~Crown of the Fallen~

By: Aerys Krystie.

Theme: AU – Angels and Demons.

Plot: The change is meant to lift a child, elevate their status in the hierarchy of life. Demonesques learn how to manipulate those around them. Angelesques learn how to care for the world. Fallens learn how to become an assassin.

The Whittemore and Hale families are the largest demonesque families in Beacon Hills. Because of their statuses, they often do work together, which means that Jackson is exposed to their children on a regular basis. There's nothing wrong with that…until his change happens.

Warnings: Slash, language, violence, death, gore, OOC and OC.

Disclaimer: Everything of and referring to Teen Wolf is not mine. This is a fan-made, non-profit story. Please support the official release.

Author's Note: This originally started as a one-shot, but became too big. So, I decided to turn it into a story and explore the ideas I thought of within the one-shot more thoroughly.
Also, pairings focuses mostly on Halemore, with Scallison and Steter in the background (when the time comes).

Jackson-centric fic...so, major Jackson OOC.

At the age of six, they were taken on a camping trip one weekend. There was nothing odd about that, except that trip stuck in his mind. That was the trip when he and the other boys were first told about Fallens, around the campfire like they were a scary story. The others were worried, checking the night sky after the story finished, as though a Fallen would swoop down and carry them away.

Jackson Whittemore remembered tilting his head and raising his hand. "What makes a Fallen so scary?"

The youth worker, a teenaged angelesque with fluffy white wings had smiled. "They kill. They'll kill demonesques, angelesques and humans," he said, the smile taking on a somber edge. "Anyone that can kill so easily is scary. Those that have no regard for life and only see it as a dollar sign should be feared."

Jackson didn't understand it. There were plenty of demonesques and angelesques in the military, where they were trained to take a life and were paid for it. Maybe it was because his parents were demonesque that made him feel like there was nothing wrong with Fallens. He noticed that Scott and Stiles were worried. Scott was raised by his human mother, but Stiles had a demonesque father. Granted, Stiles' father was in law enforcement, but that should be more a reason for Stiles not to fear a Fallen.

That night, Jackson remembered the dream that clouded his mind. There was silver flames, black wings and a battlefield in front of a mighty angelesque. The parched land was flowing with blood, bodies strewn everywhere and still more came. Dual swords that were dripping with red were held in hands, pale eyes flashed with excitement as the body got into a stance for the next fight to begin.

Jackson remembered waking with a gasp, staring at the top of the tent, thinking one thought – Fallens were the angels of old. One wing always dipped in blood. He had no idea where it came from, but realized that it wasn't wrong. The days of old, where angels were a force to reckon with against the demons were gone. In his young mind, he saw Fallens as angelesques that weren't ready to leave those days behind. And that scared people.

Another memory from his childhood was walking through the woods with Danny at the age of seven. They didn't have a destination in mind, just wandering. Danny was big on nature and was searching for a particular flower, one that was meant to be extremely dangerous as well as beautiful. Jackson had gone with him, mostly to stop him from getting poison ivy again. That hadn't been a fun time.

They walked a path, Jackson with his eyes lowered and lost in thoughts about the science project that he had coming up, along with lacrosse practice. He wasn't really looking where he was going, but he froze when Danny suddenly grabbed his arm.

Blinking, Jackson looked back at him and found that Danny was staring to the left. Turning his attention there, Jackson saw what had Danny worried. All of them knew about the house in the preserve. There were two cars, a black one and a dark grey one, parked in front of it. Danny gripped Jackson's arm and Jackson rolled his eyes. There had been stories running around about the house for as long as he could remember.

He didn't fully understand how or why the rumors began circulating, but he was going to assume it was because all of them knew the tale of Hansel and Gretel. Finding a house in the woods was never a good thing, according to fairytales. Stiles had defended the house against any bad rumors, saying that the occupants were really nice people. Jackson had met them, a family of demonesques that usually visited his family for Fourth of July. As a child, Jackson didn't care about mingling with people that were too old for him.

While he knew that his parents were trying to teach him the basic skills of being a demonesque, Jackson was still at the age where cartoons were his life. If he had to pick between meeting old people that didn't care about him and he didn't care about in return or cartoons, he would prefer to stare at the massive TV, watching characters bend in unnatural shapes. For the time being, his parents understood and left him alone.

Shaking his head, Jackson glared at Danny and pushed him on. They continued on their search for the plant Danny wanted to find, unaware of the eyes that watched them from a window.

At the tender age of ten, Jackson knew he was a demonesque child. During boys lacrosse, he was penalized for 'being too aggressive.' His parents had shouted at the referee, their horns materializing as they got angry, seeing their child sitting out of the game. Jackson didn't think he'd been that aggressive, considering it was a contact sport. He had simply tackled the other to prevent them from scoring. He couldn't expect Danny to pick up the slack in their defense. His team won the game.

During the next games, Jackson was constantly given penalties for 'being too aggressive,' which just had him getting angry with the referees. He had studied the rulebook and knew what was and wasn't legal when it came to the game of lacrosse, even boys lacrosse allowed tackles. Instead, he was constantly sitting out and ignored the disgusted look he received from the other team's coach or the disappointed expression from his own coach. He was there to win games and get his team to the championships. He wasn't there to talk about his feelings.

The first time he was ejected from the game was after his frustration got the best of him. The idea of making team captain hadn't crossed his mind, as he just wanted to play the game. He was receiving yet another penalty for being too aggressive, when he barely touched the other player. The referee was taking him over to a bench, where the penalty would be served.

"This is bullshit," Jackson snapped as he sat down. "That was a legal tackle!"

"Body-checking is not allowed in boys lacrosse, Whittemore," the referee said with a shake of his head. "When are you going to learn that?"

"Maybe remove it from the fucking rulebook, then!" Jackson spat with a glare.

"Unsportsmanlike misconduct," the referee declared and Jackson's eyes widened. He was being ejected from the game because he was challenging a rule.

Jackson growled as he stood up and left the field, returning to the locker room for the visiting team. He slammed the door to the locker room and threw his helmet. Fine! If that's the way they were going to treat him, he'll memorize the damn rulebook and play by them. They couldn't get him penalized if he was sticking to their dumb rules and playing a 'clean' game. As boring as that was, he would become the best player in the history of Beacon Hills.

True to his word, Jackson became one of the best players for Beacon Hills. There was another that challenged him for captain of the boys team, but he moved away when they were twelve and Jackson became the captain. He worked his team hard, making sure he memorized the rulebook. Since his ejection, he hadn't received a single penalty, which he was certain pained the referees that remembered him from that time. For the next two years, he would be captain.

Going from middle school to high school was a big change for Jackson. A week before he was to start as a freshman, he woke up to a strange tingling running through his body. It rippled along his bones and made his muscles quiver. It wasn't painful, but it was definitely strange feeling. He stood from bed and looked at his hands, seeing nothing weird.

Frowning, Jackson realized that he could see his hands perfectly. There was a light coming from somewhere and he turned around, not seeing anything behind him. He tilted his head up and his eyes widened, seeing a halo above his head. Blinking, he ran into his bathroom and flipped on the light. He stared at the halo hovering seven inches above his head and his eyes widened.

The halo was black, a crown of thorns that were surrounded by silver flames. Lowering his head, Jackson's eyes widened when he saw ethereal wings materializing behind him. Swallowing, Jackson stepped back from the mirror, unable to believe what he was seeing. He wasn't meant to be an angelesque. His parents were both demonesque. While it wasn't impossible for a child to present opposite of their parents, especially if it was in their line, it was uncommon in recent years. Two demonesques would have a demonesque child. Jackson was meant to be a demonesque, not an angelesque.

Running from his bedroom, Jackson burst into his parents' room, his father waking with a snort. "Something you wanna tell me?" Jackson demanded as his father turned on the bedside lamp.

His mother woke, blinking at him groggily, before she realized what she was seeing. "Oh no." Her eyes were wide as she stared at the halo above Jackson's head.

The halo wasn't the problem for Jackson. He was more annoyed at the massive, fluffy wings sprouting from his shoulders, which were raising higher and higher up. "Oh yes, Mother," Jackson said, words dripping with venom. "How am I an angelesque?"

"We figured this might happen," David said as he pulled on a robe. "Let's go downstairs and have some coffee."

Jackson gritted his teeth, but also knew his father wasn't fully functional without at least one cup of coffee in him. Spinning around, Jackson stormed out of the bedroom. The wind tickled his feathers, which just annoyed him far more than anything. He could feel the longer feathers at the bottom of the wings brushing along the floor, which felt strange. The feeling moved up his wings and into his shoulders, which made him raise his wings higher to stop that.

In the kitchen, Jackson got the coffee brewing and sat down, hearing his parents moving around upstairs. He also needed coffee, but he was too angry with them to think about that. He had to be adopted. That was the only reason he could think of for why he was an angelesque. Why wouldn't they tell him earlier, just in case something like this happened? Keeping it a secret was a dumb move on their behalf.

There wasn't a test to tell what denomination a child would be. If the biological parents were demonesque, there were high chances that the child would follow. The same with angelesque parents. The only toss-up were half-breeds. Stiles was a half-breed, an angelesque mother and a demonesque father. Those were rare. More often than not, the child remained human. Stiles had received his wings and halo near the beginning of summer. Scott was a half-breed, a human mother and a demonesque father. He had received his horns and tail before they finished middle school.

Upstairs, Jackson could hear his parents talking with each other. The coffee finished brewing and Jackson stood up, getting two mugs of it for his parents. He called out that coffee was ready and his parents went quiet, before there was a series of hushed tones. A few minutes later, his parents joined him in the kitchen and sat down, sipping their coffee.

"You are adopted, Jackson," his mother said and Jackson rolled his eyes.

"No shit," he stated and swallowed when his mother glared at him. "Sorry. But it's kind of obvious!"

David nodded and drank his coffee. "Your biological parents were killed in a car crash. Your mother was technically dead, but kept alive long enough to give birth to you. They were both demonesque. You should have been a demonesque, as well."

Jackson sighed and tilted his head back, staring at the halo that seemed to laugh at him. "I don't know how to be angelesque," he said as he leveled his head.

His mother, who was still staring at his halo, shook her head. "You're not angelesque, sweetheart," she said softly and Jackson frowned, spreading his wings and gesturing at the halo. The evidence was pretty definitive. "You're a Fallen."

Jackson's eyes widened and his wings drooped, his mouth falling open. He hadn't thought about Fallens since he was six, eight years ago. The dream of that camping trip came back to his mind and he shook his head. He only dreamed of that because of what the youth worker said, about how Fallens love to kill. As far as Jackson knew, he didn't love killing. He hadn't thought about it.

Instead, he shook his head again and glared at his mother. "Black wings are uncommon with angelesques, but that doesn't mean—"

"A crown of thorns is a Fallen's calling card," David said and glanced at the halo. "All Fallens have that halo."

Jackson couldn't think. His mind went completely blank, except for those words rattling around. All Fallens have that halo. All Fallens have that halo. It just kept repeating in his mind, again and again and nothing new was coming from it. What could he do with that information? There was nothing he could do with it. He sat back in the chair, staring blankly at the table.

"How do you know that?" Jackson asked. He hadn't really done any research on Fallens, despite being interested in them when he was younger. Once he hit the age of ten, his mind was taken up entirely by lacrosse.

His mother sighed softly. "We didn't know what your genealogy from your biological parents was. We did research on every possible outcome, just in case it happened. Black wings and a crown of thorns are the trademarks of a Fallen."

"As well as their bloodlust," Jackson muttered and glared at the table.

"Yes," David murmured, glancing at his wife for a moment, before his eyes returned to Jackson. "That needs to be curbed. Fallens don't present as early as you, Jackson."

Frowning, Jackson looked at his father. "What does that mean?"

Silence fell over his parents and Jackson began to worry. He didn't feel the need to murder people, so he was going to assume that his bloodlust was already curbed. He might have presented early, but that wasn't a bad thing. It meant he had longer to figure out how to live a normal life as a sanctioned assassin. He wasn't going to randomly start murdering people, regardless of what the stories about Fallens said.

Before he could repeat the question, there was a knock on the front door. Jackson frowned and turned in his chair, as his mother sprang to her feet and hurried to answer it. Something was going on, especially as he heard a voice he couldn't place. He blinked as Alan Deaton entered the kitchen and froze, staring at Jackson, taking in the large wings and the halo.

"You weren't joking," Alan said as he sat down at the table. "Hello, Jackson."

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

Alan smiled, placing his hands on the table. "I'm here to take you so you can become a Fallen," he said and Jackson stared at him. "You're the first Fallen to present in thirty years, Jackson. You might not feel it now, but there will be urges to murder and your anger can take you over."

Jackson frowned, thinking about the wording. The bloodlust was something that came in. He expected to be born with it, not that his wings and halo would make him feel that way. He wasn't entirely sure if there was an argument for that. His anger had always been a problem for him, especially when he was younger. Once he figured out how to apply it to his game, it pretty much left him.

"Where do I need to go?" Jackson asked.

"There's someone in Vermont that can help you," Alan answered and Jackson frowned. That was across the map. "He'll understand what you're going through more than anyone else."

Jackson swallowed and looked at his parents. They had their eyes down and Jackson closed his. With a deep breath, he opened them and looked at Alan. "Let me guess, I leave now?"

Alan nodded slowly. "It's for the best," he said.

Jackson rolled his eyes. Of course it was. "Can I at least say goodbye to my friends?"

"No," Alan said and Jackson's eyes widened. "No one can know you're a Fallen, Jackson." He smiled when Jackson opened his mouth to argue the fact. "Fallens aren't…accepted in normal society. You can never show your halo to anyone. Your wings…" He trailed off as he looked at them, frowning slightly. "If you don't want to present as human, you can show your wings. Just know, black wings are uncommon. People may fear you're a Fallen and avoid you."

Jackson knew Danny would never abandon him. They had been together since they were six and Danny was the only one that Jackson trusted with the knowledge that he was a Fallen. Danny had presented as an angelesque during their last year of middle school. His white wings had a purple-blue dual chromatic sheen to them. His halo was a white daisy chain, which was apparently his connection to nature. Both of them were excited for when Jackson presented. Now, he was being told that he couldn't share his change with anyone.

"I know it must feel unfair, Jackson," Alan said, as though he could read Jackson's thoughts. "But others may not be as open about your change as your friends. Fallens don't have a great reputation or even a good one. They're feared and fear makes people do strange things. If you're attacked, you will kill in defense of yourself and not see a problem with it."

Jackson blinked, realizing that he felt that way, anyway. If anyone was stupid enough to attack him, for any reason, he would kill them. Being a Fallen wasn't responsible for that. It was just his given right as a Whittemore, even as an adopted one. He shrugged at Alan, who raised an eyebrow.

"What will my friends and team be told?"

David cleared his throat. "We'll tell them you had an accident and you're recovering across the country, with the best specialists," he said and Jackson's eyebrows went up. "We'll tell Danny a half-truth, that you received grace poisoning. He'll at least know you're an angelesque."

Jackson lowered his eyes, starting to nod his head and then shaking it. If Danny knew he was an angelesque, he would want to see his halo. The one thing he couldn't show anyone would be the one thing Danny would demand to see. He couldn't have his wings out, either. If he had his wings out, but not his halo, everyone would know he was hiding it. Maybe it would be easier to just attend high school elsewhere. At least he wouldn't have to lie to his best friend about something so simple.

"Fuck!" Jackson shouted and slammed his hands down on the table. He stood up and began pacing, glaring at the floor. His feathers ruffled as his wings flexed. He didn't see how his mother jumped or his father's stunned expression. "Can I just cut my wings off?"

Alan's eyes widened. "I hope you're joking, Jackson," he said and Jackson glared at him. "Cutting the wings off an angelesque is a very slow and painful death. It's the same for a demonesque having their horns removed. It's a cruel way to die."

Jackson stopped his pacing and stared at Alan. He didn't think he would die from removing his wings, but nodded and went back to pacing. He didn't want to be a Fallen. He didn't even want to be an angelesque. For the purpose of staying in school, with his friends that he wouldn't need to lie to, he would prefer to remain human. Being human in a world full of angelesques and demonesques wasn't a good thing, but they were still treated better than Fallens were.

"I hate this," he said and dropped into the chair again. He looked at Alan. "I know I don't have a choice, but fine. Let me pack."

Vermont was nothing like Jackson was expecting. It wasn't nearly as populated as California and even though Beacon Hills was a town, he was certain that it still had half the population of Vermont. The town he was taken to was a farming community. Alan was smiling in the driver seat, as though the eight day trip across country hadn't taken a huge toll on him.

Jackson had tried to hide his halo, but he didn't know the first thing about it. He thought about it vanishing and it disappeared for a moment, only to come back. "You need to focus your grace on it," Alan had said and Jackson just blinked at him. His change happened less than twenty-four hours ago and he was meant to tap into something he didn't even know about?

Alan went on to explain that angelesques created their magic from their grace, while demonesques used their stigma. Jackson frowned, thinking on his grace. He was going to assume that was the tingling he felt. It hadn't stopped since his wings and halo appeared. Over the course of the next eight days, he focused on the tingle and thought about his halo vanishing from above his head. By the time they arrived in Maine, he could keep his halo hidden. It only took six days of constant thought.

By the time they arrived in Twin Falls, Vermont, Jackson was exhausted. They drove through the center of town, bypassing a motel and left the town. Alan pulled into a long driveway and Jackson blinked at the farm. He saw horses in their paddocks and groaned at the ideas running through his head. He just knew most of his time would be spent mucking stalls. He had no issue with animals, he just hated cleaning up after them.

A house came into view and Jackson blinked at the man that was standing on the porch. His black wings were standing proud behind him, the feathers reflecting red. Alan stopped the car and smiled at Jackson, who was still staring at the man with black wings. The man finished his water and turned around. Jackson blinked and glanced at Alan, figuring the man was another Fallen.

"He's not a Fallen," Alan said as he opened his door. "His wife was, though."

Jackson frowned as he got out of the car and went to the trunk. "Was?" he repeated.

"She died, twelve years ago."

"That sucks," Jackson said as he grabbed two of his suitcases, letting Alan take the third one. "But he won't know what I'm going through."

"True, but he also helped his wife when she first presented. They'd been childhood friends. He knows his stuff." Alan closed the trunk. "He's also done extensive research into Fallens."

Jackson raised an eyebrow, but made no comment as he followed Alan up to the porch and into the house. While it was clean, it wasn't showroom clean. Jackson glanced at the man, whose name he still didn't know and forced a smile. The man stared at him, running his eyes over his slight frame. He was only fourteen. Whatever the man was expecting, it certainly wasn't him.

"Fallens don't present as early as him," the man said. "No Fallen has ever presented before eighteen. He just has black wings."

Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes, revealing his halo. The man's eyes widened. "Yeah, I'm a Fallen." He hid his halo again and the man looked at Alan.

"How is he a Fallen? He's what, thirteen, fourteen?" Jackson told him and the man shook his head. "He's four years early."

Jackson's eyebrows went up. The man sounded angry about that fact, but there wasn't anything Jackson could do about it. "Yeah, we got that. Can you help or are you going to yell about me being early?"

The man stared at Jackson blankly, his halo wavered into existence for a moment, before it vanished. Jackson frowned at it. "Black laurels," he said and shrugged. "We're a cousin of the Fallen, known as the Disgraced. We don't have the bloodlust or the immense magic power, but we're not opposed to murder." He pointed down the hallway. "Go down and to the right, you'll find some empty bedrooms. Pick one."

Jackson nodded and beckoned Alan to follow, hearing a snort from the man. He went down the hallway and to the right, opening a door. He stepped into the room and placed his suitcases on the double bed. He looked at the flowery quilt covering the bed and was instantly reminded of old people. He wasn't going to complain, too loudly, about it and went back out to the front hall.

"You got a name, old timer?" Jackson asked as the man turned to him.

"Deucalion," he answered and Jackson nodded. "Just so you know, this isn't a vacation, kid. You will be worked until you can't stand. Your magic will be worked until you can't breathe. Your anger will be tested until it no longer affects you. Do I make myself clear?"

Jackson nodded. "Crystal," he said and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do I do first, oh Master?"

Deucalion smiled and Jackson's blood ran cold. The man charged at him and Jackson spun to the left. Deucalion came at him again and Jackson ducked to the right. "Is that all you know to do, kid? You can only dodge?"

"Some people can't grasp that concept," Jackson answered with a shrug. "At least you know you won't have to work on that with me."

"What's your fighting skill like?"

"I don't have one."

"These next twelve months are going to be the hardest of your life," Deucalion promised and Jackson blinked.

"Bring it on."

September

Jackson groaned as he was slammed onto the ground, gasping for air. His ribs were aching and his vision was blurry. His wings flapped uselessly behind him, the black feathers reflecting the colors of the rainbow in the bright sunlight. Deucalion had his foot between Jackson's shoulders, who was still trying to get up. He was tired of coughing up dirt every night. He always tired of fighting with bruises and inflamed joints. Deucalion didn't give him a day to rest for anything, except for a broken bone. The man was always careful not to break anything.

"You have more to you than just your hands, kid," Deucalion said as Jackson's wings flopped, spreading out to the sides of Jackson. "You have legs and a head. Use them! Get up and try again."

Jackson coughed as Deucalion stepped on him as he passed. Rasping, Jackson got to his feet, swaying and stumbling as his ribs protested every movement. He gazed at Deucalion, who stared back at him, waiting for his next attack. Jackson ran his tongue along his lower lip, ignoring the sting from the split on it.

Once the pain had gone from a nine to an eight, Jackson straightened and glared. He ran at Deucalion, who sighed. It was the same move Jackson had done for the last two weeks. What he wasn't expecting, was Jackson to let the wind grab his wings and let him slip to the right, practically disappearing. Jackson's kick to the ribs had Deucalion doubling over, in perfect position for Jackson's punch to knock him down.

"I also have wings," Jackson said as Deucalion picked himself up.

"Good. You're finally starting to think and use everything to your advantage, including your youth." Deucalion faced Jackson. "Never go easy on an opponent because they're older."

Jackson raised an eyebrow and nodded. He hadn't been going easy on Deucalion. That win was a complete fluke and he only got it because Deucalion wasn't expecting him to slip to the side. He'd take the win, but it took him two weeks just to land an attack. He figured in another two weeks, he might be able to kill Deucalion if he pushed him too far.

"Right. Let's go again."

Jackson inhaled as deeply as his bruised ribs allowed and waited. He spun to the side, elbow connecting with Deucalion's nose. The angelesque cried out and stepped back. Jackson tilted his head, punching the man in the face and breaking his nose. His knee met Deucalion's ribs several times, before he caught it and shoved Jackson back, glaring at him, blood pouring from his nose.

"You're a Fallen, all right," Deucalion said and wiped the blood away.

"You just told me not to go easy on an opponent because they're older than me," Jackson said, feeling like he was being punished for listening to someone's advice.

"This is training, kid," Deucalion stated with a glare. "You were about to kill me."

Jackson blinked, thinking on the adrenaline flooding his system when he made Deucalion bleed. "Oh… My bad."

Deucalion shook his head. "I'm getting too old for this shit. All right. Again."

Jackson ducked Deucalion's right hook, coming up in front of the man. His jab made a hard connection with his jaw and Jackson heard something crack. He wasn't sure if it was the bone, the joint or the teeth. Deucalion held his hand up and stepped back. Jackson wondered when he became a decent fighter, feeling the breeze ruffle his feathers. He jumped on the spot as he waited for Deucalion to pull himself together for another round.

"Your instincts are a lot stronger for someone your age," Deucalion said and Jackson tilted his head. "You aren't thinking like a human anymore, kid. You're thinking like a Fallen. You don't even realize it, but you're seeing all my weak points. You know where to hit to cause the most damage. It took my wife two years to learn that."

Jackson frowned and looked at Deucalion. The next attack, he would go for the left knee and then the jaw again. He blinked up at Deucalion, wondering how he knew what he did. It was the same during games, he knew where players were weak and the best way to take them out of games. It wasn't a nice way to win, but he was captain and did what he could for his team.

Straightening his shoulders, Jackson's wings arched up behind him. Deucalion glanced at them and Jackson took that momentary distraction as the incentive. He rushed at Deucalion, kicking out his left knee, which had the man crying out. Jackson's fist slammed into the jaw again and Deucalion fell to the ground. Jackson took a step back and gazed down at him. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Deucalion to sit up or something.

As the minutes ticked by, Jackson sat down by the unconscious angelesque and sighed. "Probably should've mentioned your body is frail, old timer," he muttered and poked a shoulder.

When he got no response, Jackson stood up and jumped on the spot. He realized that he was landing lighter each time, his wings spreading slightly to catch the wind beneath them and lower him slowly. Tilting his head, Jackson jumped as high as he could and spread his wings, eyes widening when he realized he was hovering. He beat his wings and drove up higher, feeling the slight air currents through his feathers. He beat his wings again and went up higher.

Turning, Jackson gasped as he was on his back, staring up at the sky, his wings tilted to keep him suspended. His heart thudded wildly in his chest at the fact that he was floating around. Looking around, Jackson stared at the roof of the house and twisted his body, wings beating as he flew over to the building. It took only a few seconds, before he was floating down to the roof, landing softly.

Grinning, Jackson backed up and ran off the edge of the roof, wings spreading out to catch the wind. With a snap, he was soaring upwards, screaming his joy. He stopped after a minute and looked down, realizing the house was about the size of a child's toy. He spread his wings, glancing from left to right, watching as the light gave his wings a rainbow gradient. Bringing his wings around his body, Jackson stared at the feathers, eyes widening when he saw that each feather reflected the colors of the rainbow, which explained the gradient effect.

Pulling his wings behind him, Jackson dropped towards the ground. With a loud snap, his wings extended and slowed his descent the last few feet. He landed lightly beside the still unconscious Deucalion and sighed when he remembered he needed to deal with that. His left hand became a fist and twitched. Jackson stared at the feather in his hand. It was a black feather with a blue sheen to it.

Looking between the feather and Deucalion, Jackson tilted his head and flicked the feather at the unconscious angelesque. The shaft embedded in Deucalion's arm. That was different. Tilting his head to the other side, Jackson snapped his fingers and the feather vanished. Deucalion opened his eyes and sat up, staring at Jackson, before he blinked around.

"What happened? Last thing I remember is you charging at me."

Jackson's left hand twitched again and a black feather with a blue sheen appeared. "This happened?"

Deucalion stood up and looked at the feather. "Amazing," he murmured, running a finger along the edge. He hissed and pulled his hand back. "I forgot about that." Jackson stared at the blood on Deucalion's finger. "A Fallen's wings are also a weapon. When your wings fully manifest, aside from being so unbelievably painful you'd wish you were dead, your wings can kill people. Each feather will be like a razor attached to your back."

Jackson looked at the feather and ran his fingers over it, looking at them. They were perfectly fine. Considering the feather came from his body, Jackson was going to assume he had an immunity to them. "What do you mean when my wings fully manifest?" He looked over his shoulder at his wings. They looked rather realized.

Deucalion smiled sadly. "Those are just your placeholder for your real wings. When they come through…" He winced and rolled his shoulders, his own wings stretching out. "Angelesques have died from their wings coming through. It's almost like a rite of passage. There will be blood and pain."

The feather vanished from Jackson's hand and he tilted his head. "I felt a tingle when mine showed up."

"That tingle was just your grace entering your body. You're one of the lucky ones. But considering you're a Fallen, maybe not that lucky. Your wings are laying dormant in your body. There will be something that triggers them coming out." Deucalion placed a hand on Jackson's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "They will rip out from your back, violently."

Jackson's eyes widened and he looked at his wings. That didn't sound remotely nice, like when his grace entered his body. He didn't want his wings to come out. "Wait," he said and returned his eyes to Deucalion. "If my wings will be dangerous, won't people know I'm a Fallen that way?"

"Not many people know that a Fallen's wings are dangerous, but you're right." Deucalion straightened and crossed his arms. "Fallens are the only angelesques that can retract their wings." Jackson smirked. "But," he went on sternly. "You need to release them, every so often. If you don't, they'll stagnate, decay within your body and kill you."

"Fuck me," Jackson groaned and tilted his head back, glaring up at the sky. "Everything ends with me dying, horribly!" He growled and kicked at the dirt underfoot. "This is bullshit."

"The life of a Fallen isn't an easy one." Deucalion ran his eyes over Jackson's wings. "You're also the only Fallen I know that has the rainbow sheen. It's rather common with black wings, but Fallens rarely have more than one color." He frowned and looked at Jackson's left hand. "That feather, you said that happened. What do you mean?"

"I threw it at you, snapped my fingers and you woke up…apparently without any of the pain of me dislocating your knee and jaw." Jackson shrugged, figuring that was normal.

"Remarkable," Deucalion said as he circled Jackson. "You have attacking feathers. The last Fallen to have those was…well, long before us. I don't think there's been one recorded in over fifteen hundred years."

Jackson's eyes widened and his wings snapped out, before they settled behind him. "Seriously? Can't I be normal in terms of anything?" he demanded. "What about flying? Is that normal for an angelesque?"

"Not really," Deucalion answered and stood in front of Jackson again. "I can fly, but not many angelesques bother with it. It's a normal trait for a Fallen. Congratulations, you're normal there."

"Finally," Jackson muttered with a roll of his eyes. "All right, Master, what's next?"

Deucalion smiled thinly. "Weapon training."

End Chapter.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

Until the next one!

Peace.
Auska.