Chapter Text
Time wasn’t passing. It wasn’t just an impression; the time in there seemed like a cruel creature, dragging the seconds like rusted chains. Warren had already lost count of how many times he had looked around searching for something new, some different detail that could change that suffocating routine. But it was always the same scene, as if the place, and even himself, were condemned to an eternal photograph.
His father’s chair was in the same place, leaning against the desk overflowing with papers and test tubes. That chair brought an uncomfortable feeling; it was rigid, authoritarian, and had the unbearable smell of leather mixed with the alcohol from the syringes. That was where the man would sit, the clipboard always on his lap, murmuring the same generic phrases as always:
“Good job, son. Soon Daddy will finish and you can go back to your room.”
“Great job, dear, when Daddy finishes, you can spend your free time in your room.”
“It’s almost over, my boy, Daddy won’t hurt, I promise.”
-Sometimes Warren wondered if his father’s words were an attempt at consolation-
And there was the broken clock, which for Warren was the worst. The stopped hand seemed to mock him, reminding him that time did not move for him, only for others. It was a silent enemy, one that affected him more than he would like.
But nothing was worse than the very chair he was strapped to. Thick leather straps squeezed his wrists and ankles, leaving red, painful marks. Even his wings, those that should supposedly give freedom like birds in the sky, were tied, painfully tightened so they would not interfere with his father’s studies.
At the moment, the worst thing were his now short hair, which had been recently cut after he had disturbed his father while applying an injection in his neck—they poked the back of his neck, increasing the discomfort the chair already caused. He hated the haircut. When his hair had been longer, he could cover his face with it, could create the illusion of control, of identity, and it even helped hide the pain. Now he didn’t even have that.
His blue eyes wandered across the room, but did not settle on anything; he always did this, in an almost desperate attempt to pass the time.
Then the door opened. The sound echoed in the room like thunder in the silence, making his feathers bristle, and he shifted in the chair, in a futile attempt to sit properly, even though he already was.
His father entered, the white coat swaying lightly with his hurried steps, the clipboard in one hand, and in the other a needle, a sight so everyday that Warren only sighed and returned to wandering his eyes.
His father didn’t even lift his eyes to his son, as always (Warren tried not to notice how his father never looked into his eyes); he seemed interested in his own papers, serious, yet the excitement didn’t go unnoticed in his usually calm and controlled voice.
-Finally, we will have the cure! – he said, as one carrying a revolutionary discovery, speaking through the communicator he always carried to receive updates from the other laboratories. – The analyzed specimen presents spatial translocation ability, probably resulting from a localized genomic instability circulating through the vascular system. We are working with the hypothesis that this anomaly functions as a marker to identify and neutralize the genetic element linked to secondary mutagenesis. In general terms, minimal collection of biological material allows modeling a corrective agent that, theoretically, can reverse the mutant condition in the affected population!
Warren, listening from afar, hated when his father used difficult terms; in reality, he had realized a long time ago that his father always spoke to himself or to others, never to him.
-Hm… I-is that mean…? – The voice came hesitant, unsure of his father’s mood toward him.
His father stopped, his cold gaze glancing at the wings before stopping a few meters in front of the chair, with a superficially sweet voice:
-That means, dear – He approached and adjusted Warren’s collar, without touching the skin and without looking into his eyes, his face contorting in disgust when the tip of his fingers brushed one of the feathers – that we have found a mutant with the ability to teleport. If we use this ability to remove its mutation from the blood, we can finally cure the mutant condition! Only a bit of his blood will be needed to cure an entire species of genetic abominations!
His heart tightened and his mouth went dry, but he didn’t let anything show in his expression. Every word was a blow: “cure,” “mutant condition,” “abomination.”
To his father, his existence was a disease, and to himself, it was becoming one as well. The man’s smile was so full of hope it hurt to look at, it hurt because Warren knew that for his father, the greatest burden was having fathered a son like him.
He took a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in his voice, his eyes shifting to the side.
-That… is great, Daddy – came the rehearsed sweetness, the timid voice as always, used to appease his father. -In a few days I will be… perfect.
The word was poison in his mouth.
Perfect.
“What was wrong with just being himself?” It was a question he always repeated in his mind, but of course he knew very well the answer.
He decided to swallow the bitterness, and as always, smiled more, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt his ankles so tightly bound.
His father smiled at the words, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes – When we remove this thing, my son – He looked with veiled disgust at the wings – … You will finally be truly mine… You will be perfect, just as you said.
It was already the fifth time that his father was adjusting his bindings; he was kneeling on the floor, and Warren, as always, didn’t even breathe when his father’s fingers touched his ankle. Trying to break the awkward silence, the little angel shifted slightly, shrugging at the rough touch of his father.
-And who… Who is this mutant that Daddy mentioned before? - He asked, even though something in his mind hammered him not to ask.
His father hesitated for a few seconds, and his serious expression was replaced by discomfort that he couldn’t disguise in time. The boy frowned, now curious about his father’s strange reaction.
-It doesn’t matter - He said quickly, standing up from the floor and picking up the needle from the table. -The important thing is that he will heal you. - A shiver ran through his wings and body.
His father wasn’t exactly a man of affectionate gestures, but of course, that was merely his fault, for being an aberration; yet he had never imagined him capable of hurting anyone other than himself, of course, not that he hurt by choice, but for a greater cause. However, something in his father’s expression made him question for the first time what he was capable of, and Warren was afraid to find out what made his father, the man who tested his son without any rancor, hesitate.
Before he could get lost in these thoughts, the needle pierced his skin. The cold liquid penetrated his veins, making him arch slightly in pain. Warren knew the routine well; they were weekly pricks since he was seven, each bringing the promise of being the last, the definitive one. He usually didn’t feel much pain, but this injection was different.
The liquid burned not only in his arm but throughout his body, a pain so strong that his eyes widened. A wave of pain swept through him, his lips opening in a silent scream, but all that came out was a hiss, making him gasp and go limp in place, his heart racing, the sweat chilling his skin, his muscles begging for rest, but there was no escape. He panted, his eyes closing against the sudden weakness that seemed to take even his hair.
-It’s almost over, my boy, I know it hurts a little, but it’s necessary - His father maintained a sweet voice while analyzing the effects of the dose, but didn’t loosen the straps, nor did he show concern for the pain of his son, only eagerness to see the result.
And then the pain disappeared, not like a collapse, but like a clean cut, leaving only exhaustion in its place. No transformation, no feather falling, no relief in the back.
Only emptiness.
His father, anxious, collected a blood sample and ran to analyze it, leaving his son abandoned in the chair, breathless.
Warren felt his body heavy.
Time passed like a cruel joke, where he didn’t know if he had been there for minutes, hours, or ridiculously, days. An uncomfortable silence remained, until his father returned, but no longer bringing hope on his face, only irritation, the kind of irritation that made Warren try to curl up and soften his voice even more, all in vain; he left the room irritated and frustrated, deliberately ignoring the hesitant “Daddy…” that his son murmured.
The silence seemed even tenser, like all the previous failed attempts, but this time, it brought something else, a bad premonition Warren had never felt before.
The effect seemed to be wearing off; his body still ached and felt heavy, but much less than before. When he stabilized a little more, he noticed the low and muffled voices coming from the corridor; they were murmured and hesitant, but still recognizable, it was his father and the scientists and doctors who always stayed with him in the laboratory.
He focused, even holding his breath to listen better, and caught enough to feel the ground vanish under his bound feet.
-We have no other alternative… - His father’s voice sounded exhausted, almost in pain, but determined. -Nothing removes this… abomination from my boy. For now, we will initiate Project Fallen Angel. We will manually remove the wings as planned. During this time, we will attempt again to use the blood of that abomination to purify Warren’s X genes. I believe that if only the base on the back remains, which is much more sensitive, removal through the demon’s DNA will be more effective.
Warren froze in place, his blood seemed to chill, his hearing whistled in a way that only happened when his father picked up the scalpel, and for a moment, his heart seemed to explode in pain.
"Remove the wings… Manually?… Daddy… You wouldn’t do that… right? Wait, why am I so surprised? I will finally be perfect, Daddy will finally look me in the eyes… But why does my heart hurt?! Why am I scared!? Wake up, Warren, this is our dream!”
The nightmare took form when he heard murmurs of agreement and the other men’s macabre ideas for removal.
-“No! I don’t want this! It will hurt, it will harm me! I don’t want this! But if I don’t accept, Daddy will never love me. What do I do? What do I do?!”
Panic exploded. And for the first time, Warren realized he would have to react.
He struggled with all his strength, the leather straps creaking under the pressure. The sound drew his father, who ran in with the other men, trying to calm him with gentle words that made no sense. Or perhaps they did, but Warren could not confirm, he no longer listened, only hearing the frantic noise of his own heart, making everything around him seem like a distant hiss. Miraculously, the men tried to restrain him by the wings, making one of the buckles loosen slightly; it was enough.
The wings stretched violently, pushing the father and the men in white coats who tried to contain him. The straps finally began to give. The leather scratched his skin, but he did not stop, and with one last effort, he managed to free one hand.
In desperation, being held by the men, the scalpel on the auxiliary bench shone like salvation, and without thinking, he grabbed it and began cutting the other hand’s bindings while trying with all his might to push the men away with violent wing movements.
The desperation was such that he didn’t even care about the cuts on his wrists and soon went to the ankle. He passed the instrument with so much force and desperation that the skin itself was cut along with the strap. The pain came, and the flowing blood alarmed him for a few seconds, before one of the scientists pressed so hard on the sensitive base of his wings that it reminded him of his situation and priorities.
In a burst of pain and desperation, the scalpel was thrust into the man’s hand, and at the same speed removed, making him release the sore base of his wings. Warren gasped and trembled, finally creating a safe distance, while extending the scalpel toward the group as a weapon, ignoring the shouts of the man on the ground holding his hand.
His father cast a quick, icy glance at the injured scientist on the floor, deciding the wound was secondary to the current situation. He relaxed his body with a sigh, his eyes finally meeting his son’s.
– My boy… Put that down. I know you’re scared, but don’t disobey Daddy… You don’t want to make me angry, do you? – The boy trembled all over; his only instinct was to lower the scalpel, but as if remembering the terror he would be subjected to, his wings covered his torso against his will, and the scalpel returned to its previous position.
-Daddy… I-I don’t want… I don’t want my wings to be cut… N-no… I’m scared, Daddy… Please, can’t we try something else? I-I swear I’ll try to be better, be perfect, but plea- Enough!. –
It’s only a word from his father and the young body trembles completely; he can’t bear the look of disgust and anger he receives, he knows he has displeased his father, and yet he doesn’t dare return to the chair.
He grips the scalpel tighter with his trembling hands, the air seeming oppressive as always when his father gives an order.
-N-n-no… I-I don’t…
The voice comes out trembling and submissive, despite the situation. They both ignore the words around telling them to restrain him, or to remove the tests from the room so as not to contaminate. When one of them tries again to approach Warren, the father raises his hand, stopping the action.
The scientists and doctors see the signal, the boy, then each other, and sigh; they wouldn’t stop the greatest work of their lives for the tantrum of a spoiled teenager. Then they turn their backs and begin organizing the room, arranging the papers with the results of various tests, saving what they could, while two others helped the scientist on the floor bandage his hand.
The father, still standing, watches his trembling, cornered son. His gaze softens and seems almost tired seeing the son’s despair, but when his eyes descend to the wings around the younger body, his gaze becomes icy and his body stiffens, and the voice that was once sweet to soothe the situation now sounds like cutting ice.
-I will overlook your actions today because you heard things you shouldn’t… Go to your room and reconsider what you did. You may not realize it now, but all of this is for your own good. Tomorrow we will begin the official tests. -
The father turns to the table with a final gesture, making his priorities clear. To him, Warren’s outburst and rebellious action were merely a reminder of what he always tried to forget; his son was a mutant, therefore, all his flaws were symptoms of his imperfection and should be ignored and treated with coldness, not encouraged or sympathized with.
-Da-daddy… Wait.. – He lowers the scalpel, unconsciously dropping it to the floor. The sound of the metal falling is the only noise in the room. His wings feel heavier than lead, and now even they abandon him, just like his father, leaving him exposed in every possible way.
-I will not repeat myself. Do not make me more angry than I already am. Your show has been enough for today. – Comes without any emotion, his eyes not leaving the telescope with the blood sample. – Go to your room to reflect. You are not a savage like those of that species… So I hope this never happens again. – His gaze glances at the man who was injured.
Warren couldn’t believe what was happening; a part of him wanted to scream at everyone, another part trembled just thinking about the negative feelings he caused his father, or even cry and beg forgiveness from the man he hurt. However, the most dangerous part of his mind could only think of one word, a word that grew in his mind like a fierce roar.
“Freedom!!!”
Even with pain in his cut ankles and the remnants of the injection still leaving his body somewhat heavy, Warren turned his back and ran. His entire body ached, his ankles in particular seemed about to give way at any moment, his heavy wings worsened this sensation, but he didn’t care, he had to get out before his sudden desire and hope were crushed.
He bumped into several people; each time it happened his weak body gave way. His fear increased and his heart raced, thinking it was someone his father had sent because he changed his mind about letting him go alone. His thoughts only stopped when he bumped into someone and, unlike the other times, fell hard to the floor with no strength to get up.
He groaned in pain and looked up, his throat dry as he swallowed when he saw a scientist with his coat stained with blood; his gaze swept over Warren and became pure disdain when it landed on the wings. He didn’t say a word, and Warren didn’t dare. The man made a disgusted noise and passed by, not even offering help.
The boy was paralyzed on the floor, his mind racing.
"The mutant! Of course! How could I forget him?! How could I be so selfish?! Daddy said his blood was used in me… And that it would be used in all the mutants… wait…!” The realization hit him like a slap in the face, and his already weak legs began to tremble like loose ropes. If the intention was to use the blue blood to change the genetics of the entire mutant population, it was obvious that it wouldn’t be feasible to extract blood categorically and repeatedly.
-“They’re going to kill him! That is, if he isn’t already dead! No! No! Daddy wouldn’t do that… But the man just now…”
His terror-filled eyes stopped at the room the man had left minutes before. He breathed deeply, leaned trembling against the wall, and walked slowly to the door. Each step felt like he was going to his own execution. He opened the door gently, trying his best not to make a sound.
In the corner of the room, curled up inside a cage, there he was. A blue boy, with demonic features, squeezed into a space so small he could barely stand. His body was small and thin, wrapped in bandages stained with blood; his yellowish eyes reflected fear, not malice. He whimpered something, making the sign of the cross and murmuring what Warren was almost sure was a prayer, as he shrank into himself—maybe because of the irritating ticking of the clock, maybe because of the sound the IV connected to his arm made as it dripped, or simply because of the fear and uncertainty of what awaited him.
Warren froze; his eyes saw nothing but the boy, a reflection of his own image minutes ago, in a situation even worse than anything Warren had ever experienced.
The boy finally saw him and curled up even more, making one last sign of the cross and lowering his head between his knees.
“How can he…? How could Dad allow something like this?”
Before he could do anything, his knees hit the floor; tears rolled down his face, but he couldn’t blink or look away. A deep hatred rose in his chest, a feeling he had never felt before.
“Ah, Dad… Now I can see the abominations you always talked about… but I don’t think we’re talking about the same species.”
His body trembled, and his thoughts went almost automatically to the fate the boy would meet because of him. He stood up, shaking, and went toward the child, dragging the dead weight of his wings and his own body.
The boy shrank when Warren practically threw himself in front of the cell, kneeling and extending his hand into the tight cage.
“I’m going to help you!” he said, his voice trembling with urgency, whispering like it was a life-or-death secret. Maybe it was. “Come with me! We can get out of here before they kill you too!”
The boy cowered even more, trembling, speaking fast in what Warren was almost sure was German—words Warren barely understood. But then, seeing he wasn’t being understood, the boy pointed desperately at a table in the corner. Following his gaze, Warren saw a key ring, and his face lit up with a small smile.
“Everything will be okay, I’m not escaping alone! I won’t let you die because of me!”
He ran, grabbed it, and returned, falling to his knees again, even though his ankle burned from the cut. He bit his lip to stop himself from making a sound that might scare the boy.
His hands trembled as he tried to unlock the cage with that mess of keys, but when footsteps sounded in the hallway, both of them panicked. Testing most of them shakily and erratically, the cell finally opened.
-Come on! - He cried, pulling the boy by the arm. -Ich… ich… Main..?-He tried to say what little he knew in German, which was practically nothing. So he opted for gestures. Pointing at the syringes on the table, he mimed a needle with his finger and brought it to his neck, pretending to die. -Death! You. Death!
No matter how bad his German or his miming was, the boy understood the essential part—and trusted him. On the first step out, the alarms blared, emitting a deafening noise. The two stared at each other in panic.
“DAMN IT!”
Leaving the tiny cell on trembling legs, together they ran toward the window—Warren thinking about how they might get down, and the boy thinking only about the end that awaited them once the guards caught up.
They looked at the huge glass window. The building was tall, and death was certain if they jumped. However, when armed men appeared, Warren and the boy exchanged a look. The angel bit his lips, blood dripping, and whispered a brief “sorry” before pulling the boy into a hug and jumping out the window.
The guards’ screams were drowned out by the boys’ own. The freezing wind cut their faces and suffocated them, but both clung desperately to each other’s arms.
“REACT, WARREN! REACT!”
Although he screamed it in his mind like a mantra, his wings didn’t seem to hear; they stayed closed. The terror seemed to shove his heart into his throat, and when he saw the ground getting closer, he began to cry, gripping the smaller body tighter.
-I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY!
It came out in choked sobs, from both the speed and the crying.
The apologies were for his father, for not becoming perfect before dying. They were also for the boy, who would die because of him; and in some dark corner of his mind, they were even for himself.
As if on cue, the wings opened. The angel’s eyes widened, his heart pounded, and a smile came—but to his terror, that was all. They didn’t make him fly. They didn’t flap, even though Warren tried with all his strength to force them to. But even just stretched out, creating a sort of glide, they were enough to slow the fall a little.
With yet another worry added, Warren almost didn’t notice the sulfur smell filling the air. But he understood the problem when the boy’s body—pressed tightly against his only moments ago, resigned to death—vanished.
“What?! Where did he go?! Where the hell did that guy go?!”
The “flight,” already unstable and messy because of his wings—more like dead weight than hope—became even worse.
Even with the fall that seemed endless, guilt and worry consumed him.
With sheer terror added, he tried to twist his body, tried to see the boy through the blur of air rushing past. He saw a dark blur here and there for a few seconds, but he could never reach out at the right moment. When he finally managed to grab and pull the boy back toward him, the nauseating, sickening smell returned; dizziness hit. Neither of them could see straight, but from outside, the guards were reporting the situation over the radio, and civilians down below watched the two teens teleporting randomly through the sky in free fall—sometimes dangerously close to the ground, sometimes near the balcony of the ten-story building they had escaped from.
In one of those moments, when they finally managed to open their eyes and look down, they realized how terrifyingly close the ground already was.
They squeezed each other with all their strength and finally looked at one another.
The fear was the same.
The death was the same.
In pure instinct of protection—or maybe just a desperate attempt to be useful for once in his life—the angel covered them both with his heavy, useless wings.
“At least once… this will mean something.”
For an instant, there was no language, no cages, no injections. Only a shared thought:
“free”
The sulfur smell intensified along with their embrace. Pain spread through every nerve in their bodies; their screams could be heard from afar. And before the impact could come, the sound of the world was cut off. The void swallowed them.