Chapter One

(A/N: This is my first Zootopia story that I will be posting on here so if anyone has some helpful criticism that would be great. Also, this fic is rather (super-f***ing-duper-ly) ambitious, so it is likely that it will not meet many standards that people apparently hold these things to. And one last thing: The Zootopia you know is nothing like the one in this story. Now, please enjoy and give as much criticism as you can. Your words, happy or hateful, will only make me stronger!

Also, this is NOT a self-insert. Just a character that is sort of based on another.)

Disclaimer: Do I even need this? Is this a thing that is essential to these stories?

I sit on my bed, in my room for what feels like hours. Playing games on my Playstation 4 to pass the time.

I stare at the screen of the TV that hangs from my wall. My eyelids begin to droop as I wait for the loading screen of the autosave to end. I force them back open as I resist the urge to yawn.

I try so hard to lose myself in the virtual world behind my TV screen, building, collecting, foraging, destroying, and killing. But it's not enough to drive away the muffled sounds of yelling and shouting from the argument taking place outside my room.

I pause the game and grab my phone from beside the lamp on the desk next to my bed. I read the time despite knowing that I'll just ignore it and most likely play until I fall asleep.

12:04 AM

Four minutes past midnight. Lovely. I resume my game.

I pause it again only a second later to rub my fingers into the palms of my hands in attempt to snuff the coldness that had settled in.

The lack of heat in my room helps to distract me. I kind of appreciate the fact that the air conditioning can barely reach my room now.

More shouting. This time I can hear the words clearly.

"You're crazy!"

"I'm crazy? Have you been listening to yourself, Mark?"

"No! I've been too busy trying to listen to you so you don't have to yell at me!"

"Yell at you!? Mark, I've been speaking at a normal tone this entire time. I've only just started raising my voice!"

"Then why are you raising it at me now!?"

A door slams shut. Hard. The walls of my room vibrate.

"MARK! Mark, open this door right now…!"

I tune out the shouting as it moves further down the hall outside my door. I know I'll still be able to hear them, but I'm glad I won't have to try as hard to ignore it. And I won't have to try so hard to shut out the subtle echo of that awful word that has been mentioned again and again between the two.

Divorce.

A horrible, ugly word. A word that tears families apart. A word that I was told that can make the world come crashing down on you and leave you bruised and battered to the point that you're nearly dead.

I never thought I would ever hear it. But when I did, it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.

I had come to many conclusions and rationalities after I first heard the word in association to my parents. I realized that while it would affect me to a certain point, in the end it would only affect me if I let it. I don't need to worry about them. They're grown adults with problems of their own. As long as they have enough money to support me and my future, then I don't need to worry. I realize that it is an almost sociopathic out look on the situation, but honestly, this shouldn't need to involve me.

I am seventeen. They have raised me for all my life and next year I may not even need them to be part of my life anymore. And if I ever do need someone to lean on, then I have other family that I can count on. I will admit that it is very likely that I will still need to depend on them for a long while.

Although, I am not completely unsympathetic to my parents' plight.

I understand that they have grown apart and have been for a long time. I think since I was a baby, actually. Mom has told me that her and dad would fight even before I said my first word. When I was young, he would sometimes leave for a while, weeks sometimes, when the fight would get really bad.

At first, I didn't understand. Why would they ever fight? I never remembered them fighting in front of me as I was growing up. I later rationalized that I most likely blocked it from my memory. That is usually what happens to children with those kinds of families. They get so stressed from the shouting and the yelling that they are traumatized into forgetting those times in their earlier years. I was surprised to learn that I was able to count myself among those children. I could never dredge up those memories. Must have buried them really deep.

Later, as I became more and more aware of the short but intense arguments that went on between those two (they would sometimes stretch on for an hour or more), I learned not to get involved and to ignore them. I couldn't help. And I didn't really want to help. I really do love my mom and my dad, but they really need to get their crap together and come to a conclusion so they can stop shouting at each other when they think they're alone.

I fall down a hole I had not noticed, losing all my health and dying immediately.

I sigh.

'I really need to cover that', I think to myself as I wait to respawn so I can continue what I was doing.

I take the moment to take a look at the time again.

2:03 AM

Whoa. Hadn't even noticed that much time had passed.

I risk muting my TV.

I hear the shouting again.

I really need to sleep.

'Tomorrow is another day.'

I exit to the main menu, saving my game, and proceed to turn off my Playstation then my TV.

Sounds like the shouting just got louder.

I need to distract myself to fall asleep, otherwise I am going to focus on the words they are shouting and end up staying up all night listening to them.

I get up from my bed and walk over to my modest bookcase immediately next to my desk. I browse through the shelves for a moment, but my eyes keep getting drawn to a particular series of paperback novels. The title of the first book of the series keeps grabbing my attention.

Hatchet.

One of my most favorite books. The rest of the series however… well, I still love them. One of the first books that actually got me into reading during middle school.

I slide the book from the shelf, separating it from it's family (mwahaha), and go back to my bed. I grab my body pillow from the ground on the way to add to my two pillows so that I can have three levels of elevation for my head. After tossing the long pillow onto my bed, I switch on the lamp on my desk and turn off the light for my room. I lie down on my bed and get comfortable under the heavy covers. I adjust the pillows under my head before finally opening to the first page of my favorite novel.

Hatchet has always been my favorite. Not just because the main character has the same name as me, but because of how interesting the situation was and still is to me. I mean, a young boy finds himself stranded in the middle of the Canadian wilderness after a suspenseful plane crash, struggles to make a fire and keep it alive, find food, and not only finds himself in harmony with the nature around him but still survives for a while after getting kicked around by nature again and again? It's an impressive story, a captivating plot, and an interesting character all in one place.

But, very recently, it became my least favorite for a while.

It's understandable, really. The main character and his backstory, well…

...It hit a little too close to home.

I slow down my reading as I come to a word in the book but keep reading anyways, passing it on by. But it still incites echoes in my ears and in my soul. And now before my eyes.

Divorce.

That damn word still strikes a chord in me no matter how hard I try to distance myself from it.

The reason the main character had been on a plane in the first place was because he had been on his way to visit his father. The narrator later explains through flashbacks and that word that the main character's mother and father are... not together. The narrator also tells the reader of the reason why the parents are no longer together.

Needless to say, the first chapter almost makes me put the book down, but I make it past and continue onto the next chapter. And then the next. And the next. And the next.

I manage to lose myself in the story for the hundredth time in my life. I wonder what it would be like to find myself in a similar situation. In the middle of nowhere, with nothing but my own knowledge, wits, and skill to keep myself alive. Of course, it wouldn't be pleasant but I do like to think I wouldn't do too bad. At least I think I'd do a bit better than the kid in the book.

I jump and drop the book out of fright as a door slams shut even harder than the last one, shaking the walls and my TV that hangs from one of them.

BAM!

I jump out of bed, run across my room, out my door and into the living room to see my mother sitting on the couch, holding her face, whimpering. I run over to her and hold onto her arm. She jumps and moves her hands away from her face. Tears stain her eyes and nose red and run down her cheeks to her chin and mouth. No bruises or any aberrant red marks.

I don't know why I checked. Dad has never hit mom for as long as I can remember. He has hit me before, of course, but it was only spanking or a slap on my mouth when I was younger to discipline me. He has never hit me or mom out of malevolence, hate, or drunkenness. But that fear is always there. It happens to others, after all.

'Thank goodness.'

The sound of a car starting reaches my ears. Then it backs up. Then it drives away. Then it fades. I focus on my mother's face and her eyes, inwardly wincing at how red and strained they are.

"He's left, Brian," she sniffs, "he's left me."

This has happened before. He leaves to get away, comes back really late, they ignore each other, fall asleep and everything is back to normal the next day. But I still remember the shouting and the doors being slammed. I always remember it better than either of them seem to. But I don't let them see that. I never do. I can't for I fear it will make it all worse. For them AND for me.

"He'll be back, mom." I speak softly to her, "He always comes back."

"This is all my fault." She sniffles and cries. It's almost as though she didn't hear me. "I just let him get to me and I start yelling and he keeps trying to walk away and I just keep going at him. I don't mean for this to happen- I just want him to love me again. I love him- really, I DO, but he doesn't love me anymore and he keeps telling his family about how 'crazy' I've been and-" She cries and rants at the same time and I just sit there and listen.

I hate this. I hate that I hate this. I hate myself for hating this. I just want to sleep. But I'm a good guy. I'm a good son. I want to help her and him through this but I can't and I don't want to- I don't NEED to. But I can be there for both of them when they need to talk or to vent and I'll sometimes throw my two cents in. Sometimes they'll ignore me. Sometimes they'll actually take what I say into consideration. But most of the time I just let them talk. And talk. And talk.

"...You're such a good boy, Brian." She leans over and hugs me. I enjoy the warmth and familiarity of the hug. I had been giving her automatic responses as she spoke at me. It's okay. I understand. You're okay. It'll be alright. She speaks to me, finally, "I'm so sorry, Brian. I don't want you to go through all this. I want you to be happy and to have a happy life and family but things just keep coming up and... " She trails off. She sniffles, the worst of her tears now past.

"I'm doing fine mom. Really, I am. But I'm more worried about you." Am I really, though?

She gives me a tired smile, her eyes still red and wet and sad. "Oh Brian. You're such a good boy." She hugs me again. I enjoy it and hug her back, trying to warm her with my cold arms.

I am very, very tired. I pull away, purposely making my movements look reluctant.

"It's really late, mom." I try to reason with her. She seems calm enough now. "He'll be back before we wake up. He is coming back." I say it in a way that sounds like it is a fact. "Are you okay?"

She nods and apologizes for waking me up. She gives me one last, long hug. I enjoy the warmth so much. I feel as though I may fall asleep right now. She pulls away before I have a chance to close my eyes. She says goodnight, I respond in kind. She gets up and walks down the hall to her and dad's room. I stand up after she is out of sight and go back to my room.

I make my way over to my bed, pick up the book I had carelessly dropped in my rush, and I lie back down and get comfortable under the covers once more. I try to lose myself in the story, to at least finish the chapter. But my eyes droop again and again. Sleep gets harder and harder to resist. Finally I give up. I get out of bed and retrieve a piece of paper from a drawer in my desk, fold it up, and place it on the page I last read. I replace the novel back with its family on the bookshelf.

I throw myself back onto the bed. I close my eyes, hoping to lose myself in dreams of being lost in big forests.

I feel something suddenly. A feeling keeps me from the blissful embrace of sleep. I feel a small pang of jealousy. At first I am confused. 'Why am I so angry?' I think to myself.

Then I realize that I am thinking of forests and plane crashes and fire.

'He's lucky.' I think tiredly. 'He doesn't have to deal with this bull. He gets to forget about all this crap, lost in the woods, focused on finding food, making shelter, and staying warm by a fire he made himself.'

A big, long yawn pours out of my mouth. My eyes settle closed. I forgot to turn off the lamp. Darkness surrounds my eyes anyway.

'I wish… I could be there… instead…'

I fall into blissful sleep.

…

…

…

…

…

I wake up under a dense, leafy canopy.

(A/N: Aaaaaand cut! That's the first chapter down! Hey, listen, I've gotta be honest here. This thing is really, really, REALLY ambitious with the ideas I got for it. So just a warning: If you really want to read this then you are gonna be in it for the long haul.

And another thing: Obviously, our protagonist here is gonna get into the real thick of it next chapter! Wish the poor kid good luck.

And one more thing: My update schedule will be very random. But you can count on me updating on weekends. I hope. Unless my sudden and rather frequent bouts of writer's block hits me hard enough to put me in a writer's coma. Which is actually very likely, unfortunately. I've still got school too so… I can't make any promises. But I'll still try my best.

And AGAIN: CRITICIZE, PLEASE! And tell me if you spot any mistakes anywhere!

Thank you! :3

…

P.S.: Seriously tho, is the disclaimer really necessary? Seriously, I need to know.)