No one actually knew how old Scott Summers was. It was hard to tell. This was in part because he constantly wore shades, but Bobby and the rest of the group were certain it wouldn't have mattered if Scott was rocking baby blues behind those shades (he wasn't, he had gouged his own eyes out at least four years prior to their meeting, and Bobby had it on good authority his eyes had been brown) he would probably still not seem his age. No Scott was one of those annoying people who insisted on acting like they were 130 at all times. Even now, Bobby was sure he was being watched, judged even, as he kicked his feet against the rug.

"I can hear you, you know." Also, Scott was psychic, and somehow Bobby was always forgetting this.

"Telepathic," Scott corrected, like the annoying person he was.

Bobby missed the days when he had to talk before people thought he was stupid. "Is the difference that big a deal?"

" Yes. A psychic can be all kinds of things, clairvoyant, can see the future, talk to ghosts, brain whip people with the power of their mind- I just hear every annoying thought that goes through people's heads. Those are very different things."

"Is Jean psychic?" A genuine thought that had been plaguing Bobby since the group had skipped out of Austin two weeks ago and Jean had mysteriously convinced a truck driver to take them all the way east. Like, all the way. Right up to the beach. The man had seemed very confused.

"Probably. When she's not setting things on fire."

Bobby thought this was hysterical, and managed to guffaw to prove it. It was Hank who had taught him that word "guffaw". He said it meant "to laugh like a moron" which Bobby figured meant all his laughs qualified.

It was also Hank goddamned McCoy who was responsible for their current predicament. That is to say, their current state of being, which was disturbing in that currently no one seemed to be in danger and no lives were imminently at risk. Apparently. Hell, they even had new clothes and were staying in a fancy house that had more rooms than Bobby had realized possible.

Having traveled with Scott for almost two years now, Bobby knew that this was a sign of true peril indeed.

"One and a half years." Scott corrected. Unasked.

"Who's counting?"

Scott was. Obviously.

The door to the room the boys were waiting outside of opened, and Jean appeared in the doorway with Charles Xavier.

Jean was a very good looking girl. Like, on a scale of one to ten, she was a nine on a bad day, and Bobby had never quite gotten the story of how she wound up attached at the hip to Scott, but their relief at being reunited was punctuated by her tackling him in a bear hug, which turned into a group hug as she yanked Bobby into it.

"Ow. "

"You love it."

He did.

"Ahem."

They all spun. Xavier was a...weird guy. Bald, wheelchair bound, and always in a suit, he was the exact opposite of everyone they had been running from. And yet the way Scott jumped had Bobby thinking twice.

"Mr. Summers, a word."

There was a moment of tense silence where Scott, Jean, and Bobby exchanged looks. Bobby had gotten better at this particular thing. It was hard because Scott couldn't see, so it was less a look, more a general aura that got traded between the three of them. As per usual, Scott's said "go I'll be fine I'm a badass" and Jean's said "you're not that cool you drool in your sleep". Bobby liked to think he was successfully conveying "I'm getting concerned for your wellbeing because you've been freaking out all day in this mansion and I'd love to know why mansions freak you out."

Neither answered Bobby's question.

"Go check on Warren," Scott said.

With that Scott and Xavier disappeared into the man's study. Bobby realized with a start this was the first time in two years he and Scott had been apart, like, doing other things. Given the size of the mansion, it would probably be the furthest apart physically they'd been too, once he got to Warren's room. Suddenly he thought he understood Scott's uneasiness, and he longed to open that door and hear whatever it was Xavier thought he couldn't share with the rest of them. People were always leaving Bobby out.

If Jean was psychic she said nothing, just put a hand to Bobby's back and led him down the hall, away from whatever Scott was talking about with their new rich friend.

[It was raining out and Warren wasn't breathing Jesus Christ Warren was-

"Bobby, hold here, we might stop the bleeding."

"I...I…"

" Bobby"

Bobby couldn't understand how Scott could see this much red and not be scared. Of course, maybe it was that he couldn't really see it, couldn't see how pale Warren was and dear god don't die whatever you do we're not ready for that ye-

"Bobby, I need you to stop thinking. We need to stay calm."

"Scott he's going to need medical attention." That was Jean, and Bobby was relieved in a way to see she looked as scared as he felt.

And there they were, knelt over Warren in the middle of a road in the middle of nowhere. Like he was some kind of roadkill. With the way his feathered wings, once the most beautiful thing Bobby had ever seen, lay mangled and red and black on the road, he really could have been a dead animal.

No not dead.

But not breathing.

Headlights were approaching.

Bobby looked up. He didn't recognize the figures getting out of the car at first. It took the calm cadence of Hank's voice pushing through the rain for his brain to jolt to awareness. And by then people were pushing him back, and Warren was being moved off that godawful road.]

Warren looked much better in a mansion, Bobby decided. Not that he didn't always look good. No offense to Jean, but Warren was an eleven when he wasn't trying. All long angelic blonde hair down past his shoulders, and blue eyes and a smile for everyone. The wings helped the whole angel thing too.

Surrounded by white sheets and expensive furniture, wings wrapped so no one had to see the damage, he looked almost normal.

"Hey there Big Bird." Bobby waved from the door. Close as they all were, there seemed an insurmountable gap between what Bobby was (dumb, useless, plain, alive) and what Warren was (perfect, somewhat less near death).

Warren just smiled at him, and it's brightness made Bobby move into the room in spite of himself. Jean was on his heels and they sat on either side of Warren's bed, just being there. Warren tried to sit up.

"Oh no you don't." Bobby put a hand to his chest, careful to mind the bandages and tubes. "Just relax man, I almost lost you once. I will literally chain you to this bed if you think of moving."

"Figuratively." Hank made his presence known from a chair in the corner. "Figuratively chain him to the bed."

Warren seemed panicked for a moment. Wide blue eyes looked between Bobby, Jean and Hank like he thought they'd seriously be holding grudges at a time like this. To put his mind at ease Bobby twisted around so Hank could see his face. "No. I mean what I said. I'll find chains, and Scott will help me, if he so much as thinks of moving."

Hank smiled slowly from over the top of his book. Warren relaxed back into the bed.

Sometimes Bobby wondered what Warren sounded like, if he ever had a voice or if he was born without one. He bet the guy would have had Disney level singing skills. He and Scott would have started a band and Bobby would have never met them.

Quietly, in the darkest corners of his heart where not even Scott's telepathy could reach, Bobby was grateful. Grateful Scott gouged out his own eyes in fear he might hurt someone. Grateful Warren, if he really was an angel, fell and lost his voice. That Jean left behind her comfortable life for one of pain and unhappy endings. And grateful Hank was so terrifying to his peers that the only way he could pursue his academic interests was to run away. He was grateful for all their pain and more because without it, Bobby was certain, he'd have been left behind.