| Kimberly Elle Castille |
 |
| Portrayed By: | Natalie Portman |
| Status: | Alive |
| Age: | 20 |
| Occupation: | College Student |
| Family: | Jack Castille (brother), Richard Castille (father), Judy Watkins-Castille (stepmother), Emily Castille (mother, deceased) |
| Freak Factor: | Slayer |
Background
"Tell us a bit about yourself, Miss Castille."
My eyebrows arched, and I blinked at the man sitting across the very old (and likely very expensive) desk. The man — the Watcher — was older, his faced lined from worry and laughter. He had a nice face. Fatherly. "Well," I replied, a little surprised and a touch uncertainly. "There's not much to tell, really."
It wasn't very often that anyone asked me about me. My brother Jack? Sure. He was our father's golden child and I was the family black sheep. He was the shining star. The good son. Mister All-American. This man with the kindly face wasn't interested in him, though. He wanted to know about me.
I hesitated. He waited patiently, hands clasped on the desk in front of him. "Umm…" I lifted a shoulder in shrug and slouched down in my chair. "Mom died when I was eight. Bone cancer. Dad remarried. My stepmother and I each wish the other one was dead. Dropped out of high school. The end."
I waited from him to prompt me for details and scowled. He eyed me for a second, then reached up and took off his glasses. "I see," was all he said. He occupied himself for a moment by cleaning the glasses with a handkerchief, then slid them back on. "Do you know why you were brought here, Miss Castille?"
"Yeah, I think so. It's got something to do with that creepy dude with the messed up eyes, right? The one that kept attacking me?" I fought back a shudder at the memory of the first attack. I had been sitting on the top of an old crypt. It was my favorite spot. I had an excellent view of my mom's grave from up there. I was lying on top of it, smoking and drinking a scavaged bottle of rum someone had left for one of their dead relatives, while Jack was pacing in front of the crypt, yelling up at me for dropping out of school. Then it happened. There was a big, old oak tree that hung over that crypt. The black-robed man — his eyes blinded and scarred by weird runes — had jumped down from the branches and tried to stab me with this weird knife. I screamed and rolled off the crypt, almost cracked my head open when I hit the ground. Jack snatched the bottle out of my hand and threw it like a game-winning touchdown pass at that thing. Then, he picked me up and practically carried me as we ran out of the cemetery with that thing chasing us the whole way out.
"Yes," the Watcher confirmed. "You, Miss Castille, are a Vampire Slayer." He looked at me expectantly.
I stared back at him. "A what?"
He sighed. "A Vampire Slayer," he repeated, and then explained the whole deal. Once there was a Chosen One, now there were the Chosen Many, and I was one the (un)lucky Many. Girls with the strength and speed to fight the vampires, demons, and forces of Darkness. That was kind of cool. Then, he went on for a while about the whole history of the Slayers. I zoned out. There was a /reason/ I had dropped out of high school.
"…and so, I'd like to introduce you to your Watcher, Mister O'Reagan." Huh? My what? Tuning back in, I straightened up in my chair and looked around.
It took me a minute to remember how to breathe.
He was saying something. Smiling at me. Offering his hand. I hardly noticed; all I could see were his dark eyes and that smile. I think he was Irish. I think he asked me my name. Oh, shit. I couldn't remember it.
"Kimberly," the older Watcher filled in. He probably thought I was in shock over his boring-ass Slayer lesson. God, I hoped that was he thought.
"Kimmie," I corrected, regaining my senses. "No one calls me Kimberly unless I'm in trouble."
"Very well then. Kimmie it is. Sir." He nodded to the older Watcher as the man left the room. He turned to me. "That can't be your actual hair color."
"What?" God, I felt stupid. C'mon brain! Work! I pulled a lock of hair forward to remind myself what color it was. Bright red for most of the length, black at the roots. "Oh. Yeah. It's naturally brown. Boring."
He cocked a brow at me, then dazzled me with that smile again. "I find it difficult to believe there's anything boring about you, Kimmie." Then he crooked a finger at me. "Let's get started. We'll start with the quarterstaff."
Anyone else? I probably would have broken their finger. Him? I was only too happy to follow after my new Watcher like a puppy. I tried not to drool. It was an effort.
Over the next months, I worked my ass off like I'd never done in my life before Slayerhood. I'd never had a purpose before. I did now, and I dedicated myself to it wholly. Colm was a paradox; he was the one thing that could keep me focused and the one thing that endlessly distracted me. He taught me martial arts and how to use a whole host of weapons, and I paid attention to every word, every movement. It was the only way I could keep from staring at him; he insisted on wearing nothing but a pair of gi-style pants when we sparred and I found the scar on his chest fascinating.
It was the scar that had distracted me, and the way his chest flexed when he swung the bo-staff that lead to our… current arrangement. I was distracted, he swung the staff, and whack! Smacked me right across the mouth. I tasted blood and stared at him dumbly, shocked that he'd been able to hit me. It had been at least a month since he'd been able to score a hit on me.
"Kimmie!" It was the clatter of the wooden staff hitting the floor that snapped me out of it. He rushed over to me, and reached up to brush away the blood from my split lip with his thumb.
"I'm fine, it's nothing. It'll be healed by tonight. I—" I was hyper-aware of just how close we were standing and how very little he had on. I couldn't stand it. He was so much taller than me; I had to go on tip-toe to grab his face between my hands and pull him down to kiss him. My brain was screaming at me about just how wrong this was, about how much trouble I was going to be in, but before I could tell it to shut the hell up, he was kissing me back and I'd never been happier in my life.
Months pass and my training continued, intensified. So did the physical relationship between Colm and I. Eventually, I was allowed to go on patrol. First, it was a small group of other girls and our Watchers. Then, it was just us girls, and then it was on my own. During the day, I trained and at night, I would patrol and hunt the vampires. After the patrol, I would go to Colm and fall asleep in his arms.
Some nights, though… some nights, I would dream of the Slayers who came before me. I would dream of them fighting, and dying, and I'd wake up screaming in languages I didn't even know. Then one night, it was Colm who woke up screaming. His dark eyes were terrified and haunted. I'd never seen anyone look like that. It was not the last night it would happen, either.
Then, one day, Colm was called in to the Council's privy chamber. It was Watchers-only territory, so naturally, I counted to five and snuck after him. I feared the worst, that despite our best efforts, we had been found out. Hardly daring to breathe, I listened at the door. The stupid thing was made of thick wood, probably to discourage the very act of eavesdropping that I was engaging in. I could catch only snippets of what was being said.
"Clearly," I thought I heard a muffled male voice say, his crisp English accent carrying even through the wood barrier, "it's her. We've checked and re-checked the texts, the signs, consulted with the oracles again and again. It's her, it has to be."
If there was more said, I could not hear, but a minute later I could hear Colm, "We'll do what we must. We'll do our duty. It's to be the States, then? When'll we be leavin'?"
"Immediately," the English voice replied. Then, after a beat, "I'm sorry. I know this is difficult, how deeply one can become attached—"
I heard Colm cut him off, but I couldn't make out what was said. Footsteps began to approach the door and I made myself scarce.
Colm found me half an hour later, diligently practicing my swordplay. He simply stood, watching me with an odd expression until I couldn't stand it any longer and lowered the weapon. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Hmm? Nothing, no reason," he dismissed it with a wave of his hand, then smiled. "We have our first assignment. We're to go to the States, to Las Vegas. Apparently, there be some trouble brewin' there."
"Vegas, huh? What, they're not worried I'll gamble away the entire Council's fortune on craps and poker and keno?" I joked and grinned at him. "Well, maybe not keno, that's basically the lam—"
He crossed the room in two strides and cut me off by grabbing my arms and pulling me to him for a kiss that left me breathless and weak-kneed. When I remembered how to use words and speak, I blinked up at him and asked, "What was that for?"
"I need a reason to kiss ye now? Go get packed, we're leavin' in the morning."
And that was that. I didn't bother prying, it would have only caused him to clam up harder. We packed, we left England and arrived in Las Vegas. At Colm's insistence that I should not remain ignorant and uneducated, and have a chance at a little bit of a normal non-monster-hunting life, I was enrolled in college. Personally, I just think he didn't want me deciding to become a professional gambler — as if I needed another vice. And so, here we are.
Relationships
Significant People
| Name | Relation | Notes |
| Colm Patrick O'Reagan | Watcher. Secret Lover. | It's Colm. What more is there to say? |
| Gabriel Matthews | Physics Professor. Totem Warrior. | Awesome dude with a bear spirit. Fun to hunt with, and a good friend. |
| Dolly MJB Lincoln | Slayer. | Sister in slayage; street rat and loco mucho. Would fight tooth, nail, stake, and sword beside her. |
| Erik James Butler | Totem Warrior. | Another bear dude. Hung out a couple of times. Pretty rad so far. |
