Naruto stared at the fully-stocked walk in wardrobe for a good few minutes. Rows upon rows of high quality shinobi attires dotted one half of the closet while the rest of the space was occupied by casual clothes that looked new and untouched.

A neat line of shoes finished up the bottom shelves while all kinds of store-bought ninja gear sat in a labelled box by the side.

He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that these were supposed to be his possessions. Lying in his room–to be used by him.

He was sure that the most expensive thing he'd ever owned was cheaper than a pair of socks inside this cupboard.

Not that he was half as poor as he used to be in his childhood–Kami knew how many people would send him money envelopes and expensive trinkets for helping them in the war, to this day, two years after its end. Not to mention how well missions paid him and how frequently.

No, money wasn't the problem. He'd just never found the point in overspending while buying, well, anything.

But this wardrobe was full of grossly overpriced stuff and he was really really confused.

He shook off those thoughts, chalking it upto either Kakashi playing some kind of prank on him or this actually being some twisted hallucination of Zetsu's creation. He knew none of his reasons made any sense and that this whole situation was likely way more bizarre than what he'd let himself accept but he didn't think too hard about it. He wasn't ready to confront what the reality was. Yet.

He dressed himself up in a black shirt with streaks of pale blue on it and some standard shinobi pants– also lined with blue. Everything was colour coordinated so he might as well take advantage of it.

Slipping into some sturdy sandles, he walked back to the bed. Taking a seat, he toweled off the remnants of water from his hair.

He hadn't looked himself in the mirror yet. Mostly because he was certain what he'd see would be different than what he was used to. Not in I-have-a-different-face way, but in the– where the fuck did that scar over my brow go?–way.

He knew this would be the case because that red scrape on his leg was gone, so was that long stripe from his left forearm caused by a kunai from his genin days. He also most certainly had less muscle on his limbs and had gained almost three inches in height somehow.

That knowledge alone terrified him, made him confront the fact that all of this was wrong and weird.

He sighed and stood up to place the soiled towel in the basket by the corner. His eyes caught hold off the calendar hanging on the far wall and he walked towards it, squinting to make out the writing on it.

Sasuke's words had made it abundantly clear that today was apparently a very important day and someone (not himself for sure) had circled in today's date and written in 'Sasuke Menma's promotion/Asskissing Dad Day' in sloppy scribbles by the corner.

He frowned. Dad? What Dad? And who in the actual fuck was Menma? Sasuke had called him his little brother but that didn't mean anything considering the fact that he was, you know, an orphan, whose parents had died the night he was born.

The headache was back and so was the urge to get out of this unfamiliar room.

He looked around for his headband but didn't find it. Instead he happened upon a shiny, unscathed forehead protector lying in a drawer by the bed. The straps appeared well-worn but the metal part itself was pristine.

He shrugged and pocketed it, just in case.

Then, he exited the room and went down the stairs. His room was on the fourth floor of a well maintained building on the opposite side of the village he was used to residing in. It was located in the Shinobi district, one of those lanes solely used by people of the old money.

As he kept walking, he received the second biggest whiplash since waking up.

The people around him, in shops and in the streets, greeted him with absolute indifference and in some cases–derision. He could swear someone actually muttered "the prince has arisen" under their breath while they shouldered past him with utmost mockery.

Derision–he was used to. But indifference? Never.

Ever since he'd been born, the public's view of him had been polarizing. They either hated him or adored him. There was no in-between. And for three years now, ever since the defeat of Pein, he'd been the subject of the villagers' love and adulation.

He'd never experienced people glancing at him and moving on without glaring or admiring him before today.

It felt odd.

And it also forced him to reconcile with the fact that he didn't belong here. Wherever here was. This wasn't the Konoha he knew. And he wasn't the Naruto these people knew either.

Ducking into an alley, he settled onto the cold floor. With his hands in a concentration sign, he closed his eyes and looked inward.

He needed to know if there was any trace of a genjustu on him. He searched and searched for several minutes but when he opened his eyes with a sigh of defeat, it was with the knowledge that whatever he was experiencing was real.

His chakra was fine. No turbulence, not a sign of tweaking. And he was very good at detecting any change in his chakra. Jiraiya had made sure of it.

He let his head hit the wall behind him, wondering what exactly had he landed himself into this time around.

And then he noticed.

Ever since he'd woken up, he'd had this feeling of wrongness clouding his every movement. And part of it was just how different everything was.

But another part of it was the dull hollowness inside him.

Hollowness that he now realised was the absence of Kurama's chakra.

He closed his eyes again, a rising panic growing inside him, as he walked in his headscape, looking for the familar cavern in which Kurama liked to spend his time in.

But no matter how much he traversed the murky waters of his mind or called for his friend, there was no sign of the bijuu.

Kurama was gone.

He opened his eyes and hastily pulled up his shirt, channeling chakra through his abdomen. After several seconds of the process, his skin still remained unmarred, uninked.

He blew a breath through his mouth, let the cloth drop back into its spot and looked up.

Tears were forming in his eyes and there was no way to stop them. He was confused, weirded out, worried, afraid and angry. He didn't know what was going on and what had happened after he'd passed out in the cave.

Was this just some nightmare? It couldn't be. Every sensation, every emotion was too raw, to real to merely be a figment of his imagination.

But if this wasn't a dream or a genjutsu, the explanation that remained wasn't any better. He really couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had landed himself in the body of another Naruto from a different dimension.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, a laugh bubbled forth from his throat. What sort of drunken bullshit was his mind conjuring? Maybe Sasuke was right. Maybe he really was wasted.

However, as he continued to ponder on the topic, he realised it wasn't exactly impossible. There were all these documented incidents of strange personality shifts in people, talk of parallel universes, seals that let you travel through space-time and spirit realms unscathed.

Kakashi never let him too close to such research but he'd heard enough from Jiraiya who was ever-interested in any and all funky pieces of information floating around the elemental nations.

Even as he seriously considered this possibility, his mind went back to the war and the unleashing of tsukuyomi by Madara. It didn't escape his notice that this world he was seeing could simply be an elaborate illusion different than any genjutsu–an illusion so potent that it made you forget your reality itself.

A year after the war, with the reports of victims from every single village all over the world, the Yamanakas had compiled all crucial tid-bits of intel relating to tsukuyomi and what it entailed. Naruto had been one of the first people to get access to that knowledge. So he knew that the tsukuyomi was personalised to the whims and wishes of the one under its effect. That it was designed to entrap you by enticing you with the appeal of the new world it created just for you.

And so far... Naruto didn't think this world was anywhere close to what he imagined his ideal world to look like.

With his head buzzing with unanswered questions, he lifted himself off the ground. There was no point in dillydallying around when he could utilise his energy in finding out more about this place. He needed some solid information if he hoped to figure a way out of this mess.

He walked out and approached a vegetable vendor with a polite smile. Time to work that charm everyone told him he possessed.

"Hey there," he made eye-contact with the bored old man behind the cart, "Are there any chances you'd know where a certain Menma Uzumaki lives? My navigation skills have grown a bit rusty."

The man rolled his eyes, swatting away his hand that was lying idly on the edge of the wooden leg. "You don't know where your own brother lives? Stupid brat," he scolded, "Didn't even get his name right–are you pranking me, boy? Are you?"

Naruto blinked. This guy thought Menma was his brother as well. That corroborated at least one detail since he'd woken up here.

"Ah, no, old man," he said, scratching the back of his neck, an embarassed smile on his face. "I was just trying to be funny."

Ignoring the man's grumpy tirade, he walked back into the alley and transformed into a plain-looking boy half his age with no remarkable features.

Then, he walked out and went into the bouquet shop right opposite the vegetable vendor.

"Uhem," he coughed pointedly, looking up at the kindly lady sitting behind the counter, staring intensely at the pages of a book. She startled and glanced at him, expression morphing into something vaguely welcoming yet irritated.

"Yes, child?" she asked, "What has your mother asked for you to buy?"

He shook his head, deciding to follow along the same bluff. "Nothing. She just wants to know the directions of some Menma Uzu–" he coughed again, remembering the old man's comment about getting his brother's name wrong. "Menma's house. We're going for a party there."

"Oh," the woman searched his face for any signs of insincerity while Naruto kept his most innocent face in check. "Do you mean Menma Namikaze? I did hear something about the lad getting promoted... " she trailed off, leaning ahead in interest.

"Hey, boy, how did your mother get an invite for such a party? Kami knows how private the Hokage is about his kids' affairs– well, except that deliquent, of course."

Naruto kept his thoughts to himself, not allowing any of them to show in his expression. Instead, he cocked his head in confusion, "I dunno. Mom's a plus-one for her boyfriend. She's divorced, you see. We moved here pretty, like, a week ago."

The woman's eyes widened and she sat back, finally realising that gosipping with a kid who looked no older than ten was a bad idea.

"Ah, right. The address?" she smiled slightly, trying to overcompensate for her previous behaviour. Naruto would've laughed did he not have a cover to maintain. He nodded, waiting expectantly for a reply.

"Here," she scribbled onto a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Go give that to your mom, alright? And wish her luck with that date."

Naruto smiled nicely, "I will. Thank you, ma'am."

Before she got a chance to dote on him, he ducked out of the shop and fast-walked to the end of the market. There, behind a wall, he undid the henge and glimpsed at the address he'd received.

The words 'Hokage Mansion' haunted his thoughts as he made his way uphill. Last he'd checked, the place was occupied by Kakashi-sensei. In this world (or illusion or whatever the fuck–), however, it seemed this Menma dude lived there with his family– that also happened to be his own family.

His brain had caught on with what that implied, of course. The chances of his parents being alive and well were high and that meant he was about to meet them, face-to-face.

The chances of this being a tsukuyomi had increased all of a sudden because there was nothing he'd wanted more in his life than the presence of his mom and dad around him.

He gulped as the traditionally decorated mansion came into view. The walkway to the door was embellished with cheerful flower garlands and coloured lights. On either side of him, grassy courtyards spread to the stone barriers, neatly trimmed and well cared for.

He ignored all the alarms in his head, yelling at him to observe, to do recon, to wait and watch before going into the fray but he was beyond caution at that point. All he wanted was some clarity, some insight into his situation and he was sure he wouldn't receive that by analysing the guests entering this party while sitting on his butt for hours.

He knocked on the main door–which was really more of a mini-gate–and waited. A few muffled yells and shouts reached him before the door swung open with an awful creak and then he was looking into a mirror.

Okay, so not exactly a mirror.

He was looking at someone who looked uncannily like himself– blond hair, dark blue irises framed by similarly shaped eyes. Broad-ish shoulders clad in an orange and black tunic.

But the longer he looked, the more it became clear that this person had many dissimilarities in his appearance. For one, the dude was shorter and had a more rounded face with a stone-cut intensity in his eyes that belied tales of little laughter and a serious demeanor.

He couldn't focus on his pseudo-doppleganger for long though, because said boy was glaring at him, lips twisted up unhappily.

"You actually showed up?" he wondered aloud. "Who'd have thought?"

"Uh, Menma... ?" was all Naruto could utter.

The boy narrowed his eyes, "Are you drunk? Why are you so early?"

"Early?" Naruto peeked inside. People were hustling around, carrying baskets and trays and all sorts of goods in their hands. He figured the party preparation was still underway and he was, in fact, embarrassingly early. But if this Menma was his brother and this was his party–fuck it–"Oh yeah. I just thought I'd help you out, y'know? With the arrangements."

Menma snorted, "You? Helping me out? Have you gone insane or something, brother? Did you hit your head on concrete on your way here?"

What was up with the people of this world?

More importantly: what sort of person was the Naruto they knew that Menma would be appalled by just the idea of receiving voluntary help from him?

"I assure you my head is perfectly fine and I am neither drunk nor insane," he said, lamenting that his first conversation with a supposed sibling of his had already gone down the drain. "Besides, I'm your brother– I'm supposed to help you, aren't I?"

A flash of suspicion and shock coloured Menma's features, the boy rendered speechless for just a moment. But when he finally regained his senses and opened his mouth to retort–

A loud voice cut short their conversation.

"Menma! Who's at the door? Daichi-san wasn't supposed to arrive until–"

There, right behind Menma, in walked an irate Kushina Uzumaki, hair tied in a messy bun and a clipboard in a hand. She stopped talking when her eyes landed on him, gaping shamelessly. Naruto gaped right back.

"Naruto?"

He swallowed the lump lodged into his throat, eyes misting with suppressed tears.

"Mom?"

author's notes:

thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed. as always, all feedback is welcome!

have an awesome day ahead!