Work Text:
Inspired by Taylor Swift's Midnights album
'Cause karma is my boyfriend
Karma is a god
Derek stumbled through the dark streets, only the light of the bright full moon above guiding him past the quiet buildings of the town. His eyes were unseeing, his mind miles away, fixed upon his family's home on the outskirts of their small town. He had said his goodbyes before he left to hunt as the sun rose that morning, but he never imagined the carnage he would find when he returned in the afternoon. His family had been slaughtered in their home, their bodies bleeding and cold across their property. No one was spared; from his grandmother to his youngest sister, everyone was slain. The Argent crest was painted upon their front door, as if Derek needed to be told who had committed this atrocity. He knew there might be repercussions when he refused the hand of Gerard Argent's eldest daughter, Kate, but he never imagined it would result in the deaths of his family.
The summer sun set upon him and the full moon rose as he dug into the soft soil and laid his family to rest. Splattered with the blood of his loved ones and the dirt of their graves, Derek walked along listlessly, no direction in mind and no one he could call upon for help, for fear of the Argents' retaliation. Once words spread of his family's demise, the townspeople would keep well away from him. If the Argents didn't find him first and murder him as well.
His knees buckled as his exhaustion finally overwhelmed him, sending him sprawling onto the ground at the bottom of some marble stairs. Looking up in confusion, Derek realized he had made his way to the temple of the old gods. Derek was not particularly devout, but his mother and grandmother were. He imagined it might have brought them some peace to know his body sought sanctuary at the temple, even if his mind hadn't made the decision. With a groan, he dragged his body up the three marble stairs before collapsing again, laying prostrate on the temple floor. 'I could die here,' he thought numbly. 'If the gods are as kind as Mother said, they would let me die now, let me be reunited with my family.' But as much as he longed to be with them, the thought of leaving his family's deaths unavenged left a sour taste in his mouth. 'I want to kill them all. I want to rip their limbs apart, I want to soak the earth in their blood,' he thought angrily. 'I want to become the creature that stalks them, let their terror echo through the centuries.'
"Be careful of what you wish for at the feet of the old gods," a voice teased from above him. "You do not know who listens to you and you do not know who will answer."
With a groan, Derek rolled onto his back, blinking tiredly at the man who stood above him with a tray balanced against his hip. If he had been in any fit mental state, Derek would have been taken with the attractive man, with his creamy skin dotted with moles, with his bright brown eyes, with his soft dark hair. But all he could do was continue blinking at the man as he struggled through his exhaustion. "Who-who are you?" he mumbled.
The man hummed softly, folding his legs to sit beside Derek's head. "Do not trouble yourself with names now," he replied, lifting a cloth from the tray and dipping it into a bowl of water. Wringing it out, he gently rubbed it against Derek's face, cleaning away the blood and the dirt. "You have had a most terrible night, Derek Hale," he said somberly, "and you have my sympathies for it. Tragedy is not an easy burden to bear."
"You know me?" he asked in confusion, his eyes closing as the cloth was brushed against them lightly.
"I know everyone," the man answered, his smile turning sharp for a moment. Setting the dirty cloth aside, he helped Derek sit up, watching him carefully for signs he would collapse again. Nodding in satisfaction, he handed Derek a metal cup from the tray. "Drink the wine; it will help."
"Thank you," he murmured as he took the cup with shaking hands. His eyes widened slightly as the wine hit his tongue, the taste warming him from the inside. He had never tasted such a wine, yet he couldn't have described the taste. He quickly drained the cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You have been kind to me. Are you a priest to this temple?"
The man laughed lightly, leaning back on his hands as he gazed up at the moon. "No, I am not a priest. But I am quite devoted to this temple you could say," he answered. "I am always here. Or almost always."
Derek frowned in concentration as he searched his memory for this man. It had been months since he had last come with his mother or grandmother to the temple, but he couldn't have forgotten such a person.
"As I said, do not trouble yourself with names now. What concerns us is what you want," the man responded, turning his gaze back to Derek. "You seek vengeance for your family's deaths, yes? You wish to rip apart the bodies of the murderers, to soak the earth with their blood." The man leaned forward, his smile turning sharp again. Derek could have sworn his eyes had flashed red for a split second. "You wish to be the creature that stalks them, that strikes terror in them for the rest of time. Is this what you want?"
The hairs stood up on the back of Derek's neck as he watched the man, the night air suddenly turning cold. "How could you know that?" he whispered. "I did not speak it; how could you know? Who are you?"
"You do not need to speak for me to hear you, Derek Hale," he answered. "And I warned you of your wishes at the feet of the old gods. As for who I am, I am one who can fulfill your wishes. I can give you what you seek that you may avenge your family. But I do not give things for free; I demand a bargain."
Derek swallowed tightly, his hands clenching into fists to stop their shaking as the pieces fell into place in his mind. To be so casually in the presence of one of the old gods was exhilarating and terrifying. He knew one false move could be the end of him; while he was eager for it minutes earlier, he no longer wished to die. But a deal with the old gods was a dangerous thing. The stories his grandmother had told them as small children were filled with deals that had gone well as deals that had gone poorly. There was no guarantee that things would end in Derek's favor. But he knew the Argent family was a large one and he was only one person. He could not defeat them on his own and he did not have anyone left to call upon. No one but the gods. "I do not own much," he admitted, "but you can have anything that is mine to give."
The man raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. "Anything?" he questioned. "That is a bold offer."
Derek nodded, "Anything. Name your price."
"Very well. My price is you," the man declared, his brown eyes twinkling with delight.
"Me?" he asked in confusion. "You want me?"
The man nodded, "You must know you are an attractive man, but mortal. I wish to make you immortal, like myself. That I may have a companion for the rest of eternity. A lover. That is my bargain. You in exchange for the power you seek."
Derek was silent for a few minutes, his mind whirling over the implications of the bargain. "I accept," he rasped. "I will be yours for all of time in exchange for the power to defeat the Argent family. But I must have a name for you; I must have something to call you by."
The silence stretched between them for a few minutes as the man contemplated his request. "You may call me Stiles," he decided as he stood, offering a hand to Derek. "Only for you." Stiles closed the small distance between them, their chests pressed against each other. He slid a hand to the back of Derek's neck, angling his head up toward him while his other arm wrapped around Derek's waist. "Vengeance will be yours, my love. And you will be mine," Stiles declared as he pressed his lips to Derek's.