Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto

Summary: AU: The path to hell was paved with good intentions, I have to keep that warning in mind or I'd walk down that path myself without knowing it. Self-Insert / SI, OC.

Alternate Summary: Uchiha Miyo had cheated death twice: when he was supposed to die in his mother's womb, he lived; when he was supposed to be killed in the Massacre, he lived.

The Blurring Lines

1.

Amidst the gray scenery, a new sound pierced through the eerie silence. I blinked, trying to decipher the meaning of this scene. There was only one creature there, shivering and crying; a wrinkled and pathetic thing—an infant.

I tilted my head upward; there was a large hole darker than black above us. It was a gaping wound in this gray, empty and meaningless world.

In here, time was meaningless. I do not know myself, do not know this place, do not know why I wait—

"You can do it, you can do it," a chant repeated over and over, a hymn of hope and desperation. It echoed and resounded, bouncing around this endless space and then I saw it—this gray and tranquil world falling apart at its seams.

I'm scared. But nothing I say, feel or do could stop it: the darkness wrapped around me like gauze, like ceremonial robes, like death.

The gray smeared into a veil of black.

I closed my eyes and let go.

:: :: ::

Distantly, I could hear a faint thrum in the air, like a thousand murmured voices welcoming me home. The white space wrapped around me swirled around in particles of gold; spiraling around my body like dust motes, gleaming as they burst into non-existence—

The light was blinding.

And piercing through it was a voice—a ghastly voice that sent fear humming in my bones. Instinct bid me to open my eyes, to make sure of the threat and I did.

I opened my eyes, light lancing through my eyes, searing my retina and I closed them again, arm automatically—mechanically, awkwardly—rising to shield my eyes. They were stinging in pain and the bare skin of my arm could feel the wetness staining my cheeks.

"He's awake! Alert the Hokage—you, get the doctor!"

Cries, voices I don't recognize.

I peered through the gap in my fingers, seeing concerned faces peering down at me. But the light was still blinding.

I groaned lowly, eyes hurting. "Please…" I croaked, finding my voice to be raspy and husky, my throat tight and raw, as if I'd just been crying. "Please…"

"It's OK," a woman's voice soothed. "You're safe from him, he's gone; the worst is over now,"

"No… the light—off—too bright for me…" I coughed. I heard the woman—a nurse probably—made a noise as realization dawned on her, I heard the rustle of clothing and the click of the switch being turned off. Finally, I removed my arm, squinting and blinking—allowing the last of the tears lingering at the tip of my eyelashes to fall—trying to take in my new surroundings. "…how did I get here?"

I paused and frowned. There was something different about my voice. Why? Speaking of voice, my throat was dry. "Water," I croaked.

"Right," squeaked the nurse and she rushed to my side, pouring me a glass of water which she handed to me.

I took it, shooting her look of gratitude and gulped down the drink. Once the glass was empty, I heaved a sigh of relief. I glanced at her. "Thank you," I finally said.

Instead of smiling or responding, she looked uneasy—there was pity, apprehension and sorrow in her eyes. "Are you feeling alright? I'm afraid your older brother is not awake yet."

I stared at her. "I don't have an older brother," I said, stunned. And there was still something off about my voice. Was my voice this husky? I don't think so.

She winced. "I know you're… angry about what he did but… I didn't mean that murderer, I meant your other brother, Sasuke."

Sasuke? That's a Japanese name, right? Why would I have a brother with a Japanese name? I don't have an older brother, period.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice tight. "I don't know what you're talking about. What murderer? Who died? Who killed who?"

The nurse stared at me, stunned, so shocked that her grip on her clipboard had loosened—the clipboard fell to the ground with a loud thunk! but she didn't bend to pick it up, just stared at me, mouth open, eyes wide. "Y-you don't remember? Nothing about three days ago?"

I frowned. Did something happen three days ago? I wracked my brain, trying to find an answer but eventually shook my head. Three days ago, I went through the same routine: go to school, go to swimming classes, go home, and repeat.

"D-Do you know who you are?"

What sort of question was that? "I'm don't get why you're asking me this—" I faltered. The door had clicked open and a man swathed in white and red robes stepped in. He was old if the wrinkles etched onto his face told a story, his eyes tragic as he gazed at me and his lips set in a thin line.

"How is he doing?"

"Sir," cried the nurse, panic in her voice. "He claims he doesn't remember anything!"

If possible, the man's face was even grimmer. He turned to me, approaching me. I didn't know why I did it but my body acted on its own, I scrambled back.

"Y-You're—no way—" I croaked. This man didn't exist. It wasn't possible.

He crouched till he was my height; his face had softened and he reached out toward me. "Miyo, do you know me?"

I shook my head. Impossible… I gasped for air. What was going on?

"He's going into shock—he's hyperventilating—doctor!"

"Hokage-sama, I must request you leave."

I screamed, trying to shake the hand caging me away, but the white-coated men swamped in; two restrained my arms, one approached, syringe in hand—sharp pain pierced my forearm and darkness swallowed me once more.

:: :: ::

I couldn't tell time; it escaped me, that elusive essence; it shivered at the tip of my eyelashes and streaked down like tears.

Drip.

(A boy, no older than thirteen, raising a sword over his head, bringing it down in a swinging arc)

Drip.

(Glancing up, a silent spectator, through the lips of this medium spilled the words: "Are you going to kill me too, Aniki?")

Drip.

(His eyes were bright red, glazed over with unshed tears, "Suffer," he said and everything spiraled into black and red of hell)

Drip.

(Blood were everywhere, on my hands, on my face, dripping down my cheek and sliding past my lips, I tasted rusty copper of blood and—repeat)

Drip.

("Seventy-two hours, fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds left…")

Drip.

My eyes snapped open, memories rushing into my being; my whole life flashing before me on replay; I screamed.

:: :: ::

"Uchiha Miyo," the old man told me, gripping my shoulders gently and peering worryingly into my eyes. "Your name is Uchiha Miyo."

I said, "Old man, are you sure?"

His face was sorrowful. "Yes, I'm sure. Do you remember anything? Anyone? Places?"

I glanced out the window. It had two days. Two days since I woke up in the hospital and was sedated almost instantly. I had taken care to not scream so hysterically now, whenever this man would visit—which was every day.

I looked down at the streets of Konoha. The name clicked in, thinking this place as Konoha was fitting—like fitting jigsaw puzzles together, a perfect fit, as if this was normal.

No… this is far from normal. Especially since this is a world where 13-year-olds could kill a whole clan consisting of two hundred or more members, half of which were highly trained fighters.

It went against all logic.

I felt like I had woken up in this world as a six-year-old… but that was impossible.

In the original story-line, the Uchiha brothers had no other siblings.

I clutched my head. The Hokage's voice was distant, as if he was speaking underwater—or I was the one submerged and he was trying to call out to me. My head hurts, I whimpered; memories of the recurring dream surfaced.

A gray world, a large gaping wound in the top of that world—an infant crying ,save me, help me, please!

Would you not lend a hand to someone who was obviously in danger and needed your help?

Only too late I recalled the saying, that the path to hell was paved with good intentions.

:: :: ::

Beta'ed by Moka-girl

Edited on 7 January 2015