Chapter Text
Having known each other for nearly three years, Hershel could confidently say that he was able to read Luke’s emotions. The boy did have a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, yes, but it was the feelings that he bottled up that Hershel was getting better at distinguishing.
Luke was expressive. Wonderfully so. He shouted his excitement, and hissed his irritation. The boy’s eyes glowed when he saw food and narrowed when he was analyzing other people. He flapped his hands happily, and much to Hershel’s discomfort, Luke cried when he was overwhelmed or upset.
Hershel wasn’t particularly adept at handling his own emotions, much less other people’s. He was never particularly attuned to himself for as long as he can recall. His sense of identity had always been rather fluid, and for much of his life he felt like a puzzle piece that never quite fit with the others.
Luke, back in Misthallery, felt much the same. Thus the boy latched onto him, and they fit together snugly. Luke was his apprentice, and he was Luke’s mentor. Hershel taught Luke how to be a gentleman, and Luke sparked something in him that died a long time ago. A passion for life. Hershel had something to live for that he didn’t have before, a renewed vitality. Despite their difference in age, the two of them simply clicked together.
For as long as he’d known Luke, the boy was rather prone to outbursts and meltdowns. The outbursts came and passed quickly. If something set the boy off, he was quick to snap back until Hershel stepped in. His pride was something important to him, and his age was a rather touchy subject. Commenting on his stature was a surefire way to get the boy riled up.
The meltdowns were a bit more tricky to spot. There were periods where Luke was simply quiet. Sometimes it was ruminative, sometimes he was simply too tired to keep up conversation, and sometimes Luke was sad. It only took a small prod for Luke to open up on what was bothering him.
Hershel knew all too well that bottling up emotions wasn’t the healthiest solution. He could only hope that repression wasn’t something that the child picked up from him. Hershel was self-aware enough to recognize his bad habits.
Unfortunately, Luke was already prone to hiding when he wasn’t feeling well. Particularly if he was sick or overwhelmed, Hershel noticed that the child tended to brush off his feelings. That tendency only intensified when they were on a case. If he felt that his feelings would ‘interrupt’, he tried his hardest to bury them.
Sometimes, Hershel doubts his ability to properly mentor the boy. Luke was incredibly bright, but he was also very young. Inevitably, Hershel would hurt him like he’s hurt everyone in his life.
All that to say, Hershel was adept at recognizing how Luke was feeling, or rather, what he was trying to hide.
He does his best to eliminate stimulus that bothers Luke, though sometimes he isn’t quite able to prevent the boy from getting too overwhelmed.
The first signal had been on the train ride to town. All travel expenses were paid by their client, but the railway was no Molentary Express. That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t of high quality, but simply that the luxury experience may have altered their standards.
“Luke, my boy, are you quite alright?”
The boy hadn’t spoken since they’d taken their seats. Hershel immediately rules out Luke simply being calm, as Luke had been chattering until they reached the station. He hadn’t been too groggy, and he seemed rather alert, which rules out Luke being tired as well. The logical conclusion, then, is that something must be bothering him.
“‘M fine, professor.”
“Are you certain?” Hershel prods gently.
Luke kicks his feet a little. He continues looking out the window, not even glancing at Hershel. “The seat is itchy.”
Well, that wouldn’t do. Hershel could understand Luke’s sensory sensitivities well. Wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants everyday certainly minimized unpleasant contact for Hershel, but Luke much preferred looser clothing and shorts. Thus, he was more prone to agitation by fabrics and other textures.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Hershel hums, then gestures for Luke to stand momentarily. Then, he takes off his jacket, draping the fabric over Luke’s seat to provide a barrier. Luke thanks him and sits back down, curling up into the chair and looking out the window.
Hershel doesn’t scold him for pulling his feet up onto the seat. Perhaps it’s not gentlemanly, but he can handle a few footprints on his coat if it ensures Luke’s comfort.
The second cue was on the train ride as well.
A small whine was the only indication of the coming storm before a high pitched wail sounds from somewhere behind them.
Hershel keeps his eyes forward, not wanting to embarrass whichever parent’s newborn had just begun to cry. Luke had no such qualms, however, whipping around to stare.
“Luke,” he needs only to say a word before Luke looks back forward. His shoulders are hiked up with tension. Tentatively, he rubs Luke’s back, “is the noise bothering you? Perhaps I can request that we change cars.”
“It’s fine.” Luke relaxes minutely, “You don’t have to make a fuss. It’s just a baby.”
A baby with a healthy set of lungs.
Not wanting to embarrass the boy, Hershel doesn’t ask to change cars. He was rather confident that if Luke got terribly overwhelmed, the child would let him know.
The baby screamed for what Hershel can only imagine was half an hour. Luke stared adamantly away from Hershel the entire time, so he doesn’t attempt to engage in swapping puzzles. Sometimes it was best to leave him alone when he was overwhelmed, instead of trying to distract him.
Luke remains tense until the train slows to a stop. Hershel grabs his trunk from underneath his seat and beckons Luke along. He’s unsurprised when a small hand grabs at his sleeve.
The child has some anxiety about being separated in busy places. That was a constant throughout the years, though Flora’s kidnapping in Dropstone had made it all the worse. Hershel never minded the small tether though, as it loosened some of his own worries about losing the small boy in a crowd.
After exiting the train station and stepping foot into Briarsburn, they take a small pause. Upon noticing that Hershel is shifting the trunk from one hand to the other, the boy lets his sleeve go.
“My dear boy.” Hershel doesn’t kneel as he normally would, because the dirt road is rather muddy, and because his knee twinges in discomfort at the thought, but he does lean in. He grabs Luke’s hand with his free one. “Would you like to check in at an inn and take a small rest? Mrs. Kings isn’t expecting us for a while yet.”
As he speaks, his thumb ghosts over Luke’s knuckles. The motion tends to comfort Luke, as he’s noticed.
“I’m okay. We can start investigating,” Luke mumbles back. His eyes are trained on their joined hands, continuing to avoid eye contact. It was at this point that Hershel began to worry more, though he trusts Luke.
“Very well. Please tell me if you need a break.” He keeps holding Luke’s hand as they make their way through the rural town. The boy sticks to his side like glue, with none of his usual enthusiasm to make up puzzles or ask questions.
Mrs. Kings, as they find out, is a rather dour woman that lives at the corner of the main road. She seemed pleasant enough in her letter, politely requesting for Hershel to investigate a matter pertaining to her neighbors. She expressed concern for the safety of the man in the house to her right, and offered to pay handsomely for Hershel to ask around and accumulate evidence.
The woman was rather vague in her letter, but the money did intrigue him. He doesn’t typically accept payment from his clients, but the reward in store seemed disproportionate to what she was asking of him.
“Kings? Oh, the lady’s an absolute nightmare,” said one man when asked, “Her husband’s nice enough, but sheesh! Talk about bat- err…” he coughs into his palm, but Hershel got the idea of what he meant to say.
Others in town seemed to have similar things to say about her. From the elderly to the children, everyone seemed to have some anecdote about Mrs. Kings terrorizing everyone who crossed her. Such anecdotes weren’t pleasant; including but not limited to harassment and stalking. Supposedly, the police no longer respond to her calls.
What a fascinating woman.
Luke had very little commentary on the situation. He remains silent, just watching and letting Hershel lead him by the hand.
He squeezes Luke’s hand as they reach the doormat, and Luke squeezes back. A silent question and a silent answer.
A few sharp knock later, and the door opens to reveal a short elderly woman. She’s in a large purple cardigan and draping floral skirt. Her expression isn’t quite the same as her aesthetic, though. Mrs. Kings squints at them, looking rather like she ate a lemon.
“The sign says no solicitors.”
“Greetings, Madam. My name is Hershel Layton. You requested my services?”
She changed remarkably after that, inviting the two inside, though they were very sternly told not to touch anything unless directed.
A similarly elderly cat settles in Luke’s lap when they sit together on the couch, and Luke is occupied by petting the calico.
Mrs. Kings rambles on about the problem with her neighbors. Supposedly, the woman next door is seducing men around town, and has both her fiance and Mrs. Kings’ husband under a ‘siren spell’. She raves about her suspicions that the woman isn’t human, that she’s a vengeful ghost of some sort.
It’s seeming more and more like the elderly woman wants Hershel to perform an exorcism.
“Hey!” She snaps when she finally realizes that Luke is scratching the cat’s chin, “Didn’t I tell you not to touch anything?”
Luke jolts, which makes the purring cat jump from his lap, then he stammers to apologize.
“I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had it with kids these days.” Her volume increases, and Luke hunches in on himself, “No respect, I say. No respect for your elders!”
“My apprentice and I will be heading out now, Mrs. Kings. We apologize for the trouble, and we will investigate that matter.”
He ushers Luke up, hoping to get out as soon as possible. Hershel doesn’t tolerate anyone taking such a tone with his apprentice, especially when the boy hadn’t done anything wrong.
Luke thanks him once they’re out of the old house.
“You did nothing wrong, my dear boy.” He takes Luke’s hand and makes an executive decision to find a place to eat. The boy deserves a treat for putting up with that outburst.
“Daisy didn’t have a problem with being pet.”
“I know. Would you like something to eat?”
Luke nods quietly, and Hershel makes up a few puzzles to deliver to the boy. He keeps them relatively simple, knowing Luke most likely isn’t carrying his memo pad and doesn’t have the energy for anything too difficult.
The weather was rather deary as well, which certainly couldn’t be helping with Luke’s mood. It was cool outside, and puddles still littered the road. There had been some heavy storming during the past few days, but it had cleared up that morning when he and Luke made their way to the station.
Steadily, the storm of Luke’s emotions seems to clear as well. By the time Hershel spots a bakery down the street, Luke even has a small smile on his face. He proposed a puzzle that nearly stumped Hershel, and seemed to revel in his need for two hints. Hershel had reluctantly passed over one coin, then another. In the end, it was a simple trick of wording.
Luke was getting rather adept at creating his own puzzles. Hershel has no doubt that his mentee will surpass him one day.
“Oh, professor! Look, the bakery!”
Luke tugs on his hand before letting go to run ahead himself. Momentarily, Hershel is relieved by his returned enthusiasm. He had been getting quite worried for his apprentice.
Then, Luke’s shoe plants in the mud. Hershel watches, almost in slow motion, as his apprentice slips forward. A shocked exclamation is all that’s released as Luke’s face goes down and his shoes go up.
“Luke!”
Hershel immediately drops his trunk. Careful not to slip himself, he rushes to the boy’s side. Even though his arms had come out to brace himself, it was a hard fall, and Luke was sitting up slowly.
Repeating the boy’s name, he kneels at his side. Hershel hardly cares about his pants getting muddy, or the way his knees protest the motion. Luke is far more important.
Luke’s face is downturned so Hershel can’t see his face, but the boy is covered head to toe in mud. The front of his sweater is soaked, as is the brim of his hat.
“Luke, my dear.” Hershel tips Luke’s chin upwards to peer at his face, “Are you alright?”
Luke’s face and hair weren’t spared either. He opens his eyes, looking up and meeting Hershel’s gaze, and he watches as the dam breaks.
“Professor.” Luke’s voice warbles.
“It’s alright, Luke.” He pulls the boy into a hug, “It’s just a bit of mud. Nothing that won’t go away with a wash.”
He refrains from cringing at the way his shirt dampens. It’s a mixture of Luke’s muddy clothing and the tears that are now freely flowing. The poor boy sobs, and Hershel softly rubs his back. He’ll have to get them out of the road eventually, and find a place to clean them both up, but right now, Luke’s comfort is the priority.
He whispers soft assurances as Luke trembles in his arms, and gently waves on the well-meaning bystanders. It’s best not to potentially overwhelm the boy any further.
Eventually Luke pulls back a little, trying to wipe his dirty face with an equally dirty sleeve.
“Are you feeling any better?” Hershel pushes away Luke’s hands to swipe the cuff of his jacket against Luke’s cheek, successfully clearing some of the drying mud.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing to apologize for, Luke.” He gently pulls the boy up, keeping him steady as Luke’s knees wobble.
“But you’ve got mud on your pants. And your shirt.” Luke vocalizes, his pitch rising, “and your trunk too.”
“Mud can wash off. You’re far more important to me.”
A very sweet teenager has been hovering nearby with a few towels, which he accepts gratefully with a promise to return. She also picked up his trunk and wiped it off, which was kind.
Luke shivers a little, even with one towel clutched to his chest and the other around his shoulder. It would be difficult to explain to Clark and Brenda if Hershel lets Luke catch his death, so he begins herding the boy towards the inn down the street. He really ought to have made the decision earlier to check in and have Luke decompress, but it’s better late than never.
The man behind the counter fusses over them immediately, ushering them to an upstairs room without even discussing payment first. Harlan, as he later found out the man’s name was, even offered the use of his washing machine free of charge. Hershel had attempted to protest, but the older man simply hushed him and guided the duo to a nice room with two beds, and what appeared to be an ensuite bathroom.
It’s a stroke of luck that they tend to overpack. Oftentimes, their investigations run longer than anticipated, so he and Luke always pack an extra set of clothing for their journey.
Hershel encourages Luke to wash up first while he heads back down to pay for their stay. The boy tries to object with the claim that the professor was only muddy because of him, and that therefore he deserves to get clean first, but Hershel was already out the door.