Title: Mine
Fandom: Detective Conan/Case Closed
Prompt: experiments by evil scientists
Medium: fic
Rating: PG
Warnings: Torture
Summary: There were a lot of things in his life Shinichi he could blame the Black Organization for. But this ... this was one thing he hated them for more than anything, even when another part of him was grateful for it.

Author's Notes: I'm not entirely sure how this idea happened. I kind of blame it on browsing for pictures of Shinichi, and finding lots of him standing next to Conan while looking at my Hurt/Comfort Bingo card. My mind wandered, and somehow ended up here. I have no idea where it's going as of yet, but there will definitely be lots of angst and fluff. Namely because there is a void of Shinichi&Conan fluff in this fandom, and I aim to fill it.

'Ochibi-chan' is snagged from Prince of Tennis; it means 'little one', or 'little guy'. I thought it was appropriate.

It happened fast.

He remembered walking down the street, heading home from dropping off the kids. It hadn't been dark yet, so he wasn't concerned about calling anyone to walk him home, and Ran wouldn't get upset as long as he was home in time for dinner. He took his time, enjoying the peace and quiet to think.

He remembered the sound of an engine behind him. It was slowing, for the light he'd assumed. He was too focused on the ground in front of him, lost in thought about the Black Organization, and the frustrating lack of information about them. There had been a screech of brakes, a door opening, movement behind him.

A hand clamped over his mouth before he had the chance to scream.


It started with beatings, someone shrouded in darkness snarling words he couldn't understand. There was blood everywhere; he thought it might be his own. His head hurt, and his vision was strangely fuzzy. He probably had a concussion.

He couldn't tell how long the beatings went on, only that they stopped whenever he finally blacked out. The moment he was awake, they would start again. Different people, but always the same questions and he could never understand what they wanted.

"Wh ... Shi..i.. K...do?!"

He wasn't scared, because he knew help would come. Help always came. Someone would find him. He just had to wait.

"Where - ?!"

The beatings stopped. Instead there were needles, sharp things cutting into his skin and oh god, it hurt all over again. He screamed and screamed, but the people in white coats ignored him and no one ever came.

More pain now. His skin was on fire, his bones were melting, and oh god, he was dying. He had to be.

And then it started again.

He could feel his bones breaking, his muscles stretching and tearing. Over and over, melting and burning and being squeezed until he couldn't breathe. He screamed himself hoarse, begged and pleaded for mercy. He sobbed, well past any point of caring about his pride.

He wanted to die. But he had to hold on, because they would come. They were looking, he knew it. He couldn't let them - her - down by giving up now.

He just had to wait.

The pain had finally stopped, but he wasn't sure if it was because it had actually stopped, or because he couldn't feel it anymore.

Slowly he became more aware of himself. He felt ... strange. There was a dull ache that he couldn't place; it seemed to be everywhere. There was blood on his face and his chest hurt in a way that he thought was bad, but the burning and melting was finally gone and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else.

His vision was the first to return, but it wasn't much of a help. The room was dark, a row of bars lining one wall. There was a window, but it was tiny - too small to fit through even if he could reach it. It wasn't much, but there was a dim light coming through. Not really enough for more than lightening some of the shadows.

Hearing was next. It came slower than his eyesight had, and his head throbbed as sound finally began to register. There wasn't much to hear, but dripping water could be painfully loud in a silent room. He almost couldn't hear the crying.


Someone was crying?

He squinted, blinking hard as he tried to search for whatever could be making the sound. Lots of things sounded like crying, especially when your hearing was off. Wind. Kittens.

There was a bundle in the corner of his cell. He squinted at it, but he couldn't tell anything in the darkness other than that it was soft - fabric most likely - and seemed to be shaking. And it was definitely where the crying was coming from.

Moving *hurt*. Hurt in ways he hadn't expected, and God, how was he going to get out of here with so many injuries? At least one leg was broken, possibly the arm he was crawling on. His head was screaming, and it was hard to think straight.

The bundle moved.

He froze as large blue eyes slowly looked up to meet his.

" ... Conan?" he croaked.

The boy jumped, cringing and whimpering in fear, but his own eyes had already gone wide at the sound of his voice.

Slowly he raised a hand in front of himself, staring at the long fingers, arms thin from lack of use. He turned it carefully, rotating his arm as he judged the length and mobility. His joints burned, but he didn't care, already moving to feel slowly, carefully down the length of his torso, legs, and back up to hesitantly feel his face.

The sudden sob caught him by surprise as it tore itself from his throat. Please. *Please* don't let this be a dream. *Please* be real. I'll do anything, give anything, as long as it's real ...

He wasn't even aware that he was crying until a tiny hand reached up to brush hesitantly against his cheek.

They stared at one another. The boy flinched again, already too far backed into the corner to get away. But those huge, incredibly blue eyes were still so afraid.

This is *impossible*.

"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Don't cry."

It was barely a whisper and his throat ached for the effort. He wasn't even sure what made him say it. But it earned him another shocked stare, which was something.

"Don't cry, Ochibi-chan," he whispered hoarsely. He reached out slowly, barely brushing his hand against the boy's cheek and watching eyes flutter closed in response.

Something in his heart clenched.

"You're mine now. I'll protect you."