As the Hulk in Danny Phantom/DC/Young Justice

Monday morning at Casper High brought new challenges. The weekend's rage episode had left Samael more on edge than usual, his muscles tense with barely contained energy. He focused on walking carefully through the crowded hallways, conscious of every movement.

"Your ectoplasmic readings are still elevated," Tucker whispered, checking his PDA as they walked to first period. "Maybe you should skip gym class today?"

"Can't," Samael growled softly, stepping carefully around a group of freshmen. "Tetslaff already warned me about missing last week."

"Well, heads up," Sam joined them, looking concerned. "Dash is organizing some kind of strength competition during lunch. Apparently, your dunk tank appearance inspired him."

Danny phased through a locker nearby, finally becoming visible. "And guess who he's planning to challenge?"

Before Samael could respond, a familiar voice cut through the hallway chatter.

"Yo, Fenton!" Dash called out, surrounded by his usual crowd of A-listers. "Hope you're ready for today's strength showdown! Unless you're chicken?"

Samael's grip tightened on his backpack strap, the fabric straining audibly. He leaned against his locker, the metal protesting slightly – nothing too obvious, just enough to make some nearby students step back cautiously.

"Deep breaths," Jazz appeared beside them, psychology books in hand. "Remember what we discussed about-"

"Not now, Jazz," Samael managed through clenched teeth.

"What's wrong, Fenton?" Dash pressed, either missing or ignoring the warning signs. "Worried everyone will see you're not as strong as you pretend to be?"

Tucker's PDA started beeping quietly. "Uh, guys? His cortisol levels are spiking..."

"Come on, Samael," Danny tried, noticing his brother's eyes starting to flicker green. "He's not worth-"

"Unless," Paulina's voice cut in, sweet but pointed, "you're embarrassed about getting dunked at the carnival? The whole school saw that video, you know."

The locker creaked again as Samael shifted, his control slipping but still maintaining enough presence of mind to keep his strength in check.

"That's it," Sam stepped forward. "Listen here, you-"

But Samael's hand on her shoulder stopped her. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low, almost a growl.

"You want a strength competition, Dash? Fine. But remember..." He pushed off the locker, leaving only a subtle dent that could only be explained away because he is Jack Fenton's son. "You asked for this."

"Lunch period, weight room," Dash called over his shoulder as the warning bell rang. "Don't chicken out, Fenton!"

As the hallway cleared, Danny turned to his brother. "Please tell me you're not actually considering this."

"Got a better idea?" Samael's voice still carried that dangerous edge, his eyes finally stopping their green flicker but the tension remaining in his frame.

"Actually, yes," Jazz interjected, already flipping through her notebook. "We can cite physical health concerns, or perhaps-"

"And look weak?" Samael's hand clenched around his textbook, the cover bending slightly. "After everything I've done to keep Danny safe?"

"About that," Tucker said, still monitoring his PDA. "Your readings are getting worse, not better. If you get too angry during the competition..."

"Then I won't get angry," Samael stated, though everyone could hear the strain in his voice.

Sam crossed her arms. "Right. Because you're so good at staying calm when Dash is being a jerk."

"We could stage a ghost attack," Danny suggested quietly. "Give you an excuse to-"

"No more excuses," Samael cut him off. "I'll handle this. Just... normally."

"Sammy-" Jazz started.

"Don't call me that," he growled, then caught himself. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I need to learn to handle normal situations without..." He glanced at his slightly bent textbook. "Without complications."

The final bell rang, making them all jump.

"Great," Tucker sighed. "Now we're all late for class. But seriously, dude, maybe we should-"

"I said I'll handle it," Samael's tone left no room for argument. "Now go, before Lancer gives us all detention."

As they reluctantly headed to their classes, Jazz lingered behind. "Just... promise you'll walk away if it gets too intense?"

Her brother's silence was not reassuring.

Morning classes crawled by with excruciating slowness. In Chemistry, Samael had to partner with Paulina again, every giggle and hair flip testing his control. He managed to only crack one test tube – which, given his father's reputation for clumsiness, raised no eyebrows.

During English, Mr. Lancer's droning about "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" felt like a particularly cruel joke.

"And so, class," Lancer continued, "we see how the duality of man-"

"Hey, Fenton," Dash whispered from behind him. "Hope you've been practicing. I've been benching 250 lately."

The pencil in Samael's hand snapped, but he forced himself to remain still.

Tucker, monitoring his PDA two rows over, sent a quick text to the others: "Rising stress levels. Intervention needed?"

Before anyone could respond, the lunch bell rang. Students began filing out, but Dash's voice carried over the noise:

"Time to see what you're really made of, Fenton!"

A small crowd had already started gathering in the hallway, word of the challenge having spread through morning classes. Samael could hear the whispers:

"Did you see him at the carnival?"

"I heard he's been working out with college athletes..."

"No way he's stronger than Dash..."

Jazz appeared at his side as he packed his books. "There's still time to-"

"Don't," Samael said quietly, carefully controlling each movement. "Just... be ready."

The weight room was packed, students crowding around the bench press area. Coach Tetslaff stood nearby, looking both concerned and intrigued.

"Now boys," she started, "keep this civil. Standard competition rules-"

"Real men first," Dash grinned, already positioning himself under the bar. "Watch and learn, Fenton."

Samael stood back, arms crossed, focusing on his breathing as Jazz had taught him. Danny hovered nearby, quite literally at times before catching himself.

"His heart rate's elevated," Tucker whispered, monitoring his readings. "But still within... somewhat normal parameters."

"245... 246..." Dash counted out his reps, his football teammates cheering. "247..."

"Show-off," Sam muttered. "He's using momentum more than strength."

Finally, Dash racked the weight, sitting up with a triumphant smirk. "Beat that, Fenton! Unless you want to quit now?"

The crowd parted as Samael stepped forward. He could still feel the familiar warmth building under his skin, but kept it in check. This wasn't about anger. This was about control.

"Just remember," Jazz whispered as he lay back on the bench, "you don't have to-"

"Spotters!" Coach Tetslaff called out. "Safety first!"

Two football players moved to spot, though Samael knew they'd be useless if he really lost control. He gripped the bar, careful not to leave finger impressions in the metal.

"Ready?" Coach asked.

Samael nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the bar above him. He could do this. He could be normal. He could-

"Better not cry when you fail," Dash taunted from the side.

The bar creaked slightly in Samael's grip.

He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight settle across his shoulders as he unracked the bar. The first rep was easy - too easy. He had to concentrate on making it look like effort, on maintaining the illusion of normal teenage strength. As normal for him at least.

"One... two... three..."

His muscles barely registered the strain. Each controlled movement required more focus on appearing normal than actual physical effort. The bar wanted to fly up, but he kept each rep measured, steady.

"...ten... eleven..."

Dash's voice cut through the counting: "Better not cry when you fail." he repeated though this time far more uncertainty in his voice.

The bar creaked slightly in Samael's grip as the warmth of transformation pulsed stronger. But instead of letting it fuel him, he used it to maintain his focus. Each rep remained perfectly controlled, neither too easy nor too hard.

"...fifteen... sixteen..."

He matched Dash's count exactly. Not one rep more, not one rep less. Just enough to prove his point without revealing too much.

Samael stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The warmth of transformation pulsed under his skin, demanding release, but for once, he felt... clear.

"Done," he said simply, his voice steady.

"What?" Dash's triumphant expression faltered. "What do you mean, done?"

"I mean that I'm done, Dash." Samael met his gaze calmly. "I matched your weight. I did your reps. Competition's over."

The crowd murmured in surprise. Even Jazz paused in her prepared intervention speech.

"You're backing down?" Dash pressed, trying to salvage the situation. "So you are scared!"

"Think what you want." Samael shrugged, feeling the transformation urge actually beginning to subside. "I've got nothing to prove."

He turned away, catching a glimpse of Danny's proud smile and Tucker's shocked expression as he checked his readings.

"His stress levels..." Tucker whispered to Jazz. "They're... dropping?"

"Running away, Fenton?" Dash called after him, but the taunt lacked its usual bite.

Samael paused at the door, looking back with the ghost of a smile. "No, Dash. Just choosing my battles. Maybe you should try it sometime."

As he walked out, he could hear Coach Tetslaff's approving "Now that's maturity, people!" followed by the disappointed dispersal of the crowd.

Sam caught up with him in the hallway. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the guy who nearly hulked out over a dunk tank?"

"Maybe," Samael said thoughtfully, "being strong isn't just about how much you can lift."

"And here he goes getting philisophical again..." Danny muttered from behind them, though the smile on his face couldn't be denied.