Warnings, disclaimers, more evil coming. Mwahaha.

Pts. 12-16, remixed

"Authorities have recieved conflicting reports regarding Aleph's involvement in this morning's terrorist bombing of Ekoda High. The organization is best known for the sarin gas attacks carried out by its predecessor in 1996..."

Saguru failed to ignore the news coverage blaring out of bars and noodle shops as he clumped down the street, freshly released from the hospital and one of the most fortunate of his schoolmates. His proximity to the blast, specifically the gaping hole to the fresh air outside, had minimized his smoke inhalation. Plus, aside from blood loss, considerable bruising, and a sprained ankle (which required a weight-bearing cast), his worst injury had been a laceration along the side of his head. It had been stitched up and bandaged, leaving a rather gruesome reminder from temple to ear, but it was far better than the perforated brain and resulting death that would have occured had he been standing just one more step to the right.

He would have to do something extremely nice for Koizumi when she woke, accidental as her action had been.

A blocky, three-story building loomed overhead, and Saguru sighed. He'd hoped to hear back from Kuroba's mother by now, and therefore not have to face the conversation to come. This shouldn't be his responsibility... this decision shouldn't be in his hands.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs next to the coffee shop. His phone would ring any minute, with news that Kuroba's mother had located her son, and he could leave without them ever knowing he was here. Any minute now. He paused before the faceplate on the door. Any minute. He lifted his hand to the buzzer. Any minute...

Bzzzt.

Damn.

With a quick breath, Saguru composed himself. Loud thumping came from behind the door, not consistent with either Sleeping Kogoro or his teen daughter, so he dropped his gaze to the doorknob as the door opened... and found himself staring at the hem of an oversized, rumpled Tshirt. He jerked his eyes up, finding sharp green eyes glowering at him out of a dark, drawn face. As if his day couldn't get any worse.

"Good evening," Saguru said in resignation. Hattori Heiji. Why, of all people, did he have to deal with Hattori Heiji now?

Hattori didn't even bother with a polite reply. "Ya look like shit."

"Likewise," Saguru replied tiredly. "My classroom was at ground zero," he added, to satisfy the other detective's no-doubt-present curiosity. "May I please speak to Edogawa-kun?"

Hattori's face twisted, forcing the blood to drain from Saguru's face. Surely the child didn't know about Kaito already...? "He was kidnapped last night."

Saguru stared blankly for a long moment. Kidnapped. Both brothers vanished, within hours of each other. That couldn't be coincidence... which meant Kaito was likely not in any hospital at all. "In that case, I suppose I must speak to you. I believe..." Saguru swallowed. This was why he specialized in thefts, and in particular Kaitou Kid; people weren't hurt as often in thefts. "I believe our cases may be related."

"Our cases...?" Hattori's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, then flew wide. "Wait, ya mean the bombing?"

"Somewhat. I intended to inform Edogawa-kun..." Saguru bit back the rest of the sentence, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't really thought much past 'my classmate's vanished, I believe he's a relative of yours, professional courtesy at the least requires that I bring it to your attention', and the fact that his only lead was... well, silly. How would an ordinary teenage girl have known anything?

But why else would she have said something so ridiculous, with such urgency?

Only one way to find out. Saguru glanced up at Hattori from behind his hand. "Might I inquire if the term 'ninja' means anything to you?"

"Ninja," Hattori echoed slowly, frowning. "Like... sneaky killers in black?"

'Sneaky killers' did seem an unnervingly apt description for the criminal element that would bomb a school. "That may have been what she meant."

Saguru had never heard the expletive that came out of Hattori's mouth, but he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. Hattori leaned back into the apartment, grabbing a jacket out from behind the door. "Goin' out!" he yelled, voice tense as he pulled a baseball cap from his back pocket... though he gave Saguru a hard, considering look, then jammed it right back where it had been before. "Kazuha, man the fort." Then he pushed past Saguru, a tilt of his head indicating Saguru should come along.

Bemused, Saguru turned and followed him back down the stairs, reading bad omens in the set of Hattori's shoulders and prowling footsteps. "Hattori-san..." He trailed off as the other boy ducked into the alley next to the building, pulling out a small motorbike.

At Saguru's raised eyebrow, Hattori snapped, "Yeah, I brought it. Soon as I get a lead, I'm gonna be there backin' up Ku-- Conan's damn ass. So whatever ya got ta say, stow it til we get there." He pulled out two helmets, shoving one into Saguru's chest and letting the blond fumble with it as he swung a leg over the bike. "And get on. As banged up as you are, you're gonna kill yourself tryin' ta walk all over Beika."

"I would not," Saguru muttered on automatic, not entirely truthfully. He buckled the helmet into place and slid gingerly onto the bike behind Hattori.

"Hold tight and stay still," Hattori ordered, revving up the bike. "You make us crash and I'll kick your ass all the way to hell." Then he snapped the visor closed without letting Saguru answer, kicked up the stand, and they rocketed off into the twisting streets of Beika.

Saguru had never been on a motorbike before, and certainly wouldn't have chosen his first experience to be with a near-stranger driving. He clutched at Hattori's jacket, managing to watch the street signs for all of perhaps three blocks before he gave in and shut his eyes. Hattori was either an insane driver, a severely upset one (which seemed likely), or riding a motorcycle was not an experience Saguru would care to repeat. Ever.

The possibility that Hattori was driving as frighteningly as possible to distract Saguru from retracing their route came to mind, but Saguru dismissed it as overly paranoid. Time was of the essence here, not secrecy.

Soon enough the low-rent, low-rise flats of the Mouri's neighborhood gave way to more expensive apartments, then to single-family homes that grew larger with each turn. The gate Hattori parked at failed to hide an art-deco residential monstrosity; a towering entrance with an upstairs room jutting out, the rest of the house sweeping back in two broad curves.

The gate was unlocked, though Hakuba spared a moment to wonder why the owner had put on a box with so many strange interlocking parts, instead of a simple lock or coded keypad. Particularly when Hattori needed only two seconds and a strange twist of his hand to open it.

Hattori rolled the bike in after them and let the gate fall shut, then walked up to the front door... and stood there, ignoring both the doorbell and knocker. Saguru reached around for the buzzer.

"Don't bother," Hattori said. A quick, hard glance, and he tapped the toe of his sneaker against the mat. "Pressure sensors. And," leaning towards the buzzer's pad, "a camera." He waved at the buzzer's faceplate, and in all seriousness pinched his own cheeks and pulled.

Saguru pressed a fingertip against the bridge of his nose, all too familiar with Hattori's move. Somebody in this house was worried about disguises. Lovely. They must've dealt with Kid before, and not on the best of terms if they wanted proof a visitor was not disguised. This did not bode well.

"Come on, it's Heiji, lemme in already!"

Patience, as Saguru had observed before, was not one of Hattori's more prominent virtues.

Although, as the door clicked open and he found himself facing down the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol, it was perhaps a virtue the other detective shouldn't cultivate. It took time to get guns and ammo out of the separate safes required by Japanese law. And considering the pistol was being brandished by a seven-year-old girl, who shouldn't even know the combination to those safes... what were her parents getting while the child kept them pinned to the front stoop?

"Oh, fer... come on, Ai-kun," Hattori complained, hands up by his shoulders. "It's really me. Do I gotta tell about the hot spring and the poker game ta prove it?"

The girl's stare remained pinned to Saguru. "No," she replied simply, voice cold. "Who's he?"

"Hakuba Saguru," Hattori replied, "And he's too much of an ass ta be one of them." Saguru decided not to take offense, considering the term was being used as evidence that he was not one of the unwanted 'them'.

"You'd be surprised," the girl muttered.

On second thought, he would put the insult on Hattori's tab.

The child stepped back, lowering the gun and using it to wave them inside. "Get in here." With considerable misgivings on his part, and no trace of discomfort on Hattori's, they obeyed. As they toed off their shoes, Saguru kept a wary eye on the weapon, and the little girl studied him intensely in return.

"Hakuba Laboratories?" she asked, out of the blue.

Saguru blinked. "My grandfather's." She'd known that off the top of her head. How?

She beckoned, and Saguru, mindful of the gun, bent. Unsurprisingly, she reached up and pinched his face. Hard. Then spun on Hattori. "You're sure he's who he says he is?"

Hattori shrugged. "Met him on a couple cases, seen him on TV... he does the Kaitou Kid heists... ran a quick net search a while back. Face matches the guy his dad says is his son, an' it's kinda hard to fake solvin' a case in front of me 'n Ku--Conan. So. Yeah."

A long pause, then the girl flicked the gun's safety back on, sticking it in the waistband of her skirt. "He's clear, then." She gestured, and turned to lead them deeper into the house. "They wrote off Hakuba Labs. Nothing to catch their interest, and too small and unspecialized to bother with. Although," she cast a quick, smug glance at Saguru over her shoulder, "Maybe they screwed up this time."

Her fierce little smirk, coupled with the words, suddenly meshed with Saguru's errand. He'd come to find a seven-year-old who should be seventeen... he'd found one. There weren't going to be any parents bristling with weaponry coming out of the woodwork; there weren't any parents here at all. Hattori had brought him to see this girl. All because of ninjas, 'sneaky killers in black', and the disappearance of identical prodigy brothers. As well as a mysterious 'they', who the girl knew intimate details about... and was paranoid about being found by.

Saguru stopped short in the hall. "Dear god," he choked out. The two turned to stare at him, and Saguru rallied himself. "I may be jumping to conclusions, but," the mental image of a seven-year-old Kaitou Kid danced across his mind's eye, "how long until They do... whatever it is that shrank Edogawa-kun and..." The little girl's face drained rapidly of color. "And... forgive me, I didn't catch your name."

"Haibara Ai," Hattori supplied. "And yer barkin' up the wrong tree, Hakuba."

"Barking something, all right," Saguru muttered in English. Barking mad, as his life had been since he'd first heard of Kid. Kuroba. Who was not getting any more rescued while they danced around topics with only partial information. "Perhaps we should lay all our cards on the table before attempting to cobble together a working theory."

"Sounds like a plan." Saguru noted that Hattori hadn't said it was a good plan.

Haibara gave them both a withering, wary look, and Saguru sighed. Much as it grated upon him, perhaps he should make some concessions. "Considering I am the supplicant here, and as a gesture of good faith, I will offer my information first."

His hosts eyed each other, fleeting expressions conveying a silent conversation, than Haibara turned to Saguru.

"This way, please," she said, suddenly the gracious hostess. "We try to keep the lab clean of listening devices."

Saguru wasn't sure if that was a warning or not. But he gamely followed the child deeper into the house, keeping politely far enough back for her comfort, and well aware of Hattori too close behind for his own.

The lower level, rather than being the dank basement it should've been, was a bright lab worthy of any university. Fluorescent lights shone in a remarkably high ceiling, gleaming off scuffed linoleum floors and polished tables alike. Chemistry equipment sprawled over a long table on one wall, half piled high in a sink or air-drying on a rack over it. A smaller table near the center of the room held a pair of computers (so at least Haibara didn't live here alone) and a bank of monitors held sway in the corner nearest it.

Stools and ladders of various heights stood scattered around the room, but Haibara gestured them towards a round table and couch on the far side of the space. Hattori shoved a pile of blankets out of the way and flopped down, while Saguru more carefully found a clear narrow spot between a book and a throw pillow. But no sooner had they sat down than an insistent, discreet beeping began.

"Aw hell," Hattori muttered, his head thunking against the back of the couch. Haibara ran to climb up on a tall lab stool among the machinery, then clicked on several monitors and began to fiddle with a joystick, staring intently at a large screen.

Saguru didn't recognize the image, though it was too dark to make out more than maybe-a-doorway and movement from this angle. "What's that?"

"Alarm on the neighbor's place," Hattori answered darkly. "Somebody got in."

How paranoid were these people? "The neighbor's place?" Saguru echoed. He got only a grunt of agreement, and an extremely obvious sign of distress: Hattori tugging at the side of his cap, not-quite trying to twist it the right way around.

A few clicks of a mouse, and tension drained out of Haibara's shoulders. "It's the Kudous," she announced.

Kudou. Kudou... why did that sound familiar? Certainly not the yakuza lord, he'd died just a few months ago... wait. Crime lord, crime, detective, famous detective, the son of the mystery author who'd given Kid his name... "Not Kudou Yuusaku?" Whose seventeen-year-old son hadn't been seen in public for months, and had looked so very, very familiar that time Kaitou Kid had impersonated him. "I think I need to sit down," Saguru said weakly.

"Yer already sitting."

"Oh. Oh good." Edogawa Conan. The missing Kudou Shin'ichi. It explained so much.

Fingers snapped in front of Saguru's face, making him jump. "Spill," Hattori ordered.

"I..." Saguru paused, took a deep breath, and let it back out slowly. He was starting to get a good idea of the extent of their necessary paranoia. "I'm going to reach for my wallet," he said, suiting action to words. Under Hattori's narrow-eyed stare, he pulled out the billfold and flipped it open to the thin picture insert Aoko had gifted him with ages ago. Most of the plastic slots were empty, but two were not: one aging, dogeared family photo, taken six years ago when both his parents had been in the same country for Christmas, and one brand-new snapshot, taken a mere four months ago. It wasn't a particularly good picture of himself, Saguru thought, given that Kuroba had just dumped snow down his back... but it was an extremely good one of Aoko and Kuroba.

Then he slid the open wallet across the table.

"Edogawa Conan and Kaitou Kid are twins," Saguru said simply.

He sensed more than saw Haibara snap around on her stool, Hattori sitting bolt upright. "Yer shittin' me."

Saguru shrugged, wincing slightly as it pulled at one of his deeper bruises. "I did the genetic analyses myself... and I'm not known for my sense of humor." Ignoring the all-too-emphatic snort, he tapped Kuroba's picture and added, "This is the only one of eleven people in Japan who matches Kid's profile, unofficial though it is, lives near Tokyo, and has been in the country and out of the hospital for every Kid heist. It's not enough for court, however..." It's quite enough for me, he left unsaid.

Hattori let it go. "And?"

"He was removed, unconscious, from the blast site in our classroom and has yet to be located."

A long moment passed. Then Hattori leaned forward and plucked the photo insert straight out of Saguru's wallet. "You stay here," he said, a tight rein on his voice, eyes snapping to Haibara. "Ai-kun?"

Saguru twisted just in time for his eyes to cross on the barrel of the gun.

"Nothing personal," Haibara said, as Hattori got up and left.

Saguru swallowed, lifting his hands harmlessly into the air. "All things considered," including the fact that she was still small enough that she needed to hold the gun with both hands, and Saguru was already several centimeters and kilograms larger than most of his Japanese peers, "None taken. Might we adjourn to the--" Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed. "--monitors?"

The gun didn't move, but Haibara tipped her head and stepped to the side. Saguru stood and took her former stool before the large screen, keeping his hands carefully visible at all times. From this angle, the image was much clearer: an unlit foyer, the last dregs of sunlight streaming in through the windows. A large suitcase and two pairs of shoes, a man's loafers and woman's low heels, sat lined up against the wall and hallway step, respectively.

Only a few minutes passed before the door opened and shut again, Hattori briefly backlit, then momentarily blacked out as the camera adjusted for light levels. There wasn't a lot to see, really: without sound, the monitor was only good for identifying intruders and a bit of lip-reading. But Saguru could very well see the wariness when Kudou Yukiko stepped out of a nearby room, expressed in the unquestioned pinching of faces and repeated when Kudou Yuusaku came onscreen.

The conversation after that, for all that it wasn't at a good angle for lipreading anyway, was brief. Some bowing and likely an exchange of pleasantries, as hurried as either side could get away with, then Hattori brought Saguru's snapshot out and handed it to the slim woman onscreen.

To her credit, Kudou Yukiko's long retirement hadn't weakened her skills as an actress: her face remained natural and relaxed, not betraying so much as a double take at her son's doppelganger. She also apparently held enough respect for Hattori that she didn't affect confusion at being given the photograph. With a sidelong glance at her husband, she tucked the picture into an inner pocket of her jacket.

So, Saguru thought, the husband would be the one to watch for fleeting, telltale expressions.

On the monitors, the Kudous stepped into their shoes, wheeled out their luggage, and followed Hattori from the house.

"Thank you," Saguru murmured, raising his hands towards the keyboard. "If I may?"

"Turn it off," Haibara replied.

Saguru obeyed, putting the system into sleep mode, then returned to his seat on the couch. Just in time, too; a few minutes later, the door upstairs clunked open. Hattori's voice called out, "It's us!", as heavy footsteps started down the stairs.

Haibara put the gun away just as Hattori reentered the room with an older, moustached and bespectacled version of Kuroba Kaito hard on his heels. Saguru blinked. Good lord... no wonder no one had ever suspected Kuroba and Edogawa of being related. Kuroba was unimaginable as anyone but the magician Toichi's son, and likewise was this man unmistakably Edogawa's father.

Kudou Yukiko's face appeared in the gap between stairs and ceiling, the woman herself only halfway down the stairs. "Haibara-san," she brandished an oversized phone -- it took a moment for Saguru to recognize it as a satellite phone -- and asked, "Mind if I use your rooftop? I need to call Kuroba-san." At Haibara's permissive wave, she vanished.

The door upstairs slammed shut once more, and Saguru was left facing Kudou Yuusaku. Under any other circumstances, Saguru would no doubt embarrass himself over meeting the famed author. As it was, however, he simply stood and bowed.

Yuusaku set the photograph down with measured movements. "This is yours, I believe?"

"Yes sir." He gathered up the picture and his wallet, as a raised eyebrow invited him to continue. "Hakuba Saguru. It would be a pleasure to meet you, but as it is," he shuffled the picture and insert back into place, "I apologize for being the bearer of bad news."

"The bombing at Ekoda High, and Kaito-kun's disappearance," Yuusaku agreed tightly. "How did you get mixed up in all this?"

Saguru winced. Against all this blatant, justified fear, the precautions he'd so completely ruined... the sheer pettiness of seeing Kuroba-kun fall off that bench stood out in sharp relief.

He really hadn't thought it through, all those weeks ago, why the brothers might not know of their relation in the first place. His motivations were mostly immature, in retrospect... a bit to warn Kuroba-kun of the risk, somewhat more of his white-knight complex to right the injustice of separating children, a measure of his deep-rooted need to uncover truth... and a whole lot of wrongfooting Kuroba-kun and getting the best of him for a change.

Time to pay the proverbial piper. "I'm afraid I'm the one who uncovered, and alerted Kuroba-kun to, the fact of his relation to... Edogawa-san."

"Best stick to that name, yes." Yuusaku kept him pinned under his stern gaze for another, too-long moment, then sighed and pulled over a nearby stool. Settling himself on it, he folded his hands before him, and cast his eyes over the three teens. "I'm afraid, Hakuba-san, that Yukiko and I haven't calculated you into our contingency plans."

Obviously not.

"Nor," he added, "will you be able to find the Kurobas when you return to Ekoda. By now she'll have abandoned the house. Kaito isn't fool enough to return there when he escapes." A pause. "This means that any place that Kaito or Conan may see as safe haven will be watched by the Black Organization."

Sneaky killers in black, people who could bomb a school with impunity in Japan, people who could turn an adult into a child... had they already applied that to their own assassins? Was that how they'd gotten the bomb into the building so easily? People with the numbers to watch anyplace deemed safe haven, from Tokyo to Osaka...

They were all in terrible danger.

"So," Yuusaku said, spreading his hands out. "We need to accommodate you in our plans. Let's get to work."

-0-0-0-

Conan wasn't sure how long he sat there in the dark, chin resting on his knees and bare feet barely on the narrow mattress, staring blindly towards the chalkboard wall. Certainly long enough to start having trouble ignoring his hunger pangs; long enough to feel matching rumbles from Kid's stomach, pressed low against Conan's back.

Not that food was anywhere near the forefront of his mind. That ran in circles, trying to parse together what little information Conan had.

He'd previously concluded that his captors knew he was Kudou Shin'ichi. The room was constructed with too much caution to hold a mere seven-year-old. Kid's presence, however... since he was a brilliant and proven escape artist, the room's construction made much more sense. However, considering just how good Kid was, the room might actually be too low-security. That would indicate that Conan was here as leverage against Kid... but any random child off the street could do that, and a normal kid would be a lot less help than a proven genius in that case.

So would grabbing one of Kid's civilian friends, unless their captors had gotten Kid on a heist. Considering that Kid hadn't sent out a heist note by the time Conan had been captured, and by the rumbling of his stomach he hadn't been here more than a day and a half, that was unlikely. But how good were these guys to figure out who the hell Kid was?

Conan's gaze dropped instinctively towards the spot the teen's head should be, though he couldn't see it. There... was another possibility. Kid looked exactly like Kudou Shin'ichi. Their captors were obviously after geniuses. If they thought Kid was Shin'ichi...

The room's security level, and Conan's presence, fit that scenario all too well. Use Shin'ichi's deductive abilities for themselves, use his young, impressionable "distant cousin" as leverage and additional brainpower...

Ohhhh, were they in for a surprise.

Conan buried his grin against his knees, rocking slightly as his spirits lifted. About time Kaitou Kid put his skills to use harrassing criminals instead of detectives.

That just left figuring out who'd actually caught them. If they thought Kid was Shin'ichi, it wouldn't be Black Org. They wanted Shin'ichi dead. That left... Vermouth, or an unknown gang.

Behind him, the slow, rhythmic press of breathing hitched, and Conan froze.

Theory was all well and good. But he still hadn't deduced if these guys were bright enough to have or cared about surveillance. Cameras equiped with infrared or night vision, microphone pickups... if these guys were Org, they'd have both, and somebody watching the coverage live. If they weren't Org (which was dependent on who they thought Kid was), they might have neither camera nor mike, or only one of either, or something only activated by motion or sound, or nobody actually watching the coverage around the clock.

Worst-case scenario, they had mikes, night-vision cameras, and live surveillance. Which meant Conan should've laid down a while ago to get his mouth near Kid's ear, to tell him to keep faking continued unconsciousness right now.

Conan bit back a curse under his breath, and waited, muscles stiff, for Kid's first waking action.

And waited.

The muscles against Conan's hips slowly tightened, a barely-discernable thrum of tension setting alarms blaring in Conan's head. Kid was definitely awake now, and going to do something...

A careful, deep breath pressed flesh testingly against Conan, and Conan pressed back before he'd quite realized it.

What was Kid doing...?

The only point of contact between them was Conan's butt against Kid's side. As small as he was, the breadth of that couldn't be mistaken for an adult's presence in Kid's captivity. If he'd been Kid, if he'd woken with somebody pressed up against him (even as impersonally as Conan was) he would've done his best to subtly figure out something about that person too.

If he'd been thinking as coherently as Kid seemed to be, that is. Lucky them; Kid had been out too long to have been taken out by his own drugs, as Conan had been, so to have him thinking this clearly right off the bat was fortunate.

So if he were Kid, and thinking clearly enough to figure out "danger, stay still, child present and conscious", next he would probably slit his eyes open just enough to see there was nothing to see. Blink to make sure he wasn't blindfolded. Then, to figure out what he was probably lying on...

Yup, the press of Kid's stomach shifted downward. There was an unmistakable difference between beds and futons, and the solidity underneath them was it.

Conan felt Kid inhale more deeply, to catch the scents of concrete, damp, and bleach. He waited, letting Kid process that for a minute or two, then pressed back against Kid again, two quick bumps in succession, asking. He needed more information.

Kid stilled, the coiled wariness easing down a notch. It felt almost quizzical to Conan, as if considering an answer.

Then, a gentle bump back.

Conan lifted his head, turned it to face Kid's. "Hey, niisan, are you alive?"

Kid froze.

Conan made his voice smaller, younger. "... niisan?"

A discernable, pained sound. "Think so?" Kid replied weakly. The hair on the back of Conan's neck prickled. The inflections weren't quite right, but that was almost exactly the voice Conan used on his bowtie for Shin'ichi.

Get a grip, Conan told himself firmly. Kid had used that voice before, in the bathhouse, and it was well within range of 'Shin'ichi confused and feeling like crap'. Though it wasn't that far different from Kid's heist voice...

"Not sure about my stomach," Kid added. "What happened...?"

Down to business. "Dunno about you," Conan said. "I got grabbed off a crime scene." Kid made a curious sound.

Shoot. If they thought Kid was Shin'ichi, it would look weird if Conan introduced himself... but if they thought Kid was Kid, it would look weird if Conan didn't. Conan wouldn't be expected to recognize... but actually, he'd gotten a short enough glimpse that he could easily mistake Kid for Shin'ichi. No introduction, then.

"Thought it was Kaitou Kid for a second," Conan went on. "The same gas. But the guy who grabbed me was too rough, and this isn't Kid's style at all." Come on, any second now... The guard should either have standing orders or alert the guy in charge, if there was a guard and the guy was on site.

If Conan was the guy in charge, he'd want to be there when the drugs were expected to wear off. But he might also want to watch and see what his captives made of each other. That might make it take longer for the jerk to get here. Hm...

Kid turned onto his side, an elbow nudging at Conan's hip. "When was that?" he asked.

The case? "Thursday evening."

"Ah." Kid's voice was sounding sharper now. "I hadn't yet read the paper. Was going to read it on break... I was at school. Friday morning."

Their captors could've taken Conan on a train or a plane with pressurized cargo space, or even had a charter plane, but they would've bothered to change out of their ambulance worker disguises had they needed to get Kid onto one. So given what driving in Tokyo was like, how much time had passed between Conan waking up and Kid's arrival, and how much since then... it was probably Friday night and they were still in eastern Japan.

Kid shifted to sit up, and his hand clamped on Conan's shoulder a split second before the light clicked on.

The door clunked open, and...

Oh fuck.

Conan remembered the guy. The Syndicate's false FBI agent, from that whole mess with Kir. Aging, stern-faced, hollow-cheeked, dressed in black... Koln. That was his name. Koln.

Conan instinctively moved to stand, but Kid's hand kept him in place. Refusal to acknowledge the psychological advantage? To let Koln know how vulnerable sitting at his feet really felt? Or just his body lagging behind his mind in recovering from the drugs?

He couldn't tell. But he could follow Kid's lead this once. They needed to work together to get out of here, anyway.

"Edogawa Conan and Kaitou Kid." Conan's stomach clenched, but those cool eyes bypassed him to land on Kid. "I've been waiting to meet you, Kuroba Kaito-kun."

Kuroba Kaito. They knew Kid's name. And from the way Kid's hand tensed on Conan's shoulder, it was his real one, too.

"If I may call your attention to the far wall," Koln said, gesturing at the chalkboard wall with its neatly printed warning. Conan barely glanced at it, remembering the inscription all too easily.

His wellbeing depends on your cooperation.

A pause. "That's... eloquent," Kaito said, voice sliding towards Kid's harder tones. "I presume it applies to both of us."

Koln inclined his head in agreement. "Our studies indicate you've inherited the Kumori woman's pyrrhic nature. Edogawa-kun circumvents that nicely."

"It's inspired." Kaito's tone was not complimentary in the least.

"Of course," Koln went on, ignoring Kaito's comment, "Edogawa-kun's abilties have earned him his cousin's place, as well." His gaze flicked back to Conan. "My condolences for your loss."

Conan stared. What the hell was going on?

"And yours as well, Kaito-kun."

Kaito's eyes chilled. Conan had to agree: Koln had taken enough liberties using Kid's true name at all, much less that casual a form.

Koln paused. "I see." he murmured slowly. "You've not yet begun to wonder about your paternity." Kaito's hand twitched, weight lifting from Conan's shoulder. "You may call me Grandfather."

Conan felt the blood drain from his face, Kaito's taking on a greenish cast even as Kid's fiercest grin snapped on.

"That's generous of you, but I'd rather not."

The next thing Conan knew, he was nose-to-concrete, ears ringing and Kaito's hip digging into his stomach. He stared as Kaito helped him sit back up, watching Koln's expressionless face, the hand dropping back to his side.

Right. The message on the wall. Kaito mouthed off, Conan got whapped. Lovely. Ow.

"Understood... Grandfather," Kaito bit out.

Koln's gaze dropped to Conan. "And Edogawa-kun may call me Sensei." Conan glowered at Koln. "Won't you, Edogawa-kun."

As long as it wasn't Grandfather. Gods. Conan let his voice waver. "Yes... sensei."

"Very good," Koln said. "If you get up, you may use the restroom."

Gee, a reward for obedience. Not surprising. But a seven-year-old would be pretty damn confused right now, so... Conan bit his lip, then caught Kaito's shoulder and levered himself up, clutching a bit more tightly than necessary. He stepped onto the cold concrete floor, casting a wary glance up at Koln, and twitched when Koln placed his hand between Conan's shoulderblades.

That impersonal gesture guided Conan out the door, and as Koln paused to close it, Conan managed to catch Kaito's eye. The teen, still seated on the futon with legs akimbo, offered up a smirk in the split second before the door fell shut.

Koln twisted the deadbolt into place, then flicked a light switch next to the door off.

-0-0-0

The lights went out again, and Kaito exhaled a silent breath. Gods. It made too much sense. If Hibari had been in Org, or recruited for it, and hidden her kids... Koln's grandsons... from them...

Kaito swallowed back bile and slowly began to stretch. No. That's what Koln wanted Kaito (and Conan) to think. True or not, Kaito couldn't afford to start thinking of Koln as a blood relative. That way lay family ties, clan loyalty, recognition of Koln as someone with authority over them...

He tucked his feet between thighs and stomach to warm them, and bent forward, arms reaching for the ceiling behind him. Breathe. Two. Three.

Conan was kin. Kaasan, for all she wasn't blood, was kin. Koln was nothing.

Six. Seven. Out. Thirteen. Fourteen. Breathe...

Kaito quickly smothered the count in his head. Keeping track of time was going to do no good here. It might even make things worse, the way captives were supposed to get twitchy about having no control over the timing of meals, lit periods, ability to sleep...

Control was the key. Control Kid's skills, compartmentalize that Grandfather was Not Family, watch for a chance to escape...

Forty-two... forty-three...

Arrgh. Good thing they hadn't grabbed Hakuba. Strong as he was, he'd still snap right quick without a clock.

Fift--

The bottom dropped out of Kaito's stomach. Hakuba.

Kaito shifted to another pose, sitting up to hook his ankle behind his head, and hoping by all the spirits that the cameras couldn't pick up on how the blood drained from his face... or that the guards would attribute it to the change in position. Because Hakuba would have had hours to search for Kaito by now.

The one blasted thing about detectives was how predictable they were. Kid tailored his riddle-notes to be understood only by the best of the best, by the people whose thoughts he could follow, the people who could fit themselves into his mindset and vice versa. It made the heists a more challenging game, fox and hound circling each other in endless rounds of feint and counterfeint... but it also meant that even outside the heists, Kaito knew fairly well what Hakuba would do.

Hakuba was going to discover Conan's disappearance within the next few hours, if he hadn't already... and he didn't know about the Black Organization. He wasn't paranoid enough to avoid the police; hell, his own father was the Chief Superintendent. The only thing standing between Conan's identity and the moles in the department would be Hakuba's own hubris.

Smug bastard that Hakuba was, he'd still been getting better about balancing that superhero complex with his sense of justice. With Kid's help, of course. But this might be the point where that came back to bite Kaito in the ass. If Hakuba's pride buckled under his need to see Kaito and Conan rescued...

Koln would have the perfect weapon to break Conan in two seconds flat.

But if Hakuba didn't reveal the relation, could he work around it? Having two known geniuses connected to Kaitou Kid disappear within a few hours of each other...

Kaito's mental image of Hakuba suddenly gained a squad of hulking bodyguards.

Yeek.

Okay. Thinking too much. Break it down. Either Hakuba would tell, or he wouldn't. If he did, Koln would realize Conan was the late Shin'ichi and break it to him badly. If he didn't, Koln wouldn't. Simple as that. Fifty-fifty.

... except... it wasn't quite that simple, was it? There'd been that narrow miss, when Koln had extended his condolences. Only two or three more words, a slight shift in the phrasing, and it would've been condolences for the loss of 'Kaito's brother Shin'ichi'.

So... that was more a two out of three chance, wasn't it? That Conan would find out from Koln, and that Conan would realize Kaito had kept it from him.

Kaito grit his teeth, managing to keep his face neutral, at the thought of the explosion that would cause. Lovely. And it wasn't as if he could--

Well. No, he probably could tell Conan in here without blowing Conan's secret. It wouldn't be that difficult to speak in terms of 'my late brother', and twist the conversation so Conan's horror looked like a child grieving a favorite relative. The problem, of course, was that they both needed to be functioning, not in shock, to get the hell out of here. And what with Koln already trying to mess with their heads... this was not the time for Conan to hear about being Kaito's brother, not from Kaito or Koln.

If Kaito could just make sure Conan knew Kaito had something to tell him, before Koln found out and did...

The door clunked open without preamble, Kaito tumbling warily out of his stretch as Koln shoved Conan none-too-gently into the dark and shut the door behind him. Then the overhead lights flared on, leaving Conan standing awkwardly at the edge of the futon.

He didn't look any the worse for being in Koln's hands, at least, but looks could be decieving. Kaito drew a leg up and rested his head on one hand. "Hey," he said softly, unthreateningly.

"... I'm back," Conan said, in the same tone.

That was good. That wasn't broken, screaming hysteria or furious detective-style accusations. Koln hadn't gotten or used the information yet. Kaito had a chance.

"You okay?" he asked, just in case.

A shrug. "Yeah. You?"

"Could be better."

Conan hesitated, biting his lip. "I... never thought. That you..." His hand twitched in an aborted gesture around the cell. "So this is what you really look like? Kaito-san?"

"Well, no." Kaito plucked at the cuff of his sleeve. "I'm more a T-shirt kind of guy." That got a reproving scowl out of Conan. "But yup. This is my real face, that's my real name, and," Inspiration struck. "I'll tell you everything else if you think up a way to escape." The utter shock on his brother's face made Kaito grin his most infuriatingly toothy grin.

As soon as Conan recovered from the surprise, he'd focus on the 'think' part of that bargain. Meanwhile, Koln's people would be too distracted by the 'escape' part. Both should miss the important part of the sentence: that if Koln found out... if he used Shin'ichi's identity against Conan... then Kaito could remind Conan that he'd promised, and meant, everything.

Unfortunately, that meant that after they did get out, he'd have to let Conan know they were related.

But the prospect of escape, and what they'd need to do after that to stay free, made that not seem so bad.

TBC