"Sherman," Mr. Peabody began slowly, lingering after tucking his son in for the night, "I need to discuss something with you."

The boy turned round brown eyes up to him, a smile pulling at his lips as he sat up and shoved back his blanket. "Sure, Mr. Peabody," he said earnestly. "What is it?"

The canine took a moment to marvel at the fact that on those few occasions he found himself at a loss for words, his dear Sherman was more often than not the catalyst; such as now, when Mr. Peabody found himself hesitating, uncertain how to bring up a subject he would much rather let lie. Sherman was blinking at him, the smile fading around the edges a bit the longer his question hung in the air, and Mr. Peabody could see it when he started to come to his own conclusions, eyebrows lowering and pulling together, arms coming in closer to his center.

Never let it be said his son wasn't as bright as a dying star.

"Oh," Sherman said, and his gaze cut away to trace his fingers instead, where they twisted in his comforter. "That."

"Indeed," Mr. Peabody said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Sherman, you must understand- "

"I'm sorry," the boy interrupted, soft and miserable, and Mr. Peabody drew up short.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For- for- oh, Mr. Peabody, I argued with you and didn't listen, I was bad." Tears were welling up behind the wide lenses of his glasses and he shoved them up to his forehead with the heel of his hand to rub his eyes, breath hitching. "And I broke the- I almost broke the world cause I mess everything up."

"Oh, Sherman," the dog said, heart aching, reaching out to pull his child close to him. "That is most certainly not true. You did act out, but matters being what they were at the time, I can empathize with how overwhelming everything must have seemed. You felt like you were being kept in the dark, kept at arm's length." He tightened his arms around Sherman's thin shoulders as he said this, reaffirming to his son that that had never been the case, and to himself, a little bit, that the day hadn't ended with Sherman being ripped from his arms for good. "Which in turn made you frustrated and scared. Ms. Penny and her fine role of reverse Jiminy Cricket only exacerbated the problem." When Sherman only sniffed without raising his head, Mr. Peabody raised it for him with a paw under his chin. "Are you listening, Sherman?"

"Yes, Mr. Peabody." The boy met his eyes for a quick, daring moment, wiping his face with his sleeve. Mr. Peabody pushed a paw through his hair, slowly drawing out a small sigh as some of the tension went out of the child's little frame. "So you're not mad, or... or disappointed?" The way his voice pitched made it clear which one he considered worse, and Mr. Peabody had to smile.

"Of course I'm not. I've never been anything but proud of you. And that's actually what I meant to discuss." Sherman tilted his head and rubbed his face with his sleeve, and suddenly it was much easier to broach the item than it had been before. "Do you really think you're a mistake?" It was hard for the canine genius to fathom, and he frowned when Sherman dropped his gaze again, somewhat alarmed. "That the future must be a better place simply because you're not there?"

"I've never been there before," he'd said there in the street, surrounded by history's greatest minds, "so it must not be as messed up."

And now it's hours after bedtime and Sherman is warm in bed, in his favorite pajamas, after a bath and a helping of Baked Alaska; safe, but still operating under the illusion that he was anything less than an absolute joy in his father's life. "Well... but it worked."

"Because of science, Sherman, because of equal and opposite reaction, not because you're an- an error. Sherman, please look at me." When he did, Mr. Peabody took his face in both paws. "You are an amazing child; you are, you're curious and kind, you soak up history and world culture like a sponge, and every single person we've met in every single time we've traveled to has absolutely adored you." That drew a shy smile out of him, and Mr. Peabody matched it with one that spoke volumes. "I think that makes you, well- pretty fantastic."

Sherman giggled, finally, and Mr. Peabody's shoulders felt whole pounds lighter."Okay," he said. "If you think so, Mr. Peabody."

"My darling boy," the dog said fondly, because Sherman was that, darling; and, despite the best efforts of social services, (and the police, and the whole of space and time combined) to take him away forever, he was also still Mr. Peabody's. Which was a miracle and a blessing, and certainly too good to be a mistake. "I know so."