A/N: I have not written fanfiction since early high school, but I couldn't find any of the type of fic I wanted. Fair warning, I wrote this in the dead of night. I am dyslexic. I am too fucking lazy to proofread this.
Anyways, there's not enough Uzushio-centric works. It is a tragedy. I am being the change I want to see in the world.

-:-

Uzumaki Shiori is born in a storm; a hurricane the likes of which Uzushiogakure is used to, but no less devastating. She is born in the evacuation caves, because the Uzumaki compound is built on a cliff face, and while the seals will hold, her mother is as paranoid as they come.

Uzumaki Shiori is delivered by her father, a medic nin who refuses to entrust his daughter's birth to anyone less capable than he is. Her mother argues that he should go and do his actual job, helping the others in the caves who were injured in the storm. Her father sends her mother a look that could stop a bijuu in its tracks, and it sends her mother into a delirious fit of laughter in the midst of her labor pains.

Uzumaki Shiori is born to high waters and fierce winds, to the love of her parents and the safety of Uzushio.

(Uzumaki Shiori is born dead.

Her mother starts sobbing.

Her father forces her heart to beat.

She wakes up with another woman's memories locked away in her fragile brain, and years down the line, when she remembers this night, she'll try her best not to resent him for it.)

-:-

The good thing about being born dead is that no one questions why she's so weird. It's chalked up to brain damage from those fraught first minutes as her father forced a pulse into her veins. She doesn't make any sounds, or do much but sit and stare at whatever is in front of her weak eyes, and people just send pitying looks over her head to her parents.

(She sobs silently for a family she can't remember the name of, grieving a life she can't remember losing, and her new parents look so lost as they try to comfort her.)

-:-

The worst thing about being born dead is that Shiori remembers exactly who she isn't anymore. She remembers her siblings, her mom, her coworkers. She remembers the feel of glasses on the bridge of her nose, the catch of cracks in her phone screen against her thumb. She remembers sitting in her shitty apartment late at night, hearing the neighbors argue through the wall as her cat looks at her with affronted dignity.

(She remembers days that blend together in an endless train of wasted potential, because the effort of getting out of bed is too much, because all food makes her nauseous, because the sound of the outside world makes her skin claustrophobic.)

She is Uzumaki Shiori, the broken baby girl of the Uzukage's sister and the head medic.

She is a name she can feel on the back of her tongue, but can't remember how to say.

-:-

Credit where credit is due, her new parents love her. They have no idea what the fuck to do with her, but they read her stories and talk nonsense to her and kiss her cheeks.

(Uzumaki Nanami, her new mother, comes home covered in blood with a face like thunder. She ignores her husband, going straight to Shiori's crib to pick her up and hold the baby to her chest. Only once she has her daughter nestled against her does she let her husband treat her injuries.

"That motherfucker said I should give her to the Sea," Nanami says after a long silence. "That's his granddaughter, Kenshi, how could he fucking say that-"

Her words dissolve into angry, choked sobs as she holds Shiori tighter.)

Shiori wants to feel guilty for not being right.

She finds she's too tired to even try.

-:-

"Alright, Shi-chan, this is your Kushina-nee. Be good for her, okay?" Uzumaki Kenshi says as he sets her in unfamiliar arms.

Shiori looks up at the girl holding her, with her red hair and wide grin, who rubs her chubby cheeks and calls Shiori her "grumpy lil mochi" as she pokes her.

Her name is Kushina. She is eight years old. Her hair is Uzumaki red.

(Shiori knows, in the vast part of her that isn't Shiori, that this is significant.

She also knows she doesn't have the energy to care.)

-:-

There is a part of Shiori that's tired of being tired. A part of her that wants to smile for the young couple that tries so hard, for the red haired girl who calls her mochi, for the love that crashes into her as unrelenting as the ocean.

(There is a much larger, much louder part that wants to stop breathing.

It sees the pillows in her crib, and remembers statistics from an early childhood development class she took when she still wanted to be a preschool teacher. There's so many different ways for a baby as young as she is to die.

It wouldn't be hard to just… end it.

But then Kushina or Nanami or Kenshi come to hold her and smile at her, and she remembers there's no guarantee that she'll actually die. For all she knows, she'll just wake up somewhere worse than this. There's plenty of people who wouldn't be as patient with a baby as weird as she is, as numb and grief sick.)

Shiori is so fucking tired.

She doesn't think it's going to stop any time soon.

-:-

At two years old, Shiori should be able to walk, but she doesn't. Too much energy for no reward. Her parents give up, just a bit, and let her sit in her crib to stare at the ceiling.

Kushina doesn't.

Kushina appoints herself as Shiori's personal chariot. She'll scoop up Shiori's tiny toddler body, and stick her on her hip, and grin like the sun is trapped in her teeth.

"Where to, mochi?" she'll ask. Shiori doesn't ever answer, but the older girl will follow Shiori's gaze and head towards whatever she's looking at. Kushina will carry her outside to look at sea birds or flowers or just at the architecture of the compound.

She carries her to the walls, with thick lines of ink swirling and spiraling out across them.

(They are beautiful, and they are warm, and they hum with honey sweetness. They promise her love and safety, a home that will never abandon her, a reprieve from the grief in her chest.)

Shiori reaches out to touch them, chubby child fingers grasping clumsily at the painted security just out of reach-

Kushina pulls her back. Shiori looks back up at the girl and glares, which just causes a delighted laugh to bubble out of her.

"You like the wards, huh?" Shiori doesn't respond, just reaches back out to them. Much to her distress, Kushina takes several steps back, before placing her on the ground. She then goes to stand next to the wall, grinning down at her expectantly.

"C'mon, mochi!" she calls. "I believe in you. If you wanna touch 'em, you gotta do it yourself, dattebane!"

Shiori glares up at the girl, tears building in her eyes as she reaches out for the warmth of the inked walls. Kushina smirks and shakes her head. "Sorry, mochi. Nee-san can't do everything for you, dattebane. You gotta come touch them yourself."

Shiori wants to point out that Kushina is not her big sister. She is, at best, a cousin.

(She is also the only person who doesn't look at Shiori with pity or disappointment.)

With a deep sigh, she forces her uncoordinated body forward in a very half-assed army crawl. It's barely anything, but with the way Kushina starts cheering, you'd think Shiori has just taken the first steps on the moon.

The cheering keeps up, loud and warm and joyous, as Shiori drags herself toward the ink on the whitewashed walls. It hurts, because her muscles haven't been built up as they should be, but Shiori keeps going because if she can just touch that ink, everything will be better.

She doesn't make it to the wall.

Her body isn't strong enough.

(But Kushina picks her up, and twirls her around, and tells her that she's the best lil mochi in the whole world, and Shiori decides that maybe the effort was still worth it.)

-:-

A/N: I subsist on reviews and feedback. Also, this is cross-posted to ao3, if you prefer that site.