Clockwork plucked Danny out of the highchair and brought him to a dim living room. Shadows were thick in the corners. In the real world, Danny's shadow would be twitching at him, eager to join them and play, but now it was as quiet as it ever was in the Dream.
One of the shadows jingled.
"Oh, look who's come to play," cooed Clockwork, bouncing Danny a little. Despite himself, he giggled. The giggle became a genuine laugh when he saw Cujo trot out of the shadow.
He had, after all, always wanted a dog.
Clockwork set him down on the floor, careful, and produced a frayed length of rope. What followed was a surprisingly normal game of tug of war between Clockwork, Danny, and the puppy. Soon, however, Danny found his tiny body tiring of the exertion.
"Something a bit calmer, hm?" asked Clockwork as Cujo and Danny both ran out of energy. "How about some finger painting?"
"Okay, Mama," said Danny. He blinked. For all that Clockwork had said she was called Mama here, Danny had meant to call her Clockwork this time. "Mama?" he tried again.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Um," said Danny, now searching for a question he could ask. "Why's it dark?"
"Because too much light hurts you."
"But why?" asked Danny.
Clockwork sat back down in front of Danny. "Fingerpainting can wait a little, I suppose," she said. She ran her fingers through Danny's hair, then gathered him into her lap. "It's a blessing," she said, "from your grandparent."
"Grandparent?"
"You met them briefly, when they were awakened from their long slumber and you again convinced them to sleep," said Clockwork, a touch of nostalgia flavoring her words. "The very first worlds we understood and encompassed were paradises without suffering, because that is what we were asked for. But they withered, and did not bear fruit. Your grandparent, in their wisdom, decreed that there should be a small amount of suffering. A reminder. Something to fear." She rubbed her fingers over the medical bracelet. "In this world, you are one of those blessed to bear this suffering."
Danny once might have thought it more of a curse… but he understood the others more, now. Love and control were tied together with chains stronger than steel, as strong and gentle as the ones that bound him. Blessings and curses were much the same. A sign of regard as much as pain.
"Mama," said Danny, "how did it happen? How did… how did you bring this world into the Dream?"
It was most likely a forlorn hope, but if he knew how it happened, maybe he could stop it from happening again, to his world. Even if something inside him tugged to allow it. To relax. To accept that everything would be okay.
"Hm," said Mama… said Clockwork. Who was his (their? Was Danny a boy here, seeing as Clockwork wasn't, even though their avatar in the Dream was? Danny didn't feel one way or the other...) parent in this world. "I think that calls for an educational program. Let me get out the tapes, okay, sweetie? I'll be right back."
Clockwork did not leave him on the floor, but put him in a baby jumper. It was just high enough off the floor that Danny's toes couldn't touch the ground. They were, however, close enough for Cujo to lick. Which he did. A lot. Making Danny giggle and bounce… which was what the jumper was for.
Danny should have felt humiliated by this whole ordeal and he (they?) did… but they (he?) also felt happy. Mama was here with them. There weren't any fights to worry about. Everything bad had already happened, and there was nothing he could do about it.
They could stay here.
"Found them!" said Mama. She brought a cassette player into the room, and Danny belatedly realized that there was no TV. "Here we go. The story of how this world became ours." She pressed the play button.
Static poured out of the cassette player. Totally unintelligible. Mama didn't make a move to correct it, however. She just sat, smiling, next to Danny.
Then the static began to… not resolve or clear up, no. It was more like the static was delivering words and images directly into Danny's brain. Slipping past seeing and hearing to impart knowledge directly. Speaking the machine language of the brain, sending compressed thoughts that unspooled rapidly as Danny listened.
Once upon a time this world had been like Danny's. The people were born, lived, died. They wanted things. They imagined things. They dreamed, hated, and loved with lower case letters. They existed in a way that was limited but meaningful nonetheless, and strained against their limits.
The others found them. Or, rather, they found the others. It was alway hard to tell exactly who found who, and it wasn't really important in the long run. They were found. It was enough.
Both sides were curious. Both sought to understand.
The others were vast and powerful, the strongest of them only limited by their Love, but the mortals of this world had things they valued, had things that could sustain them.
Some of the mortals were wise, and bound themselves in service to the others. They brokered a long bargain, one that their many times great descendants would fulfil, for those who were wise were not numerous in their time, and the others did not yet comprehend this world.
But those who served them explained, and as they joined the others in the Dream, in heaven, in the promised world, the others understood them better. In the world, the faithful borrowed power and prepared the way.
They called the others their gods, and the others accepted this role graciously, generously, and allowed themselves to be bound thusly. They desired from their gods direction and certainty, paradise and ease. They wished for a world where great wrongs did not exist, but also wished to have questions morality answered for them.
The others did not understand yet, but they were amenable, and they approached. The mortals gave more and more of themselves, and the others gave in return. They came closer, pulled to the world by the silk strings of faith and ritual, the surface of the world thinned.
Then the mother of the universe was presented. The mother. The bride. Pure and willing, she called. She was presented. She was protected from those who would stop her and the great deed she had undertaken.
The king of the gods answered.
She grew. There were many who sought to destroy her and stop her work, for they did not understand, did not have faith in the gods who had been so generous and patient.
But she grew nevertheless. Grew and waited until the promised day.
The static very nearly put Danny in her skin, in the sensation of carrying something so vast inside him. So vast, and yet so small. Something limited that could be freed. It stretched at her skin, pushed at her bones, destroyed her, because she was still mortal, still frail in all the ways the others were not. Yet, she accepted this burden, this suffering, so she could erase that of others.
On the promised day, she gave birth to the Egg of the Universe.
Danny quailed at how thin reality must have been there, for it to be imagined within itself, eggshell fragile, breakable with a single hammer.
When it was broken, the others came rushing in, and they understood what was asked of them.
The mortals wanted the law of heaven, guidance from their gods, joy in their presence, peace, lives of ease and plenty. The others made it thus. No more would mortals even dream of disobeying their gods. The law would be followed. The mere presence of the gods would fill them with happiness. Their needs would be filled. Their lives would continue, without fear of any threat, whether disease, injury, or poverty.
Well. Not quite. Fear of the light (and considering how people were, fear of the dark and what might lurk within it) still remained.
In return, they would pledge themselves, their dreams, their thoughts, their feelings to the others.
The static hissed to a stop, but the knowledge it had brought didn't fade.
"You keep them like animals," said Danny, tears running down their face. "These worlds are farms."
Mama ran her fingers through their hair. "You don't need to cry," she said. "We take care of them all very well. They live their lives. They are born and die on their own terms, as they were before, naturally and in their own time. We did not take that from them, and do not intend to. We do not call them to slaughter. What would that serve? I think," she continued, almost playfully, "a better comparison would be an orchard… One in which every tree was carefully tended, and mourned when it finally died."
She dried Danny's tears and picked him up. "I think you're overtired. How do you feel about a nap?"
"If I go to sleep here, what will happen?"
"You'll go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere more to your liking? We can keep trying until we find a world you would like to stay in."
"Don't wanna," said Danny, nuzzling against Mama's arm. "I want to go home."
"Aren't you home when you're with me?"
This sounded like a trick question. "Yes?" they said, the word true and untrue all at once. Because Clockwork was a place, and Clockwork was home, and this was Clockwork, was home, but home was also Fentonworks and Amity Park, and the humans he Loved, and this place was none of those things.
He didn't want to be a god.
Somewhere in the house, a door opened.
"I'm home!" called a young voice Danny had never heard before but nonetheless recognized instantly.
Nocturne, as a young woman in a school uniform, walked into the living room. She smiled, both Love and cruelty in the expression. "Oh," she said, "they're dreaming."
"Mhm," said Mama. "Why don't you take them for a moment, and I'll make you a snack?"
"I can feed myself, Mom," said Nocturne, but she reached out for Danny anyway. When Mama left, she turned her gaze towards Danny. "You know, little sibling, I don't think you ever gave me my prizes." She sat down on the couch, and rearranged Danny in her arms.
They (he?) wouldn't admit it, but it was very comfortable, very nice, to be held by his family like this. The thought crossed their mind that they wouldn't object to the relationship between themself and Nocturne becoming more like what they had with Jazz.
But he didn't see that happening soon.
"I want to know," said Nocturne, "which of the gifts our mother offered you scared you the most, and why."
"That's two things," said Danny.
"Yes," said Nocturne, eyes half lidded as she looked down at Danny, "and I'll still have one more."
"The mask," said Danny, "because how much it would limit me, and… and how much I wanted it."
"Masks do have a certain allure, don't they?" asked Nocturne. She had one as well, Danny remembered. "It would have to be modified, with your horns coming in." She tapped Danny's forehead, and a sharp pain echoed through their head. He whimpered. "Maybe we could decorate it as well. Add a bit of personality to it."
"W-what?"
"We're going to be celebrating your birthday, soon, little sibling. You're going to get presents."
