Work Text:
THEN
An unfamiliar wall had greeted Archangel once he’d woken up. Funny, he’d thought he had left those behind. The bedroom had almost been the nicest and most spacious he’d ever woken up in. He’d tried to get up, and regretted it instantly. Searing pain had coursed through his body.
His senses had been suddenly assaulted: a loud pop going off near his ears, a puff of dark smoke clouding his vision, and the smell of sulfur filling his nostrils.
“What the fuck?!” he had yelled at the new arrival, who had been right in his face, all blue skin, yellow eyes and sneering pointed teeth.
“Tut mir Leid!” the new arrival had said, taking a few panicked steps back and almost falling on his ass.
The door then had opened and a bald man in a wheelchair had entered the room.
“Kurt, I told you to wait,” the bald man had scolded the blue guy. Archangel had only known him as Nightcrawler.
“Sorry,” Nightcrawler’d said.
“Where the fuck am I?” Archangel had demanded, wincing. Fury didn’t help his pain, he had soon discovered.
“Right, yes,” Xavier had said. “Welcome, Wa—” an infinitesimal pause., “Archangel.” A conciliatory smile. “You’re in my home, in Westchester, New York, also known as Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.”
Archangel had scoffed. Nightcrawler’s sneer had returned.
THREE DAYS LATER
So his life pretty much blew at the moment. He was confined to a bed, restrained in an awkward sideways position. He couldn’t move his legs and his arms were weak. His back was constantly on fire. Xavier, the prying telepath, told him he had lost his metal wings and, in the process, they had wrecked his spine. The good news, according to Xavier’s assistant—a tall, gorgeous guy wearing glasses—, was that they were working on getting his spine back to normal with minimal surgical intervention and that his original flesh and blood feathered wings were actually growing back. Slowly so. Painfully so.
He had been so doped on painkillers that it wasn’t until now that he noticed that the demon-looking guy apparently hadn’t abandoned his room ever since that first day.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Archangel asked, irritation masked by the drug haze.
“Oh, hallo!” Nightcrawler said, cheerfully sneering at him. Archangel furrowed his brow.
“Hallo…” he replied, lost. “Was machst du hier?”
“Sorry,” his new roommate said, now fidgeting with the point of his tail. “Nervous.”
Archangel waited. The sneering widened.
Hold on…
“Are you trying to smile?”
Nightcrawler visibly deflated.
ONE WEEK LATER
It had been a mistake to call Nightcrawler his new roommate, even in his mind. He wondered briefly if his mutant powers now included reality warping. He stared at the bouncy demon sitting in the bed next to him. Archangel took a sip of the beverage he had brought him.
Big mistake.
“Nightcrawler…” he started between small coughs.
“Yes?” his roommate stood in attention, his tail waving behind him as he got closer. “Ah, you can call me Kurt.”
“No,” Archangel said simply.
“Oh, okay…” Nightcrawler’s tail now hung limp.
“I just wanted to know what the fuck is this,” he said, shaking the offending drink.
“Medicine,” the other supplied, eager to be helpful. Archangel found it even more vomit-inducing than whatever the fuck he had drunk.
“What for?”
“For your spine,” Nightcrawler explained.
“No, it’s not,” Archangel replied, eyeing the drink suspiciously. “That Hank guy had given it to me before; it didn’t taste like this, it didn’t taste like shit.”
“I mixed it with chocolate so it would not be so bad.” That terrible smile again.
“Well, don’t fucking do that again.”
“I only wanted to help…” Nightcrawler said. “I’m here to help. That’s why we’re roommates. I asked to be!”
Archangel let that sink in. He, with difficulty due to his restraints, poured the chocolate-tainted medicine in a nearby potted plant on his bedside table. Nightcrawler hadn’t moved to help him. Good, he was learning.
“Why?” Archangel finally asked, suddenly furious.
“Why what?”
“Why are you helping me?”
“I…”
“I won’t forgive you,” Archangel cut in. His fury was rising. “You’re the reason I’m like this. You ruined my wings, you sent me to that maniac. You pretty much fucking crashed that jet with me in it and fucked me up even more. This is all your damn fault. So if you feel guilty, I don’t care… No, I do care. I hope it hurts. You seem like the kind of nice, pathetic person whose guilt will consume them. Good. I won’t forgive you and I don’t need your fucking help.”
Nightcrawler shook his head all through the spiel.
“It was my fault,” he said, almost crying, looking like a kicked puppy.
The image was too pathetic even for Archangel to feel satisfied about it. So he hid it with a scoff.
“No chocolate tomorrow, then,” Nightcrawler said firmly. “I got it.”
“Didn’t you hear…?”
“I did.”
“Then fuck off.”
“No.”
Nightcrawler didn’t fuck off. The next day there was no chocolate in the medicine. The day after that he had insisted on changing his bedpan instead of Hank. Hank had said no, thankfully.
Archangel had never been more furious.
THREE MONTHS LATER
He was able to sit. It was a monumental step. Speaking of steps, he was a long way away of being able to actually take those. But at least he could sit.
He asked for a mirror. Nightcrawler promptly teleported out to get one. He brought in the biggest one he could find.
“This is just pathetic,” he said, looking at his back. Nasty scars, even nastier than the ones on his chest and arms, ran all over his back. Two small, pink appendages were growing on it. He tried to move them, the pain sent him screaming.
“Archangel?” his roommate said, teleporting six feet closer in a panic. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not Archangel,” he said, still looking at his back in the mirror. “Not with these fucking things. I’m not even Angel. I’m nothing. I’m shit.”
“A cherub!” Nightcrawler said suddenly, triumphant. A look of horror crossed his face, he braced himself for a punch that didn’t come.
Not-Archangel couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He just kept staring at his back.
A fucking cherub. He wanted to cry.
SOMEWHEN BETWEEN NOW AND THEN
He was cold. He was cold all day and all night. He had instituted an open windows policy.
“Please,” Nightcrawler said, after having nursed him through his third cold. “Treatment makes your system weak. Please, let me close the windows, let me cover you with a thicker blanket.”
A cold breeze blew into the room, making them both shiver. Not-Archangel looked out the window, at the afternoon sky. The wind made his teeth chatter. He smiled.
Nightcrawler got closer, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the bedpost with the other.
“What the fuck are—”
A pop. The world turned inside out. A brief glimpse of fire all around him and the smell of sulfur. Then the world righted itself.
“—you doing?” he said.
They were outside.
“We’re outside,” he remarked astutely. “Why are…”
“You were being ridiculous,” Nightcrawler let out.
“I… What?”
“If you want to be out just tell me.”
He opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. Instead, he looked around, at the placid lake, the trees, and the Xavier mansion silhouetted against the clear, darkening sky. He heard a pop break the noise of insects and the wind, then another. A thick blanket covered his shoulders.
“Thanks…”
“You are welcome,” Nightcrawler said.
He took in the scenery, and his companion next to him did much the same. The almost companionable silence lasted a few more seconds before his mouth was moving and producing sounds almost on its own.
“It’s not being outside,” he said. “I… I miss flying. The wind on my face, the endless sky above, the earth below with everything looking so small… all that fucking junk… It’s my very favorite thing… Oh, please don’t smile. You know it freaks me out.”
“OK.”
Again, they stood… well, Nightcrawler stood while he lay in bed, both contemplating the lake, the moon rising, and the breeze making the treetops dance.
“What’s your next favorite thing?” Nightcrawler said.
“Metal music,” he replied. “I’ve been going crazy. It’s one thing to be without it, but I can hear the absolute dreck the others listen to and…” He fake-shuddered.
“Sorry.”
“Michael Jackson’s all right, I guess,” he rushed to reassure him. His brow furrowed. “Uh, so, what’s yours?”
“Mine?”
“Your favorite thing.”
“Malls,” Nightcrawler replied with no hesitation.
“Seriously?” He laughed.
“Seriously.”
“Let’s get inside,” he said, suddenly freaked out. Nightcrawler did not argue.
It had been months since he had laughed last, he thought while Nightcrawler closed the windows and turned off the lights.
TWO AND A HALF MONTHS AGO
“Why?” he finally asked.
They were exploring the almost empty mansion, him finally on a wheelchair. The students were on a break. Only the core X-Men—he still rolled his eyes every time the name came up—remained behind. Either Nightcrawler had made the cut, or had nowhere else to go.
“I like it here,” Nightcrawler replied. “I like it better when it’s empty...”
“Why?”
“I can actually just walk around.”
“Normally you can’t?”
Nightcrawler shifted uncomfortably.
“It was different… before.”
“How so?”
“Scott.”
“Shades guy?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“He made them back off, almost permanently, and I could just… chill. He was also fun. He’s different now after Alex…”
Alex, the brother... The stupid brother that got himself killed during En Sabah Nur’s attack and blew up the mansion. He felt his body start to tighten up. He shook his head; stupid, reckless heroes weren’t important right now.
“Back off?” he asked instead.
“You were right,” Nightcrawler said. “That time. About the guilt. I felt awful around you. But also, I just wanted somewhere to hide…”
“We’re all mutants,” he tried to understand. “We’re the same. Why would the others…?”
“Not all of us can be as beautiful as you,” Nightcrawler answered simply.
He stopped abruptly.
“W-why would you hide with me? If you felt so awful with me, I mean,” he was able to say at Nightcrawler’s back.
“At least you hate me for something I actually did,” Nightcrawler replied.
“I don’t… I don’t hate you,” he said almost in a whisper.
TWELVE DAYS AGO
Attempt number seven had almost landed him back into bedridden-ness. Attempt number nine earned him a long, severe lecture from Hank. Attempt number twelve saw him shamefully rescued by Jean Grey floating him down to the ground safely. He had his wings back, but not his flight.
So, naturally, he did the next best thing.
“I told you I don’t need your fucking help!” he yelled at Nightcrawler, after having been rescued by him on attempt number thirteen. “I need to know there’s no help coming, no safety net. I need a good reason to… That’s how it works, okay? That’s how it’s supposed to bloody work!”
He hated his stupid smile. He was disgusted by that tail always moving about. That blue skin made his crawl at the thought. His touch made him recoil.
“Please, Archang—… Please, Ang—…”
“Warren! It’s fucking Warren, all right?!” he threw a lamp at the wall. “That’s all I’ll ever be now. Oh, father is going to be goddamned ecstatic!”
“You just need time,” Nightcrawler tried.
“Time…” he laughed, hysterical. “You know what? I’m done here.”
He packed in less than a minute. He was gone in less than ten.
TWO DAYS AGO
Jubilee was having a good day. The professor had—reluctantly—accepted her application to maybe, possibly, perhaps, perchance be part of the next batch of students to maybe, possibly, perhaps, perchance try for the X-Men. She was on her way to tell Ororo and Jean when she rounded a corner.
A familiar scene greeted her. She sighed and hurried towards the small crowd.
“Be gone, demon!” one of them said, while spraying jets of water from the lake at an already drenched Kurt, who wasn’t even trying to fight back. “The power of Christ compels you!”
She sent a shower of nasty sparks to the nearest dickhead. He screamed and ran for cover. She smirked. She aimed at the next one, the hydrokinetic creep.
Nothing happened.
“What the…?”
It was then that she noticed that the newest arrival had joined the gang of assholes. He was smiling at her, one hand extended towards her, the other still pointing at Kurt, preventing him from escaping.
Fine, she’ll just have to kick his ass the non-mutant way. She took a step.
“Nuh-uh!” yet another dumbass said, her glowing hand near Kurt’s face, making her stop.
She was wondering how many steps back she needed to take to be outside of that asshole’s reach and still be able to aim accurately when a shape swooped down at a dizzying speed. It took both glowing-hands dumbass and power-negation asshole, who didn’t even have time to look surprised.
“What the fuck!?” one of them finally said, sixty feet high.
They were still being carried up by a blond, shirtless, winged guy. Jubilee would’ve been impressed and even turned on if it wasn’t for the terrifying expression on his face and the furious way he moved his impressive wingspan to fly. The dumbass honored her name and threatened him with her glowing hands. Jubilee now suspected that that was all she could actually do. He sneered at her and let both of them go.
Their fall was broken by the hydrokinetic creep with a waterspout. The rest of their little gang had vanished in a panic. The remaining three soon followed them. Jubilee sent a few sparks flying their way to hasten their retreat.
The winged guy landed next to a wide-eyed Kurt. He was even more impressive up close.
“Are you okay?” he asked Kurt.
“You’re back!” Kurt glomped him. His savior smiled and, hesitant, hugged him back.
Jubilee just stared at them.
“Right, so…” the blond said after a while.
“Sorry,” Kurt said, letting him go. “You can fly.”
“Attempt number thirty-one,” the blond guy said. “Success number one…”
“What? Just now?”
“I guess I found my good reason.” He smiled. “Are you going to introduce me?” he added quickly, now looking at her.
“Yes, yes,” Kurt said. “Jubilation Lee, also known as Jubilee, this is uhm… Angel?”
“Yes,” the winged guy said. “My friends call me Warren,” he appended, looking sideways at a beaming Kurt. Then back to her: “Nice to meet you. You a friend of Kurt’s then?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Nice to meet you, too.” They shook hands. He smiled at her, but only seemed to have eyes for Kurt.
“Hey! I bought metal music at the mall! I really liked it!” Kurt said suddenly.
Warren blinked rapidly, then laughed.
The fireworks in that moment weren’t Jubilee’s doing.
NOW
“I think I’m changing my mind!” Kurt shouts, looking down. The wind is howling up in the roof.
“It was your idea!” Warren shouts back. “Listen, you can always teleport us to safety!”
“I might be too scared to do that! Or we can end up inside a wall!”
“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice low and gravely now, right into Kurt’s ear. “I won’t let you go.”
Warren lifts a hand up to Kurt’s face. He responds in kind.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” Kurt says. “Mein Cherub.”
“I changed my mind. I’m dropping you first chance I get.”
Kurt smiles. Warren thinks it’s the most wonderful and beautiful thing he has seen in his whole goddamn life.
He kisses him hard. They’ve been doing that a lot lately.
Warren holds him tight and they take off. Kurt screams, then whoops.
They soar.