Disclaimer: Hello, all! I have a tendency to get ideas in my head after being particularly inspired by someone else's work. It makes me want to try something similar and make it my own, if only to see how I would do it differently.

I'd like to credit both 'Dreaming of Sunshine' by Silver Queen and 'Catch Your Breath' by Lang Noi for this particular inspiration. My putting this work out has no bearing on the continuation of any other stories of mine, including my first one, Run With The Pack.

Please let me know if you enjoy it and would like me to continue, sincerely yours, Roarend Darkhowl.

Also, I do not own Naruto.

The Prodigal Sun

Prologue

My name is Haruo Sarutobi, pleased to meet you! I've decided you're deserving of a little insight on the rather unique circumstances of my life, lucky you!

I'm currently experiencing something that I once thought impossible – a second chance at life. The thing is it isn't my original life that I'm getting a second chance at, oddly enough.

You see, I'm not from the world I currently reside in, I'm not even sure how I got to this world, and I'm also uncertain as to why this world is real. Yeah, it's a pretty messed up situation, isn't it?

Try this on for size: I've somehow been dropped off in the Naruto-verse without a clue of how I got here or how here exists.

I know, right? That same popular series of shows, books, and paraphernalia that I poured hours of my life into, was now my existence – talk about studying for your future, huh?

Now, my life from before is drastically different from the one I'm currently living, not only in the large and magically obvious ways, but also in the small personal changes that I made for myself.

That's further ahead though, let's back up and start off with the catalyst for all this, eh?

Dying was almost anticlimactic considering how many sleep-less nights I had thinking about it and having mini-panic attacks. I spent so much time just agonizing over not being anymore, that the whole drifting away in my sleep thing, while not surprising, was somewhat of a letdown.

See I'm not a believer in the whole 'salvation and world beyond our mortal one' talk…ironically that last part ended up being true though. My death definitely didn't change any of my beliefs in religion, but it was so pathetic that I wonder if a religion just couldn't have bothered to take my death under their jurisdiction and I just got shuffled into a crazy pocket dream world of my own dementia.

Don't get me wrong, it was certainly a better way to go than the more horrifying and pants filling experiences I'd imagined. I guess I really shouldn't bitch too much, but I was certainly pissed off when I found out I'd died.

I mean, no Heaven, no Hell, not even the standing in a field for all eternity thing…none of that, really?

By the way, stepping back for a moment to the whole not being surprised about drifting off in my sleep thing, I was not surprised at all, because of what I'd been told for years by my doctors.

I was obese, to an unhealthy degree, and I wasn't doing anything to get any better. I ate badly, I abhorred exercise, and I got out of my parent's basement maybe two or three times a month, a really good month.

That's right. I was that guy who was living in his parent's basement, so get off my case. I was also on medication, vitamins, and a strict diet that I strictly ignored. It wasn't like I didn't get any help for my problems. I just disregarded all of it.

In the end, my negligence and other factors lead to my body having enough of my shit and giving out on me at only twenty-six years of age, I guess.

Moving on from that depressing little snapshot of my former existence, the first thing that I noticed after dying, and what probably woke me up in all honesty, was the utter nothingness that surrounded me.

I couldn't tell where I was, how I got there, or even what form I was taking. No shit, I couldn't see what I looked like or even feel myself having any semblance of motion. I just…was.

No sight, sound, feeling, taste, or smell. I had no senses to speak of. Hell, I had no ability to speak about it, and so it was just my thoughts and me.

Not a good situation at all. My mind is not a safe and happy place for me to hang out for extended stays. I knew the inevitable would end up happening.

I'm sure everyone has a little piece of themselves, no matter the size, that's seemingly critical of whatever you do. Well, in my case, that piece is a rather large part of my former life and it was one of the causes of my downfall.

You'd figure after achieving my demise my self-criticism – or self-loathing depending on your definition – could pat itself on the back and take a hike…well, let's just say I wasn't holding my breath. I mean, it's just how I was wired. Sure enough, soon I began hearing echoes of the same drivel I'd repeated to myself my whole life.

"You're a screw-up…and it's finally caught up to you…"

"I'm sure your family won't even notice you're gone…"

"They're better off without you…"

"No one is going to miss you…"

However…I found remnants of my cynicism stirring to life and I soon found myself not particularly caring enough to listen to any scathing remarks my subconscious tried to feed me.

I mean, was pretty far along the line of thinking that I was a goner and that I'd arrived at my final destination, so I tuned it out as irrelevant. The ease with which I did that wouldn't dawn on me until later.

I had a lot of time to reflect while I was in this state of blah, time that I spent really confronting some hard truths about the way I'd lived. Everyone used to talk about how, 'you get judged by your actions in life when you die' or 'you're presented with the bad things you did in your previous life and punished for the amount of bad you did appropriate to the crimes'.

I didn't do any of that, unless I was subtly being manipulated in some way, but I did come to a bit of a head with myself.

I'm not sure if you can have a self-intervention, but that kind of describes what happened with me while I drifted as a nothing amongst nothingness. I threw all of my flaws in my face and mourned the opportunities I'd lost out on due to them.

Yep, I went ahead and threw myself a pity party for one in the afterlife, go figure.

But I was just so bitter. I never got be in love and do all the kinds of things that that entails, I never finished my education or made anything of myself for my parents to be proud of, though what I mourned the most was that I never fulfilled my dreams. I won't tell you about them as they're not important now, but that really hit me hard and it was something that I despaired over.

My flaws had been all about my mentality when I truly broke them down.

I'd had no motivation, because I was depressed. I'd had no social life, because I was too anxious and afraid of the possibility of rejection. I'd had no confidence or self-esteem, because I was my biggest critic and loathed the fact that I wasn't perfect.

I'd been miserable…and it was my own fault.

I'd had so many hands reach out to me at different points in my life and I'd take them at first, only to cast them aside after a fashion because my stubborn pride wouldn't allow me to stand with help. I had had such a complex, a neurosis that I couldn't identify with my limited education in the human psychological condition.

So, the final product arrived at long last: I began to think of what I could've done differently. However, before I could even get started…I finally felt something.

Of course.

It figures, I'm just about ready to forge a new plaque entitled 'how I'd do things another way' and I'm interrupted. Can't be helped, I guess, what with my being born…or reborn…or whatever.

Yeah, that sucked, big time.

One second I'm an amorphous nothing and the next I was hot, sticky, and suffocating! I mean damn, why couldn't I breathe? When did I become solid? Also, why was it so freaking dark still?

I can stand being in the dark and floating like nothing, but being uncomfortably sticky and struggling for air in a hot darkness not unlike a sauna, was pushing boundaries I'd never tested before. You know lack of sexual experience and all that jazz.

Just when I thought I'd asphyxiate and die, AGAIN, my eyes were assaulted by a blinding light that, no matter how blurry, hurt like a bitch!

Next, I could feel myself being cradled by mammoth hands, which was a brand new feeling that I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about…kind of sums up the whole experience really. However, all this paled in comparison to the fact that I still couldn't feel oxygen entering my windpipe.

I was starting to freak out some, despite the onset of apathy my death had instilled in me. I mean I thought I was entitled to being somewhat afraid, what with my inability to see or breath.

Of course, my vision had been crap in my past life, I'd worn glasses since I was twelve…too much computer games and porn, I guess.

However, that was nothing compared to the blurry mess that was my current ocular state. I was able to see outlines of things that were fucking giant - that one scared the shit out of me - with a vague understanding of colors. To top it off, I was starting to see spots because of my persistent problem with airflow.

Finally, something happened with my face and I could feel sweet air entering my lungs, praise every god that there ever is or was!

Now, I could fully concentrate on the fact that I was hearing…speech?

I think it was speech, but for all I could understand of the words, the people might as well have been speaking Ebonics. The words were jumbles of strangely stressed vowels and clipped sentences that sounded oddly familiar but definitely incomprehensible all at the same time.

I was having a hard time caring at that moment though. I could breathe and I basked in that personal victory. Then I realized that my hands and feet had shrunk.

I only realized it because one of the gargantuan hands had started playing with my tiny fingers and toes, requiring me to hold in the instinctual laughter, which I barely did by focusing on my overwhelming confusion and growing distress.

It was then I noticed my whole body was that size, not just my hands and feet. The 'giants' around me were actually regular-sized human beings.

I was a baby…what? The idea was so ludicrous and yet it made sense when I compared the distinctly large, fuzzy objects around the room to myself.

I'll admit I felt a little bit of hysteria bubbling up and that, combined with those traitorous hands tickling my tiny extremities, was what finally made me burst into high-pitched giggles. As I did, I heard multiple people around me begin what was undoubtedly the sound of cooing and awwing, indistinguishable no matter what language it's made in.

These various voices suddenly filled within me an insatiable curiosity about where I'd been 'reborn' so, while still giggling hysterically I might add, I tried to twist my little neck and swivel my untrained eyes to 'see' them.

I saw several shades of green, brown, and black all laid over different hues of skin and all hovering over me speaking in hushed tones. Now and again one of them would tickle or pat me.

I wanted to swat those hands away so badly, as I thought I might end up making my first excretion in my new body if they continued.

The sudden placement of a wrinkled hand on my head and an old voice that filled me with warmth, like a hot fresh-brewed pot of coffee speaking, stopped me.

Well, that and I had no real control over my mushy body at this point, the feeling much like how I imagined getting hit with a stun gun would feel like. I had that body-part-falling-asleep feeling of pins and needles all over my body and was incredibly hot.

Seriously, I could almost feel my body temperature like it was a tangible thing and my insides felt like the interior of a hot air balloon.

Back to the hand on my head, my underdeveloped sense of smell did nothing to dull the acrid scent of the individual that leaned over to say something to me. It might've been a greeting, it might've been a blessing or a curse, I don't know what it was.

All I knew was that this particular individual smelled funny and was an interesting shade of white and red. They were also probably old, seeing as their hands were somewhat worn and crooked with what I figured was some form of arthritis.

I enjoyed the sound of his voice, though. I likened hearing it to drinking some cocoa after a long day playing in the snow. I just filled me with a sense of safety and comfort that was foreign to me.

It wasn't long after that instance that I realized why that was.

I was taken home from the hospital soon after that, to find that 'home' was a place filled with more than just my immediate family, but all of my family members pretty much.

It seemed like such a huge place to me, but with all the people that lived there it was almost always full. They were really kind to me, too. I don't know if it was just because I was a baby or whatnot, but they were always speaking fondly amongst each other whenever I was around.

I didn't know it at the time, but the Third Shinobi World War had just ended recently and everyone was tentatively acclimating to the hopeful lure of 'peace'. There was a much greater air of relief and contentment than there would've been had I been born a few years prior.

This meant I was living pretty large with all the spoiling I received from my relatives and my parents.

Oh, right, I should probably mention my parents or 'parental units 2.0' as I liked to think of them.

Can you blame me if I didn't think it was weird having another mom and dad? I mean, I was pretty distant with my family in my previous life, my parents included. I know that that might seem horrible, but I was just drowning myself in my own issues at the time and didn't really interact with anyone, family or not.

My new parent's were pretty cool though, if I had to say so.

I got the feeling my dad might've been one of those overexcited first time parents. He was always active with me, taking me places that I couldn't even really see well and showing me off to people I couldn't for the life of me understand. I appreciated it though, as I was avidly curious about where and when I was.

I only say 'when' because I noticed that there wasn't a lot of modern technology around the 'home' or even the 'town' really. There were no computers, no cars, and no phones even, yet there were televisions, refrigerators, and microwaves. It was almost like some technologies had been omitted from the world entirely, while others had survived but in a subdued capacity, and that little irregularity threw me for a hell of a loop.

There were some other things too that I noticed as I became more aware of my surroundings that made me wary, but I'll get to that in a minute.

Talking about my mom, she was honestly one of the kindest and gentlest individuals I'd ever met. In stark contrast to my dad's playfulness and excitability with me, my mother was where I could relax and learn. She had this desk she would sit at and hold me in her arms while reading to me from some scroll. She always spoke to me was what really was the thing I liked.

I loved my dad, but I wasn't going to get by through life speaking baby.

It was also the way that my mother spoke to me with such loving care and gentleness…I got a little choked sometimes whenever she did it. It was just so easy to see how much she loved me.

However, there were things that my parents did that I, even as a baby, didn't understand how they were possible.

Like how my father sometimes disappeared out of sight without actually moving or like how my mother would place my toys on a scroll and they'd vanish in a puff of smoke. These things were oddly familiar and foreboding at the same time, as I was pretty sure that my parents weren't magicians of some sort.

I was pretty sure my mother might've been an artist actually, what with all the drawing and writing she did. I had no clue what my dad did, but he was usually in a uniform that was a shade of green with sections of blue and would be gone for long periods of time, so I knew he had some kind of job.

My senses steadily got better over the course of a year, my babbling a bit more coherent, no actual words yet, but I was starting to be able to understand what was being said around me. I have no clue how that works, but words and phrases started to make sense as I heard them more. I'm going to credit my saint of a mother being patient with me while reading whenever I was being fussy or trying to go to sleep.

I didn't cry a whole lot, now that I think about it, which probably made me seem like a strange baby.

I was hot a lot of the time and still had that feeling like I had a blown up balloon in my chest, but other than that I was fine. I could've had better control of my bowels, of course. That was somewhat annoying and I had to cry if I wanted that taken care of.

But, other than that, I was just constantly trying to see, hear, feel, etc. better. My constant need for stimuli made my parents laugh so I wasn't particularly discouraged in that route.

On a side note, my review course on baby crawling was freaking sweet.

My first birthday crept up on me, to be honest.

It's not like I could really keep track of days that well, what with my attention constantly being on other things. It was quite the party though I have to say. There were probably a few hundred people there…at least from my baby POV that's what it felt like.

I blew a raspberry on my cake, opened some presents, and the whole nine, it was a good time. I remember my mother and father passing me around amongst relatives and friends like I was a hot potato.

In particular, I recall this lady with long, red hair holding me and making faces that I copied pretty well if I do say so myself. There was also this guy with really bright, shiny hair that was like looking into the sun. I won't lie I was entranced somewhat by it, so I was pretty happy when he let my grabbing fists get a feel of his locks…I might've giggled, what if I did huh?

However, one night a few weeks after that day I did wake up solely to cry, seemingly without prompting.

I could just feel something, an aura of maliciousness and anger had fallen over me, awakening a primal feeling of fear within.

I wanted my mother, I wanted my father, and I wanted to run… and yet still some small part of me wanted to see what could possibly be the source of this terrible atmosphere. I cursed my overwhelming curiosity for causing that dilemma in my mind, but my thoughts were soon broken up by the fact that my cries weren't producing a response from the household.

I knew for a fact that my parents would never leave me to cry my lungs out for this long, a habit brought about by the rarity of me crying. This point, along with the fact that there was a whole house full of people that were related to me that weren't responding as well, gave me a chill that brought my cries to a halt.

My fear almost doubled and my blood seemed to freeze in my veins like ice.

The fear I felt now was no longer the hot, rash terror that had been evoked from me by the oppressive hatred that tainted the air. No my concern was now for my family members and my parents who I couldn't place the location of during this event.

But, what could I do, I couldn't stand for more than a few seconds without falling over, much less try to crawl out of my crib. So I just lay there, helplessly unable to do anything, frustrated at my own impotency.

I felt the ground shake several times, knocking things over in my room. I saw lights flash sporadically across the pane of my window. I heard intermittent shouting mixed in with a terrifying roar that made the bars of my crib quiver. I could taste the air itself, suddenly charged with more energy than I'd ever noticed before. I smelled the burning fumes of fire smoke and a sickly sweetness the source of which I chose not to explore thinking further about.

I was madness out there, I could tell. But I still would've rather been out there, if that was where my parents were, than be stuck here to face my fear alone.

I thought long and hard during the few hours I had by myself during the chaos going on outside.

It was at that moment, I remembered how I came into this world and how I'd never resolved how I would've lived my life differently as opposed to my past one.

I remembered an obese, unconfident, and depressed human being that allowed his own insecurities to walk all over his self-esteem until they eventually killed him.

I remembered how hopeful and active that person had been before he grew up, how he'd always wanted to go places, experience things, and have fun.

I remembered how he never went anywhere, how he didn't allow himself to leave his 'comfort zone', and how he never got to achieve any of his childhood dreams.

I felt the balloon in my chest expand a little, almost simultaneously my resolve hardened.

I allowed myself to cry once more that night, just once.

After that, I didn't cry for six years, not even for little things like filling my diaper, being hungry, or getting frustrated. No, the last time I cried until just before my seventh birthday, was when my parents finally came home with both of them wearing dad's work attire.

That's when I cried, not only out of relief and in happiness at their safety, but also in resignation to my fate because I could finally recognize the leaf insignia displayed on both their headbands and the uniform of a Jōnin ninja.

I was in Konohagakure no Sato, The Village Hidden in the Leaves.