Title: These Times, They Are a'Changing
Rating: K+ (10+)
Summary: When Tony hears those words, he remembers he is a clock. He fears what this means for himself, and what it means for Paige. [From the Don't Hug Me I'm Scared fandom]
Warnings: Existential crisis, literally-insane characters, mention of recreational bloodshed, hurt/comfort
A/N: Of course, to the O(anon)P [who posed on tumblr "Time is real, but clocks aren't."], this is not aimed at you. You are probably a very nice person, and I do not wish Paige-on-a-protective-rampage on anyone. You just spawned this… shall we say: bout of creativity? ;)c
"Time is real," Tony the Clock heard whispered on the wind. He smiled. It was nice when people learned The Truth.
"But," Tony blinked, wondering what was to come next. When you got down to it, was there anything else to discover about time beside it's reality? He didn't think so, and he taught all kinds of people about time, well,all the time.
"Clocks aren't."
Tony's world did not stop. Time does not stop. Only those things which experience time stop. Everyone runs out of time for themselves. Time does not run out of anyone to experience it, though. Tony knew this, and it did not help.
Clocks are not real.
Tony trembled.
He loved teaching people how time always-had-would function(s). He was there to tell them what did and didn't work when thinking about time. That it never ran backwards, that things change with time, that the times may change but Time does not, and that everything except Time runs out of time (eventually).
He did not want to be out of time yet.
… He did not want to leave Paige by herself, yet. They'd only just had their fifth fight.
Tony didn't realize he was crying until a pair of inky arms wrapped around him, and a cheerful voice murmured threateningly in his ear, "You're not thinking very creative thoughts, Tony."
"Paige…!" he choked, and turned around to clutch at the fabric of her dress, the tangle of her beautiful hair. Anything to keep him existing - for her.
The sharpened pencil he hadn't even felt at his throat clattered to the ground, ,and Paige tightened her hold. "W-what? Tony?!"
She was surprised, and it was no question why. He'd never shown her this side of himself. It was always them, reminding the other to be creative, and mind the time. It was always fight until you bleed (and somehow that leads to kissing-and-more, though sometimes it also went vice-versa). There was always the challenge between them, the tension disguised as affection (or was it the other way around?). There had yet to just be this raw, needy, terrified emotion.
She started out alarmed. Then her voice grew dark and grim, in ways it only did when she had to talk to people who refused to learn in anything other than black and white and blank spaces; she hated those people, she'd confided in him, because they would never be creative on their own. "What's wrong? Who has done this to you, my dear?"
"Paige," he gasped, a hysterical giggle bursting forth as he refused to meet her eyes, "Time exists. Clocks do not, Paige."
"I don't exist."
Her fingers began to card gently through his hair, and her curls tumbled around him as she laid her cheek on his head.
"I don't want to leave you."
"Oh, Tony," she sighed. She leaned back and tapped his nose; surprised, he found himself staring into her uncharacteristically gentle face. It was rare that there was no bloodshed in their more intimate interactions. He wasn't sure if he liked this change, but ultimately it didn't matter, because he had a much bigger crisis on hand. Paige started speaking, and Tony listened, obediently.
"You've forgotten who we are, Tony. Imagination is key when you dance with me, dear boy, and living long enough to see time pass us by is what you excel in. When we met, and when we grew fond of one another, we changed one another. It is what only we have the power to do. We must, if we are to teach people properly. You have not been merely a clock - not under my influence - not for quite some time, now. Just as I have become more than mere parchment and string and wire - altogether a thing too easy to molder and rot away without remembrance - since you changed me. We cannot alone be affected by what we are, or what the other is, anymore."
She stood up, retrieving her pencil and his forgotten hand-sword. She passed him the jet-black metal, and lunged at him in a mock jab; when he parried automatically, she grinned, and her curls frizzed up in relief and delight. She nodded. "You're thinking creatively again. Good boy."
She backed off, then swept forward and stood on tip-toe to press a kiss to the arrow-tip on his right cheek. "If you'll excuse me, Tony: I've…"
Paige danced backwards with the grace of a ballerina, eyes still on him and growing ever-more-murderous with distance, "I've got to go find a naughty person…"
She twisted around, skirts flaring up around her, the point of her pencil shining in a way that no pencil ever should. Her laughter - instead of the comforting challenge, or soothing joy, that she often showered him with, privately - was shrill and mad. Tony couldn't help joining in, just a little; her madness had been what drew him to her in the first place, and time hadn't changed that, not one bit.
As she disappeared, the wind brought Tony a voice once more. This one was not anonymous; it was as familiar as his own, and even more than that on many days. He grinned sharply at her parting words, and made plans to surprise her when she returned. Beauty and brains like hers needed to be rewarded, especially when he was being the stupid one… She was going to love it. There would probably be many injuries between them, before the night was through.
"… And I've got to give that person a… hands-on lesson in what it means to… think creatively."