Chapter Text
“Were you working in your mother’s garden?”
It was an innocuous question, especially with the light tone Ran used as she plucked a dark blue petal off his shirt. Neither of the two noticed that it was once wet and sticky, dried from the sunbeams intensified by the cafe window.
“Hmm?” Shinichi didn’t even bother to look up as his best friend straightened up his appearance. Usually, he would squirm and whine at Ran’s motherly fussing, but today he was too enveloped in this current case—March 18th, Yamamoto Kimiko had murdered her husband, citing her disease of proof of his infidelity. He stared down at the case files, reading Yamamoto’s statement, and answered distantly, “Oh, no... I wasn’t.”
Our marriage was crumbling. I didn’t want to believe it. But when I began hacking up pink flowers in our bed as he would work later and later into the night—
“I see.” Ran laughed, leaning over the table to rub out a few wrinkles in Shinichi’s button down. “Must’ve been carried in the wind. I heard the park by the center of town is being reworked! Maybe one of the flower beds were uprooted as you walked by?” She sat back and stared at her tea wistfully. “It’s kinda a shame though; I mean, we’ve been to that park dozens of time as kids, and it holds a lot of memories...”
Of course, there were other men my eyes would travel to after feeling neglected by him. Yet I still loved him. I knew it in my heart. None of that mattered though; I was the one suffering, because he no longer loved me back—
“Shinichi.” Ran uttered his name in such a way that instantly made Shinichi look up in attention. The brunette sighed, leaning back in her chair with crossed arms. “Jeez, were you even listening to me?”
They pair had been best friends long enough by now to know not to bullshit each other. Shinichi would probably say he knew that more given the fact that Ran had only increased her karate training after high school. He swallowed hard and began closing the files. “Sorry, Ran. I was just... intrigued by this case.”
Ran blinked and sat up, all her irritation being replaced by newfound curiosity. “Is it a really difficult one?”
“No, nothing like that.” Shinichi waved his hand dismissively. “It actually was pretty cut and dry. We’re almost certain that the initial suspect was the one who did it. She had the motive, and she had no alibi. Megure-keibu is just looking for the weapon at this point.”
“Then why’s it so interesting to you? Is it weird?” Ran chuckled, half lighthearted and half concerned. “I can’t imagine a murder strange enough for Mr. I-see-dead-bodies-at-least-once-a-week.”
“Ha, ha.” Shinichi muttered sarcastically. “Like I ask for all these people to die whenever I get within a kilometer of them.” He picked up his coffee and brought it to his scowling lips.
Ran winced. Shinichi took a long sip, pretending not to notice. “I know.” She spoke softly. There was no need to apologize—both Shinichi and Ran knew that well enough.
Shinichi’s frown only deepened as he put his cup down. He sighed and clarified, “It’s probably because of how straightforward it is.”
“Oh? What do you mean by that?”
“It was a crime of passion... sort of.” Shinichi shrugged, turning to face out the cafe window. He buried his cheek into his fist, leaning onto it nonchalantly. Almost like it didn’t bother him. “It was premeditated, so calling it passion is a bit incorrect. Still, this woman acted off of her emotions, feeling betrayed from her lover.”
Ran nodded, understanding. “Did she catch her husband cheating?”
“Not... exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
Shinichi exhaled, almost annoyed. Not at Ran or her prodding. He never really minded when she pried into his business—even if he pretended he did. Ran must’ve known this too, because she didn’t seem hurt or bothered by Shinichi’s shift in attitude.
“She was throwing up camellias.”
A lull took over the conversation. Shinichi sat quietly, staring out the window absentmindedly as Ran began thinking. She touched a finger to her chin, looking up. Shinichi stayed still in his position all the while.
“How rare.” Ran finally broke the silence. “I’ve only heard of a few people getting hanahaki byou. Do you think it drove her insane?”
Shinichi only shrugged in response.
He was a young and famous detective with a reputation of running into murder after murder and solving them all with relative ease. Many people knew that about Kudo Shinichi. However, to the knowledge of a select few, Shinichi was also a survivor.
In his last year of high school, he had been poisoned by a large and dangerous crime syndicate, The Black Organization, miraculously surviving due to his body’s unique chemical structure. As a side effect though, his body had reverted to that of an elementary-aged boy. He not-so-affectionately referred to this time as the “Conan chapter,” named after the (admittedly silly) alias he used to stay out of the public’s (and The Organization’s) eye.
The Conan chapter really fucked Shinichi over. Before that point, he felt like he had it all. He did have it all. He was young, wealthy, and brilliant. Sure, he was decently well-known now due to his reputations, both good and bad. However, back then, he was the talk of the town. He was a freaking high school detective with just as much of a success rate as he had currently. And most importantly, he loved it.
He was lined up as a handsome, popular, genius teen somebody. The next big thing. Yet all that paled in comparison to his romantic ventures—or what was supposed to come of them. Mouri Ran and Shinichi were supposed to fall in love and live happily. They both thought it was inevitable. Hell, Ran had admitted it to Shinichi’s face, though it was unbeknownst to her as he was Conan at the time.
Yet, the longer the two were apart—as the real Shinichi and Ran—the more the two realized that perhaps it wasn’t right for either of them. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, yet Shinichi was forced to watch as Ran waited longer and longer for him to return... that she began moving on without him.
It killed both of them as they came to terms with this new realization. However, Ran was always honest, even to herself.
“You know, Conan-kun,” Ran had whispered one night, after Shinichi’s nineteenth birthday, tears shining in her eyes, “I don’t think I can do it anymore. I still love him. But it’s different. Before I thought I couldn’t be without him. I ached whenever I remembered he isn’t by my side—and in some ways that’s still true. He’s my very best friend... yet...
“When was the last time he called, Conan-kun?” It wasn’t an accusation. She thought for a second. “Two months? Three? I-I... I don’t know. I’ve gotten used to him not being close to me. It doesn’t feel as empty as it did before.
“I thought I would die without him. I thought, if Shinichi didn’t love me as a woman then... I wouldn’t be able to go on. I do want him to come back, because I care for him as his friend, but I don’t think I need that from him anymore.”
For so long Shinichi had wanted a confession from her, but not like that. She said it all so calmly, almost as if this was something she accepted long ago.
It was.
He began crying at that moment. Ran knew. He wondered if she always knew.
She took his tiny body into her arms and silently sobbed with him, mourning the loss of what could’ve been. Shinichi knew that Ran meant every word. He didn’t quite feel the same, yet he accepted it in his heart.
A few months later, Shinichi, with the help of the FBI, CIA, and Japanese police force, conducted a raid on The Black Organization headquarters. It was a brutal battle, especially straining for Shinichi in his Conan body. He had a brush with death then—at one moment before confronting the boss, he was caught by Gin.
The imposing man seized the boy by his arm, a nasty and dark glare overcast on his face. He pulled him up and off the ground, dangling him like a dying fish on a hook. Shinichi, already injured, out of bullets, out of darts, and out of soccer balls, was helpless against his grasp. He was as vulnerable as any other nine-year-old at that moment, and he hated it. It sent chills down his spine.
“How dare you.” Gin hissed, brandishing his glock. “You little brat... I remember your face. I thought we disposed of you back at that kiddie park. So smug back then—what happened to all that confidence?”
A sinister grin stretched across his face. “I promise, I won’t make the same mistake twice. Right here, right now, you’ll die by my hands.”
Gin raised the gun to Shinichi’s temple, finger seconds away from pulling the trigger. Shinichi’s eyes squeezed shut, feeling the cold metal against his head. He apologized to everyone he could think of: Ran, Haibara, Hattori, his mom and dad, the Detective Boys, Agasa... and... He heard the explosion of the hammer, but for some reason, it was so far away.
Shinichi thought he was delusional. The shot sounded so distant. Was this what happened when you died?
He was promptly pulled out of his thoughts as he felt the tight grip on his arm falter. He fell, landing hard on his left shoulder. A vicious thud beside him forced Shinichi to finally open his eyes. He was met face-to-face again with Gin—only this time, he could see past his silver hair, with a bullet hole resting firmly between his dead eyes.
Shinichi felt like screaming then. Somehow the sight of this broken, bloodied man was more terrifying than the twisted, evil figure that used to haunt his nightmares. He wasn’t sure why.
The rest of the raid was a blur. He remembered Akai Shuichi coming to his aid no more than second after Gin was down. Shinichi could tell as the man helped him up that he was the one who put lead in Gin’s forehead.
The grin that reminded Shinichi far too much of a beast gave it away.
Together, the two of them were the first to enter the boss’s chambers. Karasuma Renya sat calmly at a black, onerous desk with extravagant gothic designs. He was quiet yet clearly angry. Though, he did not put up any fight.
“Rye.” His voice was deep, looks hidden by his meaty hands folded in front of his eyes. Shinichi could make out a crow-like face with neat, slicked back raven hair. “And another.”
If it had been a year earlier, perhaps Shinichi would’ve smirked then, proudly announcing, “Kudo Shinichi. I’m a detective.”
Instead the boy chose to stay quiet besides Akai.
“It’s over, Karasuma.” Akai raised his gun, the same one he used to end Gin’s life minutes before. “Come with us quietly, and we won’t—“
Like everything in that night, it was so sudden. One second Karasuma was sitting silently at his desk—the next, he was faced-down, convulsing and foaming at the mouth.
Both Shinichi and Akai rushed over, desperate to keep this man alive. Yet, it was to no avail. By the time they crossed the large room, Karasuma had stilled. Akai checked for a pulse, cursing freely and loudly when he couldn’t find one.
As a detective, Shinichi should’ve been just as angry as Akai then. Now that the boss is dead, along with most of the higher ups, what was this all for? Who could tell them the goals and admit the crimes of The Black Organization? It should’ve driven him insane.
Yet it didn’t.
Shinichi let out a heavy sigh in that moment, turning away from a frustrated Akai. He felt... he didn’t really know how he felt. It certainly wasn’t good—but it wasn’t worse either. It kind of felt empty… but that couldn’t be right.
His nightmare with shrinking and dark crime organizations was through. Jodie had informed them earlier that the files on APTX 4869 had been recovered and were carefully being transferred to Haibara as soon as possible. Gin, Vodka, Rum, and Karasuma were dead; the rest prosecuted. Vermouth was missing, but Shinichi had a feeling she would slither out of this situation unscathed.
Why did he feel nothing then?
The FBI and CIA did one last sweep of the compound as Shinichi was led out. They agents carefully examined Karasuma’s body and everything else in his office, hoping to find some hint on what the man had done and why he did it all. Shinichi had a sneaking suspicion that they would come up with nothing to show, but he didn’t say anything.
“Hey, Cool Kid.” Jodie had leaned down, hands on her knees. She made sure she was eye level with Shinichi, who was sitting on the back of a police car, wrapped securely in a blanket. It wasn’t cold out. “Are you okay?”
Shinichi didn’t answer. He, instead, decided to close his eyes and focused to steady his breathing.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get to him in time. I know it’s frustrating not knowing all the answers—but hey! How about this, Cool Kid? You’re so brilliant; how does working with the FBI on this BO case sound? We could really use your insight and—“
“I...” Shinichi finally talked, surprising himself with how defeated his words sounded, “think I’ll have to decline. Sorry. I’m... I’m just really... tired right now.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. In the end, he was satisfied to see Jodie nod. “I understand. It’s been really hard for you, I bet.” She smiled softly and ruffled his hair. “You did good, Cool Kid. Go home and rest.”
The police car had brought him home—really home. Back to the Kudo mansion that he hadn’t lived in for almost three years. His parents were waiting, a five-star dinner ready for his arrival. It almost felt normal. Too normal. Like he just graduated into junior high, and they were celebrating—not like he just assisted in taking down the most secretive and dangerous crime syndicate in the country.
It made Shinichi uncomfortable, so he ate quickly and hurried into the bed that felt almost too unfamiliar to him. He didn’t sleep well that night, remembering the darkened face of Karasuma Renya falling over, leaving Shinichi crushed beneath his gigantic skull.
He woke like he usually did. He was shaky, but he didn’t scream. He was too used to the Mouri’s, sleeping beside Kogoro. If he were to scream there, they would’ve asked questions.
He was free to scream now, but old habits die hard.
Haibara was at his door in the morning, updating him on all her progress. She had worked throughout the night, only showing subtle cracks in her appearance. Shinichi noticed them instantly, though stayed quiet as not to invoke her already fragile temper.
“It should take a week.” She said matter-of-factly at Shinichi’s kitchen table, sipping on black tea that Yukiko so lovingly brewed. “I know you probably want it sooner, but I’d rather get it right with delay than accidentally kill you by rushing.” She closed her eyes, showing off dark circles and bags. “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry you went through so much. I’m sorry I did this.
“Haibara.” Shinichi said firmly, balling his little fists. “It’s okay... it’s okay.”
The girl nodded slowly in response. She sipped her tea and reaffirmed herself. “A week, Kudo-kun. I’ve already warned the children that Edogawa-kun may be heading back to America. You owe it to them to at least say goodbye properly.”
“Of course.” Shinichi paused. “Don’t you have to do the same?”
Haibara looked confused for a moment but quickly shook her head. “Miyano Shiho is dead. She’s resting with her sister... Her sister who would’ve wanted a girl like Haibara Ai to live on, anew.”
Shinichi smiled a little, the first time in what felt like forever. “That’s good.” He wanted to tell her how happy he was for her, but thinking it over, they both would’ve just found it unnecessary. “A week, huh...”
In a week, Edogawa Conan would “go back to America,” and Kudo Shinichi would return from wherever he’d been hiding. He would be nineteen, never graduated from high school. He would be estranged from his friends, who all slowly lived out their lives without him. He would be alone, already knowing there would be no Ran to return to. Not in the way he had hoped at least.
He found himself okay with that—well, alright, “okay” was a strong word. It pained him greatly, yet he could pretty much see where Ran was coming from. He felt similarly. After spending so much time with her, not as her best friend and potential lover but as a little brother, it almost felt wrong pursuing a relationship.
However, returning was still a frightening concept. While having a going away party with the Detective Boys, Shinichi—no, Conan soaked it all in. It’s true; he hated his life as a six-year-old at first. But, he’d been living this way for three years. There was comfort in Ayumi’s shy and cute flirting, Mitsuhiko’s small observations that were improving, and Genta’s booming inputs that seemingly always made them laugh. Despite the age difference, they were as much his friends as the likes of Sonoko or Sera.
Of course he was terrified to go back.
But after a week had passed, Shinichi was in Agasa’s house, tentatively sitting on the couch. Haibara, dressed in her lab coat with only a few stray strands of hair sticking out, calmly gave him the real cure to the APTX 4869. The pill was heavy in his hand, yet it measured out to only a couple of centimeters.
“It will hurt. Badly.” Haibara in part warned and in part taunted. Shinichi let out a dry chuckle, at least happy to see the restless nights didn’t wear too much on the scientist.
“I’m... This is really happening, isn’t it?” Shinichi questioned, almost cautiously.
Haibara only nodded, turning away. She made her way to her room. “Your clothes are in the bathroom. Please take it in there—I don’t need your suffering to bother me as I try to nap.” Stopping at her bedroom door, she turned back toward a slightly offended Shinichi, with tired eyes. “Good luck, Kudo Shinichi. I'll see you on the other side.” And she left him alone.
Shinichi looked to the innocuous, red and white pill in his hand. It looked like every other temporary antidote Haibara made. He almost wanted to call out and ask: will it really make him into Kudo Shinichi for good?
He gripped the pill. It was too late for hesitation or regrets. With one final deep breath as Edogawa Conan, Shinichi swallowed it whole and made his way to the bathroom.
“Shin-chan~!” His mother practically sang. “Did you eat something yet? Coffee doesn’t count, by the way!”
Shinichi grumbled in response, not only annoyed dealing with his eccentric mother but also having to do it so early in the morning. No, if coffee really didn’t count, Shinichi hadn’t eaten yet. However, he still had fifteen minutes before he had to be out the door, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.
Given the fact that he technically never graduated from high school—never even stepped foot in a university—Shinichi probably should’ve felt more blessed to have been given a job with the Tokyo Police Department—and as a Division One detective no less. It was inevitable though, just as the sun rises each day. Feeling grateful was just a little silly in Shinichi’s mind.
For one—and this was not to be arrogant—but what law enforcement agency wouldn’t want Kudo Shinichi as part of their force? It’s true; not many people outside of the country’s special police force knew about his accomplishments on the national level, i.e. taking down a deep-rooted crime syndicate at the ripe age of nine-slash-nineteen years of age. But Shinichi also had a near perfect record. With every case he ran into—and he ran into a lot of cases—there was only a handful that he didn’t singlehandedly solve.
And two, the Tokyo Police almost was forced to give Shinichi a position. Neglecting to do so would just create more of a hassle since Shinichi, almost without fail, always managed to run into active or about-to-be-active cases. Everyone knew it. He genuinely didn’t try to. He may have been a mystery geek, but he wasn’t psychotic. Who would actually willingly want to dance around death almost every other day like he did?
Still, even with its inevitability, Shinichi hadn’t thought about how the start of it would go. He pictured himself in the station with endless stacks of interesting case files to look over or out on the field, investigating an exciting crime. The whole waking up around 6:30am to get ready and then commute in a crowded Tokyo train kinda slipped his mind when he accepted the job.
“Shin-chan.” His mother chastised, most likely with a pout. “You woke up late again, didn’t you?”
“Get off my back.” He shot back, only feeling a little guilty about his sharp attitude. “I’ll leave now and pick up something to eat before getting to the station.”
Making his way to the door, Shinichi put on his shoes while simultaneously draining his coffee mug for all it was worth. He winced, wondering why it stung his throat. He was sure that he let it cool for long enough... He carelessly placed it on the hall tree near the entrance, while checking his briefcase for all the active cases he was working on.
Itou Takeshi—accused of murdering his childhood friend after she got his dream job.
Fujioka Nanami—primary suspect in the poisoning of her mother’s long-term boyfriend.
Shima Junpei—a suicide victim, though Megure-keibu won’t take his word on it until he had more evidence.
And...
“I gotta go.” Shinichi huffed out, closing the briefcase with a snappy click. He loosened his tie ever so slightly before grabbing the case’s handle. He, for some reason, began feeling choked by his collar.
“Aw, but Shin-chan, I—“
“Bye!” Almost coldly, Shinichi hung up his cellphone, not even giving his mother time to reply. Another tiny pang of guilt wracked his gut, but he couldn’t be too hung up about it.
Sure, his parents were there for like a couple days after he had defeated The Black Organization. Sure, they actually asked him before they left this time if he wanted them to stay longer. And sure, it was, as always, his own choice to stay behind (and it even felt less odd to do so given his age now)... but when had Shinichi asked them to play the doting guardians?
His mother called at least once a week now. At first, Shinichi was secretly touched that they were checking in on him more and—hey—actually being like real, caring parents for once. However, he was a big boy with a job now. The constant badgering was starting to give him a headache.
Shinichi paused at the door. A wave of pain washed over the upper half of his body for a second. Was he actually getting a headache? Right before leaving for work?
“Ugh...” Shinichi stumbled, feeling pin pricks in his temples and cat scratches at his throat. He dropped his briefcase, watching helplessly as the mechanism unlocked, spilling his papers unceremoniously on the floor. A picture of Yamamoto Kimiko, smiling with her arm hooked around her husband, stared up at him.
With clenched teeth, he gripped the surrounding wall and waited for the world to stop spinning. He felt his temperature rise. For a split second, his mind traveled to the worst option—that, somehow, his body was shrinking again. That the cure didn’t work, and Conan, against all odds, would live once again.
It was just lack of sleep, he tried to reason with himself. He was still getting used to waking a whole hour and a half earlier than when he went to school—elementary and high school. Plus, drinking strong coffee almost right after waking up probably was messing with his already tired body—
“Ack!” Shinichi doubled over, the itch in his throat overpowering him. He began coughing uncontrollably, his hand instinctively moving to cover his mouth.
Wet.
Or I could be catching a cold, he thought bitterly, which is a slightly worse option.
However, when his coughing fit was over, he slowly moved his hand away from his face. It was sticky—gross—and it smelled faintly of sweet, wet grass. He made a shaky fist, put off by the fact that he could tell there was something there that he coughed up. Shinichi opened his eyes, slowly unraveled his fingers, and nearly groaned at the sight. A single saliva-covered blue petal rested on his palm, almost looking up at him with mock innocence.
Or... it could somehow be the second worst option.