He doubted anyone would believe him, but Clockwork did not, in fact, plan for this. If anything, he'd expected to never see this version of Danny Fenton again after he'd reset the timeline that first time. Yet, here he was, napping on Clockwork's couch. His couch which, incidentally, Clockwork had only acquired because otherwise Danny would nap on bookshelves, gears, time-screens, and, harrowingly, pendulums.
Actually Clockwork had wound up with a lot of human things that he never used but Danny did. Maybe, with all the time Danny spent sleeping here, Clockwork should invest in a bed.
But, regardless, Danny was here, unpredictable, asleep, and about to miss his curfew if he didn't start home in the next five minutes. Clockwork wasn't going to rewind or slow time for something like this. Even if he was researching healthy, shelf-stable snacks for human teenagers, so he could keep a few on hand.
He shook Danny's shoulder slightly. "Danny," he said, "you need to wake up. You'll be late."
Danny groaned. "Just five more minutes, Dad."
Clockwork, who had been about to say, no, he couldn't have five more minutes, froze. Intellectually, he knew that Danny didn't mean to call him 'Dad's at all, that this couldn't even be classified as a Freudian slip, considering his sleeping state.
However… no one had ever called him Dad before. Not even by mistake.
He stepped away, adjusting the controls on his staff. Maybe, just this once, he could give Danny those five more minutes.
