Yes, it is finally done. Screw writers block, it just got its face owned!

Disclaimer-

I do not own Sky High. I do, however, own Writer's Block's face. I put it up on my mantel.

"Warren Joash Peace!" Mira's voice bounced off of the bathroom's tiled walls, making Warren wince. His mother glared at her son and his friends with an anger in her eyes he had not thought possible.

"Mother," Warren said, his voice tense. Both syllables were forced from his mouth, as though talking to Mira was very stressful. After the initial shock and surprise of her being home, he was rather upset. What was her problem, busting in on him and his friends and reacting at their little game as though it was some sort of act of blasphemy?

"I have never been so disappointed in you in my entire life."

And with that he lost his composure and moment's anger. That was a fault of his; he could never be upset with his mother for more than a minute. Her sadness controlled him; he hated hearing her tone full of pain and suffering.

"Ms. Peace, Will and I will get going now. I am sorry if we have upset you in any way, but really, we were just helping Warren clean his house. It isn't anything to disrupt your household or anything, if that's what you're thinking… Though to be honest, even if we did, you wouldn't really be around to notice it."

Anahera's words surprised Warren. She could be mad at his mother. But then again, why would she be mad? If anyone was to be mad, it was he, and he was most certainly not mad at all. Correction, he was mad. At Anahera.

"Back off, I am sure my mom has a perfectly reasonable excuse for being so disgruntled!" Had he really said that so cruelly? Warren watched Anahera's eyes get big, then slowly fill with tears before they turned into the foulest glare he had ever seen. She looked mad enough to strangle him right in that bathroom, in front of his mother and Will. Will. Warren didn't dare look at his friend, for fear of the scorn and hatred that was now surely passing across his visage. Instead he looked down at the floor patterns, pale ebony stones that were a pleasant white colour now that they had been scrubbed clean from their past dingy cream. He desperately wanted to melt into them, to disappear from this spot where so many people were mad at him. He himself was mad at him.

"Well, goodbye Warren, Ms. Peace. I suppose I will have to see you later." Will's voice lacked any sort of emotion at all, and Warren couldn't resist looking at him. He immediately regretted the decision; the look on Will's face was much worse than Anahera's something he did not think possible. It was not filled with anger, but a weak sadness. Will looked tired, weak. There stood one of his best friends in the world, looking ashamed of himself, and Warren realized, of Warren's own behavior. He wished to comfort the boy who had trusted him with everything, the boy who's trust he had just lost. However, Warren was weak. Instead, he looked at his friend with an expression of self-pity and halfhearted apology. Slowly, Will and Anahera made their way out of the house. Will's Converse and Anahera's Street Visions left no marks on the now spotless entry way; there was no dust or mud imprint or any sort of proof that they had really ever been there at all.

"Mom," he said feebly, "Why are you so upset? We were just playing around…" His voice trailed off as he stared into the back of his mother's head in the mirror. Her thick, dark curls were filled with premature streaks of gray. Warren knew his mother's job was one full of pressure and high demands, but had never really noticed how it took its toll on the woman. Or maybe he had noticed. He had just blocked it out, not letting himself pay any attention to any of his mother's flaws.

"That is not what I am upset about Warren." Her voiced clearly said that Mira had no intention of giving up the argument. She was still mad all right, but now Warren could simply not figure out why.

"Then why are you so angry" He asked. Warren couldn't think of any reason for her to be feeling this mad. He was a relatively good kid, got okay grades and didn't spend his time rotting away in detention. For God's sake, he cooked, cleaned, and did the dishes every night by himself. Most teenage boys would have been dead or completely evicted from the neighborhood, but Warren made sure he never gave his mother any trouble.

"YOU WERE ABUSING YOUR GIRLFRIEND! Buen dios, usted cerdo estúpido muchacho!" His mother screamed. Her normally pretty face was contorted with rage and hate as she looked at her only child.

Warren opened his mouth, then closed it again, before staring blankly at his mother. What was going on here?

"What in the purple mountain majesty are you talking about mother?"

"Crystal!" Warren cringed; this was not going to be good. "She comes to meet me, crying, in the middle of the night after calling my personal number and begging to talk to me about something personal. There she tells me that her boyfriend, you, has been hitting her and beating her and doing all sorts of awful, ungentlemanly things to her."

Warren felt as though he was going to explode; Crystal was the biggest liar in the entire world. "Mom," He said slowly, fighting to keep his voice calm and even. "That is a completely B.S. story. I would never hurt a woman. You raised me that way, remember?"

"Then why on earth would the poor girl come up to me complaining you did, hm?" Mira was about 3 inches shorter than him, but she stood with such a posture that made her seem much, much taller.

"I don't know, maybe because she is a psychotic bitch and I dumped her?"

"Warren! Language! You have twice used foul language in my presence, something you never do. Is this something that you have picked up from your new 'friends'? I did not like the look of either of them. Why, they look like hoodlums! Crystal should be the one who is your friend!"

"Well Mother, I am sure Crystal would make a great friend if it were not for the fact that she is, as previously stated, crazy. And I know calling her names is not the answer to or the correct way to deal with my problems. However, sometimes I cannot help myself, especially when I am discussing her. By the way, where was my first swearing word? I only used such vulgar language in your presence once, Mother." His tone was patronizing; he could not help himself.

"B. S. is not something you say in front of a lady, and you should especially refrain from use if the lady is your mother!"

"B. S., though I did pick that up from a friend of mine, is not a cuss word. Besides, I am a nearly self-sufficient teenage boy, I should be aloud to curse every once in a while without you practically threatening to send me to reform school!"

"SELF-SUFFICIENT?" Warren's mother was angrier at this than she had been when she thought he was a girlfriend beating delinquent.

"Yes, self-sufficient. I am living alone, Mother. The only thing you do is send money to pay for the small amount of food I consume, which I could easily cover with my pay check from The Paper Lantern. Hell, I see your return address stamp more than I see you!" He was mad at his mother, really mad, for the first time in his life. Warren could not remember a time when he had yelled or argued with his mother as he was doing now. It was just so unthinkable for him to be doing this, almost like a dream. Yes, he thought, I am simply dreaming. I would never have the balls to say this in real life! Yet he knew this was a stupid, useless excuse. Warren never understood how somebody could be in such denial that they could really cause themselves to believe that they were dreaming. He'd seen many movies, TV shows, and books in which such a thing happened, but knew that in real life, it simply did not.

"You are never hanging out with those people ever again. Obviously, the friends you have now are poisoning you and your life. I know my Warren would never speak in such a way to his mother. Why, that girl is probably some sort of slut or whore, and that awful boy is probably trying to get you to do all sorts of drugs. It will all be okay Warren, for I, your loving Mother, will forgive you. Don't worry dear, we'll move out west and they will be nothing but a memory."

Warren hated her tone, she sounded crazy, absolutely out of her mind. He told her this and she promptly burst into tears. Instead of going on to say that Anahera was not a slut or a whore, and that both of those were terrible, vulgar words that his virgin ears should not be accustomed to, he sobbed with her, holding his mother as the two of them collapsed onto the bathroom floor. Warren had planned on telling her who Will was, the son of her employers, but instead held her hand so tightly that she momentarily cried out in pain, which made him let go in shame. He had been planning to tell her so much, all her faults, how sometimes he tried to kill himself when she left, how he missed his father, even though he had been a terrible man, how scary it was when he went to sleep not knowing where she was, how he missed her all the time, but instead he simply held her hand and whispered "I love you" into her dark hair, rocking back and forth on the sparkling tile.

They fell asleep, and Warren woke up alone. Funny, that was how it had been with Crystal, too. Of course, they had never done anything; they hadn't been a couple that long. However, whenever he dreamt of loving her, it always ended with her leaving him all alone at the end.

But his mother was still there, in the kitchen. She was making some sort of omelet, whistling a melancholy tune under her breath. Warren nearly jumped out of his skin as the kettle on the stovetop corner went off, the sound piercing the near silence.

"Hi, Mom." Warren said. His voice cracked, with early morning soreness painfully wrestling his vocal cords.

"Hey, bebé. How are you feeling?" She sounded like she'd been crying more, and it made Warren want to start sobbing once again himself.

"I… uh, better than I was last night." He couldn't really think of anything better to say, anything appropriate to mention after a night such as the previous one.

"I called the school and informed them that you couldn't make it today. I hope you won't be too terribly upset." Her voice had a hint of a smile in it, like maybe she still loved him after all that, something that Warren had been worried about. But then, a piece of logic occurred to him. He still loved her after everything she had done to him, so she should do the same, shouldn't she?

It took him a moment to realize he was still very angry at his mother, for what reason though? He paced and sighed and told her out flat.

"Ma, soy enojado en usted." He was mad at her. Why was that so hard for him to say? Why did he nearly crumple into tears again at the mention of any emotion towards his mother besides adoration? That, he reasoned, was not a normal thing.

"I know Warren, I know you are mad at me. You have every right to be so much more than mad at me. Hell, you probably deserve to disembowel me and torture me endlessly until the end of eternity." Her Spanish voice was beautiful; it was so much more natural sounding than her clumsy, butchered English. It took Warren a moment to really pay attention to what she had said, he was so happy to hear her voice not yelling at him any longer, happy to be with him.

Two things had occurred there. Fist off, Warren's mother had sworn in front of him, which should she was clearly rightfully over then entire language lesson she had given him the night prior. Secondly, she had said it was okay for him to be mad at her. For some reason, this made him breath easier. Warren realized it was not healthy to have to be granted permission to be angry, but knew this was miles ahead of where he had been before.

"But Mama, I do not wish to be angry with you. I, I love you. I really don't care that you travel, as long as you come home. It's okay, you don't have to abandon your career and stay home with me or anything, I just, I just want to maybe see you more often. You could maybe call me or something, just once a week or something, just so I know you aren't dead in some Central American country." Warren looked up at his mother, and saw she had tears in her almond coloured eyes. It made him want to kill himself. Why did he always make her cry? He didn't try to; maybe he was just a terrible failure of a son. Warren would probably cry too if he was his mother.

"I'm sorry Mama, it's okay."

"Damn it Warren, I want to quit my job. I want to be here for you, not off in some unimportant goddamn wasteland research center. I want to see you grow up, know all your friends and girlfriends, and I fight with you more often. I want us to be screaming our lungs off at each other saying we hate each other. Because even that is better than pretending that everything is all right in both of our lives when it's obviously not. I am tired of not really knowing anything about you because I am to freaking wrapped up in my own life. Which is quite a paradox, seeing as you are my life. What I'm saying here is, Warren I am sorry. You shouldn't be sorry at all, you should be hating me more than anyone else on this earth. I would still love you if you did, you know? But damn it, you don't hate me at all. It amazes me that someone could love as much as you do Warren. You're just… you're amazing Warren, you know that?"

Warren loved her, he loved her more than anything, but he also knew that he didn't need to tell her so.

After spending two days with his mother, the longest they had spent together in 12 years, his mother kissed him goodbye and left to go back to work. Warren wasn't bitter at all, they both knew the day was coming, and he was surprised that it had been held off for so long. She really had seriously considered leaving her job, but that would mean she would have to find another one, and with no traceable college or high school degree, that could be difficult. Mira asked Warren to make the decision in the end, and he had told her to go, to make the world a better place for both of them. It was cheesy, but it was what she did, what she had always done every since Warren was young. Most kids called there parents "Super Mom" or "Super Dad" but Warren had the pleasure of actually having supers for parents. It hadn't been real swell so far, but there were benefits, such as always knowing the only reason his mother was still a superhero after the Battle fiasco was because she wanted Warren to have a positive role model, and for him to live in a safe world.

Warren hummed a tune as he went to take out the trash, it was Sunday and the cool air surrounding him reminded him self to burn the recyclables. The paper had been stacked against his dining table, slightly obscuring his view when he was sitting there. Sighing to himself, he figured he could and should do it later, because he had quite an important mission in front of him.

Climbing on his old Schwinn, he made his way down the street, past the shabby but welcoming houses and into the more well to do areas of Maxville. Finally, he passed out of the suburbs completely. Now there were only charming farm villas and will forests for miles. The sun started to peer through the clouds for a while, and a rainbow appeared in the sky above. It was a rather picturesque setting, and Warren knew that he would soon miss the serenity of it, for he was not going to be in a very peaceful position all too soon. When he finally reached his destination, a slightly small, rundown colonial on Alma Street, he took a deep breath.

Setting his bike gingerly on the dirt driveway, Warren stepped lightly toward the front door. The concrete porch was nothing like his own, sturdy and hard. However, the intricate chalk drawings made him smile and think of home. It also painfully reminded him of Mira. Just because he was now okay with her constant traveling did not mean that he was happy with it. Still, he knew it was so much easier this way.

Urging his thoughts back to the task at hand, he knocked on the door. He tapped softly at first, but after going unanswered for a minute he hit the door a little harder, and in quicker succession.

Finally, Stewart Stronghold answered. He had giant headphones around his neck and Warren could immediately tell he'd been 'jamming', or playing guitar down in his sound proof basement.

"Warren! Surprised you'd have the nerve to show your face round here!"

Warren was slightly taken aback by this comment. He should have expected something along this nature, though it was still surprising to see that Stewart had been so brash. Warren thought that the man liked him, though he supposed that Mr. Stronghold would be upset with anyone who made his little girl unhappy.

"I'm sorry, and I came to apologize. I was a jerk, my mom was sort of a jerk, and the entire afternoon had just been so anti-jerk that when the two collided it sort of blew up. I really am very sorry, and have come here to beg for her forgiveness."

Stewart appeared outraged at this. "You think you can just jerk her around? No matter how old she acts, you need to realize she's just a little kid. She can't handle someone continually crushing her heart.

Warren's eyebrows raised; he was crushing her heart? "What are you talking about, Stewart?"

"Don't call me Stewart, boy. You know exactly what I am talking about. Asking my little girl to prom and then fooling around with some other girl! You should be ashamed, you low life cretin.

"What?" It would have been almost comical, had he not been repressing the urge to kill Lash and being punished for the fool's actions. "I'm not dating Anahera, never have been, and we were never planning to go to prom. She was going with someone completely different, as in: Not me!" Warren was actually quite upset at this. Was he really so close to Anahera that people could mistake them for a couple? For a moment he pictured them, together, but quickly pushed the thought from his head. Lash was Anahera's love; Anahera was Lash's love (Though this was something that had obviously been tested quite recently.) They were sort of inseparable, and whenever he saw the two of them together they were grinning and laughing and looking at each other with such admiration. However, he could not escape the wanting to be the one who got to hold Anahera's hand and talk to her endlessly on the phone. Warren shook his head; he knew it would not work.

"So, you didn't break my daughters heart?" Stewart asked, looking rather confused. Warren didn't blame the poor man; teenage drama was rather bewildering.

"Nope, not that I know of. I mean, she's probably really upset with me, but for a completely different reason. Ha, I pity the man that messes with Anahera's heart."

"Oh, well, she's just upstairs in her room. Sorry about that…" And with that Stewart walked down the hall, muttering to himself and shaking his head.

Warren walked up the rickety stairs to the upper floor of Anahera's home. It led to a small hallway with five doors, all of which were shut. Never having been in Anahera's room, Warren was unsure which was hers. He didn't want to invade on anybody's privacy, or appear to be snooping around on there personal property.

"Warren?" Anahera's voice was sad. She stepped out from one of the doors on the right, which Warren then saw to be a bathroom. She looked as though she had just been in the shower, her hair was dripping and wet and she was only wearing a light blue towel. Warren instantly averted his eyes from the extremely short hem of her ensemble.

"I just came to say I'm sorry. You haven't talked to me in two days and it has been causing me so much hell, and I am just so sorry about everything. God, I've been saying that a lot lately…"

"Oh, Warren!" Anahera said, and she ran over to hug him. Her towel nearly dropped and Warren had a sharp intake of breath as he felt her bare thighs through the holes in his jeans.

"Okay, that's one way to accept an apology." Warren was breathing deep to keep everything under control and he carefully removed her from her close position.

"I'm sorry, I've missed you so much and Lash… Lash!" She cried, her eyes filling with tears through a glare of pure hatred. "You'll never guess what that scum bag did! He was at a party and he effing kissed another girl!"

The burn hole in Anahera's bathroom wall wasn't fixed for months after.

So I finally finished, yay! For the record, Warren's conversations with his mom are in Spanish. Yes. They are. I promise you. I just suck at Spanish/ life, and therefore couldn't translate any of it. Anyways, anyone who can spot the exetremely important, seemingly random bit of information will be handsomely rewarded. I'll give you a hint, it refers back to the 2nd official chapter, or third on the list. It's going to be super important in the next story, so if you can spot it you'll be handsomely rewarded.

In other news, this probably shouldn't be so long. However, as some of you may have noticed, this chapter did not in fact have a lyrics for "Angels" by Robbie Williams for the title. My reason for doing this is plot reforms, what can I say? Also, I ended with another cliffhanger. I'm sort of addicted.

Peace and Hair Grease!