Monsters are made (Not Born) (Aot x Naruto) by hatredwithpassion

Chapter 2: Exposition

Summary:

Eren documents his old life, accepts his new name as Uzumaki Naruto and learns about the village.
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Time passed slowly. The days were muddled with the banality of everyday motions. The months stretched as fall drifted and winter arrived. The infant lay in his wooden crib, silent.

He was a small silent form. His gaze was reproachful and intelligent. He didn't cry. He took in everything, cataloging every encounter. His first years passed quickly within the decrepit structures of the orphanage.

Soft footsteps echoed on the creaky wooden floors. The boy reached the empty kitchen and grabbed pieces of stale bread and made his way back hurriedly to his room. His stomach grumbled loudly from hunger.

Hunger was a common ailment.

The streets were inhospitable to the boy.

He was unwelcome.

It took him a few years to learn his name. No one addressed him with familiarity until his first visitor. An old, withered man who was treated respectfully and regaled by the staff of the orphanage.

The man was the leader.

He was a man of great importance and they called him Hokage-sama.

The Hokage visited him on a monthly basis and treated him with kindness. His company was short and inconsistent. The boy grew despondent that the kindness was brief. He couldn't rely on the old man. He was a busy leader and his rare visits did nothing to curb his loneliness. Through the short meetings, he learned his name.

His name was Uzumaki Naruto.

He retained fragmented memories from his past. He began documenting everything obsessively. The small child recorded the old memories and names of the people he loved and lost. He stole a journal from one of the older children to narrate his story.

His penmanship was messy and his small hands shook from exertion. It took him a long time but he felt comforted by writing in his old language. He wrote his name a number of times on the first page to solidify the memory of his old self.

Eren, Eren, Eren.

He made a detailed sketch of his titan form and different scenes from his old life. He drew a colossal form of a grotesque figure standing over a long and sturdy wall. He drew his mother. The edges of her face were soft and he took a long time to sketch the details in her eyes and gentle smile.

He spent many nights awake, writing and writing, drawing and drawing.

He sketched his sister. A red scarf was wrapped around her neck and she stood on the roof of a debilitated building.

Mikasa, Mikasa, Mikasa.

He sketched a vast ocean with calm tides that stretched on. He drew grainy brown sand and a blond boy standing knee deep in the water, holding a sparkling shell in his open palms, gazing out at the open seas with an expression of wonder. His blue eyes were bright and his smile soft.

Armin, Armin, Armin.

He sketched a large forest with trees that stretched to the skies. He sketched men and women standing on the thick tree branches wearing dark green cloaks, swords held in their hands, their faces battle-worn.

He drew a dark haired man with an expressionless face and tired eyes late into the night, hearing his voice echo in his mind as he committed his memory to the page.