When Apollo mentions the location of the spare clothes, Stiles wheels around in alarm. But it’s too late—the guy has already rounded the car to the trunk and…has paused, very clearly and obviously noticing the scrapes. Stiles averts his face, trying to look innocent, and flinches at the sound of the trunk shutting. Somewhat sheepish now, he trots after Apollo into the building.

“You know how, in cartoons, you always see people riding these things?”

Stiles points at the coat-hanger conveyor belt. The clerk gives him a dubious look, as if trying to see where this question is leading.

“I’ve always wanted to—”

Noticing the clerk, Stiles cuts himself off and smacks his lips.

“Yep, nevermind. Annnyways… Where were you headed, dude?”