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"You think that’s a fucking pass, Hale?"
"Better than any of your teams’, Stilinski."
Their faces are pressed up against each other, breath mingling between them through their helmets as they both push and shove, trying to keep the other from pushing past.
Eventually, Derek’s bulk wins out over Stiles’ cunning speed and he tears through his teammates, running full speed across the field. When he raises his arms to catch the ball flying toward him, he doesn’t expect it to land perfectly. Stunned, the only thing he can do at first is stand there, the ball in his hands, before he starts running. He makes it all of three steps before something - someone - crashes into him. Hard.
He hits the grass with a grunt and something that sounds sickeningly like a crunch. The last thing he registers before everything goes black is that the ball is still in his hands.
~*~
When Derek comes to he’s laying in a hospital bed and everything around him is unpleasantly fuzzy. “What the…?”
"Dude? Dude!" Oh, he knows that voice. He does not want that voice around him right now.
"Get out of here." Stiles’ face appears in front of him and, annoyingly, it’s the only thing in the immediate vicinity that isn’t blurry.
"C’mon, dude, don’t be like that. I’m here with your surly ass. My team won, I could be out celebrating right now."
Derek frowns at that. “You won?” He scoffs, closes his eyes against his swirling vision.
"Well, they won." Stiles voice goes a little quieter and then Derek’s hand is being curled around a small paper cup. "Tiny sips," he says softly.
Derek takes a few small swallows of water, drinking slowly until the world doesn’t feel quite so much like it’s tilting. “Thanks.” It’s said reluctantly, but Stiles smiles anyway.
"Don’t thank me. I’m the reason you’re in here." He scrubs a hand back through his hair and Derek notices that he’s still in his uniform. "I knocked you over," Stiles admits. "Dislocated your shoulder. Gave you a minor concussion. Doctor’s say you’ll probably be out the rest of the season. I’m benched for…a while. Figured the least I could do was show up and make sure you were okay, huh?" He laughs a little nervously and Derek scowls.
"Great," he says gruffly. "You’re here to pity me."
"No I’m not."
"Right, then what? You don’t even like me. What the hell are you doing here?” Derek glares up at Stiles, head feeling a little bit clearer now that it’s swimming with anger. Stiles doesn’t back down, though. If anything, he puffs up, his glare dark and angry.
"Hey, fuck you, alright? I didn’t come here to fight you. I came here to make sure you were okay after I hurt you. That’s on me, but this? You always trying to pick a fight? That’s on you, Derek. I don’t pick the fights here. You do." Stiles takes a deep breath and Derek thinks he’s finished, but he’s wrong. "And you know what? I’m tired of it! I’m tired of fighting with you all the time. On the field, at joint practices… I’m tired of it! I like you, Derek. I’ve always liked you. But you’re just too- You’re just so…"
"Stubborn?" Derek supplies. "Hardheaded?"
Stiles lets out a heavy breath and bobs his head in a nod, hand flailing toward Derek. “If the shoe fits,” he mutters. Derek bites the inside of his lip and nods. He knows he is. This has been a long time coming.
"You’re right."
Stiles blinks. “Sorry, what?”
Derek looks like he’s getting physically ill from having to admit it, but he nods his head and repeats, “You’re right. I’m always doing this with you and it’s stupid. I’m being stupid and it’s not fair to you. To either of us,” he adds, almost to himself. “We’re above this. Right?”
Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking a little bit like a stunned fish as he sags back in his chair. “Uh, yeah. Right.” He licks his lips and shakes his head a little. “So… We’re good?”
Nodding, Derek smiles. “Yeah. We’re good. Except you did knock me out.” Stiles grimaces and wrings his hands in his lap. “And dislocate my shoulder.” His face does this scrunchy thing Derek isn’t even sure he can describe. “I might need some compensation for that.”
Stiles looks up, eyes bright with something resembling hope. It’s hesitant, barely there. Derek would have missed it if he wasn’t looking for a sign. “Yeah?”
Derek ducks his head and shyly reaches out with his good hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs, carefully lacing their fingers together.
~*~
The following week, Stiles’ friend Max comes running up to him in the hallways before last period. “Dude! You’re dating Hale? I didn’t even know he was gay!”
Stiles grins a little, closing his locker with a flourish. He glances down at his phone and the picture of Derek that shows on his lock screen and signals he’s just gotten a text.
I did it, it reads, and there’s a smiley at the end. ”Bi, actually,” Stiles corrects absently, fingers already tapping at the screen of his phone. “But, yeah,” he says with a small laugh, “I guess I am.”