The school bell rang, signaling the end of first period, but Scott didn't seem to hear it. He sat at his desk, staring at the desk in front of him, his hands clenched into tight fists. His breath came in shallow, quick bursts, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting to stay calm. I knew exactly what was happening. I'd seen it in his eyes—the panic, the confusion, the loss of control.
It wasn't the first time.
"Scott," I murmured, sliding into the chair beside him. "You okay?"
He barely glanced at me, his gaze unfocused, as if he didn't really see me. "No," he whispered, almost to himself. "I'm not okay."
I leaned forward, lowering my voice so no one else could hear. "You're not alone in this. You have to remember that. We're in this together."
But Scott didn't respond. Instead, he gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. His breath hitched, and the pupils of his eyes dilated, turning almost completely black.
I had to stop him before it got worse.
"Scott, look at me," I said, more firmly now. "You need to calm down. We're gonna get through this."
He turned toward me with a strained look, his lips trembling, his teeth beginning to show slightly. I could see the wolf inside him pushing against the surface, urging him to shift. "I don't know how," he said through clenched teeth. "I don't know how to control it."
His voice broke on the last word, and the raw vulnerability hit me harder than I expected. My brother, the guy who'd always been strong and steady, was unraveling in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. At least, not in the way I wanted.
I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ground him. I knew how to control my transformation, how to suppress the wolf when I needed to, but Scott wasn't there yet. His struggles were more intense than mine had been, and I could tell the pressure was eating him alive.
"Scott, take deep breaths," I instructed. "Focus on your heartbeat. In and out. You're in control, not the wolf. You don't have to shift. Not here. Not like this."
He shook his head in frustration, his shoulders tensing beneath my hand. "You don't get it, Ethan. You're different. You... you're handling this like it's nothing. Like it's easy."
The words hit me like a slap. I took a step back, stunned by the venom in his voice. He was looking at me now, eyes narrowed in frustration, but there was more than that—resentment. Resentment for me, for how quickly I'd adapted to the changes, how I seemed to be in control when he was still spiraling.
I had no response, not immediately. What could I say? The truth was, I didn't feel like I had it all figured out. I was still getting used to the power I'd unlocked, still struggling with the overwhelming sensation that something inside me was shifting with each passing day. But I was more in control of my wolf side than Scott was, and that wasn't something I could easily explain.
"Scott, I—" I started, but he cut me off before I could finish.
"Don't," he snapped, standing up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You think I don't see it? You're handling everything like it's a joke. Like it's some game you can win. But this isn't a game, Ethan. This is our lives. And I don't... I don't know what the hell is happening to me."
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. He was right. It wasn't a game. And the last thing I wanted was for him to feel like I was brushing off how hard this was for him. I wasn't like Scott. I wasn't struggling the way he was. I had control—but that didn't mean I was invincible.
"I didn't mean to make you feel that way," I said, the words heavy with guilt. "I'm just trying to help. You're my brother, Scott. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
But Scott's jaw tightened, and he shook his head, his eyes flicking toward the door like he couldn't get out of there fast enough. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't want your help," he muttered, more to himself than to me, before he stormed out of the classroom without another word.
I stood there for a long moment, watching him leave. My heart clenched in my chest, but there was nothing I could do to fix it. I wasn't sure if there was even anything I could say that would help him understand. I wanted to reach out, to tell him that I wasn't the enemy, that I wasn't trying to make things worse. But the rift between us was widening, and I wasn't sure how to bridge it.
Stiles, who had been sitting quietly at his desk, looked up at me with an uneasy expression. "Hey, man. You alright?"
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the frustration and the sting of Scott's words. "I don't know, Stiles," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "It's... it's not as easy as it looks. I can't fix it. And I don't think he even wants me to help anymore."
Stiles let out a breath and stood up, walking over to where I stood by the door. "Yeah, well... that's a lot to deal with. I mean, you guys are both going through some heavy stuff, but it's not exactly a walk in the park for Scott either. It's not just the changes in his body—it's the fear, the lack of control. He's probably feeling... I don't know, lost. Out of his depth."
I nodded, absorbing his words. He was right. I could feel the fear in Scott's eyes every time he had an accident, every time he couldn't control his shifting. And now, with his anger boiling over, I realized that I might have been too focused on my own experiences to see just how hard this was for him.
"I just want to help him," I said, feeling the weight of the frustration build up again. "But every time I try, it feels like I'm just making it worse."
Stiles gave me a sympathetic look. "Yeah, well, you're not alone in this, either. You've got me. You've got him. We'll figure it out. We just have to be there for each other."
I sighed, glancing toward the door where Scott had disappeared. I didn't know if he was ready to hear that he wasn't alone, but I had to believe he was. I had to believe that, one way or another, the bond between us could survive this.
I just had to find a way to fix the cracks before they grew too deep.
The rest of the school day passed in a blur, and I found myself thinking more about what Stiles had said than anything else. Scott wasn't the only one struggling. Maybe I had been taking it for granted that I had control. Maybe my calm demeanor, my ability to handle the changes, was just a mask I'd put up to hide the fear I hadn't fully acknowledged in myself.
After school, I made my way home, hoping to find Scott and talk things through. But when I walked in, the house was eerily quiet. Melissa was in the kitchen, but Scott was nowhere to be found.
"Where's Scott?" I asked, concern lacing my voice.
"He said he was going to the woods to clear his head," she replied, her tone soft. "He didn't want to talk."
My stomach churned. The woods. Scott always went there when he needed to be alone, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the woods weren't safe anymore—not with everything we were becoming.
I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door without another word. I needed to find him, to make sure he was okay. But more than that, I needed to fix what was broken between us—before it was too late.