A/N: My very first Chack. Be gentle. Please Review!

Jack walked in from an exhausting day in his lab.

Fuck life, just fuck it!

Jack had woken up at four in the morning this morning and it it had been impossible to fall back to sleep. By five, he was in his lab and within ten minutes had electrocuted himself and was passed out until six. Then he sat down for breakfast and nearly choked on a bagel when Wuya floated in screeching like the banshee she was. Stupid bitch.

Then...the Showdown.

The Rong Rampart was one of the pickiest Shen Gong Wu ever created. It only picked the one of the two with a greater worth. There was no real Showdown, but there was more pain than had ever been involved. He and Omi were running for the Wu with panic. Chase was standing at the sideline, his eyes judging every move of the two young men.

One, he craved to be his apprentice.

One, would even be his slave if it just meant that the disgust would leave the warlord's eyes. It would be totally worth it. And Chase watched the obvious unfold as the Wu went willingly to Omi as the Asian went for Jack with his new weapon. Violently.

As Jack lay bleeding on the ground with several critical wound with the cruel ghost witch's screech cackling in his ear at the way he had stumbled before being caught by the water dragon's advancing attack, he looked to Chase, nearly pleading. Hoping. And for a short instance, there seemed to be pain as the warlord looked at the goth. The it turned to the same hateful scowl as he spat, "Pathetic worm...", and disappeared in the Heylin miasma that enveloped the immortal. Wuya's screeches no longer assaulted him. He had finally given up.

He was too numb to ache anymore...

Chase Young sat upon his throne, torn. Three hours before he had watched a sickening sight that he only feared would grow worse.

They simply wished to break them, didn't they?

Spicer was not as strong as most of those in this game. No. But Chase was not stupid. In the real world, he could thrive all on his own. But this wasn't really the real world. And Spicer was weak in comparison to this near fantasy world. Placed as a joke. Satire.

And for a while, Chase laughed along. The light of durability and blissful ignorance of his role never left Spicer's eyes. It was harmless. But in the last year, it had changed. Spicer began looking to Chase with hope, desperation, and humility. It was strange. Spicer looked as if he should be proud. The awkwardness had left his stance. He stood straight everywhere he went. But his eyes as he looked toward the warlord were tired and pleading. They were begging for something from their idol's. Perhaps it was a look besides disgust or annoyance. Or the absolute hate toward the young man. And just for a moment, it did break.

Chase watched the assault with pure disgust. Omi had the Wu. That's all he needed. The assault on Spicer was absolutely wrong. Now, Chase Young was evil, but, there was overkill. And what the water dragon orphan just did was more than overkill. It was cruel. It was sadistic. There was only one other time that the Xaiolin acted so vile.

Chase watched the young man bleed and something changed.

A pain filled the warlord that never had before. Something hurt him to watch Spicer suffer.

But he caught himself. The pain that had entered his eyes was forced back and Chase's trigger came out of him involuntarily.

He was regretting it deeply.

Chase looked to his Eye Spy Orb and looked into the albino's lab with shock.

Jack'd had enough. He couldn't do this anymore. At least most people had a sanctuary to escape. He didn't have that.

His parents abused him every way possible and had left their only son bleeding more than once. If that was all he was good for...

...He could do it on his fucking own. He walked into his bathroom and stared in the mirror. He pulled out his nearly endless supply of alcohol in a hidden cabinet in the wall and took a whole bottle of whiskey in one swig. After coughing and fighting his reflexes to throw up the strong liquid, he looked back at the mirror and started laughing hysterically. Terrifyingly. He pulled out a rusted, used razor and the chaotic laughter was joined by tears and screeching that could only come from someone who had lost everything that was worth holding on to. Including sanity. Jack grabbed the empty bottle of booze and broke it on the marble counter. He whispered,

"Am I a man now? Or do I still have to beat the shit of my son...okay."

Jack started to punch himself in the face and bruises of self harm began to appear on the fragile white skin. The laughter came as he grabbed the razor, yelling out,

"I can do it on my own, Mommy!"

The razor cut deep into his upper arm and he screamed in pain at the rust burning in his blood. He shook as he pulled out another bottle of whiskey and poured it on the open wound. He repeated the terrifying sequence up and down both arms.

The tears mixed with alcohol and blood at his feet.

Jack looked back at the mirror and sighed as he realized how dim things were becoming.

He didn't have much time. Jack thought. What if I weren't albino? What if I were loved? What if I were good?

Jack sighed. He was fucked and there was nothing he could do about it. He was a fuck up. Suddenly, the sobs and screams came back as he caught the image of one the most beautiful men in the world. The long, black hair ran over shining bronze armor. His sharp, golden eyes were hateful as he scowled.

'Pathetic worm...'

"You could have saved me," whispered the numb young man, "But that's okay...I still love you."

Jack collapsed on the floor.

Chase stared in shock, pity, and, dare he say it, fear. He never meant for this to happen.

But now he knew what he needed to do.

Chase had always lusted for the goth, but lust was not a good feeling to always follow. No matter how lovely his eyes were. No matter how much he wanted to run fingers through the hair of the same blood shade. No matter perfectly the porcelain skin stretched over well-toned muscle.

Damn rationality. Damn it to hell.

It was killing Spicer.

His Spicer!

And not even death had claim on the young man.

The warlord disappeared in the same miasma that he had earlier.

But this time, he was not coming back alone.

Jack didn't know how it happened, but when he woke up, he laid in the warlord's bed wrapped in soft silk and furs. His scars were not where they should've been and Chase looked at the young man with compassion and worry.

He really didn't care how it happened as he fell into the dragon's chest and arms wrapped around him.

"Are you well, Spicer?"

"I think I'm insane."

"You're not."

"I just filleted myself, Chase."

"You're broken, Spicer. You can be fixed."

"Really?"

Chase looked at Jack and smirked. He took his bare hand and placed it on his cheek.

"You're never going back to the monsters you called parents and the monks will never have advantage over you. I'd say you'll have a speedy recovery."

"...What?"

"Oh, I plan on keeping you hear. Against your will or otherwise. I'd like to say otherwise."

"I get to stay?" he whispered with a blank expression expression.

"Well, as my apprentice," began Chase.

"I'm your apprentice!?"

"Mm-hm."

"But...what about Omi?"

"Forget about him. He's useless to me."

"But, the Rong Rampart..."

"Means nothing to me. It lies."

"...It does."

Chase nodded.

"Vain prick," Jack joked.

Both laughed as they leaned back against the pillows of the bed.