The atmosphere aboard the Bostonius was tense. The silence was almost suffocating. He had escaped from the Azran sanctuary, but now...
"It's all over," Descole sighed. "All these years of toil… Where am I to go from here?" He stared out the window at the mountains approaching, at the landscape rushing by far below, as he broke the silence with a question, not expecting an answer. What answer was there to give? He had dedicated his life to revenge, and now he had no reason to carry on. However, Raymond surprised him yet again, with an answer to the seemingly unanswerable question.
"You will find a new purpose, Master. The world is your oyster, and old Raymond, your constant companion." The faithful servant didn't even glance sideways at his master as he continued to pilot the aeroplane. He didn't need to.
"You're right," Descole admitted. He lifted his mask from where it sat and contemplated for a moment before returning it to his face. "Let's go, Raymond. A new adventure awaits." He had survived the impossible, and he would be damned if he would wait around to die just because he lost his purpose.
=^w^=
Easier said than done. The infamous masked scientist was slumped over on the Bostonius's extremely comfortable couch, unable to even summon the motivation to move. His mask had fallen to the floor, his hat was askew, and his cape had entangled him and would probably be dreadfully wrinkled. He stared blankly at nothing in particular, wondering why he should even care.
For the first few days, he had tried. He had searched for something, some activity or another, any way to spend his time. But nothing called to him. Even Raymond's best suggestions had no success.
Build something. Like what? Everything he had made previously had been for a purpose: revenge. Revenge on Targent. Revenge on his father. Now he was uninspired.
Find a hobby. But nothing was interesting anymore. All the hobbies he had had once, so long ago… Nothing but painful memories.
Talk to someone. The only people who he might be willing to associate with, the ones who weren't completely worthless… Well, they hated him. As well they should.
Over the course of a week, Descole had come to the conclusion that there was no new purpose for him. No new adventure. Nothing. And so he sunk into his current listlessness.
Raymond had seemed concerned… Tch! What did he care? He was gone now, anyway. He had landed the Bostonius—he had probably said where, and why, but Descole, having been in this state for three days already, was apathetic—and disappeared. Probably a shopping trip or such—but what was the point?
He wondered if even Raymond would care if he died. Surely not. Even Descole himself wouldn't at this point. He had nothing and nobody. Everyone he ever cared about was dead.
That's not true, a small part of him whispered.
Descole blinked in mild surprise. What are you talking about? Of course it's true!
They never took Raymond. And now you've been reunited with your brother.
Descole couldn't deny the truth in that, but he argued anyway. I care nothing for Layton, nor does he care for me! I tried to kill him, remember?!
You said you didn't care about Luke, either.
What does that little brat have to do with anything? I only saved him because- Descole groaned inwardly. He had saved the boy because he was like a son to Layton, and he hadn't wanted his brother to feel the constant, agonizing pain of losing a child.
The other part of him seemed to nod approvingly. And you remember how Hershel looked at you after that?
Descole remembered that moment only hazily, yet he seemed to recall his younger brother cradling him in his arms as he lay near death, revealing the secret he had kept since they were separated, and his face… It hadn't seemed hateful or angry. Rather, it was… Worried. Sympathetic. Shocked.
Don't you think he'll be worried about you now? You were separated again as the sanctuary crumbled. You could be dead for all he knows.
Better for him if he thinks I'm dead… Everyone I cared about died, remember?
But why did they die? the voice in his head urged.
… Because of Targent. But they're gone now… But was that true? Would an entire organization disperse because the leader was arrested? Surely there was a second-in-command to take over… But if they're still around, I can't risk him.
Have you already forgotten that Hershel fought Targent with you? If they would target him for being your brother, they would target him for that even more. And remember, Targent isn't the only root of evil on the world. He may well have other enemies.
Distress suddenly filled Descole. His little brother Theo—no, Hershel—he hadn't made that mistake in a while—his brother could be in danger, could be under attack, could even be dead right now, and he would have no idea. He was slightly shocked to realize how much he cared.
A soft chuckle. Fret not. Hershel is alive.
How would you know?!
Just a feeling.
And who the hell are you anyway?
I thought that would be obvious. A pause. Could it be…? Yes. I am Desmond Sycamore.
"Desmond Sycamore is dead!" Descole shouted aloud. "He died with his wife and daughter! … My sweet Jean… He died with her!"
A whisper in his ear. "I was never dead. You of all people should know that. We are but two sides of the same coin, after all…" Then silence.
Descole screamed and lashed out in shock, but there was no one.
Silence.
Maybe he really should check on his brother.
More silence. And then, the creak of a door opening. Descole shot up in alarm, his first actual movement in three days, his hat falling off completely, his cape restricting his movement and bringing him crashing down.
Everything went dark.
=^w^=
Even before he woke up properly, he had a strange sense of… Deja vu, almost. He felt that he was laying in someone's arms…
"Descole… Are you…?"
He would recognize that voice anywhere. Descole slowly opened a bleary eye to see his brother's concerned face.
"Descole… Thank goodness. You had me worried."
"... Desmond," he mumbled.
"Hm?" Layton looked puzzled, as well he might.
"Jean Descole is...no more." He fully opened both eyes and attempted to sit up, but he felt weak, so weak. "I am… Desmond Sycamore." It surprised him, yet even as he said it, he realized it was true. Descole was a broken man, alive only to complete his one purpose, revenge. But Sycamore… There was hope for him.
"Very well, Desmond." Layton picked him up, despite his weak struggles—he didn't need to be babied by his baby brother!—and gently set him on the sofa.
"Why...are you here…?"
His little brother had the audacity to shush him! "Rest. Raymond informed me of your...condition. I'm here to keep an eye on you until you're better."
A single tear leaked from Desmond's eye. This wasn't how he'd meant to reunite with his brother.
And yet…
This wasn't too bad, was it?
Two whispered words reached Hershel Layton's ears.
"Thank you."
A/N: I'm sorry. Never mind, I lied. No I'm not.
… I don't know what this is, but I'm not sorry.
Look, I even gave you a happy-ish ending. I hope you like it. I very nearly wrote a less-happy ending.
Oh, I should probably mention... My headcanon is that Desmond's wife's name was Jean, and Descole took that name as a reminder of why he needed to get revenge. I have another little headcanon about their daughter, but perhaps another time...
…. But someone should seriously take away my permission to write. Or maybe not. I might actually drive myself insane if I can't write. Most of the time, I have no inspiration, but sometimes…
… Anyway, leave a review please~? It'll make me really happy if you do~