The weird, faintly glowing world that had come, in recent times, to be known as "the Ghost Zone" was as silent and eerie as ever. As it always had been, was, and would continue to be. Different "neighborhoods" of the ethereal space tolerated different levels of disturbance. As they always had, did, and would continue to. One such neighborhood – the area haunted by the ghost that called himself Clockwork – remained quiet and undisturbed. As it always had, did, and would continue to. So long as Clockwork himself had anything to say about it, anyway.

The silence was conducive to concentration, which was why Clockwork preferred it. It was much easier to observe and, yes, despite what the Observants would believe, conduct mild meddling when one's working space remained quiet and undisturbed. It was also best that the area existed here, in the Ghost Zone, rather than one of the other times or realities it had inhabited in the past; it was much easier to fix the "impurities" in the flow of time when you weren't muddling about in the middle of time and space. Being caught up in time and trying to change it? That would quite easily get…messy.

Presently, Clockwork paused in his observations of one of the dozens of realities that could readily present themselves to center himself. He was expecting a visitor. And not a welcome one, either. But it could hardly be helped.

Clockwork set to preparations. That was to say, hiding things. Should the visit go sour, he didn't want anything that could alter space and time to be used as a weapon against him. It didn't mean that it would help, if things did go sour. But it at least made Clockwork feel better.

He hid his time medallions, turned his viewing screens off, and made sure than any other "unsavory" souvenirs were tucked away, out of sight. When he wasn't expecting potentially unsavory guests, Clockwork liked to have things out. It told of his purpose. And if anything, Clockwork took pride in the work he did.

Sometimes his work meant making hard decisions: he saw many different timelines. Many different possibilities as to the course that time could take. And sometimes his meddling had to occur in order for things to turn out positively. But it meant that he saw what would have occurred had he chosen not to meddle in the first place. The instance with Danny Fenton's dark future self, for instance.

Clockwork had seen that future come to fruition without his interference. He had lived it. And then he had decided to meddle. He had one of his souvenirs to prove it. He eyeballed the device: a simple, unobtrusive cylinder. A "thermos" that housed a demon from a future that, if Clockwork or Danny Fenton had anything to say about it, would not ever come to fruition.

He had countless other such objects. A ring. The broken pieces of a wand. A collection of clay dolls. A tarot card. A stack of newspapers with alarming captions, none of which were true, now. He hid them, along with the thermos.

"I was expecting you," he said blandly as a greeting, turning toward the entrance to his abode as his visitor materialized into visibility.

"Why does that not surprise me?" muttered the ghost by way of reply. He looked pristine, as always – Vlad Plasmius was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to his fastidious appearance. Especially his ghost half.

"I have…talents. When it comes to visitors entering my domain. I'm sure you have your own ways of managing such visitors?" Clockwork phrased it like a question, inflecting his tone higher, but it wasn't. They weren't here for aimless chatter. It didn't become Plasmius; he had a reason for being here.

"I…I have come –" Plasmius started uncertainly. "I have…" he frowned. "I…I need to ask for your help."



This is just as stated: Vignettes. Places I could see canon going, fillers for between-the-scenes goodness. I have quite a few accrued. If this garners any interest in a dead Phandom (pun intended?) I shall post the extra chapters. :)