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The Orange is a Lie

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July was a always a rough month for the Stilinski men.  It had been ever since Stiles lost his mother.  This year was going to be different.  After getting a perfect score on his PSATs (which nearly resulted in his evisceration at the hands of a certain wrathful strawberry blond goddess) the University of Chicago, his parents’ alma mater, had invited him to come spend a week being wooed by the alumni association.

After six months of werewolves, blood, and a near constant state of panic it seemed like the perfect distraction, as well as a much needed opportunity to mend some fences with his father.  He’d even managed to swing Scott a plane ticket so he could come and play moral support/buffer.  Convincing Mrs. McCall to turn her son loose in Second City had been surprisingly easy.  She was so ecstatic over Scott’s post-Allison academic kick that it only took dropping a few choice phrases like “early admission” and “dinner with the scholarship committee” to have her shrieking praises to the Saints in Spanish and shoving a suitcase into the teen wolf’s arms.

In its own way the Sheriff’s silent pride and gratitude spoke even louder.  Stiles’s parents had apparently been fixture in U of C affairs for decades, even after moving to Beacon Hills.  When his mother died his dad hadn’t just lost his wife but a whole community as he lost touch with old friends who were too far away to actually be there for him.  It wasn’t just her pictures that sat gathering dust through the years of grief and growing isolation.  It made Stiles’s heart swell to be able to give him this chance to reconnect with all the “aunts” and “uncles” they used to fly out see every Homecoming.  He also couldn’t deny he missed being regaled with tales of his parents’ college days.  Hard as it was to imagine the straight laced Sheriff Dad getting into trouble he was once half of a duo that remained unrivaled in infamy on campus.

Getting to spend time with his mother’s family was more of a mixed blessing.  They remembered the day of her death with a gathering that started with mournful music and tears (not just from the bagpipes, but come on bagpipes, seriously?) and generally ended in citations for disturbing the peace as the McCoy clan slowly put away enough whiskey to fill a kiddie pool.  Stiles hadn’t been since he was eleven.  Crazy old Great Uncle Ebenezar had snuck him small amounts of scotch all night until Stiles had somehow been convinced to dance the swords on the dining room table to wild laughter and thunderous applause.  Waking up the next day with a concussion as well as a hangover was one of his least favorite mornings ever.  He was sketchy on the details but somehow his performance resulted in a couple of minor impalements and the destruction of half the living room.  The Sheriff was less than amused.

All in all, this trip was going to be a lot to deal with.  Nonetheless Stiles was looking forward to reveling in the normality of this milestone with his dad and best friend, despite the potential for big love and drama.  This was going to be their first step on their road back to a safe, happy, supernatural-free life.