Anon said: Thank you for your writing, I was so happy to read it, it was sweet ily. Yep it's the same anon. If you're inspired I have an other requests for you, could you write something Layton and Descole bonding before Azran Legacy please? 3
This one might be tough lol…. But I have a few ideas I can try out
This one may contain strong language (I've been trying to keep my blurbs as clean as possible, plus it is the Layton universe…. I don't want to offend anybody) and maybe some gore, but I think that's about it overall 3
Oh! This also takes place during the events of "Eternal Diva", aka where Des has his mental breakdown
Understanding
Layton wandered through the woods, his eyes scanning the trees and the rocky ground for any sign of his archnemesis. He had fallen off the giant robot that had threatened to destroy the island Ambrosia sat on (well, not really sat, but the island was now surrounded by Azran ruins that had seemingly come out of nowhere -- Layton had seen them rising from the sea), and even though he had literally tried to hack Layton to pieces when he had his meltdown, Layton still felt a pang of worry when no one had seen the masked man.
He had instructed Emmy to take care of Luke while he went searching. The woman had narrowed her eyes, but didn't try to push it further. Luke, on the other hand, was furious as to why the professor wanted to leave his 'apprentice number one' behind when Layton could very well get into a dangerous situation. Emmy stopped him.
"He doesn't want you to get hurt, Luke. Just listen to him this time." Luke looked at her with confusion, then he dropped his head and nodded.
Layton had wandered in the general direction he had seen Descole fall. He could be seriously hurt, the robot's top well above the tallest treetops on the island. He looked, he listened, and he finally stopped underneath a rather large tree, cupping his face in one hand while he thought out the options.
If Descole was really still here, he should be at least conscious by now. If he had been hit on the head, it would take a few hours at most to recuperate and wake up, and that time had already come and gone. He could be --
Layton paused his train of thought when a droplet of something landed on his fingers. The liquid lazily trailed down before it was replaced by another. Layton was shocked to see that it was blood, dripping from somewhere above him. He looked up.
Descole was in the canopy of the tree he had stopped under, his cape tangled in branches and his attire scratched and torn. His mouth was bleeding, along with a trail of blood that came from under his mask, and the sight alone was very ghastly.
That was when the masked man seemed to wake up with a groan, coughing. Layton could see him trying to move.
"Descole, don't --" At the sound of Layton's voice, the man's head shot up, and he grimaced before trying to get himself down, wriggling his limbs. Layton could hear the branches snapping, then a swish of fabric as Descole came down, landing hard on the ground. The masked man coughed, his breath wheezing. Layton stepped closer to him, biting his lip. Descole pulled his lips back in a snarl.
"Don't come any closer." His voice was hoarse, scratchy. Layton pondered this statement for less than a second before continuing forward. Descole tried to get up, and then winced. Layton could see how one of his legs bent the wrong way. "What did I just tell you, Layton?"
"You're hurt. You need help." He could see how Descole was shaking, he was probably going into shock. He stepped forward again, and Descole made himself move backwards, before releasing a small whimper as his leg was jostled. His right arm remained limp at his side.
"I don't want any of your damn help," he said, his voice shaking.
"You don't want it, but you certainly need it." Layton knelt down next to the masked man, and Descole remained silent, his shaking increasing as his teeth chattered. Layton shrugged off his jacket, moving to tie the fabric around his archnemesis neck. Descole froze.
"What the hell are you --" He hissed as Layton moved the damaged arm into the makeshift sling. He ripped a piece of fabric from his sweater, wiping away the blood on Descole's face and limbs.
"I told you," he finally responded, "I'm helping you. Can you stand?" Descole grit his teeth as he stood -- well, attempted, at any rate. The moment his damaged leg touched the ground, his legs buckled. He would have fallen if Layton hadn't caught him, and he gave out a sharp cry of pain. Layton frowned as he helped the masked man upright.
"Lean on me."
"Why the hell would I d --"
"How else are you going to leave?" Layton was right. Raymond was waiting at a rendezvous point, and Descole certainly could not make it all the way there. At least, not on his own. Descole cursed himself, then, reluctantly, slung his undamaged arm around Layton's shoulders and kept his leg off the ground. He scowled -- his enemy was helping him! -- and he hobbled along the uneven ground as Layton gave him the support he needed to stay upright.
"Is anything else hurt?" Layton asked after a moment. "Your head is bleeding, but I didn't want to take of your mask. I presume you're pretty adamant with keeping your face hidden."
"You presume correctly," Descole snapped back. "But…. If you must know, Layton, my head is absolutely killing me." Which wasn't a lie, his head was pounding mercilessly, and stars danced at the edges of his vision.
God, he wanted to sleep.
"You probably have a concussion," Layton mused. "I know what those feel like." Descole had to strain to hear that last sentence, but he heard it nonetheless.
Layton had been hurt before, bad enough to suffer a head injury. The thought, surprisingly, ignited rage in Descole's already whirling mind.
"I'm sorry," Descole started,surprising himself (you're fraternizing with the enemy, you dullard!), "but I have had a fair number of head injuries, myself." Layton glanced at the man from the corner of his eyes, giving a soft hum of understanding, and in that moment, Descole felt he understood Layton, for the first time since his appearance in Misthallery, he understood.
They approached the outskirts of the woods that lead to the sandy beach. Descole hesitated.
"If you would leave me here, I'll be fine." Layton frowned.
"Is someone meeting you here?"
"He… is someone very dear to me." Descole offered no other explanation, and Layton helped lower the man to the ground.
"...Thank you, Layton." He nearly spat the words, but Layton just smiled.
"Of course. I'm thinking I will see you again." Descole found himself smiling, despite himself.
"You have no idea."