Hell Has Silver Tiles

Summary: Jack Spicer, evil boy genius, is now a student at Sterling Silver Academy, a school for rich boys. Drama is the main subject, and the prep side has never been crueler. Where does Chase fit into all this?

Pairings: Chack (Chase/Jack), and VERY LITTLE OC/Jack (for the sake of the plot, my loves).

Warnings: Slash. Bad language. Boy-smut.

"Life is just one damned thing after another" - Elbert Hubbard

Chapter 1: Hell has Silver Tiles

"But, mom..."

"No buts, Jackie. I'm sick and tired of yo--your obsession with the Shen-Kong Wo." Jack frowned, noticing the first 'error', but not commenting.

"...It's Shen-GONG WU, mom," Jack muttered, instead, and Mrs. Spicer waved it off with a, "Whatever, Jack-"

"Mom," Jack cut in desperately, anxious to talk himself out of what his mother had planned. "Mom, if you want, I swear I'll stop going after the Shen-Gong Wu...uh--well--for a little bit--but please, please don't make me go there!"

"Oh, listen to you, Jackie!" Jack stopped his pleading momentarily at his mom's sigh of exasperation. "What is so wrong with going to a proper, well-kept young boys' school, huh?"

Jack said nothing: not of the teasing, the laughing, the jokes...the beatings.

"Honestly, Jackie, I can't believe how selfish you're acting. After all you've DONE: The hair-dye, the make-up, the creepy robots, the Shen-Gong Fu," (she held up her hand to keep Jack from correcting her), "-and, the lack of respect you give me as your mother; have I not accepted you and given you enough as a mother? Well? Now you can't do anything for me?" She was relentless with her decision--an action she felt was absolutely necessary. Jack sighed sadly; it was the old 'I spoil my son silly, but he absolutely refuses to be grateful' card. He should have known. And how could she even attempt to blackmail him with what she was supposed to do--love him and accept him as her son?

"Mom, please...I--I can change, but don't send me to a prep school!"

Mrs. Spicer crossed her arms. "No, Jackie. Personally, I'm worried about your lack of local education, absence of social interaction--" "--But, mom--!" "--the non-existence of physical activities, like soccer and basketball; the dances, and all those wonderful things that come with going to school! Why, it's not normal for a child your age to be so--so antisocial and unactive-!"

Jack snorted, arms crossed. "Uh, not really, mom-"

His mother hardly stopped to breathe. "--And that's going to end, now. It's bad enough that you're..." Jack looked up at her expectantly. Bad enough that he was...?

Noticing her mistake, Mrs. Spicer shook her head. "Never mind, Jackie. The point is, you're going to school. That's final." Immediately, Jack began to think of a way to get out of this. ANY WAY. Meanwhile, ooking rather smug, and with an oddly suspicious glint in her eye that Jack missed, Mrs. Spicer turned on her heals with an air of finality that could put the wealthiest and snobbiest of women to shame.

But Jack's torment didn't end there; in fact, the next statement would crush any hope he had of escape, like an ant under a thumb.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Jackie." Jack looked up at his mom, having a sudden sense of foreboding as he did. "Yes, mom?"

"I've already spoken to your father about this,"she admonished, looking FAR too pleased in the face of her son's discomfort. Jack groaned.

"And...?" The red-headed genius didn't want to hear what he already knew, but his mom would probably bring it up, anyway.

"He thought it was 'an exceptional idea'." With that, Mrs. Spicer left the fancy room, most likely to get one of her over-the-top facials. Jack wanted to crack his head on every table. His father agreed? He'd never get out of it, now.

Then, Jack realized something, with a start. 'They...talked about it behind my back...?'

Feeling a small sadness weigh in his chest, Jack sat down in a nearby armchair. "I wonder how long they've been planning this," he muttered, surly and wounded.

Letting out a growl of frustration, the self-proclaimed evil-boy-genius pounded his clenched, white fist on the arm of the chair. "Argh! Why does she care, all of a sudden? She's pretty much never here (like, once every three weeks, not even), and all of a sudden she cares about my education? I don't even need one! Those 'creepy robots' I make should prove that I AM smart!"

Pouting, he crossed his arms broodily, readying himself for some long, moody, teenage-angsting.

"Great...another year of Hell..." Jack sighed again, the anger replaced by wariness. "New school...same stupid crap..."

Yeah, another year of hard, under-appreciated work, being called a "freaky goth kid" by the preps, and "wannabe goth" by the real wrist-slashers. Not to mention the 'look at the albino kid' shit. "Ugh..." Jack sprawled himself backwards into the armchair. "This CAN'T get any worse! I'd rather spend my whole summer training with those Xiaolin LOSERS!"

Giving one last yell of disappointment, Jack shoved a pillow onto his face. Maybe...he could suffocate himself before he had to go...

"Ma-master Jack, sir?" Jack could hear the hesitance in the butler's voice even through the fanciful pillow. But, hey, to the man's credit, it wasn't everyday a butler saw the young master suffocating himself with a pillow from the couch. Well...at least it didn't happen too often.

"Get on with it...!" Jack mumbled, not really interested in the wake of his oh-so-deserved pouting time.

"Ahm," the butler righted himself, "Lady Spicer (Jack wanted to gag at the extreme formality. LADY Spicer? What was this, the Romeo and Juliet era?) requested that I give you this pamphlet for your school."

"GREAT," Jack snarled, snatching it from the butler, "more good news!" The unfortunate manservant stood awkwardly before excusing himself. "Sterling Silver Academy: Home of the Silver Stallions and land of the enriched rich...bleh bleh bleh..." Jack's speaking went to a low murmur, until he simply read the booklet to himself. Everything seemed exactly what you'd expect from an academy for rich boys, until...

"WHAT? IT'S A BOARDING SCHOOL?" Jack felt a small panic weigh into his stomach, as if he'd swallowed some large stones. It was bad enough that he was going to school, but a boarding school? "I'm going to die," Jack mumbled. A boarding school...dear God.

But one thought hit him harder than the rest. 'Why a boarding school?...Is mom trying to get rid of me?...No way...Mom loves me. Sure, I get on her nerves...but, she's my mom.'

Letting it go, Jack sighed (he'd been doing that a lot, today). "Guess I have to start packing..." Taking out the pamphlet, Jack searched for the 'required items' list.

TBC...

Here's the edited version--few things changed, some added parts. Critique is love.