Title: Butterfly Wings

Fandom: Naruto

Genre: Action/Adventure

Rating: T

Summary: The beat of a butterfly's wings causes a hurricane on the other side of the world. What storm will rise with the existence of a life that wasn't meant to happen? SI born into Naruto story.

[AN] Hello. Welcome to the first chapter of what will hopefully be a successful story. I was majorly inspired by the stories Only a Moron and Dreaming of Sunshine, by swabloo and Silver Queen respectively, and you should really go check their stories out if you read this one. Also inspired by the vast range of SI's on that spread through all categories.

Not that this is really an SI, considering reincarnation sort of changes people, but, well. Please enjoy.

Butterfly Wings

a fanfiction


Dying isn't the most pleasant thing in the world.

Especially when it's from something stupid that could have been avoided if one was paying attention to their surroundings a little. Like, say, running down the sidewalk with your boss's coffee and paperwork, trying to be on time, and negotiating prices on a cellphone, only to have some of your boss's paperwork go flying out of your hands into the street so that you would have to run after it without thinking exactly where you're running, which happens to be directly in the path of a semi-truck...

What a crappy death I had.

I'd had such a busy hour... day... week... I think my brain had just ceased functioning as a human one and more like a robot. Walk, talk, get to work on time. Buy coffee. Close important deals. Sort through the slush pile on my desk, answer calls from persistent agents... I'd gone well and truly brain dead, enough to step right into the path of a giant, speeding, steel-covered grill.

Which brings me back to the subject at hand; getting hit by a truck. Not exactly the way I imagined myself to die. I didn't even see the thing, just the white paper blowing in front of my outstretched hand, the only thought in mind until a loud, blaring horn cut through everything else.

Then sky.

Something had hit me; I was lucid just enough to know that, but my body had seized up unexpectedly. I was on the ground. Dozens of white paper fell from the sky, blue and cloudless in the perfect summer day.

Then the blue faded to black, and that was the last thing I remembered.

Weird to think that my death in one world wasn't the End at all, but rather only the Beginning of a whole new adventure.

A human being takes nine months to form into a living, functioning, entity. What people tend to forget is that the day you are born isn't necessarily the day you come into existence.

The first moment I began to think again was in darkness. I was surrounded by darkness, in a small space that was warm and quiet, and even though I knew I had once been claustrophobic, and knew that it wasn't right I should be remembering I was claustrophobic at all, I was at peace.

In and out of clarity I drifted. Sometimes, in moments of clarity, the thoughts I wasn't supposed to be thinking would overwhelm me and I would panic. My tiny fists would lash out, or I would kick, small fits of fear in the prison/haven of mine I couldn't remember how I had gotten to, but then I would calm— voices, muffled voices would speak softly to me from beyond, a place I hadn't reached yet. This would be followed by the overwhelming sensation of safe. I am safe. I am loved. Safe.

Then I would curl up tightly, and sleep.

Human beings aren't meant to remember that dark time before birth.

I learned the hard way. Looking back, to the very beginning, to those very first memories of this new life, I've tried time and again to forget that horrible, horrible memory most of all. I haven't succeeded.

One day I woke, stirring restlessly, and simply knew that something was wrong. The darkness had changed, from warm and safe to tight and dangerous, something harmful. Instincts were screaming, imaginary voice were whispering that it was time to Go. I had to get Out. Only, it wasn't right, because I wasn't suppose to leave so soon and it was all wrong, even as my small, dark world began to constrict, and the very first feeling my body experienced... was pain.

Everything after that seemed to last for eternity. I shall spare you the details, and tell you the short version: There was pain. There was sudden light. And I, completely and utterly traumatized by the act that is childbirth, screwed up my eyes and cried.

Scratch that, I didn't cry, I wailed. I screamed at the top of my tiny lungs to the maximum capacity they were capable of, because I scared and in pain and I was being borne away by some strange being that was holding me easily in the palm of two hands... which wasn't normal was it? Was it normal to be so small?

Some part of me began to beg for the slightest gentle touch, for the familiar touch of the person who had spoken to me for months and months. Instead, as I cried with the first breath of life, I was passed from hands to hands until I was under something harsh and bright and hot, and definitely not human. This made me cry even more if that was remotely possible, because it wasn't the human touch my tiny body craved for.

It would actually be days until I was held by the one who was meant to hold me, but I wouldn't know that until much later. Instead, in the first awful day of my life I cried myself to sleep, unable to open my eyes and see the blurry new world around me.

It would be days until I would finally be claimed by what I would come to call my family.

My very first night of life in the real world started with the Dream.

I'm still not sure how I managed to keep my head through the whole confusing process of transitioning between worlds, going from adult to baby, and then quite suddenly to adult again as I freaking woke up in darkness again.

Only not really 'woke,' because I was still asleep, and it was a little confusing that way when I was suddenly aware I was back in the body of my previous life. I know I cursed a lot with my newly restored lung and vocal capacity. After a good long tirade of pent of feelings and hysteria, I finally was left with nothing to say, and that was when I noticed the entity patiently waiting for my attention.

I wish I could say what it was. I can't even describe what they looked like. I think it might have been a he, but also it could have been a she. Either way, they had an appearance that simply was indescribable. As if every identifying feature was all blurred together into an unrecognizable splotch of nondescript color.

Being the frustrated individual I was, I demanded what the hell was going on, and surprisingly enough I got an answer rather quickly.

I am the one who lives in the spaces in between, They said, in a maddeningly nonchalant voice.

"Just what the hell does that mean?" I demanded back, in a voice I would use for the last time.

Exactly what it means.

"That doesn't even make sense!"

Nothing usually does.

"Why am I here, then? What's going on?"

I am curious to see what will happen. Variables are a very interesting thing to study.

"What the hell—"

Think of it this way. I am the one who walks in the green glade. There is a different pond every few feet, and in every pond is a reflection of a tree. Many ponds reflect one tree, but every reflection is a little different. In the end, though, I still watch the same tree.

"I don't even—"

I am so very tired of seeing the same reflections. So what will happen, I think, If I take the leaf of a tree from one pond and place it in the other? What if I take the soul of one world, and give it new life in a different one?


Don't worry. I think you'll find that you recognize this reflection. There are infinite worlds out there, you know, some with the simplest difference of the color of one an individual's hair. Chances are if you've thought of it, it exists.

"...am I being reincarnated?" I asked in a very uncertain voice, confused beyond relief by this weird unmemorable person. They tilted their head, smiling down on me in a way that suggested they were humoring and pitying me at the same time.

Perhaps. Was all they said.

They leaned close towards me, and I found I couldn't tear myself away.

It is said that the single beat of a butterfly's wings will cause a mighty hurricane on the other side of the world, they said simply. By casting a new leaf in a still pond, you will cause ripples that will grow and grow and grow until they finally strike the edge, and the pond will be changed so as long the leaf is there. You are the ripple. You are the caterpillar that will become the butterfly to cause the storm I wish to see.

And so, little one, what sort of beautiful wings will you grow?

The dream had mostly faded by the time I woke, but something had changed. There was a new awareness to me, a new vigilance that calmed my cries as I lay swaddled under that bright non-human light. Thus I lay there, for what would later be classified as days. Several times different people— I knew they were people by now— would come to examine me, lifting me up and poking with with lots of different objects that frankly pissed me off before placing me back down on what I soon recognized as a hospital bassinet under a heat lamp.

It was in that bassinet that I finally opened my eyes for the first time. Everything was a blurry mess, of course, but gradually my sight sharpened, bit by bit, until I could recognize basic features of the people that attended to me. I relied heavily on sight to recognize face from face; when I comprehended the concept of speech and when people were talking to me, I couldn't understand. A single. Word. Whatever language people spoke in this world sure as hell wasn't English, and it hurt my tiny head trying to pick up an sort of familiar words. After a while I stopped trying.

One day I was taken from the bassinet as usual, but instead of all the tests I was subjected to, I was tightly wrapped in light pink blankets and carried down long hallways to a room I had never been in. There was lots of speaking— none which I understood— and lots of loud, happy sounding words.

There in that room, wrapped in my pink blankets and desperate to find out what was going on, I was placed in the arms of a man I didn't recognize. That is, until I looked up.

I saw thick white hair, and dark, tired eyes. I saw the edges of a green vest, the glint of metal resting at the base of a throat.

As I was passed into the arms of this man, it was only natural that he'd lift me up to see me, to examine, and thus bring me closer to his face, to the band at his neck.

The face was shockingly familiar. Too familiar. Stunned into silence, my little eyes widened, enough to see the swirling pattern of a leaf shine from the metal plate in front of me. Meanwhile, the people who had given me away were still speaking mostly gibberish, save for a few single, painfully recognizable words I never thought I would hear.



Hatake Sakumo.

When I was taken away, in the arms of this man I had never seen before, all it took was an extra burst of memory from a life past to connect the dots.

My father was Hatake Sakumo of Konohagakure, of the village hidden in the leaves, and I had been born into the world of the story Naruto.







[A/N]: Thank you very much for reading this first story of mine. To tell the truth, this whole concept was born around the sentence "What kind of wings will you grow?" And thus came the name of this story.

I chose Naruto to start my SI adventures in because it was the first manga I ever read, and probably the story I'm most familiar with. We'll see how it goes, I guess.