Chapter 1(in the footsteps of the black org. 1/2)

Morning after

Quarter of Silence

"Moh, Conan-kun! I thought you woke up already!" Energetic voice. Stifled footsteps. The loud creaking of the door. Didn't he tell Occhan to fix it twice now? "It's past ten in the morning!"

Conan groaned. He had, indeed, woken up ten minutes ago, only to fall back again on the other end–the cold end–of the futon. His head felt like shit, his throat felt like shit, and he was hot. The cold sensation of the sheet against his cheek had been welcome as he'd closed his eyes, his feet propped up on his abandoned pillow. He wasn't planning on moving anytime soon.

The silence lasted 0,7 seconds before Ran crouched beside him. Her perfume, which on normal days he found sweet and charming, aggressively attacked his nostrils. Conan wanted to open his eyes, look at her, but he didn't find the energy to. Instead, he relaxed at the cool, familiar hand resting on his forehead and unclenched his teeth.

"Conan-kun, you have a fever." Her hand slid up to remove the bangs from his eyes. "I guess that's not surprising, considering yesterday…"

Conan didn't answer, blindly leaning into her touch. He frowned when it disappeared and painfully cracked an eye open. Ran was in the bathroom, looking through the drawers by the noise she made. He could only distinguish the back of her head from this angle, but her voice was distinct, echoed by the marble.

"I'm going shopping with Sonoko, alright? She wants a new dress for the KID heist tomorrow. I'm going to tell Dad to keep an eye on you. Are you gonna be okay? I can just cancel."

"No, it's okay, Ran-neechan," he managed to say around his dry throat.

She appeared at the threshold, holding a bottle of Tylenol, a glass of water, and a wet towel. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'll just sleep it off."

"Alright," she conceded, brows knitted in a frown. "I'm going to make some chicken soup and leave it in the microwave before I leave. Dad will heat it up for you later, okay? He's downstairs. Don't hesitate to call him if you need anything."

Conan nodded absentmindedly and let out a relieved sigh when the door of the apartment slammed shut. He sank lower into his pillow. Several minutes passed by in a lethargic silence, only interrupted by the distant ticking of the clock in the living room. Conan remained perfectly motionless under the cover. After approximatively seven minutes, however, the comforter was slowly lowered by two small hands, inch by inch, until two wide blue eyes appeared.

"KID heist?" Conan whispered.

.

a ticking second hand, the streaking of a comet, a sick and exhausted soul : deduction is always the remedy! The events of Kitanosawa follow me to Beika! How would a thief and a detective cooperate?

seeing through the one and only truth, he looks like a child, but has the wits of an adult. His name: Detective Conan!

[Meitantei Conan and Magic Kaito both belong to Gôsho Aoyama. I hope you enjoy this first chapter!]

.

Kuroba sneezed.

"Someone's talking about me," he sniffed, wiping his nose with his index finger.

"Or you're catching a cold," Aoko remarked. "That'd suck, on the last day of winter break."

The precinct was vibrating with activity, the air heavy and tainted by the inexorable fever that heist preparations never failed to induce. Rumors has it that Division Two spent half its budget on a new high-tech panic room for when they would have control over where to display KID's target. (That time hasn't yet to come, seeing as the owners liked to open display their jewels; but when it would, they would be prepared.) The officers had been forced to sacrifice the station's heating system, creating an unusual sight : agents were dressed from head to foot with big wool coats, complete with scarves and winter hats from all colors. Nakamori's office, whose window didn't close due to a particularly violent burst of rage months ago, was half buried in snow.

"Dad!" Aoko shouted at the sight of her father. Nakamori was wrapped in a huge moncler buttoned up to the neck, a bobble beanie on his head. He was shivering uncontrollably and trying to write as straight as he could with dark green fingerless gloves. "Are you crazy? You're gonna fall sick!"

She crossed the room in three strides, heels digging into the two inches of snow covering the ground, and snatched the papers from under his pen.

"Aoko!" Nakamori would've certainly looked surprised if his muscles weren't frozen in a scowl. "What're you doing here? Hi, Kaito-kun."

"I'm dropping some spare clothes and food, since you never come home these days."

Kaito ignored the ping of guilt he felt in favor of sitting on the edge of the desk. "Yo."

"It's freezing in here! Why don't you work somewhere else?"

"This is my office," Nakamori said matter-of-factly.

"But dad, you're shivering!"

"Well thank God. That means I haven't fallen into hypothermia yet."

"Yet?!"

"Look." The inspector heavily dropped his hands on the deck of papers on his desk for emphasis, knocking over a few. "There's no time to waste, I need to finish this paperwork before KID's heist."

"KID," the young girl spat the word like it was the worst offense someone could make, a fire in her eyes that Kaito didn't want to analyze. "Damn thief, ruining everything since nineteen-ninety. What's so important about this heist anyway?"

"Don't you get it? Look!" He thrusted today's newspaper directly into her face.

Aoko blinked, deadpan. "What am I looking at?"

"The date, the date! Tomorrow, it would be exactly eight years ago that KID disappeared. It's the first time one of his heist coincides with the date. Who to say he won't pull the same stunt again and go off the radar for years? Or decades?" The thought seemed to horrify him. "The risk is too high. I need to catch him tomorrow."

"… Kaito, help me get some sense into him."

"I think we've established at this point that your father's a loss cause," the magician replied.

He had no idea how he managed to do that. His throat was painfully clenched shut. He guessed his pokerface was too deep incrusted within him it became an automatic defense mechanism.

There were multiple magazines piled on the floor, next to the desk. All had Kaito's alias splattered across the cover. Kaito leaned forward and picked one at random. There was a picture of Tantei-kun in the bottom right corner of page four, illustrating a quiz captioned "ARE YOU MORE KID OR MORE KILLER?" in aggressive comic sans MS. He concentrated on that.

(When he first heard that Nakamori liked to keep himself updated on the thief's whereabouts in the popular sphere, Kaito lost it. There was just something in the image of Inspector Nakamori reading scandal magazines whose targeted public was mostly constituted of teenage girls that he found hilarious.)

"–focus less on that stupid thief and more on your health," was Aoko saying, tidying up the papers in neater decks. "Kaito agrees with me, right?" There was a silence where a breeze sighed through the room. "Kaito?"

Bored, Nakamori leaned over to look at the article he was gazing at. "Ah, that crazy brat. That story about him got out?"

"What story?" Kaito asked, before inwardly flinching. He spoke too quickly. It didn't come out as nonchalant as much as concerned but at this point, he really didn't care.

The inspector took his time responding, brows knitted in a frown and teeth shivering. "Don't tell anyone, 'cuz no one wants this in the media, but apparently he saved this village in the north–Kitonasawa? something like that–from a flooding by provoking an avalanche all by himself with nothing more than… than determination and a snowboard. That is, if I believe what Megure told me. He looked proud, the bastard. I heard the kid–the kid's their mascot or some shit. Completely nuts, I tell you. You know what I did when I was seven? I played in the yard and pissed my pants."

"Oh my god," Aoko commented, eyes wide. "That's insane. Where were his parents?"

"Beats me," her father grumbled, trying to lift his coffee mug without spilling the hot liquid.

The color in Kaito's face drained completely. "He–" He struggled to form a coherent thought, a million questions turning round his mind. He settled for: "Is he okay?"

"Last time I checked, he's still alive. But he was buried under all that snow for like, fifteen minutes. I doubt he's the picture of health right now."

Kaito hopped off the desk so suddenly father and daughter started.

"Where are you going?" Aoko asked.

The magician straightened his jacket and crossed the room in four big strides. "There's something I need to do."

"What about our study session?" the young girl shouted behind him, but Kaito was already out the door.

.

.

When Conan started to consciousness it was to an annoying background sound his foggy mind couldn't process yet.

Groggy, he fluttered his eyelids open. He didn't remember going to sleep. A quick glance on his right showed him the reason: he was clutching his phone in his fist. A pression on the home button and the screen opened up on a KID google search. Right. He must've fell asleep browsing.

A sigh escaped his lips as he laid back on his pillow, letting the latest news flood his brain.

There was a KID heist scheduled. Tomorrow. He wondered if he'd be able to make it. If it was up to him, he'd go without hesitation. Any opportunity to have a showdown with the thief was welcome. But in his current state–achild, and a sick one–he doubted his guardians would let him go to school, let alone to a heist.

(how infuriating.)

The sound that woke him up became louder and louder until Conan realized it was produced by someone. In the kitchen. Hustling. Bustling. Good God, were they banging pans and pots together? He got up and groaned, suddenly painfully aware of how hot it was. Wasn't it supposed to be December? He glanced at the window and–yup, snow. It wasn't the weather that was fucked up, but his temperature.

Blanket draped over his head like a cocoon, the tips dragging on the ground, Conan walked over to the kitchen, barefoot. Ran was emptying groceries bags. Conan stopped on the threshold and rested his cheek against the doorframe, silently watching her shoving a box of eggs into the fridge.

She started upon noticing him. "Conan-kun! Wah, you scared me. I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

The young boy blinked owlishly at her. "You're home early."

"Yeah, the date was awful." She resumed on emptying the groceries bags, setting various items on the counter. "The guy wasn't how Sonoko described him. Like, at all. He was rude and obnoxious. Asked all those personal questions and insisted on touching my hand." Milk, butter, soy sauce. "Boy, I'm really glad that'sover."

Conan's eyelids were heavy. A shiver washed over him like a knuckle caressing his cheek and he tightened his blanket around his shoulders. Suddenly, Ran was crouching in front of him, forehead puckered, bags forgotten on the counter.

"Conan-kun? Are you okay?"

"What date?"

The hand on his shoulder stiffened. Gaping mouth, wide eyes–like a deer in the headlights, Conan couldn't help but think.

"I thought–" The words were thick and left a bitter taste in his throat. He tried licking the roof of his mouth to dampen it. All he got was the sensation of sandpaper against his palate. "I thought you went shopping. With Sonoko."

He watched up close as Ran's face, usually bright and so expressive, became smooth and devoid of any emotion. There was a brief moment of hesitation on her part, and Conan used it to process the situation, an expression of horror progressively dawning on him.

There was someone. In his kitchen. Not only disguised–well disguised. He was vaguely aware of his stomach sinking somewhere in his kidneys.

"Vermouth?" was all he managed to say, and his voice broke on the last syllable.

His mind was racing, considering his options. His shoes were safely tucked away in the shoe drawer. His watch, belt, even his phone–they were all in the bedroom, scattered around his futon. He had his glasses on, but they were useless in case of a physical attack. He could run– but in his state, the woman would have no difficulty catching up and restraining him. Maybe if he thrusted his blanket at her to slow her down?

(but Occhan's downstairs, murmured the part of his mind that wasn't working on an escape plan.)

He stopped short in his thoughts, however, when a confused frown knitted Ran's brows. Perplexity was visible in her expression. Conan mirrored it. There was a brief moment where no one moved.

"No," the imposter finally said, slowly. Conan jumped at the sudden smooth, low-pitched, male voice. "Wrong person."

Conan stared at him with a blank look, frozen on the spot. The blanket on his shoulders slid to the floor, exposing his limited-edition Kamen Yaiba silk pajama shirt. He couldn't care less though, when in front of him under Ran's facial features was–

"Tantei-kun?"

–KID? Conan blinked several times, perplexed. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. There weren't enough words in the world to do justice to his confusion. Just–what? Why? What?

"Come on, say something." The thief waved a hand before his face. "How am I supposed to tell Mouri-san I broke her little protégé?"

The little detective didn't budge, brain dead. He was gaping and he couldn't stop.

Still crouched, elbows resting on his thighs and chin in the heel of his palms, KID examined him from different angles, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Ok now it's just creepy."

"… This is a hallucination," Conan decided after several minutes, a slight note of hysteria in his voice. His lips twitched upwards. "I'm hallucinating."

"I assure you I'm quite real," KID assured, the epitome of calmness. "You, on the other hand, look like a ghost." Conan watched as KID, brows furrowed, leaned over and put a hand on his forehead.

When Conan came to terms with the fact that he wasn't hallucinating and international thief 1412 was, in fact, crouched in front of him and checking his temperature, he jerked back, eyes wide with horror.

"What the- KID?!"

"Wow, you really are slow today."

"What're you doing here?"

"Tantei-kun," KID scoffed. "Can't a thief just disguise himself as a girl and come chill with his favourite detective?"

Conan blinked. "… I'm your favourite detective?"

"That's your question?" Blue eyes stared at the criminal expectantly. KID's lips stretched in one of his familiar grins ; it wasn't as creepy as it should've been on Ran's face. "I didn't know you cared about my opinion that much, tantei-kun."

"Barou," he blushed. "Don't say stupid things like that. Of course I don't care." Conan paused for approximatively eight seconds, before he spoke in a small voice: "I mean I really thought Hakuba was your favourite."

"Oh God no."

"What's wrong with Hakuba?"

"How much time do you have," KID replied, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Despite the effort Conan made not to smile, his lips curved upwards. He bended over and picked up his blanket, praying it went unnoticed.

(he wasn't as attention-starved as before, he really wasn't; but after months of giving up the credit in favor of Uncle, a little validation was refreshing, even–especially?–if said validation came from a magician thief who liked to toy with the police and return the jewels he stole.)

Conan clicked his tongue and shook his head. What the fuck was he thinking? "KID," he said, tone dangerously calm. "What. Are you doing here."

"I heard what you did back in Kitanosawa." And there it was again, the hand–KID's hand– on his forehead–cool, calloused hands, fingers slipping into his bangs ; but this time Conan didn't move. "You provoked an avalanche all by yourself with your snowboard? You really do have a death wish, don't you?"

The young boy shoved the hand off his face and made his way to the bedroom, shrugging. "What can I say, it's been a tough week."

He didn't have to turn around to know KID was looking at him with frustration as he followed him. Conan didn't get why the thief made such a big deal out of this. The village along with hundreds of people were saved–and that's all that mattered, in the end.

Conan sat down on his futon, legs crossed. One of his smartphones vibrated, sliding out of the mattress and onto the carpet. He grabbed it but stopped short, his right eye twitching. He raised his head and met Ran's–KID's, he reminded himself–disapproving stare. The thief was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and brows furrowed. It didn't look like he leaving anytime soon.

"Don't you have a heist to plan?" the shrunken sleuth asked, annoyed. He looked down at his screen. It was his Kudo phone. "Go away. Shoo."

"I'm still not done with you, mister," scowled Ran–er, KID. At this point, he couldn't really tell the difference. "What if you died under that avalanche? Who's gonna be the -kun to my tantei? Who's gonna make my heists more fun?"

Conan rolled his eyes and focused on the notification text on the lock screen. Morning news, it simply said, right underHaibara Ai's contact name. Conan frowned.

"… what if you died of hypothermia afterwards? I refuse to be left behind with that bastard Hakuba, you hear me? I refuse!" Conan passed beside him and out the door. "Oï, don't just ignore me like that!"

Kogoro must've watched the news earlier because when Conan turned the TV on, it automatically was on the Joho Live Miyaneya. News Update, showed the headlines in white bold kanjis, Car Accident On Kototoi Bridge.

"… around 9am this morning," was the journalist frantically saying. In the background, paramedics could be seen loading the ambulance with five stretchers covered with a white sheet. "The driver of the Dodge Viper that lost control and hit a SUV, killing instantly a family of four," clichés of each member of the family appeared on the corner of the screen, above their names and ages. One of them was a young girl named Fukishima Hana, not older than Conan. "has not yet been identified. So far no comment has been made."

"Uh, hello, I'm being all wisdom-y over here."

"I will pay you if you shut up," Conan muttered absentmindedly, focused on the tv screen.

A sigh was heard somewhere behind him and he briefly looked above his shoulder only to see KID sitting down on one of the pillows surrounding the table, legs spread in a masculine pose Conan has only twice seen the actual Ran doing.

Conan's gaze flickered back to the tv, brows furrowed in concentration. The camera was framing on the journalist's face, but in the background, the busted front of the Dodge Viper was visible. It was a blue sports car, with two thick white stripes. Conan's seen that model before.

The young detective narrowed his eyes, nose practically touching the screen. The reporter said four members of a family were dead. The paramedics were pushing five stretchers into the ambulance.

Was Chianti–?

Conan let out a shaky breath, crouching and looking up at the tv. He had to check. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. If the car was Chianti's–and there was a good chance it was, why else would Haibara text him?– it'd be rigged with evidence. Potential leads. He had to get there before they did.

But how?

Kototoi Bridge skirted Sumida River, which was in Taito City, on the other side of town. He'd use his skateboard, but it was downstairs, in the office, where Kogoro was. The man was aware of his sick state, and would no doubt send him straight back to bed if he caught him sneaking out.

Conan bit his lower lip, considering his options. Agasa could get him out. He could call him. Or…

His gaze flickered back to KID.

.

.

"Remind me again why I am cooperating?" KID asked, taking off his helmet, Ran's characteristic cowlick miraculously still sticking out. "I'm already regretting this. What do I do if you die? No offense but you look like you're about to collapse."

Conan climbed down the motor vehicle and thrusted his own helmet at the thief, traumatized. "Maybe if you didn't drive like a maniac! Oh my god. I screamed so much my throat hurt. "

"That was you? I thought the wind was just really strong."

Conan facepalmed and spun around, walking away. KID followed him. They had to stop a few streets away, since Ran couldn't risk being seen riding a motorcycle.

(Conan knew KID could drive, since he drove a motorcycle in that Midair Walk heist, but he had no idea the thief actually had a license–the thought made sense, however. He couldn't just fly everywhere, could he?)

When they arrived on the edge of bridge, the young detective huffed in frustration–his sight was blocked by the myriad of legs of reporters and curious civilians. He was going to butt in but was pulled back by the fur hood benched around his neck.

"Conan-kun," his voice was back on a female timbre, similar to Ran's, tone honeyed. "What are we doing here?"

Conan shot him a weird look. "Nothing that concerns you. Just play along." He paused before the unconvinced look the criminal gave him, and reluctantly added: "Please. This is really important."

KID eyed him for a whole five seconds before a sigh escaped his lips. He stood up, dusted the knees of his skinny jeans and picked the little sleuth up by his armpits, resting his weight in the hollow of his crooked arm. Conan didn't squeak. It was more of a low-pitched groan. He wrapped his arms around the thief's head so as to not lose balance. KID made his way through the crowd.

(It would be lying if Conan said he wasn't a little jealous of the way people seemed to move naturally out of KID's way. There was something in his posture, even under disguise, that breathed power.)

Soon, they were in front of the yellow tape surrounding the crash site within a forty-five feet radius. Conan swept the scene with his gaze. Snow stopped falling down sometime between the moment they left the agency and their arrival at Kototoi Bridge, leaving a thin coating of black ice in the corner of the streets. The ambulances had already cleared the place.

In the middle of all the agitation, the blue sports car was laying, wrecked. A few yards away, a gray SUV that looked like it had seen better days was flipped on its side. Blood was dripping from the shards of broken glass.

KID's arms tightened painfully around the young detective.

"KI– Ran-neechan," he choked. "I can't breathe."

"O-Oh." His hold loosened and when Conan looked up, it was to see Ran's haunted gaze stare straight ahead, transfixed. "Sorry. It's just–it's so awful."

(Conan had no idea if he was being genuine or simply too into character.)

"I don't think they're gonna let us in," KID commented.

Conan hummed, watching an officer in uniform a few steps away. She was turning her back on them, but there were no doubts about her identity : thin waist, short blue skirt, long, ebony hair–

"Yumi-tan!"

Conan jumped at the sudden shout and turned his head to the source of the voice–a tall, scruffy man, with messy brown hair and oversized glasses. Yumi Miyamoto turned around, briefly sweeping the crowd with her eyes before her gaze landed on the man.

"What in the–" She walked over to them with quick, angry steps, scowling. "What are you doing here?"

"Yumi-tan," the man repeated, beaming. "I saw the news and I thought you'd be too busy to go for lunch with me as we planned, so I brought the lunch to you!" He held up two bentos tied together with a green handkerchief.

"I'm working, Shukichi. Go away." She shooed him and went to turn away, but her gaze landed on them. "Conan-kun? Ran-chan!" Her arms, previously crossed, fell on her sides. "What are you guys doing here?"

Chance. Conan quickly went through the few things he knew about the accident, trying to turn up with an excuse. Chianti. Blue car. Gray SUV. Dead family–mother, three children.

"I knew Hana-chan," he sniffed. He did his best to look as sad as one can be, even going as far as clutching KID's jacket with one hand. "Is she dead? Ne, what happened to her? Am I going to see her again?"

(he inwardly winced and shot a quick excuse to the victims.)

Yumi's eyes widened at the tears appearing in the corner of his eyes and, alarmed, she looked up to 'Ran', begging silently for help.

"He's been like this since he saw the news," KID explained in a pained voice. He slowly began to rock him back and forth and Conan had to hold back a violent flinch. "He insisted on coming here and see for himself. I couldn't say no, right?"

(god he was so sick of being a child.)

"Can I see her?" he whimpered. "Please?"

"But the–the bodies, they're already–"

Conan didn't let her finish her sputtering that he squirmed out of KID's hold and onto the ground, quickly ducking under the yellow tape and making his way to the blue sports car, certain that the female officer wouldn't go after him.

Sure enough, he heard a "It's ok, I'll get him, I'm really sorry about this" pronounced in Ran's voice somewhere behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know Yumi left them alone and went about her business. The woman had the maternal instinct of a gecko. She wouldn't risk having to confront a kid about serious matters.

The license plate of the blue sports car was crooked in a sharp angle; only the Shinjuku 300 Su- could be distinguished. A man in uniform, cap pulled down low on his eyes, was crouched and examining the inside of the car. Conan walked up to him.

"Oji-san," he said, managing to sound distressed.

"Wha–" The officer looked up from his chart and frowned at the sight of him. He glimpsed at the inside of the car, Conan followed his gaze and noticed the bloody steering wheel. "Who let you in?"

"My aunt drives the same car, I–"

The officer seemed to buy it, because his face–or what Conan could see of it–softened. "It's not her, kid."

"Really? How do you know?"

The agent bit his lips and looked around him, as if hesitating to share the information. He seemed to settle because he spoke in a low tone. "Cuz the driver was a man, okay? It couldn't be your aunt. Now go, you shouldn't even be here in the first place."

"U-un," he nodded, a bit dazed.

A man. Chianti was alive. Conan frowned. Who was under the sheet, then? Someone who had no connection with the black org.? No, that was a theory Conan didn't like. Maybe another member who happened to borrow Chianti's car?

Was it Korn?

Conan circled the car, stopped behind, out of the agent's field of vision. He eyed the rear wheel pensively. It was intact. A quick tour around the car confirmed to him that so were the other three tires. The young detective licked his lips, before getting on all fours and glancing under the car, cheek against the cement.

"What are we looking at?"

Eh? Startled, Conan raised his head. The scruffy man–Shukichi, Yumi had called him–from earlier was bending down and looking under the car. He turned his head and met his eyes.

"Do you think this is really an accident?"

Conan watched him closely, circumspect. Was he from the organization? He didn't looklike a member, and he was familiar with Yumi–but then again, Vermouth was an acquaintance of his mother. They were everywhere, could be anyone–could be this guy or Yumi-san herself or that agent from earlier.

(the thought made him panic for a second, and he had to pull himself back down. He was here, now.)

"There are lots of ways to sabotage a car and provoke an accident," the man continued, not discouraged at all by his irresponsiveness. "Pulled wire, pulled fuse. Missing drain plug. Messing with the battery cable, the distributor cap, the tires." Conan watched him silently as he dropped a heavy hand on the trunk. "None of them apply here, but I'm sure you deduced that already."

Conan blinked and rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "W-What are you talking about? I'm just a kid."

"I have a brother," simply said the man, watching him closely with something like pity. "He has the same look as you. Who are you?"

Conan didn't look away, blinking owlishly. The man was strange, but he didn't give off a bad vibe. He opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by a loud "Conan-kun!" followed by a hand sharply pulling his hood up. "Cover yourself, it's snowing again. And get up from the ground! You'll fall ill."

Startled, Conan put his two hands on top of his hood and turned around; KID was standing behind him, hands dropping on Conan's shoulders. His gaze slid up to Shukichi. "I'm sorry, was he bothering you?"

(Conan wondered for a second how KID had managed to master perfectly Ran's characteristic disapproving-worry expression down to the slightly furrowed brows and screwed corner of the lips. really, he was too good–not that Conan was ready to admit that.)

Shukichi laughed and stood up, glasses sliding down his nose. "No, not at all, don't worry about it."

"You!" Yumi approached them with furious steps and pulled Shukichi away from his ear, grumbling.

KID followed them with his gaze. "Who's that?"

"I have no idea," Conan admitted, standing up.

He must've stood too fast because a wave of dizziness hit him and he stumbled, only the steady hands on his shoulders holding him in place. "You okay, Conan-kun?"

Conan shoved him off, ticking his tongue. "Yeah, I'm fine." He walked over to Yumi, who was severely scolding her boyfriend, and pulled on her skirt. "Yumi-san."

"I can't believe you– Conan-kun?"

"The cars," he paused for a second to think about how he was going to word this. "… Isn't it possible it was a staged accident? You know, Kogoro-ojisan said that people do that sometime. They sabotage their cars and fake accidents, so they could get insurance money. He said it's really bad."

"Tch, you think we don't check? I assure you, nothing was sabotaged."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, we finished examining both cars like thirty minutes ago. I'm just wrapping things up with the media and this idiot," She shot Shukichi a dark glare and the man made a sheepish laugh. "–before heading back to the precinct." She sighed, dejected. "Man, just thinking about the paperwork…"

Conan's eyes widened, and he spun around and dashed towards the Blue Viper so fast he slid on a piece of ice on the ground and had to pull himself up with his hands.

The agent in uniform was gone. The door was wide open, and Conan walked up to it and took a peek inside. The airbags were laying flat against the board. Blood was on the crooked steering wheel, a closed pack of cigarettes in the ashtray. Conan leaned down to open the glove compartment, but strong arms suddenly surrounded his waist and snatched him from the car, banging his head against the top of the door.

"Watch out!"

It was as if his head was underwater–feeling isolated, out of time and space. There was a blinding flash, immediately followed by a buzzing in his ear. Conan found himself from six feet above the ground to suddenly tackled into the snow, a body tightly holding his, breath knocked out of him.

Groggy, Conan found himself issuing amid a mass of noises and sensations. The rushing of men, the cries of people, KID's heavy breathing next to his ear, the biting cold sneaking up his jacket, his crooked glasses painfully sinking into the bridge of his nose, the acrid smell of smoke and burning.

Conan shoved KID off him and sat up, eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. The car– Chianti's car–was ignited into a fiery ball of flames. All the evidence, all the potential leads, the antidote of APTX-4869, Kudo Shinichi–burning down to ashes.

"FUCK!" He punched the ground with tight fists trembling slightly in fuming anger.

(he was so tired!)

"Conan-kun! Where did you learn that word?!"

Conan looked at KID with disbelief. The bastard was still in character. Was he enjoying this?

"Ran-chan! Conan-kun! Are you guys okay?!"

KID, who was sitting a foot away, stood up and made a show of dusting his behind. "We're fine, we're fine."

"Yumi-san, there was a man in uniform here…"

"What man?"

Conan opened his mouth, before closing it almost immediately, lips screwed in frustration. He couldn't involve Yumi. "Nothing it's– it's not important."

The police officer frowned but must've decided to let it go since there were more pressing matters at hand. She spun around and hurried towards a group of agents.

Conan walked away of all the commotion before anyone could accost him, and KID trudged next to him. There was nothing left to see on the crash site, the detective thought bitterly, burying his hands in his jean's pocket. How could he have been so stupid? Of course the black organization was going to waste no time to get rid of all the evidence leading to them. They might've not anticipated the accident, but they did have eyes everywhere; Conan learned that the hard way. It had been a matter of minutes and he had wasted his.

They arrived at the small alley where KID had parked his bike and Conan leaned against the brick wall, eyes closed, ignoring the growing throb in his temples in favor of trying to put a little order in his thoughts. Right. So. The explosion. While destroying the nest of leads that was Chianti's car, it also proved the accident had something to do with the black syndicate; but he had to check, didn't he? One must not theorize before one has data.

"I'm out," KID suddenly said, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it.

Conan started and raised his head, blinking. "What?"

KID looked at him with a hint of irritation in his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have anything to do with all… this," he made a brief gesture towards where they came from. "I helped you out so far out of the mere goodness of my heart." Conan rolled his eyes. "but this is getting ridiculous, Meitantei. You won't tell me anything and I've got nothing to win, do I? So," He put on his helmet and hopped on the motorcycle. "Take care."

"Wait!" Conan jogged to the front of the bike. "You can't go! You need to help me sneak into the morgue."

"Give me one good reason why," the thief scoffed.

"I…" he hesitated. "I'll let you off the hook on your next heist?"

It was more of a question than an affirmation. Conan knew the thief didn't need the detective to hold back to pull off a perfect heist. KID knew it too, apparently, because he looked at him in the eye as he inserted his key in the slot and turned the engine on.

"Fine. Fine!" Conan conceded, exasperated. "What do you want."

"Now we're talking." A smug grin stretched KID's lips as the thief eyed him for a long moment. Conan began to feel nervous. "You know they make all sort of goodies based on me because I'm so amazing, right?"

Conan narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Yes, I know. You're like, Tokyo number one's profit machine. What's your point?"

"I want you to wear a KID sweater on my next heist."

"No. Way."

KID made a show of whirling the engine. "I wish you the best of luck, then. Let me know if you make it!"

"Okay, okay! Fine. I'll wear your stupid sweater."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" A smirk that didn't belong on Ran's face stretched his lips. "Climb on, dear."

.

.

"Oï, would you stop? You'll blow our cover up!"

The stirring under his blouse stopped for approximatively seven seconds, before resuming more discreetly. A sigh escaped Kaito's lips.

He had ditched the Ran disguise to put on the front of a doctor he'd encountered in the hospital's parking lot and from whom he had stolen the ID currently hanging on his front pocket. It had taken him twenty minutes during which he made Tantei-kun wait in front of the restrooms.

He bumped into a nurse in her way out of the elevator. She widened her eyes at his sight. "Kawada-san? I thought you went to lunch already?"

"Just forgot something," he muttered, holding his briefcase tightly over his chest. The nurse nodded and walked away, and Kaito hurried into the cabinet and pressed the floor where he knew the morgue section was. As soon as the doors closed, Conan squirmed his head out the top of Kaito's blouse and took a deep breath. Clicking his tongue, Kaito pressed the detective's head forcing him to return under the blouse.

"Oï!"

"We're not there yet," he said.

He cleared his throat and slipped into character at the same time of the ding! of the elevator. He stepped out and scanned his surroundings. There was a flickering green sign hanging above a single metal door guarded by an empty desk. Lucky, Kaito thought. They must've went to lunch.

"Okay, coast is clear," KID said.

He buttoned down his blouse and, grabbing the child by his armpits, settled him down on the ground.

(he didn't realize how hot the detective was until he was deprived of the heat source.)

"What did we come here for anyway?" he asked, annoyed, arms crossed behind his head as he followed the little detective into the mortuary. It was a cold, freezing room, with an empty operating table and a small window.

Conan walked up to the ten-body refrigerator against the wall and began analyzing the names in the labels. He opened the bottom left fridge and. There was a body.

Conan must've noticed the sudden tension in the room because he looked up from the ticket, eyebrows raised. "You okay?"

"Just great," he muttered, burying his hands in his blouse's pockets. In actuality, he wanted to throw up. He didn't like bodies. They reminded him of the day his father died. Poker face, he reminded himself. To distract himself, he eyed the body up and down. Platinum blond, almost white, hair, long nose, large ears, prominent chin. Scars all over his body; some old, some more recent, no doubt from the accident. Foreign, given his facial features– American, or European. Yamada Tarō, read the ticket tied around his big toe. A placeholder name–the man wasn't identified yet. Kaito frowned. There was something…

It clicked. "I know this man," he murmured.

Yes, he was sure of it now. This person, he already saw him before. On one memorable KID heist, what seemed like a million years ago. On a rooftop, behind Snake, a sniper riffle in his hands. At the time, his face had been concealed with thick, black glasses and a cap, but there was no doubt–it was him. Kaito remembered him because the son of a bitch had hit him real good, right between the ribs. He would've died that night if it wasn't for Jii-chan. Snake had warned him with a snicker and a "you won't make it out of this one, motherfucker! This guy's straight out of the head branch, one of the best in the field!" He'd referred to him as–

"Korn," Conan suddenly said.

"Yes! Korn!" Kaito blinked. "How do you know that name?"

"How do you know that name?"

They stared.

"I think we need to talk," Conan decided.

Kaito frowned. Was tantei-kun involved with the org.? How? They were no laughing matters. And a detective as young as him shouldn't even know their existence. Maybe he knew Korn as an individual? Unlikely, but if he was unaware of the bigger picture, Kaito certainly wasn't going to be the one involving him.

But.

Kaito knew the little tantei, and if he was involved, that meant he had info that KID couldn't even dream of reaching. How long had it been since he'd taken on his father's mantle? Almost two years? And he wasn't as close to his father's killers as he was on that first day, at that first encounter on the roof. Yes, having Tantei-kun as an ally against Snake and his organization promised to be helpful. But it was dangerous, and the question remained: was he going to risk dragging Kudo into his very dangerous, potentially mortal, business, while he was trapped in the body of a seven-year old?

(he'd always wondered how did that happen, by the way. But now, he was wondering if the org. had something to do with the shrinkage, but that was preposterous, wasn't it? The theory that it was the results of a (failed?) experiment of that mad bulky scientist that served him as a neighbor was more likely.)

"Pass," he decided. There was no way he'd ruin Tantei-kun's life on the off-chance he knew something and could help him.

Conan blinked, eyes wide, as if from all the answers he anticipated, that one was the least. "What?"

"Should I remind you who I am?"

Conan raised an eyebrow. "Point?"

"Why would I, an internationally respected–"

"You mean wanted."

"–moonlight magician thief, play with a detective off-heist? I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

"What reputation?" Conan huffed. "KID, this is important. I need to know what you know."

"No."

A frustrated frown furrowed the child's brows. "Listen up you motherfucker–"

"Kids shouldn't use such vile words~"

"You will tell me what you know about this man." He gestured towards the body. "Or else–"

"Or else what? You'll throw a tantrum?"

"I'll– I'll… do something bad."

Kaito raised an eyebrow and stared. Conan supported his gaze shamelessly, refusing to back down despite how lame his threat was. The thief scoffed and turned away with a dismissive gesture. "Let it go, Meitantei."

"KID! Come back here! I–"

There was a thump! followed by a muffled groan and Kaito turned around to see what had interrupted the little detective: he was sprawled out on the floor, having visibly tripped on a pile of black clothes abandoned at the foot of the refrigerator.

The corner of the thief's lips twitched upwards in a smirk. "You good?"

"I hate my life," Conan muttered, rubbing his nose. He sat up and turned back to see what caused him to fall, and his eyes widened at the sight of the clothes. He scrambled up to the pile and began going through them. Black cap, black turtleneck, black shoes, black pants. He extracted a piece of paper from its pocket.

Kaito walked up behind him and leaned forward, palms on his knees, to read over his shoulders. There were only five letters and what looked like a date on the note, scrambled in messy handwriting. HCH, 01/07 – V.

"V," Conan murmured.

Kaito frowned. "A signature, right? You know what it stands for?" In front of the unresponsive detective, the magician sighed, stood back up and straightened his arms above his head, yawning. "Anyway, lunch hour is nearing to an end. We should get out of here." This place was creeping him out, so he was relieved when the little detective nodded absentmindedly and stood up as well, eyes focused on the piece of paper in his hands. "Come on," he opened his blouse with a smirk. "Get back in here."

Conan groaned.

.

.

The sun, somewhere behind the thick, omnipresent clouds, was on its zenith when KID's motorcycle stopped in front of the Mouri Detective Agency. Conan hopped off the bike and into the sidewalk, his feet sinking in the two inches thick snow that covered the whole neighborhood.

"Mmh, let's see. For the precious time wasted, the ride, the gasoline, the attitude I had to put up with," KID made a show of counting on his fingers. "That would be one gazillion yen."

"I'll pay in soccer balls on the next heist," Conan answered absentmindedly, looking down to the note clutched tightly in his hands. "HCH… that must be Haido City Hotel." He looked up to KID who was watching him with an amused look, leaning against his bike, arms crossed. "What's in Haido City Hotel on July the first?"

KID hummed and cocked his head to the left, pupils rolled to the sky. "I don't know about first of July, but on January the seventh, there's my heist."

"Of course," the detective murmured, looking back down. "Korn's foreign, he goes by the American system." He licked his lips. "January the seventh. That's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yes," KID insisted, feigning irritation. "And instead of preparing my heist, I'm here playing taxi. How did that even happen?"

Conan ignored him, thumb and index finger around his chin in the pose he liked to adopt when he was thinking. So. Korn–no, Vermouth had something planned in Haido City Hotel, on January the seventh; at the same time of KID's heist. That couldn't be a coincidence, which meant they targeted KID? Conan stared at the stranger in front of him–under that wig and all that makeup was KID's face. Why? What did the thief do that pissed that woman off?

(The thought of KID working for them hadn't crossed his mind at any point until now, but he quickly dismissed it. This was KID, for god's sake; stupid, magician, harmless KID.)

Conan rubbed his eye, fist sliding up his glasses. He could feel a headache coming. "You still need to tell me what you know about…" He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, and threw a nervous look around him. The street was empty, the rush of lunch hour died down thirty minutes ago. He still felt nervous about mentioning the black org. in public, though.

He spun around began climbing up the flight of stairs leading to the Agency, certain that KID would follow him. There was a small bang behind him and when Conan turned back to KID, it was to see the thief in full regalia standing four stairs down from where the detective stood.

"I think you already know my answer to that, Tantei-kun."

"KID, this is important."

The thief made a show of inspecting the nails of his right hand, covered by the white glove. "Haven't we had this conversation already?"

"Listen to me!"

"I'm having a sense of déjà-vu."

"Oh my go–look," Conan inhaled a breath. Zen. "You either will tell me, or I will hunt down your civilian persona, and make you tell me."

"I'm a phantom thief, Meitantei. I leave no trail."

"There's no such thing as a perfect crime," Conan stated with assurance. "A criminal always leaves something behind him: a clue, a lead, a hole in the plan he didn't consider. And in your case, you better be sure I will goddamn find it."

A carnivorous grin stretched KID's lips, revealing white teeth. "Is that a challenge?" Conan narrowed his eyes and maintained eye contact, thankful for the fact that he didn't have to raise his head to look at KID since the thief was four steps lower than him which made them the same height.

The silence lasted three minutes, and Conan could pinpoint the exact moment the thief decided to give in by the sag of his shoulders and the little, almost undetectable smile that stretched the corners of his lips. When KID opened his mouth, Conan thought he won, braced himself for the truth, but what came out instead was: "Isn't Mouri-san going to worry about her sick little charge wandering outside in this weather?"

Conan blinked in front of the irrelevant question and had to take a moment to process it. He unconsciously looked over his shoulder to the agency's closed door. As if the thief's words reminded his body about its state, a cough escaped his lips.

"She went shopping with Sonoko, which means they're not gonna come back before seven."

KID licked his lips and looked away, hands tied behind his back. Conan narrowed his eyes before the suspicious behavior. "What."

"Nothing."

"KID", the sleuth warned. "What."

"Do you really wanna know?" Conan arched a brow and the thief raised his hands with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, fine. She lied to you. Happy?"

"What?" Conan frowned. "What're you talking about? It's Ran." He wiped his mouth with the inside of his wrist, and a sinking feeling shook his stomach. He looked up to KID, who was watching him with something in his expression akin to–pity, and a thought crossed his mind. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but he asked anyway, voice dreadful. "Why did you–why did you think Ran was on a date?"

KID stared at him for a while. "I sneaked in by the window of her room to borrow some of her clothes for the disguise. What?" he asked in front of Conan's sudden dark glare. "I am a perfectionist. Anyway, this was on her desk."

With a gesture of the wrist, he produced a pastel blue piece of paper that Conan recognized was from Ran's notebook and handed it to him. Conan took it with hesitation and unfolded it. Columbus!, it read, followed by an unknown phone number and noon underlined three times next to today's date and–a name. Two words that made Conan's blood freeze cold in his veins.

Hondo. Eisuke.

Conan just stood there, struck dumb, socks uncomfortably wet from the snow that infiltrated into his run-down shoes; clutching the piece of paper in his hands so hard his knuckles were trembling.

"Kudo? Are you… okay?"

Conan started and looked up with blue doe eyes. Despite his numbness, somewhere in the back of his mind, he absentmindedly noted that it was the first time KID used his real name, confirming what Conan already knew to be true–the thief did know about his predicament, after all. God knows how. Kudo, he'd called him. How long has it been since he last heard that name? He hoped his blank stare covered the turmoil seething under the surface.

He cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he managed to say, a million beats too late.

His voice came out a little strangled, and by the tight grim line that the thief's lips were set in, he must've noticed, but right now? He couldn't bring himself to care.