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There haven’t been too many times in Peter’s life when he felt his options had entirely run out. Even during the fire, the options were bad, but they weren’t non-existent. That was how he’d survived, how he’d saved Cora, throwing himself at the chance of survival, no matter how slim it was. That was how he’d cheated death. That was how he’d gotten out of The Wild Hunt.
But this time… this time he really doesn’t see a way out. The rest of the pack is out of town, leaving Stiles and Peter to watch over Beacon Hills, and a coven of thirteen exceptionally dark witches had caught them off guard. This group is smart, damn it. And now Peter and Stiles are bound back-to-back on a ritual altar. Between the ropes, the wards, the wreaths of wolfsbane, the mountain ash, and the half dozen witches not too proud to carry guns, Peter really doesn’t see how they’re getting out of this one.
“Well, Stiles,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “How about we spend the rest of our lives together?” Short though those lives looked to be.
“You’re asking me now?” Stiles replies incredulously. “I mean, yeah, of course, but ask me again later!”
Asking him what? It hadn’t even been a real question, more of an acknowledgement that they’re about to die. There isn’t going to be a later.
Of course, two minutes later the pack miraculously bursts into the rundown warehouse and rescues them.
“How are you, Stiles?” Scott asks while Mason and Corey carefully unwind the wolfsbane from around Peter.
“Totally fine,” Stiles assures him. “Except for the eternal shame that they got the drop on us.” Then he brightens. “Oh! Peter and I got engaged.”
Peter’s head whips around. Engaged? When?
“Not the most romantic timing,” Stiles goes on, “but I did appreciate the vote of confidence in our survival.”
How about we spend the rest of our lives together?
Ask me again later.
Well.
It’s not like Peter minds.
“I promise a second, more romantic, proposal,” Peter says.
Stiles beams at him.