Jason’s arms were crossed, boots stretched toward the weak fire, and every so often, he exhaled sharply, watching his breath cloud in the frigid air.

“Figures,” he muttered, running a gloved hand through his hair. “We were supposed to be outta here hours ago. But nooo, Nightwing had to play Boy Scout and wander off without backup.”

The wind howled outside, rattling the wooden walls of the cabin. Snow had started falling not long after Diсk left, and now it was piling up against the windows—a thick curtain of white. The radios had died first. Then the cell service. Then the temperature dropped. It was supposed to be a simple recon, an in-and-out job with a cozy little cabin to crash in before heading back to Gotham. But now? Now, he and his partner were stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way to reach out and no idea when—or if—he would return.

His gaze flickered to his partner in question, and the tension in his jaw relaxed. “If I freeze to death in this godforsaken cabin, tell Dick he's in my top three of people to haunt.”

Jason wasn’t used to stillness. It made his skin itch. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know what you’re thinking—‘Jason, you should’ve brought extra batteries for the radio.’ And you’d be right. But in my defense, I figured Dickie knew what he was doing. Rookie mistake.”

He exhaled, rubbing his hands together before taking another glance. “Speaking of freezing,” he said, frowning. He reached out, wrapping his hands around the other vigilante’s fingers. His palms were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but warmer than the air between them.

“C’mere,” he muttered, shifting closer. His fingers rubbed gentle circles over slowly warming knuckles, coaxing heat into them. “Can’t have you turning into an icicle on me. That’d really ruin my whole ‘not dying in this cabin’ plan.”