As I was posting this, my beta yells, "Your fans did NOT see that coming!" Nope, those of you who follow me probably didn't.

This was a movie I came upon in March of 2017 and it hit me at just the right time to work. It caught me at a bad moment and gave me a lovely story about family and courage and expressions of love. I think I watched it, eh, 5 times in the same 2 weeks? Something like that.

So, to no one's surprise, I have an offering this time as well. This will be a story of 3 chapters dedicated to filling in the gaps and tying up the threads of the movie. I know such has been done before, and probably better, but I still needed to do it for myself anyway. And, I'd like to point out, I've got a particular "fix" that I needed to ensure got made which I hadn't seen elsewhere. Thus, here we go.

Enjoy!

"...And then she said that since I already knew so much about American history, I could do a whole special project on any of the Founding Fathers!"

Sherman's enthusiasm was contagious; Peabody could not restrain the small smile that pulled at his expression.

"Have you chosen your subject yet?" he asked.

"Honestly, I was wondering if Missus Adams counts. I know she's not anybody's 'father' but I don't like how nobody remembers that she was trying to help make our country better, too."

Peabody's smile widened. "I think that is an excellent suggestion, Sherman. While not a signatory on the Declaration of Independence, Abigail Adams was nonetheless a very important figure in our early years as a nation, and among the first to argue for the right of women to vote and own property. I am sure your teacher will be pleased."

Sherman whooped, though that was just as likely to be because of the rather speedy way Peabody took the last turn into the private garage under the Peabody Industries building.

"So, does that mean we can go visit her? She did say we were welcome at any of her dinner parties."

"So she did. We shall certainly visit her, but not today, I'm afraid." Peabody parked the custom-made scooter exactly in its proper place and removed his helmet.

"Oh." Sherman climbed out of the sidecar and hung his own helmet on the hook for it, shouldering his backpack. "Okay."

Peabody knew that tone of voice. Sherman was generally a polite boy and had been taught to be circumspect in his complaining when possible – and especially when not alone in the penthouse with only his father. Sherman's honesty was always welcome in his own home, but Peabody had attempted to instill in his son the good manners to refrain from whining while in public.

That particular "Okay" was more accurately translated from Sherman-speak to "I am surprised and disappointed but I am resigning myself to accept your decision."

Peabody was about to respond when Sherman shuffled ahead of him into their private elevator. "So...does this mean I can never go in the WABAC again?"

Peabody blinked, surprised. He waited until the elevator was in motion on its way to the penthouse before he spoke.

"Sherman, why on earth would you think that?"

Sherman did not even look up. Peabody began to feel even more concerned.

"Because...I broke the space-time continuum. And I made you fly the WABAC out in public, which you said we should never ever do. And I…"

Peabody had heard more than enough.

"Sherman. Stop. And look at me, please." He waited until his son had let out a heavy breath and obeyed. "Is this because we have not used the WABAC since Tuesday?"

"Yes."

"I see. That decision was made for two reasons, Sherman, and two reasons only." Peabody held up a paw. It was awkward for him to count on his front digits as humans did on their fingers, but if he could not have managed something so simple, he could never have learned to type on a human keyboard, either – let alone all that had come after. "First, the WABAC was in desperate need of repair after our adventure, which I am sure you realized."

Sherman nodded, eyes still downcast.

"And second, as this was your first week of school, albeit an interrupted one, I did not wish for you to be overly tired by galavanting across history when you had homework and club meetings and new friends to negotiate. That is all."

Hopeful light began to bloom in Sherman's face. "Really, Mister Peabody?"

"Of course." Peabody set a paw on his son's shoulder. "Have you been worrying all week that I intended to punish you for the events of Tuesday night?"

"A little. I mean, I guess so."

"Hmm. Well, as much as you should have told me your feelings, I can understand your hesitation. In fact…"

The elevator popped open to the penthouse.

Peabody chuckled. "Well, let's just say we have other things to discuss as well. But first, I should like you to get a start on your homework before dinner, and then we shall make a trip in the newly-repaired WABAC."

"Okay, Mister Peabody!" Sherman scampered off to his room.

"Do you think you'll require any help with your studies?" Peabody called after him.

Sherman stopped and turned, flashing a smile at his father.

"The only thing I have left is a little spelling and a worksheet on how to tell time!"

Peabody laughed. "I certainly hope you can tell time by now!"

-==OOO==-

The process of cooking was soothing for Peabody – it was an exercise both analytical, akin to a chemistry experiment, but also artistic in presentation as well as creativity. When working on a particularly complex problem, such as negotiating geopolitical trade agreements, he tended to make elaborate meals fit for dignitaries while he untangled the threads of the issues in his mind; the more complicated the dinner, the deeper his thinking. The only way to tell an intentionally-planned grandiose meal from one of Peabody's mental exercises was by the ingredients he chose. Peabody did not make quails when he needed to think – only to impress.

Accordingly, he pulled out a spread of chicken and rice and a mountain of vegetables and let his paws lead the way in crafting a meal from them while considering, as he had said to the principal on Monday, 'all things Sherman-related.'

Mentally, Peabody reviewed the events of the week. While Thursday and Friday had been relatively calm as Sherman resettled into the world of school, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday had pushed the boy to his absolute limits. It was difficult for Peabody even to anticipate which had been the toughest on his son.

How could one quantify Monday's hurts of bullying, violence, and questioning one's humanity by one's peers? How to comprehend the grief and fear of losing his father, be it at Troy or to the forces Miss Grunion had amassed, and that along with being the pivot around which space-time had spun? And how did these measure up against the almost more impossible task of returning to school, to the world, a world that had now seen the WABAC on the news and had watched history unraveling while one's father hung from a dog-catcher's noose?

And yet Sherman had persevered. He had stood up magnificently against overwhelming odds on Tuesday when space-time and a seemingly unconquerable state agency official had almost destroyed everything. He had woken Wednesday eager to return to school, since Peabody had kept him home on Tuesday until he felt issues with the Peterson girl were resolved; he would be a poor father indeed to send Sherman back into a classroom with his tormentor still willing and able to abuse him.

Sherman, Peabody had always known, was a marvel. The boy seemed to have no limits to his enthusiasm, optimism, and curiosity.

However, Peabody's mind latched onto a line from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Lord Byron: What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?

"She called me a dog."

"You just didn't think I could handle it!"

"I'm the one who made all the mistakes."

"The only mistake Mr. Peabody ever made... was me."

"I've never been there before, so it's probably not as messed up."

And all that before his own unforgivable lapse: "You're just a very bad boy!"

What deep wounds indeed? And these were only the ones Peabody knew lay festering in the heart of his son. What more grew there, poisoning the boy? What other shadows and doubts haunted him?

Peabody was resolved to find out. And, like anything else that threatened the safety and happiness of his boy, he would trounce them.

Perhaps he should have addressed these matters sooner. Perhaps even a few days was too many to wait and these insidious falsehoods had taken root where Peabody might not be able to identify and eliminate them. Perhaps Sherman's mental landscape had already been irreparably changed, altered as the land is furrowed by an unfeeling plow.

But, given the night's work ahead of them, he believed he had made the correct decision.

Surely it would be easier on Sherman if the last threats were handled and then the repair work begun. Tonight would be difficult as well, but once it was done, healing could begin without any future doubt.

Peabody turned off the stove, absently serving up whatever he had created during his musings. It smelled delectable and was, as always, a perfect balance of nutrition.

Nothing less for the son he loved more than anything in any timeline in the world.

"Sherman! Dinner!"

-==OOO==-

"So, where and when are we going tonight, Mister Peabody?" Sherman asked, diving into his usual seat.

Peabody gave an approving nod at the more correct phrasing of the question than Sherman's usual specification of only geography. "We have several brief stops to make throughout time, I'm afraid. While most of the results of Tuesday's incident will resolve themselves, there are a few we cannot leave untouched."

"Like what?"

"Well, I have no doubt that foam fingers will be very hard to reproduce in Ancient Egypt, but we do not want to leave them there to be found in King Tut's tomb by future archaeologists, either."

"Tut, huh?" Sherman's face fell slightly. "Great."

"If it offers you any consolation, I believe he will be as displeased to see you as you are to see him," Peabody said. "Additionally, we must remind our old friend Leonardo not to reproduce the styles of painting he witnessed in our New York City. The Renaissance is simply not ready for pop art."

Sherman blinked, then frowned. "How many different things do we need to clean up, Mister Peabody? There were a lot of people who fell through the space-time rip." He gripped the arms of his seat. "Do we have to go see all of them?"

"No, Sherman." Peabody turned to the WABAC controls. "In the process of testing my repairs, I made several excursions to the past already while you were at school. Only three major interventions remain before we can close the books on Tuesday's events."

"Oh. Okay." Then, "Wait. Three? King Tut and Mister Da Vinci are only two."

Peabody made himself hold still and keep his voice neutral. "Yes. But don't worry about the third just yet. Let's take care of Egypt and Florence first."

"Okay, Mister Peabody."

The simple trust in Sherman's voice, his unquestioning loyalty, would have stolen any further words from Peabody's very throat. He could only give his boy a nod and activate the WABAC.

And hope that this trust would not be misplaced.

-==OOO==-

"Here, Mister Peabody! That's the last bunch!"

Peabody took the handful of foam fingers and the balled-up Lady Liberty costume from the boy and sent the pile into the vacuum tubes. "Good work, Sherman."

Sherman grimaced and ran an arm across his forehead to wipe some of the sweat away.

"Ugh! This is probably my least favorite time we've ever visited."

Peabody gave a thoughtful hum. "And not just because Ay's guards are getting a little too good at spear-throwing in our general direction?"

Sherman shrugged. "I just don't get whatever Penny saw in that guy!"

"Sherman, you must look beyond the styles and fashions of the time. It does you a disservice to be so closed-minded about King Tut's choice of attire."

"It's not that." Sherman threw himself into his seat with a groan. "He's just...didn't you see him? He had girls all over him! Girls way older than him!"

"Hmm. You still sound jealous."

"Yeah, right."

"Well." Peabody took his place and activated the WABAC again. "Perhaps the attraction to power and influence, to say nothing of being regarded as a living god, is not the only reason members of the female gender are so drawn to him. Perhaps it's his pharaohmones."

Sherman blinked. Giggled. Then sighed. "I don't get it. And I don't really care, either."

Peabody chuckled and cast them into the streams of time once more.

-==OOO==-

"Well, at least Leonardo was reasonable," Peabody said. "Though I do not envy him the discussion he must have with Miss Mona Lisa before she becomes the first wildstyle artist in the world. Graffiti is as old as ink, but street murals of this time ought to look a little less…"

"Wild?" Sherman asked.

"Yes, indeed." Peabody pulled a tissue from one of the cabinets and wiped at some of the residual color stuck to his white paws. "Though it seems a shame to make Leo destroy some of those works. At least we got to him before he could begin displaying or distributing them."

Sherman took a tissue of his own to scrub some spray paint off his thumb. "That would really change history, wouldn't it, Mister Peabody?"

"Indeed." Peabody flashed a smirk. "Leonardo da Vinci should know better. He'll just have to leave the prints to Machiavelli."

Sherman laughed and followed his father to their seats. But once he was in place, he frowned. "I don't get it."

"Never mind, Sherman." Peabody piloted the WABAC into the air and in moments they were back in the Peabody Industries tower. "We're not staying," he said before his son could even ask. "We just need a bit of a recharge before we make one last trip tonight."

"Right. You said before that we had three places to go. So, where are we going, Mister Peabody? Uh, I mean when?"

"Good boy." Peabody set the WABAC to charging mode and swiveled his seat to face his son. Sherman's bright, cheerful eyes fell as they saw Peabody's serious expression.

"Sherman, I'm afraid we have to do something neither of us will particularly enjoy. It could even be…" He considered his words carefully. "It could even be troublesome. Not dangerous, for no ill will come of it. I'll see to that. But there could be...temporary discomfort."

"O-kay," Sherman said slowly.

"It would be easier not to do this at all," Peabody said. "It would be easier for both of us to leave this last errand be rather than face it. But, no matter how difficult, we must always make the correct moral and ethical choice. I have tried to teach you this your whole life."

Sherman blinked. "Well. Yeah." He adjusted his glasses. "There was something Miss Angelou said about that...something about doing the right thing…"

Peabody could have filled in the quote himself, but he waited; his son had a strong memory for the precise words given to him by his heroes. After only a few seconds of consideration, Sherman grinned.

"She told me that, 'You don't have to think about doing the right thing. If you're for the right thing, then you do it without thinking.' So...uh...why are we thinking about doing something right, Mister Peabody?"

"Because this is to be a prime lesson in the hardships that can be associated with acting honorably, even against one's best interest." Peabody reached between them and set a paw on Sherman's knee. "I would leave you here and do it myself, but I believe you deserve to be with me. You deserve this proof that I have every faith in what you can handle."

Sherman paled slightly.

Peabody could see the boy making guesses and drawing conclusions in his head; he gave a nod.

"Indeed. We must return to Ancient Greece to retrieve Miss Grunion and bring her back to the present."

Sherman recoiled, actually pushing his chair back and away. "But, Mister Peabody! She'll try and take me away again!"

"The operative word being 'try,' Sherman." Peabody let his son take the space he needed, but he did not break eye-contact. "As dire as our circumstances seemed on Tuesday, the immediate danger was to the space-time continuum, not to myself."

Sherman was shaking his head back and forth, tugging on his fingers with frantic energy.

"Sherman." He pitched his voice low and calm. "At the very worst, the authorities would have attempted to incarcerate me while preparing their judgement against me. I have every confidence that I would win any legal battle that ensued, but, if for some reason I was prevented, I assure you they would not have been able to contain me for long."

Sherman hiccuped, clearly fighting the urge to cry. Peabody's heart thumped in his chest.

"Listen to me. Listen, Sherman." He still did not touch the boy, but he extended both paws in invitation. "Even if all my faith in the governmental systems of the land proved false, there is no kennel or prison that would keep me from getting back to you. As there is none now. No matter what Miss Grunion does upon returning here, she will not nullify your adoption, nor cause any permanent harm to me."

Sherman edged his chair closer again. "She won't?"

"No, Sherman." Peabody continued to hold his paws out. "Though there is a probability she will remove you from my custody temporarily." It took every bit of self-discipline for Peabody not to growl at the threat to his boy, his son. "But, I promise you, it would be temporary. Just long enough for me to prove our case."

"And...and then I can come home?"

Peabody's throat almost closed at the tiny, fearful sound in those words. Sherman had faced executioners and carnivorous dinosaurs and a vicious war-zone without even half as much terror as he showed now.

"And then I will bring you home again. Yes, Sherman."

Sherman put a trembling hand out and Peabody caught it between both of his paws.

"And...we really have to go get her? Even though…"

"Yes. We do. While Agamemnon was employing an entirely typical and even accepted method of, ahem, acquiring a mate for his time, we cannot allow him to keep her against her will. No matter her crimes against us, we must act to ensure her safety."

Though it galled him, it sickened him to let that woman within a thousand years of Sherman again. She had frightened him. She had threatened him. She had hurt him.

And she very likely would do it again.

"She may...Sherman, Miss Grunion is probably very angry with us. With me. She may say things in your hearing that I would never wish you to hear. She will almost certainly continue to demean and insult me. I fear both of our feelings will be rather trampled by the time we return home tonight."

Sherman nodded, misery in every inch of his face.

"But we will do the right thing, Sherman. Together. And no matter what it brings us, we will face it."

Sherman tightened his grip on his father's paws. "Okay, Mister Peabody." He drew in a long, shaky breath. Then he lifted his head and swallowed. "I'm ready."

Peabody almost stared at his boy. Seven and a half years old and already Sherman possessed a courage and poise and fortitude they had only seen in the noblest of figures from world history.

He tugged on the hand he held until he could pull Sherman into a brief hug.

"You are extraordinary, Sherman. Never forget that."

Sherman shivered just once, but then he drew back and managed a half-smile.

"You're pretty fantastic too, Mister Peabody."