Disclaimer : All Marvel characters belong to Marvel. Anton and Wyatt Taylor are our creation, and so are other characters to come (although you might recognize a few from our previous stories, if you have read them), but even then, we're not making a cent from this, but we are having a lot of fun, if you can put a price on that.

As/N : Hallo there everyone. Foo and Fleur are actually authors foofighta and XxFleurdelySxX, who both have a few stories here, and have become pretty good friends over the years. We had a first attempt at co-writing under the XxFOOdelysxX pen name (it still exists), but the story was abandoned, our muses bringing our attention to more important manners than the Vagabond story. This one will work, though, and we assure you that you will fall in love too.

The story is set about 15 years after the general setting almost all fanfics are set in. We might get a few things wrong; ignore them, or consider them as personal touches we made so it would fit the story. It's barely the point anyway.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Wyatt's eyelids were heavy when he woke up, eyes burning, and he found himself still seated in the uncomfortable armchair. He yawned, stretching his sore body before looking around the white, bare hospital room. It was daylight outside, but the curtains were pulled over the large windows to make it dark inside, allowing sleep. Not a sound could be heard aside from the soft buzzing from the IV and the gentle, regular beeping of the heart monitor. It was loud enough to annoy Wyatt to death, though, considering the two machines were plugged to his ill son's arm. His eyes softened, his gaze settling on the form on the bed, and he got to his feet to walk over to it.

He sat down on the mattress, chest tightening. Three days ago he had stepped in the teenage boy's bedroom to find him passed out on the floor, his skin flushed and burning with a terrible fever. He was in the hospital since then, and the small armchair became Wyatt's bed. Anton woke up here and then, his eyes glazed in fever, violently struggling and mumbling nonsense as nurses did their best to keep his shoulders against the mattress. There was no way to stop him then, until Wyatt pushed them aside and pulled the boy's burning body to his chest. Only after holding him tight, hugging him, rocking him and whispering to him to calm down for nearly half an hour did Anton relax, going limp in his arms as he fell asleep once more. Wyatt did his best to stay calm, his son needed it. Needed him. But inside, fear was starting to take its place, making the lingering terrible feeling in his stomach grow colder and colder.

The doctors were helpless, even though they would never admit it. No infections could be found on his body, no viruses, no cancer, no nothing. There was no logical, medical way to explain the fever, and yet it was there. It was getting worse, too, making Anton moan and tremble violently in the worst moments, and lay limp as if dead, a shallow breathing making his chest heave, in the best. In the last day he appeared to never want to lay on his back, either, always turning around and nearly rolling off the bed, and screaming in pain when they tried pinning him down to it until he passed out, exhausted. They had pulled up the metal bars on each side of the bed now, Anton's wrists tied to them. Wyatt had frowned as the nurses did that, but after being told that it was the only way to keep the boy in the bed, and the IV in his arm, he didn't say anything more, and now simply glared at it.

Anton groaned softly, pale eyebrows drawn in a deep, pained frown as he turned his head to the other side. Wyatt reached out, gently smoothing back his soft, damp curls. Anton swallowed and moaned again, arching his back against the mattress before trying to turn around again, pulling hard on the binds, and Wyatt frowned, reaching in to untie them and pull Anton close to his chest. The teenager let out a shaky sigh, forehead resting against his father's shoulder, but didn't wake, whatever pain it was he had fading as he relaxed in Wyatt's hold. Wyatt swallowed hard, shutting his eyes, but kept him close, gently rubbing his son's back. He froze as his hands felt something, though, and Anton tensed in his arms, flinching in his sleep.

Wyatt frowned, pulling him closer and reaching around him to part the back of the blue hospital shirt the boy was wearing. He frowned down at his back, gently running his fingers on the shoulder blade, where a slight bump could be seen on the bone under the skin. Anton flinched again, and Wyatt stomach clenched when he saw the bump move a bit. What was that? He pulled on the shirt, glancing at the other shoulder blade, and his lips parted slightly as he saw the same thing on it. If he didn't know better, he'd think something was... growing? He glanced down at Anton's sleeping face, frowning sadly, and then around the bedroom again. At least now he had an explanation, or the beginning of one, but his heart was telling him it wasn't something he wanted the doctors to see. He frowned and reached for the IV, making the boy jerk in surprise as he gently, but quickly yanked it out of his arm, and gathered Anton's long body in his arms, scooping him out of the bed. He didn't care if anyone would try stopping him as he carried him outside, he was taking Anton back to their home.

He was now, somehow, convinced that this hospital was the last of all places his son should be.

.. … ..

I awoke slowly, sudden pain in my whole body making me moan softly, and opened my eyes to shut them right away, a blinding light burning its way through my eyelids. Apparently I was laying on my stomach on something soft, the familiar scent of my bed sheets filling my nostrils, and my face buried in the pillow. I turned my head away from the window, looking around the bedroom and wondering what in the world was different. It was hot, very hot inside the bedroom, even if I could tell the window was open from the sound of cars passing by -- but it always was hot in New Orleans. It was also mid afternoon, judging from the way the sun drowned the far wall of my room in light, making it reflect in the mirror doors of my closet. I was home, obviously, but something felt... different. I simply needed to put my finger on it. The last thing I could remember was getting dressed to go to school... What was I doing in bed?

I slowly pulled what felt like terribly heavy arms up to lay my hands flat on the mattress, trying to push myself up from it. I groaned, and failed, falling back heavily, and heard something from across the room. "Anton?" I heard my father call in a tired, yet worried tone as he got up from the couch I had on the other side of the bedroom.

I sighed softly, half in annoyance at the fact I couldn't get up, and half in relief at the fact he was there, walking to my bed. "Dad," I mumbled against the pillow, my voice sounding terribly hoarse to my ears. The headache throbbing behind my eyes felt like it was literally pushing them out of their sockets, and I shut them tight. "I... I can' get up."

"Shhh," he breathed. "Don' try." He knelt by the bed, kissing my forehead. "Dere's... dere's somet'ing on yeh back, and you have to relax."

I opened my eyes to look at him, my eyes narrowing. "What happened?" I breathed, and tried pushing myself up again. "I can' remember..."

He frowned, laying a hand on my lower back and pushing me back down. "Stay still. Yeh were sick, Anton. I took yeh t'de hospital but dey din' know shit, so I brought yeh home. I have t'tell yeh somet'ing."

I felt my stomach twist as he pressed on my back. It hurt all over, as if I had laid on a bed of nails for a few nights, and I winced. "What..." I swallowed hard, shutting my eyes as I rested my forehead back against the pillow. "What's wrong with me?" I breathed.

He sighed softly, laying his head down on the pillow next to mine. "Yeh a mutant, kid," he said gently, rubbing my lower back to try and soothe me. "An' yeh powers decided t'show up all at once."

I stayed silent a few moments, letting the words sink in, and swallowed hard as I turned my head to look at him. "What?" I let out, but caught a flash of golden from the corner of my eyes, gasping loudly. I tried turning around to look, but somehow it managed to send everything on the night table flying, the lamp falling on the wooden floor with a crash. Sharp pain ran all the way to my back and I let out another gasp of pain, scrambling back off the bed, pulling the comforter off of it and crawling back until my feet hit the desk, sending everything to the floor around me until I crouched and curled up, my chest heaving with the panic slowly making its place in my stomach. I swallowed hard and stared up at my father in utter confusion until I noticed a small golden feather dancing in the air in front of me, slowly falling to the ground in the middle of the mess I had made. My eyes widened even more as I stared at it. "Wha..."

He frowned and walked to me, taking my hands and helping me to my feet. "Calm down," he said softly, holding my face. His eyes were stern, but there was a glint of sadness in them that made my heart squeeze. He stepped forward, making me step back, and sighed as he nodded behind me. "Turn your head an' look."

I stared at him a few moments before turning and glancing at the closet, staring at the mirror doors. I saw dad, and me next to him, only dressed in faded jeans. My eyes were brighter than usual, my hair looked lighter than its usual dark blonde, but it was to the two giant wings in my back that my gaze went, my heart feeling as if it was going to jump out of my chest. They were large, now unfolded and with their tips brushing the floor, and covered in bright golden feathers. My mouth opened in surprise, mind refusing to recognize the image the mirror was sending me, and I let out a soft breath, shutting my eyes and stumbling away from the mirror. "Dad..." I managed to gasp, reaching for the desk for balance.

He reached for me, holding me to his chest. "Shhh," he breathed, pulling my face to his neck. He dug his fingers in my hair, holding me tight. "Breathe, Anton. It's not a dream. What yeh saw is true. Jus' breathe."

I clung to him, chest heaving, and kept my eyes shut tight, wishing it was just an illusion. "I'm... how..." My heart sank. I would never be able to hide such things. "What am I gonna do?" I finally dropped, feeling my shoulders slump.

"I got a call from a man in New York," he said softly. "An' he t'inks he can help us. I read 'bout him in de paper befo', an' when he heard 'bout yeh he wanted t'see yeh." He hugged me, kissing my temple. "S'gon' come down here."

I opened my eyes, gaze meeting the mirror again over his shoulder. The wings drew a bit closer to my body as I forced myself to breathe more slowly, folding and taking less space, and I wondered if I was actually controlling them, or if they simply were reacting to my mood. I swallowed and pulled from my father, taking a step back to sit down on the mattress, and turned my head to look at one of them. It was huge, at least eight feet long, the feathers ruffling slightly when I reached out a hesitant hand to touch them. "What will he do?" I asked, looking back at him. "What is he? A doctor?"

He shook his head, "A professor. Not sure o'what." He walked to sit beside me, sighing softly as he reached up to stroke the soft feathers. "Dey are beautiful, Anton."

"But not exactly easy t'hide, non?" I let out, glancing up at them again. "I don' even know how t'control dem, an' I'm not exactly gonna jump out de window t'see if I can fly." Saying it made me realize it, though, and interest perked in my mind as I looked back at dad, narrowing my eyes. "Yeh t'ink I can?"

He snorted softly, ruffling my hair. "Dat's what dis guy should help us with. Yeh wanna see him?"

I shrugged slightly. "Can' hurt, I guess." I looked down at my hands, pursing my lips. "I can' walk around with dose t'ings in my back, anyway. It's not like I can jus' walk in de classroom like not'ing happened."

He shook his head. "Dis place... dis place dat he runs, is also a school."

I glanced back at him. "In New York?"

He nodded, "With other mutants. All yeh age."

I let out a soft snort, glancing up at the wings again. "Great, so I get t'go to school with a bunch of other freaks like me." I frowned. "Yeh said he heard o'me?" I asked, suddenly worried. "I... was I on de news o'somet'ing?"

He shook his head. "Non. S'like..." He frowned and shook his head, "He can read people's minds. He's a mutant, too. Telepathic." He looked at me, licking his lips. "I want yeh t'give it a shot, Anton. Dey're nice people. Jus' let him talk t'yeh." He frowned sadly, "Yeh not a freak."

I stared back at him before looking back down at my lap, pressing my fingertips together and licking my lips. "Nice try, dad," I let out in a breath. I shut my eyes, sighing. "Could I be alone a bit?"

He nodded. "If you really want to be. I'll be outside." He got to his feet, heading to the door. "I love yeh."

I swallowed hard, looking up at him. "Love yeh too, dad." I watched him step out and close the door before letting out a soft sigh, looking down again. I shut my eyes as the wings ruffled slightly, folder closer to me. My lips turned up despite myself as they folded around me, and I pulled my legs up to rest my chin on my knees, reaching out to touch the soft feathers again. Maybe I could talk to this professor... It couldn't be worse than having to hide.

More to come. Patience, little friends, and review if you want more. You can review if you don't, too, it'll still be nice to read.