A/N This is the Spell entry in which I try to tie up all the entries together so far, and send more abuse towards poor Shinichi's way.
I thought I'd be able to finish more than one chapter, but no... welp. I'll try to have a chapter up from my list of WIPs every 1-2 weeks, try being the operative word, ha ha!
As always, my askbox on tumblr is open, and thank you for reading! The next Spell entry will be... someday... maybe...
It shouldn't come as a surprise that Shinichi's dreams are plagued with an unending sequence of Haibara marching to her death in an assortment of ways. After all, in the time they had been together, they had faced death countless times. They had always pulled through, though, even in that one case when he'd thought he'd lost her. But not in his dreams.
Hmm, that one, he hasn't dreamt of that one this month yet. He feels a morbid mix of excitement and fear—he can't wait to hold her in his arms, can't wait to talk to her, talk with her, about anything, about nothing, about everything, even if the conversation is just another rendition of the past, can't wait to feel his tears in his cheeks again because he's too tired and cried out outside his dreams. But he isn't thrilled about seeing her bloodied body, hearing the faint rasps in her voice as she speaks until there's just him and the silence and the cold, cold fear. He's terrified. He doesn't forget the feeling of a gaping hole in his body, eating him, widening itself, as she talks about inanities like doctors and breakfast, about idiocy and gratitude, in a voice that sounds like she's going farther and farther away, and he's powerless, and then—and then he wouldn't be able to hear anything, because she didn't, couldn't speak.
They survived that. But in his dreams, it always ends right after she closes her eyes.
He knows, of course, that it isn't real, that these are only dreams. Even in his dreams he could not save her.
Oh, that's right, then these must be called nightmares.
—Ah, but then he can see her here. That alone instead makes it a dream.
Rather than the cold tiled floor of one of the many similar-looking laboratories, however, his dream tonight finds himself bent over the edge of a cliff at the side of a small forest clearing.
The first thing he notices, as in all his other dreams, is her.
Haibara. Her eyes are wide open and bright, closing only when a particularly strong gust blows her bangs, her hair, into disorder. Her lips, previously in a tight line in exertion, had already morphed into a smile, mocking as always, but a chuckle escapes her when the wind had calmed. Even after reliving this moment again and again in his dreams, Shinichi still doesn't know why she had laughed—a Haibara chuckle was as good as a normal person's laugh—but he's working on making himself believe it's because of relief. Because of him.
Well, it's only logical. If a person was seconds away from hurtling off the cliff to the raging currents of the rapids below, only for said person's wrist to be caught by said person's partner thereby preventing the fall, wouldn't they feel relieved?
As it is currently, Shinichi, as Conan, is bent over a cliff tightly grasping Haibara's left wrist as she dangles precariously is so twisted, he thinks, when he feels his heart speed up as she opens her eyes and looks at his, as the warmth from her wrists seep into his palms and, just, inside, where he's just been so cold.
He remembers this case, and he remembers his heart going into overdrive as well then, but instead it had been from the adrenaline of the just concluded suspect chase and almost-confrontation, and from the danger that had yet to pass. Her right arm had been broken during the faceoff, where, instead of chasing Shinichi, the suspect had zoned in on Haibara who, of course, had the luck to choose a path that leads to a dead-end. In true Haibara fashion, she had been able to cling to the protruding rocks on the underside of the cliff after being thrown off while the culprit hurriedly ran off to hunt Shinichi. Just as her hand had begun to slip, Shinichi had caught her wrist, thankfully finding her in time due to the blood trail.
He remembers straining to pull her up, but his limbs had been injured too, and the medical team that had attended to him after the wrap-up had told him then that it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd been able to hold anything, much less a child's weight, for any amount of time at all. And so, he remembers failing to pull her up, having a difficult time even just holding on, both of them stuck in a limbo, with the balance quickly tipping towards the rapids and not towards safety.
His dreams, of course, are painfully faithful to his memories, and this dream is the same: her injuries are there, his injuries are there, and thus, his failures are there. And she would notice, like she noticed then, that Shinichi was getting closer and closer to the edge and off the cliff with her. And she would decide, just like she decided then, to raise her broken arm to struggle off his grasp and fall alone. The smile on her face is the same as ever.
Another struggle, and this is where he says—
"I will never let you fall! Never!"
He remembers shouting the lines the first time with irritation, desperation, pain. Now, in his dreams, he speaks them, almost whispers them, like a promise. A broken one, he thinks, and he's filled with so much longing and yearning so out of place in the current predicament, and it suffocates him. Why did he have to dream this tonight, why this one, when they talk so little in this moment, when the moment ends too quickly as she falls and he's left with nothing, nothing, nothing but an empty room and a hole in his chest because he'd failed again—
"Oh, detective, but you already did." Her faint whisper starts the countdown to her third struggle, that leads to her fall, alone. Each time he gets to this part, he wonders if this memory is his mind or his heart at work. Had she really said it?
Louder now, she practically orders him, "Find me." Her smile widens just a bit.
In his memories, he recalls panicking. He had stumbled over his words then, frantically shouting "No! No, no, you can't survive a fall this high!"
"Want to bet?" was her only reply then, with a challenging look so misplaced in a tiny body in tattered clothes and bloody arms.
"Don't be stupid—HAIBARA!" He had screamed then, completely uncaring if the suspect were to find him and just push the both of them off.
He says none of those things now though, and in the silence, the Haibara in the dream skips to the part he hates the most. She swings her arms and slips out of his grip, slackened due to the strain and made easier by the blood and sweat in his hands and her arms. She drops to the rapids, the sickening splash too loud for his ears, even when he shouldn't have been able to hear past the current.
It is usually at this point that he wakes, or he transitions into another memory, another scene of Haibara dying. He idly imagines what's next—is it the burning cabin? That would be nice, he gets to see Shiho. Or, the burning stockroom? Perhaps, the top floor of the skyscraper? He hasn't had that dream for awhile, maybe this time he can quickly deviate from the script—he'd be the one to drag her to the car this time.
But he doesn't. He doesn't wake, nor does he find himself in another place in his dream. He's still on the cliff, and he—he lets a minute pass, then two. After what feels like five minutes pass, he bursts into a run, as fast as his injured legs can take him, towards where she would be, in his memories.
Does this mean he can save her this time? Can he see her again? Is she alive, in this version of his memory?
He moves to find her, of course he knows where. His mind hasn't let him forget how he found her at the bank just right after the bend in the rapids with glazed eyes, taking shallow breaths.
He also remembers how he'd searched for her halfway around the globe only to come back with nothing; his deductions and instinct had failed him. Would his dream let him find her this time? Where is she?
He'd always managed to find her, in the station, in the cabin, in the room; he had always managed to read her, in the bus, in the train. But now, where is she? Where is she?
His feet are heavy, but he tries to keep his pace anyway, and soon, he arrives at the place where he's supposed to find her. He feels his heart squeeze the instant he sees a figure lying on the ground. She's here. Is it wrong to think that he feels as if he's in a dream, when he's actually in a dream? He doesn't delve into it too much—the only person he'd be able to debate it with is currently on the ground wheezing.
She's here. She's here.
She's alive. She's alive. She's here. "So what do I win?" She croaks the question out as soon as she hears his movement slowly approaching her from the forest. It's the exact same line she had used then, to let him hear her, and he had rushed then to her side as soon as he did. He had been shaking then, and now, too, because he's just—completely overwhelmed that this dream continued and let him find her, alive, breathing, rasping out the infuriating words even when, in this dream, she hadn't actually been able say the words that provoked him to a bet that he didn't have any choice in entering, that he wouldn't want to win anyway.
He doesn't know what's so different about tonight that made his dreams finally turn into actual dreams—she's not dead this time, she let me find her this time, she—she's right here.
He doesn't trust himself to speak. Maybe, if he says the words he had said then, the dream will end. And so, he keeps his mouth shut and instead, he hugs her tight.
The contact is probably hurting her, given her injuries, since he, himself, can feel his body breaking at the force he'd used to hold her. But he's here. And she's here. And he has never felt so content, has never felt the warmth coursing through him in ages, has never had his senses filled with her in forever.
When he feels her hands on his back, hugging him back, his eyes fly open. The forest is gone, the river is gone, she is gone. The wetness from his eyes is all too real, and he can almost feel her warmth as it quickly fades from his body, together with the tears that escape him after so, so long.
He's awake, and only a cold room and a hangover greet him.