The wind shifted through the curtains, tickling his face and ruffling through his hair. Stiles was content in a tangle of warm blankets and shifted burrowing deeper, chasing sleep. The breeze persisted brushing along his arm and toying with his hair. He flopped onto his back with a huff. He squinted hostilely at the open window. Then he shot upright kicking off his blankets. He only ever left the window open for Malia. And she wasn't there beside him. He had fallen asleep a little after dawn, pressed up against her.

Worry had always been his resting state, but considering that the desert wolf had literally just had her claws in his girlfriend a few nights ago, his hyper-vigilance felt justified. Tugging on his shoes, he loped down the stairs. He found no signs of life in the bathroom or kitchen. And her shoes were missing. Stiles dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe last night hadn't meant what he had thought it had. Maybe it had just been about comfort.

The sputter and whine of his engine brought him to the screen door. Dazed by mid-morning sunlight he stepped out onto the porch and was met by his father's long-suffering expression.

"I'm not sure what you did." The sheriff said, glancing over his shoulder toward the jeep's open hood. "But, whatever it was. Keep doing it." Stiles saw a flash of brown hair behind the hood and relief flooded through him. Whatever his dad said next he completely missed. The next thing he knew, he was being swatted in the chest with the mail "Stiles, get over there and help, you're girlfriend." The sheriff said, exasperated. But there was a proud gleam in his eyes, as he passed by him.

Stiles sidled down the steps and came around the far side of his jeep, he stopped short at what he saw. Malia was perched on the fender, half crawled inside the engine. Her shirt was ridden up, and her hair spilling out of a sloppy ponytail, falling in her face. AC/DC's Back in Black was blaring from his speakers, a familiar track from Malia's favorite mix-tape. It had been her dad's, something her mom, Evy had made for him back when they had been in high school together. Tate had given it to her as a way to feel closer to her mom. It had been in the tape deck of his CJ-5 the day they had broken up, and he hadn't been able to let go of it.

He took a step closer, his foot catching on something. At his feet he found a dog-eared book splayed open, its pages stained green, yellow and red. Stooping down he flipped through it. Beneath sections bathed in red highlighter, was the slanted scrawl of handwritten notes. Flipping it closed he found himself holding a tarnished copy of the 1980 Jeep CJ-5 Repair Manual.

Suddenly there was too much space between them. Dropping the manual he came up behind her. Over the pulse of the music, he heard her muttering a few unintelligible words, as she grappled with something under the hood. Banding his arms around her middle, he kissed her shoulder. Malia leaned back into him making a pleased noise in the back of her throat. She squeezed his arm with one hand, before spinning around to sit towards him on the edge of the jeep. He smirked at the look of her, with her hair askew and a dark grease smudge on the corner of her cheek, perched on the side of his jeep. Bracing his hands on either side of her he leaned forward kissing her slow and thoughtful.

"You, stealing my jeep?" he teased, when they broke. Malia rolled her eyes reaching into the engine she produced a rolled wad of duct tape.

"How about, thanks, Malia. For prying melted duct tape out of my engine block."

Sticking the ball of duct tape to his shirt for effect. Stiles brushed it off, leaning in capturing her lips again, "You are so much hotter than my last mechanic." He mumbled against her lips.

Malia smirked, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt "You smell good," she replied.

In actuality he could probably use a shower, shave and a change of clothes, but he knew that wasn't what she was talking about. Chemo signals.

He ducked his head, boyishly "I'm happy, you're here." He explained.

"You thought I'd leave?" she clarified.

Stiles shrugged, "I woke up and you were gone. I wasn't sure."

Malia gauged him for a moment before speaking, "I could tell you had only just fell asleep." She said. "And I just couldn't keep still. I needed to do something. So I took a run to the preserve and got my car. And went home to grab some tools."

Stiles peered over her shoulder into the engine cavity. Malia had a set of combination wrenches, socket wrenches, a large flat head screw driver and a pair of vice grips, arranged neatly on a grease rag. She had disconnected the negative terminal of the battery and loosened the bolts on the alternator so she could create slack in the v-belt.

"Yeah, I can see that." he said, his eyes flicking back to her. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked.

Malia had spun back around and was staring at the engine, a look of renewed concentration pinching her features.

"My dad," she said, distractedly "We used to work on his car together when I was a kid. It was always kind of our thing." She told him as she reached back under the hood, starting to slowly work the drive belt off of the pulleys on the engine. Stiles tilted his head. Malia had never shared anything with him about her life before the crash. Everything he knew about her life before they met he had pieced together.

"All I did back then was hold the work light or pass him tools." She told him. Stiles watched her fascinated by her look of rapt concentration, as she very patiently worked the belt over the radiator fan and shroud. She straightened, brushing her brow with the back of her arm and wiping her hands with a tattered rag. "But with me driving, he thinks I should know how to do this stuff and we've been spending a lot of time together lately."

"You like it." He replied.

Malia nodded, "I like working with my hands," she agreed. A smile crossing her face, "And I like spending time with him. He's not much of a talker. But give the man something to fix and suddenly he's telling me stories about my mom in high school, and about Lindsay and me."

"You-" he hesitates, "-you never talk about them." Stiles, said carefully.

Malia bites her lip, her fingers faltering, "We're starting to. It's helping." Stiles reaches out splaying his hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking against the back of her neck.

"Good," he said sincerely. Malia leans into his touch for a moment before clearing her throat and shifting away. Her eyes back on the task at hand.

Stiles steps around the other side of the Jeep, rolling up the sleeves of his raglan shirt he asks, "So, you gonna tell me how to help with this?"

"Sure," Malia grunts as she lifts a hefty part out of the engine, "Here, take this for me."

Stiles cradles the part to his chest, surprised by how heavy it is, "What is this?"

Malia smirks at him, "That's your alternator, hotshot."

Stiles pales slightly, "Relax, I'm going to put it back. Just set it down over there." She gestures vaguely to the right. He does, then comes back to her side brushing off his shirt.

"Ok. Now what?" he asks hands on his hips, wearing the same look he often directs at his crime board.

"Here," Malia says grasping his wrist, guiding his fingers under the hood to a series of rusty bolts. "Feel these? They're corroded. Can you sand them and try and to get them loose for me?" She asked. Stiles brushes his fingers over them memorizing the sequence, and nods at her. Malia drops his hand and Stiles bends down reaching for the wire brush and a fold of sand paper. He climbs onto the Jeep's front bumper, across from Malia. As they work they are constantly in each other's space, brushing hands and bumping shoulders. After these weeks apart, Stiles enjoys the warm proximity between them.

The track on the mix-tape switched and Chuck Berry's Johnny B. Goode started rattling through the speakers. Malia's steady cranking on the socket wrench suddenly, stills. Stiles looks up from sanding, finding her staring into space. He watches her for a moment before he touches her knee, shaking it gently.

"Hey. You OK?"

Malia shakes herself out of her thoughts and looks at him. Stiles arches an eyebrow at her. A look of indecision crosses her features before she meets his eyes, "This was Lindsay's song," Malia explained. Stiles sets down the sand paper, wiping his hands on the knees of his jeans, and tilts his head listening. It's an old track, just the sort of thing you'd expect a little kid to love, with its boppy simple lyrics and wild guitar.

"She used to make them play it over and over." She said wistfully. "Dad would twirl her around to it, and Mom would make the car 'dance' to it, just to make her laugh."

Malia sniffed, brushing her nose with the back of her arm grabbing her wrench she started cranking again. "I used to say I hated it just to get her going." Malia said, "She was so much fun to bug." She admitted, smiling ruefully. Stiles squeezed her knee. Wishing he could do something or say something. But all he could do was listen, and guard her secrets.

Malia hissed, pulling her hand back from the engine, her knuckles scuffed and cut.

"You alright?" he asked.

Malia kissed her bleeding knuckle, "S'ok," she mumbled, "This part is just tricky. Pass me the vice-grips." Malia directed. Stiles spun around, finding them on the grease rag and handing them over. Stiles was working at the bolts he had been sanding and crowed when the first one spun loose. He held it out to Malia, triumphantly. Malia's eyes were laughing at him.

"Good. Hang on to that. We'll need it." Stiles nods pocketing the thing.

"So." Stiles began, unable to restrain his curiosity, "Which song was yours?"

Malia looks up at him smirking, wiping her hands on a rag, before sliding off the side of the Jeep and disappearing inside the cab. He hears the sound of the mix-tape popping out and being flipped over. It takes her a minute or so to fast-forward to it, then she cranks it up. The song snapped and warbled before, it picked up with heavy bass and drums. The Runaways' Cherry Bomb pounds through the speakers. Stiles smirks at her as she reappears around the hood.

Malia hops back up on the fender, clearly pleased with her selection. The song was everything Malia was; bold, uncensored, and impossible to get out of your head.

Stiles laughs at her, "Wow, your dresses and pigtails faze must have been a real dark time for you." He teases.

"Shut up." Malia, says tossing her rag at him. Stiles catches it, snickering.

Malia reached inside the engine and began pulling the v-belt out. It was a worn and chewed up thing that she tossed on the concrete.

Stiles followed it with his gaze. "Hey!" He protests. "That looked important."

Malia shook her head at him. "It is. Which is why I'm replacing it." She said with emphasis. "We already have enough things trying to kill us, without adding the Jeep to our list." She joked.

"Yeah," He agrees, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, "We should probably talk about that."

Malia's laughter echoes from under the hood, "You'll have to be more specific. Are we talking beasts, dread doctors or chimeras?"

"The Desert wolf."

Malia climbs out from under the hood and drops her socket wrench into her red tool box. "I really don't want to talk about that," Malia tells him over her shoulder as she stalks away from the Jeep. She kicks open her bag and pulls out a water bottle. Turning back to face him as she uncaps it.

"I know." Stiles acknowledges. She swallows down half the bottle before tossing it back in her bag.

"What do you want me to say?" Malia snaps, shrugging her shoulders. He can tell she feels cornered. So he sits on the edge of the bumper, leaning forward watching her with gentle eyes.

"Just the truth." He whispers.

Dropping her head, she kicks at the dirt of the driveway with the toe of her shoe, "You won't like the truth, Stiles."

"I think you're forgetting the part where I'm the guy who was possessed by a nogitsune and tried to kill all his friends." He said, offering her a small smile. "I won't judge. I promise."

Malia's eyes shoot to his. She stands there for a few beats just watching him with an inscrutable expression. Before slowly retracing her steps, and joining him on the bumper. Malia tucked one of her feet beneath his, and stared hollowly down at the concrete.

"I want her dead." She whispered, her voice thick. Stiles leans forward clasping his hands in front of him.

"I know." he whispers back brushing her foot softly with his.

Malia was quiet for a long time after that. Stiles just focused on keeping his breathing slow and even, hoping that she would instinctively match his heartbeat. The Mix-tape popped and warbled behind them as Credence Clearwater Revival's Who'll Stop the Rain spilled through the speakers. Malia brought a hand to her face, holding it to her forehead. Stiles shifted restlessly beside her, the urge to touch her, comfort her, to say something. Anything. Thrummed inside him. But he bit his the inside of his cheek and willed himself to stay still. Let her come to you, Stilinski.

Malia sighed deeply, "There is this ugly little laminated car cut-out, hanging from my dad's rear-view mirror. Lindsay made if for him when she was in preschool. It's supposed to be an air freshener or something. He keeps it there even though it hasn't smelled in years. And in the glove compartment is this box full of these mix-tapes my mom made for him."

Malia clenched her jaw, "That's all he has left. A shoe-box." She told him bitterly.

"I thought that if I could find the desert wolf then I could make sense of what happened that night. That I could get some answers about who my mother was. And I did. My real mom, the one who loved me, she's buried in Beacon County Cemetery. Because I put her there."

His control snapped. Stiles reached out and tilted her chin up so she would look at him.

"No." He said, his eyes unwavering as he insisted, "Not your fault." With the cuff of his sleeve he brushed away her tears. "The desert wolf killed them, Malia. Not you."

"She pulled that trigger. But it was my nature that killed them." Malia said hollowly.

"Malia-" Stiles began rushing to contradict her.

"-it's OK Stiles," she tells him, as she leaned away rising to her feet. Turning her back to him she reached into the toolbox reclaiming her wrench. She tested it by cranking it in her hand a few times. "You can't make this better. It's just how it is and I've been living with it for a long time."

A surge of anger shot through him. A primal sort of rage. He hated the desert wolf.

Stiles had to lock his jaw to keep from arguing with Malia. He knew her, she was beyond listening at this point. Fighting with her would do nothing to convince her it would only close her down. Behind him, Malia had re-situated herself under the hood. Stiles sat for a few moments listening to her work. Then he climbed back under the hood with her. He kept his eyes studiously fixed on the bolts, the silence hanging heavy between them.

It went on like that for the next fifteen minutes or so, until Malia offhandedly requested the screwdriver. Stiles who had been torquing on one of the bolts with a wrench was so surprised by the abrupt request that he blurted out what he had been thinking.

"I think you should stay at Scott's on full moons."

Malia's hands stilled and she looked up scowling at him, "What?" she spat. Stiles swallowed thickly. She hadn't even looked at him in the past ten minutes. Congratulations, Stilinski, she's looking at you now.

"A highly motivated ruthless assassin is trying to kill you. The mountain ash will keep her from getting the drop on you." He rushed to explain. "I've already talked to Scott about it."

"You think I'm going to hide from her?" Malia accused. "The last time she came after me I was nine. I'm not a kid anymore. Let her come."

Stiles scowled at her, clearly frustrated. "Where is all that coyote self-preservation?"

"Pain makes you human." she replied. "And being human makes you want things that go against your self-interest."

"Well maybe you should find some. Because the last time you went after her, she left you bleeding until yesterday." Stiles countered.

Malia glared at him, "That was the wolfs-bane."

"Wolfs-bane." He repeated. Arching an eyebrow. "She's a werecoyote, how could she use wolfs-bane against you?" he asked.

Malia looked down and away, "She didn't."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"It was Theo."

Stiles' hand twitched and the wrench suddenly slipped out of his grip and clanged loudly on the concrete.

"Theo shot you." He repeated. "Why the hell was Theo there?"

"Stiles you don't want to know."

Stiles dropped his eyes his mouth tightening as he reached under the Jeep grasping for the wrench.

"You went to him for help." Stiles said bitterly.

"He came to me." she corrected.

Stiles straightened up, dropping the wrench in the toolbox "And you trusted him?" There was hurt and betrayal in his voice.

"No. I used him."

Stiles crossed his arms and clenched his jaw, "It sounds like the other way around to me."

Something in Malia shifted, "Are you…" she ran her eyes over him assessing "Are you jealous that I brought him with me?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "No. I'm mad that you chose to bring a psychopath with you. And I'm pissed off that he hurt you." And he meant it, but buried beneath all that anger there was a little twinge of jealousy that she would accept anything from Theo Raeken. Let alone allow him close enough to hurt her.

"Are you angry at me?"

"No. I'm scared for you. The way you're going after her." he sighed rubbing the back of his neck, "It's like you have no perspective when it comes to her."

"I don't." Malia admitted, "I won't until I end this."

"You're going after her again."

"Lindsay was six years old. She was my baby sister and the last thing she saw was me as a monster. You're damn right I'm going after her."

Blood was rushing in his ears. Malia would never back down, and if she kept coming at the desert wolf like this she was going to get herself killed. Stiles shook his head, there was no way he was going to let that happen. He crossed the distance between them and hauled her against him. Wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly almost desperately. She went rigid resisting, until his words tumbled out.

"Malia, you don't have to do this." he insisted. "You aren't alone in the woods anymore."

Malia softened slightly in his arms, he could feel her rapid heartbeat racing through his shirt.

"You have a dad who loves you. And friends who need you. You have Kira, Lydia, Liam and Scott. You have me." Stiles sighed, "You have no idea how much you have me." Malia gripped him back tightly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. They stood like that for a long time just holding each other, until her pounding heart, settled and started to beat in sync with his.

Then his dad cleared his throat from behind them, and Stiles looked up but didn't relinquish his hold on Malia.

"C'mon inside you two, I made breakfast." Malia pulled away from Stiles slightly and gave the sheriff a small smile. Sheriff Stilinski held out his arm to Malia in invitation.

"You young lady look like you could use a cup of coffee." Malia detached herself from Stiles, and slid into his dad's outstretched arm. The sheriff squeezed her shoulder, then steered Malia toward the house, keeping her tucked into his side as they walked. Stiles followed a few steps behind them. Listening to them talk.

"We missed you around here," his dad said.

"I missed being here." Malia told him.

"You are always welcome here, Malia. No matter what's going on between you and my son."

Sheriff Stilinski assured her. For the millionth time Stiles felt grateful for his dad. He wasn't just a good dad, he was a good man.

"We're all good dad." Stiles said.

"Well if you're ever not. The door's always open." The Sheriff said, to Malia.

"She prefers windows, Dad." Stiles, joked.

"Stiles," The sheriff groused, "I don't want to know about that."

Stiles was laughing, the sheriff was blushing and Malia raised an inquisitive eyebrow toward, Stiles.

"I don't get it." She said. Stiles was roaring with laughter, the sheriff was muttering under his breath, and Malia was wearing a confused smile as they piled into the kitchen.

After pancakes with the sheriff they were back under the hood. The mix-tape had to be flipped over a few more times before they were done. But an hour or so later Stiles was moving the vice grips slightly to tighten the new v-belt to the proper tension. While Malia tightened all the bolts that hold the alternator in place. Pulling back, Malia and he switched positions and with nimble fingers she carefully replaced all the electrical wires to the alternator. Then refastening the battery cables she turned to Stiles with a triumphant look.

"Turn it over." she instructed.

Stiles hopped into the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine revved, purring smoothly. Malia shut the hood, a smug look on her face. Stiles was watching her through the windshield, with affectionate eyes. She came around to the open driver's side door, wiping her hands on a rag. "That takes care of the drive belt and alternator. And I already have some ideas about those brake pads."

Stiles bit his lip, shaking his head, "C'mere." He entreated. Without hesitation Malia slid into his lap. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other wrapped around her. Closing his eyes he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, "Thank you." He whispered.

Malia turned her face toward him, her eyes bright "You're welcome." Stiles spotted the repair manual sitting on the dash out of the corner of his eye, and smiled crookedly as something occurred to him.

"You were working on this repair manual before we broke up." he said. Malia nodded in confirmation. "So why did you keep working on it after?"

Malia shrugged, "Why did you keep my mix-tape?" she countered.

Stiles thought about it for a moment before answering, "I guess because it made me feel close to you."

Malia watched him for a long moment. "I just…I couldn't let you lose the Jeep." She whispered.

A thrill coursed through him at her words. His eyes locked with hers what he found there had him reaching for her. He kissed her eagerly, her mouth fierce and wonderful against his own. She matched his intensity easily, fisting her hands in his hair while his hands skated along her back. Eventually he pulled back, leaving lingering kisses on her jawline and cheek.

"Would you do something for me?" he asked his voice rough.

Malia's eyes fluttered open, searching his before nodding her consent.

"I need you to let us help you." Stiles pleaded. "If you go after her alone. I'm going to lose you."

"You won't lose me, Stiles."

"If you're in something, then I'm in it with you. That's how this works." He tells her gesturing back and forth between them.

Malia drops her forehead to his "I won't go after her alone." Malia promises. "I will let the pack help me."

"Thank you." he breathes out, hugging her tightly.

Pulling back he smirks at her wiping at the dark grease smudge on the corner of her cheek. "I think after all you're hard work you deserve to take the Jeep out for a test drive." Malia looked at him quizzically.

"Stiles, I just replaced the v-belt. The engine should run for twenty-four hours just to be safe."

"Wow, you take this mechanic thing seriously," he teased. "C'mon you know you want to." he said.

"I suck at driving stick." She confided.

"I'll teach you." he promised.

"Fine. But I'm bringing my tools just in case you strand us."

After packing up Malia's tools and changing their clothes they set off down the back-roads. Stiles was leaned over the console his hand covering hers on the gear. The windows were all rolled down and the wind whipped through their hair as Steppenwolf's Magic Carpet Ride belted from the speakers. Whenever he would tap her hand she'd press on the clutch, and shift gears.

With his help, she caught on quickly. Learning to distinguish the sounds of the Jeep with her superior hearing, and quick reflexes. Stiles eventually took his hand off hers and let her have free reign. She cranked up the radio and floored the Jeep, laughing as the she felt the engine thrill through the steering wheel. She took the curves and hills, with an excited gleam in her eyes, drumming her hand on the wheel, as she sang along to the radio. Stiles grinned, singing along with her, as they soared down the back-roads, kicking up dust.

By nightfall, they were parked at Beacon Point. They sat perched on the hood of the CJ-5 eating ice-cream. Malia laughed, attempting to maneuver away from him, as Stiles stole a bite of her sundae. Malia smirked at him, leaning in to kiss the smudge of chocolate off his lips. He made a pleased noise in the back of his throat.

"Thanks for today," she said, contentedly.

Stiles scooped up a spoonful of rocky road offering it to her as he replied, "Anytime."

Before she could bite into it, Malia suddenly straightened, catching Stiles off guard. She looked out above the trees. Tilting her head slightly, listening. She disentangled herself from him and jumped down off the hood.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Stiles, get up. We've got to go." He slid off the Jeep. Hoping that he'd left his bat somewhere in the Jeep. Stiles followed her, ditching his ice-cream confused until he was suddenly engulfed in a terrific downpour. Then things became abundantly clear.

"Really? Rain." Malia was tugging at the driver's door which was apparently stuck. As the rain came down in torrents all around them. "I thought something was trying to eat us." The door groaned in protest as Malia tried to force it open. "Hang on there's a trick to this." Stiles told her as he forced his shoulder into it, then pushed up on the handle.

The door gave in with a creak and they ducked inside, the rain rushing in with them soaking the seat. Stiles shut the door with a thud. Malia was huddled in the passenger seat next to him. He turned the key, cranking up the heater, just as the speakers crackled to life. Reaching into the back seat he grabbed her sweater. Passing it to her. He reached back behind him finding a discarded plaid shirt.

When he turned back around he found Malia discarding her soaked shirt. The play of raindrops on her tan skin was really distracting. Stiles let his eyes sweep over her appreciatively for a moment before busying himself with his own shirt. He tugged his wet shirt over his head tossing it in the backseat. He shrugged on his plaid shirt and started working the buttons when he felt her eyes on him.

He looked up finding her gaze raking over him in a similar fashion. He dropped his hands leaving his shirt half buttoned, smirking to himself. Nice to know it wasn't only him. Drying his hands on the front of his shirt. He reached out taking her hands in his own. She was already shaking. He rubbed heat into them then brought them to his mouth, breathing on them. Malia was burrowed up to her nose in his sweater, but her eyes were watching him, unerringly.

The mix-tape crackled as the final track came to a close. It made a small mechanical groan, before ejecting. Leaving nothing but the rush of the rainstorm against the windshield to fill their ears.

Stiles tossed his head toward the tape deck. "I should probably give that back, now." He whispered. Malia tugged her hands free from his warm hold and reached for the mix-tape. She held it in her hand running her thumb across the writing, along the sides of it. It was her mom's writing.

"This was the first one she gave him. When they first met she hated classic rock. When she made this, that's when he knew." She told him, turning it over in her hands.

"Knew what?" he asked.

Malia eyes flicked up to him. "That she loved him." she replied. "Would you do something for me?" she asked.

"Yeah. Anything." He confessed.

Malia reached across the console and slipped the mix-tape into his shirt pocket.

"I want you to keep this for me." Malia said, simply. Stiles touched his shirt pocket feeling it rattle, beneath the fabric.

"Malia—" he began uncertainly. His heart hammering in his chest.

"— I want you to know you're not going to lose me, Stiles."

"Malia." He rasped. "You can't just say things like that and not expect me to crawl over there."

Malia smiled at him beneath her lashes, "Well c'mere to me then."

Stiles crawled over the console and sank into the seat with her. Taking her face in his hands he kissed deeply, pouring everything he had into it. And as she pulled him into the backseat with her. He knew he'd never think about the mix-tape, the Jeep or even the rain in the same way again. When he thought of them he would only be able to remember this moment. The first time he knew without a doubt that Malia loved him.

The Mixtape

Side A.

01. All Right Now

by free.

02. Johnny B. Goode

by Chuck Berry

03. Bad Moon Rising

by Credence Clearwater Revival

04. Old Time Rock & Roll

by Bob Seger

05. Sweet Home Alabama

by Lynyrd Skynyrd

06. Spirit in the Sky

by Norman Greenbaum

Side B

07. Back in Black

by AC/DC

08. Cherry Bomb

by the Runaways

09. Black Betty

by Ram Jam

10. Magic Carpet Ride

by Steppenwolf

11. Who'll Stop the Rain

by Credence Clearwater Revival

12. Every Breath You Take

by The Police

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