One of the greatest perks of being the Master of Time was the ability to personally witness every historical moment that caught his eye. Over the course of his calling he had stood invisibly at the elbows of the infinite realms' greatest inventors, had floated casually between warriors grappled by the heat of bloodlust, and had drifted on the eddies of time as entire galaxies swelled into being or faded away to oblivion.
Most events were mere curiosities, distractions from the constant demands of the Observants for him to prune a timeline here or trim down a paradox there. Tedious, mind-numbing work that made his core ache with fatigue.
The perks almost made up for the downside of existing outside any single time stream. Due to the nature of his being, Clockwork could only skim his finger lightly over the tantalising pull of emotional attachment, but was never truly permitted to form any lasting bonds. After all, it wasn't as though there were many other creatures out there that so blatantly broke the rules of reality, let alone broke them in a way that would even allow the person to interact with something such as himself.
So, he immersed himself in the curiosities of the ages, and tried not to dwell on it too much whenever loneliness raked sharp talons through his soul.
Still, it didn't stop him from wondering if there was even the slimmest chance, out of all of the immeasurable opportunities, that he could find someone with whom to share his quiet existence. He always quickly pushed the thought away and found something interesting to watch in an effort to distract himself, but the unassuming question would eventually come creeping back, and he'd once again have to confront the heavy ache brought on by the shackles of his calling.
He was tending to a tiny wrinkle in the time stream, tenderly ironing out the kinks when a glimmer caught his eye just down the line. It was an irregularity that he had rarely seen before, and he frowned and drew it into the focus of one of his scrying mirrors.
There was a tear in the fabric of reality.
Before he could take a closer look, Clockwork's core shivered as two Observants materialised on either side of him. He froze in place, trepidation buzzing through him. As always, they'd managed to surprise him by slipping out of time to circumvent his foreknowledge.
"Destroy the abomination," they said in unison.
Clockwork stayed still, one hand holding the mirror's frame to keep the irregularity magnified. With a flick of his thoughts the image on the screen zoomed in, highlighting not only the unnatural, reality-breaking portal, but the method of its creation.
There… there was a metal man-made tunnel, boring into the earth beneath sleepy suburban sprawl. He waved his free hand and the interior of the tunnel lit up with the telltale acid green of ectoplasm, punching a hole between dimensions like a bullet through paper.
The terrible, soul-chilling scream of death sent a spike of horror through his core. There was… there was a person in there! A… a child… A child who…
The timeline shifted, and suddenly, Clockwork could see again.
The universe stopped.
The Observants were frozen on either side of him, and the great pendulum in Clockwork's chest swung with the heavy release that might have accompanied a sigh in someone who needed to breathe. With the realms at a standstill, the very planets suspended in their orbits, and the nuclear fusion of stars paused down to a subatomic level, Clockwork began to parse through every single branch of reality available to one Daniel James Fenton.
The future could be kind to the boy. If Clockwork simply tweaked the timeline to prevent to portal from ever catching him in its grasp, then he could see Daniel as an astronaut, as a teacher, as a musician, or as a million other things that filled his life with joy. He could see partners, marriages, children. There were adventures and heartbreaks, laughter and tears, and more often than not, a long life full of everything that made the human experience worthwhile.
Yes, Daniel James Fenton could have a wonderful life. If permitted to live as a human, untainted by any realm except that of his birth, he would likely die old and satisfied, surrounded by the people who loved him.
The alternative almost didn't bear considering.
If he was caught inside that portal, misery would stalk him for the rest of his days.
Clockwork watched every option, delved deep into every single possibility, and saw the blood-drenched horror that had likely brought these two Observants to his tower.
In between threads of darkness and despair shone a single gleaming timeline that shimmered with possibility. Clockwork found himself drawn to it, and waded through the mountains of pain until he isolated that fragile silver thread and grasped it in the palm of his hand.
The child could see him. And not only that, but love him, with the eternal bond of parental ghost and their child.
His core hummed, and Clockwork tightened his grip on a future that was so improbable that it would almost be impossible. He'd be playing with the dangerous chance that the darker timelines would converge and overpower this tiny thread of hope. Careful pruning would be required, and even then, the desired outcome might not be certain.
Still, the humming in his core rose until it built into the dreadful weight of yearning, and Clockwork nodded once, his mind made up.
He slipped time back into place, but a little to the left. The Observants disappeared from his tower, or perhaps they had never been there in the first place? Clockwork hurriedly shielded the boy's creation from view to all but himself and then slipped through his mirror into the Fentons' basement, severing every alternative and effectively cementing whatever happened as the only timeline that would continue to exist.
His choice here simply caused all other possibilities to melt into nothing.
The tunnel in the ground flashed with the destruction of reality, and as Daniel James Fenton's screams echoed in his ears, a smile crept over Clockwork's face.
Usually his job was one of altruism, pruning and guiding the timeline to grow in a way that benefited the continued progression of reality, but as the impossible child stepped into the void between the living and the dead, Clockwork retreated to the tower. His core sang with elation, and he carefully rubbed the silver stand of hope between two gloved fingers.
Perhaps this chosen future would bring more pain than not, but for once, Clockwork didn't care about other people. He could see a future where he wasn't alone anymore, where he finally had a child to love and who loved him in return. He watched his mirror, content to observe for the time being as Danny Phantom stumbled out of the Fenton portal and collapsed onto the cold metal floor, and Clockwork couldn't help but feel that just this once, he was justified in being a little selfish.