Beika towered over Shinichi like a disappointed parent.
Humanity pressed in on all sides and he had spent most of the walk avoiding the crushing footfalls of indifferent pedestrians. Any remaining processing power was devoted to forming a mental map of the surrounding area, just to get a sense of where the hell he had been living for half a week. There wasn't a lot left over, so the map came out looking like a crayon drawing on a greasy diner menu.
Everything blended together into one caustic swirl. The streets were endless gray concrete, the buildings like Brutalist tumors of cement and glass. No landmarks stood out as familiar, which was probably to be expected; that first night he had been running low on blood and high on terror, the hours slipping into a murky film. Every memory he had was the same muddy color, soaked in rain, dim streetlights, and adrenaline.
A swinging handbag clocked him in the face. The lady at least had the decency to look admonished before continuing with her day. A hand seized him by the collar and pulled him clear of additional head trauma.
"I told you to watch him," growled Kogoro. As he usual, he was addressing Ran rather than him. Kogoro very rarely spoke to "Conan" directly and Shinichi believed it was some kind of ego defense; acknowledging the little runaway's existence would make it more difficult to drop-kick him to the curb later. "Kid's like a twig in a river here."
"I know, dad. I didn't expect there to be this many people out and about." Ran had taken up the rearguard of his security detail but had moved up to examine his bruised cheek. He'd felt her eyes on him the entire walk, brighter than the glare of the sun, and he squirmed under her scrutiny. "I can't blame him for being stir-crazy. It's the first time he's been out of the apartment since he got here."
"Like I give a rat's ass. Here's a lesson in parenting; if a kid sees an opportunity to vanish on you, they'll take it." Foot traffic parted around Korogo like he was an ornery icebreaker. "Grab the part of him with the most meat and pull him if you have to."
"He doesn't like holding hands. He's…" She paused for a moment, looking down to study him. "Independent."
"Yeah, he's real independent. If he thinks he can take care of himself, he can find somewhere else to hide out."
"Dad!"
The walk had been Kogoro's idea, which was apparently a rare enough occurrence in the Mouri household that Ran flip-flopped between interrogating her father for ulterior motives and checking him for a fever. Her suspicion had dissolved when "Conan" had voiced his enthusiasm for getting out of the apartment; the little vagrant vocalizing any opinion at all was an equally rare occurrence. So, she bundled him up in enough layers to suffocate a seal and they made for the door.
It had taken Shinichi all of two blocks to realize this was a terrible idea and he would like to go home, but his home was many, many miles to the south and was probably being picked apart by a crime syndicate.
Every sensation was a jarring reminder of you do not belong here. He was lost amongst a sea of shifting legs, the throngs of people constricting around him like a tourniquet. He could feel the rumble of passing cars in his skull. There was a growing awareness of just how beneath notice he was, of how little space he occupied. The city was an engine of cold moving parts, of long femur bones caging him in. He was a moth flitting between its gears.
Just another brat, a homeless youth.
He shivered through Ran's borrowed sweatshirt. Breakfast had turned to sawdust in his stomach and the two hours of sleep had long run dry. Paranoia moldered in the periphery of his thoughts and he flinched at every heavy footfall.
"Conan, stay close to me." There was iron in Ran's voice but it was brittle and rusted, more pleading than commanding. He realized he had been close to falling off the edge of the curb into oncoming traffic, and she was suddenly at his side, guiding him away. He couldn't look her in the face because he would have to acknowledge her gloved hand that kept drifting towards him, silently begging him to take it.
She's just trying to protect me, he thought, but I can take care of myself.
The back of his skull throbbed with phantom pain, nerves twitching in remembered agony.
Like you did before?
—
After the second time he was nearly carried away by a riptide of pedestrians, Ran's patience had worn thin to the point where his safety overrode his autonomy. His little hand was now firmly clutched in her vice-like grip, keeping him anchored against the city's meandering bloodstream. Surrendering the last dregs of his pride, he let himself dissociate from his body and be dragged along.
"I know you don't like it, but I don't want to lose you." Her tone had softened but her hold on him stayed solid.
Who are you?
The question came on unbidden, rising from a deep well. He knew in a superficial sense who they were, mostly by skulking through the apartment and exercising some atrophied detective muscles. He had taken in the framed pictures, the old police memorabilia, the bills and case files scattered on Kogoro's desk.
You're Mouri Ran, sixteen years old, daughter of Mouri Kogoro. There are no photos of your mother in the apartment, although there is a frame on your nightstand of you, your father, and a woman, all smiling. You attend Teitan High School, and have a number of close friends there. You enjoy science and art but struggle with math. You are a student of judo and karate, and I've seen you throw a kidnapper across the room.
They stopped at a crosswalk, and Ran tightened her grip on his hand as the crowd filled in around them.
You found a six-year-old boy collapsed in the park and took him home with no second thoughts. You've clothed and fed him and he has barely given you anything other than a fake name.
He looked over to Kogoro, who was leaning against the stoplight, cradling his lighter in his hands to shield it from the wind.
You're Mouri Kogoro, thirty-nine years old. A private detective, despite everything. You drink, smoke, and gamble, but still manage to get steady work. You don't talk about your wife very often. You have an obsession with the singer Okino Yoko and bad TV serials.
Kogoro finally managed to get a spark and took a long drag off the cigarette.
You were a cop once. Officers still recognize you. You live in your own head and leap to conclusions, but there's still an old sharpness left. You look at your cases from years past. When you think I'm distracted, you study me like a set of fingerprints. There are bills you can barely pay, but I've never missed a meal.
Shinichi caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby window, and almost didn't recognize the boy staring back.
Why am I still here?
—
Three blocks over, Shinichi's sleep debt had descended into his legs and turned them into jelly. The concrete swayed underneath him, and he was relying on Ran's grip just to keep himself upright. Mercifully, they had made it to the next intersection with the "walk" sign still unlit, giving him a brief respite.
"Are you getting tired?" She asked, probably to be polite. It was clear to both of them that she had been half-dragging him since the last crosswalk.
"Just a bit." The lie stoked the embers of what little pride he had left, as he was led by the hand by a girl his own chronological age.
"There's a park just over there." She pointed into the vast distance to an oasis of green amongst the gray. "We can rest there for a bit. Home's not too far off."
Home?
"Yeah, home!" said Ran, strangely pleased. He hadn't realized he vocalized that last thought out loud, instead of just letting it simmer in his head as he usually did. Exhaustion had reached the point where his mental wiring was crossed, leading to dangerous short-circuits.
"We actually went in a big loop, so you got a little tour of Beika." She smiled down at him and jangled his hand in hers. "We'll have to take you to the shops downtown some day. They're really lovely."
The fact that they had walked in a loop was news to him. His crayon-scrawled mental map didn't match that at all, and it incinerated itself out of pure shame.
What did she mean by someday-
There was a familiar man standing on the other side of the crosswalk and his brain choked on the sensory input. Through the gaps in the foot traffic he saw flashes of a nightmare figure, dressed in black leather.
No.
A family blocked his vision but he caught glimpses of silver-blonde hair blowing in the wind, tips like spears.
It can't be him.
He was suddenly back in that alleyway, dark and slick with rain. A piston driving into the back of his skull, pain screeching down his spine. Bruises blooming along his back and stomach. Face down in standing water and garbage. Then, fire down his throat, into the marrow of his bones. A hollow heartbeat in his ears. Joints popping, muscles tearing. Twisting, bending, breaking, remaking-
The "walk" sign blinked on, and the crowd began to move.
No.
"Come on, Conan. I know you're tired but the park's just a little further." Ran's grip was steel and it pulled him forward into a death march. "I think there's a vending machine where I can get you some juice."
Sirens blared in his head and every nerve pulsed with the command of Get Away! The order collided with exhausted muscles that lurched to tepid action. His senses scrambled to find vectors of escape that didn't involve running into traffic, but they were distracted by the phantom pains echoing in his skull.
He ground his shoes against the concrete and pulled. Hard. Ran nearly toppled over at the unexpected force.
"Conan!"
He kept pulling, backing up onto the sidewalk but the crowd pushed forward, dragging him in the undertow.
"Conan! What's gotten into you?!" Ran had steadied herself and tightened her grip. All his backward momentum was halted, held fast by Ran. The crowd parted around them like a breaking wave, a few curious souls hanging back to watch the spectacle.
"What's the matter?" She tried to soften her tone but her eyes were full of panic. She craned her neck back to try and find her father, far ahead.
"Let me go!" The man in black was approaching quickly. Shinichi yanked on Ran's arm, throwing his whole body into the motion. His right shoulder popped, spiking fresh pain alongside the remembered.
"Conan, please. Let's talk when we get to the other side of the street. Just a little further-"
She shifted her grip onto his forearm and overpowered him with humiliatingly-little effort. He had to keep his feet moving forward or he'd be dragged along the asphalt on bloodied knees. They were in the middle of the intersection now and the man in black was nearly on them. More of the pedestrians had taken notice of Shinichi's struggle.
"Let me go! You don't understand!"
"Then talk to me!"
He tried to use his other hand to peel Ran's grip off, but it was like trying to break stone. Her fingers dug into his skin, the edges turning rosy.
"Please, Conan." Ran was begging, head snapping around, searching for her father. "Let's just get to the other side of the street. You can tell me what's wrong then, but please-"
She stumbled on a piece of broken asphalt. Her grip loosened for just for a second, but she caught the edge of Shinichi's hand. His glove came free.
The rebound sent him flying backward, colliding with someone's shins. He shook off the impact and submerged himself in the mob, clawing his way through kneecaps and handbags. There were shrieks of surprise somewhere high above but he ignored them, tunneling his way back to the sidewalk. A wayward briefcase struck him across the face and he stumbled, falling flat onto cold concrete. His hand-me-down hat slid down over his eyes, becoming tangled with his glasses. The collisions of heavy boots reverberated around him and he reflexively pulled his limbs close, drawing tighter, tighter into himself.
Two arms grabbed him by the middle and he screamed.
There was no pain. He was lifted, cradled tight into someone's chest, arms wrapped around him. The concrete was too far below. Distantly, he heard Kogoro's voice; "Show's over, folks! You can all go home."
He squirmed pathetically against the hold. Ran's voice was at his ear.
"Shh. Shh. It's me. It's just me."
I don't even know you.
"It's just me."
Who are you.
He felt forward momentum and realized he was being carried forward. His senses slowly rebooted, and he noticed the hat was still covering his eyes. With trembling hands, he pulled the tangled yarn free from his glasses, blinking in the noonday light.
Over Ran's shoulder, he watched the man in black walk away, uninterested and uncaring. The figments of previous nightmares rolled off his form. The leather no longer matched. The hair wasn't quite right.
It wasn't him.
As the terror evaporated, exhaustion reasserted itself and he felt the world drift away.