Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Hey, Warren?" Bobby poked his head through Warren's half opened door, hand on the knob.

"Yeah?" Warren looked up at him, laying on his bed flat on his stomach, an open magazine in front of him. His button up shirt was undone, hanging loose past his chest. His wings were covered; the bulk of the feathers and harness just barely pushed against the fabric. It was the first thing Bobby noticed, but he was hoping for an excuse less embarrassing than sheer curiosity when he asked.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked instead, glancing at the shirt.

"No, I'm in for the night. I just hate dealing with all the straps before I have to." He flipped the magazine shut and shifted onto his side. "What's up?"

Bobby stepped inside, taking in the decorations so he wouldn't have to look Warren in the face. "It's funny you should mention that, actually. I was thinking..." he brought his hand up to scratch at a nonexistent itch on his neck. "We've been doing this for a while now, and I’ve never actually- I haven't really gotten a good look at your wings?"

So much for an excuse. Or not embarrassing himself.

Warren's eyebrows furrowed, just a bit. "What do you mean? You see them all the time."

"Well, yeah, but not up close. Not really? I mean, like when we're not in combat, or when I'm not helping you hide them." Warren looked blankly at him. "You know?" Bobby added, as if it did anything to make his argument more convincing.

After what was probably a totally normal pause but felt like several agonizing minutes to Bobby, Warren shrugged. "Okay, sure, whatever. Just help me undo the straps and I won't even charge." He smirked, and Bobby didn't think about what that did to him at all.

Warren stood with his back to Bobby, tossing his loose shirt on his bed. Bobby focused on the leather straps in front of him. The harness was fitted well, sized to Warren's measurements. The straps didn't pinch or squeeze, but Bobby knew from Warren's complaining that they inevitably chafed after long periods of wear. The harness Warren was wearing was the second iteration- the first, with straps down his thighs, was discarded after Warren pointed out they didn't make a difference with the right pants. He'd asked for a torso-only version not long ago. A very small part of Bobby was almost disappointed Warren didn't have to take off his pants. He ignored it. Bobby instinctively reached for the buckles around Warren's chest while he worked his way out of the shoulder straps, an inverse of the system they'd worked out.

Wanting to distract himself from the bare skin in front of him, Bobby said "I'm confident you could do this on your own now, you know," but he didn't mean it. Or, really, he didn't want it. He knew Warren didn't need his help with the harness anymore, if he ever did in the first place, but he liked the helping.

"Yeah, but that's more work for me. I'm too rich to dress myself anyway,” Warren replied, smiling at Bobby over his shoulder.

He crumpled the pile of leather in his hands and tossed it near his shirt on the bed. He turned back to bobby. "There," he said, hands spread. His move to spread his wings stopped when he realized only half of them were exposed. "Oh, god. One second," he muttered, doing an undignified shimmy to get his wings untucked from his pants. Bobby held back a laugh. After equal parts flexing his wings and pulling with his hands, they were free. With a dramatic whoosh, Warren spread his wings out all at once. "Tadaa!" he embellished, gesturing with his hands in an attempt to make up for the setback. Bobby was content to let him get away with it.

"So, how exactly do you want to do this?" Warren asked, dropping the flourish.

"Should we... sit? Let's sit," Bobby answered.

"Fine by me," Warren said, plopping at the foot of his bed, facing the wall. Bobby sat cross-legged behind him.

“Can I touch them?” He was faced with a wall of white feathers framing a column of Warren's tan skin.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Bobby inhaled.

His eyes went to where they sprouted out of Warren's back. They came out around the shoulder blades, a natural transition from the skin of his back to fluffy down. He half-wondered what his bones looked like- Hank probably had some theories. Bobby reached out to touch the base of the wing, curious what it felt like, but Warren flinched as soon as he touched him.
Bobby yanked his hand back. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Too cold?”

“It just surprised me, is all.” Warren laughed at himself. “I'm ready for it now.”

“Oh, good. I'd hate to ruffle your feathers.” Bobby couldn't see Warren's face from where he was sitting, but he felt his eyes roll all the same.

Bobby smiled and reached forward again, careful to avoid any more scares. He brushed his fingers against the soft feathers at the base, white as snow and soft as- well, down. “Whoa.”

“What?” Warren asked.

“I'm just reminded why there are feather blankets,” Bobby replied, quickly running his fingers through them.

“If you take any of mine for stuffing, I'm never speaking to you again.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I doubt you’d have enough for my tastes anyway,” Bobby teased. He was glad for the banter; it was comfortable. The nervousness he’d felt in the doorway was all but gone, and it was casual when he moved his hand to the bend of the wing. Something like an elbow, he supposed. The feathers there were a bit longer- still soft, but not fluffy.

“How do you wash them?” he thought out loud, remembering something about birds and waterproof wings. “Do you have to?”

“I don't really think about it too much. I just shower like normal and shake them dry afterwards,” Warren responded.

“So no preening?”

“Just my hair.” Bobby snorted. “To be honest, I think they just sort of... take care of themselves? Maybe it's part of the mutation. I don't know, I hate to disappoint.”

“You’re hardly disappointing,” Bobby replied immediately. If he were anyone else, he might've flushed at what he’d said. “They're fascinating, I mean,” he added. He moved downwards, closer to the bottom of the wing. The feathers were longest there. Bobby was reminded of quill pens, or lost feathers he’d seen on the grass at parks. “Do they ever get in the way?” He started running his fingers down them, just to feel.

“Not really,” Warren answered. “I'm used to them by now, and they're pretty flexible. I do tend to sleep on my stomach, though.”

Bobby gave a hm in acknowledgement, watching the soft feathers part beneath his fingertips. “They're beautiful,” he said after a moment, surprising himself with his sincerity.

Warren let out a grudging laugh. “Thanks.”

“I thought you loved your wings,” Bobby said, brows furrowed.

Warren sighed. “I really do, but… outside of this building, I- Warren, I mean, not the Angel- have to either hide them or be hated for them. No one else is going to think my wings are ‘beautiful’. It means the world that you guys do, but sometimes I think it would be easier without them, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “I do.” He looked at Warren's face, still resolutely pointed toward the wall. He looked at his neck, his jaw, his golden hair. He brought his hand back to the warm skin of Warren's back. “For what it's worth, I can't picture you without your wings.”

Warren finally turned to look at Bobby again, a gentle smile on his face. “I can't either.”

•

Warren's door was open when Bobby walked down Ship’s hallways. He snuck a glance; he was perched on the edge of his bed, eyes distant, wearing the suit Bobby wasn’t sure ever came off. He didn’t know if Warren had kept his door open or if one of the others had. Bobby sighed.

“Hey, Warren?” He hesitantly stepped through the doorway.

Warren didn’t answer, or even turn his head, but his posture shifted just enough Bobby was sure he’d heard him.

“If you want me to go, I will.”

Warren still didn’t answer.

Bobby looked around the room for a chair and found nothing, so he joined him on the bed, a careful distance between them. In the time since Warren had come back, he’d been reserved: mostly sad, quiet, and angry. Seeing him was a bit of a rarity. A conversation was rarer. Bobby had been steadily losing faith that the Warren he knew before would ever come back, but that didn't mean he would give up on him. He was still his friend. He owed it to him.

“Hi,” he attempted again.

Warren turned to him. “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

Bobby hadn't told anyone, because it barely made sense to himself, but he missed hearing Warren talk. He still spoke when he needed to, of course, but it sounded different- flatter, colder. Bobby missed the way he used to sound.

“I wanted to check on you,” he answered.

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Well, other than everything,” Bobby tried. They fell quiet instead.

After a few moments, he decided to at least take advantage of the silence. He began cataloging Warren's appearance, although he really hadn’t changed much. Physically, at least. He still had his sharp jaw and great cheekbones, his full lips and the pointed nose with just a bit of a bend that Bobby always found striking. Eyes roaming over his face, he decided on an approach that never failed him: speaking his mind.

“You know, you don’t look that different.” Warren looked at him again, half inquisitive, half accusatory. “I mean, your face is still the same. So what if it’s blue? You have a nice face. And really, with you and Hank, and me when I'm iced up, this is a majority blue team. Jean and Scott are the odd ones out, not you. You have nothing to worry about.”

Warren tilted his head, just a bit. Maybe Bobby was imagining things, but he really hoped there was a distant glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Is your hair the same too? Your eyebrows are.” Instantly, the vague hint of life dropped away. It was a subtle change, but Bobby caught it.

In answer, Warren pushed back the cowl of his suit. His head had been shaved, Bobby recalled. But now, there were short strands of hair underneath. Still blonde. Cropped, but growing back.

“Well, that's something, isn't it? Your hair accounted for, like, at least half of your charms.”

“Bobby,” Warren said. That was it: a matter of fact statement.

“What?”

“You know it’s more than that,” he added, effectively ending Bobby's levity.

Bobby glanced at the odd shape of his drawn metal wings. “Yeah, I know.” He knew, objectively, Warren hadn't been in his right mind when he tried to kill Bobby. He didn't hold it against him, and clearly, he was fine. But the image of his friend slicing him apart- the image of those wings flashing- was hard to shake.

So was Bobby's curiosity, though.

He sucked in a breath. “Can I touch them?”

“No,” Warren hissed, pulling back like he’d been burned.

“Please?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because-” Bobby struggled to justify himself. “They're your wings now!”

“They'll hurt you. I'll hurt you. No.”

“How do you expect to be able to control them if you hide them away?”

“You sound like Scott,” Warren muttered dismissively.

“Sometimes he's right,” Bobby countered.

Warren stood, shaking his head. He turned away from Bobby as if that was the end of it.

“I just want to know,” he said quietly.

“It really means that much to you?” Warren asked over his shoulder, frustration and a bit of fear on his face.

“I just want to know,” Bobby repeated. “You won’t hurt me. You didn't before, and I'm… very hard to kill, apparently.”

Warren just looked at him then, considering. “And if anything happens?”

“I'll stop it, or take care of it, or leave, or whatever needs to happen. And it'll be my fault, not yours,” Bobby insisted. “But I trust you.”

Warren looked at him some more, searching his face for something. Bobby looked back, unblinking. “Fine,” Warren acquiesced. His shoulders sagged as he sighed. “Just… be careful. And fast. Please.”

“I will,” Bobby promised. “Thank you.” Warren gave a terse nod.

Bobby had expected him to move first, but he turned again and unfurled his wings where he stood. No, unfurl wasn't the right word anymore, Bobby thought. They extended. They weren't there, and then with a harsh metallic screech that made Bobby's hair stand on end, they were. They almost reminded him of bat wings. From the angle he was at, Bobby could see Warren's jaw flex. The muscles of his back were tense.

“I'm going to touch them now,” Bobby warned. Warren said nothing, so Bobby reached out, cautiously brushing his fingers against the nearest bladed feather. Warren flinched as soon as he made contact. “Too cold?” Bobby winced.

“No.”

He waited for more. It didn't come.

“Okay,” he said after a pause, touching where the wings came out of Warren's spine instead. He couldn't see where the steel met the skin, but he could feel scar tissue around the edges. The feathers used to be warm, he remembered; now, the metal was cool to the touch.

Keeping an eye on Warren's face to gauge his reactions, he gingerly followed the shape of the wing back to the feathers. Knives, really.

He knew they were hard and sharp and incredibly dangerous, and laced with neurotoxins beyond that, but he ran a finger down the edge of one against his better judgment. Carefully, lightly, barely any pressure. Just to see. Just to know.

“How do you sleep?” he wondered, feeling along the structured points jutting out past his shoulders.

“I don't,” Warren said stiffly.

Bobby didn't quite know what to say to that, so he kept quiet.

“Are you done?”

Bobby looked over the rigid lines in front of him; there was a tinny grating noise whenever they moved. There wasn’t anything else he was allowed to touch.

“Yeah.”

Warren pulled in his wings with a sharp scrape and moved back to his bed, sitting just the same as he had when Bobby entered. Wrapped up tightly, put away. Something in Bobby's chest ached.

“I'm glad you didn't die,” he said suddenly. Bobby had always struggled with being earnest; he could've been more delicate, probably, but he didn't know how else to put that feeling in his chest into words, and he wanted him to hear it.

Warren huffed. “That's one of us.” His voice was thick.

A lump appeared in Bobby's throat. A croaky “Warren” was all he could manage.

Warren looked up at him, weary. “Could you go now?”

“You can see how I might be reluctant to leave after that,” he said, though every second Bobby stayed he felt closer to crying.

Warren sighed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I’m just…” he took a breath. “I'm just feeling a little blue.” He tried to give a halfhearted smile. It didn't reach his eyes. That was what pushed Bobby to go- there was something heavy pressing down on him, and he didn't want to leave Warren alone, but he didn't know what would happen if he broke.

On his way out the door, Bobby paused to look over his shoulder. “I know you've been through hell- through things I will never, ever understand. But.. you didn't lose everything, okay? I need you to know that. You didn't lose everything.”

Warren gave a small nod.

Bobby wiped his eyes and stepped into the hall.

•

Bobby stretched out on the beach of Hellfire Bay, warm sand below him and blue skies above. Warren laid on his stomach next to him, an arm draped across Bobby's chest. He claimed to be tanning, but his wings covered too much skin. His eyes were closed.

“Hey, Warren,” Bobby mused, absently brushing his fingers up and down Warren's arm.

He hummed an acknowledgement without opening his eyes.

“You never told me what it was like being resurrected,” Bobby continued, still tracing patterns.

Warren shifted onto his side, propping his head up with a fist. “You're interrupting my relaxation to ask about my experience with death?”

Bobby moved to mirror him. “No, I'm interrupting your relaxation to ask about your experience with resurrection.”

“Okay. Hm.” His bottom lip stuck out in a contemplative pout. Bobby would've kissed him if he didn't want to hear his reply.

He could, now.

“It was… kind of scary,” Warren started. “At first. Before. We went on that mission knowing we would probably die, but that we would theoretically be able to come back. I trusted them, but it's hard believing something like that can really work, you know? And it's weird, to not remember how you died even when you know that you did, although it's probably for the best.

“But when I was me again, and we were standing around naked, covered in goo, it was just surreal. Because I was me again. For the first time in god knows how long, I didn't have to be at war with myself, or force something down. The relief was palpable; I could feel the weight off my shoulders. And I was realizing all that while fully naked, covered in orange sludge, in front of my ex and friends and coworkers and-” he laughed at himself, smiling. “Surreal is the only word for it. For me, at least.”

Bobby drank in his easy grin, his laughter. They weren't rare anymore, but he cherished every second of Warren's happiness. There were long, painful years to make up for.

“Well, I'm certainly glad it didn't clip your wings,” he said, because he knew it was stupid and that it would make Warren smile. Really, he couldn't get enough. “But seriously, I'm really happy you can control it now. And impressed. For your sake, of course.”

“Yeah, me too. I know they said-” he stopped at the mildly expectant look on Bobby's face. “Oh my god, you want me to do it, don't you?”

“I just think it would be nice to take advantage of your newfound discipline!” He didn’t really have an excuse.

“You only like me when I'm blue,” Warren teased.

“That's preposterous. I've liked you since the moment I laid eyes on you. The blue is just a fun bonus.”

“Okay, fine. Since you're being flattering about it.” He shut his eyes and took a breath. One breath, and then there were patches of light blue blooming across his skin. Behind him, his feathers condensed and grew sharper. The easy smile on his face was the same. Bobby reached out to feel his chest; the skin was soft and warm, just like it always was.

“Satisfied?” Warren asked in mock exasperation. His skin and his eyes weren't the same shade, exactly, but they matched well enough. It looked nice.

Bobby considered. “Almost,” he said, and pulled him into a kiss. It was relatively quick, but it had been on Bobby's mind since they'd laid down on the beach. No, that wasn't quite true- kissing Warren was always on Bobby's mind. “Now I am,” he added, resting his forehead against Warren's. “Although…” he slowly moved his hand down Warren's stomach. “I am curious if there's significant changes elsewhere.”

“You're insatiable,” Warren laughed, lightly shoving at Bobby's shoulder. “I promise you there aren't.”

Bobby snorted. “I figured. But there's a thought for later, huh?”

“Later, yes,” he assented. “But I still want to lay here for a while. There’s not enough beach time in our lives.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Warren shifted back, Archangel leaving just as easily as he came. His feathers softened and the blue withdrew, tan skin returning. He laid on his back with wings loosely drawn. Bobby followed. He closed his eyes and felt Warren's hand reaching for his own. He took it.

“I love you,” Warren told him. it wasn't the first time, but he still relished hearing it. With the warmth of the sun on his face and their fingers entwined, Bobby let out a contented sigh.

“I love you, too,” he replied.