Layton Drownout 2020

Hershel's Secret Stash

Summary: Professor Layton's family confront him about the secret box he keeps under his bed.

"Dammit," Alfendi whispered, "we've only lived in this house for two years, how is it already so dusty?!"

He lay stomach-down on the floor and peered under his foster father's bed. He'd said the spare box of stationery was under here somewhere... was that it?

His grasping skinny fingers found purchase on the shoebox's lid and he pulled it out from under the bed. After shifting to sit on his knees, he rested the box on his lap and removed the lid.

There was no stationery in there.

What he did find...

A grin of pure sadism split across Alfendi's face.

O-o-O

"Hey, Mr Layton?"

The Professor glanced up from his struggle to tidy his foster son's homework into a neat pile.

"Ah, there you are," he commented as the lanky fourteen-year-old entered the dining room. "Did you find my stationery box? I'd hate to have to walk to the shop just to get a new..."

He trailed off as he saw the box Alfendi was cupping under his arm.

"...note pad..." he finished weakly.

It had been a mistake. He should not have let Alfendi even enter his room unsupervised, let alone look under his bed, and now he had that box in his hand and the smile he had on his face was positively evil.

"...that's..." Layton tried.

"Oi! Uncle Des!" Alfendi shouted over his shoulder. "Got something to show you!"

"What was that?" yelled Des' voice from somewhere else in the house.

"Alfie, don't," said Layton, but his plea went ignored.

Alfendi switched the box into his hands and held it up as though presenting a ring at a wedding, just in time for Des to enter and finish wiping oil off his hands.

"What on earth is this?" he demanded.

"A box I found under your dear sweet little brother's bed," Alfendi replied as Layton's face simmered with boiling heat. "Go ahead, Uncle Des. Take a look inside~"

"Or don't," Layton suggested. "You could always not look inside that box."

Des quirked an eyebrow at the Professor.

"What are you hiding, Hershel?" he asked as Alfendi's cruel smirk spread to his face. "Whatever could be in this box that you would be so desperate to keep from your own family?"

Layton's face grew even hotter. He hadn't even thought that could be possible. His cheeks must have been beet red by now.

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about!" he spluttered. "Please, I'm begging you, don't open tha-"

Too late. Des snatched the lid off the box and stared into its contents.

The Professor pulled his hat's brim down in a futile effort to hide his face. Seconds ticked by in silence as Des' scrutinising gaze penetrated his most private possessions.

"...good grief..." he muttered, and loudly added "Good GRIEF!"

"I know, right?!" was Alfendi's response.

"That's enough," Layton said weakly. "You don't have to continue humiliating me-"

"Hershel, I had absolutely no idea you were interested in... this!" chuckled Des. "Good lord, can we take a moment to talk about this?"

"No," said Layton. "No we can't. No."

"I'm sorry, but I think we have to!" Des set the box down on the dining table. "First things first, however long did it take you to build such an extensive collection?!"

Layton snatched his hat off his head and pressed it over his face, relishing in the sudden darkness.

"Oh my god, look how many magazines there are!" Alfendi laughed. "Holy- there are CDs too? A DVD? What the- is this a game cartridge? "

"It's none of your business!" Layton shouted into his hat. "Can the pair of you please stop mocking me like this? You can't tell me neither of you have ever had private interests!"

"Oh, I've had a guilty pleasure or two over the course of my life," said Des, "but I've never pursued it to this extent!"

"Uncle Des, look!" Layton heard Alfendi lift a magazine out of the box. "This one's autographed!"

"Wow, so it is!" Des sounded like this was the best day of his life.

"I said," said Layton, "that you two can stop."

He didn't dare press his face further into the hat for fear of distorting the brim, but he could shift his hands to the sides so that the edges of his raspberry red cheeks weren't available for mockery.

"You know," Des said thoughtfully, "I've wondered for quite a while now how these ladies could ever be comfortable in those clothes. How in the world did they walk around?"

"Are we going to show this to Kat and Flora?" asked Alfendi.

"NO." Layton slapped on the table as he stood up. "I'm not exposing either of them to that rubbish!"

"So you admit that it's rubbish?" Des said with his eyebrow still cockily raised. "And yet you're continuing to keep this boxful of paraphernalia under your bed where nobody else could find it?"

"My interests are none of your business!" Layton snatched the box out of his brother's hands. "And I don't appreciate your mockery, Des!"

"Alright, alright!" Des raised his hands and stepped back. "Fine, I'm sorry. You're right, Hershel. You're just as entitled to your interests as any other person. Alfendi?"

He cast a glare in his foster nephew's direction.

"Yeah, I guess." Alfendi shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Want me to go and look again?"

"No, I'll find the stationery box," Layton replied bluntly, and he slapped the lid back on just in case either of his daughters happened to pass by. "I've sorted your maths from your English homework, Alfie, so you can put them in the right folders when you're ready, and Des?"

His brother gave a nod of acknowledgement.

"Keep your workspace tidy," said the Professor. "I won't have anybody under this roof accidentally treading on a screw in bare feet."

"Yes, I suppose that's understandable," Des replied. "Lego is one thing, but a screw... "

He said more, but Layton couldn't hear him as he hurried upstairs to the privacy of his bedroom.

Finally alone, he took the lid back off the box and looked inside.

Maybe those two were right, if only about a couple of aspects of his collection. Maybe he had a few too many magazines and they could be stacked a little more sensibly, or maybe he should treat these CDs more carefully to keep them from getting broken.

At the very least, neither of them knew about those lonely nights he'd spent tucked away in his room, wishing he could share this interest with someone who wouldn't laugh in his face, whiling away the hours with nothing but these CDs and a Walkman that he'd played to the point of breakage.

He'd tried on shoes that tall once, and only once. He'd damn near twisted his ankle.

How did they do it?

Resigned to the fact that this would forever remain a guilty pleasure, Layton replaced the box's lid and slid it back under his bed.

One day, he promised himself. One day he would be safe.

One day he would meet somebody who wouldn't laugh at him for liking the Spice Girls.