DCMK Fic
Title: Fall Down
Author: Illori
Rating: Um. K+? T?
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: A sort of “what if” scenario from the episode 515. 'Cause I always wondered.
A/N: This idea just came to me and refused to leave until I wrote it down. So, here is it.
He watches the thief take a dive from the rooftop, white wings catching wind to carry him, impossibly, over the barrier net.
His emotions are tangled in that curious, familiar way of the yet another heist-game in the thief's favor; frustration, grudging admiration, disappointment, curiosity, tiny bit of awe that is squashed hurriedly beneath the sharp need to figure out the trick (because it *is* just a trick, it could not be anything else, there was *no teleportation involved* tonight, no matter what the fascinated, whispering crowd around him believes). He will solve this riddle, and they will fence again, and he will *win * next time they meet.
But here and now, attention focused on the white form flying away, excited crowd a muffled mutter in the background, frustration shakes itself from the snarl and rises just a little above everything else, and he reacts without quite thinking it through. Hand reaching towards the belt, charging the boot with the other, he has to take the last shot, fruitless though it is likely to be. Take aim, kick the ball with all enhanced strength he has - how is it that nobody ever seems to notice him do it? - he watches it fly toward his target (it's useless, a little voice murmurs at the back of his mind, he is too far away already). It's alright, he thinks to himself. He just doesn't want to let the thief to have the last word.
Something goes wrong.
/no/
He sees, even from so far below on the ground, the white figure twist a little to see the approaching missile. He can imagine the eyes widening behind the monocle, feels a small burst of smug satisfaction bloom over that frustration, and waits for the thief to avoid the soccer ball.
/wait...don't!/
The ball strikes the joint of the glider instead.
/No!/ He can almost hear the crack.
He stands frozen among the laughing people, watching, the right side of the glider flapping loose, the figure suddenly falling without the support of the full wing.
/No! It can't!/
He starts shoving through the mass of bodies.
/Oh, God, please, no/
Nobody else has noticed, nobody else is looking up, *why nobody has seen it yet*? He wants to scream, but the voice is stuck in the back of his throat, his heart is beating so hard, so fast, it is drowning out everything else.
/No, no nonono/
He runs through the empty streets, in the direction where he last saw the white figure
/falling, falling, falling down,
oh god please stop/
He doesn't remember getting to the roof, much less how he figured that it is the right one, but suddenly he is throwing open the door - aren't they supposed to lock them? - searching frantically
/please pleaseplease/
He sees a crumpled pile of white next to the wall, a twisted carcass of the glider (broken wings) and a twisted body underneath.
He wants to run to the body (is there something red, on the white, on the floor, he can't see through the twists of the shadows, is it blood, spreading?) but he can't seem to move, his limbs feel as if filled with lead, and the air is heavy, almost viscous, and the silence is so clear it is ringing.
/i didn't mean to, it can't happen, it didn't happen/
Somebody grabs his shoulder from behind, jerking him back. He tries to twist around, to get away, to see his attacker, and there is a voice that can't get through the white noise that fills his head, and somebody just shakes him roughly.
/stopitstopitstopit/
“... up, brat! Oi, wake up!”
Conan jerks awake, disoriented, to find himself so tightly wrapped in his blanket he can't move. He looks over his shoulder to see the familiarly annoyed face of Mouri Kogoro, staring blankly at him for a moment before managing to croak “'m awake” through a dry throat.
“Get up, then. Ran's making breakfast. Jeez, what's up with you today?” grumbling, the detective leaves the room.
A dream. It was just a dream.
He exhales shortly, before untangling himself from the cocoon of blankets. It didn't happed. The Kid is alive, he got away just fine. Conan takes a deep breath, another, willing himself to calm down, than reaches to take the souvenir from the night before from it's hiding place. The broken monocle lies in his palm, a silent reminder of how easily his nightmare might have been a realty.
His hands are still shaking.
* * *
Omake: later that evening.
He is unusually agitated, waiting with Ran and Sonoko for the heist to start. He tells himself that he shouldn't be, that it was just a nightmare, and it's not as if nightmares are unusual for him.
He only starts breathing easily after that mock-disappointed voice echoes on the street.