Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto and I frankly don't want it.
Notes: This story is going to be a short one, with short chapters and time-lapses. Expect no romance, no drama, no fix-it, just Naruto hopping through time and trying to make sense of his life.
Tags: Crackish at times, fluff and angst, Time Travel, Growing Up, Friendship
The little Time Traveler
The first time it happened, the four-year-old boy just tripped on his own two feet. One second he was in a backstreet, waving his arms around trying to regain his balance, the next he was in the main avenue of the village, spitting out a mouthful of dirt as he stood back up, knees bleeding from the hard impact with the ground.
The blond kid just looked around him, confused, before shrugging it off and going about his day, shoulders hunched around his head and shooting suspicious glares at the villagers who had yet to show distaste at his presence.
He ended up relaxing, mingling with the crowd and bumping into people just to see their reaction. Some scoffed and told him to look where he went, others sighed with indulgence, and a small number even laughed and apologized. It was surreal. Feeling daring, he even bought an apple from the old woman who usually pretended he didn't exist. It was a good day, Naruto decided.
Then he tripped on a stone, his nose met the ground, and when he looked up, he was still in the main avenue, but there was a wide breadth around him. His sharp ears caught a mumbled sneer, "little freak, always gets in the way" and he turned around, stuck his tongue out and bellowed an insult that went along the lines of "poop face" before storming away from the market place.
So much for having a good day.
.
.
The next time was similar. He walked, tripped, and when he got back up, people were nicer – or at least didn't mind his existence. Naruto happily went along with the weird fluke, thinking that adults were odd creatures with strange rites.
He decided to fall more often just to escape the stares.
It never worked.
.
.
He tried buying an apple from the woman. Her face kept changing from one day to the next. Naruto wondered if it was a cool jutsu. He asked the Old Man (he was the only adult worth knowing, and with him came money and sometimes ramen and sometimes even a pat on the head and it was just—) and he laughed, the thin skin around his eyes crinkling with mirth. "No, no, my boy. This is just a trick from life. No one escapes the mark left by the passing of time."
Naruto didn't get one word from that speech and shrugged, placing that under the "mysteries of life" mental checklist he kept.
Still. The lady kept changing faces. One day wrinkled. One day smooth.
He quickly learned to which face he could buy his apples.
Stingy old hag. Adults were weird.
.
.
He met a boy one day. The villagers kept shouting at him, scoffing at his excuses and muttering about no good orphans causing trouble.
Naruto kept his distance – it was a "good" day, the villagers left him alone and he got his apples plus a full bag of lemons, which was a real treat as the yellow fruit was a rarity in Konoha and always sold out fast. He definitely didn't need to attract bad attention by associating with the other troublemaker.
Nodding wisely at his decision, the blond boy munched on his green apple, enjoying the sweet-acid juice and thinking about the lemonade he'd make when he got home. Not a second later, the other boy bumped into him and his lemons spilled onto the ground.
"WAAAA! SORRY! I DIDN'T SEE YOU!"
Almost jumping out of his skin at the screamed apologies, Naruto just stared with wide eyes and apple-filled-cheeks as the boy grew teary-eyed the longer he apologized and bowed to him.
He bowed.
Nobody ever apologized to Naruto or bowed or even talked really. They just ignored him.
Blinking owlishly, the blond boy mumbled "it'sh okay" through the crushed apple bits he had yet to swallow in his surprise.
Immediately, the other kid beamed at him and Naruto felt his eyes prickle.
Someone was talking to him and smiling. Just for him.
"I'm Obito, by the way! I never saw you around before."
Sniffing back the snot that wanted to trickle down his nose, the four-year-old roughly scrubbed his eyes and tried to introduce himself after swallowing his mouthful. He took a step forward, a smile tugging at his lips, "I'm Uzu–" and promptly met the floor, right foot rolling on a forgotten lemon.
When he got up, rubbing at his smarting skull, there were no more lemons and the brown-haired kid was long gone.
There was a burning feeling in his eyes and he sniffled before slapping his cheeks.
He won't cry. It didn't hurt at all.
.
.
To be continued