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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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I will love you if I never see you again (final chapter)

It’s the end! Thank you so much for sticking with this fic, if you enjoyed it please let me know by reblogging or by leaving a comment on Ao3! It really means everything to me.

Thanks to my wonderful betas, @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short, I love you both

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, violence, references to trans pregnancy

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Nureyev’s eyes had been fixed for the last twenty minutes, staring out of the window of the med bay, oblivious to the tugging sensation at the back of his head as Vespa stitched his wound closed.

Every so often, one of the stars he saw would shift or turn, suspended in the invisible molasses of space but moving by some impulse that had fled hours ago, and he would realise it wasn’t a star at all. It was an earring, a necklace, a bracelet. Some fragment of his life that had been torn away with the drone’s retreat and scattered out into an unreachable, empty coldness. Things he’d treasured at one point that were now lost to him, even though they seemed so close, just past the thick, reinforced glass. If he had the inclination to lift his hand, he could have pressed the tips of his fingers against the window and felt those impassable inches that may as well have been miles.

He would have, if he’d cared. But he barely saw the stars or the not stars, he only saw the distance between them. The miles and miles that stretched between where he was now and wherever his daughter was. And he was sitting here, doing nothing, eyes and cheeks burning with drying salt, shame pooling in the bottom of his stomach like acid.

He’d allowed himself to crack. He’d sobbed and lashed out and collapsed the way he’d told himself he would never do because it was amateurish and childish and everything he’d been taught that master thieves did not do. And because of it he’d cost them minutes that were more valuable than any amount of gold and silver and diamonds now floating in the slight gravitational orbit of the Carte Blanche.

Because it was only after his panic had run its course, burning down into something he could use rather than something that debilitated him, did he remember. Only when his throat opened up again was he able to choke out the words. And he would spend the rest of his life thinking about how things would have been different if he’d only acted quicker.

Vespa finally stood back and there was a single, high chime as she dropped the bloody needle into the metal tray beside her, “Right. Now do not move, I’m doing one set of stitches so if you open them back up, better get some glue.”

Nureyev’s eyes flashed, “If you think for one second I am staying on this ship-”

“Who do you take me for?” Vespa demanded angrily, moving back into his field of vision and wiping her hands on a sterile cloth, “Do not move between now and when we land and then you can wreck as much shit as you want.”

Nureyev was far beyond relaxing at this point but he fell silent, accepting that and turning back to the window. Still Vespa lingered, a lime green smudge on the edge of his eye, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out.

Eventually she managed, voice low and rough like a lioness trying to give comfort, “Ransom...we’ll get her back. And if they’ve hurt a hair on her head, we’ll make their deaths that much slower.”

Nureyev felt the many knives concealed under his fresh clothes pressed against his skin until the barrier just disappeared under the constant, cool weight and they were practically part of his skeleton. He pulled himself away from the window to give Vespa a tight, grateful nod.

Clearly relieved that was the end of it, she left him alone with another reminder not to move. Nureyev listened, though he’d usually disagree on sheer principle, holding himself as still as his fast rising bruises would allow. He could follow rules for the promise of free reign once they touched down on wherever they ended up. He could ignore the almost unbearable burn of adrenaline in the deep down channels of his body if he and his knives could go to work.

Instead he thought of what his meltdown might have cost them. What if, while he’d sobbed and screamed, it had been discovered and deactivated? What if the kidnappers had set it on another drone flying far out into space, just to lead them on a pointless winding chase while they took Bianca who knew where? What if it was too late in any one of a thousand different ways, all because he’d been weak when his daughter had needed him to be strong?

The soft hiss of the door sliding back registered to Nureyev only slightly, though the voice and it’s words drew his attention immediately.

“Rita got the signal,” there was a strain to Juno’s voice, like he’d ran to the med bay, like he was feeling the same burn that Nureyev was, “Clear as day, she said, and it’s heading back into occupied space following the drone’s trajectory so it’s got to be her.”

Nureyev felt no relief, just a solidifying of the need to act inside him. It didn’t erase his mistake.

He hadn’t even thought of the bracelet until almost twenty minutes had passed, ten long minutes of Juno holding him by the shoulders to keep him up right and directing him to breathe through the tight clutch of panic on his chest. What good was a tracker on your child if you didn’t realise it was there immediately?

Bianca had adored the teething bracelet when he’d presented it to her months ago, loving the rattle it made and the colours and the way she could gnaw on the soft rubber shape that hung from it. And as long as she didn’t bite down on it too hard, the tracker inside the shape would keep on silently beeping away.

It was only for while she was very, very young, he would trust her once she was old enough to take care of herself, of course. He didn’t want to be that kind of father. But Nureyev had slept through far too many nightmares to take chances in his waking hours.

“Nureyev?” Juno prompted, standing close to him now, closer than he’d dared since he’d set foot on this ship. A line had been crossed apparently, “We can find her. As soon as the drone touches down we can go get her and they’ll never expect us. We can win.”

Nureyev looked at him and felt like he’d already lost.

“Juno,” he murmured, voice level, “When we get Bianca back, I think I should leave and you should take custody of her.”

His thick eyebrow furrowed, “What? Nureyev, come on, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Juno, just listen,” Nureyev exhaled, making himself look the former detective in the eye. From this close up, he could see the injuries he’d taken as their home had been shaken in the sky, less extensive than his own but there were countless nicks and scrapes on his cheeks. Apparently he’d fallen face first into the wall, “Look at what’s happened to her when she was in my care. Whoever’s taken her, they’ve done it to hurt me and she’s suffering because of it. I was a fool to ever think I’d be able to do this with the life I lead, I have too many dogs snapping after the blood on my hands. She deserves a hero for a parent. That just isn’t me.”

Juno’s eye widened, looking beyond stunned, “How hard did you hit your head? Because you’re talking absolute nonsense.”

He was making it so much harder than it needed to be, as always. Nureyev tried to keep his face and voice as cool and level as possible, “Juno, it’s what’s best for Bianca. I’ll do this for her, I’ll bring her back and then I’ll give her a good life. Without me. With you.”

Juno was shaking his head before he’d even finished speaking, “Nureyev, look, you’ve had pretty much the textbook definition of a shit day but you need to shake this off. This isn’t going to help anything.”

Nureyev frowned, “Juno, I didn’t expect you to push me back on this. You’ve wanted to be her mother since you stepped on this ship and you’re ready for it. You’ve grown so much and you’ve got something real here on the Carte Blanche. You can make her part of it so easily and she can grow up happy and never need to think anything like this will happen again. You can be what she deserves.”

“Will you please stop?” Juno wasn’t angry, he was pleading, “Just stop. Why would you just assume there’s no place for you too? Why would you just write yourself off like that?”

“Because someone has taken my daughter, Juno! They’ve reached through her to hurt me, I’ve not been careful enough-”

“No parent is careful enough, not all the time-”

“You’re talking about a child skinning their knee when their parent isn’t looking, not being taken halfway across the galaxy-”

“Nureyev, you love her, that’s what matters. And she loves you-”

“And that’s why she needs to go!” the last burst from Nureyev with a force that surprised even him and, god help him, it came with tears, “Because look what happens to people who love me!”

Juno flinched but he didn’t take a step back, he didn’t turn away with shame or pity, even as those own feelings took root in his own mind, “Peter…”

“Mag, the only example I’ve ever had of parenting and look how that shook out!” Nureyev gave a laugh that was half a sob, “You and you only grew better after you left me behind, doesn’t that tell you everything you need? And now Bianca! I somehow convinced myself that she could be the exception, that I could let my guard down and love her and let her love me. I thought if I worked hard enough it could happen but I just let it all build up like a volcano and now it’s gone off, I could have killed her as surely as I killed Mag!”

Silence followed his words, like the universe was sucking in a horrified breath. Had he ever said it out loud before? Hadn’t he been afraid of exactly this, that once he said it, he’d realise he’d done something unforgivable?

But if the universe was going to call him a monster then Juno Steel would be his one defendant. The lady who’d seen it happen with his own eyes, the one who’d dealt with countless monsters, he didn’t withdraw and there wasn’t a hint of condemnation in his eyes. His gaze held steady, the only emotion visible there was a fierce kind of love that Nureyev simultaneously yearned towards and shrank away from.

“Nureyev, my ma said very little right in her whole life but one truth she did know was that you need other people to live for. So when you’re not tough enough, they can be, that’s what she said. So you can’t give up because you’ve got them to worry about,” Juno looked him right in the eye, “And that works both ways. You live for them and they live for you and that’s how we all get by. Bianca isn’t just your person, you are her person too. And if you take yourself away from her, it all comes crashing down. God, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the flawless Peter Nureyev. You just have to be you. And so does she. That’s how everyone gets better.”

Every guiding instinct Nureyev had left told him to deny. To sink back behind his mask and ignore what Juno was saying, ignore the love he saw in his gaze. But he didn’t want to. He just didn’t want to.

“Yeah, I got better,” Juno continued, “But I didn’t do it without you, Peter. I was always thinking of you, even when I told myself I wasn’t. Because you were the person who really made me believe I could get better. That I didn’t have to die for a cause to be worth something. You woke me up to the people who’d been telling me that for years, you...you became my person.”

Nureyev trembled in the face of that love. The love that wasn’t conditional on whether he was perfect, whether he was collected and in control, whether there were tears on his cheeks or not. It was just being offered.

“I want to be one of the people you live for, Peter,” Juno murmured and the distance between them seemed closer all of a sudden, “And Bianca’s. But only if you’re okay with that, only if it’s as a family. And only if one of your other people is your own damn self. That was another thing my ma got wrong.”

It would be so easy to lean in, cross those few inches, though they were as significant as a few inches that would walk you off the edge of a cliff.

He wanted, he couldn’t deny that. But he had to study this want, find out if it was the want that drove him to take things that belonged to other people or the want that had made him look down at the squalling, squirming, seconds old baby in his exhausted arms and realise he couldn’t give her away as he’d planned.

“Can we speak again after...all this?” Nureyev murmured, “After we get her back safely? Can we come back to this then?”

Nureyev had known a hundred people, some of them people who’d claimed to love him, who would have grown angry. Who’s faces would have darkened and shoulders would have set and a possessiveness would have clouded their eyes.

But Juno Steel only nodded.

“Sure,” he gave a rough laugh, “Today’s more than enough to deal with. And there will be a tomorrow, Nureyev.”

He’d always known that. He’d lived for tomorrows for much of his life, moving forward to a new face, a new name, a new thing to steal to prove he could. He’d always thought tomorrow was worth showing up for.

But this felt so much more real. This felt like a promise of tomorrows that would be hard at times, where some would hurt. But these tomorrows were ones he could spend as Peter Nureyev, with people he cared about and who cared about him.

Both of them jumped at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, fast approaching. Rita drew the door back, her hair flying out of its usual twin buns, her eyes red raw from crying and staring at too many screens in too short a time, smoke practically rising from her fingertips. But she was grinning, in a manic, frantic kind of way.

“The signal stopped! The drone must have landed!”

In an instant, Juno had turned and Nureyev was on his feet, twin expressions of determination and frantic energy.

“Where?” they both barked, not even reacting to the other speaking.

Rita was bouncing in place, clearly jittery, “The signal held strong the whole way there, I didn’t even need to triangulate when it got messed up with all the other frequencies you find buzzing around an inhabited planet like giant space bees in that one stream, the one that made me scared to eat honey for six weeks even though honey roasted salmon squares are my seventh favourite snack-”

“Rita, please!”

“Mars!” Rita finally choked up, fighting through her own panicked babble, “She’s on Mars, Mistah Steel, at a place called, um…” she looked down and read her comms screen again, “The Oasis Casino Resort.”

Nureyev’s eyes met Juno’s, the same expression of sickening deja vu shared between them.

The former detective gave a wayn, humorless smile, “Looks like it’s not just your fault after all.”

The sense of deja vu, the sensation of falling and waking up in the middle of the night, continued through the family meeting, the crew sat or stood around the kitchen table and a projected schematic of the Oasis. Looking at the tiny, translucent rooms and hallways and grand game halls, floating and shifting whenever the people across from him moved, he felt nearly three years younger. Three years, two heartbreaks and a baby younger. He remembered when he’d felt invincible and so sure of himself, running into victory with a beautiful detective by his side, like something out of an old fashioned movie. He would need some of that old self to get through this, he realised.

Plot points happening all over again but the order shuffled and the roles recast. It was dizzying. And he needed to focus.

“And you’re sure this is up to date, Rita, dear?” Buddy leaned forward, eye focused like a laser on the plans in front of them all.

“Yes, Captain,” she nodded, still bouncing with anxious energy, “Remotely hacked the head of security’s computer so it’s a live feed. Even if they reshuffle all the rooms or something, we’ll know about it. And this…” she tapped something on the comms in her hand, causing a bright white dot to appear somewhere in the depths of the projection, “...is the current location of Bee Bee’s beacon.”

It was sliding slowly at a walking pace through a stairway, up and up. Nureyev’s throat tightened. Was she being dragged? Had they knocked her out with some chemical so she was lying limply in a stranger’s arms? He found himself bleakly hoping for the latter, he didn’t want her to know what was happening.

“They’re taking her upstairs. To this two bit con artist with ideas far above his station, I assume he has the penthouse suite to compensate for his lack of skills,” Buddy said smoothly, leaning forward with an intensity to her gaze that would have given weaker souls heart conditions, “Isn’t it helpful when they give us a lovely, high, phallic pedestal from which to reach up and drag them down?”

“It certainly is convenient,” Jet said cooly, somehow paying attention while calmly assembling a frankly enormous, heavy duty pistol on the counter, “I suggest we enter from the same height, scaling the fire escapes. It will limit potential interactions with innocent bystanders and employees of the resort. The only problem will be exiting once they realise how we have entered.”

“There are trash chutes,” Juno spoke up, sharing a glance with Nureyev that made both of them feel somehow a little better, for a brief second, “We could use those.”

“Are they big enough to accommodate a person?” Vespa raised a doubtful eyebrow.

“Oh yeah,” Juno was somehow fighting a smile, despite it all, “Believe me, they are.”

“That would work,” Jet nodded, “Reverse what they would expect, entering through the exterior and leaving by the interior. We could store the Ruby and my hoverbike in the garage, recoloured and with false plates. Present ourselves as rich visitors, the kind that pass through such a place every day.”

“This is assuming Engstrom is hiding his activities from the Oasis,” Vespa pointed out, also preparing herself, sliding an oilcloth down the blade of her knife as she spoke, “And they haven’t been told an assault might be incoming.”

“They won’t be,” Nureyev answered, eyes still fixed on that dot, like he could somehow reach in and give Bianca comfort through it, “Engstrom’s arrangement with the Oasis is hush hush. If he could rely on them to such a degree, he wouldn’t have to pay them under the table for his security privileges. This will be a small operation, low to the ground, only with a few trusted people. Engstrom will be aware how thin the ice under his feet is, no matter how much he paid off the guards after the Utgard Express fiasco.”

“So you two really did rob the Utgard, huh?” Vespa muttered, mostly to herself, “Always thought you made that up.”

Nureyev shot her a look before continuing, “We have to move quickly, a skeleton plan is all we can manage. He may be planning to move Bianca.”

“Well it isn’t as if we haven’t played it fast and loose before,” Buddy lifted her chin, “In fact, I’d say it’s when we do the best work. Rita will work through the comms, diverting cameras and blocking the security communication line. I will be posing as our fictitious Oasis patron, the pass will give me access to wherever I might need to go to clear your escape. Jet, Juno, Vespa and Ransom will go up the fire escapes and unleash hell upon this low life who thought he could threaten our family.”

Her eye passed over them all, causing them to straighten their backs and square their shoulders with the sheer magnetism of her words and her gaze.

“Let’s bring our girl home.”

The Oasis was true to its name, standing and glittering in the middle of complete Martian wasteland, the only object for miles around. Covered in flashing lights and bold colours, it could so easily be a mirage or a hallucination brought on by radiation poisoning, so incongruous did it look with all it’s flashy finery on a backdrop of constant, unbroken mud red dunes and a flat night sky.

They’d touched down under the best cloak that Rita could manage, the Carte Blanche’s bulk hidden a few miles out, right at the edge of the dome but not out of signal range of her hacking equipment. She would stay on board, working remotely, while the rest of them travelled to the Oasis in the Ruby 7, with its new, rush job coat of glittering gold and false plates, all of its features cloaked and hidden as well as just a scant hour of Jet’s time could allow. Rita had given Vespa a kill switch to temporarily plunge the garage cameras into static so there would be no record that there were more people in the car than just the illustrious and completely fictitious Comtesse D’or who had just made a last minute reservation at great expense.

Already Nureyev was seeing holes, gaps he’d want to plug with far more research and preparation but the time just wasn’t there. As the Oasis loomed in his vision, rapidly approaching until it wasn’t clear who was rushing at who, Nureyev realised how much of this would be riding on sheer dumb luck.

It was a little easier that Buddy seemed entirely unconcerned, sending them off with a wink as she sped towards the garage entrance, letting them simply leap off the Ruby 7 and hide in the clutter of the building’s back side until the attendants were occupied with her loud and flashy arrival. Before they jumped, Nureyev saw fear flash through Juno’s one eye and he took his hand, squeezing briefly. Whether Juno would have jumped if he hadn’t done that or not, the smile he gave him after they’d hit the cooling sand and caught their breath with their backs pressed to the brick made him glad he’d done it.

Climbing the fire escape was simple enough, Vespa and her knife leading the way, her hair as vivid as the hotel they were scaling, eyes flashing like the neon lights. Jet was next, climbing smoothly and skillfully despite his size and despite the serious hardware strapped to his back. Juno next, clearly not as comfortable with being a thief just yet but a fierce determination in his eye that showed he wouldn’t be turning back. Nureyev gripped the metal, still warm from the heat of the day’s blistering sun, and what Buddy had said before they broke away from the family meeting. They all cared about Bianca, they were willing to risk everything, not least the search for the Curemother Prime, to get her back.

He certainly could see the benefit of Bianca having family.

Over many years of thieving, Nureyev had developed something like an extra sense for when things were about to go wrong, a pull in his stomach that would signal him to duck, a second’s lead on searching for hiding places, a moment to tense his muscles to run as fast as he could or throw himself into their nearest available shadow.

Apparently it was something inherent to anyone who lived outside of the law because in the same instant both Jet and Vespa stiffened, something cold and sharp seized Nureyev.

Vespa, as always, was the quickest and most ruthless. Like a bear snatching a salmon from a driver, her hand flashed into the open window just above her head and caught the guard who’d been about to look down and see the four of them by the front of the jacket. With a hard yank, the unfortunate individual went careening down, an almost comical look of surprise on their face, and landed with a muffled crash in the garbage below. Mercifully, the guard was as stunned as the rest of them and didn’t make a noise.

Juno craned his neck down and, rather adorably thinking that they’d care, whispered, “They’re okay. Knocked out.”

“Did you see their weapon?” Jet grunted, his expression unchanged, “Heavy stuff.”

“Did you see their uniform?” Nureyev arched an eyebrow, “Not Oasis. It would seem Engstrom has some hirelings. Who knows how many?”

Vespa had ignored them all, poised on the wall like a cat, face tight as she waited for any response from a partner the guard may have had. When one didn’t come, she settled one hand on the windowsill and leaned out like some kind of murderous acrobat so she could address them all.

“Hallways clear. Jet and I will go around the other side of the building, cause a distraction, draw whoever else he’s got patrolling. You two continue on to Engstrom’s room,” her tone brokered no argument, there was no time to weigh up pros and cons. Even Juno swallowed any objections, though God knew there were plenty to make.

The last majordomo of Engstrom’s had nearly killed the two of them handily, after all, and the late, unlamented Valencia was who he’d kept around when he hadn’t been deliberately pissing off a master thief. But as Vespa took her largest knife between her teeth and slunk in through the window, quickly followed by the hulking yet graceful form of Jet, laden down with blasters, it was whoever had taken Valencia’s place that Nureyev felt sorry for.

Maybe it wasn’t just Bianca who was glad to have a family.

Juno risked a glance down to him, looking oddly beautiful as he leaned out over the edge of the balcony, bathed in neon colours like Nureyev was seeing him through a stained glass window, as a strange kind of saint. As the goddess he was named for.

But had Juno ever held so much fear and determination and anxiety in her eye?

Nureyev gave him a nod, trying to look encouraging. Trying to look like all his fears that they weren’t prepared, that they didn’t know their target, that far too much was at risk, were all coming true.

But all they could do was put one foot in front of the other. Two more floors and they would see their daughter and whatever that would bring.

Nureyev felt the press of the knives against his skin again, insistent and hungry.

The Oasis was grand in every sense of the word, they were some height above the ground now, enough that a breeze that smelled of hot sand lifted their hair and snagged the corners of their clothing. As much as every muscle in his body wanted to surge forward and rush to wherever his daughter was, Nureyev forced himself to go slowly, hugging the brickwork and keeping out of the teeth of the wind. Now down to half their numbers, they couldn’t be caught now.

Finally, the topmost window and, muffled by glass, a voice. Juno and Nureyev crouched on the last platform of the fire escape, ducking under the golden glow emanating from behind the glass and listened, feeling the same burning anger as they recognised it in the same moment.

“...whether it’s some drunk gaggle of socialites or not, I want confirmation,” a gruff, scraping voice that seemed to have aged more than the time since they’d last heard it would suggest, “Don’t put anything past these charlatans, there’s no way they should know the brat is here but they’ve proven to be inconveniences before now. Go, quickly. Carter said she heard blaster fire.”

A grunt of conformation, footsteps whispering against thick expensive carpet. Juno tensed and rocked on his heels but Nureyev gripped his arm to still him, shaking his head. They couldn’t afford to move before they had a better idea of what they were running into. Not when so much was at stake.

He maintained that for a whole heartbeat until they both heard what was unmistakably a muffled sob from inside the room. A sob they both knew.

Nureyev’s other hand was on a knife handle before he was really aware he was even moving, having to snap fast to keep control of himself as something dark and angry, a shadow in red light, thrashed inside him. His fingers tensed on Juno’s arm, feeling an electricity run through him. Hold fast. Stay quiet. Wait for the right moment.

“Oh, will you be quiet?” Engstrom snapped, his voice less muffled now, as if he’d moved closer to the window. Nureyev tried to build up a mental picture of the room, a map he could work with, though it was hard when the younger, red washed self was fighting him.

There was the sound of an angry snap, like the sound of a puppy baring its teeth after being backed into a corner and a short cry of pain from Engstrom.

“You little…” his voice was tight and his shoes made thin sounds on the floor as he backed away, voice dampening. That meant she was close. Nureyev leaned forward a little more. Would he have been fool enough to keep her by the window?

He’d never believed in any being more powerful than himself up until now, not even at the tensest, most teetering brinks of his career, not even in the underground tomb with Miasma. But now he was throwing out desperate murmurs, willing anyone to hear them. Any port in a storm.

Engstrom was still talking and Nureyev took pleasure in imagining him cradling a bitten hand, “More trouble than you’re worth, you brat...no wonder your father taught you no manners, the classless parlour magician...I’d behave before I decide that the pleasure of breaking your father’s teeth and seeing him rot in jail while my name is cleared is worth less to me than the joy of you disappearing down that trash chute. God, you broke the skin, you freak, you vile little monster…”

Nureyev realised a second too late what Juno was doing, though he didn’t think an hour’s preparation would have been able to stop him. He wrenched free of his grip so easily it was as if it had never been, threw open the window and launched himself at Engstrom with a snarl of fury.

“Juno!” he yelled, pointlessly, though his voice was lost in Bianca’s scream and Engstrom’s sound of bewilderment, followed quickly by a loud crash.

Expensive whiskeys and brandys were soaking into the carpet when Nureyev leapt through the window, knife whistling from his fingers in the direction of the single guard who had been about to raise their blaster in Juno’s direction. It struck them hilt first, dead between the eyes, sinking them in an instant where the blade wouldn’t have had a hope of shearing through all the armour they wore. People who saw only one end of a knife were fools. First rule of thieving.

“Mama!” Bianca’s voice yelled from behind him, “Daddy!”

Nureyev couldn’t help it, he turned to her, feeling a relief like cold water on a burn. His treasure was tied cruelly tight to a chair just beside him, within arms reach and so much in him yearned to take her in his arms and promise her it had all been one bad dream. But the monster was yet to be defeated.

Engstrom was pinned under Juno in the wreckage of a drinks trolley, unsuccessfully defending blows to his face which now resembled a melon that had taken a hard trip down a very long flight of stairs. Panic filled Nureyev’s chest until he saw a small comms unit lying an arms length away from the old man’s grasping hand. Again, he found himself praying that he hadn’t been able to send out a call to the other guards, they needed every second they could snatch now.

Those seconds were stretching and warping as they tended to do when lives hung on gossamer strands. People seemed to move in slow motion, blows falling with a maniacally comedic exaggerated performance, light tripping and dancing on broken glass on the carpet. It seemed to take Nureyev an age to cross the room, focused on crunching that comms under his heel until it was beyond repair, before Engstrom could grasp it.

And it took him far too long to realise that wasn’t what Engstrom was intending at all.

The old man’s grasping fingers finally found the neck of a half empty bottle of some heady liquor the colour of ancient bark. Nureyev saw it at the peak of its arc, catching some fragments of blue from the sign just outside the window, moving so slowly but not slowly enough.

Bianca cried out as it connected with Juno’s head, almost as awful a sound as the crunch of glass and bone cracking in harmony. Juno rolled, head clutched in his hands, blood seeping from between his fingers, too gripped to even make a noise.

And Engstrom was sitting up.

Not a complete fool and running on sheer cruelty, he didn’t lurch for the comms or try to stand. Instead he pulled a blaster from his inside pocket, small but no less deadly for it. And he didn’t bother trying to decide which to aim at, the former detective or the thief. He simply pointed it directly at Bianca.

“Stop,” he croaked, voice even fainter than before, “Or I shoot.”

Nureyev froze, hand halfway to another knife. Juno looked up with swimming eyes, having enough of a hold on himself to stop too, swaying on his knees.

“The two of you?” Engstrom seemed to be on some kind of lurid, pain fuelled high, grinning like a haunted waxwork, even as his lips swelled and his gums ran red, “Now even this is beyond my wildest dreams. Guess the two of you stuck together after you left me for dead on that damned train, hmm? And how is that working out, seeing as one of you is missing an eye?”

Nureyev tried to keep his voice calm and still, as if the two of them were still sitting at that card table from years ago. And in some ways they were, though the stakes had ballooned far out of either of their reaches.

“What is it you want, Engstrom? A ransom? The Ruby Seven? Me? You can take me if you like, I’ll stay as long as you allow Juno to take Bianca far from here.”

Juno gave a pained noise that had nothing to do with his head. Tears dripped helplessly down Bianca’s cheeks but his girl, his brave, brave girl, stayed silent.

Nureyev tried to feel none of it and just calculated. Could he get to him before his finger squeezed the trigger? Could he throw the knife fast enough, strike his wrist or, better yet, in the neck so his shot went wide? Could he find the right words to reach this bitter, broken man and appease him?

Every calculation came to the same unthinkable end.

“And why shouldn’t I have it all, Duke Rose? After everything you two took from me, why shouldn’t I have it all back including your blood, your wife’s and your daughter’s? Is that not what I’m owed after what you did?” his voice sounded like it was on the verge of breaking and his bloodshot eyes, one swollen almost shut, never looked away from Bianca, “I had thought you had more sense than this. To bring a child into our life, the life of a thief. Just more poison in the well…and look where it has ended…”

Nureyev felt bile in his throat, tearing around for more options, another way. Beg? Stall until by some miracle, Jet and Vespa could come crashing through the door? Plead? Pray? Offer him the world? Go back in time and never even set foot on the surface of Mars?

Everything around them slowed. But Juno Steel moved so, so fast.

He lurched forward and seized the barrel of the blaster between blood stained fingers. But he didn’t try and wrench it away, there was no time for that. He didn’t knock it or send it off course, what if it bounced and hit Bianca by chance?

Instead he made sure of where it would go. He turned it and pressed the barrel hard to his own skin.

The sound of the discharge was loud enough to tip the room, as if they were back on the Carte Blanche, twisted and wounded in space. Nureyev screamed, Bianca screamed, Juno screamed and neither sound could be teased out of the others.

Fortunately there was enough of Nureyev’s mind left to see what Juno needed him to do and to do it. He ran forward and brought his knife hilt down with all the strength he had left at the base of Engstrom’s skull. Fingers slackened, there was a hard, dull sound and he hit the carpet, out cold and maybe even beyond that. The blaster fell uselessly to the floor.

Nureyev cared for none of it. All that mattered was Juno, trembling in wordless agony, his shoulder smoking. He felt so light in Nureyev’s grip, light enough to come apart or simply fade away.

Nureyev felt the ghost of cold iron under his fists, felt years old bruises ache again from beating them against that door and against a future that didn’t have his detective in it.

“Just my shoulder...just hit my shoulder…” Juno managed to grit out from teeth clenched so hard they looked like to shatter, “It’s fine...it’s fine…”

The wound was a horror, a massive burn in a starburst shape but it wasn’t bleeding, just smoking and spitting. He would last, Nureyev told himself, he would last back to the Carte Blanche and Vespa would fix him, she would fix everything. But his arm hung so limp and useless, fingers not twitching and shaking like the rest of him was…

“Get Bianca,” Juno grunted, “Get Bianca, we need to go.”

Nureyev nodded, though his mind felt fractured, hairline cracks forming as he was pulled in different directions, different versions of himself pulling him apart. He stood, Juno’s good arm over his shoulders so he could take the weight of him, walking over to the chair where Bianca was tied.

“Saved me,” Bianca mumbled, looking up at the two of them with tears in her eyes, “Mamma, daddy…”

Nureyev knelt and sheared through her bindings easily, “I’m so sorry, my sweet girl, my treasure, I am so sorry…”

Bianca didn’t seem to be listening, her arms shooting up as soon as they were free, grabbing in the air. Towards both of them.

Nureyev lifted her and held her between him and Juno, taking one minute of calm in the midst of the storm they’d found themselves in. Juno’s arm tightened around his shoulder, his face buried in Bianca’s hair, leaning heavily against Nureyev. Bianca had one hand on his cheek, the other twisted tight in Nureyev’s earring. And Nureyev circled them both in his arms, like that would always be enough to keep them safe.

But it wouldn’t. Though he knew one way to ensure it.

A cold numbness descended on his mind, filing away all the adrenaline and hurt and fear with an eerie efficiency. He let Juno hold Bianca with his good arm, disentangling himself and settling the knife more easily into his palm, the hilt fitting into calluses worn onto his hands over years and years. He approached the still limp, still weakly breathing form of Brock Engstrom, everything in him trained on silencing that breathing for good.

“Nureyev,” Juno’s voice was weak and still brittle with pain, pain the pathetic excuse for a human at his feet had caused.

“Look away, dear,” he spoke words he was familiar with, though his tone was now flat and dead, “I’m going to stab Mr Engstrom to death now.”

“Nureyev, no.”

“I said look away, Juno,” Nureyev moved the knife an inch, his mind flicking idly through his decades old banks of knowledge on where to put the point to cause maximum pain.

“Nureyev, look.”

He did, turning slightly to see Juno watching him with an eye full of hurt. And their daughter, clinging to his coat, looking at him like she didn’t recognise him. Like she had no idea who he was. Like she was face to face with Engstrom again.

The knife slipped to the floor and he wouldn’t pick it back up again. The younger self bathed in the red light retreated, maybe for good this time. His shoulders slumped and he exhaled with a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

Peter Nureyev made a choice that was very unlike the man he used to be, very unlike the man he’d been brought up as. But it was the kind of choice the man he wanted to be would have made.

“See, Bee Bee?” Juno murmured, voice rough but a small smile quirking the edge of his mouth as Nureyev walked back towards them, “Your daddy’s one of the good guys.”

“Good guys,” Bianca repeated softly, reaching out to him again.

Nureyev took her, letting Juno hold his injured half and lean on him, “I suppose, my treasure.”

“C’mon, let’s get going and find me a nice place to faint,” Juno rasped, again showing off his ability to find some humour while mortally wounded that Nureyev had always admired and been baffled by in equal measures, “Bottom of the garbage chute sounds good right about now. Real classy.”

Nureyev managed a tired laugh in response, shouldering the weight of his small family as they made for the door.

Another first rule of thieving was to never assume an easy escape. So many thieves tripped up on their exit from the job, too high on the loot in their hands and the thrill of the light at the end of the tunnel. Just because you had the goods didn’t mean life would pull its punches.

But it seemed, for once, that life had no more blows left to deal. Their escape was smooth as silk, as easy as pickpocketing a drunk man with a blindfold on. Jet and Vespa had taken out every guard on Engstrom’s payroll, Buddy was waiting for them in the Ruby Seven, Rita was running at them to fly into a hug before they’d even parked up in the cargo hold of the Carte Blanche.

Maybe it was luck. Maybe that rule had grown rusty with time.

Or maybe this was the advantage of being the good guys for once.

“Right. Now do not move, I’m doing one set of stitches so if you open them back up, better get some glue.”

“How the hell am I supposed to not move?” Juno grumbled, wincing as Vespa finished his stitches, “For how long? Can I breathe?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Vespa snarled back, slamming down her needle.

Nureyev chuckled to himself from the opposite bed. It was rather nice to know he wasn’t the most irritating patient on the ship.

The wound on the side of his head, nearly identical to Nureyev’s own, was easy to fix. His shoulder was less so, the skin blackened and flesh raw and red. Vespa could clean it, she could swathe it in bandages so it was less difficult to look at but there was no getting around the fact that it would be a long, painful time in healing.

Every time he looked at the clean bandages that stiffened Juno’s collar, every time he saw him wince or saw his teeth sink into his lip to bite back a groan, Nureyev was plunged back into that single second when he’d thought he’d lost him. When he’d thought he’d paid an awful price for their daughter’s life.

It was strange and bitterly unfair, Nureyev reflected, how you often didn’t realise what someone meant to you until they weren’t there. And how certain thieves could still be such stubborn fools and need to be taught that over and over.

But fools could still learn. People could still change. Juno had taught him that.

Bianca slept soundly by him, her head pillowed in his lap, her cloth cat tucked under her arm. How that thing had survived, Nureyev had no idea.

Mercifully, his treasure was no worse for wear, just tired, dehydrated and hungry from her time in the drone. Apparently she’d dealt far more damage than she’d taken; Engstrom hadn’t been the only one to feel her teeth. Nureyv felt a fierce pride at that but he would remain on guard for bad dreams as long as he needed to. He was determined to be there when she woke up.

Juno and Vespa were still bickering up until the second when the door shut behind her. And then they both realised in the same moment that they were as alone as they’d been in some time, since their half conversation in the hallway after the auction. Suddenly everything they’d said and hadn’t said was crowding in the space between the two infirmary beds.

Juno was the first to break the sudden blanket of silence, venturing a weak, lopsided smile and a little laugh. After a moment, Nureyev found himself snorting, giggles pressing up against his chest, like a child in class well aware he shouldn’t be laughing but unable to stop all the same. Juno cackled along with him and it had the sensation of a tap being let go, something leaking away and what was left behind behind able to breathe again.

“God, what’s wrong with us?” Nureyev chortled, wiping at his eyes.

“Uh, some bastard took our kid and we had to go get her back?” Juno ventured, running a hand through his hair, pushing it into even more disarray.

“Ah yes, of course,” Nureyev touched her lightly on the temple, “But we did it. We saved the day.”

“We did,” Juno leaned back against the wall, unsuccessfully hiding how it pained him, “And now...see, that’s the strange thing, isn’t it? No one ever tells you what happens to the heroes after the credits roll or after the story ends. So what do we do now?”

Nureyev looked down at Bianca, humming softly as he curled a lock of her hair around his finger, “Whatever we please, I think. Though these two heros need a place to sleep, actually, seeing as our bunk got dragged out into space.”

“You could come sleep in my room?” Juno offered quickly, before a light blush touched his cheeks, “I mean...if you were okay with that? I know it might be...weird.”

Nureyev smiled, lifting his eyes to Juno’s, “No. That would be nice, Juno, thank you. Bianca will be pleased. She...she really loves you, you know.”

Juno’s gaze softened and he seemed to feel the pain a little less, “Well...I love her too. You made a great kid, Nureyev.”

Nureyev chuckled, looking down at her, sleeping so peacefully and deeply like she was so sure that the people around her would protect her, “You know, I was so scared of her when I first met her. And I had been for nine months, really, I was just terrified. Everything became so complicated all of a sudden, my own body felt unfamiliar when I was so used to being sure of myself, it was...an unpleasant feeling. I went back to Brahma but I was halfway there before I even realised I was doing it, like something else was pulling me in that direction. I told myself I would find her a nice family with kind people who could take care of her and give her a good life. Where she’d want for nothing. But it was still so hard. And...then I met her. I held her in my own hands and I realised how silly it was to be scared of something so small.”

“I wish I could have been there,” Juno rasped, voice small but sincere.

Nureyev nodded, “Me too. But it felt like you were, in a way. I told you I kept Bianca for selfish reasons, back on Mars. And I wasn’t lying. I kept her because...well, because she looked so much like you. I wanted to keep part of you in my life, Juno, because I loved you.”

Juno swallowed, watching him closely, “And now?”

Nureyev looked up, “And now...now you’re someone new. Someone brave and beautiful and still so infuriatingly stupid...but someone I would be proud to call my daughter’s mother. And, well, I think I’ve fallen in love with you all over again.”

Juno had tears in his eye as he smiled, “Fool. And I love you too.”

Nureyev grinned back, “Fool.”

Juno leaned forward, ignoring Nureyev’s groan of protest, the start of his plea for him to hold still, there would be time later. The kiss was sweet all the same, more unfamiliar than he had expected but he supposed they were both very different people, after all.

People who could make something good out of this.

Nineteen Years Later -

They had said their goodbyes, there had been tears her little brother Persephone had pretended weren’t there, there had been countless promises to stay safe and keep well and remember everything she’d been taught.

But still, Nureyev followed her to the shuttle.

Juno had looked up as he’d gone, as he’d mumbled something about seeing her off, and for a moment it had seemed like he would catch his husband’s shoulder and seat him firmly back down. But he didn’t. Maybe something inside him recognised that they both needed this.

“Do you have your laser cutter?” Nureyev asked as the two of them walked down the hallway of the Carte Blanche, “Your rope? Your TV remote?”

“Daddy,” Bianca laughed, turning on her heel, having to look up and meet his eyes even at twenty years old, “I have it all, okay? You double checked my pack ten times.”

Nureyev blushed, folding his arms, “Well...a thief can never be too prepared.”

“I know, daddy,” Bianca nudged him with an elbow, “You taught me that.”

Nureyev sighed, feeling how close that last, final goodbye was and wanting to do anything he could to delay it. “You know, I looked over the plans for the facility you’re targeting and a two man con would-”

“Daddy,” his daughter tilted her head, making those voluminous curls so like her mama’s bounce, and her hand came out to take his, squeezing gently, “It’s gonna be okay. I can do this. And you know it isn’t going to be forever, I’ll always come back and visit.”

“Often,” Nureyev corrected, feeling his throat tighten as he grasped that hand that had once been barely bigger than his finger, “You’re going to visit often.”

“Sure,” her smile was brilliant, cocky and confident and infections, “When I’m not busy being the most badass thief in the whole universe.”

“I’m sure,” he had to laugh. Though he really did believe it.

Her mama’s old coat was a little big on her, the sleeves coming a little past her knuckles, she’d inherited Juno’s small stature. In some ways she still looked like a little girl playing dress up, like this was all a game to find her daddy’s lost pair of glasses or lead her little brothers on an adventure as Andromeda the Chainmail Warrior.

But Nureyev knew the solar system wasn’t going to know what hit it when Bianca Nureyev swung in on her beam of starlight.

He just had to let her go. Far easier said than done.

“I’ll call you when I land, Daddy. Auntie Rita secured the line, right?”

“She did,” Nureyev knew that look in her golden brown eyes, the look he’d never been able to deny, “But I think you have forgotten one thing?”

Bianca frowned, “But I went over the checklist…”

Nureyev grinned, it was uncanny how similar that frown was. He brought his other hand out from behind his back. The cloth cat, Kitty as Juno insisted on calling it, was looking more than a little worse for wear these days, it’s fur faded and three of its eyes missing but still, Bianca gasped in delight when she saw it.

“Of course!” she giggled, taking it happily and tucking it into the front pocket of the coat that used to be her mama’s, “I thought Idun might have wanted to keep him…”

“No, I think he realised it would be much better off with his big sister,” Nureyev nodded.

“Well, tell him thanks. And tell him I love him. Both of them, tell them I love them lots and lots. And mama too! And Auntie Vespa and Auntie Buddy and Auntie Rita and Uncle Jet…”

Nureyev was laughing before she was halfway through, “I’ll tell them. But what about your old dad?”

Bianca’s expression softened and she pounced, hugging him so tight his ribs hurt, “I love you, Daddy. Thank you for this.”

Nureyev closed his eyes and pressed his face into her hair, “I love you too, my treasure. And thank you.”

When she pulled away, it was completely, her hand slipping out of his own. He let it, though it broke his heart.

“I’ll see you soon, Daddy,” Bianca smiled, giving him a wave before she disappeared into the shuttle that had been her eighteenth birthday present from her Uncle.

Nureyev waited a long time before he turned away from the window, looking out as he had on so many journeys with his treasure, off to exciting places and interesting people and scores that would make them legends. He had no doubt that the same thing awaited her, now she was alone.

Still he watched. He watched until her shuttle joined the rest of the stars and for a little longer after that.

He knew something amazing was waiting for her.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #penumbra #junoverse #juniverse #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #tpp juno #tpp nureyev #vespa ilkay #buddy aurinko #jet siquliak #rita

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w-k-smith · 4 years ago

Photo

THE FINAL CHAPTER

Beetlejuice races to catch up to Lydia before Juno does. But Lydia has entered the Abyss in search of her mother, and will soon learn Beetlejuice lied to her. Will Beetlejuice be able to keep his friend from getting attacked by a demon, AND keep her from hating him forever when she realizes what he has done?

Chapter One: “It’s a Wonderful Afterlife” (6/19/20) Chapter Two: “Worm Welcome” (07/03/20) Chapter Three: “Ghost to Ghost” (07/26/20) Chapter Four: “To Beetle or not to Beetle?” (08/30/20)

Warning: This story contains depictions of, references to, and discussion of topics like suicide, untimely death, abuse, and body horror - you know, like the musical does (though this probably has more). Know your boundaries, and stay safe.

(This story is also available on AO3, under the username w_k_smith.)

New chapter under keep reading! B33tl3b4b3s DNI!

The darkness…swirled. That was the only way to describe it. There was nothing but blackness all around, but the blackness wasn’t still. It undulated, with a few jagged beams of light jumping through the dark. The ground – if you could call it ground – was steep and uneven, like the floor of a funhouse.

“Hey, kid!” he called. “Where are you? Don’t go too far!”

No answer.

He ran, and almost tripped. He scrambled to get his footing, but he had to keep moving forward.

“LYDIA!” he yelled as loudly as he could.

And then he heard her.

“Mom?” She was calling into the void around them. “Mama? Emily Deetz? It’s me, Lydia.”

A few more steps, and he saw her. Her dark clothes and hair made her next to invisible. But when he saw her, her energy and frantic movements made it clear she didn’t belong in this environment, among the deader than dead. She was running back and forth, peering into the shadows as if that would make a difference.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Mom, it’s Lydia!” Her voice cracked on: “Mommy? Can you hear me?”

He went up a short incline, and hopped to another. “Hey!” he yelled, hoping to get her attention.

Not only did she not look over, he also slipped and fell onto the ground. By the time he got up, she was out of sight again.

He groaned in frustration, and kept moving. Going deeper into the Abyss would keep Juno from catching up too quickly, but they couldn’t avoid her forever. Not even here.

Lydia appeared up ahead. She’d moved on to shouting her mother’s name. Like he’d told her to do.

“Emily Deetz!” she yelled. “Emily Deetz! Emily Evelyn Deetz! Mom?!”

“Hey,” he said. “You don’t –”

“Where is she?” she demanded, her voice ragged. “Where’s my mom? You told me she would be here.”

He raised his arms to either side. “She’s out here. At least, part of her is. And it’s all around you. So is just about everyone who has ever died.”

“Why isn’t she answering me?”

It was a hard, hard question to respond to, in more ways than one.

“That’s…complicated.”

“Where is she?”

He took a deep breath he didn’t need. “She’s not…herself, anymore,” he ended up saying. “Ghosts can hold it together for a long time. Act like we’re people. And maybe we are. But once you give yourself over to the next step, then…” He struggled for the right words, and shrugged. “Then dead is dead is dead.”

“She isn’t responding to me.”

“She can’t. Or, she won’t. It’s not because of anything you’re doing wrong. What you want to do can’t be done.”

“But you told me –”

“Yeah, kid. I told you.”

“You lied to me,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“How could you do that?”

He’d had all the right justifications in mind when he’d first lied. You wouldn’t have listened. You would have left me. I wanted to be free. I was just so miserable I couldn’t risk it.

The words didn’t come.

“I hate you!” Lydia spat. “I thought I knew what you were, but you’re even worse. You’re just a terrible, lonely bastard, and you’re don’t even realize how pathetic you are. Your mother is the only one who wants you around, and she’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you let me think you were my friend.”

“I’m…I’m…”

“Stop talking to me!” She turned on her heel, and started walking deeper into the Abyss.

“I’m sorry, OK? I really mean it. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

She stopped walking.

“What you have to understand is that the Netherworld is a truck stop. Nobody, except demons, is meant to set up shop out there. Everyone leaves, to come in here, and become whatever it is dead people are really meant to become. Everyone. Sometimes, you hang around the Netherworld for decades. Sometimes, it’s a few minutes. It sounds like your mom’s stay would have been on the shorter side.”

She pressed her hands to her face.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it,” he said. “But that’s a good thing. Trust me, kid, you don’t want to stick around the Netherworld too long. ”

It took him a second to realize she was crying.

“I’m not going to see her again?” Her words were thick.

He drew closer to her, feeling very much like he was approaching a land mine.

“Not here,” he said.

“I – I – I –!” She lowered her hands. Her shoulders were heaving. He could tell she wasn’t trying to decide what to say, but crying so hard she has having trouble forming words. Tears gushed down her face. “I don’t – what am I going to do now?”

The guilt was overwhelming. It pulled at him, dug its fingers in. He’d said all he knew, and tried to offer the closest thing he had to comfort. But fresh tears still welled up in her eyes.

“I just – I came all this way and she’s not – coming – back!”

She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

He froze. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help her, more than he had ever wanted to help anyone. But he didn’t know how.

Shake her! insisted the part of him that was chaotic and colorful, the part most like himself. Tell her to snap out of it. Remind her that Juno is coming. Pull out your alarm clock that constantly screams, and say neither of you have any tiiiiiime for this.

He ignored that part, and ignored the instincts that had kept him lonely and apathetic. His friend deserved more than that.

He didn’t know what else to do, though. So he let her cry. And he hoped that would be enough.

Eventually, she let go of him. Her makeup was smeared, her face was flushed and puffy, and she looked about three years younger.

“I think I got some snot on your jacket,” she mumbled.

“It’s seen worse.”

“I don’t actually hate you.”

“Oh. Huh.” How about that?

“I want to go home.”

“Me, too.” The old feeling came back, the one that had been buried even deeper than he was. The lonely and aching urge to go home, even if you were already there. Even if you had never had one.

And one day it was all too damn much. And he’d done something dumb. And now he was…here.

“Why is your hair purple?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Egad. You’ve got me emotional.”

She lowered her head. Her shoulders sagged.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

He squinted into the darkness moving around them. “You leave.”

“What?”

“Juno’s on her way,” he said. “It’s bad. I really pissed her off this time, and if she catches up –”

A rumble in the distance. A waft of smoke.

“Lucky for you,” he continued, “she might be more mad at me than she is at you. You have to go.”

“Lawrence!” came his mother’s roar.

Lydia frowned. “She sounds different.”

“I’ll bet she is different. A rampaging demon is not a pretty sight. You can’t be around for this. You gotta get out of here.”

“I don’t have any chalk with me,” she said.

“She’d be able to follow you into the living world, anyway.”

“Then let’s make a run for it!”

“No,” he said. “Stay. And be quiet. She knows I’m in here, but she still doesn’t know exactly where you are. I’ll go and distract her; you run once we’re gone. Find the Maitlands, or Miss Argentina, and they’ll help you get back to living world.”

“Will we be safe from Juno then?” Lydia asked. Her eyes were filled with fear.

It was time to stop lying to her. “You won’t be, if she has her mind set on punishing you. But! I’m going to take the blame. Toss myself on her sword.” He pantomimed stabbing himself, and added a realistic splat sound.

“Don’t do that. She hurts you, right? All the time? Hurts you a lot? Even though she’s your mom?”

Her words were simple, but were wrapped around something very big he could tell she was struggling with.

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah, Little Miss Sunshine, I’m used to it.”

“But if she’s so mad, it’ll be worse this time.”

“Let me worry about that.”

She narrowed her eyes, and he worried he was going to have to drop kick her to safety, or something. “Can I have some Zagnuts for the road?”

He couldn’t figure that one out. But he was happy to hand over an armload of candy bars from the depths of his jacket.

“I’ll see you later,” she said.

“Lydia…”

“I’ll see you later.”

She turned, and ran into the dark of the Abyss. It only took a few steps for her to disappear.

“BEETLEJUICE.”

He turned, his stomach filling with dread. Juno was still on fire. Her beehive was blackened and losing structure. Her walker had sunk into her forearms. It was either melting, or she was so angry she was forgetting to keep it a separate part of her body.

“Hi, Mom,” he said. The words came out more quietly than he intended.

She huffed, and it sounded like a growl.

“I’ve been patient. For hundreds of years, I’ve been patient. But you’ve disappointed me at every turn. You’ve never even tried to live up to your potential. Don’t you know the kind of purpose you could have had? What you could have achieved if you weren’t such a lazy, boneheaded, waste of space? You said the breather was your friend.” She drew closer to him. The walker scraped across the ground. “What kind of demon is friends with a little girl? More than that, what do you think you’ve ever done to make anyone be friends with you?”

She took another step.

“Stay away!” he said. “I don’t care what you say! I’m through with you, Mom! I’m getting out of hell, and I’m not letting you hurt anybody I care about!”

How he was going to keep that promise, he didn’t know. He told himself it was the thought that counted.

“Oh, sonny boy. We’ll just see about that…!”

His mother started to change. She must have liked looking old, and gross. It wasn’t what he would have chosen if he had total control over his appearance, but hey. Demons’ true forms were strange and primordial, and rare sights. Juno wasn’t reverting to her true form, but she was becoming something else.

Juno stretched and warped, until her walker became the front four legs of the giant insect demon she was at heart. Loose red clothing hardened into a carapace. Her face was broken by mandibles that slid from her mouth. The smell of fire remained.

Exit stage left.

He turned and ran through the Abyss, fueled by desperation to get out, get out, get out. He scrambled over the uneven ground, hoping he was doing more than just going deeper into the black. Juno followed him. He heard her mandibles clicking, over the sound of her limbs shredding the rocks beneath her.

And over that, he heard her laughing.

“Come on…come on, universe!” he groaned. “Help a guy out!”

He ran up a short rise in the ground, jumped off the edge –

– and tumbled onto the sands of Jupiter.

“Yes!” he whooped.

The sand three feet to his right exploded as it was raked by a spiked, armored leg. Someone – definitely not him – let out a high-pitched shriek.

He started running again, flying over the dunes and kicking up sand like the Roadrunner. He didn’t look back, but he didn’t know where exactly would be a good place to go, either. Juno could follow him through Saturn. She could follow him into the living world. He pressed forward toward the admin area, knowing Juno would be right behind him. His only hope was that she wouldn’t want to disembowel him in front of her employees.

Who was he kidding? That would be gravy for her.

Sand gave way to black rock. He skidded to a stop in the craggy field, because where else was there to go?

He glanced behind him. He’d put a little distance between himself and Juno, but her jagged silhouette advanced on the horizon.

The swift clack of heels. “What have you done?!” Miss Argentina asked. She had a tight grip on her clipboard, and her face was so livid it almost wasn’t green.

“I set her on fire, a little bit,” he said.

Her hands shook, and her clipboard snapped in half.

“Where is the living girl?” Miss Argentina said.

“Hiding. She’s fine for now; Juno’s focused on me.”

“Well that’s something! What exactly is your mother going to do?”

“I think this is it, Miss A.”

“Beetlejuice…”

He cleared his throat and yanked on his tie. “Ah, you know, at least I get the honor dying horribly twice…”

Miss Argentina squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “There must be something you can do.”

He shrugged. He was powerful, and had more tricks up his striped sleeves than any other ghosts. He was nothing compared to his mother.

A door formed in the air, and swung open. Charles, Delia, and the Maitlands tripped over each other rushing out.

“Finally!” Adam exclaimed. “We opened so many doors!”

“There you are!” Charles said. “Where is Lydia?!”

“She’s as safe as she can be,” he said. “Right now, you need to get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

“Not without Lydia!” Delia said.

“It might literally be your funeral.”

“More breathers?” came Juno’s roar. He looked up. She’d grown taller, her skin stretched tight in some places, bunched up in others. Her eyes were bulging and multifaceted, like a housefly’s. Her fried beehive still bobbed on top of her head.

“Help me or scram!” he said to the ghosts and the living.

The Maitlands looked at each other. Charles and Delia just looked terrified. Miss Argentina’s eyes darted from left to right, but she didn’t move.

“C’mon, Ma!” he yelled at the creature towering over them. “Let’s have it out, you and me! For better – or worse.”

Definitely worse! What was he thinking? What was he doing?

He had no other options. No more cowering. No more tricks. No more running away.

He strained, and spikes erupted from his body. Juno’s pincer tried to clench around him, but she couldn’t grab hold. He puffed himself up even bigger, and her limb jerked back.

He kept moving. He retracted the spikes, stretched his body like a snake, coiled, sprang, and wrapped himself around his mother’s neck. She choked, and her head jerked back. It was just a holdup, though. She grabbed him, yanked him off her. He found himself being dangled in front of her face.

“I never should have borne you!” she hissed, as he wilted into his human shape. “I should have scrubbed you from the afterlife the second you crossed over!”

He opened his mouth to answer, but a chunk of rock flew over his head and hit Juno on the chin.

“That is no way to talk to your child!” said Barbara Maitland.

She and Adam were on the sidelines, but holding rocks. Barbara was still a little off balance after throwing hers. They thought they could help. Oh God, they were so adorable that he wanted to die again…

He twisted so he dropped out of Juno’s grasp. As soon as he hit the ground, he rolled to the side, and popped up covered in arms that ended with claws. He could only raise all those limbs for a few seconds, however, before they disappeared, leaving him with his usual two arms and two legs. Boring. And weak.

His default form kept threatening to return, like a resistance band threatening to snap back and hit someone in the eye. Unlike full demons, who could look like any horrifying thing they set their minds to, he had a semi-human form he had to settle back into after a while. Sure, he’d warped over the years; he hadn’t been born with green hair, but this was pushing him to the jagged edge of his limits.

One of Juno’s six legs smashed into him. He let his body get rubbery, so instead of being crushed, he just kind of…squished.

She hit him again. And again.

“Beetlejuice!” Miss Argentina yelled.

He tried to make a joke, because the idea of Miss A being worried about him was just plain disconcerting. But it was hard to say This is karma for every time I drunkenly broke a Whack-a-Mole machine when your lungs wouldn’t inflate.

He was trying. He really was. But he just couldn’t resist anymore.

Juno pinned him to the ground. A little more pressure and he’d be squashed like a bug. Fitting, he supposed.

“Leave them alone!” came a familiar girl’s voice.

He looked up, and saw a sandworm bearing down on them. For a second, he braced himself to be devoured. Until he recognized the dark shape clinging to the sandworm’s back. And he realized Juno was about to be distracted.

“Hi, Lydia!” he shouted, and slithered away as the sandworm reared back over his mother.

“No!” Juno roared. “Get away, you filthy –”

A Zagnut hit her between the compound eyes.

“Go, Sandy!” Lydia called. “Get the snack!”

The sandworm lunged forward, all jaws snapping. The vision of black and white stripes turned into a shadow that threw up a wall of dirt. He heard Lydia shriek, and Juno yell in anger.

And then Juno went silent.

The dust settled.

The sandworm was curling itself up into a satisfied ball. Lydia was safe on its back, but was quietly whispering “oh my God oh my God oh my God” to herself. Juno was nowhere in sight.

Miss Argentina took a hesitant step toward the torn patch of earth where the Director of Netherworld Customs and Processing had been devoured. The sandworm nipped at her experimentally, and she scampered back.

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “The ghosts need to stay away from the worm.”

Charles and Delia went to help Lydia down. They didn’t seem thrilled about getting close to the sandworm, but it ignored them completely. He didn’t blame it for not getting overexcited. It was going to have quite a time digesting a meal like Juno, given that demons weren’t sandworms’ usual diet. In fact, it probably wasn’t even really all that interested in the nearby ghosts.

Not that he wanted to stand up and check. Or stand up. Or move at all. His body – his whole existence – felt beaten to a pulp.

“Are you alright?” Barbara Maitland asked, leaning over him.

“I will be if you kiss it better,” he said.

She sighed. “You’d have to shower about a hundred times for me to even picture that happening.”

“Anything for you and sexy over there. Let’s run some hot water and get the ball rolling.”

She pursed her lips.

“Sorry,” he groaned. That word again. Bleeeeech. “Would you please help me up, Barbara?”

“That’s better.” She took his hand, and pulled him to his feet.

“Beetlejuice!” Lydia ran over to him. “Are you OK?”

“Never better!” He grabbed her, tossed her into the air, and caught her while she giggled. “Look at you! You saved the day!

“I can’t believe it worked,” she said.

“Me neither!” He set her down. “Chekov’s Zagnuts. Whodathunkit?”

“Hey, um…” Lydia’s expression grew concerned. “Who are they?”

He looked over his shoulder. A motley assortment of nightmares had wandered out of the admin area. Little gremlin creatures with skeletal faces and bulging eyes. A chalk-pale man wearing a suit, and smiling with a mouth like a stretched rubber band. A woman in Victorian garb who had the strong smell of potpie.

“Oh, them? They’re demons,” he said.

“Cool,” Lydia said.

“Lydia.” Charles had snuck up on them. “I need to talk to you.”

Her smile was gone. “Things didn’t go as planned, with…with Mom,” she said.

“I didn’t think so,” he said quietly. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s talk over there. Away from…” His gaze slid over the demon audience. “…All that.”

Charles led Lydia away.

He checked a strand of his hair, and saw that the green was fading to a vague and colorless shade with his exhaustion. Still, he revved up to stomp over and interrupt Charles, because he was in the mood to confront another terrible parent today.

Delia grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “I think they need to figure this out by themselves.”

“He’s been an asshole.”

Delia patted his arm. “Maybe a little bit. But he loves Lydia very much. He’s going to make things as right as he can.” She was looking at Charles with misty, lovestruck eyes. Ew. “Thank you for looking after Lydia…in your own way. She’s a unique girl.”

“Ah, she saved my sorry ass.”

“By the way…that giant insect creature was your mother?” Delia asked.

He nodded, and waited for the usual disgusted look, the double take, the silent curiosity about whether he was as twisted as Juno was.

“I’m very sorry. Growing up must have been awful,” was what Delia said instead.

“Um…yes,” he said.

“And you’ve been working for her for how long?”

“Ever since I died. It’s been a wonderful afterlife. Every time a bell rings, a demon bites the wings off a bat.”

Delia blinked a few times. “Have you ever considered therapy?”

He put a hand on each temple. “I don’t like having my head shrunk.” He squeezed until his skull was the size of an apple. Delia looked a little grossed out, and mildly impressed. He let his head reflate, and decided she was OK.

“Beetlejuice.” Lydia was done talking with her father. She wiped the corner of her eye, but she seemed fine. “So is Juno…dead?” she asked, pointing at the sandworm. The striped animal’s eyes were lowered drowsily. “Like, dead dead?”

“Let me see,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Benchchartreuse. No, Bechdelgoose. Beachcaboose, dammit!” He shook his head. “She isn’t dead enough, apparently. I’d give her about a hundred years stewing in the sandworm before she pops out.”

Miss Argentina, drawing closer now that the sandworm had settled down, clicked her pen. “The Netherworld will be in very capable hands when or if she returns. Hands so capable, they may push her right back into the sandworm’s maw.”

“You’re the best, Miss A.”

“I know.” Miss A turned to the assembled demons. “Anyone want to argue about that? I think we can make do without a director for a while.”

“Hey, man, we aren’t gonna cry with Juno gone,” said a one-eyed skeleton in a bowler hat, his jaw rocking back and forth as he spoke. “She was the worst boss we ever had. And what she did to her own flesh and blood? Not cool.”

“We’ll get more done without her around. Don’t act like we haven’t all been thinking it,” said a mournful elephant in clown makeup.

“The capitalist paradigm of a manager overseeing a 40-hour work week is obsolete anyway,” said a moldering bride, and the maggot in her eye socket agreed.

“I would very much like to leave now,” Charles said.

“I have the chalk!” Barbara said.

“Wait!” Lydia ran in front of her father. “BJ comes with us,” she said, crossing her arms. “I already signed the adoption paperwork. And if you say he can’t, I’ll drop out of school and get a neck tattoo. So.”

Charles blinked hard, and looked to the Maitlands.

“It’s fair that you two get a say about this,” he said.

The Maitlands looked at each other for several seconds, and he started to get worried.

“No sexual harassment, or you can’t live with us anymore,” Adam said.

“And you take a bath the second you walk in the door!” Barbara added.

“And you can’t have your ghost or demon friends over.”

“At least, not without getting permission first.”

“And we’ll evict you the second you stop being a good influence on Lydia.”

“And if you ever, ever hurt her at all, we will defy all afterlife laws, find a way to resurrect you, and murder you slowly and painfully.” The steel in Adam’s and Barbara’s eyes when Barbara said that made him certain that they meant it, and he was both terrified and, somehow, more deeply in love. Oh, he’d find a way to bring them around. Even if it meant having to do some really twisted, degrading stuff like being nice, and giving compliments, and remembering birth days. Time to learn some romantic ukulele songs.

“Agreed, agreed, I have no friends, agreed, and that’s fine by me,” he said, ticking off the points on his fingers.

“Then I guess we’re OK with it,” Adam said.

“On a trial basis,” Barbara said.

With a flourish, Barbara pulled the chalk out of her pocket. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to go home. It’s been a long, long day.”

“See ya later, guys!” he shouted at the spectators. Miss Argentina smiled at him, actually smiled in a full, genuine way that didn’t come off in the least bit sarcastic.

“Bye-bye, Sandy!” Lydia called, waving at the sandworm. It thwacked the ground with its tail.

He gathered with Charles, Delia, Adam, and Lydia while Barbara drew three straight lines on a rock.

“I’m still mad at you for lying about my mom,” Lydia said.

“Eh, that’s fair.”

“But…” she said. Her tone was deliberate, as if she was about to say something important. “I guess you’re supposed to always be mad at your dumb big brother.”

He scrabbled for something to say, though that word had knocked the wind out of him.

“Dumb?” He straightened, and pressed a hand to his chest, affronted. “I’ll remind you, I’m the brains of this outfit.” He reached into his right ear, and pulled out said brain. Lydia laughed.

“Brother?” he mouthed to himself when her back was turned. Barbara saw him, and gave him a small smile before she walked through the door herself.

Lydia cleared her throat. “And once we’re all through, I’ll say your name two times. It was two times, right? Two times exactly, and then if nothing happens, I should just give up and assume you don’t want to come?”

His unbeating heart burst with pride. “You little shit.”

“Come on,” she insisted, holding out her hand. “Let’s go home.��

He took it, and she yanked him through. And through the shadows and green mist, he was pretty sure he could see daylight.

#Beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #Beetlejuice the musical #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #lydia deetz #chaos siblings

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