Made for a tumblr ask game. Circus AU and curses mash-up for Lost Time.

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Danny was clever. More than the others. He knew because Master said so. 'More clever than you're worth,' he'd said. Then he'd hit him. A lot.

He was clever. So he knew the old ghost that kept time during the acts and gave astonishingly detailed and unremittingly grim assessments in the fortune teller's tent was different than the others. Not like Lydia was different. But different anyway. He thought the other ghosts might know it, too, from the way they looked at him. Sometimes, he noticed Lydia staring at the old ghost, almost frightened.

He tried not to notice. Tried not to be clever. He didn't like it when Master hit him. He wanted to be good. To be helpful. He tried so, so hard.

But he noticed anyway.

(He noticed other things, too, like how he was always hungry, always yearning, for something, and the only solution he could come up with was be more helpful. He noticed he was growing weaker. He noticed he missed his friends. He noticed how the others looked at him with pity more than they looked at the old ghost in fear.)

And he was curious.

(Even if curiosity had gotten him in trouble before.)

He slipped into the back of the fortune teller's tent after the old ghost and, before he could think better of it, he reached out and tugged on the back of the fortune-teller's tattered robe. Mistake made, he made a valiant but ultimately fruitless effort to hide himself behind one of the curtains.

The old ghost sighed. "What do you want?"

Danny had to think about it. It had been so long since anyone had asked him what he wanted. "Why," he asked, his voice strange after days (weeks?) of disuse, "are you here?"

The ghost raised an eyebrow, the scar across his eye pulling at it oddly.

"You're different," explained Danny. "You're- You don't have to listen to what Master says. I can tell."

The old ghost's face twisted sourly. "Unfortunately," he said, millennia of bitterness soaked into the word, "my own masters say that I do. They think it will help me learn humility." He hissed, teeth bared, as he stalked past Danny. "That I will appreciate their brand of slavery more after I have experienced that of a human. They have cursed me thus, and I cannot refuse."

The ghost began to pace, hovering just over the floor. "If they had not taken my key... I would never have so much as set foot in this circus, to be made a curiosity for my powers."

Danny cringed into the fabric of the tent, afraid to look at the old ghost.

But then, an idea occurred to him.

"I can help," he said, turning, hopefully.

The old ghost looked unimpressed. "You cannot even help yourself."

"But you can," said Danny, "and then I can help you. I can get your key for you, if you help me get away. I promise."

"Promise, do you?" asked the ghost. He leaned in and softly touched Danny's face. It was the gentlest contact he'd had with another being since he'd been taken. "Promises are dangerous. Especially impossible ones."

"I promise," said Danny. "If it's in the Ghost Zone, I can get it."

"How?"

Danny, hesitantly, leaned closer still to the old ghost. "I'm part human," he whispered. Then he quickly pulled back, finger pressed to his lips. "But it's a secret! Don't tell... Please..."

The old ghost cocked his head, then brought his hands up to cup Danny's face. "You are," he said. "How interesting. I did not foresee this."

The ghost, lost in thought, did not move, and Danny closed his eyes, leaning in to the touch. This was nice. "Will you let me help you?" he mumbled.

"Perhaps," said the ghost. He let go of Danny's face, then maneuvered around Danny so that one hand rested on Danny's shoulder, and the ghost's robes fell around him like a protective veil. "Come. For now, help me with my divinations. Then we shall see."