As obvious by the title, this is not a happy/funny story like I usually write. If you hate sad, angsty writings, please turn away now. Also, this story contains some very graphic descriptions of...

Well, let's just said it's painful. So very...

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How could it have come to this...

The man stood amongst the graves, rain pouring down relentlessly. His signature top hat covered his face eyes, hiding his face in the shadows. He didn't care that his clothing was soaked. He didn't care that the frigid wind could cause him to get sick. He didn't even care about the thick mud that covered his brown slacks as he knelled down in the ground. Tears trickled from his hard eyes onto the cold cement of the two graves next to each other. His hands traced the names upon each tombstone. He let out a cry of despair, a sob wracking through his body.

He took the flowers from his side. Two bundles of chrysanthemums. He shakily laid them upon the marble slabs. He then picked himself up, and walked out of the cemetery, away from the graves.

As he walked down the sidewalk, a familiar sign caught his eye. Bar Bluebird. Layton blinked. He hadn't been there since he took Luke on as an apprentice.

Luke...

He grit his teeth and slammed his eyes shut in agony as his throat tightened from sorrow. The boy was gone now. There was no need to care anymore about the rest of the world. He opened the door, bell above ringing as he stepped inside.

The bartender immediately recognized him.

"H-Hershel? Where have you been all these years?!"

Layton sat down at the bar, before burying his face in his arms, breaking out in sobs.

The bartender sighed, and went over to the cabinet of liquor. He pulled out a bottle of clear gin, and poured it into a shot glass. He brought it over to Hershel.

"Drink up. It'll clear your mind," he said. Hershel made no objections. E threw his head back and swallowed the smooth liquid. It gave him a warm feeling as it trickled down his throat, erupting into a warm fire in his stomach. It felt good to Layton's cold, frozen body. He sighed. He felt his tense muscles relax. He hadn't felt like this in years...

"So, what's the matter Hershel?" the bartender started up. Layton's face grimaced at the memory, twisted in horror and pain. Feeling the tension, the barkeep fixed another shot of gin. He handed it to Layton who gulped it right down. He then became calmer.

"Ready to talk now?" the barkeep asked. Layton sighed, sniffled a bit, and then began.

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Short beginning, but R&R please.