Archive of Our Own

He heard the mechanical rumbling first. 

Conan’s eyes snapped open, gaze taking a few moments to focus on his surroundings. His cheek was pressed against the ground, the bridge of his glasses digging into his skin from the pressure. Grunting, Conan pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position, peering through the darkness as the muffled sound continued, ever-louder. Where am…? he thought to himself, a line of thinking he didn’t even finish when he registered what was around him. 

It was familiar to him, uncomfortably familiar. 

Sticking out of the boxes directly in his field of vision was incense, fogging up air around him. The smell tickled his nostrils in a way he hated more than a past him would have. Not just that, he could tell even without craning his head further that the other boxes most definitely contained dry ice. That only could mean one thing. It meant that he was still there . Still in the coffin, still in the hearse, still in—no, he escaped , he remembered escaping, he remembered smiling at Ran and solving the case and—

He didn’t imagine all of that, did he? No, that was illogical, it had to be. His subconscious simply wouldn’t do that. He knows himself. He knows his mind better than everybody else. He remembered that day and everything that happened after he got out of the car so, so clearly, and yet. And yet. And yet here he was. 

Which meant that the rumbling was…

Conan shot up, breathing beginning to speed up exponentially as he looked around, almost frantic. The walls of the coffin felt as if they were closing in on him on all sides. He knew he shouldn’t be taking such breaths, oxygen was limited and he had to ensure he didn’t run out of air to breathe. But it was hard to stay calm like he was before, because he’s been through this before and the deja vu’s making him want to gag. 

Think, Shinichi! his mind practically screamed at him as the pressure grew heavier and heavier, the rumbling louder and louder. What did you do the first time? That’s the solution!

Right. His shoes. He’d broken his way out at just the right moment. The moment his memory clicked into place, as if on cue, the wood above his head started to crack and splinter. Conan gulped. Now or never. As shreds of wood fell around him, he reached down to his shoe, pressing the button on its side—

Nothing happened.

It was as if time stopped. Almost disbelieving, Conan lurched forwards, pressing it again, with more force than he’d used the first time. 

Still, nothing . It was as if the sneakers were merely fancier shoes from a mall, not a hi-tech gadget that was supposed to save him, that did save him, they were supposed to work, why wasn’t it working , this didn’t make sense!  

Conan couldn’t even argue with himself or grapple with the technical inconsistencies that were the crux of his problems. As he continued to frantically press the button on his sneakers to no avail, the roof of the coffin caved in entirely. Conan let out a yelp of terror , knocked onto his back as the space grew smaller and smaller and smaller. Unimaginable force pressed down onto his little torso, and he could no longer move his limbs. 

Oh, God. Oh, God, he never did escape. He failed, he failed and now he’s in a tight space and it’s so claustrophobic and he can’t breathe and he remembers who was there when he got out before, they’re going to witness this, Mitsuhiko and Ayumi and Genta and Haibara and Kogoro-san and Ran , oh God Ran , he’s going to be crushed and he’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to die HE’S GOING TO —

Conan shattered at the same time his world did, and woke up with mouth wide open, hand clutching his pajama shirt with such ferocity that, had he been a teenager and not a child, the fabric surely would have ripped. He wanted to scream , he tried to scream, but all that came out was gasping breaths. Sweat dripped down his face, and he frantically looked left and right, trying to figure out where he was, because he felt space around him, he wasn’t in the coffin anymore, was he? Right? Right?

Through the darkness, he was just barely able to make out the shape of a familiar dresser. To his right was a bed that was well above his eye level. Conan forced himself to breathe, looking down. Oh. He was on the futon. His futon, that’s been situated next to Kogoro’s bed in his room for…a long time now. His head was spinning too much to calculate exactly how much time it’d been since he was turned into a child. 

The fact of the matter was, whatever had just… happened , it wasn’t real. Well, no, it technically was real, but not what his nightmare was. That was a malformed fabrication of the truth. And yet, it felt so, so, real . 

The pressure beating down on Conan’s chest wasn’t gone. 

Neither was the mechanical rumbling, echoing in his ears like tinnitus. 

He needed to—He couldn’t—

Feeling himself starting to overheat, Conan threw off his blanket and rolled off of the futon, staring at the ceiling while he took gasping breaths, slowly but surely bringing his heart rate and breathing speed to a normal level. He couldn’t go back to sleep, not now . His throat felt achingly dry, like he’d screamed his lungs out, which, in his defense, he did attempt to do upon shooting awake. Maybe that’s why. 

…It didn’t matter why. What mattered is that he was disoriented, he was dehydrated , and he certainly didn’t want to go back to bed. 

You sound like a child, his conscience muttered as he stumbled his way to his feet, gripping onto the wall for balance. For once, Conan made no effort to argue or retort in any capacity to it. He blinked blearily upwards, pawing for the doorknob and pulling the door open. 

Light from somewhere else in the apartment just barely filtered through, prompting Conan to raise an eyebrow in surprise. It had to be late, so why would any light be on? Confused, Conan turned back to the bedroom, now barely illuminated by the hallway, and realized that Kogoro’s bed was empty. So that meant…

Conan didn’t think about that new discovery any longer and stepped out into the adjacent room, rubbing at his face with his sleeve in the vain hope that it would get rid of any sweat or tears (though he’s sure that there’s none of those on him, that would be a shock) before he silently began to trudge through the apartment. Both hands reached up, holding tightly onto the adjacent sleeve. 

He was just parched and needed water. That was all. Nothing else was wrong. That’s all there was.

Light, barely audible steps padded their way past the table and into the kitchen. Conan winced as the soft light hit his face, still shaking the sleep from his eyes. This should be simple. Keep his head down, go to the fridge, drink something, go right back to sleep. He rubbed at his face once more, absently realizing that he hadn’t grabbed his glasses before leaving the bedroom. He was too tired to care about that right now. 

He didn’t see anybody else in the room at first. Ojisan probably left the light on and went down to the office , he mused to himself. That’s good. He’d been anxious to have to interact with anybody, Ran or otherwise, after the dream he’d just had, but it looked like that was a worry he didn’t have to place any real focus on. 

Conan was just steps away from the fridge, a hand already reaching out, when—

“Sneakin’ around late again, brat? ” 

He froze. Deduction inaccurate . Not in the office. Conan’s arm dropped back to his side in defeat, not turning to face the voice. From the direction it came in, Kogoro was most likely sitting at the table in the next room. He just hadn’t seen him, his gaze having been fixated on the floor the entire journey over here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t ignore him. That would probably make things worse, and if the two of them start squabbling, it might wake Ran up. 

“... Ojisan,” Conan greeted quietly, still not looking up. “I was just getting something to drink.”

The floor creaked slightly, likely due to Kogoro leaning forwards in his seat. “I can see that,” he huffed, “At three in the morning, though?” 

“You’re up too, Ojisan.”

“I—Well—” he began to stutter before clearing his throat. “Hey, I’m the adult here! You’re the kid! I can do whatever I damn well please!” Kogoro’s retort was met with silence. Conan swayed a bit on his feet, mind torn between formulating a response and falling asleep right there on the floor. After a few awkward moments, Conan opened his mouth to answer the older man’s snark, but was cut off. “Come and sit.”

Conan, finally, looked up. “What?” 

Even without seeing his face, he just knew Ran’s dad was rolling his eyes at that. “I said ,” he gruffly emphasized, “Get whatever drink you came out here for and sit down.” That came as a bit of a surprise to him; normally, in situations like this, Kogoro would send him back to his room within minutes or pick him up by the collar and drag him back there himself. Trying to set a good example somehow, even when his real kid wasn’t present to keep an eye on his behavior. 

And yet, Conan didn’t argue, reaching up to the handle of the refrigerator and tugging it open. His gaze flitted across the contents of the shelves, eventually landing on a bottle of water—likely something one of the apartment’s inhabitants had gotten from a vending machine then neglected to actually open—and grabbing that. Warm milk would have been preferable for his circumstances, but that would mean he’d have to grab a cup, and the carton, and fill it up, and he simply didn’t have the wherewithal to go through those steps. So be it. 

Water achieved, he slowly closed the fridge door, careful not to slam it—there’s still another person actually getting some rest in the apartment, after all—before he trudged over to the table and sat down, setting the water bottle down onto the table as he did so. Truth be told, he had no idea of the next logical step to take here. His intention was to grab water and go right back to bed, not be wrapped into a conversation that, regardless of subject, he would not be equipped to handle. 

Without a word, Conan picked up his water bottle, fumbling with the cap for a moment before successfully unscrewing it. He sipped carefully, unsure as to whether he would heave the way he did when he woke up. 

“Kid.” 

Conan blinked at Kogoro. The man, too, was in pajamas, a still-barely-steaming mug of coffee in front of him on the table. One hand was clasped around the mug, the other supporting the side of his head as he leaned on it. Kogoro blinked back at him, raising an eyebrow. Conan tipped his head to the side a bit as a silent query, a prompt for him to continue. 

“How’re you holding up?” 

That was…a loaded question. He couldn’t tell, could he? Conan resisted the urge to rub at his face to erase any evidence he might have missed, knowing that Detective Mouri wasn’t always as incompetent as he appeared to be, and would be able to catch that tell before Conan had the chance to defend himself. He wants to say he’s fine. Because he is fine, because he’s not a little kid, he’s seen death before and after the Black Organization turned him into this, this was just part of being a detective. He’d keep repeating that, over and over, until it was the truth. 

What are you doing? Said his mind, said his subconscious, said Shinichi. A question not answered as Conan decided on what to say to Kogoro. 

“Okay,” Conan landed on. Kogoro stared at him for a few seconds before he snorted, picking up his mug and taking a sip. 

The mug was set back on the table moments later. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” 

“Language—” 

“Oh, shut it. I promise it won’t destroy your sensitive baby ears. I know you’re lying.” 

Conan kept his expression even. “Kogoro-ojisan, why do you think that?” 

“Behold my brilliant deduction! Number one: you’re up in the middle of the night. I know you usually aren’t awake at this time because either you’re trying to sneak off to Agasa’s or you’re engrossed in some book I still think is way out of your wheelhouse but I guess you understand if you keep bringing them home with you.” 

“I was just thirsty—” 

Kogoro held up a finger in front of him. “ No interruptions! ” he shot back before Conan could finish speaking. “Two: you didn’t say or do a damn thing besides walk when you came in here. Which you always do. You yap .”

“Y’want me to talk to you when I’m tired?” Conan retorted, staring at Kogoro like he had two heads. Keep up your front and the old man will be off your back . “Out of character for you.” 

“When has ‘being tired’ ever stopped you before? Ran practically has to drag you by the arm from crime scenes when it’s past your bedtime.” 

“Because you—” 

“And three! ” Kogoro suddenly sat up straight, crossing both arms and resting them on the table. Any theory that Conan had that the man was far from sober and just acting irritable and tipsy this late went out the window. As he looked at Kogoro’s face, he realized it was stony, dark, mouth just the slightest bit downturned. A seriousness the man only ever seemed to show in his expression when it was something personal, like that case months ago with his friends, or with Ran. Really, with the exception of any case that he had an intimate tie with, he only had this face when it pertained to Ran, other than rare occurrences regarding Kisaki-san. 

Why is he making that face at me?

“Ah…Kogoro-ojisan—?” 

“You almost died , Conan.” 

He said h-my name. What? Why? He doesn’t—

“ I- Kid . You were kidnapped. You were going to be crushed by a compactor. We-” Kogoro paused, as if trying to sort his words out. “Everybody thought you died. I didn’t notice it until you showed up like some fucked-up magic trick, but all those friends of yours, and Ran, they were all crying.” One arm lifted up, thumb and forefinger rubbing at his temples. “I know you’ve seen shit. You’re always at these crime scenes no matter how hard any of us try to stop you. I still don’t have a single goddamned clue what the hell you and your family were up to before you showed up in our lives, but…” 

Conan stared with wide eyes. He didn’t understand. Since when was Ojisan this serious about him? Not that he thought the man would be happy if he didn’t get out of the hearse in time, but this just felt…out of character. His gaze burned into his skull. 

“I don’t want to hear anything about how you ‘can handle it’. You’re a child .”

“I’m not—”

“Conan, enough! ” 

Conan immediately shut his mouth. His breathing was heavy from his repeated failure to stop Kogoro from talking. To stop him from scolding him, to stop him from worrying , to stop him from acting like a parent—

We’re stupid.  

He tore his gaze away from the man across the table and stared instead at his hands, both of which were folded in his lap, nails digging into his pajama pants. The tension in the room had gone from 0 to 100 in the span of a few minutes, and he was fighting to stay calm. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d get over it, like he got over everything he’s seen, both as Shinichi and as Conan. They’ll all move on, first him, then Kogoro-san, then Haibara, then Ran, then the Detective Boys. Just like any other case. 

Why was this different? It’s not even like it was the first time he’s nearly died before. Hell, he got shot badly enough that he needed surgery and that wasn’t as bad. This time, he came out unscathed . His breath was starting to quicken. He didn’t have any permanent injuries, just bandaids tacked here and there from wood scraping him. He was fine. He was fine, he was fine. He was Shinichi Kudo , he was-his grip tightened on his pants, the pressure in the room grew harsher, like he was being flattened, like he—

A hand landed on his shoulder, and despite himself, Conan let out a yelp of surprise, head snapping up at the source of the feeling. Kogoro was no longer across the table from him. Rather, he was just inches away, staring down at them with a furrowed brow and a look of clear concern. “Boy,” he said quietly, “You aren’t breathing properly. I said you weren’t fine.” He raised his other hand with a sigh. “My deduction was correct. Now breathe. Count with my fingers and breathe.” 

“I-” Conan’s attempt at words came out in gasps. 

“I said, follow my breathing .” 

Conan slowly nodded. He could handle this himself , thank you very much. He doesn’t quite remember where he learned to stabilize his breathing, but there had been one or two times when he was younger where he coached Ran, or more recent instances of trying to aid one of the Detective Boys in calming down after something particularly perilous they’d found themselves wrapped up in for the umpteenth time. Distantly, he grasped onto those memories, his—Shinichi’s—voice muttering in his ear and walking him through his steps. 

When he stumbled, though, he watched Kogoro-san’s hand, mimicking his steps instead. He didn’t want to admit that. Nobody, not even himself, would ever let him live that down. 

He lost track of time. Conan had no idea as to how long he was regaining his stability for, but eventually, he found himself back on the seat cushion, with enough air around him to breathe, not a coffin , just a quiet room and a very uncomfortable conversation on the horizon. The whole situation, deep down, was frustrating to him. Cases were easy to him. Why did this have to be so difficult? Maybe there’s something wrong with him. Haibara would chew him out if he told her. 

“Are you, uh. With me, boy?” Kogoro started, sounding just as ill-equipped for this as Conan felt. He couldn’t blame him. Like the two of them were more than tolerable with one another at any given moment.

“Here, Ojisan.” 

“Okay. God. ” Kogoro removed his hand, sitting back on his legs with a huff and running a hand through his hair. “First, are you going to quit acting like you got out of that case unscathed? And don’t say ‘I’ve been kidnapped before’ or ‘This isn’t my first near-death experience’. I swear, you will be the source of every single one of my gray hairs.” 

“Am I that predictable?” 

“ Kid. ” 

Conan couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at that. “I know, I know.” His smile, though, quickly faded. The weight that hadn’t fully subsided since the previous day, that lingered on his chest from the moment he opened his eyes not long ago, was once more growing ever-present. Like a curse that simply would not let him forget. He hated his mind for it. 

“So, tell me. Why were you up, huh? Because it certainly wasn’t just because of this .” As if to punctuate his sentence, Kogoro snatched the water bottle from off the top of the table and shook it in front of Conan’s face before shoving it into the boy’s hands. Conan clutched the water bottle tightly, struggling to think of what to say, what might happen if he told his truth for once in his miserable life. He must have been taking a long time, because Kogoro pushed himself up to his feet, grunting as his joints cracked audibly, before walking back to and sitting down at his original position at the table. He stared at Conan expectantly now, arms crossed and back straightened. 

To be honest, Conan didn’t know what to say. How to make the words come out of his mouth. Being truthful, to Kogoro Mouri of all people, felt completely outside of his nature to do. The words “I had a nightmare” sounded childish to him, even more so when he was Conan. But, if the past few minutes had taught him anything, he couldn’t lie. Apparently, that suddenly wasn’t working on Ran’s father, so that was one less defensive maneuver he could rely on. 

Why was it so hard for Shinichi Kudo to admit weakness?  

“...I…” He didn’t know what to say. What he was going to say. Definitely not a full admittance of his REM experience, that’s for sure. “What happened was on my mind. An issue with my memory, that’s it!” Conan tried his hand at a Signature Conan Grin to help cushion his non-answer. Unfortunately for him, Kogoro didn’t seem phased in the slightest. 

“I’d believe you, brat, had you not been asleep when I left the room. Ergo, my conclusion is that you had a nightmare.” 

“I don’t have nightmares!” 

“HA!” Kogoro leaned back in his seat. “I don’t know why you’re so insistent on imitating that Kudo punk when you clearly have a future in comedy!” 

“Hey—” 

“People don’t scream in their sleep, brat! People snore! ” 

Conan went completely silent at that. Any further argument he had went out the window. He… what? He didn’t remember doing that at all. Nobody’s told him that he does that, not Haibara when he’s slept over at Agasa’s, nor Ran, nor Hattori, nor his own parents when they were actually around to have a domestic life with him. It’s a blind spot in his mind that hit him like a freight train. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, less kid-ish than he would normally opt for when dealing with adults. 

“I certainly know more than a snot-nosed brat who wasn’t awake for this! So, spill! What was the nightmare?” 

“I didn’t— ” 

“You did , I—” Kogoro dragged a hand down his face. “Look. I am not going to argue with a toddler at three in the damn morning. Tell me and I promise not to spill to Ran, capiche? ” 

…Ran would be worse if she knew. Because she cared about him, really cared, more than she did most other things. And he’d never admit it out loud, because there’s so much to unpack there if it came out of Conan’s mouth, but his priorities were the same. He didn’t want to burden her with more, especially because she witnessed it. (As did Kogoro-san, but he digresses.) 

Conan let out a sigh of defeat, folding his arms on the table and nestling his head into them. “Y’ promise to not tell Ran-nēchan,” he grumbled, voice slightly muffled by the sleeves of his pajama shirt. 

“Geez, yes . I said I would.” 

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak for a long, long moment. The words felt foreign on his tongue. It was like a time bomb, one that was planted within his very soul and would explode the moment he let the truth exist, the moment he said it. And yet, he felt that, if he didn’t let it out, his chest would cave in, the same as it would have in the coffin.

He closed his eyes, burying his face fully in his arms. “I thought—” A sharp inhale. A tighter grip on a sleeve. “—I thought I was still in there. In the coffin .” 

“... Ah. Well, that makes sense—” 

“I tried to escape the same way I remembered doing. It didn’t work. ” The rumbling grew loud in his ears, and he wished so, so badly he could just silence that. But he couldn’t. “And the coffin, it, it…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. The admittance of near-death in a manner that wasn’t just him brushing it off the way the incident in the cave did, that wasn’t acting like nothing was wrong like he has with Hattori, he thinks that that would kill him faster than the Black Organization could. So, with nothing else to do, nothing else to say, Conan went silent. 

The tension in the room could be sliced with a knife. Kogoro didn’t say a word, and in Conan’s current position at the table, he was completely unable to see his face or gauge a reaction from the man. The silence was not a good sign, and was uncharacteristic of Ran’s father. 

“...You know,” Kogoro breathed, and Conan tensed, bracing himself for whatever he was about to be told. “I’ve been in this career field for longer than you’ve been alive.” 

That’d be true even if you knew I was Shinichi , Conan idly thought to himself, but didn’t comment verbally. He was relieved Kogoro seemed to be going an anecdotal route rather than a comforting one. It wasn’t exactly his strong suit, in his personal opinion, and their relationship wasn’t exactly one where that’s expected behavior of either of them. They were cordial with each other most of the time. 

“It goes without saying that I’ve been through a lot. I’ve had my fair share of scares and nightmares. That’s simply what comes with the job.” Kogoro was quiet for a few seconds, fingers tapping against the table, before they stopped. “Kid. Look at me while I’m speaking.” 

Anxiously, Conan poked his head up ever-so-slightly, arms still crossed but weary eyes staring up at Kogoro from across the table. The expression on his face was completely unreadable to him, but one thing stood out, and that was both eyebrows being upturned. A look that he only gave when Ran was in some sort of trouble. 

“I’ve seen hell. More blood than anybody should have to witness. I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies. Even more so in the last year.” He gave a pointed look, but there was barely any harshness in it. It disappeared, and his hands clasped together. “None of that seems to phase me anymore, really. But if a day came where I had to encounter your body, I don’t-” Kogoro looked down at the table. “-I just don’t know what I would do. For over a minute, we all thought you didn’t make it. That we were too late.” 

Conan lifted his head, eyes wide. He never would have expected Kogoro to say this, not ever. About Ran , definitely. There’s no denying that. But about him? It almost sounds like he honestly cared about him, like he saw Conan as…as….

Stop getting your hopes up, Shinichi. 

His brow furrowed, and he looked down, anywhere other than at the concern on Kogoro’s face. “ Ojisan— ” 

“I…eh. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m relieved you got out of there in time, however the hell you did. That isn’t important. But it was still fucked up, even if you say it wasn’t. Even if you were unscathed. You’re a child that got kidnapped and almost killed, by three bastards that were so selfish that it took a teenage girl screaming in their faces to realize that maybe they did something wrong.” 

“Ran-nēchan really did that, didn’t she…” Conan mumbled with a hoarse laugh. 

“She did that because she got her parents’ sense of justice and has a good heart. You better show some gratitude to her and all of your whiny friends for helping lead us to you.” 

He nodded. “I will.” 

Kogoro stared at him quietly, and for a moment Conan thought he was going to keep going, whether that be a lecture or some of that newfound compassion he seemed to have pulled out of his ass out of nowhere. But it was neither . Rather, he chugged the rest of his coffee before he stood up, stalking over to the kitchen and leaving the mug in the sink. He returned, stopping right next to Conan. “Alright, brat, back to bed you go.” 

Conan sat up in surprise. “What? I just got here!” 

“You came for water, you got your water, you’re a child and you’re going to sleep.” 

“But—” 

“Do you want me to pick you up by the collar and carry you like a suitcase? Because you know I will.” 

“I’m standing, I’m standing!” Conan scrambled to his feet, wincing at the aching in his legs from having sat like that for so long. He grabbed the half-empty plastic bottle from the table and stared at Kogoro expectantly. Kogoro gave him a look before walking over to the light and flicking it off. Conan kept close behind. 

“Stay quiet,” Kogoro muttered, casting a glance behind him in the darkness. “Ran’s still asleep.” 

“Uh-huh! …Hey, Kogoro-ojisan?”

“What.” 

Conan blinked up at him. “Why were you awake? I didn’t smell any alcohol on you.” 

“...” Kogoro didn’t respond at first. “Same as you, kid. I just didn’t sleep.” 

“ Oh. …Really?” 

“Don’t push it.” Kogoro stopped in front of the door, opening it and walking inside. “Close the door behind you.” The man didn’t turn around, stepping over the futon and throwing off the covers of his own bed as Conan trotted inside, slowly nudging the door closed with his foot. Having neglected to wear his glasses on his little rendezvous, there was no need to remove anything before he crawled into the futon, reaching out for the blanket he’d tossed off before and bundling himself back up in it. 

Once again, he was in darkness. His hands bunched into the sheets, and he took a few deep breaths. Despite himself, his breath hitched. He could move. He wasn’t trapped. There was plenty of space around him, it wasn’t real . He got out. He’s not in there. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

He heard rustling from his side. “Breathing rather loud, aren’t you.” 

“Sorry,” Conan muttered, holding onto the sheets. Kogoro audibly sighed. Conan couldn’t see a single thing in the pitch black of the bedroom, but even then he knew that the man was staring at him. 

“Quit apologizing.” 

“Okay.” 

The bed creaked. “Like I said. None of this is new to me. Hell, there would be a problem if none of this actually affected you. You got out of the damn hearse. You’re alive.” Kogoro audibly yawned. “‘n you don’t have to sleep. At least close your eyes and don’t wake me. Just at least try . Ran’ll know whether you did or didn’t.” 

Conan curled into the blankets. “I’m alive,” he mumbled back, too tired to muster any more intelligent response to Kogoro. 

“And one more thing.” 

Conan poked his head up slightly from the mattress. “Huh…?”

“I overheard your friends after the case was over. Heard them say how you vanished.” 

Shit.

“You scared everybody half to death by running off like that. Don’t do that again.” 

I’m still going to, Conan thought idly to himself. I just need to be more careful. “Okay, ojisan.” 

“Good. Now shut up and try to get some shut-eye. I’m doing the same.” With that, Kogoro went quiet. Conan stared directly up at the ceiling, at blank nothingness and just the muddled silhouette of the turned-off light. Silence was soon joined by the muffled sound of the other man in the room snoring away. God, well at least he can sleep. He huffed, tossing and turning on his futon. 

One hand lifted up above his head, and he blinked at it, turning it experimentally and making out its shape in the dark. He could reach up and his fingers wouldn’t meet wood. He can breathe and not have incense tickle his nostrils or worry about wasting precious oxygen. And there was no rumbling, at least not right now. Just Kogoro Mouri’s obnoxiously loud sleeping noises. That was it. 

Conan’s hand balled into a fist, tight enough to shake. 

That alone was a sign. He wasn’t crushed. He made it out of the hearse, of the compactor. 

He knew, deep down, that he was alive . And, right now, that was enough for him.

Conan’s eyes, finally , slid closed.