Under the Mask Part 6

Hershel noticed the change in atmosphere as soon as he stepped out of the aircraft. The sky was cloudy and gray, the place that Hershel could only assume was a base of sorts covered in trash and metal scraps. He fell into step behind Bronev, more men and women stopping to stare at the professor as he walked past them. He couldn't fathom why they seemed so surprised at his presence; did he have something on him? Bronev seemed to notice his discomfort.

"Don't worry, they won't hurt you. They only take orders from me." Somehow, that didn't calm Hershel's nerves. "Just stay with me and you'll be fine."

They continued through the small base. They approached a large, black building. Bronev seemed to hesitate before stepping in and weaving through people and hallways, Layton following close behind before he stopped in front of a set of metal doors. The older man turned towards the professor, and Layton saw him give a large sigh.

"Desmond is in here. I will stay out here while you try to talk to him… take as much time as you need." Layton managed to give Bronev a smile, nodding.

"Thank you." Bronev just nodded, turning to a keypad next to the door and punching in a complicated set of numbers before the doors opened with a hiss. Layton cautiously stepped into the room, and his eyes fell onto the bed in the middle of the room.

Desmond was laying in the bed, his form motionless. There were straps lying at the foot of the bed, and Layton felt his stomach drop. Why were those there?

"Desmond…?" The man in front of him didn't react; at least, not at first. Layton moved so that he could see the man's face, and he could see the confusion, the fear spreading across Desmond's face. Hershel could see the tears forming as Des's eyebrows crinkled in frustration.

"Go away!" His voice was quiet and hoarse, and Layton could see the man's cracked lips beginning to bleed. His eyes were large and glassy. "You… you aren't real. Theodore would never be here, he wouldn't. He can't." He could see the conflict in Des's eyes as he sat up slowly, and Hershel saw the IV sticking out of his arm. His body had grown slight, and the skin clung onto his bones. He could even see the ribcage poking through his shirt, though just slightly. Desmond was looking at him, and it seemed fear was winning over his confusion and anger, his body beginning to shake as Layton stepped closer to the man.

"Don't… don't come any closer." Des held out a hand, his expression contorting in terror. "Please. I don't want you to. I don't want you to be fake." His voice was almost nonexistent, and as much as Hershel wanted to listen to the elder professor, he couldn't leave him like this.

"I can assure you, Desmond, I am completely real." He reached out a hand to touch Des's outstretched one, and the red-eyed man clenched his eyes shut as Layton's fingers brushed the palm of his hand. Desmond seemed to shrink in on himself before his eyes shot open when he realized what had happened. He stared at Hershel for the longest time, his breathing sharp and shallow. Tears began flowing down his cheeks as he gave a strangled sounding sob.

"Theodore, you're…." He swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed.

"Don't stand, Desmond. You are very weak." But Desmond was listening. With more strength Hershel thought the man in front of him had, he stood on shaky feet and moved slowly towards the younger professor, his arms outstretched as his hands made their way to Layton's face. He hissed as the IV in his arm was pulled, and with one solid, quick movement, he yanked it from his arm. Layton gave a surprised shout at that, and grabbed the man where the IV had been, the blood already beginning to bead at the bend of his arm. Desmond stared at the hand before his eyes moved up to Hershel's face. The arm the younger professor had grabbed remained still, but his other one made its way to Layton's ears, his eyes, his cheeks.

"Oh, my God," Desmond breathed, his eyes wide in awe. "You're actually real, oh, my God, you're here." The arm that had remained still turned itself so that that hand was gripping at Layton's coat. "I thought… I'm so sorry. I must have been dreaming… are you… did you have a nightmare, Theodore?" Hershel frowned. This was new, Desmond's voice sounding more and more like a young child's. "Theo?" Desmond's eyes radiated with concern.

"No, I'm fine." Desmond sighed.

"Is there something you needed?" Layton noticed the door opening with a soft hiss, and two men came in with food, walking quickly and quietly as they placed the trays on the bed before turning and leaving.

"You need to eat." Desmond blinked as the doors shut with another hiss.

"Why?"

"You are wasting away." He tried to be as calm as possible, but it seemed Desmond was getting worked up again.

"Haven't you eaten? Didn't I feed you?"

"You are fine, Desmond." Hershel guided Desmond to the bed, having him sit while he took out a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it around the man's arm. He reached for the food, grabbing a tray and placing it next to the red-eyed man. "Please, eat. I have food as well," he added once Desmond opened his mouth to say something. Layton grabbed the other tray, and Desmond stared at him, eyes large as he grabbed a piece of bread from the tray and taking a careful bite. Hershel sighed. One obstacle down.

Bronev watched through the glass at the two. He couldn't believe Desmond would listen to him, he thought it would fail, he thought he would have to….

No. He shook his head. He had managed to make remarkable progress with Desmond's recovery, he was eating, and he was actually responding to sentences. It almost seemed like the two were having a normal conversation.

However, Bronev knew that was false. If he hadn't seen how Des had acted beforehand, he never would have suspected, except one man was far too skinny and broken to be healthy.

He only hoped he could fix Desmond before it was too late.