It all starts when Stiles Stilinski drives into school on the 13th of April 1956. He should have known that something would happen that day. It was a Friday, and not only do strange and unfortunate things seem to always happen to him on Fridays, this was a Friday the thirteenth - and every suspicious person in the world knows that 13 is an unlucky number. So add that number and that day and you have hell for one Stiles Stilinski, 17 years old and living in Beacon Hills California.
"Dang!" Someone shouted across the car park.
Stiles' tired Sedan ground to a halt in the outlined parking space, and cut out with a rumble and bang. In the rear-view mirror it was clear to see the black smoke rising in heavy, frightening clouds from the Ford's exhaust. Stiles looked at it with a mixture of disdain and true sadness. His hands on the steering wheel stroked soothingly over the plastic of the car's interior. "It's okay baby," he mumbled, "I'll see you right."
A thump on his window startled him, and he jolted to see his best – well, his only – friend staring at him with wide, watering eyes. With a big sigh Stiles grabbed the door handle, tugged, and opened it to the pungent, fume-filled air outside. A cacophony of coughing met his ears.
"Stiles, what happened to your ride?" Scott asked, his throat tight.
"Baby's just having some trouble today, aint'cha, doll?" Stiles replied, and closed the door softly before sliding his keys into the door and locking it.
"Some trouble?" Scott replied, disbelief tainting his tone.
"Yeah, she'll be all right by tomorrow."
Stiles headed to the back of the car to open the boot and grab his bag. Scott, very cleverly, stayed put rather than following him into what had to be toxic air.
"You're taking her to a shop?" Scott asked after him, hearing the click of the boot opening, a rustle, and then the close.
"To a shop?" Stiles asked, as he appeared from the dissipating smoke with his book bag in hand and a hand waving the fumes from his face. "And let some cat get their fingers all over her? No way!" He slung his bag over one shoulder and looked at Scott as if to show that he truly thought him crazy for even suggesting such a thing. Like any sane person, Scott was unimpressed.
"Your ride is obviously broken. You should get her seen."
"Yeah, but I just don't want her to get hurt." Stiles replied, and they started their trudge towards the school building.
"She's already 'hurt'." Scott replied with a laugh in his voice. Since Stiles had got his ride about three months ago he had been strangely over-protective of it, almost as if it were his sweetheart rather than his car.
"And I don't want to spend all of my hard-earned money on a bad job." Stiles added, as he gave a starry eyed gaze at his long-standing crush Lydia Martin, who looked just as flawless as ever.
Scott sighed and shook his head, bringing up one hand to keep his hair in shape. "Well, what if I told you that not ever car shop is like the one that your dad went to?"
"...Then I'd be interested." Stiles said cautiously. Scott smiled.
"Good. There's this garage out on the outskirts of town. On Mulberry Lane – you know it?"
"Uh, no." Stiles said as they turned onto a crowded corridor, mustard yellow lockers covering the walls. Two of them belonged Scott and Stiles.
"Well it's sweet." Scott said, and then his eyes lit up and got all gooey and oh, thought Stiles, because he knew that look. It was the look Scott got just before he wandered off to his girlfriend Allison. And yeah, there he goes.
Honestly, Stiles didn't quite understand it, but then again he's never had a broad himself, just pined over Lydia for as long as he can remember. Maybe they secreted something that kept guys like Scott clinging to them for dear life. With a shake of his head, Stiles shouted a goodbye to Scott that he doubted was paid any attention, and went to his locker alone.
Later in the day, in Chemistry (which included a pop quiz – what did Stiles say about Fridays being unlucky?) Scott drew a sketchy map with instructions on how to get to Deaton's Garage before getting a detention for not paying attention, and Stiles spent the rest of the school hours attempting to get Lydia's attention. All in all it was a normal day.
It got less normal after he had coaxed his car down Mulberry Lane to give out just outside of Deaton's.