Only saying this ONCE: Don't own Naruto. Don't own Death Note. Don't own picture used.

This is a Naruto/Death Note crossover, and follows the death note timeline with some pretty obvious changes to come.

The Obito going into that world, for anyone who gets confused, is the one Naruto saved – the one killed by Kaguya, after he was taken over by Zetsu and everything. So him having white hair and both sharingans is because of that.

And this will start slowly at first, fair warning – well sort'a slowly, not as slow as Death Note because damn that dragged on and on and on and on. (No matter how much I like DN I can admit that).

Anyway, hope you enjoy! And please review!

The ground was wetly cool to the touch as if rain had recently broken the barrier between the sky and earth. His scarred skin braced against it, cheek digging into the strange soil that felt so lacking in something his fuzzy mind couldn't place. An unknown material scraped his palms as he slid his arms to try and lever himself into a defendable position.

Pushing off the hard ground made muscles protest with a fiery ripping, sending him crashing once more into the strange earth. Biting back the groan that wanted to leave him the Uchiha gritted his teeth and forced sore limbs to move. He couldn't stay face down on the ground. His instincts wouldn't let him; raging too loudly at how vulnerable the position left him to attack.

It took embarrassingly long to move his aching body to lean against the wall to his right, his lungs heaving with the simple effort. Scanning what looked to be a deep alleyway the Uchiha was grateful for the lack of any other presence. His situation is humiliating enough without an audience; an s-class missing-nin capable of taking on Biju, downed in the back allies of some civilian town. It couldn't be a largely shinobi village, for the distinct lack of chakra signatures in the surrounding area was too great.

Abnormally so, in fact.

Prodding at his own chakra stores to see how drained he was to try and determine if he can validly confront an enemy, Obito found them lacking. Suitable to last him in a fight long enough to escape but no more than that; not nearly enough should a formidable opponent come.

Though if anyone with even a trace of chakra entered into his range of sensing it would be a bright beacon with how deprived of energy the area is. Even the very earth seemed to disappear from beneath him as he sent out inquisitive bursts of chakra.

But he would still need to move, staying in one place for too long will risk discovery more than he already has. He needs to move and get back to the base, back to Madara and Zetsu because he can't leave them on their own to... No, that didn't sound right; why didn't that sound right?

A hand goes up to clutch his head and tangle in dry white locks as his mind blanks as to what had last occurred. The lack of moisture shocking him; if it has recently rained then why is he dry? And why can't he remember how he ended up in this strange place?

A flash of a field over pouring with hundreds of anonymous faces filled his mind, a rushing of confusion followed soon after. A flash of orange, blue the colour of the sky and a personality rivaling the sun. A smile, a grey eye. A mask, and purple marks on soft cheeks that he wants to reach out and stroke but something too similar to guilt pulls his arm back. The images disappeared before he could fully grasp them.

His breathing quickened as he realized the gaping wound in his memories, the missing pieces that fall out of place in the puzzle around the time he felt himself wake up – his old self, the self that was all but destroyed under Madara's tender cares.

The smells that met his nose, with the vicious onslaught of panicked breathes that gripped his torso in spasms, were all foreign. A thickness to the air that polluted his lungs and made him cough to rid his body of the stale presence.

Minutes passed with the only sounds distant and unimportant as they never seemed to come closer. It was then that he felt his limbs lesson in pain, his healing factor finally having kicked in – slower than normal, but everything in him feels sluggish.

The ach slowly disappeared and by the time he was able to remove his hands from their state of tearing at his hair the Uchiha's breathing had evened.

He needs to move. Find out where he is and then work from there.

Staggering to his sandal clad feet the light-haired man leaned against the wall for support till his addled mind could find its balance. One step at a time he followed the rough building side to the exit he could barely see from his position in the darkness.

All the while pulling incessantly at the cloak of a wall blocking out the most recent events. The events that will tell him how he went from a world of shinobi and battles, with a war laid out at his feet of his own making, to this. How he went from fighting by the side of one Uzumaki Naruto, the boy who awoke a long lost part of him he thought buried and dead, to weakened limbs and stumbling muscles.

He needed to know so that he could go back, go back and help the shinobi alliance… yes, that sounded right. But so wrong at the same time, so wrong because the memories were rushing back, rushing like a damn had burst and the great whirlpools of Uzushio were raging in his very being.


Team seven.





A bright light swallowing, decaying, crumbling the very fibers threading his soul together. Untangling the strings that stuck his body to the earth as an existence and erasing their hold.


He should be dead.

He wants to rage, to scream his questions to the sky as to why he had survived. He was ready, so very ready to die, to let the life force drain from him with the insurance that those he was leaving behind would not fall, could not fall. He was happy to perish in that moment, having stood beside those he called precious for one last time, having done something right before he said his goodbyes.

He was ready to see Rin once more.

Squeezing burning eyes shut the man stumbled another handful of steps, trying to deny the stain of wet tracks down his face even as they multiplied.

'Rin,' his mind begged, prayed, whispered, 'Rin.'

The ghosting of a gentle touch ran over his cheek, the scent of home covering the stench of this strange place. The fingers began tracing the path of his tears before finally the feeling of a hand cupping the side of his face with tenderness snapped him back into reality. A pair of eyes shot open wide, he knew that scent, knew those fingers – had felt them prodding at his wounds enough to recognize them anywhere.

"Rin?" His throat quivered out with a hopefulness that he would have never let his heart feel had it not been for Naruto. A hopefulness that burned bright for all of a second before sputtering back into an ember resting over his heart when there was no trace of the girl to be found. Only cracks in the foundation of the building he leaned on, the corrosive feeling of not-right air entering his lungs. Only the sound of feet hitting earth muffled by a strange roar that passed with a flash of brighter light from the entrance to the alley.

Gritting his teeth against the familiar painful throb in his chest Obito stumbled across the last remaining portion of his path, leaning into the building and shadows to remain unseen to anyone walking past.

The sight that his eyes fell upon left him speechless.

Strange contraptions wheeled past at speeds greater than any civilian pulled cart he had seen, they were driven by no animal and yet they moved forward as if through their own free will. He sensed no chakra powering them. The few glimpses he managed to grasp of their insides as they passed showed people seated. The exterior shined, and seemed to come in an endless array of colours.

While many rolled across a peculiar black substance spread over the ground others were motionless, pulled up to what he presumed to be a pathway. Lighter in colour than the black road the wheeled machines pulled themselves across, and filled with a few scattered people; from whom he could not sense even a civilian level chakra signature.

As one strolled near his spot of observation Obito took note of the strange clothes these people seemed to favor wearing – certainly civilian in style, and looking to give minimal movement in a proper fight.

Glancing down at his own garbs he noticed their ragged appearance. Dried blood caked in spots, his pants were missing one leg from the knee down and the other had a large smear of brown dirt caking up the side. His shirt missing entirely.

He would concern himself with that later, when he wasn't more troubled with what place he has landed himself in. It couldn't possibly be Kaguya's infinite genjutsu, if it were then his friends would be surrounding him, pulling at him and laughing. Dragging him along with smiles and cheer, tugging at his Hokage robes. If it were to be his perfect world then where is Rin, Sensei, Kakashi? If it were a genjutsu based on the knowledge he held then how would these unknown machines march through it with such precision?

The possibility that this sight is nothing but falsities drawn up from the basis of his dreams and hopes is too demeaning to think further on. Too painful, because it would mean he had made a mistake leaving Naruto and Sasuke to take care of their other-worldly threat. It would mean that the Child of Prophecy failed.


This wasn't the Mugen Tsukuyomi.

It was something else, something wholly different. A thing that he has played with before, and if events persisted, would do so again. It is an alternate dimension, a step across the streams of reality like skipping-stones thrown to the other side of a riverbank.

He needs to know where he is; what world he has managed to hop to through the dimensional rifts his eye somehow opened. And how he went from deadly impalement to light wounds. He almost groans in annoyance at how slow his mind is working as realization hit him; he could simply make his way back through opening a door to his world. Or perhaps rest in his personal dimension to regain some strength before re-entering the battle.

A small, nostalgic smile tugged at his lips with such a thought; after all, heroes always did arrive at the last minute, right? Maybe he could truly serve his home properly if he allowed the fates to claim his life once and for all through such an act - like they were meant to when he took Kaguya's attack before he woke up here.

Maybe Kakashi would find peace.

Maybe Minato-sensei would forgive him.

Maybe Rin…

The same brush of fingertips trailed across his shoulders and Obito whipped around faster than an eye could blink, sharingan spinning.

Nothing was there. His eyes narrow, but he has no time to wonder at the obscenely familiar touches with the weight of an entire world resting on the shoulders of two young boys. No time to spend committing any further ministrations in this dimension, not if he wants to catch his breath for even a minute prior to his grand entrance to his own funeral. Slipping silently back the way he came Obito stretched his now only mildly-sore body. The healing factor doing its best to right whatever wrongs his sudden and unexpected detour into an alternate reality constituted.

Pooling chakra into his eyes and allowing the organs to twist the energy so it will reach out and pull at the doors built from the very fibers weaving this universe together comes as naturally to him as pulling air into his lungs. The small rolling burn that comes from doing so ignored, but stored away for analysis on the matter later, perhaps explained by the strange thickness he feels from the rift he is opening to slip through. As if he is trying to drag himself over blood-soaked earth turned to mud. Nonetheless he swirls into existence within his world of stacked pillars and grey darkness. Relishing in the comfort that being in such a well-known place brings him – a safe place, his own place.

Taking a breath deep into his welcoming lungs that isn't filled with the disconcerting pollution in the other reality calms the last of his frayed nerves. Let's him focus clearly on the situation at hand.

Settling on the ground cross-legged the Uchiha centers himself, nudging tentative strands of chakra outward in a spiraling search for the correct dimension – he can't afford to aim wrong. And maybe this is taking precaution a step too far, but when the future of his home may rest on his ability to return he thinks it is completely warranted. Not at all a result of a childish shyness at facing his old teammate again after such a sentimental farewell.

He finds it easily – within one breath and the next. Drawing back the other strands from his spider web of chakra Obito rises with deadly grace to his feet. He pauses then, because his chakra stores are low, low enough that he won't stand a chance against Kaguya and her rage at humanity. And even though the knowledge that going into this with his body in the state it is now he won't survive makes the larger portion of him relieved, another, traitorous part of himself wants to live.

If he were to look too closely at how easily that portion is squashed to sit next to his ember of hope resting like a scar on his heart Obito might find it terrifying.

He doesn't look too closely.

Pushing chakra to his eyes once more and focusing on the last remaining strand connecting him to the very door he needs to push through the Uchiha takes one final breath and activates kamui.

Nothing happens.

Or, more precisely, it feels as if he has been smashed into a wall by one of the Kyuubi's many tails and yet he as he opens his eyes he finds himself still in his own world. Staggering to regain the balance he lost from the unforeseen backlash of his jutsu, Obito rubs at his aching orbs – a feeling they have not experienced since the integration of Senju cells.

Letting out a growl at the failure he pushes back against the door once more, his sharingans spinning as they lock more forcefully on the pathway to his home.

It hurts worse the second time.

Letting out a noise of frustration the white-haired man delicately tests the door that should be opening for his entry. It snaps back at him, a vicious attack against the chakra that demands it give way.

He doesn't know how much time passes. It is all irrelevant in his kamui world where there is no sun, no moon or stars to mark the ticking of passed seconds. Time acting as just another dimension that, if only he could grasp how, he could reach out and manipulate. If only – a wishful thought, one that Naruto no doubt would hold should he have known the full extent of Obito's abilities. One that the brash blonde would act on because he 'doesn't want to ever say 'should have''. One that would willingly be granted for the fates have always loved the fools driven by their objection to giving up. But his powers are now restricted for reasons he can't determine. As if seals have been placed to lock him out and he has not been offered even a riddle for discovering the key.

All doors have been shut.



Only one is left for him to reach and open without protest from an ungraspable force. Only that one which communes to a world he does not know, does not want to know – if only due to a bitter revulsion based on biased standing, because he has placed that reality as a scape-goat for his own imprisonment inside of it.

He doesn't stop trying, not till his eyes are bleeding and his body is convulsing with the pain it takes to pull chakra into the pathways around his sharingans. And not even then. Not even then does he give up on that world opening its doors to him because Naruto wouldn't give up, and Obito has no right to do anything less when the blonde haired boy's life is on the line.

He doesn't stop till his body collapses under him, till he can't draw on any more chakra for his reserves have been bleed dry for the first time in years. In one breathe and the next he is closing his burning eyes, pulled into darkness with the feel of a hand running through his white locks – the same that cupped his cheek and followed the tracks of his tears.

The very same that healed him when he was once a young boy with big dreams and bright smiles.

When his eyes pull open the hands are gone, but he feels no pain for the first time since he woke in that strange world. No ach in his muscles, no lightening jolt in his eyes, no discomfort to taking in oxygen.

Anger is the first emotion that he feels after the rampage of denial. It twists into frustration before settling on a resignation that has him lying flat on his back spread eagle. The last strands of desperate hope pushing his mind blankly over ideas that are quickly discarded; theories too easily disproved.

One door.

One door is all that he has the ability to walk through.

If he were a lesser man then perhaps the state of inaction would last longer. If he were not the man woken from his own flaws by an Uzumaki Child of Prophecy the defaulted hate held for that world beyond the door would rule him. If he were anyone other than Uchiha Obito who raised an organization built with shinobi of all nations and wishes. Who was once a boy of Konohagakure, with the will of fire burning bright, and with the Fourth as his sensei. If he were anyone other than what his life and those experiences to the very end have made him.

This and curiosity. This and a daring hope that that realm will hold the answers to this mystery is what makes his decision to open the door.

There is no thickness slugging along his body as he activates the jutsu, no feeling of having his chakra drag him into a river of mud. Instead a bizarre sensation as if a puzzle piece has finally snapped into place pervades his being. Not unlike when he first activated his sharingans, where everything is finally clear and he can see, like a lost part of himself had finally slotted into its rightful position.

Obito whirls into existence in the same alley as he had exited this reality from, though the position of the sun is evidence that he has spent time from its grasp. Working logically from here is his only option; gather intel, then integrate himself into their society and become a ghost. That is his first mission, from there he can work out how to return, test and stretch his powers to their limits. If need requires he can form a group much like the Akatsuki to gather information for him. He may have been enlightened by Naruto but he is still first and foremost a shinobi, a killer, someone to pay for jobs most won't dream of completing through their own hands. And if his speculations are correct than, like any other society, this one runs using some form of currency to trade for goods or services. With that being the case he will require a job to live, to pay for food and shelter, to blend into the masses till he can escape.

The first act of his self-imposed mission is to pinpoint an area of research, while his clones – henged into various disguises – mingle into the crowded streets and listen in on differing conversation. Perhaps locate a nondescript job Obito could take on in order to gain a form of income, or even a place of residence that he could shelter himself in.

Finding a library is easy enough, the public and unrestricted nature of the institute only aiding in his plight. Sending out an army of disguised clones to read as much material as they can and gather as much intelligence on this world's history and contemporary living conditions is even simpler.

By the end of the week he has established the general history of this world, the name of each country and the geography of this Japan that he has apparently landed himself in. Gone over much of what their recent events and leaps in technological advancements have led to, and though none of the feats they can commit are as far reaching as those produced with chakra some are extensively impressive. Cars, for example, being the primary mode of transport seem wholly convenient and yet from what memories he has of their bulk and their inability to do much else than move one from location to location they are too single-tasked. Their apparent effect on the environment and air quality draws even more cons he surmises, remembering with a frown the way the air used to feel entering his lungs when he arrived in this reality – something he has since become used to.

By the end of two weeks Obito has uncovered the enter underground network of criminals running throughout the area, expertly recognizing those who are amateurs and those with true skill that he will have to look to for aid in building a false identity. By the middle of the third, his clones had already found a suitable working environment for him to take part in, as well as a fairly priced apartment to rent.

The wonders of clones will never cease to amaze him.

They have even managed to find a reliable criminal amongst the large network that will create a series of false papers and trails for him so that he can have an established background should he ever need it.

This constant movement and search for information has kept his mind off of the larger picture of his situation and what he has left behind. A nice distraction from everything he has committed in the past, as this dimension knows nothing of his crimes, his sins, his mistakes. A vacation in a sense, one that will end with him returning to a world where he is justifiably not welcomed – one that may very well be destroyed because he was too late getting back.

"You…n't…ink…tha…" the whispering of a soft voice caresses his ear, snapping him from his guilt-inducing thoughts and has him spinning uselessly in a circle. The voice barely there, and the words undecipherable, but he could pick it out nonetheless and he knew that voice, has spent years – a life time – dreaming about it.




The voice doesn't come again, and he refuses to acknowledge the disappointment welling inside of him, shoving it down harshly and continuing on to his destination.

The Uchiha enters the establishment with no genjutsu hugging his form; if he is to acquire false papers for identification then doing so in an illusion will only lead to him needing to stay within that genjutsu at all times. Something that is not only inconvenient and unconventional but also taxing on his chakra. If he were more skilled in seals perhaps then it would be an acceptable means of living, but as the only illusion based seal he knows is a simple forget-me the dilemma still stands. That is not to even touch on the simple problem of genjutsu not functioning within the realm of digital recordings. Cameras and videos will not depict the illusion, instead show what is truly present. Something he had discovered through his study of the art while under the tutelage of his ancestor.

This is also the first time since entering the world officially that he has deactivated his sharingans, a disconcerting experience to say the least. But one he has no choice but to get used to should he wish to melt into the background unnoticed. Or, at least, as best as his scars will allow.

The building is a dingy place, connected to an old camera shop that smelled like mold and plastic. An older man with lazy eyes and a put-out attitude stared blankly into space from his position at a dirty counter to the back left of the shop. His mouth moving as if he were chewing, and as Obito came closer the sound of something wet being mashed between teeth became clear. Harsh lines wrinkled his face, and dark skin almost covered sunspots that danced under an emotionlessly hard gaze.

Reaching the counter the man looked up at him, eyes scanning his figure.


Obito nodded once, sharply.

"No contacts," was said tiredly in return, no annoyance present, simply the resignation of someone who has expressed a regulation countless times. Obito blinked in confusion at the man, who promptly pointed with a sigh to his left eye, "bathrooms down the hall and to the right."

Obito frowned but followed the instructions if only to comprehend what the man is speaking of.

The bathroom was even worse, a horrid smell of stale urine that the alcohol just couldn't cover up permitting the entire room. The walls stained a rustic yellow, and the overhead light giving a dull glow. But it has a mirror, however cloudy and scratched, which Obito could utilize.

Peering into the reflective surface he felt a full body shock when his eyes locked onto the sight of a purple orb with spiraling black circles expanding from the pupil.

His hands lift of their own accord, forming the proper seal and letting his chakra freeze in his coils for all of a split second before pushing it outward sharply. His eye remains the same.

An event that should be impossible.

That is impossible.

Madara stole his rinnegan, took it from him, and in turn he took Kakashi's eye – a fact he knows for certain as he has felt both his sharingans come to life when he activates his dojutsu. Unless, through some strange miracle, he manifested the bloodline himself – an improbability so great and only made more so with the fact he can't seem to deactivate the purple orb. A feat that is possible for those who awaken a dojutsu of this form; those who gain it through other means cannot, much like the sharingan.

Activating his sharingans now, to see if perhaps the genjutsu is stronger than he originally thought, he finds that his left eye transforms into a layering of the two kekkai genkai. The rinnegan circles gaining tomoe, and the two colours coalesce to form an almost amaranthine tone. When he pushes more chakra into his eyes and forms his mangekyou the tomoe disappear and his pinwheel becomes overlain by rings of black.

Pulling his energy away from the pathway to his eyes the left returns to a deep slate grey, almost black, while his right retains the rinnegan's light purple.

He grits his teeth at this; first it is the blocking of dimensional travel, and now this.

Only one test remains.

Tossing a kunai to his left Obito breathed deeply, a part of him hoping that nothing will come of what he is about to try, "Bansho Ten'in (Heavenly Attraction of All Creation)," chakra pulls at his coils and he felt his left eye rush to meet the demanded course of action.

The kunai pulled back towards him and into his outstretched hand. He wanted to yell in frustration, in his lack of understanding and the layers of confusion and mystery being piled upon his situation.

However, his priority is to cover the eye, in some manner, as he's incapable of deactivating it much for the same reason Kakashi could not deactivate Obito's gift to him. Slipping a genjutsu over it will do no good as it presents the same issues that he faced before with a full body illusion. That leaves bandaging the rinnegan until he can find a more permanent solution to hiding it - most likely an eye-patch. It may make him more noticeable, but taken from a different perspective it may lead the people of this dimension to not want to look at him for long, for fear of being rude for staring. Especially when paired with the entirely noticeable scars taking up half of his face.

Pulling out a roll of medical tape from his backpack Obito got to work. Wrapping the eye and part of his head at a slight angle to not affect his other orb. Once the process was complete he repacked his bag and left the stench filled room.

Surprisingly enough the man didn't even blink at the new cloth he adorned, only swiveled in his chair and heaved himself to stand with a muttered complaint of effort and what sounded suspiciously like incompetent customers. The click of a latch marked the opening of a box that was blocked from Obito's view by the man's larger form. The flash of something white in colour being thrown at him made his instincts tense like a coiled whip ready to spring and attack. But the trajectory is off for a weapon, too slow moving to be hostile in nature. What landed in his hands was a fabric square, with looping strings falling from its sides as if to tie.

"Wear it until you get a permanent one," the man explained flatly, vaguely gesturing to his own eye and nodding at the Uchiha, before waving a hand haft-heartedly for Obito to follow.

The white-haired man watches in rapt interest as the man before him types in information on a computer, his hands flying over the keys as Obito answers each of his questions.

He wants to ask the man to teach him, because learning a skill such as this will only bring profit in the future. Not in the sense of selling his abilities out to the market at broad, but for the simple reason that should he need to create another false identity at some time in the future it will come in handy.

But… he has priorities at the moment, and he knows, on some level, that he could place the man under a genjutsu and extract all of this through shinobi methods. And he knows that using logic to explain his potential course of action here by claiming it will help him create a network of informants, and that it will keep him more anonymous are all lies in the end. But they help cover up the slivering snake of a part of himself that despairs at the thought of being alone – being left out, an outcast. Despairs at the idea of using and abusing someone so easily.

The part of him that believes, above all else, in Uzumaki Naruto and everything the boy stands for.

But he isn't Naruto, can't find the good in everyone - as the small actions of kindness reach out to warm the Uzumaki's heart, his closed off, perpetually guarded one feels nothing. He is a good judge of character but only in regards to manipulation and knowing just where to push, cut, threaten, humor, offer in order to guide a willing or not victim right to where he wants them. Where Naruto sees friends, comrades, people to be saved, Obito sees pawns, cannon fodder, people to be used.

No matter how the blonde affected him this has yet to change completely. No matter how much he wants it to, how much he has come to realize.

Which is why he leaves, bows his head in a small thank you out of respectful acknowledgement of skill and offered services. Departs with a promise to himself that he will think on the matter of requesting the man teach him when he returns to accept his new identification. And maybe that shows he has changed, because the past him full of misplaced dreams and fury wouldn't have thought twice about using the man and then promptly disposing of him when his usefulness expired. Wouldn't have thought to request, simply took.

He will think on all that later, though.

Later, when he isn't on a knifes edge between insanity and complete hopeless despair, with a lingering ghost that seems too close to a lost love chasing him as he opens the door to a world he doesn't know.

A/N:: Before any of you say a thing: it is noted that the rinnegan does not take any chakra to keep activated on the wiki page explaining the dojutsu. So I'm going with it. And I'll try my best to use Japanese terms when talking about techniques but, seriously, no guarantees here.

And YES the whole Rin thing will be explained in time.