A/N: Okay, here's the next chapter! I said I'd keep it going if I got a little feedback, so as long as I know people are reading this story I'll continue. I love reviews, and they let me know people are still interested, so if you like the chapter or have any thoughts, please leave one! A/N

It could be worse. They could be in China, or Africa, or Canada maybe, but they're not. They're in San Francisco. At least they're still in California.

Stiles voices that out loud, and Lydia turns to him from where she's standing at the window.

"At least we're still in California." She agrees, though her eyes are clouded over in thought. "You know, five years into the future."

He sighs.

"It's eight-thirty. We should start getting ready. I'm going to have to look up where this place is, and-" His mouth falls open in annoyance. "And do we even have a car?"

Lydia pads out of the room, returning a couple minutes later with two key rings.

"It looks like we have two." She says, dropping one of the rings into his hand. The one he's holding has a silver S dangling from it, along with what appear to be house keys and a tiny black fob. He frowns at it, turning it over to find a Chevy logo embossed in the back.

"These do not look like the keys to my Jeep." He grumbles, closing his fist around them. Lydia is inspecting her own set, and looks up, unsympathetic.

"So what you're saying is that you now have a vehicle that runs." She mutters, raising an eyebrow. He sputters.

"How many times do I have to tell you, you do not-"

"Insult the Jeep." She finishes for him, rolling her eyes. "I know. I'm going to go take a shower." She pokes her head into the other doorway out of the bedroom, and disappears through it. A minute or so later, Stiles hears the sound of running water.

He flops down onto the bed with a sigh, fingering the key ring in his hand. Is this supposed to be real? Is this really the future as it unfolds for them? It seems like a sick joke, the kind where you know all along that it's too good to be true. But here they are. His eyes fall on the picture of them sitting on the nightstand, and stills for a moment. They just look so…natural, like that, her lips pressed against his cheek, his smile easy and relaxed, like it's something they do all the time. Must be nice, he thinks. If only it were real.

When Lydia emerges from the shower, she stalks over to the closet, opening it with trepidation. What she finds there apparently pleases her, because she flicks through the hangars with only a mild air of disapproval. He walks past her to the bathroom, and she turns around, frowning at him.

"I don't know what to wear." She tells him. He stares.

"Lydia." He says, slightly stupefied. "I really think we might have bigger problems." The glare he receives in response has him back pedalling, so he pulls something forest green from the rack in front of him. It's a sweater, light and gauzy, and he holds it out to her. "Wear this." He mutters, and she takes it with surprise. "You look good in green."

He's about to turn back for the bathroom when she catches his chin in her hand. It feels so normal that he almost doesn't realize what she's doing for a moment. And then his eyes go wide, and she lets go.

"Sorry." She mutters, and he suspects she's feeling it too, that sensation of alien intimacy, one that seems second nature but doesn't really belong to them. "It's just," she points to his jaw. "You need to shave."

That's new for him, he wasn't exactly the king of facial hair when they were seniors in high school, but they aren't anymore. And now he's a person that needs to shave in the morning. The look on Lydia's face makes him wonder if she finds that as strange as he does. After all, he's not the one with a tattoo that appeared literally overnight.

He runs his hand over the scruff on his face as he heads for the shower. The whole bathroom smells like her, and it seems incredible to him that so much has changed and she must still use the same shampoo, or soap, or whatever it is that she's smelled like since high school. He showers, thankful for the plain bar of Irish Spring that is obviously his own contribution to the veritable apothecary in their bathroom. The label on his shampoo has the word Sandalwood on it, and he suspects it was not one he picked himself.

He manages to shave without incident, both impressed and unnerved at that particular display of muscle memory. It occurs to him, as he rinses the remaining shaving cream from his face, that he didn't bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Lydia had emerged wearing some kind of kimono-robe thing, but he obviously doesn't have one of those. So he slings his towel across his hips, locker-room style, and walks back into the bedroom. Lydia is sitting at the vanity, drying her hair. He takes that in, stomach tightening. It's the little things, he notices, that feel the most intimate. Her shampoo in his shower, watching her dry her hair while he gets dressed. Seeing her clothes mixed in with his as he digs around the closet for a pair of jeans. It's so domestic it almost hurts him. He was getting over her before this. He had Malia, and they were so constantly immersed in pack emergencies, many of which were life and death, that he'd almost forgotten to be painfully and unrequitedly in love with Lydia.

And he has a feeling that when they get out of this, if they get out of this, his feelings for her are going to be more out of control than ever.

Sighing, he throws a pair of Levis over his shoulder and begins rooting around for a shirt that isn't an Oxford.

"What the hell do I do?" He wonders vaguely, disturbed at the amount of nice slacks and suits he finds as he flicks through the overstuffed closet.

It's a good question, though. If by some wild stretch of the imagination this actually turns out to be their real future, he can't say he isn't curious as to what he ended up doing. Although, this seems like far too formal a wardrobe for a detective.

"T-shirts are on the bottom right shelf." Lydia tells him without looking up. He discovers that she's right, and picks a plain black one from the assortment of band tees and pop culture graphics. She doesn't seem to be looking, so he shimmies the boxers on under his towel and then proceeds to throw on the jeans and t-shirt. The shirt is a full size larger than the ones he wore in high school, and fits a little more snugly. Surprised, he pokes himself in the chest, and for the first time really notices how much his body has changed since waking up. His shoulders are broader, and there are actually pecs under his shirt and-are those abs? He tries to be discrete when he lifts up his shirt a little, and sure enough they're there. Nothing like the aggressive 8 packs he's used to seeing on their supernatural cohorts, but still. Abs.

"What are you doing?"

He looks up to see Lydia staring at him, and lets the shirt fall back into place.

"Just…taking stock." He says casually, though he can feel his ears flaming red. He half expects her to laugh at him, but she just looks thoughtful.

"This is so…" She trails off, looking for the right word.

"Surreal?" He offers. She nods. Half her hair is clipped up in some type of claw contraption, and her face is bare. It's unfair, he thinks, that she's so beautiful and intelligent at the same time. At the very least, she could be awkward and clumsy like him. But no, she took ballet from ages 4 through 13, so. She's gazelle-like. She could wear a parka and a fanny pack to coffee, and she'd still be the most stunning person in the room.

God, he's screwed. He's never going to get over her this time.

"Finish your-" He gestures at her head. "We have to meet Scott in twenty minutes and I still don't know where we're going." She complies, with a huff, and Stiles locates a laptop in their living room. There's a Beacon Hills Lacrosse sticker on the top of it, so he assumes it's his and cracks the password on the third try. Ariel. He's so predictable he's almost embarrassed. At least this time it came in handy. He remembers Peter's voice, over his shoulder.

His username is Allison?

His password is also Allison?

His chest constricts a little, the way it always does when he thinks about her. God, some things are just so….sad. Senseless. He sounds like a MADD spokesperson, even in his head, but he can't help it. Some people just aren't meant to die young.

He pulls up google maps.

The coffee place is barely a five minute drive from the apartment, so Stiles figures that leaves them fifteen minutes to find their cars.

Lydia comes waltzing out of the bedroom a few minutes later, wearing a grey skirt and the sweater he chose. Her lips are a couple shades darker than they'd been when he left her.

"Ready?" He asks. She shrugs.

They leave the apartment and are faced with their first challenge. The parkade.

"We could just walk around pushing the button." Lydia suggests, gesturing at the key fob in his hand. He sighs.

"Yeah, because that wouldn't look suspicious at all." He mutters. She flicks him an annoyed look.

"Alright. Well, you're the detective. Detect." Her voice has changed from weary to irritated already. They're off to a great start. Stiles holds the keys up in front of him.

"We're looking for a Chevy, obviously, and I'm guessing this is my car so it's probably grey or blue." The keys are obviously fairly new, still glinting in the early morning light that filters through the rafters. "I'd say last years model, but that doesn't really help us since we don't know what those look like."

"Do you think it's a truck?" Lydia wonders, scanning the parkade. Truck sounds vaguely like Stiles, but it is San Francisco, so-

"No." He decides. "Probably not."

In the end, they do walk around hitting the unlock button. Stiles ignores Lydia's superior smile when they hear chirping a couple rows over. But when they finally find the vehicle making the noise, they just stare.

"Stiles." Lydia finally says. "What is that?"

They both look the grey car over in suspicion.

"I think," he says slowly, hitting the button one more time just to make sure they have the right car. "-that it's a Camaro."

He pulls open the passenger door, because it's weird, sure, but they're already late. Lydia slides in warily. He gets it started, pleased when he notices the standard transmission, and hands the cellphone he'd remembered to bring with them over to Lydia.

"Directions." He tells her. They pull out of the parkade, and she talks him through the first couple turns, falling silent when they hit a red light.

"This is a nice car." She observes, running her fingers along the leather seat. He hums an agreement. "I didn't know you liked muscle cars."

He laughs.

"It's not like I can afford one." He says with a sigh. "Could afford one." He corrects. "I guess I can now." The first car he remembers his dad having was a Camaro. The Sherriff had been obsessed with that thing, but then Stiles' mom had gotten sick, and it had been the first thing to go when the medical bills began to pile up.

The light turns green.

"Right at the next light. You can park close to the corner, the café should be there." Lydia says, pulling him from his thoughts. He does as he's told, and they make their way toward the café with a foreign sense of anxiety.

He thinks he's hiding it relatively well, and sticks his hands in his pockets, just in case. Scott has been his constant. He was there when Stiles' mom got sick, and when she passed away. Stiles spent countless nights in the McCall home when his father was working too late, or simply forgot to pick Stiles up from school during a particularly involved case. Scott was Stiles' brother, in every way except for blood. And now he's going to be a stranger.

Feeling a tug on his arm, Stiles looks down. Lydia has linked her arm through his, pressing her face against his bicep as they walk through the door.

Someone who can bring you back.

He remembers Deaton's words, and feels the significance of them for the first time. Lydia is his anchor now. And even before they fell into this wormhole-future universe-time shift something, she'd been around in a way he's begun to count on. He feels a little less nervous.

Scott is sitting by the window, and waves them over when he spots them. Half his face is covered by an incredible beard, and paired with a red gingham flannel, he looks like a slightly darker version of the Brawny paper towel guy. Lydia presses her face a little harder into Stiles' arm to stifle the laughter. But the smile on Scott's face is so bright, and so familiar, that the knot in Stiles' stomach loosens exponentially.

"Hey!" Scott greets them, as they pull up chairs to the tiny table.

"Hey." Stiles says with a nod, and Lydia does the same. "Where's Kira?"

Scott points to the street, where Stiles sees the Kitsune deep in conversation with her cellphone.

"Work." Scott says, by way of explanation. Stiles makes a knowing face, though he's never felt less knowledgable about anything. A pretty waitress with a brown apron interrupts Stiles deciding how to proceed by setting four cups of coffee down in front of them. There seems to be a swan drawn on the top of whatever frothy beverage Scott has ordered him, and Stiles frowns down at it.

"Thanks." Lydia says, when she realizes Stiles is too distracted to respond. The girl smiles, and shuffles off. "Mmm." Lydia makes a show of lifting the drink to her mouth, maybe to give him time to collect himself, but that just distracts him in a new way.

"So, have you guys decided what to get them? Me and Kira were thinking a really good knife set. You know Malia, she's not exactly the salad bowl type." Scott muses, breaking the silence. Stiles stares at him.

"Um, we haven't decided yet." Lydia says, once again covering for him. He really needs to pull it together.

"Yeah." He says, voice hoarse. It sounds like Scott is saying-

"God," Lydia smiles, shooting him a glance. "Malia getting married. I didn't think she had it in her to settle down."

So clearly Stiles is not the only one drawing that conclusion. But there's a familiar tone of disdain in Lydia's voice, which he finds interesting. Scott laughs.

"Right? I dunno, her and Theo seem pretty well matched though." He shrugs. Stiles has to physically prevent his jaw from dropping onto the table. Lydia's eyes pop a little, but she hides it by looking out the window.

"Oh." She says distractedly. "I think Kira's coming in."

Sure enough, the petite Asian girl joins them a minute later, sighing.

"Guys, I'm so sorry." She says, regret on her face. She hasn't sat down, Stiles notices, and soon the reason for that becomes clear. "Scott, I've been called in, there's some kind of emergency with the power lines downtown, and apparently I'm the only one on call who isn't terrified to climb up there, so-"

"I'll drive you." Scott says, jumping out of his seat and grabbing his jacket. Some things never change, and Stiles thinks it's nice to see. The pair shoot him and Lydia an apologetic glance, and Scott throws a couple bills on the table. Stiles almost objects, and then realizes that he never even thought to look for a wallet at the apartment. Which also means no drivers license, but it's a little late for that.

"Scott." Stiles gets to his feet just as his friend turns to go, suddenly panicked. "Do you think-"

Scott waits, patiently, while Kira chews her lip impatiently beside him.

"Do you think you could come by later?" Stiles finally manages. "I need to talk to you."

If Scott is surprised by the urgency in his voice, he doesn't show it.

"Sure, man." He nods. "I'll text you later, but I can swing by after dinner." And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic grocery bag. He presses it into Stiles' hand with a glint in his eye.

"What's-"

But Kira is already pulling Scott out the door. He mouths don't open that here to Stiles, and then disappears onto the street.

Beside him, Lydia stands up.

"What did he give you?" She wants to know. He shrugs.

"Should we go?" There's something about being outside the apartment that's making him feel exposed. She grabs his hand, and they find their way back to the car. He doesn't need directions this time, so she just sits in the passenger's seat, silent.

When they round the corner to the parkade, she speaks.

"I'm sorry." She says. He pulls the Camaro into the spot where they found it, and then turns to shoot her a quizzical look.

"For what?"

"About Malia." She says, as though it should be obvious. "And Theo."

He almost laughs.

"Oh." He bobs his head, acknowledging her condolences. "Thanks." He'd actually forgotten about that, until she brought it up. It was weirding him out, more than anything else, and he searches for the sting of disappointment among the emotions in his chest but comes up empty. That probably says something about the state of whatever relationship he and Malia had going on five years ago. Or yesterday, depending on how you look at it.

"So you're going to tell Scott." Lydia calls from the bedroom, as Stiles looks through their fridge for something to eat. He pulls out a box of cold pizza that looks safe, and sees her emerge, a pair of rectangular, tortoiseshell frames perches on her nose. He blinks.

"What are those?"

She frowns and lifts a hand to touch her face, then realizes he means the glasses.

"Oh." She murmurs. "Apparently I have glasses now. I was wondering if the contacts in the bathroom were yours, but when we were out I realized I must need them now." Her fingers trace the corner of the frames self-consciously.

"Right." He says, trying to ignore the feeling that rises in his chest as she fiddles with them. He clears his throat. "Yeah. I'm going to tell Scott. I don't really see how we can work this out without knowing what's happened in the past five years. Either the day this happened the first time didn't happen, or…" He shrugs. "Maybe we just never told them?"

Lydia ponders that, sitting at the counter and pulling a slice of something thin crust topped with a mountain of veggies out of the box. She sniffs it delicately, then takes a bite.

After swallowing, she frowns at him.

"You seem okay." She finally says, after studying him for a moment. He raises an eyebrow.

"Thanks?"

"I just mean," she says, sounding a little like she wishes she hadn't brought it up, "that I figured you would be more upset about the fact that your girlfriend is getting married. To someone you hate."

"Would it be better if my girlfriend was marrying someone I like?" He wonders aloud. Lydia glares at him. He sighs. "I'm still not totally convinced this is even real. It's hard to get upset over something you half suspect is a hallucination. Besides, technically Malia was my girlfriend five years ago, so." He shrugs again.

"And for you, five years ago was last night. Coyotes mate for life." She reminds him, and he can't help but wonder why she's drawing this conversation out.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a coyote." He says, a little more sharply than he'd intended, and she leans back a little in her seat. He takes a piece of pizza just to occupy his hands. It's not bad cold, even though there's some kind of unidentifiable fancy mushroom on it, and they eat in silence for a little while.

"What about our jobs?" Lydia says after a while, breaking the silence. Stiles glances at her, confused.

"What about our jobs?"

"Well, what if we're supposed to be at them right now?" She wonders. He blinks.

"It's Saturday." He tells her. She scowls, and he feels like maybe he's missing something.

"Some people work on Saturdays." She says, like it's obvious. And it probably should have been, she's right.

He thinks about that for a moment.

"Do we care about that?" He asks. "Like, are we actually going to go to our jobs? We don't even know what they are. We won't have the training, or any clue what we're doing. I mean, that's probably going to be pretty hard to fake. We won't know our coworkers, or-"

"Alright." Lydia holds up a hand, looking tired. "Clearly, you are opposed to going. But what if we're stuck here for a while? What if we're stuck here forever? We're going to need jobs. And what if in five years we end up back at this moment and get fired for not showing up?"

She has some good points. But his own still stand.

"You think we're going to be stuck here forever?" He asks, because he's really hoping she doesn't actually believe that. He's still carrying the weight of the revelation that it might be his fault that they're here in the first place. So.

"I don't know what I think." She replies.

"That's a first." He mumbles into the palm of his hand, and it's not really productive, but he can't help himself. It's only just eleven, and it feels like he's ready to go back to bed. Bed. That will prove interesting, but that's a thought for later. He eyes the couch, sizing it up. It will probably do.

"So what did Scott give you?" Lydia asks, obviously ignoring his comment. When he looks puzzled, she nods at the plastic bag on the counter.

"Oh." He loops his finger in the handle, dragging it toward them. "I don't know, he said not to open it there, so." He reaches in and pulls out a small black leather box. They both recognize it immediately as a jewelry box, if the sudden tension in the air is any indication. He flips open the lid, unsurprised to find a diamond solitaire glinting back at him. What does surprise him, is how painfully familiar the ring is. He just stares at it for a moment, his eyes all but melting the platinum band, and then he sets it on the counter suddenly, like the box has grown too hot to touch.

Lydia stares back and forth between the ring and him, and he tries to mask the emotion on his face, but obviously fails.

"It's-" He has to clear his throat. "It's an engagement ring." He tells her, unnecessarily.

"I see that." She says drily. Then she notices the way his eyes are unusually bright, the tightness in his face. "Stiles, it's not that big a deal. I mean it is, obviously, but the girl it was meant for isn't actually me or….not yet. I don't know." He files that not yet away for later investigation through his shock. "And the boy who bought it, Stiles, you know it wasn't you."

He can't take his eyes off it, though.

"He didn't buy it." He mutters, voice rough. "I didn't buy it." He corrects. He can feel her watching him curiously, but doesn't look up. "That's my mother's ring, and that's exactly what I would have given you."

Lydia exhales sharply.

"You know," he adds belatedly, "if I were going to propose."

When he finally glances back up at her, he can't read the expression on her face.

"For the record," she says quietly, "I love the ring."

It's a strange conversation to be having, because he and Lydia are not getting engaged, not in this universe or any other. But still. It's nice to know. So he dredges up a smile, and gets one in return.

"Should we retrace our steps?" He asks. "I know we kind of went over it this morning, but I'm thinking we should really write down everything that happened in the, like, 48 hours before we got here."

He's changing the subject. She lets him.

"Sure." She says softly. So they sit down, and spend the next five hours bickering over what exactly was significant enough to include. Eventually their makeshift chronology reads about 7 pages of crossed out, annotated events, and Stiles decides he no longer remembers how his eyelids work let alone what kind of pants the woman in the parking lot was wearing.

He throws the pen down.

"She was wearing pants." Lydia insists. He groans.

"I'm definitely not arguing that she wasn't wearing any." He mutters. "I think I would have noticed that."

Beside him, she huffs.

"I'm sure."

"I just don't remember what kind. And I honestly don't think it matters. Unless she happened to be wearing scrolls around her legs with the words A foolproof guide to escaping accidental time travel and arriving back at the exact moment you left with your Jeep miraculously where it was before you fell asleep on them."

Lydia sniffs irritably.

"You know, they say sarcasm is the-" But she's interrupted by the chirping of Stiles' cellphone. He snags it off the counter, confused when he sees a name that isn't Scott's on the screen.

"Huh." He says, opening it.

"Scott?" Lydia asks. He shakes his head.

"Different McCall." He mumbles, reading the text.

Can you tell Scott to call me? He won't pick up.

Then he sees the hyphen after Melissa's last name. "Oh my GOD!" He chokes, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"What?" Lydia jumps out of her seat. "Stiles, what?" She peers over his shoulder, and it takes her a moment, then- "Oh."

"Oh?" He turns to her incredulous. "My dad married Scott's mom and all you have to say is oh?"

She shrugs.

"Honestly, out of everything we've seen so far, that's probably the least surprising."

He stares at her.

"What?" It's her turn to sound incredulous. "You honestly never saw it coming? And you call yourself a detective." She snorts, shaking her head.

"I just…" He stares at the phone. "I guess I never really thought about him getting remarried. He was always so bad at dating after my mom died, it seemed kind of unlikely."

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and rests his head against it.

"You like Melissa, though." Lydia says after a while. "It could be worse, right?"

He suddenly remembers that her parents, too, aren't together. Although divorce due to the uncomfortable cliché of sleeping with your secretary isn't quite the same as one spouse dying due to mental illness. But still.

"Yeah." He nods. "Actually…it's good. Great, probably. It's just kind of a lot to wrap my head around."

"You and Scott are actually brothers now."

That's a thought, and he can't help the smile. As though summoned by thoughts of him, Scott's name flashes across Stiles' phone.

"Hello?" Stiles holds it up to his ear, trying not to think about the new label between them. It's only new to him, anyways.

"Hey dude." Scott's voice crackles over the line. "I know I said after dinner, but I have some time now, you free?"

Stiles has to physically restrain himself from shouting in relief.

"Yeah." He manages. "Now's great, come on up."

When he hangs up, Lydia is watching him, their list clutched in her hand.

"Scott?"

This time he nods.

As they wait for Scott to arrive, Stiles reflects on the role reversal of the days events. It isn't often that Stiles is the one going to Scott for information, for advice. He used to think he had all the answers. But now…

The knock at the door startles him out of his musings, Lydia rising to answer it before he's totally recovered. He watches her swing the door open, invite Scott in as if she's done it a million times. As if she lives here. Scott catches sight of the ring box on the counters as he makes his way to living room, eyebrows furrowing.

"Hey." He says to Stiles, glancing behind him to see if Lydia is in earshot. He must decide she isn't, because he leans in. "Did you ask her already?" He wonders, confusion apparent on his face under that ridiculous beard.

"Uh," Stiles says, as Lydia joins them on the couch. "No."

Obviously, that only confuses his friend more.

"We need to tell you something that's going to sound crazy." Lydia says suddenly, from beside him. They're sitting side by side on the loveseat, shoulders touching. Scott leans back in the La-Z boy, eyes flitting between them.

"Isn't that your line?" He asks Stiles, who tries to force a smile. If it looks nearly as awkward as it feels, he's half surprised Scott doesn't recoil in discomfort.

"I just want you to remember," Stiles adds, "that I believed you when you said you thought you were a werewolf."

Scott rolls his eyes.

"Stiles, you were the one who told me you thought I was a werewolf." He reminds them. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Okay." He concedes. "Yes, but I was right wasn't I?"

Scott finally looks worried.

"Guys, what's going on?"

"We may have accidentally time travelled." Stiles says. Scott blinks.

"I…" He blinks some more, opening and closing his mouth a few times. "I'm not really sure what that means." He finally manages.

"What Stiles is trying to say," Lydia interjects, shooting him that you really are the WORST at this kind of thing look, "is that this morning we woke up here, in 2020, but last night when we went to bed it was 2015."

That just prompts more blinking. After a while, Stiles wonders if he should offer Scott some eye drops or something.

"You time travelled." Scott echoes eventually. They both nod. "So you're 2015 Stiles and Lydia in 2020 Stiles and Lydia's bodies."

Stiles thinks Scott is taking this remarkably well. Although it's hard to tell. Maybe he's actually having an aneurysm.

"Yeah." Stiles confirms. Lydia leans forward, looking a little concerned at the vein protruding from Scott's forehead.

"Are you…alright?" She asks, biting her lip. Scott seems to think about it.

"Uh, yes." Then something occurs to him. "Are you? That's kind of…I mean that's pretty weird. How are you not freaking out more?"

"Oh we did." Stiles assures him. "This morning. But now we just…"

"We're trying to focus on how to get back." Lydia finishes for him.

Scott goes quiet again, thoughtful.

"2015." He frowns. "So you're…you're in Senior year. In high school." He says. The thought seems to unnerve him.

"The last thing we remember is going to get those Beithir fangs for Derek. After he got, like, aged down."

Scott's eyebrows shoot up.

"Yeah." He says slowly. "Okay, I remember that. So how can I help?"

He looks expectantly at the pair in front of him. Stiles realizes Scott is as used to Stiles being the one with the plan as he is.

"I think," Stiles glances at Lydia, "that we just need some information. We're five years behind, so." She nods.

"Right." This seems to make sense to Scott. "So," this older, hairier version of Stiles' best friend leans forward. "What do you want to know?"