Chapter 1
In my old life, my friends liked to tease me and say I had 'a mind built for trivia and nothing else,' and I'd always laugh and agree and immediately go back to talking about whatever was holding my brain hostage that week. There was no use in denying something I had been hearing my whole life after all. Some things stuck around longer than others sure, but never more than a few months at a time. It was a little annoying that I couldn't just stick to and find my OTF, or my One True Fandom, like my other geek friends. There were certain ones I'd always come crawling back too, but even then, I never stayed. I blame this on my ADD in its entirety.
Naruto was, is, one of those things. I had been fascinated by the manga and subsequent anime as a preteen. It was like nothing I had ever seen before and I soaked it in like a sponge, every detail, reference, character, everything. But by the time I had entered high school, I finally began to grow out of it, like everything else. The change surprised absolutely no one. It had happened before with Yu Yu Hakusho, Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball Z, etc. I had loved and moved on from all the big shot anime as I had aged. They had finished, there was no more for me to love.
Naruto continued to grow though, just like I did. It was one of those anime I 'kept in touch with,' so to speak. I'd check in two or three times a year, to see if Naruto had become hokage yet and once the fourth war began, if any of my more beloved characters had died. I fell in love with some of the minor ones and certainly the Akatsuki, who were some of the most badass people in existence. I mourned when characters died, even if they had been antagonists. But Naruto had cared for them, made them whole again, and in the end, they had become better people in their final moments. The least I could do was mourn them with him.
Even now, I think that's what really drew me in. The idea that someone could change lives in such ways, make a difference like Uzumaki Naruto could, it gave me hope. It gave me inspiration. So when it was time for me to decide what to do with my life, I became a teacher. Iruka Umino was by far one of my all time favorites and he had been the catalyst, really. If it wasn't for him, Naruto would have never survived to become the hero he was destined to be. I couldn't make anyone a hero, as far as I knew anyway, but I would do my best damnit.
And I did. I became a teacher and worked in some of the worst inner city schools out there, traveling the country. After that, I was a motivational speaker, nowhere near on par with Naruto but who was, I made home visits and got kids out of some bad situations. I started Rehabilitation Programs for detention centers, book exchanges with various prisons, and even became a minor 'face' for several Child Abuse Awareness/Anti-Bullying projects. I was content and sure if he existed, Naruto would be happy with what I was doing.
Was this a healthy way to go about, doing things I was sure would make a fictional character pleased? Probably not, but I wouldn't know. Psychology was never my forte, I knew just enough to be able to deal with traumatized children. But it also kept me motivated, so I didn't really care.
And then I died. Got sniped, of all the ridiculous ways to go, while speaking at a rally in Nashville. Apparently, someone didn't like me very much.
Jackass.
It took a few seconds for me to really register what had happened and even longer to collapse. I still wasn't sure what was going on until the screaming started and I finally looked down to see blood blooming from my chest, ruining my button-up. Managed to croak out an 'I'm so sorry....,' into the microphone before I hit the ground though. There were kids attending, on a school trip. Couldn't my assassin have picked a better time to do this?!
My priorities are one hundred percent sorted correctly, thank you.
Getting shot hurts like a bitch by the way. Where the bullet entered burned and my breath, what little I had left, was short. It felt as if there was a 50 pound weight on my chest and I felt simultaneously cold and blistering as my heart stopped beating, running high already from the adrenaline surge of speaking in front of such a large audience. The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was someone screaming my name.
In most stories like mine, the main character is almost immediately shunted off to be reborn, or they stay for a few seconds, if they even remember how they died or who they were Before. Not me, oh no. I just had to be difficult. I hung around for almost a week, constantly feeling a pulling sensation in the back of my mind, urging me to let go. But I had just died and I was grumpy and annoyed because I had really liked that shirt. The most obvious response at the time, for me anyway, was just to yell 'Fuck off' and float away, because I was a ghost and could do shit like that. Like Yusuke at the beginning of Yu Yu Hakusho. If I hadn't been so pissed, I would have been absolutely delighted.
I stuck around for the funeral. Probably shouldn't have, but I like to think it helped with the mourning process. I don't think I've ever looked that good, especially when I was alive. Someone had meticulously brushed and styled my red hair and left it down, because that's how I looked best. I was even wearing my favorite suit, with it's green pencil skirt, cream button up, and green blazer. I looked nice. Figures I'd only look my best for my own damn funeral.
There... There was a lot of people there. Kids I had helped, parolees, whole buses full of convicts with guards. My family and friends, of course. Tall, scary looking men and women covered in tattoos, crying because I had died. I wanted to cry too, but ghosts really can't.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die – Thomas Campbell
It was on my headstone. I stayed long enough to watch my best friend cry and laugh at the same time as one of the parolees retold the story of how I had made a mess of myself and the floor while volunteering because I dropped a tray full of paint. I couldn't help my grin as everyone cracked up. They would be okay.
I stopped struggling against the pull and let whatever take me. I just hoped wherever I was going had gummy bears.
I spent a long time floating in nothingness. At least, it felt like Nothing. I had no true grasp on the passage of time and no sensory input for most of my stay. If asked how long I was in Nothing, my only answer would be 'a while.' As you can probably guess, it was quickly realized that oh my god, floating in Nothing is boring as hell. I spent my time further grieving my loss of life, as I guess you're supposed to do when in Purgatory. I knew for certain it was neither heaven or hell, because I cursed too much to go to heaven and never really believed anyway, but did too much good to be sent down under.... At least, that's my opinion, but I'm not in charge of things like that. If I were, I'd be at Hogwarts or something instead of where I actually ended up.
For someone who's never been able to bring herself to believe, and I did try, I've always been surprisingly okay with death. There's no point in being afraid of something inevitable. Of course, everyone's just a little terrified of dying, even if they are supposedly set. It's instinctual. I just wish my death had better timing.
After awhile, I began to feel this itch just under my skin. There was no other way to describe it. But it wasn't like some mildly annoying mosquito bite, it genuinely almost hurt. Sometimes, it felt more like I had taken a nose dive into a pit of chiggers in my birthday suit. And being from Tennessee and relatively fond of the outdoors as I was, let me tell you that chigger bites hurt like a bitch. Eventually, the itch subsided or maybe I just got used to it. If I focused, I could feel it moving through my whole body and it felt so strange, yet also warm and comforting. Familiar, yet not.
Sunlight warming damp skin, the scent of a struck match, the sound of a page turning, and hands buried deep into damp, cool soil.
There were muffled voices sometimes, and a man humming quite a bit. It sounded, though I couldn't tell at the time, like Greensleeves. There was a higher voice too. Closer. They were shrill and loud. They screamed a lot. Deep Voice, the nickname I gave the one who liked to hum, shouted back sometimes. For awhile, I didn't hear Deep Voice. I couldn't tell for how long, but I missed them. I hated Shrill One. They sounded cruel, hard and shattered at the same time. Once, the Nothing shook and quaked and I was scared. I could feel my heart beating, terrified out of my mind. I thought I was going to die. But then Deep Voice came back and things got better.
I realize now, as a grown woman once again, as I write this in a language no one understands, that the Nothing was probably my mother's womb. That she had left my father for over three months of my development and the shaking had been the beginnings of a late-term miscarriage that would have killed the both of us had she not come crawling back to him, begging for a doctor. Vaguely, I sometimes wonder if that's what happened to the girl I replaced, the baby who never got the chance to really live. Did I kill her? Or was she never meant to survive in the first place?
Not long after that, there was another disturbance in the Nothing. It had steadily begun to shrink over time, but now it wanted me out. Immediately. I didn't want to leave. Leaving hurt. There was pressure all around me, and Shrill One was screaming so loud. And then there was light and noises and smells. It was so cold and the Nothing was warm. I wanted to go back to the Nothing, where everything was okay and there wasn't some random woman screaming her lungs out. I flailed as large hands held and carried me. I like having my feet on the ground, thank you!
Wait. Someone was carrying me? I was much too tall to be carried. I was 5'6 for crying out loud! But these people were huge and speaking some kind of language I couldn't understand. Not that it mattered, my hearing was muffled like I had just gotten out of the pool and I couldn't see very well either. Frustrated, I resorted to hitting and yelling at whoever this strange creature thought he was, but I paused as I finally saw my hands. They were so little and chubby. And I couldn't talk. Only make weird baby noises. Oh no. No. Nonono. Oh hell no. I was not a baby. I refuse this bullshit. I was a thirty-three year old, grown-ass woman. An accomplished motivational speaker, teacher, pseudo-social worker, and civil rights activist! NOT a newborn! Even if I had just died.... and was unable to do anything involving motor skills of the vaguest definition... And had the inexplicable feeling that somewhere, in a galaxy far far away, there was a higher-being of unimaginable cosmic power laughing hysterically.
I hope they live in the smallest lamp physically possible.
Mentally sighing, I went through the motions of getting cleaned up, measured, and wrapped up like some monstrous pink burrito. Should I really be all that surprised? Well, yes, but otherwise? Not really. Just my luck, I guess. My horrible, horrible luck. From what little I could see, this was a maternity ward, no matter how outdated it seemed to be. It was relatively clean, if you ignored the mess Shrill One and I had made in our shared debacle. Yeah, giving birth in real life isn't anything like it is in the movies, trust me. There is usually blood and actual shit everywhere, because pushing out a baby uses the same muscles that pooping does. There is no such thing as a new mother covered in just the lightest sheen of sweat but otherwise clean. Sorry to burst your bubble.
Oh goody, Shrill One is my mother. Wonderful. Narrowing my eyes in her direction, I could see she wasn't even looking at me, just frowning irritatedly at the wall with her arms crossed as she tried to regain her breath. Yes, I am sure she will be an amazing mother.
I shifted my eyes to the left as I heard Deep Voice speak. It had to be Deep Voice, who else could be that huge? He was the biggest sonova bitch in the whole damn room, his spikey hair brushing the ceiling. I was handed to him like a sack of potatoes, for which I screeched at the doctor in revenge. He jumped back in surprise. He obviously didn't get many self-aware newborns in his practice. Pity.
Deep Voice let out a hearty laugh at the doctor's face and I looked up at my father, because who else could it be? I couldn't see him very well, couldn't even see in color yet. Couldn't understand him. But he had such a smile and laughing eyes, even if I couldn't tell you the color. I liked him on sight. I wanted to match his smile with one of my own, but the muscles in my face weren't nearly developed enough yet. So instead, I just settled for cooing at him and he laughed his booming laugh again.
Fresh sawdust, rain on a tin roof, lively chatter in a crowded comedy club, and the chill of peppermint toothpaste.
I'm glad someone other than me seems to have a sense of humor.
I was about four months old when I finally deciphered my name from the gibberish around me. Misaki. Kishimoto Misaki. I had the creator of Naruto's last name. When I finally figured that out, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to laugh or cry. Like, seriously!? Any other name would have been better than Kishimoto. Misaki was fine, I liked Misaki. Beautiful bloom. A little girly for my personal preference, but not bad. But Kishimoto just felt wrong somehow. Like some sick cosmic joke (it was, but I didn't know this at the time) to match the rest of my life.
It was another month after learning my name before I realized where I was. That for some reason, somehow, I had been reborn into the Naruto world. Where we lived at the time, there weren't any of the 'standard' identifiers. No random strangers in flak jackets of any color (let alone dark green, dammit), no shiny forehead for me to point at in false curiosity, and certainly no mountain with any number of faces. Nothing, nada, zip. Just a village so small and out of the way, it didn't even have a name, and if it did, no one ever said it in my presence.
There wasn't any evidence at all until my parents began arguing one day. They fought often, petty little things normally started by my mother, but this was more serious than the rest. Probably about the guy she'd brought home the night before. I had delighted in puking on him. In her rage, kaa-san (for lack of knowing her name) pelted tou-san with her satchel and stormed out of the tiny, one-room shack we called home. He tossed it aside, grumbling, and the ratty bag landed in front of me, a strip of red cloth sticking out from the top.
Having always been prone to snooping (a ridiculously bad habit) and just relearning how to grasp things, I tugged it out. Immediately, I cursed my curious tendencies once again taking a decade off my life. It was a headband. A shinobi headband. So either she cosplayed (unlikely due to the outdated technology this life seemed to call standard, plus she didn't seem the type) or my mother was a shinobi. And if she wasn't, she must have nicked it off some dead one. Either possibility was potentially very bad news, depending on the era I'd somehow landed in.
But if she really was a shinobi (which I'd be assuming until proven otherwise), what was she doing here, in the middle of back-ass nowhere?
I couldn't quite make out the symbol on the (her) hitai-ate, but one little detail did stick out. The deep horizontal slash carved across the metal plate.
My mother was very possibly a missing-nin.
Fuck.
I still remember the expression on my new father's face when he found me 'playing' with it. Horror, fear, loathing. Rage beyond anything I'd ever seen. He hadn't known. Somehow, for some reason, she'd never told him.
They found a way to argue even more after that, which I had thought impossible up until that point. I realized something important too, something that took me by surprise and lead to an aching emotion I couldn't quite identify or articulate.
I wasn't supposed to exist. Not in the way you're thinking either. Disregarding the whole grown woman in an infant's body part of this fucked up equation, I really wasn't supposed to have been born. I was an accident. It was actually a little surreal for me. Before, I had been wanted, had been planned to the point of not even being conceived the traditional way. I'd been a turkey baster baby for god's sake. To be on the other side was strange, emotionally, because I now had to deal with the idea that my new parents didn’t love me. Kaa-san certainly didn’t.
As the months flew by, my vision improved, as did my understanding of the quasi-japanese language spoken by everyone around me. I had taken chinese for my required language credits in high school and even attended a few courses in college. Most of my knowledge of japanese was from anime, unfortunately, but the two are logogram-style written languages, and there's a distinct difference when hearing them spoken, if you know what to look for. It's hard to describe what the language of the Naruto world is like, just that it is not quite japanese.
Overtime, Kana (my mother's name as I eventually discerned) began to disappear for longer and longer periods of time. It eventually got to the point where she'd be gone for days or even weeks and Tou-san had to start bringing me with him to work. As a Master Carpenter and construction site foreman, he worked ridiculously long hours, usually from dawn to dusk, but I didn't mind. Watching the villagers work from my sling or my father's desk was much more entertaining than staring at walls back at the hut I refused to call home.
I had only just turned one when they came. The trio of hunter-nin. Tou-chan (I really had become very fond of him) froze mid train-noise when the front door was blasted open with what I've always assumed was an exploding tag. There hadn’t been any other warning besides Kana stiffening suddenly and reaching for her satchel.
I felt my father pick me up and wrap his thick arms around my tiny body protectively as one of the hunter-nin held an unsheathed tantō to my mother's neck. The other two directed their swords in our direction, threat clear. In response, Tou-chan's grip tightened around me. His brown eyes darted to the large mallet hanging from the tool belt around his waist and one of the shinobi took a step forward in warning. I couldn't help but whimper in fear.
I'd looked into the eyes of the crazed and desperate as they brandished knives and guns, had held my ground at the possibility of my death and felt no fear. But I had been an adult confident that even if I died right then and there, I had made differences in the lives of others, and been content with myself. I'd lived a short, but full life. But here, in my new reality where I'd existed for barely a year, I wasn't ready to face death again so soon.
Through my terror, I felt vindictive pleasure at the guilty expressions on their faces. These two hunter-nin wanted to be here just as I much as I did.
"Iwa no Kana! By the order of the Lord Sandaime Tsuchikage, we are to return you to Iwagakure to be punished for your crimes against the village," stated the leader, voice void of any emotion.
Kana scoffed and shifted her stance. Her brown hair shifted to cover the left side of her face, and a crazed look entered her one visible blue-grey eye. "What am I being accused of?" She reached behind her right ear and tugged something there.
Scorched earth, mountain air, the bitter after-taste of cilantro, and a glass shattering in slow motion.
"Treason, plotting to assassinate a village elder, plotting to commit further treason, and murder of a superior. Come quietly and the man and infant will not be harmed."
"Go ahead and kill 'em!" I've never heard such a desperate, manic laugh such as my mother's as she drew a kunai and lunged for the hunter-nin. "It'll save me the trouble!"
In that moment, I experienced true hatred for the first time.
The house was totaled in the aftermath of my moth-…. Her desperate attempt to escape. Tou-chan and I stood silently in the still cooling, charred remains of the hut, even as temple bells began ringing all over the Land of Rivers, echoing for miles off the canyons and cliffs and waterways. Our neighbors cried tears of joy even as they sent us distrustful and angry looks because our hut hadn't been the only one damaged in the battle, but continued celebrating the news coming in through telegraphs and over ancient radios anyway.
The second shinobi war had finally come to an end.
Tou-chan picked me up, his thick arms gentle and loving. His brown eyes were tired, his wrinkles suddenly deeper than before, and his once fiery-red hair was pale with white strands. My father wasn't very young, I'd realized, older than Kana by quite a few years. Mid-forties, early fifties maybe if you squinted hard enough. Perhaps that was why he was so willing to love me. He was practically ancient in this world, even for a civilian, to not have had children at his age.
"Looks like it's just us now, Misa-chan." He smiled and I felt a rush of fondness for this giant of a man who loved me despite his non-relationship with my incubator (I didn’t have a mother in this world, I refused- she didn't deserve- how fucking dare she-) or my status as his bastard child in a society where surely that was frowned upon. "… Not that your mother ever did anything anyway. Useless, she was," said my father as he nuzzled our cheeks together. I couldn't help my giggles. His beard was scratchy and tickled.
"Jinzaburo," came a hoarse voice from behind us that caused Tou-chan to stiffen and immediately turn around.
My father's expression was serious again and he clutched me even closer, as if wary of this new person and their intentions. The man was old and frail enough that I was pretty sure a good, stiff wind would turn him to dust and he wore a particularly sour frown. "Oikawa-san." Stood behind him were more old people as well a non-distinct middle aged man carry a large sack.
Oikawa-san's frowned deepened as his hawk-like eyes landed on me. "Jinzaburo-san, the other elders and I have reached a decision." I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. He reminded me of Danzo with eyes like that.
Cigar ash drifting to the floor, menthol and tea tree oil, fog on a summer morning, and the pain of a brain freeze as you try to eat through it.
The rage that flickered in his brown eyes was just a tad terrifying and a lot impressive, even if Tou-chan was quick to smother it. "Oh? I wasn't aware you were meeting."
The elder's silence made it very clear that that had been the point. Vaguely, I thought that Konoha's village elders and council should take notes. The whole drama with the hunter-nin had only ended like an hour ago. Efficient old bastards, weren't they?
My father sighed and shifted me in his hold again. "… And what, exactly, have you all decided on?"
"You are no longer welcome in this village, Kishimoto Jinzaburo," said Oikawa-san.
"W-What!? Because of the hunter-nin? That wasn't my fault!"
"Are you really so daft as to think she won't inform her captors of you or your daughter's existence?! I will not allow my village to be put at risk for one man, even one as important as you!"
That chilling anger was back in my father's eyes and I felt a shudder despite myself. "The buildings damaged in the battle need repairing! Who will you get to do it? I'm the only one who knows those plans!"
The elder scoffed derisively. "You have taught your workers more than enough over the years, they know your schematics well enough by now."
Jinzaburo scowled, "'Well enough' isn't good enough! Without me here, this whole damn village is liable to come crumbling down in the next ten years!"
"And we would rather that than get slaughtered by Iwa shinobi!"
"Which is going to happen anyway, because of course they'll remember where the fucking village is!" shouted my father back into Oikawa-san's face. "I can't believe you've done this... After all I've done for this village, you all show your thanks by kicking my daughter out onto the fucking streets...." Tou-chan shook his head in disappointment at the gathered villagers, who had surround us and Oikawa-san during the argument. They all looked more than a little uncomfortable and were muttering to each other.
Oikawa-san sighed, deflating at the sight of so many of the villagers, and waved the man with the large canvas bag over. "We understand that this is not fair to you Jinzaburo-"
My father and I both snorted in disbelief, "Fuckin' understatement..." The old man glared at the interruption but otherwise went on as if he had never spoken.
"-but as Elders it is our duty to eliminate threats to our livelihoods. This is why have gathered supplies for you and your daughter. They should last at least a week, perhaps two if you ration." Tou-chan grunted angrily but took the bag.
Kishimoto Jinzaburo swept his eyes over the rest of the village, looking for anyone, anyone at all, who would disagree enough with Oikawa to actual do something. No one moved a muscle. No one met his eyes, bowing their heads and shuffling their feet. "You've all been looking for an excuse to finally kick me out, haven't you? Well, I guess now is as good time as ever, suppose. With the war only just ended, surely there won't be any bandits or leftover skirmishes all over the country. Of course not, that'd be ridiculous." The sarcastic tone he used was razor sharp and they all flinched.
*CRACK*
"Just go Jinzaburo!" exclaimed Oikawa, red-faced, both hands trembling in anger as they clutched his cane. He had just slammed it against the still smoldering support beam of what was once our neighbors house.
I felt like crying. This was.... this was so.... inhumane. They were banishing us, an old man and a toddler who was barely a year old, all because She brought hunter-nin down onto the village. It might as well have been a death sentence with the current state of the country!
I buried my face into my father's tunic as he jerkily about-faced and started towards the road out of the village. I could feel eyes on me, on us, as the village silently followed to make sure we actually left.
What few people had not already been following us, some of the younger children and the elderly, came out onto their front steps to watch the procession.
Letting out a choked sob, whether caused by the dread freezing my veins solid or the overwhelming sadness and horror I was feeling, I clung to my last remaining safe space as we passed the last house. Tou-chan's arm around me grew even tighter.
Only after I could no longer see any of the village did my father deign to speak again. "Don't be scare Misa-chan. Everything'll be alright, I promise. I'll die before I let anything happen to you." I nodded, trying to ignore the slight tremble in his voice, the only tell of my father's own fear.
"Everything... will be fine."