A/N: Hey guys. Welcome back to Life Without You.

Other Notes: My DeviantArt now has fanart if you want to look at it. This is for this story and for my other fanfiction 'Mother's Day'.

They always know who cares about them... Who their real families are...

Was it at all possible that this may have applied to Sherman as well? That he remembered Peabody as much as Peabody remembered him?

Maybe he did, but this lead to a new problem, one that left Peabody with a new and much more intense anxiety that no amount of vodka could get rid of.

Which Peabody would Sherman remember?

Sherman sighed in relief and was about to walk out of the alley when someone grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the darkened area. A hand was clapped over his mouth a few seconds later. Who ever this person was, he was a lot stronger than the little boy who try if he may, could not get away.

"Leaving already?" The voice croaked, gripping his small wrist a little tighter and beginning to drag him. "Why don't you stop and stay a while...?"

Sherman gasped and kicked at the figure behind him in fright. He didn't know who was behind him, but he did know that whoever it was, they sounded strangely familiar. He didn't know if he should be relieved by this, or terrified. Relieved because he remembered someone who wasn't the Peterson's or terrified because he couldn't put a face to a voice. Kicking once more like crazy, he attempted to full himself free, or at least turn himself around enough that he could see the person's face. The second happened, and he turned to find the face of- No one...

"W-what the?" He gasped, turning around several times and looking around, just in time to hear the voice of Patty Peterson break through the still air.

"Sherman!" She called, looking around the side-walk before quickly going on her way like before.

All the blood in the red-head's body ran cold as he watched her walk away, realizing that their paths had nearly crossed, and if they had then he would have been dragged back to that home with her. Frowning, he quickly recovered enough of his wits to look back behind him for the figure that had held him back before he had walked off. Once more, he found no one except empty boxes and rats from the alley. A small smirked pulled at the sides of his lips as he stayed facing that direction for just a few seconds more.

"I don't know who you are yet... But thank you." He whispered in a calm voice as he quickly scurried out of the alley once more and made a b-line for across the street, ducking in and out of another walking crowd before taking cover in yet another space between buildings.

Once he was safely tucked away, he peered out of his new hiding place and searched for the Peterson's. Both were out of sight and there-for out of mind. The figure from before however, was not, and Sherman found himself looking back across the street at the alley for a hopeful sign of it. None was found of course, and he inhaled deeply and took a few steps back, further submerging himself into the darkness where he felt safe.

"That was close... But what do I do now...?" He wondered outloud as he plopped himself down into the driest part of the cement and bringing his knees up to his chest.

Escaping from that house had been his first goal, and his only goal up until now. He had no other plans now, though he would soon need some as he couldn't stay in this alley forever. He also couldn't keep wondering off into his dreams as he so often did. That funny dog in his time machine was not coming back for him, and that final dream had been proof of that. Huffing, he shut his eyes up tightly and tried his hardest to think of what to do next, a plan to get him out of where he was now and route to follow shortly after. His ideas all ran stale though, and were usually shot down by him before they even had a chance to form. Sighing sadly, his eyes flashed opened and he dramatically tossed himself onto his side, only to be alarmed suddenly by the sound of crushing paper beneath his head.

"What-" He sat up quickly and looked down at the paper beneath him.

It was a newspaper, with a simple headline, composed of two simple words and below it, a less than simple picture. A white dog, not quite the same dog that Sherman had often dreamt of, but a white dog by any other name. He didn't wear a red bow-tie, nor did he dawn any spects. No, this was a plain and simple dog. What made him not so simple were his eyes however, which were wide like a humans and designed just the same, dawning an unnatural color to them as well. Thats what made the dog stand out and those two simple words just seemed to make him pop. Sherman's eyes suddenly drew from the dog and back to them, re-reading them until his eyes blurred from a lack of blinking.

"Thats what I'll do... I have to! Its my only chance." Sherman announced, tearing the headline free from its page and tucking it into his pocket.

With a new found strength, he got to his feet and faced the opening of the alley with a sort of determination in his eyes, and with a final huff the boy took off running. He didn't know where he was going, but he did know one thing. He finally had a goal in mind and it was a plain and simple one, simply spelled out in just two short words.

Find Him.