Archive of Our Own ^beta

War is hell.

That was what all the politicians bemoaned and journalists wrote.

But the soldiers had lived and breathed it for the last six years.

Derek had been through the war, and the thought that kept him going through that hell was the thought of a life—a love that would take the pain away. A family to build a future with, over the ashes of his past.

Some part of Derek’s mind told him that he was being utterly ridiculous for hoping there would be a change once he came home. He should have realized he wasn’t coming home to anything more than a fleeting hope of normalcy when he was left alone at the dock, no sign of Paige in sight.

He accepted her apologies, pretending it didn’t hurt that she forgot about him.

Paige’s kisses were fleeting, her words empty of true adoration. They were moving in two different directions. The war had separated them before they even knew each other. They shared different hopes and dreams for the future, none of which helped to silence the scars of the past.

The nightmares didn’t stopped for Derek when he came home.

Paige seemed wary of Derek when it happened the first night. She stood outside the bathroom door, peering in to watch Derek’s hunched body shake as he tried to calm himself. She stopped getting up after the next time.

Derek was standing beside the bed, bags packed and ready to head out on his next job, looking down at Paige as she slept. He was wearing his uniform, as Paige had urged him to do. He hated how stiff and accustomed he had grown to wearing it, as if it was now nothing more than a finely pressed mask he hid behind.

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her cheek, pulling back when she softly huffed before turning away from him. He turned to leave, hesitating when he reached the door. He was looking at the trunk where Paige stored all his letters. He had seen how a majority of the envelopes were unopened, trying to ignore the pain twisting his stomach into knots at knowing Paige didn’t read his words.

Derek shook his head, forcing the thoughts away as he left the apartment. He had chocolates to sell, thanks to Paige’s insistence that the raise was enough to make him go back to it. He needed to focus on not just staying on the train until he hit the last stop, and then to keep walking.

~*~

Derek wasn’t surprised when people thanked him, or allowed him to take his time in finding a place on the train. He had grown used to people allowing him to get away with just about anything when he wore his uniform.

Derek was looking up at the cubbies above the seats to find an open spot for his suitcase. He paused when he saw someone struggling with their suitcase.

The young man was struggling with getting his suitcase into the overhead cubby above the seat he had intended to take. He was likely in his late twenties at most, his suit a fine crimson tone with a tailored cut that suggest he came from a wealthy family. His skin was a light alabaster tone, dark moles dotted across his neck and cheeks.

Derek had to shake his head to ignore his lingering thoughts of whether the moles were scattered across the younger man’s lean body. He had thoughts about other men before, knowing that it was more common than most thought—especially if one of them was a carrier.

The young man was standing on his tiptoes try and see what was preventing his suitcase from securely fitting in the cubby. He huffed out a curse in a foreign language as he yanked on the suitcase handle.

The suitcase unceremoniously fell from the man’s hold, tumbling and crashing into the ground in front of Derek’s feet. The case snapped open, revealing all the man’s belongings to everyone on the train.

The young man startled, looking up and noticing Derek for the first time. “Oh! I’m— I’m so sorry,” he quickly stated, a slight accent in his voice. He moved to kneel, quickly shoving everything back into the case.

“Let me help,” Derek started when he finally came out of his stupor. He placed his bags down as he moved to help the young man. He heard the faint murmurs from those around them after the young man had spoken.

Derek had seen it after he got home. He heard more than one person murmur slurs and gawking with glares. He didn’t understand why people acted like this—why they didn’t see that behavior as mirroring the very evil they fought in the war.

Derek picked up the frame that had popped out and landed at his feet. He saw the cracked glass over the image, noticing it was the young man with an older gentleman beside him. He offered the frame back to the young man, not wanting to cause it any further damage.

The young man hesitated when he saw the crack, his expression turning sullen.

Derek wondered if the older man was someone important the younger man had lost in the war.

“I’m sorry that it broke,” Derek offered as he placed one of the dress shirts back into the suitcase.

The young man looked up at him. “It’s not your fault,” he admitted as he put the framed photo faced down in the suitcase, precariously forcing it shut to stop taking up the aisle.

The train lurched forward, signalling that it was leaving the station.

The couple behind Derek lost their balance, bumping into Derek and forcing him to topple over.

Derek fell forward, landing on top of the young gentleman. He startled into moving to place room between them, his apology dying on his lips as he looked down at the young man.

The young man’s hat had fallen off, revealing short brown locks of hair strewn about. He stared blankly up at Derek, his hands having moved to brace against Derek’s shoulders when they suddenly fell together. He was aware of how their bodies had fallen together, knowing they made a spectacle to those around them.

“Sorry,” Derek weakly uttered as he moved to stand up. He offered his free hand to the gentleman, easily helping him to stand up with him.

The young man picked up their forgotten tickets on the floor next to him before taking Derek’s hand, standing up on unsteady feet as he tried to regain his balance.

The train, however, had other plans. The entire cabin lurched forward, causing the young man to fall into Derek.

Queasiness overcame the gentleman and he couldn’t prevent the churning of his stomach as he threw up. He covered his mouth in embarrassment when he realized he vomited on Derek’s uniform. He quickly spoke an apology through his hand as he ran for the bathroom.

Derek sighed, looking at the mess on his uniform. He couldn’t help thinking there had been worse things staining it. He picked up the young man’s suitcase and managed to get it placed into the cubby above the seat the man’s jacket was still in. He then made his way down the aisle and towards the back of the cabin where he could clean up.

~*~

Derek was thankful he had packed a spare set of clothes, knowing that his jacket would begin to smell without a thorough washing. He trudged his way onto the bus, wondering what he could have done to wind up in such a strange twist of events. He paused when he saw the young gentleman from the train sitting in a bus seat. He maneuvered his bags to make it easier for him to sit across the aisle.

“I suppose I should ask if you’re following me,” Derek softly stated when the young man recognized him.

The young man flushed a light pink as he looked down at his book once he realized who Derek was. “I’m so sorry,” he honestly uttered. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you.”

Derek offered a small smile as he replied, “It’s alright. I can’t say that’s the worst thing to happen to me on a train.”

The gentleman softly laughed at that. “I thank you for trying to make light of it,” he answered.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Derek started. He leaned across the empty seat beside him, offering his hand to Stiles, “Derek Hale.”

The young man held onto his book with one hand as he leaned forward to take Derek’s hand. “Mieczysław Stilinski,” he offered.

Derek released a soft chuckle. “That’s quite a name for you,” he stated.

Mieczysław looked confused by Derek’s words.

“Sounds like Mischief,” Derek explained.

Mieczysław laughed at that. “My father often says that,” he replied as their hands fell away from one another. A beat of silence fell between them before he spoke, “I have to ask, where are you going?”

“San Francisco,” Derek replied.

Mieczysław’s brow furrowed. “The train goes to San Francisco,” he explained.

“Oh, I know,” Derek replied. “My ticket said differently,” he continued. “It changed destinations, apparently.”

Mieczysław’s eyes widened. He hurriedly turned to his jacket in the chair beside him, rifling through his pockets to find his ticket. He furiously turned the ticket in his hands to read what it said. He spoke in a foreign language as he softly groaned. “I believe this is your ticket,” he confessed, showing the small piece of paper to Derek.

Derek looked at the ticket, seeing the destination clearly reading out ‘San Francisco’. “Yes, that is probably mine,” he stated, looking at Stiles. He felt humbled to see Stiles acting sheepish.

“I’m so sorry,” Mieczysław stated once more. “I have been nothing but bad luck for you.”

Derek faintly shrugged. “It’s actually nice,” he admitted, feeling a little awkward for admitting that an inconvenience could be as fun as this.

“You’re being kind,” Mieczysław replied.

“No, I’m not,” Derek corrected him. “I honestly am finding your company enjoyable,” he admitted.

Mieczysław offered a small smile to Derek.

Derek tried to deny the feeling of butterflies twisting his stomach up when Mieczysław smiled at him, but he knew why it was happening. He was holding a longer conversation with some stranger he met than he had with his own wife since he returned to the States. He cleared his throat, trying to break away from staring at Mieczysław. “Is it a good book?” He gestured towards the book Mieczysław had been reading prior to the start of their conversation.

Mieczysław looked at the book, turning the cover to face Derek. “It’s terribly boring I’m afraid,” he explained.

“It’s certainly … a name,” Derek uttered after reading the title. He frowned, knowing that it was a scholarly book opposed to leisure reading. He began to feel the gap between him and Mieczysław widening.

“It’s for my graduate studies,” Mieczysław explained. “I’m not sure I’ll finish it before getting back to the city, though.”

“Are you not headed back?” Derek questioned when he saw Mieczysław was frowning at the book. He was pretty confident something besides the dry content of the book was bothering Mieczysław.

“No, I … I’m not sure,” Mieczysław reluctantly answered. “Things are going to change—I’m only home for family celebrations.”

Derek softly smiled at that. “I’m sure it will be nice to have a break from that book.”

Mieczysław softly laughed at that, his frown disappearing into a smile as he looked at Derek. “I am hoping so.”

~*~

In hindsight, Derek should learn to mind his own business.

Getting kicked off the bus in the middle of some dirt road, likely half-way to San Francisco, was not what Derek thought would happen when he interrupted the men harassing Mieczysław.

Mieczysław was half asleep, his head dipping and lulling to the side every minute or two.

Derek had seen it happen once or twice while on look out during the war. He would switch with the other soldier the minute it started happening, knowing they would be struggling to keep one eye open instead of actually paying attention.

Mieczysław however did not bother trying to hide the fact that he was about to fall asleep. He was pressed against the window, his legs outstretched towards the empty aisle seat. His lips were slightly parted as he drew in a steady breath.

Had Derek known Mieczysław better, he would have draped his jacket over him.

Derek was trying to read the newspaper he had picked up from the station when the men clambered onto the bus. He looked up to watch the men, noticing how they carelessly bumped into people as they walked down the aisles. He didn’t care for the way the first one paused upon seeing that Mieczysław was alone. He set his newspaper down in the empty seat beside him when the first man signaled to the second one to sit beside Mieczysław.

Mieczysław startled when he felt a weight on the back of his seat. He turned to look at the man’s arms leaning on the headrest of his seat. He looked completely clueless as to what was happening. He sat up straight in his chair, snatching his coat and book up when the other man made no gesture to move Mieczysław’s belongings before sitting.

“So, where are you headed?”

“You’re pretty pale,” the man behind Mieczysław’s seat noted. He lifted Mieczysław’s hat off his head.

Mieczysław quickly took his hat back. “Please leave me alone.”

Derek could hear that Mieczysław was trying to hide his accent.

“Oh, a foreigner, huh?”

Mieczysław hugged his coat and book to his chest. He looked as if he had unfortunately grown accustomed to such behavior.

It suddenly clicked in Derek’s head.

Mieczysław was a carrier.

“You’re really attractive,” the guy next to Mieczysław commented. “We just thought we could have a nice time getting to know each other.” He placed his hand on Mieczysław’s knee.

Mieczysław smacked the man’s hand with his book, uncaring when the man swore at him.

“Fucking uptight breeders,” the guy behind Mieczysław snapped.

“Hey, fellas,” Derek quickly uttered, drawing attention with the sharpness of his tone. It had taken a moment for him to fall out of his stupor, realizing that the situation was escalating much to Mieczysław’s distress. “Leave him alone, alright?”

Mieczysław looked at Derek with wide but hopeful eyes.

In the end, the man had taken a wide swinging punch at Derek, who had happened to dodge it before breaking the second man’s nose. He took a step away from the men, avoiding them as they scrambled around.

Derek hadn’t been expecting to be evicted from the bus too. He gave both men a dirty look when they acted as if they were going to try and continue the fight now that they were off the bus. He looked back at the fleeting bus, seeing that Mieczysław had moved to the back window, watching after him. He sighed, deciding that walking to the city might actually do him some good for clearing his head.

~*~

Derek was starting to question just how much of what has happened he could write off as coincidence and not fate. He was still walking down the path when he caught sight of Mieczysław sitting on the side of the road. His walking slowed as he observed Mieczysław from a distance.

Mieczysław was sitting on his suitcase, his face pressed into the folded handkerchief in his hands. He was softly crying, his shoulders shaking with each tear he shed.

Derek walked towards Mieczysław, slowly to a stop beside him. “Should I start expecting you to appear in my life more often now?”

Mieczysław startled, looking up at Derek. He half heartedly attempted to wipe his tears away. “I’m sorry they kicked you off the bus,” he stated, his voice quiet against the empty space surrounding them.

“Those men should have left you alone,” Derek replied. He used his free hand to withdraw his pocket square from his jacket. He offered the dry cloth to Mieczysław.

Mieczysław took the cloth from Derek, using it to dab at his eyes now that his handkerchief was ruined.

“They didn’t kick you off the bus, did they?” Derek questioned.

“No, this is my stop,” Mieczysław replied.

Derek looked around them. “I’d say it’s a lovely place to live, but I don’t see a roof,” he commented.

Mieczysław stared up at Derek, a soft chuckle bubbling up from his chest as he recognized Derek’s joke. He gestured down the path. “My family’s vineyard is down this way,” he offered, folding Derek’s handkerchief as he looked down at it.

Derek watched Mieczysław stare down at the handkerchief. “If you don’t mind me prying,” he started, pausing a moment to give Mieczysław a chance to tell him to mind his own business. He continued when Mieczysław made no noise of disapproval, “You seem as if you don’t want to go home.”

Mieczysław shook his head. “He’s going to kill me,” he stated.

“Who?” Derek asked in concern.

“My father,” Mieczysław replied.

Derek tried to think of why anyone could possibly be angry with Mieczysław returning home. “It’s not the picture frame, is it? Because I could explain what happened—”

“No,” Mieczysław partially sobbed. He pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his trousers, offering it up to Derek.

Derek took the piece of paper with ease, cautiously unfolding it as he watched Mieczysław. He finally looked down at the paper, eyes scanning the written words.

“ I’m sorry to say that a free spirited man such as myself cannot fathom the idea of being tied down ,” Derek read the words aloud as he processed what they were detailing. “ To ask such a thing is as selfish a notion as any carrier could be capable of requesting — who wrote this?” He almost demanded, looking up at Mieczysław.

Mieczysław softly sobbed as he took the paper away from Derek. “My professor,” he answered in an ashamed tone.

Derek was confused by it all. “If your father is upset about this professor—”

“I’m pregnant!” Mieczysław loudly announced as he forced himself to stand up. “That is why my father will kill me. I went to college to better myself, and instead I allowed myself to be fooled by a lie.”

Derek frowned, having overheard a fair share of arguments about lovers trysts ending poorly. It was why he valued Paige for her honestly with him. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “But it’s a new life—surely your father will be happy to have a grandchild.”

Mieczysław softly shook his head. “He’ll find it to be an insult that I was so careless … to bring home a child and no husband,” he explained. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, though. He’ll know soon enough,” he sighed, offering Derek his handkerchief back. “Thank you, Derek, for your kindness.”

Derek took his handkerchief back from Mieczysław outstretched hand, aware of the way their hands brushed together. He lingered by the road side, watching as Mieczysław picking up his suitcase once more. “Wait!”

Mieczysław turned to look at Derek, a quizzical look bewildering his features.

“Miecz— Mischief,” Derek struggled with saying Mieczysław’s name.

Mieczysław couldn’t help the small smile on his lips. “You can call me Stiles,” he offered.

Derek sighed. “Stiles is certainly different than Mischief,” he stated.

“A nickname,” Stiles replied.

“Well, Stiles,” Derek started. “What if you brought home a husband?”

Stiles looked confused by Derek’s suggestion. “How could I do that? There is no one—”

“There’s me,” Derek replied.

“I— I couldn’t ask that of you,” Stiles began. “I already ruined your trip to San Francisco.”

“Maybe I was meant to be here,” Derek offered. “There seems to be a reason for me bumping into you on the train—exchanging our tickets. Getting kicked off the bus.”

“Those were all my fault,” Stiles dejectedly replied.

Derek shook his head. “Or it was fate knowing that you needed a husband for a day.”

“And what will you do?” Stiles challenged Derek. “Show up for dinner, spend the night and then flee in the morning?”

“When I realize I’m ‘ a free spirited man’ ,” Derek spoke with an exaggerated poshness in his voice.

Stiles softly laughed at that. “You’d do that—for a stranger?”

Derek shook his head. “You’re the first person to treat me like a human being instead of a uniform.”

“You’re very kind for trying to help me,” Stiles replied.

~*~

Derek took Stiles’ bag from him, adding the weight to his own. He kept a sure pace with Stiles, wondering where they were going down this dirt path.

“How did you manage?” Stiles asked as he walked beside Derek. “With the fighting, I mean. If you are okay with talking about it.”

Derek offered a small smile. “It’s alright, but I appreciate you asking,” he replied. “The key was to just shut off what you were thinking—to find yourself in a different mind.”

Stiles frowned.

“Then you process it afterwards,” Derek concluded.

Stiles looked at Derek as they walked alongside each other. “How did you do that without falling apart?”

“Barely,” Derek replied as he hiked his bag up on his shoulder. “I would write letters to my wife.”

“About what?” Stiles curiously asked.

“About what I wanted our lives to be like after the war,” Derek explained. “About our future—maybe a house and kids, even a dog. A better job … A family.”

Stiles smiled at that. “She must have cherished every word of them.”

Derek sighed. “I thought she would,” he sadly answered. His steps slowed when he saw the vineyard through the trees around the road. “Wow,” he uttered in disbelief.

Stiles turned to look at where Derek was looking now. He loved this view of the vineyard, being able to see all the trees, all the way to the original planting spot. “We call it The Clouds .”

“So this is home,” Derek uttered in near disbelief.

The vineyard was vast and expanded farther than Derek could see to the trees that lined the mountains. It was bigger than anything he’d seen, even in the ruins of the war.

Derek remembered the house he grew up in, knowing it was considered large for even the most simple of families. He knew his father’s work had been important, and that his mother’s family had money. He knew it all by the time he turned eighteen and was given his family’s trust fund. But it felt empty, as if touching the money his parents left him meant he came to terms with their loss. He barely touched the money, only to purchase the most necessary of things—it was in some of his letters to Paige, his admittance that he wanted to use the money to purchase a house for them to start a family. He knew now, though, that she never wanted to leave the city.

Derek cleared his throat as he set his and Stiles’ bags down. “If we’re going to do this, we should probably do it right, I imagine.” He reached for his bag, conscious of Stiles’ eyes on him as he undid the clasps. He unfastened the hidden compartment in the bag that still has his personal effects stowed away.

Many of the other soldiers in Derek’s unit called him superstitious. They would laugh when he tapped his helmet with the gun clip to prevent a misfire. They joked that Derek would never make it through a prayer whenever he paused before falling into the fray. They never asked about the rings on Derek’s dogtags though, knowing it held a different meaning than the rational precautions he took.

Even with the war over, Derek still took his dogtags with him, a constant reminder that he had been conditioned into a life of marking himself. He had his grandmother’s crucifix on the chain of his dogtags, along with his mother’s wedding ring.

Stiles watched as Derek took a ring off of a chain, catching sight of the dogtags. He looked at Derek as he was offered the ring, Derek’s hand outstretched.

“You’re going to need a ring if we’re to make it look real.”

Stiles started to shake his head when Derek took his hand. “That looks important,” he stated, almost closing his fingers before Derek could put the ring on.

Derek easily slipped the ring on Stiles’ finger. His stomach suddenly dropped and twisted with guilt. He knew Paige wanted the ring, but he was unwilling to allow it on another finger, knowing his mother could never be the one to hand it down.

Derek had only ever seeing it off the chain once before—when Paige put it on her finger his last leave before the war ended. They fought, and the ring went back on the chain.

And now the ring was on Stiles’ slender finger.

“It’s a traditional ring, and a bit more feminine,” Derek offered when he caught Stiles staring down at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Stiles softly stated. He looked up at Derek with a small smile. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Of all the outcomes Derek imagined, he never thought he would be staring down a rifle with Stiles hidden behind him.

“We’re unarmed,” Derek stated, his hands in a placating gesture as he took a step in front of Stiles.

Stiles reached a hand up, taking hold of Derek’s arm as he instructed him to lower his hands. “Hello, father,” he softly greeted the man holding the rifle.

Derek looked at the man, finally taking a moment to realize that it was the man from the photo Stiles had in his suitcase. He lingered beside Stiles, knowing this first impression was not the finest.

“Who are you?” Stiles’ father asked, looking Derek up and down.

Stiles took Derek’s hand in his, entwining their fingers together. “He’s my husband.”

Derek only felt marginally better that Stiles was holding his hand when he saw how angry Stiles’ father became at the declaration.

Stiles gripped Derek’s hand tightly as he lead them down through the vineyard and towards the house, following after Stiles’ father.

Derek held onto Stiles’ hand as they made their way into the house, his gaze momentarily distracted by how gorgeous that vineyard’s estate was. He allowed Stiles to pull him close, part of him wondered for whose sake Stiles was doing it for.

“This is unacceptable,” Stiles’ father angrily stated, handing his rifle off to one of the servants.

“How can you say that?” Stiles demanded, his grip on Derek’s hand tighter now. He now wasn’t so sure on how he would have faced his family if Derek hadn’t offered to help.

“You deliberately did this, didn’t you?” Stiles’ father accused.

“Now, wait a minute,” Derek started, interjecting where he thought a husband should.

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you,” Stiles’ father commanded. “You are in just as much trouble as him.”

“I came here with Stiles to meet his family—”

“You should have done that before marrying him,” Stiles’ father snapped. “Instead, you come here, as an insult!”

“John?” A feminine voice called through the bustling of the house, footsteps coming closer to them. An older woman rounded the corner, a look of surprise slowing her steps as she observed Derek and Stiles together.

“Melissa,” Stiles called to her as he turned away from his father. He released his hold on Derek, practically running into Melissa’s open arms. “Make him stop,” he pleaded.

“Stop what?” Melissa curiously asked, her gaze stopping on Derek. “What has your father done now?”

Stiles released Melissa in order to grab Derek’s hand again. “We’re married.”

Melissa’s eyebrows arched as she looked at Derek. “Well, that’s something you’ve done, Mieczysław.”

“He’s being rude to my husband,” Stiles accused of his father.

Melissa turned a critical eye on Stiles’ father. “John,” she started, her hands falling into place on her hips, as if she was used to the stance.

“They did this behind my back—without my permission,” John argued.

Melissa sighed, shaking her head. She looked at Derek. “Welcome to our home,” she started, offering her hand to Derek.

Derek shook her hand, catching sight of John recoiling at the sight.

“Melissa—”

“John, this may not be how you thought Mieczysław would marry, but it is how it happened,” Melissa simply stated, as if it was the most noncomplex thing.

Stiles turned a hardened glance at his father, waiting for him to recant.

“I don’t accept this,” John sharply stated, leaving the room without another word.

Stiles looked to Melissa.

Melissa shook her head. She took a step towards Stiles and Derek, gesturing for them to set their bags down to be handled. “You must be tired. Let’s get you situated so you can relax some before dinner.”

~*~

“I’m sorry,” Stiles softly stated as he turned to look at Derek. He watched Derek linger by the window overlooking the vineyard.

Derek turned his head away from the gorgeous sight of the endless fields, looking at Stiles once more. He took in Stiles’ appearance, noting that he had shed a few layers now that they weren’t traveling. “Sorry for what?”

Stiles sighed. “For my father,” he replied. “Now you see why I was so afraid to tell him.”

Derek frowned at that. “He’s upset with me mostly, I’m sure,” he offered.

“No, he sees me as a mistake,” Stiles weakly stated as he looked down at his hands in his lap.

Derek felt uncertain how to digest that. “Stiles, I’m sure that’s not it.”

Stiles shook his head. “He blames me for what happened to my mother,” he explained. “He’s never said it, but … he’s different now. Everyone says he’s different from when my mother was alive.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “So, Melissa isn’t your mother,” he concluded.

“My step-mother,” Stiles corrected Derek. “She was a governance for me after my mother passed. She married my father a few years ago.” He drew in a deep breath. “She’s the only one who can calm his anger.”

“He won’t … ” Derek sighed, wishing he didn’t have to ask. “He won’t hurt you after I leave, will he?”

Stiles looked at Derek with a puzzled expression on his face.

“He doesn’t beat you, does he?” Derek elected to ask.

Stiles’ eyes widened. “No, he wouldn’t do that,” he adamantly replied. “He may disown me, though I believe Melissa will talk him out of it.”

Derek sighed, moving to kneel in front of Stiles. He gently placed his hand on Stiles’ folded ones. “If I was your father, and my only child came home with a stranger they married, I’d be a little angry too.”

“No, you’d be too kind,” Stiles softly countered. He looked at Derek. “Just as you’ve been too kind to me.”

Derek offered a reassuring smile. “You deserve more than how that man treated you—and you deserve to have a happy life, filled with joy and love, for both you and the baby.”

Stiles looked at Derek, his eyes dashing across Derek’s face for something hidden in his words. He looked hopeful when he brushed his thumb over Derek’s knuckles, an intimate gesture that Derek accepted.

“I’m not sorry I’m here,” Derek offered. “I’m glad I can do this for you,” he uttered, finding himself surprised by his own admission.

“I’m lucky it was you I bumped into.” Stiles’ brow furrowed as he thought of the alternative. “Not many people would help someone with an accent,” he sadly added.

Derek looked at Stiles, his expression sunken when he saw how resigned Stiles looked. “Nobody should treat you poorly because of your accent.”

“Many people think I’m German,” Stiles explained. “They take offense to that.”

“Sometimes I think people forget that not all Germans are Nazis,” Derek commented. “They forget that the first place the Nazis invaded was Germany.”

Stiles released a heavy sigh. “You’re so different from so many Americans,” he stated as he looked at Derek.

“You’re American, aren’t you?” Derek questioned back.

“I do not speak as an American,” Stiles replied with a small smile.

“But you live and learn as one,” Derek answered. “And Americans have accents, so you do speak as one. Never let anyone tell you differently.”

“I’ve lived my whole life like this,” Stiles explained. “I can only hope my baby will have a different life.”

Derek frowned when he realized he couldn’t change anything. He was certain, however, that he was growing even more attached to Stiles and the baby the longer they spent together.

~*~

Stiles stared across the dinner table at Derek, his eyes large and unsettled, as if he was terrified of what would unfold. He kept looking from Melissa to his father, hoping that someone would say something to break the tension. His gaze fell on his grandmother, wondering if she took a side yet.

Stiles’ grandfather took hold of Stiles’ hand, inspecting the ring on his finger. “A beautiful ring for a beautiful spouse,” he smiled.

Stiles smiled at his grandfather. “Thank you, Grandpa.” He looked at Derek, catching his gaze.

“So, what do you do?” Grandpa suddenly asked as he proceeded to shake more and more salt into his soup.

Derek looked at Stiles before turning his attentions towards Grandpa. “I was a soldier,” he offered.

“I thought the war ended a year ago,” Grandma softly asked.

Stiles turned a glare at his grandmother.

“It did, but there was still a lot expected of us—I just got back last month,” Derek replied as he settled his napkin in his lap. “My battalion was one of those responsible for making sure POW exchanges happened without incident.”

Melissa looked somber as she looked at Derek. “They made you stay?”

Derek nodded. “If you were a noncombatant, or if you were stationed in a previously occupied country, they worked to have those that could stay maintain the peace.”

Stiles’ fist clenched tightly against his silverware. “I’m sure Derek would rather talk about something else.”

“Is he not proud of his work?” John asked Stiles.

Stiles glared at his father. “Perhaps it is not the best conversation over dinner.”

“I apologize for asking,” Grandpa sincerely stated. He reached for the salt again.

“No!” Grandma sharply stated, smacking Grandpa’s hand before snatching up the salt.

“My father lived until he was 102,” Grandpa declared as he turned a critical eye on his wife. “My grandfather? Until 106! They ate salt like a fish.”

Derek didn’t hide his smile as he watched the older couple bickering.

Stiles felt a small wave of adoration twist his stomach up in a knot as he watched Derek. He realized that he hadn’t seen Derek fully smile before, wondering how he would manage once never seeing it again after tonight. He pushed the thoughts away, chastising himself for falling for his own fabricated lie.

“Besides a soldier, what do you do?” John asked, breaking the peaceful moment.

Stiles looked at his father.

“Right now I’m a salesman,” Derek replied.

“A salesman,” John uttered, as if he was letting the word ruminate some.

“What do you sell?” Melissa asked.

“At the moment, chocolate,” Derek hesitantly answered, wishing he could give Stiles’ made up husband a better job. He thought it was better than being a professor seducing his students.

“I love chocolate,” Grandpa interrupted.

“No,” Grandma countered. She started to speak in their mother tongue, reprimanding her husband for indulging in such unhealthy things.

Derek smiled as he listened to her.

Stiles turned his head to the side as he observed Derek.

“Do you … understand Polish?” Melissa asked, having caught onto the same thing Stiles did.

Derek looked at Melissa. “Oh, some,” he honestly answered. “I had to learn the basics for the war.”

“Speaking to her is often like a war,” Grandpa remarked. “All she does is yell at me in Polish,” he lamented.

Derek smiled at that.

“And what basics does a soldier need to know?” John asked.

“Father,” Stiles sharply stated.

“You want me to get to know your husband, I am trying to get to know him,” John replied.

“Greetings,” Derek stated, cutting off the argument that was about to happen between Stiles and John. “Medical lingo, and … weaponry. I learned from the linguist we had with us—he would talk to himself more often than not. He actually gave me a dictionary when we were restationed.”

Stiles saw the pain Derek was hiding behind an uncaring mask—guilt, regret, uncertainty. He wished he had let Derek leave him to his family’s mercy.

“Your parents must be proud,” Melissa replied.

A flicker of unknown emotion passed Derek’s expression. He clenched and unclenched his hand a few times as he thought about what to say. “I … I wouldn’t know. I grew up in a home.”

Melissa appeared confused by Derek’s words.

Stiles knew what Derek meant, having seen the different orphanages in the city. He had volunteered a few times with some classmates, offering to spend time with the children. He found it sad, knowing that there were so many without families to call their own. It only made his choice in keeping the baby that much easier.

“A home, whose home?” John asked. “Did fairies raise you?”

Derek looked up at Stiles, his expression hardened before he looked at John. “An orphanage.”

“You have no past then,” John stated.

“John,” Melissa started, knowing a fight was about to happen.

“No past, and no future,” John critically uttered.

“You don’t know that,” Stiles snapped at his father. “You know nothing about what kind of man he is.”

“And you do?” John countered.

“I do,” Stiles vehemently stated. “I know he is a good man who treats people with respect. And that he wants a house, and a family, and a good job.”

“Like the one he has,” John uttered.

The room grew silent.

“I can’t speak for a lot of things,” Derek began, his voice breaking the silence. “But I can say that I do have a past,” he corrected John. He looked at Stiles before turning to look at his father. “My parents died in a house fire when I was twelve—that was why I grew up in an orphanage,” he pushed his chair back, gather his napkin in his hand to place on the table. “Excuse me,” he softly offered before leaving the room.

Stiles watched Derek go before turning a glare at his father. “I hope you’re happy,” he bitterly uttered as he stood up, throwing his napkin on the table. He hurried after Derek.

John dejectedly sighed, placing his own napkin on the table as he slouched in his chair, propping his head up in his hand.

~*~

Derek stood by the fountain, his hands on his hips as he calmed his breathing.

Stiles slowly approached Derek, watching him for a few moments in their shared silence.

“He doesn’t pull punches, does he?” Derek flatly asked.

Stiles took the last few steps towards Derek, reaching a timid hand out to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing for him,” Derek quickly stated, turning to look at Stiles. “I don’t blame you for him,” he explained.

“You have to deal with him because of me,” Stiles replied, moving to sit on the fountain’s edge. “I wish I could do something about it.”

“It meant a lot, what you said,” Derek answered Stiles’ uncertainty. “I haven’t had a lot of people stand up for me before.”

Stiles smiled up at Derek. “I meant it.”

“I don’t remember a lot about my family,” Derek offered. “But I remember, late at night, when I would sneak out to the roof of the orphanage, I’d wish on those stars to have them back.”

Stiles reached his hand out to hold onto Derek’s, catching sight of their rings next to one another’s. He hoped it was the comfort he meant it to be.

~*~

“Melissa, please,” Stiles almost begged, mortified as he hurried around the bed to help her. “We can sleep in my old room.”

“In that tiny bed?” Melissa laughed as she looked from Stiles to Derek. “You need room, Mieczysław.” She faintly smirked as she looked at Derek. “To maneuver. ”

Derek coughed to hide his laughter behind his hand.

“Melissa!” Stiles almost whined, a blush running high on his cheeks.

“Oh, I know this isn’t your first night together,” Melissa replied. “I like to think it is the beginning of forever, though.”

Stiles stood off to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Melissa fluff the pillow once more. His eyes turned to look at Derek as he watched Melissa walk over to him.

Melissa placed her hands on Derek’s shoulders, a smile on her lips. She reached a hand up to brush a thumb over Derek’s cheek. “Be good to one another,” she stated. “Cherish and love.”

Derek looked at Stiles as Melissa turned to leave.

Stiles released a sigh, offering a small shrug, hoping that Derek would find it more amusing than anything.

~*~

Derek tried to keep his back to Stiles out of respect as they got into their nightclothes. He focused on making a bed up by the fireplace, using one of the sheets from the bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay down there?” Stiles asked as he moved to get in bed.

“I’ve slept in worse spots,” Derek replied.

Stiles made a sound of understanding. He fiddled with the quilt as he watched Derek make his own bed. “I have to ask … do you really not like your job?”

Derek sighed. “Yes and no,” he honestly answered as he took one of the pillows from on top of the hope chest. “It’s a steady income, but not what I want. I had honestly hoped to find meaning on this trip, but it has proven complicated.”

Stiles snorted. “It doesn’t sound complicated,” he smiled as he spoke.

“Well, you’re not married,” Derek replied as he dropped the sheet on his makeshift bed. He stopped, his words suddenly hitting him. He turned to look at Stiles, seeing the frown on his lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, Stiles.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s alright,” he offered, his words sounded hurt.

“No, it’s not,” Derek replied.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Stiles countered. “It’s not a good time for me.”

“There is someone for everyone, Stiles,” Derek stated. “I believe that.”

Stiles looked up at Derek. “You’re a romantic, Derek Hale,” he stated with fondness.

Derek snorted out a laugh at that. “I suppose I am.” He moved the blankets he made into a bed, preparing to lay down when there was a knock at the door. He looked at the door than at Stiles.

“May I come in?” John’s voice questioned from the other side of the door.

Stiles gestured at Derek to get into bed with him. “One moment,” he quickly stated to delay his father as he watched Derek rush to pull the blankets to the bed and climb in.

Derek sat against the headboard, dropping the blankets to hide next to the bed.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm to lift up, falling in against his chest.

Derek settled his arm around Stiles, finding it oddly comforting how perfect Stiles fit beneath his arm.

Stiles turned his head to look at his father when the door opened.

John stood in the doorway as he looked at both Stiles and Derek. He looked stiff and uncertain. “Melissa asked me to wish you good night,” he explained, as if he had to announce that it was not his idea.

“Thank you, papa,” Stiles replied.

“Thank you, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek echoed Stiles’ words.

John paused as he caught sight of a piece of the blanket by the bed. His brow furrowed, knowing that something was off. Despite his gut feeling, he turned and left them.

Both Derek and Stiles remained silent for a couple of beats.

“Do you think he suspects?” Derek whispered.

Stiles frowned. “I’m not sure,” he answered.

“Does the door have a lock?” Derek asked, as if it was the only plausible solution.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles quietly answered.

“I should probably stay in the bed then,” Derek concluded.

Stiles nodded against Derek’s shoulder.

“Just in case,” Derek added in an attempt to convince himself.

“Of course,” Stiles replied in a gentle tone. He looked up at Derek, only a small space between their faces. His eyes flickered up and down Derek’s face, catching sight of Derek’s eyes falling to his lips.

“Good night,” Derek quickly stated, reluctantly lifting his arm from around Stiles.

Stiles sat back onto his side of the bed. “Good night,” he echoed.

~*~

The flashbacks played out like fractured film reels.

Derek could still hear the music box playing, as if it was fighting the fire burning its gears as it slowly churned out its tune.

The smell of burned wood was hidden by the stench of the flamethrower burning through gas.

Derek saw the words in French, knowing it was the label of an orphanage. He had been separated from his group, trying to find a way back through the rubble of the practically demolished French town. He stumbled on the orphanage by mistake.

Derek stood completely still in the room, his eyes stuck on the unmoving body of a child sitting propped against the trunk.

The child was no older than ten, his arm wrapped around the teddy bear he had pressed against his chest. He wore an unidentified soldier’s helmet. There was blood splattered over his clothes, staining the teddy bear, from bullet holes in his chest.

Derek wondered if someone spotted him, thinking he was an enemy soldier—firing without warning. He wondered how many innocents he killed doing the same thing. The darker alternative was that someone acted out orders with the intent to clear out the orphanage, regardless of its occupants.

Derek heard his name being yelled, his head turning slowly to look at the person yelling.

The clink of metal hitting the wooden floorboards was deafening, the sound of latched pin releasing.

Derek saw the grenade rolling to a stop just seconds before it detonated.

~*~

Derek’s scream likely woke the entire villa.

Derek was sitting up, his hands clutching the sheet tightly as he tried to calmly breath as the doctors had told him. They said he’d have to push through it—to ignore whatever pain it was and forget it now that he was home.

He’d never forget it.

It took a second for Derek to realize that someone was touching him, concerned hands gently gripping his shoulders.

Stiles’ hands were rubbing calming circles into Derek’s back when his tremors subsided.

“It’s okay,” Stiles softly stated. “Were they dreams?”

Derek shook his head, pressing a hand against his forehead where his headache was starting to pierce his skull. “A nightmare.”

Stiles rubbed his hand over Derek’s shoulderblades. “Do you want to talk?”

Derek drew in a steady breath. “I’ve never … ” He shook his head. He had tried to talk to Paige about it, but those conversations always ended abruptly. “I’ve tried to talk to people, but … nobody wants to hear about what happened over there.”

Stiles’ chin grazed against Derek’s shoulder as he rubbed his hands up and down Derek’s shoulders in a calming manner. “I don’t know what happened over there,” he honestly stated. “But if talking will help, I will listen.”

Derek drew in a steady breath, unsure of himself. “I saw things that I’ll never unsee,” he offered. “Casualties of war,” he elaborated.

Stiles was quiet for a moment before asking, “Casualties, or people?”

“People,” Derek honestly replied. “Children caught in the crossfire, and no one in a position of doing a goddamn thing cared enough.” He shook his head. “They gave me a medal,” he admitted, his anger and bitterness finally surfacing freely for the first time. “Courage under fire, they said.” He shook his head.

Stiles was silent as he let Derek work through the words.

“Children were killed, and I got a medal,” Derek stated.

Stiles was about to speak when the vineyard’s bell began ringing.

Derek turned to look out the window, hearing others rushing outside to follow after the bells clanging. “What is it?”

“Frost,” Stiles stated in a panic, slipping out of bed in a hurry. “Please, follow me,” he urged, knowing they would need all the help they could muster.

Derek was relieved to leave his dream behind, leaving the bed and following after Stiles.

~*~

Derek allowed Stiles to pull him down the dirt path between the vines, knowing he would be lost without the guidance.

Stiles walked with a confidence Derek had yet to see in him. He took practiced steps, weaving between different rows until they came to crowd around with everyone else. He was sure in his movements, as if he could walk through the vineyard blindfolded and emerge without disturbing a single vine.

Derek allowed their hands to linger together as they waited for John to instruct them.

John paused when he saw Derek.

Stiles gave his father a hardened glare, taking a side step closer to Derek as if to make his point.

“If you’re here, you’re here to work,” John gruffly stated as he handed large fan-like objects to Stiles.

“Just show me what to do,” Derek stated.

“The vineyard is in jeopardy, and you want me to stop and show you,” John huffed out. He gestured at Stiles. “Just copy his movements—surely you are capable of that.”

Stiles offered two of the objects to Derek. “Here, like wings,” he explained as he slipped his arm through the cloth, holding onto the frame. He moved his arms with ease, as if he had wings all along. He walked down the dirt path, his arms rotating to catch the smoke of the lit stoves. He pushed the smoke down, towards the grapes. He turned his head to see if Derek needed help. He was surprised to find Derek staring at him.

Derek caught him, forcing his feet and arms to move as he copied Stiles’ motions. Perhaps he got too close, but the temptation to be in Stiles’ presence grew by the moment. He could blame the feeling of deliriousness on his lack of sleep, but he knew his desire for this fictional life with Stiles was real now.

And if John’s face spoke the truth as he watched them, Derek was obvious in his wants.

~*~

Derek felt strange, as if he was forgetting something as he walked out of the villa the next morning. He paused, looking back up the stairs. He knew he had only left Stiles upstairs, but something was screaming at him that he forgot something important and couldn’t leave yet.

“You’ll stay for the harvest, won’t you?”

Derek turned to face the person who spoke, catching sight of Stiles’ grandfather sitting at the drawing table. He took a few steps closer to the man. “I have a bus I need to catch,” he explained.

“Ah, but for what?” Grandpa questioned as he plopped another chocolate into his mouth.

Derek took a closer look at the case on the drawing table, realizing that it was his chocolate samples. “Well, to sell those,” he admitted as he gestured towards the box.

Grandpa looked at the box then at Derek. “They’re very good,” he stated.

“Well, I made a promise to go to San Francisco to represent them,” Derek explained.

“But what about your promise here, to us?” Grandpa asked. “Didn’t you marry my grandson with the intent on being family?”

Derek opened his mouth to argue, but found his words dying on his tongue.

“Besides, I ate them all,” Grandpa declared as he stood up, walking over to Derek.  He took Derek’s bags from his hands, calling for one of the servants. “You will stay for the harvesting festival.”

“Sir, please,” Derek pleaded, though he let the man take his bag from him.

“You know,” Grandpa started as he shooed the servant away. “My son says that you won’t stay,” he bluntly stated as he turned to face Derek. “I figured you were the type of man to prove him wrong.”

Derek took in a deep breath, turning his head to look at the stairs when he heard someone coming down them. He looked back at Grandpa. “It’s just the one day?”

Grandpa smiled. “Unless you wish to stay for more,” he happily declared. “You are an orphan no longer, my boy. Come, come. We will harvest these grapes, and you will get a taste of tradition.” He clapped his hand on Derek’s shoulder, drawing the younger man in close as he lead them outside.

~*~

Stiles seemed pleasantly surprised when he saw Derek walking up the rows of the vineyard with his grandfather. He straightened his shirt some, fixing his hat to rest on his head correctly.

“Look who is staying,” Grandpa announced to Stiles, offering his grandson a kiss on the cheek before turning to oversee a few of the workers.

“I thought you had a bus to catch,” Stiles prompted.

Derek shrugged. “Your grandfather ate all my chocolate,” he stated.

Stiles chuckled at that. “That sounds right,” he answered.

“Besides, I couldn’t leave on the most important day,” Derek concluded.

Stiles smiled up at Derek. “Thank you.”

John stopped by Stiles when he realized it was Derek who was talking to his son. “You came back for something?”

“I’m here to help,” Derek answered.

John narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have time to show you,” he stated, handing Stiles a curved knife. “Show him what you can, and make sure he doesn’t get blood in the wine.”

Stiles took the two knives from his father. He offered one to Derek.

“I think he likes me,” Derek stated.

Stiles laughed as he started to walk down the hill. He turned to look back at Derek over his shoulder, smiling at him.

Derek wasn’t sure when his feet started moving to follow after Stiles.

~*~

Stiles was a vision of happiness—incandescent joy shining in his laugh and radiating in his smile. He looked at home, dancing alongside the others as he partook in his family’s harvest tradition. He had grabbed Derek’s hand, pulling him towards the large wooden structure everyone had been tossing the grapes into after they finished picking them.

Derek could only smile back at Stiles when they looked at each other. He clapped his hands in time with the others as the music continued. He laughed when Stiles lost his footing and almost fell down into the grapes.

Derek never imagined that the others would push and toss him into the middle of it all, pleasantly surprised when he managed to fall into the dancing line with the others. He found himself spun around, stepping into the middle as he came face to face with an out of breath Stiles. He steadied Stiles as the younger man almost fell over from laughter. He couldn’t help his own smile.

Stiles looked up at Derek, smiling at him. His gaze grew unsure as Derek’s smile lessened. His lips parted in apology, ready to tell Derek he didn’t mean to get confused—that they could tell the truth and split ways now if he had crossed a line.

All that was wiped away when Derek’s lips silenced Stiles’ words before he could start.

And for a split moment, everyone else didn’t matter.

It was vulnerable and open, with adoration and hope that there was something real hidden beneath everything.

Stiles folded into Derek, his hands tightly clutching Derek’s arms in order to keep himself steady as he opened into their kiss.

Melissa nudged John with her elbow, making the older man realize he was smiling at the sight before them. She turned her head to the side, trying to gage her husband’s response.

John shook his head, his smile disappearing.

~*~

The orphanage wasn’t new or quite large, but the nuns cared for the children as best they knew how.

Derek never remembered going to church with his family—he couldn’t recall if his grandmother’s crucifix held any meaning beyond sentimentality. He had no love for the necklace of St. Jerome the sisters had given him, and he had no love for God—not when the pain of his loss weighed heavy and raw on his heart.

Every Sunday the sisters made him pray, regardless. They never told Derek what to pray for, or who to pray to. The first months, Derek’s mind was empty of thoughts or prayers for God to hear on those Sundays.

When Derek got into his first fight in the orphanage, Sister Mary sat him in the pew of the church and pressed a bible into his hand.

Read and find salvation in the Lord’s words.

Derek read the bible cover to cover. It took him almost the whole day.

He never understood the jubilation people beheld when they read the bible; the type of profound love and spirituality that avoided Derek.

But Derek understood it now.

Stiles looked like how those people spoke about a passage from the bible—something otherworldly, completely hallowed and brightly lit up by the glow of the setting sun. It caught Derek’s breath, forcing him back to those Sundays the nuns would make them spend in the rectories to pray for a better future.

Derek couldn’t remember what he prayed for on those days, but he knew he’d never imagine to pray for something as good and pure as Stiles.

When Derek kissed Stiles, it was like confessing every sin he carried from the war. He felt lighter, as if he finally was coming home.

Once they reached the bedroom, their hands reached for one another again as their lips came back together in a kiss. Their bodies pressed together as they lingered in the stolen moment longer than they should have.

Derek kissed Stiles like it was the last time he’d draw breath—slow and deliberate in order to experience it fully.

Stiles’ hands gripped Derek’s shirt, pulling on the fabric as he tried to keep Derek’s body pressed against his own. His fingers slipped the buttons undone, pulling the material loose from tucked away in Derek’s trousers. He kissed Derek with a fever he didn’t think he’d experience ever again—the giddiness of something new and exciting lighting up his senses. He softly moaned in surprise when Derek lifted him up in his arms, caring him over to their bed.

Derek’s hands caressed Stiles’ body, running along his sides and down his legs as he draped Stiles over the bed, settling between his open thighs. Derek kissed Stiles deeply, losing himself in his moment of want, completely weak from struggling with rejecting his heart’s desire. He pressed his body down against Stiles’, both of them breathily moaning as they canted their hips together in much needed friction.

Stiles wrapped his leg partially around Derek’s hip, trying for a better angle for them both. He pulled at the tank top beneath Derek’s open shirt, his hands pulling the material up. He touched Derek’s stomach, his hands brushing up over his skin until his hand settled over Derek’s heart. His hand lingered for a moment, a subconscious uncertainty that Derek’s heart was following their passion.

Stiles cursed himself for pausing when he was suddenly left cold in the bed. His hands fell away from under Derek’s shirt, his leg dropping from around Derek’s hip. He slowly sat up, looking at Derek’s back now as he watched the older man run his hands through his hair—the glint of Derek’s wedding ring catching his eye. He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees as his stomach started to twist with disgust at himself.

“I can’t tell you how much I want you, Stiles,” Derek stated with a hard edge to his voice. He ran his hand over his face, pressing his palm firmly over his mouth to get rid of the lingering taste of Stiles’ lips.

It was the cold graze of the wedding ring on Stiles’ finger that made Derek remember where he was—who he was with. Paige wasn’t wearing her ring when he came home, or when he left.

It was a sobering reminder.

“But I won’t hurt you that way,” Derek finally stated as he turned to finally look at Stiles. “Because it would only be for a day.”

Stiles refused to look up Derek, knowing that the tears would only come harder then.

“I’m sorry,” Derek concluded before he turned and left the room, anger burning his insides as he cursed himself.

Derek wanted to stay and keep walking among the clouds with Stiles. But reality was much crueler. He would leave tomorrow, and never see Stiles or his family again. His heart grew heavy with regret, never realizing he would come to love their lie.

Nothing, however, would change the fact that Derek was married, and Stiles wasn’t his husband.

~*~

“I have to catch my bus,” Derek pleaded with Stiles’ grandma as he followed her circling around the laundry bucket. He had a strained muscle in his neck from sleeping in the chair downstairs, and his heart still hurt from how Stiles looked when they last spoke. He suffered another nightmare, one that ended with him yelling Stiles’ proper name.

He had to get his head out of the clouds, and that meant the next bus leaving the station within an hour.

“It smells,” Grandma argued as she walked around the washing board, keeping the uniform just out of Derek’s reach.

“I know,” Derek answered with a small laugh.

“You need to just stay, then,” Grandma countered.

“I have to—”

“You have no chocolates left to sell, my husband ate them,” Grandma concluded before triumphantly tossing Derek’s uniform into the washing.

Derek sighed, looking at the older woman. “You’ve been able to speak English this whole time, haven’t you?”

Grandma smirked. “I prefer Polish,” she replied. “The heart chooses what it likes, no?”

Derek released a gentle laugh. “I suppose.”

“And your heart clearly chooses to stay, no?” Grandma asked.

Derek looked up at her, knowing he couldn’t lie to the woman.

Grandma nodded her head. “Then you stay. And have a clean uniform.”

Derek faintly smiled as he watched her leave him behind. He paused in following her when he saw Stiles making his way towards the car. He watched Stiles, knowing the fondness he has started to feel for the other man was turning into a much deeper emotion—one that was becoming impossible to hide.

Stiles sharply gasped, clutching at his stomach as he fell against the car.

Derek dropped his bags, running over to Stiles immediately. He put his arms around Stiles to ease him back into a sitting position on the lip of the fountain. “What’s wrong?” He asked in concern.

“Nothing,” Stiles answered, his arms shaking as he gripped Derek’s arms for support.

“Let me help you,” Derek began.

“No,” Stiles protested. “You’ll miss your bus,” he added.

“I can’t leave you like this—”

“And what about tomorrow?” Stiles sharply countered as he turned his head to look at Derek. “And the day after that? And the next?” He shook his head. “You have a wife to go home to. You can’t help me anymore, Derek.” He stood up out of Derek’s hold.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek started as he reached for him.

Stiles ripped his arm out of Derek’s hold. “Stop it!” He frowned shaking his head as he tried to avoid shedding the tears burning his eyes. “I’m not your problem, Derek. So please, just stop.” He turned and ran towards the store cellar.

Derek took a deep breath. “Not my problem,” he repeated. “Not … my problem,” he ran a hand over his face. “Shit,” he loudly cursed as he turned to run after Stiles. “Stiles!” He called after him as he entered the cellar. He looked around puzzled, completely unsure where Stiles could have run off to.

“My son appears to love you,” John’s voice bitterly called from above Derek.

Derek turned to look up at the rafters, seeing John standing on the catwalk above the aging barrels.

“But the more I see you together, the more I realize that you don’t belong here,” John concluded.

“I think we’ve established that I stopped caring about your opinion,” Derek tiredly stated.

“I don’t believe this,” John shook his head. “You’ve been acting strange, the both of you. I’ve seen no wedding certificate, nothing but a lie told to me. I know there is something wrong with you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Derek demanded, anger boiling in his heart.

“You’ll never be part of this family,” John sharply stated.

“For the years I was at war, to do what I had to do,” Derek took a second, shaking his head as he refused to think back on it. “I had to shut myself off,” he firmly stated, turning to look at John. “What is your excuse?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John demanded.

“For shutting your son out,” Derek sharply stated. “Can’t you see how amazing he is—how alive? For all my life I dreamed of having a family as loving and caring as yours. Why can’t you love him? It’s so easy to love him,” he admitted. “Everything he is, and everything he does.”

“This vineyard, everything here, is a constant job,” John angrily started. “I do this for my family—I love my family.”

Derek shook his head. “Then you should show them.”

Stiles pressed against the wine barrel to stay hidden, his eyes burning with tears as he tried to slow the rapid beating of his heart.

~*~

Derek thanked the ticket booth attendant when he purchased his ticket, offering a kind nod of his head when the man commented on his uniform. He decidedly joined next to the other servicemen, hoping a group would deter people from picking him to give their thanks to. He stood on the balcony, looking down at the people as they passed through the arch beneath them. He heard the music and knew that the festival would be well underway before his bus even arrived.

In truth, he hoped he’d get to see Stiles one last time.

Derek still had a headache from the night before, the brandy proving to be a great deal stronger than what he was used to overseas. He knew Stiles’ grandfather did it on purpose, trying to prevent him from leaving. He felt the fool to be singing under the window, waiting for Stiles to turn the light on. He was thankful he came to his senses before a worse outcome occurred.

Derek was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the crowd cheering new arrivals, watching as the Stilinskis ceremoniously rode through the arch, coming to the festival grounds. He leaned against the railing as he watched them grace the wine before testing it. He wasn’t shocked when his eyes connected with Stiles’ own.

Derek walked down the stairs as everyone started to disperse. He stood beneath the archway, looking out at Stiles’ family. Part of him wanted to stay, feeling that pull. He lingered longer than he should have.

Stiles took a timid step forward, relieved when Derek turned to look at him. He hesitated, turning the glasses in his hands. He looked down at the wine in his glasses before looking back at Derek. He had wished it could have been real—that they could have been real.

Derek turned his body to face Stiles completely. His bags felt like heavy weights in his hands, as if the longer he held them, the harder it was to hold on. He dropped the bags down to the ground, standing up straighter when Stiles came closer.

“Your serenading was beautiful last night,” Stiles softly commented as he stared up at Derek, a sorrowful tinge of sadness in his words. He had been amused at hearing his grandfather drunkenly singing, and even more so when he realized Derek was the other voice in the duet. He tried to hide his disappointment at knowing Derek was leaving as he offered a small smile, extending one of the glasses to Derek. “Would you share a toast with me?”

Derek reached a hand out to take the glass from Stiles, conscious of the way their hands brushed against one another’s. “What will we toast to?”

Stiles felt ashamed as he looked away from Derek’s gaze, his eyes falling down to the medals pinned to Derek’s uniform. “To what if,” he gently spoke the words as he looked back up at Derek.

Derek weakly nodded his head, the words cutting as deep as he expected they would. “To what if, then.”

Stiles’ eyes did not leave Derek as he drank what was in his glass. He tried to ignore the bitterness he felt in his stomach.

“There you are,” John’s voice interrupted them.

Derek turned to look at John, catching the way the older man looked at the ranks and medal stripes on his uniform. He felt a little taller with the recognition of valor going unbragged.

“Father,” Stiles began, wanting to stop him before he started. He paused when he saw that his father brought the pastor with him.

“This is my new son-in-law,” John stated as he gestured towards Derek.

Derek shook the pastor’s hand.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” the pastor offered. “John had been telling us a great deal.”

“Papa,” Stiles softly protested, a look of distress taking over his features.

“I can be proud, can I not?” John simply countered.

Stiles paled some, wishing now that he had not tricked his father when he saw the genuine humility in his features.

“I must know, when did you marry?” The pastor asked, smiling as he looked from Derek to Stiles.

“Just in September,” Stiles replied, wanting to make sure he had a month that would please his father’s curiosity.

“What church?”

“We weren’t married with any religious oversight,” Stiles quickly stated.

“Oh,” the pastor appeared disappointed.

“We could fix that, actually,” John replied. “Stiles once told his mother he couldn’t wait for his ceremony,” he added as if to explain to Derek.

Stiles grabbed his father’s arm when John started to turn to everyone else. “Papa—”

“Tonight, there will be a celebration,” John announced. “A welcoming home and celebration of my son, and new son-in-law. And I will take it as a personal insult if you do not attend.”

Derek was shocked by John’s apparent change of heart. “Sir, please, that’s not necessary,” he pressed when he saw how defeated Stiles looked.

“Family is family,” John stated. “I believe you were the one who said I should show it,” he added, offering Derek a small nod of his head before he turned to usher the pastor after him.

Stiles stared after his father. “I had wished, for years, that he would be more like this,” he admitted. He shook his head, “I’ll have to tell him now.”

“I can tell him I’m annulling our marriage—”

“No,” Stiles looked up at Derek. “I need to tell him.”

Derek frowned, knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing to change Stiles’ mind. There was nothing to be done.

“I never told you that night,” Stiles started, his voice small and uncertain if his words were welcomed. “But I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.” He looked up at Derek. “And you deserved that medal, but not those dreams. I just … I didn’t know if someone told you that, but I thought you should hear it. And you’ve inspired me to not be afraid anymore.”

Stiles looked down at his hand where the ring was still on his finger. He bent down to set the empty glass next to his foot, standing up to twist the ring off of his finger. He extended his hand out to Derek, offering it to him.

Derek slowly reached his hand up, allowing Stiles to drop the ring into his hand. He looked at his mother’s ring, feeling a strange emptiness at it no longer being on Stiles’ finger.

“Thank you,” Stiles softly uttered. “I won’t forget you or your kindness.”

Derek reached out to grab Stiles’ arm in an attempt to stop him from leaving. “Wait,” he stated as he reached for his bag. He pulled out the decorative box the military had given him after the medal had been pinned on his uniform. He opened the box to show Stiles the medal nestled inside. “For you, and the baby,” he offered.

Stiles reached a hand up, his fingers touching the bronze metal that had been molded into the decorative medal. He looked up at Derek, his brow furrowed as he accepted the box. “You really are unlike anyone else I’ve ever met, Derek Hale,” he replied as tears welled in his eyes. He took a step towards Derek, pressing a soft kiss to Derek’s cheek before ducking away.

Derek watched Stiles walking over to John and his grandparents. He tightened his hold on his mother’s ring when Stiles took John gently by the arm.

Stiles paled as he spoke, tears brimming his eyes when he father didn’t say anything.

Melissa touched John’s arm to try and gain his attention, frowning when her husband pulled away.

Stiles cried when his grandfather pulled him into a hug after John walked away without a word.

Derek forced himself to pick up his bags, turning to head for his bus. His mother’s ring cut into his palm as he walked towards the bus. His heart was heavy with regret as he boarded the bus.

~*~

Derek awoke from his dream gently, his heart beating calmly in his chest, with no scream clawing its way up his throat. He looked around him, noticing the bus stop he had been delayed in switching over. He knew he was still close to the vineyard—close enough for it to plague his thoughts with ideas of returning.

“Nice dream, huh?”

Derek looked at the man next to him, confused by his question. “Excuse me?”

“You were mumbling, kid,” the man replied as he flipped to the next page in his newspaper.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Derek offered as he sat up straighter on the bench. He looked at the ticket booth, catching sight of the phone next to it. “Did I say anything interesting?” He knew he screamed most times, but something was different this time.

“You said ‘mischief’ a few times, but nothing too entertaining,” the man answered.

Derek looked at the man. “Mischief?”

The man made an affirming sound. “You sounded pleased about it.”

Derek thought back to his dream. It was the orphanage again, but something changed—there was no gunfire this time; no grenade detonating; no child.

Child.

There was a child, and someone else. Both of them were there, walking with Derek.

“Mieczysław,” Derek softly spoke Stiles’ name.

“Yeah, that was it,” the man stated. “Funny way to say mischief,” he spoke to himself.

“Sir, you wouldn’t happen to have change on you that I could have for the phone, do you?” Derek quickly asked.

The man made a slight disgruntled sound as he folded his paper, ruffling through his pockets in order to find the change he had gotten from the paperboy. “Here you go,” he uttered as he dropped some coins in Derek’s hand.

“Thank you,” Derek gratefully stated as he stood up.

The man waved his hand at Derek, ushering him to go on.

Derek ran over to the phone, inserting the coins before asking the operator to connect him to his apartment. His stomach twisted with every ring before Paige’s voice greeted him.

“Paige,” Derek started, suddenly his words falling short.

“Derek?” Paige sounded uncertain. There was rustling and then the phone being shuffled about. “You were supposed to be home already,” she flatly stated.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Derek replied.

“I need to talk to you about something, too,” Paige replied, her voice soft and almost whispering.

“Why are you whispering?” Derek questioned as he checked his watch—it was well into the morning.

Paige was silent for a beat. “I’m with someone,” she plainly stated.

Derek stared at the phone’s numbers, trying to process what he just heard. “You’re seeing someone else? We’re married still,” he stated more for his own benefit, confused as to why they were still trying to be together.

“We rushed into things, Derek,” Paige tiredly stated, as if she had the argument with herself already. “I read your letters, like you’ve been asking, and I just … that’s not what I want.”

Something opened in Derek’s chest, the tension suddenly disappearing.

“I don’t think I even want kids,” Paige admitted. “And I don’t really like dogs,” she added as an afterthought. “It made me realize we were completely different people. And then things just … happened.”

A silence started to grow between them.

“I went to town hall and got the paperwork for an annulment,” Paige explained. “We can be friends, Derek,” she offered. “I do care about you, I just … that’s not what I want in life.”

“Yeah,” Derek replied.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” Paige gently pressed. “I’ve been torn up over this, and wanted to do this in person.”

“Don’t be torn up,” Derek replied. “I’ve … I’ve had a really complicated trip, Paige,” he partially laughed.

“You’re not mad then?” Paige asked.

“No, I’m not,” Derek stated. “I … I actually kissed someone a few times.”

“Wow,” Paige blankly stated into the phone. “We’re bad at this,” she softly laughed.

Derek laughed with her, shaking his head. “I like the idea of still being friends.”

“Friends that have seen each other naked,” Paige replied.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Derek partially smiled into the phone.

A quiet beat, and then Paige asked, “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek honestly answered as he pulled his mother’s ring from his pocket. “I really am.”

~*~

Stiles was helping Melissa clean the plates from dinner, moving in a mechanical motion as he wiped clean each dish Melissa handed him. He startled when one of the dishes slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.

He bent down to reach for the broken pieces. “I’m sorry—”

“Sweetheart, don’t move, you’ll cut yourself,” Melissa instructed him, voice as soft and motherly as if Stiles was still just a child.

“I mess everything up,” Stiles weakly stated, tears suddenly coming easily to him.

“Oh, stop that,” Melissa lightly chastised him as she took his arms and lead him away from the mess.

Stiles sat down in the chair, pressing his face into his hands. “I hate myself for hurting father,” he cried. “I hate that I started to believe my own lie!”

“Come now,” Melissa began as she offered a handkerchief to Stiles. She moved to take care of the broken dish as she spoke, “We all saw how you and Derek were together, and it was obvious to everyone that you adore one another.”

“He has a wife,” Stiles bitterly snapped. “Some perfect woman, who he wants to build a life with. And I tried to weasel my way in.”

“You said he offered to help you,” Melissa countered.

“I really liked him,” Stiles weakly confessed.

Melissa turned to look at Stiles, frowning as she watched him pick at the handkerchief in his hands.

“Mieczysław!”

Stiles startled, looking up at Melissa to confirm that he wasn’t hearing things.

Melissa turned to look out the kitchen window. “Well, if he has a wife, he clearly doesn’t care anymore,” she stated when she saw that it was in fact Derek running down past the rows of grapes and towards the villa.

“Derek,” Stiles softly spoke his name as he rushed out of his seat, running out of the kitchen.

Melissa smiled, shaking her head as she dropped what she had of the broken plate into the sink before following after Stiles.

~*~

“Who the hell do you think you are?” John demanded. “Coming here after what you did—”

Derek was impatient with having been stopped by John. He was almost to the house when John came out with a rifle pointed directly at him. “Mr. Stilinski, I know you’re mad—”

“Mad?” John incredulously demanded. “That is not even the beginning of what I am.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Grandma chastised from the door. “Let him in, Jonathan!”

“We welcomed him last time, and he broke Mieczysław’s heart,” John rationalized.

Derek shook his head, looking to the side of the villa for a different way in. “Mieczysław!”

“Don’t you speak his name,” John snapped at Derek.

Derek ignored John as he shouted, “Stiles!”

John used the barrel of the rifle to push against Derek’s chest. “Get off my land. Now!”

“I’m not going anywhere until I see him—”

“You’re already married!” John shouted at him.

“I’m getting an annulment,” Derek snapped back at John. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down in order to placate John. “I love your son. That is why I came back.”

“It’s not your child,” John pressed.

“It will be if he’ll still have me for his husband,” Derek calmly replied.

“Wait!” Stiles’ voice shouted. “I love him! Wait!” He yelled at his father when he saw that John was pointing his rifle at Derek. He ran to Derek, wrapping his arms around him as he held him close. “Papa, please,” he pleaded as he tried to catch his breath. He was thankful for Derek’s arms around him. “I love him, please,” he added.

“For the love of— John, put the gun down!” Melissa yelled at him.

John lowered his rifle, taking a step back.

Stiles looked up at Derek, still trying to figure out why he came back. He didn’t care if his family stayed or not, he was content with having his arms around Derek again.

“I couldn’t leave without telling you,” Derek began, reaching a hand in his pocket to retrieve his mother’s ring. “This ring belonged to my mother,” he offered as he held it up to Stiles’ hand. “I’ve never wanted to let anyone else wear it, but it felt wrong taking it off your finger.”

Stiles looked down at the ring, shaking his head out of confusion. “You have a wife,” he weakly countered, his hands reluctantly slipping away from Derek.

“That’s the thing,” Derek paused, looking up at Stiles as he took hold of his hands. “I’m getting an annulment.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “You mean … ”

“Meeting you on that train was the best thing to ever happen to me, Mieczysław,” Derek stated in earnest. “And I want to marry you, and build a family together.” He held the ring up to the tip of Stiles’ ring finger. “If you’ll teach me.”

Stiles sobbed out a joyful laugh as he slipped his finger through the ring. He pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck.

~*~

Before Stiles, Derek never would have known what it meant to forgive and to live without regret. It was a gift greater than anything Derek could ever give back.

No more nightmares. No more guilt.

They lived a life walking among the clouds together.