#wild-crosses97

[dreamersmantra]

IT'S #WILD-CROSSES97'S BIRTHDAY

HEY THERE LOVE YOU’RE AWESOME

[allyarra]

Your new story is based off my prompt huh? I really liked it and can't wait for the next chapter!!! Keep up the good work. :D

It is based off the idea I had for your prompt! I did tell you that I was making it into a full story, right? I thought I did...

[allyarra]

Stiles doesn't really remember much of importance from before, but he knows there's a difference. For one, he no longer has wings. Which is actually a much bigger problem than he'd thought it would be, because you'd just think that all that would change is that he could no longer fly. But no, that's not what happens when you literally lose your wings. Your entire center of gravity changes, because wow, turns out wings are actually kind of heavy, at least in relation to the rest of your body, and Stiles keeps having to adjust how he stands because he tends to lean too far forward to compensate for the weight of wings that are no longer there.

He remembers fondly when he was graceful, when he could dance across the ground as easily as he danced through the air. Other angels used to sigh in envy to see him fly and now they would laugh if they saw him tripping and stumbling on the ground. And it's strange because what he finds himself missing the most is not the ability to fly, but the ease with which he'd once held himself, confident in his own abilities.

Now he's not sure of anything. He knows that he's here for a reason, that his wings were cut from his back and then thrown from the Heavens in front of him because of a reason, even if he doesn't know what that reason is. He knew at one point in time, but now, every time he thinks he's remembered, it slips through his grasp.

They like to keep a watch on the Fallen, those who have been cast from the Heavens in shame, to make sure that they are truly being punished for their misdeeds. So Stiles pretends that each time it all escapes, that he's not keeping little bits and pieces, hoarding little memories like a child slipping candy into his pockets when his parents aren't looking.

It's gotten to the point that Stiles actually has a fair idea of where he's going. He's not certain, because the memories are disjointed, scattered fragments of a whole, but it's enough to give him a heading. He knows that he's going somewhere in Northern California, which isn't actually that helpful because it turns out that Northern California is still pretty damn big. But he knows he's got to find a burned out husk of a house in some woods and there can't be too many of those that are still standing and relatively recent.

Those are the clues that he lets himself be drawn to, because the other hints are things that only sink in through his dreams. Images of beautiful people fighting, with claws and fangs and arrows and fire, and sights of those same people smiling and laughing and loving and being together. It makes his breath catch, even as he sleeps, and his heart aches long after he wakes and the dreams are reduced to foggy recollections. He knows that these are the ones he needs to find, the ones that he left behind when he was recalled to the Heavens only to be cast out.

But what haunts him the most are a pair of beautiful eyes of a color he can't describe, although he's lived for thousands of years and has seen the greatest artists of history at work on their masterpieces. None of those masterpieces can compare to these eyes though, and their strength and love and compassion and infinite sadness all peering out from a face that Stiles believes is more suited to an Angel than a mere mortal.

He hides that memory from himself just as much as he hides it from those who watch him. In the back of his mind he knows that as he gets ever closer to the place he's been heading towards all this time, he's drawing closer to the man that face belongs to. He needs to push it away because if he allows himself to think about it he'll remember that he belongs to that man, that he chose to do what caused him to be cast aside and he's not sure he's ready to admit that.

Being an Angel is all he's ever known and now he's been stuffed into this mortal body that he can't control and can't seem to keep up with his own mind. It can't even move the way he wants it to. So he's not ready to admit that he chose to become a Fallen, but with every moment that passes he gets closer to that man and he finds himself caring less and less why he is the way he is now and only that the distance that separates them still exists.