Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Status: Incomplete

Summary: "Death is a depressingly inevitable consequence of life," the telegraph once wrote, and I find that they are entirely correct. [oc-self-insert as Haruno Sakura's twin.]

I woke to white.

My vision blurred, and I coughed a little, a tiny hand coming to rest on my chest.

My tiny baby hands.

Nausea lurched up my throat and I clamped my lips together tightly to keep the sick from coming up. Trying to breathe in order to calm my thundering heart, I slowly raised my head and looked around.

I was in a hospital room.

I could hear the beep of the machine next to my head, and I felt the crackle of the hospital sheets against my skin. The strange trickle of acute strangeness felt all the more rampant as I noticed the bars on the windows; most likely to keep the shinobi in instead of out; but at the moment I felt trapped, cornered.

I felt like an animal, waiting to burst out of my skin.

My breath was coming in pants. My hands tangled in the crisp sheets. My head felt woozy—out of control.

A whine made its way out of my lips, slipping through the cracks of my desperate attempts to keep calm.

I remembered the exact moment when I realized.

When I noticed.

Haruno Sakura was my twin sister.

I shut my eyes and hoped to god this was some type of fever dream. A coma. Anything but the reality I had been living for four months.

Anything but the reality that I was…I was a fucking manga—anime—whatever the fuck—character.

I wasn't supposed to exist, not here.

I wasn't supposed to—

Panic gathered in my breast and I felt the sharp beep of the monitor go crazy. My breathing hitched, my hands clenched on the sheets. Hysteria bloomed in my mind like an old friend, and I felt the familiar creeping sensation of an imminent panic attack.

I was hyperventilating by the time I heard the pounding footsteps rushing down the hall, but I could barely hear it over the thundering of my own heart. I was crying; sobbing thick, ugly, desperate sobs, my anguished breaths stuck halfway down my throat, rubbing it raw.

(Can't be real—can'tbereal—cantberealcantbereal—notthisnotthis—pleasepleasepleaseplease—)

Please, I begged a half-formed notion of a god, please let this be over—let this not be real.

My last thoughts were that I hoped I would wake up soon, even if it was in that god-awful alley.

~.~

I had discovered Naruto on a cloudy day in September, as I was flicking through T.V. stations, waiting for a cuppa to finish boiling. I was wearing red overalls and a yellow sweater, my absolute favorite outfit ever. The sweater was warm and fuzzy, and my overalls were just enough worn that they had gotten comfortably soft. My knees were scuffed from playing on the beach, slipping over mud-slicked rocks, and I had wind-swept hair and a red nose.

I was nine and a half years old and utterly new to the world of animated shows.

Art had been one of my passions. I loved watching cartoons and animated drawings; the detail and love the artists poured into their work—the curve of the main character's neck, the way they scrunched their faces between frames, how the glistening of that droplet of water shone on that swaying leaf—was what dragged me to the world of anime.

Studio Ghibli had been my first love. Howl's Moving Castle was still my favorite movie, even now.

Art had been my passion. I loved painting and drawing and etching, but most of all, I'd adored moving art. Cartoons, GIFS, artsy movies, animation they were my shit. Watching movies and going to art galleries and flicking through old art was a hobby that took too much of my time, and too much of my life but I had loved it.

There was something special about looking at someone else's creation—something fascinating about seeing it move and breathe and function, even if it was just on a screen.

Naruto was an indulgence in a time of great need—not a loved T.V. show, and yet, strangely addicting. I liked the potential the characters held, the dormant abilities I could see in all of them. It made me dream. It made me interested.

But I was, sadly, disappointed. The traits that I had seen—Naruto's darkness and anger, Sasuke's forgiveness of himself and of others, Sakura's anger at not being able to succeed, at always been placed second—everything that I had hoped would be worked on…wasn't. These problems weren't explored, or expanded. The show ended in a very two-dimensional way, and there was a strange hollowness where the excitement had resided.

It was supposed to be a T.V. show.

A show.

Nothing more, nothing less.

~.~

There were times where I was aware, of a sort.

I heard the movements of my family, muted, in the room. I felt my sister's hands tugging on my hair, her soft sobs dripping down my forehead. I felt my mother leave a shaky kiss against my cheek. I heard my father brush away the blanket from my neck lest I be too warm.

All I could think about was that they weren't real.

This wasn't real.

Please. Let this be over.

My mind drifted and drifted and drifted.

This wasn't real. I was not real.

I clenched my eyes and drifted further, until I was surrounded by half-formed thoughts and submerged in dangerously inviting dreams.

This wasn't real—anytime now, I would wake.

Anytime.

(And so I waited. And waited. And waited.)

(Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—)

~.~

I dreamed of black nights, and sunny mornings. Of sunshine on the sea shore, shining down on pink seashells. The smell of the breeze, salty and free on my tongue. How it lifted my cornflower hair and tugged at the tight braid, cajoling the untamable strands free.

(How the locks turned pink slowly, bleeding bright until they had the exact same shade as that sister of mine—)

(I have no sisters.)

I dreamed of darkness and brightness and shades of gray and rainbows.

I dreamed of the alleyway; swathed in heavy shadow, broken glass scattered across the cobblestones. The way the light flickered, the silent scream of electricity humming in my ears. How the wind tugged at my jacket, nipped at my thighs, reminding me of the incoming chill.

I dreamed of my screams decorating the streets, the splatter of blood following behind them.

~.~

A name.

"Haruna, please, my darling wake up

I didn't know if it was mine.

"Haru-chan."

Broken voices.

"…might not make it…the chakra…."

The mantle of the world pushing on me, shoving me down, filling me up so full I could barely breathe—

"Haruna. Please."

Still, my dreams continued.

I twisted deeper into my sleep, until the monitors could no longer pick up the trace of my fractured thoughts.

"You must consider cutting the life-support."

~.~

Sometimes, I stood over that alley.

A bird's eye view.

I watched the way I stuttered for breath. The way my fingers clawed at the ground. The way my eyes were half-closed, shadowed in delirium and hysteria, a last scream stuck in my throat.

I saw the fear, smelt the acrid scent of urine. I saw the anger, felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. I saw the betrayal, and I looked away.

(The screams kept on coming, even when my voice broke.)

~.~

I was ten again, and watching that station, and gazing, entranced by the colors. The way the characters moved, so seamlessly on the screen. I was in love and bewitched. I yearned for a world that loved, that precise in its detail.

"…It's the promise of a lifetime, dattebayo!"

A smile played on my lips. I tugged my cup of tea closer, and recorded another episode.

I don't want to miss anything, and for some reason that feels so wrong—

Because of course (and here I will smile sadly) this isn't real.

(How I wish it was.)

(You'rewrong—bringmeback—)

~.~

"…We're not sure what could have caused this…you said there were…complications with her birth—what kind?" Stern. Unyielding.

"It wasn't anything at the time, you must believe me, you must know—we would have…we would have done something—"

"Haruno-san, anything helps. This is something…we haven't seen in a while." Careful. Cautious.

"…okay." Soft. Fractured. Desperate. "…she was blue. And small. So, so small. They said…they said there was something wrong with her yin chakra—too much for her to handle. Almost, almost like an—"

"—Overdose?" Intrigued, ensnared.

"Yes, yes exactly."

"…There is one thing…but it is rare. Rarer than anything we've ever encountered—"

"I don't care Fujiyama-sensei, tell me how to help my daughter." Quiet terror.

"….We must wait. We must give her time to balance out her reserves. Her body has shut down from the stress of her chakra channels. She has too many, far too young."

"Will she make it?"

"…This is the only way you could ever get her back."

"We're not sure if you ever will," is unspoken.

~.~

There are hands parting my hair, carding through matted locks.

There are lips tracing my cheek, stuttering on the round of my jaw.

There are murmurs whispered into my ear, and I hear, I hear, I hear—

"Haruna. Haruna. Haruna."

"Please come back to us."

~.~

There is a bright, incessant light drilling into my eyelids.

My mouth is dry, and I feel the rough stickiness of my tongue against my hollowed cheek. I feel like someone has blown up all of my organs, desperate to remind me that I need to drink.

There is a pounding throb against my temples, and I feel nauseous, the jolt of my wakening having stirred the sick that threatens to come up.

I'm sweating, and I can feel the way the cloth sticks to my armpits and knees and the crackle of the sheet that follows it. I'm overheating, drenched in sweat, and my mouth tastes like ash and tar.

The whine that escapes me echoes through the room, and I hear a stutter of breaths.

"Haruna-chan…?"

(Nononononononono—please no—)

I groan in desperation—I need water.

The words that slip from my lips are incoherent, but the person seems to understand what I'm trying to talk about.

"Okay, okay…okay," a rustle of cloth, and then a hand is pressing against my cheek, lifting me up. The taste of plastic juts against my mouth, and I lick my cracked lips, desperate for relief.

I moan in dizzy euphoria as water touches my tongue and slithers down my throat. Hastily, I grab the cup with shaky hands and clench it so tightly I can hear the plastic creak.

"Easy, easy," they tell me; their hands are soft, gentle against my drenched skin. "Slow, drink slowly."

A tremulous huff escapes me and I squeeze my eyes shut, the light still pounding away at my temples incessantly. The sick that threatens to rise dampens a little, and I feel better as I lick my lips and try to cough out the stuff stuck in my throat.

"Can you open your eyes for me, Haruna-chan?"

Dread slams into me faster than a sledgehammer. That name—Haruna—it is not my own. I can feel the hysteria rising, clamoring under my skin for attention, and I want nothing more than to fall back asleep, to never come back

This isn't where I belong, you must know, you must understand, please—

"Easy, Haruna-chan. Easy." They whisper to me, and I feel a sliver of calm slither its way under the maelstrom of panic.

That's not my name!

I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to go home.

The panic envelops me once more, and I feel the slow huff of dread puff against my hair.

My dreams swallow me whole and the last thing I hear is the melodious beep of that god-forsaken monitor.

~.~

"She was awake."

"…Are you…are you sure?"

"Why didn't you call us immediately?"

"Calm yourselves, please. It was only for a few minutes. She drank some water…was she speaking before…the incident?"

"How can you be so calm!? This is my daughter you are—"

"Mebuki, please, he just wants to help. He's just trying to help our little girl."

"…Okay. Okay. Alright. Fine, fine—fine."

"How far was she in terms of development? The average civilian child begins to speak at around four to five months, then walk at around seven. Solid foods at three. Was she hitting all the milestones?"

"Yes, yes. God…there wasn't anything—there wasn't anything wrong with her…she was a good baby. Didn't fuss or cry…there wasn't anything wrong…"

"She dragged a little behind Sakura-chan, but apart from that, she hit every milestone she needed to."

"Dragged…behind…your other daughter?"

"Yes—does that—does it have any impact—any meaning?"

"…No. Just curious…"

"Please…please…does her waking up have any…have any impact on—"

"We can only wait and see, Haruno-san. But this…development, has skyrocketed her potential recovery rate."

"…Do you know what's wrong with her?"

"Her brain is…the neurons are developed at an extremely high rate. Almost as if something sped up her development from the normal two years to a meager five…this has happened before…there are ways of dealing with it, if she were conscious. A Yamanaka would be brought in to smooth over the pathways—nothing too invasive, just necessary."

"And her chakra? They said something was wrong with her yin chakra?"

"That's quite normal. Any person who has a higher level of neural development—quite simply put as: their brain thinks quicker and faster than most people's—has a higher level of yin chakra. The Nara have been dealing with this for centuries…there are cures; ways of dealing with the overload."

"Then why isn't she waking? Why isn't my baby awake yet?"

"…Children don't usually fall into these types of…coma-like sleeps. Something must have shocked her for her body to have shut down so completely. Something so upsetting that it made her brain want to re-caliber her body at a higher rate than instead to wait for it to do it naturally…"

"Will she…will she ever wake up?"

"With time, we will see. Again, as she's already woken up once there is a higher chance of her…"

~.~

Later, I would laugh about the irony.

That my body would shut down; the shock of being reborn, the stress my mental state had put on my body, the way that my chakra had gone haywire trying to make up for the balance; and all I needed to jolt awake was just a little bit more shock.

A little bit more hysteria, a little bit more panic to feed into my survival instincts and wake me the fuck up.

But at the time, I was asleep.

Okay, second chapter! Hope you enjoy :)

Edit: I know that the name Haruna is repetitive, but it's there for a reason i sweAR

Edit 2.0: FFnet is being a bitch again and I hope that this time, the format I want is in.