Chapter Text
At first, Nicky doesn't even register it as money.
Why would he? His name had just been called by the announcers overhead, and he is making his way to his place on the court after an already settled Aaron when he feels the quarter hit his upper arm. The confusion makes him stop in his tracks, and he stares at it for a moment, completely lost, before looking up at the team already populating the other half of the field.
The Tornadoes don’t paint much of an intimidating picture in their washed-out grey jerseys with pus-yellow letters. Surprisingly, their wardrobe is the least of their troubles, as they now occupy the unenviable spot of ‘worst team in the League’ that the Foxes left wide open; Nicky can see why, as apparently their new strategy is to bludgeon the opposition with their allowance.
He should let it go. That would be the smart thing to do. They have a game to play- Andrew’s name has already been announced overhead and Nicky can see him making his way closer so they can start the game. He should just leave it.
Instead he bends down and picks the coin, inspecting it to try and understand what the play is here. Does homo rhyme with any currency? Did teens suddenly decide that arcades are actually really super gay?
Yeah, he’s got nothing.
“Uh,” Nicky smirks, tossing the quarter up and catching it in mid air again as he gets up right again. “I gotta say- resorting to bribes this early is sad enough, but this is a pretty pitiful attempt in and of itself, not gonna lie.”
No one laughs at his awesome burn, because the Foxes closest to him are Kevin and Andrew, who are famously unnamused by anything he has ever said, and Jack, the new striker who hates Nicky’s whole deal on principle, but he still thinks it’s pretty good. Maybe the Tornado directly across from him, a beast whose name Nicky doesn’t remember but who has the number 12 in improve-your-diet-pee-yellow stamped on his sleeve, agrees, because he also opens up a smile.
There isn’t much Nicky can notice about 12’s physical appearance since the striker already has his helmet on, but vibe-wise he doesn’t feel great. The man is a head or so taller than Nicky, and he certainly holds himself like that means something-just like he wears his heterosexuality in the squaring of the shoulders and the foreboding looming. The linebacker can’t see 12’s eyes clearly, but he still feels the familiar weight of disgust and judgement in his gaze and he knows that he thinks of Nicky as one word only, maybe two if his brain can ever handle forming that extra syllable.
“Just figured you’d want your money ahead of time,” The man taunts, the line perfectly recited like he had practiced this exact moment inside the bus to PSU with his buddies. The snickers from them certainly imply as much. “That’s how much you usually charge for a quickie, right?”
Oh.
Ok, so maybe Nicky was thinking of the wrong words.
He blinks, his grip on the coin tightening while the one in his racket slackens. He doesn’t flinch, because his body has long since frozen in place and he doesn’t understand-can’t understand how this is happening.
“Bro, you’re probably overpaying,” The team's other striker snorts. The sight of the number 6 on his jersey finally enough to get Nicky to wince. “With how run through he is, that will probably get you at least an hour.”
Behind him, Nicky hears movement, hears Aaron running up to ask Kevin ‘What the fuck is going on?’ with Dan not too far behind. Overhead, the announcers start sounding confused of the going ons in the court as a few of the referees finally seem to catch up that something isn’t quite right and make their way to the middle line.
At the corner of his eye, Nicky spots Andrew, standing directly in front of number six, but with his body and his gaze locked solely on Nicky. The goalkeeper wears the same bored expression he always does, but his fingers are curled around the racket tighter than they need to be and when he realizes the backliner’s attention on him he raises a single eyebrow.
That alone embarrasses and worries Nicky far more than anything the strikers could have said. So he acts, stepping in closer to 12 until he’s practically leaning against the man’s chest and opens up a smile. “Oh, you know you don’t have to keep paying me, baby, but how about a bet instead?” Nicky purrs, voice nice and loud as he traces a finger down the hideous shirt design.
12 flinches back as if Nicky were contagious, but the backliner just laughs like this is a familiar joke. In a way it is. “If you win I’ll meet you in the girl’s bathroom like usual and do that thing you like with my tongue, hm? And when we win, well, I’m sure we can figure something out, sugar.”
Nicky presses the coin to the man’s chest, and for a moment, the court is so silent he swears he hears it touch the ground.
And finally the striker acts, pushing violently at his chest again and again as he hurls all manner of insults and threats at Nicky with complete abandon. He had managed to remain straight-faced for the whole exchange, ironically enough, but even with the helmet hiding most of his face, Nicky notices that 12 has become a deep shade of red, and his eyes flit around to his teammates even as he continues his assault.
Nicky is still laughing as the referees get in between them, and it’s still plenty genuine as Dan takes him by the shoulders and pulls him deeper into their side of the court.
“Dude!” She pushes at his chest once she’s deemed their far enough away. Her eyes are stern enough to make his laughter fade into a comfortable smirk, but worried enough that he makes it sharper than it needs to be. “What the fuck was that?!”
He waves her-and the inquiring gaze of his teammates-off. “Oh, come on. You know I can resist getting my hands on a man like that.” He whistles. It makes Dan frown, but he hears a muffled curse come from Aaron’s general vicinity and the painful twist in his chest feels like victory.
“Nicky-” She starts, in a way that is too empathetic, too sympathetic and Nicky bristles. Her eyes flicker with recognition, but luckily she’s interrupted before she can continue.
“Captains! Can you control your players?!” One of the referees screams out. The Tornadoes goalie finishes screaming something at 12 before consenting, and they both walk back to their positions looking positively furious. It makes the corners of Nicky’s lips quirk up.
Dan quirks up an eyebrow at him and sighs. “Hemmick?”
“Sure,” He blows the striker a kiss and the man grows even tenser. “I got a bet to win.”
“Watch it,” Dan and the referee warn at the same time, but she seems more tired than angry. The referee continues talking as she rushes back to her place. “Everyone, get to positions-one more stunt like this and the game is forfeit, got it?!”
Half hearted agreements echo out as both teams shuffle back into position. Nicky puts on his helmet before either of them can start getting interest in his life all of a sudden. If either Andrew or Aaron have anything to say, it gets drowned out by the starting whistle, and for once, he finds the sound glorious.
—----------------------
“Ow” Nicky whines, head throbbing something awful. He tries to bat away the hands reaching for him. “Can’t keep your hands off of me for a second, can you?”
There’s a deeply annoyed sigh above him that he knows well, “It’s me, Nicky” Abby says, tone gentle but insisting. “I need you to open your eyes for me, can you do that?”
He’d really rather not, but he does because Abby is nice and he likes Abby, but she must not like him back because she immediately rewards his hard effort by stabbing his brain with light. Nicky flinches back hard enough for his head to slam against the ground.
“Owww,” He cries out again, white spots blinking behind his eyelids.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, here let me help you up,” Abby is quick to say, pulling him up. Around him, everyone is yelling; the Foxes at the referees and the crowd at him, in what he imagines might be support given the lack of slurs, but if he’s being honest he really wishes everyone would quiet down a little.
Abby supports him until they’re off the court and into the players bench. Nicky collapses gratefully onto it, only to feel his stomach revolt at the simple movement. Someone pushes a bucket in between his knees and he gives a thumbs up in their general direction.
“I’ll get you some ice for your head, sit still, ok?” Abby tells him. Nicky wants to say that he doesn’t really feel like getting up right now either way, thanks, but opening his mouth makes him gag and the same someone from before shoves his head down the bucket. He’s grateful once again, but chooses not to voice it.
A small, painful glance up at the scoreboard tells Nicky that he managed to hold his ground for a little less than seventeen minutes, which feels like a feat on its own considering that 12 did not leave him alone for a single one of them. Despite the ball staying firmly on Dan, Kevin and Jack’s nets for the majority of the game, the striker still decided that his biggest threat on the court was Nicky, and spent the majority of his time elbowing, tripping and pushing the backliner like some schoolyard bully.
Nicky handled it as best as he could, especially with the referees all turning a blind eye to his struggles, but moaning at every attack wasn’t enough when 12 barrelled into him hard enough for him to go flying. Moved by pure instinct, he grabbed the striker’s shirt and pulled him along for the ride, causing them both to tumble to the floor in a spectacular mess of limbs and body armor. When their little trip was over, Nicky stared up at the striker practically straddling him and couldn’t quite help the laugh that bubbled out of him.
“Y’know, your coach used to be just as handsy,” He smiled, grin wolfish as the man’s mouth twisted into anger and disgust. Nicky allowed himself a moment to revel in his win before 12 grabbed the front of his helmet, and then-
Well. And then Nicky was sat on the bench dry heaving into a bucket in front of God and everyone. Hurray.
Someone rubs his back and he unbashfully leans into the contact. Maybe he whines a little too, but who’s to say. “I can’t believe they’re giving Cox a yellow card,” Matt spits out besides him, and despite not knowing for sure who Cox is, the sheer vitriol in his voice is enough to have Nicky nodding along. How dare they! “It’s barely a slap on the wrist after all the faults he commited!”
“As’ole,” Nicky agrees.
“He was trying to rile up the twins,” Comes another voice from his bucket-giving side. It takes all of his strength not to dreamingly sigh Neil’s name and throw himself at the younger man for hugs, but somehow Nicky prevails. “The whole team kept looking at them like they expected them to start swinging at any moment.”
“The twins don’t like hugs either,” Nicky laments quietly, pushing aside the throbbing pain inside his skull, and gets a small pat in the back from Matt for it. “And i’s so unfair because they’re the perfect size!”
“Yeah, my bet is that they wanted to get the match called off before it even started,” Neil continues, but Nicky would wager he is equally invested in this hugging business. “Fucking cowards.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but when they do Nicky can’t help but feel a spark of anger greater than anything he felt inside the court. He thinks back to that night in the club so many years ago, the terror solidifying into something far more concrete as he pleaded with officers to let Andrew go; the deja-vu he felt only a year ago as Aaron was loaded into the back of a car with equally bloodied hands.
The Tornadoes would eagerly put his Cousins through that hell again for a game. Because they’re too lazy to get actually good, because they’re fucking cowards and dumb ones at that because their stupid plan didn’t work and it wouldn’t have anyway, because when the twins find out the truth, well. It certainly wont be dear 12 that gets a beating for it.
Nicky groans again and lets himself wallow in his own self hatred until Abby comes back with ice. “How is your head feeling?”
“Bad,” He tells her, wincing when the crowd clamors over something or another.
“Right, so, you’re definitely concussed,” Abby explains, voice sweet and gentle against the chaos happening just above them. “You can stay the rest of the game in my office if you want, but you’ll need someone to stay with you and I need to stay out here. Do you want to pick one of the freshmen to accompany you?”
“I’d rather die,” Nicky whines, forcing his eyes to open so he can look at her. It’s all so bright, why on earth does a stadium need this much light?! “Can’t I just stay alone? I know all the concush-conco-all the rules.”
“And let’s not use the ‘c’ word,” Neil pipes up, “Nicky has to be benched all season if we do.”
“It’s so sweet how much you care,” he coos.
There is a gruff huff and Nicky’s stomach falls to the bottom of his feet. “Unfortunately he’s right,” Wymack remarks with a sigh. The backliner feels a giganormous hand on his bicep, guiding him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Nicky does his best not to lean completely on the older man, but the world is shifting beneath his feet and he still has his eyes closed so he can’t help but collapse against him as he's half dragged to the locker room.
“Want to tell me what that was all about?” The man demands, but it’s not cruel like it could have been.
Nicky is well aware that Wymack sorta hates his guts. He’s not overtly obvious about it, or that mean as far as the coach goes, but he has more than enough reason to. Nicky is the worst player on the team, freshmen included, and he barely qualifies as a Fox to begin with-on top of that, he’s too loud, too annoying, too gay, too Nicky. Hating him comes with the territory of knowing him in the first place.
“The actions of my consequences,” The backliner chuckles, only to hear coach sigh. It’s an easy routine between them.
“Hemmick,” Wymack insists and Nicky finally opens his eyes to a blissfully dark, empty locker room. “What are they going to tell the press?”
The question feels eerily similar to 12’s elbow hitting his stomach. They make Nicky feel breathless just the same.
He shrugs, but it’s halfhearted. No jokes come to the front of his mind so Nicky has no choice but to let the truth out. “Depends on how much they like their old coach, coach.”
He gets lowered onto the stretcher in Abby's office, shoulders immediately grasped when he tries to shift from sitting to laying down. “Don’t,” Wymack warns, before sighing again. “I should have pulled you out when Cox started with that shit.”
Nicky frowns. Sure, getting his ass handed to him wasn’t exactly his idea of a great time, but knowing the Tornados were losing because they were just too angry at Nicky's gay ass to play right definitely did something to his ego.
And he knows damn well his words did something to 12’s ego too. They always do with guys like him.
So he shrugs. “They’d win if you did,”
Wymack looks at him for a moment before shaking his head. “Just don’t fall asleep or check your phone.” The man grunts after a bit as he moves to the door. “And as soon as you’re better you’ll have to watch the replay of the game like everyone else!’
“I always do!” Nicky complains, lying through his teeth.
And then the door closes.
And then Nicky is alone.
Immediately he wants to go get his phone in the hopes Erik is awake, but moving quickly proves to be a bad idea as it only makes him nauseous. He considers taking a quick power nap, but he doubts he’ll be able to with the pain in his head the way that it is. In the end, all he can do is just sit there and…think.
Which, notably, he’s not that good at doing.
Nicky sighs and rests his weary head on the wall behind him. Right. Being alone with his thoughts, he can do that. Nothing bad has ever happened from him being alone with his thoughts too long, save from speed adopting two teenagers, telling his parents he’s queer, a trip to the hospital or five, having sex with-
Curse you thoughts. Curse you to hell.
Right, he just needs to think better thoughts. Like…Erik! Erik is a much better thought. Nicky just loves Erik, his hands, his lips, his eyes, his fingers, oh, and the beautiful curve of his-
“Gah!” Nicky covers his eyes with the back of his hands as the door gets thrown open and the lights turn on. His yell of pained confusion quickly turns into an annoyed whine. “Right as it was getting good too…”
“Nicky.”
He tries not to tense, but it’s not an easy feat when Aaron is saying his name like that. Nicky puts his hand away and squints until the silhouettes before him shift into something more Minyard shaped. It’s funny, in a very unfunny way, how the twins always look strikingly different from each other in his eyes unless they’re looking directly at him.
Then again, there are only so many ways disappointment and disgust can look like in someone’s face.
“Woah, I’m seeing double,” He jokes, but he regrets it before it fully leaves his lips. Stupid. God, his head is killing him. “Shouldn’t you two be playing?”
Andrew raises a single eyebrow, Aaron squints. “It’s halftime,” The latter says, slowly. “Did you not hear the bell?”
Oh. He had not, actually. Maybe that’s something to worry about, but on the plus side Nicky is way better at being alone with his thoughts than he assumed. Yay.
“Of course I did,” He scoffs, looking to the side. The med bay window looks out to a deserted locker room, which doesn’t bode well for him. Nicky can imagine the whole team standing just outside, huddling on the couches and too afraid to find out what happens if they walk in and interrupt whatever is going to go down. “I was just testing you gu-”
“Who was that?” Andrew’s tone is that careful neutral he always maintains it at, but Nicky knows better than to assume he feels any such way. He’s only now learning how to better read the younger man, but anger is an emotion he knows well enough to pick up with ease.
Still, Nicky sighs and leans back on his elbow. This doesn’t matter, he knows it, he just has to make sure the twins know it too. “Just some lame homophobe with a complex,” he says, and means it too. “Never met him before.”
Aaron scoffs. “Bullshit.”
“S’not,” He shrugs, not particularly surprised nor hurt with Aaron's distrust. It’s just the way it always goes between them. “I mean, we must have played against him before, but I don’t even know his name. And he looked super basic too.”
“Oh, so you were riling him up for fun, then?!”
Nicky grins. “Yes, actually! Oh, my god, did you see-”
There is a loud slam as Andrew punches the wall next to him. Nicky’s sight swims as he startles and he feels sick all over again but he doesn’t voice any of it as Andrew fixes his icy gaze on him. “What about the money?”
Nicky’s hands curl into fists at his side but he is quick to uncurl them. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He has no reason to feel guilt, much less to look it, so he won’t, he refuses. But then Andrew’s stare doesn’t lessen and Aaron looks suspicious and he can’t help but look away.
“He was just some asshole trying to get under our skins,” He shrugs, waiving Andrew off. “Homophobes are always saying stuff, you gotta tune-”
Andrew grabs his wrist, his grip tight and unforgiving, and Nicky isn’t stupid enough to keep talking. He isn’t stupid enough to say anything else, really. Because Andrew knows. It doesn’t matter how much he hid, and it doesn’t matter that Nicky is trying to keep his face blank now. Andrew knows.
The grief that comes with that realization is unexpected. Nicky had never felt ashamed of it before, not like this, but he knows now, with the way that Andrew is looking at him, that their relationship, flimsy and broken as it always has been, has changed fundamentally. He knows how Andrew sees him now and it makes him want to crawl in a hole and hide away forever,
Andrew doesn’t let go of his wrist. Aaron, although looking taken aback, doesn’t move or make any objection and Nicky doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t blame either of them.
“Him?” Andrew nods towards the exit, tone bone chilling. A part of Nicky feels offended, but what else is Andrew meant to think?
He shakes his head, and when he speaks his voice comes out frayed. “It wasn’t-It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?!” Aaron asks, clearly annoyed at being left out. Nicky wants him to stay left out, he wants to keep pretending that someday Aaron will look at him with anything other than abject disgust, but Andrew levels him with a look that makes it abundantly clear that that isn’t an option anymore.
You tell him, or I’ll do it. His eyes seem to promise. I’ll tell both of you exactly how i see you.
Nicky takes a breath. He pulls his wrist out of Andrew’s grip and it comes away easier than he expected. “I-This isn’t a big deal,” He is quick to say before anything else, because it’s not. It’s not important. It’s not meant to be. “But I-I sorta…slept with their former coach.”
“For money,” Andrew adds, tone biting and viscous. He grins at Aaron the same horrible grin he wore when he was on those awful drugs. “He slept with their coach for money.”
Aaron looks between the two of them, disbelief painting his features, before swiftly turning to anger and disgust. Nicky should be used to it by now, he really should, but instead he feels a black hole open deep inside his chest. He wants to make excuses-wants to explain, but he never found out what to say when the twins looked at him this way before, he doubts he will now.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” is what Aaron settles on.
Nicky wishes a hole would open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. It’s not shame in Aaron’s voice, and it’s not anger either.
It’s exhaustion.
“I-I don’t know how it got out,” Nicky admits quietly, staring at his knees. He can’t face them. Not now, maybe not ever again. “No one was supposed to know, besides us and Wymack-”
“Wymack?” Andrew voices and Nicky winces. “What the fuck-”
“-do you think you’re doing with my player?!”
“-fucking him too?!”
Nicky snaps his attention to Aaron. He cannot have just heard what he thinks he did. “What?”
“It’s a fair question,” Andrew pipes up, his tone dangerously close to a hiss. Aaron puffs up his chest at his brother’s approval, but Andrew simply continues to stare at Nicky with his arms crossed in front of his chest.”Did you get into the coaches pants too?”
It’s like a blow to his chest, but instead of disarming it kick starts his chest once again. His blood begins pumping, heating up the veins that had been frozen solid not too long ago.
“No, I didn’t-Jesus!” Nicky blows out a frustrated breath and pulls at his hair. His head stings beautifully. “Wymack walked in on it the last time it happened. He put a stop to it and told me to cut it out and I did. That was it”
“And he didn’t tell us?”
“It wasn’t any of your business!”
“How many times?" Andrew asks, tone icy. It forces a laugh out of Nicky.
"I am not answering that," He hisses, curling his arms around himself. "It literally has nothing to do with you both. I have sex sometimes, sorry that's such a huge deal for you guys!"
"That's not the fucking point! You know that's not the point! Aaron barks at him and Nicky hates it. Hates that they're acting like they are both his guardians and Nicky is nothing but a dumb teenager screwing his life up. He hates how they're looking at him, how they're talking to him, he hates-
He…He hates them. During that moment, he has never hated them more.
It's like his body switches gears, like someone messed around his brain and found an off switch. He hates them. He hates them, and that's all there is to it, but that's not right. He can't hate them. He doesn't, right?! After all they've been through, how can Nicky possibly-what kind of monster-
Nicky falters as he gets up to his feet, leaning all his weight on a wall as he stumbles into it. No one offers any help. He didn't expect them to.
"You don't get to judge me over this," He whispers, blinking to get rid of the pain behind his eyes, or perhaps the tears threatning to spill. He can't tell the difference anymore. "I won't let you. Not for this. Not after every textbook I bought, and every bill I paid, and all the times I had to fill up the tank of that goddamn goliath you called a-"
Nicky cuts himself off, groaning into his hands. It doesn't matter. Nothing he does for them ever fuking matters.
He stumbles out of the medbay, barely remmembering to grab his backpack as he walks across empty benches. No one follows. He's glad. It hurts.
Outside, the foxes do their best to look like they were not eavesdropping, but he pays them no mind. He hardly even notices it until Wymack's hand is curled around his bicep.
"Where are you going?! You can't just leave in the middle of a match!" The man demands. Nicky tries to pull his arm free, but it doesn't do much.
"Yeah? Fucking watch me!"
He tries again, but Wymack doesn't budge. The man's face shifts into something so similar to fatherly concern that Nicky wants to claw it out of him.
"Hemmick-Nicky!" He calls, when Nicky doesn't stop his struggles to get free. His eyebrow dips ever so slightly. "If you leave now, they win."
There's the faint sound of footsteps. Nicky doesn't need to turn to know the twins have now joined in in his humiliation, he can feel their judging gazes as if they were spirits walking through his body. It's comical, really, so Nicky laughs. Even he can tell it sounds wrong.
"You don't get it, do you?!" Nicky all but screams. The dramatic diva, the pain-in-the-ass. Fine. He can be all of that. He doesn't fucking care anymore. With one final pull, Nicky manages to wrench himself free. "They always win!"
Maybe Wymack calls after him, Nicky doubts it. Once he opens the door, the sounds of the stadium drowns out anything.
He let's himself step into the mess of the crowds and be swallowed whole by the chaos.