Warren sneaked out many more nights after that. Now that he'd had a taste of freedom, he couldn't stop. Every time his parents went out to one of their fancy parties, he politely declined their invitation, choosing to do more test flights instead.

He was practicing flying on a beautiful, cool windy night in a residential neighborhood when he heard a scream. It was different from the other shouts and noises that was the background noise of New York.

This scream sounded like someone who feared for their life.

Warren banked a sharp corner and saw the source of the blood-curdling scream: a boy on the sidewalk about to be beaten by two men with baseball bats. They looked as if they were trying to steal the contents of his bag, and wouldn't take no for an answer.

Warren tucked his wings in and broke into a dive. He'd never done this before, but he was confident that he could pull it off. One of the would-be robbers raised his baseball bat to swing at the boy. He had only a fraction of a second.

He spread his wings and slammed to the ground between the boy and the robbers, who stumbled backwards in surprise. The wind from the beat of his wings briefly whipped up dust and trash from the street. They dropped the baseball bats to the ground. That was exactly the effect Warren intended.

He stood tall over them. "Leave," he said quietly. He didn't need to say anything more; the two men dropped the phone and shoes they had stolen and bolted down the street. Warren turned to the boy, who was still on the ground, stunned. "Are you okay?" The kid nodded, speechless. Warren jumped on top of an abandoned car and opened his wings wide, readying to take off.

"Damn, you a real-life angel, B?" Warren lowered his wings and looked behind him. The boy had stood up and finally spoken. Warren smiled back at him. He'd take that as a "thank you for saving me".

He opened his wings again and crouched; he really hoped this worked, because just like landing straight out of a dive, he'd never taken off straight up into the air, either.

Warren jumped as high as he could and beat his wings hard, pushing himself above the parked cars and the windows. He heard a few people's alarmed voices. He didn't care if he was seen, he only hoped they didn't see his face.

Warren tried to be more careful after that. He went out later at night, when there were less likely to be people; he tried to favor foggy, misty, or moonless nights; he never flew over open spaces like parks where people were inclined to look at the sky. As counterintuitive as it seemed, flying closer to urban landscapes was safer than going to a park.

But occasionally, Warren would fly over a theft, assault, or even murder in progress. And he couldn't turn a blind eye. He would dive out of the sky, just as before, scare the criminals off, and perhaps throw a kick or knock the weapon out of their hand. Then he'd take off again.

This went on for months until Warren's father stormed into the condo one evening and threw a magazine at him. "What the hell is this, Warren?" he shouted. He must have been truly furious; his parents typically insisted on clean language.

Warren put down the schoolwork he was doing and picked up the magazine. It was a gossip rag, one of those cheap magazines sold on the newsstands that mixed in celebrity rumors with hoaxes. They would publish anything to attract attention. On the cover, in huge letters that took up half the page, was the headline "WHITE-WINGED ANGEL SIGHTED IN NEW YORK", and underneath it was a photo of him.

The picture was grainy and dark, obviously taken at night by someone's smartphone. If Warren squinted, he could see two wings attached to a human-ish shape. It was barely possible to make it out, and the picture would probably be dismissed by the regular public as a photoshopped fake.

But Warren knew it was real. And his father knew it was real. They both knew the photo was of him.

There was some yelling, and firm pointing, and lecturing that lasted all the way until his mother got home. Then they teamed up and lectured him together. He had to admit it was quite impressive.

"I can't believe you went behind our backs, lying to your own parents! After everything we've done for you! We've given you a comfortable life, sacrificed to pay off your doctors and tutors, and you go around and disrespect us by doing this…" Warren had prepared himself for the guilt-trip, especially from his mother.

"Were you trying to show off? Huh?" His father asked rhetorically, growing red in the face. "Who are you trying to impress? Is this for a girl?" Wanting a bit of freedom was invalid unless it was for a girl? He should have expected such a response from Warren Worthington, Jr.

"Why are you doing this to us?" His mother said with tears in her eyes. "Don't you realize that if you're discovered, it could be the end of our reputations, of everything your father and I have worked for?" That was all she cared about, of course. Their social status. Warren tried to appreciate the comfortable lifestyle they lived, but he honestly couldn't care about their social standing in the least.

"We've fought to give you a life of privacy, away from people who would make you out to be a freak, and you just go out and flaunt those wings out in the public?" His father took his turn yelling. "Son, we thought you were smarter than this!" His father might have had a should have known better than to think he could go outside, confront someone, and not be caught. It was a stupid decision.

"You have your entire future ahead of you - how can you expect to make it to CEO if word got out about this? If everyone knew you were...like this?" His mother continued. Warren started to tune them both out by this point, simply nodding along and doing his best to look contrite. He had given up arguing against his parents long ago, and focused only on giving them everything they wanted - or at least pretending to.

He'd realized it was pointless trying to convince them his wings had value somewhere around the time he hated them so much he'd tried to file them off his back.

It was the worst pain he'd experienced in his life. His own mother and father didn't even question his obvious distress or extreme self-loathing. They just dried his tears, made sure he was patched up, and carried on as they had before. No one ever brought it up again.

Now, although he did his best to look contrite as his parents berated him, Warren was outraged. Could his parents really want him to spend the rest of his life indoors? Did they honestly expect him to never go outside again? What was he supposed to do with these wings if not use them? It was as if they didn't care if he hated himself, they didn't care if he was miserable living cooped up, and they didn't care if he never saw another human face ever again.

As long as their precious reputation was intact, his happiness didn't matter. It was the most selfish, detestable thing he had ever heard.

In the end, his parents made him promise to attend every gala they go to, as well as promise he'd never try to fly again. Warren pretended to agree, although inside, he seethed. He wasn't sure how he would be able to stomach being around his parents now.

A week later, he was at an incredibly boring charity gala, in a suit specially tailored to hide his wings folded into his harness. He felt like he was suffocating. At least he could put his name to good use; the servers handed him champagne whenever he waved one of them over, despite knowing he was under 21.

"You must be Mister Worthington." A bald man in a fine tux and wheelchair rolled up next to him as the crowd was mingling before dinner.

"I'm sorry, sir, you must be mistaking me for my father. He's over there, by the governor's table."

"I'm afraid not. I've come to quite a few of these, and your father is a familiar face to me by now," the man said coolly, his words slightly clipped by a British accent. "You, young Warren, are precisely the one I needed to find. Charles Xavier," the man introduced himself, extending his hand.

"It's a pleasure," Warren said, taking his hand firmly and shaking it. He'd heard the name before, but he wasn't sure where. He'd lost track of all the wealthy people his parents rubbed shoulders with.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself much tonight," Xavier said, nodding to a server and accepting a champagne flute from her tray.

Warren forced a smile. "To be completely honest, I find them boring," he said. Warren was not being completely honest. The real truth was that Warren wasn't just bored at these fundraising galas; he absolutely hated them. They were usually attended by the upper class of New York who spent most of their time leeching off the less fortunate, and then on a few nights out of the year pretended as if they were full of selfless generosity. The fact that his own parents were among the leaders of the pack made it all worse.

Warren took a larger than appropriate sip of his champagne.

Xavier chuckled. "They bore me as well. I would just as rather be home reading a book. However, I have my responsibilities to look after the financial well being of my school."

Warren's eyes widened as he realized where he'd heard Xavier's name before: this entire gala was thrown to benefit his school. This man before him must be the famous college professor with four phDs and the inane idea to pour money into a new charter school upstate a decade or two ago. It was called "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" or something of the sort.

Warren couldn't believe he'd forgotten the beneficiary of the very gala he was attending. His mother would be horrified at his lack of manners, were she here. "I apologize, Dr. Xavier, I didn't mean- your school is a very worthy cause and-" Warren stammered, and was stopped by Xavier's raised hand.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Worthington, I'm not offended," Xavier chuckled. "What brings you here tonight, if not choice?" Xavier sipped his champagne and swept his eyes over the crowd with scrutiny. Warren wondered if they both saw the same thing in the gala attendees: fake smiles, networking, and business deals. Perhaps he could trust him a little.

"My reason is the same as yours," Warren sighed. "I have my responsibilities to my family, to keep up the Worthington image." He tried not to let his face sour at that last word.

"I see. Are they trying to groom you for future leadership? Or trying to prove to everyone that you fit in with the philanthropic crowd?"

"A little of both."

"That's a shame. At my school, we teach that one's unique gifts aren't meant to be restrained with the bindings of uniformity, but to be set free and celebrated."

Warren raised an eyebrow. This man's words were a little too specific to be casual conversation. It made him suspicious. What did he know? And what did he want from Warren? People at galas usually only spoke to him when they wanted something.

"Forgive me for being blunt, Dr. Xavier, but what is your point?"

Xavier turned and looked him in the eye. He had a piercing gaze that made Warren feel as though he saw right through him.

"My school, Mr. Worthington, is a safe place for gifted young people who may not be accepted by most. My students all have certain abilities, if you will, that set them apart. They may even have extra...physical features that are extremely difficult to hide."

Warren felt his heart beating fast. This man couldn't be saying what he thought he was saying. That was impossible.

"If I may be blunt as well, Warren, I know about your wings. And I'd like to offer you an invitation to my school."

Warren's heart was drumming against his chest now, and he put his champagne glass down before he dropped it. "Your school is for people like me"

"Yes. My school is a safe place for mutants. If you boarded there, you would be free to display your wings, fly, or use your gift to save people, whenever you wished. Does that sound appealing to you?"

Warren tried to think quickly. This man, Dr. Xavier, had obviously read the tabloid article, and believed it. He'd discovered his identity and tracked him down. If there was one person who had done so, there could be others to follow. He could be dangerous.

But he was also his best bet at both safe haven and total freedom. Freedom was all he wanted.

Warren felt tears well up in his eyes. He hated always having to hide, literally restraining a piece of himself whenever he went outside, and now, being told by his own mother and father that he may never spread his wings again. He constantly felt as if he was suffocating - emotionally, mentally, and now, thanks to the harness, physically.

"Just promise me...that I'll never have to bind my wings again."

Prof. Xavier put down his champagne flute and looked him straight in the eyes. "Not only do I promise you that, I promise to help you spread them."

They shook on it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I like to think about the logistics of the X-Men world: How does the Institute get funding? What kind of paperwork has to be done? What leads up to people giving their children permission to go to this school for mutants after The Professor outs their mutant status to their families?

The X-Men stories focus a lot on fighting and action, so we seldom get to know much about the students' home life. Which means there's room for fanfiction writers to fill in the gaps!