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[img]https://i.imgur.com/vT7cD5e.png[/img][B][COLOR=goldenrod]   S E A S O N   O N E :   H O M E C O M I N G[/color][/B] [img]https://i.imgur.com/vT7cD5e.png[/img] [/CENTER][COLOR=#c9b142][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=gold][I]Westchester, New York[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]New Mutants Annual #1[/b][/right][/sup][/indent][/color][sub][hr][/sub][sub][indent][color=#c9b142][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/color] [@Retired][/indent][/sub]

[indent][color=silver]At the far end of the Xavier estate was a particular tree.

At one time, many years before, it had held a bald eagle nest. A massive, marvel of nature’s engineering. Whatever mating pair had settled there, in Westchester, had stopped returning. As nest had fallen into disrepair, it had created a kind of pedestal upon which one could look out over the picturesque grounds with only their thoughts for company.

The winged boy had found it early in arriving at the Institute. When he’d fly around the grounds, it seemed the perfect spot to land for a moment’s rest. So he found himself returning to it, over and over again.

And again today.

He had his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs as he sat in a fetal position with his head resting against his knees. In his mind, the Danger Room kept playing over and over again.

...or was it the Murderama?

Katie wanted him to use his wings to hurt someone. How was that any different from Mojo using his wings to try and get ratings? 

Was that all any of this was? Was that all that [i]he[/i] was? Just a means for someone to profit off of pain. Or blood. Or death.

It was a lot for a kid to take in. He’d tried to tell Katie and Sammy... well, Katie because Sammy wasn’t going to listen, but he didn’t have the words aside from what he’d said. [i]I don’t want to hurt anyone.[/i] He’d thought about talking to Evan, but it seemed that Evan’s squad was off the grounds doing a training of their own.

So... he’d wound up here.

The was a rustle of dried leaves, the crack of the former nest’s twigs, before Cherub realized that there was someone else in the tree with him. Had someone made the climb? No, this was the Xavier Institute. It was probably a teleporter or something.

Which, [i]rude[/i]. He came here to get away. And didn’t feel like talking. So the boy kept his head down. 

[color=snow]“Great view, isn’t it?”[/color]

The boy gave no response, save to turn his head so that he was pointedly looking [i]away[/i] from the speaker.

There was a comfortable silence for a brief period. Maybe a minute. Maybe more.

[color=snow]“You know, when I’d come here, it wasn’t about wanting to be alone. It was because I didn’t know how to ask for help.”[/color]

There was a metallic whine as the child’s wings sprang from out of the sheath on his back, the razor-like wings folding over the boy as though to form a techno-organic cocoon to shut out the world.

[color=snow]“All right, I still don’t know how to ask for help,”[/color] the voice offered as the boy closed himself off. [color=snow]“But we can be honest with ourselves, right?”[/color]

Raising his head up just enough to center it back on his knees, Cherub’s voice echoed inside the protective shell as he uttered, [color=skyblue]“What do [i]you[/i] know.”[/color]

[color=snow]“I think I know [i]us[/i] pretty well.”[/color]

The blue-skinned child’s head came up, a strange expression on his face as the fading daylight trickled back in from where the razor-like feathers retracted back enough for the boy to peer up at the owner of the voice.

It was a man with familiar features. The same fair hair. And a pair of white, feathered wings rising from his back. The Angel still wore the suit pants and dress shoes of his earlier attire, but had discarded the coat or dress shirt for the A-style undergarment that dressed his torso.

At the same time that recognition set in, Cherub’s face twisted into a look of skeptical disbelief.

[color=snow]“What?”[/color] the man demanded, before pausing show off his profile as he asked, [color=snow]“Didn’t expect to be this handsome?”[/color]

[color=skyblue]“I didn’t expect to be so...”[/color] the boy chirped, lapsing into a stunned silence as he struggled for the right word.

[color=snow]“Rugged?”[/color] the Angel supplied, before flexing in a display of his physique. [color=snow]“Swole?”[/color]

[color=skyblue]“[b]White[/b],”[/color] the blue-skinned X-Baby blurted aloud finally.

The man gave a nod of his head at that. [color=snow]“All right. Fair,”[/color] he conceded, before dropped down to sit next to the boy. As he settled on the remains of the nest, the man held out a hand and said, [color=snow]“I’m Warren.”[/color]

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[color=snow]“...but we were one of the more popular characters, right?”[/color]

[color=skyblue]“Wolvie’s the [b]most[/b] popular character,”[/color] Cherub answered, the tone of his voice giving away that the news should hardly come as a surprise. [color=skyblue]“He’s in, like, [i]every[/i] show! But... but, there was this, like... this ‘Cyke is right’ campaign thing for a bit and he was [i]stooooopid[/i] annoying when the ratings charts were shared.”[/color]

[color=snow]“I’ve absolutely never thought that Scott was stupid,”[/color] Warren offered, coming to his fellow X-Man’s defense. Then he thought twice about it and admitted, [color=snow]“Today.”[/color] All right, thinking more on that, perhaps not entirely accurate. Was it wrong to lie to a child? What about to defend a friend? [color=snow]“Or, the last hour, but... we were in the top five? Yeah?”[/color]

[color=skyblue]“[i]Ehhhh...[/i]”[/color] the blue-skinned X-Baby uttered, his head bopping from side to side as the child considered how to answer that. [color=skyblue]“…top ten,”[/color] the boy stated finally, his tone slightly dejected as he confessed, [color=skyblue] “Usually around number ten.”[/color]

Number ten? In a popularity contest of X-Men? [color=snow]“[i]Oh,[/i]”[/color] Warren uttered, his head turned downward as that... actually stung a bit.

Realization set in with the tone in the man’s voice. [color=skyblue]“I’m sorry,”[/color] Cherub uttered quietly, seeming to shrink as he asked, [color=skyblue]“Do you need your tree?”[/color]

At that, the man gave a laugh. A hand reached over, tousling the boy’s hair. There was a pause, then the Angel changed topics as he said, [color=snow]“Dani said you’re having trouble with your wings.”[/color]

The look on the child’s face went from concerned to sad to... something else. Something Warren felt he recognized, even without putting a finger on exactly what it was. The boy folded back up into a fetal ball.

[color=snow]“To be honest, [i]I[/i] had trouble when I had wings like yours,”[/color] Warren admitted, reflecting back on his time as Death and Archangel. Except, he’d been an adult then. It was hard to even try to imagine that phase of his life placed on the back of a young boy. Casting a look over at the downtrodden youth, the man asked, [color=snow]“You want to talk about it?”[/color]

The metallic wings sprouted back, folding over the boy in another protective shell.

...that seemed to be the answer.

Then a quiet voice from inside the cocoon said, [color=skyblue]“It was... [b]scary[/b].”[/color]

[i]Scary[/i]. Lots of things were scary. The kid would need to be more specific than that. The current stock market and the global supply chain scared Warren, but he doubted the kid even had an investment portfolio yet. So what did scary mean? Something the boy didn’t know how to put in words?

When he was Archangel, what had scared him?

Wait, that was it. [color=snow]“Before you knew it, your wings just... [i]reacted[/i],”[/color] Warren said. An answer? A guess? A memory? Something he needed to try to verbalize? Yeah, that was pretty scary to recall. [color=snow]“Like they had a mind of their own.”[/color]

The wings folded back. It seemed Warren had made a pretty good guess. [color=skyblue]“There was so much blood,”[/color] Cherub said, his words muffled but distinct as the sob could clearly be heard catching in the boy’s throat. Tears ran down the boy’s face, even as he looked up at Warren and tried to continue, [color=skyblue]“And... and the audience was [i]cheering[/i]...”[/color] The sob caught him in the throat again, the child stopping before he could go any further. A loud sniffled, the boy wiped his nose against the back of his hand before he simply said, [color=skyblue]“I was so scared that I just [i]ran[/i]. Or [b]flew[/b]. Or whatever.”[/color]

The names were different. Cherub had dealt with Mojo, not Apocalypse. The X-Baby had faced the Murderama, not the Horsemen of Apocalypse. But, it seemed their emotions and fears were similar. If not the same. [color=snow]“Mojo plays some...”[/color] Warren began, choosing his words carefully before he continued, [color=snow]“...very bad games.”[/color] There was the understatement of the year. Resting a hand against the child’s back, the man offered, [color=snow]“Its not your fault.”[/color]

At least now Cherub was animated. Arms and legs springing forward, the boy blurted aloud, [color=skyblue]“But then I go to sleep and I don’t know what I’m going to wake up to. At best, I shred the sheets,”[/color] the X-Baby lamented aloud, looking at Warren as he exclaimed, [color=skyblue]“I’ve cut two bed frames in half having a dream about flying!”[/color]

Now, the kid was starting to make Warren recall his own childhood. Not exactly, perhaps, but he could recall those kinds of feelings vividly. [color=snow]“You’re scared of the one thing that makes you... that makes [i]us[/i]... who we are.”[/color] the man commented. [color=snow]“Our wings are what makes us special – makes us feel special – so flying is special to us.”[/color]

The child seemed to huff at that thought. [color=skyblue]“[i]I wish I never had wings at all.[/i]”[/color]

It really was like having a conversation with himself. [color=snow]“Well, that I do understand,”[/color] Warren offered in a low tone. How many times as Archangel had he had that thought, sitting here, in this very tree? 

Craning his head back, the man looked up at the sky as he began, [color=snow]“I... [i]lost[/i] my wings.”[/color] It was a simple statement. But about as far into the matter as Warren cared to get. [color=snow]“It was the lowest point in my life. Who was I without my wings?”[/color] the man asked, turning his head to look over as he posed the rhetorical question to his clone. 

Looking away again, Warren continued. [color=snow]“Then a man came along and offered to give me wings again.”[/color] There was a certain [i]bitterness[/i] that came through in how the man spoke now. Particularly as he explained, [color=snow]“In exchange, I would have to do something terrible for him.”[/color]

A wan, ghost of a smile seemed to grace the Angel’s features. Then he turned and asked the child, [color=snow]“Would you take that bargain?”[/color]

Cherub seemed fixated on the story. The boy’s eyes darted off to the left, as though he knew the answer that he [i]ought[/i] to give. But seemed to hesitate before he finally admitted, [color=skyblue]“Yes.”[/color]

Warren gave a hollow laugh. [color=snow]“I should know better than to ask myself that question,”[/color] the man offered cryptically. [color=snow]“I guess I wish I could back and give a different answer. But that’s not who we are.”[/color] As though to punctuate that last remark, Warren glanced down and said, [color=snow]“Your wings are the result. I had everything I wanted again... and it gave me nothing but regret.”[/color]

All these years, he’d thought he’d at least taken an account of all his sins. Looking at the child-like Archangel before him, he realized he’d missed one. [color=snow]“And it seems that my choice led to you being created as well.”[/color]

The child seemed to shrink as he hugged himself tighter. A sheepish, quiet voice asked, [color=skyblue]“Do... do you regret that?”[/color]

[color=snow]“I regret...”[/color] Warren began, starting and then stopping as he thought more about his words.

[color=snow]“I regret that [b]my choices[/b] led to Mojo hurting [i]you[/i], and I’m guessing there were others before you,”[/color] Warren said finally. [i]And probably another since Cherub left Mojoverse[/i], but that line of thought of something for another day. Returning to the point that he wanted to make, the man said, [color=snow]“You and I can’t control what Mojo does or who he hurts. It’s not your fault. You and I just have to try and rise above the people who’ve harmed us.”[/color]

Dear god. He was starting to sound like Charles. He was Warren Worthington the Third. He had much more style than that. Though, even as he had that thought, the Angel reflected aloud and offered, [color=snow]“... and maybe the mistakes I’ve made as well.”[/color]

A sheepish smile broke through the tears that still rolled down the boy’s face, as he peeked over at the Angel and offered, [color=skyblue]“Our mistakes?”[/color]

[color=snow]“I’ll thank you to make your own,”[/color] Warren quipped back in a teasing tone. [color=snow]“I’ve already made my contribution for the both of us.”[/color]

The pair seemed to just enjoy the quiet, out on the limb, for several minutes. The sun was starting to dip to the horizon, painting the landscape in a sea of orange and red.

[color=skyblue]“Warren?”[/color]

Wordlessly, the man looked over at the boy.

Turning his head up, Cherub asked, [color=skyblue]“Who’s Apocalypse?”[/color]

As soon as he’d asked, the child realized that he’d made a mistake. 

The man’s demeanor seemed almost [i]icy[/i]. His jaw tensed in a way that belied a certain [b]anger[/b]. The Angel didn’t answer for a moment, though when he did he exchanged one question for another. [color=snow]“Who told you that name?”[/color]

The child rocked himself from side to side. Should he apologize? [color=skyblue]“Evan,”[/color] he admitted sheepishly.

[color=snow]“[b]Stay a...[/b]”[/color] 

He’d started to bark at the child, the X-Baby recoiling even as the first word landed like a hammer. 

What was Warren doing? About to tell the kid – himself – to stay away from someone? Yeah, that had always worked [i]fabulously[/i] when other people had done it to him. Taking a breath, the man tried to start again. [color=snow]“You should be [b]careful[/b] around Evan,”[/color] the man warned in a flat tone. [color=snow]“He’ll either be the greatest mutant since Xavier, or the greatest threat this planet has ever known.”[/color]

All things being equal, Warren wasn’t sure he wanted to give the kid the chance to prove which might be the case. 

He cleared his throat. [color=snow]“[b]But[/b], I came here to talk about [i]us[/i],”[/color] Warren offered, turning the conversation back to what had brought him – them both really – out onto that limb. [color=snow]“When I was your age, I hated my wings – the feathered ones, like these – because I was scared.”[/color]

The child fidgeted, then seemed to relax slightly as he asked, [color=skyblue]“Scared of what?”[/color]

[color=snow]“Being a mutant,”[/color] Warren offered candidly. Glancing over at the boy, the man explained, [color=snow]“It took a long time for me to be [i]comfortable[/i] with that idea.”[/color] Was he comfortable with it now? Or just too publicly out to turn back? Either way, [color=snow]“I think that’s true for many of the kids at this school. Their powers and abilities make them different. In some cases, they even make them dangerous.”[/color]

He hoped that the boy was starting to make the connection for himself, but at the risk of sounded like Hank, Warren went ahead with the punchline. [color=snow]“It’s not their fault. It’s not [i]your[/i] fault, but your wings are part of who you are. The same as it was for me. And I think your teachers can help you to control your abilities. Maybe even better than I could.”[/color]

Well, that was a heavy topic. But at least it was over with.

As the pair lapsed back into the quiet contemplation of the sunset, the man changed the subject again as he offered, [color=snow]“Next, can we talk about the name?”[/color][/color][/indent]