A/N: Continued content warnings from the previous chapter! Thanks for the feedback!
For those who may wonder: I did some research on courtroom procedures before writing this, but not nearly enough. I may come back and change a couple details at some point in the future to fix some inaccuracies that I will no doubt find, but for now, I think this is somewhat accurate?
Another thing - I know that there are some things that will be confusing both in this chapter and the last one and I promise it's on purpose and I have a plan for giving you the whole story, bits and pieces at a time. Hopefully the storytelling style isn't too confusing - I find it interesting and fun to write.
Thanks for listening to my rambles, and I hope you enjoy this update!
Italics = Flashbacks.
24 Hours Earlier
Sebastian wouldn't mind going to the shrink if it weren't for all her goddamn questions.
Dr. Herrman was younger than Sebastian typically pictured doctors being, not even 30 years old and yet apparently an expert.
"She's a specialist," his mother had told him. "She specializes in...complex cases like yours, sweetie."
"Complex" was a nice word for "fucked to goddamn hell and back."
Sebastian sat on the surprisingly comfortable couch, grimacing slightly as he propped his throbbing leg up on the earth-brown ottoman in front of him. He quickly replaced the look of discomfort with one of indifference as he subconsciously pulled one of the throw pillows into his lap, hugging it with both arms.
Dr. Herrman took her patient in for a silent second before speaking. "It's good to see you again, Sebastian."
My parents pay you 150 dollars an hour, Sebastian thought to himself. I'd be fucking glad to see me too.
Sebastian didn't say anything.
Dr. Herrman continued. "How have you been feeling?"
"Fantastic," Sebastian grinned subtly.
The therapist was unfazed by Sebastian's obvious sarcasm. "The trial starts tomorrow."
"Oh, really? Tell me more."
"It would be normal to feel some anxiety or stress about that," Dr. Hermann continued in her neutral tone. "Given that you have to tell a room full of people the details of the worst experience of your life."
"I didn't realize I'd be telling the courtroom about my time on Ohio public transportation."
Dr. Hermann let out a breath and leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped. "Sebastian," she began. "I'm concerned about your readiness to testify. You haven't even been able to tell me anything about the kidnapping."
Sebastian flinched slightly at the word kidnapping, a word he wasn't allowed to say at home. Not without making his mother cry or his father go to his office for several hours to "work." For as much as Sebastian disliked therapy, he appreciated the doctor's willingness to say the word.
"I'm sure you've watched the news," Sebastian coolly responded, "they seem to have all the dirty little details about everything that's ever happened to me in my entire life. Or, hell," Sebastian scoffed, "why don't you go read the fucking police report I spent weeks telling, and retelling, and retelling to every goddamn police officer and lawyer in the tri-county area."
Dr. Herrman paused, seeming almost pleased by the outburst. "Sounds like that is a source of stress to you then."
"It's a source of annoyance," Sebastian spat out. "If you want to be in my business like everyone-fucking-else does, you'll have to get in line. And I'll warn you, it's a long one."
Dr. Herrman sighed again, leaning back in her chair. "Your mother tells me you've been having nightmares."
A scream permeated the silent air of the Smythe household as Sebastian shot up in his bed, knuckles white as he gripped his sheets for dear life. Sweat dotted his forehead and embarrassing tears streamed uncontrollably down his face as he tried to control his erratic breathing.
He felt his stomach roll and his hands shook as he blindly fumbled for his crutches, eventually giving up the fight to find them in the pitch dark and painfully limping to his bathroom, making it just in time to vomit the little he ate for dinner into the toilet bowl.
Sebastian gasped as the nausea began to subside, adrenaline still rushing through his veins as the scene from his nightmare raced over and over in his head, the image seemingly branded into his skull. His nimble fingers gripped the porcelain as though the fragile material could somehow put him back together.
The door to his bedroom forcefully opened and he heard his mother gasp when she saw Sebastian, crutch-less, sweaty, crying, and hunched over a toilet bowl in the dead of night. He heard her say his name repeatedly as she ran to his side.
"Sebastian, honey, what happened?" Eleanor asked, her hands instinctively landing on her sons shoulders before he violently pulled away.
"Don't touch me," Sebastian gasped, his voice pleading, "please, please, don't touch me."
Eleanor and Sebastian were silent for a moment, the only sound being Sebastian's labored breathing for awhile. "Do you want to go back to bed?" Eleanor asked.
"No," Sebastian answered immediately, fear of being transported back to his nightmare gripping him once again.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Eleanor asked apprehensively, voice barely above a whisper.
Sebastian shook his head as his eyes began to water again. "No," he admitted, as his sobs began anew.
Sebastian didn't respond to Dr. Herrman, but was unable to stop his expression from revealing the truth of his doctor's statement.
"These nightmares, are they related to what happened when you were kidnapped?"
"I'm not answering your questions."
"You're not helping yourself," Dr. Herrman insisted firmly. "Your mind is clearly struggling to process all that you went through these past 4 months. You need to accept help."
"I don't need your fucking help," Sebastian tried unsuccessfully to stop his voice from shaking.
"You are showing all the textbook signs of post-traumatic stress disorder," Dr. Herrman continued, undeterred. "It's very common after these types of events. Isolating yourself, increased irritability, nightmares, flashbacks-"
"I'm not fucking traumatized," Sebastian growled, "and we're done here."
Dr. Herrman sat, mouth fixed in a tense line, as her patient grabbed his crutches and hobbled his way out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
Present
Sebastian picked at his cuticles mindlessly as he stared straight into his lawyer's eyes, purposefully ignoring the jury on his right and the eyes of his family and friends, which he felt on him at all times.
Christian acknowledged Sebastian with a nod before he continued with his line of questioning. "Mr. Smythe, if you would, please tell us what happened on September 12th, 2012, the day that the defendants," he gestured towards the accused men, "kidnapped you."
Sebastian tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'd had glee club practice that day after school..."
Sebastian made quick strides as he hurried towards the music room, already several minutes late for Warblers practice. Ever since he'd stepped down as captain, he'd been spending more time dedicated to his studies and maintaining a high GPA. That had meant spending office hours in Mr. Brennan's classroom for upwards of an hour after school to get help with calculus - his dyslexia made numbers and letters difficult on their own, but putting them together was a whole other nightmare.
That day had been particularly difficult, trying to grasp L'Hopital's theory, and he had lost track of time. He knew that Hunter was going to be pissed that he was late - especially since he had already been late several times in the past couple months.
"I'm here, I'm here, I'm sorry I'm late..." Sebastian trailed off when he saw the grim looks on the faces of his fellow Warblers. "What's going on?"
Hunter turned around slowly, his usual casual smirk replaced with a steely coldness. He crossed his arms and stared the former captain down. "Nice of you to join us, Sebastian."
"I was studying and lost track of time," Sebastian explained. "Now come on, why does everyone look like Mr. Puss just died?"
Immediately after saying that, Sebastian looked around to make sure Mr. Puss had, in fact, NOT died, and was pleased to see the white cat lazing on the sofa in the corner of the room.
Hunter scoffed at Sebastian's excuse but responded anyways. "I was just informing the Warblers of our new plan to win Sectionals this year." Hunter gave a mirthless smile at the end of his statement which made Sebastian's skin crawl.
"And that would be...?" Sebastian gestured with his hands in confusion.
"I figured we would go...a medicinal route," Hunter finished, brandishing a small syringe from the small end table next to him.
Sebastian gaped at the medical apparatus in Hunter's hand, his brain slowly making the connections to what Hunter was insinuating. "Are you joking?" Sebastian laughed nervously, looking at his peers to see if they were all in on some weird, fucked-up joke to punish him for his habitual tardiness. No one was smiling - Trent in particular looked ready to crawl into a hole and die a glittery death. Sebastian turned back to the Clarington boy. "Tell me you're not being serious."
"I'm dead serious, Smythe," the captain continued. "Unlike some people, I give a damn about this group. We deserve a win for how hard we've worked. Or, at least," Hunter cocked his head mockingly. "How hard most of us have worked."
Sebastian glared at Hunter for the implications of his statement. "If you really 'give a damn,'" Sebastian made quotations marks with his fingers as he spoke, "about the Warblers, then you would know that we don't need fucking drugs to win a stupid competition."
"What's wrong, Sebastian?" Hunter mocked, taking a step towards the taller boy. "Are you mad that I found the one illegal thing you haven't thought to do, or that I'm not scared to take the initiative and find solutions to our problems?"
"We don't have problems!" Sebastian yelled defensively. "And if we did, it would be the fact that we elected a so-called leader who thinks that we're so shit that we need to cheat in order to win a competition. Which we don't."
"And you're such good proof of that, aren't you?" Hunter gestured towards the trophy wall. "How was Regionals last year, huh, Sebastian?"
Sebastian shook his head at the low blow. Turning to the rest of the Warblers, he said, "come on guys, surely you're not on board with this."
The silence he was met with spoke volumes. Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. "We're better than this," he spoke softly, "we used to be better than this."
"You can leave your superiority complex at the door, Sebastian," Hunter snapped. "Now, are you in or out?"
Sebastian shot a glare at Hunter before turning to Nick and Jeff, who were guiltily staring at the ground. "Guys..." He pleaded, begging for someone to stand with him, to say it wasn't right.
Nick looked back at him with a conflicted expression, looked at Hunter, looked back at Sebastian. He didn't say anything.
Sebastian's expression hardened as he got his answer. "Then I'm out," he finished, angrily snatching up his backpack and making large strides towards the door, pausing briefly in the doorway and turning around. "This isn't who we are," he stated weakly, overwhelmed with negative emotions at the whole situation, before storming out the door.
Sebastian didn't bother waiting to see if anyone would follow him, or if his "friends" would come to their senses and follow his lead. He found himself out in the main parking lot with no recollection of traveling there.
He folded his hands behind his head in anger, trying to wrap his mind around the situation that had just occurred. He couldn't get Hunter's mocking sneer out of his head, his insults getting under his skin more than he'd like to admit. Sebastian let out a cry of anger as he began stalking towards the sidewalk, deciding against driving in his state of mind - he had seen what could happen to distracted drivers.
Maybe if he hadn't tried walking home that day, if he had just gotten in his car and driven away - maybe the events that followed would never have happened. Maybe things would have been different.
But nonetheless, Sebastian's dress shoes clopped angrily against the sidewalk as he hurriedly walked in the direction of his house, the events of before playing over and over in his head, ways he should have responded, disbelief at the way everyone had acted -
An arm went around his neck.
Sebastian instinctively reached up to grab the offending limb, letting out an undignified squeak as his airpipe was crushed by the appendage. He tried to cry out for help but only managed to make weak croaking noises.
Black spots danced in front of his vision as his heart pounded furiously, every angry thought about the Warblers being replaced vigorously with thoughts of "I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die help me help me -"
A wet, pungent cloth was shoved in front of his nose and he felt the arm around his neck weaken enough for him to take a breath. Instinctively, he gasped in a desperate, painful inhale, his abused throat protesting the intake of air after having been denied it for so long.
Sebastian began to think about fighting back, calling for help, anything to stop his attack, but quickly began to realize that something was on that cloth when his inhibitions suddenly lowered; he felt himself begin to go slack in his assailant's arms as his legs and arms turned to mush.
Sebastian could vaguely feel himself be dragged a small distance and heard tinny, far-away sounding voices before unconsciousness pulled him under.
The courtroom was silent when Sebastian stopped speaking. He was vaguely aware of a throbbing in his fingers and realized that he had not stopped picking at his cuticles the entire time he gave his testimony. The mutilated skin peeked up at him through red-stained fingertips.
His lawyer nodded once again, his face as grim as Sebastian felt at that moment. "Thank you, Mr. Smythe. No more questions at this time."
Sebastian's heartrate picked up when he saw the defense attorney step over to where he sat on the witness stand. "Mr. Smythe," The middle-aged woman began, "when your assailants attacked you, were you able to get a look at them?"
Sebastian swallowed. "No."
"Interesting," Ms. Defense Attorney stated, even though Sebastian knew for a fact that it was not interesting. "And when you were being initially attacked - did you sense the presence of a second individual?"
"I thought I may have heard a second voice at one point," Sebastian offered.
"You think? As in you don't know for sure?"
"There was a lot on my mind at the moment," Sebastian shot back sarcastically, satisfied at the attorney's slight change in demeanor at the comment.
"I ask this for a reason, Mr. Smythe," the attorney continued, unfazed. "You state in your police report that there were two men who held you captive. Now you're a bright kid, Mr. Smythe."
Don't patronize me, Sebastian thought to himself, fists clenching as he tried to slow down his racing heart.
"You're very smart, which is why I'm wondering - if two men worked together to hold you captive for four days, why would only one attend your actual kidnapping?" The attorney smiled coyly. "Wouldn't they want to help each other out? You know, for the hardest part of the plan?"
"I thought I heard another person there," Sebastian insisted.
"A 'thought' does not pass for evidence in a court of law, Mr. Smythe," Ms. Attorney Bitch scolded condescendingly.
"Just like your bad dye job doesn't hide the fact that you're going grey?" Sebastian scathed.
The crowd made a flutter of noise at the insult, some shocked gasps and some barely contained laughter. The judge banged his gavel before turning to the witness. "Mr. Smythe, you need only to answer questions that are asked of you. Nothing more." The judge's face was grim, unreadable. "Am I clear?"
"Yes, your honor," Sebastian whispered, the adrenaline leaving him as swiftly as it had come, leaving him feeling weak enough to drop.
"Good," the judge punctuated. "15 minute recess."
"Did you really have to fucking say that, Sebastian?"
Preston Sr.'s hands shook as he paced the conference room in anger.
"I shouldn't have said it, okay?" Sebastian admitted, nervously running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."
"We're busting our asses trying to make sure the people who..." Sebastian's dad swallowed. "Did this to you go to jail. We're trying to convince them that you're telling the truth."
"I am telling the truth," Sebastian retorted, looking up at his father. "And we have evidence to prove it."
"What your father is trying to say, Sebastian," Christian started, the tone of his voice implying that everyone should just calm down, "is that the defense is going to try to aggravate you, get you to slip up and say something they can turn against you."
"And you already went ahead and opened your big mouth," Mr. Smythe grumbled, still pacing.
"I said I was sorry!" Sebastian moaned.
Christian looked uncomfortable with the hostility between the family members, but continued with his counseling of Sebastian. "They're going to try and paint you as a liar, they're going to try to poke holes in your story. They're going to try to rile you up. You can't let them get to you."
"I know," Sebastian mumbled, rubbing his face with both hands. His fingers still burned from picking at them.
Sebastian looked up at his father, who had stopped pacing long enough to meet his son's eyes. "Big mouth, huh?" The words just now sunk in.
13-year-old Sebastian pouted, arms crossed across his chest, in his dad's office, listening to his father finish his phone call on the other side of the door. Sebastian heard the door open and guessed that whatever happened next was not going to be pretty.
Preston Sr. sat behind his desk, dramatically sighing as he looked at his middle child. "Do you have anything you want to say to me?"
Sebastian shrugged silently.
His father rubbed his forehead, worry lines prominent at the action. And he probably blames me for every single one of them, Sebastian thought.
"Your teacher just called to tell me about something you submitted for a literature assignment," he continued. "You had to write about home."
Sebastian gave no indication that he understood what his father was mad about. "Did I get an A?"
"You wrote about..." His father peered down at the note in his hand. "'Mom, Dad, and the Elephant in The Room." His father lowered the note. "You wrote about coming out to your mom and I?"
Sebastian shrugged. "I thought it was well-written."
"Sebastian," his father cut off with a sigh. "You can't write about these kinds of things anymore, okay?"
"Why not?" Sebastian genuinely did not see the problem.
"Because I'm trying to get promoted, trying to make it so we can do the things we've always wanted." We was a relative term - Sebastian couldn't have cared less about what his dad did for work. "When you open your big mouth about these types of things...people can find them, use them against me." His father's voice was increasingly angry, shrill.
Sebastian paused to realize all of the implications of what his father just said. "You're ashamed of me being gay?"
"Of course I'm not ashamed, Sebastian..." His father trailed off.
Sebastian swallowed painfully and his eyes began to burn. "Don't worry, I got it."
Sebastian got up to stalk away from his father. When Sebastian got to the door, his father spoke again. "You're getting moved up to advanced writing classes, by the way." He paused. "Your teacher loved it. She was calling to tell me it was one of the most well-written submissions for that assignment she'd ever seen."
Sebastian slammed the door behind him, cursing himself for the well his tears fell without his consent.
His father's face was fairly unreadable, but there was a flicker of regret in his eyes. "Sebastian -" He cut off, not bothering to finish his train of thought.
Sebastian shook his head before heading back to the courtroom, not saying a word.
Cristian stood after the thump of the gavel called the court back to order. "The prosecution calls Nick Duval to the stand," Christian stated, and Sebastian watched his friend and fellow Warbler nervously walk up to the front of the room to get sworn in.
Nick looked uncomfortable as he sat there, nervous brown eyes scanning the courtroom until they found him. Sebastian gave a weak smile, which Nick returned.
"Mr. Duval, you were present at Warblers practice on September 12th, 2012, correct?" Christian began, lazily pacing in front of the jury.
"Yes, I was," came the quiet answer.
"Can you describe to us the events that occurred, from your perspective?"
Nick nodded. "Everything that the vic- er, Sebastian mentioned about Warbler practice was true," Nick stated, voice slightly unsure. "But after Sebastian left, some of us felt bad..."
Nick flinched as the door slammed behind Sebastian, guilt rushing through his face as he thought about the exchange that had just occurred. He should have said something, he knew, but he also didn't want to get kicked out of the Warblers - he needed glee club on his transcript for all four years if he wanted to get into a BFA program anywhere.
Hunter had continued talking at some point, but Nick had stopped listening. Jeff squeezed his hand, giving him an understanding look that told Nick he was feeling the same way as Nick.
After a few minutes, Nick couldn't take it anymore. He mumbled something about needing to use the restroom before bolting out the door and heading for the exit, hoping it wasn't too late to stop Sebastian before he left.
He was too late. Nick took a few steps away from the main entrance, scouring the parking lot for any signs of his tall friend - assuming they were even friends anymore after this. Nick noticed Sebastian's car still in the lot, but no sign of the lacrosse player himself. Nick instinctively knew his friend had likely walked home, which was something he usually would do after a particularly stressful day.
After looking once more for any sign of his friend, Nick turned around to walk back towards the school when he was caught off guard by the sound of screeching tires. He turned around to see a nondescript, older-style white van dash noisily through the streets passing by the school, not even bothering to stop at the 4-way intersection before speeding off.
Nick frowned, shaking his head at the reckless behavior, and went back inside.
Nick finished his testimony and looked out at the crowd where his injured friend sat, the guilt he'd been carrying since he'd heard that Sebastian hadn't made it home that day coming back even fresher than it was that day. If he could have redone that day again, he would have stopped Sebastian from leaving, he would have stood up for what he knew was right, he would never have let Sebastian walk home that day.
Nick drowned in the what-ifs.
Christian pulled out a large photo of a vehicle and showed it to the jury, defense, and then to Nick. "Do you recognize this vehicle, Mr. Duval?"
Nick looked at the photo and immediately identified it as the van he had seen the day of Sebastian's disappearance. "Yeah, that's the van I saw that day," Nick said, "the one that sped away."
"Let the court be aware that this vehicle is registered to the defendants," Christian finished confidently. "Thank you Mr. Duval, no more questions."
Nick caught up to Sebastian on his way out the door, which wasn't hard considering Sebastian was on crutches. The leg brace would have blended in with his black dress pants if it weren't for the silver hinges at the joints, assisting with their use and mobility.
"Sebastian," Nick called out, threading his way through the crowd of people to reach his friend.
Sebastian stopped and turned, motioning for his parents to go ahead without him. They did so, although Sebastian's mother looked like she wanted to stay with him. Sebastian smiled tensely at the fellow Warbler. "What's up?"
Nick paused, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words. How does someone apologize for being the reason someone almost died? "Listen, everything that happened that day -"
"You don't have to apo-"
"Please," Nick insisted. "I feel responsible. I...God, I wanted to speak up, to go after you immediately, but I just - I was selfish." Nick looked up at Sebastian, who's face was unreadable. "If I could do it again, I would never have let you walk home that day. I'm so sorry, Sebastian."
Sebastian nodded, and although the taller boy was known for being sarcastic and edgy, Nick could see the genuineness in Sebastian's expression. "I know, Nick. I don't blame you." Sebastian made a motion to begin heading out the door. "And thank you," he added with another friendly smile. "For everything."
Nick nodded, slow at first and then faster. "Always." He got to the thick, wooden door before Sebastian did and opened it, only to immediately flinch at the flashing cameras which assaulted both of their eyes.
Sebastian's parents were still sifting through the crowd, trying to protect Sebastian from the onslaught, but their efforts were in vain, the crowd too thick to manage.
There were questions, so many questions. Journalists shoving microphones in Sebastian's face, blinks of flash photography that he did not consent to.
Before he realized what he was doing, Sebastian began to back up, forgetting how to use his crutches for a moment and stumbling, Nick catching him and lowering him to a sitting position before he could fall completely.
He was briefly aware that Nick was saying his name, trying to get him to respond, but Sebastian could barely hear him. He could only see the flash of light he'd seen that day. The light that had grown brighter and brighter, closer and closer, until -
Until he'd been physically and mentally broken.
Spots danced in his vision and Sebastian knew he needed to calm down, slow his wheezy breaths, but he couldn't. He wasn't at the courthouse anymore - he was back at that cabin, in fear of his life, afraid he was going to die with no one even knowing where to find his body.
The room was spinning, the lights kept getting brighter, his breathing wouldn't slow -
Sebastian's eyes rolled, and he passed out.
A/N: And there's the end of chapter 1! I'm not a huge fan of the ending, but I know I needed something more interesting at the end to make up for the fact that a lot of this chapter was based around giving context. That being said, I hope you guys enjoyed it, and I would love to hear from you if that is the case. Much love to you all Xx