Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the characters from Professor Layton or Layton brother's mystery room, the characters each belong to their respective owner and belongs to Level 5 games! I only own the doctor.
Lullaby for Alfendi.
Professor Hershel Layton rushed through the clean yet antiseptic hallways, blindly ignoring the unwelcoming qualities that would be expected from a High Dependancy Ward of the hospital as his heart raced and his world spun like a spinning top.
He was soaked to the bone due to the fact that it was raining heavily outside, even his top hat was dripping wet, and his throat felt as though it was stuffed with several balls of cotton. His heart was pounding a mile a minute and his shoes drummed hard against the cold marble floors of the endless labyrinth full of twists and turns, letting his maternal instinct guide him to his destination.
He had only just received an urgent phone call concerning his adopted son and was now making a mad dash through the sterile hallways of the hospital A&E.
Despite his usually calm composure, Professor Hershel Layton was going out of his mind with worry as fear gripped his mind and made his stomach clench.
The gentleman of archeology kept his legs pumping and his pulse stirred. He had been running all the way through this hospital and every single step felt like a part of the single slowest stride ever in comparison to when a zebra was galloping across the savannahs of Africa.
The Professor's top hat was carefully perched atop his head and his face was etched with naked fear whilst he continued to run as fast as his legs could carry him. Every one of his thoughts of the current whereabouts of where he was supposed to be and what he should have been doing right now had been abruptly stored away like a squirrel humbly storing nuts right before going into hibernation.
All he could think about now was his son, and if he was alright.
Alfendi Layton was an inspector in Scotland Yard and had taken a shot to the heart during a murder investigation. The Professor didn't have much knowledge about the crime itself but he knew that his young adolescent son had been very keen on solving the case alongside his comrades in the yard, last thing he had heard was that Al was following a lead on the case and had uncovered the identity of the culprit and was in hot pursuit of him...
If memory served, the man's name was Keelan Makepeace and he was responsible for the jig-saw killings.
But now he was here...
The Professor barrelled straight into the hospital ward, throwing the doors of a small room open, and his blood became colder than ice when he was quite literally faced with a horrible reality. His soaking wet feet felt as though they had been plunged into a pool of rock-hard cement and his knuckles went white with fear as his hands started to tremble and twitch out of sheer disbelief at the scene that he had been visually assaulted with.
His small dot-like eyes were practically glued to what was in front of him.
Alfendi lay dead to the world on a hospital bed. Tubes and wires were coming out of him, feeding some IV drips into his veins, and he had an oxygen mask strapped to his face (it was a bit hard to stay on because of his big pointy nose) that blasted some extra oxygen into his system. It was hard to see Al under all the wires and hospital equipment but he seemed to have been alive, this was evident due to his chest rising and falling with slow and easy breaths.
The young man was covered up with a crisp white blanket and it was clear he was wearing a simple hospital gown, the sleeves poked out from the top of the blankets as his left arm hung limply out the side of the bed. The only things that could be noticed and identified about his son was that he had chalk-White skin and his long wavy mop of hair was its normal placid state.
The silence that dominated the room was broken by the sounds of the rain hitting harshly against the glass windows.
Professor Layton could never recall a time when he had been rendered to a horrified and speechless state, in his mind a true gentleman was to always maintain a calm and professional attitude when confronted with something that he would find upsetting.
But this was the time where he found that he was stunned speechless.
His son looked terrible, he was laying in a hospital bed while looking like a dead man!
The gentleman professor of archeology hardly noticed the various items surrounding the young man; Alfendi's bed had a few presents and gifts to wish him well that sat on the edge of his bed, not only that but there were some balloons tied to the foot of his bed was well.
Layton found himself darting towards the bed, his footsteps clumsy and wobbly as he almost tripped up, and he quickly hastened to Alfendi's side with his rectangular face marred with distress. He gripped on tight to the railings that stood on either side of the hospital cot and peered into his sleeping son's face.
"Alfendi! Alfendi, my boy, can you hear me!?" He called out desperately, hoping his voice would cause his son to open his eyes and stir.
It did not.
A nearby nurse came to rest her shoulder on Layton's shoulder, looking at him sympathetically but she did give him a questioning glance as though to ask who he was and what his relation was to this comatose patient.
The Professor looked up at the nurse and told her, answering the unvoiced question and narrowing his eyes a bit at her in a way that dared her to argue "I-I'm his father, madam."
The Professor, even in a state such as his current one, didn't lack the curtesy to tip his prized top hat politely at her before he turned back to stare at the 25-year-old Young man in the bed. He could hear the footsteps of the nurse as she exited the room.
He simply couldn't believe it. It hadn't been too long ago since his son was walking around and talking, being as happy as could be, and now he's in this place and in this room which almost made him sick. The Professor hadn't felt this rattled since he had to say goodbye to his lover for the second time and he very rarely revealed that side to anyone, especially to anyone close to him.
The Professor choked as he pulled up a nearby mahogany stool and seated himself down on it.
He knew he had to scrape his sorry self off of the floor and act more composed despite the circumstances and what better way to start then with acceptance and moving forwards?
Grabbing Alfendi's hand into his own, the Professor felt some of his son's body warmth seep through his hand and he never wanted to release his grip again. He had almost lost his boy and he wasn't going to let him go again while he was still breathing...but Alfendi seemed to have been sleeping deeply and he was breathing slowly and deeply, it was something that concerned the Professor and became one of the thoughts that centred at the forefront of his mind.
He supposed he'd have to chat with the doctor about this.
Layton hung his head and felt something wet sliding down his cheek, tightening his hold on Al's hand but being careful not to tamper with the tubes and everything.
"Alfendi..." The Professor spoke in a hushed tone as he massaged the back of his son's limp hand with his thumb "...d-do not fret, my son...I'm here, I am right here and I'm not leaving."
If Alfendi heard his father's vow he didn't show it. He just continued to breathe and sleep without any form of comprehension or the plain of tranquility he had drifted in between. His chest was still rising and falling in a steady pace.
The Professor did not release his hold of Alfendi's hand and he started to think of things he could do until his boy awoke and was thinking deeply on it. He supposed that he would have to wait until he saw the doctor of this clinic to inquire on the lanky young man's condition, but he didn't have to wait long before he turned upon hearing a new voice that sounded somewhat familiar.
"Mr. Layton, was it?"
Coming through the door was a young woman in her mid-thirties dressed in a white doctor's coat. She had her brown hair tied into a messy bun and she wore some very thin glasses that sat wonkily on the bridge of her freckled nose. Her eyes were professional but compassionate too and she seemed to carry herself well. She held a clipboard in her left hand as she entered.
The lady doctor appeared to have been nice enough.
She approached the top-hat-wearing gentleman archeologist with a cool frown on her lips and held her hand out for him to shake, wanting to greet the famous archeologist/puzzle solver in all of England in a polite and civilised manner.
The Professor shook her hand with the free one and nodded at her "Indeed. You must be the doctor in charge of my son, correct?"
The doctor nodded in response and let go of Layton's hand, looking over to the unconscious patient laying in bed. She walked over to the bed in a manner that suggested that she was worried that if she moved too quick that she would shatter the young man as though he were made of glass. She gently reached and pulled back the covers that were concealing a small hole in the deathly still figure's chest that was bleeding profusely.
The woman gently grabbed a nearby piece of gauze and dabbed the wound delicately but firmly to suppress the raw nerves that probably screamed for that little bit of pressure.
Professor Layton watched over anxiously as he started to nervously fidget in his seat. He just couldn't believe that this was happening, he didn't want to believe it! He so desperately hoped that he would open his eyes any second now and wake up and come to the realisation that all of this was some kind of horrid nightmare. Every sensation and part in his body, except for the overwhelming sense of worry, felt numb to him.
The lady doctor cleared her throat, capturing the Professor's attention.
"Alright. Awhile ago we managed to extract the bullet that had been fired and we have been attempting to air out the wound in his chest and it should heal naturally."
Her tone was polite and conversational. She sounded as though she was trying hard not to let the darker side of this case interfere with her behaviour, clearly she was a doctor who had a hard time keeping the reins on her emotions. But her whole demeanour changed within the blink of an eye when she had to deliver the bad news.
"A-Although I'm afraid to tell you that..."
The doctor trailed off and looked away with a pained look in her eyes and she was clearly trying hard to remain professional and keep a clear head although it wasn't working.
It was making Professor Layton's heart stop with ice cold dread and he started to become very nervous. Just what was this doctor trying to tell him?
She eventually managed to spit it out and finished gravely "...y-your son is in a very deep coma, and he may not wake up."
That news was like a serious stab to the heart. Alfendi was probably going to die!? That couldn't have been true. Alfendi just couldn't die!
It took five seconds until all of that maintained calmness had drained from the gentleman's face and his heart started to crumble like dried up mud. Professor Layton didn't cry nor did he express any anger of any sort but he did look as though his whole world had come crashing down like tidal waves of destruction. His arms felt like weights and he felt as though he was being wrapped in snow and his eyes were beginning to show traces of despair.
The doctor sighed but she did look a tad hopeful but she was probably trying to lift the poor puzzle-enthusiast's downcast spirits. She was even performing some examinations on him like pressing her stethoscope to the comatose Alfendi's chest to listen to his heartbeat. She grinned a little when she heard how loud his heart thudded.
"But his vital signs are great all things considered. We'll keep a sharp eye on him."
Professor Layton sighed and didn't say anything. He was feeling a tad better to know that they were giving Al a fighting chance but alas he still couldn't believe that this had happened to his own adopted son, that tiny infant he had found near the docks twenty five years ago...but he knew that he couldn't surrender, he wouldn't dare pull the plug on his boy because he believed in him and he would wait forever if he had to.
If Al was sincerely fighting from within the depths of his subconscious then who was he to deny him a fighting chance?
The Professor smiled just a little bit with his newly-found determination and he looked to the doctor once again "Alright. Thank you doctor,"
The lady doctor smiled back at him and started to walk back out the door with her clipboard in hand. At least there were some who could keep themselves more well-toned even in the face of despair and he seemed to have been polite too; it was rare she saw that sort of willpower in the relatives of a patient.
But she was still keeping to the reality that the patient may not make it.
She closed the door behind her with a soft slam as she exited.
Her presence lingered even after she left.
With the doctor gone, the Professor turned back to Alfendi, realising he still held his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. His pale hand still felt kind of warm all things considered but he noticed that the poor soul had his blanket taken off. Even though he didn't show any conscious signs of being chilly, goosebumps appearing was a good indicator.
Professor Layton shook his head and proceeded to stand up from the stool and lean over Al as gently as possible. He was very careful not to stress the tubes and everything, weaving his arms passed the delicate wiring that was hooked up to the limp being lain in the bed and making sure not to lay a finger on him lest he do something that could inadvertently ruin his chances.
He gripped the edges of the somewhat rough blanket and pulled them to delicately drape the blanket over the skinny young man's chest.
Upon making sure his son wasn't cold and retracting himself from Alfendi's comatose body and returning to his seat, the gentleman professor put a hand atop the unruly mop of purple hair and gently ruffled it in his fingers. He loved the way the tufts of hair tickled his fingertips and brushed against them, even going as far to tickle the palm of his hand.
Professor Layton exhaled through his nostrils and started to ponder on what he could do now. Well, he had heard that it was best to talk to those in a coma and let them know of your presence. He never attempted it before so he might as well give it a go.
He cleared his throat and began to talk in a warm and soft tone of voice "So, Alfendi, why don't I humour you with a puzzle? Would you like one?"
The Professor knew all too well that Al wasn't able to answer, yet it was a good idea to try because it was all he could do to keep himself calm. Who knows? It may even prove to make him feel a bit better, too, and he was willing to try anything to try and bring Alfendi back to the land of the living and he was going to give him his best chance.
The gentleman of archeology took the silence as a "yes" and smiled a little "...Alright."
Professor Layton spent the majority of the day in the hospital. He spoke of several puzzles and even told stories of his past adventures with himself and Luke...with the occasional anecdote to be served alongside, he had stayed for a long while and his voice had dried up like an old prune. It was evident that his voice was raw from talking too much but he didn't really mind.
Minutes slipped into hours and it felt like only a short time before it was time for him to depart from the hospital room and excuse himself for the evening. Nighttime had arrived faster then the Professor had wished but he knew too well that he couldn't stay any longer despite his reluctance to say goodbye.
It gnawed at his instincts but he managed to ignore them.
The atmosphere was quite soft and the room was aglow with this soothing orange that had nicely embraced the hospital room. Al basked in this beautiful light and he looked so peaceful in his slumber, he hadn't moved an inch since his father had arrived but his position was adjusted every couple of hours to prevent him from sustaining horrid bedsores.
His chest still rose and fell in a nice and slow rhythm as he slept away, completely oblivious to everything else around him.
Professor Layton's hat fell over his eyes, shielding the sorrowful look in them when he found himself faltering momentarily. Despite him trying to put on a brave face he was still in a state of shock that Alfendi, his son, was in a coma...his heart was aching and he found it almost impossible to suppress this pain.
Would his son be able to fight and wake up?
Only time would be able to tell...
Nevertheless, the puzzle-loving gentleman tugged at his coat and walked back over to Alfendi's comatose form. He leaned softly down and pressed his hand gingerly against the young man's forehead and he frowned down at him with his eyes becoming misty, a single tear escaped from his eye and trailed down his face. He hardly noticed the droplet cascade down his cheek and watched helplessly as it dripped down on to the pale cheek of the beds occupant.
Holding back a small sob, the Professor closed his eyes regretfully and rubbed the young inspector's forehead with his hand as softly as he could before he leaned a little more and wiped away a stray strand of purple mop. He honestly didn't wish to go but he didn't want to be rude and interrupt the other nurses and the other patients either, it just wouldn't be very becoming of a gentleman.
He would also have to call Luke and see if he could come down, too, now that he thought about it.
Hershel Layton gathered his composure and gingerly murmured something right into his son's ear with the utmost loving care he could put into his voice.
"Goodnight, Alfendi...sleep well."
A/N: Hi, guys. This is a story of what happened when the Professor discovered what happened to Alfendi after he was shot by Keelan Makepeace in the last cases (Btw, spoilers) and how I think our favourite top-hat-wearing gentleman handled his son being in a coma.
This takes place some years before Layton brothers mystery room.
Im so sorry about the serious lack of updates and that I haven't uploaded a PL one-shot in awhile, so I decided to post this one up for you guys.
I hope you guys like it and reviews are very much appreciated.
-Chloemcg