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Prompt: werewolf Stiles with blue eyes

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Stiles doesn’t speak to anyone for a week.

He doesn’t go to school, he doesn’t leave the house; hell he doesn’t even leave his bed. He just lays there and stares at the wall. If he stays still, he thinks. If he pretends the rest of the world isn’t continuing on outside of his four walls, then it isn’t real. None of it will be real, just so long as he doesn’t move.

Scott tries to come by only once; Stiles alternates between a threatening growl - he can growl now - and a hurt whine until he leaves. The only person he allows in the room with him is his dad and that’s because Stiles needs his scent.

His dad is quickly becoming his anchor, even though Stiles doesn’t mean for him to be. He should follow Melissa’s advice and be his own anchor but he doesn’t feel stable enough for that yet.

Even so, Stiles can’t bring himself to look at his dad. He doesn’t have control of his shifts yet and he doesn’t want his dad to see. No one can see; not when they all know what it means.

Stiles feels like he’s been locked in his self-imposed prison for a lifetime when change happens.

Some distant part of his mind registers the doorbell downstairs and then the conversation in low voices but none of it penetrates the fog until his bedroom door opens and a dozen different scents assault him. His heartbeat kicks up a notch, panic gripping him when he feels the bed dip at least five different spots.

Scott appears in front of him, sliding into the space in front of Stiles just as an arm slides around his waist, a hard body slotting in behind him; Derek’s scent wraps around him, mixing with Scott’s as they push closer into Stiles.

“It’s okay,” Scott soothes, pushing a leg between Stiles’. “It’s just us.”

Stiles wants to protest - they aren’t just, they’ve never been just - but he finds that he can’t remember how to talk, not yet. Someone lays over their feet, wrapping a warm, delicate hand around Stiles’ ankle. The bed keeps moving, one body after another piling in, and Stiles can smell them all; his friends, his pack, coming to join him.

He doesn’t know how they all fit in the bed but somehow, they do. Limbs tangle and bodies press together until it’s hard to tell which limb is even his anymore.

His eyes suddenly burn with unshed tears and he can’t see Scott’s face anymore but Stiles feels him when their foreheads press together.

“It’s okay,” Scott repeats and then a hand squeezes Stiles’ wrist.

From somewhere behind him, Boyd says, “we’re here for you.”

“And we’re not leaving,” Allison and Lydia say together. After them, Isaac and Erica add, “not until you’re ready to leave.”

A choked sob escapes him but even in this, he isn’t alone. Hands are everywhere on his body, touching him, holding him as he finally lets everything out.

Derek’s soft voice tells him, “it’s going to be okay,” as a hand cards through his hair and for the first time, Stiles thinks that might be true.

He’ll be okay.