#personally like to believe Shinichi would just leave and solve a murder that happened when he was learning the rules

[purpleponder]

Would Kaito or Shinichi win a game of 5D chess with multiverse time travel? Would they both go crazy? Would they just start eating the pieces? Would KAITO just start eating the pieces?

[mintchocolateleaves]

The Innocence Game (5/?)

Summary:  In which, Aoko officially begins learning about the forensics side to cases.

A/N: If you’re thinking ‘it’s about fucking time we saw an update for this Mint’ then that’s... that’s valid. I’ve planned arc 2 so hopefully we’ll see quicker updates this time. :D Arc 2: ‘C-through-11′.

[Chapter List]

After seeing a corpse for the first time, Aoko quickly decides that there’s only two options she can move between.

The first: She moves forward and pretends it doesn’t bother her at all. She tries to forget the pale skin, the waxy feel to it. The way Takamaki’s hand had been cold, the way the top of her hand had seemed white, but the bottom of her hand bruised, because that was where the blood had pooled around her.

Which is a difficult task itself. Aoko doesn’t know if it’s possible, but repression is a natural instinct to traumatising situations and it’s… maybe it’s not a good option, but it is an option.

The second option: She lets herself mourn a woman she doesn’t know. She lets herself become vulnerable for enough time to move past the fact that this has happened.

There’s not really a decision to be made, really.

Aoko keeps herself in one piece until she’s back in her new apartment, the area she shares with two girls she’s barely spoken a word too. She bids Shinichi goodbye when he says he’s going to hang out with everyone else, and nods quietly when he says that he’s there to talk, should she want to.

Then, Aoko heads upstairs.

Makes herself a cup of sencha tea, and cries.

She doesn’t wipe away her tears, lets them fall. It’s admirable, she thinks, her ability to just feel, to let herself and she’s not ashamed of it. She thinks of Takamaki’s body, thinks of the way she’d been killed and lets herself mourn that.

Time cut short and for little reason at all. There’d been no reason behind it, except a grudge and she’s angry at that, rightly so, but there’s nothing that can change what has happened.

Aoko is glad, too, to have been able to solve the murder with Shinichi, even if she’d only been offering the puzzle pieces.

“Poor Takamaki-san,” Aoko mumbles under her breath when she’s got her tears under control. She grabs her phone, grabs a blanket, and sits staring at the small television at the edge of the room. It’s halfway through a soap opera but Aoko’s barely been paying attention to it.

She prefers anime shows more than soaps anyway.

Unlocking her phone, she presses one on speed dial, and listens to the sound of her father’s voice when she’s sent to voice mail. It’s enough to calm her, as he tells her to leave a message after the tone, and it helps her feel a little calmer.

“Hey, it’s Aoko,” she starts, because she knows he’ll only worry more if he doesn’t have a voice mail after receiving a phone call from her. “Just wanted to hear your voice a bit. I looked at one of those old case files today and the pictures… shocked me, I suppose.”

She hasn’t picked back up the illeism. Maybe it’s… it… it seems a little bit silly after all she’s seen. Aoko feels like maybe she needs to be more serious.

“I’m not saying I want to give up,” Aoko continues, and she finds that she means it. She doesn’t exactly feel fired up, like it’s her calling to solve cases and fight the crimes that have been left for them to solve. “I think it just shocked me how someone could be that cruel.”

She’s going to keep going. Not because she’s interested in the crimes, or in making sure that the criminal sees justice.

But because she wants to remember Takamaki, and other people like her.

Because she thinks maybe the detectives want to look into the murderer more than into the victim, and she doesn’t want to overlook that.

“Anyway,” she continues, nodding her head in silent confirmation of her thoughts, “I’ll call back another night and we’ll pick a night to catch up. Please don’t overwork yourself. Love you.”

She doesn’t get the chance to say goodbye. There’s only so long she can speak on answerphone before the dial tone echoes a second time, indicating that she’s run out of time.

Aoko closes her phone and takes a moment to simply breathe.

Then, she picks herself up, washes her face and readies herself to go down to the group – because she has homework and it’s English, and if she’s going to live in the same complex as Hakuba then, he’s going to be a welcome resource in translating her work.

-x-x-x-

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong,” Hakuba says, in that way that says that Aoko is, in fact, wrong but that he doesn’t want to be rude, “but that phrase is more colloquial than I think our teacher is expecting.”

Okay, so maybe Aoko isn’t the best at English. She’s not perfect.

Still, she does think that this phrase could work, and she’s already written it on her answer sheet. Her answer sheet which is so neat, for what feels like the first time in her life. She doesn’t want to start crossing things out.

“I’m sure it works,” Aoko says, biting into her lip. She waves her pen, pointing it towards him. “The phrasing is completely fine.”

Hakuba’s face scrunches up in a way that shows that he very much so disagrees. Aoko supposes that maybe she should cross the answer out and rewrite it but…

She sighs. Fine.

As she’s scrawling out the new answer, Hakuba leans closer and says, “are you alright, Aoko-san?”

Aoko startles at the question. She’s not expecting it, maybe because she thought that she was alright now, was calmer and more focused than her previous misery before she’d let herself cry.

“I–” Aoko pauses, tries to think things over. There’s no reason to lie, she knows that, but she also doesn’t want to overshare. “Well, I’ve been better. But, I’m okay, yeah.”

Hakuba keeps his gaze fixed on her, as if waiting for a ‘but’, for some sort of explanation. Maybe that detective stuff works on suspects and other people, but Aoko isn’t about to give in to the silent interrogation.

“Why?” She says instead, meeting his own silent questioning, with her own verbal one.

The good thing about Hakuba is that he’s not the type to obfuscate, to leave her without an answer. If Aoko asks him an answer, he will answer it, whether she likes his answer or not. He’s always been like that.

“Well,” he starts, frowning, “you dropped your illeism and you’re speaking more formally, so I…”

Aoko pauses. The changing of her language to exclude third person addressing of herself hadn’t even crossed her mind as being a cause for concern. Of course, Hakuba who sits with her every day in class, and has for the past year, would pick up on the change within seconds.

She shrugs her shoulders, and says, “I think I need to be a little more serious with how I address people, right? If I’m doing this.”

Cutesy speech, talking in the third person isn’t exactly appropriate, Aoko thinks. And it’s really not that difficult not to fall into that way of speaking – if anything, it had been harder to remember to speak in the third person.

Hakuba’s expression shifts. It’s not pity, no, and it’s not exactly sadness but there is something there. As if he’s watching someone lose something.

“You don’t need to change because of this,” Hakuba says. “It’s easy to think that you should, but you can find a way to figure things out while remaining who you are.”

“I’ve been thinking about stopping the illeism for a while now,” Aoko lies, because it’s easier than explaining everything she’s decided today. “this has just sped up the process, that’s all.”

He doesn’t look like he believes her.

But Hakuba isn’t the type to call her out on something, not if it’s not crime related, so he says nothing. Aoko moves onto the next question of her homework, shifts the conversation and offers a smile that doesn’t feel exactly comfortable on her face.

She’s fine.

Or maybe, she’s not fine, but she knows that’s alright. And she’s working on it. She wonders how many of the other people in this building have come to the same conclusion.

-x-x-x-

On Thursday, Aoko goes straight from school to the station. Shinichi meets her there, and she follows behind him as he promises to lead her somewhere that might be more interesting that a crime scene.

He follows through on the promise.

“There’s not much you can do looking at case files,” Shinichi explains as he leads her down a corridor, leading her down some stairs to the basement levels. She shivers as the cold meets her, “so I talked Megure into setting something up, so you can learn more about forensics.”

Well, alright then. Aoko supposes that makes sense. She’s not here to interpret the meanings of various clues, just to explain what the clue actually is.

“So, I’m what, going to a forensics lab?”

“Exactly,” Shinichi says, as they come to a stop in front of what can only be an office. His knuckles rap against the door, several short bursts and then, he leans back, waits.

Aoko raises an eyebrow, and since she can’t exactly do anything but wait, decides that maybe she should raise a question she’s been thinking about for the past two days.

“That murder,” she says, and he turns to look at her. His lips tighten, as if he’s uncertain whether her question will be a difficult one to respond to. “You were testing me with it.”

From the way he hesitates, Aoko knows that she’s right.

“That’s kind of… messed up,” Aoko continues, watching him. She shakes her head, not sure whether she’s disappointed or not. “That you would use someone’s death to see whether I would handle being in this… programme.”

Brows threaded together, Shinichi leans forward. He takes a second, decided on what he wants to say and then: “It wasn’t the only reason, I really did need your forensics skills. But… I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. It was inappropriate. Even if you handled it well.”

Aoko crosses her arms. Since she’s grown up best friends with quite possibly, the most infuriating boy alive, she knows that she won’t remain bothered for long. In fact, now that she’s received an apology, she’s already partially forgiven him.

“It’s okay,” Aoko says. “Even if I’m pretty sure I was told we were only supposed to look into cold cases?”

“There are… exceptions,” Shinichi says, “sometimes.”

Aoko is about to ask what those exceptions are – it’d be nice to know, really – but then the door opens, and she’s robbed of any questions she might be able to ask him.

The woman who opens the door is tall, although that’s mostly through the use of high heels, not through natural means. She stands about two inches taller than Shinichi, and she stares down between the two of them. Stern.

“Tadamori-san?” Shinichi says, sounding as if he’s never been intimidated in his life. Not even by this woman with wire-rimmed glasses falling down the rim of her nose. “Inspector Megure said you two spoke on the phone?”

Her gaze moves between the two of them, and then, she says, “you must be Kudo-kun. And this is Nakamori-chan?”

Aoko offers a small nod. She would say hello, but she’s afraid she’d only squeak the words out, unable to form coherent words. The woman is intimidating… no… Aoko is intimidated by her.

“Right,” Tadamori says, “I’ll be stealing your forensic girl then, Kudo-kun. You can run along.”

Shinichi turns back to Aoko and looks almost like he’s about to say something else, but the forensic scientist shoos him away. He turns the corridor, and as soon as he’s gone, Tadamori offers a wry smile, beckoning Aoko inside.

The door closes, Aoko feels like she’s doomed to be terrified forever.

She takes a moment to think this over, how she’s gotten to this point. Somehow, the detectives are less terrifying than the forensics team and she’s – she’s –

“Oh, what’re you looking so terrified for?” Tadamori says, leaning forwards and letting out a small laugh. She moves forward so quickly that Aoko can see the rustling of the white lab coat she’s wearing flutter around her. She grabs hold of Aoko’s wrist, pulling her further into the room.

There’s three ways Aoko can go about this. Lie and say she’s not terrified at all. Lie and say she’s terrified of forensics because she doesn’t really know that much. Or tell the truth and say that this woman is kind of… terrifying.

“Well,” Aoko says, and swallows, “I find you intimidating.”

It’s probably the best response, because Aoko receives a loud laugh, as if she’s caught the woman off guard.

“Oh no,” Tadamori says, and offers a wink. “I’m not intimidating at all. Not to the people who work in the lab – only to those detectives outside. You’re not a detective, are you, Nakamori-chan?”

“I’m not.”

She receives a smile in response. Tadamori looks significantly less terrifying when she’s smiling, and Aoko feels her shoulders relax at the expression. It’s calming.

“Well then, grab one of those lab coats on the hook and we’ll start with a tour of the lab.” She pauses, as if considering the possibility that Aoko doesn’t actually know what’s going on. “Did your detective explain this situation we’ve set up for you?”

Aoko shakes her head.

“Detectives,” Tadamori tuts, “they’re so narrow-minded sometimes. I should have expected this. Where do I start… oh! My name, of course – Tadamori Mizuki. I’m one of the forensic scientists here. We’re not normally this… empty but a lot of us are out collecting the evidence. I’m one of the lurkers.”

Lurking, as in remaining at the station, Aoko assumes. It makes sense, she’ll be around to analyse any of the substances that are brought to her, will ensure there’s always someone in the lab whenever the detectives come knocking.

“Nice to meet you,” Aoko says, quiet. “Please take care of me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tadamori says, and then, waves towards the lab coats again, urging Aoko to take one. Aoko does, albeit with a soft laugh in her throat. There’s one that has pink accents – it’s adorable, and Aoko loves it – and she grabs it, holding it up as if to ask permission.

Tadamori nods her head, and Aoko puts her hands through the sleeves, pulling the coat on.

“Let’s get started,” Tadamori says. “We’re going to look at everything in the lab, and then, we’re gonna sit down and talk about what parts I can teach you.”

-x-x-x-

Shortly after her tour is finished, Aoko is sat down in the main room of the lab. About six tables have been pushed together to create a u-shaped space for all of the forensic scientists to input data and go over simple evidence, and Aoko pulls up a chair.

Tadamori – although she insists on being called Mizuki – sits Aoko down and tells her she’s going to prepare something really quickly for a small test.

“Just going over the basics,” Mizuki says, as she heads towards one of the cabinets, pulling out a plastic bag. Inside, there’s a boot, something that she brings over and places on the table between the two of them.

“I…” Aoko blinks, “It’s a boot?”

“A gold star to you,” the woman says, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them over her hands. She nudges the box of gloves to Aoko too, waits until Aoko’s wearing her own pair before opening the evidence bag. “It’s not just a boot, it’s evidence.”

“Right,” Aoko says. “But I’m not wrong by saying it’s a boot.”

Mizuki raises an eyebrow as if to say, now you’re just being smarmy, which, to be fair, she kind of is. Aoko concedes and waits for the scientist to explain what they’re doing, staring at a boot.

“This is a piece of evidence we’ve recently gone over. I’ll take it down to evidence before I leave tonight. Until then, we’ve got this baby to play around with. So, we’ll see what you can find on it.”

Aoko raises an eyebrow. She says, “using… current evidence? Is that a good idea?”

“How else will you learn?”

Well, there’s very little that Aoko can do to argue. She leans forward, looks at the material of the boot and tries to decide which material it’s made from. Since she’s wearing gloves, she doesn’t hesitate in picking it up, pressing against the toe. It’s harder than rubber, and Aoko nods her head.

“It’s leather,” she says, which means that the boot is more expensive. They’re newer too, and she notes that down, before lifting the boot up and looking at the sole. The type of shoe doesn’t mean anything, really – it’s what remains on it that matters.

And on the sole, between groves that offer more traction, there is where the evidence lies. Specks of mud, dust, all sorts. Aoko looks up at Mizuki and says, “a pH test on the soil?”

Mizuki offers a smile. She says, “We did one. The soil was acidic.”

Aoko considers this. Then, squinting at the bottom of the boot, she tries to figure out the colour of the dirt. It’s hard to see against the black of the boot. There’s not enough present for her to confirm a colour.

“Under the microscope?” Aoko says, and Mizuki confirms that they’d done this too. The colour had been faintly red. It’s not the colour of dirt in Tokyo, suggesting the boots owner is from somewhere else. “Not from Tokyo then? Is it our job to figure out where, or does that go to the detectives?”

“Us,” Mizuki answers. “Have you got any ideas?”

“Somewhere south to us,” Aoko decides. “I think I’ve heard that red soils are found in warmer climates, so maybe one of the southern islands?”

A smile. And a nod, “We linked the deficiency of nitrogen and humus in the soil to that found in the Ryukyu islands. Sure enough, the pool of suspects will be centred around those who travel frequently or have visited from the islands.”

That’s so far away, Aoko thinks to herself. If the criminal heads off to any of those islands, then the police won’t be able to catch them. She doesn’t like that, finds herself cringing at the thought.

“Anything else?” Mizuki asks, and Aoko blinks looking at the boot, trying to figure out what else can be found from the object. They can try to match boot prints found at any scenes with this one, but that observation only receives a raised eyebrow and a question of ‘what if there aren’t footprints?’

Aoko doesn’t know what else to consider. There’s nothing else that shouts out to her. She says as such.

The scientist across from her only looks mildly disappointed. She takes the boot from Aoko and points to the inside.

“There’s all kinds of DNA inside of here,” Mizuki says, and Aoko’s lips widen into a ‘o’, because of course, it’s obvious, she’d just not been considering it. “There could pet hairs, dust, skin cells. All sorts.”

She turns the boot over, points at the grips, at the areas where the shoe is more worn.

“And if you look here, you can see which areas of the sole are more used. It helps create an understanding for how the owner walks.”

Aoko nods. Looking at it now, the front of the boot is scuffed, worn down more than the rest of the shoe. She bites her lip, “What does it mean?”

“Try walking yourself that way,” Mizuki says, and Aoko pushes away from the desk, focuses on walking, scuffing the front of her shoes. It includes barely lifting her feet up, as if they’re extremely heavy.

“Oh,” Aoko suggests after a moment, “exhaustion? Or a limp?”

A nod. “The detectives are out looking for someone with ties to the Ryukyu Islands who walks with a limp.”

And all that from a single boot.

It’s amazing, Aoko thinks, how a forensic scientist can take things that seem menial and analyse them. It’s… amazing. Admirable. Aoko can admit that this lab, doing things here is more interesting than having it in front of her at a murder site.

“There’s a lot you’ll get to learn,” Mizuki says, and she tilts her head, waits for Aoko to sit back down. “And we’ll do it all here, in the lab. Tests, cold cases, as much as I can teach possible. But I don’t want you out in the field.”

Aoko, who’s both steeled to remember people’s memories, but also doesn’t want to see another dead body, cannot escape her relief. She breathes it out, glad, ready to say thank you, when Mizuki raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not disappointed?”

“I think,” Aoko starts, trying to find the correct words, the ways to say she doesn’t want to have to repeat Takamaki’s crime scene without admitting as such, “that a stable foundation is always more important to secure first. Before the crime scenes.”

She waits – waits for Mizuki to claim that she’s an imposter, that she’s not in this entire programme for a ‘suitable’ reason. Which seems odd, because which sane person would want to be out analysing dead bodies? Why wouldn’t she have worries about it..?

“Well,” Mizuki says instead, her shoulders relaxing as she leans back. “I’m glad you agree with me – Inspector Megure told me over the phone that his detectives thus far have always been stubborn, and that I shouldn’t be surprised if you followed suit.”

For the record, Aoko would let it be known that she’s not a detective. She says as much and receives a smile in response.

“A little more reasonable, huh?” Mizuki says, shaking her head. Her lips tug up. “That’s good.”

Aoko offers a small nod.

“Well, Nakamori-chan,” the woman continues, “I’ll start sorting a box of old cases you could look over evidence from, a little cold case box, if you will. Until then, I think we’re done for the day.”

Glancing at the time shows that after a tour and Mizuki’s short quiz, it’s already reaching seven p.m. And Aoko has homework to get through. Still, she can’t help but be a little disappointed.

Mizuki re-bags the boot, seals the evidence bag and stretches. Her shoulders crick, a wince blooming across her face.

“I’m gonna bring this back down to evidence,” she says. A short pause and then, she adds, “Want to tag along, see all the potential evidence?”

Aoko kind of wants to see all the crazy things that can make their way to the evidence lockers. And… And maybe she wants to see the physical evidence that Kaito is KID, one day. Knowing where to go would be a good beginning.

“Sure.” Aoko grins. “Let’s go.”

[mintchocolateleaves]

Time Marches On

A/N: The KaiShin server asked for an angst ridden wings!AU. I could only oblige and write them this.

The thing about Icarus was that he really believed he could maintain the ‘balance’ when he got his wings. He believed in every wax feather, every beat of his manmade creation that he could survive with the unnatural.

Icarus died when he got wings.

Kaito had to die to get them.

He’s still a little confused on the particulars of his situation. There’s not much he can remember about his own death, too many memories blocked in a haze of pain and disillusion. The last moment he remembers is finding Pandora, seeking to destroy it.

Turns out destroying something immortal takes away a person’s mortality after all. Because somewhere after that, Kaito had woken up in a melancholic world where the only one’s capable of seeing him were the dying.

He’d also woken up with wings, extra limbs, that he hasn’t the faintest clue of how to navigate. Which is almost a little disheartening because as KID, he’d spent a lot of time flying, it’d be nice if he could continue to do so.

So, he’s… some sort of angel now. Kaito sees the irony, he’s had the laughs. It’d be a lot funnier, if he wasn’t, you know, dead.

There had been a funeral for him, Kaito knows there must have been. He’d woken up shivering, wings folded over his body, beside a tombstone with his name scrawled across it. Beloved son, had been placed next to Beloved father, and Kaito hadn’t know whether to cry or curse.

(Later he’d noticed dirt beneath his fingernails, and Kaito had realised that he must have dug his way out, clawed his way out from the casket he’d been buried in.)

Nature remains the same for him – the breeze is chilling against his body, the grass prickly against his bare feet – so clawing his way out was really the only option. If he thinks about it properly that is. Kaito’s not really that sure why, but with so much time to simply think, he’s decided that it’s probably because nature doesn’t look away from death in the same way Humanity does.

Humans, Kaito summarises, cannot see him in the way nature can, because they’re constantly avoiding the stare of death.

It’s quite… sad… now that Kaito can take a step back and simply see.

“Well…” he mutters to himself, glancing around, “what is there left for me now?”

Animals can see him, yes, but he can’t spend all his time surrounded by animals. He needs to hear some sort of conversation, find someone else in the same situation – even if that means finding someone who’s… someone who’s willing to stare death in the eye.

He starts with hospitals. There are always deaths, always people willing to talk to an angel who might guide them towards the end more easily – their words, not his. Many of them tell him stories, families believing they’re delusional even though for the first time, these people can truly see.

“I lost my wife,” one older man whispers now, “a few years ago. She was murdered… I can’t wait to see her again. Will you make sure I find her again?”

Like with all the other people who have viewed him as a guardian angel in the past, Kaito feels unable to deny them. He doesn’t know what happens to those who die, but they never join him in this… nothingness.

Instead of arguing, he nods.

“Tell me about your wife,” Kaito whispers, “so I know who to point you towards.”

He’s told about a marriage, the kind of marriage Kaito had once wanted with… He shakes his head, keeps listening. And then, there’s a mention of a name that makes his stomach drop, heart aching in his chest.

“She was murdered, but we’d have never known the truth about how without that police investigator Kudo Shinichi.”

Kaito tries not wince, does so anyway, and finds that he has to look away. The thought of Shinichi, the smiles they’d once shared brings him more pain. And to think he’d been trying so hard to avoid thinking of the man he’d wanted to spend an eternity with.

“That name,” the patient across from him whispers, “you find it hard to hear?”

Kaito turns to look him in the eye, offers the rawest resemblance of a smile at the words. The truth hardly seems appropriate – how can he say they’d been engaged, preparing to marry without receiving some sort of pity? – so he decides to lie.

“I’m his guardian angel,” Kaito says, “and I’ve just… there’s so much to save him from, that sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”

All of the things Kaito had done to keep Shinichi safe. The dramatic spectacle of KID vs Conan, it all feels redundant now. Kaito is gone, and Shinichi is without him and nothing will ever even the guilt Kaito feels about have left Shinichi behind.

“If you’re his guardian angel,” the other whispers, “then why are you listening to me whiter on?”

Kaito offers him a smile, “Shinichi is the type who’d feel selfish if I spent all my time watching over him.”

He finally finds the courage to seek Shinichi out, months after his death. Or rather – months after he’d clawed his way through dirt, because he’d been dead for at least a year before then.

(Time is rather inconsistent for him now, sometimes a month feels like a day. Other times a day seems like eternity.)

There’s a silence to Shinichi that Kaito doesn’t remember. It’s overwhelming, like a black fog buffering around him, incapable of being broken through. It’s brings a shiver to Kaito, as he follows behind the detective.

He’s thrown himself into his case work. Kaito can see as much from the bags under his cheeks, the pale sheen to his skin. He’s exhausted, and Kaito knows that there’s nothing he can do to help.

Nothing but to be there, invisible to the eye, waiting beside Shinichi until the other man heals. There’s a break in Shinichi’s spirit, and all Kaito can do is stay by his side, watching until it pieces back together.

“Another murder…?” Shinichi mutters, as he passes police tape. Kaito ducks beneath it, wings snagging on the tap in a way that makes people assume there’s been a gust of wind. “What was the cause of death on this one?”

“Stab wound to the abdomen,” Hattori, his detective partner, mumbles, “so far it looks like a typical muggin’. Not every murder is as intricate as th’ one’s we used t’ solve.”

“Let’s take a look,” Shinichi says, following behind the Osakan, with a lack of energy and an almost inaudible sigh that ends up rattling against Kaito’s ear drums. “Hopefully we can get the murderer caught before anyone else becomes their victim.”

The crime scene is ghastly. It’s not particularly bad, not for a murder at least, but it is the loss of life and to Kaito it’s nothing short of nightmare inducing. He’s sure his dreams would be plagued by the sight alone, if he had a need for sleep. Maybe he’s lucky in that regard.

“Oh,” Shinichi says, gaze whizzing across the scene. He kneels beside the body, gets a look at the stab wound – and any other wounds on the body, before looking up. “So that’s how it must have happened.”

Kaito kneels beside him, lifts his wings up as if to block Shinichi from the wind, and tries to see things as the other man does. It’s difficult – he can’t play the scene out in his head well enough, not even seeing the lacerations and slashes on the victim’s body.

It’s something he had both admired and hated about Shinichi. His ability to wrap his mind around people’s dying moments.

“He saw the knife before the stabbing,” Shinichi says now, standing up. “See the cuts on his hand, he tried to get the knife before he was murdered. He wasn’t scared – my guess is he knew the attacker.”

Hattori leans down again, glances at the wounds. He nods his head, “yeah. I can see where ya coming from. We should start lookin’ at his acquaintances an’ work from there.”

And like that, they’ve made leeway on another case. There’s nothing Kaito can do to help him there, has to leave Shinichi to solve another meaningless murder, imprison another misguided criminal in need of rehabilitation.

“Why are you overworking yourself, Shinichi?” Kaito mutters as they walk off towards the police car. He’ll have to travel alongside it, good thing he can fly, to get to the next person. “Why won’t you take a break?”

The next murder Kaito is present at, alongside Shinichi, is at the local supermarket, when Shinichi is off duty. Kaito would like it to be known that ‘off duty’ is surrounded by quote marks, because Shinichi doesn’t take breaks, not anymore, and he’s skimming over case files on his phone while listlessly throwing groceries into his basket.

There’s a loud bang, a bullet whizzing through the air, and Kaito turns to see a man holding a gun, pointing towards the cashier. A robbery – something Kaito and Shinichi hadn’t noticed occurring because they’d been at the other end of the shop, Shinichi too engrossed in his case reports.

The detective glances up from his phone, rushes towards the robber. His own gun – police issued, meant to remain at the station when he clocks off-duty, but Shinichi won’t stop working – is raised within the time it takes for the thief to notice him.

During this time, Kaito makes his way towards the dying man.

He’s bleeding, heavily, and it’s quite easy to see that he’s going to die. Kaito knows, because the man notices him with an almost heavy gasp, lets out a small moan of ‘a-angel’.

“You want to put pressure on the wound,” Kaito says, leaning down and helping the man lift his arm to the wound in his stomach, “it’ll keep the bleeding from being too intensive.”

“An angel’s here to take me away…?” The cashier mumbles, ashen. He’s squinting as if struggling to see straight – not that Kaito can blame him, it’s always dizzying, blood-loss.

“I’m not an angel,” Kaito says, “I’m just Kaito. So, don’t worry, you’ll make it through this.”

He wishes it were true, but there’s hope in the man’s eyes when he closes them, echoing Kaito’s own name.

When he looks up, Shinichi has apprehended the robber, has called for back-up, and has the man pinned to the counter. All of that, and yet he’s staring at the body wide eyed.

Later, Kaito realises why he was so wide-eyed.

“He said Kaito’s name, Hattori,” Shinichi mutters, when the two are in their patrol car. Hattori drives, probably because they both know Shinichi’s always going to be reckless with cars. “And it, it threw me off. I almost let go of my grip hearing his name, why can’t I just move on?”

Hattori is quiet beside him. He says, “you can’t move on because you don’t know what happened.”

“But I do know what happened,” Shinichi mutters, “he wasn’t murdered, he died of natural causes, I made the doctors look repeatedly.”

A pause. And then, “I know, but ya also know it ain’t normal for a twenty-two-year-old to just drop dead o’ natural causes. Whatever the doctors said.”

Shinichi sighs. Shakes his head.

Kaito, sat in the back, wings crushed between the doors – he’d dived into the car when Hattori had opened his door, found his way to the back – feels a twinge of regret. So that’s how he’d died: He’d broken Pandora, and in return, it had broken him.

It only gets worse from there.

Shinichi only gets worse.

It’s almost like hearing the man mutter Kaito’s name has rekindled an obsession, a need to know what happened. He attacks murder scenes with a rigid mindset – catch the criminals, find who did it – empathy draining from his voice at every approaching scene.

Shinichi becomes cold.

And it’s all Kaito’s fault.

The crime scenes become increasingly more worrying, not because it’s continued death – although it is alarming when some of them see Kaito in their last moments – but because Shinichi wraps himself up in them.

Shinichi throws himself so deeply into his work, that Kaito can see it visibly pains him. The detective gets to a point where he can feel each bullet tearing through his skin, can imagine with such accuracy the pain of every laceration.

Kaito gets the impression that Shinichi wants to feel that pain. Wants to feel the pain of dying so he can be a little closer to Kaito – or maybe, maybe so he doesn’t need to think of Kaito at all. If only for a little while.

It seems to work, for a while. One month rolls into two, until it’s been another six months with little change and guilt weighing too heavily on Kaito’s conscience. Nothing really changes until one of the children at the crime scene notices the angel standing beside the ‘scary’ police detective.

She’s small, roughly five years old – just old enough to want to know the answers to everything. Still young enough that she hasn’t averted her eyes from everything else – Kaito’s certain the girl’s only slightly older than Shinichi had been when he’d first met him as Conan.

Police reports say she’s the daughter of the victim, a young girl called Miu.

The police are trying to ask questions – she’d been the only one in the house when the murder had occurred over night – when Miu turns to Shinichi and points. She says, “why does that man have wings?”

The other detectives turn to Shinichi, offer raised eyebrows. Shinichi himself seems to be taken aback, dragged out of his bad mood for almost a moment.

He says, “I don’t have wings.”

Miu shakes her head, runs up to Kaito and points at him. She says, “no, not the detective, the one standing beside him.”

It’s at this time that Kaito gets the impression that the officers think she’s daydreaming, seeing things to cope with her mother’s death. It’s why he leans down to face her, lifting his wings just high enough that she can brush her hands beneath the bottom.

“The wings are pretty,” she whispers, and most of the detective’s have gone back to their work. All of them except Shinichi – maybe he remembers his own time as a child, how foolish it would be to overlook what they’re saying.

“Thank you,” Kaito mumbles, and smiles when he realises it’s not just the dying that can see him. Children have always been more finetuned to nature than adults, have always been more observant because everything is new. “I’ve become quite fond of them.”

Miu smiles. “Are you an angel? How long have you had wings? Do they feel like arms?”

So many questions. How many will he be able to answer before the police detectives decide Miu needs to be asked more questions, or taken from the house to stay with a relative.

“I’m not an angel,” Kaito responds, “and I’ve had them for about two years.”

“Are you this detective’s partner? Or his guardian angel?”

Kaito forces a smile, “I just stay by Shinichi’s side, to make sure he’s alright. I care an awful lot about him.”

“…Shinichi…?” Miu turns to the detective in question, and then back to Kaito, “so you love him then?”

Later, in the car, Hattori has to talk about how the child has probably seen his name in the newspaper and that’s how she knew his name.

Shinichi, rather understandably, is riled. He’s confused, and his hair is almost as messy as Kaito’s is, because he keeps pulling at the ends trying to figure everything out.

“I don’t understand,” Shinichi mutters, “she knew my name, and she knew that someone who loved me died two years ago. It makes no sense?”

Hattori shakes his head, seemingly as lost. “Children are strange sometimes, ya know that. It’s just a coincidence, Kudo.”

Shinichi bites into his lips and says, “there’s no such thing as coincidence, hasn’t our work taught us that?”

The change this time is even more drastic.

Shinichi had dived into his work after the cashier’s death. Now, following the conversation of Miu, he almost stops having a life outside of work altogether. Before, he’d had the skeleton of a social life – dinners with close friends or visiting parents.

Now, he turns the offers away.

Shinichi reads files on robberies and cold cases. And sometimes, during the darker parts of the evening, when insomnia keeps him awake, lingers into the hour of the dead, Shinichi pulls open a folded case file on something he’s never been able to fully solve.

Kaito’s smile is on one of the pages. Next to the photograph is a printed copy of his complete medical history, and after that: His history as KID.

The one case Shinichi cannot solve. The last case Kaito left him.

“Stop obsessing over me,” Kaito mutters one night, despite knowing that the other man can’t see him, “there’s no answer in these files for you. Please.”

Shinichi doesn’t move on.

If anything, he takes a step back.

“It’s like you’re haunting me,” Shinichi mutters one night, when it’s nearing four a.m, and he’s nursing a headache with peppermint tea. “Goddammit Kaito, you weren’t really a phantom, why are you haunting me like this?”

Kaito sighs.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“There’s something behind all this,” Shinichi says in the patrol car one night, sat next to Hattori. “I know there is, it wouldn’t make sense if there wasn’t something causing all of this confusion.”

“Kudo, it’s not some conspiracy. It’s just a–”

The sound of a gunshot pierces through their conversation. At once, adrenaline is rushing through Kaito’s body, even though he knows there’s no way he can be shot.

“Request for backup Hattori,” Shinichi says, opening his door. He’s out within seconds and Kaito dives out of the car after him, his feathers getting caught in the door.

There’s no way he can open the door, so Kaito pulls at his wings until feathers snag from his skin, a sharp shooting pain spreading across his back. Droplets of blood drip from the bottom of his wings, and Kaito forces himself not to whimper.

Hattori’s voice shouts out for backup and for Shinichi to wait, but of *course* Shinichi doesn’t. He races forwards, hands reaching down to the gun holstered at his waist, arming himself.

It’s a murder. Point blank.

Kaito knows the look of killers, having been following Shinichi around for a while now. Having stood beside him during cases.

“Put your hands up!” Shinichi shouts, gun raised. The suddenness of his appearance must throw the man off, because he doesn’t put his hands up – he shoots instead.

Seconds later, there’s a flash from Shinichi’s gun, and Kaito watches as the man falls. Kaito’s just glad that Shinichi hasn’t–

“Kaito?”

The thief reels back at the sound of his name, and then, he balks. He says, “Shinichi? You were…?”

Shinichi glances down, follows Kaito’s gaze to the wet patch against his black coat. Blood pools against the fabric, and when Shinichi presses his hand against the coat, red stains it.

Shock rids his expression of any other feeling, and Kaito isn’t sure whether it’s the sight of him, or the fact that he’s bleeding out.

“It’s really you.” Shinichi says, and he’s wobbly on his feet. Kaito surges forwards, helps Shinichi down to his feet as best he can – he’s not physically present, not able to hold him, but the psychological aspect helps Shinichi to sit down at least. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know,” Kaito says. He’s never usually lacked words when it comes to speaking, especially not with Shinichi, but what is he supposed to say? ‘Sorry that I died?’ It’s not as simple as that.

“But it’s not really you is it,” Shinichi mutters, turning his eyes away, “I’m just seeing you because of… this.”

He waves towards the blood. And then, in an attempt to grab the attention of anyone around him, he calls, entirely too weakly to be heard, for help. For Hattori to come save him.

There’s no way to convince him that it’s really him, so Kaito decides not to bother. Shinichi’s going to be glad either way to see him. Arguing at this point is just useless.

“You need to shout a little louder,” Kaito says, wrapping his wings around the man so the cold doesn’t seep into his bones. “If you don’t, no one will hear.”

Shinichi shakes his head, “why did you die, I don’t understand. Why did you leave me?”

“I’ve not left you,” Kaito says, and there’s a desperation in his voice now, his hands trembling with trepidation. “I’ve been with you this whole time, Shinichi, you just can’t see me.”

“You’re dead.”

The tone is blunt, almost venom-like with how angry it seems. Of course, Shinichi isn’t just sad about his death, but angry too. If he’d been murdered, if there had been any signs then Shinichi could have found a way to understand. But he’s left the detective with one riddle that’s to complex to solve.

“I know.” A pause. “It’s because I found Pandora.”

Shinichi opens his mouth, falters on the words. Kaito takes it as a sign to keep going:

“Remember the stories of an immortal stone? What do you think happens to something when it loses it’s immortality?”

“It dies.”

Wide-eyed, Shinichi shudders the words into the silence. He’s always been able to solve KID’s riddles, even if he does sometimes require a small push. This realisation, it almost seems enough to make the other realise it’s really him.

(Either that, or Shinichi’s beginning to wish it’s Kaito. But really, isn’t that the same thing as believing?)

He calls for help now. Louder, a high enough voice that Kaito’s certain he can hear footsteps racing towards them both – Hattori’s footsteps.

“Kaito?” Shinichi mutters, “can I ask you for something?”

Kaito offers him a smile – the half-smile, half-smirk he’d reserved for only Shinichi – and says, “for you, anything.”

“Will you stay with me?” Shinichi doesn’t specify for how long, but Kaito knows he means until the very end. And God forbid, Kaito will find a way to make sure that the end is as far away as the end of time.

Somehow – somehow, he’ll make sure Shinichi lives for the both of them.

“How could I ever leave you,” Kaito says, resting his forehead against Shinichi’s, his hands entangles in Shinichi’s, “not even death could tear me away from you.”

He keeps his hands wrapped around Shinichi’s, even after Hattori arrives. Even after the paramedics arrive, placing Shinichi into one of the ambulances.

Kaito doesn’t let go until he’s certain he’s out of Shinichi’s vision, and the other man can’t see death anymore.

For now, it’s enough.

[mintchocolateleaves]

Cost of Freedom (30/52)

Summary: In which everyone prepares for the heist. Prison!AU

[CoF full chapter list]

The heist notices burns a hole through Aoko’s pocket. Or rather, it scalds her skin, through the fabric of her clothes, leaving her with second degree burns.

She’s not sure whether it’s because she’s just finished looking around the murder scene that’s partially blaming Kaito – Kaito who she’d been with the moment the murder had even happened – or because she needs to figure out a way to give the heist notice away without giving away any clues to any of the detectives she’s seen.

The burn, is guilt, as Aoko realises she’s going to have to lie.

And the longer she leaves the heist notice in her pocket, waiting for the ‘right’ time to give it to the police, the hotter it burns. Beside her, Hattori doesn’t seem to notice anything, closing his eyes as he tries to piece everything together.

She’d been nervous when he’d started taking pictures on his phone, but it had make her think. There is something to Hattori that she can’t quite place, and she’s suspicious, like she’s been suspicious since he’d first shown up. Why is would he need pictures from obscure angles, when they don’t show quite as much as the pictures forensics will print them later.

Aoko isn’t sure.

“Hattori-kun,” she mutters, grabbing his attention from the plug sockets he seems interested in. There’s some blood by the switch – a dying message? Or just coincidence? - “What were you studying when Hakuba-kun rang?”

Hattori glances at her, tilts his head. “About th’ murder?”

“No,” Aoko shakes her head, “what were you studying when he asked for Kudo’s files?”

For a moment, Hattori is quiet. He shrugs his shoulders and says, “radical equations, I think. Why?”

Aoko puts her hands in her pockets, feels the heist notice between her fingers. It’s a little thicker than card, but smoother and she almost feels her pulse in her ears, knowing she has something the police force are bound to be searching for.

She brushes her finger across the notice again, before shaking her head, standing up.

“I was just wondering, is all.” She stands up, pulls her hands from her pockets and turns away. “I was thinking that I shouldn’t be here, I’m not the detective, I should be at home finishing my homework.”

Hattori’s tone sounds almost as guilty as Aoko feels. He says, “if ya go home now, you’ll be turning yer back on ‘em.”

Aoko bites her lip, steels her voice and says, “I’m in this to catch them, Hattori-kun, not to prove their innocence.”

She moves before he can grab hold of her wrist, moving towards the doorway. As she rushes down the stairs, under police tape and out into the streets of Shibuya, she heaves out a sigh.

Hattori Heiji, she thinks, is a terrible liar. He’s convincing, yes, but without a fully formed cover story, he’s practically an amateur. Kaito would be better – Kaito is better. KID weaves cover stories until he has a brand new personality, and maybe Aoko had been angry about it, but it had also been admirable.

Kaito would have remembered that he’d told someone he was solving a case when he’d answered the phone – he would not have been so easily fooled into changing the cover story.

At least Aoko can help. If she leaves now, she’ll be able to get the heist notice to the station – for Kaito’s sake – and it’ll leave Hattori with a window of opportunity to take whatever his pictures are for, to… To Kudo-kun right?

That must be it. The reason Hattori had shown early this morning, helping the criminals break in, the reason he’d not known his own cover story.

Hattori Heiji is their accomplice.

Aoko glances back at police cars, lifts her fingers to her lips. They come away bloody, having punctured her teeth into the skin. If Hattori is the accomplice, then the murder – the idea that a third man grabbed the murder victim – falls flat. With all three of them in Tokyo, there had been no one to…

She bites her lip, makes her way towards the station.

For now, Aoko decides to believe in Kaito, in Kudo’s innocence – she’ll find a way to keep people from figuring Hattori out. And to keep them from looking too deeply into Hattori… she’ll have to direct their attention.

Aoko needs to send in the heist notice.

And she needs to do it convincingly.

“We need to go to the museum,” Ran pulls away from the window, eyes clouded with something – Saguru isn’t certain whether it’s determination, or reservation – before crossing her arms. “If we want to talk to KID and Shinichi, then our best shot is that heist. And we need to figure out KID’s planned routes in and out.”

Saguru agrees.

He doesn’t know much about the museums in Ueno, but he does know the museum Kuroba has hinted at. Just as much as he knows the gemstone – Kuroba has started with the very heist location that had got him caught in the first place.

The Cullinan diamond. Kuroba had failed on his first attempt to receive the gem. One of the taskforce had torn the hang glider he’d used for some escapes, making it impossible for him to use his most efficient exits. With the handicap, Kuroba had been forced to the lower floors, where he’d attempted to climb from the first floor down to the road below.

Saguru isn’t completely sure what had happened during those minutes. He’d been inspecting one of the vents, wondering whether KID had used it to get to the upper floors undetected, when all units had been notified of KID’s capture.

We’re unmasking him now, Nakamori had said, while Saguru had pushed through the crowd of police officers, towards the centre of the ring. And off with the disguise.

He’d discarded the top hat and the monocle until all that was left was Kuroba Kaito sat with his arms shackled, squirming in an attempt to get away before the task force checked to see if this was his true face. Saguru had stopped breathless, staring across the crowd at Aoko as she’d stared, wincing as he’d realised that soon she’d know the truth.

Now off with this mask, Nakamori had pulled at his cheeks, pulled until he was certain it was skin and not glue, until he was certain his mind had not been playing tricks on him. Kaito…?

And KID – Kuroba Kaito – had simply smiled. Not angrily, or sadly – Saguru can only recall the smile being amused. His eyes had been alight, wild in a way Saguru had never even seen as he’d laughed, ‘you all made it so easy.’

Back then, Saguru hadn’t know why he’d done it. Why he’d aggravated the Nakamori’s, when all he’d gotten out of it was tightened handcuffs that had dug into his wrists. It had taken a while to realise the smile had been Kuroba’s version of control, his words designed to keep the Nakamori’s angry rather than sad.

“I’ve got the plans to the museum from the last heist,” Saguru says after a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. He’d kept them, although frankly, Saguru isn’t sure why he hadn’t thrown them away after the capture, maybe he’d felt bad that he hadn’t actually been the one to apply the handcuffs… maybe he just wanted to remember, “I’ll ask Baaya to bring them.”

Ran nods, rubs at her ear as she tries to think. Then, her eyes widen, confusion swimming through periwinkle irises. She says, “KID never steals from the same place twice.”

“You’re right,” Saguru nods, plucks his phone from his pocket. “He’s picking up where he left off.”

The arrival of a fourth person to the safe house seems to leave Kuroba reeling.

Heiji watches as the other boy frowns, practically glaring at the toolbox he’s brought with him, unscrewing some sort of capsule.

It’s difficult to see what it is, but Heiji supposes it’s going to be filled with some sort of gas. Sleeping gas is the most obvious choice, based on previous heists, when he’d taken to sneaking behind police officers, forcing them into unconsciousness before stealing their identities.

“Yer still gonna do a heist despite th’ murder,” Heiji tries not to let the disapproval sink into his voice, but it does, festering with the sickness that keeps settling in his throat every time he thinks about the murder scene. “Even though someone died.”

Kuroba shrugs, glances away from the gas capsules. His expression morphs from annoyed to blank as he says, “people die every day. Should I stop my heists for them too?”

“Yer a murder suspect!” Heiji digs fingernails into his palms, closes the door behind him.

“Yes, and the heist is the explanation for why we set foot inside the station. To avoid catching the attention of the people who’ve made Shinichi and I into suspects.” Kuroba turns back to his tools, placing the capsules down. He picks up his monocle – something Heiji remembers being rumoured to offer night vision to the thief.

“It’s dangerous…” Kudo mutters, and Heiji nods his approval. “…But… It’s not like we can stop you.”

Well, Heiji thinks, they could. Just not in a way that would leave them all outside of a prison cell. Instead he watches Kuroba’s expression flicker. One second, there is amusement sparking in his eyes, the next, Heiji can only read seriousness.

“Don’t worry,” Kuroba says, and Kazuha looks up now, lips pressed together. She’d been texting on her phone, but now she places it down, offering them all a stern expression – Heiji’s pretty sure she’s thinking the same as him – a heist is too much of a risk.

Not that Kuroba would listen to either of them, he’s only known Kazuha a day, and Heiji for three. He sighs.

“I’m not going to get caught,” Kuroba promises. “And you guys are going to stay back here, so it’s not like you’re at risk, you know?”

“They’ve got just as much time t’ prepare as you,” Kazuha says. She lifts the papers she’s been looking at up into a pile, straightening them out. Since Heiji has stepped inside the room, she hasn’t so much as sent a look his way. “and they’re gonna treat ya as a murderer, meaning you’ll be at a big risk.”

Heiji’s been thinking about it too – how the danger doesn’t only mean recapture, but that there’s also a risk of being shot. Before, KID wasn’t seen as a high risk, but working together with a so-called serial killer only makes him a huge risk to civilians.

And Heiji knows what the police are willing to do to keep the general public safe.

“They’ve got a day to prepare.” Kuroba says after a while, crosses his arms. “I’ve had months.”

“What do you mean you’re closing the heist to the public?”

Ran is trying to be calm, she really is, but the moment the announcement pops up on her phone – KID heist announced for tomorrow, police blocking roads around – she feels vision glowing red, voice boarding from annoyed to outright outraged.

“It’s too dangerous,” Inspector Nakamori says, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks slightly sick at the thought of a KID heist being dangerous, at the idea of the boy he’d practically helped to raise being dangerous. “No civilians, and that involves you kids.”

“Inspector,” Saguru says from beside her, “with all due respect, that’s insane. KID’s a thief, but the only person he poses a risk to during this heist, is himself.”

Nakamori grabs a mint from his desk, fiddles with the edges of the wrapper. He doesn’t look at them when he speaks – maybe the thought of KID being dangerous, hurts to imagine as much as imagining Shinichi to be a murderer does. “You went to the crime scene.”

Ran’s voice dies in her throat. They have theories about that, but nothing concrete, and she doesn’t want to offer any answers before she knows for certain that they’re true. That’s why they need to go to the heist.

“We did.” Saguru answers for the both of them. He rests a hand on Ran’s elbow, offers some stability as she the taste of  blood catches in her throat.

She doesn’t fall.

“I don’t want to believe that Kai- that KID did that,” Nakamori says, “but until we get evidence against it, we’ve got to proceed along the lines that KID is dangerous. And with the added risk that Kudo might show as well-”

“You don’t want to risk any hostages.” Saguru mutters.

“Exactly.”

Ran feels herself still – Shinichi, at the heist? He’d be smart enough not to attend. He’s not like KID, he won’t be able to get in and out as easily. And maybe KID is used to immediate captures, is used to reacting immediately with smart plans, but in Ran’s experience, Shinichi needs time to plan everything over.

She don’t want him to attend. But… But it does give her an idea.

“Make an exception.” She says. Nakamori frowns, but she pushes onwards anyway, “make an exception for Aoko-chan and I.”

The frown doesn’t cease – if anything, it deepens. Nakamori says, “absolutely not.”

Saguru, however, seems to catch on to her meanings. He nods, “it’s not a bad idea. The only visitor Kudo-kun sent for, was Ran-san. And Kuroba has always had a soft spot for Aoko-san.”

Nakamori pops the mint into his mouth, glances up at them both. He says, “If we can get the two of them to stand down, it’d be easier. You’d have to wear the same protective wear as the task force…”

Ran holds her breath as she realises that he means wearing a bullet proof vest – because if things go badly, KID and Shinichi will have targets on their backs. But ultimately, she understands.

She nods, “Okay.”

“They’ve closed the surrounding area down, how are we even going to get in?”

“Listen, if we can stay out of their grasp this long, we can avoid the police as well.”

“It’s too big a risk.”

“It’s a chance to live a normal life again. Just me and you.”

“…”

“I’m certain KID will know how to reach Kudo Shinichi,” a sound causes the two figures to turn, eyes wide as they ensure it’s nothing dangerous. “And when we find Kudo Shinichi, he can help.”

“He won’t trust us.”

“Leave the worrying to me, alright Shiho? I’m the big sister, after all.”

Daytime blends away into evening with orange and pinks as the sun sets.

After hours of trying to settle himself long enough to fall asleep, Kaito goes out onto the roof instead. He sits, looking out at the city. Every so often he think he catches sight of stars shooting across the sky, but they disappear from his vision before he can appreciate them for what they are.

The moon, waning, offers a faint light – but Kaito doesn’t need it, not really. Despite it being evening, Shinjuku is restless, awake and busy. People bustle between theatres, bars and every other establishment designed to dig into the pockets of workers after a long day in the office.

Kaito glances at the roads below. The masses crossing roads, finding their way down the subway to the metro lines. What do they think of KID’s return? People had loved him once, but then he’d been locked away – will they still applaud him even now that they know who he is?

“I was wondering where you were.”

Kaito doesn’t turn. Instead, he steps to the side, offers Shinichi some room to lean against the wall and breathe in the evening air. The other boy had been asleep when he’d come to the roof, exhaustion having dragged him into unconsciousness. Not that Kaito can blame him – Shinichi’s sleep pattern in prison had always been inconsistent, and even after the break out, he’d not slept as long as he could have.

“I should have written a note.”

“You left the door open slightly so you could get back in,” Shinichi says, “so in a way you did.”

Kaito hesitates, decides not to answer. Instead, he watches cars as they move through the streets, tries not to let the police lights burn against his vision. He fails anyway, reds and blues searing his retinas until he has to squeeze his eyes shut and remind himself that he will not be caught.

“I-” Shinichi trails off, “will you be okay tomorrow? With the heist?”

Kaito glances at him, offers a grin. “Quit worrying. We’ve got this far, so quit thinking everything’s going to go wrong.”

Shinichi breaks eye contact. His skin pales and suddenly, Kaito doesn’t know how to describe him. He doesn’t look like the self-assured detective he’d been before his imprisonment. He wears his expressions differently to the prisoner he’d been, back when he’d willingly fought to keep himself safe from other prisoners.

He doesn’t look like the person Kaito’s grown to know. Now, instead of looking confident in himself, or even certain they’ll succeed, he looks almost… scared.

“I should be happy, right?” Shinichi says, and if his voice cracks, neither of them point attention to it. “That things are working out for us. We’re free, we retrieved my case files…”

Kaito glances at him from the side of his eye. His fingers are white from where he’s holding them so tightly.

“I should feel something other than dread.” Shinichi continues, “but I can’t. There’s someone dead, and it’s because we left. Kaito… I don’t know if I can solve this.”

Shinichi shudders. He heaves in a sigh, a deep breath, and suddenly Kaito can see him as he is. Not as a brave detective or a cunning prisoner, but rather as a shattered reflection of Kaito himself, a piece of someone lost to time.

The realisation is jarring. It is an ache, a feeling that spreads through his body like ice, as he realises the depth of just how… hopeless the situation is. But still…

“You will.” Kaito says, voice quiet, yet steeled. Shinichi sends him a doubtful look, so Kaito repeats it. “You will. We’ll find a common link and we’ll track down that stupid organisation. We’ll find the organisation and we’ll tear it down – even if everyone think we’re the bad guys while we’re doing it. That’s what detective’s do, isn’t it? They solve things. You are a detective, right?”

Shinichi lets out a shallow breath, a shaky, almost choked sound. He wipes at his face with his sleeve, before turning, making his way towards the exit, back down to the safe house. He stops by the exit, turns back to face Kaito. Then; a nod, the smallest dip of his chin as he mutters, “yeah.”

He leaves Kaito to the city.