The hospital room was filled with sounds. The beeping of machines, the hurried voices of the nurses, the screams of women-and lastly, piercing through the other sounds like a knife, the thin, wailing cry of a life brought into the world.
The child was held by the legs, smacked and cut, washed and wrapped, all with a strange harshness that seemed so at odds with its gentle features. But at last it was handed to its mother, who took it lovingly to her chest.
Its skin was pale red, with a small curl of black hair on its head. Its large eyes were shut, almost as if hiding from the world it had just been brought into. Everyone bent over it, crooning sweetly, their eyes filled with the miracle of what lay before them.
A little girl stood at the bedside, barely three, balanced on a stool to get a better look at her baby brother. Her hand stretched forward, hovering in the air...
And then, froze.
But it wasn't just the hand. People stopped, their bodies made suddenly immobile. Voices cut off, as though the sound waves carrying them simply disappeared. Even the light seemed to hang there, unmoving.
Two words seemed to echo in the silence; "Time out."
The words came from a figure that suddenly appeared in the room. He looked old and ancient, with skin crumpled like paper, his figure hunched over a staff. But if anyone were to see him, these would not be his most prominent features. Instead, the eyes would be drawn to the scar that clawed down from his eye, or the pendulum that swung freely in his chest, or the silvery glow that seemed to hang around his blue skin.
This creature was a myth, a legend, known only by a few. But those few who knew him would tell of how he was all powerful and omniscient, more like a god than a ghost.
He would scoff at this, of course. He knew a great deal, that was true, and his constant viewing of the time stream allowed him to guess much more. But omniscient? The old ghost of time shuddered at the thought of knowing everything, the movement of every particle, the thought of every being that ever existed...
Suddenly, the ghost no longer appeared old. He floated towards the mother and child, his body mirroring that of the baby's, short and chubby. Only his eyes gave him away; scarred and much more solemn than any toddler's should be.
He stared at the child, wrapped in blankets, clutched lovingly to his mother's breast. He was made of flesh and blood, his mortal heart beating inside his fragile shell. So small and innocent, insignificant in the vastness of the universe.
But yet, Clockwork had seen with his own eyes the futures, all stretching from this one creature, like invisible spider webs. He's seen futures filled with tyranny, and futures filled with prosperity. They seemed to float in the ghost's mind; ruined landscapes, and joyous celebrations, underground rebellions and peace uniting both the human and ghost worlds. Thousands of futures, all resting on this young boy.
This catalyst.
Though he'd just been born, Clockwork knew that he was destined to walk on the razor's edge between life and death. And it was Clockwork's destiny to watch which path he took.
He stretched out a blue hand- now as large and strong as a grown man's- and brought it to the boy's arm which had somehow fallen out of the blankets. He lightly touched the bracelet around the baby's wrist, and read his name tag; Daniel James Fenton.
The ghost smiled, and rested his hand on the baby's forehead. "Welcome to the world, Danny Phantom."
AN: Ever had one of those drabbles which suddenly drift into your mind, and won't get out, screaming to be written? This was one of those.