Just wanna try something...I hope you like Scott. And don't be surprised if I don't update frequently. Sorry, but that's just my problem. Like I say, sorry. I'm gonna try since it's summer, but I promise nothing.

I actually kinda like this, unlike some of the other stuff I've written. Umm...I hope you like it too!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Scott (for now...)

Scott threw open the door and threw down his books by the umbrella stand. Considering that he lived in Tuscon, Arizona, the glorified bucket was hardly necessary, but for once, this tirade wasn't running through his brain. Today, he was cursing Jason and Alex, the school jock(straps) who insisted on making his life difficult. They had been jostling his belongings, shoving him against lockers, and throwing wadded papers at him since he moved there nearly a year ago with his mom. In truth, Scott had always had trouble with bullies. Starting at kindergarten, he was the acknowledged punching bag in times of stress or boredom. No matter how unassuming and normal he tried to make himself seem, they saw him as weaker than even the short, mousy ones. There was even a time in fifth grade when the mousy kid was harassing him.

He never really bothered his mom about it. It wasn't worth getting her already occupied mind in a tizzy. As a single mother, she worked near constantly to make ends meet. Scott hardly saw her at home, but it was probably better this way. At least, he thought so.

The couch was a few mere feet away from the entrance to the apartment, but it was still a hassle to walk that distance for Scott. Today, Jason thought it would be fun to kick his shins for "soccer practice." He tried fending them off, but he could only attempt so halfheartedly. The principal was breathing down on his neck, waiting for him to do something bad. Scott already had two strikes on his record: one for getting in a fight (he was only defending himself), and another for selling exam answers (Leo had shoved those into his hands at the last moment). The two suspensions had seriously dented his academic record, and with everyone on staff out to get him, Scott had to work to keep his shaky record where it was.

He sprawled across the semi-firm cushion, groaning in relief as the pressure shifted away from his aching shins. Life was miserable, but any other lifestyle was a mere dream.

Scott shifted, turning so his back faced the television. He was probably the only kid in the world who was still trapped in the pre-2010 world of non-HD, but it didn't matter to him. A better world existed in his dreams, cheesy as that sounded. It was a dream world he had been visiting since the big move to Tucson. For once in his life, he wasn't the loser science dweeb that came home with bruised shins every day. He had friends, a team if you would, and family.

Best of all, he was a superhero. Who wouldn't love that?

It was a love-hate deal with this world. Most of the time, he couldn't remember the dreams, knowing only that they were excellent. There were a few times that he would wake up feeling sorer and more beat up than he had felt the previous night. Most nights were vague flashes of colors: forest greens, pitch blacks, stoplight reds. Other times, all he could recall were voices, saying words that ended up garbled when he tried to remember them. A bubbly female voice, a gravelly female voice, two hyper-masculine voices. His favorite one floated higher on the register, though it was still obviously a male. He remembered this one the best. No people he knew had voices like them, but any voice that came even close gave him a warm tingling inside. Although, no one could recreate their laughs.

Scott never told anyone about it. Most of his classmates were over the superhero phase. He had once mentioned it to his mom once in passing, but the worried look on her face silenced him. Maybe it was the word "superhero." Dinah Northton seemed to have an issue with superheroes, especially the Justice League of America. It was an unspoken rule of the Northton household to never speak of America's protectors lest they make the headlines.

Scott knew it wasn't healthy to retreat to this world to find happiness, but nobody at Connell High School seemed keen on letting him live contently. He had considered running away a few times, but his mom was all he had, and he was all she had. Call him a mama's boy, but he loathed the idea of upsetting his mother's pretty face. His dream hero team, dubbed affectionately by him as the Junior Justice League, was his secret escape. Mentioning it at school would only force him further down the food chain.

Closing his eyes, he fell back into the dream world…

It was his birthday. He wasn't with the team, at least not yet. A quick stop at the doctor's office, and his arm cast was off. He wasn't quite sure how he got it in the first place, but it probably was another lost dream…

Now he was digging into a delicious birthday cake. Icing was everywhere, but he and the team just laughed it off. His eyes flitted to the faces, but they were still out of focus. He tried focusing, but he still couldn't see their faces…

Something was whispered in his ear. He felt his spirits fall, but he didn't know why. A cackle erupted from the opposite side of the room…

Cold. It was freaking cold. He was running impossibly fast, but why? He was shaking—no, vibrating. Maybe from the bitter winter, maybe from the speed. But he couldn't stop, no matter how much he tried to shake it off…

His eyes flew open, turning instinctively to the clock atop the television. 5:20 in the afternoon. His eyes flicked in the opposite direction, landing on the face of his mother. She wasn't very old, certainly no more than 30, with shiny blond hair and strong but beautiful features. If she wasn't his mom, he could certainly see why men would flock to her. She certainly stood out among the frumpy middle-aged mothers of his classmates. The mothers always gossiped against her, but she could still hold her head high because, unlike most of them, her child didn't hate her, even if he really wasn't her biological son.

"Hey, Scott," she said, her voice low and tired. "How're you doing, babe?"

"'M okay," he said vaguely, his voice thick with sleep. "How was work?"

"A bitch," she replied simply. He gave a short laugh. She always responded the same way every day since the Move. "Boss was as pleasant and positive as ever," she explained sarcastically. Her boss, from what he could garner, was one of those grumpy men who took no shit and sucked the fun out of life. "Not to mention, the latest project ended fan-freaking-tastically!" It didn't take a scientist to hear the frustration. Scott was awake by now, and he pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing inwardly at the pain. Something must have given him away though, because his mom's eyes narrowed.

"You sure you're alright?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm fine," he responded a little too quickly. He cursed inwardly.

She deftly rolled up his jeans, brushing the bruising slightly. Her eyes widened slightly at the bruising.

"Who did this? Was it those Drake boys? The Jensen kid?"

"'S not as bad as earlier, he said, ineffectively dodging the question. "Swelling's gone dow—AAH!" He hissed as his mom pressed down on a particularly dark patch.

"Don't give me that shit. Lie still, I'll get you some ice." She walked over to the freezer, scooping some ice into a Ziploc baggie. She wrapped it in a semi-clean dishtowel and tossed it at him. He deftly caught it and gingerly lowered it onto his aching legs. Okay, he had lied; they still hurt like hell. After the initial recoil from the cold, he relaxed, slowly feeling the pain go away.

"Thanks, Ma," he eventually said. She smiled tiredly at him.

"S'okay, Scotty. It's what I'm supposed to do. Now go do your homework, or sleep or something. I need a nap. Dinner's in the fridge."

He nodded, only half-hearing her words. It crossed his mind that she was home a little early from work, but he let it slide. He pulled out his AP Chemistry textbook and started flipping through, leisurely working out some practice problems. An atom in its ground state contains 30 electrons...

Going to school the next day wasn't too difficult. The leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge was saved for breakfast, and the filling meal made getting up and ready easier. The pain in Scott's legs had faded to a dull ache, which he could tolerate well enough to get through school. His homework was done, and his clothes were presentable enough. All in all, the start of the day was pretty good.

It couldn't last, though. It just couldn't. Alex and Jason, along with a few other friends, were waiting for him at the entrance of the school. They lined either side of the double-door entrance, allowing all other kids to pass with little to no hassle. However, their eyes were trained on him, practically inviting him to come at them. He really didn't want to run that gauntlet, but his attendance record left much to be desired, a fault totally not his own; the bullying made it downright impossible to move some days. He had been keeping track, and he couldn't afford missing another day without incurring a suspension.

The crowd was thinning out. Two minutes until class started. The leery grins sent a nasty shiver up his spine. To hell with it all, he thought to himself. I'm gonna get this over with as quickly as possible. He shook himself and stretched, as if he was a runner preparing for the biggest race of his life. One minute thirty seconds. He looked at the door, totally ignoring the awaiting gauntlet. He closed his eyes and breathed out. He walked a little closer. One minute fifteen seconds. He scrunched his eyes closed. Suddenly, he broke into a run.

A voice laughed in the back of his head. He had a feeling that this should be ominous, but he was too busy running his heart out.

Looking up, he saw everything moving in slow motion. It was like something out of a movie or a dream. He could see their fists coming at him, but it was slow enough for him to dodge. He could see their muscles tensing and releasing as they moved; it was quite laughable, had he not been in such a hurry. He made a beeline for his homeroom (he had his textbook for first period in his back) and sat down. He looked down at his watch: thirty seconds. His eyes widened, and he looked around. Everything seemed to move in slow motio.n

Suddenly reality seemed to snap back. Voices snapped into their proper range, as opposed to the deep slow-mo voice. Paper airplanes continued their path at normal velocity, though Scott could see their paths and dodged accordingly. A few heads gave him a double-take. They could have sworn he wasn't there a few seconds ago.

However, there was no time to worry about that. The bell had rung, and Scott's stomach gave a huge grumble.

The live slow-motion didn't give him any more trouble for the next five periods, but the growling in his stomach did. Even the history teacher snapped out of his lecture to glare at his thunderous stomach. A few kids laughed, and all Scott could do was duck his head in shame.

Halfway through fourth period (geometry), Scott excused himself and made a beeline to his locker. The hunger was actually starting to hurt now, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed his lunch, a pastrami sandwich and a Twinkie, and scarfed it down. The pain went down, and for a moment, he felt sated. As he walked back to the classroom, the pangs started again.

"Damn it all," he growled to himself. You know what, I'll just put up with this, whatever the hell it is.

Lunch (sixth period) was particularly torturous. Having already eaten his lunch, he was forced to absorb the smells and sights of all the other lunches around him. It was a nightmare. Scott tried picking off his best (read: only) friend's lunch, but James was getting pissed off. He kept flipping his long bangs broodily and growling in a stereotypically emo-ish way. Some found it weird that the strange, gothic emo-boy would befriend a bright but stifled character like Scott, but nobody gave it much thought. After all, two loser birds of a feather would flock together.

"Sheesh, Northton," James, who Scott affectionately called Jem, sighed emo-ly, "it's almost as if you want me to starve."

"I'm leaving food for you, aren't I?" Scott countered.

"You know what, you can have it. I'm not hungry anyways." He stood up and walked away.

"Whurff foo gohng?" he said.

Jem rolled his eyes. "The library. I need to catch up on the Hundred Years War notes."

Scott inhaled the rest of the food. "Wait, I'll come with." He got up and ran (at a normal speed) towards his friend, grabbing his hand as he caught up. Jem's eyes widened and he slapped his hand away.

"Don't do that!" he hissed angrily. Scott put up his hands as a sign of surrender. "Sorry," Jem finally said, looking away. He rubbed his wrists awkwardly. "It's just...you know..." Scott didn't know, but he didn't say anything.

The two walked in silence towards the large library. Crappy though the school was, Scott was rather fond of the library. It was big enough to get lost in if you weren't familiar with it. He was pitifully familiar with the place, it being his main hideout from Jason and Alex. He and Jem sat down and started going through notes. He was able to forget his hunger pangs as he buried himself in the tortuously detailed notes. Some time later, the bell rang, and the two returned to the high school world.

Scott was seriously regretting not bringing more food, and the regret grew as each minute passed by. He actually got kicked out of class because the teacher thought he was playing some sound effects on his phone. As he sat in the halls, he curled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on it, allowing all the stress of the day to hit him. Somehow, he felt that the super-speed he managed to tap into, if only for a moment, was a gift of pure suck. He closed his eyes; maybe the hunger wouldn't affect him if he was asleep.

"What's up, ginger?" He opened his eyes. Of fucking course.

"What do you want, Alex?" Scott said, burying his face into his knees. Looking at them would only make the problem worse he told himself. "And don't tell me you're falling back on the redhead jokes again. Those are so inane."

"Shut up, Northton!" A kick to his unprotected side. Scott gasped sharply, looking up at the sky out of reflex. Alex grabbed his hair, slamming his head into the wall. Jason, who must have gotten kicked out of class too, kicked him. Scott let out a cry. Light brown eyes, washed out by a delinquent attitude, met his own brilliant green eyes. The leery spark in them intimidated Scott, but he was sick of it: the fear, the bullying, the god damn submissiveness.

"This is a harassment-free zone, Mr. Jensen. Unless you can't read the signs." He gestured upward at a non-existent sign on the wall. It was all the distraction he needed. The idiots looked up, and Scott let his foot kick out, knocking Alex backwards. Jason looked away from the wall at Scott, but it was too late. He had popped up from the ground and swung his arm out, first curled. The give of his flesh was satisfying to the over-bullied boy, and the sound of his head slamming against the wall was melodious. Suddenly, he felt his ankle jerk from under him. Alex had grabbed his leg and pulled him to the ground. As he hit the ground, the bullies recovered and got up.

"What the fuck is up with Firecrotch today?" Alex muttered.

"Looks like we'll have to teach him a lesson," Jason quipped.

"Sorry, but teachers need a higher IQ than their students. You aren't even qualified to teach a light-bulb to turn on." The two faces above him contorted in anger, and their feet raised above him again. They came down hard on his abdomen, and he cried out in pain. The stomping and kicks were agonizing, and tears sprang to his eyes. His eyes scrunched shut in a vain attempt to block out the pain. Slowly though, it felt as if the kicks were slowing. He risked opening his eyes again.

He seemed to have slipped into the slo-mo state. The muscles were tensing and releasing, but in a way that was far too slow to do any good. He simply got up and out of the way. The speed of reality snapped back to normal so he could see their stunned faces. "How did he-?" "What the-?" The blathering was entertaining, but Scott had more pressing matters on his mind. He jogged over and punched them both. The two actually left the ground, flying back a couple feet before hitting the ground. Alex's nose was bleeding, and Jason was already sporting a particularly nasty bruise.

He could have stopped. Could have, but didn't. He knew it was wrong, but the pent up hate that had been threatening to break him since the beginning of the year was finally given a chance to air itself. It was like being high or drunk, not that he really knew what that was like. Sometimes, they moved at the speed of reality, other times in slow motion. Was that what being high felt like? He didn't know, nor did he care to dwell on it. He was having way too much fun pounding their faces in.

It was too late when he realized how caught up in his hate he really was. A bell had rung, probably to end eighth period. Scott stepped back to admire his handiwork. The pleasure lasted a second before he got caught up in the actual horror of the situation. The two boys were bloodied and purple with bruises. Alex's arm was twisted awkwardly, and Jason was sprawled out, a very distinct muddy footprint on his abdomen.

Students had already started filling the hallways; a scream of horror pierced the hall, echoing despite the growing cacophony. Eyes were drawn away from lockers and friends and instead focused on Scott, his clothes speckled with traces of blood, his hands balled, his fiery red hair askew. They started closing in on him, and he panicked. He darted for the door, tapping into that strange state. Everything slowed down, and he managed to dodge the grabby hands as he sprinted to the door.

He kept running. Don't stop a voice inside him screamed. For God's sake, don't freaking stop! In a matter of moments, he was back home, which was twenty minutes away by bus. The super speed stuttered as he reached the apartment. He tripped over the curb, hitting the ground hard. He picked himself up, dusted off the dirt, and jogged at a regular pace to his apartment, which was only on the second floor.

Scott locked the door and made a beeline for the fridge. He grabbed whatever he could carry and brought it too his room. Curled up on his bed, he gorged on suspicious leftovers and pudding cups until the hunger died to a dull pain. He could tolerate that. As he began to settle back into what he considered to be a relatively normal pace, the phone rang. He jumped, dashing over (at a normal speed) and looking at the caller ID. It was the school. He couldn't face what he did, not now at least. Scott walked to the bathroom instead, remembering the nasty blood spatters on his clothes.

He hurriedly threw off the ruined T-shirt and looked into the mirror, ready to face a nastily bruised torso...

...but saw nothing.

"What the hell is going on with me?" he muttered, looking to the mirror for answers. Unsurprisingly, none came.

Ehh...I'm not totally satisfied. But I like it decently enough.

How can I improve? Tear this apart, find all the little flaws please. If you liked/didn't like something, please tell me. I've been told that I can overwrite, and that my plot progression is weird. Any tips overall? I want all your constructive criticisms, flames, praises, etc.