Anime Oneshots

Gin Melkior (Detective Conan)

GreenR: hiya!

Law: Why are you writing about drinks now? Should I take ya to a AA meeting?

GreenR: nah, that's the character's codename. His real name has never been said so what choice do I have?

Law: not to write?

GreenR: oh, snug it. How could I do that?

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The laboratory was as dark as the bottom of your heart, and so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. In case there were any pins in the room, which you highly doubted. But then again, you can never be sure. The whole room was such a mess of all sorts of peculiar things, starting with horse skulls and ending with shoelaces, that you never knew what to expect. Few pins could be thrown in the bowl. Probably somewhere on the chair you usually sat on.

You leaned back in the chair and closed your eyes. It was pretty late already, so you decided to finish up your cup of tea and head to bed. You were a morning person, in a sense that meant you stayed up for so long that the morning came before you got to bed.

You put the empty cup on your table among the dozens of others, and made a mental note to wash them the first thing in the morning. The note went straight to the trash bin of your brain, where already hundreds of notes like these lay. It nestled comfortably in the pile, ready to be forgotten by the time you'd wake up in the morning.

You headed out of the lab, picking up your bag and notes. But it seemed like the fate wouldn't allow you to have that one nice night with popcorn and Cowboy Bebop, where you promise yourself after every episode that this will be the last on. Because that moment a member of the organisation walked in, clutching their left arm which was dripping blood. On your freshly cleaned floor.

"....." you stared at him blandly, then walked to the switch on the wall and turned the lights brighter. "Could you be less....drippy?" you asked while digging out your medical kit out of one of your perfectly arranged drawers.

"Well sorry for getting shot," the voice was husky from holding back the pain. Or possibly because he was always smoking. Y'know, smoking is a voice killer. That's why opera singers never smoke.

"You should be sorry," you pointed at the hospital bed in the corner of the room, for him to sit on. It was there for just moments like that. Or in cases that one of the scientists working forgot to go home for thirty hours straight and then realized they needed a nap.

"Not all of us can stay inside nice and cozy and safe," he grunted when you pulled the coat off him, baring a black shirt that was soaked with blood that was dripping off his fingers. "Some have to go and....actually do something," you mumbled something in answer, taking scissors from the desk and cutting the sleeve off and throwing it in the trash. You thought that when you tried to take the shirt off as well, he would punch something from so much pain.

"And some of us have to be the brains to tell you what to do," you jabbed Gin's arm with finger. He hissed loudly and pushed your hand away. "Did that hurt?"

"No. Take a wild guess, I'm still alive y'know?" he grimaced and waited for you to prepare a syringe with painkillers.

"Only outside," you stabbed him and waited for few minutes for the medicine to take effect. Then you patted the arm again lightly. "Can you still feel it?"

"No," Gin was grinding his teeth together to avoid yelling out in pain. It really fucking hurt, but he would rather cut off the entire arm than admit it to anyone.

You started up on your work then, gouging the bullet from the flesh and stitching it up then. There was a real lot of blood included, and for a moment in the mess you started thinking about leaving for a bit to go and throw up outside. But you didn't. Finally you bandaged the arm and tied a nice bow on it.