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Stiles had a list of things that he never ever expected to happen, ever. It was a very important list, and it found that, over the past few months it had been regularly updated. It was at the back of his English book (not much of an issue. Mrs Keller is an old woman with hearing problems and some serious gaps in her memory – he highly suspected she was going to be retired soon – but it meant that she often forgot about homework she set and never felt the need to check anyone's book. It's probably the safest place he could keep it) and Stiles had only really found it necessarily to have this list because of all the werewolf drama that he ended up being dragged into.

Now, his pen hovered over the words as he rearranged his current ranking because this…this was pretty unexpected…

Stiles' list of things he never ever expected to happen:

1) Werewolves exist

1) Scott having a girlfriend

2) Werewolves exist

3) Other things that are not werewolves exist as well

4) Jackson is one of the forementioned 'other things' (although he probably could of guessed that the retired douchebag would be a lizard)

5) Witches also existed in this strange Supernatural-inspired world – and apparently, they have a sense of humour, which led him to point 6

6) Witches turning my Jeep (my Jeep!) into a living human person

Said Jeep was currently leaning over his shoulder as he wrote, peering curiously at the words that she didn't really know how to read. She had to press her upper body against his back to keep herself upright because the concept of legs was completely new and baffling to her.

As was the idea of clothes apparently.

Stiles felt the flush travelling up the back of his neck as bare breasts pressed through his shirt. His muscles twitched and he wanted to move away but then she'd drop and really, human she may be, but his Jeep she definitely was and clearly his phobia of damaging her had stretched to the current circumstances.

"Um, where are your clothes, uh, Jeep?" he stuttered out the question nervously, and he couldn't even ignore the snickers he could hear behind him. Of course they would find this funny.

She frowned heavily, and looked a little disappointed. "You don't normally call me Jeep…"

"What does he normally call you?" Allison asked gently from his right, as she dragged a sheet around her bare shoulders, because Allison was nice and a good friend.

"Baby," she answered brightly, beaming widely, and Stiles groaned, face dropping into his hands, when the laughter increased. Even Allison had to cover her mouth to muffle a laugh. Okay, so clearly Allison wasn't as nice as Stiles had hoped.

"Baby?" Jackson repeated ludicrously through his laughter, "Seriously Stilinski, you call your car baby?"

Baby frowned again, looking upset. "Is that bad?" she wondered in a low voice.

"Of course not," Lydia quickly assured, approaching the new found girl with a bright smile that was really unlike her, but Stiles couldn't bring himself to start questioning her motives, "Jackson's just a being a jerk."

"Jackson is a douche bag," Baby recited slowly, clearly from memory, and Jackson spluttered angrily. Stiles sunk lower into his seat and prayed that the ground would swallow him whole because, seriously, he'd rather be tortured in Hell than have to sit through this another moment. Because his jeep, uh, Baby, knew more about him than anyone…ever, and she knew a whole lot more than he wanted to share with anyone. But of course, she didn't understand the concept of secrecy. Just his luck.

"Stiles, you should be more careful what you say around your car," Erica mocked him.

"Come on, let's find you some clothes," Lydia continued, as if she hadn't said anything, her and Allison already assisting the magically-turned-car on shaky legs to the stairs. She looked like a new born deer, uncertain of her movements or what she was supposed to do, but she went willingly, although Stiles could hear her questioning the purpose of clothing as they moved up the stairs.

"Of all the people this could happen to, of course it would be you Stiles," Scott commented amused. Stiles shot his now ex-best friend a dark look but his smile merely widened.

Derek watched the teasing of his pack from the back of the room, leaning back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He'd been silent since the giggling witch had thought it was a good source of entertainment to transform Stiles' jeep into a living, breathing, talking girl. The witch had escaped but he'd had enough experiences with witches and their sense of humour (times he would prefer are never ever mentioned) to know that they aren't permanent. Give it a week or two, and the jeep would be back, as good as it ever was. Unfortunately, Derek wasn't entirely sure the car would be able to survive that long.

She kept touching Stiles. He knew he had no right to be possessive and jealous – Stiles belonged to him and the teenager knew that, despite what he may deny whenever asked (unless he was in the process of being nailed into the mattress, then he's got quiet loose lips) - and he could understand why she was so attached to Stiles – she was his car, probably the only person she trusted explicitly in the room because, apparently, she still retained memories of being hit by Scott in a fit of anger and hitting Jackson when he was in full Kanima kill mode – but, god, he couldn't help it. Every time she'd touched him – stumbled into him, grasped his arm, or pressed up against him to keep herself standing – he just wanted to rip her apart, punish her until she understood that Stiles was his and always would be. His wolf whined and growled as he threatened to escape and, judging by the gleeful looks that Peter was shooting him from the other side of the room, his uncle knew very well what was going on.

He cursed the older man silently.

Seriously, sometimes Peter knew way too much for his own good.

But of course, when you actually need him to know something, he was useless.

When Stiles turned to him and practically begged for some kind of answer to how he could fix this ("because, seriously, she's my car and I love her, but as my car dude, and I can't take her home – what's my dad going to say when I invite the girl he's never met before over to stay at our house, and she doesn't like to wear clothes?"), Peter had quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

"Tell him she's your girlfriend?" he offered.

Stiles flushed pink and fumbled, panicked, over an objection.

Derek didn't even bother trying to suppress a growl of anger.

So, Stiles did end up taking Baby home with him, if only because when he'd tried to leave hours later, she'd looked all distressed and abandoned and well, Stiles doubted he could ever say 'no' to a crying girl/women/car.

Derek broke a door frame in frustration.

His dad had been more understanding than Stiles anticipated. The Sheriff had been aware of the werewolf situation for little under a month now and Stiles guessed he was still in the 'I'll believe anything you tell me' stage. He'd arched an eyebrow at the girl who was leaning heavily against him and trying desperately to reach an itch in the centre of her back with the baffled look on her face, like she hadn't felt anything like it before, but then Stiles' supposed she hadn't, and nodded some kind of acceptance.

"Set her up in the spare room," he commanded, "I'll bring in some fresh sheets."

Yeah, his dad was awesome.

Not that having a spare room worked anyway. It was nearly three in the morning when he was shaken awake with a heavy hand. He blinked beadily from beneath the covers to see his father, tired but alert for the most part, probably fresh in from a late shift.

"Um, Baby was in the drive way," he stated calmly.

"Huh?" Stiles murmured confused. It was way too early for this kind of conversation.

"Maybe you need to explain to her that humans don't sleep out on the porch," the Sheriff offered as helpfully as one could in this situation, "She's on the sofa downstairs."

When he'd stumbled down the stairs, running a hand through his hair, Baby looked up at him with an overjoyed and way to perky for someone at this time in the morning. In the end, she ended up in his bed, pressing up against his back and god, only his life.

Of course, Derek hadn't been happy about the change of scent around Stiles' room. He landed silently on the space just in front of the window and froze, eyebrows furrowing, and inhaled the air. Tension grew in his body.

"Who else has been here?" he demanded angrily.

Stiles, who had been doing Calculus work (and failing terribly, to be honest), looked away from the textbooks and sheets of paper spread out across his bed sheets and gave his boyfriend a confused look. "No one," he answered.

Derek's eyes flashed red in warning, and even though he knew Derek wouldn't do anything to hurt him, Stiles recoiled a little out of habit.

"No one, I swear," he speedily assured, raising his hands in surrender, "Just Baby…"

"She's been staying in your room," Derek stated, surprise seeping into his voice.

Stiles gave a one shouldered shrug. "It's better than her napping on the grass. People would start to ask questions."

"In your bed," he continued through gritted teeth.

"Well, I can't put her on the floor," the teenager argued, "She may be a magically turned human version of my car, but she's a guest."

"With you," Derek added slowly.

"Yes, with me, because when I tried to sleep in the guest room, she followed me. At least, this way I can actually sleep on my own mattress. Do you know how long it took me to break it in? Nearly ten years dude, and there is a lot of history in this mattress and-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Derek had grabbed him and pushed him roughly up against the wall. He wanted to complain about it because, really, he was going to bruise and he thought they were passed this stage in their relationship – but, then Derek was kissing him and okay, he could completely deal with a few bruises if Derek kept kissing him like this.

Maybe I should get him jealous more often was the last coherent thought that Stiles had before sentences melted into involuntarily noises and begs that he was glad his father wasn't around to hear.

"So, Dean and Castiel are not together?" Baby questioned, confused.

Stiles laughed. "Well, not officially, but come on, we all know it's happening off screen. Dean probably can't wait to get a hold of Castiel's ass. I sure wouldn't."

Baby paused. "What about Derek?"

"What about Derek?"

"Do you want to get a hold of his ass?" she blinked innocently.

Stiles choked on his saliva and that was definitely a reminder to watch what he said around impressionable cars. There was no denying that Stiles definitely wanted that to happen, because if the gods had made a decree about what the perfect curve of a man's backside should be, he was almost certain that Derek's was the living model, but they were taking it slow.

Derek's words not his.

Stiles' plan had been more along the lines of stripping to their birthday suits and being fucked within an inch of his life. Derek's were more about him not getting arrested; a little selfish of him really. But there was no way in hell that Stiles was having this conversation with someone as naïve to the world as Baby (and damn, he really needed to find a better name for her).

His cheeks burning with embarrassment, he fumbled over his words. "Uh, of course, we're dating. It's kind of, uh, part of the rules I guess."

Baby frowned deeply, looking thoughtful, before she finally declared, "I don't like Derek. You shouldn't be dating him."

And that, well, threw Stiles a little. He tilted his head. "Why not?"

"He hurt you," she reminded softly, one of her hands reaching up the touch the centre of his forehead where there was still a dent from where Derek had helped to acquaint it with the steering wheel, "And you're my master."

"Baby, we spoke about this. I'm your friend, not master," Stiles stressed the words, because he definitely didn't want another fiasco like the one at the grocery shop. He doubted that old Mrs Williams would ever look at him the same way again.

"My friend," she pronounced, "You're my friend."

"Exactly," Stiles nodded, smiling warmly.

Turned out, Baby was a cock-block.

Derek loomed over him, rocking his hips purposely downwards with this wickedly delicious look on his face as his younger lover, red faced, panted and whined, his hands flexing over Derek's broad shoulders. He let out a stuttered beg and Derek tilted his head down to press a firm kiss to those bitten lips.

His tongue forcibly took possession of Stiles' mouth, sweeping along the underside of his teeth and tasting the remains of Adderall and energy drinks, things he had come to associate with Stiles Stilinski. One of his hands slipped down Stiles' bare chest and skilfully unbuttoned the hold of his jeans. It dipped beneath, grasping the hardened cock through the fabric of his briefs and Stiles moaned out in pleasure.

God, Derek knew he shouldn't be doing this – there was only four more days until he was safely out of the "getting arrested" zone, and he should have more control than that, but really, Stiles should not look that good when he was horny and on the verge of begging to cum.

Stiles was close, so incredibly close, and he could feel Derek's cock pressing back in answer through the tight black jeans and god, he just wanted into them so much. He even managed to release those wonderfully muscles shoulders for such a noble quest. His hand splayed across the hard skin on his lower abdomen and seriously, one day, Stiles promised himself he was going to lick that six-pack.

Derek bit down harshly on his bottom lip, cutting off his train of thought, and Stiles' hips jerked upwards instinctively. Right, that's where he was. Close, so close…

"Stiles!" the aghast voice of Baby broke through the sexual frustration in the room, making the couple freeze in place, mid-thrust. Stiles looked panicked at the prospect of his car catching him in this kind of position (and when the fuck did this become his life exactly?) and Derek tensed as an angry snarl rumbling in the base of his throat.

Not that it did anything to deter Baby. She still rushed into the room and roughly pushed Derek from on top of Stiles with strength that was oddly surprising (until you remembered she was really a car and then nothing was surprising) so she could throw her arms around Stiles' chest. She nuzzled against the sweaty flesh of his chest, which really, was not helping the situation. Baby was scenting him, he knew, although he didn't know whether she did, but Derek definitely did. He was practically wolfing out, panting heavily from something that almost certainly not arousal, and watching the exchange with glowing red eyes that showed no signs of retracting, and Stiles felt this undeniable urge to save his jeep.

He laughed nervously and gently tried to push her off. She only clung to him tighter. "No!" she said defiantly, "Stiles is mine!"

God, it was as if she wanted to be wrecked, Stiles thought panicked when Derek's lips curled to reveal fangs.

"Maybe we should put this on hold for a while," Stiles suggested hurriedly, shooting a pleading and desperate look in Derek's direction. "Uh, how about we watch a movie? Dad rented Bourne Legacy and if I need an excuse to stare at Jeremy Renner's arms, now would be the time," he joked weakly.

The fur didn't recede, and nor did the claws but the fangs seemed to shorten (or maybe he was just imagining things) and Derek gave a curt nod so Stiles took it as a good sign. Even more so when Baby didn't end up bleeding on the living room floor, as she forced herself between the two boys, pressing herself needlessly up against Stiles' body. Derek scowled heavily. She shot him a smug look.

Stiles loved Baby, he really did, but he refused to have his sex life ruined before it had even begun. He wanted his car back.

Derek had similar sentiments.

Over the next few days the need to find the witch tripled, at least in Derek's eyes. Baby needed to be a Jeep again, for her own sake as well as Derek's. His wolf had been clawing at his control, fraying the edges, and more than once, he had been ready to pounce. It was only Stiles awkward but endearing rambling that tended to pull him back, and even then, it was only just.

He'd taken the searching through the array of salvaged books that now littered the space that used to be a living room. He remembered his father being an avid collector of all kinds of mythology books (and he was almost certain that he'd owned his own bestiary, but Derek had never been able to find it so it had most likely perished in the fire), and so he determining believed that there must be something useful in one of these books.

So far, he'd only been proven incorrect.

He let out a frustrated noise as yet another book was unable to give him the answers he needed and it dropped heavily to the newly replaced floorboards, joining the pile that was steadily growing at his feet. He ran a tired hand over his face before valiantly reaching for the next book.

"You're just wasting your time," Peter's voice drifted towards him, pondering, but Derek had known he was standing there for a while now so he didn't even look towards him.

"I'm just looking," he muttered under his breath.

"You and I both know there are only three ways to break a witches' spell: let it run its course, kill the witch or get the witch to reverse it," Peter continued knowledgably, leaning up against the doorframe.

"I quite like the idea of door number 2," Derek quipped.

Peter smirked. "Now, now, just because you aren't boning Stiles anymore doesn't mean we should resort to such violence," he chided and his grin only widened when his nephew glared darkly at him.

Deaton was only a little bit more helpful.

"There's a witches coven about four miles from here," he had answered thoughtfully, "It's shaded from those outside their world, so I wouldn't suggest running head first into their home, claws out. But if your witch is still in Beacon Hills, she would be there. It's a safe haven of sorts."

Derek nodded jerkily. "Thank you," he stated and made to leave.

"I'm serious Derek, you need to be careful with these witches," Deaton warned him seriously, "They are mostly peaceful but they have rocky relationships with creatures who wish to harm one of their own, especially werewolves. Go there without violent intentions or they will sense it, and you may not all get out there alive. Understand?"

He responded with another nod, not even bothering to turn to face him, before leaving the little veterinary practise. He did understand, and he relayed the words to this pack at the meeting that evening, along with beginning to discuss the plan for how they were going to find this haven and even more, how they were going to pick one witch out of a whole coven of them.

Without violent intentions, he reminded himself and took a calming breath, allowing some of the tension to leave his shoulders.

But damn, that was easier said than done.

Stiles let out a high-pitched keen and Derek smothered the noise with his mouth. He didn't want to take any chances they might be overheard. It had taken a lot of effort to coax the younger male into the old bathroom and he'd be damned it if he let anyone – and by anyone, he meant certain car girls – interrupt.

He was pleased to know that Stiles' kisses were just as desperate as his, and he caged Stiles into the wall even more. He felt one of the teenager's hands slipping under his shirt, caressing the dimples in the small of his back and then into his underwear, cupping his ass and squeezing. Derek's breath hitched and he took no shame in rubbing his tented front against Stiles' bare crotch. He'd made quick work of his trousers and briefs earlier and they now rested uselessly around Stiles' ankles. Stiles let out a low moan at the feeling of the rough fabric against his sensitive cock, which lengthened when one of Derek's hands dipped between his legs and stroked his balls firmly. The head of his cock leaked heavily and he didn't even want to think about the wet patch that was forming on his t-shirt.

The smell was pungent and god, Derek's mouth watered for a taste. First taste he had been given in nearly two weeks. Had it really been only two weeks? It seemed so much longer.

"Stiles…" he breathed out, voice gravelled with lust.

"Stiles!"

Derek tensed instantly at the feminine voice just outside the door. It was locked from the inside so it didn't open when Baby twisted the door handle and tried to yank it off its hinges. Good. He let out a low noise of frustration and his hands tightened into fists. Stiles sighed heavily against his cheek and dropped his forehead onto his shoulder.

"We should go…" he advised reluctantly.

"Stiles," Derek started to object.

"As gorgeous as you are, and no matter how sexually frustrated I am right now, I refuse to have sex while Baby is outside the door," Stiles told him firmly, "It's…off putting."

"She's doing it on purpose," Derek didn't want to admit he might be whining but…okay, yeah, he was whining. He would fervently deny that he ever pouted though.

"I know," the teenager agreed, "She doesn't…like you very much."

"I'm starting to see that, yeah," Derek scowled.

"Stiles!" the voice called out again, this time more insistently.

Stiles sighed. "I'll…I'll be out in a minute, okay Baby?" he called through the wooden door.

"Okay," she chirped happily, but Derek didn't hear footsteps moving away so he knew she was still standing there, waiting. He let out an annoyed huff and began to pull away, adjusting himself.

Stiles quickly tucked him self away, pulling his trousers and briefs, and reached out to grasp one of Derek's hands. "It won't be for much longer," Stiles whispered reassuringly, "I'll have my jeep back soon and then you and I can finally have some real alone time together."

"And I plan to take full advantage of you," Derek muttered lowly, a voice full of promise that made a shiver run through Stiles' body in anticipation.

"Slow down Sourwolf. You need to at least take me out to dinner first," he teased.

Derek smirked. "I think I could arrange something…"

"Stiles!" Baby demanded.

The alpha sighed heavily and reluctantly pulled away from Stiles' grip. "Go," he told him. Stiles shot his boyfriend a sorrowful look before unlocking the door and stepping out.

Baby brightened at the sight of him.

The head of the coven was a tall, middle-aged woman with long black hair, speckled with premature grey that had been tied back in a long extravagant plait, now hanging over her slim shoulders. She stood tall and powerful in her light brown dresses, tapered around her waist, yet, she couldn't seem to keep the worry off her angled face.

Derek liked that.

"What do you want wolf?" she demanded, her voice strong.

"We have a mutual friend," Derek responded simply.

She tilted her head puzzled. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken. I am at a loss of who you could be talking about…"

"See, we don't really know who she is either," he admitted, "But what we do know is a witch, most likely one who is seeking refugee here, wandered into Hale territory nearly three weeks ago. She attacked one of my pack members and then thought it would be funny to transform my human's jeep into a human."

"We don't know much about witch laws," Lydia inserted, "But I'm sure that kind of manipulation of matter would mess up the natural order of things, yes?"

The head witch eyed the redhead girl closely. "You possess magic," she stated.

Lydia didn't answer, merely arched an eyebrow.

The head shook her head slightly. "You are right, we don't actively support that kind of magical intent," she agreed, "But how do you know this witch you are searching for is within our borders?"

"Because I could smell the citric shampoo from miles away – how do you think we found you in the first place?" Derek wondered.

She hesitated, clearly not entirely happy with the situation. "What do you wish to do with her?"

"Nothing, we just want her little trick fixed," he assured, "As long as everything rights itself, nothing will happen."

"Don't speak as if you are doing us a favour wolf," the head witch spat angrily, "We are of greater numbers and power than you."

"Perhaps," Derek conceded, "But we'd take out a lot of you in the process and do you really want the Beacon Hills Police Department poking around your home?"

She scowled and he nearly grinned at his victory.

The witch was dragged from behind the crowd roughly, and she struggled valiantly against the hold, but the others were stronger. She was released suddenly and she fell to the floor, pouting heavily, reminding Derek of a child who had just been told to share her favourite toy.

"Esmeralda," the head witch greeted softly.

"Lady Miriam," Esmeralda grumbled reluctantly.

"You are a guest in our camp, and we welcomed you," Lady Miriam began, "But we cannot simply accept such careless use of ones magic. If you wish to stay with us – and have our protection – I believe it would be wise for you to reverse the affects of the spell."

"But Lady Miriam," she whined, "I was just-"

"No excuses Esmeralda," Miriam's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, "I refuse to allow one young witch with silly intentions to destroy our peaceful existence. Now, correct it."

Esmeralda muttered, irked, under her breath and shot a dark glare at the werewolves outside the border. "Your car shall be a car once more by nightfall," she uttered.

Lady Miriam smiled and patted the crown of her head. "Very good Esmeralda," she praised. She glanced at the pack, "Your deed here as been completed. You may leave."

"Not a problem," Derek responded. He forced a smile, vaguely remembering what Stiles had said before they departed about playing nice to get what they want. "Thank you, for your co-operation."

Lady Miriam frowned.

Stiles glanced out of his bedroom window distractedly, once again his mind wondering to how the confrontation with the witches went – that he wasn't allowed to go to, he quoted bitterly, and seriously, he'd never let Derek stop making it up to him for that one.

It wasn't that he didn't love Baby, he did – of course he did, she was his baby, but he wanted his baby back the way she was supposed to be. His beloved jeep that he trusted to get him where he needed to go and broke down far too often and that he had an irrational attachment to. As a human, she was great, but perhaps just a tad too clingy.

Okay, a lot too clingy. She just seemed to be everywhere. She followed him around the house, to shops, to pack meetings. She even stands outside the bathroom when he really needs to go and no matter how many times he explained to her that people don't do that, she just doesn't understand. Or maybe she refuses to understand. She seems to understand what she's doing when it involves Derek.

God, he didn't realise how much of his and Derek's relationship was based around sex until then. He'd never been so horny in his life – even before anything physical had happened with Derek – but maybe that was because he hadn't been able to use his, ah, alternative form of stress relief as a replacement.

Man, he felt like a dick for caring more about his, well, dick than he did his car-turned-human friend who seemed to just want to look out for him, but damn it, this was the only thing he'd ever allowed himself to be selfish about.

"Stiles?" Baby's voice came from behind, a little low and sad in a way that grabbed at his chest.

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the window and smiled slightly at her, from where she was sitting, cross-legged, on his bed. "Hey Baby, what's up?"

She looked uncertain. "Do you…do you not want me here?"

"What? Why would you say that?" he inwardly winced guiltily.

Baby frowned slightly. "Every time I come to see you, you get annoyed with me."

"It's not that I'm annoyed, it's just…" he sighed, "Derek and I, we want some alone time together and you keep, you know, interrupting…"

"I don't like Derek," she stated.

"I know you don't, but I do. I like him a lot, actually," Stiles admitted.

"So I'm getting in the way?"

One look at her face made him want to lie. Wanted to assure that it wasn't the case…but it was. She was getting in the way, and on purpose. She stared at him uncertainly and he bit his bottom lip.

"…Baby, you…" he started.

"Be honest," she insisted.

"...Fine, yes, you're kind of getting in the way," he replied, "And it's not because I don't love you anymore because I do – I mean, you're my jeep – but I lo-like Derek too, and it's hard to spend time with him when you just want my attention. Do you understand?"

Baby was frowning, as if she didn't like what she was hearing, but she nodded anyways. She looked down at her lap for a moment, and Stiles automatically felt bad. The last thing he wanted to do want to hurt her. He made to reach for her hand, but she stood up suddenly, preventing him from doing so.

"I'm going for a walk," she announced.

"What? Because of what I said, because-"he began to ramble, but she slapped a hand over his mouth – something she had learnt from Isaac, no doubt – and smiled at him with surprising warmth.

"I just want to walk," she shrugged. She released his mouth and made to leave the room.

"Oh, um, okay…" Stiles scrambled forward a little, "W-will you be alright by yourself?"

"Of course, I have GPS," Baby tapped her temple, giggled a little before sweeping from the room, grabbing her jacket (well, Allison's) from over his computer chair as she did.

"Huh…my jeep's a comedian…"

Except, Baby didn't come back.

Of course, she'd only been gone a few hours but it was nearly dark and the last thing Stiles wanted was for her to get hurt. He had enough experience to know that crazes (and supernatural crazes at that) came out after dark and god is this how his dad feels every time he's out a little too late?

"I'm sure she's fine," the Sheriff tried to assure his panicking son, but Stiles wasn't really listening. He was too business running over everything that could possible have happened.

Werewolves,

Drunken men looking for a good time,

Drunken women wanting a fight,

Witches,

Vampires (even if Derek says they don't exist),

Hunters who have seen her with him and want to make an example,

Kidnappers who like her pretty face,

Pimps who are in need of a new bitch….

Okay, so Stiles knew the last one was a little over the top, because he doubted that Beacon Hills even had any pimps (at least, none that he'd ever heard his dad speaking about) but he was freaking out a little and he couldn't be blamed for his imagination going into over time.

He watched the windows like a hawk, searching for any kind of glimpse of his Baby, and after half an hour of nothing, he was close to declaring he would patrol the streets looking for her. His fingers hovered over the keys on his phone as he debated whether he should call Scott, because he was an excellent tracking dog.

And then Derek pulled up in his driveway.

"Baby!" he shouted excitedly, running into the fender of his Jeep. He ran his hands along the hood, caressing the smoothness of the paint job. The engine clicked off and Stiles inclined his head up to beam widely when Derek stepped out of the car.

"Where did you find her?" Stiles demanded.

"She was about half a mile away from my house," Derek told him, "I thought you might want her back."

"What would see be doing up on the preserve?" he wondered ludicrously.

Derek shrugged. "I have no idea."

Maybe she was coming to see you…? Stiles wondered to himself, and suppressed a smile. He wouldn't know, of course, but he liked to think that his Baby was planning to apologise to Derek for purposely ruining their alone time. Or maybe he was beginning hopeful. He didn't really care. He pressed a grateful kiss to the hood anyway.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against the muscled body and a thrill shot through him. Derek dipped his head to trace the curve of Stiles' neck with his tongue, and he nipped playfully at the skin.

"Now that everything's back to normal, do you know what that means?" he teased.

Stiles hummed. "Yeah, my car sex fantasies are never going to happen."