Becoming Whole, Thanks to Him

Warren Worthington III comes into Xavier's School bruised, battered, and broken, but a certain blue mutant might be able to change all of that. WIP.

Becoming Whole,

Thanks to Him

By Angel-Is-Alive

I suppose the only person I really trusted back then was Hank. The glasses that balanced on the end of his nose - which were replaced every other week for a then-unknown reason - were a familiar and calming sight when I would wake up from a nightmare. He would be at my bedside with a concerned frown on his face, which made his left eyebrow dip down and form a little crease between his eyes. Blue eyes flickered around as reports were printed from the medical equipment that I was hooked up to. We didn’t talk much. Rather, he tittered about this or that, or quietly discussed what was happening in the world, or how my injuries were improving.

 

For a while I called him my friend. In my head, never out loud, of course. There was a special connection between he and I. He was the only person I met with daily, and though our conversations were stilted he would always make sure to talk to me at least once a day.

 

I had refused to have any other company up until I was released full-time into the mansion. I had no interest in socializing with anyone outside of Hank and occasionally Charles and, during a fleeting moment in which the mansion was attacked by an army of HYDRA agents, Erik, who fashioned a shell made of metal over my room. I had watched him with wide eyes regardless of how much it hurt my head to see light. A smile, wide, toothy, and shark-like, was flashed my way, and it scared me more than it had calmed me.

 

Swearing and clinging onto Hank’s arm for dear life is how I took my first steps after my accident. I think Hank was more stressed than I was, to be perfectly honest. He fussed to such a degree that he turned into Beast halfway through and had to take his mutation suppressors. Meanwhile I was having a panic attack and had to pump more morphine into myself as I weakly attempted to walk after being in a coma for a few weeks and on bed-rest for another five.

 

Kurt came in with Ororo a week before I was discharged. I remember her gingerly holding my hand, rubbing my wrist and my fingers in circles while she talked in my ear. Kurt stood off to the side with his tail curled around his thigh nervously. When it was time for him to talk, there were tears in his eyes and a hitch in his voice. He apologized extensively, then produced a handful of small, white flowers that were braided into bracelets.

“Jubilee taught me how to make them,” he had explained. His eyes zoned in on the IV in my wrist that wasn’t being held by Ororo, and I understood immediately what he was implying. Ororo smiled widely as I squeezed out of her grip and held my hand out to the blue boy.

 

Shyly, Kurt took my hand and slipped a bracelet on. It tickled my skin, which made me smile. Despite the sharp jab of pain in my jaw, I spread my lips still and closed my fingers over his hand and held it there. When I looked up, Kurt met my eyes with a small, toothy smile and sparkling eyes. The relief radiated off of him so much that I could’ve tasted it if I stuck my tongue out. I wished then that I could have thanked him verbally, but a smile and some sort of pleased sound from my chest was all that I could muster at the moment.

 

After a few minutes of chattering, Ororo had given me a soft hug, a kiss to my forehead, and a promise of a toast over the best damn beer she could find when I was released. I nodded, my jaw still cramping from smiling. Kurt rubbed my arm in a friendly manner and arranged the bracelets in my lap. My chest began to hurt from all the fuzzy feelings I was having, and I paged Hank as soon as they left. He rushed in and fumbled with the machines, but not before he made note of my newfound jewelry with a quirked eyebrow.

 

“Those get-well gifts?” he asked, gesturing with a clipboard in his hand while scribbling notes. I nodded and held up my wrist. The purple blossoms seemed dark against my pale and dry skin, but I loved them all the more because of that.

 

A sudden dip of the corner of his mouth made my good mood waver just the slightest. “Hmm. Say, Warren, I may have to remove those, because your immune system isn’t functioning at top speed and you might get allergies faster-”

 

At the very suggestion I jerked back heavily and nearly threw myself off the bedside. I strangled out displeased and pained disagreements, which came out as whines and whimpers, much to my embarrassment. Hank looked shocked when I jumped and he deflated when I clung onto the little bracelets in my lap. His eyes closed for a minute, lip twitching in thought, before he sighed once, straightened, and walked over to the opposite side of the bed to help resituate my monitors, which had fallen over during my episode.

 

He neither mentioned nor attempted to touch my presents again.

 

Five days later I walked out of the medical wing - which I affectionately named the Med - on crutches with my torso covered in several layers of gauze and cotton. Hank fussed alongside me as I tapped down the hallway, grunting with the strain. It still hurt for me to talk, as Hank had warned me. My vocal cords and respiratory system wouldn’t heal for a few more days, but talking wasn’t an issue to me then. I didn’t have much to talk about.

 

As I made my way, slowly but surely, to mine and Kurt’s shared room, my palms began sweating and I felt a little dizzy. The plan was that I would surprise Kurt with my semi-early release from the Med. Hank led me right in front of the heavy oak door that became my only barrier. He nodded, fumbling with his hands like he did when he was nervous. I breathed deeply - shuddering through a raspy breath, more like - and pawed at the doorknob until it swung open.

 

Kurt was curled on his bed with his back facing me. An overlarge beige sweater rode up his back and revealed the scars there, carefully carved and shaped. He wore red jeans that had a slit for his tail to poke through, which lazily danced in the air behind him. His hair was mussed from where I could see. I wanted to run my hands through it. The time will come for that, I forced myself to think as I knocked on the door frame.

 

I don’t really know what I had expected as Kurt’s reaction, but I think him flopping onto his back to stare at me upside-down, then instantaneously burst into tears when he saw me, was the furthest thing from my mind. I felt like crying with him when he snapped up to a sitting position and curled tightly into a ball with his head in his knees. His cries echoed in my empty head, alongside a chorus of no, no, this isn’t how this was supposed to work!

 

“Kurt,” I managed to croak out, reaching for him, but it only served to make him cry harder. I could feel tears pricking at the backs of my eyes as the moments went by. Hank stared on in horror, gaze flickering from me to Kurt and then back to me. I could feel his discomfort from three feet away, and suddenly I wished I was incapacitated again.

 

What I didn’t predict was that Kurt would spring from the bed and run over to Hank, hug him tightly, still sobbing pretty hard, then turn to me and grab my face in both hands and kiss me firmly on the mouth.

 

To be perfectly honest, if my mutation had allowed me to go into cardiac arrest due to stress, Hank would have had to drag me all the way back down to the Med right then. It was a roller-coaster of emotion that I wasn’t the slightest bit prepared to board. Oh, and the cute blue mutant boy just kissed me. My chest felt a little funny...

 

During my spacing out, Kurt had soaked through my thin t-shirt with his tears and was clinging onto me pretty roughly. I wanted to take my wings, if I had them, and wrap them around us both, sheltering us from everything else in the world. He would stop crying then, because in my little sanctuary I would make sure that nothing would make him cry ever again.

 

I had no wings with which to wrap him with, so I settled for burying my face into his hair and tossing an arm weakly over his waist. My other arm haphazardly supported my weight, and when I felt Kurt sniffle and press a butterfly kiss onto my jaw, I lost my balance and my arm gave out. Luckily I fell in Hank’s direction and he caught me before I had hit the ground. I squeezed out a thank you and held Kurt’s hand tightly as I was guided to the bed.

 

“Alright kids, this is just a reminder: Warren, don’t you dare even think about doing any strenuous activities between now and next week. Your body can’t handle it. That means physically exhausting, too, mister.” He nodded with a smile in Kurt’s direction. “Take good care of my patient, Wagner?”

 

Kurt nodded firmly, almost comically, and turned to me as Hank left the room and closed the door. The click from the metal resounded in the dorm, leaving me without any outside noise to cover up my heavy breathing.

 

“No strenuous activities,” Kurt repeated slowly, and he turned to look at me with a small smirk. “I wonder if kissing falls in that category?”

 

I groaned as I tried to scoot my body further up the bed, then stopped as Kurt put a hand on my cheek and turned my face to look at him. I was still pretty confused about everything that had happened in the last five minutes, but evidently Kurt had it all figured out - no surprise there - and leaned in to peck my cheek.

 

“I’m so happy you’re well again,” he said in a content little purr.

 

I wanted to respond as attractively as he did, but I was able to manage nothing more than a scratchy, “Me too.”

 

And that’s the story of how I became acutely aware of how sharp Kurt’s fangs were and how heavy he actually is while he leans into you and smooches your face off. We probably spent fifteen minutes just staring at each other, and then another fifteen after that kissing and laughing. Well, he laughed, giggled, smiled like the sun, and I wheezed like a chainsmoker and tried to cover up the fact that my jaw hadn’t finished healing all the way. The rest of the day was spent in Kurt’s bed, curled into each other and sharing small kisses every few minutes. My back and neck hurt for a while afterwards, but it was more than worth it.

 

His hand in mine is the best feeling I’ve experienced since my discovery of morphine in the Med.

 

Now I’m sat in AP Calculus with a half-empty pack of gum on my desk and ink down the side of my hand from the smearing of my pen. I stare at my paper blankly as I try to scrape the formula for a cotangent graph out of the dark, abandoned wine cellar of algebra. My wings spread of their own accord and stretch, making a few of my primaries stand out. The kid sitting behind me pokes my feathers with his pencil. I’m grumbling to myself about my grade getting tanked by this test when my watch begins to beep softly at me.

 

I swallow as I feel Jean enter my head. Hate to disrupt, her voice echoes, but we have a situation in downtown New York with a group of HYDRA agents. You good to come?

 

I purse my lips and shake my head back and forth lightly as if I’m contemplating the decision. Jeannie, as much as I’d like to, I’m in the middle of an absolutely fascinating calculus exam with the lovely Ms. Moran glaring daggers at me. You know, we should make the Comms louder. It’s funny when she realizes how important I am. I snort when Jean smacks me telepathically.

 

Just meet us there, Bird. The coordinates pop up on my Comm and I smile.

 

“Ms. Moran?” I ask without raising my hand, and the little red teacher scuttles over to my desk and puts a large claw on my paper with a knowing look. Yes, a claw. She’s part lobster. Don’t ask. “I’ll finish this up tomorrow, yeah? Got some important X-Men business to attend to.” I go to stand up when her large tail nearly knocks me over.

 

“You finish when you get back. Make it speedy, Worthington.” She talks as if I’m the one that decides how long the missions last. I make a mental note to stay out a few minutes late out of spite. The other students have since turned my way and I give a little half-wave to my classmates before I pop the latch on the window and dive out. The air is clean and warm for the middle of May, and I allow myself to do a few loops above the campus before taking off in the direction of the city.

 

There’s a gaggle of HYDRA baddies that are terrorizing a group of hostages when I perch on the top of a tall apartment building. I squint against the wind; from my vantage point it looks like nothing more than twenty bodies. I tap on my Comm and seven orange dots pop onto my screen: Ororo, Jean, Scott, Kurt, Peter, Jubilee, and Hank. They’re on a helipad with the Blackbird a few skyscrapers over.

 

Being the quick thinker I am, I take a running leap off of the roof and dive towards the HYDRA agents. I’ll distract them while you guys get down here, I project to Jean. The wind whistles past my ears as I squeeze my body as small as it can go. The agents shout and draw their guns when they notice me and I bank left as they begin firing. Lasers? I think. Since when do they have lasers? I dip lower and snag one of the hostages up by the collar and haul her into my arms. She’s a middle-aged woman with a sundress on, and with that in mind I shift her to a bridal carry. She demands that I put her down, and I roll my eyes.

 

I wash, rinse, and repeat this scenario until I’ve cleared four more hostages and deposited them on the roof with the Blackbird. Jubilee takes them by the hand and leads them into the plane, where Hank checks for injuries and gets more identification. Scott is the field leader today, and the X-Men are righteously kicking butt down on the ground. I lock my wings as a warm updraft catches me and lifts me up, up into the clouds. I tilt my head and close my eyes to let the sun warm my face, temporarily forgetting the mission.

 

“Angel! Where are you?” my watch snaps at me suddenly, and I groan with discontent as I hold it up to my face. I can hear the frown in Scott’s voice - or should I say Cyclops?

 

“Yeah, yeah. How many more civilians do we have? My arms are cramping.” I circle lazily before dipping back down through the cloud cover. I yelp as a stray laser is shot my way and hits me directly on the wing, causing me to lose my balance and my updraft. My primary-  I struggle to realign myself as the ground rushes up to meet me.

 

“Looks like only five or so!” He gasps when he sees my flailing from the ground. “Angel!”

 

There’s a soft poof sound and the smell of sulfur - I grin despite my predicament - and suddenly I have the wind knocked out of me when I hit the dirt. Grass tickles my cheek as I turn, breathless, to Kurt, who rolls to a stop beside me. He’s breathing hard and his hair is wind-blown, but he’s as sweet a sight as ever.

 

A few weeks prior to this mission, Hank added “wings” to Kurt’s suit, which worked like… well, like a flying squirrel’s “wings”. The idea was that Kurt would teleport up to the sky and catch a draft, then at the push of a button, specialized fabric would eject from two slits in the side of the suit and attach magnetically to the arms. The material was stretchy and thick and it ran down to Kurt’s ankles to provide the maximum amount of surface area. The technique would be used for rescue and bail missions, and, evidently, to help me when I was unable to fly. Test runs had been fun; Kurt was able to glide smoothly for ten minutes at a time when he was careful. I had done tricks in the air around him just to tease him.

 

Today is only the second time in the field that he’s used the Glider, as we (un)creatively named the suit. I can say honestly that I have never been more thankful for one of Hank’s crazy inventions than now. Gasping for air and looking all the more like a fish out of water, I prop myself onto an elbow and inspect my burned wing. Only one primary has been damaged, thank goodness, but it and three of the surrounding feathers are badly singed. I’ll have to pull them...

 

“Warren!” Kurt shouts in warning, then roundhouse-kicks an agent in the face when he runs at the two of us. The man staggers back and drops onto his back, out cold. Kurt’s tail snakes around his gun and he tosses it to me. I catch it, feeling the odd weight land in my hands. It’s heavy on the back but extremely lightweight in the front. The barrel glows when I place my hands on the bottom in a firing position.

 

Kurt grins down at me, all pointed and bright. “Looks like you’re on ground duty, Engel.” I sigh dramatically as I push myself up and point the gun at the group of agents. I fire once and jolt back from the kick, but laugh when the two injured agents shout in surprise. Kurt runs up to them and knocks them down by kicking their chests. They sputter before falling, groaning.

 

Turning to face me, Kurt smiles. Even in the middle of a battle, he finds a way to smile. Wow, I think to myself, how are you mine?

 

The smile quickly contorts into a snarl of pain as one of the downed agents pulls out a blade and sinks it deep into Kurt’s leg. Kurt howls and I drop my weapon as I rush over to him.

 

I kick the man in the face, feeling his nose crack under my boot. Good. Kurt is keening in pain and bent over, clutching his leg. I feel like sobbing. I dig my shoe into the agent’s chest for good measure, hearing his cries of pain mix with Kurt’s, before running over to my friend. I skid to a stop on the pavement beside him.

 

Blood has gathered below his leg and stains the concrete. He’s pawing at the gash and whimpering, tears freely rolling down his face. He’s babbling in German and English. I catch my name a few times. So much blood, so much blood…

 

“Kurt, you’re gonna be okay, I promise, Hank’s gonna fix you up, okay? Here, let’s go, can you teleport?”

 

Kurt turns his head and spits on the pavement. His eyes are glazing over, becoming a muted gold. “Knife… has something… get Hank… can’t… teleport-” He shouts and digs his claws into my knee, and I wince.

 

“I’m gonna get him. Don’t worry.” I kiss his head once, detach his hands from my uniform which now has six claw-sized holes in it, and I take off at a sprint towards where the X-Men are fighting. A few steps are taken before I double back and snatch a discarded gun from the ground. I place it in Kurt’s hands, nodding once, then sprint away again. I press my wings tightly behind me, my boots sending pebbles and rocks flying as they push against the road. I duck underneath an agent’s punch and trip him as I dart around. He sprawls onto the ground.

 

I grab Scott by the arm and haul him around a building. He slaps the side of his visor to control his beams. I’ve got him backed against a wall in a slim alleyway. It’s dark and gross, but much better than getting shot at. My chest and legs burn from the run and I cough violently before speaking.

 

“Nightcrawler got stabbed! He said it was coating in something? I gotta get to Beast!” I shout into Scott’s ear.

 

He nods vigorously and gestures to Ororo, who tosses another knife into a growing pile. “We know! Beast’s running tests to see what we’re dealing with in the ‘Bird. He’s cooking up an antivenom right now! Phoenix got hur-”

 

“Scott!” I grab him by the shoulders and yank the two of us away from the opening of the alley as a laser explodes next to us. Scott grips my shoulder and hauls me aside, then fires his eye beams at the group of agents. He turns to me with a grim stare.

 

“Where is he?”

 

I jerk my thumb back in the opposite direction. "About a quarter mile back!"

 

“He can’t teleport?” he asks, and I nod. Scott squints and hums, then raises his Comm to his mouth.

 

I press a button on the device in my left ear and it crackles to life. “X-Men!” Scott’s voice rings in my head. “Nightcrawler’s been stabbed and he can’t teleport. Someone who can fly, get over there and get him to the Blackbird! Beast, we need you to patch him up. Coordinates are on your Comm. Let’s get it done, guys!”

 

“On it!” Ororo says, and takes off in Kurt’s direction.

 

I switch my earpiece back off and turn back to Scott, who stares at me in horror. “You just turned off your earpiece!”

 

“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “It’s loud. I don’t like it.” I’m dashing out of the alleyway as Scott grabs for me, surely for a lecture about team safety protocol, but we both stop in our tracks as a shadow passes over us.

 

A massive warship, green and black with a familiar logo on the side, opens at the bottom and tens more HYDRA soldiers pour out. They hit the ground and upon standing begin firing immediately.

 

Strangely enough, the loudest thought in my head is that I’m not going to be back in time for my Calculus test.