Chapter Text
If there was one thing that breathers never got right about the afterlife, it was the sheer vastness of it. Everyone had a set idea about how large the earth was. It was somewhere around 8 million miles long, 3.5 million times the size of a human being, or just really fucking big if you weren’t the science and numbers sort. But regardless of your scientific background, or lack thereof, a person’s world always managed to stop at their state or country’s borders. Or, if you were a particularly boring breather, it stopped at their house’s border.
So, depending on one’s particular worldview, the world was either small enough to walk from one side to another or a few hundred miles long. Either way, the earth is a perfectly comprehensible size and so the logical conclusion would say that the afterlife would be of a similar nature, since it was simply the next step in the human lifecycle (deathcycle?).
The logical conclusion would be wrong.
The Netherworld was huge, really fucking huge. It was approximately a billion miles from end to end, if one could even find the end, and, unless you got the raw end of the deal in a fight with a sandworm or holy weapon, you’d never escape it either. Forever. That’s the deal you unwittingly sign when you kick the bucket.
It was neverending wasteland of suffering and cramped deadfolk and Beetlejucie would have happily given up half his lifespan, whatever that might be, if the Netherworld was just a hair smaller. He had been walking approximately for- fucking -ever ever since the whole thing with Lydia and his brief flirtation with life and had only just made it back to the main offices.
This whole thing was a shitshow and he was honestly glad it was over. And he didn’t miss those stupid breathers and their ghostly roommates at all. You could quote him on that.
A person could never predict exactly where the doorway would spit them out when they drew it, but, for some reason or another, most Newly Deads appeared close to where the offices were constructed, a spiraling labyrinth of rooms and staircases and dead ends that made no sense even to those who worked in them. The hallway that has taken you to Room 233 every day for the past century might one day lead you to a near endless pit with hell hounds at the bottom tomorrow.
The whole thing was nothing but a spider web designed to confuse and scare the Dead trying to find their way to their case worker. Or make them a snack for a hungry demon if they got too lost on their way to the nonexistent bathrooms.
Beetlejuice took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of rotting corpses and mold, sighing out in contentment. Familiarity may breed contempt, but it also engenders comfort. And there was nothing that signaled you were in the main areas of the Netherworld more than the distinct putrid smell of death and disease. He allowed himself a toothy grin at the sight of the hundreds of ghosts milling about the offices, each scrambling for a crumb of attention from their caseworker.
But, unfortunately for him, getting there was the easy part of the equation. Now came the hard part— finding Juno’s office and escaping unscathed. Her office has been number 666 for as long as Beetlejuice could remember and she normally kept it somewhere just shy of the center of the maze of rooms, but he couldn’t necessarily count on that to still be true today.
Juno was a changeable woman and attempting to predict her actions or thoughts was likely to end in multiple broken bones or a light maiming for daring to think you were at a high enough level to understand her and he would know.
Beetlejuice glanced around at the other deadfolk milling around as he began his hunt. There were a few who had clearly just passed over. They all had the same vacant eyes with lips pressed into thin, anxious lines. He shoved down the traitorous thoughts about the Maitlands that were threatening to bubble up. He’d no doubt never see them and their sexy, boring selves again so there was no point in dwelling on how they had pretended to like him and invited him into their family only to literally stab him in the back. The bastards .
He growled under his breath, sending a few of the more faint-hearted ghosts scrambling. Damnit. He was thinking about them.
They were like earworms that way, impossible to stop thinking about and incredibly tasty to take a nibble of, not that he got a chance to snag more than a kiss from either of them. He sighed and felt his hair tingle. Hopefully it was just lice that he could make a snack out of later and it wasn’t turning some stupid color that would make Juno even more furious with him than she was already bound to be.
Most emotions here were signs of weakness, a signal that your depressed ass was ripe for the picking or mauling. Dealer’s choice on that part, really. Glancing to his right, Beetlejuice noticed an ugly looking creature eying him up and down. Its face extended outwards like a crocodile while its arms and legs looked like they belonged on an insect and it made a motion like it was going to approach.
He snarled, showing off an impressive set of fangs and letting his glamor drop so the creature could see his red-tipped claws, yellow snake eyes, and pointed ears. He was a demon damnit! No pathetic dead creature (seriously, was this a dead crocodile or something? Because it definitely wasn't from the Netherworld) was going to think it could get the upper hand on him. He was Lawrence Beetlejuice Shaggoth and that name meant something here.
It meant power. It meant he was largely safe walking through the Netherworld. It meant that few demons would even think of going toe to toe with him, barring his mother and her select few “friends,” and it meant that any Dead being who’d been here long enough knew better than to mess with him.
After all, he was a prince of hell. Not that that meant much to the deceased, but among his fellow demons, it meant he wasn’t one to be trifled with for just anything. Though ranking lower than the dukes, like Juno, and the kings, he still outranked the many marquis, earls, and presidents gracing the Netherworld, along with the poor demons out there scrambling for any ranking at all.
Unfortunately, being a prince of hell also meant that he was Juno’s lapdog, since she was the one who gave him his position, making him a loyal soldier to sic on her political enemies and those who inspired her ever-present wrath. If he had to assign her a deadly sin it would definitely be that one, not that those really mattered at all down here. It was a dirty job that he loathed, but it was also one that kept him from being just another person Juno discorporated, or worse, threw into the Well of Lost Souls.
Beetlejuice lightly snarled as he passed the now cowering creature. Good . Those breathers may not respect him, but the deceased sure would. He continued walking, following the scent of burnt out cigarettes and whiskey that was his mother’s signature calling card. The hallways became even more barren as he got closer to her office, the throngs of people lessening and the walls becoming darker with decay and rot.
The air seemed to get heavier the closer he became. With each passing step his chest tightened and his breaths came quicker, each one more shallow than the last.
Room 660.
Was the air actually thinner here or was he having an asthma attack or something? No, that was ridiculous.
Room 662.
The floors were sticky now and he had to ensure each step was intentional and forceful in order to overcome the tacky blood that threatened to hold him hostage like a rat in a glue trap.
Room 664
Juno, the she-devil herself, not that anyone knew if there was an actual devil. The origin of countless myths and legends, from Hera, the jealous goddess and tormentor of countless, to Tunrida, the snake demon who devoured her own children in a fit of rage.
All myths of course. Lies wrapped around lies wrapped around lies, hiding the kernel of truth in the center. Even he didn’t know the truth any more than the countless Dead and Living that crawled the worlds like cockroaches. Some secrets could only be known through the myths that stay behind.
Nevertheless, Beetlejuice had yet to be devoured and he had no intention of it happening today either.
Room 666.
It was showtime.
He took a deep breath and pushed back his hair before slowly reaching his fisted hand towards the door and pausing for a heavy moment.
He knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.
It was his lucky cursed number after all. Bad things come in threes.
The door creaked open, smoke spilling out like the tendrils of an oil spill along the surface of the ocean. Gathering up as much courage he could find, which was less than he hoped for and more than he expected, Beetlejuice stepped through the door and met his mother’s cold eyes as she sat at her dark wooden desk.
For all of her ferocity and notoriety, the only noteworthy thing about Juno’s office was its lack of there being anything noteworthy about it. Her desk sat on the right wall, stately and far too massive for the space. There were a handful of file cabinets on the opposite wall and two motivational posters featuring kittens in mild states of peril with cheery slogans on them. Their eyes had been very precisely scratched out.
Beetlejuice stepped forward, not breaking eye contact, deftly avoiding the scattered liquor bottles and cigarette butts on the floor. It was never smart to look away from a predator, even when you were one yourself.
It was never smart to look them in the eyes either— it could be perceived as a threat or challenge after all, but Beetlejuice never claimed to be an expert on animals.
An eternity wrapped into a few short steps later he stood in front of her desk, attempting to gather enough sense to make his dry tongue move . To say something, anything at all and not just stand there like a lichen-infested tree, silent and proving his mother’s theories of his own stupidity correct.
He opened his mouth—
“You have a lot of nerve coming here Lawrence.” Juno’s voice was like a steel bear trap, cold and unyielding to any outside force.
“Oh?” His voice cracks on the single syllable. He’d damn it all to hell were he not already there. The pit in his stomach only grew.
Juno sneered. “Pathetic . I thought you'd finally grown a backbone with the whole sandworm incident, but here you are. Cowering there like a sickly fawn, choking over your own words and hair as orange as the fruit you are. I thought you had finally grown out of that childish nonsense.”
“It—” his voice broke again. “It’s not under my control Mom,” he whispered, each word coming out quieter than the last as he watched Juno stand up, pushing her chair back with a screech reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard, and walked so she was face to face with Beetlejuice, examining each and every flaw with calculating and uncaring eyes.
“And just why did you come all the way down here to see me? I thought you were living it up with those breathers upstairs. A big happy family?” She mocked, fangs bared and dripping malice. “Or, oh , poor thing. Did they not want you either?”
“They—”
Pain bloomed across his cheek as his head snapped back from the blow. Beetlejuice reached up and looked to see blood dripping from the freshly made claw marks.
“Don’t interrupt me. I raised you better than that,” she scolded, looking down at him with disgust and sighing. “They didn’t want you Lawrence,” Juno stated, wiping the blood off her sharpened nails with a look of faint disgust. “And, really, who could blame them? You’re lucky I’ve put up with you for so long. Ugh , white hair? You become more intolerable by the second.”
She turned with a crisp movement back to her desk. “Get out of my sight.”
"But Mom,” Beetlejuice began, catching her shoulder with his hand. “Please, just—”
He didn’t have time to finish before he was flung across the room, hitting the file cabinets with an echoing crush as he felt several of his ribs snap. Jesus fuck, that hurt.
People had the tendency to think that demons didn’t feel pain the same as breathers, but flesh was flesh and a broken bone was a broken bone. Some pains became more fun as time went on, especially if they were used as part of a gag, and all injuries healed fast enough, but this pain was in no way enjoyable and Beetlejuice laid on the floor for several long moments, gasping, trying to work air into uncooperative lungs that didn’t need to breathe but were used to it all the same.
“Pathetic,” Juno growled again. “I was going to let your rebellion slide this time Lawrence. Your boldness was almost impressive, but you’re clearly no different than the writhing, useless worm you’ve been for the past millennia.”
Beetlejuice could feel the tears threatening to fall as his hair turned a deep shade of purple. He just wanted to see her. It had been months and he just wanted to see his mom. How had it all gone so wrong so fast?
It was the Deetz all over again. Him outstaying his welcome while continually overstepping boundaries that he never knew existed and crossing over lines in the sand that he couldn’t see or understand.
“Mom…”
Juno’s low growls paused as she looked down at him. A smile creeped across her wrinkled face, lines etched in with the deep cruelty of a blade slicing through meat.
“I think you should return to the Upperworld.”
Beetlejuice pressed both hands firmly to the ground, levying himself into a kneeling position. His ribs hurt like a bitch and he could feel blood continue to trickle down his face. “W- what? Why? You hate me being in the Land of the Living for anything other than my guides.” He internally cursed his stuttering, hoping that Juno wouldn’t comment on it.
“Because you’ve spent the past several decades trying with every fiber of your being to get a breather to see you and as soon as one did, the first thing it did was kill you.”
Beetlejuice protested. Lydia wasn’t an it and that wasn’t how it happened. But the first syllable was hardly out of his mouth before he found himself kicked to the ground with Juno’s pointed heel pressing into his screaming ribs.
“Because even the breathers know that you are intolerable and they want nothing to do with you. And I think you could use a time out to think about the consequences of your actions.” She dug her heel further in and Beetlejuice choked back a cry as a tear finally escaped and fell. “You wanted to be among the living that badly? Then be among the living!”
She snapped her clawed fingers and Beetlejuice was gone.
He blinked once, twice, three times. He was on Earth, in a park of some sort. In the distance several kids were playing frisbee. A dog was chasing a ball. Couples were walking hand in hand. A man was buying an ice cream for his lover.
Beetlejuice sat in the middle of the sidewalk, flinching as a woman walked through him and cradling ribs had been further damaged when he was unceremoniously dropped back in the Upperworld.
Only one thought raced through his head as he sat, trying to absorb just what the flying hell just happened.
Fuck.