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sweet sixteen

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She had almost been killed three times when she learned that legions of the undead and never-actually-alive had it in for her now too, so it wasn't that big of a game changer. Her Watcher, Dianna, had tried to ease her into the whole Slayer thing, like she was reading a pamphlet for newly turned superheroes, complete with textbook explanation of the one (sorta) girl in all the world.

After sitting through the second session of "So You're a Slayer... What Do You Do Now?," Faith asked when she actually got to kill shit. 

Evidentially the Watchers' Council hadn't prepared her for a Slayer eager to slay.

For the first two weeks, Faith seemed happy, normal. Maybe she hit a little harder, fought a little dirtier, killed a little faster than Dianna had expected, but nothing so much to raise any alarms. Not until one rainy June night when she was woken up in the middle of the night by someone slamming on the door to her apartment. 

It was Faith, soaking wet, with her wrist bent at such an angle that Dianna thought she was still dreaming, at least until Faith started crying.

Somehow between the innuendo laced smirks and tight leather pants, she had forgotten that her Slayer was barely sixteen years old, but as Faith sobbed in her doorway, Dianna couldn't think of anything else.

Numbly, she led Faith to her couch and dragged out the first aid kit, automatically going through the motions she learned in school, all while babbling to Faith about advanced Slayer healing, how she would be good as new in probably a week. 

Faith had started to laugh, and before Dianna could say anything, she had lifted up her shirt with her good hand, displaying bruises that ranged from reddish-purple to a sickly yellowish color. 

"I guess I know why these are fading so fast."

Dianna couldn't hold back her gasped, "Who did this, Faith?"

Faith's mouth hardened, and she looked away, letting her shirt drop. 

"Who was it, Faith? Was it your mother?" Before she had finished the sentence, she knew she was right, Faith's tensing shoulders only confirming the fact. She also knew she had gone too far. 

Faith stood up, tears gone, looking like the girl Dianna had known before that night. "You know what?" Faith started to walk towards the door. "I thought you were different, but all that all of you do is stick your fucking noses places you shouldn't fucking be."

And with a slam, Dianna was left alone, sitting on the couch with bandages spread around her.

When she walked into her living room the next morning, a window was open and Faith was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Dianna smiled, draped a blanket over Faith, and walked into the kitchen to make breakfast. 

Teenagers like pancakes, right?