Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and OCs
Nother quick update I tapped out while getting a haircut today. I did do a little research to just to make sure I got things at least plausible for the baby biology.
Physical development is going to be faster than in reality, because of Chakra and because I think they're just built a lot more robust due to the beating they're capable of taking that would kill almost any of us.
Also there will be a discovered reason for the obvious major freakout in this chapter. If it actually was me I would probably also freak out but not to that extreme, but since I've changed some of her history a more major one would make more sense.
A reminder that this is definitely going to be a fairly slow paced story to allow for convincingly paced character development from two fairly reluctant characters. Also this takes place about four or five years before the start of the anime.
Once again, I'm doing the barest minimum editing for this, so it will inevitably ramble some, and there will be mistakes.
Notes at the end that I didn't want to put at the beginning because they could be seen as slight spoilers
Let me know any suggestions or prompts for things you'd like to see going forward. I'd love to hear what you liked and what didn't stick so well with you!
Chapter 2 - Bottled Trauma
As I lay in DFB's stiff arms, with rapid conversation occurring over my head, I felt the exhaustion that my overload of emotions had had on my (not mine) body. I eagerly silenced my thoughts as much as possible, and instead focussed on pretending that none of it really mattered to me anyway, that I was safe and care free. Sleep steadily weighed down my eyelids and I impatiently chased the feeling toward unconsciousness, desperate to escape.
Unfortunately, just before I could truly slip into deep sleep, I felt myself moved, and jolted awake. I was given back to the woman, to my confusion, and then placed down on a flat, padded surface. My confusion quickly turned to horror as I felt the fleshy excuse for legs and lower body tilted up, and a thick material placed under me. My legs were separated as the material came up through them and sealed all together at my sides (get it off me please get it off).
I had only felt such deep humiliation once in my life before- when I had fallen into the habit of badly teasing my best friend as a child, and in response my teacher had stood me in front of my entire class and had them watch as she brought me to tears, pointing out to them how ashamed and embarrassed I must have been feeling judging by the mess I had made of my face, and refusing to let me hide it or look away from them.
Filled with dread, I forced any movement I could into the muscles of my legs to test my range of manoeuvrability. What little control I had had over the bottom half of this awful fucking body was as good as gone, thanks to the humiliating bundle of fabric wrapping around me (not a diaper not a diaper it's not it's not I won't fucking use it don't make me please).
I couldn't make myself acknowledge either of the (cruel callous fuck you for making me do this I hate you both) people in the room - the shame thick and choking in my throat and my eyes stinging with the tears my tear ducts weren't developed enough to squeeze out yet. My cheeks burned a blistering red, as I once more lost control over my body- my face scrunched up and I was forced to cry my deep mortification out into the air for them to witness (stop looking at me don't watch just give me this at least).
I hated the woman with a bitter rage as she lifted me once more into her cold gentle hands, cooing softly muttered words at me all the while, before she once again handed me out to DFB who radiated an even greater reluctance than before. I didn't care about how uncomfortable he felt or how confronting he found holding a baby, I shut my eyes tight so that I didn't have to look at him see me in a fucking- (I can't I can't even think it).
My wails became louder and more desperate, the pressure in my head from all the blood rising, whilst the tight feeling grew, and my throat and chest squeezed sharply as my anxiety, humiliation and feeling of being deeply out of control grew.
God I just wanted someone to take me out of this situation entirely; out of this shaming thing, out of this world, out of this horrible fucking body.
As my cries grew in pitch, DFB started a stiff rocking motion from side to side, but it made no difference to me.
Any attempts I might have made to calm down were ruined by the understanding of what life would look like for me for months, that would result in the need for a cloth torture contraption.
Flashes of my inevitable future filled me with sick terror; of being so out of control of my body I shat and pissed myself over and over again, everyone knowing when I did so, being seen and handled up close, no privacy, someone touching me to clean me, touching my sh- (I can't think it I'm going to be sick I can't do this I can't handle this I can't take this no no no not that)
My complete physical helplessness clashed with my need to escape in order to recuperate and regain some control, as well as elevating the hysteria brought on by the terrifying images my mind was showing me (Get me out Get me out Get me out Get me out I can't I can't Kill me).
My screams grew hysterical and had I had full control over my limbs I would have been thrashing desperately, I couldn't do this, I needed to get away, I needed space, I couldn't breathe.
My chest grew tighter and tighter, and my body grew tenser and tenser, my mind or my heart was going to falter and fail. Please please please please no I can't I can't can't can't.
And then suddenly something shifted, and my mind slowed down, and I drifted slowly along the path of my thoughts, and I realised that it didn't matter- because what did it matter what happened to this stupid fucking body anyway, when it wasn't mine... this wasn't my body.
They could do whatever the fuck they liked to it, because it had nothing to do with me, I didn't own this body, I was merely housed within it - after all I was within my brain, thinking these thoughts to myself, and viewing the world behind the safety of those eyes.
And if the world was a little bit like a horror movie, then I could move to the very back of my mind, very far away, and surround myself in the echo of my thoughts and stay in the comfortable snug corner where no one could reach me, and just notice the little things I would otherwise miss.
Like how the little throat belonging to the body I was housed in was cracking and amusingly sore from such a small bout of crying, and how DFB was frantically saying something above me, and the woman was saying something soothingly in reply, and how light and insubstantial the body I was contained within felt, and how hot the cheeks felt.
And I realised it was kind of funny after all. And the body, as though in response, slowly stopped screaming.
I noticed I found a peaceful amusement in the continued jerky sways of DFB's arms, how silly he probably looked, so put off by a little baby.
Time dripped by moment by moment, and I took a detached amusement in each one, and so slowly that I seemed to miss it all altogether, we were outside, and there was a blanket wrapped around the baby, and the wind was whipping past, as the blurry view seemed to take great dipping curves as it moved. Or maybe the baby body was taking great sweeping arcs, up up up, and down down down, faster and faster and still held in DFB's arms, and oh I hadn't expected it to be dark.
The lights were pretty as they blurred, and I noticed the feeling of a swooping stomach with every curved descent was almost pleasant and almost nauseating. DFB must be jumping across rooftops, I realised, and noted with bemusement at how long it took for me to come to that conclusion from the safety of my mind.
I wondered, with a vague mental smile, what it would be like if DFB slipped and dropped the body he was holding. It would tumble down down down and splat. It would be an interesting experience. I bet he would feel stupid for such a blunder. That would be amusing.
And then the blurry lights were gone and we were in a room, although I didn't remember how we entered the room. Time oozed by as I pondered deeply and comfortably on how we had entered the room, until I was in a bed, facing the ceiling and DFB was covering the baby body in the blanket that had previously been wrapping it.
I eyed the ceiling and curiously thought - huh so this is what it's like to be a baby on a bed, okay. After an indistinguishable length of time, the bed dipped slightly as DFB got in too, his head on level with me. I thought he might be looking at me but I didn't bother to try and check.
Eventually I heard the shifting of sheets, and a hand came into view slowly and seemingly hesitant. DFB's hand paused briefly, and then lightly touched the baby's hand with just his fingertips. Gaining a little confidence, the fingertips explored the baby's hand, feeling rough and calloused and warm. Eventually he pulled his fingertips and hand away and shifting sheets indicated he had rolled onto his back.
"Kuso," I heard him mutter harshly. I mused on the fact that I was fairly certain that was a swear word. Or did it mean black? Hmm perhaps it meant grass. Or was DFB saying the Japanese version of lol. Probably not the last one.
Slowly, I felt myself begin to drift off whilst debating the merit of each possible translation, from the warm padded safety of my mind.
I woke up some time later whilst it was still dark, a little more front and centre mentally, and hungry as shit. I considered just ignoring the hunger pangs and trying to fall back asleep, except I quickly realised this body's tendency to automatically cry when any sort of discomfort was too prevalent, was going to overrule me if I didn't take action first.
Wrestling with control, I ruthlessly suppressed the irritating noises that wanted to blast from the tiny, still slightly sore, throat and settled instead, for a short, loud, nasally, "AH!" - Relying on DFB being a light sleeper who was already somewhat aware of the regular need to feed babies 24/7.
If I wasn't feeling so bloody miserable both emotionally and physically, I would have found it funny how quickly DFB shot upright. After a few long moments, during which I assumed he tried to figure out what woke him, or figure out what I needed, or avoided looking at me in the hope that he could convince himself it was all a bad dream, or whatever, he turned to me and muttered something that sounded quite like a despairing whine.
At my answering "AH!" just in case he needed to know the first time wasn't a fluke he could ignore, he sighed and picked me up, fitting the tiny body I was stuck in snugly against his torso with one arm. It seemed like in his tired state he was less worried about handling me wrong and as a result, held me less stiffly. Or perhaps he was just too tired to give a shit about potential discomfort on my end.
He slid out of bed and across the two whole steps it took to reach the other side of the room. With another mutter, groan and sigh, he placed me down on the cold hard surface of the desk (asshole) and rifled through bag I hadn't been able to discern amongst the dark blurriness that was the room.
As he fiddled about with what I hoped was some kind of sustenance, I pondered on the presence of what looked to me to be some level of preparedness for a baby. It brought up the question once more of how the hell I'd come to exist in this world.
Either someone else had dropped off a few things while DFB was hanging around with me and the evil cold handed woman, or he had bought a few things beforehand, knowing to expect me.
This body was obviously extremely young, but I certainly hadn't woken up covered in gunk and being squeezed out of some woman (thank fuck), so I didn't think the body was completely brand new. Where the hell had I been mentally as a complete newborn then? Obviously I remembered to an extent a prolonged sleep but... the only thing I could think of was that somehow I had been born in a coma and had woken up. Was that even possible?
Where was this body's biological mother? Was she with Kakashi romantically? Was she going to show up to take custody or help parent? I hoped not. The last thing I wanted was some woman trying to mother me. At least I could probably rely on a level of detached do-whatever-the-fuck-you-want-ness from DFB.
If a female showed up with intent to be mothering and tell me what to do and baby me, I was enough of a selfish heartless shit that I'd do my best to make her run for the hills. Blegh, there were few things I found more annoying than women trying to be maternal toward me in any sort of recognisable, typical way. I couldn't stand it.
I was interrupted from my premature aggravation by DFB's abrupt movement out the corner of my eye. It was with both trepidation and relief that I watched him pour some sort of milk concoction out of a can and into a bottle, before attaching the rubber top on.
On one hand, at least he wasn't a completely inept moron around a baby's bodily needs, and the hunger pangs bothering me were going to go away soon. On the other hand, that looked suspiciously easy to put together. Wasn't there supposed to be sterilising with boiled water, and powder and hot water shaking, and testing on wrists involved?
Was that ready made single use baby formula? Jesus DFB was a lazy bastard. I didn't even know that existed. Did that exist in my world? Maybe it was just a new world special convenience for busy shinobi.
He picked me up and held me in one arm again, before dithering about with the bottle in the other hand, as he shifted both arms around, trying to figure out how get the bottle and baby to attach. I lay there, exasperated, as DFB seemed to somehow manage to get it wrong in some way every time. Wasn't this guy supposed to be a genius?
Not that I knew any better when it came to feeding a baby, I just knew it was uncomfortable as all hell when he literally had the feet at a higher level than the head of this body.
Eventually he gave up holding me in one arm, and changed the position to sat in his lap facing him, with one hand holding the head up. Feeling the warm and callused skin so acutely against the scalp reminded me of the lack of hair babies usually had, and gave me mixed feelings about the generally pleasant sensation.
With impatience I accepted the bottle and, despite my slight dread at what ready made formula might taste like, gave a few quick sucks. Immediately I noticed the excessive bubbles in the liquid, and felt a burst of annoyance. If there was one thing about bottle feeding I knew for sure, it was that the bottle had to be tipped properly to prevent too much air being mixed with the milk, or else the baby would likely get painful gas. No thank you.
I heaved a mental sigh, and with a grimace at the mess I was going to make of myself, allowed the milk to dribble out of the little mouth before I swallowed, feeling it trickle unpleasantly over the chin and drip down the torso to soak into the top of- (don't think about it).
Fucking imbecile. DFB paused for a moment in what I distinctly suspected was an unimpressed deadpan, before he said something that sounded mildly frustrated. It wasn't my bloody fault the asshole couldn't get one thing right when it came to bottle feeding. If anything I was preventing him from making a mistake we would both regret.
Allowing me to lie flat in the dip between his legs, DFB removed the top of the bottle and sniffed the formula. Immediately he recoiled with a quietly disgusted sound, before tasting it, from the light lip smacking sounds I could hear. A contemplative hmm met my ears, and another mutter, before he gave feeding me another go.
Thankfully he got it right this time from what I could tell. I immediately began to swallow the milk doing my best not to taste it, but quickly realised it wasn't awful. I knew I would get tired of the taste fairly soon, but for now it was fine.
DFB caught on quickly when I paused as soon as I could tell there was too much air in the milk and spat it out twice more, allowing the time to pass relatively quickly. Finally, the small body was wiped down with an uncomfortably cold and wet cloth, despite not being able to see a water source anywhere nearby (Don't think about the changed diaper it didn't happen forget it ever happened).
It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep again, and although my brain was niggling at me that babies were supposed to be burped, I acknowledged that there was nothing I could do about it for now, soon escaping again into the safety and comfort of my dreams, where I could enjoy myself in a body that actually belonged to me and allowed me the self control I had taken for granted previously but was now gagging for.
And if I thought I briefly felt warm rough fingertips once more lightly explore the little baby hand, I rejected the knowledge of such and firmly ignored it, turning back to my dreams for solace.
Despite sort of knowing it theoretically, I was still genuinely shocked at the amount of times I woke up that night needing to be fed. It completely baffled me how single working parents did it for any prolonged length of time. Heck even two parents with at least one on paid leave were impressive to me that they managed.
As it was, I was almost sorry for DFB and how often he had to wake up at night for the foreseeable future, if we were stuck together. However, I didn't actually feel sorry for him, because frankly I was doing the best I could to make the periods I was awake as short and easy as I could, and I doubted any other new parent was lucky enough to get that level of consideration from the baby they had.
On top of that I didn't particularly give that much of a shit about him, plus I was too busy concentrating on two things as soon as I was awake; not thinking as much as possible until I could fall into the sanctuary that was sleep again, and after the second time I awoke, constant Kegel exercises.
I absolutely couldn't bear the idea of being forced to use the thing I was wearing for months, and so I became determined to force this stupid fucking body into compliance one victory at a time. I knew Kegel exercises were supposed to strengthen the muscles involved around the butt, bladder and for my sex at least, the womb (please don't have been born into the wrong sex on top of all this bullshit). My hope was that by starting the exercises as early as possible, I could minimise the length of time I was subjected to the cloth torture.
Until I reached that first dreaded hurdle, all I could do was sleep, drink increasingly bland and suspect ready made formula, and resentfully ignore DFB's aura of growing exhaustion.
Eh I could probably come up with a more interesting place to stop, but I figured this was good enough.
If you're wondering about the weird head space shift that stopped the major freakout, it's a version of dissociation called Depersonalisation disorder. I struggled with it in my late childhood/early teens, but luckily not too badly and not for long. It's a little difficult to write correctly, especially since it was quite a while ago.
Also you've probably noticed the inconsistent way the character refers to her body. That's because she is very quickly getting body dysphoria, and is almost entirely in denial that the body is hers and so doesn't even want to call it that in her mind. The bout of dissociation didn't help.