Hello! Please read this and tell me what you think!
I was inspired to do a SI with someone reborn into the Naruto world by two wonderful works of art;
'Dreaming of Sunshine', by Silver Queen, and 'Iryo-nin Kasa', by Vaengir. If you haven't read them, check them out! They're a million times better than this!
Anyway, I don't see this character as myself, but she is a girl from our world, so I'm labeling this as a SI.
I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammatical mistakes.
Enjoy!
Summary: Life can throw some pretty unexpected twists your way, but it's up to you to decide how to handle them. You very well could mess up big time, like me. OC. SI.
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
My first breaths shattered the air as cries. Brightness soaked through my eyelids, making it impossible to crack them open. I was blind, suddenly cold, and all I could hear was muffled screams. I knew that they were mine, but my ears were underdeveloped, making them seem distant. My vocal chords were instantly sore from a lack of endurance. My first breaths were not easy ones.
Actually, they were not really my first.
There was warmth surrounding me the next instant. I relished in its presence, wishing it was closer. Whatever it was, it was breathing. I felt its heart beat more than I heard it.
At one point, after an indefinite amount of time, color began to form and shape in my sight. My eyes had been opened all along, I realized, they just needed adjusting. No, they needed developing. Everything was blurry and strange, especially the face leaning over mine. There were dark features, I could tell, that of a woman, but the rest was undecipherable. There was a rumbling; she must have said something.
There was an roaring fire in my chest that I could not ignore. Rather than hurt, it felt comforting. It buzzed through my entire body, warming me in tandem with the woman. Suddenly, something cold snaked along arms and legs, constricting my chest. I cried harder as the fire was diminished, put out, suffocated, concealed. I wanted it back, but it never came.
After the confusion and madness, my memories hit me like a truck. They crashed around me and flooded my head like a breaking dam.
I was twenty-four when I died. It was a sudden, gruesome death that ripped me away from the world. It was a car accident, I think, but it all happened way too fast. I think it was one of those deaths where no one was at fault, and it just happened for no reason.
This made an anger bubble inside of me. There wasn't a reason for it to happen, it just did. I didn't have to die. I didn't have to lose my family, my friends, or even my cat. But I did, and suddenly I was small and crippled and blind and deaf. I couldn't talk or understand what these new people were saying, whether it was because they were speaking gibberish or because I couldn't maintain coherent thoughts. I was kept in the hospital for only a week, however.
When I got 'home', I realized what had happened to me.
I was a baby again, reduced to a helpless child who could do nothing for herself, and it was infuriating. This warm woman leaning over me was my mother, but not my mother who I loved. She was a stranger that only loved me because she thought I was her child. I couldn't tell her otherwise. By the time that I could have if I wanted to, it was too late.
While it was the woman that I saw most often, there were two others that I slowly began to recognize; a handsome man, who was no doubt my father, and another child. While it was a boy, he was cute enough to be a girl. He looked exactly like our mother, with dark hair and big brown eyes. He couldn't have been older than three, but he treated me with the care and grace of an adult. He was such a gentle, smart kid, and I instantly liked him. I didn't love him like my old brother, but I was at least thankful that my new one wasn't a mischievous brat.
My days as an infant were a blur, one right after the next, but as they happened, they seemed to last forever. I did not enjoy being so dependent on others. I didn't like not being able to walk or run or play. This new woman fed me, bathed me, clothed me, and carried me everywhere. I was often bored to the point of tears. I sometimes cried just so someone would come and speak to me, or pat my head. It was selfish, I knew, but when I could do nothing but sit or lay down, entertainment became a necessity. Luckily my brother seemed to adore me, so he would be my playmate. With my reduced attention span, games like 'peek-a-boo' were a lot funnier than they used to be.
Eventually my thoughts became thicker and less elusive. I could keep them organized enough to begin to piece things together.
I recognized enough of my family's gibberish to realize that they were, in fact, speaking Japanese. I knew some words, but they were very few in comparison to the whole language. My brain was wired to English, so picking up on what they were saying was much harder for me than other children. By the time I could actually crawl, my mother was coaching me to say 'Kaa-san'. That was a simple word, one that was repeated and used enough for me to pick up. Nii-san and Tou-san were also used. It as easier for me, in the end, to use these words instead of the ones I was familiar with because it didn't feel like I was replacing my old family. I tried not to think about them too often, but it was difficult not to when you have nothing to do the entire day.
When it came to the newer phrases, however, I became a confused, grumbling mess, which was normal for a baby, but as I grew older and still could not learn simple words and phrases, my mother and father became increasingly worried. Not that I could understand them, but they conveyed concern in their eyes and faces. Maybe they feared I would have a speech impediment or become dumb, but one day, they took me to the hospital. At this time, my sight had greatly improved, and my brain could make connections.
I was supported upright in my mother's lap while she sat on a white, sterile bed. My father was there next to her, holding my brother, since he was too young to be home alone, and baby-sitters did not seem to be a thing in this world.
A man in a pale smock entered the room not long after us, a clip board in hand. He reiterated what seemed to be scripted questions, and then he turned to me when my parents had given him the answers. He didn't seem very threatening, but a premonition had me wary of him. He placed his hand on my forehead to take my temperature.
That's what I thought he was doing, but it wasn't. His hand buzzed and glowed with a warm blue energy. I gaped at it.
That's...
I began to breath so rapidly that my parents thought I was hyperventilating, which I very well may have been, and grew slightly panicked. The doctor tore his hand away, canceling the blue light. I looked up at his face, not realizing that with my low vantage point and small height I had barely ever looked at people's faces.
This man had a Hitai-ate on his forehead.
Like from Naruto.
But he didn't have the leaf on his headband. He wasn't from Konoha. He was marked with four waves.
I was in Kirigakure.
On our way home, I saw everything we had just passed by thirty minutes ago in a whole new light. The bustling streets of town became abandoned, replaced with starving beggars with no homes. No wonder I was taken to the hospital as a last resort. Normally worried parents jumped the gun on medical advice. The tall building now looked ransacked and old, and the streets were dirty with trash and sick orphans. It was terrible here, and I hadn't noticed before. In my mind, the doctor's nonthreatening face became a jaded one. The snow that settled onto the ground signified pain instead of beauty.
I didn't want to be here anymore.
...
Although my schedule at home only changed in regard to how often my mother taught me language, everything seemed different. Father was never home anymore, no doubt working tirelessly to support his growing family in the Bloody Mist. Mother was warily locking doors and keeping watch through the window for suspicious activity. Even my brother, who was four, never left the house to play with friends. The poor, gentle, kid. He never once complained. Home just wasn't safe, especially since neither of my parents were Shinobi. That meant I would never be one either, but that didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. If I were in Konoha, that would have been a different story, however.
It took a month or two for some of the new information to sink in, like the fact that I had been reborn into the Naruto world. I was in a world of fighting and war and death and sadness. I was in Kirigakure, not Konoha, so the everyday violence was ten-fold.
What time had I been born in? Did Naruto or Sasuke even exist at all? I decided then, at such a very young age, that no one could know what I knew about this world, whether it held true or not. It could mean death. Or torture.
Though it took me a year to decipher, mother had informed me through baby talk that I was a sick child, but she loved me anyway. I didn't know what she meant by that since I felt fine, but it wasn't like I could ask her. Later, 'sick' was used in tandem with 'Chakra sensitive'.
I was two, and barely ever left the house.
My wonderful brother, since he could have no friends, spent quite a long time with me. He spoke to me and taught me little things that I didn't know, or secretly did know. Often times, he played with my hair. For a little boy, he was good with styling, and while he never did anything with his own, he loved to brush mother's and my hair. He showed me all kinds of buns and braids, and my favorite was a bun that was shaped like a rose. I wore it like that most days. While I couldn't do it on myself yet, without it looking like it was done by a two year old - which it technically was - Nii-san could do it perfectly each and every time.
It took me a while to notice, like with most things, but I had grown very fond of my new family, especially my brother and mother. They were wonderfully kind people. I didn't know what father was like, because he was rarely home. As a fisherman, he would sometimes be at sea for weeks on end. I think mother was lonely.
The days went by faster when I could somewhat walk. I began exploring the house and really got to know the landscaping. Mother and Nii-san began to take me outside for chores, like the laundry. I hadn't been happier since I died.
The rest of the year went by in a joyous flash.
I was three when I realized who my new family members were.
While not all families did it, some parents called and referred to their children by their honorific 'titles'. Mother always called my brother "Nii-san", and very seldom used his real name. I think this is why his identity didn't occur to me sooner.
Of course, I had heard mother call Nii-san by his real name before, but it didn't really click in my head that I knew his story, until a certain incident.
The three of us were hanging the laundry to to dry outside. A light snow was underneath our feet, and Nii-san and I were a little distracted with playing in it to really help, but mother just smiled at us lovingly. It was a lighthearted day. Nothing terrible had happened in the village for a while, crime rates were going down, albeit slightly, and Tou-san had come home the day before. He was resting in the house, exhausted.
After awhile, Nii-san must have felt guilty for leaving all of the work for mother. He lightly scolded me and went to help her. I was a selfish child, however, and figured that she could do a few clothes by herself just this once. I wanted to play some more, but I couldn't refuse with words. I was getting better at understanding Japanese, but forming the sentences and words wouldn't be happening anytime soon. My brother was used to my muteness, but he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. I reached at my feet and molded some snow into a ball, ignoring my numb fingers. I hurled it at my him, catching him in the back of his shoulder. I had been aiming for his head, but my weak arms were uncoordinated. I was lucky I hit him at all. He turned back towards me with suppressed mirth in his eyes.
"Saori!" he exclaimed. I did my best to appear innocent. Acting way too mature for a six year old (heck, acting more mature than me, and I was twenty-seven), he laughed at me and turned back around.
I pretended to pout, but was quickly grinning again as I picked up more balled snow. It brushed off of his shoulder. He paused, turning slowing once more to eye me. I stuck my tongue out at him, egging him on. He just broke down and smiled.
"We'll play after we're done, I promise," he vowed. He spun around again to help mother, who was chuckling at our antics. Thinking that I was clever, I bent over for more snow. This one would have hit him square in the head. But it didn't. At the last second, my brother flipped around and stuck his hand out to catch to flying snow; it was an extremely graceful maneuver. However, the snow never even touched his skin. It hovered in the air, not connected to him, but it was obvious that he was controlling it. It melted into a liquid, like a beautiful blue sapphire. He was giggling and laughing at my shocked face.
"Haku!" Mother shrieked. Before my mind could start working again, she reached to him from the clothing line and slapped my brother across the face. She gripped his arm, shaking him off of his feet. "Don't ever do that again, you wretched child! Never again!"
Haku didn't make a sound, scared, and shocked.
Mother looked stricken as well. She was frozen, with tears pooling in her eyes.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, dropping to her shaking knees. She nestled Haku's head and hugged him, whimpering like he should have been. "Please, forgive me, dear..."
My brother had confusion in his eyes, but he hugged her back without question.
"Of course, Kaa-san."
I hadn't noticed, until they both looked to me, that I was crying as well, silently. Mother motioned to me, desperately, like she still wanted to be a good mother even though she had crossed an uncross-able line. I ran to them and joined into the embrace. She seemed to regret striking her child, especially when his forgiveness was easy to come by.
"Listen to me," Mother whispered. "That ability must never be used again. Never." She glanced between the two of us, pleading us to heed her warning. We nodded.
I only had eyes for my brother, who smiled at me like nothing was wrong so that I wouldn't worry about him.
Haku...
You poor, poor child.
I knew what happened next. Not being able to do anything is the worst feeling in the world. Did I stop it? Did I let it happen to protect the future? Was there a future?
I thought about it for the rest of the day.
.
It didn't even occur that it was too late, and that there was nothing I could do. Three years is a long time to go without reading Naruto, so of course events and time lines were fuzzy, but it had been even longer since I had read the beginning of the series. I couldn't remember much about Haku, and they didn't exactly refresh my memory when they brought him back with the Edo-Tensei jutsu. How long did I have until his father... our father... Suddenly I felt as sick as my family thought me to be.
I figured it would be weeks. Maybe days. But it wasn't either; it was only hours. In my panicked state, I hadn't been able to think of a plan. How come this had to happen?
.
Mother brought us inside immediately after the... Incident. She carried my on her hip and guided Haku by hand, trusting him to carry the now empty laundry basket. She quickly shoved us through the door, locking it behind her, and scuttling us to the living room, where Tou-san had been sleeping an hour before. She seemed tense when he had been replaced by a piece of paper, but upon reading it, she greatly relaxed. He must have gone out and left a note. She smiled wanly down at us, Haku in particular.
"You're father went to buy some groceries. Would the two of you like to help me prepare for the rest of supper with what we have?" We nodded, Haku easily returning to normal. I knew he was acting, and that I should have done the same, but I was still kind of freaking out, at least internally. I was probably wide-eyed for an hour.
As I pretended to help by throwing carrots and potatoes into a prepped pot (that wasn't really helping, but I was three) my mind ran hurdles. Maybe, since I was here, father hadn't seen anything at all. Maybe I had made the Incident come earlier.
He didn't come home for two hours.
The sun was setting, and mother's hope set with it. She watched through the window as her happy life ended. I watched her.
"Kaa-san?" I questioned. I didn't speak much, so when I did, it was as if everyone stopped and listened. This time my little voice didn't register.
.
It was dark when she saw the mob. Mother's will was crushed. She gripped our hands and lead us into the basement, which was more of a cellar. Underneath the stair was an empty niche, and it would have fit both of us, but it was too obvious of a hiding spot. She lead me to a trunk, opened it, and removed some old photographs. Working fast, she helped me inside, kissed me on the head, squeezed my hand, and shut the lid. There was only room for me. I peeked at her through the lock hole, crying silently.
"I love you, Saori."
Then she helped Haku behind a vase. Both he and I were too large to fit inside of them, but their shadows helped hide him.
She left us there, and we never saw her again.
And it ate me up, because it was my fault.
.
Haku's spot was easily more noticeable than mine.
.
As crashes and bangs and screams of fear and hate rang upstairs, I cowered inside of my safety, only worried about myself. I could hear their heavy footsteps as the mob descended the stairs. There were seven men. Mother must have been killed already.
Father was leading the other men to us, checking the niche under the stairs first, and then scanning the room. I watched as two men approached my trunk. They slipped their finger under the lid. My breath hitched and my heart stopped.
I was going to die again...
And then one of the vases moved, demanding all of their attention. Haku jumped from behind it and darted up the stairs. Father caught him by his shirt.
I looked away and sank into a ball for the rest. Haku had just saved me, had just sacrificed himself for me, and I did nothing. I didn't even look at him.
It all took seconds to go down, but it took minutes for my brain to register what the sounds meant.
Father screamed, and people yelled his name. Someone ran up the stairs, someone light, and six others who were heavy followed him. Silence replaced them for several long moments.
I peeked through the lock once more when my cowardly shaking ebbed. The sight that greeted me made it come back tenfold.
Father had bled out in the middle of our cellar, a spike of ice in his chest. In a haze, I scrambled out of the trunk, landing painfully on my knees. It was difficult to crawl around the body without looking at it. I would lose my supper if I didn't leave quickly.
I made my way upstairs. The mob was gone, in and out like the wind.
Mother was dead by the door, killed execution style. Red seeped through her clothes. She was gone, in one sense of the way.
Haku was gone in another.
I spent three weeks scouring the streets for my brother. My poor, poor, brother, who I should have realized how much I loved sooner. Maybe I had gotten him killed. Maybe he survived and was found by Zabuza already, which would explain why he hadn't come to get me at home. It wouldn't have a made a difference, however, since the rest of the mob had arrived after I thankfully had the sense to leave the house. They burned my home to the ground, its happy memories along with it. Haku must have thought that I was dead.
So I looked for him, I really did, but the time passed by, and my hope began to die. I had nothing anymore. It was like my new life was over too, like my second chance hadn't really been a second chance at all. It was a curse.
It was cold. It was something that I wasn't always familiar with, something that would have killed me before. Now it was normal.
The Hidden Mist was relentless, I had learned - I had to had learned. Children with no homes were nothing new. I wouldn't get sympathy. People walked by everyday, every hour, and not one had ever even spared me a second glance - not even a first glance.
Snow drifted from the sky peacefully, but I knew that it meant another terrible night. Another freezing night.
The sun was setting, painting the clouds pink and orange. It was beautiful, but it ironically signified death; it meant that night was near. Perhaps it wasn't so ironic, then. Bright colored frogs and mesmerizing flowers often meant danger as well. Beauty was cruel. I had experienced the dark and cold before; I had just last night, and the night before. Nighttime meant going to sleep, and never waking up.
Beautiful things meant death.
This became especially apparent when I met the boy who I shared an alley with. He had a coat, a thin one, and luxurious, blackened gloves. They had holes in the fingers but were ultimately one of the most wonderful things I had seen in such a long time. He had found them in a trash can that we shared.
I spoke to the boy very little, barely even looked at him, even when we spent two whole weeks in the same street. He hadn't been aggressive, so I could stay there as long as I didn't steal from him or somehow lessen his findings. He had made it clear the moment that we crossed paths, before he had discovered the gloves, that he got first pickings every time the trash was taken out, about every other day. I got to choose from the scraps. The scraps of the scraps. He usually didn't leave much for me, perhaps hoping that I would leave on my own. But those who were hungry in the other alleys and streets fought and hit me until I was numb.
'Nothing' was better than 'hate'. The boy treated me with an ignorance that was actually rather innocent in the streets.
Our alley happened to be a very desirable one. The trash can made a niche that could block the wind, and that was where the boy slept. I had settled into a small hole where two layers of bricks had worn away. If I leaned into it, my arms were protected. It was better than nothing, and 'Nothing' was better than 'hate'.
After about three days, we were more comfortable with each other. He started to fall asleep first, every once in a while. He wasn't as cruel when he rummaged through the trash, leaving me at least one thing that he normally would have taken for himself.
I leaned into my hole, remembering. Dreading night.
The day he found the gloves, the day before this, he abandoned the trash in a panic, returning to his niche. He had left several bites worth a food, something that he never would have missed or let me have. I saw the gloves when he slipped them on, even though he did it stealthily. They were beautiful. He didn't notice that I saw them. If he had, I was sure that he would resort to kicking me out of the alley. So I pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary, pouncing on the garbage like I normally would. I didn't question the extra bites. I didn't send him any looks. He made sure that I fell asleep first that time. I drifted into a painful unconsciousness, and the last thing that I remembered seeing was a hopeful smile on his dirty face.
This morning I awoke to find the boy's head smashed against the wall. Blood painted the garbage can, wall, and pavement like a canvas. It was still sticky, but not wet anymore. The gloves were gone.
I wondered why I was left, untouched and alone, but when I looked down at myself, I figured it was because I had nothing to offer. I was four, and skinny. I had no food, and nothing beautiful.
'Nothing' was better than 'hate'.
Beautiful things meant death.
The boy's body was still there, like it had been all day. I couldn't bring myself to move it. I couldn't even move my own body. I reasoned that it was best to conserve my energy, since food was scarce. The men who took out their trash were late. I spent that whole day in my nook, waiting for them. and now darkness was about to fall.
The fresh snow dusted my hair and clothing. I debated on shaking or wiping it off, but past experiences told me that the body heat in my hands would melt it and soak my thin clothing. Of course, this would happen anyway, but it was my decision as to whether or not it would happen sooner or later. I chose later, trying to absorb the last of the sun's dying rays. My eyes drifted closed. I leaned further into the brick niche, shivering. I ran my hands up and down my arms.
This isn't fair.
My eyes flickered open, framed by snow flecked lashes. The night air bit my bare skin and the wind made my eyes water. The smell of death and blood attacked my nose. I wished someone would discover the boy's body so that I could stop deluding myself about why I couldn't do it myself. Or why I couldn't just leave the alley; I just didn't want to.
I was beyond the point of shivering. Now it was just numbness and a dull, throbbing pain in my fingers, toes, and ears. my heart thudded much too slowly.
I stared at my bare feet.
It was too cold, the coldest night I had ever known. Was this winter? I didn't know, I had long lost all sense of time and dates. I at least figured that it hadn't yet been a year since... But seasons were often indecipherable because it snowed even during the spring and autumn. I climbed to my feet, even though I couldn't feel them. I needed to do something, or I would die.
It wasn't fair! I had just gotten my second chance. I had just gotten a new life, a redo. It was being ripped away, just like my old one.
I needed to do something. Each step that I took made me realize how far my body had begun to shut down. I was lightheaded and my sight was blackened.
I was just so cold.
Before my conscience could intervene, my survival instincts forced my body to move on its own accord.
My chapped, bare hands reached around the boy's body. I struggled for nearly twenty minutes, undressing the boy. I slipped his thin coat on over mine and ripped his shirt into scraps, wrapping them around my feet and hands. I used his pants as a scarf. And then I sat in his niche by the trash can and flung him over my open side.
I was asleep before I registered the blood dripping on my face and shirtfront.
Thank you for reading! I hope that some of the time skips and such weren't too confusing. I kind of skipped around a lot.
~Mao