A/N: Okay, people, finally I got around to uploading this chapter. Since I wanted to get the Epilogue squared out first (and because I wanted to minimize the waiting for the rest of this fiction) I actually held back on publishing this. I know, I should be burned at the nearest stake for that, but come on... I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect before I published.

Now, as I've written to the end, I'll upload the remaining three chapters as quickly as I can. Most likely by the end of the week you'll have a complete fanfiction, including the final authors note^^

I also came across several inconsistencies as I read through the fiction again, so I made an effort to erase them all. Which means, that many of you following this story will have a lot of notifications that I updated. Probably one for every chapter, since I replaced them all with the upgraded version. In several of the earlier ones, I hadn't put Heiji's accent in the writing (simply because I forgot to hack it to pieces after I wrote his lines *gg*) or I wrote several tiny plotholes and found spelling errors. Now, as far as I can tell, everything looks solid^^

Well, I don't know what else to write here, except: Enjoy this chapter and as soon as I've checked the 17th, I'll upload that as well. It's now only two chapters until this is finished, so please, stay tuned^^

Oh, and to anyone complaining that this is OOC for Conan... Cut the guy some slack, he actually has a pretty good reason^^

Best regards, Callie

Chapter 16

Thursday 23rd September 2011

Location unclear

Time unknown

Conan POV

Waking up got harder. It was as with every time he lost consciousness, he was dragged ever deeper into the void. As a consequence, it got ever harder to emerge from it again. And while unconsciousness provided a short reprieve from the constant pain in his body, the fact that his thoughts started to dim unnerved the small detective.

He indeed was only vaguely aware of things around him in the first few moments. The pain was dulled, a low throbbing throughout every muscle and each tendon. Every time his heart beat, it sent a low wave of hurt through his skull that prevented any deeper thoughts. His breathing was shallow and laboured. Wincing Conan recalled the sharp cracking the last time he had been sentient.

At least one rib had been broken and therefore breathing became much more of a task. As he tried to take a deeper breath, simply to get a bit more oxygen into his lungs, his entire chest exploded in a terrible cascade of agony, causing him to cough harshly, which unfortunately made the pain even worse.

When the fit ended and the mini-sleuth was able to breathe relatively steady again, he tasted the metallic blend of blood in the back of his throat.

Coughing up blood... not a good sign...

The second round of beating had been much more severe than the first had been. Originally Conan had surmised that the beating and the pain would gradually get worse, the nearer the Sandman got to the deadline of 72 hours. But now it seemed as if the killer actually wanted to do as much damage as possible in the shortest amount of time achievable. Briefly the faux child wondered at that, but with another wave of pain, his thoughts dispersed once again.

For the moment, he was alone, or at least it felt like it. There were no sounds near him, all was absolute silence around him. All he could hear was the harsh, wheezing sound of his own lungs forcing oxygen into his body and the beating of his heart throbbing through his skull. He had given up trying to keep track of all his various injuries, after the last round their number had increased so drastically that he was no longer able to discern between them.

It just hurt, that was all it came down to.

Slowly, gradually, his mind cleared through the hazy feeling of pain and his thoughts emerged once more. Conan wondered how much time had passed since he'd lost recollection. He wondered how much time he had left. And for the first time since he had landed here, perhaps for the first time ever, he wondered how long he would live through this.

It was strange to think of it now, of all times, when he had encountered so many near-death situations already. He'd been shot at, beaten, had fallen down traps in maze-like houses, but it seemed that only now he actually began to realize that he would die.

If help didn't come first.

And the fact that unnerved him most was, that he was no longer sure they would come soon enough for him.

Slowly, a strange calmness engulfed him, one he had never felt before. It filled his very core. The possibility of his own death had introduced itself upon his mind early on, he'd had time to get used to the idea. Death as a concept in itself had rarely (if ever) frightened him, it was the process by which he was supposed to lose his life now that did him in.

When this whole nightmare began, he had shunned the very thought of fear, had negated the mere idea. After all, beneath everything else, he WAS still Kudo Shinichi, the fearless, almost peerless detective, and Kudo Shinichi was not afraid. But at some point, with all the pain coursing through his shrunken body, he'd acknowledged that while death did not frighten him, the process of losing his life did.

He'd actually never thought that he'd one day die like this. Of course he knew that, as a detective, he probably wouldn't live a long life anyway. He'd faced so many situations before where any other person would have died, it was unlikely that he'd survive very much more. But even with that knowledge, he had kept going. And usually, when he'd been in serious danger of losing his life, he didn't have time to realize that. He was always caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, always too occupied with something else to understand his own mortality. Now he had time to really think about it, to face the grim reality of his own demise with leisure enough to think of everything he left behind.

But the fact; the one thing everything else revolved around; remained.

He just didn't want to die like this.

Realizing that this likely was the very thought that ran through everyone's mind shortly before they died, he grimaced silently. Mentally shrugging, he discarded the thought.

Well... I actually had a good life... Up to the point where I got poisoned at the age of 17...

He wasn't about to give up utterly, it was just something that was not in his nature, but just in case he didn't make it out of this, he wanted to allow himself a few brief moments to think everything through.

Bizarrely, what bothered him most, was the fact that on his gravestone would not be his name. Since he might possibly die now as Conan, it would read the name of his alias. Kudo Shinichi would remain a mystery while his very gravestone portrayed a different name. A disturbing thought in and of itself, that was for sure.

He also thought about Mitsuhiko, Genta and Ayumi. He'd leave them behind in a sense and that hurt too. As much as he tried to keep indifferent, these kids were his friends. He hadn't really had friends when he was a kid the first time round (except Ran), it was a welcome change that he had them now. Even though he was actually 10 years their senior, their unwavering innocence fascinated him. And it was somewhat comforting (in a very weird sense of the word) that he knew they hung around him, no matter how strange he must seem to them at times.

Conan thought of Haibara too. She'd now be left alone to hide from Gin and the Black Organisation. He didn't want her to fight this alone. He had promised her that he wouldn't leave her behind, it hurt him that he was possibly about to break his promise.

He thought of the possibility that he might no longer have phone-calls with Hattori, or hang out with him, solve cases together or just annoy the living daylights out of him. He'd never told Hattori, but the friendship he had with the Osakan detective had helped to keep his sanity. He was pretty sure he would have gone bonkers long ago without his friendship and the fact that Hattori never treated him like a kid if it could be avoided.

And then there was Ran.

If there was only one regret he had, it was to never be able to be with her again. Just sitting around, doing nothing, or merely talking. She had been the only thing that seemed stable in his crazy world and in a lot of ways, that had kept him more anchored to sanity than anything else. The fact that, no matter how bad things got, he would always have her to speak with, even though he virtually had to hide his true identity from her at the moment, had helped. More than she would ever know. Possibly more than he himself realized or would ever begin to understand.

A sad smile twitched on his lips (even though it probably looked more like a grimace with the gag still in place) as he thought of it.

Why was it that only now; when he could feel his energy slowly ebbing away, taking his very life with it; he began to really acknowledge all those things? Began to truly appreciate all the people in his life that kept him sane? Even if only a precious few around him actually knew what was happening.

And so he lay, unable to move, with the pain washing over him; on a dingy floor in some warehouse somewhere in the general vicinity of Tokyo, and reminisced about everything.

It was odd for him to think of such things, he knew that. But even so, he felt as if he should think it all over, if only just as a safety precaution in case he would really die here.

Of course, he didn't want to die, he was determined to hold onto life for as long as possible. He wouldn't give up, it was something he just couldn't do. He had faced seemingly hopeless situations before, where everything seemed to go to Hell on a nicely paved highway, and still he had made it out alive. Granted though, most of those times he had found a way out on his own, which was sadly unavailable now. Even if he had been able to get out of his bonds, he sincerely doubted he could even move enough to heave himself off the dusty floor. His vision swam enough even while he lay still, he didn't really want to know what would happen should he actually try to move.

Possibly the pain alone would make him black out again.

So he was doomed to wait, either until someone found him or the Sandman finished him off. Whichever came first.

Though Conan still hoped he could get out of here alive. So far, none of the injuries was potentially life-threatening (though he suspected he had a bad concussion, which could get complicated), so there was still a pretty good chance for survival. But that chance hinged on him being found soon.

He thought he had heard the Sandman yell earlier on. Whatever that maniac was so pissed about, it might cause him to do something that was not in keeping with his usual MO. And that could be the real danger.

But he hadn't been in this room for some time. Conan wasn't sure if he should be glad about this (since it meant that he hadn't been beaten again) or if he should be worried that whatever that man planned, would make everything before seem like a piece of cake in comparison. Whatever that madman's reason, Conan hadn't seen him in a while. Which was probably because he had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. He wasn't actually sure how long he had been out this time, but it felt longer than before; a great deal longer in fact.

With the thought of his captor, Conan once more thought back to that one moment before the Sandman had started the second round. That small moment where there seemed to be two people in one body. One being the Sandman and the other being someone else. It seemed fairly evident, given that the maniac had actually talked to someone else Conan hadn't seen.

The only thing that seemed to fit on this behaviour, of someone with two personalities in one body, was Dissociative Identity Disorder, D.I.D. for short. Whoever had been the original, it seemed clear that the Sandman had taken over and only for that brief moment, when the man had turned and had looked so scared and helpless, the original had broken through, only to be submerged soon after.

Does that really matter at the moment?

True enough, it didn't help him to think about the maniac that held him captive. While it was interesting, seen from a detective's point of view, it was still not immediately helpful to him.

With great difficulty Conan tried to lift his head to glance at the windows, wanting to figure out what time it was. At least in a general sense. But as soon as he moved his head, his vision darkened and he was unable to look up past the trailing shadows to the windows.

He had no way to tell what time it was, or even what day it was. Had a whole day passed already? Or was it night?

With him losing consciousness now and again, it was impossible for him to tell, since his sense of time was screwed anyway. At least for the moment.

Left with nothing else to focus on, Conan decided to think a bit more of Ran. Somehow it calmed him down. It also provided him with a reason to hang on. He couldn't let her down, he had promised that he'd get back to her someday and he was a man of his word. So he lay, recalled past conversations with her, reminded himself of the way she spoke or moved and held on to the vague hope that he would just get to see her again.

For her, he'd hang on.

It was after a little while, he had no idea how long, that Conan became aware of someone speaking on the other side of the door. Or rather, it sounded faintly like two voices. For a moment, the shrunken sleuth was confused about it and hope began to dimly soar in his heart, before he realized that one of the voices belonged to the Sandman.

If he can talk, it's not my rescue-party out there...

His suspicion was confirmed when the door opened and the Sandman walked in. Quickly Conan closed his eyes and feigned unconsciousness. That nutcase had never done something if he was not awake and the mini-tantei meant to leave him under the impression that he was still out of it. It meant he could buy some time, maybe time enough for Hattori and the police to find him. Trying to keep as still as possible, he tried to concentrate on what that animal said.

"Let him go. This has gone too far..." a voice, faintly resembling the Sandman's, said. Possibly it belonged to the original personality. A few moments passed before Sandman answered, sounding angry.

"That is not your decision." Shortly after this, the man started to pace somewhere in front of Conan, but not near enough to possibly realize the mini-sleuth just pretended to be unconscious.

The fact that Conan heard two closely resembling voices, even though only one person was in the room, seemed to confirm his theory that this man actually suffered from the mental disorder he had thought of earlier. The Sandman did not really talk to himself, he talked to the other person inside him. And evidently this other person was not in agreement about what the Sandman did. And in the conversation they had, the two rapidly switched back and forth.

That's creepy...

Ignoring the fact that the pain slowly soared higher, Conan tried his hardest to concentrate on the happenings in the room. Now he was actually interested in how this confrontation would continue. Although he suspected that ultimately the darker side of this man would win.

"Stop this now. You don't have to harm him any more." the other voice said, sounding almost desperate now.

"But I want to. You're too weak. You always were. You need me. Without me, you're nothing and you know it!" the Sandman barked immediately afterwards.

"I didn't want this! Please stop this..." the other voice sounded off, oddly quieter than before.

For a few moments it was still and Conan tried to remain as unmoving as possible. Something told him that the maniac was looking at him. If he made any indication that he was actually awake, he would have to face another round. And he didn't feel up for that. Besides, he really wanted to hear how this whole discussion would turn out.

"I saved you. It was ME! I'm the only one that matters now! I command and you obey me!" Sandman growled, his voice dripping with venom and malice.

"... I hate you..." the quiet voice whispered, which caused Conan's hair to stand on end. It was beyond frightful to listen to this person speaking with another personality. Never mind the fact that the side which wanted to let Conan go, was actually losing. Which in turn meant that shortly, he'd have to endure another endless eternity of beatings and kicks.

"I don't care! You're nothing! I did this for you! You can't blame me for this, I'm only doing what you secretly want to do! So shut up!" the menacing voice declared, leaving Conan to briefly wonder what he meant.

Hearing the footsteps advance on him though, the shrunken teen realized that he would probably never get an answer to his musings.

A hand grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt and brutally yanked him up again. The movement caused his aching muscles to shoot a flaming stab of pain rippling through his entire body, resulting in an involuntary groan to escape his clenched teeth.

Shit... now he knows I'm awake...

A slow, depraved chuckle reached Conan's ears even as the madman's breath ghosted over his skin. Only a moment later, the small detective was thrown to the ground once more and the footsteps seemed to be walking away. Conan couldn't really concentrate any more; with the impact to the concrete floor, the pain had once again soared and had caused a dizzying array of bright flashes to dance behind his still closed eye-lids. Struggling to breathe, the faux child coughed harshly, feeling the stabs of pain in his side worsen ever more. Once again he tasted blood on his tongue, felt the luring pull of unconsciousness.

Don't black out... Stay awake...

It was the only thought that ruled his mind, the only thing that mattered for that one small moment. The simple drive to stay awake, to not give in. To give in would mean acceptance of what was to come and Conan wouldn't do that.

He couldn't do that.

He wouldn't give up, no matter what it cost him.

Dimly he heard the melody of that accursed music-box float through the still air once more, occasionally broken by the Sandman's gleeful chuckling and deranged humming. Refusing to be victimized, Conan forced his eyes open again and blinked past the dark shadows and bright spots that danced through his vision. And as he did so, he met the eyes of the madman, standing in the dim lighting, with a lunatic grin on his crazed visage. The man looked barely human any more. A deranged light shone in Sandman's eyes and in one brief instant, Conan realized that this was the end of the line.

"I'll end it now..." the man said in a crazed whisper that send shivers down the non-child's spine.

Faster than expected, the Sandman advanced upon Conan again, once more lifting his fist to strike.

Lights exploded in front of Conan's eyes as the Sandman's blows showered down upon him. He clenched his teeth, preventing himself from crying out each time another blow fell.

His lungs felt like they were on fire, while with every kick and punch a mounting wave of ever growing agony swept over him, each time creeping a bit deeper into what was left of his rational mind. He kept reminding himself that he would not cry out, he would not permit this animal such satisfaction. But it got ever harder to keep true to that.

Of course he coughed and groaned, whenever he was struck, but he wouldn't cry out. He wouldn't scream, no matter how bad the pain got.

Unfortunately, this enraged the Sandman even more, forcing him to hit ever harder in hopes of breaking him. But Conan grimly held on, even though his willpower seemed to melt down with every blow he received. His will to endure slowly dwindled in the wake of all the pain raging through his veins.

His breathing was rapid and shallow, while his heart beat in a terrible rhythm throughout his entire body. Every nerve-ending burned in agony, each and every single tendon ached and his muscles screeched in pain. And just then, for one brief moment, the Sandman stopped and the madman's own shallow breath sounded in Conan's ear.

The small detective dared to try and glance at the maniac, trying to see past the shadows that obscured his vision. The only thing he could glimpse with absolute clarity was a booted foot about to crash down onto his torso. For a small fraction of a second, time seemed to stand still while his brain rapidly tried to deduce where the blow would land, if only to prepare himself for what was surely to be the worst form of pain yet.

Frantically Conan bit down on the gag and closed his eyes. He didn't actually want to see where the kick would land.

And then, pain insurmountable engulfed his ribcage and shoulder, as he faintly heard a bizarre popping sound, followed by a sickening crunch. Only a second after, the pain hit his brain full force and obliterated any form of thought.

And even though he had sworn to himself that he would not cry out, this new version of agony overruled that decision and the scream he had so carefully restrained, broke through. Suddenly every ache seemed forgotten, or at least unimportant, in light of this new injury. For a moment Conan actually believed that the kick had shattered his upper torso completely, but nothing more made it through the heavy veil of agony that overtook him.

He was no longer aware of how much time passed or what exactly had happened, pain had the unfortunate tendency to blot everything else out. Nothing mattered any more besides that blinding and deafening wave of pure, sheer agony that broke over him. The pain ruled his universe in those moments ...or was it minutes, hours, days perhaps?... and he wasn't aware of what happened around him since his torso had been doused in invisible flames.

And as if that hadn't been enough, he suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that he could no longer breathe. A hand had closed around his throat, pressing into his skin and restricting his air-supply. More and more shadows trailed through his sights and what was even more terrifying, the shadows now took hold of his mind, numbing his thoughts and obscuring everything else.

With next to no air in his lungs and no option to breathe any more, he was frighteningly aware of the fact that he would suffocate. Faster than he could realize, the shadows advanced on him and threatened to pull him under. The mini-sleuth tried to hold onto the last strand of sanity and wakefulness, but he was fighting a losing battle.

Noticing that his heartbeat seemed to slow gradually, only one face, one single name rose up in his mind, for a split-second overruling the pain and the frightening sensation of not being able to breathe.

He could see her as clearly as ever, perhaps even clearer. Her kind eyes, her soft brown hair, her gentle voice. It felt like he only needed to stretch out his hand and touch her. Then the vision faded into an eclipse of darkness, while her name was the last remnant of his mind as his world disappeared into blackness and his thoughts dispersed completely.

Ran...

Thursday 23rd September 2011

Chidori-cho

11:35 AM

Heiji POV

Thanks to the police clearing the way ahead, the drive to the warehouse Kazawa Sayuri had told them about took only a little more than half an hour. Nonetheless it seemed like hours on end for Heiji. He could barely sit still. He itched to finally do something and as a result of that his muscles actually had started to quiver in anticipation.

To avoid forcing the madman to an extreme, Megure had the sirens shut off as they neared the industrial district. If the killer heard the police approaching, he might just kill Kudo on principle. Something they desperately sought to avoid.

Before all the cars had fully slowed to a stop, the Special Tactics Unit was already filing out their van, followed by Heiji and Mouri. The tanned teen shot a quick look to the older detective's face and was startled by the amount of grim fury he could see. His face was set like a stony mask, not allowing for anything besides anger. Though Heiji suspected he himself didn't look much different.

They were so close to finding Kudo, their nerves were literally on the verge of snapping.

Most of the back-up was instructed to surround the warehouse, just in case the culprit managed to make a run for it, while the Special Tactics people along with several officials and the two independent sleuths made their way into the dimly lit building.

Heiji had expected it to be mainly one large room, but now he saw that it had been partitioned off into several smaller sections. Following the bulk of Megure-keibu (who moved faster than any of his size should be able to), Heiji made his way deeper into the building, eerily aware of everything around him.

They passed an open door and the tanned sleuth could spot a smashed TV-set on the floor and a wall covered in newspaper-clippings. He mainly noticed it since they all checked the room for any sign of their culprit.

The further they advanced into the building, the more they became aware of a sound that could only be produced by something being violently beaten. Trading a look with the older sleuth, Heiji felt the blood rush out of his face.

They were at the right place.

Suddenly, something made the tanned Osakan's blood turn to ice in his veins. A terrible cry erupted from somewhere beyond a door ahead; muffled, but clearly audible; bounding off the walls and burning itself into the sleuth's memory forever. He'd never heard anyone scream like that, he hadn't even been sure that Kudo was capable of such a shriek. But then the cry was suddenly cut off, which seemed even worse.

Kudo...

Out of the corner of his eye (even as he rushed forward), Heiji saw the portly official hurriedly gesture to the door of the room the sounds originated from and immediately several officers were at the Kansai detective's side. All in all, it took them little more than four seconds to reach the door and swarm in.

However, the scene they encountered was beyond terrifying. Nothing Heiji had encountered so far could possibly be more harrowing than seeing this madman kneeling over the bleeding form of what used to be Kudo's miniaturized form, his hands clenched into the mini-tantei's throat.

Heiji saw it in the span of less than one heartbeat, even while all around him shouts erupted as the officers took aim and demanded the man to stand down.

Deranged eyes settled on them all, the hands choking the small form releasing their deathly grip hopefully enough to allow the mini-sleuth to take a breath.

The tanned Osakan didn't even want to entertain the notion that they might be too late, even though his gut twisted uncomfortably at the sight in front of him. Megure's voice rang out, even as Heiji stood rooted to the ground.

"Stand down or we'll be forced to shoot!" the official barked, but Heiji hardly paid attention.

All his focus was drawn by the bound figure lying limply on the floor, clothing dingy and blood-splattered, trying to see if he was still breathing. Or moving. The tanned sleuth tried to detect any movement, no matter how small, that would tell him if Kudo was alive still.

He couldn't see anything.

And it nearly drove him mad.

A movement ripped him out of his worried funk and his eyes found the culprit, Kazawa Rokurou (or most likely his split personality), still crouched over the seemingly lifeless form of his best friend.

"He's mine! You can't have him!" the man screeched and actually yanked Kudo up by the cuff of his shirt, held him like a living shield in front of himself, one hand loosely around the mini-adult's throat.

The scene froze entirely.

Heiji hardly dared to breathe. One wrong move might prompt the madman to snap Kudo's neck right in front of their eyes and as long as it wasn't yet established that Kudo was dead, they would avoid that at all costs.

"It's over, Kazawa! Let him go, now!" Mouri shouted towards the hunched figure, but only provoked a feral snarl from the crazed man.

"We will shoot, Kazawa! Put Conan down or we'll shoot!" Megure barked again, even as the officers still aimed at the man.

For a moment, everything went still, none dared to move and Heiji spotted a subtle shiver running through the madman's body. Confused he frowned, he had not counted on seeing someone like that shiver in a situation like this. Even more surprised was he, when he witnessed the culprit close his eyes for a moment, before a voice filtered through the stillness. A voice coming from their culprit, yet a far cry from the deranged shout they all heard earlier.

"He's right... it's... over..." the man stated and set his gaze on them all. The snarl was gone, the deranged light extinguished and the man actually seemed relieved.

That's Rokurou then...

The thought was merely a secondary observation, something that only dimly registered in the tanned teen's brain. It was drowned out in the things that happened in the moment following the man's declaration.

One moment, the man's hands unclenched, gravity took over and let Kudo's limp body thud to the ground.

The next moment, the relief in the culprit's face vanished and made room for another animalistic snarl, showing that the split personality had taken over once again.

"NO! HE'S MINE!" the man roared, but even before he reached the end of the sentence, several shots rang out all around them, throwing the madman backwards; smashing into a table as he went down.

In the next instant, the entire place sprang into a flurry of wild action.

The police-officers were on Kazawa in a moment, who was still alive judging by the groaning sound emerging from him. But Heiji paid no heed.

Before Kazawa had even fully hit ground, the tanned teen was already rushing to his friend. Everything else had simply lost significance. He just had to see, had to check for himself whether Kudo was alive or not. Mouri was barely a pace behind him.

The older sleuth immediately searched for a pulse, for a second freezing utterly and fear clouded Heiji's mind. But the fear dissipated as he saw the moustached detective relax and breathe a heavy sigh.

"He's alive!" the man shouted over his shoulder, prompting Megure to bark for the medics standing in readiness.

Heiji meanwhile had a hard time even realising the full extend of the damage done to the small form in front of him. If he hadn't known for sure, he wouldn't have been able to tell this was his friend.

The face was badly bruised and covered in dirt and crusted blood. Blood had also oozed into his hair, and while coagulating, had plastered it all over Kudo's skull. A laboured, wheezing breath could be heard as Mouri carefully undid the gag still lodged between Kudo's teeth.

More to busy his hands and to avoid crouching there like a complete idiot, Heiji set to work undoing the bindings around his friend's feet. Thankfully the cargo-pants he had worn had prevented the material to slice into his legs. But judging by how tightly it was wound around his friends ankles, he'd most likely have deep bruising.

Worse at his hands...

Sweeping a glance over the small form in Mouri's arms, Heiji suddenly realised the sick angle at which Kudo's left shoulder protruded. The ever analytical part of his mind informed him that the shoulder looked broken.

Heiji could hardly grasp the amount of force that had been dealt to his friend. It was hard to take that all in and the tanned sleuth was aware that his hands trembled horribly.

He'd rarely seen Kudo injured, the guy usually escaped nearly unharmed (at least in the cases they both worked together), at the worst having a few scrapes or cuts, nothing a bandage wouldn't cure. But this... this was so much worse than even he could have imagined.

Dimly he was aware of a pair of paramedics crouching down next to him, already setting to work on helping their little detective. The tanned teen dared a glimpse at Mouri's ashen face, still refusing to put Kudo down again.

And then Heiji witnessed something which could almost be considered scary, at least in context to the older sleuth. In an unheard of display of affection, Mouri gently brushed the bloody bangs out of Kudo's face. The gesture could have seemed casual, were it not for the look on the older detective's face. It was something so alien in context with the mini-sleuth, something so out of place, one could almost believe to imagine it. But it was there.

The old man looked at the form in his arms as if he held his own child.

Suddenly Heiji understood as another small piece to the puzzle fell into place. No matter how much he'd try and deny it, Mouri cared for 'the annoying pest', as he so often termed his friend.

But Heiji chose not to think of it now, as he witnessed Kudo's lax face crease suddenly and a weak groan came from the small human. Seemingly the faux child was regaining consciousness.

Though it'd be better if he be kept out of it... the pain must be terrible...

Even as the paramedics continued with their ministrations, the tanned sleuth saw one of Kudo's eyes slid open only a fraction, the other being swollen shut. And he wasn't the only one having noticed that.

"Conan... It's okay, hold still. We found you, don't worry." Mouri said quietly, his eyes never leaving the mini-adult's face.

Once more the eye slid open and a shudder passed over the small body. Heiji could actually see the agony his friend was suffering at the moment.

"Don' worry, buddy, we'll get ya outta 'ere." he managed to grind out, forcing a crooked smile onto his face as the eye settled on his features. For a moment, Kudo didn't seem to recognize him, but then his blurred gaze sparked and a weak twitch found its way around his pale lips. Only a moment later, his frame sagged again as he fell back into unconsciousness, now aware that he was safe.

Heiji couldn't recall much of what happened afterwards. He went with Mouri as the older detective carried the injured form of Kudo to the ambulance, even as the detectives around them looked on in sheer horror.

He noticed the other ambulance was occupied with the heavily bleeding form of their culprit. A part of him really wanted to tell the medics to just leave him to bleed to death, but he noticed that it was just his anger speaking. It wasn't right to let this man die, he needed to be put to trial for his crimes. Needed to face the full force of the law, to be locked away for the rest of his miserable life. Surely Kudo would agree to that.

And there were still questions that this man needed to answer.

Nonetheless, it did feel as if Heiji was only partially aware of the happenings around him, as if he only noticed half (or less) of it. Mostly that was due to the tension now ebbing away. The culprit was caught, the case was over.

And Kudo had survived it.

You didn't really think that I'd let the chibi die, did you?! I'm a CANON-Writer, so killing off the main character would be unforgovable for me *lol* Anyway, hope you liked it and if you want, you can review, after all, I'm not pressuring anyone here^^

See you next chapter!