Chapter 1: "Awakening"

The first thing that hit him was the smell.

It wasn't just the damp scent of his bed sheets or the faint whiff of earth from the open window. It was everything. The rustle of the leaves outside, the muted hum of the refrigerator downstairs, even the faintest buzz of electricity running through the house—all of it rushed at him with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. Jacob—or at least he had been Jacob—sat up, breathing hard, his eyes wide. 

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the slick dampness of sweat at his brow. *What the...*

The previous night's events surged through his mind like a tsunami. The bite—the pain—the darkness. And then…this.

He threw off the covers, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his heart hammering in his chest as the memories fell into place. Teen Wolf. The bite. Scott McCall. He took a moment, forcing himself to inhale deeply, steadying the chaotic rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I'm…Scott McCall," he whispered, disbelief thick in his voice. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His hands trembled slightly as he held them up, staring at them, examining every detail. They were different. Larger. Stronger.

Standing up, he crossed the room quickly, drawn to the small bathroom attached to his bedroom. His movements were fast—unnaturally fast—yet smooth, almost predatory. There was a newfound grace in every step, as though his body knew exactly how to move without hesitation. He reached the bathroom, flicking on the light.

There, staring back at him from the mirror, was Scott McCall.

The face was the same one he'd watched on countless episodes of Teen Wolf. Black hair, slightly tousled. Brown eyes that carried the weight of uncertainty. He blinked, half-expecting the reflection to shift back to his own face, to his own body, but it didn't. 

It was real.

His hand moved, and the reflection mimicked him. Slowly, he raised his fingers to his abdomen, to the spot where he could still feel the pulsing ache. The bite. It was there, barely visible.

A grin tugged at his lips. 

"So it's real… I'm actually Scott McCall," he said softly, his voice low, a hint of excitement brewing beneath the disbelief. He was in Scott's body. He had been bitten by an alpha werewolf.

And he was thrilled.

"I'm a werewolf," he murmured, fueled by a mix of excitement and disbelief. "I'm actually a werewolf!"

Jacob—or now Scott—grinned wider, his eyes twinkling with newfound energy. But then his thoughts turned back to the show. The original Scott McCall had been terrified, unsure of what he had become. He'd spent so much time running from what he was, hesitant and confused, always scared of losing control. *Pathetic,* Jacob thought, shaking his head. The fear. The indecision. The constant weakness.

He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink, his eyes narrowing at his reflection. The grin faded, replaced by a look of determination, a smirk forming on his lips. "Not this time," he whispered.

He could feel the raw potential coursing through him. The power. The speed. The strength. The senses. Everything was amplified, heightened, sharper than anything he had ever experienced. His mind was racing with possibilities. In the show, Scott had been reluctant, always holding back, too afraid of becoming the monster. But Jacob? No. Jacob *wanted* this.

He wanted to be powerful.

"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 was harder now, his jaw clenched. "I'm not going to let anyone push me around. I won't let them hurt my friends. I won't let them bully me. And I sure as hell won't let Allison die."

He stood up straight, rolling his shoulders back, feeling the strength in his muscles. It was intoxicating, the sheer sense of control over his body. He felt…invincible. He chuckled again, a low sound deep in his chest, his fingers brushing against his abdomen where the bite had marked him forever. But it wasn't a curse, not like the original Scott had thought.

It was a gift.

Scott—or Jacob, he wasn't sure what to call himself now—ran his hand over his face, laughing at how surreal this all felt. Yesterday, he was sitting at home, watching TV, wishing he could be in the *Teen Wolf* universe, imagining what it would be like to have Scott's powers. And now, here he was, living that reality. A reality where he could be *so much more* than Scott ever was.

This was his chance to rewrite everything. To take all that power and use it.

"First thing's first," he muttered to himself, stepping away from the mirror, walking back into the bedroom. His mind was buzzing with possibilities, plans already forming in his head. "I'm going to be the strongest werewolf this world has ever seen."

He glanced down at his phone, picking it up from the nightstand. No messages from Stiles yet. Probably too early in the morning. He smirked, imagining the look on Stiles' face when he realized that his best friend wasn't the same timid Scott anymore. No more fumbling around, being unsure of himself. No more letting people like Jackson walk all over him. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his mind wandering. He had all the knowledge of what was coming. Every threat. Every villain. Peter Hale. The Argents. The kanima. The darach. Deucalion. They were all challenges to overcome, but they didn't scare him. 

He wasn't going to wait for things to happen like Scott had. No. 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 like Scott did. Not even for a second.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. "Guess I'm not just your average high school kid anymore." He could feel the wolf inside him, pacing, eager to be unleashed.

He stood up again, staring out the window. The sun was starting to rise, casting a warm glow over the quiet streets of Beacon Hills. The world looked so different now. Everything was brighter, sharper, and more alive. And so was he.

He placed a hand against the window, his mind made up. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about *thriving*. About taking control of his destiny and shaping it with his own hands.

He smirked. "Beacon Hills has no idea what's coming."

As the first rays of sunlight spilled into the room, Jacob—now Scott McCall—stood there, his eyes shining with the fire of determination. This was his world now. His story. And he was going to make sure it played out differently this time.

And nothing, not hunters, not alphas, nothing was going to stand in his way.