Content warnings: Bullying/homophobia, strong language, hospitals/procedures, major injuries, courtrooms/lawyers, kidnapping, potential mentions of abuse in future chapters

A/N: Okay, so now is not the time for me to be writing another multichapter fic because I have 2 still in progress but I'm gonna do it anyway. Sebastian deserved to be fleshed out more on Glee and it's a shame we only got superficial stuff. Most of the stuff about Sebastian's family is made up, pretty much everything except his father's job. This story has some darker themes, because that is unfortunately what I am familiar with in my life and it bleeds into what I create. That being said, I do hope you enjoy this fic. It has been on my mind for awhile, and writing it has helped me move on from some things that happened to me growing up.

Italics = flashbacks.

I don't own Glee or its characters.

Sebastian Smythe did not have good handwriting.

It was a fact that surprised many of the people who came to know him. There wasn't much excuse for it - he was lucky enough to grow up in a generation where cursive was still taught in grade school. He did the worksheets where he had to outline the letters, and 5, 6, 7 year old Sebastian had agonized over tracing every single dotted line, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, eager to show mom and dad how good of a job he had done with his swoopy letters.

Over time, he just stopped caring as much. No one cared whether your handwriting was good or not in middle school, and as long as it was somewhat legible, his teachers wouldn't say anything. It's not like he was the only adolescent with poor penmanship.

Public schoolers like those New Directions members would have assumed Sebastian would have immaculate, so-perfect-it's-almost-illegible handwriting, given his family's wealth and his extensive private school education. But, as it turns out, Sebastian was a lot more...average than people made him out to be.

If that.

Sebastian took a deep breath as he stared down at his bedspread, notecards scattered across with reminders, bits and pieces of his testimony scrawled out in that scratchy, inconsistent, are-you-sure-you-went-to-private-school handwriting, so as not to leave out a single detail.

As if he could ever forget.

He shrugged the blue collared shirt over his shoulders and began buttoning it closed, cursing his hands for shaking, betraying the insecurity beneath his steely exterior, the façade he presented to anyone on the outside looking in.

He paused when his hands approached the angry mark on his side, the jagged 10-inch scar seething up at him, mocking his supposed "strength" when the curved, knitted skin proved how weak he had been not even 4 months prior.

"Shit, he's awake."

Sebastian's panicked eyes scoured the medical staff hovering above him, intimidating metal tools in their hands, a frantic beeping coming from a machine to his right. He became hyperaware that there was a tube in his throat, choking him, and he emitted a horrible gurgling noise as he gasped for air, hands involuntarily gripping the scratchy sheets below him.

His eyes found his parents in the hallway just outside the room, a frozen scream on his mother's face as she clung to her husband for dear life.

And pain, all-encompassing and debilitating, searing through every part of his body, as he heard his doctor frantically work to release his critical patient back into unconsciousness.

"Sebastian?"

The voice of his mother shook Sebastian from his line of thinking. He heard the door unlatch as he hastily covered up the scar, cinching the final buttons on the silk dress shirt and looking towards the entrance to his room where his mom stood in the doorway, a look of concern across her features.

A tight-lipped smile which didn't meet her eyes crossed Eleanor Smythe's face as she approached her son's bedside. "I always loved that color on you," she mused, reaching behind her teenage son's neck to tuck down the ocean-blue shirt collar, smoothing a stray wrinkle down on his shoulder as well when retracting her hand. She didn't miss how Sebastian's shoulder blades protruded sharply, and the shirt which used to fit him perfectly now hung loosely off of his frame.

Eleanor placed her perfectly manicured nails in her lap as she observed her son, usually vibrant and witty, now reserved and, dare she say it, docile. It didn't feel so long ago that he used to come home from middle school with black eyes from pissing off the wrong kids. Not that Sebastian was ever phased by it - in fact, he looked forward to reaping the rewards of the zero-tolerance fighting policies which left his victims suspended or expelled from school.

But then they moved to Ohio, and Sebastian joined the Warblers and Lacrosse team at Dalton. Initially, it was a nightmare, with a phone call home every other week it seemed with new allegations against her son - assault, blackmail, bullying, the complaints never seemed to stop.

Until the boy from McKinley tried to hang himself a few days before Regionals. Eleanor saw a true shift in her son that day. She'd never been more proud. She knew it was normal for middle children to act out on occasion, but it had begun to get out of hand. After Regionals, even though the Warblers lost, she'd seen her son have an increased awareness for the feelings of those around them, which did her maternal heart happy.

That being said, that didn't mean that she didn't still go to bed at night wondering what she was going to do with her little boy. Especially now.

Sebastian looked up at his mother's tightened features and gave the most convincing smile he could. "Is dad ready?"

"He's pulling up the car now," Eleanor responded. "Are you ready, Sebastian?"

That was the question of the hour. "Of course I am," Sebastian said smoothly, the right side of his mouth curving up slightly. "It's just storytelling. And I'm good at telling stories."

Hands gripped his Dalton blazer as he was slammed against the wall. Sebastian's teeth rattled in his mouth as his skull collided with the hard surface. He spat forcefully at his attacker and gritted his teeth. "You fucking monster!"

He lashed out blindly, catching the criminal square in the jaw, feeling a whiff of satisfaction at the grunt it elicited from the man. "You're fucking demented!" He screamed. "You sick fuck!" He punched again, only this time his hand was caught. Still, he growled. "You're going to pay for this!"

"Who's gonna believe you, huh?" The man crooned, and Sebastian cried out in anger when he tried and failed to free his dominant hand. "Who are they going to fucking believe, Sebastian? You or me?"

Sebastian worked to control his heartbeat as his mom gathered his crutches. He eased himself into a standing position, careful to keep most of the pressure on his good leg, as opposed to the other which was still encased in a brace from hip to calf.

The shiny hardwood floors of the Smythe household creaked as Sebastian hobbled his way to the foyer, his mother following behind, acting as if she always walked slow enough to match the pace of someone who had just undergone reconstructive hip and leg surgery not even 4 months prior. He had recently been bumped up to partial weight bearing a couple weeks ago, which was a plus, but it wasn't doing anything for his speed. It felt like it took him years to get from one room to another.

"I don't get why I can't go," Sebastian's sister pouted, arms crossed in a fashion that would have been hilariously childish had it been in any other context, as she waited by the door. "I'm thirteen. I'm not a baby."

"I'm not doing this today, Aurora." Eleanor grabbed her purse from the rack and checked her flawless makeup in the mirror for the 13th million time. "You're not going."

"I won't say anything!" Aurora whined. "I won't do anything either. I'll just sit there. You'll forget you even brought me!"

"We're not worried about you acting out, Aurora," Eleanor said, "but you're not ready for this kind of a thing. We wouldn't even be taking Sebastian if we didn't have to, trust me."

Sebastian swallowed, his eyes staring out the window at his father's approaching car, purposely avoiding the eyes of both present family members. He reached a hand into his inside pocket to make sure his notecards were still there. They were.

"'Bas!" Aurora sing-songed her nickname for her older brother, which he had always pretended to hate - "I'm not a fucking fish, princess" - but he secretly didn't mind it that much.

"Not my name," Sebastian snapped, his usually cutting tone lacking it's sharpness.

Aurora rolled her eyes. "Sebastian," she drawled. "Tell mom I can come."

He turned away from the window to meet his sister in the eyes. She was a whole head and a half shorter than him, but her personality made up for the difference. Steely grey eyes met his green ones and he knew she wouldn't go down without a fight.

"You're don't want to come, sis," Sebastian promised. "There's going to be no cute boys there, just fat guys in suits who, I promise, don't want to be there either."

Aurora threw her head back with a dramatic grunt that was internationally recognized as the mating call of a pubescent teenage girl who had just been told "no."

Despite their differences, Sebastian could always read his sister like a book. He knew today wasn't about her wanting to feel like an adult, or at least older than her 13 years - it was about wanting answers for what had been going on the past four months.

Sebastian wiped his mouth with his napkin, careful to avoid the cannula in his nose feeding him vital oxygen. He poked gingerly at the hospital food in front of him, gelatinous chicken pot pie which looked like it had been barfed up by one of the Cheerios after finding out they gained .1 pounds that week. He put a tiny piece in the corner of his mouth and chewed, aware that his mother was watching him like a hawk to make sure he ate enough to stay off of the feeding tube.

Eleanor sat off to the right side of the cramped hospital room, typing away her computer as if she had more important things to do than watch her bedridden son eat the worst meal she had seen in her life, although the "sneaky" glances at her son's tray said otherwise.

Preston Sr. sat on one of the plastic recliners he had convinced an orderly to bring into Sebastian's room so that everyone would have a place to sit. He sat, legs crossed, reading the paper as if there was nothing more pressing in the world than the fact that his youngest son was laying in a hospital bed.

The silence, the forced sense of normalcy, and the complete stupidity of the situation was too much for Aurora as she stood up and threw a glass vase of "get well soon" roses at the wall behind her father, the vessel shattering instantly, leaving shards of glass to float in the dripping mess.

"Aurora!" Eleanor cried out, shocked at her youngest child's behavior. Preston Sr. stood, eyes fixed on the angry mess.

"When are any of you going to say anything?" Aurora screamed, ignoring the way her father's face began to redden at the humiliation. "Why are we pretending everything is fine?"

"Aurora Adele Smythe," Preston Sr. growled, the vein in his neck protruding as people in the hallway began to take notice of the outburst.

"Don't!" Aurora warned, pointing accusingly at her parents. "We're not okay! Sebastian almost died! He almost died!" When are we going to talk about it?" Tears began to stream down her face. "This isn't okay!"

The plastic fork clattered to the floor as Sebastian buried his head in his hands, eventually putting his hands over his years to block out the sounds of yelling, wishing for this whole nightmare to just be over.

Sebastian could see his sister for who she was, which was both a blessing and a curse at times. Acting on an impulse not typically of his nature, Sebastian reached out and pulled his sister close to him in an awkward hug, careful to avoid dropping his crutches and/or accidentally stabbing Aurora with them.

"It's going to be okay," Sebastian murmured so only she could hear it, before letting her go after a quick squeeze. Aurora looked up at her brother apprehensively.

"Je veux que tu rentres a la maison," She whispered. I want you to come back home.

"Je revendrai toujours a la maison," Sebastian assured her.

I will always come home.

Sebastian sat uncomfortably in the back passenger seat of his parents' car, his long legs unable to be accommodated for in the cramped vehicle. One would think it would have decent leg space given how much the sedan had cost to purchase, but that would be wishful thinking.

The large courthouse came into view as Mr. Smythe pulled up to the entrance, his mother unbuckling in preparation of helping Sebastian out of the tiny car, only to falter when she read a notification on her phone.

"Preston isn't going to make it," Eleanor read aloud, turning around in her seat to see Sebastian's reaction. "I'm sorry, honey."

Sebastian didn't say anything, but rather nodded his understanding. He didn't expect his older brother to show up for him today. It's not like he supported him any other day.

"Listen Seb," Preston started, combing through his neatly styled hair as he reached for his gym bag, filled with all equipment needed for his football game. "If for some reason we end up around my friends, don't say anything, alright?"

14-year-old Sebastian wrinkled his eyebrows at his brother's ask. "Okay...why?"

"Because they're cool, but they may not think I'm cool if they find out my brother's a fag," Preston coolly stated. "Just don't be yourself, okay? Just this once."

Yeah, Sebastian was just fine without his brother.

His cards were beginning to crinkle as the sweat from his hands as Sebastian read them over and over, reciting the details written there in his head to the point where he could tell them in his sleep.

The gavel sounded and he felt hands on his shoulders from either side of him, the strong, confident hands of his father and the delicate, careful ones of his mother, both protectively holding onto their son as if he would otherwise slip away.

Head angled downwards, Sebastian looked to his right as he heard the courtroom doors open last minute, and in walked Nick and Jeff, who hurriedly found seats in the back row, looking relieved when they saw Sebastian sitting there in the same room as them.

Sebastian really didn't know what he had done to deserve them.

The beginning went by in a blur of opening statements, and it took Sebastian all he had within him to fight back the urge to vomit all over the courtroom floor. On the outside, his mouth was set in a firm line and his eyes were steely and neutral, not giving a single indication of the turmoil inside.

It was when the prosecution called their first witness, 17-year-old Sebastian Smythe, (or "the victim" as he was so lovingly and humanely referred to) that his façade faltered for a second. His father grabbed his crutches for him, his mother holding his elbow as he balanced without them for a second, before he painstakingly made his way to the witness stand at the front of the room.

He swore in without really thinking about what he was saying, only that he felt so naked without his cards with him. "You shouldn't bring them with you to the stand," his lawyer had advised him. "They'll think that if you're telling the truth, you shouldn't need them."

Or maybe he was so terrified of speaking from his own thoughts that the idea of reading meaningless words off of a page in his disappointing handwriting was a far more desirable alternative.

His lawyer, a tall, lean man of about 35, approached the stand where his client, who he had spent the better part of the last 3 months interacting with, sat nervously.

"State your name for the court, please," his lawyer, Christian Martinez, asked.

"Sebastian Bartholomew Smythe," Sebastian stated with surety, this probably being the one ask of him that he could answer confidently.

"Mr. Smythe," Christian acknowledged. "Do you recognize the two men seated right over there?"

The two men in question stared the teenage boy down with soft expressions, as if they were incapable of the crimes of which they were accused. But Sebastian knew better.

"Yes," he finally answered.

"Please tell us how you know those men, Mr. Smythe."

Sebastian took a deep breath, taking time to look at Nick, Jeff, and his parents before answering.

"I know them from when they kidnapped me and held me for ransom for 4 days."

A/N: Cue Beethoven's 5th symphony intro lol. Please let me know if you're interested in this! I haven't been this excited about a fic in awhile and I'm excited to see how this goes! I hope you all have a wonderful day/evening Xx