Worthington Labs, Alcatraz Island, Earth 10005

[wwiii]

Warren Worthington, Jr. was a lot of things. The owner of a wildly successful company, the developer of the first ever cure for the X-gene, and obscenely rich.

Today, he was also horribly nervous, walking briskly down the hallways of Worthington Labs, formerly the prison facility known as Alcatraz, alongside his business associate, Dr. Kavita Rao. They'd been given the heads-up by the military lined up outside that the island's security had been compromised, that they were to evacuate as quickly as possible.

The two mutants that stepped out in front of them, looking fierce and quite ready for a fight, weren't going to make that easy. Warren spun on his heel, Kavita following along with him, and they tried ducking down another hallway.

"Going somewhere?"

Dead end. Surrounded. Warren, Jr. swallowed and glanced at his companion as the trio closed in around them.

"You're the guy that invented the cure, right?" The male mutant said, levelling Warren with a look. He got a nervous nod in reply.

"Yes. I am."

It wasn't as though the answer wasn't obvious. Lying would have just provoked them further. As it stood, the truth was getting him manhandled by the two female mutants, and all that he could do was struggle as the two easily overpowered him.

Kavita's protests echoed loudly in his ears, pleas that they not hurt him. He appreciated that. He did.

But when the male mutant wrapped his arms around her, whispering that everything would be okay until she calmed down, and then shot a barrage of quills through every inch of his skin directly into her body... Warren found himself wishing that she hadn't cared enough to say anything at all.

The women dragged him away as Dr. Rao's body crumpled, lifeless and bloody, to the floor.

Now it was his turn to protest, to beg, abandoning his dignity to plead for his life as they dragged up straight to the edge of the roof, murder in their eyes. Down below, cartridges filled with the cure that he'd developed were flying back and forth, downing the hostile mutants left and right. Up here, there wasn't anything of the sort. Up here, it was just him, and them, and they were holding him over the edge.

"No! No, please, don't do this! I only wanted to help you people!"

Wrong answer.

"Do we look like we need your help?"

And then they let go.

---

Wings! Aerial surveillance!

Warren's nose wrinkled a little as he looked down at the chaos below him. It was quieter up here, at least, though now and again he'd hear Karla's voice breaking into his mind to report this or that about what was going on inside. She'd caught wind of his father's psychic scent. He was still alive. Good news, at least, even while that cure was stripping away the dignity of a good many people who had, ultimately, been rightfully afraid that it would be turned into a weapon and used against them.

Hell, he'd been peppered with a few of the darts himself since he'd taken off, the human soldiers down below mistaking him for one of Magneto's Brotherhood. He'd nearly had a heart attack the first time one of them flew his way, even if it had been deflected harmlessly from the shield that Karla had created for him.

He was pretty sure that trying to 'cure' a flying mutant while he was circling around a hundred feet in the air was actually attempted murder. Thanks, down there. He really appreciated your efforts to uphold truth and peace and the superiority of homo sapiens as a species.

Only kind of not.

He was circling around again when he spotted movement on a nearby portion of roof. Four figures, three of them very obviously overpowering one, heading toward the edge. He frowned, circling around closer. And then swallowed as they dangled the man over the edge.

He didn't want to know what was being said. All he knew was that, whatever it was, it was enough to convince the three on the rooftop that dropping his father was clearly the best of all of their options.

At least that was a death sentence that Warren was well-equipped to issue a pardon for. The Eyrien sticks that Karla had handed to him were being tucked into his belt as he swooped into a dive, scooping his father up into his arms like a tossed about ragdoll, clearly terrified, but apparently uninjured.

While Warren, Jr. worked on regaining his wits, his son was levelling him with a look.

How do you feel about these wings now, Dad?

[Still NFB, Still NFI, and to be continued in the comments, with glacial_witch at the helm of Warren's old man! Also. WHAT ARE THE ODDS that this post has the same number as the Earth designation number for the movies? Laughing all the laughter, over here.]

Comments

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

You know, back before Warren had run away to that school of his, he had been such a polite and quiet boy. Warren Jr. was definitely going to have to blame the mouthy girlfriend and the scary large man with wings and a habit of hitting people for the changes in his son, as well as all the other friends he hadn't met.

Not that he was going to bring that up right now. Warren Jr-the-man-who-wanted-to-survive was busy packing the affronted dad off out of sight.

"I can perhaps see where you would get that impression," he said carefully. His son's message had been none-to-subtle. "I, ahh, assume you wish to address that?"

Maybe a little lower? Please?

[wwiii]

"That would be a safe assumption, yeah."

Huh. Who would have guessed that aerial scare tactics would make his dad more receptive to actually listening to what he had to say? Warren certainly wouldn't. But now that he actually had his father's ear, he was going to make damn sure he didn't waste the opportunity.

"Maybe you should worry more about helping people who actually want to be helped?"

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"Why do you think I started this, son?" Warren Jr. asked, sounding almost helpless. "I did this for you! You wanted this!"

This was the part that had been sticking in his throat for a few months now. He'd thought they were in this together, working for the same goal, sacrificing for the same thing. And then suddenly his son had thrown it all away in a moment of cold feet and then treated him like he was somehow to blame!

Warren Jr just didn't understand. Why was he being lectured when everything, everything he'd ever done had been for the most important person in his life--his son.

[wwiii]

"When I was seven." Warren's voice was quiet. A quiet that his father should be used to, by now. Almost submissive. Almost defeated. Of course his father didn't get it. Why should he? He wasn't the one who had been strapped to that damn table with a syringe pressed against his skin, about to rip away his wings. Yeah, Warren was quiet.

But under all of it, there was steel. Something that hadn't been there before.

"When you walked in and looked like I'd just taken your entire world and tore it apart with my bare hands. I wanted to be good enough, Dad."

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"I walked in and saw you covered in blood and feathers, hiding knives from me!" Warren, Jr. said, desperate to get his son over that hurdle of self-pity and hurt feelings so he could see reason. "What was I supposed to look like? Overjoyed? You'd been in there for an hour--cutting and hacking away at yourself! Do you have any idea what it was like, stepping into that bathroom and seeing you covered in blood?"

[wwiii]

"No, Dad. I can't even begin to imagine." Well. He could. Maybe, in a sort of distant, vague kind of way. He'd met his possible children. If he'd ever seen them trying to cut their own wings off...

But it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't just be that horror of seeing his children crying and covered in blood. It would be the horror of seeing them trying to steal the sky away from themselves, too.

"But the look you gave me, when you said not you... You didn't stop looking at me like that! God, Dad. You still look at me like that! And then you just... stopped coming home, because getting rid of it eventually became more important than being my dad!"

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"I WAS BEING THE BEST DAD I KNEW HOW TO BE!" Yelling at his son hundreds of feet in the air was probably stupid, but there was no other way to respond. Hurt and anger churned in his heart--how dare Warren suggest that he had somehow stopped being a father just because he'd begun spending more time in the lab!

His own father had been cold and distant, and when Warren Jr. had first held his son in his arms, he'd sworn to do a better job than his dad had done.

Everything I've done, I've done for you.

"You amputated parts of your own body!" Still upset, but he was trying to moderate his tone a bit. "Don't you understand? It's my job to protect you! Anything that hurt or scared my son that badly...so badly he had to remove parts of himself in shame and secret...I needed to find some way to fix it! Because that's what fathers do! They move heaven and earth to keep their sons safe!"

And if it meant long hours over a microscope instead of watching television, so be it! Anything other than having to come home and see blood and tears and feathers again. That image haunted him at night still.

[wwiii]

"Yeah," Warren mumbled, not quite able to keep the hurt and bitterness from his voice. "Safe."

Deep breath. Deep, shaky breath. God, he was not allowed to start getting emotional up here right now. That wasn't going to win him this argument.

"You know, I thought you were ashamed of me? I mean... I had to hide for ten years. Long coats. Harnesses. Ten years, Dad. Ten years of being heard and never seen, of being told that I was sick, ten years of never going outside!"

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

It was hard to shift uneasily up here, what with clinging to his son, but Warren Jr. was going to give it a spirited attempt anyway. "Well, I can't say that I was thrilled to have a mutant son. I mean, some of our investors and backers might have taken things amiss..."

All of which is true, but none of that was going to help him here. Warren still wasn't old enough or maybe emotionally mature enough to understand how much what was best for the company had to influence their lives.

"Look, son. I wasn't happy with your wings. I wanted you to be a normal kid. But most of why I wanted you to be normal was because I saw what happened to people who were not. I kept you inside for your own good because outside...well..." He pointed and repeated Warren's words. "Look down."

[wwiii]

Warren had spent a good chunk of the night looking down already, thanks.

"I've already been shot at tonight, Dad. I don't need to look."

You know. Just throwing that out there.

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"And you're still blaming me for wanting to protect you from all that?"

[wwiii]

"You created that!"

The cure! Showing his face on the air, telling mutants that they were all corruptions, that they were some sort of disease that needed to be fixed! There had been enough hate out there before, and now there was hate with a weapon to back it up!

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"No! That's not how I intended the cure to be used!" Warren Jr. argued. There were times when he truly did not understand his son. Did Warren think he wanted this to happen? This shameful loss of life and destruction of property? Did he think he was somehow courting the Magnetos of the world to come take their grievances out on people like him and Kevita?

They had just been trying to help! If anything, they were the victims, here!

Especially Kevita, lying bloodied and crumpled on the hallway floor.

"This was supposed to be a voluntary option! So people could decide whether or not to continue being mutants! It was their own kind who opened fire on the clinics! It was never supposed to be this way!"

Beat.

"...Except in maybe some extreme cases..."

[wwiii]

Bile was trying to creep up Warren's throat at that, as he looked down to see the men with their guns, created for the sole purpose of neutralizing mutants. Cure darts. Things like that don't develop themselves. And certainly not overnight.

Extreme cases.

A snarl caught in Warren's throat. My, was his grip slipping a little?

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

Warren Jr. was now clinging to his son like glue. In fact, if he could suddenly develop a mutant power with suction-like abilities, he'd be grateful. "Like Magneto!" he babbled. "He's insane and dangerous and we can't keep him locked up! That's all I meant. But for the most part, this was supposed to be a voluntary cure! I only ever wanted to help!"

[wwiii]

Warren took mercy on his father, at least a little. Making him wet his pants wasn't going to win him any arguments, either.

"You know," he said, his voice quiet and velvety soft all over again, "in some cultures, adequate punishment for committing a crime was to just cut off a hand and be done with it. No trial necessary. That doesn't make it right."

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"Misapplication of a tool doesn't make the tool bad!" He couldn't help but argue, even though Warren seemed determined to ignore all logic to the contrary.

All he wanted to do was reach him and make him see. Warren Jr. wasn't the bad guy here! Magneto--he was the bad guy! He was the one who'd killed hundreds. And yet Warren couldn't seem to understand that.

It was times like this when he realized how young his son was, how idealistic.

[wwiii]

This wasn't about Magneto. Warren wasn't exactly a huge fan of that man's terrorist tactics, either.

"Right. Guns don't kill people."

Tell that to the newly-minted homo sapiens who were writhing about on the ground in Alcatraz. He sighed, and then banked downwards, swooping toward the far end of the bridge.

"They're going to shoot at me again. Maybe you should say something before you get peppered with cure darts."

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

He had only meant to help, but it would be much more of a hindrance if they landed in the Bay.

"DON'T SHOOT!" Warren Jr. hollered, waving his free arm as much as he could. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T SHOOT! THIS IS MY S--" He hadn't meant to stutter on that. He hadn't. "MY SON! THIS IS MY SON! DON'T YOU DARE HURT HIM!"

[wwiii]

That stutter felt like it was ripping a gouge straight out of Warren's heart.

And that gouge was made slightly less severe by the fact that his father had managed to finish that statement regardless. That was more than his father had been willing to admit about him in public since he'd grown his wings in the first place.

He was smiling a little as he landed, even though there was still a fair number of cure guns pointed his way.

"Thanks, Dad."

And now he was reaching for the sticks at his belt, and was spreading his wings in preparation of taking off again.

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"Wait, what?" This was not a development Warren Jr. had foreseen. "Where are you going now? You can't truly mean to go back over there, can you? It's a madhouse! You'll stay right here where it's safe, son. Let the soldiers who know what they're doing handle the rest of the clean up."

[wwiii]

"Karla is back there, trying to save the life of the kid you made into your lab rat for all of this." He'd saved her from the Nothing, taken the risk that she'd never want to look at him again. There was no way in hell that he was going to just stick around here now, no matter what his father was ordering him to do. "From other mutants and from these goons with the guns."

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

"Karla?!" Warren Jr. wasn't sure whether to be shocked, horrified, or just completely confused. "The, uhhh, young lady you introduced me to at your school?" Maybe Warren knew a different Karla? One who doesn't look like a brisk wind could knock her over?

"Is she a mutant, too?"

What was the boy doing, letting her yell at their enemies?

[wwiii]

"No. She's human." Warren raised a hand to tap a finger against the hourglass pendant that he was wearing. "But she is the reason I still have my wings, even though I've lost track of the amount of darts that have come at me, now. Excuse me, Dad."

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

Warren Jr....still wasn't entirely convinced that that was for the best, even though those wings just saved his life. But he didn't think that now was the best time to bring that up. "And then...?"

[wwiii]

"And then I might yell at you some more."

And that was all Warren really felt as though he had to say about that. He took off, making a point not to look too bothered about the cure dart weapons that were still tracking after him as he flew back toward the island.

They couldn't hurt him.

They still made him scream a little inside.

[warren-jr.livejournal.com]

Warren Jr. watched him go, mouth agape for a moment. Only a moment, however, and then he noticed how many soldiers were pointing guns at his son.

He flung his arm out the nearest ones, interrupting their aim and swatting the muzzles back towards the ground. "Do not shoot!" he ordered. "Do not! That is my son--I'm telling you, that is my son! Put those damn things away!"

That was his son flying up there. And Warren Jr. would protect him however he could.