Detective Conan - Magic Kaito oneshots

Shinichi Kudo - detective, father, ghost specialist

The little lantern swayed and cast its light around the hallway. Small feet in red and white patterned socks treaded the well worn carpet, the bed sheet the small figure was hidden under fluttered. The child happily bobbed their head from left to right as it idled along the corridors.

A door creaked open, startling the youngster, causing them to turn around. Blue eyes widened with alarm, barely visible behind the holes in the sheet.

A wheelchair came into view as the door swung open. "And what do you think you're doing?", an exasperated but fond male voice called out. The child scuffed their foot on the floor a bit in awkwardness. "I'm playing ghost!", the young voice eventually answered, low and with a halfheartedly hidden enthusiasm that bespoke of sharing a very dear secret.

A snort. "You're going to bed, that's what you're doing, my guy.", Shinichi informed his son, rolling himself over into the radius of the lantern's light. "But dad...", the sheet was pulled up over the child's head so the little boy could present the full glory of his pout.

"Even ghosts need to sleep.", his father informed him. "But you're still up! Does that mean shinigami don't sleep?" Shinichi blinked. And blinked again. His son, bright as his father and grandfather before him, caught onto the confusion quickly and provided context. "Grandpa and Auntie Sonoko called you that when they came to mom's birthday party. A shinigami is a god of death, isn't it?"

Shinichi pinched the bridge of his nose and resolved to talk to his father in law and Sonoko the next time he saw them. Not that it would help. "Yes, that is correct."

An idea presented itself to the detective. "Which means, if I'm a shinigami and you're a ghost, a lost and wandering soul, it's my job to collect you. And get you back to bed.", he drawled as he dropped his hand and opened his eyes again, a playful twinkle in them. The little boy was not amused, intensifying his pouting, but his father knew him well and knew he was about to give in with just another little push, if he found the right argument.

"I'll even ferry you back to your room, like a proper ferryman that takes souls to the afterlife.", Shinichi gestured at his lap. "You make it sound like I'm going to die in my sleep tonight.", his son scoffed, but crawled into his father's lap obediently. He had an exploitable weakness for being driven around in his father's lap when he was currently in need of the wheelchair.

"Well, I guess we're lucky then that I'm not really a shinigami and you're not really a ghost.", he replied lightly, not letting on how the very idea painfully squeezed his heart inside his chest. He hoped it was just an effect of the emotion and not his heart condition.

After the wayward ghost mission had been completed, Shinichi was finally able to drag himself to bed. "You were up reading case files again, weren't you?", the sleepy accusation drifted over from the other side of the bed. Ran squinted at him as he slipped under the covers. "Guilty as charged.", he murmured.

Before she could lecture him on overworking himself, he carried on. "But then a ghost in need of hunting down distracted me." A beat of silence. Ran sighed. "He's going to be playing dog soon, not ghost, if he keeps wandering off and refusing to ever stay put when told to. I'm this close to buying one of these child leashes. Somehow our son has the same penchant for running off as his father.", she glared with bleary eyes. Shinichi gave a low whistle of innocence.

"I know why I named him Conan.", his wife jabbed playfully. Ah yes, he'd never forget the day his first child was born and his wife looked the nurse asking for the name dead in the eyes and named the newborn boy Conan. She had her own ways of revenge that Shinichi couldn't fault her for after his year long charade.

And the name had turned out to be more than a little fitting. Especially since Conan had developed a slight shortsightedness and needed glasses. He was the perfect likeness of his shrunken father down to the cowlick and the penchant for mystery. Though he rather preferred to be the mystery, rather than solve it, momentarily.