A/N: A short story that personally for me doesn't apply to my headcanon about either of these characters, but something interesting anyway. Enjoy.
Every moment the young ghost can spare, he goes to the Keep.
He knows he's not supposed to be there, but is there anyway. As much as he can manage away from his caretakers. He flies through the dark swirling green of the Ghost Zone to land at its center, what was once the heart and core of the Zone.
Now it's only a falling apart castle, on a falling apart island.
The ghost doesn't mind. He sits at the very edge of it, dangling off the side before slipping off to fly away. He's climbed on the tips of the towers, seeing as far as he can in every direction. Once he even knocked on the front door, jumping back slightly at its echoing bang.
Despite all this, he's never been inside.
Oh, the ghost child has imagined going inside many times, wondering enviously what mysteries and secrets lay inside.
But he never has. He's always been driven back by the stories of the horror that was within, a monster that was the worst the world has ever seen. The young ghost isn't too sure about that (the worst monster ever?), but at the very least, it had to be a monster.
After all, surely everyone wouldn't lie about that? His caretakers wouldn't lie telling those stories, he's sure, but that does nothing to combat his growing curiosity of the Keep.
Until one day, he doesn't fight it back anymore. Until one day, while he's crying and hurting from not being good enough, he goes to the Keep, this time marching up all the way to the door. He hesitates only for a second before opening it up and going inside.
The hallways are dark and musty, but not terrifying. He tiptoes around the corners, shivering at every squeak coming from his surroundings. He's supposed to know what those squeaks are and when they'll come, but he doesn't. Because he's not good enough.
Right now he's not the being of Time his caretakers say he is. Right now he's only a scared little ghost.
The ghost makes it to the main hall, where the monster is supposed to be. That's where he sees it. The coffin where the dreaded Ghost King sleeps.
He squeals and flees, flying out of the Keep, flying out of the range of those accusing stone eyes. I'll never go back, never. The young ghost swears.
Of course he goes back.
This time (Time, what a joke), he stays. He even walks right up to the coffin, tapping on it slightly and getting no reaction. Whatever monster is trapped in there, it sure was sleeping deeply.
Not so scary anymore.
So, without nothing better to do, he talks. Pours out every bit of his little spirit to this boogie-man he's sure can't hear him. Even if the monster can't hear him, it still helps to talk, for some reason. And talk he does.
The young ghost returns, again and again, as much as he can spare from his caretakers, to talk to the sleeping Ghost King. Or so he thinks. For how could the ghost know that the monster inside was quite awake and listening to every word? How could he know that every phrase, every sentence, carefully registered since the great and terrible Ghost King had nothing better to do?
The ghost is not good enough to know that, after all. Not yet.
The visits go on like this for a while. Until the young ghost sits there, with nothing more to tell about himself, nothing he hasn't already said thousands of times. Inside, the Ghost King waits, growing more and more impatient for this ritual to commence.
This time, the ghost child speaks about something different and new.
"I wonder if what they say is right." Right about what? "I wonder if they're right about you." He pauses, before casually tagging on another phrase. "And me."
"They're say you're trapped because you're evil. But I don't think that's the reason why." The ghost pauses again, to further gather his thoughts. "I think it was because they were afraid."
If the Ghost King could laugh, he would have at that. Afraid? Of course they were. But still the ghost child continues. "Afraid of how powerful you were and that they couldn't match it. All the stories do say it took more than one Ancient to take you down, and that was to lock you up. Not kill you."
The Ghost King is curious to find out why this young ghost is bringing this up. The answer soon comes. "My caretakers say I'm gonna be a powerful ghost, maybe the most powerful ever. Maybe they'll lock me up too."
The young ghost looks at the coffin, gaze hard and determined. "I'm never gonna let that happen to me. Never."
With that childish vow, the visits take a new turn. Now the young ghost practices his skills wherever and wherever he can, even though he's not supposed to do that out of his caretakers' sight.
More often than not, he fails, looking wistfully at the small stick he has taken to carrying around before growing determined, enough to try once again. And again.
Many times, these sessions end with the ghost throwing his twig down, giving up to sit next to the coffin. It's interesting how the object that holds the fear of the Ghost Zone has become so much less frightening in the eyes of a child. Especially one that was so afraid of the coffin at first.
The ghost talks and practices. The Ghost King listens. And so their routine goes.
They find out in the end. It was inevitable.
The young ghost child's caretakers appear out of nowhere. They're terrified, of course, to find their charge playing at the foot of the Ghost King's prison. Two Observers, huge single eyes blinking, quickly grab the child and flee.
The Ghost King can hear the scolding from all the way down the hall, right until the front door opens and shuts with a final bang. In a way, he's unhappy about this event. He doubts he'll ever see the ghost child ever again (not that he wanted to, in the first place).
The next time he has a visitor to his halls, much time has passed.
The visitor is not child, that's for sure. Though he may take a form of one every once in a while, this ghost is far older than he seems. "Time out." The Ghost King hears the voice, and in shock, know whose it is. The ghost child.
But the child's grown now, now not the playful being that once chatted with an immobile stone coffin. A creature that can freeze time, from what he can tell of his surroundings.
"It's been awhile, now has it, Pariah?" The Ghost King, Pariah, knows for sure this time that this ghost now knows he's listening. "Events are in motion. Soon you'll be set free." Free? Pariah strains to hear even harder.
A quiet chuckle. "But only for a short while, I'll warn you. And please try not to hurt the boy too much. He has an important role to play." The ghost's voice softens, maybe in part realizing what hard truths he's telling the imprisoned ghost. "I need to thank you for reminding me I have a choice. And one day, I'll set you free for good."
The ghost turns to leave, once stick staff tapping against the floor. Pariah wants to ask what his name is, something that never mattered before but matters now, but can't. It doesn't matter, not speaking, not when the ghost seems to know what he wants to say. He turns, eyes gleaming solid and red.
"My name is Clockwork. And again, thank you for teaching me I can interfere when it matters most."
"Time in." And at once, time is free again. The door shuts after the mysterious ghost and Pariah waits for the future to come to past.
And when he's imprisoned, trapped again in his coffin by two human ghosts, he remembers Clockwork's promise. And waits.
Waits for the ghost to come to his Keep again. After all, both of them have nothing but Time to lose.