Pre Warning: Massive Trigger warning for some of the things mentioned in previous author's notes.
I was having massive writers block for the Hunger Games au, so I figured I'd go back and work on a chapter of this that I'd been having trouble with for ages. And I finished it!
Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and I apologise for last chapter. And this chapter and every chapter from now on basically.
Disclaimer: No.
The simple click of the Inspector's heel was all that could be heard. He walked towards the Clock shop, stopping just below the boy who was strung from the windowpane. He stared up at the young man's face, feeling something within him that he couldn't quite place. Most of the revolutionaries had been gathered by his troops and were lying inside, but that one remained. Broken glass stuck into his hair, the bloodied tips mingling with the red strands. He wasn't old at all, definitely much younger than Descole. It was sad to see.
He walked into the now ruined shop, stepping over the beams that had fallen, the wood weak from the constant fire. There lay many people in a line down the centre, some looking fulfilled and peaceful, while other's had their faces still burning with fury. His attention was caught by one on the end, nearly half the size of everyone else. He went and knelt beside, recognising him as the little boy from the marketplace that revealed his identity. Luke Triton. He was about the same as age as his daughter had been. Descole hadn't realised there were still children on the barricade.
A tear fell and landed beside the boy's face, Descole quickly wiped it from his cheek. In doing so, his fingers brushed against the corners of his mask. He pulled it away from his eyes, and stared at it before leaving it on the floor. His hand moved back up towards his jacket and unpinned a large medal which he pinned against Luke's chest. Descole stood up again, blinking, seeing things in a way he hadn't seen for years. He looked over the people there, matching the faces to the people that he'd seen before the fighting began. Looking out specifically for one man.
But he wasn't there.
"Chelmey, was there anyone else found?" he called across the room. Chelmey quickly glanced over to his men who shook their heads.
"Only the one on the clock. No others, that I know of." He placed his hands in his trouser pockets. "Real shame, all of it. I never wanted it to come to this"
"No one did." Descole walked back outside of the shop, his troops busy clearing the barricade away. Layton was definitely there, and no one had reported someone escaping. He sat down against one of the broken chairs; the sun was dimming but was still too bright for his newly uncovered eyes.
"Where do you want us to move the guns sir? Most of them are broken." Asked one of the soldiers. Desole answered without looking.
"Just over there, there should be a cart by the sewers." Descole pointed over and, in doing so, gave himself an idea. The entrance looked as if it had been moved, and the tunnel was just tall enough for a man to fit through. "Actually, give them here. I'll take them over."
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Layton huffed as he moved forwards, he could barely see past the brim of his hat. The grime of the sewers swirled round his feet as the dead weight of Clive on his shoulder made every step near impossible. The smell there was indescribable, assaulting him every time he took a breath. He moved Clive round to lie in his arms; his heartbeat was still very strong, so Hershel knew that there was no way to give up now. He waded on, attempting to cover his face with his shirt collar. The darkness made sure he never saw the drop in the path, as his foot stepped forward and felt no floor; he clutched Clive to his chest. His feet skidded against the floor and sent the two of them hurdling towards the floor. There was a great splash in the sewers and as Layton tried to stand up he felt his mind go blank as his sight as his head hit against the wall.
Now, throughout the fighting, there had been one person working underground. Though, not necessarily in the way that would have helped the students. He made his way through the sewers, lantern in hand and a sack full of items. His clothes were covered in dirt and his moustache was drooping but none of this bothered him. He grinned as he saw the two figures on the floor. He held the lantern over the smaller ones face, he was mainly submerged but his head had managed to stay clean, including the hat atop his head.
"Don't mind if I do." He grabbed it and stuffed it into his bag, also grabbing a pocket watch from the boy's waistcoat. He'd been down in the sewers for days 'cleaning up' after the revolutionaries. Many soldiers had found their way down there, and then never found their way out, so to speak. At first, Don Paolo had felt bad for stealing from the dead. But he soon realised that this was a dog eat dog world, and all rules vanish when the streets are lined with guns. He leant over to the other person, whose face had been in the water. When the light hit his face, Paolo was taken aback. He smiled again as he reached into his coats, looking for a prize from the man who'd wronged him many times. As he did, Layton started to move. His eyes blinked open slowly and, as soon as he realised where he was, he grabbed hold of the other body. After making sure the boy was alright, he looked back at the other
"Paolo?" the man pulled his hand away from Hershel and threw his arms in the air.
"Layton! I just saved your life." Hershel pushed him away and began to pull Clive up from the floor. "You should be grateful."
"How do I get out of here?" He was still dizzy from the fall, and could barely work out which way he was facing.
"Down there, you haven't got far to go." Paolo waved the lantern in the direction "Long live the Revolution!" he added as they went off, before moving looking around for more bodies.
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Descole found the other end of the sewers without trouble, with many people having abandoned the street already in the chaos of the fight. It wasn't long before he saw someone emerging from the tunnel; clearly they'd been travelling for quite a while. He smiled; proud that he'd gotten it right. The man held another body on his back, and which as they exited he lowered to the floor. His head then rose to look up at the above platform.
"Descole, it's good to see your face." Descole sneered at phrase "I knew it wouldn't be long till you were back to work. Now please, this boy's done nothing wrong. At least let me return him to a doctor."
"You snuck out of the fighting, soon after I said you'd be arrested, and now want me to believe it was all for this boy. Do you think me stupid Layton?"
"I know you're a good man Descole."
"I don't need your sympathy."
"But please, just an hour and then you can do as you please. I'll be at the Hotel Duke." Descole considered this a moment, seeing the desperation in Layton's eyes as he checked over the feebly stirring boy with him. If he allowed this boy to die here when he had the possibility to be saved, then he was no less than a killer.
"Go Hershel. Go before I change my mind." Descole watched as he picked the boy up again and headed on his way, the Hotel Duke wasn't far. It wouldn't take long for him to get there. Descole considered going there now and waiting, but he was aware of Hershel's daughter that waited at home. It was easier to give them an hour of peace. When Layton was fully out of his sight, Descole was overcome with thoughts, trying to understand what had happened.
Who was this Hershel Layton? The man who he'd hunted for the past age of his life was walking freely away from him, with Descole watching on. The man who, a few hours before, had been given a chance to kill him, yet he refused, he let him go. Why? Surely Layton would happily rid him, end this endless chase once and for all. But he didn't. Descole owed his life to him. There was no way he could possibly arrest Layton after he'd shown such generosity.
But he had to. The man was a criminal, he'd stolen. He'd escaped. He'd lied. So many times, Descole could barely keep track. If he allowed him to be free now it would haunt him for the rest of his days. How did he even know this man was telling the truth about the hotel, what if he just escaped again? As he had already done.
Descole looked back over the way he came. To get to the end of the sewer, he'd crossed over the main bridge. It was sparkling in the sunset, the metal winking at him. He walked back to it, the barriers cold against his aching hands. He stepped carefully, looking down at the crashing water below. Barricade Debris floated amongst the waves, crumbling; the wind bit at Descole's face, blowing his cape behind him, giving him a spectre-like silhouette.
Descole thought it over. Realising what he'd wanted the whole time. He wished Layton had killed him. It was Layton's right to kill him. He was in his hands and the chance arose but he refused. If he arrested Layton, he lived, owing his life to this convict. If he gave up, he could never live with himself. A waste of the past, so maybe years spent just to yield at the end. By sparing his life, Layton had killed him.
As he reached the centre of the bridge, Descole leant over the barrier, the noise of the water seeming to increase tremendously.
There wasn't enough room in this world for both Descole and Layton. For this nightmare to finally end, one of them had to be defeated.
And Descole refused to be beaten by him.
He climbed onto the side of the barrier, gripping tightly to the sides. The drop looked so much larger with nothing to block the view. Descole took a deep breath, looking up as the final rays of the sun faded. He felt no fear as he let go.