The first thing that hit Jacob was the smell.
It wasn't just the damp scent of his bed sheets or the faint whiff of earth drifting through the open window. No, it was everything. The sharp scent of the trees outside, the chemical scent of cleaning products lingering in the bathroom, even the trace of someone's perfume clinging to the air. It was as if someone had turned the world's sensory volume all the way up.
Then came the sounds.
The rustling leaves outside the window sounded like a storm, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs felt like it was vibrating in his skull, and—wait, was that the sound of electricity running through the wires? Jacob sat up abruptly. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling as he tried to make sense of the chaos.
"What the hell?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
His hands flew to his head, trying to block out the noise, but something else hit him—a flood of memories. Memories that weren't his.
It was like someone had crammed a lifetime's worth of experiences into his brain all at once. He saw a boy with messy black hair fumbling through life in Beacon Hills, struggling with asthma, bitten in the woods last night. The scenes were vivid, playing in his mind like a movie.
And then it clicked.
He wasn't Jacob anymore.
"I'm… Scott McCall?" he muttered, disbelief thick in his voice.
His heartbeat quickened, and he swung his legs off the bed, and he stumbled to the small bathroom attached to the bedroom, his movements fast—unnaturally fast. Each step felt powerful, deliberate, as though his body had been fine-tuned for speed and precision.
He flicked on the bathroom light and froze.
The face staring back at him wasn't his own. It was really Scott McCall.
The same face he'd watched on countless episodes of Teen Wolf. Tousled black hair. Brown eyes that held a hint of boyish innocence. Even the faint scar on his face was there. He leaned in, gripping the edge of the sink as his heart raced. This wasn't a dream.
"This is real," he whispered, his voice shaky but filled with growing excitement.
A grin spread across his face. "I'm actually Scott McCall. And that means…"
He straightened up, his reflection now showing a confident smirk. "I'm a werewolf."
His gaze dropped to his abdomen, and he lifted his shirt. There it was: the bite. It wasn't big, just a faint, crescent-shaped scar, but he could feel it pulsing, a reminder of what he now was. "This isn't a curse," he said softly. "It's a gift. And I'm going to use it."
He clenched his fists, watching as the muscles in his arms flexed with newfound strength. He was different. Faster. Stronger. More alive than he'd ever felt before.
But then his thoughts darkened. The Scott McCall he knew from the show had wasted this gift. He'd been scared, weak, always second-guessing himself, running from the power inside him instead of embracing it.
"Pathetic," Jacob muttered, shaking his head.
The memories of the original Scott's life were still settling in, but they were clear enough. He could feel the love for Melissa, the unbreakable bond with Stiles, he leaned closer to the mirror, staring hard at his reflection. His eyes gleamed with determination. "I'm not going to be like you," he said, speaking to the reflection as if it were Scott McCall from the series. His voice low and firm. "I won't let anyone push me around. I won't let anyone die—not Allison, not my mom, not anyone I care about."
He wouldn't make those same mistakes.
"Well," he said, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, "since I'm Scott McCall now. Might as well own it, and call myself Scott from now on."
walking back into the bedroom. The sunlight peeking through the curtains was almost blinding, and he had to squint as he glanced at the phone on the nightstand. No messages from Stiles. Not surprising. It was early, and the guy probably wasn't even awake yet.
Scott chuckled, imagining Stiles' reaction when he realized his best friend wasn't the same timid Scott anymore. No more fumbling around, being unsure of himself.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Scott had all the knowledge of what was coming. Every threat. Every villain. Peter Hale. The Argents. The kanima. The darach. Deucalion and his Alpha Pack... Each one was a danger the original Scott had barely survived.
But this time, things would be different.
He was going to take control. He was going to master his powers, not run from them. He'd confront Peter head-on. And if he had to kill to protect his loved ones, so be it. He wouldn't hesitate. Not even for a second. "This is my chance," he murmured. "My chance to live the life I always dreamed of."
He stood, pacing the room as plans formed in his head. First, he'd need to master his powers. The original Scott had stumbled through learning what it meant to be a werewolf, but he had watched the show. He knew what to expect, and he wouldn't waste any time.
"From now on, I would be the most powerful werewolf this world had ever seen. And nothing, not hunters, not alphas, nothing was going to stand in my way," he said with a smirk. "Beacon Hills has no idea what's coming."