A/N: Ok, standard disclaimer up front. I don't own Neon Genesis Evangelion – that's all Gainax and Anno's machinations, in no particular order. If I did own NGE, it would probably turn out far more ideal like loads of fanfiction on the internet. For a good example of what I mean, hate, and unfortunately used to write, check out my incomplete Code Lyoko Reboot fic.
Anyway, enough self-deprecation. To explain the discrepancy between the title and the actual nature of this fic: the title is read almost sarcastically or in sort of a complaining "oh, not another self-insert" way. The title does have a dual nature, but I'll get to that later. Much, much later. Like chapters and chapters later. You'll see. Maybe. Can't guarantee that this will be very good, but I assure you, it will at the very least be grammatically correct, and everything will be spelled properly. That's another pet peeve of mine – fanfics with flagrant and persistent spelling/grammar issues. But I digress. On to the actual story then, yeah? It's probably best viewed in 1/2 mode, given that this was written in MS Word and intended to be read with similar formatting.
As light from the ever-perky morning sun streamed through the windows to my dorm room, I futilely clung to the dregs of sleep. I knew I was awake, but was overcome with the lazy feeling of not wanting to leave the comfort of my sheets and mattress. I almost made it back to the state of reduced mentality between sleep and awake… until the buzz of my cell phone alarm blew the last foggy wisps of dreamland out of my head. Rather grumpily, I sat up and glared at the offending device before deftly reaching down and silencing it. It was Wednesday. I hate Wednesdays, simply because they are the hump of the week. Mondays aren't terrible as one typically reaps the benefits of the prior week's efforts then. Tuesday the grind hasn't fully set in. Wednesday is most definitely a god forsaken day. Muttering incoherently to myself, I set about gathering my toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, change of clothes and towel. A wise author once wrote that one should always know where one's towel is, and is he ever correct. On occasion I have forgotten my towel and necessarily resorted to other silly methods of drying myself off.
Mhhhhh… Hot shower, I thought, slowly coaxing myself to partial awareness.
Pleased that I had in fact remembered my towel this morning, I swiftly dried off, dressed, and proceeded to fix the shaggy mess atop my head called hair. Running my hands through the wavy brown locks, I observed myself. Dark circles under the eyes from stress and late nights, never fading despite the fact that I usually get 8 hours of (largely) unbroken sleep. Patchy scruff which I curse every day – honestly, my father can grow a full beard, so why can't I? Blue-grey eyes, devoid of sparkle. That tends to happen when one has obtained a cynical attitude through various experiences involving closeness, betrayal, lack of understanding. Hedgehog's dilemma indeed – I've found it's best to stay away from others because I only get hurt trying. "Things will get better", or "things will work out", people tell me. Since the same things keep happening again and again, I no longer believe such statements. Why do I even try? Perhaps it's because the pain from the last attempt has worn off, or perhaps I'm simply an idiot, maybe (and most likely) both.
That's all every day is to me – a grind. Get up, get ready, eat, go to classes, eat, go to work, eat, swat at boredom with meaningless "fun" tasks, go to bed – repeat ad nauseum. I often lose track of time this way. Days run into each other, and the only thing that keeps me going to the correct places at the right times is because I remember just enough from the previous day to know my schedule. That's just it. There's no meaning, no value, no rewards, no real reason to put effort into anything. I mean, why should I? I don't really care about myself, so why waste undue energy to get marginally better results, when everything will just end up being the same as always? It would be better, perhaps, if I could get close to people, but my feelings always end up thrown out like a crumpled, flattened aluminum can, so that possibility's gone.
Food - bland. Class - boring. Work - work (what an apt tautology). Video games, Anime, clubs – pointless. Ah, sleep. Finally I've returned to the portion of the day where things may be fine. Yes, my sleep tends to be broken, interrupted, choppy, but sometimes I actually do manage a whole night without regaining consciousness. When I do dream, it tends to be pleasant as the tattered remains of my optimism spin an ideal world based upon the random musings of my subconscious integrating data. I turned up the heat a notch before laying down in my bed by the window – it's essentially winter here, minus all the snow, and of course the heat just leeches out through the windows like it's nobody's business. At least the heater is also on my side of the room. I pulled the covers up to my neck, removed my glasses, put them in the case on the windowsill next to my phone, and proceeded to toss and turn until finally sleep overtook me.
That is, for a while at any rate. At some point I woke with a start, feeling absolutely nauseous. Everything felt wrong, and there was no logical reason as to that sentiment. I made my way to the toilet, and promptly relieved myself of a milkshake, dinner, and portions of lunch yet undigested. How disgusting. Maybe food poisoning or something, I figured. Still, there was an overwhelming sense of dread pervading my mind, and I just couldn't shake it. Regardless, there was nothing I could do to solve whatever it was, so I clambered back into bed. Across the room, there was not a sound from my roommate besides the steady, loud breathing. I suppose I'm glad he can sleep through just about anything, because I really don't want to talk at the moment. I fitfully returned to sleep…
… And then the tremors rocked the room. Pens and pencils rattled, mouse and keyboard fell off the desk, office chair rolled about chaotically. I tumbled out of bed, and traversed the clothes-littered floor to my still sleeping roommate. How he could sleep through what seemed like an earthquake was beyond me. "Oi, wake up," I yelled, shaking my roommate in an attempt to rouse him faster.
He woke, startled. When he noticed I was the cause of his sudden alertness, he glared at me. "What do you want," he asked sharply. No shaking, keyboard and mouse still on desk, chair where it was. Everything was exactly where I'd left it, save myself. It was as though with his speech the earthquake(?) undid itself, or rather, simply never was. Blinking in confusion, I replied, "You didn't feel that?" "Feel what," he answered my question with another. "The earthquake," I stated. "There wasn't any earthquake. Now go back to bed," he responded, turning over in an attempt to shut me out. "Funny, I could have sworn there was an earth-," I began.
Nausea again, only much worse. Suddenly I felt light-headed, disoriented, tipsy. I couldn't really make sense of my surroundings. Surely I wasn't in my room anymore, but where is "here"? I can't even begin to describe exactly what this is… And my head! So very strange. It was as though my mind had been spread too thin, like the slivers of a spent butter pat applied to several slices of toast. And then all was clear again.
It was now daytime, and definitely not winter. How could I tell that from indoors? Answer: I was no longer indoors. I was outside somewhere, staring directly into a green pay phone. I'm 6'2". There's no way I could be the same height as a public phone. More importantly, public phones still exist? Then I realized the receiver was in my hand, pressed up against my right ear. [緊急の特別な状態のために、すべての行が現在使用できません。] (Kinkyū no tokubetsuna jōtai no tame ni, subete no kudari ga genzai shiyō dekimasen). This resolved itself in my head to "Due to the special state of emergency, all lines are currently unavailable."
My brain stopped. That was clearly Japanese. I don't know Japanese, yet I understood perfectly. That doesn't just happen overnight. Receiver still firmly planted to my ear, I looked at myself. My clothes felt different from what I had been wearing in bed, and for good reason. Instead of the t-shirt and jeans I'd had on, I was now sporting a short-sleeve white button down shirt, black undershirt, brown belt, black pants, and white sneakers. In my other hand was a picture of a Japanese woman wearing a yellow tank-top, torn jean shorts, and a square cross. The kanji "Look here" were written on it, and an arrow pointed toward her chest. My eyes widened in horror as my brain started putting things together.
Head-level with a public telephone – either everything's bigger, or I'm smaller. More likely the latter due to simplicity – it's easier to make one thing smaller rather than everything bigger. Sudden knowledge of Japanese, inexplicable. Phones out because of the state of emergency, and the familiar voice… I'm wearing the school outfit, and there's a picture of what is presumably Misato Katsuragi. It all fits.
A beat.
Apparently, I'm Shinji Ikari now.
"Oh fu-"