Oh my goodness gracious this chapter took me FOREVER to write! This is some tough subject matter and I wanted to make sure it was done right.
Well, seeing as it's our favorite redhead's birthday, this will be my gift to him. That's right, I've given him a heaping pile of angst! Happy Birthday Sherman! XD (I'll have to forward him a little scientist's chemistry set to make up for this later).
Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone for the wonderful encouragement I've been getting from all my readers! Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews! I don't think I would've had the confidence to post all this writing without you. God bless you all!
Disclaimer: It's a good thing Sherman and Peabody aren't mine. I put them both through way too much angst. ;)
How do you say to your child in the night?
Nothing's all black, but then nothing's all white
How do you say it will all be all right
When you know that it might not be true?
What do you do?
-Children Will Listen, by Steven Sondheim
Peabody knew that something was wrong the moment his son clambered into the sidecar on his moped.
It was the smell he noticed first. There was something unsettlingly off about his son's scent, like oncoming storm clouds on a spring day. That's when he noticed the way the little boy's shoulders were slumped, the way his eyes were fixed foreword, staring off at nothing in particular. He looked almost nothing like the smiling, exuberant child Peabody dropped off just this morning.
Looking the direction Sherman had come from, Peabody was surprised to see a very troubled looking Miss Peterson staring after his son. For a moment, the girl motioned like she wanted to chase after him before deciding against it. He frowned in confusion. He'd thought the two had been getting along rather nicely as of late. Did they have a fight?
This thought and a dozen other scenarios ran through Peabody's mind as he steered the little moped away from the curb and into the bustling city streets.
Silence reigned between the father and son as they drove; something that Peabody found deeply unsettling. Usually around time of day his boy was a bundle of energy eager to tell him anything and everything about his day, what he'd learned, what he'd done with his friends... But Sherman just sat there, completely unresponsive, his eyes following the cars they passed. Peabody drummed his paws awkwardly on the handlebars, not sure quite what to say.
"So..." He started trying to sound casual, "How was school Sherman?"
"Fine," was Sherman's monosyllabic reply.. The boy curled in on the backpack in his lap, resting his chin on the leather straps.
Out of the corner of his eye Peabody shot his boy another concerned look.
"Did you do anything interesting?" he continued trying to wheedle something more out of his son. But Sherman remained as closed off as a clam.
"No."
"Did you do anything uninteresting?"
"No."
Peabody sighed quietly as he kept his eyes on the road. This was not going to be easy.
After a few more moments of unsettling quiet, Peabody finally decided to just skip the pretences. "Miss Peterson looked a bit distressed when I came to pick you up." He began, eyeing the boy in his peripherals.
At the mention of Penny, Sherman flinched and sunk lower into the side car.
"Is everything all right between you two?" He asked in concern.
More silence followed as Sherman bit his lip and fiddled with the straps on his backpack.
"Sherman?" Peabody chanced a full glance at his son as the moped stopped at a red light.
Sherman averted his eyes, trying to look anywhere but at his father. "I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbled, an unspoken pleading in his tone.
Peabody sighed but held his tongue. As much as he desperately wanted to know what was bothering his boy, he knew prying further wouldn't help things. Sherman would tell him in his own time. "Alright," he finally said, revving the engine and steering the moped forward as the light turned green.
The rest of the drive home was made in that same awkward silence. It was a small relief when they finally reached the Penthouse. The minute the elevator doors slid open, Sherman ran past Mr. Peabody towards the back of the house. Peabody didn't really need his hypersensitive hearing to deduce where Sherman was headed. The soft click of the boy's bedroom door just confirmed it.
For a moment, he considered chasing after his son and confronting the problem right here and now, but ultimately decided against it. The genius had to remind himself once again that children were not machines. You couldn't just open them up on demand and see what the problem was. You had to give them time and space.
The dog let out a soft groan as he rubbed at his tense neck. Well this was a complication he certainly hadn't been expecting today. What in earth could've possibly happened to make Sherman so distressed?
Peabody tried hard to redirect the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind as he entered the kitchen. He would find out soon enough for better or for worse. For now, Peabody decided, he would have to make a drastic change in tonight's dinner plans...
*Knock, knock, knock*
Peabody lightly rapped on Sherman's door, frowning in concern. His son had been in his room a few hours now and still showed no signs of emerging. Needless to say it was beginning to alarm him.
"Sherman," he called as cheerfully as he could. "It's time for dinner!" He waited a moment for a response, but none came. The dog's concern mounted further.
"We're having your favorite, peanut butter and banana sandwiches!" He tried again. Normally Peabody wouldn't have been caught dead making something so... plebeian for dinner but he'd hoped it might coax his boy out of his self-inflicted isolation.
Finally, a timid voice answered from behind the door. "M'not hungry..."
Peabody frown deepened. He knew Sherman needed his space, but this was getting to be a bit much.
"Sherman," he started, knocking on the door once more. "May I please come in?" Again, only silence met his ears. The genius sighed in exasperation. Evidently, it was time to change tactics. "Sherman, I'm coming in," the beagle called, not even bothering to wait for a response as he opened the door.
The room was dark and it took a moment for Peabody's eyes to adjust as he entered. However there was a dim light coming from the upper ledge of Sherman's bunk bed. Peabody looked up to see that the boy had thrown a sheet over one of the hanging wires on his model rocket, effectively covering the ledge and creating a makeshift fort to hide in. From behind the sheet Peabody could see the child's silhouette illuminated by what he assumed was a flashlight.
"Oh dear..." The genius sighed quietly to himself as he took in the sight. This must be bad. Sherman hadn't done anything like this since he was five years old. Although he did take a small moment to admire the way Sherman had used a perfect taut line hitch to tie the wire to the sheet. The boy had been shown by Theodore Roosevelt himself when they'd taken the WABAC to the early 1900s, accompanying the great man on one of his many African expeditions.
Reaching the nearby latter, Peabody climbed to the upper edges of the bunk. Drawing back the curtain, he saw Sherman curled up on a large cushion, his chin tucked under his knees as he stared at a bit of paper in his hand. The child's brown eyes looked distant, like Sherman was a thousand miles away.
Peabody cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Oh!" The boy jumped in surprise and, in an instant the piece of paper was gone, shoved hastily underneath the cushion. "H-hi Mr. Peabody," he fumbled, wiping at his blotchy face.
The stench of sadness was rolling off Sherman in waves, shrouding the boy's usual scent in its choking grasp. Peabody's parental instinct immediately welled up inside him, wanting to find what was causing his son so much hurt and chase it away. But, of course, he needed to know the problem first. "Would you mind if I joined you?" He asked cautiously.
"Uh... Ok I guess..." Sherman nodded, sniffling quietly. The seven year old was trying hard to hide his raw, red-rimmed eyes.
Peabody's heart ached, as he stepped off the ladder and pulled up another cushion, sitting down next to his son. More silence stretched between them, neither really knowing what to say.
Unfortunately, dealing with the emotional had never been Peabody's strong suit. It frustrated and mystified the genius to no end. Give him a broken computer it would be fixed and running even smoother than before in no time. Ask him to build a rocket and he would have it flying in a week. But when it came to Sherman, Peabody sometimes felt little more prepared than a blind man trying to walk a tight rope.
A million questions flew through Peabody's mind but they all seemed to die in his throat. Finally, he chose to awkwardly pick up the hanging sheet, inspecting his son's handiwork. "Ahem... This is a rather nice structure you've build here," he held up the piece of the sheet for emphasis.
When Sherman didn't respond, the dog prattled on, allowing himself to fall into his usual, detached, academic persona.
"I find it reminiscent of the tee pees we saw when we visited the nomadic Indians of the Great Plains in 1830. Remember that? Brilliant inventions really. They were made of animal skin, which remains dry during heavy rain and provides warmth and comfort in the winter…" he rambled. "Of course, during the summer the nomads slept under the stars. I suppose you could say the heat was too in-tents for them." The pun was clever but ultimately ineffective. Sherman hadn't even looked up let alone laughed.
He sighed deeply, taking off his spectacles and rubbing his snout wearily. "Sherman, please don't make me do all the talking here. Would you tell me what's been bothering you so we can get to the bottom of this?"
Sherman looked up and opened his mouth to tell his father that he was fine, but Peabody beat him to it.
"And don't you attempt to tell me nothing's wrong," the dog warned "I can smell it on you!"
Knowing full well not to contend with the beagle's superior sniffer, the redhead bit his lip and looked back down at his hands.
Peabody's eyes softened as he placed a reassuring paw on his son's shoulder. "Sherman please," he pleaded, "you know you can tell me anything."
The boy waited a moment longer, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. Then, he looked up to meet Peabody's gaze.
"Do you..." Sherman started, faltering slightly midsentence before steeling his nerve and plowing foreword: "DoyouknowanythingaboutwhereIcamefrom?"
Peabody blinked, surprised at the sudden assault of words. "Come again?"
Sherman hugged his knees to his chest, taking a deep breath as he spoke again, this time much slower. "Do you know anything about where I came from? I mean what my... Um... Who my..." He trailed off, feeling far too guilty to finish the thought. He didn't need to. Peabody had already pieced together what his son had been trying to say: "Do you who my real family is?"
For a moment, the beagle sat in silence, his brain struggling to process through the shock. He'd gone over a thousand different scenarios in his mind but he certainly hadn't been expecting this.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Since the day Mr. Peabody had vowed to adopt Sherman he'd done extensive research on the mindset of adoptive children, reading every text book and psychological study he could find. Ever the perfectionist, Peabody had sought to be as prepared as possible. In the back of his mind, the genius' eidetic memory recalled a particular passage he'd read so many years ago:
"…An issue that surfaces repeatedly in an adoptee's life is that of identity. The development of an identity is a crucial building block for self-esteem, and an adoptee's struggle to achieve a coherent story is often a daunting task. The sense of continuity, of a past and present that is necessary for identity formation..."
It was only a matter of time until Sherman asked these questions and the beagle had sworn to himself that he would be ready, that he would know exactly what to say when the time came.
Unfortunately, all the books, case studies, and databases had failed to mention the painful surge of emotion that was currently overwhelming his sense of logic and reason. His mind began to brim with poisonous self-doubt. Was Sherman unhappy with him? Had he not been a good enough father? Had he failed his child in some way?
No! There would be none of that! Peabody beat back the toxic thoughts, chastising himself for almost falling into the same mental trap as most adoptive parents. Sherman's inquiries were not a reflection on his parenting skills. It was only natural for the boy to want to know more about his… biological family, to understand his heritage.
Now if only Peabody could make his heart believe his mind's rationale.
Peabody hadn't realized how long he's been trapped in his own mind until he noticed that Sherman was talking to him, furiously swiping at his moist eyes as he rambled.
"…so sorry Mr. Peabody! I shouldn't have said anything!" he said, taking his father's long, shocked silence as a negative sign. "It's just that… that Penny says it's stupid but I think it isn't! But maybe she's right. Maybe it is just a bunch of stupid names on a chart. I don't know. And all the others were talking about their grandmas and grandpas and… and…" His voice was escalating into hysterics as he prattled on, venting all of the emotions that had been building inside him the whole day.
Peabody clutched the boy tightly by the arms, his green eyes staring into Sherman's brown. "Sherman! Sherman, please calm down!" he coaxed, trying to stop his son before he had a full-on panic attack. "I need you to take deep breaths. Can you do that for me? In and out."
Sherman nodded mutely, taking a few gulps of air, body trembling as he exhaled.
"That's it." the dog soothed, wiping a few stray tears from the boy's cheek. "I'm not angry with you Sherman, I promise. Now why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what this is all about alright?"
Sherman didn't need to be asked twice. In an instant he was telling his father all about the family tree assignment, how he'd realized he couldn't do it, how excited the other children were, and the hurtful things Penny had said to him. The seven year old talked until his voice grew hoarse, clutching his father like a lifeline in a raging storm. Peabody just listened, holding Sherman securely in his arms. He was starting to get a better idea as to how all of this came about.
"And she said it didn't matter anyway because it's just a stupid assignment. But it doesn't feel stupid to me. You always said knowing your history is super important and that we're lost without it." Sherman finished, hiccupping slightly. "Am I lost Mr. Peabody?" His eyes were wide and questioning, fearful of his father's answer.
"What! Of course not!" exclaimed Peabody, wincing at the context his words were being used in.
"Sherman," he started, trying to find the right way to put this. "I've always told you that it's important to have a working knowledge of history so that you might have an appreciation for our many expeditions in the WABAC. After all, history is a fascinating subject. It teaches us and informs our decision making. However, it is not the end all and be all. "
Peabody lifted the boy's chin to meet his eyes, saying earnestly, "The past is fascinating, yes, but it does not ultimately define a person's identity. Sherman, it's our actions that define us; the way we treat others and how we choose to live our lives." He smiled sadly. "Think about it. If I'd allowed my past to define me I would've lived my whole life within the confines of an animal shelter."
Sherman sat in stunned silence as he internalized his father's words. "So…" He started slowly, brow furrowed as he tried to piece together Peabody's advice. "Who I am is what I do… not where I come from?"
The beagle smiled ruffling his son's red hair, "Precisely!"
At the genius' praise a small smile came back to Sherman's face. But it vanished at his next thought. "So is it stupid if I still want to know where I came from. Who my r-" but Sherman stopped. He just couldn't say "real family." It would feel like too large a betrayal to the dog that raised him.
Peabody sighed as he tried to chase away the irrational jealously flaring up inside him. It was ridiculous after all. Why did he feel the need to compete for his child's affection with this unknown family he'd never even set eyes on? "Firstly," he started. "I believe we've agreed that "stupid" is not an acceptable adjective with which to refer to ourselves or others."
Sherman blushed sheepishly at the chastisement.
"Secondly," he continued, his tone softening. "You shouldn't be ashamed for having these feelings. It is only natural at this stage in your life for you to wonder about your birth family. I only wish there was more information to give you…" Peabody faltered, dreading what he had to say next. "The truth is Sherman, I know next to nothing about where you came from.
Sherman stared at his father in shock. Never once had he ever heard Mr. Peabody say he didn't know something. He hadn't even thought the words were in his father's vocabulary.
"Now those first few years after I found you I tried many times to find to trace your biological parents," Peabody continued, "in order to find out more about your genetic history and any medical information that could present a problem later on. But well... You see..." The dog fumbled for a proper explanation, all too aware of his son's unwavering gaze. The boy was hanging in his every word.
"You must understand. When I found you that night there was nothing but a small slip of paper with your name on it to identify you. There was no birth certificate, no last name, nothing. The doctors weren't even sure how old you were when I brought you in. Their best guess was three months. There was absolutely no way to track down whoever had left you there." He looked towards Sherman cautiously for a response. Hoping he'd done the right thing being so honest with the boy.
But Sherman just sat there quietly as the full impact of the words washed over him. "I... I just don't understand why she would just leave me there." He finally choked out the questions that had been haunting his mind for so long. "Didn't... Didn't she want me?"
The question was so real, so raw that it ripped a hole through Peabody's heart. The beagle wasted no time in tugging the boy into a tight embrace. He wracked his brain for anything to he could say, but what could he possibly say? There was no quick fix for this sort of problem, no easy answer.
"Oh Sherman..." He sighed. "I'm sure your mother wanted you very much. But sometimes..." He faltered once more. "Sometimes there are things that are just beyond our control. Sometimes, we have to make certain choices..." He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Sherman's face "...for the people we love most."
Sherman subconsciously leaned into the touch as he listened, comforted by his father's presence.
"I'm not saying it was right for her to leave you there, because it certainly wasn't" Peabody clarified quickly.
He then paused for a moment, taking time to consider his next words. "Truthfully Sherman, I can't explain her mindset. I'd like to believe she honestly thought she was doing what was best for you, but I can never be sure. I can tell you this though.
He looked right into his son's eyes, speaking each word with firm resolve. "The day I found you was the happiest day of my life. The moment I looked into that box and saw you I wanted you, Sherman! And I will never stop wanting you! No matter where you go, what you do, or how old you get! Do you understand?"
Sherman sniffled quietly, the smile slowly coming back to his face. "Y-yeah. I think so." The boy hugged his father as tightly as he could, burying his tearstained face into the white fur. "I love you Mr. Peabody," he whispered.
"I love you too Sherman."
The two stayed like that for some time, Sherman refusing to budge from the dog's arms. Mr. Peabody didn't even mind that his tail was beginning to fall asleep. He was willing to stay there as long as he son needed him.
However, the loud rumble of Sherman's stomach seemed to have other plans.
Peabody raised an eyebrow, "Not hungry eh?" he teased lightly. "Your gastronomic reflux seems to have a different idea."
Sherman blushed as he finally let go of the beagle. "Yeah," he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "I may have sorta skipped lunch too so… um… Could I still have one of those peanut butter and banana sandwiches you made?" The boy's blush deepened as his stomach let out another gurgle.
Peabody smiled, relieved to see his son start to come back to his usual temperament, "of course." He then started back down the ladder, beckoning Sherman to follow. "Come on then lets go see if dinner hasn't gone stale."
The rest of the evening went by rather well, all things considered. Sherman had definitely appreciated that Peabody had made his favorite meal, happily scarfing down as much as his small stomach could hold. He'd even had the good grace not to laugh at his father outright when a bit of peanut butter got stuck at the top of the dog's mouth. However he'd been unable to hide the amused smirk on his face. Secretly, Peabody suspected that this was the real reason the boy liked to have this meal so often. Oh well, if it made his son feel better…
Still, Peabody knew better than to think Sherman was completely back to normal. It was barely noticeable, but after watching his boy's mannerisms for seven years, Mr. Peabody knew immediately when something was off. The boy's smile was just a little too wide, his laugh too forced. There was still a distant look in his eye when he though his father wasn't paying attention. Obviously this was going to be a problem that persisted for some time. He only hoped Sherman would come to him next time instead of bottling it up like today.
Their nightly routine progressed as usual, and soon Peabody was tucking Sherman into bed.
"Good night Sherman," he said, shocking the boy as the normally reserved father nuzzled him affectionately. Now more than ever he needed Sherman to know that he was loved and wanted. "I love you."
Sherman gave him a quick hug back, "I have a deep regard for you as well Mr. Peabody."
Peabody chuckled as he turned towards the bedroom door. Things would be better eventually. He just had to give it time…
Hours, after Peabody had long since gone to sleep Sherman was still wide awake. He groaned quietly as he stared up at his hanging model solar system, his eyes following a blurry Mars as it swung around the earth. Why was this still bothering him so much?
In his mind he kept replaying the conversation he'd had with Mr. Peabody, the words of his father echoing in his ears.
"…nothing but a small slip of paper with your name on it…"
"…no birth certificate, no last name, nothing…"
"…weren't even sure how old you were…"
"…absolutely no way to track down whoever had left you there…"
"…"The truth is Sherman, I know next to nothing about where you came from."
If Mr. Peabody, the smartest being on the face of the earth, couldn't find out where he came from, who could?
Finally giving up the illusion of sleep, Sherman reached over by his bedside table to pick up his glasses. Putting them back on his face, the boy crept out of bed and climbed the ladder to the top bunk. Carefully, he lifted the large cushion, pulling out the slip of paper he'd tried so hard to hide from his father before. Clutching the paper to his chest, Sherman climbed to the floor and sat at the foot of his bed.
As he smoothed the paper's many creases, a crudely drawn face smiled up at him. Once, when he was six, Sherman decided to try and drawn what his mother might look like. Well, needless to say he'd drawn her to look lot like himself. Her hair, bright red like his, reached down to her shoulders. Her brown eyes were framed behind large, round glasses. He'd drawn her along a sea shore, wearing a bright blue dress and waving as if she was waiting for him to join her. Yeah it didn't look anything like one of Mr. Da Vinci's works, but Sherman had been proud of it all the same. Not that anyone besides himself had seen it. He'd felt too guilty to show it to Mr. Peabody. Instead He'd hidden it, finding himself unable to throw it away.
He knew he wasn't being fair. Mr. Peabody had raised him since he was a baby. Why should this woman matter so much to him when he'd never even met her or even seen her?
Maybe it was because, in some strange way, he did see her everywhere. He saw her every time he looked in the mirror, every time he noticed a subtle difference between him and his adoptive father. She was like a ghost, present but invisible throughout his life.
Secretly he'd always wondered what she was like. Was she klutzy and excitable too? Did she have a sweet tooth like him? Was she smart like Mr. Peabody? What similarities did they share? Where did she start and his own personality begin?
Did she think about him as much as he thought about her?
Sherman sighed, flopping down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling in frustration.
Sometimes it felt like there was this weird part of himself he could feel, but could never understand. It was like looking at the world without his glasses on, blurry but still there, still vibrant. He couldn't explain the longing he felt, the need to understand, but he couldn't deny it either.
She was the key. Sherman had decided long ago that his mother, wherever she was, must have all the answers to the unspoken questions in his heart.
The child held up the pictured to his face, glaring at the face that smiled back at him innocently. If she could never be found, what good was it to wonder?
He needed to face the facts. All those answers had vanished forever when she'd left him. They had been washed away by the rain, all those years ago…
Wait a minute! Years…
The idea was so visceral, so obvious, that it caused Sherman to jolt out of the bed in shock. Of course! It was so simple! So totally and completely against the rules, but obvious all the same.
Running to his desk and throwing open one of the top draws, Sherman drew out a pencil. With trembling hands, he wrote the exact year and place Peabody had found him all those years ago on the picture of his mother.
When he'd finished the full impact of what he planned to do hit him, nearly knocking the air from his lungs as his breath hitched with anticipation.
Mr. Peabody might not have been able to find his mother, but maybe he could…
And now I leave you to your feels, in whatever state they may be in.
I hope I have done a good enough job capturing both Peabody and Sherman's thought process throughout this story. After all, questions about one's biological family are incredibly common among adopted children and can cause some serious real-life identity problems. Just reading some of this stuff online makes me feel grossly underqualified to be writing this kind of a story. Still, I feel it's an important one to tell given the mysterious nature of Sherman's past.
As always thank you for reading and please feel free to read and review. Also, wish Sherman a happy birthday! Let's see, the show first aired in 1959, so he's like 55 now… O.o