This was hard. Redemption fics are hard. Um. Personal headcanon: Dan didn't really destroy the world. He just terrorized the local area of the Ghost Zone and the vicinity of Amity Park, destroyed the Observants, and messed with Vlad, all of which were people, places, and things he blamed for the death of his family and friends. More on that later.
.
.
.
Redemption
.
Ghosts like Clockwork slept infrequently.
Infrequently was not the same as never.
On occasion, Clockwork felt the desire to delve into his subconscious mind. At other times, when struggling with a decision, he found the human exhortation - sleep on it! - to be good advice. Very rarely, he simply needed rest, a break from the stresses of his unlife, from the Observants, from his all-encompassing responsibility for the time line.
So he slept, and rose refreshed.
In a pleasant mood, he drifted around Long Now, idly checking that everything was in place. It was unlikely that anything important had come up during his slumber, he hadn't foreseen anything, but it was prudent to check. Nothing was out of order, so he floated to the main room.
Daniel was asleep on the couch, curled slightly, back facing out to the room. Daniel was certainly not unwelcome, but Clockwork had not foreseen this. That was a sign of something being more deeply wrong. Concerned, Clockwork flew to Daniel's side. Normally, he would let the child get his sleep, Clockwork had just indulged himself in the same activity, after all, but Clockwork could stretch time for him, let him sleep for as long as he needed, and he needed to know what was wrong so that he could fix it.
"Daniel," he said, lightly touching the boy's shoulder. Daniel shifted slightly. "Daniel-"
Daniel twisted abruptly, his spine practically bending in half. His eyes were red, his lips bared over triangular teeth, and he lunged at Clockwork, hissing.
Clockwork woke up, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. A dream. More specifically, a nightmare. It wasn't a new experience, but it was an unusual one. What did it mean? Should he ask Nocturne for clarification, or... No. He understood what he was trying to tell himself.
He rose to a vertical position, and left his room. He traveled downwards, not bothering with the stairs, but instead dropping straight down their wells. Clockwork's lair was much deeper than most visitors thought, and Clockwork tended to hide things down there. Dangerous things. Powerful things. Things he loved. Things he feared. Things he was ashamed of. Mistakes.
At the very bottom, was a great vault, guarded by a huge, thick door with many locks. This was a decoy. A few meters before the vault was a small, unassuming door. It was locked, yes, it was quite secure, but it was nowhere near as impressive as the vault. Beyond this door was a number of books. They were rare and dangerous books, yes, a few were even quite remarkable. Hidden beyond the books, however, hidden among the gears that made up the walls of the room, was a door that led to yet another room. This hidden room was small. It held only a single object, a white, silver, and green thermos.
"Is that you, old man?" came a tinny voice from inside the thermos. Then, more quietly, more angrily, "Of course it is, who else is going to come down here, idiot?"
Clockwork pretended he hadn't heard the second part. "Yes, it is me, Daniel," he said.
"It's Dan," said the other, harshly.
"I apologize," said Clockwork, smoothly, easily. In truth, this creature had just as much of Plasmius in him as he had of Daniel. It was inappropriate to refer to him by Daniel's name. At the same time, the Observants had said that he was responsible for Daniel. Both of them. All of them. He had interpreted that command to his advantage, taking Daniel as his child, but he had just as great a duty to Dan. More, in some ways. Depending on how one looked at the situation, Clockwork was partially to blame for his pain and current predicament. Of course, any reasonable person would say that Dan himself was mostly to blame. No one had forced him to systematically and persistently attack Amity Park and surrounding cities, or to attempt to ruin Daniel's life out of what Clockwork could only describe as pure envy. "Dan."
"What do you want?"
"I thought that you might enjoy some company," said Clockwork.
"Your company, old meddler?" said Dan, sneer evident in his voice. "Hardly."
"All the same."
Silence. Then, "Why do you even care? You're the one who put me here."
"I'm not sure myself," admitted Clockwork.
"... You feel guilty, don't you?" Dan laughed, harshly. "The great and powerful Clockwork feeling guilty about little old me." He paused. "You should."
"Why is that?" asked Clockwork, genuinely curious.
"Because you could have stopped me from happening," hissed Dan.
"Perhaps," said Clockwork.
"What do you mean 'perhaps,' you-" What followed was, not, perhaps, the most creative stream of invective in the English language that Clockwork had ever heard, but it was certainly up there.
.
.
.
Clockwork visited Dan again. He had been doing so more often, recently.
"What do you even want?" asked Dan, tiredly. "Why do you keep coming here?"
"To keep you company," said Clockwork.
"BS, old man."
Clockwork floated closer, examining the temporal wards that kept the thermos upright and intact. "Fine, I come because I need company, and you're better than the Observants."
Dan scoffed. "That's one thing we can agree on."
"The only thing?" asked Clockwork, mischievously. "I notice that you haven't tried to break out lately." The wards hadn't been tripped in several days, in fact. Not since before Clockwork's last visit.
"I'm saving up my strength," grumbled Dan. "Just you wait, old man, I'll break outta here in one big blast, and the first thing I'm gonna do is break your stupid neck."
"Is that so?" said Clockwork.
"Yeah."
"You do recall that I'm a ghost, don't you? Breaking my neck wouldn't do much."
"Shut up."
.
.
.
Dan had been growing quieter and quieter with each visit. Clockwork didn't know what was going on in the ghost's head, but he did know what was happening to him physically. Dan was growing weaker. He had worn himself out with his early escape attempts, the thermos was not a particularly wholesome environment for a ghost, and, given the circumstances of his imprisonment, his Obsessions were likely collapsing in upon themselves. Dan had wanted revenge, but the thing that he wanted revenge for had never happened in this time line. Dan had wanted others to feel his pain, but he could cause no harm.
Clockwork wondered if some of the more benign Obsessions Dan had inherited from Daniel and Plasmius would begin to resurface, or if he would fade. Clockwork found that the prospect of Dan fading left him feeling... disappointed. Possibilities spiraled out from this point in time. Dan might fade. He might not. He might excavate one of his better traits, might be saved by a positive Obsession, he might somehow find an even worse one to cling to. He might change, he might stay the same. Many, many possibilities, but Clockwork believed that he could navigate them and reach a desirable result.
One of the many reasons that the Observants hated Clockwork so much was that when the time line stood to benefit a great deal, when many lives might be improved, he took risks. Risks they thought were untenable. Risks that Clockwork believed he could mitigate.
"Dan," said Clockwork, "let's make a deal."
"What kind of deal?" asked Dan, faint and suspicious.
"I suspect that you're bored here."
"No, I'm having the time of my afterlife," said Dan, flatly. "I'm thrilled all the time. There are so many interesting things to do here in this stupid soup container."
"I'm sure," said Clockwork, before falling silent.
"Well?" asked Dan, impatient. "What do you want?"
"I want to bring you upstairs."
"Why? What do you get out of it?"
"I'm getting tired of having to come down here every time I want to talk to you. This room is rather distant from where I spend most of my time."
Dan was quiet, turning the idea over in his head. "What's the catch?"
"I would need you to be quiet when other people are in Long Now," said Clockwork. "You can listen, but not speak. The Observants especially would not look kindly on you being in a less secure place."
Dan suggested that the Observants could go do something that was physically improbably for humans, and physically impossible for ghosts. Clockwork raised an eyebrow, even though he knew that Dan couldn't see him.
"I will let you think about it, in that case."
"Hey! Wait! Hold up, you stupid old geezer!"
"Yes?" asked Clockwork. "What is it, Dan?"
"I'll take your stupid deal!"
Clockwork smiled.
.
.
.
"They're gone now," said Clockwork. Dan didn't respond. "Nothing to say? You are usually so vocal after Daniel's visits." It was true. One time Dan had crowed for hours, proud of the fact that he still gave Daniel nightmares.
"I forgot how hard it was," said Dan.
"Oh?" He wondered what had brought this on. Daniel had been injured, yes, but not badly. Perhaps it was how he had been injured? Or one of the other topics Daniel had brought up. Homework? The bully, Dashiel? The troubles with young Valerie? Vladimir's continued attempts to woo his mother? The fact that Daniel had fallen asleep mid-rant? Some combination thereof?
"I forgot... How could I forget?"
"Well, for you, you were half-ghost for under a year, if you are only counting from Daniel's side. It was not a very large part of your life."
"But it was," protested Dan. He sounded lost. "It was. It was important."
"Was it? You left it behind awfully quickly."
Dan didn't answer.
.
.
.
Dan started cursing out the Observants as soon as they left. Clockwork barely restrained himself from following suit. It wouldn't do to teach Dan even more swear words. Dan wasn't nearly as good at picking up languages as Daniel, but he had a talent for profanity.
A few hours later, Dan attempted to escape for the first time in months. It was a pathetic attempt, but still.
.
.
.
"I'd play a better game if I could see the board," groused Dan.
Clockwork moved a pawn. "Pawn to B8. I'm afraid that I am not allowed to do that."
Dan swore. "B8?! When did it get there?" Then Clockwork's other comment caught up to him. "What do you mean, 'allowed?'"
.
.
.
The possibilities spiraled out from the moment. Many were negative, but more of them were positive. It was so wonderful, when doing the right thing yielded good results.