The fact of the matter was that Warren wasn’t only worried about Tony getting angry about what had happened. It was also that Warren was ashamed of it, of what he had almost done. Or rather, what his father had almost gotten him do.
He ran his fingers absently over the chest plate beneath absently, as if subconsciously his hand wanted what had used to be so familiar. He hid his eyes against Tony’s neck. “It’s the cure, Tony… he told the world he made it for me, as if I asked for it. You know, Tony, it was always him that hated the wings.”
Warren’s body had tensed up completely; every limb stiff, every joint so tight they were about to pop, his wings completely still – it wasn’t like him at all. Clearly, he was very, very distressed.
“My father… Tony, he found something that worked. It really worked!” Warren’s voice got very low, just barely audible as if he wanted to say it without Tony being able to hear. “He dosed me with something; I don’t know exactly what. I don’t even know if that was all he did, there are big chunks of time missing from my memory.”
“Tony,” Warren whispered, sounding scared and very, very young, “I almost let him give the cure.”