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Two hours after washing ashore on an unknown island, Jason is having the time of his life.
They don’t know where they are.
He should feel worse about the whole ordeal - their boat is somewhere beneath the Pacific, snapped against the reef. Most of their equipment went down with it. Jason has one wet gun, three knives, a half-empty lighter, and the clothes clinging to his body. Tim has whatever he managed to shove inside the pockets of his waterproof suit, which is not enough. Two Batarangs, a ruined phone. Next to that, a startling amount of resentment.
He hasn’t let go of Jason’s arm in forty minutes.
Every time something moves behind the dense green wall surrounding them, his hold tightens. A bird erupts from the canopy and Tim nearly climbs him. Something small and quick skitters beneath their feet, and Tim jerks hard enough to drag Jason’s knife sideways.
Jason’s never had a better afternoon.
“Careful now,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the grin out of his face. “Or I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me.”
Tim releases him immediately.
“I don’t like you, idiot.”
“Sure.”
Jason glances at green leaves drooping across their path. Rainwater runs from their waxy tips, cool to the touch. The air is so thick with moisture that breathing feels almost like drinking.
He swings the knife again. The vines fall with a harsh fibrous snap. Behind him, Tim mutters something about ruining the wildlife.
Jason simply keeps going.
The island rises steeply from the beach, dense with palms and rubber trees. Everything is alive around them. The branches chatter with insects. Water ticks steadily from leaf to leaf. Somewhere deeper in the forest, something makes a low call that sounds almost human.
Tim grabs Jason’s arm again.
Jason lowers his head so Tim can’t see his smile.
“We need to go back,” Tim says urgently, tugging at Jason's sleeve.
“To the beach?”
“We need visibility. We should make a fire while there’s still daylight.”
“We need fresh water, birdie.” Jason sighs. “Besides, what if there’s another storm? I don’t trust those waters. We will be safer up here.”
He pats the hand curled around his bicep. Tim snatches it away, like the contact has only now occurred to him.
“We need higher ground,” Jason explains. “We can establish the approximate size of the island, whether it’s inhabited, if there are signs-”
“What we need is to mark the shoreline, inventory everything we have, and start building a raft before-”
Jason raises his eyebrow.
“A raft.”
“Yes.”
“Out of what?”
“There’s plenty of wood here, Jason.” Tim rolls his eyes.
“That’s green wood.”
“We can dry it.”
“With our abundant free time?”
Tim stops walking. Jason makes it three more steps before he realises and turns. He finds Tim standing in the narrow path they have carved through the undergrowth, wet hair plastered darkly across his forehead, his suit torn open at one shoulder. There’s a shallow cut on his lip. He looks exhausted. Furious. Jason knows this look - Tim wants to solve their problem in the next fifteen minutes, but isn’t able to.
“We don’t know how much time we have,” Tim points out.
“Exactly.”
“Jason, you can’t act like this is a camping trip!”
“Panicking burns calories.”
“I’m not panicking.”
A branch shifts overhead. Tim looks up so fast his neck cracks.
Jason laughs.
“That was situational awareness,” Tim hisses.
“Baby bird.”
“Shut up.”
“We’ve been here for hours.”
“I know how long we’ve been here.”
Jason steps back toward him. Tim holds his ground - which would be more convincing if he wasn’t trembling. Jason sees the way Tim’s hands shake, the way his fingers open and close against the wet black material of his gloves.
The storm has passed, but neither of them has fully warmed. Tim had swallowed enough seawater to spend the first ten minutes coughing on his hands and knees. They haven’t eaten anything since sometime yesterday, unless coffee now counts as a meal.
Jason puts both hands on his shoulders.
Tim flinches beneath them.
“Listen to me,” Jason says. “We need water, Tim. We need shelter before dark. Then we need fire. After that, you can build a cruise ship for all I care.”
“But if we start now-”
“No.”
“Jason!”
“No raft today. We need rest. You’re shaking so hard I can hear your teeth.”
“I’m not cold.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Tim shuts up. His expression twists, not much, the scowl on his face deepens just a fracture. Jason knows that look, too. Tim’s mind has begun sprinting through every possible scenario. The probability of rescue which is low. Infection, dehydration, hunger, exposure - that's more like it. Every possible death arranged from the most humiliating to the least.
Jason squeezes his shoulder before getting back to cutting their way in. He doesn’t look back to see if Tim is following him. He knows that the next time something screeches, Tim will find his way back to his side.
They find a clearing another ten minutes inland, a shallow break between the trees where an old trunk has fallen and torn a window in the canopy. Evening light pours through it, pale gold and humid. The ground slopes slightly, enough to keep rain from collecting, and there are no obvious nests, tracks, burrows, bones, or territorial warnings made from human skulls on a stick.
Jason grimaces but nods his head.
Good enough.
“Tim?”
“What?”
“Dry wood.” Jason points toward the patch of thinner vegetation they just passed. He crouches, testing the bark’s strength, if he could build shelter on top of it. “Anything dead enough to snap. Not bend, Timmy. Snap.”
Tim stares at him.
“Fuck you.”
“Sticks, Timmy.”
For a moment, Jason thinks Tim might throw a Batarang at him. But then he spins on his heel and marches back through the path, shoving a hanging leaf away from his face with enough disgust and violence to make the entire plant shake.
Jason watches him go.
“Dry ones!” he calls.
Tim lifts one hand without turning and gives him the finger.
Jason falls a little bit more in love with him. Inconvenient, given the circumstances.
By the time Tim returns with arms full of branches and bark, Jason has stripped long sections from a nearby palm and begun braiding them between two trees. The structure is ugly but serviceable. It has enough space beneath it for two bodies if they squeeze together tightly.
Tim drops the wood beside him.
“It looks like shit.”
“Hello to you too.”
“The angle's all wrong.”
“It’s a lean-to, baby.”
“It’s leaning too much.”
“That’s why it’s called that!”
Tim closes his eyes. Jason wonders if he’s going to get stabbed. Instead, Tim sits down and begins sorting the branches by thickness. His hands have steadied, no longer shaking from panic. They begin working in a hurry before the night comes.
Jason does most of the building. Tim complains about most of the building. In between those complaints, he improves the knots, reinforces the walls of their shelter, digs a narrow trench with a sharpened piece of wood, and constructs a plain water filter using layers of cloth and sand before Jason gently reminds him that they still have to boil whatever comes through it.
“I know,” Tim hisses.
“Never doubted you.”
Tim glares at him through the loose fall of his hair. There is mud streaked along one of his temples. His lower lip is split from the wreck, a small dark cut that catches Jason’s eye every time Tim speaks.
Jason looks away quickly.
A small creek lies downhill from the clearing, narrow but quick-running, water sliding over stones and roots. Jason fills a small metal casing from one of Tim’s gadgets after Tim reluctantly confirms that removing the components won’t cause it to explode.
They boil the water over the first little flame Jason manages to coax from the driest pieces of Tim’s collection. Smoke moves lazily through the clearing, stinging their eyes, sinking into their wet clothes. Jason sits with his knees drawn up, turning the wood with the edge of his knife. Tim sticks close enough to watch every bubble.
The sun lowers. Tim keeps glancing toward the trees.
Jason nudges his shin with one boot.
“Drink.”
“It needs to cool first.”
“It has cooled.”
“It could still be hot enough to cause-”
“Tim.”
Tim takes the container. He drinks carefully, both hands wrapped around the metal, his mouth pressed to the rim Jason used a moment ago.
Jason watches his throat move. Some of the water spills, running slowly down his neck.
Tim lowers the container and catches him staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“We’re stranded on an island.”
“You were weird before that.”
“And yet you keep following me.”
“I was assigned to this mission.”
“You requested this mission.”
“Because you were going alone.”
Tim seems to realise what he’s said only after the words are already between them. Jason sighs, refusing to overthink it. Tim looks back toward the treeline.
Jason could touch him. Their knees are nearly pressed together already. He could reach across the inch of smoky air between them and wipe the dirt from Tim’s cheek with his thumb.
He leans back on his hands.
“Well,” he says. “Lucky me.”
Tim’s mouth turns into a scowl.
The sun disappears. Without the usual city's haze, the darkness is deep. One moment everything is violet above the canopy, the next there is only the fire and a small circle of gold it casts across the clearing.
The noises change. Things begin calling to one another from the trees.
Tim shifts closer, not much, but he does.
Jason says nothing.
A loud cry tears through the canopy.
Tim’s shoulder strikes Jason’s.
“Situational awareness?” Jason teases.
“Shut up.”
“I think it’s sweet.”
“I hope whatever is out there eats you.”
Jason smiles into the dark - and for the first time since their boat sank - Tim does too.
The smile lasts less than a minute, though.
Tim tenses beside him.
Jason notices because Tim is rarely this still by accident. Even exhausted, he’s always moving, his gaze moving over things, his foot tapping out some rhythm. He’s staring at his wrist, his eyes wide.
“What?”
Tim doesn’t answer.
“Tim?”
“Something bit me.”
Jason looks down. There’s a small bump above the edge of Tim’s glove. Pink at the centre, a little swollen from where Tim has already scratched it.
He leans closer to inspect it closer, but Tim jerks his arm toward his chest and turns away.
“Don’t touch it.”
“It’s a mosquito bite.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jason chuckles.
Tim's mouth has gone bloodless. Firelight moves over his face, making his eyes look too dark.
“It burns.”
“Because you scratched it.”
“I didn’t.”
The mark is nothing, barely there. Jason could cover it with the pad of his thumb.
Tim is already breathing too quickly.
“There could be venomous insects here,” he says. “Or parasites. Some bites don’t become symptomatic immediately. There could be a delayed neurotoxic response, or-”
“Tim.”
“My fingers feel numb.”
“You’ve been clenching your fists.”
“My hand is shaking.”
“Your whole body is shaking.”
Tim’s eyes snap to his.
“That’s not helping.”
He takes Tim’s wrist before Tim can pull away. Tim resists for half a second, muscles locked hard beneath his hand, but Jason doesn’t let go. He turns the arm gently, studies the bite. There’s nothing concerning about it. Nothing about Tim, either. Just cold skin. Fine black hairs. A pulse beating too fast beneath Jason’s thumb.
He brings Tim’s wrist closer to the fire, checks the colour around the mark, then touches carefully around it.
“Does this hurt?”
“Yes.”
“This?”
“Yes.”
“Tim.”
“What?”
“You’re saying yes before I touch you.”
Tim glares at him. Jason nearly apologises.
He slides two fingers to Tim’s pulse again.
“Heart’s still working.”
“That doesn’t rule anything out.”
“Pupils look normal.”
“You haven’t checked them.”
Jason catches Tim’s chin with his hand and turns his face toward the fire.
Tim’s mouth falls open.
Jason looks into one eye, then the other.
“Normal,” he says. “No foaming at the mouth, either.”
“Jason.”
“No spontaneous organ failure.”
“You can’t see organ failure, moron.”
“Not with that attitude.” Jason snorts.
Tim yanks his face free, but the movement costs him whatever control he had left. His breath comes out sharp and panicked.
Jason reaches for him. Tim recoils.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
“I am.”
“You look great. And it’s not swelling.”
“It is!”
“It’s a mosquito bite, dumbass.”
This time, when he takes Tim’s wrist, Tim lets him. Some of his anger disappears. Beneath it is something small and frightened and humiliated by its own fear.
“I don’t know what’s in here,” Tim says.
The words are quiet.
Jason shifts closer
“I know.”
“We don’t know where we are.”
“I know.”
“No one knows where we are.”
Jason hesitates.
Tim looks at him, and Jason hates himself a little for what he doesn’t say.
“We’re gonna be okay,” Jason says instead.
“You can’t know that.”
“No. But I know you’re not dying from this.”
“You can’t know that, either.”
“You’re not.”
Tim’s mouth trembles. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying to push the weakness out of himself.
Jason lifts Tim’s wrist and presses his mouth to the bite. It's absurd, pointless. Barely more than a brush of lips against Tim’s skin. He bites at it playfully and Tim squeaks.
“There,” Jason says with a grin. “I sucked out the poison.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Feeling better?”
“No.”
At least Tim’s breathing has slowed.
The night goes on but they don’t sleep. They sit in silence watching the fire. Smoke curls beneath the roof of leaves, clinging to their hair. The temperature hasn’t dropped much, but damp clothes make everything feel colder. Tim begins to shake again. Small at first, then hard enough that Jason feels it through the place where their arms touch.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m not.”
“Right.”
“It’s warm out.”
“You’re still wet.”
“So are you.”
“I run hot.”
Jason grabs him around the waist.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Jason.”
“You’re freezing.”
“I'm not sharing body heat with you.”
Jason pulls him into his lap.
Tim makes a sound so startled it nearly sends a bird shrieking from the trees.
His back is pressed to Jason’s chest, his thighs caught between Jason’s knees. Jason wraps both arms around his middle and locks his hands over Tim’s stomach.
Tim is so small like this. Cute.
“Put me down.”
“No.”
“I will break your fingers.”
“Do it when you’re warm.”
Tim struggles, more out of principle than any real desire to escape. Jason only tightens his hold. His chin settles against Tim’s shoulder. He can feel Tim’s heart against his forearm, beating too fast.
“Warmer?”
“No.”
“Your teeth stopped chattering.”
“They were never chattering.”
“Sure.”
Tim’s head tips back against Jason’s shoulder.
It's probably exhaustion. Nothing more.
Tim turns his face. Not far, enough that their mouths are suddenly close.
Jason can see the shallow break in his lower lip. The pulse moving in his throat. The fear still lodged behind his eyes, quieter but not gone.
“They’ll find you,” Jason says, almost against Tim’s mouth.
Tim closes his eyes with a sigh.
“Us.”
“Fine. Us.”
He kisses him.
There's no plan to it. No patience, either. Jason has spent too long pretending he doesn't want to. The first touch is almost angry, firm enough to startle a breath from him. Tim’s lips are cold. Jason feels it immediately, the chill of them against his own.
He draws back only far enough to ask, “Warmer?”
Tim stares at him.
His eyes shine in the firelight.
“No.”
So Jason kisses him again.
Tim makes a small, wounded sound and twists in Jason’s arms until they are facing each other as much as the angle allows. One of his hands grabs at the front of Jason’s shirt. His grip is desperate, almost painful. Jason cups the back of his neck and feels the shudder that passes through him. Not fear now, or not only fear.
“Hey,” Jason murmurs.
Tim presses his forehead to Jason’s.
“They’ll find you,” Jason says again.
“Us.”
“Yeah.”
His arms tighten.
“Us,” Tim insists, breathing harsh against his mouth.
The fire cracks.
For a while, they stay like that. Jason holding him. Tim tucked against his chest, one hand still clenched in Jason’s shirt.
Nothing can reach him here.
Not while Jason is awake.
Not while the fire burns.
Jason rests his mouth against Tim’s hair and looks out into the dark.
“You know, when you get bored of being stranded, you can always call Superboy.”
Slowly, Tim lifts his head.
“What?”
“Superboy,” he repeats.
Tim turns fully in his lap.
Warmth drains from his face.
“You said no one knows where we are.”
“They don’t.”
“You said the communicator was destroyed.”
“It is.”
“You said there was no way to contact anyone.”
Jason winces.
“The freak is constantly listening to your heartbeat, Tim. And if you scream his name loudly enough, there’s a decent chance he’ll pick it up.”
“A decent chance.”
“Pretty decent.”
“You knew this.”
Jason shrugs his arms.
“You knew we could call for help.”
“We can attempt to call for help.”
“Jason.”
“Technically, there’s no guarantee.”
Tim climbs out of his lap.
Jason grabs his wrist before he makes it two steps.
“You absolute bastard.”
“Now, hold on!”
“You let me think we were trapped here.”
“We are trapped here.”
“You let me think I was going to die!”
“From a mosquito bite?”
Tim hits him. Jason bursts out with laughter.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I am going to kill you.”
Tim swings again.
Jason catches both of his wrists and pulls him close.
Tim curses him.
Jason kisses the curse out of his mouth.
Tim fights him for all of three seconds.
Then his hands wrench free and bury themselves in Jason’s hair.
The force of it drives Jason backward, one hand braced in the dirt. Tim follows him down, knees landing on either side of his thighs, kissing him with all the anger he can't put anywhere else.
Jason chuckles against his mouth.
Tim bites him.
“Okay,” Jason breathes. “Deserved that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“Promise?”
Tim kisses him again just to shut him up.
They call Conner the next morning.