Sherman's footsteps were slower than normal, his feet dragging as he trudged toward Peabody's lab. Peabody, typing up his notes from the day's experiments, said nothing as he heard his son approach, instead opting to continue his work as normal. If something was troubling Sherman, he needed the consistency of home to offset whatever was out of balance in his life.
"Hi, Mr. Peabody," Sherman said, his shadow appearing on Peabody's desk.
"Good evening, Sherman. How was school?" Peabody asked, continuing to type up his notes.
"All right, I guess."
Hitting "save", Peabody glanced back at his boy and was unsurprised to find Sherman's eyes on him, his hands clutching his backpack straps. Recognizing the look and the tense stance, Peabody eased himself off the chair and shut down his computer for the evening.
"What did you learn today?" Peabody asked, his vocal quality the same even though his senses were heightened. Perhaps it would be one of those nights.
"Oh, different things." Sherman shrugged, following Peabody out of the lab and into the kitchen.
The noncommittal answer decided it. It was most assuredly one of those nights.
His boy had been troubled lately. Not during his waking hours when he was surrounded by friends and was able to constantly reassure himself that his father was, indeed, there. Sherman handled those hours well. It was at night when his subconscious mind overtook his rational one, awakening the boy, who became uncharacteristically desperate, dismayed, and, occasionally, distraught.
Peabody had learned to sense these nights, coming to recognize a certain downward droop of his boy's shoulders when he came home from school. The way his brown irises would shoot up from his dinner plate unnaturally to glance at Peabody every few minutes as if he were afraid his father might disappear right in front of his eyes. His dialogue shortened and not as enthusiastic as normal. Whenever Peabody noticed his boy acting even the slightest bit odd, he would resign himself to a night of sleeplessness.
After tucking his boy into bed, assuring Sherman that he would see him in the morning, Peabody would make himself comfortable in the library until he heard Sherman cautiously call out for him later that night.
Peabody was quite looking forward to his work this evening: a manuscript on theoretical physics. Time travel changed so many theories in science, and Peabody was the authority on the matter. Physicists from across the globe were writing him and sending him copies of their research and books, which he was glad to give his opinion on. It was to these Peabody tended to gravitate towards when Sherman had a nightmare.
It took less time than was considered normal for Sherman to show signs of distress. Peabody had barely gotten through twenty pages before he heard the tentative, "Mr. Peabody?" echo forlornly down the hall.
Immediately abandoning his work, Peabody jumped from his seat and padded his way to Sherman's room. His boy was sitting up in bed, clutching his blankets so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
"There, there, Sherman," Peabody soothed as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of his son's bed. Sherman's fingers slackened on the blankets momentarily before resuming their grip, even tighter than before. "What was it you were dreaming of?" Peabody asked, modulating his tone to a comforting one.
Sherman mumbled something, his golden brown irises dropping down to examine his comforter.
"What was that?" Peabody asked, not catching Sherman's response even with his heightened hearing.
"Troy," Sherman confessed in a small voice.
Peabody's stomach dropped as he watched his boy glance up at him then back down at the comforter as his fingers worked the blankets into a wrinkled heap in his lap.
"Sherman…" Peabody started, but Sherman seemed to have gained some courage and sighed.
"I know, of course you didn't die, but… We learned about it in class today," Sherman explained quickly. "And I couldn't… All I saw…"
Was Sherman trembling? His concern mounting, Peabody reached forward, running a paw through his boy's hair. That seemed enough of an invitation. Sherman threw his arms around his father, burying his face in Mr. Peabody's white fur. Enfolding his boy in his embrace, Peabody allowed Sherman time to simply be.
Troy was an unpleasant memory for the both of them. Peabody could sometimes hear his boy's cry of "Dad!" in the deep recesses of his mind; something like a memory pressing on his subconscious. He had the distinct impression that this sound echoed in his thoughts moments before sleep overcame him.
Just as the echo of "Dad" bounced around Mr. Peabody's mind when he least expected it, so did a vision of Sherman's face in the boat of Ra. His smile large, his eyes bright, as he reached for his father, confident that Peabody would save him from the "not certain death plunge boat" even though Peabody had been what he might qualify as "terrified." There was also Sherman's face in the Trojan horse, eyebrows drawn and mouth twisted downward, but his honey colored eyes focused on Mr. Peabody, awaiting instructions. That overwhelming trust that positively seeped from Sherman's pores whenever he looked at his father.
Until Troy. When Sherman believed he'd lost Mr. Peabody. And until Miss. Grunyon. When Mr. Peabody believed he would lose Sherman.
His boy's gaze was a trifle more hesitant now, his smile not as wide and his eyes not as bright. Some doubt had creeped into Sherman's mind, making him question if Mr. Peabody could do all he promised. Of course Peabody could, he could, but it wasn't a matter of words or promises. This was a time for action.
Every time Sherman woke from his nightmares, he wondered if Mr. Peabody would be there to comfort him. He was petrified that one of his nightmares might have come to fruition; that Mr. Peabody wasn't coming because he had died in Troy, or Miss. Grunyon had taken Sherman away. And each night his boy needed him, Mr. Peabody was there. As he always would be. He would continue to comfort Sherman until the boy's lingering doubts vanished completely. Until they could get back to that place of utter devotion and unfathomable trust in one another. Mr. Peabody was willing to wait for that to reinstate itself.
Nuzzling Sherman lightly, Mr. Peabody gently disengaged Sherman's grip from around his neck and peered down at his boy. The trust still wasn't quite present. There was too much fear lingering in the depths. Troy was far from a distant memory; for Sherman, it was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
Smiling softly at his boy, Peabody assured, "I'm here, Sherman. It's all right. I'll always be here." Running his paw through Sherman's hair once more, it didn't escape his notice that some of the tension in Sherman's shoulders dissipated, the boy leaning forward to rest against his father's side. Allowing Sherman to chase away additional fears through physical touch, Peabody rubbed small circles in Sherman's back, waiting for his boy to fall asleep once more.
Instead, Sherman whispered, "I am sorry, Mr. Peabody. For everything."
Peabody opened his mouth to assure Sherman he had nothing to be sorry for, when he abruptly closed it again. Peabody believed this, but that did not mean Sherman believed it. He thought he had done something wrong. It probably wasn't concerning Leonardo's flying machine; Sherman had already apologized for that. Perhaps Sherman was apologizing for taking Penny in the WABAC at all and starting the whole mess.
No. It wasn't.
"If being a dog means you're like Mr. Peabody, who never turns his back on you, and who's always there to pick you up when you fall, and loves you no matter how many times you mess up… If that what is means to be a dog, then yeah, I'm a dog, too."
Touching as Sherman's speech was, it focused on Sherman's mistakes. How Peabody continually forgave Sherman for his blunders and saved him from his oversights and miscalculations.
And suddenly, Peabody understood.
"The only mistake Mr. Peabody ever made… was me."
Sherman, deep down, believed that he was the cause of all Peabody's problems. That Peabody's life would be free of any sort of issue if Sherman was not in it.
His poor boy. His beautiful beautiful boy.
Reprimanding himself for not having seen this earlier and for not assuring Sherman of his value, Peabody cleared his throat. "Sherman, I want you to listen to me very carefully." The boy nodded against Peabody's chest, his ear pressed over his father's heart. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me."
Sherman sat up, his eyes colliding with Peabody's. It was not the answer Sherman was expecting, his raised eyebrows said as much, but it had been what his boy needed to hear.
"Really, Mr. Peabody?" Sherman asked.
Peabody smiled. "Of course, Sherman. You are… well, everything, for lack of a better term. I would not trade anything in the world, or in all of history, for a life without you."
And there it was. The smile in the depths of Sherman's eyes that had been lacking since their adventure. How could Peabody not have noticed this before?
"I have a deep regard for you as well," Sherman said, his mouth twisting upward in a mischievous smile.
Peabody nuzzled Sherman, causing the smile to grow, before pulling at the blankets, encouraging his boy to slide beneath them once more. Sherman complied, yawning as his head came in contact with the pillow. Peabody was about to stand and wish his boy a good night when Sherman's hand escaped from the sheets, grabbing ahold of Peabody's paw.
"Would you… stay?" Even with the words spoken and the assurance that Peabody loved him, Sherman still doubted, even in the smallest amount, that Peabody would not somehow abandon him. Rome was not built in a day, and Peabody understood that this trust issue would not disappear within one evening.
"Of course," Peabody conceded, crawling into bed beside Sherman and allowing the boy to snuggle into his fur. Just as he used to as an infant. Peabody smiled again as he settled in for the night, removing his glasses and setting them beside Sherman's.
Releasing another mighty yawn, Sherman fell towards sleep. That's when Peabody heard it, though it was nearly missed with Sherman's face half-obstructed in Peabody's coat.
"Goodnight, Dad."
Still slightly uncomfortable with the name, Peabody found he didn't mind quite so much if Sherman considered him thus. At least, not in the privacy of their own home. In fact, he thought it appropriate.
"Goodnight, son," Peabody whispered, wrapping a protective arm around his boy and allowing himself to fall asleep.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)