Chapter Text
In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
You understand: there is no house,
there is no breakfast,
yet here I am.
I can’t see my own arms and legs
or know if this is a trap or blessing,
finding myself back here,
where everything in this house has long been over,
including the body I had then,
including the body I have now
as I sit at this morning table, alone,
bare child’s feet on the scorched floorboards
in my burning clothes,
holding my cindery, non-existent,
radiant flesh.
Incandescent.
– Margaret Atwood, Morning In The Burned House
KID’s gloved, skilled fingers tighten harder against the card gun in his pocket in reflex. He’s vexed.
Look, he doesn’t want to complain.
He really, really doesn’t, okay? But it’s real fucking hard when there’s Law Lord here getting in his way.
It’s not like KID is running an important operation or anything. It’s not like KID is running out of time or anything.
He’s briefly interrupted out of stewing in his righteous annoyance when harsh words tear through the warm night air.
So, here’s the sitch:
Kimura Junior here, who’s currently handcuffed and feetcuffed to the roof of a luxurious building—courtesy of Tantei-kun—is a real piece of work. Dumbass with a silver spoon shoved into his dirty mouth since he was pushed out of the womb is, surprise surprise, a brainless fuckboy who dabbles in embezzlement, hard drugs, and, as of late, sexual assault.
But see, it’s his father, Kimura Senior, who is the real piece of shit. There were traded whispers among the secretest of secret circles of the richest of rich folks that KID was in earshot of, completely by accident. He was on a job, posing as a waiter at an exclusive club for loaded assholes while on a recon mission to assess his next target; a prestigious, half a million dollars painting he couldn’t give two shits about but had to steal in order to uphold his counterfeit image.
Anyway, the heist fell through when he caught wind of these shady bastards complotting about shadier stuff. Seems like the motherfucking supremacist elitists upgraded from rape to human trafficking.
Now, KID can’t just look the other way, can he?
Thus, he decided to take matters in his own hands—if only a pair of smaller hands didn’t oh so rudely join in the madness.
The roof they’ve secreted themselves to offers a breathtaking view, city lights like stars spilling by the hundreds across the horizon, glittering as the night throws dark into their eyes.
It’s a good night for murder. That’s what KID thought when he tailed this idiot and subsequently knocked him out, just a little, while he was trying to make his great escape via helicopter, the pilot of which KID took care of, too.
But Tantei-kun, who had also been sniffing out the plot KID has just begun to unravel, caught up to them right as KID was about to begin his tortur—er, interrogation.
And that leaves him with a dumbass problem and a child problem.
KID really isn't cut out for babysitting (and neither is Kaito).
“Are you gonna talk or do I have to make you?” KID asks, the words dry and overused on his tongue. “I’m gonna shoot you if you keep up with the silent treatment. You see, I’m not the most patient of guys.”
“You’re really gonna shoot me in front of a little kid?” Kim-birdbrained-mura has the gall to laugh in his hostage-y situation, the fucker.
Before the ‘little kid’ can take offense to that, KID is already talking. “He’s not a little kid and you’re an idiot. I have no problem shooting idiots for information.”
In the blink of an eye, KID takes hold of the contraption that is his handmade card gun and the stack of cards inside, pulls the trigger, and bam.
Kimura shouts, ferocious in his pain, and KID really really really can’t help the venomous smile that crawls out of his mouth and tugs the corners of his lips upwards.
“KID!” Tantei-kun is, of course, not on board with KID’s foolproof method of solving problems. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Relax.” KID says through the distressed groans coming from ten meters in front of them. “He’s not even bleeding...much.”
There’s viscous blood trickling from the man’s elbow to his forearm to his wrist to his palm to his fingers to the ground in what is becoming a small puddle. It’s fine, the moron won’t die from this, he’ll probably lose his arm, though.
The detective’s glare sharpens at his remark, cutting through the air like the blade of a knife, and KID can’t help the minute thrill of excitement shivering his spine.
He turns toward the torturee—that’s definitely a word, coined by KID—and smiles sweetly, showing his glinting, sharp teeth. “If you don’t give me what I want, next time I’ll aim for your right eye.”
Kimura’s face drains of color, eyes almost bugging out of his head now that he knows what’s at stake. Good. KID doesn’t want to waste anymore time.
“Fine! I-I’ll talk, o-okay? Just, fucking hell, just put that thing a-away.” Kimura pleads desperately.
KID watches the raw despair of a man who knows his life is hanging by a thread with impassivity.
In a show of kindness, he pockets his gun with a movement almost too fast for the human eye to see.
“There.” KID says cheerfully, mouth reaching up at the corners but not reaching his eyes. “I’m all ears.”
Kimura’s exhales are heavy and chopped, his wounded arm so tense it might break in half. He licks his lips nervously, eyes darting left and right before settling on them again.
Tantei-kun is especially paying attention, but when is he not? (right, he only refuses to pay attention when Kaito is involved)
“I-I don’t know much, I m-mean look at me, I’m an idiot. You think my dad would tell me anything?” Kimura almost cackles, the sound strained. He’s panicking. “The only thing I know is that my father is part of some–some exclusive group…‘The Deus Society’ they call themselves–”
KID can’t help but snort loudly at that. Of course those motherfuckers think of themselves as gods. They lost every right to be called humans, let alone divinities.
“–they’re powerful, some of the richest men in the world are part of it. Th-They hold meetings. Not regularly, but I think they’ll have one soon ‘cause my father’s going on a business trip to Tokyo next week–”
“When?” Tantei-kun asks sharply.
“M-Monday.” Kimura replies immediately, and KID wonders if he’s afraid of ‘the little kid’ too. “That’s all I know, I swear, that’s it. You got what you wanted, l-let me go now, okay?”
Kimura inhales noisily through his nostrils, moving his arm and then grunting at no doubt the ache shuddering underneath his skin, burrowing into his veins.
KID observes the struggling man for a few seconds more.
Then closes the remaining distance.
KID claps him, hard, on his achy arm. Oops.
“See? Was that so hard?” KID’s smiley question is momentarily drowned out by Kimura’s scream.
He draws back, hand automatically sinking in his pocket. He thumbs the smooth, icy metal. His blood is throbbing in his ears. He craves it, wants it, needs it; the violence.
Kimura watches him warily, just like the third wheel in this not-room is.
“KID, what are you–” Tantei-kun begins.
KID interrupts him. “I lied.” He suddenly confesses, wearing a delighted grin.
His hand shoots out of his pocket.
He doesn’t aim for Kimura’s right eye.
KID aims for his throat.
KID’s ears are still ringing.
The wheezing gasps of breath, the gurgling of blood, anguished chokes, the terror bursting in wide terrified eyes, all of it an echo chamber in his mind. The death was rather quick, but it was painful, and KID took a sick amount of satisfaction in witnessing that asshole losing his life, desperately gasping for breath that his sliced body refused him.
And that’s all well and good, if it wasn’t for right now—apparently he didn’t go down the stairs fast enough.
Fuck, he suddenly remembers this is why he never takes the stairs.
KID would really, really like to be left alone, but the detective has to hound him like the justice-sniffing dog he is, of course. He already has a shadow; two, to be exact. One is KID’s own, and one is Kaito’s.
He doesn’t need another fucking voice messing with his head.
“KID.” The spawn of the devil calls at his back, furious.
“Tantei-kun.” He says, easily.
And, alright, he did leave the clean-up for the detective, but isn’t that what detectives do anyway? Clean up after criminals? Come on, it’s practically in their job description.
“KID!”
“What.”
Meitantei, seemingly fed up with his not-real-responses, reaches out and forcibly pulls on his mantle, and hey, that’s a dirty move.
KID almost goes tumbling backwards, only managing to stabilize himself thanks to his trained muscles and quick reflexes.
He heaves a world-weary sigh.
KID turns to face the petulant child, who seems on the verge of killing him himself.
He crosses his arms, blasè about it.
“You know, you’re not the one who got sprayed in filthy blood.” KID casually points to his once-pristine suit, which was sullied due to his proximity to the jerk the moment he shot him, his bad. “So I don’t get what you’re so mad about.”
Tantei-kun, honest to god, turns purple for a second. If KID wasn’t so surprised he might bark out a laugh.
“What–What I’m–so mad about? Are you fucking serious right now?!” The shrunken detective stutters and snaps, his tiny chest rising, his breath coming out labored, his pupils thinning. He’s angry. “Why the fuck did you kill that man?!”
“I’ll be honest, Meitantei.” KID says dryly. “Hearing you curse is turning me on.”
The man-turned-child clenches his jaw, almost growls his displeasure at him.
Witnessing someone else’s anger spreading over their body like it’s a tangible thing, a second skin, is something like touching an electric fence. The potent shockwave disturbing his system in heart-stopping waves of physical hurt only pulling him in instead of reeling him away. KID wants to touch it again and again and again. (He wants to feel something, please.)
Fuck, can’t this fake-child crawl back home to his mommy or something? KID has better things to do than stand here and being lectured by a self-righteous, right-mindedness devotee who has no goddamn clue what he’s even saying.
It’s amazing to him how much people can say when they don’t know what they’re talking about.
“You wanna know why? Because I felt like it.” KID replies, dickish, per his usual.
The other boy suddenly shakes his head as if to rid it of whatever too-loud thought slinked in there. His voice drops, like someone turned down the volume with a remote. “I know you looked into him before hunting him down. That man had a family, he had a wife and two children–”
The vitriolic snort that shoves out of his throat makes his innards feel raw. “Oh, thank you so fucking much for reminding me. I completely forgot that being a father unfailingly excuses shitty behavior.”
Silence gushes in the air like a gunshot wound.
…shit. Shit shit shit.
KID did not mean to say that out loud. It slipped out. Fucking fuck.
It’s not his fault, it’s been a busy and tough day, plus he always gets antsy after a kill and has trouble keeping a lid on his brain-to-mouth filter.
But KID doesn’t feel guilty, he just rid the world of scum. So what if he had kids? They’re better off fatherless. KID–Kaito–grew up fatherless and here he is.
“You.” Meitantei spits the word out as if it were poison, menacing. “You have no idea what a life is worth. You can’t just play with people’s lives like that. It’s not your place to decide whether or not they should live.”
Hypocrite little bastard, with his black & white worldview and his just morals. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else because he follows a flawed moral code that most of the world seems to, as well. He sends the bad guys to jail, just for them to be let out and wreak havoc again; where’s the good, the justice in that? Allowing good people to get hurt, again and again, but it’s okay because Meitantei is all well and good sitting on his throne comprised of the corpses he couldn’t save but allowed to die.
KID knows what a life is worth, and Kimura’s life was worth nothing. He lost his right to live the moment he hurt those innocent people.
KID can feel it stirring inside him, a voice that isn’t his own, a volcanic rage, the world crushing his shoulders, he can feel all of it bubbling up.
He really has no time for this shit.
“I really don’t have time to sit around and chit-chat today. Sorry.” KID tells the kid, unapologetic.
Tantei-kun sputters, practically foaming at the mouth.
KID gifts him a mock-grin and a wink.
“See you ‘round, handsome.”
Hopefully never again, KID thinks, irritated.
In a flash of blinding white and billows of gray smoke, he’s gone.
He crawls through the window, as always.
Somehow it’s more comfortable like this, easier, just like stealing versus buying is, but that’s mostly the kleptomania talking.
In a blur of motion, standing at the center of the room, he hastily and silently sheds his uniform and composure.
Until KID is fleshless and lying in crimson stained pieces all over his room.
Kaito inhales deeply, in something akin to relief, like stepping back inside his own body after being so rudely kicked out of it.
He’s tired. He’s hungry. He’s tired. He’s fucking incensed. He’s tired.
Only wearing a t-shirt and underwear, Kaito worms into his bed and under the thin sheet, letting the tension of the day bleed out of him.
Kaito closes his eyes, lets the waves of exhaustion wash over him and, finally, pull him under. In his sleep, he sees gritted teeth and a bloodied grin.