Author's Nota Bene : No lethal reviews yet? I'm almost disappointed; maybe I'm going too easy on Warren. It made me laugh that some of the reviews I got were almost mostly about my critic on the X3 movie than the actual chapter, but hey, it means at least you read the author's note. Hehe. And thank you for showing interest; it's always nice to know someone reads what you spend hours working on.

And now, on with the X-Men. It's about time, non? Are you even reading this?

Enjoy!

Wings

Chapter 5

I was exhausted, for some weird reason. The floor was cold and my heart felt like it was throbbing painfully between my temples, making it feel like my skull was too small for my brain. I groaned in reaction to the feeling, and was rewarded by a cool hand touching my arm. "Hey, you're awake?" a stranger's voice asked over the annoying beeps I could hear. I didn't want to be awake, but apparently I was. With noticeable effort, I cracked open one of my eyes to glance at whoever that was. "You okay?" he asked, and the hand withdrew from my arm. He was blurry around the edges, but the voice didn't sound old at all, and he couldn't be much older than me, if older he even was.

I replied with a grumble that could have meant "yes" or "no", depending on the translator. I shut the eye, but rolled on my side to reach up and rub my eyes hard. There was a ruffle to my side as the boy moved away a bit, and I opened my eyes to look at him.

He was younger than me. He looked no more than fourteen or fifteen, with wide brown eyes under floppy dark hair. There was a metallic collar around his neck, with a small red light blinking in sync with the beeps I could hear. It didn't look like the latest fashion trend, and I frowned at it. He gave me a wry smile, reaching up to gingerly touch it. "Not very comfortable, is it?" he asked, making me reach up to my own neck. Sure enough, I felt it, and groaned softly as I pushed myself up on my knees. We were in a cell, apparently. The walls were made of stone, but there were bars on one side, which were glowing an ominous blue. I didn't want to know how it would feel to touch them.

I fingered the smooth surface of the collar, looking back at him. "What is that thing?" I asked in a croak that made me think I had been unconscious for quite a while.

"It keeps us from using our powers," he said, raising his hand and staring at it. His gaze went to my back, then, and his lips turned up slightly. "But I'm not sure what good it'll be on you."

There was a metallic clicking sound in my back and I glanced at my wings. They were cuffed in a way that kept them folded in my back, feathers ruffling and itching to stretch. I sighed and looked back at the boy. "Maybe they thought I could do something else as well," I said, reaching up and wrapping my fingers around the collar. "Didn't want to take a chance."

I frowned and managed to slip my fingers under the collar to pull, but the boy's eyes widened dramatically, and he lunged forward to pull my arm away. "Don't! It'll explode!"

I stared at him, blinking. "It'll what?"

"It will explode," said another voice. We both turned our head towards the bars. It was dark beneath them, but I squinted to see another cell on the other side of the narrow, dark hallway. A man stepped closer to the bars of his own cell and gave us a wry smile. "I'm afraid the young boy is right. I would advise you leave your collar where it is."

I swallowed and dropped my hand from my neck. "Where are we?" I asked, looking back at my cellmate.

He paused, staring at me, and shrugged. "I don't remember. I woke up here a few hours ago, and it wasn't where I remembered falling asleep in the first place."

"Brought here by sentinels, I would think," the man continued in a casual voice. "I can hear voices on the other side of the wall on your left; I would guess we are not the only ones to have been… picked up."

"But why are we here?" my cellmate asked him.

"Oh that, young men…" He shook his head. "I could not answer. I think it is safe to affirm we are indeed in trouble, but I do not know what kind." He gave us a warm, fatherly smile, and turned to me. "My name is Henry McCoy, my feathered friend, but they usually call me Hank."

"I'm Bobby Drake," said my cellmate, and smirked when I looked at him.

I smiled back, feeling quite confused, but threw in my own name as well. "I'm Warren," I said, not bothering with my last name. I nodded towards Bobby's beeping collar. "What are your powers?"

He grinned, dark eyes narrowing. "I can make ice." He held out his hand, looking at it, but nothing happened and he shrugged as his grin faded slightly. "I don't know how I can do it. My parents weren't really happy about it, either." He glanced at Hank. "You?"

"Oh, mine is merely physical," he said in a modest tone. "A bit of strength too, I must say, but it comes from my physical mutation." He arched an eyebrow at me. "Quite a bit like you, Warren."

I looked him over. I couldn't see much in the dark, but he looked very much normal to me, with dark hair and pale eyes. He was tall, but not much more than me, and didn't look extraordinary to me. "What physical mutation?" Bobby asked. Apparently he had reached the same conclusions as I had. "I mean… Warren's mutation is pretty obvious, but you…"

"Oh, well I've been here for a little longer than you two children have." He grinned, looking like a cat in front of a bowl of milk. "The collars appear to neutralize the X-gene, making it impossible to us to use our powers."

"But I don't have powers," I stated. "I have wings, yeah, but flying is something I learned to do with them, like learning to walk." Although it was a bit more painful to me than to a baby falling on his diapered bum, I added mentally.

"Yes, but that transformation was created by the X-gene in your DNA. Some mutants will not go through any physical changes, like you, young Robert, but will have special, usual powers. Others will grow wings and hollow bones, or blue body hair and muscles. Apparently this version of Genoshan collars gets rid of those mutant transformations as well."

"Blue body hair and muscles?" an obviously amused Bobby asked with a chuckle, staring at Hank.

"Hollow bones?" I asked a bit more curiously, my attention drawn to what he had said in a more selfish way.

"I am only guessing, Warren," he said, looking me over as I stepped closer to the bars. "A man of your height and shape would need much, much larger wings than the ones you have in order to be able to fly. Birds have hollow bones that make their body lighter; I think it makes sense to think that you weight less than the average man."

I smiled, looking down at my hand, and chuckled. "Cool."

"Hmm, yes. You might gain quite a bit of weight when they fill up again, if you keep the collar for a too long time."

There was an awkward silence that I voluntarily stretched, my teeth setting hard and deep in my lower lip. "You mean… It just takes the mutation away?" I let out after a while, glancing back at him.

He gave me a small smile, bending to pick up something. He got back to his feet and dropped what he was holding, and soft looking, short blue hairs slowly drifted in a feathery way to the floor. "I expect it will grow back, and I will get bigger again when they take the collar off, much like it was when I first changed."

I was staring down at the hairs in horror when Bobby spoke. "Is he just going to molt?" he asked.

I turned and glared at him. "Thanks a lot."

He shrugged, flopping down to sit on the floor. "I was just asking. I mean, just losing the feathers isn't too bad, they can grow back, right? But what about the wings? They can't just… fall off, can they?" We all stayed silent for a long moment, staring at him, and I felt all of the feathers stand up, ruffling as the wings drew closer to my back. Bobby glanced at me, and then at Hank. "I mean… do you expect those will grow back too, once they take the collar off?"

I shuddered violently. "No. No, no way." I slid down to sit hard on the floor. "Hopefully it won't reach that point. Once was already too much."

"You should have seen her face," Bobby said, crossing his hands behind his head and grinning up at the ceiling. "There was some of the stuff all over the place, and with her hair standing on her head, and she was trying to keep on a straight face after eating the lemon…" He burst out laughing at his own memory, and I smirked from behind my crossed arms. I was on my stomach, watching him talk. I guess it could be considered as a conversation, since I did let out an occasional grunt of approval. I was trying to forget my wings, or the fact that I might lose them—only to have them grow again. The last time I had touched them, I had drawn back a handful of feathers, and I wasn't keen on doing it again.

He was actually fifteen, I learned, and was from Long Island. He also liked to hear himself speaking a lot, which was fine with me since I didn't feel like talking about myself much. Mr. McCoy seemed to be asleep on the other side of the hallway, a gentle snore and an occasional grunt coming to us when he would turn around in his sleep. I had no idea how he knew it was night time; we had no windows, and my watch was broken. It must have been close to it, though, because I was slowly dozing off, and Bobby's voice sounded more tired as time went, the gentle beeping of the collars singing hypnotically in sync with the flashing red lights on them. I opened my eyes again, though, when Bobby's tone changed. "You got a girl, Warren?" he asked. I glanced at him, but he was looking at the ceiling. His smile had vanished, replaced by a small frown.

I shook my head no. "I tried to stay away from everything, including that."

"But you still ended up here, and you might die." He turned his head to look at me then. "Is there one you could have had? Should have?"

I thought of Candy for a second, seeing her kiss Cameron again, and shrugged, turning my head back and resting my chin on my crossed arms. "What's the use of thinking about that?"

"Just 'cause I'm wondering," he said, rolling back on his stomach. He pushed himself up on his elbows, staring down at his hands. "I had one, for a few dates at least." His tone made me glance at him. He didn't seem to have the kind of face to look serious often, but now it did, and he had my attention. "Only my parents knew about me being a mutant. I got my powers in the middle of dinner one night, so I couldn't very much hide it from them, since I froze the soup in two seconds, and ruined the wine." I smiled at the image, but he simply shook his head. "They told me not to tell anyone, including her. Her name's Judy. Judy Harmon."

"You've been together for a long time?"

"No." He snorted, shaking his head. "Wanted her for a year, actually, but it ruined everything when I got my powers." He smiled softly. "I love it, but I don't have much left now, do I?"

"What happened?"

He sighed. "A guy from our school attacked us, and I used my powers against him. First thing I knew, the whole town wanted to lynch me on the public place because stupid Rocky Beasely caught a cold." He snorted softly, and I smiled.

"What did you do to him?"

He did smile then, narrowing his eyes at his hands. "Froze'im. Put him in a block of ice from toe to shoulder, and ran away with Judy before he thawed. He yelled like a banshee after us, and went to the police when he was done melting." He sighed. "I wouldn't mind the arrest much, see, if Judy hadn't started to scream and hit me behind the head once she recovered. And—Stay still," he ended in a very different voice. My eyebrows rose, and he glanced at me as I stared at him in confusion. "What?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"What did you say?" he asked as well. His lips turned up in a smirk, but his eyes held a confused look as well. I opened my mouth to say something, but we were suddenly plunged in sudden darkness. The ventilation system was shut off, making the silence heavy. The blue glow of the bars faded with a crackle, and the only light we had was the flashing red ones on the collars. Those too, though, soon stopped, and although I couldn't see Bobby anymore, I heard the sound of ice cracking. "Oh, cool," he breathed. "The collars are off."

I reached up to the collar as it clicked and fell off, dropping in my hand. I smiled, and moved closer to the bars. I said, stay still, I was ordered again, and froze, realizing the voice hadn't come from Bobby, but from inside my head. "What…"

"Who's that?" Bobby breathed. "Who said that?"

"I don't know," came Hank's voice from the other side of the bars. "But I advise we listen to it; it sounded serious about it."

It was, and I took a step back. The flash of a red beam blinded us a second later, and the bars exploded.

Scott Summers was taller than me. That tiny bit of information shouldn't have bothered me, but while I was used to be taller than most of my classmates (and I was 16, I had a right to believe I wasn't done growing up), standing next to a silent, stern, frowning guy that was at least three inches taller than me was quite disturbing. He led us three on a plane, and eventually explained why he had gotten us out in the first place.

I sat at the front of the plane with him, while Hank and Bobby sat behind us. I gave the controls of the plane an interested look, and my lips turned up in a smirk as I silently thanked my wings for not having to learn how to fly this gigantic monster. "Where are you taking us?" I asked Scott, turning to glance at him.

He gave me a glance and turned to the controls. Soon the engines roared, and the plane moved up and hovered for a few moments, before shooting up in the sky. I gripped the armrests, and from the corner of my eye, saw Hank do the same thing behind Scott. "To Charles Xavier's school," he said. We all waited for more, but he stayed silent.

"And?" I asked. "Where is that?"

"Salem Center, in Manchester." He glanced at me again. "You'll be safe there, protected. It is a hiding place for us, hidden under the means of a private school. You can all stay there… and help us."

"Who's "us"?" Bobby threw in. "And who's the professor?"

"The professor Charles Xavier," Scott said, looking ahead, although right now all we could see were clouds. "He is a mutant as well, a telepath. A powerful one. And by "us", I mean him and I. He rescued me a year ago, I've stood by his side since then."

"You've mentioned help?" Hank asked. "I would be delighted to bring my own contribution, but what kind of help are you two looking for?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, and I glanced at him. He licked his lips and, for the short second his cold demeanor fell, he suddenly looked very young. "Let me take you there," he finally said. "The professor will explain it better than I ever could."

As it was, the professor was a bit warmer than Scott. The latter stood in the corner like a medieval armor, watching the procedures, while the professor sat in a wheelchair. I could only name it that way, even though it didn't seem to have any wheels, but appeared to be hovering a few inches above the ground and emitting a slight, surprisingly comforting hum. We were provided chairs in the comfortable study, and I sat in the middle, Bobby on my right and Hank—whose arms and head were slowly covering in pale blue hairs since the collar was removed, I was surprised to notice—on my left.

The professor himself was bald, the top of his head shiny as a new penny, but he gave the each of us a long, thoughtful blue look. It made Bobby squirm uncomfortably on his seat, and after I stood the gaze and stared right back at him, making the thin lips of the so-far mute professor twitch up in what I supposed could be considered as a smile, Hank brought a curled—and furry—hand to his mouth and politely cleared his throat. "Professor Xavier?" he tried, and the man smiled and nodded. "Your… protégé mentioned explanations on our way here, and I was hoping you could enlighten us on the purpose of our presence here." He glanced at Bobby, Scott and me, and gave the professor a smirk. "These three look like they are barely out of their teenage puberty, but I can hardly be considered a student in a private high school." Scott, who was obviously a couple of years older than us, and certainly not in teenage puberty, took his turn to clear his throat, albeit much less politely, and I heard Bobby stifle a chuckle next to me. Score one for the blue guy. I liked him.

The prof leaned forward, resting his elbows on his mahogany desk, and steepled his fingers in a slow, calculated way. "The school is merely a cover," he said in a low tone. "Student or teacher, it hardly matters. The point of this place is to create not only a haven for mutants in need of help, but as well a base of operation for a team of mutants. A team that would help make a difference."

"What would that team do?" I asked with a frown.

The pale blue gaze switched to me, greeting the question with a homely smile. "It will become a team of heroes, Warren. A team of trained mutants, working for man and mutant kind. Mutants proud of their X-gene, united in the X-men."

That sounded like the kind of quote that would make history, and I was rather proud of being there to hear it. I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward, interested. "But how?" Bobby asked, and the prof switched his gaze to him.

"Humans are scared of what they don't understand. The X-gene is only going to spread; great dangers await humanity if an alliance between humans and mutants isn't created." He sighed, leaning back in his chair, fingertips still glued to each other. "Some humans might understand, and so might most mutants. But as many humans will not accept the presence of mutants and will seek to destroy them, many powerful mutants do believe that humans will eventually disappear, and are very willing to help evolution by… accelerating it."

"In short, you want us to join in a team of mutants who will protect the humans from such mutants?" Hank asked with a raising blue brow.

"And who will protect mutants from humans who wants them to disappear," Scott chimed in, stepping closer to the desk.

"If I can be of any help," Hank said, and stood up from his chair to lean over the desk and shake the professor's hand, "I will be glad to be a part of this association."

"I'm in," Bobby chirped, hoping to his feet and freezing his fists. "I've nowhere else to go, anyway." He smiled, and narrowed his eyes at Scott. I could only guess he narrowed them back behind the ruby colored lenses of his glasses, but his lips twitched up as well. They all turned to look at me.

"What about you, Mr. Worthington?" the professor asked with a smile, arching an aristocratic eyebrow.

I glanced at the four of them—a blue guy, one with a frown tattooed on his lips, a hyperactive ice-machine, and a hover-chair transported mind-reading old man—and smiled. I had had worse friends. I got to my feet, letting my wings unfold for show, and nodded.

"Count me in."