Sorry for the delay. I had finished this earlier but unfortunately lost the edited version sooo I was a bit slow in updating. Enjoy!

:::

"Scrambler!" Warren furrowed his eyebrows as he watched Dorian run toward the last ride, waving his hands in the air. Must be the icecream giving him a sugar high. After Cameron's "House of Mirrors" (which turned out to just be a small maze with a bunch of little children running around inside), it was Warren's chance to pick something. He chose the ferris wheel.

The amount of whining Dorian did the entire ride was annoying, but Warren found it almost endearing.

"I only got two rides in the end!" Dorian had exclaimed in the booth, arms crossed, pouting in his spot. It was obvious the boy was not use to not getting what he wanted. Cameron had her arm around her brother, seemingly enjoying the ride, giving Warren eye rolls at some of the things Dorian said in all his ten year old ignorance.

"I know it's boring but that's fair, yeah?" comforted Cameron, glancing over the edge, slightly cringing at the height. Dorian huffed.

"Okay, yeah this sucks," broke Cameron, grinning.

"That's why I picked it," joked Warren, his lips pulling up into a small smile, as if sharing a secret.

"But it's better than everything else. Seriously, Dorian did you want to go on the merry-go-round?" she asked, giving her younger brother a pointed look.

He sniffed. "No."

"Then there you have it. I got a ride, Warren got a ride, and you got two rides. Wait, that sounds wrong." The phrasing went over Dorian's head and Warren tried his best not to facepalm or look disgusted.

"Anyway," continued Cameron, brushing off her unintentionally inappropriate phrasing, "If it makes you feel better, I'll use the extra cash to buy you cotton candy. Okay?" Dorian sniffed.

"I guess." Their booth fell into silence as the ride went for a second rotation.

"This is your kinda thing, huh?" Warren looked away from the people on the ground to Cameron, no longer holding on to Dorian who was cautiously peering over the edge. He, like Cameron, didn't seem to do well with heights.

"What, ferris wheels?" Cameron, sitting on the bench across from him, kicked him lightly in the shin.

"The sky. You know, on account of-" she gestured to her back with her thumbs. Warren blinked.

"I just like the ferris wheel." Cameron smiled then, a genuine quirk of the lip, not a smirk.

After more mindless chatter, they exited the ride and Dorian took off toward the Scrambler, nearly tripping on the way. Warren cringed as he and Cameron got in line next to the giddy child. He hated this type of ride.

"Larger person sits toward the middle," drawled the ride operator, a lanky young man dressed in the uniform required of all employees.

"You can sit this one out if you want," she said, glancing back at Warren as she handed the man the correct amount of tickets. "I'm not exactly light and Dorian can be a bit heavy." The blond shook his head.

"It's fine," he said, idly placing a hand on the small of her back to lead her to the green car Dorian had chose. The ten year old scrambled up into the seat and slid to the edge, allowing his sister and Warren to get in, pulling the bar down over them.

"You better hold on and try not to lean into me," Cameron warned her brother as the ride operator came by to check the bar, simply putting one hand on it before moving on without a care. Dorian nodded swinging his feet with excitement.

"I'll try not to crush you," comforted Cameron, giving Warren a grin. He grimaced.

"Thanks."

And well. She didn't. But the combined weight of a laughing Cameron and screaming Dorian was more than enough to make Warren extremely sore and uncomfortable as the ride twisted and turned.

"I can't," laughed out Cameron, hands clutching the bar. Every time she pulled herself off his side, a twist pushed her back into him. Dorian didn't even bother, throwing his hands up in air, his tiny body surprisingly quite heavy. Otherwise, their weight wasn't too much of a nuisance, and Warren realized how much he missed out as a kid. His dad never took him to things like this, not really anyway. Warren was too different.

:::

It was exactly 4:03 PM when Cameron stepped into the threshold of her former house after quietly slipping her extra key in the lock. Dorian, containing his joy that his sister accepted his invitation, followed after, easily gliding into the house and slipping off his soccer cleats. Warren came in after the half siblings, slowly shutting the door behind him just as Dorian opened his mouth to call for his parents.

"Shhh!" hissed Cameron, putting her pointer finger to her chapped lips. "We keep this on the down low. Show me your room and stupid video games, and we're out."

"Dorian?" A woman who looked to be in her mid thirties peeked out of one of the rooms at the side of the hall, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun yet the makeup on her face seemingly perfect. She let out a breath of relief, quickly moving over to set her hands on Dorian's small shoulders. Unlike Cameron, she didn't kneel to reach his level, towering over him in brown wedges, perhaps to keep her sky blue sundress wrinkle free.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call?"asked the woman, looking genuinely concerned, strands of dark hair catching in her long, mascara-laden lashes. Dorian mumbled something under his breath that sounded like an apology. The woman let out another sigh and pulled Dorian into a loose hug.

"Sheesh Fran, just took him out. No need to get all weepy," remarked Cameron, leaning into the wall by the welcome mat, Warren standing awkwardly off to the side, trying to ignore an itch in his left wing. The woman, Fran, gave Cameron a stern look, thin pink lips pulled into a frown.

"Go change and come back down Dorian. Your father and I need to discuss this with you," ordered Fran, slightly pushing her son up the large staircase in the expansive house. The ten year old sent his sister a look of longing, grudgingly stalking up the stairs, his socks making soft padding noises on the mahogony wood.

"We talked about this Cameron," said Fran with obvious annoyance, shaking her head, one hand moving to pull the hair out of her lashes. "You can't just pick Dorian up from school. The nanny was worried sick. You never call or tell the school, just take him to go off in your shenanigans!" Cameron rolled her eyes, idly picking at her fingernails.

"Uh, duh. Because if I told you I was taking him out, you'd say no and send him to piano lessons or whatever bullshit you have planned these days," snorted Cameron. Fran placed her hands on her hips, now glaring at the 18 year old.

"You don't use that language in here."

"Buuuuullshit." Cameron smirked.

"Honey?" A tall, middle aged man with graying hair was standing at the top of the staircase. Noticing the trio, he quickly made his way down the steps, looking well kept in a polo and khakis despite his flustered demeanor.

"Thank God," he breathed. "Where's Dorian?"

"Upstairs," explained Fran. "We need to have a talk with him and Cameron about this…cutting." Cameron snorted.

"Uh, hello? School was over. It wasn't cutting," commented Cameron, rolling her eyes, making Warren feel more than awkward witnessing this family interaction.

"Cameron," warned the man, sighing. Both adults were doing a lot of that. "What is it this time?" He spared Warren a glance, the first sign of acknowledgement. "Money?"

"We just wanted to see Dorian's room," interrupted Warren, quite tired of standing in the shadows and uncomfortable with the mounting tension in the hall. The man raised an eyebrow, eyes slightly narrowed, as if examining. He almost reminded Warren of his own father.

"I'm Warren," greeted Warren after a moment of silence, offering his hand to the man. The older man glanced down at it before hesitantly accepting the handshake.

"Greg Fletcher," he replied. "My wife, Fran. You're a friend of Cameron's?" Warren gave Cameron a side glance, unsure of what the proper response would be, and she just rolled her eyes again.

"No Dad," drawled Cameron, "he's just some guy who got me knocked up and sells weed on the side. You know, same old, same old." Warren gaped at Cameron, looking between her and her parents, the tension returning.

"We're just friends," stuttered out Warren, feeling like he was in the unwanted spotlight. Way to go, Cameron. Mr. Fletcher held up a hand.

"Please. We want the truth," he said quite calmly, as if the sort of stuff Cameron said was quite normal. Which to them, it probably was.

Before Warren got to explain, Cameron grabbed his wrist rather violently.

"We're going to see Dorian's room. Back off!" With that, she dragged the unwilling Warren up the extravagant staircase as he shot looks down at her parents, both looking decidedly peeved.

:::

"Why did you do that?" Surprisingly, Warren managed to keep his voice leveled as Cameron examined the posters in her brother's room, just as Dorian was fishing in his walk in closet for a t-shirt.

"Don't worry, it doesn't matter," waved off Cameron, tossing her backpack to the floor and moving to land on her brother's bed, nearly flopping like a fish. Warren glared at her, moving closer to the unnecessarily large bed so Dorian wouldn't hear them from the closet.

"They think I got you pregnant. Of course it matters," he said, his voice strained. Cameron looked up at him with one waxed eyebrow raised, moving to put her hands behind her head on the bed as a pillow.

"Look Birdboy, Dad and Fran would've thought that anyway. They think I'm having sex with any guy I bring home, because, ya know, that's the type of girl I am." At this, she rolled her eyes, letting out a breath of exasperation. Warren wasn't quite sure how to respond—he himself had thought she slept around for work and never really brought it up before. What would be the correct thing to say?

"You're not," he blurted out. She furrowed her eyebrows at him. "Right?" Wrong choice. Her stare turned into a glare and she sat up.

"Of course not!" she nearly yelled, moving to slap Warren in the abdomen, a warning. He cringed away, not in pain but surprise.

"Okay, okay," he defended, stepping back. Cameron huffed, bouncing off the bed, one hand flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"What are you guys talking about?" Dorian's head popped out from the large closet, half covered by the gray t-shirt that was not fully on.

"How much of a dork Warren is," said Cameron, crossing her arms, shooting Warren a glare. Dorian smiled, pulling the shirt over his head.

"I thought you liked him," said the ten year old, gently closing the closet, stepping out in khaki shorts and a t-shirt. Cameron winced at his outfit and the comment.

"Yuck." Dorian giggled at her response and Warren just frowned.

"You got a cool room kiddo," complimented Cameron, switching back into cheeky older sister mode. Dorian's smile grew, some teeth now showing. He really was just a kid, Warren thought.

"What do you think?" he pressed, directing this at Warren. Warren smiled politely.

"It's nice, yeah. Wish my room was as awesome as this," replied the 21 year old, perhaps laying on too much of the cliché phrasing near the end. Dorian giggled to himself.

"Dork." Warren held back a sigh. He just wasn't good with kids.

"Okay, let's see those games," said Cameron, glancing around the room. Dorian shook his head sadly.

"Mom wants to see me downstairs," he muttered, dejected. "They're going to lecture me again. I know it." Cameron moved closer and ruffled his dark hair.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there with you." The boy brightened considerably and Warren's annoyance at Cameron almost softened. For all her faults, she really did care about her brother.

:::

"You don't have to be here Cameron." Fran was fake smiling over the tea she had just set on the coffee table. The living room was ridiculously clean, sofa pillows at the perfect angle, wood flooring spotless, drapes neatly hung. It was as if no one really lived there, despite the fact that a large television was set up in the room and currently on the news, quietly playing as Dorian snuck glances every now and then.

"This is really just between your father and I, and Dorian," continued Fran, taking a sip of the black tea. Cameron returned the fake smile.

"I don't mind." Fran looked like she was about to say something else, but Cameron's father set a hand on her knee, giving her a look. They seemed to share a silent conversation, none of which the polite Warren, eye rolling Cameron, or distracted Dorian could interpret.

"So," started Mr. Fletcher, leaning back in the couch. "What do you do for a living Warren?" The way he asked suggested he was humoring the blond. It was all for conversation's sake. Cameron snorted, something she seemed to have gained a penchant for, and leaned back in the couch across from her parents, glancing over at Warren who was sitting upright next to her, perfect posture.

"I'm a third year student at NYU," responded Warren, polite and tidy as always. Mr. Fletcher's eyebrows shot up.

"Right." He didn't sound convinced, but he then furrowed his eyebrows. "You look familiar. Have we met?"

"I don't think so, sir," Warren responded, truthfully never having seen Greg Fletcher in his life. The older man raised an eyebrow in the same manner as Cameron often did. Patronizing.

"Uhhuh."

"How did you and Cameron…meet?" asked Fran, glancing between the two, almost suspicious, her tea now sitting on a coaster on the coffee table. They were not the sort of people to put cups directly on the expensive furniture. Warren paused, unsure of exactly what to say. 'I was trying to steal her coat' sounded a bit too thug. Cameron let out a small chuckle.

"Yeah Warren, enlighten us," she goaded, enjoying his discomfort. The truth? Hell no. A lie? Possibly, if he could think of a good one on the spot. Which he was seriously doubting.

"Well, I was walking…"Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher looked on, Cameron silently giggled next to him, and Dorian still had his eyes glued to the television.

"And…Cameron was there. At McDonald's. Getting fries. And I left my wallet at home…so she gave me some fries." Cameron burst out laughing and Warren couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. Really, that was the best story he could come up with? Mr. Fletcher looked deathly serious and Fran gave an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, okay, let me tell you how it all went down. Dorian might need to cover his ears for this," laughed out Cameron, having a bit too much fun irritating her parents. Fran shot her what some would consider a death glare, and Dorian suddenly snapped to attention, looking at the adults for a moment before focusing back on the television.

"She doesn't mean that," interrupted Warren, causing Cameron to laugh harder. Warren slightly scrunched up his nose. Any harder and spit would probably come flying out of her mouth.

"Please, do tell, Cameron," said Mr. Fletcher in a calm voice, straight face. Cameron chuckled, raising her brows at her father.

"Oh, you're interested in my personal life?" She laughed again, patronizing, patronizing.

"See, I was casually doing recreational medication on the wrong side of Brooklyn when Zane, yeah Zane, last guy I brought home whose name might not have really been Zane,, drove by with Warren. And just like that," she snapped her fingers, "we clicked. After getting properly acquainted, in a manner I'm sure you both know of, we proceeded to do more recreational medication and enjoy a nice bottle of red wine." Warren couldn't take it. He facepalm'd. Dorian glanced over again, wrinkling his brows.

"What's recreational medication?" he asked, giving the adults in the room a once over, waiting for any of them to answer his question. Fran was giving Cameron the Double Death Glare of Death (as Warren could only describe it as this), and Mr. Fletcher snapped his shark eyes to Warren. Green. Like Cameron's.

"How long?" he asked, his voice holding an edge of something. Warren gave him a questioning look.

"How long have you two been having this acquaintance?" Cameron laughed, waving her hand casually in the air.

"I dunno, months. Or maybe weeks. I'm so forgetful, ya know?" She giggled and leaned over Warren, draping an arm over his shoulder to play up her bimbo act. He nearly jumped away from her, hands pressing into the sofa pillows behind him as he tried to scramble away on the too small couch. He settled for lightly pushing her away.

"That's not true," Warren managed to get out, giving the Fletchers a near pleading look. "We just met to-"

"Aww, we don't have to pretend, Warren," cooed Cameron, quickly grabbing his hand, forcing him to link fingers with her. "I know I can be so ditzy sometimes, but who cares!"

Warren attempted to wretch his hand from her's but she held tight.

"No, I-"

"Warren, you're on TV!" Dorian suddenly interrupted, nearly standing up on the loveseat he was perched upon. All attention snapped to the enormous HD television as Dorian quickly reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

"It was confirmed just recently that the man jumping out of the main Worthington Labs clinic in Manhattan was indeed businessman Warren Worthington Jr's son," spoke the newscaster, a photo of Warren and his father, named the same as himself, dressed in suits, posing for cameras at a charity event sponsored by his father's company on the screen. It was just earlier this year, Warren realized, staring at himself on the screen, his hair slightly shorter, more styled, one arm around his father, designer suit perfectly tailored, unsmiling at the camera.

"For those of you just tuning in, you may have heard of the sudden man jumping from the Worthington owned clinic this morning, and flying with wings described to be those of an angel's, away from the scene. Here is some of the scene captured by cameraman Lewis Madison who was on the scene with our Leslie Frank." The photo of the two Warrens switched to a clip of a woman talking into a microphone, a news anchor outside the clinic just this morning.

"There have been mixed opinions everywhere but everyone in this line is determined-" The sound of glass breaking interrupted the news reporter, and the camera tilted up, catching a winged man falling from a recently shattered window. As the camera followed the man, zooming in as he soared by above the crowd on the ground, his face became clearer. More focused. It was Warren. The video stopped as Warren flew by, catching his figure blending into the glare from the sun, his shoes barely visible. At that moment, he really looked like an angel.

"The man was identified to be Warren Worthington the third, son of Worthington Jr, the multibillionaire who funded the controversial mutant cure research. The elder Worthington has yet comment on this footage and his son cannot be reached. Moving to the latest mutant news, mutant terrorist Mystique-"

Warren now knew what people meant when they said they wished the ground would open up and swallow them. The television went on, but all eyes were on him.

:::

Cameron just loves trolling, ohohoho. Reviews are loved and motivate me to update :P (Also, saw First Class, loved it. I may decide to dabble in some Erik/Raven/Charles fic)