So this is going to be my new long fic :) Not as long as Summer (probably) but I'm working on it. It's very personal to me. It's going to address a lot of the thoughts and feelings I've had and though they're under different circumstances for my OC, they're still very real.

Some of the concepts in this fic will be triggering. It will go over the topics of depression, disability, suicide and mental health. Some people may possibly be upset by some of the ideas in here, maybe.

Really all I'm hoping to do is draw attention to some of these topics, show people how it can affect the individual suffering and how it affects those around them. How some are made to be strong to support those who aren't strong enough. How the mind is a powerful, wonderful thing, but it can also be a terrible thing to.

If you've read some of my fics before, then you'll know the way I work. You'll know how I've felt and often you'll get updates into my personal life too. If you're one of those people, welcome back :) I've missed you all.

If you're new, I hope you stick around. I've made some absolutely wonderful friends from here, and I hope to make more.

And as always, enjoy.

Have you ever just gone through a day knowing you're the black sheep? Maybe at school when you didn't know how to play hockey, or at Scouts because you were too scared to attempt the climbing wall... and really, what was the use?

He felt that every day of his life since he was five. He went from being a happy, smiling little boy to being stuck feeling like he was always alone. He went from kicking a football around with his dad to sitting on the couch, half heartedly cheering his team on on the television, and fuming deep down because he couldn't do that.

Why, you ask? Because one idiot of a man decided to get drunk, steal a car because it was obviously the cool and only right thing to do, and plough it into the front of his car at 80 miles per hour. It left him paralysed from the waist down. It left him with broken bones and scars that will never fade - both physical and emotional. He's lucky to still be alive, and he knew it. His mum didn't get that mercy, wasn't treated with the same saving grace. He was left to see her crushed against the dashboard, her life gone, in seconds.

He was left broken, and bloodied and bruised in the back of the car, screaming for her to wake up. But her eyes were open and she was looking at him. The only thing missing was the light that normally shone there, the twinkle of mischief that he'd inherited from her. She was dead, and if he'd understood the concept of death he wouldn't have screamed for her, because what would have been the point? You die, that's it. Dead, dirt, done. He'd never believed in heaven or hell in his life, not stupid concepts like that. Sometimes he thought he believed in God, but he'd never thought that think he'd sit you on a cloud and grant you eternity just so you could spend it watching your family suffer without you. Not if he loved you.

His dad became a raging alcoholic for a few years, and while at first his older brother had tried to care for him, he was only twenty at the time and losing both his parents either to death or the bottle was too much for him, he couldn't look after his little brother too, not with his new found special needs. So he was taken into foster homes sometimes. People that would put him at the head of the table to try and make him feel more important. smile and be happy all the freaking time. It was like there wasn't anything wrong in the entire world, like his problems were only really little, and he'd get over it in time. As if they knew. They'd talk loud and slow to him as if he were stupid, and it would leave him slamming his fists on the table screaming at them that he was lame, not fucking deaf. So as you might imagine, his childhood wasn't all as fantastic as someone else's might have been. Dad got over his alcoholism, cleaned himself up right nice so he could get his sons back. He became their dad again, and neither son would begrudge him those years of alcohol induced bliss. If they could have escaped as easily as that then they would have.

And there were so many things he wished he could have escaped from. They say kids are cruel, and he'd not argue with that fact. Some of them took to calling him 'wheels' - inspired by his wheelchair, obviously. 'Taxi' was popular. They'd jump on the back and pull his hair until he took them where they wanted to go. Some commented on how he looked like a crippled, broken toy. Like a puppet with his strings cut. Wrecked and tossed aside because nobody would want him, ever. 'Shitbag' - a clever one he always thought with a small sad smile, not many people noticed the catheter, but when they did they were quick to point and laugh. Out of all of them, he thought the one that hurt the most was 'mummy's boy', because they knew she was dead, and they had the audacity to laugh at him for losing her, not knowing he saw those dead eyes every night when he sleep, and they still had their own mother to go home to. Eyes sparkling and very much alive.

So when others felt a bit left out because they didn't know how to play hockey, he was left out because he physically couldn't play. When he enrolled at Scouts they tried convincing him to get into a harness and they'd help him up the wall. He could pull with his arms, build his upper body strength... he agreed, but people always try to over help you when you're disabled. As he heaved himself up, they pulled him a little higher so he went up without trying. Half way up he called for them to let him down. He never went to Scouts again after that.

However many times he rolled himself down to the canal and willed himself to just push himself in, he didn't know. He wanted to escape the bullies. Escape all the condescending looks he got from teachers and adults who saw him as this poor, helpless little boy... but he never managed to summon up the guts to do it. He always went home frustrated and angry, calling himself a coward. Promising himself he'd do it next time, but knowing he never would.

He took comfort in holidays, and various other nights of the year. Christmas was always a particular favourite, as he always wanted to see the sleigh. THE sleigh, not any other crappy plywood one with a shoddy paint job. He couldn't walk again, never would and he understood that. But why couldn't he fly? So as you can imagine, being pulled through the sky by any number of magical flying reindeer was an appealing prospect to him, it really was. But his favourite of all the fairytale people he was told about was the Tooth Fairy. She had her own wings. she could just go anywhere at any time, whenever she wanted! How cool was that?! He wished he was like her, able to take back a little control over his life.

She still is his favourite, to this day. He thinks about her most nights as he stared at the ceiling and sleep eluded him. And on the odd chance that he did fall asleep and manage to stay unconscious until REM, he would dream about having his own wings to fly, because it's always been his only comfort. He didn't really have anyone else. His brother loved him, but had moved abroad years ago. His father had lapsed into alcoholism again, while he'd lapsed into depression, and found it hard to go outside when all he got was strange looks. And nobody wants to be friends with a depressive agoraphobic who relies on stories of winged women and dreams of flying to keep him going day to day. It didn't help that scars marred half of his body either. It didn't help pull the ladies – not that he went to meet them anyway.

He's a twenty-two year old man who relies on fairy stories and dreams to keep him alive. Who still clung to to childish beliefs as a lifeline.

But the dreams were fading, his grasp slipping.

He knew he was messed up, nobody would want him.

He's just a broken toy.