Author Note: This story actually came about when I was writing a one-shot for my Crack Bunnies series. It grew into this beast, which is going to run to about sixteen chapters – so much for the one shot. Like a lot of my stories, it was written in a circle and later chapters were done before earlier ones. I've been working on this for a while, but it's not entirely written on my computer (just three-quarters written, lol). And I'm terrified of the reaction I might get to it. I've been living with the plot for so long that I'm really nervous. Reactions of any kind are welcome however, if you enjoy then hit the review button and let me know, or if you spot any horrific errors I've made then tell me and I'll correct them.
Warnings: Lots of these and they cover every chapter, although this prologue is the tamest. This story has slash. Vast amounts of slash. It also contains a sorta-kinda romantic triangle and one side is a pairing I have never, ever seen in the fandom. Probably for good reason. There is blood, gore, crudeness, death, religious stuff (and the characters various opinions are not necessarily those of the author). Should any of these things squick you or offend you, click back now. Also, I know nothing at all of private schools, everything described about Yardale comes directly from my own imagination, save the name.
Which leads me to remind you all that I don't own the characters, Yardale, South Park, any of the stuff I nicked from The Omen films or a working television set, so please, no lawyers. Enjoy!
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Toll due, bad dream come true.
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Yardale had been built some hundred and fifty years previously, intended as a place where the rich could sent their sons for their entire educational career to have them properly schooled (and safely out of the way of their parents), leading them onto high-flying, highly paid, prolific careers in political or financial fields. The already wealthy boys would become even richer as men, marrying well and sending their own offspring to the establishment to continue the cycle. As the years passed, the building was added to, usually in the form of bequests from former students, the architecture in keeping with the existing structure and never looking anything less than pristine. The grounds were huge, a large wooded area out of bounds to the pupils to one side, fields separating the building from the local village two miles away. The village had prospered along with the school and in recent years had become a small town, catering mostly to the rich, bored young men with money to burn who found it their only choice of venue away from Yardale's grounds.
The Spring break was over and done with and Yardale had once more opened its doors to its pupils. There were unlikely to be many students looking forward to the term, reflected Gregory Thorne, but he doubted that any of them were secretly dreading it as much as he was.
He should be happy, or nostalgic perhaps. It was the final term of his final year at the prestigious private academy and he had enjoyed his time there well enough, he supposed, as much as one could enjoy school. His academic career was relatively chequered – the school accommodated for children throughout their schooling years and he had attended the place from aged four to eight, when he had transferred very briefly to public school, then to a similarly prestigious military academy half-way across the country, his fathers career making it a more convenient locale. Then back to Yardale again at fifteen, after another of his fathers promotions.
He fit in well enough among the other students, who all came from wealthy families and had the same casual confidence and unconscious arrogance that Gregory himself had, the result of being brought up in a certain way. However, he had something that they lacked, an awareness of their ease of living compared to others, anger at that injustice that none of his contemporaries seemed to share – if anything, they saw it as the natural order of the world, themselves deservedly pampered and privileged, everyone else there to be pitied, scorned or employed as cheap, disposable nobodies. That kind of thinking pissed Gregory off no end, his political idealism baulking at his own upper-class roots.
And his involvement in the American-Canadian war years earlier had showed him that just a few people could change the world for the better, given the right time, right circumstances, plenty of determination and a willingness to make sacrifices.
School had always been easy enough for him, a perfectionist streak meaning his work was always up to standard and he ensured his knowledge was up to at least the expected level, preferably higher. And he was naturally highly intelligent anyway, just another thing he took for granted, like his aristocratic good looks, or the athletic physique that came from seven years of military school and his continued (sometimes over the top) training. It wasn't his workload that was causing his minor depression at returning to Yardale, not his social life and certainly not the thought of having to finally leave the establishment for good and live in the real world – that he could be anything but a success never even crossed his mind.
It was his soon-to-be room mate.
Damien Thorn had arrived at the school suddenly, after the academic year had begun. His late arrival had meant him being stuck at the end of the schools usually strict adherence to alphabetical order, resulting in him sharing a dorm with the Yates kid, who had immediately become nothing more than a lackey to the other boy. But that would be different this term he had been informed, all it took was a quick look at the re-issued register for Gregory to realise his final term was about to become a miserable experience indeed. Damien's surname was Thorn, Gregory's was Thorne and unless someone had dropped out or they had a new addition, that unfortunate coincidence was going to throw them together until they left. Or killed each other, which wasn't unlikely. The rigid rules about alphabetical order meant in all their lessons they would be seated together, working together – and because the senior students had two people to a room rather than sleeping in a four-bed dorm like the younger boys did, they'd be forced to be in the same room. Which meant no respite from the other, even once lessons were done for the day.
The Thorn kids, the other students called them during their previously rare interactions. As in, the Thorn kids are kicking shit out of each other again, or The Thorn kids are going to kill one another some day. Gregory and Damien were similar in some respects – both self-confident, arrogant, assured, both among the more intelligent of their classmates, both unafraid of each other. In other ways, they were polar opposites, most obviously in their looks; Damien was an inch or so taller and cultivated a slightly messy emo-rebel appearance, while Gregory preferred to appear immaculate, no easy task sometimes when his blonde curls wanted to run riot. Damien's thoughts on society at large, including the school, was unashamedly elitist; himself at the top and everyone else cattle, good only for what they could give him and then easily and guiltlessly discarded. He cared for no one else, something he made no secret of and yet, he had some kind of weird charisma that made his classmates go along with him, knowing they would end up taking the blame for any wrongdoings while Damien escaped trouble-free, not even learning their lesson after that. Gregory despised their weakness for allowing it, and Damien for exploiting it.
Every one of the conversations that he and Damien had got into previously had deteriorated into an argument within moments. Gregory not only refused to be exploited, he would try to point out Damien's ploys to the oblivious victim. The ensuing row would usually be icily sarcastic on Gregory's side, slyly mean on Damien's. Damien got under Gregory's skin, infuriating him in a way he had never known anyone else able to do before and their classmates were secretly betting on when the situation would escalate. They'd been in minor scuffles before, but they had been broken up before getting out of hand – Gregory had never been in so much trouble in his academic life as he had since Damien had arrived.
Gregory had reflected several times over the break that with them being forced into close proximity over the coming term, the chance of a serious fight rose exponentially. And despite his excellent physical condition, Gregory wasn't completely sure of his chances of coming out on top. He had enjoyed excelling in sports until Damien arrived, when suddenly it was no longer as effortless to win. Damien was strong, Damien had stamina and Damien was happy to cheat. Although Gregory knew he was good and he wasn't above fighting dirty and he certainly wasn't afraid of throwing down with Damien or anyone else, he knew the outcome would not be a foregone conclusion.
As Gregory carried his cases to his new dorm room, he was really hoping that just one name had changed on the register. Just one name and he would be sharing with Ethan again.
No such luck.
Damien was already lying on the bed Gregory would have chosen had he arrived first, next to the window, lounging carelessly against the plain white sheets, staring at the ceiling. As soon as Gregory walked through the door, Damien leaned up on his elbows and smirked, insolently handsome in his uniform of grey trousers, white shirt and red tie. Damien's tie was pulled loose with the knot hanging low, as opposed to Gregory's perfectly positioned Windsor knot.
"Hey there, roomie," Damien smirked, sensing Gregory's dislike of the situation.
"Damien," responded Gregory formally, dropping his case on the other bed and opening it, making a start on putting his things away. He had brought nothing personal with him at all in anticipation of his prayers not being answered, he didn't doubt that Damien would poke through his possessions at the earliest opportunity, probably not even bothering to be sneaky about it. Gregory found such invasions of privacy infuriating and disturbing, he had plenty to hide and although he rarely showed any signs of temper, loathing the loss of self-control, it was just another thing about Damien that got under his skin.
"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine," mocked Damien, rolling his eyes. "Hope you're not gonna be in this mood all term."
"Not as long as you don't bother talking to me," replied Gregory calmly, transferring his clothes from the case to his drawers.
"You wanna draw a line down the centre of the room too?"
"I would, if I thought it would make a difference."
Damien snorted. "You're so fucking uptight. Good thing I only have to put up with your shit another two months."
Gregory stole a quick glance at Damien, wondering if he had miscalculated – the term was a couple of weeks over three months – but he didn't pursue the issue, he had no desire to be drawn into casual conversations with the other boy and after a moment, Damien lay back down and resumed staring at the ceiling, an uncharacteristically unhappy look flitting briefly across his face before being replaced by bored indifference.
Gregory arched an eyebrow as he returned to packing, suddenly slightly cheered. It could easily prove to be another of Damien's stupid mind games, but if not, it sounded almost as if he would be leaving before the end of the term. Maybe there was some parental transfer in the works – Gregory had no idea what Damien's parents did for a living but he was no stranger to being shifted from one part of the country to another – or maybe he was really lucky and Damien was about to be disowned or similar. Whatever it was, anything that forced Damien out of school and out of his way could only be a good thing.
His mood slightly lifted and with Damien sullenly quiet, Gregory allowed his mind to wander while he put his things away. The two week break over spring had been a good one, only slightly marred by the knowledge he was coming back to this. His parents had suggested he return home to them for the period, Gregory had sidestepped the issue neatly by informing them one of the other boys had asked him to take a brief holiday with them. It wasn't entirely an untruth... just mostly a lie.
Rather than a tedious visit home, Gregory had spent the two weeks with his unacknowledged best friend Christophe. Most other teenagers would spend the time playing video games or hanging out, however, neither Gregory nor Christophe were like most teenagers and Gregory had actually accompanied Christophe during his work.
Most teenagers worked in fast food places or shops. Christophe tended to sneak into places he shouldn't be in – countries he shouldn't be in – blow things up, steal, kill, maim, carry out daring rescues or ruthless plots. And most of the time, it paid very well.
It wasn't the first time the two had worked together, although Christophe frequently bitched about Gregory being 'part time', it was just his way of teasing. It was one of the more satisfying jobs though, having been hired by a man desperately worried for his daughter, who had answered an ad for an au pair in Europe and vanished. They had tracked her down in ten days, leaving behind a trail of human traffickers who weren't about to be in that business again, or any other for that matter. The girl had never laid eyes on the people who got her out of the situation and her father had not been in a position to pay their typically outrageous fees, nor was it the kind of thing they usually did. It made Gregory believe he had been right about one thing; Christophe wasn't the hardened bastard he liked to make out he was. He still had a soft spot for the downtrodden and the exploited.
Gregory realised suddenly that he was being watched and glanced over to Damien, who sure enough was regarding him with an amused look.
"What's her name?"
Gregory scowled, realising that something in his face must have given away his thoughts. And as usual, Damien had gone right to the heart of the matter, finding the most sensitive topic, the big secret, and pushing the wrong buttons. The best way to deal with the question was to be dismissive and slightly sarcastic.
"Go fuck yourself."
Damn. What the hell happened to his usual composure whenever Damien was around? He had a smart-arse comment for every occasion, unless it was Damien trying to get a rise out of him. No matter how often Gregory told himself he wasn't going to give the other boy the satisfaction, he could never find a comeback and he always ended up losing his temper.
"Never needed to," replied Damien with a smirk. "Although I'm sure you'd enjoy watching me."
Gregory slammed the drawer shut, reflecting that he hadn't even been in the room half an hour and he was already contemplating beating Damien to death with something heavy. He knew plenty of ways to kill a person with less mess and effort, but that wasn't enough, he wanted Damien pained and bleeding. He amused himself with the image for a few moments. Right then he made himself a promise; if he and Damien ever did get into an apocalyptic fist-fight, there was no way he was going to let Damien beat him. It didn't matter if Damien was strong, Gregory doubted that he was much of a fighter.
"Temper temper," murmured Damien quietly. Gregory shot a quick glare at the other boy, catching his eyes and deciding, not for the first time, that Damien wore contacts as some kind of vanity thing, no one as pale as that could have eyes that dark, seemingly totally black.
There was a quick knock on the still-open door and a man entered. Damien looked over at him disinterestedly and Gregory gave him a tight smile. "Hello Mr Neff."
"Gregory." The teacher looked over at Damien with an odd, inscrutable look. "Damien. Just checking to see that you're both alright and to let you know, I'll be the teacher overseeing your dorm this term."
"Yes sir," said Damien with an insolent smile. Mr Neff gave him another strange look and although Gregory kept his face impassive, he was suddenly intrigued. There was definitely something he was missing here, although he had no idea what it could be. Mr Neff was famous for being a take-no-shit type, apparently that wasn't the case when it came to Damien.
"What happened to Mr Thompson?" he enquired casually.
Mr Neff looked back at him. "There'll be an announcement later, but – he had an accident over the break and he's still in the hospital. I doubt he'll be returning this term."
"An accident?" Gregory was curious. "What kind of accident?"
"Skiing." Mr Neff's eyes skittered over to Damien and then back to Gregory. "Fortunately, I was able to move on campus for the duration of his, ah, convalescence."
He made as if to leave, then seemed to remember something and turned back. "By the way, I'm aware that you two have a history of agitating each other. I was against the change in rooms for that very reason, but our principal is keen on sticking to his plans." He smiled coldly, looking directly at Gregory. "I'm keen on peace and quiet. I expect both of you to get along and..." He looked over at Damien again. "Keep a low profile. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yeah," said Damien, no longer smiling. "Crystal clear. Sir."
Neff looked back at Gregory, who nodded.
"Good." Neff took his leave and the two boys relaxed a little. Gregory returned to unpacking his things in silence, while Damien rolled over on the bed to watch him. "You heard the man Greg," he said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sure we'll be the best of friends."
Gregory sighed, looking at the ceiling. The heavy weight of the gold crucifix beneath his shirt shifted with the movement, bringing to mind Christophe's frequent, vulgarly eloquent rants. Perhaps he had been right all along.
"God really does hate me," he muttered.
Damien laughed. Gregory looked back at him, startled, as his low chuckles gave way to a good-humoured belly laugh, as if he had heard the funniest joke of all time – and yet, there was an undertone of bitterness to the sound.
"You and me both, Greg," he said, rolling onto his back and resuming looking at the ceiling, his laughter tapering off. "You and me both."
