Disclaimer: Warren Worthington and all related characters belong to Marvel Comics. No intentional copyright infringement is intended through their use.

Author's note: This is the first time I'm writing an X-Men fic. I was at a lost for a long time concerning which characters I should use, and finally decided on Warren, since he's my favorite. Please do review and tell me how I'm doing, okay? Thanks.

                                                    Why And How

                                                                              By Casey Toh

     "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how." ~Friedrich Nietzsche

     The wind whipped his blonde hair all around, lashing them about his face like hundreds of tiny whips. Nearby, sounds of others enjoying their time and the companionship they had with one another floated to his ears.

     People were all around, but he did not feel their presence. They were only ghosts, drifting past him with barely any touches.

     The sky was a clear blue, but he saw only gray clouds. The sea was clear, but it was the waves that caught his attention.

     Where, he thought, is the beauty of it all?

     Cursed by Nature herself the moment he was born, he could not find the reason to forgive. He was one who was hated by the very race he sought to fit into, cast out by his very own parents who fought not to help him, but to hide his true self.

     The self of a mutant, of a freak.

     He had been betrayed by one he had called friend, and used by another as a killing machine, changed into something else entirely even Nature could not conceive; his blue skin and bi-metallic wings bore testament to the monster he had further become.

     The "self" in "himself" had died. He thought that it was somewhere in the waters that lay spread out before him, or maybe it had already sank to the deepest crevice anything could ever reach.

     So who was he, really? Angel? Mutant? Freak? Outcast?

     The waters crashed against the breakwater he rested on, splitting into a billion tiny drops that contained his heart's sorrows.

     Ahead, the sun set where sea met sky, its yellow-orange glow scattered so dimly the area above and below it fell into darkness, which pressed in all around. It gave no struggle, as if it knew that its death would only be a moment, and that it would rise again to cast its brilliance on all that lived.

     Overhead, the stars and moon rose—remnants of the bright light there once was; little lights, little candles flickering in otherwise what would be complete darkness.

     "Warren?" A soft hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see the face of the woman he dared call his love. "Come on. The others are waiting for you so that they can start."

     He rose and gazed back to where she referred. Two barbeque pits had been set up, and the coals glowed merrily in the gloom. Bobby gave a cheerful wave and shouted for him to go over.

     "Warren?"

     He nodded and carefully stepped down the breakwater, casting one last glance at the water and the sky that mirrored each other, and feeling the warmth of another hand as it slipped into his.

     He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

     He smiled at the quote that popped into his head unexpectedly. "I'm okay."

     And indeed he was, for the ghosts all around him had taken on form as his "why" and would always help him and be there for his "how." They were called friends.

     They were the ones who were the stars and moon in him, giving birth to something called hope, and another called love.

     And sometimes, those were the only things that ever truly mattered.

~finis~