Chapter Text
“Then you wrap it around to the back, and- uh- You know what, let me just-”
Charles pulls the school tie he’s attempting to knot from his daughter’s neck and drapes it around his own, letting his muscle memory do the work before he returns it.
“Pull the smaller end - hold the knot and pull the smaller end to tighten it. That’s it.”
He turns down and smooths her collar for her, and rests his hands on her shoulders. “You look very smart, Pumpkin.”
Lydia grimaces. Truth is, she never wanted to go to a private school. They’d asked her, he and Emily, when it became apparent that they could afford it, but she’d turned it down and that was that. But now they’re in a small town out in the country, and options are limited - it’s between the place where half the student body already thinks she’s a witch, waking up at a frankly cruel hour to commute to the second nearest public school, or the private that spins being in the middle of nowhere as a selling point. The lesser of three evils.
“You still want me to walk you in?” Charles asks. He can’t pretend he understands teens perfectly, but he’s pretty sure your dad walking you to school at fifteen is ‘uncool’, and - for want of a kinder way of putting it - his daughter is not exactly at an advantage when it comes to being accepted by her peers. But she nods, and he doesn’t question further.
Ten minutes later, Lydia slings her schoolbag over her shoulder and the two set out. The school transfer has actually shortened her commute, to within walking distance now. Could be biking distance too, he’d suggested, and he’s perhaps unreasonably chuffed by the fact that she actually seems to be considering it. Charles spends the walk listening to Lydia talk about her latest favourite film. He’s not as good at really engaging with these things as Emily was, at least not yet, but he’s realised that a lot of the time his kid just wants an audience. He can learn to be that for her.
They get to the school a little ahead of the majority of students, as planned. Charles walks his daughter to the reception entrance, his hand resting gently on her back as they step into the building. It seems to go very fast after that, Lydia’s been given a timetable and a laminated map and introduced to the teaching assistant who's going to help her find her locker, and he has to say goodbye.
“Let me know if you want picking up at the end of the day, okay?”
“Will do, old man.”
“Have a good day, Pumpkin.”
“Thanks Dad.”
And then she’s gone, and Charles is walking home alone with a knot of worry in his gut.
Scheduling a day working from home might have been slight overkill, Charles acknowledges, but he wants to be sure he can get to the school quickly. Just in case. He definitely wrote down his number correctly for Lydia’s emergency contact, right? Of course he did, he checked all of her paperwork five times. But maybe he should have done a sixth…?
His worrying is interrupted by the door of his home office being slammed into the wall. He doesn’t need to look up to know what’s going on.
“Lawrence, today is not the day for… whatever you’re up to,” he sighs.
“On the contrary, Chucky, I think you’ll find my timing is impeccable.”
Looking immensely proud of himself, he strides up to the desk, reaches inside his jacket, and pulls out a hardback book that he drops onto the desk with a definitive thump.
“Lyds reckons you’re getting stressed about raising a weirdo little medium kid,” he says.
“Is that what she said?” Charles closes his laptop, attention fully on the conversation now. “Is that how she thinks I see her?”
“Irrelevant. The important bit is that the B-man has the answers!”
He pushes the book across the desk. Charles leans forward, spinning it around to read the title. The Parent’s Guide to the Young Conduit.
“What is this?”
“The answers!” He taps at the title. “That’s just a fancy way of saying ‘weirdo little medium kid’, right? I got you an instruction manual!”
Charles regards the cover with suspicion. There’s no author’s name, just the title and an illustration of what seems to be a young girl holding a seance for her teddy bears. But as… insensitive as Beetlejuice’s presentation may be, it’s hard to deny that a bit of guidance isn’t tempting.
“Are you sure this is from a reliable source?”
“‘Course I am, me an’ Lyds have got enough parental issues going around without me feeding you shit advice. That’s a Netherworld press official, that is.”
Charles gingerly lifts the cover, scanning the table of contents. The Sight in Stages: What to Look Out for. Occult Tools for the Layman. The When and Where of Emergency Exorcism.
“If that’s true, what do you want?”
“Whatever do you mean, Chucky?”
“I mean, you have supposedly gone out of your way to find something practical and helpful and give it to me. What do you want?”
Beetlejuice gasps, hand over his heart. “You don’t believe I would try to help my best friend’s father meet her unique needs without the expectation of payback? Charles whatever-your-middle-name-is Deetz, I assure you that I have no ulterior motives. I don’t even know the meaning of the word. Phrase. Whatever it is.”
Charles doesn’t believe that for a second, of course, but if this book is really as useful as Beetlejuice claims it to be then he can’t afford to turn it down. He loves Lydia in a way he’s woefully unequipped to describe, but that doesn’t make him in any way prepared to raise a medium.
“Well, thank you then, in that case.”
“Anytime, Chucky. You know who to call.”
And with that, Charles is alone in his office again.