ChickenBurgers: Hello there. This is not the first story I have written, but it is the first one to see the eyes of the internet! I hope anyone who reads will enjoy.
Some information for you! First, this is a Time Travel story. If you don't fancy the concept, you won't want to read it! Second, the central character is Sarutobi Konohamaru- the boy is underrated, I think, and I like underappreciated characters. So let us see how it all plays out.
Chapter One- Sarutobi Konohamaru
Every inch of his body screamed. Just lifting his head was a battle, and Konohamaru was ashamed to say he might lose it. (He had already lost the battle against that orange haired freak)
He was a shinobi, he told himself weakly, he was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to rise up even if it killed him, and fight, and win at all costs. Because a shinobi never gave up, a shinobi never failed, a shinobi never slowed down until he was dead.
But then again, maybe he was. There was a war on, Sasuke-niichan had gone batshit nuts and some dead-but-maybe-not-so-much guy was trying to take over the world...for...why was he again? Peace? Bullcrap, his addled head managed to squeak out. Still, he certainly hoped he wasn't dead. Sakura-nee had chased that freak Kabuto off into the woods, Sai-san(he wasn't comfortable using anything less respectful with him quite yet) was trying to off that weird water guy, and... after that hole got punched in his gut, what had happened?
He couldn't remember. A flash of white, maybe? A roar? Something like Naruto-niichan might make when he was really angry, only beast-like and tearing the world apart with its force.
Where was he?
Konohamaru forced his eyes open, and found the eaves of a faraway rooftop. One that was casting a shadow over his spread eagled form.
He tried to count his injuries without moving, just in case doing so would make him scream like a little girl.
One- his shoulder was definitely knocked out of its socket. Gross.
Two- It wasn't anything that ought to kill him anymore, but there was definitely a nasty, healed up gash in his stomach.
Three- the world spun without him moving, so he probably had a concussion.
Four- he could feel several bones in his right hand and wrist trying to break out of his skin.
Five- contusions and lacerations all up and down his arms and legs. Mostly superficial, some that were deep enough to scar. Those were probably from that huge freak, Juugo.
Now that all that was done, he had to wonder why he was under a roof- well, in an alleyway, probably. He turned his head. Yep, it was an alley. There was a trash can right over there. And another building.
He let out a long sigh.
And then he sat up, and bit back a loud scream. His mind was clearing up a little, coming back to its usual level of analytical ability- and contrary to the silly bravado he put up in order to have more fun, he did have quite a bit. After all, he was the Sandaime's grandson, a two-years-early graduate of the Academy. That wasn't nothing, even if it wasn't Kakashi or Itachi level.
Forget that though, he decided, everything hurt like a son of a sea cook. But he needed to figure out why he wasn't on that rocky old hillside anymore. And so despite the screaming of his bones and joints and oh god his shoulder was so very dislocated he stood up and walked to the edge of the alleyway to take a closer look at what was outside.
It was bone chilling that he knew the shop across the street.
Bone chilling, because it was a sushi restaurant he went to with Moegi and Udon after training all the time, where he bought extra tuna rolls to take home for his mother, because she loved them, and where the owner's daughter scolded him for being a lousy tipper all the time. That place should be nothing but rubble after what Pein had put Konoha through a few months ago. Why was it standing up now, as if nothing had ever happened, the sign above the door so brightly painted as if it had only just been put up? Even the old lady from the laundromat Naruto-niichan went to was there drinking a saucer of sake, and she had died two years ago.
So something was obviously off.
Konohamaru loosened his scarf and slid down the stone wall of the building behind him. He needed to think. The first obvious conclusion would be that he was in a genjutsu. But if he had been dying- and he was almost certain that having a hole punched through your stomach caused symptoms like death- there would be no point in healing him up just to do that, would there? And he didn't know any classified information either, that was for sure.
"So, genjutsu's out." he decided quietly, "But then what's going on? That hag from the laundromat is drinking her heart out and she's supposed to be six feet under, the Hatsumari Sushi Bar is standing upright as if nothing ever happened to it, and I'm pretty sure that isn't supposed to happen on a regular basis..."
The only idea that popped into the genin's mind was crazy, utter lunacy, and made him simply think he had been playing too many video games, reading too much of Udon's manga, or something of that sort, but it was the only conclusion he could come to. He slipped off his Shinobi Army headband and ran his thumb over the cold metal. It was solid feeling, sort of a rock he could stand on.
Naruto-niichan would totally freak out in a situation like this. He thought, Even Sakura-neechan would freak out. But somehow I just feel like a blank chalkboard.
Maybe it was shock, he concluded. He'd gone through a spell a bit similar to this after his first kill, anyway, and that was what it had turned out to be, so maybe he should just move on from that.
Time travel or not, he couldn't stay in the alley, and if it was time travel after all, he couldn't very well go out looking like he did. He was a stereotypical Sarutobi clansman- the wild, upturned hair, lazy looking dark eyes. And he was dressed up with weapons and ninja gear head to toe. "well, only one thing to do about the hair." he said.
He shuffled around with his good arm and found a kunai. And his stomach churned in anxiety.
"Man, I don't wanna do this at all, I love my hair." he whined feebly.
But he lifted both arms up painfully and began to tear through tuft after tuft anyway, until all that was left was straight falling, unevenly short-cut black hair, making him look like a rowdy middle-schooler from some big city. He could see it, a little distorted, in the reflection of his forehead protector. He made a disgusted noise -it didn't suit him, not a bit!- and unwound his scarf.
Then he tossed out his weapons pouches- couldn't be caught with those, their serial numbers didn't even exist yet- and slowly peeled off his jacket to the white tee shirt underneath.
He looked terribly shabby, he decided, staring in the reflection of his headband again. Like he'd had a nasty fall, or been mugged, or gotten into a fight or some such.
"I should go to the hospital." he sighed.
Wondering vaguely what had happened to Naruto and Sakura and the rest, and with a deep seated panic finally beginning to set in, Konohamaru finally discarded his forehead protector in the trash can and stalked out into the sun bathed streets, trying to ignore the astonished, worried, or appalled looks of the people around him, and the screaming pain of his injuries.
78()78()78()78()
The hospital was not mostly rubble and bent wiring and crushed beds when he arrived. It was pristine and white and huge and beautiful. He had stared at his feet the whole way there, trying not to vomit from the combination of pain and on-setting panic.
What the hell is going on what the hell is happening what the hell is going on? His mind chanted at him. He responded to himself- going crazy now, no doubt- that he didn't have a damn clue, and would he please shut up, because he needed medical attention.
The different thing about this Konoha General Hospital, he decided as he walked in, was that there was no Tsunade-baa, no Sakura-neechan, no Shizune-san or even Ino-neechan on staff here. He didn't know any of these nurses or doctors or medic ninja running around, not even the receptionist at the desk, scribbling away at some sort of data entry.
He still wanted to vomit when he came up and spoke to her in the nearly empty emergency room.
"Uh, h-hi."
The greeting was clumsy and not nearly polite enough for a stranger. He scolded himself mentally, and his dislocated shoulder throbbed. The receptionist nurse took a look at him, and the tears and bloodstains on his clothes. "Oh, my." she stated in light concern, "What happened to you, young fella?"
"I, uh..."
Shit! He screamed in his mind, why didn't I think about that on the way over? Way to go, Sarutobi. You dumbass!
"I...fell out of a tree!" he blurted after an awkward moment of silence, "And...well...yeah, that's what happened."
"No parent with you?" asked the nurse, as if he should have stopped at home to fetch his mother before coming to the hospital- well, he guessed a civilian kid would want the security of a parent first. But shinobi instinct was for physical healing, then emotional comfort. It just went in that order.
"I...I don't have any." he lied outrageously. Of course he had parents! His mother was a civilian housewife and his father worked in decoding. "It's just...me."
Wait, hospital visits are crazy expensive. He thought suddenly, that's if you see a civilian doctor, at least, shinobi medics are cheaper because they're on military grade salary, but...anyway, crap...
A look of pity and compassion crossed over the nurse's face as she gave him a once or twice over. "I see, dear. Well, let me get your name quickly, and sit down. We aren't busy so I can get you with a doctor in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"K-Kaaa..." I can't use my real name. Dammit, when did I stop thinking ahead and start acting so much like Naruto-niichan? "Kazuya!" he finally said. It was actually the name of his neighbor's dog in the future.
"Any surname?" asked the nurse, scribbling on a sign in form.
"Uh, Katsuragi." Katsuragi sounded similar enough to 'Kazuya'. It would be easy to remember, at least.
He still felt like he needed to throw up.
The nurse wrote it down without question and directed him to a seat. He slid into the plastic chair gratefully and only just realizing how tired standing around had been making him. Ah, that's right! He exclaimed to himself, and quietly he looked around. There were some vending machines in a corner with a clock above them- it was 3:45 pm, but that didn't matter right now.
"Paging Doctor Fujita, patient with multiple lacerations, and head trauma, possible broken shoulder." The nurse called through an intercom.
'Kazuya' looked behind her desk. Yes! There was a calendar. The month of March, with fourteen days crossed off. The year was... No, that couldn't possibly be, not for real! He insisted, but he knew he had known all along. But to have gone so far back, even Naruto-niichan was only a little kid right now, wherever he was! Which meant this timeline's Konohamaru was only a baby. A year or two old, maybe. And here his future self was waiting in an emergency room for a Doctor Fujita to come and take care of him.
Konohamaru didn't want to vomit anymore. He wanted to cry. He wanted to lay down on the row of plastic yellow chairs and sob. Because what was he supposed to do now, he thought. What could a twelve year old boy do -even a ninja- to get back to where he belonged? And even then, it was either here, in this waiting room, or bleeding out on a hillside while a war raged on around him and all his friends wondered where he was.
The double doors leading to the examination rooms swung open, and a civilian doctor walked out of them with a clipboard. He looked neither cold nor caring, was tall and aside from the green rimmed glasses, the man Konohamaru assumed to be Doctor Fujita wasn't anything interesting.
"Katsuragi-kun?" he asked politely.
Konohamaru hadn't forgotten about his chosen alias, despite the horrifying realization that he was a good eleven or twelve years before he should be. He raised his hand and looked up.
"You're in nasty shape alright," said Dr. Fujita, "Please come with me, and we'll get you patched up."
They walked down a long hall speckled with pretty nurses, busy doctors and patients of all sorts. Konohamaru saw a boy half his age with a broken foot and tears streaming down his face, and an old man with a nasty cut on his hand waiting to be stitched closed. There was also a young, expecting mother in for a sonogram. Dr. Fujita nudged him into a room with his clipboard. There was a young and eager looking nurse in there, with short brown hair and sparkly, schoolgirl grade green eyes. Wow, she's eager.
"Okada-san, this is Katsuragi Kazuya-kun. You'll be helping me with him."
"Understood, Dr. Fujita!" Nurse Okada proclaimed with a salute. Konohamaru stared at her. If Sakura-neechan had been a civilian, maybe she would have ended up like this.
He was glad she'd been a kunoichi instead.
"Please take his weight," Fujita handed her his clipboard, "And height while I go and fetch some things. And record any injuries Yamasaki-san missed at reception."
He strode briskly out of the room, and Okada turned to Konohamaru with a bright smile. It was blindingly civilian in nature. He was so very unused to things like that after only a few months on the war-front. "Katsuragi-kun, wasn't it? I'm Okada Akemi. Let's record your injuries first, so you can have a moment to sit."
Konohamaru gained a little bit of appreciation for her. She had taken into consideration that he wouldn't want to stand up for long right now. He sat on the examination table obediently and counted things off.
"I think there are some broken bones in my hand." he said, "And my shoulders definitely out of its socket."
"Alright."
"I've got some cuts and scrapes, but the worst is on my stomach from landing on a broken branch." that sounds believable enough.
Okada Akemi poked at the area around the large tear in his shirt, and a genuine concern for him dulled her eyes. "It's already healing over. I wonder how long you waited to come here?"
"I...kind of passed out... My head, I think there's a concussion." Konohamaru provided for her, "Are there any bruises?"
Akemi nodded vigorously, "Like big purple flowers."
She scribbled some more. "Is that all?"
"I'm pretty sure it is, I think I would have noticed anything else."
"Let's get your height and weight then, step on over."
Konohamaru stepped onto the weight scale. Akemi scribbled a number. He stood straight as a rail under the ruler on the wall and she scribbled another.
"...How old are you, Katsuragi-kun?" Akemi asked as he sat back down.
"I'm twelve." he replied, "I'm kind of short. Don't worry, I already know."
Akemi nodded. "I'm sure you'll shoot up in no time." she assured, as if she thought he needed it.
He didn't feel bad about being short at all, really.
Really!
Dr. Fujita walked back in rolling a trolley with various medical instruments and sterile gloves on his hands. Akemi stood at excited attention, eager to please. Konohamaru wondered if she had just started recently, and was trying to make a good impression. She was nice, at least.
Before he realized what was happening, Dr. Fujita was shining a small flashlight in his face. Once he got over the glare, he realized that his pupils were about to be properly checked. He tried to follow the light properly and his eyes wobbled.
"Your pupils are dilated." was the Doctor's short announcement, "You've got a concussion. And...we need to pop that shoulder back into place."
Konohamaru wanted to grimace, and he did. He'd seen Ino-neechan pop a dislocated shoulder back into place on Kiba-niichan once. It had looked like it hurt, probably almost more than a broken bone did.
He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth- like a man- and nodded.
Dr. Fujita lifted, pushed, and twisted. There was a brief moment where the pain was bursting and intense, then his arm was feeling normal and simply pulsing dully with ache.
"Doctor, he also has several broken bones in his hand, and a severe laceration on his stomach that should have stitches done." Akemi piped up helpfully, looking apologetically at the twelve year old about the stitches part. He smiled forgivingly. Stitches were something he could deal with, at least. You got anesthesia for those.
"Alright then." said the doctor, "let's get to it, and have you out of here as soon as we can.
The clock on the exam room wall read a stark 4:50 when Akemi walked into the room with a plain looking gray shirt for him. "Here, fresh from the laundry." she smiled. Doctor Fujita glanced at her briefly from his clipboard and Konohamaru yanked the shirt over his head. He looked with a bit of a pleased smile at the glaringly neon green cast he'd been fitted with. It was so bright, he figured he could use it like a flashlight in dark places. Made him a little more cheerful about his broken hand and the ten stitches on his stomach.
"Thanks, Akemi-oneechan." he said, "if I fall out of a tree again, I'll come see you and the doc for sure, you've been great to me."
"Oh, don't worry about it!" Akemi exclaimed, seemingly flattered by the 'oneechan'. She ruffled his clumsily cut hair and smiled rather winningly. "But I'd rather you not go falling out of any more trees, Kazuya-kun."
"True." added Dr. Fujita, "If you come again, why not just to visit, instead?"
"Yeah, of course I-" a realization came to mind. "Uh, what about the bill?" he asked suddenly, "I don't have any money, I just realized."
Dr. Fujita smiled. "I specialize in pro-bono work."
Akemi put on a proud smile and Konohamaru filled with gratefulness. "I'm definitely treating you to some noodles one day, doc! It's a promise, a promise."
Dr. Fujita smiled, and Akemi beamed, even though Konohamaru hadn't included her in the invitation. (But he'd probably let her tag along when the time came.)
78()78()78()78()
Despite the temporary comfort and bubbling happiness being fixed up by Akemi and Dr. Fujita had brought him, when ten o' clock came, the streets were pitch dark and Konohamaru was scared again. He was great at camping out on a moments notice, even with very little on hand to keep him warm, but even so, could he do that forever, or until he got back to the right place in time, or whatever? Eventually he would need a proper place to stay, and some kind of cash flow. Even a genin salary was enough to live off of, he'd found out from Naruto-niichan, especially if you budgeted smart and ate lots of instant foods like mac n' cheese or ramen or canned ravioli. But Konohamaru wasn't too sure about enrolling in the Academy at age twelve and working up from there.
He supposed he could go into physical labor. Construction maybe, or shipping merchant's goods. Well, he was good at academics enough too that he could be a home tutor for some rich parent's elementary age kid, but he didn't want to sit still all day.
"Screw that," he whined, "I want to see mom..." Like that can happen...
But it's still true. I want to go back to where I can see Sakura-neechan and Ino-neechan and Naruto-niichan and everyone, and throw a million kunai at freaky black and white clones and get holes punched in my stomach because I'm a Big Damn Hero and bleed out on hillsides and die in a way I can be proud of.
His stomach gurgled with hunger. He hadn't eaten since morning in the time he'd come from. So theoretically...never? Now he was confused. And even more hungry than before.
"I need to get my hands on some ryo and find a convenience store." he sighed, "Yeah, a canned coffee and some melon bread, that would be nice."
He passed an alleyway slowly, and realized with a jolt it was the same one he had woken up in that afternoon. He stared into it silently, thinking of the hitai ate and gear he'd left there to rot. Usually alley garbage only got picked up every two or three weeks. It cumulated kind of slowly, actually.
….one of those trash cans was rattling, he decided. It definitely was, because he could hear it, and his shinobi night vision could see it.
Curiosity got the better of him and he stalked over to see what was going on.
His stomach dropped out -the same way it did when he jumped from a large height- when he saw the tiny, too-skinny kid riffling through his stuff, looking for valuables. Shaggy, wild blonde hair, almost-glowing blue eyes, it was definitely his Naruto-niichan.
His "big brother" was in front of him, and he was five years old.
ChickenBurgers: I do hope you enjoyed. I'd like to thank my lovely DA friend eatspeaches for heartlessly tearing apart all my spelling or grammar mistakes, and then fixing them. Despite her late inactivity as an author she is still a good editor.
This story is still worming around in my head, so hopefully chapters will be popping up quickly enough as I get them finished for a bit. If you happened to enjoy it or have some advice for me, please drop a review. I'd love to hear anything you have to say.