Thank you very much for your input! I'm still working out the general outline though, so here's something to read in the meantime ^ ^
.-.-.-.
In many aspects, the dead are very much like the living. To be a tad more specific, they are very much like the living… in various stages of dealing with crisis. It would suffice to say that some took to the news of their own passing far better than others, who were either in a fierce state of denial or entirely too distressed to process any new info. 'Traumatised' would have been another way of putting it, because if you weren't traumatised beforehand, then dying suddenly and unexpectedly usually did the trick. All things considered though, Conan was the one who ought to feel traumatised, having had to deal with so many of them in their least dignified moments.
Of course, there are exceptions; there are always exceptions and some of them are almost annoyingly dignified despite having been murdered just recently, or not so recently. Thankfully, Conan's first close encounter had been with someone like that. Otherwise, he would likely never have considered trying to help them.
"Conan honey, what are you doing up so late?"
He stands in the doorway of the master suite, waiting. His mother is tired; even if she hadn't been rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, he would have been able to tell by the sound of her voice. He feels a bit bad about it then, waking them up at such an ungodly hour and all, but‒ "There's a man in my room."
His mother blinks at him, taking a moment to process his statement before settling back down. "Honey, he's just a figment of your imagination; a dream," she says, her voice somewhere in-between admonishing and soothing. "Go back to sleep."
Yeah, Conan has every intention of doing the latter, because he is tired. Before that however‒ "He asked me to deliver a message."
His mother looks a bit alarmed now. Before she can say anything though, Conan's father speaks up. "Message?"
Conan sneaks a glance to the side, towards the man. The man notices and smiles; he looks kind, kind but also mischievous, and undeniably familiar somehow. Even without looking, Conan can tell that his parents are both watching; he can feel it. Unwilling to delay things any longer, he takes a deep breath and steels himself for whatever may become of it. The spectre crouches down beside him, leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper. The sheer proximity has Conan shudder visibly, but he delivers the message nonetheless. "He says… that it's been a while, and that he's sorry for not being able to finish the game."
"Game?" Kudō Yukiko looks scandalised.
Kudō Yūsaku meanwhile looks intrigued. "Did he leave his name?" he asks, earning a disbelieving look from his wife.
"Yūsaku‒!"
It doesn't matter to Conan whether they believe him or not; he is only there to deliver the message, and then‒ "Kuroba. Kuroba Tōichi."
His mother covers her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief; even his father looks slightly taken aback.
Conan doesn't care; he delivers the rest of the message and then goes back to bed.
After this particular event, it had become increasingly obvious that Conan attracts things, just like his older brother. However, while Shinichi is apparently something of a corpse magnet, Conan apparently attracts the disembodied souls instead. It hardly matters that he doesn't believe in them, because a significant chunk of them apparently believe in him. Shinichi doesn't get it though; Shinichi doesn't get a whole lot of things.
"Isn't it cheating though?"
Cheating? "This isn't a game!" Conan would have said that people's lives were at stake, but he didn't, because they usually weren't; people were usually dead already and the only thing at stake was Conan's peace of mind and theirs.
Of course it wasn't a bloody game. Even at such a young age, Conan had had quite enough of the arrogance, be it from the murder suspects or from his own brother. Admittedly, Shinichi had toned things down just a tad after that, at least in Conan's presence. Then again, Conan was seldom around for his brother's investigations, and‒ It doesn't matter.
Back in the present, Conan puts his glasses on, mentally preparing himself. "So?"
.-.-.-.
Unlike Shinichi, Conan wears glasses. The frames were originally their father's, but the lenses are new; Conan doesn't need a prescription. Mother often giggles about Conan wanting to emulate his father. Father meanwhile just smiles good-naturedly, as if already aware of the real reason.
Though no one else in the family sees the same scenery as Conan, Yūsaku is probably the one who understands him the best. As such, Conan takes no offence to his mother's ideas about the glasses. Frankly, Conan is decidedly more embarrassed about his mother than about his father. Occasionally, Conan is also embarrassed about his brother, as well as embarrassed for him. Right now however, he isn't embarrassed or annoyed as much as he is worried.
"What happened?"
Conan isn't used to asking people questions, not living ones at any rate.
The professor seems nervous, fidgety; Conan can definitely relate, in spite of his own outward calm. Pinching the ridge of his nose, Conan finally comes to a decision.
"We'll go to Tropical Land and investigate. If we don't find anything, then we're checking the nearest hospitals next."
Conan doesn't bring up checking the local morgues, for obvious reasons. Granted, the lack of a ghost indicates that Shinichi is still alive, but that doesn't really prove anything; people often became disoriented when they died, and sometimes they got stuck wherever they had died. Other times, they latched onto someone, usually a loved one, and followed them around. If the search ultimately came up empty, then Conan would obviously have to consider the latter. Thankfully, Conan is quite aware of who Shinichi is likely to latch onto, so‒
His stomach rumbles, breaking his concentration. It's also embarrassing, but Conan hasn't eaten anything for quite a while. But he isn't exactly hungry either, physical symptoms aside. Even so, he forces himself to eat two sandwiches, aware that he likely has a long and exhausting day ahead of him.
.-.-.-.
All things considered, Conan could probably have managed without the professor. However, fact remains that Professor Agasa has a car and that Conan doesn't know Beika or the surrounding districts very well. This isn't Conan's first time in Japan, technically speaking, but he honestly doesn't remember much from his last time in the area. Even so, he knows how to read and write katakana, hiragana, and a few basic kanji signs, so he could probably manage to find his way around, so long as he had a map at hand. Still‒
Sneaking a glance at his impromptu chauffeur, Conan cannot help but wonder if Professor Agasa knows about Conan's abilities; if Shinichi had told him. If he had, then Conan wouldn't have to sneak around as much, and Conan could certainly use an adult like that in his life, a living one; his mother has never really been comfortable with that side of him and his father always gets that analytical look whenever Conan brings something up.
Professor Agasa's interest doesn't lie in the human mind but in technology after all, and Conan finds that he can appreciate that, regardless of the man's other flaws. Heck when it comes to flaws, Conan himself is hardly in any position to point fingers at anyone.
As he steps out of the car in the parking lot close to Tropical Land, Conan slams the door shut and then reaches up to adjust his glasses. There is someone there; several of them, as a matter of fact. For now though, he can just barely pick up on their presences. "Professor?"
Professor Agasa claims it is just his back acting up; Conan can tell that he is lying, but knows better than to point it out.
"Someone was recently killed here, murdered," Conan says instead, finding his eyes drawn towards the rollercoaster.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the professor startle. "H-How so?"
Conan releases a breath he hadn't known himself to be holding. That's a no then, he thinks. "They mentioned it on the radio."
They actually hadn't, but going by how Professor Agasa visibly relaxes, it hardly matters.
On one hand, Conan is glad that Shinichi hasn't let Conan's secret slip. On the other however‒ Things would have been so much easier if he had.
.-.-.-.