Author's Nota Bene : Thanks so much to the people who reviewed. I hope I didn't forget to reply to anyone (anyone who gave signed reviews; I can't reply to the anonymous ones). I ran out of cookies, though, but here's a chapter for everyone, even the silent readers (I know you're there).

(open parenthesis—

To those who haven't seen X-Men : The Last Stand, I'll ask what you're doing here, sitting in front of your screen. I will also tell you to stay seated until the end of the credits when you do see it, too, there's a little scene at the end that might ease the pain a bit. And if I'm allowed to have a little rant, the Warren in the movie doesn't have half the part he should have had (he's referred to as "Angel" in the credits, but isn't even called that name in the movie. Go figure.). The wings are cool, but the guy… Anyway, I think he's an important character in the X-Men, but he was a victim of his lack of popularity, and he was far from the Warren in my mind and heart. It sucks for him, and I was left unsatisfied on that part. A good movie, still, and I still chuckle when I think of the Juggernaut yelling at Kitty Pryde.

—end parenthesis)

Enjoy!

Wings

Chapter 4

The summer had started off well, and I was a fool enough to think it would remain the same until I went back to school in autumn. Of course that was without considering the fact that my father decided it would be a good idea for us to go, all together, to our beach house on the coast, to spend the "family time" we had never, ever spent before. As much as I dreamed of spending more than random weekends there, now was not the time, and I spent most of the nights before the day we left laying on my stomach and finding excuses not to join them on the beach in nothing but swimming trunks.

As beautiful as our house in New York was, I preferred the beach house to it by far, even if it was much smaller—by my own standards, you might say, but it was still much smaller than Worthington manor. Seated in the sand a few hundred feet from the water, it stood solidly against the sea winds. It was made of wood all over, being over a hundred years old, and I remember how there was sand sticking to my palms if I laid them against the wooden planks of the outside walls. They were painted a soft yellow—I remember spending a few days watching the painters, wet from swimming in the sea and licking popsicles in their faces as they sweated on their brushes—but it was still much better than the ugly pale, scaling green they had been when my mother found and bought the house after falling it love with its "charm". A bit of Worthington financial magic, and it was habitable again, with its the walls painted, woodworks varnished and floor boards sanded, and a nice smell of old house drifting permanently despite the fresh paint.

I spent all of my summers there with Sandra, my nanny. My mother would join us every weekend, settling down to slowly cook in the sun in her chair on the deck, and my father would come with her when he had the time. How (and why) in the world had he found the time to spend a whole month there, on the one single summer I didn't want to go there, was something I would never understand. I couldn't ask not to go without raising suspicions—I would beg for it as a kid—and so I packed up my suitcase and followed my parents, wings harnessed and hugged tight against my back under the t-shirt and jacket I insisted on wearing.

There wasn't many things Warren Kenneth Worthington II, my father, couldn't do. There was, though, many he wouldn't do, often going by the "do as I say, not as I do" saying. It included respecting differences—which explained my insistence on keeping the wings secret from him—and being polite in conversations with people he considered inferior to him. He didn't pass the salt at dinner, and had the annoying habit of not looking up from the morning newspaper when you spoke to him, replying with a dreaded "mmhmm" to everything one would say to him. It made that even more annoying, I think, that he was able to remember everything you said.

I made the mistake of forgetting he also didn't knock before he came in a room, including mine. Or he knocked as he opened the door; it was more a warning that he was coming in, than a real request for permission to enter.

It was probably on the second or the third day at the beach house. It was raining, and I was thankful for not having to use my excuses yet, knowing very well I would get questions if I didn't wear trunks permanently and jump in the waves on the first occasion. My wings were itching to stretch and fly, but I couldn't risk it. Not only did I not think my parents would stand it if they saw them, but I also couldn't explain it if they looked for me while I was gone.

I had my pants on and was frowning at the clasp of the harness. I had to tie it tighter, not being able to hide my wings under thicker clothes. I was willing to do a lot to hide them, but we were on the beach, and I wasn't going to wear woolen sweaters in a 95° sun.

I heard the knock, and I barely had time to realize it was my father's knick before my mind told me he wasn't going to wait for me to open it. I spun on my heels as it opened, eyes widening, and my arm reached out in reflex, as if I could close the door from the other end of the room. "Wai—"

He still stepped in, though, and froze. It was probably more due to my cry, since I was standing to face him, wings safely tucked in my back. "What's wrong?" he said with a frown, as I felt all the blood leaving my face. He looked down at the tied harness, though, and his frown deepened. "What in heaven's name are you wearing, son?"

My insides clenched in panic, but I had the sense to not look worried, giving a half shrug and hoping nonchalance would work. "Nothing at all, dad," I replied, reminding myself to slap myself for such a stupid reply when I was alone. That harness could not pass for anything else than what it was, after all; my wings hugged closer to my back at the thought, not a single feather showing.

A pale eyebrow slowly arched over a stern look. "So you're wearing this ridiculous contraption for no reason at all," he reasoned, the other eyebrow slowly joining the other high on his forehead.

I hated it when he made me realize I was being stupid.

I licked my lips, struggling for an answer. He hadn't moved from the doorframe, thank God, and the wings felt as if they were growing smaller in my back, hugging so close to it that it felt like they wanted to go back in. "Homework," I finally choked out. "Ah… A science project, we… have to do it during the summer, I thought now was a good time."

The eyebrows went a bit higher on his forehead; I didn't think such a thing was possible. But there was a flash of approval in his eyes, and I relaxed slightly. "What is it?" he asked in a more cheerful tone. To my horror, he stepped in, obviously with the intention of giving the "contraption" a closer look.

I took a hasty step back, the back of my knees hitting the bed. "Don't!" He stopped, giving me a surprised look, and I shook my head. "I… it's not done. It's special, you know? I… It…" I struggled, unable to give the harness a plausible use—aside from hiding mutant wings. His eyebrows shot back down, way past their regular shape to settle together in a frown, the stern look returning in his eyes. "I… huh…"

He cleared his throat, frown deepening. He opened his mouth to reply, and shook his head. Apparently he blamed it on teenage weirdness because he turned around to leave. "If you say so," he simply let out, giving me a look, and stepped out of the room. The door closed behind him, and I let out a relieved, but nervous sigh, my knees giving up on me as I sunk down to sit hard on the floor.

I stared at the door before shutting my eyes, reaching up to smooth back my hair. "Shit," I whispered, and looked down to untie the harness. There was no way I was going anywhere today; I simply wished I could hide in my room forever now. I got to my feet again and dropped the leather straps on the floor, staring sadly down at them as my wings took their normal stance again. I had learned to appreciate them and had grown fond of being able to fly, but they were making my life ridiculously more complicated.

Deep in my thoughts, I didn't hear the footsteps in the hallway, but I heard the polite knock again as the door open. My head snapped up to the doorframe, and Dad came in, again. "Warren, I forgot t—" He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening until they reached the size of small plums. I stood there, my lips parting in surprise at the same time as his, and it felt as if time was frozen as we stared at each other.

The wings unconsciously drew close to my back, but without the harness they were huge. Fully grown now, they were now over 7 feet long from root to tip of the longest feather, as far as I could manage to measure them myself. I knew that even folded the way they were (which was still pretty tight), they still went up to slightly over my head before bending and draping over my back and around me like a white, feathered cape. No, without the harness, there was no way to hide them. Besides, it was much, much too late.

Time unfroze when I saw his Adam's apple slowly move up and down in his throat as he swallowed painfully. His gaze went from me to the discarded harness on the floor, and back to the wings. He spoke; I hadn't thought he would. "That's your science project?" he let out in a whisper that made my heart squeeze painfully. Hell, he knew very well it wasn't.

I licked my lips. "Dad…" I said softly, as I reached out and took a step forward.

"No," he said in a breath, denial clear as day in his now cold voice as he hastily took a step back. I stopped, my heart breaking in a thousand pieces as disgust painted all over his face. "No." I opened my mouth to speak but he shook his head, holding out a hand and stepping out of the room. "No, Warren."

I flinched when the door slammed behind him, taking a step back to sit on my bed and letting my head drop down in my hands. I felt the pieces of my heart sink low in my chest, and my eyes watered as the wings draped around me like a cocoon.

My father left the same day, taking my mother with him. He hadn't told her by the time she got in the car, I could tell by her questioning tone before the doors of the car slammed and the sound of the engine died down the road. I hoped he didn't tell her.

They left Sandra with me, though, and apparently he told her. I learned it when she stopped on the other side of my closed door, at the end of the day. "Young sir?" she asked gently. I had spent the day inside, and she knew me well enough. "I've brought you something to eat."

"Thank you," I said in a hoarse voice from my perch on the window sill. "But I'm not hungry."

There was a short silence. "Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Can I come i—"

"No, Sandra. Thank you."

She sighed softly. "Young Warren… Your father…" she plainly hesitated to tell me, and I frowned, turning my head to look at the closed door. "Your father told me about your… condition."

I narrowed my eyes. "And?" I asked sharply.

"I would very much like to see," she said softly through the door. "It doesn't bother me in the least, and I would like to help, young sir…"

I hunched my shoulders, turning back to look at the sea. "Fine, then," I breathed. Things could hardly get worse, anyway.

The door opened, and I heard her let out a soft breath. I hadn't reattached the harness, which still lay on the floor. I was sitting on the large window sill, legs drawn up to my chest as I turned towards the sea, only wanting to fly away. My wings were half open in my back, though, feathers stretched. It was probably quite a sight, and the only thing she saw, before she looked past them and saw me. "Oh… oh my," I heard her say softly, and let my head hang until my forehead hit my knees.

I looked up when I felt her smooth back my hair. She had gotten older; I hadn't noticed, being in school all the time. She had already been close to 40 when my parents hired her to take care of me, when I was born; she was now only going on 55, but the sad look on her face made her look older than that. She sighed. "Oh, child," she whispered sadly, tucking back my hair behind my ear. "I already thought you were growing up too fast, but now it has taken a whole different meaning."

I frowned and looked down at the beach again. "It's not like there's anything I can do about it. I don't want to get rid of them."

"No. No, of course not." She smiled, eyes softening behind her glasses as she looked at the wings. "Warren, they're beautiful." I looked at her, surprised, and she tucked back a grey curl behind her ear before reaching up and gently stroking the feathers. "Absolutely beautiful."

I stared at her before watching her hand warily as she pat the wings. "I never saw them as beautiful. Useful, maybe, and certainly a bit of a hassle right now, but…"

"Oh they are." She smiled sadly, dropping her hand. "It's such a shame that they might be considered as something bad." She smiled at me then. "Please come downstairs, young Warren, and have something to eat. I'm supposed to take care of you, what kind of nanny would I be if I let you starve? I cooked your favorite dinner, since your parents are gone again."

I managed a small smile. "I'm old enough, I don't need someone to take care of me."

She laughed then, reaching out and patting me on the head as if I was 6 years old. "Men always need that, young sir, no matter their age. Now try to put on a shirt if you can, it's more polite, and come down to eat before you get all skinny."

Two days later, I was awoken in the dead of the night by the screeching of tires. I frowned and raised my face from the pillow before rising from the bed. I dragged myself to my window, craning my neck to try and see the front of the house, and let out a soft breath when I recognized my father's convertible. He wasn't in it, though, and I soon heard loud footsteps in the stairs. I spun on my heels to see the door open, and my father appeared in the doorway. "Dad?" I let out, raising my eyebrows at him. Was I still dreaming? "What…"

"No time," he breathed, and walked to me. He paused, glancing at the wings, and shook his head as he grabbed a pair of jeans from where I had throw them the evening before when I went to bed. He thrust them in my hands, his eyes wide as he looked at my face. "Put them on, quickly," he ordered, and I obeyed, slipping them on over my boxers.

"What's going on?" I asked in a worried tone when I saw him lean over in the window, looking towards the road.

He turned back to look at me, and grabbed my arm to pull me out of the room and into the hallway. "I'll explain on the way," he said coldly, and I nearly tumbled down the stairs following him. He dragged me outside to the car and I got in the passenger seat. He sat behind the wheel and reached to turn on the engine when there suddenly was a loud crack from the trees behind. We both snapped our head around to look, and the trees parted and fell to the ground to reveal… a giant robot?

I frowned and, despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, reached up a hand to furiously rub my eyes. Maybe I was still dreaming.

"Oh my God," Dad said, reminding me that this was very real indeed. An 80ft tall robot was standing like a purple Grendizer in the middle of the now fallen trees. Its red glowing eyes scanned the area until they stopped on me, and I cowered slightly on the seat as my father fumbled madly with the keys to start the engine, my wings automatically drawing close to me. I was going to have to work on that bad reflex if I wanted to survive.

"WARREN KENNETH WORTHINGTON THE THIRD," the robot boomed in a loud, less than pleasant metallic voice. The engine roared and Dad stepped hard on the gas, the small convertible leaping forward on the road with a screech of tires, rising a thick could of dust behind us. I could still hear the robot, though, and couldn't look away from it as it took a gigantic step forward to follow us, making the ground tremble under its foot. "X-GENE PRESENCE : CONFIRMED. MUTANT #48472, FILE 294. IDENTIFICATION : COMPLETE."

That was me alright. What a nightmare.

"TARGET : LOCKED." I frowned. What? "EXTERMINATION PROCESS : ENGAGED."

My eyes widened and my blood ran cold. "What?" My father cursed softly under his breath, and I looked at him in surprise. "What the hell is that thing?" I yelled over the wind as he drove like a madman. I jerked in my seat when the thing shot at us, but it miraculously missed, and I stared at the crater it had left in the pavement, feeling not just a little thunderstruck. "What…"

"A sentinel," he replied, accelerating. "They've started patrolling a few days ago, when the law for mutant registration was adopted." I turned to look at him, opening my mouth to ask, but he shook his head before I could say a word. "The program was created to control the mutant population, but I didn't think it would control it by eliminating them."

I swallowed hard. "What do you mean, you didn't think? You…"

He pursed his lips. "I financed it. Well, part of it. But…" He glanced at me, and back at the road as my eyes roamed towards the robot, which was thankfully growing smaller as we drove father from it. "Like I said, Warren, I had no idea it was going to kill them, let alone…"

I looked back at him, frowning slightly. "Let alone that I was one myself."

He sighed, and nodded. "You should have told me sooner, son."

The sentinel shot once more, missing again, and I swallowed hard as I looked at it. "But… How does it know I'm here?" I asked. My blood ran cold again and I stared at my father. "You…"

His eyebrows shot up and he glared at me quickly before looking back at the road. "What? I what?"

I licked my lips. "How does it know about me? How did it know I was here?"

"I don't know," he breathed. He said no more and I sunk in my seat. I glanced back at the road, but the robot was nowhere to be seen. Dad didn't stop, though, nervously glancing back now and then as he drove. It was a long time before he sighed again, and stopped the car on the side of the road. He let the motor running, and turned in his seat to look at me. "Apparently, you're on the mutant registration list. I have no idea how your name got on that list, Warren. I had no idea you were one when I accepted to finance part of it, and I would never do such a thing to you."

I frowned. "Even if they didn't kill them? You still wouldn't… sign me in?"

His eyes saddened. "Of course not, Warren."

"So it's okay for the other mutants, you even gave them money so they could… "control" the population, but not for me?"

He shook his head. "Warren, no… Had I known you were a mutant from the start, I never would have contributed to the program, ever. I know doing so was wrong, but I had no idea… To me, and to many others, they were something to be scared of." He reached out to hold my face with both hands, making me look at him. "I see things much clearer when they're in my face, Warren. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I stared at him and nodded, hanging my head. "What are you going to do?" I asked. "They're after me, now."

"I don't know," he answered softly. He leaned back in his seat, shutting his eyes and laying a hand against his damp forehead. "First, we have to find a place to hide you. Then… I know a lot of people at the government, I'm sure I can find someone who will erase your name against a certain sum of money."

I nodded slowly. My lips felt dry and I gave them a nervous lick before glancing at the woods around us, expecting a gigantic purple robot to emerge from the trees at any moment. I sighed, glancing back at the road, and watched the cars zoom by for a few seconds before glancing back at my father. "How did it even get there in the first place?" I finally asked. "Do they just… find us and track us down?" It felt weird to speak of it as "us". Weird but also, in a way, terribly reassuring.

He shook his head. "No, they can't. Not yet at least, thank God. No, the mutants on the registration list were… denounced, in a way. Usually family members who probably thought it was for the best." He glanced up at me. "But it wasn't me, Warren. Who else knows about it?"

"Sandra," I said, shaking my head. "But it can't be her." He nodded, agreeing. "There's… my friend in school, Cameron." I frowned, looking up at him. "And doctor Stuart. He offered to amputate them, and told me not to tell anyone."

He shook his head again. "No, not him. He wouldn't have done anything without telling me about it first. Who is—"

He didn't finish, as a powerful blast was shot at the hood of the car. It jerked, and we were thrown out of it and into the ditch. I coughed strands of grass, hearing my father doing pretty much the same thing next to me, but froze when I recognized the loud voice that came from above. "WARREN KENNETH WORTHINGTON THE THIRD," it said again, and I looked up to find the sentinel standing in the middle of the road. How had it gotten there? "TARGET : LOCKED…" I didn't care to listen to the rest, and I grabbed my father's arm and scrambled out of the ditch. I had carried Cameron, but he wasn't as tall and big as my father. I already had trouble taking off from the ground; I would always take off by gliding from a higher point. Could I take off the ground carrying my father?

I didn't try, and we quickly ran to the trees to hide. We stopped when we felt we were far enough for the sentinel to have to look for us, at least, and caught our breath. "Can you fly with those wings, Warren?" he asked me, a little red in the face. Maybe running in the woods wasn't such a good hobby for a 45yr old businessman. I nodded and he grabbed my arms. "Then go. Now."

"But you…"

"It's not me it's after, son. It doesn't even give a damn about me. It's not my name it's yelling about." The corners of his lips twitched up sadly. "Not all of it, at least."

"But I could carry you," I insisted.

"I doubt you can fly as fast with me. Go, Warren. It's after mutants, not normal humans. Go before it finds you. And when you can, call home and we'll find you somewhere safe until all of this is settled. I love you, now go."

"But…"

He sighed angrily. "Warren Worthington, but you're as stubborn as your mother!" He pointed an imperious finger towards the black sky showing through the branches, and glared at me. "Go, now!"

Imperious fingers and glares from my father always worked with me as a child, and they still did at 16 years old. I went. I turned and ran through the branches, and finally found a tree I could climb. I went up, like I always did as a child, and threw myself off the top when I reached it.

I gained altitude very fast, and when I felt out of danger, I started thinking about where I could go. That was a mistake. A sentinel appeared in front of me, surprising me. Apparently it could fly, rockets coming out of its feet. I would have laughed at the comical sight it gave, maybe, if it hadn't been trying to kill me. It outstretched a metallic arm, and it let out a "click" sound, sounding dreadfully a lot like a gun being armed. "TARGET : LOCKED," it let out, rather annoyingly now, but I was too busy quickly falling to the ground to notice.

When I had first gotten my wings, I had fun looking in books about birds to try and find which bird's wings they looked most like. I liked the idea of having eagle wings, or falcon wings or something of the sort. No need to say I was rather disappointed to find they were actually closer, in color, shape, and span (proportionally to me, that is), to the American white pelican's wings. In any case, they were a far cry from the hummingbird's wings, and it was impossible to me to hover in mid-air—wouldn't that be a funny sight—, let alone fly backwards. When the sentinel emerged in front of me, I was able to stop before I ran into it, yes. But being cornered by the gigantic robot, I promptly fell down to my demise.

Gigantic fingers caught me before I fell in the trees, and brought me up to eye level. I struggled, but cried out in pain when they squeezed me like a boa constrictor. I could feel my wings being pressed painfully against my back, my ribs cracking. I couldn't say how long it lasted, but I fell like a stringless puppet when it finally let go.

I never touched the ground; I lost consciousness before it happened. My only thought as I fell, right before my vision went black, was about my father. How he had, for what was probably the first and only time of my very short life, told me he loved me… and how I hadn't said it back.

Review… please? Sorry if you find mistakes; it had taken me so much time to write it that I only re-read it once.