Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ten Years in the Future

“Alright, boys. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“I guess…”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?”

“Of course not. I’m just… nervous.”

“Well, if this goes as planned, we’ll have nothing to worry about. I disabled the temporal trackers, so they shouldn’t be able to find you.”

The man turned to a bank of computers and tapped quickly, glancing between them and the two, young men who stood before a tunnel. Light crackled inside of it, before the tunnel glowed with a deep, blue light. The air in the room came alive like lightening.

“Stabilizing…” the man said, tapping a few more buttons on the keyboard, and the lightening-charged air calmed down. “Alright. Get going. Remember your mission.”

“Right!” The younger of the other two said, before charging forward. The older of the two hesitated, and the older man at the computers nodded to him.

“Everything will be alright.”

The young man took a deep breath, nodded, and stepped into the light.

Just as the older man turned off the tunnel, the door slammed open.

Present Day

Desmond Sycamore rested back against his chair with a deep sigh, lifting his red-half-rimmed glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. It was getting late, and he’d been pouring over an old book for hours, now.

Since he and Professor Layton had discovered the secrets of the Azran Legacy, Desmond had given up his persona as Jean Descole. He and his loyal butler/father figure, Raymond, had moved away from London, instead living in the rural England countryside.

“Master, the post arrived earlier,” Raymond said, looking up from where he’d been sorting through the mechanical clutter left on the dinning room table.

“Ah, thank you, Raymond,” Desmond said, going over to where the older man always left the post. There were a few letters, mostly bills, but one caught his attention immediately.

The address was handwritten, with no return address. And the handwriting was… familiar.

Desmond quickly opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, frowning as he studied it.

Dear Desmond,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know it has been over a year since we have last spoken, but a lot has happened in that year. I was hoping we could meet up, talk, and reconnect. I am sure you remember the address to my flat. I hope to see you this Friday, around 1, for lunch.

Faithfully,

Hershel Layton.

Desmond’s eyes narrowed as he studied the letter. Something about it… felt off. He glanced back at the envelop, noting again the lack of return address, before looking back at the letter.

The hand writing was definitely that of his brother’s, but… it seemed more frantic. Almost like he was forced to write it.

And the letters that were written just a shade darker than the rest…

He grabbed a notepad and pencil and quickly wrote down the letters that looked darker.

Trap

Desmond quickly stood up, glancing at his calendar. It was currently Wednesday night. Which means… they only had one full day.

“Raymond, we’re going to London!” he snapped, sweeping away from the table and charging up the stairs. Raymond followed after at a slower pace.

“Master?” he asked, watching as the man manically dug through his closet, pulling out various clothes.

“That letter was from Layton, and something is wrong,” Desmond snapped, glancing back to the clothes he’d thrown onto his bed, before nodding. “He wants to meet with me on Friday, at one. I’d rather know what we were walking into.” Next he pulled out his suitcase.

“Ah. A reconnaissance mission, if you were?”

“Exactly. Get packed. We leave tonight.”

Desmond, disguised as an old lady, sat on a bench not too far from the window that looked into Layton’s office in Gressensheller. It was currently Thursday, the middle of the day. Hershel was sitting at his desk, sipping from a china tea cup, grading papers.

It was all so… painfully normal.

Last night, Raymond and Desmond had arrived and gotten a hotel. It was too late to check in on Hershel, so they began first thing this morning.

And the first thing they saw was Luke Triton darting up to his flat’s front door and knocking. A moment later, the door opened, and two people Desmond had never met came out.

One was a young lady of about fifteen, with curly brown hair and big eyes. The other was a young boy of about seven, with wild, scarlet, curly hair. Layton stood behind them with a warm smile on his face.

“Alright, you three. I am going to have a late night, tonight, if you want to come to the university after school,” he said.

“Yes, Professor!” The girl and Luke said.

“Okay, Dad,” the younger boy said.

Desmond, who’d been taking a sip of his to-go coffee, choked, forcing Raymond to thump his back.

“What!?” Desmond hissed. “When did that happen?”

“Perhaps, if tomorrow weren’t so suspicious, that would be why he invited you to lunch,” Raymond said in amusement. Desmond rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. They might be in danger, too,” he said. “Follow them?” he asked.

“On it,” Raymond said, turning and following after the kids. Desmond then turned to follow the professor, leading him to feeding the pigeons, reading the newspaper, and looking like he was doing needle point, all from this bench. He knew Hershel had noticed him a few times, but whenever their eyes met, the gentleman would smile and tip his hat. Desmond would smile warmly back, before going back to whatever he was doing at the moment.

The issue was, however, that he wasn’t the only one following Hershel. Here and there, he’d seen the same man wandering around the grounds, always keeping an eye on the professor’s window.

It chilled Desmond to the bone.

Around three, Raymond, wearing his own disguise, sat next to Desmond, opening his newspaper. A few minutes later, while Hershel was in a class, Luke and the two other kids entered the office.

“They’re being followed,” Raymond said, nodding towards a man who was speaking to the one Desmond had noticed earlier. Desmond nodded.

“So is Layton,” he said.

“So, what are you going to do tomorrow?” Raymond asked. Desmond frowned at the needle point he’d been pretending to do.

“What else? Trigger whatever trap. Between that letter, and those men, do I have a choice?”

“I suppose not. I will keep an eye on the children,” Raymond agreed.

The Next Day

A deep, blue light flashed in the depths of a dark alleyway in central London, not too far from the London Museum. Two young men dropped out of it, stumbling slightly. The older one looked up and around with wide eyes, while the younger stood up straight, running his fingers through his wild mop of red curls.

“We did it, didn’t we?” the older asked.

“We arrived, if that’s what you mean. We still have to stop it.”

“Right.” The older one stood up as well. “You’re going to the school, right? While I find the Professors…”

“Right. Good luck.” The two men clasped each others shoulders, before taking off in opposite directions.

The older one ran hard and fast, quickly navigating his way through the streets of London. As he ran, he glanced up at Big Ben. It was currently 12:32 PM. “Twenty-eight minutes,” he muttered, pushing himself harder.

Professor Layton frowned slightly as he entered his flat, twenty-minutes to 1. He’d noticed, for the past two days, two people following him.

He was… worried, to say the least. Because of this, he cancelled his afternoon classes, planning on picking the kids up from school, just in case.

But until their school let out, he was trying to figure out all he could about those following him. Yesterday, it was a sweet, little old lady, but he wouldn’t put it past the possibility that it was someone in disguise.

The other person following him, who had been since the middle of the week, was less subtle. It was a man in a suit and sunglasses.

He sat at his desk in his home study, looking through notes on previous cases, trying to figure out who would follow him now, and why. He wasn’t able to get through much, however, before there was a knock on his door. He stood, dropping a bookmark into the book on his desk, before answering.

“Desmond?” he gasped, starting at the man.

“We don’t have much time. I know I’m ten minutes early, but if we’re going to deal with whatever’s going on, we need to do it now.” Desmond pushed Hershel further into the flat and closed the door behind them. Layton simply let him, shock rolling through his body.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Layton said, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Your letter? Friday, at one?” Desmond pulled the letter from his suit pocket, holding it up. “The second message in it?”

“Letter? But I didn’t send—I thought you were dead.”

Desmond froze, gaping at his younger brother in shock.

“What?”

“The last time I saw you was at the ruins of the Azran Temple while it was falling apart…” Layton said, pulling the brim of his hat lower to cover his eyes.

“Hershel, I—”

There was another knock on the door. This one was frantic. Desmond and Hershel looked at each other, before the former strolled over to the door and pulled it open quickly.

Standing on the doorstep was a young man of about 23, wearing a white, button up shirt under a blue sweater, jeans, and sneakers. The clothes were dirty and old looking, and the boy’s light brown hair was messy.

But it was the face that caused Layton to freeze for a second time within the span of five minutes. It had lost it’s youthful roundness, but the wide, dark eyes were so familiar, despite the paleness of his skin, the deep bags under his eyes, and the resemblance to the man’s father that wasn’t there when he was younger.

“Professor Sycamore…” he panted, before looking over his shoulder. “Professor…” his voice seemed to die as his eyes met Layton’s.

“Who are you?” Desmond asked in a harsh voice.

“It’s… it’s me, Luke Triton.”

“I’m sorry, but… how?” Layton asked, trying to regain control of both his emotions and the situation.

“There’s not a lot of time to explain. The two of you are in—” Luke started, before suddenly getting cut off.

“There he is!”

“Shoot,” Luke muttered, before pushing himself into the flat and closing the door, throwing his weight against it. Just before he’d closed it, Layton had seen a man in dark clothes charging towards the door, and it buckled slightly as he threw his weight against it. The young man claiming to be Luke winced as the door opened a crack, his weight alone not being enough. He dug his heels in and tried to keep it closed.

Layton shook his head and added his weight to Luke’s(?), shoving the door closed again and engaging the lock. Desmond watched with narrowed eyes, taking everything in. Luke(?) looked up at them as he leaned against the door.

“Okay, I don’t have a lot of time. The short story is that there are men who want to take you away. Professor, I’m sure you’ve noticed them following you?” he asked. Layton nodded with a small frown.

“Yes.”

“Right. And Professor Sycamore, you received a letter, telling you to come here around one?”

“Yes? I thought it was from Layton,” he said.

“It was. But not this one. The one from my time, ten years in the future.” Layton pulled the brim of his hat down, over his eyes, at the insinuation of time travel, but didn’t say a word. Luke(?) stood up straight, glancing between the two. “I came back to get you two away from here, and keep you from getting caught. Which means we need to leave. Now.”

Just then, there was another crash from the door, causing it to shudder in the frame. Desmond glanced between it and the young man, before nodding.

“Alright. Hershel?” he asked, glancing over at the other man.

“Right. We can leave via the window facing the back alleyway. Get in the Laytonmobile, and get to the kids,” he said. Luke(?) shook his head.

“No. We need to get to King’s Cross Station. I have a friend going to get us—them now.”

“And I can send a message to Raymond. I sent him to watch your kids once I realized you and they might be in danger,” Desmond said. Layton looked between the two of them, before sighing.

“King’s Cross?” he asked, leading the two of them through the flat.

“Yeah. If we can get the two of you, myself, Flora, and Alfendi out of town, you should be safe…” Luke(?) explained.

The three of them climbed out the window, and were quickly making their way towards the red vehicle, when a man in dark clothes suddenly rounded the corner into the small alleyway, and rugby-tackled Luke(?). The young man went down with a Oof!

“So, this is when you went, Triton. Trying to change something?” the man said with a smirk, grappling with Luke(?). He struggled under him, trying to push his attacker off.

“How did you find me?” he gasped.

Before the other man could answer, Desmond grabbed a PVC pipe that was abandoned on the ground, and smacked the man off of Luke(?). Hershel grabbed Luke’s(?) hand, and pulled him to his feet.

“Who was that?” Desmond asked, still holding the pipe as they continued to run.

“Lockjaw. He’s from my time. But no one—” Luke’s(?) eyes widened, and he grasped his left bicep. “Oh.. oh no…”

“What is it?” Hershel asked, stopping at his car and flinging the door open. Desmond did the same, and Luke(?) dove into the back.

“This is… going to be a lot harder then we originally thought…”

“Argh! Why are all the other kids at school so stupid?” Seven-year-old Alfendi trailed after Flora and Luke as they got off the bus, not too far from the Professor’s flat.

“Not everyone can be as smart as you, Al,” Flora giggled, glancing back at the boy she saw as a little brother.

“Still,” Alfendi huffed. “It’s almost like they try to be stupid.”

“I doubt that,” Luke said, shaking his head. “But maybe you should try to be nice to them? It’s what a true gentleman would do.”

Before Alfendi could respond, a hand grabbed his arm in a tight grip, yanking him backwards. He went to yell for help, to alert Luke and Flora who were in front of him, but a rough hand was pressed over his mouth.

“Alfendi?” Luke asked, glancing over his shoulder, just in time to see the young boy bite down as hard as he could on the hand covering his mouth. The man holding him yelped and released him.

Suddenly, another man, this one looking to be about seventeen, appeared behind their attacker, and slammed the pommel of a dagger onto the back of his head. Their attacker went down like a sack of bricks. Alfendi turned and looked up at the teenager, amber eyes flashing in fear and anger.

“Who are you!?” Luke demanded, quickly pulling Alfendi closer, away from the two strangers. Flora moved closer to Luke as well, staring at him. He had wild, scarlet curls that bounced slightly as he moved, sharp, amber eyes, and a thin, wire-like figure cloaked in a black trench coat.

“A friend. Professor Layton sent me to come get you guys. You’re in danger,” he explained, sounding a little breathless.

“Aye, I’ll say.”

The teenager froze as an older man, one that Luke recognized, stepped up behind him.

“What is it you plan to do with these children?” Raymond demanded. The teenager made to turn to face him, but froze when the older man placed something sharp against his back. A small smirk crossed his face.

“Nice to see you, too,” he said. “I was going to take them to King’s Cross Station, to meet up with Professor Layton and Professor Sycamore. My friend is taking them there,” he explained. Raymond nodded slowly, having just received a message from Sycamore to that effect. Still…

“Who are you and what is going on, lad?” Raymond demanded, not moving the knife he held against the young man’s back.

“Names’s Al. And—” the teenager started, when he suddenly spotted something over the kids’ heads. “Shit. We don’t have time,” he snapped with a scowl, whipping around and knocking the knife aside faster than Raymond could process. He stared into the older man’s eyes. “If we don’t move now, these three will be kidnapped,” he explained. Raymond’s eyes widened, and he studied the teen’s eyes for a moment, before nodding, turning to Luke, Flora, and Alfendi.

“Let’s go,” he said. Luke hesitated, glancing between the two men, then behind them. He could see a man, dressed similar to the one that had grabbed Alfendi, heading towards them.

“Alright, but if this is a trap, you’re not gonna get away with it,” Luke said in his best attempt to seem imitating. The teenager smirked and nodded.

“Got it. Get going, I’ll see if I can trip these guys up,” Al said. Raymond nodded, hoping he wasn’t wrong to trust the young man, and started corralling the three kids towards the train station.

Al, meanwhile, faced their pursuer head on, blocking their path.

“Move boy, or else Imma gonna have to hurt you, too,” the man snarled. Al smirked.

“As fun as it would be to watch you try, I know you’re not alone. You’re not getting near those kids, and neither are your friends.”

“A temporal tracker?” Desmond asked, looking back at the teen in the back seat.

“Yeah. It’s used to track Time Travelers through time. We thought they’d been disabled, but…” Luke(?) trailed off, glancing down at his arm, before looking out the rear window.

“Hershel, what do you make of this?” Desmond asked, looking over at the top-hatted professor. Layton’s mouth was drawn into a tight line, neither smile nor frown, and he stared at the road as they drove. To Desmond’s surprise, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“It’s… possible, I guess. If someone were to… perfect that field of science,” he finally said. Both Desmond and Luke(?) stared at him, surprised at his hesitation.

“Er, well, it’s not perfect. So far, it only works between now, and ten years into the future. The… scientists,” Luke’s(?) voice took on a bitter tone at the title, “are trying to figure out how to expand it, and choose when the other side of the wormhole will open, if I am understanding it correctly.”

“I see.”

“Hershel, what’s wrong?” Desmond asked. In all the time he’d known Layton, and especially during the time together on the Bostonius, he’d never seen… this kind of reaction from the man. Layton shook his head.

“It’s no—” he started, proceeding through an intersection, when another car suddenly ran a red-light at top speed. All three occupants of the car yelled in shock, and Layton jerked the wheel, sending the Laytonmobile spinning away, and narrowly avoiding a T-bone collision with the other vehicle. Layton regained control of his car, bringing it to a stop, when four men stepped out of the other car, each of them carrying a gun.

“My word,” Layton mumbled, throwing his vehicle into reverse. As he started to back up, the men aimed their guns and shot at the vehicle. All three ducked as the windows shattered, and there was a loud boom. The Laytonmobile jerked, shuddered, and came to a stop.

“They must have shot out the wheels,” Desmond said, peeking up to see out the window. Luke(?) looked as well, and swallowed.

“The Family,” he muttered softly, before taking a deep breath. “You two get to King’s Cross. I’ll head these guys off,” he said.

“What? No, Luke, there are too many,” Hershel said.

“I know. But if you two are safe, and my younger self and the others… it’ll be worth it.” He turned and looked at those two. “I’ll be okay. Get going,” he said, before quickly climbing out the ruined window. He let out a piercing whistle, getting the attention of the four men, before darting across the intersection and down a small alleyway. All four gave chase.

“What do we do?” Desmond asked, looking over at Hershel. Hershel watched after the boy for a moment, before giving himself a shake.

“We go to King’s Cross Station,” he said, climbing out of the car. Desmond nodded with a frown, following him.

Al managed keep the men at bay for a while, until one, unexpectedly familiar face showed up.

“Hullo, Alfendi.” A tall man in a dark green suit stepped out of one of the alleyways, giving the seventeen-year-old a wicked smile. Al scrambled back from him, his eyes growing wide.

“Fisheye!? What are you doing—” he stopped, putting a hand to his left bicep, before scowling deeply at the man. “I see.”

“Heh. Yer even sharper than your pappy. Or Uncle,” he said, still smirking, as he pulled out a knife. Al felt something inside of him grow cold.

“What. Did. You. Do?” he snarled. Fisheye simply laughed at that, and lunged at the boy. Al rolled away, jumping back to his feet, and pulled his own knife. It had a gold cross guard and pommel, and a black grip. The blade, made of blue steel, was thin and tapered to a sharp point; the shape was more like a saber blade at dagger length, than a proper dagger. He gripped it in his right hand, holding it in front of him, ready to counter the other man.

Fisheye lumbered forward, surprisingly slow for a knife fighter. What he lacked in movement speed, he more than made up for in strength. Al attempted to block the man’s slash, only to feel it reverberate through his fingers and up his arm. He stumbled back, found his footing, and darted in, quick as a snake. Fisheye managed to avoid the attack, and the two went back and forth like this for a few minutes, until Al used a technique entirely outside the realm of knife-fighting, and comfortably in the realm of fighting dirty.

He kneed the man in the groin.

“Oooo!” Fisheye squealed, dropping to the ground as he wrapped his arms around himself. Al smirked at him.

“I’ll have to thank her for teaching me that, later,” he muttered softly, before studying him critically. “Doubt you’re the only one, though…”

Al nodded to himself and pulled his left arm out of the trench coat, and out of the sleeve of the white, button up shirt he wore underneath. He twisted the now empty arm of the jacket, and bit down on it, before carefully digging into his left bicep with the sharp point of his dagger.

Once he was sure the cut was deep enough, he switched the knife into a reverse hold, and dug into the cut with his thumb and index finger, before pulling out a small chip. Al studied it for a moment, before dropping it to the ground, just in front of Fisheye’s face, and stomping on it, shattering it completely.

“There,” Al panted. “That should keep them from tracking me.” He quickly replaced the shirt and jacket, not bothering to bandage up his now freely bleeding arm, wiped the blood off of his blade on Fisheye’s jacket, and turned, running in the direction Raymond had taken the kids.

“I see,” Luke muttered, sitting on a bench, watching as Raymond paced in front of them. Flora was on the bench as well, with Alfendi wedged between them. “But even without the code in it, you should have known it was a trap. Professor Layton didn’t even know Professor Sycamore was still alive, let alone where you lived.”

“Aye, yer right on the nose, lad. That’s part of the reason why we were keepin’ an eye on all of you,” Raymond said, having just explained the story as he knew it to the three of them.

“But who was that teenager? Al?” Flora asked.

“That, I don’t know. Certainly not one of the blokes who’d been following you and yer Professor,” Raymond said.

Before another word could be spoke, two pairs of running footsteps met their ears. The group turned to see Professors Layton and Sycamore running over to them.

“You’re alright!” Layton said, relief evident in his voice. He stopped in front of the bench, pulling all three kids into his arms.

“Thank God. Good job, old friend,” Sycamore said, patting the older man’s shoulder. Raymond shook his head.

“Thanks, but I woulda been too late. Another lad saved him, right before I showed up,” Raymond explained, nodding to Alfendi.

“Another… could this have been the friend he spoke of?” Layton said, looking up from the kids.

“That who spoke of?” Luke asked, sounding confused.

“You all made it!”

The six turned to see Luke(?) run over to them. He looked tired, and had some new cuts and bruises, but otherwise looked unharmed. Luke, the one standing beside Alfendi and Layton, squinted his eyes and studied the young man.

“Who—?”

“Wait… where’s Al?” Luke(?) asked.

“The teenager?” Flora asked. “He stayed behind to stop the people who were trying to kidnap us,” she explained.

Screams suddenly ripped through the air. The group turned in that direction, to see more armed men rushing into the train station. Luke’s(?) eyes widened, his breathing picking up. Layton put a hand on his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked, resisting the urge to add ‘my boy’.

“The Family. I thought they’d only send a few agents, but this…”

“They’re out in force today,” Al, who’d just run up behind them, snarled. Layton quickly turned, and froze, staring at the teenager. In his mind’s eye, he was seeing someone else; Alfendi’s biological father.

He quickly shook his head, then noticed blood dripping from the teen’s left hand. Luke(?) also quickly turned to look at him.

“Al!” There was a moment of relief in his voice, before it turned serious. “I thought he shut off the temporal trackers?”

“Looks like he made a mistake. No time to dwell on it now.” He looked around at everyone. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Raymond nodded, and started to lead the group over to where a train was still in the station. “Come. This one will take us—”

Before the old man could finish, deep blue light appeared around the group, sucking in first Al and Luke(?), then Alfendi, Flora, and Desmond. Layton and Luke immediately dove in after them. Before Raymond could move another muscle, the blue light was gone, as well as the two professors, Layton’s kids, and the two young men.

“They time travelled again!” one of the armed men snapped, and, they, too, disappeared into a deep, blue light.

Chapter Text

The world spun, and the blue light that had sucked them in spat them out once again, depositing them into a heap on a cold, metal floor in front of some kind of metal tube. Professor Layton carefully detangled himself from the others, straightening his hat, and stood, looking around.

They appeared in a lab of some kind, but the technology… it was beyond anything he’d ever seen before.

“Shit.” Al stood, brushing his trench coat off, and stepping up next to Professor Layton, looking around. The tunnel was set in the back of the lab, the door across the room.

“Al, Luke?” a familiar voice, if older and more weary, called, and a man with burgundy eyes stood up from where he was crouched behind one of the tables. Desmond made a small sound like he was choking, and Hershel looked between him and the older man.

Rather than the square, half-rimmed glasses, the older was wearing round, rim-less glasses. His chestnut brown hair didn’t curl just at the ears, like Desmond’s, but was instead pulled back into a low ponytail, the end curling down to the base of his neck. His face was definitely older, with more stress lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but it was undeniably…

“How?” Desmond demanded, staring at the older man.

“Oh-no. I was afraid of this,” the older man said, his frown matching Desmond’s as he put a hand to his chin in contemplation, a gesture Hershel vividly remembered from his and Desmond’s time chasing after the Azran Eggs.

“There’s no time for that, Uncle Des,” Al snapped, gaining everyone else’s attention. Flora, Luke, and Alfendi moved closer to Hershel, while Luke(?) crossed his arms, standing at Al’s side.

“You’re right. They’ll be coming back any minute.” The older man, who Layton was actually starting to believe was an older Desmond, turned to a bank of monitors. “Which means you need to get them somewhere safe.”

“Sneaking in by myself was a breeze. How in the bloody hell am I supposed to sneak out with six other people?” Al demanded. Des (Older Desmond? Or is that short for Descole?) hesitated, looking at the group. Luke(?) looked down for a moment, before taking a deep breath.

“I’ll play distraction,” he said. Al’s head snapped to look at him, and he frowned.

“No, Luke. If you do that, you’ll be recaptured, and everything Uncle Des did won’t mean a thing,” he said.

“It already doesn’t!” Luke(?) snapped, his fire so similar to the younger Luke’s, that it only added fuel to Layton’s belief. “Look around, Al. Nothing’s changed. We didn’t save them in the past, we bought them here with us, outside of time, and our lives are still as horrible as they were before we left!”

Al stayed quiet, his amber eyes flickering between the two Professors and the younger kids, before he looked back at Luke(?).

“You’re right,” he conceded softly.

“I know I am. So while I distract every guard here, get them somewhere safe, alright?”

“Alright. You try to be safe too, alright?” Al demanded, his voice regaining its sharp edge. Luke(?) nodded, and the two clasped each other’s shoulders, before Luke(?) darted out.

“Take them to Raymond,” Des suggested. Al glanced at him with a smirk.

“Already planned on it.” He turned to the group and took a deep breath. “Look. I know you have a lot of questions, but we need to move, now. And fast,” he said. Hershel and Desmond glanced at each other, before nodding. Flora, Luke, and Alfendi, on the other-hand, all opened their mouths. Al noticed. “Not right now,” he snapped. “I promise, once we get out of here, I’ll explain everything. I just… I need you all to trust me.”

Flora studied the young man’s eyes – a harder, more weary reflection of her younger brother’s – and nodded, stepping forward.

“Alright. I trust you,” she said. Al smiled in relief.

“Good. We’ll be able to move faster if we carry Luke and—” he hesitated, glancing at Alfendi for a second. Hershel nodded and scooped the younger red-head up, helping him onto his back. Desmond, seeing the truth in this, picked Luke up and swung him onto his own back.

“Whoa! Hey!” Luke snapped.

“Hush, before you bring this whole place down on our heads,” Desmond snapped, adjusting the boy. Luke opened his mouth in protest, but stopped when noticing Layton nodding.

Al took Flora’s hand, to make sure they didn’t get separated, and tore out of the door, going in the opposite direction from the yells of the guards chasing after Luke(?). Hershel and Desmond quickly followed, although both stumbled slightly in surprise at the gears and stairs that awaited them outside of the lab.

“Is this… Big Ben?” Hershel asked, looking both up and down the steps.

“Yeah. The end of the tunnel we came out of connects to one of the clock’s faces,” Al explained, quickly descending. The group followed, looking around as  the steps circled more and more downwards. After quite some time, they came to a door, which Al burst through.

“Oi! Who the ‘ell are you lot?” a gruff voice demanded as a man in a purple suit turned towards them. His beady little eyes fell on Al, his face split into an ugly grin, and he pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. “Oh, I git it. No wonder they were all up in a tizzy up top. Alfen—” Before he could finish the statement, Al let go of Flora’s hand and tackled the man.

Both rolled for a moment, hands locked together in a grapple, before the man pinned Al to the ground, using his larger weight to his advantage and grabbing his wrists to pin him. Al, quick as a snake, slid his arms upwards and over his head, off-balancing the man on top of him. He wrapped his right leg around the man’s ankle, trapping it, and twisted his body, propelling the man sideways and off of him by driving his left foot into the ground.

They rolled again, and this time, Al was on top. Rather than wasting time pinning the man, his fist shot forward into the man’s nose. With a satisfying crunch, the man’s head snapped back, and he was dazed. Al jumped off of him, grabbed Flora’s hand again, and started running.

“Come on!” he called to the rest of the group, who were stunned.

“Who is this guy?” Luke wondered from where he was still on Desmond’s back.

“I wonder,” Layton mumbled, glancing back at Alfendi, who was just watching in wide-eyed amazement.

The group made it away from Big Ben, and entered a labyrinth that was very similar to the London Streets Hershel knew by heart. The group looked around with wide eyes as they ran, starring at vehicles that were much more sleek than their own, signs that looked like TVs, showing ads that switched frequently, and people looking down at small rectangles in their hands, or holding them against their ears.

“What… what is all of this?” Desmond asked. Al glanced back, and smiled slightly.

“Welcome to the future. Technology is much more advanced,” he said, before looking forward again, focusing on their path. He lead them through a maze of streets and alleyways, until suddenly, he stumbled.

“Al?” Flora asked, looking at the young man.

“It’s nothing,” Al mumbled, finding his feet again and continuing to run. Hershel frowned, remembering spotting blood on the young man’s hand, the one not holding Flora’s. He looked again and… sure enough, there was even more then before.

“Al, stop,” he said, his voice soft, but stern. The young man stiffened slightly, stumbling to a halt and looking back at the man. Hershel carefully put Alfendi down, and walked over to Al.

“Let me see your arm,” he said. Al glanced at his left arm, before shaking his head.

“There’s no time. We need to get you guys to safety, and—” he started, only to cut himself off at the look Layton was giving him. It was a kind of sternness that also radiated understanding and sympathy.

“I know. But what would happen if you passed out from blood loss?” he asked. Al hesitated, before sighing, carefully pulling his arm out from his jacket.

“Fine,” he grumbled, ignoring the shocked sounds from the group. The sleeve of the white button up shirt was deep red, which was starting to bleed up his shoulder. Hershel frowned at that, his eyes flickering over everything.

“We need to get this sleeve off, so I can see the wound better,” he said. Al reached into his right boot, and produced a dagger, the same he used earlier. Hershel took it, looking at it curiously, before carefully cutting the fabric of the sleeve away, revealing the wound.

“I was going to wait until we got home, so I could clean it up and deal with it more effectively,” Al explained, looking it over.

“What happened here?” Desmond asked, moving closer as Hershel began to clean the blood away, using his handkerchief. Al looked at the two professors, before turning his head away, letting his curls fall over his eyes.

“Luke told you about the temporal trackers?” he asked, already guessing the answer to his question. Hershel felt a stone drop into his stomach, and he nodded.

“Yes, my boy. Don’t tell me you…?” he trailed off, his hands freezing as he finally got a clear look at the wound on the boy’s arm. It was clear, from the shape, angle, and deepness, that he’d dug into his own arm with his knife.

“My word…” Desmond mumbled, also seeing the wound.

“Yeah. I was trying to buy us time,” Al explained, before snorting. “’Time’. Like it really mattered.” He chuckled humorlessly, as though at a joke only he knew, and didn’t find funny.

Hershel carefully cut the ruined shirt sleeve into strips, and wrapped them around the boy’s arm. It wasn’t ideal, by any definition of the word, but it was pressure that would hopefully stop the bleeding. Al, meanwhile, still hid behind his curls, refusing the look up. Once he was sure the bandage was secure, he placed a gentle hand on the teen’s shoulder.

“Alfendi, look at me,” he said, his voice soft. Seven-year-old Alfendi looked up at his father… as did seventeen-year-old Al, his amber eyes wide.

“How long did it take you to figure it out?” he asked, trying to inject sarcasm into his voice, but failing. Hershel smiled slightly.

“I suspected it to be true when Luke and you met us at the train station. One person using a disguise... well, it's happened before. But two? That's a little harder to pull off. I confirmed it when we met the future version of Professor Sycamore,” he said.

“If I may, Hershel, you seem to be awfully quick to believe time travel,” Desmond said.  

“It is just an advanced field of practical physics,” Hershel said, before pulling his hat over his eyes. “I… once knew someone who was studying it, and on the cusp of developing a time machine.”

“Did they succeed?” Luke asked. Hershel took a deep breath, noticeable only by Desmond and Al, before he pushed his hat back from his eyes.

“No.” His tone was final, closing that conversation. Instead, he turned to Al. “Someone did though,” he said, glancing at Alfendi, before looking at his older counterpart again. Al nodded, carefully slipping his arm back into his trench coat.

“Yes. They did. But… look, let’s get to safety, then I can answer any question you have, alright?” he said.

“Alright. How much further?” Hershel asked, pulling Alfendi onto his back again.

“Not much,” Al replied, leading once more.

The group travelled to the outskirts of London, through some woods, and to a small, stone cottage. Al approached the door, looking around quickly, before quickly unlocking it and ushering the group in.

“Al?”

Desmond went rigid as an all too familiar voice called out to the teenager. Al saw his reaction, and smirked slightly.

“Yeah, Grandpa Ray, it’s me. I bought some… company,” he called back. An old man looked out of the door to the kitchen, and froze slightly, his eyes roaming over the group. He then stepped fully into the entrance hall as his eyes landed on a certain person.

“Master,” he finally said with a smirk, looking at Desmond. Desmond let out a shaky laugh.

“Raymond. You haven’t changed one bit,” he said, and the words were true. Raymond looked exactly as he did when they’d been separated from him at King’s Cross, apparently ten years ago, now. Raymond nodded with a smile, before frowning at Al.

“I see yer injure, again. Come on, let me see,” he said. Al smiled weakly, before pulling his trench coat fully off, and following the old man.

“Make yourselves at home. It’ll only be a few minutes,” he said, before disappearing to a side room that Raymond had vanished into only moments before.

The group glanced at each other, before moving to sit in the living room. There was one three-sitter sofa, and two arm chairs. Other than that, the room was bare. No pictures, no decorations. Nothing but a pack in the corner to show this room had ever been lived in. The kids took the sofa, while the professors took the chairs.

“Professor, what do you think about all of this?” Luke asked, leaning forward. “I mean… my future self, Alfendi’s future self… even Professor Sycamore and Mister Raymond!”

“I know,” Layton said, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “But it seems not everything is… well here.”

“Yes. It seems Al and Big Luke came back in order to stop this all from happening,” Desmond said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “And something about Big Luke getting… recaptured?”

“Yes, that part worries me,” Hershel said, putting a hand to his chin. “And we haven’t seen what had become of myself or Flora yet…”

“I hope nothing too horrible,” Flora said softly, looking down. After a moment, Alfendi perked up.

“Well, Big Me said he would answer our questions once we were here, so we could find out?” he reasoned. Hershel chuckled softly at what he called the teenager, and nodded.

“That is true. I suppose we should just wait for now. Hopefully Raymond can do better for that wound then we could…”

“Oh, he’ll be fine. Raymond used to patch me up all the time,” Desmond said with a handwave.

“If I am remembering correctly, Master, I still do in your time,” Raymond returned from the other room, trailed by Al. He had a new, clean shirt on, also a button up white shirt. It hid his arm from view, but they could imagine a fresh, new bandage around his upper arm.

“That is true, though less frequently than before,” Desmond chuckled. Al smiled at that, before perching on the arm of the sofa, in between his younger self and the chair Desmond sat in. He turned towards Hershel, and sighed.

“So, your questions?” he offered. Hershel nodded and leaned forward.

“I guess I’ll start with the most important one. How did this all start, and what is happening now?”

“That… the answer to that one is… long,” Al said, looking down for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “It started the day Luke and I went back to. Uncle Des was drawn to your flat by a letter he thought was written by you. The two of you were attacked and kidnapped.” Al stood from his perch and walked over to the pack in the corner, digging through it, before pulling out a beat up notebook. “The men also attacked me, Luke, and Flora on our way home from school. If Grandpa Ray hadn’t shown up when he did… they would have gotten all three of us.”

“But why take us in the first place?” Layton asked. Al opened the notebook and flipped to the beginning. “I… really don’t know. I know the four of you dropped off the face of the planet though.” He found the right page and handed it to Hershel. Inside, a news article was pasted to the paper. The article itself was dated two days into the future from his time. Ten years ago from today.

‘Parents report son missing!

Two days ago, 13-year-old Luke Triton went missing, along with the famed Professor Layton and his own two children, 15-year-old Flora Reinhold and 7-year-old Alfendi Layton. Clark and Brenda Triton are begging anyone with news of these people to step forward.’

“Uncle Clark and Aunt Brenda went to the police when they didn’t hear from us,” Alfendi continued.

"Mum... Dad..." Luke muttered, looking down at the thought of his parents.

“Of course, they didn’t know Uncle Des and Grandpa Ray were involved at the time, and Grandpa Ray was making sure we kept our heads down to keep from becoming targets…”

“I first thought Targent had a revival,” Raymond admitted. “Especially when I couldn’t find hide, nor ‘air of you. I took Al and the Bostonius to the Nest, but it was still deserted.”

“So, we returned to London and continued searching for you. A few months later…” Al nodded to the book, and Hershel flipped the page.

‘Professor Sycamore and Dr. Stahngun Unveil Working Time Machine!

Professor Sycamore, who was believed dead after the discovery of the Azran people, worked together with Dr. Stahngun to present a working time machine at Buckingham Palace today. Sycamore revealed he had stepped away from Archeology after nearly loosing his life while chasing the Azran, and is instead using his engineering background to assist in building a machine that can break through the binds of time. Dr. Stahngun, the man behind the physical science, explained—’

Hershel stopped reading, instead turning his eyes to the picture that accompanied the article. Two men stood in front of a machine shaped like a tunnel. On the left was a tall man with curly hair that covered his right eye, and a goatee. On the right was the familiar face of Desmond Sycamore. Both were smiling, but their posture was tense, and Desmond had bags under his eyes.

“That was the first time we’d seen a sign of any of you since you’d been taken, and Uncle Des was living near central London. We found him, but he explained that if he didn’t do what they wanted… they’d hurt you, or Luke, or Flora.”

Hershel froze slightly at that, before looking across the room at his brother. Desmond was still as a statue, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped in front of his face, hiding his mouth. The glasses he wore reflected the light, making it impossible to see his eyes; impossible to read his expression.

“Desmond?” Hershel asked softly.

“I’d already lost my wife and daughter by being too stubborn to work with Targent. I can see how I’d do anything to avoid it happening a second time,” Desmond said in a low voice.

“Yeah. That’s why you also asked Grandpa Ray to keep me hidden. I… did get to spend time with you though, and I learned a lot from you…” Al rubbed the back of his head, not noticing the way Desmond quickly straightened, glancing at him, then back at Hershel. Hershel cleared his throat.

“Alfen—”

“A year after you were kidnapped, things got even worse,” Al said, speaking over his father. Hershel took at as his que, and flipped the page.

‘Assassinated! Prime Minister, Bill Hawks is Dead!”

Hershel didn’t bother to read the article. Instead, he looked up at Al. Al ran his fingers through his hair.

“They say it’s the current… leader who did it,” he said.

“And who is that?” Hershel asked, moving to turn the page. Before he could touch the book, however, a voice boomed from outside.

“ALFENDI LAYTON! WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP, AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT.”

Chapter Text

“ALFENDI LAYTON! WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP, AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT.”

Alfendi jumped at that, eyes widening in fear. Al, meanwhile, jumped up from the sofa, darting over to the window and peaking out the closed curtain, opening it only slightly to see.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Al mumbled, before turning to the others. “The entire front is surrounded. We have to go out the back and hope there is no one back there.” As he spoke, he strode across the room, grabbing the book from Hershel, and throwing it back into the pack, before shouldering it.

“You know there will be, lad,” Raymond said. Al hesitated at that, before nodding.

“Yeah. So, I’ll distract them, while you get them to the Crossing of Kings,” he decided.

“What?” Hershel was immediately on his feet, his mind flashing to the older Luke, who had done the same not too long ago, and they haven't heard from him since. “Al—”

“I’ll be fine. They can’t use lethal force on me. I’m better leverage alive than dead,” Al said. ‘Leverage?’ everyone else except Raymond wondered. “Besides, if we get you out of here, you can get back to your own time and change this.”

“Change the future?” Desmond muttered.

“But isn’t that dangerous?” Luke asked.

“Only if the current future is worth living in. Believe me, this is not,” Al said dryly.

“WE’RE GIVING YOU TO THE COUNT OF THREE BEFORE WE BARGE IN THERE.”

Al looked at the window, than up at Raymond and the Professors.

“ONE.”

“There’s no time to argue. Just trust me.” Al passed the pack to Layton, before darting away. The group watched after him for a moment, before Hershel shouldered the pack.

“I don’t like this,” Layton muttered, putting a hand to his chin.

“I trust him… or… me? We’ll be okay,” Alfendi said in a serious tone, taking Layton’s other hand. Layton looked down at him and nodded.

“Of course.”

“Raymond, how do we get out of here?” Desmond asked, turning to the older man.

“The back. This way.”

“TWO!”

Al climbed through a skylight and onto the roof, barely glimpsing at the dusk sky, just as the leader of the pack raised the megaphone to call out the last number.

“No need for that, Inspector,” Al called, sneering the title.

“Ah. Alfendi. About time,” the inspector said, still using the megaphone. “Let’s end this game, now. If you stop causing problems, I’ll take you to your family.”

“Hah!” Al rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, crossed his arms, and leaned his shoulder against the chimney. Despite the relaxed pose, his posture was coiled tight as a spring. Ready for a fight, or to dodge. “Somehow, Chummy, I don’t believe you.”

The man on the ground seethed. “It’s Chelmey!” he snapped, before glaring at the gang members who snickered at Al’s words.

“Who cares?” Al said airily.

“Get down here right this instant, boy!”

“Hm…. No, I don’t think I will.”

While Al antagonized the gang, Raymond lead the Professors and the three kids out the back and deeper into the woods surrounding the cottage. Hershel could hear Al shouting, and the other person using a megaphone, but he couldn’t make out any of the words…

…still…

“I don’t like this,” Desmond muttered under his breath. “Leaving him like we did the older Luke… what if he’s captured?”

Hershel looked at Desmond in surprise, before nodding. “Agreed. I don’t see how he will avoid it, honestly.”

“That lad knows these woods like the back of his hand, better than the streets of London,” Raymond started, before glancing back. “But I agree. That’s why…” He forged ahead a few more meters, and a shed appeared out of the gloom between the trees.

“What is this, Raymond?” Desmond asked. Raymond answered by opening the door, revealing a sleek machine inside. It was the same bright orangish/red as the Bostonius, and the front was pointed, shaped as a kayak, including a seat. In front of this seat were driver controls. Behind the seat was a second one for a passenger. It was at this point the body of the craft widened, and flattened, creating wings and causing the machine to have a wedge like shape. On the bottom was a set of wheels – landing gear.

“Whoa!” Luke gasped, while Desmond let out a low whistle, impressed.

“This here is a hovercraft. A Silent Flyer model. Two of us could use this to get Al,” Raymond explained. Desmond quickly moved over, studying the controls.

“I can fly this. It’s similar to—” he looked up to see the group staring at him, especially Hershel and Luke. He let out a cough. “To other machines I’ve piloted.

“Agreed,” Raymond said. Hershel nodded and turned to the kids.

“I am going too. Raymond, could to get the kids to… what was it, the Crossing of Kings?” he asked. Raymond nodded with a small smile.

“Old Raymond knows the way,” he said with a smile, before holding up a hand and stepping to the corner of the shed. Desmond, meanwhile, was already in the driver’s seat, getting acquainted with the controls. Hershel turned to the kids.

“Be careful, alright? Listen to Raymond, and do what he says.”

“Yes, dad.”

“Alright, Professor!”

“Luke?” Hershel turned to him when he didn’t answer. Luke was looking down for a moment, before he looked up with a determined frown.

“I’m coming, too,” Luke said. Hershel let out a soft sigh, and smiled at him. He knew this was going to be Luke’s response (it always is!) but this time…

“I would love for you to come, my boy, but the hovercraft only seats two people. I fear we might already chance over burdening it when we add Al into the mix,” he explained. Luke’s eyebrows drew together as he looked at the hovercraft, before he nodded in understanding.

“Right. Too much weight, and it won’t fly…”

“Precisely.” Layton gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Besides, I need you to help Raymond in protecting Flora and Alfendi. Can you do that?”

“Of course!” Luke said with a bright smile. Hershel smiled back warmly, patting the boy’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Luke,” he said.

“Aha, here it is!” Raymond walked back over, and passed an old sword in its sheath to Desmond as Hershel climbed into the passenger seat.

“You may need this, Master. Just some extra insurance,” he said.

“My sword,” Desmond muttered, pulling it out of the sheath and studying it. Hershel’s eyes widened slightly as he realized he’d seen the sword’s design elsewhere, earlier that day.

Al’s knife…

“Get going. And make sure that hot head is okay,” Raymond commanded. Desmond nodded, sheathing the sword and placing it behind his seat, in front of Hershel. Raymond pushed the shed doors wide open, and the kids stood to the side of the building as the hovercraft started up.

As the model’s name implied, the machine was silent as it levitated above the ground. Desmond eased the controls forward, and the craft glided out of the shed. Then, after pulling a few levers, it gained altitude above the trees, and darted off.

Raymond, on the other hand, turned to the kids.

“Come on, you three, let’s get going,” he said, leading them through the woods. They’re silent for maybe three minutes, before Luke took a deep breath.

“So… ‘Grandpa Ray’?” he asked, knowing this man from before, and how he was a cohort of Descole. Raymond’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“Al called me Mister, for a while,” Raymond admitted. “Until he started seeing Desmond as an Uncle. That seemed to elevate me from ‘stranger’ to ‘family’.”

“Can we call you Grandpa Ray?” Alfendi asked. Raymond glanced over him, his smile softening.

“Of course,” he said. Alfendi grinned at that.

“Cool!”

“Eh, I think I’ll pass,” Luke said, grabbing Alfendi’s hand to help him over a large grouping of roots; Raymond was already helping Flora. “It’ll be too weird for me, considering…”

“I understand, lad,” Raymond said with a smile, patting the young man’s shoulder.

They were just entering the city again, when there was a gasp of pain, and the sound of scuffling from a nearby alleyway. Raymond glanced in curiously as they walked by, before freezing. There were two men fighting. One was wearing dark clothes, a black had, and sun glasses. The other, the one who had his back to them, was wearing a dark blue coat. A matching fedora laid crumpled at his feet, and his light brown hair, streaked through with gray, was sticking up in odd angles.

“Who--?” the question didn’t fully leave Luke’s mouth when Raymond darted forward, a smoke bomb appearing in his hand. Luke immediately moved, standing between the fight, and Flora and Alfendi. Raymond threw the smoke bomb to the ground between the two men, before diving into the smoke. There was coughing, a loud smack, a thump, and finally, a dull thud, just as the smoke cleared.

“Raymond,” the man said, and Luke gasped at how familiar the voice sounded. “Perfect timing, as usual. Thank you.” The man bent to pick the fedora up, brushing it off carefully, before looking up at the man. At Raymond’s feet, the other man was unconscious.

“Think nothing of it, Clark. But if yer not going to take those self-defense classes seriously, perhaps you shouldn’t stray too far from the hideout?” Raymond said, walking forward, past the man, and back to the three kids.

“I do take them seriously. I just seem to freeze—” the words died on Clark’s tongue as he spotted who Raymond was travelling with.

“L-Luke…?” he muttered, his voice breathless, like someone had stolen all of his oxygen.

“Dad!?” Luke gasped.

Al was not having any luck finding a way off the roof. Sure, he talked a big game, and it was almost too easy to antagonize the police force who really worked for The Family, but they were also aware of many of his tricks now.

I guess fighting and avoiding them for four years made me predictable, Al thought.

“We’re getting tired of these games!” Chelmey boomed into the megaphone.

“And I’m getting tired of your face. Yet we must all suffer,” Al snarked back, before hearing footsteps from just behind him. He moved immediately, spinning on his heel, spotting a Family Member, and jumping backwards to avoid his grab.

He landed on the part of the roof that angled down to the front yard… and the roof shingle under his right foot shifted, then broke loose from the roof, causing Al’s right leg to slide out from under him. He fell to the roof, slide-rolled down it’s angle and off of the roof, and hit the ground in front of the cottage with a thud, landing on his back.

“Ow…” Al muttered breathlessly, dazed. The officers/Family members surrounded him, and two dragged him up by his arms before he could fully shake off his daze. Another man, large, mustached, in a white suit, with a scar on his forehead, bent down, grabbing Al’s chin and forcing him to look up.

“Bostro. So, what are you going to do with me. Lock me up with the others?” Al snarled, glaring hatred at the man. The man laughed at that.

“Oh, no. Two seems to be more than enough. Heh. Instead, I get the pleasure of questioning you.”

Chelmey, who was standing behind the man, stiffened slightly. Al’s eyes widened at the implication, and his face paled.

“Let’s start easy. What were you and Triton doing in the past?” Bostro started.

“Go to hell,” Alfendi snapped. Bostro nodded to the two men holding Al, and they hauled the young man fully upright. Bostro’s fist drove into Al’s stomach, causing him to heave forward with a strangled yelp of pain. His lungs seized up in shock from the impact, and for a scary moment, he couldn’t breath.

Despite being bent almost double, the two men holding him kept his arms locked in an iron grip. Bostro grabbed the top of Al’s hair and dragged his head upwards, so he was looking at his face.

“I don’t like to ask questions twice,” the bigger man snarled. Al, despite the pain and lack of oxygen, managed a smirk.

“Then don’t… but don’t expect… answers, either,” he panted, earning a sharp backhand across the face, Bostro’s large rings cutting into the skin on Al’s sharp cheek bone. This time, he managed to bite back a cry, instead gasping in pain.

“You want to make this longer, boy? Fine by me. You’ve been a pain in the arse for a long time,” Bostro snarled. Al managed a laugh.

“’A pain in the arse’? Is that all? Here I was hoping I was something a little more.”

Another fist drove into his torso, this time his solar plexus. Al gritted his teeth, the breath he had just regained rushing out of his lungs again. He tried not to think of the crack he’d heard at impact.

“Don’t make me kill you, boy. Curb that smart mouth of yours, and let’s talk, like grown ups,” Bostro snarled. Al managed to get his air back after a few more moments, and looked up at the man in front of him, eyes wary.

“Adults. Right. Because real adults beat the shit out of each other to get answers.” Al shook his head, letting his chin drop to his chest. If I die protecting our secrets, it’ll be worth it. Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Uncle Des.

Desmond slowed down as the cottage came into view. He carefully flew over it, and pulled the craft to a stop. Neither he, nor Hershel knew exactly how the thing worked, how it could fly and hover in one spot, but those thoughts left both of their heads as they took in the scene below them.

Al was being held between two men, his usually coiled posture loose. A third, large man loomed over the teenager, and they were surrounded by other…

“Are those Scotland Yard officers, or Gang Members?” Desmond muttered.

“I’d say both,” Hershel said grimly.

The man in white grabbed Al’s hair, pulling his head up. Hershel tensed, spotting a cut on Al’s left cheek, surrounded an already forming bruise.

“What were you and Triton doing in the past?” the man demanded. Al stared at him for a moment, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed… before he spit in the man’s face.

The man snarled and let of of Al’s hair, only to rear his fist back and send it crashing into Al. Al had seen it coming, and tried to dodge, but the two men held him tight, and the fist, rings and all, crashed into Al’s left temple. Al reeled from the impact, his head whipping to the side at a painful speed. His entire body went completely limp.

Hershel saw red, and a rushing started in his ears, drowning out this thoughts, and any other sounds. His next actions were entirely without thought. He grabbed the sword in front of him – Descole’s Sword – and jumped out of the hovercraft, gripping the sword in his right hand, brim of his hat in his left. He landed on the roof, slid down the slope of it, and jumped off, landing directly on top of the man in white who had just hit Al, easily knocking him out. He then whirled around, unsheathing the sword and diving at one of the men holding Al. That man dropped the teenager and quickly backed up. The other followed his lead, and Al dropped to the ground, a soft moan escaping him.

The other men rushed forward, but Hershel held them off, his deadly skill with the sword more then enough to make them stay out of range. Finally, his eyes locked with one of them, and the red and rushing sound was gone, replaced by a cold sense of betrayal.

“Ch-Chelmey?” he choked, unable to believe an upstanding officer would stand for these kinds of actions.

“HERSHEL!”

Hershel looked up to see Desmond swooping in, low to the ground. He sheathed the sword and darted over to Al, scooping him up. Al let out another groan at being moved, this time accompanied by a whimper of pain.

Then, Desmond was there, his hand outstretched. Hershel grabbed it, and his feet left the ground. He kept his free arm tight around Al, and Desmond turned the Hovercraft onto it’s side letting Hershel and Alfendi be dumped into the passenger seat. Hershel quickly situated himself in the seat, buckling himself in, and held Al tight.

“Are you okay?” Desmond demanded, glancing back at them.

“Yes, but Alfendi…” Hershel said in a low voice. He could see that the young man was semi-conscious, his eyes barely open, showing blank, amber slits. The bruise on his cheek was growing darker by the moment, and blood trickled down the side of his face from his left temple. Hershel pushed the blood matted curls away from that spot, his own fingers shaking, and sighed in relief when spotting that his skull hadn’t caved in from the force of the punch.

“D-Dad…?” Al muttered, speech slurred.

“I’m right here,” Hershel said, tightening his arms around him. Al hissed in pain, and Hershel immediately loosened his arms, carefully pulling the boy’s shirt up and spotting bruises on his chest. His breath caught in his throat.

“Desmond—”

BOOM

The hovercraft jerked and shuddered. Desmond wrestled it back under control, before glancing back.

“We have company. And no weapons. Hershel, hang on,” he said, before turning forward again. He dodged and maneuvered the hovercraft, trying to avoid each attack.

This worked for some time, until suddenly, one of the blasts hit the hovercraft. It jolted sideways. Hershel and Desmond were buckled in, but the blast jolted them so hard, Hershel’s grip loosened around Al. Al tumbled over the side of the hovercraft. Hershel lunged after him, grabbing the teen’s arm. Al, fully conscious now, gripped Hershel’s wrist as well, hanging on tightly.

“Give me your other hand, Al!” Hershel yelled, chest tight.

This. This was a nightmare he had relived for eighteen years, finally put to rest 2 years ago (his time). But now…

Al tried to lift his other arm, and gasped in pain. Hershel remembered that was the side with the potentially broken rib. He wrapped his arm around his chest, and tried to brace his feet against the side of the hovercraft. This quickly failed, as the side was too sleek, the wind too strong, and Al too weak.

Hershel tried to pull him up (I am stronger than I was back then, and Al’s lighter than HIM. Why can’t I do this!?) “Al, I can’t hold on. Give me your other hand!”

“Dad…” Al muttered, staring at him with wide eyes, his red curls whipping around his head. He took a deep breath, and slowly unwrapped his other arm from his chest, trying to reach Hershel’s second, out stretched hand.

The blood, sweat, and grime on Al’s hands made them slippery. Hershel tried to keep a grip on him as he reached for his second hand, but the movement seemed to make him slip faster, and suddenly, Hershel was grasping thin air.

Al fell, his gold eyes growing wide in shock, but no noise escaped him.

“ALFENDI!” Hershel screamed, still reaching for him.

A flash of white from the corner of his eye, a loud BOOM from behind, and suddenly a figure in a white tux (complete with tails), and two silvery white wings swooped in, catching Al. The latter made a pained noise, and seemed to go completely limp in the man’s arms. Hershel was still hanging halfway out of the hovercraft, until Desmond grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him back in. The man with wings glanced back at them, revealing a very familiar golden mask, before looking back towards the pursuing crafts. He swooped in, just over Hershel, and gently handed Al back to him.

“Here. I’m going to go take care of some business, then I’ll lead you to safety,” he said. Hershel, white as a ghost and trembling slightly, simply nodded, holding onto Al tightly.

“The Masked Gentleman?” Desmond muttered, before watching as the winged man shot towards the enemy hovercrafts. He spun in the air, diving just under them, and slashing the tips of his wings at the bottoms of the crafts. The wings (Are they made of some kind of metal? Hershel wondered) sliced through the hovercrafts, and they were forced to land or crash.

He repeated this process with each craft, dancing in the air to avoid returning gunfire, until finally, the only craft left flying was Desmond’s and Hershel’s. The Masked Gentleman then flew back to them.

“Follow me,” he said. Desmond nodded, easing the controls forward in the Masked Gentleman’s wake, until finally they reached a large building in the middle of central London, where the man landed. Desmond landed the hovercraft, as well, and helped Hershel with Al as he got out. He couldn't help but notice how pale Hershel still was, his trembling hands, and how he seemed to be taking unnaturally deep breaths.

The Masked Gentleman turned to them, sweeping the golden Mask of Chaos off in a grand gesture and bowing.

“Welcome, gentleman, to the Rebellion.”

Chapter Text

“I knew it was you, Ascot,” Desmond grumbled, staring at the man beneath the mask. Randall smiled cheekily at him. His face was older, with more lines, but it was undoubtedly him.

“Nice to see you, too, Descole,” he said, causing Desmond to flinch, like he was just electrocuted. There was no heat, no fire behind Randall’s teasing tone, though. The ginger then looked at where Hershel was holding Al. “Al… we need to get him to the medibay. Come on,” he said. Hershel nodded, not bothering to question Randall at the moment, and followed him to a door that lead into the building, off the roof. Desmond, not wanting to be separated from Hershel at the moment, followed.

Inside, it was clear King’s Cross Station – The Crossing of Kings – was no longer a train station. Or at least, an active one. The trains were dormant, quiet, where they sat at the platforms. Tents and screens were erected on the various platforms, and people milled about. The door they went through opened onto a series of catwalks above the platforms, giving them a bird’s eye view.

“The medibay is at platform eleven. We’ll take Al there, then help you settle in,” Randall explained. Hershel frowned slightly, but nodded, his worry for Al outweighing natural curiosity at the moment.

So, Desmond asked.

“What is all of this? And what happened to Kings Cross?”

Randall glanced at them. “Like I said, the rebellion!” He whirled around so he was walking backwards, facing them as he talked. “We’re a group of like minded individuals who came together because… well, we hate tyranny. And…” his cheerful, energy filled demeanor slipped, his hands, which were held out in the air dramatically, dropped to his sides. “And most of us have lost someone to the Family.”

Hershel’s heart stopped. “Randall, did Henry or Angela—” he started, only to trail off when Randall gave him a questioning look.

“Henry or Angela? OH! No, no, no, no,” he chuckled. “Sorry for the fright, old chum. Henry’s safe, back in Monte D’or. And Angela’s safe, here. You’ll see her in a moment, actually. She helps in the medibay.” Randall’s face grew serious again, and he turned to walk forward, down the steps. “No, Hershel. The person we lost was one of the first people taken. You.”

“I see,” Hershel muttered softly, looking down at Al. So I have been killed in this time?

Randall glanced back, surprised by the reaction – or lack there of – from Hershel. He’d noticed right away how shaken the man was earlier, when Al had slipped through his fingers (And didn’t THAT scene generate some serious deja vu?), and how anxiety seemed to plague him. Desmond also looked over at the professor, frowning in worry.

“We’re working on getting you back, though. Rescuing you. It’s just… taken longer than any of us had hoped,” Randall explained, debunking Hershel’s theory. They finally stopped at the train carriage parked at Platform Eleven. “Here we are. Take him in, get settled.

Hershel nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly, before heading inside.

The nurse, someone who was not Angela, quickly got Al settled into one of the cots lined up along the back wall. Hershel had to wait behind a curtain while she checked Al’s condition and administered first aid.

“He’ll be alright, just out of it for a bit,” the woman said, pulling back the curtain. “You can see him now.”

“Thank you,” Hershel said softly, ducking under the curtain and sitting next to the bed. He took a few deep, steadying breaths, and studied the young man in the bed. His face was pale, but thankfully clean of blood. There was a bandage on his left temple, and another on the cut on his cheek. The bruising, which looked so bad before, was already starting to yellow at the edges. Healing. Hershel frowned at that, leaning forward. The bandage on the boy’s cheek was odd, now that he looked closer. Instead of cotton and elastic, the entire thing seemed to be made of polyester. It was thicker than he’d expect, as well.

“Professor!”

“Dad!”

The hushed, but familiar voices, pulled him out of his scrutiny, and he looked up in time to see Luke, Flora, and Alfendi duck under the curtain. They looked immediately at the bed, before spotting him sitting next to it. They darted over, and Hershel wrapped his arms around them.

“I am glad you’re all safe,” he said softly, giving them a squeeze. “Are any of you hurt?”

“No. We were just checked out by Mrs. Angela.” Luke’s eyes widened. “She said Mr. Randall was here to…”

“I know. He helped us on the way here,” Hershel said, forcing a smile. The kids looked at each other, before looking at the bed, spotting Al.

“Oh no… what happened?” Flora asked. Layton glanced between the three kids, not wanting to go into this with them, and instead, just hugged them again.

“He got hurt. But he’ll get better here,” he replied, not knowing what else to say.

Night wore on, and the activity outside the curtain slowed to a crawl. Alfendi was curled up in Hershel’s lap, dozing in and out of sleep, while Luke and Flora talked to the Professor, sharing puzzles and riddles, to keep their minds away from the darker subjects.

“The answer is Key,” a new voice said from just outside the curtain, answering the riddle Luke had just posed. Hershel and the kids looked up in time to see Clark peeking his head in. His eyes lingered on Luke for a moment, before he looked up at Hershel, and smiled slightly. Hershel nodded, inviting the man inside.

“Hershel, it’s been a while,” Clark said softly.

“Though not as long for me, as I imagine it has been for you,” Hershel replied, tipping his hat to cover his eyes. Clark nodded, before glancing over at Al, who was still asleep in the bed.

“Yes, well…” he trailed off for a moment, cleared his throat, and looked at the kids. “If you kids don’t mind, I’d like to speak to the professor in private,” he said. Luke nodded and stood, Flora following his example. Alfendi, on the other hand, gave a sleepy frown and burrowed more into Layton. He chuckled softly, and gently pulled Alfendi’s hand from his shirt, picked him up, and set him down so he was standing.

“Let’s go see if we can find Mr. Randall!” Luke suggested. Alfendi rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” And with that, the three kids left. Hershel let out a deep sigh, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Clark moved a chair, placing it next to Hershel’s, and sat, patting his back. The two are quiet for a moment, before Clark softly cleared his throat.

“I know I’m not your Clark, Hershel, but if you want to talk…”

Hershel chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You’ve always been there for me. I guess now isn’t different at all…” Hershel sighed, pressing his hands over his face for a moment, before looking up at Clark. “It’s just… been a lot. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Beginning seems best,” Clark said with a smile. Hershel smiled back slightly, before clasping his hands together and taking a deep breath.

“I guess… the beginning would be Desmond. I thought he died… then months later, he shows up on my doorstep, and says I sent him a letter asking to meet up?” Hershel took a deep breath. “Finding out about my birth family was hard…”

“I remember,” Clark said softly.

“But I made peace. I started moving forward. For him to show up like that… then right after, a twenty-three year old Luke shows up, saying he’s from the future. Someone has managed to make time travel work. Time Travel, Clark.” Hershel’s fingered the brim of his top-hat, stopping to take a few deep breaths. Clark, who’s eyes had darkened at the mention of his son, just nodded. Hershel, seeming to realize the words that came out of his mouth, looked over at his friend.

“Clark… have you seen Luke- your Luke, in these past ten years?” he asked softly, remembering the first newspaper article in Al’s book. Clark lowered his head, and let out a deep sigh.

“Once, shortly. It was Luke’s… sixteenth birthday. Brenda and I, we’d been making a lot of noise in the media, trying to garner attention to the fact that, although you and Desmond were back in the public eye, Luke, Flora, and Alfendi were still missing. We even tried to reach out to you, dozens of times. The Family bought Luke to the house, but we got to say very little to him. The Family mostly threatened him, to shut us up.” Clark’s voice turned bitter at that, and he shook his head.

“Clark… I am so sorry,” Hershel said, grasping the man’s shoulder. Clark gave him a wry smile.

“You’ve done nothing to apologize for, Hershel.” He turned and looked at Al, who was still unconscious. “It’s The Family. It’s always The Family.” He took a deep breath, and nodded to Al. “Seeing what happened to him must have been hard, too.” Clark rerouted the conversation back to Hershel, who nodded.

“Yes. I’ll admit, I think I lost control for a few moments.” He clasped his hands together and rested his forehead on them, taking a deep breath. His voice as a mere whisper, “and on the way here… if it hadn’t been for Randall…”

Clark inhaled sharply, and wrapped an arm around Hershel. Clark was one of the few people to ever see Hershel so completely broken, and he wasn’t even sure this was the complete depth of it.

The two sat like that in silence, until Hershel took a deep breath, dropping his hand and looking up at the other man.

“Clark,” he started in a low voice. Clark hummed in acknowledgement. “You said both Desmond and I were in the public eye, but… that doesn’t make sense. The way everyone is speaking, I am being held captive. And what of Flora?”

“Flora is in the same exact position as Luke,” Clark explained. “As for you… just after Bill Hawks was killed, you reappeared. And you became the next Prime Minister.” Hershel stiffened, remembering what Al had said…

‘They say it’s the current… leader who did it.’

“Clark, did I… I didn’t… Hawks. I didn’t kill him, did I?” he asked softly.

“What? No. God, no, Hershel. That’s just a rumor that’s been spread around considering…”

“Considering what?”

“Well, once you became the Prime Minister, you became a tyrant,” Clark sighed. Hershel flinched away from Clark as though he’d been burned, and Clark hurried to placate him. “But we know it’s in name only. You were forced to become the public face of their organization. Nothing but a puppet king.”

“Forced how?” Hershel’s voice was soft.

“They threatened Luke, and Flora. Even Desmond. And they said if they could ever catch Al…” Clark trailed off, letting Hershel fill in the blanks. Hershel took a deep, shaking breath.

“But why me?”

“You were famous and well respected. Your… ties to the time machine experiment twenty years ago-“

“My ties to that are hardly substantial.”

“And your intellect. They’re making you help them perfect time travel,” Clark explained.

“But why? Who would want time travel so badly, they would go through all of this?” Hershel asked, just wanting to make sense of everything that is happening. Since they’d arrived in this time, and even just before, they’d been on the move, constantly in danger. Now that he had time to stop and think, his thoughts were jumbled and disorganized. He couldn’t see the answer to this riddle, not without all of the puzzle pieces.

“I don’t know. Des and Al don’t, either,” Clark said softly. He turned to study his old friend, a worried frown dragging down the corners of his lips. “Stressing about it now isn’t going to help. I’m not sure what Al and Luke were trying to accomplish, going back in time—”

“They wanted to change the events. Make it so that we were never kidnapped,” Hershel said softly. “But things went wrong, and the Family followed them. In the end, we were dragged forward in time. I think Luke said we were… ‘outside of time’?”

“Hm. He must of meant outside of the time stream. Because if you are here, and everything leading up to this still seems to have happened… your actions are no longer effecting the future,” Clark explained.

“That makes sense, I guess...”

The two fell quiet again. Clark placed a hand on Hershel’s back, rubbing soothing circles for a few moments.

“Hershel. I think we should start with the small stuff. Talk to Desmond. Your Desmond. Clear things up there. Then worry about the bigger things, once your mind is clear. And remember, Al is okay. All things considered, he’s a stubborn fighter,” Clark said. Hershel nodded slowly.

“You’re right. And… I will. I just don’t want to leave him. Not yet,” he said. Clark nodded in understanding.

“Alright.” He stood. “I should be getting back to Brenda, update her on everything. If you need anything at all, even just to talk over tea, you are always welcome.”

“Thank you, Clark,” Hershel said with a small smile. The other man nodded, smiling slightly back, before ducking through the curtain. A few moments later, Alfendi ducked back in, and climbed back into Hershel’s lap. The professor looked down at him ins surprise.

“I didn’t wanna go too far, so I sat with Mrs. Angela until I saw Uncle Clark leave,” Alfendi muttered. Hershel smiled slightly at that, and wrapped protective arms around his son.

“I see.”

Desmond frowned deeply at the red head in front of him, conscious of the gasps of dismay from Luke and Flora next to him. Randall had just finished explaining what had been going on in these past ten years, his usual energy and exuberance gone.

“So. They’re using both Layton and I. But who are they? Who is the leader?” Desmond asked.

“Dr. Alain Stahngun,” Randall said, looking up at Desmond. “Ever hear of him?”

“I can’t say that I have. At least, not before Al explained that he and I unveiled a time machine together a year after our abduction.” Randall nodded, humming in acknowledgement. Flora, meanwhile, cleared her throat.

“I think, if we’re going to start helping the future Professors, we need to free Future Luke and my future self first,” she said, looking up at them. “We know multiple masters of disguise. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Randall’s eyes widened as he looked at her, before a slow grin crossed his features.

“Yes, you two being held captive is the crux of the problem. I like the way you think, Flora,” he said.

“Please don’t encourage her," Luke mumbled. 

Desmond chuckled. "I think we’d be more effective if we got home and just ensured we weren’t captured in the first place,” he said. He was worried about how Hershel might react if his daughter went marching into danger.

“That… might be easier said than done.” The group turned at the sound of a new voice, and spotted the older Desmond. There was a crack in the right lens of his glasses, and bruising was forming around his right eye. His hair, which they’d last seen in a neat ponytail, was a little disheveled. Randall sprang to his feet.

“Des, what happened to you?” he demanded. Desmond, the younger one, stood up slowly, studying his older self, and frowning deeply.

“Bostro. He wanted to know what Al and Luke were doing in the past, and roughed me up for answers. Not that I gave any,” Des scoffed, before shaking his head. “As for getting you five back to the time machine, it’s going to be harder than before. Security has tightened. If I hadn’t managed to convince them that they’d broken me, I doubt I’d even be allowed outside of Big Ben.”

“’Broken you’?” Desmond asked. Des smirked, a hint of Descole lurking behind it.

“Of course, they hadn’t. But my acting skills are still sharp enough,” he said. Randall frowned at the expression.

“I hate when you do that. Brings up unpleasant memories.”

“Oh shut it, Ascot. The short of it is, if we want to return you to your own time, we’re going to have to fight in the now. Flora’s right. The best thing, and the first thing we should do, is free their future selves. Hell, that might cause enough of a distraction.”

“You’re probably right,” Luke said slowly. “So, how do we do this?”

Desmond, Flora, Luke, and Randall began plotting. Des, on the other hand, stepped away, frowning as he looked around. They were in a common area in the station, where a lot of people gather. However, Hershel, Alfendi, and Al were missing. Randall noticed his look, and softened slightly.

“They’re in the medibay. Al was… in bad condition when they got here,” he said. Des’s chest tightened at that.

“Thanks,” he said, before darting off.

“It’s alright, Alfendi, you’re safe.” Hershel leaned over the bed, one hand clasping Al’s hand, the other brushing the curls out of his face. Al thrashed in bed, his features screwed up in anger and fear, but not a noise escaped him. Alfendi was curled up on the chair Clark had been using, deeply asleep. Hershel continued to mutter to the young man, his voice soothing as he stroked the young man’s curls.

Des ducked through the curtain, and stopped, watching this. Al finally calmed down, the emotions fading from his face, replaced by a sad expression that nearly broke both Hershel’s and Des’s hearts.

“Dad…” the young man whispered. Hershel studied him, but the teenager was still asleep.

“He’s been having nightmares since our abduction, according to Raymond,” Des said softly, coming further into the small room created by the curtain. Hershel looked up at him, blinking owlishly, before returning his attention to the teenager.

“It’s been much longer than that. Even before I adopted him. But it seems the subject has changed,” Hershel said. Des nodded, going to sit in the second chair, before spotting the younger Alfendi. He smiled at that, grabbing a spare blanket and putting it around the boy, before standing next to Hershel’s chair. Hershel watched, noticing the softness and fondness in the other man’s face as he looked at both Alfendi and Al.

It seemed his older brother had grown close to Al in these past ten years…

Another thought struck him, stemming from what Al and Raymond had said earlier.

“Desmond,” Hershel started. Des looked over, worried by the hesitant tone in his voice.

“Yes?”

“Has… Has Al seen me – my future self – at all, these past ten years?”

Des’s face darkened at that, and he shook his head.

“Unfortunately… no. Hell, Hersh, I haven’t even seen you these past ten years. Not in person.” He shook his head. “Raymond and I… we’ve tried to give him as normal and happy a life as possible, in these times, for what it’s worth.”

“Oh. I… I see.” Des looked over at Hershel, not liking the flat tone his voice took on with those few words. Hershel’s shoulders were hunched, and despite still holding Al’s hand, he seemed to have sunk into himself, withdrawing.

Des recognized that. He’d done it himself many times in his life, and it worried him to see Hershel sinking into depression like this.

Chapter Text

The next couple of days passed in relative peace. Hershel, Desmond, and the kids stayed in the same group of shelters that Randall, Angela, and the Tritons were in. Al woke up fairly quickly, only for Angela to confine him to the bed in the Medibay. Al was not happy, and made this well known, but listened once Hershel and Raymond reiterated it. Luke spent a lot of time with Clark and Brenda, while Flora stuck to Hershel. Alfendi, meanwhile, took to exploring the base, usually dragging Hershel along with him (and even Desmond a few times).

Today, about the third day into their stay, Des gathered Raymond, Hershel, Desmond, Flora, and Luke into an area designated for training.

“Alright, remember how we discussed rescuing the future Luke and Flora?” Des asked, adjusting his glasses as he stood at the head of the group. In his other hand was a bag.

“Yes!” Flora perked up, clapping her hands together. “I was thinking a disguise might be best, and I have the perfect one.”

Luke, who was behind Flora, started shaking his head frantically. Hershel, meanwhile, frowned.

“What is this about?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, Hershel, sorry. I forgot you weren’t present. Flora made a good point about rescuing their future selves. I cannot get you back to the time machine at the moment, due to heightened security. But if someone can go in disguise and get them, it’ll distract The Family.”

“I… see.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the time to create a full disguise, so clothes and attitude is going to have to carry us.” Des turned to Flora. “You said you had one, though?” he asked. Luke shook his head again, trying to get Des’s attention, but the older man didn’t see him. Flora smiled warmly, before pulling a blue scarf from her pocket and wrapping it around her head. She then pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on her face.

“What do you think?” she asked excitedly. Luke face palmed, while the older men glanced at each other.

“It’s… hm…” Desmond frowned slightly, not sure what to say that wouldn’t upset the girl.

“While it may be creative, I don’t think it’s going to work in this instance, my dear,” Hershel said, smoothing it over.

“Oh…” Flora drooped, reaching up to pull off the sunglasses. Des walked over.

“Hang on, though. I think we can still use it,” he said. He straightened her sunglasses, noticing they were similar to The Family’s, and guessing she found them somewhere. He then carefully pulled off the scarf, studying it for just a moment, before folding it into a thin strip of fabric. He pulled out a black suit from his bag, holding it up to Flora’s frame, and holding the blue scarf in front of it, like a tie.

“There we go. Perfect.”

“Wait. Why Flora?” Hershel demanded, stepping forward. Des smiled weakly at him.

“I am sorry, Hershel, but her size was the only one I was able to find. Besides, if we pin her hair up under the hat, and she strikes the right attitude, they won’t recognize her. You and my younger self are too recognizable, and Luke’s too young.”

Hershel hesitated at that for a moment, before sighing, pulling his had down over his eyes.

“I… see.”

“Strike the right attitude?” Flora asked. “What does that mean?”

“Half of any disguise, but especially this kind, is attitude. So long as you act like you belong there, no one will question it,” Des explained.

“Okay, but how do I do that?” Flora asked, fidgeting with the sunglasses.

“I’ll teach yah,” Raymond said, stepping forward. “After all, it were me that taught the Master how to disguise himself.”

“Okay!” Flora said with a bright smile.

A few minutes later, Flora was dressed in the suit. Desmond had helped her tie the scarf around her neck, so if fell like a suit tie, and was currently pinning her hair up, using bobby pins. Des paced nearby, studying a file, while Raymond waited patiently to begin.

The lesson started normal enough, with Layton and Luke watching. Flora struggled at first, finding it hard to break free of her shy, soft spoken shell.

After about an hour, the sound of running footsteps interrupted their lesson. A blur of black and yellow rounded the corner, and froze, forming the shape of Emmy Altava, now eleven years older than the last time they’d seen her.

“Professor!” she launched herself at the man, nearly tumbling him over in her excited hug. He gasped in shock, catching his hat before the top of his hair was barred, and hugged her back.

“Emmy…? My, it’s so good to see you again,” he said, patting her back. After a moment, she pulled back and spotted Luke.

“And Luke, too! Gosh, I haven’t seen you two in forever!” With that, she scooped the boy up in a bone crushing hug. Luke yelped at that and struggled, causing the onlookers to laugh. Emmy finally put him down, beaming between the two of them.

“When Angela told me you two were here, I didn’t believe her. That’s so like Al to try a crazy plan like going to the past, though!” She laughed. Hershel smiled, nodding.

“It would appear so. Are you close to Al?” he asked.

“Pfft, close? He’s practically a brother to me! Besides, I was the one who taught him how to fight,” Emmy boasted, planting her hands on her hips.

“Wait, really?” Luke asked, staring up at her. Emmy nodded with a smile.

“Really.”

“I see. I thought I recognized some of those moves,” Hershel admitted. Luke, meanwhile, had a thoughtful look on his face. Emmy noticed and smirked.

“What is it, Assistant Number Two?” she asked, causing Luke to huff.

“That’s Apprentice Number One!” he snapped, crossing his arms. His face grew thoughtful again. “Emmy, could you teach me?”

“Teach you what?” she asked. Hershel, meanwhile, already figured it out, and his heart sank as he looked between Luke and Flora.

“How to fight, what else? If we’re gonna be in dangerous situations, I want to know how to defend myself. And this adventure sounds much more dangerous than our usual ones, right Professor?”

Both Luke and Emmy turned to look at Hershel, who pulled his hat down, covering his eyes.

“I… yes. You are absolutely correct. Emmy, if you could…?”

“Say no more, Professor! I’d love to teach Luke,” the girl said with a wide smile. Desmond, meanwhile, glanced over at his younger brother. Emmy pulled Luke over to a different corner of the area and started teaching him how to fight. Flora was still learning how to disguise herself from Raymond and Des.

“It will be alright, you know. Both of those kids are strong,” Desmond said, trying to be comforting. Hershel glanced up at him from under his hat, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Yes, I know. It’s just… hard,” he admitted. Desmond nodded and fell silent, not sure what else to say.

By the end of that training session, Flora was able to finally break out of her shy shell. Raymond ran her through various emotions, with Des giving tips on each. It was slow progress, but progress none the less. Luke, meanwhile, was quickly catching on to Emmy’s instructions. He’d always been a little scrappy, so it was more the trick of teaching him how to use his small size to his advantage.

“Don’t worry, Luke. You won’t be this small forever. Once you hit your growth spurt, you’ll be able to take anyone down,” Emmy explained during their third training session. Meanwhile, across the room, Flora was sitting with Raymond and Desmond. Des was at work, unable to assist today, so his younger self took his spot. Hershel, Alfendi, and Al, who was just released from the Medibay, were sitting in on the lesson.

“Alright, Flora. Remember, disguises are more than the clothes. You must also become the character,” Raymond asked.

“Very true. I did things while disguised as Doland and Angela that I would not otherwise do,” Desmond added. Flora frowned for a moment, thinking that over, while Al’s face morphed into a smirk, thinking about the things Desmond might have had to do as Angela. Luke and Emmy had just decided to take a break, and walked over at that moment. Luke frowned at the mention of his family’s butler.

“Like being a respectful butler?” he asked, his voice a little bitter. After all, when he’d been angry at his father, he believed Doland had been on his side (oh how wrong he was…) Desmond, on the other hand, turned to look at the boy.

“Yes. Like being a respectful butler.” He adjusted his glasses, causing the light to reflect off of them and hide his eyes. He bent down to Luke’s height, and his smile morphed into a smirk, changing his face from Professor Desmond Sycamore, to a smug Jean Descole. “To a ten year old brat.”

“Hey, I wasn’t a brat!” Luke snapped, crossing his arms, before looking at Hershel and Emmy. “Was I?” he demanded. Hershel stayed silent, almost pretending he hadn’t heard the question, while Emmy turned her snort into a cough. Desmond stood back up straight, his usual smile returned, if not full of amusement. Luke’s jaw dropped, and he just crossed his arms, looking away.

“So, what’d you have to do as Aunt Angela?” Al suddenly asked, his smirk still in place. Emmy had to smother even more laughter as Desmond quickly turned to the teenager.

“Nothing I’m sure your mind came up with,” he said, before turning back to Flora.

Before anything else could be said, the door opened, and two people walked in. One was a young man in his early thirties, with sandy brown hair and dark eyes, dressed in brown slacks, black loafers, and an olive green blazer over a white shirt. Next to him was a man who was much more familiar, causing Hershel to freeze.

“Chelmey! ‘Bout time you made it back,” Al said with a grin, jumping up, only to wince slightly.

“Layton. Good to see you pulled through,” Chelmey frowned slightly. “I didn’t know they were gonna… question you, ‘else I’d have sent a warning,” he explained. Al waved it away.

“It’s fine, really. Clive, good to see you too.” Al turned to the man in green, and the two clasped hands. “I’m assuming you’ve got an update?”

While Clive explained there wasn’t much, Emmy had noticed the stiffness from both Hershel and Desmond.

“Inspector Chelmey and Clive are spies inside The Family’s ranks,” she explained. The group seemed to hear them and turned. Chelmey immediately recognized Hershel.

“Layton. I am sorry for that night,” he said, sincerely. “I did not know Bostro’s intentions until Al had already fallen off the roof.”

“Yes, I’d heard about that. Not your most graceful move, Al,” Clive added with a smirk. Al simply rolled his eyes.

“Shut it.”

“I see,” Hershel said, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I’ll admit, I was worried. I didn’t think you’d condone those actions.”

“Bah! Of course not!” Chelmey growled passionately. “Just thinking about it makes me sick! But if we’re going to fight them, we need information.”

“And I joined because I thought they’d be able to help me save my family,” Clive said. Hershel turned to him, studying the young man closer.

“You’re family?” he asked. Clive smiled sadly.

“I lost them… in the explosion,” he said. Hershel’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before widening.

“I remember you. You were that child…”

“Yes, Professor. I’ve already thanked you before, but still. Thank you for that day,” Clive said, nodding his head.

“No need to thank me. But what’s this about saving your family?” Hershel asked. Clive nodded.

“I became… well, your Personal Assistant. Well, your’s and Dr. Stahngun’s. But once I saw how they were running the show, I wanted out. The cruelty they were using isn’t something my family would be proud of, saved or not. So, I started working against them. But I couldn’t just leave, so… here I am. A spy,” he explained.

“He also gets messages to us from Dad,” Al added.

“That’s… useful,” Hershel said with a small smile. “It seems there are many aspects to this rebellion.”

“Of course there is!” Al snapped. “Between Uncle Des and I, and planning for basically ten years now, I’d be ashamed if there wasn’t.” He looked at Hershel for another moment, before looking away. “But, uh… thanks.”

“Of course,” Hershel said with a small smile. After another moment, everyone went back to what they were doing; Desmond and Raymond were training Flora, Emmy training Luke, and Chelmey and Clive had moved on.

Hershel watched after the last two, thinking about what Clive said. It all seems to circle around back to that day... he mused. Time Travel, Hawk's assassination, using me... I need to get to the bottom of this...

Chapter Text

Flora trained with Raymond for almost a week before it was deemed she was ready to infiltrate The Family’s headquarters in Big Ben. The night before found Hershel checking in with the kids. Al was training with Emmy and Luke, claiming he needed the exercise if he was going to regain his full strength. Flora was practicing her disguise – it was actually quite convincing. Alfendi had been wandering around, unsure of what to do with himself. In the end, he decided to join Hershel in his walk. The two were quiet for a moment, watching as the rebels in King’s Cross winded down for the night, until finally they reached the front door.

“Don’ go ‘oo far, guvn’r. Can’ have ya be seen ‘round these par’s,” the young man at the front door, a scrawny 20-something-year-old, said. Hershel smiled, tipping his hat.

“Of course. We just want to take in a bit of fresh air. Right, my boy?” he said, glancing down at Alfendi, who nodded, his curls bouncing with the movement.

“Right,” he said. The young man nodded and stepped aside, letting them through the door.

They stepped through, and sat on the benches just outside of the main entrance. The roads were empty, the lights inside near-by residences hidden behind heavy curtains. Angela had told them the Prime Minister (I can’t really think of him as my future self, Hershel thought, gripping the brim of his hat) enforced a strict curfew.

Honestly, stepping just outside was a danger, but both father and son were beginning to feel stir crazy.

“Dad, are you okay?” Alfendi asked after a few more minutes, leaning against Hershel’s arm. Hershel glanced down at the boy in surprise, before smiling at him.

“Yes. I guess I am just worried,” Hershel said, wrapping his arm around Alfendi, and pulling him closer, letting the boy rest against his side. Alfendi hummed slightly at that, looking thoughtful.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been paler since we got here, and until Big Me woke up, you wouldn’t leave his side.” Alfendi looked down for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. “I know he got beat up, and then almost fell out of the hovercraft.”

Hershel tensed at that, looking down at the boy.

“Alfendi, how did you…?”

“People talk, and I listen. I guess a good thing about how young I am is that they don’t think about what they’re saying in front of me,” Alfendi explained with a shrug.

“I… see.” Hershel put a hand to his chin, realizing he’d have to keep a closer eye on the boy from now on.

“I also know… that what happened to Big Me hurt you a lot.” Alfendi looked up at the professor. “I’m 99.8% sure of it, going by your actions. That’s why… I think it’s more than worry.”

Hershel sighed, shaking his head, before giving his son a small, sad smile.

“You, my boy, are sometimes too perceptive.”

“For my own good?” Alfendi asked, quirking an eyebrow. Hershel chuckled.

“No. For the good of those around you,” he said, his tone light, with an edge of teasing. Alfendi heard it, and smirked, snuggling against Hershel’s side and staying quiet. Hershel himself, was thinking about how much to tell Alfendi.

“There are some… things that happened in my past that are similar to what your older self went through that day. Seeing it hit a little too close to home. I am also worried about Flora, going by herself tomorrow, and Luke, of course.” He squeezed Alfendi affectionately. “And you. I… don’t know what I would do if anything were to happen to you,” he admitted. Alfendi nodded, quiet for a moment, before tipping his head back, looking up at Hershel.

“Dad, Flora will be okay. She’s strong. A lot stronger then you, and, Luke, and I think even I have given her credit for. And Grandpa Ray taught her so much… I think she’ll be great tomorrow! And Miss. Emmy is teaching Luke so much, and if it’s anything like what she taught Big Me, I think he’ll be able to handle whatever comes at him.” Al nodded to himself, looking forward. “As for me…” He trailed off, looking down.

“As for you?” Hershel asked, curious.

“Well, I’ll be careful. I won’t wander too far. I know you, and Uncle Des, both of them, and Uncle Randall, and Grandpa Ray and all will keep me safe. At least until we get home.”

Hershel smiled warmly at that, and wrapped both arms around the boy, hugging him.

“You are right, my boy. I will never let anything happen to you. And, well, this trip has taught me that if I were unable to protect you, there are a great number of wonderful people who will gladly step into that role.” His thoughts turned to Desmond and Raymond, and while a stab of grief, confusion, and admittedly, anger, pierced his chest, a warmth spread through the rest of his body, happy to know they would keep Alfendi safe and happy. Alfendi hugged him back, simply nodding.

After a few more minutes, the boy pulled back and let out a large yawn. Hershel chuckled at that, and stood, picking Alfendi up and carrying him back inside.

“I can walk,” the boy grumbled.

“I know,” the professor hummed, but he didn’t stop and he didn’t put Alfendi down. Instead, he carried him through King’s Cross Station, until he reached the platform they were staying on.

“Look, Flora’s plan is all well and good, but what if it doesn’t work?” Randall’s voice floated over to them.

“Then Clive will get her out, and we’ll think of something else,” Des’s wary tone replied. Hershel, curious, stepped around the tents, and found the two men sitting at one of the common tables, seeming in the middle of an argument. Alfendi’s head lifted from Hershel’s shoulder, curiosity causing his amber eyes to glow.

“And increase security, again. Face it, Des. This is our best plan.” Randall tapped the paper sitting in between them, on the table’s surface.

“Randall, I know you mean well,” Des started, putting a hand over the other man’s to stop the tapping. “But storming the hide out is a bad idea. They might kill the hostages. They might lock down the time machine so even I cannot access it. We will be tipping our hand, revealing the true strength of the Rebellion, which is no where near that of The Family.” Des pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands. “Just… keep doing what you’re best at; causing chaos and destroying hover crafts,” Des said, replacing his glasses on his face and standing, patting Randall’s shoulder.

Just then, he spotted Hershel, holding Alfendi, and smiled slightly.

“Hello, Hershel. Out for a stroll?”

“Just returning from one, actually. Everything alright?” he asked. Randall jumped up, darting over.

“Hersh! We need your opinion,” he said. Hershel smiled at that. Somethings never change… He thought.

“Yes?”

“I think we should storm their hideout. Flush the bastards out, save our friends, get you all back to the time machine, and finish this once and for all. What do you think?” Randall asked. Hershel hummed thoughtfully, looking down at Alfendi. Alfendi had his head resting back on Hershel’s shoulder, a bored look creeping onto his face once more.

“I think… that might be an idea to hold off on, until it becomes our only option,” Layton finally said after much thought.

“What!?” Randall whined, but Hershel glanced down at the boy in his arms, and understanding crossed Randall’s face.

“Ah, right… I… guess that makes sense,” he conceded reluctantly. Hershel nodded.

“Yes, well. Good night,” he said, nodding to them before ducking into the tent, carefully putting Alfendi down, before getting ready for bed himself.

Clive strolled into the hideout, around eight in the morning, per usual for him. At his elbow was a Family Agent. She was just as tall as the young man, her dark eyes half-hooded, a sneer across her face. Not a word was spoken between the two as Clive checked his notebook while they walked, as the agent kept her hands behind her back.

“Not too much further now. I didn’t think it would be this easy,” Clive hissed out of the corner of his mouth as they mounted the stairs. “They’re held at the top.”

“Got it,” the agent – Flora – muttered back, her sneer morphing into a quick smile, before returning to the sneer. Both fell quiet again, until suddenly, another agent spotted them and ran over.

“Mr. Dove, there you are! Dr. Stahngun needs you in the lab, today.”

“But I’m supposed to meet with the Prime Minister,” Clive snapped at the man. Flora’s sneer increased, changing her face even more.

“I know, but the Doc was insistent,” the man all but whined. Clive let out a frustrated huff, stuffing his notebook into his bag.

“Fine.” He turned to Flora. “Continue your assignment. Dismissed,” he snapped. Flora gave a sharp nod, and continued up the stairs, while Clive followed the Family Agent into one of the rooms. The top, eh? Glad Clive told me…

She continued to climb the stairs, snapping she was on orders from ‘Mr. Dove’, until she reached the top. There, she found three doors. Two of them were open, but the last one was locked tight. She pressed her ear against it for a moment, listening to what sounded like soft shuffles inside.

“Alright, here’s another one. I have cities, but no buildings, forests, but no trees, and water, but no fish. What am I?”

Flora put a hand to her mouth. The voice was deeper, but still sounded familiar enough that she was able to place it as Luke’s – an older Luke’s.

“Heh. I don’t know how you keep coming up with them, even after all this long. Hmm…. Cities, forests, and water, but no buildings, trees, or fish…. Oh! I know. A map!”

The second voice sounded a bit different than what Flora would expect (after all, who ever hears their own voice except inside their head?), but she was able to place that as well. It was an older Flora in there.

“Perfect!” she breathed, just as Big Luke announced Big Flora was correct. The younger Flora reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small device, placing it over the lock, and pressing a button. Spindly, needle thin robotic arms sprang from it, and poked into the lock, digging around. After another moment, there was a soft click of the tumblers falling into place, and the door was unlocked.

“Thank you, Don Paulo,” Flora whispered, stowing the device away again, and opening the door slowly.

Inside was a large room. Two beds, with a privacy screen in between, stood at the other end of the room, and a small table with chairs and a tea set was placed in between the doors and the bed. Two dressers and a book shelf were placed against the left hand wall, and a large window, covered in bars, took up the right-hand wall.

Sitting at the table, a tea cup in front of her, was a twenty-five year old Flora, her dark eyes wide. Her chestnut, curly hair was down, and reached to the middle of her back. She was dressed in a white dress with red accents, and wore a pair of ankle boots. A red scarf was draped around her shoulders, hiding her neck and collarbone from view.

Standing by the table was the older Luke. He was still in the blue sweater and jeans, but they were cleaner this time, his hat-less hair neater. It was clear his disheveled appearance from before was due to his escape. Around his left eye, the skin was tinted yellow, like he’d been bruised, and it was almost fully healed.

“What do you want?” Luke demanded, pulling himself up straight and glaring at younger Flora. She hesitated, before remembering her disguise.

Right…

“I need you both to come with me,” she said, stepping forward. Luke tensed, his glare sharpening. Big Flora frowned thoughtfully, but her knuckles were white from her grip on the edge of the table. Glancing between the two, Flora realized she’d have better luck convincing herself than she would an Angry Luke.

“Please, I promise—” She made the mistake of turning her full attention to her older self, and taking a step forward. There was a sudden rush of footsteps, and Luke suddenly had the younger Flora pinned down on the floor, having tackled her.

“We aren’t going anywhere with you!” Luke snapped, keeping her pinned, despite her struggles. Flora swallowed, fighting back her panic, and remembering how Al got out of this situation.

She quickly slid her arms up, above her head, pulling Luke’s hands with them, which were wrapped around her wrists. Luke lost his balance, and as he tried to correct it, she wrapped her right leg around Luke’s ankle, and drove her left foot into the ground, shoving off and rolling them over. It wasn’t as easy as Al had made it seem, but just a few moments later, she was sitting on Luke’s stomach. She ripped off her hat, allowing her curly hair to spill out of it.

“It’s me! I came to rescue you!” she hissed. Luke stared at her, eyes wide. Meanwhile, Big Flora was standing, having jumped to her feet when Luke had tackled the younger Flora.

“Oh wow. When did I learn that…?” Big Flora muttered, seeming impressed. Little Flora smiled weakly.

“Just over a week ago, from our younger brother,” she said, hopping off of Luke and offering him her hand. He accepted the help up, still seeming shocked.

“You came to rescue us…? Just… you?” Luke asked, only to be faced with two angry, almost identical faces. He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just surprised they only sent one person.”

“Clive was supposed to be helping me, honestly,” Little Flora said, replacing the hat and tucking her hair under it. “But he got called away…”

“I see,” Luke said with a frown, while Big Flora looked down. Little Flora looked between the two of them.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s too much right now. Let’s get out of here, somewhere safe, and I’ll explain,” Luke said. Both Flora’s nodded, and the younger took the lead.

They snuck back down through the Clock Tower, occasionally hiding around the corners to check the coast was clear. Only once or twice did Little Flora have to use one or two of the various gadgets Don Paolo had made for this venture. The first was a mechanical bird, which dive bombed the Agents who were loitering in the hall, and the second was a mechanical dog who bit an agent in the leg.

At the entrance, Little Flora shoved the older two into an alcove, seeing two shadows just inside the door.

“You’ll find them at the Crossing of Kings. That’s all I can tell you,” the first, an achingly familiar male’s voice, said.

“Come with me. You shouldn’t be here, forced to do all of this,” the second, an unfamiliar female’s voice, said.

“I can’t,” the male’s voice cracked. “If I leave… Luke and Flora and Desmond…”

“Professor!” Luke moved around Little Flora, and darted over to the two shadows. Both Flora’s quickly followed, but Little Flora stopped, frozen by this version of Professor Hershel Layton.

He was ten years older, and it showed. His eyes, which once held warmth and energy, were sad, surrounded by wrinkles. Frown lines creased his forehead as well. He had his top hat in his hands at the moment, along with a cane, though Flora realized the cane was more an accessory than a necessity. His brown hair was already showing signs of going silver, despite the fact that he was only in his forties.

These past ten years had not been kind to the professor, that much was clear. But when he saw Luke and Big Flora, his eyes lit up, and the frown lines and wrinkles seemed to vanish.

“Luke? Flora? How…?”

“Apparently, Flora’s past self,” Luke said, motioning back to Little Flora, before looking up at the professor seriously. “But now that we’re free, you can leave.”

“With them not here, Desmond won’t return here. All of you can be safe,” Little Flora said, stepping forward. The woman who he’d been talking to, a red-head in her late twenties, smiled.

“Please, Hershel,” she said. Layton looked around at the group, before smiling, some of the lost warmth entering his eyes.

“Alright, then,” he said, sweeping his hat back onto his head, and gripping the cane in his hand tighter. “Let’s go.”

The group of five quickly made their way through the streets of London, avoiding populated areas in an attempt to stay anonymous. Little Flora was practically flying, happy her mission was so successful. She’d gone in to rescue Luke and her older self, and managed to do that, and save the Professor at the same time! Not to mention the red-haired woman.  

Of course, she should have realized it was too good to be true.

They’d only made it about halfway back to King’s Cross, when the shouting started from behind. They glanced over their shoulders, and spotted members of The Family running after them. Luke’s breath caught sharply, and Big Flora, who was holding his hand, made a soft noise, gripping his fingers tighter. The red-haired woman narrowed her eyes with a deep frown. The frown lines on Layton’s face returned, and he glanced back at the kids, at Little Flora, and finally, at the woman.

“Keep going. I will hold them off,” he said.

“What!? But Professor--!” Luke gasped.

“I’ll help,” the red-head said.

“No. I can’t risk any of you getting captured. If that happens, again…” Layton trailed off, looking at the four of them. It was clear he was scared, even if his hands weren’t obviously trembling. The woman looked up at him, studying his eyes for a few more moments, before nodding, kissing his cheek.

“Be careful,” she said softly, before turning back to the three kids. “Come on, we have to get out of here,” she said.

“But…. But we can’t just leave him here,” Luke said, his eyes wide.

“If we stay, we’ll be captured,” the woman said, frowning. “And if that happens, what will we have accomplished?”

“Nothing. Luke, they’re right. We have to go, now,” Big Flora said, tugging on the man’s arm. Luke hesitated only a moment more, before nodding.

“Alright,” he said softly, turning and running again.

Layton let out a soft sigh of relief once they took off, before turning to the agents. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted the hat on his head, before drawing out a saber sword that was hidden inside his cane, gripping it in his right hand, the cane/sheath in his left.

“Well, well, Layton. You truly did take the first chance you had to get out, didn’t you? And here I thought you were finally coming around to our side.”

From the midst of the Family stepped a tall scientist, wearing all white, along with a white hat. His gray hair curled down to his chin, covering his right eye, and the left glared, half-lidded, at Layton. The professor gripped the sword tighter.

“There is nothing right about this. Kidnapping? Coercion? Attempting to bend the rules of nature to fit your wants? I will never agree to any of this. Not willingly.”

“I see this, now.” The scientist held up a hand, and about fifteen guns leveled themselves to the professor’s chest. Layton’s eyes flickered between all of them, before landing back on their leader.

“Do it, then. Kill me. But you will never receive my cooperation again,” he snapped. The leader nodded slowly.

“I know.”

Pain suddenly seared across the back of Layton’s head, and he fell forward, his hat toppling off his head. Stars popped before his eyes, and he had to blink about a hundred times before he was able to slowly turn his head and look at the person who had been behind him.

“…Clive…?” he whispered in disbelief, just as darkness overtook him.

Luke, both Floras, and the woman quickly made it back to King’s Cross without any more issues. Despite this, they didn’t stop running until they reached the station, and were inside the main entrance. The four bent over, panting from their mad dash.

“You did it!” Hershel said with a warm smile. All four wheeled around, spotting him and Clark. Luke’s breath caught in his throat, staring wide eyed at the man.

“D-Dad…?” he whispered, remembering the last time he’d seen this man was when The Family had dragged him to his parents house, and had threatened his life if they didn’t shut up. The looks on their faces back then had reminded him of the horrible six months his mother had vanished from Misthallery, but much, much worse.

“Luke!” Clark swept the young man into a hug, nearly crushing him. Luke let out a shaky laugh, before pressing his face into Clark’s shirt, gripping the fabric tightly. His laugh faded out, and despite his face being hidden, the others could see the shake of his shoulders, indicating his tears.

Hershel turned and hugged Little Flora.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, giving her a squeeze. Little Flora giggled, hugging him back.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, hugging him back, tightly. Hershel smiled, waiting for her to pull back, before smiling warmly at Big Flora.

“I am so glad to see you and Luke unharmed. I… can’t imagine it was easy,” he said, trailing off.

“It was only hard the few times were were separated,” Big Flora admitted with a small smile. “I have to admit, though, when Luke said he found us all in the past and bought us forward, I didn’t quite believe him,” she giggled. Hershel chuckled.

“It is a lot to believe,” he smiled, before finally turning to the last member of the group, and freezing.

“Hello, Hershel,” she said softly. Hershel didn’t answer, however, his mouth slightly open in surprise, his face draining of color. Clark looked up from where he was comforting his son, and gasped.

“C-Claire?” he muttered. Hershel snapped his mouth shut, and swallowed hard.

“E-excuse me,” he managed to mutter, before bolting away.

Chapter Text

“Professor?” Little Flora called after Layton as he disappeared deeper into the defunct station, confused at his sudden reaction. Clark watched after him with worried eyes, before turning back to the ginger. Her eyes were wide and full of worry as well.

“This Hershel has been… dealing with a lot, kind of all at once. Just give him some time,” Clark explained, tightening his arm around Luke’s shoulders. Luke had calmed down a bit, but still kept his face hidden in the front of Clark’s shirt, almost like he was afraid if he moved, Clark would vanish.

Claire turned and looked at the man, confused and worried.. “I see. Is he… okay?”

“Not really,” Clark sighed, before shaking his head. “But Claire, how are you…?” he trailed off, letting the question hang in the air.

“Alive? It’s a long story, Clark.”

Hershel ran, almost blindly, through King’s Cross, searching for a place that didn’t have people. Every wall he built up around himself was crumbling, the bottle where he kept his deepest emotions about the burst. Finally, he spotted a door that lead to what was once the public restrooms, and slammed through it.

It was thankfully empty.

He leaned over the sink, avoiding looking up at his reflection in the cracked mirror, and tried to get a hold of himself. His vision swam with tears, and his chest felt like it was in a vice, making it hard to breath.

I’m hyperventilating. I need to control my breathing, a small – very small – and detached part of his brain said. He tried to focus on his too quick, too shallow breaths, but that seemed to make it worse.

“Hershel…?”

His breathing hitched, growing worse, but he kept his head down, not turning to face the new presence by the door. His grip tightened on the sides of the sink, and he focused on the cool feeling of porcelain under his fingers.

“Hershel, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Glancing up slightly, Hershel made eye contact with Desmond through the mirror. He had moved away from the door, and was standing about a foot behind the hyperventilating professor, his burgundy eyes wide with worry. They widened even more when they saw Hershel’s tear-stained face through the mirror.

“Her—”

“Why?” Hershel cut the other man off quietly, his voice breathless. Desmond’s eyebrows lowered over his eyes in confusion, and he shook his head slightly, not understanding the question. Hershel swallowed, quiet for a moment as he tried to control his breathing. “Why… did you fake your death?”

“Oh.” Desmond looked down, adjusting his glasses. The light in the bathroom reflected off of them, hiding his eyes. “Hershel, I… I didn’t want to interrupt your life. From what I knew, you were happy. A successful job that you loved, friends, your family, the Laytons…” Desmond finally looked up, and Hershel could see his eyes, and the real emotions in them. Pain and guilt. “The only thing making you unhappy was… me. First as Descole, then as Desmond, dragging you into the whole Targent business.”

Hershel stared at Desmond, his eyes wide, his hands trembling in their grip on the sink.

“And you think finding out you were my brother, only to loose you, after everything,” his voice cracked, and he swallowed, “After everything we went through, and everything I’d already lost…” Hershel’s legs gave out, and his knees slammed into the cracked tiles of the floor, his grip still tight on the sides of the sink. “You thought that would make me happy?” He buried his face into his arms, trying to fight back his emotions, but unable to stop the sobs rising in his chest.

Desmond stared, wide eyed, at the man in front of him, his heart twisting in shock and pain. Hershel kept his face buried in his arms, his shoulders shaking as he gasped for each shaky breath.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Hershel. I’m an idiot,” he said, walking over to the younger man. He pried Hershel’s fingers from the sink, helping him lower his arms, before hugging the man tightly, pulling the other’s head onto his shoulder, careful of the hat. Hershel didn’t respond to the hug for a moment, but finally, his arms wrapped around Desmond, his fingers twisting tightly into the fabric of his brother’s shirt. He buried his head more into Desmond’s shoulder, finally letting out what seemed to be years of anguish. Desmond slowed his own breathing down, taking deep, soothing breaths. After what felt like an eternity, Hershel matched his own breaths to Desmond’s, finally starting to calm down enough to not hyperventilate.

They sat on the dingy floor for longer than Desmond knew, but finally, Hershel’s sobs slowed, and he pulled back slightly, moving his face away from the tear stain on Desmond’s shoulder.

“I… sorry,” he said, his soft voice even softer. Descole shook his head, letting go of Hershel with one arm to pull out his handkerchief and hand it to Hershel. He was half tempted to wipe the tears off of the other man’s face, just as he once did in his earliest memories, but time and space held him back from that. Instead, he let Hershel remove one arm from around him and take the small piece of fabric.

“It’s okay, Hershel,” Desmond said, watching as the young man used the handkerchief to clean up his face. “I… I know this has been a lot, starting with me showing up on your doorstep after three years of thinking me dead.” Hershel nodded slightly, his face still hidden by the fabric. Desmond rubbed his back in comforting circles. “Talk to me. Please. I want to help,” he said.

Hershel took a shaky breath, before finally looking up at his brother, his dark eyes bloodshot, his face blotchy.

“I’d been hoping… Even though this was her field of study, and I seemed to be deeply involved in what’s going on here… that Claire had nothing to do with it,” he said softly.

“Claire?” Desmond asked.

“My girlfriend, in college. She’s the one who gave me this hat, when I became a professor.” His fingers brushed the brim of the hat. “I was going to ask her to marry me, that night. But… she died. In a Time Machine explosion.”

Desmond’s breath caught at that, and his arm tightened around Layton.

“This was about… ten years ago from our time.” Hershel took a shaky breath. “As soon as Luke started talking about Time Travel, she’s who I thought of.”

“Which is why you became so quiet and hesitant. She’s the scientist you mentioned knowing.”

“Yes.” Hershel took a shaky breath. “It was… strange though. The papers said nothing about the explosion, despite it killing a scientist, and ten other people who lived in the apartment building next door. I tried to investigate it myself. I figured out Bill Hawks was the boss on the project, and the one who ran the experiment. But then, I was attacked. Beaten within an inch of my life, and put into a coma for a month.” Hershel fell quiet for a few moments, but it was enough for Desmond to make the connection.

“No wonder you lost control when Al…” Desmond trailed off, remembering how he circled in the hover craft, after Hershel had jumped from it, watching as he fought the Family Members off of the red-head. He didn't want to say it, but he was almost reminded of the times he'd lost control as Descole. 

“Yeah,” Hershel said softly.

“I’m assuming your research went missing, as well?”

“It did. I tried to mount an investigation a few times afterwards, but was always met with brick walls and threats of violence…” Hershel sighed, resting his head on Desmond’s shoulder. Desmond looked down at his younger brother, his heart breaking once again.

He knew what it was like to loose loved ones. After all, Targent had killed his own family.

He admired Hershel for not following the same path he, himself, had.

“What makes you certain Claire is part of this current situation?” he finally asked, his voice soft.

“She’s here. She returned with Flora and the older kids. Desmond, she looks just as she did ten… twenty? Years ago, before the explosion.”

“So between her, Bill Hawks being assassinated, and everything with the future you and time travel… I see. It does add up. But… what does it mean, do you think?”

Hershel shook his head, taking one last shaky breath, before standing.

“I honestly don’t know. I just hope we are able to return home soon and stop this from happening,” he said softly. Desmond watched after him, before standing up himself.

“Agreed.”

Clark and Brenda, with Big Luke squeezed between them, both Flora’s, little Luke, Al, Alfendi, Des, and Claire all sat in one of the train cars commonly used as a meeting room.

“As you two know,” Claire started, nodding to Clark and Brenda, “I was to be the first human test subject for the first Time Machine, twenty years ago. Something went wrong however, and it exploded, killing me and ten other people.”

“Right. That’s when Stahngun wants to be able to travel to, but he’s never mentioned why," Des said, cupping his chin thoughtfully. "He said it should be visible, because your Time Machine showed signs of being successful, but only for a split second.”

“That split second, it was. I was sent forward in time, to now. I’ve been in this time for about three weeks now. I was worried, when I found out just how much London had changed. I couldn’t believe Hershel…” she trailed off, looking down.

“Hershel would never,” Brenda said passionately.

“Dad’s just the scapegoat, forced to go along with their plans. They were threatening Luke, Flora, and Uncle Des,” Al explained, crossing his arms, before staring the woman down, eyes narrowing. “What are you to him?”

“Excuse Al. Hershel adopted him a little over ten years ago,” Clark said. Claire smiled warmly at that, happy to hear Hershel had continued to live, even after her death.

“I understand.” She turned to the teenager. “Your father and I dated in college, just before I died.”

“Oh.”

“Unfort—” Claire began, only for the door to slam open. All eyes in the room turned to find Clive standing in the doorway, his eyes huge, as he panted for air. Big Luke and Big Flora stiffened, glancing at each other, before looking back at the unexpected guest.

“Clive?” Al demanded, jumping to his feet and darting over to him.

“It’s the professor! They’re holding him captive,” Clive panted, leaning against the doorframe and burying his hands in his hair. His eyes were wide and haunted looking.

“What do you mean? He’s basically been their prisoner this whole time,” Des said, also standing.

“No, not like that,” Clive said, gripping his hair as he shook his head. “Stahngun said he’s done playing games. Done using Layton as a scapegoat. He’s serious, but I don’t know what he’s planning.”

“What’s going on?” a voice asked from behind Clive. Everyone, including Clive, jumped slightly, turning to face Desmond and Hershel, who had just walked up. Everyone noticed the professor’s bloodshot eyes, and blotchy face, but ignored it to preserve his dignity. Besides, there was much more pressing matters at the moment.

“Stahngun is holding your older self hostage. I… I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Clive explained. Hershel frowned slightly, and the dark frown that crossed Desmond’s face was a mirror of his older self’s expression.

“Clive, why can’t you—” Big Luke started, only to be cut off.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“What’s that?” Desmond asked, but Al was already rushing over to where a bank of computer monitors were mounted. A light blinked in the corner of one of them. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the keyboard.

“Incoming message. Should I answer it?” Al said, glancing over his shoulder at Des. Des nodded once.

“Do it.”

Chapter Text

Al hesitated just a moment longer, before nodding and accepting the call. On one of the monitors, an older man appeared, his gray, curly hair covering one of his eyes, topped with a white fedora.

“Dr. Stahngun,” Al said coolly, straightening his back. Claire gasped.

“Dimitri,” she whispered. Hershel, who had heard her talk of her co-workers before, stiffened slightly, glancing over at Claire in surprise.

“Hello, Alfendi,” Dr. Stahngun – Dimitri Allen – said. “I suppose I should also extend my greeting to Professor Sycamore. I know you’re there.”

Des stiffened, before strolling forward so that he was visible on the camera, standing next to Al.

“Stahngun. What do you want?” he demanded. Dimitri stepped back so his face was not taking up the whole screen, only to reveal future Professor Layton, tied to a chair, behind him. His hat was missing, and there was a small trickle of blood on the left side of his face, travelling from his hair line to chin, but he was awake, and aware enough to glare at Dimitri.

Al made a choked noise in the back of his throat. Despite Clive’s warning, seeing his father like this still shocked him. Des gripped Al’s shoulder, but his own face was unreadable. Dimitri saw the reactions, and laughed.

“What do I want? I want to go back, twenty years, and change what happened. Honestly, it’s the same thing you wanted when you and Triton went back ten years, Alfendi,” Dimitri said. “I didn’t know Claire would come to this time, but now that she’s here, I know we can finish the Time Machine. I can go back and save her. So what I want, this minute, is for you to return Claire to me. You too, Sycamore.”

“This is madness! We are nowhere near a breakthrough!” Des yelled. Dimitri frowned deeply, before stepping behind Layton and grabbing the short hair at the top of his head, yanking it back so the Professor’s neck was exposed. In Dimitri’s other hand, a knife appeared, the blade pressed against the soft skin at Layton’s neck.

Clark immediately grabbed Alfendi, little Luke, and both Floras’, turning them so their faces’ were hidden against his chest. Hershel himself stiffened at that, his breath catching in his throat (there is something very strange, and very scary, about watching another version of yourself be threatened). Al froze, feeling himself grow cold, while Des’s temper flared, but it was Claire who acted.

“Dimitri, stop!” she said, darting forward so she was visible on camera. Dimitri looked at her, the blade still poised at Layton’s throat.

“Claire,” he said, his voice softening. Claire, on the other hand, glared deeply at him.

“I will come back, so long as you don’t hurt Hershel,” she said, her voice steady.

“And I will accompany her, since you still believe me able to help,” Des added, regaining control of himself. Al’s eyes widened as he turned to look between Des and Claire.

“You can’t!” the Future Layton said. “If you return here, everything will be--!” he cut off in a gasp of pain as Dimitri jerked upwards on his hair, and a thin trickle of blood appeared on his neck, under the knife.

“Stop it!” Al yelled, leaning forward, like he wanted to go through the screen. Dimitri laughed.

“One hour. If you’re not here by then, the good professor here will be nothing but a corpse,” he said.

“You monster,” Claire growled, her voice low. “This is the last way I would want to be saved.”

Dimitri studied her for a moment, before nodding to someone off camera. It went black, indicating that they had hung up.

“DAMMIT!” Des yelled, slamming his hands down on the controls, his head down. Al watched him for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. He finally turned and glanced at the younger Hershel Layton, than at Clive, who also looked pale.

“Clive, how did this happen?” he demanded. Before Clive could answer, Des spoke again.

“Ascot, I need you in the train car at platform seven,” he said into a communication device, his voice lower than before, containing a growl. Clark, Hershel, both Lukes, and Desmond stiffened slightly, recognizing that voice.

A moment later, the ginger walked in, a weary look on his face. He had also recognized that voice.

“Des…?” he asked, not sure to which side he was talking to. Des stood up straight, turning slightly to the rest of the room, the light reflection on his glasses making it impossible to read his eyes.

“On my signal, do it. Storm Big Ben.”

When Claire and Des arrived at Big Ben, they were escorted to the lab Des had been working in for the past ten years. Layton, the older one, was already there, working under the watchful eye of Bostro. The blood on his face was still there, dried to his skin, but the cut on his throat had been bandaged. He was sitting at one of the desks, looking over some of the papers.

“Hershel,” Des gasped, coming to a stop. Layton looked up, and gave them a weary, sad smile.

“Hello, Desmond.” His eyes turned to the woman. “Claire. It’s… been a while,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. There was a strain to it, despite his best effort.

“Ten years. What are you doing in here?” Des asked, coming over and glancing down at the papers in Layton’s hands.

“I’ve been… asked to help.” Layton swallowed, wincing slightly as the movement caused the small cut on his throat to hurt.

“Right,” Des said, lowering his head again. There was silence for a moment, before Claire cleared her throat.

“You know, this is not how I wanted to meet my future brother-in-law,” she joked, trying to clear the tension. Both men stared at her for a moment, before Layton snorted, quickly covering his mouth. Des looked at Layton, surprised for a moment, before smiling, chuckling as well.

“Yes, I’d imagine not,” Layton managed, before taking a deep breath, glancing down at the papers. Claire moved close as well, scooping up a pad of paper and pen, and sitting next to the Professor.

“So, Des, how are we doing time travel?” she asked, pen poised over the paper, ready to take notes. Desmond nodded slightly.

“It’s a wormhole, like a tunnel. Currently, we can only travel between now and ten years into the past, give or take some months either way,” he began. Claire started taking notes, her elbow bumping into Layton’s arm. Layton glanced down to see how close they were, and noticed what Claire was writing.

“The reason it’s only ten years into the past is due to the time machines themselves. They act as anchor points for the other end of the time travel tunnel.”

It wasn’t notes on time travel. Besides, why would she need that? She was an expert in her field.

“Stahngun – Allen? Built a time machine ten years ago, forcing me to help with my engineering expertise. That’s why the other end of the portal is anchored there currently. Now, we need to establish an anchor to your time machine and travel to a day or so before yours was turned on.”

Claire was outlining a plan.

“We haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact moment yours activated, meaning we haven’t established the anchor. That’s because of the explosion… and working off the assumption that your time machine blew up before working. Now though, it should be a little easier.”

The plan was about how the rebellion was going to storm the tower, tear down The Family, and send their past selves back in time.

Layton hated it. He was sure his past self did, too.

But it was the only option they had.

Chapter Text

Des, Layton, and Claire worked for about an hour. It was mostly talking, discussing theories, and reading over notes and texts. Nothing exciting. Nothing groundbreaking.

Bostro was getting bored. He knew his job was important – to make sure none of the hostages escaped – but without anything to do other than watch them sit at desks and read, he was ready to fall asleep himself.

Des glanced up as he noticed their guard’s head nodding forward, and nodded, waiting a few more minutes before grabbing something off of his desk, standing, and ghosting over to him.

“Hm?” Bostro muttered, waking up slightly as Des stopped in front of him. He wasn’t fast enough, however, before the heavy paperweight Des was holding crashed into his temple, knocking him out.

“That was for Al,” he growled, remembering how this same man had punched the teenager in the head during his ‘questioning’.

“Al… Alfendi!? Is he okay?” Layton demanded, standing.

“Yeah. Your younger self made sure of it. Now, you two stay here. Prep the time machine!” With that, Des was out the door, and gone.

All through the tower, the Family was starting to notice their phones had no signal. One moment, it was there, and the next, gone, like someone had set up a communications jammer.

Clive and Dimitri were discussing this, when the PA system crackled to life.

“One, two, three, four; it’s time to end this little war.”

“Who the hell is that?” Dimitri snarled, glancing towards the speaker.

“It is I, the Masked Gentleman. The one who has been wreaking havoc on your airships for quite some time now.” This statement was followed with a laugh. “But as I said, it is time to end this. Any last words, Stahngun?”

The PA speaker crackled, signaling the one in the room was active.

“The rebellion will never win, you insufferable fool! You won’t even make it past the door!”

“Five, six, seven, eight; we’re already past the front gate.” Another laugh. “This is the end for you and your little Family, Stahngun. I hope not to meet you in the hall. Otherwise, I might not be able to stop myself!”

“Stop messing around and show your face, you coward!” Dimitri yelled.

There was no answer.

“So, what do we do?” Clive asked. Dimitri spun to face him, gritting his teeth.

“Take the Family, find them, and stamp them out,” he said, before whirling back to his computer. Clive nodded and left without another word.

Fisheye led a small group of thugs towards the security room. This was the only place in the tower where one could access the PA system, which meant it was the only place they’d find the Masked Gentleman.

When they arrived, a man in a mask did stand in their way of the door, but rather than a gold mask, white tux, and white top hat, the mask itself was white. The suit was black, with frilled cuffs, and covered by a dark cloak, complete with a feathered collar. On his head was a black tricorn hat.

He turned to face the men, and smirked.

“Well, well, you lot didn’t take long at all to appear. A moth to the flame, as they say,” he said.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Fisheye demanded. The masked man’s smirk grew.

“You can call me… Jean Descole. For about the next five minutes of your short, miserable existence, that is.” As he spoke, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a black sphere, throwing it into the air.

The sphere grew, expanding as eight, black mechanical legs unwrapped themselves from the main body, and other pieces clicked into place. Moments later, a mechanical spider, the size of a large horse, landed in between Descole and the thugs.

“Allow me to introduce you to one of my many inventions; the Spherider,” Descole said as he jumped onto the robot’s back, drawing his sword. The men backed up, their faces covered with fear. The Spherider was still for only one moment, before it surged forward, each of it’s eight legs clicking against the floor as it charged, the man on its back letting out a dark, crazy laugh.

Al and Emmy waited outside of Big Ben, listening as the operations inside completely broke, facilitated by two forces of total chaos. From Emmy’s radio, a special kind built by Don Paulo and Des working together that wouldn’t be effected by the communication jammer, they could hear the Masked Gentleman – Randall – coordinating the rebellion from the security room.

“Squad B, Descole chased the group in your direction. Nope! Ignore the giant spider, it will ignore you! Des, get back to the door. Can’t coordinate and fight at the same time, and Paul doesn’t know how to use a sword. Squad A, seal off the staircase! Bottle them in at that point, or else you’ll be overwhelmed. DESCOLE, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DO THAT ONE MORE TIME~!”

“Shut up, Ascot, or else you’re next!”

“They fight like they’re married,” Al mumbled.

“You have that right,” Emmy giggled, before looking back at the radio.

“Ugh, whatever. Emmy, Al, get ready to bring them in. Wait… wait… now!”

Emmy nodded, glancing back to make sure the group from the past; Hershel, Desmond, Flora, Luke, and Alfendi were with them. Alfendi and Luke were on Hershel’s and Desmond’s backs, just like before, while Al held Flora’s hand to make sure they weren’t seperated. As Randall yelled now, they ran forward.

Just before they made it inside, Hershel caught movement from the corner of his eye, and spotted a hovercraft. Emmy spotted it as well, and grabbed her radio.

“Randall, hoover crafts. The outside troops might need your help!” she yelled.

“Well, that took long. Paul, your up!”

As Al and Emmy’s group mounted the steps, a blur of white shot past them, diving from near the top of the tower to the bottom, ignoring the steps completely. Silver wings flared, catching Randall before he crashed into the ground, and he dove out the door, silver wings carrying him into the sky almost instantly.

“Those wings are much better then his first pair, from Monte d'Or,” Hershel observed as the group climbed the stairs.

“Don Paulo made them,” Emmy explained. “He makes most of the tech for the rebellion, actually.”

“Makes sense. I’d imagine my future self was a little too busy,” Desmond said.

“Just a bit,” Al said, before narrowing his eyes, seeing shadows moving on the stairs above them around the corner.

“Layton, Altava, you’ve got goons coming towards you,” Don Paulo’s voice crackled over the radio. Al let go of Flora’s hand, yanking his knife from his boot, while Emmy clenched her fists.

“Stay here, Professors,” Emmy said, before looking at Al. Al glanced at her, and the two nodded before darting up the steps.

A few moments later, accompanied by the sounds of fighting from above, and Emmy looked around the corner.

“All clear. Come on!”

The group caught back up to their guides, Al once again taking Flora’s hand.

“Hey, Big Me?” Alfendi said, leaning to the side to get a better look at his older self. Al glanced back.

“Yeah?”

“Where’d you get the knife?” Alfendi asked, pointing to the dagger Al still gripped. Al glanced down at it, before smiling warmly.

“It was a birthday gift last year, from Uncle Des,” he explained. Hershel sighed at that, glancing over at his brother.

“Please, please, don’t get Alfendi a knife for his birthday. Any of his birthdays. Especially not one designed after… Descole’s sword,” he said. Desmond smirked, letting out a chuckle.

“No promises.”

The group reached another corner as the stairs wound themselves around the tower.

“Wait, Layton, don’t--!”

Don Paulo’s warning came too late, and the group rounded the corner, only to run into Clive, who was leading a group of the Family. Both groups froze, staring at each other, before Clive lifted the gun he held in his hand, pointing it directly at Al.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he said, smirking. Al’s breath caught, and he moved so that he was standing more in front of Flora.

“Clive? What is the meaning of this?” Al demanded, narrowing his eyes. Clive didn’t answer, but he kept his gun trained on Al.

No one moved for a second. Then Bostro, who had blood trickling from the injury on his temple, stepped forward.

“What are ya waiting for, boy? A written invitation? Shoot! Ya already helped us capture one Layton. What does taking the other one out matter?”

“What!?” Al sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him at that. The thug laughed.

“Yep. If it weren’t for Mr. Dove here, we probably wouldn’t have captured your pappy,” he said. Al gripped the hilt of his knife tighter, his vision turning red. Emmy gripped his shoulder to keep him still, her eyes trained on the gun still aimed at Al’s chest. Hershel and Desmond glanced at each other, before looking back at Clive.

Bostro shook his head, before gripping Clive’s shoulder. “What are ya wai—"

As soon as the man touched his shoulder, Clive spun on his heel, slamming the butt of his gun into the injury on Bostro’s temple, causing the man to drop. The other family members were stunned for a moment, which was long enough for Emmy and Al to dart forward and knock out the rest of them.

Al then slammed Clive against the wall, his knife at Clive’s throat.

“Traitor!” he snarled. Clive dropped the gun, holding his hands up to show the enraged seventeen-year-old that he was weaponless.

“Al, wait!” he said.

“NO! I was dumb enough to listen to you once,” Al yelled, his grip on his dagger tightening. “I really thought you were spying for us, but this whole time--!” Al cut off as a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He glanced at it, than up into Hershel’s face.

“Al, I think he really was helping us. After all, he is the one who dispatched Bostro,” he said.

“If I hadn’t knocked out the Professor, Stahngun was going to have him killed. He had guns pointed at him, Al! It was the only way to make sure he stayed alive!” Clive said, speaking quickly. Al studied him for a moment.

“Are you telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yes,” Clive said. “The last thing I want is for the Professor to get killed. Really. I just… hadn’t expected Stahngun to go so completely off the deep end…”

Al hesitated a moment, before looking up at Hershel.

“What do you think?” he asked. Hershel glanced back at Clive, before nodding to Al.

“I believe he is telling the truth. If he wasn’t, why would he come tell us my older self was captured in the first place? And why would he volunteer to assist Flora when she came to rescue her future self and Luke?” he pointed out. Al hesitated only a moment longer, before nodding, stepping back from Clive.

Clive nodded his thanks, before spotting something over Al’s shoulder.

“FLORA!”  he yelled. The girl, who was at the back of the group, jumped slightly, but didn’t turn around fast enough before one of the thugs grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.

“NO!” Al yelled, stooping down and grabbing the gun Clive at dropped. Before he could aim it, though, Flora was already moving. She reached behind her back and grabbed her own wrist before the thug could twist it too far up her back, forcing her trapped arm back down. In the same movement, she slammed the heel of her boot into the instep of the man’s foot. The man howled as something in his foot cracked, and his grip loosened on Flora’s arm as he leaned forward in pain. Flora let go of her wrist and twisted around, slamming her elbow into the man’s nose as it came into range. The man howled in pain again, fully letting go of Flora and stumbling back. He wasn't knocked out, but he was out of commission. 

Everyone stared at the girl in shock, while she let out a breath, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. She than turned to them.

“What?” she asked.

“My dear… where did you learn that?” Hershel asked.

“Oh, um… Mr. Raymond taught me a few self-defense moves when he was teaching me how to disguise myself,” Flora said, adding a small giggle.

“I… see.”

“When we get back, should we ask Raymond to continue training her?” Desmond asked quietly, leaning closer to Hershel.

“Yes,” the professor said instantly.

Clive let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and glanced around at the group.

“What in the bloody hell are you all standing around for, Layton? Get moving!” Don Paulo’s voice rang out from the radio, jolting the group back to their senses.

“Right. Come on,” Al said, shoving the gun into his belt, before looking at Clive. “When this is all over… we should talk,” he added.

“If there’s even time,” Clive said with a small smile, glancing at the group from the past. Al chuckled.

“Right. Let’s go.”

The group ran forward following Don Paulo’s directions as to avoid any other thugs. Outside, they could hear explosions from Randall, cutting down hover crafts. Inside, further down the stairs, they heard the shouts and sounds of fighting between the rebellion and the thugs.

Finally, they reached the lab, and entered.

Future Layton and Allen were locked in battle, Allen using a sword, Layton using a piece of metal pipe with a curled end. Claire was hard at work, her hands flying across the controls.

“Hershel, get the kids over to the tunnel!” Desmond said, kneeling down and letting Luke drop off of his back. The boy did, and Desmond darted over to help Claire. Hershel nodded, quickly herding the kids to the large machine they had appeared in when they first came to the future. Al and Emmy stood at the door, ready to take down any thugs who tried to enter.

CRASH

Everyone looked over at the noise. Dimitri had Layton pinned to one of the control panels, only Layton’s metal pipe in-between himself and the blade inching towards his throat. The panel he was bent backwards over was smoking.

That looks… familiar… Hershel thought, glancing at Desmond, who was pointedly avoiding his eyes, continuing to work at the controls.

Layton gathered his strength and pushed Dimitri off of him, sending the other man stumbling back. Without giving him a chance to recover, Layton pressed his advantage, the metal pipe a deadly sword in his hands as he slashed and thrusted it at his opponent. Dimitri stumbled back, avoiding and blocking, until Layton managed to get one, powerful thrust into his guard. The rounded end of the pipe slammed into Dimitri’s stomach, and the man fell back with a wheeze, landing on another set of controls. Layton stood before him, panting only slightly.

“Stop! You’ll destroy the machine!” Claire yelled. Layton’s breath caught in his throat, and he turned slightly to look at Claire. Desmond glanced up at the same time.

“WATCH OUT!” Desmond yelled.

Before Layton could move, pain pierced his stomach. He gasped, stumbling back, and looked up, at Dimitri. The other man was panting, his eyes wide in surprise, the blade of his sword stained red. Layton looked down at his stomach, watching as the material of his shirt slowly turned red, before he dropped to his knees.

“DAD!” Al screamed. Without conscious thought, the teenager snatched Clive’s gun from his belt, and fired once. Dimitri stumbled back, the sword dropping from his hand as red blossomed across his chest. Emmy grabbed the gun from the teenager before he could fire again, wrenching it out of his grip and emptying the bullets from it.

Claire and Desmond froze in their work, surprised by this turn of events. Meanwhile, Hershel, who had hidden Alfendi’s face in his chest during the fight, so he didn’t see anything, felt sick.

“A-Al…fendi,” Layton mumbled, slipping sideways until he was leaning against the wall, strength bleeding out of him. Al darted over, sliding to his knees next to Layton and pressing his hands against the stab wound in his stomach.

“No, Dad, please. Not now. Not when I’ve only just got to see you again,” Al begged, his hands turning red as he tried to staunch the bleeding. Layton hummed, closing his eyes for a moment. “DAD!” Al snapped, and Layton opened his eyes again, focusing on the teenager.

“Everything will be okay, Alfendi…” Layton muttered, gripping the boy’s wrist as tightly as he could.

Suddenly, lightening shot across the control panel Claire and Desmond were at, shocking both of them, but also causing a blue light to appear in the tunnel. Claire nodded, shoving Desmond towards it.

“You have to go, now. The Time Machine… it’s not stable anymore, not with so much damage. It won’t stay active for long!” she said. Desmond nodded, his engineering experience telling him she was right.

“Hershel,” he said, turning to his brother, who was still watching the scene between his older self and his youngest son, his face unreadable. Al’s head snapped up, and he turned to the group from the past.

“Please, you have to go back and change this. Make sure none of this ever happens!” he begged. Layton slowly turned his head to the group, and nodded sluggishly in agreement.

“Unwind this future… make a better one…” he whispered, his eyes locking with his younger self. Hershel’s breath caught, and he nodded.

“We will,” he said, before nodding to Desmond, stepping through the blue light with him, Luke, Flora, and Alfendi.

Claire knelt next to Dimitri, and closed his wide, unseeing eyes.

“This was not the way to honor my memory, Dimitri. And you can’t change the past to revive me. I will see you soon.” She stood and followed the group, ten years into the past, just before the blue light in the tunnel winked out, for good. 

Chapter Text

Present Day – Friday, 12:50 PM

A blue light flared in the entrance hall of Hershel Layton’s flat, lasting only a moment, before Hershel Layton and Desmond Sycamore appeared, standing a few feet away from each other, facing the other. Desmond was by the door, while Hershel was further in the flat.

Desmond looked at his watch, checking the time (ten till one) and realized this was the same position they had found themselves in when future Luke had knocked on the door.

Only moments before the Family had arrived.

Both men started moving at once, Desmond spinning to the door and engaging the lock right away, before following after Hershel, who had darted into the living room, grabbing his car keys.

“The window, right?” Desmond demanded.

“Yes, it should be safe, getting to the car from there,” Hershel said, watching as his brother wrenched open the window and dove out of it. Hershel jumped out right after him, and both men ran to the Laytonmobile.

Hershel gunned the car once they were both in, tearing out of the alleyway where he was parked, and darting into London traffic.

“What’s the plan?” Desmond asked, hanging on to his seat.

“We will pick up the kids from school, even if it is early. Hopefully all three will be able to get out of class on their own. From there, we go to King’s Cross, and leave London for an extended holiday,” Hershel said, his eyes not leaving the road. They were approaching the same intersection the Family had tried to crash into them before, and his sharp eyes were peeled for their vehicle.

His caution paid off. As soon as they started across the intersection, the Family’s car from before, a large, black van, ran a red light, aiming to t-bone them. Layton punched the gas, swerving around the vehicle in front of him. The other vehicle sped past, behind the Laytonmobile, before spinning around and chasing them.

“Hershel!” Desmond yelled.

“I see them. Hold on!” Hershel said, before making a sharp, sudden turn left, onto a narrow road. The van followed, determined to reach them, but Layton knew the streets of London perfectly, and after five or six turns, he was able to loose their pursuers.

A few minutes later, he slammed to a stop in front of the school the kids attended, sighing in relief as he spotted Luke, Flora, and Alfendi darting out the front door, Flora gripping Alfendi’s hand. They were heading towards the bus stop, not seeing the Laytonmobile, until Desmond reached across Hershel and laid on the horn.

The kids jumped, then spotted them and changed course. As they approached, Desmond opened the door and leaned forward, bending the chair forward to let them in.

Luke dove into the back seat, with Flora quickly following. Alfendi struggled a bit, due to his small size, so Desmond scooped him up and placed him in the foot space in the front of the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

In that second, the black van screeched around the corner, speeding towards them.

“Bloody hell… Drive, Hershel, drive!” Desmond yelled. Hershel nodded, frowning grimly as he slammed on the accelerator, the Laytonmobile jumping forward. He swerved through traffic, trying to avoid the other vehicle, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

“Where are we going?” Luke asked, leaning forward and gripping the passenger seat.

“Kings Cross. We need to get out of London,” Desmond said. Luke nodded for a moment, before freezing.

“Wait! What about Mom and Dad? If they know about us, they’ll know about them, too!” Luke gasped. Hershel’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Desmond, who frowned deeply, thinking for a moment, before nodding, pulling out a radio.

“Raymond, do you copy?” he called, hoping the machine still worked after going through time with him. He only had to wait a moment before the device crackled.

“Aye, Master. I saw the kids get into Layton’s car. Are you with him?”

“Yes. There’s been a change of plans. I need you to collect Clark and Brenda Triton, and meet us at King’s Cross.”

“Aye, Master. What should I tell them?”

“Raymond, this is Layton. Tell them that Luke is with me, but we are all in danger, including them. That should be sufficient,” Hershel called as soon as Desmond hit the button to respond. Desmond glanced at Hershel, and nodded.

“Understood. I will see you then. Be safe,” Raymond said, before cutting communication.

BANG-BANG

“Are those guns!?” Luke gasped, ducking as everyone else did. Alfendi, who was still sitting at Desmond’s feet, gripped the older man’s pantleg, eyes wide.

Desmond glanced between everyone, before his eyes landed on Alfendi’s, whose amber eyes were wide with fear. He took a deep breath, and reached down, loosening the boy’s grip from his pantleg.

“They won’t get us. I promise. But I need you to let me go,” he said softly. Alfendi hesitated for a moment, before nodding.

“Desmond?” Hershel said, glancing at his brother, who pulled an all too familiar costume from seemingly no where, changing in nothing more then a swish of cloth.

“I will hold these imbeciles off, Layton. Keep driving,” Desmond said, fixing the white mask over his face, before undoing his seatbelt. Mid sentence, his voice seemed to change, growing deeper and full of contempt.

It was the voice of Descole.

“Desmond, wait! If they capture you—” Hershel began, gripping his brother’s arm. Descole brushed him off, letting out a laugh.

“If they capture me, now that I am prepared, then perhaps I deserve it,” he said, opening the door. “Don’t turn back, and don’t stop, no matter what.”

With that, Descole was out of the moving vehicle, flipping himself onto the roof. The momentum of the car moving was enough to close the door again. Descole crouched on the roof, his gray cloak flying around him, his other hand gripping his hat to keep it on his head. Alfendi started to rise and move into the seat, to see what was going on, but Hershel put a gentle hand on his head, keeping it lowered and safe.

The men in the other vehicle, The Family, raised their guns as Descole stood, reaching into his cloak. Before they could shoot, Descole jumped into the air, and threw a black sphere towards the ground. Before it hit, the thing expanded, growing legs and red, glowing eyes.

It was Descole’s Spherider.

He landed on its back and drew his sword.

“Let us finish this, shall we?” he said as the Spherider charged forward, straight at the van.

Hershel only got a glimpse of the fight in the rearview mirror, before he had to make a turn, leaving it behind him. A few moments later, he pulled into Kings Cross, parking haphazardly and scooping Alfendi up. Luke and Flora quickly followed him, and the four entered to see Raymond and the Tritons waiting in line to buy tickets.

“Mum! Dad!” Luke cried, darting forward and ramming into his parents, hugging them tightly. Both stumbled under the impact, but returned the hug.

“Hershel? What is going on?” Clark asked, looking up, confusion clear on his face.

“I will explain once we are on the train. For now, there is no time,” Hershel said, stepping up to the counter as it was their turn. He bought enough tickets for all of them, including Desmond, and quickly ushered them to the train.

“But what about Uncle Des?” Alfendi asked as they boarded, Raymond and the Tritons leading the way to their compartment.

“He will be here, I am sure of it. How about you go with Raymond and Flora while I keep an eye out for him, okay?” Hershel said, crouching to put the boy down. Before he could stand back up, Alfendi gripped Hershel’s sleeve, keeping him kneeling.

“Dad, I… please, don’t get caught,” Alfendi whispered, his amber eyes darting between Hershel and the floor. Hershel froze at the fear in the boy’s face, his mind jumping back to their last few minutes in the future. He had hidden Alfendi’s face in his chest, ensuring the boy didn’t see anything, but…

That didn’t mean he didn’t hear everything. And Alfendi… he was smart, and unfortunately had seen death before.

“Dad…?” Alfendi asked, looking up when Hershel didn’t answer. The professor cleared his throat, before pulling the boy into a hug.

“Alfendi, my boy… I promise, I won’t get caught. Not this time,” he said softly, holding the boy tight. Alfendi wrapped his arms tightly around Hershel, burring his face in the side of Hershel’s neck, his breath shaky.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Knowing Alfendi probably wasn’t going to let him go any time soon, Hershel picked him up again and walked to the door that lead into their car, watching anxiously for a sign of his brother, while rubbing his son’s back, muttering soothingly.

He stayed there for what felt like an eternity, until the whistle blew, and the conductors started to slam the doors shut.

His heart dropped. There was no sign of Desmond anywhere in the crowd, nor had he seen him board. It had been decided they would take a very round-about way to Monte d’Or, stopping first in Surrey, than Misthallary, until finally rounding through the country and entering the desert.

Hopefully, he would meet them at one of their stops. Letting out a deep sigh, Hershel carried Alfendi back to their compartment, hoping Raymond would have some insight as to Desmond’s actions. He pulled open the door, glancing around for the older man.

“Ah, Hershel. Alfendi. There you are.” Alfendi jumped at the voice, peeking up from Hershel’s shoulder, while the older man froze.

Desmond was sitting at the chair, by the window, sitting tea from a fine china cup. Not a single hair was out of place, and his clothes showed no wrinkles.

It was like he’d been sitting there for hours.

“Uncle Des!” Alfendi yelped, shimmying out of Hershel’s arms and darting over, stopping just in front of the man. “We thought you got captured. How did you escape?” he demanded, causing everyone to laugh. Hershel glanced around, spotting Luke sitting between his parents, and Flora on Brenda’s other side. Raymond sat next to Desmond, with Flora on his other side.

The train car was crowded, but for the first time in a long time, Hershel felt… safe.

“Alright, Hershel, now that we’re on the train, tell us, what’s happening?” Clark asked. Hershel nodded, sitting on Flora’s other side, and taking a deep breath.

He told the Tritons and Raymond about everything that happened; future Luke, future Al, future London in general.

If ever he forgot a detail, Desmond on the kids supplied it. Clark and Brenda were bemused at first, until they heard fully what happened with Luke. Then their expressions grew worried, scared even, and their arms wrapped a little tighter around their son. Raymond looked intrigued, first studying Desmond, before turning to Alfendi and Flora, studying them as well.

The only detail Layton didn’t mention right away, the hardest to talk about…

“So, what was Allen after, anyway? Why did he want the time travel?” Clark asked.

Hershel was quiet for a moment, looking down, when there was a soft knock on the door. He looked up, and his breath caught.

“Claire…? Is that… you?” Brenda asked when she spotted the woman.

“Hello, Brenda, Clark,” Claire said, nodding to them, before turning to the stunned professor. “I was hoping to speak to Hershel for a moment.”

Hershel nodded, forcing himself to breath again, and stood. “I will be right back,” he muttered, before following the woman. They walked for a few moments in silence, until they reached a quiet corner of the train.

“Hershel… thank you for your help in the future,” she finally said. Hershel shook his head.

“I honestly didn’t do much,” he admitted. “It was everyone there who saved themselves.”

“True. But now you are doing everything in your power to ensure that future never happens.” Claire turned to look out the window for a moment, watching the countryside. “I hope… this time, Dimitri realizes how foolish his actions are, and stops.”

“As do I. But he has already amassed power in the form of The Family…” Hershel was quiet for a moment, watching the window with Claire, but not truly seeing anything. “I shall leave an anonymous tip with Scotland Yard. Hopefully they can assist.”

“Hopefully.”

Silence fell between the two, and neither noticed Desmond standing in an alcove nearby, keeping an eye on his brother.

Claire looked down as an odd, disjointed feeling surged through her body, and she realized what it meant. She turned to look up at the man who meant so much to her.

“I suppose this is it, Hershel. I am unable to stay outside of my time for much longer. My form is… unstable,” she said. Hershel stiffened, quickly looking at the woman, only to notice her form was… fuzzy around the edges.

“So, you will return. To that day when we parted,” he whispered, looking down. Claire nodded. “Claire…”

Claire stepped closer, resting her hands on his chest, and Hershel’s hands found their way to her shoulders, gripping them gently.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay.” She rested her head against him, her hands closing into fists, gripping the material of his jacket. Hershel wrapped his arms around her in a hug, trying to steady himself. The embrace lasted only for a moment, before Claire pulled back slightly to look at him, cupping his cheek with her hand, and kissing him.

Hershel closed his eyes, melting into the kiss. He’d almost forgotten how her lips felt against his, and how she tasted of black tea and electricity.

And suddenly, she was gone, pulling back and turning away. Hershel’s eyes snapped open, and he watched after her, his chest tight.

Before the woman could take more than a few steps, Hershel leaned forward, his heart getting the better of him.

“Claire, wait!”

Claire froze, her eyes widening at how the man’s voice cracked. She than smiled sadly, turning to face him one last time as light surrounded her form.

“We had so many plans for the future. You won’t forget, will you?” Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at the man she had loved, and still did. “Our shared past… and our… lost future.”

Hershel let out a small, pained gasp, tears filling his own eyes, before he blinked them away.

“You can’t go!” he declared, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to say goodbye again. I can’t! I won’t!”

Claire stared at Hershel, surprised at his outburst. Desmond closed his eyes, looking down, his heart breaking for his brother.

“I know you.” Claire smiled at Hershel, trying to give him strength to face this. “And I know you’ll stay strong. After all… that’s what a gentleman does.” Hershel didn’t respond, but he straightened up slightly. “I must go now, Hershel. Thank you for everything.” She turned away, heading for the door that lead straight out, onto the balcony at the rear of the train. “Goodbye,” she whispered as she opened the door, stepping through. Hershel watched her go, his heart breaking, before lowing his head, his eyes hidden behind his hat.

Desmond watched for a moment, before walking forward, passing by his brother, and looking out onto the balcony. “She’s gone,” he said softly, closing the door once again, and turning to his brother.

Hershel looked at him for a moment, before pressing his lips together and slowly turning his back on where Claire had disappeared. As much as he tried to hide it, a small sniffle escaped him.

And then, more tears ran down his face, his shoulders shaking from the force of his quiet sobs. He slowly pulled off his hat (the hat Claire had given him) and held it to his chest, staring out the window as the countryside rolled by.

Desmond watched him for a moment, before walking over, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hershel leaned against him, not quiet in a hug, but he did place his head on his brother’s shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. Desmond wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving him the support he knew Hershel needed.

They spent about two months in Monte d’Or, until finally, news reached them from London.

Through the joint efforts of Grosky and Chelmey, Dimirti Allen had been found and arrested, along with most of The Family. They were safe to return, without having to worry about another abduction attempt.

And this time, Desmond and Raymond would be joining them.