Warren Worthington III ; Angel

Shackles

MM Post from @shakeitoff

20 years ago
Worthington Mansion

The lights were off in his room. The ethereal night wrapped him in a shroud of darkness. The 12 year old boy was gripped by the cold hand of fear. Desperation clung to him carving a hold into his heart. What was he going to do? No one could see him like this, especially not his father. Maybe, just maybe, he could work to get out of this.

“Warren!” His father's voice was coming from down the hall. “Where are you son?” His footsteps were getting closer. “Warren! Answer me!” The sounds outside the door were getting closer. The door knob started to move until finally the door opened. The elder Worthington saw nothing but darkness. “Warren, why are you sitting in the dark?” He flipped on the light and found his answer.
 

All throughout the room there were feathers. They were beautiful white feathers when you first saw them but looking closer, these pure white feathers were smeared in blood. The twelve year old boy was sitting shirtless wearing only his denim jeans. In his hand was the carving knife from the kitchen. The elder Worthington took a few cautious steps toward his son. With his right hand he turned the boy around. There was an outline of white that looked somewhat like wings coming from his son's back. These featherless wings were covered in blood and little spots where feathers were regrowing. “Jesus boy… What the hell happened to you?”

The boy said nothing. His face was saturated in tears and covered in shame. He was a freak. He was a mutant. He had seen plenty of them around with all sorts of disfigurements. Now he was one of them. No matter how many times he carved off the feathers from his body, he healed practically immediately. The wings were very big at the moment but they were big enough to be noticed. “I…I'm sorry Dad.” His pitiful voice quaked with fear and physical pain from what he was doing to himself.

Worthington kept staring at the boy. His only son was a damned MUTANT? This disgrace had to be taken care of immediately. First of all, the boy needed to be checked by a doctor. Worthington had the money that he could pay for a doctor to make a house call. He slowly removed the blade from the boy's fingers. “Just let me handle this, ok? I promise everything will be alright.”

two hours later

The doctor that arrived was one of the elder Worthington's associates from the country club. By the time the doctor had arrived Warren's wounds were completely healed. The wings on his back had full plumage once more yet they were fairly small in size. There was no evidence of what had transpired earlier. “From what I can tell, his wings will get larger and he apparently has some sort of healing factor. His body is completely healed of any sort of damage. It's truly remarkable.”

Young Warren sat there on a chair letting himself be examined. He could see the wheels turning in his father's mind as he stared at the boy. “I want a harness made for him to wear at all times. I don't want anyone to see my son and his little problems here. Are we clear?”

The child hung his head. His father was embarrassed and ashamed of him. This broke the child at a young age. To be rejected by your own father was the worst thing ever. His hurt was worse than when he tried to cut them off his body. The doctor standing behind the boy. “Of course. I'll get on it immediately.”
 

present day
St. Patrick's Cathedral, Manhattan NY

There was an ornate coffin sitting in the front of this ancient church. It was open revealing an older Warren Worthington Jr in eternal repose. Mourners were there all to pay their respects to their former associate, acquaintance and devoted philanthropist who had passed away in his sleep at the age of 81. No one truly expected to see what they saw next.

Walking down the aisle was Warren Worthington III dressed in a black suit as was appropriate for such a solemn event as this was. What startled some people was that Warren had not hid his massive white wings from view. He was a mutant and he was proud.

His golden locks and billowy wings made him look like many of the angels in the decorum of this church. He was not going to defile this house of God in any way. What he did gave him closure however. He stood beside his father's coffin. “I look at you and feel nothing but contempt and anger for what you did to me for the past 20 years. I don't hate you. You were my father, but I don't love you either. I feel nothing. Goodbye Dad. I hope you rot in hell watching as I help mutants with your money.”

Satisfied with speaking his final peace to his father, Warren's wings started moving. Those in the front rows could feel the air as it stirred up all around them. The X-Man formerly known as Angel was lifted off his feet and into the air. He exited the building via an open window near the vaulted roof of the cathedral.

He was finally free.