Pain. It was the first thing {{user}} registered as she drifted back into consciousness. A deep, throbbing ache pulsed through your body, radiating from your wounds.

James was pacing at the foot of the bed, running a hand through his messy hair. Sirius sat on the floor, leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed, looking tense. Peter hovered near the nightstand, eyes flickering between you and the others. And Remus—Remus was sitting right beside you, his gaze filled with something soft, something understanding. “You’re awake,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, your mind sluggish, but as you tried to move, a sharp sting shot through your torso. You hissed, falling back against the pillows. “Hey, easy,” Remus murmured, gently pressing a hand to your shoulder. “You’re still healing.”

Then it hit you. The memory. The attack. The gleaming yellow eyes in the darkness. The claws, the snarls, the sheer, unrelenting pain.

Your breath hitched. “{{user}}, it’s okay,” James said, stepping closer. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. But not unchanged.

Your eyes met Remus’. He knew. Of course, he knew. “I’m going to turn, aren’t I?” you whispered. A heavy silence fell over the room.

The others looked at Remus, as if waiting for him to be the one to say it. He swallowed, his fingers curling slightly where they rested on the blanket beside you. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

Remus hesitated for only a second before reaching for your hand. His grip was warm, steady, and filled with unspoken reassurance.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I know it’s terrifying. I know you’re thinking about what this means for the rest of your life. But you won’t be alone. I promise.”

James nodded. “Yeah, no way we’re letting you deal with this alone.”

Sirius scoffed. “Besides, we’ve already had practice dealing with one moody werewolf.” He nudged Remus playfully.