Very, it turns out.
"Dad?" Stiles pushes through the front door, Scott's front door, and tries to ignore the weirdness that this is, in fact, where his father now lives as well.
"Stiles?"
The Sherriff's head appears from around a corner, his body following when he sees Stiles and Lydia standing uncertainly in the entryway.
"Hey." Stiles waves awkwardly, and Lydia sidles in behind him. Their suitcases are still in the car, their impromptu trip seemed to call for a hotel, especially since it's technically been years since Stiles has seen his father, but the Sherriff looks happy to see them, if a little surprised. They weren't even sure he would be here, what with the erratic schedule of a small town lawman, but he hurries toward them from the living room with a smile.
"It's good to see you." He says, pulling Stiles in for a hug, and then Lydia, who looks startled for a moment before composing herself. "Both of you. Did we know you were coming?"
We. It's strange to hear his father to say that and mean somebody other than Stiles.
"Uh, no. We just had some work stuff, last minute." He forces a smile, taking in the lines around his father's eyes, etched more deeply than he's ever seen them. His hair is streaked with white, standing out against the familiar ruddiness of his skin. He looks old. Something about it makes this feel real in a way it didn't before. Feeling something brush against his palm, Stiles looks down to see Lydia's small hand slip into his. The Sherriff tracks the movement, brow furrowing. It takes a moment, but Stiles realizes he's looking for the ring.
"Hi, Mr. Stilinksi." Lydia smiles brightly.
"Hey now, I've told you to call me-"
"Sherriff?" A voice floats in from the kitchen.
Stiles expects it to be Melissa who emerges, but to his surprise it's someone else entirely.
"Deputy." Stiles greets Hayden's sister with a nod. "Sorry, Dad, are you working?" He's not in uniform, but Deputy Romero is, and he can't help but glance curiously between the two. The Sherriff shakes his head.
"No, it's my day off. Well, technically."
Romero shoots him a guilty glance.
"I should probably go. Thanks for your help. I'll let you know if there are any updates." She nods in greeting as she pushes past them through the door.
"Anything interesting?" It's really not the time, they have enough problems of their own, but the question seems to be second nature to him at this point. His father rolls his eyes fondly, gesturing toward the living room. Instead of heading deeper into the house, Stiles just rocks back on his heels. That earns him a curious frown.
"Don't you have your own cases to worry about?"
Oh, right. Stiles shrugs.
"Nothing worth sharing. Is Melissa working?"
The Sherriff nods.
"She's at the hospital, but she'll be here tonight. Are you guys coming for dinner?"
When Stiles hesitates, Lydia steps forward, cheery smile securely in place.
"We'd love to. I've actually got a meeting in about," she glances at the clock on the wall in front of them, "twenty minutes, but I think we're free this evening." Stiles realizes belatedly that the meeting she has is with Deaton, the reason they're back here in the first place.
"Right." He clears his throat. "I should probably drop her off, what time do you want us for dinner?"
It's weird, and formal, and Stiles knows they would have inevitably ended up at this place eventually, his father inviting him to dinner like he's a guest, because he is, but 2020 Stiles is probably used to it. The older man shrugs.
"Seven?"
"Great." Lydia grabs his hand, flashing the Sherriff another quick smile. "We'll see you then." She tugs him out the door. It's not until after they're out of the house that Stiles even realizes he couldn't breathe. He takes a deep breath now, closing his eyes.
"Thanks, I…" When he opens his eyes, she's right there, staring up at him in concern. He frowns. "How did you know?" He hadn't even felt the panic attack coming on until it was over. She folds her arms over her chest.
"It's not like I've never seen you have a panic attack before," she reminds him. And then seeming to realize how that came out, her face softens. "I just meant, I pay attention," she amends softly. Stiles is reminded of something Scott said once, in answer to a question.
He paid attention.
He's always assumed that was one sided, because for the most part it has been. But now he stares down at her, the way her eyes are still big with concern, for him, bottom lip worried between her teeth. Maybe…no. He knows betters than to go down that road by now. It only leads to disappointment.
"Come on," he grunts eventually, dragging her toward the car, hands still locked together. "We're going to be late."
.-.-.-.
"Scott failed to mention that." Deaton mutters, glancing suspiciously between the pair in front of him.
"Um," Stiles scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Then what exactly did he tell you?" Because if his friend left out the time travel part of their predicament, it can't have been a long conversation.
"He just told me you had a problem that might…fall in my area of expertise. I wish I could tell you that he was right…but…" The vet trails off, frowning. Stiles' heart sinks.
"You don't know anything?" He asks desperately. He's already exhausted from the earlier visit with his father, from pretending to be someone that he doesn't even know. Sighing, Deaton reaches into one of the cabinets in the exam room they're standing in, pulling out an old leather bound book. It's not the beastiary Stiles knows, but then again, these days he doesn't know much.
"I wouldn't say that. Start at the beginning." He instructs, placing the book on the countertop and fixing Stiles with a level look. Stiles glances at Lydia, who nods.
"Okay," he clears his throat. "So we were in the desert-"
"Outside Coyote Springs-" Lydia interjects. Stiles shoots her a look, but Deaton raises his eyebrows.
"In Nevada?"
They both nod, and he gestures for them to continue.
"And we were getting these Bheither fangs-"
"For Derek, because Kate had turned him into a teenager again-"
"And we stopped on the way home at a motel because we'd been driving for hours-"
"No, you left out the part about the spirit gate." Lydia's voice cuts over his. Stiles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Deaton perks up in interest.
"Did you just say the spirit gate?"
Slowly, Lydia nods again.
"I couldn't see it," she explains. "But when we went into the basement of this house, the crypt I guess, Stiles saw it. She said I couldn't see it because I walk with death, whatever that means."
Still looking curious, the emissary leans forward.
"Who said that?"
"This girl in the parking lot. When we woke up the Jeep was gone, and the only other person around was some woman we'd never seen before. She was wearing the fangs around her neck." Lydia recounts.
"Supernatural?" Deaton asks. Stiles frowns.
"She was something." He mutters. He can't forget the flash of tail of he'd seen before she'd disappeared into the woods. Or the unnerving way she'd looked him over, as though she knew something about him, something that both intrigued and frightened her.
"She sure was," Lydia huffs from beside him. "She said something about how Stiles shouldn't have been able to see it, the spirit gate, and then she kissed him." He can't help but notice the distaste on her face as she recalls the last part of the story.
"And then she freaked out and ran away," Stiles reminds her, and the flash of mirth on her features is worth the self-deprecation.
Deaton turns to him.
"This Spirit Gate, you said you saw it in the crypt?" When Stiles nods, the man narrows his eyes in thought. "What did it look like?"
Stiles strains to remember. It feels like a lifetime ago. In some ways, he realizes with shock, it was.
"A lot of wrought iron," he remembers. "Uh, like those gates celebrities always have, super tall and really ornate. It was just this gate, mounted on the wall. I figured it was meant to be outside, but I guess it was exactly where it was supposed to be." He scratches his chin.
"That's fascinating. This woman, was she foreign?"
"European, Slavic I guess?" He offers, shrugging.
"Alright, and then…" Deaton presses.
"Then we realized we were stranded, basically. We tried to find a phone or a computer or something, but there wasn't anything. So we just went to bed." The longer they're stuck here, the further away that night is beginning to feel.
"And then we woke up here, in what's apparently our apartment, five years later." Lydia adds. It's quite a statement, the time traveling thing. But instead of looking shocked or disbelieving, the vet just nods along, intrigued. Like they're some kind of fascinating plot twist in his favorite daytime soap.
"That's…I mean time travel is incredibly rare. Even among the supernatural community it's considered to be science fiction."
"Well," Stiles mutters irritably, "I don't know about the science part but it's all feeling pretty non-fictional to me."
Deaton smiles.
"I can imagine. I have some ideas, but I think I might need to bring in backup on this one. Do you mind if I call Argent?"
Stiles throws his hands in the air.
"You can call Deucalion for all I care, I just want some answers."
Lydia rolls her eyes.
"If you come back later I might have something for you." Deaton tells them. Stiles thinks about dinner.
"Nine?"
The vet nods. They move to leave, but Deaton stops them, holding out his arm.
"But Stiles?" His voice is low, a warning. "You need to be prepared for the fact that they might not be the answers you want."
.-.-.-.
"I didn't think Chris would still be here," Lydia's voice floats out from the bathroom. "I guess…I thought he would want to get away from Beacon Hills."
"Yeah." Stiles is lost in his laptop, scrolling through his e-mails. He's been slowly going through the files and correspondence from the SFPD, trying to get a sense of his cases, his career. Maybe Lydia's pessimism is rubbing off on him, but he suddenly wants to be prepared. If they do end up having to stay in 2020, whether for a few weeks while they figure out how to get back, or forever, it would probably be better to try and keep his career from going completely up in flames.
So far it looks like his short time on the force has been focused mainly on serial killers, homicides which fit into a pattern. It's not surprising, but he's also fascinated at the amount of notes and evidence he's been able to collect in the few months since he graduated the academy. He's starting to get the feeling that he might not have come by all of the documents entirely legally.
Suddenly Lydia emerges, and his focus is finally pulled away from the computer.
"Oh," he says, blinking. "You look, uh…"
Her hand flies to her face, which turns uncertain.
"What? Is it too much? I didn't know how dressed up to-"
"No," he interrupts her. "You look perfect." And he means that, he always does when he's talking about her. Her hair falls in soft waves at her shoulders, the pink of her cheeks matching the soft blush of her sleeveless dress.
She just ducks her head in acknowledgment, padding over to stand behind him, squinting at the computer screen.
"What are you looking at?"
"Hmm? Oh, my old cases. Trying to get a feel for what kind of a cop I am, you know." He shrugs.
"How many official reprimands on your file?"
He stares at her, indignant.
"I've only been on the force six months!" He mutters. She raises an eyebrow. "…three."
Her grin is like liquid sunshine, and it's contagious, even if it is at his expense. God, he's already in so deep. And it only gets worse, every day they're stuck here together. He's starting to forget what it's like not to have her all to himself. A deeply buried, darkly selfish piece of him wonders how bad it really would be to stay in this place, with her, and live out their lives. But the rest of him would never want to end up with Lydia that way, forced together by circumstance. The cost is too high. Besides, there's no reason to suspect that she wouldn't leave him once it became clear they were stuck for good.
"Alright." He shuts his laptop, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of his chair. Grown up Stiles has an almost embarrassing amount of hoodies still in his wardrobe, but clearly dating Lydia has expanded his style to include some more formal clothes as well. And he has to admit, with his slightly more filled out physique, they don't look half bad. He's just glad they've yet to encounter a situation where he's forced to wear one of the suits.
They make it halfway to the car before he catches her shivering.
"I can't believe you didn't bring a jacket," he mutters, even as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. "We're not in San Francisco anymore."
She just rolls her eyes, holding the jacket closed at her neck.
"I have one now, don't I?"
Her slow smile catches him off guard, and there's something there he doesn't recognize on her. Something that reminds him of the way Malia sometimes looks at him.
"Uh..." He pulls open the car door. "Let's go."