Archive of Our Own

As a rule, Saguru enjoyed KID heists. 

Kaitou KID was a mostly pacifistic thief, happy to stick to non lethal methods like sleeping gas and a card gun instead of more permanent ones— so anyone being hurt on KID heists was a rarity, and when it did happen, the one hurt was usually the thief himself. There were exception, of course, as there were exceptions to every rule; take Jack Connery for example. (Even if KID could in no way be blamed for an accident.) 

Everything KID stole was returned soon enough, be it either at the heist itself, by mail or, once, according to one of the reports he’d read, by the fish Aoko had bought for dinner. (Saguru wasn’t quite sure what KID’s point with that one had been, but it was easy enough to imagine how he would have done it, seeing as he regularly got invited over for the previously mentioned dinners.) 

KID was also smart— easily on par with Saguru himself. It was obvious in the way he wrote his heist notices as riddles or his seemingly endless repertoire of ideas and magic tricks. And also because he had not yet been caught, despite having a whole task force and occasionally detectives after him. 

What he did was still theft, of course, but the ideal type of theft, if such a thing existed. Add to that the lack of serious consequences for failing to capture him and one had themselves an enjoyable heist and rival.  

So, as a rule, Saguru enjoyed KID heists. 

But every rule had their exceptions, and he had learned today that KID heist exceptions involved bullets and shady men dressed entirely in black. 

Or rather, he amended, because bullets and criminals had never stopped him from attending anywhere before, the exception was bullets that actually hit their mark. 

And he knew that they had hit their mark, because he and the entire theatre had heard the impact and had seem KID stumble when they did. Everyone had frozen for a moment, then smoke had filled the room before he could see where it was that KID had been hit, shot, hurt— 

But Saguru understood KID well enough by now to know towards where he would make his way for escape. 

When he burst onto the nearby roof, KID was crouching at the edge of the roof, back towards him. Not even the loud ‘bam’ of the door slamming into the wall with his force elected a reaction. Shock, the intelligent part of Hakuba’s brain provided. KID must be in shock. 

“KID.” Hakuba said, or more like breathed with how weak and airy has voice was. There was no reaction. Saguru restrained himself from rushing forwards, because such an action would definitely not go over well with the thief, especially as injured as he was.  “Kuroba,” he tried again, and a thieves instincts to hide their identity must kick in then, because he was finally answered. 

“…Hakuba.” Flat, with an undercurrent of horror, so unlike KID or Kuroba. The worry gnawing at Saguru intensified by the tenfold. 

“KID,” he said, and his own voice was just as unusual. The worry in it was so thick that he half wondered how it came out so steady. “How— How badly are you injured? Where did you get shot?” 

Silence followed. 

It was dark, so very dark, but the full moon was bright enough for him to be able to at least somewhat inspect his opponent. But all he could see was the back of KID’s, Kuroba’s, pristine white suit. “Can you— Please turn around.” 

A few more moments of silence. 

“I’m fine.” KID said, standing up. He didn’t turn around fully, but he did angle himself backwards just a bit to look at Saguru, so he could see half of his face. He would have been able to see more, had KID’s hands not been covering the other half. Thick, dark liquid was steadily dripping from it, onto his collar. Saguru must have looked as horrified as he felt, because KID’s visible eye sharpened. “I’m fine.” He insisted. 

“Obviously not!” Saguru answered, louder than he intended. “Kuroba, your face is literally covered in—“ 

“Nothing.” Kuroba interrupted, a panicked edge in his voice. “There’s nothing there because I’m fine.” Saguru felt sick. Denial, not his usual uncaring attitude. This was full blown denial that anything was wrong at all. 

“Kuroba.” Saguru said, putting his hands up in a placating gesture, feeling rather like a broken record. He felt sick. “Even if you’re not hurt, there’s blood on your face? Where does it come from?” 

“There’s no blood.” Kuroba corrected, half absently. He shook his head, and Saguru couldn’t help but wonder how he didn’t even flinch at the movement. Did the sheer denial turn off his pain receptors? “…My eye, I think.” Was then tacked on. 

Okay, okay. 

“Okay.” He echoed out loud. “Can—Can I take a look?” At KID’s almost scandalised expression he quickly added: “Just to make sure! With the gunshots— I’m just worried.” He felt sick. 

“I’m not supposed to let anyone look at my face when I’m like this.” Kuroba said, quietly and really more to himself. “…But there’s nothing there.” There has to be nothing there, Saguru reckoned he was thinking. 

“Probably not.” Saguru agreed. Lied. “But would you let me take a look, at least? Just for my peace of mind.” He could imagine with a horrifying clarity how Kuroba’s eye would look like, the way the hole in place of his eye would look and suddenly he really didn’t want to see it at all— 

No, no. He could just have been hit near the eye, he shouldn’t assume the worst. He needed to see, needed to know how to help. 

“…I can’t let you look at my face.” 

“Well— We both know I have my…suspicions about your identity.” Saguru answered quickly. “But I wouldn’t have any proof, would I?” 

Kuroba stayed silent, looking at him, but his eyes were barely focused and mostly distant. Sweat was shining on the visible part of his face— in short, he did not look like he could make any coherent decisions. Saguru needed to help out. And there was only one thing he knew about that would override KID’s paranoia. 

“Please.” 

His kindness. Kuroba was too kind to let anyone suffer in his line of sight, so Saguru poured as much of the worry and terror he felt into his voice as he could and hoped. 

Kuroba twitched, turning towards Saguru a bit more and taking a step in his direction instinctively. In any other situation, Saguru would be proud to know he understood KID this well. As it was, he only felt more sick. 

The blood dripped on the floor. 

“Well, I suppose it’s fine.” Kuroba said after a few more moments, but his hand stayed firm on his eye. “There’s no blood though.” 

“I’ll be quick.” Saguru promised, taking a step forward hesitantly. When Kuroba did not react, he rushed over. The air smelled vaguely of craft glue, or perhaps soap. He reached Kuroba quickly and reached for the hand covering his eye, which made Kuroba flinch back. One visible startled eye blinked. 

“Can I— Please remove your hand?” 

Kuroba blinked once more, then his expression kind of flattened. 

“Sure.”  

His hand stayed where it was. Saguru could swear he heard a clock ticking down inside his mind. 

Hesitantly, Saguru reached out again. The smell was getting stronger and he, absently and perhaps a bit hysterically, wondered how Kuroba’s chosen trick could possibly involve particularly strong smelling soap. Kuroba didn’t flinch this time, so Saguru, as gently as possible, grabbed the soaked glove. 

It felt too smooth. It wasn’t warm. Blood didn’t feel like that. 

Something in Saguru’s stomach sank, but he still gently pried away his classmates hand. 

Instead of blood and gore, he was met with oil and cracks. Instead of muscle or brain, he heard ticking and saw tiny little cogs. 

“See?” The machine that they both had thought was Kaito said. “No blood.”