Warren had been growing wings for as long as he could remember. When he was born, they were just bumps, or so he had been told. When he was a toddler, they grew to bony nubs with feathers sticking out. As he grew older, the more recognizably bird-like they became, and eventually they became huge, white, feathered wings. When he was 10, his parents got a cloth harness made that kept them tied to his back so he could fold them tightly inside his shirt. It was uncomfortable, it successfully kept them hidden. He managed for awhile.

Then, when Warren was 13, his body underwent a growth spurt. His wings did, too. Soon, they were too big to fold inside his shirt.

The next year, his parents pulled him out of school and enrolled him in online school to complete his education at home. They couldn't risk him being seen, they said. No one could ever know about his wings.

Slowly, his parents stopped letting Warren be seen in public, fearful of what other people might think if they glimpsed his wings. Now he wasn't allowed to go outside at all, except for appointments or fancy social gatherings his family attended. And even then, he had to wear the harness, that contraption designed to "keep those horrible things on your back a secret", as his mother had always put it. When he was wearing it, almost no one noticed the huge hunch on his back. No one noticed how miserable he was in it, either.

Warren HATED the harness. Each year since he'd hit puberty, the pain when he wore it became more intense, because of the growing size of his wings. The only reason he wasn't forced to wear it 24/7 was because his private doctor (who was paid VERY well to keep his silence) had told them that the compression could harm the growth of his ribs and internal organs. But without the harness, that meant he couldn't go outside, ever.

It was important to keep up appearances, after all. What decent self-respecting family would want it known that their only child has freakish wings growing out of his back?

He supposed there were worse places to be imprisoned. The Worthington family lived in a high-ceilinged two-story penthouse in Manhattan. Warren spent his days doing schoolwork for his online classes, reading, and watching videos on the Internet, occasionally jumping off the open staircases to feel the rush of air under his wings.

Now Warren was sixteen. His parents had started leaving him home alone for longer periods. Lately , he'd been aching to spread his wings in a more open environment. Dreaming about it, even. He just had to know if they could hold his weight in the air.

After mustering up the courage for weeks, he waited until his parents went out to a charity gala one night. He put on his trenchcoat, the only clothing he had left that could hide his wings, some sweatpants, and his good athletic shoes. Then he went up to the rooftop access door.

Warren was glad that they had always had their own private rooftop, which lowered his chances of being seen by anyone. He took off his coat, having no shirt on underneath, and spread his wings wide. Standing on the roof, with the hot New York City wind in his wings and whipping at his hair, it was then that he knew he wanted to fly. Every hollow bone, every feather in his wings, every muscle in his body screamed at him to immerse himself in the air. He wanted it so badly. He NEEDED it.

After that one time, he was hooked. Warren kept sneaking up to the roof at night and spreading his wings in the wind, feeling it almost lift him up. One night, he decided he was going to actually dare to jump.

He wore a face mask, made from one of his father's old silk neckties, just in case someone noticed a shirtless guy with huge white wings. He quite doubted it, but in this city, anything was possible. Warren walked to a corner of the roof that was adjacent to a lower terrace of the building. It would do nicely. He took a deep breath, unfolded his wings, slowly leaned over the edge, and jumped.

The wind was harder to control than he thought. He glided down roughly, almost tumbling over in the air, aiming for the center of the terrace. He felt his feet hit the gravel, and he landed, hard, almost stumbling over the edge of the high-rise. But he'd made it! It was exhilarating. He felt his blood rushing, as if he was born to do this. Of COURSE he was born to do this. That's why he was born with wings!

Then he realized he'd have to make it back home, to his penthouse...which was about ten stories, straight up.

Warren cursed.

He'd never before flown that high in his life, but he had no choice. There was no way he could go back inside and simply walk up the stairs; he'd left his coat on the roof and his wings would be exposed to anyone who happened to pass by. This meant he'd have to fly off the roof, gain momentum, rise to a higher altitude, and land back on the roof.

Warren looked over the balcony, at the city below. It was the middle of the night, but cars still drove around the brightly lit streets, and people were out walking, handling who knows what business. This was the city that never sleeps, after all.

He really, really hoped that no one would look up.

Once again, he stood on the edge, took a deep breath, spread his wings, and jumped.

It was like instinct took over. He angled his wings to adjust with the wind speed and direction, scooping up exactly how much air he needed to carry him straight up. He beat his wings once, twice, feeling the surge of speed shove the air into his face. But he didn't blink. Warren never had much of a blinking reflex, even as a child. Now he understood why.

Soaring with little effort, Warren easily cleared the roof. He flapped a little, slowing down and lowering himself to the terrace. He pumped his fists in the air and laughed.

For the first time, he truly felt alive.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I'm sorry for everyone who was expecting another A&X update,but this was one of those stories that wouldn't let me rest until it was written: the story of how Angel came to live at XIGY. In my AU, he's a student there.

This version of Angel and his family was inspired by his appearance in "X-Men: The Last Stand". Warren has severe Depression because of the way he grew up, and becomes close with Milo, an empath who he doesn't have to explain himself to. He talks in super-proper English because of his mother.