Note: Takes place after X-Men: Apocalypse, Warren has metal wings
Warren couldn’t help but pull away, he couldn’t help but close him self off from practically everyone in the mansion. Most people relayed his tendency to keep to himself to his personality, but it was truly due to his wings. Fashioned by Apocalypse himself, made up of feathers crafted from deadly sharp metal, they reminded him was the pain he’d inflicted on others and he hated it. He hated that while incredible, they could cause such torment.
He didn’t know what else to do but pull away, he knew most people felt fearful when they saw them, spread to full length comprised of dagger like feathers. He felt lost until he met you. Something about you drew you to him, your shy personality and quiet manners. The way you tucked back your hair when you were nervous, but mostly let it fall around your face. He loved watching you bite back a smile when you were excited about something, but most of all he loved your mutation.
You had the ability to grow plants on practically any surface by simply touching your finger tips to where ever you wanted them to sprout. Warren admired it, an ability so pure, that brings life, it was all he could ever want. You, like him, spent most of your time tucked away as well, but not for the same reasons. You were naturally shy and spent most of your time outside the mansion or in the greenhouse, and while you got along well with the other mutants, you were content with alone time too.
You were working in the greenhouse, caring for the plants, when Warren approached you, out of character for him, but you were more than happy to talk with him if that was what he needed.
“Um, hi there.” He had ducked through the short opening into the house, hands tucked in pockets, a nervous look painted on his face.
“Hi.” You pulled a loose piece of hair behind your ears and dropped your gaze to the floor.
“Need any help.” He added after a moment of silence. You looked around the greenhouse, it was small, barely enough room for one person, let alone Warren and his wings, but you’d seen the way he shut out every person he talked to, and if you were the one to open him back up, you had to try. You didn’t believe he was a bad person, his past didn’t define who he was, just who he had been.
“I could always use an extra hand.” You smiled. His shoulders seemed to ease a little, a small bit of tension escaping his rigid form, he even managed a smile of appreciation. “What can I do?” He said eagerly stepping forward, but his slightly outstretched wing collided with a watering can resting on the battered wooden shelf next to him. The metal can hit with the floor creating a crashing sound that caused you to jump a little. “Sorry. Sorry.” Warren muttered, pulling his wings flush against his body and quickly bending to pick up the can and return it to it’s original position. You were about to tell him it wasn’t a big deal when he spoke again. “I should just go.” He turned to leave and you felt sadness creep into your thoughts. You wished you could tell him no one blamed him for the choices he made. The mansion was a place for second chances.
“Warren wait.” You finally found the courage to speak up when he was halfway out the door. He turned his head slowly to meet your gaze. You could barely hold the eye contact, but willed yourself to be brave. “Maybe we could just talk a while.” You gave him a hopeful smile. He studied you for a moment before agreeing without a word. He walked back into the greenhouse as you took a seat on the floor, criss crossed, trying to relax. You weren’t normally one to initiate conversation, but if you didn’t tell Warren he had the right to forgive himself, who would? Warren took a seat across from you. Leaning his back against the wall of the shed, his knees bent, gaze trained on the damp floor. You both sat in silence for a while, not finding the words yet, but enjoying the company.
“Thanks.” Warren finally muttered.
“For what?” You tilted your head towards him, tapping your fingers nervously on the floor at your sides, unaware you were causing tiny sprouts to rise up between the cracks on the pavement.
“For,” he lifted his eyes to meet yours, “for not getting that look that everyone gets when they see my wings, a look that judges me for who I was.” He let out a deep breath like he’d been waiting to make that statement for a long time.
“There’s nothing wrong with your wings.” You shook your head in disbelief at him, “and there’s nothing wrong with coming from a dark place, we’ve all messed up, no one here is perfect.”
“Nothing wrong,” he laughed a little, tilting his head back against the wall, eyes angled towards the ceiling, “look at them, they are made up of blades.” You watched him for a moment before scooting closer to him until you were only inches away.
“That’s not all they are Warren.” You smiled at him, “anything is what you make it.” You reached out your hand to touch the smooth metal, but he instantly drew them away from you. You shot him a look, urging him to relax. He finally allowed your fingers to press against the cool material, and you tapped your hand along the edges of the feathers. A small trail of flowers sprouted where your fingers last touched, their stems intertwining with the layers of steel. You smiled as you watched Warrens face brighten at the sight of the flowers blooming on his wings. A smile ghosted his lips. “See,” you finally said, drawing your hand back, admiring your own work, “beautiful.” You looked back at him. His eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter as if maybe he truly believed your words.