered how she began to grow curves in places where they never were before. How girls—and boys—would find the smallest, stupidest shit—like her socks, her choice of gym shirt, the shoulder bag that she designed herself—to criticize. How she would throw out her lunch at school, and how she would sometimes purge after dinner. “Now answer my question.” Lydia retorted slyly, once again rooting Barbara back to reality.
“Is the project for school? How’s that essay going?” Barbara smiled, delighted at the playful back-and-forth of avoiding Lydia’s question for no good reason.
Lydia huffed. “No, it’s something else. Don’t worry about it. Just for fun. And no, the essay isn’t finished. And yes, I know it’s due Monday and yes, I will finish it tomorrow.” Barbara laughed as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. Lydia knew to answer all the questions Barbara had lined up, almost as a way of distracting her from the mentioning of the project. But why would she tell Barbara about the project in the first place if Lydia didn’t want her to know about it? Could it be something for her for Mother’s Day?
“I also looked to see if Lawrence was lurking around, but he wasn’t.” The Maitland-Deetz’s were very careful not to say the word Beetlejuice when the demon wasn’t around. Lydia’s the best at avoiding it, even though she’s the one who wants him around more than anyone else in the household. Even though most would have to say his name three times to summon him, it seemed as though his connection to the family was a powerful one, as he would magically show up when his name was muttered once, let alone three times, much to everyone’s dismay. Most times, though, Beetlejuice would come and go as he pleased. Hell, at this point, he’s pretty much a part of the family, as annoying as he is. Everyone did go through a lot of trauma with him, and trauma bonds people, even if all the trauma was caused by him. If it wasn’t for him, though, this wonderfully strange life wouldn’t be happening. Plus, he was the first person to be there when she and Adam died.
“Now,” Lydia emphasized, “What did you guys do today?”
“Adam mostly read,” Barbara said, finally giving in.
“Of course.”
“I took care of the dust upstairs, worked on our plants, and, uh…” Barbara tried to remember what else. It was a relatively eventful day, and she felt like she had forgotten something.
“Ew.” Barbara closed her eyes and pursed her lips as she worked conditioner into her hair. That’s the something she had momentarily forgotten, somehow.
“No, not that, silly,” Barbara backpedaled, trying to recover, “I was just trying to remember if we did anything else. It felt like an eventful day, and I couldn’t remember if I covered it all.”
“Seems pretty eventful alright…” Lydia teased, stifling a laugh. Barbara peeked out of the shower curtain to shoot Lydia a playful look that she hoped would translate to shut up, and disappeared back behind the curtain to rinse out the conditioner.
“Anyway, when do we get to put those plants in the garden? I went up and looked at them while trying to find you. They look great. And then I scared Adam. I could almost shut his nose in that book he’s so focused on it. It’s a miracle he took a break from it to, you know…”
“Lydia!” Barbara quipped, popping her head out of the curtain to be met with Lydia’s smirking face. Closing the shower curtain yet again, she replied, “Probably the weekend after Mother—,” Barbara squeezed her lips shut. She hoped the water would drown out her slip up. “Probably in a few weeks, once we’re sure there’ll be no more nighttime frosts that could kill the plants.”
“Gotcha.” Barbara couldn’t tell if Lydia had noticed her mistake or not, and whether she was upset by it or not.
“Once we have the garden set up,” Barbara started again, desperate to change the subject, “I wonder what Beetlejuice will—,” she slapped her hand over her mouth. The air in the room suddenly changed. Barbara’s metaphorical heart sunk. “Oh, fuck me.”
“Who wants to get fucked?” inquired a raspy, all-too-familiar voice. He’s in the bathroom?! Barbara thought as she attempted to hold the nearest end of the shower curtain shut against the wall, knowing it would be no use.
“Lookin’ good, Babs!” Barbara turned to see Beetlejuice’s head piercing through the intact middle of the shower curtain. “Ooh baby, I’m about to bust outta my pants! What’s this I hear about a fuckin’? Finally come around to the idea? Did Adam tell you the plans I mentioned to him for the three of us?”
“No he did not, nothing about a ‘fucking,’ and please don’t speak like that in front of Lydia!” Barbara hissed as she stood up straight to face the violating demon. He continued to ogle at her wet, naked body. Barbara made a fist, and thrusted it forward, aiming for his left eye. He yelped, and pulled back from the shower curtain.
“Good shot, hot stuff! I like it rough.” He growled. “Speaking of Adam, where is that sexy bitch?”
“Upstairs, reading his physics textbook.” Lydia scoffed, ignoring the exchange and resulting altercation that just transpired. “He’s really easy to scare when he’s reading that. Didn’t even hear me coming up the stairs.”
“Scare?” Beetlejuice asked, incredulously. “Why don’t I give him a wedgie like that nerd deserves?” And as quickly as he arrived, he was out of the bathroom with Lydia in tow, slamming the door behind them. Barbara rolled her eyes and gave herself one final rinse. Barbara didn’t like to take up that much hot water, especially since she isn’t even sure whether she needs to bathe or not. Peeking out of the shower curtain, she stepped out onto the bathroom rug and made the water clinging to her body disappear. She heard a high-pitched yell come from her husband upstairs, and couldn’t help but laugh. She was originally going to dress in cloth shorts and a T-shirt given the weather, but given the leering eyes and snide remarks of the newest arrival, she opted for long, baggy sweatpants and an equally long, baggy T-shirt. She made sure to make them dark, so that nothing was see-through for Beetlejuice. After manifesting the lounge clothes, she walked out of the bathroom door.