Work Text:
It was nearly 3 a.m. when the quiet shattered.
Conan jerked awake with a small, strangled cry, the nightmare still clinging to him like smoke—flashes of blood, screams, the awful cracking sound of bones, and the too-real echo of Ran's voice calling his name and not hearing his answer.
He panted, gripping the sheets with trembling fingers, throat raw and tight. The room was dark, the shadows too deep, and he blinked hard against the tears welling up.
Then came the next realization.
He was wet.
Not just his forehead or his hands, but his pajamas—soaked and clinging—and the sheets underneath, uncomfortably cold.
Conan froze. His breath hitched. No, no, no.
His heart pounded as panic rose in his chest. He was seventeen, not seven. He shouldn’t be—he hadn’t done this in years. Not even after the worst cases.
And yet—here he was. Small, shaken, and soaked with shame.
He buried his face in his knees, shaking. He didn’t want to wake them. Rei had been working late, and Akai had barely slept at all. They deserved peace. They didn’t need this—this humiliating proof that he was just a burden.
But the door creaked open anyway.
Rei appeared, bleary-eyed but alert, in a soft gray tee and loose sweatpants. His blond hair was messy, a curl flopping into his eyes.
“Sweetheart?” he said softly, his voice still rough with sleep but instantly worried. “I heard you cry out—what’s—”
He stopped in the doorway.
Conan’s back was curled in on itself, the sheets twisted, and even in the dim light from the hallway, Rei could see the wet patch on the mattress.
“Oh, baby…”
That was all it took.
Conan choked out a sound—not quite a sob, but close. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
Rei was across the room in seconds, kneeling beside the bed, hands careful as he reached out.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, brushing Conan’s bangs from his damp forehead. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Shh. Look at me.”
“I’m sorry—” Conan’s voice broke completely. “I didn’t want to wake you—I—”
Rei wrapped his arms around him carefully, mindful of the soaked pajamas. “You could wake me any time, for anything. I don’t care if it’s a nightmare or a bad dream or your goldfish died—you come get me, understand?”
“I d-don’t have a goldfish,” Conan hiccuped.
Rei smiled gently. “Then I’ll get you one. And name it ‘Sherlock’.”
That got a watery snort, just a little. Rei leaned down and kissed his temple.
“I’m gonna grab some towels and clean pajamas. Then I’ll draw you a bath, alright, buddy?”
Conan nodded slowly, cheeks flushed with heat and shame, but he didn’t fight the hand Rei ran through his hair.
By the time Rei returned, Akai was in the doorway too. He didn’t say much, just scanned the room, then approached quietly.
Rei spoke over his shoulder as he worked. “Bad dream, case stress, and a little accident. Nothing tragic. But he’s rattled.”
Akai crouched down, meeting Conan’s eyes. “You okay?”
Conan looked at him, hesitated—then reached out just enough for Akai to place a warm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t speak. Just sat there while Akai gently squeezed, grounding him.
“Go with Rei,” Akai said softly. “I’ll change the sheets.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Akai cut in, not unkindly. “Go. He’s better at the coddling part anyway.”
Rei grinned. “Because I’ve accepted my role as the official Conan-cuddler of the household.”
Conan let himself be scooped up—wet clothes and all—into Rei’s arms, and carried down the hall like he weighed nothing.
The bathroom was warm and lit by soft yellow light. Steam curled from the tub, filled with gentle bubbles that smelled like lavender.
“I added the fancy bath stuff,” Rei murmured, kneeling and setting Conan down on the bathmat. “You know. For my favorite person in the world.”
Conan still looked unsure, cheeks red and eyes damp.
Rei helped him undress slowly, not hurrying, not commenting. Just soft touches, quiet praise.
“You did so well waking up, sweetheart. That was a scary dream, huh?”
Conan nodded. “I saw Ran die. And there was nothing I could do. I was too little.”
Rei’s face twisted. “That’s a horrible thing to see. No wonder it got to you.” He brushed Conan’s bangs back. “But she’s fine. You’re safe. You’re home.”
Conan swallowed hard. “I felt like I was seven for real.”
Rei’s eyes softened. “You are, sweetheart. Right now, right here—you get to be seven. Not because you’re weak. Because we’re here to hold you up when you need it.”
Conan blinked fast. “Do I have to wash my own hair?”
Rei grinned, tugging the hoodie over his head. “Nope. Lay back. I’ve got you.”
And he did. Rei washed his hair like he was the most precious thing in the world, murmuring praise, rubbing gentle circles into his scalp. After, he bundled him into the fluffiest towel and carried him back to his room, now made fresh and dry by Akai’s quiet efficiency.
Akai was already sitting on the bed, holding out a soft hoodie. “Come here, troublemaker.”
Conan shuffled into his arms without protest, letting Akai tug the hoodie over his head. It was far too big, sleeves hanging past his hands.
Akai tucked the blankets around him, then sat beside him, long fingers brushing his hair down.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he murmured. “That’s our job.”
Rei climbed in on Conan’s other side, wrapping an arm around his small form.
“Try and sleep again,” Rei said softly. “We’ve got you.”
Conan blinked slowly, his breath starting to even out. His fingers curled into Rei’s shirt, the other hand wrapped around Akai’s sleeve.
Safe. Small.
Home.
-
The sun filtered gently through the curtains of Kudo Manor, casting warm stripes across the wooden floor. It was quiet in the house—peaceful.
Conan stirred under the covers, blinking sleepily. He was still curled between the two adults, Rei’s arm draped loosely over his small shoulders, Akai sitting propped up against the headboard, book long forgotten in his lap.
The nightmare felt a little further away today.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, tucked between them like some kid—but neither had let him go. Rei had run a hand through his hair until he drifted off again, and Akai hadn’t moved once all night.
He yawned, rubbing at his eyes, until a small shape at the foot of the bed caught his attention.
A stuffed animal.
Not just any stuffed animal.
A panda, round and plush and wearing a little navy-blue trench coat with a matching detective hat tilted at a jaunty angle. Its beady black eyes gleamed with innocent wisdom, and someone—probably Rei—had tied a tiny red bowtie around its neck for flair.
There was a small tag attached to its paw, the handwriting unmistakably Akai’s:
"Detective Panda. Partner in crime-solving and nightmare-fighting. Confidential but cuddly."
Conan stared.
“I thought you could use some backup,” Akai said quietly beside him, not looking up from his book. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s reliable.”
Conan blinked fast again, throat suddenly thick.
He crawled forward slowly, picked up the plush like it was made of glass, and hugged it tightly against his chest.
“Thanks,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “He’s… really cool.”
Rei, now awake, cracked one eye open and grinned. “Cool? That panda’s practically MI6 with how many missions he’s been on.”
Akai raised a brow. “And yet he still agreed to work with a certain pint-sized detective.”
Conan snorted, burying his face into the panda’s fuzzy head.
He didn’t say it aloud, but he clutched the plush tighter—because he got it.
Akai might not fuss the way Rei did, might not coo or ruffle his hair every five minutes, but this? This was his way. A quiet, thoughtful gesture. Something Conan could hold onto when the nightmares came again.
He didn’t have to be strong all the time.
Because now he had two dangerous men watching his back.
And a panda, too.