A Little Learning
By littleilly

Disclaimer: Not mine. My God is Joss, and he is the divine creator (and copyright holder).

Summery: A story about Wesley's father, Rodger Whyndam-Pryce.

A/N: Yes, I know it's not "Hell's Adolescence" give me time, I'm still getting over a major case of writer's block. Read this little one in the mean time, and maybe review, if you would be so kind. After all, feedback is the best inspiration.

He hated that house, with its murky windows and its cold walls. The old fashioned furniture, the bare floors, the stately piano that no one ever played. Visitors said it was a perfect example of the old Victorian cottages. Rodger was quite well read, and knew a great deal about the Victorian era. For most it had been dirty, tiering and depressing. He might have objected to the description on that grim basis, but Rodger thought it was quite appropriate. He found the house depressing indeed.

The worst thing about his family home was the people inside. Rodger's mother, a cold and distant woman, had done little but sit in the front room and stare out the dreary windows since her husband's death, 12 years before. This woman was hardly the loving caring mother Rodger needed, but at least he didn't hate her like he hated his uncle, he simply didn't feel anything for her. He hated uncle Leopold. Completely and absolutely. As Rodger's primary care giver, Uncle Leopold oversaw the boy's education, meals and general wellbeing and had done so since Rodger could remember. He taught with a stiff hand and a stiffer cane. Highly critical and apparently incapable of affection, Uncle Leopold was the most horrible man Rodger had ever encountered. Though, since he wasn't allowed to attend school or leave the house, Rodger hadn't met many other men. The only people outside his family he had ever met where various members of the watchers council who came to visit his uncle and asses his progress. "One day, you might make a fine addition to the watchers council, son." One such visitor said, "What do you say to that?" Rodger has said quite a bit, all of which offended his uncle and the visitor. He had been punished severely for his insolence.

He thought back to that incident today, relishing strangely in his past pain. Never again would he suffer at his Uncle's hand, nor feel the sting of his disapproval, nor hear the dreaded title "Watcher". These things he left behind with his Uncle in that hated house as he ventured out on his own.

Rodger was only 13 years old, but he already knew 11 different languages. He was trained in martial arts and the use of all the basic weapons- quarter staff, cross bow, and he was a master at fencing. He was more capable of protecting himself than many grown men and he would have to. Unable to stand a moment longer in that hated house, with that hated man, Rodger Wyndam-Pryce had run away.

It was sunset and the street lamps were just beginning to light up. English street lamps were especially beautiful, their glow magnified and captured by the haze that constantly hung in the air. The darkness of night time could be intimidating and while the electric lamps could do nothing to ward off vampires, they where of some comfort to the runaway.

Having no place to go, Rodger took a moment to rest and think in a small park. He was some miles from his house now, Uncle Leopold would not find him here. The park was a damp and uninviting place, grey-green grass covered the hard ground and a thin hedge surrounded it. In the centre was an old metal swing set, and it was here that Rodger sat.

"What are you doing here?" a young boy's voice emanated from the darkness behind the park.

"I'm running away," Rodger replied before he could stop himself. He thought to be weary of strangers at night- but he was too tired to keep his guard up.

"Oh," The mysterious speaker said. Then, after some consideration, he added "Is that a good idea?"

"Better than staying where I was." Rodger said.

The speaker revealed himself then, walking slowly out from the darkness and taking a seat on the swing beside Rodger. He was quite young, only eight or nine, surely to young to be out this late. He was incredibly plain, medium brown hair, medium brown eyes, nothing special about his clothes. This plain little boy was the first outsider Rodger Wyndam-Pryce had ever met and for that Rodger took an immediate likeing to him.

"Should you be out this late at night?" He asked the boy.

"I don't live far away." He fell silent after that.

"I'm Rodger Wyndam Pryce." Rodger said, trying for conversation with this new stranger.

"I'm Thomas Darling." He said. "Why are you running away?"

"I didn't like my house, or my uncle." Rodger said plainly, "I would rather not live with him."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know."

Thomas considered this, "If I ever felt so angry that I wanted to run away, I think I would run to my friend David's house." He said, "David's mum makes the best steak and kidney pie."

"I don't have any friends." Rodger said.

"Why?" Asked Thomas.

"Because I've never met anyone except my Uncle's friends, and I don't like those people."

"That's weird." Thomas said.

The somewhat offensive statement made Rodger smile, "Yeah. I know."

"You're not supposed to admit you being weird." Thomas said, "That's… even weirder."

"What should I do?" Rodger asked.

"Defend yourself!" Thomas said, "you say "I'm not weird, you are.""

"I'm not weird, you are." Rodger repeated.

Thomas replied with a perplexing rhyme, "I know you are, you said you are, but what am I?"

The older boy furrowed his brow, "Er… I don't follow."

Thomas laughed, "You are weird. Wanna be my friend?"

"I thought you said I was weird." Rodger remind him.

He shrugged, "I don't have many friends, just David, so I'm not choosy."

A friend. He could have a friend. The idea thrilled Rodger more than he thought possible. He wondered what it would be like to befriend Thomas, to have someone in the world who didn't hate him. It was impossible to imagine, but Rodger decided he was willing to find out. "I'll be your friend."

As the boys exchanged smiles and laughs, their first acts of friendship, a stalker loomed behind them in the darkness. It had been watching them, two helpless little boys alone in a dark playground. It was waiting for the moment to strike, and that moment had come. From out of the shadows, a monster appeared, bearing down on the boys.

Rodger recognised it immediately, the creased brow, the yellow eyes, and of corse the fangs. It was a visage he had studied many times, a monster he had been trained to know and kill. It was a vampire.

"Run!" Roger yelled to his new friend. "Oh God, run!" Rodger leapt of the swing, as if following his own advice, and turned to run back the way he had come. Thomas blocked his path. "It's a Vampire, stupid. God move."

Thomas grinned, and as he did, his bright boyish smile morphed into a horrible visiage. Fang protruded over his lips. He lisped around them, "I don't really want to move."

The bigger vampire reached out and grabbed Rodger's shoulder. He laughed oafishly, "can I bite 'im, Tommy, can I?"

Thomas grinned, "I suppose you can David, who will care if a runaway is missing after all?"

The vampire pulled Rodger around to face him. Rodger looked into the yellow eyes of the beast. He looked a few years older then Rodger was, but that was just his physical body. Who knew how long this monster had terrorised people- feeding of their blood and leaving them for dead.

Rodger quivered in fear. His shaky knees could barely supporting the great weight of his body. He gripped the swing for support, and ordered his legs to move forward, but he stayed where he was. Terror gripped him all over.

Thomas moved around to regard his victim too. Rodger knew now he had been played by the boy. David was obviously his hunting partnet- and Rodger was their prey. Thomas focused his yellow eyes on Rodger, bearing a look of pure unbridled evil.

Rodger stood by the swing, still unable to move.

"What are you going to do Rodger?" A deep male voice asked. Rodger didn't reply. Uncle Leopold walked slowly into the light of the street lamps. His steps slow and heavy on the hard ground.

"Who's this big hero?" Thomas asked, his protruding brow creasing in puzzlement.

David glared and gruntet, "someone who's not welcome."

Uncle Leopold ignored them both, addressing his nephew again. "What are you going to do Rodger?"

Rodger felt a shaky whimper leave his lips. He was still staring, transfixed, at the hideous face of his attackers.

"Rodger."

Thomas, clearly bored with this game, lunged forward to grab Rodger. His clammy cold hands clasped the older boy's neck. For such a small child, he had enormous strength. He growled, bearing his fang. Rodger felt cold hard teeth against his neck, and then nothing but dust.

Rodger fell to the ground, released from Thomas' grip. Uncle Leopold held a crossbow in his hand, that he now pointed at David. Thomas was nothing but dust, littering Rodger's clothes.

"Leave," Uncle Leopold said, "before I do the same to you."

David snarled at the Watcher, but he retreated as he was told. His lumbering form disappeared into the dark fog surrounding the park.

"Uncle-" Rodger gasped.

Leopold took slow measured steps away from the swing-set, turning his formidably back on his nephew. "What should you have done?"

Rodger choaked back tears. There would be no comfort for him after his ordeal. There would be no love or forgiveness. Only punishments for failure. He pushed his feelings away, determined not to disappoint his uncle any further. "Warded the vampire off with a cross, uncle." Rodger said mechanically, "Or holy water. If possible, attacked it with a sharp wooden object."

Leopold nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Next time, you will do what is expected."

"Yes, Uncle," Rodger replied.

Uncle Leopold lead the way home, and Rodger followed.