The alarm blared at 6:30 AM, a jarring electronic squawk that was somehow both foreign and instantly familiar. Nikolai slapped blindly at the bedside table, finding the snooze button after a moment of fumbling. He lay back against the pillow, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling.
'Right. Beacon Hills High. Today's the day Scott gets bitten. Or… it should be. Unless me being here changes it. Which, knowing my luck, it probably will. Timeline firmly messed with by yours truly.'
Getting ready felt surreal. He was operating this body, but it wasn't his body. Not the one he'd inhabited for thirty-odd years. This one was slimmer, less worn, with a youthful energy he hadn't felt in ages. As he showered, the ingrained routines of a sixteen-year-old took over – grabbing a towel, brushing teeth, finding clothes. He pulled on a simple t-shirt and jeans from the wardrobe. They felt comfortable, like they belonged to him.
He caught his reflection again. The same face, but different. It looked a bit bewildered, a bit lost around the edges. 'Pull it together, Ashworth,' he told himself. 'You know the plot. You have the advantage. Don't waste it.'
Breakfast was less relaxed than yesterday. Eleanor was bustling around the kitchen, packing lunches. She still had that quiet, knowing air about her.
"Right, darling, everything you need for school is in your bag by the door," she said, not looking at him but her voice warm. "First day jitters?"
"Something like that," he mumbled, taking a bite of toast. He was acutely aware of the conversation waiting to happen between them.
"We'll talk properly tonight, after you've had a chance to settle in," she continued, as if sensing his thoughts. "It's a lot to take in. Just try to get through the day, find your bearings." She finally turned, giving him a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. You're more resilient than you think."
'Resilient? Or just blessed with meta-knowledge and a potentially magic-wielding body?' He managed a weak smile back. "Thanks, Mum."
The drive to school was short. Eleanor dropped him off outside the main entrance, a chaotic mess of cars and teenagers. "Have a good day, Nikolai," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "And remember what I said. Tonight."
He nodded, stepping out of the car into the noisy throng. Beacon Hills High. It looked exactly like it did on the screen, but amplified, real. The energy was palpable – a mix of nervous anticipation for the start of the school year, social anxiety, and beneath it all, a faint, almost imperceptible hum that he somehow felt in his bones.
'That's new,' he thought, a shiver running down his spine. It wasn't just nerves. It was something else.
He gripped the strap of his backpack, navigating the crowds. He needed to find the office, get his schedule. As he walked, he scanned faces, looking for the familiar ones.
And there they were.
Scott McCall, leaning against a locker, looking perpetually unsure of himself, talking to –
Stiles Stilinski. Skinny, hyperactive, gesturing wildly as he spoke. The fan-favourite, the heart of the pack.
Nikolai felt a strange jolt seeing them in person. It wasn't just actors anymore; they were real. And they were just kids, completely oblivious to the insane world they were about to tumble into.
He hesitated, wondering if he should approach, introduce himself. His logical brain said yes – get close, influence the plot. His social anxiety, perhaps inherited from the original Nikolai's memories that were now starting to layer over his own consciousness like faint whispers, screamed no. 'Awkward. British accent. New kid. Stay back.'
He decided on observation first. He walked past them, heading towards the office. He could hear snippets of their conversation – something about Scott not making the lacrosse team, about going into the woods tonight.
'Okay, plot is still on track. Good.'
Getting his schedule was straightforward. English, Maths, Chemistry, History, Economics, Lacrosse practice (ugh), Art. Standard stuff. He noted the room numbers.
His first class was English. He found the room, took a seat near the back. More faces filtered in. He recognised Lydia Martin, radiant and untouchable, and Jackson Whittemore, radiating arrogance and entitlement. They sat together, naturally.
Jackson caught his eye, frowning slightly at the unfamiliar face. Nikolai just gave him a polite, non-threatening nod and looked away. He wasn't here to get into a popularity contest with Jackson. Not yet, anyway.
The morning passed in a blur of introductions, syllabus reviews, and navigating the confusing layout of the school. His accent drew a few curious glances, and a couple of people asked where he was from. He kept his answers brief – "Just moved from England" – offering small smiles.
During lunch, he sat alone at a table, pulling out the sandwich Eleanor had packed. He watched the cafeteria dynamics – the jocks, the popular kids, the loners. Scott and Stiles were huddled together at a table, deep in conversation. Lydia and Jackson were holding court at another.
'They look so… normal,' he thought, chewing his sandwich. 'Like they have no idea what's coming.'
A sudden, sharp pain lanced behind his eyes. It felt like a pressure building, like a static charge in the air. He flinched, dropping his sandwich slightly.
'What was that?'
He looked around, trying to see if anyone else reacted. No one did. The noise of the cafeteria continued as usual. The feeling faded quickly, leaving a dull throb.
It happened again in Chemistry class. The teacher was talking about electron bonds, and Nikolai felt that same strange pressure, stronger this time, accompanied by a faint hum that seemed to originate from somewhere deep within him. He looked down at his hands, gripping his pen tightly. His knuckles were white.
He glanced at the teacher, then around the room. Nobody noticed. He tried to focus on the lesson, pushing the sensation away.
After school was lacrosse practice. This was going to be awkward. He wasn't athletic back in his old life, and while this body felt fitter, he had no idea how skilled the original Nikolai Ashworth was.
He changed in the locker room, trying to avoid eye contact. Scott and Stiles were there, dressed in their gear. Jackson walked in, his usual swagger amplified by the pads.
Coach Finstock's whistle blew, shrill and deafening. The practice was as chaotic as he expected. He was clumsy, missing passes, fumbling the ball. He could feel Jackson's eyes on him, critical and dismissive.
During a water break, Coach Finstock called him over. "Ashworth! You trying out for the team or interpretive dance? Pick up the pace, kid!"
"Sorry, Coach," Nikolai mumbled, flushed. 'Great. First impression: incompetent British new kid.'
He caught sight of Scott watching him, a flicker of something in his eyes – maybe pity, maybe recognition of a fellow struggler. Stiles was talking to Scott, gesturing towards him, probably making a sarcastic comment.
As they finished practice, the sun beginning to dip below the trees, casting long shadows across the field, Nikolai felt that strange humming sensation again. Stronger this time. It felt like a magnetic pull towards the edge of the woods, towards the preserved section where the Nemeton lay.
'Something is happening,' he realised. 'The bite is close. Or maybe… maybe that feeling is related to me. To whatever Mum's going to tell me.'
He trudged back to the locker room, exhausted and slightly demoralized by his performance. He just wanted to go home, talk to Eleanor, and understand what was going on.
Later that evening, after a quiet dinner, Eleanor asked him to sit with her in the living room. The lights were low, the atmosphere calm and serious.
"You had an eventful first day?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he said, choosing to keep it simple for now. "School's... different."
"And how did you feel?" Her gaze was intent. "Did you notice anything... unusual?"
He hesitated, then decided honesty was the best policy here. She clearly knew something. "I felt… a few strange things. Like a pressure in my head. A buzzing or humming. Especially near the woods, after practice."
Eleanor's expression softened, a flicker of relief mixed with concern in her eyes. "Ah. Good. That's a good sign, in a way."
"Good sign?" Nikolai frowned. "It felt like my brain was going to explode."
"It's your abilities manifesting, darling," she said calmly, leaning forward. "It's the world here waking them up. Beacon Hills is... a nexus. A place of power. It amplifies things."
Nikolai's heart started to pound. This was it. The reveal. "Abilities? What abilities?"
Eleanor took a deep breath. "Nikolai, we come from a long line... a different kind of line. We are Ashworths. And the Ashworths are witches and warlocks."
He stared at her, speechless for a moment. Witches and warlocks. Magic. Like in stories. Like in… the show, sometimes, but always on the fringes, until Deaton or maybe the Druids.
"Witches?" he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. "You mean... magic? Spells? Like... actual magic?"
"Actual magic," she confirmed, a faint, sad smile touching her lips. "It's a part of who we are, Nikolai. It's in our blood. It's why you felt that connection to the woods, that humming. The land here is alive with power, and it's responding to yours."
She reached out, gently taking his hand. Her touch felt warm, slightly tingling. "Your 'odd turn' last week… I believe it was a catalyst. It either jumpstarted your connection to your power, or perhaps it was even part of your journey here. Whatever it was, your abilities are now stirring. The pressure, the humming... it's your own magic beginning to resonate with the world around you."
Nikolai processed her words. Magic. He was a warlock. His mother was a witch. A powerful witch, if his meta-knowledge about the relative strength of supernaturals in this universe was anything to go by, and if she could potentially rival Peter Hale.
This wasn't just about joining Scott's pack anymore. This was a whole new level. He didn't just have knowledge of the future; he had an inherent, developing power.
'A warlock,' he repeated internally, testing the word. 'And my mother is powerful. We're not just observers. We're players. Major players, potentially.'
The pieces clicked into place. His ambition, the desire for power and control, suddenly had a clear path. He didn't need to rely on werewolves alone. He could build something different. Something stronger. A pack rooted not just in bites and claws, but in ancient, potent magic.
"So… how does it work?" he asked, his voice laced with a newfound intensity. "What can we do?"
Eleanor smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. "That, darling, we will discover together. Your abilities will be unique to you, but our magic draws from the earth, from spirits, from intention. We can heal, we can harm, we can influence, we can protect. It requires focus, practice, and understanding."
She paused, her expression turning serious. "And Beacon Hills, for all its power, is also a place of danger, Nikolai. The things that lurk in those woods are real. And powerful. Your father left partly because he couldn't handle this world. I brought us here because I believe you can. I believe we need to be here."
'His father… also supernatural? Or just terrified of it?'Another mystery to unravel.
He looked at his mother, really looked at her. The quiet strength, the ancient knowledge in her eyes. She wasn't just 'Mum' anymore. She was a witch, a protector, and his guide into a hidden world.
"Beacon Hills called to us," she had said earlier. It wasn't just a change of scenery. It was destiny. Or perhaps, intervention.
'Right then,' Nikolai thought, a cold, focused determination settling over him. 'Warlock. Magic. Beacon Hills. The alpha is coming. The Kanima. The Darach. The Alpha Pack. The Nogitsune. All of it.'
He wasn't just a fanboy dropped into his favourite show anymore. He was Nikolai Ashworth, burgeoning warlock, with a powerful witch mother, and a goal to build the most formidable supernatural force in Beacon Hills. Scott McCall might be the hero of his story, but Nikolai was here to write his own.
"Okay," he said, meeting his mother's gaze, a different kind of confidence hardening his blue eyes. "Okay, Mum. Tell me everything."
The first step towards creating his pack had just been taken. And it wasn't with a werewolf bite, but with the quiet hum of magic awakening in his veins.
Chapter 2 done! Nikolai has experienced his first day, seen key characters, felt the stirrings of his magic, and learned the truth about his and his mother's nature. The stage is set for him to begin exploring his powers and his strategic approach to Beacon Hills.