Everything went by in a blur, and Sherman was having trouble making sense of anything.

Penny returned to Sherman's side only a few moments later, looking rather bored. She hadn't found anyone interesting at all. All of those people may have had amazing stories to tell, just not amazing to a seven year old girl with a growing appeal of danger.

Penny took no mind to Sherman's tense stance. He always got like that whenever Penny wanted to do something fun, such as in Florence with the plane. She was about to speak, ask if he had found a name worth searching, when she saw the expression on her friend's face. She watched him in confusion, and she was going to ask what was wrong, when she followed his eyes and saw what was making him act so strangely.

She gasped, and stood there for a second before turning around and almost running back the way she came. Sherman didn't look after her, eyes glued to the slab of stone. The words drawn into it were engraved into his mind, though running through it was the memory of a Trojan Horse.

Soon, Sherman could hear voices. They were faint at first, but it took even less time than it took to first hear them than for two figures to appear beside him.

"This one." Penny said, pointing to the grave with clear concern. She looked up at the person she lead, an old man who looked much nicer than would be expected from a groundskeeper. The man inspected the gravestone for a brief moment, then nodded.

"Ah, I remember him," The man said, voice solemn. "He was returned home from Egypt in 1959. A peculiar case, that one. The doctor that examined him said he had been poisoned."

Penny looked back to Sherman, who still looked like he didn't know how to respond, and he didn't. His father was dead, but he was still alive. Sherman had been with him less than an hour before, but his gravestone was right in front of him. It didn't make any sense. It was something they both had a hard time believing. Him having a grave would mean that he had died, and Mr. Peabody couldn't die. Hector Peabody. November 19, 1959.

Beloved father.

Penny's frown deepened. She glanced back up at the groundskeeper and thanked him. He nodded and began walking away, returning to whatever he had been doing before hand. Penny took a few steps towards Sherman, who had yet to move. Penny hesitated for a moment before she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to find some way to comfort him. After a few seconds, she spoke. "Do you want me to walk home with you?"

Sherman took a while to respond, then he nodded.

He didn't want to be alone.

The walk back to the penthouse was silent. Penny walked beside Sherman, keeping to his slower pace. It was taking much longer to return home than it had to leave, and the entire time Sherman was dreading what he would find when he entered the building.

He stared at his shoes as he walked, not even bothering to stop and tie them once they fell undone. The graveyard left him fearful that when he got home he would find his father on the floor, or that he wouldn't be there waiting for him. Sherman had already once thought that Peabody had died, and he had been wrong that time, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen. That didn't mean it wasn't a possibility.

That thought hit him full force as soon as he read the gravestone, and wouldn't leave him alone. His mind was jumbled and that left him unsure of how he was supposed to respond. Peabody died, but he was still alive. He was so confused.

Penny stopped walking, and Sherman followed her lead, looking up to see the entrance to the apartment building. He glanced over to Penny, who was still watching him with sympathy. Even in the state he was in, he didn't forget his manners. "Thank you."

Penny smiled lightly, though she seemed to have trouble keeping it up. She turned around and began walking to her own home. She suddenly felt the need to hug her parents.

Sherman walked into the building, and tried to wave to each of his neighbors that greeted him, in an attempt to make things seem normal, and make him feel better. It wasn't working. Sherman walked into the unoccupied elevator, stepping on the tips of his toes to reach the top button. The doors closed, and the lift began to rise.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he could do. His father was going to die. He couldn't tell Peabody about it. Peabody would most likely dismiss the idea completely, and lightly scold his son for trying to give away future events concerning them. Sherman didn't know what to do.

The elevator gave a small beep to indicate that he had reached the top floor, and the doors slid open, revealing his living room interior. There was no movement. Sherman stayed standing in the middle of the lift, uncertain. It was almost a full minute before Sherman took a single step inside the room.

"Sherman." Peabody's voice came from the kitchen in a greeting, and made Sherman freeze. After a few seconds, he took a few more steps and peaked around the corner, not finding anything out of place. He slowly walked into the kitchen, seeing Peabody standing on a stool, wearing his white apron and flipping okra in a frying pan.

It was a normal setting, and it should have helped the little boy calm down, but it didn't. It made him feel worse. It showed him everything he could lose. He felt himself tearing up.

"How was your time at the library?" Peabody asked, beginning to stir a pot on the stove.

Sherman looked down at the floor, not wanting to look at his father. He walked over to the table and climbed up onto a chair, his feet dangling of the edge, though he felt he didn't have the strength to kick them. Sherman felt guilty, as if he lied to his father, even though he himself hadn't known where he was actually going. Sherman's voice was small and quiet. "We didn't go to the library."

Peabody paused mid-stir, and looked to his son disapprovingly. "Sherman, you need to tell me where you're going to be. What would happen if you needed me, and I didn't know where you were?"

Sherman remained tense, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He still kept his head down. "I thought we were going to the library."

Peabody raised an eyebrow at the tone Sherman used. He crossed his arms, not in anger, but still in a negative way, as if he was getting ready to scold his Sherman for doing something wrong. "Where did you go?"

Sherman didn't reply. His eyesight was blurry. Sherman wiped his eyes to keep tears from showing, but Peabody saw, and his eyes widened considerably.

"Sherman?" Peabody asked in concern. He completely forgot the cooking food and dropped down from the stool. He walked over to where his son was sitting. "Sherman, what's wrong?"

Sherman didn't reply. The memory of Troy seeped into his thoughts, and he could only think about how he was almost all alone. Peabody had disappeared, Ms. Grunion was going to take him away, and he was all alone. If Peabody died, not only would his father vanish from his life, he would be taken away again. His vision was growing blurry again.

Peabody went to stroke his son's hair in an attempt to calm him down, but Sherman recoiled from the touch. As soon as he did, Sherman stole a glance at his father and saw a shocked and slightly hurt expression on his face, and Sherman immediately regretted pulling away. He opened his mouth to apologize, but found the words stuck in his throat. Sherman slid off of his seat, taking slow steps towards the hallway. He didn't look up from the floor boards. "I'm gonna go to bed, Mr. Peabody."

Peabody's expression remained concerned, but his eyebrows knit in confusion. "You haven't had dinner yet."

Sherman didn't stop, as if he was running on autopilot. "I'm not hungry."

Peabody went to say something else, but his will to do so faded rather quickly. "Alright."

The pot on the stove was beginning to audibly boil, and the okra was sizzling, but Peabody didn't care. He felt as he had before, when Sherman went out alone. For the second time that day, Sherman left without him.

It wasn't alright in the slightest. Peabody was worried. Whatever had happened to Sherman while he was gone clearly upset the boy, and Sherman wouldn't tell him what was causing him distress. Sherman had never kept anything from him before. At least, not for very long. Even when Sherman did something in secret, he would always end up telling Peabody what happened and why. Sherman never actively avoided him like that before.

They had argued before, in the WABAC, when Peabody had kept a secret from him. He had kept a secret from Sherman, outright lied to him about Ms. Grunion. Sherman had been nothing but honest. Peabody mentally scolded himself.

Sherman had run away, then.

Peabody frowned. It was irrational. Peabody knew better than anyone that it was irrational to fear something that was never going to happen. Sherman was only seven. He still needed him. He wasn't going to be taken away. He wasn't going to leave. Even if Sherman grew older and spent more time with his friends and went out of the house more often, that didn't mean that he wouldn't want to be with him anymore.

Sherman wouldn't let his father touch him.

Peabody called out quietly. "Goodnight."

He didn't receive a reply.