Authors Note: Like Self Reflection: Dave, this is the first fic I ever wrote about/including Sebastian. It's mostly just a character piece. I wanted to understand him better, although a lot of what I've written here is not what I think of him anymore. If you squint it's Smythofsky pre-slash.
Just like the Dave one, I didn't think I'd ever post this, but today is the one year anniversary of On My Way, and it seemed appropriate.
Self Reflection: Sebastian
Sebastian Smythe was a very privileged young man. He'd had a number of experiences boys his age only dreamed of. He'd lived and studied abroad – Paris holds so much more culture than the United States, his mother had always claimed – and he'd never wanted for anything in his life. Not for long, anyway. Sebastian had only needed to ask, or even drop the subtlest of hints, to be presented with anything he wished for.
He'd never considered that to be a problem before, of course. He was a Smythe, and part of that name – title, his father claimed – was the knowledge that nothing, absolutely nothing, was out of reach.
"As a Smythe," his father had told him often throughout his childhood, "you are the best of the best. Very few can stand above you, son. Almost as rare are those on our level and you should always remember that you can have everything you dream of. People will be jealous of you because their lives will never reach the pinnacle that yours will. You can be anyone you wish to be, do anything you wish to do, because nothing and nobody will ever be able to stand in your way."
Those words had turned into something of a mantra to Sebastian as he grew older. Slowly he had noticed that he held no interest in the girls around him – rather that it was other boys that drew his attention – then those words became all the more important to him. You can be anyone you wish to be, do anything you wish to do, because nothing and nobody will ever be able to stand in your way.
When he was certain of his feelings (at the tender age of ten, because Sebastian had always been miles ahead of the children around him), he'd told his father. He'd vaguely understood from the taunts that children directed at each other – though never at him because he was a Smythe – that boys who liked other boys were unusual, perhaps even wrong.
"Am I wrong?" he'd asked his father cautiously after explaining how he felt. "Is there something wrong with me?"
His father had stared at him for far longer than Sebastian felt comfortable with. The older man seemed to be thinking very, very deeply. If it hadn't been for years of etiquette lessons, Sebastian would have been fidgeting or would possibly have run away and hidden in his room. After what felt like forever, his father finally answered him. Although his words were reassuring, something about the way he spoke made Sebastian feel as though he was looking at his son differently than he had before. Like something had changed.
"What have I always told you about being a Smythe?"
"That…" Sebastian hesitated, though his young mind couldn't grasp why. He had always known the answer to this, "that I am the best of the best. That I can be anyone I want to be."
This earned him a smile from his father, though it had been tight, forced. He'd always been an observant child, so when his father had told him he was exactly right, he couldn't help but be confused. If he was right why had his father seemed upset?
"Have I upset you, Father?" he'd wondered aloud.
Once again, his father had stared for several minutes. Young Sebastian wasn't sure what it meant, but he could see that his father was trying to find the exact right words. A Smythe was articulate, and well spoken. He did not speak without being certain of what he would say.
"Son, I will admit that what you have told me makes me feel ill at ease. It is considered to be unnatural by many and to be honest I have never been particularly comfortable with the idea of…of homosexuality. That is that correct term for what you have described to me. However, if you are a," he paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before continuing, "homosexual, then that is simply what you are. It cannot be not wrong, as a Smythe is never wrong; he is only different variations of right."
From that day his father seemed more on guard around Sebastian, unsettled, as though waiting for more uncomfortable conversations to arise. Eventually, as the years passed, their relationship settled back into what it had once been; respectful and comfortable. Occasionally, Sebastian could even tell that his father loved him – family was important, after all.
Once he'd made the transition from a wide-eyed and pale faced boy into a striking young man, face and body lithe and angular, Sebastian came to embrace himself just as a Smythe should. He'd come to understand exactly what it meant to be born into a prestigious and wealthy family (not simply rich, because Sebastian found that term to be vulgar and better suited to lower-middle class persons with the luck to win a lottery draw). It meant exactly what his father had taught him. You can be anyone you wish to be, do anything you wish to do, because nothing and nobody will ever be able to stand in your way.
And if that was a creed that Sebastian took to heart more than he should, well, no one would dare to say so. His father would always help Sebastian have what he desired, and more to the point, let Sebastian get away with just about anything.
It wasn't that he was spoiled – although many would argue the point on that – it was simply that he deserved to have anything, do anything, because he was who he was. His life, Sebastian would muse sporadically, was filled with fun and games.
True, he could be obnoxious and even mean, on occasion. He wasn't completely unaware of his own shortcomings (few and far between though he believed them to be) but he did not consider himself to be a bad person. He didn't consciously look down at others for their station in life, though he could admit that he readily found fault in others and did not necessarily keep those faults as silent as perhaps he should.
He was not a bully, though. Absolutely not. He didn't take pleasure in tearing down people around him – well, not much anyway – though in the darker parts of his mind he could admit to himself that it was at least a little fun. He simply said and did whatever he needed to in order to get exactly what he wanted. Sometimes his actions might be considered less than honorable, but he always had his reasons.
When he'd seduced Jacques – another lacrosse player – during his first year in Paris, it was not because he was hoping to break a heart. That was simply an unfortunate side-effect. He had only involved himself with the boy because Philippe had asked him to. Philippe was the most popular boy in school, and would be able to ensure Sebastian's position at the top of the social ladder. Of course, Sebastian could get there himself, but it would take time and Sebastian held little patience. What he could do in several weeks could instead be done in less than one because once Sebastian turned on the charm it had never more than a day before he could reap the benefits. In this case his target was straight, so it took just a bit longer, but successful he had been. He'd played the game perfectly. He'd never asked Philippe why he wanted what he wanted, but the fact that Philippe had turned up a few days after the seduction with Jacque's now-ex-girlfriend on his arm was very telling.
He'd felt just a hint of something that day when he'd told Jacques that no, there was nothing between them, just sex. It was just fun; just a game. He'd never made any promises, and if Jacques had somehow believed it was more than that then that was his own mistake. Whatever that feeling was, it was short lived. He'd considered just for a moment that it could be guilt, but that just seemed absurd to Sebastian. So, he ignored it until it disappeared a few hours later when he snuck one of the other boys into his dorm room for a quick blowjob before his next class.
Those feelings hadn't surfaced again for a long time. Not until Sebastian had left Paris to come home and had enrolled in Dalton Academy.
Sebastian was unaccustomed to jealousy. Oh, he'd been the target of jealousy his whole life, but he'd never actually felt it towards someone else before. It was something he didn't care for and therefore denied. It seemed that everyone was talking about the perfect boy. This perfect boy was handsome, charismatic, an incredible singer – sings like a dream, they'd said – and an amazing performer, was out and proud and was an inspiration. He'd even been called sex on a stick (by some of the straight boys, no less).
And this boy was not Sebastian. Blaine Anderson didn't even attend Dalton anymore, yet Sebastian felt as though he were living in someone else's shadow.
That was until he'd met the other boy, of course. He'd never felt such overwhelming wantbefore. He wanted to take, have, own Blaine. If part of him knew that what he really wanted was to be the other boy, well, that didn't matter, because Sebastian refused to be jealous.
He'd never expected to be told no. When Blaine had told him about his boyfriend, Sebastian had half expected that to be part of the fun. Just another aspect of the game. But then said boyfriend was there, all flamboyance and snark, and Sebastian knew Blaine wouldn't be as easy a conquest as all the others. He could deal with that – the chase could be entertaining, he knew – but after he'd put on all his best moves and still couldn't steal the curly haired boy from Gay-Face Hummel, he was pissed.
He was a fucking Smythe. He could have anything he wanted.
Clearly, the problem wasn't him. It was that princess with his claws dug in far too deep. Sebastian wanted to humiliate the other boy in front of Blaine, wanted to show that he was still top dog. And even if it didn't make Blaine want Sebastian, at least it would show their friends and the Warblers who was on top.
When he'd added rock salt to the slushy, he'd simply thought it would make the other boy look weak. It would irritate his eyes, make him scream like the bitch he was, and definitely make him lose face, because what kind of a baby couldn't handle a slushy?
He hadn't expected Blaine to jump in the way.
And he really hadn't expected the rock salt to cause any serious damage.
When he found out what it had done, that feeling came back. Unfamiliar, but not entirely so. He recognized it from the Jacques debacle, though it was so much worse this time. Perhaps that was because part of him had actually grown to like Blaine, or possibly because the boy could have lost an eye. Was that what others had meant when they said actions have consequences? Of course Sebastian had always known that fact, theoretically, but before it had seemed so distant and removed from him and his life.
Nothing he'd ever done had really had consequences before; everything was just fun and games.
Until someone loses an eye, Sebastian thought, ironically.
It didn't matter, though. Sebastian hadn't meant to hit Blaine with that slushy, and he certainly hadn't meant to truly hurt anyone beyond a little stinging and some light humiliation. He'd spent a few nights restlessly wondering if what he'd done was wrong, but a Smythe was never wrong. And so, he instead accepted that his plan had been a little ill-considered (but not actually wrong), and vowed he would be more careful in future with beverage based weaponry.
It wasn't until Regionals was almost upon the Warblers than Sebastian felt and accepted guilt in its sincerest form – gut churning, nausea inducing honest-to-goodness guilt.
He'd never really had reason to censor his words before, beyond considering polite company. Anyone at Scandals, however, was certainly not polite company.
He'd known, of course, that others struggled with their sexuality. Sometimes Sebastian wondered if it would have been hard for him had he not been born to the family he was. The idea was so abstract to him that he couldn't form any sort of conclusion; he usually just dismissed it out of hand. And of course, he'd heard of teen suicide. It was especially prevalent, he knew, amongst gay teens. But that, too, was such a foreign concept – like poverty and famine – that he acknowledged it but felt very little.
Until Dave Karofsky had tried to kill himself.
Of course, Sebastian knew it wasn't only because of what he'd said – You get a guy? Please! – that it had been a culmination of so very much. But Karofsky had been another gay teen, someone he should have understood, perhaps even helped. Someone that Sebastian may have been just like, if not for his fortunate circumstances. But instead of being kind, helpful or understanding, he'd shot one of his quips – about a hundred pounds overweight… look like Liberace…just stay in the closet – thinking himself funny or clever.
And a few weeks later that boy – the friendly boy with the shy smile who only wanted advice on how to get a guy to like him – tried to hang himself.
It's all fun and games, Sebastian thought to himself, until it's not.