Professor Layton | To Run Away From a Dream

[fairyfic]

Rating: T

Fandom: Professor Layton

Characters: Hershel Layton, Luke Triton

Relationships: Hershel Layton & Luke Triton

Words: 2,742

Content Warnings: Violence

Tropes: Nightmares, Cuddling, Character with PTSD (Luke Triton), Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice

Summary: Luke is never sure how to feel after nightmares. He had just been tortured, hurt, killed! But... It wasn't real, was it? His feelings sure felt real, though. And, luckily, Hershel treated them as such.


Fun fact! I wrote this on my traumaversary. (The fourth of July, which, ironically, has nothing to do with the holiday of the fourth of July.) I only really got to editing it into a slightly more coherent piece recently, though.

Also: Level5 consists exclusively of COWARDS. They put Luke through so much constantly, and never talk about it or have him resolve any of his issues. Like, I'm pretty sure a close friend suddenly holding a glass shard to your throat and threatening to kill you would be pretty emotionally damaging. And that's not even mentioning Last Specter. But all we get is allusions to Luke having nightmares in Miracle Mask Plus, and that's it! But this is my canon now, so Luke had PTSD and he gets through his flashbacks in the form of nightmares and his adopted dad comforts him.

---

Luke couldn’t breathe.

He had no idea how long he had been running, but it must have been an incredibly long time. He was panting, gasping, but could never get enough breath, and he couldn’t distinguish the difference between the wet of his tears and his sweat anymore. He had no idea where he was; running, running down a long, narrow street, away from the Specter. He could feel it, feel those red eyes burning into his back, locking onto him. Why would they lock onto anybody else? He was all alone.

Where had everybody else gone? He couldn’t remember. It was like they had all disappeared off the face of the earth. Luke kept looking into the windows of the houses (they felt like the same exact houses, over and over, almost like they were copy-pasted), but nobody was there. The lights were on, but there was nothing to indicate any living thing inside of them. Luke was truly all alone.

Running, running. Surely, if he just kept running, he would be safe. He felt like he would topple forward at any moment now, his legs were weak and hurt so badly, like they might snap from underneath him. But he had to keep pushing, because if he stopped for even a second, the Specter would get him; kill him. At some point, he would have to find something, anything, as long as he kept running-

But, no. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he pushed his tiny body to go beyond what it was capable of, it was all useless. He felt something compress his chest, and he looked down with wide eyes and a dry throat. The Specter had gotten him, its three fingers squeezing him, squeezing him so impossibly tight, and Luke wondered if this was how it was going to kill him. But, instead, it lifted Luke up, lifted his thrashing feet off of the ground, as he screamed until his throat was raw, shutting his eyes tight-

When he opened them, out of some sort of unholy curiosity, he wasn’t where he was previously. A different hand was holding him; a human hand. It had him by the back of his shirt collar, lifting him up, and Luke looked around frantically, trying to figure out where he was. Somewhere tall. He and whoever was holding him were on the edge of the building’s roof, inches away from plummeting to their doom.

He felt himself be thrust out, over the edge; Luke screamed again, and it hurt so badly after all the screaming with the Specter that the tears came harder. He tried to thrash his feet, to get a hold on the ground that wasn’t underneath him any longer, but they were so numb from running that they were almost deadweights.

Then a voice, from the man who was holding him. “What are you going to do, Hershel?! You have a history of letting your friends down!”

Luke turns his head, and, as he suspects, he is met with the permanently-smiling golden mask of the Masked Gentleman, almost mocking him for being so scared. He kicked harder, trying to get his captor in the knees, but that turned out to be a bad idea, as the Masked Gentleman loosened his grip on Luke’s collar, and Luke felt his stomach drop sickeningly, and he felt like he would be throw up.

The next thing he knows, he’s on the ground and on his back, in a thick puddle of his own blood. Gasping, wailing from the pain; he had surely broken something in his back, possibly his neck, and his head had a gash, but he can’t tell what else was damaged. Everything else but those three points felt numb in comparison to the screaming pain in those places.

Luke opens his eyes, and he finally smiles, because he’s surrounded by everybody. Hershel. Flora. Emmy. Clark. Brenda. He knows he’ll be safe now, so he reaches out, reaching a hand towards the professor, asking for help to get up, physical reassurance, anything…

His hand phases through him.

Luke’s eyes widen desperately, and he sobs, and, despite his body begging him not to, he sits up, trying to hug Hershel’s legs, but, again, he phases through, like Hershel is nothing more than a hologram. He looks up desperately at Hershel’s face, and sees that it’s blank. Like he wasn’t even seeing anything. He glanced around, trying not to sob (it hurt his chest), but they were all the same.

Except for Emmy. She had a shining blue shard at her side, and she was grinning. Warmly. Like she did when Luke did something she was proud of, that sort of sisterly love.

Before Luke could even say anything, still, with that warm, and loving grin, she thrusts the glass shard at his throat.

---

Luke’s eyes shot open, and he tried to scream, but his throat failed him, and it came out as a pained whimper. Hot tears were burning down his face, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and, for a moment, he was convinced it was because of Emmy stabbing him. But… He was conscious now, so what was this?





He remained lying down on his back, and gripped desperately at the soft thing beneath him, trying to focus on breathing and stopping his crying, but his mind kept wandering. He didn’t feel any pain, and everything was dark around him. Was this the afterlife? This wasn’t any sort of Heaven. Was he in Hell? Had he been that awful?





It took a few minutes of struggling; struggling to breathe evenly, struggling to stop the tears; but, after he calmed down, and was breathing deeply to calm himself, Luke came to the obvious conclusion. That had been a nightmare.





Even so, Luke noticed that where he was wasn’t in his bed when he went to reach for one of his stuffed animals that he kept near his bed at home. He was momentarily confused (and just barely panicking), until he recalled that his parents had gone on a vacation, and, as such, he was sleeping in Hershel’s guest bedroom for the night.





He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Normally, hugging something close helped with nightmare aftermaths. (Letting out pressure to calm down the feelings, and also the feeling of affection his brain associated with holding.) But… His parents wouldn’t let him bring his stuffed animals to Hershel’s. Which was fair; they were worried about him losing them at the professor’s house. But, nonetheless, that didn’t make the increased stress from not having a plush friend to hold lessen.





Luke… Wasn’t exactly sure what to do with himself. He sat up, and turned, so his legs hung off the edge of the bed, and closed his eyes, trying to think of happy and reassuring thoughts. His friends, his family, his favorite things and puzzles. But, no matter what he did, he wasn’t sure how to feel. He never knew how to feel about nightmares.





He had just been ripped to shreds, made to die, hurt! Betrayed, maimed, and tortured both emotionally and physically! The memories were as clear as day, just like any other memory!





But… Those memories weren’t real. Dreams only happened in his head. They hadn’t really happened to him. So… Did that make him silly for being so torn up about it? Or, rather, did that almost make it worse? Because his subconscious had conjured up the most terrifying scenario, and had him put through it, and Luke had to act like nothing happened the next morning?





He wished he could hold something.





Dreams were fake. But that didn’t stop his heart from worrying. Hearts didn’t listen to logic. Hearts only knew that, in recent memory, he couldn’t touch anybody he loved, so he had to check if that was still true. And, as much as Luke admired the professor for putting logic over emotions so seamlessly, he wasn’t able to do that. He was a child, with emotions too big for his body to handle.





Luke sighed, and rubbed both the sleepiness and the tears out of his eyes, before getting up off of his bed and starting the small journey to Hershel’s room.





He didn’t know the hallways in Hershel’s house as well as he knew the ones in his own. He had to constantly feel the wall, run his fingers across the worn texture to tell where the corners were, and which ways to turn. Luke had never walked through the professor’s house in the dark before, and, despite its somewhat familiarity, that made him feel almost unwelcome, or lost. That strange sense of not belonging made his body feel chilled, which was such an odd contrast to how hot he felt before. In his dream, he was in a hot pool of blood, with hot tears, and his face was hot from anguish. But now, he was wishing for extra layers. It was ironic, almost. Even this felt like a dream; like it was not quite real, even when every sign pointed it to being so.





Eventually, Luke’s hand landed on the doorknob to Hershel’s room, and he sighed softly before turning it. He slowly opened the door, and he internally cringed at the prolonged creaking of the door, almost feeling the urge to shush it.





Hershel’s room was dark, but had a little bit of moonlight shining through the windows, so Luke could at least make out some things. For one, it was obvious that Hershel was sleeping; facing towards the door and Luke, with his hands near his face. Even if it was silly, Luke still did a slight double-take at Hershel without his hat on, before sighing at his own thought process. Of course the professor didn’t sleep with a hat on; though it was hung very closely to where he was sleeping.





Luke again reminded himself, Just make sure that you can touch him, then leave. A gentleman would never awaken someone from their sleep for something as silly as this.





Once again, he had to run his had along the wall to manage to get to Hershel’s bed without stubbing his toe on something. Carefully, slowly, Luke climbed onto the bed, trying not to shift the mattress too terribly much, before lying down above the blankets, so he was facing Hershel. He wasn’t sure why he lied down, but he didn’t try and move once he noticed it.





Using the soft reflections of the moonlight to see, Luke shakily reached out to Hershel, going to touch his hand, but, for some reason, he stopped, feeling almost a sense of shame. He instead went to touch the cuff of Hershel’s pajama top, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. Luke felt his eyes naturally drift shut, and he sighed peacefully. He could touch Hershel; or, at the very least, his clothing.





Then forgetting the reason he came there in the first place, Luke let his head sink into the pillow, and allowed himself to focus entirely on almost-smooth fabric, save for just a slightly fuzziness. It felt like one of his stuffies, almost. But, even more so, it was something to hold, to ground him in the real world. It was silly; this running away from a dream. Running away from his own mind. But, even so, he allowed himself to be silly and selfish and childish, just for now.





Luke let his head slowly fall forward, until his forehead was resting on Hershel’s chest; but apparently, that was an indulgence too much, as he felt Hershel stir. He knew he couldn’t hide, so Luke instead scooched away from Hershel, and curled into a ball at the very edge of the mattress, instead trying to act like he was just sleeping there, rather than practically nuzzling up to Hershel.





Hershel’s eyes slowly fluttered awake, though they never fully opened. He stared at Luke for a few moments, as if loading, before muttering out, “Luke… My boy, what’s the matter…? It’s awfully early for breakfast, isn’t it…?” His voice was lower than usual, and even less expressive, like he didn’t have the energy to do anything more.





Luke shook his head, and sat up, though Hershel didn’t move. “No, it’s not that, Professor.”





“Then, what’s the matter?”





“No need to worry about it!” Even if he was exhausted, too, Luke was able to put his usual pep into his voice. “I am your number one apprentice, after all! I can handle anything on my own!”





“Though I don’t doubt that’s true, I must ask: if you could handle on your own, why were you here, in my bed, leaning up to me?” Hershel chuckled.





Luke didn’t find it funny, and he looked pointedly away, feeling almost frustrated; though at what, he wasn’t sure. “It’s silly,” he said, and, when the professor didn’t respond, he gave in, continuing, “It was just… I… I had a dream. And it was…” He brought his knees to his chest, like curling up into a ball would make him safer. “It…” He struggled to get the words out, but, even just thinking about the dream in detail again made him want to cry, and his voice waver.





Luckily, Hershel interrupted him. “No need to force yourself now, Luke. I do believe I understand.” Even with all of his tiredness, he managed to sit up with a grunt, to look Luke in the eyes and give him a patient grin. “Is there anything that I could do to help you?”





Luke still didn’t look back at him, struggling to word what he needed. He needed a plushie. He needed to hold it. Give love and receive love. Feel less alone.





He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, before replying, “I… Just need somebody, I believe. To be close to.”





Hershel paused for a moment, perhaps expecting Luke to elaborate, before he nodded. “Well, whatever it is you need, I would be happy to provide, my boy.” With that being said, he lied back down, sighing like sitting up had been physical work.





Luke remained sitting up for a long moment, before plopping back down onto the bed onto his back. He looked to where Hershel was, and saw that he was facing him; opening his arms with his head tilted in a silent question. Luke was all too happy to accept his offer, scooching into his arms and curling up onto his chest. He felt his Hershel’s arms close securely around him, and, for a moment, he felt safe.





That sense of safety went away soon enough, when Luke recalled how he would probably have to go back to sleep. Back to the place in his mind that just adored to make him relive remixed versions of his worst moments (he almost called them ‘traumas’ in his head, but he pushed the words away – no, not traumas, they couldn’t be traumas), where everything would feel all-too real, yet again. He was sent under another small wave of panic, and he may have started to tremble, because Hershel tightened the embrace just slightly.





Luke pressed his face deeper into Hershel’s chest, and he muttered with a wavering voice, “I’m afraid to go to sleep.”





Hershel brought one hand up to Luke’s hair, stroking it soothingly. “No need to fret, Luke. I’ll listen out for any noises indicative of you having an unpleasant dream, and, if I hear any noises like that, I’ll be sure to wake you.”





Luke wordlessly responded with a little hum. He felt like all of his energy was leaving him, but in a comforting and warm way, rather than the way it was ripped from him in the dreams. He was sinking into the mattress, safe and sound in Hershel’s arms, surrounded by the familiar scent similar to the professor’s office (minus the pencil shavings).





Hershel must have felt him slowly relaxing, because he chuckled affectionately, and said softly, “Sleep well, Luke. I wish you sweet dreams.”





Luke was so far gone to the sweet embrace of a warm and comforting sleep, that he was barely coherent. His eyes were closed, and his brain felt fuzzy; so he wasn’t able to see Hershel’s expression change when, in his sleepiness, he muttered, “You too, Papa…”





When he drifted off to sleep only a mere moment later, it was sweet, deep, and dreamless.