He loved to play. It was a pleasure and a joy only amplified by the age he was. Pirate ships, rocket ships, and even western scenes all played out in his mind with the simple wave of his hand, and it made him so happy. But then he heard the crashing of glass and the slam of the door. He ran for his life to the closet, closing the worn wooden door as fast and as quietly as he could, desperately trying to hold the pounding of his heart to stop the thrumming in his brain and his self… but the large, intimidating man found him anyway, crashing into the attic and stomping on the small toys he himself had made. He yelled with his large, intimidating voice, ripping apart the drawers and flinging splinters on the ground.
In his closet he had only one friend with him, the little bird he held in his arms, his first toy, his first friend, the one he clung to with white knuckles as the huge man ripped open the door.
"You fucking waste of space!" The man roared, grabbing the boy by his left hand and dragging him down the stairs. He started to cry, holding the toy in his other hand close.
"Why don't you fucking die!" The man yelled, turning into the kitchen and pulling out a cleaver.
Then it was painpainpain and his hand was lying on the counter in front of him, and he couldn't feel but all he could do was look into that man's eyes, and then to his prized toy.
The man grabbed it too, wrenching it out of his hand and cutting it apart. He wanted his toy back, his mother back, he wanted to have fun again.
The boy could remember tears, but the rest was… dark, fading, gone.
He woke up in a room covered in clocks. Fingers still covering the bird, he didn't know why it was important, but it was, he stood in the strange room, noticing the glowing green portal, the medals hung on the wall, and the strange man that looked at him. The man- whoa.
When his attention turned to the thing standing and looking at the portal, the man suddenly aged, growing wrinkled and old. It had blue skin, BLUE SKIN, and walk- no floated towards him, regarding him with interest. He had a clock embedded in his chest, and it freaked the kid out.
"Where am I?" He asked, startled at the strange eerie quality his voice had. "What are you?"
"I am Clockwork," He said, growing startlingly young before his eyes. "This is my domain. And I should ask you the same questions," Growing to a twenty something man, he put his blue glowing hand on his shoulder. "Why are you here?"
"I-" He said, not remembering his name. He couldn't remember anything. "I don't know."
The man's face changed again, old now, and he regarded the child in front of him with newfound interest.
"You must have somehow started here, and not in your own realm…" He started talking again, looking into the glowing green screen and back. "Do you remember a feeling? Like a part of yourself dying?" The boy shook his head no. " Well, you need to know, you're dead."
The vague memory of his hand came into his mind, and he looked down to find his hand… gone. He shrieked, stepping back and whimpering pitifully.
"No…" He said, refusing to believe that nightmare happened. He was ok, he was just dreaming and he could play when he got up. "Daddy would never…" He felt the tears, just like last time, he felt the blood going down- He gasped as a strange green goop dripped out of his arm, and he screamed as the pain flooded back into his soul. There was nothing but the pain, and oh god his hand wasn't there, and the man, Clockwork, had him in his arms, floating around until he was set down on a bed somewhere, and he took off. All the boy could do was cry and hold his arm, whimpering as he took shuddered breaths that weren't really breaths oh god he was dead
Clockwork had gone as fast as he could to find what he had in his arms. He carried it to the room he had put the new ghost in, who was an enigma, really. He formed outside time?
The boy had gone into shock, detached from what was happening, so doing surgery was the only hope he had. The metal fit nicely, and Clockwork vowed to teach the boy how to use the thing properly before he could find a lair. It was only a thick metal rod at the time, but he could learn how to control it, bend it to his will.
The man floated back to the chamber, happening on the stuffed bird the boy had been holding. A memory of a toy, perhaps? He must have died wishing for happiness. Clockwork retained his usual composure. "All is as it should be." He said, looking into his portal. That man would have done worse…
The boy woke up the next day, screaming over his patched up arm. Clockwork was in there, well, in clockwork. The boy's expression softened at his presence, realising that he had been saved by the older one.
"Thanks." He said softly. "Sorry I got carried away, I just-"
"No need," The man, thank god he was staying one age, replied. "All is as it should be in the great expanse of time." He reached in his cloak, pulling out a stuffed bird which lit up the boy's face.
"My bird!" He yelled, all pain physical and emotional flooding off his face. The bird, much to his (and Clockwork's) surprise, became lifelike in Clockwork's hand, lifting it's head to look at the boy with bright green eyes. The fluff and stuffing seemed to evaporate off of it, revealing a skeleton of a bird inside. Regardless of how it might seem, the bird took flight across the room, landing on the boy's metal rod.
"Hello, Youngblood." It said in a cranky yet caring voice. "Are you ready to play today?" The boy's face lit up.
"Is that my name?" He said excitedly. "Do you know who I am?" The bird nodded, black pupils focused on the boy's face.
"That's always what you called yourself when we played together."
"You hear that, Mr. Clockwork?" Youngblood said, positively beaming at the man in the doorway like he had just heard the greatest news in the world. "I have a name!" The bird seemed to flinch at the giggles and the squeals, but he didn't voice it, wanting to bring happiness to him.
And happiness he had, until he passed out on the floor from exhaustion. Clockwork picked him off the floor, going up the stairs, watching the skeletal bird fly next to him. He tucked the young child in the bed, nodding to the bird. The bird sat on the headboard, sitting like a gargoyle as the child slept, truly happy, for the first time.