So I know what you're thinking. Wow, two chapters in two days, she must have no life! And that's about right.

Disclaimer- I do not own Sky High or any of its charactors. I do however own one tasty, multi coloured candy cane. Yum! Anyways, here we are with the first official chapter of Anahera's Angel.

I'd also like to note that from now on all chapter titles are going to be lyrics to the song "Angel" by Robbie Williams. Will this have 27 chapters? I'm not sure. But I'll try gosh darnit!

How Warren was dragged into spending his Sunday afternoon unpacking with Will's relatives was rather a mystery to him. Will had invited him over to hang out, but then casually asked if Warren would like to go for a ride and meet his 'soon to be friend' Anahera. He had agreed, not thinking anything of it.

So, he got into the car and rode to the Stronghold's, which was nothing short of an adventure with Will behind the wheel. He was a bit old for his grade, and the first person to get a license, though he barely passed. Every red light was a jerking stop, every turn sent Warren either flying into the window or much closer to Will than he had ever hoped to be. They had eventually made it to their destination in one piece, though Warren was rather peeved at Will and continued glaring at him as they walked up the sidewalk to the front door of the home.

Anahera Stronghold was clearly related to Will. Her hair was dirty blonde and straight, hanging down from a New York Yankees hat. The suitcase she was carrying had a faded American flag sewn on to the front. She also had his small build and dark brown eyes. She wore a long sleeve blue shirt with the Crunch logo on it. It was frayed slightly at the cuffs but clean, unlike her stained and ripped blue jeans. Compared to her large father she was relatively short, though seemed just as strong as Will.

"Nice to meet you, Warren." She had said in her scratchy voice. Though according to Will she was barely fourteen, she sounded much like an elderly smoker. Her father did as well, and Warren saw the nicotine gum pack in his back pocket. He was very tall and looked to be quite strong. He was Will's father's junior by several years, he nearly flunked out of Sky High and spent years as a Nirvana roadie. Now he was working as the head of the high school's music department.

Anahera's mother was out of the picture. Will had warned him not to bring her up, that the subject was sore with Mr. Stronghold and only upset his daughter. Warren had seen a photo of her at her wedding; she didn't look like the type of person who would have a family in the first place. She had waist length platinum hair, unnaturally tan skin, and lots of heavy make up, even on her wedding day. Unlike the blushing brides he saw in movies and television, she didn't glow or smile. Instead she smirked and posed in a suggestive manor, hanging off a grinning Stewart Stronghold.

"So Will," Stewart began after chatting with Warren about his school activities. "You better rive your friend home. You've got some work to do here."

"Unpacking?" Will had asked with a grimace and Stewart had nodded. "But why do I have to help, can't you get Mom or Dad to do it?"

It sometimes amazed Warren that Layla could hang out with Will all day and not strangle him. The boy clearly had a case of only child syndrome. Stewart laughed though, and reached out to ruffle Will's hair, shaking his head no. Will's expression changed into a bashful 'I-guess-have-to' kind of grin and he sighed.

"Hey Warren," he said "You want to help?"

Warren frowned inwardly, damn that Will. He had just given away his Sunday afternoon to helping unpack boxes for strangers. Of course, saying any of this allowed would have made him sound rather rude, so he had no choice but to accept the other and smile. This had most likely been Will's plan all along. He would not want to work without a friend to keep him busy. Warren had to hand it to him, he was not always the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he was crafty when he needed to be.

So with a smile from Anahera he was whisked away to the large U-Haul van that sat in front of their house. With a single hand she opened the door and then jumped inside. They lived on the outskirts of town, no need to worry about nosey neighbors noticing a teenage girl carrying a coffee table and couch all alone.

Stewart smiled as he unloaded two beds and sets of mattresses, whistling the entire time. He tossed will boxes of cutlery and plates, it was amazing to Warren that only one container was dropped, and the forks inside were unharmed.

Then he began helping carry up Anahera's clothes. He room was in the small attic, it was dusty but well lit by a large window overlooking the forest filled backyard. She only had a few boxes, she told me she donated most of her things to a shelter back home and planned on buying new clothes when she got to visit the Maxville Shopping Center to 'get a feel for the local designers.' Warren raised his eyebrows and informed the girl that most of the local designers were talent less, and that she was better off wearing the small number of clothes she had than wasting her money.

Warren soon learned that Stewart and Anahera Stronghold were quite possibly the world's biggest pack rats. When confronted about this, Anahera smiled and Stewart laughed, telling him that this was a mere piece of the possessions that they had had before. Will nodded, saying that at their previous house they had had entire rooms filled to the brims with pointless knick-knacks, books, pieces of art, games, and completely useless bits of rubbish. Still, cartons and crate and an infinite amount of chests were filled with what Warren saw as unimportant junk, though Anahera and Stewart disagreed.

He helped the two with their boxes, placing them all into a nice suburban house. It was a small colonial, with a quaint old-fashioned kitchen and only two bathrooms. The ceiling paint was peeling, but other than that the house was in nice shape, albeit a tad cramped. Will and Anahera put the furniture into place and he was selected to dust off all the china that was to go on in some relic old cabinet. Surprisingly people with super strength were no good with delicate things, Will had already crushed three lamps and Anahera had demolished a small umbrella stand. Each time they did this Stewart laughed and told a story about when he was first growing into his powers. The three would then chuckle amongst themselves and Warren would give a half hearted grin, though he didn't get the humor as much.

Their work was quick and Warren and Will elft a few hours later, this time Warren drove. The road seemed to stretch out as they drove east back to Will's subdivision. It was quiet, a peaceful silence that magnified the sounds of birds chirping and children playing, the noises that echoed against the pavement from the neighborhood they went through on their way back.

"God, where's a sunset when we need one? If only we had been driving a few hours later." Will said, hand drumming on the dashboard to a popular song. Warren had to laugh; his friend had probably seen too many movies in his time.

"Will, we're driving east." He said, pointing to the compass the was in a corner of the overhanging mirror. "We'd have to be driving in the early morning to be going into a sunrise if anything."

"Well." Will said in a falsely uptight voice. He folded his hands on his laps and pierced his lips, doing a perfect impression of an upset Principal Powers. "That," he said, imitating her voice with surprising accuracy, "Is simply unacceptable Mr. Peace." Will glared at Warren sternly, and pouted his bottom lip whilst furrowing his brow. Warren was laughing so hard that he was almost crying. It was a stupid impression, but for some reason he found it to be extraordinarily hilarious.

Warren smiled at Will; he was unexpected in his visions. He had always a vision of what perfection was, and Will had never really been included. A best friend, that was part of the plan, but not one like Will. Will got in fights with Warren daily; he disagreed with him all the time, he was one of the first people to point out when Warren had made any sort of error. He was not a normal best friend at all. Yet one day when he had sat down and tried to figure out why he wasted his time with such a pest, and, on paper, he couldn't really come up with anything. Did the laughs out number the cuss words dropped at each other, or the punches thrown? Did the fact that he was the Commander's son add a rebellious aspect? Was it because he was the only one who would take him? He doubted all of these theories, except for maybe the last one. But even with that, he had been a loner before, why did he need Will now?

He decided that it was because Will was, simply put, permanent and real. While most people tried to spend as little time in Warren's presence as possible, Will stuck to Warren like glue, constantly hounding him to do his homework, brush his hair, be more sociable. It was as though Will had made it his life's goal to piss Warren off into becoming a gentleman. And piss Warren off he did. His mother, teachers, even Crystal usually told Warren what they knew he wanted to hear. And sometimes he just got sick of swallowing their lies. They were afraid of him and he knew it. They thought that he was just like his father, reckless and conscienceless. Will was one of the first people to stand up to Warren, to give him the cold, hard truth. Warren admired his honesty, but that didn't stop him from beating the crap out of him, or at least attempting to, whenever he was on the receiving end of what Layla had deemed Will's own brand of 'Tough Love.' But that was another positive thing about Will, he wasn't breakable.

Warren was just sitting there, in his own little world with Will and Will's car and their own little non-existent sunset. He was just sitting there, waiting for the rest of the world to join them.

Warren walked home after leaving Will's. He didn't have to work tonight, Mrs. Ling, the owner of The Paper Lantern, was off at her niece's wedding. She would return the following morning, but until then Warren was free to relax. As he opened the door to his small condominium, he was surprised to see his mother smiling in the doorway.

Mira "Paz" Peace had been gorgeous when she and Baron Battle had been attending high school, and her age had only made her beauty seem more mature. She was elegant and soft-spoken, her accent was heavily Tex-Mex, and her thin lips were almost always turned up into a smile. However, looking closely you could see she was slowly deteriorating. Her aging was in leaps and jerks, caused by stress. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, her tan face was covered in worry lines, and her eyes bore a sad look that no amount of cheerful grinning could take away.

"Ma!" Warren said, surprised. She was not expected to be home until many days later, her arrival was a bit of a shock, though very welcome. He knew many boys his age who hated or were annoyed by their mothers, but not him. Warren realized this was most likely because he didn't spend enough time to hate her, but didn't think it was possible to. She smiled at him in a way that the sadness in her eyes just about disappeared. Ever since he had noticed it there as a little boy, Warren had made it his goal to stop his mother's eyes from being sad. All the jokes he made for her, silly songs he sang for her, and poems telling her how much le loved her had all been to achieve this goal. It had taken him 16 years to get as far as he was, and that was still not very far. He did not mind though, it was the kind of project he could waste a lifetime on.

"Buenos tardes! Eres apenas a tiempo para la cena." The smell of the aforementioned meal wafted through the house. They were having beans, rice, and pinwheels. Warren kissed his mother on the cheek and made his way up the stairs to wash up.

It was funny how perfect they were. It was an odd occurrence for his mother to be home and cooking him dinner, so whenever such a thing happened he did his best to be an excellent son, and pretend like they were a normal family. Part of him imagined he was Beaver Cleaver, and that after dinner that would listen to some dead guy talk about some dead president on the radio. He knew that was probably not the case though. Even if zombies invaded and started launching into monologues about politics, Mira had a slight inability to make it through dinner without getting called to duty.

Looking in the mirror Warren had a sudden thought that he often got when Mira came to town. Was he just imagining his mother? Or was he finally going crazy after being left alone so long? Perhaps he had fallen asleep in Will's car and it was all a dream.

"Hijo, venido aqui." Mira's voice called through down the hall, shattering what would have otherwise been a quiet, lonely night. Warren smiled and splashed himself with water. He really did need a hair cut, and to change out of his now dusty (Thanks to Anahera's bedroom) clothing.

"Una momento!" He hollered, then rushed to his room. He spied the outfit he had reserved for when Mira was home. It was black jeans and a red button down shirt, not something he would usually wear even if he was being threatened at gun point. His Grandma Sofia had gotten him the outfit a few Christmases ago, and he had only kept it around for nights like these. Quickly glancing around his room for a rubber band, he smoothed his hair out and pulled it back into the ponytail he usually wore at The Paper Lantern. Buttoning the last of the buttons, he stepped out of his room.

The scent of rice and beans made him smile, the house always smelled good for a couple days after Mira came home. He walked into the kitchen to see his mother fretting over a jar of fortune cookies Madame Ling had gotten him for his 16th birthday a couple months ago. They were in airtight packaging, but still a tad harder than usual.

"Warren, Warren, Warren," his mother said, rubbing her eyes. "I cannot understand why any self-respecting Spanish boy would bring this into their home." Her accent was stronger than ever, he had always been paranoid that she would come back without it. Her mispronounced alphabet was one of the things that made her unique.

"Mama," He began. Her eyes said she was teasing him, and he was teasing right back. "If you wanted me to be a good self-respecting Spanish boy, why would you name me Warren?"

She sighed, they had both heard this story a million times, but the more she talked, the more he remembered her voice when she went away. "When I was a girl in Mexico, just a bit younger than you, I could do things nobody else could." She sat down at the set table and Warren joined her, his eyes never leaving hers, noting the traces of sadness that remained. "I could make ice cubes, make the wind chilly. I once got so mad that it hailed! Could you imagine, hail in Chiapas?" Warren knew this story by heart, knew that this was the part where he gave her a look of disbelief and raised one eyebrow. "Well, neither could my parents. So they write to President Madrid and tell him of all my wonderful powers. He writes back and tells them that the place to take me is America. Well, we are poor and have no money, so we can do nothing. Until one day an old man saw me practicing my powers and he asks me why I do not go to America. I tell him my family is poor and we have no money to send me to America. He says that he is like me, that he is a, a hydrokinetic, is what he calls it. He says it would be a shame to waste such talent as I have. So he gives my parents enough money to send me to America, and I go off and become a hero, all thanks to that man. And you know what his name was?"

"Patrick Warren." They said in unison. Mira smiled and patted her son on the shoulder. "Now, enough talking and more eating!"

The meal was delicious, as his mother's meals always were. By the end of it Warren was stuffed, but then Mira reached into the freezer and produced some store bought fried ice cream. It was their little joke, and though it was stupid, Warren laughed and smiled.

With Mira he was a kid again, making up for time they lost together when he was a child. They had silly riddles and rituals and games, and they were happy that way, ignoring the past and ignoring the wrong.

Until Mira's phone went off. Her voice grew serious several times as she answered it, and her brow furrowed eight times. Warren was counting. She hung it up after a minute and frowned. "I'm sorry bebé, Ti amo."

"I love you too, Ma," he said. He knew that the entire evening was simply a buildup to saying goodbye, but it hit him hard every time. He hugged Mira and buried his head in her hair. It smelled a bit like smoke and the cheap flowery shampoo that she used when she was traveling. It smelled a lot like home.

And so she left and he cleaned off the dinner table and did the dishes alone. He turned on the radio, but no zombies were broadcasting. Eventually he turned off the lights and crawled into bed. Tomorrow was Monday, which made him feel even lower, if that was even possible. Finally, after tossing and turning he managed to curl up and fall into a deep, deep sleep.

His dreams made no sense at all. One moment Crystal was about to kiss him and the next she turned into a giant wac Barbie doll. He threw her to the side, scared and disgusted with what she had become. The Mira appeared and started yelling at him. He begged her to stop and she started crying. Because of him. He tried to reach out to her, but suddenly he was falling, right into Anahera's open mouth.

He awoke with a start and glanced at his clock. It was 6:15, he might as well get up. Tip toeing down the hall to the bathroom he stopped and wondered why he was tiptoeing. It wasn't like he was going to wake anybody. On the way back he stomped as loud as he could, but that seemed pointless too. The quiet around him seemed peaceful, and he of all people wasn't someone to destroy peace.

Getting dressed was more like picking things off of his closet floor that didn't smell. After shaving and combing his hair, he went downstairs to eat breakfast. The dishes from last night, his mother's fine china, were resting on the dish rack, making last night painfully real. He was a sissy, missing his mother. He should have been conditioned to it by now, yet he still let it cut him up inside.

Turning on the television he saw a cheery weatherman predicting nice weather, but a cool autumn chill coming in next week. It was about time, September was almost over.

"And that's our 7:10 traffic forecast." Another news reporter, this time a woman said. At first Warren merely blinked. 7:10? It had not taken him almost an hour to finish one bowl of Cheerios. He looked over at the clock on the stove. 7:11 was displayed in blue digits. Warren felt his stomach sink. He raced into it's bedroom, where the clock blinked 6:32. Then he realized that during the night it must have reset. He hit himself as he realized that when he was throwing things around looking for a hair tie, something heavy had probably been tossed its way, and landed on the clock's reset button.

"Damn it," He said, racing to grab his school bag. After that he looked his front door then sprinted out, just in time to see the bus turn the corner. Warren had many talents, but thanks to years of cutting gym class he was not a very gifted runner. He knew he would die trying to catch up to the bus. Instead, he kicked his backpack and started swearing. He was screwed, and couldn't do anything about it. It's not like he could ask a neighbor to borrow their car.

"Hey, Peace, you need a ride?"

Will was right; he was going to like Anahera.

And that's the end of the first chapter; I hope it's liked. Also, apologies for some of the Spanish grammatical errors, I can't figure out how to get accent marks and correct punctuation on my laptop. If you see any mistakes in the Spanish feel free to drop me a line, it's a second language.

R & R everyone!