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Consciousness, Stiles decides, is a fickle bitch. He’s reaching for it with both hands but it’s refusing to come to him, slipping between his fingers no matter how hard he tries.

“…llo?”

Fuck, there’s a loud buzzing in his ears, or maybe that’s his head? He can’t tell.

“A…yo…kay?”

He’s laying down. Stiles can discern that much at least, and whatever he’s laying on is hard and uncomfortable and digging into his back. Somehow, he manages to peel his eyes open, and he stares dumbly up a bright blue expanse of sky, squinting and blinking until the light no longer hurts.

“Hey,” there are more words that follow that, but Stiles can’t make them out. Instead he stares at the man leaning over him, dark hair and pale eyes and concern etched into his features as he speaks. What they hell is happening?

“What?” he manages to say intelligently, and then when he thinks he can pretty much feel all of his body, he tries to sit up. The buzzing that’s definitely in his head starts to fade once he’s upright, but there’s a painful twinge on his right side at hip level.

“I feel like I got hit by a car,” Stiles groans to the man crouched next to him. He’s never seen the guy before, but even with his vision swimming Stiles can tell he’s h-o-t hot. Now if only he was coherent enough to flirt.

The guy lets out a sound that’s halfway between an embarrassed cough and a laugh. “Um,” he says, avoiding Stiles’ gaze now, “I would be the one that hit you.”

Stiles can feel his eyes go wide and the moment he truly processes things he can’t help the sharp bark of laughter that follows. “Are you serious?” he wheezes, one hand flying down to his hip where he now knows he had to have been hit by hot guy’s car. “Oh my god.”

The other man gives him a crooked smile that only pulls at half of his mouth. “Yeah, sorry about that. I can drive you to the hospital if you like?”

“That’s probably a good idea. I think I might have a concussion,” Stiles admits with a put upon sigh. But then he holds out one hand to the guy and grins. “Hi, I’m Stiles, the guy you just ran over.”

“Derek,” the man huffs, rolling his eyes instead of shaking Stiles’ offered hand. “And I didn’t run you over. I just clipped you.” He does take Stiles’ hand then, pulling them both to their feet in one smooth movement that has Stiles head spinning for multiple reasons, of which only one is his possible concussion. What, strength is totally attractive, alright?

“Pleased to meet you,” Stiles says. “We should grab lunch after you take me to the ER.”