Chapter Text
Growing up in the south provided you with a great resilience against many unpleasant weather conditions. Things like blistering heat, humidity that makes the air feel like you are walking through hot chowder, hurricanes, and surprise torrential downpours that flood the streets with less than a days notice. What it didn’t prepare you for was the cold.
You thought snow was a fun thing, thanks to all the Hallmark Christmas movie propaganda, but once you moved up north it lost its novelty with a swiftness. It seemed like almost every time the snow came down you would catch whatever virus was currently making its way around your small town. At least this sometimes aligned with snow days so you could hole up in your room and didn’t have to miss too much work or college classes. You moved up here for school and have been staying in your aunts spare room for the semester. It’s been pretty fun but a bit chaotic with all of the houses many.. residents.
This seemed to be one of those snow days, or snow weeks, I guess. You woke up the day before the heavy snow with a tickle in your throat. Hoping you weren’t coming down with something, you mixed up a drink with far more than the recommended amount of Vitamin C packet mixes in hopes of delaying the time and severity of your impending illness.
“Scurvy?” You hear a gruff voice ask behind you in a playful tone. “What?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at the green haired agent of chaos that apparently “came with the house” in Delia’s words. “All the vitamin C you’re taking, I assumed you are perhaps trying to fend off a bout of scurvy. You’re not losing teeth yet are ya? How long have you been at sea?” He teased. You turned to roll your eyes at him and hopped up to sit on the countertop. “I don’t have scurvy, Beetle, I don’t think anyone’s had scurvy in this century.” You replied. “Hey there’s no shame in the scurvy game, babe! I had it twice myself, and it only killed me once.” He said, while leaning against the counter beside you and flashing you a cheeky grin.
He had a habit of making jokes about his death, none of you knew how he actually died. One day he would have an elaborate story about how he bit it fighting a bear in Russia, “If you think I look rough, you should’ve seen the other guy.” He would jest. The next day he would say he got caught impersonating a nun after living in a convent for four years leading to his execution. An hour later he said it was dysentery. You assumed it was probably something more along the lines of the latter. If he did die of some Oregon trail ass disease, it would make sense that he would prefer to come up with some wild story that was more entertaining than the truth.
You threw back the chalky drink quickly so you wouldn’t have to taste it for long. When you finished, you sat the glass down on the counter between the two of you. “I have a bit of a sore throat, I’m hoping it isn’t a cold.” You told him, answering his scurvy accusations once and for all. He looked at you curiously, scanning you for signs of illness. Your eyes looked pretty tired, the color seemed somewhat drained from your face, your hair was messy in a way that told him that you didn’t have the energy to care about it. “Hey,” he said, in a softer voice than is characteristic of him, “You do seem a little foggy. Maybe you should get a little more rest.” You were pretty tired still, maybe a nap would help. You nodded in agreement with him and trekked up the stairs to your bedroom. He stayed planted in the same spot, seemingly contemplating.
You woke up with a pounding headache and your left nostril completely blocked. The window in your bedroom betrayed the time to you, it was dark outside. Fuck, how long had you slept? Must have been at least 6 hours. You pick up your phone to check the time and see texts from your aunt and cousin asking if you are ok or if you need anything. “BJ says you have scurvy??” Read one of Lydia’s text bubbles. You were a little irritated with him making a joke out of everything but you did find it kind of funny. “He lies,” you texted back, “I’m certain it’s something much worse. Perhaps the black plague.”
Not thirty seconds after you hit send, you heard a knock at your door. You weren’t really ready to get out of bed, but now that you’ve answered a text, the whole house is aware that you’re awake. You open the door to see Delia standing there with her arms full of crystals that she shoves into your hands. “Here, put these around your bed, they are for healing and protection, and this one’s for love! Ooh and positive energy!” You struggle to not drop the jagged crystals as they are forced into your hands. “I have to go run some errands real quick, before we get snowed in tomorrow.” She continued, “But there’s soup on the stove, the throw blankets are still warm fresh from the dryer, and I’ve told Lydia to give you your space so you have full reign of the TV if you wanna watch something. I’ll get you some medicine while I’m out.” She spun on her heels and disappeared down the stairs as quickly as she had appeared.
You dropped the crystals by the foot of your bed and paused for a minute. The pounding in your head was peaking. You needed ibuprofen. As you came downstairs you saw Beetlejuice and Lydia sitting in the kitchen, Lydia finishing up her bowl of soup, Beetlejuice sat on the counter casually chatting about netherworld gossip. They both stopped and looked up at you as you descended the stairs. You paused. You walked into the kitchen trying to keep as much distance as possible from the other two, and grab the ibuprofen bottle from on top of the fridge. “You good?” Lydia asked. “I’m bad.” You replied, wrestling with the child lock on the bottle. “I knew you were a bad girl.” Beetle teased, “I can always tell.” He chuckled to himself. “Beetle, seriously?” Lydia said, shooting him a look of disdain mixed with mild exasperation. “Serious as a heart attack. I know a brat when I see one.” He answered without breaking eye contact with you, smiling deviously. He was physically incapable of being serious, you were sure. It was a little annoying sometimes, but honestly something about him still shamelessly flirting with you when you knew you looked like an actual dumpster fire was.. charming? You didn’t even want to look at yourself in the mirror right now and here he is still unable to take his eyes off of you, grinning like an idiot.
You shake out a few ibuprofen, at least one pill more than the recommended dose, and throw them back before pouring a glass of water to wash them down with. You just want the headache to ease up soon. You get a bowl of soup from the pot on the stove and retreat to the farthest corner of the kitchen, hoping not to spread your plague, and sit on the floor with your soup. Lydia and Beetle watch you with a puzzled expression until you look up and see them staring at you. “I don’t want either of y’all to catch this from me.” You answered to the question nobody asked. Lydia looked back at her bowl, satisfied with your answer. “I’m probably gonna go chill in my room, so you don’t have to worry about getting me sick.” She announced as she stood to put her dishes in the sink before turning to leave. BJ however, was still sat on the counter, now kicking his feet playfully. “I can’t get sick.” He beamed. “What?” You replied. “I’m already dead! I don’t catch any of your weird breather sicknesses. I don’t even have to breathe.” He was grinning ear to ear, totally pleased with himself.
“I remember how awful colds were, you just want to curl up and cuddle someone but you can’t because you would get them sick too. Well baby, not a problem here! You can bring all your biohazardous love right here to me.” He said while pointing both of his thumbs at himself and sporting an exaggerated smile. You could hear Lydia groan in disgust as she reached the top of the stairs. You rolled your eyes at him and moved to sit at the table, since the only infectable patron had retreated, and sipped your soup. He was right, partially, when you were sick all you wanted was to be held, but you would never let him know that. “You really can’t get sick?” You asked curiously. “Nope.” He answered. “So what are we doing tonight? Wanna watch a movie?” If he ever took his eyes off you, you didn’t see it. “I do have one movie I always watch when I’m sick.” You replied, he gave a little inquiring eyebrow raise. “It’s Die Hard, isn’t it?” He teased in a lower but confident voice, “Not my first choice but anything for you babe.” He finished. That made you chuckle a little bit. “No,” you answered, “It’s kind of old, but I think you will like it.”