Teach Me Mr. Wentz | >> Peterick AU <<

Court

[Patrick's POV]

It had been a few days since I got out of the hospital, Pete had never once left my side, and that made me realize how much I really appreciated him. Yet, the day we knew we would soon have to face, had finally arrived. Today was the day we would take my mom to court.

I paced anxiously outside the courtroom, waiting for it to start. Pete was sitting in a chair, watching me pace back and forth. He comforted me and soon enough, my nerves were replaced with relaxation. Hopefully the judge would punish my mom rightfully so, she need to be punished.

Since I'd never been to an actual court before, Pete had explained what it was like to me. The thing with actual court though, it's a lot different from that scene in "Mrs. Doubtfire" and the shows you see on TV. Trust me, I've seen enough Judge Judy episodes by now that I could probably be a judge myself. Yet, as Pete explained it, there's a lot of stuff on those Public Court shows that they don't show.

For instance, Pete's neighbor was on some show similar to Judge Joe, Judge Marilyn, Judge Judy, etc. And whenever they stopped rolling, every actor and person on the set went on break and acted completely normal. It was basically all staged is what I'm getting at here. They just add in intense and exciting scenerios to get ratings and keep viewers interested. This made me really think about how much stuff on TV is real..

So, other than my binging on Judge Judy episodes and Pete's fuzzy explanation of what a trial is like in real life, I was going in blind.

After a long time of waiting, tension building, Pete holding my hand and telling me to breathe, and watching the clock tick slowly, it was time for us to go into the courtroom and start the case.

I exhaled slowly, feeling myself shake like a leaf being shook off it's branch during the crisp winds of late Autumn. Pete rested his hands on each of my shoulders and looked me directly in my eyes. "It's okay, Patrick. Just breathe, it'll be okay. I'm right here. I love you." He kissed my forehead softly and I smiled, my nerves fading away.

"Come on, they're gonna start." He said, now taking my hand gently. We walked into the large room with dark wooden walls. The floor matched with dark slabs of wood covering it as well. There we intercit designs carved into the walls and the judge's podium. Everyone was already there except my mom and her lawyer.

Pete and I walked to our desk and sat down next to our lawyer, she pulled out a folder and handed it to Pete. He sighed and began filling things out. This went on for a long time, until my mom walked in. She was handcuffed and an officer was leading her in. She stared at the ground frowning, then looked at me and glared. I looked away quickly and shifted closer to Pete.

The judge started the case and pounded the gavel to get everyone's attention. We began the trial. Pete was definitely right though, court is a lot longer than TV court. When I was called to the stand, I was asked multiple questions about my mother and home life. It felt good to spill every detail to the authorities.

After I went, they brought Pete up.

"Your honor, I call Pete Wentz to the stand." My mom's lawyer stated, Pete stood and walked to the stand. He took the oath, sat down, and calmly looked at the lawyer. "Mr. Wentz, is it correct that you have been in a romantic relationship with Patrick Stump since September?" Pete's face was blank as he answered in a monotone voice. "Correct."

The crowd erupted into chatters and people calling him a pedophile. The lawyer smirked. "And how old are you Mr. Wentz?"

"Thirty-four."

"And Patrick?"

"He just turned eighteen in April." Pete shot back, the lawyer sighed in defeat. This is when the judge spoke up. "Mr. Smithfield, what do these questions have to do with the case at hand? Let these two adults be in a relationship and move on with your questions." He snapped.

"Fine," The lawyer muttered. "How long have you known about the abuse?" Pete thought for a moment,  he then answered the question calmly and collectively. "I have known about the abuse for about eight months now. Patrick had let me know in early September."

"Did you ever see the abuse take place?" He asked. "Not that I can remember, but I did see the effects and aftermath of the abuse." Pete said. Mr. Smithfield nodded and paced back and forth, still staring at Pete. "What kind of aftermath?"

"Bruises, cuts, gashes, scars, mental trauma, and loss in energy. Stuff like that."

This went on for a while until Pete was sent back to his seat and my mom was called up by our lawyer. She took the oath, sat, and stared down our lawyer. Ms. Carson began asking questions. "So, Cecile, when did you begin drinking?" She began, my mother paused and then spoke slowly. "I began drinking when Patrick was two, though it got heavier when his father died."

"Okay," Ms Carson continued. "Did this lead to the consistent abuse of substances and abuse on your son?" My mother nodded. "Most likely."

"How did your husband die?" Ms Carson asked. My mom's face flushed and she looked at the ground, then directly at Ms. Carson.

"I shot him."