In which the cliché never truly dies, and a tale of expectations is destined for subversion.

Death is a strange thing.

One moment you're breathing, heart beating, and then suddenly nothing. That's how it happens, without preamble. You live and then you die, simple, straightforward and to the point. The End.

Except…. That isn't what happened to me?

Sure, I died. Everything went according to plan; the flaw was that I did not stay dead as people are generally wont to do. Instead, I floated for some time, and then I breathed my first breath. Which was wrong wrong wrong. The room was too warm and yet far too cold, too bright, too noisy.

Death is a strange thing. But then, so is reincarnation.

Time slips by me in a series of moments and measurements I never fully grasp, and I am taken from one place — what I later assume to have been a hospital of some kind — and put into a home with many other children. The language is gibberish, so I understand nothing; between that and the dismal state of my vision, there is no way of comprehending what goes on around me and for the first time I can recall, I am completely and utterly helpless.

I do my best to control the fear. Some days are better than others.

Over time I come to the conclusion that the biological parents of this life are no longer in the picture. That frightens a small part of me — it was the part that found everything, even the air I breathed, to be alarming — but there is an overwhelming relief in the knowledge. Parents would only serve as a reminder of what was now lost to me. Thinking about Before is far too painful and often leaves me breathless, so I abandon such thoughts early on and try not to focus on the other matter at hand.

It was certifiably insane, I knew, but no matter how much I told myself it wasn't happening, I couldn't seem to stop.

I could feel the children around me; could feel their presence as they moved from room to room, little fireflies flickering around myself. I followed their movements, the only source of entertainment to occupy myself with. New fireflies were not rare by any means, and when one presented itself I took care to watch it closely, memorize its hum. It felt like an additional sense, one previously unexplored.

A third eye of sorts.

Broaden your mind, look into the beyond! I shuddered at the thought and dismiss it. Babies are sensitive things and can be difficult to understand. In the end, I decide to not worry myself over anything. It's simply too much to process right now and I'd rather sleep anyway.

Three and a half years later

I find out my name is Nao.

It means docile and is the least concerning piece of knowledge I acquire over the next couple of years. Distraction does not come easy, not in a poor orphanage located in the middle of nowhere. Toys are few and far in between, books even more rare, and my language skills are not yet at reading level so it hardly mattered whether there were books to begin with. Anything I wanted to know, I learned by listening to the other children and adults speak. The older kids have weekly 'lessons' on learning to write their names and other basic knowledge, and as the docile child, I'm able to sit in on these lessons with relative ease and soak up whatever information is provided.

The first thing I learn and understand is the name of this country.

The Land of Fire did not, in fact, have anything to do with actual fire. The whole country appeared to be comprised of a series of forests, with a smattering of rivers and fields between. The orphanage, having been on a more easily defendable border of the country, had been spared during the previous war and was currently one of the remaining children's homes still standing strong.

(War.

That soft little word which left me breathless, the sensation of small, feeble and alone.

I would do anything to avoid war.)

This was my first clue as to the fact that this continent was not one from my previous life.

The evidence only piled up from there. Our building had electricity, but the road was dirt and our supplies only ever came by a horse pulled cart. There were no TVs, no phones, and no name brand products as far as I could tell. Nothing that spoke of the history of the world I had known. Then, a few days back, I heard about the villages; many countries on this continent had one, and in the Land of Fire it was known as the Village Hidden in the Leaves, or Konohagakure. A representative from this village would be coming to visit and so we were to be on our best behavior.

That was where it all went downhill, because I could cope with many things. I could deal with the fact that my world was lost to me, that I hadn't stayed dead but had been reincarnated into a culture that made no sense whatsoever; however, what I could not swallow was the truth before me.

My new life was taking place in a fictional land.

A part of me still refused to believe it, even now as I sat in a wagon along with some of the other children, on our way to Konoha. It appeared there were no shortages of orphans in the Land of Fire, though supposedly it had been over four years since the war (the Third Great Shinobi War, they called it). Orphanages were supposed to be revolving doors, but ours was more of a one way entrance; practically overflowing with unwanted kids and fickle adoption rates. Something had needed to be done. That something turned out to be a select few of us darling children, handpicked to be taken to the Village Hidden in the Leaves for a "better life".

Years of intimate knowledge as to the effects of war had left me vaguely concerned regarding this move. Those of us in the wagon fit a certain criteria; all of us between the ages of two and six, all of us perfectly healthy physically and mentally. An age group that would not have been old enough to truly recall the horror of war, that might grow up with tales or heroism and glory, rather than immense bloodshed and suffering.

Yes, it was curious that we were the ones chosen to join Konohagakure's orphanage.

I should have been more alarmed by the possibility of what these clues indicated, and perhaps I would've been, had the circumstances been kinder. However, this was not the case. And so I sat in the wagon, struggling to comprehend the fact that we were traveling to Konoha, escorted by real live Shinobi. They numbered four, a full team dedicated to bringing our company of fifteen children and two caretakers to the safety of their village.

It was the little things that added up to an unsettling image; the eerily silent movements, the silver forehead protectors, the way they all seemed to move perfectly in sync with one another. Inhuman, my mind supplied, and the longer I was exposed to them the worse that feeling became. My psyche was in complete distress at the appearance of physical, undeniable proof that I was living in a work of fiction. I, along with the other children, could not help but stare at the foreign shinobi; my gaze, however, was not the awe-filled kind of my companions but rather one of slowly dawning horror.

Unfortunately this did not go unnoticed.

One of them — a Kunoichi, I thought dully — took it upon herself to approach me, perhaps seeking to correct my current impression. In my shocked state I register shoulder length brown hair, rectangular purple tattoos adorning each cheek, and kind brown eyes. She walks along the horse drawn wagon easily, having no trouble keeping pace, and chimes, "Hello, what's your name?"

I say nothing in return, eyes wide and posture stiff. After a few seconds in which it becomes clear she isn't going to receive an answer from me, the woman's smile strains. One of the caretakers traveling with us takes pity on her, and with a good natured sigh, explains, "This is Nao, please excuse her. She's a bit of a shy one."

The caretaker isn't right, of course, but I neglect to mention that; shyness or a preference of my own company, the difference seemed to matter little. Children were… tiresome, for me. I had trouble interacting with them long term and the resulting experience often left me drained; they were useful for observation, practicing my language skills and milestone markers, but not much else. However, that had little to do with my lack of response in terms of the Kunoichi. My throat tightened, leaving me unable to formulate any sort of reply, because the Kunoichi before me was unsettlingly familiar.

Nohara Rin.

Who, to the extent of my knowledge, was supposed to be extremely dead, and I don't mean dead in the way I was technically dead, but in a far more permanent context.

Only she was very much alive, at the ripe age of what I estimated to be around eighteen and looking to be in perfect health. It was that observation that became the final straw for my young, delicate brain; I was less than four years into this life, breathing fake air in an imaginary world where deceased fictional characters were not quite so dead as they really ought to be. So I did the only thing I appeared to excel at anymore -falling back on the action that had carried me safely through this madness thus far.

I shut down, mind and body going on auto pilot.

Nohara Rin slips repeated glances my way many times throughout the trip, a fact that hardly registers in my mind and is quickly dismissed. I kill time by drowning in invasive thoughts about ninja and chakra, while trying and failing to ignore the ever present fact hovering at the back of my subconscious, whispering into the void.

(You are dead.

Dead, but not at peace, no.

Never at peace, because you aren't truly dead, are you?

You're alive.)

A day later finds me still so caught up in my own terrible musings that our wagon's approach to the village gates goes unnoticed. Only when the procession arrives at our final destination and the other children hop out do I finally snap out of it and get my first look at our new temporary home. The lot was spacious and fenced in, featuring a small playground on its left and a two story brick building at it's center. If left plenty of room for the children that ran rampant around the property, climbing trees and playing games as two caretakers watched on from a shaded bench near the building's entrance.

My group is herded through the yard and into the building, where we're introduced to our new caretakers (who welcome us into the "family") before being released to go wild and explore. Two of the Shinobi escorts turned and disappeared out the front door to unload what little possessions we owned, and while the other kids curiously went about their own business I scuttled away in search of a bed resolved to take a nap.

The gaze of Nohara Rin follows me until I exit out of sight, a minor disturbance in the sea of unsettlement that was my situation. I crawled into an empty bed and pulled the recently washed covers over my head with the hopeless thought that perhaps this is all a bad dream.

I wake an hour later to find that the world around me is still spinning and indeed real.

But that doesn't mean I have to acknowledge it.

Interlude: Rin P.O.V.

"So," Minato-Sensei began conversationally, having given the report a cursory glance before abandoning it atop the other paperwork littering his desk, "How was your trip then? See anything interesting?"

Rin suppressed a smile. "It was only to the boarder of Fire Country, Sensei. Hardly dangerous by any stretch of the imagination."

"Yes, well, I do worry." He sat back in his chair with a fond sigh.

"I like to think I was — and still am, by the way — the least concerning of your students. I'm definitely the safest what with my usual rotations at the hospital." After all, she wasn't the one jumping at the first threatening mission to catch her eye. If anything, Rin experienced more stability and security as a doctor than her stir crazy teammates. Each of them occupied important positions within the village and yet those two fools still couldn't help but land themselves high-risk missions every now and then.

"The three of you continue to give me more stress than any good Sensei should be subject to." With a laugh, Minato-sensei gestured around his office. "You lot make my job look relaxing, the nerve. I'm allowed to worry."

That… was fair.

Team Seven had gotten off to a bumpy start, then a rocky middle, and the end… Well, suffice to say Minato-Sensei was justified in his worries. The three of them had certainly given him a run for his money over the years.

But still. "You don't have to check on me every time I return from a mission outside of the village. I'm a big girl, you know; I can handle fieldwork."

Time had healed that wound, she was okay now, had been cleared for mission duty for years and they both knew it. Sensei smiled apologetically. "You're right. If it makes you feel any better I give Kakashi the same treatment."

"Which is not only deserved but vital to his continued safety and health." It distracted Kakashi long enough for Rin to arrive before he had the chance to scurry away.

Shinobi were such babies in the face of medical care.

Minato-Sensei hummed, changing the subject. "So the children took the journey well then, that's good to know. By the looks of things, we'll be taking on quite a few more of those missions, though from other orphanages in the Land of Fire. I'm considering sending out a medic team near the northern border to check on the smaller villages. We seem to be getting many of the country's orphaned children from that area and if there's anything to be done to limit the loss of these families then I'd like to be made aware. Kami knows our world has enough orphans as it is."

She didn't have to ask to know this was something going on in many of the other nations as well. Four years since the war ended, and while the number of orphans had lessened with each year the amount still seemed to be larger than previously in times of peace. War left lasting marks though. It was a shame that children were taking the brunt of those effects. "Konoha is full of opportunities; they'll find a niche here."

"Hopefully one or two of the munchkins will be part of the next generation of shinobi, though it's always hard to tell which will have the commitment to see their academy days through." He chuckled. "What did you think, Rin? Any of those kids catch your eye?"

Thoughts of a small, red haired child immediately came to mind.

She had been a memorable one, with a green gaze that was far too intense, but it wasn't those eyes or her behavior that bothered Rin. It was that head of dark red hair, the curve of her nose and the shape of her brows, all too familiar, all too reminiscent of a woman Rin knew well. The resemblance was uncanny.

That child… anywhere else in the world she would have been safer, maybe even better off; in any other country that face wouldn't mean much. She was here though, in Konoha, and in Konoha those looks had the potential to cause some trouble, especially in wake of the Third Shinobi War. Everyone knew the Fourth Hokage, and they knew his wife. Both had reputations from their days in the war, and together they were an unstoppable force.

To be associated with even one without the full force of their protection?

But she couldn't bring herself to say it.

It felt like digging at things that had been laid to rest for some time now. Why cause a fuss or turn attention to those features when it wasn't likely to mean anything, when it could end up doing more harm than good? Turn attention to the child, and others would take note. Furthermore, it wasn't as though red hair was truly so uncommon in the Elemental Nations; the Land of Wind, for instance, was a place where red hair was not entirely out of place. Of course, the shade there was often a more rusted color, but it was red nonetheless and who was to say that Nao-chan couldn't have descended from there?

There was no point in stirring the pot.

She buried thoughts on the girl and instead shot her sensei a grin. "I guess we'll just have to give it a few years and see."

A/N

Edited: August 25th, 2019

To my long time followers, yes, this is a different first chapter than the one you originally read. I decided to go back and make some minor, and major, changes. Why? Well, because in over two years my writing has changed quite a bit, and now that I have more experience I feel like there's a gap here that needs to be filled in order to continue the story.

To my new readers, thanks for giving this fic a chance!

My original goal with Expectations & Revelations still stands.

Build your expectations, lull you into a false sense of security of where this story is going, and then deliver crushing revelations to show you that no, you don't really know what's next.

Because clichés aren't dead, not in the hands of a halfway decent writer.