Well, apparently I decided to write a Self-Insert OC fic. When did that happen? So, it's a girl-dies-and-gets-reborn-in the Naruto verse, basically. Also, I say 'Self-Insert', but it really isn't; she's vaguely based off of me, at best. So. It'll probably be really long, and I give no guarantees that I'll actually ever finish it. For now, though, it's really interesting, so it'll probably get at least a couple of chapters before I give up. At the moment, I'm planning on going over her life as a young child with semi-unnecessary specificity, which is kind-of explained at the end of this chapter. It's also in part because I need work on not skipping everything I don't find interesting or have trouble with. By the way, I was mostly inspired by Dreaming of Sunshine by SilverQueen. If you like Naruto SI OC fics, you should definitely go read it. It's way better than this. Also, frequent use of ellipses, and probably a large amount of dashes. Just a warning.

Chapter the First: The Necessary End (Before the Intended Beginning)

I'm not cool. I've never been impressive or idolized. I don't have an unshakeable determination or incredible drive; I give up at doing anything difficult within a couple of days, and I rarely expend much effort on anything I don't need to, so ambition? Please. I absolutely despise P.E class, and the thought of doing sports is laughable at best. I'm not especially smart – I scrape A's in most of my classes without ever being highest or fastest. I'm not charismatic or likable – there are a few people I get along with pretty well, but not enough to call friends. I'm not very nice; I'd much rather laugh at somebody than help them, though that might be the laziness. I'm not a leader; I don't take charge and tell people what to do, or even control the situation from the shadows. Even trying to be manipulative is hopeless, seeing as my best attempts to get people to do things consist of 'please?... Pretty please? Pretty please with cherries on top?'. I don't magically always know what to do. In fact, I rarely have any idea about what to do at all.

My dream, if I had to say, is probably to get a fairly good job, never marry or have kids, retire in my fifties, and die peacefully of old age sometime in my seventies or eighties. My parents don't approve of this goal in life. They would much rather if I went to some super prestigious college and got a leading position in whatever profession I go into. They very much want to live vicariously through me – their only child.

At the moment, that is. There's a baby on the way, as far as I can tell. They think I don't know, but it's kind of hard to ignore when your mother randomly starts jumping and squealing in the bathroom. I don't mind, not really. This way, they'll have their impressive, ambitious child and the promise of grandkids, and I can fade into the background.

But for now they still expect me to be their perfect dream child. And currently, that includes going to the bank for my mother after school. Which, in turn, means walking, since I can't drive yet.

So I grudgingly turn away from home towards the bank on my way out of school. There's always this really busy four-way intersection, one that I, of course, have to cross to get to the bank. I press the 'walk' button quickly before hurriedly moving away, towards the back of the sidewalk. It's a habit of mine, formed from a combination of paranoia – don't let anybody stay behind you – and self-consciousness – don't get in anybody's way, even though there's nobody else around at the moment.

The 'walk' light turns green and I start forward along the empty crosswalk – no cars waiting on this side, but I hurry anyway. I'm always half afraid of crossing the street, worried about getting hit. I get about half-way across the street without anything happening, and I'm just about convincing myself that nothing will happen.

And then the car rushes up from along the road, going way above the speed limit. I'll admit now, I froze. Not just for a minute before kicking myself into gear – I full on froze from the second I saw the car. In a purely instinctual – and completely useless – reaction, I turned towards it and threw my arms up in front of my face. Obviously, this would have done nothing against a car.

But then, just as I'm cringing, expecting to feel – well, whatever having a several ton object slam into you at 80 mph feels like, the car screeches to a stop, bare inches from me.

Bet you didn't expect that, huh?

I lower my arms slowly, breathing heavily. I can clearly hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The driver of the car, who is obviously drunk, turns around me, surprisingly deftly for being drunk, and speeds off.

Dazedly, I wander onto the sidewalk. No point staying on the road to actually get run over, after all. I move to lean against the outside wall of some building, numbly watching everybody else continue about their business. Most of them didn't even notice. It strikes me, suddenly, just how little I matter to all these people – they would have cared if I'd gotten hit, of course, but in a distant, 'how horrible for her family' way. I would have been forgotten again the next day.

It was jarring. It was also just enough for me to remember that I was supposed to be going to the bank, and I'd probably get another lecture about ambition and motivation if I took too long.

So I continue to the bank, doing my best to ignore what had happened.

The intersection is actually fairly close to the bank, so I get to the bank soon after. And of course, it's hot and stuffy, like always, though there are surprisingly few people; two tellers, two people waiting at one and three at the other. And technically, two of those three were together; a woman and a little kid. He was probably four or five, I can't say for sure. Aside from the ten of us, the bank appeared to be completely empty, which was a far contrast to the thirty or forty people usually there.

I join the line behind the woman and her son, smiling awkwardly at him. I'm worse with kids than I am with adults, and that's really saying something.

The person at the teller, a tall man in a business suit, finishes, and we all move up in line. The business man walks out, but as he reaches the door, four black masked – not ski masks, though - men storm through it. The first one through passes by him, drawing an Uzi from a black bag at his side, but the second pulls out another Uzi from his own bag and smashes the business man across the face with it.

The business man flies to the floor as the last two also draw Uzis. The first one – let's call him First – points his gun at the ceiling and shouts the stereotypical, "Alright, everybody on the floor!" His eyes, just visible from behind the mask, glare at us. None of us move, frozen in place. I can't breathe, feeling like there isn't enough air. The little kid starts crying, his mother frantically trying to calm him.

First snarls something under his breath. "I said, get on the floor!" He roars, firing at the ceiling (a distant part of my mind notes that it's a terrible waste of bullets). We all jump, several others crying out in shock. I don't – I'm not sure I could, panicking as I am. My throat is probably too twisted up in fear to make a sound. Slowly, each of us lowers our self to sit on the floor, holding our hands up at the level of our head. I guess it's just instinct to do that, trying to show that we're not dangerous.

First lowers his gun, scowling suspiciously as he regards us. His gaze lingers over me, and I can't move – can't so much as twitch until he looks away – practically the epitome of an animal caught in a predator's gaze.

He grunts, apparently satisfied. "Do as I say and nobody'll get hurt, try anything and I guarantee that the only way you'll get out is in a body bag! Got it?"

Third and Fourth stay near the entrance of the bank, while Second joins First at the front with us. First stomps over to a teller and points his gun at her. "I want all of the money you've got here," he growls. I mean that literally, too; he makes this funny noise that sounds oddly like a dog growling.

First gestures at the other teller with his Uzi. "You too, sweetheart." As the tellers begin packing money into bags, he seems to notice the crying kid. He looks disgusted (behind the mask) as he swings around to point his gun at the kid, whose mother gasps and clings to her son harder. No way… "Shut up, kid," First says darkly. Is he really – "Don't think I won't put you to bed. Permanently."

He is.

Obviously, this just causes the kid to cry more as his mother curls her body around him, putting herself in the line of fire instead. The kid keeps crying.

…A kid? Really? He'd shoot a kid for crying? The other people – I look around, and… they aren't moving, aren't doing anything. Of course not. A young child about to be shot is horrible, terrible, but… not personal. Which is what it'll be if they do anything.

And I – Do I just let the kid die? Don't say or do anything, don't stop the guy from killing the kid? If I do, then the kid will probably survive, but First will focus on me instead. Do I want that? No, of course not.

…I don't want to die. Not for any reason, not because I still haven't done that one thing or achieved some amazing thing. It's not even for my parents, who would be heartbroken about my death, because they're having another child. They'll be fine without me. I just don't want the existence I have to cease or change.

And the kid will be fine.

Except for where he won't.

The kid is still crying, and First still seems seriously pissed off about it. He lunges forward, grabbing the mom by her hair and wrenching her away. He presses his gun to the kid's forehead.

He's just a kid.

Can I really face my parents, be happy with them, celebrate my life, when I didn't even try? When I just sat there and let a little kid be killed in front of me?

…No. "Stop!" I shout at the top of my lungs. I have to distract him, have to be more annoying than the kid. It would probably be easier if I wasn't starting to hyperventilate.

"What kind of villain goes around killing kids?" I challenge him, standing as First freezes. It's a bit disconcerting to realize just how much taller he is than me. But I try for an infuriating smirk anyway. "Seriously, that's just pathetic. You're so lame, the only ones you can pick on are children?"

First turns to me, a thunderous expression forming – or at least I assume so, seeing as he's still wearing a mask. "Do you want to repeat that, girlie?" he says lowly, lowering his Uzi to point at the floor.

I'm sure my heart is trying to leave through my throat, and my legs are shaking so badly I'm amazed I'm still standing, but I force a light-hearted laugh, throwing my head back. "Of course not," I say cheerfully, wiping my clammy hands on my pants and hoping he can't tell how terrified I am. "That would be boring, reusing insults." I pause for dramatic effect, forcing my face into a thoughtful expression. "But maybe I should anyway, I mean, I wouldn't want you to miss any, since you're obviously so slow and hard of hearing."

He roars wordlessly, throwing his gun up to point at me – and Second grabs it, wrenching it away to point at the wall as it goes off, loosing several bullets. First snarls at his partner, "What?"

Second says something, too quiet for me to hear, but it makes First hesitate and say something back. They have a quiet conversation, occasionally glancing at me or the tellers. Finally, Second nods, seemingly having lost the argument, and moves away, back towards the tellers.

"Alright, girlie." First smirks nastily. He aims his gun at me again. I just gape at him, frozen in place again, and isn't it really stupid that something vital like breathing is one of the first things to go when you're afraid? "I told you, didn't I? A body bag."

What? No. No, no, no, no, somebody will save me, right? I'm not supposed to die, I don't – but again, nobody is helping, even the woman with the kid, and I'm really, actually going to die.

I jerk backwards, trying to save myself, as he pulls the trigger. Oddly enough, there's no watching my life play before my eyes (it would have been a boring movie anyway), but there is this trippy slow-mo effect. I'm not entirely happy about this, because it means that I watch as the bullets rush towards my face, also stuck moving in slow-mo. On another note, it gives me plenty of time to contemplate how much getting shot in the face hurts. I'm not sure if this is a good thing.

Clearly, this is what I get for being the hero. But then, glancing at the – still crying – kid I hopefully saved… I don't really regret it. Unfortunately, since I'd really like to feel like this was anything but my own choice. Being a good person seriously sucks sometimes.

I guess it must not hurt, because the bullets reach me, and then… nothing.

I wake up slowly, surrounded by darkness and slight pressure. This is death? Really? It's kind of, well, boring. A little underwhelming, honestly. Where's the fire and brimstone, or the golden gates and clouds? Of course, that's assuming that either of those exist, and I've never been convinced; I like to consider myself agnostic.

I try to move and find it much more difficult than it should be. But I keep trying, eventually managing to bump a leg against one of the… walls, maybe, that are around me. I cackle triumphantly, but only mentally because I'm sure I couldn't move well enough to actually do that. Even just a kick exhausted me, far more than it should have.

This continues for a while – building up enough strength to move before tiring myself out again, and repeat. A lot. I think I fell asleep, occasionally, too. Eventually, it gets easier – it takes less time for me to recover enough to move again. I don't know how long it took, unable to tell time.

And then things start getting really freaky. It isn't really like movement, there's no feeling that I'm actually moving, but the space around me is slowly getting smaller. It isn't continuous – a little bit at a time and then nothing for a while. Well, I say a while – I'm still not sure how much time is actually passing.

After what seems like a long time of this, the space around me disappears entirely, and I'm left feeling rather squished. Soon after, it starts constricting further and further – and then I can see something. Light?

Slowly, my head emerges into empty space, soon-ish followed by the rest of me, into… hands? I can't see – everything is blurry, like a painting that got smeared before it could dry. I can tell light and dark, I think, but other than that, I can't really tell what anything is.

It's all incredibly shocking and disturbing, actually, but I'm still kind of lethargic from so long in seeming nothingness, and so I don't really react much.

I can't really see, but I'm aware of movement now, and it feels like I'm being carried bridal style as the person holding me walks somewhere. Soon, however, I'm relocated to a new person's arms, one who isn't moving around. But it's odd, they're all holding me much too easily, almost as if… as if I'm a baby.

There are people murmuring around me, I can hear. But, as I strain my hearing, I can't understand them. They're not speaking English. Actually, it sounds like Japanese – I was just starting second year high school Japanese when I'd died.

And isn't that weird to say? 'When I died'. Your own death is such an odd thing to be able to reference. But… if I died, and I was clearly not in America, and I was apparently a baby, then it could be... reincarnation?

I could, maybe, figure it out if I could just see. It is surprisingly frustrating to not be able to use sight to identify things. I can tell I'm being held by a woman, who I can see fairly clearly, possibly because I'm so close to her. My new mother, maybe. She was pale, with dark eyes, and had long black hair. The room we're in doesn't look like a hospital room, more like a bedroom. A home birth? Weird.

There are other people around, I think; I can see hazy moving figures. Two of them are right next to me and the woman holding me (it's too weird to think of her as my mother), one of them on each side of the bed, and there are another two at the far side of the room. The far two are much smaller, more like children, but so blurry I can't really tell.

Just now, I notice that I'm actually incredibly tired. As if just thinking is too strenuous for me. Wait, it actually probably is, since a newborn baby's brain isn't exactly developed enough for thinking at an adult level. It is impressive that my baby brain can handle my transferred higher intellect at all, but it is most likely going to get incredibly frustrating.

It's not like that really matters, I suppose, since being stuck as a baby in general is going to be annoying.

And then I fall asleep.

I spend the first couple of weeks (I think; I still can't really tell time) mostly just repeating the same cycle – wake up, try to make sense of the slowly-getting-less-blurry shapes around me, think about just about anything for a while, fall asleep. And repeat. It is so, so boring. I've never been happier that I don't remember my first time as a baby.

They probably think there's something wrong with me, since I never cry until it's absolutely necessary in order to get fed or changed. Being a baby is humiliating.

But there is one new thing about this body – I don't even know what it is. It's just a feeling, I suppose, but it seems like more. Like there's something in my body that wasn't there before. It's not just me, though. Whenever anybody comes close to me, I can feel it from them, too – not exactly the same, but very similar. Maybe it's just something about being a baby?

Anyway, there are two people who often spend time with me; my new mother, and what I assume is her youngest son, who is probably not much older than I am now. My new father and their older son also visit, but not nearly as often.

Whenever they're around, I do my best to translate their Japanese into something I can understand, but a single high school Japanese class is hardly enough to suddenly be dropped into Japan. I haven't been able to pick out names yet, either, so in my head (even if I wanted to, I seem to be unable to speak) I just call them 'Father', 'Mother' (to differentiate these ones from my original parents, who are 'mom' and 'dad'), 'big brother', and 'bigger brother', all in English. And yes, I know this is childish. I don't care.

I mean, I know the Japanese for mom and dad; okaasan and otousan, and the word for big brother; Oniisan, which are technically the polite ones that you'd use for another person's parents, but are also, I think, what you use to address them. Because I know those words, I can pick them out from sentences, but not much else is understandable, and it's not really important what I call them until I actually can speak, which probably won't be for at least a couple more months.

Just the thought of dealing with being a baby for that much longer is appalling.

About a week later, during one of Mother and Big Brother's visits, I finally figure out his name. He's blabbering at me in Japanese, and I can't understand most of it as usual, but then he slows down.

Carefully, he enunciates, clearly in the middle of a sentence already, "Big… brother… Sa-Su-Ke," and I freeze. He stares at me expectantly until Mother says something to him, and they leave the room.

And I just sit there in shock, because I've heard the name 'Sasuke' before. In an anime. Where he's a character. One of my least favorite characters, actually.

But it can't be – there's no way. Naruto is a fictional world, and it's not like 'Sasuke' can't be a normal Japanese name. The author had to get it from somewhere. He's the wrong age right now, anyway. The Sasuke from Naruto was twelve.

Except I can't really forget about the possibilities, and I can never really get a good look at 'Sasuke', because he moves around so much. And kids do tend to age.

Well, I fall asleep after that, but the next time they show up, I'm ready. I'm going to get a good look at 'Sasuke'.

So I wait, and he climbs his way into my crib like always. I make my eyes focus on his face, comparing against what I remember as the anime character, and…

Crap. Pale skin, dark eyes, black hair, forming duck-butt hairstyle… He looks exactly like a younger version of the character.

Which means that I must be in the world of Naruto. As in, the horrible, terrible, action-filled anime world.

…As an Uchiha. As in, the Uchiha who are all, except for Sasuke, massacred by Itachi after he goes evil. And Itachi must be Bigger Brother, since I'm pretty sure they didn't have any other siblings… Until me. Why do I have to be an Uchiha, anyway? I don't even like them! Of course, most of them will die, which doesn't actually help, since Itachi could decide to kill me too.

Even just what I know of the show, from watching it idly every now and then, the story is very violent. And I only saw the first series – after Sasuke defected, the story ended and was continued in a different show. I never actually saw much of the second one, so I don't even know much about what'll happen. I'm not delusional enough to think that what happens after where I stopped watching won't matter. Except… a friend of mine gave me one of the later volumes of the Naruto manga, and I read it purely to appease her, even though it was about my least favorite characters: the Uchiha. In it, somebody was explaining to Sasuke that Itachi didn't just randomly decide to kill the Uchiha; they were planning a coup d'état, and he'd been ordered to kill them. Which is really just even worse for me, isn't it? It means that I'll most likely die again, and I'd really rather not find out what happens when you die after being reincarnated. I could end up in a worse world.

So I'll have to learn to fight… Which is going to be a lot of work, and I really doubt that I'll be any good at it; supposed 'genius' Uchiha genes versus a really lazy mind, one that was ridiculously bad at anything involving physical activity or strategy even in a world much less focused on them than this one. Much less at something that I have no experience in at all – chakra, which is probably what the indefinable thing I can sense in everybody is.

The Uchiha genes have no chance.

For a while after my revelation, I was jittery with anticipation and yearning to do something. Soon, though, I had to face a major factor: I was still a baby. I couldn't move much beyond my arms and legs, could barely babble nonsense, and my brain still couldn't process enough data from my eyes, so everything was blurry.

Basically, I'd have to wait for longer. A lot longer, actually, seeing as I wouldn't be able to do anything at all for well over half a year, and even longer if I didn't want to be suspicious – which I didn't. If I did stuff too early, too well, they'd think I was either an imposter or a prodigy. Seeming like an imposter would be bad for obvious reasons, but I didn't want to be a prodigy, either, because prodigies get a lot of pressure. This was true even in my original world, and probably more so in the Naruto one.

Even if the Uchiha are all going to die while I'm still fairly young, I don't know how long I'd have to deal with them treating me like… Well. Like they treat Itachi, probably.

But I couldn't just let myself be at the proper level for my age, because the story – and the beginning of the really bad stuff – starts when Naruto and Sasuke are twelve, and if I'm at the proper skill level, I'll be screwed and mostly unable to defend myself. So even though they're a couple years older than me, I have to at least keep up with Sasuke, which is hardly going to be easy, while keeping my skill level and much-older mentality a secret from everybody. It should be possible, in theory; I read somewhere that Kakashi became a genin at five without cheating like I am, and Itachi did the same at seven.

Then again, even though Naruto and Sasuke are shown as really weak in comparison to a bunch of other ninja, they're actually ridiculously fit, especially compared to the standards of my original world. So this is all assuming I can even match them at all, even being sixteen years older than my body. More likely than not, they'll leave me behind once they get old enough that I don't have such an unfair advantage, if not earlier simply due to this being their only life, the only thing they've ever known.

It's my life now too, but I'll never stop being affected by my first life in a considerably nicer environment. I'll just have to adjust, have to be strong anyway, or I'll never stand a chance.

Except that I still have about a year to wait, at least. I don't know how fast babies, Uchiha babies especially, are supposed to develop, and I have nothing to use as a way to make sure I'm not going too fast or slow. Meaning, of course, that I'll have to make it up as I go along.

Story of my new life, apparently.