The usual disclaimer: Cosgrove Hall owns Stiletto, Greenback, Dangermouse and the whole general idea, including the time travelling clock. I own nothing but a rather strangely functioning mind.
This time I've managed to contradict the 'official' story of DM's origins from The Dangermouse File as well as practically every other piece of DM fanfic every written. Sorry about that. Also sorry for the distinct lack of Penfold so far – I find him very hard to write because I love him dearly, so I don't want to write him badly.
I'm not sure this story deserves the rating I've given it – nothing specifically bad happens, but there are implications of alcoholism and domestic violence, and the whole idea of killing babies isn't particularly charming in itself. So I've erred on the side of caution.
"Brrrrrrt plt plt plt plt wee-oot!"
"Yes, my treasure." Greenback ran his thick fingers through Nero's fur, his face a picture of victory. "The magnetic timepiece attracting device has worked perfectly."
In the centre of the room, surrounded by the scaffolding of cables and machinery making up the magnetic timepiece attracting device, stood a grandfather clock. Its hands were stationary at a quarter past Wednesday, its wooden case battered and scratched and its door hung slightly ajar.
"Ah, Barone, is-a genius!" Stiletto paused and scratched his head. "Eh, Barone, what-a for you want a clock?"
"Dolt! This is not a clock. This device we have acquired does not tell the time, but travels through it. And with it, we shall be rid of that meddlesome mouse once and for all!"
"At-sa wonderaful, Barone! Er, how-sa we do that?"
"You are going to travel back in time and dispose of the white wonder…
"You want-a me to get rid of-a Dangermouse? On-a my own?"
"Ah, but it won't be difficult. Not if he's just a defenceless little child. Not only will he no longer be a problem, he will never have been a problem!"
Greenback pushed Stiletto into the clock and slammed the door. The toad gave the hands a vicious twist backwards and the clock disappeared with a wheeze.
"Plt plt brrrrt wheeeee huh huh huh!"
This had been far too easy. Stiletto ruffled his feathers, tense for trouble. The door leading into the little house under the barn had been unlocked, and the family was obviously home. A pot of stew plopped lazily on the stove, and the dirt floor was scattered with chewed toys. The crow could hear the distant sound of children. Unnecessarily messy, biologically inefficient mammalian children. Mice.
Stiletto moved silently through the empty kitchen into the parlour. More toys underfoot, a pile of laundry in the corner waiting to be folded, a hand-crocheted rug draped crookedly over the back of the faded couch. Nobody. The place was deserted.
"Walter? That you?"
The bird of prey moved around to the figure lying on the sofa. The little white mouse looked up through sleepy yellow eyes. Her resemblance to her son put the pinfeathers up on the back of Stiletto's neck. Apparently satisfied that it wasn't Walter, she rolled over and groped for the glass on the floor beside the couch. She knocked it over and cursed as the dregs of whiskey soaked into the floor. The mouse gave up and huddled back into the cushions, and within moments she was sound asleep. Underneath her pale fur, Stiletto could see the dark outline of bruises on her face.
Stiletto turned away. He had a job to do. He left the sleeping mouse and followed the sounds of a baby. Babies, he corrected himself. Mice had litters, didn't they? Not just one wretched liveborn creature, a whole set of them. The crow moved through the house, peering through doorways until he found the nursery.
There were sixteen of them. Sixteen baby mice, just a few weeks old, huddled together in a big old crib. Some were sleeping, some awake and mewling or crawling over each other Most of them were brown, presumably taking after the absent Walter. Stiletto wondered how he was supposed to find the right kid – he wasn't going to break all their necks. He picked up one of the white babies, a big boy sleeping curled in a corner, and held it at wings' length. The baby woke with a squeak and stared back with huge brown eyes. Wrong one. Stiletto dropped the infant back into the crib. It landed on top of another child, who spun around and bit her brother. The crow stared as the two babies fought until the smaller child crawled away with blood trickling from a bite on her shoulder. Vicious little monsters.
Most of the babies were awake now, and getting restless. They squeaked and clambered over each other to get to the far end of the crib, out of Stiletto's reach. The bird grabbed the only child he could still reach, the smallest and slowest moving. The runt of the litter. The baby was still half asleep, and barely made a sound as the crow dragged it towards him and shook it awake. The tiny boy grizzled and pulled away weakly as Stiletto's grasp rubbed against old bite marks, reminders of lost battles for food and warmth. The crow held the white furred baby up to get a good look at it. The child didn't try to look back. A feathered finger under the baby's chin forced the little mouse to make eye contact.
It was him.
Stiletto looked into the baby's frightened yellow eyes, and dropped it back into the crib. The bird of prey left as silently as he'd came.