After a few hours, the group, Jean Descole, Hershel Layton, Lando Ascad, and Luke Triton ended up in Paris, France staying at a small motel. Lando and Luke decided to go to some museums and Hershel and Jean made their way to the metro.

Sitting in the subway seats Hershel finally spoke up and asked some questions. "Why are we going to the Guinevere Church?" He said softly, staring down at a crossword puzzle.

"My mother said Jerome was living in the blue apartments."

Hershel looked up at him surprised. "Why are we going to see Jerome?"

"I need to find my baby brother."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Hershel gave an irritated look and shook his head. He knew that pestering him wouldn't get the answers he wanted, so he decided to give up.

..

After a few moments, the blue apartments were standing in front of them. It seemed as if there were about five penthouses stacked on each other and they seemed lavish enough. What a bastard.

"I'm going up there." Jean mumbled and shook his head. "Stake out at the café or something."

Hershel shook his head and licked his lips. "I should go with you."

"No." Descole looked at him with poison. "I'm going alone."

Hershel sighed, finally sounding irritated. "Listen, Francis, you called me to come with you for a reason. Obviously, you wouldn't have if you weren't scared." He got an equally as cross look back from the man he was scolding and he shook his head. "Fine, I won't go with you. But you're on your own. I'm going to meet up with Lando and Luke."

"Fine." Descole hissed back and turned away towards the buildings. Who needed him anyway? He could deal with his own past demons by himself. He didn't need anyone else.

He found himself charging up the stairs, a slight bounce in his step proved what little confidence he had left. He was going to find this man, one apartment at a time. He would have to know where Simon was. At least some little idea and he would find out. Though it being passed three o'clock in the afternoon, Jean also knew he would be drunk, but that couldn't stop him.

He opened the front door to the apartments, leading to mailboxes and the stairs. Level five was "Moreau" which is exactly what he was looking for. Practically running up the stairs, he reached the apartment and stared at the door. It was a blue door, like the outside of the building. A lone door with an empty wine bottle sitting on the outside of it, as if it was going to be picked up by room service.

It was sickening. To think, with one knock, he would have to run into that disgusting man again. After years, not since he was fourteen, he would encounter him again. But this time, he was big, and ready, and stronger. He was an adult now.

He knocked on the door, more forcefully then he had planned, and then he stood, stoic and mentally prepared. Or at least, what he assumed was mentally prepared. As he waited, he realized he should've come in costume; dressed as Jean Descole instead of everyday Cisi. Oh well, too late now.

As he expected, the door opened quickly revealing a startled looking, business-dressed, older man with a plastered smile on his face. "Francis?"

Descole said nothing, but nodded with a raised eyebrow.

He watched the man lean against the door frame, staring in what seemed like shock. All of his mannerisms seemed to be the same as Descole remembered. From his smile to his body language. He always stood laidback, but even so apathetically still, as if he knew he was stronger and better. Even if it wasn't necessarily true. Jean was going to prove that.

"How, uh, what brings you here?" He slurred and laughed awkwardly.

Oh, he knew his wrong doings. He knew what he had done to Descole, and he could see that. It wasn't necessarily guilt, but it was a look of secrecy, like he didn't want to bring it up. Not saying that Jean did either, but the fact that he wanted to hide it so bad, hurt his pride. He wanted him to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but he knew that was even more improbable.

"I'm looking for Simon. Where is he?" He replied like a rock.

Jerome nodded and looked down. "You didn't come to see me?" He asked slightly jokingly but lifted out his arms as if he was looking for a hug.

Descole narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I did everything I could to avoid you first before resorting to showing up here."

The older man sighed lightly. "That's harsh." He mumbled half smiled. "Didn't I teach you to be more respectful?" He grabbed Descole's arm and pulled him closer to him.

At the grasp, Jean hastily pulled away and stood his ground, staring him in the eyes. "Where is Simon?"

Jerome narrowed his eyes. "Probably at the bar, you brat." He slurred and grabbed his arm again. He held him tighter looking him in the eyes. "You have grown since I've seen you."

"What bar?" Descole demanded, pulling away from him.

Jerome gave an agitated look. "Why should I tell you?"

Jean licked his lips and sucked on the bottom one, trying to find the right words to say. He felt so helpless again. Suddenly, all the memories of that man had come back, all in one motion, they just flooded in. Especially, the memories about Simon.

Francis jumped on his little brother's back, sending them both laughing to the ground. Now at thirteen years old, his baby brother had grown into a kid who needed entertainment and distraction from his father.

Simon laughed as his older brother lied on top of him, holding him down to the ground. "No, Cici!" He cried, with a high pitched laugh tailed to it. "No! I'm going to win!" He tried all his might to move his brother off of him, but he wasn't budging.

At this point, Francis knew to take the older brother route and pull himself off of him when the little one needed accomplishment. With one more big shove from Simon, the young teenager let out a surprised "whoa" and rolled off of him, only to let the boy jump on him in triumph.

"I win!" Simon exclaims, now sitting on his brother's stomach. "Do you know how I won?" He looked at his face with interest, wanting to answer the question.

"How did you win?" Francis mused, smiling wide. He loved when his little brother was happy.

Simon jumped on his brother's stomach once more and smiled even wider. "Because I play football, and you play girly ballet! I'm stronger!"

Francis laughed and sat up, his brother now on his lap. "Is that so?" He placed his arms around his little brother's torso and ended up picking him up, and throwing him over his shoulder. Simon let out a surprised giggle and tried pounding on his back to let him go. Francis wasn't going to. "Who's stronger now?"

"Lemme go!" Simon giggled, fidgeting off his brother's shoulders the best he could. "Okay, okay, you're stronger!"

Francis nodded and laughed. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He then set his brother down gently and ruffled his brown hair.

Just then, the two looked over at the door that had suddenly swung open. In the door frame was their drunken parental, Francis's stepfather and Simon's father. He stood with his arms crossed and poison in his expression. "Simon, I need to talk to your brother. Go play outside."

Simon looked at Francis worried and then back at his father. "I want to play with Francis." He said quietly.

Jerome, drunk and enraged, grabbed Simon by the arm and pushed him out the door. "Go play." He demanded and watched Simon run out the door. The drunken man slammed it shut and grabbed Francis by the arm, pulling him towards his bedroom.

"Did you hear me, boy?" Jerome yelled at Jean, pulling him into his apartment flat.

"Let me go!" Descole yelled and tried to pull away, but this time was unsuccessful. It was strange how he could just transform into a child again, just like that. All his strength had disappeared as he tried to get away from the only man he ever really detested with such amount. He hated him.

Jerome laughed and pulled the smaller man into him. "Not a chance." He closed the door behind them and kissed Jean's cheek. "What's wrong? You didn't want to see me?"

Descole tried his best to pull himself away, but it seemed that all his strength had vanished. Everything he prepped in his mind, how he wouldn't even let him lay a finger on him without an attack back, had just gone. He couldn't even remember how.

He was Jean Descole. He had aided in destroying cities, he had attacked so many people in his life. He was logical and witty and he had been so close to winning before. How come he couldn't even fight back to one old, drunken man?

The same older man, kissed his lips this time, just a peck, and sent him into a panic. Jean kicked away as best as he could, even though the man was only holding him by his shoulders, though he found himself unsuccessful.

"Listen." Jerome started and pressed the younger man against the wall behind them. "I don't want to waste my time with you, you little fuck. Your mother divorcing me was the best thing that ever happened to me because I didn't have to deal with you anymore. Why should I help you come around here and raid my city, huh?"

Jean was assaulted by the smell of the alcohol on his breath, and it just made his own anxiety rise. His chest tightened and his hand clenched into fists as he realized he probably wouldn't get out of it. He thought he would be done with this by this time, since he was an adult, but everything suddenly became more real. What could he say? "You wouldn't have to deal with me anymore." He answered, meekly and refusing to look him in the eyes.

Jerome narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so." He laughed and pressed his body close to Descole's.

But before anything had had a chance to occur, the front door opened and revealed and tall handsome young boy with a confused expression as both looked up at him equally as puzzled. "Father? What's…" His voice trailed off as he noticed the smaller man in his father's grasp. "Francis?"

"What are you doing back?" Jerome demanded, loosening his grasp on his stepson, not taking his eyes off.

Simon licked his lips and raised an eyebrow. "I came back to get a painting a friend at the bar wants to buy." He answered cautiously and slowly walked towards a closed door. He opened it and barely took a step in, for he grabbed a painted canvas and closed it in front of him. "What's going on?" He asked again.

Jerome shook his head. "Francis here was just looking for you." He mumbled quietly and began walking towards the kitchen. "Why don't you boys go play elsewhere?" He stated with his back turned to them.

Jean began walking towards Simon, but he grabbed the door first. He wanted to talk to him so badly, and hug him, and ask him how he'd been, but he needed to get out of that house. He needed to leave and never go back there.

Simon followed out and closed the door. He walked them out of the buildings and into the streets, where he stood in front of his older brother and smiled. "I don't even know what to say."

Descole couldn't help but smile back. He placed his arms around the younger man and held him in an embrace. "It's been so long." He mumbled and pulled away to look at him. He had hardly changed. He still had his shorter brown hair, his lean but tall frame, and not to mention his brightening smile. It was his little brother all grown up. "How are you?"

Simon nodded and looked down. "Good, good. Um, I have a painting to sell, would you like to come with me?" He lifted the canvas, showing a scaled down picture of the Notre Dame in a million bright colors seemingly during a sunrise. It was amazing how someone could capture all those colors in one grey-beige building, had his brother done that by himself?

"That's beautiful." Jean nodded, following him down the street.

The younger man giggled. "Thanks. I spent a while on it. A gent in the bar wants almost a thousand for it." He looked quite interested.

The older brunette opened his mouth in surprise. That much money for a canvas? Sure it was a good size, quite large, but that seemed like too much money. And since when was his brother an artist? He must have missed that time in his life for when he was a young boy, he enjoyed sports and playing football. "That's great."

Simon let them turn a corner. "I know, it's great because it's what's paying my side of the bills nowadays." He smiled and turned to a door on a tall grey building. At the top was a sign with a witty bar name but before either of them could look at it, he opened the door to a large group of men and women and a cheer from a couple of people at the bar area.

"There he is!" The bar tender exclaimed with an English accent and grabbed a bottle of red wine off the shelf. "With a friend!"

Simon led them to the group at the bar area. The members were all quite young looking, and all but one, men. The bartender was an older man with a charming smile on his face. Simon smiled wider. "This is my brother, Francis. We just got in touch again."

The bartender grabbed two wine glasses off the shelf and, in French, spoke "Your brother looks like a right Englishman, with a name like Francis."

Simon watched the older man smile as he poured two glasses. He nodded and spoke back "Yes, he is, but he speaks French too. " Back in English he said. "We had unwillingly severed contact since I was about eight years old."

The woman sitting at the bar gasped. "Oh, you poor dears. What separated you?"

"Our parents divorced." Simon nodded and took a glass of red wine. "Thanks, Lewis." He handed a glass to Jean who took it humbly, muttering a "thanks" before sipping it. "Anyway, yeah, we share the same mother, but he got custody of him and I ended up with my father."

"Well any brother of Simon's is a brother of mine." Lewis, the bartender smirked and stuck his hand out to Jean. "I'm Lewis Smith. It's nice to meet ya."

Descole smiled courteously and shook his hand. "Francis Smith. Very nice to meet you as well."

"Smith is a good name." Lewis nodded and spotted the canvas in Simon's hands. "Okay, give it here, let's see what we have." The younger man handed it to him, and tenderly, Lewis took it, sure not to scratch it. "Isn't this beautiful?" He asked and the group of alcoholics agreed.

"The colors are magnificent." One of the men said pointing to the sunrise area.

"You better be paying him a pretty penny for that piece." Another man stated.

Lewis laughed. "Oh, I am." He handed him a check and set the canvas up on the mantel piece behind him. "Doesn't that look great?"

"When are you going to make me one?" The woman asked staring longingly at the painting.

Simon laughed. "You're next, Lorena. I promise."

Jean stared at the room before he got lost in the dialogue again. It seemed that everyone was content and happy with themselves in this bar. It was dark, but clean looking. A lot of artwork was displayed on the walls, and staring at it long enough, he noticed some of them looked to be in the same style that Simon's was.

Apparently, his little brother was making money off making art. And not only making money, but he seemed happy doing it. He looked over at him, smiling and joking with the group of people and sipping his red wine casually. He seemed to enjoy his life so much. How could he take him away from that?

"How are you enjoying that wine, my boy?" The bartender asked with a smile towards him.

Descole took another sip and nodded. "It's brilliant, thanks." He said quietly and sat halfway down on a barstool.

Lewis laughed a hardy but pleasant laugh and patted him on the back. "That's what I like to hear. I bottled it myself." He let go of his back and went on. "He looks like you." He commented referring to Simon. "What brings you here?"

The brunette took another sip, of the surprisingly delectable house bottled wine, and sighed. He noticed Simon was too busy talking to the group to hear either of them. "I wanted to make sure he was okay. I was supposed to bring him home." He answered and licked his lips. "He seems right happy."

Lewis nodded. "He's had a hard time." He shrugged and shook his head. "But in a couple more paychecks, I'm going to give him the upstairs apartment for a house and his own art studio so he doesn't have to keep fetching off his old man." There was a pause before he went on. "I think he is happy though. I'd still see if he wants to go back to England."

Jean shook his head. "No, he's far too happy here. England is, well, depressing. Gloomy and cold. Not enough for him to paint. I can't take all this inspiration away from him."

It was true. Descole noticed how happy his baby brother had seemed. Sipping wine and laughing with a group of people, soon enough, he began speaking French and his group even got larger. He was so personable and so excited, you could've guessed he had it all, rather than living in a shack of a bar and working as a starving artist.

Everyone seemed to like him as well. He looked so happy, he couldn't get over it. How he, himself, had longed for a happiness like that, but it seemed less and less tangible. And he wasn't even living with Jerome who used to make his life miserable.

It seemed he stayed there for hours. Hearing stories that his little brother told and every now and then getting sucked into telling his own stories. Everyone seemed interested and very nice as they listened and laughed and he realized why his baby brother loved it. Everyone was so friendly, how could you not?

..

After a few more hours, the two men stepped outside to depart. "I'm sorry I should be leaving so soon." Jean apologized, actually worried he'd get in the way of his younger brother's fun.

Simon smiled wider and hugged him again. "No, you're free to stop by anytime." He looked him in the eyes and sighed outward. He handed him, what looked like a business card, with a phone number and an artistic design on the side. "Call me whenever, alright?"

Jean nodded. "Of course."

"We need to catch up more." He stated and crossed his arms. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Descole sighed at the awkward departure. Neither of them knew what to say, so instead, he went on. "You know, I was sent to bring you back home. But you seem like you've got a home right where you are."

Simon smiled wider. "I love it here." He nodded and shrugged. "Thanks for not forcing me."

"I wouldn't dare. You seem so happy."

Simon looked down. "It's not the ideal life," he started and sighed. "But it is my life, and I do love it. I'll come visit mom soon."

"And Charles." Jean mumbled.

"Who?"

"It took mom a while, but after her and Jerome divorced, she found someone else. She's been with him ever since. He's dying to meet you."

Simon laughed. "I'm glad." He mumbled and hugged his brother again. In French, he spoke "I love you, big brother."

In French back, Jean said "I love you too, little brother." And with that, they parted.

..

Back in the motel, Jean seemed to have a slight slouch in his walk, as he noticed Hershel, Lando and Luke all huddled on Hershel's bed watching the television. As glad as he was to finally find his brother he felt less the satisfied. He wasn't honestly sure why, he found his baby brother, and he found that he was happy. Why wasn't he happy himself?

He sat down on his designated bed and ignored the television. He looked downward, seemingly spacing out, but not necessarily thinking. Nothing was going to his mind. He just felt depressed. He couldn't put his finger on why, or even what his emotions were, but he felt inferior to his problems.

"Did you find your brother?" Hershel asked as Lando and Luke laughed at the television.

Jean looked at him, breaking from his trance as he realized he was being spoken too. He nodded. "Yeah, but he likes it here."

"Did you talk to daddy dearest?" Lando asked, obviously half joking.

Descole gave a sarcastic look. "Yes." He answered and shook his head. He wasn't going to say what he did though, that would just give Lando even more fodder for his jokes. "He seemed well."

"Sure, whatever." Lando muttered, still staring away.

Jean rolled his eyes and lied down on his bed, stomach first. His cheek was pressed against the pillow comfortably as he shut his eyes. God, did he need to sleep. He knew that it would just end in a nightmare anyway, but how much he craved one night of sleeping well. "I suppose we should get back to England tomorrow." He suggested, still halfway pressed against the cloth.

"I suppose so." Hershel mumbled and lied down on his bed more. "I am tired."

"Aww, I like France, Professor." Luke told him lying closer next to him. Jean watched them cuddle slightly as Luke went on. "Why do we have to leave so soon?"

"Well, my boy, it seems we already found what we were looking for." Hershel smiled at him and ruffled his hat. "Of course, we can always come back."

Luke smiled wide at the answer and closed his eyes.

Jean closed his eyes as well, hoping to sleep without any consequences.

..

Luckily, as planned, Jean Descole woke up without any worried dreams. Sleeping soundly wasn't something that he had been able to enjoy in the late weeks. Almost a fortnight of nightly bad dreams is enough to drive any man mad. His own rejuvenating awakening made him sit up quickly, to a room full of everyone else sleeping. In the bed next to him laid Lando and the one across the way, Hershel and Luke, sleeping soundly. It was probably early in the morning, so he decided to shower and dress quickly and take a walk down to the café next door.

Walking out being blinded by the morning sun, he realized that it was, in fact, early. He walked to the café and sat down in the front row of seats, facing out to the people walking by. Staring down at the table, he crossed his legs and awaited to be waited on.

Before he knew, a younger man walked up to the table and sat across from him. In fluent French, he began to greet him. "Good morning, I'm Jeremiah, I'll be taking your order. What would you like?" His smile seemed sincere at Jean and his hands were folded in front of him.

Jean smiled back, curious at the man's body language, but didn't question it. He felt overwhelmed to get to know him better, but he knew that would only cause problems. They did, in fact, live a couple of countries away. Well, nothing bad ever happened with one little tryst. "What do you suggest?" He asked back cocking his head to the side lightly.

The young man looked upwards, as if he was thinking and then shrugged. "I usually live with cappuccinos." Jeremiah nodded and waited for a reply.

"Then I'll go with that." He told him and smiled wider. Jeremiah had a humble smile back, and as he noticed he stopped himself from making any other conversation. Jean let the handsome man walk off without any cause for stopping him. He suddenly had no interest in sex, even though he was a good and easy idea, especially because he wasn't feeling particularly good about himself.

What was wrong with him? He even knew this wasn't like himself. It must just be a really off week or something.