You're On My Frequency

June 1st, 2021

One day, Stiles was sitting in his FBI issued SUV when the radio clicked on all by itself. It was weird and he almost turned it off. That was until he heard the call code and his breath stuttered. He shut it off and shook his head. No. No way. He elected to ignore it. He had places to be and an anniversary coming up. He didn't need this shit.

However, strangely enough, it wasn't just the FBI SUV radio that was acting up. It was his pal Thomas's cruiser radio. It was the captain's radio. It was the store radio. It was every single radio and yet no one else heard it or acted any different. Stiles assured himself over and over again that it was nothing as he grabbed the bouquet of flowers and winced at the rain outside. At least he brought an umbrella right? Oh. That's right. He left it in the car. So a soaking wet Stiles quickly ran towards his car. Suddenly, he tripped, crashing to the ground, the flowers getting crushed and well he just sat there and started to cry.

An angry, dirty and grieving Stiles got home and headed to his office. He should shower but fuck that. The fireplace was lit and he cradled a glass of whiskey as he stared at the picture on the mantle. "I might join you soon. I swear I'm going crazy. You're supposed to be here and you're not."

As he was about to take a sip of his drink, the radio in his office crackled to life and his grip crushed the glass in his hand. He marched in there and grabbed the microphone, his voice steely as he said, "Whoever the fuck this is needs to stop. This is my station. So, just stop it okay?" He was panting after his chastening, and thought that would be the end of it until...

"Who is this?"

"Who are you?!" Stiles demanded.

"PH—89."

"That's impossible."

"I assure you it's my code. Who are you and how did you access this? It can't be your station. It's my father's."

Stiles froze at that and oh yeah, he has definitely gone crazy. "What's your name?" he asked, glancing at the inscription on the radio.

"Peter Hale."

When did the room get blurry and why was he so cold all of a sudden? Stiles didn't know, but he would recognize that voice anywhere. He just didn't understand. "Oh. I'm Sti—Genim. Though my mom always calls me Mischief."

"Father says I'm a troublemaker but I think he's just annoyed he never can figure out how I pull half the shit I pull."

Stiles chuckled and glanced at the inscription again, letting his thumb brush over it. He smiled and pressed the button again. "Well get this...once when I was about twelve I think? Anyway I went around our home and moved everything a half inch to the left. It really frustrated my mom. She still has no idea how I did it."

A laugh echoed from the radio and Stiles got chills. He knew that laugh. "That's priceless dude."

Stiles sputtered. Peter used dude? He scoffed, and Peter had given Stiles such a hard time about it. That made his smile fade because gave was the keyword. Past tense. The ten year anniversary of Peter's death was coming up. Stiles would never be able to forget the worst day of his life.

Amber eyes flooded with tears but he pushed through it to continue the conversation. Whoever this was sounded enough like Peter that it was helping. Surely it wasn't going to hurt anything if they talked more. Right? "Right? She always says I'm her Mischief maker but I prefer Master of Mischief and Chaos. What a mouthful that was for a six year old. Not like my full name though."

The man whose voice was almost identical to Peter's replied quickly. "Well, I bet I could say your name. What is it?"

Stiles snorted, his heart aching a bit. That was what Peter had said the first time too and well Stiles knew Peter was able to say it which was why he didn't give his name this time. It would hurt too much.