A/n: just a little angsty White Collar oneshot. This was written as personal reflection on why I act like I do. I'm not going to tell what happened in real life only this is based off a real experience of mine. Please review.

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar.

Invincible

Who I am, how I act, really boils down to one event in my life. I was young enough to still believe in happily-ever-afters and naive enough to think that the idea of someone willing to hurt other humans was as likely to happen as the tooth fairy was real. But in a single moment all of that was shattered.

It wasn't as if I was oblivious to the fact that the world was a rough place; its impossible to be when you're the easily forgotten middle child in a large family raised by a sickly mother and an immigrant father who liked his drink a little too much and hated the government more than most. He wasn't a bad dad, he just couldn't stop after the first drink and those nights my siblings and I would sit in one of our shared rooms and listen to my parents shout until eventually our father would storm from the house and spend the rest of the night walking, driving, or drinking around town. I believe that this was partly caused by worry for his wife; it was always worse when she would lie in bed deathly white and thin as a skeleton, desperately needing a surgery we couldn't afford.

It was in those days that I was the child that would vanish into the floorboards. The only child who had inherited both my father's hair and eyes I occasionally wondered if I was adopted and should go find my real family. Missing the blonde hair, freckles, and almost elf like stature of my siblings I adopted the brooding nature of someone on the outside looking in. I felt like I was nothing special, a little smarter than average, but so were all my siblings; I didn't have the singing voice that stunned crowds like my younger brother, wasn't into sports like my older sister, or graceful like my younger ballerina sister, I was just the one who locked themselves in their room to do art. My sister was nice enough about it, allowing me to follow her to her favorite place, the shooting range. At the time I was comfortable with guns, my avoidance didn't until later, and she taught me all about them. I learned that life wasn't fair, but I still had
faith in it.

I remember the exact moment that faith, my naivety, and belief in happy endings was demolished. Eleven forty three in the morning. It was then that I became a part of a hostage situation. The minutes seemed like hours as I waited to be rescued or to be killed, praying for the first but fearing it would be the second. Sitting on the floor, shaking hands wrapped tightly around my knees, strangely calm, I realized how much of a waste my life had been up to then. For some reason knowing I was going to die, waiting for the bullet, I learned how to live.
Afterwards, after stumbling down a down dirt road and through a dry field, after a single sip of warm water through terror dried lips, after I realized my hands were bleeding from tripping over hidden rocks but I hadn't felt the scrapes because I was in such a state of shock, I was suddenly in the arms of a police officer. I simply clung to them for several minutes to convince myself they were there, they weren't some form of apparition, it wasn't a dream, that I was alive. And I realized that I was invincible.
It wasn't until several weeks later that I learned I had become terrified of guns. My sister took me to the shooting range and handed me one of the weapons. The next thing I remember was seeing the gun on the ground several feet away as I fought for oxygen, the panic attack fading slowly.

I lived to see the next day, but my old personality did not. Gone was the shy person, replaced by such a charming person I barely recognized them. Instead of hiding in my siblings' shadows I started letting people see my talents. Because the worst they could deal out was rejection and when you're invincible that doesn't phase you. I started doing things to excite myself, not all of these activities totally safe and legal, but what does that matter to someone who is invincible? I grew confidant and fun loving, I learned to appreciate the finer things in life.
This was much better than the alternative. I could have refused to meet people, scared of a knife in the back and a bullet to the brain. I could have withdrawn even more and slowly wasted away. I could have let the part of me that still wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and tangled in the blankets, and is often found sleeping amidst my sketches because the terrible nightmares cause sleep to be something I dread.
No, I didn't turn into this because I am invincible. I have to be invincible, because if not it means the pain and fear is slowly killing me.

A/n: probably the hardest thing I've written because its my story. So please drop a review