Title: 'Broken Wings'
Author: Shy FX
Disclaimer: Marvel characters belong to Marvel.
Main Character(s): Warren Worthington/Angel. X-Men later on.
Fandom: strictly X-Men (MOVIEVERSE)
Rating: K+
Status: in-progress
Summary:Warren contemplates life as a mutant. Perhaps he's learnt to accept who he is...or maybe he just wants the chance to be 'normal' again. X3 spoiler.

The hallways looked darker, slightly more sombre than usual. He had known these halls or a very long time. Often as a young child, he would run up these pale, sky blue painted corridors, rushing to see his father after a long, dreary school day, leaping into his arms and giving him the hug that would determine to him that it didn't matter what sort of manifestation was going on inside the young man's body that would cause rifts, gaps, barriers to his father's connection.

Yet now, he was walking slowly, unhurriedly, little by little, dreading the feel of that cold glass pane against his smooth dry palm. Taking a deep breath, he entered and looked around for the warm, affectionate smile that belonged to the one person who knew what was best for him, what was supposed to be done, what everybody wanted.

His father.

"Hello Warren."

As Warren stepped through the glass door, his attention was temporarily diverted when his eyes were met with the brilliant blue of the sky outside, throwing its natural beauty forcefully into the mediocre artificial lighting of the softly lit lab. He wondered to himself at that moment, if he had actually ever dare flown from a height into that wondrous cornflower, tinted chasm, underlined by the snowy white citadel, out of that oyster that seemed to block itself out from the severe environment that was inhabited by so many watchful angry spectators emitting their detestation and hatred towards that one magnificent glass skyscraper that stood out for so many reasons that would not be obvious to the other lone towers. It would look so similar to the other buildings if not for the singular reason of what it was meant to represent.

An end to the problem. An answer to mutation. A way to a normal life.

It was exactly what that little boy in the bathroom desperately trying to rid his body of any sign of transformation had wanted ever since the little white fluffy plumes had started to appear on his then spotless back.

"Hello Warren."

He probably should have politely replied, but he could not bring himself to talk. His father came straight to his side, throwing a comforting arm around his son's broad looking shoulders.

"Hey Warren. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," the young man replied in a nervous whisper.

As they walked to the uplifted stretcher, his father said to him in a comforting tone, "I'm really proud of you for doing this. You know, everything's going to be fine. I promise."

He then turned to him. "You ready?"

After a moments pause of what could have been hesitation, but simply bringing up mental courage, he nodded.

Without a second to waste, he determinedly pulled of his overall coat. The sound of latex gloves slapping on to the hands of the Dr. Kavita Rao could be clearly heard from where he was standing.

Although he knew that for certain in his mind this was what he wanted, he couldn't help but wonder. How would the mutation deteriorate? Would his wings fall lifelessly limp? Would the ivory feathers disperse and float to the ground? Would the bones that grew from his back disintegrate and collapse to leave him looking like what he had desperately wanted ever since his young, youthful hand had touched the black handle of that steel knife?

As the clink of the tiny metal clasps fastened over the leather cuffs on the stretcher over his arms, an immediate feeling of claustrophobia sunk in. His alertness started to increase considerably as the awareness of men starting to invade his space made his environment feel constricted. Automatically, the muscles in his jaw and shoulders bunched without warning.

"The transformation can be a little jarring." Dr Kavita started to take small steps toward the stretcher. Immediately, his brow started to furrow. What Warren had not expected to happen was actually proceeding. He was beginning to panic. For as long as Warren could remember, he didn't cope well in these kinds of situations. Being restricted was just something that put Warren on edge.

The realisation of what was actually about to happen finally seemed to sink in. His mutation would finally disappear.

He shot a glance at his dad.

Refusing to take the cure would be one thing, but to live on as a mutant was entirely another. How was one supposed to lead a normal life with wings sprouting from his back that was entirely impossible to hide from staring eyes? If he took this cure, he would never have to worry about that again.

But now that he had the chance to transform in to a normal person he couldn't bring himself to accept what was happening. His wings had become part of him. To take them away would be like cutting off his arms or his legs. Thy were just as much a part of him than any other part of the body that people needed to survive. In some cases he had even considered that he didn't look disfigured and grotesque as some mutants did.

In the spec of a morning sunlight or flicker of moonshine, he had once believed that he could resemble an angel.

Why would anyone want to be rid of something as extraordinary and wondrous as that? Wasn't it possible to be a mutant that wasn't harmful in anyway? What damage and destruction could wings cause?

The only problem that had ever arisen from his mutation was the insolence of other people, and even that was something that was totally morally evil. In fact, weren't there some out there that actually prided themselves on their mutations? Proved to the world that they could help and make use of their supposedly dangerous powers? Why exactly couldn't he be one of these people?

The sound of the spring of the inoculation from the injection was surprisingly terrifying.

Why indeed.

"Um, Dad, could we talk about this for a second?" Warren started to squirm against the leather of the stretcher. The men were surprisingly strong.

From where his father was standing, he showed no sign of exerting sympathy or a another chance to mull things over.

"We've talked about it son. It'll all be over soon." Weariness could be picked up in his voice. He wanted this over and done with as soon as possible. He too knew that Warren didn't respond well to pressure, but he had pushed that thought aside for the time being due to the here and now.

Dr. Kavita leaned forward and swabbed at a space on his right arm that was attached to stretcher .Suddenly, the realisation of what was actually about to happen finally seemed to sink in. His mutation would finally disappear Just as she leaned forward with the injection, Warren suddenly spoke out.

"Wait!"

Dr Kavita's eyes shot up.

Still squirming, Warren tried to reason. "I can't do this."

With a firm look in his eye, his father replied, "Warren, calm down."

Restlessness and agitation ran through his arms, begging to be set free from the shackles.

"No, I can't do this."

Edginess started to take him over as he started to struggle uncontrollably.

"I promise you, it'll be fine!"

"Dad!"

Miraculously his hands wormed their way out of the leather cuffs and out in to open space. Without warning he threw back his fists as hard as he could, slamming in to the men who had tried so hard to refrain him. As they flew back, his wings extended to take up an astounding amount of space in that compact lab. They were glorious.

Vast white feathers that reached across the spread of his wings, they stretched out defiantly in front of those who had attempted to rid him of them..

"Warren…this is what we all want," his father looked at him with pleading eyes that begged resonance.

Warren shook his head. He was the one with a firm look in his eye now.

"No. It's what you want." With a last look at his father, Warren aimed straight for the spotless clear window that he had first looked through when he had entered that lab and took off at running start.

"Warren!"

Without looking back he smashed through the glass and into the vast open space of the world below.

Shards of glass and trinkets of crystal went flying off the surface of the wall and bounded off his exterior.

As the feel of smooth cold breeze, slightly stinging, ran along his bare torso, he knew he had made the right choice. Was this what it felt like to be a mutant?

To soar with incredible speed through the wide open skies and look down on the protesters in defiance of what they had no idea of or any chance of ever getting to experience?

He truly pitied them.
And to think he was going to exterminate his power, his blessing…his gift. As the wind blew through his hair, and the sun shone its glow over the city that he now glided through, he decided, this was definitely something worth fighting for. No authoritative figures or tyrants would ever take this away from him.
He would stay this way because that was who he was.