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wwiiiWarren didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be here. But this was exactly what he'd wanted all along, wasn't it? Everything about this had scared him half to death, when he'd first learned that he was a mutant, and now there was a cure, something that his father had tossed himself into wholly for the past ten years. Taking the cure now only made sense.
Because... Warren Worthington III wasn't much, if he wasn't... uh... Sensible.
Right.
He was pacing. The nurse that had seen him through the building this far was looking at him, her eyebrows knit as she tried to puzzle out what was eating at him now. His father had gone through great pains to ensure that all of the staff at Worthington Labs were trustworthy enough to not go running about telling the world that his son was a mutant. It had involved money, which there was no shortage of, and possibly threats along the lines of 'and you'll never work in medicine again.'
It was hard to tell, sometimes, how much this secret was worth to his dad.
She said something to him that he barely caught, something about telling his father that he was here, and she left. Walked into one of the rooms, leaving him there in the hallway to collect his thoughts. Only, there was no way to collect what was roiling through his head at the moment. It was all fear and doubt, twisting around with the simple fact that this was what had to be done. And so he took a deep breath when the nurse waved him in, resting his hand on the cool glass window of the door before pushing it open and striding into the room.
If there was one thing that Warren could do well, it was look fairly confident, even when he wasn't feeling very confident at all.
"Hello, Warren." Okay, so Dr. Rao's tone was making this confidence thing a little tricky. She was the doctor who had been working on this project with his father right from the start, and Warren couldn't quite figure out if she was being supportive, sympathetic, or patronizing right now.
"How are you, son?" Not that he had much time to dwell on Dr. Rao's words, with his father coming up to him like that and putting an arm around his shoulder. "You sleep well?"
"Yeah," Warren lied.
"You know, I'm proud of you for doing this." Oh. Good. "Everything is going to be fine. I promise."
Warren nodded. Swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat that was making verbal communication into a challenge.
"You ready?"
That response right there wasn't so much a nod as it was a failure to shake his head in disagreement. One of Dr. Rao's assistants helped him out of his heavy coat, out of his shirt. Warren's eyes fell to the floor at about that point. He knew what the expression on his father's face was going to be. Disappointment, perhaps. Pity. Something else that he could never put a finger on, but he hated it. Hated that he was the cause of it, and had been since his father had found him trying to do something about those wings of his, a decade ago.
They led him a few steps over, to what looked like a medical table of some sort. Okay, he was fine with that. They backed him up against it, and he was great with that, too. Sure. Table. Made sense. Totally natural thing to have in a room where medical procedures went down.
They strapped his arms in place. He was a little less okay with that.
"The transformation can be a little jarring," Dr. Rao informed him as she loaded a vial of the serum into a needle that looked more like it was intended to be a weapon than to serve any medicinal purpose. That wasn't particularly helping Warren settle down, either, no. So much for his composure. He licked his lips, trying to make his heart stop pounding in his ears.
"Dad, can we talk about this for a sec?" The needle was dangerously close to Warren, now. Words were coming out of his mouth before he realized that he had given up on ignoring his second thoughts completely.
"We've talked about it, son. It will all be over soon."
That was what Warren was afraid of.
They were swabbing off his arm, now. Right there, that was there the needle was going to go.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. That thing was moving toward his skin. His father was trying to tell him that everything was going to be fine, and they were taking away his wings.
"Wait." The needle stopped. Warren fixed a look on his father that would have been pleading, if he wasn't hell-bent on making it look firm. Strong. "I can't do this."
"Warren. Calm down."
"No. I can't do this!"
"Yes you can. Just relax, son."
He was struggling, and the assistants were trying to get him to stay still, and he was shaking, and he couldn't breathe, and his father was yelling, and NO.
They had him strapped down. But these restraints were made to hold down struggling humans. Whoever had designed them hadn't been planning for a panicking mutant with a sixteen foot wingspan, whose entire body had evolved for the sole purpose of supporting it. The restraints broke away with a snap, and Warren's wings stretched out as far as they could while he shoved aside the two men who had been trying to hold him down.
His chest was heaving. Evidentially, he'd remembered to breathe.
Everyone was staring. Dr. Rao. The men who were scurrying backward and trying to get off the floor and away from the angry mutant.
His father.
"Warren, it's a better life. It's what we all want."
"No. It's what you want."
There was a window. They were on the twenty-third floor.
He hit the glass at a run, and nothing in the world could have been more satisfying than that moment of free-fall, broken by a flare of his wings, people scurrying for cover just feet underneath him as he caught himself mid-air and flapped until he was once again pulling himself upward. Forward.
Free.
He'd make a pit stop to grab some more clothes. To pack a bag or something. It wasn't like his father could make his way from Alcatraz all the way home in time to catch him. And then... Well, he had no idea where he'd go from there. But wherever it was he went, he'd be flying there.
[NFI and NFB, made of establishy goodness! The majority of the scene was taken right out of X-Men: The Last Stand. And now I'm done with all this setup stuff. Come faster, Newbie Day!]
Because... Warren Worthington III wasn't much, if he wasn't... uh... Sensible.
Right.
He was pacing. The nurse that had seen him through the building this far was looking at him, her eyebrows knit as she tried to puzzle out what was eating at him now. His father had gone through great pains to ensure that all of the staff at Worthington Labs were trustworthy enough to not go running about telling the world that his son was a mutant. It had involved money, which there was no shortage of, and possibly threats along the lines of 'and you'll never work in medicine again.'
It was hard to tell, sometimes, how much this secret was worth to his dad.
She said something to him that he barely caught, something about telling his father that he was here, and she left. Walked into one of the rooms, leaving him there in the hallway to collect his thoughts. Only, there was no way to collect what was roiling through his head at the moment. It was all fear and doubt, twisting around with the simple fact that this was what had to be done. And so he took a deep breath when the nurse waved him in, resting his hand on the cool glass window of the door before pushing it open and striding into the room.
If there was one thing that Warren could do well, it was look fairly confident, even when he wasn't feeling very confident at all.
"Hello, Warren." Okay, so Dr. Rao's tone was making this confidence thing a little tricky. She was the doctor who had been working on this project with his father right from the start, and Warren couldn't quite figure out if she was being supportive, sympathetic, or patronizing right now.
"How are you, son?" Not that he had much time to dwell on Dr. Rao's words, with his father coming up to him like that and putting an arm around his shoulder. "You sleep well?"
"Yeah," Warren lied.
"You know, I'm proud of you for doing this." Oh. Good. "Everything is going to be fine. I promise."
Warren nodded. Swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat that was making verbal communication into a challenge.
"You ready?"
That response right there wasn't so much a nod as it was a failure to shake his head in disagreement. One of Dr. Rao's assistants helped him out of his heavy coat, out of his shirt. Warren's eyes fell to the floor at about that point. He knew what the expression on his father's face was going to be. Disappointment, perhaps. Pity. Something else that he could never put a finger on, but he hated it. Hated that he was the cause of it, and had been since his father had found him trying to do something about those wings of his, a decade ago.
They led him a few steps over, to what looked like a medical table of some sort. Okay, he was fine with that. They backed him up against it, and he was great with that, too. Sure. Table. Made sense. Totally natural thing to have in a room where medical procedures went down.
They strapped his arms in place. He was a little less okay with that.
"The transformation can be a little jarring," Dr. Rao informed him as she loaded a vial of the serum into a needle that looked more like it was intended to be a weapon than to serve any medicinal purpose. That wasn't particularly helping Warren settle down, either, no. So much for his composure. He licked his lips, trying to make his heart stop pounding in his ears.
"Dad, can we talk about this for a sec?" The needle was dangerously close to Warren, now. Words were coming out of his mouth before he realized that he had given up on ignoring his second thoughts completely.
"We've talked about it, son. It will all be over soon."
That was what Warren was afraid of.
They were swabbing off his arm, now. Right there, that was there the needle was going to go.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. That thing was moving toward his skin. His father was trying to tell him that everything was going to be fine, and they were taking away his wings.
"Wait." The needle stopped. Warren fixed a look on his father that would have been pleading, if he wasn't hell-bent on making it look firm. Strong. "I can't do this."
"Warren. Calm down."
"No. I can't do this!"
"Yes you can. Just relax, son."
He was struggling, and the assistants were trying to get him to stay still, and he was shaking, and he couldn't breathe, and his father was yelling, and NO.
They had him strapped down. But these restraints were made to hold down struggling humans. Whoever had designed them hadn't been planning for a panicking mutant with a sixteen foot wingspan, whose entire body had evolved for the sole purpose of supporting it. The restraints broke away with a snap, and Warren's wings stretched out as far as they could while he shoved aside the two men who had been trying to hold him down.
His chest was heaving. Evidentially, he'd remembered to breathe.
Everyone was staring. Dr. Rao. The men who were scurrying backward and trying to get off the floor and away from the angry mutant.
His father.
"Warren, it's a better life. It's what we all want."
"No. It's what you want."
There was a window. They were on the twenty-third floor.
He hit the glass at a run, and nothing in the world could have been more satisfying than that moment of free-fall, broken by a flare of his wings, people scurrying for cover just feet underneath him as he caught himself mid-air and flapped until he was once again pulling himself upward. Forward.
Free.
He'd make a pit stop to grab some more clothes. To pack a bag or something. It wasn't like his father could make his way from Alcatraz all the way home in time to catch him. And then... Well, he had no idea where he'd go from there. But wherever it was he went, he'd be flying there.
[NFI and NFB, made of establishy goodness! The majority of the scene was taken right out of X-Men: The Last Stand. And now I'm done with all this setup stuff. Come faster, Newbie Day!]
