Scott woke to the soft knock on his bedroom door, and Melissa's voice drifting in. "Time to wake up, Scott."
His eyes fluttered open, and he stretched, feeling strangely refreshed. Maybe it was because of the good dream he'd had last. A lazy grin spread across his face.
Melissa poked her head inside the room, noticing the smile. "You seem like you had a pretty good dream," she teased, raising an eyebrow knowingly.
Scott wasn't one to be shy anymore, especially not with his mom. He laughed, pushing himself up to sit on the bed. "It was great. Best sleep I've had in a while."
Melissa rolled her eyes, clearly not wanting to know more about the nature of her teenage son's dreams. "Well, don't stay in bed too long. Breakfast is in the kitchen, and I've got to head to work." She paused at the door, giving him a motherly once-over. "And Scott, whatever's going on with you lately, just… stay out of trouble, okay?"
Scott grinned. "Always, Mom."
She didn't look convinced but left him to it, closing the door behind her.
After a quick shower, Scott made his way to the kitchen, still in a great mood. The enchiladas he made the night before had done wonders for his mom's mood, and now the house smelled like fresh pancakes, courtesy of her morning effort. He wolfed down breakfast with ease, grabbed his backpack, and made his way to school, whistling a little tune under his breath.
---
The day at school started uneventfully. He went through his classes like a breeze, his mind only half-focused on the lessons. Scott knew how the next few weeks would play out—how events would unfold—but he wasn't just a bystander in the story anymore. This time, he was the one pulling the strings.
As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Scott headed to his locker. He was about to put away some of his textbooks when the metal door slammed shut right in front of his face, forcing him to step back. His eyes flicked to the person responsible.
Jackson Whittemore stood in front of him, wearing that classic smug expression of his. Jackson's eyes had a fire in them, something simmering beneath his composed exterior.
"You're gonna tell me where you're getting your juice," Jackson demanded, his voice dripping with barely restrained aggression.
Scott's response was a calm, teasing smile. "What juice? You mean like… orange juice? My mom does all the grocery shopping."
Jackson's face twitched in frustration. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a rough growl. "Don't play dumb with me, McCall. You're going to tell me what it is you're taking and who you're getting it from because there is no way that you're kicking ass out there on the field without some chemical boost. " He enunciated the words slowly this time, as if Scott couldn't understand.
But Scott only smirked wider, enjoying the way Jackson was slowly unraveling. "Ohhhh, you mean steroids? Wait… you want steroids?"
Jackson's hand shot out, grabbing Scott by the front of his shirt. It was a mistake.
Scott's playful demeanor dropped instantly, replaced by something much darker, more dangerous. With barely any effort, he twisted Jackson's arm behind his back, locking it in a painful position, and slammed him against the lockers. Jackson grunted in shock, his face slamming into the cool metal with a resounding *clang*.
Leaning in, Scott's voice was a low, threatening whisper. "Listen here, jackass. I don't care what you think I'm taking, and I don't care if you want steroids or whatever. But if you ever touch me again, or get in my way, you'll regret it. Understand?"
Jackson tried to breathe through the pain, but Scott's strength—it was unnatural. There was something in Scott's eyes now, something that terrified Jackson in a way he couldn't explain. A predatory aura clung to Scott like a second skin.
Before Jackson could respond, they were interrupted by the familiar voice of Lydia Martin.
"McCall, let him go!" she demanded, walking over with Allison and Stiles close behind her.
Scott didn't flinch or release Jackson. Instead, he turned his gaze to Lydia, the usual calm amusement back in his eyes. "Why? Jackson here just asked me if I could buy him some steroids. You know those are illegal, right?"
Lydia's face hardened as her eyes shifted toward Jackson, the disbelief and annoyance clear. "Steroids? Really, Jackson?"
Scott smirked, turning his attention to Stiles, who was standing awkwardly beside them. "Your dad's the sheriff. You know the law better than I do. What's the penalty for someone caught with steroids?"
Stiles blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "Uh, yeah, I mean… it's definitely illegal. You could go to jail or get, like, community service, a huge fine—maybe expelled, depending on the school's policy."
Jackson, now pinned and humiliated, was turning red with both pain and embarrassment. Lydia glared at Stiles, who shrank back nervously. It was no secret that Stiles had a thing for her, and her glare was enough to make him flustered.
"McCall," Lydia said, her tone icy. "Let him go."
Scott ignored her. He stared at Jackson for a few more seconds, before he finally let go, shoving Jackson back against the lockers. Jackson collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily, his face flushed with both anger and fear.
Scott stood over him, his voice low and threatening. "This is your last warning, Jackass. Piss me off again, and I swear you'll regret it."
Jackson was too shaken to respond. He just glared up at Scott, clutching his arm as he slowly stood up, trying to save face in front of everyone. But the fear was still evident in his eyes.
Lydia moved to Jackson's side, casting a furious glance at Scott before helping him up. "Come on, Jackson. Let's go."
Scott didn't even spare them another look as they walked away, his attention now turning to Allison, who had been watching the whole exchange with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
"Hey, Allison." Scott grinned, his tone switching back to the playful, confident charm that had become his signature. "Didn't mean to scare you back there. Jackson's just being… well, Jackson."
Allison smiled softly. "It's okay. He kind of deserved it."
Scott chuckled. "That's what I thought." He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. "So, you got any plans after school? Maybe we could, I don't know, grab something to eat?"
Allison blushed slightly but smiled. "I think I could make time."
Stiles, still hovering nearby and watching the whole interaction, muttered under his breath, "Traitor… finds a girlfriend and ditches his best friend."
Scott laughed at the comment, shrugging playfully. "Maybe, maybe not. You know I'll always have time for you, buddy."
Allison giggled, and even Stiles had to smile a little. But his attention quickly drifted back to Lydia, who was walking away with Jackson. Stiles's expression softened, and Scott couldn't help but notice.
"Man, you really need to get over her," Scott said, throwing an arm over Stiles's shoulder. "There are other girls out there, you know. Nice girls."
Stiles glanced at Scott, a little hurt by the teasing. "Yeah, sure, easy for you to say, *traitor*."
Scott just laughed, and even Allison chuckled softly. It was a moment of lightness, a moment where everything felt normal again, despite the crazy supernatural world that lurked beneath the surface.
---
Later, at lacrosse field, Scott walked onto the field feeling more pumped than ever. The game was his territory now, and as captain, he was ready to prove it. The coach, as usual, gave one of his bizarre motivational speeches, a mixture of praise and insults that had the whole team either laughing or rolling their eyes.
But Scott was in the zone.
As the whistle blew, he dominated the field, moving faster and more fluidly than anyone else. His senses were on fire, allowing him to anticipate every play, every movement of the ball. It was almost unfair. But Scott wasn't holding back. He was done playing nice, done pretending to be average.
From the sidelines, Stiles and Allison watched, cheering him on. Allison's smile was bright, her eyes following Scott's every move. Stiles, despite his earlier complaints, couldn't help but root for his best friend. Even if Scott had transformed into something more, something powerful, he was still Scott.
By the end of the game, Scott had led his team to victory, and the cheers from the stands were deafening. As he walked off the field, he glanced at Allison, who was waiting for him with a smile that made his heart race.
This was his life now—power, control, and the freedom to be who he truly was.
And Scott McCall wouldn't have it any other way.
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