So, here goes my attempt at a Naruto SI!OC. I'll just post a blanket disclaimer and forgo placing it in every chapter (mostly because I'll probably forget).

Disclaimer: I do not own the manga/anime Naruto nor any of its characters.

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Chapter 1: Leave the midnight sun

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"While I thought I was learning how to live, I was learning how to die." – Leonardo da Vinci

"Death is no more than passing from one room into another." – Helen Keller

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They're fighting again, a high voice over the speakerphone, dad's frustration leaking through his voice. Upstairs, my brother has his headphones on, playing a game on the PS3. The cats are sleeping, curled up in separate parts of the house.

No one notices me.

The pop of a pill bottle opening, a bottle of water in my other hand. My headache ebbs away.

I step outside; no jacket.

(Freezing fingers, cold hands, the chill seeping through the doors and windows. The sun beats futilely, warming nothing and no one.)

Snow crunches under my feet. A long stretch of forest in our backyard beckons me. I walk, stumbling, freezing. The cold metal in my hand burns.

(The cold people. The dark. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Stuck. Feeling and hurting and crying, and no one cares. No one to talk to, no one to share with. There is nothing.)

There is a patch of ice up ahead, but I don't care and I keep walking. It's slippery; the weather is starting to warm up. My eyesight is blurry, my head woozy.

I can see my breath, puffs of white escaping my mouth as sharp air enters my lungs, stabbing me like knives, over and over with each inhale.

(I am nothing.)

Then, the shaking starts. Mild at first, then harder and stronger until I'm slipping—I'm slipping. A crash, screaming. I try to steady myself as I look behind me (is that dust what happened that's where the house is) but the shaking won't stop and I can't stand still and my mouth feels woolen as I try to shout but then.

I slip. And there's a sharp pain in the back of my head and I can't see anything and oh god it hurts so much and I can't see. I can't see, can't feel can't can't.

I can't.

I.

I become

nothing.

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Warmth. Blazing heat, an infernal chaos; comforting? I feel a presence, next to me, always, always there. And around us, something, a protector. A soothing calm.

...Hey, who are you?

I can't talk. No voice. I can't see, can't feel anything. Dark, but warm. I can move around, a little—we can move. We hit something, sometimes, with our hands and our feet; soft and pliable, like a bubble around us, wrapping us safely. Sometimes we hit each other, not hard, though. No pain. But it's pleasant, soothing and freeing and so different from the everyday cold from before.

What did I expect?

Pain, or nothing, or who-knows-what. Instead, this? What… what is this? This, this isn't like the Nothingness, the void, the pushandpull. The empty gaping nebula of being nothing and everything.

Is this what comes after?

I don't know. I tell myself not to worry. Enjoy it.

Then, there is pain, and squeezing, repeated over and over and over until—cold. Cold cold coldcoldwhyisitsocold? I breathe, shocking gasps of sharp air. Wailing. Where is the warmth? Where is the Other? My Comfort? And why whywhywhy does it hurt so much? Something touches me, holds me, but it isn't the Other.

Moving, someone (something?) carrying me.

Wait, no. No no no, what are you doing? I can feel it, my Comfort is over there. Don't take me away from it! Take me back! Where are you taking me? Where are you taking me? Something else is holding me, different, gentler, but not my Comfort. Warmth enfolds me, but not like before. Everything is different. What's happening?

Lots of jostling, moving, sound of wind in my ear. I'm moving fast somewhere. Why can't I see? Why can't I speak? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can hear the wailing of a baby nearby.

Suddenly, we slow down. The wailing stops, I close my mouth. I hear something. Someone talking? Whatever is holding me lets go. Then, softness. But I can't feel the Other, can't sense my Comfort. Where are they? Where am I? Warmth, the pain ebbs away.

More voices, the sound of running. A loud explosion, the sound of an alarm, blaring loudly. Then, my Comfort, except not. The presence of Comfort burns, corrupted, makes it hard to breathe. More explosions. Shouts, yells, cries, the sound of fighting? Except, no gunshots. The clang of metal on metal. The smell of sulfur. Smoke clogs the air, making it harder to breathe.

Something picks me up. What's happening? Why can't I move? Why can't I do anything? Can't see, can't talk, can't move, can't can't can't. Wetness trickles down my face. More running. A rocking sensation. A voice, shushing.

Time passes, unsteadily. After a while, I'm put down. The sense of my corrupted Comfort disappears. The fighting stops. Sounds die down. Silence, for a while. Then, raised voices, yelling. Loud crying. A shout. Silence, again. Footsteps approach me. Voices, talking. The area near me dips, tipping my body in its direction. Something bumps into me, latches onto my hand. A familiar presence. The Other, and Comfort, nearby, only a little hotter than before. I can feel warmth again.

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There is something wrong. At first, I think I had a dream or a nightmare. But that isn't possible. I'm dead. Dead Girl. Dead Girls don't dream. They're dead. They don't do much of anything; or, they do whatever Dead Girls do (which should be nothing why isn't it nothing). I'm Dead Girl. So what just happened?

By the time I can open my eyes and see, by the time I can hear and distinguish things, by the time I can move even the slightest bit, I've realized something important: I'm not dead.

I was dead, though, Before. Not so much now. I'm a baby. The Other is a baby, too. Possibly, most likely, my twin (together in the womb of a woman I've never met, incubating, waiting to be born). I don't know what Comfort is, but Comfort is always with us, with Other, always close.

The first time I realize I'm not dead, I cry. Other cries, too. I try to stop, closing my mouth and breathing heavy through my nose, because I don't want Other to cry, and Other stops, too. I try my best not to cry anymore, because whenever I cry, Other cries, and it hurts when Other cries. Not... physically, but I feel pain, nonetheless.

Other is almost always with me. Whenever we're separate, we both cry. I don't know who cries first, but we don't stop until we're touching each other. I don't want to be separate from Other, from Comfort, from warmth. It's no surprise when Other is the first thing I see. Other has a miniscule tuft of wispy bright blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Other also has, oddly enough, three lines on each cheek. I wonder if I look like Other.

I look around, but I can't see Comfort. I can feel Comfort, though. Comfort is close, Comfort is...

Oh. Comfort is in Other.

I don't know why and I don't know how. I do, however, see someone nearby. The person (a male?) wears a white mask with something I can only vaguely see painted on it, bright green lines with red around the eyes, some type of gray vest, and dark clothes. Mask just sits there, staring at us (or at least I think he is; hard to tell, with the mask in the way). I stare back for a while, before my neck starts to hurt and I can't anymore. Mask leaves soon after, though, through the window.

Other is asleep, next to me. Chubby faced, drooling, Other has one of his grubby hands wrapped around mine. Usually this would gross me out. Kids are disgusting. But Other... Other is my twin, Other grounds me. Sometimes I feel like I'm far away, like I'm not really here, in this body. It's a feeling I'm familiar with, but it's worse, now. Other makes that feeling go away. I feel alive, like a human, like I belong when Other is nearby.

...I don't know how to feel about this.

Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I try not to. It's still weird, though, being alive. I don't know how to feel about that. Disappointed? Sad? Certainly, I never expected to take another breath, to ever see or feel again. Yet here I am, alive—a baby. I try not to think about this, either.

Eventually someone comes in to check up on us and feed us. (It's disgusting and humiliating and I don't think about it.) She looks old enough to be our grandmother, from what little I can see. She's the only person I've seen besides Mask, and is our caretaker. I don't think she's our mother, though. She doesn't seem to like us; she's always muttering discontentedly to herself, words indiscernible, voice sharp. Her hands are rough, and the way she treats us lacks gentleness, and she spends more time away from us than near us.

But she wakes up Other and now that she's gone, Other stares at me. I stare back. He gurgles and smiles and makes grabby hands at me. I try to make a face back, but I can't tell if my facial expression changes at all, and give Other my hand again. Other's hand is warm, and mine is so so cold, but Other makes a content noise and sticks my hand in his? her? mouth.

I know I make a face of disgust at this. Retrieving my hand is futile, though, so I grudgingly bear through it.

This is how we fall back asleep, me with a disgusted face, Other gripping my wrist with my hand in his mouth.

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It isn't that I died and then was immediately reborn. Dying wasn't painless, either. I remember the cold, and the pain, and then the Nothingness.

I was nothing, in nothing, surrounded by nothing, part of nothing. Just nothing. And yet, everything. Like something was stretching my body but I had no body, like my mind was nowhere and everywhere. Like I was dead and alive, feeling everything and nothing, being and not being. Like I was stuck in a whirlwind, a whirlpool, spinning and spinning but not moving at all. Like I was weightless, floating like a cloud, but heavy like a rock.

The emptiness, surrounding me, in me. Away from the pain, the cold, the hurt. But. Only because there was no such thing as pain, and cold, or anything at all in the Nothingness. There was just nothing. Yet, there was me, and others (others? Who? I can't remember), but there wasn't me and others but meandothers. We were separate beings made one, feeling each other but not knowing.

It was... Nothing could accurately describe it. But then there was the Warmth, and the Other, and Comfort. And it was so so different.

(But the Nothingness never left.)

Maybe it was like entering the Lifestream. Maybe that's what comes after death for everyone. Or maybe it was my purgatory, or a waiting room for what comes next. I don't know. Maybe I'll find another Dead Girl or a Dead Boy, maybe I'll ask them.

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Being a baby is boring and tedious, and more often than not, I feel like I'm not actually there, my body and movements sluggish, not matching what I want to do. Other grounds me when I feel like I'm about to float away, though. The Old Lady takes care of us, but leaves us alone for the most part, so I have to keep a wary eye on Other. Other isn't like me, doesn't know not to do certain things. Not that Other nor I can do much. We can roll and wriggle around, touch things, and put things in our mouths, but that's about it. There are no toys and nothing to entertain ourselves with except for each other. We gurgle at each other and at the things around us, but try as I might, no real words leave my mouth. My tongue is unmanageable and my limbs won't listen to me, but I bite back tears of frustration because crying would only make Other cry, too.

Sometimes, I feel like nothing's changed. Sometimes, I feel the same as I did Before. Hopeless, stuck, a nothing. But Other is here, and Other cheers me up and grosses me out, but Other is always always here with me, and with Other is Comfort. Is warmth.

Mask comes by, every now and then. Or at least, I assume it's Mask. It might be someone else wearing a mask, but just how many people go around wearing masks? Mask always sneaks through the window when Old Lady isn't going to come check up on us any time soon. Mask tends to just sit and stare at us.

This time, Other stares at Mask, too, fascinated. They have a staring contest for a while before Mask turns his head away. Other gurgles and laughs and slaps his hands together. In response, Mask reaches over and picks up Other and just. Tilts his head. I wriggle over, watching Mask carefully. Who knows what he'll do to Other. Other just gurgles and laughs and makes grabby hands at Mask's mask.

Mask puts Other back down, where Other stares up at Mask with big, big eyes. Mask just pats Other's head then hesitates, hand hovering, before patting mine, too. I feel put out, Mask treating me like an animal, and I can feel my face contort into a moue of distaste. I hear what might be a chuckle from Mask and then he says something, low and under his breath.

"Nadesareru no ga iya?" (1)

His words sound familiar.

Japanese?

Is this Japan? I don't... I don't know how to feel about that. It means learning a new language. But I've always wanted to learn Japanese. It was one of the many things I never did, that I thought I would never get to do. And now... Now it's a necessity.

I can feel my face puckering, and Mask and Other are looking at me, so I try to smooth my face, but it's harder than I thought it would be. My eyes are starting to tear, but then there's a smack! And Other's grubby hand is on my cheek and he's staring at me with a frown. I can only stare at Other in shock as Mask panics next to us. No one's ever slapped me before (except a cat, but does that even count?).

"Nakanaide kudasai!" (2) Mask shout-whispers, waving his arms around uselessly, and I let something like a giggle slip out before I start laughing because what else can I do? Other starts giggling, too. Mask only slumps in either relief or exhaustion, I guess, and decides to leave us with a huff.

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One day, Old Lady comes grumbling in rapid fire Japanese and sets out some blocks for us, square ones with kanji or hiragana or katakana or what-have-you written on it, others in shapes and colors with a board that you're supposed to match them with. She carelessly tosses them onto the ground and leaves without a glance toward us. She's displeased with us having toys, though I have no idea why. She hates us, probably.

Other doesn't hesitate a moment to wriggle toward them and shove them into his mouth (by this point I have realized Other is a guy and that, thankfully, I am a girl—imagine my surprise when I see Other's privates when he gets his diapers changed). I go over to the blocks with writing on them and stare at them while resisting the urge to chuck them at the wall (not that they would actually get that far. Babies are weak, and I'm no exception). I thought I left all this behind when I died, I thought I'd never have to learn another thing. No school, no essays, no learning a new language or new concepts. No tears and frustration and anxiety and Ican'tdothisanymorehelppleasedon'tmakeme. I'm the Dead Girl who dropped out of college because of stress and anxiety and never had the courage to tell anyone. I'm the Dead Girl who's never had a job in her life.

But I bite back the tears and the urge to scream in frustration because see—just like magic, Other wriggles over to me and slaps his hand on my leg. And slaps and slaps. I slap his hand, because babies have no coordination and how do you touch without slapping? Other grins at me, picks up one of the blocks I was staring at, and offers it to me. I think, why the hell not, and shove a corner of the block into my mouth.

That's how Mask finds us.

Other—Brother (he's my brother my twin not four years older not from Before but here and now). Brother grins at Mask as I gnaw on the block of wood and I can hear a sigh before a hand gently tugs the block from my mouth. I look up at Mask, and I try to frown but I think my face muscles don't move an inch so I'm just staring at him, deadpan, and Mask says something I can't understand (why Japan why Japanese why why I can't understand please just) as he places the block down.

"Sore wo kuchi no naka ni irenaide." (3)

He's crouching in front of me and maybe he's frowning or making a stern face, I don't know, but Brother doesn't like it when someone ignores him. I track him through the corner of my eye (or more like my face is turned in his direction, but semantics) as he valiantly wriggles his way toward Mask and latches onto his leg. Mask doesn't even teeter at the force of Brother's tackle, he doesn't react at all for a while. Then he tentatively pats Brother on the head, making Brother smile, and of course I smile because Brother's smiling.

Mask makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat. "Waraerunda!" (4)

I'm not sure, but I think he said something about doing something? I don't really understand, but my smile peters out and, because why the hell not? I wriggle over and latch onto Mask's other leg and smoosh my face into it. Overhead, Mask lets out another sigh.

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In the middle of the night, my mind runs a mile a minute, I start breathing quicker, I can't think can't breathe oh god why I'm supposed to be dead whyamIherewhyaren'tIdead just. Please.

And then something wet touches my face and I can breathe again and think clearly, and there is Other, next to me, with Comfort in him. He is warm, they are warm, and shouldn't I be the one looking out for him? I'm the older one, I should be comforting him, and yet. I bite my lip and I resist the urge to cry, but I'm a baby and babies have only so much impulse control. So I cry, and Other cries, and Old Lady barges in and she is so angry.

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Sometimes I miss the Nothingness. In there, I was nothing and I had to do nothing, feel nothing. I could be nothing. And that was what I wanted, Before. That's why...

Sometimes I miss the Nothingness.

But Brother always comes looking for me.

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Brother's taken to trying to roll the blocks around despite them not being round or roll-able, but I'm not the one who's going to stop him, and I usually just watch because there's not much else to do. Mask visits, sometimes, and those are usually the most entertainment we get because he seems both wary and fond of us. I don't understand why he's wary, but his reactions are usually funny, and he takes better care of us than Old Lady does, so I like him. I wish I could see his face, though. I'm not even sure what his mask is supposed to resemble. It's white, slightly rounded out around the mouth like puffed up cheeks or something, and there's some colored lines around the eyes and cheeks, red and bright green (though nothing like Christmas-themed colors). Maybe it's the baby eyes, but I can't identify it at all.

Mask brought some new toys with him, except they don't really look like toys you should give a kid, let alone a baby. They're toy weapons, shuriken and kunai, and they're soft and easier to gum than the blocks, but they're weapons so I stay away from them. Brother's only slightly more interested in them, probably because they're new. Currently, Mask is trying to teach Brother to stack the blocks instead of rolling them, but Brother is obstinate and Mask is having no luck.

The more I look at Mask, the more his clothes seem familiar to me. He wears dark clothes, a sleeveless turtleneck and pants that tuck into odd toeless shoes, with bandages wrapped around the outside of his right pant leg and a holster attached to it. Then, roughly elbow length gloves with some type of arm guards over them, three pouches attached to his waist, and a gray vest-chest guard.

I wriggle-crawl closer to Mask to get a better look at him when I notice something on his arm. A tattoo? It's... a swirl-spiral with two lines extending from it, one from the bottom, one from the top. It looks familiar, somehow. Actually, his whole outfit looks familiar. Sort of ridiculous, but familiar. Why, though? No one from Before would wear something like this, unless they were cosplaying or wearing a costume.

Is that it? Is Mask cosplaying? But each and every time he visits? And why does he always come through the window, making sure Old Lady doesn't know about him.

He... No.

I look from him, to the tatami floor, to the drab walls, the shoji door, the futon (why a futon why not a crib what's wrong with these people that's dangerous), the light bulb overhead, the window and outside at the clear blue sky, the toy weapons. I tell myself, don't jump to conclusions. Maybe he's a weirdo. Maybe he's a weird relative that our parents or family don't want us to meet. Even though I've never seen our parents, even though Old Lady definitely hates us.

But my mind is already there, my mind is already jumping to conclusions. It can't be, but maybe it is. So I wriggle a little closer to Mask and I pat at his holster. I can't really feel through it, but I catch Mask's attention. He must think I'm interested in what's inside, and he's hesitant, but he slowly unlatches it and there's a glint of metal and he pulls out a kunai and it's shiny and sharp and very much real.

No.

No no no no no.

Oh god no why why why I'm supposed to be dead dead dead and now this this can't be real.

And I might be hyperventilating and Mask quickly puts the weapon back (oh god he's been carrying weapons near us he actually showed me a weapon what is wrong with him what is wrong with these people) and Brother is next to me, clutching my hand, babbling nonsense and somehow I calm down. Slowly, slowly, breathing slower. Brother is here, and Comfort, too. And Mask has never hurt us, he's had so many chances and he hasn't. And this, this isn't my world, the same world as Before, but it should be okay.

I should be okay.

Maybe this is punishment. Maybe I deserve this. But it's okay. It will be okay. Because Brother is here.

I tell myself this and I tell myself this, but I'm not sure I can convince myself. But I have to be okay, for myself and Brother. So I take a deep breath and I push the thought back and I squeeze Brother's hand and smoosh my face in Mask's leg and pretend to be okay.

Because Mask is wearing the Anbu uniform, he's part of Anbu, he—we—are in Konoha, and Brother and I are orphans, most likely destined to become children soldiers, cannon fodder to be used and abused and left dead.

But that's okay, because I was dead anyway.

That's okay... right?

Right?

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I'm alive I'maliveohgodwhy why am I alive I'm supposed to be dead (deadbleedingoutsocold so cold just let it end letitendletitend. Let. It. End.) dead dead not breathing can't feel anything so numb oh god why am I alive it was supposed to end why why

WHY

AM

I

aLivE N ot dEad KiLl me I

KILled mE

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A/N:

1 Don't like being patted?

2 Don't cry please!

3 Don't put it (that) in your mouth.

4 You can smile!

(Edit:

Thank you to Yozakura (on AO3) for fixing the Japanese!)

A bit disjointed, but that's to reflect how the main character feels. It's shorter than I would have liked, but I doubt it'd be really interesting to read more about the first couple months. (Like, would you really want to read about diaper changes or drinking from a bottle or even learning to roll over?)

Also, does anyone know what form of address people use in Naruto? Like, do all the guys say "ore" or do some of them say "boku" or "watashi?" Specifically, does anyone know what form Namiashi Raidou uses? (I've watched like maybe ten episodes of the anime and they were all filler, so yeah.)

On another note, despite being a word used three times, smoosh is not an actual word found in a dictionary, but is instead slang.