Stiles woke to the smell of lavender. His face was pressed into Lydia's neck, her hair tickling his lips. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that it was already light out, his own hair was damp with sweat. As he savored the feeling of Lydia wrapped tightly in his arms, he marveled at the fact that she could still smell so good. It had been two days since she'd showered, he was hoping he could convince her to use the motel's questionable shower before they left, but she still smelled amazing. Actually, he thought, they both smelled pretty clean. So did the bed, even though as they'd fallen asleep the night before the smell of old sweat had nearly overpowered him. Confused, Stiles opened his eyes, only to slam them shut as the full light of day burned into his retinas. What the hell?

The motel room only had one window, and it wasn't exactly big. There was no way that tiny window could let in this much light. Bracing himself for the pain, Stiles forced his eyes open once more, then shot straight up in bed. Discomfort forgotten, he stared around the room with wide eyes. Instead of the dreary beige of the hotel room, the walls were painted a cool blue. Pictures and books littered the walls and desk sitting in the corner. There was something disturbingly familiar about the style, but he was certain he'd never seen this room before. His eyes fell on the picture closest to the bed, and upon recognizing the people in it he gave a yelp of surprise and promptly tumbled out of bed.

As he sat on the floor, blinking dazedly, he heard the rustling of sheets and realized Lydia was waking up. He reigned his focus back in just in time to see her head pop over the side of the bed. Her eyes were wide, wild. Stiles was sure he looked the same.

"Stiles… wh-" He shushed her. She didn't even have the composure to look annoyed. His eyes swept over her face, taking in the subtle differences. Her cheekbones seemed higher almost, sharper. Her lips, always full, stood out more than he was used to on her thinned out face. Her hair, which had fallen in around her face, was long enough to tickle Stiles where he sat on the floor. She looked different. Older. Heart pounding, Stiles shoved himself roughly to his feet. He glanced down at his hands, noting the tiny changes. That scar he'd gotten the night Scott had tried to light himself on fire was faded, almost gone. It had still been pink and shiny the night before. Stiles scanned the room for a mirror. Spotting one above the desk (vanity?) he nearly launched himself at it. He poured over every inch of reflection, noting the different freckle patterns, the angular line of his chin and jaw, the way his hair was longer than he had ever kept it.

"This is impossible." He muttered, backing away from the mirror. He was a little startled at the vehemence in his own voice. "This isn't-" He turned back to the bed, and saw Lydia kneeling in the sheets, her hands fisted in the duvet. She looked terrified. Stiles tried to ignore the fact that she didn't look like his Lydia, she looked like someone else, and stepped tentatively toward her. This isn't real. He told himself. It couldn't be. Still, he found himself edging closer to Lydia. The fear in her eyes was beginning to cause him physical pain.

"Lydia?" He asked. His voice, now that his ears were no longer ringing with the sound of his own thunderous heartbeat, sounded deeper.

"Stiles." So did hers. No deep so much as… fuller. The rasp was still there, and she sounded like herself, but not. Stiles stood nervously beside the bed. Part of him wanted to hold her, to embrace what was clearly a dream and pull her into his arms and savor it until he woke up. The other part felt awkward, like he was looking at a stranger.

"This is a dream." He said. Because it was. She stared at him for a moment, those lips that he had always loved half pursed as though she was about to say something. Then she did.

"No." She murmured. It was his turn to stare. "Stiles, look at your hands." Suddenly remembering what he had taught her, he looked back down at his hands. Five fingers stared back at him. The room started to spin, but he took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and shutting out the view that was causing his heart to kick up again. When he opened them Lydia stood in front of him. Instinctively, he opened his arms, and Lydia stepped into them. As he held her like that, one hand on the back of her head, he knew. He had held her like this before, and it felt exactly as it did then, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was as real as that had been.

They'd woken up in the future. And Stiles had no idea how they were going to get back.