After catching another train to France, Jean Descole, found himself costumed yet unmasked, ready to jump out of the train as soon as it stopped and run to the apartment. His servant, Ramon, was right behind him, though once Jean raced to the blue building, Ramon stayed behind, ready to get them to safety as soon as they obtained the boy.
Descole placed his mask on as he raced up to the building. He didn't need anyone to fight this battle for him but himself. No servants and no tricks. He was going to grab his brother and leave.
He got to the door and didn't bother to knock. Once he hastily waltzed into the house, his ground stood, he noticed a nervous shuffle in the corner. When his eyes focused on that side of his room, he saw his little brother, huddled with his suitcase in fetal position on the floor. When looking harder, he noticed a black eye and other bruised places on his face. That was when he got serious, and quickly ran himself over to the younger man, who flinched at the masked man.
Simon actually looked terrified and seemed to shield his face as Descole ran up. "Who are you? Don't hurt me!"
"Simon! It's me!" Jean Descole bent down to him and grabbed his arm. Seemingly, as he said that, Simon knew who it was and stood up shocked and shaking.
"Francis?" He questioned nervously.
Jean nodded. "Yes, c'mon, let's get out of here." Not even bothering to ask questions or let him explain, he grabbed his brother's bag and held his arm gently, trying to ease him towards the door.
"I didn't mean to make him angry." Simon confessed, shakily, holding his arms to his chest.
The masked man nodded and continued walking him towards the door. "I know, he does that." This was all he could say to possibly comfort the boy. He had no idea what Jerome had done to him, but he knew he wouldn't get away with it.
As he was just a few feet away from the front door, it opened to reveal a familiar and obviously inebriated well-dressed man, with a cross look. "I thought I heard you here, you little fuck." He slurred and slammed the door shut as both the brother stood in shock. "I figured I'd be done with you when you left."
This was not in Jean's plan. How could he guess it was him? Especially drunk and not in better judgment, how did he know Francis Smith was Jean Descole? He was just going to take him and leave, and if it so happened that he would get into a confrontation with that man, he would punch him in the face and run. If that's what he was going to do, why couldn't he move?
He was paralyzed in fear, and it seemed that Jerome noticed and smiled wide at that. "Here to save your little brother, huh?" The drunken man asked. "Well, he needs to pay for being a brat, just like you did."
Descole clenched his teeth, at the idea his little brother got hurt he same way he did. "What did you do to him?" He demanded the answer his eyes narrowing.
Jerome lunged towards him violently and grabbed the smaller man's collar before Jean could fight back. Though Descole let go of his little brother, in fear he would be hurt, he still felt he was too near. He tried pushing the younger man away, but he hardly budged. Jerome snickered wickedly. "You want me to do it again to you, so you can remember?" He asked and pulled his body closer.
"Let me go!" He tried to demand, though it came out more feeble and weak then he expected.
"You don't tell me what to do, you little fuck!" The poison in his former stepfather's voice was enough to make him cringe. He pushed Descole up against the wall and pulled his mask and hat off. Soon after the muffler and his shirt tie was on the floor as well. "You know you were the worst thing that ever happened to me." He informed and began undoing the man's shirt, while Simon just started crying, just as paralyzed. "Honestly, when I met you, I knew you were going to be worst part of my life. Having to take care of an ugly, untalented, little shit like you. And I did everything I could to keep you and Simon separated; I didn't want him ending up like you."
The man smiled evilly again and pulled Jean's hair slightly. "What do you think I did? Huh? And what the fuck are you going to do about it?" When the unmasked villain said nothing and could hardly struggle away, the man laughed. "Nothing, that's what I thought. Do I need to remind you where you belong?"
Before he could let his former stepson say anything, he planted an open mouth, violent kiss on Jean's lips, forcing his tongue between his teeth and their bodies pressed close. Descole knew there was nothing he could do. All that happened was he remembered when he was a young teenager, and it happened regularly. He remembered being thrust to the floor, and touched and raped repeatedly, and there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could say to make him stop, or no way to fight back. And again, he felt like a teenager.
As Jerome began ripping his clothes off, Jean felt the tears well up. His body was clueless as to what to do, even though his brain was yelling at his muscles to stop and run away, though he could not physically make it happen. He felt the nails of his step father dig into his torso like they would as a child. He felt the nails sink deeper and deeper, and as bad as he wanted to scream, all he could do was let out a guttural, pained moan into his former stepfather's mouth, since they were still locked at the lips.
He let his hand roam to Descole's backside, grabbing him as his other hand still dug into his torso. He knew that the man wouldn't do anything to stop him.
Simon obviously couldn't take watching it anymore, because soon afterwards, he ran up to mess happening up against the wall and gripped into his father's shirt. "Dad! Stop it! You're hurting him!" He screamed and tried to pull him off.
As Jerome became exceedingly angry, he loosened his grip on Jean and turned around to grab his son, which he did so violently. "I told you, not to bother me when I'm working!" He grabbed his son's collar and pulled his fist back, snapping it on Simon's cheekbone. He repeated the actions several times, bruising and beating the young man.
Watching his little brother get physically abused by the man who used to do the same to him, made something suddenly click in his mind. Without even thinking, he grabbed Jerome's shoulders and tried to pull him back, but that seemed to do nothing. Not only was Jerome older than him, but he was also stronger and taller than him. The match wasn't even at all. "Leave him alone!" Jean yelled, trying to pull him off as well as he could. He almost didn't budge at all.
"Get off of me, you fucking brat!" Jerome demanded and snapped his arm back, sending Descole off his back and a few feet away to the ground.
When Jean realized this strategy wouldn't work, he reached into his boot and grabbed a penknife he brought to this situation in case something like this would happen. Lucky him. He ran back to the older man and grabbed the back of his head by his hair and pressed the cold metal blade of the knife to his neck.
When his drunken ex-stepfather realized what was happening, which didn't take long, he froze and let go of his son. "Francis…what are you doing?" He asked cautiously.
"Don't fucking say a word, you sick fuck." Descole warned and pressed the blade a little closer. "You don't know how bad I've wanted to be here, to slit your throat, so if you want to live, you'll keep your perverted, sick mouth to yourself and leave your son alone."
Simon was cuddled to the floor, blocking his face in fear someone would break free and hit him again, be it his father or his older brother.
"Simon, get your bag." Descole demanded, still holding the man at knife point. As he did, he nodded and sighed worried. "Get out the door, keep it open." He told his brother and as he heard it open, he pressed the blade even closer, feeling his start to cut through the skin. He wanted so bad to impale the nape of his neck with the tip of his blade, but he stopped himself. It wasn't his time yet.
"Listen, I'm going to let you live, but as soon as I take this knife away, I am running out that door and you are never going to see me or your son again. You are going to die here, drunk and alone with only your thoughts and alcohol to keep you company." He pressed his lips up to his ear and let out a snicker. "When you die, the last thing you'll see is what you did to me." He muttered to a whisper. "And then you'll see what you did to me, and I'll have a smile on my face. A smile that says you may have hurt me when I was a young boy, but there is nothing you can do to me that compares to how sad and pathetic and plainly pitiful your life was, because you couldn't even break your ballerina, queer, stepson."
He snickered and pressed the blade harder to the man's neck. He knew he pierced the skin and let some blood flow, but before he could cause any fatality, he pulled his knife back, and raced out the door. Now with his mask and muffler in hand, he slammed the door shut and neither he nor his brother looked back.
..
With no words exchanged, both of them still fast walking at an extremely quick pace, soon enough, they ended up to Ramon, who was told to wait at a certain café. When Ramon saw them walk up, disheveled and no doubt hurt, he stood up, ready to bolt. Jean made a gesture with his eyes that said "let's go" and as soon as he did, he was beckoning them the way to the train.
Still walking to the station, Simon finally spoke up. A feeble "thank you," was all he could muster.
Jean placed a hand on his brother's back and rubbed it sweetly. "Anything for my baby brother." He assured back and smiled gently at him. He'd even go see that horrible man for him. He'd fight off the one person that ruined his life and scared him to death for Simon. He hoped this meant he'd be a family with him again.
..
When returning back home, Simon seemed to be in a much brighter mood, since the apartment incident. He was smiling and his hands were let at his side, rather than stuck at his chest. "You live here?" He asked seemingly amazed at the house. It was appropriate. The building was rather large, and one wouldn't have guessed it was broken up into pieces.
Jean nodded. "Yeah, but really just in this little part." He noticed how homely his place did look compared to Jerome's but it was rather small. "The rest of my place is owned by my workers and my research." He informed and smiled.
He showed his brother the spare room and where he could sleep, in case he was tired. He showed him the bathroom so he could take a shower, and the kitchen where Ramon was continued making tea. In the beginning of his brother's shower, the doorbell rung, and Jean decided the polite and socially acceptable thing to do was answer the door, considering it was most likely one of his friends.
And so it was. On the other side of the door, Hershel and his young apprentice stood. Descole almost yelled at Hershel for bringing the boy, since he had already called him Descole, he didn't want him to know his hideout.
He looked behind him and Ramon had already retreated back to the other quarters of the house, as not to be recognized. Jean looked back at his childhood friend. "Fancy seeing you here." He decided to let him in. What else was he to do? "What brings you to my humble abode?" He said slightly joking and sat them down on the couch. He decided to pour all of them tea, and kept a mug out for his little brother, in case he wanted some.
Hershel took the tea and smiled, watching him sit. "My Cici's-in-trouble senses where going off." He joked and crossed his legs. "No, truthfully, I just wanted to know how you were since our trip."
Jean bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Well, I went back to France." He told them truthfully and nodded. "And the person in my shower is my baby brother." He said straight to the point. "I ran into that terrible man, and now, everything seems to be okay." Was it really?
Hershel looked interested but obviously didn't find the statement as unbelievable as it seemed, for he half smiled. "So how is Simon?"
Jean looked over at Luke who was petting the housecat and talking to it, and responded. "Well, better now. He was all broken up. But he's okay now that he's always from that."
After a couple of minutes, explaining the situation, straying off topic, and sipping tea, Simon walked out with wet hair and clean clothes. "Cici, can I go out?" He asked, almost immediately as he emerged from the bathroom.
Descole raised an eyebrow and nodded. "You sure you're okay to go? I mean, I guess." He bit his bottom lip. This reminded him of the little boy he was separated from, the adventurous little boy. He smiled as he noticed Simon smile wider. "Oh, Simon, remember my friend Hershel?"
Simon looked at his guest and smiled wide. "Wow, the Hershel Layton?" He walked over to him and shook his hand. "Aw, I can remember when you and Cici and that ginger boy used to play detective. You're big news in France, you know that?"
Hershel raised an eyebrow. "I am? Well, I'm honored." He said letting go of his hand with a smile. "It's good to see you again Simon."
Simon smiled sweetly and shrugged. He looked back at his brother and bit his bottom lip. "Brother, can I talk to you a moment?"
Jean watched his brother walk up to him. He forgot how much taller he was, and how much bigger he seemed in general. Well, bigger than he was since he was a little kid. He remembered his small baby brother, not the tall, handsome and strong looking young man.
He walked his little brother into his room and raised an eyebrow.
Simon half smiled. "Hershel Layton? The great Jean Descole is still friends with Hershel Layton?" He asked incredulously.
Jean rolled his eyes. "He doesn't know, so let's not bring it up."
Simon nodded and licked his lips. "Can I borrow some money to buy some canvases? I couldn't grab any if I wanted to take all my paints and my easel."
Jean agreed and handed him some money. The two of them walked out and continued on their day with no problems. He hoped none would happen. For the first time, he felt pretty content.
..
A some days, or possibly weeks later, Jean walked into his house from the servant building. His mask was on, and he was clad in his Jean Descole look. He had been more recently. Even in his house, he had mostly been forgetting Francis Smith. It was his only way of feeling safe and protected. Since he hadn't been eating, or sleeping, he felt especially vulnerable unless he was dressed up.
He couldn't help but think about his ex-stepfather recently. Especially that day. What was he doing? Where was he? He should have killed him. He couldn't help but think he should have killed him. Because he was alive, it seemed to haunt him.
He kept thinking he was going to show up at his house and try and take his baby brother, or hurt him again. The idea that he could just show up scared him. He should have killed him.
Clad as Jean Descole, he was shocked as he walked into his living room and saw his baby brother behind his easel, talking gaily and painting a familiar man. A familiar blonde, strong looking man, who he promised to try out for a ballet with.
"Bradley?" He asked incredulously before the two men realized he was there.
They both looked over and Bradley nearly fell out of his seat, before he realized who was behind that mask. "Francis?" He asked, breathing hard. "Why are you dressed like that?"
Realizing Jean Descole was standing in his living room and not Francis Smith, Jean narrowed his eyes and said nothing. It only took a second for Bradley to realize what was happening. Jean stood paralyzed not sure what to say.
"Oh my god," Bradley covered his mouth and shook his head. "You're joking." He said with an incredulous laugh. "Oh my god, that makes so much sense. You're Jean Descole."
Jean licked his lips and shook his head. "What are you doing here?" He said and clenched his fists. He wasn't supposed to see him again. He wasn't supposed to be at his house and he was certainly not supposed to see him again.
"I met him at the coffee shop and he told me he knew you, and I wanted to paint him." Simon told him and raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"
Worried about upsetting his brother, his shook his head and began making tea in the kitchen. In a second later, Bradley followed him and shook his head back. "I can't believe you're a villain. You're always told me you were a scientist, but I had no idea you were a villain." He looked as if he was in shock. "I dated a villain."
"Shouldn't you be getting painted?"
Bradley let out a snicker. "I only agreed so I could see you again." He told him and sighed. "I needed an excuse to see you. We were such a wreck when I walked out on you. And I had so many questions."
"I don't want to answer any." Jean said coldly and continued seeping the tea on the hot stove. "I was in a bad place and I have nothing left to say." He stated and felt like crying behind his mask. He didn't want Bradley there, but he didn't want to kick him out. He needed is brother to feel safe and like he could do what he wanted.
Bradley shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you Francis." He said and walked out of the kitchen.
Jean felt his nails cutting into his palms at that. He didn't need Bradley to tell him he was wrong. He didn't live for Bradley. He didn't even love him. He didn't need him.
He wanted him out. Not just out of the house, he wanted him out of his life. He didn't remember any of the happy times they had, or any of the romantic sex sessions. None of the ballet dances they performed together as examples for the new dancers. All he could think of how disappointed he was, and that hurt too much.
He turned away from his tea pot, to walk into the dining room and scream at him. He wasn't sure what he would say, but he just wanted to yell at the handsome romantic man.
The room was spinning as he took the few steps from kitchen to the dining room, but before he could even open his mouth, the room went black, and that was the last thing he remembered.