☣ Our characters are in the plot of a horror movie together. – I know what you did last summer.

When Stiles had realized that Jenny was actually his car, all humanized and crap, he had warmed up to it pretty easily. It helped that he’d been surrounded by supernatural mayhem for months beforehand as well, making it so that it wasn’t exactly the hardest thing to picture, given the crap he’d gotten into already. It made him forget all the things he’d gotten up to in his beloved Jeep – something that bit him on the ass when he started getting… letters.

Which was mind-blowing in itself since he didn’t really think people still used that type of interaction other than guys in the military and old-fashioned folks. He’d opened the letter his dad handed to him over breakfast, right before he’d left to go to work – which was most likely better for everyone involved when the words registered in his head. It wasn’t like everyone remembered whatever they hit with their car, right? Or, they tried to forget it as soon as possible, so as not to be haunted by it in his every day life. If he let himself dwell on it, he probably wouldn’t have been able to drive again, in all honesty. The fact that Jenny was the only one that knew what he did, and that was because she used to be his freaking car, was a whole other thing entirely. It made his palms sweat, his heart beat faster, like he was on the verge of a panic attack, but he was more than capable of staving off the symptoms ever since panic attack-inducing crap started cropping up every day for him.

It was funny that he couldn’t just jump into his car and drive to wherever he needed to go – in that way that wasn’t funny in the slightest. It kind of made him want to puke, but the fact that his dad had been letting Jenny stay in the guest room helped things a lot. Abandoning his now soggy bowl of cereal in favor of running up the stairs, he knocked on the door to the guest room quickly before barging in, really wishing he knew where he put the spare inhaler he’d hold for Scott before he turned into a creature of the night – if only to somehow calm his still racing heart. “So, I feel like we have a problem. And I say we because if you weren’t, y'know, a person right now, I’d be the only person who’d actually know about this, and I’d be alone, and really, you should just read this letter and make me stop talking.” Shaking the letter in emphasis, he handed it over to the girl before he did something stupid like rip it to pieces in a fit of ignoring things until they eventually went away.

Yeah, he was good at that whole thing, but it didn’t mean he could just ignore this – he’d learned not to ignore things that his instincts told him were really, really important. And someone sending him a stupid letter, talking about the boy – the kid – he’d hit the previous summer when he’d been driving home from a trip to Oregon to see a relative was definitely something on the “RED ALERT DON’T IGNORE ASSHOLE” list.