I originally wrote this chapter intending to be longer, but by the time I ended, it was nearly 15k long, and the pacing just seemed off. So I think I'll make this story an even ten chapters, so I don't kill my motivation or kill you guys by scrolling through massive chapters. Please think of this as an intermission since, technically, it is a pause between two acts of a story. That aside, this is my first time writing Clockwork. I don't know why I decided I wanted him here other than the concept amused me, and I could foreshadow some future events that will happen with the Thanatology Anthology. ~Voorhees
Clockwork did not expect to find Jasmine Fenton floating in the proverbial sticks of the Ghost Zone. At least not this soon.
Something was not right with the neighborhood; as always, Clockwork would have to wind the watch and make sure the trains ran on schedule. It was his duty, and well, let's be honest, he's not getting any deader. As if Clockwork had much to do outside being plagued with visions by the fates themselves. It was good to stretch his legs, so to speak, even if he forgot what they looked like.
What was the date? Where in time had he traced Jasmine Fenton's signature? The ancient surveyed the kitchen before him. He had placed the elder Fenton in one of the empty chairs. He patted her head and adjusted her headband before floating over to the corkboard leading into the basement.
Ah yes, the infamous Fenton basement. That portal was outside his realm of control. The timekeeper could still hear how it churned in the bowels of the house without his permission. It was as clear as the gentle ticking of the gears in his chest. It should scare him. It ignored the boundaries of time and, therefore, Clockwork, and that should terrify him.
However, having been around as long as Clockwork had— What scared you became comforting. It meant you weren't done yet. It said there was still new in the world.
And what world it was, from a clock's eye. A rapidly shrinking pale blue dot hung there among the vast abyss.
That was neither here nor there. Clockwork sighed at the deep sound of the portal, evolving to his alternate form. His hair rapidly grew out of his hood, transitioning from its natural black to an aged silver and clumps of which fell to the tile as naturally as the fall leaves. He spied the date on the calendar nailed to the board by the door. September twenty-ninth. The date projected itself on the backs of his eyelids.
September twenty-ninth.
His gloved hands traced his now sunken cheeks, then down, down his lengthening wispy beard that wasn't there moments prior. He coiled it loosely around his finger in thought.
This date meant absolutely nothing to him. Clockwork had assigned no significance to this date. The nature of time is fluid but static and endlessly frustrating. It was sand that slipped through your fingers.
When the ancient turned back to the table to face the frozen teens, he couldn't help but see their futures. All at once and at the same time, he could see how their lives would continue to tangle together and weave— creating a beauty unique to them. It was a polarity. That's all that relationships were. It gave the blue-skinned entity a faint smile as he meditated on these images only he could see. He saw all their possibilities and their potential.
They were castles in the sand.
Though the tide would inevitably come to sweep them back into the waters of creation.
Here for a lifetime, and before Clockwork could even prepare his tea. They would be gone.
Parting was such a sweet sorrow, but give or take a few millennia, you become numb to the concept.
Clockwork stroked his beard before twisting it out of existence. His face began to fill out with baby fat as his stature began to shrink. His back straightened as he returned to his youth.
Digging within his pockets, he retrieved a chain watch.
In any timeline, he would have to make his introduction to Danny Fenton much later. The timelines were in a very delicate place right now; it would be best if Clockwork exercised caution lest he be scolded by the observers yet again for his interference.
The ancient made his approach to Dash.
Clockwork eyed the young living's physicality. Where one could read hostile and aggressive, another could see protective and worried. That didn't matter so much to the timekeeper. What mattered is this young man had no weight in the narrative. He didn't seem to matter. His future was… fuzzy and unclear. Obscure like an out-of-focus polaroid. Opaque. Which meant Clockwork could talk to him freely without endangering fate.
Dash had one hand pressed to the table, his eyes large and frightened, staring down at Daniel. He was waiting for an answer.
Perhaps Clockwork could chime in with a few.
Finding the young man's free hand, Clockwork wedged his fist open to press the golden pocket watch into his palm.
In spades, the living began to animate. Starting with his eyes, they crossed the table slowly. Then Dash blinked. His lungs flushed with air, his chest expanding with gulps of oxygen.
"—I said, now!"
There was a pause. As Dash huffed, awaiting a reply from Danny. He was expecting another verbal spar. That's what they did. That's all Danny saw him as. An opponent in an endless battle with no real winner. An obstacle. Dash was just in the way. That's all he was.
"Would it kill ya to listen to someone besides your own ego for five seconds?!" The table rattled in protest with the impact of his palm.
"Maybe you'd realize some of us are just trying to help!"
Dejectedly, the freshman hung his head, and his voice cracked, "Just…"
He gritted his teeth, " —let me help you, Danny."
It would typically be at this juncture where Fenton would reply with something witty and snarky. Something Dash had no chance of countering. But the living was met with dead silence.
Say for the subtle ticking of gears turning over and the dense sound of the Fentonworks portal humming its mournful call.
Danny didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't even move. He… wasn't blinking—?
Dash waved his hand in front of the ghost boy's face, "... Danny?"
He didn't even flinch like he usually did when the jock raised his hand.
"F-Fenton?"
"I can assure you he's quite alright," the deity spoke softly with a voice one would call paternally comforting if it weren't coming from the body of a five-year-old.
Spinning on a heel, the freshman laid eyes on the sight before him. Stunned into speechlessness.
Clockwork gestured vaguely to Danny with his staff that was much too large for his body, "Well, for the most part. He's fine." The ancient one concluded with a half measure, "I can't say I'm an expert in what plagues that one…"
"Wh—What are you…?" The words exited Dash's mouth with no destination or thought. Yes, it was a rude question, but manners felt just out of his reach. He genuinely had no idea what he was looking at.
The blue mass where the child's legs should have been caused Dash to nearly retreat onto the table and up off the floor.
The creature had a tail made of mist that writhed with curiosity at Baxter's reaction. Cerulean skin that possessed an ethereal but dull shimmer. It was clad in lilac robes, an inviting shade of purple that didn't give away what exactly you were being invited to. Its chest was hollowed out. Where organs should have been, instead, there was a ticking grandfather clock within a glass case. The aged, weathered clock embedded in the child's chest had dust and scratches around the corners as if it hadn't been tended to in a long time. The left side of his face was marked with a scar that ended with a point that resembled a gnarled tree branch in the dead of autumn. That mark covered one eye. The eyes of the creature were empty sockets that spilled over with an eerie crimson light. A Light that fluctuated like candles sparked by hellfire.
Something metal and cold slipped out of his hands that he didn't know he was holding—
Before it hit the ground, its absence caused the living to freeze in place. His arms barred in front of his body as if expecting an attack.
Clockwork quickly slipped his staff to the edge of his hand and held it out. Suspending the device just inches above the ground with a psychokinetic signal.
Humans. The only thing that can challenge my centuries-honed patience.
The ancient scowled to himself— Serves me right for trying to break up the monotony.
His form shifted once again to his adult body. An extraordinarily tall but bookish thin frame, one that commanded gravitas and authority. He could feel his thick and coarse black hair burst from his scalp whilst still staying under his hood in a short militant cut. Being in a tumultuous relationship with time, Clockwork could feel it travel through his veins like winding rivers. He could exhale and shed his youth, and in the next moment, he could become one of his numerous other forms. It could be inconvenient in situations such as this.
Unfolding the loop of the chain, he put it around Dash's neck. Clockwork then gave the young man a bit more room to have his reaction. This wasn't exactly a normal everyday occurrence for a living. Typically none of them were privy to how narrow their scope was.
Once again, the boy began to twitch to life gradually. Like watching a flower leaning towards the sun: there were micromovements barely perceivable to the naked eye, simply because humans were too impatient to look closer. Heart thrumming with interrupted adrenaline, he blinked through a stifled reaction of muted shock—
Clockwork explained, "Try not to drop that again."
Glancing down at his newly attained jewelry. The chain was dense, and it weighed on his collarbone in a way he couldn't articulate. Dash stuttered in a voice that rivaled a rabbit with its meekness, "Uh… ye-yeah… yeah, o-o-okay."
"You should speak up; my hearing isn't exactly what it used to be five seconds ago." The ancient gently chided him, hoping to add some levity to the situation. Clockwork cleared his throat and consciously tried to pry his arms up from the crossed position.
"I'm sure you have questions, so I'll give you three."
Dash couldn't tear his eyes away from the void where the man's legs should have been.
Clockwork snapped his gloved fingers.
"S-sorry…" Baxter said weakly. Still not looking up. His eyes were like marbles.
The blue-skinned man offered a polite smile, leaning himself to one side to find the boy's face, "Don't apologize. There are better uses of our time."
Sluggishly, the young living nodded, "... Are you a-a… ghost?"
"Something like that," Clockwork agreed. The red light in his eyes flickered as his crow's feet were etched into the corners of his face as he spoke. He would die soon again and be reborn. Dash was witnessing a Phoenix in its natural state. With each passing second, the entity's facial hair sprouted in sparse patches across his cheeks. His sharp teeth eroded and yellowed with his accelerated age, growing longer.
"I was one of the first ghosts. Before, there was a word for us. Though none of that is important now. It's all a matter of semantics these days," He explained. The ancient adjusted his grip on his staff, which would soon double as a cane.
Dash still got his hands in front of him; if he needed to fight, "—And you're not go-gonna hurt us?"
At this, Clockwork guffawed— the bells in his chest tolling and thundering with his sudden burst of emotion.
His reply was genuine as he hid his smile with his fist, "No, no, don't be silly, child."
Unfurling with relief, the blond attempted to ignore how hard his legs were trembling. He was skirting the edge of collapsing in a heap of limbs on the kitchen floor.
Inclining his head toward the cheap ceiling dome in the center of the room, Dash didn't want to think about how much he was sweating today. He pressed his palms to his forehead—
"If I wanted to kill you, I would have rearranged the universe so you wouldn't have existed in the first place." The entity stated with unwavering honesty, closing his eyes and stroking his rapidly greying beard, "The only reason I am speaking to you now is because you're not important enough to warrant the effort of unraveling."
"Oh…" The jock said just to offer some objection to the unrelenting cosmic dread that came from such a casual remark. It was as if the creature was reciting the directions on the back of a box of cake mix.
Defeatedly, Dash gestured to this… thing across from him, "No offense, but, dude, your bedside manner—"
"My tact isn't my best quality, I'll readily admit," The ancient chuckled, still trying to work a comforting smile. Trying not to overwhelm the living.
Finally, when the young man landed on Clockwork's face— his hellfire eyes that glowed like embers against the twilight sky of his skin— Dash couldn't help but gulp. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was in the presence of certain death.
He had one question left. It wouldn't do him any favors, but Dash still had to ask, "Wh-Wh-What's your name?"
Eventually, the ancient suppressed his laughter long enough; the gentle clatter of chimes and gears was just background noise. The timekeeper composed his regal facade before staring down at the skittish human, "My true name has been lost to me, but Clockwork serves me well."
"Clockwork," Dash repeated. A bit dumbstruck as to why he didn't immediately jump to that conclusion before. He nodded and shuddered, "Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool… cool."
"Now, you are going to answer some of my questions." Clockwork coughed and transitioned to a hunched posture, as both his hands clung to his staff as if it were the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. His final form again. His white hair thinned and fell in clumps to the tile in shimmering piles of ash.
"Uh…" Dash couldn't help but be keenly aware that might be what he looked like when he was older. The passage of time was cruel and relentless, with very little sympathy, especially to the creature next to the fridge. It looked agonizing. He didn't like the thought. It made his gut lurch. It terrified him to the core.
"I'm not exactly—well, I'm not a— I'm not really sure if I can, but I can try—"
"Humility only serves to muddle the minutes and waste time." Clockwork cut him off with the staff sternly tapping the floor, "You will answer to the best of your ability and nothing less. I will know where to go from there."
The jock couldn't help but respond to the timekeeper's sharp one with a hesitant, "...Yes, sir."
"Today is the twenty-ninth of September, correct?"
"Yeah…?"
"And this is Fentonworks, number fifty-two-twelve on Overlook Drive?"
Dash nodded, his confusion only worsening.
"These two at the table are the children of Madeline and Jackson Fenton? Jasmine Marie Fenton and Daniel Ethan Alexander Fenton?"
Stunned, Dash turned all the way around, finally noticing Jazz was back at the table. Stuck frozen mid-sneeze— in probably the most unfortunate expression to pause on. Regardless, she was without a hair out of place— "Holy— you brought her back?!"
"Obviously." Clockwork concluded, "but I believe it is still my turn for questions."
Still, at a loss, Dash let relief settle into his bones just as the heavy pocket watch chain did. Jazz was okay— which meant the jock could focus his attention on how big of a jackass her brother was being.
Daniel Ethan Alexander Fenton? Dash hadn't heard the other's full name spoken aloud before. Typically Dash didn't even like to address him by first name in case he would give away just how much he practiced saying it privately. He didn't want Danny to get the wrong idea that he respected him or something. He liked the sound of it, though. It was very formal, sure, but intelligent.
Clockwork narrowed his gaze, "Well?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's them…" Dash shifted his focus to the mannequin by his side. Danny was still looking up at him, no doubt about to notch another smart-ass comment from his quiver.
He fought a blush and rolled his eyes. Stupid Fenton.
"I wasn't supposed to be summoned this early… not if this was the proper timeline. Hyde has yet to make his appearance, and Vlad is still scrambling…" The ancient muttered; he held his fist to his mouth, pensive.
Neither of those names meant anything to him. Dash felt like he should pay attention, but the watch around his neck seemed only to get heavier and heavier. It began to illuminate and dim with the rhythm of his lungs. Its pale blue light seemed very familiar.
"Unless…" Clockwork posited, "We're not in the proper timeline—"
"The observants said a branch couldn't be possible. Oh, but I knew— I knew all along that we're just one thread of the grand design." The timekeeper held up a finger before bitterly enclosing it in his fist, "They dismissed my visions—" he continued to monologue to himself before turning back to the blond.
"What do you know about theoretical physics?"
Dash glanced around the kitchen skeptically, unsure if the ancient being was still talking to him— "Uh, I'm fifteen?"
"Right… right…" Clockwork furrowed his brow. it would seem he would have to solve this on his own, as per usual. The cycle of his form started again from the top. All at once, his robes became too big for him as he adjusted his hood over his child's skull. He was in the process of constantly dying and constantly being born. Ceasing to be and then being reanimated— "And your name?"
"Er— Baxter, I'm Dash Baxter. Everyone calls me Dash…"
The timekeeper hummed, "Mhmm."
This didn't seem to assuage him at all, his now brighter eyes boring holes into the young man. A child's face might not match the scrutiny painted there, but Dash could feel all of it. He could feel centuries of judgment suddenly resting on him.
"What are you doing here, child?" Clockwork asked, the expression on his face getting more challenging to parse.
"I— uh, J-Jazz asked me to… to come over. She said that her brother—" Dash swallowed again. It was getting harder to breathe, " —Her brother was sick with some kind of flu? So, I-I brought over his homework, and she went to the store… and I— He was floating like you are! But higher! He was floating just in the air! And that's not really normal from where we come from— no offense…" Dash trailed off.
Clockwork rolled his wrist and gestured for him to continue, "None taken."
"I got him down! B-but then Jazz… Jazz, she started to get sick too, and every time she sneezes— she disappears!" The jock realized how crazy that sounded, but he was explaining this all to a guy who kept dying in front of him every few minutes or so and had an antique clock in his CHEST! There was no better way to explain it, not that Dash could tell. Of course, right where it counted, all the words left him.
"She didn't disappear." Clockwork cocked his head.
"Yes! Yes, she did!" Dash yelped. There was no way he would be convinced otherwise, "Yes, that's what she said— but she—"
"She didn't disappear," The ancient repeated. Shaking his head with some humor, Clockwork elaborated, "The more accurate term was 'displaced' it seems both Fenton siblings are suffering from an acute case of 'Apparition Affliction.' It used to be quite common during the puritan era."
"Like smallpox common—?!" Dash preemptively pulled the neck of his crew-cut shirt over his nose and mouth in alarm.
"Oh, no, it—it's quite curable, I assure you." He waved his small chubby hand before tapping the glass casing of his chest as if swearing on his heart. Clockwork murmured, "It was exceedingly common back then because…"
Vaguely, the ancient being concluded, "Well… let's just say there was a reason why this settlement is called 'Amity.' The closer humans became to ghosts, the more susceptible they became to our ailments."
By the sound of it, you could have made the mistake that he was there.
"Are… you sick, sir?" Dash gestured to his own chest, mirroring where the gears and mechanical parts subtly shifted in Clockwork's ribs.
The ghost seemed more perturbed by the fact that Dash kept asking questions than the content of the query. The ancient's jaw shifted, "What I have is not contagious; if that's what you're concerned about."
Attempting to be discrete, the living let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Clockwork picked a piece of long silvery hair off the tip of his staff. A piece of his prior form. It evaporated to oblivion as soon as he held it up to the light, "What I suffer from is not a burden but a …" He strained for the word, lowering his hand idly, "... a gift."
Suddenly, the baby-faced deity sighed deeply as if all the world's weight came slamming down on his shoulders, "A couple of days bed rest, and the Fenton children should be right as rain."
With this diagnosis, the child Clockwork began to grow again. He puttered around the kitchen looking at baubles and shiny things, still trying to gather contextual evidence as to where in time he might be. When he turned his back to inspect the contents of the fridge, his frame began to expand.
"It would help if you had any blood blossoms. Some petals to put into some soup or tea—It would flush any remaining plasm in their systems—"
"Blood Blossoms?" Baxter scratched his cheek. Sounded like a killer indie band—
"Do you make a habit of regurgitating all information handed to you?" Sharply, Clockwork glanced over his shoulder.
Dash bowed his head, "S-Sorry, sir."
"Please remember; time is a precious thing. You do best not to waste mine." He turned back to the refrigerator, painstakingly going over each Tupperware container and jar. The shelves rumbled as he pulled each one out.
Surely he isn't gonna find the answers to the universe in the vegetable crisper? —Dash thought.
The ancient being shuffled out some expired, moldy leftovers onto the granite countertop and went as far as to check the milk, "One thing that doesn't make sense— is out of all the known universes and of all the timelines I've seen—" he undid the cardboard carton and took a look inside. The milk swished ominously against the confines of its container, "Why haven't I heard of you?"
Shrugging, the young man wasn't sure how to answer, "...I'm not much of a believer in destiny, Mr Clockwork. So, I think I'm an afterthought in this grand design of yours." Anxiously, Dash wondered if it was too self-deprecating to say, "It's possible, your, uh— 'bosses' forgot to mention me."
"Mmm." A disapproving sound escaped his pursed lips, and the ghost's form flickered with the grey light pouring in through the windows.
"It isn't a matter of destiny. It doesn't matter if you should or shouldn't be here. You're here regardless." The entity, in the faintest hint of warmth, extended in, stating, "You may not have had a choice in being here, but that doesn't mean you are without purpose. You're here. "
They became entrenched in another silence while Clockwork went through sparse shelves of the appliance.
"You can see the future, right?"
"..." Clockwork set the milk carton back on the countertop. His fist squeezed his staff tightly. He couldn't just see the future. Clockwork could feel it withering away his fingertips and undoing his nerves like a ball of twine. At the same time, he felt the past reverse the damage of erosion. Resetting him to what he is in the present. He felt every second pass, and then the same moment passed again. Time's arrow was designed to match forward, only forward. Unyieldingly forward. Any deviation from this norm was painful. Clockwork existed outside the boundaries of past, future— all that was for him was 'now.'
His condition used to perplex him, but now the only thing causing the ancient any strife was trying to remember if he had this conversation before. Why didn't he remember this? If it indeed already happened. Unless it never happened, in which case Clockwork has officially seen everything in his tenure governing the realms. A day in history he did not account for.
"Sorry, I know that's another question—"
"I'm not a liberty to reveal anything." Clockwork replied, "There are rules."
"Then I won't ask—!" Dash blustered, "But could you just… tell me…" he helplessly gestured to the Fenton siblings, "They're gonna be okay?"
Clockwork grumbled but eventually acquiesced to the white lie, "... They'll be okay."
He flicked his stoic eye to the blond, "You'll be okay too."
The jock sighed; though It was just placebo validation, it still meant something to him. A little bit more slack on the rope around his neck.
"When were you born, Dash Baxter?" The being addressed him by name directly.
"Uh, Creedence Serenity General, on the twenty-first of June, nineteen-eighty-four, I think around nine am." It was probably better that he didn't lie. The boy had no reason to.
"And your parents… what of them?"
"My mom…" Dash trailed off, "I think her name was Kora— with a K. She… she didn't really stick around for the personal details. One of those free-spirit… new age types."
Solemnly, Clockwork nodded. He seemed to give a hesitant pause out of respect or… something resembling pity.
"And your father?"
Jesus, am I taking the undead census here? What else does he need, my blood type and social security?
"My father, well— his name is Ernest."
"Ernest and Kora Baxter." The ancient stirred in slight recognition. His eyes glowed, only to dim as his body began to rapidly decay once again.
"Oh, no, I was…" The living corrected, as softly as he could manage, "My mother is Kora Baxter."
He winced through, saying his father's name, "My father is Ernest— P-Poindexter."
"Ernest Poindexter," Dash repeated for clarity. Going by the vacant look on the entity's face, the jock wasn't sure if he heard him.
The quiet came crawling back. The living wasn't sure if he had said something wrong despite saying nothing but the truth.
"...Huh." Eventually, Clockwork mumbled to himself, "Well, that changes things significantly. We're in that timeline."
"Wh—" Dash felt his eyes bulge, "Excuse me?"
"In that case, I must start making preparations now." Listing things and muttering under his breath Clockwork only prattled on. Steamrolling any further conversation. His gloved hands creased against his staff. His grip only seemed to worsen with his sudden worry.
"Wait a second—!" The jock demanded, choosing to forgo formality as it seemed fruitless.
The ancient being floated across the floor, coming near nose to nose with the living. Placing an ice-cold hand on Baxter's shoulder, it was clear the aim was to take the pocket watch back.
Rearing back, Dash was only halted by the table hitting the backs of his legs.
"Keep being unpredictable, living." Purple gloved fingers curled around the gold chain. The timekeeper's smile had trouble fitting and staying on his face. It was polite but wistful. As if dropping off a child at school, but that child only knew that man as a stranger and not a father. There was a familiar distance associated with the being. It was a custody arrangement. Clockwork was a father. A father just kept on the fringe. A second-hand parent that was never around because at one point he was a son—prone to making mistakes in haste and anger. Now he was watching his children grow and then wither without him. Was it a punishment? If you choose to look at it that way. Clockwork was pareidolia, the doppler effect— He was the mirage of steadiness. A father whose ability was hobbled and woefully out of practice.
Dash got the feeling that if Mr Clockwork could say more, he absolutely would. He wasn't a bad guy, just one forced to operate within confines and litigation.
It was a smile that struggled under the weight of his regrets. Regrets that spanned centuries and centuries that have yet to come.
Once that chain was broken. The golden color had been lost, and the band limply rested in Clockwork's palm.
The young living became suspended in time. Painted with that desperate and anxious expression on his face.
Armed with his staff, Clockwork idly spun it in a complete unbreaking circle before twisting the winding hands on top and pressing it down.
"Time. In."