EDIT (7/11/11): I was re-reading this, trying to get in the mood to get the next chapter rolling, and parts of it kind of sucked so I fixed those up a bit. Hopefully, it makes more sense now.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my plot twists!

AN: So, I got bitten by the Beetlejuice bug, and here is the fanfic that proves it. Kudos to all the excellent fan authors who inspired me to write my own! Here's to cracky goodness and hoping I actually finish it.

CHAPTER ONE: In Which His Bride Summons Our Hero, Beetlejuice

Lydia Deetz dropped the last box and flopped onto the flimsy plastic chair to survey her new dorm. It had barely enough room for some furniture and an incongruous sink crammed in over to the side. Everything from the exposed pipes to the metal door was painted a dingy off-white. It was depressing, much more so than her usual non-color scheme of black. Still, it was her own space which she wouldn't have to share with a roommate, or better yet, with Delia's fashion sense.

She hadn't really wanted to go off to college, but when she had proposed the idea of commuting to a nearby community college, her frequently out-of-town parents had raised an eyebrow but it was Adam and Barbara who had sat her down for a rather familiar talk about the living needing to live.

"Oh, Lydia," Barbara began. "You can't stay here forever. You need to get out and live your life while you still have one. We love you, and we want what's best for you, even if we won't get to see you everyday anymore."

"Listen to her on this, we know what we're talking about," Adam added.

"It was a happy accident that brought you into our unlife, and we've been glad to have you for as long as we have. It seems like we just turned around one day and here you are, all grown up and ready to stand on your own."

Adam went on with a metaphor about birds leaving the nest and learning to fly which went on for an unbearable length of time and is just something that parents, even surrogate ones, only say to make themselves feel better. Fortunately for Lydia, she wasn't paying much attention – because something that Barbara had said niggled at the back of her mind, where she kept things she didn't want to think about too much.

It wasn't an accident that the Maitlands were still around. No, she really owed four years and counting with the most dedicated parental units she'd ever had to…him. A certain ghost with the most that, now that she was older and wiser, she realized with some embarrassment that she had utterly stiffed (to pardon the pun). It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. They'd had a deal, which he had upheld, and she had let him get eaten by a sandworm at the altar. Not cool. Sure, she didn't want to marry a rude, perverted, dirty ghost who transformed into snakes and trick carnival rides, but she had said that she would. No one could say that Lydia Deetz went back on her word – except for him.

That fact settled like an imp in her brain, dancing around and distracting her all hours of the day and night, an itch that could only be scratched by completing the half-finished deal. At times, Lydia wondered if he had even survived the sand worm, and was rather disgusted with herself at the sense of relief she felt at the thought that she couldn't marry him because he had been destroyed and her debt could be forgotten. However, Lydia wasn't stupid enough to try calling him without a plan for any contingency.

So she got into a good university and packed her room and asked to borrow the handbooks, ostensibly to see if there was a way that she could communicate with her ghostly godparents while away (they weren't any good with using the phone – all they could manage was a sort of Morse code made of static). What she was actually looking up was both exactly that and something a little more complicated.

She found that mirrors could be a conduit for the soul, allowing the dead to travel or scry, but that didn't help her much and was illegal besides (too many spirits had gotten themselves inconveniently trapped inside, unable to get out and very much visible to the living). The living could try to contact the dead using things like Ouija boards, but it was terribly imprecise and you never knew who you were really channeling.

The only mention she found of the dead marrying the living was in the fine print of a footnote and it basically said: don't.

So she looked up contracts, and renegotiations, which there was an entire chapter on that basically said: your word is your bond, get used to it.

Nearly at her wit's end by the time she was having a nice farewell dinner out with her parents, she was saved by, of all things, a bit of salacious gossip about Otho's divorce. He was losing half his assets because of the prenup. All she had to do was get HIM to sign a prenuptial agreement and she could soothe her conscience and her common sense! How hard could it be?

Famous last words.

Finally, though, it was written. And then re-written, to be as baffling and incomprehensible and full of jargon as possible. Her father was some help in this, having at one time been a rather unscrupulous real estate agent, and what's more he never asked what she needed the phrases for beyond a vague reply of 'practice for school.'

Now the moment of truth was upon her. Now she would find out what had happened to him. Now wrongs would be righted!

She opened the box marked with an x and took out her wedding dress. It was actually a Halloween costume she had worn last year when she went as a zombie bride, but she hardly thought he would care about a little fake blood. Okay, a lot of fake blood and a gory chest wound, which she was quite proud of making herself. The dress itself was from a second hand store and terribly 80's, with excessive lace and poufy sleeves, but fortunately no shoulder pads under the sheer yoke. The dress was old, her shoes were new. They were also blue. She dropped a penny in the toe and put them on. Barbara had let Lydia borrow her own veil for the costume, ostensibly so she could wear it this Halloween, with a strict injunction to take care of it. She smoothed down her hair and settled the veil, hiding her face under a layer of tulle, because it's bad luck if the groom sees the bride before the wedding and she needed all the luck she could get.

Then she laid the final draft of the prenup (printed in a small, hard to read calligraphic font) out with a pen, her purple bouquet, and a boutonniere.

Lastly, she took up the ring (That she had barely been able to save in the frenzy to remove all reminders directly after the incident, which she'd kept because it was morbidly interesting, as a little memento of a momentous occasion in her life.) and said, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

-SCENE BREAK-

The Waiting Room was really goddamn boring.

Hardly anything changed (especially after his head had unshrunk).

It could have been five minutes, it could have been five centuries, but his queue number was next! Fan-fucking-tastic. Time for another 'interview' with Juno. He loved her to bits, seriously, cross his unbeating heart, but she was a rule-book thumping harridan. But he'd got her good this time! It was all done legit – his little Lyds had agreed to marry him fair and square, and he was off to complete that ceremony and get his green card just as soon as Juno was finished yelling at him. Maybe before she even started! And, hey, maybe she would give them her blessing! He snorted, and greedily watched as the sign ticked over that last, beautiful digit.

That's when he felt the summons.

"Shiiiiiii-" The waiting room blurred into a mess of beige. "-iiit." He had to blink and rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating a featureless room with a bunch of boxes haphazardly stacked everywhere. He started to turn around and noticed he'd materialized with his foot in a box. "Shit." Well, at least he was making a bad impression on an empty room….

"Beetle-" ventured a querying voice.

"Ah-ah-ah! No B-words!" He whirled around, surreptitiously trying to shake his foot free, but forgetting to make it incorporeal the first couple of times.

Then he noticed the whole veil, wedding dress, gaping hole ensemble and blanched a little greener. "Whoa." Broads killed on their wedding day were touchy with a capital T. Think a living bridezilla is bad? Just wait until you've met one that had all her hard work and dreams and PLANNING thwarted on the very cusp of the fulfillment of the Most Important Day of Her Life.

"So, uh…" He checked her ring finger. Bare. Fuckfuckfuck. He managed a half-hearted grin. "Shotgun wedding?" He winced as she took a shocked step back. Probably he shouldn't have mentioned the wound. He prayed she was in a weepy mood and not an angry-tear-your-balls-off mood but he couldn't tell with that veil in the way. And then, finally, he noticed the other hand holding up a ring. His ring.

"You don't remember me?"

"…Lydia?" For about a microsecond he was stupefied.

Then in an instant he was crushing her in his arms. "Babes, I can't leave you alone for a minute! How could this happen?" He melodramatically raised his face to the heavens and shouted something about cruel fates and lives being snuffed out in their prime, at which he suddenly held her out at arm's length and, squinting through the veil, asked, "You are still hot under there, right?" And then his gaze traveled down. "You grew up real niiice," he leered.

Lydia was mostly ignoring his dramatics, being shocked and upset that she had spent so much time thinking about him when he barely recognized her. How many living girls had he tried to con into marrying him, anyway? At least the bastard hadn't forgotten her name!

Then he had his hand on her ass and she was pushing at it and trying to squirm away when a change came over him. He went dead still and grabbed the hand about to slap him.

"Hey," he growled indignantly. "Just who were you trying to get hitched to? You were affianced to ME!" he affected a snotty accent.

"Who…what the hell are you talking about? I'm trying to marry you! What do you mean, 'were'? Are you trying to tell me you don't WANT me anymore?" She shoved at his shoulder with her free hand. She had a fleeting thought that she should be glad if he called the whole thing off, but still! It was insulting. As if he could really do better than her! Hell, she was the one marrying down! Way down. As in, six feet under.

He disengaged and started nervously adjusting the collar of his sandy maroon tux. "Well, uh…NO. There's not much point anymore, after all." He grinned. "But we can still be really good friends…"

He trailed off with a shiver as the atmosphere of the room dropped at least ten degrees, and it's damn hard to make a ghost who's normally causing the cold spots shiver. Lydia threw the veil back, her brown eyes burning with a black fury. "Not much point! Did you not come back because you found someone else?" She felt like kicking herself (or better yet, him) for thinking that this JERK cared at all about having made a deal with her, when he obviously could trick any number of girls into marrying him. He'd probably been schmoozing nubile young women this whole damn time instead of suffering in the belly of a sand worm! "And after you blackmailed me into agreeing to marry you and dragged me to the altar and stole my voice and the Maitlands-!"

He interjected quickly there, trying to avoid the castration he sensed in the immediate future. "I saved them, just like I said I would!" He pointed out with both index fingers.

When she tried to continue ranting, reluctant to let go of a good complaint, he resorted to drastic measures. Distracting her by grabbing her around the waist (hey, who said drastic measures couldn't also be fun?) and pulling her close, he went on as sincerely as he could manage. "Babes, babes! You're twisting everything around! I didn't mean no as in I don't want to marry you, I meant no as in I don't NOT want to marry you!"

Having used up his quota of 'truthful' eye contact for at least a decade, he stuffed her head on his shoulder sending up a puff of yellow sand, then absently fingered her long black hair while wondering when she started wearing it down (he would have realized it was her the second he saw her old wild updo). He noted that she was now only a few inches shorter than him. He might have to stop slouching. Ha, yeah right.

He also noticed she was still breathing as every inhalation brushed her breasts over his chest, but he didn't think (with the head above the belt) much about it, as most ghosts took a century or so to kick the deeply ingrained habit. And hey, if she kept doing that, maybe it wouldn't be so bad being leg-shackled to a ghost. She obviously had a haunting gig out here, they were in some sort of attic closet judging by all the boxes, and she could still let him Out even if it wasn't permanent. Besides, what sort of heartless administer types would deny a husband visitation rights?

…All of them. Well, he could dream.

Lydia was in a bit of a quandary. Now that she had convinced him he really did want to marry her after all, how did she go about telling him that if he wanted to get the hell out of her life forever that would just be peachy with a side of keen?

Meanwhile, he was TOUCHING her again. And it was high time that he stopped. The Saturnine sand was not only making her eyes water and her nose itch, it reeked of what she assumed was sandworm because it wasn't like anything she remembered of eau de Beetlejuice (heavy on the ew). But even damp cellar smell was better than THIS. She grimaced and wanted to yell at him to let go, but she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she might find out what sandwormy sand tasted like. "Mmmmrph!"

When she tried squeezing her arms in between them to push him away, he only pulled her in closer, trapping her arms in an awkward T-rex pose. Scrabbling at the ruffles on his tux and wiggling informed her that, yes, he was very solid, and that, no, she wasn't going anywhere. In fact, he was remarkably solid for a ghost – Adam and Barbara had always seemed to be barely there, like they were made of heavy air and if she just pushed she could walk right through them.

Well, at least he wasn't groping her – the hand on her head was actually kind of nice. She couldn't remember the last time somebody had played with her hair.

And then an ill-timed wiggle brought her hips in contact with his, and he was…was…and then he ground into her, cackling. A flare of white hot mortification shot up her spine and she stomped on his foot, getting in an elbow to the solar plexus, and he yelped and jumped back.

"What was that for?" he shouted.

She glared at him, her cheeks uncharacteristically red and her fists clenched. "You reek like sandworms, for one thing!"

He looked nonplussed for a moment. "I do?" He sniffed his armpit thoughtfully, which made him gag and go eurgh with his alarmingly long, striped tongue sticking out. "You know, you're right. And when you're right, you're right." He made a show of brushing himself off, and he was wearing a striped suit and the yellow sand and unfortunate smell that accompanied it was gone, leaving behind only his own patina of dirt and mold. "But that's what happens when you get eaten by a sandworm – you know I hate 'em. But now that that's taken care of," he dusted his hands off, "C'mere and gimme a kiss!" He opened his arms wide and advanced on her, grinning maniacally.

Lydia dodged desperately around a stack of boxes. Maybe if she kept him talking…? "If you hate it so much, then why didn't you poof it away before?"

"I can't do shit in the Waiting Room, it's a curse, really. And that's juice, babes, not 'poof'" he said, trying to look innocent while inching closer. "I'm not some effeminate nancy boy ghost, y'know?"

"No," Lydia said while backing away, "I don't know."

"Well, why don't you come over here and I'll show ya, then!" He waggled his eyebrows.

"No, I don't think so." She was shaking her head.

"Aw, c'mon Lyds! Whassamatter? We're gonna get hitched!"

She blinked and he was latching onto her from behind. "Ah!" she shrieked and jumped as he licked her ear. She elbowed him in the gut and turned on him when he let go. "We need to lay down some ground rules, first! So just sit down or something and behave!" She pointed at the chair on the other side of the room.

Frowning sulkily he just floated up in the air and lounged. "I don't know what your problem is. YOU called me, YOU wanted me, and now you're acting all virginal." He blinked at her fierce blush. "You are!" He rolled over and propped his chin on his fist, chortling and leering. "Don' worry 'bout it, babes. I can make it good for you. I've had lots of practice."

"That right there is what I'm worried about!" She crossed her arms. "You're a…a man whore!"

He spluttered at this, mouthing denials.

"I'm not going to stand for you hitting on anything with a uterus," she went on. Figuring this was as good an opening as any, she went to the desk and held out her carefully prepared prenup to him.

He took it as if it was going to blow up, and raised one wickedly angled eyebrow. "What the hell's this?"

"Our new prenuptial agreement."

He didn't like the sound of that. He especially didn't like the smug little smile on her face as she said it. He pulled out a thick pair of glasses from his front pocket and glanced over the closely printed, nearly illegible script with the eyes of a man who had spent centuries reading Neitherworld paperwork as Juno's assistant. It was a pretty good attempt – she was a sly little minx, he had to give her that. And he really didn't mind most of the laughable 'restrictions.' It wouldn't be that hard to get her to beg him to touch her (tch, virgins), he hadn't really been planning a big exposé to reveal the truth of the afterlife, and he didn't much like killing people because then he had to deal with their ghosts bitching at him afterwards, and ghosts were a lot harder to shut up than breathers. She hadn't even thought to put down 'No juicing me into a gag if you get annoyed with my yammering.'

No, what he had a problem with was the cheating clause. Eternity was an awfully long time to be stuck with a jealous shrew. Yeah, sure, the sanctity of marriage, right, but what was the harm in a little ogle or a pinch here and there? It wasn't like he'd actually DO anything, he'd still be coming home to her at night, wouldn't he? Besides, you'd think she'd know that marriages in the afterlife already had safeguards, part of the whole 'soul binding' thing (of course you could opt for a ceremony that didn't, heh). This was seriously overkill.

He eyed the bloody hole in her stomach and wondered if she had a complex about infidelity because her old groom-to-be had shot her for another woman. As he raised his gaze to hers he knew instinctively that asking would set off the angry tempest brewing in her womanly bosom. His gaze slid back down. She had really great knockers. Hell, that guy must have been an idiot. No, no! He tore his gaze away. No set of boobs was great enough to offset the nagging of a wife who imagined adultery in everything he did. But maybe she just needed a little time and reassurance to get over her death…yeah, he could 'reassure' her all night long…but first to take care of this pesky little detail.

He folded up the prenup and stuck it in his pocket along with the glasses. Two could play at this game, ha. He put on his 'Juilliard' face. "I shall have my lawyer take a look at this and get the amended version right back to you. See ya." He made as if to leave.

"Wait a minute!" She grabbed his sleeve. This was not going according to plan! He was supposed to just sign it and marry her on the spot then go away, not take it to someone who would explain it!

He turned around. "Yeeeeeees?"

"We're not…going to have the ceremony now?" she asked.

"Gee, babes, in a hurry? Can't wait to get your hands on me, eh?" He stuffed his hands in his pockets, smiling.

"Last time you couldn't get it over with fast enough!" she said, frowning.

He scowled thunderously. "Last time, your friends the Maitlands were hell bent on breaking us up! Wouldn't know compatibility if it bit 'em in the ass!" He leaned against a patch of air and crossed his ankles, going on in a more normal tone, "We're not going to invite them this time, are we? I mean, there's a right way to crash a party and then there's the fucking wrong sandworm way, right?"

She was suddenly struck with a sobering thought. "You're not going to...do anything to them, are you?" She remembered in vivid detail a gigantic snake and a carnival hat.

He looked surprised, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. And, honestly, it hadn't. He was done with the Maitlands, that was the past, he didn't care what happened to them now. Of course, he wouldn't say no to playing a few 'pranks' if somebody stuck those yuppies in the same room with him…. "No," he said, pretending to have to think about it. "Should I?"

"No!"

"Hey, babes, you gonna let go of my arm sometime soon? I got things to do." He looked pointedly at her hand, secretly gleeful that SHE was touching HIM instead of the other way around. Soon it would be more than just his arm!

Surprised, she let go like he was burning her hand and then stared at it like it had betrayed her. "What things?" she asked suspiciously.

"I need to go see my lawyer about this 'prenuptial agreement' of yours. I said that already. Were ya too busy staring at my perfect good looks to listen to me? Ya need to learn to multitask, like me," he said while staring at her mouth. It was such a perfect little red cupid's bow. He really wanted to find out if it was lipstick, not that it mattered – maybe she was born with it, maybe it's make-up, but now that she died with it it's permanent.

Oh, no. She was not going to just let him Out, and then set him loose to go do whatever he wanted. Who knew if he'd even come back? If he wanted to leave, she had to put him Back. "You need to go? Ok, then. Beet-!"

He cut her off, waving his arms in an x. "Ah! No need for that! I can get there fine by myself. Quick as a wink, back in a jiffy, you get the picture!"

"I can't just leave you Out," she said firmly. "Juno would keep me on her desk in a jar. She probably won't be too happy about this as it is."

"So Juno's your caseworker?" He snorted, shaking his head. "Tsk tsk, summoning a poltergeist…," he said in a terrible impersonation of Juno, using her voice but not her mannerisms.

A laugh escaped Lydia's mouth before she could prevent it, although she was looking at him like he was crazy. Well, crazier than usual. Her caseworker? Why would she have a caseworker? Because she made a deal with Beetlejuice? Something was off about how he was acting. If he still needed to marry a living woman, why wasn't he hauling her off to the reverend right now? A living woman…he thought she was dead! A deep belly laugh burst out, as she touched her 'ghastly wound,' but she managed to stop before she gave the game away. God! This was priceless.

"Y'know, if you just wanted to skip this whole 'prenup' thing..." He glanced over at her.

She frowned sternly. "No prenup, no wedding."

"And the only way I'm leaving without the B-words is…?"

"If we get married."

They both stood there for a moment considering that.

"You didn't even bring witnesses."

"Damn! I knew I was forgetting something!"

-SCENE BREAK-

And in her office, where she had been scrying on the proceedings with a piece of glass (much less obtrusive than a mirror) ever since Beetlejuice had disappeared from the Waiting Room, was Juno. And she may have looked judgmental on the outside for appearance's sake, but inside she was laughing her ass off.