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Steam rolled off his body, sweat tracing paths beneath his clothes. Too-small limbs in too-large pants and sleeves, the nice blue suit he was wearing bunching up and wrinkling as he tripped and landed on his hands and knees. The boy who was a teenager just a bit ago panted, the physical exertion on his body taking its toll as the pain wore off. That form which had once been a fun disguise dissipated like a phantom image; gone, but still felt even in absence.
In the smaller form, he was called Edogawa Conan. That wasn't his real name, even though he'd swear up and down that it was on a normal day. Anyone who met his parents could see the discrepancy between the Edogawa and Kudo surnames, and put some pieces together. His real name was Kudo Shinichi, but although the Kudo name came with a lot of perks, it wasn't worth sitting through everyone and their entire extended family going off on a tangent trying to get into his parents' good graces through him.
As an aspiring future detective, he had, of course, chosen a detective-based pseudonym for daily use. Edogawa from Edogawa Ranpo. Conan from Arthur Conan Doyle. His chosen name was perfect for summing up his interests, showing just how seriously he took them, and they even managed to sound mostly Japanese to boot. But even though he'd picked that name to show how dedicated he was to the path of the detective, there were still many who didn't take him seriously. Too many.
It was because he was a kid. No one wanted to deal with the six-year-old detective freak, Edogawa Conan, at a crime scene or in a forensics lab. They figured he just had some passing obsession and didn't actually know anything about being a detective. He would prove them wrong. As scary as his encounter with that mysterious Organization had been, it did give him one good thing. The poison that was meant to end his life had only given him exactly what he needed to succeed as a detective.
When Conan had awoken to a teenage body, he was terrified at first. All he could think about was getting home, not remembering that his parents were out of the country like they usually were. It was Agasa who calmed him down and helped him figure out what to do. He impressed upon Conan the necessity of keeping his true identity a secret and avoiding that Organization as much as possible, since they already tried to kill him.
While coming up with semi-believable lies for who he was supposed to be as a teenager, Conan had the brilliant idea to go by his birthname. No one close to him actually knew it, and he could easily pose as his own cousin since both his forms looked so alike. All the power of the Kudo name, and none of the needless pandering. The unintended transformation opened up a whole world of possibilities to Conan. As a teenage detective under the reputable Kudo name, he would no doubt be respected and listened to.
In hindsight, it was embarrassing to admit that it took him two months to figure out that he could change back into his real form. The joy of detectives following his suggestions, the thrill of being allowed to share his thoughts on who the killer was in the cases that happened around him, all of it was so distracting and amazing that he hadn't really... wanted to change back. Until, late one night at Ran's house, who he'd been staying with as Kudo Shinichi, he suddenly got homesick.
Pain wracked his body, skin growing so hot his sweat evaporated from the heat. Bones ached so intensely they felt like they were being reduced to dust, and it was only by adrenaline and sheer force of will that he didn't wake the whole house with his screams of pain. As a child once again, Conan noticed what his teenage self hadn't. He didn't just get fun perks in that new form. He thought differently. Acted differently. If he had to describe it, he was more of a showboat like his dad, with a dramatic flair akin to his mom.
It was strange to review his own memories, and not fully recognize the person experiencing them. The thoughts that ran through his mind were close to his own, but slightly off, a little... alien. Shamefully, that was the first moment when it really sunk in for Conan that whatever it was he was involved in, it was no laughing matter. If these criminals could change people's bodies, alter their minds, then what couldn't they do? The endless possibilities were as daunting as they were fascinating.
It took only another month for him to meet another person who had taken that poison and survived. She was a year older than him - he never did manage to get her real name out of her, but she insisted on the pseudonym Haibara Ai. It felt strange to see her true form when he demanded she prove she wasn't lying to the professor and him. She was withdrawn, shy really, where her older alter ego was sarcastic, waspish and conniving. Parts of her older form bled through when she was her real age, but they were softened by her quiet demeanor.
Their truce was an inevitability, a notable occasion in the midst of weekly murder cases and Ran's increasingly concerning crush on him in his teenaged form. In school, they would hang out on the rooftop for lunch, Ran and her friend Sonoko barging in to join them on occasion. Even though the stakes had been raised, despite Conan learning that his change in size and age also altered the way he thought, things were fine. He'd even made a friend, or at least an ally.
So it was only natural that things would go south. Earlier in the evening, Shinichi had been helping with a string of murder cases. They were brutal even to him, the victims shot through the back of the throat from the inside out. When they finally caught the killer, he ran like his life depended on it. After cornering him, he'd grabbed a young woman, threatening her with his gun as they closed in. Shinichi didn't think he had the guts to do it. The man was distressed, not thinking clearly. Desperate.
Which is exactly why, when he took that crucial step forward, hands in his pockets like it was a regular day for him, the man made good on his threats. Conan was told later that the bullet entered through her left temple. Death had been almost instantaneous. When the gunshot rang out, all the bravado and confidence he felt as Shinichi crumbled. The body that became an escape, a way for him to be taken seriously by others, was transformed into the reason an innocent woman died.
Conan tried his best not to transform back in front of the authorities, but it was difficult. He suddenly felt like his normal child self piloting a great big skinsuit as though it were a toy robot. It was too big, too tall. Everything was so loud and everyone was staring at him, silent accusations swimming in the whites of their eyes, and he couldn't take it. He ran off the moment he could, his transformation following shortly after. And so, he panted, desperately holding back tears.
"It's okay to cry, you know," Haibara's voice startled him, unnervingly level. She was in her teenage form, of course, arms crossed over her chest. For once, her gaze wasn't indifferent or hard; it was the most open he'd ever seen her look with her older face. "I know you blame yourself, but it's not selfish of you to cry about it. What happened was terrible." His body obeyed without his permission, hot tears running down his cheeks.
"It was my fault," he insisted. "If I hadn't gotten close to him like that... Wh-why did I think he wouldn't do it? I'm so stupid!" The tears were absorbed into his clothes, the nice suit everything he could've wished for in the past. It had all been picturesque, so perfect that it felt like a dream he never wanted to wake from. So why did it have to go so wrong? Conan dug his palms into his eyes from beneath his sleeves, teeth grit tightly.
Haibara didn't say anything. She blamed him too, didn't she? They all did. He was so sure that no harm would come to that woman. He'd convinced himself in mere moments. The cops and detectives had followed his lead like his word was law, had been for a while, really. The kind of fame and attention even a teen got for his smarts and skill level far exceeded Conan's wildest dreams. The whole police force practically bowed at his feet. That was exactly why they hadn't thought to stop him.
"I can't be Kudo Shinichi again," he decided. "Never. Not after tonight. I don't trust myself not to do something stupid like that again. The confidence I get when I'm him feels so good, but this is what it really does. What it costs me- What it costs everyone." A life taken, for no good reason other than one kid's overinflated ego. "I can't let myself do that again."
"Kudo-kun," Haibara said. She hesitated for a moment, testing the waters. But aside from a quick flinch, Conan didn't respond. "These forms... They do change us. But we're still ourselves. Being like this is like living as our ideal selves. Both of us gain confidence that we usually lack, not to mention competence..." She muttered that last bit, but Conan agreed. The number of people praising his charisma as Shinichi was absurd. It seemed so easy as a teen. "But we're still us. We can change our ideal selves anytime. We still have power over these forms."
"Do we?" he asked. Sometimes, it didn't really feel like he did. As Shinichi, he would blurt things out or find his body moving on autopilot. His first instinct when finding himself at a crime scene was to take stock of his surroundings, to file away any and all clues present. It overrode conscious thought, a habit formed that his true form lacked. Haibara had shared similar experiences about how she flew into action when it came to poisons and drugs. Somehow, she just knew what to do.
"I think so," she replied. "Don't you remember? I used to be much more irritable like this. We'd get into fights all the time. But lately, I haven't felt as annoyed with everything. I think it was because of that talk we had the other day, when we tried to picture our futures." He remembered that. They were at Agasa's, and Conan had proudly proclaimed that he'd do more of what they were already doing, while Haibara had admitted that she wanted a peaceful life away from the high stakes of crime scenes and deadly poisons.
Conan looked at his partner in taking down the Organization. Her posture was more relaxed than usual, a hesitant smile pulling at her face. Understanding pooled in her eyes, so strongly that Conan had to avert his gaze. Haibara had changed that much about her older - ideal? - self just by doing some self-reflection. Meanwhile, he fumbled a hostage situation because he had no sense of impulse control.
“Then that just makes what happened even more of my fault. If I could change that much about myself but didn’t, doesn’t that mean I’m even more culpable?” Haibara was silent. Conan smiled mirthlessly. Right. That’s what he thought. What happened was still his fault, it was something he could’ve prevented months ago. But he didn’t. Swaggering around a crime scene was just too much fun.
"What kind of detective do you want to be?" Haibara prompted in lieu of answering him. Conan turned a tired look on her, one that felt too old even for his older face. But she was never one to be turned away easily. They were equals in that sense; equally stubborn and bull-headed, that is. The professor worried over them constantly because of that, and Conan was starting to see why.
"Not the detective I was tonight."
"What kind, then? How would you describe a good detective, the kind you would aspire toward?" He knew what this was, but Conan still paused to give Haibara's question proper thought. What kind of detective did he aspire to be? In the past, it was a popular detective, one who was respected by all, whose accomplishments were celebrated the world over, like Sherlock Holmes. But pride and arrogance often went hand-in-hand, as he'd found out. So, what did he aspire to now?
For starters, he wanted to be the kind of detective that saved as many people as possible. He didn't need to be taking on cases all the time so long as the ones he did take turned out as well as they could. He also wanted to be the kind of detective to anticipate anything. Conan thought he already did that, but his desire for attention had overridden his sense. Oh, and... He thought of the woman's boyfriend, crying as her body was taken away. He wanted to be a detective that would give people closure.
Though he didn't answer, Haibara smiled at him, saying, "It looks like you've found your answer. Now, you have something to work toward. A goal to reach. What happens next is in your hands, Kudo-kun. Only you can make yourself into the sort of detective you want to be." Conan nodded firmly at her words. Right, a goal. Something to chase, to obtain. Only he could get himself there. Still, the bitter loss of the night wasn't any lighter on his shoulders.
"You're right. But that doesn't make what happened easier," he said. "Even calling it a... a mistake to learn from would be wrong. This feeling of helplessness... I'll carry it with me, from now on. A reminder of what happened tonight." Haibara nodded solemnly, understanding too well how Conan felt. She, too, had experienced a death she couldn't prevent. A death Conan, as Shinichi, should've stopped. But his arrogance blinded him then, too.
"It never truly leaves you," she attested quietly. "I still have dreams, sometimes, about... And nightmares. Nightmares like you wouldn't believe." Haibara laughed at that, but it was entirely devoid of humor or joy. "The guilt becomes a part of you, etched into your very being. It's like you said; we'll always carry around this feeling of helplessness, and maybe, in the future, we can find a way to stop ourselves from ever feeling like that again. But for now, all we can do is mourn."
She held a hand out to him, a sight that almost made Conan laugh. It was weird being on the receiving end of it. Last time, he'd been the one to help her up. Conan reached out, gripping her hand tightly, allowing her to pull him up and into her arms. While he usually resented being carried in that way, the exhaustion of it all was starting to make his already sore body feel heavy. Haibara met his tired face with a small, supportive smile.
"Come on, let's go home."