All will be as it should be part 1
Clockwork prided himself on order.
On cogs that turned when they were meant to turn. On grains of sand that fell exactly once. On timelines that behaved themselves and did not—did not—develop bad habits like paradoxes, fractures, or speedsters.
He hated the Flash family.
Not personally. Oh no. Personally implied effort. This was professional loathing. Centuries of it. They treated time like a racetrack and then had the audacity to be surprised when it splintered under their feet.
Most of the time, Clockwork fixed it.
He sighed, rewound, clipped a branching possibility here, nudged a causality there. Clean. Efficient. Tedious.
This time, however, Barry Allen—bless his chronically impulsive heart—had done something irrevocable.
Clockwork froze the timestream and stared.
Danny Fenton was not supposed to die at five. He couldn't stop it. It had to happen.
The accident—the accident—was cataloged, indexed, and filed neatly under Age Fourteen: Ghost Portal Activation / Half-Death Event. A controlled disaster. A survivable one. A boy old enough to understand rules, consequences, and secrecy.
Instead, a speedster’s careless temporal wake had nudged the Fentons forward. Five-year-old Danny had toddled into the lab on the wrong day. Pressed the wrong button. Been in the wrong place at the wrong moment.
The portal had activated.
And Danny Fenton had died.
Clockwork fast-forwarded.
The screens before him filled with ruin.
A child who couldn’t control his phasing, screaming as he fell through floors. A boy who went invisible when frightened and never came back. Government containment. Dissection tables. A pair of parents who loved their son so much they would tear him apart to understand him.
Jack and Maddie Fenton were good people.
They were also catastrophes waiting to happen.
Clockwork watched timelines collapse like dominoes.
“No,” he repeated, sharper now.
With a gesture, the Ghost Portal vanished from the Fenton basement as if it had never existed. Solder cooled. Blueprints turned blank. The connection to the Zone sealed so thoroughly even the Observants would nod in approval.
In this timeline, the Fentons would never touch the Infinite Realms.
Then Clockwork turned to the boy.
Five years old. Small. Flickering between states like a broken light. Green eyes glowing faintly in the frozen air.
Danny Fenton needed to be raised right.
He watched foster systems fail. Watched heroes try and fail to be parents. Watched well-meaning people recoil from glowing eyes and impossible abilities.
He watched until he found someone who had already died.
Someone who had been dragged back from death by rage and grief and an iron refusal to stay down.
Someone who knew what it was to be unwanted. Broken. Angry. Alive anyway.
Crime Alley, Gotham City, was a nexus of pain and persistence. A place where tragedy didn’t end people—it forged them. Jason was older now, rougher, freshly returned to the world and still figuring out what that meant.
Clockwork rewound just enough.
He erased a few memories.
Jack’s laugh. Maddie’s arms. A lab full of humming machines.
What remained was warmth. A sense of home without a face attached.
Then Clockwork placed the child carefully on the cold pavement of Crime Alley.
Right in Jason Todd’s path.
The boy hiccupped, went briefly transparent, then solid again. His eyes glowed green in the dim light. He clutched a too-big hoodie around himself and looked up at the approaching footsteps.
“…what the hell,” he muttered.
The kid looked at him like he was the sun.
Clockwork watched Jason kneel without thinking. Watched him take off his jacket. Watched him swear softly as the kid phased through his own hands and then burst into terrified tears.
Clockwork saw the way Jason didn’t flinch.
Instead, Jason pulled the child close, solid or not, and growled at the universe like it had personally offended him.
“Okay,” Jason said, voice rough but steady. “Okay, little man. I got you.”
The gears turned smoothly once more.
“All will be as it should be,” Clockwork whispered.