Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Layton watched the approaching city, excitement blossoming in his chest. It was a long ride, and soon he was about to land. Already, the captain of the vessel was bustling about preparing for landing.

Beside him, Flora held tight onto his arm. She had insisted on coming, of course, and who was he to turn her down? He glanced over to her, and she gave him a big smile.

She was really coming into her own. He'd worried about her a lot, at first. To let her go off on her own, take jobs all by herself? It felt almost unthinkable. In fact, for some time he even attended her first few unassisted killings, to her own frustration, just to keep an eye on her. He felt it was necessary at first, and it helped to quell some of his anxieties. Luckily, she proved herself very quickly- Layton found that he rarely ever had to step in. So after a while, he let her be.

He still did worry about her, sometimes. How could he not? He trusted her to be on her own, now, but that didn't stop the anxieties from dancing in his head now and then. She hadn't been killing nearly as long as Luke had, after all, and while she more than met him in enthusiasm, she didn't quite match up in strength and experience. Not yet, at least. Still, she seemed to be doing plenty fine on her own.

He turned back to stare out at the ground below. They were rapidly descending now, into a bustling city of steam and smoke. He'd never really seen anything like it before. Was Luke happy here? From their letters, he seemed to be doing quite well in his new home. Layton was glad, and proud of the boy, but it also gave him a pang of something bittersweet. Luke, and Flora too, were out on their own in the world now. It was shocking how fast they seemed to be growing up. All without Layton.

Of course, Luke left a lot out of his letters. It made sense, if the letters held incriminating information and were somehow intercepted, it wouldn't be safe for either of them. The boy had mentioned finding jobs to do in Steam Bison, but nothing more. All Layton could hope for was that Luke was sticking to everything Layton had taught him.

After all, he knew Luke. If he were to worry about only one of his kids, it would have to be Luke, not Flora. It wasn't that he thought the boy couldn't take care of himself, in fact, he was more than capable of it. But Layton hadn't seen him in a year. Who knew what Luke might have gotten up to in his absence?

He trusted Luke. He was a bright child, a kind one, and in the years Layton had him as an apprentice, he took on nearly every lesson and every moral with enthusiasm, and was always hungry to learn more and more. Even then, there were some things he could never seem to get into the boy's head. Training out his recklessness, for one, proved to be nigh impossible.

Layton spent a lot of time teaching him and Flora to treat every job like a puzzle. To make sure every step they take is deliberate, well-planned, and never sloppy. He taught them to treat the deaths with the respect they deserve. To never, never let the bodies and jobs start to blend together. He could only hope those lessons stuck.

The airship landed with a thump, far more gentle of a landing than he had anticipated. Truly, some of these machines were amazing. He'd seen more during their descent into the city, in the air and on the buildings and in the streets. He was already buzzing to explore this new city, and he could tell Flora was too. She'd started to acquire an eye for mechanics, and he could see her staring hungrily out the window.

He was sure he was worrying about nothing. Luke was probably fine. Regardless, he was looking forward to meeting Luke again, to once again solve mysteries with him. It had been a long time, and as Layton began to collect his stuff to get off the airship, he realized just how much he missed his adventures with the boy. It would be nice to get back to it.

“Are you ready to go, Flora?” He asked. “Luke is waiting for us.”

Chapter Text

Luke was not, in fact, waiting for them. Collecting their luggage and navigating to the lobby had taken some time (not helped by the several machine-inspired puzzles he couldn’t help but level at Flora), but when they finally made it, the boy was nowhere to be seen.

“Professor, wasn’t he supposed to meet us here?” Flora stifled a yawn, and Layton suddenly found himself resisting one of his own as well.

“We did land quite early, my dear. He may well be on his way now.”

She still didn’t look happy, although that may have had more to do with the exhaustion dragging at her eyelids than with Luke’s tardiness. It had been a very long flight, and now that the excitement had begun to wear off, the long hours on the airship were taking their toll. Added to that was the fact that the lobby was all manners of loud, echoing with footsteps and chatter and the squealing of machines that all banged around quite terribly inside his skull. If he had to guess, the noise was almost certainly doing Flora no favours either.

“Why don’t you try to take a nap?” He suggested. “I’ll wake you when Luke arrives.”

Flora looked doubtful. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try….”

She dragged herself over to the nearest chair, Layton following with the luggage, and dropped into it. A problem immediately made itself apparent: the way Flora’s head hung uncomfortably over the back.

Layton shrugged off his jacket and folded it neatly into a little square.

“Lift your head, my dear.”

When she complied, he set his jacket down where her head had been, covering the hard metal bar along the top.

“See if that helps.”

She laid her head back and slumped down in the chair so that her head rested against the backrest, still cushioned by his jacket. It was quite the unladylike way to sit, but Layton supposed he could turn a blind eye given the circumstances.

“It’s a little better,” she grumbled, pulling one of the sleeves across her eyes with a frown. “Still loud, though.”

Layton grimaced. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.”

She mumbled something incoherent and fell silent.

It wouldn’t do to simply stand about and twiddle his thumbs until Luke arrived, and much as he wanted to, he couldn’t very well take a nap himself. One of them at least had to remain awake.

His eyes fell upon a newsstand by the entryway. There were no puzzles, but getting caught up with the local news would certainly be a good way to pass the time. He went, bought a paper, and took a seat in the chair next to Flora.

’STEAM BISON MANGLER STRIKES AGAIN’, read the headline. Below was a photo of the police gathered at a crime scene, and even the photographer’s conservative framing did not completely hide that the area was utterly awash with blood. Spatters of it dripped down the walls above the head height of the tallest man on the scene, and small dark streams ran out into the gutters. The body, or whatever was left of it, was not visible.

So, Steam Bison had a serial killer on the loose.

Luke had never mentioned that in any of his letters.

The article itself was standard fare for this sort of thing - a description of the victim, circumstance, and mention of the Steam Bison Mangler’s signature style, followed by a call from the police for tips towards apprehending the killer. Nothing he hadn’t seen before.

The rest of the articles were more of the expected sort. The Mangler made another brief appearance in an article on an upcoming local election as part of a question to the candidates, but most of the stories were of local politics, incidents, and upcoming city events. An inventor’s faire was set to open to the public in the next few days, and Layton made a mental note to suggest attending the event to Luke. Certainly Flora would enjoy a showcase like that.

Just as Layton went to turn the next page, the lobby doors flew open with a loud bang! and he nearly fumbled the paper in its entirety. Next to him, Flora jerked awake.

“Professor!”

Before he could blink, a blue blur impacted his chest and warm arms had wrapped around his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I got held up at the precinct and then traffic was horrible and is that Flora?! Professor, you didn’t tell me she was coming!” Flora squeaked as she was drawn into the hug as well, the armrests now digging horribly into both their sides.

“Wonderful to see you too…,” Layton wheezed. “Luke, my boy… would you mind letting go, please?”

He leapt back. “Ah - sorry, Professor!”

“No need to apologize, dear boy.” He set his newspaper aside and stood, and Luke pulled him into another, gentler hug. Layton patted his back warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” With one last squeeze, he stepped back, and Layton could finally get a good look at him.

He had grown, that much was readily apparent. The top of his head was easily up to Layton’s chin, even discounting the added centimeters from his new bright blue hat. Contrasting nicely with the hat and matching blue blazer was a sharp scarlet bowtie sitting at his throat. He had lost a good deal of his baby fat, leaving him somewhere on the wiry end of well portioned.

“Really, though, Professor, you should have told me Flora was coming.” Without needing to be asked, he was already pulling together their bags. “I’d have asked Dad to drive me if I’d known, it’ll be a tight squeeze for us all on the walker.”

“The walker?” Flora asked, and Layton would have been lying had he said he wasn’t also confused. Luke, too, looked puzzled for a moment before straightening right back up with a spark in his eyes.

“That’s right! They must not have walkers in London yet! Come on, you have to come see!”

He was almost bouncing as Flora and Layton gathered the rest of their belongings and followed him out into the streets of Steam Bison.

The city was quieter than Layton had expected. Compared to the hustle and bustle of the airport lobby, much of the hubbub on the street came from the sounds of machines and vehicles passing them by. Most of the vehicles themselves were rather like cars or busses with chimneys spewing steam into the crisp midmorning air, save for one rather unusual contraption crouched by the side of the road which appeared to have a pneumatic leg on each side of the open central carriage. A large motor with several protruding pipes hung from the back.

Luke beelined for the strange machine.

“This is my steam walker!” He announced proudly. “Dad wanted to get me a normal car, but this is much cooler, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly… novel.”

And it was, really. Layton couldn’t say he’d ever seen anything quite like it.

It was also terribly not to his tastes, and he had more than a few questions about the features it seemed to lack. Like a trunk. Or windshield.

Or seatbelts.

“I think it’s cool, Luke,” Flora said. She’d already set down the bags she had carried out next to him, and looked like she had half a mind to dive beneath the undercarriage and start poking around right this instant.

“Where would you like these?” Layton hefted his own bags, and Luke gestured him over.

“I’ll take them,” he said, and hoisted one up into the carriage’s leg space before following it up with practiced ease. “I could use a second pair of hands to get all this secured, though, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d be happy to help, my boy.”

With two people, the work went quickly, and soon Luke was just finishing up securing the bags with elastic tethers - not dissimilar to the fabric ones they’d have to hook into the crack in the seat if they were certain they wanted to belt themselves in.

Layton had not grown any fonder of the awful contraption.

“You know, Professor,” Luke said suddenly, “it’s a little late to say it, but that was rather like a puzzle, wouldn’t you say?”

Layton laughed. “I do believe you’re right. What do you say, thirty-five picarats for that one?”

“I was thinking closer to forty, but sure,” he shrugged. Then, he leaned over the back of the seat and called down to Flora, who had apparently popped off the hood of the engine and busied herself with poring over its inner workings - or as much of them as she could reach without dismantling anything - while they had worked.

“Flora!” Luke called, and her head poked up. “Stop messing with the engine and get over here, we’re ready to go!”

“I’m not messing with anything, I’m just looking!” She protested, but set the hood back anyway and trotted around to the side of the carriage. Layton helped Flora hoist herself up over the bags and into the middle of the seat before following up himself.

It was somehow an even more uncomfortable squeeze than it had looked like it was going to be. Both he and Flora were resting their legs uncomfortably high on top of their bags, Flora holding the hem of her skirt down for modesty and Layton keeping one hand firmly on the brim of his hat. Even Luke was putting on his seatbelt, despite his earlier insistence that unlike cars, on walkers they were optional. All three of them were squeezed in shoulder to shoulder to shoulder.

“Alright, everybody comfortable?”

“No,” Flora grumbled. “Why doesn’t your stupid thing have a trunk?”

Luke frowned at her. “It has a glovebox, that’s usually all it needs. And I thought you thought it was cool!”

“Well now I think it’s stupid.”

“No fighting, you two,” Layton scolded. He could feel the headache from the lobby creeping back with a vengeance.

Flora huffed, crossed her arms, and looked away, while Luke glared down at the controls.

He nodded curtly. “Thank you. As for myself, Luke, I believe I am as comfortable as I’m going to get. Flora, is there anything we can feasibly do to make you more comfortable, or can we go?”

“…I suppose not,” she mumbled.

“Then that’s that. Now, please, let’s get moving. I believe Flora and I could both do with a hearty nap.”

Chapter Text

There was unfortunately no nap to be seen in Layton’s near future. As they had only been expecting one guest, only one spare bed had been made up, and it would take some time for Luke and Brenda to set up the other. Being a gentleman, it was only right that Layton allow Flora to take a rest first—she had very nearly fallen asleep on the steam walker, despite the whipping wind and the way the mechanical monstrosity jerked and jostled as it clanked along.

For his part, he relaxed into the Tritons’ plush sofa as the inviting scent of brewing tea greeted his nose and tried not to fall asleep before it was ready. Clark had seemed quite anxious to speak with him, anyhow. Perhaps some good conversation would help to keep him awake.

“You look tired, Hershel.”

He straightened up as Clark came into the room, carrying a tray of that delicious-smelling tea.

“That would be because I am. It was a long flight.”

Clark couldn’t have poured his tea fast enough. Layton didn’t usually take much milk in his tea, but this time he poured in nearly as much as his cup could accommodate, folding it in carefully so as not to overspill. At the moment, he didn’t care so much about it being just how he liked it. He just needed the pick-me-up.

If Clark had noticed his haste, he was polite enough not to comment on it.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t keep you too long, then.” He set himself down in the armchair with his own saucer. “How did you find the ride here?”

“From the airport, you mean? It was fine.” Considering the circumstances, at least, it could have been worse. “I hadn’t realized someone Luke’s age would be allowed to drive yet over here.”

“Yes, it was a surprise to me too,” Clark said. “He can’t drive the family car, mind. Only that walker of his, but he certainly seems to enjoy it.”

“Did you buy it for him?”

His brows knit. “No. He simply came home with it one day.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have no idea how he managed to afford it, but all of the paperwork was in order, and we even confirmed the purchase with the dealer. The only thing we could scold him for was not letting us know he was going to be bringing such a thing home.”

Layton took a long sip of his tea. “I see. Well, I can’t say I share his fondness for the thing, but I suppose there are far more irresponsible things for a young man to spend his money on than his own vehicle.”

“I suppose.”

The conversation lulled. China clinked on china, and exhaustion once more dragged at Layton’s eyelids before Clark spoke up once more.

“Is it wrong of me to be concerned about where he got the money to afford it?”

Layton set his cup and saucer down.

“Not at all, no. Have you any ideas at all?” He certainly had his own, but it had been a long time. Perhaps he could be wrong.

Clark sighed. “No. You know what boys his age are like, they don’t tell their fathers everything. He frequently spends time outside the house, and I know he likes to pick up odd jobs, but he doesn’t always tell us where he’s going or what he’s doing. I don’t want to stifle him, he’s taken to living here quite fabulously, but… I can’t help but worry, Hershel.”

Especially knowing Luke’s habits, Layton assumed.

“You’re his father. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t worried about him.”

“Would it be too much trouble to ask you to speak with him for me?” His fingers drummed along the side of his teacup. “Not now, of course, I know you’re tired, but you know how much he trusts you. I just want to know if he’s getting into something I should be concerned about.”

It might not have been Luke’s murderous tendencies alone that Clark was worried about. He knew that Clark was well aware of those, and had stuck his neck out for his son before. That likely hadn’t changed.

But there was a wide gulf between random acts of violence and such things as organized crime. What legitimate business could a boy Luke’s age conduct that would pay well enough for such a unique vehicle, in such a short amount of time? Layton, of course, knew how well a hit or two for the right clients could pay.

Luke most certainly did as well.

“I’d be happy to help.”

Clark’s entire demeanour relaxed.

“Thank you, Hershel. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The conversation turned to lighter things, then petered out entirely as the tea ran dry, until footsteps pattered down the stairs and Luke announced that Layton’s bed was all set up. With a request to be woken up when lunch was ready, he let Luke guide him to his room.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.