notrosecolored

Sandy

Scott said he'd be there with information in five minutes. He was at the door, fully dressed and with his glasses replaced by a visor, in four. It took him that long to grab a cup of coffee and walk to the lounge where Sandy was waiting.

He got his debriefing on the move, and directly into his brain.

He felt better for having been looped in, however perfunctorily.

He walked in, and stayed standing up. Looked the guy over, and wondered why the hell this kid was the recon specialist and then moved on.

"New mutant manifested in Chicago. She's sitting in a jail cell, supposedly for her protection. We're going to get her. How long do you need to pack?"

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Warren was still tethered to Scott, blood flowing slowly into him. It prevented him reaching for the hard-drive, but he was immediately interested.

"The charges won't stick. If there are charges that do, they won't have anything to do with what they did to Scott. They might manage to make a case for kidnapping Allison from her cell." That was about the best he could hope for.

He wasn't as angry about it as Scott was, wasn't as bitter, and resigned wasn't right, either. Just... accepting that it was what it was, at least for the time being. That he'd hacked his own wings off as a child in response to that public opinion, though, and his father's reaction to having a mutant child....

Well, he had a pretty good understanding of it, at least he thought he did.

The files, he knew, Scott would be glad to have. Would use, and would make sure some kind of justice happened. Not so much for himself, but Allison, and Jean, and all the others.

"Why were Scott and Sand sent out together?" He didn't have the first idea what was happening, there.

"We're aware," Alan said, and while he was still seemingly calm, there was righteous anger in his eyes. He was the Keeper of the Green Flame. More than that, he was the Green Flame at this point, and he his daughter might not have been a mutant, but she had lived her life with green skin. She'd also died in his arms.

"Which is why we have Doctor Fate and Jakeem Thunder on the scene. Not a single one of those agents is going to know a day of good luck the rest of their lives."

While neither were apt to do anything that could be called a 'curse' of any sort, even the Thunderbolt due to Jakeem's own morality, it was simple enough to turn their own karmic debt upon them. Or so Hector had explained before he'd headed out. If they were playing DnD, the easiest way to explain it would be to say that the lot of them would fumble every 'roll' they made for the rest of their lives.

"Believe me when I say that it will... seriously hamper their effectiveness."

He watched Scott for a few moments before he remembered the question that'd been asked.

"Not to be obtuse, but it's a little hard to put into words. Let's just say that I believe that it'll be good for both of them. Suffice to say, Scott is not the only one who's been... closed off for a while."

"I believe you."

He believed Alan and he wasn't a bit sorry for the situation or people who would find themselves less effective, and he hoped like hell Alan was right about Sand and Scott helping each other.

Warren wasn't above being vindictive at times, but he'd usually be at least somewhat conflicted. In this case, it was only just. They wouldn't be getting the punishment they deserved from the system, because the system saw Scott as the threat against public safety.

Hank reappeared from his office to say, grimly, "You'll have no complaints from me, either. Not only was he beaten, he was dosed with sedatives that would have come near to putting Logan on his grumpy rear for quite some time." Which was more scary for him than the injuries.

Then he took Scott's arm in both huge blue hands, and stretched it, realigning the broken bones before Warren's blood healed it into a position that wasn't quite right. Scott - jerked and screamed, even without being awake. Warren - flinched hard, actively recoiled back into his chair.

Alan didn't so much as flinch, the bonds holding Scott in place. He reached out a hand to Warren, though.

"Steady, son," to Warren before turning a warm, wry smile on Hank. "Good set. He'll thank you for that when he's up. Whether it comes out of his mouth or not."

If there were mutants around who didn't have some sort of complicated issues with their parents.... they were probably Logan, actually. Warren wasn't one of them.

"I'm sorry," he said, cool and somewhat overly composed. "I wasn't aware you had that sort of relationship with my mother. You really should have told me sooner." He was mature, yep.

Hank, at the same time or nearly so said: "If I expected verbal gratitude from the vast majority of my patients, I am afraid I'd be sorely dissatisfied." He was used to not hearing it and that was fine with him, even if he was often exasperated. Then he answered a question Warren wasn't verbalizing: "I can not give him anything for pain control in conjunction with the sedative he was injected with." Though - He peered at Warren closely.

Then walked over, and dispassionately closed the clamp between them and pulled the needle from Warren's arm, and then Scott's.

Alan just shook his head a little at Warren, clearly letting the words slide off his back, and kept his eye on Scott. He was an old hand at standing at bedsides, for good or ill. And he wanted to know the boy was breathing, his focus on catching any unconscious signs of pain. His color certainly looked better, at least. Now it was Warren looking a little pale.

Alan reached into a pocket and pulled out a candy bar, holding it out to Warren.

"Here. I'll get another one before I go home. I keep it around for emergencies anyway."

Because when one of your best friend's was a speedster, you kept high calorie, high sugar items on hand. There was no telling when you'd get stuck somewhere where he'd need a bit of fuel. And that wasn't even taking into account the number of teenagers and young adults he looked out for.

Hank excused himself again - he was the doctor, but Scott was in good hands for the practical bits and Hank could analyze that blood sample more, and watch the readouts being sent to monitors back there, through the table itself.

Warren was effectively a giant bird of prey - his entire body was adapted for flight, including his metabolism. Which meant that even without the blood loss, he would have needed food after a fast as hell flight down to the the Mansion. After losing the blood, well, he wasn't going to argue about being given a candy bar from a nice guy who insisted on calling him son.

"Thank you." He was back to being polite as he opened the wrapper. "You should be able to replace it here, and should." They had a lot of kids who ate. Some because they were teenagers, some because their mutations burned extra energy and they needed the calories, some because they'd been starved and needed food security.

On the table Scott was... less unconscious than he had been, in part due to the jolt of pain that came from having his arm set. He was restless, and pretty obviously uncomfortable at least. Trying to shift his position, tightening his jaw here and there, eyebrows drawing down in a mild grimace. Unrestrained, he probably would have wound up curled up in a fetal position but that wasn't possible at the moment and shouldn't be.

"I know why Charles isn't helping him with this, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch." That was for Alan's benefit. Momentary snark aside, he liked the guy and he clearly cared about Scott.

"You're welcome," he said, first and foremost. Because manners.

"Though I can't say it's ever easy to watch good people in pain," Alan said quietly, though for all that he said, he kept watching. After a few moments, he looked up to check on Warren and gave him a faint, warm smile.

"Don't forget to get some water as well."

"You do realize that I'm well over 18," he said, somewhat dryly. He was at least catching onto the fact that this was just Alan's personality.

It was odd, but it came from a good place and Warren could work with that.

"My blood works on me, too. My blood volume will be back to normal before Scott's awake." He paused to eat more of the candy bar, then asked. "Are you intending to stay with him until he is?"

"I'm a little creaky but I'm not blind quite yet," he answered with a quick little smile. Yes, he'd noticed. That changed very little.

He let out a sigh at the real question, though, glancing down at Scott.

"I was planning on it, to be honest. No where else I've got to be at the moment, so unless I get an emergency signal from home, I'm doing what I can to help."

He pointed at one of the loops holding Scott to the bed.

"Wouldn't do to let him wake up and wrench something, after all."

He was concerned about Sand but when it came to that, he wasn't sure what he could do. Sand was... well, he was much like his mentor: something of an enigma who kept his cards very close to his chest. He hadn't always been that way, but Alan supposed it had something to do with the weight of his visions, something the nightmares did.

He'd asked Wesley about it once, what they were like, what made them so terrible. After all, they saw horrible things often enough, unfortunately. What was it that made him look so haunted?

I don't just see the crimes, Alan. I connect with the minds of the criminals, see into the pits of their souls so I know them. So I can find them. It's important work... but I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

It was something he wondered about sometimes, if Wes knew that at his death, his visions would be passed on. He didn't think so, most of the time. Especially when he saw Sandy at his worst, strung out, awake for over a week or more...

When he saw that, he couldn't imagine Wesley knowingly doing that to Sand. He'd spent most of his life trying to cure the boy, considered him his son the same way he'd considered Dian his 'wife' even if they'd never formalized it, and he'd never forgiven himself for what had happened in that lab all those years ago. Wesley hadn't been perfect, none of them were perfect for goodness sake, but of all of them, he'd never been needlessly cruel. No, he had a feeling Mordru or not, Wes would have tried harder had he known what it would do to his golden boy.

Thoughts still swirling on the issue of Sand, on this strange and very possibly brilliant plan from Michael, he tilted his head.

"Just let me know if you need me to do anything. I don't want to take up space in your medical bay as a nuisance."

Warren shook his head, minutely, and rose from his chair. "No." He didn't need anything, and Alan wasn't a nuisance. He stretched his body out, though his wings stayed folded tight in deference to the relatively tight quarters.

"If you're willing to stay with him, I'll take those files to the Professor. He isn't down far now, and he'll... have an easier time of it, if I'm not here the moment he opens his eyes." Which was to say Scott wouldn't immediately try and slam up the facade. Part of the reason Hank was giving Scott more space. "Make sure you're ready to hand him his visor when he comes around."

Staying blind was not Scott's favorite thing.

Warren turned to go and said, "Thank you."

Scott was in good hands. So, actually, was Sand.

Alan nodded and gave Warren a hopeful little smile, trying his best to convey the feeling that everything would be all right in time.

"I'll make sure to hand it to him. Thank you for running the files over."

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