Warren sat on the couch in the middle of the living room of his penthouse in New Orleans. The X-Men didn't know he had a residence in this city and that was just what he wanted right now. To be alone. They wouldn't be able to find him. The table behind the couch held several liquor bottles, some empty, some still partly full, and a prescription bottle that had fallen on it's side, spilling the few pills that were left in it. Warren had taken more of the small things than he was supposed to, but they were prescribed antidepressants and he was feeling incredibly depressed right now. Somewhere in his head, he knew he shouldn't be drinking alcohol after downing a possible overdose of drugs, but he just couldn't make himself care. In fact, it might be easier if he just faded away into sleep and never woke up.
He took another gulp of expensive scotch as he considered his life. The ruins it was in. The ruins, he told himself, that it had always been in. Growing up the privileged son of a business tycoon wasn't the picture perfect affair most people thought when they met him, but it hadn't been horrible. He'd been loved, active, had many friends. His parents weren't around as often as he would've liked but he'd always known they loved him. But his world had started changing when he hit puberty. When his wings had started to grow in.
Warren, like many of the young and idle rich, had discovered sex early. And he'd discovered he had a gift for it. He could pleasure anyone he wanted and, thanks to his incredible looks, he had his choice of partners. But when the growths on his back had made themselves known and had steadily become larger, his social life had vanished. They'd started growing in when he was fifteen, a little later than some mutant powers, but not so late as others. He'd been having sex for two years at that point and then he'd suddenly withdrawn from his friends, ashamed of what was happening, frightened.
The wings were complete in a year and Warren had found that it was more and more difficult to hide them. The boy who had once been the center of attention with his numerous friends had become a practical recluse. Most just took it as a teenage phase and didn't inquire too deeply. But Warren, starving for attention and acceptance, had found a friend in his classmate Cameron Hodge.
Warren swallowed the last of the scotch in that bottle and started to open another. He knew now that Cameron had come on to him because of his family connections, his wealth. He'd delighted in having Warren under his power, even more so because of the wings. In a strange dichotomy, Cameron hated mutants but loved Warren's wings. It hadn't taken long for the slightly older boy to worm his way into Warren's lonely heart. It had taken even less time for Warren to become completely dependant on Cameron's attention and supposed love. Cameron had used that need ruthlessly.
The man on the couch cursed quietly as the familiar feelings of self-hate and worthlessness came thundering through him. He grabbed the last remaining meds and downed them with a huge swallow ofHe looked at the label of the new bottle. Oh, he'd grabbed whiskey this time. He couldn't even taste the difference at this point. But the drugs didn't stop his memory. In fact, it picked up speed.
He'd come to Xavier's not long before his eighteenth birthday. He no longer had anything to do with Cameron, though that had been more due to his parents discovering his mutation and moving him to a new school than any choice of Warren's. And he was seeing a shrink. One that had started him on medication for what he termed chronic depression. Warren took the drugs, but took pains to hide them from his new friends. He didn't want to taint how they saw him. He didn't want them to know the truth about himself, that he wasn't worth their concern.
He'd been proven right quickly enough. A new foe had appeared, calling himself Sauron. He sucked the energy out of mutants to give himself life and strength. And he'd been able to hypnotize his victims by looking in theirs eyes. Warren had been his first victim and that mental siren call had fit no one quite as well as it had controlled the Angel. Beyond being used to help Sauron fight his friends, he'd suffered little that first encounter. But it had reinforced his belief in himself, that he was weak and not worth much more than to pleasure others, however they wanted. When he next met Sauron, on his own, the mutant vampire had even expressed Warren's thoughts perfectly. Just before he once again took control of Angel's mind, he'd said, "I long ago took your measure and found you wanting." Warren took another gulp of liquor, liking the feel of it burn down his throat, as the words once again echoed through his head. He'd never gotten rid of that sentence, it had stayed with him all those years.
Warren had always known he was beautiful. That notion was only reinforced when the gorgeous white wings had grown in, giving him the literal look of an angel. And he'd always, or so it seemed, known that that was all he had of worth, his pretty looks. Callisto had proven that. She had kidnapped him, thinking to take the "most beautiful man in the world" as her consort, as her toy. Storm and the team had rescued him but sometimes he could still feel the cold manacles around his wrists, the cruel hands on his face and body. And all because he was pretty. But he didn't want to lose that part of him, it was all he had.
Finding someone who wanted to be with him, who, to all appearances, truly loved him, was not something Warren had ever expected. But when Candy came into his life, he'd embraced his luck wholeheartedly, devoting himself to her. Never quite understanding what she saw in him, he was nonetheless grateful she saw anything at all. She was why he'd gotten through his ordeal with Callisto without much fuss. She'd been so caring and supportive, he couldn't not try to overcome his faults for her. So when Cameron had come back into his life and had her murdered, Warren had understandably been devastated.
Tears flowed down Angel's cheeks as he remembered his love. Her death had almost destroyed him but his friends had rallied around him at the time. Too bad they couldn't help him when Cameron took the next piece of Warren's heart and caused his wings to be amputated. Instead, Apocalypse had found him and Archangel, the Horseman Death, had been born. The powerful mutant had raped Warren's mind as surely as others had raped his body. Sometimes he felt his soul was constantly being shattered into smaller and smaller shards and that he would never be able to find them all, much less try and piece them together.
But then, who cared if Warren's soul was beyond repair? Betsy certainly didn't and now, after everything she'd said, everything he knew to be true, Warren couldn't find it in him to care either. He glared at the half empty bottle in his hand and then at the three empty ones lying on the table. He had a high tolerance for alcohol, but he'd hoped that this much would have at least blurred the pain. He'd come here, run here, to forget what had happened, forget the latest proof of his worthlessness, and all he'd managed to do was call up the memories of all the worst hurts that he'd faced in his life, all the times it had been brought home to him that the only thing he was good for was to be used for others' pleasures. Though it seemed, with this latest incident, that he wasn't even good for that anymore.
His relationship with Betsy had always been based more on appearances than anything else. They were both young, wealthy, and attractive. It was almost expected that they'd get together. And at first everything had seemed fine, wonderful even. She'd helped him through the problems he was having after breaking away from Apocalypse and he'd returned the favor when it came to her insecurities about the completely new body she'd suddenly found herself in. And they'd had fun, dining and dancing, going out and generally enjoying each other's company. He should have known it was too good to be true.
He hadn't realized as things started to be different between them, he only noticed the change after it had happened. Betsy wanted to be seen with him, to present the image of the perfect couple, but she didn't want the problems of a real relationship. A pretty toy on her arm and great sex, that was her goal in dating Warren. She began acting colder to him, deliberately using her powers to manipulate him into doing what she wanted. She had begun to scare him.
After the Crimson Dawn had granted her the power of shadow-walking, she had frightened him even more. Listening to his concerns, however, was not something that interested Betsy Braddock. And when he'd finally regained his feathered wings, she hadn't even attempted to share in his joy. Instead, she had belittled him for "letting something so superficial mean so much to him." Betsy spent less and less time with him, and Warren found, that while he had been telling himself he loved her, he couldn't bring himself to miss her much. They only saw each other for sex and to present a certain image in public and to the team.
Eventually, even that small contact apparently grew tiresome, as Betsy had just broken up with him, in a rather public and humiliating fashion. They'd been at the mansion and he'd made the mistake of not agreeing with her quickly enough aboutsomething, he couldn't even remember what, so it had probably been inconsequential. Nevertheless, however small the issue might have been, Betsy had snatched on it as the perfect excuse. And so, in front of his friends and teammates, Warren had meekly stood there and listened to Betsy talk, quite coldly and deliberately, about his many faults.
She was tired of supporting him through never-ending emotional problems. He should just grow up and be done with it. She was only with him for the sex and quite frankly, it wasn't all that great anymore. She didn't want to put up with his fears. She was tired of him eyeing every pretty female that crossed his path. She listed every fault she could possibly find with him, even those that she created on the spot. Warren had stood there and not said a word, resigned to the fact that this always happened to him. People used him for their own pleasure and then tossed him away, it was the way things were.
Once Betsy was finally finished with her tirade, she had stormed off in a huff, leaving the others all standing there, eyes wide with shock, not knowing what to say. Warren had taken advantage of the stunned silence and hurried to his room, where he'd packed the few personal things he kept at the mansion that he wanted with him and then flew out the window. He'd immediately headed to his private plane and from there, he had come to New Orleans, knowing that while the X-Men tended to be busybodies about their teammates' lives, they wouldn't try to track him down, at least not for a few weeks.
Warren's head was truly swimming now. He suddenly heard a voice that wasn't part of his memories. "Mon Dieu! Warren? Butwhat? When? Warren? What goin' on?" Warren blinked blearily up into the red on black eyes of Remy LeBeau. He opened his mouth, about to ask what the Cajun was doing in his living room, when the room spun. He had enough time to think that perhaps he's overdone it with the alcohol and meds before everything went back and he sagged limply onto the couch in front of the shocked thief.