Everything louder than everything else
It's only the fact that his head is pressed tightly against Peter's chest that's keeping him together, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart that gives him something to focus on when the world around him assaults him with a barrage of smells and sounds he's never been subjected to before. His father had mumbled something about never being able to leave dirty laundry on the floor again and Stiles was very inclined to agree. He'd only taken one step into his room before he had to throw himself out of there, the combination of his forgotten breakfast cereal and old socks threatening to make him sick. And when he'd tried to hide in the kitchen there was the smell of the garbage bin that he'd forgotten to empty, in the bathroom the scented shower gel assaulted his nose, not to mention the toilet that should probably have been cleaned a while ago, and as soon as he sat down on the couch a cloud of dust and Doritos ascended into the air and causing him to sneeze furiously.
Peter had taken one look at him and offered him to stay at his place instead and Stiles gratefully accepted, feeling slightly ashamed about all the times that he'd called the other man a neat-freak. It was very clear that the cleanliness of Peter's apartment wasn't not only a personal preference but also somewhat of a biological imperative to give his sensitive nose a break while in his own home.
They'd made it into town without problems but being surrounded by people and cars and noises and smells, too much and too loud, sent him reeling again and he started to panic as he could feel his fangs drop right there in the car where anyone could see him shifting. Peter, immediately realizing the problem, had leaned over and placed a hand on his neck, pulling him closer. At first Stiles had fought his grip but soon it felt comforting rather than restricting and he leaned in to the touch, resting his forehead against Peter's shoulder and breathing in the scent of his skin, the discreet cologne, the faint traces of detergent from the shirt. He'd stayed like that all the way to Peter's apartment.
He would have thought that Stiles would be as restless in sleep as awake but surprisingly he slept like the dead, possibly because of all the trials of the day, and he can't help but preen a little bit that Stiles' feels safe enough in his apartment to sleep so deeply. He hasn't moved once since Peter steered him towards the sofa and threw a blanket over him and he leans in and subtly tries to sniff out any emotions. Despite the earlier panic he seems fine now but just as he's about to move away Stiles startles awake and hits him straight over the nose. He jumps back, more out of surprise than actual hurt, and growls with irritation.
"Well if you didn't sniff me in my sleep like some sort of grade-A creeper that would never have happened, Cujo" Stiles snarks, shocked awake and eyes glowing bright. Peter ignores the insult and pries Stiles' claws out of the sofa before the damage gets any worse.
"Focus on your anchor."
"Anchor-smanchor" Stiles complains, struggling to pulls his claws in and failing. "What does that even mean?"
"It means that when you get your act together and figures out what keeps your wolf centered you'll be unstoppable" Peter answers, trying to salvage the duvet. "Until then, you'll be a bloody menace" he adds annoyed upon realizing that he'll have to go shopping for more bedlinen tomorrow. Suddenly Stiles' scent sours with distress and Peter looks up to see that he's curled in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible.
"What if I hurt someone?" he whispers, his voice so low that it keeps breaking up. "What if it hadn't been you who found me? What if it had been my dad?"
"It wasn't."
"But what if it had been?" Stiles insists. "I could've… Anything could've happened" he continues miserably.
"But it wasn't, you didn't and you're here now. We'll figure it out" Peter answers, trying to be as reassuring as possible and, upon seeing that it doesn't work, pulling Stiles into his arms. It's what his parents had done when he struggled with his shift as a pup and, grown man or not, when it comes to his werewolf side Stiles is very much a pup right now.
He should object to being tucked into Peter's arms like a small child, he really should, but the world around him feels too loud and too bright, jarring and unfamiliar, and right now the only thing that keeps him together is Peter's arms around him and the familiar thump-thump-thump of his heart beating steadily under his ear. When he focuses on that heartbeat he almost believes that it'll be all right.
"Promise?"
"Promise."