The First Steps -- Another View

by Saber ShadowKitten
My Childe 12

Fear is for wusses. Or at least that's what my Sire used to say just before we were going to do something foolhardy, like go after a Slayer or her Watcher. I don't think it's written anywhere that Angelus had killed eight of them right in a row. Lined 'em up and shot 'em down, although he used his pearly whites.

I know my two successful kills during this century are well-know. After all, I love to brag. I also like to talk. A lot. It's a failing of mine, though recently you wouldn't know it.

But back to my Sire and the Slayers he put to pasture. The first one he killed in self-defense. We were walking along, minding our own business, when the little chit attacked. He snapped her neck rather quickly and I killed her Watcher, who was standing nearby doing whatever Watcher's do. Angelus' kill never got recorded because the recorder was, well, dead. We left their bodies where they fell.

The following seven were all rapid and happened within a period of one month. My wonderful toff of a Sire attended a party and ended up kidnapping a member of the Watcher's Council. Tortured the bloke for days. It was fun.

Anyway, the sod from the Council knew the names of all the potential Slayers in the area, several of whom had already been training since they were tots. Angelus got it in his head that it would be neat to kill them all. I told him he was suicidal and that's when he told me fear was for the weak.

So off we went, the two of us, hunting these girls who were trained to turn us into dust. My Sire didn't play his usual toying games, instead we just killed them. One died, another was called and she died the next night. Wham, bam, thank you, you soddin' pillock.

After the seventh, the poof got bored because it was too easy. So, just like that, we stopped hunting the Slayers and took a mini-holiday to Germany to terrorize the hausfraus. He made me dress up in those stupid little shorts, the bloody prick. But we had a great time while we were there, visiting the various villages, attending parties, going to hear Johhanes Brahms.

It was the phonograph of Brahms that Angel had put on while I was still curled up in his bed that got me to thinking about the past. I had watched him walk around the bedroom, getting out clean clothes, then disappear into the bathroom to clean up, leaving the phono on. When he came out, he was dressed in all black as usual, but it was the way he carried himself that I really noticed for the first time in awhile.

My Sire may have a tortured, guilt-ridden soul in his body, but unless you looked into his eyes, you wouldn't know it. He walks and stands like a predator, like a man in full control of himself. Despite all that had happened to him -- getting tortured by me a few months back, getting his soul back twice, getting sent to hell -- he's unbroken. Unafraid.

So here I am, standing with my back against the red brick wall, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands as I look at the distance I have to cross in order to get to Angel. He's in the kitchen, watching me with his dark eyes, holding a container of blood. He isn't moving or saying anything, he's just standing. I don't know if I'm glad he's keeping his trap shut or not. I can still feel those eyes on me, the same ones that kept me in the soddin' bed for days, terrified like a bloody child who believes that monsters live under the bed.

I am one of those bleedin' monsters and it's beyond time I started acting like it.

I close my eyes and bang my head back against the wall. "Come on, you stupid nancyboy," I mutter to myself. "There's no one here but me an' the poof, and I'm hungry. Four and a half meters."

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then grind my teeth together. I open my eyes and meet Angel's. I can see all the pain and torture and hell he's been through in those eyes, and yet there he stands. Confident. Relaxed. Powerful.

I. Am. Not. Going. To. Let. Them. Scare. Me. Anymore.

The first step was the hardest, but now I'm here, standing in front of my Sire and daring him to say "good boy" like I'm a fucking dog or something. He didn't. He just gave me the container in his hand and went over to the refrigerator to get another.

Cold blood sucks.