AN: Hi, welcome to my first story. I've tried my hand at writing fanfiction before, but never got the courage to put it up here. I'd love to hear what you think of my writing, and constructive criticism and advice will be greatly appreciated!

Anyway, just so you know... this is an OC centric story. Hope it won't bore you. ^_^

—(edit 05/07/2014)— I've done some editing on this version, but it's essentially the same.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any profit from the 'Naruto' franchise. However, the OC and the plot are mine.

I've always been too much of a smartass for my own good, I mused as I lay on the cement parking lot in a pool of my own blood. It was difficult to breathe and the stupid gunshot wound in my side hurt like a sonnuva bitch. Nothing in my eighteen years of life had ever hurt so much.

So how did I end up this way - on the verge of death?

I did something uncharacteristically courageous and much to my own chargin - stupid.

You see, I'd only recently moved into the dorms of my university, just a couple of weeks ago in fact. It was a novel experience to be sure, living apart from my parents for the first time in my life. I was learning that I rather liked the feeling of independence. I had a job, an apartment that I was sharing with two roommates, and classes that were surprisingly easy to keep up with.

Things weren't perfect, mind you, but after listening to my family reprimand me about not living up to their expectations for most of my life, a place where I answered mostly to myself and had minimal contact with them had made me feel good for the first time in many years.

But never mind that and let's get back to the main point.

The reason why I was in the bank that day was because I had to deposit my first paycheck onto my account. Now the bank wasn't too far from the university, and I was able to get there on foot after classes had ended for the day. Everything was going the way it usually does in a bank as I deposited my paycheck until someone decided to ruin my day.

I couldn't have been the only one to notice a small van pull to as stop in front of the bank, there was no way at least the security personnel didn't see the vehicle enter the front parking lot. However, being the paranoid idiot that I am, I think that I was the only one that started to get the feeling that things were about to go south; unfortunately for me, that particular instinct of mine had never been proven wrong during my entire life. And so I acted accordingly, heading toward the back exit that led to the parking lot, moving casually so as not to draw any suspicion to myself. By then I was already done with my business, so no one so much as batted an eye at my departure.

The moment the shouting started I dropped down and hid behind a tall potted plant standing in a natural niche in the corner of the space between the back entrance to the bank and frantically dialed the number drilled into every person living in the US in case of an emergency. It seemed to take forever for the operator to pick up, but I managed to keep myself from making any noise in my hiding spot.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" the operator drawled in a bored tone that made me want to strangle him. Wasn't he supposed to be attentive and quick? Even the relatively quiet sound of the man's voice from the speaker on my phone seemed loud in the silence that had settled in my hiding spot.

"The bank I'm in is getting robbed!" I hissed into the phone, trying to curl into an even smaller ball behind the plant as I heard gunshots; loud sharp claps that echoed menacingly made chills run down my spine.

"Were those gunsho—?" he gasped, finally alert.

"Yes!" I whispered despite the screams inside and peeked through the dense leaves of the plant (noting peripherally that I had the perfect view of the crime scene). "There're three of them, all male, wearing bulletproof vests, no masks. They have a lot of firearms... and radio headsets… I think."

"How—how can you tell me this? Aren't you—?"

"I'm hiding right behind the back exit. They can't see me... for now."

"Ok, ok. Hang in there miss, the police and SWAT are on the way. Can you give me an estimate on how many hostages are in there?"

I peeked out from my hiding place again, more cautiously than before, and did a quick headcount. For the next couple hours, I was stuck in that spot, huddled into a ball and afraid that the robbers would notice me and drag me inside, or worse yet: kill me. At some point I started talking to the police, not that I could tell them much, until the robbers finally remembered that there was a back exit.

"Oh fuck, they're coming here," I hissed and pulled the phone away from my ear. After a moment of panic and frantic examination of my surroundings, I concluded that there was no way that I wouldn't be noticed nor was there any way to hide myself better, so I hid my phone between the pot and wall hoping that whoever was on the other side of the call would find whatever sounds that the microphone caught useful. The glass doors were pushed open and the armed robbers stepped out, rather confidently in my opinion, dragging a terrified small child along with them.

"Well, what's this? There's been another one here all along!" one of the men said in surprise as his sharp eyes swept the space between the two sets of doors, catching sight of me and then leered, making me flinch back. "She's a pretty little thing. Why don't we take her with us for some extra insurance? Maybe we'll even have some fun with her later." Then he grabbed my arm and dragged me along as they left the bank. The insinuation in his words made me shudder, and my skin crawled at being handled by the man.

The sight that greeted us as we exited the second set of tinted glass doors was one of police officers pointing their guns at the robbers—and by extension their hostages: the little boy and me. Not reassuring at all I assure you considering the fact that the robber holding me had the muzzle of his gun pressed into my temple. I swallowed nervously and stared wide-eyed at all the firearms and stony-faced uniformed men holding them; to my panicked mind they looked ready to shoot me along with the robbers who held me hostage. My heart was beating frantically with fear, so fast that my chest ached, and the blood roared in my ears dampening other sounds. It was like trying to listen to something with cotton stuffed in your ears.

I want it to be clear that I'm not a believer in self-sacrifice or other such things; they're noble to be sure, but not very helpful most of the time. I'm not brave. And I'm well aware of the limits of my abilities—the limits of my tenacity. It's not that I am (or ever was) proud of this, but I had learned early in my life that no one really needed you going around trying to be the 'protector' of the weak and 'enforcer' of justice. No one needed your help or kindness. Oh, they'd take it if you were giving it away freely; they'd call you a hero. The moment that your usefulness was over though and you were the one in need of help, all those people that you had helped wouldn't raise a finger to help you.

You end up tossed aside like trash and forgotten.

But I digress.

At that point the little boy that had been taken hostage along with me, no more than four or five years old, bit his handler's hand rather viciously and made the man cry out and let go of him for a moment drawing everyone's attention. The gun's muzzle disappeared from my temple and I turned to get a better view at what was happening, already knowing that I wouldn't be seeing anything good.

There were very few reasons for which I would risk my life. Children happened to be one of them. Bitter, sarcastic, and disillusioned I may have been, but heartless I was not. So I wrenched myself away from the man with all the strength I could muster and made a lunge for the little boy. The man was already shouting and pointing his gun towards the boy (so so similar to my little cousin) when the first gun-shot pierced through the air.

I dived for the frozen child and cradled him in my arms as we collided, trying to shield him from the robbers' sight. A volley of gunshots rang in my ears a split-second later, filling the space with loud, sharp, almost deafening thunderclaps. My awareness was shut down the moment sharp searing pain exploded in my back.

Excruciating throbbing pain and the whimpers of the little boy were the first things that registered in my mind when I returned to consciousness rather abruptly. The next thing I noticed was that the sound of guns firing had stopped. Then I heard the shouting of authorities as they secured the scene and sirens of the ambulance.

"Hey there little guy," I said weakly and the boy opened his eyes to look up at me. The brilliant blue color of them startled me as I truly registered it for the first time, along with the markings on the boy's cheeks. Three whisker-like marks were on both of the boy's chubby tan cheeks. My eyes widened but I just told myself that I was seeing things. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head and then his eyes widened again when a drop of blood hit his cheek. I realized that it was the blood that had bubbled up into my mouth and managed to let go of the boy and roll over to my back gritting my teeth and nearly blacking out from the pain. The boy scrambled to his knees as soon as he was free and hovered at my side clutching my shirt eyes wide at the sight of blood.

Now that brings us back to the beginning of my musings.

See, in my opinion when a person like me did something uncharacteristically selfless, it was an act of stupidity. That may not be what others thought of those actions, but I hold onto my view rather firmly. Like I said before: I am not brave. I'm not heroic. I'm selfish. I'm callous. I'm a coward. I'm afraid of being hurt. I'm terrified of pain, of death.

I knew all that, and I still protected the boy. What was wrong with me?

"O-onee-chan?" the boy shook me a little startling me out of my musings. "Onee-chan daijobu-ka?"

I blinked owlishly at him for a moment, slowly processing the fact that he was speaking in Japanese. A little blond-haired blue-eyed child with whisker-like marks on his cheeks and speaking Japanese? It couldn't be, right? Naruto—he was just a fictional character from a manga! But... he'd asked if I was alright.

"Ah, watashi wa daijobudayo... shimpaishinaide," I answered to the best of my very limited knowledge of Japanese. Yeah, that was such a brilliant idea to tell a kid who could see me practically bleeding to death that I was fine. I coughed and cringed as the motion caused a sharp stab of pain though my torso. Spots danced in my vision as the flash of pain overpowered all other sensations.

I barely noticed the paramedics that began to crowd around the boy and me, they seemed to be just blurs of moving color and incoherent sound. I observed the commotion around me with a sort of detachment that was probably brought on by my proximity to death. All that really registered was bone-deep exhaustion. I was just too tired to care about what was happening to me anymore, too tired to be afraid of dying, too tired of the pain... I just wanted it all to come to an end.

"Onee-chan!" the boy's frantic call seemed to literally pull me out of the detached state in which I had been drifting, cut through it like a burst of light through absolute darkness. "Onee-chan, shinanaide kudasai!" he cried, then sobbed, "Onegai..." But my moment of lucidity was already fading and even as the child begged me not to die, I could practically feel myself slipping away. The last thing I heard the boy say though struck me as significant though I couldn't understand the words at that point.

"Oreo hōchi shinaide kudasai! Anata wa oreo oboete inai nodesu ka? Ore wa... ore wa Naruto-da!"

"AKITO!"

AN: I know it peeves a lot of people when writers who don't know Japanese try to use it in stories, and I don't want to annoy anyone, but I want to try to convey that my character is far removed from the world of Naruto culturally as well as linguistically. Here's what the characters are supposed to be saying:

(1) "Big sister?" "Big sister are you alright?"

(2) "Uh, I'm alright... don't worry."

(3) "Big sister!" "Big sister, please don't die!" "Please... don't die!"

(4) "Please don't leave me! Don't you remember me? I'm... I'm Naruto!"

This turned into an interesting experiment for me. I've never tried separating my stories into distinctive chapters before. On a different note: Google Translate is a nice tool. I know it messes up the grammar a lot when it translates, but it's better than nothing. Anyway, thanks for reading!

I would really really appreciate it if you clicked that review button and told me what you think of my work so that I can continue to keep going and improve on this project. ^_^