The Story So Far

by been-there-pun-that

A young Hershel Layton starts writing about his thoughts after the death of his best friend. It's certainly not a daily diary, but he does record the major (and some of the minor) events of his life. Updates every Wednesday and Saturday. Also on AO3. Contains minor and major spoilers for most of the series.

1. 2nd June, 1947

I can't sleep. The nightmares. All I can see is my sweaty, grimy hand held out in front of me, gripping Randall's, and the darkness below him… he tries to pass the mask up to me… his hand slips through mine… he falls into the pit… he doesn't scream, but I do… Two hours should be enough to live on.

My acceptance letter from Gressenheller came this morning. I had been fearing I was too late in the game to even be considered for this school year as I had not been planning to even leave Stansbury any time soon until just this last week. The letter did mention my tardiness, but they are willing to make an exception because of my grades and recommendations from Kingsbrook. Ma is making my favourite supper for tonight and Pa presented me with this new Sheaffer pen he had bought on his last trip to London for me, but I am just not in the mood to celebrate, even if it is my future we're celebrating. I feel horrible for bringing this black cloud over the house. They're being kind about it, though; I am not even receiving a formal punishment, as we can all agree that the walk home was hard enough for me, physically and emotionally. The grief and guilt went without saying.

I haven't seen Angela since coming home from the Akbadain ruins. I want to say I am not responsible for the death of her boyfriend, but I am. I could have stopped Randall from going on that reckless adventure to discover "the secrets of the Azran civilisation" and I didn't… Henry is as quiet as ever. I visited the Ascots this afternoon, but I couldn't stay long... literally: the longer I stayed, the worse I felt. Everywhere I looked I saw Randall; Mr. Ascot's red hair and Mrs. Ascot's wire-rimmed glasses didn't help. I've been in bed ever since.

"Discover the truth in seeking the ancient" is Gressenheller's motto; maybe that could actually happen for me, in discovering myself, or something. Mr. Collins went to Gressenheller and he said the motto almost every day of Basics of Archaeology, but I never really understood it until now. Stansbury doesn't feel like home any more, even less so than when we first moved here three years ago. As much as I love my little town, I can't wait for London.

A/N:

Based off of a tweet #10295853520 from HershelLayton on Twitter, I am setting this fic in the 1940-60s. The Laytonverse is most likely an alternate universe, but I'd like this to be as realistic as possible!